Where I'm From

I am from books new and old, from Maxwell House coffee and bad reality TV.

I am from the post, the base, the naval air station with gate and locks and closures and incongruent welcoming arms.

I am from the bluebells of Texas, the waterfalls of Iceland and the corn of Nebraska and the smell of earthworms after the rain.

I am from seven kinds of fish on Christmas and bad eyesight, from Cathy and David and Donna. I am from the spenders-of-money and the constant huggers.

From no matter what you do, we will always love you and Eat it, it will put hair on your chest.

I am from Protestant-ism. Searching and seeking for something that rings with truth.

I'm from New Hampshire, from seafood and Schnitzel.

From the broken glo-sticks all over the bedroom in Texas, the trips to see new babies and the wisdom that comes with age.

I am from the plastic box with the scrapbooks and loose photos, stored carefully in the basement, the yearbooks and journals opened and read with fond memories .

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Weekly Challenge (Indie Bloggers)

The challenge:

For your 55th birthday, your significant puts together a magnificent Hawaiian luau bash. Your dream, as a couple, was always to go there but life piled up in front of you and, alas, you never made it. The bash winds down around 1 am after much heavy partying. You wake up, can’t find your significant anywhere, walk into the kitchen, and find this note taped to the coffee maker:

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“Gone for batteries, be back in a bit, love —me”

I shake my head at his ability to function at this late hour. *He’s always been a night owl* I think as I turn back towards the cabinet to put the coffee mug away, and see his wallet lying on the counter where it always is. *Odd…oh well, he’ll be back for it*, and I head back to bed falling back to sleep quickly.***

I sit up with a jolt, reaching out towards his side of the bed, it’s cold and unwrinkled. Pulling my robe around me, I tiptoe out towards the office, hoping to find him in front of the computer. He’s not there.

“Jason?” , I ask, walking into the living room, expecting to see him asleep on the couch. Nothing. No answer, no sleeping husband. *Where the hell is he*, I mutter to myself as I push aside the curtains to look outside. His truck is still sitting in the drive, dwarfing my car as usual. *He’s got to be here somewhere*, I think to myself as I head towards the basement, hoping that maybe he’s tinkering around down there.

The lights in the basement are off, I reach to flick them on and nothing happens. I flick the switch on and off rapidly, calling out into the darkened area.

“Babe...you down there?” No answer. I move back in to the kitchen and grab a flashlight from the junk drawer and flick it on. Just then, I notice the red on my fingers…

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Hmm, where to go now?

It never fails to amaze me...

How people can see directly in my soul and write the words that it is afraid to speak. Poetry astounds me. There are so many people out there who know how to capture the essence of a feeling and make the resulting words say exactly what some one needs to hear. I came across this poem in the last few minutes and it spoke to me. It will speak to you as well.

Please hear what I am not saying

Thankful

I had dinner with a girlfriend and a friend of hers this past Friday. We talked about husbands and babies and married life in general. As we talked, I couldn't help but be thankful for my 9+ years of marriage. Jason and I don't always get along, we don't always like each other, and we have had our rough times (my fault!) But, I am so happy and thankful that he is here and we are still together.

He truly is an amazing husband. He overlooks my faults (plentiful as they may be) and helps me to realize and see my strengths. He supports me, even when he knows I will quit or give up. He loves me not in spite of who I am, but because of it.

He is the best father any one could ask for. He is patient, and kind. When I saw him hold our oldest for the first time, and saw how big his hands were compared to our teeny tiny baby, I fell in love with him all over again. When I see him take the time to play with our daughter in some decidely un-manly game--When he says how proud he is of our boys when they are doing well in school and takes the time to show them, I fall in love again.

I don't always show my love or my respect for him in the best ways, and I know I have a long way to go, before he can see how much I truly love and appreciate him.

My love, I am thankful that you are here with me, and that you love me. You are truly my heart and soul.

Dreams

"There are people who put their dreams in a little box and say, "Yes, I've got dreams, of course I've got dreams." Then they put the box away and bring it out once in awhile to look in it, and yep, they're still there. These are great dreams, but they never even get out of the box. It takes an uncommon amount of guts to put your dreams on the line, to hold them up and say, "How good or how bad am I?" That's where courage comes in." --Erma Louise Bombeck

I will admit that I am guilty as charged. I have things that I want to do, but I don't have the courage to actually do them. I start, then stop if something goes wrong. A few months ago I started making jewelry... I sold a bunch of pieces through work/friends, but when I put them up on e-Bay nothing much sold...so I stopped. I really enjoyed doing it, but I don't anymore because I am scared that nothing will sell. A few years ago, I started a book...I wrote the first chapter, and let the husband read it...he added a funny comment at the end (and it was funny) and I stopped. Multiple times, I have started and stopped an exercise program because the results weren't coming as quick as I wanted or I plateaud.
How does one get the courage to put themselves out there? How do you deal with the rejections, or the nay-sayers? How do you put up with disappointment?

Blinking cursor...

How you mock me.

My heart hurts...

I heard my 2ND grader say something yesterday, that no mother/parent should ever have to hear.

"Mom, a man came in to my school and was going to shoot me"

How do you respond to that? When I heard him say that, in his clear little boy voice-- with absolutely no fear, no worry, off-handed like he would tell me that the car next to us was green--my heart felt like it was going to explode.

Why should my "little" 7 year old have to know about these things? Why can't he tell me about Ninja turtles and soccer or a million other things? Why does he have to know that people can get into schools and hurt children just like him? Why does he have to know that OTHER kids can bring things to school that can hurt him/other kids. Why does he have to live in a world where people take out their anger in a physical way? Why does he have to live in a world where parents have to worry about sending their kids (little or otherwise) to school knowing that they might not come home?

This is rambling, I know..but it's hard to make sense of it. I don't want my kids to live in fear of the world and everyone in it, but I don't want them "fearless" either. How do you strike the right balance?