Proactive Love....

I like to read.... and there is one book that I have read and re-read at least four times. No, it isn't some trashy romance novel, action packed thriller or blood sucking vampire story. But within its pages it holds the power to generate the greatest romance of all time... every day life.

The book is The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen R. Covey. The copy I currently hold (not sure it was my first) was copyrighted in 1989. It possess the look of a book well read. And were you to turn a page or two you would noticed all the highlighted portions.

Mostly it speaks of being proactive and working towards being interdependent... a dream and goal I am ready and willing to achieve. But there is one section, barely more than a page, a little experience he shares that has stuck with me over the years. I refer to it as "Proactive Love" and do my best to love those in my life in this way.

He states....

"At one seminar where I was speaking on the concept of proactivity, a man came up and said, "Stephen, I like what you're saying. But every situation is so different. Look at my marriage. I'm really worried. My wife and I just don't have the same feelings for each other we used to have. I guess I just don't love her anymore and she doesn't love me. What can I do?"

"The feeling isn't there anymore?" I asked.

"That's right," he reaffirmed. "And we have three children we're really concerned about. What do you suggest?"

"Love her," I replied.

"I told you, the feeling just isn't there anymore."

"Love her."

"You don't understand. The feeling of love just isn't there."

"Then love her. If the feeling isn't there, that's a good reason to love her."

"But how do you love when you don't love?"

"My friend, love is a verb. Love - the feeling - is a fruit of love, the verb. So love her. Serve her. Sacrifice. Listen to her. Empathize. Appreciate. Affirm her. Are you willing to do that?"

In the great literature of all progressive societies, love is a verb. Reactive people make it a feeling. They're driven by feelings. Hollywood has generally scripted us to believe that we are not responsible, that we are a product of our feelings. But the Hollywood script does not describe the reality. If our feelings control our actions, it is because we have abdicated our responsibility and empowered them to do so.

Proactive people make love a verb. Love is something you do: the sacrifices you make, the giving of self, like a mother bringing a newborn into the world. If you want to study love, study those who sacrifice for others, even for people who offend or do not love in return. If you are a parent, look at the love you have for the children you sacrifice for. Love is a value that is actualized through loving actions. Proactive people subordinate feelings to values. Love, the feeling, can be recaptured."

I do my best to live a proactive life. And I do my best to love those whom I've been blessed to have in my life... be it by sending care packages, baking brownies, cooking a favorite meal, building a book shelf, calling in the midst of the day just to say hello.... what ever I can DO. After all a verb is an action word... and I like to take action, be proactive... Love Proactively.

Surprise from the past...

When I was born we were a family of five living in a small single trailer in my grandmother's backyard. Being that my great-grandmother passed away just before I was born my parents eventually acquired the homestead and we moved down the hill, into the garage (being far more spacious than the trailer) and my Daddy got to work on upgrading the house so that we could live in it.

Over the next two years Daddy did everything from stripping the stairs, painting, enlarging the fireplace, building book shelves, adding a whole new kitchen with beautiful wooden beams overhead, and putting in a powder room and laundry where the old walk in oven used to be.

That was a long time ago.

For years I've been on my mom to allow me to redo the powder room and laundry. She has finally given her consent. I've chosen the colors, new fixtures, toilet, sink, flooring, refinished my great-grand father's old shaving mirror from the early 1900's and finally... got the contractor.

First the powder room was completed. It looks amazing, just needs a bit of detail work that I intend to get to shortly.

We are now working on the laundry room... or I should say he is. As much as I want to watch his every move in order to learn, this job is beyond my skills and I try to stay out of his way.

That being said... he came to get me and asked if my father's name was Donald. He had found something and wanted to show me.



My mother's name is also Lydia. Unfortunately the rest of the message continues under the wall and into the powder room where it was not necessary to go that far down with the demolition.

Touching my Daddy's words touched my heart. I took photos so I could show my mother. She was never aware of his writing the message. The "bilt in" date was easy... it would be 1963. It was the PSA that took a little more thought.

At first my mother was a little perplexed and then between the both of us... all the pieces came together. Daddy was a religious man... when I suggested that it was the beginning of the word Psalms, she looked at her wedding ring and simply said, "I know."

When they were married he had their wedding bands engraved with Psalms 48:14.
For this God is our God forever and ever; he will be our guide even unto death. He was blessing the house and all those who would reside within.

Post script: That which I found endearing, was that when my father passed away he and I were in the midst of redoing my bedroom. When contractors were hired, before they put the paneling on the walls, under the window I wrote a message on the plywood to Daddy and left a date, 1976. It must be genetic.

It was difficult to allow the words to be covered again. It is so rare that I encounter a piece of my father. It was such a gift.

Baby blues....

Maybe the reason I enjoy peaking into their nests so much is because my own is empty...

but I do find the numerous relationships about my yard fascinating... and their results magical.

Fallen Hero....

Was it last night? Perhaps two days ago when I caught a two minute segment of the news announcing that another young American solider had been killed in Iraq. The Freedom Riders (?) a group of motorcyclist rode to his home to show support.

What captured my attention was first, the he was just a boy in my eyes... 26... but one year older than my first son. Secondly, that he was from Northampton, the town in which I work, just a few miles from where I live.

For the first time this war hit close to home. I couldn't help but wonder if my boys might have known him. And my God, what his mother must be feeling.

Today I hopped in my car to run a quick errand that took me to a little strip mall at Frank's Corner... When I came out of the shop I heard the rumble of the bikes, too many to count. Initially I thought, "what a great day for a ride" and glanced in the direction they were headed. At the corner there was a police car stopping traffic so that they might get through without interruption. My thoughts again went to the ride... it must be special of some sort... but nothing registered.

It was then that I started to watch the long line of motorcycles. I got into my car which was facing the road. As I started the car and headed to the exit of the lot the song Freebird came on the oldies station that was dialed in. Once I reached the exit I had time to start processing everything I was seeing. Behind the motorcycles were cars, many of which had American flags attached to their windows, everyone's lights and flashers were on.... and then came the fire truck draped in black and purple and I realized that I was witness to a funeral procession. And then it became clear as to who's procession I was in witness thereof.

I put my car in park and watched in awe... and in time found myself sobbing. I did not see the hearse, the family as it followed or the beginning of the bikes... but the portion I did see lasted the entire length of the song. It's a ten minute song. The words of which could not have been more appropriate for the occasion. I was no more able to turn off the radio than to stop the line of cars in front of me. All I could do was wipe away the tears that came freely.



Without a doubt I was witness to the procession of the fallen hero from Northampton. May his family be comforted by the outpouring of love on his behalf.

As I pulled out onto the road I glanced over at the strip mall. People had come out of the shops to also bear witness. I cannot imagine that anyone who bore witness to this event was not moved deeply, if not to tears.

May God welcome him with open arms and surround those left behind.

Let this not be another forgotten war. Bring them home. Safe.

Happy Independence Day to Me!!!

I have now been divorced long enough that I could have grown a complete adult!!! Oh... wait... I have... I grew me!

When I think about where I was 18 years ago... on my own, three little babies, no job and a house and car to pay for.... dang!

I have learned... I have grown... I have become a woman I love and respect.




A short piece written in the past.... I feel it today more than when first written in 2008!!!

I will no longer apologize...



I will no longer apologize... for being me.

I am a passionate, sensual woman...
who feels things deeply...
who experiences life through all five senses... all the time....
who likes to create and write as a way of processing feelings or experiences...
who is loving and giving....
who is open and unafraid of exploring emotions....
who appreciates....
who is intelligent and capable of debate....
who is curious....
who can handle herself around power tools....
who is willing to work...

Who deserves to be loved for the amazing woman she has become....

I AM WOMAN.... HEAR ME ROAR..... purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...............

Apples no more.....

Enough!!!

Okay... so I am all about live and let live... love even the smallest of the small ... and everything has a place and purpose... but enough already!!! They have no natural predator!!! Why not?

I realize it is year 10 of the cycle, so the numbers will go down next spring.... but I don't want them moving in for the winter. And with the numbers increasing so rapidly and it not even summer yet.... something's got to give.



And so, I've had to take drastic measures.... what I find most interesting is that which gives life back to all the oil stricken animals of the Gulf, takes the life of the Nymphs of the North.



Add some Dawn dish washing detergent to water in a spray bottle and give them a shot. I must say that I am/was relieved... it pretty much stops them in their tracks without much suffering. There are other methods, but those seem more cruel.



I still find them fascinating....but enough!!!

The end is here....

Last year, I wasn't sure how the tree managed to produce fruit. The bark was falling off, bugs burrowed into the cambian layer, and animals were hollowing out the heartwood making its trunk their home.

When the blossoms came this spring I was beyond elated. Once again, Great Grammy was providing for yet a fourth generation. The apple tree she brought here in 1911 bloomed, danced with the bees, and began developing fruit.




With only one side of the tree still alive the tiny apples began to form and grow in size and weight. The trunk that once could bear the uneven load, can bear it no more. A week or so ago it was noted that the tree has broken from the ground and lifted as the apples continue to increase their volume.



I measure the separation distance daily. I keep an eye on the telephone lines that seem to be the only thing keeping the tree upright. I watch the leaves for curling. And the fruit for changes in color and size. It is our hope that the tree will survive the few weeks still needed to complete this years harvest.



It would be such a shame to have come this far in the season and not be able to bring it to fruition. (hmmmm... just look at that word... fruit i on) At this point there is no sign of it giving up. It seems to be rather feisty... just like the woman who brought it here.



Once the apples have dropped (I dare not even think of trying to pluck them from their locations) the phone company will be notified and the tree reduced to pieces, lying in a pile by the side of the road.

If any quality wood can be salvaged I intend to craft it into something that will remain and still be able to be passed through the generations. Not sure just what yet... I've got to see what the tree will gift me with this one last time.

I had so hoped the tree would last just one more year... but it would seem as though we will have to settle for 99.... as the end is here... whether we want it to be or not.

Baffling box elders!!!!

Around my house it's pretty much "live and let live" unless you are a spider in my sink, bathtub or crawling over the ceiling above me at 2 a.m. ready to conduct a covert operation by sliding down a strand of webbing to attack!

Recently, during a friend's visit, notice was taken of the little red critters that were making their way up the side of the grill, I suspect to get first dibs on dinner. I was asked what they were, but honestly had never taken the time to figure it out. I was aware that I had box elder bugs, but these seemed to be different. I simply stated that I didn't know but showed my guest how they are everywhere! I said, "just watch the rocks... they start to move." Sure enough when you take the time to truly look, the river rocks that surround my house are crawling with little red bugs.... all rather similar, but varying in size and detail.

I woke the following morning to an e-mail containing the identification of my little red guests.... they are... the... "ever changing box elder nymphs."

I immediately went outside. Upon closer examination I wondered how I could have ever missed the connection?!?! Of course they were!! Although varying in size and shape they all had that tell tale candy red abdomen with the bright yellow spot in the center as though kissed by the sun. Even the tiniest of nymphs had the sun spot.






Now my curiosity was ignited!
In my search to find out "what eats box elder bugs?" This is what I found out....

~ We are their only natural predator.
~ They increase in numbers (due to the males) over a ten year cycle and apparently we are on year ten, which would explain why I've been seeing more and more of them as of late.
~ They will travel for several miles to find a warm place to stay for the winter.
~ They will enter your home if they can get in.
~ Their scat will stain your curtains and if you squash them they emit an offensive odor.



~ They like rocks and the crevices they contain.
~ They eat Box elder and Maple tree seeds.
~ Their piercing sucking proboscis can penetrate flesh and cause an irritation.



~ They can drown.
~ Once the first frost hits, they will go away in search of a warm winter shelter.



Mostly, I just find them fascinating to watch. They are exceptionally sensitive to vibrations and scatter rather quickly.

My research did also present various ways to rid your house of them... but the way I see it... I've got flower beds and river rocks full of Maple tree seeds... start munching already!!!

Untangle Yourself....

Many years back my boys bought me a white wisteria vine for Mother's day. It was planted and grew next to a wooden arbor. Over the years the vine and arbor became so entwined that it became difficult to tell where one ended and the other began, both shaped and forever altered by the other's presence.

Tonight it was noted that a new relationship has begun. A grape vine has become enamored with the wisteria wrapping its delicate tendrils seductively about it's trunk garnishing life as it grows. The new relationship finds both plants flourishing from its existence as they entwine themselves growing in new directions yet still shaped by the past.

So it also goes with us. Throughout our lives we find ourselves entwined in relationships so intimate that they shape our very existence and encourage growth in new directions. And even though those relationships may be replaced by another... we remain forever altered... the past molding our present. As much as we may wish it possible, we are unable to untangle ourselves completely from the past carrying it with us forward as we reach out in different directions entwining ourselves with someone new.... changing.... learning...growing as we go.

Colors of life....

The last unit I teach for the year is on birds. I teach my students how to identify them by noting; size, song, behavior, field marks and color. The last of these items "color" always leads to the discussion about why the males are so bright (to attract a mate, proving himself strong and capable being that he can stand out and still survive) and the females are more dull, most often brown (allowing them to blend in and camouflage themselves while sitting on the nest).

This conversation tends to lead to the comparison between humans and birds and the question as to why it is that with humans, women are the ones to don the bright colors and put on the makeup (versus nuptial plumage) to impress.

In the bird world it is the female that chooses the mate. Whereas with us, it has become more the males job to choose his female.

Putting the whole "who chooses who" aside... the conversations got me thinking about myself... and the colors of my life and perhaps why I dress the way I do. I tend to like brown. It makes me feel safe, grounded, connected to the earth. I don't like to dress in bright colors that would cause me to stand out. I like to blend in to the background.

Maybe I was a bird in a previous life. Maybe that is why I have not yet been chosen....

Goals...

Goals are simply... Dreams with a Deadline....





Obstacles... are what you see when you take your eyes off your goal.




**Thank you to my son for his inspiring adventure and photos.**

A Night by the Ocean....

This past week I took a road trip in an attempt to find beauty along the back roads and to lose myself in the journey. I traveled through the Catskill Mountains, The Adirondacks, The Green Mountains, the White Mountains and eventually I ended up on the coast of Maine... Late at night, the sky was black with but a sliver of a waxing moon occasionally visible through the thick clouds that were determined to share their contents...

The rocky path leading down to the beach was barely visible and slippery... once on the remote isolated beach my thoughts and emotions started to swirl and churn as much as the surf and by the time I was finished walking I just wanted to yell as loud as I could. I wanted to scream, let go of inhibitions and release all that was within me... except I didn't have the words.

On my drive home the following morning I found the words within a song... within this song....



Sure wish I could sing.

Mam-mam's eggs... slightly enhanced

When I was a little girl, there were certain things or traditions that were done to celebrate Easter... there was the Easter cake, butter in the shape of little lambs, sunrise services, breakfast at Grammy's, Moravian sugar cake and of course the coloring of Easter eggs with q-tips and food coloring.

The coloring of the eggs was always a fun, albeit messy, event. I'm not sure which ended up with more colors on it... the eggs or me. And when the task was done the various designs would intrigue me.... but that which really captured my attention were the eggs that my grandmother used to make.

She would cook her eggs with the skins from the onions in her pantry which would leave the shells a solid hazel nut brown color. And when rubbed with just the slightest of oil they would take on a soft sheen. To me, they were a special treat and hold the fondest of memories.

As I got older and had children of my own, I too wanted to color eggs and make memories with them. I think we might have done the old food coloring and q-tips at least once or twice, but they didn't hold the rich brown color I so desired. I could have made the brown eggs with the boys, but lets be honest.... just peeling onion skins to put into a pot just didn't rate very high on the "fun factor".

I wanted designs... and so we sought out to find the best designs nature could provide.

Easter comes fairly early in the growing season so the boys and I scoured the back yard for tiny plants and leaves that were just starting to grow. I figured if I were to put the plants on the eggs, manage to hold them in place and then cook the eggs... when I took the leaves off it would leave a design behind.

We were amazed at how many little plants were actually around. Figured out that some old, clean, cut up pantyhose and twist ties would hold the leaves in place. Cooked the eggs to perfection (bring the water to a quick boil, reduce the heat and simmer for 20 minutes) And crossed our fingers.... It worked!!!!

Mam-mam's eggs.... slightly enhanced.... became a new tradition. Hunting for the plants was as much fun as an egg hunt.

*~*

With the boys scattered to the wind the past few years I haven't taken the time to make the eggs. This year... all the boys were coming home and so the spirit of Easter and all its traditions returned.

I let the eggs sit out to get room temperature while I hunted for plants. I adorned them and tied each one like a tiny fragile present. Cooked them to perfection. Cleaned them. And finally, rubbed a touch of oil on the warm shells to make them shine.

When my youngest son (who brought his girlfriend home with him) discovered the eggs, he smiled with surprised delight and stated that he had just mentioned the eggs to his girlfriend noting that I hadn't made them in a few years.

You never really know what you do that sticks in the hearts of your children. I do know that his reaction sticks in my heart.

Someday perhaps I will have a granddaughter that remembers my eggs with fondness, too.

Remembering Dakota.....

The following is a piece I wrote last year. It was my way of dealing with intense emotions that I didn't know how to channel. As a result, this piece has traveled far... it was shared with Dakota's parents and they in turn shared it with many and were appreciative. In some small way... I feel blessed that I might have touched their hearts with my words.

When the sun rises in the morning it will be just another day for me... but for Dakota's parents... it will again be a day filled with unbearable grief grasping the depth of their souls as they recall the events of last year. My thoughts and prayers are with them.


The Silence... of someone lost.

This week, so far (and it is only half way over) has been a week of which no teacher dreams. In fact, it is our prayer that we will never have to experience it... but at times …we do.

Monday morning I was running a bit behind... not late, but in four minutes I would have been... as I drove up the hill to the school, the normal hum of the busy bee hive was evident, students walking to school, buses in line waiting to drop off their load, parents dropping off, teachers driving in, crossing guards and security.... funny... that word "security" as I just typed it struck me as funny... ironic... schools are supposed to be a safe place... parents take it for granted that from the moment their students board the bus or travel in and are dropped off that they will be safe and secure.....

As I got to the top of the hill I was concerned because the guard that usually directs traffic was not in position and cars were paying no head to the stop signs... then I saw him 15 feet or so over with an odd look on his face, talking on his radio.... as I continued around the school no more than a length of a school bus away, there in the street laid a large gray/black lump... motionless... silent....

Since I was busy watching where I was driving, attempting not to hit anyone crossing before me, buses on the right, parked cars on the left, kids everywhere, just trying to get to my parking space.... it wasn't registering.... what was that in the road? It was too big for a duffel bag and why would it be in the road?... and there was a bus in front of it... why would it be behind a bus? How did the buses get around it? Why didn't anyone pick it up, get it out of the way? How am I going to get into my parking space today? She parked too close to the line again and with the buses on my right I can't make the cut....

I got out of my car; my mind confused trying to make sense of everything I had seen. When I got to the sidewalks I happened across a former student on her way to the high school... She greeted me and I said, "Lexi, something's not right"..... in fact, as I entered the building... within moments I came to learn that indeed something was not right... in fact... it was all wrong....

Kids were goofing around... boys will be boys as they say.... one pushed the other and some how Dakota ended up under the back wheels of the bus just as the bus was pulling forward.... The silent -motionless- too big to be a duffel bag- lump was Dakota... lying lifeless in the street.... he did not survive.

He was one of the 120 or so students charged to me, our team of teachers, to nurture, educate and mold on his way to becoming an adult....

We broke all the rules on Monday. We hugged them. We touched them. We prayed (with permission) with them. Tears caressed our cheeks in front of them.

As I try desperately to process what I've seen and experienced I am left with a string of poignant "moments of silence".....

The first.... the silence in my car as I passed his quiet body lying in the fetal position. Thinking back it felt like for that moment in time I was moving in slow motion and there was a hush... lips were moving, people were talking... but I was in my car, no radio... just silence.

We knew that Dakota was hurt, but, it wasn't until after we taught our first class and sent the students off to their "specials" (art, gym, etc) that we (our team of teachers) learned that Dakota didn't survive. We sat in a circle, silent, as our team leader lead us in a prayer for his family, silent as our administrators walked in on our actions and joined us, silent as we lifted our heads and looked for guidance.

We were told it was the parent's wishes that we not say anything to the students... so we dried our tears, pulled ourselves together and welcomed them back into our classes with a silence of knowledge. It wasn't more than a half hour later that counselors were in place, his parents had changed their minds, our silence would be broken... shattered.....

I entered one room just as the students were informed.... they were sitting in their seats in rows.... tears forming in their eyes looking like caged birds ready to burst.... I gave them permission to fly (move) and fly they did... flocking to the comfort of each other's arms....

The boys struggled at first.... torn between wanting to be a man and being the child that they are....they sat segregated... and silent... another moment. Why does society teach boys that tears are a sign of weakness?

I sat in silence with Heather as she told me how she saw his face after it happened.... it was turning gray, then blue... she thinks that perhaps he died while she was watching. I don't know. I have no answers for her. I'm the teacher... I'm supposed to have all the answers... and this week.. we have none.

There was silence as we sat with them throughout the rest of the day.

There was silence as we walked our babies out to their buses... the sidewalks lined with all extra personnel, their backs to the street to keep the media at bay....

There was silence in the faculty meeting where they thanked us for our cooperation throughout the day.

There was silence as I walked out of the building for the last time on Monday and saw the bus loaded onto a flatbed waiting to be taken away as evidence in a homicide case.

There was silence as I called in to tell my second job that I was running late because of all that had happened..... "he was one of yours?" finally broke the airwaves...followed by... "don't even think about coming in."

There was silence when I got home.... my children to far away to hold... my dog... not much of a conversationalist.

There was silence within me as I walked through the grocery store buying everything I needed to go home and make soup that I will deliver to my boys, hundreds of miles away, and hug them in the process.

And then, God Bless her... my mother sat with me in silence as I recanted the day and stayed to help me chop vegetables for the soup.

There was silence Tuesday morning as I stood in my kitchen convincing myself that I had to drive in... that I would not see the same thing,

There was silence as a small group gathered around a tree close to the site to lay flowers, card and candles.

There was silence as the students filtered into the school.... close to 900 12-14 year olds and not a sound other than their footsteps.

There was silence in my homeroom. The kids decided we should all wear something black to show our unity and in remembrance... the homeroom period was extended for nearly half an hour so that we could assess which students would require additional counseling... but how could we? They all just sat there in total silence... not because they were told to... but because they could not yet speak for themselves... eventually my stomach started to turn.. the silence was so intense I started to feel as though I wanted to vomit.... on the brink of tears...I had to walk out into the hall... there I found another teacher, also trying to escape from the silence in her room.

First period wasn't ready... nor was I.... the other classes had to catch up from the day before... so we chose a video and sat together in silence.... I don't think any of us will recall what was on that tape.

Second period as our students went to their specials our team was "debriefed". Another moment of silence as they asked us to process (within the next 40 minutes) the prior day's events. Where do you begin? When, if ever, will it end?

As we finally started to break the silence sharing our version, our stories, our connections to the tragic day.... the ache in my heart grew. Initially I hurt for Dakota's family, the bus driver, the few students that I knew who had witnessed it, the child who's push sent the moments of silent into motion... and his family. But the tragedy grows with knowledge... initially I hadn't realized that there were still kids on the bus.... they said it felt like they were going over a speed bump... for the rest of their lives each and every time they encounter a speed bump it will become a child instead. I ache for all of them. A former student with whom I am close... sought me out to talk... he actually saw it happen and ran to pound on the doors of the bus to get it to stop. I ache for him. I told him that he can always come to me to talk if he'd like.. that I am here for him... he politely said, "thank you." It seemed to make a difference.... I ache for my fellow teachers.... the kids will be coming back in 5 minutes... time for more silence... pull yourselves together...

The rest of the school day I made an attempt to break some of the moments of silence. I got out one of my wiggliest snakes... he does not like to just sit in my lap, but to try to slither through my belt loops, up my sleeves or into my bracelets.... as I gave the briefest of notes, walking about the room... he was in my hands... doing all the things that he likes to do... it made the students giggle and smile.... and with 10-15 minutes left in each class period... it got them to get up out of their seats... to come and play with the snake and to talk....

Dismissal once again had a sound to it.... more like a low whisper than the usual roar....

Silence returned for me last night as I came home, once again to an empty house... the phone rang... but I didn't feel much like talking....

This morning we are blessed with another moment of silence.... 4-8 inches snow that has canceled school... it blankets the earth with warmth.... it will put out the candles burning in front of the school and cover the cards and letters.... parents and students will be trapped inside their homes long enough to hug, cry, appreciate each other's presence, and get back to being on each other's nerves.... the snow is also a gift to the teachers, a moment of silence with no required destination or limitation.... where we can sit and try to process all the moments of silence amidst the noise of hearts breaking, lives changing, babies forced to grow up too fast.

There will be many more moments of silence, almost too difficult to bear... the calling hours.... the pending services on Saturday, that will now be held instead of Dakota's 13th birthday party... the memorial service being planned at school.... the moment we say our final good-bye and start our lives without Dakota.... the moments of reflection that I hope will make me a better teacher.... the silence.... of someone lost.

1/28/2009

Post script:
These words… “please join in a moment of silence” for me, have forever taken on a new meaning…..words, which in the past I heard, but did not feel. I now feel and hear with my heart. I hear them with a deafening silence.
I heard them as the entire school congregated in the gymnasium, chatting endlessly as the students awaited the beginning of the memorial service and came to an abrupt, immediate silence the moment our Principal stepped towards the podium.
And I heard them, after the service came to a close and we filed out of the building, gathering around the flag pole to release 13 balloons (one for each trip Dakota made around the sun… too few trips). The snow seemed to let up just long enough, but the cold was gripping and yet… not a sound.

The students and staff stood, turning in silence to follow the balloons as they drifted out over the Valley and remained in silence, motionless, tears warming our cold cheeks….
They had, for the moment, lost their voices again. I wanted desperately to hear them. I wanted to say the Lord’s Prayer and have all join me creating a sound so loud Dakota would have to hear it in heaven. Not allowed. I spoke in it my soul as the winter winds carried the balloons. And then I smiled, what would be even better would have been to sing Happy Birthday. I thought it might help them to find their voices again, but it was not my decision to make. Instead we stood in silence, not wanting to move, wanting desperately to prolong the moment we would start our lives again without Dakota as part of them, not wanting to take our eyes off of what we’d convinced ourselves were still the balloons in sight…. Not wanting to break the moment of silence.

Embrace the noise.

2/6/2009

Every Other Kiss....

At the moment we find the courage to experience our first kiss, we feel (as romantic young hearts and minds do) that it will be experienced with the one and only person we will ever kiss. And then comes the second person and the third person and possibly the twenty-third person... :)

We may or may not experience many kisses in our lives... but at some point there will be that one kiss... from that one person... which every other kiss will be compared.

We will remember, crave and try to replicate the way it took our breath away, made us weak in the knees, our heart beat faster.... its taste.... the way it seemed to unite two individuals melding them into one body, down to one soul....

The souls may be torn apart or go their separate ways by choice... but it is a kiss impossible to forget. One that will linger for years... as long as one of the two lovers still breathes.

Beauty found.....

Last weekend I traveled to Cambridge, MA to finally celebrate Christmas with my son and his wife. I'm not one to go into cities. I find them loud, bright, confusing, scary, dirty, filled with too many people and not enough green. I don't like that at night when I look up stars are replaced by street lights and owl's hoots are drowned out by the sounds of cars and sirens.

I usually "stop by" more than stay and visit... but this trip was done so in the spirit of Christmas and so I was determined, this time, to find the beauty in my son's environment.

It began with my children themselves.... they had left their little tree up and decorated, had garland hanging from the fireplace and played Christmas music to set the mood. I'm not sure if they just hadn't yet made the time to un-decorate... but I like to think that they kept it up waiting for me. The beauty I found there was in their hearts.

The following morning we decided to go to the Science Museum and Aquarium. We talked about taking the T (train/subway) but I really wanted to walk. Not only had I never been on a USA subway before, but I wanted to see Cambridge, even if the Museum was 2 1/2 miles away....the sun was shining brightly and that's really not all that far... at least not when I'm walking amongst the corn fields.

After the Museum and eating lunch, we took the T (I would have walked 5 more miles to avoid it) due to the late hour and wanting to get as much time in the Aquarium as possible.

By the time we left the Aquarium it had gotten dark but even then... I was determined to see the beauty in the city. I found it... but I must admit... my heart pounded as we had to take a long desolate walk back to the train station... where surprisingly, I found comfort once inside.

The train ride back to Harvard Square was much more quiet and less crowded. I found myself unable to take my eyes off a gentleman that entered the train with us. He was handsome, my age at least, a bit gray around the temples wearing a long wool dark gray trench coat and backpack. He seemed sad... lonely. His face, although handsome, had deep creases around his mouth that made him look as though he held a perpetual frown. I couldn't help but think how much more handsome he would look if he would just smile..... He must have felt my eyes upon him because he looked my way. I smiled at him and he replied in kind.... he was indeed handsome with a smile upon his face... but it was fleeting. His eyes shifted, his face once again solemn and then he was gone walking down the street as the train pulled away...I unable to see anything other than his backpack. But it was there... the beauty was there and I couldn't help but be excited to get back to the apartment and review the images I had captured... some only in my mind... but some good enough to share.

The following day Aaron and I once again walked through the city down by the river. The sun was no longer shining as a storm was heading our way the clouds announcing it's arrival. But walk we did... find more beauty, I did.

Part of me did not want to leave. I wanted to continue to explore like a curious child. But, I'll be back... and next time with eager anticipation! Beauty really can be found where ever you go... you just have to look for it.















Ever so gentle, beautiful and graceful... The Leafy Sea Dragon.....



A little extra jelly.....