176 years ago, Samuel Langhorne Clemens was born. In 8th grade, my first research paper, done with the aid of two sizes of index cards and the 42nd street library, focused on his writing.
After leaving school at 13, Clemens worked with printing presses, first as an apprentice and later with his brother. He also piloted a steam boat, which gave him his pen name- Mark Twain was a measure that indicated the river could be safely navigated.
During the Civil War, Clemens became a newspaper man, and worked all over the United States. And he wrote witty stories and tales. There was a magic to them.
He had a captivating way of capturing moments and characters, and these are present in all of the books and stories he shared with the world. Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn... The literary world is richer for his efforts.
Happy Birthday!
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Thursday, November 24, 2011
An Attitude of Gratitude
As the first event of the Christmas season, Thanksgiving is an opportunity to say “thank you” for all we have. And we have so much…
Electricity, in-door plumbing, washing machines… the list of modern conveniences goes on and on…
So where to start…
As this was a rough year for me, I am starting with a “Thank you” to everyone who I called in a moment of panic, crying in grief, angry beyond reason or laughing so hard it was difficult to breath. It is great to have such loving friends … So I am thankful you answered my calls…
I am thankful for my children, that they are with me, healthy… Doing what I do, and seeing what I see, this is such a huge thing…
I am thankful for my health and everyone helping me on my healthy journey… from joining me at Zumba to cheering my finally healthier choices… the support makes it possible.
I am thankful to have work I love, a home I will (God willing) own one day, and a life full of good things.
Health insurance… cable… landscaping… Tony Stewart...my beautiful bathroom… books that make me laugh out loud (John still thinks it is weird but there you go…)
Life is good.
Please pass the stuffing…
Monday, November 14, 2011
Stuff and space
When Kristen Strong wrote about wanted a smart phone, but God telling her it was not time, I laughed- Me and my flip phone feel you really. And I would do all that cool “click her to read the article” stuff if I had any idea how, but let’s face it. I am a low tech blogger. I mean when is the last time I uploaded a photo?
I digress…
The November 14, 2011 It’s Not for You, Sweet Thing on incourage.me reminded me of God encouraging me to do without. My spending fast attempts have been just pitiful, but at least now I am HYPER aware of my overspending.
I actually sat in a car and considered getting another loan to purchase it… What is wrong with me? I just paid off my last car nightmare, and I almost jumped in with both feet… Again! I walked away, but only barely…
I landscaped my desperate front lawn… A need, not a want… but a boatload of money just the same. It looks great and God is doing a great job of keeping it watered so far… though I thought I saw a little weed this morning that will be a goner this evening if I have my way.
I did take-out food twice this weekend… too lazy to be creative in the kitchen… and it was junky take-out at that. I let my daughter do the grocery shopping and some staples were overlooked. So much for delegating…
At least the news is not all bad. I went to the library instead of the bookstore. Goodwill got 7 boxes of crap that used to live in my house. And after working at it yesterday, I think I have another 2-3 ready to go.
My giant laundry room, AKA the household dumping ground, where all old things go to die, is starting to show signs of having a floor again (don’t ask how high the laundry pile was- I am so embarrassed I would have to lie) And the counter where you are supposed to fold the clothes (except it is usually piled high with clean clothes) is actually functional again. The goal to have to space emptied and organized by Christmas… 40 days… Yikes!
And my garage- I just do not know where all the stuff is coming from. I will need a U-haul to get it all to Goodwill. Not to mention some folks with more upper body strength than me.
George Carlin was right… A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it- and since I will not be expanding the cover any time soon, I need to shrink the pile.
I digress…
The November 14, 2011 It’s Not for You, Sweet Thing on incourage.me reminded me of God encouraging me to do without. My spending fast attempts have been just pitiful, but at least now I am HYPER aware of my overspending.
I actually sat in a car and considered getting another loan to purchase it… What is wrong with me? I just paid off my last car nightmare, and I almost jumped in with both feet… Again! I walked away, but only barely…
I landscaped my desperate front lawn… A need, not a want… but a boatload of money just the same. It looks great and God is doing a great job of keeping it watered so far… though I thought I saw a little weed this morning that will be a goner this evening if I have my way.
I did take-out food twice this weekend… too lazy to be creative in the kitchen… and it was junky take-out at that. I let my daughter do the grocery shopping and some staples were overlooked. So much for delegating…
At least the news is not all bad. I went to the library instead of the bookstore. Goodwill got 7 boxes of crap that used to live in my house. And after working at it yesterday, I think I have another 2-3 ready to go.
My giant laundry room, AKA the household dumping ground, where all old things go to die, is starting to show signs of having a floor again (don’t ask how high the laundry pile was- I am so embarrassed I would have to lie) And the counter where you are supposed to fold the clothes (except it is usually piled high with clean clothes) is actually functional again. The goal to have to space emptied and organized by Christmas… 40 days… Yikes!
And my garage- I just do not know where all the stuff is coming from. I will need a U-haul to get it all to Goodwill. Not to mention some folks with more upper body strength than me.
George Carlin was right… A house is just a pile of stuff with a cover on it- and since I will not be expanding the cover any time soon, I need to shrink the pile.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Verteran's Day
Back in the days of World War I, or the Great War, as it was known at the time, because who could have imagined then that WWII was just around the corner, my grandfather went to war with his brother John.
They were conscripts in the British Army… as Ireland had not yet achieved independence and was still part of the “Empire”.
I often think of how my grandfather felt when John was shot and killed in a field in Northern France. His mother was sent a picture of his grave…
I wonder how my grandfather felt as a prisoner of war.
Or how disappointing it was to have his escape from the prison camp foiled, how painful it was when they beat him with a shovel for trying…
He survived, and was eventually able to bribe his way out. I learned all this from my father. Grandpa never talked about any of this with me.
On finding freedom, he rejoined the British and was sent to Northern Africa. He served under a British officer, Larry. This story Grandpa did tell me, as we sat in the living room of my childhood home.
After a series of thefts, Larry declared he would execute the thief by firing squad. The thefts continued, coins, lighters, and money clips all going missing.
And then the culprit, a monkey belonging to one of the soldiers, was caught in the act and apprehended. Larry, always a man of his word, ordered the monkey bound and blindfolded, even having them allow the monkey a cigarette before they shot the little beast.
That was Larry for you, my Grandpa said with pride. Then I went off to get Grandpa his whiskey and water- “A little more whiskey than water, my dear.”
As I walked to the kitchen, my father stopped me. Clearly he had been listening.
“Do you know who the officer was?”
I shook my head… Grandpa had not said a last name.
“Lawrence of Arabia”
My grandpa didn’t share any of his other war stories with me. I wish he had.
Today, I remember him and all those who have served. Freedom isn’t free.
They were conscripts in the British Army… as Ireland had not yet achieved independence and was still part of the “Empire”.
I often think of how my grandfather felt when John was shot and killed in a field in Northern France. His mother was sent a picture of his grave…
I wonder how my grandfather felt as a prisoner of war.
Or how disappointing it was to have his escape from the prison camp foiled, how painful it was when they beat him with a shovel for trying…
He survived, and was eventually able to bribe his way out. I learned all this from my father. Grandpa never talked about any of this with me.
On finding freedom, he rejoined the British and was sent to Northern Africa. He served under a British officer, Larry. This story Grandpa did tell me, as we sat in the living room of my childhood home.
After a series of thefts, Larry declared he would execute the thief by firing squad. The thefts continued, coins, lighters, and money clips all going missing.
And then the culprit, a monkey belonging to one of the soldiers, was caught in the act and apprehended. Larry, always a man of his word, ordered the monkey bound and blindfolded, even having them allow the monkey a cigarette before they shot the little beast.
That was Larry for you, my Grandpa said with pride. Then I went off to get Grandpa his whiskey and water- “A little more whiskey than water, my dear.”
As I walked to the kitchen, my father stopped me. Clearly he had been listening.
“Do you know who the officer was?”
I shook my head… Grandpa had not said a last name.
“Lawrence of Arabia”
My grandpa didn’t share any of his other war stories with me. I wish he had.
Today, I remember him and all those who have served. Freedom isn’t free.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” ~ Neale Donald Walsch
Peace Corps
Childbirth
Sky-diving
Three very different events, with a common theme.
They are all scary, exciting adventures. They each come with inherent risk. And I did each one.
Peace Corps was a life-long dream filled with uncertainty. A new country. A new culture, a whole new life when you step off the plane that hits you over and over, like waves at the beach on a day of rough seas. All your traditional supports, family, friends, familiar landmarks- are far away. Speaking roughly in a language that is not your own- it is so much harder, so much work all the time… until the time when you find yourself no longer thinking in English…and you look at the people around you and know that they now are part of your family, part of your soul…and just when it all becomes “home” you return to a landscape you were born to that no longer seems familiar.
Childbirth, which can’t be understood unless you understand. After three very different births under three very different sets of circumstances, the truth I found is that giving life is a gift from God. That said, the physical work of birthing a child is not what makes you a mom. During labor the pain is overwhelming until it vanishes, and there is a brand new life they place in your arms.
With my daughter, I was so weak after she arrived from my huge blood loss, I was terrified I would drop her. My sister sat next to me, holding my sweet girl to my face, until she was taken to the NICU. I saw her only once again before we were discharged five days later. Isolated on a different unit, too weak to travel even within the hospital, I signed for the sepsis work-up, I was transfused, and we were apart. Finally I was able to take her home- I remember her being so small inside her yellow snowsuit. And so tiny in the great big car seat…
And the little voice in my head saying, “Don’t screw up, you’re a Mommy now.”
And my aching body swore, “NEVER AGAIN!”
Yeah, right…
Sky-diving was terrifying to contemplate. Crazy, yet irresistible. And in my family, it was a tradition…sort of… My brother and my cousin had each done it, and raved about how awesome it was. As a girl who bootlegged flying lessons till she found out she could never qualify as a pilot, I was game to try. Two of my friends were going to join me… except the married one was told by his wife “OVER MY DEAD BODY” or words to that effect. Then my other friend backed out at the last minute.
What is a girl to do?
I went anyway.
I drove up to the Catskills, signed a thousand consent forms, watched a video of a super hippie with a crazy long white beard in an old school bus turned classroom, got goggles, a helmet, and gloves and went to be placed in my harness. A tight harness is a good harness. As a single, I went up in the first plane of the day. I was too excited to be scared- which may point to insanity on some level.
At 3000 feet up, the plane door was rolled up and the first three skydivers went out without hesitation. These were experienced folks, free diving. As a novice, I was going tandem, my Master Diver firmly linked behind me, harness to harness.
We stood by the door, looking at the rolling hills alive with autumn colors as far as the eye could see. As he showed me in practice, we rocked in the doorway.
One…
Two…
On three, we dropped into space, and I could not catch my breath in the rush of the cold air.
My instructor had told me as we went through prep- “If you can’t breathe, close your mouth” which at the time sounded odd, but on closing my mouth, I was able to breathe again. And we raced towards earth.
45 seconds of free fall really cleanses your mind… You are free in a way that is hard to understand.
At 5500 feet above the ground, the D-Ring pulled, my chute deploys and we are jerked hard upward as the parachute fills and slows our fall. Now I understand why the harness needs to be almost painfully tight.
We glide to earth and the rolling hills are brilliant. My heart is racing, adrenaline ignites my body and pulses through me.
We safely land and I feel alive in a new way. Like the world is open to me. All things are possible.
I have built my life and myself from my choices and experiences. Every time I take a risk, change my life, I am a different person because of them. Each one helped me get to the place I am now.
Sky-diving, anyone?
Childbirth
Sky-diving
Three very different events, with a common theme.
They are all scary, exciting adventures. They each come with inherent risk. And I did each one.
Peace Corps was a life-long dream filled with uncertainty. A new country. A new culture, a whole new life when you step off the plane that hits you over and over, like waves at the beach on a day of rough seas. All your traditional supports, family, friends, familiar landmarks- are far away. Speaking roughly in a language that is not your own- it is so much harder, so much work all the time… until the time when you find yourself no longer thinking in English…and you look at the people around you and know that they now are part of your family, part of your soul…and just when it all becomes “home” you return to a landscape you were born to that no longer seems familiar.
Childbirth, which can’t be understood unless you understand. After three very different births under three very different sets of circumstances, the truth I found is that giving life is a gift from God. That said, the physical work of birthing a child is not what makes you a mom. During labor the pain is overwhelming until it vanishes, and there is a brand new life they place in your arms.
With my daughter, I was so weak after she arrived from my huge blood loss, I was terrified I would drop her. My sister sat next to me, holding my sweet girl to my face, until she was taken to the NICU. I saw her only once again before we were discharged five days later. Isolated on a different unit, too weak to travel even within the hospital, I signed for the sepsis work-up, I was transfused, and we were apart. Finally I was able to take her home- I remember her being so small inside her yellow snowsuit. And so tiny in the great big car seat…
And the little voice in my head saying, “Don’t screw up, you’re a Mommy now.”
And my aching body swore, “NEVER AGAIN!”
Yeah, right…
Sky-diving was terrifying to contemplate. Crazy, yet irresistible. And in my family, it was a tradition…sort of… My brother and my cousin had each done it, and raved about how awesome it was. As a girl who bootlegged flying lessons till she found out she could never qualify as a pilot, I was game to try. Two of my friends were going to join me… except the married one was told by his wife “OVER MY DEAD BODY” or words to that effect. Then my other friend backed out at the last minute.
What is a girl to do?
I went anyway.
I drove up to the Catskills, signed a thousand consent forms, watched a video of a super hippie with a crazy long white beard in an old school bus turned classroom, got goggles, a helmet, and gloves and went to be placed in my harness. A tight harness is a good harness. As a single, I went up in the first plane of the day. I was too excited to be scared- which may point to insanity on some level.
At 3000 feet up, the plane door was rolled up and the first three skydivers went out without hesitation. These were experienced folks, free diving. As a novice, I was going tandem, my Master Diver firmly linked behind me, harness to harness.
We stood by the door, looking at the rolling hills alive with autumn colors as far as the eye could see. As he showed me in practice, we rocked in the doorway.
One…
Two…
On three, we dropped into space, and I could not catch my breath in the rush of the cold air.
My instructor had told me as we went through prep- “If you can’t breathe, close your mouth” which at the time sounded odd, but on closing my mouth, I was able to breathe again. And we raced towards earth.
45 seconds of free fall really cleanses your mind… You are free in a way that is hard to understand.
At 5500 feet above the ground, the D-Ring pulled, my chute deploys and we are jerked hard upward as the parachute fills and slows our fall. Now I understand why the harness needs to be almost painfully tight.
We glide to earth and the rolling hills are brilliant. My heart is racing, adrenaline ignites my body and pulses through me.
We safely land and I feel alive in a new way. Like the world is open to me. All things are possible.
I have built my life and myself from my choices and experiences. Every time I take a risk, change my life, I am a different person because of them. Each one helped me get to the place I am now.
Sky-diving, anyone?
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
All Saint's day
All Saints Day is a holiday meant to honor all the saints, known and unknown. We celebrate today.
All Souls Day- day of the dead- is tomorrow and celebrates all who have gone ahead of us. All my EB angels and all those loved ones I have said goodbye to... "Till we meet again..."
Catholics celebrate All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day in the fundamental belief that there is a prayerful spiritual communion between those in the state of grace who have died and are either being purified in purgatory or are in heaven. The priest discussed how this is the one holy day that is all about us. That sainthood is sometimes a lifetime of quietly helping others.
In our little chapel in the A building, I prayed for those who have gone before me. Even if, in my heart of hearts, I know they are the ones giving me strength on my bad days. Today was about thanking them, with love.
All Souls Day- day of the dead- is tomorrow and celebrates all who have gone ahead of us. All my EB angels and all those loved ones I have said goodbye to... "Till we meet again..."
Catholics celebrate All Saints' Day and All Souls' Day in the fundamental belief that there is a prayerful spiritual communion between those in the state of grace who have died and are either being purified in purgatory or are in heaven. The priest discussed how this is the one holy day that is all about us. That sainthood is sometimes a lifetime of quietly helping others.
In our little chapel in the A building, I prayed for those who have gone before me. Even if, in my heart of hearts, I know they are the ones giving me strength on my bad days. Today was about thanking them, with love.
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