Scars

When most people in this day and age have lived for awhile, they are bound to have accumulated a variety of scars.  Most of mine are from surgeries.   Even though there is a lengthy section on scars in Wikipedia on scars I find all the technical jargon boring and beside the point.

I was conversing with a friend the other day and he was speaking of emotional pain, left over from 10 years ago that shouldn't have any affect on his life now, but do.  He called what he was feeling emotional scars.  For some reason, I had never considered that before.  I decided that I had a lot of them myself. (I imagine he was sorry he brought that subject up because it gave me ammunition for a whole metaphoric rant.)

Scars are leftovers from an injury. Scaring is a normal part of healing.  For instance, I have an abdominal scar that is 27 years old, aside from it being big and ugly, I have had no pain or dysfunction in my gut for a couple decades.  It is completely healed, but you can still see clearly the evidence of the surgery. This can be likened to times in my past when I was emotionally hurt. It happened long ago, but I can still see and feel the scar, and every time I do, I remember the pain.

Some emotional scars leave collateral damage. The injury seems healed, but it may be the cause of some malfunction in another area. For instance, I have another scar from knee surgery 5 or 6 years ago that is probably healed but there is nerve damage and a numb spot on my ankle.  The numb spot may be like a trigger for a bad memory. It may completely heal some day, and no longer trigger pain, but maybe not.

Sometimes a wound never heals. I've heard about special treatment centers for wounds that refuse to heal. Could this be likened to rehab centers for unhealed injuries?

I read somewhere that if you are carrying resentments you are still angry and thus have not forgiven.  I disagree with that.  I think a resentment is an emotional scar you are carrying.  My psyche is fully functional, I have forgiven and am trying to move on, but I will always carry that emotional scar.

Hearts carry scars but still function, until, that is, there gets to be gets so much scar tissue, then it becomes something else.

Your Mask is your Enemy

Remove your armor,

Take off your mask,

Rejoin the human race.

Show your pain when you have some.

Share your joy when you can.

Your armor served you well for decades,

But it has become your enemy

And has taken root in your soul.


Discard your gauntlets.

Feel the rose and all its thorns.

Your armor was protection,

It made you larger than life,

And standing

All alone.

Halloween

Now is the time for goblins
Do you believe?
The trees give an unholy brightness
And cover the earth with rust.
The rain can't be seen
But you can feel it-----
If you are brave enough to leave your fireside.

I haven't really blogged in awhile, it's not that I haven't been ruminating in my journals every night, but I haven't persuaded my fingers and my keyboard to get together.

But being that Halloween has become my favorite holiday, my fingers found the keyboard.  For us the Holidays begin with Halloween.

I must give my husband the dubious credit for my becoming a Halloween freak.  Before moving here and meeting him, the last time I did anything for Halloween, was when a friend and I were intending to go to a costume party but chickened out, got out of costume, and went somewhere else, leaving my mom to deal with our blind dates.   (I'll bet they were pissed!)

When I moved up here, this weird guy still donned a costume each Halloween and went Trick or Liquoring. He was involved with a theater group at the local college where he had access to stage make up and costumes. He was usually a vampire, he would smear on  just enough white make up to have a pretty convincing bloodless, dead look andwore a long flowing black cape. To top off the whole effect, he drove a huge 1953 Fleetwood, Cadillac.  It was black, and of course, one of those old cars that kinda looked like an inverted bathtub.  What girl could have resisted that?  Well, anyway I couldn't.

We bought his family home.  The house is 130 years old came with more than its share of ghost stories, a ghost seen by all members of his family.  It was just a harmless ghost of a young boy who died here, and did stuff like open drawers and knock over snare drums.  Every one always thought that when the family moved to the country the little ghost tried to follow them and got lost in the wind.  No one has seen the little ghost since then.  I actually never had the "pleasure" of seeing the ghost (thank God)  It was family history by the time I got here.

If that ghost was going to find its way back to this house, it would have been during the Halloween party era.  We tried to start in having little kid parties when or daughter was about six or so, but it turns out the little wuss was so scared of monsters under her bed, that we had to stop with the parties for a couple of years. I guess she was about 10 when we really started going overboard.

Husband always had fond memories of a party his mother threw a party one year for the kids in the neighborhood.   I believe the kiddos were called the West Street Maniacs. (Just to clarify.the neighborhood kids in the neighborhood, not his family, were the maniacs.  Maybe.)  Anyway, she passed around a plate of pealed grapes to blindfolded kids and said they were eyeballs and plate of cold spaghetti was veins.

When our daughter got somewhat over her terrified stage,  the fun began. We started preparing for the party in July. We turned the basement of this house into a spook house. We started out with rolls of black plastic, We stapled it to the ceiling, weighted down the ends to the floor so we could make hallways and rooms. He wired up  lights so that they were all red for a short time, then all blue.  We learned tricks with these colored lights so that things would  seem to disappear and reappear. One year he rigged up an ice-cream machine with levers and pulleys which made rubber arms and hands move in circles through as though they had broken through a wall. One of the rooms was always reserved to be bathed in black light with glow in the dark stars and dancing skeletons.

Outside there was a ghostly shaped pinata. We rigged it up so that it came out of our second story bathroom window and slid down on a rope. It was made to look like Slimer from  the Ghost Busters movie. The kiddo's would take turns trying to break the thing open with a long handled, plastic ax.  Slimer proved to be a tough ghost to crack, being hand crafted from wall paper paste and newspaper.

Then there was the bonfire.  With the kids growing some sense, the size of the bonfire grew till it could be seen from space.

Our favorite movie is The Nightmare Before Christmas. Danny Elfman and Tim Burden are geniuses!

Happy Halloween!

Burdette Park

I attended a week-end long function here and forgot my camera, so I thought I'd try to just describe the scene.  It was  an experiment in creative writing.  I think it worked.

Burdette Park

A picnic table
Sits near the shore of a lake.
It invited me to come
and watch the ducks and geese relax
In the shallow water.

Some of them preen themselves
With their heads hidden under
Outstretched wings.
Others seemingly stare into space
Probably scoping for any food
They may have missed or may still come their way.

In the distance a Great Blue Heron
Stands majestically on one foot.

The scene is partially hidden by
The long delicate branches,
Of a giant Weeping Willow
That nearly touch the ground,

When this panoramic picture
Became thoroughly etched
Upon my brain
I returned to the cottage
Of my new found family
Once again.

Balance

I have come to realize that  marriage is a partnership and that it rides on a balance of power.  I think most successful partnerships do.

I was relatively happy most of the time, taking care of the house, cleaning up after everyone, cooking, gardening, redecorating, keeping the bills paid, doing laundry taking care of the kiddo, mowing the lawn, and on occasion staining the deck.  I didn't really mind doing all of this, I regarded it as my job. I did all of this contentedly since my spouse brought home the bacon.  After all, I was the one with time on my hands.  We had a marvelous balance of power going.   I had my own little castle that I was queen of.  The only other living things here were the cats and we got along fine if I'd just let them in and out the door a million times. I was the model house wife, as was my spouse he was the model husband.  Ward and June Cleaver--that was us.

Ah, but then it all came to a vile end.  He lost his job through no fault of his own, the company was sold.  He  no longer was bringing home the bacon.  The vile part came with alcoholism, in all fairness  I will say my para-alcoholism or co-dependency played its part in the vileness too.  The word vile sounds a lot like violent doesn't it?  I wonder if they are from the same root.... It doesn't appear so.  Our situation was on the doorstep of violence.

I'm beginning to think that personal rights go out of the window when marriage vows fly in.  I have said this before, and it makes more sense to me all the time.  At the dawn of man, humans only lived maybe 30 years (I'm guessing here).  That was time enough to raise children in a household with 2 adults working to keep the little ones out of the way of mammoths and abominable snowmen, and then the old 30-year-old parents died, probably of exhaustion.  Life expectancy now is about 80 years, children are more-or-less grown by the time a person reaches 40 or so.  After children are gone, that leaves another 40 years to (do what?)   explore life and what it means to be human. (yea medical science!)  Don't get me wrong, I think it is wonderful if couples can live in harmony past child rearing, retirement and beyond.  I don't think it is unreasonable to believe otherwise either.

I keep picturing that yin-yang symbol thing all melted Picasso-like and piling up on the bottom of the circle.  That is how I see my marriage at the moment.  His job collapsing, in essence took my job from me too.  He needs to do something, and the only thing he can see to do, was once part of my job. We are both crowding into the yin. Serenity and balance seem too much to ask.  But here I am, sticking it out.  It will take courage and vigilance to keep remembering to keep the focus on me.  I must not forget my personal rights. 

How can we get back in balance?  I have no idea.  Will we ever get back in balance?  I really hope so.  Two things I know for sure,   1.  I'm tired of leading the Cleaver's life.   2.  I have become accustomed to my castle.  I have lived in a fantasy world for 60 years.  Now what?

Two Sides to the Same Coin--Loosening up

Once, years ago, my sister and I found a golf ball in our yard.  My sister, being an inquisitive creature, was curious as to what was inside.  And I, who idealized my big sister at the time, went along with it.  Since it was her idea, and was she was better at sawing, had at it with a hack saw.  After opening the hard shell we found what appeared to be yards and yards of rubber bands wound tightly around a hard rubber core.  We found that interesting, that what is essentially a rubber ball would not float, but soon forgot about it as most girls our age would.

Fast forward a few decades as I try to recover what is left of my sanity, after years of finding my name in the dictionary of alcohol co-dependency, I remembered that golf ball.  It reminded me of the way I feel.  A hard shell on the outside, and inside, tightly wound and  unable to float, despite the fact that rubber is usually a buoyant substance.  Yep, that is me, impenetrable, tightly wound and sinking like a rock.

Recently though,  I have begun to loosen up and I am starting to float slowly to the surface and keep my virtual head above water. I find it possible to breathe now.

Thinking about that golf ball brings to my mind the two recovery methods that seem to be polar opposites.  One line of thought says that to find some serenity, you must get out of yourself.  The other side of the coin says that you must focus on yourself.  That kind of inconstancy has the potential to make my head explode.

But I think I seem to have finally figured it out.    As long as I am like that tightly wound golf ball, I am into myself.  I am so tightly wound that I can not see anything beyond my own circle.   When I loosen up and float to the surface of the sea of life, my eyes clear.  I can see others as well as myself.


I'm not really sure how focusing on myself can be good for others, but I can see it happening all the time.  Positive changes do seem to happen.  I guess it has a lot to do with letting go of others and letting them take care of themselves.  If I keep the focus on myself, I don't have room in my brain for taking on the responsibility for the happiness of others.  God knows I have a hard enough time making myself happy.  It makes sense to me anyway.

Day and Night

Day and Night

In the peaceful calm

Of the morning

When only the birds are awake

I think that I could be happy

With only a chair,

A tree

And a place to lay my weary head at night.

But sometimes when it's dark

And I am weary,

Night demons come.

They taunt  me.

They dance and point their long bony fingers at me,

And declare me guilty.

When dawn comes once again

I realize

That those demons

Have no power over me,

And I am still strong.

A Place for Peace

Walking alone in the darkness

I see nothing all around me,

Only darkness.

Walking slowly, for I have no destination,

A little frightened, but that is my nature.

My fears are drawn out by the calmness

Peace.


But, alas, signs of civilization,

Bright lights, buildings,

Out of the darkness I begin to shiver,

I feel the cold and hatred around me.


I stop to find a place to escape this troubled world,

but there is no place

For calm or

Peace.


Sadly, I turn toward my home

But when I go in

There is no cold,

There is no hatred,

Even with bright lights,

There is warmth

And love.

And as I nestle within the love of my family,

There is calm

Peace .

My own Worst Enemy

I am my own worst enemy, I realize this.  Most of the time what I perceive is not  verbalized.  But what I perceive is still an honest feeling in  my heart.   I am fully aware that I am judging myself. And since that is the case,  my unhappiness is my own damn fault. 

The perception may not actually be spoken in words, but it is enough to influence the judge.  The judge is different version of  myself.  She pounds that gavel and declares me guilty of blame and get I my sentence of another year's hard time.  I take my judgement helplessly and accept my fate.  Thus I am a victim of myself.

I don't want to take the blame for everything, it makes me feel like a worm.  Worms are OK creatures, I think they are kind of cute, actually, but after all, they live in the mud.  I have evolved and I have no desire to live in the mud.  (Or go camping,-- (although I used to like camping a few years ago. ))  So why do I keep condemning myself to slither in the mud?  I may never know.

I keep hearing, one of the keys to happiness is to focus on yourself.  That is difficult when the judge that is me is being influenced, by someone telling her how selfish I am.


...
I'm only trying to get me some peace!
Christ, you know it ain't easy,
You know how hard it can be...

                                                                (John Lennon gets credit for those lines)


,

A Whole Cast of Charactors

              Introducing the characters:   Control, Powerlessness,Victim, Action and Reaction


Here is control. It is the other side of powerlessness  I am told.   I am  powerless over everything, including the other guy, so the other guy should be powerless over me too.   Right?   But, in my opinion, this is only true if the other guy agrees that he or she is powerless over me.  This may or may not be true.  Perhaps because I allow the other guy to make me feel lousy he or she does have power over me.  That sounds right, but how does that make me controlling?  It's still controlling, I suppose, to only want the other guy to leave me alone. It's still trying to force my will on someone.  But it sure feels like other guy is the one doing the controlling.

Maybe the Victim comes to play in here.  A victim controls by making the other guy feel as if he or she has power over me, there by giving the other guy permission to continue his or hers behavior.  Kind of a sneaky form of control, but control none-the-less.

Now I see Action versus Reactions coming in,  These are interesting little creatures.  The other guy acts, then I react, then what does the other guy do after noting my reaction?  Does he or she react to my reaction?  And then, do I, in turn, react to his or her reaction? Which one is reacting?  Which came first the chicken or the egg?  If I tripped over a pile of dirt would I be acting or reacting to its natural state of lying there in the way?  I assume that the pile of dirt is not going to react to my tripping over it, since it is an inanimate object.  The other guy, however, is not an  inanimate object and can react therefore to my reaction.

All this being said, you can clearly conclude that I an undoubtedly insane.

I could now bring out another character--Insanity.  But I am tired and will leave him for another time.

Becoming Human

I was born from human parents so I am told, so I must have started out human.  I don't know when it happened but somehow early in life I lost my humanness.  Humans, I hear, have an instinctive need to belong.  They are social animals.

I was a different animal since I spent most of my time alone and I liked it that way. I noticed when I posted poems about my childhood, many of them spoke of my aloneness growing up.  I have lived a lifetime not actually living at all.  Maybe I ruminate on the past too much, I'm sure I do, but one has to know before they can grow. All I know is that I always felt different  from other humans, and I didn't know why. 

Lately I have discovered my humanness.  I like being human.  I have discovered the joy of life and friendship for the first time in years.  I keep surprising myself by climbing mountains that should have been climbed decades ago. I keep growing, I've got a lot of years to make up for.

Tanner's Creek

I grew up in a small town

Where no one was concerned to see

A young girl walking down the street alone.

Sometimes I would go down to the creek.

My mother warned me about that place.

She said that it wasn't safe

For little girls to go there alone.

I wondered why and went anyway.

I'd go to sit on logs

And look at wildflowers.

I would pretend I was in a jungle

Far, far away

and I'd follow trails for hours.


On steamy summer days,

When I was older,

My friends and I would swim


In the murky water

With all our clothes on,

Even tennis shoes

So our feet would be safe

From snakes and sticks.

We'd emerge from the brown water,

Our clothes clinging to our wet bodies,

And walk to the chlorinated pool,

Only a stones throw away

To use the showers.

How strange some must have thought it was

To see three teen-age girls

Soggy and slightly rank

Stroll into their sterile environment.

Camping at Anastasia

I can still remember the velvet night

When the dew fell like rain

Splashing from the leaves far above us

And tapping on the canvas.

Later the reflected brilliance of the moon

Illuminated the walls of out portable home.

Peeking out, we saw a family of racoons

Approach the campsite

And rummage through some refuse

Cast off by other intruders.

Otherwise all was still

Save for fowl  of all descriptions

That warbled in high voice

Deep in the woods.

Poem for Mom

Picking Violets

I was a shy child

Alone a lot.

So, I would spend early afternoons

Just picking violets in the shade.

I would pick them until my small hands ached

From tightly gripping the bundle of stems.


They grew best

Under the spirea bushes

Where the sun couldn't bleach

The royal purple to pale blue.

Only the most perfect blossoms

Were chosen for the honor

Of adorning my mother's dresser.


I would take care to pick the flowers

At the very base of the stem

To make sure the blossoms

Could reach over the top

Of the small blue and gold vase

Used only for displaying 1000 violets.

Many Roads

                                                   Many Roads

 

I am not you and you are not me

Although most times we see as we,

Times do come when we disagree,

We each have our own way of gaining serenity.

That is the way it will always be.

But as long as peace can be found

At the end of whatever road

That we go down

Isn't happiness still the prize?

There are many books in God's library

And many roads to follow

All revealing parts of the same truth

But told in different ways.

Each will enrich a variety of minds

That are all beautiful.

Like yours and mine.

Humility Ponderings Revisited

I have been thinking about humility lately. And I have come to the conclusion that a dictionary definition of the word is only about a fourth or less of what humility is.  The dictionary says humility is "a modest or low view of one's own importance" Hmmm, this dictionary says to me that you have to degrade yourself in order to be humble.

 I don't like that one at all. I'll try another.  Yes, I like Merriam-Websters definition better:  the quality or state of not thinking you are better than other people.  OK, better. but its still only about a fourth true.

A big part of humility is realizing my power--or lack there of.   I  have no control over anything; the seasons changing, the world spinning or the,  stars shining. I have no control over another human being either. I could  try by using death threats or torture, but ultimately what  another does is their choice, not mine.

I must revisit this humility blog entry now, because I learned something today.    I have spent most of my life feeling squashed and overlooked, a powerless victim.  Then suddenly a thought came to me that thinking of myself as a victim just might be a cock-eyed form of arrogance.   By seeing myself as a victim I am being blind to my part in the conflict.  I choose the victim role.


Maybe, true humility is simply finding your place in the hierarchy of the universe. Or maybe it is simply faith.



  


The photos of last nights " blood moon" lunar eclipse brought to me a strong sense of humility.
 
 Years ago I had the same thoughts and came up and I wrote this this poem.

The Extent of Infinity

 

I look up to the sky and see

Infinity,

To my side I see forever.

How small we are next to this

Vast nothingness.

Is there no end to infinity?

How can the universe extend beyond all limits of geometry?

Why do we try to magnify ourselves by talking proud,

When we are nothing?

What good are we to the existence of

Time, space, eternity?

Who are we to say that one is inferior?

To the extent of infinity, 

Aren't we all?

Weird as Armor

I'm pondering again.  This time I am pondering whether or not my S.O.  is getting weirder by the day or if I am getting less weird.

I always felt that I didn't fit in and that I must have been defective in some way.  While growing up the other kids had their idea of normal and I wasn't it. It seemed that every time I found something within myself that I thought was socially acceptable, I was shot down either by God, or by someone who thought they were.

So I decided that since I didn't have a choice in the matter, I would make weirdness my armor. It made me feel like I choose to be the social outcast I thought I was. If someone said I was weird I would have said "thank you".  I think that is why I (as the song from Hair says,) let  my "freak flag fly" .  Being weird gave me something to hide behind.  It gave me the reason I was looking for, as to why I was me, and that if nobody liked how I was, I could make them think I choose to be a non-conformist.   The armor did its job.   It protected me.  I know now that I was embracing the personal power and I didn't even know I had. 

I have found out that, like it or not, I'm just not that weird. I do fit in.  I can take off my armor.  But,

I have worn my armor for so many years that parts of it have begun to take root.  I may bleed if remove it too quickly.  Its removal has to be a gradual process.

There is a lot to be said for individuality, and I don't want to become just another drop in the bucket of humanity either.   There are some perks to being weird.  I think my own special weirdness may be  my humor or my creativity.

 

Its a question of balance.  My happy place is somewhere in the middle between dull and weird.

    

Just what is this ego thing anyway?

Just what is this ego thing anyway?  I have come to realize that I'm not as literate as I thought I was.  I have looked up words to check the spelling only to find out I didn't have the meaning exactly right.

The word ego is one of them. The almighty google claims that according to Webster ego's first meaning is : " the self especially as contrasted with another self or the world."--  What?--  The website also says it is the opinion that you have about yourself.  I get that one!  So its not necessarily the monster that makes your head big.   About.com Psychology says that according to Freud, " the ego is part of personality that mediates the demands of the id, the superego and reality. The ego prevents us from acting on our basic urges (created by the id), but also works to achieve a balance with our moral and idealistic standards."

So, the ego is just a mediator, kind of like a conscience?

"The id is the personality component made up of unconscious psychic energy that works to satisfy basic urges, needs, and desires. The id operates based on the pleasure principle, which demands immediate gratification of needs."

 So is the id the one that gives us the big head?

So what the heck is this superego crap?  OK, superego  (according to About.com Psychology) "is the component of personality composed of our internalized ideals that we have acquired from our parents and from society. The superego works to suppress the urges of the id and tries to make the ego behave morally, rather than realistically."--What?--  My brain is beginning to hurt again!

But I think that the question I have been pondering on the most is the relationship between ego (or is it really id?) and humility. AA squash the ego down and Al-anon, the other side of the AA coin, wants to build the ego up.  Both, (actually all) of the 12 step programs, use the AA steps as their guidelines.  From looking in all the Al-Anon literature I have could I find any reference to ego at all.  Perhaps AA talks about egocentricity which Webster says is "excessive interest in oneself."  

Oh now I get it!  (I think) " Ego" gets a bad rap for his or bigger cousin "egocentricity".  So when AA talks about removing the "bondage of self" they are not saying ego should be stamped out of existence.  Ego is a good and necessary.  Ego is not excessive pride. Ego is just self.  Perhaps egocentricity should be called  idocentricity.

Glad I have that straight.  My brain definitely hurts again.  I nearly called this post "how to drive your self crazy".

The Cypress Analogy

There is a Cypress Tree growing in my front yard.  The old cypress has very distinctive leaves. When they fall in the autumn, I can always recognize which leaves are from that tree.  As I rake my yard, I notice some of "my" leaves have fallen in the neighbors yard.  I  think that maybe I should rake their yard too since they are  "my" leaves, but I resist the urge.  They can clean up their own yard if they want to.

I apply this to life in this way:  Even if some of my actions are the catalyst for another persons reaction, it is not my fault.  Some of my stuff is bound get mixed in with theirs. It is not my responsibility to keep any one else's property clean.

(now my brain hurts.)  ;)

Wilson Creek

Many moons ago, on warm spring afternoons, after high school let out for the day, my friends and I would go wading in Wilson Creek in Dearborn county, Indiana, near Lawrenceburg.

 In some places, the water was so deep that we would hike up our skirts as far as possible so that we wouldn't get our dresses wet.  I think this particular wading place has been bull-dozed to make room for a Wal-Mart.  This photo isn't of OUR Wilson Creek, but it does look just like my memories of it.  I call this poem Contentment.



CONTENTMENT



I step carefully in the cool water


Making sure the slippery rocks

Do not alter my footsteps

And send me splashing among the minnows.

Trees arch over the stream

And keep it shaded for all who come to explore.

The clear water acts as a window

Showing crayfish burrowing in the silt

And scampering from my toes.

The shallow stream travels over small rapids

And skims over stones colored by green moss.

It speeds on, curving and twisting,

And continues flowing to unknown places,

Enchanting unknown explorers

As myself.

Music in My Soul

Now that I have found out which "soul" I mean, I can start my blog.  I hate those stupid words that sound the same but have different meanings.  What are those words called?---homonyms, that's it---they trip me up every time. Nothing like an English lesson to distract me from an excellent topic.

Anyway, about music.

Our family was musical.  We sometimes had family jam sessions in our living room.  My mom led the pack on the piano, my grandfather played mandolin, my sister would play guitar and I would sing.  My dad was, ironically, tone deaf.  Mom always dreamed of being a singer with one of the "big bands" of the 40's but she always let me sing. She could really bang out a tune on the piano too!  She would play the melody with her right hand and play rhythmic cords with her left.  Most of the music we played had a relatively fast tempo.  Occasionally, on summer days, people in the town walking by the house or riding bikes, would linger in front of the house to listen.

Unfortunately, that all stopped when I became ill and lost my singing voice. Hearing the music and not being able to participate, made me very sad.  I guess it must have been too hard on the others too or maybe the time had just come and gone.  About that time had also lost our mandolin player.

I stopped going to church about that time, because the only reason I liked going to church was that I got to sing. 

After a time, I realized that music was a part of me as much as my very soul.  So my record collection began to grow.  It was the 70's and there was a lot of music to choose from. Some of my favorites were; The Beatles, The Who, Carol King, James Taylor and Arlo Guthrie.  Geez, there are so many others! When I'm feeling down,the words to some of those songs I loved still fill my head.

Lately, I have been thinking of the great Rock Opera Tommy which should be included as a classic in my opinion.  Pete Townshend was as much a musical genius as Mozart. The words that keep running through my head of late are "my name is Tommy and I became aware this year..." I feel like I have become aware this year too. (it's about time!)

Then there is Arlo Guthrie, he is the son of the folk singer Woody Guthrie.  Arlo is most famous for "Alice's Restaurant Massacree",  an approximately 20 minute comical look at the (military) draft.  But what I most remember is his rendition of Somebody Turned on the Lights written by Hoyt Axton. In his words Arlo sings "If you never see the sun till '91, don't you never give up the fight..."  I don't think he meant 2091, but, hey, it works for me.

It was Carol King who sang  the words "music is playing inside my head, over and over again...", which run through my head from time to time.

I feel sorry for this younger generation that will never hear or be moved this music.  I know my  that daughter is nothing but bored when we try to get her to listen to it as part of her education.  She begs to differ.

I suppose every generation thinks that their music is the best. I remember my mom saying that she was confused on hearing back up singers when they first became popular.  She thought the radio was picking up two stations.  I can't imagine what she would think of today's music.

I hope "my" music never stops playing inside my head.  It keeps me sane.

Spring? Don't get your hopes up

I came across these 2 ancient poems. One I wrote in High School and another I wrote way back in 1996.  Hey, I get spring fever as much as the next girl, I'm just sayin....





                      The Herald of Spring


I must hasten now

To attempt grasping today's temperate air

February's hours do not often

Present this kind of atmosphere.

So I must tread through the partially melted  snow

Before winter's icy hand

Retrieves the harald of spring

And persuades me inward

Away from the frost.



                                      Spring


Spring arrived this year

With eight feet drifts

That covered tulips, daffodils

And cars.

It makes one fear

That winter will never end.

But still the air is warm

And the sun sometimes shines in rainbow streaks

Through the windows.

The daffodils

Are straightening up

Like defiant soldiers

Assuring us that spring will indeed come

In spite of the snow.

Rocks

                                                    Rocks



It is may be difficult

For one to stack the rocks,

And knocks,

Of life

Into a stable tower,

Especially when they are made of glass.

But you keep trying.

And when they fall down,

Which they often do,

You just have to stack them up again.

You may never get it right.

Even if They Don't Remember Arlo

     Today is my birthday, I am 22280.25 days old so I know a thing or 3 about aging.  As we age the natural order of things is for people in the prime of life to take over things.   I think it is sometimes hard for us to let go of our life long positions, that we worked hard for, to some "kid".  But wasn't it just yesterday when we were just kids?  I know how I feel, and I don't really want a-- surgeon, for example, who feels like I do, working  on me!  I think I'm ready to let the younger people take over.

     And speaking of kids, are mentors any different?  The time comes for them to take over too. Oldsters like me are sometimes wise with experience, yes, however, sometimes a younger person can give a  fresh new spin on things.  Personally, young people make me feel young, they remind me of my hippie days before I was jaded by life.  Isn't happiness and well being the most important thing?  I may not share every ones idea of how to do things, but everybody is different.  For instance, the same medicine doesn't work the same for everyone with the same malady.  That's why there are so many different medications to treat it..  So it stands to reason that there is more than one path to happiness.  I want to use the path less traveled.  I always have.

Never Alone and Nueva Poem

     God is a committee.  That statement is not unchristian.  I was raised catholic and I was taught that there are  3 persons in God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  The God of my understanding is another committee head that I can relate to better.  Ever since I figured out that I was not a pagan, (not that there is anything wrong with that) and I could still be Christian. I've been having lots of God moments.

     The first one I just remembered today.  I was having severe turmoil in my life about a year ago, but I slept very soundly at night. After the second or third night, I woke smiling and thinking of the song "Beautiful Dreamer"  I hadn't thought of that song in years, but it was going through my head that morning.  I figured God was singing me a lullaby.

     Here is another God moment.   I grew up in an alcoholic home, and I remember feeling invisible a lot of the time while growing up.  I was recently walking around town here contemplating how much time I spent alone, when I heard a distinctive voice in my head that said "You know you never were really alone".  I think I must have looked around to see who said that.  It came from another place in my head.  A chunk of the weight I had been carrying on my shoulders all my life had dissolved and I felt physically lighter!  I couldn't believe it.  Things like that just don't happen to me!

  The Weight

Time was

When the weight of the world was on my shoulders

It just sat there spinning

I had no control

Over its spinning.

I was helpless.

The weight crushed me,

So that I could not breathe,

It kept getting heavier each day.

I was on my knees with the burden.

Now I have learned how,

To remove the spinning weight from my shoulders,

So that I can stand at my full height,

Fill my lungs to capacity,

And live at last.

************************************************************

                          Nueva                              



Even in the coldest winter

The unending breeze

Aids in my understanding.



The clouds move quickly and with grace

above the swaying branches

of the tallest trees.



The power is invisible

And can only be perceived.

Sometimes it seems cruel,

Sometimes kind.



Warm or cold,

Weak or strong,

The beauty remains the same.

Sometimes it even glows.