Easter 

is the demonstration 

of God 

that life 

is essentially 

spiritual 

and 

timeless.

waiting

Good Friday, really?

The world is too much with us. 

Late and soon, 

getting and spending, 

we lay waste our powers. 

Little we see in Nature that is ours; 

We have given our hearts away, 

a sordid boon!

William Wordsworth 

Have you ever been there – when the world is simply too much with you?

I’m sick of the news – and feeling like I have to have a reaction to everything – even sicker still that I do.
~~~~~~~~
Gay marriage? In my traditionalist heart, that’s not the word I would have preferred but I support: the concept of having the legal and societal recognition of a committed relationship for everyone, the people who are fighting for the right to call it whatever makes sense to them and the reality that its none of my damn business.

As far as I’m concerned, the tempest in a teacup about gay people who want to get married – and have the potential to be as miserable as everyone else in that state - is NOTHING but a distraction from the real issue of needing to fix the institution itself.

Have you read the longitudinal studies on the effect of heterosexual divorce on children?
Staggeringly sad – with implications lasting generations.
~~~~~~~~

Adam Lanza being provided with an arsenal of weapons and enough ammunition to take out a suburb of Jalalabad by his mother – she was the breadwinner and his economic support - he was the loser in the basement eating pizza, playing violent video games and creating a spread sheet with mass murderers’ body counts.
What in the world did she THINK was going on down there – and didn’t she have an obligation to find out? Is there such a thing as’ guilt in absentia’?

I think she’d qualify.
~~~~~~~~
Kim Kardashian complaining that the press is being too mean about her weight gain and how slutty she dresses during her pregnancy… you can’t be serious?
This statement from a woman (a whole tribe, actually) whose ONLY claim to fame and reason for being is based on their looks and using the press to document every moment of their privileged existence. Live by the sword die by the sword, baby.

YOU wanted the press following you every second. You got it – deal with it.
~~~~~~~~

The US playing ‘chicken’ with North Korea and the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize authorizing the dropping of ‘pretend’ bombs over their border  to prove what we’d really do if we get pissed enough? WTF?

 And that’s just reading the online news this morning!!

I’m headed for a drive this weekend – out to the country – with my camera.

Silence in nature and getting my heart back will be predominant features of the time away.

Sordid boon, indeed.

Holy Week

Still here...

just choosing, 

more intentionally,

 what to focus on.

Floriography

aka the language of flowers 

was a Victorian era means of communicating 

in which various flowers were used 

to send coded messages, 

allowing individuals to express feelings 

which otherwise could not be spoken.

I wonder if they came with a decoder ring? 

Or were their meanings so well known 

that no cheat sheet was needed… 

in which cause, 

it would seem to detract 

from the efficacy of a ‘coded’ messages… 

might as well Twitter it 

if everyone knew it anyway!

If you’ve read this blog for any amount of time, 

you’ll know of my abiding love for roses…

yes, I have passion for more than Peeps! 

Flowers, and gardening,  

are the perfect metaphors for life… 

cycles of seeming death or quiescence, 

re-birth, full flower and then decline – 

as well as speaking directly to being uprooted, 

putting down roots, 

planting the seed 

without seeing the fruits of your labor, 

being in the wrong climate 

or soil, 

issues of control, 

benign neglect,

etc.

 

I realized the other day that the roses that attract me at the grocery store 

on any given day 

can also give me a clue 

about my emotional state. 

I usually love billowy roses – 

graceful, open, receptive, 

and unfolding to the light source – 

meager though it may be 

on a bleak mid- winter day.

And, while tea roses have a ‘meaning’ of “I’ll always remember”, 

I can’t help but think it’s because they’re so tightly clenched, 

unable to relax 

and relinquish their grip. 

Beautiful – but SO uptight! 

Guess which ones I chose this week?

 Not that there’s anything wrong with that. 

I’m considering it a sign of maturity that I’m not judging.

I can see the beauty in all states of ‘rose-ness’.

   But there’s also no doubt in my mind  - 

sister needs a vacation! 

post Palm Sunday

Funny how it 'just' takes a foot of snow -

on a Sunday -

to render the world mute.

 By the time I got home from church,

it was apparent everyone had hunkered down

for the duration...

there was no traffic on the street,

no sound of people shoveling,

nothing.

Silence 

enough to hear the snow 

fall.

It was lovely.

Dealing with the aftermath

will not be...

It's like a computer virus!!

I think a Peep virus has infected my brain... 

I can't stop thinking of mini scenes...

Maybe THAT'S the abnormality

they saw on the MRA!

Wonder if there's a cure...

See what I mean by 'not normal brain'!

Just when I thought I'd finally 

'de-peeped'!

 I was walking in the grocery store, 

minding my own business,

shopping for soup ingredients, 

when these two images popped into my head!

Do you suppose this will continue all year?

At this rate, I'll need a second edition of the book!

Waiting to be revealed

We do not believe in ourselves 

until someone reveals 

that deep inside us 

is someone valuable, 

worth listening to, 

worthy of our trust, 

sacred to our touch. 

 Once we believe in ourselves 

we can risk curiosity, 

wonder, 

spontaneous delight 

or any experience 

that reveals 

the human 

spirit. 

 ee cummings

Feeling profoundly grateful

for the people in my life

who have seen the valuable,

the true 

and the sacred

in me...

it is grace;

it has been more than enough.

Test results

Episodes of dizziness and unequal pupil size

had me scurrying to the doctor and into an MRI...

and laughing at the interpretation of the results

by my doctor...

"While not entirely a normal brain,

there are no masses, tumors or infarcts..."

NOT A NORMAL BRAIN?

Honey, I didn't need an MRI to know THAT!

Most likely a new kind of migraine.

Having an MRA to confirm and rule other options out

but I'm taking my good news where I find it!

What happened to spring?

Despite the recent thundersnow, 

rain, sleet

and cold temps...

 my girls are ready for

all things spring!

Oh, the indignities I inflict 

on both my children 

and my animals!

Last Gasp

Thank goodness, I'd taken photography classes before with someone fun and young who was willing to break it down in easy pieces!
If the guy at the camera store this weekend was my only experience, I'd never have picked up a camera again.
I understood about every 3rd word!

Oh well, managed to take these last Peep pictures before I went... when I still was under the impression that I knew how!

The book has been finalized - and printing is underway...

My sons will have it in their Easter baskets - along with a check...

the check hopefully making up for their mortification

that I posted many of these on Facebook.

According to one of them,

this series is the very reason why

adults kids don't 'befriend' their parents!

Poor guys, right?

Obsession

The previous post was actually just to let you know that I know from obsession!
It seems to run in the family.
Or should I say sprint?

MY bouts with the condition don't last anywhere close to 4 years!
(Actually I have to admire Art Boys stamina).

I decorate seasonally, move furniture and tchotchkes constantly, get bored after the fourth or fifth date  and, hello, work in an ER. Clearly I have a need for change - and adrenalin rushes.

All of which is to say that my recent playing with Peeps, as much fun as it is, and I can't deny that it is - will be over soon. It's taking it's final gasp now... it won't last beyond Lent!

Come on... admit it.

It's been fun, right?

I'll bet you've even thought of some YOU could do!

What are waiting for? 

Grab your camera and get to it!

I'm finishing up the series tomorrow on my way to a photography class,

so you just have to endure a few more.

I'll give you a minute to grab a Kleenex

so you can wipe away the tears.

Obsession - Part 1

Did I ever tell you that my oldest son, Art Boy, was obsessed once?

For the full four years he attended Art school as an undergraduate, he focused exclusively on Michael Jackson… drawings, paintings, sculptures… if there was a studio assignment, he found a way to incorporate the technique being tried into the subject he found most fascinating.

The choice made perfect sense to him…
The King of Pop was the first superstar he was aware of while growing up.
Thriller was his first record, played, for hours, on his Fischer Price record player.
His first name was the same as my sons and even our last names were similar.

Michael Jackson, as a child, looked very similar to my son’s oldest cousin, David, who Art Boy adored… so the seeds of fascination were planted long before college and his ‘art life’ began.

As more disturbing aspects of MJs ‘adult’ life emerged, Art Boy was still fascinated, although now it took on the quality of being akin to witnessing a car accident or passing the remnants of one on the side of the road – it’s awful and scary and horrible to see – yet it’s hard, if not impossible, to look away.

For someone who has devoted her professional life to working with the victims of child abuse, may I say his choice of subject matter was disconcerting, to say the least. 

By the time of graduation, Art Boys vision statement about his work included the spiritual musing that Michael Jackson’s life epitomized the danger inherent in becoming your own God Michael Jackson had been created as a black male – yet he, and his ‘team of sycophants’, spent much of his life, energies and resources, turning him into a white woman. Of course there’s an emotional price to be paid, not to mention gender confusion, in denying the basic reality of who you are. (His reflections were far more eloquently expressed than this synopsis, but that was the gist.)

My favorite works from the ‘Michael Jackson period’ were the 5 paintings of “Harlequin romance book covers” with Michael Jackson as the male hero.
They were huge paintings (by my ‘cottage’ standards); easily 4feetx8feet. My boy has never done anything small way in his whole life!

I was only able to find three pictures from the series; the other two – the Southwestern and the mountain motifs - must be hidden in one of the other 15 albums on the closet shelf!

This one, my personal favorite, hung for years in my bedroom on the only wall big enough to accommodate it – and it was impossible to miss!

One night, as I was reading in bed, GI Joe and a high school friend came into the room to tell me about a change of plans for the night. As they were leaving the room, I heard his friend say, “I didn’t know your mom was dating a black guy!”

True story – and one that always makes me smile… almost as much as I question the poor boys eyesight!

I only WISH I’d looked like this chick!

The list was blessedly short this morning.

On the agenda for a city wide review of children who have died in the past month …

4 babies with lives cut short before they reached 3 mos – all from co-sleeping with adults who loved them – all totally preventable deaths.

2 deaths from gunshot wounds – adolescent males making lousy life choices and paying the ultimate price.

1 pre-adolescent suicide – a death which left parents, friends and an entire school community wondering what could have prompted a beautiful, outwardly successful young girl to come home early from school and hang herself from her closet rod, using her favorite scarf.

I left the meeting, as I usually do, aware of the fragility and vulnerability of every person in the room, on the street, in the office, in the hospital etc… and saddened beyond telling about our inability to be there in healthy ways for each other; to make a difference; to create a better way of being.

I'm not surprised that I'm choosing to focus my attention tonight on my vacation next month – a trip away to Iona, a remote island off the coast of Scotland.

Tonight, there's no such thing as too remote; it can’t be secluded enough.

Maybe I won’t come back.

Perhaps I’ll stay in a former hermit’s cell and lose my days in pray and contemplation of natural beauty, removed from the ugliness of the world humans have created; allowing someone else to absorb the emotional body blows that come with being on the frontline.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Told you there'd be more!

Is this what they mean by 'March Madness'?

I think I need an intervention...