If I had known that the last time I saw you WAS the last time . . .

This is what you looked like the last time I saw you.  All blonde, blue-eyed, sweet faces.   I remember, so clearly, the day I met you.  The smiles in your eyes lit my heart.  You loved teaching me cards.  How you sat on the bed and watched me put on makeup and sat on my lap.

So fun, the time I first took you to the store.  Meghan wanted a toy.  It was an elephant but was really for dogs.  It said Milkbone on the side.  Taylor teased . . . I bought it for you anyway.

I remember the hard things too.  I’ll never forget the night Brandon had to stay home with me.  What I told you that night is still true. 

There is nothing you can do . . . ever . . . that will make me love you less.  No matter how much we disagree, no matter who says what to anyone, I promised each of you that I would love you all of my life.  I will.   If I never see you again, makes not the slightest bit of difference, I will always be here . . . loving you.

Thousands of memories.  Birthday cakes of purple, pink and red.  Sunday morning early cocoa and bacon! 

Flying kites, ice cream at Moo's, festivals and all the laughter.  Cookouts with friends, movies and holidays.

There is really no Christmas
for me without you . . .

When the power is off . . .

That’s when I’m the woman I admire.  When it’s cold and conditions are not ideal.  A storm that knocks down the lines brings out the very best in me.  That time in survival mode – makes me feel resilient. 

Reading by oil lamp.  I smile as I get out and light candles in every room.   Doing without the modern conveniences.  Challenges my creative use of the resources I have.

Figuring things out - making them work.  Repurposing and finding uses for seemingly useless things.  There is satisfaction in that.

Fifth house from the end of the line . . . very low priority for repair.


The furnace is gas but the switch is electric.  The gas stove works but the ignitor doesn't.  The well doesn't work - so fill the tub with water in a storm.  That allows flushing.  Must have flushing.


Extra blankets on the bed . . . like our coal furnace growing up my nose is cold but toes are toasty.  Reminds me of camping.

That kind of adversity brings out the pioneer spirit in me.  I imagine those folks who carried their belongings across the west in covered wagons.  Ten miles was a great day on the Oregon Trail.

Listening to the rain beat on the roof while the candles flicker  . . . ahhhh!!

Banned Books Week

It's hard to believe that we are still having this discussion.  Banning books – in this day and age – seems crazy to me.

When I was in 8^th grade I was called the principal’s office.  This didn’t happen often and my heartbeat “like sixty” all the way down to the office.  They handed me a list of books.  Don’t remember them all but I had read almost all of the books on the list.  They were books that were to be banned from our school library.  There was to be a district-wide forum – that day – I had been chosen to attend because our school librarian could think of no one else that he was certain had probably already read the listed books.

I don’t remember, now, the names of all the books on the list but Judy Bloom and several other well-loved authors were prominent.   Many of the listed books had been very provocative for me.  Provoked me to think, opened my mind, dream of possibilities.

So, I went to the forum, indignant and full of zeal.  Can’t imagine why adults think that young people are stupid.  They can discern ideas – find appropriate thoughts and behavior and sort it out for themselves.  My guess is that adults are often afraid that children who read will develop the ability to think for themselves.  How could anyone think that is a bad thing?

Can I just say, out loud, again - today, how much I love librarians in this country?  They have been holding the line for freedom, in a very real way, for years.  Standing up to Homeland Security and the closed minded.

Libraries have always been a comfort to me.  One of my top 5 favorite smells is the smell of books.  Love the smell of the pages and the way they feel on my fingers.  I love the smell of the “stacks” in the library, too! I spent 4^th through 12^th grade volunteering once a week at my hometown library.  Such a sanctuary.  I’ve often said that you can judge a town by its library.  Two of my favorites are South Bend, IN and Fargo, ND – go figure!!

I’ve gotten out of the habit of the library.  Probably a habit I should find again.  I felt such peace there . . . a place I always fit in.  Among ideas and stories and the people who love and appreciate them.

Wildflowers and Life

I like my flowers the way I like my people . . . REAL.

There’s something about a rose – big and beautiful – but outside of a man’s arms at my door – I don’t love them.  They feel . . .artificial.  Just too much.  Too full, too colorful, too much beautiful scent.

Give me a field of alpine flowers any day.   They are reedy, a little stringy and hardy.  I love that about them.  You find them growing in almost no soil at all.  I am awed a little bit when I happen upon a single bloom in the crack of a giant rock face.  In general, they don’t seem to have the energy to have much smell.

Those high country blooms just seem so happy to be there – that small, determined burst of color.  Among the myriad of shades of green of the forest and meadows – there they are.  That determination – to just be.  Briefly but fully, they are exactly who they are.  It’s made me love them since I was a small girl.

My uncle made me a flower press when I was in grade school.  Up to that point our big family dictionary had limited my ability to press and preserve them.  I loved that flower press.  I could put the flower and leaves in it.  Wait about 4 weeks and have semi-permanent versions of the beauty I found in the mountains. 

My Dad bought a book about alpine flowers of Colorado for me.  It was so much fun to wander around, alone, as a youngster – gathering and learning about them.  Growing up that way was an amazing gift.

My friend says the bush outside my front door needs trimming.  I have trimmed it . . . some.  Somehow though, I will never get over the beauty of the chaos of nature.

Barefoot Beach Weekend

The Absence of Want

Don’t remember before

feeling this,

the absolute absence of want.

In need of nothing

not food, not amusement nor funds

I sit here – absorbing the flight of the hawk overhead.

Complete attention

with peace in the space where empty  usually sits.

Empty is heavy and dull,

sucks the energy from my body;

a chunk of obsidian that sits inside my chest.

The absence of want feels . . .

refreshing.

A spiritual drink.

Soft – the way the

blue water of Lake Michigan

looks at my feet.

This moment – you gave me

a gift hauled up – whole

from the sand, far below.

A gift worth no price

No charge

My heart is full –

no room for empty,

want of nothing.

tsr

9-4-11

My Dinner with . . . Jim

This is Jim, last night, as I saw him off to Cairo.  He is an extraordinarily gifted writer, educator and friend.

Jim travels the way I would if I were brave enough.  He doesn’t just visit, tour around and eat great local cuisine.  He stays . . . teaches and learns.

One of the topics of discussion last night was the name of his new blog in Cairo.

For the previous 2 years he has written as “Veeds of Arabia” while teaching English in one of the most repressive societies in today’s world (my words - not his) the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. 

Reading his descriptions of everything from grocery shopping to parking in KSA was an amazing gift.

I look forward to his new adventures in Cairo – whatever the final name of the blog might be.  My suggestion was ‘Purple THORN of Cairo’.  Jim’s response?  “Keep thinking”.

So, do yourself a favor and look over the last few years of his last blog as we wait to see whether he will be so distracted by the sight of women’s ankles that he will be unable to find time to write.  Of course, he no longer has to make his own wine and hide it in bottles marked “grape juice” . . . so I think he’ll find time to bring Cairo alive for his small but loyal following.

He writes a political blog as well that is humorous and edgy.  I’ve included links to both below.

The best stories are the ones that follow a glass or two of wine.  Those are mine!!

Saudi Blog:

http://jveeds.blogspot.com/


Humor and politics:
http://jveeds.wordpress.com/

A boy became a man

I watched a boy become a man.  More accurately, I watched what felt like the culmination of a journey of growth.  Now, it’s not that it’s over, of course – in all kinds of ways.  The truth is I’m not the same today as I was 3 months ago – let alone the same as the woman I was at 19 years old. 

The difference, I guess, is that this boy seems to understand that he is on this journey now in a completely different way.  He is going about his days doing things that young men do.  There is this sense, though, that he understands now that he is part of a larger picture.

I met him when he was 12 years old.  He and his folks have done so much for me over the years.  They were aware that I was ill for a long time and went out of their way to care for me in ways that are out of fashion now.  Chris and his dad have done everything from being in my crawlspace moving cable to caring for my dogs when I’m out of town.  They have loved me, in a “hands on” way, for years.  I believe in the “family of choice” and they are family to me.

Chris is special to me because he has let me love him in a very parental sort of way.  I think that has been a really special gift.  Because of his choice to do so, I’ve tried to be careful about not offering unsolicited advice – however, upon occasion I do feel an obligation.  When he started smoking I couldn’t remain objective.

He’s also incredibly unique. I think that his special blend of “real” is amazing.  He’s a sensitive kid with a gift for anything mechanical.  He also has a sort of old west kind of independence.  He’s warm and funny.  He’s self effacing.  He’s loyal, goofy and a little bit wild. 

Chris was one of 4 out of 165 recruits to be rated "Expert" in the 9 mm

The other thing is that he was floundering here.  He was at a place where trouble was beginning to distract him.  He needed new adventures to keep things moving forward.  When we talked, I could tell that he felt trapped.  The necessity that most of us feel to find ways to make life interesting and exciting was beginning to cause festering sores inside him. 

At his boot camp graduation – they were gone.  His voice was lower and he stood taller.  He called the waitress ma’am 3 times during lunch.  I saw, in his eyes, a pride in himself that I know will stand him in good stead as he moves forward.  When he hugged his mother at graduation with tears streaming down his face . . . I felt this cathartic thing happening with him. 

 Chris is in “A school” in Florida now, learning his new job.  Then, he is on to California from there to begin the next phase of his life.  I hope his newfound sense of place in the world gives him a good foundation for what happens next.

Those big occasions in our lives, graduation, weddings, certain birthdays even – give us opportunities to see the world differently.  I know this one did for him – and it sure did for me.