Thursday, December 17, 2009
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
love quotes
"a kiss is a lovely trick..." ingrid bergmen
william blake poem i ran across while searching quotes (nice):
http://quotations.about.com/cs/poemlyrics/a/A_Dream_Blake.htm
Monday, November 23, 2009
nostalgia
st rd 15 n of the intersection of 15 & 20 reopened. for those locals, you know what i am talking about. it re-opened this morning. i drove on it for the first time tonight. it was closed for what seems a year, -- probably less.
it used to run a somewhat narrow zig-zag through the real bristol fruit hills, up and down, it wound. it was the road of my youth, covered how many times? it took me to where i needed to go without incident or h arm-- to CR14 west, to my parent's home, time and again -- to CR14 E, to my boyfriend's house when i was 16. again and again. to the school at 5 in the morning for swim practice. past the sign for the apple orchard, past the old hunting grounds, past an old school mate's parents home it wound. it was the road my school bus traveled down.
but as i drove down it tonight as the sun set in the west, i was hard pressed to recognize the road of my childhood. i looked for things i could recognize, but could not find; modernization had blazed it's way through, straight through, change inevitable like the bulldozer that had done its job so well there. the road was wide, it was barren, alien-- it was new. the hills now bowed down to let the many passengers sail through without worry about dips, curves or deer. i wonder if this kind of sadness i feel is not good for me -- probably. it's never good to be attached to objects -- like roads! but deep down i had a pang of sadness for what was lost, something real and original to me-- a trademark to the way home. somehow it felt like an old friend lost, that you only really recognize or appreciate when it's too late, and they are already gone. but i guess this is the way of growing up -- the slow and inevitable disappearance of what seem like small and insignificant landmarks -- like that old road that lead from your small two stoplight town on toward something else. but in thinking on it -- these things are not so little, not so insignificant. they are part of our local history - part of the roadmap of our past and when they are so suddenly and inevitably gone it is unsettling. change is not sentimental; it is cold, and many times it is not kind -- it cares not for nostaliga and has no patience for people like me.
while turning around to drive back home i imagined some time from now i'll be telling someone some ages hence: yes, this flat way was once the fruithills of my childhood -- the winding way with apple trees and large shady oaks that stood like sentinals on each side -- for there was the road-side market, here was the orchard way, there was once the aged pine at the sometimes icy intersection...here, the spot my school bus topped to pick up the neighbor kids. yes, these were the fruithills of my youth -- the road home that is no more. and i will be saddened then, as saddened i am now, for how can one paint a picture of an ordinary beauty so long lost-- of what was looked over and taken for granted but significant somehow? how can one paint a picture of what no longer is?
it used to run a somewhat narrow zig-zag through the real bristol fruit hills, up and down, it wound. it was the road of my youth, covered how many times? it took me to where i needed to go without incident or h arm-- to CR14 west, to my parent's home, time and again -- to CR14 E, to my boyfriend's house when i was 16. again and again. to the school at 5 in the morning for swim practice. past the sign for the apple orchard, past the old hunting grounds, past an old school mate's parents home it wound. it was the road my school bus traveled down.
but as i drove down it tonight as the sun set in the west, i was hard pressed to recognize the road of my childhood. i looked for things i could recognize, but could not find; modernization had blazed it's way through, straight through, change inevitable like the bulldozer that had done its job so well there. the road was wide, it was barren, alien-- it was new. the hills now bowed down to let the many passengers sail through without worry about dips, curves or deer. i wonder if this kind of sadness i feel is not good for me -- probably. it's never good to be attached to objects -- like roads! but deep down i had a pang of sadness for what was lost, something real and original to me-- a trademark to the way home. somehow it felt like an old friend lost, that you only really recognize or appreciate when it's too late, and they are already gone. but i guess this is the way of growing up -- the slow and inevitable disappearance of what seem like small and insignificant landmarks -- like that old road that lead from your small two stoplight town on toward something else. but in thinking on it -- these things are not so little, not so insignificant. they are part of our local history - part of the roadmap of our past and when they are so suddenly and inevitably gone it is unsettling. change is not sentimental; it is cold, and many times it is not kind -- it cares not for nostaliga and has no patience for people like me.
while turning around to drive back home i imagined some time from now i'll be telling someone some ages hence: yes, this flat way was once the fruithills of my childhood -- the winding way with apple trees and large shady oaks that stood like sentinals on each side -- for there was the road-side market, here was the orchard way, there was once the aged pine at the sometimes icy intersection...here, the spot my school bus topped to pick up the neighbor kids. yes, these were the fruithills of my youth -- the road home that is no more. and i will be saddened then, as saddened i am now, for how can one paint a picture of an ordinary beauty so long lost-- of what was looked over and taken for granted but significant somehow? how can one paint a picture of what no longer is?
Thursday, November 19, 2009
I once spent some time with a man who was a severe schizophrenic. He paused thoughtfully and said, "sometimes...you have to be a little crazy to find your... normal." He was a very ill man and had struggled with mental illness all his life. He was unkempt, disshelved and suffered ticks and "spells." He wore ill-fitting sweats and fitted socks with ironic smilie faces on the bottoms. I never saw him in shoes. Between his "spells" where he would lose track of where he was, and suffer a tick, he would tell me of what he wanted to be -- "maybe an attorney," he said seriously, "I like to talk." Part of his working mind that touched reality was clever and insightful. He was a devoted Christian. Between spells, he said Christ had risen him from low places.
He told me this as we sat down to lunch. My lunch tray was before me, untouched -- and I was disgusted about everything in my life. Phyically wasting away, my wrists looked so small, too small as I looked at my hands in my lap. The industrial lights glared off the table. I wore no make-up and felt like everything had been striped away. I was at the end of myself. No, I was beyond that place - somewhere else, beyond living or feeling...beyond being. I simply was. Like a tree or a desk or a book. I took up space. In this state, I thought about his words ... they rolled around in my head... slowly... and I realized... if that man can say he has been risen from low places...
perhaps,
perhaps
I can
too.
----
I never appreciated freedom until I was in a room that required keys I did not have.
He told me this as we sat down to lunch. My lunch tray was before me, untouched -- and I was disgusted about everything in my life. Phyically wasting away, my wrists looked so small, too small as I looked at my hands in my lap. The industrial lights glared off the table. I wore no make-up and felt like everything had been striped away. I was at the end of myself. No, I was beyond that place - somewhere else, beyond living or feeling...beyond being. I simply was. Like a tree or a desk or a book. I took up space. In this state, I thought about his words ... they rolled around in my head... slowly... and I realized... if that man can say he has been risen from low places...
perhaps,
perhaps
I can
too.
----
I never appreciated freedom until I was in a room that required keys I did not have.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v8PBC6agN28&feature=related
clay's hero, i know, but i like it. i found sunny 101.5 - because i cannot bear to listen to u93 anymore...and wow, some good stuff on there.
clay's hero, i know, but i like it. i found sunny 101.5 - because i cannot bear to listen to u93 anymore...and wow, some good stuff on there.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Lodged
I found a wonderful little Frost poem today:
Lodged
The rain to the wind said,
"You push and I'll pelt."
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged --though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.
Lodged
The rain to the wind said,
"You push and I'll pelt."
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged --though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
one beautiful october
i walked along a path --
the leaves were turning
the fall was burning there,
falling delicately piece by piece
and soon i saw a stranger
who walked along the other way
until we met, he barely paused, and passed
(but he smiled, i remember)
and traced the steps that i just took
along the yellow path
but i doubted
these paths will ever cross again
so with a weary look ahead,
i took a fragile step into the cold november
i walked along a path --
the leaves were turning
the fall was burning there,
falling delicately piece by piece
and soon i saw a stranger
who walked along the other way
until we met, he barely paused, and passed
(but he smiled, i remember)
and traced the steps that i just took
along the yellow path
but i doubted
these paths will ever cross again
so with a weary look ahead,
i took a fragile step into the cold november
Monday, November 9, 2009
two bicycles
i saw two bicycles
on the hill
between the tombstones
yesterday
i wondered what the dead
would want with bicycles
or should i say
how odd?
that the living would go
on their journey to and fro
to rest there
but then again
i've never been one
to shy away from tombstones
so perhaps
on the next sunny day
i shall peddle there
and sit beneath the tired tree
right between the faded tombstones:
for on thinking on it --
where exists a better place
to ponder both the dead and living?
on the hill
between the tombstones
yesterday
i wondered what the dead
would want with bicycles
or should i say
how odd?
that the living would go
on their journey to and fro
to rest there
but then again
i've never been one
to shy away from tombstones
so perhaps
on the next sunny day
i shall peddle there
and sit beneath the tired tree
right between the faded tombstones:
for on thinking on it --
where exists a better place
to ponder both the dead and living?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Sistine Chapel
on goes my little study of poetry and art and everything nice...
oh how i wish to see it in person some day!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sistine_Chapel_ceiling
oh how i wish to see it in person some day!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sistine_Chapel_ceiling
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.
1. The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
20
1. The Road Not Taken
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
5
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
10
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
15
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
20
Sunday, September 27, 2009
The Race is Long
The older I get the more I appreciate silence, or should I say, the more I appreciate my ability to hold my tongue. Abraham Lincoln was credited with making this quote from scripture memorable,"It is better to remain silent and thought a fool than to speak up and remove all doubt." Certainly with two labradors I seldom experience quiet - as they are always up and around running, barking, digging and otherwise not remaining silent.
What is the beauty of silence? Probably that in those pregnant pauses something more profound than words can be present - something more meaningful. Example: Steve and I rode 20 miles at the Apple Cider Century Bicycle Ride in beautiful Three Oaks, MI today. We said little to each other, but kept peddling down roads together, sometimes he was in front, sometimes I was, but mostly we were side by side. There was something familiar and comforting in that.
While riding I was reminded of a song lyric that goes something like, "Don't spend time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind: the race is long. And in the end, it's only with yourself."
As the autumn leaves fell gently to the country roads and everywhere around me people were quietly peddling forward, forward, forward - families, couples, small, large, every race imaginatble, hundreds at times - a hundred breaths keeping time with the peddles, I understood. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.
What is the beauty of silence? Probably that in those pregnant pauses something more profound than words can be present - something more meaningful. Example: Steve and I rode 20 miles at the Apple Cider Century Bicycle Ride in beautiful Three Oaks, MI today. We said little to each other, but kept peddling down roads together, sometimes he was in front, sometimes I was, but mostly we were side by side. There was something familiar and comforting in that.
While riding I was reminded of a song lyric that goes something like, "Don't spend time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind: the race is long. And in the end, it's only with yourself."
As the autumn leaves fell gently to the country roads and everywhere around me people were quietly peddling forward, forward, forward - families, couples, small, large, every race imaginatble, hundreds at times - a hundred breaths keeping time with the peddles, I understood. The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Going East
I was driving home from Merrillville, IN when I noticed it: I was the only car -- the one and only vehicle-- heading east. The traffic in the opposite direction was bumper to bumper, car and car and car, as far as I could see for miles and miles-- then, as it grew darker, head light after headlight began shining in my eyes.
It seems I'm always going agaist the traffic, the flow. I'm always taking my own road, going my own way, even when everyone else is going the opposite direction.-- even when I'm driving!
On this particular evening, the sun was once again setting low in the west, shinning red and yellow on the road before me - lighting my way. The others, going West, had it glaring in their faces!
I looked out the truck windows as I pondered this. The height of the truck gave me a little perch to see farther than normal -- and what did I see? Beyond the cars streaming mindlessly by... the gold and yellow and red gleaming beautifully on everything -- against the fields, the houses, the old country roads -- the woman far away hanging laundry.
What I saw was not worth defending, what I saw was worth fighting for-- worth claiming as what I love. What I cherish. What I value. There are certain types of people who live and die by - and certainly are driven by - high ideals or values... things like Character, Honor, Duty, Service. These types of people are few and far between, even fewer among them are women. For better or worse, God help me, I am one among them.
It occurred to me that if I have to die, and surely we all do, wouldn't it be best to die for something worth dying for? That on that last day, when I draw my last breath, that my dying thought will be "I did," and not "I didn't" -- a last dying thought of thankful gratitude to be a useful tool of God and not one that stayed rusting, safe, in the tool bench. Free will gives us that option. I once had a coach in my life who would too often say to me... "Cari-- you should have, could have, you didn't." He was a callous man but he drove his point home. There is nothing that terrifies me more now than "I didn't."
Does it makes sense to dedicate your life to defending that which you love? Of being the "stand up person" who says not only that they "can," but that they "will" when they are called? There is an important difference there. Surely, surely as I live and breathe I tell you - I think so. God does not call the equipped, He equips the called! Over and over again, He shows me this. I am nothing, and yet, look what He has accomplished in me!
Yes, it may get lonely on the road less traveled, but I think - I think, it's worth it.
It seems I'm always going agaist the traffic, the flow. I'm always taking my own road, going my own way, even when everyone else is going the opposite direction.-- even when I'm driving!
On this particular evening, the sun was once again setting low in the west, shinning red and yellow on the road before me - lighting my way. The others, going West, had it glaring in their faces!
I looked out the truck windows as I pondered this. The height of the truck gave me a little perch to see farther than normal -- and what did I see? Beyond the cars streaming mindlessly by... the gold and yellow and red gleaming beautifully on everything -- against the fields, the houses, the old country roads -- the woman far away hanging laundry.
What I saw was not worth defending, what I saw was worth fighting for-- worth claiming as what I love. What I cherish. What I value. There are certain types of people who live and die by - and certainly are driven by - high ideals or values... things like Character, Honor, Duty, Service. These types of people are few and far between, even fewer among them are women. For better or worse, God help me, I am one among them.
It occurred to me that if I have to die, and surely we all do, wouldn't it be best to die for something worth dying for? That on that last day, when I draw my last breath, that my dying thought will be "I did," and not "I didn't" -- a last dying thought of thankful gratitude to be a useful tool of God and not one that stayed rusting, safe, in the tool bench. Free will gives us that option. I once had a coach in my life who would too often say to me... "Cari-- you should have, could have, you didn't." He was a callous man but he drove his point home. There is nothing that terrifies me more now than "I didn't."
Does it makes sense to dedicate your life to defending that which you love? Of being the "stand up person" who says not only that they "can," but that they "will" when they are called? There is an important difference there. Surely, surely as I live and breathe I tell you - I think so. God does not call the equipped, He equips the called! Over and over again, He shows me this. I am nothing, and yet, look what He has accomplished in me!
Yes, it may get lonely on the road less traveled, but I think - I think, it's worth it.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Counter
OK - I was looking at the hit counter on this blog. How in the world did it get over 11,900 views? I am perflexed. I know my mom doesn't have fast enough internet to hit "refresh" that many times - and I'm not quite pathetic enough to visit my site, say 300 x a day, so .... who are you people? :)
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Face the West
Sometimes, in the evenings, I run. I put on my running shoes, head down the drive, and pound the day's worries quietly and steadily into the ground. Heel to toe, heel to toe - my burden lightens by degrees until I reach the two mile mark. About that time, I start to trudge to the top of the highest hill in the area. At the top I turn around and face the west. What I see makes me stop.
With the sweat stinging my eyes, my heart beating in my chest, my hands on my hips and my posture strong and sure I see the sun set red, gold, and yellow across my world. I see it span across acres and acres of corn and wheat and beans, across the silo and the red barn, across the top of old oaks, down the parraell long and lonely stretch of country road. I narrow my eyes, and farther yet I see it set red and gold across the roof of my home. Sometimes, when the timing is right I see my husband in the back yard, a tiny figure, playing fetch with our dogs. I see the yellow-red flash upon our window panes. Next to that I see the homes, roof after roof, of our neighbors and friends. I look farther still to see the road I'm perched upon strech on and on, past the fire station, past the school house, out and out - to the places that comfort me, and that I love.
I stand there, breathing deep, bathed in the same red, yellow and gold, and I tell you in those moments I cannot say a wordless prayer more sincere. I am the prayer. I am simply God's creation doing what I was created to do: adore Him. In my heart I feel it; I am beloved and at peace.
With the sweat stinging my eyes, my heart beating in my chest, my hands on my hips and my posture strong and sure I see the sun set red, gold, and yellow across my world. I see it span across acres and acres of corn and wheat and beans, across the silo and the red barn, across the top of old oaks, down the parraell long and lonely stretch of country road. I narrow my eyes, and farther yet I see it set red and gold across the roof of my home. Sometimes, when the timing is right I see my husband in the back yard, a tiny figure, playing fetch with our dogs. I see the yellow-red flash upon our window panes. Next to that I see the homes, roof after roof, of our neighbors and friends. I look farther still to see the road I'm perched upon strech on and on, past the fire station, past the school house, out and out - to the places that comfort me, and that I love.
I stand there, breathing deep, bathed in the same red, yellow and gold, and I tell you in those moments I cannot say a wordless prayer more sincere. I am the prayer. I am simply God's creation doing what I was created to do: adore Him. In my heart I feel it; I am beloved and at peace.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Grow Where You're Planted
Consider the Roses: My husband bought 4 rose bushes for me this year and together we planted them under our bedroom window. They took root and began to grow, although they did not grow new blossoms after the original ones wilted and faded away. I asked my green thumb brother why this was. He said, "Cari, you have to trim them back for them to blossom."
So that night I stood there before them, scissors in hand. I looked at them, and felt badly -- here was a thing I had nursed and loved, worried, fussed over and cared about. And I was about to cut them back and take off the precious new growth that was so slow and steady in the making. It took courage, but I did it.
I stood back.
Within days all 4 bushes began to form beautiful blossoms, bigger than they had ever grown before. To this day, I will trim them after each round of blooms - causing them to thrive and grow and blossom larger and larger. I take small bouquets into work for my desk, and my dining room table has a perpetual centerpiece. They bring me joy. And whenever I see that one of the plants has slowed its growth, I grab my scissors.
Is this so different than when we are cut down and despite good, slow growth in a positive direction our courses change? We don't believe that a benevolent God would cut us back to grow us, but look at this lesson from nature: He cuts us back and changes our direction so we can blossom like never before. It takes courage and perspective to maintain this kind of Faith; but we must do it, knowing that God is the Master Gardener and His plan is that we not only grow but thrive where we are planted—even if we require a little pruning.
So that night I stood there before them, scissors in hand. I looked at them, and felt badly -- here was a thing I had nursed and loved, worried, fussed over and cared about. And I was about to cut them back and take off the precious new growth that was so slow and steady in the making. It took courage, but I did it.
I stood back.
Within days all 4 bushes began to form beautiful blossoms, bigger than they had ever grown before. To this day, I will trim them after each round of blooms - causing them to thrive and grow and blossom larger and larger. I take small bouquets into work for my desk, and my dining room table has a perpetual centerpiece. They bring me joy. And whenever I see that one of the plants has slowed its growth, I grab my scissors.
Is this so different than when we are cut down and despite good, slow growth in a positive direction our courses change? We don't believe that a benevolent God would cut us back to grow us, but look at this lesson from nature: He cuts us back and changes our direction so we can blossom like never before. It takes courage and perspective to maintain this kind of Faith; but we must do it, knowing that God is the Master Gardener and His plan is that we not only grow but thrive where we are planted—even if we require a little pruning.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Bella is a 10 month old Springer Spaniel. She is a very intent and I would say Happy dog. She likes to snuggle at the end of the day -- but before she crashes she always has her "eyes on the ball." From the first moment she wakes, she is purposefully going about her day.
Yesterday morning I looked out my back window. There I saw Bella in the yard, sniffling around. The sun was rising and the dew was thick and wet on the grass. It was picturesque.
What was interesting was that because of the dew I could see every step she has taken, every path she had gone down in her explorations. Intent as she was, her paths were not straight - from point A to point B - but instead zig zagged and curly, short and long. She had very "purposefully" wandered here and there - sometimes crossing previous paths, sometimes stopping short and beginning in another direction.
I smiled. How she has grown from a tiny pup I held in my two hands! How more confident and boldly she goes where she would not have gone before -- blazing travels in every direction. Searching, seeking, exploring, being; inconsciously reveling in being herself.
Despite her many paths she was safe in the world I had provide for her -- within our fenced in yard. And I knew at the end of her discoveries (perhaps clean, dirty, hungry or tired) she would come to the place meant for her - home.
And like Bella, sometimes when bad things happen to us or when our path in life is not clear we think our Master is distant and complacient.
This is not true.
God created us, has watched us grow, provides for us in our time of need when we think he has not. He marvels at our every move -- is intriqued at every place our free will takes us in our explorations in the world he has created for us. He sees every path-- a perspective we cannot comprehend-- all our curly q's and zig zags. At times he leads us but we stop short and aburptly go another direction. Every step meant to shape us, change us -- make us stronger -- make us closer to what he has intended. We are like steel being tempered in the fire.
Have Faith. He does.
He knows we'll reach our final destination; He knows we're coming home.
Yesterday morning I looked out my back window. There I saw Bella in the yard, sniffling around. The sun was rising and the dew was thick and wet on the grass. It was picturesque.
What was interesting was that because of the dew I could see every step she has taken, every path she had gone down in her explorations. Intent as she was, her paths were not straight - from point A to point B - but instead zig zagged and curly, short and long. She had very "purposefully" wandered here and there - sometimes crossing previous paths, sometimes stopping short and beginning in another direction.
I smiled. How she has grown from a tiny pup I held in my two hands! How more confident and boldly she goes where she would not have gone before -- blazing travels in every direction. Searching, seeking, exploring, being; inconsciously reveling in being herself.
Despite her many paths she was safe in the world I had provide for her -- within our fenced in yard. And I knew at the end of her discoveries (perhaps clean, dirty, hungry or tired) she would come to the place meant for her - home.
And like Bella, sometimes when bad things happen to us or when our path in life is not clear we think our Master is distant and complacient.
This is not true.
God created us, has watched us grow, provides for us in our time of need when we think he has not. He marvels at our every move -- is intriqued at every place our free will takes us in our explorations in the world he has created for us. He sees every path-- a perspective we cannot comprehend-- all our curly q's and zig zags. At times he leads us but we stop short and aburptly go another direction. Every step meant to shape us, change us -- make us stronger -- make us closer to what he has intended. We are like steel being tempered in the fire.
Have Faith. He does.
He knows we'll reach our final destination; He knows we're coming home.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Love
Love is not divisable; it is expontential.
Love is not a pie from which must be cut the people you hold most dear -- each person's slice must not be reduced, reduced, reduced with each new added member - no. Love is exponential. It endures in hardship and in happiness. It grows.
Love is not a pie from which must be cut the people you hold most dear -- each person's slice must not be reduced, reduced, reduced with each new added member - no. Love is exponential. It endures in hardship and in happiness. It grows.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
What Do You Have to Give?
"I only regret that I have but one life to give my country." *
You never hear that today.
Where is the passion? Where is the intellect? Is it washed away in the noise and the mess that spews forth from our blackberries, televisions, computer screens, cell phones and every other device made to "connect us?" On my commute to work I see person after person alone in their car, totally absobed in the six foot sphere of themselves -- totally oblivious to the outside world. What has become of us?
"And so my fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you - ask what you can do for your country." **
I ask myself that. What can I give? What can I do? I am so small. But as I pray, a feeling comes over me, that I am not alone. And that although so small, a potential burns deep within. No, I am not alone. After all, I am a grandaughter of "The Greatest Generation." ***
*Nathan Hale (June 6, 1755 – September 22, 1776) was a soldier for the Continental Army during the American Revolutionary War. Widely considered America's first spy,[1] he volunteered for an intelligence-gathering mission, but was captured by the British. He is best remembered for his speech before being hanged following the Battle of Long Island, in which he said, "I only regret that I have but one life to give my country."[
**John F Kennedy http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inaugural_address_of_John_F._Kennedy
*** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greatest_Generation
You never hear that today.
Where is the passion? Where is the intellect? Is it washed away in the noise and the mess that spews forth from our blackberries, televisions, computer screens, cell phones and every other device made to "connect us?" On my commute to work I see person after person alone in their car, totally absobed in the six foot sphere of themselves -- totally oblivious to the outside world. What has become of us?
"And so my fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you - ask what you can do for your country." **
I ask myself that. What can I give? What can I do? I am so small. But as I pray, a feeling comes over me, that I am not alone. And that although so small, a potential burns deep within. No, I am not alone. After all, I am a grandaughter of "The Greatest Generation." ***
*Nathan Hale (June 6, 1755 – September 22, 1776) was a soldier for the Continental Army during the American Revolutionary War. Widely considered America's first spy,[1] he volunteered for an intelligence-gathering mission, but was captured by the British. He is best remembered for his speech before being hanged following the Battle of Long Island, in which he said, "I only regret that I have but one life to give my country."[
**John F Kennedy http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inaugural_address_of_John_F._Kennedy
*** http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Greatest_Generation
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Prospective
Time offers a masterful prospective. Eight years ago this summer I found myself on the park stage crowned Queen of the Bristol Homecoming. Last year I had the privilege of serving as a judge for the contest, and tonight served as a interview coach. I gave them several tips about body language, pausing before speaking, and other interview skills. I then did a short mock interview with each of them.
Eight years is not that long in the span of 80. It makes, however, all the difference between 19 and 27. I found myself for the first time tonight sitting on the other side - asking the questions, extending a comment to graciously prod them into a deeper response, and then offering suggestions. How did I get in the position to offer suggestions? I seems I have. I wonder how this sneaks up on a person. How is it that I have gained enough professional expertise and speaking skills to prove useful in this area?
I had this same realization just this past week at a meeting in Dearborn, MI where I spoke before a panel, and then before the larger (75 people) congregation. It flowed naturally, and it triggered in my mind old, old memories of Ball State where I sat on the Executive Committee for a student organization. How could I have imagined then what that work would prepare me for later? Just as when that crown was placed on top my head, how could I have foreseen the most rewarding benefit of all -- helping the younger girls of a community I love so much.
Interviewing them also makes me think back on the many "me's" I have shed along the way to who I am now. I see the girls there, in that first fledging form. Interestingly, the ones who do not fear constructive criticism are the most introspective and the ones who realize they are but one small part of the universe and not it's sun.
I saw tonight the true beautiful of the person who honestly says, "what can I do better?" So much more is received when more is given. It is a happy obligation -- but obligation it is -- to help a younger generation. How rewarding it is when they listen! Yes, we cannot understand how God uses us, but surely he does. Was there any more proof of a master plan than what I observed tonight?
He is The Beautiful Architect.
Eight years is not that long in the span of 80. It makes, however, all the difference between 19 and 27. I found myself for the first time tonight sitting on the other side - asking the questions, extending a comment to graciously prod them into a deeper response, and then offering suggestions. How did I get in the position to offer suggestions? I seems I have. I wonder how this sneaks up on a person. How is it that I have gained enough professional expertise and speaking skills to prove useful in this area?
I had this same realization just this past week at a meeting in Dearborn, MI where I spoke before a panel, and then before the larger (75 people) congregation. It flowed naturally, and it triggered in my mind old, old memories of Ball State where I sat on the Executive Committee for a student organization. How could I have imagined then what that work would prepare me for later? Just as when that crown was placed on top my head, how could I have foreseen the most rewarding benefit of all -- helping the younger girls of a community I love so much.
Interviewing them also makes me think back on the many "me's" I have shed along the way to who I am now. I see the girls there, in that first fledging form. Interestingly, the ones who do not fear constructive criticism are the most introspective and the ones who realize they are but one small part of the universe and not it's sun.
I saw tonight the true beautiful of the person who honestly says, "what can I do better?" So much more is received when more is given. It is a happy obligation -- but obligation it is -- to help a younger generation. How rewarding it is when they listen! Yes, we cannot understand how God uses us, but surely he does. Was there any more proof of a master plan than what I observed tonight?
He is The Beautiful Architect.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Hope
It is a powerful thing to observe Hope--to see if shift, shape, and lift a person. I have the privilege to witnesses this time and again at Weight Watchers. As a Weight Watchers Leader, I witness the transformation of countless individuals on their journey toward self respect. I believe in the dignity and potential of every individual -- I believe in the sanctity of human life -- that is why each Tuesday at 5:30 and Saturday at 9am and 11am are my favorite days of my week. At those times I see concentrated Hope.
To me Weight Watchers is about more than counting points and portions. It is about taking control of what really matters - because Life is much more than Food. When we master our intake, however, we master so much more. Self respect can sometimes come at a high price - especially because so many of us wait until the very last moment to get help. We're a strong and independent people and it is hard to say, "help me."
But, when we do, we grow. And when we are open to new ideas and information, we inch closer to that which we believe we can be. And that is the American Dream. Not cars, nor homes, or other material things. Being Free is a universal banner -- Free to be ourselves, free to think, breathe, pray, dream. Free even to fail, and try, try again.
At Weight Watchers I see weight literally and figuratively lifted from people. I see them change -- I see them glow. Sometimes I do not see the physical weight come off - because quite honestly I see all people in love when they walk through the door. I see them through a sense of compassion and friendship - I don't really see their weight. Then, so often, I will be weighing them in at the beginning of the meeting to find they have lost 23, 56, 77 lbs. I will stare up at them in disbelief and say, "really?" I see only their smiles-- on the meek and the bold. I see them care about themselves again; I see self-love.
This was God's plan for us--not wandering despair and hopelessness. There is a higher plan. That plan includes feeling satisfied with our achievement, self growth, and encouragement to the other. I don't think we really grow unless we help someone else to.
Yes, every week I see more than 100 people put on hope. I see them walk through the door. Sometimes they are fighting a deep, internal battle -- other times they yell in victory. They are not overcoming vices really -- merely championing what's best in them. We all have something to give -- from the 10 year old to the 82 year old at Weight Watchers -- in life. We all have something to give. Hope, fulfillment and encouragement are what we deserve.
Yes, hope is a vehicle to our destiny.
To me Weight Watchers is about more than counting points and portions. It is about taking control of what really matters - because Life is much more than Food. When we master our intake, however, we master so much more. Self respect can sometimes come at a high price - especially because so many of us wait until the very last moment to get help. We're a strong and independent people and it is hard to say, "help me."
But, when we do, we grow. And when we are open to new ideas and information, we inch closer to that which we believe we can be. And that is the American Dream. Not cars, nor homes, or other material things. Being Free is a universal banner -- Free to be ourselves, free to think, breathe, pray, dream. Free even to fail, and try, try again.
At Weight Watchers I see weight literally and figuratively lifted from people. I see them change -- I see them glow. Sometimes I do not see the physical weight come off - because quite honestly I see all people in love when they walk through the door. I see them through a sense of compassion and friendship - I don't really see their weight. Then, so often, I will be weighing them in at the beginning of the meeting to find they have lost 23, 56, 77 lbs. I will stare up at them in disbelief and say, "really?" I see only their smiles-- on the meek and the bold. I see them care about themselves again; I see self-love.
This was God's plan for us--not wandering despair and hopelessness. There is a higher plan. That plan includes feeling satisfied with our achievement, self growth, and encouragement to the other. I don't think we really grow unless we help someone else to.
Yes, every week I see more than 100 people put on hope. I see them walk through the door. Sometimes they are fighting a deep, internal battle -- other times they yell in victory. They are not overcoming vices really -- merely championing what's best in them. We all have something to give -- from the 10 year old to the 82 year old at Weight Watchers -- in life. We all have something to give. Hope, fulfillment and encouragement are what we deserve.
Yes, hope is a vehicle to our destiny.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Everything in Moderation
If you know anything about labs, you know their every move is motivated by food: there desire for it, their proximity to it, and the minutes until their next meal. My dogs know a few words like "here," "sit," "stay," and "DINNER."
Labs are known for their "people dog” qualities, meaning they like being around their owners and try to please then. They will often follow you from room to room. However, all of this is forgotten when any hope of food is near - and all their best intentions for good behavior go out the window.
Case in point:
One day when I was gone Molly learned how to open the lazy-susan cabinet in my kitchen. What did I keep in said cabinet? Ziploc bags, vegetable oil, and about 4 sticks of Crisco. I think Molly must have started innocently enough-- "oh wow, look! If I keep pushing this wood thing, it swings!" Then I think she caught a glimpse of something new to put into her mouth - aka Ziploc. Then, duh duh duh, she caught a sniff of the Crisco.
I found out the hard way that, like many of us, Molly loves Fat - specifically Crisco. When I came home, I found the following: the entire kitchen, dining room, and living room littered with torn up Ziplocs. A half-empty large bottle of vegetable oil laying sideways on the living room floor, with the remainder of it's contents soaking into the floor boards. Two untouched Crisco bars laid with the remains of one wrapper by the TV stand. Molly lying on one side as close to the sofa as possible with a maddened look in her eye. And then, as the shock finally settled on my face in that "oh my GOD" position - I saw it....the front end of my sofa...everywhere. Apparently one of the Crisco bars had squirted under the sofa and Molly lost interest in everything else -- can't you just see the thought process "must Have CRISCO!" She destroyed the front part of the coach in her desperate attempt to get her treat.
Then, when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I saw it. The 1/2 ton TUB of lard (well, it seems like a 1/2 ton at the time), sitting straight up by the front door. I'm not sure how I ever came to own a LARGE TUB of Crisco - but I did. And evidently I stored it in the very BACK of the lazy-susan. I picked it up and found it had been licked down to the bottom.
The next week Molly had a VERY shiny coat.
Life lesson: move all edible objects to higher, less accessible levels. Know that Labs love “the good stuff” just as much as we do. And realize that sometimes we can get just a one-track mind as Molly did that day – too much of a “good” thing is bad. EVERYTHING is best in moderation – especially Crisco.
Post note: for all you dog lovers –the vet was called, and Molly survived. She didn’t even seem to notice. As a preventative measure, she was on a special non-fat diet for 4 days after that. I had to cook her lean meats!
Remind me to tell you of the time Wrigley consumed 1/2 a box of "sugar in the raw" with Molly's help. That went just as well. Wow, Molly does have a sweet tooth.
Monday, June 1, 2009
A Loving Father
The longer I have Labs in my life, the more I understand God as a Loving Father. I have a porch that is elevated above my fenced in back yard. I love to stand there watching my Labradors as they go about their business in the safe haven I have created for them. I smile as I watch them swimming in their little pool, licking each other, running, laying in the cool grass, sniffing, chewing, watching the birds, or yes, even digging. I love when they love each other's company. I rejoice in even their minor accomplishments, and revel in their individual preferences, habits, and differences. I even enjoy their more rudimentary requirements, like sleeping, eating food, drinking water, taking a bath, or even when they finally go pee when I know they have to! I watch and care for them with tender affection, as God must watch us.
I provide for them without them asking, and they trust I always will. They do not question where their food, shelter, water, or medical care will come from. I mark them with my number so that if they are lost they can be identified as belonging to me-- that they are mine. I reward them with treats for good behavior and I challenge them to learn new tasks because I can see their potential. I watch them always, even when they don't think I do. And although it pains me, I discipline them when they do bad, so that they may learn. I sometimes leave them alone so they grow in character or restrain them for their own good, so that they don't harm themselves. They think I am far away from them, or mean or cruel, but I am none of these things. I love them, no matter how they feel. And I see how when they obey my commandments, they are at their happiness.
But, ultimately, they have free will. They sometimes think the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. They find an open door, or create one, and they roam outside my care. They encounter things they don't understand: filth, poor health, true hunger, cold nights, mean people and more danger than they've ever known. And I am saddened to know they are not with me. I worry; I send others looking for them. I call them by name.
They are always found. For some unlucky ones, they are not found until the very, bitter end, when it is almost too late. They are found starved, beaten and bruised - in ill health. But they come home. I mourn their passing, and think back on their life and know others were happier or even made better when they were with me. But for my two, when they come home I welcome them with shouts of joy, and sometimes tears, with pats, hugs and kisses. I embrace them, and give them the finest food. I bathe, comb and brush them. I call everyone to say, "they are found!" I tell everyone I meet, "they've come home!"
Yes, loving is the same no matter on what level is is done: be it God looking down on us, or us upon the life that's in our care. Love is love, and we are better for it. When I watch my Labradors I understand God is a Loving Father.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Popcorn
I absolutely love this picture. If you know Bella or Nate, the Spaniels, you know how funny this is. I call it "silent but steathly," or "Nate 1, popcorn 0."
Unleashed
Observe the unleashed dog: this is joy in it's truest, most undiluted form. Should you think the potential for pure happiness has died in this world, look no farther than at the end of your 6 foot leash. I believe every dog exists in a perpetual wait - exhibiting an amazing patience human's can't truly appreciate or maybe be capable of. They exist to love and obey without question, all while hoping against hope to hear that quiet, simple sound which means freedom from all restraint: the "click" of the eye hoop at the end of the leash snapping open.
To see my two Labradors (2 1/2 and 5 months) run free, crashing happily into the waves without a care this morning at Lake Charlevoix made me happy. How simple are the best pleasures in life. I wondered then, how long I had been on too short leash. But unlike them, I have the ability to unhook what binds me and be my own master. I just hope that I take the time the undo that hook, to look about me and, making the best of any situation as they so often do, find happiness in crashing against the waves, or the mud, or the trail less traveled where no barriers exist, if that is where my spirit takes me.
To see my two Labradors (2 1/2 and 5 months) run free, crashing happily into the waves without a care this morning at Lake Charlevoix made me happy. How simple are the best pleasures in life. I wondered then, how long I had been on too short leash. But unlike them, I have the ability to unhook what binds me and be my own master. I just hope that I take the time the undo that hook, to look about me and, making the best of any situation as they so often do, find happiness in crashing against the waves, or the mud, or the trail less traveled where no barriers exist, if that is where my spirit takes me.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Fence
I suspected that a Labrador would be my sanity's undoing: I was right. Last weekend Steve purchased a expensive miniature weeping maple tree for the back corner of our house. We planted it, along with the four rose bushes he got me as well (ah!). It looked beautiful! When we stepped back to admire it, I said, "what's that in Wrigley's mouth?" only to discover our lightening fast 4 month old Labrador retriever puppy happily chomping away on what remained of the top half of a brand-new rose bush.
Choking back my surprise, I simply sputtered, "Wrigley!" to which he so innocently looked up at me as if so say, "me?"
The next morning found me bright and early at Lowes. I stormed into the garden center like a marine. My mission: to find the most indestructible fencing made by man. I found the fence aisle in the garden center only to find the amount of fence I needed required a cart - and a large one at that. Once equipped with a cart, I stormed down the fence aisle with an ever increasing manic gleam in my eye and I hoisted various types of fence into the cart I could hardly keep myself from rubbing my hands together and saying, "wha ha ha!" Had I been born an evil cartoon villain, I would undoubtedly been twirling the end of my mustache.
My conquest complete and Lowes quite literally out of green garden fencing posts ( I bought the last 8) I ran to the checkout, fully aware that every minute spent here was one more minute my Labradors would be gnawing, clawing, drooling, digging, or otherwise happily unleashing their destruction upon the unprotected rose bushes/weeping maple. The checkout girl must have sensed my mania, because she was unusually quite. Her lack of conversation, however, made me suddenly very intent on telling her the entire story. I remember finishing with a flourish..." and THAT is why I need 50 feet of fence." From the frightened look in her eye, I could tell I wasn't too far away from the villain twirling his mustache after all. I zoomed home and immediately began fencing out the labs from specific zones of their fenced-in yard.
I put up a decorative white fence around the roses and weeping maple. Unfortunately, it was as two-man job, and what should have been easy looked more like a three stooges episode; when I put on end in the ground the other would pop up, etc, etc. Eventually I was to the last link in the fence and it was almost complete. I sat on the ground and painstakingly fiddled with the white wire, attaching it just so. One more section, I thought, and it will be safe!!!! It was then that I looked up. And who looked me directly in the eye, from the "safe" side of the fence -- but Wrigley. Then he grabbed a mouthful of weeping maple swooping lazily by his face, and giving it a playful tug, snapped one of the remaining limbs in half. Satisfied with his new toy, he sauntered directly toward me and my gaping mouth, and walked directly toward me THROUGH the fence.
Apparently, it was too wide.
Choking back my surprise, I simply sputtered, "Wrigley!" to which he so innocently looked up at me as if so say, "me?"
The next morning found me bright and early at Lowes. I stormed into the garden center like a marine. My mission: to find the most indestructible fencing made by man. I found the fence aisle in the garden center only to find the amount of fence I needed required a cart - and a large one at that. Once equipped with a cart, I stormed down the fence aisle with an ever increasing manic gleam in my eye and I hoisted various types of fence into the cart I could hardly keep myself from rubbing my hands together and saying, "wha ha ha!" Had I been born an evil cartoon villain, I would undoubtedly been twirling the end of my mustache.
My conquest complete and Lowes quite literally out of green garden fencing posts ( I bought the last 8) I ran to the checkout, fully aware that every minute spent here was one more minute my Labradors would be gnawing, clawing, drooling, digging, or otherwise happily unleashing their destruction upon the unprotected rose bushes/weeping maple. The checkout girl must have sensed my mania, because she was unusually quite. Her lack of conversation, however, made me suddenly very intent on telling her the entire story. I remember finishing with a flourish..." and THAT is why I need 50 feet of fence." From the frightened look in her eye, I could tell I wasn't too far away from the villain twirling his mustache after all. I zoomed home and immediately began fencing out the labs from specific zones of their fenced-in yard.
I put up a decorative white fence around the roses and weeping maple. Unfortunately, it was as two-man job, and what should have been easy looked more like a three stooges episode; when I put on end in the ground the other would pop up, etc, etc. Eventually I was to the last link in the fence and it was almost complete. I sat on the ground and painstakingly fiddled with the white wire, attaching it just so. One more section, I thought, and it will be safe!!!! It was then that I looked up. And who looked me directly in the eye, from the "safe" side of the fence -- but Wrigley. Then he grabbed a mouthful of weeping maple swooping lazily by his face, and giving it a playful tug, snapped one of the remaining limbs in half. Satisfied with his new toy, he sauntered directly toward me and my gaping mouth, and walked directly toward me THROUGH the fence.
Apparently, it was too wide.
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