Hey Harry, are we live?

 This is just a test... Time to revamp my website and it has been a while since I did anything on it, so I will be learning this all over again! Good thing I love an adventure!

The goal is to make it a place where my books can be introduced and sold and i can have a relationship of communication with my readers, as well as with other authors and anyone who loves a good dialog about life, the universe and.... well, you know... everything. 

today I am just posting this to see where it goes from here (Blogger) 

it is November, and I choose to do a family cookbook, which I am excited to do, but which doesn't have the same built-in motivation to write that a good story and intriguing characters do. maybe it should?! Hmmmm

The Universe in my Mind

 My heart says

    free the children

let them be, who they will be

my heart says

they're the answer

they will teach us, to be free

my heart says

all the people

past and present, are but one

my heart longs for

connection, inspiration, fun

to remember all of my parts

to honor their sacrifice, 

their visions, and their courage

my heart thinks that would be nice

my heart says come together

listen now, and

be made whole

my heart says drop

my defenses

rest, love, let go 

the illusion of control

when I listen to my heart

my whole world is aligned

and I inhabit peaceful planets

in the universe in my mind

I have a little defect

I see you have it too

or, maybe it's a fun gift

just to see what we will do

life's all a matter of perspective

its just framing, and narrative

how I choose to use mine

sets my intention

of how I want to live

so I will try, friend

to remember

to treat you like the gift you are

another part of me

another piece

a fragment

of the same bright star 

 

Before I came here

I was everywhere else

I was all of us

I was wholly myself

but we, when we live here

take on so much other

we forget who we are

by all else, we are smothered

it takes so much focus

such presence of mind

to burst free from beneath,

our true nature to find

but my friend I do urge you

take sure steps to be free

find the child deep inside you

she'll know who you should be

trebuchet

first off let me just say, I began by choosing a font 

this time not for what it might look like, but for the name of it

let's see if it fits!

last year, I was set to be an author full time

I had a handful of stories and poems I was working on

I had done the November 50,000 word challenge

I had the rough draft of my next book

I had just published my first children's book

and then...

I was once again asked to run for office in our county as Public Administrator

and I won

(is a slingshot a trebuchet?)

because of that, I now work more than full-time at a fairly intense job

and write... almost never

no time, no brain power left at the end of a day

this past November I made a few attempts

but I could never keep a story going between calls from facilities and wards and support staff

still, I have things to say, stories to tell

I just don't want to chuck them at you willy nilly with no precision

ah, trebuchet, there it is!

I want to share

sharing is best in close proximity

the thing I am finding difficult is the very thing I used to do with ease

draw you in, close, evoke emotion

It's the difference between handing off a lovely pie, and chucking pumpkins!

which, by the way, is an excellent use of a trebuchet!

 

Trees I’ve known

When I find myself struggling with the chaos in my mind, my favorite place to go is a time where I lived in trees. (Also, a time where I was in constant relationships with horses and dogs. But that is another story)

I close my eyes and breath deep and place myself somewhere in the house I grew up in. I might take the time to dress myself and put on my favorite sneakers and grab a couple carrots and an apple. Often these days, my need to find myself is too great and I just assume all of that is in place already,  and head right out the door onto the concrete patio. I pull the sliding door shut silently because often I was leaving while others in the house were still asleep. I take in a breath and taste the early morning air. The musk of rotting leaves mixed with the fresh scent of evergreen lay at the base, with high notes of stars. I can smell the brick of the house front and the cedar shingles of the roof ledge over my head before I step out into the moonlight.

From this point there are two ways to go. Only as I am telling you this do I wonder which I did most often. To the right off the patio was a pebbled walk that led to the fence around our portion of the farmland our house was built on one corner of. To the left was a creek and across the creek another fence and a pond. But if I veer left after crossing the creek , I can follow a path first used by rabbits and deer, made more distinctive by years of my own bare feet running along it. If I follow that path along the creek, it puts me below my mother’s grooming shop in a mess of small trees and bushes. Grape vines as big as my arm snake up around a cluster of four or five trees creating a sturdy nest where I can climb up  and sit nearly level with the back windows of the shop. My mother and her assistants are unaware of my presence and I feel quite covert and powerful braced in my wild nest, listening to their radio and their conversations.

Tonight as I lie here trying to settle my thoughts and my heart to get to sleep, I chose the path to the right.

Even now, I  can feel the rough surface of the concrete slab my father built our house in the woods on. There is a big crack across one side and I avoid it in the dark by memory, knowing the length of stride to miss catching a toe in the crack and to hit the right stones in the path for the smoothest steps. I can still smell the black charred rubbish in the burn barrel as I pass. In one move I stick my right leg through the fence between rows of barbed wire, tucking my back down as I squat and glide through, one foot on the stone path, the other now on the soft crushed grass and weeds on the other side.

And there it is. My tree. My Swiss Family Robinson’s Home-Away-From-Home.

Side note: I am only now at sixty, coming back to the level of knowing and awareness I lived in effortlessly as a child. Of course, as a child, I did not know how effortlessly I moved through life, or that I just knew myself and my power. If I analyzed it, I am sure I could pinpoint the era, or even perhaps the moment where I turned a corner into darkness and lost sight of me. But what would be the point in that?

My darling husband, when I am struggling to choose a path or project, always asks me the same thing, “what will give you the most energy?”   He is right to put it so. It takes enormous energy to life a life that is out of sync with your soul. Anything you expend energy on which does not reciprocate, robs you of your youthful elasticity. It makes you old.

So, I am older. Maybe I am tired to the bone some days from the weight of life. That is only because on those days, I am not awake. I am unconscious, lost in thought. (An interesting phrase when you consider it, ‘lost in thought.’ I mean, that is precisely the condition most of us spend our entire life in, right? We have stories we have made up about who we are, what rolls we play in life, and what things mean. Those become a never-ending narrative that loops in our subconscious uninterrupted unless we intentionally look for a way out!) In that state, I am not choosing. And to be stuck in that loop is such an energy drain. For me it has often been similar to the dream where you are stuck in quicksand trying to run. I know what it is like to be young and free and energetic, so when my thoughts are heavy, when the chemicals my body is creating in response to stress make every move a chore, I know I am not awake. To correct this, I take the necessary moments to escape to my waking dream. I go back to my tree.

My tree was (it still pains me to use that verb) an enormous oak. It had limbs that nearly touched the ground, though they began seven or eight feet up the trunk. I could barely get my arms around the trunk and the limbs where bigger than my torso. Two of them began a foot or so apart and swooped down parallel, one nearly to the ground, the other creating the perfect guiderail so I could jump upon the one and walk up to the trunk where they began, using the other to balance. From there I would climb up one or two limbs higher, depending on which way I wanted to be facing. I can still feel the bark on the palms of my hands, the souls of my feet and the backs of my thighs or on my knees, rough and yet each segment flat and smooth.

I went there to get away from other people and so to be alone, but I was never alone there. Various bugs, a squirrel or two, and any number of small birds would often eventually accept or forget my presence as I settled into whatever I was there to do. Often, I would bring a notebook and pencil to write poems and songs or small stories. Sometimes I would simply sit and listen to the neighborhood. Other times I needed to sing. I took snacks and drinks sometimes and spent hours there, coming down to wander in the field, returning to rest.

The thing about a tree, the thing I knew instinctually but never had to think about, was that they live. They use and create energy. They are connected to all that is via their very cells. They breathe and clean the air. They use and replace nutrients to the soil, and they are home to creatures great and small. This one was home to me and I felt a sense of kinship with all trees though my constant contact with this one.

When I sat for hours in my tree, I often came there with emotions I did not know what to do with. Like every family, mine had some unhealthy dynamics none of us had the capacity to deal with. We were trapped by the mind patterns we each had running, playing off of one another. And so, though we loved each other deeply, we caused one another pain and frustration. So, I ran to my tree, my safe harbor.

My tree, I believe, knew me, sensed my pain, and offered me healing.

I think of that tree often. Years ago, on a trip home to visit my mother, my sister and I drove around to see the places we frequented as children. She warned me that a lot had changed, and though I was sad to see the condition of the house our father had built, I was mortified to see the new owners of the farmland had cut off the bottom limbs of my tree so they could plant the field closer to it. I wanted to bolt from the car, run through the field and throw my arms around it’s trunk in my sorrow. But at that time, I was too proper, too restrained to trust and follow my instincts. Instead, I sat in the back seat of her Jeep with my nose pressed to the window and cried. Today, when I think of it, I feel ashamed. That tree had always been there for me, and there I was, so close, and I was too tangled up in my lack of personal awareness to overcome the imagined awkwardness of my true self. I believe the tree knew I was there.

There are always important side notes to any story. Here is the perfect example.

That farm, that field, that tree… they were never mine. They belonged to Eldon. Eldon was the spirit of that tree. Indeed, of all the land for acres around it. Eldon, and his wife and their home, where my mother’s safe haven, her ‘Swiss Family Robinson’s Home-Away-From-Home Tree house’, when she was a young girl. I was the one to inherit that blessing.

Eldon created a life in that neck of the woods that brought health and happiness and healing and hope to all who were brought there. He was quiet and strong and wise, like that oak tree. He held us and challenged us to grow strong as well.

When I was a young mother, after many a hardship, setback, and trial, I came home to visit. Eldon had cancer and he was in the hospital, so I went to visit him there. I don’t know why I felt so timid and afraid when I stepped into his room. Here was a man who had loved me since I was born, taught me some of life’s most important lessons, and fed me some of the best food for my whole childhood, and I was afraid to go to him when he was suffering.

Perhaps that is what I was afraid of, suffering.

Suffering is negative energy. When it is yours, it surrounds and traps you in. When it is other’s, it reaches out it’s ugly arms to pull you in. It takes a strong man and makes him appear weak.

There are at least a handful of things I regret, that I would not hesitate to go back and undo or re-do if I could.

Most prominent in my heart these days, I would take an interest in my little sister and give her the love and affection she needed. I would include her in my life more and let her come with me to my tree. I would worry less about what other people thought I should do or believe and more about what my daughter’s needed from me personally. And I would go into Eldon’s room there at the hospital, get down on my knees before him where he sat in his chair under the cold window, and thank him. I would brush his soft silver hair back from his eyes, clean his glasses, hold his soft, cool wrinkly hands, and tell him how much he meant to my life.

I can only hope there will be trees in my future with which I can build relationships. I have moved around a lot and often had to live in lifeless places without the luxury of my own trees. I did manage to get back to the country years ago though, and we still have a handful of trees in our little yard, but the two big elms had already been butchered before I arrived. I pat them when I pass and thank them for their sturdy presence and apologize for the treatment they have endured.

There will be no other Eldon for me. But I have been intentionally, persistently, developing myself into the sort of person who can be to someone like I was as a girl, what he was to me. I look to build the sort of relationships that heal and offer stability and hope. More and more I am able to remain awake, aware, intentional. And that gives me energy.

I got that from Eldon and his tree.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Grabbing the golden ring...or, A Return to Brighter Things...

On a cloudy Wednesday...

I am meditating. Or rather, trying to… my mind is bombarded with thoughts
and ideas, and the worries and frustrations I woke up beneath. They feel
rather like the hangover from a dream you don’t quite remember, but bits
of which haunt and tease and linger until you are awake enough to realize,
it was just a dream.

I have been trying to choose a path. For my life, for the day. Just some
direction which feels like there is a good chance of ending up in
a winning place. But these thoughts, and ideas and plans and schemes..
none of them stay or stick, so I feel like I am riding in the boat with
Willy Wonka through that disorienting tunnel . I am desperate for
somewhere to focus my attention and energy and hope. I am desperate for
hope.

I rode on a merry-go-round in the San Diego zoo back in the early ’80s,
and as you went around, there was a golden ring you could try to snag.  I was young then,and strong and had not been damaged nearly as much as I have by now. It was a fun game, an adventure, and of course, I won. I mean, you don’t get to keep the ring. It’s only gold in color anyway.

But today, I am staggering under the effects of so many hits and losses
and a supreme underlying sense of loss and failure. I feel too old to
reinvent myself, too tired, and in a constant state of random chronic pain.
I feel an anxiousness over the state of my mind.

I am an easy target for discouragement.

And there is this woman… this hissing snake...

She stood beside my bed all night and whispered in my ear

“You’ll never do the things you dream,

And besides, your end is near.”

She smiles down as I toss and turn and

Just as morning breaks

A sense of dread lies over me

I’m palsied in its wake

With nothing in my mind to grasp

No hope on which to cling

Poisoned by the devil’s asp

I have no song to sing.

I drag myself throughout the day 

The moments lost to dreaming

To wondering how life got away

Outside the sun’s still beaming.

But in my heart a darkness

I seem powerless to resist

Cloaks me in despair until

I just wish life would quit

When suddenly I notice

A small and flickering light

I crawl my way to where it sits

And try to fan it bright

And I remember, for a moment

That girl who used to dream

Who used to hope, Used to believe

She was made for better things

And as I catch her eye, I find

A surge of power there

And I breathe in deep to pull it in

That drought of pure, fresh air

And it sobers me and sets me straight

It renews my spirit and fire

It causes me to contemplate

The nature of hope and desire

And I laugh with her, this younger me

At the futility of doubt

For she lives as hope inside of me

That I may live without.

Now, I shall meditate, free. Free to breathe, and know that I am choosing.
I am choosing the woman I am. I am choosing the thoughts to let run
through my mind. 

I choose that bright beautiful girl full of hope, innocent to the evils
of the world. I choose to let them be there, if they must, but not
to let them touch my heart. I need it to live.

If I were to go to that old zoo and ride that merry-go-round again, well,
I wouldn’t. I mean, life is a river with eddies and whirlpools that can take
you down, or at the very least have you spinning in one spot and disorienting
you to where the shore is. That is excitement enough, challenge enough.
I am not a fan of randomly engaging in a game of riding a stationary object
in a tight circle where there is likely no prize but dizziness. But, it occurs
to me if I did, and I wanted that golden ring, it might be more direct to just
dismount and walk directly to it. I know, there are rules. That is cheating.
Or is it?

With that thought, I choose to step outside the tight circle, the whirling
vortex of my thoughts and feelings. I choose to employ today’s fresh spark
of hope and let it energize me, so I can shake their tired old filth off,  pick
one golden ring and just head directly for it. Today, I will cheat that asp.
She is a liar anyway. I will do the things I dream.

If I can do this today, and tomorrow, and so on, I should have a pretty nice
stack of golden rings one day! They are symbolic in nature, but I think I will
be able to trade them up for something really amazing!

(The middle pic is of me in 1978... I am wearing a shared jumper from the store that was called Merry-Go-Round!) Hey, Nan!

Wanna be on my team, buddy?

Where shall we go from here?
I would like to have you over for coffee, ask about your plans for life and how you see things going for you.
We could think aloud together and dream up amazing plans and schemes for what you will do with all of your unique gifts and talents.
I really get off on the give and take, the exchange of thoughts and ideas and the opportunity to encourage and equip! If we were having coffee (or tea, God knows I like a good cup of tea!) we could hear each others hearts on the matters at hand. We could hear the fears and hesitations and doubts that snag us, slowing us down as we run by , making us reconsider the paths we've chosen. And since we are together, we would laugh at how they almost got us. Almost... Because when we team up, when we've got each other's backs, we can share the weapons in our arsenals. 
I could show you the little foxes eating your grapes, and then you would know how to reap the harvest you work so hard for. You could use your brilliance to shine a light on the darkness creeping in on my thoughts when the nothing is trying to keep me from running and climbing to reach that high place.
Well, maybe... if you are near me and it seems fitting to do so, we could do just that, for real, with real coffee...
But I am at my desk, alone with my mess and my hopes and my stack of ideas to choose from and a brain filled with chaos.  And you... well, where are you?
Can we make this work? I am offering the few things I know for sure, the many things I have picked up that make sense to me so far, and a huge heart full of hope for us all. I hope we can meet up now and then to lift each other and point out the amazing sights along the way that make us see the possibilities, when so often the world only offers up trouble and discouragement. 
I need you in this. Show me what you've got. I bet its good stuff, and I could sure use it right now!
As Rich says, "Peace, Love, and Parsley"

As a man thinketh...

What is your narrative? (Who wrote your cue cards?)
We all have a story we tell ourselves, about us, about the world, about others... There are key words or phrases, and snapshots of moments where we 'decided' who we are, and what is true about us. 
Often, without  realizing it, we live our daily lives out of this narrative. We put on the costume, and the makeup and we go about our days as the person we believe we are, and we respond to the external cues from a pre-set script.
That is great! If it is a good story... If what we tell ourselves about ourselves is productive, generous, honest.
But, so often, because of events in our past, and who we were at the time they occurred, our narrative is a negative story, where our character is a victim. So, we might perceive an external cue as a slight or an attack, and respond to it from a defensive or yielding stance, without ever actually  having surveyed the scene.
Here is what I am finding out, as I look into why I am so often frustrated with where I am in life.
When things don't go according to my plans, the voice in my head says something like, "oh, yeah, here we go again... nothing ever works our for poor little Robin. Why should she expect to get to..., something always comes along to rob her of ..."
You see? 
And out of that train of thought comes the natural follow-through of, "Why get your hopes up? Its too exhausting, this roller-coaster of Hope-Disappointment, Hope-Disappointment. Why not just coast out in ease? Why dream of great things? You know what will happen. You will work and try and plan, and then all of life will turn and put you back on your ass again. Why bother...?"
You can see how having this guy holding the microphone in a dark corner of your stage, a murky little spot light casting an eerie glow on his pale, bloated face would be disconcerting. You can see why,if you knew he was there, directing you around the stage, you would have an ambient sense of dread, waking up each day to do it all again. (need to look into why my narrator is a he...)
That is the martyr/victim character I have often played by default. But there are so many forms we are practiced at playing. Maybe in the narrative we believe, we are the hero, but in real life we live less than heroic. Not consciously choosing our responses to external stimuli, can effectively make us dishonest with ourselves about how effective we are at our lives, our relationships, our jobs.
I, for instance, on any given day might wake up and 'decide' to embody the character of the martyr, the hero, the victim, the fun girl, the sex pot, the inventor, the best selling author, the champion of downtrodden, super mom or grandma or both... I lead a busy life!
Because this is generally a back story, we are seldom aware of how this default monologue effects our thoughts and actions. How, if we were conscious of it, we might choose a new voice to let guide our thoughts.
And that is what I am working on changing in my life just now.
I look back and I can see, that in my attempt, for instance, to get fit and loose weight, I was simultaneously sabotaging myself with my narrative.
My self-talk was counter productive, because, after so many 'failures', I had begun to believe it was a loosing battle I could never win. What sane person would enter such a battle?! But I am stubborn, so I would start again. I would set my goal (though leave it a little loose so no one (me) could really say if I won or lost.) I would create my plan (though vague enough I had mostly wiggle room.) And then for a good few days I would talk big about it (mostly to myself)and make attempts at exercise, ("That is going to give me a heart attack. My knees can't take that. Two days in a row is fine. Weekends don't count. I'm too broken to treat myself this hard anymore. No-one expects a grandma to be a sporty model.")
And sometimes, because people in life besides you let you down, they are easy scapegoats for your personal shortcomings. "Well, if he spent as much time helping me get fit as he does on his own fitness... Well if they didn't bring food into the house they know I am trying not to eat... Well, if it wasn't so far to the gym... Well, if I had my own pool..."
The problem here, is that when you look at the most amazing people in the world, doing the most amazing things, being the change they want to see in the world, being the most amazing version of themselves, etc... they usually are doing it against all odds!
Yeah, let that sink in. They usually had the deck stacked against them and won anyway. They came from less than functional families or less than ideal circumstances, and so on.
So, maybe they give themselves the winning edge, by purposefully choosing their narrative? Maybe they write their own cue cards?
More and more,I think I am on to something. Something that could change my 'luck' and help me see results in my life, where once there were only disappointments.
As I listen to the podcasts by outstanding folks like Rachel Hollis, Rich Roll, David Goggins, Emily Fletcher, and others, I am picking up on key phrases that dispel the false narratives, that shed light into the dark corners of my thinking, that clarify and validate my true beliefs. 
I am compiling a list, making new cue cards and programming my mind to win, by being pro-active and prepared. Proverbs 23:7 "As a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." The task ahead is to align what I think/know in my heart about myself, and what my mind tells me.
In a future blog, I will share my list for your use...
So, for today, I will leave you with this quote, which I have had on my desk for a while and should have put who said it on the card, but I think Scott told it to me from a book he read...
"This is WAR. Maintain the initiative." 

Missouri here I come...

What's in an address?
We are moving again...
That statement is so packed with positive and negative emotions.
I love my house in Missouri.
I miss my middle daughter and her family a lot!
I miss my mom, and even more so, my sister.
I miss our solid, longstanding friendships that are so comfortable and familiar, yet still so fresh and alive and engaging.
But that's pretty much it.
When we moved to Texas last year, it was like an adventure, an energizing new shot at life as a couple. The only thing I don't love about Texas, is in the 4th-7th lines above.
Plano is expensive, but I feel so at home here and I have made some wonderful new friends.
One of them has since moved to Colorado.
What's in an address?
I live best wherever my love is. And he is going to Missouri.
I am a gypsy, a vagabond at heart. I adore travel! I love to make new connections and connect old friends with new.
So, wherever I lay my head, if we were ever friends, we still are. If I can visit, I sure will! But out of sight, is not exactly out of mind. I still think of and pray for people I have not seen in years.
New adventures and old friends await, and new friends... see ya on the flip side!        This kitchen, I miss!!

Catching cast pods...

2019... forty years since I graduated from Smith-Cotton High School.
I try not to lean on markers for support to do great and courageous things. But I am not going to lie... there is a teenage girl inside of me who longs to be truly known and if not loved, at least appreciated by those who hardly even noticed me then! I am currently harnessing that desire to create growth and change for myself in a rather tough time of life. One tool I have found very helpful, is podcasts. There are some tremendously brilliant people out there with a pure love of others, who give themselves daily to the task of weaponizing the masses to overcome evil and become the best version of themselves! My middle daughter spent the best part of a hard couple of years with headphones on and I thought she was mostly just avoiding me. (Because everything is about me, if you were not aware...) What she was really doing was gathering. She found great voices to talk to her and comfort and educate and entertain her when things in her life were exhausting and she was to weary to engage. She was getting the perspective of people who were out of our physical range of companions, because they took the time to put down in audio sessions, the best ideas they were working with.
Now here is the thing that will make you pity me and laugh...
While I was jealous of the connections she had away from us and the new and exciting thoughts and ideas she was learning, and while I was longing to do the very thing she was doing, I did not. I had actually convinced myself that somehow, I couldn't do it! Oh, the excuses! "I don't carry my phone all the time." "I don't always have pockets on what I wear." "Headphones hurt my tiny ears." (that is actually true, but earbuds are not the only way! See how self-crippling?!)
Now, finally, because my hubby is listening to podcasts to and from work every day and he is engaging me in dialog about all the cool ideas and I finally feel like it is okay to have dreams again, I am in!
Be ware... a lot of the coming blogs will be spawned out of the exciting stuff I am hearing and how it relates to my own life and love and longings and winning the struggle. I hope you will not only read and enjoy what I write to you, but let it spark wildfires in your own life.
Oh, so I have thirty-one weeks to recreate or at least clear the clutter and refresh, before my 40th class reunion. Stronger than single birthdays, anniversaries, New Years, or approaching swimsuit seasons, I believe I have something to tether my flag to in a strong wind in this event! When a nice looking piece of pie sits next to the teapot on RCIA nights, I can look at it and know it is not part of my plan. When I sit at my desk with my back to my Peleton, the vibe it is sending my way in its silent presence becomes, not the accuser I thought it was, but the friend who says, "Hey Buddy! Lets take a spin, 'kay?!"
If you need the sort of friendship and encouragement and accountability that I have in my house, reach out to those near you, who love you and want the best for you.
Or start by listening to Rich Roll podcasts. The February 26 with Tom Bilyeu is good, or the February 5th with Marco Borges' Greenprint, or the Feb 12 with Todd Herman if you are an aspiring artist (adult content caution). But be sure not to miss the January 8 with Zach Bush, if you have any health problems that have you stuck in a pharmaceutical quicksand.
Peace, Love, Pineapples...xo

What an Elephant Forgets by not Forgetting: An Encouragement to Remember You are Free

They say an elephant never forgets…

The way I heard it, it is just the one thing he remembers that has caused this to be an oft used phrase.

When an elephant is small, a chain is put around one back foot, and attached to a peg in the ground. The little elephant is thus trained to remain where it is pegged, even after it becomes a huge creature who could easily pull the peg from the ground.

I thought about that the other day. About how we are tricked, or we trick ourselves, into feeling powerless to move from the tiny spot we are pegged to.

It could be in a feeling we had when we once believed we could pull away and find new adventures, only to be snapped back into place at the end of our proverbial chain by fear, or failure, or others saying we could not go. Maybe we tested that restraint in other areas or in the same area, reaching for a dream or a vision we had. Or maybe we never knew our power and potential and left it go at one try.

Over time, something gets in our heads. A voice that says something to the effect of, “you know you can’t, why try?”

Now, an elephant calf, when captured or born into captivity, has not had the time to build memories of being a wild and free being. He doesn’t know how big and strong he will become. He doesn’t know that there is a whole herd of other elephants who remember him and miss him and could give him the support and protection and encouragement he needs.

In his little circle of grass around the peg, he feels alone.  As he grows, he begins to accept that the trainer and keeper are his pack, that the work they give him to do is his lot in life. He forgets his dreams and hopes of the wild, of the family he longs for.

And so, while a bull elephant who grew up at the end of the chain never forgets that his freedom is limited, what he does forget is how amazingly strong he is. He forgets how gifted he is and how unique among other elephants. He becomes dull and uninterested in life, because his kind have greater emotional depth and wisdom than many humans, and like humans, needs others to feel fulfilled and happy. And so he spends his days doing the few mundane tasks he is compelled to do, and then just sways with the breeze, dragging his wondrous trunk in the dust, lost in thought or not thinking, Feeling sad or not feeling.

When I thought about this the other day, I had a sudden burst of laughter at myself. And a sense of relief and renewed hope. How easily pegged I can be, when I have been given so much with which to obtain and maintain my freedom!

You see, no one has chained me to a peg, but me. Without really realizing it, I had made the choice to let myself be limited by my circumstances. Truth be told, I used them as an excuse to stop pulling at the peg and brake the chain, out of laziness and self-pity. I have been in a season of giving up. My self-talk had become seriously pathetic, and like the Good Father He is, the Lord gave me a gentle slap to bring me to.

That is the inspiration to share my thoughts about what an elephant forgets, that it may give you a slap and a giggle and the lift and force to break a chain or two of your own.  Because, maybe you are not where you want to be. Maybe, like me, you had hopes and dreams of certain outcomes, and they have slipped out of your grasp. Or maybe, like me, you find yourself sort of floundering in a whirlpool without the energy or direction to pull out and swim upstream.

Whatever the case may be, I encourage you, remember. 

Find a quiet place to spend a few minutes or a few hours alone, recollecting. I like that word, recollecting. It brings up a picture of treasure strewn about, some hiding under things and nearly lost, and me gathering them all back together, collecting them, again. Now with them all before me, I can consider their worth. Maybe I have held on to some that no longer have value to me. Or maybe they never had and now I am in a place to recognize that. And then, among the bits and bobs I may find forgotten treasure of great worth! Maybe I have never seen it in this light before, or maybe it is a thing I have held onto for that some day when I could finally take it out and put it to good use.

Maybe today is that day.

Do you have a talent or a special gift that you don’t use? (Notice I did not say that you don’t, get to use. I find myself whining at times that I don’t get to write, when the truth is, I just don’t write.) Whatever it is that the Lord has given you to use, use it. If it is love, then love. If it is song, then sing. If you are a gifted hostess, have a party! (Social media has made us less social. We need to actually get together!) Maybe you have the gift of compassion. In nursing homes and hospitals all around you, there are hurting and lonely people longing for someone to just sit with them and listen. A plate of warm cookies can go a long way to comfort a grieving friend or neighbor.

I know, there are real limits to our freedom. We only have so much time, or so much money. We have obligations, etc., but these are some of the things to really consider. Can/should some of them be cast off? Who or what is compelling obedience to a certain task, or denying us a certain liberty? Sometimes we chain ourselves to a small spot to feel safe. Sometimes we cripple those we serve when we do not recognize they no longer require the level of devotion we have given.

 I am not suggesting we don’t care for our families or pay our bills, but even in those areas we could possibly be more creative how we do them, in order to buy the time to learn a new skill or use a gift we would enjoy giving. I like what Scott Adams says in his book, “How to Fail at Almost Everything and Still Win Big”… which is an amazing by the way… that (and I am paraphrasing a whole chapter) we are obligated to take care of ourselves first, so that we are fit to care for others. We are more delightful to be around, when we are satisfied with how we are spending our lives. So like Scott says, there is a sort of selfishness that is appropriate to being a generous person as a whole.

Conversely, there is a certain amount of guilt of sin that comes along with not being a good steward of the gifts that we were given. This creates an ambient level of unhealthy stress in our lives, which in turn can make us crabby or sad and depressed or even angry. There is no pill for this but action.

I don’t know specifically what anyone but me has to act on to forget the limiting chain and remember what a wide, wild, world there is to explore and relish each day.  What I do know is this. Every single one of us has at least one thing to give that no one else can give in exactly the same fashion. And not a single one of us can find true fulfillment if we do not invest those gifts in those around us. If you will look, you will find that the dreams and longings we have correlate with the talents and gifts we have.

As for me, I have to create. I have to obey the force inside of me that is always dropping pictures and ideas and poems and songs in my heart. I never stop thinking of how to help and heal and tickle and move and provoke with words and song and food and pictures and engaging in stimulating conversation about everything and nothing! Not acting on those things is maddening!

I look now at my chain, my peg in the ground, and I see it for what it is, a hoax. With one deep breath and a little focused determination I can yank that sucker out of the ground and take off at a steady pace toward the life I know I need.

It’s not Monday, or New Year’s Day, or my birthday, or any other marker I would usually need to convince myself it’s a good day to start anew. It’s just an average raining Thursday.

It’s a great day to do something wild and satisfying, and beat a new path to freedom.

Find your herd and live wild! xo

well, i did it! 50,222 words in November!

Here are a few of my favorite...   

in case I hadn't mentioned, the story I chose to tell this year is Scott's and my love story. how we got from start to where we are now. just prior to the following exerpt I have brought in and decorated that tree with several of the wonderful people we have been blessed to share parts of our lives with... here goes-----

Again, you may ask, how does any of this have anything to do with the promised love story of Scott and Robin?

Here is what I believe about that. Everything. Life is about how we connect with other lives. If we are fortunate enough to have many people touch our lives, we are the most fortunate, as they all come and go and pass by trailing laughter and tears for us to share, that there be one person who remains. One person in whom you feel you are home. Wholly loved, cherished, forgiven over and over and adored. One person who encourages you to be your best. One person whose spirit and soul and body fit yours and serves to recharge you when the world takes more than its share. One person whose laughter fills your need for the far off sounds of your heavenly home. One person whose tears draw from you the memory of your own pains and sorrows and longings, and binds you together that you might not be lost and alone on your journey home.

But all these other people? They are reflections and songs and energy and light along the way. They bring the pain that moves you toward or away from a path. They are the joy that beckons when you are lost in a dream and forgetting to trudge on.

I am not a huge sports fan, in the sense that I often have little to no idea what is happening, or what rules are in play. But I love to be at a game of any sort. I love to watch the people, to feel the shared excitement and expectation and hope. But my favorite? The Wave at a Cardinals game! You’ve seen it. At some moment chosen by a felt need, a handful of people rise from their seats and lift and lower their arms in a flowing motion like the raising and dropping of an elephant’s trunk. Someone nearby spots it and joins in, and before it has moved half way around the stadium, nearly everyone becomes part of this fluid wave of bodies, speaking silently to the team on the field, “we are with you.”

If you could watch from above as in a time lapsed shot of the blooming and dying of a single flower, I imagine that is what we look like to God. Or, like the lichen growing on a rock or coral under the sea. A symbiotic life connected one to another by moments and “coincidence and accidents.” 

We come in on the scene and we find and loose and find one another, grasping and shoving away, swaying together as if one with the wave that moves us.

In this scenario, Scott would be the rock I cling to. No, that is Jesus. 

But Scott’s heart and mine are so connected, that when one of us dies, the other will likely soon follow.

This month is National Novel Writing Month, and this year I have chosen to write about the love story that is mine and Scott's. When you read it, and I hope you will, you will find, not just a bunch of mush, but the saga of a couple who have been through some shit and are closer than ever.
My working title has been, Return to Love, for reasons you will understand when you have finished the book. But it just occurred to me a fun name might be, It Starts with Cake. (See photo!) I may use that to do a fiction piece about the same story, for those who can't enjoy a historical account of some amazing lives. But that's not you.
So, see the blog I will post later in the day with some chosen clips from my finished rough draft. But for now, I must get cracking! 8000 words left to complete my challenge and get my badges! Go Me!

The girl that I have left behind to be the gal I’m now

Has given up the pony and the Cessna and the plow

Has tried to be the one you want

Has willed her to conform

To what the world expects of her

To something close to norm

Still inside desire rages

To burn with passioned fire

To fuel and feed the inner need, to swim in mad desire

The girl of dreams and passions, now a woman quite subdued

But such intensive energy to this pull off, is used

And so she must imbibe to find or rather somehow loose

The fierce and fighting woman who is strangled by the noose

 Of modern thought and civil tongue and proper frame of mind

And so the gal her holy girl, has had to leave behind

But set upon me, stoke the flame, and brother you will see,

The holy fire an ember still

Alive inside of me

There is always a poem adrift in my soul

A word or a phrase, just a part, not the whole

Alert, waiting feelings, impressions or clues

What I am to me or what you am to you.

I think in parade songs, in lyric and rhyme

But I try to translate to

Fit in with the time.

 I try not to singsong

My thoughts, words, or feelings

For the sensible man is left

 His head reeling,

When quite unexpected I break into song

Where lyrics and movie lines don’t quite belong

In pleasant conversation

They sound quite absurd

My disguise is lost, I’m revealed as a nerd

Of greatest proportions and amply supply

When iambic pentameter soars to the sky.

Oh why bother? I wonder, the struggle is real,

In a world of keep cool, when I feel how I feel!

That the world is a wonder and I wonder why

Everyone is not smitten to rhyme and sing, oh fly!

Priority Two And Four

Will the floors, once swept, stay spotless?
Will small hands let neat things be?
No, but small eyes filled with wonder
Are the best through which to see!
Will these tired bones so weary
Ever get their fill of rest?
No, but playing on the floor with
Two and Four, is quite the best!
In the ever shrinking hours
Between awake and half asleep
Will the dishes once stay done?
No, but dishes, they will keep.
For I'm watching Two and Four
And they're escaping childhood's bliss.
So before I give a care for clean
I'll give them each a kiss!

Returning I Find

Was This March?

This blank page looks familiar!

I must have thought of SOMETHING!

But, as often is the case, apparently, something else happened!

Actually, a lot of something else's........

Some worth mentioning.......

A lot of bubble blowing, pool splashing, garden working, movie watching, wine drinking...

Some, well, lets let them pass without note for now....

But hey!  July is coming, and it is Hot!!

So! More bubbles and pool splashing, and wine!

Peace Out!

Because He Lives, in Oh! Gee! Minor

 

 

 

The Body Beside

If I should wake

in darkest night

from outward terror

or inward fright

and lay in breathless

creeping dread

suspecting you

or I were dead

long moments pass

(as seconds seem)

when captured in

a haunting dream

if you but breath

I've often found

it takes no more

to turn all 'round

from certain and

impending doom

to resting safely

in our room