Amy's Paradigm

Daughter's of Eve

2011-10-17T12:55:00.000-07:00

Click on the title of this post to see a great post about Eve. You may also enjoy many of his other posts--particularly "Getting Ready to Pop Question Read This."

http://mormonmonk.blogspot.com/2009/09/getting-ready-to-pop-question-read-this.html

Enjoy

2011-08-03T13:05:00.000-07:00

The best "family history" video ever. Enjoy!

Dreams Do Come True

2011-05-17T12:06:00.000-07:00

Last summer, I jumped in the car after watching a midnight showing of a movie and went to visit Northern California and Oregon. The beauty of that green region overwhelmed me. For months I dreamed of moving. This spring Oregon's weather moved to me. I am sitting by my window, watching the rain water my flowerbeds. I have yet to turn on my sprinklers and I mowed yesterday quickly as a storm rolled in. Today I am grateful for the gray skies and green grass.

I love to Garden

2011-05-17T11:14:00.000-07:00

You cannot tell by diving by my front yard, but I love to garden. I often take long detours in order to drive by a yard with a particular flower in bloom. My children know to watch for cars and children during the spring because I may forget to watch the road. My distracted driving comes from flowers--not cell phones--I simply love gardens. All gardens.

But when you arrive at my house you will find a wild mess of flowers. You see, I love flowers so much I have trouble thinning them out--ever. I simply can’t kill them. This is problematic. A true gardener will religiously deadhead their flowers, even before the bloom is spent in order to create a better show next week.

Every year I vow, next season will be different. I will finally get rid of the wild flowers that have grown in my flower beds for seven years now. The first year I threw the seeds down because my checkbook had no money left for buying plants. We had bought topsoil and dug flowerbeds, put in sprinklers and had no money left for the actual plants. So a three dollar bottle of wild flowers became my “garden.” The new rich soil produced wild flowers taller then my neighbor’s six foot fence. The color was brilliant and my boys built a fort in the “wild flower jungle.” The blooms lasted until the weight of the snow killed them. It was too late to clean the beds until spring. The heap of wildness became the lattice to hold the Christmas lights that Christmas and when spring came I was busy in school and didn’t get the old flowers out quite soon enough. When I finally had a warm day, in March,I began to pull the long stalks of deadness from the earth, only to discover a tiny rainforest hiding underneath the death. I halted my cleanup efforts. How can I kill the baby alysum? Certainly the harsh winds would kill the tender starts that had grown in the hot house the old plants created. So my wildness sat a little longer. The plethora of daffodils and tulips pushed through the debris and I had the ugliest bed, and prettiest flowers on the block.

Somehow I seem to re-create this happy chaos each year.

It is a bit messy, but I love it. Somehow the wild, cheerful flowerbeds match my home. Mom of six, my house is always just shy of pandemonium. It is a controlled chaos, and somehow, my flowerbeds seem to tell the world of the glorious mess of a life that lives inside.

Every spring I walk the beds seeing the great grandchildren of my first garden’s flowers and every year I postpone killing them. I envision my flower beds planted in a formal rose garden. Something to rival the White House’s rose garden, or perhaps Mt. Vernon’s yards--but spring comes and I can’t bring myself to kill the small life pushing through.

Every fall I promise myself I will clean out the beds and start fresh next year, but how can I pull flowers out in full bloom? Somehow, I want a different garden, but can I kill other plants to do it?

This self-recognition has made me realize I must be a tree hugger after all. I have never considered myself as such, but who else values her wild flowers so much, that they live at the expense of her vegetable garden. Cucumber’s are forced to climb cosmos branches to finally see the sun. Once I even found a tomato plant hiding inside the cosmos near the end of fall. There was more than a hundred tomotoes climbing throughout that wild bed and I didn’t even know they were there. How can you not even know they are there? I hung the plant up in my garage before the first frost and I ate tomotoes from the garage for the next two months.

Any seeing my yard would be unimpressed with the mess. The daffodils and dandelions are both in bloom, but nestled under he mess of wild growth re-emerging, the strawberry plants are beginning to bloom and the blackberries look promising. So, I will keep one more season, this living metaphor for my life.

Forgive Me

2011-04-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

So I don't know who wrote this post and I know it appeals to everything that is wrong with me. But for others who struggle with social anxiety or ever have--enjoy this blog. Just click on the title "Forgive me" and enjoy "Social Entrapment."

Conference Week End

2011-04-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

I am now beginning my long six month wait for the next LDS General Conference. It is my favorite time of the year. My family travels from all parts of the United States to stay at "the grandma house". Originally, the house was owned by my grandparents. My great-grandpa lived there too after his wife passed away. Every summer I would go and spend time with them. I learned to love gardening at the house while helping my grandma plant petunias and I learned to trust God sitting at her beautiful dining room table discussing the things that mattered most to her and her father. The crystal chandelier caught not only light from the bulb, but the faith of my progenitors and the refractions hung in the air strengthening my resolve to live the life God intended for me. My grandparents have been gone for ages now--only my oldest kids ever met them; but as the family all surrounds that same table we all are strengthened and enlightened.

The LDS conference includes eight hours of general meetings where the entire membership of our faith can listen to our leaders. We get to sit and listen to a prophet of God. It is wonderful; the tabernacle choir always adds such faith and beauty to the meetings. Every year someone gives a talk that seems specifically for me. I sit with my family all around me--my mother, my sister, my children, my spouse. Often the cousins break into groups according to their age with the youngest always congregating in the basement where their noise will not bother the rest trying to listen. We listen intently and then discuss and debate about what we heard and what we will change in our lives. Every year someone in the family shares about how God is blessing them. We also always end up talking about how amazing it is how much we all love each other. We say no one can every understand how important cousins are; actually, I often slip and call my cousins "my niece" because that feels closer to the relationship I have with them. I am in awe of those beautiful women that I have watched grow up. They are so intelligent, beautiful, and capable.

We eat the best food--especially the rolls--we laugh, we cry, we hug, and we leave ready to stand firm in our faith.

Now everyone has headed home. The humdrum of everyday life must begin again--but the joy and laughter continues to refract in the crystal chandelier hanging in my own dining room and the determination I first felt as a child at my grandma's table continues to grow. I hope my children will remember not only the crystal shimmering above our table, but the warmth of faith we have shared while eating under its magical light.

Hamlet's Blackberry

2011-03-28T20:02:00.000-07:00

If any of you are like me, this will resonate with you. Thanking Roman philosophy to help us understand how to deal with our own technology. Now, how to best incorporate this into the family. Any ideas?

My new favorite site: 750 words (click this title if you want to go to the site)

2011-03-26T19:39:00.000-07:00

Any who know me, know that I intend to write three pages long-hand every morning before the kids are up and the whirlwind of the day begins. Any who know me really well, know that I actually only accomplish this when I have a writing deadline looming.

Thankfully, I started reading The War of Art by Steven Pressfield the same week my sister found the delightful site entitled "750 Words." Pressfield believes we all resist doing anything that is good for our soul's evolution. He even says this rule is so consistent that "we can use this resistance like a compass. We can navigate by Resistance, letting it guide us to that calling or action that we must follow before all others" (12).

I determined to do no writing--finally--no matter what.

I was thinking about this concept when my sister told me of the site--meant to inspire writers and creative souls to write their three pages on the site and the site will reward you with badges and congratulations when you achieve your goal. No one is actually reading what you write and yet, I find myself excited everyday to open the clean blue page (I hate white pages) and begin. I feel I have accomplished something when the little bubbles congratulates me for writing my 750 words and it continues to keep track of how many words I have actually written. After years of trying to write everyday, I am finally actually doing it. If any of you have ever tried to follow The Artist's Way and write everyday I hope you will check out the site.

Where You Can Find Me

2011-03-21T10:00:00.000-07:00

It is lacrosse season again and so you will find me sitting on the sidelines screaming my guts out and watching J. Is there anything better than this?

2011-03-21T09:47:00.000-07:00

Pinewood Derby!

Tom was happy to have won the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby Saturday.

Will was happy to win the complimentary Pinewood Derby.

Heck, Will was just happy to have a car to race.

After the race he turned to me, made that expression and squealed, "Mom, I did seriously well."

Happy Birthday

2011-03-16T12:03:00.000-07:00

Well March 11 came and went and I never did see the new Jane Eyre. Friday morning I said good-bye to my Korean friend who spent a week with me for the first time in twenty-five years. My heart was happy, but my head hurt from trying to dig into its depths to find those Korean words that use to fill my mind. I climbed back into bed as the sun came up and at lunchtime, my children brought me breakfast in bed.

I would have needed to travel to California or NY to see Jane Eyre, but it didn't matter. I was perfectly content to be surrounded by my children and husband. The evening ended with me being certain that no one could be more content. Maybe next year I can buy the DVD for my birthday and watch it with all my children snuggled with me on the giant couch.

Jane Eyre - Official Trailer

2011-02-15T07:52:00.000-08:00

This opens on MY BIRTHDAY I will be going in celebration. Hope you can join me!

Why I Homeschool

2011-01-26T16:06:00.000-08:00

Today T- said to me, "Mom, do you remember the boy I was in third grade?"

I hesitated to comment not knowing where he was going.

"Yes," I noncommitedly replied.

"I am so proud of the boy I am now. I have learned so much about so many things."

My seventh grader Paul (who has been homeschooling for a month now) agreed and added,
"Thanks mom."

My Kindergartener is Doomed

2011-01-25T00:37:00.000-08:00

My dentist, not wanting to scare my youngest with all of his technology, took time to show W his "glasses." You know those dentist microscopes they wear on their eyes.
The dentist said, "Do you want to see my funny glasses?"
W's response, "They are not funny, they are lovely!"
Later upon seeing the before mentioned eyewear on the dentist's face he changed his mind. . .
"Actually, they are quite silly."

How will an undersized boy ever survive grade school saying words like "lovely," and "actually." I have doomed him. My new resolve is to never tell him his painting is "lovely" again and I have been practicing words like "AWESOME," in the mirror to try to make them sound believable. What other words should a kindergartener know? I am looking for suggestions.

Why I love my Sisters

2011-01-21T15:01:00.000-08:00

Who else can you talk to on the phone until 3 am because you love, love, love a class you are taking about the Bible from Steven Walker only to find at 7 am she sent you this:
http://www.hogwartsprofessor.com/bree-tanner-day-twilight-news-site-interviews-byu-professor-steve-walker-and-spotlight-author-john-granger-about-why-twilight-works/

Thanks Sis!

Romantic Movies: Persuasion and North and South

2011-01-01T20:35:00.000-08:00

Recently two different dear friends posted about the 2007 adaptation of Jane Austen's Persuasion and their posts got me thinking that perhaps you--dear friends-- may not have discovered North and South, a novel by Elizabeth Gaskell. Some have claimed the Persuasion movie has the worst-ever kiss and perhaps it is true. But North and South may possibly the best cinema kiss and for the new year I thought I should share. Enjoy.

I love, love, love Primary

2010-12-17T17:17:00.001-08:00

Look at the great things my Primary kids are doing. I love them.
http://rosecreek4primary.blogspot.com/

Black Friday

2010-12-01T00:02:00.000-08:00

It's Official--I can have fun with Stephanie anywhere. Thursday night I decided to try something new. I would venture out for "Black Friday" and see if I could get any great deals for Christmas.

Now if you know me you know that I am generally a happy person. In fact, there are only a couple things I can't stand: 1. shopping--with the myriad decisions--where to park, where to shop, what to look at, what to buy; and 2. crowds--now I know the crowd thing surprises you because I seem like such a "people person." But crowds have always horrified me. I love visiting with friends and I am happier if I have been with people (but I usually can't remember that when in my home alone)--but I hate crowds.

Well, Black Friday I thought it important to begin in the middle of the night, before I was comfortable and warm in bed. So Stephanie and I got in the car at 11:55 p.m. to venture to WalMart. There we found no parking places and no walking spaces. The isles were littered with people just waiting for new deals to begin or to pay for the treasures they found. I felt I was back in Korea and shopping in Dong Dae Moon. The crowds pushing back as I try to move forward.

It didn't take long to realize I am not ready for WalMart madness, but Stephanie and I ventured next door to the Kohl's store. We were in line outside the store by 1 a.m. The temperature bitter and the wait long, but Stephanie and I settled in for the wait. We read our new favorite book, talked, laughed, shivered and basically had a great time. Just before the doors opened J-- and K-- joined us for the actual shopping exploits. The deals were amazing and the crowds unbelievable. Somehow I feel a little more American today because I experienced "Black Friday." Thank you Stephanie, K--, and J-- for exposing me to modern American Fun.

Click on this title to find my hero's blog

2010-11-19T20:08:00.001-08:00

I have a hero who is starting a new life. Just one of many amazing mom's who is picking up the pieces of home and family. She has just recently started a blog (o.k., maybe I still post her writings for her--but hey--she is busy building a new life). I think you will want to follow her documentation of the miraculous transformation! Here's a link to find her.

Resaon you should let a guy take you out for dinner

2010-08-11T16:10:00.001-07:00

"Why would I date a girl when I can get her to cook me food--no strings attached."--Jeremy Lofgreen

'W''s Five-year-old Musing

2010-06-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

True conversation while driving home from the cousins' house:

W: "Is Chuck Norris a good guy?

Me: "Well, he generally plays a good guy on T.V."

(Long Pause)

W: "Is Barak Obama a bad guy?"

(Longer pause)

Me: "Well, no, I guess he probably isn't? He certainly doesn't seem to want to value our constitution."

(Longer pause still)

W: "Is Glenn Beck a good guy?" (I didn't even know he was aware of Glenn Beck)

Me: Yes, I think he is a good guy.

W: "So Glenn Beck is like Chuck Norris."

(You've got to love his logic).

The Power of Words

2010-06-05T00:40:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about words and their impact on our lives. Both the words we voice and also the words that ruminate inside our minds. The Bible tells us that the world was created because "God said" (Gen. 1) and the beloved apostle begins by emphasizing that in the beginning was the Word---yes, I do believe in the power of words and so, for me and the myriad of little medical hiccups me and mine have right now, I have chosen a vocabulary that brings joy and comfort. So, for any friends wanting to speak of these little annoyances the following terms may come in handy:

Breast reduction= doesn't that sound more glamorous than a lumpectomy. Never mind that everyone I have told I am getting a breast reduction has said, "Really? You hardly have any to begin with." Technically, they may be right, but extra weight is extra weight. I have been dying to get rid of some of my extra poundage and now I get to have it surgically removed--seriously, that is glamorous.

Diet pills=blood thinners for Kim's Deep Vein Thrombosis. Now, for you word lovers like me--isn't it great to be able to say 'Deep Vein Thrombosis." Kim believed it might be a great name for a band. Kim is fortunate enough to be on medication to thin his blood. Certainly with all the pills out there to thin someone's backside, why hasn't someone wanted to thin their blood?

TOSH (a premier orthopedic facility)=the day spa. Did you know that when you go to TOSH they have special equipment to warm you all the way through and then they message you with lotions and creams? And the trip often includes fruit juices and cookies.

So, you see, my life has never been more glamorous--breast reductions, diet pills, and day spas have been filling up my days since school got out in April. What a glamorous summer I am having. Thanks for laughing along with me. I consider myself blessed because of your friendship and love.

Isn't she amazing

2010-05-19T01:40:00.000-07:00

Click on the title "Isn't she amazing" so see a great video of Emily Dyer, one of my favorite people in the whole world. Isn't she lovely? She is in the final round of a blogger brawl. Please vote May 24th.

Forgetfulness

2010-05-12T12:55:00.001-07:00

When should you call the doctor for help--do you think it is time?

In March I was asked to speak at a church woman's meeting. I accepted. A week before the event I went running out to my car thinking I had forotten to go (or prepare for my talk). The next week–with a 40 page paper due the next day, I frantically finished my final revisions on the paper. The phone rang as I hit the save botton. My relief society president (The woman in charge of the meeting) was on the other end of the phone–I didn’t remember who she was nor why she was calling me.
“Hi, This is Sandy Taylor.”
“Yes,” I replied–awkward silence.
“Your relief society president” (strange almost questioning inflexion).
“Hi, Sandy. What can I do for you?”
“Are you coming?”
Long pause—Death curtling scream—–
“Aaaahhhhhhh–I mean–sure, I will be right there.”

Thankfully, God seems to work with my forgetfulness. The night before while struggling with my paper, I realized I wouldn’t get his help until I had written my college letter to my daughter and her friends. The inspiration I had received for the letter had in fact been exactly what I was suppose to speak about for the event. Scriptures and quotes ready to go (accidently) I ran out the door only 30 minutes late for my assignment.

Happy Birthday to P

2010-05-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

My fourth boy turned 12 today. I remember thinking my life was over when my oldest hit such big markers--but somehow four leaving childhood behind, makes me cherish my fews years of mothering left. I know the blur that is junior high and high school. I am going to blink and it will be his graduation too. I want to scoop him up and hold him and tell him I love him--quick before he won't let me. I have been reminiscing about the day he was born. The doctor induced me and the epidural worked perfectly. I sat watching the Wizard of Oz with my husband thinking, childbirth shouldn't be so easy. I have to say, he continues to make me feel that way. When he was three if I asked him to do something to help out he would always answer with a grin, "Sure mom, sure!" Now, he gets up to feed the chickens and never complains--rejoices when the chicks hatch, and quietly bury any that don't survive. He shares his life and love with his brothers and last week offered his hard earned cash to his sister because she wanted to buy a new book. Sometimes I think I don't deserve to be so blessed. I love being his mom--every minute of these twelve years. Thanks for being mine P.

The Homeless Coat

2010-01-09T00:24:00.001-08:00

Ever since I moved to cold country, I have found comfort from the cold in a coat my sister gave me. Now, I realize that coats are generally considered a piece of clothing and probably shouldn't be worn for decades, but this coat didn't feel like clothing--it was more like your favorite blankey when you were a child. No amount of coldness could deter me when I was wearing my trusted friend. It was only about 6 sizes too big (my son who is a foot taller than I can wear it and it is big on him) which means I never need to worry about gloves because my hands are well protected. I have been known to watch lacrosse games, in horizontal snow, with two coats on underneath this treasure. Years ago my children named it "the homeless coat". Now, my five year old sometimes wants to wear a coat to big for him and he calls it his "homeless coat."

But all good things must come to an end, and so I bid a farewell (at least until lacrosse season) to my trusted friend. How could I pass up Kohls major sale. So now, I proudly wear a new coat that actually is my size. I find comfort in it costing only $25.00. It is snuggly too in a not so slobbish way and I no longer need worry I am scaring the small children when I go downtown. Thank you Kohl's.

Declaring Victory over my Writer's Block

2010-01-08T10:34:00.001-08:00

To all my friends who have thought I have dropped off the face of the earth. I am finally feeling freed from the oppressive block. I contribute my new found freedom from somehow pulling off an A in my Milton class in spite of the block. Just between you and me--I feel I can do anything now. Yoohoo! I've missed you all.

I am a picture snatcher! I admit it

2009-08-25T23:25:00.000-07:00

Ever since I fell in love with my Mac, I have been collecting photos like I collected rocks as a child. Random photos of people I love. (Now copy right lawyers relax, the stolen image generally comes from family and close friends). That being said, I have never felt compelled to post someone else's photo until this minute. How can I not share this. Look at all these women I LOVE! I am so blessed to call them family. You won't find me in the photo because I wasn't there. I am not their sister--just an old cousin who has watched these ladies grow into amazing women.

2009-08-24T00:54:00.000-07:00

Video Courtesy of KSL.com

That is me getting everyone to sing. It was glorious!

2009-08-24T00:10:00.000-07:00

W- met the prophet. President Monson left the temple and walked straight towards us (and the other children). He shook hands and smiled. W- was on big brother's shoulder's. President Monson looked up and up until he saw that beaming smile. President Monson beamed right back and tried to show W-his ear trick. W- got shy and hid his face in his hands. President Monson lingered for W-'s sake. I felt so shepherded.

Although W- cried on the way home because he had been too timid and didn't speak to President Monson. He marched in the front door and proudly announced he met a prophet of God to his brother's.

What is Wrong With Me and other Random stuff

2009-08-10T01:55:00.000-07:00

3 Months and I have not written ONE thing. Not just a blog, but not a note, an e-mail, nor a journal entry--nada. I don't feel like I am in a funk. I have been happy and content, but unable to put two words together coherently. I have not just been incapable of writing, but nearly incapable of reading. So what have I done with my time? Well
--Tore out my kitchen island, moved other cabinetry, electricity etc. to remake my kitchen into somewhere I want to be.
--Rediscovered the joy of spray paint and basically sprayed nearly every inch of the same kitchen.
--Mowed lawns
--Stayed up watching movies with the teenagers
--Long talks about Art and Asia and Children and Music
-- Reconnected with extended family in Arizona
--Swam with family and dear friends
--Watched the ants and the wasps
--Made jam
--and played and played the piano.
It's been a GREAT Summer.

What do you do?

2009-05-31T23:12:00.000-07:00

I didn't grow up in Utah. It was a bit of shock to move here and experience how much people look the same. It seems brown hair may make you a minority. Now I am raising my family here and I am constantly trying to broaden their horizons so they can see and understand other people and cultures. Consequently, we have lively discussions about the world and the different places one may live. This past week I realized I was failing at this task when my four year went up to a child his age at the park who happened to be of African descent and said, "Is this Africa?" as he touched her beautiful black skin. I still have a lot of work to do!

Mother Muteness: Writing My Way Out of Silence

2009-05-16T22:15:00.000-07:00

To all my literary friends and moms. I thought you may enjoy this creative nonfiction as much as I. Click on the title of this entry to read the article by by Yelizaveta P. Renfro.

Enjoy!

Things I love

2009-05-16T21:36:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know me probably realize I having dualling needs. I feel the need to be home surrounded by my children, flowers, and books(the recluse impulse) and the need to connect with friends and family. This week I have had the best of both these needs. I have enjoyed hours in the garden with the best of friends and family. You know what I mean, the friends you can talk with about everything. Not just the "eveything is great" acquaintance, but the friend who has seen down to the depth of my soul and somehow still "gets me".

Thank you dear friends for taking time out of your busy schedule to share with me as I planted vegtables, folded laundry, and took care of the children and chickens.

I am grateful:
---for spontaneous lunch dates that feel like a party without the pressure to clean my home.
---for honesty--the kind that goes down to my soul and somehow makes me happier and a better person.
---for extravagant fruit (to me anyway) like unexpected strawberries or mango.
---for lovers of great art, great music, and great writing.

I love:
---Great Kids who still like to hang with their mom,
---late night movies,
---wise old friends (even if they are only 1 1/2 years old),
---subway sandwhiches
---fruit trees,
---lacrosse games
and
---the best friends anyone could ever hope to have.

Thank you!!! (You know who you are)!

Dandelions

2009-05-08T21:58:00.000-07:00

I love spring. Now I know you probably are thinking, "Duh, everyone loves spring." But I contend my passion for spring is deeper than the average "I am glad the cold is over" conessuier. I love spring and everything about it. For example, today, I have been loving dandelions. Everywhere I go there is a new fresh crop.

I know I am suppose to hate them. I have fantasized about keeping a dandelion patch so I can prepare a medival feast complete with a dandelion leaf salad, but I conform to society and murder the plant when it takes root in my yard.

I might not tolerate them in my own grass, but make no mistake; I love dandelions. The bright yellow flower brightens the sea of green. I am enthralled by the tufts of seeds floating on the wind. I love the warm sunshine and cool breezes and the cheerful islands of yellow dotting the perfect neighbor's grass.

Our Government Engaged In EXTORTION With Our Banks! (Click on this title to read the article)

2009-04-06T22:42:00.000-07:00

It seems everyday there is another report of a loss to our liberties. I feel compelled to mourn these losses with you and remind us to read our constitution and the founding documents. It is time "we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor" (Declaration of Independence).

Gratitude

2009-03-22T23:43:00.000-07:00

Tonight I am so grateful for family and friends.

We feasted this week-end in personal milestones and miracles for those near and dear to us.

I have witness the right of passage of a favorite teenager to adulthood and celebrated in medieval style.

I have enjoyed the beauty of a Utah spring day with great lacrosse games to enjoy.

I have watched spiritual milestones from those dearest to me. (The sweetest of all type of experiences.)

I have basked in the joy of a new temple--

and than capped the week-end off with a dear friend coming over and visiting about everything. You know the type of friend that just gets you--no explanations necessary. I don't remember a time in my life that I have been happier or felt more blest.

Check out this great blog about Grammar Nazi

2009-03-16T21:30:00.000-07:00

Friends,

If you click on the title of this entry it will take you to my good friend the Grammar Nazi. She is looking for more comments from other Grammar Fascists (commonly known as Grammar Enthusiast). Feel free to leave comments if you have more to add to her list.

Enjoy!

Small Epiphany

2009-03-16T21:08:00.000-07:00

Fifteen year old son to me this evening:

"Mom, I have a new science teacher; Miss Shaw, she is insane."

"j---, you have too many teacher's this year that you call insane. Statistically I can't believe you." I replied.

"No seriously mom, something's not right with her. Socially something is wrong." he exclaimed.

"How many of your other teachers do you consider insane?" I asked.

Well, Mrs. Patterson, Mrs. Holiday, Miss Shaw . . . Hey those are all my woman teachers. Do you think I am sexist?!"

" . . . I think you may not like women telling you what to do."

"Ooooohhhh My! Married life is going to be rough!"

Faith is Under Attack Do We have Freedom of Religion or Freedom FROM Religion

2009-03-14T15:47:00.000-07:00

If you click on the title of this post it will take you to an article about a NC Judge ordering 3 home-schooled children to the public school. I find it horrifying that judges think they can take children that are achieving more than their public school peers and decide the parent is incapable of homeschooling.

It seems every day we are losing our fundamental principles. I was shocked when visiting China how the rhetoric of their country sounds so like ours. This was never more apparent than in our discussions about religion. In China the people "our free from religion" in other words the people are "free" from ever having to hear about other's religion. As I listened about their many freedoms I shuddered that the same rhetoric is having affect here in the good USA. We need to beware of the new "freedoms" being forced upon us: freedom from failing, freedom from debt, freedom from medical expenses. These freedoms are shackles.

When did we lose the right to educate our children the way we deem best? How can a judge take a mother's right away from her merely because she is teaching a Christian curriculum. Our we to be "Free from religion" even in our own homes?

Carpet Update

2009-03-01T02:44:00.000-08:00

I thought you might want to know the final chapter to my carpet woes. After waiting a few days for the new yellow spots all over my beige carpet to fade, I realized that I was going to have to take matter into my own hands.

I got the Bissell out again and this time I filled the water chamber with bleach and hot water. I realized it was risky, but I couldn't live in a house that looked like a bunch of camels hung out (even though a friend said I could redecorate with palm trees and such). So I ran the Bissell quickly over all of the yellowed areas.

Whah lah!! Stains gone. I then kept going over the entire carpet with the bleech water so the carpet would match evenly. I have to say they turned out great. I have my old carpet back (you know the carptet I thought I hated). I love it today. I don't even mind the faint green outline where the oil paint had been two weeks ago. It is a miracle.

My Husband is selling his sasquatch!

2009-02-25T21:21:00.000-08:00

My husband had me in tears last night as he shared the latest in his Sasquatch saga. He has been known to use his genius for mischief with scammers before, but this is a new level in entertainment. These are the actual emails he has received and sent to his new "friend".

"About a week ago, my 10 year old and I placed an ad in the online KSL classifieds to sell two bunny rabbits (go to www.ksl.com, classifieds, rabbits). In about a day I got an email from someone named Amanda Croft. She asked me if the "item" was still available. From her email I could tell she was a scam artist (maybe a Nigerian scam artist). So I decided to have a little fun with this. Here is my response to her.

'Amanda, Which ad were you referring to? I have rabbits ($4.00 each), chickens ($5.00 each), sasquatch ($850.00 each). The sasquatch is more expensive because they are more rare. They are easy to feed and very cuddly. I know you'll like them. I am very willing to negotiate because I'm trying to raise money for an operation. '

"I'm going to see how long I can keep up this silly dialogue. She (or maybe he) has no idea what a sasquatch is, but is determined to get me to give her info to use to scam me with. I will put our continuing dialogue below."

Email from Amanda to me:

Hello

Thanks for the prompt response and i will love to make an instant purchase on sasquatch

also pls do withdraw the advert, i dont mind tellig you to take the advert down so that i can be rest assured that am in hand of the item. I will also like you to know that i will be paying via Money Order, and it will be over night payment due to the distance. You dont need to bother your self with the shipment ok i will take care of that So i will need you to provide me with the following information to facilitate the mailing of the Money Order.

1. Your full name

2. Your mailing address be it residential address

3. Your State

4; Your City

5: Your Zip code

6: Your phone number.

**Once again, I will like you to know that you will not be responsile for shipping

i will have a mover come over as soon as you have cashed the Money Order

Have a nice day

Amanda

Email from husband to Amanda:

"Amanda, I'm so excited that you want to buy my sasquatch. He is so cute. I hope you allow him to sleep inside your home rather than make him stay outside. he gets scared when left outside at night. A scared sasquatch is no bueno. He is on a strict diet of berries, nuts and patellas. I hope you can accommodate that. By the way, where do you live? It's important that he has just the right climate to be happy. If you could provide me with your address that would be very helpful. I'm not sure about using a money order. How does that work? It sounds good, but I just want to make sure it's safe. Your friend."

From Amanda to Hubby:

"hello

how are u doing , hope you are having a nice time and your family....cos i can see i in you that u are doing great if so gory be to the lord Almighty...i will like you to know that sasquatch will be in a very better terms here and the payment, no problem about that just provide me with the infos i ask so that i will have the payment on time before someones get the sasquatch away from ,e......thanx and will wait to hear from you.....................say me hi to everyone in your family........

Amanda"

Hubby to Amanda

"Amanda, I can tell you will be very kind to my sasquatch. It would be good not let him sleep on your bed because they are a little big and shed a lot. His name is Ernest T. A sasquatch can be a little jealous of other animals. You don't have any other animals like a dog or yeti do you? That could be a problem. Cats seem to be okay. So if you have a cat that would be alright. Do you have a cat?

I told my family you said hi. They said hi back. Even after you buy the sasquatch would it be okay if we continue to correspond as pen pals? I know my kids would love to see a picture of you and your family.

in terms of the cost, is the $850.00 okay? I know that is a little pricey, but my sasquatch is a purebred and very special to me. I have his papers that I could send to you if I can find them. Ever since I got sick I haven't been good at keeping things organized. That's what I'm going to use the money for. The $850.00 will be for a down payment to have my sciatic nerve removed. It has been causing me so much pain I can't function."

"I have two places that I live because of my work as a sales rep for Amway. I've decided to work on my down line in two locations. I think sales will pick up that way. When do you think you would be able to puck up the sasquatch? That will determine what address I give you. I usually travel with my sasquatch. I have a nice travel carrier that I can give you when you come by to pick him up.

I look forward to hearing from you and do send pictures of your family if you could. My children would love to see your children. I would have seven kids ages 12 to 3. I apologize if you don't have children, I know it is hard to have children these days with all the chemicals and toxins in our food. You know my sasquatch is very good with children. So if you have children they will enjoy rubbing his tummy.

Sorry to write so much, but I love my sasquatch and it's wonderful to know he is going to such a pulchritudinous individual.

With Love,

(hubby)

Carpet Woes

2009-02-23T20:23:00.001-08:00

Here is a secret about me. I often fixate on my evil carpet. I call my carpet evil because it has become the bane of my housecleaning. By all accounts, white carpet was a foolish decision, even if I only had three sons when I moved into my house. Two summers of no grass didn't help the carpet situation. I shampoo my carpet as often as other people vacuum and I have to say-they need it every time. But this week has been my worst carpet week ever.

Let me explain. It started with a tube of bright green oil paint. My four year ‘Little Darling’ took the tube from an older sibling's art set. The older boy left the entire set in the family room while I drove him to Tae Kwon Do (not such a good idea). When I got back, my giant 15 year old boy was on the computer and not a foot away from him was ‘Little Darling’ emptying the tube onto the carpet.

Oil paint is complicated to clean. It doesn’t really come out of the fibers well. If you rub it you just make the stain larger. I spent the day it happened scrubbing with different soaps and Clorox. I scrubbed so hard in fact that I literally made four fingers bleed. After that first day the pain in my hands made it impossible for me to fixate for so many hours on the stain. But I still continued to use about ½ cup of bleach on the green spot each day (I would scrub with my foot). I tell you I get crazy about my carpet.

By Saturday there was only a faint greenish hue where it earlier had been a vibrant gem-like green. I can’t say I was pleased with the green hue, but it was considerably better. There was now a bright white spot surrounding my greenish hue, but I was counting on my kids making that area darker in time as well.

I thought I was finished with my carpet woes on Friday. I put the carpet cleaner away and assumed I wouldn’t be seeing it for a week or two at least. I was wrong.

My darling 7th grader turned 13 last week and we celebrated with 13 little girls joining in a party that included sleep over, lots of candy, and dress ups. The girls put on old prom dresses and make up and we took tons of pictures. The party was a success, but in the process a tube of lipstick got left on the floor. I don’t know who’s shoe attached to the lipstick, but someone left a bright red polka dot with each step they took. They walked in the kitchen, around the table, into the family room, sat down on the couch. They walked over to the computer and appeared to have sat in front of the computer for quite awhile and moved their feet a lot. They went into the living room and back into the kitchen. With each step a deep red blemish was left on the rug. Envision acne or chicken pox in your carpet. I was hysterical.

I got the Bissell out again. I cleaned the quarter sized red spots until they were the size of a dollar bill. I pulled out the dishwashing soap (to cut through the grease in the make up). Surprisingly it was working. I scrubbed and then went over each stain with the Bissell. The bright red began to fade to pink. I kept working. Finally I used the technique I learned when my boy emptied a syrup bottle on the carpet. The “pour hot water right on the stain and then let the Bissell suck as much liquid as possible” technique. This technique appeared to be having great results. The carpet was looking cleaner than it had in years. The red was completely gone.
I was joyful. I just couldn’t believe I had done such a great job at making the carpet look good again. I went to bed congratulating myself, only to wake up this morning to giant yellow stains that had appeared during the night. I traded red polka dots for stains that appear to be made by a herd of camels urinating. I wish I hadn’t cleaned any of it. I now envision my used to be white carpet as it could have looked with the red and green stains mixed together. I could have redecorated my home to be a “Christmas all Year” theme. I can’t quite envision a theme that would make camel urine stains appropriate. If you can, please advise.

At Home Mom

2009-02-20T07:20:00.000-08:00

When I was little, I always imagined I would be a mom or a teacher or a grandma. Every dream surrounded children. Before I got married I told my husband I wanted to stay home and raise my own children. He was thrilled. But life sometimes gets tripped up. What we do and what we mean to do gets split, like parallel universes, we envision the life we want while we settle for the life we are living.
*******************************************************
Here I sit in the most unremarkable café, waiting anxiously for my lawyer to come. How did I end up here? Alone I sit at the table drinking my water. The waiter keeps asking me to order, but I am too nervous and too broke. The café is dark. If the lights are on, they make little difference. I keep glancing at the tinted windows that run the length of the café front and then look down at my water, feeling conspicuous. Where is he? He promised he would meet me here as soon as I was out of danger. Funny, I hadn’t suspected trouble as I waltzed into the Federal Building down the street an hour ago. I asked the secretary at the front desk for directions to the third floor cafeteria. I asked a few more workers once I got to the third floor. I was to meet my counsel there. As I walked into the florescent lit room, the smell of precooked food hung in the air. There were nondescript tables scattered throughout the room and a long ala cart table at the far end with a few bored patrons viewing the items.

My lawyer was sitting down at a table in the center of the room. Smiling, I headed toward him. As I got close he put his head down and spoke just loud enough for me to hear. “Just keep walking and pretend you don’t know me.” I clumsily looked for somewhere to go. I headed toward the food wishing I had brought my wallet. I got in line, grabbed a tray and stood staring at the choices. A few moments later my attorney rose and grabbed a tray also. We walked through the line together. He grabbing food as we went and me pushing my empty tray.

“You are in a lot of danger right now. I need you to calmly leave this building, make sure you don’t talk to anyone. Walk out the door and turn to your right. Cross the street and walk until you see the diner. It has large plate glass windows and it is dark. Go get a table and stay there until I come. Don’t talk to anyone.”

I turned, abandoning my tray and let my feet obey his commands. I kept hearing his voice in my mind, “You are in a lot of danger right now.” How can this be? This type of stuff isn’t supposed to happen to Mormon moms. I quietly left the cafeteria; I felt the stares of others as I walked out of the room. I retrace my steps to the elevator. The cold marble on the floor and the walls seemed hard and formidable. I pushed the button and waited for the shiny silver doors to open for my escape. The wait was painfully long. Others came to stand by me. They were quiet. Sinister. We all entered the metal cave together and began our descent. I worried I was followed, but as we left the elevator I was the only person heading for the exit.

I retraced my steps past the metal detectors and then pressed open the large class doors to freedom. The Arizona June heat suffocated me. The sun blinded me momentarily, but my feet kept walking. I put my head down and found my way down the street. Finally I reached this diner. It is dark and menacing. There is a tall bar with 20 or so stools. Most of the people in the place are sitting up to the counter, looking at each other through the wall of mirrors behind the counter. I am sitting on the other side of the room, in the far back, and waiting.

The décor reminds me of a cheap version of T.G.I.Fridays. The grease and meat flavor hang in the air. There are a few people that look like they maybe homeless, but most of the patrons are in business suits. I glance behind me and catch a man’s eye. Fear begins to percolate while I wait. “Is that man looking at me because he is with the F.B.I. or did he just look up the same time I did?” My mind begins to envision the worst. I imagine the news reporting on a young mother who never returned home today. I interrupt that idea only to have visions of a newspaper with my mug shot on the front cover. I can’t shake the fear.

Once again I glance toward the door looking for my lawyer, a tall older gentleman. When I first met him in his office a couple of weeks ago, I had to keep from laughing because he looked so much like Perry Mason. Not the young Perry Mason from the original show, but the older version from the last few years of his life. He is tall and distinguished. I keep glancing toward the door hoping to see him, worried I will see Federal Agents with guns and hand cuffs instead. How long can I wait?

This morning when I awakened I thought today would be the end of my troubles. I excitedly got up and fed Stephanie, my baby. After trying on every dress I own, I settle for a bright green silk dress. It is attractive, but I don’t look professional. I look like a mom—which is exactly what I am. I picked up the phone to call Lisa, she has agreed to babysit my girl while I go testify to the F.B.I. of the embezzling I had discovered my boss was doing. Stephanie begins to cry as we pull into the Lisa’s driveway. I am not sure if she is upset about being dropped off or if she is feeding off my emotions. I stoop down and brush her red wispy hair out of her eyes. She reaches up and grabs my neck, this is going to be harder than I realized. I pull her away from me as I stand back up. I cannot think of anything to say to the woman that is holding my little girl's hand. I go out to my car and leave.

I am not very familiar with downtown Phoenix. Funny that for three years I could drive through it, but still not know the city. Before I got in this mess I lived on the east side of Phoenix. When Lee Pioske asked me to help him get his books in order, I was excited for the opportunity. I had been an operations manager at the main office of a small stock brokerage. We only had ten or so satellite offices, but I had been responsible to make sure the paperwork was up to NASD standards. Lee had never been good at paperwork and I had always redone his work in my office so it complied with regulations. I knew this would not save him if the NASD were to walk into his office. I could feel the anticipation of correcting his disordered mess. I loved how this job fed my OCD and sometimes I just reveled in the joy of the details. So I started driving through Phoenix to get to the west side of town, to the satellite office that he owned.

The first time I worked for Lee, his wife let me in and showed me to the top of the stairs to the first door on the left. The carpet was dark brown and dirty. The room was overcrowded with outdated large dark desks. I couldn’t see the tops of the desks because of the computer monitors, confirmations, tickets, statements, junk mail, personal letters and even a few dirty dishes. The one small light only seemed to cast shadows over the darkness.There was no window to the outside and I had to take a deep breath before entering.

I sat down in an over sized office chair and almost fell back completely. The chair leaned like a gymnast reaching for her back bend. My fall was stopped by a big box behind me full of miscellaneous papers. To most people this would be a manager’s nightmare, but I was excited by the challenge. I pulled myself back up off the box and began making a list of supplies I would need to turn this chaos into NASD discipline.

That was two years ago. Before I was managing all of his satellite offices, before I understood he was not only stock broker, but also commodities’ trader. Before my husband changed careers. Before we depended on my salary. Even before I discovered he was planning on leaving the country, not on a trip like he said, but to leave me looking like the person who had stolen the millions of dollars that were missing. Now, my baby is in someone else’s arms and I am sitting in downtown Phoenix, in this dark diner waiting. Alone.
Eventually, my lawyer worked out the immunity. Hours later he came and sat by my side and explained how the F.B.I. tried to renege on their verbal agreement. I felt a wave of gratitude for my attorney who had saved me from their trap. I spent five hours sitting at a large conference table with the F.B. I. agents my lawyer had been fighting. They grilled me hour after hour. When they were finally satisfied with my responses I stood up to leave. They told me to sit down in a “we aren’t even close to being done” voice. They delineated everything I could not do without jeopardizing the case. I was now considered a "federal agent" and would basically be undercover for them.

The crisis wasn’t over that day like I had hoped, but eventually the dust settled. I had lost my licenses, my job, and my house, but I gained the life I always wanted in the process. I no longer had to abandon my baby every time the phone rang. I no longer had babysitters when the work load became too great. I lost everything I never wanted and finally my little girl dreams came true.

I thought I was a great mom today . . . until.

2009-02-18T13:16:00.001-08:00

Today was the first day 'Little Darling' did not have any arguments or tantrums about potty training. I rewarded him with way too much time on the computer game Spore. Somehow his 'guy' has transformed from a worm looking thing to being inside spaceships. I think this quite remarkable because the directions are all written and he can't read. With 'Little Darling' preoccupied, I began racing through my home cleaning the mess that had accumulated this week.

It is amazing how good I feel about my mothering skills when my kitchen counters shine and the floors are vacuumed and mopped. I just sat down to work on some more writing feeling pretty great about myself, when my giant 15 year old boy crept down the stairs. "What are you doing home?" I shrieked. He lazily rubbed his eyes and replied, "No one woke me up again." Maybe I'm not such a great mom today after all. Perhaps I should keep a head count as my children walk out the door in the morning.

Maybe Computer Addictions Aren't So Bad

2009-02-18T08:11:00.001-08:00

Any of you who know me, know I have been a recluse for the past couple of months. I have changed my schedule so I can be home with my little darling every waking minute until he finally conquers the potty training thing.

You must realize that I thought I knew how to potty train. This is my sixth child, and all the others seemed to figure it out. But me and my "Little Darling" have been at a stale mate for two years. I have never had a child so certain they did not want to have anything to do with this task. I will not bore you with gory details of how I have tried to encourage him toward this achievement, but I promise I have been thorough in my attempts.

This morning he started the day like yesterday begging to get on the computer. I had grounded the computer for most of yesterday because he has become such a Spore addict. I groaned at his request thinking we were going to have another awful day of his whining to get on the computer and my whining for him to sit on the "potty".

And then Mother Magic happened. I combined the two together. "Honey, if you go 'poop' (sorry I have to be a little crass here) I will let you play Spore." So off he ran to take care of his business. No four hours of sitting together in the bathroom crying. No "But I'm afraid!" discussions. Just in and out and the deed was done.

Thank you Computer. Thank you Spore.

Mission Accomplished.

Lost in Austen (Click here to see a great review).

2009-02-18T00:32:00.000-08:00

My dear friend, Karen, has somehow gotten her hands on this new British series. I can't wait to see it. If you love Austen's work and often have to remind yourself that Elizabeth Bennett is not real, but your neighbor down the street is, then this work is for you. The heroine takes a step into Austen's book, not just the Regency time period. Watch for it. It should be delightful.

My Four Year Old is a Spore Addict

2009-02-17T13:47:00.000-08:00

My four year is remarkable in many ways. He decided one day he wanted to learn the "body systems". Since that day I have spent umpteen hours reading "The Human Atlas" to him. I am sure you have seen this type of book before at Costco. It is about two feet tall and has everything you may ever want to know about the body (and much more). For the past several months my day begins with "Mommy, let's talk about germs," or perhaps "Let's do the digestive system mommy. Is that the urinary bladder?" I thought that this was going to try my patience forever, but last week he discovered Spore.

Now if you don't know what Spore is you must not have any teenage boys in you life. It is a game where you get to act like God. Well, at least you pretend to create life starting with a simple cell and let it evolve until you are taking over universes. It is a game that doesn't have sex (well a love dance), drugs, too much violence and even the music is not to oppressive. As far as video games go, this one is a favorite.

The little guy spent the weekend standing behind my teenage son watching him play. For hours I couldn't get him to move. Since that indoctrination, I can no longer keep him off the computer. He has learned how to turn on the game and pick the correct star in the universe to get back to his game. Now my day consists of discussions with my cyborg. "You must eat breakfast/lunch/dinner."
"How did you turn that game on, I unplugged the entire computer?"
"How did you turn that game on again, I took away the keyboard and mouse pad and put them on the fireplace mantle?!"
"How did you turn that game on again, I put the keyboard on top of the refrigerator?"

With a quick week end, my boy has forgotten the joy of reading, playing with trains, or Lego's, or drawing pictures. He has given up the trampoline and everything outside and tries to sneak back to the computer and become reattached to the board. He has become my cyborg--but I will never give up.

I am now in all out war with the computer.

Any suggestions anyone?

Nightminds

2009-02-06T14:04:00.000-08:00

This is what Missy Higgins supposedly said about this song:

"That song is about depression. It was written for a friend going through something that I had experienced before. I came out the other the side, but I know how tempting it can be to give it all up and stop trying. When it comes down to it, its really important to have people to prop you up. I was trying to do that for her."

I just have a big "thanks" for those of you who have propped me up until I got to the other side.

Ramblings on Bathsheba

2009-02-03T20:01:00.000-08:00

Any who know me have probably heard me pontificate on the treatment of Bathsheba compared to David. We sing David's praises, name our boys after him, but consider Bathsheba something of a wanton. I love how Rembrandt tried to open his viewer's minds to the predicament Bathsheba was in. I love the expression he put on his Bathsheba (the later one painted that hangs in the Louve). X-ray study of the work shows that he reworked her expression many times. I think he mastered the look of dignity, anxiety and resignation. If you look closely at her face, her eyebrows are slightly raised as though she were holding back tears. He brought her figure so close to the edges of the painting that it makes me feel I am actually peering in at her nakedness and grief. She is not the purient paramoure often portrayed. She is the tragic figure I imagine when I read this story. I needed an outlet for these feelings after studying the painting again and hence the poem.

Bathsheba

2009-02-03T19:53:00.000-08:00

Rembrandt's Bathsheba

"And David sent messengers, and took her; and she came in unto him, and he lay with her; for she was purified from her uncleanness;"

Bathsheba will be consumed after this cleansing.
Examine her Shame! Explore
how passively she accepts the scrubbing.

See the fleshy fire of David's besetting--
Erotic Greed demanding more.
She will be consumed after this cleansing.

Bathsheba trades love for lust--joy for craving:
she trades wifedom to be the king's whore
and still, passively she allows the scrubbing.

She opens her arms to the purifying
and her soul to the King's implore--
she will be consumed after this cleansing.

She opens her thighs for the washing,
Opens her womb to Uriah's murder,
albeit, passively. She accepts the scrubbing.

Explore this polluted cleansing!
Examine her beauty, shame and horror.
She will be consumed after this cleansing--
and even so--passively, she allows the scrubbing.

Thanks Gwenn

2009-01-28T20:14:00.000-08:00

The need to write is bubbling under the surface. I go about my housework trying to ignore the new voice that has entered my head. “I must get my work done first.” I insist, as I load the dishwasher.

I find myself reaching for the phone as it rings. It is my friend, Gwenn, who I consider a writer. Not a famous writer, mind you, but she writes with dark humor that is honest and fresh. She’s the type of writer where the entire family stops what they are doing to read her Christmas card, even though she lives next door and comes to visit on a daily basis. We are not so interested in finding out what is new in her life, but excited to see how she chooses to tell the whole world of it. So I sat down, phone in hand to update her on my new adventures. The first thing I had to share is my crazy attempt to take a creative writing class. No one but Gwenn could understand what type of undertaking this is for me. Gwenn really knows me. She understands that even though she sends me a Christmas card every year that she will never get one from me. Not because I don’t care, but because trying to sit down to write at Christmas could conceivably get me committed to the state asylum. The actual thought of writing such a card produces an anxiety deep within my skin that begins to swell like a tsunami, distorting my face until my forehead appears to have been the victim of a terrible facelift. My skin above my eyebrows over-stretches and the angry exclamation point between my eyes deepens. So every year Gwenn sends me a card, and I call to tell her everything I love about it. Only Gwenn could appreciate the brave act I took walking into the classroom. She laughed and exclaimed, “It is high time you learn to write woman, you are too passionate to not have an outlet.” In this she is right. Already the writing has been cathartic. My internal critic is losing control. The first week of poem writing was so out of my safety zone that “Critic” didn’t even have the vocabulary to yell at me. I don’t know how my writing turned out, but I had a quiet mind for an entire week—without medication.

Anyway, I wondered aloud if I was mad because I was dreaming of poems and even more fearfully, my mind has been taken over by a character. I have never had such symptoms and they are a little nerve racking. Gwenn taught, “I hate it when I have to write something I haven’t dreamt.” She explained that she dreams of every good thing she creates. She dreams of the dress she will sew before she sews it, and the poem she will write before she writes it. She has learned to always keep a pad of paper by the bed and write the impression or dream immediately when it comes—no matter what the time.
This is all new to me. “Will I always have strangers invading my mind?” I ask. “Of course, why do you think so many writers, songwriters and artists go mad? It will always be there.” She replies.
Suddenly I don’t know if attempting the creative writing class is a good idea or not. But even as I think it I know I am glad. Already I can’t bear to abandon the character in my head. Who would give her a voice if I were to give up now. Somehow telling Gwenn has made it alright. If she thinks I can do it, then maybe I can. I go back to my pad of paper ready to try again.

Snow

2009-01-15T22:18:00.000-08:00

This evening’s forecast:

Snow!
Frothy façade—
Hovers, frosts, and conceals—
Flying fluff, floating—
Mystical comfort, quiet solace . . .
Fleeting joy.

Tomorrow ‘s forecast:

Inversion!
Steals color, smell and form.
Absolves hue,
creates an intense
monochromatic gloom.
Replaces joy with bleakness,
sallow intensity.
Obliterates focal points
covered and disguised.
Dissolves the horizon
undistinguishable gray.
Destroys the senses.

Day after tomorrow the winter sun will shine again:

Blind again—
Stabbing migraine white again—
Intense, severe, cold.
Blinding freeze, forbidding sterility.
Enduring grief.
Snow!

Sharpy Feather

2009-01-15T08:19:00.000-08:00

Sharpy Feather

You crept in my bed

this morning, light and

full of love.

Snuggled under

around and in

the rumpled downy fluff.

You startled,

and giggled, and

pulled from your head

soft poky stuff.

"Look mommy,

a sharpy feather,"

you held out your hand

in awe.

Gently, you breathed

life into the down . . .

up, up, it swirled,

and all around

it floated, hung . . .

and hovered in our fondness . . .

slowly turning and

twisting toward the ground.

Attempting to

seize the downy gift,

Your quickness

launched it

up and around again.

Up it swirled . . .

and then . . .

gently down . . .

the upward gift

settled slowly and

nestled in between our love.

"Sharpy Feather"

2009-01-15T08:11:00.001-08:00

My Garden Is a Graveyard

2009-01-10T10:33:00.000-08:00

My Garden is a Graveyard

Last Summer I drove to Eden,
Bought boxes to grow my green.
Filled containers with hope,
So one day I may thrust my hands

in rich fertile blackness.

Last Summer my son built boxes
Combined them in loving rows
Carried burdens of soil to mix and turn

Creating the rich fertile blackness.

Last summer's bounteous hope:

Vain dreams of fruits and herbs to fill my family.

Unfulfilled Joy in reaping together

from the rich fertile blackness.

Hope died 'mid blooms of blazing cosmos.
Prometheus' gift, our curse.

White hot flames devoured our hopes

and whiteness blanketed my child.

My black empty richness abandoned

to the cries of my boy's despair.

No herbs bloomed last summer

For billowing fire blasted there

in the rich fertile blackness.

I soothed my boy's blooming sores
in billowing white Silvadene,
white bandages of arms and legs.
Lathered foaming white on his hopes
and assuaged his pain
while the white winds stole

my rich fertile blackness

midair.

Now whiteness falls like ashes
concealing the billowing blaze of blooms
Whiteness silences the mocking rose and encases
my rich fertile blackness
Like a tomb.

Now rows of unfulfilled desire
stretch like graves through my garden.

My pain entombed alone,

under snowy masses. Buried deep

in my rich fertile blackness.

Me Too

2009-01-08T00:38:00.000-08:00

I was reading my cousins' blog today and I was thrust back a quarter of a century to the same location she wrote about. She took a picture of where she fell on ice outside her old apartment. A generation before, in this same location, I experienced the most embarrassing moment of my life. Thankfully, no one ever admitted having seen my wretchedness.

I chose to go to BYU for all the wrong reasons. A boy with gorgeous brown eyes, who I barely knew, whispered of possibilities. With visions of a Hollywood style romance I moved to Provo in between Christmas and New Years so we could be twogether. The man of my dreams took me skiing, where I promptly fell and broke my knee cap. I realize, that many will say you can't break your knee cap, but that is how it was explained to me by the emergency room doctors, after the nice ride down the slope in the toboggan.

Well, two days later a romantic evening turned into a scene from C.O.P.S. After a screaming match,he slammed the door and suddenly, I was alone in a town that would not be peopled for another week. I had no food except oranges from the trees back home and I was on crutches. Hunger bade me to walk to the store. I put on my only boots--they had slick leather bottoms and soft leather going up to my shins. I felt fashionably ready to brave the elements.

I walked down the stairs of the apartment complex confident that I could take care of myself. But when my crutches made contact with the icy slope, my world turned upside down. Slowly, slowly I descended the decline. I had visions of being hit by a car, but thankfully there was a three foot pile of black snow separating me from the street. I landed in the dirty snow and couldn't dislodge the crutches. I tried to stand up, but continued to fall back down. Eventually, the crutches were free, but my shoes were so slick, that I fell again. After several more failed attempts, I realized I couldn't wear those boots anywhere. I finally got back on my feet and decided I better go back to the apartment and change my shoes.

I headed up the slope, only to slide back down (backwards this time) and land back in the dirty snow. After several attempts I improved on getting out of the snow pack, but I was still no closer to my apartment. Panic seized me as I envisioned the newspaper reporting a girl frozen to death on her front doorstep, unable to climb the incline. I worried of winning the Darwin Award. I finally laid on my stomach, threw my crutches ahead of me and commando crawled (with only one leg) up the ramp. I would move forward 6 inches only to slide back down two. I finally made it up the few feet to my door. I am certain no olympic champion has felt more joy at their feat than I felt that day when I finally reached the safety of my own front door. I have often wondered if anyone was looking out the window that day--I am not sure if I would be glad or horrified.

I am sorry cousin if that darn ramp got the best of you too.