Caught in the Rain

Caught in the rain. Summer rains here in Iowa, this year in this drought, when we have prayed, begged, and pleaded for relief from the dry and heat, came today. It was only an hour and my children had just headed out to play on the play fort and swings. When I heard the rain start, I headed out to carry Isaac inside, knowing it would be slick and he's still learning to be sure footed on the grass and gravel. I was worried he would be scared too.

Half way there, I spotted all three of my children, laughing and snuggled up under the tarp on their play fort. Lily with her arm around Isaac, was laughing and pointing about something I could not translate in my distance.

I stood there, in the rain, soft and gentle and warm, and watched my children love each other and be completely in that moment. Suddenly I felt like I was invading their moment and I quietly, gratefully headed back inside. The full hour that the rain fell, I watched them passively out the window as I cleaned and organised their art supplies with Jessica.

Today, I am grateful that they can take care of each other, that they snuggle and include Isaac in the magical play that happens in their secret world of faeries and dragons and fantasy. Today started out stormy and ended with grace, forgiveness, and love.

Too many people are held back from moving forward by fear of the rain or they shelter others from venturing out, even though it is perfectly safe. Not all storms are hurricanes, not all blue skies are perfectly safe either. If we move through life afraid of the worst always, we lose such precious gifts that quiet moments offer us.

Today was a reminder of that.

So many years ago, I woke up to a hotel room alarm that turned the television on. We were staying at the Julienne Hotel in Dubuque and needed to get up early for the days work. The image on the television was of a burning tower, a skyscraper, panic, fire. I sat up and watched, thinking it was a science fiction movie. We (the lady I was partnered with for work) watched as the second plane hit, through the collapse of both. I called Chad and he hung up on me thinking I was pranking him, this early in the morning (he worked nights).

I wish I was.

We were stranded in Dubuque because of car troubles. Through my absolute panic, I just wanted to be home and couldn't be. We called the central office and begged for someone to come get us, but they were not sure that sending more state employees out right then was a good idea.

Soon our supervisor was on his way personally. He had a daughter our age, on the east coast, who had not called home and driving out to get us would keep his mind busy. No cell phone, we delivered the message to him on arrival as the office had called the hotel, that she called and was ok.

He sat down in the hotel lobby and cried. That was when I knew that my fears were real. This was a great and tragic moment in history. Enormous, changing our lives forever.

Soon after, our jobs as interns were eliminated. Collecting GPS of important and significant buildings was now dangerous to do and dangerous for the greater good. We were chased out of one small town by a guy with a shotgun on a small farm tractor. Another small town resident called the FBI on our surveillance crew. Just a few weeks later, we were let go. My dream job, slipped through my fingers and it seemed a small loss compared to what was happening around the world.

America has been in a perpetual war ever since, at war with the world and with each other.

Tonight, as every night since, I pray for peace. I pray in those lovely moments with my children that the world they will inherit will not be blood soaked ashes. I pray that my family members who bravely serve, will not be called out yet again to fight more of this war, though they will, proudly. I pray for their children too. I pray for the refugees and the survivors.

I pray for peace, not just on this anniversary, but every day. Please God, please intervene and bring peace to our world.

Fresh From the Garden

(see full image)

Creative Space

The view from or of my work spaces. This is where I write or think about what I will write.

What does your workspace look like? What would you like it to look like?

Modern Day Code Switching

Recently there was a criminal trial that highlighted the problems with local dialects, and the heavy prejudice against folks who speak with them and do not learn to "code switch" and use formal language instead.

This got me thinking again about a problem I started seeing in my classes last year. Students are starting to use less formal language in their written work and communications, a short hand, but also a changing grammar.

I tell folks who come to me with their children wanting them to write better and the adults in my classes this: you write with the style that you read, you speak with the style you hear. If you spend most of your day reading casual facebook posts, your writing will reflect that. If you spend your day reading news articles, like that (ignoring the oxford comma is a clear indication of this). If you spend your days reading Victorian era novels you might be inclined to spell colour and favourite with u and the like (guilty of this!). What you input into your knowledge base daily has an effect on output.

Need more examples? I am writing a blog post, I'll pull from my drafts for this example.   

My left big toe has been a fracking miserable nightmare for the last 3 and a 1/2 years. Not always. But when it flares up or becomes a nuisance it does so with such dramatic and pathetic flare that I have to work hard to not let it take over my otherwise lovely life. And it is annoying. And driving me nuts.

It started with a pig stepping on it and cracking the nail bed. Then infection. Then I had to have the nail surgically removed. Then it grew back wrong. Antibiotics. A year soaked in ointment and bandages. Then just when I thought it had gone away, BAM, gout.

When my doctor wisely told me to give up bacon and spinach, I told him to cut the toe off. Heck, severe my entire foot instead. I really love bacon. Ok, um, not really that much, but I found that daily shots of cherry juice holds the gout in check well enough. And I am not. Giving. Up. Bacon. Ever.

Sounds cool, right? A blog post is a lot less formal typically. However, I can see right here that other blog posts I read are changing my own writing style. That would be fine if I wasn't using my blog to compile material for a book. This kind of writing is not acceptable on a professional level either.

Why? Look at it closer. Look at all the fragments and incomplete sentences! Grammar be damned! Never ever start a sentence with And. Using ok and um is really unprofessional too, that is fine for speaking and more casual communication, but you should never have to write the word um unless you are directly quoting someone and either have to do a complete accurate transcript or if you are trying to convey they are less intelligent by manner of speech.

Then, suddenly, yesterday a giant sore appeared on the tip. A line like a blister or a burn. But weeping and near bloody. I cleaned it up hoped it would go away, usually ignoring things that are just slightly annoying and pathetic attempts at creating strife and drama is the way to handle it.

But no. It was worse in the morning, begging for attention, making today all about the toe. Stealing my thoughts and energy away from more important things like the life I live and the work I do that satisfies my soul. Toes that are in pain tend to create drama to distract themselves from real pain and infection. It is easier than healing I suppose, and I suspect that it enjoys the extra attention. Stupid toe.

What would soothe this tar ball of a nuisance? A pedicure? A special soak? Attention that it so clearly desires? Maybe another blog post about how my toe is ruining my life would make the situation better? Oh wait, I have never written a blog post about my toe. Huh.

Add to the list a rule to also not start a sentence with the word but,  fragments hanging there that could easily be edited into real fluid sentences that are not grammatical stabbings at the fabric of good writing.

So I go back to my gentle approach. Ignore it mostly, send healing thoughts, salve, and care. Love my big, horrible, annoying, pathetic toe just like I love the rest of my body. It just is what and who it is and there is no amount of whining about it that will change it. Sad but true. It is just one of a community of ten toes on my feet, one toe in the billions of toes in my life. All those toes unique and dealing with different terrain and shoes and journeys.

Hopefully, a pair of new shoes and a swim in the pond with my babies will help it feel better. Maybe I just need to air it out a bit, let it be, and lay in the grass in the sunshine. Maybe it is just going through a tough time and wants to distract itself from some real hurt that isn't as obvious to the other toes yet. Maybe it is jealous that my right foot never gets stepped on even though it has a genetic defect that makes it webbed. Maybe it is tired from being in constant pain too.

I have learned a lot from my feet. They carry me on my adventures. I wash them with care. My daughters love to paint my toes with varnish paint and I let them even though I hate the way it looks. I love how happy it makes them. I will continue to have patience. I will continue to carry this burden and pain with me and not let it take over my days, pray for peace and healing. If I become as blistered and festering as that poor toe, if I let the infection spread, then I have lost all that I hold dear and I will become a burden to my friends and family, annoying them, as this toe annoys me.

There are many ways to improve the whole blog entry and not actually publishing it is the first one that comes to mind. First, it doesn't fit with the content of my blog. Second, it is crazy boring to read about a festering toe.

So to summarise:
Don't use fragments as a style choice and then think it reads like decent writing.
Do not use conversational pauses like um, ok, and meh and think it reads like decent writing.
Do not write about crap even if it is my internal narrative, or do but keep it in the draft folder, please.

Those are not rules for the blogging world, these are new rules for me. These are what I keep in mind as I am writing daily now. My draft folder is growing, but slowly I am clearing out all the muck and grime, grease and slime. I want to write well, be taken seriously, and to generally regain my own skills. There are a lot of funny, smart successful bloggers that bend and break these rules everyday. I would not change their writing even one bit. It bothers me when I do it and it is an easy fix for students to follow these rules and write better academically. I am still making these errors, even in writing this. I see how hilarious that is. I am still always a work in progress.

That's my 5 minute lecture I gave a student the other day.

What Our School Looked Like Today, in Pictures

Historical Museum,  ballet, clay class, reading in the car, historical impressionist Go Fish game, discussion on circus animals and what a school is and isn't. 

We also had doctor appointment, sign language class, a little bit of Christmas shopping, and dinner at the Royal Mile. 6am to 9pm was our full day of doing things in Des Moines and suburbs. That's one long day, yo.

Before any of you say you are exhausted reading this.....I am exhausted doing this. So are the kids. The overlap of activities will not stay this intense. The sign class is only 6 or 8 weeks, the therapy is only until December and soon goes to every other week. Museum days are not every week. This Tuesday was just crazy full.

Don't Feed The Fears

We started this day thinking it was Sample Sunday market day. I had the dates confused. Lily was very sad to find out my mistake so we went to church, then I took her to lunch, and when we got home we made dinner together.

Then we headed out, just the two of us on a walk and to the pond.

Lily on the boat is not big news. Lily is a natural. She loves fishing, swimming, just being outside. I do too, mostly. The problem is boats. I hate boats. I hate being on them.

 Lily was calm and reassuring. Why? Because this, being on a boat, scares the crap out of me.

But goodness, we have this gorgeous pond in our back yard. I have three beautiful children to model being a capable, rational human being for. Tonight I decided to get over this fear of mine.

This fear is rooted in my childhood. My family also loved the water. I would have to go along. I would get sunburned, really bad sunburned. I have scars from it on my chest.

We took a rafting trip when I was a teenager. It was the trip from hell. All I wanted to do was read a book and be left alone. 8 hours on a raft in a polluted stinky river with the wind blowing upstream all in the name of bonding. It was incredibly disrespectful to me as a human being to force close quarter interaction with people that didn't like me, doing an activity that caused me pain (sunburn), when I was old enough to be left at home. Eventually, I got out and pushed that raft from hell downstream to our exit point. I also got a raging urinary tract infection that lasted weeks. Horror show.

No wonder I hate boats and rafts and murky water.

Tonight, that is over for me. I am choosing to get on the boat with this beautiful young lady who does not hate me, who finds joy in the water and my company.  I am capable. Bonus was that rowing, something I have never done before, is good exercise.

I survived. I did better than that. I thrived. We floated in the middle, watched wood ducks in their nesting tree, the sun set, turtles splashed, and we laughed and talked and laughed.....on a boat. I am so blessed by this child and her sense of humour and wisdom.

Tonight I healed a little bit more.

Happy

Happy.

Happy is a difficult thing to describe. My aunt asked me today if I am happy. Oh yes. Yes I am.

Happy is full of things that are hard to explain for me though. I am happy that my kids are healthy right now in this moment.

I am blessed to come home to a beautiful farm in a geographic area of some of the Earth's most fertile farmland.

I can see the sunrise and sunsets over an amazing landscape and understand the beauty of it.

I can hear all the crazy noises of the countryside and know what they are.

My husband loves me and he respects me. Every time he says something to this topic on face book or in conversation, I am startled and humbled. Sometimes I don't see or frame out the enormity of some of the things I have accomplished, it is amazing and wonderful to have someone be proud about things I have done and mean it. My children pick up on that and repeat these sentiments daily and that makes a huge difference in relationship and parenting.

I love my house. I have lived in and worked on and even loved other houses, but this one is different. This one is well built, practical, and beautiful all at the same time. It fits me. I love the light through the windows. I love the colour on the walls. I love the Southern view from my dining room. I love it. That has made it easier to let go of the Hatton House and her legacy.

I am writing again. I'm not sharing it publicly yet. Yes, I am blogging daily again, but I am also writing poetry again. I have not done that in 10 years and it is a big deal to me artistically and personally. Writing fills me up. My mindset is slipping back into artistic thinking, playing with word phrasing and rhythms through the day, paying attention to sounds and thoughts and structure. This has grounded me in many ways and washed over me with calm. I am also craving time at the keyboard or with my notebooks. I am making that time happen twice a day.

I have surrounded myself with women who are mentors, wise women, kind, and funny. I did a hatchet job murdering the drama and crap and toxic blah out of my life and that has left wounds that are still healing, but still, needed to be done. Like irritating zombies, though, it still creeps in the night. Bring it. Hatchet ready. Git Off Me Lawn. Seriously though, I have met and cultivated relationships with some amazing women and I am really cherishing our conversations. This has helped the most in my happiness factor. For many years I have been so lonely and struggled finding open minded, compassionate friends.  These last three, a handful have carried me through Isaac's pregnancy and diagnosis and helped me learn the language of special needs parenting. For that, I am deeply grateful, forever and always.

I am happy. I am ok with dishes in the sink. I have two washing machines and can keep up with laundry washing (not folding yet though) most weeks. I only have one room left that has an unpainted corner. Goodness that bothers me.

I am happy that Isaac is walking. I am flooded with joy and almost moved to tears when he toddles around a corner saying, Mama Mama Mama Mama...... I love that sound. That is happy.

Happy is the way Holly lights up when she runs into ballet class. As soon as her feet hit the floor of the studio, her face lights up, she spins and leaps, and becomes Holly!!!! I love watching her dance.

Happy is Lily elbow deep in clay, throwing bowls in clay class. Isaac playing drums. Holly explaining why she loves yellow and ice cream. Happy is Chad fishing, a fresh new peach pie recipe hot out of the oven, getting a standing ovation at dinner over a new pork ribs recipe, finding a wild plum tree loaded with fruit, harvesting tomatoes, eating frozen starfruit, chasing fireflies in the blue hour, believing in unicorns still and always.

What I am trying to tell is a story of these moments, being in these moments, as they flit away like dandelion seeds in the summer wind, just not knowing where we are going, but loving where we are now. A little fear that this is too perfectly happy and will somehow end taunts me at night when I should be sleeping, but I whisper and sooth that voice in the dark back to sleep and keep on living this dream while it lasts.

Chili & How I Store My Beans & Rices, Wordless

Iowa City Children's Museum, September

We had to pick up 30 bushels of acorns in Iowa City today. Usually, that means that I pick another of the area's attractions (I try for free) and we do that before or after the pick up. This time, the kids begged and badgered and pleaded and negotiated to go to the Children's Museum.

We played in the flight simulator room for an hour at least. Holly pretended to fly to the Arctic Circle to look for penguins and polar bears. Isaac loved the music room best. Lily rocked the farmers' market. The theatre and the art studio were open and they spent time in both while Isaac insisted on driving the ambulance.


Break for lunch and acorn loading. Each kid gobbled a full bowl of broccoli cheddar soup and was ready for more flying fun.

They spent 11am -4pm there and wanted to close the place down at 8pm, but Mama was tired, so so tired. I got up at 5 am to get everything ready for this adventure. They slept in to 6 AND napped on the way to Iowa City.

We took the long way home.....the one with the prettiest of views.....and the kids sang that song, Cups, for 90 minutes straight before passing out and napping.

Holly observed that none of the small towns had ice cream shops and that was a tragedy for AMERICA.

Almost home I realized that I wasn't actually ready to end this wonderful day, so we stopped at the State Park by our farm and they ate PB&J's and rolled down the hill laughing and tumbling and explaining to Isaac all about faerie dwellings within sight.

We ended the day with an all the kids in the bath scrub down and pajama party, watched 4 episodes of H2O Mako Mermaids, and as I type this two of them are crashed asleep on the floor.

This was a good day, a good and beautiful day. These are the days that are so overflowing and spilling over with happy that they fill up the surrounding days with joy too. My kids are so much a blessing to me and to the folks they encountered today, I am so lucky to be their mama and to spend my days with them.

Komorebi

 Tuesday was foggy and magical when we headed out for our long day. Fog is terrible to try and photograph with a camera phone, but I gave it a go. The farm was wrapped up in it and Lily made up a poem about how this was a....

gurgling fog,
a dangerous fog, 
a mist that would gobble you up 
forever lost, 
holding your nightmares in place, 
slipping your dreams away fog. 

Good grief. Even I was terrified to leave the driveway.

Komorebi is a Japanese word for when sunlight dances between the branches and the leaves of trees. That is what my children played in for hours while I cleaned up apples. The three of them laughed and ate apples and told stories in this magical backyard of my friend Jenni B.

And that was our day, the moments of bliss between delivering payments and dropping off Goodwill donations (cleaned out closets, yeah!).