Searching

Right now these are just a few things I am searching for…

1. Missing mates to about 20 pairs of the boys’ socks. Where are you socks?

2. The perfect book to read by the pool–not to heavy but not too light.

3. Fruit, other than apples, that my boys will eat and not have tantrums over. I’m. Tired. Of. Food. Tantrums.

4. The next best dog breed to a German Shepherd—thinking about a puppy for the boys & Ernie.

5. Hair color that never forgets those “temple greys” and makes me look like I’m 20 again.

6. One Eliza B flip flop. You can’t wear just one flip flop now, can you?

7. A motel in Lake George that will not cost a fortune but be “resorty” enough for me, my boys and Ernie.

8. My anthology of poetry by Rumi. I know it is here somewhere.

9. My 16GB camera card. I have 2 but only see one. Must. Find. Before. August 7th.

10. Photograph of me when Henry was born on my External Hard Drives. I have so many EHDs it’s taking awhile. Must. Start. Organizing. Photos.

11. The latest issue of “Yankee” magazine, that is hiding with the latest issue of “Down East” magazine somewhere in this house.

12. The perfect color of polish for my toes. Wedding on August 7th. Must. Get. Pedicure.

13. The perfect lunch box for Sam’s adventures in Kindergarten. Along with perfect backpack.

14. Cover for my putter. It. Is. Missing. Putter. Is. Getting. Scratched.

15. An air pump to blow up Henry’s new inflatable boat. Penn’s Creek here we come…

16. Time to clean my house. It. Is. A. MESS.

17. My creative mojo. If you see it please send it back. I. Need. to. Design. Again.

18. The perfect paint color for my kitchen cabinets. I’m tired of a dreary old kitchen. Must. Paint. Soon.

19. My tripod. Must. Take. Portraits. Of. Boys.

20. Hope.

What are you searching for today?

I want to know….

Last Dog Standing

I never thought that Ernie, my black lab, would be the Last Dog Standing. Ernie (a girl, but named for Ernie Els) is not a dog that likes to be alone. Ever since she was a pup she had her sister, Gyro, to hang with, look out for her and keep her in line. The few times they had to go to a kennel, they shared a cage. We paid for two cages, but insisted they stay together. Ernie is a lab that never “took off” like labs are known to do. She stayed by our side simply because that was what Gyro taught her to do. German Shepherds are like that I guess. Ernie was her sheep to herd when we brought her home as a puppy.

So this morning I set out to write a blog obituary for my German Shepherd, Gyro, who died this past week. Instead, I decided to blog about Ernie, the Last Dog Standing. For in telling Ernie’s story, Gyro will be remembered. Isn’t that what obituaries are for afterall?

Ernie, short for Ernestine although no one calls her that since we all know she is Ernie Els in canine form, was one year younger than Gyro. My husband bought her for me as a birthday gift but she really isn’t my dog because like Gyro, she gravitated toward one master, he who feeds, walks and waters. In a way my husband was her master first, Gyro her master second. She will be 11 in the fall and for 11 years she has been living in the shadow of her sister, Gryo. Don’t get me wrong, she has a personality that is quite her own. Spend a day in our house and you’d realize that right away. But when your big sister is trained by nature to herd you and keep you in line, well you live in her shadow a lot.

But keeping Ernie in line when she was being trained as a puppy was not always easy, even for a smart dog like Gyro. Ernie REFUSED to be crate trained. REFUSED. No matter how small we made the crate, she’d mess the crate and herself. Then we had the ‘brilliant’ idea that we put Gyro in the crate with her when we went out. We soon learned that we would come home to two dogs covered in poop or pee and an even bigger mess to clean up.

So we tried the “block her in the kitchen” thing. Pushed the fridge in front of one entrance to the kitchen and got a huge piece of plywood and boarded up the other entrance with a 6 ft tall wall of wood. First day we did that we put both dogs in the kitchen. We came home to find Ernie still in the kitchen and Gryo hanging out in the living room. Gyro had scaled the plywood barrier and left Ernie inside. Afterall, her other job was to guard the house and I guess she decided that wasn’t going to work being locked in the kitchen. Just like when we crate trained Gyro, there wasn’t a crate she couldn’t escape. We tried bungie cords. We tried rope. And then we had to padlock her in the crate and lay the key on the floor so that if there was a fire or emergency someone could unlock all the padlocks and let her out. So perhaps in some dogspeak Gryo told Ernie to be a dog that refused to be crated. I think so.

Both dogs were raised for the majority of their lives on a golf course. In fact, they both were trained to never walk on the greens or the apron of the green. They knew their place was in the fairway to run and the rough to poop or pee. Ernie, like most labs, was naturally drawn to water. She loved to swim in the golf course ponds. Most summer nights we would take the golf cart and the dogs would follow us out to the ponds to catch a frisbee and swim.

Now with our two very different dogs (we’re talking intelligence here), frisbee throwing was always amusing. On land, Gyro was the frisbee champ. There wasn’t a frisbee she couldn’t catch. She’d jump as high as she had to and run faster in order to get it before Ernie. And Ernie was too short and too lazy to try and beat her to it. But in the pond, Ernie was reigning queen of frisbee. She kind of looked like an otter, just her head above the water skimming the surface, gliding to the frisbee. Gyro was the living definition of the “doggy paddle,” head high out of the water, splashing very unladylike as she could get it. But Ernie always got the frisbee in the water. Ernie ruled the pond. And in a way she taught Gyro how to swim because German Shepherds are not water dogs, they don’t take to water naturally like labs.

While most dogs these days are raised knowing how to walk on a leash, ours never grasped that concept. Gyro, with her territorial nature and constant need to run, hated the leash with a passion. When we lived in our apartment (and my Dad was the landlord) she would scare the neighbors simply by being present in the yard. We had a small side yard there and after work and in the evenings we’d throw the frisbee or a tennis ball for her. If she came within an inch of the neighbors yard the cops would be called. Some people just don’t get German Shepherds. All she wanted was her frisbee, not to attack anyone! So Gyro and the cops got to know each other pretty well. Luckily, the cop that usually showed up was a neighbor of my parents and Officer Chambers loved her, thought Gyro was the most beautiful specimen of the breed. And she was. In mind, body and spirit.

Now Ernie has never had the cops called on her. She’s just not that kind of dog. So in that sense, The Last Dog Standing did not follow Gyro. She stayed in the air conditioning and slept and ate. She didn’t scare people. She didn’t run. She knew her job–to be cute, eat a lot, bark a lot at nothing, swim and sleep. Gyro was clearly more intelligent. It only took one run in with a skunk on the golf course for her to recognize the smell of a skunk and get out of dodge. Ernie? Not so smart. She’d get sprayed. Even after we left the golf course, if we were driving in the car and someone had run over a skunk and that skunky smell was still in the air? Gyro’s ears would go back and she’d look for cover. She was just that smart.

Gyro was my safety net. Before I had children and my husband would travel, I never felt scared. I always felt protected. She alerted me to every sound outside and inside our house. She entered every room before me to make sure it was safe. The few times she was on a leash for a walk she was never a dog that would walk by my side. She always had to be out in the front, making sure the way we were going was “all clear.”

And when we had children, she became their safety net as well. She slept under their cribs. She guarded them like they were her pups. Ernie, however, is a different story. If someone broke into our house right now she’d probably not even get out from under the coffee table (her space these days) and if she did she’d wag her tail expecting a biscuit. She never had to guard or protect. Like me and the boys, Gyro did that for her, too. Gyro only showed her teeth or growled at other dogs if they came near Ernie. If we had Gyro alone, meeting other dogs was never an issue. But if we had them together, look out. Gyro wouldn’t let any dog near Ernie. That was her job.

When Gyro died last Wednesday we took Ernie with us to say goodbye to her. Most people who aren’t dog lovers or don’t appreciate the relationship these two dogs had with each other, would think this is insane. But it wasn’t. Just as we needed to say goodbye and the boys needed to tell her to say “hi” to Buc our cat who is also up in heaven, Ernie needed to say goodbye, too. So after we said our goodbyes and sent her on her way with greetings for Buc and all the goldfish we’ve sent up to heaven, I took the boys home, and Ernie and my husband stayed with Gyro until the end. Because that’s just what Gyro needed and just what Ernie needed.

Gyro & Buc

Now that Gyro has been gone several days I notice things haven’t really changed with Ernie. I think she notices the loss. But she’s getting old, too. Gyro’s chair next to our bed, the one she slept in ever since she was a pup, is still there. And as she got arthritic and couldn’t get up on the chair we put dog beds down for her. Those beds are still there, too. And Ernie hasn’t tried to sleep on either. It’s almost as if she is paying her respects to Gyro by NOT infringing on Gyro’s territory.

The house is more quiet. Since Ernie doesn’t get out from under the coffee table very much she’s not looking out the window barking at anything. Gyro’s spot was towards the end of the couch with her head resting on the arm of the couch so she could relax and still see out the front window and see the path to the door. Always on guard. Always keeping me warm in the winter when I couched it with a good book in front of the fire.

So here we are in a new chapter of dog life. Last week we had two dogs. Now we have one. Less noise–less toenails clicking on the hallway floor at night, less barking. One dog dish. One leash. Just one dog. It isn’t a chapter we want to write or live out, but most chapters in life aren’t always what we want, are they?

The Last Dog Standing is holding her own for now. She went for a swim in the pond yesterday. But there was no frisbee throwing. I don’t think she even swam very much. Afterall, her best friend wasn’t there to swim with her. I’m sure that if Ernie could speak she’d tell me she thought of Gyro in that pond yesterday, that she remembered the frisbee swimming days and the excitement they shared racing behind the golf cart, headed to their pond for a swim.

Grief has a power of its own, even for dogs.

The Last Dog Standing will teach us a lot I have a feeling…

Animals are such agreeable friends – they ask no questions, they pass no criticisms. ~George Eliot

An animal’s eyes have the power to speak a great language. ~Martin Buber

Our perfect companions never have fewer than four feet. ~Colette

While I thought that I was learning how to live, I have been learning how to die. ~Leonardo Da Vinci

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love. ~Madame de Stael

After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. ~J.K. Rowling

Tee Time

For those that know the real me vs the virtual me, you know that at one point in my life there was a golf cart just for me at my front door and I played a lot of golf. Not always good golf, but I played.

Golf and I have a history. A kind of bittersweet history in fact.

So I will share….

I met my husband because of golf. He was a golf course superintendent at Oakmont and I was a waitress in the best little joint in Oakmont. He was one of my customers. He and the other Oakmont superintendents used to come in for lunch every day. Oakmont is a golf obsessed town. If you don’t follow golf you wouldn’t know that the ladies US Open wraps up there today. Many memories of the 93 US Open, waitressing and serving many of the players, watching the little town become taken over with golfers and spectators. It was a fun time.

After we were married I realized that if I wanted to see my husband at all I needed to learn how to golf. Golf wasn’t a part of my childhood like it was a part of his growing up. I remember in college my dad went out to play golf with my brother in law in hiking boots and jeans. Yes, we were not golfers in the Fish household.

My husband taught me the basics and let me tell you, going out to play 18 with the golf course superintendent and knowing he was watching me put divets all over the course was certainly difficult. More so for him than me.

My first pair of golf shoes I won off my husband when he bet me that I couldn’t hit the ball from the fairway across a BIG pond onto the green. I did it. And I had my first pair of pretty golf shoes. I had arrived, at least in the fashion sense of golf.

When we moved to Elizabeth, PA and lived on the course that he ran things changed. We lived on the golf course. The driving range was practically in my front yard. The sound of the ball hitting the sweet spot of the driver woke me up many mornings before I was willing to be awake. It was in Elizabeth, at Riverview Golf Course, that I began to play a lot more and play a lot better. Now if my husband were to read this he would still say I was bad. Well, that’s another story…

Being a golf widow, to a husband who likes to golf and plays all the time is difficult. Being a golf widow to a husband who not only played every day but ran the course? Tougher. Lots of time waiting for the sun to go down and his golf cart to pull up to the house. I soon began to realize that if I wanted to see him I had to get out there and play. So the answer was lessons with the pro, Chad.

There was a group of four women, and while we had a blast teasing each other and often feeling as if we would never learn the game at all, we gradually got better. I really loved those Thursday night lessons. Miss them now in fact..

And then we decided to have children. And that didn’t work as you will know from reading my earlier posts. Many frustrating nights after work, after getting bad news from the fertility clinic, were spent with me out on the range either whacking balls off the tee with my driver or cleaning up the range with my irons. At the end of the day there were a lot of balls out there on the range. So I’d take my dogs and my 5 and 7 iron and just go at it.

The first time I did this I don’t think I could move the next day. That’s how many balls I hit. Hitting the balls was a distraction and exercise in venting my frustration with my life. Each ball was a baby I couldn’t have and some days it was a baby I lost.

And I began to understand a little bit more about the connection between life and golf.

And then there was the night after my last miscarriage that I realized I was never going to be a mother. I came home from the doctors and went to bed and stayed there for a long time, days in fact, wallowing in my sadness. And then I got up. I was in my pajamas. I hadn’t showered in days. I got out my clubs and got in my cart and went out on the course to play 18. My husband found me, probably because someone told him his crazy wife was out on number 6 tee in her pajamas. We finished that 18 holes together and a sad 18 turned into a fun 18 as he wagered me making dinner. Of course he won and I made dinner.

After that night I let the baby thing go. I began to play golf and slowly I didn’t whiff as much. My golf glove was no longer shiny white and tight, but gray and crinkled from wear. And the time came for me to be fitted for my own set of clubs. Real Clubs. TaylorMade clubs. It was like getting a brand new car. I actually had a set of clubs that could be hooked on the back of the cart with my husband’s and fit in. And better yet, I knew how to use those clubs. Not as well as I wanted to or he wanted me to, but I was set to learn and focused on doing so. The driving range clean up started to become a regular activity of my evening while I waited for my husband to come home from work.

After a month of playing with my shiny new clubs and seeing improvement in my game it all stopped. I was pregnant. All those months of no fertility clinics, no daily discouragement and no self pity and sadness had taken me to a place where I could let go. I let go and took up a game that demanded my attention, my daily focus. Instead of waiting for a nurse to call me and tell me “no, not this month” I was out on the course determined to master this game of golf.

So in letting go of the baby thing, I gained the golf thing. But now that the baby thing was a reality I had to let go of golf. I was a high risk pregnancy. I was told no golf. Those shiny new clubs got dusty. They just stayed in the closet even after we had Sam and moved. My husband was no longer in the golf business so he didn’t play as much either. We didn’t have golf carts at our front door, his and hers. And we didn’t belong to a course. We hit the driving range on occasion and it was nice to know I could still hit the ball, but it wasn’t the same as it used to be. But nothing is after you have kids.

Now while I find myself at a point in my life when I am frustrated and sad about a lot of things, I have decided to dust off my clubs and get back in the game. I was approached by someone at the pool last week to play in a tournament on August 5th. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. It was like my inner golfer emerged with exuberance.

Of course I warned her that my game was rusty and aside form the occasional driving range experience I hadn’t played 18 in over 5 years. She laughed. I got out my clubs and hit the driving range.

Yes, me at the driving range with the boys on a Saturday morning yesterday was probably not the best idea. With boys running out onto the range to “go get mommy some balls” and grabbing my clubs and trying to putt on gravel, it was a disaster on many levels and a challenge to do. But I did it. I hit two buckets of balls. It felt good to know that I could hit it and still hit it pretty darn far for a mommy who has been out of the game too long.

So today we will once again venture to the driving range. I’ll fill up the buckets. Put on my glove. Tee up the ball. Give the boys some matchbox cars or a sand shovel for the sand pit. And I’ll whack away all the things I am frustrated with in my life.

If I know one thing about golf it is the sweet satisfaction when my driver hits the ball right where it is supposed to and my swing follows through and the ball just takes flight. And I stand there with a smile on my face as I watch it fall right where I wanted it to go.

If I keep doing this perhaps all the things wrong in my life, all the things I want and cannot have will either become mine or slip away without as much sadness.

Golf therapy.

Join me…..

And here’s a freebie just for today….my new “Cloud Alpha”..Personal Use/S4H only! And let me know you were here!

DOWNLOAD

Independence

I could have written a lot about my thoughts of Independence Day, patriotism, being American, etc. but I defer to my buddy Walt who says it just so much better than I could ever dream:

I Hear America Singing

by Walt Whitman, “Leaves of Grass”

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear;
Those of mechanics—each one singing his, as it should be, blithe and strong;
The carpenter singing his, as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his, as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work;
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat—the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck;
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench—the hatter singing as he stands;
The wood-cutter’s song—the ploughboy’s, on his way in the morning, or at the noon intermission, or at sundown;
The delicious singing of the mother—or of the young wife at work—or of the girl sewing or washing—
Each singing what belongs to her, and to none else;
The day what belongs to the day—
At night, the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,
Singing, with open mouths, their strong melodious songs.

Thanks for stopping by and have a fantastic, AMERICAN holiday weekend!

For you scrappers here is a freebie—2 Commercial Use for Commercial Use Cloud Stock Photos and 2 Personal Use stock photos. Enjoy!

Here are the 2 CU4CU stock photos of clouds–great for making gradients or overlays–and the two Personal Use stock photos perfect for layouts or blog posts:

Remember to check out the TOU and give credit where credit is due!

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Swim Lessons

Swim lessons. A phrase which conjures up a lot of memories. A lot of pain. A lot of chlorine.

I’ll never forget those summers at the Blackridge pool learning to swim. Given my maiden name of “Fish,” there was a lot riding on my ability to learn how to swim and swim well. So swim lessons were in order. And I had many lessons.

A little background about the Blackridge pool…

It is not heated. As in “this is a freezing cold pool” in June and half of July.

At 9:00 a.m. the water was even colder and that was when my swim lessons took place. I walked down to the pool with my towel around my neck, my goggles on my forehead and confidence that was shattered every day when I walked back home, through the scary woods and up the big Williamsburg Place hill to my house. Why was confidence shattered? Because I couldn’t “get” the breathing under my arm on the side thing. And everyone else did.

So the lessons continued. The tears continued. And then swim team sign up began. The question was not “if” I was going to swim on the swim team it was when. It wasn’t my choice. Mom signed me up and off I went to practice every morning, despite the fact that I still didn’t “get” that breathing under the arm on the side thing.

So I doggie paddled my way through practice after practice that first summer on the swim team. I embraced the icy cold waters of the freezing cold Blackridge pool each morning and pretended I was the next doggie paddler in the Olympics. Until the first race. I think I was 6 years old. I remember vividly standing on the wooden starter block (the ones my dad made in our garage), scared to death. Diving was no problem, although I still hadn’t figured out how to dive with my goggles on. That was what the cool kids did–dove with goggles on.

But there I was in my sunburst red and white Blackridge swim team suit, shaking like a leaf on the starter block. I remember seeing my friends, my family, my fellow teammates. I remember thinking to myself….can I make it? Can get all the way down THERE without having to breathe? That was the only way I was going to save face afterall…swim the 25 yards without taking a breath. For if I took a breath the whole world would know that I was still a doggie paddler. I still couldn’t swim like everyone else. And that was not going to happen.

So the gun went off, I dove and I swam. Without breathing. The whole 25 yards. And I won. I won every race that summer. I never took a breath. I was too stubborn to learn how to swim the right way so I figured out how to win “my way.”

That strategy didn’t last too long. Once I won all my races and was deemed a “super speedy 8 and under,” I was moved up to swimming 2 laps. I couldn’t do that without breathing. I had to learn. I had to suck it up, take the swim lessons and get it right. If I was going to be a swimmer, which I fully intended to be, I had to conform and breathe like all the other swimmers in the freezing cold water. I had to let go of my pride and show the world that I was a doggie paddling “super speedy 8 and under” that was determined to learn to breathe.

I think about those moments when I first started swimming every time I am at the pool with my boys and when I take them to swim lessons. I see my stubbornness in both of my boys during swim lessons. But, like my mother, I sit and I watch. I wait for the moments when great strides are made and a face goes in the water and the arms move one at a time reaching out, pulling back. And the legs start to kick in tune with the arms.

Swim lessons are life lessons. Learning how to put it all together in life and in the pool takes practice. Some days, like today, I think I still need some swim lessons.

How about you?

Sometimes God calms the storm. At other times, he calms the sailor. And sometimes he makes us swim. ~Author Unknown

What goes around comes around, just like a flip turn. ~Author Unknown

If I were dropped out of a plane into the ocean and told the nearest land was a thousand miles away, I’d still swim. And I’d despise the one who gave up. ~Abraham Maslow

The water is your friend. You don’t have to fight with water, just share the same spirit as the water, and it will help you move. ~Aleksandr Popov

It’s a good idea to begin at the bottom in everything except in learning to swim. ~Author Unknown

Be

Be change
Be leader
Be catalyst
Be goal
Be defender
Be questioner
Be decision
Be reason
Be doer
Be watcher
Be confidence
Be determination
Be empathy, not apathy
Be light, not dark
Be friend, not foe
Be voice
Be listener
Be daughter
Be granddaughter
Be sister
Be niece
Be cousin
Be family

Be Emilie

-for Emilie, Westtown Class of 2010

70%

It is late at night, I cannot sleep. This past month has been a crazy time for me. Circumstances have not been conducive to sleep, to much of anything positive.

So I started thinking about circumstances. I’ve had a rough month. A rough year in many ways. And I just got further and further from going back to sleep the more I thought about those circumstances and the way handle them.

70% of our life is determined by circumstances beyond our control.

Did you know that? I didn’t either. When I couldn’t sleep tonight I pulled out the iPhone and started listening to the sermon series at my church which is all about breaking the chains that bind us to our circumstances. And this very informative yet very alarming fact was presented to me at 3:00 a.m.

70%. That’s a big number. A really big number. No wonder I feel like I am treading water and going down fast.

Could sleep be one of those circumstances beyond my control? Doubtful. Perhaps it is the circumstances in my life and the way I react to those circumstances that is keeping the Land of Nod out of reach.

I’m quick to anger, slow to forgive, eager to please, fast to self blame, super speedy to put pen to paper or mouse to keyboard and express my anger, and quite often too stubborn to admit defeat or failure. Is this my personality or my reaction to the circumstances which bring about these reactions?

I think it is a little bit of both.

70% is a lot of stuff to not control. If 70% of my life circumstances are beyond my control, finding the 30% I can control seems like the answer. But it’s not. I learned that tonight, or rather this morning.

I’ve been carrying some pretty heavy, rusty chains around. It’s starting to hurt. It’s starting to weigh me down. Those chains are tied to the 70% of “me” and hurt because I am letting that 70% override the 30% that I can control.

Kind of like focusing on the negative. Kind of like a wrecked car that gets taken to the insurance adjuster for an estimate. The adjuster looks at the car (ME) and says, “well 70% is beyond repair so let’s considered this baby totaled.”

Now I’m the wrecked car in the junkyard waiting for the wrecking ball or smashing machine.

But I don’t have to be. That 70% may be a set of circumstances that I cannot control but you know what? I can starting changing the patterns of behavior, the patterns of thinking related to those circumstances. How I react to my circumstances, that 70% considered wrecked beyond repair, is a choice. I can choose to accept that hey, I’ve got issues and I can deal with them or let them deal with me, let those circumstances become like chains and shackles that go with me everywhere I go.

But I don’t think that’s the answer.

I don’t have to be a wrecked car, a woman considered to be so damaged she’s beyond repair, beyond hope. Not only do I have 30% of me walking around that is like a shiny new car (well, sort of…I have some wrinkles and I can’t do handstands or cart wheels anymore), I have 70% of me that is salvageable. 70% of me that isn’t an easy fix, but isn’t a death sentence either.

Like the cars in a junkyard, I have parts that still function and work despite the circumstances. I have hub caps, tires, fenders, parts under the hood that still work despite being in a totaled car (remember, that car is me).

The sermon that I listened to at 3:00 am after Henry woke me up for chocolate milk had me take a look at Paul. Paul wrote books of the bible while imprisoned and chained. Not only was he shackled with chains, he was chained to a guard every minute of every day. He was never alone while imprisoned. And yet he wrote some of the most beautiful scripture and he found joy in his circumstances. He found God’s will for him within the circumstances of prison, chains and shackles.

Joy in my circumstances? God’s will in that car that is 70% wrecked? Really? I need to that?

Yes, I do.

I’m not ready for the wrecking ball or the smashing machine…

If you want to hear the sermon series that inspired this post, go here and click on the sermons and either view them as video or listen:

http://cwcmilton.org

Come Alive

Don’t ask what the world needs.
Ask what makes you come most alive, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.
~Howard Thurman

My Journey Of Hope series got put on the back burner due to the server crashing at Divine Digital, an issue we’ve been overwhelmed with for two weeks now. We are setting up a new home and getting the servers and products moved over so it may be still a little bit more time before that transition is complete. Meanwhile….I will blog!

I saw this quote in my email box this morning. As I took a sip of my HUGE cup of coffee and tried to get rid of the sleepy cobwebs in my head, I realized that “hey, I need to come alive!”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m alive now. I’m breathing and doing all the living things I’m supposed to be doing. What caught my attention was the statement or question “What makes you most come alive?” Powerful question. Especially early in the morning when my brain is still stumbling around in yesterday.

“What makes you come alive?”

This is what I’m thinking about today….

So I’m going to make a list (because I like lists, even though I”m not a list person when it comes down to it):

My “Come Alive” Things List

1. Hugs and chocolate milk kisses from my boys.
2. A quiet morning with nothing but me, my coffee and my thoughts.
3. Music that makes me tingle inside and warms my heart.
4. Music that makes me dance.
5. Reading books to my boys and sounding out the voice of each character.
6. Creating something from pixel to pixel that ends up beautiful.
7. Photographing my world and everything and everyone in it.
8. Swimming laps in a pool with nothing to do but process my thoughts.
9. Good books that keep me awake all night just to finish and leave me sad that there is “no more book.”
10. Meeting new people and learning the journeys they’ve traveled to get to where they are today.
11. Old friends met in unexpected places.
12. Conversations that appear out of no where with strangers I know I was destined to meet.
13. Someone to hold my hand—I don’t get enough of that.
14. Taking a walk on the beach at low tide while in Cape Cod….when it seems as if you can walk to the edge of the world.
15. Finding peace and quiet in the midst of chaos.
16. Faure’s Requiem….gets me every time
17. Being amongst creative people, not necessarily artists, just people with creative minds.
18. Watching the Pink Panther and Tom & Jerry with my boys….
19. Finding someone IN someone that I never knew existed…
20. Pink Bubble Gum ice cream from Baskin Robbins.

This is just 20 things that make me come alive at this moment. I’m sure if I made this list every day it would be totally different. But the sun is up, one child is up and my coffee is almost gone. Time to meet the world and see what comes alive today in my life.

How about you? Do you have a “Come Alive” list?

Make one. Then go out and meet the world.

Best,
Cyndi

Weeding

Weeds are flowers too,
once you get to know them.
~A. A. Milne

Anyone who knows me knows that I was not blessed with a green thumb. I am not a gardner and I’m not the owner of beautiful plants inside and outside my house. I don’t like bugs. I don’t like snakes. I don’t like dirt under my fingernails. I don’t like gardening.

But even more, I don’t like weeds…

Weeds get in the way of a lot of things. Not that I have beautiful gardens or container gardens. But I cut the grass. And when I cut the grass I hate seeing all the weeds growing in my yard. Perhaps if I took the time to learn about weed control I wouldn’t face the wild weeds that live in my grass. Considering my husband is a former Golf Course Superintendent, learning about weed control shouldn’t be that hard!

In a way, my life is kind of like that…lots of weeds growing wild that I need to learn how to manage.

I need to start weeding.

In thinking about how I “Hold Onto Purpose Everyday” I can’t help but think about how my life is like the grass in my yard. It is green and it grows. Sometimes I let it grow too long and cutting it is even more of a chore than it would have been had I taken care of it. From a distance you’d never know there were as many weeds hovering, waiting to grow and fester, in my yard. But up close, like when I cut the grass, I see the weeds. Like the saying, “You can’t see the forest for the trees,” perhaps you can’t see the grass for the weeds.

Perhaps all the weeds of my life, spiritually and physically, are preventing me from my purpose.

So I’m gonna get weeding. Gonna get dirty. Gonna get rid of the weeds taking over my life, getting in the way of my purpose.

The scary thing is that I know I’m gonna meet a lot of snakes in the process of weeding. I hate snakes. Ever since I saw “Raiders of the Lost Ark” as a kid and witnessed that scene where Harrison Ford is lowered into a pit of snakes, well let’s just say I have developed a strong fear of snakes. I have drilled it into my boys brains that if they see a snake they are to SCREAM, RUN & NEVER PICK IT UP AND PUT IT IN YOUR POCKET. I have a nephew that is known for having creatures in his pockets. A little garden snake is still a snake. I have no desire to meet one when I go to do laundry.

In the bible, God had the beautiful Garden of Eden. He had Adam and Eve. He had a snake (that’s the bad guy). I bet there weren’t any weeds in that garden until Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit. Perhaps weeds are another way of looking at sin, at what happens when we don’t trust in God and go our own way, doing all the wrong things.

Could it be that sin prevents the yard of our lives from being green and beautiful?

I think so. Gotta start weeding…

How about you? Do you need to start weeding, too?

Let’s get dirty together!

Today is Day 7 of “Journey of Hope,” the Download a Day Free Kit at Divine Digital. This is such a great kit and I am excited to share these freeebies with you today:

This freebie will be available in this thread at Divine Digital today only:

http://www.divinedigital.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?f=176

And here is my blog freebie for today–personal use only, please don’t share the link–send friends here to download, okay? And hey, leave a comment! I love to read what you think!

DOWNLOAD

Have a wonderful Mother’s Day Weekend!

Best,
Cyndi

Crabgrass can grow on bowling balls in airless rooms, and there is no known way to kill it that does not involve nuclear weapons. ~Dave Barry

I always think of my sins when I weed. They grow apace in the same way and are harder still to get rid of. ~Helena Rutherfurd Ely

They know, they just know where to grow, how to dupe you, and how to camouflage themselves among the perfectly respectable plants, they just know, and therefore, I’ve concluded weeds must have brains. ~Dianne Benson, Dirt, 1994

A man’s children and his garden both reflect the amount of weeding done during the growing season. ~Author Unknown

You must weed your mind as you would weed your garden. ~Astrid Alauda

Which Wind?

Today is my second post in the “Journey of Hope” series I am doing. This morning I woke up thinking about my purpose vs my usefulness…

I’ve come to learn there is a difference…

When a man does not know what harbor he is making for, no wind is the right wind. ~Seneca

Throughout my life I have worn many hats, played many roles. Being a mother is the most important and fulfilling role I have ever played. The hat that goes with the mommy costume isn’t always so glamorous though. At this stage of the game my purpose is that of being a mommy to Sam and Henry. This requires me to wear many hats. Or should I say costumes because it isn’t just a hat that defines our roles in life…

Some days I get to wear a baseball hat (Red Sox of course). Why? Because I’m too rushed to shower in the mornings. Honestly. Do you know how hard it is to shower, shave your legs, wash you hair and dry it to get out the door AFTER you’ve gotten two rugrats dressed, fed, watered and hopefully well behaved enough to let you get dressed alone?

Occassionally I get to wear not a hat but a referree striped shirt and whistle. Acutally, I wear that constantly considering how many fights I break up in this household between my boys. I blow that whistle a lot…

Often it is a maid’s white little hair piece (I don’t think I ever take that one off, it gets hidden underneath all the other hats I wear!). I am in a constant state of cleaning up after my children. Getting them to put their toys, shoes, etc. away is a neverending task. And my kitchen floor? Let’s just say I have a very friendly relationship with my mop…

Every day starting at 4:30 it is a hair net, you know the kind they wear in the food service industry? That’s me. Chef Cyndi, connoisseur, purveyor and heater-upper of all things made with chicken nuggets, tater tots, pop tarts, string cheese, meatballs, noodles, macaroni and cheese…you get it.

I always wear an apron. That NEVER comes off. The minute my backside hits any type of comfortable furniture I am required to serve food or beverage. The beverages of choice around here are chocolate milk and apple juice.

Along with that maid uniform, I wear scrubs like a nurse. Or a vet tech. I have a wonderful collection of band aids, gauze wrap, medical tape, antibiotic ointments, etc. I even have a bottle of that horrible reddish brown iodine solution they use in hopsitals. And cans of wound cleanser. This past week I’ve been nursing my dog who has a bum leg. I had to give her two enemas in the back yard. Yes, I wear scrubs a lot and for many reasons…

A daily if not hourly costume I wear is that of a taxi driver. No, my van is not yellow with black and white checks and a light up sign on the roof (although the boys would think that is fantastic). My van is black with dog nose prints and hand prints on all the back windows and cheerios, pretzels, jelly beans and french fries stuck in the seats and on the floor, along with dog hair that never seems to leave the presence of my van even though I vacuum it now and again. And some kid always writes “CLEAN ME” on the back of my van. I guess the outfit for that would be sunglasses, coffee or iced tea in hand or cup holder and t-shirt that says “I Make Sudden Stops for Bad Behavior.”

One of the last roles I get to dress up for around here is landscaper. Yes, I’m a mommy that cuts the grass. Not all year round, but during the summer I get to crank up the mower and go at it quite a bit. This is always a source of amusement in our house because for some reason my boys are of the belief that the mower is “Daddy’s mower” and that “Mommys don’t cut the grass.” Ha. This one does. So my landscaping attire includes shorts, old running shoes, tshirt, baseball hat (Red Sox of course) and iPod. And I must not forget my megaphone that is necessary to keep all boys with bubble mowers away from the real deal…

So what is the point of all these costumes, uniforms I wear to go with my purpose of Mommy? I ask myself that a lot. Afterall, I’m a mom whether I wear these costumes or not. But that’s not the point….My “Mommy Purpose” changes with the needs of my boys, just as the weather changes with the wind. Some days the wind in my world is calm and still. I may not need that referee whistle quite as much. Or no one gets sick and dogs don’t need legs wrapped or a squirt or two or three of saline wound wash, so my scrubs are left in the closet.

And then there are the days when my life is picked up by the irritable winds of reality and I am spinning like Dorothy headed to Oz. You see, Dorothy never went to Oz, she just dreamt about it. I dream about a lot of things when the winds of my life as Mommy give me pause to reflect and consider “What is my purpose?”

Yes, I doubt my purpose on a daily if not hourly basis. Some days I consider going back to work full time. But then another dandelion appears on my laptop keyboard or a rock placed on my night stand is a gentle reminder that no, this is the right wind. This is my purpose.

What is your purpose?

Which way does the wind take you?

Tell me….

And here are today’s freebies for the “Journeys of Hope” kit….

This freebie will be available in this thread by this afternoon:

http://www.divinedigital.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?f=176

And here is the blog freebie…remember, personal use and leave a comment and share with me which way the wind blows in your life right now, okay?

DOWNLOAD

There is a purpose to our lives that each day tugs at our sleeve as an annoying distraction. ~Robert Brault

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.. ~Ecclesiastes 3:1

Great minds have purposes, others have wishes. ~Washington Irving

Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it. ~Proverbs 22:6

As a man thinks in his heart, so is he. ~Proverbs 23:7

Have a wonderful, windy day!

Best,
Cyndi