Good Mom, Bad Mom and Me

Ever since I became a parent, and especially when I was a homeschool parent, I held my mothering skills to a standard. I did not judge myself against those around me, but against one of the most formidable opponents- Good Mom. All mothers know Good Mom- she is the one who ALWAYS serves two vegetables at dinner, never forgets PTA meetings or after school practices, sends nice notes in her children's lunches, and has the perfectly organized Family Calendar displayed with positive encouraging notes, checks for good behavior, and time schedules of where each member of the family is at each time of day. She never yells, always does the laundry before it piles up, and smiles encouragingly at everything her children do. Good Mom- Bah! I hate Good Mom.

Bad Mom is easier to beat, but I dislike her just as much. She yells all the time and never does the laundry. She sends her children to school with no shoes and no jacket and lets them play outside until 10pm at night. Bad Mom never picks anyone up on time and always drops them off late- I don't know what Bad Mom does all day- but she is not doing things right- for sure!

Then there is Me. On some days I am Good Mom, but not usually. Some days I am Bad Mom, but not too many. Most days I am somewhere in between. The beautiful thing about that though, is just that. When I am just me I can enjoy carving pumpkins even though I know the work is piling up. I can make a good dinner so that everyone can sit down together. I can scold when it's necessary and take time to give hugs and go get ice cream and I can be exactly who my children were meant to have as their Mother. When they came into the world, I looked at their little baby faces, fell in love and felt the same thing every mother in the world feels- that I wanted my baby to have the best and be the best. Life does not always give them what we think is Best, but they always get what Is best, for them. If you had to be a superhero to be a mother I do not think very many of us would be parents- and what a sad, empty world that would be.
So, I declare a victory of self: Bad Mom: 0, Good Mom: 0, Me: 3

Coffee, Coffee Buzz buzz buzz

It was Unthinkable. Another morning, early as usual, I come downstairs and grind my coffee, add my water and push the button. I go back upstairs and get ready, come down and...NO COFFEE. The pot is not even warm, nothing. I am very disappointed. When I say very, I mean VERY. Coffee is my favorite and in the morning- no coffee= sad sad Carrie. After an inspection of the problem I diagnose the coffee maker- failure to make coffee because it is dead. Related to: broken hardware, heating element, etc.

Okay, I roll with it. I start contemplating on Monday that is, what to do. I go online and look at new coffee pots. This is not horrible, I didn't really like my cheap coffeemaker- I bought it a year ago in a coffee emergency and have thought of replacing it. My dream coffeemaker: Cuisinart. They are online, but then you have to WAIT. I hate waiting. So, I go to my favorite (past tense now) store- Target. I looked at what they had online and saw that the one that was most like Cuisinart's new no carafe model is getting bad reviews. I go to Target, ever hopeful that they will save me from this bad situation- with no waiting. I find and buy a Kreug- do not do this. It is supposed to make coffee from little pre-made coffee containers- yuck. Now it is Tuesday. Mine has no pre-made containers anyway- they are missing. I call the manufacturer who tells me very nicely, although I insult their coffee pre-mades, that I can get an "adapter" and brew my own. They assure me I can get this miraculous device from Target (still my favorite at this point). I take the kids, go back to Target in search of the adapter. Nothing. Not any adapters. Turns out- they don't even sell them! I go home sad, several days are passing, and I have no coffee. My friend calls and I tell her the sad story- she brings me coffee (with an extra shot of espresso in it). Meanwhile, useless stupid Kreug coffeemaker is sitting on my counter with water in it that I cannot get out because it has moved from the reservoir into the machine- and there are no directions for getting it out. I decide on Wednesday now, to take it back. I pack it up, water still in it and go back to Target. They take it back and apologize for being such a disappointment to me. I don't know if I can forgive them for selling me such a crummy product, that has no attachment, no coffee servings and that will not relinquish its water. I leave Target. Knowing that coffee at home is a must and still not wanting to wait for shipping I stoop. Beyond my lowest standard, to the obscene- I go to Starbucks- desperate for a Cuisinart. They of course have nothing to offer me. Whew- I don't know if I could live with my coffeemaker if I knew that I gave Starbucks the money for it. In despair and desolation I begin the drive home.
Suddenly, the phone rings and it is my wonderful, wise sister! I tell her my plight and she gives me a suggestion- BED BATH and BEYOND!! Upon entering the store I find my dream coffeemaker, for the same price as online and it is right there on the shelf!! I buy it happily bring it home, program it, use it and clean the kitchen in honor of the beautiful new pristine Cuisinart DCC 2000!!

Although I am victorious, I cannot help but think of all those out there enslaved with bad coffeemakers, the tyranny. And even more disturbing, how a coffeemaker is so symbolic to me and can cause such a stir in my life. I am going to have a long, deep introspective talk with myself about the imbalance here- over a steaming hot cup of Cuisinart brewed Mill Mountain coffee.

Love Song Blues

Am I the only one that listens to random love songs, just to hear the beauty of another relationship? A friend turned me onto a great musician, Joe Purdy. I have been listening to his music off and on for a while. I am one of these people who will listen to everything they can find of an artist, and listen to it over and over (yes to other people's disgust) and then just stop listening to it. The result is that I have a soundtrack running through my life and when I pick up an artist again I am catapulted back to the time when I was listening to that music. So today, I picked up Joe again. He is great- not just because I love his acoustic style, and his original lyrics, but because he puts ALL of his CD's on his website to listen to- this always makes me happy. I started listening to his album, "Stompin Grounds" and was, yes, transported back.
Interesting thing about his love songs, they aren't really the love songs of my life. I mean, we all have pitfalls, bad break-ups, those we wish we had followed, those we wish we hadn't. These songs are all so unique, and they do not apply to me right now. Yet, hearing them I am nostalgic. The music is so vivid, I can visualize this man singing to this other random girl or girls, these words- and they are beautiful, sad, humorous and wonderful all at the same time. He wants to know her, and wants to love her. I guess it makes me reminiscent because how many of us actually have love songs that we can relate to? And yet, how great would it be if we were a part of at least one love song, so unique and so beautiful?

"The only thing I know is true, is when I close my eyes at night, the only thing I see is you, and I believe that we can see it through, and I'm praying that you see it too." Now who can't feel empathy for such a desire?

Thanks to Joe Purdy, Stompin Grounds, "This Morning Blue"

Resource Allocation

What direction are you going in, how do you plan to get there, are you there yet, do you need to change directions to get there, do you even want to be there, what? we were there all along?? These are the questions that come to us as we sojourn here- in whatever we pursue. The amount we want to give to individuals, to organizations, to ourselves, our families all changes with the transient nature of time. Even in the midst of pouring everything into one thing I will turn and think to myself, "is this where I am supposed to be, am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing?" At which point I think, "well of course it is, otherwise I would be somewhere else doing something else."

What is really amazing to me is when I look around at how others choose to distribute their resource of time. If you think about it, time is more precious than any resource we have, and least known. We all know that we want X dollars for a new ____, but none of us know if we will wake up tomorrow to spend it or not. We cannot buy more time, and we cannot sell it. It is the great equalizer, it does not discriminate, does not care if you have a really good reason or not. When time is up, the game is over.

For this reason, those people that use it in a way that I deem excellent, have great worth in my eyes. Today I am reminded of a beautiful woman that spent her life being only ordinary and yet exceptional. Her job was one in a million, teaching. Her love was typical, children. Her passion was beautiful and her style impeccable. These things did not make her excellent. Her excellence came from her resource allocation. She did not know that she only had 47 years to make her mark, and yet she was driven with a desire to change the injustice that she saw and to love her daughters. In a determined state, she chipped away, student by student, barrier by barrier at the lives of illiteracy and poverty that she taught. There was time to celebrate, always, and there was time to relax. But her focus remained her focus- regardless.

Sometimes, when you are very close, you do not even realize how truly amazing the person you are near is. Not long after her time was finished here on earth, I came across a young girl at a drive-in-restaurant. The girl recognized me because of my voice, it was the same voice that had encouraged her, driven her and motivated her to reach for goals that were bigger than the place she lived in. She asked if I was her dear teacher's daughter and I told her that I was. She declared with tears in her eyes that she never would have been able to be anything, or do anything if it was not for the encouragement of her fourth grade teacher, my mother.
Resource allocation well spent.

Blogging Pressure

I have 3 blogs I read, I dont want the pressure of keeping up with more than that, and all of them have written more than 14 posts since my last one. As I was raging about this I acidentally deleted the blog, so I am attempting to rewrite it now. I have wanted to wait for some inspiration, some muse, that will prompt me to write some great blog, one that will leave anyone who reads this (who reads this?) speechless and deep in thought, and of course wondering why I am not in fact a published author. However, this has not happened. I have been waiting patiently for inspiration and it has not come- maybe I am not depressed enough. Certainly it is a good thing that I am not a writer by trade, I would never make a living. Anyway, hoping that this will count as my thoughts on August, I decided to write it. I mean if some of us are skipping underwear, and have ants in our car, and others are left to sweat in the heat- and not do laundry, certainly I can choose to write about the pressure I feel to perform a writing feet in my blog, even when not inspired. I have no other excuses, oh wait a minute, I am sure I can come up with a few more. In the mean time, all of you bloggers, as I read your amazing writings I want you to know that you all inspire me, and I am jealous of your great blogs :) Okay, just inspired.

The Dagwood Sandwich of Happiness

Of late I have been on vacation travelling and learning, with not a lot of time for considering things. This is not always bad, because, like most of the time when you are not paying attention, ideas can just come to mind. You know, you go, you eat, you sleep, you say "oooh" at the cool stuff. So, I thought I would blog and entertain you with my mindless ramblings- look away now!
At what point in your life do you look around and say, "This is it. I have finally achieved inner peace! Woohoo!" If you are like me you are always thinking of the tasks at hand, with the fuzzy end of life goal somewhere off in the distance. You focus on your career, or your family, buying a new car, a new house, moving, divorcing, birthing, dying, church picnics, summer camp. You complain about how this person never stops saying this or how you think this should be different- you exist, you live, you think. And at the end, in a fuzzy sort of final solution format is the goal: Inner Peace, Happiness, Completeness. The ever present question for me has always been- how do I get there? And the answer is always, you just do.
So, as I was out walking and looking around at some of the incredible vistas and sights this country has to offer it occurred to me in my pseudo-philosophical way: you don't get there, you are there. The people, places, events and accomplishments can be things that make our lives rich. But at the same time, we can have all of these and still not have that end goal. It seems that these elements are not really the pathway but more, the bread, sandwich meat, lettuce, tomato and cheese of our lives. It is true that they can enrich it, but they can also distract from it. I think that for me at least, inner peace will not be found in my giant perfect concoction of a great Dagwood sandwich, but rather, in the way I am able to view myself and those around me before, during and after consuming such a delicious treat.

Just Standing Around

Well, I am a mom, as most of you know. So you other moms know that this is how your day goes: get coffee, start the dishes, feed a child, diaper or change underwear on a child, put two dishes in the dishwasher, dress a child, bandage a knee, brush a child's teeth, brush my own teeth (at 11am- whoops), feed a child, intervene in an argument, clean up a spilled drink, check homework, soccer practice, oh yeah the dishes... Don't get me started on laundry or housecleaning, or goodness knows, an appointment of some kind. Five o'clock rolls around and I am standing there, finally dressed and showered, looking at dirty laundry but maybe if I am lucky a clean kitchen, and I think to myself, "What did I do today? Have I just been standing around?"
Well as I was walking through this charming life enriching cycle today, I was reminded of something I haven't thought about for a very long time. It is a quote that I have always loved, "Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand." Eph. 6:13 I was startled by my memory, because spiritually, I often feel as if I am just standing around. I do not feel well equipped, or particularly enlightened or led. On some days(most of late), I am not even sure God is there at all. I move through my life, and at the end of the day often feel as if I have just run in circles.
So what is the point I am making? I think, I think mind you, that there are a lot of times when doing all you can do is the key. You do your best, you cover all of your bases, and then, you wait. You do not stack the odds in your favor, you do not fret, you do not try and buy another solution. At the end of the day, things will be the way they will be, regardless. All you can do, is stand. There are "evil days" and hard times when it seems as if no matter where you turn, you are stuck. But, even if it seems as if you are running in circles, just standing around, that can be a good thing. At the end of the day, sometimes standing is the hardest and most effective tool for battle in this thing called life.

Light and Darkness

I have a book of quotes, pictures and diagrams of things that were written and spoken about by Leonardo da Vinci. It is amazing to me that there are so many things he considered in his life, that did not fully come to pass for hundreds of years. Thinking still along the idea of quality and individuals of great achievements I wanted to post this quote of his; I consider it worth considering for its statement of physical shadow and its statement of that which is spiritually true for all individuals:

"That portion of the illuminated surface on which a shadow is cast will be brightest which lies contiguous to the cast shadow. Just as an object which is lighted up by a greater quantity of luminous rays become brighter; so one on which a greater quantity of shadow falls, will be darker."

Leonardo da Vinci

If Quality is Real, Where Do I Find it?

There are people in the world who live their lives in such a way that everything they do is directed at a goal. These people have goals, evaluate the best way to reach them, study to gain the tools that they need, and then implement for themselves a path to achieve them. There is an unflagging and unwavering direction and effort put into said goals. The effort put forth would be equal to say, 100% of what they can give. The end product? Reaching the goal, with success. I find these people to be amazing. No matter which direction, no matter what goal, this complete approach is admirable, and full of integrity and character.

Then there are the other people that I come into contact with that do not function under this paradigm. These people have goals outlined, but they are just that, outlines. They kind of move toward their goal, using shortcuts, sometimes applying effort, and sometimes not. They sort of hope to achieve what they want, but don't really care if they get all the way to the point they are trying for, or just within close proximity. These people are, to be kind, not amazing to me. I find them to be full of talk, and not action, full of pride and not humility, full of selfishness and a self serving motivation- anything that can help them to look like they are achieving is good enough. They want to win, but the appearance of a win, well that is just as good.

So my question is, where do I find the people I first described? How come so many of the people in the world are willing to settle for second, for less than their best? Is it the ridiculous awards that we pile onto them for things that require no effort at all in an attempt to make sure everyone feels good about themselves? Is it that there are so many loop holes in our society that one need not actually try to be successful, need not make any sacrifice in order to reach an end point? If something is worth dreaming about, worth doing, why is it not worth everything you have to get there? What is it about America that makes us believe that we do not need to strive, that we do not need to do all that we can to reach our goals? Where did the philosophy about being anything you want to be if you work hard enough go?

In a world that is moving so fast that we can literally reach out and touch almost anything that we want to with the stroke of a key, with the limitless possibilities that this century brings, it seems impossible to me that we would not strive to be everything that we possibly could be, that we would not desire to lay down the cheap imitations of life and pick up those that are real, and in so doing, achieve greatness.

Explaining the Understood

“It’s magic!” The wondrous cry of a young child at Christmas morning, or upon discovering something they have no prior experience with- it is their explanation. As knowing adults we smugly smile, secretly looking to find what the “real” explanation is to this ordinary phenomenon. Yet, even as adults, we seek it. We feel led to go and pursue it physically, mentally. We seek to see the wonder, feel the special feeling, and want to find the sparkle in the lining of the silver cloud. Never do we truly let go of that desire that wish, to find magic in ourselves, in our world, in our minds. Why does it grow farther from us the older we get? Why do we not allow ourselves the luxury of exclamation, of belief? We have all been conditioned to know true answers and thus forgo the ones that are based on emotion, of “feeling”.

Some people groups seem more likely to embrace the imagined, the intangible things, more willing to find the unbelievable. Yet, in the United States, we are commercialized, absorbed in media and definitions of things, unable to even imagine, much less believe in it. Here we are, part of our spirits still crying out for the unbelievable, with eyes that will not see it, minds that can not conceive.

A single reality is shaped by all those around it, those that reinforce it, those that make it real. Alone, we have our own minds, but surrounded by others we have the greater “social consciousness”. There is nothing to challenge us to continue to look, but we still do. I think that observing this in others, in myself, I want to tell them, “it is there, magic is still there!” Maybe the mistake is the presupposed assumption of how it will present, maybe it is the lack of understanding it that makes it impossible to see.

If I were reading this, a logical thinking person, I would tend to say that this was whimsical thought, naiveté. But since I am writing it I ask you that would say that, where did Einstein conceive of space and time intertwined, what made Galileo challenge the current thought on our place in space, what made any of the great minds choose to experiment, to question, to believe something other than the norm? They had the courage to look beyond themselves, to discover the magic that they knew was there, the answers not yet found, the places unsought. The journey and questions that motivate us all to look for magic in our world seems to me to be the very essence of humanity, and it is beautiful. The next time you feel the pull, see something that makes you wonder, hear the exclamation of some young mind, stop! Consider the world around you anew, and seek to understand the understood- again. I will.

Stages, Bad Days and Tender Mercies

I have spent the last week and a half preparing myself. Looking down the pipe at the last 364 days and dreading the one year anniversary of my husband's untimely death. This is not the kind of fun spring break you might imagine yourself having. Not ever having done it before the whole process of being a grieving widow is new to me, and the main thing that I have allowed myself is to experience whatever it is that I feel, without self judgement or condemnation. That is something that is difficult for me to do, since holding myself to the highest standard is the common expectation. I have tried to be honest and real with myself and others about what is going on in my journey with death. Wanting to blog about the whole experience, it just has come to me what I should to say to not just those who wonder, "how do you do it" but to my analytical self. Now, this comes with a qualifier of course, because how I do it will not be the same as anyone else, and how they do it. Not only are all of our lives unique, all of our death experiences are also unique, and as individuals with different experiences, none of us can have the same journey.
That being said, I thought that I would share my observations. So many people are told upon death of a loved one that there are "stages". This is supposed to be a guide to help you chart your own progress through the grieving process, or to help others identify where you are. I hate these kind of measures because they are data based on assumptions about all people taken from a small pool. However,at first it was reassuring when I knew that although I had no way to know what I was going to do or how I would progress that there was a chart to follow that would tell me exactly what I needed to be doing. Sadly, I was a bit idealistic. There may be stages of death, but I have to think that they also are different for everyone. So, it was not the denial stage that I entered into or the anger stage or the acceptance stage. It was simply a giant void, that I navigated sometimes on autopilot, hoping to catch my breath. Again, we all have different ways, and maybe others would choose differently, but I slowly began to form ideas about how to move on. I decided I could not judge others, for wanting to make me happy, for judging me, for anything- I realized the importance of that statement in a way that gave me a whole new outlook, even though it is still difficult to do. I chose to accept myself and my situation in this place, and look at it from a 'where do I go now' point of view instead of a 'what do I do' point of view. I began to try to do things that I felt like would help me to bring closure to the relationship body that I had been a part of and to branch out into the new place that was just me. All of these things were difficult, and brought new levels of sadness, and understanding in my journey.
Just as I began to make progress, the month would end and a new one would roll around, bringing with it the number day that my husband was declared dead. This has usually been followed by a few days before and a few days after with an extra feeling of mourning, an especially weepy and sad time. I called it the "bad day" and even if I thought I had forgotten about it, it would sneak up on me and the next thing I knew I was crying to an NPR report, or a commercial. As I recognized that pattern I took some precautions to help ease the difficulty, but the past 12 bad days (one for each month) have all been bad. That leads me to my main point. It is all bad. Every day, every time you think about the one that you love that is gone, it is bad. Eventually I am told that you remember more good than bad, and that it is not "as bad". That may be true. This past week although not good, was not the super bad week or super bad day that I thought the one year anniversary would be, proving again that I really have no idea how to navigate my own journey. It did make me realize that the quality and quantity of loss really doesn't fluctuate as much, it is pretty standard. My realizations of the loss, the sudden triggering of a memory does change, and that is when things come to the forefront of my mind. As a matter of fact, I would have to say that some days, some situations are very good. Watching my boys do something really amazing, or cute is still good. Colored maybe with a gray haze, but still good. And, choosing life, as I have already shared, is about looking around and grabbing onto those moments. Every time I miss him, and wish for his presence I am both saddened that he is gone and driven to make sure that the things he loved, and enjoyed doing are made evident for my children, for my friends, for me. So, even though the month day is a hard one, I think that overall it is just a daily progression.
This post wouldn't be complete without a comment on the tender mercies of friends and family. No matter what your death experience is, there will be those who comfort you, those who do what they can and those who clumsily try but only end in making you remember sadly. Mix it all up together and you have the people around you. This past year has been a kind but gentle breeze of love for my life. Friends who reach out, and maybe say nothing about loss, but gently embrace my spirit with love have been important to me. Kind words of encouragement from family, and actions of generosity from them have nursed my path. It does not really matter, I don't think, how people reach out to you when you are in this sort of situation- it is the reaching, that is most important. Some people have shared memories of John with me, that I did not know or had not heard, and he is that thing to them that he never was or will be to me.
In loss, great or small, we each have a private journey, and yet it is a journey that belongs to all of us, all humanity. Every person that knew the loved one feels it, and we do not need to quantify a greater or lesser loss. It is simply that, a loss. This year, there was a loss of a great human being, and its consequences have reached into all of our realities, all of our hearts. I would not have been able to take the walk that I have made into this place without depending on the kindnesses of those around me. We are all bound together in the births and deaths of those we love.

Breaths Exhaled

Children are something that many of us have in common, some are new to parenthood, and some are finishing up and watching them go off to college. There is so much to say about kids, yours are always the best of course, and then all those friends and family around you. The special set of challenges that each new person presents to your life as they arrive pink and screaming is mind altering- a new personality, a new schedule preference, a new perspective that will form before your eyes into something you may or may not agree with. There are so many wonderful ways that they impact us, teach us how to be, wrap their little fingers around our hearts. I never doubted that I would love being a mother to my boys, nor did I worry that they would grow up and disappoint me. I knew that whatever they did, whatever they became would be unique and beautiful and hopefully, as my Grandad says, "an improvement on me".

The one thing I did always worry about with my parenting was that I would have to do it alone. I used to look at single moms and say, "I don't know how they do it. I would not be able to." I mentally took that time to check off of my list, "been nice to my husband today", and breathe deeply. It never really crossed my mind that I would be in that predictament because we were such a great team, and had so many things that were rich in our relationship. So, this last year has been really different, entering into the realm of "single motherhood". As a widow I don't feel the stigma of a failed marriage, but I do feel the looks and stares as we go anywhere as a family. I walk quickly through the supermarket saying to my entourage of 3 trailing behind me, "stay with me, walk quickly, don't touch that." And they do, it is amazing. But it is that way everywhere I go, 3 in the backseat, 3 in the yard, 3 behind me going to the buffet at the restraunt, 3 getting dirty looks as they laugh at the library (shhh!) I have not really known how to appreciate it, or how to feel comfortable with this life attachment that is even closer, demands even more of me than it did when I was a stay-at-home wife and mother. I have felt the weight of it and that it is heavy to have such responsibility with no balance from my parenting partner. I have felt the imposition of it in that I can't go out, can't meet new people, can't go do anything alone without a babysitter. But as I have cycled through these phases I have tried, clumsily, to define what it is to have this new place in motherhood.

Parenting does not feel any longer the way that it did before and like most intangible feelings, with the change has come the awareness of what it has always been. Although a spouse is someone that you share your life with and know intimately, a child is part of you. They are your extension, they are your exhale. I walk, I run, I sit, I sleep, I eat, I dream, and always, I breathe out. I look behind or beside me and my breathe takes shape, with tousled blonde hair and 6 flailing arms and legs, sweaty, chaotic, beautiful. Children are our exhale, and when we step away from this place, they are left behind us to first weep and then to expand in their lives and fill it with the beautiful parts of our dreams that were left behind.

Choosing Life

"I see myself and all of those around me, walking in and out of our days, trying hard to figure out what to do with what we have- and how to do it to the best of our abilities, as the world continues spinning around us in a shaky but continuous course that seems completely unaltered by the human beings trying so desperately to remain immortal on its inanimate surface."

I tried to describe our journeys through life not too long ago and this was the description I came up with. We all desire to live, as is evidenced by so many expressions, to the fullest. "Live like there is no tomorrow." "Carpe diem" "Live each day like it is your last" . Yet, so few of us actually grab these cliche quotes by the horns. The juxtapostion of humanity is that we are both creatures of habit and thinkers of thoughts.
As I have processed through the last year I have heard more times than I can count,"How do you do it?" And I always answer, "I get up and put one foot in front of the other every day. " Now, most people would say that is fine for me, having gone through such a horrendous tragedy, but I would be willing to venture that even going through our daily lives we all tend to do that. It is easy, and you fall into a routine. On a much deeper level though, I have been surviving by doing that. Surviving is great- but it is like doing something just enough to check the box off- never satisfying and rarely good quality. Upon losing all that there was to lose in my life, I have suffered also from losing my dreams- the things that I felt like would allow me to be immortal on this earth. Something in me just did not feel like I would ever be able to pick them up again.
Yet, this desire to actually live is still calling out to me. The other day, as I was thinking through all of this, I realized that in order to live the quality life that I really want I must pick up the desires and the dreams and make them happen. Just going through, on a monotonous, routine schedule is never going to be fulfilling, and there are too many people who have given me an example of actually picking up the challenge of life and making things what they imagine that they could be. So, I guess today I would say of myself, I choose life. It can be difficult, but the journey can be made incredible by allowing yourself the freedom to leap, and this world can be made better everyday by all of those who will take the amazing beauty that is inside of them and bring it out to share with all of us.

A Return to Old Values

Of late I had the privelage to read something from someone most people do not remember, John Stuart Mill. He is best known for his classic essay from 1859 'On Liberty'. In this age of ours, we all have certain beliefs, and values that we feel like the rest of society would benefit from having. Some of those are imposed on us (Privacy Act) in the name of national security. Some are just things that we are frowned upon for doing (leaving our child in the locked car while we run inside to pick something up). Some are things that we are smiled upon if we do do (go to sunday school and church every Sunday). Truthfully, the thing that I have appreciated more than others of late, is my freedom to make the choices that I make. I don't really care if I am frowned at or smiled at, because it is no one's business but mine. I certainly don't think that America should be legislating what I do on my own time. Of course, some people make bad 'choices' and some make better 'choices' but all of them are their choices and they will reap the consequences of them. Who am I to impose my opinions of what they are or should be? I am just another shmoe going around, making my own choices to reap consequences from, and being human and being American does not give me the right to impose my views at all, regardless of my credentials. Mill said all of this much more adeptly than me:

"No society in which these liberties are not , on the whole, respected, is free, whatever may be its form of government; and none is completely free in which they do not exist absolute and unqualified. The only freedom which deserves the name, is that of pursuing our own good in our own way, so long as we do not attempt to deprive others of theirs, or impede their efforts to obtain it. Each is the proper guardian of his own health, whether bodily, or mental and spiritual. Mankind are greater gainers by suffering each other to live as seems good to themselves, than by compelling each to live as seems good to the rest..."
"On Liberty" 1859

Love's Many Faces

In this age people have all sorts of "loves". I think it is probably one of the most often used adjectives, and most misused terms of endearment. But, then again, maybe it isn't misused at all? Truly, I can love dark chocolate. I can love my dog. I can love going for a walk and I can love my son. There are so many things to "love" that the word becomes overused, and sometimes we forget what it really means, or do we? Who am I to say whether or not a pretzel, or even a pringle is worthy of your love? This poem I recently found is one of the most beautiful "love poems" I have ever read. The thing about it that I find most unique, is that upon first reading, we can see that there is a powerful love that is being spoken of, and you can almost be led to believe that it is for a lover. But, as I look at it more closely, I see that it can be so many of the people that we hold in our hearts. The thing that brings me the most comfort this Valentine's day, is that when we hold them in our hearts, no matter where they are in time or space, we have them with us.

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)

I am never without it (anywhere I go, you go my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)

I fear...

No fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

And it's you are whatever a moon has always meant And whatever a sun will always sing is you

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of the tree called life;

which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)



e.e.cummings

Today

Today I recall the pain,
Tearing searing burning aching heartwrenching,
The separation of cells, sinew will not grow again,
Oxygen depletion, blood circumvented…
Needed: heart mend,
Wanted: heart restore.
How is it possible to say,
Never will I love, never will I marry
then finding my other half, knowing
before he even knows,
longing before, wanting before, wondering before
He asks.
Bargaining with my self, all of us forever,
For just a little while, if I can have it I want it.
Did I know and choose? Or did I never know,
Or did I know and choose to forget…for the satisfaction of the now.
Just want to feel the strength, the warmth, the steady hand,
The safe place, for a while.
Running away running from strife, war, anger…I cast a fearful fleeting glance behind;
“don’t look back!” a voice says
As I look behind me, I slip
I am falling down a muddy embankment
Desperately I reach my hand up
He is there, grasping, warm not cold.
And we wake up.

So I never thought i would do this

how many of us say that? "I never send forwards, but..." "I never would do my hair like that, but..." "I would never wear stripes with plaid, but.."

Well, here i am...I never thot i would write a blog. I also never thought alot of things. I never thought that I would be a 33 year old widow. I never thought that I would question the very core beliefs that have shaped my world. I never thought I would drive a minivan, and live in the suburbs. I never thought I would have three boys. I never thought I would get married. I never thought I would make it past 25...Anyone that knew me in highschool would agree with these thoughts, Carrie was least likely to get married and settle down and be a mommy. And yet, it fit beautifully. Being a wife and mother was and is the best thing that could have ever happened for me. So now, as I am in the process of learning how to be a single mother of boys, I find myself blogging. Welcome. For those of you who know me, you might want to read at your own risk-heehee. For those of you who don't, well.