Love Poem

Makes you high
Makes you cry
Makes you wonder why you try
Love sucks

Makes you crazy
Thoughts all hazy
Makes you wanna push up daisies
Love sucks

Brain’s irrational
Heart is smashable
Emotions rising, falling, crashable
Love sucks

Makes you question
Overthinking, obsession
Desperately seek some kind of direction
Love sucks

But it gives you hope
So you try to cope
And you tie a triple knot in your rope
Love sucks


This random nonsense was inspired by and is dedicated to a couple of my crazy girlfriends.  You know who you are...

Triple Grande Mocha, Extra Hot, No Whip Please

If you follow my blog much, you already know that I’m friends with all of the gals (plus Tom) at my nail place.  I’ve tutored several of them in English and helped edit their papers.  They treat me like family when I go there because we have an ongoing relationship.  I know their names, and they know mine.  I think there is something to that. 

There is something about calling a person by name that is special.  When I can greet students by name, they light up.  They somehow know that to be known, matters.  I wish I could call them all by name. 

On one of several Starbucks runs last week, it dawned on me that I see the people in my favorite store more frequently than my family.  Certainly not with the intensity or duration, but in terms of frequency, my baristas are very familiar faces.

The more I thought about how often I visit, the more it bothered me that I know none of their names.  They are always super friendly, and we chat briefly over my order.  They’ve never messed up my drink, and they always smile and wish me well.  Occasionally, like this Saturday morning, I’ll hang out in their living room sipping a warm treat, enjoying a rare moment to just relax and escape into the pages of a favorite book.  And yet, I don’t know their names.

When last week’s tragedy happened, one of the things the media reported about the shooter was that he was a loner.  It seems like that is always the case in these kinds of events.  I guess mental illness was also a factor, but it bothers me that these people are always so disconnected from others.  I don’t understand why there are so many people who feel alone.  Unnoticed.  

I’m not suggesting that all school shootings could be avoided by someone befriending one of these isolated kids, but I sure don’t think it would hurt.  People isolate themselves because they are hurting.

But I don’t think we were designed by our creator to live in isolation, to brave the world alone.  I was struck yet again by the truth of this while I was sitting in Starbucks reading from Cross Roads.  Jesus tells Tony, the protagonist, “You can’t do any of this on your own or even on your own terms.  You were created by a community to exist in community, made in the image of a God who has never known anything except community.”

While I don’t fully understand the Trinity as community, I do get what he is saying.  God exists in community as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  One, and yet three.  Yeah…it boggles the mind.  But it emphasizes our innate need for community.  To be known and to know others. 

I love, love, love the lyrics to the song, “He Knows My Name.”

I have a Maker
He formed my heart
Before even time began
My life was in his hands

I have a Father
He calls me His own
He'll never leave me
No matter where I go

He knows my name
He knows my every thought
He sees each tear that falls
And He hears me when I call.


There is something special about being called by your name.  Belonging to a community of people who know you and notice your absence. 

We have opportunities every day to mingle in a whole slew of communities.  Family, church, work, school, Facebook, Happy Nails, and even Starbucks. 

I think it’s time for me to introduce myself to my baristas.

Pants on Fire

Biggest lie I ever told
Was to myself

My squeezy nieces,
Witty nephews
Greatest aunt
That’s enough.

School kids need me
No mom’s at home
It’s why I’m there
That’s enough.

Friends have babies
They share the love
The Eskimo kisses
And that’s enough.

But sometimes –
It’s not.

What's your story?

In the last couple of weeks, I’ve had some big stuff walk into my little office.  I’ve listened to a couple of different girls as they sobbed, grieving the loss of their virginity.  They felt dirty and used when the boys to whom they gave this precious gift then moved on to others just days later.  I cried with them.

 

One student casually mentioned that his dad gets furious with him when he won’t buy drugs for him.  He said, “I’m a teenager; of course I can get drugs.  But why should I spend my money on drugs for him?”  The disturbing part of the conversation was just how casually it was said.  So easily shared.

 

Three different students told me they could never talk to their parents the way they talk to me.

 

Everyone has a story.  Every person you come into contact with every day, has a story.  I’ve come to believe that the vast majority of people are also eager to share their stories.  If only someone would listen.  And care.

 

Too often we are in a hurry.  Rushed.  Running through the drive thru.  But sometimes we need to stop and savor the gourmet meal of someone’s story. 

 

There is an old hymn that comes to mind dealing with stories.  The words are simple, “Tell me the story of Jesus; write on my heart every word.  Tell me the story most precious; sweetest that ever was heard.”

 

I think that when we are open to hearing someone’s story, and sitting with them through the dark and dank parts of it, we are silently speaking the story of Jesus right back to them.  The story of love and acceptance.  The story of not casting stones.

 

 

 

*For every story I hear, I know I’ve rushed through ten.  So don’t hear me saying I have this all together.  I don’t.  This is a challenge for the reader AND the writer.

You Can't Take It With You When You Go

I made a casual remark the other day about a couple of the top five things I'd grab on the way out if my home were on fire.  That lead to more serious thought about it, so I figured I'd share.  And to be totally honest, it only took me about three minutes of serious contemplation to come up with ...

The Top Five!

 

5.  Dad's mug.  I vividly remember him drinking coffee from this mug. 

Coffee in Dad's mug smells like home.

 

4.  These are the best little banana bread loaf pans on the planet!  My mom gave them to me.  They are also fabulous for meatloaf and other various things.  I've never seen any like them.  They have the best non stick coating.  They've been cut on (you can see the marks) but they still work perfectly every time.

 

3.  My charm bracelet.  It is symbolic of my journey and often serves as a reminder of where I've been (metaphorically) and where I'm going and what truly matters.

 

2.  Dad's original Enthusiasm Socks.  Obnoxious aren't they?  Love them!  Look closely; you can see the holes.  I wear them occasionally.  Attitude is everything.

 

1.  Zip drive that holds my writing.  The ultimate journal.  Actually, I'd grab either my laptop or the drive, whichever was handier.  The drive lives in my purse so that it is nearly always with me.  Not everything I write is fabulous.  Some of it is terrible.  But it is probably my favorite thing.  Certainly my favorite form of stress/anger/anxiety management.  It is also a secret window into my heart and the crazy way my brain works.  If you REALLY want to know me, ask to read my stuff.  If you really want to LOVE me, appreciate the sharing of it.

 

 

So there you have it.  My most prized possessions.  In the grand scheme of things, stuff just doesn't matter.  People matter.  Relationships matter.  The journey matters.  

 

Baby Steps to Peace

Years ago, I went through Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University, but I must admit that for the past two years I haven't been very peaceful.  I took control of most of my life, but haven't done a great job getting a handle on finances.  So when it was time for the FPU class at church, I figured it was time to make some changes. 

So far, I haven't been taking control very well.  I didn't get around to signing up for the class, so my mom did it for me.  Yay Mom!  Then I missed the first class yesterday because I was sick.  I stayed home from school today and started feeling better this afternoon.  In fact, I was feeling guilty about being home, so I decided to listen to the CD from the class I missed yesterday.  It started going through the Baby Steps. 

Step One:  Start an emergency fund with $1000

A while back, I started saving all of my spare change in canning jars.  While I was listening to the lesson, I decided I needed to take advantage of the day off and go deposit that money in my savings account.

Those change machines at the credit union are super fun to use!  Here was my jar deposit.

The left receipt was $123.93.  The right you can see.  For a grand total of $144.16!!!  Woohoo!  I took those handy receipts to the teller and deposited them, along with the cash from the jars for a total of $170.16.  Yay!  I had set aside another $400 to add to it, bringing me to $570.16.  Over half way to completing my first baby step.

It isn't as if I'm in the poor house or anything, and retirement is well in the works.  It's the day to day things and overuse of a credit card that have been doing me in.

So, today starts the journey toward getting financially peaceful again.  The journey is a little scary on your own, so I'm taking advantage of my emotional support resources including my mom and a very good single friend who is in the same boat.

This week's homework includes a basic budget, the sight of which makes me anxious, not peaceful.  I'll have to tackle it another day.  Baby steps, you know.  =]

Call me, maybe?

“Love my Smart phone but miss the days when I wasn't accessible by everyone 24/7. I need to establish better boundaries between work time and home time.”

 

This was a recent post by a friend of mine that really has me thinking about boundaries.  I’ve actually been thinking about it quite a bit lately.  Technology has been such a blessing in so many ways; I love keeping track of my friends and family in Amarillo and Oregon this way.  But it does bring with it a number of liabilities.  Loss of privacy and down time being one of them.

 

Working in schools, we are warned about using caution with Facebook, Twitter, and other social media.  But I’ll admit that I love the convenience of having a Facebook page for my school.  I regularly post answers to student questions and announcements about important upcoming events. 

 

Recently though, I crossed a line into another area where most do not go.  Texting.  I am now among the many people who do not have a home phone.  I only have my cell.  I’d estimate that the vast majority of my students at school are the same.  Reaching them at “home” is next to impossible.  And as a high school counselor, I regularly have the need to reach students, not parents.  I need to know what class they would like to take since AP European History did not make.  I need to know their preference when AP Spanish Language and the band period they need are in conflict.  And I suppose the kids who take these types of classes might be considered the good and trustworthy ones, so why not text them?

 

But I also have the need to reach students who haven’t shown up to first period.  Kids who need to go sign up for a night school course.  Those who have lost credit for so many classes that their schedules are thirty minute logic puzzles with a variety of solution options that have to be discussed and weighed against available funds and time conflicts.

 

Mostly, students don’t answer their phones.  But they will answer a text.  I started texting kids quite a bit more this school year.  Our school allows texting in the hallways, and some teachers use them in class as part of the lesson.  I frequently receive emails and texts from kids during class.  It cracks me up. 

 

When students come see me these days, I always ask for their cell numbers and email addresses.  I promise I won’t forward dumb things or text them randomly.  I just want to be able to reach them when I need them.  They are only too happy to pass along the numbers. 

 

Oddly, the population I end up getting the most numbers from is the group who is woefully behind in credits, regularly tardy and/or absent, frequently high, and often have children.  Why?  Because these are the kids with whom I most regularly need to be in contact.  They gladly give me their numbers.  And even as I’m writing them down, I tell them that I want their numbers so that I can text or call them to harass them when they miss school.  So I can bug them when their grades drop.  So I can push and cajole and bug them all the way to the graduation finish line.

 

And you know what happens every single time?  They smile.

 

One such student recently gave me her number.  I had a variety of issues to work out on her schedule and ultimately took a picture of the new schedule on my computer screen and sent it to her.  Pretty cool, huh? 

 

Unfortunately, this same student and a friend of hers ran away.  She texted me about what was going on, and I called.  I wasn’t able to convince them to make a different choice.  Their parents have reported them as runaways, so the police are now involved. 

 

I don’t know where they are.  But thanks to that same boundary killing technology, I do know they are safe.  They promised to continue checking in with me.  I don’t know how long this will last.  I’m guessing that at some point they will abandon those phones; the police have those numbers.  But they do still have my number.  And I’m okay with that.  Maybe, just maybe, if they get too far in over their heads, they will reach out.

Baby Squish

Tonight
I held a baby
He kicked
His happy legs

He watched
My mouth
Intent
On my nonsense
Words

He waved
Chubby hands
Patting my cheeks
And chest

He smiled,
And squeezed
My heart

Filling
The hole
For a time

Lessons and Likes

*Always carry a bag big enough to hold papers and crafts from church, camera, unwanted bows, etc.

*Keep bag stocked with Kleenex and gum at all times.

*Call it “rest” instead of “nap”.  Less complaint, more sleeping.

*Having to create a seat rotation at the table so that everyone has equal chances to sit by you is a GREAT problem to have.

*Never leave the house without a potty stop.

*When the older girls are big enough to fix breakfast and start the coffee, life is GOOD!

*With four girls, mediation skills are a MUST!

*Nothing like being awakened by sweet little girls sneaking in your bed.

*Make chores a game.

*Positive reinforcement is the best thing for dogs…AND kids.

*Shower time is an exercise in hilarity when two little girls are involved.  Expect streaking and giggeling.

*Always use the special “no hurt” brush.

*Singing makes a long walk shorter.

*Always check the distance before choosing to walk.

*Always pack snacks.

*No matter how tired your feet are, you still have the strength for a piggyback if it means making the trip faster.

*Magic kisses heal all wounds.

*When all else fails, get your “banana hands” ready!

Ivy League

Of all of the plants I enjoy growing, I love ivy best.  One of the most common houseplants, the pothos ivy, add a touch of vibrant green to any room.  My love of ivy began years ago with my mom.  Mom has always loved and grown houseplants.  I’ve watched her water, prune, trim and transplant for as long as I can remember.

Ivy is special to me for several reasons.  The most obvious reason is that they are difficult to kill.  You can forget an ivy for a month, notice it looks wilty, neglect it for another week, water, and in hours, it is perky and full of life again.  It is such a resilient little plant.  If you do not have a green thumb, the ivy is your best friend.

When my family moved from Michigan to Texas, my mom brought her plants.  And they survived.  When I moved from Amarillo back to Houston, it was my ivy that best weathered the climate change and the twelve hour drive complete with spills and squashing.

My favorite thing about the ivy is their rebirth potential.  Growing up, I always watched my mom’s ivy clippings in wonder.  You can cut a portion of the ivy vine from the momma plant, set the clipping in water, and the tiny nodules on the vine will grow into roots.  The longer you leave the ivy in the water, the longer the roots will become.  Once the baby plant is rooted, you can pot it in soil to become a separate and new plant.  One ivy can literally turn into an endless supply for your home, work, and friends.

The best way to make a new pot of ivy is to combine a couple of rooted clipping samples into one pot.  When I moved home, I asked mom for one of her clippings.  It is rare that she doesn’t have a rooting strand of ivy on her bar.  I combined one of her clippings with one of mine to make a whole new pot that now lives at my school.  For me, it symbolizes the deep roots that we have in the Pasadena school district.  It seemed appropriate to have it there.

The ivy that I purchased two years ago in Amarillo has thrived.  It has become a large and lush and vibrant plant.  Since I’ve been in Houston, I’ve started two new plants from it and just clipped some new pieces tonight.

I feel as though my life in the last two years has mirrored my Ama-Ivy.  I had a slow start, and some bumps and spills and squashings.  But two years later, I’ve rooted and grown into a more bright and healthy me.

I’ve decided that I want to continue to be like an ivy.  I want to be able to bounce back quickly from a period of drought.  I want to continue to grow despite climate change and comfort level.  I want to plant seeds in my kids that will root and grow.  I think the ivy as role model is just the thing.

"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener.  He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit He prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.  You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you.  Remain in me, as I also remain in you."

John 15:1-3

In Pursuit of a Daughter

As I dip one tentative toe into the scary waters of the dating pool, I’ve found that there is one thing that I want most but is also the most difficult for me to allow.  I want to be pursued.  Chased.  And that is difficult.  I’m not terribly patient.  But more than that, I’m a social and outgoing gal, so I find it difficult to hold back and allow someone the opportunity to pursue me.

I’ve actually given this quite a bit of thought lately as I’ve talked to some interesting men and listened to the advice of friends.  It has caused me to think back on my life and history in dating and friendships.  The more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve come to the conclusion that there is really only one person who has consistently pursued a relationship with me in my life.  I have had some incredible friends over the years and some long relationships.  But generally speaking, I am the initiator of contact in those relationships.  I do not mean this as an insult to my friends, because when I need them, my girls are always there.  And I think it is probably our different personalities that cause me to be the initiator.  It may even be best for it to be this way.  I don’t know.

But there is one person who has NEVER quit pursuing me.  My mom.  We are close.  Losing my dad so young, and it being just she, John, and I when I was in high school and college forged a close bond between us. 

Now don’t get me wrong, Mom and I have traveled a rough road.  There was a time when I was too much the “partner” and not enough the daughter.  But we worked through that and were healthier as a result.  And she never quit trying.

For many years during my marriage, I pushed her away.  I shut her out of anything painful because I needed her to continue to like my husband.  Our relationship suffered.  But she didn’t quit pursuing me.  She held back when she wanted to poke at things, but she was still there.  She knew I was hurting and didn’t know all of the reasons why, but she kept following.  She stayed several paces back behind the wall I created, but she was there.

On the Sunday morning I called in tears to tell her I was leaving a 13 year marriage, she kept right on pursuing.  She didn’t know all the reasons why, but she knew me.  Even from the distance I’d created between us, she knew me well enough to know that if I was leaving, there was reason.  She got in the car the very next morning and pursued me eleven hours across Texas.   And when she got there, she hugged me, loved me, rolled up her sleeves and helped me without asking anything or demanding to know why. 

In the two years since then, my life has completely changed.  Not only did I move closer, but I also let her back in my life.  We are probably closer now than we ever have been.  There have been bumps for sure.  We’ve had to work through the process of some appropriate boundaries and the change of being in close proximity again.  But she still pursues me.  Because she’s my mom.  And that’s what mom’s do.

My mom is an amazing woman.  She survived the loss of the love of her life.  She raised four great kids.  She stood by two of us through terrible and unexpected divorces and one through a terrible, heart breaking loss.  She listens to her kids when we let her in and doesn’t push when we don’t.  She is the best organizer and filer on the planet and will gladly come over and conquer your stacks of paper for a diet coke.  She hauls the grandkids and takes them forgotten homework.  She surprises her daughter in law with loads of washed, dried, and folded laundry and her daughter with a cleaned apartment.  She would do the same for her long distance daughter in law if she were near.  She isn’t a dog person at all but asks me about Lola regularly.  She pets and loves her “grand-dog” because she is her daughter’s “baby”.  And through all of this, she continues the raising of a 25 year old mentally retarded adult.  I could sing her praises for that alone for another twenty pages.

I am phenomenally blessed to have a mom who has never quit pursuing me. 

Love you mom.  Happy Mother’s Day.

Campers Beware!

They say that camping can be bliss

But I say, camp at your own risk!

There are dangers everywhere

From holes in ground to broken chairs.

Something grabbed me in the shelter

Threw me down all helter skelter.

Skinned my knees and broke my foot

Covered my clothes with dirt and soot.

Once a hole attacked poor Allison

Grabbed her foot and pulled her downison.

A long board threw our precious Trey

Made his arm and leg bones pay.

Even Scott could not escape

A greenstick fracture was his fate.

Mark and Bev were worst of all

Walking trails made their hearts fall

Marriage was to be their fate

And now we camp with daughter Faith.

So Live!

When I taught American Literature to Juniors in high school, I always taught the poem “Thanatopsis” by William Cullen Bryant.  He was one of our great Romantic poets who often wrote about nature.  “Thanatopsis” is probably his most well known poem and certainly my favorite.  Basically, the poem is about death from the perspective of nature.  We all live, die, and return to the earth.  Whether king or peasant, the roots of trees will pierce our flesh and worms digest us.  Sounds depressing and gross right?

Well, there is more to it than that.  He ends with the following lines:

                        So live, that when thy summons comes to join

                        The innumerable caravan which moves

                        To that mysterious realm where each shall take

                        His chamber in the silent halls of death,

                        Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

                        Scourged by his dungeon; but, sustain'd and soothed

                        By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

                        Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

                       About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

At the end, he concludes (very loosely) that if we are all bound for the same destiny, we have nothing to fear.  And therefore, we should approach death “sustain’d and soothed” rather than with dread.

And that’s all fine and good.  Obviously, as a Christian, I have fairly different ideas about the afterlife.  And my beliefs do allow me to approach death without fear.  But death isn’t actually the point I’m trying to make at all.  Seriously…stay with me.

My favorite part of the whole piece is the two little words that start the conclusion, “So live”.  I don’t think the comma after the words is accidental.  We poets use our commas and periods very carefully.  We only place them where we want a pause, a break.  And much of the time, we want our reader to pause for a reason.  I typically pause when I want to make a point.  Or when I want you to really think.

I think the entire message of this poem about death is not death at all.  It’s life!  So LIVE, he says.

Too much of the time, we spend our lives not truly living, but sort of strolling through in a trance.  Do you ever drive home from work, and when you get there, wonder how you did because you don’t remember the trip?  THAT’S what I’m talking about.

I do not want to go through life wondering how I got there.  Wherever “there” is.  I don’t want to get to the end and fear.  I don’t want to get to the end and regret.  I don't want to get to the end and wonder how I got there.  I want to truly be present in my own life.

I was talking to a friend this weekend about how much we enjoy doing “nothing”.  I spend a LOT of time doing “nothing”.  Games, Facebook, watching television, can all be “nothing”.  Not necessarily, but they can. 

Recently I’ve sort of unplugged.  I haven’t played WoW in weeks.  The last two weekends I haven’t watched more than a few hours of television.  I’ve cleaned, listened to music, spent time with Lola, watched softball, cooked for friends, read, started writing more seriously, connected with some new people…to name just a few things.

I’m sure that I’ll keep watching television and playing computer games.  I’ll read books and wile away hours on Facebook.  But, I also want to make sure I’m really present in my own life. 

I want to “So live,”…

Just Another Day

Parents fighting
Tires slashed
Resolve to leave
Never lasts

Teen mom
Missing daughter
Mother in law
Saboteur

Skipping class
Geometry fear
Mom’s tough love
More shed tears

AP classes
So much work
Fear of failure
No self worth

Fear success
Procrastinate
To cope with stress
Alienate

Student transfer
Sad, sad tune
Transfer revoked
A liar’s doom

Thinking twice
‘bout my life
It’s another day
In paradise.

 
Yesterday was a little crazy and exhausting.  But I love it still.  And as I was reflecting on it, Phil Collin's "Another Day in Paradise" came to mind.  As tough as the day was, I left here and went to the doctor for a regular check up, paid my $25 copay and got to see him.  Not only do I have insurance, I also have the money to pay the copay. 
 
Then I went home where I was greeted by Lola who thinks I'm God's gift to canine's...this after being crated all day.  Then I opened my refrigerator and pulled out food, which I never lack for.  I heated it in my handy microwave.  Watched DVR'd programming while I ate it.  And relaxed with my laptop in my recliner.  Took Lola for a walk around a lake in my cozy complex.  Then went to bed in my comfy bed with fancy sheets and covers.
 
Yep.  I've got it pretty good indeed.

Allergies

My head is puffed
My nose is stuffed
My eyes are gooked
I’ve had enough!

If I lean o’er
My nose will pour
It’s skin is sore
I hate this stuff!

Pardon me please
It’s time to sneeze
Hope I don’t pee
Allergies suck!

Lessons from Lola - Poop Happens

Unfortunately, because Lola was exclusively an outside dog prior to moving in with me, she isn’t 100% house broken.  For the most part, she has done great.  But let’s face it, I work long days.  And until she adjusts, well…poop happens. 

So here’s the thing.  Lola doesn’t want to have an accident inside.  She sure doesn’t want to do anything that upsets me because she is an extreme pleaser.  She loves her momma very much.  But until she gets adjusted to my schedule, she may from time to time have an accident.  And it really isn’t her fault.  So I’m not going to waste time and energy getting overly upset about it.  The good news?  I have wood and tile floors.  Cleanup is a breeze.  Doesn’t mean I want to do it, but at least it isn’t terrible.

I’ve been thinking about this situation in relation to life in general.  Bad stuff just happens.  The windshield wiper breaks.  The paperwork piles up.  The coworker gets bent out of shape.  The laundry pile grows.  The bill gets forgotten.  The dishwasher breaks.  You get the idea.  Poop happens.  It is our response to the poop that really and truly matters.

I find that the older I get, the less I’m inclined to get all crazy about this stuff.  Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t like it when it feels like everything that can go wrong does.  But getting all worked up about it serves no purpose whatsoever. 

With Lola, there are only a few things I can control.  I can take her out consistently.  I can control when and how much she eats and drinks.  I can usually control how long I’ll be gone.  I can control how I choose to train her.  In fact, I’m going to go buy a kennel today in order to begin crate training.  That is something I can control.  Something I can do to make the situation better.

The rest of life is the same.  There are only a limited number of things you can control.  You do your best to take care of those things, to be proactive in maintenance, etc.  But ultimately, when poop happens, as it always will, you then get to decide how you are going to respond.  Are you going to pout and mope for a week?  Are you going to whine to all of your friends and colleagues?  Or are you going to put your big girl panties on and just deal with it.  Better yet, are you going to put your enthusiasm socks on and jump in and get the poop cleaned up.

IM

Instant music
Instant words
Instant albums
Instant books

What happened to the vinyl?
The snap crackle pop.
What happened to the lyrics?
Raw and bloody thought.

What happened to the hardback?
Smell of fresh new words.
What happened to the pages?
Savored as their turned.

Instant pleasure
Instant food
Instant message
Instant group

What happened to the oven?
Baking something fresh.
What happened to the table?
Where the family met.

What happened to the talking?
Picking up the phone.
What happened to the listening?
Reading face and tone.

Instant missing
Instant bored
Instant distance
Instant ignore


This inspiration came from a conversation with a musician friend.  Thanks Mark.

Comfort Food

Sleeping late

With “stolen” blanket

Morning coffee

Hazelnut

Sipped in silence

On balcony oasis

Smell of flowers

Sound of chimes

Reading Koontz

Cover to cover

Criminal Minds

For dessert

Random thoughts

Crafted carefully

Cookies in milk

In Dad’s old mug

Lessons from Lola - Unleashed

It’s been four days, and I’ve already learned many lessons from Lola.  I’m sure none of you will be surprised that I’d want to share them.  So be warned, I’ve already got several of these lessons brewing in my head.  =]

Besides house breaking, so far, the most important training for Lola and I involves our daily walks.  Lola has to learn how to walk beside me on a leash.  It’s not ok to drag me.  It’s not ok for me to have to drag her.  It’s also not ok for her to attack other dogs, chase every leftover dog smell, or tangle me up in the leash.

The training basically happens naturally with the leash.  The key is that I have to hold it consistently.  When she tries to run ahead, it tugs her back.  She doesn’t like that, so she quits.  When she lags behind, I keep walking.  She either walks or gets dragged.  It hasn’t taken her long to catch on. 

I’ve noticed that there are basically two exceptions to this overall good behavior.  One is when I am inconsistent.  If I let her chase smells for a few minutes, she then wants to take advantage of the slack in the leash and lead me all over the complex.  The second is when there are other major distractions, namely dogs.

So as I’m going on these walks, observing her behavior, I’m thinking about how it applies to me.  First, I, like the rest of the world, need consistent boundaries.  Whether I set them for myself or someone else sets them for me, I need them.  I need that gentle tug on my collar when I rush out ahead to do something stupid without giving it any thought.  I also need that gentle tug when I lag behind.  Whether I’m lagging behind at work, or lagging behind in life, I need the boundaries.  I need the tugs that tell me to get it into gear.  They might come in the form of deadlines.  They might be gentle reminders from friends.  They might be natural consequences of my actions.  But whatever form they come in, I need them.

And then there are all of those other doggone distractions.  Other dogs.  Sometimes a simple “no” will keep Lola on track.  But sometimes I’m literally dragging her away, and she is fighting me so hard I nearly lift her off the ground by her collar, which can’t possibly feel good.  But she fights on.  And frankly, it’s in her nature to do so.  Checking out other dogs and people and smells is what dogs do.  So to train her otherwise, is no easy task.

Again, I’m thinking of myself and humanity in general.  According to scripture, we have a sinful nature.  It is in our nature to poke our noses into all kinds of places they have no business being.  And it’s not like you can escape temptation.  It walks right on the same sidewalk toward you blocking your path.  And for me, sometimes “no” is all it takes to keep me from doing something stupid.  But sometimes, I think I fight the leash and nearly strangle myself to get into trouble that God would clearly like for me to avoid. 

I suspect that this training that Lola and I are doing is going to continue for as long as she is mine.  I’m sure she will get the hang of things for the most part, but I’d bet that there is occasionally going to come along some kind of trouble that she just can’t resist sniffing out.  But I am not going to let go of the leash and allow her to get eaten by some big mean dog…or the little pesky ones.

I’m also pretty sure that my training is going to be lifelong as well.  But I’m 100% sure that my trainer won’t give up on me.

Nightmares

Scream awake
Dark night dreams
Subconscious
Fights the demons.
Lie awake
Chase the tail
Escaping back
Inside my head.
Scream awake
Security
Run away
From darkness.
Chase the light
Lay back down
Darkness now
Is fading.

I don't remember having nightmares as a kid, but as an adult, they've become a regular occurrence.  About four years ago, their regularity and severity increased.  Two years ago, I was having them several nights a week.  Typically, I scream and wake up.  Sometimes I go right back to sleep.  Sometimes not. 

The number and frequency of them has decreased dramatically in the last year, but last night was a doozy.  I guess my brain continues to work on things while I sleep.  I scared Kim and Lola half to death when I screamed in the waking.  My neighbors probably don't appreciate it either.  I don't even remember what last night's terror was about specifically, just the general theme.  I'm so glad they are on the decline.

Long Journey Home

Kim and I set out for Houston at about 12:30 a.m.  We'd gone to bed early so that we could get up and out and home quickly.  As it turns out, the trip was a couple hours longer than usual for extra stops and time for walking Lola. 

Lola was a great traveler and slept the vast majority of the trip on her knew car blanket.

When we finally made it to my apartment, I was surprised to discover that Lola had never done stairs before.  Guess who carried her up three flights?

She was shaking and very afraid by the time we made it inside.  She looked around and investigated a little, but mostly stayed right beside me.

She finally began to wander around and investigate.  She disappeared in to my room and suddenly began to bark.  It was the first time she had barked all day.  I hopped up and went to see what she had cornered.  This is what I found.

In case you can't quite make that out, she found herself, in my bathroom mirror.  Too funny.  I finally had to close the bathroom door because she kept going back to check out the scary dog in the other room.

Not long after figuring out where her food and water were, she needed to go out.  This time, my arms were free of bags, and it was just me and Lola.  With very little prompting, she walked down all three flights of stairs by herself.  Yay!  We then walked all the way around the lake so she could get the lay of the land and sniff things out.  At the beginning of the walk, she battled against the leash.  By the end, she was walking right beside me on my right, almost perfectly.  I was pretty impressed.  So glad I've been getting trained watching all of those dog shows on the Animal Network!

We got to the stairs, and she slowly made her way the entire three flights back up.  I'm pretty sure she knew I meant it when I'd told Kim there was no way I'd be hauling her up the stairs every time.  =]  Or, she is just a smart dog!  Lucky me!

As we've settled in this evening, she has definitely figured out that I'm her momma.  She has followed me everywhere and wants to be sitting beside me constantly.  I put her blanket in her dog bed so that it would have her smell, and I nearly cried when she curled up inside, right next to me.  She's found her home.

But she occasionally gets up for a little lovin' from her momma.

I think she's had all she can handle for one day!

Ornery Orange

There’s a mystery afoot
In these here parts
It colored the day
With an orangish start.
I got here extra early
To start on my list
Looked down at my pants
And got super pissed.
There’s an orangish stain
Running down my leg
It looks and smells
Like some ketchup dregs.
So I’ve gotta stop
And tell you right now
I haven’t eaten any ketchup
So I don’t know how
Such a disgusting stain
Could have suddenly appeared
And through no help from me
Seems to have smeared.
Jennifer told me
It matches my shirt
And I was super nice
Didn’t tell her to eat dirt.
I’m totally grossed out
And I wanna go home
Gotta hide in my office
Cuz I sure can’t roam
Out and about
Someone might laugh
And the mood I’m in,
I might say, “kiss my a**.”
How did this happen?
This ketchup mess
Did I smash a packet?
I must confess
I have no idea
What I could have done
All I know is
It ain’t no fun.

Altars

Days roll ‘round

Once every year

Reminders of trials

Of judgment and fear

Markers of memories

Of bone deep pain

Of losses so great

Overshadowing gain

Sometimes the day

Marks a big question

So many years later

Claimed only suggestion

Other days conjure

A different feeling

One of victory, freedom

The beginning of healing

But all the days matter

Each one a rock

Stacked into place

Faith building blocks.

Sometimes a recipe calls for you to "reduce" a series of ingredients.  What they are wanting is for you to boil it down to the concentrate.  Or close to it.  They want you to get rid of the water and fluff, leaving just the essence.  That is how I tend to think of poetry. 

Tonight's reduction isn't hitting the spot with me though.  It's failing to fully capture my thoughts.  My heart.  This time of year has many markers for me.  Signposts.  Most are pretty darn painful.  And I think it's ok to stand in that pain for a minute and remember.

But then I think you have to look behind you and see where you've been.  And then look down and up and see where you are.  And then ahead to where you are going.  Appreciate how far you've come.  Feel what you feel right now.  Look forward.  And take a step in faith.