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.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
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?
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
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/
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/
Monday, September 10, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, September 8, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
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.
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.
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