Seven Random Things

Storyteller @ Small Reflections has tagged me to participate in writing "7 Random Things about Me." Here are the "rules."

* Link to the blog of the person who tagged you.
* Post these rules on your blog.
* List seven random and/or weird facts about yourself.
* Tag seven random [?] people at the end of your post and include links to their blogs.
* Let each person know that they have been tagged by posting a comment on their blog.

After many years of diligently following "the rules," I am choosing to deviate here and while I will follow numbers 1-3, I am not "tagging" more fellow bloggers, but instead invite you to participate at your leisure. I would LOVE to hear your random thoughts!!

Okay...enough of formalities and onto the randomness. It is always curious for me to see where my own mind goes with this sort of thing and this morning's results popped out in the surprising format of my first seven grades of school. There are actually 8 items on the list, because I can never decide if Kindergarten really "counts". (Hmmm...the psychotherapist in me could really spend some time analyzing this list, but I will leave that for another day.) So, here goes:

1)Kindergarten - I joyfully skipped around the block to Mrs. Peck's kindergarten where I road her miniature-sized roller coaster, shared ice cream with a puppy and loved waking my fellow 4-year olds up with the magic wand at the end of nap time.

2) First grade - I started to lose my nerve and become really aware of what other people thought. I was afraid to ask to go to the bathroom and ended up with a puddle underneath my desk hoping no one would notice. Guess what? They noticed.

3) Second grade - One of my favorite memories is of gleefully skipping across the playground hand in hand with my new friend, Linda. She didn't stay at our school for long and I wondered why. It was not until years later that I realized Linda was a lone black face in a very white community. Is that why she left?

4) Third grade - My first realization of social injustice as my teacher belittled a boy in my class for being "slow and stupid." My little soul was horrified. His name was Ricky and we later learned he had a hearing impairment. I hope Mrs. Johnson (the teacher) was ashamed of herself!

5) Fourth grade - I came in 2nd place (i.e. lost) in the big reading contest to a girl, Kim G., who admitted to me at our 10 year high school reunion that she had cheated.

6) Fifth grade - My first kiss (very chaste but still memorable)! John Humphries was his name.

7) Sixth grade - I was declared "pretty" by my best friend, Jan R. I really wanted to be "cute" instead with her freckles and round cheeks.

8) Seventh grade - Started Junior High with a ringworm on my arm from petting a stray kitten. There were threats that if it spread to my head, they would have to shave off my hair. Yikes!!

Whew...that's enough memory lane for today. I hope you will decide to play, too. Otherwise, I am really going to feel geeky here like a bald thirteen year old girl!!!

btw--did you know that it is impossible to skip and be angry at the same time?!?!?

"angel in my garden" by lucy 10.31.07

Do you know God?

It is when people are not aware of God's presence everywhere

That they must seek God by special methods
and special practices.
Such people have not attained God.

To all outward appearances
persons who continue properly in their pious practices
are holy.
Inwardly, however,
they are asses.
For they know about God
but do not know God.

--Meister Eckhart

photo @ Soltura by lucy 11.07

Thanksgiving Past

"If winter is slumber and spring is birth, and summer is life, then autumn rounds out to be reflection. It's a time of year when the leaves are down and the harvest is in and the perennials are gone. Mother Earth just closed up the drapes on another year and it's time to reflect on what's come before."

--Mitchell Burgess, Northern Exposure, Thanksgiving, 1992

I miss the Thanks-
givings of my past. I didn’t know how much I enjoyed them until they slowly disap-
peared. As a child lots of aunts, uncles, and cousins would gather at the appointed house for the holiday festivities of food and football. For years I was the youngest one in the family until my older cousins and siblings started having kids of their own. I was closest in age to my cousin, Vicki. We would sneak past the tables before they were officially open and place black olives on each of our fingers and delight in eating them one by one. (I am befuddled to this day that neither of my children even like black olives. Can they possibly be my offspring?) The lingering memories are festive and warm even though I resented always sitting at “the kid’s table” and my mother was usually totally stressed out during the time surrounding the day. I can still, however, smell the pumpkin pies that were always baking when I came home from school on the Wednesday before and that smell is still pure comfort to me.

Those times are long since gone. In between were Thanksgiving celebrations with the family of my first husband, often including my mother since my brother and sister no longer traveled the long distance home and my father had died soon after I started college. The next memories I recall were as Bill (my husband of 20+ years) and I shared Thanksgiving in Tulsa with his sisters who also lived there. One of the defining moments of my life came as I prepared my first turkey in my own home at the ripe old age of 28. It dawned on me that somehow I had become “the” adult.

When we moved to Seattle in 1989, we found ourselves in the midst of a motley assortment of Thanksgiving guests including random cousins, Bill’s parents and friends we met as new residents to the city. For years we created our own family and it was my house filled with the smell of pumpkin pies, roasting turkey and young children’s laughter. Somewhere in time, things started to slip away. Cousin’s graduated from school and moved away. Parents decided the drive was too risky through the mountain pass. Friends drifted toward other places and cities. Children grew up.

So today, I find myself one week away from the holiday with no plans. (We were originally invited to be with friends, but life circumstances have removed that option.) My kids keep asking the question, “What are we doing for Thanksgiving?” I don’t know. And while I realize that I have so much for which to be thankful and my gratitude is immense, I still long for a house full of family and for my stressed out mother who has long since passed away. I want someone else to be “the adult.” I realize this may sound a little selfish or at least self-centered, because I know there are millions of people with no home, no family, no food & no warm memories. Please understand, my caring heart does not diminish their sufferings. And still…

I miss the Thanksgivings of my past and today (in the present), I wonder what the future will hold. What does this holiday season evoke in you?

"pumpkin pie" from wikipedia

Blurts

Do you ever find yourself caught between the premises of living in the present moment and planning for the future? It is a constant balancing act for me. Today I am trying to put some order to the creative projects that are percolating in my brain. Yesterday I started reading a book which will help me with a couples workshop on which I am collaborating. I realized that if I do a chapter a day, I will be finished in 10 days which seems quite manageable.

The bigger theme(s) that are stirring around is my desire to write something more tangible (whatever that means) than daily ponderings like those you read here. So, this morning I decided to start traveling through my journals that I began nearly four years ago when I was introduced to The Artist's Way. I can see this is going to be a long process, because I only got four pages into it before I found something I wanted to share here.

One of the early exercises is to write the "blurts" that come into your head when you think about being creative. So, to kick off my venture backwards into not-so-distant time, here are my blurts:

1) I'm too old to start something new.
2) I don't know anything about writing.
3) People will think I'm crazy.
4) Where will I find the time?
5) I don't have the right computer to write on or the right place to write.
6) No one will want to hear what I have to say.
7) I don't know how to get started.
8) This may be a waste of time. I should do something more productive.
9) Smart girls aren't artistic/creative & artistic girls are definitely airheads.

Those are my blurts. What are yours today?

photo by janey

Sand dollars

Sand dollars. Whole. Broken. Covered with bugs and barnacles. Green hats of seaweed finery. Perfect on the outside. What is on the inside? Decorated. Plain. Upside down. Right side up. Holes all the way through. Broken in half. Waiting to be taken back to sea or taken home by a passerby.

Last week I walked the beach at Soltura for one last bit of leisurely solitude before the new workshop participants arrived. Little did I know that the words above (penned during those moments) would become the metaphor my mind returned to when asked to share my recent experience.

Words seem so inadequate & insufficient. Even powerful words like glorious, magical, terrifying, magnificent, pure & true. Learning. Growing. Changing. The Light. The words are everywhere if only we open our eyes to look and to see the miracles before us.

"Whole" with finery and beauty keeping others at bay. Broken wide open yet still hidden behind tears and confusion (bugs and barnacles). Boldness that says, ‘Get away!’ The caretaker, the mother, the protector—looking out for others while slowly letting their “control” cover them over like tiny bugs invading the shells. Holes in the middle. Others broken in two. Torn between two sides with a gaping space filled with nothing. The nearly invisible one—buried deep in the sand on the edge slightly away from the others. Will you notice that one?

We see each other in each other. Together we gently pick up the shells. They cannot return to their original form. They will never be the same and yet they will be whole. The beauty is that we get to re-define what wholeness looks like. Maybe it looks like glorious, magical, flawed & broken, pure & true sand dollars on the beach.

Sand dollars and people—are they really so different?