Shooting the Moon

Lucky I'm in In Love With My Best Friend

Where do I want to go this year?

A)        Paris

B)          Alaska

C)           Jackson Hole

D)           Victoria BC

What sport to I want to do this year?

A)          Skiing

B)           Yoga

 C)          Crossfit

What do I want to learn this year?

a)            Greek, Spanish

b)            Photography lessons

What do I want to read this year?

a)            Books I can talk over and share with my boys.

What do I want to wear this year?

a)          Size  6 - 8

How do I want to live this year?

a)            Clean, pretty house.

b)            Save $1 a week x week number.

c)            Blog about the process of this list.

d)           Keep in Touch, (birthdays, thank you’s, )

e)            Cook for Fun and Company

Westward ~ Cedar on the Left, Rattlesnake Mountain on the Right

“Nothing has meaning except for the meaning you give it.” 

― T. Harv Eker, Secrets of the Millionaire Mind: Mastering the Inner Game of Wealth

Recapping New Year's Eve

Such Goings On

Chapman Bench

Everybody should do at least two things each day that he hates to do, just for practice.

William James

My Lefse with Chico, CA Sour Power - Dare you to just eat one.

http://mountainfruit.com/

Found: 

Imported Organic Olive Oil ~ Secret Source

Three Phones

“If you want to make a permanent change, stop focusing on the size of your problems and start focusing on the size of you!” 

― T. Harv Eker, Secrets of the Millionaire Mind: Mastering the Inner Game of Wealth

Organizing Before Breakfast

Cotton Candy Sunset

The greatest weapon against stress is our ability to choose one thought over another.

William James

Bleck.  New Year's Resolutions.  Well, I am just old enough to know that throwing away the calendar from 2013 doesn't mean the obstacles from the last round magically vanished!  So what to do?  Same old wall, same old me.  So what really has to change?

I hoped for more spousal support.   When he so cooperatively reminded me of my diet, I ate leftover dessert for breakfast to soothe my hurt feelings.  After all, he's the one who sees me naked.  He savors his dinner while I watch.  He remains as trim as the day we were married.  I'm 34 pounds heavier just watching him eat, apparently.

He gives me a list of things to do for the day, and I'll find other things to do, or eat an entire chocolate bar just to show my independent spirit and restate my voting rights.  Not sure what I thought that would accomplish, other than making dessert disappear and sure enough, I was right.  So was he!  Is it in my own mind that if I tell my goals he automatically finds ways to sabotage my plans?  So here are my cards.

Like the Berlin Wall, overwhelming barriers don't just go away overnight.  The barriers to my success are simple: a refusal to adapt to the extenuating circumstances and do the best I can.  I plan to keep my wedding vows despite perceiving food battles and control issues.  I faithfully followed Ann Landers long  before the days of  blogs, Twitter and facebook.com.  If she said it once, she said it a thousand times:  "No one can take advantage of you without your permission."

Personal growth isn't to be taken literally after a certain point in life.  Putting food in our mouths, more than we need anyway, actually creates different and more intense problems instead of solving them.  So does giving up on dreams and wallowing in self-pity.

For awhile I've been observing (following) a couple of people - my daughter, Mindy and Srinivas Rao. Mindy (teacher, traveler, linguist, student) has been adjusting to culture shock. Srinivas is a surfer (life-coach and writer among other things).  How are they connected? Think culture shock and getting wiped out by a wave.

Marriage can be amazing - a friend for life.  His "blueprint" sometimes is as foreign as Ethiopian culture.   Trying to meet the expectations of your spouse and his family can be like getting wiped out.  Thirty-four plus years later.  Yes, I am a slow learner. The stress literally takes me down.  Sleep required, and lots of it (Mindy/Culture shock) so you can get back up and ride the wave that wiped  you out last time.

While I'm mixing metaphors, how about this? A stool can't stand on only two legs.  One leg is keeping my vows of matrimony.  Leg two is not losing my own identity, the knowledge I've gained or amassed that may seem unimportant or insignificant to my spouse.  Leg three is adapting to doing things another way, a way that may at times seem ridiculous - like being a foreigner.  The goal is balance - a three legged stool.  The result?  Who knows, but I want to find out.



Identify the problem.

Lack of self discipline and dislike for being told what to do.

Who is responsible for my attitude?

Me.

Who chooses (controls) what food goes my mouth?

Me.

Who reaps most of the results of my choices?

Me.

Are there all kinds of barricades in my life that are not of my own making which cause me to feel stressed?

Yes and No.

Do I have resources?

Sisters. Brother.  Parental Guidance.  Reasonably happy childhood.  Moderately dysfunctional life.  Knowledge, books, purpose.

Most difficult part?

Not comparing apples with oranges.  A high percentage of our problem is how we measure success.  

Bring it on.  2014 is the year I immerse myself in the gift that is my life.

Date Night -
When we remember  how much we like each other.
(Half Serving - Perfect Treat - Pat on the Back)

Here It Comes: 2014

Christmas Day ~ Sauce for Sweet and Sour Pork

New Year's Eve Music ~ Enjoy!

Five Crowns

Pot Stickers

 http://www.food.com/recipe/chinese-pot-stickers-13320?oc=linkback%3C/a

Christmas Past - A Memory



  Aunt Lois's Steamed Cranberry Pudding

 2 C. Cranberries, fresh or frozen
1 1/2 C. Sifted All Purpose Flour
1/3 C. Boiling Water
1/2 t. Salt
2 t. Soda
1/2 C. Molasses
Wash and drain berries.  Sift flour, salt and soda into bowl.  Add berries and dredge with flour mixture.  Mix with remaining ingredients and mix well.  Pour into a buttered double boiler and steam with cover on tightly for 1 1/2 hours.  Serve warm with the following sauce.

Vanilla Sauce:
1 C sugar
1/2 C light cream
1 C butter
1 t. vanilla
Cook sugar, butter and cream in double boiler for about 30 minutes; stir occassionally.  Just before serving, add vanilla.

Snack Tray Gift 

Ho-hum.  Just another Wyoming Sunset

 "We Had Seasons In The Sun."

And so another year ends, old and decrepit if we visualize the elderly gentleman with the overgrown white beard and sickle in hand. Three hundred sixty five days used up,  miserable, and on the verge of death by inevitability: the March of Time.  Twenty-thirteen, you were a learning experience in many ways, and for that we thank you. 

My holiday card included a one paragraph reference to the death of a young friend of our son.  In so many ways it deserved much more than that.  One event defined our year.  While not the conscious reality of every moment, one event more than any other pervasively and persistently shadows us.

One Saturday morning in September the sun rose as usual.  While most of us snuggled in for a few more hours of sleep,  two friends stood together quietly chatting and watched the day dawn.  It wasn't the first crisp and cool Arizona morning they had enjoyed together, but it was the last.  We were changed more than we can grasp over the course of that day, overwhelmed as we were.  One event, the unexpected death of a young man, a friend, a child, a brother, cousin and nephew is the wrapping on the package of our year.  It is not everything about our year but it does perfectly encase and represent  practically everything about it. 

It defines not only our year but also our future.  It shook our foundations.  We view and judge the importance of everything else past and present from a new perspective.   The hold we have on life seems more than a little tenuous.  Utterly conscious of a new level of reality, at unexpected moments we have grappled and gasped with the pain of loss, remembering.  And then, like the sun rises, we are left pondering again how very precious life is.  That knowledge makes all moments more poignant.

We grieve with our son.  We don’t push ourselves or him to get over it, but to get through.  We are aware that sorrow's work takes time.  We feel bereft but press on as usual, filling in the gaps.  We have grown up.   We feel responsible.  We live more consciously and hopefully less selfishly.  Moments pass heavily by virtue of something difficult to define.  

We carry a sense of responsibility.  Life, days, surviving - matters.  We carry the burden of reality, too.  The place they should be, now empty. We carry the burden of our grief and our friend's family's loss - if somehow our appreciation and respect for their beloved will help, perhaps miserable comfort.  We share the moments with them when we are beyond words - alive and lost.  Through that understanding we are sustained.

And that, my friends, is not a bad way to face a new year.  Sober and sensible.   Life marches up to greet us.  For better or worse we have awoken each morning to the light of another day. How precious, if painful, life is.  Each moment, really, has value and each day is a gift.  Even though we have spent so many moments mindlessly tending to our own desires, we know better.   We know that Twenty-Fourteen, while filled today with possibility and wishes for happiness, may hold sorrow for some.  We know because it happened to us.

Life then is a mixture of sorrow, hope, friendship, love, work and play.  Life is decorated by being kind and tender, by laughing and understanding, sharing and teaching – the moments we reached out, listened, helped, watched and felt.  Those moments of shared humanity and connection will be the moments that will have the greatest value a year from now. 

If granted life for another year of days by virtue of Celestial Decree, I want to fill them with friendship, gentleness, understanding, patience and strength - to have moments less defined by what I want, even with what I think I need – and more with sharing things like sunrises.

Silent Night

Thursday's Child

Mother Earth

Chocolate Caramel Sea Salt Tart

Zero.  Feels like - 19.   My niece walks to school.  She's a trooper.  I'm seriously impressed.
Thank goodness it is only a few blocks away, though.

Fully Present 

    Reporting from Cody at 48 degrees. Fargo is just a very pleasant memory.  The weather was less than inviting, but that turned out to be a non-issue of sorts.  Three stunningly assembled Christmas concerts under our belts, three sold out concert halls filled with hardy North Dakotans defied the importance of weather.  We returned well-rested, well-loved, wowed.  The words to describe our weekend are a generic bunch. Wonderful.  Amazing.  Beautiful. Impressive. Cold. Valued. The same words will describe a thousand Christmas events this season.  Bear with me while I try to find a way to say something that appropriately expresses awesomeness.

My grown up sister, her growing up daughter in close proximity; a rare vantage point for someone inclined to observation.  Challenges are being tackled front and center with occasional support and more than usual self confidence. She's her father's daughter, so she deals decisively with problems.  Understanding and moral support is not considered unessential, however. Impressive was being on the receiving end when spot-on words of council were delivered in a heart-to heart chat with my sister.  Who doesn't get stuck from time to time?

Cozily ensconced in an afghan, the three of us watched a contraband replay of the solo performance while waiting for our order of takeout Papa John's pizza and tried to make friends with a playful kitten.  The rental car (from downtown, not the airport - way to save money!), was parked in the driveway for the evening, on hand to save us from freezing our buns off during the squeaky cold, snowy trips to the concert hall, shopping, Sunday fellowship and errands.  

After shedding our layers in favor of indoor warmth, we had decided to stay for lunch.  Compliments to the chef for her tasty Thai creation.  As I stepped through the door, I noticed how little separated me from extreme elements in my temporarily homeless state. Thin walls, an adequate door, plastic sealed windows, heat someone else was providing, and my sister's child were the only things separating me from a quick, certain death on the North Dakota plains.  It was humbling and awesome to be inside that circle.

Secret Santa excursions for searching out exactly the right gift in a rather limited time slot, errands in freeze-everything, don't-be-silly weather, and especially fridgid concert nights were taken in stride until we saw a man begging.  I certainly don't know if he could have found a colder place to stand. I wanted to roll down the window, tell him to go inside and wondered.  Was there an inside to be had?  The trek from parking lot to car was a matter of a few dozen steps. Long enough to make you wish for another layer of everything.  It was all about soldiering on despite the temperature, attending to the task at hand, being fully supported, and not just on icy parking lots in dress heels when I should have worn boots.  The days are getting shorter, the weather outside may be frightful, but my thankfulness for my little circle of caring people is greater - partially due to one frozen beggar standing in the middle of the street in Moorhead, Minnesota.

     We were three parts of a whole; a goal-oriented team sharing each win.  Most of the win was witnessing a touching, reverent, nonsecular performance planned to the finest details while embracing the talents of hundreds - soaring voices, quick fingers, responding instruments.    The wonder of it all was accompanied by the certainty that these adults and young adults each had expended countless hours perfecting their presentation.   The program was seamless from narrator to conductor while orchestra and harmony showcased the soloists with the assistance of an amazing lighting crew.  Part of the win was to find the common thread throughout the weekend: capable baby of the family thriving on her own, leading the way, and not just as the talented soloist in the concert hall.  

  Part of the win was setting aside the cell phone and returning to it reluctantly. I appreciated moments of clarity, as well.  Certain things caught my eye so I took cell phone pictures and sent them - specifically making a connection with a certain person in mind.  In those moments, I realized I want to do more connecting.  Cell phones make it easy enough to share moments of wonder, humor, and humanity.    

     We insisted on seats next to each other on our flights to and from Denver.  Yes, that was planned, requested and purposely re-arranged after being disarranged.  We had a slumber party for three.  We celebrated concert night.  We celebrated the soft ambiance of a sweet little house of indeterminate age and sometimes chilly spaces; we celebrated roommates, a tiny Christmas tree and that skittish kitten.  We celebrated saving the day by finding exactly the gift we had been looking for after all and using every moment of time well, with one eye on the clock.  Moments.  All important in different ways, and I was present for them.  That was amazing.

   TJ Maxx never fails to deliver me into temptation, and Subway helped me back out of it. Nichole's Fine Pastry had prepared delicious post-concert tea and treats even on a deadly cold North Dakota night. All in all, we left Fargo with full hearts, not to mention sugar overload; and for me, two more pairs of shoes to fit in my luggage.  We survived the realization that de-icing hadn't happened soon enough to connect us with our flights and ignored the turbulent winds of the unfriendly winter skies.  I don't know what I thought that guy next to me was going to do to save me when I grabbed his knee, but that was quite a bump - reflex action and a bit embarrassing. Long delays changed flight times but United had it covered with text messages about alternate plans.  Impressive.  Ready or not, we made it home safe and sound, poised to tackle the next holiday chapter, fully present, flavor-filled and probably not sugar free.

Super Multi-tasker

Manda Panda in the Pastry Shop

Mom was right - we would come to like each other one day - even Janis and I who seemed to have a particular gift for discord back in the day.

The house was filled with the sound of music.

Tolerable.  Then the sun goes down.

Mama-Mia

Sun Up

She shall have music wherever she goes.

                 

Lessons Learned in Solitude

Ice Krispies for Breakfast
 It was going to be all about nature this week - but something came up~Thanksgiving!

Not feeling so good.

~Après-ski

The usual Thanksgiving dinner: vegetables, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, turkey,
opps, Grandma got distracted and forgot to make the rolls.  There were olives, pickles and apple pie.   I don't think anyone missed the rolls.  

Pride is for thugs and felons.  Look at that.

So much can be accomplished when it doesn't matter who gets the credit.

Irene Bement

I suppose everyone expects me to have more great wisdom this week since last week blew you away, right?  Well, maybe one or two wouldn't mind seeing me take a good trouncing - or would be happy to help to give me one.  Story of my life, but my critics are in for a treat, (hey, I know you are out there) because it just so happens that I don't have more wisdom.  I have less.  I think it's supposed to work like that, though, so it's okay.  That means a good trouncing is out of the question, I hope.

This is the message: the more you learn the more you understand that you don't know.  Oh, you don't think that is a brilliant, life altering revelation?  I know, we've all heard it before.   I have got news for you.   I would suggest that familiarity does not make it less valuable.   I just got another look at it, saw things I should have seen it before but hadn't really embraced the lesson.  It seems clear as the mountain-tops, blue as the sky above.  Revelation can have the effect of literally silencing a person.  Has that ever happened to you?

It is a helpless feeling when you think, like I do today, that I am supposed to say something and you become aware that you know less than you did last week.   Pretty sure this blog post will be short. I just want very much to be silent.  Despite the feeling of not knowing what to say, of wanting very much to say nothing, I actually like being in this place.  It's liberating.  

With epiphany came understanding: the best thing for me to do is to quietly wait.  Feeling more than a little helpless makes me listen - and somehow conversely, I may be smarter than I used to be.  Sorrier, too, for all the times I ran into this great wall and thought I could vault over problems both minor and earth-shaking by sheer force of will despite every previous indication that my magnetic personality wasn't the answer to life and everything in the universe.  

I like how it makes me feel: humbled, of course, curiously free.  It helps me understand that I have said far too much already, and the best thing to do is say nothing; to wait.  Which I hate.  Please don't make me wait too long!  But then, it's not about me - not really.  It's about you.  A calm you; because that is an influence I am not yet ready to surrender.  

I like knowing that the best thing I can do, after my notorious calming influence, is get out of people's way.  I hope you aren't laughing.  Just ask my kids how calm I can be.  No, never mind.  Don't ask them. I have very passionate opinions about humans or snakes, but I'm eerily calm about dogs, cats, and ummm. Ants.   Anyway, what I learned in solitude is that the answer people are looking for is within their own heart.  Comparison to someone else doesn't cut the mustard, so although it's easy to say so-and-so can do this or that, just don't.  I know you will, but it's  pointless.  We're all human; flesh and blood, but we aren't all the same inside our heads or hearts.  

Hearing from me what you should do is the worst way, the most inaccurate way and the least appealing way to get the news.  I'm not your doctor.  We can't just hand out general information to our friends and they probably weren't aware we're a walking set of encyclopedias so they haven't asked, but we always have to get the basics out of the way: Did you try...etc.  

Everyone has tried the easy stuff already, trust me, they have.   Your friends aren't stupid.  At least not that stupid.  They are just waiting for the moment when it is safe to identify the real answer; the moment when it is safe to share the real answer, the hard answer, when they won't be mis-judged for their action.  You know the one I mean: the Answer that makes you dig down deep for the courage or the integrity you need - that comes when really you don't have any other option.  

This does not apply to your doctor.  Please listen to your doctor.  A second opinion (or several) is great.  Ah, come on.  Do your own research.  Everyone should have the basic care and keeping of the human body down pat, by now.  If not, get started.  ASAP.

After this insight, (thank you Solitude, Utah for being there for me) I feel like I have a better grasp on the concept that maybe someone has just been waiting for me to just get out of their way for a very long time.  They may need to feel very safe before they are ready to take the next step.  If there is anything I would like to give, it is this:  that my close friends, my family would feel safe; courage to fight the good fight, confident of my belief in their value, certain of my acceptance and understanding.  Confident and unconcerned about being questioned for their motives, character, or vision even if it isn't the way I would do it.  If I can't give good support I need to remove myself from the vicinity, because I've totally screwed up before.

Aside from that one time, even those people who do not believe in my extraordinarily brilliance, who possibly aren't hanging on my every word for any good reason (all the wonderful, brilliant, slightly or very distant people in my life who have their own bubbling or turbid well of wisdom or shame) can find their Answer, too.  A loving, silent assist; I really hope I have learned the lesson.

For having no intention of posting one thousand words, like an over-achieving cement mixer more content tumbled out than intended.  To choose timing over slicing content means it is publishing time.  This is what you get for encouraging me, sisters. I really do want to be a better listener. 

Dimmer Switch on Soft and Slow

Mr. Right.  As in "always right."   Seriously, though, he is a champ, a hero of the first order. No joking.  Mindy tells about waiting, shivering in the running pickup, heater cranking, while her Dad was working outside to thaw someone's frozen lines, or clean a sewer. More than a few customers could vouch for heroic endurance.  I don't actually hear the stories but I see what happens while I keep the home fires burning. It happens all the time during winter.  Comes in long after dark, exhausted and frozen. Takes a hot bath, eats some supper and does it all over again the next day - heading into battle against the worst of conditions because of the need, because he does not spare himself. The man deserves a medal.  And this new warm hat. 

Miserable cold.  I got it, so I know.

Simple toys are best.  When will we learn?

Fire building lesson.

Proud as Punch

Not crazy about the new phone camera -
Takes all kind of editing and fuss, but
the memories are keepers.

Okay, it does well in daylight.  More buttons to work on, maybe.

A Plug for VRBO.com ~ Swiss Chalet belonging to the Florin family, Solitude, Utah

A Plug for Wyoming -

Okay it doesn't all look like this, but have you ever noticed how magnificent the sky is?

Thursdays' Child

So much wisdom, so little time.  Here I am, putting my very own nose to the grindstone – determined that before I got to bed this very day, I will write my 1000 words - because it has been strongly suggested that we should write – to simply make the effort.  I’m not exactly sure who this “we” is, except that it feels like the words are spoken directly to me; to the heart of me I thought I had shut the door on forever.  With some measure of regret, I have fought this beast off before, a battle that did not seem too hard to win. Rising feelings were wrestled to stillness, the artistic self that had lost its way was found and shoved into a box for someone else to discover in another lifetime, another era.  I was hesitant to put my heart on display.

I feel like there is a plethora of people who want to write, who do write; people who will publish their work, and who may have more to say, or at least have more confidence in their “voice”.  I write this day, this evening, because I have heard that the more one writes the more possible it is that something of value will be produced.  The thought recurs of other writers. My breathing gets a little shallower at the thought of being judged by my peers in word-crafting. By contrast, it is much easier to accept the praise of those who judge us gently, lovingly.  With effort, I fill my lungs with a deep, cleansing breath.

Maybe you have noticed that when you buy a car, suddenly you notice all the cars just like it on the roadway – and you think they must have been there before, but you didn’t notice them very much until now.  Now there are so many and some of those cars are shining a little brighter than yours is right now.   Some are gleaming, as a matter of fact, while yours has seen the splashy side of a mud-bog for a lane a few more weeks than you plan to confess.

Okay, let’s just say then that I am writing because I want to get better at my craft.  The question arises with some persistence, am I good enough?  The answer is no, I am not good enough, yet fully aware (from various supportive relatives, high-achieving friends and a daily dose of motivational sayings) that is a factor that I should not let stop me from trying to improve.  Just maybe there’s enough to work with that I can use to advance in my craft; enough to get paid to do it eventually.  Now there’s a thought with some hope attached.

Or should I focus on taking pictures?  Am I good enough?  The answer to that again, is of course not!  Which am I better at? More importantly, what is marketable, and how do I know? Do I have a future taking pictures and if so, I need to start taking myself seriously as a photographer,  Up until now, I have hesitated even using the word photographer in reference to myself.   Photographer.  Photographer.  I listen to the sound of it; try to apply it to me, feel ambivalent. If I don’t sound very convincing to myself, what makes me think I ready to meet my critics?  By the way, where and when did all this self-doubt arise?  Is the criticism of others harder to take because it echoes the secret thoughts of my own inner critic?

 Feeling vulnerable actually means that I feel somewhat suspicious about the safety of presenting my work.
Beyond the prospect of being judged, will others really be harder on me than I have been on myself?  My own self-doubt (also known as my inner critic) has been a vicious foe, enough to keep me from producing very much already, so once I get past that stage this time, I am sure there’s probably something I can learn from or about those who don’t particularly like my work.

New endeavors open up daunting possibilities; among them that someone would be inspired to live their own dream - as I have been inspired by the talent of others, doubtless someone more talented than I.  Will it fire up my admiration or some emotion less altruistic?  Important questions that I need to answer: Am I content with what I produce as an artist?  What is my story?  How am I going to tell it?  I know what work is.  I raised three children and a husband, managed rental property, helped run a plumbing business.  I understand the time and energy commitment of business.  I would be very foolish if I didn't consider carefully this aspect of producing and presenting my work.

What about really spending some money and time on equipment, on software, on classes? Because there is a commitment of funds and especially an investment of time, I feel like it is important to know if I’m really that in love with the work I’m considering.  Is this really following my heart?  Setting aside the basic premise that I am not especially gifted mechanically, would it not be easier to become a plumber?  I’m not head over heels in love with the idea of becoming a plumber, but everyone needs basic repairs. Whether they are willing to pay for it or not, it is something that would be useful to me and others.    So, obviously, artsy types of work need some justification, in my mind.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I am so aware that there are others more creative, that my skills are fairly basic.  What could be scarier than not being good enough? 

Bubbling to the surface, insistent and haunting, arises an old question.  Do I have something in my head that interests people enough to profit by it?  If I get it out there where it can be examined, where my work can finally be seen and judged, the words spoken that can’t be withdrawn may be, at the very least, misunderstood, twisted, misconstrued...and mainly, un-certified.  This, my heart!  What if it completely falls flat?  How much weight do I give to what is not said - my silent, seemingly neutral watchers. What if my production is not very marketable? Ah, but what if it is?   And if so, just what, out of millions of thoughts every day, can be distilled down to the VIP: very important point.  Do I want to make the focus of my time developing basic skills that I have?  It’s a true commitment to choose a direction – easier by far to go about my usual routine, coping, not changing.  Change is peculiar – the adjustment phase of figuring out how much time is available for pursuing new endeavors chafes; people are smart and aren’t really going to suffer fools gladly - I need to produce something of value and do it regularly.  If that is not a daunting thought I don’t know what is.  

The humor of life – the sadness, the joy to be expressed ---all wrapped up in vinegar and brown paper because, like Jack and Jill, I slipped up and broke my crown somewhere along the way – could those wounds that are common to mankind be useful in making us feel more connected, somehow?  Then there’s the exposure of myself – baring the heart I have long practice at keeping meticulously protected.  Besides, if it were so that the crown was broken, it seems like there should be one certain event; I would have a specific moment when that happened, but it was actually more of a process.

Like Alice in Wonderland slipping through a rabbit hole and arriving in another complex and interesting world full of impressions.  My mind would be buzzing.  My crown, if I possessed one, would be askew.  Straightening it as I rose to the occasion like Alice, I would be more aware.  I would see things.  Like White Rabbits, hasty and consulting frequently with large pocket watches, constantly fretting over being late.  Or the Queen of Hearts:  arrogant, self-important, a little ugly both inside and out.  And then, I think, I am there already.  I see those things now.  I wonder why it took me so long to verbalize these perceptions.  Because, like the White Rabbit, I was a bit distracted – time was both of the essence and a burden – what with laundry to do, and all, you know. 

I decided to count my words and it was only around 600.  Four hundred more words, and I have said all I have to say.  So maybe you want to go on this journey with me.  Maybe we will find out as we go what our stuffing is like; what we are made of.  What we have that is real, what is from a place deep inside us of true passion.   Am I too old, too…tired…too what?  Is this just another excuse to set aside the dream? 

By the way, what is the dream, anyway?  Have we addressed that?  I think specifically it is to write a book. Something people would want to read; where my thoughts are considered interesting enough to resonate with the deep base notes of another human being, to be validated for my life experience by someone else deciding to spend their precious time considering my perspective. 

There I go again, thinking scary thoughts.  I’m reminded of the night my little sister and I decided to climb to the top of the barn and spend the night in the cupola.  Carefully, we hauled several loads up stuff up the ladders, across the planks, and made our little nests with sleeping bags and flashlights at the highest level. Darkness fell.  Who knows what all we had with us besides sleeping bags, pillows, p.j.’s and some snacks, but I know it took more than one trip up into the highest rafters to settle in.  At daybreak we re-appeared to use the bathroom.  We found Mom waiting.  She hardly slept a wink all night, so worried that we would sleepwalk or roll off the platform in the night and fall to our deaths.  Such a thought had never occurred to us.  Dad did not lose any sleep that night.  A lifelong proximity may have been his secret sleep aid.

And then I find this – the words have been waiting to be said and there’s something almost poignant about that fact.  I tremble, not just because of sleeping on a small platform practically in mid-air next to a 75 foot drop off sans guardrail, but because writing and photography seem less valid than a “real” job.  Because doing something I like to do might be cheating death somehow.  

The amazing thing is that we learn through withholding our real self, that there’s more inside, even if it’s a different “more” than we had before.  Our inner artist, what is left of it, struggles to get out.  It fights for daylight, pressing to the surface like a swimmer out of air.  Suddenly this part of us needs to breathe, must breathe, and if at all possible, will breathe.  Part of us also prefers “some privacy here, please, thank you very much”. 

The voices we hear are persistent.  We become aware that we really can’t have it both ways.  If misery loves company, could it be that success does also?  Is it possible that misery and success co-exist?  Voices call, speak decisively.  Some are eager that our voices join their rising tones, they compel us.  Some have heard all they want to hear already and are unimpressed; the formidable critics row.  Are we joining misery, success, or both, and will this really change us or change something for the better?  Is the value of what we gain more than the privacy we lose? What will we regret, either way?  Perhaps we can be persuaded to fully rise to the occasion, even to a victory shout, to destiny.