Every Teenager is a candidate for Living but not every teenager takes part. What separates the participants from the wallflowers? To answer the question, you may look to norms. You may look to your own teenagers, You may look to your pediatrician. But to really answer it, You must look to you. Are You a Candidate for Living? or are you a Wallflower? Yesterday, I had the great pleasure of going to Disney World for the day.Walt Disney World does an awfully good job at an awful lot of things. But what it does best, I think, is bring out the kid in us all. The goofy kid, The enthusiastic kid, the playful kid, the adventurous kid. And if you’re willing, the uninhibited, free spirited kid. I saw quite a few during the afternoon parade. The song and the scene that struck me most, was “Shake it”. Lots of Disney Characters took part, dancing alongside the float, some of them agilely on stilts even! That was inspiring for sure, but what I was most inspired by, was a very special young man. He had Downs Syndrome. But You know what? As I watched him,dancing with with abandon, I was smiling from silver hoop earring, to silver hoop earring. What was clear, at first glance was his sense of joy. It made me happy just to observe him, experiencing so much deep-core-level joy. It made me cry, first from happiness, but also from a little sadness, at my own inhibition. It made me wonder, where, along the way I had picked it up, and decided to carry it along, to my detriment. I thought what great fun it might be wear a costume and dance and engage the way I'd really want to, if I wasn't carrying all of this baggage around. You can't Dance and Sing and Bounce like Tigger when you're carrying baggage around Tiggers, after all, have a lot of bouncing to do, and carrying Baggage would keep them from getting to the heights they'd like to. I guess we pick up inhibition when we pick up fear of disapproval, and fear of wondering how we’ll look to others. Sadly, we pick up self judgement along the way. As I watched this young man, who some might pity, I saw a complete lack of inhibition, and a complete state of oneness–with the music, and indeed, with those of us around him, who, by our engaging in his joy, were incrementally creeping into our own joy,and out of our long overdue shells. We are all candidates for living, but we’re not all taking part.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Wallflowers, and Tiggers and Candidates for Living
If we want our teenagers to take part, then we have to take part ourselves, casting aside our own inhibitions, looking at what’s kept us from engaging with our own joy. We absolutely need to model it ourselves, but also to encourage and support it, in the lives of our teenagers. Because it’s a great big world out there, chock full of opportunities, just bursting with Joy.
After all, Wall flowers, rarely get to see the sun,
which is where all of the Disney Parades take place.
Come out and Shake it!
Just try it and see,
You may find, if you look,
It’s the Only way to really Be.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Reflecting on Canines
We enjoyed it as much
as our Canines, indeed
And I think
that as always
we should follow their lead
Cuz they're Joyous
and energetic
and grateful and true
And they remind us,
of the potential
of our depth and our hue.
Hue is one of the main properties of a color, defined technically, as “the degree to which a stimulus can be described as similar to or different from stimuli that are described as red, green, blue, and yellow,”[1](the unique hues). The other main correlates of color appearance are colorfulness, chroma, saturation, lightness, and brightness
In painting color theory, a hue refers to a pure color—one without tint or shade (added white or black pigment, respectively).[3]. A hue is an element of the color wheel. Hues are first processed in the brain in areas in the extended V4 called globs.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Ode to a Child
You were born to Discover
You were born to Create
You were born to feel Inspired
You weren't born to Imitate
I'm inclined to Encourage
I'm inclined to Support
All your inklings
All your Dreamings
Of each and every Sort
So Please Don't Misinterpret
My enthusiasm for
The Unlimited Potential
of your future that's In store
Labels:
Child,
Creativity,
Encouragement,
Enthusiasm,
Experience,
Inspiration,
Ode,
poetry,
Potential,
Sharing,
Wonder
0
comments
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Just Do it.
Inspired by a Young Soul's Blog I came upon:
Self Expression Rocks!
So say it with gusto
say it with flair
let the world know
who's been resting in there
let your life speak
through the keyboard or pen
then start fresh tomorrow,
and do it again.
write on --
it's right on!
and express yourself true
put your heart and your soul in whatever you do
for the words that you choose
will represent who
that girl is-- deep down
deep inside of you
and stand up real tall
with your shoulders back
the answers are inside You.
There is nothing you lack
Check out what this young Blogger has to say:
Monday, January 4, 2010
Poems from the Past
“Poetry and Hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. And all you can do is go where they can find you.”
These Poems were written when I was in college, round about my junior year. I began college as a news writing major, but became disillusioned by the straight forwardness of the news. After a multitude of Psychology, Sociology, Anthropology, Humanities, Comparative Arts, Poetry and Creative Writing courses, I shifted into the College of Communication, with an emphasis on Interpersonal Communication in the Health and Human Services.
Did you know that Communication is a Science?
With all of these wonderful Humanities and Liberal Arts classes
now percolating deep with in my core,
I had lots to wrap my curious mind around, and
My creative writing courses became the the highlight, and the challenge of my college career.
But, I still didn't have a make-a-living career in mind.
Or did I?
When I graduated, I worked in the Loss Prevention department for Saks Fifth Avenue, doing book keeping clerical work. Next, I sold radio Advertising for a classic rock radio station. The Perks were great, but I was no salesman.
Thankfully, my first child was born that year, and two more to follow,
granting me
the vocation of a lifetime:
Motherhood.
Parenting is the toughest job you'll ever love.
As they became older, and my time became more mine, I decided on a part time career as a massage therapist, going back to school for a year, with the intentions of Working my own schedule, when the kids were at school or on weekends. Somewhere in the mix, with 18 or so more years of Life experience under my belt, and a therapeutic need to gush, I began writing again.
Aha!!!!
I am a writer.
I always have been.
Ever since that first teacher told my parents I had a gift for writing.
Here are some early iterations.
I'm glad I found them now.
For NOW is always a good time to revisit who we really are,
and to let it be known with abandon.
I'd like to think I've grown as a writer since then,
but when I read what I wrote over 20 years ago,
I can still see the me, I see today.
Today is the day I remember the essence of who I am.
Today is the day I live the life I once imagined.
How about You?
Somehow, My picture ended up in the School Handbook. I never remember wearing a skirt in College, But, here is proof!
Click on each poem individually to get a larger view ;)
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Some of My Best Friends are Labs
"I Never Met a Lab I didn't Like."
-Spencer Ives,Family Dog ExtraordinaireMy Name is Spencer
I am a Vizsla.But some of my best friends are Labs.
(Labrador Retrievers, that is.)
They're a different breed than I am.
Just look at us--
You'll see.
But we're more alike than different--
On that we both agree.
We both adore to wrestle
We love to fetch a stick!
We love to love our families.
We love to learn new tricks!
Each Lab's an individual.
Each Lab's a unique dude.
Each has a special love to give
Just like Vizslas,
And like YOU!
Some Labradors are shiny black
And some are sunshine yellow-
They even come in chocolate- brown
Some are frisky,
Some are mellow.
In fact, I never met a Labrador I didn't like.
I look for them each time I hike.
When I get home,
I look no more--
Since Chloe and Charlie live right next door.
And Yellow Labradors are such fun,
They run and run, and run, and run.
Charlie digs out from his fence
And comes to visit me.
He looks both ways when crossing
He's as careful as can be.
And then we're off to having fun
I'm teaching him to be
A dog who likes to point and chase
All of the birds He sees.
I wag goodbye to Charlie
When I go "Down the shore."
That's where I've got
My good friend Jake.
We swim and run some more.
Now Jakie looks like chocolate
And He smells just as sweet.
I tell you this a nicer Lab
You'll never, ever meet.
Jakie's got experience, so
He's teaching ME to be
A Vizsla to be proud of--
I hope that's clear to see.
And when it snows, I go to Vermont
Out there it's really cold
So Mom puts on my special coat-
It's red and green and gold.
We visit the Farm at Cobble Hill.
Aunt Peggy welcomes us there.
That's where her good Friend Theo
Introduced me to a mare!
In the barn and on the fields
He taught me to behave
I'm sad when it comes time to go
I wish that I could stay.
But then I'd never get to see
The other Labs I know.
I'd miss our Sunday visits
To the dog park where we go.
The black ones
Yellow ones
And the brown ones
All would miss me so.
And during the week I'd really miss
My trots along the trail,
Where Mom and I
We like to hike
Up over hill and dale.
And at the end
There is a place
Where Labradors convene,
To chase a ball and
And dive spread-eagle
Right into the stream.
Now I can't swim as well as them,
But when I'm done
I'm beat.
Mom towels me off,
And I jump straight
Into the car's front seat.
When we get home
I know that soon
My family will show--
By bus and car
I can't stand still,
They know I love them so.
Then they arrive!
I wag and wag!
A "Vizsla Dance" I do!
I love to play with Labradors
But I love people too.
They throw me balls
They give me rubs
They feed and water me.
They help me to meet Labradors
I'm Grateful as can be.
And when at times they're feeling blue
I make sure that I'm near
I'll nuzzle close
And snuggle in
And lick away each tear.
This makes them feel much better.
It makes me feel good too.
It makes their hearts all warm inside
And that's the doggone truth!
We're blessed to have each other.
And we acknowledge this.
There's not a day that passes
Without a Vizsla Kiss!
And when the dog day's ended,
I'll curl up by some feet,
And dream about
The Labs I'll meet
When I walk down the street.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
DIRT+SEEDS= HARVEST UNTOLD
I love driving through unfamiliar territory.
There are always lots of interesting things to see, and on the radio, to hear. Recently I heard a particularly thought-provoking comentary.
The DJ was recounting the joys her garden was producing;
crisp and stalk-y broccoli,
an abundant crop, of strangely beautiful, asymmetrical steak-y tomatoes,
a plethora of peas enveloped in pods, bearing curling tendrils reminiscent of Jack's Beanstalk. And she was taking great care in sharing the bounty with her "people" and especially the youngest of her "people",
teaching them how to harvest,
their arms overflowing cornucopias.
Together then, they reverently place them in baskets and bags,
marveling at what delicious, and varied fruits and vegetables God can create,
as she put it,
from Dirt, alone.
What comes to mind for me at that moment, as I drive serenely along, with that Norman Rockwell-like image in mind, is the first day of the Lenten Season, Ash Wednesday; When the priest makes the sign of the cross on foreheads, dipping his thumb into the ashes of once smoldering palms from the previous year's Palm Sunday celebration, and proclaiming, as he marks you, "Remember, O man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.''
I am thinking that
We, too, begin as the lowly dirt,
and we too, have the potential to produce many and varied fruits,
from seeds left along the way;
Some intentionally placed, some left by the wondrous hand of nature herself,
some unexpectedly offered by trees and plants that could hold their aging fruits no longer,
releasing them gently to the ground
allowing them to do what nature allows;
a period of dormancy
a time for fertlization
and then rebirth.
Fruits, that began as We;
un-fertilized seeds,
yet when given the right conditions;
the warmth,
and the nutrients,
to sustain our yet fragile forms,
slowly, we sprout,
hinting at the impending flower,
which foretells the color and essence of the fruit yet to be.
Like an enormous orange flower
that has the potential to become an enormous seed-laden pumpkin,
ready, when the time is right
to become the Jack O'Lantern that it has the potential yet to be--
To house the light which will illuminate,
both its inner and outer form,
lighting both itself and the path
for young hopefuls unsure of what's in store.
Over a season,
in the time in takes to transform an immense and fortelling blossom,
to a meaty, seed-bearing fruit,
We grow and change,
gaining what we need, to continue a measured process of growth,
and just as young fruits only slightly resemble the ripened product,
we need time to grow and to develop,
into what we were meant to become.
And as we ripen, we become, more ready,
to give what our fully developed form is intended to give:
both the fruit, and the seeds,
for although we may harvest and distribute both the fruit and the seed,
we are dually recipients of the fruits and seeds of more mature fruits,
which ferment within us in a perfect and self perpetuating harvest,
which is both annual and perennial,
in its own unique way.
And as we develop,
our potential to provide develops,
and when We are ready
we provide,
and then return for more nourishment
remembering that we were nourished ourselves.
And in order to receive
we must nourish,
and in order to nourish,
we must receive.
And there will always be resources enough,
for in our own search for sustenance,
we inevitably grow,
and the more fruit we bear the more seeds we can provide,
reseeding along our way,
often in unfamiliar territory,
in the dust that came before us
the dust we shall return to.
Labels:
circle of life,
DIRT,
Growth,
harvest,
interconnectedness,
legacy,
seeding,
shared wisdom
3
comments
Friday, May 8, 2009
A Jar of Coins, a Loaf of Bread, and Thou
One Year for Christmas, My Brother Chris and and his wife Julie gave each of us siblings a very thoughtful gift. Inspired by the Book The Christmas Jar, By Jason F. Wright, they gave each sibling's family an empty quart size Mason Jar. A slot was cut in the plastic lid, and inside were a number of stickers and ribbons to decorate the jar with.
In the Book The Christmas Jar, Hope Jensen, in a moment of great grief and monetary loss, is anonymously gifted a small jar of Money. Moved, Humbled, and transformed by this gift, her own faith in humanity is resurrected, as she searches for and ultimately finds the donors.
When we opened the package from my brother, inside, along with the jar and a copy of the book, was a note which read:
" In honor of the spirit of giving we were taught by Mama Rose and Papa Gene (The names our children call our parents), please decorate this jar, and over the course of this upcoming year, collect your spare change and donate it to the cause of your choice, in their name."
My parents have indeed, always been generous people. Their list of charities they support has grown as our families have grown, but what I remember more were the times when, moved by the suffering and loss in our own back yard, they gave without hesitation. I have a vivid memory of a time, when My parents went to visit one of our former Parish priests in his new Parish in the inner city. During the mass, a man entered the back of the church, mumbling, and disoriented, unclean and clearly intoxicated. He wore no shirt, but a suit jacket-- worn backwards; the sleeves serving as pant legs. Apparently, it wasn't an uncommon occurrence, but to my folks it was. They left the Church, bought him some clothing, and got him a meal. I will never forget that. On another occasion, I remember my mother gathering blankets and coats as we watched the apartment House at the top of our street burn. I don't remember them telling us to be generous, necessarily, but I do remember them being it themselves. Actions always speak louder than words.
Clearly, the act of giving, in and of itself , has a cathartic quality. It just does. I know, that with every handful of change I dropped into that jar over the first year of this project, I felt good.I made it a point, In fact I made it my intention, to place any change that came my way, into the jar. Change from the coffee I bought, change found in coat pockets and pants pockets, change left on the dresser or in my car's cup holder; Change I found in the Washer or the dryer. It all went into the jar. Two Sticky quarters I spied on the floor between our seats at the Bruce Springsteen Concert.: into the jar.
At the time, I was reading The Power of Intention, by Wayne Dyer, the premise of which is that YOU CREATE YOUR OWN REALITY, based on making it your intention to do so. It couldn't hurt to set an intention. I set my Intention: I intend to find lots of change; Mostly quarters.
The Jar was strategically placed on the counter juxtaposed between the back door and the laundry room. I begin to notice a direct correlation between the money I find, and the thoughts I am thinking. Often, there are only pennies. At times there are quarters and dimes. At the end of the first year, I was eager to see how much money I had saved, and took my kids to the local bank with the change counting machine, to await the news. We had saved $75.70. We were quite pleased, because, although, there were coins of all denominations in the jar, there was also a small amount of space still left. We decided, that, rather than waiting until the jar was filled, We would cash the money in before Christmas, to donate as our family Holiday Gift. Earlier in the Week, I had seen an advertisement for our Local Food Bank, Philabundance. It read: " 25 cents can provide one meal for a person in need."
That was all it took. I felt that 75$ could go a long way. So we Got a cashier's check in exchange for our collected change and we sent it off to Philabundance. We immediately began refilling the jar, and during the next year, our change began to multiply like a yeast expands bread dough. This time, the jar was so full, it could scarcely hold even a few more coins, and this time, the jar held $175.00. I am eager to see what this third year will bring, and although we are only 4 months in, it is growing nicely, as are the hopeful feelings I am gifted with whether I place a handful of coins or a few rogue pennies into the mix.
My parents tendency toward generosity begets our own. Once you've been the recipient of another's giving, or even just the bystander who observed it happen, you've been affected, not unlike the yeast which transforms the flour and water into a loaf of bread. And very much, like Hope Jensen, in the Story The Christmas Jar , we are moved, humbled and transformed from flour, water and yeast, into the Very Staff of Life.
"Imagine this! Kindness extended, received, or observed beneficially impacts the physical health and feelings of everyone involved!”
— Wayne Dyer in The Power of Intention: Learning to Co-Create Your World Your Way
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Lessons Learned from Glory Days. Spontaneity, and Brewer's Yeast
My Sister Karen took me to my first Bruce Springsteen Concert. Thunder Road was the First song of the evening. Well it wasn’t the opening song. We missed that one. You see, this integral Bruce Springsteen Odyssey began at Kent, State University, Karen’s Home Court at the time. I was invited down for a Little Sibs weekend, but Karen happened upon two Bruce Tickets, and our plans changed.As Karen always says"I thrive on spontaneity." We weren’t gonna go Ice skating at the Hockey Rink any more, and hang out with her Hockey player boyfriend and his little sib.
We were going to Bruce.
I was beside myself, as you can imagine any 14 year old Bruce initiate would be. There was only one problem. We had no car. But, With great enthusiasm, Karen implored her roommate, who was clearly distracted at the time sprinkling brewers yeast on her popcorn, to have pity on us and lend us her 1962 car of unknown origin and/or gasoline status, and or color.
For some reason, Karen hadn’t gotten her license till she was 18, so she didn’t have a lot of experience with map reading or navigation, or actual driving for that matter.It was a Leap of Faith. But No matter,We Had Reason to Believe we’d get there. We were Workin on a Dream.We did eventually get there, after taking some unexpected Backstreets, and ending up in some Badlands.Not a State Trooper or Highway Patrolman in sight. It was a wonder we didn’t end up in a Wreck on the Highway or in Nebraska. It took some some creative parking, But we had arrived; The Promised Land. Arrived just in time for Thunder Road.
I’m not sure how many other great Boss anthems we missed before our arrival, but arriving in the midst of the yearning cry of that blessed harmonica’s opening,I was ready to Prove it All Night–ready to incorporate every bit of the Boss that was left in that first formative Boss concert of my adolescent years. Standing behind the railing among Springsteen fans of varying degree, Bruce was then and there cemented into my being, and I was officially Growing up.
Gloria’s Eyes were filled, from then on, with the knowledge that, in this Land of Hope and Dreams, as long as we aren’t Blinded by the Light of fear’s Brilliant Disguise; Your own Worst Enemy, we are entitled to All that Heaven will Allow. At that moment, Karen and I were connected; Parallel, not unlike Bruce Springsteen’s gracing the Covers of Newsweek and Time on the very same day . I Don’t expect that memory to Fade Away. For times like these are The Ties that Bind, and in the inimitable words of Karen herself, when we work our way beyond our own nosebleed seats, down to the stage level, It’s Every man for himself. No retreat baby,No Surrender. And My Beautiful Reward? Dancing full on in my Levi’s and Frye Harness Boots with the all of other Gate Stormers enjoying Life Itself, because Tommorow Never Knows.
As We Floated out of the Cleveland Coliseum that night recounting every moment of the concert we did see, we were oblivious to what door we were exiting, or what side of the parking lot we'd end up on or where in fact we had actually parked the car some 3 glorious hours earlier. Wandering aimlessly for another hour,we needed to surrender, despite our vow not to.
We did need to get back to Kent State to enjoy what was left of the Little Sibs Weekend Festivities. So we enlisted Security, and when asked what sort of car we were looking for, we looked at each other, unsure of whether we had driven an Oldsmobile or a Ford or a Chevy. It could have been an Astin Martin for all we knew. When asked, at least, what color it was, we responded in unison. Karen: "Green"; Gloria: "Brown".
Rest assured, we did find it, our odds increasing as more and more of the responsible drivers left, visions of Bruce Springsteen jamming in their heads.
IT was two or three in the morning when we returned, and we were starving. Luckily, there was plenty of Brewers Yeast Popcorn left.
"Glory Days, Yeah they'll pass you by, Glory Days, In the wink of a young Girl's Eye. Glory Days. Glory Days..."
Labels:
Anthems,
Brewers Yeast,
Bruce Springsteen,
Dreams,
Hope,
Kent State,
Spontaneity,
The Boss
0
comments
Friday, February 27, 2009
She Hasn't Met Bruce Springsteen. Yet.
When I was in college, I had lots of odd jobs. I was a survey taker in a mall, a traffic flagger for a tree surgeon, a "flyer" at Sax Fifth Avenue, and eventually "assistant to the Loss Prevention Auditor." I was even a server for my sister Karen's short lived catering Business, called Katrina's traveling Bistro. But some of my fondest memories were of my waitressing and bar-tending days. My sister and I had jobs at the Harley Hotel, the nicest Hotel in Willoughby,Ohio--known for housing the performers who came to perform at the Front Row Theatre , a nearby theatre "in the round", with a revolving stage, where "every seat is a good seat."
There was always a great Buzz around the hotel when the Performers were staying there, and a great Hush hush surrounding the whole thing, yet many of the performers would come into the cocktail lounge after their shows, and just recline, often unbeknownst to the other guests who were there. This was great fun to be around, and my sister was very adept at "getting in on the star power--so much so, that she, and eventually I got weekend jobs parking cars at the "Front Row" Theatre, which afforded us the perk os seeing all of the shows. She'd meet the stage crew, and get back stage passes and offer up assistance above and beyond what her job required. Once she went into the restaurant's kitchen at 2am to concoct a nice soothing consomme' for one of the Everly Brothers. They were in town for a couple evenings and were good spirited and fun loving. They asked us, "Where is a good place to go out dancing?"
Of Course, my sister Karen, mover and shaker that she is, Who's nickname was "Keg" in college, was on board with a location. And what goes Down in history, is that, We, (My sister Karen and I, and possibly my cousin Laura,) Did indeed take the Everly brothers out dancing. Now mind you, I was only about 19 at the time, and my sister about 24, and the Everly Brothers were, well, at least in their late 50's. But dancing--dancing is ageless. We had a Ball. They cut a rug. And they paid for the beverages.
Yet, one of Her best 15 minutes of fame, was getting to know "the lights guy" who worked for Peter, Paul and Mary. Not only was she able to get us tickets to see the show, for two nights in a row, she was also, after lots of prodding able to get us back stage, and what's more important, is that her intention was really to gift this as a surprise to My parents. Don't worry, we weaseled in too. But, it was My parents who had every Peter Paul and Mary Album imaginable, who introduced us all to "Lemon Tree" and "500 Miles" and "The Marvelous Toy" --such wonderfully poetic, stories of joy and heartbreak--and Songs that could bring you to tears. My mother cried. I cried. But I don't think I ever saw a Broader smile on My mother's face.
Ipso Facto.
And Karen?
She Hasn't Met Bruce Springsteen. Yet.
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Extinction of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom
When I was young one of my favorite programs to watch on Sunday evenings was
Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom,
hosted by Marlin Perkins, one of the leading ecologists of his time.
Although I don't remember preservation being Wild Kingdom's message at the time, I can see now that it was certainly the predecessor of today's Animal Planet and The Discovery Channel.
Now, Some 40 years later,
there are Whole Networks dedicated to education and preservation of our animal kin, to enjoy with our families, but
how disappointed I was then, when that one show itself became extinct.
But today, I learned something very hopeful.
Although many, many species face extinction, due to hunting, fishing, poaching and the mysterious hand of nature herself, Mother Nature yet continues to create and surprise us.
Scientists, in the past decade have discovered over 1,000 new species in Southeast Asia's Greater Mekong region alone. Species, of plants, reptiles, spiders, mammals, birds and fish. And they weren't all discovered in remote jungles. A rat species, thought to be extinct about 11 million years ago was discovered in a local market and a brilliant green pit viper in the rafters of a restaurant in a National Park: walking among us.
But what I find as wonderfully awe-inspiring as what I learned 35 years ago on Wild Kingdom, is that Nature does continue to renew and replace her own.
Yes, it is true that many of our most amazing and interesting animals do face the possibility of extinction, but it's also true, that the cycle of life and death will continue, in spite of us.
This is not to say that we shouldn't take care to protect all life; on the contrary.
All life, is sacred, and should most certainly be protected.
But just as Television Nature Shows run their course, and are gone for decades, technology steps in, 30 years later and offers us DVDs, to relive our sentimental past.
Who'da thunk it?
Certainly not me.
But, If a Rat, extinct for 11 MILLION years can resurface,
than just about anything is possible,
and hope does spring eternal.
If Mother nature can regenerate, and replace in ever more complex and creative ways,
like the discovery of a cyanide laced electric-pink millipede, then we too can resurrect our dormant selves, and re-emerge triumphant, across our ever melting, yet ever freezing tundras.
And species do exist
in even the arctic tundras,
Although the climate is extremely cold
there is little diversity
and short seasons of growth and reproduction
but despite this
there are nutrients from dead organic material;
material which had to die
but supports that limited diversity
and on the tundra
there are shifts
population oscillations
which is inevitable
for it is nature's way
And that's a comforting thought.
Yes, It was disappointing when Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom finally became Extinct in the 1980's, and by then I was in College.
But as history often dictates, and the future always shows, Tomorrow is a Mystery.
What may end up on The Discovery Channel tomorrow
might be the resurrection of something from the past, or something entirely different.
Odds are, one or Both may happen, and both may be a blessing.
So We need to Stay Tuned.....
"What future bliss He gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is, but always to be, blest.
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come."
-Alexander Pope
EPISTLE I:
Of the Nature and State of Man, With Respect to the Universe
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Sydney's Catastrophe, and other Cat's Tails and Tales
Have you ever heard of a Cat named Cat-astrophe? I have, and I actually did, name a cat Cat-astrophe: hyphen and all. No, he did not have any formal records bearing his hyphenated name,for he was a cat, like all of my other cats, of "Uncertain Origin", and also of "Uncertain Veterinary care," but whenever I wrote his name, which I don't actually ever remember doing, It was hyphenated for comedic value. You see, I was one of those kids who came to the dinner table with my Handy Dandy
"Book of Corny Jokes,"
So I was fond of comedic value.
But, what has more comedic value, and what I
I thought you might really like to know, is that my first cat was named Sydney, and that he met an untimely and unfair demise whilst frolicking with his dear friend Smokey, in the middle of the Road, as Cat friends so often do.
Heart Wrenching!
My brother Michael proceeded to race me up the street to the church basement where my parents were at a church meeting of one form or another.
(One Form:
Marriage Encounter group,
Another Form:
Overwhelmed Parents of 7 group, praying for tuition)
The whole group was now involved, and predictably, to calm a hysterical 6 year old,
"Don't worry, we'll get you a new cat."
"But I don't want another cat, I want Sydney!!!!!!!"
And then, low and Behold, an Angelic voice from the crowd,
"My cat just had kittens, you can have one of them."
The Lord indeed works in mysterious ways,
when your doing His work,
in His Basement.
And my next Cat? in a long line of
"not really appreciated by her father, outdoor-cats":
Cat-Astrophe! Yes, that was his name.
And Why you ask?
Why Name a Cat Catastrophe?
Well, for all of the obvious reasons, like his running behind a stack of drywall and me following him, only to be slammed by said stack of drywall, and rushed to the hospital for numerous stitches on my calf.
If you really want to know, there was Toby, to follow, who indeed did follow me home from the convenience store, after I deftly lured him with freshly cut deli slices of "chip-chop" ham.
Sadly, he only had half a tail. It was just a stump. But I loved him just the same.
And then, there was Cola, yes, she was black as night, and apparently pretty popular at night time with the other out-door male cats in the neighborhood. She bequeathed both Pepsi, and Coca, one of which was sadly lost in a tragic bird pecking.
All true.
And what ever became of Smokey?
Yes, Smokey,
Sydney's dear friend with whom Sydney met his untimely demise.
Smokey was the Cat of Mrs. Francis, our "Indoor-Cat loving" neighbor, and he Lived to tell the tale, with a Jaw that was rebuilt and wired shut,( well I guess he had a hard time telling the tale with a jaw that was wired shut)
and he got a brand new,shiny glass eye!
Oh Mrs Francis was so lucky! Her Cat lived and My Cat died.
But Smokey Promptly ran away,
Leaving Mrs. Francis to tell the tale.
But I, I got a new kitten.
He wasn't Sydney, mind you, No cat could ever replace Sydney, but he was a pretty cool cat, who's name indeed was Cat-astrophe.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Remember, Math is Your Friend, or Math Ain't Everything
When I was a kid, I didn't have an affinity for Math. In fact, I satisfied my college math requirements by taking this series of Philosophy courses:
1. Logic. IF, there is an Option to Take Philosposhy instead of Math, THEN, I will not take math.
2. Ethics. Is it indeed ethical to allow students to take Philosophy instead of Math?
and
3. Philosophy of Sex and Love. Does Love exist? Does Sex Actually Exist? Does the existence of either have anything to do with math?
------------------------------------------------
5th Grade Math Problem
Good luck!
This is a 5th grade math problem. If you can open the spreadsheet, you'll see it's a very small list of people who have gotten the correct number. This is not a trick question. This is a real math problem so don't say that a bus has no legs.
There are 7 girls in a bus.
Each girl has 7 backpacks.
In each backpack, there are 7 big cats.
For every big cat there are 7 little cats.
Question: How many legs are there in the bus?
(The number of legs is the password to unlock the Excel sheet. If you open it, add your name and send it on.)
Simple Enough. I got out a freshly sharpened no.2 pencil and Got to work. Here is how I went about it:
7 Girls x 7 Backpacks= 49 Total Back Packs
14 cats in each back pack(7 big,7 small) 14x49=686 total cats
each cat has 4 legs. 686 x 4=2744 cat legs
the seven girls each have two legs=14
2664 cat legs +14 girl legs=2758 legs all together, Right?
Um...Wrong.
I recalculated it again. Nothin Doin! That Excel Spread Sheet aint openin' No Way, No How!
I decide there must be some form of hidden trick embedded deep within this 5th grade conundrum.
I shoot a reply email to My cousin that goes Like this:
Dear Cindy,
Ok ,That wasted an awful lot of time for this English Major, An awful lot, and no I did not get the pleasure of passing it on With a proud grin on my face.
Did you count the bus driver too? Do cats have only two legs, but also two arms?
Has the World Gone Mad? Is there a Bus Driver indeed on the bus? Are there indeed 49 back packs, each with 14 terrified cats inside, ready to scratch the living daylights out of your eyes for keeping them in a backpack?
Is 7x7 actually 49?
I think the Bus Driver is Drunk….
He’d have to be to let 7 screaming girls on the bus with a ridiculous quantity of cat-laden backpacks, wouldn’t ya say?
And, I’d like to add to that question, How many pieces of Cat crap does each back pack now hold, and do you really think teenage girls would be willing to clean it up?
Love, Glo
When My Daughter Avery comes home that night she happens to tell me that she was the only one in her math class who got a certain Math Challenge Problem Right. I'm Noticeably proud. I have three Children, and they are all Math Capable. I'm So Glad I married an Engineer! As you might expect, I really Do want to know how many legs are on that Bus. In fact, I've redone the problem so many times, that even my dog's head is spinning like a backpack full of angry cats trying desperately to get off a school bus. So I march her to the Computer to show her the problem, which she eagerly tackles.
Now, Dear Reader, use your 5th grade reading skills and predict what happens next.
Do you think that Avery, math capable child that she is, got a spot on that coveted Excel Spread Sheet? .....
Good Question, Dear Reader. Good Question. The Answer is no, not on the first go 'round. She did, however, quickly see the error of her ways, and took her rightful spot on that hallowed Excel spread Sheet of yore.
But, how did she do it? What is the Key?
This is the answer as Best as I can Figure:
*First of All, She Quickly saw the error of her ways. Quickly. She didn't waste any time recalculating the problem in the same way as she did when she got the problem wrong.
*Then, immediately she shifted gears, as kids are so capable of doing, and addressed the problem in a different way.
Elementary My Dear Watson, Elementary!
*The other thing she did was Simplify the Problem.
Yes, she made it simpler. Simpler than I did.
She solved it as if there was just one girl with seven backpacks, and 14 cats per bag. She broke it down to its most simplistic form, and took it from there. And she got the problem right.
She showed me what I did wrong numerous times so I could write this little tale, but I still don't understand. Terrence and Lindsey have tried to teach me too. They get a real kick out of it. Any way, as I learned in college Logic class, If I had gotten it right, and told you the answer, then I would have robbed you of an opportunity to
*See the Error of your Ways *Shift Gears and *Simplify the Problem
And that just Wouldn't be Ethical.
So once again, my kids teach me something new: A Life Lesson about Problem Solving. And Me? What have I taught them this time?
As long as Iphones have calculators, math ain't everything.
Labels:
Backpacks,
cats,
College,
Communications,
English,
grade school,
High School,
legs,
logic,
Math,
Shift gears,
simplify,
the error of your ways
0
comments
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Chanting Om
One of my favorite parts of Yoga class is chanting Om....
in lotus position, hands calmly resting on our knees
thumb and forefingers together.
Sometimes class will begin this way, and sometimes it's how it ends
But
Some Yoga teachers don't dare tread there.
It's too "Out there"
though
Some go there whole-heartedly
with full and resonant "Ah-oh-mmm..."
But Why Chant Om in the first place?
The answer is simple.
It unites us.
Om is believed to be
the sound of the Universe
made up of three principle sounds
ah
oh
mm
And Generally it is chanted 3 times,
each a full breath's worth
And when you gather up your courage,
and close your eyes if you must
take a deep, courageous, preparatory breath
open your mouth and trust--
a sound will indeed come out
and if you can suspend judgement of how you sound
or if it sounds "right"
or how you look
or if you look "right"
You'll notice something very interesting:
Even though each participant may not start on cue
when all are exhaling the three part sound together
each at his or her own pacing
and breath rate
The sound does indeed become one sound
and it couldn't sound more
right
and this 3 part sound of the mantra Om
can be felt as a resonance within each One
at the heart center
and all around the body
For the Oms have joined hands
And the Oms have joined hands with all of the Oms
chanted before we were even born
since the sound itself is energy
which is neither created nor destroyed
It just exists
but together
we are bringing it forth
Intentionally
And the truth is
It keeps resonating
It keeps traveling forth
And when our Oms are exhaled
They are neither created
nor destroyed
-but brought together-
Intentionally--Recycled
and in so doing
We utter audible evidence
of our
One Voice
Monday, November 3, 2008
Over-Steering, Buoys and Debris
Yogi Berra, once said
“ You can see a lot by observing.”
Cruising the Chesapeake Bay in the Autumn months is a blessing.
As a passenger, I am feeling the scenery
as we are present
this first day of November
In what feels like the peak of the Fall foliage.
The water's lull marries
the freshly-raked
leaf-fragrant air,
and
the specially chosen sound track
weaves this experience into my being
Its resonance carried aloft
absorbed into the air
absorbed into the brackish
Chesapeake Brown-Green-Gold
I am Grateful for this opportunity
to appreciate this day
in this ever apparent
tailor made way.
But Soon I am asked to take to the helm, as my husband needs to attend to the engine momentarily. It is a large vessel, and I am fairly comfortable with navigating in the wide open, but the Chesapeake is dotted with Crab Traps and unfortunate slabs of wood and other floating debris.
I must sharpen my awareness, and shift my focus, scanning the expanse both to prevent damage to our props, and to spy the upcoming red and green buoys in order to keep on course.
It is a large Stainless steering wheel beneath my hands, and as soon as I spy the buoy I am to aim for, I cross hand over hand, and begin towards my course. I shift my gaze from the water to the GPS to see how far off the next focal point will be. I see the small boat-like figure that represents our vessel on the screen, and quickly note that It looks as if it's intending to spin on it's axis.
I've over steered.
Steering a boat is nothing like steering a Car. It's Much more subtle.
I correct my over-zealous attempt at capable navigation, and try to steer less.
It takes some thought.(or possibly less thought) I decide to focus more on the expanse ahead, and strain to find the next red buoy which I am to keep on my right.
I am finding that less is more when it comes to steering a course with no obstacles to avoid. Sharp Turns are reserved for Avoiding collisions with undesirable debris.
Just Keeping a course actually requires much less severity, and much more trust.
Steering the Vessel that is my Life is the same.
It's subtle.
Only there's no external GPS to follow.
It's a combination of internal GPS
And trial and error.
Sometimes, I just narrowly miss the debris
and sometimes I hit an unfortunate slab
dead on,
and my "props" get bent
I am left dry dock, nursing my wounds.
When I have repaired,
My propulsion is fresh
As if I never took that bum steer
And hand over hand
I begin again
with the knowledge that
obstacles
indeed debris
are to be expected
and if I need to take a sharp turn to avoid a collision at the last minute
than so be it
But it will take sharpened Awareness
and a shift in focus
But Cruising is a Blessing,
if not an Adventure
And if I am intent on Feeling the Scenery
then I must scan the expanse
for both debris and buoys
if I'm to stay on course,
And it's not always the course I originally charted
"One can choose to go back toward safety or forward toward growth. Growth must be chosen again and again; fear must be overcome again and again." |
Abraham Maslow |
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Now is the Time
Now is the Time
Now is the Place
Here is the Moment
Beginning
Experiencing
Allowing
Experiencing
Living
Experiencing
For it is only this Way
That The Way can be Seen
It is only this Way
That The Way
Can be gleaned
And if We only Can be Present
For just a short While
Then Let's Be there Fully
And Let's Be there While
The moment is recognized
The moment is Clear
To be seen
and be Felt
To be claimed
and to hear
And then later
We'll notice
When It's time to Heed
A moment that needs tending
Which is then brought to seed
To water
and then flower
and hence to reseed
thus connecting the moments
connecting indeed
And when we connect them
we become more aware
And Awareness
is the answer
And it's becoming
Less Rare
Labels:
allowing,
awareness,
Experiencing,
flowering,
living things,
Moments,
poetry,
reseeding,
seeding,
the here and now,
The Way
0
comments
Friday, October 17, 2008
Pictures of Christ, Incarnations and Representations
When My son made his First Communion, We gave him a picture of Jesus. It sits on his desk, along side his lap top, and his mug of pencils and pens.
Every time I go into his room, I am drawn to it.
It's called "Head of Christ."
This Particular Incarnation really resonates with me.
Resonate: to relate harmoniously : to strike a chord
The eyes draw me to him, and I feel loved. He looks, to me, like someone you might see on the street, or in the grocery store or on the soccer field or a yoga class.
It makes me feel a sense of Deja Vu.
But
There are Many, Many Incarnations of Christ:
The Christ of Godspell
The Christ of Jesus Christ Superstar
The Christ of The Passion of Christ
The Christ in the Christian Church
The Christ in the Mosque
The Christ in the Buddhist Temple
And we too
are incarnations
of Christ Ourselves
Being Different forms
And They
The Christ on the Street
The Christ in the Grocery Store
The Christ on the Soccer Field
They
Are Incarnations of Christ,
Themselves
For
Every Artist's Incarnation
Every Artist
Each Unique.
Every Christ on the Street
Every Christ on the Soccer Field
Every Christ in The Grocery Store
Every Christ
In fact
in the Yoga Studio
Every Incarnation
Every Representation
Each Unique
But Familiar
But Resonant
Ourselves in Another
Another in Ourselves
Labels:
Another,
Christ,
Deja Vu,
First Communion,
Head of Christ,
Incarnation,
Jesus,
Ourselves,
Resonate
1 comments
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Wondering Aloud
Wondering Aloud
Wondering Again
Growing and Learning
I can not pretend
It is not my destiny
To sit this thing out
It's my responsibility
to find out about
myself and my areas
that need fixing up
and to drink till I'm full
from the overflowing cup
The cup that allows
all needs to be met
The cup that holds nary a
seed of regret
but a cup
that's refilling
and we owe it no debt.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Background, Color and History
The Question:
Can you give me any background, color, or history regarding your creative writing talents and gifts ??
The Answer:
Well, As far as the writing goes, it comes from connections I make in the world around me:
especially with nature,
children
and animals,
and also experiences.
They stare me starkly in the face, at times.
The connections, that is,
As well as the Children and Animals;)
I am a thinker and a gesticulator, and I love the great outdoors.
I am of a more introspective nature, and am not afraid to look deeply into myself and evolve.
I learn an awful lot from observing, and Feeling, but mostly feeling.
Empathy is my strongest suit.
I feel deeply.
I am often moved to tears
I am an independent thinker, and I am a proponent of Individuality.
I believe we are just how we are intended to be, and that we are what and who we are
for a reason
I believe that there are no coincidences.
I believe that I married the man I did and am parent to the children I am for a reason.
I think there is a master plan.
I think that we have to be willing to go along for the ride, though, to play it out.
I have loved to write since I was a child, but wasn't a very good school student.
I always liked to write free flowing verse.
I began college as a Journalism major, but was disillusioned. Wanted to be more creative, and ended up as an Interpersonal Communication Major, with of course a minor in English.
I believe that my writing was somewhat stunted however because I edited myself too much.
I wasn't submitting to flow.
I only began writing again last year as a therapeutic measure, to get what was in out.
An exhalation of sorts.
So I began Blogging...and enjoying the self expression of others just as much.
I think abiding in the 'every day' has the most capacity for abiding in contentment.
Self Expression is paramount to my well being. I guess in some way, I would like to be an example of just freely being, I enjoy others individuality, and I smile inside to observe someone's skill or style. I like to encourage expression in all of its forms especially with kids.
I think everyone has something extraordinary to share with the world,
And I also think that everyone should just Be, and not judge or compare themselves against any other. Really, and Truly.
I have lots of struggles. I go through periods of Anxiety and Depression, but know that it is cyclical.
My kids are growing and Evolving,
I am growing and Evolving,
My Marriage continues to grow and evolve.
I continue to let go, I make mistakes, I correct them.
Flux, Flux, Flux..
..However, always growing and moving forward.
Obstacles to climb over, but stronger legs as a result.
We are here to grow, and I consider myself a lifelong student, right up until the last breath.
I love creative pursuits of all varieties, and don't judge whether what I am creating is "good" or not.
It's just expression.
I generally like what I see because it's an exhalation of essence
Which Is What we Are All Made Of
I think convention enslaves the soul, personally,
and I truly believe that a universal desire
is to be seen- as is.
Friday, September 5, 2008
There's Something I've Been Thinking...
There's Something I've Been Thinking
And I truly think It's So
I like to Practice Yoga
But Not so much Tae Bo
I just don't think it really is
a practice one can feel
Like the way you feel your Yoga
( or like walking in High heels)
Because when I practice Walking
In heels of Any height
I can make it meditation
or a prayer in its own right
I can even add a little
Tai Chi to My Yo-ga
Because it makes Me much more Present
Like the practice of Doga
(practicing Yoga With My Dog....)
But What really matters most
is just to breathe
and just to Be
Whether Practicing My Yoga
or my Yoga-like Tai Chi
Or even just to stop each day
And Breathe one moment out
Because moments are for feeling
But if I take a different route
then I may end up obsessing
over things that matter not
like what may have happened yesterday
or that I haven't got
a better felt connection
to myself and to my land
when all it would have taken
is a second and a hand
to feel my heart that's beating
like a boat upon the sea
just like moments
that are fleeting
Take Some Time, My Friend
And Be.
So I try it every morning
I try to rest
and try to breathe
before I get up out of bed
and before
I have to leave
and greet the day before Me
the potential yet to be
a day that I can savor
I think I'll Climb a tree...
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
A Loaf of Bread, a Basil Mojito, and Thou
I love to read Blogs of those who love to plant. I mean really, How cool is that, growing your own Hops? And Actually using them to make Beer!
I ventured into growing Herbs myself this season. I even grew
"a walk through" catnip bar
for our cat Tigger to enjoy.
It's no wonder he spent the entire summer sauntering from chair to chair,
dazed and confused,
just looking for a fresh place to snooze.
The rest of us enjoyed lots of Basil and parsley, as well as Rosemary, Lavender, and Mint, and
When Life hands you mint, you have no choice:
You must make Mojitos.
Mojitos! Creating a refreshing beverage from something you yourself have grown is rewarding. OK, We all know that mint would heartily grow, with out sun or Rain, or help of any kind, but...
I'm still proud.
I did in fact pick it and water it myself, and stand by looking proud.
De, Nada!
I even added a little Lemon Balm to the Mix. Decided to grow it because I thought it Smelled good, with no Idea of How to use it, or for what.
But let me tell you what this story is really about, and I'll Bid you Adios, Amigo.
We Were down the shore, as we say here in Philadelphia, with our very good Friend Cam, from Corpus, Christi Texas. He makes a mean Breakfast Taco, and so when ever he comes to visit, we are sure to have all of the ingredients on hand, which we did. But this time, I was all prepared with Limes and White Rum, and a full and hearty crop of mint.
"Let's Make Mojitos!" I proudly suggested.
My Tex-Mex Friend Volunteered to be Mojito maker. I handed him the shaker, the Muddling stick and the simple syrup, and he was off to juicing the limes. Soon we were enjoying Mojitos. I thought they were great, Icy and cool, and refreshingly piquant.
But Cam, being a perfectionist in such matters, wasn't happy with his efforts. He felt that something was just not quite right. He felt like something was missing.
I had been to the market and had bought some other things that were still laid out on the counter, in preparation for a simple Jersey Shore Meal: Jersey Tomatoes with Basil , Sweet Jersey Corn, a Loaf of Italian Bread, coupled with the blessing of Fresh Tuna, caught earlier that day.
Later, as we started to prepare dinner, Our other guest Mark, began slicing the Jersey Tomatoes. I was sure I had picked some Basil earlier, and laid it out on the counter, but it was nowhere to be seen.....so I started looking in earnest for the basil, Just as our Good Friend Cam
began to make the next round of Mojitos. He was up for the Challenge, and he was bound and determined to make this one "right"
Only, he was having a hard time finding the mint.
I was having a hard time finding the Basil.
Hmmm...
The light bulb appeared above both of our heads at the same time.
"I knew they didn't taste right!"
Yes, dear reader, We were Drinking Basil Mojitos and I Happen to think they were just Great.
Did We make the next round with Basil?
Umm, No.
But
Odds are pretty good, That
The Basil Mojito will end up on a Trendy Italian Restaurant's Menu one day,
Only garnished with a Clove of Garlic, No?
Umm, No.
Ciao,..... and remember,
When Life hands you Basil, Make Basil Mojitos.
Your Friends will never know the difference.
| "Every time I've done something that doesn't feel right, it's ended up not being right." |
Mario Cuomo |
Monday, September 1, 2008
Our Cells are the Glue
Our INdiViduality is Our Most Important Gift,
for it creates the beautiful quilt of which we cover the earth, not unlike a Google Map image from a satellite. However, a quilt is just not a quilt if the squares are not sewn lovingly together. And the hands that sew the quilt are the hands of our foremothers: the Native Americans, the Africans, the English, the Italians,The Asians, ad infinitum.
All hands add to the Quilt
with each passing generation
and with each orientation
a new fabric is basted
and then once it's in place
it's re-stitched and re-stitched
until it's a belief
that's hard and fast
But If the seams aren't stitched straight
they can be re-done
for a seam ripper exists
that's second to none
But it has to be used
with ultimate care
for the squares of the quilt
are antique and they're rare
for with each generation
the past that's within
gets harder to see
but yet it's still kin
And they can be re-sewn
re-stitched bit by bit
And the quilt will be softer
-no question-
for it
has the purpose of swaddling
each new little square
quilts in their own right
to the world laid bare.
But one small square
can't keep a man warm
It takes many
to cover the average man's form
but they must be connected
to satisfy the need
that's deep in the heart
of each square
of each seed
And How interesting would it be
If each square was the same?
If each child was given
the very same name?
And I don't think it's just race
It's creed
and it's taste
It's what you choose to believe
It's that you speak
It's that you don't speak
It's what you eat
And what you don't eat
and what you drink
and what you don't drink
But when you're transparent
It's so much more
and It's hard to separate
your thoughts from "their" thoughts
for the thoughts are all one
many sides on one coin
too many to count
many more than just two
and this is because
our cells are the glue
• "I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."
—Martin Luther King Jr.
Labels:
African,
ancestry,
Asian,
cells,
creed,
English,
Individuality,
Interdependence,
Italain,
Native American,
poetry,
quilts,
race
0
comments
Saturday, August 30, 2008
How I Became an Inadvertent Aloe Farmer
• "You have to love your children unselfishly. That's hard. But it's the only way. "
—Barbara Bush
I wasn't trying to become an Aloe Farmer, but I became one anyway. You see I bought one at the Acme one day, because "You never know when you'll get a kitchen burn, or a sun burn, and Aloe is of course the great herbal healer of all things skin." I did have 3 young children, you know, and a husband who's an eagle scout, so I've learned to "Be Prepared."
I managed to get it home safely, without breaking off any limbs, so That day was uneventful, as were the 7 years that followed, until one day, in December I decided to move my Aloe Plant as well as the others that were in my sun room to a new location. The only interesting thing that had happened to it prior to this move, had been a couple re- pottings as it had grown, although it hadn't grown much. It had, although, been a tricky little bugger to re pot. I took great care in centering it squarely in the middle of it's new and improved larger pot, so that it could spread its roots and stretch out. As I said, it was a tricky little bugger, for after it was successfully re- potted, it appeared to have moved off to the right somewhat, and was now not centered at all. I was baffled, and tried to center it once again, being fairly anal about such things. Days would pass, and it kept moving back. it clearly had a mind of it's own.
But back to the plant relocation. I did this because we like to put our Christmas tree in the sun room, and we like to buy the largest one we can fit there, and sometimes even larger. Therefore, we had to make room for our dead tree, by moving the Living plants to a new locale. I thought it best not to make the move too drastic, and the plants in the sun room really did seem to like their location, so I opted for a lateral move, two rooms over, into the uninhabited, by plant or person, "living Room." Funny name, since no one lives there. But, occasionally, our 16 year old geriatric dog Marlin did like to crap there, which did, I have to admit, give it that "Lived in " feel, and smell.
At the time, We liked to keep other folks abandoned furniture there; china cabinets from grandmother's homes, "Antique"rickety "pie safes," and "dough trays," and reupholstered Martha Washington Chairs from other grandmother's homes. The usual. You know, to make the room look lived in. One thing's for sure, Our kids and our Dogs had unlimited permission to go in there, since the furniture was, you know, not your typical off limits living Room furniture.
One by one, I carried the various plants to their new resting spot, complete with the wrought iron stand that housed them. I rearranged the abandoned furniture to make room for the new living room members, choosing a window in which to place them near which faced the same direction as the sun room's windows.
I have to admit, I was worried about them.As I worry about my kids and my pets, and everything else. Not the windows, but the plants. I have heard that plants don't like to be moved, and well, you know what "They'" Say, If it ain't broke, Don't fix it. But things being as they were, we had to make room for that 11 ft Christmas Tree. Of course, that meant not only moving out the living plants to make way for the temporary 11 ft dead one, but cutting " a few inches" off the bottom, (and the top) to allow it to fit in under our 10 ft ceiling. The ceiling is vaulted, so, as you can imagine, it can be deceiving.
Clark Griswold's Got Nothing on us.
So back to the Aloe Plants. Yes, this is about Aloe Plants, and How I became an inadvertent Aloe Farmer. After they were all situated, the plants and the furniture, I got my watering can, and began over watering them, you know, to give them a little extra love to make up for disrupting their otherwise uneventful lives. A little "somethin'-somethin'." You see, aloe plants are succulents, and need infrequent watering as they are native to arid climates. They store water in their leaves, which become swollen with moisture for that time when their owners go on vacation, and they must conserve their resources. They are the eagle scouts of the plant World. They're always prepared.
Setting the can down, and looking around, I just had to rearrange the furniture one more time, as it just didn't look quite as nice as it did when it was just abandoned furniture in an unused room. Now, the room did indeed have a purpose. And as such, it needed to feel that way. It needed to feel like a guest room, and the guests needed to feel Welcome. After all, they serve a potentially very important purpose as the first responders in the Ives Family Burn Unit. The only thing that was missing now was some of those disposable, just for guests hand towels that look like really expensive, and oversized, extra decorative napkins. That would really make them feel welcome, you know, in case there were some unexpected spills that needed to be cleaned or picked up, or leaks from over watering that needed to be addressed.
As the weeks went on, they settled in nicely. I felt bad that they weren't part of the Christmas fun, residing now two rooms down from the festivities that were rightfully theirs, but they were stoic troopers, and deep inside, they knew they'd be returned to their original room, after the intruder was dragged out, leaving all of its brittle needles behind in a trail that only a pyro could love.
That year, our 11 ft Christmas Tree had a short stay, as we were off for a family vacation to St. Martin one day Post Christmas. You know, you can't in good faith, leave a dead Christmas Tree in the house unwatered for a week. That would be a fire hazard. We'd forgotten to water it for a week already, so it was pretty imperative that we drag it out onto the deck where it would sit until we forgot that it was tree pick up day. Then we'd drag it out faithfully to the curb for the next pick up, which wouldn't occur for another week or so, which was a good thing, because in our rush to get it out the door and start packing for the islands, we might have overlooked a few rogue ornaments-- You know, some of those irreplaceable ones that you found in the drawers of your grandmother's china cabinet. Driving past it each morning as you left for your daily activities, sometimes something shiny would catch your eye, and you'd thank your lucky stars, cause grandmas like to visit their grand kids and their ornaments over the holidays, and making sure that you actually still have them is always wise.
With that out of the way, and as many tree needles vacuumed as we could, I began my pilgrimage to the living Room to prepare the plants for their homecoming.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but a new appendage on my Aloe plant,
not in the front, but the rear.
I blinked out my eyes
It wasn't a leaf
It was more like a stalk
it was growing a flower
and all I could do was gawk
For seven years I had owned it
and never seen such a sight
never used it for burns
or injuries from fights
Maybe it liked its location so much
that it sprouted a flower to tell us and such.
But nevertheless, I was moving it back
Since the Sun room was empty
and it was time now to pack.
I shook my head and carried the plants back to the sun room one by one trying to remember where they'd originally resided.
Before long we were at the airport, awaiting our departure to St. Martin that never happened that day. After waiting for hours, at the hands of an extremely understaffed Us air Terminal,we missed our boarding and we gathered up our things to return the next morning. Upon our Arrival on the St. Martin Shores, we breathed a sigh of relief, changing into our bathing suits, and finding the closest rum drink we could muster.
The next day brought a trip to the local beach where the kids were introduced to the local European Island culture of sunbathing topless. We waited for our 13 year old son to notice, and snickered to ourselves explaining to our son and daughters that these women were from a different country and it was "part" of their culture. Actually two parts. Before long we were greeted by one of the natives carrying a back pack and hawking a special skin care aid for sun burns. His large dark hands encased the plump familiar looking leaves. Apparently, he wasn't allowed to sell his wares on the public part of the beach, but before he got kicked off by he authorities, which he was well accustomed to, he found us, and my husband gladly agreed to buy some of his wares. Not all of the patrons were as eager to interact with this local, but we figured he had something useful that we actually wanted, and so it was a win- win.
Yes, dear reader, this is an important part of the story, because remember, this story is about how I became an inadvertent Aloe Farmer, and this man was indeed selling Aloe, to address the highly likely possibility that one or two of us might inadvertently get overdosed By the St. Martin Sun. So pay attention.
We agreed on a price of 15 American dollars for our share of the spoils of the Aloe crop in his hand. Whereby, he now reached into his back pack and removed a glass rum bottle, unscrewed the metal cap, and proceeded to use it as a tool to split the edge of the aloe leaf, all the way to the tip, opened it like a book, and then used the cap to scoop the rich contents of the leaf into the glass rum bottle. He continued this process until the aloe bunch was gone, and it occurred to me that this Aloe farmer might know why, after seven years, my own Aloe plant had all of a sudden grown a stalk and flowered.
I was at the right place at the right time.
This man, who the other vacationers thought was a menace, hawking his crop to make a living, gave me the answer that would allow me to become an Aloe farmer myself. Albeit, an inadvertent one.
The answer he gave me was this:
"Your plant has become mature. It's going to have Babies."
Quick! Someone start boiling the water.
With a little Internet research, I probably could have found that out myself, although at the time, I probably wasn't savvy enough to figure it out.
That was the first and last time I used fresh Aloe to treat a sunburn. And in hindsight, my Aloe plant was now mature, whether the native man had told me or not, and it would still have done what mature plants all over the world have done for millennia: reproduce.
But, that, as Winnie the Pooh would say, is "neither here nor there."
I still think it's interesting how I found out what was to come.
When we got back home, we drove up the driveway, past our now deader Christmas tree at the curb, parked and unloaded and I rushed in to see My now matronly Aloe Plant who soon would be with Child. Indeed, she was just glowing, as all mothers-to-be do. She'd never looked better. Of course, before that, I'd never known that she was a she. I still don't, but I was beaming with pride. We must have done something right, and all of that extra guilty water I had delivered, must have been well received. After all, she was eating for two.
I got some extra decorative, extra guest hand towels to await the arrival of our new little guest. Because when an Aloe Plant's water Breaks, you need to "Be Prepared." And since I'm Italian, I wanted to do it in a decorative way.
Before long, the day indeed arrived, and the young sprout had made its way through the surface of it's over watered soil without even one contraction, becoming the newest member of the of the Ives Family greenhouse. As our kind Native friend had told us, we should wait until the babies are about four or five inches tall, before separating them and placing them in pots of their own. And as predicted, there were additional babies to follow. There would be hiatuses, and then for some as yet unknown reason, and unknown time, more young ins' would break the surface, and the race was on.
Transplanting them, at first was an anxious procedure. As our Aloe Mentor had told us,
the roots wouldn't be that big, or many, but to have faith, and plant them, nonetheless.
We did. And we watched and we waited. Before long, we were gifting them proudly to those who came to visit.
And Before long I realized why the Mother kept shifting in it's new and improved transplanted pot: It was making room for its babies, and
despite my re-arranging it, so that it was centered in the pot,
It knew something that I did not.
It knew better,
and as any loving mother will do, It was paving the way, making room for her brood, all the while knowing that
their time would come.
The time would come when they felt the urge to spread their roots wider than the family pot could offer. A time when they need to branch out on their own, and one day become mature enough to live near by, in a pot of their own, to raise Kids of their own.
Indeed, that's just what's happened. We now have three Monstrous Aloe plants, all mature, and all producing babies out of control. We've slowed down with our transplanting, because we're running out of pots, and people to give them to. They seemed to have matured a little sooner than their mother did. It's funny how life immitates nature. They have over taken the sun room and have crept into the family room and kitchen window sill, and most of the babies are ready to be repotted again and form their first flowers.
It never ends.
When I brought that lone Aloe plant home from the Acme that day, I had no idea that it would produce a family of its own, be a source of gift giving, and have such a story to tell. I had no idea that it would prepare for its young by shifting and re shifting in its pot to make room for their arrival. I just thought It would be neat to have a plant we could use as a first aid source. A source of pride, Sort of like growing and using your own herbs. A way to live simply as our ancestors did, by gratefully accepting what the earth provided.
But, that's not exactly how it happened. in fact, although we are now surrounded by Aloe plants, I don't remember ever using it to dress a burn, or fix a wound.
But We're Prepared, should we ever need to. If a Volcano ever erupts in our neighborhood here in the suburbs of Philadelphia, We've gotcha' covered.
And By the By, our Living Room isn't a Living Room any more. We just weren't using it. Now it's a Pool Room. Which means we may have to put on an addition--a guest room of sorts. You see, I have a Christmas Cactus that's lost a few branches and I've got them rooting in a vase in the kitchen. I'll be planting them in soil soon. And you just never can tell with plants.
We'd Better Be Prepared.
"Good, honest, hardheaded character is a function of the home. If the proper seed is sown there and properly nourished for a few years, it will not be easy for that plant to be uprooted."
~George A. Dorsey
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Tandem Intuition
On Tandem Bicycle
They're Peddling Together
Longer Legs
and
Shorter Legs
Experienced Legs
and
Legs Less so
Yellow Shirts
Matching Shirts
Long Hair and Beard
and
Young Girl all Aglow
Peddling Together
United as One
Father and Daughter
Tandem Fun
Matching Shirts
Connect These Two
To Untold Resources
Time Spent is the Glue
They'll sense What They need to
With Every Stroke
He'll intuit when she's tires
for that's what she'll evoke
And if They Continue
The Bond Will Grow Strong
Like the Roots of a Family
should Be all Along
and
She'll Be Confident When
she presents you a plan
She'll be calm and at ease
Because of your open hand
And Take it she will
When times are Amiss
She'll know what to expect
and She'll speak you the list
of things that she's pondered
and things that she's feared
The sand in the Hourglass
Its Motion is stilled.
And It is partially since
You peddled with her
You became so In Sync
That You peddled some more
And Even when you can't
Ride Tandem Again
Just By Talking
Just Talking
You experience it Again
For a mentor is such
That you anticipate When
You need to engage
Take Stock and Defend
The needs that are growing
The skills that need care
The hearts that are fragile
Before these moments
become rare
Because growing means trying
To ride your own race
They'll need to ride solo
and set their own pace
But You'll Be Proud
and Be sure
That you've taught what you should
cause your presence meant more
than any words could
So I watch as you peddle
And I Resonate With
-The Intention of Connection-
And The Love that You Give.
Labels:
Connection,
Father and Daughter,
intention,
Intuition,
mentoring,
Moments,
poetry.Growing,
Pride,
Tandem
0
comments
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Making the Most of It
Dogs and children, I've noticed, make the most of every moment. If they're at the beach, they're really at the beach. They're running and swimming and building castles, and the 4 legged among them are running as fast as they possibly can for the sheer enjoyment that running full speed brings; chasing some birds along the way, but that was just an after thought. They're catching balls, and throwing balls, making crab swimming pools and drip castles.
They are Investigating life as it is in the here and now,
not a thought for tomorrow or yesterday.
They're savoring every moment here at the Jersey Shore, because they know their time at the beach has an expiration date, and they know they'll have to go back to the old grind, if in fact dogs have a grind. I'd still take theirs over mine any day, as I have a tendency sometimes to get stuck in the muck, and I don't realize it, until I'm climbing back up.
My kids make the most of this change of scenery, by actually
becoming a part of the scenery,
That is, inserting themselves, as it were, into a modern day Norman Rockwell Scenario. Choosing to eat their lunch in the gazebo in town, making friends with the trolley driver, and actually using it for transportation to and from their friends homes. They ride their bikes barefoot wherever they go, and post their babysitting signs at all of their haunts.
They find lost dogs and get unexpected rewards, go fishing, crabbing, clamming, and bring their catch home to fillet, eat, and learn how to prepare. Although they're teenagers now, they remember the joy and tribulation that a hermit crab can bring, and revisit an old pastime, buying feisty new hermit crabs replete with cottages and extra shells so their crabs can have choices. When we hear loud splashes on the bay in the evenings, they carefully slide the screen door open, so as not to disturb the possibility of an otter sighting, which has alluded most of us on the basin. He's a tricky little bugger, but he leaves signs of his visits on our floating dock; signs you'd rather not see. But he gives them good reasons to go outdoors in the evening, and though he alludes us, he gives us an opportunity to shift our gaze skyward, where we seek out the big and little dippers, and if It's clear enough, catch a glimpse of the milky way itself.
I am observing and marveling at their ability to make the most of every moment and make a mental note to myself, that
my time Down the Shore also has a shelf life, and that
the here and now, is here right now, for me to savor.
I think I'll walk to the beach tonight and let Captain run free.
Maybe I'll see a shooting star.
Old Friends in Unexpected Places, and Lessons from Complete Strangers
To know oneself is to study oneself in action with another person.
Bruce Lee (1940 - 1973)
There is nothing more enjoyable than running into an old friend in an unexpected place, or learning a valuable lesson from a complete stranger. I got to experience both at a family Wedding in Vermont. Family and friends were gathering from far and wide to celebrate the wedding of my Husband's cousin, and we were eagerly a part, arriving just before the rehearsal dinner festivities to be enjoyed at their farm in Middlebury, Vermont, one of my favorite places to be.
It was sadly a little rainy, and as we followed the trail from the house to the fields where the guests were about to enjoy a crawfish bake, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, an out of context, but familiar face from my past. It was a friend whom I hadn't seen since my sophomore year in college; a friend who had done me an indispensable service once, who I may not have thanked quite fervently enough. Oh, I'm sure that I thanked him at the time, but with twenty more years of mistakes and introspection under my belt, this time, I made it abundantly clear, how much I appreciated his thoughtful care when I was in need. I believe it was not only therapeutic for me, but for him as well, to know that he had been appreciated so long ago, and how even to this day, his efforts were still recognized.
If that wasn't a blessing enough, the wedding that followed was as idyllic as any Vermont wedding could be. It was held on the shores of Lake Champlain at Shelburne Farms, a beautiful expansive working farm and historic Inn, not to mention spectacularly serene views.
The ceremony took place amidst the sprawling acreage, the bride arriving by Clydesdale horse driven carriage, and accompanied by her dog who served both as ring bearer, and escort to the Mother of the bride. All the while, a violinist added another lyrical layer to the already serene backdrop. When the bride began to make her entrance, and the groom stood awaiting her arrival, a trumpeter, who was also the brother of the groom, began to provide a musical red carpet of sorts. But, The closer the bride got to her beaming groom, the more strained the trumpet became, and then, ultimately, the violinist effortlessly took over, intuitively noting the trumpeter's inability to continue at his best; too filled with emotion to continue.
It was an important moment for me to witness, since I was soon to sing for my own brother's wedding--the last of my siblings to marry, and the last family wedding for which I'd sing.
It was a song that moved me so much that I couldn't sing it while listening to the c.d. without crying. It was a Hawaiian Wedding Song about family and friends, and the ability of the two to support and uplift the wedding couple in their journey as one:
"...Love is a circle that surrounds you.
You can find it on the faces of your family and friends.
Love, Let it wrap its arms around you,
and guide you on your journey down the road that never ends..."
I didn't stand a chance. I had been worrying about what would happen if I became too overcome. I had planned to perform this particular song as a surprise, with all of my nieces and nephews, and it was bound to be a tear- jerker. When I had the chance, I commended him for his bravery and asked told him what I'd be up against. I marveled at his ability to try to compose himself and continue, and asked him, "What do you do if you get too overcome?"
He gave me a simple reply. "Just let it happen"
The answer was as plain as the Italian nose on my face, which is quite plain.
Something about the straightforwardness of his reply eased my concern, and I put it on the back burner until the wedding came around. As much as I like to sing for family weddings, (which is about the only time I ever sing with an audience,) I never get by with out a healthy dose of stagefright. This time was no different. As usual, I armed myself with hot honey and lemon. When the moment came, and the children began their procession to the altar, I was ready to express the song's heart-felt message, but when the final chorus came, my voice wavered, and I made no effort to correct it. I did indeed, allow, and in the allowing, I realized that it was alright.
After all, it was my baby brother's wedding ceremony,
and
After all, there were emotions that needed to be expressed.
And
After all, I am Human, and as such, we have the ability to emote,
which is
After all, an indisputable component of our being.
There is nothing more enjoyable than running into an old friend in an unexpected place, or learning a valuable lesson from a complete stranger. I got to experience both at a family Wedding in Vermont.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Becoming a Mentor: We Should Bother
When my children were born I eagerly ran to the bookstore. I wanted to share with them the literature of my youth. With great enthusiasm, I scoured the shelves looking for the books I remembered so well. In the process, I discovered so many more; so many I'll look forward to reading to grand-children some day.
My intention, born from nostalgia was two-fold:
to introduce them to themes I thought were important,
and also,
to get them to love reading; to really love reading.
My intention in getting them to love reading was also two-fold;
first,
because it brings great joy to the reader,
and second,
because it breeds a love of learning;
a yearning to make connections.
On one of my Barnes and Noble excursions, I came across a book entitled, Really Reading. This little book really got me thinking--about the process of learning to read--the mechanics, and the subtleties, and now,as the parent of three High school and Middle School age Children, I realize that
On one of my Barnes and Noble excursions, I came across a book entitled, Really Reading. This little book really got me thinking--about the process of learning to read--the mechanics, and the subtleties, and now,as the parent of three High school and Middle School age Children, I realize that
what it takes to become a really good reader, is also what it takes to become a really good mentor.
But What is a Good Reader? And How does one become one? And what is a good Mentor, and Why should we bother?
The process begins with the mechanics:
The very basics of sounding out words, and also recognizing words by sight.
These skills can only be gained by practice.
The mechanics of becoming a good mentor consist of:
-sounding out, or having conversations with those to whom you might be of service.
-recognizing, by observing, with the intention to find, opportunities to share what we know, with those who are developing, who could use the voice of experience, and especially encouragement to develop skills which may still be dormant.
These skills can only be gained by practice.
Next comes fluency:
Fluency is the ability to read orally with accuracy, speed, and vocal expression.
With practice, a good mentor can accurately identify and address, those who might benefit from their abilities and experience, and express it accordingly--that is, in a nurturing way.
And...Vocabulary:
A critical aspect of reading development is word understanding. As the child learns to read, he will begin decoding unfamiliar words, and as his fluency develops, his vocabulary must also build, in order to be ready for the next important step which is comprehension.
A good mentor has a good vocabulary indeed, for he must be able to express himself with clarity and of course care, in order to gently guide.
Comprehension:
Now that the mechanics are under our belt, the question is, Do we understand what we've read? or are we just on auto pilot.
Comprehension is defined by Webster as
1. a. the act or action of grasping with the intellect: understanding
b. knowledge gained by comprehending,
c. the capacity for understanding fully.
Comprehension develops actively when the reader is now encouraged to have an
intentional awareness of what he has read.
A good mentor must have an understanding of his mentor, be able to really comprehend him. He must, that is be empathic. With empathy, the mentor and the mentored thrive and move forward, with knowing.
Without Vocabulary acquisition, fluency, the mechanics of sounding out, and recognizing words by sight, Comprehension is impossible. Mentoring, on the other hand is very possible. Each one of us has the potential to become a mentor, and each one of us is a mentor, if but only through our observed actions.
A mentor is a trusted friend, counselor and teacher, and usually a more experienced person.
A mentor introduces important themes, and encourages a yearning for growth, which ultimately instills a joyous love of learning, and an ability to make connections, so that they may become dedicated to becoming indeed a mentor to themselves, and possibly then to others.
And that's why we should bother.
Labels:
comprehension,
empathy,
Learning,
mechanics,
mentoring,
Nostalgia,
observed actions,
Reading,
Teaching,
vocabulary
0
comments
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Riding Jet Skis and Opposable Thumbs
"Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it."
Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)
Mahatma Gandhi (1869 - 1948)
In the summertime, we like to ride jet skis. Our dog even likes to hop aboard. And it's no wonder, his name, after all, is Captain. I have no doubt, in fact, that, if he had opposable thumbs, he'd jump on and take off all on his own. Our friends have a Jet Ski they keep at our house, so sometimes, instead of riding together on ours, we'll each drive our own,
as
Driving your own Jet Ski, and just being along for the ride, are two very different experiences.
When you are driving your own jet ski, you are responsible for your own, and your passengers safety. Since they steer from the rear, and not the front, like a car does, the maneuverability is much different. And operating them takes practice.
When you are driving your own Jet Ski, you can see first hand what is coming your way--the waves you're approaching, and the possible obstacles in your path. You know what bumps you are approaching, and can brace yourself better than your passenger, who can't see nearly as well, sitting behind the one who's driving.
As a passenger, you are just along for the ride. Oh, it's still exhilerating and adventuresome, but
as
Driving your own Jet Ski, and just being along for the ride, are two very different experiences.
When you are driving your own jet ski, you are responsible for your own, and your passengers safety. Since they steer from the rear, and not the front, like a car does, the maneuverability is much different. And operating them takes practice.
When you are driving your own Jet Ski, you can see first hand what is coming your way--the waves you're approaching, and the possible obstacles in your path. You know what bumps you are approaching, and can brace yourself better than your passenger, who can't see nearly as well, sitting behind the one who's driving.
As a passenger, you are just along for the ride. Oh, it's still exhilerating and adventuresome, but
you just don't know what's coming, and it can be a much bumpier ride that way, and for some of us, a little anxiety producing, because
your own judgement is after all, your own,
and another's just can't be predicted.
When you are a child, being a passenger is a way of life, and of course, a precursor to being the driver. In the beginning, you know where you stand. Dad and Mom are the Chauffeurs, and you are the passenger, firmly belted into your car seat. The thought of driving never enters your mind, you're just happy you're going to McDonalds.
As you get older, however, the urge to drive your own watercraft can't be denied. And shouldn't, really. It's a natural progression, and a step towards adulthood. If it's denied, we are left as passengers on someone else's excursion. Not our own.
And We are each entitled to our own excursion, fueled by our own voice, which is the gasoline.
And since we Do have opposeable thumbs, we are able to jump on and take off all on our own. We can ride along side other Jet Skis out there in the blue, but if we'd rather ride in the bay, than in the ocean, We need to change our direction and ride in the bay,
When you are a child, being a passenger is a way of life, and of course, a precursor to being the driver. In the beginning, you know where you stand. Dad and Mom are the Chauffeurs, and you are the passenger, firmly belted into your car seat. The thought of driving never enters your mind, you're just happy you're going to McDonalds.
As you get older, however, the urge to drive your own watercraft can't be denied. And shouldn't, really. It's a natural progression, and a step towards adulthood. If it's denied, we are left as passengers on someone else's excursion. Not our own.
And We are each entitled to our own excursion, fueled by our own voice, which is the gasoline.
And since we Do have opposeable thumbs, we are able to jump on and take off all on our own. We can ride along side other Jet Skis out there in the blue, but if we'd rather ride in the bay, than in the ocean, We need to change our direction and ride in the bay,
and it's not only OK, it's imperative that We do.
Your own judgement is after all your own, and another's just cant be predicted.
Labels:
Dogs,
Driver,
Jet Skis,
My Dog Captain,
Opposable thumbs,
Passenger,
The Bay,
the Ocean
0
comments
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
