Memorable events in my Life

learning to tie my shoes in kindergarten
kindergarten circus, paper plate dumbbells, and tumbling clowns
stretching in ballet class, walking little fingers down to your toes
claiming to be the special needs kid in preschool so I could sit in the special chair
Mrs. Jendero reading "I'm being eaten by a boa constrictor" out loud
giggles of the kids at the rhyme of "oh heck, it's up to my neck"
bringing my own snack for milk break- a peanut butter sandwich and hot cinnamon candies
trying out the push pews in our new church building
twirling around and around in my full skirted dress at my baptism
the only kid in the primary choir
after dance class, waiting for a friend's dad to pick us up, we would play in a storage room- giggling to pop, and stories and making Phyllis Dillers out of the Christmas ornaments
Piano lessons- my teacher would hold a sharpened pencil under my palms
making mud pies, in broken dishes my neighbors threw out
my sister losing her glasses in the snowbank- we found them next spring
the bike my parents said was my size- I swear it reached to the sky
story time with Dad
my mother, dressed as a witch- making witches brew for our Brownie troop- she had disgusting names for everyday stuff like canned peaches
twirling around with my head on the cafeteria floor, just for fun
mom said my hair looked shiny
standing in lunch lines
always wondering what teachers did in their lounge
the school got new machines, that would sell 2 pencils for 25 cents
Mom made sure I had a quarter, even though I didn't need another pencil
drawing an oak tree in the fall, winning center placement on the bulletin board with it
loving the first teacher who actually took me seriously
waking up to a new birthday outfit laid out to wear to school
hiding one year because I didn't see it, until Mom pointed it out
it was second hand- I was disappointed
Grandma Hunt making noodles for the soup she made for my sick mother
Grandma Ruth making dozens of Christmas cookies, many varieties, all in one day, spread across our kitchen table
Grandma Ione always having gum in her purse when she came to visit
Grandma Bree- always with beads and a hat, skinny and wrinkled with a twinkle in her eye
I got gum stuck to  my fingers, Grandma Bree advised that I used a napkin to get it off, All the adults laughed at me as the napkin begin to stick all over my fingers
Grandpa reading poetry to us
Butter and margarine puns at the Thanksgiving table. I had a whale of a time sculpting it, then would it be butter if I worked longer on it, or was it only marginal?
My aunt knitting, darning a sock. I peppered her with questions about what she was doing.
Ripping the broken tiles off the bathtub wall, so they finally redid the whole room
My life slowly separating from my sister's
Grandma Ruth- proudly showing my the rags she made for my baby. I didn't get it. I do myself now.
Dying of sinus infection, but flying in spirit
Moving to Pequot- nothing worked in the new house
First day in Utah- 90 degree, walking alone along the city streets, independent and free
Autumn Meller- her name still brings a smile to my face-some people are just instant friends
Crisp Cold Winter in Nauvoo
When I was told on for bringing a book to a play- only a fifth grader would be so petty to feel a need to tell the teacher you had a book in your pocket and might not actually watch the play, apparently, no one thought about reading on the bus ride
Blowing bubbles in my Sister's hair, everything stuck in her curls
looking in the mirror after Egon was born, the worn out, wrinkled face, with dark circles and drawn expression- life seemed only to exist in the eyes, suggested to me what I always imagined a hag to be
camping under the expense of the desert sky
scenes of eternity opened to me

A choice

A couple of years ago I made the decision to enjoy
the hundreds of small things in life
to live in the glory of each second
to partake of each moment
 in all of its beauty, emotion, stickiness, and irony

but words, prose, often fail to capture
 each precious moment
so I've turned to poetry
which like a sticky spider web of words
captures each moment
arranges it in sounds
to grab the feeling of each moment
and allows us to savor it again

Random notes

Thursday Afternoon- Haug Sauer, 3rd floor

I laughed out loud at a funny story
ended up with a line at my door
I had to tell the story 3 times more

. . .
I'd leave school those days
tired from teaching
drunk with poetry
eating raw veggies
for dinner
my car's thermometer
read forty below
driving to and fro for over an hour
an hour to myself
to think
and study
or pray

 . . .
Too bad I can't bring a butterfly back
with every poem I write
Maybe I should dedicate proceeds from one of my books
for butterfly sanctuaries

Snippets

The child spins in circles
she sings, flaps
nonsensical ditties
of joy and pain

they make love by holding hands, while the world dissolves around them

you, the one that took risks, not playing chess, choosing instead your own rules. your own board, and all the characters of your creation

Kitchen counter-
littered with pizza boxes, pop cans, piled with papers- bills of years long past, bags of last month's groceries, never put away- shots of insulin, prescription papers still folded in squares and doctor summaries- All this I get to clean out when you die

All that I love tonight:
sunsets of chirping birds
acrid smell of leaves tossed on the fire
flaming marshmallows
crisp air
might be lost tomorrow
when I return to school

I remember the scent of my father's halitosis but his conversation was too interesting to turn away

I wanted to return to the sunbleached shores with unstable fishing piers
home to the ten families that remained in adobe huts
faded, by the jade sea

My grandmother's
voice rises and falls
songs of old
of ancestors
of heritage

Shower hope
confess the possible
Earth
Created
lucky soothing
electric vibrations

20 years ago

20 years ago
I was a ballerina     now     I am a martial artist
20 years ago
I decorated cakes     now     chocolate cakes count for breakfast
20 years ago
I made sense out of the world around me     now     I see reason in nonsense
20 years ago
I thought the right business model could fix the world     now     I believe becoming our best selves is the world
20 year ago
I saved clothes for special days     now     I make every day special

The Birth of a Paper

Writing a Seminar paper is a lot like giving birth to a baby.
Going into it, I get an urge to clean, only this time, not the kitchen, it is shelves of the library. I scour them for everything I can find related to my topic. I waddle out of there, my hands low, wrapped around the big belly of books that reach to my chin.

When the labor of writing sets in, there are lots of deep breathes, moans, squeaks. Inbetween expulsions of words, I get up and pace, looking for nourishment to fuel my task, to stretch my sore muscles. My back aches, my hips are sore. Sleep comes in fits. No diversion works for long, back to the pushing, relentless and seemingly never-ending, until in full bloom the paper emerges, full of the red squiggly lines, mucus of misspelled words and grammar mistakes. It needs to be cleaned off. It needs to be wrapped in the proper format.
Then exhausted, I sleep, snuggled up to dreams of concepts that came to life as the paper's ideas were born.

Minimal Poetry

As Mark Twain once said, "Forgive me the length of this discourse, I hadn't the time to make it short."

Minimal Poetry would tend towards that trend of saying more in fewer words. In our modern world, most of what we see of this would be related to either Social Media, Facebook posts, and Tweets, where brevity is required, or in commercial settings, names of companies, brand, and logos.

The Huff Post ran an article on this.  From which a take a quote that questions the lack of validity often given to such Minimal Poetry:

"If there was such a poetic form as the two-word poem, it would be the ultimate in literary minimalism and the vanishing point for that most characteristic of modernist trends in poetry: ever-greater compression, or breviloquence. Why couldn’t the form of just two words have its own unique esthetic challenge that is just as valid a self-imposed restriction as a rhyme scheme or the seventeen syllables of a haiku? If a haiku is no less a poem than an epic, why should a two-word poem be any less a poem than a haiku?"

Having worked hard in the commercial word to create some of this Minimal Poetry to express the aims and desires of the company instantly to a hopeful buyer and brand follower, I can testify to the number of hours involved in it. It takes a lot of time to get it just right.

The two words poetry to express some of the following are below.
RoundBelly = maternity clothes
Eco Sprout = organic children's clothing
These are by no means the best examples that exist out there, and I am sure I have written some better Minimal Poetry myself, but these are the ones that I used often enough to remember them.

Here are some others that come to mind:
Don't squeeze the Charmin
Finger Licken Good
Third Rock from the Sun
Sleeping Angels
Toddling through the Demolition Zone

Besides commercial and online social adventures in Minimal Poetry, protest signs are a great source.

What do you know of Minimal Poetry?

Our Week at Family Camp

Our Week Day at Family Camp

Last summer when my autistic son refused to stay at scout camp because he had to sleep in a tent and eat food made in their dining hall, I did some research and found they had a family camp with cabins we could sign up for. I was excited because then we could just bring Galen (our autistic son) to his troop everyday so he could join them in earning merit badges and doing all other fun camp things while still being able to sleep indoors and eat mom’s cooking.

So six months after we made family camp registration, our family packed up the van and spent 3 weeks in a national park-hoping camping trip (mostly in Utah and Arizona). We even got Galen into a tent (that took 3 nights) and hiking on trails. And two weeks after that we again threw our camping supplies in the back of the van and headed off to Family Camp.

We drove the 2 hours to the middle of nowhere, dropped our 12 and 14 year old scouts off to join their troops and continued down the road for the Family Camp. It took 25 minutes to get to the Family Camp from where the troops were staying, down a long and winding road. Then we met the director, handed our health forms over, all of which are supposed to be signed by a doctor. Did I mention that meant 6 Camp Physicals just for Family Camp?, Yeah, we are a family of 9.

Then we were directed to our cabin and told our cabin councilor would come along and share all the rules with us, and they handed us the paper wristbands that we were supposed to wear all week so that the Family Camp would know we belong there. Of course these wristbands are the kind used in water parks and fairgrounds to show you paid for entrance that day. We went to the fair on Saturday, and had wristbands just like this. My toddler chewed hers off in ½ hour.

We emptied our van into the cabin and I let my husband park the van and hike the ½ mile back into the cabins. By then I had already had to pull the knife that is part of the cabin’s supplies out of my toddler’s grip and turn off the stove. The stove’s controls were on the front, right at toddler level. Our cabin counselor came and ran down a list of things that makes camp more fun (an interesting euphemism for nicely requested rules. Of course our 9-year-old with a mood disorder saw right through that.)

Interesting things about the family camp cabins, they have a kitchen sink with hot and cold water, a couch that pulls out into a double bed and 4 bunk beds, but no toilet or showers or baths. The nearest facilities was an out-house down a little trail. When we were on our national park trip, our 4 year old, who we are currently trying to potty train, did a really good job keeping dry. We also managed to be close to restrooms with flush toilets and running water for each of our campsites, which he was constantly running off to, but whenever our bathroom stop included an outhouse or pit toilets, then he refused to use them and would rather go in his pants. Of course some of those out-houses looked like they would be happy to eat anybody under 8 , sucking them in in one swallow, to go swimming forever in the lake of urine and poo. So I could see why he would refuse.

It wasn’t a large surprize that the toddler’s diaper was nasty and leaked all over. I bathed her in the kitchen sink and started a dirty diaper bag (that we set outside the cabin for odiferous reasons).

After we settled into our cabin we hiked off to the lakefront and spent 25 minutes in an orientation of the rules, buddy system, buddy boards and boat cabin before we even set foot in the water. By that time, our 9 year old (with a Mood Disorder, and a learning disorder) was already throwing a fit because there were too many rules for him to remember. We had to keep on top of Clay (our 9- year-old) because he began throwing sand and rocks. But he eventually calmed down and went in the water, where he became unhappy because it was too shallow in the area he was allowed without passing any sort of swim test. His main complaint at this point was that he couldn’t even remember what he was supposed to do for his swim test. So he and the 4 year old, 2 year old and 7 year old all played in the shallow water.

I decided that because we could only take out any boats with someone who classifed as a swimmer, that the week would be more fun if I took a swim test, so I went and got my suit on. Upon my return I requested a swim test for both me and Clay. After jumping in the water and being shocked with the cold, I started the 6 laps that were required, but because I need to wear my glasses to see anything, I usually have to swim with my head out of the water. After 4 laps of the side stroke, surprised at how out of breath I was, I stopped to catch my breath. When I didn’t feel caught up in my breath after a short break, I gave up wondering if I played too hard this weekend  (if dragging kids to a parade and a fair and then packing for a camping trip is playing).  or was just out of shape. Clay didn’t pass his swim test either. He touched bottom too many times in his required 2 laps, he wasn’t very happy about that, but did try again, which he also failed. We cheered him for trying, and trying again, because that is a big accomplishment for Clay.

When the toddler begin to get shivery, we pulled the kids out of the water to head back to the cabin. One of the staff felt he had to tell us that Clay had been throwing sand and rocks, so we apologized, recognizing that they had no comprehension that not engaging the anger issues is often the best approach to defuse the bomb that Clay was becoming.  At no time did Clay pose a threat to himself or others, but he did pick on his siblings a little (we were on top of that too).

I checked the activity board, that afternoon they would be making postcards and offering swimming lessons for those who would want it. Tomorrow they would offer sailing lessons, (for those with swimming qualifications), an unspecified fitness class and another craft project. On Wednesday they would be doing more swimming and crafts and so on the rest of the week. So the scouts were doing archery, wood carving, riffle shooting, high ropes courses, video game design and the Family Camp does crafts and swimming, all with many rules to follow. Yikes. I started to miss the hikes and activities at the national park, that were parent led, and available whenever we wanted them, I also felt jealous of my scout boys.

We hung around the cabin through dinner time, made a nice spaghetti. But I bumped the stove when I reached grab and glass and it turned on and melted the  plastic bag that was on it. After dinner we decided to go for a walk and find the shower house, with laundry and flush toilets! About a block down from us and behind the row of cabins sat 2 shower houses and a brick storm shelter that doubled as a game room. My kids had fun playing fussball while I perused the bookshelf looking for interesting games and books. Finding nothing too interesting, I wandered over to the shower house and used the flush toilet in a little closet and looked that the layout of laundry facilities; 1 washer and 1 dryer in each bath house, and a laundry sink. The showers were tucked into the toilet closets, I am not sure if there was enough room to actually get in and out of the shower, I never had to try and find out for myself. We all used the flush toilets, but Reuben (potty training 4 year-old) refused to.

Before we made it to the lodge  Reuben was smelling stinky and and obviously wet himself, but I had neglected to bring the diaper bag on the walk, so we let him live with it until we got back. Down at the lodge the councillors were singing (yes, literally they sing activity announcements) about the religious meeting that was going to happen down at the group fire pit. We had just found a box labeled “yard toys” with badminton rackets and birdies with a net already set up.

Badminton was the most fun, teaching the kids how to serve, attempting to volley the birdie, even though the net was set up under trees and powerlines (and the birdie kept getting stuck in the tree, and knocked off its course by the power lines.) After badminton and time watching fish on the dock we wandered back to our cabin, and I had finally figured out how to get Reuben clean, because I felt they would frown upon us dumping a poopy bottomed boy into the lake (and they allow no access to the lake when the beach is closed). I realize we could wash him in the laundry tub, like we have often done at home, when he was smaller. So I got all the stuff to bath Reuben and we went back to the bath house (14th block of the day with toddlers in tow for those of you counting), and that is when I found out it only had cold water in the laundry tubs. So I double checked all the shower stalls to see if there was any chance of an actual bathtub, and ended up scrubbing the poo off the butt and legs of a 4 year old boy in a laundry tub, who was screaming, because the water was nearly freezing.

Some of the kids begged to go home, nothing new, we survived the last trip, and I didn’t let my optimism for it die no matter how hard they begged (and they learned to enjoy most of it too), but I had to admit to Mike, that maybe this wouldn’t work out, but we would sleep on it and see if we couldn’t get Galen to join his scout troop for some activities tomorrow (and maybe even for us to find something interesting to do). As the day finally waned we did our scripture study and family prayer and tucked the kids into their beds. Then we went to the kitchen/ living room, pushed the table to the counter and had just enough room to lay down our king sized air mattress that was so awesome on our last trip. The mattress set up with not even an inch to spare between the table, that was pushed up to the counter, and the couch.  We didn’t use the pull out of the couch because a double is just too small for the 3 of us.

I held off until the last rays of sun were shining before setting off on the hopefully last trip to the outhouse before morning. Then brushed my teeth and snuggled in for a well deserved good-night’s sleep.

Clay did come out of his bed several times to stand at the foot of our mattress, finally I woke up enough to ask what he needed, he said he couldn’t sleep. My bladder had awoken me, and I had already started dressing to go to the out-house again, and asked him if he needed to go too. He said yes, so we went. At this point the out-house that is snuggled off a short trail in the woods, might as well have been up a 50 foot climbing wall as far as accessibility was concerned,and there are no lights inside of it, so you better hope you have a flashlight. or you will be groping around in the spider infested outhouse in the dark. And there was quite some nice specimens of wolf and daddy long legs hanging around (literally) in there. That must have worked for Clay because slept the rest of the night.

Naturally, our toddler, who is still nursing refused to take to her crib and insisted she stay physically attached to me all night. And then the air mattress must have sprung a leak (at a seam most likely) because it kept deflating in the night, and it turns out that I wake up when my hips or shoulders press against a hard floor at night, of course moving off the air mattress to deflate it requires waking the toddler/baby, but the husband was already awake.  We re-inflated it 3 times. Then the toddler/baby and I moved up to the couch to sleep. The couch is only 4 feet long. At first the cushioning felt good, but then the crick in the neck and the cramping of the legs get you. I was up and dressed before 6 am. I had given up on sleep and also on this trip. We were not going to managed this trip if I couldn’t sleep.

So I made muffins, and packed up, and as the children got up they were mostly happy to hear that we were going home. By 8:30 we were finishing cleaning up and headed up to the lodge to let the staff know we would be going. They were just getting done with a morning meeting and made check out painless, handed us back the health forms, the ones that were supposed to have doctor’s signatures, and did a quick cabin check.

We then called our boys and troop leader to let them know we were not staying. Luckily, both the 12 and 14 year old scouts were having a great time.

After the 2 hour ride home, I put away the food and slept for 4 hours. All the kids crashed before 10:30 tonight, I look forward to more sleep. I don’t like to give up, I don’t do it easily, but while lying in my own bed, all that ran through my mind before I fell asleep was “There is no place like home, there is no place like home, there is no place like home.” And I clicked my heels together 3 times.

When Aliens Came (to eat my brain)

The aliens came to take my brain, last night as I lay sleeping.

I tried to ignore them, but at last I implored them to turn off the noise that was bleeping.

But then they said through a hole in their head, that it wasn’t my brain that they wanted.

They wanted a part, that wasn’t my heart and continued to pester me, undaunted.

So I turned on my light and saw in fright, that they were all gelatin blob-ish.

Green and all bluish, and shaped like a shoe-ish, almost a little bit glob-ish.

They were making plans to invade our lands, or at least all the oceans on Earth.

They wanted my gut, only a single piece they’d cut, to see what to them it was worth.

Then I saw,  that they felt the major flaw, on their part was being all photosynthetic.

They wanted to eat, they thought it a treat, but didn’t have the needed genetics.

So they’d be studying us, didn’t think it a fuss, to take a piece I would offer.

But they already had, up in their lab, a mouth, some teeth, and the epiglotter.

They ask if I’d mind, donating to their kind, a part of my lower GI tract.

So I had a choice, to give a voice to the part  they had come to extract.

What would you choose, were you in my shoes, to give to some strange blue-green aliens?

My stomach?, my liver?, my intestines? Oh dither, can’t they ask another mammalian?

I felt kind of attached, to my gut, almost latched to all the parts that I had inside.

How could I persuade them to utilize their brain stem? another answer to provide.

Can’t they instead, do what our ancestors did and become a microbe symbiont?

Search the oceans for examples, the choices are ample, and end this bizarre experiment.

But they wouldn’t be persuaded, so I felt a little jaded, an answer would have to be found.

The epithelium lining to the serous membranes combining, what choice would be good and sound?

Inside my head, I thought of what my teachers said about all of my digestive tract parts.

The stomach, the liver, the pancreas, I shivered, oh what could I live best without?.

The stomach is useful and serves a frugal, place to store my whole dinner.

It’s stretches so great, and I know my fate, without it I would be much thinner.

it secretes the acid that keeps bacteria placid, and starts the proteins dividing

The signals it sends tells when hunger should end, and for hormones it does ample providing

It churns the food, until it does extrude through the sphincter to the duodenum.

It has microvillus galore, and that is all for the absorption to be quite optimum

The border enzymes marches to break down the starches,

then the blood takes the sugars away.

The liver adds bile, and in a little while the micro chorions are conveyed

through the lacteals , which is ideal, into the blood they are delayed.

The pancreatic juices have so many uses, and are not to be ignored,

it adds bicarbonate, that coordinates, ‘til neutral pH is restored.

It also contains enzymes amaze, trypsinogen, chymotrypsinogen,

carboxypeptidase, lipase, nucleases and amylase.

But should I forget the pancreatic islets, for the importance they do play?

They send the hormones, it does it alone, helping your blood sugar stay level all day.

Insulin links with cells and we think, it helps load them with the glucose.

In the liver it sends a quiver, to get some glycogen produced.

On the other hand when glucagon from the pancreas does swell

the glycogen the liver made no longer there doth dwell.

When the small intestine has had it’s say,

it goes through the ileocecal valve and gets pushed away.

There is it met by microbial pets, and gets even further digested,

ions and vitamins and  water are all from there sequestered.

As it moves up and around it often makes sounds and gasses do depart.

and then  all the brown starts bearing down, and through my anal valve comes a fart.

About every half hour I feel the power, as the haustas does contract.

and if I don’t comply, it will get dry, as more water it does extract.

My rectum and anus is designed in the plainness of layers of squamous epithelium

the layers of skin is a strong and yet thin way to protect me from painful delirium.

My anal sphincter’s my friend and keeps me from offend-ing all of my nice underwear.

its voluntary control, keeps me on a roll until I find a bathroom somewhere.

The aliens were waiting while I sat there debating, all of the if ands and buts.

So I  told them that in the end,  a piece of me they are not going to cut.

for I had decided, they’d be better off guided to have the GI tract in whole

How it’s connected with blood and lymph vessels, would help them reach their goal.

and better yet, they needed a complete set to see how it all fit together.

So I will vow, you can take me now, in the finals week of this semester!

When I Aced my A & P

When I Aced my A & P (with apologies to the author of “The Cremation of Sam McGee)

Strange things are done in the midday sun by students preparing their labs

they read the directions to start the dissections and then tentatively give it a stab.

These fluorescent lights have seen queer sights

But the queerest they ever did see

t’was that day in the lab, fetal pig on the slab,

When I aced my A & P

The formaldehyde will cause tears in your eyes and snot drip from your nose

you will try to breath, but the smell will cleave and stick to your hair and clothes

as you cut the pig it burns and stings and you think that you may faint

but there are structures to learn, it’s nearly time to adjourn, so you wont give no complaint

Cardiovascular system, veins and arteries I missed them as I cut my pig right through.

Pull the pericardium apart, so you can see the heart, the vena cava has a bluish hue.

Things I was supposed to get a good look at disappeared beneath my blade;  

“You mean I needed to know that?” I vowed to be more careful with the cuts I made.

The heart was out, and the lungs were flung, the brachial arteries exposed

The renal, gonadal, iliac and femoral, and the kidney sat juxtaposed.

Submandibular we found the salivary gland, and the epiglottis and the esophagus

Followed stomach rugae, the duodenum assayed, and we searched for the urogenital orifice.

From the external nares to the microvillii hairs, I felt I knew my pig well enough

Don’t have to worry about spelling, which is quite compelling,  Can the quiz be really that tough?

25 names of structures, Kay Rezanka would instruct us and then point to it we would.

So we hope and pray to make no guesses today, and see if our studying would make good.

Thyroid gland was found, a brownish mound, at the brachiocephalic junction.

Found the liver lobes, and then I took my probe and pointed to the bladder of urinary function.

10 more to go, I was on a roll, getting every one correct

I was doing so well, my hope began to swell until the one structure I did not suspect.

My head hung in shame, for I had forgotten the name of the structure that was before me.

So I sat there and stared, sifting through my memories in err, but the answer was not to be.

I thought it out logically, compared it homologically,  naming everything else I saw

I winced and I cried, brought a tear to my eye, this item was my one flaw.

Then I looked at my pig, tied and rigged , with the skin peeled from its face

Until I saw it’s eyes, in their baby size, staring back at me from space.

As the eyes stared at me they seemed say “I understand why you are doing this.

but I just wanted to say, since I have your attention today, here’s the ductus arteriosus that you missed.”

My brain was wracked, for I had cracked, but now I could scrape by

A glimmer I saw, and I was in awe, as a light beam, hit my eye,

Above the heart, just beyond the start, was the pulmonary trunk’s little connection

to the aortic arch, my mouth became parched, as I quickly made my selection.

Strange things are done in the midday sun by students preparing their labs

they read the directions to start the dissections and then tentatively give it a stab.

These fluorescent lights have seen queer sights

But the queerest they ever did see

t’was that day in the lab, fetal pig on the slab,

When I aced my A & P

I always laughed before the punch line anyways.

After reading through a lot of my old posts (full moons can do that to you), I realized that I am technical writer who is attempting to write something humorous. But the harder I try at conveying humor, the more technical the details become, in hope that others can see the connections of what could have/should have or maybe possibly will happen and find the exquisite dead pan humor in the situations as they mostly didn't unfold. Many of the situations can be summed up in either your laugh or you cry, especially in the intense concentrations of theses events that are apparent in my everyday life.

In attempt to convey the intense emotions (that are locked away to be dealt with at some future time) of these situations, I have tried to show the moments that bring exquisite joy, pain, and weirdness to my life, often written near the moments for the rawness/freshness to be truly exhibited.

But the humor, the humor and little ironies, and the large ironies of life that I so enjoy can not be adequately recorded with out much time and contemplation given to each word and phrase of each post. It is hard to share the inner working of my mind in words. Perhaps I should take up painting great works of art that can only be enjoyed once I am long dead.

Serve Pancakes at my Funeral

When I die, serve pancakes at my funeral
only don't call it a funeral-
it should be a Celebration of Life
have balloon and music- a live band.

When I die, serve pancakes at my funeral
And have that band play polkas and waltzes, jazz and tango,
let the children dance,
and get dizzy showing off to you.

When I die, serve pancakes at my funeral
with enough real maple syrup
that you too join in the dancing until you are exhausted and delirious
and the world is spinning and you forget about why you are there and just enjoy being.

When I die, serve pancakes at my funeral
and talk about me, if you want
I will no longer get the hick-ups
but talk about you.
Did I make a difference in your life?

When I die, serve pancakes at my funeral
make sure they are freshly ground whole wheat
have peanut butter and applesauce to smear on them.
For desert serve them with blueberries and chocolate chips.

When I die, serve pancakes at my funeral
Cry, if you must, I'll miss you too
for the few remainig seconds we are apart
at least it will only seem a short time to me.

When I die, serve pancakes at my funeral
Serve the pancakes with a smile
a smile that says to everyone "I love you" and
"You are important to me."

For that is what I want to be remembered for.

my psalm of the day

the time of overthrowing Babylon has begun 

vengeance must be taken on those 

    who caused the widows and orphans to cry

     on those who rape that natural world for their profits 

    on those who care more about their power then God's 

 Let those who scorn God's law tremble 

    when the earth quakes 

    let them fall to the ground in fear 

    when the lightning strikes 

    let them huddle in their caves 

    as the waves wash over them and the hailstones fall from heaven like boiling water 

And fires shall devourer them

 Let those in Holy places stand tall while the earth shakes praise God in wonder as the thunder booms 

pray hand and hand before the waves 

be sheltered in the palm of His hand 

and let His fire purify their hearts into gold.

Why is it again?

Why is it that when you have something you'd like to say, by the time things have calmed down enough where you can sit down and type- the thoughts have completely fled your head and you are left with vague impressions of what it is you were so elegantly composing?

Why is it that when you work hard to make enough free time in your schedule (say to take a class you've been needing to finish your degree) that some kid related things comes along and fills the space? (say Galen's tummy reacting to school food so now you need to make enough foods to pack for breakfast and lunch everyday)

And that when you are finally saying a few things that make sense you're blue eyed, blond haired pill comes and sits on your lap and asks for a nursing?

Emotive Minnesotan

I was not raised to send greeting cards and hand written notes at every occasion. I was not raised to rejoice loudly and vocally. In fact interpersonal conversation involving anything I truly felt or thought was not highly encouraged. Most of this is part of my Minnesota cultural heritage. Emotion expend too much energy when we have to keep warm (at -60) and chop the fire wood.

Often times our attempt to share our emotions end up as a few brief words describing what we see or did rather then our feelings on the matter. One could almost think our emotions are covered in a parka- they show forth once a year for those 3 brief days of summer.

So how do we show forth our feelings? Those of us raised in MN have learned to read the body language through the parkas.... but that does not help those of us who feel the need to express.

I have found that even most of the time that I can not adequately express my self through prayer, but to praise or cry out in agony of soul I needed an outlet. So I had to learn to dance. I had to learn to sing.

And so, as my family gathers at the bedside of my Aunt Katie (and I am stuck at home, with hyperactive, bored and autistic children) I will dance for her. My dance will be one of joy of her part in my life, it will be one of sadness for the family as we will all greatly miss her, it will be one of hope and praise in the beauty of the atonement and resurrection and the promise of eternal families. It will go on until my resources are exhausted and my heart pains are sung out, until the sorrow is swallowed up and replaced with joy.

For Aunt Katie I wish I could share it and have those witness it feel it too.

It was summer’s last hurrah- and this year it’s only hurrah. 93 and sweltering. Sweat beaded up and rolled down her knees and she sat at the computer typing. The dog nudged her leg. “Let me finish this paragraph and then I’ll take you out.” She muttered.

5 minutes later and after a little debate about the proper use of antecedents and pronouns she finally set her computer down and stood up. She stretched upwards and cracked her back. The sun had set and there was a promise of a breeze passing through the screen door. Her dog followed her as slipped outside. She felt the grass through her sandals and decided to slip them off. Yes, that felt good, bare feet on soft grass. Shadow was right behind her, his big brown eyes happy now and the mouth drawn up in a doggy grin. It was setting up to be a beautiful night. The sky was clear, but until her eyes adjusted she was mostly blind on the way down to the lake.

Nearing the beach she heard a rustle in the bushes. Shadow stopped and growled. “What do you see?” she asked him. “Some king of critter?” Then her eyes adjusted enough and she was able to see a white stripe in the darkness.

POOF.

Shadow barked as the skunk ran off. The stench hung heavy in the hot moist air.
“Come Shadow, into the lake!” Shadow bounded into the water. She paused to strip herself of clothes. She held them close to sniff them but couldn’t tell if it was her clothes or the air that smelled. So she tossed them aside and dove into the water.

Top 10 things to do when it's 30 below.

10. Snuggle with hot cocoa under a blanket.

9. Go out for a DQ.

8. Plan a Luau. (indoor pool party with all the Hawaiian decorations).

7. Snicker at people who forgot to wear their coat or hat or mittens, and are subsequently freezing as the run from the car into the store.

6. Share your bed and body heat.

5. Plug in you car.

4. Wish you had an extension cord that would reach your car.

3. Let your cat in at night.

2. Shop for swim suits, shorts and sundresses.

1. Seriously think about moving to Florida.

Stories

I always love the Movie "Big Fish". I really seem to enjoy things when there is just a little bit of fantasy thrown in to reality.
Big Fish is done in a subtle, but beautiful way. If you haven't seen it, I recommend watching it.

Good stores always make me want to write. I want to weave magical elements into our daily lives and create a story that is utterly human, but somehow holds to it's own little world.

Maybe a story about raspberries that appear as you pick them, you pick one and three more pop up just behind it, until they have drawn you so far back into the forest that you are no longer sure of where you are. But instead of fear, you choose trust. You know that the forest has drawn you back there for a reason. You have always respected the forest and so it has taught you and now you are ready for the next lesson.

The lessons of the forest would then be interwoven with the struggles you are going through in the outside world. The struggles with how your work has turned into committee meetings and your creative joy has been swallowed up by frustration of the inertia of your growing company.

Not only will you seek solace in the forest. But you will find answers there. You will become part if it's magic, and will bring some of that magic out into the artificially constructed human world as well.

Bittle Laby and the billy sook.

My bittle laby.

He likes to read a billy sook by Sel Shilverstein entitled “A Runny Babbit.”

It is a story about a Runny Babbit who is just slain pilly. Instead of cutting his hair he huts his cair. And instead of asking for hugs and kisses, he asks for kugs and hisses.

Anyways my bittle laby saughs and lings and haps his clands. He sinks it thounds so silly.

So I just thought I’d yare with shou about this billy sook. And for the fear nuture my little bumpkin putt will be listening to wackward bords.

In the vame sane, if you can mandle hore, here is the list of Gristmas Chifts.

Galen got Dommy and Maddy some chark darcolate in a bittle lox.
He made a schalander at cool.
Ewan got a tand held horrando.
Ian got Thomas the Sain tret.
Clay received a ringing, iding sairplane.
Our dack blogs got a falk in the worest.

Mommy saw the bost meautiful Tristmas Chree. It was frovered in cost and slittering in the gun.

Now as the yew near is about to dawn we need to plexchange the aces of our riving looms and offices and glean the carage to cark our pars.

Think I can get Hike to melp me dotay? Or is he boo tusy with his gideo vames?

Recomended book list

This title is a link to my list.
Here is my recommended book list. These books focus on our world and how we interact with it.