"Move over, I'm driving."

Why is it that it's harder to drive straight? Weaving in and out of the line seems to require more energy and action. I guess if you're all dooped up no thought is needed and you're not really caring about lines - wherever or whoever draws them.

So, I continue to draw and follow my own lines ignoring those who criticize how straight they are. I know too many who went astray, went off the road, and messed up, to give up my drawing chalk.

Yet I can't help but be resentful for always being on the straight and narrow. I'm constantly trying to do what's right, play the "responsible" role and set limitations while avoiding criticizing those who demand a different direction.

Have I missed out on much? I'd hate to think that I missed out on things that I could've benefited from because I was so preoccupied with being unselfish, responsible, or unspontaneous. I've still witnessed some good scenery. You get a great view in the front. It's amazing what you pick up and learn when you look and observe. It's also intimidating to be in the back seat not knowing where you're going. I'm not necessarily recommending others to stay on the map but just to make their own path rather than follow someone or something that could lead them away to get lost. It's not fun being lost....I've been there.

Maybe I wouldn't have got this far if I hadn't balanced, with my arms out, looking straight ahead, following some line that while my eyes were closed I managed to scribble on the ground. I'd like to think that I have saved myself from more bruises or my teeth being knocked out by following my own mediocre standards.

Whether I fight against or go along with people's standards for me I'll continue to drive my own car, set my own pace, continue down my own path.

Hello tomorrow

I've recently visited a nursing home and had the opportunity to spread good cheer. This was the second year I took my son along with other piano players to play for the residents. I was reminded yet again of how "being old" hinders the best of us. It's hard to keep your dignity when you're entirely reliant upon who is pushing your chair or who literally puts the food in your mouth. There were a greater number of ladies and gentleman who were suffering from dementia than what I remember from the previous year. The sudden outbursts and blank stares seemed to continually startle me throughout the hour we were there. With my year old daughter on my lap I found myself almost wanting to hide behind her. I surprised myself at how uncomfortable I felt. Maybe it was because I was aware of my empathy and understanding I had for the ones who looked at me kindly. Like what I had for the man who sat in his chair and said very little yet he genuinely got a kick out of waving back and forth to my daughter. I wondered if he had grandchildren and who Cora reminded him of. I wondered if the lady who sat beside him, who constantly muttered uncontrollably, bothered him. I knew all the while all of these people owned some kind of Christmas memory or at least once did. Maybe the men traditionally went out to get the tree for his wife every year. Or maybe the women made special cookies to give as presents. But, they've had to give up little by little, year by year even the simple independence that we all so frivalously take for granted. Some may have lost the memories completely. Maybe this form of loss isn't so bad, if you can't compare what you had to what you have no longer.

The atmosphere was numbing, almost funeral like. Many were frozen, many expressionless. I found myself in a rush to leave, yet embarrased that I didn't take more time to visit. I left depressed and upset that many didn't have families who were there sitting with them. And bothered that most of us inevitably will become dependant on another. Hopefully dependant on someone who loves us unconditionally. It makes me feel humble to my state and mind now and awakens me to what I may not have tomorrow. All of these people were here where I stand not that long ago. Somehow they have been lost in the shuffle of time, tucked back into the shadows. They are commonly overlooked because they aren't underfoot nor within our daily sight. They're abandoned, unappreciated and forgotten that they once were like you and me.

Welcome the Day

Lately, things haven't been going right. Facing battles left and right gets old. But, really old when you keep losing. But, what else can one do? Giving up is not an option and staying sour never gets you anywhere. I guess welcoming the day,everyday, is the only thing I can do. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a more welcoming one.

Go Figure

I figure I've missed a lot this past year being so occupied with trying to control the day. I figure I've sacrificed my peace of mind while fighting to control my peace of mind. Make sense? You think you're confused, imagine a life changing event that changes your "norm" so drastically that nothing is left to control. Giving up what you've found comfort in, drowning in new tasks and juggling time while trying to maintain your daily role. It had been all about gulping down every moment without breaths in between.

Baby raising is hard. Baby raising while you have a life is even harder. Someone once said, "being a mother is the most unselfish, demanding jobs there is". But, when you combine "giving your all" while trying to incorporate my control-freak, stoic personality, it does not go over well. I had offers of help that I turned away, determined that I could do it ALL ON MY OWN. My husband began begging me to let him do things, and I stubbornly declined. Unfortunately, during this parade of strong will, I also turned my back on my faith. I had a lot of faith that I could do it all, but not enough faith to give some of my challenges up to someone who could handle it better that me. Rather than distributing some of that weight I was bearing, I suffered alone.

I'd like to say that I've perfected my mistakes, I've corrected my wrongs, but I'm still learning and trying to sort things out. My shoulders still ache from this past year's load. I've let go of some things and continue to accomodate and adjust to life's turns. I'm learning to lean on my husband and God just a bit more. I figure life is lonely when you walk alone and the baggage does get lighter with someone there to help. And despite the notion of taking pride in being independent, there's credit to those who can stay humble and accept help during the most trying of times. So, I'll take a little of that credit, in the meantime, I'm figuring it all out.

"Free" 03/30/08

Turn and fail
Rise and conquer
Smile and shout
Here and there
Despite lost attempts
You still follow
My mind allows
Only at a distance
You run
You stomp
I ignore and avoid
No more attention
Will leak out
You dare
You riddle
I laugh
But not at you
For the moments
Are free now
For me to relish
The rope is cut
Chains are broken
Glass shattered
I am my own.

The "art" of being me

I'm currently reading a book where the narrative character constantly refers to people's talents as "arts". One of the descriptions involves describing another's fishing abilities and the fisherman being an artist.
At first, I've got to admit it bothered me the way the character described these different knacks people were good at. But, after awhile of holding back credit worth giving, I think the narrator was trying to convey just how much perfecting, time, and interest is involved when being able to perform these arts. Dancing, fishing, writing, drawing, cooking, even the simple act of talking to people are all things that don't come freely to everyone. For some they take practice to achieve. For others they're born with these "gifts of art".
So, I guess I'll let this observation go on with my approval and appreciate that I can be as good as Monet.....in my own way.

You bring the cup, I'll bring the tea.

With all this talk about tea parties lately, I'm inspired to put a little oomph of my own out there to inspire my daily ventures and perhaps others as well. If more people took things passionately wouldn't there be more stances for better causes rather than for self profit? What about sincereity and being earnest in what we believe rather than a selfish gain. Yet there's a thin line there. Most un-passionate people would like to think of themselves as "passionate". So, where is the disclaimer to differentiate between a meaningful act or an underlying motive?

Someone close to me claims that they lack passion about anything. I still beg to differ in their arguement because I'm sure there's something that would stir their emotions or float their boat. Something has got to exist out there that drives their interest. I think that certain flair of emotion exists more or less in everyone. Is it the lack of interest to entertain the thought? Is it the absence of feeling? How about fear and what role would fear play in allowing us to feel so deeply about something?

Those passionate feelings keep us going. They fuel what drives us to accomplish goals and dreams. They're what motivates us to get out of bed in the morning prepping us to face the day.

Granted there are days where I'm lacking that "passion". But shouldn't the little bit that we each own be valued and acknowledged? Be savored and appreciated? For one day there might be a tea party to attend.