Please let the first day of change stick this time-

There is a day of contemplation- of finding the twists and turns and being so very angry at the people that lead you the wrong way while telling you they love you. Then you become ashamed that you listened to them instead of yourself. You trusted them instead of your inner voice screaming. You notice how it paralyzes you completely. The frustrations of friends and family feed the shame. You tune them out to get it together. You know in your brain that what they think doesn't matter when they only know a small potion of the story. But you heart knows it does. It's been more nearly half your life since you have been your own soul- potions here and there along the way, but not completely- not in 25 years- more than half your life- because of those wrong turns taken by people who believed they were doing the right thing comparing you, goading you, admitting they lead you purposely wrongly then wondering why you felt helpless and hopeless. You have a day like that and you start cleaning out your dresser. You throw out the threadbare and stained and too small shirts that have always been there. You finally throw them out. You don't have to keep them, just because they have always been there. You get rid of the shirts you should keep because they are good shirts and will keep you warm- doesn't matter if you hate the style. You get rid of those. You start folding what's left and it's surprising when you find a shirt you absolutely loved, you feel sexy in and it actually looks good on you. How could you have forgotten you favorite shirt, crammed and wadded under the ones long overdue to be throw out, gotten rid of, given back, just gone? Look at all that room for your favorite shirt- that makes you feel like you- that you now remember-

Body Talk

I suited up in my rapier armor for the first time in a very long time. It took a great deal of effort. A full time desk job has taken a huge toll on my body. I fit in want ever exercise I can, when I can. Sometimes. We had started P90-X, stuck with it for 3 straight weeks and I was starting to feel and see results, not only in how I looked, but in how powerful and in control of my own body I felt. It was easy to stop and hard to start again for one simple reason.
I hate all exercise videos. Using one is an unequal compromise. Videos (and gyms, for that matter) can't help me. Self image is the same as faith- the intent determines the outcome. It taints or tints it.
When I put in a video, there is no real goal to me. The movements feel purposeless. I focus on feel the burn and pain. I feel compared and unsuccessful. At the end of it, I have gone no where. My scenery hasn't changed. My body is tainted with the feeling that I have wasted my time. I can not perceive that I have actually done anything. And my efforts at fitness are only marginally successful.
When I ride my bike, I focus on reaching and pushing- make it to the top despite the burn and the pain. I have a tangible goal to focus on. When I climb up a boulder, or a waterfall, when I hit the target 10 times in a row, when I set out and I get there, achievement tints my self image. The body that follows shows that. I had always maintained that a muscles made from baling hay were far more sexy than the ones from a gym. The goal tints them. Makes them shine.
I am not a body builder. I know for some the reps and quantity are the goal. It plain old isn't so with me.
Climb every mountain
Swim every sea
I have conflict because my full time job means precious little time with family and even less to do things like mow the lawn. It is hard to walk away from my moments with them. There has got to be a way for a mom to find balance. And be forgiven for doing so.

Our Place- feminine voice dare

Had to get outside- snow on the edges of the yard, 40 degrees and dropping, but working in the mail room is not ok today. I don't belong in an office. I belong outside.
I put on my silk long john's, my cold weather under armor and headed out to rake the yard at 5:45 pm. I had started a new garden bed at the beginning of fall, and it needs much more work before spring.
Scratching scrape scratching scrape- heaped the pecan leaves into the garden. The boys will have a new chore of running back and forth a bit everyday to crush them up and speed composting. The soaker hose caught my attention. It kept getting stuck in the tines of the rake. I was getting annoyed by some issues between some friends and even more annoyed that I was dedicating more time to resolving that than tending to my own life. The soaker hose trapped again. And again.
There are two kinds of people, I decided. Those who pray for rain and those who use the talents and skills the creator gave them to over come the drought. It must be very insulting to give possibility only to have it ignored, or worse unnoticed. I know how it has felt at times in my life. I mulled over what my gifts, my talents and skills are. Seems silly to say I have forgotten, but the hard knocks and losses of the year made me forget. There has been unemployment, draining of all savings accounts to live, replacing cars, loosing loved ones- either from moving away or moving beyond. It's strangely difficult to remember.

There is a wonderful children's book called "I Am" by Mac. One every page are stick figures beside words that say things like "I am creative. I sing. I dance. I tell stories. I am creative.... I am strong...I am helpful...." The most important sentiment is "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not."

I was working by the street light that made the snow deep amber. I looked up, sifted through the airplanes and found the First Star.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I am keenly aware of the importance of vocabulary in these things. I had not made my new year's resolutions yet. I do this on the winter solstice. It makes sense to me that the longest night night should be the end of the old year with it's enveloping of light, and the beginning of the new one like an enormous egg with a tiny yolk of daylight that grows to something comparatively enormous. A resolution wish for me and only me- scratching scrape, scratching scrape. Last night I fell asleep thinking about a challenge tourney we were all in in May. When Erika could not decide who she should call out, I asked her "Who was the scariest one up there? Who could she learn the most from when the fight was over?"
My thoughts were like pop corn- soaker hose, drought, star, fight- me.....
I made the scariest wish, biggest leap of faith, the thing I could learn and remember the most of myself from to counter the drought.
"I wish to become everything the Maker has faith in me to be."

I can not longer lie in my later years. It's not that I am bad at it, I simply can't make myself do it. When I can say out loud "I am what I say I am. I am not what I say I am not" then my wish will have come true.

Time for dinner. Arin and Jason are cooking. And I have to write something down so I don't forget it.

3 am again, no 4 am rant

The middle of the night is the only time I feel like I have myself to myself. It is also the worst time to write, or sew and expect to be able to go to work the next day. Well crap.
Sometimes I come home for lunch just to be alone for 15 minutes. Even if the family all backs off and know Mom's in time out, their enerigies are there. My darling love is wondering and reaching out to me with his heart- it is not the same as just being alone to recharge, to find restful peace before starting it all at full bore again. I keep telling myself, because others keep telling me- there is always tomorrow, or next week- and it fills me with rage.
Later is the kind of thinking that has it all ending up being too late in the end. I've spent too much time waiting. I have full faith in all of you to be able to figure it out. Leave me to me. I don't want to go out. I want to stay here, alone. And when I come out in 3 or 4 or 8 or 12 hours, it will have helped and I won't resent being needed, or the being the only one who knows what to do. As much. The thing with moms needed to take time for themselves is something we know in a full "no Shit" capacity. It's everyone else who needs to respect that fact, and give it to us. I don't feel that this need is respected by anyone. Otherwise, they would not tell me to just do it tomorrow, or next week. And if I had that feeling about making dinner......? It's starting to sound like a reasonable idea to pack up the sewing room and let the boys have it for play room. I'm not using it and they could. And it makes me sad that I feel like my need to have my own kind of recreation feels so disrespected that it does sound like such a reasonable idea. I packed it all into the attic before when the boys were all in diapers. It cracked my heart a little each day to see what was such a part of me having to be ignored. It was less painful to put it all out of sight and forget how it felt to feel peaceful creation. There was a bit of release when I did that- like when I mowed over the gardens, or decided to stop clearing the work benches- a relief that I didn't have to be sad about it anymore because it was gone. And I stare at the TV doing nothing and feeling like I don't know anything anymore. Worse part is, I can see the same broken heart behind the eyes of the boys about the things they used to love. No time or soul to play baseball with Patrick, teach Richard to sew, play music, rock climb, draw, paint, build- I don't even know what they like anymore. I don't know any of us anymore it seems. It makes me very sad that this is the only kind of writing I can come up with because of the emotional, mental, and spiritual log jam feels iced over with no signs of spring in sight. Even more so that I have to rant and demand to get respected time alone. That feels dirty- not at all helpful or healing. I don't remember the last time I relaxed- that I was not in full speed ahead mode. I some how think if I get what needs to get done, then I will have time for myself to enjoy the things that being me peace- as long as no one else needs something from me, even if it is just love. I'm tapped out and it's hard work to scrape the inside of that barrel. Me, what I do, my time, does not feel important enough in others minds. I want to run away from home. Or change the locks, albeit temporarily. So this is Purgatory-
There's always next week, I'm told.

Back to bed. Being so worn out will not help my defeated feeling. It only makes it worse. I had a life goal to be a force of change for myself, and not a complainer. That goal is out the window tonight. I do feel better though. Thanks for listening.

This bell is ringing quiet

http://www.poets.org/page.php/prmID/121

Erika sent me this. I have been going through all my notebooks and I am having a very hard time finding 50 pages, let alone 100. To be honest, I don't have that many good poems. It's always interesting how age and experience changes everything. Some of these are downright embarrassing. I thought they were so very good and insightful and moving when I was 20. Oh, how I was full of pain and love and fear and it was all really really really important. I understand now why I was not not popular at poetry readings with my peers. Sheesh. When I read some love poetry with my mom's friends, they said they were beautiful devotionals to God. I didn't take that well at the time because I was sooooooo in love with the boy I wrote them for. God had nothing to do with it, and if they didn't get my poems, well I don't know what's wrong with them. Kids are goofy. Half my life later, I see where they were coming from, and they are right.

I have a bit more time before the deadline for the poetry contest. We'll see if I can get my soul moving enough to be poetic. It's been a rough couple weeks and I haven't had the focus to write, edit, even reread recently. It'll come.