I'm seriously considering perfection as my goal for 2018. "In the year 2018 I will achieve a perfect existence" is really what my mind is comprehending when my heart suggests that I give up sugar, write every day, exercise for 30 minutes 6 times a week, clean my house daily at 5:00am, worship in 4 different ways every day, and in multiple ways on multiple days. Give up fast food meaning I cook dinner every night, pinch the budget so expertly that we save $1500 a month, have sex at least - well, more, and... Actually, that might be all.
Those things simultaneously feel like perfection on a stick. I've lived long enough to know that if by some miracle I'm actually able to do those things this year - you know, starting Monday - that my children will still worry me endlessly, my marriage will need lots of work, there won't ever be enough money, the dog will still poop, it will be cold and gray all winter, my job will seem like an impossibility, I will continue to age, the cars will need repairs, Trump will still be the president, public education will still be a mess, politics will still give me ulcers, and I will continue to be the slightly crazy person over there barely eeking out a decent existence. Whatever that means.
BUT - There is really a lot to be said for controlling the things we can control. I am interested in reducing the burdens in my life - not the stress. I am only burdened by things over which I have power. What I eat, how I spend money, how I spend my time, the priorities I choose, when I go to bed, what I look at, what I love. It is an unnecessary burden to be unfaithful to the things I love. I am grateful for my body and for my health - I can be faithful by eating smarter and moving more. I love writing and I love the exercise it gives my mind - I can be faithful by carving out time for it more often. I believe that for some reason I am really effected emotionally by how lovely my physical space is. I don't need a mansion or a game room or a fancy dining room, but I really benefit from a clean toilet, a floor that's mopped, clean cupboards and organized storage. I am able to be more creative, more spontaneous and more cheerful when my house is clean. I can be faithful by more consistently keeping a clean living space. I love God. I can be faithful by building my relationship with Him daily, weekly and in different places of worship. I love my family. We need the kind of spending money that increases our wealth instead of our waistlines. I want to develop the kind of fiscal discipline that I can teach to my adult children before they are burdened with financial habits that will essentially make them slaves. I love Rich and I love my marriage, and more sex is always a good idea.
So I think I'll start with this. It's hard to say that I'm going to take anything off the list in order to be more successful in one or two areas. Maybe if I can see them as intertwined, it will be like having one big goal instead of 8 big goals.
Having a clean house will help me garner the emotional will power to stay out of the kitchen when it's not meal time. It will allow me to feel comfortable in the living room and the office in order to do some sunshine yoga and lift some weights. It will give me a kitchen that invites me in to cook at the end of a long day. Writing about my efforts will infuse some comedy and realism into the journey. I'll be able to look back and see trends. It will help me expel some emotional weight without eating my feelings. Walking will also help me expel that emotional excess - and it will keep my dog at bay so that she won't destroy my house. The clean house invites me to sit at the table and study scriptures, drop to my knees at the couch and pray, and if I can do it wisely throughout the week, I'll have saved up a chunk of time at the end of the week to visit the house on the hill. Staying close to God will help me forgive myself when I'm a mess and give me the peace of mind and clarity of thought to spend my efforts wisely. That clean house also means a clean office where I can keep working on the finances, and the more finances available, the nicer we can make the house, and the more often we'll want to be here to cook and not eat out and spend time here instead of spending money out there. It's so cyclical. So maybe it comes to this - I have some goals about my body and my pocketbook. In order to achieve those goals, I've got to get a clean house, get close to God and stay emotionally viable. That involves some other stuff - but they are all related to weight loss and saving money. Doable? Guh.
Let's talk about sugar. I've been thinking about writing a memoir called "2018: A year without the sweet stuff". Or "My 45th year off the sweet stuff." But I can't write the memoir without having the experience. ha!
I have consistently made goals to not have any sugar for a day, for a week, for 21 days, until I lose 10 pounds, etc... But predictably I fail within the first few hours and then say to myself - it starts tomorrow, it starts Monday, it starts next month, or whatever. But if I decide that I'm going to go a year without sugar and I buckle on Jan 3rd, then I really will have to wait a long time to start a year over again. So will that help me maintain my goal? I've been alive long enough to know that a year isn't that long. And from what others have said about going off sugar it will be January that is the trick, not November. I feel like I have to have some rules about it. So many people say that you have to give yourself some days off. But I feel like that may not work for me. I would just adjust the days off. One day off? No, because February is an even month, we get two days off... etc. And it would be a mess. And other people have said that they took birthdays off and that kind of thing and on those days the sugar just made them sick - so... why do I need the day off? And isn't it kind of fun to think of sugar-free ways to celebrate life? BUT - I do think I'll cut myself some slack by having certain kinds of sweeteners - like Life cereal is ok but coco puffs are not. No hot chocolate, but I'm ok with sugar-free steamers. I'm going to fuel my life with Coke Zero. Fruit in any amount is ok, but no fruit juice - unless I do the juicing here. Jam on a PB sandwich is ok, but not on toast. (That one is kind of weird) Oh! Very important - no white flour products, or potatoes. So no french fries or potato chips, but I'm going to allow sweet potato fries and tortilla chips. No white bread, but I'm ok with wheat bread. No flour tortillas - but corn is fine. No white rice, but brown is ok. No white pasta, but whole grain is good. So I'm not making any exception days, but I'm going to allow sweet things like fruit, diet soda and sugar free stuff - and I'm allowing whole grains without a limit really.
And I think I need to approach this like a "study" and write about it every day. As if I'm in the lab and I'm putting myself through an experiment rather than trying to achieve weight loss or something. Although let's be honest, if I don't lose weight I'll be sad. I read today that 150 minutes of moving a week - that's 30 minutes 5 times a week, drinking lots of water (which I think will happen naturally as I try to soothe my cravings) and cutting out processed foods can add up to losing 1-2 pounds a week.
So...
The budget restrictions and no starches rule will help me cook every night. La la la... We'll see.
Today is Perfection Day -2. It's new year's eve eve. I'm gearing up mentally. And I still have it deep in my psyche that the more sugar I eat today, the less I'll need on Monday. ha! Can you spell binge?
Alright... onward.
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
I'm bored. My phone is smart. I am smarter.
I foster a kind of faith where I believe that something in the universe wants to talk to me all the time. I believe truth is coursing through the space-time continuum galaxy spherical dimensional 5D existence we are in and if we resonate with it in some way, it can't help but be revealed to our infinite minds and souls. I really believe this. So what does it take to tune in? I heard or read or came across something the other day - truly can't remember where - that suggested that our creativity is oppressed by our smart phones. Could it be the moments of sheer genius happen immediately following boredom? Could it be that inspiration about our children's souls comes in moments when we are staring mindlessly at a stoplight, or at the tile in the floor in the bathroom at said restaurant? What about the pure truth we could encounter if we were tuning instead of scrolling? I tried this a little bit over the last few days - since I brainlessly came across the suggestion.
It's a thing.
Maybe it isn't my Facebook account that's the problem, but my go to approach to it every time I'm in the same county as my phone. Maybe in order to be more mindful, I have to be more mindless. More boredom could be the solution to more resonating truth.
It's a thing.
Maybe it isn't my Facebook account that's the problem, but my go to approach to it every time I'm in the same county as my phone. Maybe in order to be more mindful, I have to be more mindless. More boredom could be the solution to more resonating truth.
Thursday, July 2, 2015
I'm a witness.
"Everybody is original if he tells the truth. – about who he really is, and not who he thinks he should be." - Ueland, If You Want To Write
What a tricky concept. I am battling all the time with who I am and who I want to be. Wait no - the sentence says "who I should be". What is the difference between want and should? Its' true that the should definitely fills in bits of the want. Where does should come from? Desire, hope, expectation, relationships, comparisons, wishing, obligation, duty. Should is what comes around when I want something in the future that I don't want to work for today. So I should. Should comes around when I know someone else's experience will be effected by my efforts, and I care about them - obviously, so I have to kick in should in order to beat selfishness. Ok - so should may not be as cheerful as want - but it probably maintains the overall health of humanity. I should go to work. I should pay my bills. I should make dinner for the children.
But in matters of truth - in matters of telling the truth - I think should is based on what we've seen or heard from someone else. We see the success of others and are drawn into the same paths. It makes sense I suppose, but it's not necessary - especially if you aren't interested in acclaim or money or well-knownness. Not everyone's originality is going to sell books, make blockbusters or be a social hit. And yet, we want to tell a story that is interesting that is worth the telling. Cause we want to live a life that's worth living.
We want to make a difference. Isn't that something? We want the world to be different because we were here. I wonder why. Does it need to be different? Do we assume that things are out of order enough that we should change the world? Maybe it's a misguided innate desire in us to want to change ourselves. Maybe we don't need to change the world - we need to change ourselves. It probably seems easier to change the world than to change ourselves. Isn't that something?
I'm original if I say who I am, all the pretty and unlovely parts, with all the honesty and the tragic sections, and then illustrate from that starting point, my changing. I become a witness. I'm a quiet, glorious, powerful, unique witness. A witness of perhaps the most human beauty, change.
What a tricky concept. I am battling all the time with who I am and who I want to be. Wait no - the sentence says "who I should be". What is the difference between want and should? Its' true that the should definitely fills in bits of the want. Where does should come from? Desire, hope, expectation, relationships, comparisons, wishing, obligation, duty. Should is what comes around when I want something in the future that I don't want to work for today. So I should. Should comes around when I know someone else's experience will be effected by my efforts, and I care about them - obviously, so I have to kick in should in order to beat selfishness. Ok - so should may not be as cheerful as want - but it probably maintains the overall health of humanity. I should go to work. I should pay my bills. I should make dinner for the children.
But in matters of truth - in matters of telling the truth - I think should is based on what we've seen or heard from someone else. We see the success of others and are drawn into the same paths. It makes sense I suppose, but it's not necessary - especially if you aren't interested in acclaim or money or well-knownness. Not everyone's originality is going to sell books, make blockbusters or be a social hit. And yet, we want to tell a story that is interesting that is worth the telling. Cause we want to live a life that's worth living.
We want to make a difference. Isn't that something? We want the world to be different because we were here. I wonder why. Does it need to be different? Do we assume that things are out of order enough that we should change the world? Maybe it's a misguided innate desire in us to want to change ourselves. Maybe we don't need to change the world - we need to change ourselves. It probably seems easier to change the world than to change ourselves. Isn't that something?
I'm original if I say who I am, all the pretty and unlovely parts, with all the honesty and the tragic sections, and then illustrate from that starting point, my changing. I become a witness. I'm a quiet, glorious, powerful, unique witness. A witness of perhaps the most human beauty, change.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Happy Mother's Day
Dear David,
Thank you for making me a mom. I love being your mom! I love your snuggles and sweet goodnight kisses. I love watching you play soccer and I hearing you play the violin. I love driving with you in the car and singing along to the music. I love that you want to be with me and that you are so great to help around the house - doing the lawn and anything else I ask for your help with. You are an incredible and loyal friend. I am inspired by your love for Zach and for anyone else who needs a hand - like Dalynne and Gayle and family support and grandma and teachers at your school. You take such good care of Douglas and Jessie and Corinne. You know when they need your affection and especially when your sisters need a gentle reminder that everything is going to be ok. You have made a significant impact on our family since the day you arrived. I am a different person because I've had the privilege of being your mother. Oh, how I love you. Thank you for being mine. xoxox
Mom.
Dearest Skibob,
Thank you for making me a mom. I love being YOUR mom! :) I love cheering for you while you are in your 12th hour of homework, I love that you want to go to seminary, I love singing with you and cleaning with you. I love that you love Jessica so well. I love watching you be sisters together. I love that you love a clean house and a clean room and that you pitch in so readily to help the family. I love watching you keep a goal on the football pitch and hearing you play the flute. I love seeing you giggle at a text and laugh with your cousins. I love your squinty nose when you are perplexed or annoyed and I love your determination to be happy.
You came on to the scene with a willful peace and innate joy 17 years ago. I know you don't always feel that on the surface, but it's part of who you were before you came here and I'm so grateful that Heaven said you could be ours. Thanks for coming to play with us and laugh with us and to teach me joy in all things. Your tears teach us that too. You aren't afraid to feel. And there is opposition in all things - which means with all the joy, you are willing to feel the sorrow too. The joy is worth it and you know it. Oh, how blessed I am to hear you call me your mama. xoxoxo
I love you,
Mom.
Dear Jessica,
Thanks for making me a mom! I love it! I love watching you negotiate life and live with so much determination for good and the pursuit of real wisdom. I love that you thirst for knowledge and experience - especially within the gospel. I love that you want those around you to be happy, to feel needed and capable and know that they belong. I admire both your empathy and your sympathy. :) You have powerful gifts with which Heaven is blessing us all. I love hearing you sing and play the guitar. In my moments of temporary insanity, please don't let me convince you otherwise. I love your gorgeously messy room and the fact that it means you can live peacefully in the chaos, that it means you'd rather be with us than hidden away. I love that you love movies and stories about other people - and that you are feeding the empathy in you. You have a deep need to know the stories on the planet. I love hearing you sing at the top of your lungs, I love watching you dance across a stage, I love sitting with you at soccer games and driving with you in the car. I love cleaning the garage with you and shopping with you and making a meal with you. I love that you came here 19 years ago with a will to LIVE in every moment, to not miss a beat, to see and feel it all. You love us so well. You are already so willing to forgive me for my humanity. Thank you for the gift of constant forgiveness. Thanks for being a better example of what a mom is to me than I could ever be to you. xoxoox
I love you,
Mom.
Dear Douglas,
Happy Mother's Day! Thank you for making me a mom! You were the first, and always will be. There is something magical about that. I wonder if the four of you stood in a heavenly circle and did rock-paper-scissors to see who would have to sojourn with us first. You either won or lost. ha! From the first day there have been things that have remained the same... I have loved watching you take in the world. I love hearing you sing. I love your passion and excitement for getting on the thrill rides of life. You want to play and to do it all, to not miss a moment or an opportunity. I love that you want to be where the action is - with the adults or the big kids or the heavy hitters or the super stars. You know what people are feeling and you minister to them in kind. I love watching you with your siblings, with your dad, with your cousins, with your friends. You are wise and you make me wonder at the beauty of the world and the plan God has to teach us love. Thank you for teaching me patience, grace, hope, faith and joy. I wish I was a faster learner - I must also thank you for your forgiveness and understanding. You are wise beyond your years and you are already willing to forgive this mother of yours for also being a girl, a silly, flighty, irresponsible, emotional and selfish GIRL. Thank you for coming to save me from my childish ways. :)
xoxoxo
Mama.
Thank you for making me a mom. I love being your mom! I love your snuggles and sweet goodnight kisses. I love watching you play soccer and I hearing you play the violin. I love driving with you in the car and singing along to the music. I love that you want to be with me and that you are so great to help around the house - doing the lawn and anything else I ask for your help with. You are an incredible and loyal friend. I am inspired by your love for Zach and for anyone else who needs a hand - like Dalynne and Gayle and family support and grandma and teachers at your school. You take such good care of Douglas and Jessie and Corinne. You know when they need your affection and especially when your sisters need a gentle reminder that everything is going to be ok. You have made a significant impact on our family since the day you arrived. I am a different person because I've had the privilege of being your mother. Oh, how I love you. Thank you for being mine. xoxox
Mom.
Dearest Skibob,
Thank you for making me a mom. I love being YOUR mom! :) I love cheering for you while you are in your 12th hour of homework, I love that you want to go to seminary, I love singing with you and cleaning with you. I love that you love Jessica so well. I love watching you be sisters together. I love that you love a clean house and a clean room and that you pitch in so readily to help the family. I love watching you keep a goal on the football pitch and hearing you play the flute. I love seeing you giggle at a text and laugh with your cousins. I love your squinty nose when you are perplexed or annoyed and I love your determination to be happy.
You came on to the scene with a willful peace and innate joy 17 years ago. I know you don't always feel that on the surface, but it's part of who you were before you came here and I'm so grateful that Heaven said you could be ours. Thanks for coming to play with us and laugh with us and to teach me joy in all things. Your tears teach us that too. You aren't afraid to feel. And there is opposition in all things - which means with all the joy, you are willing to feel the sorrow too. The joy is worth it and you know it. Oh, how blessed I am to hear you call me your mama. xoxoxo
I love you,
Mom.
Dear Jessica,
Thanks for making me a mom! I love it! I love watching you negotiate life and live with so much determination for good and the pursuit of real wisdom. I love that you thirst for knowledge and experience - especially within the gospel. I love that you want those around you to be happy, to feel needed and capable and know that they belong. I admire both your empathy and your sympathy. :) You have powerful gifts with which Heaven is blessing us all. I love hearing you sing and play the guitar. In my moments of temporary insanity, please don't let me convince you otherwise. I love your gorgeously messy room and the fact that it means you can live peacefully in the chaos, that it means you'd rather be with us than hidden away. I love that you love movies and stories about other people - and that you are feeding the empathy in you. You have a deep need to know the stories on the planet. I love hearing you sing at the top of your lungs, I love watching you dance across a stage, I love sitting with you at soccer games and driving with you in the car. I love cleaning the garage with you and shopping with you and making a meal with you. I love that you came here 19 years ago with a will to LIVE in every moment, to not miss a beat, to see and feel it all. You love us so well. You are already so willing to forgive me for my humanity. Thank you for the gift of constant forgiveness. Thanks for being a better example of what a mom is to me than I could ever be to you. xoxoox
I love you,
Mom.
Dear Douglas,
Happy Mother's Day! Thank you for making me a mom! You were the first, and always will be. There is something magical about that. I wonder if the four of you stood in a heavenly circle and did rock-paper-scissors to see who would have to sojourn with us first. You either won or lost. ha! From the first day there have been things that have remained the same... I have loved watching you take in the world. I love hearing you sing. I love your passion and excitement for getting on the thrill rides of life. You want to play and to do it all, to not miss a moment or an opportunity. I love that you want to be where the action is - with the adults or the big kids or the heavy hitters or the super stars. You know what people are feeling and you minister to them in kind. I love watching you with your siblings, with your dad, with your cousins, with your friends. You are wise and you make me wonder at the beauty of the world and the plan God has to teach us love. Thank you for teaching me patience, grace, hope, faith and joy. I wish I was a faster learner - I must also thank you for your forgiveness and understanding. You are wise beyond your years and you are already willing to forgive this mother of yours for also being a girl, a silly, flighty, irresponsible, emotional and selfish GIRL. Thank you for coming to save me from my childish ways. :)
xoxoxo
Mama.
Friday, April 3, 2015
The Rhythm of Consolation
As I think about what to write, it's interesting that in order to stay away from the details of my emotions and personal particulars, I default to offering a commentary about the weather. What a cliche, right? It plays out in social collections over and over, in every culture, in every class, in every imagined conglomerate. And even here where my faceless listeners are generations away, in order to say something about how I feel without revealing the unlovely details of my psyche - I use the weather as an allegory, a symbol, a prop. It works I guess.
Spring is change, it's fickle. Spring is new and predictable. The mornings are cold and the afternoons are cheerfully sleepy. The evenings bring fresh breezes and windy promise. Spring ages quickly as she learns the colors of hot summer and her gentle green moves daily to fixed brown. Delicate blossoms drop every minute and their exposed, verdant leaves promise vivid Autumn.
With this constant change before my eyes, I can still dare to be impatient, to speed the moments along. What is this thanklessness? This non-recognition?
This morning I pray for a gentle heart, for fresh eyes, for a verdant spirit - unafraid of the change that is born in every morning - completely conscious of the age, the heat, the anchored, the vivid colors that will define the day at close.
Spring comes again.
Morning rises.
The rhythm is consolation.
Spring is change, it's fickle. Spring is new and predictable. The mornings are cold and the afternoons are cheerfully sleepy. The evenings bring fresh breezes and windy promise. Spring ages quickly as she learns the colors of hot summer and her gentle green moves daily to fixed brown. Delicate blossoms drop every minute and their exposed, verdant leaves promise vivid Autumn.
With this constant change before my eyes, I can still dare to be impatient, to speed the moments along. What is this thanklessness? This non-recognition?
This morning I pray for a gentle heart, for fresh eyes, for a verdant spirit - unafraid of the change that is born in every morning - completely conscious of the age, the heat, the anchored, the vivid colors that will define the day at close.
Spring comes again.
Morning rises.
The rhythm is consolation.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Thursday, March 26, 2015
Something's Comin...
Could be...
Who knows...
........
It's only just out of reach
Down the block, on a beach
Under a tree
I got a feeling there's a miracle due
......
Could it be?
Yes it could
Something's coming
Something good.....
If I can wait
But wait - no more wait. Want it to be now. Or at least nowish. Nowish in the sense that I get to choose?
Poor Tony. Do you think that song is about the love affair or his impending doom? I choose Love Affair. Cause after that, there's nothing else worth living for anyway right? Once you've loved... you're golden.
But yeah - I want something to come...
Spring.
Energy.
Clarity.
Health.
Smarts.
Charity.
nbd
I know I gotta do something to get something. But I hope that the gotta do comes because of the feeling like it. So it's the feeling like it that I feel is the "could it be? yes it could!"
The stars are aligning. Seven months of saying no, four children home safe and sound, family landmarks around the corner....
Could be... who knows....
April is 5 days away.
Who knows...
........
It's only just out of reach
Down the block, on a beach
Under a tree
I got a feeling there's a miracle due
......
Could it be?
Yes it could
Something's coming
Something good.....
If I can wait
But wait - no more wait. Want it to be now. Or at least nowish. Nowish in the sense that I get to choose?
Poor Tony. Do you think that song is about the love affair or his impending doom? I choose Love Affair. Cause after that, there's nothing else worth living for anyway right? Once you've loved... you're golden.
But yeah - I want something to come...
Spring.
Energy.
Clarity.
Health.
Smarts.
Charity.
nbd
I know I gotta do something to get something. But I hope that the gotta do comes because of the feeling like it. So it's the feeling like it that I feel is the "could it be? yes it could!"
The stars are aligning. Seven months of saying no, four children home safe and sound, family landmarks around the corner....
Could be... who knows....
April is 5 days away.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Outside Online
It's Lent this week. I love Lent. I'm not a Catholic, in fact I'm a Mormon. But I love Lent and I look forward every year to getting off of Facebook for the 46 days of Lent. It's not a flippant observance of this holiday - I believe wholeheartedly that when we give up things in our lives, it has the potential to bring us closer to God. Mormons attempt that all the time - no alcohol, no coffee, no smoking, no playing on Sunday, no sex before marriage... we even fast once a month. That's like Lent. So I'm a grateful observer of the tradition. I'm not on a path of disrespect or blasphemy. Agreed? Agreed.
This year as part of my preparation to leave Facebook for a bit (and honestly, every year I'm tempted to make it permanent) I realize that I'm looking for somewhere that feels like outside while I'm online. (Facebook doesn't, but it's a tempting disappointment every time) A really common time for me to log on is in between my 21 morning alarms. 4:45 for prep, 4:55, 5:00 for real, 5:05 and on until 6:30 when it's desperate. The alarm at 6:30 means not only did I sleep in, but Corinne did as well, missed seminary, and now I'm in jeopardy of being later than the kids who are tardy to my first class. I can usually avoid hearing all of the 21 alarms if I get on my phone and start reading the semi-interesting babble from my friends on Facebook. Honestly, I like the babble. It's amazing how long I can read it. All the way to 6:30 actually - which is mind blowingly stupid - cause I might as well have been sleeping all that time. BUT here's the justification - I love to go outside first thing in the morning. (Let's be clear - daylight means morning. No daylight - still night) And I think this is the phenomenon I'm trying to achieve without leaving my sheets and the side of my charming, snoring husband. If I can find something that will convince me that it's worth getting up... remember there are people out there... the sun will shine and the mountains will be beautiful and there is fruit to eat and dirt to dig about in - things to do! And it's not all bad - LIVE WOMAN! LIVE!
This is the trick every morning isn't it? To choose to live. To shake off the dust from the night's slumber and push the blood through your veins and take deep breaths and live again.
Maybe that's why we avoid bedtime - its like dying. Giving up consciousness is a scary thing right? And we don't control where our minds roam at night. Sometimes going to scary places, sometimes embarrassing ones... occasionally to a fantasy so intriguing we want to carry it right into our true breaths.
What should I do at 4:55 to convince my dreaming mind, thick blood and slow breaths that it's time to live again? Facebook doesn't really do the trick, it's a charlaton, but it's my addiction - and starting on Wed, I'll have nothing... Nothing to convince me to live. I need to find outside online.
This year as part of my preparation to leave Facebook for a bit (and honestly, every year I'm tempted to make it permanent) I realize that I'm looking for somewhere that feels like outside while I'm online. (Facebook doesn't, but it's a tempting disappointment every time) A really common time for me to log on is in between my 21 morning alarms. 4:45 for prep, 4:55, 5:00 for real, 5:05 and on until 6:30 when it's desperate. The alarm at 6:30 means not only did I sleep in, but Corinne did as well, missed seminary, and now I'm in jeopardy of being later than the kids who are tardy to my first class. I can usually avoid hearing all of the 21 alarms if I get on my phone and start reading the semi-interesting babble from my friends on Facebook. Honestly, I like the babble. It's amazing how long I can read it. All the way to 6:30 actually - which is mind blowingly stupid - cause I might as well have been sleeping all that time. BUT here's the justification - I love to go outside first thing in the morning. (Let's be clear - daylight means morning. No daylight - still night) And I think this is the phenomenon I'm trying to achieve without leaving my sheets and the side of my charming, snoring husband. If I can find something that will convince me that it's worth getting up... remember there are people out there... the sun will shine and the mountains will be beautiful and there is fruit to eat and dirt to dig about in - things to do! And it's not all bad - LIVE WOMAN! LIVE!
This is the trick every morning isn't it? To choose to live. To shake off the dust from the night's slumber and push the blood through your veins and take deep breaths and live again.
Maybe that's why we avoid bedtime - its like dying. Giving up consciousness is a scary thing right? And we don't control where our minds roam at night. Sometimes going to scary places, sometimes embarrassing ones... occasionally to a fantasy so intriguing we want to carry it right into our true breaths.
What should I do at 4:55 to convince my dreaming mind, thick blood and slow breaths that it's time to live again? Facebook doesn't really do the trick, it's a charlaton, but it's my addiction - and starting on Wed, I'll have nothing... Nothing to convince me to live. I need to find outside online.
Thursday, December 18, 2014
Remorse
90 days until Elder Wadley comes home.
I'm scared.
I'm thrilled.
I'm definitely counting.
I get the impression from some that counting makes me weak.
I'm tired of that impression.
I'm counting.
I don't care.
I do care.
I wish I didn't.
90 days I'm attempting sugarless.
90 days I'm working on "wellness'.
I even have a ppt.
But on day ONE - today...
I got angry.
Annoyed.
Exasperated.
A head ache.
And then I made a mistake.
I spoke.
I shared the anger.
Fail.
Fail.
Fail.
Wellness?
Bah!
At least I have some where to go...
Wellness has got to be the state of mind that doesn't prevent bad, but permits it.
I'm not there yet.
Good night.
I'm sleepy.
Pills for the head.
Sleep for the anger.
Hopefully I don't talk in my sleep.
Writing for remorse.
xo
I'm scared.
I'm thrilled.
I'm definitely counting.
I get the impression from some that counting makes me weak.
I'm tired of that impression.
I'm counting.
I don't care.
I do care.
I wish I didn't.
90 days I'm attempting sugarless.
90 days I'm working on "wellness'.
I even have a ppt.
But on day ONE - today...
I got angry.
Annoyed.
Exasperated.
A head ache.
And then I made a mistake.
I spoke.
I shared the anger.
Fail.
Fail.
Fail.
Wellness?
Bah!
At least I have some where to go...
Wellness has got to be the state of mind that doesn't prevent bad, but permits it.
I'm not there yet.
Good night.
I'm sleepy.
Pills for the head.
Sleep for the anger.
Hopefully I don't talk in my sleep.
Writing for remorse.
xo
Sunday, October 19, 2014
children
October 2011
David's been wearing a terrific pair of round sunglasses with his 1840's cap. His moppy blonde hair peeking out from every rim and corner, and his precocious smile sneaking out underneath. He's quite pleased with his new old sense of fashion. He's a different child than my others, somehow terribly alive in being adored by the older three.
Corinne is babysitting and I'm sure so well. She may be running a more perfect home than the dear mother who left her in charge. That certainly happens when I leave her. Jessica is outside swinging and playing her guitar with two adorable friends who I would invite to stay forever if their own mother's wouldn't miss them so.Douglas is on an adventure. He's out with a new old friend to visit an old new friend. Rich is tracking all of their activity and will eventually wrangle them in for prayers and sleeping. It won't be an easy feat.
David's been wearing a terrific pair of round sunglasses with his 1840's cap. His moppy blonde hair peeking out from every rim and corner, and his precocious smile sneaking out underneath. He's quite pleased with his new old sense of fashion. He's a different child than my others, somehow terribly alive in being adored by the older three.
Corinne is babysitting and I'm sure so well. She may be running a more perfect home than the dear mother who left her in charge. That certainly happens when I leave her. Jessica is outside swinging and playing her guitar with two adorable friends who I would invite to stay forever if their own mother's wouldn't miss them so.Douglas is on an adventure. He's out with a new old friend to visit an old new friend. Rich is tracking all of their activity and will eventually wrangle them in for prayers and sleeping. It won't be an easy feat.
I
have absolutely nothing to offer but the ramblings of my own days and
my own sorting. I have no new way of learning or loving or living to
give up to the world. Its all been written, painted and sung, and by
artists endlessly more talented than I. But I'm new. I haven't been
here before, so the old ways feel new on me. More clarity comes into
focus as I see fewer days ahead than in the wake, and I'm most certainly
afraid of what I may not write, paint or sing. But the stillness comes
as I learn what I'm meant to do and do more of it. There's no end in
sight.
Dare to Dream?
Dare to dream?
"I would rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door, and the grapes growing purple in the kisses of the autumn Summer sun. I would rather have been that poor peasant with my loving wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the sky, with my children upon my knees and their arms about me...and so I would ten thousand times" -Robert G. Ingersol
Dreaming about being an actress, is more exciting then being one. Marilyn Monroe
Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us. Jane Roberts
I cannot sleep for dreaming; I cannot dream but I wake and walk about the house as though I'd find you coming through some door. Arthur Miller
I find myself dreaming of doing normal things - like staying home and washing dishes. Shalom Harlow
One of the most tragic things I know about human nature is that all of us tend to put off living. We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today. Dale Carnegie
The life of a man consists not in seeing visions and in dreaming dreams, but in active charity and in willing service. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I don't have lofty dreams. Do I? Does that mean I'm afraid? Does it mean I don't have vision or I lack scope?
SOTW
I'm amazed at the things I learn while watching Savior Of The World. Here is a sampling:
It's interesting to think about always being on camera. I guess we really are. We really are always on camera. What we do, matters. Always. This is integrity.
As I watch friends on stage portray such important historical figures, its really interesting to think about their personal relationships with each other. I shouldn't belittle my relationships.
What if I always lived as if I was on the colonnade? Always looking at people as though their circumstances don't matter, but only the experiences they are having? What if I saw everyone with the same compassion and hope as I feel when I'm up there?
Am I teaching my children to learn to recognize the spirit? What experiences are they having up there?
The Shepherds were ready to tell and testify even before they were invited in to see the baby.
It's easy to love my 17 year old when he is on the stage playing a Shepherd.
I have had many thoughts that sadly didn't get written down. And I guess in some ways, I'm surprised - that I've had them. I always think that as I come to this production again and again that it can't possibly be that I could still learn from these lines. But as the gospel consistently does, I do learn. It seems it always has something different to teach depending on life's circumstances. As thy days may demand... I am blessed, even in moments of pride, by humbling events that bring me to these rehearsals on the edge of tears and as I hear the words and principles proclaimed, I find myself comforted and humbled by the very comfort. There are even moments of sorrow and forgiveness. The tears surface even now.
As I conduct I am remembering watching that conductor in Santa Cruz. Gorgeous church. What was that event? I was with people from school I think. She danced. This woman conducting this small chamber orchestra was totally inspiring to me. As I reflect on the opportunities I've had to conduct at various events over the last few months - including women's conference and this beautiful production, I am tempted to wonder if that moment is Santa Cruz wasn't revelation. Or at least preparation. I'm grateful for what music has brought to me.
"Perhaps this is what God wants." Oh, this phrase rings so true in so many situations in my life.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Smarts.
I think I log on to facebook when I'm craving some kind of interaction. No wait, craving makes it sound desperate. That's not the right word. Maybe it's just a preference - My preference is to have someone to talk to or look at or ask a question. But I'm alone and so I log on thinking that someone on facebook will talk to me. That's the misconception. No one will talk to me there. They talk at me or near me or through me or around me, but not to me. And then I have to deal with whatever burdens have been placed on my news feed and instead of having my craving (preference) satisfied, I'm now worried about 8 different people, upset about some political conflict I don't understand and basing my self-worth on the fact that my first boyfriend's daughter is Han Solo, Arwen, the color purple and should live in a cottage in Nepal. Not helpful. I repeat, not helpful.
I'm allergic to sugar. It gives me hives and my tongue fills up my mouth, I can't breathe and for the next two weeks I see everything with a purple hue, I have a taste in my mouth like asparagus and my right eye twitches uncontrollably.
False. Darn it. I'm not allergic, I'm addicted. Why is it that I think I can stay up later, write longer, return more emails, balance my bank account faster, vacuum and love more perfectly if I've had 5 oreos and a glass of milk?
Want one more? Cause good things come in threes? I would rather have my contacts cement to my crispy eyeballs than get up out of bed to take them out. Why? Why can't I move my body? Why can't I be reasonable? Why do I lay down with them in in the first place? Seriously, after 15 years of this phenomenon I haven't learned that when the TV is on, I sit on the bed, lean on the bed, rest on the bed, recline on the bed, lay on the bed.... then sleep on the bed. For the night. So, instead of wearing my glasses for 15 minutes before I go to sleep, I wear them for 15 hours the next day while my eyes recover from their nocturnal cement tomb. Dumb.
Self discipline. Restraint. Willpower. Composure. Moderation. Temperance. Smarts.
I'm allergic to sugar. It gives me hives and my tongue fills up my mouth, I can't breathe and for the next two weeks I see everything with a purple hue, I have a taste in my mouth like asparagus and my right eye twitches uncontrollably.
False. Darn it. I'm not allergic, I'm addicted. Why is it that I think I can stay up later, write longer, return more emails, balance my bank account faster, vacuum and love more perfectly if I've had 5 oreos and a glass of milk?
Want one more? Cause good things come in threes? I would rather have my contacts cement to my crispy eyeballs than get up out of bed to take them out. Why? Why can't I move my body? Why can't I be reasonable? Why do I lay down with them in in the first place? Seriously, after 15 years of this phenomenon I haven't learned that when the TV is on, I sit on the bed, lean on the bed, rest on the bed, recline on the bed, lay on the bed.... then sleep on the bed. For the night. So, instead of wearing my glasses for 15 minutes before I go to sleep, I wear them for 15 hours the next day while my eyes recover from their nocturnal cement tomb. Dumb.
Self discipline. Restraint. Willpower. Composure. Moderation. Temperance. Smarts.
Saturday, March 1, 2014
In like a lion
Remember that saying from elementary school? It goes along with the letter people, cartons of chocolate milk and carrot sticks, impossibly tall steps to climb on to the bus and praying I would never have to go to the bathroom. That's what I remember from my first school, 1st-3rd grade.
But here we are on March 1st and it is perfectly blustery and cold and damp. The rain is coming in sprinkles, shoved around by the east wind. It's landing on soft, mushy, long grass waist deep in mud. Every once in a while I smell something like dill.
I've been walking uphill lately and for the last week there has been a stream of water coming down the street.
I keep forgetting my coat.
David hasn't worn jeans to school for a week and a half.
Corinne doesn't mind walking to rehearsal.
Ben's glove was found in the back yard.
The stupor has gone, the misty vision lifted, the weights of the world sluffing off, I run a little faster, I climb a little quicker, I'm more sure of myself and less worried. It's easier to love and faster to forgive.
I find myself thinking about the ocean and that beautiful road that climbs over the Sierras.
Do you know what this means?
It's March. It's spring. I'm glad.
Thank you winter for reminding me how blessed I am that the snow melts, the cold wind blows briefly, the birds fly back, the flowers only sleep, the leaves were right there all along, and the sun was just on holiday.
I am still loved, still blessed, still adored.
But here we are on March 1st and it is perfectly blustery and cold and damp. The rain is coming in sprinkles, shoved around by the east wind. It's landing on soft, mushy, long grass waist deep in mud. Every once in a while I smell something like dill.
I've been walking uphill lately and for the last week there has been a stream of water coming down the street.
I keep forgetting my coat.
David hasn't worn jeans to school for a week and a half.
Corinne doesn't mind walking to rehearsal.
Ben's glove was found in the back yard.
The stupor has gone, the misty vision lifted, the weights of the world sluffing off, I run a little faster, I climb a little quicker, I'm more sure of myself and less worried. It's easier to love and faster to forgive.
I find myself thinking about the ocean and that beautiful road that climbs over the Sierras.
Do you know what this means?
It's March. It's spring. I'm glad.
Thank you winter for reminding me how blessed I am that the snow melts, the cold wind blows briefly, the birds fly back, the flowers only sleep, the leaves were right there all along, and the sun was just on holiday.
I am still loved, still blessed, still adored.
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Dai.
"Jesus is like Santa, but not fat. And better. He gives everyone what they want. Think of how many gifts He's gived. Think of all the people on the earth. And He's answered every single wish." - Dai Wadley.
Friday, January 17, 2014
The burden and delight of love - Muses from La Traviata
Opera fascinates me.
Not in the -- I can't get enough of it -- kind of way, but more in the -- really? -- kind of way.
But I'm drawn back to it. "Ok, let's try this again."
Is it the 19th century's version of 8th grade drama? But because it's set in another century and you have to go to a university to be able to sing it, then fancy people without enough to do with their time or money will pay $85 to sit in a semi-decent seat to listen to it sung in a language, that albeit beautiful, is not their mother tongue?
I submit, that when examined, the plot line is repeated in grade schools throughout the world. I want to write an opera set over three days in a jr high school. Someone will certainly have to die, but that would be the only real shocker. The rest is the same.
"I don't know how to love, wait - he loves me, so I love him, I've changed my mind, I do know how to love and we are together, but wait - I might ruin his reputation, so I'll go back to someone who is no good for me. This makes him angry and mean. But he is angry and mean because he loves me. So I have no choice but to love him. I do. He does. It's too late, I'm dying."
This is La Traviata - yes? And despite my "really?", I'm completely smitten.
It's gorgeous and passionate and I am drawn in to the story and I fall in love with Alfredo and the sheer magnitude of emotion that erupts on to the stage and into the first few rows is like having your soul cleansed of guile and cynicism.
Opera is a love story boiled down until all of the extras have evaporated into the steamy air, then what's left is baked in the juices of emotion until so tender that the insides come flowing out so freely that one is pushed along in a rush of rich turkey basting love. Delish.
And when it's over, you are exhumed of all the grit and grime that once encrusted your weary heart. And now you are able to love; better and longer and with gratitude and vigor. Because love is a burden and a delight.
I submit again - 8th graders know this. Well, they've just begun to discover it. By sophomore year it is well covered territory, and they are either delighting in it or carrying an eternal burden. They get it. They get the inevitability of attraction and the capricious nature of men and women. It's alive in them. You don't have to have cushy red seats and gold leafed everything and woodwork and tassels and impractically long dresses and tuxedos that don't quit. But somehow love does look more mature all dressed up. It's true.
But the next time you need a purging of the soul, and you don't have $85 to spare, strike up a conversation with your local high school freshman. You'll learn about the burdens and delights of love. And you'll be better somehow. Especially if you validate that passion and pain.
Maybe that's how I should look at it.
Opera is validation - of all we ever experienced in the world of love before we were swept up by practicality, responsibility, and a house in the burbs. Maybe that's why it carries us away. We know the story.
Thankfully, consumption doesn't take us out of the game. We live to die another day.
Not in the -- I can't get enough of it -- kind of way, but more in the -- really? -- kind of way.
But I'm drawn back to it. "Ok, let's try this again."
Is it the 19th century's version of 8th grade drama? But because it's set in another century and you have to go to a university to be able to sing it, then fancy people without enough to do with their time or money will pay $85 to sit in a semi-decent seat to listen to it sung in a language, that albeit beautiful, is not their mother tongue?
I submit, that when examined, the plot line is repeated in grade schools throughout the world. I want to write an opera set over three days in a jr high school. Someone will certainly have to die, but that would be the only real shocker. The rest is the same.
"I don't know how to love, wait - he loves me, so I love him, I've changed my mind, I do know how to love and we are together, but wait - I might ruin his reputation, so I'll go back to someone who is no good for me. This makes him angry and mean. But he is angry and mean because he loves me. So I have no choice but to love him. I do. He does. It's too late, I'm dying."
This is La Traviata - yes? And despite my "really?", I'm completely smitten.
It's gorgeous and passionate and I am drawn in to the story and I fall in love with Alfredo and the sheer magnitude of emotion that erupts on to the stage and into the first few rows is like having your soul cleansed of guile and cynicism.
Opera is a love story boiled down until all of the extras have evaporated into the steamy air, then what's left is baked in the juices of emotion until so tender that the insides come flowing out so freely that one is pushed along in a rush of rich turkey basting love. Delish.
And when it's over, you are exhumed of all the grit and grime that once encrusted your weary heart. And now you are able to love; better and longer and with gratitude and vigor. Because love is a burden and a delight.
I submit again - 8th graders know this. Well, they've just begun to discover it. By sophomore year it is well covered territory, and they are either delighting in it or carrying an eternal burden. They get it. They get the inevitability of attraction and the capricious nature of men and women. It's alive in them. You don't have to have cushy red seats and gold leafed everything and woodwork and tassels and impractically long dresses and tuxedos that don't quit. But somehow love does look more mature all dressed up. It's true.
But the next time you need a purging of the soul, and you don't have $85 to spare, strike up a conversation with your local high school freshman. You'll learn about the burdens and delights of love. And you'll be better somehow. Especially if you validate that passion and pain.
Maybe that's how I should look at it.
Opera is validation - of all we ever experienced in the world of love before we were swept up by practicality, responsibility, and a house in the burbs. Maybe that's why it carries us away. We know the story.
Thankfully, consumption doesn't take us out of the game. We live to die another day.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Without limitation.
I am a creation endowed with His creative power.
He sets me in motion.
I see. I wonder. I wish. I imagine. I understand. I create.
I am the seed of His faith.
We dance so our bodies can speak.
We sing so our hearts can fly.
We paint so our eyes can touch.
We write so our souls can breathe.
Time limits, body's decay, mind's doubt, heart's ache, and the soul desires anyway.
One day I want to understand creativity so perfectly that I will be able to love without limitation.
As He does.
He sets me in motion.
I see. I wonder. I wish. I imagine. I understand. I create.
I am the seed of His faith.
We dance so our bodies can speak.
We sing so our hearts can fly.
We paint so our eyes can touch.
We write so our souls can breathe.
Time limits, body's decay, mind's doubt, heart's ache, and the soul desires anyway.
One day I want to understand creativity so perfectly that I will be able to love without limitation.
As He does.
Saturday, April 13, 2013
How to live an unremarkable life: and other blogable thoughts.
I keep a running list of things that I'd like to blog about someday. Some of them I haven't tackled because I haven't found the time, others because they frighten me so, and some because I forget about the list when I sit down to write. So in case I don't find all the time in this life time, here's the current list at any rate...
*One could describe middle age, and for all I know old age as well, as a recovery from youth. A recovery from the lies we believed, the ones we told ourselves, the perceptions we misunderstood, the ones we naively held up as virtuous, the boys we loved, the girls we revered... At 39 I'm on the road to recovery, but it may take another 10 years to get back on my feet completely.
*Watching sports with Rich has become a talent of mine. More than a pastime or a skill, but something that enriches my life and in which I find joy in the pursuit of excellence.
*My English friends take the middle syllable out of my name. I should continue my reports of English/American studies. There is so much more to tell.
*Marriage pulls the dysfunction out of our souls, pulls it to the surface and sets it on fire.
*I'm not brilliant and how to recover from that realisation.
*You know that incredible moment when the sun light is more horizontal than vertical and as you start to close your heavy lids, the light reflects off of your lashes and they scatter tiny circles of sunshine?
*Whipping Cream is wonderful. Whipping cream and coconut. I can't get enough. I dropped a single waffle square drooping with real whipping cream into the book I am reading. Ate the square and licked the page clean. I feel completely satisfied with my ability to make waffles. Next… to conquer the process of cleaning the iron. Honestly, I lack the passion for it. Or other squeaky clean pursuits.
*I have a strong desire to improve my vocabulary.
*Why don’t I get out of the bed to take my contacts out?, and other silly habits I should have overcome by the age of 15. They fritz against my eyeballs and I can feel the crust taking hold. Its gets harder and harder to blink and I sit in a permanent squint. Its hard to think of much else, but I don’t get up. I’m warm.
*"I need not hurry myself; there is no good in that - but I must work on in full camases and serenity, as regularly and concentratedly as possible, as briefly and concisely as possible". - Van Gogh. How could someone with so much clarity as evidenced in this sentence, also be so tormented? I think I know a little about that answer.
*"By painting the sky, Van Gogh was really able to see it and adore it better than if he had just looked at it." - Ueland. You will never understand your husband unless you write his story. What a challenge. I want to do this.
*The rewards of an unremarkable life, and how to live one purposefully. This is important.
*My creative pursuits: writing of late, losing weight - a lifetime objective, loving, forgiving, teaching,
adoring Rich, performing, mothering; and how they are all the same objective.
*Writing: What I know so far. It is not a performance, but a generosity.
*"If one is imaginative enough, one can love others with all their limitations." THIS IS IT! This is the reason to foster creativity, empathy, forgiveness and generosity. My favorite virtues. - Maybe this is where I'll start.
*One could describe middle age, and for all I know old age as well, as a recovery from youth. A recovery from the lies we believed, the ones we told ourselves, the perceptions we misunderstood, the ones we naively held up as virtuous, the boys we loved, the girls we revered... At 39 I'm on the road to recovery, but it may take another 10 years to get back on my feet completely.
*Watching sports with Rich has become a talent of mine. More than a pastime or a skill, but something that enriches my life and in which I find joy in the pursuit of excellence.
*My English friends take the middle syllable out of my name. I should continue my reports of English/American studies. There is so much more to tell.
*Marriage pulls the dysfunction out of our souls, pulls it to the surface and sets it on fire.
*I'm not brilliant and how to recover from that realisation.
*You know that incredible moment when the sun light is more horizontal than vertical and as you start to close your heavy lids, the light reflects off of your lashes and they scatter tiny circles of sunshine?
*Whipping Cream is wonderful. Whipping cream and coconut. I can't get enough. I dropped a single waffle square drooping with real whipping cream into the book I am reading. Ate the square and licked the page clean. I feel completely satisfied with my ability to make waffles. Next… to conquer the process of cleaning the iron. Honestly, I lack the passion for it. Or other squeaky clean pursuits.
*I have a strong desire to improve my vocabulary.
*Why don’t I get out of the bed to take my contacts out?, and other silly habits I should have overcome by the age of 15. They fritz against my eyeballs and I can feel the crust taking hold. Its gets harder and harder to blink and I sit in a permanent squint. Its hard to think of much else, but I don’t get up. I’m warm.
*"I need not hurry myself; there is no good in that - but I must work on in full camases and serenity, as regularly and concentratedly as possible, as briefly and concisely as possible". - Van Gogh. How could someone with so much clarity as evidenced in this sentence, also be so tormented? I think I know a little about that answer.
*"By painting the sky, Van Gogh was really able to see it and adore it better than if he had just looked at it." - Ueland. You will never understand your husband unless you write his story. What a challenge. I want to do this.
*The rewards of an unremarkable life, and how to live one purposefully. This is important.
*My creative pursuits: writing of late, losing weight - a lifetime objective, loving, forgiving, teaching,
adoring Rich, performing, mothering; and how they are all the same objective.
*Writing: What I know so far. It is not a performance, but a generosity.
*"If one is imaginative enough, one can love others with all their limitations." THIS IS IT! This is the reason to foster creativity, empathy, forgiveness and generosity. My favorite virtues. - Maybe this is where I'll start.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
English part deux
If I learned about English/American speech in 2011, I learnt about English/American spelling in 2012.
realise
baptise
organise
learnt
alright
colour
favourite
neighbour
paralyse
dialogue
quarelled
skilful
ageing
programme
cheque
cosy
grey
gaol
mould
plough
centre
theatre
zed
and this is just the beginning love...
realise
baptise
organise
learnt
alright
colour
favourite
neighbour
paralyse
dialogue
quarelled
skilful
ageing
programme
cheque
cosy
grey
gaol
mould
plough
centre
theatre
zed
and this is just the beginning love...
Clichés.
Woa. A whirlwind of life the last month. Douglas has been in the MTC for 25 days. I can assure you that all of the missionary-mom clichés apply, so feel free to shout them out or pencil them in. People kept telling me that the first week was going to be hard, but without having experienced it before I obviously didn't know what to expect really. It took a good 10 days after the first week had passed before I could explain what that first week was like. I had to keep reminding my sub-conscious that he hadn't died. If the sub-conscious is the gut of the brain - that was my brain's gut reaction - he'd died. Little things would trigger the thought process; his sock on the bathroom floor, accidentally calling David - Douglas, packing his last few shirts, finding his boots in the trunk of my car, coming home to an empty house for lunch, talking to the bank about his account, Jessica wearing his hat, and of course his uninhabited bedroom. It was a collection of heart sinking sorrow moments, combined with jubilation at the immediate reminder that the gut reaction was wrong and this boy was coming home to us - eventually. Sympathy for friends who have lost children or loved ones was overwhelming during that week and I prayed so fervently for dear ones.
I testify that my favorite cliché from the last month is that hearing from said missionary is like oxygen for the heart and soul. It's true! No wait. Maybe it's that the missionary is having such an incredible time learning about their purpose in the MTC that they don't show any signs of missing their family. Oh, but - there's also the one about feeling closer as a family and unified and all of that hoop-lah. There is a lack of original thought or experience implied in clichés, but when it has not been a truism in your own life clichés are total game changers. We are changed. Life is better. It tastes so good.
I testify that my favorite cliché from the last month is that hearing from said missionary is like oxygen for the heart and soul. It's true! No wait. Maybe it's that the missionary is having such an incredible time learning about their purpose in the MTC that they don't show any signs of missing their family. Oh, but - there's also the one about feeling closer as a family and unified and all of that hoop-lah. There is a lack of original thought or experience implied in clichés, but when it has not been a truism in your own life clichés are total game changers. We are changed. Life is better. It tastes so good.
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