Tessa Egg

Of Books & Dogs

2009-06-28T20:49:00.002-07:00

"Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.

Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read."

-Groucho Marx-

Bibliomania

2008-08-11T09:17:00.011-07:00

Do you ever wonder if you're nuts?

I do...a lot.

The other day, I was flipping through channels, and Conspiracy Theory was on TV. It's that movie with Mel Gibson and Julia Roberts, where Mel Gibson plays an oddball named Jerry Fletcher who's obsessed with conspiracy theories.

One of Jerry Fletcher's eccentricities is that he is compelled to buy copies of J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. He can't help himself...anytime he sees a copy of the book, he must buy it. He's got a shelf full of various copies of the book, yet he's never even read it.

Anyway, I flipped past the channel just at the scene where Julia Roberts is asking Jerry about his extensive collection of Catcher in the Rye.

I suppose most people would react the same way Julia Roberts' character does...why in the world would anyone have more than one copy of the same book? It's one of the cues that the script writers inserted to tip you off to the fact that Jerry Fletcher is off his rocker.

I, however, watched that scene and thought, "Hey! I do that, too!"

Uh oh.

Not that I collect multiple copies of Catcher in the Rye. I have just one. Personally, I was sort of underwhelmed by that particular book.

I do, on the other hand, own three copies of J.D. Salinger's lesser known Franny and Zooey, which, if you ask me, is far superior to Catcher.

I also own multiple copies of A Wrinkle in Time, Walden, Writing Down the Bones, Letters to a Young Poet, Notes to Myself, Leaves of Grass, Island of the Blue Dolphins, Elements of Style, and many, many more. These are just the ones I can see from my computer right now.

In my defense, I do sometimes have good reasons for owning multiple copies of a book. Occasionally, I'll buy a book in paperback, and then I like it so much that I want to have a nice hardback copy. I still can't throw out the original paperback, though.

And sometimes, books like Walden or Leaves of Grass are re-issued in beautiful collector's editions with photographs and biographical notes. So it's not like it's the exact same book, really.

Some books, like Letters to a Young Poet or Tao Te Ching, weren't originally written in English, so I have different translations, each significantly different from the others.

I have duplicate copies of Island of the Blue Dolphins because one is an autographed first edition, and another is for reading. I also have a third copy because I may have grandchildren someday, and I'll have a copy for them to read.

Other times, I have multiple copies of a book because it's a book I like to lend out...and anyone who lends books knows that loaned books have a way of never coming back. So I keep spare paperbacks on hand for that purpose.

I also have a habit of marking in books. A lot. I don't feel that I'm really reading unless I have a pen in hand to make notes, underline, and circle page numbers that I really like. So sometimes, I'll have a cheap marked up copy of a book, a nice hardback copy in case I want to look at clean unmarked text, and another paperback copy or two for lending.

But, I'll admit, sometimes I have multiple copies of a book for no reason other than that I just really, really like the book. It's stupid. Senseless. And a bit selfish, too, I guess, since I could be magnanimous and donate the extra copies to people who might love them as much as I do.

But I simply can't part with them. I love them too much.

And what if the people I gave them to didn't love them or take care of them? I shudder to think of it.

I don't think that means that I'm nuts.

After all, does anyone expect a mother of triplets to give two of her children away, simply because she has three identical versions of the same kid?

I rest my case.

More on Circles

2008-06-27T09:42:00.016-07:00

I know I've written about circles here before...I think they're pretty amazing shapes.

Well, imagine my delight and surprise upon discovering that Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote an entire essay on....(drumroll, please)...circles!!

The eye is the first circle; the horizon which it forms is the second; and throughout nature this primary figure is repeated without end. It is the highest emblem in the cipher of the world.

-R.W. Emerson-

(You can click on the title of this post to read the entire essay.)

How cool is that?

Circles are wonderful, magical shapes. Here's a list of some of my favorites:

*atoms

*solar systems

*whirlpools

*planets

*sun

*moon

*wheels

*orbits

*rainbows (rainbows are actually complete circles, even though we only see half.)

*life cycles

*cells

*storms/tornadoes/hurricanes

*biospheres

*eyeballs

*galaxies

*currents

*wood rings in trees

*flowers

*food chain

*bubbles

*water cycles

Concentric circles are amazing, too. All waves (water waves, sound waves, light waves) move outward in a series of concentric circles, like a pebble dropped into a pond.

Circles are beautiful. No matter where you start, you always end up at the beginning. Eternal.

But, as Emerson pointed out in his essay, circles can be hard to escape from. The only way to move out of the orbit of a circle in which you are stuck is to make a sudden, dramatic leap into the next orbit beyond.

Electrons do this.

There is no gentle, easing out. You must be committed. And then, in one abrupt, powerful leap of faith, you burst through.

And suddenly, you find yourself deliriously, wondrously flying around in a new, previously unknown orbit. A wider, broader, more expansive orbit, encompassing all the other orbits you lived in before.

Each time you move into a new orbit, you do not abandon the orbits that came before. You're simply enlarging upon and encompassing all previous circles. Circles are about growth, expansion, and inclusion.

The thing that usually precipitates movement into a new orbit (for electrons and for people, too) is that life is out of balance. There is an emptiness, a lacking.

At some point, you realize that the only way to restore balance is to shift into a new and unknown orbit.

When electrons do this, a new element is often created. When we do it, we are changed too.

Expanding beyond old orbits changes who we are, down to our very core and composition.

We just have to be willing to take that leap.

"There is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd universe."

-Walt Whitman-

Reading Upside Down

2008-06-17T19:04:00.009-07:00

(I don't know who this baby is...I lifted her from the internet. Cute, though!)

How can we mere mortals feel so certain...so convinced...about matters of God and spiritual things? How can we understand that which cannot be comprehended or explained?

We are like small children who pretend to read, while holding the book upside down.

To our imature, untrained eyes, the information contained in the book looks like gibberish and random scribbles.

So we make up stories and words that reflect the limited ideas in our own childish minds.

We may even believe that we are reading what is actually written on the page, but in truth, we are clueless.

We are all small children "reading" from upside down books.

"A Room of One's Own"

2008-05-26T22:01:00.009-07:00

We're building a house...have I mentioned that here?

Do you want to know my very favorite thing about the new house? For the first time in my entire life, I will have a room of my own. I've never had my own room before.

Virginia Woolf was right...everyone needs a room of her own. A room to fill with one's own things, a place to shut the door and be alone, a space that belongs to no one else in the entire universe.

And...a place to paint strange pictures.

I still love to paint my weird pictures. The one at the top of this post is my latest effort. I don't know why I like making them so much. It's not like I display them or show them to anyone. I post them here sometimes, but this is an anonymous place. Hardly anyone will ever see them here.

But these paintings are one of many, many reasons I'm so excited about having my own space. As it stands now, I have no place of my own to spread things out and leave them where they will not be disturbed or, more importantly, observed.

I made this latest painting on a rare day when the house was empty for a few hours. I got out my paper and paint and glue, spread everything out on the dining room table (which is right inside the front door), and had just gotten started when there was a knock at the door.

I peeked out the window. It was a woman dropping off some paperwork for the new house. I had no choice but to answer the door.

But there was absolutely no way I wanted this woman to see what I was doing. I suppose I'd have felt differently if I'd been in the process of painting a stunning mountain landscape or a still life of flowers and fruit.

But I wasn't.

I wasn't doing anything that could be remotely classified as "art". Instead, I was basically playing randomly with paint. I felt like a guilty little kid who's been caught smearing peanut butter all over the walls of his room.

If I opened the door and asked her inside, my little painting hobby would be exposed in all its admittedly odd and quirky glory.

So I quickly rinsed the paint off my hands, and opened the door just wide enough to slip outside and shut it behind me, so that I could talk to my visitor on the porch.

I'm sure it must have all seemed very suspicious. She probably thinks I run a meth lab in the house.

But I'd sooner be perceived as a meth manufacturer or the Unibomber's successor than expose my vulnerable little paintings to condescending eyes.

Soon, though, I will no longer have this problem. I'll finally have a room where I can just walk out and shut the door behind me, leaving my things out of sight and untampered with.

No one will ever be the wiser about the weird things I do. :-)

Emerson

2008-05-02T18:33:00.006-07:00

I'm reading The Portable Emerson now...a collection of Ralph Waldo Emerson's essays and books.

The last time I read Emerson was in high school, when we had to read Self-Reliance. (If you click on the word "Emerson" at the top of this post, it will take you to a full text copy of Self-Reliance.) All these years later, I remembered nothing of the essay, but I did recall that it had impressed me deeply.

I recently bought a used Emerson anthology online to see if I would be as impressed with Emerson now as I was in high school.

And, wow...am I ever.

Reading Emerson is very slow going. Not because he's tedious, but because each line is so shattering, so overwhelming, so overpowering, so illuminating, that I have to pause to catch my breath after each phrase.

I must underline and take notes. I have to close the book and set it aside in order to allow the intensity of the ideas to take root in my mind.

Emerson lays before the reader a sumptuous feast. One must take the time to sit back, savor, and digest after almost every bite.

Emerson cannot be wolfed down and swallowed whole.

Here are some juicy tidbits to share with you...although they are all so delicious, it is difficult to choose only a few:

"What your heart thinks great, is great. The soul's emphasis is always right."

"Cause and effect, means and ends, seed and fruit, cannot be severed; for the effect already blooms in the cause, the end preexists in the means, the fruit in the seed."

"Time and space are but physiological colors which the eye makes, but the soul is light."

"The soul's advances are not made by gradation, such as can be represented by motion in a straight line, but rather by ascension of state, such as can be represented by metamorphosis, -- from the egg to the worm, from the worm to the fly."

"Our eyes are holden that we cannot see things that stare us in the face, until the hour arrives when the mind is ripened; then we behold them, and the time when we saw them not is like a dream."

"The universe is represented in every one of its particles. Every thing in nature contains all the powers of nature. Every thing is made of one hidden stuff."

"Do that which is assigned you, and you cannot hope too much or dare too much."

And now, back to my book....

Monks

2008-03-30T21:23:00.009-07:00

I've been reading a lot of Thomas Merton lately. Merton was a Trappist monk, as well as a gifted writer, but he was also a radical thinker who did not allow himself to be confined to the boxes of his religion. He was very open, tolerant, and accepting...a great man.

Read his stuff if you get the chance.

**********

I love monks. Always have. I have a folder in my favorites called "Monks" where I save cool sites about monks. I even have a few monk chant CDs. I guess you could say I'm a monk groupie. :-)

When I was young, I used to wish I could be a monk, but since I wasn't Catholic and I wasn't a man, it was pretty much a moot point. So, sometimes, I would wish to be a nun instead.

But monks always seemed so much cooler than nuns to me.

Here's why, from my admittedly limited point of view:

1. Monks are relaxed...Nuns are uptight.

2. Monks train dogs, tend orchards, and keep bees...Nuns teach school and work in hospitals.

3. Monks are warm and smiling...Nuns are scary and stern.

4. Monks are permitted to live in hermitages and take vows of silence...Nuns travel in packs and seem to be perpetually scolding people.

5. Monks wander around in scenic countrysides...Nuns live cloistered in cities.

6. Monks get to wear comfy brown robes with rope belts...Nuns have to wear starched black and white outfits with binding headgear.

Monks rule!

Hibernation

2008-02-18T23:50:00.006-07:00

I'll admit, I considered taking down this blog...

I think I just got tired of hearing the sound of my own voice. ("Blah, blah, blah, blah. And then, blah. And blah, blah some more.")

And then my template quit working. I've forgotten how I even built the custom one I was using, and I was sort of dreading having to relearn how to set it all up again.

But after a long hiatus of not even thinking about this blog, I've decided that I'm going to keep it. For now, at least.

My husband is in Afghanistan, and I know he checks in with it occasionally. (Hi, Mr Egg! :-) )

And I do like having a place to post ideas...sort of like leaving evidence of one's existence in the world!

So I guess those are reasons enough to leave my blog here.

As for the template, I'm cheating for now and just using one of the generic ones that Blogger provides. If I get really ambitious, I'll figure out how to customize it again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

What have I been doing during my period of hibernation?

Reading. Lots. All kinds of things.

Thinking. Lots. Still trying to go back and figure out what I know for sure. All I've figured out is that I don't really know anything for sure. But I think that's a good thing. :-)

Writing. Some. Although obviously not here!

To get us back in blog mode, here's something I wrote yesterday:

"I imagine that sometimes there must be herd animals caught in a stampede who don't want to join in the stampede. Especially if it's headed over a cliff.

But when you're caught in the midst of a group of stampeding, panicked beasts, you have no choice... you must run with them or be trampled to death.

Moral: Don't join herds. He who joins herds is forced to do stupid and dangerous things."

* * * * * * * * * * * *

I've also been making a list of things that I want to learn more about before I die. Here are some of them, in no particular order:

Numbers, Birds, Hands, Meditation
Words, Art, Destiny vs. Choice
Color, World Religions, Rainbows
Light, Turtles, Beauty
Philosophy, Sound, DNA
Water, Plants, Book Binding
Faces, Classic Literature, The Ocean
Energy, Sentence Structure, Cultures
Time, Eyes, Symbols
Thoughts, Poetry, Truth
Dreams, Codes, Intuition
Animals, Latin, Insects
Quantum Physics, Artists, Space & Stars
Waves (sound, light, ocean), Mathematicians, Migration
Music, Philosophers, Insanity vs. Sanity
Trees, Writers, The Human Body
Personalities, Rocks, Rituals
Music Theory, Communication, Spiderwebs

Browsing Blogs

2007-11-11T14:08:00.001-07:00

Now that my old background template doesn't work, I'm mulling over what I want to do with the look of my blog. I guess it was time for an update anyway. I haven't changed anything here in a loooong time. But like I said in my last post, unless I'm forced into making changes, I don't.

I've been surfing around looking at other blogs, trying to get some new ideas, but instead of noticing the backgrounds, I've found myself noticing how many bloggers (oodles!) have a grand statement posted on their main page declaring that they don't care what other people think about them or their posts. It strikes me as sort of funny, I guess. Obviously, they care a great deal what people think of them, or they wouldn't spend so much time and energy discussing it.

It sort of reminds me of the site of a self-published author I came across recently. A good third of the author's page was devoted to saying how she had not written her book for money, praise, recognition, or fame. But of course, anyone who looks at her site immediately knows, "Hmm...she wrote her book for money, praise, recognition, and fame."

Getting a little closer to home, I've been reading over all the stuff I have on my main page (the "about me" section mainly), and I'm struck by the fact that my own page sounds all self-involved while trying really hard to sound casual and not self-conscious at all.

Most blogs sound sort of egotistical, no matter how nonchalant the tone. It's inevitable, I suppose. People post to blogs because they secretly hope other people will read them and like them. If bloggers were really just writing stuff for themselves, they could jot their thoughts in a notebook and stick it under a rock.

So I'll admit it...I post things here in the hopes that people will stumble across them and like what I write. It's fun to know that people might read some of my posts and identify with them. A blog is an introvert's way of being in touch with the world without having to get too involved.

In the process of coming up with a new background and layout, I'm sure I'll tweak the "about me" section some. I'll try to find that perfect balance of being funny without seeming like I'm trying to be funny. I'll try to appear humble while hoping I come across as great. I'll try to reveal faults that are endearingly human (my awful singing voice) while hiding the faults that are...well, less endearing (I can hold grudges for a long time.) ( I have worse faults, of course, but I'm not about to tell you what they are!)

So stay tuned...I'll try to get my page reorganized soon.

(Not that I really care if anyone likes it, you understand. ) *wink*

Since August???

2007-11-10T15:31:00.001-07:00

Wow! I haven't posted since August!

I see that my site has lots of random "Flickr" trademarks all over it since I was here...not sure what's up with that, but I guess I'll have to do some housekeeping. Maybe it's like virtual dust or something...if you don't post to your site, little words float in and settle everywhere!

I've figured something out...I can't (or don't) write much when I'm out of my normal routine. We're in the process of building a house among a lot of other "out of the ordinary" things, and my mind doesn't multitask very well at all. Hence the absence of posts.

Some things that have happened since I last posted:

*Celebrated 26th anniversary.

*Marked the passing of my kids' 10 year old frog. (Yes! Who knew frogs could live to be 10? Don't ever get a frog unless you're prepared for a deep, long lasting commitment!)

*Started building a house.

*Trying to learn the whole new "house building" bookkeeping system.

*Much disruption to my routine.

I don't do change well at all. I sort of freeze up like a deer in the headlights. But change is inevitable. I'd best learn to deal with it.

Currently Reading: Portable Emerson
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
The Infinite Way

Currently Writing: Not much except this blog today and lots of to-do lists. (I will try to do better. )

I'll try to figure out how to get rid of the invasion of the Flickrs before next time.

Update: Okay, the floating Flickrs were caused by a template update by Blogger...my old template no longer works. I think I've gotten rid of them (the Flickrs), for this post at least, by reverting to a generic template. However, now the text on my old posts is unreadable because of this dark background.

I'll have to see what I can do about redecorating here soon. Sigh. See? I can't escape change!

Some Words About Words

2007-08-01T15:07:00.000-07:00

Words.

I know I've written about words before, but the whole concept of words is one that continues to boggle my mind.

I think about words a lot.

Words are incredible things. Sounds. Symbols. Representative of thoughts, feelings, and ideas.

Our thoughts are composed of words...language in our minds.

We can communicate our thoughts by converting these words from the thought form of language into spoken or written forms.

Where would we be without words?

How would we even think without words?

Yet, it is those words, more than anything else, that hinder our thoughts, ideas, communication, and expression. We are limited to ideas that can be expressed through our limited language.

A great paradox.

Words give life to ideas.
Words keep those ideas in boxes.

Our freedom is also our prison.

We must have words in order to think.
Yet we cannot think beyond the confines of our words.

Irony:
I am able to think of this paradoxical concept using words.
Yet the lack of words to fully express this concept frustrates me.

I think I'm thinking about it too much. :-)

Cacti, Tulips, and Bonsai

2007-07-24T17:25:00.001-07:00

Just an excuse to post some recent plant pics!

On the top left is the first cactus that's ever bloomed for me!
I've had this little guy about 4 years and it bloomed for the first time ever a few weeks ago!

On the top right are some tulips.
I got the bulbs free in the mail a few years ago, and they've bloomed faithfully every spring with absolutely no fuss or maintenance on my part.
Pretty cool deal!

On the bottom is a Juniper bonsai that I bought last Saturday from a little Japanese man who was selling bonsai trees on the side of the road, oddly enough.

I was an easy sale. The bonsai man pocketed $25 and I took home my bonsai.

I've already got a ficus bonsai that I've kept alive for 3 years, so I figure (or hope) that I'm experienced enough to try another variety.

This juniper will be more challenging than the ficus, and it will have to live outside, but I've been reading up on them...I think I'm up to the challenge. :-)

Maybe one day I'll be like Mr. Miyagi from Karate Kid and have a whole bonsai farm!

"Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything, Daniel-San."

School of Life

2007-07-17T18:31:00.000-07:00

Not too long ago I was complaining to Mr. Egg about my lack of time to write.

My complaint wasn't directed at him. It was just a general complaint to the universe and to whomever else happened to be near enough to hear.

I'd really just been running my mouth off. Just complaining.

But Mr. Egg looked pensive for a moment and then said, with great sincerity, "I'm really sorry you've had to spend so much of your life taking care of the kids and me, and working, and all the other stuff you have to do. I really wish you could have had more time to write."

His words jolted me back to reality.

Would I trade my life, my kids, my husband, for unlimited writing time? Of course not. There's no contest there.

But his words gave rise to other thoughts...thoughts I'd never really had before his comment.

What if I had been given back my whole life (or at least the past 25 years) to do nothing but write?

What if someone had locked me in an ivory tower when I was 20 years old? Just me, a pen, and a pad of paper?

What if I'd been told, "Okay, you have the time. Now write."

You know what? I would have had nothing to write about. Nada. Zilch.

I hadn't really lived when I was 20 years old. I hadn't learned the kinds of lessons one learns by living through struggles, working through relationships, and just surviving life and all the junk it throws at you.

"Not having time to write" has meant that I've had a full life. I've been given opportunities to learn, to fail, to grow.

Without my life experiences, I'd have nothing worth writing about, even if I had months and years of unlimited writing time stretching before me.

All the years of changing diapers, working at assorted minimum wage jobs, cleaning my house, cooking, grocery shopping, washing dishes and clothes, working on a marriage, being a mother...all those things have been necessary parts of making me who I am.

As much as I hated some aspects of my life while I was living them, I know I wouldn't be complete without them.

I should never feel robbed or cheated. I should never complain about all the time real life has taken from me.

Those years have been a vital part of any writing I ever hope to do. Just as necessary as pen and paper.

That time has been invested in the school of life.

I've doubtless earned my PhD by now. :-)

In Search of the Sky

2007-07-04T19:02:00.000-07:00

We are all in search of the sky.

We each begin our individual climbs, through our individual houses.

We climb flight after flight of stairs.

Higher and higher we climb, in search of the sky.

Some of our houses have few stairs, some have many.

Some of us reach the top quickly, some labor long.

At last, each in our own ways, we reach the tops of our stairs.

We all find ourselves standing in an attic.

We stare at the ceilings of our attics, and we believe we have found the sky.

This must be the sky because we've reached the top of the stairs.

"The sky is brown and musty and dark!" some of us proclaim.

"No, the sky is white and smooth!" others protest.

Still others shout, "You are all wrong! The sky is rough and gray and cold."

Various schools of sky-ology being to emerge.

There are the broad schools of thought, upon which most agree:
...like the idea that the sky is hard and flat.

Within these broad schools, various off-shoots begin to form:
...the brown, hard, flat sky group,
...the gray, hard, flat sky group,
...and the white, hard, flat sky group.

Even within the off-shoots, there are smaller sub-groups:
...light brown sky believers and dark brown sky believers,
...the horizontal board groups and the vertical board groups.

And then there are the wacky weirdos who talk about a purple sky with green stripes.

Many spend their whole lives staring at their ceilings and arguing about who has the true sky.

But a few begin to wonder...

Why is the sky so rigid, cold, and unapproachable?

Why is the sky so confining and boxed in?

Why is the sky always out of reach?

Isn't the sky supposed to be huge and vast and full of light?

Shouldn't the sky be warm and awesome and infinite?

Hadn't they heard a legend of a sky that envelopes, surrounds, and encompasses?

They wonder some more.

They are almost afraid to ask, but finally they do:

"What if this isn't really the sky?"

They begin to look around.

A few of them find the hatchet.

There is always a hatchet, if they will only look.

Some see the hatchet, but quickly avert their eyes.

Others see the hatchet and take a few feeble swings at the ceiling, but give up and put the hatchet away.

Still others will take up the hatchet and begin to chop.

They chop and chop and chop.

Even when it is difficult.

Even when they are criticized for destroying the "true" sky.

Even when they are chastised for daring to wonder if another sky could exist.

Even they are warned that they will die if they continue.

Still they chop.

And suddenly...

They see

the sky!

A sky full of light, beauty, freedom, and space,
surrounding them,
filling the pores of their skin,
expanding throughout the universe.

They wonder how they ever could have mistaken their musty ceilings for this stunning, glowing sky.

Those ceilings that they had believed in and argued about for so long were the very things that were blocking their view of the true sky.

And they finally understand this:

Beyond all the different ceilings,
there is one sky...
the infinite,
dazzling,
real
sky.
It has been there all along.

We just have to chop through our ceilings to see it.

Wise Man or Fool?

2007-06-28T21:39:00.001-07:00

Whenever I'm around very sophisticated, confident, or powerful people, I always feel like I'm about 13 years old. Like a foolish little girl. I think I've written about that before.

That feeling came back yesterday when my 15 year old daughter had some of her friends over. I realized, with some shock, that all those girls were far more sophisticated than I am.

How did that happen?
How do they know know all the rules of the game?
Was I the only one who wasn't issued a playbook?
Was there a class that I missed?
How does everyone else just seem to "get it"?

I have another birthday rolling around in a couple of weeks, but I still haven't shaken off the wide eyed, clueless little girl inside.

I guess I'm stuck with her.
Yet I'm forced to go around masquerading as an adult.

How does the rest of the adult population know so much about sophistication, coolness, and casual sex?

How do they know about cocktails and politics and corporate America?

Where did they learn about fashion and hipness and what's in and what's out?

How do they make themselves even care about these things?

How can they remember funny jokes and tell them?

How do people "get" jokes so quickly?

How do they understand business and stocks and sales and power?

How do they know how to manipulate and control?

How do people think of interesting things to say to other people?

How do people know where north, south, east, and west are?

Where do they get the confidence to lead, reprimand, and give orders?

How do they know how to act at parties?

How do they make themselves even like parties?

It's all quite mysterious to me.

I keep waiting for someone to check my emotional ID and announce to the world that I'm an imposter.

"Show her her to the door! She's not allowed to be an adult! She's only 13!"

But, the great irony is this:
In the same situations where I feel so young, ignorant, and confused, I also feel very, very old.

I look around, and the whole thing seems like a ridiculous game.

I watch all the competition, the jockeying for power and prestige, and I want to laugh.

I want to say,
"Can't you see how foolish all of this is?"
"Don't you know you're just playing a silly game?"

I often feel as if it's all some huge practical joke, but no one is catching on that they're being made fools of.

Doesn't anyone else see the man behind the curtain?

Am I very young or very old?

Am I a wise man or a fool?

Perhaps the joke is really on me.

Drama Queen

2007-05-19T17:41:00.000-07:00

My oldest daughter has inherited her dad's outgoing personality and flair for the dramatic.

Just as nature abhors a vacuum, so my daughter abhors silence. Every evening, as she’s getting off work, she dials me up on her cell phone so she’ll have someone to talk to and keep her company on the drive home. It’s a fun daily ritual for both of us.

So naturally, I’m always on the phone with her when she arrives at her house.

And three times out of five, this is what I hear (it happened again today):

...The jingle of her keys as she’s chattering away and getting out of her car.

...More cheerful chattering as she approaches her front door.

...Then, a sharp gasp, a whispered “Oh, no”, then an impossibly long silence, during which I frantically shriek, “Jamie! What happened? Are you okay? Are you okay?”

I always age about ten years while I wait for her to get past the dramatic pause and tell me what has happened.

In the countless times we’ve replayed this scenario, the gasp, the whispered “Oh, no”, and the long silence have meant everything from “My house has been robbed” to “My dogs have gotten out of the yard” to “The mailman gave me someone else’s mail”.

Today it meant, "The dog ate my cell phone charger."

All of my gray hairs are her fault. I should have her wages garnished to pay for my Revlon Light Ash Brown #50.

(I love you, Jamie!) :-)

Yin & Yang

2007-05-18T11:43:00.000-07:00

Mr. Egg & I were talking today about our opposite personalities. We're yin and yang. Night and day. Black and white.

According to this little yin yang graphic, Mr. Egg is the yang and I am the yin.

According to the Myers-Briggs Personality Type Indicator, Mr. Egg is an ESTP, and I'm an INFJ. (You can click the highlighted links for more info, if you're interested).

We couldn't be more opposite if we tried.

When Mr. Egg and I met, I was a shy, quiet honor student who worked at our small town library and was majoring in English in college. I never went anywhere but church and school.

Mr. Egg was a talkative, impulsive guy who worked in sales and didn't have time or patience for anything that required him to sit still for over 15 minutes. He loved the rush of being a reserve police officer and never met a risk he didn't like.

I had a passbook savings bank account stuffed with every dime I'd ever earned. My best friend was the same one I'd had since were were both 11.

Mr. Egg spent every dime he could get his hands on, and all his credit cards were completely maxed out. He had more friends than he could count.

It was love at first sight. Naturally. :-)

We both had a lot of adjusting to do during our early years together. (Drastic, massive, colossal understatement!!)

Take Mr. Egg's social bent. Any time we went anywhere (out to eat, to a movie, etc), Mr. Egg felt we needed to invite friends along. The more the merrier. I used to wonder why we couldn't simply go out for a burger...just the two of us. Mr. Egg wondered why I didn't understand how much more fun it would be with a crowd!

If we went to any kind of social event, we were always the last to leave. Always. The event might end at 8pm, but inevitably, at 10 or 11pm, there would still be two cars left in the empty parking lot...ours and whoever Mr. Egg was talking to.

If we went to a friend's house, I quickly learned that when Mr. Egg said, "Well, we'd better be going," that actually meant he was just getting started. It usually took 4 or 5 more pronouncements of "We'd better be going" (as well as 2 or 3 more hours) before we actually got up and went.

The man loved to talk.

I grew accustomed to his coming home hours late...he was always "talking" to someone. Once, he went out on a hunting trip with some friends and told me he'd be home by dark. By 11pm, I honestly didn't even think I should be worried. Being hours and hours late was just par for the course for Mr. Egg.

I went to bed, confident he was safely chatting away somewhere, only to be awakened at 2am by a frantic phone call from one of the other wives. "I know you must be out of your mind with worry!" she said. "The guys' truck broke down and they had to hike miles and miles to the nearest highway!"

I was too embarrassed to tell her I'd gone to sleep because I figured Mr. Egg was someplace talking. :-)

It wasn't only Mr. Egg's social nature that took some adjusting to...he was quite possibly the most impulsive person I'd ever known.

Upon the birth of our first child, I went home to visit my mom for a week to let her get acquainted with her new 6 week old granddaughter.

After a few days, I got a phone call from Mr. Egg. In those days of higher long distance costs and no cell phones, we usually limited ourselves to one mid-week call.

After the usual "How's everything going? How's the baby?", Mr. Egg casually told me that during the few days I'd been gone, he had quit his job, gotten a new job on the other side of the state, rented a house for us, moved half our possessions across Texas, and currently had a group of friends and acquaintances at our house packing up the rest of our stuff.

Even now, just typing that, my heart has gone into overdrive. :-)

I remember sitting there, holding the phone, and realizing that I couldn't breathe. I couldn't talk. I couldn't even think.

He had moved? Without telling me?

Yep, he had.

To Mr. Egg, it was no big deal to just up and move, and then casually mention it to me in our next phone call. He honestly didn't understand why I was so freaked out.

I'm a very private, home-oriented person. I need time to adjust to things.

The realization that I'd been suddenly moved to a new home, and that people I barely knew were pawing through all my cabinets and drawers and throwing all my belongings into boxes was almost more than I could take.

But Mr. Egg thought he was doing me a favor, getting all the details taken care of while I was at my mom's.

I guess you could look at it that way... if you consider it a favor to give someone heart failure.

But fortunately, after nearly 26 years together, we've grown to understand and respect (and even appreciate!) one another's differences. Usually, anyway. :-)

For my part, I know that if I hadn't met Mr. Egg, I'd probably still be working at that same small town library, still be driving the huge green LTD my grandfather gave me when I graduated high school, and still be listening to the BeeGees on 8 track tape.

Mr. Egg has taught me the thrill of taking occasional risks. He's taught me to relax more about money and life in general. He's taught me to loosen up and enjoy the moment. He's introduced me to computers and satellite TV and cell phones. He's taught me that no matter how bleak things may look, there's always a funny side to everything.

He's taught me that it's better to try and fail, than never to try at all.

I like to think I've had a positive impact on him, as well. He's come to enjoy life at a slower pace. He now appreciates quiet evenings at home with a good book. He's finally figured out that it's nice to call if he's going to be late. When we're out and he says, "It's time to leave," I can count on him to pick up his coat and walk to the door. And while he still enjoys social events more than I do, he's no longer driven to fill every moment with activity and people.

And, most importantly, he's learned that he must never, never, never, ever move without telling me.

We've come a long way, baby. :-)

Drain Gunk and Other Odd Pleasures

2007-05-18T02:51:00.000-07:00

The tub was draining really slowly this morning.

I tried plunging, but it didn't seem to help.

My next idea was to get a pair of long tweezers and reach down in there to see if I could find anything obstructing the drain.

You wouldn't believe the stuff I started pulling out of there. Mounds and mounds of wet hair coagulated with slimy gray gunk.

All in all, it was quite a satisfying job to do.

I wonder why that is?

Why is it so much fun to clean out the air vents when there are giant globs of dust behind the vent openings?

Why is it so entertaining to collect tumbleweed sized balls of dog hair from under the desk?

Why is it so darn exciting to use a yardstick to sweep out petrified grapes and rusted safety pins from under the fridge?

Why is it so cool to open the computer hard drive and scoop out all the balls of dust that collect in there?

Life is full of varied pleasures, but these are certainly among the oddest.

(Please note: My house honestly doesn't look as dirty as it sounds! At least, not usually.)

Transcendent Realities

2007-05-14T23:01:00.000-07:00

Here's my latest "masterpiece". ;-)
(I will add my usual disclaimer here that I know it's not high art, but I do like playing with paint...even if I usually stash the finished products under the bed.)

This one has a little quote in it that I like...the photo is pretty lousy, so it's not really readable.
It says:

"The whole of nature amounts to no more than a symbol of
transcendent realities."
-Rene Guenon-

I like that.
And I believe it's true.

All the ordinary, everyday objects, people, and mundane forms of nature that we see with our eyes are simply clever disguises.

Locked within every single object in creation, from the lowliest pebble to the most regal lion, beats the living, pulsing, powerful force that is the intelligence and source of all that is.

All matter, even the matter that seems most solid and substantial,
is nothing but spinning, living, pulsating, intangible
energy.

Wow.

Every time I think of it, it amazes me all over again.

Anti-Ballistic Missile Shield

2007-04-10T21:45:00.000-07:00

Hmmm....

What do you make of this?

I found this little post-it note stuck to the inside of a used book I got last week.

If you can't read it, it says:

"Anti-ballistic missle shield, coins, sunscreen, sunglasses, all star jacket, dress clothes"

Sounds like a pretty typical list for a weekend trip, don't you think?

Except, um, for the anti-ballistic missile shield.

Maybe I'm weird, but I usually leave my anti-ballistic missile shield at home when I travel.
It takes up too much room in my luggage and wrinkles my all star jacket.

But that's just me.

Costa Rica

2007-03-26T10:33:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this from an internet cafe in Costa Rica!!

Muy calente here! (There's a good chance I've misspelled that.)

We've seen Howler Monkeys living wild in the trees here!

Crocodiles, too! (Although not in the trees!)

Nearly out of time on my computer...Adios!

Stuck-in-the-Middle-of-a-Swinging-Rope-Bridge Syndrome

2007-03-07T15:27:00.001-07:00

Holy Cow!

Has it really been since Jan 31 that I last posted? I knew it had been a while, but still...

I've been suffering from a form of paralysis that I like to call "Stuck in the Middle of a Swinging Rope Bridge Syndrome".

I call it that because the first time I ever remember experiencing it was when I was a kid and literally stuck in the middle of a swinging bride.

My sister and I had walked out onto some kind of rope bridge. Where it was or why we were there are details that I've long ago forgotten.

All I remember is that we got out the the center of this bridge and it started to swing. Maybe the wind was blowing. Maybe some kids were jumping around to make it move. I don't know. All I know is that I was suddenly paralyzed, clutching the rope railing for all I was worth.

I literally could not move. I wanted off that bridge more than anything, but I couldn't loosen my grip. I couldn't move my feet. I remember thinking, quite seriously, that I would have to grow old and die on that bridge because I knew I'd never be able to let go.

I can't remember how I was rescued, but I must have gotten off somehow, since I'm not typing this from the middle of that bridge. :-)

All I remember about that day is being frozen in one spot.

That's how I've felt lately. Sort of overloaded and overwhelmed.

And when I get like that, I just sort of freeze up. Not unlike a computer that locks up when it's been given too many tasks. Or like a deer that finds itself centered in the beams of oncoming headlights. (Although, for the deer, the whole freezing strategy usually isn't the hot idea it's cracked up to be.)

But anyway, I'm slowly getting caught up. I'm trying to take one tiny step at a time. If I had to guess, I'll bet that's the same way I got off that bridge that day. One tiny step at a time.

I'm still horribly, embarrassingly behind on my email. I literally haven't opened my inbox in weeks and weeks. (It's sort of like a body hidden behind a brick wall....as long as I don't rip the wall down, I can pretend it's not there!)

If you've emailed me in the last few months you know that! :-) I've probably alienated everyone I've ever known by now. Akkkk!!! But I'll try to get caught up soon. As the old break-up line goes, "It's not you. It's me." Except this time, it really is me!

Here's a brief list of what's been going on:

* My daughter's little house was burglarized. Twice.
She wasn't hurt, but still, it's pretty frightening to know someone was in your house and going through your things.
I ended up going down there to stay with her for awhile and got pretty proficient at installing locks and alarms.
I also got to play Rambo...I was up a thousand times every night at the slightest sound, armed with my little pistol, just daring anyone to come in and hurt my baby.
I'm usually sort of a chicken, but hey, when it comes to my kids, I'll take on anyone. And for the record, if they had tried to take me on, I'd have won. Hands down.
(Note: Mr. Egg was working out of the country during this drama...he was making worried calls every morning and every night to see if I'd shot anyone!) :-)

*Preparing for a last minute and unexpected trip to Costa Rica! I leave in less than 2 weeks! Now, yes, this is a fun thing, but like any trip, there have been a thousand details to take care of...passports, dog sitting arrangements, pre-paying bills, the usual stuff.

*A dear friend asked me to take over writing an article that she was going to write as a favor to yet another friend. (Hope you could follow that.) It'll be a pretty involved, draining piece to write.

*Lots more mundane, run of the mill stuff, but I'll spare you the details...most of it is boring.

Anyway, I know I shouldn't let unexpected events take over while the rest of my life (which includes this blog) goes into lock-up mode. But I do anyway.

This post, however, is one tiny little step away from the center of the bridge. At least I'm moving!

Vision

2007-01-31T16:28:00.000-07:00

What is your vision? Your dream? Everyone has one.

I heard an inspiring message on vision just the other day from, of all people, an expert in sales and marketing.

I absolutely detest the whole idea of having to sell anything. Consequently, I didn't expect to get a whole lot out of the presentation.

But the speaker said one thing in particular that struck me as quite profound.

She was talking about her work with different corporations and organizations...her job is to help them come up with their goals and then help them find ways to accomplish them.
She told us about all of the planning and brainstorming and work that goes into bringing a goal into fruition.

But here's the clincher that really got me. Arrested me in my seat.

She said, "Once a purpose has been decided upon, once a goal has been articulated, once a vision has been clearly defined, it will happen."

She paused, and it looked like she might actually cry.

"I've seen it happen time and time again," she continued, "and it's never failed.
Once that vision has been created, it will happen. It will. Every time."

Wow.

That's an idea that I keep stumbling across every time I turn around lately. It seems to be a universal truth that I'm only just now beginning to realize and understand.

Develop a vision. A purpose. A dream.

Believe in it.

And watch it happen.

Because it will.

I leave you with a couple of my favorite quotes:

"If a man advances confidently in the direction of his dreams to live the life he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."
- Henry David Thoreau

Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would come his way. Whatever you can do, or you can dream, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. - W.H. Murray

Epiphanies

2007-01-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

Snow. Snow. And more snow.

Whenever I get tired of it, I try really hard to remember the days when snow seemed like the most wonderful, magical thing imaginable.

For a kid growing up in Louisiana, snow was a foreign concept. Nine times out of ten, we had to run the air conditioner on Christmas.

I'd look at snowy Christmas cards and watch "A Christmas Carol", and I'd wonder what it must be like to live someplace where you were surrounded by mounds of that beautiful white fluffy stuff.

(Believe me, I don't have to wonder anymore!)

Every once in a great while, though, we'd actually get a little bit of snow. It only happened every few years, and when it did, it was only the lightest powdery dusting, usually gone before noon.

But, oh, the excitement when it occurred! School let out, shops closed down, and everyone went nuts for a few hours.

My sisters and I would run outside and stare. We tried to hold off running across the front lawn for as long as possible, because once we did, the snow would stick to the bottoms of our shoes, leaving grassy green holes in our lovely white lawn.

We'd compare the snow in our yard and on our roof with that of the other kids in the neighborhood, seeing who had the most. If your roof had angles in it, you were lucky. Snow caught in the corners, so you got more that way (unfortunately, we didn't have an angled roof...we were very jealous of the kids who did).

And, of course, the main event for all of us was the building of a snowman. The trouble was, we always had such a tiny bit of snow, it would take practically all the snow in your yard to build even a very small snowman.

But we figured it was worth it. We'd scrounge up snow, mash it together into snowballs, and we'd each manage to make a snowman 7 or 8 inches tall.

We stored them in our moms' freezers as mementos of the snow day.

One of those rare snow days came during a winter in the early part of my adolescence. I don't remember how old I was, but I remember I was going through a very introspective, moody phase. (Although, I guess all of adolescence is one long introspective, moody phase!!)

It was late morning, and the thin layer of snow was beginning to melt away.

I was standing inside looking out the window, watching and trying to commit the snow to memory.

I kept thinking, "The snow will be gone soon. I may never see snow again for years. I have to memorize the look of it before it all melts away."

I actually started crying, overcome with sadness over the melting snow.

Suddenly, my mom walked into the room.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I'm just sad because the snow will be gone soon," I told her, embarrassed to have been caught crying. "It may be years before I ever see snow again."

My wonderful, ever practical mother looked completely annoyed with me.

She shook her head and snapped, "Well, instead of standing there crying about how sad you'll be when it's gone, get yourself outside and just enjoy it while it's here!"

The brilliance and truth of her words hit me so hard it almost felt like a physical blow.

She was right.

Why was I standing inside crying about a time when the snow would be gone, while at that very moment, the rare and wonderful event was sparkling right before my eyes?

That brief exchange with my mom produced one of those great "ah ha" moments in my life. An epiphany.

And I've never forgotten it.

We don't have tomorrow. We don't have yesterday. We have right now.

What a waste to spend our todays worrying about tomorrow or regretting yesterday.

We should just open our eyes, look around at whatever wonder we've been given for today, and enjoy and appreciate it...exactly as it is.

Letting Go

2007-01-12T15:19:00.000-07:00

Do you ever find yourself getting caught up in some minor annoyance? An annoyance that begins to grow and grow until it takes over your mind and your thoughts, making you cranky and miserable?

I do.

Sometimes, I think I've matured enough not to let petty things control me, but then ... tah dah ... life tosses a monkey wrench my way, and I grab it. So much for my great maturity.

Here's the petty thing that's been making me grouchy and irritable for the past 2 days:

Back in October (yes, October!), I purchased a celebrity autograph for my daughter on eBay.

$15 for the autograph, $5 for shipping. I sent the $20 through PayPal the same day I won it. (I'm a responsible eBayer. *grin*)

After a long wait, the autograph finally arrived. Except it wasn't the autograph I won. It was an entirely different celebrity autograph.

I sent the seller a polite email explaining the mix-up. She asked me to return it (at my expense, no less...I should have charged her $5 to ship it back!).

But, hey, I try to be accomodating.

I sent it back. And waited. And waited. And waited.

Since that time, I've emailed the seller countless times. I've asked for the autograph I won. I've asked for a different autograph of the same celebrity (she has many in her store). I've asked for a refund.

She refused to respond. Nothing. Nada. For months. She apparently just sends all my emails straight to her trash folder.

I filed a dispute with eBay and with PayPal, but since the purchase was less than $25, I'm basically out of luck.

Finally, after months of unanswered emails and repeated attempts to get my money back, I left a negative feedback on the woman's profile. Hey, she earned it. I was way more patient than most people would have been. She has basically stolen my money.

Imagine my chagrin when I saw two days ago that she'd posted negative feedback to my profile.

She posted, "I offered many times to resolve this issue".

What?????

She took my $20, she never sent my merchandise, she never answered a single one of my emails for months. Then she had the nerve to post negative feedback on me?

I was livid.

Basically, I've been had. Ripped off. That much is obvious. There's no way I'll ever see any kind of a refund from her.

But today, as I was stewing over it, I began to think, "Wow...is it really worth $20 to let this thing get me so upset? Wouldn't I have paid $20 to have been able to be in a good mood these last few days instead of letting this silly autograph thing eat me up?"

Basically, it's ridiculous and self destructive to let $20 and a stupid (and probably forged) autograph determine my mood and thoughts. Why do I let myself get so caught up in things like that? But I do.

Just the other day, an old man on the street asked me for $10 to buy burritos for him and his wife (she was waiting a short distance away). I gave it to him without a second thought. If he had needed $20, no doubt I'd have given that to him, too. And I'd be no worse the wear for it. Yes, he may have used to to buy booze or cigarettes, but that will be his to account for...I couldn't look into the face of an old man and just send him away.

And I'm sure that even if my fraudulent eBay seller had approached me on the street with a need for $20, I'd have willingly given it to her.

So why does this particular $20 bug me so much? I guess because I didn't give it away willingly. It was stolen from me. It's just the principle of the thing.

But that wonderful "principle" of mine is making me grouchy and not much fun to be around. :-)

I need to let it go. Just let it go. Whatever the outcome.

My anger and frustration isn't getting me my money back. It isn't teaching that woman a lesson. Instead, it's turning me into an old grump. *smile*

And as long as I hold all this anger and resentment so tightly in my hand, I'm unable to open my hand to receive good things.

The world is full of joy, peace, and an abundance of good things. They are everywhere. But if my hand is wrapped so tightly around my misery, all those good things just drift on by. I can't grab hold of them because I'm refusing to loosen my grasp on my "righteous" anger.

How stupid is that?

I just have to let silly things go. They're just things. No one's life is at stake. In the grand scheme of things, does $20 even matter?

No.

I just need to let it go and wish her well. Perhaps she will buy some burritos with that $20. Good for her. :-)

Only in letting go of bad things will all the good things of life be able to fall into my open and receptive palm.

Let go.

(I feel better now. *smile*)

Current Favorite Quote

2007-01-02T21:40:00.000-07:00

* My current favorite quote *

Dream lofty dreams,

and as you dream,

so shall you become.

Your Vision is the promise of what you shall one day be;

your Ideal is the prophecy of what you shall at last unveil.

The greatest achievement was at first and for a time a dream.

The oak sleeps in the acorn;

the bird waits in the egg;

and in the highest vision of the soul a waking angel stirs.

Dreams are the seedlings of realities.

- James Allen –

(This is from the book "As a Man Thinketh" ...a great book, too)

Happy New Year!

2006-12-31T22:31:00.000-07:00

Happy New Year!

New year, new beginnings, a new page of blank paper on which to write.

May your page be written with dreams fulfilled, hopes realized, and abiding peace.

Happy 2007!

****

It's been awhile since I've posted.
Again.

I could roll out the usual excuses...
the holidays,
going back to work,
drama in the lives of family and friends,
(you can take your pick of whichever excuse sounds the most forgivable to you!)

But basically,
I guess it just boils down to a lack of time spent with
my bottom in the chair
and my fingers at the keyboard.

Pretty simple.

But it's a New Year.
My bottom is in the chair.
My fingers are at the keyboard.
A good start. :-)

I'm not a poet...prose is much more my thing...but in the spirit of new beginnings,
I give you a poem for the new year:

Listen to your heart.

Listen to your soul.

The words they murmur
 in those brief shining interludes
of silence and light
Are truth.

Heed them.

Other voices will shout, cry, command, and complain,
Insisting upon their right to be heard.

Loud, angry voices,
With their opinions and rules.

Just turn away.

Don't argue.

Don't try to teach or correct.

Some things are a lost cause.

Simply let them be.

Lean in close to the voice
 that echoes softly in the deeps.
Give that gentle voice your rapt attention.

Listen.

It is the voice,
the only voice,
That truly knows.

Be Kind

2006-12-06T22:23:00.000-07:00

Someone close to me is going through a painful breakup right now. It hurts to have to watch helplessly from the sidelines, knowing there’s nothing I can do or say to fix things.

The worst fall-out from any break-up is all the wrenching, cruel, and downright mean things that people say to each other when they’re in the process of ending a relationship.

When people are in pain, they lash out and try to inflict the same pain on the one who hurt them.

They hurl words, carelessly and impulsively, like a two-year-old with a bucketful of hand grenades.

Those words scar for life. They erode self-esteem. They shatter confidence. Poison words are truly lethal weapons. The wounds they create may be invisible, but they’re far more crippling than a lost limb or shattered bone could ever be.

Words can’t be taken back. Ever. Sure, you can apologize or blame your words on stupidity, anger, or the heat of the moment, but still….the words have been said. They’re out there. A bell cannot be unrung.

And even if you later claim you didn’t mean what you said, both parties know those words came from some deep core of resentment. They know, no matter how vehemently the offender may deny it, that at the time the words were spoken, the speaker meant them.

Hurtful words fester in the memory for a long, long time. They linger in the mind and tear at the heart. The damage they do can never fully be repaired.

If people would only practice one thing, the universe would be a dramatically different place. That thing is…

Kindness.

Kindness is the most underrated virtue in the world. I am absolutely certain of it.

Quite honestly, I never used to think kindness was such a big deal.

If you had asked me, as a bright eyed young newlywed, to name the most important quality for a successful relationship, I’d probably have said communication.

Back then, I thought it was important for couples to express their thoughts and feelings to each other. Every thought. Every feeling. Nothing was too trivial to be discussed, examined, and analyzed.

The problem with such open and honest communication is that by voicing every thought that passes through your mind, you end up saying a lot of mean and unkind things. Stupid things. Things you regret saying later. Things that will come back to haunt you.

Although I still think it’s important to communicate, I think it’s more important to communicate with kindness. Yes, express yourself, but always with the feelings of the other party uppermost in mind. If something can’t be said without being cruel, vindictive, or petty, then it shouldn’t be said. Period.

Relationships don’t lack for “honest communication”. Not by a long shot.

What they desperately need is kindness.

There was an interesting study done by the Family Formation Project at the University of Washington. The researchers set out to study relationships. They wanted to find out what makes a relationship successful and to see if they could discover predictors of divorce.

After years of study, the team was able to predict which couples would divorce within four years of testing with a 94% rate of accuracy! Wow.

And guess what they found out? Healthy relationships are not based on communication, shared interests, or common backgrounds, but on one key ingredient…kindness.

The couples who were nice to each other, who spoke to one another with respect, who treated each other thoughtfully…those were the ones who were able to make their marriages work.

Couples whose interactions were filled with even “minor” instances of contempt, belittling, or disgust were the ones more likely to separate.

Little digs and cutting “jokes” may seem insignificant when they’re spoken, but, like trace amounts of toxins, they build up over time, polluting and eventually killing a relationship

How many times have we unleashed poison in the name of “honest communication”? How many times have we heard someone excuse a cruel remark with the words, “Hey, I was just being honest!”

But the “honesty” thing is a cop-out. It’s an excuse to pass off a cruel dig as a stellar virtue.

It seems like common sense to treat the people we love with the same courtesy and respect we show the people we work with. You wouldn’t dream of insulting a friend with the same flippant sarcasm you’d hurl at your spouse. But we do it every day without even grasping the dark irony.

If we all began to speak with genuine kindness to our spouses, our children, our coworkers, the cashier at the grocery store, and the customer service representative on the telephone, the world would become a vastly different place overnight.

And it has to start with each one of us. Right where we are. With the people who are in our lives right now. Even those people that we feel aren’t deserving of kindness.

We can’t wait for our spouse or significant other to be kind first; we can't decide to be kind only if other people notice and appreciate our kindness.

We must make a decision to be kind no matter what.

Any time we make a conscious choice to be kind, we heal and nourish our own hearts.

That’s the lovely irony of it all. By making a concerted effort to pour kindness into the world, we ourselves end up reaping the biggest benefits of all.

Be kind. Be kind. Be kind.

Reflections of Ourselves

2006-12-05T14:35:00.000-07:00

Wise men say that if another person annoys, upsets, or angers you, it’s because you see in that person a reflection of yourself.

The things we tend to dislike the most in other people are the very qualities that we ourselves possess.

“Oh, no,” we usually protest. “I’m nothing like so-and-so. I hate his personality so much that I would go never be like that!”

But if we’re honest with ourselves (truly honest), and examine our hearts deeply, we’ll discover that the qualities we despise the most in other people are a reflection of what we carry inside.

I remember a man my husband used to work with…something about him grated on my nerves.

Outwardly, there was no reason I should have disliked him so much. He was always very pleasant. Extremely nice. Very accommodating. Everyone who knew him liked him.

But he bugged the heck out of me.

Finally, I was able to put my finger on it. He was always too nice. Nice in a passive-aggressive kind of way. You always got the feeling he was straining to smile and be pleasant, while on the inside he was covering up a lot of his true feelings.

In short, he was a big phony. He thought he was fooling everyone, and maybe he was, but I saw through his veneer.

Once I was finally able to articulate to myself what bothered me about him, he annoyed me even more.

It got to the point I wanted to scream at him whenever I saw him. “Be yourself!” I wanted to shout. “Quit pretending to be Mr. Nice Guy with that fake smile and forced friendliness act!”

Then, one day, I started thinking, “Why does his phoniness bother me so much? Why does he always provoke such a strong negative reaction in me?”

And then it hit me. Hard. Like a fist to the stomach.

I was exactly the same way.

Gulp.

I find this little test holds true in any situation where I have an unusually strong reaction toward another person.

If I’m honest, I’ll always find that I’m reacting so strongly because the other person is reflecting back an unpleasant part of my own personality.

Sometimes, it can take a very long time (years, even) and a lot of soul searching to find the connection. It's hard to acknowledge that we have the same qualities that we so despise in others.

But if we dig deep, the connection is there.

Scary, isn't it?

Contentment...

2006-12-05T13:21:00.000-07:00

May I a small house and large garden have.
And a few Friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too.

-Abraham Cowley

Excuses, Excuses...

2006-12-02T19:56:00.000-07:00

Perhaps no one even visits here anymore, as the posts have been so few and far between as of late.

But I have a good excuse. :-) I spent two weeks of the last month at this beautiful beach. Without internet access.

And then, of course, there was Thanksgiving, and all that entails. Before I knew it, a month had passed.

But I'm always thinking of things I'd like to post here, even if I'm not actually posting. They need to invent some kind of gadget that feeds thoughts directly from the brain to the computer.

Hmmm...on second thought, maybe not. There would probably be some really boring and weird posts up here if that was the way it worked. (Not that there aren't anyway, but, oh well.)

Most of my brain's ramblings are pretty mundane and repetitive:
"let dogs in"
"let dogs out"
"I'm hungry"
"let dogs in"
"let dogs out"
"wonder which dog just threw up on the carpet?"
"where are my keys?"
"let dogs in"
"what smells so bad in the fridge?"

You get the idea.

And if my brain isn't being boring, it's being sort of stupid. Like when I'm asleep.

I had a dream a few nights ago about a girl whose foot got stuck in some fresh cement when she was a little girl. She grew to womanhood with her foot stuck in this concrete slab.

Her family would come and visit her and bring her food every day, but mostly she just lived out on this concrete slab, all alone.

When I met her (in the dream), she'd been living like that for years. I went out to the slab with her family to say hello and drop off her food. We left before dark, but later that evening, I decided to go back out to see her.

As I approached the slab, it suddenly dawned on me that all I had to do was grab a sledgehammer and break the concrete around her foot, and she would be free!!

I immediately grabbed a sledgehammer (which, coincidentally, just happened to be lying nearby) and smashed all the cement.

For the first time since she'd been a small girl, the woman was finally free! Her foot was deformed from having been embedded in concrete for so many years, but she was still able to walk, and she was so grateful to be released from the slab.

In my dream, the idea of smashing the concrete seemed so brilliant. Radical. Inspired. Genius.

But when I woke up .... well, duh. Apparently, everyone in my dreams (including me) is pathetically stupid. It took that long for any of us to think of breaking the concrete?

Yep, it's just as well my brain isn't hardwired directly into the computer. The computer would pull its own plug.

Never Drive Faster...

2006-10-25T16:28:00.000-07:00

Hmmm...okay, this is another one of those things I have to file in the "I don't get it" category:

It's one of those visor clips that says, "Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly."

To me, this is a slap in the face of angels everywhere.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m all for safe driving…following the speed limit…not tempting fate.

But if the only reason I have to drive the speed limit is to stay in range of some lame guardian angel, then I have a real problem.

He’s an angel! A supernatural being! Yet he can’t keep up with a mini-van?

C’mon! What kind of pathetic, handicapped angel have I been issued, anyway?

Personally, I'd like to know that in the event of an accident, my guardian angel isn’t six blocks behind me, panting on a bench at the bus stop because he can’t keep up with a four cylinder engine.

Which brings me to my next question. Why does the angel have to fly along outside the car in the first place? If he has such a hard time keeping up, why can’t he at least ride along in the front seat with me? Is it against guardian angel code to accept rides from mortals or something?

And what about astronauts, ambulance drivers, and cheetahs? Are they not allowed to have guardian angels, since angels apparently max out at around 65 mph?

What if I have to speed to elude a crazed gunman? What if I'm rushing an injured child to the hospital? What if I'm stuck behind the wheel of a speeding bus, and I have to maintain a speed of 85 mph or a madman will set off a bomb? (hmm...might make an interesting movie)

Will my guardian angel shrug and walk away, saying, "Tough luck, Chickie. You're on your own. I didn't take my Geritol today."

I don’t think we give supreme beings enough credit. Either God is with me, or he isn't.

We should drive safely because it's stupid and bone-headed to speed...not because the heavenly hosts are too old or frail or slow to keep up with us.

If I were an angel, I'd start a petition to have those visor things banned.

I'd make a new visor clip that says, "If you get in an accident because you take a hairpin curve at 95 mph, don't blame an angel, you moron."

Self-Doubt

2006-10-12T21:23:00.000-07:00

I wonder why I always give more weight to the opinions of other people than I do to my own?

I'm trying to learn to listen to my gut over the voices of dissent, but it's harder than it seems.

If someone has a title, a degree, or some authority conferred upon him by a respected institution, I'll always assume his opinion is more valid than my own.

And, as much as I hate to admit it, I often will doubt my own inner voice if anyone, regardless of credentials, tells me I'm incorrect. I've often granted authority and wisdom to people who claimed to have it...simply because they claimed to have it. No more reason than that.

I think that's one of the reasons I don't have the "comment" feature enabled on this blog. If anyone questioned or criticized something I posted here, no matter how random or illogical or downright stupid the comment, I would automatically begin to question what I had written. I'd second guess my own feelings and opinions. Endlessly.

I'm very susceptible to someone, anyone, telling me I need to change...that I'm wrong...that my perceptions or opinions are incorrect.

I'll doubt what I've seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears if someone is persuasive and convincing in their argument to the contrary.

This is something that truly annoys and upsets me about myself, but it's a flaw I have yet to overcome.

I still remember an incident that happened to me in college that illustrates this weakness of mine perfectly.

I was in an English Lit class, and we were doing a study of William Blake's poem "The Tyger". At the end of the study, we were supposed to write a comparison and contrast paper comparing "The Tyger" to another Blake poem of our choice.

I had thoroughly enjoyed "The Tyger". I felt I had a good grasp of the poem and the meaning behind it. I was actually looking forward to writing the paper...I knew I could do a good job.

I remember the night I wrote my essay. I could tell, just tell, it was a really good paper, you know? The words and ideas were flowing, I was expressing my opinions clearly...I knew I was on a roll.

I tucked the paper into my binder to bring to class the following day. I was more confident and excited about this essay than any I had written in awhile. I knew it was good.

The next day, I was waiting outside the library on a break between classes, and I was talking to a friend of mine who had taken the same English Lit course the previous semester. I was telling him about our study of the "The Tyger" and about the essay I had written.

My friend said he remembered studying the poem, too, and asked if he could take a look at my paper. Proudly, I reached into my binder and pulled it out.

My friend read the paper in silence, then handed it back to me with a shake of his head. "You've got it all wrong," he said. "I just had that class last semester, and you're way off base on a lot of things you wrote in there."

He then proceeded, point by point, to tear down my essay. By the time he had finished telling me everything that was wrong with my analysis, it was almost time for class. Time to turn it in.

I remember feeling panicked. I had to re-write the essay!! Looking at it through my friend's eyes, I suddenly saw how bad the paper was. It was awful. Horrible. The worst paper ever written.

I was frantically trying to figure out how I could write a completely new paper in five minutes. No way. It wasn't possible. I had no choice but to turn in this utterly lousy excuse for an essay.

I remember feeling so embarrassed and ashamed to even pass the paper in to the front of the class. How could I have ever thought my paper was any good?

A few days later, our instructor showed up for class with the familiar stack of rubber banded essays on top of a pile of books. They were graded and ready to be returned to us.

I slumped down in my seat, bracing myself for a low grade and lots of comments written in red... "missed the point entirely", "way off base here", and "poor example". My paper was a humiliating fiasco, and my instructor was probably shocked at my poor performance.

When the bell rang for class to begin, our instructor picked up our papers and said, "I've got your essays all graded, and I'll pass them out to you in a moment. But before I do, I want to read one of them aloud to the class as an example of an excellent paper. It's the only paper that got an A+. It's very well done, and exactly what I was hoping for when I gave this assignment."

Well, I hope you can guess whose paper she read. :-)

But after the initial rush of happiness and relief had subsided, I remember feeling so angry and annoyed...not with my friend (although I made it a point to show him my big A+ later!), but with myself.

Why had I let someone, just a random student like myself, completely shake my confidence in what I had known was a good piece of work?

He wasn't a teacher. He wasn't even a teacher's assistant. In fact, I think he barely squeaked out of English Lit with a C.

Why had I given his opinion more weight and validity than my own? Why had I believed so strongly that his pronouncement of my paper was right, and my own was wrong?

Why? Because I always doubt myself. I always second guess my opinions. I always assume other people know more than I do.

And, granted, often they do.

But there are times when I know that what I feel and believe is valid and true and real. I know it with every fiber of my being.

Those are the times I want to learn to be strong. I want to learn to listen to my heart and trust my gut when it tells me something is important.

I want to be able to hear that wise little voice that lives deep inside, and I want to respect it when it speaks to me.

That little voice inside of each of us is the voice that knows what is best.

No matter how loudly people try to dissuade you or convince you through logic or sheer salesmanship to go along with them, don't do it.

Ignore the shouts. Tune out the bold pronouncements of self-appointed authorities. Don't listen to the advice of well-meaning friends or people who try to get you to do things "for your own good".

Listen to your heart.

It's quiet. It doesn't bully or pressure. But it knows.

Redecorating the Nest

2006-10-12T19:47:00.000-07:00

I changed the background color for my postings...I think this is a little easier on the eyes.

That dark blue ground with the light font was maddeningly hard to read sometimes. The letters seemed to shimmer! *yikes*

I also only have one day displayed at a time now. The rest of the posts are archived, instead of appearing all on one page...hopefully, it will load a little faster. :-)

Video Game Generation

2006-10-10T17:32:00.000-07:00

My 19 year old daughter has a group of friends that usually get together and hang out once or twice a week.

They usually tend to do the same things: go to the movies, go swimming at the Y, rent a video, play board games....things like that.

My daughter decided things were getting a tad boring and wanted to do something new.

Since it's fall and football is in the air, she thought it might be fun if the whole gang went to the park to play a friendly game of touch football. Something different.

The following is a conversation she had with the first friend (male, no less) that she called with her idea:

Egg daughter: Do you want to play football this afternoon?

Friend: What do you mean?

Egg daughter: You know... football.

Friend: Um, is that, like, a PlayStation game or something?

Egg daughter: No, it's like, where you get a ball, go outside, and throw it around.

Friend: Oh...

Why my right shoulder is lower than my left...

2006-10-09T19:22:00.000-07:00

For lack of anything more creative to write about today, I decided to empty my purse/suitcase/messenger bag and show you what I carry around on an average day. (Obviously, my brain has been functioning in low battery mode lately, given that this is the best I can come up with. You can take it or leave it.)

I made this photo as large as Blogger would let me, but unfortunately, all my carefully numbered labels are too small to see. If you're so desperate for entertainment that you simply must see in detail each of the items and its corresponding number, I think you can click on the photo to enlarge it. No promises, though.

So, without further ado, here's why one of my shoulders sits permanently lower than the other:

1. This is the bag itself. An olive green canvas contraption that I got really cheap at Target. It has a garish orange lining (why? why? it's truly ugly!), but if I'm ever lost in the woods during hunting season, I can simply flip open my bag and no hunter will mistake me for a deer. I suppose it has its advantages.

2. Pizza Hut coupons, Best Buy coupons, and various grocery store coupons. They ride around in the bottom of my bag getting crumpled and dirty until they expire and I can throw them out.

3. Memo pads...for grocery lists, directions, and sudden flashes of genius that may strike while I'm driving or waiting in line at the bank drive-thru. (So far, there are lots more pages of "dog food, toilet paper, toothpaste, and pop tarts" than there are profound insights and truths. But I'm ready, just in case.)

4. My son's watch. It needs a new battery. It's needed a new battery for the past 7 months that I've been carrying it around.

5 - 7. Damage Control Equipment:
*Cosmetic case filled with pressed powder, lipstick, and a stick of anti-perspirant.
*Hairbrush
*Hairspray.
Numbers 5, 6, and 7 are all necessary, because, let's face it, wouldn't it be tragic to get caught in the wind or the rain, and then have to go sit someplace under fluorescent lights with no way to repair the damage?

8. Wallet with ID, library card, credit cards, insurance cards, grocery store discount cards, business cards, and occasionally, a little cash (which always keeps leaving to go with my kids).

9. Checkbook.

10. Water bill that I need to drop off at town hall.

11. An empty sandwich sized ziplock bag. I have no idea why it's in there.

12 - 14. Assorted books...one to suit any mood or amount of spare time. I never leave home without at least one book. Usually 2 or 3.

15. Sudoko Puzzles. Sometimes you don't have time to get into a book, but you can do a puzzle. These are fun and very addictive. Note: I carry a mechanical pencil (so it doesn't need sharpening) and a stick eraser (in the extraordinarily rare instance I make a mistake!) clipped inside the book.

16. Pens. For noting profound thoughts in my memo pad. And to remind myself to buy Q-Tips.

17. Two DVDs I need to remember to drop off at the store.

18. 26 cents

19. Kleenex. Lots and lots and lots of kleenex. All of them used. Nice, huh?

20. Keys. There's one on there that's a mystery key. I have no idea what it goes to, but I'm afraid to throw it away.

21. My work keys and my name tag (in case I ever forget who I am).

22. A small foil packet of sunscreen that was tossed from a flatbed truck by a politician in the last 4th of July parade.

23. Receipts. Like my used kleenex and coupons, these tend to accumulate in the bottom of my bag. I have every receipt for everything I've ever purchased, except for those things I need to return.

24. My "decoy purse". Seriously. I carry it around inside the giant bag in case I ever need to look normal. I can transfer my wallet and keys into it and ... *poof*... instantly, I can look like other normal women. (It's a Clark Kent/Superman kind of thing.) No one need ever know my "real" suitcase-sized bag is still in the car.

So there you have it. My purse.

I really don't know how men survive without purses. How do they travel around all day with only the stuff in their pockets?

Some women do that, too...they carry flat little billfolds or organizer bags the size of a box of Junior Mints.

How do they maneuver through this peril filled world with so small and pathetic an arsenal?

I'll never know.

Am I a Chicken or an Egg?

2006-10-04T20:30:00.000-07:00

After a gentle nudge from one of the vast multitudes of people who visit this page (for the record, three readers count as a vast multitude), I've realized I'm waaaay overdue for an update. Again.

And, as my astute reader pointed out, my goal of 1,000 words per day has fallen by the wayside. (Like, so far by the wayside, it's probably at the bottom of some deep canyon by now, burrowing its way into the dirt.) Thanks for pointing that out, astute reader. *grin*

I don't know what's been going on...maybe it's the gravitational pull of the moon, maybe it's the northern lights...but boy, has my life been crazy lately. Nothing major. Nothing earthshattering. But it's enough that I feel like I'm living in a sitcom at times. Comedies of errors upon errors upon errors.

And, being the sensitive introvert that I am, when things get crazy, I crawl into my shell and worry.

About anything.

Here are some of the things I fear when I'm stressed and overwhelmed, in no particular order:

* Change
* My teeth falling out
* Deadlines
* Traffic
* Noise
* Going insane & not realizing I'm insane
* TELEPHONES (I hate telephones, even when I'm not stressed)
* Heights
* Losing my books
* People
* Electronic Gadgets
* Obligations
* Forgetting people's names
* Cockroaches
* Having to make SMALL TALK (another consistently terrifying thing!)
* Being late
* Horses
* Risk
* Not being informed about current events
* Criticism
* Getting lost (you'd think I'd get used to this one)
* Fire
* Crowds
* Poor posture
* Dehydration
* ESCALATORS (why would any sane person step onto moving stairs???)
* Feeling helpless to help the people I love
* Clothes shopping
* Driving
* Questions
* Dictators and Evil Rulers
* Bad Hair Days
* Ridicule
* PARTIES (I'd rather go to the dentist than to a party)
* Being stuck somewhere with nothing to read
* Grocery stores
* Baseball (having to play it...watching isn't so scary)
* Grit in my sheets
* Being forced to sing in public (having to listen would be everyone's worst fear!)
* Wasting time/money/resources
* House guests
* Looking foolish
* Undercooked meat
* Clutter (just because I'm afraid of it doesn't mean I don't have lots of it!)
* Rudeness
* Picking up a brick and accidentally touching a slug
* Becoming neurotic :-)

As you can see, with all these valid fears to dwell upon, I've been legitimately occupied.

I've been a chicken instead of an egg. :-)

One More

2006-09-17T17:40:00.000-07:00

You only thought I was finished doing Island of the Blue Dolphin postings, didn't you?

Heh heh...

Well, I have to do one last posting to show you what my wonderful husband found for me!

It's an autographed first edition copy of Island of the Blue Dolphins!!!!! I have to keep taking it out to touch it...I can't believe it's real.

He read my posting here about Island being one of my childhood favorites, and he went online and tracked this down and had it shipped to me.

I think the fact that he put so much thought and effort into this means as much as the book itself.

A lot of people say they have the best spouse in the world, but I truly know that I do!

Thank you, Mr. Egg. :-)

Words

2006-09-17T14:52:00.000-07:00

Words are fascinating things.

I love them.

Words have the power to capture and communicate intangible thoughts, ideas, and feelings.

Words are endless combinations of 26 little squiggles that contain and convey wisdom and knowledge.

I love the look of words. I love understanding their functions in sentences. I even love diagramming sentences.

I love figuring out how words all work together to create mood and nuance.

I love how each writer uses words in his or her own unique way, producing an individual, identifiable style.

But words are also frustrating.

By their very nature, words limit.

How can you assign all the complexities of feeling and emotion to a single word?

Love, Hate, Kindness, Envy, Purity, Anger, Compassion...

Each of these words means something entirely different to every person who has ever lived. We've each had widely varying experiences involving these words.

How can a single sound, a finite group of letters, capture depth of feeling, passion, soul?

It's impossible.

But until we discover a way to connect with the wordless qualities of another's heart, words will have to do.

Words are magic keys that allow us a tantalizing glimpse through the crack in the door of humanity's soul.

Against All Odds

2006-09-08T18:06:00.000-07:00

Looking back at the posting I did about Island of the Blue Dophins reminds me of a conversation I once had with a friend.

We were talking about our favorite childhood books. My friend's favorite was My Side of the Mountain, a book about a boy who lives for a year on his own in the wilderness, his home a huge hollow tree.

I commented on the similarity of the themes of these two books. Children struggling to survive on their own in the cold, cruel world, facing incredible difficulties and odds.

My friend thought about this for a moment and then remarked, "Isn't that what we all do in real life every day?"

Hmmm...Quite true.

Island of the Blue Dolphins

2006-08-31T14:17:00.001-07:00

This was one of my best-loved books as a girl. It was one of those books that I read over and over, with whole passages that I knew by heart.

It's about a girl who gets stranded on an island, accidentally left behind by her tribe.

She spends years alone on this island, learning to fish and forage and survive on her own. Her closest companion is a wild dog she names Rontu.

One of my favorite games was to go out in my backyard and pretend that I was the heroine of Island of the Blue Dolphins, and the backyard was my island.

I'd look for flat rocks to use for dishes, and I'd try to sew leaves together with long pieces of grass. I didn't have much success with the leaf sewing, though...and I'm not sure what purpose the end product was supposed to serve, anyway. (Fortunately, I managed to survive on my "island" without it.)

I can't recall how old I was when I used to play this game. But however old I was, I was old enough that I'd have died of embarrassment if anyone had known I played it.

I remember one day, I was out gathering my "dinner" (foraging for roots, acorns, and assorted "island" food), when all of a sudden, I heard a snicker.

I looked up, and on the other side of the chain link fence was Lynelle, a girl a couple of years older than I was, who lived in the house behind mine.

"Are you playing house?" she sneered, incredulous.

If I could have disappeared into the ground, I would have. I wondered how long she'd been standing there, watching me talk to my imaginary wild dog while arranging my rock plates on a tree stump.

"Of course I'm not playing house," I retorted, red faced.

And I wasn't. I was playing Island of the Blue Dolphins. And anyone with any sense would know that playing Island of the Blue Dolphins was way more mature and sophisticated than playing house!

I couldn't tell Lynelle that, of course. All imaginary games were "house" to her.

"Then what are you doing?" she challenged.

"I was just cleaning up the backyard. My mom told me to."

I could tell she didn't believe me. "Well, it looked like you were playing house to me."

She smirked again and turned around and walked off.

I remember feeling completely humiliated, desperately hoping she wasn't going to tell all the kids in the neighborhood. And I was angry. My "island" was sacred. I didn't like the fact that Lynelle had invaded it.

(The heroine in Island of the Blue Dolphins was lucky. She didn't have Lynelle to contend with on her island!)

I comforted myself by imagining that sharks got her as she made her way back across the ocean to her house. *hee hee*

A couple of years ago, I retrieved Island of the Blue Dolphins from my bookcase to read aloud to my two younger kids. (We start each homeschool day by reading a chapter from a book).

The book was as wonderful as I remembered. :-)

In fact, when I got to the part of the story where Rontu dies, I found (to my kids' great amusement and delight) that I couldn't even read it out loud. I kept having to stop reading because I was crying. *sniff sniff*

Finally, my daughter had to take the book away from me, and she finished reading the passage about Rontu's death.

No doubt Lynelle would have laughed, but that's okay. It wouldn't embarrass me anymore.

I know now that a great book makes things come alive. It makes you believe in islands you've never seen, and it makes you love dogs you've never known. A great book is an entire universe between two covers.

That is an amazing thing.

Bloom Update

2006-08-25T14:53:00.000-07:00

For the 0.00283 of you who are interested in the African Violet seeds I planted at the end of last year, here are some more photos. :-)

This is the miniature plant that accidentally ended up in my standard size seed packet.

It's also the only white one of the bunch.

Here you can see how small the miniature is beside the standard variety.
A pretty dark pink bloom. I have another pink one (that I already posted a picture of), but this one is more vibrant.

Exciting stuff, huh? :-)

The Big "Two-Five"!

2006-08-25T14:42:00.000-07:00

While Mr. Egg was home, we celebrated our 25th anniversary!

Gadzooks!

I honestly do not feel old enough for that to be possible.

I'm sure I look old enough,

but on the inside I keep waiting to feel like a "grown up"!

(When does that happen?)

Voices

2006-08-25T13:29:00.000-07:00

Do you ever read something, and the whole time you're reading, you're hearing the writer's "voice" in your head?

I do.

Not so much in fiction, I guess. In fiction, you hear the characters' voices moreso than the author's.

But in personal essay-type writing, I unconsciously give the writer a voice.

I hadn't realized I did this until I actually met a writer in person that I had read for years. (I won't put her name here in case she googles herself one day and finds this!)

In reading her essays and articles, I had always envisioned her voice to be very soft, sweet, kind...sort of like a gentle, wise teacher.

When I actually met her (although I liked her immensely) she was nothing at all like I thought she would be. She looked the same...I had seen photos of her...but she was rather stern and sharp in person, with a very dry, biting wit. She rarely smiled, but you could tell she had a keen sense of humor beneath her very controlled exterior.

After I got over the initial shock of the difference, I actually liked the real woman better than my mental version of her.

I just hadn't realized I had even created a mental voice and personality for her until I met her.

The same was true, on a different level, of other writers I've read through the years, but have never met.

When I hear them on audio tape or watch them speak on a video, the actual person is never quite what I expected.

Take Anne Lamott, for instance. (I'll put her name here since I've never met her!) Her writing is hilarious, sarcastic, and insightful. I pictured her to be a fast talking, wise-cracking character with a strong voice.

After years of reading her work, I finally saw her on TV not too long ago. Maybe she was having an off day, but she came across as very lethargic, speaking in a slow, halting monotone. Not at all what I expected!

Same was true of Julia Cameron. I heard an audio conversation between her and Natalie Goldberg a few weeks ago.

I always gave Julia Cameron a breathy, lilting, little girl voice in my mind. So much of her work is so dreamy and spontaneous sounding. But, in actuality, her voice was rather prim and stern, with a slight "old lady" tremor to it (even though I don't think she's all that old).

Natalie Goldberg, on the other hand, hails from the norhteast and is bold, brash, and outspoken in her work. I gave her a pushy, New York style accent in my head. On the audio tape with Julia, however, her voice is soft, feminine, and deferential.

It's hard to shake my mental voices, though. Even after having heard the real person speak, I find I still "hear" their writing in the mental voice I gave them.

Maybe that's one of the reasons movies are never as good as books. When we read, our minds create nuances and images that are unique to each one of us. A director is creating his own mental image of the story on the screen, but for the rest of us, that image can never live up to the world we created in our own minds.

Rotten Egg!

2006-08-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

Wow!! I haven't updated in over five weeks!! I am most definitely a rotten egg!

Without looking back, I think I'm safe in saying that's the longest I've ever gone between posts.

Let's see, I've had my dear Mr. Egg home for the past month (he works out of the country a lot), I've had one of my dear Egg daughters return home from school for the summer, and I've gone back to a job that my dear Egg heart loves...but all those things happening at once have barely allowed time for me to eat! (No, that's a lie. I always find time to eat!)

I didn't even open my Tessa Egg inbox for over a month. If you emailed me, you found that out! :-) I subscribe to the theory that if you don't know things are piling up, then you don't have to feel guilty about them.

Since I last posted, I've turned a year older and have been married a year longer. (Technically, I suppose I'm only five weeks older and married five weeks longer, but the odometer has turned over on both!)

So there you have it. That's where I've been.

Just to catch everyone up to speed, I'll tell you about a weird dream I had.

I was living in a different house, but it had this huge basement filled with books. Every wall was lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. If you know me at all, you know this would be my literal dream house! :-)

In the dream, I had just returned from an outing and had gone down into the basement library.

I could sense immediately that something was wrong. Creepy. I could feel it in the air. But I didn't know what it was.

Then, out of the shadows, emerged this sinister, evil looking man. He looked at me and began to laugh...this very menacing, diabolical laugh.

And then I saw it.

No...not dead bodies or severed heads.

He had replaced each and every one of my books with identical versions, but they were all written in some obscure foreign language. (And being the stereotypical American that I am, I must admit that all foreign languages are obscure to me!)

So now, I had a room full of thousands and thousands of wonderful books, and I couldn't read a single one of them! They were useless!!

Oh, the horror of it all!! (I still shudder to think about it!)

But, somehow, I don't think my dream would be a workable plot for M. Night Shyamalan's next movie. Although I would find such a situation absolutely terrifying, I'm afraid most people would only laugh.

Obviously, the general public has no appreciation for the truly horrific!

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

2006-07-13T20:03:00.000-07:00

Do you ever wonder if you're a few fries short of a Happy Meal, but everyone around you is just too nice to say so?

I do.

I mean, I don't think I'm certifiably insane or anything. I don't have aluminum foil taped over my windows to keep out radiation, and I don't believe that aliens are trying to communicate with me through the fillings in my teeth.

But still, I sometimes wonder if I have some glaring idiosyncrasy or some painfully obvious weirdness about me, but everyone I know is simply too kind to tell me about it.

We all know that woman in her 50's who runs around in a tight mini-skirt, high heels, and bleached hair, who suffers under the delusion that she looks 23.

We all know some guy who thinks he's a hilarious joke teller, yet everyone frantically bolts when they see him heading in their direction.

We all know (or at least I know) an otherwise attractive, competent woman who believes that the government has cloned Jimmy Carter. The real Jimmy died some years back, she claims.

The toothy guy we see working with Habitat for Humanity is apparently a lab creation. And for the record, these "Jimmy clones" only live for 40 days, so the government has to keep making a new Jimmy every month or so.

(I'm not sure why our government is so obsessed with keeping Jimmy Carter alive...maybe Habitat for Humanity is severely short-handed these days...but obviously, it's a top priority project. Who am I to question?)

Yet no one, no one, ever seems to look these people squarely in the eye and say, "Friend, you're not playing with a full deck."

No one tells them.

When the 50-something-year-old J Lo wannabe tells us how teenage boys are always whistling at her, we smile politely. When the crashing bore tells yet another monotonous joke, we laugh. When the sane-appearing clone lady tells us about her Jimmy Carter theory, we nod and say, "How ... interesting." (Okay, maybe only I do that.)

This worries me.

Am I doing, thinking, or believing something that has people shaking their heads in pity or amusement, yet all the while, they're pretending to me that I'm a normal, functioning member of society?

Am I actually a delusional nut case, yet no one wants to confront me? Am I the naked emperor, yet no one dares to tell me I'm wearing no clothes?

It's sort of scary to think about.

Not that I really have time to think about it.

I have more important things to do.

The aliens have been beeping in through my teeth for the last ten minutes...they need me to make a Wal-Mart run to pick up more aluminum foil.

Over and out. ;-)

Dead Air

2006-07-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

Yep, there's been a lot of dead air and static here lately. Mr. Egg is home for an extended stay (his work takes him away quite a bit), so when he's here, I tend to let everything else slide.

Priorities are everything.

I know I owe a couple of you nice friends an email. :-) Like, waaaaay overdue emails! I keep waiting until I have time to write a good long letter, and you can see where that has gotten me!

Never to fear, though...I am still alive. And I will catch up on emails very soon. I hope.

Still Here

2006-07-01T13:11:00.000-07:00

There I am...hiding out in the grass.

Actually, I haven't been hiding out at all. Just busy.

I've gone back to work, I've hosted a slumber party for a bunch of giggly 13 and 14 year old girls, and I've been frantically doing a whole bunch of other stuff, but I can't remember what any of it was.

I think the slumber party fried my brain. I lost a bunch of valuable, irreplaceable brain cells.

The only cells I have left are the ones that contain the lyrics to the Brady Bunch theme song and my junior high locker combination.

I'm in trouble.

Hope to update soon...

Wish You Were There

2006-06-16T15:53:00.000-07:00

I have two favorite places that I visit often. Sometimes, several times a day.

I can go to these places anytime I like.

My first favorite place is the ocean. I like to sit on the sand in the dusk and listen to the waves and smell the salt air. I can hear the cries of the sea gulls and watch the sandpipers leave their tracks in the sand.

My other favorite place is a conservatory at a monastery. It has a stone floor, lush plants and trees growing to the skylight above, and a koi pond with a soft, rushing waterfall.

Both of these places are real. Both of these are places I've actually visited. I know the sounds and smells and feelings that these places give to me.

But how am I so fortunate to go to these places whenever I like?

It's easy. I take them with me wherever I go. They live in my heart and in my mind.

If you sit in the room you're in right now, and you close your eyes, the room around you then only exists in your imagination. You can't see it.

The computer and the desk in front of you, the carpet on the floor, the wallpaper on the wall ... all are real only in your mind when you have your eyes shut.

You are just visualizing them and believing that they are there.

You are choosing to keep yourself in that place in your thoughts.

But since these things now exist only in your mind, can you not just as easily imagine that you are at the seaside or in a beautiful monastery garden? When your eyes are closed, the whole world is what you imagine it to be.

And if you truly believe you are there, you can even begin to smell the salt air and hear the sounds of the water and the monastery bells.

The weather is always perfect, there are never any crowds, and you never have to pack a bag or buy a ticket.

So now, instead of wishing you were at the beach or beside a koi pond, you can simply be there.

It's easy if you try.

The Nets We Weave

2006-06-14T18:10:00.000-07:00

"Our thoughts, our words, and deeds are the threads of the net which we throw around ourselves." -- Vivekananda

*************************

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with trying to figure out a way to make myself invisible. That, and learning how to fly.

When you're a kid, these seem like reasonable, realistic pursuits.

But it was the invisibility idea that captured me the most. Surely, there had to be a way...

I still remember the day that inspiration struck.

My sister and I were in my grandmother's front bedroom, and I was trying to find a hair that I could feel clinging to my arm. I was very frustrated, pawing and swiping, trying to find that invisible, annoying hair.

That's when it hit me. The idea to end all ideas.

Hair.

Hairs were very fine and thin. Practically invisible. They were always sticking to my arms and clothes and face, yet I could never see them. This was it. The answer I'd been looking for.

I could weave a net, made entirely of hair, and throw it over myself! I'd be invisible!

(As you can see, I was a child genius.)

Eagerly, I began pulling hairs out of my head. I enlisted my gullible little sister in pulling her hairs out, too.

Within a few minutes, I had a nice fistful of hairs. I was ready to get started weaving my net.

That's when I noticed the fatal flaw in my plan.

When I looked down at the bunch of hairs, all wadded up in my hand, I could see them. When they were all grouped together like that, they weren't invisible any more.

Darn.

Somehow I had missed the obvious. A quick glance in the mirror beforehand would've saved me a lot of trouble (and a bald spot), since all the hairs on my head were plainly visible.

(Okay, so maybe I wasn't a child genius.)

But I still think about my doomed invisibility net sometimes. I've seen the same flawed theory hold true in life.

Our lives are made up of small, mostly insignificant actions. By themselves, small actions seem inconsequential. Almost invisible.

What's the harm in little compromises or tiny breeches of judgment? They're small. No big deal.

But the problem with small compromises is that they add up. Maybe they don't seem like much taken alone, but over time, they take over the whole color and texture of our lives.

It's tempting to spend our lives waiting for the one defining moment...the chance to leave our mark with some mighty, heroic deed. But one deed, no matter how noble, is still only a single thread. If I'm counting on a single deed to define my life, I'll be as disappointed as the weaver who hopes to create a gorgeous tapestry by weaving a single golden thread among a collection of dirty mop strings.

It's not the isolated strands that give a cloth its beauty. Instead, the beauty comes from the accumulation of many small, lovely threads woven repeatedly throughout the fabric.

Every time I open my mouth to speak, every time I choose my attitude, every time I decide upon even the most minor course of action, I'm selecting a thread that will be woven into the net of my life. Each strand will leave its permanent mark in the completed piece of fabric.

I weave my net strand by strand, day by day.

It's up to me to choose each strand with care.

New Background!!!

2006-06-11T19:17:00.000-07:00

Check it out!!!

New background!!

Custom made from a painting I did!!

I know that for anyone under 25, creating a custom background for your blog is like, sooo kindergarten level, but for me...well, I'm quite impressed with myself. :-)

I should probably create some kind of "egg" themed background, in keeping with the name of this blog, but I'll save that for later down the road.

Baby steps, young grasshopper. :-)

(Now, here's hoping I did everything right and don't crash and lose my whole blog.)

A Confession

2006-06-11T16:36:00.000-07:00

I will confess something...I have not been to church in over a year.

I finally quit fighting the strong need I was feeling to pull back and create distance from the organized church.

Me...the former missionary, Sunday School teacher, Bible study leader, writer for church related magazines, speaker for women's groups, all around good church girl. The one who was always there every time the church doors were open, sitting in the front row.

At some point within the past few years, I've begun to feel very dissatisfied with organized religion...the "church social club", as it's begun to feel to me.

At first, I thought I was dissatisfied with God. That made me afraid and ashamed.

But I've come to realize that the reason I'm dissatisfied with organized religion is that I'm hungry for God.

And the God of organized religion leaves me empty and hollow inside.

The organized church (for the most part...I don't want to speak for all), though well-meaning in its intent and filled with very sincere godly people (many of whom are my dear friends), tends to try to control and smother. To stifle ideas and thinking. There is a sense of entitlement and duty to judge and correct any member who deviates from the established traditions and beliefs.

I should know. I used to be one of the judges and correctors myself. I was an authority on God, his word, and his will. I honestly thought I had a handle on God. I really did.

But lately, I feel only feel stupid and ashamed of my audacity.

I'm afraid that the organized church has become the modern day version of the Pharisees in the Bible. I can still see so much of the Pharisee in myself.

For oh so many years, I've equated "church-think" with "God-think".

I've finally understood in my bones that there's a huge difference between the two.

It's sort of scary to realize that. It's very frightening to break with church-think.

But I'm finally to the place where I'm more afraid of being apart from God than I am of being apart from the group.

The group is threatened by radical thinking, by breaking with tradition, or by allowing God to be bigger than the box we've kept him in.

The group is afraid of stepping outside the bounds of established doctrines and accepted interpretations of scripture.

The group only feels secure within tightly drawn boundaries and clear lines of demarcation.

Basically, the group functions in fear. Fear of stepping into the unknown. Fear of angering God with questions. Fear of breaking tradition.

But God is not a God of fear. God is not threatened by ideas and questions and wondering. God is not threatened by people or groups who are different. God is not threatened by radical thought and searching.

God is light. God is wisdom. God is illumination.

I'm no longer willing to be corralled in the pen by fearful people who claim to be God's wranglers.

I am tired of catching only occasional glimpses of God through the cracks in the stained glass.

I want to throw off the yoke of judgment, condemnation, law, tradition, control, fear, and oppression...I no longer want to peer at a blurry, man-created image of God through the distorted lens of other people's rules and opinions.

I want to know God for who God truly is.

I want to take off the blinders and open my eyes.

And really see.

Back When?

2006-06-04T17:37:00.000-07:00

One of my son's friends just knocked on the door. "Is it 30 minutes?" he panted, out of breath from running.

"What?" I asked.

"Has it been 30 minutes? My mom said I could only stay for 30 minutes."

"Well, what time did you get here?" I asked him.

"I don't know," he said, exasperated. "My mom just said I had to be home in 30 minutes."

"But if I don't know what time you got here, I can't tell you if it's been 30 minutes or not," I explained.

The boy obviously thought I was an imbecile. He never did get it.

But it's not just kids who don't get it.

Once, I had agreed to go help a friend pack up for a move. When I got to her house, she'd hung a note on the door that said, "Be back in 45 minutes."

Hmmm...did she just leave a minute ago, so I had time to go run a couple of errands? Or did she leave 45 minutes ago and would return any instant?

When she showed up later, I was teasing her about her note. "You forgot to write what time you left, so I didn't know when you were coming back."

She didn't get it. "Yeah, sorry it ended up taking me longer than 45 minutes. I didn't think I'd be gone so long."

I tried again. "No, that's okay. I didn't mind waiting. It's just that since I didn't know when you'd left, I didn't know when the 45 minutes would be up."

She still didn't get it. She seemed a little annoyed. "Yeah, I didn't think it would take me so long. Sorry about that."

I decided I'd better drop it. :-)

Even businesses don't get it.

There was this little sandwich shop near my old workplace. I'd show up on my half hour lunch break to find a sign on the door: "Back in 20 minutes."

Okay...so did they just leave a minute ago, and I'd have to wait for 19 more minutes? Or did they leave 19 minutes ago and would return any second now?

Since I had only a half hour break for lunch, it was an important distinction.

That's why all businesses should have those little plastic clocks that say "Will return at ____." That way, you know when to expect them back.

There should be some sort of law.... :-)

Violet Update

2006-06-04T16:12:00.000-07:00

Since I know that people flock here by the thousands hoping for the latest news on my African Violet seed crop, I decided to post an update. :-)

The pink flower in the front is the newest one to bloom. That's a total of three now that have bloomed, and so far, all are different colors.

I have the lavender and the blue that first bloomed a couple of weeks ago (they're the ones in the background), and this latest is a pretty pink one.

And even though it's not a double bloom (I'm holding out hope that some of the others might turn out to be doubles), it's a pretty shade of pink and it has ruffled edges. The foliage is also a nice deep green with ruffles, as well. All in all, a very pretty plant, I think.

I also seem to have a miniature violet plant that must have gotten mixed in with my standard size seeds by mistake. I had actually wanted some miniatures, but didn't want to order too many seeds and be overwhelmed with plants.

I'll post a picture of it when it blooms.

Yes, I know, the suspense is killing everyone, but you'll have to wait. :-)

Happy Birthday, Jamie!

2006-06-04T15:48:00.000-07:00

Happy 21st Birthday, Jamie!

Attempted Rescue

2006-06-04T15:10:00.000-07:00

My son and I found this injured magpie while we were out walking the other day.

From the looks of him, a cat must have gotten hold of him. His tail was almost completely gone, and some of his neck feathers were missing.

We carried him home and tried to nurse him back to health. I knew from past experience that magpies love canned cat food. He ate a little and had some water, and he actually seemed to perk up for a while. Unfortunately, though, he died the next day.

I knew it was a long shot. I've only ever rescued one injured bird that lived longer than a day or two. And this one was pretty far gone by the time we found him.

But still, you have to try. I think we made his life a little better there at the end. That's something.

2 Quotes

2006-05-31T16:05:00.000-07:00

"I have lived in this world just long enough to look carefully the second time into things that I am most certain of the first time." -- Josh Billings

"Remind yourself often:
All thoughts create.
Then decide what it is that you want to make." -- Lee Jampolsky

Mysteries

2006-05-29T10:56:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking some more about that double helix nebula I wrote about yesterday, as well as an article on "black matter" that Mr. Egg emailed to me this morning. (You can link to the article on black matter by clicking the 3 dots next to the word "Mysteries" up above. Fascinating!)

Our world is truly amazing. We don't understand even the smallest, tiniest fraction of what it all means.

Even as recently as a hundred years ago, no one even knew what DNA was, much less what it looked like or why it existed. A hundred years ago, no one would have been able to even see that double helix nebula in space. And even if they had, they wouldn't have appreciated the significance of its shape.

We are surrounded by wonders, and we are oblivious to nearly all of them.

Think about thoughts. Until recently, no one really thought of thoughts as actual "things". They are invisible and immeasurable, so we have really sort of dismissed their power.

But thoughts are very real. And very powerful. Your mind decides that it wants to move your big toe. Your big toe moves. How?

Yes, the thought is transmitted by neurons, but those neurons are carrying "something". Your thought. That thought actually travels from your head all the way down to your big toe and causes it to move.

Think of a concept or an idea you want to communicate through speech. That thought is transmitted to your vocal cords, and then, via a complex coordination among those vibrating cords, the movement of your tongue, and the shaping of your lips, you can transmit that invisible, intangible thought into words and send the vibration of those words out into space where they travel to the ear of the hearer.

Then begins another complex system, as the vibrations received by the hearer's ear drum are transmitted to their brain, decoded, and turned into thoughts in the listener's head. It's astounding.

We take for granted the fact that our thoughts can actually move things in the physical world. But they do. All the time. It happens every time you move your body, speak, or carry out any of the functions of life.

Thoughts are real and have power to affect things in the way our bodies move and conduct themselves in the physical universe. I believe our thoughts also affect our physical world in ways science hasn't yet discovered how to measure.

Scientists are starting to tap into this idea on a small scale. There are planes and video games that are now actually run by the user's thoughts. Is that incredible, or what? They strap a special contraption on a person's head, and by thinking words like "yes", "no", "left" and "right", the user can control the plane or the game without making a sound or a movement.

I think we would be stunned, amazed, and struck speechless if we truly understood the miracle that is life and the universe. It surrounds us on all sides, yet we are blissfully ignorant.

We are like those giant insects in those cheesy old science fiction movies ... those bugs that survive a nuclear war and take over the world after humans have been wiped out.

There they are... all these huge insects crawling through the amazing architectural ruins of old libraries and museums, nibbling on priceless books full of wisdom and ideas. They leave their excrement all over works of art by DaVinci and Rembrandt.

They scuttle across pianos and harps, clueless of the power these instruments have to create beautiful music. They crunch on the innards of computers, ignorant of the complex design in these amazing machines.

In short, wisdom, beauty, and proof of intelligence and design surround them on all sides. Under their feet, over their heads, and before their eyes lies indisputable evidence of creativity and complex thought, yet to the bugs, these great wonders are nothing more than pavement, toilet, and food.

Their minds are too small and limited to comprehend the incredible magnificence around them. It's lost on them.

We are those bugs. We are walking all over evidence of an intelligent design. Our eyes are filled with wonders and proof of an infinite creativity. Yet we are blind and ignorant to it all.

DNA Written in the Stars

2006-05-28T21:29:00.000-07:00

This is absolutely mind boggling to me. Scientists have recently discovered a huge nebula (80 light years across) at the center of the Milky Way ... In the perfect configuration of a strand of DNA.

Wow.

I've always thought it was pretty amazing that everything in the universe, from the tiniest atom in a blade of grass to the massive solar systems of the universe, are all spinning bodies of matter in space.

But this...this is even more incredible. The very essence of life itself, DNA, is mirrored in the stars.

All life, from humans to chipmunks, from owls to snakes, from trees to the mold that grows on your bread, has a complex, unique encoding of DNA. No two strands of DNA are alike. It is what gives us life and makes us different from any organism that ever has, or ever will, live.

And that same strange, wonderful double helix is represented in our own galaxy.

Wow. There really aren't adequate words. Wow.

(Click on the 3 dots next to the title of this entry. It will take you to one of many, many news stories on this discovery. Or you can just Google "double helix nebula" for lots more.)

Bathrobes and Pajamas

2006-05-28T14:57:00.000-07:00

One of my pet peeves is drop-in visitors.

Here's the reason...I'm downright scary looking unless I know someone is coming.

If I had my way, I'd spend every day in men's cotton pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt, topped with an inside-out, backwards bathrobe.

Strange, yes. But I favor comfort over fashion.

Why wear scratchy tight denim pants when there are comfy cotton pajama pants available?
Why wear constricting blouses with buttons and snaps when a soft t-shirt will do?
And why wear your robe with the soft, cushy terry cloth facing outward, when it's so much more comfortable with the soft side facing your skin? (My daughter gave me my robe a couple years ago at Christmas. It's the softest thing in the world!)

I will admit wearing the robe backwards is a little weird, though.

But you should try it. If you're lying on the couch reading or watching TV, you can turn it around backwards. That way, it works sort of like a blanket, but with sleeves for your arms to stick out and hold your book or remote or mug.

It's the ultimate in comfort.

So you can see why I like to know ahead of time if someone is about to show up at my house.

With enough warning, I can look sort of normal. With scant warning, I'll at least put the robe on frontwards and turn it right-side out. But if anyone shows up at my house unannounced, I probably won't go to the door.

(My biggest nightmare is winning the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes and having my image televised live during the Super Bowl in my pajamas and backwards, inside out robe. They can just keep the money.)

Weird Random thought on the Chain of Life

2006-05-24T06:48:00.000-07:00

Here are the first blooms from the African Violet seeds I planted in November.

Although the seed packet had promised "fantasy" varieties with unusual colors, double blooms, and speckled petals, these first two bloomers seem to be your ordinary, run-of-the-mill violets. But that's okay. I grew them from seed, so that makes them quite amazing to me.

Do you ever have weird, random thoughts that other people would laugh at, but you wonder about them all the same?

I'll tell you one of mine, but you can't laugh.

I've been thinking about plants.

We human beings consider members of the plant kingdom to be the lowest life forms on the earth. They have no brains or any of the advanced mental facilities that we possess. They can't move around, form governments, or star in reality TV shows. So we deem them somehow less intelligent. Less evolved.

But what if we've got it all wrong?

Why do we consider ourselves, humans, to be at the top of all life forms?

Yes, we have gray matter, we can drive automobiles, do mathematical equations, and read about Paris Hilton in People magazine. But in the grand scheme of things, in the scope of life and of the universe, are our brains really the big shot gizmos we seem to think they are? Does this wad of gray tissue really make us somehow better or more advanced than other life?

Human beings are the cruelest, most inhuman living creatures that inhabit the earth. We are selfish, hateful, and kill for no reason. We are scheming, deceitful, and yet consider ourselves above all. We crave power, control, and domination.

We survive by ingesting the life from other life forms. Our very existence is made possible by the deaths of others.

We're the lowliest, most disgusting creatures walking around.

I don't know. To me, it seems like we're pretty near the bottom on the chart of living creatures.

I think animals are the next step above us. Again, they can't do Rubik's Cubes or drive monster trucks, but they have uncanny, innate forms of intelligence that we can't even pretend to understand. Birds build intricate nests, follow complex migration patterns...ants create harmonious and efficient cities. (note: Watch March of the Penguins!)

Animals seems able to understand and communicate with each other in a way that can't be explained by the size of their brains or their level of measurable intelligence.

Anyone who has ever had a dog knows that animals are capable of unconditional love on a level that even Mother Teresa would not be able to muster. Animals have an innate purity, a level of innocence and unselfconsciousness that none of us could ever come close to achieving. Yes, they hunt and they kill, but only as a part of the cycle of life, unless they've been corrupted by humans. They live their lives without worry of possessions or politics.

But although they are better than us, I think even animals don't come close to the quiet, serene peace that exists in the essence of a plant. Animals still compete, they are territorial, and they fight for status in their groups.

But plants...plants seems to exhibit the purest way to exist that there is. They kill nothing. They take nourishment directly from the sun...and the sun is the source of light, the only constant in the universe, the thing used throughout history to name God.

They live to provide beauty, oxygen, food, and sustenance for all the other living creatures around them. They ask nothing, yet give continuously. Without plants, all other life on the planet would cease within a matter of days.

We think of them as being low, less "important" life forms because they don't have little gray brains like ours. Yet they grow, reproduce, respond to love and care, and fill our world with oxygen.

I honestly wonder if their level of intelligence is so far above ours that it can't be stored in a weird gray blob of brain matter. They are unconcerned with trivialities, governments, and possessions. They seem to exist on a higher plane. A plane of peace, calm, trust, and unconditional giving. They, of all life forms, seem to embody the ultimate example of Earth's ideal life form.

It's no wonder that all the great teachers and agents of God point to plants and animals as examples that we humans should heed. "Look at the birds of the air," we're told. "Observe the lilies of the field." They are held up as models for us.

I think we give far too much credit to the fact that we have brains. I believe there is an intelligence higher and wiser and truer than the stuff that fits in our heads. It's not something one can see or measure, but it's real and exists in all life, from the ugliest cockroach to the lowliest dandelion.

It's the soul. And the soul is much higher and wiser than the brain.

Quick Hello

2006-05-23T21:16:00.000-07:00

Life has been unusually crazy. It seems like I say that a lot lately, but life has been crazier lately. :-)

I'm having carpet laid, handling the purchase of a truck (never thought I could do THAT!), mowing the grass, buying groceries, playing taxi driver, working through a maze of insurance bureaucracy, and trying to remember where I'm supposed to be on any given day... Ugh.

I don't like all the "busy work" of day to day life, but it never seems to take the hint and leave me alone!

Always projects to tend to, bills to pay, errands to run...all the stuff that keeps me and the ones I love alive and functioning.

But that's okay. The tedium and the dailyness of life have much to teach us. It's all part and parcel of the whole package of life.

In order to play great symphonies, a musician must suffer the monotony of daily scales. It's all part of the training. If we can learn the lessons that the small things have to teach us, we can move past them. (Apparently, I still have much to learn!)

On that note, I leave you with a thought from Viktor Frankl in Man's Search for Meaning...

Ask not what the events of your life mean, but take responsibility for creating meaning from the events of your life.

Wise words.

Solitude

2006-05-17T21:42:00.000-07:00

One day, I want to have a secret place. A place I can go and know I won't be disturbed. A place to read or think or just close my eyes and rest. A place of my very own.

Everybody wants a secret place. Kids build tree houses and forts and post "Keep Out" signs on their doors. I don't think we ever outgrow that need for solitude.

But finding a secret place is hard. There don't seem to be many of them.

People seem to find you even when you think you're in the most out of the way spot. At least they find me, anyway.

Don't get me wrong. I like people. But sometimes, I just need a little solitude. A chance to sit quietly, smell the air, and listen to the leaves.

Recently, I was walking with my son off the beaten path of a park near our home. We went down a steep dirt trail, ending up beside a stream. It was early afternoon in the middle of the week. Quiet. Deserted. It seemed like we were the only people on the face of the earth. Perfect.

While my son was teaching himself to skip rocks, I sat down on the bank of the river. I was looking forward to sitting quietly for awhile, just listening to the sound of the water, enjoying the peace and quiet.

And then, out of nowhere, literally, a man appeared. Where did he come from?

And instead of just walking by, he came right over, plopped down beside me on the grass and started to talk.

It was a little annoying. And strange. And scary. I quickly got up and said we had to be going. So much for my solitude.

Same thing happens anywhere I go, trying to find a little peace and quiet.

I can be the only person in a field or park, sitting and minding my own business, reading a book or trying to write, and people will suddenly appear and sit down to chat. It's a given.

I've finally realized I'll never get to enjoy solitude if I sit outside.

So yesterday, when my son asked me to go to the park with him, I agreed. But this time, I decided I'd just stay in the van and read. Not even get out of the car. That way, I'd have a shell of steel around me to ensure that my little bubble of solitude stayed intact.

We got to the park. It was deserted. No one anywhere in sight. I parked the van under some trees at the very edge of the park and rolled down the windows. Nice breeze. Sunshine.

My son headed off on his bike, and I settled down on the front seat with a book, a sweatshirt under my head for a pillow, looking forward to a chance to read for awhile in the warm sun with the wind blowing through the open windows.

I had not been reading for more than five minutes, when all of a sudden, someone was approaching my car, calling, "Hey! Anyone in that van? Hey! Anyone in that van?"

I sat up. A woman and child were at my window. She'd seen the van with the open windows and decided to come investigate, I guess.

She stood and made small talk for a while before wandering off again.

Even in my car, I can't avoid visitors.

I'm always sort of amazed when I hear a story on the news about the discovery of a body that has lain undetected outdoors or in a vehicle for days or weeks.

Although I certainly don't wish to be a dead body, I'd like to find a spot where my live body could remain undected like that.

Where are these hidden places?

I wish I knew. I want one. A secret place of my very own.

We Find What We Look For

2006-05-04T17:13:00.000-07:00

Well, I haven't posted any of my little Mr. Roger's Neighborhood "postings with a moral" in a few days, so I'm sure you're all going into withdrawals, right? *grin*

Fair Warning: If you hate these little "observations and lessons from life", stop reading now! Akkkk! Run for your life! (I'm sorry. I just can't help it. It's a compulsion.)

But to those of you who enjoy a little saccharine with your coffee, here's something I've always noticed:

In life, we find what we look for.

It's true in a literal sense, of course. Whenever I go with my family to someone's home, I notice that we all come away having seen entirely different things, even though we were all at the exact same place.

I'll notice the books on the bookshelves, and any plants, quilts, or needlework that are in view.

Mr. Egg will notice the home electronics, tools, and computer system.

My daughters will notice what everyone wore, and any shoes, coats, or other items of clothing in sight.

Another daughter will notice the music collection.

My son will be able to tell you about every action figure and game system in the house.

Ask my husband later about any needlework he may have seen, and he'll look at you like you're speaking a foreign language. ("There was needlework? What is needlework, anyway?)

I, on the other hand, could tour a fully stocked, custom designed wood-working shop and see only "tools". That's it. Just "tools".

We all tend to see reflections of ourselves in the things, places, and people around us. We see things that mirror our own interests and things that strike a chord with us.

It's true in more than just our physical surroundings, though.

We also encounter our own attitudes and feelings about life everywhere we look.

I especially noticed this phenomenon when I worked part-time as a waitress a few years ago.

There were one or two people I worked with who complained about everything. Their personal lives were always in chaos. They were always mad at their boyfriend/landlord/sister about something. They were always annoyed with our boss about something. They were always "not speaking" to someone. It was exhausting to be around them.

And interestingly enough, it was these very same people who always had the most "difficult, rude" customers seated in their sections. Everyone they waited on was a "jerk" or an "idiot"

And yet, there were other waitresses who worked there (Kelly and Kate, to name a couple) who always had the "nicest, kindest" customers. Everyone in their sections was "interesting" and "friendly".

Coincidence? Hardly.

People treat us the way we respond to them. We see in others the qualities we want to see.

If we're looking for confrontation, anger, and hostility, that's what we'll find.

But if we look for kindness, a smile, and a gentle word, we'll find those, too.

:-) *And the moral is...* Look for the things you hope to find. Give the things you want to receive. You'll find what you look for, and you'll receive back what you give. (Plus some!)

Einstein's Brain

2006-05-02T13:07:00.000-07:00

Mr. Egg got me these 3 books for Christmas. I was so excited to receive them. They are exactly books I would have chosen myself.

Although I've hopped and skipped through the "Idiot's Guide", reading sections and pieces of it, I'm only just now getting to settle in and read them all, front to back.

Right now, I'm reading "God's Equation: Einstein, Relativity, and the Expanding Universe". (Note: Just because I'm reading it, doesn't necessarily mean I'm understanding all of it!)

Surprisingly, though, I'm grasping more of the concepts than I ever thought I would.

This whole Einstein/Quantum Physics kick I'm currently on started a few years back. I had always heard of Einstein's Theory of Relativity, of course, but never thought it was anything I'd ever understand.

Then one day, I came across a library book for children about Einstein and the Theory of Relativity.

A children's book!! I was thrilled and amazed!!

You mean Einstein's Theory of Relativity could be explained in a way that even children could understand it? Perhaps there was hope for me.

I checked out the book and read it from cover to cover. And amazingly enough, the author actually managed to help me get a grasp of what the whole theory was about. For about 10 minutes after reading the book, I could give you a very basic explanation of the theory.

By the next day, regrettably, my brain had lost its feeble grasp on the material.

So I re-read the book again. This time, I retained the info for a couple of days.

I've gone back and read and reread explanations of Einstein's theory many times since (I bought my own copy of that kids' book, as well as a few others). Each time, I understand it a little better.

I'm trying to do the same thing with Quantum Physics, although as much as I've read on that topic, I still understand it far, far less than the Theory of Relativity. (Like how can the act of merely observing a particle change its behavior? I don't know if I'll ever comprehend that!)

Still, it all fascinates me. I'm determined to at least get a general understanding of how it all works.

But the thing that fascinates me the most is how Einstein and other great thinkers even come up with their amazing theories in the first place!!

If my mind can barely retain the most basic understanding of their theories and ideas, what kind of mind could actually formulate and imagine these ideas to begin with? It's truly mind boggling.

These guys thought on a totally different plane. A different dimension.

Take Einstein's Theory of Relativity. He was trying to figure out why the speed of light stayed the same whether you measured its speed going with the rotation of the earth or against it.

Logically, you'd think the speed of light would be slower going against the earth's rotation, in much the same way that you'd make slower progress riding up in an elevator in a building that was flying down through space, than you would in that same building riding down in the elevator.

But, no matter what the other factors were, the speed of light always stayed the same, never faster, never slower.

That had everyone stumped.

Except Einstein. He was the very first person to come up with the theory that perhaps time wasn't the constant in the universe, but the speed of light was the constant.

Who before Einstein would ever have thought to question time?? It had always been unquestioningly accepted that time just was. It was one of those fixed things you take for granted.

For Einstein to have even imagined time as a variable is something I can't begin to even fathom. How did he think of that?

Amazing. I love reading about it. There's so much out there in the workings of the universe, and our understanding of it all is so very, very miniscule.

*******************************************************************

Another note on the whole "light" issue (ie: light being the only constant in the universe), opens up a whole different issue I want to explore, once I have a full grasp of the Theory of Relativity and Quantum Physics. (don't hold your breath! *grin*)

Okay, so time, space, gravity, and all these other things that we've always taken for granted as being unchanging constants really aren't constants at all...time and space are flexible, variable.

Leaving the only known constant in the universe to be the speed of light.

Wow.

All cultures, all religions, all traditions refer to God as light. The light of the world. Light that casts out darkness.

Obviously, there's something here.

I read a book called "God at the Speed of Light" that address many of these issues. Although I don't necessarily agree with all the conclusions the author of that book reached, it was fascinating reading.

It seems the more that is discovered, the more proof there is that there's an amazing intelligent force behind all the workings of the universe.

I'm not sure why the church has historically been so fearful of science.

Yes, sometimes the findings of science threaten some of the basic beliefs of the church (like the idea that the earth was the center of the universe, hence the excommunication of Galileo), but the findings of science have never threatened God.

How could they? God invented the whole thing. Set it all in motion.

In fact, the more one begins to understand science and marvel at all the mysteries and complexities of the universe, the more irrefutable God's existence is.

God's existence is proven through all facets of science, mathematics, and the order of the universe.

Einstein himself knew that.

In fact, it was science that brought Einstein to God.

Weekly Word Count Report

2006-05-02T12:31:00.000-07:00

Time, yet again, for a report on my weekly word count.

Hmmm...I can see this weekly reporting could become sort of tedious, eh?

Perhaps I'll keep up with the word count on my computer, and then post the reports here once a month. That way, every other post isn't about the word count for the week.

But I'll go ahead and make my report for this week...and the truth is, this week, I'm not sure how many words I wrote.

The problem is that I wrote very few of them in Word docs.

I wrote quite a few snippets and pieces in a little pocket sized notebook that I have next to the bed. I wrote some more on a legal pad. I even wrote a very nice bit of work on the inside cover and beginning flyleaf pages of a book (the ideas just came and I didn't have any paper...but don't worry, I own the book.)

I know I could go back and gather all these bits and scraps together and count the words, but, well, I just don't feel like it. :-)

I do feel confident in saying that I probably wrote at least 3,000 words, but I'd be shocked if I met my goal of 5,000.

To quote Scarlett, "Tomorrow is another day".

And next week, I think I'll try to get my writing done in Word docs, as much as possible anyway. Or at least, transfer the paper stuff to Word. Makes it much easier to keep up with.

No Solicitors

2006-04-28T13:34:00.000-07:00

Every so often, a rash of door to door salespeople comes through town.

I think a van or something must drop them all off. There are only about 500 residents in our whole town...strangers stand out.

They're always taking part in a "contest", and they're always "only one sale away" from some great prize.

The two who came to my door this morning had the usual speil. They always start out with a compliment about your appearance. Do I look that gullible?

The last set of salespeople "loved" my hair (it was "da bomb", to be exact). They were shocked, shocked that I did it myself!

The couple today thought I looked too young to be the woman of the house. Yeah, right. My hair was a wreck (looked like it been hit with "da bomb"), no make-up, a ratty old t-shirt that says "Cajun", and a giant red zit on my nose. (I'm 44 years old...when does the statute of limitations run out on zits, anyway?)

The snow job didn't do anything for their sales pitch. I told them, politely, I wasn't buying any cleaning products today.

The woman of the pair peered over my shoulder into the house and wrinkled up her nose. "But look at that floor..." she began.

Uh, yeah. Like I'm going to buy anything from her now?

I shut the door.

More on Being "Saccharine"

2006-04-27T22:20:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm still mulling over the "saccharine" post. Why do all my posts seem so sickeningly sweet to me?

Partly because they are very self-absorbed. This is a whole entire, very long page of me talking about nothing but me. That's pretty disgusting when you think about it.

But then again, what is a blog or journal (at least the way I'm using this blog), but a place for introspection? A place to talk through issues that crowd your mind? A place to note random thoughts and observations? It just so happens that I'm posting them in a public place, I guess.

I notice a lot of people use their blogs to record the events of their days, sort of like this:

"My &$#@ roommate ate the last moon pie. i would so kick him out if I didnt need the $@#& rent munny!"

or

"This guy @ my skool is sooo hot...i wish hed dump that chick hes with so we cood hook up."

Other people use their blogs to rant about politics or to rip everyone they've ever hated, like this:

"Our president is so stupid. Everything our government does is stupid. I want to move to Canada."

or

"If your a Democrat/Republican/independent (take your pick), your a #%$@ idiot and i hope you dye."

Sorry, but those blogs don't really hold any appeal for me.

So, I just think out loud here. Just me and my introspective brain. For better or for worse.

Sometimes, it's better. A lot of times, it's worse.

If you know me in real life, you probably know that I hate to talk about myself. In real life, I'm a listener. I'm truly uncomfortable sitting and talking about myself at all.

In fact, those of you who know me outside the confines of the internet know that if you try to talk to me about anything I've written here, I quickly change the subject. This is an alternate universe.

I know sometimes I'm saccharine. I know sometimes I moralize. I know sometimes I'm flat out boring. And I know I'm always talking about me.

But you're in the Universe of Egg Head. We'll try to figure our way out of here together. :-)

Saccharine

2006-04-27T20:33:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I just posted that last post, and I'm looking at it and thinking, "Doesn't this girl ever write about anything that happened to her after the age of 12?"

(Believe it or not, I do have actual thoughts and memories that have occurred to me as an adult!)

I'm also looking at that last post and thinking, "Gosh, sometimes this girl sounds so saccharine!"

Blech.

Sometimes, you just get kind of sick of the sound of your own voice, you know? It's like how all the adults sound on the "Peanuts" cartoons..."blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah."

I promise, the next post won't have anything to do with any childhood memories, and I will try not to attach a moral to the end. :-)

(Okay, so maybe I know why people call me Snow White, after all! :-) Please don't make me eat the poison apple!)

Trading Faces?

2006-04-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, I used to wish I could be someone else. Anyone else. I'd look at someone my age who seemed to have it all together and think, "If only I could trade lives with her!"

I think a lot of adults never outgrow this feeling. They look at all the celebrity magazines at the grocery store, covered with the flawless airbrushed faces of rich celebrities, and think, "If only..."

But appearances are deceiving. Behind those model perfect smiles, most of our culture's celebrities lead chaotic lives. There's a frantic, desperate edge to their existence. In spite of their laughter and perky repartee on Leno, a huge number of those beautiful people are struggling with failing relationships, addictions, and/or drug abuse.

They're valued not for who they are, but for how they look or what they have. And looks and money won't buy happiness, no matter how much of each you happen to have.

I remember the first time I ever realized this. I was in fourth grade.

I had just gotten on the school bus and was reading a book, when I looked up to find Mrs. Reeves, the bus driver, standing next to my seat.

She took my hand and led me up to the front of the bus where a beautiful little girl with long red curls sat crying into her hands.

"She's new," Mrs. Reeves told me. "She doesn't have any friends. Would you sit with her?"

That's how I met Sherry.

From that day on, we were fast friends. It turned out we were even in the same classroom.

Sherry was a beauty queen. Even though she was only 9 years old, she had won literally hundreds of pageant awards.

The first time I went over to her house, I was almost blinded by all the glittering gold trophies. They were everywhere. There were trophies lining the mantle, with tall ones standing on the floor. They were on bookshelves and in glass cases. I'd never seen so many trophies.

There were pictures of Sherry all over the house, too. She was even a beauty queen when she was a baby. There were photos of her as a tiny, red-curled infant with little baby tiaras on her head.

I was amazed, impressed, and envious.

But the longer I knew Sherry, the more I began to discover what an unhappy little girl she was. She could never play on weekends because she always had pageants or pageant practice.

Her parents always seemed angry, and there was a palpable tension that hung in the air any time I was at her house. I still remember how uncomfortable I felt whenever I was there.

Then, one day, Sherry wasn't at school. Mid-way through the morning, Sherry and her mother entered the classroom. Sherry was sniffling and red-eyed like she'd been the first time I met her.

Her mother talked to the teacher, and they walked over and emptied out Sherry's desk. Then they were gone. I never saw Sherry again.

I found out later that her parents had divorced. Sherry and her mother moved away, leaving behind Sherry's dad, her three beloved older brothers, all her friends, and her dogs. Just like that.

I never envied her again. Whenever I thought of Sherry after that, I just felt pity and a deep sadness. She was very beautiful with hundreds of trophies, but she had a very unhappy little life.

Sometimes I think about Sherry when I see those stunning photos of Jessica Simpson and Jennifer Aniston smiling out at me from the check-out stand. I feel sad for the lost little girls behind those dazzling smiles.

Would I take their beauty, wealth, or talent if it were all handed to me on a silver platter, no strings attached? Of course I would. In a heartbeat.

But would I trade places with them? Trade my life for theirs? Nope. No deal. I wouldn't even have to think about it.

Tiaras and perfect teeth don't buy happiness.

Coca Cola Angel

2006-04-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

I love this painting! :-)

It's by an outsider artist named Missionary Mary Proctor. If I've done it correctly, clicking on the 3 small circles next to the title of this post should bring you to her site.

She's a morning cola addict, too.

To start any day properly, an ice cold diet cola straight from the can is an absolute necessity for me. Coke. Pepsi. Store brand. I'm not picky (in fact, cheap is better, as far as I'm concerned).

Am I the only one who thinks it's criminal that hotels provide free in-room coffee makers with free coffee for the coffee addicts of the world, but charge a dollar or more for a can of soda from the machine down the hall for us morning cola folks??

Morning cola drinkers of the world, Unite!!

Snow White?

2006-04-25T13:58:00.000-07:00

Something happened to me the other day that reminded me of a very strange phenomenon that has followed me for years...

I was in the grocery store, and ran into a former co-worker who immediately smiled and said, "Hi, Snow White!"

Snow White. For some odd reason, I end up being given this nickname everywhere I go.

It started years ago when my husband was the facilities manager at a camp. Some of the crew members began to call me Snow White. I thought it was funny... a silly nickname... and I really never gave it much thought.

We moved away to another city where I got a job in the sales department of a large hotel. One day, during a staff meeting, my boss jokingly referred to me as Snow White. I was a little startled because no one there knew about the old nickname, and I'd never mentioned it.

Once again, the name stuck, and before long, most of my co-workers at the hotel called me Snow White instead of by my name. I remembered thinking it was a little odd that I'd been given the same nickname twice by two unrelated groups of people, but thought it was just an unusual coincidence.

Then several years later, I was once again in a different job with new co-workers (I was waitressing part time), and out of the blue one day, someone once again referred to me as Snow White. They thought they were the first person to call me that...no one there knew me from my old job, and it wasn't something I'd ever mentioned.

Okay. By now, it was really beginning to freak me out a little.

Not that the name bothered me, of course. Everyone who's ever used it has meant it in a fun, friendly sort of way.

I just wonder why so many people attach that name to me.

Very, very odd.

I do have pathetically pale skin. And I do have dark hair (although these days it comes out of a bottle). But as far as I can tell, the resemblance ends there. I never wear headbands or high white collars. I don't know any dwarves.

And I think if people really, really, really knew me, there are many days when they'd probably think I much more closely resemble the Wicked Queen. :-)

"Heh, heh, heh...Have a poison apple, my dear."

Goal Report

2006-04-24T13:08:00.000-07:00

Weekly Word Count Report:

Goal: 5,000 words

Actual Count: (Drum Roll, Please!) 5,300 words!

Conformity

2006-04-22T12:34:00.000-07:00

Here’s a joke I like:

An elderly woman is sitting at home listening to the radio. Suddenly, she hears a report that a car is careening the wrong way down the interstate, causing accidents and near misses on all sides.

Frantically, the woman dials her husband’s cell phone to warn him because she knows he’ll be taking that route home.

“Honey,” she says, when he answers, “please be careful. I just heard on the radio that some nut is driving his car the wrong way down the interstate!”

“It’s not just one nut,” he replied. “There’s hundreds of ‘em!”

* * * * *

I like that old guy’s attitude.

Obviously, there are times in life when it’s advisable to go along with the crowd. (Like when you’re driving on the interstate!)

But sometimes, you have to remain convinced that you’re on the right track, even if everyone around you seems to be headed the other way.

We are a culture of conformists.

The need for fit in is overwhelming. We make compromises every day, big and small, in our quest for acceptance

Most of the time, we don’t even realize we’re doing it.

I remember being back in first grade. Our teacher passed out sheets of paper and told us to draw a picture.

I sat next to a girl named Kathy Morton. I can still recall watching to see what she was going to draw. She took her yellow crayon and drew a quarter circle up in the corner of her paper and then added yellow spokes all around it. A sun.

Although I personally had never seen the sun look like that, I was impressed. I drew my sun like that too. She drew a smiley face on her sun. So did I.

She drew a thin band of green at the bottom of the page and a thin band of blue at the top. Grass and sky. I followed suit.

She finished off with a green lollipop tree covered with small red circles for apples.

I thought she was the most amazing artist I’d ever seen.

I made my picture exactly like hers.

So did every other girl in the class. By the end of the year, whenever any of us was asked to draw something, we all produced pictures that looked remarkably similar. And we were all quite proud of them.

(I think the boys all drew identical tanks and cars.)

We all drew pictures that same way for years.

Nobody thought to draw what we really saw when we looked out the window. It never occurred to any of us little southern girls that we’d never even seen a real apple tree, so perhaps we should draw a pecan tree instead.

No, we just wanted to draw what everyone else was drawing.

It’s a habit that dies hard.

I took a watercolor class a few years ago. Although I’m proud to say I no longer felt the need to copy my neighbor, I was still in the grip of conformity.

I had painted a picture of a pale pink flower. I was sort of pleased with it, but it seemed too washed out. Too pale. It needed something.

I asked the instructor if it was “allowed” to go back and add in small details with a fine point pen to sharpen the edges and refine parts of the painting. (In case you’re curious, she said it was.)

But later, I was struck with how ludicrous it was that I’d even felt the need to ask permission in the first place. After all, it was my painting, wasn’t it? I wasn’t taking the class for credit or for a grade. I wasn’t going to enter my picture in an art show or a contest. I had no one to please but myself.

I could have glued band-aids and hamster droppings on my painting, for all it mattered.

Yet, still, I was so concerned about the “rules”…making sure I had done things the “accepted” way.

How silly is that? If we paint a picture, sing a song, do a dance, make a quilt, design a dress, build furniture, or write a poem, we should express the vision that we have inside.

After all, what is a poem structure, a dance step or a painting method, but someone else’s invention? At one time, even these established ways of doing things were fresh ideas that sprang from someone’s mind.

We need to stop looking outside ourselves for what is already quietly sleeping within. We need only give it a gentle shake and wake it up.

Live life from the heart. Your own heart.

Searching...

2006-04-21T13:26:00.000-07:00

Okay...another strange dream.

I dreamed I was searching for something, something that I really needed to find, yet I kept looking for it in the same three or four places over and over again.

I was becoming increasingly frustrated with my inability to locate whatever it was I was looking for, but I refused to look in a different spot.

I would just start over, again and again, looking in the places I'd already checked.

Even in the dream, I realized the futility of what I was doing, yet I refused to break out of my pattern and look someplace else.

Hmmm...obviously my subconscious is trying to tell me something here, but I can't figure out what it could be. As far as I know, I'm not searching for anything in the same fruitless places, but this one definitely requires more thought.

It's interesting to me how our minds turn our abstract worries and concerns into concrete images. Maybe it's easier to deal with tangibles than with nebulous ideas.

When I'm stressed, I dream about snakes. When I'm feeling overwhelmed, I have flood dreams.

When my husband is feeling pressure, he'll dream he's being chased by a bear.

My youngest daughter has spider dreams.

Dreams fascinate me...they really do tell us a lot about what's going on in the deeper recesses of our minds.

Gorilla Warfare?

2006-04-19T21:30:00.000-07:00

Random memory...

I just heard something in passing about "Guerrilla Warfare" and was suddenly flooded with memories of being about 9 or 10 years old.

Back then, the evening news always carried stories of guerrilla warfare...the latest attacks by guerrillas and all the uprisings.

I can still remember how terrified and perplexed I was by the behavior of all those mad "gorillas". Why were these animals so angry? Why were they so threatening that they made the news every night? Why were human beings powerless to stop them? How did gorillas learn to use guns?

They always seemed so nice at the zoo.

Was I the only kid who thought the news anchormen were talking about actual gorillas?

(Even after I found out the guerrillas were men, I always pictured them fighting in gorilla suits. Once an image takes hold in your mind, it's hard to shake it.)

Progress Report

2006-04-19T20:50:00.000-07:00

Not that anyone is waiting with bated breath, but I promised to report on my writing goal. My goal for last week was 5,000. My actual count was 1,500.

Boo. Hiss.

Granted, it was an extremely busy week for me, but then, every week is a busy one. Yet somehow, I always find time to shower, eat (!), and watch American Idol. We always find time to do the things we really want to do, don't we?

But hey, we're into a new week. A new chance to make my goal.

And if all else fails, I can always lower my goal to 1,500 words per week! (Only kidding!)

But that sort of reminds me of something my oldest daughter did when she was small. She had one of those big pickle jars in her room, and anytime someone would give her candy, she'd add some of it to that jar. She had a pretty nice little stash going.

One day, she came into the kitchen and asked if I could give her a little jelly jar. I dug around in the cabinet and found one. I asked if she needed holes punched in the lid (she was big into catching bugs back then).

"No," she replied, "it's just that I promised myself I wouldn't eat any of my candy until my jar was full. I need a smaller jar."

That's resourcefulness! :-)

Awww...

2006-04-16T12:26:00.000-07:00

Beautiful flowers from my beautiful husband. Aren't they pretty?

As my son said, "Dad is awesome!" :-)

Personal Challenge

2006-04-09T17:06:00.000-07:00

I'm throwing down the gauntlet to myself. (Can you do that?)

Although I've done more writing over these past months than I have in many moons, I'm still approaching writing as a hit or miss proposition. Very undisciplined. Still something that falls into that "if I have time" category.

My personal challenge to myself is to write 1,000 words per day. Five days per week. (Don't worry...I won't write them all here. Scared you, huh? Akkkkk!!!!!) :-)

No, the 1,000 words are to be written as potentially marketable material. That's the rule.

I know there will be some days when the 1,000 words will be impractical, but that's why I've built in two days "off" each week. Even then, I may miss the mark, but at least I'll have a target to aim for.

I figure if I post my goal here, maybe it will make me feel more accountable for churning the words out...I'll post periodic updates on my progress.

Quote for the Day

2006-04-09T16:58:00.000-07:00

"To know what you prefer instead of humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive." Robert Louis Stevenson

Latest Effort

2006-04-09T16:38:00.000-07:00

My latest effort.

I got the idea for this one while watching an episode of Cold Case Files. There was a shot of a detective at his desk, and hanging behind him was a framed picture, very out of focus, but it sort of looked like this.

I'm sure the real picture in the detective's office looked nothing like this at all...it was probably framed awards, or newspaper clippings, or something like that...but since it was blurry, you could only see the fuzzy outlines of shapes.

I thought it looked pretty cool. This is my version.

Sometimes life is more interesting when you look at ordinary things from a slightly different perspective.

:-)

2006-04-09T16:29:00.000-07:00

I'm very happy to report that Mr. Egg is doing much better. (That's a pic of us doing a celebratory dance. I'm the one on the left.)

We saw every specialist in the known universe, plus a couple more, but suffice it to say that he's on the road to much better health. Lots of new lifestyle adjustments...healthy eating, exercise, and such...but that's a small price to pay.

Thanks for your good thoughts! :-)

Missing in Action

2006-03-24T14:10:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of me when I'm stressed...you can see that I'm a little green around the gills.

My apologies to those of you who visit my blog. (All three of you!) :-)

I haven't updated much lately...hubby is having some medical issues, so we're running the roads to doctors and specialists. We're trying to get him all doctored up and back in good shape again.

Send your good thoughts and prayers our way!

"You Are Here"

2006-03-08T20:25:00.000-07:00

I have a horrible, terrible, dreadful sense of direction. I think I've mentioned that here before. I just don't seem to be able to grasp the concept of where I am in space. Go figure.

That's why I love MapQuest driving directions. It's changed my life. If I can have directions written out for me in words, I can do a somewhat decent job of finding my way around.

Turn left on Elm. Go 3.4 miles.
Turn right on Oak. Go 6.8 miles.
Turn right on Pine. Go 1.1 miles.

See, that makes sense to me. Maps do not.

The only drawback is that I can't tell my left from my right. If I have time to sit and calmly think it through, I can usually figure it out, but in traffic under pressure, I never know which is which. Very frustrating.

Once, I had to make a fairly long and complicated trip by myself. It was very important I make it to my destination on time. I printed out my worded directions, allowed myself plenty of "buffer" time, and, as an extra precaution, I took a ballpoint pen and wrote a small "L" on the back of my left hand and an "R" on the back of my right. (I planned to rub them off with a little saliva when I got there...don't worry.)

Confident that I had all the bases covered, I set out. So far, so good. There was my first intersection, just as it was supposed to be. According to my directions, I needed to turn left. I glanced down at my hand to be certain. There was my nice little "L". Good. I turned left.

Now I needed to go a mile, and I should come to a major highway. I checked my odometer and drove the mile. No highway. Drove another mile, just to be sure. Still no highway.

How could I be lost already? I'd only made one turn.

Seething, I pulled over on the shoulder to double check my directions. Yep, I'd done everything correctly. Started out on the correct road. Came to the correct intersection. Made the left turn. What happened?

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "You numbskull. How long did it take you to figure out you'd written the "R" and "L" on the wrong hands?"

Only about two or three minutes, tops.

Red-faced, I wiped away the evidence and switched the "L" and the "R" to their proper hands.

I drove back to the intersection and took a real left, and I made it to my destination without further incident.

Sigh.

So, please, if you're ever out someplace and see a confused looking person wandering around with a little "R" on her left hand and a little "L" on her right, kindly stop and ask if she needs help finding her way.

It's probably me.

Green Children

2006-02-27T17:33:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of my green children. This one is a bonsai my husband gave me for my birthday during the summer of 2004. I've wanted a bonsai forever...I was always afraid to get one, though. They seem so exotic and delicate...and how horrible would it be to get one and kill it?? But so far, it's doing well, and I've had it a year and a half. The real test will be when I have to take it out and trim it back this summer. It's getting too big. Keep your fingers crossed.
This is a little crop of african violets that I started from seed a few months ago. I'm quite impressed with myself, even though all I did was sprinkle the seeds on dirt. But still, when those little shoots pop out, it's almost like you created them yourself. Now, I await the flowers...

This is a venus fly trap my oldest daughter gave me for Christmas. We named her Audrey, after Audrey in Little Shop of Horrors. But we're hoping this Audrey won't try to eat us. We did kill a fly and feed it to her, so I think we slated her thirst for blood, at least for awhile.

One Choice at a Time

2006-02-24T00:09:00.000-07:00

We create our lives one choice at a time.

Choice after choice. Yes...no. This...that. Here...there.

Before we know it, we turn around and look back at the trail that is our life. We see how the cumulative effect of all those seemingly insignificant choices have led us to where we are today.

The choices are ours to make.

I think sometimes of my father. He had a nice headstart in the game of life. Even before he ever made a single choice of his own, other people's good choices had given him many advantages.

He was born into an upper middle class home with two loving parents. He received a college education.

Later, he worked his way up from a reporter to an editor at Louisiana's largest and most respected newspaper. He had a home, a devoted wife, healthy children.

He had a good life, due in very large part to good choices that he had made.

But somewhere along the way, those choices began to be compromised. Only a little at first. Bit by tiny bit.

What harm is there in having a few drinks after work to deal with the pain of back surgery and the stress of the job? A drink or two isn't so much.

What could it hurt to get back in touch with an old flame? Heck, it's just for old time's sake.

What's the problem with a few white lies? Everyone does it.

Small choices. Insignificant. Hardly a blip on the screen. You only live once, right? Everyone deserves a break.

But small choices have a way of growing and expanding, spreading like a tasteless, odorless, but powerfully lethal gas. They have a way of filling you with poison before you even realize what has happened.

My father was not an evil man. He took me to the library when I was small. Read books to me at night. Taught me to play chess. Took me to the beach and museums and Six Flags Over Texas.

But over the years, his choices turned him into an alcoholic, an adulterer, and an abusive husband. A man so wracked with guilt, self-pity, and self-loathing that he put a bullet through his head the summer I turned fifteen.

A life wasted.

Sometimes I wonder how my father's life might have been different if he had thrown away the Jack Daniels bottle he kept under the bed or decided against contacting his old girlfriend out of respect for his wife and children. What if he had known in advance where it all would lead, like those people in It's a Wonderful Life or A Christmas Carol who get to travel through time to see the effects of their choices before they make them?

But real life isn't like the movies. We only get one shot at life, and my father had his.

We may not be able to take the hand of an angel and travel through time to see where our choices will lead, but we can learn from the choices of others.

We know our Rand McNally roadmap will lead us to Los Angeles or New York, even if we've never traveled to either of those places. But we know that other people have, and they've marked out the path for us. It's usually pretty clear to see where each road will lead.

We just have to decide where it is we want to go. And then, make the choice to go there.

We create our lives, one choice at a time.

"Insufficient Memory"

2006-02-18T14:49:00.000-07:00

Do you ever get that "insufficient memory" message on your computer? Maybe not. It might just be my computer. It's old (at least in computer years) and really needs to be cleaned up.

Every so often, when it feels I'm making too many demands on its limited resources, it gets snippy and tells me that it has "insufficient memory" to carry out the requested operation...that I need to "wait" while it does something to fix the problem.

I wish it would let me in on that memory fix thing it does.

Sometimes it seems like my head is so jammed with things to do that it just rebels and shuts down.

The other day, for example, I saw the numbers 2-4-5 written boldly across the Kleenex box by my bed. What did those numbers mean? Why did I write them in such big letters?

Were they the combination to some secret safe containing millions of dollars that I'd forgotten I had? Not likely. Were they the address to a villa in Tuscany that I'd won in a contest? Again, doubtful.

It was a huge mystery until my son asked me later in the day if I remembered to set the VCR to tape his show...on channel 245. Fortunately for him (and me), it hadn't come on yet. Close call.

I'm also bad about hastily scrawling a time on the calendar, only to look at it later and have no idea what it's for. "10:45, March 13". Great. I know I'm supposed to be somewhere at 10:45 on March 13, but where?

But my most frustrating memory lapse happened the night I sat at the kitchen table and made a detailed list of things to do the following day. "Drop off library books. Mail bills. Get groceries. Clean out litter box. Call Dr. Ed". Each of those things was important, and each of them needed to be done the very next day.

Trouble is, I woke up the next morning, looked at my list, and didn't have a clue who "Dr. Ed" was or why I needed to call him.

Even more frustrating was the fact that I had written that note only hours before, and although I could actually remember physically writing those words, they made absolutely no sense to me.

All day, I wracked my brain. Who was Dr. Ed? We didn't have a family physician or a dentist or a vet named Dr. Ed, and even if we did, I couldn't think of any reason I needed to call a physician, dentist, or vet.

Who, for the love of Pete, was this "Dr. Ed" guy? It was driving me nuts!

Finally, my daughter came home late in the afternoon, and while she was standing in front of the fridge, she casually asked, "Hey, Mom, did you remember to call and sign me up for Driver's Ed today?"

ohhhhhh......................

(I have many more sad examples of my "insufficient memory", but unfortunately, I can't remember any of them. Lucky you.)

Etch-A-Sketch Philosophy

2006-02-11T21:21:00.000-07:00

When we're young, we believe that life is an Etch-a-Sketch.

Make a mistake? Act impulsively and regret it? No problem. Just turn the screen over, give it a quick shake or two, and you have a clean slate. Everything is completely erased.

But as we grow older (and, hopefully, wiser), we begin to understand that each and every choice we make, no matter how insignificant it seems, leaves a permanent mark.

That's not necessarily a bad thing. Any artist will tell you that sometimes it's the "mistakes" that lead to the most interesting and beautiful paintings. Any mark can be transformed into a thing of beauty.

But that mark is still there.

It's up to us to choose our marks wisely.

Books

2006-02-04T18:45:00.000-07:00

I love books.

Not just reading them. I love everything about them.

I love the feel of them, the smell of them, the weight of them, the look of them.

I will confess something to you. I even sleep with books next to me in the bed. (That's my current "bed stack" in the photo.) I just like the idea of them being there, close by.

I also have a stack of books on the floor beside the bed, so that I'm surrounded on both sides. A fortress of books, I suppose.

Some of the books in my stacks are books I'm either in the middle of reading (I like to keep a few going at once) or the ones I plan to read next.

There are also books in the piles that I plan to use as reference...ideas for something I want to write or a quote I want to copy down.

And then there is that select group of books...the books I just love and want to have close at hand all the time because I love them. There's a warm, safe feeling in having those special books so near. They are like dear friends.

There's a real safety associated with books for me, too. It's silly, of course. Books don't have protective powers. But still, I feel more protected around them, so that counts for something, I think.

I remember going alone to downtown Denver once to see a play. I have a tendency to get lost. A lot. So any time I go someplace new, I factor in a big chunk of "wandering" time, in case I get lost. Which I always do.

Well, on this particular trip, I overestimated the amount of wandering time I'd need. The theater was in a rather seedy part of downtown, and the doors didn't open for about 45 minutes.

I decided at first that I'd get out and walk around for awhile. Maybe find someplace to sit down and have a Coke while I waited. But as I walked, I began to realize that the only places I was passing were pawn shops, liquor stores, and tattoo parlors.

I didn't have anything I wanted to pawn, and I wasn't in immediate need of liquor or tattoos.

It was getting late, and even though it wasn't dark, I was beginning to feel a tad...nervous. (Okay, a lot nervous.)

Then I saw it. A used bookstore.

I've never been so happy to see anything in my life.

I rushed inside and felt like I'd entered a city of refuge. I could breathe again. Books on the floor. Books stacked to the ceiling. Books crammed over door jambs. Books piled along window sills.

I was safe. How can anything bad happen to you when you're surrounded by Little Women, A Wrinkle in Time, A Secret Garden, and The Chronicles of Narnia?

I spent a contented and secure 45 minutes in the stacks, fiercely guarded by millions of brave little words. I have no doubt they'd have all hurled their paper bodies down in a massive attack on anyone who tried to harass me.

And I made it a point to buy a nice stack of books in order to pay homage to the store's toothless proprietor for providing such wonderful safe haven in such a big, scary world.

Books rock. :-)

Happy Birthday, Sara!

2006-02-04T18:37:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, Sara! :-)

On "Niceness"

2006-02-04T15:06:00.000-07:00

If you asked 95% of the people who know me to describe me in one word, I know what that word would be..."nice".

All my yearbooks say things like "To the nicest girl I've ever met" or "2 nice 2 be 4 gotten" or "Always stay as nice as you are now".

When Santa checked his Naughty or Nice list, there was never any question where my name would be.

I'm the poster girl for nice.

Sometimes, I'm so nice, I get sick of myself.

I used to be pleased to be thought of as nice. I thought of niceness as a good quality. After all, who doesn't like someone who's nice?

But I think that's the whole problem...why is it so important to be someone that everyone likes?

The most interesting people I know are usually anything but nice.

That's because they are real. You can't be real and truthful, and still be nice all the time.

Yes, you can be kind. You can be loving. But not always "nice".

"Nice" people (at least the way I'm using the word here), say "yes" when they want to say "no", they won't take up for themselves when should, and they spend all of their time trying to make sure everyone else is happy.

I'd really like to escape the niceness trap.

I'm not saying I want to start being rude or thoughtless...not by a long shot. Our culture is way too full of arrogance and crudeness and cruelty.

Nor do I want to become an argumentative, belligerent person who feels the need to push my opinions on everyone within earshot. We certainly have enough of those people in the world already.

But I really wish I could be more authentic. Authentic in a kind and loving way. Without feeling the need to always be nice. Does that make sense?

I think the quality that first drew me to my husband was his authenticity. You never have to wonder where you stand with him. You never have to wonder what he's thinking. You never have to wonder if he's just tolerating you or being polite.

He speaks his mind. Sometimes people like him for that. Sometimes they don't. But his life is much simpler and more real because he doesn't feel the need to try to please everyone all the time.

If he doesn't want to attend a social event, he just says, "No, thanks". Simple as that. No long, drawn out apologies or explanations. No going places or doing things out of obligation.

If he wants to do something, he does it. If he doesn't want to do something, he doesn't.

If he agrees with you, he'll say so. If he doesn't, he'll say that, too.

I'm trying to learn from him and from my kind, but not necessarily "nice" friends. My kids are good at this, too. They're kind, but they don't make bath mats out of themselves.

I have a long way to go, though. But I must try.

Otherwise, my tombstone will read:

2 Nice
2 Be
______
4 Gotten

Akkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!

Passion, Soul, Fire

2006-02-03T16:01:00.000-07:00

What is it that makes a work of art a work of art?

I've been wondering about that.

I think the answer, for me, at least, is that it must possess the passion and spirit of its creator.

Think about telephone "hold" music. Or elevator music. Or the canned little jingles you hear on TV commercials.

Those bits of music may be pitch perfect, with every beat in proper time, yet they lack depth and soul.

Bob Dylan, Willie Nelson, and Johnny Cash, on the other hand, have less than perfect pitch (to put it mildly :-) ), and yet they've sold millions of albums.

That's because when they sing, they aren't striving for perfection. They are singing with from souls.

The same is true in painting. We see commercially produced illustrations in magazines every day, with perspective, composition, and shading so realistic they could be photographs.

But rarely do they move us.

However, look at a painting by Grandma Moses or Matisse or Picasso. The perspective is often off kilter, and the colors are sometimes odd, yet you feel as if you know something about the painter. You can recognize the artist in his or her work, the style as distinctive as a fingerprint.

It's true in writing, too. You can take an instruction manual that's perfectly punctuated and spelled. Every comma and period in its proper place. Technically perfect. Yet you could read for hours and never have your heart stirred.

Even newspaper articles, though interesting and informative, rarely move readers at the gut level. That's because the writers are trained to become invisible in their work. State the facts and nothing more.

That method is ideal for newspaper writing, but it's not the kind of writing that I'd bring to feed my soul if I were going to be trapped on a desert island. No, I'd want books full of emotion and voice and truth. Give me a writer who bleeds onto the page. Give me unabashed vulnerability.

This, to me, is the definition of art: "Passion. Soul. Fire."

Gotta Love It!

2006-01-30T00:29:00.000-07:00

This is a picture of my mom that my sister and brother-in-law scanned and sent to me.

Isn't it great?

:-)

Random Stuff

2006-01-27T19:51:00.000-07:00

Here's my latest creation. Yes, I know it's weird. Yes, I know they're all pretty weird. And I know they don't require any great talent to make. I openly admit that. :-)

But I enjoy making these weird pictures, for weird reasons even I don't understand.

I also just added a letter to the end of my blog posting of 1/15. It's the one that has the reprint of my Voices column on homeschooling. (It's 2 or 3 posts down from this one. Dated 1/15, I think)

It's a letter to the editor that came out in last Sunday's paper, written in response to my homeschooling column. The guy, to put it mildly, did not have the warm fuzzies after reading my piece. In fact, his feelings about it could not be expressed in a "family newspaper". Wow!

I figured I'd get some negative feedback on that one...goes with the territory, I guess.

But I suppose a passionate response to a writer's work is better than no response, eh? I'll consider myself complimented. :-)

More Thoughts on American Idol and the Pursuit of Stardom

2006-01-19T20:02:00.000-07:00

I'm still mulling over my American Idol posting from yesterday...thinking about all those people who show up to audition for that show with absolutely no talent, and yet they still believe they can be singing stars.

I think many people who say they want to be “singers” actually want to be “stars”.

It’s not so much music that they love, but the idea of being a famous performer.

That same misguided phenomenon exists in many fields. People who are in love with “being” a dancer, artist, writer, or actor, even though they don’t necessarily love dancing, art, writing, or acting. They’re in love with the image, rather than the craft.

I knew a woman years ago who wanted desperately to be a writer. She sat down and dashed off a “book” (more like a long pamphlet) in a few days…it was a memoir of her life.

She dropped her first draft into an envelope and mailed it off to a publisher, and then went around telling everyone to be watching for her book to hit the bookstores before Christmas (even though it was autumn when she mailed her manuscript!).

She was absolutely convinced that the publishers were going to be so crazy about her book, they’d do a rush printing to get it onto the shelves in time for holiday gift giving.

The day after she mailed out her book (yes, the very next day), she began visiting car dealerships to get quotes for a custom “tour bus”, with a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and a special room to “meet and greet fans and sign autographs”.

She also met with the local barbershop quartet to ask them to record a special song that she could play during her book signings while a projector flashed photos of her life on a screen.

She started trying to enlist friends to act as publicists, personal assistants, and a chef while she was "on the road".

I’m not making any of this up. She was doing all this the very week she sent her book out.

After all her talk and hype, her manuscript came back several months later...with a rejection slip.

She was outraged. How could the publisher be so stupid as to pass on her bestseller?
She immediately sent it to a different publisher, with the same result.

After one or two more rejections, she marched off to Kinkos, made copies of her book, and stapled them together to market herself.

I have no idea whatever became of that woman or her book, but I’ve never seen either one of them on the New York Times bestseller list.

Clearly, she was a classic example of someone who was in love with being a famous writer, not with writing. She saw her “book” merely as a tool to launch her into the public eye, a way to make a name for herself and to become rich and famous.

But without talent to propel you, the desire to be a star alone won’t make you a star.

I also went to school with a girl who wanted to be an artist. Trouble was, she couldn’t draw. Didn’t even like to draw.

But she loved talking about how beautiful she’d look in a flowing white dress, wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, standing in a grassy meadow in front of an easel.

She had the dress and hat already, and she demonstrated her contemplative pose with a paintbrush for me once. I never saw her paint anything, though.

She was in love with an image of herself as an artist, not with making art.

People even do the same thing with marriage. Too often, people (usually women) rush into marriage with the first halfway suitable person who comes along, not because they can’t live without that person, but because they’re in love with the idea of romance and honeymoon trips to Cancun. They’re enraptured with engagement rings, moonlight, love songs, roses, and wedding gowns.

They’re ill prepared for the level of commitment, sacrifice, and compromise that any strong, lasting marriage will entail. Once the initial infatuation fades, they’re disillusioned and running for divorce court, claiming the “love” is gone.

But they never had true love to begin with. The only thing they were in love with was the idea of love. No relationship can maintain that level of fantasy Hollywood intensity for longer than a few months.

To pursue an illusion is a guaranteed road to disappointment.

To be successful at something, you have to love it for what it is, be it music, art, writing, or a relationship.

You have to love it so much that you’d pursue it even if no one ever recognized your talent or paid you a dime to do it. You have to love it so much that you'd feel as if you’d literally die if you couldn’t do it.

Only out of passion does true talent emerge.

Look into your heart and find the thing you really, truly love. The thing you feel you were born to do.

Then do it. With every fiber of your being.

Even if it’s not glamorous or exciting...even if it never lands you in the record shops, bookstores, or on the cover of People magazine, do it anyway. Do it because you have to do it.

If you pursue your true passion with that much intensity and love, then there’s a good chance you’ll be successful at it. But even if your passion never brings you riches or fame, that’s okay, too.

To have spent your life pursuing your most deeply felt purpose is a life very well lived.

American Idol

2006-01-18T22:18:00.000-07:00

I'll admit it. I'm hooked on American Idol.

A big part of the appeal is the pure human drama involved.

The funniest phenomenon that occurs year after year is the huge number of people who show up for the auditions certain that they are the greatest, most talented, most gifted performers in the world, and yet their singing would drive dogs to howl. Or to drink anti-freeze.

There are some truly bad singers on that show who are convinced that they are the next Mariah Carey or Lionel Richie. They honestly believe it.

But they're awful. Pathetic. Agonizingly terrible.

How can they be so misguided?

There was a study done by a professor at Cornell, Dr. David Dunning, that explains this very phenomenon. He discovered that the most incompetent people are the most confident in their abilities. Even more confident than the people who do things well.

(Click on the title of this entry, next to the three dots, and it will take you to the New York Times article about the study.)

One of life's little ironies, I guess.

Weird, but it certainly explains a lot. :-)

Latest Denver Post Column

2006-01-15T20:40:00.000-07:00

Here's my Post column for Jan 15:

colorado voices

DenverPost.com

Why I home-school my children
By Tess Riley

It still happens fairly often.

We're standing in line at the supermarket, when someone in line behind us, politely trying to make small talk, asks where my children attend school.

"They don't go to public school," I reply. "We're a home-schooling family."

There's usually a long pause. A stiff smile. An unspoken comment hangs in the air. "Oh. You're one of those people."

There currently are more than 30,000 children ages 5 to 17 home-schooled in Colorado, according to the Kids Count Census Data Online. Nationally, home-schooling is rapidly becoming a widely accepted educational option, with conservative estimates of 1.1 million American families teaching their children at home.

Yet there are still many people who believe that home-schoolers belong to radical fringe groups or have some kind of vendetta against the public school system.

I can relate. Before I had children, I used to feel the same way. Why would anyone choose to teach their kids at home when public schools, staffed by trained professionals, would take them off your hands and do it for free?

I still recall my initial reaction when, in the early '80s, some friends announced that they planned to home-school their children. I was stunned. They'd always seemed so ... normal. What was with these home-schooling people, anyway?

Then I had children.

When my oldest daughter reached the age of 5, I looked into her enormous blue eyes and knew there was simply no way I could load her onto a school bus, wave good-bye, and send her off into the care of strangers.

For the first time, I began to contemplate home-schooling as a viable option.

Although the main reasons most families home-school their children are because they feel they can provide a better education at home or because of religious convictions, those reasons, though valid, were not my primary concerns.

It wasn't that I lacked faith in the abilities or training of teachers. Some of my best friends are teachers. My college major was education. Teachers are my heroes.

It also wasn't that I was afraid the public school curriculum would turn my daughter into a godless heathen. I, myself, am an uncorrupted, God-fearing product of the public school system.

No, it was more basic than that. Call me overprotective if you like, but when I gazed into my daughter's trusting face, it wasn't teachers or curriculums I wanted to shield her from. It was her peers. The cruelty of children to children.

Even though the most commonly raised objection to home-schooling is a perceived lack of socialization, it was this very same issue that was behind my desire to educate my daughter - and later, my other children - at home.

For some reason, our culture has always blindly accepted the notion that children can only be properly socialized by spending all day in age-segregated groups of 25 or 30 of their peers. That puzzles me.

In such a setting, children develop a "survival of the fittest" mentality. Cliques, bullying and power struggles emerge. Children face enormous pressure to conform. Wear the right clothes. Listen to the right music. Experiment with drugs, alcohol and sex. Be cool. Ridicule the outcasts.

At an age when our children are most vulnerable, they are subjected to pressures and temptations more overwhelming than any they'll ever face in their lives. Not even the most diligent teachers or carefully implemented programs can prevent the often unspeakable terrors that many children quietly endure on a daily basis.

I vividly remember the day I sat in front of the television set, sick to my stomach, as the Columbine drama unfolded, grateful beyond words that my children were all safely accounted for in the next room.

Granted, Columbine was an extreme, isolated incident, but the subtle dynamics behind the Columbine tragedy play themselves out in classrooms across the country every day.

I want my children to grow up feeling safe. I want them to learn kindness. I want them to be free to be who they really are, without fear of ridicule. I want to protect them for as long as I can.

It is for this reason that I've chosen to educate my children at home. It's the only choice I can live with.

Tess Riley, a former children's librarian, is now a full-time wife and mother of four. Visit her blog at tessaegg.blogspot.com.

***************************************

Here's a letter to the editor that appeared in the paper the week after this column was published. Out of fairness to the writer, I will post it here.

But out of fairness to myself, I must say that he seems to be inferring things I never said. His main objection to my piece is that he feels I'm trying to protect my children from "competition and negative feedback".

Hmmm...I never once said that in the article. Nothing even close. I suppose people read their own assumptions into things.

But, oh well. We're each entitled to speak our minds, and some of us are even nice enough to reprint nasty letters about ourselves in our blogs! *grin*

All the best to you, Mr. Rudd. :-)

Here's his letter:

Home-schooling
Re: "Why I home-school my children," Jan. 15 Colorado Voices column.
Tess Riley did an excellent job of listing all the right reasons to home-school, and I applaud parents who adhere to the rigor to do this job right. But then she detailed her reason - "the cruelty of children to children" - and I found myself angry and appalled. Though she is naive to believe that she can honestly protect her children from the "big bad world" by keeping them out of it, she is certainly free to parent as she chooses. But I was livid at her presentation style, which suggests her reason is actually a superior reason to home- school and that somehow her children will be able to operate in some utopian plane she feels students within school systems could not attain due to competition and negative feedback.
This is a family newspaper, so I can't describe in accurate words how stupid I feel this notion is. It worries me that educated people think it is possible or even desirable to avoid the real world. If Riley is so worried, she likely won't have her kids participate in sports or team- based activates, where competition and perhaps negative feedback are normal and often a growth opportunity.
Terry Rudd, Fort Collins

And here's a nice letter from a Denver Post reader that was published 2/2. Thanks, Molly! :-)

letters to the editor, Letters, 2/2

Letter-writer Terry Rudd (Jan. 22 Open Forum) stated that Colorado Voices columnist Tess Riley did an excellent job of listing all the right reasons to home-school ("Why I home-school my children," Jan. 15) and applauded parents who adhere to the rigor to do the job right. However, Rudd wrote that Riley is "naive to believe that she can honestly protect her children from the 'big bad world' by keeping them out of it."

Isn't it our job as parents to protect our innocent, impressionable children until they are prepared to face the big bad world? Then isn't Rudd's position that because we can't protect our children from the big bad world forever, we might as well expose them to it as soon as possible to get them used to it? I think I'll allow my children to be children a little while longer. Won't you?

Molly Murata, Greeley

And finally, kudos from the editor (I highlighted the good part)! :-)

Be the next Voice of Colorado
By Jonathan WolmanEditor of the Editorial PageDenverPost.com
For going on seven years, The Post has opened its op-ed pages to an eclectic circle of columnists from across the state, writers who draw on their interests and experiences to tease out some of the most interesting issues of the day.
We call them Colorado Voices, and print two of their columns each week.
The Voices are an opinionated lot who come in all shapes and sizes. In the next few months, we'll introduce our final group from the class of 2005-06: Sandra Dorr, who runs writing workshops in Grand Junction; Stephen Terence Gould, a member of the Denver Commission to End Homelessness; Larry Pozner, an irrepressible defense attorney from Denver; and high school student Emily Spearman of Louisville.
Today is our call-out for Voices who would serve in the year ahead.
We hope to hear from you. Or the sister-in-law with a bent for tall tales and small lessons. Or the accountant with a literary bent. Or the blogger next door. If you feel you represent a voice that is often missing from these pages, we invite you to speak up.
It's a dog-eat-dog world, and the Colorado Voices emerge from a vigorous competition. We're likely to get hundreds of entries, and a panel of judges will winnow the field before a dozen or more writers are invited to appear on these pages. The "audition" process hasn't changed much since my predecessor, the late Sue O'Brien, introduced the Voices program in 1999:
Send us two sample columns, from 600 to 700 words long each, and a cover letter describing your background and your interest in Colorado Voices. Give us a feel for the issues or experiences you might bring to The Post's op-ed audience.
Send your entry to us by e-mail to voices@denverpost.com. The deadline is Monday, Feb. 20, at 5 p.m.
Please include your sample columns in the body of the e-mail rather than using an attachment. If you prefer to use regular mail, please direct your material to my colleague Mary Idler, Denver Post Editorial Page, 1560 Broadway, Denver CO 80202.
Include your contact information: address, phone numbers and e-mail address.
Voices will be selected in April and typically asked to write every other week over a three-month period. We'll work with you on column ideas and provide a deadline for each contribution. The rewards include impressive clips, a modest honorarium and good wholesome fun.
Let me call attention to one aspect of the Voices contest in particular: student writers. The Post is looking for Voices from high school, undergraduate and graduate students. If that's you, when you send in your application, please put a "STUDENT" notation in the subject line. Or send it directly to our Voices editor, Barbara Ellis, at bellis@denverpost.com.
If you aren't interested in writing but think you have a critical eye, we invite you to be a judge for the two-day process at The Post. Just e-mail Barbara Ellis and let her know why you'd qualify. We'll choose two reader judges.
For a good idea of how others have approached the Colorado Voices concept, you will find some previously published columns by clicking here.
Looking over selections from the past year, some of our favorites included Tess Riley's piece from Hot Sulphur Springs on home-schooling, Chuck Reyman's account of his mother's passing and the reawakening of faith on her deathbed, and Michael Koenigs' taking to the open road for a young Coloradan's graduation trip - en route to the inevitable triumphs and tribulations of an adult life. Other recent Voices have contributed provocative perspectives on water policy, marriage, career choices, minimum wage, big-box stores and family traditions.
Just below, Stephen Terence Gould begins his stint as a Colorado Voice. We invite you to enter the competition to fill his shoes.

Weird Worries

2006-01-09T18:28:00.000-07:00

Do you ever lie in bed and fret? I've gotten better about catching myself, but sometimes, the obsessive worry bug sneaks up right before I go to sleep and burrows into my brain.

And do you know what I've just realized I always obsess about when I'm stressed or overwhelmed?

Teeth.

Weird, huh? I worry about my teeth (about cavities, gingivitis, yellowing, and chips). I worry about my kids' teeth (braces, cavities, overbites). And I worry about my husband's teeth (we won't even go there...with him, it's not an idle worry!)

I also worry about all my teeth one day rotting out and having to wear dentures. And I worry about my gums receding and my teeth falling out because there's nothing to hold them in.

What's up with that?

Excuse me while I go floss.

Latest Denver Post Columns

2006-01-05T19:19:00.000-07:00

My 2 latest columns for the Post:

Article Last Updated: 12/25/2005

colorado voices
The "God Box"
By Tess Riley
DenverPost.com

After a season of discord, it's finally Christmas Day. A day of shepherds, stables and a babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. God, a helpless child, trapped in a tiny box.

I've kept God in a box for most of my life. Granted, it was a much bigger box than the quaint manger to which we usually confine him on Christmas Day, but a box, nonetheless.

My "God Box" had very specific parameters. I could tell you what God thought about any important issue, how he would vote, and what political party he'd most likely belong to.
I knew what God approved of and what made him turn up his nose. I knew who was going to heaven and who was going to hell.

I could tell you which organized religions were on target, which were cults, and which were borderline (God might let them in, but grudgingly).

I knew which verses in the Bible were to be interpreted literally and which were figurative. I could tell you how and when the world was likely to end.

Coincidentally, God agreed with me on all of these things.

I knew so much about God because I'd studied the Bible, read lots of books on theology, and listened to the teachings of many theologians. I'd done inner-city mission work, taught Sunday school and Bible studies, and had evangelized door to door.

God and I, we were on the same team. Tight. Homies. He liked me. He really liked me.

But somewhere along the way, I began to feel frustrated and hollow. The God I was trying to please was a man-made creation. A God made in man's own image. A God who was concerned about petty trivialities, hair- splitting, committees and fund-raising.

One day, I woke up and realized that if this was the God of the universe, then the universe was in deep trouble.

That was the day I decided to let God be God.

I decided I needed to get to know God on his own terms, instead of letting other people, no matter how educated, tell me about him.

As I've begun my journey of meeting God on his terms, I'm discovering that many of my long-held beliefs are changing. Not that I'm going against them, but beyond them.

I'm trying to separate tradition from truth, and man's wisdom from God's wisdom. I'm trying to untangle my image of God from the swaddling clothes of my own ego that I've tried to wrap him in for so many years.

Yes, I still believe God likes me, but not because I'm his official, all-knowing spokesperson.

Most of my dogma, my rules, my absolutes, and my pride are being stripped away.

In fact, I think God likes me better now that I've started to realize that when it comes to understanding or explaining him, I don't know nearly as much as I used to think I did.
The more I explore the whole concept of an intelligent, creative force who created life and galaxies, time and space, the more certain I am that I could never even comprehend, much less explain, so great a being.

When I look at the astounding complexities of creation and all the carefully balanced organization of the world, all I know for sure is that I know absolutely nothing at all.

The God I'm beginning to discover is far, far bigger than the God I used to keep in my "God Box."

So today, I wish you a Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Happy Holidays. (I don't think God is very concerned about the words as long as they're said with sincere love and genuine kindness.)

I wish you joy, peace and love. I wish you grace, strength and hope as you deal with life's struggles and fears.

I wish you a God who is bigger than politics, governments and religious traditions. A God who was once a babe in a manger, and a God who lives in newborn babes around the world today. A God who lives in you and in me.

Tess Riley, a former children's librarian, is now a full-time wife and mother of four. Visit her blog at tessaegg.blogspot.com.

Article Last Updated: 12/03/2005

colorado voices
Keep your eyes on life's road

By Tess Riley

Quick. What's the first thing you should do when your car hits an icy patch and you begin to skid?

We all know the rote, pre-programmed, driver's manual response. You turn into the skid.
But what does that mean, exactly?

If you're heading over the edge of an embankment, do you turn even more in that direction, thereby going "into" the skid? Or do you turn the steering wheel in the opposite direction, against the skid, thereby going "into" it that way? And what determines the direction of the skid in the first place? Is it the direction that the front of the car is skidding, or the back of the car?

But even more importantly, do you really have time to try to analyze all these factors when you find yourself on Interstate 70 skidding across two lanes of rush-hour traffic?

I'm happy to say that after nearly 30 years of being a licensed driver, I finally know the answer to the perplexing skid question. And it's ridiculously simple.

You look in the direction you want to go, and you steer that way. No brakes. No accelerator.
Just calmly look, steer, and slide in the direction of safety.

Now why didn't they teach us that back in high school driver's ed?

I learned this useful little nugget of information in a driving class that I wasn't even enrolled in, a teen driver survival program called MasterDrive that my daughters participated in when they were new drivers.

The teens in MasterDrive spend an intense weekend behind the wheel learning to stop on a dime, back up correctly, do quick lane changes, avoid obstacles, and recover from skids. They practice over and over until their reactions become conditioned and automatic. Both my daughters emerged from the program more competent and confident drivers.

As an added bonus, the parents get a condensed version of the material at the end of the course. That's where I picked up the little skid recovery gem.

I also learned that the "look in the direction you want to go" trick applies to more than just skids. The instructors told us that our minds instinctively move our bodies in the direction of whatever we happen to be looking at. We can't help it. It just happens.

So if you're fixated on a pothole, bridge railing, or a car sliding off the shoulder of the road in front of you, you're going to move straight into the danger you want to avoid. If you concentrate on the orange cones while you're driving through a road construction area, you're going to end up mowing them down.

It seems to contradict logic that you should not look at something in order to avoid hitting it, but it really works.

You should look away from the obstacle or danger, and instead, focus your attention ahead, in the direction you want to go. Your peripheral vision will take care of the obstacle. Look to a safe place, and your steering will follow.

Pretty amazing, isn't it?

After the class, when my daughters and I were talking about the things we'd learned, I was struck with a new realization. The "look where you want to go" rule applies to life off the road, too.

When we obsess over our problems and dwell on our doubts and fears, we instinctively tend to fulfill our own dire predictions. We run headlong into the very things we're trying so desperately to avoid.

But if we can learn to focus instead on moving in a positive, forward direction, life's problems tend to take care of themselves. We usually end up in the place that's been the focus of our attention.

So the next time you're faced with an obstacle that's threatening to take over your field of vision, whether it's on the freeway or in your personal life, remember that handy little driving rule.

Fix your eyes on the path ahead, looking to where you want to go. Don't cloud your vision with obstacles. Look beyond the distractions and the dangers, and you'll find that they fall away, becoming little more than blurs of color out of the corner of your eye. Before you know it, you're sailing confidently toward your goal.

Tess Riley, a former children's librarian, is now a full-time wife and mother of four. Visit her blog at tessaegg.blogspot.com.

Contradictions

2005-12-11T22:21:00.000-07:00

I used to be very worried about contradicting myself.

How stupid would it look to say something one day, and then express an opposite view the next?

But life is about contradictions. What we believe when we're 20 may be quite different from the things we believe when we're 40.

There's nothing embarrassing about that.

In fact, it's a good thing. If we never change our minds about things, then we never grow. We're not allowing room for new thoughts and ideas.

We need to give ourselves permission to revise our thinking. To look at life from different angles.

Contradict yourself once in awhile. Enjoy the free fall.