tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67358255200954007872024-03-05T13:02:23.020-06:00Finding the Right Wordsmy attempts at poetry and journaling. I enjoy both, as well as learning how to be a mom and balance everything in my life. I love my life but I sometimes feel hopelessly inadequate.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.comBlogger309125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-87026351489653906112018-02-19T19:55:00.002-06:002018-02-19T20:46:51.899-06:00Facebook is a liar.<div>
<span id="docs-internal-guid-ef485c7a-b0ee-06c3-be1f-c9b3d3afa922"></span><br />
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-ef485c7a-b0ee-06c3-be1f-c9b3d3afa922"><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It’s been quite a while since I updated this blog. I have been in some form of survival mode for over a year now. How to update? Well, I guess I can put it this way: Facebook is a liar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m sure you are aware that your Facebook life is WAY different from your actual life. There are of course things that you would never post but nevertheless are dealing with. Any of my acquaintances who have seen my updates over the past few years probably only know about 20% of the challenges my family has faced recently. So I’mma unload that here. Hang on, it’s a bumpy ride.</span></div>
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<ol>
<li><b>My family's been struggling with finances. </b>Between unexpected expenses and my own fluctuating income, this has made it very hard to plan ahead and stay on top of things. Credit cards are evil sometimes.</li>
<li><b>My father-in-law was diagnosed with esophageal cancer.</b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This came out of nowhere. He is not super old and has taken fairly good care of himself. Because my father died of cancer when I was 16, I struggled with helping him through this since it was giving me some PTSD recalling my own history.</span></li>
<li><b>We nearly lost our house</b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. We were renting, and I got a text from the rental manager asking if we still wanted to buy the house. They wanted to sell it by June. We did, but we couldn’t make an offer just yet (see number 1). Fortunately, my mother was able to give us some money for a down payment.</span></li>
<li><b>My middle son was diagnosed with autism. </b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He has been struggling the past few years in school, not academically but socially. He would occasionally have problems with making friends and relating to his peers, as well as what looked like ADD/ADHD but is actually sensory issues. Because he was diagnosed in June, we didn’t have the opportunity to get his IEP in place for this school year until November (the district has to do their own evaluations as well), but the team and plan are now in place and he is slowly making strides in learning how to function more effectively in the social and academic spheres.</span></li>
<li><b>We had a water heater failure weeks after closing on our house.</b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The inspector sent by our rental manager to look at it because we knew it was old, assured us that it was fine. The spigot broke off sometime early in the morning and started gushing water into our basement. While we’re fairly certain that we shut off the water in about 30 minutes from the start of the failure, it still cost us $12,000 in damages. We had to replace our basement carpet and a section of drywall had to be replaced and repainted. Much of this work was delayed because our loss happened just days before the hurricanes in Texas and Florida, drawing a lot of the repair workers from here down south for months. The work was finally completed on Halloween. </span></li>
<li><b>My youngest son was re-qualified for Special Education because of his motor delays.</b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> He has always struggled with motor skills, due to his neurofibromatosis, but he had been exited from Early Childhood Special Ed at 3 years old because children need to qualify in two areas at that point. However, his preschool teachers asked to have him re-evaluated because his classmates were literally leaving him behind and he was falling down a lot. He was re-classified as physically impaired, which helps him to get physical and occupational therapy services at school. I’m glad he can get these services; that will hopefully help him to get stronger faster.</span></li>
<li><b>My mother was diagnosed with Acute Myeloid Leukemia.</b><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> This is the exact same diagnosis that was given to my father, and then he died three days later. Fortunately, my mom seems to be staying healthier so far, but she has good days and bad days. Due to her age and the fact that they believe it mutated from an existing condition she had with her bone marrow, a bone marrow transplant and high dose chemotherapy are not options, but she did qualify for a promising clinical trial. Needless to say, this is the most terrifying development of all for me, since AML has been a personal nightmare to me since 1994. However, understanding of the disease and more effective treatments have come a long way since then, so they have hope that she can reach remission. She is my best friend and I am so scared to lose her. Because I am the primary caregiver for my 3 boys and my oldest has been in travel basketball, I haven’t been able to see her while she’s been stuck in the hospital out of state since mid-January. It is killing me not to be able to talk to her every day like we always do. Sometimes she’s been too tired to answer my texts or calls, so I’m dependent on my brother and sister to give me updates. They are good about it, and fortunately they live nearby, but it still sucks to not be able to see her. I’m hoping after basketball ends this weekend that I can see her the following week.</span></li>
</ol>
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So there are a whole lot of things I don’t really post about on Facebook, but 100% of the reason I’m on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds. Facebook is a liar. I love it for keeping up with friends, but I have to remember that they likely have a bunch more going on beneath the Facebook façade as well.<br />
<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m not looking for pity or whatever. I just wanted to lay out somewhere relatively anonymous what has been going on beneath the surface that I present elsewhere. Good thoughts and prayers for my little family are most welcome. If you’re nearby and willing, coffee or a stronger drink would also be appreciated! </span></div>
Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-56230610228583759392015-02-23T11:05:00.001-06:002015-02-23T11:05:22.262-06:00Finding Beauty in "Ruin"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-LdcbJtJEGhmFwG3ZAoKn7g8OLP7_QrsOO7NBpNO5gwuGxBGITzi-cFxpg0Oue791Z9wlWy0xsz8B8yvSRS_rC3W3Y7kUZnNFmjDTbnRi2IZaZECDSToZiXdDSKR9kRiWVClictwZYGs/s1600/boaw-logo-2015-original.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/AVvXsEiW-LdcbJtJEGhmFwG3ZAoKn7g8OLP7_QrsOO7NBpNO5gwuGxBGITzi-cFxpg0Oue791Z9wlWy0xsz8B8yvSRS_rC3W3Y7kUZnNFmjDTbnRi2IZaZECDSToZiXdDSKR9kRiWVClictwZYGs/s1600/boaw-logo-2015-original.jpg" height="320" width="315" /></a>The title of this blog post refers to the notion of some in society that "pregnancy ruins a woman's body". This does not reflect my actual feelings about my postpartum body, but it does affect my feelings, and I hate that. Today, I am in the midst of my third cycle of "finding the new normal" after a healthy pregnancy. I love my three boys more than anything. My struggle is in making peace with what I see in the mirror once they have found their way into the world. <br />
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Due to the large carry that runs in my family (see picture--a month or two before I delivered baby #3), I am left with a large, loose pouch of skin at best, and usually some extra rolls on top of that. This pregnancy I was already carrying about 25 more pounds than I like to have before I even got my positive test. I am working my way back to my preferred weight in a slow, healthy-eating manner.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8YvhhRCUoN4I08QLNRhH8fZSY-lfYGEnQiUWUEEOBZ0ntGg5UE1CjdbCxWtSOHIi4Qx4USOrdwK3gt1gPyqjiKQnezvKSEdsmD4E1HaGKbnlC2Xc-mnIR-qHDZaC0wD5SB3lr7KbZmTOf/s1600/IMG_2868.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/AVvXsEj8YvhhRCUoN4I08QLNRhH8fZSY-lfYGEnQiUWUEEOBZ0ntGg5UE1CjdbCxWtSOHIi4Qx4USOrdwK3gt1gPyqjiKQnezvKSEdsmD4E1HaGKbnlC2Xc-mnIR-qHDZaC0wD5SB3lr7KbZmTOf/s1600/IMG_2868.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a>Don't get me wrong; I am proud of what my body has done. I have three very healthy and adorable little guys. I know I am capable of bringing myself to be fit again; I have finished a marathon (albeit very slowly) as well as many half marathons and ten-milers. I am currently training for a 10K (6.2 miles) in May.<br />
<br />
I think part of the struggle this time around, in addition to the extra weight I was carrying pre-pregnancy (I have already dropped the weight I put on during the pregnancy), is that I am still emotionally dealing with my birth experience. My first two sons were delivered vaginally while my third ended up being an unplanned c-section. I went through nearly 24 hours of labor with 3 hours of pushing before my doctor determined that my son wasn't progressing down the birth canal. It turned out that his head was just too big to fit through my pelvis, and I am grateful for modern medicine that allowed him to be born safely anyway, even though it was not what I had hoped for. The experience was slightly disappointing and fairly terrifying in the moment, even though my doctor and nurses were lovely and took great care of me. While rationally I understand why things happened as they did, there is still a part of my brain that mourns the relatively quick and easy birth I experienced with my second son and that I expected with my third.<br />
<br />
I am finding it hard to reconcile the parts of my brain. One accepts my appearance as normal and to be expected from multiple pregnancies, two after the age of 30, and large babies taking up a small amount of real estate in a petite, short-waisted frame. The other is too susceptible to the images of the latest starlet to bounce back miraculously from a pregnancy and look as if she had never been pregnant in the first place--never mind that she has a nanny, a chef and a personal trainer to help. Or to a Facebook post by a friend sharing a photo project meant to celebrate real postpartum bodies (stretch marks, "pooches", and all) with the caption "this is one of the reasons why I'll never have kids."<br />
<br />
I have never considered myself a vain person, but I am too sensitive to the inconsiderate comments of acquaintances asking if I'm pregnant again. No, I'm not. I have a nearly-7-month-old and was not allowed to do much exercise for the first 4-5 months postpartum because my pelvic muscles actually separated with all the stretching that happened during the pregnancy and I had to undergo physical therapy to bring them back together again. But thanks for making me feel like a huge cow.<br />
<br />
Getting back into running is really the best therapy. I started running before having children, realizing that I would get in shape faster if I pushed my pace on our secondhand treadmill. Before long I was entering--and enjoying!--5K races, and it snowballed from there. I loved the way I felt after a run, and the changes in my body--getting stronger and replacing flab with muscle--were a big plus. I was a bit worried after my c-section that it might hurt to run. I had a friend whose scar bothered her when she ran. Luckily, that has not been an issue for me. My biggest challenges have been simply carving out enough time for my workouts--a few have been after the kids and even hubby went to bed!--and remembering to continue strengthening my core with my physical therapy exercises. I had never had issues with my knees, and I was starting to really feel them during runs until I recalled that core strength can adversely affect the joints. So now I'm trying to remember, in all my spare time, to take care of cross training on my off days from running.<br />
<br />
When I run, I feel strong and I lose the self-consciousness I tend to get in other situations in public. I want to channel that feeling and carry it with me all day. I admire the women who have stopped caring about others' impressions of their appearance; they take care of themselves because they love themselves and not for anyone else's benefit. I am working my way towards joining their ranks.<br />
<br />
Whatever the results of my weight-loss and fitness journey on my body, I resolve to be proud of what I have done to care for myself and make myself a better mom and wife for my family. I will have improved my health and boosted my energy to look after those I love, and that is more important to me than anything else in this life. I hope that when I look in the mirror in the coming months, I see achievement and power, and never "ruin." To me, childbearing is a bit like rebirth for the mother as well. The mother is faced with the challenge of finding a new normal for herself, adjusting to the new life she has created as well as the permanent and temporary changes in her own body. The challenge is accepting and affirming these in the most positive way.<br />
<br />
Challenge accepted.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-75936465894078482392015-01-08T11:12:00.001-06:002015-01-08T11:12:57.581-06:00Belated, but still important.I wrote this poem for the 20th anniversary of my father's death. It was a painful day, but I have gained some perspective on it over the past few decades. In some ways it seems like he'll be right back, and in others I realize how much he's missed (and I've missed him). He never met my husband or my sons, although I know he would love them. Anyway, I was inspired by <a href="http://youtu.be/Dp3BlFZWJNA">Penderecki's "Threnody to the Victims of Hiroshima."</a> It is a powerful piece which, given the subject matter, I can't manage to finish listening to. I understand his purpose in making such a piece, however, and its visceral feeling reminded me of my own loss, however small it is in comparison to <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hiroshima-Illustrated-John-Hersey-ebook/dp/B00QU4BBTY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1420736851&sr=8-1&keywords=hersey+hiroshima&pebp=1420736863731&peasin=B00QU4BBTY">the magnitude of tragedy in Hiroshima</a>. <br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Threnody<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For K.B.E.
5/9/42-12/28/94<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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My heart screams like the strings<o:p></o:p></div>
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written by Penderecki for Hiroshima.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Loss rips through my soul<o:p></o:p></div>
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with the force of atomic bombs.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is a chasm that can never be filled,<o:p></o:p></div>
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a crack beyond repair.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Even now, memories blurry with distance,<o:p></o:p></div>
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emptiness threatens to consume my consciousness. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But then, a tiny hand reaches for mine,<o:p></o:p></div>
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a small voice raises in questioning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Little arms encircle me with quiet unknowing,<o:p></o:p></div>
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calming my furious thoughts <o:p></o:p></div>
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and deepening my shallow breaths.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They need me, and for them I can move mountains.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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While physically the vacant space remains,<o:p></o:p></div>
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I feel you here in small moments<o:p></o:p></div>
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all the time. Hearing virtuoso piano concerti,<o:p></o:p></div>
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in a gesture or expression on a small boy’s face,<o:p></o:p></div>
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in my uncontrollable urge to sway in an embrace.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes, you are not gone, only gone subtle.<o:p></o:p></div>
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With an alert eye, there is no need for loneliness.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Until we meet again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-29287612112832816372014-08-26T11:56:00.000-05:002014-08-26T11:56:01.656-05:00Story Time, or what I've been up to.Once upon a time, there was a young woman who wasn't sure what to do with her life. She loved reading and writing, but she knew writing jobs were difficult to come by and jobs that paid one to read are even more rare. It occurred to her that she loved English and it made particular sense to her, so she decided to become a teacher.<br />
<br />
After a year in a master's in teaching program, she got her first job teaching high school freshmen. As is typical, her first year was not the easiest but she had a great time and felt affirmed in her career choice. She had a supportive team of teachers helping her along and giving her advice. But then she had to move across the country and she could not find another school that had the same environment. She taught 8th grade for a year in a very cold and unsupportive environment (everyone was "on their own" with no help from the front office). She taught 7th grade in an amazing school with a wonderful team and terrific parents, but then was restructured out of the job and ended up taking another 7th grade job in a much more rural district with fewer resources.<br />
<br />
When these three years had passed, her husband had finished his training in law and they moved to Chicago, where she stayed home to care for first one, then two young sons. Those five years were precious and amazing times in which she was able to slow down and really enjoy the time she had with her little ones.<br />
<br />
Financial circumstances changed suddenly after this, and she found herself scrabbling to try to find another job. She found one as a part time teacher of middle and high schoolers at a very rural school, and her children were able to attend preschool at the same site, which made the separation easier.<br />
<br />
The following year, she found what she thought would be her dream job: teaching high school English at a school devoted to the performing arts. She loved the students and the other teachers, but for some reason unknown to her, administration was not satisfied with her best efforts and she was not invited back for the following year. While she would have missed the first few months anyway (she was having her third baby over the summer), she was initially heartbroken to have to leave her students. They were invested in their art and motivated (for the most part) to do well in the rest of their classes so they could continue to attend the school. Before the end of the school year, however, it became evident that many teachers were unhappy with how the school was run and chose to leave it and teach elsewhere. She then realized that even if she had stayed, the school would have been very different with such high teacher turnover.<br />
<br />
Now, the girl is at a crossroads. She has determined she will stay home probably for at least a few years while the newest baby is small, but she is uncertain whether she has enough courage to put herself out there to teach in a high school context again or if she will figure out a new line of employment. It was extremely discouraging to put her whole self into a job and still be told it was not good enough.<br />
<br />
The girl knows she wants to be a writer, but it will be awhile before she will have consistent time to carve out a writing schedule. Until then it will be piecemeal at best since small babies do not follow a set schedule. So for now, she will do her best to give her new son the best start she can and shower her children with love and support. Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-60007684572565348182014-07-05T22:15:00.002-05:002014-07-05T22:15:52.604-05:00Two-Minute Personality Test: My Answers<div class="MsoNormal">
I realize that it has been inexcusably long since my last
post, and for this I apologize and can only chalk it up to crazy life events.
For any reader’s amusement, I was inspired at dinner tonight to answer the
questions on my soda cup from Chipotle. Jonathan Safran Foer is the author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Everything is Illuminated</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Two-Minute Personality
Test by Jonathan Safran Foer<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What’s the kindest
thing you almost did?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m not sure if this
applies, but when I lived in Chicago I saw a man a few blocks from my house
sitting against a tree near the street. He didn’t look like he felt
particularly well. I tried to assess the situation by talking to him, but he
did not speak very good English and was out of it enough to be slurring his
speech. He asked for help, so I called the police non-emergency line on my cell
phone and waited there until they arrived. When they did, they seemed rather
rough in getting him to his feet, but it also seemed like they had seen him
before so maybe it was more of an act or he was drunk. I felt at the time like
this was the best I could do since I was very pregnant and was walking my older
son in his stroller. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Is your fear of
insomnia stronger than your fear of what awoke you?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This gets an “it
depends” from me. Sometimes I wake up from a nightmare that seemed terrifying
until I regain consciousness, and then I realize whatever seemed scary in the
dream is now ridiculous. Like the dream I had last week when I had a high
school friend living below me and she came up to tell me that I was watching TV
too much and proceeded to try to stab me with a five-bladed Samurai sword.
Luckily it was a retractable sword like they use in stage shows. In these sorts
of cases I have no problem going back to sleep. Now if I have a real nightmare
about something that could actually happen, sometimes it keeps me up for
awhile, but usually I can overcome it and eventually go back to sleep.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Are bonsai cruel?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I hadn’t considered
this before. I would have to do some research into how much we know about
whether plants feel pain from being growth restricted. I used to have one for a
time, but it died when I went on a long vacation once. It was beautiful. I have
always loved tiny things, and this one had delicate jade green leaves and
dainty pink flowers. I was very sad to see it had perished.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Do you love what you
love, or just the feeling?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I believe I love what
(and who) I love, not just the feeling. I am a thoughtful person and I enjoy
putting as much of myself as possible into everything I do and everyone I care
about. If I don’t feel like I am getting much out of an activity, I will move
on and find something else on which to be spending my time.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Your earliest
memories: do you look through your young eyes, or look at your young self?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Again, this depends.
If it is a painful memory (an embarrassing or sad event), it’s hard for me to
look at it as my grown-up self; I tend to revert back to the feelings as they
were when they were more fresh. If it is just a run-of-the-mill sort of memory,
I am much more likely to view it impartially through my current viewpoint.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Which feels worse: to
know that there are people who do more with less talent, or that there are
people with more talent?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I think the former is
much worse than the latter. I am OK with people naturally possessing more
talent in things than I do. That does not determine that they will be more
successful than I will and I am not jealous of that. Now, that there are people
with a higher drive that helps them to achieve more than I do, that grates on
me. While I like to think I work hard, I always feel like I could work harder,
particularly at my writing.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Do you walk on moving
walkways? Should it make any difference that you knew it was wrong as you were
doing it?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes. I actually went
and looked up the rules on moving walkways at my local airport because I was fairly
certain it was completely fine to walk on half of the moving walkway. Sure
enough, the sign says “Walk on the left, stand on the right.” As far as I am
aware, all other airports I’ve been in have followed this protocol and I follow
the rules and walk on the left. Unless I have to go around someone who is
directionally challenged and is standing on the left. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Would you trade
actual intelligence for the perception of being smarter?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No. I would rather
legitimately be smarter than to have other people see me as smarter. Public
perception is less important to me than actual reality.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Why does it bother
you when someone at the next table is having a conversation on a cell phone?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is much easier to
answer as “when does it bother you.” It bothers me when people are obviously
ignoring whoever is joining them for a meal in favor of a caller or a text
message or Facebook. Granted, I’ve been guilty of this in the past, but I have
made a point in the past year or so to try and curb that habit. The reason it would
bother me in general would be if they were having some sort of heated argument
that they should probably be having in person and in private.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">How many years of your
life would you trade for the greatest month of your life? <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is tough. I’m not
sure if I would knowingly sacrifice years with some moments/days of joy in
favor of 30 consecutive happy days. I am a fairly happy person most of the
time, so this doesn’t seem like a good trade to me.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What would you tell
your father, if it were possible?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I would tell him I
love him and I miss him, and if he needed it I would reassure him that I wasn’t
angry that he had to leave me so early in my life. I feel like I absorbed his
love and encouragement from the brief time we had together, and hopefully I have
and will make him proud.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Which is changing
faster, your body or your mind?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">At the moment, I’d say
my body is changing much faster than my mind. I’m still fairly young in the
grand scheme of things, and in my ninth month of pregnancy the belly literally
takes precedence in everything I do. When this child arrives I hope the body
will still be changing faster than my mind until I regain some shape other than
completely round.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Is it cruel to tell
an old person his prognosis</b>?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I feel that it is
probably crueler to keep it from him. There are obviously ways to tell him that
would be very cruel indeed, but I believe most people would probably rather
know. I would, and I am not old yet. Once someone has reached older ages, he
has probably already come to the realization that someday he may get a dire
prognosis, and will hopefully take it well.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Are you in any way
angry at your phone?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Actually, yes. My
phone has had some issues with battery life over the last few months and will
sometimes decide to turn off due to low battery when minutes before it
registered 75% charged. That, to me, is not low battery. If I am not near a
charger, it will not turn back on until I get to one and plug it in, reminding
it that it has lost whatever a cell phone has instead of a mind.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">When you pass a
storefront, do you look at what’s inside, look at your reflection, or neither?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This depends on what
kind of store it is and what I’m wearing. If it’s a store I like, I’m more
likely to be looking at what’s in the store. If I’m wearing a new outfit, I may
want to sneak a look at my reflection to see that I didn’t leave a tag on it
and it looks OK. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Is there anything you
would die for if no one could ever know you died for it?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Probably the same
thing I’d die for for any reason, which is my family. I would protect them at
any cost. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything possible to
keep my children and husband safe. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">If you could be
assured that money wouldn’t make you any small bit happier, would you still
want more money?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No, I wouldn’t. Money
is not something I’m particularly obsessed with; I feel like if I had more than
I needed I’d be pretty generous with charities and such since I don’t see the
value in being ostentatious.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What has been
irrevocably spoiled for you?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This is a tough one. I
guess the pure joy you have as a child eating junk food. I now am fully aware
of what I’m doing when I indulge at a drive thru or with a bag of some
fat-laden snack, and I can’t really escape the guilt for my poor choice. Not to
mention the indigestion.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">If your deepest
secret became public, would you be forgiven?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’d like to think so.
I’ve been thinking about this, and I’m not even sure what I would classify as
this secret, so I am not sure how to answer it. Perhaps whatever it is is so
dark to me that I have repressed it.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Is your best friend
your kindest friend?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Yes, he is. My husband
is one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. He is supremely patient and
understanding when I’m being moody and unreasonable, and will tell me the truth
in a way that doesn’t often make me defensive. Even if it does, I realize even
at that moment that while it is bothering me, he’s right. He is a treasure and
I’m very lucky to have him.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Is it in any way
cruel to give a dog a name?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I think this is only
cruel if you give them a terrible name, like Stinky or Loser McAssnugget. Even
then, the dog doesn’t understand what it means and will probably still come
running with the same joy as if its name was Max or Lulu. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Is there anything you
feel a need to confess?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Um. I’m a
procrastinator, particularly on things I am insecure about. This is probably
why I have several WIPs I’m studiously ignoring in favor of blog posts,
knitting, and sleeping. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">You know it’s a
“murder of crows” and a “wake of buzzards,” but it’s a what of ravens, again? <o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I would have probably
cheated and looked this up, but it is answered in a few more questions. I
couldn’t remember if I had ever heard that one before.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What is it about
death that you’re afraid of?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">It’s probably a
combination of a slight fear of the unknown and not knowing when it will
happen. I just hope I have a chance to make a mark on the world, or at least my
family, before my time is up.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">How does it make you
feel to know that it’s an “unkindness of ravens”?<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I feel that this is unkind
to ravens. They are beautiful birds and regardless of their reputations, this
is an unfair categorization. Even a “cacophony of ravens” would be better, in
my opinion.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mr. Safran Foer, if
you are searching people who answered these questions you asked on Chipotle
cups nationwide, what are my results on your quiz? <o:p></o:p></i></div>
Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-46478906457698625752013-03-18T17:10:00.001-05:002013-03-18T17:10:46.720-05:00At the bitter end of winter...Winter seems to be taking a cue from Dylan Thomas and is raging against the dying of the light this year. Despite the first day of spring approaching, my town was under a blizzard warning this morning, mostly due to high winds rather than a lot of additional snow. While I enjoy snow, I do not enjoy dangerous snow-related conditions, so despite my school district not even delaying school today (they later released them early, though), I chose to burn a sick day rather than risk traveling against the recommendation of The Weather Channel. Needless to say, I am about done with the icky weather this year. I'm also done with the illness our little family has been struggling with over the winter. Everyone is well just now, but I'm not loving the clinic bills coming in. Sigh.<br />
<br />
<b>December/ March</b><br />
I.<br />
Gossamer flakes dance<br />
drifting gracefully as swans<br />
creating a fairyland<br />
of ice and frost.<br />
<br />
Transforming barren trees<br />
to otherworldly creatures,<br />
softening hard edges<br />
to velvet marshmallows.<br />
<br />
Once the alabaster blanket nestles,<br />
a deep, peaceful stillness descends,<br />
muffling once-harsh sounds,<br />
soothing and refreshing the spirit.<br />
<br />
When at last the clouds part,<br />
the diamond-encrusted landscape<br />
is too much to take in,<br />
so much light overwhelms the senses.<br />
<br />
II.<br />
Globs of wadded tissue<br />
dribble from the sky.<br />
Clumsily splattering to earth,<br />
the frozen slush conspires.<br />
<br />
Unsuspecting feet<br />
make unscheduled express routes,<br />
leading to wet posteriors<br />
and strings of expletives.<br />
<br />
The joyless gray sky<br />
yields nothing but jagged glass,<br />
tearing at tender cheeks<br />
and obscuring vision.<br />
<br />
When at last clumps cease descending,<br />
the wicked wind kicks up,<br />
throwing Mother Nature's vomit<br />
at unlucky travelers again.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-16536916181490244642013-02-22T15:49:00.000-06:002013-02-22T16:06:39.790-06:00Woman, love thyself!<br />
Love After Love<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px; margin-top: 20px; min-height: 570px;">
<div class="KonaBody">
<div style="line-height: 1.5; margin-bottom: 21px; margin-top: 12px;">
The time will come<br />
when, with elation<br />
you will greet yourself arriving<br />
at your own door, in your own mirror<br />
and each will smile at the other's welcome,<br />
<br />
and say, sit here. Eat.<br />
You will love again the stranger who was your self.<br />
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart<br />
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you<br />
<br />
all your life, whom you ignored<br />
for another, who knows you by heart.<br />
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,<br />
<br />
the photographs, the desperate notes,<br />
peel your own image from the mirror.<br />
Sit. Feast on your life. </div>
</div>
<div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="color: black; margin: 22px 0px 25px;">
Derek Walcott</div>
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br />
I was fortunate enough to introduce the above poem by the Nobel Prize-winning Caribbean poet Derek Walcott to my junior and senior high school students a few weeks ago, and I was struck by the tenderness of the poem.<br />
<br />
He is not suggesting the kind of self-absorption that becomes destructive or all-encompassing; he merely exhorts people to stop rushing around for a moment and take the time to notice and appreciate how far they have come, how they have changed, and who they are becoming.<br />
<br />
This particularly needs to be heard, in my opinion, by women. As mothers, wives, sisters and daughters, we are often tempted to ignore personal needs or wants in favor of a family member, a spouse, a child, or even a friend or co-worker. We sometimes lose ourselves in the various roles we play in our daily lives. I have seen too many times the woman who, once her children are grown and her husband has passed on, realizes she has completely lost her own sense of self-identity.<br />
<br />
This is precisely the type of thing Walcott is pressing for us to prevent. It may not be original, but nevertheless it is true: it is impossible to truly love others before you love yourself. Go back and find who you are, what you want out of your life, what you want to become. Define your own inner beauty. Then figure out how you can get it. Become the woman you want to be, and your happiness will spill over to all of the people around you--husband, wife, children, parents, co-workers, friends... Your self-confidence will be contagious and those around you will wonder what you have done.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJnhAJ4Nz7IeM6KFbBIBz0shJsxT7vcMb0M2IOzFwy9gPx43bFI3OhWb6js8by26V5q3b9dHK5Cruam5Kkhon2wocyjBG3cfygpYgOzs3CgcgPol1fFyxpcgNO8korhY8KZM-qofyzawe/s1600/boaw-2013.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/AVvXsEjvJnhAJ4Nz7IeM6KFbBIBz0shJsxT7vcMb0M2IOzFwy9gPx43bFI3OhWb6js8by26V5q3b9dHK5Cruam5Kkhon2wocyjBG3cfygpYgOzs3CgcgPol1fFyxpcgNO8korhY8KZM-qofyzawe/s320/boaw-2013.jpg" width="257" /></a>It's so simple, really. Why is it so relatively rare for women to take time for themselves? Perhaps we feel guilty spending time on something we see as purely "selfish." But if we never take time for ourselves, we really diminish our capacity to give to others. We shrink and become a little more bitter with each request made of our limited resources. It may not become evident right away, but eventually the day comes where we feel hollowed out, with nothing more to give. We need to replenish the well by filling ourselves with love. Find your joy and do what gives you a sense of accomplishment and fun regularly. Our children will see us treating ourselves with love and respect and will model their own self-treatment on our behavior. It could be writing, exercise, visual art, music, or even something as simple as a few minutes of daily meditation or a bubble bath. Just take the time for YOU. Make an appointment with yourself. Write it in pen on your calendar and refuse to reschedule. You deserve it. You are beautiful.<br />
<br />
<i>This post was written in conjunction with the marvelous author August McLaughlin's Beauty of a Woman BlogFest. To read more posts from the Fest, click <a href="http://augustmclaughlin.wordpress.com/2013/02/22/boaw-blogfest-ii/">here</a>. </i></div>
Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-16015787506615909412012-12-22T15:32:00.001-06:002012-12-22T15:32:35.185-06:00Lyric ChristmasAfter a tough year, and especially after the terrible events at Sandy Hook Elementary School, I wanted to write some lyrics for an eventual Christmas song. I have always wanted to write a song, and I love Christmas music. The odd combination of all the negatives recently somehow allowed me to get into the right frame of mind to write what I had in mind. As I was preparing to write, I realized that I don't recall ever hearing a Christmas song that was a lullaby sung by Mary to her newborn. There are songs Mary sings (Breath of Heaven) and there are lullabies (the rocking carol), but I don't know of someone combining these ideas. So I wrote this.<br />
<br />
Mary's Lullaby<br />
<br />
Heart of my heart<br />
Love of my life<br />
Sleep with the peace<br />
Of heaven tonight.<br />
<br />
Sent as a miracle<br />
Of God's selfless love,<br />
You give us a glimpse<br />
Of life up above.<br />
<br />
I don't understand<br />
Why I am the one<br />
Who was entrusted<br />
With God's only son,<br />
<br />
But I'll give my heart<br />
And soul to the cause<br />
To nurture this spirit<br />
Despite all my flaws.<br />
<br />
Remember, my baby,<br />
Though long be the night,<br />
Though cold may be gripping,<br />
God always shines light.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-90578246387912520252012-12-10T23:03:00.000-06:002012-12-10T23:03:04.507-06:00When it snows, it pours...Yes, I know that's not really the old adage. But it is accurate for my day. Today is one of those days that, looking back, I realize it would have been better to spend it in bed. Perhaps the best way to describe it is to list all the things that went wrong.<br />
<br />
1. It snowed quite a bit where I live over the last few days, and then turned bitterly cold and blizzardlike, preventing me from returning to my house from my in-laws' like I usually would on a Sunday night.<br />
2. While most of the schools surrounding the one I work in called for a 2 hour late start sometime last night, mine didn't until 7:30 this morning (or at least, that's when they notified the teachers), making me stress out about not making it in for the beginning of school.<br />
3. It took me 3 hours to make the usually-2 hour drive from my in-laws' house to my school this morning. This was probably equally due to the icy road conditions and people who were at times driving too slowly.<br />
4. Nearly all the way to school, after I realized I would still be significantly late, I accidentally slid into the person in front of me at a red light. Luckily, she got out and inspected her car and couldn't find anything on it, so she told me to go on.<br />
5. When I got into the child care center to drop off the boys, I heard the bell ring for the first of the classes I hadn't sent lesson plans in for, so I had to run with no supplies on hand to get to the classroom for that class. Needless to say not much got done that period.<br />
6. My 6th hour freshmen were in rare form today, loud and complaining about everything, even after I told them I was having a crappy day and it'd be nice if I didn't have to yell at them, too. Sigh.<br />
7. Just after school got out, I checked a message on my phone saying that my older son had woken up from his nap at preschool with really goopy eyes and they hurt and itched. Great.<br />
8. I called to get him a doctor's appointment, but all the appointments were gone; I'd have to go to the walk-in clinic.<br />
9. I drove nearly the whole way home before I realized I forgot my purse at school and had to go all the way back to get it.<br />
10. By the time I got back from that, I had to go straight to the doctor's office to go to the walk-in clinic.<br />
11. The doctor confirmed that my son had pinkeye and he couldn't go to preschool tomorrow.<br />
12. At the pharmacy, they tell me that the kids' insurance wasn't working and that they were out of the eyedrops.<br />
13. At pharmacy #2, the kids are running everywhere (literally!) while I'm trying to find cotton balls to wash the gunk out of my kid's eyes.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I am DONE with this day. Hence, we stopped one more time after all of that running, to get McDonald's for dinner. Once I hit "publish" on this bad boy, I'm going to have a beer and watch silly TV shows and then go to bed.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-53798124116178996512012-10-14T00:11:00.000-05:002012-10-14T00:11:26.509-05:00In Limbo.Hello out there,<br />
<br />
I am OK. Just trying to get my bearings now that life is on plan H right now (if Plan A was how life was pre-May of this year).<br />
<br />
Quick summary: After my husband was let go by his company, we both scrambled to find a job. I am a teacher by profession, but had not planned to go back until all of our children were in school, and I was hoping to have another in the near future. So now, child #3 is on hold and I have to put the kids in daycare so I can teach. I only managed to find a part time job, which is maddening because a part-time teacher puts in nearly the same hours as a full time teacher, but is paid less. I teach four different classes, two of which are not English, so I am trying not to show my students that I am not an expert in those fields.<br />
<br />
Then, my husband got a new job, which is fabulous, only it's 2 hours away from our home. So now he is staying at his parents' house for most of the work week to commute to work and coming home on the weekends and Wednesday nights. My job is about 20 minutes from our home, so at least the kids and I can stay here and have some semblance of normalcy, minus having Daddy home all the time. We all miss him tons and he misses us too, but what can we do? My school will finish in May and then we will look at renting something much closer to the big city he works in, and I will look for a job more in that vicinity if we decide I still need to work.<br />
<br />
While I hate having to leave the boys for the majority of their waking hours, my older boy loves going to "school" for nearly the whole day (they do incorporate a preschool curriculum in the morning at least), and his brother, while usually a bit sad when I have to leave, is always happy and running up with a hug when I come back to pick him up in the afternoon. He talks so well all of the staff there can't stop raving about it every time I talk to them. Yeah, he is pretty brilliant, if you ask his heavily biased mother. :) <br />
<br />
So now I'm trying to reconfigure my schedule to allow adequate time for cleaning the house and exercising, and I haven't really figured out time for writing my blog either. Hopefully I'll be back to regular posting in the next few months, but that remains to be seen. Know that I would love to be writing poetry here every day, I just have a ton of things to figure out how to juggle right now...Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-82858279519224214972012-07-16T16:51:00.002-05:002012-07-16T16:51:41.494-05:00Adding a little color.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPAWrgfz430L5z-P50lwBS_KeFb6i7B4kv65NTiOca2OYizAH7FnR876mtWmG1LsZQN22hNWJjGIqq0HKbj4zqylfqGo0Uuv6CPk4h3qZXeQ_DoNRm2dcZnKgCIOoPjigF4sDCG_cllyI/s1600/P1020217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPAWrgfz430L5z-P50lwBS_KeFb6i7B4kv65NTiOca2OYizAH7FnR876mtWmG1LsZQN22hNWJjGIqq0HKbj4zqylfqGo0Uuv6CPk4h3qZXeQ_DoNRm2dcZnKgCIOoPjigF4sDCG_cllyI/s320/P1020217.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I am determined to keep some semblance of normalcy in my life at this stage of great uncertainty, so I signed up for <a href="http://www.thecolorrun.com/">The Color Run</a> Twin Cities when I saw a friend had run the one in Seattle and it looked incredibly fun. I can say it's probably the second-most fun of any race I've run. First place has to go to the Disneyland Half Marathon, which I've done twice.<br />
<br />
Yesterday was very hot (a high of about 92) and we started near 10AM, but as this "race" isn't even officially timed, it wasn't a big deal. Yes, people take their time, and I heard a few people talking about turning around and doing a few parts again...I'm talking about the "color zones," where volunteers with squirt bottles (or sometimes their bare hands) color runners up with dyed cornstarch. Each zone is a different color, so we ran through orange, then yellow, then pink, then blue. At the end of the run, you assemble in front of a stage where they pump dance music, and every 15 minutes, they count down to a "mass color throw," where each runner opens an individual packet of an assorted color and throws it into the air simultaneously. I've never seen or experienced anything like it. It's an art project on a massive (19,000 runner) scale, and everyone had a great time. I highly recommend it to anyone, even if you've never done a 5K before...many people walked at least half the distance, and no one cares who comes in first or last. It's all about the color.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRekFlhEZ7qID5AqlWi_K5yaljGMpop5aWDt9mEN1sqv_D_9XFHF1yKyEhpet8V-zyKv12UM80oug7jHkZNQh3A19j3qo2vVCkngFC-Hq3_O0r5ok_ObOyf-C45mPNmSVMNKs8uz5TB-o-/s1600/P1020232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRekFlhEZ7qID5AqlWi_K5yaljGMpop5aWDt9mEN1sqv_D_9XFHF1yKyEhpet8V-zyKv12UM80oug7jHkZNQh3A19j3qo2vVCkngFC-Hq3_O0r5ok_ObOyf-C45mPNmSVMNKs8uz5TB-o-/s320/P1020232.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>Color Runner</b><br />
<br />
Approaching the zone,<br />
looking like a Technicolor sandstorm,<br />
the crowd cheers as they are doused<br />
with gritty beauty.<br />
<br />
Fragmented rainbows fly<br />
across the skyline,<br />
adding smiles to sweaty faces,<br />
the cherry to top a perfect morning. <br />
<br />
The color may wash, blow, or fade away,<br />
but the joyful memory endures forever.<br />
<br />Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-16120843909901809062012-07-02T22:18:00.000-05:002012-07-02T22:18:37.301-05:00Well.Profuse apologies for my prolonged absence. Hopefully this post will help to explain my silence.<br />
<br />
I have a lot to be grateful for. I have a wonderful husband who treats me like a princess, and two beautiful, healthy little boys who are just the sweetest and funniest little people I have ever had the pleasure to know.<br />
<br />
Our family got punched in the gut about six weeks ago. We had just finalized the short sale of our house in the big city and were looking forward to just enjoying our small town life with only one mortgage to pay. I vividly remember telling my husband how happy I was just a few days before it happened.<br />
<br />
That Friday in the middle of May, our world started to collapse in a bit. I came home from the library at lunchtime to find my husband in the kitchen. He'd been laid off with no warning. We haven't even been in our little town for a year, and suddenly my husband is scrambling (again!) to find a job. We don't have as much safety net anymore, so I am looking for teaching jobs even though I was hoping to wait until our kids were all in school before going back to work. We will likely have to move because our little town is too far from the nearest major city to commute and job prospects are pretty slim out here.<br />
<br />
We cried for a few days. I mourned that we won't be able to have another baby anytime soon, when I was originally hoping for next spring. We are still angry. But we're trying our best to move on.<br />
<br />
So now you see why I've been absent...I have been pouring all of my energy into job searching. I have had several interviews but no offers yet. I may not even have to work if my husband gets a job that pays enough, but I guess we'll see. Good thoughts and/or prayers are gladly accepted at this time.<br />
<br />
One true blessing of all this crap is that I can show my husband that he's more than just a breadwinner to me. I have been trying my best to be supportive of him and remind him that it wasn't his fault, and that what he is supposed to do will come about in the right time. But it is hard to be patient. Sigh.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-79799988621758655862012-04-17T23:59:00.000-05:002012-04-17T23:59:22.958-05:00National Poetry Month #7.I'm clearly behind now. I have my work cut out for me today!<br />
<br />
<b>13. Run around your house and grab 5 items that all begin with the same letter. Write a poem as an ode to one of these items or that includes these items.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Items: Beer, basket, backpack, book, bobblehead<br />
<br />
Baskets spilling over with abundance of toys,<br />
books scattered pell mell over the floor,<br />
backpack bursting with unread materials,<br />
bobbleheads gathering dust,<br />
all need to wait<br />
for me to finish my beer.<br />
<b><br />
14. Think of the nicest thing someone ever said to you. Write a poem about a rainy day and something flooding. End the poem with the good thing someone said.</b><br />
<br />
The steady pattering and buffeting wind<br />
hasn't let up all day.<br />
Obliged to stay indoors, little boys<br />
press their faces against the window,<br />
watching the slow streams<br />
run out of the drainpipes onto the lawn. <br />
Slowly at first, but inexorably,<br />
a forgotten bucket fills with water.<br />
After a dramatic, though unseen<br />
moment of surface tension,<br />
it runs over the edge to christen the azaleas.<br />
This sudden flood<br />
echoes the feeling I had upon reading<br />
a letter from my sister some years ago.<br />
While our love was clear,<br />
we don't speak much of our feelings.<br />
This made her admission to me<br />
all the more poignant:<br />
"I hold you up as an example for my children."<br />
<b><br />
15. Write a poem that describes the wallpaper on your computer or the image on the last postcard you received.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Countless stars, pinpoints of light<br />
representing unseen worlds<br />
enveloped in the black, airless void<br />
encompassing space.<br />
A cold, inhospitable environment<br />
made warmer by a sudden burst<br />
of pink, white and pale blue.<br />
Is it the birth of a new star?<br />
The explosion of a star at the end of its life?<br />
Or simply another mystery of the cosmos?<br />
<b><br />
16. Make a list of ten images of things you have seen in the last 24 hours. Use all of them in a poem.</b><br />
The first, intrepid housefly<br />
perches on the sheet music, studying<br />
the markings.<br />
<br />
Dark blue yarn wraps around silvery needles<br />
as sinuously as dancers performing<br />
an Argentine tango.<br />
a dark-eyed boy shrieks with delight,<br />
revealing his face suddenly to his brother,<br />
coming starkly into view, as in<br />
a freshly-wiped mirror,<br />
or as objects below a forked tongue of lightning.<br />
<br />
Blue-eyed boy so deep in concentration<br />
he doesn't see me coming.<br />
He's busy digging a hole he can go in.<br />
His brother backs in for<br />
a patented toddler hug:<br />
leaning forward, sitting on my lap<br />
with my arm around him.<br />
<b><br />
17. Write a poem that includes these words: bamboozled, bloodlust, bibliography. Have the title include one of these words: contradiction, constellation, cranberry.</b><br />
<br />
<b><u>Mr. Contradiction </u></b><br />
He could be in the bibliography<br />
of a book on bloodlust.<br />
His victims bamboozled<br />
by his gentle façade,<br />
they willingly follow him<br />
into a velvet-lined trap.<br />
By the time they realize<br />
something is amiss,<br />
it is far too late.<br />
Their fate is sealed,<br />
they're marked for doom<br />
as he smiles and seals their fate.<b><br />
</b>Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-67035233184097049432012-04-12T15:13:00.001-05:002012-04-12T15:14:07.817-05:00National Poetry Month, section 6.<b>11. Write a poem that begins with the last thing you can remember someone saying to you today or yesterday. See if you can use that line two or three times.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<u><b>Retail Therapy</b></u> <br />
"Sure, because we NEED something."<br />
Not so much a need as a want.<br />
Not so much a want as a moment<br />
to indulge oneself in a pleasure<br />
that is solely selfish, a break<br />
in days upon days of selfless tasks:<br />
running after tiny, stumbling feet,<br />
wiping constantly runny noses,<br />
kissing boo-boos and wiping messy bottoms.<br />
"Sure, because we NEED something." <br />
That one moment of selfishness<br />
refuels us for countless more<br />
of the selfless.<br />
<br />
<b>12. Turn on the radio to any channel. Write a poem inspired by the first thing you hear (lyrics to a song, a commercial, etc.)</b><br />
<br />
Traffic reports.<br />
Kind of irrelevant these days,<br />
a newer resident of Smalltown USA.<br />
Sure, they're still useful<br />
when going to visit the in-laws,<br />
but in general, a welcomely<br />
discarded habit. <br />
Generally nothing but open road,<br />
deer and other wildlife<br />
much more common <br />
than taillights.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-31149680451159749122012-04-11T00:23:00.000-05:002012-04-11T00:23:13.655-05:00National Poetry Month, 5th installment.In case you haven't been following my posts this month, I'm working on NaPoWriMo, sort of like NaNoWriMo for National Poetry Month: writing a poem for each day of the month of April. I've been doing them in chunks, however. Thanks to <a href="http://ofkells.blogspot.com/2011/03/napowrimo-30-new-writing-prompts-for.html">Kelli Russell Agodon</a> for the prompts.<br />
<br />
<b>9. Write a poem to your favorite letter of the alphabet.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don't particularly have a favorite letter, but I'll pick K because I have lots of special people in my life whose names involve that letter.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A kicky letter that kills boredom,<br />
kissing the kaleidoscope<br />
of karma, a kangaroo<br />
keeps time with the koala,<br />
kvetching about the kites<br />
flying about the kitchen.<br />
Mercifully, this k cavalcade<br />
has kinked up and expired.<br />
<br />
<b>10. Write a poem about the one or all of the 7 sins that only contains seven word lines.</b><br />
<br />
<b><u>Seven: Deadly</u></b> <br />
You cross me, I'll never forgive you.<br />
"You can never be too rich?" True.<br />
Everyone should be waiting on me now.<br />
I'm smarter and prettier than them anyway.<br />
I want to make love to everybody. <br />
What do they have that I don't?<br />
Too many yummy things are never enough.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-41502282922295996062012-04-08T23:54:00.000-05:002012-04-08T23:54:31.340-05:00National Poetry Month, issue 4.<b> 7. Find a favorite recipe. Now write a poem inspired or in the style of that recipe about a family secret, yours or someone else’s.</b><br />
Inspiration: Toll House Cookie recipe<br />
<b> </b><br />
<u><b>Recipe for a Setback</b></u> <br />
Preheat oven to 375.<br />
Combine hopes and dreams in a small bowl.<br />
Mix a sense of security, excitement, love, and peace in a large mixer bowl until well combined.<br />
Add doubts, one at a time, stirring until fully incorporated.<br />
Gradually beat in fear, then add despair.<br />
Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto realistic cookie sheet.<br />
After crying and/or soul searching for 9-11 minutes, scrape up what you can salvage and start again.<br />
<br />
<b> 8. Turn your paper so that it’s in the landscape position. Write a poem about God or the universe or the horizon of the ocean with longer lines and see what happens.</b><b> </b><br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>No Greater Love</b> <br />
The longer I live, the truer I know it to be: humans are fearfully and wonderfully made.<b></b><br />
I have been privileged to know seeming angels on this earth, as well as those who constantly challenge and hamper my progress.<br />
I have seen those whose hearts are large enough to take in all, and those whose hearts can only contain themselves.<br />
Lord, I know You have seen both extremes as well, and felt both utter love and bitter hatred directed at You as You walked as one of us.<br />
To this day, You likely hear as many words of devotion as You do of derision.<br />
I can only pray that those of us doing the praising and adoration can drown out those on the other side.<br />
On this, the day You conquered death to bring all who know You to new life, let me reiterate how much You are loved.<br />
This world did not deserve such a perfect sacrifice, but You showed the way for us to heal the world from the mess we've made of it.<br />
No greater love can someone have than to lay down one's life for one's friends. You did not merely say this, but acted it out for our benefit.<br />
Your selfless act has saved us all; all we have to do is accept Your love and try to love each other in return.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-36992130379683457282012-04-06T16:42:00.000-05:002012-04-06T16:42:49.351-05:00National Poetry Month, part the third.<b>6. Write a poem in two sections about two completely different things. Have the title link both items today in a surprising way.</b><br />
<br />
<u><b>Familiar</b></u> <br />
I. <br />
His blue eyes widen,<br />
teeth flash in a grin as<br />
an infectious giggle bubbles up.<br />
This bundle of gangly arms and legs<br />
curled onto my lap is precious cargo,<br />
if not the most temporarily comfortable.<br />
<br />
These little souls entwine with my own,<br />
grabbing hold in a way that can never be<br />
undone without destroying myself in the process.<br />
The adage is true, I would lay down my life<br />
if I had to choose between them and myself.<br />
Nothing is better than being a family.<br />
<br />
II.<br />
I've been here before.<br />
I have no real memory of it,<br />
but I'm certain I've seen this view,<br />
browsed this shop,<br />
traveled this road some other time.<br />
<br />
Perhaps some unknown ancestor<br />
was born, lived, and died here,<br />
and now that person's story<br />
has been lost to memory.<br />
<br />
Maybe someday, browsing my family tree,<br />
I will come upon that missing link<br />
that explains my strange sense of home<br />
being in a foreign place.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-6923979047770048062012-04-06T01:03:00.001-05:002012-04-06T01:04:52.039-05:00National Poetry Month, volume 2. Yeah yeah, I'm a few days behind, so what? :)<br />
<br />
<b>2. Write about a poem about a superhero coming to your house and confronting you about something. Somewhere in the poem, you have to state what your superpower is.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Doorbell rings, then predawn knocking.<br />
This had better be <i>real</i> good.<br />
A yawn, and now my eyes are popping;<br />
Batman standing on my porch.<br />
<br />
Brucie, why the cloak and dagger?<br />
I'm sure I gave you my cell.<br />
Sure, my rhymes give me some swagger,<br />
but come on now, what the hell?<br />
<br />
Okay, Loverboy is trying<br />
to write something for his girl.<br />
Pressure felt, his brain is frying<br />
as the page remains untouched.<br />
<br />
Bruce, I love you like a brother,<br />
so I'll give it to you straight:<br />
girls appreciate a lover<br />
who can write with open heart.<br />
<br />
Lay your soul bare, heed no caution,<br />
big risk equals big rewards.<br />
Let her see your true devotion,<br />
and you'll claim her heart for keeps.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, embrace the slant rhyme,<br />
no use agonizing there.<br />
Most care more about the meaning<br />
than perfection. Now, goodnight.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3. Write a poem that is really a love letter to an old flame. To make sure it’s doesn’t slip into sappy make sure one or more of these words is in the poem: dung beetle, politician, nuclear, exoskeleton, oceanography, pompadour, toilet.</b><br />
<br />
Dearest Pookie,<br />
How I miss our time together long ago.<br />
To me, our love remains pristine,<br />
preserved in the ether that first choked it to death.<br />
You rolled me across the savanna like a dung beetle<br />
carrying its prize, its exoskeleton<br />
gleaming in the midday sun.<br />
You knew me like a politician<br />
knows oceanography.<br />
Your pompadour reminded me of a nuclear<br />
holocaust.<br />
Any feelings I still have for you can be exhausted<br />
in a trip to the toilet.<br />
Love, Me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>4. Make a list of seven words that have the same vowel sounds (like bee, treat, pepperoni, eagle) and use them in a repetitive way throughout a poem.</b><br />
My words: sigh, butterfly, multiply, cry, alive, bide, ice<br />
<br />
I.<br />
A sigh, like a butterfly<br />
floating, alive, my soul's cry;<br />
I bide while it multiplies,<br />
scattering on the ice.<br />
<br />
II.<br />
Does a butterfly cry<br />
when it finds itself alive,<br />
after having to bide its time<br />
in a state of ice, sighing through<br />
multiplying cells in metamorphosis?<br />
<br />
III.<br />
Multiply a sigh,<br />
then bide while it turns to ice,<br />
alive butterfly no more,<br />
just a cry.<br />
<br />
IV.<br />
A cry multiplies,<br />
ice shatters before the biding butterfly;<br />
The sound alive, ending with a sigh.<br />
<br />
<b>5. Write a poem about a weird fact or facts that you know. </b><br />
<br />
Did you know?<br />
<br />
Horses can't burp.<br />
Chameleons don't turn plaid.<br />
If you could care less, you actually imply that you care a little.<br />
<br />
Audrey Hepburn smuggled resistance messages in her ballet shoes.<br />
Hermit crabs can draw blood if provoked.<br />
Birds are living relatives of dinosaurs.<br />
<br />
That part of "Love Shack" is "Tin roof, rusted!"<br />
William Faulkner was a literary genius.<br />
It's possible to whistle backwards.<br />
<br />
Living in the past only squanders the future.<br />
Children are endless sources of joy.<br />
Mahna Mahna (doot doo doo doo doo).<br />
<br />
The last line of the last poem needs fixing. Or not. Let me know. :)<br />
I'd love to read any responses you feel inspired to write!Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-32401669290843975322012-04-01T22:04:00.000-05:002012-04-01T22:04:39.744-05:00National Poetry Month.In case y'all didn't know, April is National Poetry Month. Because of this, poets inspired by NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month, in November) have been committing to write a poem a day for the month of April (fondly monikered NaPoWriMo). Thusly, I ran over to the ol' Google to figure out if anyone had cooked up daily prompts for that purpose.<br />
<br />
Eureka! Sure enough, a lovely writer named Kelli Russell Agodon has generously provided <a href="http://ofkells.blogspot.com/2011/03/napowrimo-30-new-writing-prompts-for.html">daily poetry prompts for the whole of NaPoWriMo. </a>So my mission (I have chosen to accept it) is to attempt each and every one of these. I would love if you, my dear sweet readers (if you are still hanging around!) would share in this challenge with me and share your work in the comments. <br />
<br />
So, here goes somethin'. <br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>1. Grab the closest book. Go to page 29. Write down 10 words that catch your eye. Use 7 of words in a poem. For extra credit, have 4 of them appear at the end of a line.</b><br />
<br />
My book: A Clash of Kings by George R. R. Martin (trying to catch up before HBO spoils the plot for me!)<br />
Words: <strike>moonstone</strike>, <strike>lackwit</strike>, <strike>desperate</strike>, <strike>dashing</strike>, <strike>triumph</strike>, <strike>fabled</strike>, <strike>splendor</strike>, <strike>pavilion</strike>, <strike>gilded</strike>, <strike>memory</strike><br />
<br />
<u><b>Sansa </b></u><br />
Desperate for respect, if not affection,<br />
She festoons herself with silk and moonstone.<br />
Despite the prevailing opinion of the court,<br />
she is no lackwit.<br />
Once she dreamed of a dashing<br />
hero, crowned in splendor,<br />
sitting at her side under the pavilion.<br />
Now she finds herself with only<br />
a gilded memory;<br />
the gold scraped off at the edge<br />
to reveal the poisonous iron beneath.<br />
In the fabled lion's mouth she rests, uneasy,<br />
while her brain wracks itself for a way to triumph.<br />
<br />
<br />
Now it's your turn. What have you got?Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-66659800125884201382012-03-16T23:25:00.000-05:002012-03-16T23:25:55.460-05:00The unexplainable.If I've been quiet for awhile, there are probably two causes for it.<br />
<br />
One, I ambitiously applied for a real critique group to try and whip my novel manuscript in to some semblance of shape. I was kindly rejected. Of course, I retreated into inaction to lick my wounds rather than pushing forward with my long-neglected manuscript. Sigh.<br />
<br />
Two, a few weeks ago I discovered that a good friend of mine, my senior-year college roommate, is losing her years-long battle with cancer and is now in hospice care. I got a further update this morning that she hardly has the strength to fully open her eyes or speak.<br />
<br />
This once-vibrant young woman, now on death's door, is <i>my age</i>. Actually, younger.<br />
<br />
What excuse do I have for frittering away my time instead of writing?<br />
<br />
What reason could possibly be good enough to condone allowing myself to be distracted by silly stuff while my children grow up before my eyes?<br />
<br />
If my life ended tomorrow, would I have a legacy to leave behind?<br />
<br />
If any good can come from such a heartbreaking end, it has to be the people she loved living their lives more intentionally. I have already been trying to do this by being more present with my boys. I'd like to build on that by really focusing on working on my writing. So many writers lived only brief lives, yet they still have more to say to future generations through their works. I hope, even in a small way, to enrich others' lives through my own work. <br />
<br />
With any luck, the world won't have heard the last of me when I breathe my last. My work will speak for me.<br />
<br />
What do you hope to leave as your legacy?Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-32980458865955130062012-02-09T22:57:00.000-06:002012-02-09T22:57:17.391-06:00The Beauty of My Mother.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0NMKIKQYY0Ptw4Vl1xPtmTdIw-rphL14nn52TMR9QdWrxQsgvnVWmOi8Zz8kAfkN_JVFS5-6HxtYZtRf9O94ehQsjCB2kgBZkM6J0YbVxFxm8cwLtkojHPfesYz4m04UsfWagZKklOEP/s1600/BOAW+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0NMKIKQYY0Ptw4Vl1xPtmTdIw-rphL14nn52TMR9QdWrxQsgvnVWmOi8Zz8kAfkN_JVFS5-6HxtYZtRf9O94ehQsjCB2kgBZkM6J0YbVxFxm8cwLtkojHPfesYz4m04UsfWagZKklOEP/s320/BOAW+logo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><i>The following post is a part of my dear friend, <a href="http://augustmclaughlin.wordpress.com/">August McLaughlin's "Beauty of a Woman BlogFest."</a> Click the link on or after February 10 to read many inspiring posts on the topic, as well as for a chance to win a bevy of lovely prizes including a Kindle Touch! Thanks to August for presenting an opportunity to tell my mom (again) how I feel about her.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
I’ve always looked up to my mother.<br />
<br />
Sure, when I was little, I *had* to look up to her, since she was physically so much taller. These days, our height difference is only a matter of a few inches, but I still hold her in high esteem.<br />
<br />
Here’s why.<br />
<br />
When I was a little girl, I was fortunate enough to have my mom with me nearly all the time. She was able to stay home with me, playing games, singing songs, and all manner of other childhood pursuits. She was at every school play, never missed a band or orchestra concert, and drove me to all of my horse shows without a single complaint. In fact, we often had as much fun getting to a destination as we did when we arrived. I’d read aloud to her, or we’d sing along with our cassette tape of the complete Broadway cast recording of “The Phantom of the Opera.” <br />
<br />
As I grew older, I made the conscious decision not to be a “difficult teenager.” I resolved to try my best to get along with my parents through high school. I had a tough academic schedule and lots of after school activities; in my mind, there was no room left for family drama. I realize now how wise my decision was. <br />
<br />
When I was sixteen years old, my father died suddenly of a particularly aggressive form of leukemia. My sister and brother were long grown and out of the house, so that left my mom and I rattling around our four bedroom house on our own. We cried, clung to each other, and went to therapy together for months. While I can’t remember a lot of joy in that time, I am definitely glad that neither of us had to go through it alone. We had each other, no matter how much life otherwise sucked on that particular day. Living through that long, deep valley grew each of us as individuals, but also our relationship as mother and daughter. This was the turning point for us to start becoming friends.<br />
<br />
A strange side effect of my father’s sudden passing was my ability to see my mother grow as a person through that time and beyond. While she was always an exemplary mother, watching her find her way on her own gave me a whole new respect for her. She learned more of who she was, what she wanted in her life, and what she wanted to become. She got a job, and then, upon reflection, decided they were not treating her how she should be treated, so she went and found a better job where they respected her as an equal of their other employees. Through her journey, I saw my mother insist upon what she deserved from others, no longer content to fly below the radar and not make waves. She didn’t need to be the constant peacemaker and people-pleaser anymore.<br />
<br />
Don’t get me wrong, my mom is an excellent hostess, and everyone I’ve ever brought home immediately felt welcomed. Most of my good friends in high school thought of her as their second mother. But now she had a little more backbone to go with the beautifully compassionate heart she’d always had, but that some people had seen as a way to take advantage of her generosity. In short, my mother had learned the value of saying “no.”<br />
<br />
It was tough going away to college. I picked a school that was about 1,000 miles away from home, not because of its sheer distance from my hometown, but because when I visited campus, my heart immediately told me I’d found where I wanted to be. The biggest drawback was that I would be so far from home. I didn’t realize how much that would make me sad until the day my mom dropped me off. I was okay until I had to go to my first class. I had said my goodbyes and was walking away, and I could tell my mom was crying. Of course, that set me off, too. Thank goodness for e-mail.<br />
<br />
I admire my mom’s sense of restraint when I was facing the sharp learning curve of being on my own. While I wasn’t the type to go to fraternity parties, well, ever, I did fall in with a lousy boyfriend for a few months my freshman year. While she surely saw what a jerk he was, she didn’t say a word about it, but let me come to my own decision. Putting myself in her shoes at the time, I don’t know if I would have had that much strength to keep my mouth shut. But, I realize that I might not have taken that too well at the time. While I regret the relationship, I did learn a lot from the experience, and in part, I have my mom to thank for that--she allowed me to make and learn from my own mistake. <br />
<br />
Right about the time that I met my next boyfriend, who I would marry a month after we graduated college, my mom met a man at her church who captured her attention. He was smart, thoughtful and charming, and he swept her off her feet. In fact, she married him one month after my wedding. While it took me a while to adjust to the idea of having a stepfather, I was pleased for my mom that she found a man who would treat her with such love and respect. <br />
<br />
Life has a funny way of going left just when you think everything is going right. After several years of wedded bliss, my stepfather fell into a depression. Since then, he will sometimes be the man my mother fell in love with, and other times will be a shell of that man, hardly wanting to do anything at all. My mom has accepted this challenge with grace and aplomb. I can usually sense on the phone when things are hard, but she has rarely lost her usual smile and is his constant champion when he needs her most. <br />
<br />
Now, a few days into my fourth year of motherhood, I can’t help but be grateful for such a shining example to which I aspire. My mom is my cheerleader, my sounding board, and my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She is without a doubt the most beautiful woman I know, and my boys and I are lucky to have her. I just hope I am fortunate enough to have some of her mothering skills rub off on me. <br />
<br />
So, Mom, now you know. You’ve done an amazing job so far, and I hope to enjoy many more memories with you in the future. Thank you for making my life beautiful.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-25538731612853465562012-02-08T00:10:00.002-06:002012-02-08T00:16:19.199-06:00Fiction prompts, part 3.Hi all,<br />
In a novel move, I actually wrote a piece on today's Figment Fiction prompt...today. I know, crazy. But here it is, since my mom can't read it all on their site. :)<br />
<br />
The prompt encouraged writers to write about a character living through an embarrassing situation. I took this and ran with it. The first part is fiction, the second part is 100% true. Enjoy. <br />
<br />
<b>Open Mouth, Insert Foot</b> <br />
I love babies.<br />
<br />
Therefore, I also love pregnant women. I seem to gravitate toward them, hoping to start up a conversation, eager to share advice or compare notes, as the situation would allow.<br />
<br />
That's why, when I saw a pretty young woman across the produce aisle, a t-shirt stretched over her rounded midsection, I made a beeline for her to introduce myself.<br />
<br />
"Hello, I'm Carol. I haven't seen you here before, are you new in town?"<br />
<br />
"Hi, I'm Amber. Yes, we just moved here a few weeks ago." Amber deposited a bunch of bananas into her cart.<br />
<br />
"That's wonderful, welcome to the neighborhood! Are you liking it so far?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, everyone is so friendly here, I'm very happy." Amber smiled shyly.<br />
<br />
"So, when are you due?"<br />
<br />
Amber's smile faded as the color drained from her face. "I'm not...I'm not pregnant," she said.<br />
<br />
"Oh..." I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. "I'm so sorry..." I allowed her to make a graceful exit while I pretended to inspect some peaches, blinking back tears of anger at myself for making such a boneheaded mistake.<br />
<br />
What made this whole situation worse was that I have had the same thing happen to me, in reverse. The first time, I was in college, browsing jewelry at the mall, minding my own business. The sales girl came up and blurted, "Are you pregnant?" Um, lady, I'm 20 years old and not sporting a wedding ring...even if I was pregnant, I may not want to discuss it with strangers. And since when has it not been common knowledge NOT to assume that of women? Now I just felt fat, when earlier that day I had felt like I was looking pretty good. Thanks a lot.<br />
<br />
Even after having my two kids, I have literally run my butt off, racing in several half, then a full marathon, getting back to my pre-pregnancy weight. However, I can't seem to get rid of a slight roundness to my midsection, an unfortunate casualty of having two large boys reside in my short torso for nine months apiece. It is really a slap in the face to have a woman come up and tell me that my baby will be a runner since I'm taking him/her along with me for my marathon. I'M NOT PREGNANT!!!<br />
<br />
So, what have I learned from this? Assume nothing. We all know what happens when we assume. The only time it's acceptable to make such an assumption is if the woman is a patient in Labor and Delivery at the hospital, in the obstetrician's office looking at her sonogram pictures, or the guest of honor at a baby shower. Otherwise, keep my mouth shut!<br />
<br />
How about you, dear readers? Have you been on either side of one of these awkward exchanges? What did you do/ what did you WANT to do? Spill it. :)Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-63267887679830651212012-02-05T23:37:00.000-06:002012-02-05T23:37:28.400-06:00Fiction prompts, part 2.Hello again. Time has gotten away from me once again, but here is another group of writing prompts that spoke to me, courtesy of Figment Fiction.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms',geneva;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino;"><span style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: 900;"><em><span><strong><span><em><strong> <div style="display: inline ! important;"> <div style="display: inline ! important;"> <div style="display: inline ! important;"> <div style="display: inline ! important;"><em><strong><em><strong> <div style="display: inline ! important;"> <div style="display: inline ! important;"> <div style="display: inline ! important;"> <div style="display: inline ! important;"> <div style="display: inline ! important;">Focus on an important life milestone (a birth, a wedding, a funeral). Slow time down to a crawl and zero in on the most important moment in that event. Describe in wrenchingly specific detail what goes on in those minutes. You can focus on many characters or stick to the perspective of just one.</div></div></div></div></div></strong></em></strong></em></div></div></div></div></strong></em></span></strong></span></em><em></em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><em><br />
</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><em>My head is spinning as I carefully take the tiny bundle from the nurse’s arms. Tiny squeaks are emitting from the occupant of the blanket-cocoon as I try to act like I’ve ever held something so tiny before in my life. My hand trembles as I brush the blanket back from her face. Still red from her long struggle for independence, she settles quickly into my chest. No one else could be in the room, as far as I’m concerned; I only have eyes for her. Her eyes are fluttering as she blinks in the bright light of the hospital room. I try to make out their color, but as yet they are quite dark, almost black, with lashes that would make models jealous. Fuzzy dark hair covers her head, sticking out at every possible angle. I bend down to touch my cheek to her head. Velvet feels like sandpaper compared to that baby hair. She smells amazing--an unearthly sweet smell I have never before experienced. I realize that I’ve just spent what seems like an eternity just staring at my baby, but I should talk to her, let her hear the voice she’s spent so many months hearing from the inside. Putting my lips to her tiny, shell-like ear, I whisper with a lump forming in my throat, “Welcome to the world, baby girl. Mama and Daddy love you more than anything, and we’ll love you no matter what.”</em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><em> </em></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"><em><b> Go back to the important life milestone you focused on yesterday (a birth , a wedding, a funeral). Now speed the event up. It’s going so rapidly that you’re only able to capture snippets of action and dialogue. What are the moments that stand out? What makes it into your retelling of this event? </b><br />
<br />
“It’s a girl!”<br />
The parents’ eyes well up with tears.<br />
“She’s perfect!” exclaims Grandma.<br />
“What’s her name?” asks Dr. Green.<br />
“S-Sybil,” Dad manages to answer.<br />
“We’ll just clean her up and give her right back to you,” the nurse explains.<br />
“Oh!” Grandma croons, snapping a few pictures.<br />
The nurse hands the baby back to her mother, who can’t take her eyes off the new person she created.<br />
<br />
“Welcome to the world, baby girl. Mama and Daddy love you more than anything, and we’ll love you no matter what.” Mom can only tear her eyes away from the baby long enough to give her husband his first kiss as a full-fledged father.<br />
<br />
<b>Write an active scene entirely in dialogue. No quotation marks; no he said-she said; no description of action—just the words the characters say. Don't explicitly tell us what the activity is, but through your characters' dialogue, make it clear what they're doing.</b><br />
<br />
--How much longer?<br />
--Just relax and try to keep up.<br />
--Man, anyone who says this is easy is kidding themselves.<br />
--Ha ha!<br />
--Can’t we just slow down for a minute?<br />
--Nope. You asked me to help, so I’m helping.<br />
--I’m beginning to regret that.<br />
--Really? c’mon, you can’t be serious.<br />
--I guess not...but you’re making this really hard.<br />
--That’s what she said!<br />
--Har har har. <br />
--Okay, I’ll slow down for a second. But then we’ll do a sprint at the end.<br />
--Ugh...deal.<br />
--Promise?<br />
--Yeah.<br />
***<br />
--Race you to the top of the hill!<br />
--NOOOOOO!</em></span><span style="font-size: 17px; font-weight: 900;"><em><br />
</em></span></span></div></span>Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-71924012356139796172012-01-17T23:49:00.000-06:002012-01-17T23:49:52.241-06:00Fiction prompts, part 1.Last week I signed up for Figment Fiction's daily fiction prompts, with the grand hope of writing something for each day's prompt and posting it here. Well, in classic fashion, I didn't get around to it all week, but I was determined to post at least a little bit today from last week's prompts. So, here we go.<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms',geneva;"><i><b><i><b><i><b><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: red;">Jan. 9</span> Using third person, write about a moment when a character who usually feels (and perhaps is) painfully awkward temporarily feels singularly beautiful, handsome, sexy, and at ease.</span></b></i></b></i></b></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms',geneva;"><i><b><i><b><i><b><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino; font-size: 11pt;">As she stepped out of the car and her paddock boots touched the dusty terrain, Jessie felt like she could breathe again. Forgotten were the disdainful looks she got from the upperclassmen as she tripped over her own feet at lunch. The echoes of the laughter as she stammered in Spanish class died away. Now there were only the soothing hoofbeats of Sasha, her favorite mare. Jessie now focused only on moving as one with the lithe animal, allowing the equine’s power to flow through her and reveling in the confidence that this, she could do well. The school-day mask fell away and at last, she allowed herself to smile. </span></b></i></b></i></b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms',geneva;"><i><b><i><b><i><b><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></b></i></b></i></b></i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino; font-size: 15px;"><i><b><i><b> <div style="display: inline ! important;"><div style="text-align: left;"><i><b><i><b> <div style="display: inline ! important;"><div style="display: inline ! important;"><span style="color: red;">Jan. 10 </span>Make a list of 20 angry words—they can be words related to anger or words that just sound mad. Now write about something you love/cherish/revere using as many of these words as you can</div></div></b></i></b></i></div></div></b></i></b></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino; font-size: 11pt;"><i><b><i><b> <div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">furious<br />
livid<br />
hot<br />
rage<br />
boiling<br />
feverish<br />
seething<br />
scream<br />
shout<br />
erupt<br />
vendetta<br />
revenge<br />
grudge<br />
humiliate<br />
withering<br />
disdain<br />
explode<br />
growl<br />
hiss<br />
sneer<br />
<br />
I set my mind to work, furiously tapping out the thoughts boiling through my brain. Feverish to contain the ideas seething below the surface, I fear the livid rage hiding just beneath them that is reserved for when they escape me. Sometimes writing can be a struggle not to scream aloud, repressing those urges to the level of a growl or a hiss at the internal editor shouting disdainfully at my poor structure, diction, or whatever it feels like picking on that day. I mentally sneer, vowing revenge of even more words tomorrow should it get the best of me today. The vendetta continues each time I put fingers to keyboard or pen to paper; my own mind seems to hold a grudge against me for pushing it to create new worlds, things that have never been, out of thin air. Yet, when I procrastinate too long, pent-up ideas nearly explode out of me, a somewhat humiliating experience when I allow myself to believe I have nothing to write. For now, however, I shoot the naysaying part of my brain a withering look, allowing the hot magma of new words a controlled eruption onto the blank pages. </div></div></b></i></b></i></span></div><span style="font-family: 'trebuchet ms',geneva;"><i><b><i><b><i><b><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua',palatino; font-size: 11pt;"></span></b></i></b></i></b></i></span>Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6735825520095400787.post-18798820524172499422012-01-10T01:44:00.001-06:002012-01-10T01:47:55.272-06:00Wow, thanks!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQvzk4kWktPrsbUC3mN9KCo1qo_RTz1rL1XyLmTjDgHaeJPYEWqluGxBuNvNZe3woXADUr-zEwuLHbhW-r1YXkMpstQo7ODJXZzpuxpvvttQQ0cFHgJen-m-STOpy1dVHzM2cw46sckGwO/s1600/liebster-blog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQvzk4kWktPrsbUC3mN9KCo1qo_RTz1rL1XyLmTjDgHaeJPYEWqluGxBuNvNZe3woXADUr-zEwuLHbhW-r1YXkMpstQo7ODJXZzpuxpvvttQQ0cFHgJen-m-STOpy1dVHzM2cw46sckGwO/s1600/liebster-blog1.jpg" /></a></div> I had my dear friend, <a href="http://augustmclaughlin.wordpress.com/2012/01/09/butter-heads-and-blog-awards/">August</a>, give me this shiny little badge for my humble little blog. Not being familiar with blog-type awards, I had to look it up. Turns out this is an award designed to recognize blogs with less than 200 followers. Part of this honor asks me to name five other blogs deserving of this award, and to share seven random things about myself. So, without further ado:<br />
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Liebster Blog awards!<br />
1. <a href="http://www.sojourner-ephraim.blogspot.com/">Paige at Sojourner</a>. She has a remarkable knack for phrasing her thoughts and feelings in a poetic way. Her blog is a glimpse into the life of a homeschooling mama with seven beautiful little ones.<br />
2. <a href="http://www.thekoldenblog.blogspot.com/">Tristy at the Kolden Blog</a>. She is mama to four beautiful boys and is expecting another miracle. <br />
3. <a href="http://poetsmusings-muser.blogspot.com/">Muser at Poet's Musings.</a> He is a beloved poetry professor at my alma mater. He often posts some of his original work at this blog, in addition to readings of famous poems he uploads to YouTube.<br />
4. <a href="http://dialecstatic.tumblr.com/">Kristin at Dialecstatic</a>. Her blog is equal parts alluring, hilarious, and inspiring. She is another talented poet.<br />
5. <a href="http://web.me.com/peterhemberger/Site/Home.html">Katy at August Earth</a>. Above and beyond being a lovely person, Katy is converting a traditional farm to a small CSA, and I hope to glean some information about how to start a kitchen garden from her!<br />
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<b>7 Random Facts about me:</b><br />
<b>1. I never learned to ride a bike.</b> This was one of the unfortunate side effects of being so much younger than my siblings. I was a cautious child and no one was determined to teach me, so it just didn't happen. I'll learn before the boys get big enough to want to bike all over the place.<br />
<b>2. I can write backwards and upside down. </b>I can also read backwards and/or upside down pretty well without a mirror.<br />
<b>3. I'd love to learn to speak Welsh.</b> I'm part Welsh but no living family members know it, and I love the language.<br />
<b>4. I showed in English hunter/jumper horse shows for seven years. </b>I miss it and wish I could ride again, but it takes time and money, neither of which I have a lot to spare these days.<br />
<b>5. I have sung and acted onstage.</b> I really love musicals and have been fortunate enough to participate in several before we had children. Hopefully someday I can do some more.<br />
<b>6. I played the clarinet through high school.</b> Yup, band/orchestra geek right here. I really like classical and jazz music.<br />
<b>7. I once owned a chameleon.</b> His name was Henry and he was glorious. Unfortunately he got sick and we couldn't find a vet or anyone who could help him, so he passed away. If my sons want to get one some day I will make sure that we know someone who can treat it if it should get sick.<br />
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Award winners: your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to name five other blogs you think are deserving of the Liebster Blog Award, and share 7 random facts about yourself. Let your honorees know about their award by posting on their blogs. Have fun! <br />
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There you have it. Now it's much too late so I am going to bed. Goodnight.Minervahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17803450940250232122noreply@blogger.com5