Passion

I love watching people who are passionate about what they do. It makes me want to become more bold and intense about the passions in my life. The training and dedication it takes to be passionate is something many of us ignore, hoping to do a little here and a little there to reach a status-quo outcome. I would like to learn how to become more diligent in pursuing the passions in my life.

Recently on Orcas Island, my friends and I had the pleasure of listening to a violin duo play amazing music, at sunset during dinner. These young people were very talented and able to play at length for the hungry patrons. I was surprised that they played Hungarian Dances No. 5 by Brahms. This is one of my favorite pieces because it is varied between a loud crescendo and quiet adagio sounds. Just when you might be impressed with my musical knowledge, let me clarify that I know about this particular piece from watching Disney's Little Einsteins. There you go. Listen here... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nKHQ36NOxzk

As I watched them, I saw the most amazing thing. They both had bruises from the violin on the side of their sweet faces. Now that is passion...not caring about the bruises it takes to do what you love. I'd never seen these violin "kisses" before and thought it was the neatest thing I'd seen so far on the island.

It made me remember times I've watched the lead singer of Coldplay, Chris Martin, and wonder what it would be like to see him in person. The way he plays the piano using his entire body, makes me appreciate his talent and passion even more. Take a look... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ful-M_MbL4

Of course, I tend to do many things at once, and none of it very well. I'll get excited about learning French or cooking difficult recipes, but soon the excitement falls away and becomes more of a longing, than a completion. So to see people living out even one of their passions in life, is very inspiring to me.

What is your passion? How do you go about it? I'm not sure what my passion is, but this weekend inspired me to hone in on one thing, and put myself into that until my body is marked by it in some way...bruises and all.

Cycles of Life

Today my husband's grandmother was, how should I put this, gently nudged out of the retirement home she's been living in for close to a year. It seems this little octogenarian was too hard to handle...at least she's still got spunk.

She wandered off to the local grocery store, and it wasn't that she was disoriented and couldn't find her way back, she flat-out was not going back to that place! This is not a good situation from a safety standpoint, so she is now in a facility better equipped to handle her unique brand of huff-and-puffery...for the time being. We realize that she just wants a loved one around, and circumstances are changing to make this a reality for her.

It got me thinking about some earlier posts on sowing seeds and tending to our kiddos with love and attention...but the elderly are just as fragile. Over the past few years this southern Georgia peach has gone through some funny, interesting and sad changes.

The cycle of life is precious, fragile, frustrating and tender. Just when we retire from working for forty-five years, a mother needs our constant care; after raising kids for eighteen, they decide never to leave; when a mother sends her last one to school full-time, she discovers she doesn't know what to do with her life now. The unknowns of life are exhilarating and nerve-wracking at the same time.

So tonight I'll be thankful that although my mind is frazzled and forgetful much of the time, at least I'm aware of it and know where I am. Who knows that in fifty years, I may be escaping to Fred Meyer in hopes of finding someone who loves me and someone to love.

A Relaxing Getaway?

A common thread in life these days is the desire to enjoy our time. Our schedules are busy and we nearly melt into bed at night after each day's activities. I love days where I'm not on a time constraint, having to be somewhere at a certain time. I call these Halcyon days. So last year when the stress mounted, my husband arranged for me to go to Salish Lodge in Sammamish, Wa. overnight.

Usually, when I get to do something like this it is spur-of-the-moment. I hardly have enough time to pack, arrange for a spa treatment and dinner reservations (I have to eat). It's not as if he's kicking me out the door (I don't think), it's just that he may recognize that I might blow like Mt. Vesuvius. That wouldn't be pretty...so he sends me out for a break.

It was a beautiful day that day, and I just loved the drive out with all the Evergreen trees standing tall and yellow-washed from the sun's rays. I quickly checked in, changed and went to eat before my facial at 7pm. On my way to the restaurant there was a wedding reception going on, and I immediately missed my husband and kiddos, and this is why I go...I always come back filled up with love for them. Well, it's one reason anyway...onward to dinner.

When I dine alone, a book is my companion. I believe I was reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. I'm sure I had salmon for my main dish, but what I remember most was the Heirloom Tomato Salad. My grandfather grew tomatoes in pots on his porch in California, and you've never tasted a tomato until you've had one fresh from the vine. I used to get acid sores in my mouth from eating so many in my youth. So when the chance to have a tomato salad, heirloom no-less, I could not pass. Satiated from dinner, it was time for the spa.

I was told I could use the hot tub and steam room before or after my treatment, so I packed a bathingsuit. I planned on putting it under my dress, not wanting to be transported back to changing in a high-school locker room environment. But as I was shoving items in my overnight bag, I accidentally packed a bikini, it being black and the same texture as my one-piece. And it gets worse, somehow I acquired bottoms that must've belonged to an unknown friend I've travelled with in the last 12 years. I've travelled a lot with many friends and black is a common bathing suit color, and well, sometimes you acquire things that aren't yours. Even worse, I wore them.

The lady who did my facial, was no-nonsense and had a European accent...the accent, I thought, is why they hired her. I believe I whinced when she turned the bright light on to examine my face. She said my skin was dehydrated, sagging and in need of some extraction. I don't quite remember the wonderful aromas or the rich creamy slathering of product, I'm sure they were there, but I do remember the pain from extraction and a gentle slapping at the end. Well if I must endure the rigors of the spa, I shall.

So after my facial, I timidly ventured into the hot tub area to see if the coast was clear enough for my ensemble. I cased the place and noticed that in one hot tub (there were two), were two women who were very cozy, and a loud man and women, who I assumed had already been to a lengthy dinner. I didn't want to bother them...so off to the other one I went. Thankfully, it was empty so I quickly dipped myself in the large tub, but forgot about how clothing floats upwards when you get into water. My too-big bottoms gave a pull toward the sky, and I was so thankful nobody else was around! But soon more people entered the area, so I got out of there fast.

Next, It was finally time to relax in my room. I love to study, so I sleep on one side of the bed and the books sleep on the other. I called my husband to tell him about my experience so far, and how glad I was to be in my room. We laughed about the bathing suit, and I told him that I might start a fire in the fireplace. He said, "Be careful."

There is a reason for this. When we were first married, I was barbequeing and caught my shorts on fire. They were the kind of shorts with fringe on the bottom, I've always liked jeans with holes and tears, and these were the ones I donned for the evening. The fire was going pretty good, but as I was putting the lid back on, a giant flame shot out the side and caught my fringe on fire. I started screaming and calling for my husband, and by the time he got there I was working my way inside the house from the deck patting myself as I struggled to get my shorts off. The poor neighbors. So, the caution to be careful was warranted. I threw on a robe just in case I had to call the front desk for help...but all went well.

The rest of the stay went on without incident. I returned home thankful for family and a little laughter. My travel tips: make sure you have the right bathingsuit, plan ahead and store up funny little moments for those days when things aren't that funny. Oh, and try not to schedule the last facial of the day...it might be painful.

Cracks, Sags & Dimwits

The title to this blog is actually a book title I found on my husband's shelf. Being the mid-thirties woman that I am, my thoughts immediately acquired an anti-aging slant, and so I took it off his shelf thinking it had been one of my misplaced books. I quickly realized it was a book for builders and contractors, my husband the handy-man has all sorts of these. But it got me thinking about cracks and sags...

Recently, I discovered a pesky forehead crack that seems to keep getting deeper with days gone by. It is no wonder since my face is either contorted with furrowed brows toward daily conundrums, or into an attentive pose with eyebrows raised (as if I can hear better this way.) Lately, I've tried mentally telling myself to relax my forehead, but it's still there and I fear it will turn into a mocking smile.

And last year my kind husband, recognizing that I needed a break from reality, sent me to a spa. That trip is a blog all its own, but one incident fits here. My "technician" was a very-thorough and tell-it-like-it-is woman with a European accent, and I was her last facial of the day. Among other things, she noticed that my face had taken to sagging and began to slap me under my chin. I tried not to laugh at the oxymoron of my "relaxing" getaway...being slapped was not what I had in mind, but if it helps...

It is hard to know if anything peddled out there for anti-aging really works. I ran into an advertisement for Caracoal Cream, which has "snail extract" and apparently many of the top-rated spas use products with this extract in them. I don't know about you, but anything I've ever seen come out of a snail is not something I would put on my face. And what a disgusting job someone has to deliver this "special" product to us. Eeeeu (sp?).

If you know of something that really works, let me know. And if you see me without a facial expression, just know I'm not angry, I'm just trying to relax my forehead. Hopefully it won't get to a point where I start slapping myself. If you see this please stop me.

Zoom, Zoom, Zoom

This blog is about growth and transformation and so here is an update on what I'm learning to nurture this growing process, but remember before you read on...baby steps.

Yesterday was a doozy of a day, one that I wondered how I was going to make it when all I wanted to do was sleep...I'm good at this. The night before I had a minor medical situation because of some stones in my kidneys, nothing too drastic but annoying none-the-less. Anyway, I was up way past my 9:00pm bedtime dealing with that, which made yesterday a day I greeted very low on the energy radar. And so it began.

My husband had to wake me up because my new phone (actually a new replacement phone because my other one would only allow me to talk on speaker) would not let me sign in to set my alarm. So, at 6:45am I decided to "live chat" Tmobile to see if there was a solution to this problem. It turns out that I "need" data services which will let me connect to the Tmobile server at a rate of $25 per month. After much pecking away on the typewriter with the "live chat" person, Randy, Tmobile would not allow me temporary access to sign in and use a phone that I paid for. They would also not be reimbursing me for the phone that I can't use. I chatted back, "ridiculous," and clicked off at 6:50am.

Next, I had to wake the kids for school, a job in-and-of itself, while using my old phone on speaker to talk to a real person at Tmobile. Maureen said she would allow me access at a prorated rate, so I can sign in and use my phone. The Tmobile G1 is a great phone, and works without Internet access (I actually had the data services (Internet on phone) originally, but my husband said it was a bit much, and so here we are.) What I learned from that experience is that I'm much nicer talking on the phone to a person, than chatting "live." And that I will be having to write a letter to Tmobile for this ridiculous policy...what if I had an emergency and couldn't use my phone? Also, I like the word, "ridiculous."

After the phone fiasco, it was time to head out to the car. I could here all of my children laughing in the garage when they were supposed to be putting on their shoes, so I opened the door to check in on them and to my great frustration, there was a ginormous pile of, how shall I say...elimination, which they thought was the funniest thing they've ever seen. We have two dogs, a Vizsla and just a few weeks ago we acquired my sister-in-law's dog, a yellow lab. I could tell it was the job of the new lab, and sweet as she is, she looked at me as if to say, "I'm sorry. Will you please forgive me?" I learned from that experience to supervise dog feedings when three children think it is a novelty.

Now I'm at the doctor's office at 9:20am and saw a man sneeze into the bend of his elbow, give a curious look at his sleeve afterwards, and I then held my breath as I walked past him. While checking into my department, I glanced back and saw said man walking back to his seat while using a tissue to wipe his sleeve. I learned that I don't like going to the doctor's office.

Well, I know it's not much, but I told you in the beginning, baby steps. At the end of the day I always learn that I love my family more than I did yesterday, and through it all I look forward to what tomorrow will bring and pray for the grace to get through it. Even when the zoom of life gets "ridiculous."

Nylons and Tadpoles

These halcyon days make me want to be a kid again. Amidst all the laundry, dishes, spills and messes I long for running barefoot, climbing trees and playing 'til the sun goes down. But I caution myself lest the neighbors think I've lost it and call the cops because I'm running down the field with a makeshift cape and twirlers.

The joy I see in my kids is so amazing. I can't remember the last time my emotions were displayed at max. Where is the line between childhood expression and adult suppression? I look at the faces of my children and hope that their spirits are never crushed. I wonder how to reclaim a little of what they have...

So, when my daughter came sloshing up from the pond with one giant frog and a baby tadpole in her hands, I knew that I had to remember these days for all time. Decked out in pink with a tiny braid in her hair, shorts and pink puddle-jumpers, my daughter added her new pets to the already growing frog population on our property. Meanwhile her brother and sister were content to hit golf balls in the setting sun.

Today the golfers decided to join the marine biologist at the pond. They requested some old nylons this time, white ones no less in order to see better, and are hoping to catch a gazillion tadpoles to care for.

My husband says I better stop writing about it and go experience it. So, I'll throw caution to the wind, take off my shoes and run down to the pond and play with my kids. I may put on a superhero cape for good measure, and if the neighbors call the cops...so be it.

Sunshine Day

Today is one of those wonderful, vibrant, show-stopper days. In the Northwest we savor days like these and wonder what life would be like if we could bottle it up. If I could, I don't even think I would sell it. For a while I'd just pop the top and glug it to the very bottom, and then hand out bottles for free to the unemployed friend, the frazzled mom, the grandma stricken with Alzhiemers, the confused twenty-something, the tired neighbor, the sad child and anyone else in need of a little sunshine.

Well, I better get outside and though I can't bottle it, maybe I can soak up enough sun to spill over to those loved ones in need...let's hope so.

Chrysalis Defined

A few weeks ago, I was telling my Father-in-Law about my blog and how it would be great for him to blog so he could connect with other screenwriters. When I told him the name of my blog, he put his hands up and gave a waggle gesture and said, "ooh, sounds like crystals and new age." Ha! What a strange impression, so I felt the need to explain to anybody else out there who isn't clear on what a chrysalis is.

When my little ones were really little, I purchased Eric Carlisle's book, The Hungry Caterpillar. I'm not sure if it mentions the chrysalis exactly, but it was a catalyst to spur me on to learn more about it. I found the transformation process fascinating. Then, we went to the zoo a couple of years ago and went through the butterfly exhibit. They actually have the chrysalis display for all to see, and they are beautiful little hard shells containing all the elements to produce a beautiful butterfly.

As the caterpillar approaches the metamorphosis stage, it actually spins a silk pad and pulls it over itself. What happens then is that this becomes a hard shell and the process of transformation begins. All the cells break down and begin to rebuild into a totally different creation. Those in science say that the caterpillar and resulting butterfly are as different as a field mouse and a hummingbird.

I feel as though I'm inside the chrysalis. The world around me is a treasure trove of wonderful, interesting and exciting things to learn and experience. And all of this knowledge is being used to rebuild parts of me that are lacking, or encouraging parts of me that are growing. I'm the only one living this life, and I don't want to waste this gift. I do though, sometimes. I take people and things for granted, I don't do what I should do and often do what I should not do. But one day I'll be able to emerge in the glorious light of heaven, shake off the dew of living inside the chrysalis and flap my iridescent wings with a feeling of freedom! Mercy me until then!

An Amateur Foodie

For some people, food is necessary for filling one's stomach, thus achieving a "full" feeling that keeps them going until the next grumbling on the "empty" radar. For me, food is a pastime, a hobbie, an event even. I love learning about food, what other people think about certain food, reading books about food, preparing food, growing food, sharing food, and of course, eating food.

According to Wikipedia, foodies are "amateurs who simply love food consumption, study, preparation and news." Gourmets are "epicures of refined taste." This is not me. I have to ask my husband what my soup is missing. I seem to know it's lacking, but in what I couldn't say, (oh the parallels I could go into). I just know what I like, and hope my family likes it too.

Like most of us, my food memories stretch back into childhood. My mother made coffee cake on Saturday mornings and Friday nights were reserved for dinners out. I had lobster for the first time when I was really young...poor future dates...oh wait, I married my highschool sweetheart and he's frugal-nevermind.

For the past couple of summers I've read a food book or two. Michael Pollan puts out some great food reads, The Omnivores Dilemma and In Defense of Food. I have a couple of books about France and food is intertwined. So, as I was shopping yesterday (for food), a book captured my attention. A Homemade Life is a book about food and memories. Molly Wizenberg writes so well and delivers a recipe in each chapter. I'm on chapter three and can't wait to try some of her amazing dishes and share them with friends and family. She also has a blog and you can link to it from this page on the left.

With seeds going in the ground and summer bbq season upon us, my mind is ready for heirloom tomato salad, crisp asparagus, bbq steak with gorgonzola cheese melted on top and flourless chocolate dessert with red wine reduction.

If you are a foodie and have a favorite recipe using green beans, I want to hear from you since my favorite way to prepare them is out of the can...no gourmets here!

Orchids in an Onion Patch

I know this really wonderful mentor with seven children. She is a delightful and spunky woman who dedicates much of her time encouraging young mothers, or I should say mothers with young children - regardless of whether or not she is young. This encouragement is something I need in my life as a not-so-young-mother of three.

The topic of parenting is a fragile one for me to write about...because I know my own failings at it. There is a song by francesca battistelli and the lyrics say something like, "some days I feel like I can do anything, and other times I feel I've got nothing good to bring." I feel like the latter part sometimes, but I'm so encouraged by people who have been through the rearing stage and can offer some advice to the rest of us. Goodness, we have so many questions about bed-wetting, lieing, bullying, sassing, picky eaters, disobeyers, dawdlers and free spirits! And, if you're like me, I add ten years to the behavior and get really worried what life will be like with 15,16 and 17-year olds!!! (yes, that deserved three exclamations).

So, my friend the mentor, sent me an email and asked about my family. I saw her recently, but we didn't have a chance to catch up, so when I received her email I was excited to share about all the good news and not-as-good news. In her response she used the phrase, "children are like orchids in an onion patch," and I thought that was such a sweet way to put it.

I've always heard that orchids are hard to grow. They need the right kind of sunlight, not to much water and to be prepared to lose a few as you learn how to grow them. Well, I'm pretty sure we don't want to lose our little orchids to the onion patch of this world. Some days it seems like children are hard to grow...not too much free time, a little bit of discipline, a lot of mommy and daddy time and a reward or two for good measure. Keeping this all in balance is quite a job, but what I'm learning from the wonderful moms I know...is if you mix in attention, pour on time and shower them with armfuls of love...they will know who they are and what they are worth...a priceless orchid, a beautiful treasure. Better get tending, not sure if I've mixed in enough attention today!

Sowing Seeds of Harvest

Imagine going to your local garden store, picking out the perfect packet of seeds-heirloom tomatoes, okra, carrots, lettuce or beans and upon getting home, you grab a bowl, pour out the contents and start eating them with a spoon. I just read that people in some African villages are doing that, minus the bowl and spoon.

I don't know if they are just too hungry and don't want to wait for the harvest, or if they don't have the skills and knowledge to make an abundant harvest a reality. But according to a relief worker, "One of the most frustrating things is that in villages where they receive seed, they often eat the seed rather than planting it and bringing forth the harvest."

When I explained this strange phenomenom to my daughter, she told me that if she was starving she'd probably eat the seed because she might die before the harvest.

How often have I done this very thing because I didn't want to put the effort into caring for the seed, fearing I might figuratively die in the process. In my example the seeds represent "lessons" I've learned, but somehow haven't been sown into my heart in a way that I can use in everyday living.

As my daughters and me were talking about this, I reminded them of the many lessons their parents-in-training try to give them. It's easy to say they won't lead the dogs to the mud just to watch them get dirty, or eat conspicuous-looking berries, or make frown faces, or spray mom's perfume, or bully children at school, or wear mom's MAC "Sobe"-really-hard-to-get-out-of-the-carpet lipstick. (Taking a deep breath).

It is easy to "hear" the lesson, but it is much harder to bring forth a harvest from it. We know we are supposed to forgive people (seed), but it's very hard to do when you are in the middle of a situation (unsown seed). We know that time flies (seed), but we settle for and focus on the mundane and passive things in life (unsown seed). I'm really trying to work on this last one. I want to be more diligent in how I spend my time, making sure my family knows how fiercely I love them.

So, this Mother's Day week, I'm trying to be more aware of how I use my seeds. I don't just want to chomp down on colorless, bland and odorous seeds. I want to savor a harvest of ripe, cherry-red, glossy "early-girl" tomatoes. And though the task is a challenge at times, there is a promise I'll try to sow into my heart, "those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy." The psalmists know their stuff...I better get sowing!