Sigh

Breathe deeply in and out for a few breaths. Close your eyes and relax. However, it's not a good idea to fall asleep while sitting at your computer.

This has been a busy week already. Therapy on Monday - a very difficult session in which I've been suggested that I comfort my inner child who didn't have much of a childhood. The concept of the inner child is a difficult one for me, especially since I have very, very few live memories of three years - 7-10 and not much until 11. Actually, I guess there aren't many memories before age 7 either...a few incidences that are isolated from daily life. I was alone so much of the time.

then Dad went back in service when I was 7. A good bit of responsibility fell on me as my mother and brother made the crop that year - we had 23 acres of great farmland - grew wonderful cotton - usually rated good with a few middling ratings occasionally when we had to use a mechanical cotton picker. I remember things, not daily life, not events. Except, of course, the daily life events at which I failed at age 7 - like cooking dinner for Mom and David, peeing in my pants because I had walked from school to avoid a kid who taunted me and I couldn't get into the back door of the building where Mom worked.

I don't remember feeling. Life just was. Now I'm told that this child never had a chance to have a childhood; she had to grow up too soon. She never got the love and care that she needed, nor the praise or very many of those positive things that keep us going. They tell me that my defiant attitude comes from having to fend for myself and feeling that no one cared. And, they didn't...at least not in ways that I needed them to care. They said they did. They acted as if they didn't.

So, I'm supposed to talk to this child. And, I feel foolish. I would have to dissociate in order to talk to the child I was. I know the right words to say to kids nowadays that have been through some of the lack of loving care that I went through. I can comfort them. But, how do you comfort a child that no longer exists?

I can look at me and say, "I'm sorry you had a rough childhood. You should have had better food, more encouragement,...." But, so should a million other kids who grew up to be fine people without being in therapy and needing food to comfort themselves, or hoarding to make them feel safe. Why am I the one who eats too much?

Tonight Ibought yarn and stuff at the Goodwill Thrift Shop (now called the Goodwill Family Center) - yarn that I don't normally use, all donated by an older woman who was obviously a hoarder. Boxes and boxes of yarn, a hundred packages of needles, various sewing accessories in multiples of twos, threes and tens. I understand.

But, I still don't understand how I'm to talk to or write to this supposed inner child who was deeply hurt (I don't deny that) and carries this hurt yet (don't deny that either). They tell me I deserved better. Deserve is not a word that I use very much...not sure that any of us deserve anything. Lots of things would have made my life better and very different. I didn't have them. Now, I'm supposed to go back and comfort that child who didn't have them.

Maybe all I really have to say to that kid are two things: "It wasn't your fault." (don't think I ever thought it was) and "You made it anyway." (not the best way possible, but you're alive and they are dead - you have received many wonderful things and known oodles of great people - you've done lots of good deeds and loved everybody - that's making it, kid!) Living well is the best revenge. The ones who hurt me didn't live well and some of them are dead as a result of their poor choices; I am living well, and I am alive even though I've made both good and bad choices. You, the child, chose to live; and here we are, living well, blessed and graced.

Off to Work

This is our "stack" of Lambs Pride and Cascade 220 wool with a bit of Lopi at the end. Doncha just love the colors!

You are The Empress

Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.

The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents,
beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home
decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.

The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

"My" shop

I don't own it. I don't even work full-time there, only a few hours a month. But, I love Weaver's Webb. And, I love arranging the colors and fibers. I love helping people find what they want. So, I'm starting a series of picture blogs about Weaver's Webb.
Today, we are featuring sock yarn, cottons, and dreambaby.

I love the colors. Or have I said that? I tell people that it's a "touchy feely" store. How can you know whether or not you like a yarn unless you've fingered it?

When we get a shipment of yarn, I usually stay over my normal hours or come in an extra time to help put it away. Some yarn comes in plastic bags, and we ordinarily get two or three bags of 10 skeins each. One bag goes on the shelf with the newer dye lots in the back. Two bags have to be stored, and we don't have a storeroom. All the extra yarn is stacked on top of the racks and around the ledges of the store (you'll see that later). Some yarn, such as Lamb's Pride, is not bagged; so we save our plastic bags from other yarns for storage.

We have so many beautiful sock yarns, and I don't knit socks. I've learned how to knit in the round with two circular needles, but I haven't done but a few rows with sock yarn. We have the Step yarn which has jojoba oil and aloe vera in it to prevent food problems. We have self-patterning yarn which creates a delightful pattern - not necessarily stripes - photos of that later. We have Noro sock yarn which is self-striping. I've bought some of it, but it's in my stash (that's yarn lingo for that wall of plastic drawers in my workroom - and the tub and the various bags of begun projects and the little box by my feet and my work bag). I de-stashed one skein of yarn yesterday - sold it to a young woman who needed just a bit more of a certain color and dye lot, and I had one skein of it here at home. I don't de-stash often.

So now you have an intro to Weaver's Webb, where I work on Tuesdays and sometimes a few hours extra during the week.

States I've Visited

visited 43 states (86%)

visited 7 states (3.11%)
Create your own visited map of The World or determine the next president

Interview questions from RevGalBlogPals

These questions are from an interview of Singing Owl published on the RevGalBlogPals Please go there and read this interview. This is a very interesting blog, and I enjoy being part of it.

Where do you blog?
23 acres of black dirtYou're here.

What are your favorite non-revgal blog pal blogs? Wounded Bird, Pseudopiskie, Badtux

What gives you joy? Music. Water. Silence. Yarn. Love.

What is your favorite sound? Cat purring

What do you hope to hear once you enter the pearly gates? First you have to believe that the pearly gates exist.

You have up to 15 words, what would you put on your tombstone? She lived. She loved. But, I love what we put on Mom's tombstone in the cemetery of the church that kicked me out for dancing and spurned her after she left my Dad: "Dancing with God, drawing deep breaths of the air of Heaven." (She died of emphysema.)

Write the first sentence of your own great American novel. The hurricane was beating against the sliding glass doors, and she hoped that they lived up to their warranty of stability in 160 mph winds.

What color do you prefer your pen? Black

What magazines do you subscribe too? National Geographic, The Sun, Bead and Button, Oprah, Time, Smithsonian

What is something you want to achieve in this decade? Continue living and being alive in that living.

Why are you cool? Because I have white hair and still do daring things.

What is one of your favorite memories? Being introduced to my partner at the lunch counter where we ate and not remembering anything past her holding out her hand and saying, "Hi, I'm ......" Surely, I must have answered, but I do not remember anything except being in love.

Anything else you've always wanted to be asked? How did you get here from there?

Eventide

The sun has set and the glimmer of light caressed the creek and cypress trees. My eyes and the camera were slightly out of focus, but you can see the beauty of this Sunday's eventide.

My Favorite Necklace

This is the Spanish Inquisition Necklace found at the Smithsonian Institute. Dane A Penland is the photographer, and I copped his image from sharing files of Flickr. You can find a rather complete description of the necklace and its jewels and provenance at The Daily Jewel

Once I had a torn magazine page with this picture on the wall near my jewelry-making table. The page is lost, but the memory of this beautiful piece has lingered with me. Wouldn't I love to have an occasion to wear something like this? And, how many body guards would I need to hire. The information says that Audrey Hepburn wore it to the Academy Awards. Ahhhh. A fitting place for such a beautiful piece.

And once I owned a tiny piece of emerald - uncut, about the size and shape of a large splinter. It disintegrated from being handled roughly in so many moves. Ahhh.

I love blue, and here's a picture of the Hope Diamond, also at the Smithsonian and also photographed by Penland and from Flickr.Somehow the single diamond doesn't convey elegance quite like the emeralds and diamonds. Ahhh.

While I love these two pieces, I really guess that the ones I love most are the ones that I can touch and rub with my fingers and examine the patterns. They are carefully tucked away among my beads, examples of need for beauty and the kinesthetic potencies of such gemstones as malachite, azurite, amethyst and the beautiful agates.

I remember walking into a gem store in, hmmmm, maybe it was Boulder, CO, and gasping at the beauty of a tremendous hunk of barite roses. I went in and was assaulted by what felt like vibrations being given off by the large pieces of crystals and other gemstones. I had to go outside and peer in to see the wonders because I felt so overwhelmed by the vibrations. Silly me. Rocks don't give off vibrations. LOL

So, I enjoy handling small pieces of gemstones, but I don't have a single barite rose - too much vibration in them for me.

And, the Good News is.....

One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. 6When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” 7The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.” 8Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” John 5:4-8

I am 62 years old, and I have been sick with respiratory problems most of my life. I don't remember when I wasn't sick a lot.

Yesterday, my pulmonologist told me that my lungs were in good shape, my cardio stress test was good, my thyroid was good, my anemia was gone, my asthma was under control, and that basically I am healthy. I have never been told that in all my life! I am healthy.

Then I asked "Why, if I am healthy, my life is a struggle with tiredness and breathlessness?" He told me I needed "de-conditioning". When pressed for a definition, he hemmed and hawed, but eventually inferred that I am overweight and out of shape. Then I heard him begin to lecture me on that...I'm not sure what he said that created that impression for I can't imagine his lecturing me. He is a good and kind man...just not very blunt.

I became ragingly angry. The only thing that is wrong with me is something I have done to myself. It's all my fault. And, I've failed at Weight Watchers, and I don't do enough of the right kind of exercise. And, I am a failure.

I drove the 15 miles home on a back winding road at speeds far above what was safe. I stormed into the house in tears. My partner, who has been saying this for some time, tried to comfort me. There was no comfort.

I have been healed. I am well. Well, except for the things that I do to myself. I'm around enough AA people to know that I have just been twelfth stepped - confronted with my disease - overeating, not exercising. Now the choice is up to me - continue overeating, not exercising and die - or choose to be healed, to be well.

Hey, last night I didn't much want to be well. I'm not sure that I'm willing to do what is necessary to be well. I wanted to die instead; it was too hard.

Someone this morning asked me what changed when I decided to quit drinking. I don't even remember. Seems like I woke up one morning on the floor in my own vomit and decided I didn't want to do that again. After that, alcohol began making me sick when I drank. So I quit.

Now, I'm confronted with a different prospect. I can't give up food as I gave up alcohol. Food is my comfort. Even last night, food was my comfort. I ate three tacos, then went to Dairy Queen and had a small chocolate malt. I felt so much better. I quit crying; I was able to think; I wasn't angry; I didn't hurt. I wish food didn't work as a pain (of all kinds) killer. It's easy to give up a coping mechanism that doesn't work any longer.

Do I want to be well? The verdict is still out on that one. But, for this hour, this minute, the answer is yes.

Facebook

I've been reading about accounts being closed for various reasons, and, since I don't check Facebook very often, I will be checking it even less. So, if you're messaging me through Facebook, Please change to comments on the blog or email.

Gee, I didn't know it was following me!

So, my partner took my car for a short trip this morning - better gas mileage, and I was going to drive the truck to go a few miles to the post office and thrift shop. I gathered my packages and stuck them in the truck, hopped in and off I went.

One of the intersections between home and there is a bit tricky with lots of turn lanes and frontage roads and such. But, I just whizzed through it without a problem, even the light was green.

The post office is small with only a few parking spaces, diagonal in a small parking lot. The first two spaces were full; so I pulled into the third space. I popped out of the truck and retrieved my packages from the seat, turned to go into the post office and STOPPED. The 25 foot boat trailer was behind the truck, tagging along like a good trailer should with its lights properly hooked up and its chains in place. The only problem was that I didn't realize it was there. I didn't see the trailer until I got out of the truck at the post office.

Blocking the two cars already parked, I dashed into the PO and noted to the drivers that I'd be right back to move; they were blocked.

Now, I'm no good at all in backing trailers - give me 40 acres and I'll turn this rig around. But, fortunately, the diagonal parking slots were easy, and the trailer did exactly what I wanted it to do. I looked at the driveway out and noted that I'd never get that long sucker turned. Fortunately, the employee parking lot had a much larger driveway and it was separated only by a very slight sidewalk, which I slid across and pulled into the roadway. Thanks be to God.

The thrift shop is in an old grocery store; so I could just slide truck and trailer into the lot and walk in. Bought a few things. Came out, was hungry. I negotiated that tricky traffic light again and parked in a large lot next to Taco Bell.

But, I was thankful to get it all home again safely. Now, the rig is parked in the front yard where my partner will have the delightful experience of backing the trailer into its slot when she gets back or sometime.

Some of you may know that in a former life I was a professional truck driver (many years ago), but I was never very good at backing. I think they wrote that song - give me 40 acres - just for me.

Cleaning House

This is a double meaning headline. I've been literally cleaning house; we had company last week. I moved a lot of stuff into my office/studio/study, and I've been clearing away some of it this week. At least I can see the table top now even if I can't walk all the way around the table. LOL

I've also been cleaning house in my head, continuing to work with the book "Forgiveness". Now I'm at an exercise designed to help me figure out what I needed (in childhood and any time previous to now and now) that I didn't get, who didn't give it to me that "should" have, how I was hurt by this and continued to hurt myself because of it, alternative habits/behaviors to the ways I continue to hurt myself, and who can help.

I call it "Name It, Blame It, Claim It, Change It, Help It." I think I'm going to do it on a spread sheet so that I don't have to write all that stuff by hand.

Earlier I made a gratitude list: easy peasy but very lengthy and includes hot showers, clean air, computers and all modern technology, loving relationships, jet skis, and people who work to help preserve our planet.

This stuff seems to be working. Last night I just took over a task from my partner and realized before I was through with it that I had just made her feel incompetent and stupid. So, I apologized even though I finished the task. Well, hey, I was already half-way done, and I hate incomplete work.

Later, I began telling her something and she started finishing my sentences and talking over what I was saying; so I shut up. She had not even heard what she said except the first and last sentence. She also apologized.

We had a lot to talk about at therapy this morning. LOL Listening skills, oops skills (that's when you realize you're doing something you shouldn't be doing and stop), belief in self skills, signals for each other at critical junctures in discussions or to help break hurtful habits.

For instance, when we eating out and I reach for that second or third roll, I suggested that she gently put her hand on mine. That would convey her caring and the possibility that I was doing something that would harm me. As we would stop a child about to touch a hot stove burner, I need help in identifying those times when I am indulging in self-destructive behavior. This applies not only to over-eating but to other things as well.

Isolating, for instance. I test out as an E on the Myers Briggs every time. But the therapist would have pegged me for an I - that Extrovert versus Introvert. I think I'll find one of those tests online and take it again.

Stay cool if your temp is abover 90, stay dry if you're in the flood zone, stay healthy by not indulging in self-destructive behavior - and ask for help if you need it.

Finally

Yesterday, I got to ride my jet ski for a bit. The weather was very cooperative and so was my breathing. 80 degrees, overcast, barometric pressure holding steady after a rain storm, water smooth, friends to help. So, I made the most of it. Lots of figure eights, varying speeds, checking out the neighbors up the creek, watching the geese.

Also got to see the local osprey bathing in the shallow water on the point across the creek. And, the great blue heron that feeds in the shallows amongst the cypress knees.

Someone asked me what I do on Sunday since I don't go to church. Well, I usually check in with the blogs I read regularly and see who needs prayers and such. I watch the osprey and the heron. I fill the bird feeders and watch the birds. I pet the cats. I take lots of deep breaths and fill my soul with quiet. I listen.

Lately, I am working on learning more about trust: how we build it, rebuild it, what keeps it going, and I want to relate that to faith - trust in God. So, I'll be writing about trust in the future.

I'll also be writing more about the work I'm doing with the book Forgiveness by Simon and Simon - lots of good exercises. And, I'm stuck right now on writing letters of apology from those who have hurt me. Well, really, I guess I'm stuck on the steps before - figuring out who hurt me and how. Strangely, that brought out the former blog about relationships and sex. But, my mother figures strongly in all this. My father less directly.

So, for right now, I'm back to the osprey, the creek and the birds - oh yes, and my knitting and prayers.

Let's talk about fear and sex

My partner is in NYC visiting her son. She was terrified before she left - for several days - about getting from the airport to his office in Brooklyn then to the hotel. She hurt her back rebuilding our deck and doesn't have the energy she once had; so she was rightly afraid of being lost without enough energy to think straight. But, she did all the right things. She packed lightly enough to use a carry-on bag and a small backpack. And, God provided the angel - the native NYCer who said he was going exactly the same way she needed to go. She had the courage to say, "I'm your new best friend." In just over an hour from landing, she was sitting at her son's desk. Thanks be!!

But, her fear just about did her in.

Those are fears of current events. I have fears of past events repeating themselves, and my fears sometimes make that happen.

When I was 14, a young man was taking me (supposedly) to the skating rink to meet other friends. Instead, we parked on a very deserted road in rural Mississippi. And, yes, I've probably told this story before...but this is a different twist. We necked for a bit - exciting for a 14-year-old to be with a guy in the service. Then suddenly he was in me and hurting me and I was screaming no no no. Afterward, he was terrified and so was I. At that time in Mississippi, they killed young men who did that to white girls. All I had to do was go to the doctor.

And, my brother had told that sex was the most wonderful accompaniment to love. I should cherish it. So, I made a deal with my rapist. If he would teach me how to have sex lovingly, I would not tell anyone. For the next two weeks of his leave, we made love in many ways. He treated me with kindness, love and gentleness. He defended me to my former friends who had told him I was "fast". Then he left, and I never saw him again.

My first alliance was with a woman who courted me for over a year. She took me to Arizona; she had a lover there and they continued that relationship. She had promised me the sky, the moon, the stars. But, she betrayed me not only by continuing the relationship but in other ways. And, she ultimately stole my car - my beautiful 1963 Bonneville convertible - dawn metallic blue with a blue top. Resentment? Who me? Only 24 years later.

I married 10 years later. The man loved my body and loved having sex with me. But, he also had sex with anyone who would stand still long enough. I began gaining weight as I lessened my drinking (totally sober 10 years, not drunk in 25 years), and when I reached 130, he quit having sex with me. He also became a drug addict and dealer and a thief. After seven years, he just quit coming home and we divorced. A man who promised to love me and care for me until death do us part - abandoned me after mistreating me in many ways for eight years.

Several years later, I married my best friend. We knew the sex between us was terrible, but we thought we could manage, and we truly loved one another. His resentment manifested itself through barbs and quips that cut. Sometimes, he would team up with my Mother for these. They would laugh; they thought they were making jokes. Early in the second year of our marriage he began to talk about leaving, and I would ask the questions: where are you going? how will you get there? what are you going to do that's different? The sex continued to be horrible, he continued to hand out barbs and leaving became a joke. Then he fell in love with the teacher across the hall and broke all the vows he had made.

So, tell me any reason I shouldn't have fear about sex in a committed relationship. The only faithful sex I've ever had was with the man who raped me. He treated me well. The others, those who promised before God to love and cherish me forever, treated me horribly and abandoned me.

Recently, I created a fight between my partner and me just to avoid intimacy.

I'm working on this. Right now, I'm using a book "Forgiveness" by Simon and Simon, 1991. Now I'm making connections and drawing conclusions about what has happened in the past that is affecting the here and now. Ultimately, they claim I will have forgiveness and a different relationship in the now. I sincerely pray that they are right because fear is a terribly debilitating thing.

Music of the Spheres

Today I was reading Harper’s Magazine, June 2008, when I encountered a quote from a musical philosopher, Victor Zuckerlandl, “Hearing a melody is hearing, having heard, and about to hear, all at once. Every melody declares to us that the past can be there without be remembered, the future without being foreknown.” (p 91). I stopped; time is a human construct, and I’ve written about this earlier. God’s time is then, now, someday all at once. Zuckerlandl is saying that musical time is the same as God’s time.

Wow! What a wonderful concept!

The review was of “Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain” by Oliver Sacks, and the reviewer, Zalmen Rosenfeld, also discusses music’s ability to change human emotional states. Now, I’ve known this for years. I am able to dissipate my anger (as generalized as my anxiety) by listening to hard rock music – letting the music drown me in its mesmerizing repetition and loudness. I usually follow this period of hard rock with a softer, more spiritual vocal music whose poetry has meaning for me.

For instance, my iPod has a playlist that includes Free Bird, Cocaine, and some Janis Joplin. This is my hard rock list, and I play it often when I’m on the treadmill, sometimes forgetting how long I’ve been there. Following this expiation of sin and anger comes what I call a spiritual playlist – Enya’s “How Can I Keep from Singing”, Rufus Wainwright’s “Hallelujah”, Sweet Honey in the Rock’s “Wade in the Water”, and other such songs. It also includes the very staccato rendition of “God is Alive, Magic is Afoot” (written by the same composer as Hallelujah) by Buffy St. Marie.

Songs connect with my emotions. I have trouble with lots of music; nothing peaceful in me resonates to the high notes of opera. I cover my ears and feel like cowering in a corner. Does this reflect the parental arguments when I was a child? Perhaps. For Zuckerlandl reminds us that music is then, now and someday – the arguments are very present for me when I listen to opera. Unfortunately, the cowering feeling also occurs when I am amongst much noise. My chest is getting tight just writing about this.

Changing my thoughts to Pachebel’s Canon in D, I can feel the tightness slipping away – or is it the clonazepam that I took earlier?

Still, I recognize in me the connection between music and my emotional climate, between the past and the present and how I perceive the future will be. Music can bring the past into immediacy and stretch it out for several hours or days. “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” brings such past into now. I am transported to the back seat of a 1949 Plymouth sedan with Mom and David and me singing, and immediately to David’s funeral, and the loss of my beloved brother is once again unbearable…at least for a few moments. I’m learning to control this “flashback”.

I will never think that my choice of music is random, and now I know more about how to use music in healing my emotional wounds, transporting me into more people-friendly moods, and preparing me for whatever I face.

Jung Explorer Test
Actualized type: ENTJ
(who you are)

ENTJ - "Field Marshall". The basic driving force and need is to lead. Tend to seek a position of responsibility and enjoys being an executive. 1.8% of total population.

Preferred type: ENFJ
(who you prefer to be)

ENFJ - "Persuader". Outstanding leader of groups. Can be aggressive at helping others to be the best that they can be. 2.5% of total population.

Attraction type: ENFJ

(who you are attracted to)

ENFJ - "Persuader". Outstanding leader of groups. Can be aggressive at helping others to be the best that they can be. 2.5% of total population.

Take Jung Explorer Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

Beach

I'm sitting in my favorite chair having just finished a good meal - prepared by those loving people at Lowe's Foods in Morehead City, NC. I have put away the cold and frozen food and am just enjoying being.

The new wireless system here works even if it is a bit slow. And, I can't send emails through Mozilla Thunderbird, but I can receive them. Weird. At least I've finally gotten this deal to accept the various accounts I have.

Hmmm. What to do? Stare at the ocean? Knit? Read The Sun magazine? Put water in the refrigerator? Sit and read blogs? Aha. that's it.

Peace, Prayers and Love

When I am writing to internet friends or leaving comments on other blogs, I often sign off with "Peace, Prayers and Love" - I wish you peace, I will keep you in my prayers, and I send you love.

As sharecropper, my responsibilities are to care for those and that leased to me by the owner, to increase the wealth of my trust, and to return a portion of that wealth to the owner. I never capitalize sharecropper, for I am not unique, only one of the host of the world, who are also sharecroppers even though they may not know it. Coming from the farming world of the deep South, sharecroppers were not respected even though they served well. They gave much more than they got; some, however, were able to buy land and become landowners instead of sharecroppers (and I'm not sure how that plays into my metaphor). We did own our little bit of land, and I sold it to go to seminary - such a little bit that about all it did was to get me there.

First and foremost to me are the people in my life - my partner, my friends (those present, past and cyber), my co-workers, acquaintances, and so on throughout the world. What I do best is to love people. My love is not boundless nor is my energy to love. I am human (and sometimes I have to remind myself that I am). I get angry, I harbor angers from the past that spit out at inappropriate times. (12 steppers will recognize this as resentments.) Ridding myself of these angers and the fears that go along with them is a lifelong process. The steps don't do it for me, and God's time in removing them (with my help and the help of other sharecroppers) is not my time.

But, what I farm is the growth of Peace, Prayers and Love. Some years the crops are bountiful; some years not. The more I can multiply this wealth I've been given in trust, the more I am blessed with the same things. Some days I have peace in the kind we all consider - the quiet contentment of being that includes safety, fulfillment of my basic (and not so basic) needs, and love. Some days, I give love in abundance, and some days I turn the cell phone off, stay away from the computer and knit.

As a sharecropper, my leased land is not the earth, is not the wealth of things (although I seem to hoard lots of things), but my leased land is people. My energy goes into loving people. I'm a pretty good sharecropper; I've known about my leased land for most of my life. I've picked up bad habits and good practices along the way. My return to the owner has been good; I consider myself a successful sharecropper. Nonetheless, I am sharecropper. I do not own. I am a servant who is truly blessed with the return from my leased land.

Creating stuff with fiber

Remember the trip to the alpaca farm? Well, I finally got around to washing some of the white alpaca and drying it outside on a towel - a cool 93 degrees in the sun that day. And, here's a picture of me (see my hair is growing out and it's still white), and I'm carding the white alpaca (that's straightening the fibers) with two dog brushes (instead of buying expensive carders):

And, here's an in process picture of the mermaid that I am needle felting for Mindi in Colorado. I think the hair is going to be some of the curly locks from one of the alpaca since she was with us on that visit.

They've got to be kidding!

Your Score: Well-Adjusted

You scored 39 anxiety, 42 awkwardness, and 36 neuroticism!

You scored low in all categories--so there's no need to worry! Not that you were worrying, anyway. You are so Well-Adjusted that I almost feel the need to worry for you.





Your low anxiety score implies that you are able to relax, can enjoy the here and now, and have a healthy amount of self-confidence.



Your low awkwardness score implies that you are socially capable, are personable and charming, and probably go to parties and have fun.



Your low neuroticism score implies that you don't exhibit subtle neurotic behaviors--your nails are probably an acceptable length, your pencils aren't covered with bite marks, and your bookcase isn't arranged alphabetically by genre. Congrats!




__


See the other results!



Well-Adjusted



The Neat Freak



The Dork



The Geek



Phobic



Obsessive-Compulsive



The Subtle Neurotic



The True Neurotic

Link: The Neurotic Test written by littlelostsnail on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test View My Profile(littlelostsnail)

Job, Justice, Fairness, God

You know the only thing I've ever been able to deduce about the story of Job in the Bible is that the rain falls. Good things happen, bad things happen. We attribute them to God or the Devil. But things change.

Today I feel good. Yesterday was awful. I was knitting with a wool that was new to me, and I could hardly breathe. Once I finished that project and laid it out in the sunroom, I could breathe. Anxiety? Allergy to the wool/dye in the wool? The wind? God? The Devil? Things change.

Some days are good; some days are not. A smile can make a lot of difference. A good laugh can make a lot of difference whether I can breathe well or not.

And, Job. Well, Job had it good. In fact, the Bible tells us, according to fellow blogger Lindy, that God had built a fence around Job and his family. OOOOOeeeee! Wouldn't you like one of those fences. Then I'd be able to breathe well all the time; my anemia would not affect my doing things; my restless legs would stay still; I could buy as much yarn as my garage could hold and enough beads to build a house.

Things change. One day that fence would be gone, and then, where would I be. Unused to any kind of calamity or bad event, unable to cope with adversity, non-compassionate because I'd never been hurt or hurting. Don't think I'd like that.

I'm reading a wonderful spoof on fairy tales and stories in general. Cliches abound. And, I know those stories. They have happened to me. You know those stories, too, because we don't have fences around us - at least not God-built fences. The rain falls. Bad things happen to good people. Bad things happen to bad people. Bad things happen. So do good things.

Blaming God or the Devil or Job won't make it any different. I try to just accept what the day brings and do what I can. I leave undone what would strain me too much. And, yes, I get angry and depressed and anxious and upset. And, yes, I cry and gripe. But, in the end, tomorrow is another day - a different day - maybe better, maybe worse, but another day. And, if tomorrow is not another day for me - well, hey, I won't know it because I'll be dead...and that's for sure different.

The Unread Books meme

What we have below is a list of the top 106 books most often marked as "unread" by LibraryThing users. Bold the ones you've read, underline the ones you read for school, italicize the ones you started but didn't finish.

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Anna Karenina
The Brothers Karamazov (?)
Guns, Germs, and Steel: the fates of human societies
War and Peace
Vanity Fair

The Time Traveler’s Wife
The Iliad (excerpts in school)
Emma
The Blind Assassin
The Kite Runner
Mrs. Dalloway
Great Expectations

American Gods
A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius
Atlas Shrugged
Reading Lolita in Tehran : a memoir in books
Memoirs of a Geisha
Middlesex
Quicksilver
Wicked : the life and times of the wicked witch of the West

The Canterbury Tales
The Historian : a novel
A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
Love in the Time of Cholera
Brave New World
The Fountainhead
Foucault’s Pendulum
Middlemarch
Frankenstein
The Count of Monte Cristo
Dracula
A Clockwork Orange
Anansi Boys
The Once and Future King
The Grapes of Wrath
The Poisonwood Bible : a novel
1984
Angels & Demons
The Inferno (and Purgatory and Paradise)
The Satanic Verses
Sense and Sensibility
The Picture of Dorian Gray
Mansfield Park
One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
To the Lighthouse
Tess of the D’Urbervilles
Oliver Twist
Gulliver’s Travels
Les Misérables
The Corrections
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time
Dune
The Prince
The Sound and the Fury
Angela’s Ashes : a memoir
The God of Small Things
A People’s History of the United States : 1492-present
Cryptonomicon
Neverwhere
A Confederacy of Dunces
A Short History of Nearly Everything
Dubliners
The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Beloved
Slaughterhouse-five
The Scarlet Letter
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
The Mists of Avalon
Oryx and Crake : a novel
Collapse : how societies choose to fail or succeed
Cloud Atlas
The Confusion
Lolita
Persuasion
Northanger Abbey
The Catcher in the Rye
On the Road
The Hunchback of Notre Dame
Freakonomics : a rogue economist explores the hidden side of everything
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance : an inquiry into values
The Aeneid (excerpts in school)
Watership Down
Gravity’s Rainbow
The Hobbit
In Cold Blood : a true account of a multiple murder and its consequences
White Teeth
Treasure Island
David Copperfield
The Three Musketeers

More Alpaca pictures

Gin is trying to herd the white alpaca back into the other enclosure - unsuccessfully.







Mindi and the llama

















This wonderful baby is one of the show animals.Tom is part of the menagerie.














Baby Rhode Island Reds are also there. And, bees, and kittens, and their sons.

Ashwood Alpaca Farm Visit

sharecropper gets a kiss from Whiskey

Five of us went to Ashwood Alpaca Farm (they also have one llama) on Friday. We were warmly welcomed by Lisa Willis who is unbelievably excited about all her alpacas. They were recently sheared, and the blankets are currently being processed.

But, we were mostly thrilled because Whiskey was like a big lap dog. He followed us around and liked to eat carrots and be petted. Most of the alpacas were standoffish as we were laughing a lot and grinning from ear to ear. What beautiful animals they are and sooooo soft - even sheared.

I snagged two grocery bags of bits and pieces of blankets from the various animals and one from the llama...also some yarn from the cooperative of which the farm is a member.One friend found some yummy socks.

Here are the pictures:
alpacas in background, us in foreground












Whiskey, up close and personal

The bees aren't all dead

The magnolia blossom with the bee was taken on May 22, 2008 in my front yard. All the blossoms were covered with bees sucking pollen. The previous bloom was a cotton blossom from a farm in the Mississippi delta near Clarksdale.

Why?

A good reporter always asks five questions (at least that's what I was taught in 1963): Who? What? When? Where? and Why? The first four are often easy to ascertain, but that fifth questions leads us into places that are unsafe - physically, mentally, emotionally, psychically. Often the places that Why? leads us are untrod ground.

Growing up on the farm, we called it new ground. First the trees would be cut, and the timber used in appropriate ways. Then the brush would be rooted up and piled into huge piles that were burned (remember this was in the 1940s and 1950s). Some of it was undoubtedly saved for kindling because we used a wood burning stove for heat in the winter. Stumps were included in this burning. Rocks were pushed and lugged out of the field. Only then could the tractor with it big turning plow get in there and make deep furrows in the land. The soil that turned up from below was black and wet. But, when it dried, it was as hard a brick...gumbo, it was called. The fields were turned and disked and harrowed. Then the rains came, and the ground was like black glue; it stuck to anything that touched it. When it dried, it cracked open in geometric shapes. Beautiful to a seven year old, but dreadful to our father farmers.

Except near the bayou, the soil would be turned, disked, and harrowed until it was black sandy loam - the stuff that farmers hold in their dreams. New ground. Lots of work went into creating new ground.

Lots of work often goes into answering Why? - the new ground of our minds...and lots of time. The answer doesn't always come. I will die never knowing why I like red so much or why I seem to need more...more of everything. Each time I answer a Why? question about myself, I change the answers to the other four questions. Who am I? Where am I? What am I? Yes, I realize that's only three of the questions: When? Time is so elusive for me. I understand God's time a little better as I remember the past and as I look to the future. I live in the present (most of the time), but When?

When am I in my life? Am I really a senior citizen? How do you measure years? Do miles count in that measurement? Does creativity count? How about love? When am I in the course of loving people? Near the beginning - the middle - the end or somewhere that I don't even really know? What I do know is that my computer (attuned to the atomic clock somewhere in the world) says that it is 8:13 pm on May 21, 2008.

My question then is So What? or Why does that matter?

New Knitting

Our friends Gin and Mindi from Denver have been visiting, and I've been knitting while we talked and after dinner each night. I offered to make Gin a pair of socks once I learned how to make socks. She said she had socks someone had knitted hung on her wall- they were artwork, not wearables.

So:













And, Mindi is getting a case for her Touch-pod. (front and back views)

Magic and Miracles

I've been reading a lot of fantasy in the last few years, and recently I've read a series by Tamora Pierce (Circle of Magic) about four young people who discover they have extraordinary magic. One is linked to the winds; she can see and hear things far away, and she can manipulate the winds and water and rocks and earth to change. Another's magic lies in weaving and thread; she can use woven movements to bind and to loose and communicate with cloth so that it does her bidding and other things that are made of string or wire or such. The young man of the group is attuned to growing living things and can make grass grow or nurture a forest. The other is a metal worker who makes things of living metal. Together they are very powerful as they have forged bonds of love and trust over their training years.

I believe in Magic, and I nearly always capitalize the word...so closely is it linked with God for me. I see nothing unusual in these four young people's talents. They are extremes of connections that we form each day with things that surround us. And, they are extremes of focus that we do not often have. Meditating is part of their daily routine, and from it comes their strength. Not many of us spend much time in meditation.

Once I had a green thumb with potted plants - bay trees loved my patio, orange trees grew from navel orange seeds and grapefruit trees from supposedly seedless grapefruit. My jade tree measured over four feet across before I dismembered it. Since it's name was Rocky, it's babies were Rockettes. I let the last of them die in the cold here this past winter. So my green thumb went away. It went away because I did not nurture it, did not meditate, did not pay attention to it. I lost my magic.

And, that's what happens when we lose touch with God; we lose our magic. I once had a healing touch that even people waiting to pay auto tag fees could sense and tap into. When we did healing services, many people waited in my line for me and those who gathered around to lay hands on them and channel God's grace a little stronger into their lives. Now, my oil stock is dry and so is my touch. Neglected and unused.

My Magic flows in other directions, nourished, focused and sustained.

Magic is simply God's use of our focus and our strength in ways that are particular to us. "God is alive, Magic is afoot..." sings Buffy St. Marie. I can't separate the two, and I suspect you'd find that your "Magic" is a focus and strength that comes from meditating and belief. When you train it, nurture it and hold it dear, Magic works and God is alive. Don't let your Magic die.

You Should Live in the Country

You are laid back, calm, and good at entertaining yourself. You don't need an expensive big city to keep you busy. You'll take the peaceful life over the stressful life any day of the week.

Where Should You Live?

Every day is different

Tuesday night I did not sleep well. Wednesday was a tough day. Wednesday night I slept almost 12 hours. Today has been wonderful. Good food, good company, fresh tomatoes, a few fresh strawberries, a mint plant, a wonderful lunch in Washington, NC. A few raindrops to make a perfect day.

Tomorrow I work at the yarn shop, and I'm really looking forward to it.

Missing my partner who is in New Orleans, but she'll be home on Sunday.

Politically, I've been speaking out for Hillary, but the votes don't seem to be going her way - and it's really difficult to think or type with a 16 pound cat in my lap - sooo...later pals.

What if...

What if computer programs worked the way the blurb you read said it would?

What if you and your partner could always talk things over?

What if you didn't forgo exercise because you were too tired?

What if repair people called you back when they said they would?

What if doctors had time to listen to you?

What if therapists believed you when you said you could bullshit the pope?

What if you could actually knit all the beautiful yarn you have and crave?

What if pigs could fly?

I get very frustrated with the lack of time that most people experience in today's world. I like to think we had more time in previous years and generations. But, that's simply not true. My Mom got up before daylight to milk the cow before breakfast and work. She always had a large garden, and we canned the produce. When did she find time to work 8 hours a day? She was never able to bathe until after we went to bed because she was tending to our needs. We had no bathroom; so she bathed in the kitchen where she could heat the water on the range and have a few moments of peace and quiet. She didn't have as much time as I did when I was working.

Of course, her life did get easier once we left the farm, but she always had something that needed to be done and for which no time existed to do it.

Now, I have time to browse the knitting sites on the computer, IM with a friend, write a blog, knit and make jewelry. Of course, my floors are dirty, my laundry undone, my winter clothes half packed away, and I don't know what I'm wearing to work tomorrow.

Time. When I went to Cursillo in 1988 or 1987, I gave up my watch. I own several, but they are decorative, not useful. And, time is more useful. I do get harried and hurried, but I am much more casual in my approach to what really needs to be done. The world has enough clocks that I am on time for appointments and work. In fact, I wish I could turn off some of the clocks in our house - microwave, range, water cooler, refrigerator, coffee pot, weather clock....and those millions of little LEDs that dot the house - I don't need a flashlight at night; I can navigate by the little red and orange dots.

Time. Do I make time to talk with my partner?

Time. Do I consider how busy doctors and repair people really are? Seems as if a shortage of them exists because they never have time.

Time. What if I didn't sit in front of the computer until my neck ached and my restless leg syndrome kicked in? What if I actually cleared the space around the treadmill so that I could get on it?

Time is a human construct. The universe doesn't really know about time or the time/space continuum. The universe is.

So, I'm keeping track of time in different ways. I have a list of concerns/problems that I want solved - some in therapy, some in discussion with my partner, some by getting off my duff, some by managing my life differently. And, I'm tracking my progress (or lack thereof) not by time but by how important each item is in my life. And, success - well, success is so relative that I have to say that I'm not doing much tracking by success. My nightmares are mostly gone. My emotional flashbacks have decreased a lot. My knitting is getting better.

Today has been rest day. Yesterday and last night were worry periods. Tomorrow is a work day and a knitting night. What's important to me right now is a good night's sleep, the love of my partner and the medicine that keeps me going.

So, I'm going to tick tock right off to the other end of the house and take the meds, hug my partner, and stretch out in bed. It's time.

Success - part 2

After a bit of discussion of other things, therapist and I spent about 5 minutes on success last week. I am confident about who I am in that respect. I've done a lot of things and gotten bored with them before I had a chance to be a success in the usual sense of that word - money, title, prestige, renown. And, of course, I have my times of feeling worthless, but deep down, I know I am a beloved of God and that I have worth in and of who I am without regard to what I do or don't do.

I've had a couple of successes in my career path. With a partner and later without, I operated an advertising agency for five years in a town of 30,000 people in Yeah. We did for five years.

Then, I organized, found funding for and operated Neighbors in Ministry, an ecumenical social service organization that had a thrift shop, a Kid's Cafe, a food pantry for persons who were HIV+, a coalition of agencies who worked with the Hispanic population, as well as intra organizational events to bring neighborhood people, churches and organizations together. We had a very good time and made a lot of difference. Later, other organizations took over some of the ministries and the Hispanic Ministry formed its own group. A good lot of work done by a good lot of people with me as their helper, guide and gofer.

But, my greatest success has been anchored in who I am. According to "What Color is My Parachute?", what I do best in the world is love people. And, I have loved all sorts of individuals in all sorts of ways to the best of my ability all of my life. That is my greatest success: I can and do love.

Here's to all of you who can love! Keep it up.

College Reunions

I've never been to my own college reunion, but this is my second visit to my partner's college reunion. Her classmates and their spouses remembered me!!!! Amazing. And, it was fun. So tomorrow we head home to our cats and our creek.

With new yarn, new beads, my happy goddaughter who went to Costco with me today, a happy partner who saw her long-time buddies and friends, a pleasant visit with close friends - what a cache of good memories.

Didn't take a single pix - sorry. I'll do better when we go to New Orleans in a couple of weeks.

Success

So far I have four or five working pages of scattered notes about success - what I think it is, what I think I am, what my partner thinks, what "they" think. I'm working today to combine them into a coherent mess to take to my therapist tomorrow. At least, this isn't something that I've cried over all week. I've been thinking about it deeply, but I'm not sniveling all week.

My categories on one sheet are finances, education, career, relationships, spirituality, physical, adn something else (papers are in the dining room). On another sheet, I put down what are/seem to be necessities for me to function at my best - like safety, good bed, good food, love, respect, availablity of new ideas,.... The "they" sheet includes things like peer respect, good salary, retirement planned, job title, ability to travel, high degree of education, long time in one field,.....

My partner said, "Don't tell me what you are, tell me who you are." If you are happy with who you are, then you are a success. Of course, she named three or four successes for me that were career achievements, but she also listed five qualities that she considers to be who I am - one of them was inquiring...the others were to be supposed from a partner - loving, caring....

Success has so many definitions and connotations that I find it difficult to contain. One thing is certain, I will not be able to say truthfully again that I am worthless. And, yes, I know that none of God's creation is worthless, but don't we all feel that sometimes?

What is your definition of success? Do you judge others the same way you judge yourself? I'd like to hear your responses.

Another Therapist Question

"Next time, I want you to tell me your definition of success." And, I really thought she liked me. Okay, so what kind of success do you mean, I asked. "All of them."

But, the session went well, and I will deal with that between now and next Monday - then I'll have a week off as we go to my partner's college reunion.

The west wind blew in cold air and stiff breezes; so we're back to long sleeves again. One woman came in the store today all bundled up with coat, hat and gloves. Not that cool.

Woke up coughing from allergy drainage. Took medicine, drank hot tea, back to bed in a few.

Monday is therapy day

Thanks to all those who have continued to leave encouraging comments and send emails. Today is a good day with therapy at 3 pm today. I am hoping to keep it contained, but emotions spill out throughout the week and realizations of the reality of situations long past. So, I am hoping for direction, hope, light, and recognition. That's a lot to hope for, but I'm optimistic.

Had a note this morning that a best friend and running buddy from about 25 years ago has died. Sad. We had lost contact, but I had heard that she was happy. I hope she heard the same about me. She was a delightful sprite who brought much sunlight and laughter into my life.

One day we were cleaning my apartment in preparation for a party that night. She suddenly realized that she was cleaning with only one hand; the other arm was full of my beloved poodle Sarge - we called him a sack of potatoes. He would just drape himself around your arm, in your lap, on your shoulder, and, often as with Ginni, you'd never know he was there. Sarge loved us all and so did Ginni. May light perpetual shine upon her. I'll try to find a picture of her as the sprite I knew.

Bill Clinton visits

Yesterday my partner and friend went to hear Bill Clinton as he did a sweep through North Carolina. They stood and sat and waited several hours to hear this charismatic man speak about problems within NC. And, they were rewarded with ideas, possibilities and legislative solutions that could be enacted. Of course, he was campaigning for Hillary, whom he believes could do all this. And, possibly she could. She certainly knows the ins and outs of politics now. She knows how to get things done in Congress, when to make compromises and when not to compromise. I will vote for her in our upcoming primary. And, I will vote for whoever is the Democratic candidate in the November election. Both have fine points in their favor.

Therapy Plus

Just as growing old is not for sissies, therapy is not for sissies, especially therapy for post traumatic stress syndrome. Many years ago, a therapist at her first meeting with me told me that she thought I needed to work on PTSD about my brother's death. I fled and never went back, using a very flimsy excuse. I couldn't think too much about that then.

Now, with the emotional flashbacks, I have no choice to but to think and, worse, to feel. Last week after I had carefully enumerated how I had felt abandoned by various important people in my life, my therapist said that I needed to write down the feelings I had at the times of those abandonments.

The first was my father, and I don't recall the event of his leaving to go back in service and returning home only two weeks a year (he had to go somewhere). I can't put any emotions to that event except an intellectual knowledge that Mom, Brother and I drew much closer together.

Now, I realize that my brother played the role of father in my life even though he was only six years older. He was left to drive the tractor and help make the crop that my father had planted before he left. He was left to do the heavy work around the farm that my father had done. He was only 13, but he took on the father figure.

And, truly, he had been the one to take care of me most of my memory. I went everywhere with him - even to school occasionally. I have often wondered if others had siblings who occasionally went to school with them, but the people who would know are all dead; so I can't ask.

So, this brother of mine was father, brother, friend, confidante, teacher, and very handsome even at 13. And, I adored him. He was mine. I was his. No hanky-panky. No fooling around. I just knew that Brother would take care of me always.

Always lasted until he got a girl pregnant and married her at my mother's insistence. Then he moved her into the house with us and went off to work as a welder's helper on the pipeline. When he came home, I was no longer primary in his life. And, I hated his wife.

He died following an accident during at storm on an oil repair barge in the Gulf of Mexico. He actually died on the operating table in Morgan City, Louisiana, two weeks after my 16th birthday. Always didn't last very long.

And, I have finally re-created the emotions of that abandonment - both his marriage and his death. Let me tell you, that's not fun. I feel as empty as I did then. I feel as angry, as fearful, as hurt, as whatever as I did then. I cry occasionally. I stare a lot. I play a lot of computer games. I can't even knit much. My brain has shut down for the moment except for the this re-creation of those times.

And, it's hell. Intellectually I know that we have laundry to do, the floors are getting filthy, things need putting up - but I just cannot do anything except feel and re-member.

Okay, so now I have those feelings. What do I do with them? I am tired. I am useless right now. I am crying. I am feeling. This is not fun. And, I don't know the next step. I see my therapist on Monday afternoon. Maybe she'll tell me what to do next.

Meanwhile, as my online buddy Lindy says, just do the next right thing. Since it's 3 am, maybe going back to bed is the next right thing.

The compliment game

Been catching up on my reading. Ya gotta go over to Warriormare's and check out the tab at the top "the Compliment Game". Add your thanks - tongue in cheek to others.

Sardis, Mississippi, Lake and Dam

Well, I was just looking at a picture of the spillway on a lake near Pseudopiskie's place, and it reminded me of many happy times at Sardis Lake/Dam in Mississippi. It was the largest earthen dam until the Aswan Dam was built in Egypt. And, I remember sleeping in the sand on cool nights when I'd be on my way from Memphis, TN, to Mom's house. You burrow out a body sized spot in the warm sand and cover yourself with a blanket to keep the warmth in. Of course, you froze your tootsies off the next morning as you went down to the water to wash the sand off your feet and legs (since you were wearing a dress back in those days).

And, I remember playing around the spillway as a child and watching how many large fish were being caught. The beaches were wonderful and I always wanted to roll down the grassy embankment (long green strip in the picture) naked until I hiked myself up there one day and discovered that the soft-appearing grass was about six inches to a foot high and the embankment was broken with drainage ditches. That would have been one very uncomfortable roll. But, it looked so beautifully green and inviting.

My experience was mostly in the lower lake (left side of picture) below the spillway where we would have family gatherings. The adults would fish and tell tall tales, and the youngsters would run around all over that part of the park (now much larger I'm told) chasing one another, playing around the spillway after being cautioned not to go over there. We'd talk to the people who were fishing, and it was the only place I remember that segregation was not practiced then. Old black ladies and old white men sat side by side on home-made stools with their poles in the water...sharing tales and bait. I ahve some pictures of the spillway back then, but I'll dig them out later. Meanwhile, the photo at the top is from the official site - and it's mostly of the upper lake.

Beautiful drive if you're ever down that way.

A new beginning

Yesterday I had an appointment to get my hair cut at noon. I was taking stuff to Habitat for Humanity; so I drove the truck. And, I turned on the radio. The ad was for the place where I was getting a haircut - and they were having a benefit for Breast Cancer. So, I arrived there. Found that two of the people there have breast cancer and one is not doing well. So, I had my head shaved in support of all the people who have had breast cancer.

And, I had my head shaved because I have a new beginning. Yesterday, I began more in-depth therapy after answering that blasted questionnaire about the important events of every five years of my life. Seems I had forgotten to tell my therapist that I was raped at 14. Hmmmmmm. It's age, really it is - a simple brain fart.

Anyway, at least my head is nicely shaped. And, the face will decrease in roundness (somewhat) as I continue to lose weight. Not sure what will happen to the jowls and the wattle under my chin. LOL Wonder what color the hair will be that grows back.

Why I call myself a Christian

Ummmm. Today a friend sent me a forward entitled "When I say I am Christian", and it was lovely. But, when I say I am Christian, I mean that following Christ's teachings makes more sense to me than anything else. I mean that I believe the Christ is God. I mean that I'd rather take the Judeo-Christian history and writings and try to make sense of them for the here and now than to write my own concept and history of God. It's easy to say.

Living out my Christianity is much more difficult. Love your neighbor. Okay. That's easy, I see him about twice a year and he's a good neighbor. Not difficult. Christ as manifested in Jesus says that I have to love my enemies, too. Doesn't say I have to agree with them, be around them, tolerate their insanity - but Jesus does insist that I love them. I love Osama Ben Laden. He's a child of God, however insane I may believe him to be. He deserves the love and grace of God just as much as I do...though i freely admit that I've never ordered the murder or destruction of anyone. My anger does not rage that strongly. I have wished someone would have a bad day, but I don't think that counts as more than a venial sin or simple idiocy - as if to believe that I had that much power.

Power, that's what living my Christianity is about. Power, what I have, how I use it, where I bestow it, how I rein it in, when I turn it loose. Okay, I tried to skip what I mean by this business of power and Christianity. In this world each person has a certain amount of power. For some power is perseverance - the squeaky wheel gets the oil. If enough people write to congress, congress eventually listens. That's power.

Power is being aware of all the benefits I have had in my life because I am white and intelligent and well educated (in spite of having gone to school in Mississippi). That's when I learn to rein in the power that I have.

Power is about choices and how I can help others have choices. My personality is usually an assertive woman. I am strong, and I can speak well and for others who have no voice or are ignored. I am compelled by my Christianity to open my power to be used by those who are mistreated, ignored, hungry, homeless, powerless.

Power is abused by every one of us. Ted Kennedy in settling his complicity in a woman's drowning. Presidential candidates in slinging mud at one another. Charismatics who draw people to them with false promises and use the people for their own ends. Fanatics, tyrants, ordinary white women, me.

Power gives a person control and choices. I like to think that I have control of my life. (Give it up, sharecropper, you know better.) See my rational self knows more than my emotional self sometimes. And, I like to think that I don't need to control, but, if I think that, then I have choices that keep me from being trapped.

My Christianity says that I have lots of choices. I can choose life or I can choose death - figuratively and literally. Death is the ultimate choice, but I have lots of choices to choose a slow death by ignoring the needs of others, but using my power for my own self aggrandizement. And, I can try to control others through my power.

I'm not about control (though I fight it a lot). As a Christian, I am about feeding the hungry (sending a godchild a grocery card, donating to a food bank, inviting friends for dinner and companionship). Hunger is not simply wanting or needing food. Hunger is a longing for love and acceptance, too.

So, dear friend who sent me the "spam" about Christian, I mean that I am called to live my life by using my power to benefit others. I am called to control my insanity so that I can be a living example of what is good and right. And, I am called to love not only my neighbors and my enemies but also myself. I am called to forgive as I am forgiven - freely, graciously, and without fear.

Being a Christian means that I take account of my life on a day to day basis. Praise myself for the good, rue the bad, accept forgiveness and go on to the next day.

Someone chided me today about not posting - soooo

Tomorrow I get to see my psychiatrist and my therapist. I haven't had my bloodwork done as a baseline for the psychiatrist; so I'm not excited about seeing him.

As I enter into a deeper kind of therapy with my counselor, I have filled out innumerable pages of information about me and my family. the last three pages are divided into little sections - one for every five years of your life. You are supposed to note everything that was important to you in that five years - in less than 2 inches of typing paper space. I don't usually write small. Ha!

And, How do you remember what happened of importance when you were 36-40 when it's twenty-two years later? I completed this section and laid the paper aside. As I thought of important things in my life, I wrote between the lines and in the margins. I don't know if she'll be able to read all the jabbering, but she will have a fairly good picture of my life...well, except for some childhood years when I remember very little - and there's lots of space left to write in those blocks.

And, why does this matter?

I've been having emotional and mental flashbacks to bad things that happened in my childhood. For instance, we were eating our usual Sunday evening supper of bacon, eggs and biscuits (sometimes pancakes), and I remembered as I chomped on a good piece of bacon that I didn't particularly like eggs in my childhood. We always had eggs; somebody in the neighborhood had chickens even after we got rid of ours. And, I always had biscuits, bacon(sausage or ham) and molasses for breakfast. However, some mornings we didn't have meat - some evenings we didn't have meat. And, Mom would offer me an egg. I don't like eggs without meat. Bleah. So, I'd eat my biscuit and syrup and catch the schoolbus.

Okay, this memory took about 10 seconds or less. And, I jumped into wondering if we were that poor - and, yes, I remember Mom buying me a new dress so that I would look like everyone else at times when we probably didn't have meat. She wanted us to look good even if we were dirt poor. Then I realized that I must have gone to school hungry sometimes. A biscuit and syrup isn't really enough breakfast for a schoolkid. But, I don't remember being hungry. And, how many other families were as poor as we were. I could think of only two that might have been.

Then I jumped from there to other times when Mom tried to keep up appearances. Dad was a drunk...a very talkative, and, by the time I was 13-15, a very verbally abusive drunk. He had hallucinations and delusions by then. And, he would declaim in a loud voice right after supper that he had seen me in some juke joint having sex with some guy or in a car by the juke joint. Places that he might have been at some time in his life, but long ago.

So, Mom would give me her car keys (a little 49 Ford named Freddie) and tell me to go away and come back after he was asleep. That was usually around 9 pm. So, I would drive the back roads of Quitman County, Mississippi, from about 7 until 9 - just to avoid my father's verbal abuse. Fortunately, I discovered that others were in similar situations - not people in my school, but other schools and other ages. We often gathered on the side of a road to shiver when it was cold and to talk and laugh and avoid talking or thinking about why we were there. But, sometimes, the roads were long and lonely, and I felt very homeless.

In the space of less than 30 seconds, I went from enjoying Sunday supper to crying and being afraid of being homeless (not likely to happen now - not sure about then).

There are other less graphic times of flashbacks when a word, a look or tone of voice triggers the emotions of "then" and I respond in "then" not "now". I'm getting better at recognizing some of these times, but mostly they catch me (and often my partner) unawares. And, they hurt. The feelings I feel hurt, and the way I respond hurts my partner. And, I want them to stop.

So, I've tried to write the important events of every five years of my life down on paper. And, I've cried a lot. I've hurt a lot - for me, my brother, my sister-in-law, my cousin, and my Mother. I don't know what pain they had. They are all dead except my cousin. I can't know what caused Mom to be as she was about appearances, but alcoholism wasn't really a word then - My Dad was the town drunk. He wasn't sick. No one knew about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and what World War II might have done to him. They only knew he was drunk. And, that was shameful.

That shame is punching me in the gut occasionally. It hurts as much now as it did then, and I want it to stop.

So, if I'm silent a bit, I'm just working on getting better and not hurting.