Dailies
Wednesday, September 1 , 2004
I'm so proud of Rhiannon! She's back east right now, as youll recall, working for AmeriCorps. Well, some government bigwigs (who had the president's ear, according to Rhiannon) came out to talk to the AmeriCorps kids a couple weeks ago, because they wanted to find out straight from the horse's mouth if the program was any good, and does it deserve continued funding, and should it be expanded, and so on. Rhiannon was one of the kids who went to talk to them. She was pretty excited about it 'cause she had a lot of things she wanted to say about how great AmeriCorps is.
The whole meeting went over pretty well. She writes, "Apparently the staff of B-15 talked about it a while afterwards, and when Alyssa (Rhiannon's team leader) went into the office five different people came up and went "Your corps member is great. We love her. She's really smart" etc. And Dave Beach the head of my Unit went off on a little "Rhiannon is so great" spiel that lasted five somewhat embarrassing minutes at our debrief today. And apparently they're going to let a select few second-year corps members come back in January and I have an invitation extended if I want it. AND Dave is going to write me a personal recommendation if I want to apply to Westpoint."
Rhiannon said that she'd hoped her stint in AmeriCorps would help her settle down and decide what she really wants to do. Instead it's giving her one idea after another, one opportunity after another. She's got even more decisions to make about what she's going to do.
Rhiannon knows how to manifest; that's why all this comes to her. And you know what? So do I. I've just forgotten how these past years. But I'll get it back.
Thursday, September 2, 2004.
I dreamed that Kendall was going out with friends and I was home all alone. It seemed so sad and pathetic, the way she's got friends and I don't, until I woke up and realized that I choose to be alone; I love being alone; I long to be alone. Sometimes I'm afraid of it, but more often than not lately I crave solitude. I sit on the porch in the sun, sipping tea and enjoying something yummy, soaking in the warmth, watching the sun glint through the leaves and flowers, reading and thinking and listening to the birds. If I'm lucky I'll see something unusual, like a hawk or a snake. When I'm alone I've got no responsibilities, no worries about whether I'm being a good mom or not, no painful interactions with my husband, no wondering how I'm coming across or if someone likes me.
Labor Day Weekend, September 4-6, 2004.
I had a pretty good weekend. I did a lot of exercising -- with no results yet, I'm sorry to say -- and working on my photograpy project. What a lot of fun that is! I got up early so catch the best patterns of light and shadows. I'm painting with light, looking for shapes, patterns, and blendings of man and nature.
Tuesday, September 7, 2004.
I've learned a great old folk song that I sing everywhere I go, called The Maid of Amsterdam. I sing the cleaned-up version.
In Amsterdam I met a maid,
Mark well what I do say!
In Amsterdam I met a maid,
And she was mistress of her trade;
I'll go no more a-rovin' with you, fair maid.
Chorus:
A rovin', a rovin', since rovin's been my ru-i-in,
I'll go no more a roving, with you fair maid!
Her eyes were like the stars so bright,
Her face was fair, her step was light.
Her lips were red, her eyes were brown,
Her hair in ringlets hanging down.
Now when I got back home from sea
A soldier had her on his knee.
Her face had beauty rare to see,
But she was never true to me.
Wednesday, September 8, 2004.
I am having the most wonderful time taking pictures of the back alleys of my little town. There are all kinds of beautiful things to take pictures of -- bugs, flowers, leaves backlit by the setting sun, patterns of peeling paint and sun-dappled brick, and so on and so on. Time of day is an issue. Even half an hour can make a difference in how the light lays on something. I've rejected possible pictures as I walked up the alley, only to find them perfect as I walked back down.
Thursday, September 9, 2004.
Caer Galen archery practice tonight. Even though I said I wasn't going to be in the SCA anymore, I went 'cause I like archery. It was okay. I kinda do want to keep going because its good practice for me in getting along in groups. On the other hand, why be miserable? On the other hand, I'm miserable because my attitude and social skills suck. Plus there's the fact that I think dressing up in costume is silly.
Friday, September 10, 2004.
What if I ran into someone I'd known long ago, and they said, "You've changed." Would that be true? How would I want it to be true? I'd want to embody the qualities I've pinpointed as the Laws of Life. I'd want to be fearless, and bold, and have a strong sense of self. What if they said, "You haven't changed." How would I want that to be true? I'd want to look good, to be slim and as pretty as possible, given what I've got to work with.
A butterfly hit the windshield yesterday. I saw it for a moment, smashed against the glass in surprise and shock, its wings twisted and flattened, a frantic and desperate energy surrounding it. Then it was gone. A bit of its guts were left smeared on the window. I saw the butterfly at the moment of its death. Again I see mortality; again death brushes against me. I may be that butterfly one day -- enjoying the sunshine and the breeze, suddenly engulfed in a surprised frantic struggle, then darkness and death.
What comes next -- endless sleep or awakening?
I've never caused a death, not directly, but if I had lived in an earlier time I would have. I'd have killed chickens or pigs or fish or all kinds of oher animals.
No, not true. I've killed bugs. I killed a spider once, a big one that wasn't hurting anybody. It ran from us but it couldn't get away. I'm sorry, spider. I wish I hadn't killed you.
Monday, September 13, 2004.
We are here for the experience
of being human.
What a marvellous experience.
The problem is,
we take it too seriously
and we think we can do it wrong.
You can't do it wrong.
It is just an experience.
How can you do an experience wrong?
I call this virtual reality.
It is not really real.
It is just the experience of humanness.
You are not really a human being.
You are really God.
You are really That which is.
That, which has no name
and no dimensions,
no beginning and no end,
having the experience
of limitation
having the experience of humanness.
by Samarpan
Tuesday, September 14, 2004.
I saw the most beautiful sight today that would have made an incredible picture -- a bent-over dandelion with drops of water along its stem, which gleamed like jewels in the early morning sun. I wanted to go home and get my camera. Oh my gosh, I should have. I should have gone to the nearby grocery store and bought a disposable.
I am having so much fun with my photography project. Yesterday I spent some time taking pics of pigeons flying above an abandoned grain elevator. I don't know yet if I got a pleasing pattern. I'll find that out when the prints come back. At one point a hawk flew by and all the pigeons scattered. That was another picture I wasn't ready for but it was fantastic to see just the same. I've taken a couple spider webs and lots of plant/fence patterns. Gates are neat, as are windows and doors. Most of the pics I take need to be close-ups as the alleys are full of junk that needs to be cropped out. I like to set myself assignments -- "Find the interesting picture hidden in this scene."
One of my co-workers just walked by. He's a doll. There are so many neat guys around here! I have crushes on them all.
Wednesday, September 15, 2004.
I'm listening to "Come On, Come On" by Mary Chapin Carpenter and crying. It all goes by so fast, this life, and we don't always -- don't usually -- get what we want. I love, I love, I love, but I don't love what I have. John, I wish I'd stayed in San Francisco with you. Joe, why didn't you love me back? Don, why couldn't you take no for an answer?
Thursday, September 16, 2004.
It's a need you never get used to, so fierce and so confused
It's a loss you never get over the first time you lose.
Tonight I am thinking of someone, seventeen years ago
We rode in his daddy's car down the river road.
Mary Chapin Carpenter; Come On, Come On.
i do love my husband. I really do. I love the memories we have made. I love Joe and Jim and John and Carrie and Chris. And Mike and Aunt Marg and Frank; my mother and my father and my siblings. I love it all. My heart burst with it.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004.
Michaela's fifteenth birthday. We went to Grandpa's for an all-you-can-eat bratwurst and Black Forest cake party where we had a nice time. Maria and her children came. Uncle Richard called to say Happy Birthday, as did Rhiannon from Florida. Rhiannon is a good sister. Whereas Kendall had to practically be forced to pick out a present for Michaela (which I paid for). Her sisterly love is just not there. It's not at all like what Rhiannon did for her on her fifteenth birthday.
Friday, September 24, 2004.
Just a quick note to say I like my new hobby (photograpy), I like my new job (XSLT developer), I like my rabbit and my dog, I like my body, I like my hair, I like my kids. My house is okay, as is my husband. He's great except he doesn't want to be bothered with adult responsibility. Life is pretty good. Not perfect, but pretty damn good.
Here's what I did after work: went for walk with dog and took snapshots, made salsa (there is nothing as good as homemade salsa. Nothing) picked up, started a load of laundry, did aerobics and watched Whale Rider (a very sloooooooow movie; I could barely get through it). I only partially completed my Daily Check List.
Caer Galen Revel tonight. I'm not going. These SCA events are just too painful. They are like high school was -- Who will I talk to? Who will I eat with? Does anyone like me? What a pathetic little thing I was! It wasn't until the second half of senior year that I thinking like that and started having fun.
Weekend, September 25-26, 2004.
Excellent, as my weekends frequently are. Kendall had a whole gang of people over on Saturday night for a poker tournament. She's got great friends. That comes from her being a great person. I chatted with my on-line buddies Saturday night. On Sunday, I popped to Cannon Mine Coffee Company, alone, for a cozy breakfast in a cozy restaurant. Later, Kendall and I did a photo shoot for her senior picture. She's going to submit a pic of herself riding a bike in her bunny suit. We shot a roll, and if none of those are satisfactory, we'll shoot another one. I discovered the most excellent and beautiful place while walking the dog. There's a small park-like bosque along Coal Creek Trail, with a waterhole, and horses, and shimmering dragonflies. It was entrancing, and I spent at least twenty minutes sitting by the water and absorbing the beauty.
The most important thing in life is to manifest the divine light as is given you to manifest it; which you do by being the best you can be, by living vitally, or as Joseph Campbell puts it, by following your bliss.
The things that makes me ME are passing and transitory. The eternal thing is the consciousness of which I am a part. And yet, it is my uniqueness though which others will be blessed and served. Be unique. Be vital. Follow your bliss.
In the world of the passing and transitory:
Kendall had a bunch of friends over for a poker tournament this evening. I spent a good deal of time wondering when I should make them go home. I feel silly about my worrying now. They are good kids and the party was pretty low key. There was no alcohol, smoking or rowdy behavior. My carpets were in no danger. (I can heard what you're thinking - "You call that a party?"). There was just lots of talk, laughter and Jimi Hendrix on the stereo. At 12:30, they started to say things like, "I'm ready for this tournament to be over," and "I can barely keep my eyes open." I took that as my cue to say "It's 12:30. I should probably kick you guys out now." They finished their hand and off they went.
Monday, September 27, 2004
What is the meaning of life? I've been pondering this question for years and I still don't know. But I do know one thing - whatever the meaning of life is, it can be found in shorter time spans. It's not just your life you need to think about; it's this year, this week, this minute. What's the meaning of this minute? If you can answer that, you may have the answer to all.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
God, my office mate is so annoying. He's a talker. A big talker. I ask him a question ("Is cuFSTitle in the XML what the stylesheet calls the Business Title?") which he answers with a long history of how he queries the database and why. Waaaaaaay too many words. I can't listen to that deluge of detritus in the hope of mining a gem, so I don't listen at all.
The bunny got away again; no one knows how. Don said he saw him hopping about the alley in the afternoon. He had been roaming free in Rhiannon's room. Our best guess is that someone left the door open though no one will admit to this. He must have grabbed the chance for freedom when it came. Can you blame him? He probably explored the downstairs a bit, then made his way up the stairs, through the kitchen and out the back door, which we leave open in nice weather. Too bad it's not nice weather now. It's dark out, with thunder, lightning, rain and hail. I went out with an umbrella and a flashlight but didn't see him. I hope the little guy stays warm and dry all night.
I took the dog out once the rain let up. (Still lightning though - very exciting!) It was all dark and still, with porchlight gleaming off the wet patches, a perfect singing-in-the-rain night, and so I did. Mary Chapin Carpenter's Come On Come On, my current favorite
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
So guess who talked to who today? Don, my husband of 18 years, talked to Joe, the man I was in love with two years ago. Don needed Acura advice for my sister's car and called Joe to get it. Don doesn't know anything about me and Joe, and I told Joe that things would stay that way. I have no need for confession. I believe in my grandmother's advice, that while confession may be good for the soul it's bad for relationships. I told him I'd never tell, at least not until I'm sixty. I reserve the right to say anything to anybody when I'm sixty. Now perhaps he knows I've kept my word thus far.
September 30, 2004.
A terrible thing has happened. Someone picked my apple.
Okay, it wasn't my apple, technically, and it's not all THAT terrible in the overall scheme of things. It was an apple that I took pictures of, an unusual solitary apple hanging from the very end of long thin branch on a young apple tree. I loved that little thing, and I loved the pictures I took. Now I can't take anymore because it's gone.
There's a lesson in there. Take lots and lots of pictures of the objects you like because they won't always be there.
I Thought You Loved Me More Than That; ExplodingDog.com
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