Little Luxuries

Thoughts of home drifted through my head today. They were like unreal memories from a time that felt like ancient history and  I could not shake them. Despite telling myself that I had moved on and was fine, my brain still refused to let go of images of John, the ex-boyfriend whom I had left so many months before. It was his birthday and his presence was strong around me, as I idled in Lusaka.  I wondered where he was and if he had a roof over his head at night. Was he still dependant on friend’s generousity and the comfort of their couches, or had he found a place of his own to call home? It did not matter, but just thinking of him, I knew that he still held a piece of my heart, despite all that had happened. I wished him well and sent happy thoughts across the ocean to him, knowing that if it mattered, he would feel them. Odds stated that I would never see him again, but our spiritual connection remained branded in the far reaches of my mind. I wasn't sure if I was happy about that or not, but the fact still remained.

John was not with me now though. No one was. I was in Lusaka at a friend of Eddie’s apartment. The night previous, Eddie had gone out with his friend, while I stayed back at the apartment and enjoyed the luxury of a candle-lit bath with Leonard Cohen and classical music on the stereo, as well as poetry and the first few stories from Roald Dahl’s collection of short stories in hand. It had been a long time since I had spent an evening in that manner. It felt decadent and rich. I couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend an evening alone. And now, the light of the day illuminated the journal that I scribbled into again. 

With Eddie busy getting welding done on some of his equipment, it appeared that we would be spending another night in Lusaka. I didn’t mind though, as the calendar did not dictate my days. We had the luxury of a real roof over our heads and running water at our fingertips. I had no money to spend, but nothing that I had want of either. Food and drink were readily available to fill my bloated belly. A real bed and pillow would catch my dreams that night. We would depart Lusaka in the morning and by evening, I would rest my head in Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe.  It was enough to know that I still had food in my belly, good people around me and the means to get where I wanted to go. Tomorrow might be a different story. 

Prose in my Heart

sunshine heart
on a cold grey day
new life starts up
in promising ways

a hug passed here
joyful eyes offered there
t'would seem I live
by my cheeks so fair

these words I dig
and hand out to you
have found wings so light
and are now coming true

a writer, i dreamed
A Writer, I am
til my hours fill up
now true I stand

the words, they fill me
the words, feed too
my soul blossoms slowly
and sun's rays pour through

I will keep on working
hold the prose in my heart
pray life fills completely
with this promising start...

One Shot Wednesday

Happy Birthday to the One Stop Poetry site! It has been a years since they started their poetry community and they are still going strong. I am trying to get out of town, but couldn't help but stop by to celebrate with them on such a special anniversary. I wish you all many more anniversaries to come!

The Week is Done...

Quietly crept in

end of week’s hours

without scheduling,

few tasks to do

or indeed done.

A pace set by

whims of fancy,

flights of fun,

as I watch the

silent setting sun.

Monkey Man hosts a Sunday 160

where he encourages you to try your hand

at writing something in exactly 160 characters.

Care to give it a try?

of life and love

listen to the wind

hear it cry of life and love

I nod in answer

At 5PM est, the One Stop Poetry doors will open on another One Shot Wednesday.
Will you be there?

The Glass Castle: A Memoir By Jeannette Walls

The Glass Castle: A Memoir;  by Jeannette Walls (© 2005 Jeannette Walls, Publisher - Scribner, 288 pages)

I went to a friend's house for dinner not long ago. We hadn't seen each other in almost two years, so there was a lot of catching up to do. We discussed our children, our jobs, but more importantly, what we were doing with our lives to bring us a spot of joy. Both of us discovered that we had joined book clubs since we had seen each other last. Before I left, she handed me a book that she had read a few months back. She had enjoyed it and thought I might too. I got a brief synopsis, then went home with smiles on my face from dinner with good friends  and the acquisition of a new book for my bedside table. The Glass Castle was that book. I think I read it in about 3 days.

The Glass Castle is a memoir from Jeannette Walls. The cover proclaims the book a New York Times Bestseller, and the back page remarks that it won a Christopher Award and a Books for a Better Life Award. While I can appreciate praise, I opened the book ready to make my own judgement of how good the book really was. I met Walls sliding down in the seat of a taxi, trying to remain unseen by her Mother, as she rifled through a dumpster. An interesting start. I read on.

From Walls' introduction in her elegant party attire and lavish apartment on Park Avenue in New York City, we are taken back  in time to her youth. Her first memory is from the age of three. She begins her tale casually describing an accident where she is badly burned while cooking hot dogs in her family's small trailer in Arizona. Her Mother manages to get a neighbour to drive them to hospital, where Jeannette spends the next six weeks recovering from the burns and subsequent skin grafts that were necessary to save her life. She is strangely calm and accepting of the trauma, almost relishing her stay in hospital where she gets regular meals, clean clothes and bedding, plus much attention from the doctors and nursing staff. While her family comes to visit her, her Father comes across as brash and un-trusting of the environment. After arguing with the doctors on yet another occasion, her father materializes one day to check Jeannette out "Rex Walls-style"; he clandestinely unhooks her from her sling, picks her up in his arms and runs pell-mell down the hallway and out the emergency doors to their idling car.

"You're safe now," he proclaims, but as I read on, the truth of that seems improbable.

Jeannette was one of four children of Rex Walls and Rose Mary. As the story continues we get to know the Walls family; Dad's drunken ranting, cussing and raving, Mom's obsession with painting and little else, and the four children that seem to be pretty much left to their own devices to fend for themselves. Money is always tight and often non-existent. Food is a luxury that is wolfed down for its scarcity. In the first dozen years of Walls' life travel is frequent, but usually in the form of a "skedaddle" where most everything is left behind, as they depart in the middle of the night.

The years are tough, but Walls weaves a story that does not ask for sympathy. While her father is a self-serving alcoholic, he loves his family and tries to install his values in the children. They often wear threadbare clothes and get teased for being skin-and-bones, but all of the kids boast high intelligent and polite manners. Cleanliness might not be held in regard, but knowledge is of the utmost importance. Walls demonstrates this when she recounts a Christmas where a lack of money translates to a bleak looking holiday. With a keen sense of ingenuity and pure love, Rex gives each of his children a star for Christmas. With the gift of the star, also comes all the knowledge about its attributes, that belies the intelligence that can be found within Walls' stormy Father. You cannot help but acquiesce the materialism that surrounds the holiday and indeed of the North American culture as a whole.

The abject poverty leads one to assume that the Walls children are all doomed to abysmal lives. The funny thing about it is, that the morals and strict adherence to a decent education, often found while wandering through the desert or tinkering with broken objects, does exactly the opposite. I remind myself that the story starts with Walls obviously being well off, and this is due in large part to her strength of character and perseverance. She paints a bleak history, but cannot truly lay anger on the table at almost any point. While her struggles are more than most could bear, she offers us glittering jewels of life in amongst the dreariness that threatens to wash away the whole family. There is much pain in the telling of the story, but when I turned the last page in the book, I also found much love that touched my heart. Again, I don't think that Walls is trying to hold up her life as an example of what not to do or what to do, but she manages to find life along the broken path. She makes you want to look at your own path and find your own inner beauty amongst the scar tissues that we all have. I finished the book, sad that it was over, but warmed by this woman who was honest and true to herself and her life, refusing to let any little thing get her down. She made me want to be a better person and then reminded me, that I am.

So yes, I think the book was worthy of being on the New York Times Bestseller list for over three years and would recommend it to anyone who isn't afraid to get dirty, throw rocks and have rocks thrown right back at you. The Glass Castle is a dream that we all reach for and Walls is generous in letting us see hers.

survive

Wednesday.
Esoteric music plays in my ear.
A child has a hard time settling.
(Remember that in the morning when she does not want to rise)
Breathe. Be.
Sigh...

fingers let the trembling of the drum fade out of them
a hurting soul soaked in our healing rhythms.
well, more than one.
but one with pain writ in eyes, skin
and tremor that only those that know
can see.

Beats continue to heal me, but
most days I am strong enough to give back.
tonight's hurts were for the physical pain of new visitor
the emotional strain of a caregiver,
and another,
and another...

My offerings are of love
compassion that flows from pores
and sparkles with tender remembrances.
I taste their strain
and wish to blow those days
away on wings of tomorrow's sunrise

Away
on wings of a journey spent
A path trod rough and broken
with tertiary gardens askance
sown with bitter tears
of love's tragedy.

A new day,
new sunrise
sprinkled with dust
from fairy's hopeful wand
and filled life of dry gardens
with new, unbeknownst, yet mystical flowers

Spring blooms
on seeds of belief
and life's delight
as my dark night,
dim determinations and
stubborn blossoms survive

*I linked in to the very tale end of One Show Wednesday 

& think I just might throw in a link to Imperfect Prose

Perspective

   A friend has arrived on my doorstep. She has flown the coop, if you will, in order to put her life in perspective. We sat fireside last night and talked and talked, drinks in hand and hearts on our sleeves. I cannot solve her problems, but I can listen. And feel. A life in flux is a familiar theme as of late and I offer what I can to those that I care about. I offer me, what little wisdom I have, when I can. It is what I do.

   I suspect that more words will flow as the day progresses. I left my friend to catch up on sleep, while I coffeed up to fuel myself for the day ahead. It might be a long day. I start the day with this song and it feels right to share today. Enjoy and I hope that your life gains insight in some little curve of it. Peace friends.

Eggstraordinary You

Are you a good egg?

clean and unsullied by life's ways.

Perhaps one amongst many?

content to be surrounded by others of all shapes and sizes.

Or just a little out of the ordinary

with spots and mottled markings

to mark you as individual 

and just plain 'ole You

A little scrambled,

but best handled over easy

looking at the sunny-side of life.

Tuesday Torrents

I have been having a bit of a mental block recently. I have opened my blog up, looked at it blankly and moved onto checking emails, FB, work, etc. Creativity = nada. zilch, nil, nothing. Last night I did some laps in blogland, hoping that perhaps inspiration would hit me, but around about eleven I gave up and shut the computer down. Done like dinner.

You see my brain has been swarming all over the kid's school and the issues that ensued there last week. I have had well-meaning advice from many parties and have been trying to figure out what direction I should proceed in. I don't think that anything will happen again, but I also think that something should be noted on file somewhere. Of course I also worry about stirring the pot and having myself and my children blacklisted as "problems" in our first week of school at the start of a potentially long stretch of learning there. It makes me antsy, itchy, irritated and stressed. Not where I wanted to be; AT ALL. Too bad though, I have to deal with it or let it go unfettered to the wind. 

sigh...

grumble, grumble, grumble

Maybe I should just go and read my book again tonight. The story "We Need to Talk About Kevin" is not quite uplifting, but it is first up for book club this year. It is an interesting novel about the Mother of a teenager that opens fire at his high school killing several people. She is writing letters to the boys Father and recounting their life leading up to the "incident". Good fodder for anyone feeling bad about not wanting to have children and also makes you feel better about any of your own bad parenting days, but I am not sure if I am going to get a feel-good ending out of it. I will keep you posted.

Oh, and I got my bathroom re-painted and it looks FAB-u-Lous! Still working on ironing my shower curtain (Yeah, you should really know by now that I am not that much of a freak - it is cotton [ie. wrinkly] and there is a vinyl shower curtain between it and the water hence an iron IS necessary. No worries; I do have one & even know how to use it despite my Mother's lack of training in that department. For shame, for shame!). Now the rest of the house is absolutely embarrassing beyond belief with the lack of attention it has received since bath renos began. After I re-attach my banister that T ripped out of the wall on the weekend I promise to see if I can find the vacuum. Maybe I will find the floor or even a cat or two? Who know? For now, my book is calling and I bid you adieu. Be well my minions. Go well.

Labour Day

Tis Monday; Monday September 6th or Labour Day in North America. One day before Tuesday September 7th or the first day of school for my babies. Both of them. ACK! Oh, I know that most of you lovely people have been there and done that. Knowing that you all survived does help me to keep myself together today. I have to admit that I have been flitting around pretty constant though. We made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies this morning. I have chicken thighs in the crock pot. I have a roast beef in the oven for dinner tonight. I also have more chicken marinating for dinner later in the week. Yesterday I made spaghetti sauce and meat loaf. The spaghetti sauce will be going to my friend's house  who is recovering from her surgery last week (a little has been saved for us for a meal as well). I have cleaned lunch bags, counters and done several loads of laundry today. Can you tell that I am a little anxious? Nah!

I have double checked bus routes and schedules. I plan to drive the kids to school tomorrow, but just might let them come home on the bus. I am comfortable enough with my nervousness to rebuff all the suggestions that I should relax and put the kids on the bus right off. Not going to do it. Nope. With three school amalgamating into one, I just don't think that Day 1 of school will be 100% smooth. We did  have a brief stop and visit to their class rooms on Friday, meeting T's teacher en route. I feel better, but I don't think it will hurt for me to take them tomorrow. Because realistically you know it is all about me. Yes, I realize that my darling children will be the ones attending school. I am the one that is releasing care of my most precious possessions to complete strangers though. No, I do not think of them as possessions, but they are my life. I am their only parent and I think that I am just having a hard time releasing care. I am used to being the be all and end all of their worlds. This is a bigger step into the wide world of their life outside of mine. Yes, that is it. They are growing up. sigh...

Right now though I am still needed. Elbow pads are requested for a bit of bike riding so I must go. My babies still need me today. I need them more than they realize, so must go.

The Boys are Back

It is just an ordinary day in my world. A Friday. The kids are in bed. I sit on my couch. The dishwasher hums in the background. A friend is coming to join me for the weekend. She will arrive this evening, but right now life is just life. Today has had its ups and downs, same as any other. This song reminded me on so many days that for all the ups and downs that life holds, really it all amounts to a day in passing. It's all your state of mind. 

So today I share a video from one of my favourite bands; Great Big Sea. These boys are from Newfoundland, Canada and are a hell of a lot of fun to see live. I just found out they will be in my home town in a few months for another concert and am sorely tempted to splurge out on tickets again. Anyone want to join me for a night of smiles and bouncing?

So what whirlwinds have befallen my world? My children start school in less than a week. I know some of you dear folk have children already started for the week, are home-schooling, or just plain have empty nests so don't even note the turning of the calendar. I have been dreading this day for years now. My children will be starting school the day after Labour Day. I know that I am being a perfectly normal irrational parent by worrying my damn fool head off. Like I said, I have been worrying about this for years. I have preferred to live in the present moment. The here and now, which always had my children and I at leisure to pick and choose our days. The thought of school starting makes me freak about the permanence of it. Once they begin, they are on the steady road to the teen years and beyond. You all tell me how damn fast kids grow. I hear you and BELIEVE you. While I have wished for so many todays to pass, I rue every minute that I have not been the idyllic parent. I have pushed myself to be the best Mom and too many times the best Dad as well. I know I cannot and should not try to be everything, I cannot help trying to provide what I think their father would have wanted and been. I also hear him telling me to relax, when I allow myself to slow down for a minute. When I feel him offering me kindnesses though, I melt. Forever I want him back by my side to watch our children grow. I know he is there and sees, but it is not the same. I know that I do not need to compensate, but I can't help it. I know how to push myself best and push, push, push I do. There have been breakdowns aplenty to show the futility of it, but sometimes I cannot resist. 

So right now, while all I want to do is stop the clock, perhaps run away, I hear him say to stop. I cannot. It will be fine. I know this, but he tells me anyway. I need to hear it, despite the tears that threaten. It is change. It is hard. It happens what comes what may. Change is necessary and holds good. It does. I am still holding tight to my abstinent need to resist up to the bitter end though. Starting school is the start of a new life for us all. Me, I want to stubbornly stick to my pre-school ways and say "I don't wanna!", but the teacher says that I have to 

and the teacher is life...

The Eyes of a Nation

With Brett walking, talking and breathing freely again, we had done some cursory investigations of the city of Maputo.  It lay heavy on my soul though. Maputo’s fall from grace  seemed to have left all of its inhabitants affected, including myself. I begged for a change in scenery. I felt somehow scarred by the visions of children living in such abject poverty. My station in life left me above the reminders of civil war, disease and destitution that seemed to be everywhere. I could not take it anymore and we all agreed to move on. The sad eyes watched us leave the capital city and remained in my mind’s eye for many days to come. I felt hopeless and needed to cleanse myself from the sorry state that I likened Mozambique to be in. Pushing off, we hugged the coast and battled the currents North.

We chugged into Xai Xai and set up our tents. The Indian Ocean was large as life beside us and we relaxed some to be out of the city. Little markets were plentiful with women dressed in traditional sarongs sitting behind piles of bananas and little tomatoes. A bar graced our campground that we stayed at and I managed to chat over a beer with a woman who had recently emigrated from Namibia. She found it too quiet for her liking in Xai Xai and wished for more excitement. I far preferred it to our last stop in Maputo, but understood her need for something to do. The children’s smiles bloomed large on all the little faces we saw. While I could not forget, I managed to let go of some of the horrors of Maputo and began to enjoy Mozambique and its beauty.

We spent a few nights in Xai Xai, then moved on to Praia de Tofo. Here is where the blues of the ocean in front of me stole my heart. The pure white sand beach beckoned to me and I could not resist. I battled the scorching heat coming from the silky sands to plunge into the salty waters. It was heavenly to gently paddle in the warm waves that ebbed in and out. While it was too hot to sit in the direct sunlight, I did lay my towel down to soak up the pristine beauty of Mozambique’s coastline. I wondered how there could be so much suffering in such a beautiful place. Was it the heat that made people’s demeanours turn hostile? Did my colder clime make the people more prone to huddle together  and therefore more temperate in nature?

My musings were interrupted by the appearance of a boy in front of me. He said nothing, but followed my movements with his eyes. He appeared tiny, but his eyes seemed huge. They held all that Mozambique was. I could not resist and snapped a picture of him. His silence reminded me that I did not know his language or experiences, but he was beautiful none-the-less. We did not live in the same world, but could inhabit the same moment.

The child’s father materialized and smiled shyly at us as well. While English was not his first language, we managed to understand from him that his son was four years old. Miki and I  gave them some barracuda that we had dined on the night before and their appreciation was evident. I tried not to stare, but could not get over the size of the boy. We had seen children in Xai Xai that had claimed to be between 12 and 16. To me they had looked more like between 6 and 12. I pondered  again on what it was that formed these people the way they were. Did lack of vitamins and proper nutrition stunt the children’s growth so much or did the atmosphere of war factor in as well? I was supposing and questioning, but could not truly know the answers. I had not lived here, breathed here or grown up here. I could only guess at their lives paths. I don’t know if I really wanted to know the answers.

I apowogize

A moment from this week;

My baby has a smile that will melt your heart. I look into her eyes and see myself, love and everything that could be for tomorrow. She gives incredible hugs and loves with all her soul, as I am sure that most three-year olds do. She also has very distinct thoughts, feelings and emotions that she is not afraid to let pour forth. This might illustrate itself in her saying "I don't want to" to anything and everything, in her carrying the cats around upside down by their back legs to show that she is a big girl and she can, to giving tender hugs and remarking on people's tears when they are sad. Above all else she cares and I was reminded of this a few nights ago.

After a mostly pleasant and reasonably quick dinner outside, the girls pulled out their bikes to practice riding in the street. I was encouraged to get out my bike, so that I could show the girls "some tricks". I wowed them with figure 8s, but with slightly flat tires let them do all the entertainment and fun. Our neighbours returned home, so the girls proceeded to show off their prowess on their rides to a new audience. Nibbles of ice cream was their reward, as well as a fluffing up of my tires for a future ride. The evening wound down with pointing out hot air balloons and remarking on greenery in our garden tour across the street. Before I knew it, the bedtime hour had come and passed. We waved goodnight, with sticky-sweet smiles from their strawberry patch and raced to get on pjs. I noted that it was late and a school night, so there was enough time for brushing teeth, but unfortunately no stories. As I tried to tuck in my littlest bundle, she showed her displeasure by kicking at the blankets and yelling "NO!". 

Now I know that there are many soft and wonderful Mamas out there that would take this in stride with angelic smiles and wonderful solutions. For me, it was late; too late. When I hit the end of the night, I do not want to deal with my little angel's antics any more. Not one little bit. Unh, un. So I tried to play nice Mommy, failed, threw up my hands and walked out of her room, closing the door behind me. I know that I cannot win the war with her some days, so I just don't even try. I went to my other daughter's room and tucked her in. I covered her in kisses and hugs and told her I loved her, as I left her room. With no noise from the younger, I went to peek in on her. She was still sitting on her bed where I had left her, with a frown upon her face. 

She looked at me and said, "Mommy, I apowogize."

Quiet as a mouse.

My irritation melted. "I appowogize. I shouldn't have kicked you. That wasn't nice. Kicking hurts."

My thoughts flew to daycare and I kissed and loved all her teachers for everything that they did for me and her every day.

"I'm sorry."

Her little face was sorrowful and I was so in love with this big, brave thing she had done. Hugs, kisses and love rushed out of me and showered all over her. I felt like somewhere, somehow, I had done something right and was being rewarded for all the tempers that flared over so many days. Sigh, these are the moments that make me glad and proud to be a Mommy and for this I am forever grateful.

Tomorrow just got closer

I am gleeful and dancing

with chest full of song

for today holds Today

and that cannot be wrong.

Life holds old shadows,

but their crispness is spent

faded to warmth

that I never would've lent.

The sparkle of present

lends half-measure to now

tomorrow just got closer

I do not know how.

With calm as a guide

and peace in my soul

it seems I survived

with life to extol.

 ~~~

Smiles.

May today offer you a blessing. 

I got some from friends.

Thanks.

The Walking Man

His face turned to the rising sun. Eyes closed, he soaked in the sun's rays feeling the warmth on his skin. Each breath was savoured; every movement, a blessing. It was a gift.  Every day was a gift. 

He pulled the shirt off his back. Every part of his being reached towards the sky. His feet moved in the direction of the vast ascending orb. It was a glorious day. Blue skies promised life. The shirt dangled forgotten in his loose grasp. Sunshine bounced off his round belly, as he strode along the road way. The passing cars did little to shake the euphoria he felt in this moment. He breathed in the life that fairly vibrated around him. Destination was of no concern. Peace flowed through him and shot in waves off of his gently swaying form. It would be the same tomorrow. 

As I made a wide arc around him, I could not help but smile. His energy was strong and had caught me. Many mornings, I watched as he strode down the street bare-chested. His sight always giving me a smile. I carried this bliss with me into the day. My smiles reverberated to those around me. I could see them and felt them cradle me. Blessed be to the Walking Man. His love of life carries sweet contagious feelers. I turn my face up to the sun, smile and thank the Earth for the day I have been offered again. That sunshine holds life and peace for the Walking Man, myself, and you as well.

Normal

   An epiphany of a sort has been creeping in this week. Perhaps it was highlighted by the loss of a sweet woman in the blog-o-sphere. This woman brought back many images of me and my family in my darker days. She battled cancer and sadly succumbed to the disease last week. I follow a few blogs that were touched by this woman and her family's plight and many candles have been lit for them. I too walked the chaotic path of cancer within my family unit and was overwhelmed by its power. That time period will be with me always and I feel deeply and with such sorrow for any that have to walk that path. My cancer journey was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my life, but the grief journey that followed was even harder. I was shocked at the amount of work that it takes to process grief and am often still surprised by the knock and reminders that will live with me forever about these difficult days. I would never have believed how many tears could be shed, but I somehow survived and face a new day every day of my life. 

   What has struck me this week is something different though. Weeks before my husband was diagnosed, we had just had our first child. Ten months before that we celebrated our love by tying the proverbial knot (no need to do the math -she was our honeymoon stage gift!). Our days before that were filled with wedding planning and home renovations to our newly purchased home in a new town. For a period of about five years, I think that I hit a ridiculous number of stressors (good and bad) on the scale of stress factors. I seemed to only be able to function if we were going through some change or transformation. When Brad died, a big piece of me went with him. The death of my cousin a few months following, was just another in a long line of stressors that I just could not deal with any more. I caved and leaned on whatever supports that I could. Other friends and family disappeared at that time, but time refused to stop. I held on treading water and with help have moved through a seemingly insurmountable amount of carnage. And now...

   Now, I am normal.

   This week I looked at myself and noted that I have nothing going on in my life. I am working part-time and am happy with that. I am writing in this blog and working on two books when I can. I do yoga, participate in a drum circle and am part of a book club. I have two beautiful daughters that I love more than my life. They give me a reason to get up in the morning and put a smile on my face when I am not scolding them for some little thing that is normal for children their age. I have friends that enjoy my company and family that cares about what I feel and do. My worries and stresses are the everyday bland kind of stress that everybody goes through. My grief is still mine, but it does not rule me anymore. I face the day and the worst of it could be deciding what to make for dinner, scheduling a vet appointment for the cat, or making sure the bills are paid on time. All normal. Normal. Wow. You probably do not understand why this affects me so, but it is an epiphany that I noted for me this week. I am just like everyone else. I can shed tears for others today and do, but my life is okay just the way it is. And I think I like it.

Sensational Saturday

Sensational Saturday slays shameful seasonal slump.

Playing along at six word Saturday. My weekend is shaping up to be the best ever in fly-by-the-seat-of-your- pants happenings. Yesterday was spontaneous hot dog smörgåsbord and fun. Today, we gathered dirt, a mop head (that the kids insisted I use right away. HA! NOT!!!), yard bags and new plants salvaged from a garden going by the wayside. That morphed into lunch, which switched into digging and planting. Neighbours appeared and conversation ensued. I am a natural for being long-winded, so soon enough the dinner hour arrived. So did dinner! I schmoozed up steak, hot dogs, burgers, salad and beer, but tried to counter with offerings of shrimp and new plantlets (euphorbia and black-eyed susan). Not sure if that is a fair offering, but I presented all I knew about the grand big world of the blog-o-sphere as after dinner conversation. Probably painful to the not inclined, but they humoured me with  their interest and plied me with more beer. So I stayed. Sensational. Need say no more. Hope your Saturday slayed too.

time is no waste

A book calls.
My mind stews.
The bath heats.
   Good.
Ice cubes clinking.
   Also good.

I am angry at the injustices
   that are pushed upon the world
Me, friends, family and foes
   We are all pushed by the should be, should do,
should have been, could have done...

All we have is today.
This moment in time,
   that we have
that we offer to share with the world.
Those pure moments of us that we share with another,
   is that not the most precious thing to give,
      to be?

Am I wrong? What else can we offer another,
    but ourselves?
There is nothing more.
Everything else is mine
for me
Alone.

I offer me with love.
If I do not want to give me I will not.
I am precious and not worth wasting.
I am not worth wasting
Neither are YOU!
neither are you...

time is no waste

life is gifts given wrapped in the paper of experience

cherish

have a little faith

I have read a few books by Mitch Albom now and recently finished "have a little faith". A friend lent it to me, as she enjoyed it and thought I might as well. We had recently been talking about faith and religion, so I believe this is what lead to the thought that I might find this book interesting. She did forewarn me that there was much religious talk in the book though, so hopefully it would not deter me or bore me. I have to say, it did not.

Mitch Albom is a Sports writer based out of Detroit, Michigan. Normally that would preclude me from even thinking about picking up a book he had penned. I am not a huge sports aficionado. You might have guessed that already. I do like books though, as is noted elsewhere in this blog. Everyone who knows me, knows this fact about me. As a young child, I always had my nose stuck in a book and often gave up playing with friends to just finish a few more pages. Geek, I know, but I have had some wonderful friends found in the pages of books. I digress.

For Christmas a few years ago, my uncle gave me several books as my present in our family gift exchange. "The Five People you Meet in Heaven" was one of the books and I liked it well enough. I do not recall recognizing the name Mitch Albom and certainly did not recognize him as a sports personality at the time. Shortly thereafter I heard very good things about "Tuesdays with Morrie", so decided to pick that up as well. This was a wonderful little book that had just gone into its tenth anniversary re-release. What I liked about "Tuesdays with Morrie" was Albom's honesty in his writing. He tackled a difficult subject matter, dying, with grace. He was not afraid to paint an candid picture of himself, sometimes awkward or saying the wrong thing, while at the same time expounding on another's good points. It was a heart-warming true story of letting go, but more importantly in discovering the joys that life holds in simple things every day. He steps into "have a little faith" with that same tone.

"Have a little faith" is a true story. It begins with Albom's rabbi asking him to write a eulogy for his funeral. The rabbi has known him all his life and has always taken on a sacred and looked-up to role for him. Albom is surprised and overwhelmed at first, but decides that if he is to take on this responsibility, he must get to know the Rabbi as a man as well.

Similarly to "Tuesdays with Morrie" visits are begun that look at life in all its glory, beauty and ugliness. This story is told parallel to the story of another man that Albom meets. This man is also a holy man, but his faith is that of Christianity. Where Albom's Rabbi is upheld as pure and all-knowing, the Minister's past is unearthed and it is far from pure. Drugs, alcohol, violence and prison all saturate the Minister's past. An ugly picture is painted, but this man finally finds Jesus and gives over his life to him. Where I appreciate Albom's storytelling the most is in his difficulty in moving beyond the Minister's past. He shows his true feelings and offers himself up to criticism with his honesty in questioning this man's faith and character. Could he really have changed so much? Will he not fall back into old ways? The beauty of the two men of faith is that they both show a love for humanity and the will to want to help their fellow man. Albom allows us to see his own growth and in some ways asks us to look beyond our own comfort zones. He asks us to look at the people around us and see beyond what we think we know. We all have our crosses to bear and  regardless of background we are all worthy of love and forgiveness. I looked at Albom as a busy hotshot sports writer that had little time for faith or life and watched him gain a little more humanity. While he painted the picture, I made my own judgement call. He has done the same himself. What he does ask is for  us all to look back at ourselves. Make time for oneself. Make time for others. Make time for life. Thanks Mitch.