So, there was a little hostage situation here last night…
My youngest son, age 10 in fifth grade, asked for the yardstick to measure the dog’s long, fluffy tail. When I didn’t immediately hand it over to him, he began taking items out of the pantry one by one, reading their labels aloud, stacking them on the kitchen counter as he stockpiled hostages. Along the way he found the yardstick and Blue did NOT want his tail measured, so my boy resumed taking pantry items hostage. Not just the extra food, also batteries, straws, flashlights, lightbulbs and the broom. Then, since I made white chicken chili yesterday, and the crock pot found itself surrounded by other hostages, that boy blocked his captives off with the yardstick and declared the crock pot hostage too. What?! The crock pot was an innocent bystander! Just sitting on the counter, minding it’s own business, after working hard all day, when it found itself surrounded by hostages and a crazed madman brandishing a yardstick about. Too funny really, both in the moment and as hindsight. Love him. The older boy too. He had his own smiling, trying to get my goat, way of pushing buttons last night. His grin said he knew he did too. My narrowed eyes didn’t convince him to move because my grin gave me away. He showered. Such a simple thing, but heaven forbid it be one. Thursday morning now. The sun rose. Both of my sons rose too, even though they were still rather tired, grumbly and wanting more sleep. Oldest is delivered to school and youngest is en route. Blue has been out twice. Time is 8:30am. I stayed in my flannel pjs and am making coffee now. Errands and cat duty and miscellaneous whatnot will all fill in the hours until those two boys who hold their mother’s heart return home again. I may have agreed to make a chocolate cake last night to free the hostages. I sort of think I did. I better make one, to appease that crazed madman, age 10.
January 30, 2014
There is a new moon tonight. The second new moon of January 2014. There are two super moons this month, on the first and thirtieth, but actually, there were three because of the full moon in the middle. I have a feeling “moon effect” had a little to do with the antics at my house last night. The rest was a very creative, witty and hilarious way to avoid bedtime.
It all started by reading a Facebook status that said, “Sometimes even the people you love need to be unfriended.” I simply wrote, “Thankful I’m still here.” A mutual friend commented, “Me, too, Janean. But, I have had to unfriend a couple for language too.” This is where I probably should have just liked her comment and let what instead happened next disappear like a puff of smoke. Instead, I wrote…
“I have my moments of “could have been a language violator.” I understand though. I figure “free to come and free to go” and am praying through the hurt of those who went from my own “friends list.” My true friends know where to find me. We’re programmed into one another’s phones and know the way to each other’s front door. We hug hello and goodbye and in between we talk, laugh and heart share. In person communique is better than online every time. I am thankful for the Godly examples of the many women I’ve met through church. I know what faithful prayer warriors they are and how mightily they prayed my family through a storm, while weathering storms of their own, often with gale force gusts, rated F4 and category 5. Online channels have their merits, for an initial meeting and keeping in touch, but in person is better because you can hug and read faces, which say more than most status updates ever could.”
Perhaps I said too much. Perhaps not enough. This whole topic of unfriending and blocking strikes a nerve that’s raw. There is hurt there. Life is about choices. “Free to go” should always be a viable option. Thankfully, it is. An older gentleman I worked with years ago often quoted this wisdom from his mother, “There are three sides to every story: yours, mine and what really happened.”
God sees the overview and knows what’s in our hearts. He knits us together with the people we need and He directs our paths. Watch out for the potholes, road blocks and pits. Sometimes these things we view as obstacles actually protect us, from the things we cannot see ahead. Other times they help us grow deeper roots of Faith to help us stand against the mighty winds. Trust God and He will see you through. He sent His Son to die on the cross, to forgive the sins of a fallen world. Grace. There is grace and forgiveness to cover our humanness. Praise God. Praise Him for the little things and the BIG ones. Praise Him in song, in words, sometimes spoken aloud, other times typed in an email, tweet, blog post, even on Facebook.
Facebook. Brings me full circle. Ugh. Stupid Facebook. Part of me wants to ditch Facebook World completely. I still may, but not quite yet. I’m thankful for the people I am connected to, whether we interact much, or not. I hop on and hop off, reading, “liking,” and commenting. Sometimes saying too much. I’m me. It’s how I’m made. Typing forums are dangerous for me because words have a way of pouring out. Honest words, from the heart. I’m not perfect, no where near, never have been, never will be, never was. I’m just a human woman, with the tendency to be a chatterbox. I try to follow my mother’s advice, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”
January 25, 2014
on the horizon
the Son has risen
Sunday, January 19, 2014
Loss is loss.
Grief is grief.
Love is love.
No comparison necessary.
It hurts but love helps.
The more we love, the more it hurts. Time heals.
So does love.
January 12, 2014
The words above were my reply via text to KRB who first wrote, “Parent is not the same as a spouse..but a loss still hurts.” Prayers being said on a constant loop. I carry her heart hurts in my heart, as she did/does mine in hers. That’s what GFF BFFs do. We prop each other up with words via text, email and spoken on the phone. We meet in person too, but that is rarer and “more better” due to the rarity of it, and watch out when we do!
I can’t make you
I wish I could
you’re bigger than me
I can’t stop you
you won’t listen
I won’t beg
do what you have to do
the door closes
I cry then
my eyes are dry now
no longer tired
when you will come home
knowing that you will
I won’t call
you know the way
when you’re ready
I can’t make you
© 2011 Turquoise Tangles
That feeling when someone suddenly “Tumblr loves” something you wrote a few years ago. You reread it. Sigh deeply and cuss (just in your head). Somehow you nearly forgot. Does anyone else tag real life personal drama as, “creative writing” and hope the outer facade of reality doesn’t crack? No, me either. After tagging that way a few times my husband “called me on it” so I stopped. Stopped writing quite so honestly. Stopped tagging anything “creative writing.” Started talking about the dog, Blue, then just a puppy. A lot. Time flies. Speed varies. I’ve logged nearly 1,000 posts here at Tumblr since joining in November 2011. Poems. Photographs. Stories. Quotes. Reblogs. All tweeted too, if you’re counting. The best, most interesting, jaw dropping, heart aching, twisting, tugging, wrenching, soaring writing from the past several years has all been done behind the scenes. Just in case you’re wondering, this poem, written on a long ago night, was foreshadowing. I’m glad I was brave enough to write it and say it at the time. I still remember the fight. Faded. Fading. Letting go. We were fire and fire, fire and ice, hot and cold. Yet, we ended “just right.” We came through the fire, all pride set aside, and we loved with our walls down for the very first time.
January 6, 2014
The children go back to school next Monday. It’s been so nice just being home and hanging out in pajamas over their Christmas break though. We’re homebodies at heart.
January 2, 2014
Kintsugi (金継ぎ), meaning “golden joinery,” is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery using gold. It restores functionality to a broken vessel, and not only adds beauty and worth, it turns destruction and damage into the most valuable part of the piece. The scars of the past are not erased or hidden away, to be ashamed of – they are transformed, immortalized in gold.
How many times have I felt as if I could hold no more water – like a dry cistern? How many times have I felt parched as dust from a cracked vessel? As many times as I have felt like pieces of me have been lost or torn away, and as many times as I have cried over how broken I have become. Yet, with time, patience, hard work, and the touch of a Master craftsman, I may yet be restored.
A reminder for us all. Yes, life changes us, even sometimes breaks us. But those breaks can be stronger and more beautiful if we heal them with art. Fill the breaks with poetry, paint the cracks with art. Take the time and be stronger for it.
Thank you for this. I needed to see it today.
I first reblogged this post by another in December 2012. I’m reblogging it again today, just over a year later, on January 1, 2014. I just emailed this photograph of repaired pottery with beautiful words to my sister with the subject line, “We’re glued back together with GOLD.” She needed to read it too, because of this text reply she sent to me earlier today, “Yup all the pieces are coming back together. I can see they are being glued carefully into place. So proud of you. That may seem silly but i am.” Silly only because she is my younger sister, but not silly at all. I assured her I understood completely, and added that she and I are stronger together, connected by our “all in” ginormous hearts, even though we’ve made our homes many states apart. Life goes on and so do we, wearing cowgirl boots with sass and kickass, though we have pleasing manners too. ‘Cause we’re Gary’s Girls and Patty Sunshine’s too. Damn straight. 2014 is The Year of the Horse and we’re ready to run the race, while setting our own pace.
January 1, 2014
I purposely stayed out of my Online World yesterday. I wanted to enjoy the moment I was in. I did. There were many beautiful ones. Smiles. Hugs. Laughter. Presents. Discarded wrapping paper. Happy boys. Funny Blue stories. Pictures. Memories of Mike spoken aloud. Other memories held close inside. Not too many tears. May the joy and magic of Christmas live in your hearts all year. Christmas is all about the LOVE. Let’s carry more of that into the new year.
December 26, 2013
I’m standing with one foot on the ledge between the kitchen sinks, and one foot on the adjacent kitchen counter, twisting a hook into the window moulding to hang a birthday treasure. My youngest boy just says, “Hi, Mom” as he ducks into the half bath off the kitchen. Blasé. No big deal. Curiosity not piqued at all. Even though, for the record, I am not often found counter climbing. In other news, both of my feet are back on ground now, even if my heart is soaring a bit, as I daydream and smile at the blue crescent moon made of glass now dangling over my head. On sunny days the faceted clear crystals will add colorful rainbows to my kitchen walls. I can hardly wait! Until then, I’ll smile at la lune and dream about the kind of moments that happen just once in a blue moon. Smiling crooked crescents are my favorite moon phase, other than half, three quarter and ginormous full. I sort of love them all!
December 8, 2013