Saturday, April 1, 2017
Three Rivers Petroglyph Site
When you think petroglyphs, you generally think of some shadowy cave tucked away in a desert canyon with ancient paintings covering the walls. The reality for this location is that it's a short one mile hike along the ridges of a series of hills (or small mountains-- not sure on that classification) and the glyphs are open to the elements of the Chihuahan Desert and litter (ancient graffiti?) the faces of rocks along the trail. There are more than 21,000 glyphs at this site and were created by the Mogollon (best way to remember the pronunciation is 'muggle-yawn') people between 900 AD and 1400 AD. No one is really sure how these glyphs translate. My favorite glyph, that showed up frequently along our route, was the cross within a circle and surrounded by dots. The literature suggested that the dots could represent 'corn or a population count'... because those are interchangeable.
Sunday, February 26, 2017
Changes & Chicken
I have long thought that our family handles change well, that we can make change and go with the flow gracefully, in a smooth, fluid-like way. It always felt that way. The comings and goings of family members, the insane amount of traveling we've done in recent years, the move, the meeting of new people, and the cultivation of new relationships have all given me the impression that we adapt well on a large scale. This assumption was clearly called into question with the changes to our traditional church schedule. I'm not a stickler for when, where, what, and what order things are done in. It's the big picture, the end goal of what we are trying to achieve in meeting together with a church family. Tell me when to be there, and I'll be there... no judgments, no questions asked. So I did not once question the change of schedule for our Sunday services, which is now devotional at 9:15, class at 10:00, and services at 10:45. Sounds great. It is now apparent that my children, especially Paxton, have been completely thrown by these changes.
We got to church this morning for the 9:15 portion and the girls went to our pew to sit. Paxton went to class where I had to convince him that we weren't starting with class today and needed to be elsewhere. He was not impressed, but went. Twenty minutes later, he leans over and says "Is it almost over? Are they about to say the prayer?" Normally, this is his cue for "I've almost made it through services." It ends and he says "Are we getting chicken now?" For the last two months of a certain family member's absence, I have hit KFC on the way home from church on Sunday. It seems that the response to making it through Sunday morning church is to now get chicken.
Paxton was less than thrilled that not only was it not time for chicken, it was now time for class. That's the nice way of saying he pitched a fit about the absence of chicken. Much strong talk later, he was installed in his classroom with a warning to the teacher about how it could possibly not be the best morning at this point. I later confirmed that it was not. Because change and chicken. After class, it was another long talk and a wrangling to get him back into our pew for services. "I thought we were getting chicken..." Not yet, buddy. Another hour. Every moment of the service was punctuated with "Is it over yet? Are we getting chicken?" Paxton's Pavlovian response is that chicken undoubtedly comes after prayer, but the new order of worship made every transition in the service to include "When are we getting chicken?" At this point, the new changes had only severely affected Paxton. Because chicken.
The other change was the order of worship. Communion is now offered at the end of the service. And the order of communion is no longer cracker, juice, collection plate but collection plate, cracker, juice. All four of my children had their minds blown. I was not prepared for the fallout. Paxton thought it was time for chicken. The two little girls were freaking out because I didn't give them a quarter. Evelynn was beside herself because she thought she had somehow been left out of the cracker and juice portion. All four were having a pew-side conniption as I begged them to calm themselves. They were united in their consternation of "What is this madness?" And after communion Paxton said "Can we get chicken now?"
Services finally came to a close, and they sat there not even really sure it was truly over. Normally, my children disperse quickly, anxious to visit. It usually takes a posse that feels like herding wild cats to get all four kids out the door at the same time. All four of my kids were at the door, all four kids walked out the door at the same time, and all four kids got in the car. It was like they were so completely overwhelmed by the morning they just had to do something normal. It was weird. Paxton piped up from the backseat "So are we getting chicken now?" So we went and got chicken. And balance was restored.
We got to church this morning for the 9:15 portion and the girls went to our pew to sit. Paxton went to class where I had to convince him that we weren't starting with class today and needed to be elsewhere. He was not impressed, but went. Twenty minutes later, he leans over and says "Is it almost over? Are they about to say the prayer?" Normally, this is his cue for "I've almost made it through services." It ends and he says "Are we getting chicken now?" For the last two months of a certain family member's absence, I have hit KFC on the way home from church on Sunday. It seems that the response to making it through Sunday morning church is to now get chicken.
Paxton was less than thrilled that not only was it not time for chicken, it was now time for class. That's the nice way of saying he pitched a fit about the absence of chicken. Much strong talk later, he was installed in his classroom with a warning to the teacher about how it could possibly not be the best morning at this point. I later confirmed that it was not. Because change and chicken. After class, it was another long talk and a wrangling to get him back into our pew for services. "I thought we were getting chicken..." Not yet, buddy. Another hour. Every moment of the service was punctuated with "Is it over yet? Are we getting chicken?" Paxton's Pavlovian response is that chicken undoubtedly comes after prayer, but the new order of worship made every transition in the service to include "When are we getting chicken?" At this point, the new changes had only severely affected Paxton. Because chicken.
The other change was the order of worship. Communion is now offered at the end of the service. And the order of communion is no longer cracker, juice, collection plate but collection plate, cracker, juice. All four of my children had their minds blown. I was not prepared for the fallout. Paxton thought it was time for chicken. The two little girls were freaking out because I didn't give them a quarter. Evelynn was beside herself because she thought she had somehow been left out of the cracker and juice portion. All four were having a pew-side conniption as I begged them to calm themselves. They were united in their consternation of "What is this madness?" And after communion Paxton said "Can we get chicken now?"
Services finally came to a close, and they sat there not even really sure it was truly over. Normally, my children disperse quickly, anxious to visit. It usually takes a posse that feels like herding wild cats to get all four kids out the door at the same time. All four of my kids were at the door, all four kids walked out the door at the same time, and all four kids got in the car. It was like they were so completely overwhelmed by the morning they just had to do something normal. It was weird. Paxton piped up from the backseat "So are we getting chicken now?" So we went and got chicken. And balance was restored.
Thursday, February 23, 2017
in·flu·en·za
ˌinfləˈwenzə/
noun
- a highly contagious viral infection of the respiratory passages causing fever, severe aching, and catarrh, and often occurring in epidemics.Post sickness clean-up and return to normal is a bit overwhelming. Ten days, my friends. Not all of us were sick at the same time. I was unfortunate in that my virus became sinusitis and required prednisone and antibiotics. And, of course, by that point, my children were ecstatic to be alive and thriving, which means many questionable things took place. Upon inspecting the damage, I just decided to take pictures of it all for posterity.The arsenal of medicine. Highest temperature goes to Paxton, a whopping 103.9. I was getting nervous and was planning my next steps for doctor intervention when the Tylenol took it down quickly. Paxton's actually quite funny when he's sick. He lays all over me or his sisters and just says "I love you" all the time.
The pile of dishes. Ah, yes....... pizza sounded horrid to me, but the kids, again, were quite well by that point.
And then the random assortment of thermometer and corn dog sticks. It was a matter of eat the frozen food and eat all the apples, oranges, carrots, and yogurt to make me feel better about myself as a mother.
And I'm not sure exactly what happened. The girls said Paxton was eating crackers on the couch while removing the stuffing from a pillow. Seems he ate his orange and yogurt on the couch, too. I'm not questioning it. Just pondering the sights.
And it came to pass that the boy was back to fine health, leaving his sisters and mother still very much under the weather. What happens in Paxton's room, stays in Paxton's room. Other than the above picture, we managed to keep his boyish vibrance contained to his room. The word 'contained' is up for conjecture.
We did try. There is evidence.
Fun fact: You can order a case of chicken noodle soup as well as basic drugs off Amazon and get them in two days.
And the beauty of homeschooling is lesson planning and lessons continued, although in limited ways. It may have been in reading or documentaries, but something was learned and we didn't lose six days entirely.
And I had flowers to keep up the spirits... until they got all wonky. Tulips are weird. I love them, but they certainly don't go out quietly.
Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Jeepers Creepers
It's been a while since I had my last major creep out day. Yesterday was my lucky day. I won't belabor the point, but those who have followed my stories here or on social media, know that I have little tolerance for creatures, mostly the small ones... the ones that are creepy, crawly, scrounging, darting and otherwise generally known as spiders, insects or vermin-- and for this part of the story I can add toad to that list. I was having a great day until I walked into my bathroom and found a rather large toad floating in my toilet. It was dead. Like its tongue was hanging out of its face. Unblinking, unmoving four inches of toad. I still shudder. I seem to go to some realm of incoherence when creatures are in my vicinity and just... being. It took a good ten minutes to realize that I could just flush him back down from whence he came. I may have closed the lid to not witness the porcelain funeral and I may have waited a good bit before checking if it actually went down. All children have denied putting him there and, in fact, they hadn't yet been outside when I found him. *shudders again over recollection*
You'd think the day would have calmly moved on. I'm still trying to get caught up on some cleaning out projects I began last spring, so I moved on to clean out the girls' room. Those lovely, sweet, angelic, brilliant......... daughters of mine. We cleaned out everything: the closet, the undersides of things, the toy baskets, and then finally made our way to the dressers. About a year ago, seeing as Caelan and McKenna are the same size and share clothing anyway, I combined their clothes from two dressers into one, and used the other dresser for their dress-up clothes and any other random girly items like baby dolls and the like. I've noticed over the last year that it's also where things get hidden, like food and your random science experiment, generally involving soap and water. My words to them as I headed the direction of that dresser were "Let's see what's in your chest of dirty secrets." Caelan's eyes widened and she ran across the room, opening the top drawer to quickly grab something that should not have been there. I stopped her by shutting the drawer and refusing to let her remove the 'dirty secret.' Oh, how I wish it were just food or some trash. Really, that would have been fabulous. But no. Nope. Zilch. Nada.
In our schoolroom, we have a clear container that you can put bugs in and on the top is a magnifying glass so you can safely observe whatever bug or creature you have collected. We all know that freaks me out a bit, but who am I to stunt my children's education over my own phobias? I embrace the homeschool lifestyle of everything is a learning experience. Until we all die of some unexplained airborne disease that comes from bacterial death, that is. Back to the story... I opened the drawer and saw the clear bug container, but before I could figure out what was inside, the pungent smell of death met me. I nudged the canister a bit to determine what was in it and proceeded to lose any grace I've deluded myself into thinking I have grown into after nearly eleven years of children. My freak out was impressive apparently. My daughters sat on their beds, wide-eyed, grasping their faces and then sobbing.
I'm fully aware by this point in my life that the good Lord gave me children for the sheer purpose of keeping me humble and no where near complacent. I've also decided that rodents are my personal nemesis and easily the best way for people to be entertained. That canister with the magnifying glass contained a few days old, rotting, juicy, slimy *shudders and goosebumps still* dead mouse. It's frankly horrifying. It took hours to get the floating toad out of my head... it will take longer with this mouse. I quickly chunked the whole thing. It took until today to suss out why that mouse was in a container, in a dresser drawer, and in my house, and also who did it. I couldn't deal yesterday. Finding it pushed me over the edge. They got quite the lecture yesterday, but I waited until today to get the who and why. The who, surprisingly, was McKenna. It's not really her thing. She did tell me "Well, it's the mouse Fleur (the cat) killed. I buried it for her but then decided I wanted to watch it decompose. With a magnifying glass. But it was starting to smell. But it's skin was doing cool things." That's great. That's lovely. That's *shudders again* absolutely the most appalling and abhorrent thing I've experienced (this month any way).
For future reference, it has been made clear that all science experiments be conducted outside UNLESS CLEARED BY MOM, and that it is possible to observe decomposition merely with a dead animal or any other dying entity outside lying in the grass and not inside, in a container meant for observing bugs. I feel I was overdue for a great Brannon happening. I'd prefer it never to involve toads in toilets or mice ever again. *shudders one more time for good measure*
Tuesday, November 8, 2016
Ah, Life
It's been a few simple days here at home. It's been crazy for many people. That glorious right of voting has once again brought anguish and vitriol from ruthless campaigning. While this is not a post for political leanings or my two cents worth on who, what, where, when, or even why, here's a simple reminder that this is by far not the first election to divide a nation (pretty sure historically, that happens every four years) and each election season people fly off the handle and turn on everyone who disagrees. I've watched and loathed it all for months, maybe even years. Because good grief, everyone can do their part, but in the end, it comes down to me and what I put on my ballot. My opinions are not bandied about and I'm not about to put down someone for disagreeing with me. I've not walked in their shoes. They haven't walked in mine. End of story.
While I've watched the crazy, my thoughts have turned more home. I've been in a strange place in recent days. I have come face to face with the grief that comes from cancer. My aunt (if you've read my last post) has her ups and downs. A very dear friend is walking the same path of chemotherapy and radiation. And yet another beautiful soul who touched my family's life in the sweetest way passed away from her own multi-year fight with cancer a couple of weeks ago. On Saturday, I had several phone calls with the news that my great-aunt, after a long, fulfilling life, passed away. It seems like so much to take in. It's an ending. Tomorrow, I will be traveling to Texas to be with my family celebrating the life of the sweetest, gentlest woman I know and was blessed to be related to. While it's an end to the physical life, it's just not the end.
Sunday night, I had a text from my brother and his wife. I'm the proud auntie of yet another nephew. Life is beautiful. Where one life ends, there is always another set to continue a legacy of living. There is no real ending. It's life, a continuation (I'm not about to start singing the "Circle of Life" for you). I want to hold all of those sick and dying and living close to my heart. So the world goes crazy. America loses her sight for a while. And life goes on. I'm more than aware that life can change from the political landscape. I'd be a fool to ignore it or discredit current issues, but I have the opportunity to appreciate the simplicity of life. I have the choice to not be swept up into the emotion that came from this campaign season. I've allowed myself to not fall to its intensity. I've been overwhelmed at times with the anger, the fear, the smugness that have possessed so many of my friends and family. That can't be healthy. Be concerned. Have your opinions. Do your part. But seriously, get a grip, take a step back, and think about the things that are far more precious to your life.
Another thing about Sunday, my beautiful Evelynn decided she wanted to be baptized. There was a fantastic analogy in a sermon we heard Sunday morning. About peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You can't have that sandwich if you leave out the peanut butter or if you leave out the jelly. It's not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A simple analogy on sandwiches helped Evelynn along in her thinking. Believe and be baptized. Not just believe but be baptized. We got in the car and she tells me "You know, I believe, but if I don't follow through and get baptized like we're told to do, it's not going to count. Just like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." After talking, and Keith's long drive home yesterday from Texas and a return trip for him tomorrow, our girl is getting baptized this evening. "It's one of the most important decisions I will ever make," she told me.
Sickness, death, new life, a new spiritual life-- there's a beautiful simplicity in ignoring the crazy. I've thought it somehow ironic that on the few days leading up to election day, that my thoughts are more concerned with my family, of just doing the small daily things and thinking of my loved ones, and that on election day, when it seems people are losing their minds, my girl is making a decision to change her life. We have the choice to be calm, to make decisions free from anyone else's opinions or tantrums. It's quite American, really, to have all these choices. So keep calm and carry on. (And yes-- it's a British saying-- I don't care. It's my motto in life and I'm not rehashing the Revolution on election day.) You've done what you need to do. Let it go. There's too much living to do.
While I've watched the crazy, my thoughts have turned more home. I've been in a strange place in recent days. I have come face to face with the grief that comes from cancer. My aunt (if you've read my last post) has her ups and downs. A very dear friend is walking the same path of chemotherapy and radiation. And yet another beautiful soul who touched my family's life in the sweetest way passed away from her own multi-year fight with cancer a couple of weeks ago. On Saturday, I had several phone calls with the news that my great-aunt, after a long, fulfilling life, passed away. It seems like so much to take in. It's an ending. Tomorrow, I will be traveling to Texas to be with my family celebrating the life of the sweetest, gentlest woman I know and was blessed to be related to. While it's an end to the physical life, it's just not the end.
Sunday night, I had a text from my brother and his wife. I'm the proud auntie of yet another nephew. Life is beautiful. Where one life ends, there is always another set to continue a legacy of living. There is no real ending. It's life, a continuation (I'm not about to start singing the "Circle of Life" for you). I want to hold all of those sick and dying and living close to my heart. So the world goes crazy. America loses her sight for a while. And life goes on. I'm more than aware that life can change from the political landscape. I'd be a fool to ignore it or discredit current issues, but I have the opportunity to appreciate the simplicity of life. I have the choice to not be swept up into the emotion that came from this campaign season. I've allowed myself to not fall to its intensity. I've been overwhelmed at times with the anger, the fear, the smugness that have possessed so many of my friends and family. That can't be healthy. Be concerned. Have your opinions. Do your part. But seriously, get a grip, take a step back, and think about the things that are far more precious to your life.
Another thing about Sunday, my beautiful Evelynn decided she wanted to be baptized. There was a fantastic analogy in a sermon we heard Sunday morning. About peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. You can't have that sandwich if you leave out the peanut butter or if you leave out the jelly. It's not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. A simple analogy on sandwiches helped Evelynn along in her thinking. Believe and be baptized. Not just believe but be baptized. We got in the car and she tells me "You know, I believe, but if I don't follow through and get baptized like we're told to do, it's not going to count. Just like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich." After talking, and Keith's long drive home yesterday from Texas and a return trip for him tomorrow, our girl is getting baptized this evening. "It's one of the most important decisions I will ever make," she told me.
Sickness, death, new life, a new spiritual life-- there's a beautiful simplicity in ignoring the crazy. I've thought it somehow ironic that on the few days leading up to election day, that my thoughts are more concerned with my family, of just doing the small daily things and thinking of my loved ones, and that on election day, when it seems people are losing their minds, my girl is making a decision to change her life. We have the choice to be calm, to make decisions free from anyone else's opinions or tantrums. It's quite American, really, to have all these choices. So keep calm and carry on. (And yes-- it's a British saying-- I don't care. It's my motto in life and I'm not rehashing the Revolution on election day.) You've done what you need to do. Let it go. There's too much living to do.
Monday, October 24, 2016
My Name is McKenna!
October is my second favorite month of the year (because anyone knows that the best month is always the month of your birthday) for its color, its weather, its spice-- it's just lovely. It's that first glimpse of summer reprieve, at least here in the south. It's the month where I step outside, take a deep breath, and enjoy a day for its perfection. On Saturday, I took the girls out for some fall fun out in the country. We went horseback riding, something I grew up with and is almost second nature for me, but something my children are not familiar with. They each had their own horse and could not wait to get started. It was a calm, walking ride through trees and fields, nothing strenuous or requiring too much thought as the horses followed each other with our guide up ahead at the front.
Caelan lucked out form the beginning and her horse was lead by the guide. In hindsight, it should have been McKenna's horse, who was a couple horses back from the guide and directly in front of me. Evelynn rode along behind me and was overjoyed, as per her usual. McKenna was completely out of her element. I'm never quite sure how she will handle any given situation. Sometimes she approaches life with such ferocity and other times it's with shaking timidity.
In the case of her relationship with this horse, it bordered on timidity. She had absolutely no idea what was necessary to sit atop a horse and make sure it moved. She held the reins far too slack and could not quite understand the terminology of "hold the reins closer to his neck" or "hold the reins tighter or his head will get away from you." The guide was absolutely no help. I helped as much as I could but the guide was quite displeased when I got out of line to show McKenna how to hold the reins. This guide lady had obviously had a long, trying day. She was vocal about how long she had been astride her horse and with only two breaks in six hours. Having a whole lineup of little girls on horses with little horse knowledge must have been her undoing.
This ride lasted about twenty minutes and every few minutes, the guide lady would turn around and yell at McKenna "Hey, girl in the black shirt!!!" and then proceed to ineffectually criticize her handling of the horse. I'm not sure the guide new how to instruct a seven year old constructively on horsemanship other than to continually yell at the "girl in the black shirt." McKenna was never flustered much, but I was not impressed with constant yelling and the guide's tone of voice was creeping up to down right rude. The ride was lovely; the girls were elated, even McKenna despite the guide's less than pleasant communication.
Near the end of the ride, Ms. Guide Lady had had enough. She stopped the horses and turned to repeat all criticisms of the last twenty minutes, beginning with "Hey, girl in the black shirt!!!" McKenna listened quietly and I helped her readjust the reins. Just as we were about to set off again, McKenna yells "HEY, LADY IN THE FRONT!! MY NAME IS MCKENNA!!!" The guide turned around and looked at McKenna, "I guess I've been very rude to you this whole time. I'm sorry. You'll get the hang of the reins someday. I was just worried the horse would get away from you. It's nice to meet you, McKenna." We finished the ride without any more yelling and McKenna hopped off her horse, delighted with the experience. So, for future reference, she may start out timid, but she won't put up with verbal abuse for too long. It was all so... McKenna.
Caelan lucked out form the beginning and her horse was lead by the guide. In hindsight, it should have been McKenna's horse, who was a couple horses back from the guide and directly in front of me. Evelynn rode along behind me and was overjoyed, as per her usual. McKenna was completely out of her element. I'm never quite sure how she will handle any given situation. Sometimes she approaches life with such ferocity and other times it's with shaking timidity.
In the case of her relationship with this horse, it bordered on timidity. She had absolutely no idea what was necessary to sit atop a horse and make sure it moved. She held the reins far too slack and could not quite understand the terminology of "hold the reins closer to his neck" or "hold the reins tighter or his head will get away from you." The guide was absolutely no help. I helped as much as I could but the guide was quite displeased when I got out of line to show McKenna how to hold the reins. This guide lady had obviously had a long, trying day. She was vocal about how long she had been astride her horse and with only two breaks in six hours. Having a whole lineup of little girls on horses with little horse knowledge must have been her undoing.
This ride lasted about twenty minutes and every few minutes, the guide lady would turn around and yell at McKenna "Hey, girl in the black shirt!!!" and then proceed to ineffectually criticize her handling of the horse. I'm not sure the guide new how to instruct a seven year old constructively on horsemanship other than to continually yell at the "girl in the black shirt." McKenna was never flustered much, but I was not impressed with constant yelling and the guide's tone of voice was creeping up to down right rude. The ride was lovely; the girls were elated, even McKenna despite the guide's less than pleasant communication.
Near the end of the ride, Ms. Guide Lady had had enough. She stopped the horses and turned to repeat all criticisms of the last twenty minutes, beginning with "Hey, girl in the black shirt!!!" McKenna listened quietly and I helped her readjust the reins. Just as we were about to set off again, McKenna yells "HEY, LADY IN THE FRONT!! MY NAME IS MCKENNA!!!" The guide turned around and looked at McKenna, "I guess I've been very rude to you this whole time. I'm sorry. You'll get the hang of the reins someday. I was just worried the horse would get away from you. It's nice to meet you, McKenna." We finished the ride without any more yelling and McKenna hopped off her horse, delighted with the experience. So, for future reference, she may start out timid, but she won't put up with verbal abuse for too long. It was all so... McKenna.
Tuesday, October 11, 2016
life, love, adventure
I received some news recently that hit me in a way that was unexpected and yet expected. We all expect that some day those that are close to us will have their phone call from a doctor that rocks their world. We all expect the devastation at the simple thought of that person leaving us to this world. We expect the depredation of sickness (in this case, cancer). But no matter how much we expect, we are thrust into the cliched realization that life is short, and it's never the right moment to stare at its starkness, that sucker punch. When it's a person dear to your life, it's hard to imagine living here on earth without them, and you want them to know what they have meant to you. In this specific case, I have spent a good bit of time reflecting on the life of my beautiful Aunt Cindy and her influence on my life. She is facing the monster of cancer, and this is my moment to express to her how great of an impact she has had on my life. If you know her, you know she is amazing. If you don't, let me tell you about her.
There are people in this life we are blessed to call family. Some members of our families influence us by their strictness, or their quirkiness, or their simplicity, or any other number of ways. Aunt Cindy gently influences by just living and doing her best to live well. She leads a creative life; searching for meaning, adventuring, and loving those around her. Everything I know about my creative life came from her, seeing beauty in the small, aesthetic things... flowers and floral arrangements, flowing design for parties or weddings, that masterful meringue on her chocolate pie that no one in this world can even hope to duplicate, that small, elegant stitch of embroidery on a pillow, the preparation and presentation of delectable Chinese food, that teapot of Earl Grey with the accompanying conversation... her life is a work of art. I have in my pinky what that woman is capable of creating. I watch, marvel, and do my best to duplicate, but she is unmatched. All those floral arrangements, weddings, embroideries, and baking I have done are simply my attempt at reflecting what she has taught me. And dang it, if I could make a pot of Earl Grey the way she does, I would have reached heaven. She makes it with magic. She has to.
My Aunt Cindy loves well. She loves completely. She has taught me so much about love. I have learned that some people are so very easy to love and then there are those that are exceptionally difficult to love. For those that take effort to love, we tend to expect them to love us the way we love them; some kind of skewed version of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." We want to love the way we choose to love. And in the grand scheme of life, that's just not going to happen. There is so much mercy and grace missing from our relationships these days; a lost idea that humanity is full of mistakes, bitterness, and unforgiven acts. Not everyone in our lives can love us the way we want and that can't always be remedied. It's learning to accept the love they are capable of giving and being content with it. Bitterness is a revolting emotion that creeps up when we feel that we are loving on a level that is not being reciprocated. That's not to say there are no boundaries, and boy, have I learned the importance of boundaries from that woman. Love carefully, accept what is given, don't fixate on the love you think is missing from some of your relationships. It may be all the love those relationships can spare as those people battle their own demons and muddle through their own lives.
Change is a "yea or nay" thing for most people. I know my Aunt Cindy's life. I know the changes she has gone through, whether by her choice or what was thrust upon her unwillingly. Either way, I've always seen a grace in how she chose to move through change. Life is carnage and bitter tears, but it's also of joy, hope, and the knowledge that we don't trudge our way through it by ourselves. I know this because I have seen it in my Aunt Cindy. She knows the ugly side of life. She reflects the simple joys of it in the face of heartache. Her hope is found in setting her sights on heaven. She and life run to adventure, which to me is the idea that we take advantage of what ever opportunities arise. I know change. I know what it's like to grapple with the unknown. Change, for all its scariness can bring about the greatest blessings. It's living a life that doesn't follow the parameters or expectations of society, our friends, or sometimes even our family. It's a daring life... infinitely difficult for my and my Aunt Cindy's people pleasing ways. If I can get to the end of my life and know that I have encouraged others to refuse mundanity and embrace the adventure we've been given, I will have lived well.
No matter what the next few weeks, months, or years bring to the life of my Aunt Cindy, she will continue her graceful, gentle way of living and loving. She continues to impress me with her spirit and her faith. She cultivates positivity... even though life has been unpleasant. It's one of the greatest honors and pleasures of my life to know her and to learn from her. From a quick, stressed phone call begging for creative genius in making a floral arrangement to the long, midnight conversations over our Earl Grey, I relish every moment with my Aunt Cindy. My life would not be what it is without her inspiration, wisdom, knowledge, encouragement, and love. I'm not going to wait to let her know that.
There are people in this life we are blessed to call family. Some members of our families influence us by their strictness, or their quirkiness, or their simplicity, or any other number of ways. Aunt Cindy gently influences by just living and doing her best to live well. She leads a creative life; searching for meaning, adventuring, and loving those around her. Everything I know about my creative life came from her, seeing beauty in the small, aesthetic things... flowers and floral arrangements, flowing design for parties or weddings, that masterful meringue on her chocolate pie that no one in this world can even hope to duplicate, that small, elegant stitch of embroidery on a pillow, the preparation and presentation of delectable Chinese food, that teapot of Earl Grey with the accompanying conversation... her life is a work of art. I have in my pinky what that woman is capable of creating. I watch, marvel, and do my best to duplicate, but she is unmatched. All those floral arrangements, weddings, embroideries, and baking I have done are simply my attempt at reflecting what she has taught me. And dang it, if I could make a pot of Earl Grey the way she does, I would have reached heaven. She makes it with magic. She has to.
My Aunt Cindy loves well. She loves completely. She has taught me so much about love. I have learned that some people are so very easy to love and then there are those that are exceptionally difficult to love. For those that take effort to love, we tend to expect them to love us the way we love them; some kind of skewed version of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." We want to love the way we choose to love. And in the grand scheme of life, that's just not going to happen. There is so much mercy and grace missing from our relationships these days; a lost idea that humanity is full of mistakes, bitterness, and unforgiven acts. Not everyone in our lives can love us the way we want and that can't always be remedied. It's learning to accept the love they are capable of giving and being content with it. Bitterness is a revolting emotion that creeps up when we feel that we are loving on a level that is not being reciprocated. That's not to say there are no boundaries, and boy, have I learned the importance of boundaries from that woman. Love carefully, accept what is given, don't fixate on the love you think is missing from some of your relationships. It may be all the love those relationships can spare as those people battle their own demons and muddle through their own lives.
Change is a "yea or nay" thing for most people. I know my Aunt Cindy's life. I know the changes she has gone through, whether by her choice or what was thrust upon her unwillingly. Either way, I've always seen a grace in how she chose to move through change. Life is carnage and bitter tears, but it's also of joy, hope, and the knowledge that we don't trudge our way through it by ourselves. I know this because I have seen it in my Aunt Cindy. She knows the ugly side of life. She reflects the simple joys of it in the face of heartache. Her hope is found in setting her sights on heaven. She and life run to adventure, which to me is the idea that we take advantage of what ever opportunities arise. I know change. I know what it's like to grapple with the unknown. Change, for all its scariness can bring about the greatest blessings. It's living a life that doesn't follow the parameters or expectations of society, our friends, or sometimes even our family. It's a daring life... infinitely difficult for my and my Aunt Cindy's people pleasing ways. If I can get to the end of my life and know that I have encouraged others to refuse mundanity and embrace the adventure we've been given, I will have lived well.
No matter what the next few weeks, months, or years bring to the life of my Aunt Cindy, she will continue her graceful, gentle way of living and loving. She continues to impress me with her spirit and her faith. She cultivates positivity... even though life has been unpleasant. It's one of the greatest honors and pleasures of my life to know her and to learn from her. From a quick, stressed phone call begging for creative genius in making a floral arrangement to the long, midnight conversations over our Earl Grey, I relish every moment with my Aunt Cindy. My life would not be what it is without her inspiration, wisdom, knowledge, encouragement, and love. I'm not going to wait to let her know that.
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