some thoughts about baking and competition

I have been invited to a cookie exchange... and just like when I go to a pot luck, or I bring something special to a party, the desire to outdo myself is strong... So I have decided to make my grandmother's recipe for three-part cookies... the cut-out kind. The decorated kind. The hours of labor kind, because I will become caught up in the decoration (I'm thinking about using a teeny paint brush for detail).

When I am done here, I will begin frosting. Hopefully I will be finished in a couple hours.

I'm not much of a baker. I am really not much of a cook. Oh I have my good meals. I make a killer salad that will stand up against any fine dining offering... but for the most part you will find me eating and cooking brown rice with some steamed veggies most of the time.

But when I am expected to bring something to share with others I find myself going a little overboard. I pull out my cookbooks, check my ingredients, head for the organic section of the market. I want to make something wonderful, something unusual, something that will delight my audience.

The audience, however, almost always prefers chocolate chip cookies, or mashed potatoes, or macaroni and cheese.

My daughter has the same problem. I have told her we need to seek counseling... or at least call each other when we are expected to bring a dish for a group of folks who we may not know that well. We need to remind each other that what we do well, and with ease, is what we should be doing... and that we probably should not care quite so much. Because what we are seeking is some kind of approval. Approval from really nice people who just do not know that this is my grandmother's recipe... who do not care too much how beautiful the cookies look... who do not delight in the rather crunchy-crumbly texture and the subtle sweet of the almond flavored frosting. They like chocolate.

I think I feel my most competitive in this spot where I really do not excel. But I feel nearly driven to be the super baker, the wonder chef, at least once or twice a year... and the entire time I scold myself for trying so hard.

I only have to take three dozen to the exchange, though... that will leave four dozen for my family, who I can poke if they do not show the proper appreciation for my efforts.

walking where the path leads

there is something about a path that calls to me
something about an up hill grade, a few rocks
a cloudless sky
that beckons

some folks need a road map
they need to know
where the turns will be
how many speed bumps
they will encounter

me
I just need sturdy boots
and my hiking poles
and a place to start

what is coming
is coming
whether I can see it up ahead
or not

so you will find me
just walking wherever the path
leads

rain has come to the desert

I have been praying for rain for over a month. A nice day long soaker that would wash all the dust off, that would knock all the pollen from the air... and today we got it. My whole body is sighing.

After a morning of gathering clouds, the rain started in earnest around 1 pm and by 1:30 the lights began to flicker at school. When the power finally went out for good, I taught art class with the door open, so a little light could come in. The power went on and off for a while and then around 2 it went out all together. The kids were so excited... rain is such a wonderful change here. They longed to go out and run in it... to get wet... to scream and squeal... and as the final bell rang, they had their chance as we shepherded them out the doors and to the waiting buses and cars. There I was, bundled, with an umbrella, telling them to stay out of the puddles and there they were laughing and dancing trying so hard to make a great splash without being scolded. They were so happy and so was I. I could not be too harsh in the face of such joy.

I just spoke to my daughter... the boys had just come in from running through puddles... W. got on the phone and told me all about it.... K. said she was freezing, but the boys didn't seem to be cold at all... she has a turkey in the oven and is about to put in the squash, so her kitchen should be toasty. I am thinking about a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup... my family's version of comfort food. I recall it was the traditional no-meat-Friday meal.

I am so glad it is Friday. I am so thankful it is raining. I hope it keeps up all night long.

advent

On Sunday, after days of searching, I got a new library card. Today I found my old one... right where it was supposed to be, right where I had looked and looked. The librarian told me when she took my $2.00 fee that I would find my old one.

Advent begins on Sunday. For several years I have tried to keep this season sacred, hoping to not get too caught up in the commercial hustle bustle.

Advent is a time that begins in shadow and ends in the joy of rebirth. The Christian tradition begins the season with the Israelites in exile and ends it with the hope and promise of a new life. It is the time of the year when the days become shorter and shorter until the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice on December 22.

This year I am going to try to post every day of the advent. I am going to use as my guide, Night Visions by Jan Richardson. Maybe you would like to join me.

five really good things

1. I am sitting here, in my cozy home with a nice glass of Black Mountain Shiraz enjoying my favorite blogs.
2. The second graders finished up their gingerbread men... we cut them out of construction paper, and the last two days they have been making clothes for them paper-doll style... they loved doing this... all while listening to my Funky Christmas Mix given to me a couple years ago by my daughter Liz. The kids danced about as they worked. I love when art and creativity can be this much fun.
3. I went to see my cranial sacral guru today. Oh, what a piece of heaven that one-hour session was.
4. I got to wear my olive vintage wool sweater with the shell buttons today. It always lifts my spirits when the weather permits the wearing of a sweater.
5. I did not run out of gas on the way home. Whew! It was really a close one though.

taking pictures

Today, I have been practicing taking pictures. The one above is W. and I making brandy balls... a sure sign that Christmas is right around the corner. His mom took the picture. As you can see, he was goofing around.

I moved my basil into the sun yesterday. In the summer I need to keep it in a place where it does not get burnt, but it is late November... and the shadows are getting long. Even after a few hours, it is really perking up.

A necklace I finished yesterday. I am still in my 'use up the odds and ends' phase. These pieces are what is left of a necklace I made for a friend of mine.... coppery sparkle throughout. (see the strap from my camera dangling down... need to clean that up.

I took this picture outside on a piece of blue construction paper. I made this bracelet a couple years ago. It is one of my favorites and when I open my etsy store, this is probably the type of bracelet I need to do.

This is the type of bracelet I have been making the last couple weeks. These are for a craft sale, and I have discovered that price really matters there. This bracelet will run around $6. Worn alone it looks lovely and delicate, but when worn with two or three others it has movement and texture. Something I like.

Another bracelet... this one with silvery foil wrapped glass beads and one cast bead of green.

A couple more beaded bracelets ... and a camera strap...

Last, Mediterranean blue sea glass strung on jute and ribbon... beautiful weight and color, but the picture, I think, is too blue. I think I need a different background here.

Oh, and check out the new photo of me... I wanted you to see my longer, fuller hair... but what I feel like you see is saggy skin and droopy eyes...

I will keep trying.

how we live

picture by ueli bula artbula.ch

I love this picture. It is on a card I purchased at a shop in Geneve last March. I love the white line of quartz that connects the weather-worn stones. It reminds me of who we are. Separate entities who, in time, get all our rough edges worn away. Separate, but connected by the same vein.

I collect rocks, I am very particular about what I choose. Most need to fit within the palm of my hand. All need to show evidence of water, wind and sand at work. Many have veins like the ones you see here... I have always been drawn to these straight crystal lines.

I have been thinking about moving. Selling my townhouse and buying a house near to my youngest daughter. It feels like a practical choice and one that I am increasingly at peace with. I would be more able to lend a hand with the boys, and as I age, she would be nearby to support me. There are a few houses in her neighborhood on the market... and one, in the next block, is of interest to me.

I am still in the "thinking about it" stage... one of my criteria is, if I uproot myself from this townhouse I'm comfortable in, then I want the house to be the way I want it. Garage. Split bedrooms. Open floor plan. Studio. This little house does not have those things... but I think it could have them with a little remodeling.

The other day I picked up a Tucson magazine that showed a house just like I would want. Since seeing the article my mind has begun to chunk along, dreaming of where I would put the garage, the studio, how I could knock out walls and open up doors. I haven't done anything concrete, like see the house, or find out about costs... I am just dreaming.

So yesterday, while at my parents, I started to tell my mom about the magazine and how the rooms looked, and my dad tells me that Bill W., a friend of his, said that if I moved near my daughter I would turn into a cheap babysitter and I wouldn't have a life... and I said, I don't have a life now... and he got quiet and said, no, I guess you don't.

This moved into questioning by my mom about whether I thought I would ever get married again...

But you know, I do have a life. It is just not the life of a couple.

I understand them. I understand their hopes and dreams for me. I know they want to see me safe and "settled"... don't I feel the same way about my own kids?

But I think that in past generations, families lived close together, and that the unit superseded the individual. In my dad's family I watched my great grandmother live with her daughter for over twenty years. I saw my grandmother give herself to her husband when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

Since the morning I first held my eldest daughter in my arms, I was smitten. Family, I think it is all important to me.

Sure, there are still lots of things I would like to do. And there are still people I would like to meet. A friend of mine asked me if I would be interested in going to Machu Pichu with her in a couple of years, and I have a class reunion next July. My friend Kel and I are moving in the direction of entrepreneur-ship. So there is lots coming up that is filled with adventure and possibility.

But my life is not so much about what I do anymore, as it is about how I live where I am. I think this is the quartz vein that runs through me. The vein of family. The vein of connection. The vein of love, hope and joy.

p.s there is a robin sitting in the pine tree outside my window. while I have seen robins in Arizona, I have never seen one in Phoenix. Cool!

just a few things I am thankful for today

Pete, who only ate the whipped cream, chocolate chips and cherries off his kiddie pancake at IHOP.

William, who told me he was climbing "just like Daddy".

My cluttered desk, filled with ideas, scraps of color I find interesting, six broken pencils, one confiscated toy, and things to grade. See the green notebook... that is where the lesson plans are.

My classroom, my own little kingdom of creativity. Now with much better light.

and tempera paint.

and you Liz. And Mom and Dad. And Katie & Will.

comfort zone

Today in church, the minister was talking about what we remember, culturally. She said some folks don't really know who the Beatles were, lots of people can't tell you anymore where they were the day John Kennedy was shot, and almost no one knows the words to "Hey Paul, Hey Paula". And while she was talking, my mind did a little walk-about and I began thinking about comfort zones.

I think I have lost mine.

A couple years ago a woman I know, who had been recently and rather bitterly divorced, told me she was looking for a man her age, her faith, who was looking for his soul mate... while I told her gently, that I would keep my eyes open...I scoffed at her naivete. I wanted to tell her to get that silly notion out of her head. I recall I thought about the potential "soul mates" I had met in my 20+ years of divorced single life, and that the more "soul mate" like they seemed, the more disappointed I was when things fell apart. I remember thinking life was better, less disappointing, if you let the criteria be a bit looser... if you were willing to compromise a bit and accept a lesser mate.

My youngest daughter has this rather detailed description of the kind of female friends she would like to have. It will be tough finding the right person who will fit. She is a young stay-at-home-mom. She is looking for another young stay-at-home-mom who likes what she likes. It seems so little to ask, and yet meaningful connection has got to be the single hardest thing to find.

The divorced woman, my daughter, only want to find their comfort zone. They only want to find shelter in shared experience. I was wrong thinking that a near fit was better than no fit. Like a cute pair of shoes that rub blisters into your feet, a connection that only partially works finally needs to be set aside. Sure we have friends, relationships, that only work in certain places. I once told a woman that I had one-hour friends, two-hour friends, day-long friends and entire weekend friends. I even have a two week vacation friend. They are great people. I value them completely and need them in my life. But today, and maybe even last week, as I longed for a class-reunion, I am longing for more. I want to find my comfort zone... that perfect place where I can settle in and say, "ahhh."

Right now, my only hope is that my comfort zone is searching for me, too.

when I know it is all bigger than I am

In the last week or so I have been feeling pretty good... I have this little smile... I have been remembering to say "thank you" to God and the Universe... I have been feeling creative (I made six bracelets this morning! Oh, my!)...and I am still furiously knitting away on the scarf. I have been browsing the etsy site at lunch every day, and I feel this excitement building because of that, and my business cards, and this outrageous feeling of possibility that has overtaken me.

Anyway, while all this near-euphoria has been going on, I have been driving myself to work and working, of course, and allowing my mind to wander...and in the midst of this wandering, my mind has said to me at least twice, that I needed to contact the one and only person from high school that I still know, Steve, and tell him we need to have a reunion... it has been forty-one years and no reunion... and I am ready. I have actually thought, "why haven't we had a reunion?"... honest, it has been a reoccurring thought in the last several days... and one that I really never had before... and today I get, tucked in a pile of junk mail, a card telling me that the class of 1967 is planning a reunion on July 12, 2008.

I am supposed to go.

I have had this kind of thing happen to me before. This thinking about something or someone and then to have that thing happen or that someone call. I know that this is not an accident or coincidence. I know that I need to pay attention to what is happening, even though I have no idea what to expect. What a wild ride we are on.

So, Illinois in July. People I have not seen in forty years. Could be a little stressful. I need to become serious about abs.

You know, this is meant to be... that is what I think anyway... and that thought both comforts and alarms me...

scrap yarn

Last night I started this scarf from odds and ends, left-over yarn. The pattern is one I found in the Last Minute Knitted Gifts book. It is called a mistake rib. You cast on an odd number of stitches and then knit two, purl two, until you get to the end and then you just knit (or purl) one, turn and begin the k2,p2 pattern again... and what you get is this really defined but textural rib. I am doing two rows of solid and one of the multi.

I love it! As I am watching the texture and the color roll out I am wondering what this stitch would look like in a hat... a sweater.... a vest.

Plus, look at this picture! Taken with my old camera but set on the "tulip". I really held myself as still as possible, because I do think I have some problems in that department and then, when I up-loaded it to my computer I lightened it up. I think it looks pretty good.

what I learned today

If you hand out four brand new business cards and act like you really are that person some folks will take you very seriously.



A macro lens is a camera lens for very close shots... but that I can set my 35mm to get the same thing and that many digitals can be programmed to take macro photos. Now all I need to do is do a little experimenting and maybe ask for professional help.



Some folks who sell on etsy do not have cameras any better than the one my daughter was critical of... but I want a better one now, anyway.



If you tell the 8th graders that anyone who does not complete the assignment will get no higher than a D in the class, that they all get quiet and busy. Now why did I not do that before?!?



The patterns in Last Minute Knitted Gifts by Joelle Hoverson could possibly take me until next Christmas to finish.



Because of my eldest, I am now recieving the Urban Outfitters catalogue... and there is a sweater in it that has a vertical cable knit with an assymetrical button closure. Very interesting. I wonder if I could knit something like that using scrap yarn?

While walking early this morning I saw Casiopia and both dippers and, last, the small smile I have carried around all day is still sitting right here on my lips.

ps. I am just goshing with you, Lou, on the critical criticism...

end of a three-day-weekend

Ahhhh! this has been the best. Three glorious days to just be me.

Lately I revel in my off-time. I have fallen absolutely in love with staying home, the sun coming in the window, the clean clothes hanging on the line... the sitting at my table and playing around with beads or sitting on the sofa watching TV and knitting up scarves from scrap yarn....

Scrap yarn scarves are a bit of long shot... I have really no idea how they might turn out... but I am knitting away, letting the process take the lead. Right now I am working on one that is all shades of purple with this creamy bit thrown in... hideous combination... but in the end it might just be okay. I am tackling my stash of beads the same way... just stringing and knotting and combining. Not thinking much, just doing. For right now this seems to be exactly how I need to handle this creative push I feel I am in.

I cleaned out a basket of yarns this afternoon... all ends of skeins, left-overs from projects... maybe I should make a sweater. One that is solid at the bottom but one that turns into crazy stripes near the shoulder area. I checked out a couple knit books from the library. One, The Twisted Sisters Knit Sweaters by Lynne Vogel, takes a very creative approach to the sweater. It even shows how to change the pattern from a horizontal knit to a vertical. Vertical stripes might be nice too.

Anyway, I am having fun and I am producing things... I am saying for my etsy shop... but I need to purchase a camera. My daughter, who was critical of my knives (poor knives) has told me I need to do something about the camera I use. Oh well, one thing at a time.

Dang! I have to go back to work tomorrow... and just when I was beginning to have some fun.

perhaps opportunity knocks

It has been quite a week so far. Monday began a new rotation of kids coming into my classroom and by Monday at 3:30 pm I knew I would have my hands very full for the next ten days.

I teach art. The truth is I love to teach art. I like to think up the projects, I like to break them down into small teachable parts, I like to see how different students find different solutions for my assignments... I like it when things do not turn out as I had hoped, but better... or at least surprisingly different. I like tempera paint and construction paper... but what I do not like is the struggle. The struggle to get kids to just be quiet, to listen to instructions the first time, the struggle to get them to care one little bit about what they are doing. I do not like the rudeness. I do not like having to arm myself with discipline plans and strategies every day. I do not like calling parents telling them their child is not behaving. I don't like it. Not one bit.

Yesterday in a meeting, Richard, the art teacher's link to the West Valley Arts Council mentioned that there was a demand for private lessons in the valley and that if any of us were interested in starting a small business we should let him know.

And I thought, "I had business cards made up last week."

Opportunity. Are you knocking on my door?

artandspiritbead

Kelly called and got me out of bed early this morning. Her mind had been churning since four a.m. and she wanted to meet for coffee... she had things to tell me... she had assignments for me... so I pulled myself out and met her at AJ's patio for a cup of joe and a kutchen.

She was brimming with ideas! Perhaps all this energy was coming from the chakra cleansing she had the day before... perhaps she was just experiencing a power surge... whatever it was she had a list of to-do's and some of them were for me.

She told me I needed to get business cards by the end of the week, I needed to write a one paragraph profile again by the end of the week, and I needed to develop a mock brochure. I also needed to check with Kinkos about printing brochures and check on an Etsy store.

I get all this before 8 a.m.... I am not experiencing a power surge. I am feeling more like I am dragging myself out of a deep well. I smile, I agree, but I can tell that my level of excitement is not meeting hers.

The rest of the day begins to roll out... a trip to my daughter's to help her with a craft project that has her stumped, a quick jaunt to the Goodwill (they were having a half price sale... I bought this beaded thing for the beads), a drive around the block looking to see what is for sale in her neighborhood, then to the gym mostly for the pool and the steam room... back home, a load of laundry, a salad for dinner and finally I sat down and designed and ordered business cards, set up a business related e-mail and began the process of defining who I am.

My business e-mail is artandspiritbead@gmail.com

trying too hard

I think I am trying too hard. A sure sign of this is when I continue to slam into the same wall over and over again... or when I wake up at 3 a.m. with a new strategy for an old problem... or when I get this little sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I am not really being true to myself.

I was once told, while finding my way into meditation that I needed to quit trying. I remember I said, "I am trying to quit trying!" and how we all laughed at the answer... and then one day I did. And it was wonderful.

So all day today I have been whispering to myself that I need to quit trying. I need to attend to myself and live in just the moment. I need to let go of other peoples notions of who I am... I need to let go of my notions of who some people are... or could be, if I just worked at them a teeny bit more. I need to just breathe. I need to seek that spacious space where stuff just works out, and I don't have to dink with it.

Damn, why is this so hard? Why is just living so damned hard? Why is just letting go so slippery, so difficult to just relax into?

When I quit trying before, I told people it was as simple as stepping off a curb. And it was. It is the getting there that is difficult. It is even knowing that there is a curb to step off of. It is knowing that the step is just that far. A little step. A baby step. A safe step.

We get so caught in trying. It seems such a noble pursuit. We are asked to give a bit more, try a little harder, to be passionate about our jobs, relationships, beliefs... all of this striving to be just a little more... and it is complete bunk.

Anyway, for at least tonight, I quit! I am done with trying... at least until the next time.

we need to talk

Years ago, on my Mom and Dad's bookshelf, sat a book titled Friends and Lovers. It had been my Aunt Jane's book, which meant when I read it in high school it was already thirty years old... written sometime in the early 30's.

Friends and lovers... those things we seek, but only occassionally find. Making genuine connections feels like the single most challenging thing in the world to me... and the single most important.

On Friday, I spent the evening with a friend where we listened and talked, and talked and listened... trying to make sense, find clarity, see a path. We talked about jobs, dreams, the relationships we found ourselves in and the relationships we see slipping away.

I thought of a conversation I had with another friend a couple of years ago. He told me of a couple who opened a yoga studio that turned to him when their business began to flounder. He said he had asked them to develop a business plan, and was surprised when they resisted. They did not believe that living their passion required a business plan. Pat told me that this was one of the biggest stumbling blocks for a new business... I think it is a stumbling block in relationships, too.

Friday, I told K. this story and told her that one of the best parts of my long-gone marriage was that we were partners... certainly in business, but also in the way we approached our marriage. I had a real sense of where we could go, of what the possibilities were. The fact that the marriage failed had nothing to do with that initial agreement, and I find myself, twenty-five years later grieving what might have been had the glue not gone.

We need to talk... don't you just hate those words? I do. I hear those words coming from my mom, or worse, my dad... or Lori, my boss... and I just cringe! We-need-to-talk means that I am somehow in trouble, that I might be scolded, and that I will be clearly at a disadvantage in the discussion, yet I have said to people I am trying to build a relationship with that we need to talk... and we do need to talk. So how do we get to those essential conversations in a non-confrontational way? How can we talk in a way that gives both parties equal power?

I think we need a business plan... or at least an order-of-business plan and here is my suggestion pulled in part from the Small Business Administration's web site.

I. Introduction
A. Definition of who we are now
B. Objectives
C. Mission statement
D. Keys to sucess - or how we messure success

II. Ownership
A. History
B. Strategy and Implementation

III. Management plan
A. Personal plan

IV. Financial plan

I don't know if this will work. I don't even know if it should work... but this I do know, I would benefit from entering a conversation with some of these guidelines and maybe someone else would too.

hump-day

Today I snuck out of school a bit early and...

got a flu shot - ouch! but now I can thumb my nose at some of those pesky viruses

went to Borders and bought a CD.... Jesca Hoop... Kismet... I like it as much as I thought I would...wonderful voice... on the front of the case was a sticker that said listening to this CD was like swimming in a lake at night... hmmm, to me that would just be creepy... but it does have this haunting lightness

made my appointment with my spiritual director and told her all about the things that scared me that I cannot do anything about but throw myself at the feet of Jesus... or do as Anne Lamott... write little notes and stuff them in glove boxes and drawers and between the cracks of the wailing wall - maybe I really should make prayer flags. But then I told her about the things that are really wonderful, like making three necklaces, a bunch of bracelets, a knit hat, a scarf, finding the perfect location for my studio, and reconnecting with some old friends.

met up with my walking group and race walked down the street, then turned back so I could amble along with them a bit.

Only two more work days until the weekend.

smells

I have a funny smell in my house... kind of like a pepper smell... black pepper... and I cannot figure out where it is coming from.

I have sniffed in my refrigerator, taken out all the trash, sniffed down my garbage disposal, sniffed the coffee grounds and the grinder(I grind pepper corns into my coffee... neat taste) but no smell there... I have wondered if it is residual scent left over from spraying a bunch of bug spray under the sink (I need to clean under the sink, you know the once every five years cleaning and I want everything dead) but I don't think it is that...

The smell is peppery, but it also reminds me of the apartment building where my great grandmother lived.... or maybe a room full of very old books... maybe an old book smell...

But I cannot find it, I cannot vanilla candle it away or blow it out by opening up all the windows... it is not a bad smell, just different...

Tuesday

Jerry, my brother in law pronounces it Tooooosdi…. One of the things that I like about him.

Today I was at Kate’s at 8 am… she was cleaning a house, Will was riding his bike to work. I was supposed to take the boys to story time at the library at 10. The day before they got a load of rock for the back yard … I was planning on helping with that too. Will mentioned, as he was leaving that the washer was full of diapers if I felt like hanging them… so when he was safely off, I located the laundry basket and began to hang a full washer load of diapers.

So, here I am hanging diapers and Pete is pulling things out of the basket and handing them to me… which seems like help except his rhythm did not match my pace… and William was playing with some bricks on the patio… I heard one drop and said over my shoulder, “be careful you might pinch your finger.” Of course he told me he was careful…then I heard another topple, and I said, “if you bump your finger I do not want to hear crying” he scowled at me… so anyway, he did bump his finger and he did cry and the crying lasted a long, long time… longer I am certain than the pain in his finger….. so I said, “lets go get ice-cream before we go to the library.” What a great grandma I am.

So sorry old William sup-supped (Bill Cosby, Why is There Air? album) all the way to the nearest McDonalds where both he and Pete had a cone. After the cone everyone was in great spirits, so off we went to story time. My cell phone rang in the library and I got a bit of a frown from one of the librarians, but we finished up checking out four books and three kiddie DVD’s and headed home for lunch… and yippee! Mom was home.

After lunch we went outside… Kate and I were going to move a bit of that rock before nap time… but it didn’t take too long for K. to realize she had locked us all out of the house. She tried all the windows, mumbled a few less than motherly words under her breath and then went across the street to a neighbors and called her husband… she ended up getting on her bike and meeting him half way to get a key that would let us in… I sat on the patio and played… it was a nice break.

In the end we moved all the rock we wanted to the back, killed two black widow spiders, and heaved a big football shaped rock out of the ground and out into the yard for further consideration. We stood an admired our good work and chatted about what to do with the considerable pile that is still left.

My left arm hurts. I need Advil and ice. This body is not accustomed to shoveling rock… but you know, I had a really nice day.

five things i can't live without

today I unraveled a shawl I had been knitting... things were getting odd and I needed to rethink the whole process... look at the pieces... maybe plan a bit more....

I have no trouble doing this anymore... stopping midway and saying, well this is not coming out as I want, and just ripping it all out and starting over. except I did not start over, not yet anyway. I have been reading instead... a light read, five things i can't live without, by Holly Shumus... a book about some fictitious girl who could be any number of girls or women I know... a book that is in some ways about me...

anyway, I'm thinking about the book, and my bio, and marketing, my dreams and this shawl.... unraveled, laid out on my living room floor, waiting to be taken up and knit together.

when do you begin being who you are?

time-clutter

When I was taking my coursework for a certificate in spiritual direction whole classes were devoted to the issue of busy-ness... it for me is like time-clutter... and I have been feeling it for several weeks now.

My days begin early, 4:15, when I get up and go walk. After that I meditate for a half an hour, then I get ready to go to work. Shower, eat, make my lunch, pack my bag, brush my teeth. Believe me, the time is finely tuned and the least little thing can throw my morning routine off and I am late getting out the door.

I leave the house at 7 a.m. and by 7:45 I am walking into my classroom... from there the day becomes a blur as I move from class to class, issue to issue, duty to duty. I am not complaining. I mostly like what I do, I often find it interesting and I think I am good at it. But in the last few years I have become pretty clear on one thing. It is not my life.

I am getting home by 5:30 most days... an improvement over last year by about an hour... but because I carpool, I often don't feel I leave my job until I walk into my house and close the door. And once home, I find myself moving from one task to the next until about 7:30 p.m. when I finally feel I can sit and find a path back to centeredness.

The weekends fill up too, mostly with good things, stuff I want to do... but filled none the less.

Here is the thing. My best time to work is from 7 in the morning to about 3 in the afternoon. Before that I need time to move and time to meditate, after that I need time to move and meditate. So all this creative energy is being used in the classroom which is not my life.

The other day, another teacher came into my room. I have known for a while that art is important to her. She told me the same thing I have just told you. She sees it out there, she longs for it, but she cannot see how to push open a space between job and family and obligations.

Today is the beginning of a two week break (I know, great time off) and I see the possibility of a couple of days spent in my little room/studio... I need to schedule that time now. I need to write it on my calendar. Barb's Day. Otherwise the time will slip.

Spaciousness. Spaciousness comes not by holding your finger in the dike or locking out the monster at the door. Spaciousness comes from opening up everything and letting all the clutter wash around and past you.

hmmm.

cloudy weather

clouds have been skittering across the sky the last couple of days turning our desert dry low 90's to muggy heavy high 90's... it has been a real drag on my energy... but the sunsets have been spectacular.

I have started a walking group, now that water aerobics is done. Monday, Wednesday and Fridays we hit the pavement and walk. This activity is so essential to me after a day of paint and glue and children. The last two nights as we head south the western sky is filled with clouds that appear to be on fire, clouds rimmed in brilliant gold that shifts to pink then plum.

I walk in the mornings too. Early. Around 4:30 am. This is holy time for me. Just me, the pavement, the dark sky dotted with stars. the last few weeks low in the eastern sky there is an enormous light that I have been told is Venus. I have noticed clouds too, glowing a soft white as they reflect the light of the city. It is never truly dark here.

there is rain forecast for tomorrow, then the clouds will skitter away and with it this dull heat that is dragging me down. 80's by Saturday.

yippee!

countdown

It is Monday. Next Monday Liz will be here... and before she gets here I must

go to work four more days and try to teach the kindergartners something and right now it is very difficult to get excited about basic shapes
sit through hours of parent teacher conferences
clean my extra bedroom/storeroom/sort-of studio
make reservations or at least firmish plans about where we will go
tell my walking group that I will be gone a couple days
lay a flagstone patio at youngest daughter's house
finish my book Blessed Unrest
clean my desk

obviously I am having a little trouble just living in the moment right now.

clutter

I collect clutter. Mostly paper clutter which I can easily get rid of periodically. But I have other clutter... harder to get rid of stuff.

Books. I have too many books that I personally own. Too many books when I have a lovely library system to rely on. A library system that can provide me with the books I want almost all the time. But I have books anyway. Some I love. I love all the Anne Lamott essay books. I do not regret any Mary Oliver or Joy Haro poetry book... or Nikki Geovanni. but I am pretty certain I have books I do not need. Books that do not have to make residence in my house.

I have beads too. Lots of beads neatly sorted into boxes. Beads that now have their own little set of drawers. Some of the beads sit in bowls, grouped into lovely masses of color and texture. They are waiting for me... waiting for me to make something of them... and I love their color, their flash.

The yarn stash is probably not legendary. There are people (I have met them) who have scads more yarn than I do... but I suspect they knit faster... or live in cool climates... or make lots of booties to give away. And I just love to play with mixing the yarns and making square things... or rectangular things... and even I really need only one square thing and two or three rectangular things... what do I do with the rest?

And yesterday, I bought a little drop leaf table at a thrift store. It wants to be painted... just like the beads want to be strung and the yarn wants to be woven and the books want to be read and then brought to life with a great shift in consciousness.

And me... what do I want to do? Clean house.

school day

I have been feeling a bit restless this week. The kids have been squirmy too... full moon/change in weather...

I once again began to wonder if here in the classroom is where I wanted to be... but then a couple things happened....

I sat by Joey who was upset because his painting of a bunny was not turning out. He needed some tempera paint one-on-one coaching... and while I sat there showing him how you could fix anything with tempera paint, he leaned over and whispered to me, "Did you know I have a beautiful voice?" I told him I did not know this, and he said he made up songs, would I like to hear one. "Yes", I replied... and Joey sang me a little song, then took up the paint brush and said, "you really can fix anything..." and finished his painting.

The first graders were finishing up a crayon resist painting... as they finished I would just take their picture and slide another piece of paper in front of them and they were allowed a "free paint". When it was time for them to go, I had them leave their free painting on the tables to dry. A while later I picked them up and noticed some kids painted a green stripe on the bottom of the paper and a blue one on top, others painted rainbows, a couple boys painted cars, several painted red flowers, and one girl just mixed paints together and told me she had painted a rug.
Interesting.

And all the kindergartners in Mrs. P's class cut out two circles from construction paper today all by themselves... well I did have to help one little girl, but everyone else cut a lumpy, bumpy, curvy object and glued it onto a paper. Finally. I wanted to kiss them all on top the head as they headed out the door.

This may not be the kind of creative theme park studio I dream about, but I really think I can learn a thing or two from these guys.

how change happens

Last night I talked to Bill, and as happens there our discussion turned to politics and what is happening in and around Washington D.C. .... the fed and the changing interest rate, Alan Greenspan and Anne Rand's Fountainhead, and finally the candidates.

This discussion always leads to some grumbling... Hilary? Guliani? certainly not Barac...

And here is the thing, I don't really think any of them will be a huge move toward change. O'Bama certainly resonates more with me. I see him as a more hopeful choice... as a choice that leans into the future I hope to see for my children and grandchildren... but none of them has the capability to really make the shift.

I think we will change the world one person at a time. I think the world is changing right now. Last night I watched a piece on micro-credit on NOW. There is a once non-profit/now for profit bank that lends money to mainly poor women. It's interest rate is 100% (unbelievable amount to me). They claim that the rate of interest they charge is in line with the rest of Mexico... but Muhammad Yunus, Grameen Bank the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize last year believes they are part of the old way of doing business. He believes, and I agree, that the purpose of micro-lending is to raise people out of poverty, not to create a profit.

I am reading the book Blessed Unrest: How the Largest Movement in the World Came into Being and Why No One Saw It Coming by Paul Hawken. In it Hawken speaks of a movement that no one can see. A movement made up of thousands of small cells working toward environmental and social justice equity. He sees huge change coming from the grassroots of society.

Last week I listened to a lecture by Richard Rohr. In the lecture he spoke of a movement. A movement toward a world belief system that was open, not closed. He said people will still be Catholics, Jews, Lutherans, and Muslims... but their view of who God is and how God works will be freed from the dogma of their individual religions. A more ecumenical way of worship, a more inclusive look at who and how God loves.

Also this week a copy of Teaching Tolerance was placed in my mail box at school. In it I found a small poster that now is taped to my classroom window. It says, if you do not like the world the way it is, you need to change.

Years ago I attended Tough Love meetings for a while. What I got from those was that I could not change anyone but myself. And in desperation, I did.

Two nights ago, while my friend was talking about the business venture she wants to create... the one she wants to include me in, I interrupted her and told her I thought my mission in life was to save the planet.

What self-inflating idea that is! But it really rings true to me. Hilary? Guliani? O'Bama? It is really not up to them at all. It is up to me.

multiplication

My mother had two daughters. They were as different as could be. One with dark curly hair, the other a blue-eyed blonde. One they teasingly called "chatty" and the other who they admonished not to be so emotional. One who grew to become a stark realist, who thought and spoke in detail and with authority, who knew the names of each of the of the flowers in the yard and all the muscles of the body but used too few of them. The other who lived in dreams and generalities, who moved restlessly from place to place, activity to activity, who looked at color and texture, who never "got" math or even considered it necessay. Each one took a bit of their mother for her own, and though they both prayed, "Don't let me be like like Mom." they were. Just in different ways.

As the years passed they played together, fought bitterly, defended each other from attack, and used each other as sounding boards because the level of understnding between them was as good as it gets. Sometimes they became allies of convenience, but more often they fell into resentment and critcism, always asking themselves who was loved more. A sisterly love.

My mother would alternately take up the defense of one, then the other when the spats and complaints began. She saw them both with love and honesty, with hope and anxiety. She fought to defend them, from themselves and each other. But sometimes, I suspect, she just wanted to shake them off, like an annoying burr caught on her heal. Honestly, it takes so much effort to heal all the hurts and misunderstandings.

Each of these daughters eventually left home and had two daughters. Where there had been two daughters there were now four... or six... however the multiplication works out. And each of these girls was unique. It was a mystery to all that they came from the same pool of genes. And still the mother's of these girls placed their own imprint on them. Each of the girls getting a bit from her mother, which was part of the grandmother... the curls, the emotions, the laugh moving just so on the breeze.

And the mothers of these girls, like their mother before them, ran interference when necessary, wrung their hands in silent desperation at others, and loved them, loved them, loved them.

These four girls are moving... out and away... and maybe each of them will be mothers someday. Multiplying.

Who can say?

life in Arizona

William, my three year old darling makes "dirt angels" in the dust of his back yard. Just like snow angels except it is necessary to wash your hair after. My daughter says the bath water is disgusting. I suggest she hose them off outside first.

Went to my naturopath today. She upped my thyroid medication and gave me digestive aids to try. I like her... it is so much more than just pill pushing. We talked about lifestyles, food choices and fasting. She is for all things in moderation and against fasting. She told me she thought it was hard on the liver which needs fats and proteins to function well. When I talked to her about my grandsons she listens, asks questions and considers what is happening. So unlike the typical doctor visit. I really feel blessed that I have found her and her new office is just a couple of miles from my daughter's house.

It is hot here. That is an understatement. The temperatures are back above 100 and I am getting very tired of sweating. In Idaho the nights are cooling to the upper 40's, but here the air conditioner continues to crank and I can still take showers in water that runs through a water heater which has been turned off for three months. I look forward to Halloween... I was once guaranteed I could wear a jacket by Halloween night.

I have been reading and listening to the CD that came with the book Walking Meditation. I have learned that when you breath in you say, "yes,yes,yes. and when you breathe out you say "thank you, thank you, thank you." it kind of reminds me of Ann Lamott

Another day done and still don't know (or care, really) where I am going/

barometric pressure, bio-rhythms and moon wobbles

Today the kids were antsy. My friend dyane said, "Didn't you notice? The wind shifted this morning..."

I have been in a downward state of mood swing the last few days, too, and trying to pin-point the cause so I can get over it.

It is disconcerting how moods shift and flounder. Sometimes my daughter will announce to me she is PMSing and she feels like this evil spirit has taken over her body. At the other end of the spectrum, a friend of mine who is heading into menopause complains of depression, sleeplessness and hot flashes. For me the amount of sunlight, sleep, or news that I don't expect and cannot (should not) control can send my fragile little self right over the edge. My mom used to talk about moon wobbles. I do not know if there really is such a thing, but when things begin to go south I often wonder about what that old man moon is doing.

Feeling down is not a bad thing. It feels bad. It is something I would like to curtail the duration of, like a head cold. The worst part of it is when it first arrives and you just feel like the most pathetic, miserable to be around, sniveling thing on the planet. During this first part I rarely even see that I have moved into a down state. Once I realise where I am, once I can be attentive to my down-ness, I begin to enter a more productive place. From here I can make some adjustments that might help, like in the winter time to remember to turn on all the lights. - This time, I need to just get busy living my daily life. I just need to be here now, because the thing that is tugging at me is at least related to fear and worry, fear and worry about the future, and I cannot do anything about that today.

The really good thing about barometric pressure, bio-rhythms and moon wobbles is that they can shift at any instant, jettisoning me to a much happier place. I look forward to that happening soon, but for now I will exercise, eat healthy, get plenty of sleep, and pray to remain here, in the present, where I really can make good things happen.

surprise!

My daughter Katie started a tradition of walking me to my car and waving goodbye when her eldest son was just a baby. Soon this wave goodbye transformed into them shouting, "surprise!" and me acting like I was surprised just as my car was leaving the drive.

Now saying "surprise!" is ingrained and causes William quite a bit of consternation if I slide out before he has a chance to properly see me off.

William loves surprises. Loves the mysteries and delights of life... but all surprises are not met with immediate joy.

The Thesaurus gives these synonyms for surprise: to be caught unawares, off-guard, be unexpected, startle and astonish

Yesterday my boss called me fifteen minutes before my first class was to arrive and told me I would be doing something else during that time. She did not mess up my plans intentionally, but my plans for that day and thus the plans for the week that will follow have been placed on end. Now, rather than knowing exactly what I want to do with the 8th graders next week, and how much time whatever I end up doing will take, I am at a kind of a loss. And a loss with a group of kids that need me to know what I am doing all the time puts me at a disadvantage. This little surprise could have been averted had she talked to me the day before, had we taken the time to look at the schedule and my lesson objectives.

The other day my youngest daughter told me how she longed to do some landscaping in her yard and we walked all around the back talking about what could go here, what could happen there. But now, as I am warming to the subject, she is beginning to cool. I know I need to back off, to let her make all her own decisions, live in all her own struggles... but I was surprised by what felt like a change of heart and left feeling a bit on the side lines, which of course is where I am and where I should be.

And today, I checked my eldest's blog, as I do often and found myself completely surprised by the turn of events. I have known for a couple of days something was afoot, and have really worked at not speculating what might be happening, but really, when I read the blog and viewed the pictures I was completely caught off guard and more than a little confused. She is evidently very happy, and her happiness has always put me at ease. But this is such an unexpected turn of events, that even after reading her e-mail to me, I am still in a bit of shock.

I need a life. I need a life of my own and I need it now. Now this is no surprise... but knowing it, and saying it don't seem to get me any closer to living it.

little mysteries

Today, after church, I stopped at the gas station, bought gas on my debit card... but even as I was driving onto the street, I thought, "where is my card?"

I can't find it. I've already called to say it was lost. What happened to it? Did it drop on the ground? Is it under the floor mat of my car, someplace I have already checked? I took everything out of my billfold, dumped my purse, looked through my checkbook. Gone.

And yet somehow I knew it was gone within minutes of using it. How did I know? My brain was already on to the next thing I was going to do. Why did this little red light blink on in my head? What caused me to look in my purse, to double back to the station? Whatever made me check to see that I had it, I am thankful for.

Today the sermon was about angels... the scripture text was the one from Hebrews, where we have been told we have entertained angels without even knowing it. The minister talked about the different kinds of angels who visited... the angel who spoke to Mary, the three that visited Abraham and Sarah. She talked about a friend of hers who felt the presence of an angel in a hospice room. She mentioned Mother Teresa. But I sat there thinking of Katie's angel.

Katie was eighteen and waiting for the bus. She had placed herself in a position where she had lost her license and most of her bravado. She was unclear about nearly everything at that time. Lost, I thought, in so many ways, but growing in spite of herself. I was feeling hopeful for her, even as she was experiencing some very difficult times.

She had gotten herself a job as an instructional assistant in a special ed. classroom. The school was about 6 miles from the apartment where she was living. Nearly every morning I would swing by and pick her up, then drop her at her school. Her apartment and the school were on the way to my job, so little-to-no inconvenience to me. Plus, it gave me the opportunity to check in with her daily, and I liked that. After school, she caught the bus, either back to her apartment, or to the nearby community college where she was taking one of many remedial math classes.

One afternoon while sitting at the bus stop a man walked up to her and took a seat. She described him to me later as an old drunken Indian. As they sat there in silence, he suddenly began to speak. He told her she was going to be just fine... that her life would come around... that she didn't need to worry. And then he just got up and left. Her bus arrived and she headed to GCC for class.

She told me he was an angel. She said she knew it when he began to speak. She had to repeat math class after math class. She learned how to persevere, how to succeed even in the face of failure. She graduated due to pure grit and determination... But she never forgot the promise of that man, that angel.

Shortly after this happened I told my spiritual director about it. She told me that if my daughter said he was an angel, then he was.

In Matthew Jesus tells us that we need to find him, see him, in the weak, the suffering, the ugly. We are so accustomed to expecting things to be a certain way. Jesus should always be beautiful, angels should only wear white, and little niggly thoughts that we have lost something should only come to us in reasonable ways.

I am reminded that spiritual work is always about entering the mystery.
Thank heaven for the little mysteries I encounter every day. They are reminders to me that I need to live in open hearted wonder and continual expectation of miracles.

when they become more than just your kids

My friend Maria has a little girl. I laughed when Angelina was born, telling Maria she had better keep my number because she is going to need to call me when Lina is fifteen. Fifteen year old girls aren't a lot of fun, from a mom's point of view.

Oh, but twenty-something daughters are the very best thing anyone could ask for... or at least they are all I could ask for.

I have two. They are polar opposites. It has always amazed me they came from the same parents, grew up in the same household. They weren't treated the same, I admit. How does anyone treat all their children the same? I have these friends who say, "oh, I loved them both the same..." and I mutter to myself, "oh, baloney!" Can't be done. Or I couldn't do it... I loved and do love them both passionately, but not the same. My hope is I love them the way they need to be loved.

My girls have become my role models. They have taught me I can stand up for myself and say 'no' in a very quiet but firm voice. They have shown me how to travel, how to enjoy an adventure, how to be okay with no agenda. One has shown me how important food is in life, and the other how to be fragile and strong all at the same time. One makes me laugh and the other makes me feel blessed all the way to my bones.

I have heard from them both today. One to tell me that P. pooped in the potty - High Five, Pete! - and my eldest, who let me know she is taking care of herself - and I think, good, good.

The two most important people in my life... and tonight they are both doing okay.

changing gears

I went to the library after school today. I needed to return, like, fourteen books that were soon to be due. Most of them were picture books or kid-art activity books... in other words mostly books for school. Today I feel so done with that... or at least so done with thinking about it at all once I leave the building.

Also I am nearing the end of this romance novel. I don't really care for romance novels... they are all so the same no matter how well they are written. My Aunt Jean sent me the one I am reading. She told me the dialogue was amazing... hmmmm, the dialogue is good... but, but, but... the formula is the same and this one, besides the non-stop amazing sex, has a serial killer who mutilates his victims... ick!... so I know the killer is going to nab the heroine and the swashbuckling testosterone male will save her... but I feel this tension as I read. I am so not into more tension.

So today at the library I checked out:
The Energy of Prayer: How to deepen your spiritual practice by Thich Nhat Hanh
Walking Meditation - TN Hanh
Touching the Earth CD... TNHanh
Peace Mantras CD
and (this is the one I am really excited about!)
Goal Free Living: How to have the life you want now.... Stephen Shapiro
Honestly, I don't even know if I will read it, but I just love the title.

And last, because I was going through old photos the other day and felt ancient in comparison to the ten-years-younger me I was looking at, and because a boy told me today, "You should do something with your hair." When I replied that I was thinking the same thing, what did he suggest? He looked at me and scrunched his nose and replied, " You need to go to a hairdresser and do something about your color." (Hmmm, I thought there were bigger issues than color here...)
Anyway, I also checked out Makeover Miracles by Michael Maron. I could find no hair miracle books.

So, except for the little fixer-upper read, all the rest are there to just make me happy and serene.

And tonight is my water yoga class where I will be told to breathe and stretch and relax.

Ahhh

disconnected

I am feeling very disconnected lately. Maybe this is how anyone would feel who only talks to children all day long. Or maybe this is how someone who is just floating feels. Not exactly in a vacuum... I have felt that way... Just like I am not a part of anything. Mostly this feels like a great big rest from all the self inflicted crisis of last year... but part of it is beginning to disturb me. Maybe.

Look, this year I like my job... or at least it is going smoother, than ever. The little kids, the big kids, the big kid's attitudes... all manageable really. But then my principal pops in to see me. Honestly, I think it was a friendly visit but dang, she gets me riled up. All this stuff about narrative report cards. Jeez, Lori, I see so many kids in such fast succession I don't even know every one's name let alone how and why they have or have not met the standards. Deep breath.

So, I do fine during the day, mostly. And when I get home I high tail it to water aerobics. I think I am addicted to water aerobics. I joined in part to meet people, and I have... but that is about all. I see them, say "hi"... bounce around in the water, chat a moment or two while toweling off and then we all head to our respective homes. So far no real camaraderie happening there.

I am planning on joining a hiking club. I need to get out of town and that is a good way to do it. I even have the club selected. They begin in September, when the weather becomes more tolerable.

But all of this still feels like filling in the blanks... like stuffing, but not substance...

How do you find substance? How do you know what to do next? Hmmm... I am hoping the what to do next things just wanders by (SOON!) and taps me on the shoulder. One thing I know for certain, I am not going searching any time soon.

Reading Montana Sky by Nora Roberts... predictable romance novel format... maybe that is why I am a bit restless... all that sex and swashbuckling testosterone might be getting to me.

dry heat

One of the stock comments about the summer weather here in Phoenix is that it is a dry heat... and this is sort of true in May, June, and into July... but come the last weekend in August it is just plain hot... and humid, at least by Arizona standards... and the only thing you should be doing is sitting in front of the fan with the air conditioning blowing nicely. But, needless to say, that is not what I have been doing.

Right after church today I picked up a friend and we headed to do some new-home-model browsing. We were interested to see the landscaping, the colors, the decorating touches they were using... for instance I saw a flag stone walk where the flags were set rather far apart (lowering the cost) and in between it was set with concrete and smooth river stone. I can use this idea at my daughter's house. She has a pile of flagstone at her house that needs to be reset... our goal was to get back early enough to still have some day to ourselves and we did it. I arrived home at 12:30, but on my answering machine was a call from another friend I have been trying to get together with, so within minutes I was out the door again to meet J. for a smoothie and a chat. With that accomplished I stopped and I filled my gallon water bottles and hit the health food store for a gallon of aloe vera juice. So, I have been outside, or at least out and about for most of the day. Not the best idea on a day like today.


But now I am home and a romance novel is calling my name. Time for some rest and rejuvination.

my dad

This is my dad. He was being a really good sport here and put on a mask I had unearthed in the storage room that serves my art classroom. I had brought it home and on the day we celebrated my youngest's birthday everyone tried it on, and Dad was so hysterical that I just had to take a picture.

This is the last picture I have of my dad... I need to take more.

He is in the hospital tonight with a blood clot in his groin. I just came back from seeing him and he seems fine. The same tell a joke, make light of everything kind of guy... but there is this dangerous thing in him... and it scares me.

The doctor came into the room while I was there. A man with an accent, a man of color, a very nice man... and he asked my dad a series of questions. Did he smoke? Does he drink? Is there any history of clots or heart disease in his family? No, maybe two a week, no. How many children do you have?

Dad says, "Two. I have been pregnant two times... how many times have you been pregnant?" the doctor tells him, "Two."

He asked him about his difficulty breathing and how well he slept at night. He asked about surgeries and prior illnesses. He asked all the right doctor questions and Dad answered them all honestly... except he lied or just forgot that he did have a fever in the past week...

Then Dad asked the doctor where he was from. The doctor replied, " Where do you think I am from?" And I looked at him, really for the first time, and thought, "No, he is not from India." But my dad said, "Ethiopia?" and the doctor said, with a bit of surprise, "Just to the north of Ethiopia"... or maybe Northern Ethiopia... He told my dad that no one had ever guessed correctly before. He asked him how he knew... and Dad said he had met a couple of other fellows from Ethiopia and the accent sounded right.

How could he hear so clearly?!? I was pretty amazed at my father right then. The doctor was impressed, too.

He told me I had a fine father, and a healthy one... and then I said something disparaging (why why why?) and the doctor said, "No, he really is a fine man."

The doctor told me they would keep him in the hospital for three days. Tomorrow I will go stay with my mom, although I will only be there at night, after work. Dad will worry about her less that way.

I will miss two days of water aerobics and one day of water yoga... I know this is self-centered of me, but I really hate to miss my water aerobics.

When I left, I kissed him on the top of the head and told him to behave... why didn't I say, "I love you Dad."

I am afraid. My dad is supposed to live. I want him back in his chair lecturing me with all his wrong-thinking conservative Republican opinions, so I can tell him I just can't talk to him any more...

But then... none of this is up to me.

Sunday

I need to work on lesson plans today. I brought home a stack of papers that need to be organized into complete thoughts and then reformed into something that flows into a day to day plan for an art project.

I have just finished the first rotation - a ten-day sequence of classes that changes continually through out the year. I now have a feel for all the grades levels and for the flow of my schedule.

I need to work on my fourth grade lesson. In the last two weeks I taught African masks from the seat of my pants. I heard one by say, "Boy, I didn't know art would be so fun in fourth grade!" and another boy gave me a note telling me much the same thing. Wow! I am not used to such praise. I feel like the bar has been raised a bit. I know what they liked about the project. That, I think I can duplicate. What I don't really know is what they learned. So today I will work a bit at developing little mini lessons, sound bites, to pepper here and there with hopes that some of these take seed as knowledge and understanding.

I also need to look more closely at my 6th grade plan. Last year they came to me in the morning. This year they come the last period of the day. That change in schedule dictates that I change how I teach, so last year's plans must be modified. I need to make it the class more user friendly. By the end of the day a quiet sixth grader can turn into a snarling, resistant participant. I have come to realize I no longer have a defense system that protects me from mean people, so I need to find ways to engage the whole crowd. I am going to take a clue from my excited fourth graders and look at ways to make the projects more "fun." I have been looking at a book on the art of Jacob Lawrence, I think this may be the direction I choose to take.

I have had a couple of other revelations today. My green dress that I have worn to church for the last couple of years is noticeably tighter. The website www.cowboylegendsofsantefe.com has a couple of pairs of boots I really like... so the boot fetish is still alive. The scripture reading I am scheduled to do today at church has one non-sensical sentence and that really bugs me. And that I am beginning to feel really whole, and I hope this feeling lasts a long long time.

in the mess, I am at peace

No pictures today...

I fly to Portland tomorrow. Need to be at my parents house at 4:30 a.m. to take us all to the airport. I think that means I need to be up by 3. Me-oh-my... that is early.

I have started back to school. Returned from New Mexico on Sunday and met 8th graders at my classroom door at 8:30 Monday morning. So far so good.

Funny, my attitude has undergone a shift, I think. Last year I spent nearly the entire time completely stressed out over whether I was going to stay in my job or retire, and right now I feel almost mellow.

I have no teacher's desk... they ordered a new one for me and took mine out, thinking the other would arrive before I did. Wrong. But I am completely not bothered.

My computer is not working... but then I have no desk to put it on... and I just look at it and kind of chuckle because I have noticed that someone has plugged it into a socket that I know from last year does not work.

I forgot how kindergartners are the first day of school. In the thirty minutes they were in my class I think I said "stay in your seat" about fifteen times, but by the end of the period when I asked them what my rules were, they chorused, "Listen and stay in your seat!" Of course it will be months before I can really get them to listen or stay in their seat... but they are beginning to get what I would like.

A little first grader cryed yesterday and today. He was here last year, but he has been home all summer, protected from the great big world of school. He told me between sobs that he was feeling "stressed out".

Today, at the end of the day, I thought, "Three days down..." and I told someone that when this year was done, I only had three more to go... if I actually got that far.

Also today, Cheryl told me they think her husband has lung and bone cancer... they are waiting for results. I talked to my sister and she is feeling cut out of her daughter's lives now that she has married and moved away, and her husband is not well either. Then I talked to my youngest who has been dealing with company and transmissions, and because she would like another baby and her husband does not, so today after she gave away their high chair she went to the humane society and got a kitty.... the kitty's name is Rocket. So tonight I have been praying for all these people who are suffering one one level or another... that some movement of the spirit gives them comfort and hope.

Some of this makes me wonder what am I waiting for? Am I waiting three years and one hundred and seventy-seven longer for my life to begin... but, you know... I think my life has begun... and it is going somewhere... and I just need to relax and be attentive to the ride.

Tomorrow I will be in Oregon with my parents and attending a wedding on Saturday. Who knows what interesting things I will encounter along the way.

color, texture, yarn!

I absolutely love color and texture... I think I have mentioned that before. This whole color texture thing got me into knitting... and into a bit of trouble in the yarn department. I have a couple of years worth of yarn. I need to either a. quit working entirely and just knit, b. learn to knit a lot faster, or c. form a yarn club of some sort... Anyway, I frequently swear off purchasing any more yarn and usually find it pretty easy if the only stores I go into are Joannes's or Micheal's... but one of the towns we went through on our New Mexico trip was Los Ojos... and there, wouldn't ya' know, was Tierra Woolshttp://www.tierrawools.com/, just waiting to snare me.



Let me explain. Los Ojos is not the kind of town you would just drive into and say, 'wow, there must be some great yarn here'... No. It is a tiny, not overtly affluent little hamlet set into the rolling hills of north central New Mexico. But there is was, a yarn shop, within minutes of our campsite...

















I knew from the moment I spotted the sign on the roadside that there was a reason to take a closer look at Los Ojos, but driving down the main street of the town I could not have expected the wonderful place I would find. Tierra Wools sits on the northern edge of the town, within walking distance of the old Catholic church that serves as a landmark in most of these little villages. As I got out of the car and climbed onto the wooden side walk which fronts the building I began to see woven goods and hanks of richly colored yarn through the window. Once inside I found blankets and rugs, woven shawls and felted hats... and yarn. Hand dyed wool... hand dyed wool where the color moved and shimmered in the light. Beautiful wool. Wool that felt like the finest merino to the touch.



I couldn't resist. One skein, two skeins... beautiful tones that reflected the rare light of the rock, the plants and the sky of New Mexico. I also found that Tierra Wools offers weaving classes and wool dying classes.... I promised to return. When I got Back into the car, we took a picture of me with my new stash.




Oh, my! I cannot wait until I am home again and can begin to knit these beautiful colors together... and I am thinking about taking one of the weaving classes Tierra offers maybe next summer...

6 good things

Bill and I had our picture taken in front of a rainbow in the campground of Canyon de Chelly. He had been doing his Ricky voice all day calling me Lucy since I tied a bandanna around my head trying to control my unruly mass of curls. "No, Lucy, you cannot be on the show..."

This was the first stop on our 9-day camping adventure. We made the rounds of the ruins; Canyon de Chelly's White House, Pueblo Bonito in Chaco Canyon, the village at Aztec ruins and the cliff dwellings at Bandolier Nat. Monument. We also shopped Taos and stopped at a Native American cultural festival in Farmington where Bill bought me a beautiful necklace. I lost one earring of a set I had made and Bill took a bunch of pictures, worked at staying as sugar free as possible and managed to track down an old acquaintance in Pilar, NM. I cooked and drove and was allowed to have my way almost the entire time. We ended our journey in Albuquerque, staying the night in a hotel and eating at a Brazilian restaurant that took the eating of carne to a new level. We had a good time, didn't squabble much, and enjoyed each other's company.

Here is an incomplete list of why I like Bill:

1. he sometimes calls me Lucy when everyone else knows I am an Ethel.

2. he appreciates my cooking, even when camping.

3. he buys a tumbled stone with no flaws and tells me it is just like me (overpriced?)

4. he reminds me when I have not made a complete stop.

5. he walks on the side of the road where dogs might jump out and attack me.

6. he keeps coming back

****PLEASE, can anyone tell me why I have lost my line spacing????