I'm hungry. I forgot to bring my lunch, and never found time to leave and go grab some. If blogs came with sound, you could hear my stomach growling right now, and me whimpering every so often.
I attended the most joyful funeral I have ever been to yesterday. Rutledge Beacham touched countless lives for the better. All agreed that he was always ready with a smile and nice to everyone - all the time. I know that I'm not, but would like to be. Hearing his closest friends speak about him, challenges me to actively do my best to be a kinder, gentler person and be nice to everyone - all. the. time. - so they too will feel the type of joy and love Rut left a person feeling after spending any amount of time with him. Rutlege will truly be missed.
I'll tell you what I am, I'm a Christian. If forced to state myself as either Calvanist or Arminian, I'd have to say I'm a 4 point Calvanist. And then I'll quickly tell you, I just go by the Bible - and Neither Calvin or Arminian is mentioned there. I just refuse to believe that Jesus only died for the sins of SOME, that God only truly loves the "elect". I've never been part of the "elect" in my life! So if that's true, I'm believing all this for nought - but I'm not. If you ever want to discuss Jesus, I'll tell you what I DO know... and while I'll never be the world's most renowned theologian, I KNOW my Redeemer lives, and He died for me - and for all.
This is the day that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend...no matter what I do today, it seems like 5 o'clock just won't get here!
I am hungry. I also just remembered that I didn't take anything out to make for dinner. I hate when that happens.
I had a week without my daughter, and discovered that without her I am STILL busy! I also discovered that even 14 years later, I still miss her every second that she's away. I'm beyond glad to have her back home.
I'm worried about my Mom's diabetes. She promises the past two weeks have been a "wake up call" and that she's serious and comitted to doing what she needs to do to keep the diabetes in check. I pray this is so.
I am hungry. I'm having flashbacks of the menu at Uncle Julio's - SO yummy.
I wish my landlord would finally fix the fence. I wish my landlord would have someone come deal with the huge dead pine tree before it falls onto the house. I wish I was more comfortable having a straightforward conversation about these things. Why do I shy away from anything that might seem confrontational? ...or that may render a response I won't be happy with? I'm almost 40 - why can't I do this??? Ugh.
Had a fun time talking with Mom about her days as a nun. Who knew she's kept a box of stuff related to that time in her life? I'm sure I've seen snippets - a photo of her in a habit, letters from a priest and a Mother Superior begging her not to leave the order. She's promised to bring the box the next time she visits - I can't wait to go through it with her!
I was also discussing Martin Luther with Mom. I was telling her about how the Catholic Church in Luther's time was making it's followers pay money for indulgences to keep themselves and their already passed on loved ones out of hell and/or purgatory. Then my Mom proceeds to tell me "Oh yeah, that was really wrong. You can't buy indulgences, you have to earn them". OH. MY. How to have the loving conversation with her that you can't possibly earn your way into Heaven, and no one even has to - THANK YOU GOD.
I am hungry. I can't really think of much other besides that at this point. I'm outta here, gonna get home and find something to eat.
Blessings until next time (which I hope will be a wonderful, meaningful blog.)
Monday, April 12, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
In the Land of Women
Anyone who knows me knows that my family is a family of all women. Yes, men have married into it, but none have been born into it - a fact we're all rather proud of (in a fun sort of way - we do love men!). Some folks call their family their "clan", their "tribe" or the "fruits and nuts I'm related to". I call my family "The Land of Women". This weekend I was blessed with a visit from three of my favorite "Land of Women" females: My Mother, My neice - Meagan, and her daughter (my Great-neice) - Elise.
As with any out of town visitors, the visit never goes exactly as you imagine (read: perfect). The trip was delayed and therefore shortened by a day. We're not Hilton's or Kennedy's - so there's never enough money to do all the shopping we want to do when we're together. My house wasn't quite as organized or spic-n-span as I'd wanted it to be, and mexican dinner night turned out some too salty tacos (our final shared meal together). No matter these things - it was a wonderful weekend and visit regardless, three days I wouldn't trade for anything.
My friend LeAnne wrote and posted a blog discussing grace and seeing beauty. She ended her blog by asking the readers what beauty they'd seen that day. Here was my comment:
Yesterday, I saw beauty in the females that were all in my living room at one time: My Mother - 69 years old, Myself - 38 years old, My Neice - 23 years old, My Daughter - 14 years old in 2 days, and My Great Niece - 6 months old. To see all these generations in one place, at one time, with so many shared experiences and so many experiences we've witnessed the others go through - and we're all alive, and we're well, and we're basically happy, and we all just love each other so much. To see it and feel it and be quietly aware of it amidst the chaos of Grandma repeatedly saying "Huh?" because she can't hear, the baby crying to have her diaper changed, the teenager painting her nails while listening to her iPod, the new Mom cooing at her baby - it was the most beautiful thing to me.
That really got me thinking about my family of all women.
There are so many differences in each of the females mentioned. There's me and Mom who don't think you should have to press "1" for "English" in the Good Ol' USA, and then there's Rebecca who thinks informational signs in public places should be in more than one language so that everyone, even immigrants, can easily read them. Mom and Meagan - both women who really take pride in their careers and in doing a really great job... and then me - who would love nothing more than to stay at home, sit on the sofa and eat bon-bons...not really. (Actually, I'd love not working so that I could volunteer or do some form of mission work locally or even far away.) I could go on and on about all of our differences.
And so wasn't it just really comforting to realize last night that there is one thing that we could ALL unequivocally agree on....RICHARD GERE IS A HANDSOME MAN. (We'll wait to get Elise's opinion on this matter until she's older - still, I'm almost positive she'll agree.) (Oh, and see...I told you we love men!) We also all agreed that if any of us had birthed a boy, we'd have thrown him out with the bathwater (not really). And we all agreed that we LOVE cheesecake and wished we'd thought to stop at Cheesecake Factory to get some.
I can look at the females in my family and see bits of each us in all the faces, the expressions, physical movements, even sometimes in the choice of words. It's amazing and wonderful to look at Elise and see a reflection of Meagan some 23 years ago. I can look at a picture of my sister Lydia and see my Mother's exact smile. I can talk to or email my sister Emmy and hear the same love for her grandchildren - so much love that it's almost heartbreaking - that my own Mother feels for her granddaughters. I watch Meagan and her sisters - and I recognize the ferocity and depth of their emotions - the same ferocity their Mother and I have always had...and expressed, sometimes regardless of the consequences. I look in awe and astonishment into the face of my own Rebecca and see not only myself but also my Father - one of the only men we ever deemed worthy of being in our family. I watch Rebecca and see the artistic creativity she inherited - not from me - but from my Mother.
I see these lives and all that has occurred, all that is occurring, and all that will occur - and I know that we are blessed beyond anything we can possibly fathom. I'll never know what it is to have a big brother. I'll never know what it is to have a nephew or a son. I'm sure there are many valuable and wonderful things I'll never know by the lack of men in our family. But what I do know is this, women are tough and soft, loud and quiet, happy and sad, confused and clearheaded, affirming and confidence-building, independent and interdependent, complete and unfinished - we're a mess and masterpiece - all at the same wondrous time. There is no place like The Land of Women, and nothing I'd rather call "family".
As with any out of town visitors, the visit never goes exactly as you imagine (read: perfect). The trip was delayed and therefore shortened by a day. We're not Hilton's or Kennedy's - so there's never enough money to do all the shopping we want to do when we're together. My house wasn't quite as organized or spic-n-span as I'd wanted it to be, and mexican dinner night turned out some too salty tacos (our final shared meal together). No matter these things - it was a wonderful weekend and visit regardless, three days I wouldn't trade for anything.
My friend LeAnne wrote and posted a blog discussing grace and seeing beauty. She ended her blog by asking the readers what beauty they'd seen that day. Here was my comment:
Yesterday, I saw beauty in the females that were all in my living room at one time: My Mother - 69 years old, Myself - 38 years old, My Neice - 23 years old, My Daughter - 14 years old in 2 days, and My Great Niece - 6 months old. To see all these generations in one place, at one time, with so many shared experiences and so many experiences we've witnessed the others go through - and we're all alive, and we're well, and we're basically happy, and we all just love each other so much. To see it and feel it and be quietly aware of it amidst the chaos of Grandma repeatedly saying "Huh?" because she can't hear, the baby crying to have her diaper changed, the teenager painting her nails while listening to her iPod, the new Mom cooing at her baby - it was the most beautiful thing to me.
That really got me thinking about my family of all women.
There are so many differences in each of the females mentioned. There's me and Mom who don't think you should have to press "1" for "English" in the Good Ol' USA, and then there's Rebecca who thinks informational signs in public places should be in more than one language so that everyone, even immigrants, can easily read them. Mom and Meagan - both women who really take pride in their careers and in doing a really great job... and then me - who would love nothing more than to stay at home, sit on the sofa and eat bon-bons...not really. (Actually, I'd love not working so that I could volunteer or do some form of mission work locally or even far away.) I could go on and on about all of our differences.
And so wasn't it just really comforting to realize last night that there is one thing that we could ALL unequivocally agree on....RICHARD GERE IS A HANDSOME MAN. (We'll wait to get Elise's opinion on this matter until she's older - still, I'm almost positive she'll agree.) (Oh, and see...I told you we love men!) We also all agreed that if any of us had birthed a boy, we'd have thrown him out with the bathwater (not really). And we all agreed that we LOVE cheesecake and wished we'd thought to stop at Cheesecake Factory to get some.
I can look at the females in my family and see bits of each us in all the faces, the expressions, physical movements, even sometimes in the choice of words. It's amazing and wonderful to look at Elise and see a reflection of Meagan some 23 years ago. I can look at a picture of my sister Lydia and see my Mother's exact smile. I can talk to or email my sister Emmy and hear the same love for her grandchildren - so much love that it's almost heartbreaking - that my own Mother feels for her granddaughters. I watch Meagan and her sisters - and I recognize the ferocity and depth of their emotions - the same ferocity their Mother and I have always had...and expressed, sometimes regardless of the consequences. I look in awe and astonishment into the face of my own Rebecca and see not only myself but also my Father - one of the only men we ever deemed worthy of being in our family. I watch Rebecca and see the artistic creativity she inherited - not from me - but from my Mother.
I see these lives and all that has occurred, all that is occurring, and all that will occur - and I know that we are blessed beyond anything we can possibly fathom. I'll never know what it is to have a big brother. I'll never know what it is to have a nephew or a son. I'm sure there are many valuable and wonderful things I'll never know by the lack of men in our family. But what I do know is this, women are tough and soft, loud and quiet, happy and sad, confused and clearheaded, affirming and confidence-building, independent and interdependent, complete and unfinished - we're a mess and masterpiece - all at the same wondrous time. There is no place like The Land of Women, and nothing I'd rather call "family".
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Freshman English and Happy Birthday Edgar Allen Poe!
"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door',
'Only this and nothing more.'"
Ah, The Raven. A popular and very long poem by Edgar Allen Poe. How I loved "The Fall of the House of Usher", "The Talisman" and much of his macabre poetry. What I didn't like was Poe being used as my punishment for taking the easy way out!
I was a Freshman at Western Hills High School in Ft. Worth, Texas - and fortunate to have Mr. Williams as my English teacher. The man had a true love of all things literary, and although I was already an avid reader of Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, and Shel Silverstein. I feel I owe my love of real, solid, gotta think about it literature to Mr. Williams. It is Mr. Williams who gave me a small book of the poetry of Robert Frost that caused me to ponder which road I would take if faced with a fork in a yellow wood (25 years later, I can tell you that I'm almost certain I've taken the one less traveled). It was in his class that I read, with fervor, Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" - and cried openly in class as we read the end. It was Mr. Williams who stopped me after that class to say "If you thought that was good, you might want to check out 'Wuthering Heights' from the library." (Those who know me well, know my undying love and affection for this - my favorite tortured love story of all time - THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU MR. WILLIAMS!) And it was in Mr. Williams class that I was introduced to the literary works of the great Edgar Allen Poe.
So, it's with some amount of shame I tell you this: It was also in Mr. Williams class when I was assigned a poetry memorizing project - which counted for 1/2 of my grade one 6-week period - and I took the easy way out. The assignment was to memorize a poem of at least 100 lines in length. Ask me how smart I thought I was when I discovered and memorized a poem that was exactly 100 lines in length - each line containing merely two words! It was a child's poem, and it had something to do with a king - that's all I remember. The class had four weeks to memorize a poem, it took me all of four minutes.
Finally the day for me to recite my memorized poem had arrived! I couldn't wait to crack my friends up with my silly little poem that met, just barely, the requirements of the assignment. Oh, I wish you could've seen my cocky self-assuredness as I rose from my desk and made my way to the front of the classroom. In just under 30 seconds I recited my entire poem, bowed, grinned and began to head back to my seat. "Stop right there Miss Martin", Mr. Williams snarled (and yes, I believe there was visible smoke coming out of his ears). I turned to face my teacher (who was much too good to be teaching us miserable high school teen agers). He begins to tell me, in front of my classmates how disappointed he was in me, how he knew I was capable of much more and that my score on this very important assignment was a ZERO.
Any student who was ever blessed enough to land in one of Mr. Williams classes will tell you that he was a ruthless disciplinarian, overly strict, a stingy and unfair grader (read: you actually had to work hard and deserve a good grade to get one), and he was NOT friends with his students. I agree wholeheartedly with all of these statements. What I also know is that Mr. Williams was extremely merciful. I got the zero for my poem, and the grade stood. However, Mr. Williams assinged me mandatory extra-credit - just me, no one else - I had to memorize "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe and recite it for the class in two weeks time. If I recited it perfectly, he would give me 90% - not even an "A"!
Because of two things: 1) my respect for Mr. Williams, and 2) my fear of facing my parents with an "F" in English on my report card, I resigned myself to the grueling task of memorizing the creepy poem and reciting it - very well I might add - to an audience of less than interested classmates just 2 weeks later. My grade was saved, and more importantly my favorite teacher once again regarded me with some small measure of esteem.
Ask me what I would give to be back in that class today? Or to just see Mr. Williams one more time and tell him of the great impact he had on my love of all things with a binding and printed pages! I want to thank him for making me do "better" and requiring me to live up to his expectations. I learned a lot in my Freshman English class - how to diagram a sentence, how to make sense of Shakespeare plays, how to write a Haiku, and even how to write a decent short story. Oh, but it's the life lessons I learned in Mr. Williams' class (this "always do your best" lesson was just one) that have meant the most and which I return to time and time again.
To read "The Raven" in its entirety, click here: http://www.houseofusher.net/raven.html
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
'Tis some visitor' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door',
'Only this and nothing more.'"
Ah, The Raven. A popular and very long poem by Edgar Allen Poe. How I loved "The Fall of the House of Usher", "The Talisman" and much of his macabre poetry. What I didn't like was Poe being used as my punishment for taking the easy way out!
I was a Freshman at Western Hills High School in Ft. Worth, Texas - and fortunate to have Mr. Williams as my English teacher. The man had a true love of all things literary, and although I was already an avid reader of Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, and Shel Silverstein. I feel I owe my love of real, solid, gotta think about it literature to Mr. Williams. It is Mr. Williams who gave me a small book of the poetry of Robert Frost that caused me to ponder which road I would take if faced with a fork in a yellow wood (25 years later, I can tell you that I'm almost certain I've taken the one less traveled). It was in his class that I read, with fervor, Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" - and cried openly in class as we read the end. It was Mr. Williams who stopped me after that class to say "If you thought that was good, you might want to check out 'Wuthering Heights' from the library." (Those who know me well, know my undying love and affection for this - my favorite tortured love story of all time - THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU MR. WILLIAMS!) And it was in Mr. Williams class that I was introduced to the literary works of the great Edgar Allen Poe.
So, it's with some amount of shame I tell you this: It was also in Mr. Williams class when I was assigned a poetry memorizing project - which counted for 1/2 of my grade one 6-week period - and I took the easy way out. The assignment was to memorize a poem of at least 100 lines in length. Ask me how smart I thought I was when I discovered and memorized a poem that was exactly 100 lines in length - each line containing merely two words! It was a child's poem, and it had something to do with a king - that's all I remember. The class had four weeks to memorize a poem, it took me all of four minutes.
Finally the day for me to recite my memorized poem had arrived! I couldn't wait to crack my friends up with my silly little poem that met, just barely, the requirements of the assignment. Oh, I wish you could've seen my cocky self-assuredness as I rose from my desk and made my way to the front of the classroom. In just under 30 seconds I recited my entire poem, bowed, grinned and began to head back to my seat. "Stop right there Miss Martin", Mr. Williams snarled (and yes, I believe there was visible smoke coming out of his ears). I turned to face my teacher (who was much too good to be teaching us miserable high school teen agers). He begins to tell me, in front of my classmates how disappointed he was in me, how he knew I was capable of much more and that my score on this very important assignment was a ZERO.
Any student who was ever blessed enough to land in one of Mr. Williams classes will tell you that he was a ruthless disciplinarian, overly strict, a stingy and unfair grader (read: you actually had to work hard and deserve a good grade to get one), and he was NOT friends with his students. I agree wholeheartedly with all of these statements. What I also know is that Mr. Williams was extremely merciful. I got the zero for my poem, and the grade stood. However, Mr. Williams assinged me mandatory extra-credit - just me, no one else - I had to memorize "The Raven" by Edgar Allen Poe and recite it for the class in two weeks time. If I recited it perfectly, he would give me 90% - not even an "A"!
Because of two things: 1) my respect for Mr. Williams, and 2) my fear of facing my parents with an "F" in English on my report card, I resigned myself to the grueling task of memorizing the creepy poem and reciting it - very well I might add - to an audience of less than interested classmates just 2 weeks later. My grade was saved, and more importantly my favorite teacher once again regarded me with some small measure of esteem.
Ask me what I would give to be back in that class today? Or to just see Mr. Williams one more time and tell him of the great impact he had on my love of all things with a binding and printed pages! I want to thank him for making me do "better" and requiring me to live up to his expectations. I learned a lot in my Freshman English class - how to diagram a sentence, how to make sense of Shakespeare plays, how to write a Haiku, and even how to write a decent short story. Oh, but it's the life lessons I learned in Mr. Williams' class (this "always do your best" lesson was just one) that have meant the most and which I return to time and time again.
To read "The Raven" in its entirety, click here: http://www.houseofusher.net/raven.html
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