Task Away!!!!!!!!

Newton’s second law of motion as defined by my handy Google search states that the acceleration of an object is dependent on two variables: the net force acting upon the object and the mass of the object. I love facts and I love Google.

Today a great deal of information is right at our fingertips. For me, it is right on my smartphone. The only Internet access we have is through our cell phone carrier. Because my phone and internet is so handy, I am shamelessly addicted to reading articles, Google-ing questions (and of course useless movie info), checking social media statuses, and fantasizing about my house looking like photos on various home improvement sights. Unfortunately, it is hard to draw the line where fact ends and fantasy begins.  Is the internet “information” I am filling my head with really useful? What am I doing mentally to promote a healthy movement forward? What does this have to do with me writing a blog?

Well, I often wonder why I am so excited about writing and less than enthusiastic about reading a book. I know to grow as a writer I must expose myself to various writing techniques, points of view, and genres but instead, I find myself filling up on all the tidbits the Internet has to offer.  I often remind myself that I should finish any one of the many books I have been working on for months, so I pick one up and once again become distracted. What is wrong with me? Why can’t my mind sit still? I have asked myself these questions quite a bit in the last three months. I know I have been distracted by my own health problems. I have taken a break to allow myself time to accept and rebuild my life with the knowledge of my own illnesses. It was also nearly impossible for me to keep a straight thought after being injected with steroids for my RA several times in the last few months (making me feel less like the Hulk and more like the Joker), the last round ending an ambulance ride for an allergic reaction. I also admit that I like instant gratification. I don’t want to wait for a story to end, I want to know what happens NOW! What if I have another severe allergic reaction and die before I know how the story ends? I know that is why I don’t get hooked on mini-series or television programs, I hate cliff-hangers! It doesn’t mean that I have never finished a book or indulged in a favorite program, it just means that I have acquired a taste for the get-it-now lifestyle this world is becoming accustomed to experiencing. Lastly, I have made it my life’s purpose to attempt to perfect the art of multitasking. I once heard (or probably read some short article) about how to multitask efficiently. It probably declared, “Find something to do when you are between doing another something! Don’t sit idle when there is something else to do!!” This is why I struggle finishing any of the ten tasks I start because I go from one to the other without finishing what I started in the first place! I know how my brain works. If I think of something, I probably should take care of whatever it is, or I will forget. So I start one thing, remember another, then another, and keep building until my brain melts. ~Sigh~ I have gotten better at my multitasking lifestyle; my house is very clean for a large family but my purse isn’t. My laundry is washed and folded as it comes out of the dryer but often doesn’t make its way upstairs before the next laundry day comes around. I have a list of planned meals on my fridge but often eat out because I am too tired to prepare a meal after a long day and swollen joints. In short, I am my own roadblock. How can I possibly move forward when I am sabotaging myself by just being myself? According to Newton’s law, I’m screwed! Anytime I get determination behind my actions, I can’t get moving! I don’t have the strength (literally or figuratively)!
Forward motion takes strength. I have to have muscle behind my words and actions.

By many accounts, I am a strong person but the variables beyond my control have taken the muscle out of my plans. My body got weak and so I got weak. I stopped moving. Who knows how long it will take to adjust to my life without my usual might but at least I understand my weaknesses and this post is one step forward. Isn’t that what’s important? Keep moving forward, even when it’s hard. For me, it’s picking up a book and finishing it, even if it takes all year, organizing my purse or cooking a meal. It’s also taking what I love and using it to my advantage, like searching for Newton’s Laws of Physics and using that information in my next post. I many not have the muscle I used to but I do have creativity!

~d~

Music and Pause

Pause. My life has been on pause. That includes this blog. Sometimes a pause is necessary to reevaluate our lives and it seems as if my friend and I are experiencing a life shift worthy of a pause simultaneously. We both are once again standing at the crossroads and wondering what direction we need to take. We are both sitting idle at the intersection of life carefully planning the next road to be followed.

Health issues have been to blame; my own, my mother, and my son have been experiencing increased difficulty with health. I have now been told I have two incurable diseases, my mother has had another serious operation, and my son’s epilepsy has been harder than normal to control. I needed a pause. I chose to step away to observe and listen at the crossroads. I needed to know what lie down each road and how to navigate the future. My decision: pull up a chair and wait. I didn’t feel like a change needed to happen, but I did feel a slow down, and pause, was needed. I needed to stop and let the world speed by because I was not able to zip along with the rest of the world (in part by my diagnoses). So here I am sitting in the middle of my road with my feet up and unapologetic about it. While everyone else is buzzing by I refuse to be moved until I know exactly what I want to do. There will be no rash decisions this time, there will be no spontaneous movements, I will wait…..

Pausing life does not come without its share of victims. This blog has flat-lined and I often feel more than guilty about it but I remind myself that this project was meant to be an enjoyable release. I do not want it to start to feeling like a job. I have plenty of work to do and I refuse to make the little things I enjoy feel, well, less enjoyable. Everyone and everything is in too much of a hurry. Everyone is rushing, but to where are they going? What is the destination? Run to our earthly end? Run out of expectation? Run out of habit?

I have been house-sitting while my mother has been in the hospital. Instead of going straight home after my last check, I took all four kids to the cemetery where my grandfather was buried over six months ago and to where my uncle was laid to rest over three years ago. On this day I was listening to a play list of some of my favorite songs instead of the usual kid’s movies. As I pulled up to my grandfather’s grave, Pink Floyd’s song “Wish You Were Here” came up. I parked in front of his tombstone and turned up the radio. It was hard not to be captive by the moment. I could hardly imagine the vast number of people who have visited that same cemetery and their hearts were singing those same lyrics, “How I wish you were here….” I didn’t have the words as I stood beside the bare earth above where he lay, so I just listened. Then, we slowly drove to the other side of the cemetery, my mind still fixated on the moment. I found my uncle’s grave and as I shifted into park, “Whiskey In the Jar” by Metallica began to play. Obviously my songs are in alphabetical order but the order and timing of what happened made me smile. I remember my uncle driving like a bat out of Hell down the interstate listening to our local rock station. He may be the reason Metallica is one of my favorite bands and why it was on that very play list. So I turned up Metallica for my uncle and stood where is body now lays. I was once again at a loss for words but I grinned thinking of my less than proper behavior at a cemetery and how my uncle was one to break the mold. The visit was humbling but not sad. My heart hurts to know that my time with these men is over but I am confident they are not confined to the grave. I know they are as free as the lyrics that filled the air.

A stroll, or drive through a cemetery can be quite humbling. If you haven’t done it, you need to. It is a good reminder that we all will eventually have the same space under the Earth to occupy. With all the running the world says we have to do and all we have to accomplish, we are just speeding closer to that hole in the Earth. STOP. Slow down, sit in your intersection and be unapologetic about it. And listen to a good song or two…… the music of life is hard to hear when you are moving too fast…..

*d*

Selling the Balance

When I left my job as a hospital housekeeper in April of 2013, I left behind the blood, the tissue, the vomit and urine and most of all, the DRAMA. I left it to finish my novel and take a break after planning our wedding, the wedding of the century—ok, not quite that big, but an ordeal nonetheless. My break went from a month to three months to a year to almost two years. Initially, the plan was to take the break, then look for another job. What we discovered while having me home was that it was nice. There was someone at home to keep the house and yard up, and do the daytime running that would otherwise have to wait for Saturday or result in someone having to take time off from their daytime job. With no kids, I could do all of that and still had time to write and read, which, aside from horses, is inarguably my life’s passion. I also had time to cook and try all of those long-pinned Pinterest recipes. That benefited my husband and me greatly since we’d been guilty of dining out virtually every day of the week and wasting money and gaining weight.

Now that I’m essentially working full-time again, with the cleaning I do for several families and the position in the insurance agency, I’m scrambling for balance. Along with the increased out-of-the-house work, I still have to maintain my home and I also lend a hand to my disabled mother and 84-year-old grandmother. I share the responsibility of keeping Granny living independently in her own home with my mom. We shop for her and mom gets her to appointments. I mow her yard and clean her house and make sure her pills for the week get set up. Mom and I call her throughout the day to remind her to take her medication. For my mom, I do heavy lifting and offer moral support. Being disabled has caused her to be depressed and unable to push forward sometimes. Dealing with my own depression hasn’t always made me the best pep-talker, but I feel like if I go down, we all do. So I keep my head up, my nose just above the lapping waters of anxiety and depression at times, and keep pushing. With everything on my plate, it’s been easy to feel overwhelmed. I have to straighten the chaos.

I know I’m not alone. And that hurts my heart. This country is full of people who’ve given up on their dreams because they have to work. So many are busy working to live that they indeed forget to live. My husband is probably the example of this closest to me. I don’t want that to be me. I don’t want to give up the cooking new recipes and keeping us out of the fast food joints. I don’t want to forfeit my clean house and all the projects I have in mind for this summer and our home. Mostly, I don’t want to let my writing be put on a back burner again.

Right now, it feels like it might be on the back burner of someone else’s stove. I let that happen for years and that’s why it took me a decade to get my novel done. This blog and *d* and joining the writing community Scribophile has allowed me to enjoy writing like I’ve never been able before. I am desperate to not let it go. I don’t want to sell my dreams for a steady paycheck no matter how much I enjoy the work. There is a way to do it all. I know there is. There has to be.

~L~

A Note to My Groom Ten Years Later

Happy Anniversary to my husband. Ten years have gone by so fast but it hasn’t been easy. If we were to rewind and meet up with ourselves ten years ago, we would not be surprised to know that we desired all the newlywed perfections for our future; a big house, good jobs, the sleek suv filled with our 2-4 kids, maybe a Siberian Husky playing in a big yard, health and happiness. We got some of what we wanted, we finally moved to a nice sized house in a nice community, instead of the suv, we got the mini van we said we never wanted, we don’t have a dog (or any pets for that matter), we have maxed out on our dream number for children, we have had difficulty with health, but we do have happiness.

Our perception of happiness changed from ten years ago. I knew what I wanted and I couldn’t wait to get it. I was just as selfish with my desire to the check off every dream on my list as I was when I met you. I had taken a gnarly road to get to our wedding day and I wanted the road ahead to be as beautiful as the tree lined driveway we dreamed about. It didn’t always turn out that way. Every time we hit a bump on that beautiful road, I was easily discouraged. I waved my white flag and shook my hands at the sky but you reminded me to be patient. You had a positive attitude and encouraged me to pray about our difficulties. Three years into our marriage, we had struggled to get pregnant,  I had some health issues, and we learned our little guy had an incurable disease. For the first time, there was uncertainty in your eyes but you still held strong to the belief that God would see us through. The long, uncertain days became shorter and we began to adjust to our new normal. We began to bond closer together through our common struggles because no one else truly understood what we were facing. The endless nights of little to no sleep turned into years and we began to wear thin. Our special guy began to display behavioral issues, his seizures were never fully controlled and we always had questions. I would be close to losing hope and still you prayed. Your actions were and have always been selfless.

You are patient. You never complain when I need a shoulder to cry on. When those inevitable moments arrive where the world has crashed down on me and I have lost hope in myself, others, and my ability to move forward, you listen. You don’t try to fix me, you talk with me as long as I need, even when our conversation wears on into the morning. You constantly desire to do more and the only flaw I can see in you is the size of your heart. It is so big that you would give away all you have if it meant helping someone you loved. But on the other hand it isn’t such a flaw, God Himself answered prayers with self-sacrificing love.

The only question I would have for our future is, “What would I do without you?” Who would laugh at my terrible jokes, take time to pull apart my reserved personality and see me better than I could ever see myself, and who would help me carry our heavy burden? You are not just my husband, you are the perfect piece of me. I see in you all the things I wish I could be and I often lay awake wondering how I could deserve….. you……

We aren’t perfect but together, we can conquer the imperfections. We can be a cheerleader for one another when we feel like life has handed us too much, we can find a smile under the tears when disappointment once again comes marching in our door, and we can hold on to each other when we have no choice but to pray. It seems like a bulk of our marriage has been praying for answers and hoping we can pull through. In reality, I think the answers we have been seeking have been in front of us for ten years, you in front of me and me in front of you. We have been pushed, pulled and driven harder than most couples but we choose to face it together instead of turning from one another. Happy ten years. I can’t wait to see what else life hurls our way and how strong we will be because of it.

*d*

Homemade Pizza and Prozac

We didn’t have homemade pizza tonight but we used paper plates and those plastic support thingies. Well, I’m happy to update that Husband put his plate away when he was finished. IN FACT, he’s been putting it away since I told him he was featured in this blog. Five years of bitching, and all it took was writing about it–and then telling him I wrote about it. Never doubt the power of the written word!
~L~

crossroadtrippers's avatarCrossRoadTrippers

I made an awesomely beautiful homemade pizza tonight. My grandmother, who’s staying with us for the winter and loves pizza, was very impressed by its tastiness. My husband, who thinks he’s a pizza aficionado found it to be “amazing.” In all fairness though, he thinks a Quarter Pounder with cheese is “amazing.” While yummy in the throes of an insatiable grease craving, I would never say the burger is amazing. Regrettable, Indigestion inducing, Nap inspiring, those are all terms I’d use to describe the sandwich. But, the pizza was really good.

Anyway, pizza is something we don’t often break out the good china for. We spare my blue and white farm animal print dishes and use paper plates with those plastic support things under them. The practice has always been to use the plastic thing, throw away the paper plate when finished and put the supporter back in its place…

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FURIOUSLY HAPPY. And scared. And back to happy again.

As someone who deals with depression and anxiety, I’ve always loved the way Jenny Lawson makes me feel pretty normal. Oh yeah, and awesome. BUY HER BOOK! I know how hard it had to be to write!

~L~

Automattic Special Projects's avatarThe Bloggess

If you’ve been here long enough you know I’ve been working on my second book for the last three years.  I’ve carried it with me every day, adding a paragraph here, deleting another there, reworking a sentence for the eleventieth time because I want it to be perfect, always feeling like a loser because Stephen King and cocaine set unrealistic expectations about how easy it should be to write a book.  If you know me in real life you’ve seen me lugging around a giant manuscript and scribbling furiously in it when inspiration strikes.  You may have asked me why I don’t just use a laptop and then nodded in what you hoped passed for understanding when I explained that I was afraid I’d lose everything I’ve written when the robot revolution happens and computers become self-aware and refuse to humor me anymore because I wasted their potential watching videos of baby hedgehogs in bathtubs.

When I was deciding…

View original post 976 more words

Of Fire and Clay

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Pottery has been around for centuries and the techniques have been used by a variety of people from poor farmers to Egyptian Pharaohs. Because it abundant and readily available, clay was cheap. The need for pottery was as vast as the type of people who used it. Farmers could use simple pottery to hold grain while Pharaohs used elaborate pottery to hold sacred items for burial. In almost every culture, pottery was an easy way to create a piece of art. The process of creating a piece of pottery leaves the unformed glob of clay unrecognizable by the end of the refining process. To get the unshaped clay to a useful or artistic piece, it is molded by the potter’s hands, shaped into the desired form, and placed into the kiln to harden. Firing the clay is an important step so it can be strong enough to fulfill its desired purpose. Everything from the season’s yield to the treasures of an ancient culture would be held in pottery and the pieces had to be strong enough to withstand fracture and prevent it from losing its contents. The more artistic pieces were especially desired to withstand the tests of time and were often heated at higher temperatures. Not all types of clay can withstand the higher temperature so only special types of clay were used. This special clay creates the beautiful, extremely durable porcelain. It is unimaginable to think that clay consists of no more than a few natural elements.  According to dictionary.com, clay is partially defined as the following:

1. a natural earthly material that is plastic when wet, consisting essentially of hydrated silicates of aluminum: used for making bricks, pottery, etc.

2. earth, mud.

4. the human body, especially distinguished from the spirit or soul; the flesh

The body being defined as clay? In the simplest definition, the human body is made up of a handful of elements, mostly consisting of water. Humans and clay are essentially made of the same basic elements. Unlike the human body, water is added to clay to form what is desired by the potter’s hands. Without the work of the potter, the clay would remain with the earth. The body, being defined as that of clay, could also be seen in this simple context, from the earth, to the earth. Let there be no mistake, the human body is more complex than a jar of clay, but like clay, it can be shaped to hold the greatest treasures and has the potential to become a beautiful piece of art.

It isn’t uncommon to see people turning their bodies into their own versions of art. Tattoos are less the taboo that they once were. Adorning the body with pieces of art through tattooing takes time and can be painful. To the person desiring the tattoo, the expression of the work is usually well worth the pain of getting it. It has also been widely acceptable in America to have piercings. The brief moment of pain and subsequent care after the piercing is worth the look achieved. In both examples, the outcome of the initial pain was known and a decision was made to endure pain and/or the care involved. Such a process would be less desirable if the outcome was unknown and the only information given was a promise of beauty. That would take a great deal of trust and not being assured of the end result could cause anxiety and less of a tolerance of pain. Ask anyone who paid for a tattoo that ended up looking more like the doodling of a two year-old or the small percentage that got an infection from a piecing. Instead of beauty, they received a problem. Decisions such as these would be simpler to make if there was foreknowledge of the result. Since there is no way to know how the experience will end, asking questions can help make the best decision. If clay could ask questions or talk, what would it say to the potter?  It certainty would want to know what the potter intended for it, but what else?

“You want to make me a water pot? No thanks, I’m too good for water.”

“There is no way you are throwing me into that fire!”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t paint me blue.”

Fortunately for history, clay made no such demands or statements. Human ancestors molded and fired the clay to serve a purpose and clay is still serving a purpose today. Finding a purpose for the human existence is vastly different than that of clay but it can help define a purpose. Both start out as a shape unrecognizable to the finished result. Humans at some point in the womb resemble a tadpole more than a human but with time, develop all the necessary components. Witnessing a heartbeat via ultrasound when the baby is no more than a few weeks gestation is no less than astonishing. A heart that will beat thousands upon thousands of times in a lifetime begins so miniscule inside a mother’s womb.  In the womb is where the molding process begins. First with the physical form and then as the child grows, the internal. Parents nurture and protect children and try to shape them into responsible and respectable adults. Parents nurture the aspects of a child’s life to help him or her understand the world and prepare for the fire that will eventually come. And this shaping by fire never ends. Into adulthood the experiences shape existence, while still relying on the early work of the parents. All with the hope the now adult can navigate the world alone. Unlike the clay, humans can ask questions on what they will become.

“Why am I here?”

“Why has this tragedy happened to me?

“Am I strong enough to endure?”

Also unlike the clay, life is shaped over a long period of time and the fire doesn’t come all at once. Sometimes the fire is hot enough to harden only the outside and protect what is within and other times, the heat is so intense that it hardens on the inside and out. The true works of art are those formed with the most intense heat, whose flames are not meant for every piece of clay. Those special pieces are chosen carefully and will have lasting strength and beauty. Because the end result of these rare pieces is beauty beyond compare, it takes time and trust in the process. These rare works of art can hold the most valuable possessions and stand the test of time. No, money cannot buy an average piece the result meant for the rare and it’s not worth the value gained by experience. A plain pot can be painted, decorated and made to resemble what intense fire has fused but it cannot have equal strength.

Are you the rare pot? Have you been asked to carry the heavy burdens? Because the heat is so intense, the process for the rare pot is painful and there is no knowledge of why and how the fire will result in beauty. Often times questions have to remain unanswered and trust wears thin but like the rare pot, the experience in the hottest fire yields invaluable experience. Each time the rare pot is exposed to the next round of heat, the harder it gets and the value of the treasures entrusted grows. What gem has been entrusted to you? Maybe it is the most delicate that must be placed in the strongest of places. If you are asked to endure the intense flames, your beauty will only shine more brightly every time you endure. Unlike the common, this beauty isn’t by choice and can only be seen at the surface but has been shaped and formed changing the very elements of your life. Don’t get discouraged you rare and beautiful piece, welcome the fire, for each flame brings you closer to unmatched beauty.

*d*

Image found via search engine and credited to http://www.pinterest.com

The Easter Approach

Everyone has had rumors spread about them. These childish antics usually take place in high school, but unfortunately gossip is a nasty habit that carries well into adulthood. Rumors about me have labeled me weak, immature, inconsiderate, unappreciative, a snob, and much more. I urge you not to believe any of it, not because I haven’t been all of those things and more but because I have been forgiven for sometimes being exactly that. Easter is in six days and regardless of your religious affiliation, or not, one of the oldest stories ever told can have meaning for you.

As the familiar story of Christmas reminds us, Christians believe that God came to Earth and took human form. In one the many mysteries of the faith, He became fully man and fully God. He was also God, Son, and Holy Spirit in perfect unison, the Holy Trinity. Jesus fulfilled prophecy during His lifetime and did so to the end, suffering a horrific death. As God, He knew this was going to happen and as man, He pleaded for the suffering to pass from Him. As man, He suffered more than any human would ever endure. He was beaten, crucified, and bore the sins of the entire human existence for all time. As God He chose forgiveness instead of vengeance choosing to utter the words, “Forgive them, for they know not what they do,” in one of His last breaths. I know, this is sounding like a sermon but we need to be reminded that the Christian message is and needs to remain about forgiveness and sacrificial love as demonstrated in the Easter story. Often times we want to run our own agendas and forget the Easter message the other 364 days of the year. Christ did not say in His last breath, “forgive everyone except (insert name here)”. He made no exemptions and washed it all away. ALL of it. He took those moments when I was weak, narrow-minded, unforgiving, and sometimes ungrateful and forgave me, all I had to do was ask. I am comforted by this story because it can speak to everyone. True love is looking past all those imperfections and seeing others for who they truly are and what they desire to be. Unlike those truths and rumors about me, He knows me well enough to know the desires of my heart and gives me those desires even when I am unworthy because He loves me.

Yes, I believe in God who chose to live a meager existence, even in death by humbling Himself as man and accepting a fate that would result in Him ridiculed, beaten, and hanging helplessly to a cross. He accepted what He was given even when He could see exactly what it meant, even when He had the power to stop it. You don’t have to be a Christian to appreciate a man who lived no more than a meager existence, that accepted a sentence He did not deserve, because He loved humanity so much. We all have been given sentences we don’t deserve. I know I have but I choose to follow His example and accept it all the way to the end, even if it means to death because someone did that for me. I am also going keep trying to freely forgive others, and even myself, when I have been hurt because He offered forgiveness to the very people who chose to nail him to a piece of wood.

So I ask you to stop listening to rumors about me, each other, and Christ and see humanity and faith for what it really is; humbling, forgiving and life changing. It’s about time we stop looking at those bruises and scars we all bare and see us how we were seen over two thousand years ago, a beautiful work of creation deserving of the greatest forgiveness and love. The next time you don’t think someone, including yourself, is worth a kind word, or even forgiveness, there is a God who placed extraordinary value on each person, so much so He died to prove His love.

*d*