Idle/Wise

I am never idle, it seems. Even when I am still, my mind is going over emails and invoices and conversations. Thought requires this time, it feels like sometimes I am even doing this in my sleep.

Busy.

I keep myself busy. I tell myself that the good work we are doing, raising children and growing food for others in our community, is work worth my time. Oh, it is!

Still, the moments, it feels like it was just a moment, I had to myself with my own thoughts last month have stayed with me. It was in this time that I could refocus, polish, and really come to face what my goals and dreams are for my own creative being. This is important. I am an individual in a family unit and not just a collective identity. We are not a hive. Nurturing each child to be their individual person is important, but I do not have to forgo nurturing myself too (not instead of).

So today, I challenge you, what is your core being? What is your dream or goal that has lingered in a dusty box or in a drawer or on shelf in the shadows of work or motherhood? Why not take it out a bit and look at it?

Taking a moment or two for gratitude, pausing to feel the happy or the sad, just breathing....it is a necessary part of being human. Why else are we here, living this life, and given the intellect to reflect and think on it? It is in the quiet moments that poetry is happening, if only I can bridge the neurons to the ink and paper in time before the wisps are gone like warm breath into the cold winter chill.

And with that, I log off and go work on my dreams for 30 minutes. I can do that. I have that much quiet and focus left in me today. Happy is that gift of a solid block of time to work.

Happy Home

The light of day was fading, all hazy and pink as the fire set through the bare trees.

Today my happy is my husband. We did chores together, we enjoy spending time together. We don't travel together and a lot of folks have squished their noses at this. I like to travel and do things, Chad HATES travel. He has to do it for work. Now that we have kids and a farm, we just take turns going on our adventures. That works for us. When we did go places together long before we had children, we basically walked around looking for book stores and cheap but tasty food. Then kids came along and we still did that. I learned to cook, Amazon.com and kindle happened, and we moved to a farm. Yet, I still love to go other places, especially historical and artsy places. Lucky for me, kids give me a great excuse and budget for day trips! Whooo hooo!

Still, there is nothing like the happy that we have together. Quiet nights like this, though cold and wet as Spring brings us ice melt and thawing trees, are still where my heart is. What good is travel if you don't have a home to return to? I don't know, for that is not something I lack.

When I recently took a cross continent solo trip, for the first time ever, it was a surreal experience. I learned a couple cool things about myself. The first being that I am perfectly capable and competent and can make friends and comfort wherever I go. Another was that, while I could make myself at home where I landed, it was not home without Chad and the chaotic love explosion that are my children. I never had need to miss them before because they are always with me. I missed them so much it hurt my chest, especially at bedtime.
My happy is that I am blessed to know a love so fierce and wonderful.

Kuddos to the Kiddo

This kid. Oh how I love her!

Today we decided to do Daddy's farm chores so that he could spend more time studying and reading to them and generally make his life easier, while also assessing our own ability to complete the tasks without him when he travels.

We loaded two bales of hay in the truck, breaking them down first because they weigh 60lbs each and I cannot lift that. Lily busts out her pocket knife and got to work cutting twine, like it was no big deal and what she was supposed to do. I mean, it was, but I didn't ask her or instruct her on that.

Then we filled a bin with water in case the tanks were still frozen. They were not, but better safe than sorry. Fed the pigs, the dogs, and then loaded the little kids up in the truck and headed to the pasture.

Once there, up in the truck bed, Lily and I tossed the bales over the fence and poured the water together into the tank. Fed Zim. Next was to check on the weaker lamb and assess the state of the inside of the shelter. All was fine.

Clean up stray twine left in the grass, lock up the gates.

She was a quiet and helpful chore partner. We will make this a daily outing and I plan on letting her take the lead soon, asking her to assess and make decisions. That's how we roll on the farm, the chores start as just watching, then helping as able, soon helping side by side, and so forth.

Still, she has earned her farm cred today and I thought I'd make note here.

Criticism and Nodding Heads

I am used to people cheering what I do. I have a fantastic support system. I have friends, loyal and sweet, that offer encouragement and do nice things for me. My kids think I am beautiful and smart. My husband thinks I am sexy and smart and dangerous. Awesome.

I am used to criticism. Every semester I get a student or two sending me poorly grammared angry emails telling how I am the worst person to ever teach, should be fired, and the fact that they did 8 of the 40 assignments and paid their own tuition is enough for a passing grade! Oh, I get called many colourful though not imaginative names and accused of many trespasses, and I have come to accept it gracefully and respond kindly and firmly.

I have had fall outs with friends and family, so I also know what it is like to have people I care about think poorly of me or what I endeavour to do for my life work (parenting style, is usually the crux here). I am an outlier and I know what observations come with occupying that territory.

No, the criticism I was not prepared for was none of these.

Re-reading the revision notes from the writer's retreat I found a small box with a note suggesting that I work on sentence structure and get a good grammar book.

Ouch.

It hurt deeply because the line drawn from the box to the comment was not to the age old Oxford comma complaint, nor to anything arguable. It was to a long run on sentence with no punctuation at all. That's how I write poetry, most of the time, e.e.cummings style.

The problem with that is that I am not Edward Estlin. My work has been much improved since taking this to heart. Though, many poems are still suited to that, it is more intentional now instead of just free flowing.

My relationship with revision has been tumultuous. My freshman year in college, when asked to revise, I laughed and said that changing what I had written was a betrayal, an adultery to inspiration and muse. I would not so stain her (my muse's) dress with such ink and blood. Oh the dramatic ego of youth! That particular professor got me to agree to at least pay attention to the strength of end words and then let me be.

No one challenged me after that. Until now. That is a blessing.

That is the problem with having a youthful talent though, it is all impressive intuition and no skill. Now, I can laugh at that impish youthful poet, but it is a sad laugh. Sad, because I walked away from something I loved, something I was good at, because I was stuck and could not master the craft.

Now I know that I can never master such a fancy, but that doesn't mean I cannot enjoy it and improve my aim, brush stroke, and swordplay. Feet on the floor, I lunge and tarry daily now. Sure, fencing imaginary windmills is just that, but at the very least I am training.

So now revision is my training ground, an old lover I am getting to know again. Sometimes it is painful and lonely and full of regret, but here I am.

This is my happy. Doesn't really seem like it should be, right? I am happy to be standing in this harsh light, following a dream I thought was lost. No more regrets. Let's do this.