I should have started blogging earlier. It would have helped me keep from wringing Cassie's neck. I'm having a hard time believing we share genetic code. What happened?
After dropping Sonja off at play practice, Cass and I went grocery shopping, mostly for stuff for her to take hunting tomorrow. Things were going well, she'd only ran into me with the cart two or three times and hadn't thrown too big of a fit when I said no to the six hundredth thing she asked for. With arms full off chili and soup cans, I turned around to discover she and the cart were gone. "Cassie? Caaaaassie? Cassandra, dear? CASSIE!!!" After extensive looking, I find her in the greeting card isle looking at birthday cards.
"What are you doing? Where's the cart? My purse was in there."
"Nothing. Looking at cards for me." Her birthday is next Friday, 12 years young. "You know, Mom, you can just buy me a phone or give me a couple hundred dollars." This from the girl who recently asked for an advance on her allowance to buy me a birthday present but then used the money to buy herself a book. It's the thought that counts, and at least it was a book and not heroin, but I can't believe she is completely oblivious to other people's feelings. Except when she isn't.
Miss Cheeks also loves to tell me how much fun drama is. Whenever she can, she likes to tell so and so what so and so said and then gleefully watch them fight. Cass plays the reorganization of trios into diodes game like others play World of Warcraft. "It lets me know who is popular and important." How do I not choke her????
Don't get me started on how boy crazy she is. She averages about three life-crippling crushes a week. When the object of her affections starts to pay attention to her, she switches her focus to one who isn't interested so she can pine.
"What's wrong with me, Mother?" Bod hoo hoo.
"I don't know, Honey. I really don't know." This cannot be the fruit of my womb. Sigh.
Cassie's sense of humor--she tells a confusing story which only she laughs at, then immediately she tells the story of telling the last story and laughing. To this, she laughs even harder and starts in on the third incomprehensible rendition of the same story. To her credit, by the time she is rolling on the floor with tears running out of her eyes, confused bystanders are laughing at her spastic behavior...hmmm, guess we do have a little bit in common.
Her antics wouldn't hurt so much if I didn't love her to pieces. On the one hand I want to stop her from creating situations that cause herself and others to suffer. I want to stop her rapid cycle of snotty pride and crushing self-loathing. I'd like to convince her how valuable her love, forgiveness, and generosity can be. On the other, I know it is her life to live and learn from. While I can dole out circumstances that make certain behaviors unrewarding, I can't actually stop her from doing anything. All I can do is watch and hold out my towel of unconditional love to wrap her in when life soaks her. Momming hurts.
Think about feeling this way for 6,872,245,726 people. Sorry for my own childish antics, God.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
People of heart
The best way to lead is by good example. Big thank you going out to Johnny Stallings for voluntarily driving from Portland to Umatilla once a week to facilitate a dialogue group at TRCI. He just directed sixteen inmates in the best rendition of "A Midsummer Night's Dream" I've seen. Also, thank you to Nancy Scharbach for designing many of the costumes and the Portland Opera house for loaning the rest. It takes a lot of talent to deck out a guy as Titania, Queen of the Fairies, or Tom Snout "The Wall." Their compassion and generosity spread like waves in a pond. The last show is this Saturday. For more information on Mr. Stallings' work on the inside go to http://www.openheartsopenminds.net/ The difference he is making in these men's lives is undeniable.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sweet Symphonies
"Life has a melody...A rhythm of notes which become your existence once played in harmony with God's plan."
I'm offering dinner to the first person that can tell me where this quote comes from without plugging it into a search engine...and I have my ways of testing your honesty.
Music has been playing through my mind a lot lately, not only as a soundtrack for the day-to-day, but also as a reflection of the spirit. I was allegorizing religion earlier, a hobby, and I thought about this great big symphonic world. God, like music, is everywhere. Cultural bias often dictates the forms that appeal to individuals, but there is no culture that is without some sort of music. Many religions would like to say they have the market cornered on salvation, but it just doesn't make sense that God would provide only one way to sing his song.
Jesus is one instrument, like a piano. If I know how to play the piano, then to me that is music. Buddha is another instrument, like a zheng (that stringed weapon they use to throw punches at the three defenders of the slum in Kung Fu Hustle). Many people can derive music from that instrument. Is one better than the other? The symphony is everywhere, rustling trees, a babbling brook, silence. There is music and God in it all. We just have to listen for it. Telling millions of people that their preference in music is wrong, is just noise that will get them damned to hell, limits our own ability to hear the incomprehensibly infinite variety of song he created. Grace, Jesus, folk, and rock will probably forever top my charts, but I still want to hear and experience as many of the universe's sweet sounds as I can.
As many of you know, I'm not very musically gifted. Though I appreciate melodious sounds, producing them is not my forte. My karaoke support group doesn't need to chime in with, "It's not that bad." Mediocre is bad enough when you sing as much and as loud as I do. A couple of friendly dj's have had to mercifully stop me in midsong. And earlier tonight I had to lock the kitties out of the family room because Billy was attacking my face during the high notes. Everyone is a critic.Whether or not my tune is easy on the ears, I'm going to keep singing it. Singing is a manifestation of the spirit; even when it is an imperfect celebration of whatever I'm feeling.
Currently, I'm trying to master The Beatles "Oh, Darling." I started with "Across the Universe" because the lyrics are so profound (wink), but the rawness of "Oh, Darling" spoke a little louder. As such things go, just when you think you know what you want, something else takes the stage. Life's lullaby is like that.
So, what are you listening to? You. My friend or the stranger reading this, what's your song?
P.S. How many people thought the line "Jai Guru Deva" was "Kangaroo Days" from "Across the Universe." What does it mean? "I give thanks (victory) (salutation) to Guru Dev (or heavenly teacher)." Good stuff.
I'm offering dinner to the first person that can tell me where this quote comes from without plugging it into a search engine...and I have my ways of testing your honesty.
Music has been playing through my mind a lot lately, not only as a soundtrack for the day-to-day, but also as a reflection of the spirit. I was allegorizing religion earlier, a hobby, and I thought about this great big symphonic world. God, like music, is everywhere. Cultural bias often dictates the forms that appeal to individuals, but there is no culture that is without some sort of music. Many religions would like to say they have the market cornered on salvation, but it just doesn't make sense that God would provide only one way to sing his song.
Jesus is one instrument, like a piano. If I know how to play the piano, then to me that is music. Buddha is another instrument, like a zheng (that stringed weapon they use to throw punches at the three defenders of the slum in Kung Fu Hustle). Many people can derive music from that instrument. Is one better than the other? The symphony is everywhere, rustling trees, a babbling brook, silence. There is music and God in it all. We just have to listen for it. Telling millions of people that their preference in music is wrong, is just noise that will get them damned to hell, limits our own ability to hear the incomprehensibly infinite variety of song he created. Grace, Jesus, folk, and rock will probably forever top my charts, but I still want to hear and experience as many of the universe's sweet sounds as I can.
As many of you know, I'm not very musically gifted. Though I appreciate melodious sounds, producing them is not my forte. My karaoke support group doesn't need to chime in with, "It's not that bad." Mediocre is bad enough when you sing as much and as loud as I do. A couple of friendly dj's have had to mercifully stop me in midsong. And earlier tonight I had to lock the kitties out of the family room because Billy was attacking my face during the high notes. Everyone is a critic.Whether or not my tune is easy on the ears, I'm going to keep singing it. Singing is a manifestation of the spirit; even when it is an imperfect celebration of whatever I'm feeling.
Currently, I'm trying to master The Beatles "Oh, Darling." I started with "Across the Universe" because the lyrics are so profound (wink), but the rawness of "Oh, Darling" spoke a little louder. As such things go, just when you think you know what you want, something else takes the stage. Life's lullaby is like that.
So, what are you listening to? You. My friend or the stranger reading this, what's your song?
P.S. How many people thought the line "Jai Guru Deva" was "Kangaroo Days" from "Across the Universe." What does it mean? "I give thanks (victory) (salutation) to Guru Dev (or heavenly teacher)." Good stuff.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Who's afraid of the big bad blog?
Quite frankly, I am. Ridiculous if you know me, right? Most of my friends and family would say I'm strongly opinionated and confident. Those who don't know me may wonder what could be so frightening about some public virtual musings that few in the world will read. Yet, here I am, nervously crunching away on a bowl of radishes because I don't smoke anymore, and drunk blogging sounds like a mistake I'd like to save for later.
I am afraid for many reasons:
Reason one, what if nobody reads it? That would solidify my fear that I am just a ghost, a phantom observer in this world. It's been a life-long theme to be ignored or forgotten. Most likely it started out as a coping mechanism, blending into the background, out of the way of someone else's anger or abuse. But the older I get the less I fear reprisal and the more I fear nobody ever knowing or remembering that I, the real I, ever existed. Since I was a little girl, I'd get left or looked over, as an adult, even more so. My parents would leave me places. School wouldn't count me absent because nobody had noticed I wasn't there. Friends that I cared deeply for would just disappear because something more interesting in life came along. Sometimes I would struggle to keep in touch, feeling hurt as responses grew increasingly spread out and distant. Sometimes I would just mourn the lost connection, accepting that what had been meaningful to me wasn't so much to the other person. God manages the ebb and flow of people throughout our lives, but my fear of being an imaginary person persists.
Reason two, how will people react to me? I'm a faker. It's easy to know what I'm supposed to be in a given situation, around a certain set of people, and it is easier to perform than it is to risk being misunderstood or ridiculed. Most of my bonds are superficial or limited in scope. A lot of my authentic being has or would cause my loved ones discomfort, so in the box it goes. I hurt, it goes in the box. I want, it goes in the box. I fear, it goes in the box. Even amidst my strongest relationships, with my children and my brother, I am only a partial version of myself. The lessons of what happens to those vulnerable parts of myself when I hold them out has taught me that it is not safe to share them with anyone. Sharing them with everyone in this little box, a little scary. Boundaries are not my specialty, so if or when you read something that makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry, but not that sorry, wuss.
Reason three, my biggest fear, runaway ego is a destructive drug. I worry that people will overly or unduly support these bloggings, and I will take my eyes off of God's purpose for me and seek instead more affirmation by anyone who reads it. There have been times I have recieved kudos, some deserved, "Good job on getting Mr. _______ the help he needed to pass his test" or "Great dinner, thank you." While others are just polite, friendly encouragement, "I love what you've done with your hair," or "You have a lot going on upstairs; you should start a blog." I really don't know the difference. When people start acknowledging me in positive ways, I tend to take it deeply to heart. You know how your pet acts when you first get home from work? That's what goes on in parts of my head when someone is nice to me. It's addictive and overpowering, and so the other parts of my brain gang up and try to counterbalance the praise with ridicule. It's a very unpleasant process. Happy puppy, kick the puppy. Praise is my biggest weakness. Though there is a balance between accepting support or compliments graciously and running away from them, I haven't found it...yet.
So, with all of this fear and doubt why proceed? Faith. I have faith that God wants me to live a life beyond these fears. He has placed people whom I love and respect in my path. They are here to help in life's journey. More than has said I should start writing, and I always discount it. Though I write in my journals to God specifically, it is all unshared because of these fears. That is what all this bloggity, blogging is going to be about, sharing what's in my nugget with anyone who cares to take the time to read it because, as a trusted friend recently pointed out, celebrating the self that God has created honors that creation.
In all actuality, the majority of entries will most likely be much more light-hearted than this one, especially once I get into a groove. If you follow, please participate. It would be great if this were a bit more interactive than the average blog. Pontificating grows tiresome. Comment, ask, argue, post bad poetry that you like--just share your own free samples because I'm hungry, too.
I am afraid for many reasons:
Reason one, what if nobody reads it? That would solidify my fear that I am just a ghost, a phantom observer in this world. It's been a life-long theme to be ignored or forgotten. Most likely it started out as a coping mechanism, blending into the background, out of the way of someone else's anger or abuse. But the older I get the less I fear reprisal and the more I fear nobody ever knowing or remembering that I, the real I, ever existed. Since I was a little girl, I'd get left or looked over, as an adult, even more so. My parents would leave me places. School wouldn't count me absent because nobody had noticed I wasn't there. Friends that I cared deeply for would just disappear because something more interesting in life came along. Sometimes I would struggle to keep in touch, feeling hurt as responses grew increasingly spread out and distant. Sometimes I would just mourn the lost connection, accepting that what had been meaningful to me wasn't so much to the other person. God manages the ebb and flow of people throughout our lives, but my fear of being an imaginary person persists.
Reason two, how will people react to me? I'm a faker. It's easy to know what I'm supposed to be in a given situation, around a certain set of people, and it is easier to perform than it is to risk being misunderstood or ridiculed. Most of my bonds are superficial or limited in scope. A lot of my authentic being has or would cause my loved ones discomfort, so in the box it goes. I hurt, it goes in the box. I want, it goes in the box. I fear, it goes in the box. Even amidst my strongest relationships, with my children and my brother, I am only a partial version of myself. The lessons of what happens to those vulnerable parts of myself when I hold them out has taught me that it is not safe to share them with anyone. Sharing them with everyone in this little box, a little scary. Boundaries are not my specialty, so if or when you read something that makes you uncomfortable, I'm sorry, but not that sorry, wuss.
Reason three, my biggest fear, runaway ego is a destructive drug. I worry that people will overly or unduly support these bloggings, and I will take my eyes off of God's purpose for me and seek instead more affirmation by anyone who reads it. There have been times I have recieved kudos, some deserved, "Good job on getting Mr. _______ the help he needed to pass his test" or "Great dinner, thank you." While others are just polite, friendly encouragement, "I love what you've done with your hair," or "You have a lot going on upstairs; you should start a blog." I really don't know the difference. When people start acknowledging me in positive ways, I tend to take it deeply to heart. You know how your pet acts when you first get home from work? That's what goes on in parts of my head when someone is nice to me. It's addictive and overpowering, and so the other parts of my brain gang up and try to counterbalance the praise with ridicule. It's a very unpleasant process. Happy puppy, kick the puppy. Praise is my biggest weakness. Though there is a balance between accepting support or compliments graciously and running away from them, I haven't found it...yet.
So, with all of this fear and doubt why proceed? Faith. I have faith that God wants me to live a life beyond these fears. He has placed people whom I love and respect in my path. They are here to help in life's journey. More than has said I should start writing, and I always discount it. Though I write in my journals to God specifically, it is all unshared because of these fears. That is what all this bloggity, blogging is going to be about, sharing what's in my nugget with anyone who cares to take the time to read it because, as a trusted friend recently pointed out, celebrating the self that God has created honors that creation.
In all actuality, the majority of entries will most likely be much more light-hearted than this one, especially once I get into a groove. If you follow, please participate. It would be great if this were a bit more interactive than the average blog. Pontificating grows tiresome. Comment, ask, argue, post bad poetry that you like--just share your own free samples because I'm hungry, too.
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