everybody gets prizes

Death of a Dyson Box

2010-10-28T06:47:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about writing again for awhile, and so I am setting myself up to start from here. Let's just pretend that almost 2 years have not passed and that we are headed in a whole new direction. More on that soon.

Last year, during this time, I was mad at my vacuum. The bristle suction thingy was playing tug of war with me and my long curly red hair, and the hair won. We needed a replacement. I somehow convinced my husband that if he plunked down the 400 bucks or so for the new Dyson, that not only would our house be freshly vacuumed on a daily basis, but he would be investing in the wave of the future. The best technology in Vacuums. What I didn't plan for was the affect it would have on my children.

Now, if you are thinking that they wanted to do the vacuuming, you are wrong. If you think that they are scared of the loud and roaring sounds that said vacuum produced, wrong again. If you own a Dyson, you know that besides being an obnoxious yellow, they come in a sleek black box with detailed instructions in multiple languages. If you are a Troutman kid, the box is always the hit. Any box. Tiny jewelry box, cereal box, refrigerator box, moving box. My kids dig boxes. Maybe they don't have enough toys. Maybe they have great imaginations. Probably both.

Child number three, male, red haired like mama, and also known as "Charles Wallace" by a select few, is kind of macabre. Upon opening the new Vacuum and after the oohs and ahhhs subsided, we carefully placed the black box in the garage near the trash cans to go out the following day. The following day came and went and the black box was nowhere to be found. Not thinking much of it, and assuming the trash collectors had taken the box, we went about our lives eating, drinking, sleeping, vacuuming as normal. Child number three, age 4 at the time, began inquiring about the dead, mummification, embalming methods, etc. While we were slightly alarmed, we realized that Halloween was upon us and perhaps the Spiderman costume was played out. When he asked me to roll him in toilet paper before bed that night, I was skeptical, but I humored him, and lightly "mummified" my son.

The following night when he asked me again to mummify him, I decided to try and figure out what was going on in the noggin. I followed him into his room and everything looked normal. I sat on his bed and talked to him about ancient Egypt, and looked through a book about it. I turned off the light and walked out of the room. A couple of hours later, I went in to check on him and lo and behold, the black vacuum box had reappeared looking like a long sleek coffin, and lying on my sons bunk bed. When I peered inside, I found my little boy, sleeping in a stiff straight position. What is a mom to do? Do I freak out and wake him up and seek counseling for all of us? Do I cast out weird Vacuum box demons, and return the beloved Dyson? Do I wait until morning and sneak into the room and discard the box?

I opted to wait until the "stage" had passed and then quietly remove the cardboard coffin from my son's room. The way I see it, my children want to learn, know, become wise, and experience what they are hearing. When you read about fast sports cars, don't you want to drive one? When I read about a delicious chocolate cake recipe, you can bet that I will be making it. When we learned about the majesty of the Grand Canyon...we had to see it for ourselves. When little boys read about Ancient Egypt, they may see a "mummy box" in your vacuum packaging. I am proud of my little guy for using his resources to experience something new, and although I was mildly disturbed by his obsession with the dead for a few weeks, I came to realize that imagination is the mark of all the greatest authors, inventors, painters, and thinkers. Even the macabre ones.

Getting out of town

2009-05-05T12:56:00.000-07:00

We are almost off again! Today Christo and I will take the boys on a camping and hiking trip in Georgia for a few days. Memories to be made. Songs to be sung. Pictures to be taken. Secret handshakes to be invented. Yes...I love these times.
Since my last post I have read a bunch of books, started lifting weights 3 times a week and running every other day. Fitness is just another one of my crazy quarterly obsessions. I never know what will be next. I lose interest in things after about 3 months and pick up a whole new hobby. Keeps things exciting around here. Stay tuned in for my Body For Life results which I will post someday...

Gray sweatshirt

2009-02-06T07:12:00.000-08:00

We had the most wonderful Honeymoon. It was a three week road trip up the east coast from Florida to Maine and back. We stayed in every state along the way accept Vermont where we only ate lunch and enjoyed the greenness.

We drove our green Pathfinder loaded up with camping gear and suitcases, but we left plenty of room for what we might find as we scavenged the coast for treasures. In the end we did come home with a bench made from reclaimed wood and old theatre seats, a handful of skeleton keys which I had to have b/c they were old and elegant, 3 maple syrup catching tins from an antique barn in rural Maine, chocolate covered cranberries from a haunted Bed and Breakfast we stayed in for a few days, a corner cupboard (that doesn't actually fit in a corner b/c it has a strange angle) from an art/funky furniture store in Asheville, NC., and many more random things, but one of my best memories is conjured up each time I wear my touristy gray sweatshirt that says: "Nantucket" across the front.

Have you ever had a time where it was so ridiculously comfortable in that moment that the only thing messing up the moment was that you knew it couldn't last and that realization made it kind of painful? Nantucket was like that for me. It was like a time warp. Perfect weather in July, beach, town, art, great food. Wonderful. Christo and I rented bikes (which is hell on a cobblestone road) and we went into the town for ice cream. We sat on a bench and I just laughed at how everything was so wonderful right then. I could eat strawberry ice cream on a warm and sunny day, on a bench , in Nantucket , with the love of my life, every single day for the rest of my life and that to me would be Heaven.

The comfort of the moment did pass and we have not been able to get back there again, but I am painting this piece of my heart now. My canvas is sketched and needs paint and other junk on it, but it will get done and hang over that bench from Maine one day, right next to the wall with the key ring hanger, where the skeleton keys will be, and I will have my little honeymoon shrine and we will sit on that bench and eat ice cream from Publix and it won't feel the same, but it will still be sweet because what made Nantucket and that day so wonderful wasn't any of that stuff....it was him.

Wally Lamb

2009-01-07T11:51:00.000-08:00

I have never really given a book review on here, but I must do it now. Over the last year I read 2 of the most fabulous, real, raw, true, funny, honest, strange and beautiful books. Wally Lamb somehow captures both genders in amazing and painfully honest ways. The first book I read is She's Come Undone, about an obese girl coming of age and growing through adulthood with a multitude of problems and interesting circumstances, and unlike current trends in comtemporary fiction, the ending is comfortable and happy, not post-modern and strange. Loved It! The next is probably the best book I have ever read- I mean ever...including everything I read in college pusuing a literature degree. It is called I Know This Much Is True. This book is about twin brothers, one has a mental illness, and the other is "normal" which means nothing as you will see in the book. It is a beautiful weaving of 4 generations from Italy to America and the strange truths and lies that grow us into who we are. His new book The Hour I First Believed, came out in November and I have just started it and already I find myself relating to each character and experiencing the master painter at work. Lamb paints people with words. Wonderful and inspiring fiction- check it out!

Inspiration /wooden spoons /Motherhood

2008-12-02T11:29:00.000-08:00

I took a break from blogging for awhile because if there is one thing that I am, it is inconsistent. I am constantly switching my passions- that is why I began to blog in the first place. I wanted to have a space to relay my dreams and desires with others and give myself a platform to write about my ideas. So since my last post in late October I have begun writing a book, making jewelry, painted some canvases, taken a fabulous trip with my kids and husband and started a hunt for the perfect vanagon. Yes- I am a little busy. Today is my first day back at home since the trip to Virginia with dear friends and I have washed the curtains, started post-vacation laundry, done quite a bit of Christmas decorating, made roll out Christmas cookies with the kids and iced them, did a decoupage project with 3 of the 4 kids, and it is only 2:30- at this rate maybe I will actually complete a project for myself.

I am mostly not very excited about domestic tasks such as cleaning, cooking, and child rearing. I prefer to work alone painting, writing, day dreaming etc...but hey, God gave me 4 children and a desire to homeschool that currently outweighs the desire to put them in school, so here I am fighting against the clock and trying desperately to carve out time to do what I want to do instead of what I HAVE to do. It is a losing battle. I love my kids and love to have them home with me, but I do get frustrated with the constant messes and the endless wants and needs and whining. I love Teddy Roosevelt's quote: "speak softly and carry a big stick" but I find myself often yelling loudly and carrying a big wooden spoon. Just being honest here...

I do most of my day dreaming at night now when I can hear myself think. I dream of spotless houses with large organized art studios and shiny new supplies for creating incredible works of art. But then I consider that my inspiration will have had to have flown the coop if those dreams were a reality. No children could live at this dream house and thus my art would be somewhat less fulfilling to me. Empty. And who knows if I could hope to be more inspired when I could day dream during the day- perhaps the silence would then be deafening and I could no longer hear the pure ring of inspiration in my ears.

So for now I must steal away to an art room with a few laundry baskets filled with folded size 4 star wars underpants, a rubber ducky that somehow made it from the tub and onto my sewing machine, a board book with tiny baby teeth marks where love for a story has made them want to literally consume it, and pages of journals of fabulous ideas just wait for the day to be created...

Someday when I actually hear myself think, I can start working on these things, but for now I will embrace the inspiration, all four of them.

Trees and Textiles

2008-10-22T08:37:00.000-07:00

photo by charlybarley

Sometimes I am surprised by the metaphors that pop into my head. Typically they are general such as: My husband"s eyes are as blue as the ocean/sky etc... Rather boring actually. But every once in awhile, My eyes clamp down on something and an entirely different image springs to mind. Once that happens, I cannot let it go.

Last summer, we did a crazy thing and took our 4 little kids (4,3,2, and 5 months) on a 3 week road trip to Colorado and a list of other exciting places. We covered 7 National Parks. We camped out. We stayed at a bed and breakfast that allowed no kids. Sage slept in the suitcase. We stayed at an almost dilapidated dude ranch. We saw a fair amount of wildlife, made snowballs, hiked, rode horses, lost stuff, found stuff etc. Perfect family adventure. My greatest discovery, besides a fabulous necklace made of petrified wood and gathered by Native American women in New Mexico, was my sighting of my very first Aspen Trees!

To say they are beautiful is an understatement. When they stand there, so long and thin, they are delicate and yet so strong. I fell in love with them at once. Every time a mountainside was covered in Aspen trees, I would take a deep breath and stare until they were beyond my line of vision. The fast car that we drove and the bundle of kids that we have, kept me in check or else we may have stopped for too long at the lookout points.

My favorite thing about the Aspens are the leaves, although the trunks do resemble slender silver strands that glisten in the cool mountain air. The leaves are somewhat circular and soft green. They are very light weight and each lets the others have its own space. They did not have to fight for a place on the branches. They all turn the same direction and slightly droop. When a great wind comes, they do not fall off the tree, but rather, they dance in unison and sway together very gently. If you listen closely, you can hear the music that the swishing leaves make for the rest of the mountain. There is something seductive about these dainty trees.

And now the word picture that I embraced and cannot forget. As we came upon those trees for the first time, I felt like I had arrived uninvited at some kind of celebration of foliage. Textiles immediately littered my mind. I thought about those evening gowns that are made up of shiny slick circles that are held together with a mesh under layer. When the long and lean lady moves, the circles swish and sway with her. They do not compete with one another, each has been carefully stitched to that under layer and will be seen. So here I am at the forest foliage extravaganza and I am dressed in jeans. So I stayed in the car of course. I did not feel like I had the right to approach the frail but intimidating ladies.

I know it is both strange to feel unworthy next to a tree, and also to compare leaves to evening gowns, but I sew and I am just a regular girl after all. So there it is.

Memories of my Earth Mama

2008-10-17T06:49:00.000-07:00

One of my earliest memories of my Mother is also one of my favorite memories. She has always been the kind of girl that stops to smell the flowers, literally. She loves to garden and look at birds and squirrels and turtles, knowing each by their proper classification name. I never really took to her intense love of the animal and plant kingdom, but have always cherished this in my Mother.

Some may think that traveling around town with two little girls and a large pair of garden shears in the backseat, could be a dangerous situation. Not my mom. If we were to squeal, "look mom- all those beautiful wildflowers!" the car would come to a halt on the side of a road and she would be out in the field, armed with her shears, gathering a bouquet for our table. My sister and I would watch cautiously from the station wagon windows, hoping simultaneously that she would not get hit by a car, and that she had clipped enough. When she returned to the car, she would take a napkin dipped in water and wrap the cut stems up in them and put the flowers in a plastic bag to keep them fresh and hydrated. We thought she was amazing.

She loved this pair of cut off jeans that were rather holey. They were very short, but due to her Arabic heritage, she has a great year round tan and trim legs so they looked great on her. She always lent a helping hand to those who needed her most and this was one of those days. I remember the car screeching to a stop and the next thing I knew, she was out in the road, in her tiny shorts, carrying a massive turtle out of harms way. Nose pressed to the glass, I looked at her as if she were a heroine. My mom, friend of turtles.

More recently, Christo and I brought home a plant from a sale at someones farm. On our way home, we heard squeaking sounds coming from the car. Were we going to break down? Were the kids choking? We moved the plant around in the backseat and the squeaks ceased. It was definitely the plant. When we got home, I was thoroughly afraid of what was lurking under the green leaves. Could it be a mouse? Was it a snake? Do snakes squeak?

I was frantic and Christo began to try to jimmy the plant out of the pot. As he worked on it, it became evident that it was a bird's nest and there were several baby birds inside. The pot broke because we felt compelled to save the birds and not the plant. So what do we do now? I was not ready to be a mom to baby birds. I did not need a case of "Are You My Mother?" with 3 little humans to care for as well. So I call mom. She rushes over, gives them the appropriate mixture of sugar water in a dropper she brought from home. Then she established the kind of birds that they were. She created a makeshift habitat with the right kind of newsprint and remnants from the destroyed nest. Once again I stared with awe. She is my Mom, Saviour of baby birds. She took them to the bird rescue: Mission Accomplished!

It turns out my Mother is not only looking out for me- She is a true Earth Mother for all.

Scr- Babble

2008-10-15T06:40:00.000-07:00

Last night at about 9 pm, the giggles of children subsided as they drifted into dreamland and we looked at each other with wide eyes that screamed, "You want to?" "Me too!"

After a few moments of setting the right mood, we began to party like only writers/parents/readers/lovers can. We got out that dictionary, set up the Earl Gray, and loaded down on the tiles....scrabble was on! We found that our brains were somewhat mush with words like axe and pi....but ozone, sniper, beige, and fink, though small words, proved to be quite high scorers.

Moral Dilemma: Is it okay to use nasty, low quality words on family game boards if the kids are sleeping?

I won't say who had the potty mouth, but could you blame them if that is all that they had? I mean if your options are slim, do you go for the high scoring profanity, or the missed turn for piety's sake? Obviously, not too much hesitation here at out house.

Yours truly won the game by at least 50 points, although Christo has the superior vocabulary.

p.s.- the naughty word is in the American Heritage Dictionary with a vast array of definitions. It in fact, dates back to the 1500's and was first used in Cambridge in a poem- so who has the dirty mind here.

Genes and Dreams

2008-10-14T10:01:00.000-07:00

photo by plecojan

Have you ever wondered whether genetics play a role in your career path or talents? Would Lisa Marie Presley have been a singer if her daddy wasn't The King of rock and roll? Bob Dylan and his son...Miley Cyrus and Billy Ray? The Kennedy's and politics? The Judd's? Would Meredith Grey have pursued a career in surgery if her mom were not a famous Doctor? Okay - the last one is stretching it being that it is fiction- but you get the jist.

I tend to think that the answer is no becuase Billy Ray is Billy Ray and Lisa Marie can't even compare with Elvis. But to be truly excellent at something becasue of a genetic predisposition is a pleasant thought. Can you imagine saying, "I can't help it that I am such an excellent ____."? If this is true, Michaels Phelps' children will probably win 10 gold medals someday.

I love the movie Immortal Beloved about Beethoven. In it, he decides for his nephew, (who ends up being his own child) that he will be a famous pianist and composer just like himself. As his guardian, he makes the child study day and night. Beethoven is of course very deaf and cannot hear how absolutely terrible his son/nephew is at the piano. He has none of the gifting that his father/uncle is blessed with. But he is Beethoven's son/nephew and so much is expected.

Are we inclined by nature to be pretty good at the things that our parents thrive in? Do we share common gifts and goals because of the gene pool and life cicumstances? My aunt was reading my blog and shared with me that my great grandmother was a writer. She woke daily at 5 am to write because she HAD to write. Her children (8 of them I think) would consume the rest of her day and so she carved out a dawn time ritual that let her enjoy her craft, hobby, what have you.

I loved finding out this tid-bit of info because it encouraged me to press on. To write because I love the process. To have time to myself that is actually for just me. I would like to think that I shall have the same gift that Elizabeth Riley did many years ago. She did write a book of poetry and I would love to get my hands on it. I love that perhaps the gene pool will give me a chance at writing because of her. I did get this random head of red hair from someone in my ancestry, perhaps I will flourish because of a little science.

Opinions on this are welcomed.

Collecting

2008-10-13T10:37:00.000-07:00

photo by Catherine Jamieson

I have a few collections.

I collect snow globes that are tasteful, not gaudy.

I collect books- too many to count.

I collect buttons and vintage sewing "findings" such as measuring tapes, spools, old ric rac, fabric etc.

I collect cancelled stamps that have already been somewhere. They have seen a few states or countries. They have a story to tell. They have a history. Some of them date back to the early part of the 20th century. They are old and I am young.

I collect old photographs and postcards, some familiar and others strange to me.

But, my most valuable collection cannot be gathered and displayed. It cannot be framed or used in any art project. It will never be covered in dust. If a fire destroyed the contents of my entire house, the collection would not be singed. If I wanted to take my collection to an auction house, they could not offer me enough money to make it worth my time.

My most valuable collection consists of things that cannot exist without me. I must be here, or they have no curator. No one to take the edge off. No one to deal with the ugliness that some of them wear as a banner. Oh, and they have power. The power to hurt, heal, make happy, and destroy. Each little piece of my most prized collection has it's own zeitgeist. It's own frame of reference. It's own possibilities.

I have a collection...I collect memories.

Being Relevant WHILE Being Faithful

2008-10-10T05:38:00.000-07:00

photo: rio de gente - people river by z e n g a

I want to be relevant.
I want to read books that keep me aware and informed.
I want to help causes that need my help.
I don't want to put on lenses of prudish, pious, puritanical protection from the outside.
I want to see the job that needs to be done and then actually do it.
I want to be able to walk into a bar, a shop, a club, a market, a carnival, a festival, a church and be in the right place. Not be a sore thumb, not be a snob, not be a freak, or a self-righteous show-off.
I want to be calm in places that make my heart beat fast, and not too comfortable in places that seem like home.
I want to feel the itch that pain is near and I could possibly be the balm.
I want to see humanity with a simple scope and clear hope.
I want to walk with a plan and yet let the plan fall to the wayside if the moment craves some spontaneity.

I want to be faithful.
I want to read the only Book that truly matters.
I want to be the good Samaritan and a Friend that helps to set the captives free.
I am a Mary Magdalene. I want to know her heart and feel her passion.
I want to focus on the man who comes riding on a white charger and not let my gaze be moved.
I want to walk into any place at all, any country at all, and know that I do not belong and I won't belong, because I am from another world and speak another language.
I want to be wise, loving, thoughtful and considerate.
I want to see humanity, my brothers and my sisters in and outside of this chasm of created order, with eyes that heal, and hands that help, and a heart that bleeds truth from the Faithful One.

Go West Young People

2008-10-08T05:24:00.000-07:00

I bought On The Road By Jack Kerouac, for a friend last night. Instead of actually giving it to her, I began to read it because it is the original scroll version, unedited and uncut. More authentic. We own 2 other copies of this book, but this one is different...so, maybe she will get it and maybe not. Haven't decided. Anyway, one of the first and most telling passages of run on sentences in the book, describes his problem of forever planning the trek out West and yet never getting around to going on the trip.

Christo, my husband, has always been afforded the opportunity of wonderful family trips all over this country and even into Canada. Riding wild horses, fly fishing in icy rivers, hiking incredible forests, biking over barren landscapes, you get the picture. And Yet, he and his buddy Kip, planned the Great VW Bus Adventure, and never got to go.

Call me the Yoko Ono of their teenage years, but somehow I weaseled my way into the plan and pushed the best friend out.

He bought that 1970 VW Bus, at age 15 (and with his own money), for the purpose of escaping into the great wide open; just two guys, 100 pounds of rice and a lot of Holden Caulfield angst. The boys planned and tinkered, and dreamt and struggled through the rigmarole of high school drama. And then, like a sudden snow in September, I came into view. The bag of rice and I were at war for a spot on that bus. I would not be missing the bus...the rice had to go and just like that, I was co-captain of the trip. Kip moved to the back of the bus and eventually he was altogether out.

Poor Kip. Somehow lost in the shuffle of our teenage romance, he moved on. Don't feel too bad for him though. He did go north and jumped on a different kind of bus. The kind that has educational classes through the logging fields. He became an intense activist and still is one of the most environmentally conscious people I know. He married a beautiful woman who is brilliant and witty and surely made for him. And of course, he went West and happens to live on the opposite of the country now in Bellingham, Washington. So, he actually gets the last laugh, you see. While he is experiencing the thrill of having lived the dream, we are still planning ours.

While we are still trying to get a bus ready, (it is in pieces in our garage) we know our day will come. We are no longer at liberty to pack 100 pounds of food, because now we must pack 100 pounds of kids. And yet, we love this crazy life and we long for our crazy trip and all of the unexpected surprises. Perhaps our trip out West will be to visit Kip and Brooke and we shall laugh as we eat their wonderful vegan victuals served over rice.

If You're Listening

2008-10-07T05:12:00.000-07:00

Angel of Grief by *FeX*

We were all downstairs and getting ready to start the homeschooling thing. And just like any homeschooling mother, I decide to crank up the Ipod and rock out to Jimmy Eat World to get the day off to a great beginning.

I was going to take out the trash but...."if you're listen-ing, whoa..oo..oo..oo..oo" forces me to drop the bag and start the "spinning free" and full on crazy dancing with the kids all staring. Lily yells out at the top of her lungs, "Mother- it's a magical song that makes you drop everything because you just have to dance to it!" I know this and she knows this and that is why we have such a great relationship.

But all of this blissful, calorie burning, spirit rocking elation stopped abruptly as the next song began.

"May angels lead you in" is a beautiful song, and before Wendy died I could listen to it and just sing along. But Wendy did die and someone put the lyrics on her my space page and voila, the song now is about losing Wendy and I weep for a lost friend. My dear Wendy died at 26 years old after battling cancer for only a year and a half. At her memorial service there were some strange elements that I could not figure out. When Wendy and I were close friends, she loved God and music and great books. At her funeral there were a lot of quotes from great books, but not much music and no mention of God. There were a lot of Angels and Fairies.

I had lost touch with my dear friend for few years and when I came back into her life, she was already dying. I tend to believe that she still deeply loved God and knew Him better than I do because she had tasted mortality in a concrete way. But I am not sure about all the angels and fairies and what that meant to her.

What is it about memorial services that make you wonder who the person really was? What is it about music that could have you rocking out at full speed one minute and weeping in a corner and contemplating the meaning of life the next? Lily is absolutely right. The songs are magical and they make you drop everything because you just have to__________!

A Long Lost Friend

2008-10-06T05:42:00.000-07:00

photo: vintage by cagedbirdy

Sometimes you meet someone and you know that you are kindred spirits. There is just some connection that goes beyond the basic, "I like Pearl Jam." "Me too! OMG!"

I have been blessed to have many people throughout my life that I had the chance to recognize this connection with. One such friend however, has been long ago lost from my communication reach. She is probably one of the most free-spirited people I have ever known and so it makes sense that she has left my radar.

God had put us literally in each other's backyard. Our parents' houses were connected by a large span of grass that became a perfect meet-up place for two teenage girls who could not yet drive.

We both loved to read and write. We both have red hair. Eat entire cans of black olives. Anne of Green Gables marathons. Listening to music by candlelight and the list goes on. The quirky thing that took a little warming up to find out was that we both coveted long white nightgowns. Maybe we thought we were Jo March. Perhaps we wanted to connect to the bygone years when the white nightgown was the only acceptable night clothing around. When we had sleepovers we took out our long white nightgowns and pranced around the backyard in the middle of the night. I don't think anyone suspected.

I still own an entire drawer filled with beautiful white nightgowns. My mother even brought one back from Germany for me. She found it at an antique flea market. It is actually old and thus authentic! Most teenagers I knew at the time, wore long t- shirts with baggy thin pajama pants to bed. They even wore semi-sexy camisoles with boy underwear /shorts. But not us- "Clary Mama" and I donned the nightgowns with innocent glee. We lit candles and played pretty music and talked about interesting things and read poetry aloud. Sometimes our own and sometimes not. But we both have husbands now and I wear random things to bed.

I just noticed while typing this that I am wearing a white nightgown. It was given to me by my dad and stepmother a few years back. It is from April Cornell and is just beautiful. I love it because it makes me remember and I am in a remembering mood.

Hopefully somewhere out there, my long lost red headed friend is remembering too and will send out her radar. Perhaps we shall meet again, dressed like Victorian ghosts at midnight in the backyard someday.

Getting Motivated

2008-10-05T14:42:00.000-07:00

I have been considering going to Graduate school amidst my already heavy load of responsibilities. And then I met with a friend last night and I realized that if all I really want to do right now is write, then I should spend my time and energy doing just that and not worry so much about passing GRE's and writing research papers that don't truly interest me. Sooo, I am not going to say that I won't be going, but I will say that I think I will go to a writer's conference and really begin to develop my ideas. I have a lot of ideas. Also- a writer's group will be forming consisting of a few young people who want to bounce ideas off of each other and be relevant to our current generation. Email if you are interested. It is amazing what a few hours in creative discussion can do to a mind. I have spent the majority of my day writing, plotting, ideas just flowing out. I think I finally have the courage to write a memoir. A little bit of fiction and a lot of fact. It should be fun and scary. I look forward to the challenge.

Scattered

2008-09-24T05:08:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel scattered. I know that there are so many avenues I can pursue and most likely meet a successful end. I have faith that whatever I want to do, can prosper because one thing always leads to another and good always comes to those who trust in Him.

This is not just about "God's will" and "God's plan"- this is how we must live the Christian life. This is also not an "I can conquer the world and do whatever I want" way of life either.
It is about trusting. It is about "do not be anxious about your life" mantras.

I am anxious. I never thought that I would still be in the same place I have always lived. I thought that I would be gone after high school. Then I would be gone after college. Be gone after we had a baby, two babies, 3,4....and yet here we are.

I fell into love at 16 and never came up out of that ocean. We almost went away from each other at college...but we could not do it. After college, he started working and had to travel...we could not take it...I felt more alone and depressed with 3 small ones and a city full of relatives than I ever thought a person could. All of my friends who had traveling husbands said, "but you don't have to cook or clean when he is away" or "I can do whatever I want when he is gone" or "the kids are on a better schedule" blah blah blah...

I hated seeing him go from the minute he told me that next week he had to go away for a couple of days, until the minute he set foot in the door on his return. We have been married for 7 years, and together for 11. It feels like both a day and an eternity. He truly is my beloved.

So now he seldom travels away, unless like a caravan, we are all together. We have always adored the American road trip. Eating random roadside fare like bison jerky (from Colorado) and peach soda (from Georgia) and crab bisque (from Maryland). We crank up the music and dream together...lyrics to classic rock, grunge, pop, and bluegrass filling up our senses and giving us prospective.

The kids sometime rock out along the way, or whine, or poke at each other, but more often they look out at our beautiful country and join in the wondering and dreaming. Because we homeschool, the traveling life could be a reality for us. Use the whole country as a textbook, right? But man cannot live on gas alone- we need to work and provide for a quality life.

I have at least 6 ideas of how to do this, but when do we take the leap? We want to have a little bit of land to grow some food. We need a little house to lay our heads and wash up. We need a big enough vehicle to seat 6 people. We need to be together all the time. Some do not have these needs, but we do.

We are waiting for the circumstances to present themselves. We are hoping that we will able to sell our house in Florida. We may need to take a jump some day and close our eyes and pray it works out...we need this for us.

Feeding The Lake

2008-09-22T06:02:00.000-07:00

photo by jennysweedler

The "Feeding the Lake" philosophy is why I named my blog "everybody gets prizes"...

Madeleine L'Engle in her book, Walking on Water- reflections on faith and art, made me realize something about myself as a writer and an artist, that has given me new perspective and fresh ideas.

Humanity is like a large mass of creative energy that longs to express itself in many diverse ways. As we begin to set our impulses free, we feed the lake, or pour into human culture and society for the good of it. Some of us are Michelangelos, Beethovens, Shakespeares etc. while most others are regular people with regular to zero acclaim. (Van Gogh was almost one of those.) What we all do is feed the lake, regardless of our popularity. As long as you express yourself and pour yourself fully into this work, you will find faith at the end of it. You will find Him in this desire to create, as we are created.

The best part of Being a part of this created process is that we all get prizes.

Prize: We get the chance to create and feel what it is like to birth something and have it validated by others perhaps. Before the Earth was formed it was a shapeless mass and before Michelangelo painted the Sistine Chapel, the ceiling was bare. There is always the before and after with the creative process.

Prize: We get life and the opportunity to give it to others through having children, adopting, encouraging, enriching a life in countless ways etc...
I want to be an inspiration to my children and to others that they are made for the purpose of using gifts and abilities. I don't want to hinder others by discouraging them from pusuing a passionate life and following dreams.

Prize: A Heavenly home- the epitome of desire for of all those who are created in His image and for His glory. We want this deeply and so our work and our way of life will reflect this.

If Heaven is not one of the prizes you long for, then perhaps you are not aware of who you are and why you are here. Ask and it shall be given- Seek and you shall find...when that door opens everybody gets prizes.

Read a book- go to new places

2008-09-16T05:26:00.000-07:00

Recently, my sister in law was in town. This is interesting because she lives in China most of the year. When she comes, I try to talk to her about Chinese culture, her perspectives etc. Inquiring minds want to know around here. (As I write this she has returned to China and has begun a 2 year language program.)

This visit, while on the beach, we discussed American life and the vast difference with other world cultures. Now those that know Leslie, know that she is a world traveler. She has been to Costa Rica, Uganda, Tajikistan, Thailand, all over Europe, and not just for a measly week-extended stays people. So I think she has a pretty good grasp on our culture and also on some others.

While we were conversing on the beach that warm Florida day, we began to discuss the closed- mindedness some Southern Americans seem to have. We covered racism and it's nasty effects on those not fortunate to travel and see for themself that all people are relatively the same. She shared with me that she thinks that not seeing and experiencing other places besides your own backyard may be why some people remain ignorant in their views. I quickly agreed. One needs to get away from their "own" to get a clue as to how the other half lives. But like all things with me, I could not leave it at that. Many days later, the conversation kept me awake at night and I worked through it over and over.

I think that I felt concern for myself; I had not traveled nearly as far or as wide as she. Was I a racist, or uncultured? I certainly felt as though I was not due to 3 semesters with my Africana Studies professor Dr. Gayles. (He opened my eyes a million times to racism in America.) No- I can say I am not, so what makes me, an untraveled lady of the South not ignorant?

BOOKS. I began to work through the issue with new eyes. If you read, you cannot hide behind your fears of other people and their different ways. If you read, you DO travel to new lands, speak new languages, eat exotic foods, learn new customs and walk in another person's shoes. You can stay just where you are and never leave that cozy chair and yet be all over the world at the same time. That is true time and place travel. That is the key to getting a new perspective- Glorious and freeing Books! I love them like old friends.

I read constantly. This week I read A Severe Mercy by Vanauken and My Antonia by Cather. I have traveled to England and had tea with C.S. Lewis, fished in the Keys, hiked Virginian forests, had wonderful conversations about God with philosophers of the last century, played in the Nebraska prairies among bull snakes and rattlers, danced in a circus tent with young ladies in too short dresses, attended an opera and the list goes on. I did this all for under 3 dollars at a used book shop. (Talk about being green!)

I encourage everyone to read so we can have better conversations, get new perspectives, see with fresh eyes. You can be alone for the rest of your life, in a cell, on a remote island, but with a stack of great books, you are not there at all.
Of course, I went back to Leslie and we re-discussed and she agreed with the me of course, because after all, before she was a world traveler, she was a great reader. And she still is.

Talking About Big Things

2008-09-15T07:51:00.000-07:00

My daughter and I have always had bold conversations. I feel like an older version of her, or maybe she is a younger version of me. I am 27 and she is 5. I loved being 5. I wanted to be an artist and she wants to be a veterinarian. I loved noodles and she loves cookies. We both watched Little House on the Prairie and we both wanted to be Laura.

When I was little, people would say "look at that red hair" and "my, what an old soul she is" and my daughter has both red hair and an "old soul"... She likes to ask questions such as "Mother, what is my glorified body going to be like?" and "Mother, did Adam and Eve have belly buttons since they were not actually born?" I have no idea of course, but we must discuss these things and try to figure them out or else I may lose that deep and inquisitive nature in myself and in my child. So, we deal with these things in a 1 part logical and 2 parts fantasy sort of way.

I volunteer each week at a Crisis Pregnancy Center. I talk to scared women about their options. I try and give them hope for a chance for the baby's life whether it be adoption or choosing to parent. I tell them that abortion is also an option, and give them a scientific run down of the procedure. Usually that is enough to make a woman either burst into tears, put on a stone cold face, or feel sick to their stomachs. Some women choose to parent, some abortion, and very few choose adoption. My job is to encourage them to get informed , know their rights and secretly pray that this little one will be born and have a chance to make a difference in this crazy world. Lily wants to know what Abortion is....

So- I tell her, no fantasy or logic- just the cold hard facts. Many may feel that she is too young to know. Some may think that this is wrong on my part and sucking away her innocence. I would argue that she is not innocent (she is a sinner that repents) or too young. She is my child and I know her better than others do.

My other children are too young. She has a history of asking sincere questions and they do not. We talked about Mountaintop removal. She was horrified. "Why are they destroying God's beauty?" she asks. So I tell her that it is so we can watch TV and turn on the light in the bathroom all night long so brother won't be afraid.

Talk to your little ones about BIG THINGS. Start them on a lifetime to critical thinking and wonder. Don't leave them there to figure it out alone and incorrectly. Don't tell them "what to think" teach them "how" to think.

Watch this!

2008-09-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

Mountain Witness Tour mosaic by blueathena7

Mountaintop Removal Videos that you must get angry about:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a2dueyHZ6tY
and this
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ziuFW-7h1LM
and this
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDAFQjLoxCM
thank you!!!

West Virginia- Mountain Mama

2008-09-12T05:40:00.000-07:00

I am not a very political kinda lady. I like to think about the issues, discuss them with friends and family, and maybe even form a strong opinion now and again (beware the absolutes). But over the last few days I have become aware of a travesty that has gone without discussion in the political arena.

Last month, my husband and I were looking all over the Internet for our future homestead. (More on our dream later) After a massive search yielding little in our price range, we found a seeming diamond in the rough. A Victorian farmhouse from the late 1800's with 14 rolling acres in a cute town in West Virginia. The best part is that it was CHEAP!

I called my fellow blogger and best friend over at mama goes green and she said- "Oh Lindsay, that is beautiful now, but not for long. By the way, it is not safe to live there." I was shocked that there could be ghettos or crime rates higher there than in my metro area in Florida. But of course that was not what she was saying. She was referring to this largely covered up issue of MOUNTAINTOP REMOVAL.

Mountaintop removal is a radical form of coal mining in which entire mountains are literally blown up -- and it is happening here in America on a scale that is almost unimaginable.
Mountaintop removal is devastating hundreds of square miles of Appalachia; polluting the headwaters of rivers that provide drinking water to millions of Americans; and destroying a distinctly American culture that has endured for generations. (taken from ilovemountains.org)

If you check out you tube you will see so many heartbreaking videos of deaths, suffering and destruction due to the problem of mountaintop removal. I do feel angered by the fact that our mountains and our people, American people, are being forced to comply with these injustices.

This situation reminds me of Hurricane Katrina. There were people who were suffering and everyone was turning a deaf ear. Entire communities were devastated and an eerie silence followed because, poverty and race kept them from a platform to have a strong voice. The difference is that Katrina was a NATURAL disaster, while mountaintop removal for the purpose of cheap and easy energy, is a PREVENTABLE disaster.

It does not have to happen. A 3 year old does not have to die because a boulder rolls onto him as he sleeps. 15 year olds do not have to drown because of flooding in the valleys that normally had creeks and springs. And we do not have to blow up mountains to get at the coal. We don't even need coal if we use alternative forms of energy.

"Clean coal: Never was there an oxymoron more insidious, or more dangerous to our public health. Invoked as often by the Democratic presidential candidates as by the Republicans and by liberals and conservatives alike, this slogan has blindsided any meaningful progress toward a sustainable energy policy". (Jeff Biggers from the Washington Post penned this statement.)

When we buy our future home and land, we may not have an Appalachian mountain dream after all. We may have to plant our roots elsewhere for our own safety. This is not only disturbing, it is appalling and my rights have been limited once again.

Absolutely covered in...

2008-09-10T05:42:00.000-07:00

Volkswagens.

I know you were thinking that I would say wildflowers so breathtaking that I wanted to pretend I was Maria and sing "the hills are alive" etc. You may have even thought I was going to fill in that abysmal blank with the word "books" because I read them so much. Possibly even "fabric" because I have entirely too much and it is beautiful to behold.

But that is just not the case. We were creeping down the country road and happened upon an old VW mechanics shop that looked small and had a handful of clunkers out front. My adventurous husband then says to me, "you see that little dirt road between this shop and that trailer? Well let's just see what is back there." So we take his truck down that road and see a crumbling yet very tall privacy fence that should be fired because he was failing in his attempt to keep anything private.

Before we could see much of anything but vies, a very unfriendly scowling teenager on a 4-wheeler rolled up to us at the opening of the fence and stared us down. So we attempt the friendly "hello" at which he keeps the stoic scowl firmly planted on his young face. I mean, it's not like we live in a free country or anything. This road, albeit dirt, was not private and had no posted notice. Also, what if we were the inhabitants of that dilapidated trailer next door? He would not know if we had just acquired it by some personal misfortune. So, we ignore the rude teenager and we look over that fence and that is when we first saw what true hoarding looks like.

I gasped in joy and also is sickness that someone could actually be such a VW glutton. It was almost like I was enraged at the selfishness of one person to harbour all of these beautiful bugs and buses and ghias and square backs and fastbacks. But then I was compassionate at the thought of the illness that this collector has.

I can understand in some small scale way the hold that these cars can have over someone- my husband is 27 and has owned a total of 5 in the 10 years he could even drive. We just acquired a new one on Saturday. I would say that he has a small addiction to buses. And so you can see why this would be a truly incredible sight to behold. I will go back and take pictures for your enjoyment ( and mine).

The Country Drive

2008-09-08T06:19:00.000-07:00

For two people deeply in love, anytime spent together is satisfying and yet also painful. Painful? Yes. We know that this time together is temporary and so we attempt to forget time altogether and sink fully into the moment. This of course is impossible because the sun eventually goes down, bodies need to be nourished and fatigue lingers closely behind us. This human form is not eternal and so we must take "time" to enjoy each other inside of this Earthly clockwork.

If you ask me how I do this, I would tell you that some conditions for this enjoyment are as follows: a sunny or partly overcast day, a car or truck but preferably an old VW bus, music by ipod, radio, tape, etc., windows that roll down, and my husband. In the sweet youth of our love, we also threw in a bag of Baked Lays and a bottle of Fruitopia. Those last condition no longer apply because Fruitopia no longer exists and we are older now and cannot eat an entire bag of chips without suffering for it later. (We replaced the chips with Hot boiled peanuts(a southern classic) and the occasional Slurpee or Gatorade.)

T. S. Eliot wrote "April is the cruelest month" and I shall add to that: "Sunday is the cruelest day". I attend church with my family, contemplate the sacrifice made on my behalf, share in the communion with brothers and sisters and sing the hymns with joy and thankfulness. This is a blessing and so it would seem that Sunday is the most Glorious of days. But that is just not the reality of it for me.

I bustle through my week with homeschooling, schedules, soccer, gymnastics, meetings, church studies, parties etc...By the time Friday evening comes, I am exhausted, and I want my husband back from work. His job is stressful and not always fulfilling. We have dreams and we have plans and they are not a part of of our daily life. So on the weekend we detox from our weekly drugs that keep us plugged in and engaged in the present. We sleep later, we read deeply, we eat at random times, we get dirty, we nap longer and we listen to a lot of music in the background.

Come Sunday, I want to fellowship with other people not on our planet. So when we go to church, we do just that. Then we pack ourselves back into our van and go home. I feel sick the whole way. I hate that the hamster wheel will start again in less than 24 hours.

So, I propose a country drive. What you love to do does not have to change just because you have 4 kids bouncing around in the backseat. We are all cowboys at heart. We want to explore and find a treasure like Cortes and chocolate. I feel that this desire is truly Human. God said "Go and take dominion" and while it may be a bit out of context here, I do not think He meant to stay just outside the Garden gate and set up camp for all time.

So, we set off, GPS ready, to get lost in the country. And a Discovery was made and what we found was something overwhelming. Not in an incredible mountain view way, or a munchkin land kind of thing. But for my husband it was like God saying to us, I love you, I know you and I know what you love and desire. This may sound silly, but what we found was breathtaking in a rusty, dilapidated sort of way. We discovered 2 (maybe more) acres of land absolutely covered in-------.

Why did you name it that?

2008-09-07T10:43:00.000-07:00

photo by ardenstreet

So, this morning as we sipped tea with stevia and ate pitas stuffed with kalmatas, my husband told me that perhaps I need to explain my blog's name.

Is that like naming a baby something obscure and then feeling like you MUST justify it by defining it? For example, my son's name is Summit and in the past, after receiving strange looks and "come again" a million times, I would explain away the reason we chose his name and the love story behind it, but then who really cares about my love story except for myself and the man I love.

Suffice it so say, I eventually stopped giving in to the disconcerting stares and obviously disapproving murmurs about how "interesting" my child's name is. I no longer let them in on the reason we named him Summit because it is strangely akin to "throwing pearls before swine" in my book.

On another note, I thought it quite satisfying and humorous, that the very person who requested that I explain my blog's name is my husband. I cannot tell you how many high school afternoons we drove around in Sunnie, his 1970 Volkswagen Bus, with the windows down, music blaring, red and blond curls flying around until they were in dreadlocks. When we were forced to slow down due to red lights, the engine would quiet down and we could actually hear each other talking. My most common point of discussion would go like this " why is this band named------"?

(You fill in the blank because you know that band names are typically ridiculous and if they do not seem this way to you then you are either: A.) in a band with a funky name or B.) you actually read all of the books and have seen all of the movies that refer to these random titles, so YOU GET IT. ) My high school sweetheart and now husband would reply to this seemingly juvenile question with " why do these bands need to explain themselves to you? Why do you feel the need to have to understand the band name? It is poetic, it is artistic etc..." He was sooo "deep" (don't you love that word) and he still is. He is also a musician and has been in a band with a random name so he is one of those that "GETS IT."

I still catch myself every now and then trying to figure out the band names and attempting to make sense of obscure lyrics in an effort to better understand them.
So, I will explain the name, because it is only fair to people like myself who cannot handle not knowing "why." But not right now. You have to wait. And no this is not a giveaway blog- but it could be when my 1800 sq ft organic garden starts producing.

Always Late

2008-09-06T20:48:00.000-07:00

photo by try-whistling-this

Here I am. Finally entering this vast domain.

I am always late with electronics/technology. For Example-In 3rd grade I got a red WalkMan for Christmas with an Arrested Development tape. I was so pumped about that and then, just when I had finished reading the instructions, CD players came out and I refused to learn the new technology and thus carried that red tape "deck" into my middle school years (not cool).

Nevertheless, high school made popular the "mixed tape" and I was "in" all over again. I had stacks of mixed tapes and still have many of them in a box somewhere. If you got in my momivan right now you would see tapes- (yes, my "wheels" sport a tape player AND a CD player- which I rarely use.)

Fast forward from high school and enter college with me...I learned how to email in my junior year by FORCE in the campus computer lab. I had no plans to ever do the email thing and then, after 5 semesters of college bliss, a single syllabus REQUIRED it. I was so scared I would fail and so I caved and after the 6th week of skating by on open forums, the professor escorted me to the lab and got me set up. Just to show a little rebellion, I picked a boring name, my own, not something cute and clever, and of course the Prof. could care less. But that is how I dig my heels in...I try and not get crafty.

But as you will see as I blog more, that hurts only me and no one else. So here I am forcing myself to face these technological demons and blog myself into the cosmos. I still need to figure out the picture thing and get some pretties on here and set up some housekeeping, but in the meantime, I want to share what is wandering around in my heart, brain, life and of course my home and hopefully get some creative discussion going!