Dignified

How do they do it?! Head held high, wearing heeled shoes, wheeling a stroller down the mall isle...they do it so perfectly....You know the ones. You can't help but wonder how they ever found time to put their outfit together let alone shop for it. Even the stroller doesn't have old food grounded into it's creases - where did they find time to clean it?

I could have half of a day to prepare for an outing and still inevitably have a button missing on my shirt or forget the baby wipes. I'd like to think that I'm all about preparation and keen in anticipating the unforeseen. I guess I'll accept that it's impossible to hide every little flaw. Maybe others have flaws easier to look over. I'll accept that life throws blow-outs (yes, even the poopy ones) and it is full of surprises - ones that couldn't have been prevented or controlled. Through it all, concealed or obvious, I will hold my head high with the un-noticed stain on my shirt and milk spilled in my purse. I'm determined to look dignified in my well meaning attempt.

There's something about zuchinni bread.

There's something about two loaves of zucchini bread baking in the oven. The sweet luster of a hot day - it's aroma seeping from the oven's door. A counter signifying an hours worth of preparation. A used grater, a flour-dusted kitchen aid mixer, and an assortment of measuring cups needing to be washed. Usually in the middle of summer, a favorite time of mine, I find myself in zucchini's midst. Years ago I started the habit of creating zucchini bread with summer's bounty not knowing at the time that it would only aide in the comfort of the season's tradition years later. I've changed my recipe up a bit - adding whole wheat and cacao chips but it still requires a couple of hours in the morning or afternoon, some basic ingredients, a garden's gem, and a dash of reminisce.

Tick - 2010

Drilling one instant, and surrendering the next
This underlying sound annoys the soul.

Attempting to interpret, we still lack in comprehension
Suffering silently with the denial of it’s toll.

For it hides it’s identity in our passion
And enlightens our path like a candle’s wick

We plug through with drive and determination
Fueled by whatever makes us “tick”.

Infallibly Perfect

Perfect. She was a perfect, sweet, little dog that managed to squeeze into my heart of denial.

Her story was undeniably heart breaking. She was a drop off. Her puppy was hit by a car. She had drug her poor, dead puppy off the road to safety. She guarded it pathetically until I buried the lifeless body that had cemented her to one spot for two days.

She was just an other stray passing through. At least that's what I told myself, hoping all the while that she really did belong to somebody. But when I discovered her pup, I put all the pieces together. It was when I cried in that very spot of discovery that I admitted to myself she was going to need my help.

She became my "project". I had her spayed, I printed fliers, I placed an ad. I sent emails; anything to get the word out. I tried to keep my distance. During this duration, she followed me, she "talked" to me (hence her name, Whinney), and promised me with her eyes, she'd do anything if I asked her. At first she was reluctant to trust me, she had gone through a lot. But, her confidance grew. Over time she grew content and then happy; her true personality began to shine. She always came when I called even when in the middle of a rabbit hunt. And if I was outside, she was always three bounds away.

I gave up after the third attempt of trying to keep her contained. After the dog run and the chicken wire, I realized she wasn't going anywhere and her preferred spot was the welcome door mat. Her eye would always be on the window, or her ear on the sound of the front screen door. Waiting for me.

Torn between claiming her as mine and wanting someone to claim her, I felt she was mine, I relished her devotion. For over a month it went on like this. I got a couple of interested callers but they never followed through. This only made it easier to tease myself into thinking that maybe she would be here all summer. Maybe she could end up being our "front yard dog". But, I had three dogs. She couldn't stay. Yet, her imprint grew deeper.

She developed a "skip" when she was excited, always pleased when we were outdoors. Twice daily I'd round the corner to feed the sheep and I'd hear her bounding just behind me or jumping up to wet my hand with her nose - just to let me know she was there.

And then I received a phone call. Someone sincerely was interested in her. Someone who was looking for a dog, a friend for an older, lonely gentleman. I got off the phone ashamed I wasn't more happy.

Before meeting them, I was skeptical and critical. In fact, I told the lady on the phone that; "it would have to be a perfect fit". What was I doing?! Here I had been working over a month to find this dog a home and I was jeopardizing her chance. Yet, somehow I let my guard down and my heart was doing the thinking.

I brought her to her new home on a Friday morning. The man was genuinely hooked on her. He had the fenced yard, the dog bed, the dog kennel...the works. I couldn't argue the situation. It was perfect.

I cried the whole way home. I told my husband; "I feel like I just gave my dog away." It took me two days to let go of the heaviness I carried inside. What dawned on me was that she wasn't my dog to begin with. I served as her stepping stone to her real home, her new chance. My role wasn't insignificant nor irreplaceable. This all helps with the ache that still lingers.

I still hear her bounding up behind me. It took me a week just to not turn and look for her. She was just a mutt, passing through but I'm glad she passed through. I got to be her "friend" from May 2nd until June 10th. I helped her heal and got her ready for what was to come. Her purpose now is to be a devoted friend to someone who needs her. I believe she will serve that purpose wholeheartedly

I've learned that my heart directs well...most of the time. And even though it may not think entirely with clarity, I'm glad that it has felt what it has felt. I'd do it all again.

Seventeen years of parenthood

She was only two years old when I questioned if I had the capabilities of raising her. She started to get sassy and sneaky. She was independent and hard to entertain, even then. When she was born I was naive almost over confidant that "it wasn't that hard" to feed and change diapers. Now, she's seventeen and it's gone way beyond the baby powder. I've had seventeen years to perfect my doubts and my weak areas that she's created.

I still don't think my margin of parent error has gotten any more narrow. I've only improved how I play the part. I'm able to hold my shoulders more square when handling her teenage miffs with trouble. I'm determined to not take things personal when she blatantly defies my concern. I still question if I've made the right decisions and directed her down the right paths. Still possessing the same old tools I began with, they're still being used just a little worn and modified. I've become great at nodding and smiling when advice floats my way, but really I do what I can live with. Veteran parents are really good at coming across as right; but maybe we all just get cocky with time.

I'd like to say one down, three to go. But I don't have any of this "down". And as long as they're mine, I'll still be "going" down that road of parenthood with no end.

The grass is greener....

Despite driving over 70 mph on the freeway, I couldn't help but notice this very large headed cow with it's head stuck tightly between the wires of a fence. This black headed, ear tagged, ruminant was convinced that whatever was on the other side of it's boundary was worth the risk of looking undignified. Reaching, neck stretched it was desperately trying to reach something....maybe a greener blade of grass.

It was comical yet revealing of us creatures. Ever so preoccupied with what we'd like to have but just...can't....reach.

Those times where we tend to compare our situation, our livelihood with others. Getting wrapped up in others' trophies and wanting to swap our own treasures we neglect to be thankful for - for something bigger and better.

Is it wrong to want more? I was once told that very rarely are your choices wrong if it doesn't threaten your relationship with God. Now, there's a tricky concept to apply. Us humans have become very good at justifying our wants. There's a thin line that deciphers what motivates us. Even then we can be swayed by our "selfish needs" than a true need.

So, what was empowering that pathetic cow? His appetite, or his eye for quality chow? Perhaps it was the mere drive of survival.

Borrowed Time

Caught up in my daily chores, I can't help but feel like I'm continually asking "time" for favors. Timing my tasks in between life's demands and anticipations. I attempt to fit in all of the day's (my) goals within a certain time period. It occurred to me that the concept of "borrowed time" could easily be applied to how I approach daily life.

I was sweeping the crumbs under the table while planning to accomplish just a few more things before my youngest squeals and demands my attention. Rushing to get just a few more things done before my boys ask when dinner is ready. And finishing it all before my husband comes home and our busy evening begins. All I wanted was to complete what I had set out to do. Yet, all the while I was so preoccupied that at any moment something or someone was going to tell me suddenly to "STOP". Then, I'd have to reluctantly hand over my keys and pull over.

I compare those too common of moments to dreams in which I run....but very slowly. I'm having to get somewhere and I'm in a hurry but I'm in slow motion, dragging physically, but mentally I'm speeding.

I acknowledge that I can't expect for time to stop, but that doesn't prevent me from trying to beat it. Somehow I feel indebted to time, humbled by it's power. Whatever time I'm "given" seems to be unappreciated for I'm in a hurry to take advantage. Like a library book, I tend to be preoccupied with how long it's lended to me and lose the opportunity to relish the ownership. Asking time to lend me some more isn't realistic but I manage to justify my attempt to conquer it.

Despite whatever I accomplish, many moments are overlooked. I tend to be caught up in determination to finish something to notice. No matter how many completed projects and shiny floors, I need to slow down and re-prioritize my continuing struggle. To make a difference, I must approach the task at hand as if I'm accomplishing the objective in good time not borrowed time.

Mounting anger

We've all "lost it" at one time or another. Patience seems to swell and then bursts at a heightened state. I've watched people often possess this unfailing determination to keep their anger under control. And yet there are others who blow up at the slightest build up. So, where do I fit in? Believe me this is one subject I've analyzed time and time again about myself. Having been (and who I'd like to describe myself as being now) a very mild mannered person whom had been trodded on many of occasions. I've become convinced I have a lot of tolerance but not a lot of patience. Unfortunately, I tend to let things slide for awhile and reveal my disappovement when most people's defenses are down. Then BOOM I take all by surprise sometimes even myself! I guess it's my own way of standing up for who I used to be. How do we distinguish what we can justify and catagorize as regret?

Patience and tolerance.....What's the difference? Maybe there is no significant difference. I'd like to think that tolerance is easier to practice. Tolerating your environment, and people's actions. But, patience seems to require more of a personal approach. Risking emotions and playing the odds of an un-anticipated possiblity of a disappointment. I fear for myself that more things in my life will require more patience than tolerance. For if we apply patience and wait - things may work out, people come to their senses, the bad times pass...

However, I'd like to think that mounting anger results in the drive of a powerful act. A building mountain that forms into a volcano. And if we manage it well and use it in a controlled manner things get done. Points get across. And we no longer carry that growing fire that eats us up inside.

And then there are those (myself included) that lose it, hair frizzled, thier spit flying, eyes dialated, throwing in some unnecessary language, and end up sputtering until thier lips are dry. But, hey at least they don't have to carry a hot head anymore and whoever made them upset will think twice NEXT time. Justifiable? Regrets? We usually don't find out until after the explosion.

The Domino Effect

Have you ever noticed there are waves of bad luck? Perhaps a passing trend of bad news or carma that occasionally cross your path? Recently, I've had news of deaths, suicides, and broken spirits. Diagnosis of cancer, loss of loved ones, and people who end thier dilemas by taking their lives.

I've often wondered if one sole mishap could possibly affect another and a "domino effect" occurs by equally spreading momentum to the next subject in the way. Isn't life odd? How, without thinking, we are affected by our environment. The sounds, the visions, our feelings in which we emerse ourselves in daily can either inspire, motivate, disillusion, innfluence us without us being aware. We're oblivious to rationale and common sense. It's almost like we surrender to life's toll.

One bad instance when one falls, taking down another with it's energy. Pulling, weighting down the next in line. How do we avoid the inevitable? Perhaps we need to step out of line. Possibly taking a couple steps back to break the chain. Or maybe we need to consider that we were in the wrong line to begin with.

"Blow wind blow"

How long can the wind blow!? I've noticed that it is getting to me....physically, mentally...I grit my teeth before going outside, wincing to keep the annoying air particles from getting in my eyes. My feet have been slammed twice by the car door while putting the kids in the car. Outdoor tasks have been put off and neglected because of the nuisance. I might as well be snowed in. I find my shoulders creeping up to my ears because the wind constantly raps and pushes against the windows. My neck is tight. My hair and all it's dignity blows away the instant the outdoors and I meet. Instead of savoring the quiet evenings, I'm left with irritation and am wound uplike a top. I'm tired. I lay at night with my eyes fully open and my ears continually being startled with noises and howls. Anything that was in somewhat order is in full disarray outside. The trash cans and garbage that once occupied them, the tumbleweeds, chairs uplifted, tables moved, porch rockers walking. The dogs feel it too; they pause a little too long before plunging out the door. I've been fighting an endless battle the last few days. Enough already. I guess everyone experiences the need to blow once in awhile.