Archive for March, 2009
I’m done with my new blog.
I’ll probably change it tomorrow.
I’m done taking suggestions.
I’ll probably still do whatever anyone tells me to do.
I’m done being webpagemaking illiterate. Seriously, I love this new theme for my blog. It’s taught me how to do stuff. It’s made me come to a point where I had to fire my technical adviser because I no longer need him (for technical advising, anyway). I’ve been researching, writing code, asking questions on forums, and tinkering to my heart’s content. I think it’s actually been good for my heart too. Does that make me a bonafide nerd? Whatever. I don’t care. I like webpagemaking.
Thanks for all your suggestions. You can still suggest but I make no promises to listen.
And now, for some happiness:
I would really appreciate your thoughts about my new layout. Does it look good on your screen? Is the font readable? Do you like the columns on both sides of the post or is it too distracting? I just don’t know about this whole change thing. I know I want to change the picture up top, but it seems to be beyond the limits of my brain. I’m waiting for the other half of my brain to have time to help me. But I know different things look different on different computers/browsers. Wow, I never thought I’d use the word browser in a sentence.
Let me know what you see.
After only a year and a half has passed since publishing my first year of Fierce Peace into my very own published book, I have finished Volume Two! I can’t even call it the second year, because this volume only contains seven months’ worth of blog posts, instead of an entire year. And it’s the same amount of pages as Volume One, which was an entire year. I think my commenters were out of control during those seven months of Volume Two posts.
Yes, commenters, you’re all in there….
And I didn’t even ask your permission….
I dare you to sue me. You’ll make loads of money off of all those people buying my book at $70 a pop. Basically me and my mom.
Anyway, here’s a little preview for your reading pleasure:
On to Volume Three!
We awoke to the sound of wind and rain.
We had just four days ago sprung ahead one hour, plunging our normal morning routine into darkness and solitude, making us all a little quieter and bleary-eyed than normal as we set about the business of getting ready for the day. I got a cup of coffee and prayed for my soul to be still and know that thou art God. One daughter took her uneaten lunch from yesterday out of the fridge and repacked it while I made another daughter’s lunch: tortilla wraps with cream cheese and ham, carrot sticks and ranch dressing, lightly salted kettle chips and apple juice. Two daughters came out in short sleeves and hats, since today is Hats Off to College day at school. I told them the temperature would barely rise out of the 30’s today, even though it’s been in the 80’s all week. One daughter put a sweatshirt on and one said who cares. I threw on slippers and a coat and drove them in the dark, driving rain, the road ahead of me a blur of headlights turned into stars through prisms of raindrops, and puddles turned into six-foot arcs as cars inched their way through flooded streets. I came home and pulled into the garage, ignoring for now the garbage can in my driveway that the wind had overturned in the night, strewing neatly-tied white plastic bags and one cardboard pizza box all over the driveway.
I checked my bank account, email and made one online purchase while one daughter finished piling her hair high on top of her head. She wore her sister’s black boots that had been the cause of so many tears just one day earlier and let her mother’s black hoodie drape casually off one shoulder, revealing the purple t-shirt underneath. She made herself a cup of coffee with cream but no sugar and got in the car with her stuffed, purple backpack weighing her down and splitting open at a couple different seams.
-Did you eat, I said.
-Oh… no, I forgot.
-Can I get you a banana to go with that coffee?
I hurried back in and grabbed an unopened box of Oh’s along with the banana and we were off once more, avoiding freeways and being thankful for traffic reports of overturned 18-wheelers on I-30. She told me how she had watched an 18-wheeler smash a little black pick-up yesterday on the way home from school with Bethany and her dad. Bethany’s dad called 911. I wondered how close it had been to being them and thanked God for one more day and prayed once again for my soul to be still. She asked if we could listen to Michael Bolton’s Georgia and I thought about how I had first heard his version at her age and listened to it over and over and over in my room overlooking Homedale Road, while the Oregon rain flowed down my bedroom window. She asks for that song every day on the way to school. We turned it up loud and longed for that old sweet song even though neither of us has ever been to Georgia.
I said I love you and have a good day at 9:01 and made the half-hour, drenched trip home, avoiding right lanes where the flooding was worse and avoiding being in other drivers’ blind spots. I pulled in the garage to the sound of Waterdeep. Right now it would be a lie if I said I don’t mind, if I said I don’t mind. I ran out in my slippers and picked up the strewn white plastic bags and cardboard pizza box.
I came inside where the heat had just kicked on, said hello to Togo, put away the still-unopened box of Oh’s and made myself two pieces of cinnamon raisin toast.
I slathered butter all over them.
She can’t decide.
She wonders at everything, endlessly wondering, never arriving at anything solid.
She seeks stability until it bores her and then she recklessly runs after change.
She mourns her babies and longs to tenderly hold them once again, gazing in their eyes while softly cooing and rocking, easily protecting them from known and imagined evils.
She desperately tries to capture the present, soaking in each physical moment, observing, believing, recording, loving and grieving, until the moments go the inevitable way of all moments before them and slip just out of grasp, carried away, never to return.
She knows that there is no worth in the capturing and yet she continues the pursuit, at times even finding great comfort in the worthlessness of it all.
She has no formal education and is not technically qualified to do any of the things that she loves to do. Sometimes this is a source of insecurity and sometimes it is a source of freedom. Sometimes freedom and insecurity hold hands and jump together.
She is paralyzed by most questions and often hides from others just to avoid answering them; not because she doesn’t like the answers, but because she doesn’t know the answers and probably never will.
She has goals of sitting on top of hills after climbing them, canoeing on foggy lakes at dawn, leaning into the wind at a 45 degree angle, eating Indian food with a good friend, putting words to her thoughts, never driving on a freeway again, and wearing dresses all summer long.
She is keenly aware of the hope that she has while remaining keenly aware of the hopelessness that threatens to consume her.
She rests her weary soul in the love that will not let her go.
She rode the swings at a parking lot carnival last night. She paid five coupons from the coupon book. She reassured the frightened being next to her – the one that used to be her baby. She kicked her shoes off, threw her arms out, laid her head back and flew through the night sky.
She forgot she was in a parking lot.