Librarian Lee

Mystery and Suspense Reading Challenge

2012-01-11T16:32:00.001-08:00

I did it! I finished a book. Now, c'mon! I'm a librarian; finishing a book isn't exactly earth shattering news. But. Finishing a book, which I said I'd read, when I said I'd finish it, IS earth shattering news. Suppose I can do 11 more? We'll see. I kind of like having some structure and a deadline.

Truth told, I picked my book almost at random. You see, I'm not really getting how Kindle lending works. I can't see much rhyme or reason to the manner in which books are presented for me to choose. So, after scanning the list for a long time, I finally was irritated and just picked one. It looked like a suspense/mystery tale - and it was. For a random pick, it wasn't bad at all.

I read Vintage Murder by William Shepard. The story is set in France, and there's loads of political intrigue, and a healthy dose of historical and geographic information laced into suspenseful fiction. I found that I liked Robbie, the diplomat, amateur sleuth. I wanted the character to be fuller but still, he was likable and I was able to identify. Perhaps the series will better develop the character. I also really enjoyed being taken on a fantasy trip to France, I could "see" it, I could "feel" it, sometimes I could even "hear" it.

I didn't like that I had the mystery solved long before the last page turned. I kept reading because I had grown to enjoy being in France for those few short hours - not because I was eagerly awaiting the AHA revelation.

If you like historical fiction, if you enjoy realizing how much you don't know and having your appetite whetted to learn more, this will be a fun read for you. I'm off to learn more about the Basques and French wine country; maybe even some diplomatic protocol.

I'm open to your suggestions for my next mystery/suspense novel. Got some?

Happy Reading

~Lee

Knock Knock

2012-01-05T08:44:00.001-08:00

Hello everyone! Can I come in? I know, I know, has it been perhaps a year , or even more since my last blog post? I miss it! I miss you! I'm afraid that I'll bomb again by not posting regularly, but! I want to do this book challenge so much that I'm going to risk it. I'm going to participate in Book Chick City's mystery/suspense book challenge. So, maybe no crafts (okay, truth told, I have tons of photos to share of tons of FOs!) and maybe not much else but for sure, once a month, I'll have comments about the book I've chosen. I promise! And perhaps that will kick me in the pants to get back to regularly posts. I hope you are having a splendid start to your new year!

~Lee

Climbing the Stairs

2011-04-03T10:17:00.000-07:00

*I take no credit for the thoughts below. I'm pretty sure they came to me from a Priest, probably a Russian Orthodox monk, Father Herman of Alaska. But I am fudging just a little.

I love religious art. Icons often are able to tell a timeless story, and point to the truth, even to those who do not practice that particularly spirituality. Truth will not be confined and goes often, far beyond the boundaries of any particular religion, event or temporal story. This icon is one of my favorites. St. John of the Ladder, or St. John of Climacus, or St. John of Syria ascends the ladder into heaven. And, he's not looking back. Look at him! Merciless, blind to the plight of those behind him, his eyes are fixed on his Holy Destination and the One who aids him in his climb. He seems oblivious to everyone and anything behind him. Sometimes I look and think this is so unkind, so heartless, so self-serving. But because he rises, all those souls behind him are steady on the ladder. See those folks trying to grab onto the ladder, but not step onto it? They are stumbling, falling - I"m not sure those folks are going to make it. But St. John never looks back. He just proceeds.

You have to get on the ladder! You can't grab onto anyone else's coat tails. No one else can pull you up, either. The most anyone else can do for you, is point you to the ladder and show you how to step but you have to do the climbing. While you're climbing, all you can do for fellow climbers is to step sure and brave, and maybe not break the rungs on the way.

A friend of mine and I were discussing a particular codependent relationship in which I am entangled. It was a difficult discussion. You see, I'm so deeply embroiled in this relationship that I find myself afraid to break away because allowing my partner in crime to hit rock bottom, as they say, very likely means that I'm going to fall several step back on the ladder. I keep looking back, holding my breath and stretching out my arms and all the rope I have. I keep on hoping that my fellow climber is going to have an epiphany and realize that I'm going to fall too. When the epiphany comes, and eyes are opened maybe I'll at least be able to continue without drawing the "go to directly to jail" card. My friend said magic words, "You are only prolonging both your suffering and your fellow's suffering." She was saying something more about each individual having their own spiritual path, but I wasn't hearing much more - I was seeing St. John's Ladder.

The only way out is through - and no one else can go through for anyone but themselves. Those around might fall; I cannot control that. And, I might be singed, scorched even, by the flames created but you just keep climbing. That's the best you can do.

Not sure I'm back to blogging. I'm making no promises. But I remember a time ages ago when one of my children exclaimed, "But you didn't make my sister do this!" My quick, and without thought answer was, "Well, I made a mistake, do I have to keep making it?" So, I decided to blog my thought today despite my long absence. I hope I will be able to write more now.

Lent is rich with opportunity, I wish for you its fullness.

~Lee

Just a random thought about language

2010-06-21T17:56:00.000-07:00

I came up as a military dependent. I've lived around the world though truthfully, most of that traveling was done when I was a young child. Even so, you can't spend a lot of time on military bases without learning some language. And, in the right time and place, I can, and do, speak most of it quite fluently. I don't just mean German. Language is a toy for me, I find myself laughing at the ironies of forbidden words, and I love it when just the right adjective comes to my lips. I get a nice little jolt out of surprise words that change meanings, or reveal something hidden. And yet....and yet...now that I grow older, I often wonder about our choice of words.

I am not afraid of that big, bad, "F" word. When I've lost that last twenty dollar bills that I was sure had been tucked away in my pocket, that word is just perfect. I've whispered and screamed that word, sometimes these spontaneous utterances might have been best left unsaid. A couple of times I've either backspaced or deleted entire posts and status updates because "that word" just wanted to slip past my fingertips. So, I understand. And yet....and yet...

Why is it everywhere? Seems to me that it's kind of lost it's punch and shock value. I'm not always sure how I feel about it outside of private spaces, and then once in awhile, I'm quite sure how I feel. Today, a new friend introduced me to a social networking site. I've been having loads of fun there looking at exquisite art. Lovely, serene images of mountains and sunsets, peaceful and ferocious animals and mothers nursing. Picture poetry. So, I was a little surprised to find the screen names of these posters things like, "fuckyeah....." or "fuckyes........" Tells me a lot about the poster don't you think? Or am I being the judgmental self that I try so hard not to be? Am I judging others for the use of language which I often employ myself? Here are some of the thoughts I had about these posters:

Either they are too young to practice some self-restraint or old enough and successful enough so that they do not care about limiting their audience. Nor do they care that some future, coveted employer might not approve. Maybe I wish I didn't care so much myself?
Maybe they're not young, maybe they are old and still stuck in that rebellious stage which most of use didn't weather so gracefully and wish that our family and friends would forget.
Maybe they're angry. It's an angry word to me.
Perhaps they want the art to speak for itself without a title that sets the observer in a certain direction

There are other maybes, perhaps all of them are wrong. The word doesn't quite offend me, it certainly doesn't shock me. I'm not sure why it just feels so pointless, boring and unoriginal. It seems like a word that's supposed to come from thoughtlessness, from spontaneity, from exhaustion or overwhelm. It doesn't somehow seem appropriate to me in a place devoted to getting to know one another, to developing audience and relationship - community.

When we choose names for ourselves online, when we type blog posts and pretty much even when we create status messages, we have time to think. If that F word is really what we mean, if no other word will suffice, then on with it. If not, perhaps there are other colorful, demanding, exciting and even angry words that can be used - and perhaps it's time we learned some new language.

What do you think?

~Lee

Something I want you to know - or - Notes from Therapy

2010-06-11T16:06:00.001-07:00

It was never my intent to write about the dark. When I first imagined writing a blog, I intended to write about being a solo librarian, I intended to write about my little crafts, about my broken spinning wheel and learning to meditate as my needles clicked away little gifts for everyone I love. And now, each time I sit to write, all that will come out of me is dark and gloomy, the sorts of details that we do not often share publicly. I visit here, often many evenings in sequence and will myself to write of sweet things; probably so that this image I wish to have of myself, as a woman of sweetness, a woman of the Light, a woman of love and wisdom, will be confirmed. And yet, nothing rushes out of me but those things I had thought to keep secret. Despite my earning to write of the Light, I find that I must submit myself to the process and write at least a little bit of the dark. As I sat struggling with myself this afternoon, I realized, that there is a bit of the light concealed, nestled in the dark, and this little bit of the Light, surrounded by so much dark, I wish to share with you. For any that may have found themselves in the same darkness I have visited, I wish you to know this:

You did nothing to create this.

Those simple words fly in the face of so much which we know, so much of which some of us even hold sacred. But if I could give you any gift, the same gift which I would give to myself; it is to know the truth of those words. The words have variations, they go like this:

It is not your fault

You did not choose him

You are not blind

You are not dumb

You are not weak

You do not have a victim's mentality

You have been his victim, and you did nothing to deserve it save that he was quicker, bigger, badder, darker, even sometimes braver, even sometimes smarter than you have been. He is crafty and cunning and he can outwit you. Your only failing, have you been ensnared by him, is that you were not Omniscient. Please believe me.

Something happened yesterday in my therapy hour which hammered this home to me and I want to share it with you. My daughter had located a new house for us to rent. It's a sweet little house, filled with light and surrounded by gardens. I love this house and you would too! But! The landlord made my hair stand on end. He wanted to visit our home, he insisted that he have permission to visit his garage workshop behind the house, at will, he asked personal questions, he discussed lifestyle information which I found inappropriate. I spoke to my therapist of all these disturbances. My words were to proudly show her how keen my senses had become. My intent was to confirm, to myself, that what happened to me, will never happen to me again. "I see this one coming," I said.

I was not keen about her response. "What," she said, "If he's just a landlord who has been previously burned by dishonest tenants?" I must have glared at her. Damn. She did not need to ask her next several questions to drive home her point. "What will you do now, Lee? Will you lock yourself away from the world and hide from the what ifs?" Well, it's been working pretty well not for almost a year! Unless you count the silence, unless you count the unending nights of tears, unless you count this demanding ache for company. Okay.

Make no mistake; there are some who will be lucky, but most who encounter those such as I have encountered, will not see him coming until it's too late. Whatever goodness there is in you, he will manipulate and pervert. Are you forgiving? He will exploit that, are you unforgiving and deeply shielded? This too he can distort. He is an expert at taking whatever it is that you are, and manipulating and entangling until you are lost. And you cannot prepare for him. There is nothing you could have done.

And, when you know this, really know this, not just as words, but deep inside your bone marrow, you can begin healing. Until you know this, your healing will be focused on your own innocence. You will look for all that you might have done, all that you should have seen, all that should have cried out to you and yet, in the end of it all, all that you might have done, seen, heard or asserted, would only have become another card for him to play in his endless game of pursuit. I can assure you, that had you done the opposite of what you did do, this would only have encouraged him, only have prolonged his gleeful hunt.

I promised at the beginning that I would bring you some light. How can this be light? To know that there is danger and to know that there is nothing you can do to escape it? But it is. Because you can know what you will do. You cannot avoid this storm but you can build yourself a nice little storm cellar. You can plan, even while all around you is healthy and light, for possible retreat into your safe place. There, you will have stored nourishment for your body and your soul, you will have a means of contacting someone trusted and wise and you will never, for anyone, give up the keys and the path to this place. Mother, brother, sister, Priest, friend, god-parent, someone else will wait for you in your safe place and there you will store whatever it is that gives you strength, reading, writing, food, trinkets of meaning, talismans if you will. Visit this safe place often, hold it dear and keep it alive. You need not live always in your safe place, but you must know that it is there - even while there is no pressing need to retreat there.

And she asked me, "What will you do if....." And I think I know. Be sure that you know also.

Wishcasting Wednesday - What do you wish to know?

2010-06-02T11:04:00.000-07:00

This week, Jamie's question seems pretty innocent. Ha!

I routinely have these conversations with Bear. I catch himstaring at me and I swear I can hear him thinking, "Wacha gone do now?" I tell him I don't know and then I'm pretty sure I can hear him sigh. He's thinking that a decision to take a walk, or toss the ball shouldn't take so long and that I should get on with it. I wish that were so. I stand mute, stare back at him and sigh myself. Whatcha gonna do? I'd sure like to know.

If Jamie had posed this question several weeks ago I'd have said that I want to know what the last ten years of my life has been about. I'd have stomped and declared that I want to understand WHY this had to happen to me? I want to know what I did to create this? I want to make sense of it! Maybe it's a good sign that most of these questions are dripping away from me, sliding just beyond my grasp, but enough so that I am at peace with their passing. I'm even able to smile a little bit as I watch the deluge recede. Good ridance, take a lot of black, murky stuff with you as you go. Good! Be gone, see you next time - NOT!

And still....what next?

For the first time in years, I'm feeling pretty good. That's a very big deal that I can say I'm feeling good. It's really amazing; my ten year relationship just ended in death, I'm in a job that's really isn't all that, I don't have enough money, I have this groovy tumor in my back and I feel great! I feel happiness like I'd forgotten, I feel that clean that I so wished for a few weeks back, dancing just around the corner. But I still want to know WHAT NOW?! What shall I do next? Where shall I go? What should I do - I was trying so hard to avoid that "should." But there it is - what should I do next? That's what I want to know.

How about you? Join us over at Jamie's Wishcasting - it really is illuminating!
~Lee

Greens

2010-05-27T22:44:00.000-07:00

Occasionally, I find that I need to remind myself of things which I once loved; things deep inside of me. After any great trauma, I find that I sometimes feel a stranger in my world, as if I'm not quite sure who I am or where I came from. Little by little, small things capture my attention and seem almost unfamiliar until I look a bit closer and then I remember once having an intimate relationship with much of my world that has been left behind. This morning on my walk, I intended to capture the mountain and instead, found myself drawn to the weeds in my yard. Bits and pieces came rolling back to me, so slowly, with a soft voice that said, "pay attention." And this morning, I did.

Here I found Borage. Borage is a sweet little plant, she seems so feminine to me. Those tiny little purple flowers always make me imagine the voice of some soft soprano lilting in the air round where she grows. The saying goes, "Borage giveth courage." And for all her tiny, sweetness, that she does. She makes a pleasant tea, is good for lifting the spirits, driving away sorrow and also, for use in treating bronchitis. The leaves can be added to salad and I've occasionally used the flowers as well. No one will even notice.

Right next to the Borage grows Burdock. We're all familiar with those sticky seed pods that torture our pets, and our clothing in the fall. Can you just hear that deep voice calling out?

I've never actually used wild-growing burdock, and I'm not sure quite why. He's useful for all sorts of ailments of the blood, said to act on slow-growing cancers and in some places throughout the world, is considered a vegetable. I've always purchased burdock, but this year, I think I might do a test run as a dinner vegetable. I think I'm a little intimidated by what always feels to me like a very powerful plant and somehow it's a little less intimidating to find some concoction on the shelf at the healthfood store. The taproot is enormous and if nothing else, you'll find the soil around where you've banished this strong plant, to be well aerated and easy to work - that's if you can ever find the end of the root.

A few friends who have read my little blog for a very long time will remember how I rejoiced to find comfrey growing in my yard. Are you laughing now? It's everywhere and it will NOT be contained. I'm not exactly dancing with joy anymore as comfrey is part of the reason that bed where he stands has not been turned and planted. Thankfully, comfrey has so many medicinal uses it can make your head spin. Referred to as "knit bone" nothing surpasses comfrey as a healing agent. Cuts, bruises, sprains - run for comfrey and make yourself a poultice. Some dispute whether or not comfrey should be taken internally as some suggest that comfrey is a carcinogen. Thus, I'd never encourage anyone else to ingest comfrey, but I make a right fine tea from the leaves. I believe his greatest power lies in those long, foreboding roots. He's sure hard work though and I have to laugh now that once upon a time I purchased comfrey plants for my harb garden!

And last for today, this sweet little bit. I know this is a galium, but I'm going to confess that I'm not sure now if it's bedstraw or cleavers, but I'm inspired to find out and confirm that little bit of knowledge swimming somewhere in the back of my mind. Cleavers is a diuretic, and makes a sweet and pleasant tea. The delight of this plant, for me, though, is not in it's medicinal uses. Perhaps it's a bit of a waste but I love picking a strand of it and tossing it at my closest friend - it sticks right to almost anything. Some call it stickywilly for this reason. It just makes me smile. Cleaver's is another herb which I have always purchased but I think now, I'll give the wild-growing gift a little try.

I have to marvel at these particular plants, growing right here in my yard without any invitation from me - but of course I invited them, yes? Plants to drive away sorrow and bring gladness, plants for cleansing and detoxing. You really think that's an accident? I don't.

I took more photos, HorseTail Rush, and a really nice, new Mullein - but I'll save those for another time. Today, I just wanted to dance with myself and share the dance with you.

The holiday is upon us now and I do hope that you all have a perfect Memorial Day Weekend.

Cheers!

~Lee

Wishcasting Wednesday

2010-05-26T09:01:00.000-07:00

This Wednesday, Jamie, our Wishcasting Wizard, asks, "What do you wish for your space?" This answer came quickly. I wish for my space to be my space! My wish is not exactly to fully own my space - that's a pretty big dream! But this is the second year in which I have not planted the garden my soul requires because I wasn't certain that I would be living in this space long enough to reap the rewards of my effort. Each year, as my lease-end approaches, I contemplate going home. The trouble is, just where is home? My children are in Indiana, well, except for the Texas nut, and Indiana is in my bone marrow. But dayum, would you just look at that mountain right over there? How can I leave that? And then, there's that ocean just "over there." And we can't skip over the social and political climate that I love so much here. But the truth is, I haven't much taken advantage of it, have I? Yet, Indiana calls me. Is it possible to have two homes? My heart is certainly in two places.

I thought, first, when he died, when it all ended, when my freedom was so clearly mine for the taking, that I would just head for home. But oddly, I find now that he was not the only reason I am here. Of course he was not. But he overshadowed all of my reasons for being here. And so, if this is to be my home, I'd like to settle in, do the digging and make it my home!

This is, for now, my space and I wish to claim it. That's what I wish for my space!

Join us - cast your own wish, here.

Cheers! ~Lee

5 Really Good Things

2010-05-24T16:14:00.000-07:00

Been awhile since I did this one, eh? I've been thinking about it all morning. For a minute or two, I felt awful; all five things were really self-centered. Then I had to smile - I think that's just fine. I'm discovering things all over again, I'm remembering, and I've grown thristy for more of life. Feels almost giddy.

I actually listened to the music of a band called Meatloaf today. Wow. How'd I miss that? I must have dismissed this on the basis of name only because I really like it!
At 6 A.M. my house is so peaceful and quiet - no TV, no worry about saying the wrong thing to anyone and sending the day reeling in the wrong direction.
On April 15th I quit drinking soda pop. It just felt like the right time to initiate a change in habits. My body has been catapulted into a dramatic detox - so while it's not pretty, I have faith in the coming rewards. If it's possible to feel really good and really awful at the same time, I do! The meter is teetering closer to really good all the time.
I spent a night and part of the next day this weekend with my grandson - was that a joy or what! And no one else took control or told me how to act or what to say. And we had a fine time!
There are lilacs filling up my workspace today - a simple, beautiful treat.

How about you? Do you have five really good things in your life? I'm betting you do!

Cheers

~Lee

Wishcasting Wedneday - What do you wish to have?

2010-05-19T09:03:00.000-07:00

Me? You mean me? I can have something? All mine? Something like ummmm to have something means you can feel it, hold it in your hand, touch, taste, understand. Wow. Really, I can have something. Let this sink deep inside; I don't want to waste this one. Oh this is fun. Closing my eyes, all sorts of cool stuff starts drifting by: airline tickets home for the 4th of July. Nice, new tennis shoes. Oh yeah, new sewing machine. Oh...hmmm a lawn mower. Some yellow fiestaware. Oh yeah - it's like a virtual candy-store in my head, the stuff just floating by on a treble clef line of musical notes. A regular commercial in my head. Oh wait, there's a couple more, I need a new printer, and really, yeah, I'd like some surround sound. I bet I could go on and on. Yoga class, membership to the Community Center. What should I pick!

Yeah - I'd like to have all that stuff and then there would just be more stuff that I'd want, tickets home for Christmas, now a weedeater and a rottotiller. Oh yeah - let's not forget about that tumbling composter. I don't want to waste this wish on fleeting stuff that just leads to more fleeting stuff. So what is it that I want, something I can have, all my own? Ahhhhhhhhhhh. Yeah............ Got it.

I want to have the ability to get all that stuff, and let it go when I'm ready. I want to hold within me the power to achieve my own little want list. I thought for a moment this might be self-sufficiency, but that's not quite it. I'm frustrated now with thinking about this and tempted just to stomp my feet and say, "I just want to have everything I want!"

Then, I realize that's not such a stupid thought as it might sound, is it? Is't that really what we all want? We aren't exactly the fisherman's wife, we don't want to be Pope, and we don't want to think that we are greedy and just start expecting "things" to fall from the sky. But these "things" that I want, usually represent some other "Thing" inside of me. I want to have beanty, order and harmony in my world. That means, being able to mow my yard and plant a little garden, see my children, bliss out to music so that I can relax and meditate, stretch, exercise and play. It means being able to sew my little projects. All of those "things" are really about only a very few things, and it's knowing that those things inside me will be nurtured and made manifest in the material world that I want to have. What is that word then, for this Thing that I want to have? Grace? Faith? Balance? Trust? I want to stop wanting that yoga class and just have it. I want the lawnmower to appear because small children are easily lost in my yard the grass is so tall.

OH! I am just frustrated this week and I want something and I don't even know what it is! So maybe that's a good place to start - I want to have an understanding of what it is that I want. There. So. Fine!

If you'd like to join our wishcasting circle, please visit Jamie's page, cast your wishes with us. It's an amazing exercize - you'll love it!
~Lee

I finally finished something

2010-05-18T10:49:00.000-07:00

I promise, that Zune pouch is next. The pincushion was fun to work. I found myself approaching the project differently; when I got tired, or felt bored, I stopped. Simple. I didn't let myself feel pressured by a deadline, or just by the need to "get 'er done!' It took me nearly a month to get this little project completed. I've been allowing myself plenty of time to just sit and stare out the window, or drop my hands and do nothing. Thinking back to Jamie's post about being gentle and letting it seep into my life.

For the first time in nearly ten years, I can do as I choose. I can work a pincushion, or not. I can choose TV, or knitting, or walking. I can eat broccoli or peanuts if I want. I'm surprised how often I find myself without a clue about what I want to do, what I'd like to eat, or where I'd like to go. At first, I chastised myself - yet another opportunity to beat myself up, "You really lost yourself that far that you have no idea what to do with yourself on a rainy evening? Geeze, Lee, how dumb have you been!" Little by little, I became aware that this was not my voice in my head, but someone else's. And so, I learned to wink back at the faceless voice and says, "yeah, maybe and it's gonna be some fun figuring it out again." And then.....I sit and do nothing if I want. Absolutely nothing, in absolute silence.

Go me!

And I've been saying that a lot too. Go me!

Once in awhile, not often quite yet, I can hear another voice. This other voice is still a little soft, and still brings me quiet tears. But there's a slight, twisted grin at the end of the tears; and I discover, that I think I like that voice. It's a sweet voice, a kind voice, and a very familiar one. I think we're going to become good friends.

~Lee

What do you wish to experience?

2010-05-12T09:41:00.000-07:00

As usual, Jamie asks the perfect question of the day. She just never misses. Jamie's question sent me off into fantasy land this morning, oh man oh man are there some experiences I hope to have yet, again, for the first time, now! next year. Oh yeah. And I suppose that's a very good sign, I'm crawling out of this hole little by little.

I can see myself coming over the top of the hole, there's a ladder that has helped me to reach the top. Looking at myself from over here, as I crawl out, I realize that I am caked in mud, covered in grime. My fingernails are black and my hair is in knots. Then, when I get back "over there" and I'm actually in my body and not looking at it, "I want it off, get it off me!" Then, I realize what I want to experience most.

I want to experience clean. Clean. Dirt washed away. Clean, fresh, sweet-smelling

I want to experience clean, like being baptized, washed in the blood and filled with grace

I want to experience clean, purity, crisp, clear, without duplicity, without doubt

I want to experience clean, bright, shiny, soft and cool like summer sheets against my skin

I want to experience the clean that comes after a hard night's rain, when the drops still shimmer, and even the worms look perfect

I want to experience clean so that when my voice passes my lips, it is mine, without the echoes of other uninvited speakers, mine, and mine alone, clear and sharp, certain.

Let me be clean, pure, honest.

Okay, and after that, I'll like all your experiences too! Warm beaches, creative, art-filled afternoons, abundance, love, bliss, dancing! I want all those things too, but I want to great them clean.

I think maybe I want to wear one giant silver earring today :)

~Lee

Please be sure to use the oxygen mask first before attempting to assist others

2010-05-05T21:30:00.000-07:00

When I sent him away 6 months ago with the edict that he not return until he could return sober, I knew that he would not, could not return. Without the haze of alcoholism to distract and disorient, the lies would have stood stark and demanded attention. But, since lies and the shrewd fun of telling them supported all else that existed in our lives, there could be no exposure, either to me, or those gathered round us with clucking, worried murmurs. He knew that without the excuse of his alcoholism, the lies could no longer be brushed away as forgetfulness, playfulness, drunkenness or confusion. I think he knew also that he could not any longer sustain the lies, and have little bites of the truth.

I knew then, when I sent him away, that I placed his life in danger; what would he do without all those lies to keep him company? I knew then that I danced with dangerous consequences but I choose to believe it worth the risk to find my own way out of that dark, slimey hole where I'd been living. And I think I also knew that no other end could come save the end which finally has come. The real end, the final end. The end which he created, leaving behind the myth of his own heroic death, and the villain, played by me, who deserted him in his hour of need.

I'm leaving the theater.

Each moment of each day now is that same moment when I leave the darkness of the matinae movie and must adjust my eyesight to the brightness of day. And now I stand, in the harsh light of day and find myself to have become two women. There is the woman that wishes to cry out for loss of him, the woman who must banish tears every few moments. I am also the woman who can breath, sing, speak, write, and who suddenly wishes to finish a pincushion.

I like to imagine that the loving and good parts of he and I were pieces of truth which he treasured. I know that is likely a wishful hope of mine, but amidst truth and lie, it seems that I should be able to pick and choose a bit of what might have been true as much as I cannot prove any of it was true or false. I will choose to believe that one little thing and I will laugh just a bit at the irony of knowing just how many other women there are right about now doing the same bit of choosing. Maybe they make pincushions too.

Lee

Wishcasting Wednesday

2010-05-05T10:08:00.000-07:00

This week Jamie's question is:what rules do you wish to make or break?

Wow

I have always felt like Jamie's questions speak right to my heart - every single time I check out Wishcasting I am touched, I am amazed, I have been awestruck and I've even been a little teary. This is the first time I've laughed.

Really Loud!

Because this answer required no thought, no contemplation. It is not necessary to wonder and edit and read everyone else's posts before composing my own. Nope.

This one was simple, no hesitation. Would you like to hear the answer?

Any Rule I Damned Well Choose!

So there.

Love and a snickery smile, ~Lee

Eulogy for a not quite dead girl

2010-05-04T13:58:00.000-07:00

Have you ever read stories, fictionalized, or real, about a widow, standing at her husband's grave, only to discover, as she raises teary eyes, that across the way stands another woman, also claming to be the deceased's widow? With some slight twists, this is how the last many years of my life have been spent. There is no other widow, but had there been, I would not have been surprised. Actually, I am not his widow either, I'm not sure there is a name for what I am, or was to him, and I'm not sure I'd much like the name if it existed. Perhaps I am just another in a long line of women who believed lies. Somedays I want to have been more than that, somedays I am sure that I was, and still other days, I wish I were only that and that my life had not been so ensnared as I must finally face that it has been. The layers upon layers of lies are still being revealed to me. The lies and mysteries encompass everything from dead brothers who show up quite alive to memorial services, to the whispers shared by nervous speakers with batting eyelids as they inquire about my ill health. My health is in such danger that I had not even known the perils and did not feel the prayers of those far and away from me as they worried for my sanity.

I would like to tell you that the other women who are also not his widows came as a surprise to me. I have to confess that I wasn't even surprised by the rumors of my failing health, or the fortune which I am supposed to have spent these last several years. I'd love to pretend that all of these things, and the many more which I will not speak, shocked and surprised me. I cannot claim surprise, though over and over again I have lost my breath as yet some new unreal reality damands my attention. I think I knew from the beginning, I think I understood and walked, eyes wide open down that dark, twisting passage and into the belly of the beast. So, I only pretend to be surprised when the truth is, nothing surprises me. I knew about the lies, and I co-signeded the documents. The note has come due though, and I am willing to pay my share of the debt, as long as I can pay from this side of the prison bars.

I know now that it is possible to both know, and not know a thing, and I think I am beginning to understand why. I see now that the incomprehensible does not cease to exist just because I have declared it well, incomprehensible! That reality still exists despite my most brillant and capable new age declarations that it not! Watching The Secret just one more time won't make him any less of a liar and a cheat, and it won't make my life into the pretty little life that I conjured and insisted that it be. It sure would have been some life if all my efforts had born fruit. Alas, we cannot choose life, nor the hour of death, for another.

I was about to make imagry, the image of an onion came immediately to mind, one lie exposed after peeling away the last and then, I couldn't make the oinion work because I wanted next to say something about being swallowed up whole. And of course, I had to accept that onions don't swallow anything, not even me. As I breath deeply, releasing the onion metaphor with a bit of a laugh, I realize that I am not being swallowed up anymore! In fact, I am being regurgitated from the deep, dark belly of some beast which only now I can recognize as having been my prison cell.

Every few days I realize that I am reveling in some new priviledge, some new delight, much as a child delights in the discovery of new treasures. And I must tell you, depite the sorrows and laments, the deep, wretching pain and silent wailing of grief, that this feeling, this feeling of escape, sings to me louder and clear, with a piercing trill that I cannot ignore. Some might find me unkind. I can live with that. Today, I ate what I wished, spoke to whom I felt inclined to speak and I sang at the top of my voice in the car. Yes, I can live with being thought unkind. I can.

Wishcasting Wednesday

2010-04-14T18:41:00.001-07:00

Well...I didn't just take a little break from blogging; I fell off the blogging planet. I hope someone still remembers me! Some very kind people have emailed asking about me; and I'm sorry to say that I ignored them. What follows is a little bit of why.

I have, for the last ten years of my life, been involved in what we shall call for the moment, a difficult, challenging relationship. This relationship, in any of its hundreds of mutations, has simply drained me of all that I have. I suspect that I'm going to talk about that some in the days to come. For now, I will share briefly this news; my partner has passed on.

This reality leaves me with such extremes of emotion that I have a great deal of difficulty navigating the poles. One moment I am filled with great sorrow, the next with anger, even fury. I had sent him from my home with the words, "Don't come back until you check into rehab!" Each day since then has been a constant struggle with my will. Each day held the potential that I would succumb to his pleas, and my own loneliness and sorrow and return, initiating, again, an unending cycle. The day of his death ended that cycle and I am oh so very empty...well, empty that is, when I'm not filled with wild passionate feeling. Today, I will not race to his side, today, I will not receive words, the words which say, "I get it baby, I'm headed to rehab right now, wait for me!"

And so, Jamie's tender question, "What do you wish to be gentle with?" arrives at the least gentle of times. Today, and for likely many days to come, I want to be gentle with myself (someone made a bet this would be the most prolific of answers to Jamie's question). I need to be gentle with everyone around me. I need to be gentle with small children and large buildings. I need not clang everyone over the head with the truth, and while being gentle with the feelings of everyone around me, I need to remember to be gentle with me, because I know the truth. I have been living this awful truth for ten years. When I blow it, and scream the truth to those who will not hear, I need to forgive myself for not being more tender with their feelings and learn to live with my own truth. I cannot do so silently, I know the deadly danger in that path, instead I must find gentle ways of living my truth, and gently sort out when it is important to speak, and important to remain silent.

I plead for gentle steering ahead, to softly glide around the rocks, and to navigate from the rocky shoals without the crash and burn which looms so starkly ahead.

I hope that I can write more now. The obstacles to my writing have been cleared and I find that the reasons I must write, are the very same reason why I have not written. The truth is sometimes not so gentle; but I can gently sit with what is not gentle.

Some (probably thoroughly warped) thoughts about learning theory

2009-10-07T20:15:00.000-07:00

Bear has lived with me for just a bit over three months now. It's been a real adventure. During that time I've attempted to "teach" Bear a great many things. Once in awhile I am successful and that's a real high. Other times I'm absolutely not successful and that's a real puzzle. And then, there are those times when I think Bear has learned, but he also has some ideas of his own, and that's humbling.

On occasion, when the "learning" appears to work I realize that I have somehow, magically, "gotten it right." Then there are those times when I just likely have not consistently applied the right stimulus with the hoped for response. And there are those times when I have been consistent but I imagine the stimulus simply did not match up to the response that Bear wanted to give - I mean, after all Dr. Fetterman, he's not a pigeon or a white rat. I'm pretty sure he's a little more complex and I'm also pretty sure of my memory that while I got an "A", I was not very a very inspired student and I just sort of "did the work." (Hence my confidence that Dr. Fetterman will never see this post or have any memory of me whatsoever. I get some sort of perverse pleasure though that I remember him and that rat so very well).

Then, there are those times when I realize that Bear has learned something which I did not intend to teach. Oh, I have a dozen or so examples, most of them too embarrassing to mention and so we'll stick with this somewhat benign example.

Each and every time, doesn't matter if it's 2 AM or 1 PM, doesn't matter if Bear is in a dead coma sleep, that I slide my keyboard tray beneath my desk, Bear jumps up and runs to the door. He knows. He knows that the noise of that keyboard tray means that I am on the move and this his desire, to go outside, is more likely to be fulfilled. He's pretty smart that Bear of mine.

So? I can hear your brains clicking away, "so what?" Silly dog runs to the door each time the keyboard tray goes click, click, click. Well, the point is this: I did not intend to pair this stimulus with that response. Nope. Not ever once did it cross my mind. Bear picked this up all by himself; in his complex doggie brain he figured it all out.

The punchline? It's got me wondering about how many other things I have taught Bear (and my children, my friends, my co-workers, my students, get it?) without ever having intended to teach them anything at all. I'm betting that maybe I should pay attention, yes? Because I'm pretty sure I'm teaching a whole bunch of STUFF that I don't want anyone to learn. Yeah - I'm pretty sure that I should pay attention to clicking keyboard trays and tones of voice and the list goes on....

You?

What do you wish to complete?

2009-10-07T08:44:00.000-07:00

Thank you Jaimie for our wishcasting prompt today.

It's tempting for me to tick off all the fun things I'd like to complete: a knit along afghan that's made little square by little square. Of the several hundred required, I think I've knit three. I could talk about my garden bed which really produced nothing but boatloads of cherry tomatoes and a few zucchini. Once the "real" gardening season had passed, I promised to turn the beds for a fall garden. If comfrey and purslane count as a garden...maybe? Then there's the dollie on my kitchen table that was actually commissioned. Who but Lee leaves a commissioned project just lying around? I seem to be in a drifting place in my life and actually, I'm finding that's an okay place to be for awhile. I'm learning to do nothing now and again and for me, that's a good thing. I'm taking time to reflect on my life and where it's been, where it's headed. I'm learning that sometimes I use my hefty "to-do" list in order to quiet the voices in my head. The voices need to be heard I think so I'm quietly waiting and conversing and letting the flow take me where it will. For me, for awhile, this is a very good thing.

Then again, there are somethings that must be completed - no matter where I am in my life, and no matter how I'm enjoying the idleness of drifting. I sent in lesson one of an eleven lesson course just yesterday. This work should have been done a year ago. Now, the (extended) January 10th deadline looms and I am determined to meet that date, ready to request final examination.

And so, I'm not going to rattle on about my afghan, my garden, my dollies or even my sewing room or my weight loss plan, or my yoga dream. No. Oh how I want to linger there - I want all of those things! But, for once in my life I must be practical, I must set a priority. I have wanted to complete this course for a long time so that I can move officially ahead as a professional indexer. It's time to do what's necessary so that the daydream can become a reality.

On to lesson two!

Wishcasting Wednesday

2009-08-12T09:42:00.000-07:00

It's Wednesday and time for another delicious Jamie prompt. Today's timely, as they always are!, prompt is, "What door do you wish to open?"

Oh! as I read this prompt the pictures flooded my heart. I opened the door and there was, what? I saw myself raising a glass, as if to toast something or someone. I saw myself whirling about with my daughters and laughing, I vaguely heard Paul Simon's Graceland in the background. Celebration! Joy!

Well, of course.

But that's not quite right, not yet.

So, I let the question sit for awhile and read your blogs and other blogs. I happened to slip over one of my favorites today, The Magic Onion. Oh! I used to make cute little felt dolls like that! Are those gorgeous? I used to lay out a seasonal tableau for my children too. I skimmed over more and more blogs and "I used to...." was racing across my mind way too many times to be ignored. "I used to...." Then I remembered a friend of mine recently mocking my, "I used to..." "Yeah, you used to do lots of things," he said.

What do these two visual journeys have to do with one another? Dancing, celebrating, joy and I used to? Ahhhhhhh! I know. Yes, I know. I suspect, that the ranch needed saving, and I put on my boots and did the dirty work. And now, the ranch is saved (or not but the moment has passed) and I've still got on my crisis intervention gear and somewhere along the line, I forgot about ME, about the good things in my life. I've been so busy putting out fires that I forgot about dancing with my kids, making Sunday morning pancakes while Paul Simon blasted in the background. I forgot about making little fairies and gnomes to celebrate the seasons of life. I forgot that I read cards and do Reiki and massage and, and, and, and! I did! I know I did! There are photos and children's memories to attest to all those things I "used to do." I did needs to become I DO!

Just in case you think I'm ready to open the door to my past, hrumph! Been there done that! But I am ready to open the door to what comes next! And, I'm ready to take myself, my whole self, every little good and bad part of me along. The ranch is managing itself now, I'm ready to take off these boots and the heavy coat and open the door to what comes next. I'm ready for joy and celebration and hard work and creativity.

Bring it on!

Wishcasting Wednesday

2009-08-05T10:01:00.000-07:00

Inspiring Jamie Ridler asks today, "What do you wish to make room for?" Aha! Easy peesy this one. Really! Ummmm okay...I wish to make room for..........EVERYTHING! Yes, really. Everything.

My life has become quite confined and I feel imprisoned very many days. Instead of rhythm these days I have routine. I feel cramped in both time and space. As soon as I allowed Jamie's question into my awareness, I saw several beautiful pictures in succession; I saw my own living room, lighter, brighter, sun flowing in and either the space was a bit bigger or the furniture had been bewitched to a smaller size. The room felt airier and lighter, as though there was room to dance. Then there were open fields, and wind, grass as far as I could see into an expansive sky. There was room to dance.

Ahhhhhh! Room to dance. I am ready for the dance of my life, leaving the stilted, faltering tip toeing behind. Yes, I'd like to make room to dance.

~Lee

Challenging my Beliefs

2009-08-01T14:44:00.000-07:00

Hello! My hiatus hasn't been completely idle - I did manage to put together all these dotee dolls for a swap. Aren't they fun? Of course, I waited until the last minute, and was even late but I still had great fun and this was one of the first times, when I did not want to send them off. I wanted to gobble them up and hang onto all that cheerfulness! A rainbow, roygbiv in a delightful play.

I've been spending my time, when I'm not melting in this Seattle heat wave, getting into the rhythm of walking in the morning and the evening. Bear is my coach - he is relentless! We walk the same mile, from my house to a nearby park and around the park path, twice each day. On weekends, I try to go somewhere new and unusual, maybe around the Duwamish river, or meandering avenues near my home. But, we haven't done those for two weeks now with this incredible heat.

My walks have led me into some interesting encounters. There is one I'd like to share with you because even though a week or two has passed, I am troubled by the encounter. Of course, I have to introduce some. And, I'll warn you up front, this won't be short.

Those who have read way back into my blog know that I have spoken about my spiritual beliefs just a bit. I've always considered myself to be a very open person, my beliefs are drawn from everywhere - I have never found a system of religion from which I cannot respect and learn. Like all good hippie girls, I have been thrust into passion by the poetry of Rumi and Gibran and those words have inspired and strengthened me throughout my life. I know very little of the Eastern life. I know less,formally, about Muslim beliefs and practices. Yet, the few words that I have read are beautiful and passionate, inspiring. And, somehow I was lead to believe (I sure wish how and where I came to this lazy belief), that the Muslims are not far from Christianity and in some childish sense, I've pretty much considered that belief system to be akin to the one of my childhood.

And yet, when I encounter Muslim women in their dark and mystical garb, I want to scream! "Don't you know that it is okay to be beautiful? Do you not understand that this is just hatred of women and feminine beauty?" I do not, of course. I remind myself to be respectful and that all people can find beauty and discipline in behaviors and practices which I do not understand. I want to understand, but I do not. And so, I simply avoid, ignore and somehow assume that it's okay, acceptable, safe, human and cultural evolution and that I do not need to trouble myself.

That said, let me share with you my story in the park. And I hope you will accept my confession of smallness, prejudice and fear. I hope you will understand that I believe that if we would all confess, perhaps somehow there can be healing. Trust me, I do not want to feel what I felt in the park that day. REALLY.

As we entered the park, as is quite often the case, there was a group of Muslim women playing on the playground with their children. They have never been friendly to me, but I have never been friendly with them either. I continued my walk around the park and noticed a girl dallying near the rented garden beds. I despise myself for what I thought next...I wondered if she were stealing the produce. I can barely believe I had such thoughts. I'd like to pretend to both you, and myself, that it was because she is young, and I know occasionally youngsters are curious and don't always know about "yours and not yours." That wasn't it.

I made Bear sit and we watched for awhile. Presently one of the young boys, playing on the playground with the group of Muslim women, started to run toward the girl. They called out something to one another and I realized that the girl really did belong here. I was astonished at the joy with which they greeted one another. The happiness between them was beautiful and hand in hand they started to walk toward me. I could feel their happiness and the pleasure they felt in one another's company.

The girl began a conversation with me as soon as she was within earshot. I was a bit surprised; never before had someone from this group of people spoken to me despite our mutual encounters, almost nightly, for over a month now. She was very sweet. She introduced herself and her brother. She told me about the gardens she'd just been exploring. It didn't take too long before they asked about my dog. "Is he mean? What's his name? Can I pet him?" I explained that I'd not had Bear a long time and that they probably could pet him but that we needed to go slow and easy and let me guide them. They could not gasp that it was not a great idea for the two of them to approach Bear from two different angles. Eventually, I got the girl, who seemed quite a lot older, to stay put as her brother came up to pet Bear.

The young man got within reaching distance and then stopped suddenly; he withdrew a step or two. I asked him if he was afraid and he said, "no." He went on to explain that he was not allowed to touch dogs. "Why?", I asked? He said that Muslims may not touch dogs. I was stunned. "Is it because they think that the dog might be mean? Is your mother afraid that you might get hurt? Or maybe worried that the dog is dirty?" The boy cowered and fumbled with his words. (Of course, I am thinking, if you knew that rule, why did we come down this path, but that is perhaps something I should innately understand, approaching forbidden fruit and turning back at the last minute - or maybe not.) I asked his sister, "What about people with dogs as pets?" And she responded that she had never known a Muslim to own a dog but explained, yes, that it is a rule in her religion. I told the children then, that if this is a rule of their parents and their religion, that they must never break that rule. I thanked them for chatting with me, expressed that I hoped we would meet again and they ran back to the group of women and children on the playground.

I continued the circular path which led to the playground and ultimately, my exit. By the time I got close to the playground, one of the older women, in her dark and heavy covering (it was nearly 90 degrees for God's sake and you know she's wearing lots of other clothes beneath what I can see!), was screaming at the girl and boy in a shrill and distressful voice. She was screaming words that I, of course, did not understand, and she was throwing bark from the playground at the children. The bark is harmless naturally, but even so. Had I observed an older, white woman doing so, I'd have dialed 911 and reported a case of abuse. This went on for several minutes until the girl cowered on a swing. I'd like to say that I was ashamed for not intervening - and yet, what could I have done? They language isn't even something I can play with like French or German. What should I have done? I did nothing. I came home.

I came home and looked it up. Muslims do believe that dogs are evil. EVIL and to be at the very least, avoided, and in some cases, destroyed. There was lots of theological discussion which I found, some insisting that it wasn't really dogs, but hyenas, others just as certain that the word for dog is quite distinct from the word for hyena's. There was a story about how the Prophet had waited for Gabriel (we even know the same angels!) who failed to appear as he had always done before. When asked about his absence, Gabriel explained that there had been a puppy beneath the bed and that he would not enter an unclean home. Okay. Maybe it's not the same Gabriel who spoke to the Holy Mother Mary. My mind was whirring, putting checks on an elusive checklist.

Okay, heck, Christians, even Jews and Indians and who knows who else, have loads of superstitious beliefs. Still. (can you feel my mind racing? This really worked on me, I was nearly manic) Dogs are to be slaughtered - particularly black ones. I looked at Bear and imagined to myself that he's got enough brown on him to escape this edict. Then, I found myself straining to remember Monty and whether or not he had a white patch on his chest. Isn't that silly that this disturbed me so?

Then, out of the blue, I remembered a long distant conversation with a proud and brave Indian Warrior friend of mine. He'd had a bit to drink I believe when he explained to me that, if all the full- bloods would only have children with those who were half or full-blood themselves that in not too long a time there would, once again, be a proud nation of full-blooded Indians. Okay, so far, not so bad.....but he continued. Then, those strong and proud full-blooded Indians could rise up and take back from the white man what belonged to them. Now we're getting into scary territory. They would, he said, go door to door and slaughter the whites. I think he did not know what he said (or, I hope not) and I had to ask, "And what happens when you come to my door? Do I have enough "blood?" "Well, of course!", he answered. "Okay, what about my daughters?" The conversation came to an abrupt halt. There was no apology. No smooth transition into another topic. We just stopped.

Now, I know, if you're still reading this long missive, that you are thinking, "Whoah! We were talking about dogs!" I know. I guess it's a pretty long way from dog to human on the ladder, huh? Or is it?

What do we do with these sort of encounters? How do we make peace of it? How do we accept and embrace our brothers? How do I not go tense when I pass one of those garbed women while walking my (loving, courageous, gentle and heroic!) dog? I mean, if she can pummel a child with bark while screaming in such a nasty voice, maybe she can kill my dog? Maybe the Red Warrior won't know that I have a little pedigree too that should save me? My kids however might be in trouble. You think I could vouch for all my friends who are "good" whites? What about black people? Brown? What do we do with all those superstitious, surely the Prophets were speaking to another time, beliefs that fuel our hatred for each other. What?

Who's going to lay down the knife first? Or let sleeping dogs lie? And, I wish now that I'd not told those children to always obey their parents. But of course they should! Shouldn't they?

So, I told you I was troubled, And I am.

~Lee

One thought

2009-07-04T10:33:00.000-07:00

This is about to be one of “those” blog posts which should likely be several blog posts instead of just one. And, likely it will be a post which should be honed, and re-written and corrected and re-considered before it’s posted. But, you know I won’t do that. I won’t do that because I am thoroughly undisciplined; which is why I now own a dog. Once in awhile I get myself in hand but then something always happens, like, the sun comes up. So, in my completely undisciplined fashion, I’d like to try to string together a bundle of disconnected thoughts, which are really only one thought. Okay, I’ll confess, I think somewhere deep inside of me, I tend to believe that all thoughts are one thought – but that’s another story – I think.

This morning, Bear came to wake me. As I played scruffy with his ears, really attempting to convince him that I wasn’t all that ready to get out of bed, in a flash, Bear looked to me like a hound dog. Really. The night before, when I was playing with him, my eye caught him in a different perspective and he seemed, honest!, to have the face of a Doberman. Over the last several days, I’ve been able to see, clearly, German Shepherd too. And, if you ever have the chance to hang out with Bear for just twenty minutes, you’ll be certain that he’s not Rottweiler at all but one hundred percent Golden Retriever. So, along with all that reading I’ve been doing about dogs, I’ve been thinking an awful lot about history, and genetics, and breeding. And people. And dogs. And dogs and people.

Several nights ago, my neighbor hollered at me from across our yards. He wanted me to know that Bear, although he didn’t call him Bear, is a dangerous animal. He’s a dangerous animal along with four other breeds; Dobermans, Pit Bulls, Chows and wolf hybrids – I believe that he added bulldogs to the mix but I got a little lost and was focused on his fingers as he held them in the air to count the breeds. I suppose I should have been prepared for that. After all, I am the woman who just a year before, refused to make acquaintance with her neighbor’s Pit Bull. I tried to justify myself of course, THAT dog really was mean! (of course it was!) and scared me to death each time I had to walk past his apartment door to get to my own. Then, a few nights later my neighbor hollered at me again. His discourse was longer this time, as though he had rehearsed it. Bear, he said again, was dangerous. And, if Bear ever hurt one of his cats, he’d have Bear put down and then charge me the thousand dollars for the value of his purebred cat. I started to argue. My argument would have gone like this:

How can Bear hurt your cat when I never let him off my lead?
I’m not absolutely positive but in Indianapolis, though it’s never enforced, cats are subject to the same leash laws as are dogs. Is it the same in Seattle? I suspect so; maybe I’ll check. And
If you spent one whole thousand dollars on a cat, why do you let it roam free subject to not just my Bear, but every other unconfined dog in the neighborhood (and there are plenty!) not to mention cars and mean kids?

I started to make those arguments and thought better of it. Bear is only a week in my home, and the neighbor was already red-faced and angry – I am not yet certain enough of Bear to trust him if he perceives anger, especially anger directed at me by a stranger. So, I let it go and neighbor stormed inside his home. In a few moments, my neighbor came back out of his home and walked right over to us. Every hair on my body stood at attention, every muscle poised. My hands gripped tight to Bear’s lead when I reminded myself to chill out. I did not want Bear to sense my fear. I sat down in my lawn chair and said something playful to Bear. My neighbor had come to apologize. And within minutes, Bear had charmed him and now he’s hooked. Before long he was playing toss with Bear. Whew. Crisis averted.

Now, my neighbor, ummmm, well, my neighbor is not like me. You know, he drives a big truck, he comes home not quite that sober a lot, he’s loud and he’s brash and he’s well – just not like me at all. While playing with Bear he caught sight of my collection of blue glass through the window. Turns out he’s more like me than I’d have guessed. Well, at least I know that his mother likes blue glass too.

In the last week, I’ve met more people in my neighborhood than I’ve met in the whole year that I’ve lived here. Of course, some of that would be that I now go walking twice a day, every day. Some folks cross the street when they see us coming (I can’t blame them, I would likely do so too) but others slowly and cautiously make their way to us and carefully get to know Bear. They talk to me, but only because Bear can’t talk. I think if he could, they’d probably not bother with me. I know a few folks now by name, and others wave and nod.

I’ve also noticed too some of my own reactions as I walk with Bear. I avoid teenagers; I avoid single men that look scruffy, I definitely avoid others with dogs. And, dare I confess it; I particularly avoid the Muslim women in their long, dark clothing. Wow. That sucks. Really, it does. In fact, the only people that I don’t avoid are white women. That sucks even more. Seriously, I almost can’t type for the tears of shame that arise just now as I recognize that in myself.

Then I have to think; just as Bear seems some days to be Retriever, other days a hound dog and a pointer and other days a playful Spaniel, am I not also, through the mysteries of time and genetics, pretty much the same as all those other people? Was I not the woman deathly afraid of her neighbor’s Pit Bull? Do I not read blogs written by others half way around the world and with cultures vastly different from my own specifically because I find in the blogs of those strangers, the same feelings, pastimes, fears and celebrations, a familiarity? Have I not written that part of why I blog is to celebrate those differences and commonalities? I suppose it’s easier when the strangers live half way around the world, yes?

I bet, if you squished my face, as I squish Bear’s, and look at me in a different light you would find the thug, the American Indian, the Irish, the deeply religious, the deeply fearful and the easily moved by that fear to grip tightly and hold on to what’s mine. Over my lifetime I have fanatically adhered to some pretty crazy religious practices, and I’ve let go of many and replaced them with others. I have been both kind and cruel. A couple of times in my life I have broken the law while other times I cling fiercely to it. On more days than I care to admit, I look more like those scruffy men that I avoid than I look like a working professional. I have a temper that isn’t easily checked and I often speak before I think. I have even walked right past an individual clearly needing help! I’m not so sure, seen from a block or two away, that I’d be anyone you would think that you’d like to meet. I wonder how many folks cross the street to avoid ME?

Of all the religious ideas that I’ve clung to and left behind, one is pretty consistent – Do no harm. I like to think that no matter what else, that is my guiding principle. But, I bet I’m wrong. I bet I’ve done as much harm as most other humans. I’m not so different.

Whether I’m making dolls, or reading books, or concocting strange foods or planting a garden, or walking my dog, it’s really all just one thought and one motive that we all share in common. And I write this on Independence Day. It’s a wonderful day to remember, a day when something new manifested, but at least for me, a day to recall that we really aren’t all that independent at all. Remember, it’s all just one thought.

Meet Bear and some thoughts on being pack leader

2009-06-30T18:22:00.001-07:00

Here he is. Bear. Right? BEAR!

Bear came into my life for a number of reasons. For one, I just wanted a pet. I looked around, I considered birds, I considered cats. Truth is, I just like dogs, and I felt the need for the special companionship a dog brings. So, why this Bear! Why this huge dog? First, I intended to look for a pug. I really loved Monty. Pugs are expensive! Then, I met Bear's owner. We had so much in common. I was, and am, convinced that there is a greater purpose to our meeting than simply Bear. She and I share so much in common; we have raised birds, we are both have military life running in our blood, we seem to share a common spirituality and she has a daughter who rides Dresage. And! She didn't want a fortune for Bear. In fact, Bear comes to me with every accoutrement known to dogs and she asked not one penney to complete the transaction. Now, while I recognize that dogs have value, and breeding dogs for profit is a worthy enterprise (my parents did, but a bit more about that, later), I had grown weary of Craigs List dog owners attempting to sell an eight year old dog for $500 plus dollars, expecting a return on what they'd invested. I see an animal's welfare as an owner's responsibility and not an investment to be returned. Bear's owner seemed to agree.

At first glance, some would say (and I'd not fault them!) that Bear is too much for me. Well, he's a Bear that's for sure. Having been raised on Carl (you all know Carl, don't you?), I have never believed that Rottweiler's are inherently evil. And, my parents raised German Long-haired daschunds and I can assure you, at least one of them was vicious, and I mean VICIOUS, despite being so small. Then, there's the not-yet-told story of how one of my neighbor's has entered my home now TWICE! uninvited, Bear seemed like a pretty good idea.

So, I pondered all the possibilities, and since Bear's owner was willing, at the slightest need, to accept Bear back into her home, I decided to go with it. And here he is.

Now, there are some who would say, and I'd be right there with them, that Bear should be immediately under my complete control. Dogs like bear are not often shown mercy should some mishap occur. Bear has some training under his belt, and he's mostly a very good dog, but he's still a two year old and in truth, Bear needs some work. So, I've read everything I can get my hands on. And (smile everyone), I've leaned heavily on the advice of one popular dog guru.

And who wouldn't? He believes that most of life's difficulties can be solved by being centered and calm. Who doesn't? I sure do, even when I can't quite achieve that goal. I understand, and accept the concept of being my dog's pack leader. Well....mostly. Some parts of it feel absolutely wrong to me. I quieted my objection by telling myself that's because I am girlie, I want my dog to be my baby. But no, that's not it. I recognize that in many, if not most situations, my animal should be absolutely under my control. I am acutely aware of the bad reputation held by Rottweilers and I am completely sympathetic with the immediate fear that passersby feel when they encounter my dog in the park. I want to indicate, by every gesture, that my animal is absolutely controlled. I cannot remove any one's fear, but at least I hope to allow them to pass by without experiencing an intense fear. So, why do I still feel not quite right about being Bear's ultimate and absolute pack leader?

I was able to identify a few of my objections, couldn't quite justify them, but I was able to identify them. The first is that I am not a dog (not today anyway). I am a human, Bear lives with me, a human. Bear does not live in his natural, unintruded upon by humans, state. Bear lives with people. People are not dogs and try as we might, we cannot be dogs (not as a general rule anyway). I suspect, that to dogs, the pack leader is very nearly God. I have no desire to be God. In fact, are there not times when the dog's instinct is more on target than my own?

Having identified these objections, I still was unable to justify them. I mean, my popular dog Guru is so handsome (pauses while all the women readers nod vigorously) and so on target, so happy, cheerful and CALM. Then today, I found it. I read the words of a New York Times writer who had obediently followed our Guru's example. All of his dog's bad habits disappeared. He was amazed. It works! Yes, so many of his animal's not so great issues seemed to be resolved.

But......(you knew there was a but, didn't you?)

So did many of his pet's lovable characteristics. No more running to the door with butt wagging, no more jumping up on the bed demanding to go out NOW! No more silly antics. No more of what makes the relationship between animals and their human caretakers so much fun.

As I type, Bear is letting me know that he wants to go outside where the grandchildren are playing. Bear is bringing his head up underneath my hand so that I cannot type. As Pack Leader, I can say, "NO! Not now! Down Bear!" But, I think Bear is right; it's time to go play with the children. And so, off we go. But tonight, every time Bear pulls on that lead during our walk, I'm going to turn and go the other way. Bear will learn that as his human owner (not his pack leader), I choose. I choose right now though, to listen to the wisdom of my pet. I'm not God, not today anyway.

Cheers!
~Lee

Slinking back in

2009-06-26T06:28:00.000-07:00

I feel like I am sneaking - I've been a bad blogger, a slacker. I've bailed on Wish Casting Wednesday and Tarot Thursday. I've squinted my eyes each week as the reports come in and I see that pretty much no one stops by here anymore - and why would you? There's nothing new to see. I feel like I need a note from the principal in order to return to class. I can come in, can't I? For a post or two maybe?

So okay - there have been some issues going on around here. They are pretty big issues and in and out of the issues I'm struggling with being very depressed and feeling a little helpless to resolve, or even begin to address those issues. Occasionally I speak about the issues in my life - this time there are so many that it's hard to begin! But I will. (You knew that, didn't you?)

I can tell you that one of the issues is my health. I find myself getting really angry about it as I type. Really angry. I have this groovy tumor that's not going to make me REALLY SICK, but it's going to make me feel really icky, experience lots of pain and try my very resolve to get out of bed each morning. But it's not going to allow me to stop working, bail out on carrying the groceries or garner any sympathy whatsoever (I mean really!). Then there's that fibromyalgia thing and we won't even begin to discuss my irritation with that little buggaboo. And! (Might as well get it all out!) about a month ago or so, I started having panic attacks. Like I needed something else! Ya, I'm miffed.

But, anger is pointless unless it leads to right action. Not to mention that the cumulative effect of hosting that anger in my body has certainly added to the symptoms of stress which have so multiplied in the last several months. I have been exhausted beyond measure, and I've experienced the greatest pain that I can ever recall. So, in the last few months I've been trying to make some changes - and for me anyway, change works in fits and spurts. I've not been as successful as I'd hoped to be, I've not absolutely stopped drinking soda and I confess that I've not absolutely stopped smoking. But! For both of those items I've cut so far back that were I not diligently honest, I could fake you out and let you believe I'd stopped. It's much improved and as a result, I'm feeling a little bit better. Not a lot, but more than a little. Issues are always easier to accept and resolve (or at least contemplate creative resolutions) when you're not feeling physically terrible too. Poor health I think can be the beginning of a vicious cycle; and I'm trying not to interrupt that cycle.

The fun part - and I say this just in case there's anyone reading that is considering making a change - is this: Once you begin, it doesn't take a lot for the snowball to begin gathering it's own weight. The positive feelings that come from just a two baby steps provide the impetus to take the next few baby steps. For instance, drinking water (I get these groovy reminders from HassleBot every couple of hours to get a glass of water - you should try it!) - once you do it for a day or two, your body begins to love you for it and beg for more. Honest! I find now that I have just as great an urge to get a glass of water as I once did to FIND A SODA NOW! I wake up each morning and now, rather than force myself to pour a glass of water, I MUST have water. I can't say, that when facing a particularly stressful and difficult moment I don't want to retreat to my old habit (and still, often I do!) but at least I have added one positive habit. Not so bad. And, the little bit of feeling better is just fuel to the fire. (whispers, don't be afraid of change). My oldest daughter, Satori Marie (google Satori, find out what it means, it's SO perfect for this blog post!) says that the same thing will happen with exercise. She says that it won't take long before you wake and find that your body MUST MOVE. I'm not sure I believe her! But I suppose I should because starting tonight, my new walking companion, Bear, is coming to live with me! I'll write about Bear another time, but he's going to be my coach and get me moving each morning. I can't wait and I sure hope Satori is right.

A couple of things happened during my haitus which would have made great blog posts. One was this beautiful orchid you see up there. My friend had given me that orchid as a housewarming gift when I moved in here a year ago (It's really been a year since I posted about that donkey!) Several months afterwards, it dropped it's flowers and looked icky. Now, if you knew me much, when I tell you the next words, you will laugh. You will think, "Yup! That's Lee!" It looked dead, it really did! And, every week, when I watered my plants, I'd say, "I need to empty that dirt and make better use of that pretty pot." And every week, I never found time. And (this is the part that should make you smile) every week, as I stood there, watering can in hand, tending to orchid's neighbors; I was unable to resist giving him just a little water too. I mean, I was right there, eh? What could it hurt? Yeah, I know he's dead, he's really dead and sorry looking, but it's just a little water and it doesn't hurt anything. Then - several weeks ago - TADA!! There bloomed that incredible flower. Is that beautiful? It was like a sign to me. In the midst of all this rotten stuff, life goes on, beauty exists, and there are lovely surprises. It's a simple surprise, just a little flower. And in its simplicity,it is perfect. Don't you think? I welcome more of those surprises into my life!

I'll leave you with that thought. I think I'll be back soon; I'm feeling a little better and some of the issues are not quite screaming at me in the face. Still there but more like whispering behind my back. And I have to tell you all about Bear!

Cheers!
~Lee

Avoiding other stuff

2009-05-30T14:42:00.003-07:00

I don't feel like blogging. But...I need to. Perhaps as a diversion; who knows why. I rarely speak of bigger issues on my blog. I'm content to read those who are brighter and more articulate than I. But today, in the midst of all my other issues, I happened to glance upon this photo. Isn't this just an exquisite photo? I don't know lots of things. But there are a few things I do know. And one of them is this:

I cannot judge what others do; and I fail, but try hard not to calculate the measure of another human based on circumstance that I may not understand. So, I often am unable to know the measure of a man, or a woman. But I do believe that I know some gifts that make a man, or a woman more trusthworthy, more honorable, more deserving of my belief.

The man who loves, respects and honors his wife is far more likely to respect and honor his commitments to others. We speak of fidelity as though it only pertains to marriage, but the one who understands fidelity is likely to be faithful to his friends, his colleges, his job, his community and even his country.

Does this man adore his wife? Oh! To me it just swirls all around them in each photo that I see of them together. There is respect and love, commitment, honor and faithfulness. And today, for one reason or another, it makes me very happy. I am happy not just that we have such a man, with the support and love of his life partner to lead us, but that such a marriage is possible - amidst what must be greater challenge than most of us will know. Is that inspiring or what?

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming, which means that I'm still on haitus.

Enjoy a wonderful weekend everyone!