tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128515322024-02-07T22:08:48.274-08:00plum tuckeredAli Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-19703975467482886242011-08-03T09:05:00.000-07:002011-08-03T09:05:04.652-07:00x's and o's<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Walking in line with a few hundred other graduates at the Convention Center-- the first thing I looked for was H and the boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sea of faces, where were they, I squinted up and finally saw them, my heart skipped a beat—they’ve never looked so handsome and so big, and so well, I got lost in a moment of love for my family and gratitude for this strange journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Relief swooshed over me walking onto that platform in graduate attire, relief when I shook that outstretched hand, passing a document rolled cleanly like a baton, wrapped with a little silk ribbon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The relief—walking back to my seat. It’s finished. This part is finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scroll in hand, I found the boys again in the distant stands and saw their thumbs up, outstretched arms and excited waves, I saw H beside them, his still-tantalizing-after-11-years-grin saying everything, “I’m so proud of you. Here we are, we made it again.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I found my seat and listened one by one to all the other names called and thought of the stories behind the names, the journey each one of them took—the struggle of a few hundred motley crew students through school via second chances, single parenting, day jobs and night jobs, babies born during capstone courses and still not quitting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone has a story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We breathed a collective sigh of relief. Perhaps the biggest collective sigh Cox Convention Center has ever seen. “It’s finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This part is finished.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">In reality, this is just the beginning. The next chapter has started and we are on our way. For me, what that means, I can’t really say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">School wasn’t simply a stepping-stone towards something ahead like i originally thought<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">When I started back to college three years ago I had the best of intentions. But you know how intentions go. I want to be a therapist I’d say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh and then I’ll get my master’s, and then... and then… just you wait.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sort of embarrassed about being right where I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I apologized for my lack of ambition in the past, those infamous, postpartum, roaring twenties, and I handed out my common soliloquy to make certain you knew I had a plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh yes, I have a plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This school thing, oh don’t mind that, pretend that’s not there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here, look at what I’ll become.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Then, halfway into getting back into the swing of college demands—brain chalked full of vexing cognitive quarrels—H was struck with a near fatal illness, and more than a few times I near fell apart trying to keep everything together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come to find out, trying to keep everything together is an illusion along with thinking you have a plan, and one must learn the formidable act of uttering two simple words when necessary, “Please help.” A major lesson while learning lessons in class—learned.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Back to glancing up while in graduation garb and seeing the boys in the stands:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a wave of realization hit me as I took in the moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned more while on this strange journey than I could have imagined, and I don’t just mean about neuroses and psychological theories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what I learned won't impact a might-be-career, near as much as the way I parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere along the way I stopped caring so much about what other people think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere along the way I stopped apologizing for the kind of parent I wasn’t yet, or for the kind of parent I’d been when I ‘secretly’ sought solace in the banal bottle of booze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere along the way I learned how to love learning, remembered how to ask questions, and feel the natural high of being curious and sleuth-like about things I know not of yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> So many riddles in this life! So many curiosities and quandaries beckoning us to come see and find out, look into or read! </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere along the way I decided not to compare myself anymore to the slew of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“shoulds” that took up residence for so long in my psyche.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Somewhere along the way, I learned it’s ok to be this random Alison person with all these upside down and backwards ways of doing things and that maybe just maybe this is the mom I’m supposed to be to these little human beings entrusted to me for a wee bit of time (shall I say big, growing bigger in their sleep each night).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">College at 34 was exactly where I was supposed to be to find out how to be in the now, to grab hold of it, to share the upside down and backwards process with the boys—all the pains and joys of learning some ‘elementary’ lessons as an adult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To learn to not pretend I have it all together, but include them in the family story by really living in it, engaging in it, not wishing for a different one or someone else’s story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Re-engaging in life <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">before</i> it all makes sense, to fully ‘live the questions now’ as Rilke implored. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Before</i> I learn how to organize, or the house gets fixed, or we have a grown up family sized car, or before we find Dave Ramsey’s financial peace, in other words stop putting off living and love life in the here and now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Live the questions now. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I looked up in the stands waved up at the boys and saw them waving with the hugest smiles on their faces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As younger brother, L described how he felt about his birthday party bliss one year, “I can’t explain it with words Mom; I can only feel it.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>That’s my family up there, my team. They are my home. My residence could be anywhere, and in the last 10 years has been many-wheres. But this crew waving at me, we fought to stay a ‘we’, we ran the heck out of some plays out there on the 'field'.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Pretense doesn’t have a place anymore, fear isn’t fought alone anymore, pain cannot penetrate the walls anymore, chaos or catastrophe cannot control anymore. We have learned love really can conquer and cover and connect pieces back together.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">{I’m not talking a Hollywood-ending kind of love here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a new beginning sort of love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A forgiveness sort of love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A willingness to come out of hiding, out of acting parts but really walking around with a broken heart sort of love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A love that usurps physical pain/limitations, mental/chemical imbalances, ugly phases, pretty faces, hard truths, and bad news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A love that we found by finding out how little the externals matter, and how strong “starting from scratch”(sometimes a second or third time) can re-build this fortress called family.} </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Miracles come out of mistakes if we let them, if we keep playing, keeping fighting towards the other side- upside down as it may seem. There is a crack, a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in, as Leonard Cohen sings. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">School wasn’t a stepping-stone to something bigger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>School <i>is</i> a part of the story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as upside down and backwards as it may be some days, I’ve learned to live life on life-now’s terms rather than yearn or strain towards a life I think will look better, feel better in the future; meanwhile missing miracles that come out of mistakes or mayhem or come what may.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">I’m grateful to be a college graduate finally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m grateful for the lessons I learned along the way that taught me how to engage in the game of life and parenting more than i did before. We can take those kinds of lessons out of any challenge confronting us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Abadi MT Condensed Light"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">To echo Coach Taylor’s unfettered phrase: “Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.” As H says—sometimes joking sometimes not—thank football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This time I may have to thank football.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vince Lombardi sums it up well, “Once you agree upon the price you and your family must pay for success, it enables you to ignore the minor hurts, the opponent’s pressure, and the temporary failures.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On to the next play…</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbB3K01amE9auN-CF4zyL3KJKOuiRr_R14dm9Dth55_SGxh8O9L_77Xk3AYAA_tnOlc-J22r-6PK-HDuwWSoc0KTvFu4049PdjM7pT933CkMyBsX1oh-n9W1HqezkRIetjO28CQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimbB3K01amE9auN-CF4zyL3KJKOuiRr_R14dm9Dth55_SGxh8O9L_77Xk3AYAA_tnOlc-J22r-6PK-HDuwWSoc0KTvFu4049PdjM7pT933CkMyBsX1oh-n9W1HqezkRIetjO28CQ/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-13503795888221410812011-06-23T07:17:00.000-07:002011-06-23T07:17:37.878-07:00Welcome stranger<div style="font-family: inherit;"> <style>
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal">I had a dream last night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the dream I went to a restaurant on a pier in a different city than the one I live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I passed an old fellow walking by me and we made eye contact. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LQ87Wu_n3wJDSIS3986kF4qbOCFr5LTvhiAqa_rMNmAuwLTjq1a1vwV6UyEcWbuB1dTIQfuz4zrp1SWCD3WsUZd0Yt0Iy14ljxoJl6mTAz0bVqSdZdIT-w32yCtCsN7Tk_MUJw/s1600/IMG_2374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6LQ87Wu_n3wJDSIS3986kF4qbOCFr5LTvhiAqa_rMNmAuwLTjq1a1vwV6UyEcWbuB1dTIQfuz4zrp1SWCD3WsUZd0Yt0Iy14ljxoJl6mTAz0bVqSdZdIT-w32yCtCsN7Tk_MUJw/s200/IMG_2374.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Eye contact. </div><div class="MsoNormal">He found me later and sat across from me at a table and he asked me questions about who I was, where I came from and where I was going.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did the strangest thing throughout the conversation—he looked me in the eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I didn’t know how to look back at him, it felt so foreign, so unrushed, and so different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But by the time he shook my hand and wished me good luck and walked away as mysteriously as he came, I realized I was starving for this kind of interaction.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Eyes. Something we don’t see near as much, perhaps we make less eye contact than any time in history.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Even in a dream state, I felt ‘seen’ and remembered how to ‘see’ someone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This stranger across from me was a worn, unsightly fellow yet through the course of a conversation became a radiantly incomparable kind soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps it’s still true—the eyes are windows to the soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps kindness and interest and compassion and many other emotions can be transferred through looking into another’s eyes and communicating worth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe we are not a food hungry country but maybe we are a face hungry country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t want to get used to the feeling of holding and checking and looking at my phone while having a conversation with one of my boys, or husband, or friend, or stranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When did it become so okay to be so un-present?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">It took a dream of all things to wake me up, to remember what face time and conversation—undivided attention—felt like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke up hungry and aware of my foibles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">No one else is going to teach my kids etiquette when it comes to eye contact and conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I omit the human action of undivided attention, then it follows that my kids will most likely omit undivided attention from their relationships and perhaps their kids one day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">Wake-up. This stranger on the pier seemed to say with his actions, wake-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do you hold dear?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it is conversation—with family or friends or strangers—attributing worth through eye contact, well then do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Put the phone down, away if need be, and be deliberate with what you hold dear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fight for what you hold dear internally and externally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t wish for a time when you didn’t have to decide because there was no such thing as a device in your hand that held your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hold your life in your hands and decide what you are going to do with a device that is put-away-able.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Decide and then keep deciding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t blindly start and continue hiding behind it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Practice and decide, teach your kids that they have a choice as well, that they can disconnect for various lengths of time and connect with the human face. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They won’t be missing anything, they will be gaining the ultimate and increasingly rare gift—being present and showing worth to the person you are with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will be gaining this gift too, and it will fill your starving soul with what it needs to stay connected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you can give the gift away and offer what the stranger in the dream offered you.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sustaining power of eye contact for a starving society. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think we are going to get more and more hungry and we will need—strangers who remind us, even if in our dreams, to wake us up and feel the longing to see and be seen, to stop and ask questions, to connect; device not included. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoeOXYaHXBEdN4I7_5JefAS-rRYOM-S9NR9r5iZZn6KqCpsy5h2IYVd_gJRCiEY0-f3RNH6B1zL-_V-1B8d4sl4gimZ_F88_I0fLFqomoUTaQnYtZRw0n9ouOQLSOodjDMfbLBw/s1600/IMG_2647.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoeOXYaHXBEdN4I7_5JefAS-rRYOM-S9NR9r5iZZn6KqCpsy5h2IYVd_gJRCiEY0-f3RNH6B1zL-_V-1B8d4sl4gimZ_F88_I0fLFqomoUTaQnYtZRw0n9ouOQLSOodjDMfbLBw/s320/IMG_2647.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-8088296420299380372011-06-20T09:11:00.000-07:002011-06-20T13:20:40.703-07:00101<div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">I've received an unconventional education. I don't so much mean school. Though my school education was a bit unconventional-- jam packed with various "inhibitors" hardwired into my brain at a wee age. That aside;</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">The unconventional education I'm referring to: "Addiction 101" and "Depression/Anxiety 101." I failed much of 2 decades worth of classes. And then...A bit over 4 years ago, I started passing these classes and actually learning something, retaining a few things, and applying a few whatnots to some whathaveyous. For this education, now I am eternally grateful. I know for fact I wouldn't be a parent or wife or friend or student or dog-owner (etc) were it not for this unconventional education. Because i was originally a runner (not the cardio kind), a non-forgiver, a non-asker-of-forgiveness, a know-it-all though i acted like i didn't know it all, a doubter of hope, a victim of loss, a confused little girl unable to grow up. In other words, really needed to figure out how to pass some classes or else i was going to flunk out of life completely... and almost did. And then a couple of rather brilliant, humble teachers (the first of many) encouraged me as good teachers do-- that i had some potential if i would just take a look at some things (refer here to "I was originally a...") and be willing to do something different and admit I wasn't so original but simply human, like all humans, and thus the pressure off having to prove my originality over and over i could finally admit and see-- I'm selfish (check). I'm addicted (check). I'm ready for something different (check). Hence, admittance into school of hard knocks round 2, now armed with a study guide or 2.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">I'm in no way a 4 point student. There's certain pop quizzes, especially when it comes to anxiety or fear, that i still barely scrape by. There's moments in being a parent especially that i fail and then realize a make-up quiz is immediately available, i just have to be willing to take it. Which usually entails an "I'm sorry". Which as a parent is humbling. But I've seen make an impact far greater than what i used to think parenting naturally entailed: Act always like you have it together. Especially when you don't. Pretend like everything's peachy, don't admit your wrong because the wee ones might smell weakness; lecture and spoonfeed, brainwash if needed, be in control. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">hogwash.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2hZNXg43jqK7rLdN_ipnVe_6GCu1fHUomC4eBGYqQtCXk5-eYmxYnO795QWe-ARC5up8SzTH62rWO7kGfOTvsaXj8l730w2kOg3hNqDk7SrgfBkpGvBCyCWepVO-4GLEbO9daw/s1600/BrainMap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH2hZNXg43jqK7rLdN_ipnVe_6GCu1fHUomC4eBGYqQtCXk5-eYmxYnO795QWe-ARC5up8SzTH62rWO7kGfOTvsaXj8l730w2kOg3hNqDk7SrgfBkpGvBCyCWepVO-4GLEbO9daw/s200/BrainMap.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">Yep, i said it, hogwash. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">This line of thinking kept me drunk and depressed and emotionally eating my way into bed.</span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">This line of thinking kept my wee ones at a distance, and established a "do as i say, not as i do, why? because i said so." kind of relationship. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">This line of thinking is not in my new study guide. And thank goodness. thank all that is thank-able. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">Pretense teaches how to pretend. So if I strive to 'pretend' like everything is ok, and then expect my wee ones to take responsibility, act humbly, be honest, any number of lecture points we carry in our parent arsenal-- well, simply put, fail. It will fail. It's like the law of gravity. It's no fun. It wastes precious time that could be spent connecting and dealing with our own poop instead of incessantly covering over our poop only then to start teaching others how to cover their poop. I apologize for the uncouth comparison. But this is an important, no vital, lesson to me constantly. A lesson i have to keep learning or i try again to live to cover up poop instead of live to learn. And in effort to learn, I find that teaching (especially wee ones) NATURALLY and organically occurs. Our learning process with all our A's and D's and every grade in between can be a classroom in and of itself to our wee ones (referring to all ages of course). It's not about trying to convince others we are straight A students when really we are struggling to even pass, it's about getting extra help when we need it, a tutor for some of our questions perhaps, being open to see new formulas or strategies to help work out the problem. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">Lecturing usually entails a whole lot of words and a teensy weensy bit of listening (and comes from our own foibles usually, as i've revealed in earlier posts- oh the lecture i hastily give wee one when meant for me to change so that i could learn and then show instead of tell. Why this compulsion with words with so little behind sometimes? ah, I'm chief amongst. education continues forth...) </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">But the key now is that i know there is hope. I know that i don't have the answers inside my own mind to my problems and that's half the battle right there. I know that life is one big classroom with learning and experiments and opportunities to grow and... so many lessons that i can't wait to keep learning from. </span></div><div style="font-family: inherit; padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">Random as they are, Dr. Ginott's thoughts teach me constantly to look at how my words and intentions so directly affect the wee ones (though not so wee anymore):</span></div><span class="sqq">“</span><br />
<span class="sqq">"If you want your children to improve, let them overhear the nice things you say about them to others."”</span><br />
<div style="padding-top: 3px;"><br />
</div><div style="padding-top: 3px;"><br />
<a class="sqa" href="http://thinkexist.com/quotation/if_you_want_your_children_to_improve-let_them/202891.html"> </a></div><div style="padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq">“"Children are like wet cement. Whatever falls on them makes an impression.”"</span></div><div style="padding-top: 3px;">(Dr. Haim Ginott<span class="sqq">)</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrYFsEqcevdUZMcBfQcr3E3noaZ1b0r7arC13K9XJrkF69vWEyMEtUs2YoSgJl82JcGU6t1zY6nRWPz_y2fzEcCJ0xLalcVtCpsLMYK_YR3xFcOCgtEMxCOWtS3mYWDr3RjL9bg/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrYFsEqcevdUZMcBfQcr3E3noaZ1b0r7arC13K9XJrkF69vWEyMEtUs2YoSgJl82JcGU6t1zY6nRWPz_y2fzEcCJ0xLalcVtCpsLMYK_YR3xFcOCgtEMxCOWtS3mYWDr3RjL9bg/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><div style="padding-top: 3px;"><br />
</div><div style="padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></span></div><div style="padding-top: 3px;"><span class="sqq"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
</span><a class="sqa" href="http://thinkexist.com/quotation/if_you_want_your_children_to_improve-let_them/202891.html"> </a></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-3637857973383941912011-05-30T21:38:00.000-07:002011-05-30T21:39:45.137-07:00night o' the free-write.i don't know<br />
if i've aged well according to the information age.<br />
as in, grown into a grown-up who deals well with information.<br />
information overload feels like a strange ride<br />
like the Gravitron <br />
the first time i road it and the floor fell out from under me<br />
and i was suspended in air from the force of the carnival ride<br />
i loved it.<br />
so much so- i exited and re-entered the ride,<br />
handed necessary number of tickets to the ticket taker <br />
and rode again.<br />
this is the problem with my brain.<br />
the 2nd time I got violently sick.<br />
The Clam Festival was over and done with for me, prematurely, due to Gravitron sickness<br />
and i had to go home, sans cotton candy<br />
while the lights were still blazing joyously<br />
and fellow 5th graders were still basking in the festival night<br />
and able to keep down their cotton candy.<br />
they basked because they knew you just don't get on the Gravitron<br />
if you just got off the Gravitron.<br />
Replace Gravitron with Google.<br />
When i want to know about something that i realize i don't know much about<br />
but feel i should<br />
or could<br />
and that information if i just find it<br />
understand it<br />
memorize it<br />
takes notes about it<br />
will help me understand life or dreams or parenting or writing or documentary making or<br />
jeezlouise. i find i've squandered precious time<br />
feeling utterly inferior<br />
far less capable<br />
aware of what i don't understand<br />
far more than what i do, or did, oh<br />
guts.<br />
Watching Ramona and Beezus with the wonderboys<br />
took me back to age 9 and i missed being<br />
more aware of the dreams, the possibilities, the imaginings<br />
than my deficiencies.<br />
Ramona, often confused and misunderstood<br />
but alive and inventive and uninhibited often in her own world.<br />
I miss Ramona, I miss identifying with her- <br />
in some ways the 9 year old<br />
could teach me oodles about life<br />
much more than google<br />
I don't think my brain on the information age<br />
is a good thing.<br />
Sure, if i could enjoy the ride, the research, the find<br />
for what it is, glean the bit o' nonsense i need for the whatnot...<br />
but no, i jump right back on the Google Gravitron, the floor falls out from under feet<br />
and suddenly I've lost the joyful convenience of finding a needed tidbit of info <br />
suddenly i think i need to keep finding "answers" to questions i don't know i have yet.<br />
some nights i feel that same motion sickness feeling in my gut<br />
like when i walked home from the Clam Festival<br />
sick as can be and green. <br />
wishing i rode a gravity defying ride<br />
once, left it at that<br />
and kept down my cotton candy.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_K2syTsKhdvQhwxkox3Kkq1trtCRRS0mvHg0-yR0_rV6lE_g_4BdFv7jaLZj9CPVoLTr-zcjY3Htk4B-UgGKTzgFOLLMtOKpduOn0SCZiCm9ThwSaIyB5WD-iY1VuP-PCMaKPwA/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_K2syTsKhdvQhwxkox3Kkq1trtCRRS0mvHg0-yR0_rV6lE_g_4BdFv7jaLZj9CPVoLTr-zcjY3Htk4B-UgGKTzgFOLLMtOKpduOn0SCZiCm9ThwSaIyB5WD-iY1VuP-PCMaKPwA/s1600/photo.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L. quotes Dr.Seuss</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-34819152632493310652011-04-21T09:58:00.000-07:002011-04-21T10:18:24.292-07:00a wee yarnOne night before bed, i ask Noah,<br />
"Have you read, just like your teacher said?" <br />
"no, mom, i didn't. i don't like to anymore."<br />
i gasp under my breath, almost fall to the floor.<br />
not acceptable! the thought- then my voice: <br />
Noah, you must finish the books you start to read<br />
or the habit will get out of control completely<br />
you must remember how it important it is<br />
to finish what you start, you must finish what you start...<br />
i say with my kind of kind and kind of annoyed voice,<br />
there is no choice!<br />
for heaven's sake, you need to read! Be disciplined and follow through indeed!<br />
You need to do this. You need to do that.<br />
You need... to do just what i ask!<br />
our "Goodnight" said after that <br />
i walk out of his room<br />
instantly hit with mom-guilt-attack.<br />
as Noah slips into the land of nod<br />
i'm struck over the head with a lightning rod:<br />
a shot of truth...<br />
the lecture was <i>so</i> premature,<br />
laced with fear<br />
rather than something pure<br />
<br />
i try to mold his sacred being <br />
into what i think he needs to be<br />
when the lecture<br />
needs to be- to me.<br />
i half finish things <i>so</i> chronically.<br />
especially books-<br />
i start them you see- <br />
i want to get smart,<br />
take the books right to my heart<br />
but ambitions too big for my brain or eyes<br />
i don't take a dang book one page at a time,<br />
i set 5 out to read...<br />
then stay online.<br />
the very thing i berate Noah for<br />
is the very thing I've done for 30 years more<br />
than i care to confess,<br />
but now did-<br />
SO...I'm now reading<br />
<i>one</i> book <br />
with him.<br />
apropos... <br />
Ali, don't tell.<br />
Show.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK4XdLK9s0Wcp_yC-x2YvqO58p_O7OkQN3cLfR4-GBKpZWp8QqRkyxeteMM44mqfXULS5sUsEK5AgN7IwtE1r0aqLGxNixJvBlrYyx2ZTvnA74y8X5alSPYzW3YcCoyrHdxizjA/s1600/IMG_5587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVK4XdLK9s0Wcp_yC-x2YvqO58p_O7OkQN3cLfR4-GBKpZWp8QqRkyxeteMM44mqfXULS5sUsEK5AgN7IwtE1r0aqLGxNixJvBlrYyx2ZTvnA74y8X5alSPYzW3YcCoyrHdxizjA/s320/IMG_5587.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-73905842134775127972011-04-19T09:28:00.000-07:002011-04-19T09:35:30.204-07:004.19<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">April 19, 1995</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I skipped first hour. Slept in. Felt a boom, in my bedroom and I think like many Oklahomans that day, in my heart. It was so surreal- those next 48 hours. I was a senior and a piece of the wanderlust- the allure of life after graduation</span>—<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">was snatched away in that moment I found out what anger, hatred, and resentment can do. The bomb hit downtown, the bomb hit our hearts, the reverberations of that morning echo still when we least expect it-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">That night in 1995, April 19 into the wee hours of April 20<sup>th</sup>, I went downtown with my dad to deliver blankets. The Red Cross workers shuffled us through to ground zero to make circles around what had been a few hours before a stalwart Federal Building. We offered weary workers coffee and blankets </span>—<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">the unexpected shuffle from what we had planned: dropping off blankets, to the unplanned: putting blankets on weary souls at ground zero. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">H was there too that night, and the next day. We didn</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t realize the impact of the shared experience until far later. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">April 19, 2009</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I had the humbling opportunity to co-write a song for the Oklahoma City National Memorial that year. The morning of April 19, a Sunday, our family was going to head downtown together to be a part and listen to Jami Smith sing our </span>“<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Stand Together.</span>”<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> The days leading up to this were full of meaning and sense of accomplishment</span>—<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">H was an Oklahoma City Police Officer</span>—<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">we were all so proud of him and his resoluteness in fulfilling this dream to protect and serve. This was a direct result of witnessing the OCPD protect and serve and search, tirelessly, at ground zero. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">We had finally come to some semblance of </span>‘<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">normal</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">. Eight days on, six days off. The boys and I had gotten into a rhythm with H</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s odd schedule, we had our way of saying goodbye</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s around nine p.m., watching dad head out into the dark night with uniform perfectly pressed, bullet proof vest strapped firmly underneath, flashlight amongst other necessities in belt. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">We found a rhythm. This after some discordant years of financial, relational, emotional insecurity, postpartum, more than a dozen jobs to make ends meet, amongst other onerous events. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The morning of the Memorial ceremony was going to be a culmination of growing together through all those things as a family. A closure per se. When we could</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">ve and should</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">ve at many times have grown apart. We made it through some of our own ground zero moments, H was living out a dream, and I might be about to embark upon one of mine. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">But instead, that morning H came home from third shift with a massive headache. This headache coupled suddenly with another onslaught of kidney stones. He stayed home to try to sleep off the pain, I put water by the bed, kissed the boys who skipped over to Hanny</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s, and I headed downtown alone. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">When I returned home just a couple of hours later, it was evident H</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s pain had increased rather than decreased, and to a shocking level. I don</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t remember how I got him into the car and I don</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t remember the drive to the first hospital experience of the day, but I remember the shock, like a bomb dropped when we least expected it, and the aftershock was greater than what we could have ever planned for. Confronted again with the unexpected problem of pain. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I want to say I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">ve been brave and resilient the last couple of years. But mostly I just feel tired. I haven</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t found a rhythm since that day. I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">ve found some major chords, some fluid moments of a concordant melody, but mostly the aftershock of watching my husband almost lose his life from a strep infection and blood clots, watching his OCPD dream vanish, watching our finances siphon away through medical bills, watching the boys have to </span>‘<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">adapt</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> to more changes and unknowns</span>…<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> aftershock.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Perhaps these are minor chords; in between there have been major chord harmonious moments that have emerged in fortuitous ways as well- wonderful opportunities that wouldn</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t have otherwise emerged. Many good things. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">And yet still, I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">m tired of aftershock. I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">m tired of trying to make sense of the constantly changing tunes; tired of trying to learn the melody only to find it has changed again. I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">m tired of trauma and sickness and chronically tense shoulders. Tired of feeling helpless against these tsunamis and storms. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Or maybe I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">m just tired of not being able to help those in their own aftershock as much as I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">d like. Because I know what it feels like- the loneliness of grief, the grrrrr of life interrupted by sickness, the struggle to make sense of seemingly senseless events. And I want to help. But many times do not know how. And often don</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t know how to mend my own melody still. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">April 19, 2011</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Life is a gift. Family is a gift. Breath is a gift. Mystery is a gift. Tears are a gift. Laughter is a gift. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I don</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t understand why they shuffled my dad and me with blankets and coffee in tow and sent us down to ground zero to that deafening silence, with those unthinkable sights. But I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">m grateful because it</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s part of the story.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I don</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t understand why at the least expected moment H got sick and we almost lost everything. But we gained so many unexpected blessings in the aftermath- like time- especially H and the boys- getting lavish time to connect and be, present father and sons, that third shift might never have provided. I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">m grateful, even in the aftershock, because it</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s part of the story. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I feel like an observer. Like I haven</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t yet been able to connect to aspects of life since 2009. Or haven</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t been able to re-attach myself to dreams I felt so sure of before. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I have no wise words or expertise. I have very little common sense or know-how regarding this thing called life. But for whatever it</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s worth today-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">To the ones in pain- whether physical or emotional- you are heroic in your unseen battle you fight. You are the strong ones, you are the survivors, you deserve all the respite and refreshment life has to offer. I wish I could pour all the needed peace and relief over you to enliven your step today and take some of the pain away. Know today that if your pain is great, your strength is greater- what you are enduring is a battle and you are a valiant champion fighting it, often unseen and without the accolades and compassion you deserve. I see you. You are a wonder.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">To the ones who have lost everything it seems- you are in for a unique perspective on life</span>—<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">that in the mess of loss- whatever the loss may be</span>—<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> may you find a release and relief from the feeling of having to keep up with the Jones</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> or the incessant race to the top of whatever however</span>…<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> I hope you can find reassurance in the </span>‘<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">little things</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">, renewal in simplicity, regeneration in letting go of old and finding meaning rather than despair in the mystery of the new. I hope for lightness for your soul in the letting go. And a wave of possibilities to breeze through you like wind through trees.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">ve lost almost everything- only to find the most essential things present like never before. I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">ve tiptoed sanity- only to find peace comes in the present, nothing in the future is for sure, no matter how </span>‘<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">good</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> I am, my achievements or how well I</span>’<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">ve mapped out a grand plan. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">If you feel alone with the weight of the world on your shoulders or pain tucked in your pocket so no one will see or lost everything and can barely breathe</span>—<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">you are not alone. And you are braving so brave. You are the heroic ones today and I hope you find smiles on strangers faces, peace in random places, unexplained joy pitter-patters in your heart, beauty for the ashes, a pleasant song to assuage any grief, and hope perching on your shoulder every moment of every day until the aftershock dissipates</span>…<span style="font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal">From Viktor Frankl’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Man Search For Meaning</i>, p.135</div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Gill Sans"; font-size: 12pt;">"We must never forget that we may also find meaning in life even when confronted with a hopeless situation, when facing a fate that cannot be changed. For what then matters is to bear witness to the uniquely human potential at its best, which is to transform a personal tragedy into a triumph, to turn one's predicament into a human achievement. When we are no longer able to change a situation…we are challenged to change ourselves." </span></i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0880-IvDudY0rIXuZBWeIlEvuqhRc3OducD3RO2nvxDR16-6gNeDjO_dKSZBtai8JQsHWt1RunhpCPhEkFAYHqmKZFTtU4_SibaHhOqcaOXfb_MtKNYhqtpCHgryOauAn9W_7A/s1600/DSC_0201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_0880-IvDudY0rIXuZBWeIlEvuqhRc3OducD3RO2nvxDR16-6gNeDjO_dKSZBtai8JQsHWt1RunhpCPhEkFAYHqmKZFTtU4_SibaHhOqcaOXfb_MtKNYhqtpCHgryOauAn9W_7A/s320/DSC_0201.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-62986333417206684122011-04-10T12:24:00.000-07:002011-04-10T12:24:57.896-07:007th day<span style="font-size: x-small;">my face hurts. a really lot. it burns and feels tender. but pre-cancer cells are melting away, and that is good. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't have much to say, have much in my brain</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">not sure how to say. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">working on that. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3dsflG579cE2aBGqGYbFbqiLLNXrjS5ZcnKV343RD0KlgUKZ-Vn29puiRvFaphOyUxksD51h7Am-6dxXOV1A7aF5miajamWO2jDCTR3RAfyRpZCKdgjwtsn5k24KFyYVXgaKEQ/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij3dsflG579cE2aBGqGYbFbqiLLNXrjS5ZcnKV343RD0KlgUKZ-Vn29puiRvFaphOyUxksD51h7Am-6dxXOV1A7aF5miajamWO2jDCTR3RAfyRpZCKdgjwtsn5k24KFyYVXgaKEQ/s200/photo.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"> here's kind of what it looks like inside though. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">anyhoo, thought i'd check in and say 7 days into Efudex isn't too terribly bad. a little self-conscious, but i know it's going to get worse before better. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">thought I'd share this quite amazing entry that super encouraged me and put a spring in my lolligagging step from: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.austinkleon.com/2011/03/30/how-to-steal-like-an-artist-and-9-other-things-nobody-told-me/">Austin Kleon</a> author of Newspaper Blackout. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">and grateful for brother C today- you have copious creativity streaming through your being, thanks for drawing pictures with me when i was a tiny tot. and you are a dang good doctor. and a dang good brother. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">that's all for now. </span>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-71516778639156835962011-04-04T21:57:00.000-07:002011-04-05T08:05:27.189-07:00Dabbling in scribblingYou know how life feels like it's on fast-forward and you can't find the remote to stop it or slow it down?<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">You know how the information age presses information into us at a faster rate than sometimes we can take in the information and actually 'feel' a response?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">You know how there seems to be a kazillion and one expectations that are both internal and external coming at us at kazillion and one miles per hour?</span><br />
You know how sometimes at the end of the day you remember what you were going to say to someone but then forgot because there was so much swirling around in the air and on the screen and everywhere and...<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">a quiet moment to face to face, eyeball to eyeball, talk. or not talk and just look. or not look and just be?</span><br />
This is so very the way i feel sometimes.<br />
Maybe i'm the only one who feels all this mush of stuff. But i've found a little something that helps ease a bit of the mush stuff feeling.<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">{Even if a day stays harried and i endeavor to chill afresh the next day. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">or even if logistically we are running from one thing to the next and all 4 of us are doing homework late and we forget to look at each other in the face all day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">or even if we have an ever so wonderful day together and ahhhh, we sigh and our emotional tanks are filled up... but right before i go to bed I remember something I really wanted to tell N. or L. or H. but forgot too.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">or any number of moments called life, especially life in twenty eleven, that can feel so very fast forward...}</span><br />
I write Notes to the Boys. handwritten scribbly short-sometimes, long-sometimes, notes. in a cheap dollar store notebook. cheap cover decorated with wallpaper-y looking paper or not, just whatever i feel like for that notebook. It helps keep me AWAKE and AWARE as life zooms forward, or lectures are to be had more often than affirmations, or i simply forget to be present and aware of all the oh-my-goodness-so much-goodness.<br />
I keep adding lines of snippets and blippets as they come, as the awareness compels the writing.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">{</span><span style="font-size: small;">what i feel about love and life, things i believe but forget sometimes, things i want to say but can't get a word in edgewise with life at times, funny anecdotes from the day, random memories that i don't want to fade, favorite songs and why, what i love about the boys, what i love about their dad, what mistakes i've made and what i've learned, what i'm grateful for (oh the abundance once list begins...)}</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXc-2uUMVXXuEsAWT46zjzJRjm6agt0gkKTEmwoZNxherKWitL0ubwxYd7hejQ0f2jSDPlW63C6e9Wsnp-S_tP8H-VKkKuXpsNcMRLLCEYVfklN2Yox_rhiv7g6a0Hcr0PquCpUQ/s1600/Noah+LukeCO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXc-2uUMVXXuEsAWT46zjzJRjm6agt0gkKTEmwoZNxherKWitL0ubwxYd7hejQ0f2jSDPlW63C6e9Wsnp-S_tP8H-VKkKuXpsNcMRLLCEYVfklN2Yox_rhiv7g6a0Hcr0PquCpUQ/s1600/Noah+LukeCO.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sometimes i take quotes as prompts to dialogue on a page or two about, sometimes i take words and put their definition to the side and banter back and forth with words like ping pong balls about why i like that word and meaning. </span> sometimes i apologize for things i've said or done that have been out of fear or anger. sometimes i write silly, goofy, rhyming, mushy stuff that feels like a snapshot of that moment.<br />
<br />
There's no same way on all the pages or lines. No right or wrong way to commence and end, just blips and snipets here and there. <br />
I write because i know each day this 8 year old and this 9 year old grow more into their lives- this growing- <span style="font-size: xx-small;">however heartbreaking at times for their mama</span>--is a gift, and a gift they will decide more on their own what to do with, and how to do it.<br />
I write because sometimes i need to say less out loud, let them work things out,<br />
the times come (more and more) where they naturally think and feel and deal more on their own, a sacred process they bravely must face each day and i want to be present when need be, but not in their way. Writing helps me resume my own growth and learning rather than hyper-focus on their learning or constant adherence to my growth and learning process. <span style="font-size: x-small;">I write to work on or work out rather- this balance as they grow into little men. </span> <br />
I write because sometimes i'm tempted to think my voice doesn't matter in this boy world, but writing helps me remember my voice does matter and to please don't give in to the temptation of silence and frenetic thought <span style="font-size: x-small;">(the great inhibitor of being awake and connected)</span>. <br />
I write them these notes most of all to tell them <span style="font-size: large;">how much I love them</span>,<br />
how much i love every day with them-- the brilliantly technicolor grand days and the grey-ish stormy cloudish days.<br />
How much we learn together and grow together through all the seemingly 'small' frustrations or challenges.<br />
How the <span style="font-size: large;">sea of love</span> that surrounds them is wide and huge and unending and therefore they have a sea of love to give away- to share this sea of love wherever they go- and this will bring them more joy and fulfillment than any dollar amount or upgrade or letter behind their name ever can. How the sea of love is theirs to swim in and be inspired in and then inspire others with, be givers not takers, possibility see-ers.<br />
I write to them to make some sense of the seconds and minutes and days we have together, to take in life as it's happening and learn from the daily lessons, enjoy the daily treasures. <span style="font-size: x-small;">TO slow down and smell the roses.</span> <br />
Sometimes days even weeks go by between writings.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">It seems my reign as queen of inconsistent is still alive and well</span>. But that aside, these scribbles are not about perfection or punctuation. It's about expressing, becoming more aware through releasing the deep well of who we really are, leaving the perfectionism, ism's in general aside-<span style="font-size: x-small;"> the rather irrational but occasionally understandable parent fears and fluctuations and frustrations caused by the shoulds and ought to's and they-better-listens...</span><br />
The notebook represents pieces of an ongoing story. N and L will be writing more and more their own truth, telling their own tale. Scribbling helps me let them go, let the boys form their own notebooks, start their own scribbling.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkyQeNgEqrm9BO8Fa7xLVG2Yefh2M6SGW1c-yvGdg8caP3PekQhtyHlSYDb1ugOavMldC4k7dpXb0u_zuoJtYlbIaVHePtEE-lhesUMluk5dimeNZ1JLd28ry8YexnOyS2q5CyQ/s1600/IMG_4206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkyQeNgEqrm9BO8Fa7xLVG2Yefh2M6SGW1c-yvGdg8caP3PekQhtyHlSYDb1ugOavMldC4k7dpXb0u_zuoJtYlbIaVHePtEE-lhesUMluk5dimeNZ1JLd28ry8YexnOyS2q5CyQ/s320/IMG_4206.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;">It also helps that unrelenting feeling of fast-forward dissipate. </span>Helps melt the fretting, the regretting, that sometimes robs so much of the instinctive joy of parenting- of LIVING.<br />
a simple way to save a little sanity, slow harried life down, write <span style="font-size: large;">the heart of hearts </span>down on a page, <br />
let go<br />
and let live.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(addendum... they may or may not ever read what i put on the paper. that's not really the point i suppose. the scribbling nonetheless and mysteriously changes- me. i become more aware in the process, and less hindered by what's in my head, more motivated by what's in my heart. An organic way to grow the healthy mama heart, helps silence the control-y-helicopter-tendency-mama part.) </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiweiATyt_JBwBXoqLiLuhPpqgdTZf0mVFU7jSqzlI8w-tnt1o0NCNXK6QXEm-Lt3absKuE97YBkYO-_wrDlNMHlZb0k2q8JjauD73a40fLhyphenhyphenYlaKsQeUTXHbyxbx-GIMG1O2T0IQ/s1600/IMG_4208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiweiATyt_JBwBXoqLiLuhPpqgdTZf0mVFU7jSqzlI8w-tnt1o0NCNXK6QXEm-Lt3absKuE97YBkYO-_wrDlNMHlZb0k2q8JjauD73a40fLhyphenhyphenYlaKsQeUTXHbyxbx-GIMG1O2T0IQ/s200/IMG_4208.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-80784953099392846452011-04-03T12:23:00.000-07:002011-04-03T12:23:52.115-07:001.2.3.I don't know if it's the sloughing off icky pre-cancer cells that's going on or the season changing or what-- but I've been re-struck with some fundamental sound bites that were offered and subsequently consumed when I was in treatment. January 2, 2011 marked the 4th year of living semi-insanity-free. Simply said, sober. <br />
Sober from alcohol because it nearly wrecked my life and those around... check.<br />
Sober from the same kind of crazy thinking that i either a)still try to numb with some other non-alcoholic something or b)still try to hide for some strange conditioned and/or innate reason... not so check.<br />
<br />
Here's what I learned in treatment that i hold on to with my life still today:<br />
Recovery/Sanity depends on my ability to be: <br />
1. honest<br />
2. open <br />
3. willing<br />
<br />
These 3 bites I used to munch on quite a bit. I would take the actions I needed to take when one or more was lacking. When I put off looking at my inability to be honest, open-hearted or minded, or willing-- I get uncomfortable in my skin, I write a lot of stuff down but don't do much, I avoid more and more of life. Then i get stuck. Stuck inside my head. And that my friends is simply not good, not a good track record, just plain not a super-sun-shiny place.<br />
Re-seeing the importance of honesty, openness, and willingness is good.<br />
Just like taking care of my skin issues that would otherwise keep growing into bigger issues, is good.<br />
Slathering on antimetabolite cream that kills abnormal cells doesn't feel good or look good in the moment, in parts of the process. I can't cover over with make-up and can't stay in denial about damage done and the type of skin i have that is more or less allergic to sun. I can't deny the fact anymore that extreme care and commitment to sunscreen must be a part of my daily regimen ad infinitum. I can't keep writing myself reminders about changing my daily habits, can't keep putting it off until tomorrow or next soccer game or next summer. <br />
As I start this treatment for my skin, I also realize I don't want to stay stuck in my head. Don't want the counterproductive- pre-cancerous so to speak- thoughts to grow.<br />
So with that I'll slough off a snippet of what's been stuck inside, untended to, and growing- fear. Fear of not getting things done i know i need to get done, fear of not doing things right, fear of not being good enough, fear of losing someone or something, fear of talking, fear of fear for heaven's sake.<br />
Open-- i feel like i just opened what was like a storm door holding all that fretting inside. It's out. Out in the open and all is still ok.<br />
So now, there you have it... as the skin sloughs away, so do some of the paralyzing thoughts that multiply in a similar fashion to cells. <br />
One minute at a time today means being inside this minute- not letting the anxieties of Monday or finances or the paper due Tuesday or the job i need to find or the book i want to write or the slew of 'good intentions' that only create caverns of unrealistic expectations and mountains of things-to-do lists...<br />
Willing, I'm willing to be right here in this minute and not squirm around unhappy with the RIGHT NOW. Even if right now isn't where i think i need to be. I'm willing to start small, right here, with these words, releasing copious fears as i write them. Willing to leave the sense-making to the Creator of thoughts, and that is definitely not me. <br />
Honest-y today I seek. Not seeking to hide or hermit, but seeking honest minutes like this, for no big picture reason other than to slough off thoughts and cells and<br />
well, just be here in Sunday.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLXDj3CUpli8nytvQWZas3Ew_0Vgzr8T-bX87QiMwgaIVNjY9k4JIhUthUWfdPIcgmHQuemLhqzmzhIAq-WWkaJTZKm6DusJ7Khfhk7v03SxmakHiA4mla_Hpq1KgCIP3N8lQZA/s1600/IMG_2562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLXDj3CUpli8nytvQWZas3Ew_0Vgzr8T-bX87QiMwgaIVNjY9k4JIhUthUWfdPIcgmHQuemLhqzmzhIAq-WWkaJTZKm6DusJ7Khfhk7v03SxmakHiA4mla_Hpq1KgCIP3N8lQZA/s400/IMG_2562.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-64111912013157809872011-04-02T21:41:00.000-07:002011-04-02T21:41:32.860-07:00Too Much Frying for Ali Pie<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">“See you later Mom, I’m going to the pool.”</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Ok, just make sure you put on sunscreen first.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">“yeah, right” I say under my breath as I trot out the door thinking my skin perpetually youthful and somehow more olive complexioned than is reality.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I run across the street to the kind neighbor’s pool they offered my brothers and I during the two summers we lived there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lay out in the sun, bake, burn… I did not much to my chagrin and constant attempts otherwise, tan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">My non-tan-able skin got fried that day as on most days that I pretended to use a shield against the sun’s harmful rays. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said ‘bring it on’, and I’m paying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And for the burn I got in Mexico because I didn’t think one could get sun on a cloudy day…oh i can't even go there- blistering, painful to lay on my back for months, crud. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I hear my mom’s words echo…echo…echo in my mind</div><div class="MsoNormal">…As I slather Efudex cream all over my face in effort to quell the mutiny on my epidermis. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Why oh why didn’t I listen and put the gosh darn sunscreen on before I went swimming (and all those oodles and oodles of other times).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suppose many daughters hitting middle age utter similar sounds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Why oh why didn’t I listen?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I suppose many daughters are still saying 'yeah, right' under their breath. I hope we all begin listening more though. I really hope we do. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal">I regret not wearing sunscreen because I now have skin ripe with pre-cancer cells, basal cells, sunspots, and deeper-than-need-be-for-30-something-wrinkles. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Anyhoo, I’m applying cream that’s supposed to slough off those danger cells starting tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll update on the 3 week process, try to find out a little more about how this Efudex stuff works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I understand the ol’ face might be a bit of a frightful sight as the medicine does the job and gets rid of the harmful whatnots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But would much rather look blistery and odd for a few weeks than the alternative, and let the mutinous cells keep having their way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a 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" 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</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-657135775309149902011-03-02T08:02:00.000-08:002011-03-08T22:40:11.935-08:00Happy Birthday to Who? to you Dr. Seuss!<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7adSlFpI2Co-1IOvwsRUoW1YMZiI6df7laODBSCmm0iOSXJKwGPIoGxTxD7GrtqeTL6jajYeUgdkl-9B4a9XcMgipQmgsxoYqDj9l8D-j3j_osfpoVft-86PS8-rRD9h361bfQ/s1600/IMG_1400.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7adSlFpI2Co-1IOvwsRUoW1YMZiI6df7laODBSCmm0iOSXJKwGPIoGxTxD7GrtqeTL6jajYeUgdkl-9B4a9XcMgipQmgsxoYqDj9l8D-j3j_osfpoVft-86PS8-rRD9h361bfQ/s320/IMG_1400.JPG" width="121" /></a></div><style>
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</style> <div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The Sense in Nonsense: Waking up the Brain Cells</span></b></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">By Ali Plum</span></b></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div align="center" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">To the me’s and the you’s and the Cindy Lou Who’s</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div><div align="center" style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;">What might this wise Seuss say if he were here today?</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I think Seuss might say what he said in his own day, “Children want the same things we want. To laugh, to be challenged, to be entertained, and delighted… A person’s a person, no matter how small.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I adore the nonsensical words and rhymes Dr. Seuss penned. I adored listening to Billie- a surrogate grandma circa 1983. She read to me in her natural Okie tone, I can hear it today, MCGELLIGOT’S POOL. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">“If I’m patient and cool, who knows what I’ll catch in McElligot’s pool,” says the boy with the vivid imagination who despite the ‘seen’ (a muddy puddle he’s fishing in) believes in the ‘unseen’—surely this pond leads to the sea. The gruff furrowed brow farmer in the story implores the boy to stop the nonsense, to stop wasting time imagining there’s something beyond the concrete. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I remember hearing Seuss tales and my heart skipping a few beats with excitement, the lyrics, the scenes, and the imaginings. Quite honestly, his lyrics made me want to learn to read. His books are like music to me, and bid me come into the pages, into Who-ville and climb those funny slanted mountain doodles, and shake the hand of one of those famous friends- Yertle the Turtle, the Wocket, Thidwick, Gertrude, and the Zax (among others of course. One can’t leave out the Grinch.) </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Dr. Seuss changed kid literature. He changed learning as well. He changed learning for me at least. And I know a couple of other little Plums bit with the Seuss bug in their toddler days—and the bug remains (thank goodness!)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">School would have been unbearable for me without the likes of Dr. Seuss, a 5<sup>th</sup> grade science teacher named Mr. Corbett, and a few others. It was patience and their insistence that I believe in myself rather than disdain my kid brain, their mantra ‘Oh the Places You’ll Go!’ changed the way I perceived myself at many points in life. Though school always remained a great challenge.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Public education is a quandary these days. I hear NPR discuss the teacher’s union outrage in Wisconsin (uh, many other places as well, this being the most recent). I hear my home state do a lot of talking, a lot of stressing, and a lot of complaining about the state of public education. I hear a lot of about test scores, angst about test scores, shutting down schools cause of test scores; meanwhile debating teachers abilities in this that or the other way. We don’t pay teachers enough to be under the immense amount of pressure to ‘perform’ much less to teach. No one’s to blame and we are all to blame. Blame game has proved moot. Moot doesn’t move us to a new resolute. If we are not resolute we are like wet noodles flopping around making excuses for something so fundamentally important AND simple—teaching our kids how to love learning, how to engage in their own mental process, how to ask questions, and how to believe in themselves as thinkers, creators, innovators.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">A lot of us furrowed brow grown ups look at the puddle like the farmer in McGelligot’s Pool and say, ‘Oh don’t bother imagining it will get better. It’s too broken. It’s a waste of our time. Let’s just keep debating who’s right and who’s wrong. Let’s keep pointing fingers. That’s much more practical than seeing, imagining possibilities.’</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0d3592; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">“The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go.”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Well, it happens to be Marco-the boy- who enlightens the farmer. Not Seuss, the usual narrator in his other works. Marco imagines a number of possibilities, endless in fact. “The Child is Father to the Man” the line in William Wordsworth poem resounds powerfully in my mind as parallel to Marco’s interaction with the farmer. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Perhaps if we simply asked or paid attention to how kids learn, what brings letters and numbers and fascinating things to life? We would probably find more than enough ideas to re-start the education engine. Perhaps we’ve been looking at learning upside down. Yes, test-test-testing leads to numbers that indicate something helpful for big people in big places. Tests are necessary, I’m willing to see that. But tests aren’t the whole picture. They are the black and white, the silent film of learning. We need Technicolor classrooms to revive the laughter, the challenge, and the delight of learning.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">(I am the least qualified person to comment on such things, although I <i>am</i> a student, and a human who is a lifelong learner. Disclaimer: this is purely my opinion.)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Perhaps many kids love the way the classroom works. Perhaps many thrive in it.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> <span> </span>But for me, and many I’ve met through the years- young or old- like me, the classroom functioned as a place to feel significantly less smart, less successful than others. It was a place that signified stress and concepts I didn’t understand ‘on time’ and fear of being called on. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The upside: I loved stories, writing, and art. Those classroom experiences felt like safe havens, where there was room for daydreaming, creating, expressing and learning a great deal through those processes. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">It’s taken me to my thirty-something age to pass algebra and learn how to write a real live outline and abstract (although admittedly all the rules and wherefores still confuse the heck out of me.) But this feeling of failure or lack of success rather doesn’t just go away once past the high school room doors, or once diploma was in hand. The feeling got lodged in my psyche round 5<sup>th</sup> grade. And then stayed-- like an unwanted guest, siphoning many of my natural resources—the feeling that I was dumb or unmotivated or a number of other descriptions. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I’m not throwing a pity party—quite the opposite. For once I feel exhilarated by the fact that I’ve learned learning never stops, open minds leads to a more open heart, asking questions leads to finding out new possibilities. Learning new things keeps connecting pieces of puzzles. Our brains are amazing things! </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And now, experiencing this love of learning—I hope with resoluteness for our education systems to embrace a new way of seeing teaching, a new way of motivating learning- an intrinsic experience of neurons and brain synapses breaking into dance! An experience that allows a heart to be moved by what it hears new that day at school. That teachers could have the freedom to move in their uniqueness and teach the way that makes sense to them because then what they teach will make more sense to their students. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I have a dream that one day, all the multiple intelligences will be celebrated and valued equally. I have a dream that we will stop labeling our kids one side of the brain or the other, hence limiting their view of themselves and abilities. I have a dream that the generation who still has recess and eats in that famous elementary cafeteria smell every day will love words and poetry as well as numbers and math, seeing that both can be fascinating and full of riddle, rhyme, and pattern. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I have a dream that Dr. Seuss’ encouragement, “Think left and think right, think low and think high, oh the things you can think up if only you try!” will ring and resound through school halls; kindergarten through senior year and beyond! that we parents will motivate by encouraging curiosity, fostering creativity, and expressing affirmation rather than endless stressing about deficiencies. As a wise woman has told me many a time and I now understand, “Focus on the donut, not the hole.” (Thanks mom. It makes so much sense now with my own kiddos.)</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">We might be late bloomers, we might be early risers, we might be artists or we might be scientists. We might be motivated, we might whine, we might act tough, we might act like we don’t care about our mind. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0d3592; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">“I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, It's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of a telescope. Which is what I do, And that enables you to laugh at life's realities.”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">We all are born to take in new things daily, find stories in stars, wonder about how A + B= C and relish the process of finding out why, look at history finding fascinating similarities and learning vital lessons for the future. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">This is what I dream about when I look in the puddle—the possibilities for learning are as endless as the sea. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I hope the phenomenon (that I often fight) of social media will one day lead to change, real palpable change, on the road to education reform. If a country’s people can find their voice and strength through such a thing; why can’t we ‘as the people’, the parents, the teachers, the kids, the ones who care about keeping the learning spark alive in the classroom, find our voice and in unison say,</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"> <span> </span>“Ok, we’re ready to see the possibilities. We are ready to look at what we’ve done that hasn’t worked. We are humble enough to ask questions and be open to new innovative solutions. We are hopeful and courageous enough to leave the denial and heated debates aside and HOPE in the younger generations. Rather than give up or label them or criticize them. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And we are ready to see the grave misstep somewhere along the way when we thought it was ok to take creativity and expression away. It’s not OK. Our kids will need art and music and movement more than ever heading into an age where they are seeing less and less of our faces and more and more screens. We are more plugged in to devices and less plugged into getting to know each other. Kids need a place to still play, be kids, let out how it feels, they need a place to imagine nonsense and write from that place not just fill out blanks on another worksheet. They need to be able to try science experiments and work out equations on the big white board. They need a place to learn how to solve problems and collaborate with each other. They need a safe place to falter and then learn from those tries. They need a place where they can learn they are not the kings of the world, but learners, observers of it—and what a fascinating, fun, and weighty role to look into the who, what, when, why, and how of things. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I think Dr. Seuss might encourage us adults to take a deep breath and then exhale and admit we’ve tried awful hard to make a system work, but in our best efforts its broken plain and simple. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">Broken pieces though can form a most vibrant beautiful mosaic, especially when lit. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And that’s my dream for public schools in OKC and abroad—that we can heal in a mosaic way—the shards of glass strewn about all over the place we can bring together in puzzle form with a cohesive collaborative glue and create a stunning outcome. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0d3592; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself in any direction you choose. You're on your own.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><i><span style="color: #0d3592; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">And you know what you know. You are the guy who'll decide where to go.”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I believe. I believe in learning. I believe we can help learning happen more in classrooms—all classrooms—by taking cues from the Marcos how to find possibilities, use our imaginations, and respect the rhyme again, just like Dr. Seuss…</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></div><div style="line-height: 150%; margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><b><i><span style="color: #365f91; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.”</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"></span></b></div></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-73914535119943964022011-02-26T22:52:00.000-08:002011-02-26T22:52:22.317-08:00tick-tock<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">When sitting across from your date, your spouse, your mate</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Your friend, your business partner, your kid even say…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Put the gosh darn cell phone away. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Yet here I am with the rant and the soap-box</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Giving a speech about how we talk or we don't talk</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">But when push comes to shove</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">My email inbox hovers sometimes above</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">The words that I hear, the words real life and clear</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">The face in front of me</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Worthy of listening</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Worthy of eyes contacting</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Worthy as human beings</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">And yet we forget </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">As soon as our phone rings. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">This isn’t a slam, or verbal shove</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">I am the worst of us, certain times I love</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Escaping, noggin rotating, twittering thoughts</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Avoiding the real, the feelings I feel</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Dare even pain, fret, or hurt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">But instead, a human voice, a word spoken maybe curt</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">My choice is face do I face you</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Or pace away with my screen face to </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Read and bleed those real emotions into. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Information age, is it forever this way or a stage?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Can we balance our eyeballs on faces and back-field sky balls</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Play in the rain at the drop of a hat, snuggle kids, not call back</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Immediately, see this immediacy—to check our online life</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Rather than deal with real life- strife</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">can we pause when we want to be steady and still?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Can we still put down the phone and heal-</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">The wounds we have caused when we stop looking in eyes</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Or the wounds done to us that creep up still- surprise</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Do we run virtually to escape our own us</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Do we get rustled and fester when our kid starts to fuss</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Asking ‘when will you unplug and let go and play?’</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">When will you sit with me, run with me, stay</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">on this couch, and not look away </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">To see who just texted or emailed or rang.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">It’s been food for thought, as of late, recently</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">To take a good long look at the cell phone and me</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Is it important constant constantly?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Is it as urgent as we’ve now made it to be? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Virtually the need- take inventory</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Realistically it’s real life that I need</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">To remember what miracles surround</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;"> a real glance, a real voice, each real unique sound</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Try today, boldly put the phone down, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Perhaps shut it off just to see just to glance</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">At the potent place in our life, what it adds</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">I’m not saying it’s <i>all</i> bad, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">we have grown and evolved</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">New ways to connect and resolve</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">this strange planet we see in all kinds of new ways</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">let's not focus on what’s so wrong these days</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">But one can take stock, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">like an ol’ grandfather clock</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">Make sure the hands still move through the hours</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">that one can still run through rain showers </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">See that the winder is wound</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: "Baskerville Old Face"; font-size: 10pt;">The heart is still present and one’s voice is still found</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaNsI4zCix_tupajaWjFcuJH_Hrzf4nvYv-Ru3TsUtMS7aKFzKNpgkA7x12nmdZ_f_AXIri1T8DY3JUzY4Mwa5mnXGHaY888uRU48dUJtQSn27fw-acPHwgSM5MRVHEiBpvHf3w/s1600/IMG_0753.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghaNsI4zCix_tupajaWjFcuJH_Hrzf4nvYv-Ru3TsUtMS7aKFzKNpgkA7x12nmdZ_f_AXIri1T8DY3JUzY4Mwa5mnXGHaY888uRU48dUJtQSn27fw-acPHwgSM5MRVHEiBpvHf3w/s320/IMG_0753.PNG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-57384814116596933162011-02-14T08:34:00.000-08:002011-02-14T08:36:46.412-08:001.5<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Cooper Black";">Skeletons in the Closet #1.5</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnkXTGD4faBH2F1rtCq48UVSZhvmpxi-mZo3a9e0ZBXjdZWOROwFDFl6REw4ksSixLlgdg8MpUbTsJX5tPmtDsThXiKGjRlCMrbRJK1vEmdlCuuUkuq9SYxeAIGXSvzLOdcn07Hw/s1600/IMG_2181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnkXTGD4faBH2F1rtCq48UVSZhvmpxi-mZo3a9e0ZBXjdZWOROwFDFl6REw4ksSixLlgdg8MpUbTsJX5tPmtDsThXiKGjRlCMrbRJK1vEmdlCuuUkuq9SYxeAIGXSvzLOdcn07Hw/s200/IMG_2181.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">…the closed door. The room. The closet. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So my fairy godmother did not nor will make a showing. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know, you are shocked. But I’ve come to peace with this fact. Well, I wouldn’t say peace. Simply on the basis that cleaning to me doesn’t equal peace so much, but I suppose that’s not the point of cleaning. OR perhaps it is, and I’m just slow seeing the light. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As the prologue suggests, behind the closed bedroom door has been a sight for sore eyes. But as I finally bust into cleaning mode to <i>my </i>side, <i>my</i> own closet, <i>my</i> ‘stuff’; it became immediately clear to me… I have to learn to keep my side, my closet, my stuff clean first before wrapping constantly around anxieties of H or N or L not keeping their stuff clean. Easier said than done. But nonetheless true. OH so true. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’ve known this theory from treatment, “cleaning my side of the street clean” and it’s been just that. A theory. I’ve acted like I live the theory, when in reality I haven’t had the faintest clue how to really, <i>really</i> live it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Until I stepped into the craziness of my space in my room and began the de-cluttering, the much overdo organizing, the hanging of some pictures that had been stashed in my closet because our bedroom has been a storage unit rather than a room. This whole time, putting all this aside like a martyr (lazy martyr) spending a few years in a row anxiously wrapped around the inefficiencies of others, the need for order in other rooms belonging to <i>them</i>, meanwhile literally ignoring and hiding my own disheveled chaos (concrete or metaphorical implied- external or internal, take your pick). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Needless to say, the last week has been awfully enlightening in the way of taking care of my own <s>crap </s> excuse me, mess. And there’s been a number of ‘skeletons’ I’ve found in my closet there in the chaos as I’ve been cleaning. In between hanging up clothes and finding the floor:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Uno: A lost journal from before treatment. Dos: some pictures of the boys as bambinos, a few of their baby socks and t-shirts mixed in somehow with the mess of whathaveyous… quatro, cinquo, etc… (there were many things unearthed in the mess)…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> (cue thought/memory clouds above head)…I’ve never been very apt at handling memories. Whether forgetting them or re-living them to a fault or not letting go of them or being deathly afraid to face them… memories seem to have some strange, paralyzing power over me. I’ve surrendered scared many times to this feeling. Thus, cleaning and de-cluttering even in the most necessary of ongoing ways, has proved an unlivable task. Emotionally I curl up in a ball and feel paralyzed. Once upon a time before treatment, this feeling would come- at the sight of a toddler shoe too small or a packet of pictures hidden under piles only to emerge with such force of emotion, that I would waddle myself into the kitchen and deal with the wave of overwhelming ‘missing’ feelings, the memories, the moments I might have missed somehow, head on—with a re-fill of wine mixed with juice, stir and consume. Ah, now I feel ok. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">These are the skeletons attached to my old ways of cleaning things out, dealing with clutter, organizing life and memories—I would drink in order to not feel reality, the reality that time moves along whether or not I’m ready, whether or not I’m scared or you name it. The few times I was able to go through grown out baby and toddler clothes, my many-times-angel-Kathryn was there, helping take the edge off the letting go process, helping by being present in my weird but profound pain of releasing time, releasing memories, releasing my guilt of what I did or didn’t do right, releasing the cuteness of some of my favorite clothes I’d put on the boys and how tiny, and now how big, oh it was simply </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Too much. To feel. Even with the help of a dear friend. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Afterwards I would drink. And drink. And try not to think. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>{The vicious cycle of compulsive brain and chemical reaction…}</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Until I hit that end, that substructure of self that has no frame left to hide atop. I lost my marbles, my mojo, my motivation- to live and be. I didn’t know how to be me anymore without falling apart, or breaking something or someone, or blacking out, or passing out. I couldn’t hide the pain anymore, couldn’t find sane on my own anymore, needed help, needed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Evidence of this tsunami of a cycle was found in the old journal unearthed through the closet clutter. Waves of remembering, how did I get so far out? How did I make it out of the last night, the last binge alive? (miracles do in fact exist I believe). What kind of mother was I to do such things, be such and such way? the wave of assaults at my old inner self, guilt creeping back… </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">NO! skeletons, you have no power over me. I’m thankful for my past, you skeletons have taught me what it means to finally BE ALIVE. I crave life now, even on blue days… I want to LIVE. I can smell life in the springtime blooms, but can also sense purpose in the whiting out with snow. Before treatment, I couldn’t even muster a step forward, life seemed unlivable in my skin, living seemed unattainable without artificial means to ‘help’ get through... I’m grateful that I’m not defined by that past, I don’t cringe or carry shame. Daily clearing of old thoughts by thinking new thoughts, being taught new ways to react, respond, re-new… </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> This cleaning process… bring it on! I fear you no more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">(cue coming out of thinking cloud above head) …So now you know. Running into old things, old thoughts while seeing those old things, feelings I get about those old things—this is the madness that has traditionally been attached to the clearing out/cleaning process. It’s been a monster I’ve been scared to face, thus many times over not faced… thus the interminable shut door policy. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is a new time, I’m not afraid to face the piles of memories, or clutter, or whatever else might be found in the process. I’ll feel the feeling, but it won’t cripple me. I’ll face it with courage, perhaps some tears, and then get myself to a meeting or sit down and write. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps that’s the point of discomfort or pain or loss or remembrance—to feel something we need to feel anyway but deliberately push aside because we want to feel in control of the discomfort, we want to hold it far away as we can. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">But maybe the feeling it, and the taking care of ourselves in a healthy expressive way, is what frees us from the unlivable part of the pain. And frees us to live in a connected, fresh, present moment sort of way with those around us who need us indeed- present. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This cleaning dilemma I’ve had going for a long time—it’s not about Peter Pan and the 2 lost boys living in my house (j/k HP) and <i>them</i> changing and miraculously <i>bippety-bobbity-boo!</i> cleaning their rooms on a regular basis <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">{one thing at a time}</span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">No, it’s about me learning how to keep myself free- from the old stuff that creeps in, or the clutter that can start forming mounds over the ground, or the thoughts that become too overwhelming to face, or the frustration over what someone else isn’t doing that becomes my ill-fated-focus. It’s about learning how to keep my side clean to the best of my ability and then the rest…</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Let it be. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Until </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Well, until, we’ll see. I just need to focus on keeping my side clean. </span></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-19612908121835686742011-02-09T10:54:00.000-08:002011-02-09T11:00:33.663-08:00prologue: Skeletons in the Closet.<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Cleaning closets</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Domestically speaking, I am challenged, developmentally delayed. No really, ask N and L. I hear often an assuaging statement from even <i>them</i>: "It's ok mom, you have other strengths." Needless to say, before I start drawing metaphors about skeletons in closets allow me to set the scene:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjkJca659Ds8THV_3Orbaek-OJbrw4IREyDJvp6dOQMY2UpeRdonvCLBaBNVKbCbPF7RFSpSuXC-8fPDPZVNz4VbWC18bUj6kak2WQ_CKfzWKcDwxJxVxwFdIjkMh59u8_1qH7w/s1600/IMG_1091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjkJca659Ds8THV_3Orbaek-OJbrw4IREyDJvp6dOQMY2UpeRdonvCLBaBNVKbCbPF7RFSpSuXC-8fPDPZVNz4VbWC18bUj6kak2WQ_CKfzWKcDwxJxVxwFdIjkMh59u8_1qH7w/s200/IMG_1091.JPG" width="150" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">The front and middle portion of our ranch style home has become a conquerable challenge. The kitchen- ummm, well lets just say it depends on the day and the amount of food consumed by the wonderboys (hint: plethora). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">A la Ali-HG-TV style, walk with me a moment</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">…the floor plan is</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> like a little </span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">‘</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">t</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">, the arms of the </span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">‘</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">t</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> lead to bedrooms and a bathroom per side. On one arm of the </span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">‘</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">t</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> is the master bathroom and bedroom. On the other arm are 2 little bedrooms belonging to the wonderboys, a circa 1970</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">s bathroom between bedrooms. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">The long stem of the </span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">‘</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">t</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> includes a living room and back play room. Wonderboys art is added ongoing to the walls with that blue tacky stuff that isn</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">t supposed to leave a mark when removed or replaced.The vacuum has a decent relationship with this area of the house, not afraid to interact with the Hans-ified concrete floors.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Needless to say, if you walked into casa-plum you would hopefully feel welcomed by a decently uncluttered overly couchified space. Now imagine a couple of doors on the 2 sides of the </span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">‘</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">t</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> that are shut at all times, save sleeping hours... and for good reason. Few have dared to enter the lair on the master bedroom side (we</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">ll leave the 2 small wonderboy</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">s rooms out of this for now). </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Behind these closed doors lies a site that would make Martha Stewart recoil and shudder. A site that would make a celebrity mom-blogger faint (she who uploads daily pictures of a domestic wonderland she</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">s created and maintained. I</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">m skeptical there</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">s not some trickery involved here</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">…</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> cleaner? interior designer? Fairy godmother? Househusband? Photoshop? please tell me the secret?!? Oh poo.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Anyhoo, onward. There must be a reason for this banishment of said room from plain view, from being reveled in, pleasant for dwelling purposes. There must be a reason the door</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">…</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">stays</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">…</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">closed. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEnBFqzmuZ6hB59AXO1ew9RKPF1twVWCKUGWC0nXngdC4sRNDZ23tyANVCNFxzZplLEDbZF1320ZugwuRYpUpft9jN_NeBUXjcE8i9IzhaA3PBQKtZiTpWrxLnUX4mibdXtliYhA/s1600/IMG_5492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEnBFqzmuZ6hB59AXO1ew9RKPF1twVWCKUGWC0nXngdC4sRNDZ23tyANVCNFxzZplLEDbZF1320ZugwuRYpUpft9jN_NeBUXjcE8i9IzhaA3PBQKtZiTpWrxLnUX4mibdXtliYhA/s200/IMG_5492.JPG" width="150" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">As I dare enter this particular day with a motivation other than ONLY sleeping in bed, the reasons fill the forefront of my mind, having been pushed aside day after day- the scope of the task too large to tackle psychologically, too perilous on too many levels! (melodramatic? a pinch. apologies. but this is serious psychological beeznees!) </span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> Without further ado</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">…</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Reason 1. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> I have yet to figure out this multi-person-laundry dilemma, oh who am I kidding, I had yet to figure out solo-person-laundry before thing 1 and thing 2 arrived. THUS clean clothes 9 times out of 10 end up in frequently purchased bins in none other than master bedroom. We are talking copious loads</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">…</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> unfolded, unmanaged, clean yes, but separated according to person of various age or size no. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Reason 2. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">I</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">m lazy and dislike picking up after myself and/or others if public viewing will not be had. (irk, honest assessments un-fun indeed). added note: involving others in picking up process proves a groundhog day experience. imagine wendy... lost boys... kind of theme. No offense Peter and Lost Boys! Wendy hasn't been the best delegator. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Reason 3. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">I</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">ve been waiting for my fairy godmother to lightly descend with her perfectly fairy tale-ish attire and magic wand, her supernatural better-than-bath-and-body-works-pumpkin-spice-scent whooshing and wafting through all needed areas, dusting long forgotten, rarely seen places, and lovingly saying to me, </span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">“</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Oh Ali dear, you</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">ve done such a heroic job with the good portion of your home, proving yourself deserving of my services. Step aside, go get some coffee, RELAX, and let me magically transform this room into something even Nate Berkus could not conceive. Never fear</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">…</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> fairy godmother here!</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">”</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">If you asked if I believed such a thing, I would like to tell you- why of course not, I</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">m a rational adult who beholds household tasks as necessary and unavoidably fulfilling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Fact is I</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">’</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">m often irrational, with my head in the clouds (over) half the time. Somewhere deep down I’ve been impatiently waiting on the revered Ms. Fairy Godmother for the most difficult household tasks. Not because of the size of the task as you might suspect at this point, but because of the emotional size of the task. More on that later... when the metaphor plays out a bit more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">Blame it on Cinderella</span><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">. I was far too impressionable when I first met her. Cinderella introduced me to a notion wherein one’s magical Songstress sweeps in when most needed. Perhaps this sad display of a bedroom has scared her away before she could sing a note, “Bippity, bobbity, boo!” </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLz7mZVFyDlH8FjXbBTOPVf_sS3OknpI1utGPDSJHSicZrLtzd-nUx-I5S5abGcLqebS-TvUtxorrnqJvOFUIeLea-tdENi1wX4cABV4-19w9a4KB0TzUMlgLqqVjVHhh3sgGRcA/s1600/images-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLz7mZVFyDlH8FjXbBTOPVf_sS3OknpI1utGPDSJHSicZrLtzd-nUx-I5S5abGcLqebS-TvUtxorrnqJvOFUIeLea-tdENi1wX4cABV4-19w9a4KB0TzUMlgLqqVjVHhh3sgGRcA/s200/images-1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";"> <span id="goog_407373556"></span><span id="goog_407373557"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bell MT";">To be continued…</span></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-9933994699040321652011-02-03T22:23:00.000-08:002011-02-03T22:27:57.907-08:00metaphorish<span class="body">Live as if you were living a second time, and as though you had acted wrongly the first time. (Viktor Frankl)</span><br />
<span class="body"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="body">i love this thought. </span><br />
<span class="body">when the boys and i color, draw, create together, part of the activity is the creating- </span><br />
<span class="body">and part of the activity is to create the opportunity to 'mess up'. </span><br />
<span class="body">In my eyes their art is anything but 'messed up' when they see something go awry on a page. Noah with his detailed, intricate drawings... Luke with his painting large scenes and lettering...</span><br />
<span class="body">But when they see something happen on that page that they didn't plan on, the natural tendency is to criticize themselves and impulsive push to crinkle the paper and toss it in the trash. </span><br />
<span class="body">this is when i try to use my calm-ish voice and encourage them to put the pencil or paint-brush down and take a minute to look at their work, take a deep breath, and chill for a minute. </span><br />
<span class="body">After which i pour into the philosophy i've inadvertently adopted since 2007 and the Valley Hope experience that indeed led to living a second time so to speak</span><br />
<span class="body">and that is-- "don't throw the picture away because you think it's messed up, turn the mistake into something even more surprisingly beautiful or clever or surprising."</span><br />
<span class="body">metaphor. life. </span><br />
<span class="body">sometimes the boys receive the philosophical sound bite with a non-verbal affirmation: pick up pencil or paint-brush again, and turn the perceived snafu into some lovely piece of curio (which 9 times out of 10 ends up on a wall somewhere in the house)</span><br />
<span class="body">sometimes there is a slight non-verbal rejection of sound bite including a rolling of the eyes and setting aside of perceived snafu, picking up of blank slate and second try...</span><br />
<span class="body">either way, i hope we all can learn to not disdain our mistakes, our tries, our attempts to throw color on a page of our lives </span><br />
<span class="body">but to learn how to try again, using the knowledge, mix colors, lighten up with lighter tones, or charcoal the whole page and begin again drawing with an eraser rather than pencil on a white page. </span><br />
<span class="body">sometimes i roll my eyes in spite of myself, try to throw away the old page, </span><br />
<span class="body">only to find i usually run into the same frustrating snag again, and with the choice again to re-learn how to re-write, re-draw, re-work the problem...</span><br />
<span class="body"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIWF6g5k1W99nwnSfxKwbGcAgk2Z7qVCnwgKqkXTW2fZNpeo3iG3WrVjaCJIFx0vOZ_iFgI_ayVNL-hycQuwNVjQw8neSKTO0wdoZAVDGTUVhC2PhdF5OQ-L8ufJhQou11CA5LA/s1600/IMG_1104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCIWF6g5k1W99nwnSfxKwbGcAgk2Z7qVCnwgKqkXTW2fZNpeo3iG3WrVjaCJIFx0vOZ_iFgI_ayVNL-hycQuwNVjQw8neSKTO0wdoZAVDGTUVhC2PhdF5OQ-L8ufJhQou11CA5LA/s320/IMG_1104.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcoFpjBCs2VE0180jqWCu7QVsLhInezLBRITM-Kx7zKDmeEbgiSwJrO_BtK9lsI8l09a6Ako-XcvOboT_mska8vCNKG_v6BneLKnnJ9VkaQLrzkC1IJZ9wKkL4fnONcUjBBovaeg/s1600/Photo+231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcoFpjBCs2VE0180jqWCu7QVsLhInezLBRITM-Kx7zKDmeEbgiSwJrO_BtK9lsI8l09a6Ako-XcvOboT_mska8vCNKG_v6BneLKnnJ9VkaQLrzkC1IJZ9wKkL4fnONcUjBBovaeg/s200/Photo+231.jpg" width="200" /></a><span class="body">Artistry is in all of us, whenever we think our ability to paint or draw or what have you is lacking in luster, it is simply untrue. Artistry is involved in facing new days, new learnings from old mistakes, new thoughts from old brain frames, creating new memories as moments proceed one to the next. </span><br />
<span class="body"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="body">as i say to the boys and now they say back to me often when i need it--</span><br />
<span class="body">relax, enjoy the process, a mistake is an opportunity to make something even more beautiful...</span><br />
<span class="body">it just depends on the way you look at it. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="body"><br />
</span>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-40850562785043409752011-01-17T22:02:00.000-08:002011-01-17T22:02:55.055-08:00quiet the brain noisewhen not tended to, brain noise gets so loud i can't find the volume button.<br />
when not tended to, i start to <i>think </i>i'll never <i>think</i> quietly.<br />
i know i'm not special or unique in this predicament, i'm simply saying<br />
how does one <i>shush</i> the brain noise enough, on a rather regular basis, to <i>hear </i>the present moment,<br />
to <i>hear</i> feeling and heart rather than extraneous thought?<br />
<br />
i don't want to think about what i'm going to say. i want to <i>say</i> it.<br />
i don't want to think how i'm going to love. i want to <i>love</i>.<br />
i don't want to think about how to do this or that (or incessantly google it). i want to <i>do</i> this or that.<br />
i don't want to think about making mistakes, routinely rehearsing risk vs reward, always noise noisy noise.<br />
and little action. lots of worry about an outcome. little movement.<br />
before i head into a heap of 'i should's' let me retract this downward spiraling rant... <br />
<br />
Inaction & worry: is not true of all things. many things- check. but not all.<br />
there's this one thing i don't have brain noise about.<br />
one thing reverberates essence and personal peace, inner ethereal feeling: calm.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HBa4i3gCABp6oJmqtv6QWC3IFzmNrZYKhh2ikAyHWdt-eLhL5oCWhwoP9U-1UYwCNQ5Y7RixQe8D1y8iUgfuaHYkCwJyybXLXvaByGfd59HYNXcM4K-daDFZnB5tgxDaItNgsQ/s1600/n562944489_1104163_6448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3HBa4i3gCABp6oJmqtv6QWC3IFzmNrZYKhh2ikAyHWdt-eLhL5oCWhwoP9U-1UYwCNQ5Y7RixQe8D1y8iUgfuaHYkCwJyybXLXvaByGfd59HYNXcM4K-daDFZnB5tgxDaItNgsQ/s200/n562944489_1104163_6448.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
'my' boys (though i have no ownership only the privilege of the present),<br />
the moments i've <i>seen</i> my boys- who they are and are becoming as fascinating individuals, hilarious humans, out of the box thinkers... the moments i hear them and learn from them being...<br />
being in the present as their mom, as their temporary field guide, co-climbing the mountains and fielding through woods, letting them adventure farther ahead, them pulling away at different points in the road-- bit by bit-- they are writing their own narrative.<br />
<br />
I remember when i carried them on my back when their legs couldn't carry them yet, when they needed to nap on the journey and eat frequently, and couldn't yet make their own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.<br />
I remember when my co-adventure guide (H) and i were told many things about leading this expedition called life with wee ones.<br />
And when we couldn't understand these manuals others kept trying to hand us, we decided to write our own, to not be afraid of the things our hearts said about adventuring with the boys.<br />
<br />
Even if that meant making gaping mistakes along the way. <br />
Even if that meant all of us staying up late giggling and making up for the colic and tears during the day.<br />
<br />
Even if that meant being poor but learning not to care what that looked like because we knew we could snuggle at the end of the day. And cuddles and snuggles we could do, that we were consistent with. that was the blessing of being unable to afford a nursery suite or smooshy crib bedding. wherever we all tired out at the end of the day, pacifiers swishy sounds, pudgy feet, bellies with marker from brother drawn all over, blankies half covering their busy toddler bodies smelling like outdoors where they played and dragged that blankie behind... my arm around their head, swiping the baby fine hair away from finally sleeping face, after whatever chaos (inner or outer) occurred that day, i lay there reciting thanks thank and more thanks. for these mysterious little miracles called N and L. i lay there forgetting the unknowns and knowing we were all right there breathing deep, alright, right where we needed to be for that moment.<br />
They were tiny for oh such a short time. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1abnJVSvBsu3vTiRQIZFzyBg0oPPJrpNWyVxoIXHq7luEuiS0dpXGQ_IKgy3lm8_F88q56vOa3pqwQHGbORDDNRiSK46ReHlzsgCdsRAsRr1t_wMO9g1S03ddFRhcBMI_e_TnvA/s1600/n562944489_881755_1166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1abnJVSvBsu3vTiRQIZFzyBg0oPPJrpNWyVxoIXHq7luEuiS0dpXGQ_IKgy3lm8_F88q56vOa3pqwQHGbORDDNRiSK46ReHlzsgCdsRAsRr1t_wMO9g1S03ddFRhcBMI_e_TnvA/s200/n562944489_881755_1166.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
And oh my i tend to have moments of regret-many decisions i made that landed me in places i never thought i'd be like treatment for various sundries or like college at 34 or like grown-up-ish responsibilities that i shirked for way too long...<br />
<br />
but one thing i never regret, one thing i never look back on and feel a twinge of negativity. That thing is having spent oodles of time looking at my N and L in the face, eye to eye, un-rushed, too poor (thank heavens) to go anywhere or do much else, without frills or bells or whistles, connecting, contented, napping if we were tired, running in the rain if we felt like it, painting on huge paper with finger paints in essence paint ending up everywhere but paper, diapers and cowboy boots, john wayne movies at 3 and 2, talking (yes even the baby talk years) til way late til our eyelids shut from gratitude that we made it through the day- we did, somehow someway, and managed to extract the joy from it like that sweet pure sip of homemade orange juice. <br />
<br />
in a world full of smart phone schedules and goal keeping computers with alarms for what we simply cannot miss tomorrow at two or the next day at six...<br />
<br />
i held those boys, sang to those boys, climbed and hiked through the woods called life with those boys. i did it all imperfectly, many times i'm sure selfishly, i lacked discipline and consistency...<br />
but these things don't bother me. These foibles brought me to my knees to plead in the middle of my inadequacy-- "help. please." <br />
<br />
to which i found the answer those baby years...<br />
just be. just be. calm now, cuddle these little adventurers before they head out on their own. Stop rushing, slow down, stop fretting about the future this or that, the 'plan', the weight, the wait, the wants. <br />
for now just be. you don't need anything save arms to hug, ears to hear, a heart to feel, eyes to see and then a mouth to say a few words like 'i love you.' 'i'm proud of you.' 'i'm sorry, i made a mistake.'<br />
words that now the boys say back to us, reminding us to keep saying them. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_7qzwFEE6AJoxMqTPgh4VMzop5PM1f7Es7thQwaZb8JF5T_YdBGIrW7pyLb4yJxPBL0iEdGCSPVTln5qj3kH54xp8pURdAqsxX9Md6mgxLpPuX2UCRSZIfJrJwx7AjMt24afJQ/s1600/n562944489_660748_1706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio_7qzwFEE6AJoxMqTPgh4VMzop5PM1f7Es7thQwaZb8JF5T_YdBGIrW7pyLb4yJxPBL0iEdGCSPVTln5qj3kH54xp8pURdAqsxX9Md6mgxLpPuX2UCRSZIfJrJwx7AjMt24afJQ/s200/n562944489_660748_1706.jpg" width="140" /></a></div><br />
SO long soliloquy short, as the boys grow older and need me much less to lend them my field guide (my ever changing one at that) or help navigate their way,<br />
i need to find a way to eschew others' field guides (when i'm tempted to compare)<br />
and keep writing my own narrative, a changing one, a unique, admittedly often upside down one.<br />
Just like raising the boys the last almost decade: journeying through a daunting forest of trees by finding the moments that mattered, the strengths to draw upon even when liabilities tried to derail. <br />
Shush, shush, just be. just be. calm now...Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-63030299858491426462011-01-16T21:18:00.000-08:002011-01-16T21:20:28.792-08:00free<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
</div><br />
things i don't understand and sometimes fear:<br />
growing up<br />
eating vegetables<br />
the computer, aka technology<br />
talking out loud<br />
interviews<br />
organizing closets<br />
math, numbers, and logic (as a course)<br />
critical humans who think they pretty much know it all already<br />
crowded places<br />
monotony<br />
misunderstanding/being misunderstood<br />
<br />
things i don't understand and fascinate me:<br />
growing up<br />
eating vegetables<br />
the computer, aka technology<br />
talking out loud<br />
interviews<br />
organizing closets<br />
math, numbers, and logic (as a course)<br />
critical humans who think they pretty much know it all already<br />
crowded places<br />
monotony<br />
misunderstanding/being misunderstood<br />
<br />
explanation: this was sort of a free-writing moment. was simply thinking about fears and setbacks and such, and then suddenly a paradox appeared. hmmmm. the things i fear, the things i dislike, are often the things that teach something needed for the next step... love to freewrite. brings out what might otherwise fester, there's some quote about that i think....<br />
"Look sharply after your thoughts. They come unlooked for, like a new bird seen in your trees, and, if you turn to your usual task, disappear." <br />
<div class="q1">(Ralph Waldo Emerson)</div><div class="q1"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKH-5JFDp_N5584_Gxa870ISijH_Eq1popDLkJ8NLyviUvD4Da0lj5LxGqfWe56zzPQizzDnbPgkST8w4_XGBA7mOu8_Ys9w2lxmvSZL_V05K_6sagwXHk4CvkA7Sys_eO7TKf5w/s1600/DSC_0201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKH-5JFDp_N5584_Gxa870ISijH_Eq1popDLkJ8NLyviUvD4Da0lj5LxGqfWe56zzPQizzDnbPgkST8w4_XGBA7mOu8_Ys9w2lxmvSZL_V05K_6sagwXHk4CvkA7Sys_eO7TKf5w/s320/DSC_0201.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="q1"><br />
</div><div class="q1"><br />
</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-77554259481438552412010-12-13T09:41:00.000-08:002010-12-13T09:41:52.065-08:00mind-field.<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Inmate. Convict. Captive. Patient. Resident.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I was a captive of chemicals.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">A patient in treatment.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">A resident in a white room.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Sober slowly. Sane slower. Searching a way out of </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Chronic self pity</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Chronic sickness dependent, dependent, I needed,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">And needed. Something of substance in form of </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Liquid, my liquid courage, </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">kept blood pulsing, mothering possible, </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Held undesirable emotions at bay, away, far away as long as I drank. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The pain I didn</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t want to feel, oozing hurts that wouldn</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t heal</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Hand me a drink, I felt at peace, how could I not pledge undying love allegiance to the only thing that so called kept me sane. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">the un-addicted who sit perplexed on the judgment seat </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">they don</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t need or feed</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">…</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">This need of drug, of something</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">…</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">To Alter the way we see </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The way we plea</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The way we achieve </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Normal-see like you.<span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Captive of chemicals.<span> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">As it hit my lips it set me free</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Caught up with a stream of blood designed to need</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">And need; keep needing, don</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t stop to think</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">…</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">A drug, a pill, that drive, that thrill, when not had</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">At will, a crash, a backlash</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">A pact, I had to make a pact.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">When I lost it I would find it, no matter what</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">You said or begged</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I promised my liquid love I</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">d re-fill that bottomless cup. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Inmates. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I know the pact</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">How it lures you (us) to act</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">And do the things you</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">d (I</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">d) normally run from</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Later picking up the pieces and crumbs</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The after-shock your (my) loved ones turn from</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Left alone. It</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s only you (me). </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">A sentence</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">—</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">harsh </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I deserved it too. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Car drives, nap times, </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">late nights, blackouts,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">we broke the law, we broke the trust</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">we lied and cheated, made family seams bust</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I went home after thirty days,</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Valley of Hope arrested my fragmented ways.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">No bars, no prison cell held me there</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">My sentence? This locked up imbalanced brain, </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">“</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Don</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t feed it, please just don</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">t feed</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">”</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I told myself day after day, I breathed </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">and complied</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">And denied feeding that urge.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">I walked from one day to the next and learned</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">A new way to cope with myself</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The past and the present, the brain cells</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Life began changing color, dim turned to bright, </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Un-relenting heat turned to fall</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">No longer afraid of the night.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">One day at a time, and breathing in deep </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">No longer held captive even if charged, </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Heart free, brain clear, blood stream</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">—</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">clean</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Mosaic made now with the broken pieces</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Slices of and fractions together fill</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Spaces</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">…</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> slices and shards of the past </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Brought together mosaic-ly with that broken glass</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Women, mothers, we were full of shame</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Captive of chemicals, inmate to a reckless game</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">UNTIL someone believes </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">There</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">’</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">s more to us than needles and drinks</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Than anger and neglect, than confusion and regret</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Women, mothers, we were caught</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">We were locked up, we were found out </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">We were stopped in our tracks <i>now</i></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">We can pause and let go of</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The convict inside us. Ironic if convict is </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Where they might find us. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The real battle? The mind</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">…</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The hating self, the crime</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">We hungered and thirsted</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">For affirmation not curses</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">And drank til we found it</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Blurred faces surround us</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">The real battle? The mind</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">…</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Whether or not the time fits the crime</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Greatest need</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: Garamond;">—</span><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">release from thoughts that keep us locked up</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Those moments, those days, the ways, we failed and forgot</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">to be</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Mothers </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">To our sweet babies.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">Creator of the Second Chance </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">please teach us how and set us free.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "GF Halda Normal";">.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><br />
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</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-57894996978002411422010-12-01T21:53:00.000-08:002010-12-01T21:53:33.348-08:00consistently mutable.I am consistent with one thing in life. Profoundly consistent with... <br />
<br />
being profoundly inconsistent.<br />
One day is doable. It feels full of promise and my feet stay stuck on the ground with the greatest of ease. It feels so doable in fact that i... (drumroll) make a plan for the next day! (novel concept i know)<br />
Twenty-four hours later (or some random number of days in between), my feet hit the floor after a less than restful slumber, and boom! Doable life is no longer. Creeping<br />
into<br />
the<br />
dark<br />
place...<br />
Just making it through the day well enough to pick up a few things strewn about at home, help boys with whatnots, maybe brush my hair, just maybe.<br />
This non-doable day is when my heart aches for pen and paper, for endless hours to pour thoughts out onto pages, eschewing the computer screen- seeing it as inhibiting...something... creeping...<br />
but then not doing anything.<br />
Because just maneuvering takes all the energy allocated to the day.<br />
until sleep comes... and i drift...<br />
back into the land of possibility!<br />
Waking brings promise, the sun seems to be squeezing out vitamin D all over me with no risk of harmful rays, no way!<br />
I feel optimistic with hope about returning to that list again, though i feel so optimistic i add to the list with more grand goals and inner-cheerleader voices chanting<br />
you<br />
can<br />
do<br />
it!<br />
I haven't made sense yet of this great swinging pendulum ride i seem to be genetically or biochemically or well who knows, seat belted to. <br />
I know the pendulum swings far less than it used to. Far less than when i played engineer to my own nightmarish ride. (cocktail of chemicals aforementioned) <br />
One thing is constant though in all this manic mess. I've learned (am learning) to accept the ebbbbbs<br />
and<br />
flowssssssssss<br />
the ebbs and flows<br />
of the highs and the lows. <br />
I've learned how to lean into and learn from the days i feel energy, even synergy, learning things i never thought i'd learn<br />
and then lay back into, not resent the, slow brain days... when my hand aches for pencil or guitar pick and can't even go near a computer keyboard. <br />
I used to resent this flow of one extreme to another, that seemed so far out of my control, that seemed incongruous with the life i was 'supposed to' lead being a mama, a whatever and a whathaveyou. <br />
But this flow has become a steady theme, as unsteady as it seems. <br />
Why make such a paradoxical claim? For one, i think moods, chemical imbalance, chemical balance, optimism, realism, what-have-you-isms are all often misunderstood. I think we spend a plethora of time in our lives trying not to feel what we feel. Let me rephrase that. I spent a plethora of time in my life trying not to feel what i felt, and then calling the inability to dictate those feelings terribly unforgivable. So with this inner quandary rumbling around inside i decided at some point to medicate. In whatever ways i knew how. To avoid running into myself around each unpredictable bend. <br />
The short of it is this, sometimes i think it is quite good to face the super duper flawed-ness or pained place within us and say, ok, you can come out now. I'm not ashamed of you anymore. Even if you are super strange or<br />
are given a name like<br />
mental illness or some other such reality<br />
and some people get squeamish because they don't<br />
quite<br />
understand. yet...<br />
now i understand much more about how each precious, priceless, unique human being is a being... is being<br />
is becoming<br />
exactly who we are supposed to be, mess or success, and all.<br />
each mess or success<br />
a unique process<br />
never the same as someone before or someone after<br />
or the one you live with or grew up with.<br />
each mess and/or success a lesson<br />
in acceptance.<br />
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Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-82535601910867203162010-11-30T10:05:00.000-08:002010-11-30T10:05:17.872-08:0033 Thanks-givings<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">::Thanksgiving without Mimi was like swimming for 24 hours against a strong tide.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The emotion came up like water hitting my face as I tried to keep moving forward through the moments, trying to keep from losing it completely through the making (well, helping) and eating family meal and all the various pleasantries that come with holiday treating.<span> exhausting inner resources fighting the tide. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">By the end of that day, when the sun went down and we hugged our hugs and said our “what a wonderful day it was” (as it was), and when we carried our seven and nine year old in our arms from the car and flopped them into bed due to sheer and total blissful exhaustion, when H. went to bed and I intended to too… I started doing the dishes.<span> </span>And then cleaning the living room, then scrubbing away papers and clutter and moving space everywhere I found crowding.<span> </span>I sat and stared at the clock after I couldn’t move clutter.<span> </span>I tried a book but eyes glazed oozing the words of the page together creating nonsense.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span> </span>Two o’clock a.m. and all I could see was Mimi’s face still, the face I missed feeling and seeing that day.<span> </span>All those 33 Thanksgivings that were spent</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">With Mimi.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Two o’clock a.m. and tears came.<span> </span>Tears that felt like finding the shore of the stream I’d been swimming against all day, and I sat there and wept. <span> </span>Simply missed… I missed her silver hair, her present-ness, her twinkly alive focused eyes that listened better than any paid therapist can.<span> </span>She who for the last decade had fought breast cancer and won, and primarily on her own with her valiant daughters helping her through in Pawhuska, their home.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">As is true of human-ish nature when we don’t see the important things in life until late or too late, I didn’t see and comprehend fully her fighter instinct, her quiet resolve to LIVE WELL no matter her level of pain or challenge.<span> </span>It was simply Mimi being herself.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span> </span>In retrospect I see oh so much:<span> </span><span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">To live well meant watching the rambunctious great-grandchildren (and yes Justin, Chris, and I first go round too) with sheer delight instead of annoyance, <span> </span>loud voices clamoring to be heard above the others, playing their music and near-forcing their entertaining dance moves on us sometimes non-consenting adults thinking our own NPR-like conversations should take precedence.<span> </span>It’s like Mimi didn’t compartmentalize these moments, she wore a smile easily watching and giggling at the great-grandchildren and their theatrical biddings as well as swiveling around in her chair and looking one of us other grown-ups in the face ready to have a rather serious catch up conversation.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">…And then Tears still streaming, I felt my body relax into the grief on that newfound shore remembering the last Thanksgiving with her.<span> </span>The above description the same, and yet after one brother’s family had gone home to sleep and my family following suit, near eleven o’clock at night and Mimi walked slowly, painfully to the back room and laid down, health issues she had been wrestling with due to damage done some years before from radiation (but she beat that cancer yes she did).<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">It was the first time I’d seen her lay down because of hitting that wall of limitation.<span> </span>I’m sure she had many times before – on her own.<span> </span>But she kept the smile as long as family was lollygagging around, eager to visit or entertain.<span> </span>She would always wait.<span> </span>Last year she said simply “I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to lay down” and her pained face revealed the turmoil affecting her insides from that dang radiation.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Remembering this, remembering her frail body last year—that was smaller in her clothes and walked a little slower—well, as grief does, remembering flooded into knowing, reality is she is healthy again, she is whole, she is with the love of her life who she hadn’t seen since her 50’s and achingly missed even through every smile at every get-together that followed her husband’s death.<span> </span>She is not present here at the table or laying resting in the back room.<span> </span>She is present though in essence, she is present in the way her eyes still look at me with a proud grin when I appreciate nature (especially birds and their kind) as she did, or when I find a garment on the floor of a store and I pick it up so it doesn’t stay for someone else to pick up later, the way she taught me from little girl on up.<span> </span>Her essence. As Noah and Luke simply said on Thanksgiving: “I miss Mimi because there is no one like her, I miss her smile.”<span> </span>Her smile said it all. She smiled at life whether happy or whether she knew it was the best way to respond to it’s blasted fight at times. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Her essence is her history, her story, infused in each of her family members—all of us who were the blessed of the blessed to encounter her quietly fascinating way of moving SO WELL through life, without complaint, so grateful for the simple things, so content, so well, her essence- her core, her spirit is still infectious. she listened well, she believed strongly but lived stronger what she believed, she loved in action more than words because words can be so cumbersome and un-comforting sometimes, she took care daily of the ‘little things’ and didn’t spend a bunch of time of wanderlust-ing after other things.<span> </span>When she felt older and weaker she noticed even more so the older and weaker folks than her and decided resolutely to take them meals as long as she could.<span> </span>She didn’t balk when her granddaughter who should’ve known better than to ‘drink and <s>drive </s>live’ ended up in a less than desirable home away from home for a while and she chose to write her letters packed with identifiable Mimi grace/ fierce encouragement to “lick this thing now and forever” so I could enjoy life, the boys, the moments.<span> </span>Those letters are treasures I tell you.<span> </span>Treasures.<span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">As I lay on the shore after the wave of grief settled on the sand beside me, my memories-mind quieted, my memories-heart subsided into a deep (albeit short) sleep. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Loss is a part of life. <span> </span>Resenting the fact only makes resting more unattainable. <span> </span>Resting on the shore allowing the recall, the re-memberings to flood over the heart and wash through ever neuron of the mind, resting for a bit to strangely learn to take a breath instead of busy busy our bodies in an attempt to forget the pain of remembering the lost one…<span> </span><span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Sometimes this is the only way to rest.<span> </span>To feel the loss, but then sense the scent- the essence of a life well-lived infused into—well, all the rest.<span> </span>And then rest. Knowing life is precious and dear and a smile can come with a tear, and the shore of grief is just a rest-stop, so opposite what we learn often to push away the pain.<span> </span>And resting gives way to a more productive next day and next day, the essence of such a loved one alive and awake-- </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />
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</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-22905988650989982022010-11-10T09:47:00.000-08:002010-11-10T09:47:39.197-08:00a peculiar correspondencea dear friend and i were chatting the other night about what our erudite 80+ year old self might want to pass along to our present self.<br />
Wheels started turning. hmmmmm, yes, interesting idea. what perspective might it bring? what might i see needs attention in order to maintain healthier more fulfilling<br />
relationships<br />
health<br />
goals<br />
peace of mind<br />
mental or emotional health<br />
etc.<br />
<i>Hence</i><br />
<br />
Dear Ali,<br />
Let me introduce myself. I'm you but down the time-line a bit. People still call me Ali but i foreworn you gently that people who once might converse with you in a check-out line or coffee shop, don't tend to notice you are there. I suppose this is a part of life at the end, slowly disappearing that is. If I'd known this fact at your age, I would have struck up as many conversations with the magnificently wise and weathered ones that were all around you and you were too busy to notice or too cool to see. Now the invisible, unapproachable-y one is me. Being on the other side of invisibility but being still so fully alive internally (even though the external might be growing less so) is a lonely day to wake up to each morning. <br />
So with that, I'd advise: Notice folks you might not notice if you are ardently looking to be seen and heard because you might be in the prime of your life or career. These are the ones who have the fascinating stories and lives, even if appearing less than exciting on the surface. Listen. Hear. Observe. Give. Collect wisdom of others who've lived through far more of the tsunami of changing seasons, decades, trends, what have you. Because it could give you the perspective and hope you need to know the sky is not falling, you'll make it through what may seem an impossible phase with husband or teenagers or a job or well, you get the picture.<br />
I still don't know much Ali, but I know you spent way too much time being afraid of way too much. I know, I'm still quite ambiguous in my rhetoric. I've worked on directness in communication but usually what still comes out is (sometimes unhelpful) philosophical metaphors to try to explain what i want to say. <br />
You'll get over this frustration, you'll embrace your quirky you-ish ways of saying things, even if you still get quizzical looks from your sons and your husband. You'll learn to laugh and express yourself in the midst of the quizzical moment instead of withdraw and feel unable to use words well, unable to connect well. So you might as well get over this sooner than later. <br />
Life in the awkward, flawed critter moments can be some of the best opportunities to laugh at oneself rather than disdain oneself. <br />
Oh, and back to the fear. Please stop being afraid. Please stop focusing on all those things you think you lack as a grown-up, a mother, a wife, a whatever. Please stop berating yourself with harsh judgments of 'shoulds'. It does not one iota of good. In fact it steals exuberance from too many hours of too many days of too many years, trust me. Don't waste those many's with fretting over what you should be. Just enjoy the gifts around you, the passage of life up to the point that is today, the things you've learned (from successes and failures both) that have brought you to present moment. <br />
Kids need love, support, belief, honesty, and to be let go of. They need a present parent who admits when they are wrong and says they are sorry rather than clamoring through life trying to convince their kids they have all the answers. They need a parent who attempts to be open and honest and committed to a team oriented process rather than a hostile takeover to produce a perfect product...when it comes to being a family and growing up together. Kids need to know how to fail and succeed with resilience and grace by watching and getting to ask questions along the way, rather than handed a manual of 'how to succeed in life' with a heavy emphasis on monetary material. Kids need to know you don't have all the answers, you are weak sometimes, you are egotistical sometimes, you are imbalanced, you are balanced, you feel sad, you feel happy, but its what we do in response to all those 'you-are's' that matter. The responses to all those things are what affect the future or contribute to the health of body, or relationship with loved ones, or mind, or what have you.<br />
So, let yourself off the hook 34-year-old-ali. Work on the things that matter. They don't cost you any money, and they bring quite a lot of nice connected feelings between yourself and your boys. Let go a little bit at a time and stop fretting about the future of who and how they will be and how you don't want to 'mess up' or mess them up. <br />
In fact, today my white haired wisdom comes from a little tattered book they gave me (you) in treatment some 60 years ago:<br />
<br />
132. Risk<br />
To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.<br />
To weep is to risk being called sentimental.<br />
To reach out to another is to risk involvement.<br />
To expose feeling is to risk showing your true self.<br />
To place your ideas and dreams before the crowd is to risk being called naive.<br />
To love is to risk not being loved in return.<br />
To live is to risk dying.<br />
To hope is to risk despair.<br />
To try is to risk failure.<br />
But risks must be taken,<br />
Because the greatest risk in life is to risk nothing.<br />
The people who risk nothing do nothing,<br />
become nothing...<br />
They may avoid suffering and sorrow,<br />
But they simply cannot learn to feel,<br />
and change, and grow, and love, and live.<br />
Chained by their servitude, they are slaves;<br />
they have forfeited their freedom.<br />
Only the people who risk are truly free.<br />
<br />
So dear Ali, throw off the cumbersome coat of avoidance and fear,<br />
and laugh, weep, reach out, expose feeling, dream, love, live, hope, try... risk.<br />
And don't forget to work out every once in a while...<br />
oh and one last thing, lay off the bread pudding just a little bit. <br />
<br />
Best regards.Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-24360057960076376272010-11-10T05:32:00.000-08:002010-11-10T05:32:07.499-08:00a little something to munch on<div class="quote" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div class="quote-inner">For the meaning of life differs from man to man, from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment.</div></div><div class="quote-credit author" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span class="author-label">Viktor Frankl</span> (1905 - 1997)</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-4497397550822225542010-11-09T16:48:00.000-08:002010-11-09T16:58:22.876-08:00So... yesterday was ol' birthday day. I have to say, it was above all peaceful.<br />
That would have seemed entirely and pathetically boring at most points in my life.<br />
2010:The day from beginning to end evoked this grand canyon-ish experience of tranquil contentment, thankful beyond belief that i wasn't navigating my way out of the fog of a blackout raked with nebulous guilt of well, who knows what.<br />
or desperately hoping for a new car to suddenly appear with a big bow atop in the driveway<br />
or bemoaning the fact the i am-- yes-- shock of shocks!-- another year older which must mean something depressing and socially unacceptable... i mean getting along in years<br />
Oh the places the mind will go if allowed!<br />
Not yesterday. Not today. Not allowed.<br />
Fact is, too many times i've not said thank you for life, especially on those crazy days that marks annually our planet birth entrance. <br />
I've not celebrated life, quite opposite often I've wanted to be younger, thinner, happier, in general and defiantly different than who i find myself to be at that time.<br />
If it took a few near overdoses and being in a room full of crazy strung out knuckleheads (self-included in description) for 30 days to knock some sense into this<br />
often-off-kilter-brain-o-mine<br />
and realize LIFE IS A GIFT. (goofy blunder-y bits and all...) then thank heavens some sense got knocked. <br />
There's so much choice in receiving a gift or not. I didn't realize i had such a choice in that recognition of life as a gift.<br />
Treasuring life today feels peaceful. Peaceful feels like sanity. Pockets of peaceful here and there add up to a bigger sea of joy than i ever could have imagined when i used to choose to swim in pain. It's not a 'everything is super awesome birds singing tweety sings overhead', it's a calm acceptance of what<br />
is.<br />
and finding the what is as<br />
tres bien.<br />
i still have goofy blunder-y moments in most days... but a different kind than blackout sort of blunders.<br />
A kind like forgetting to say simply thank you and and forgetting to recline back into a deep smooshy comfy pillowy easy chair of peace because i've stopped looking at what i'm not and what is not,<br />
and started looking at well, how gosh darn grateful i am. even to still... be. Still so amazed that somehow the darkness didn't totally envelop<br />
and i get to see the sea of love around me. <br />
still somehow embracing me, blunders and all.<br />
(thank you precious sea of love)<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-59061392999991890202010-10-17T15:36:00.000-07:002010-10-17T15:46:16.539-07:00Mother-Daughter Duet Continued...<style>
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<div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">So it's been about 8 months since we saw our combined effort, combined sleep deprivation, tears, unexpected laughter and co-therapy (for the sake of finishing said effort), in print for the first time. Mother Daughter Duet. A feat that at points in certain chapters almost defeated us. But alas, finito!</span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Since then we've tried to figure out all this social media jive, learn online "presence" as social media gurus and publishers tout around the web. </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">We’ve both had quite a time with the process, frustrated with what we don’t understand of the how-to’s, overly high expectations of ourselves swarming above our heads, our perpetual to-do lists that are impossibly impossible to conquer through the course of one day… wait, did I just say ‘we’? Have we just stumbled upon significant commonalities from which to connect in some new and creative way? </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ironic that for all those years we struggled most relationally due to our differences we have found such a similar chord. </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">I have to say I'm glad we get to go on this next phase, this learning curve TOGETHER and I don't have to go it alone. </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">I don't remember the last time I acknowledged that or said it “out loud”. Not sure why I've always acted fiercely independent; when, in fact most of the time I’ve been quite scared. </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Or why for so long I collected much of my cynicism toward the world, organized religion, and issues with my weight, struggle through school, postpartum depression, etc etc… </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">…in a bottle and every once in a while shook that bottle up, pointed it at you (why oh why), twisted off the bottle cap, and sprayed the carbonated contents on you—of all people?! The one who probably cared the most for my welfare? The one who raised me?</span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Without diving too deep into the psychological pool of my maladaptive daughter behaviors (oh did I say I was sorry by the way?) </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: small;">My question to you is this-- What was the major lesson or value or skill (or what-have-you) that you felt most gut-level, unyielding, resolutely determined to impart or give me; even when I opened the bottle top and let the contents fly? Even in those stages when I most gave you the “you’re supposed to read my mind” looks or the “you don't understand me” tirades or well, you remember. </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh, did I say I was sorry by the way?</span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Eagerly anticipating your response, </span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ali</span></div><div style="margin: 0.1pt 0in;"><span style="font-size: small;">aka, your daughter. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.cherifuller.com/">(anticipated) response found on</a> </span></div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12851532.post-81897948107423746692010-10-01T08:45:00.000-07:002010-10-01T08:46:43.341-07:00Percipient Satire... a breath of fresh air<div style="font-family: inherit;">You can never underestimate the power of satire... <br />
"Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease for pain."-Charlie Chaplin</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: inherit;">So funny how themes seem to emerge through the course of a day, a week, etc. </div><div style="font-family: inherit;">When i wrote the last blog post, i was responding to a 'chill in the air' kind of feeling, a pessimistic overtone flying overhead--</div><div style="font-family: inherit;">and then i realized the sentiment over negative press, fear based rhetoric, and the like </div><div style="font-family: inherit;">reached farther than i at first perceived...</div><div style="font-family: inherit;">Been doing some reading, wanting to understand more of why we do what we do, especially in particularly less-civil-than-usual-times and stumbled upon a great read--</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.civilpolitics.org/blog/2010/07/on-hyperpartisanship-hypermoralism-and-the-supernormal-stimuli-of-modern-politics/" title="On Hyperpartisanship, Hypermoralism, and the Supernormal Stimuli of Modern Politics">On Hyperpartisanship, Hypermoralism, and the Supernormal Stimuli of Modern Politics</a></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.civilpolitics.org/blog/2010/07/on-hyperpartisanship-hypermoralism-and-the-supernormal-stimuli-of-modern-politics/">http://www.civilpolitics.org/blog/2010/07/on-hyperpartisanship-hypermoralism-and-the-supernormal-stimuli-of-modern-politics/</a> </div><div style="font-family: inherit;"> Also- Amartya Sen had some super insightful things to say in <u>Development as Freedom</u>:</div><div style="font-family: inherit;">(talking about freedom) "We should ask ourselves whether it nourishes us or deprives us, whether it makes us mobile or hems us in, whether it enhances self-respect or diminishes it, and whether it enables us to participate in our communities or prevents us from doing so..."</div><div style="font-family: inherit;">So in considering our freedoms which we claim as our cornerstone, our foundation-- the banality of pandering to fear as a method of wooing people to one's 'side' whether politically or otherwise is so very sadly contradictory to our original intent as a nation. </div><div style="font-family: inherit;">Personal responsibility, searching and researching, thinking our own detective thoughts (that hopefully evolve over time so as not to get stagnant) AND being willing to find ways to laugh at ourselves in the process, perhaps important things to reconcile with these days?</div><div style="font-family: inherit;">Here's a few great reads for our thinks... </div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.sciencemag.org/cgi/content/full/316/5827/998?ijkey=9S1Vi6nUWCqY.&keytype=ref&siteid=sci">http://www.sciencemag.org/cgi/content/full/316/5827/998?ijkey=9S1Vi6nUWCqY.&keytype=ref&siteid=sci</a></div><div style="font-family: inherit;">and loads of thought-provoking what nots to rummage through here:</div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.civilpolitics.org/civpol-resources.html">http://www.civilpolitics.org/civpol-resources.html</a> </div><div style="font-family: inherit;">and a good example (thank goodness!) of the intro bit to this admittedly nebulous post,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ogNKk_NbRkFl8OGlUeKGvYD1LcB6C-11loHsQxbmTMF-w-qq42phzgYXagreu5qBAlerFtMsS8kSeznRroC4n_UGBcA-3yCZr686Zr50P9WXx2z61EfSO-0GQ3lwKlbNRvPtQg/s1600/TDS_RallyPoster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ogNKk_NbRkFl8OGlUeKGvYD1LcB6C-11loHsQxbmTMF-w-qq42phzgYXagreu5qBAlerFtMsS8kSeznRroC4n_UGBcA-3yCZr686Zr50P9WXx2z61EfSO-0GQ3lwKlbNRvPtQg/s320/TDS_RallyPoster.jpg" width="192" /></a></div><div style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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</div>Ali Plumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12848992510574135281noreply@blogger.com0