The next 7 or so days promise to be insane as I try to take care of and enjoy everything that will be going on during them so I am not even going to add to the chaos by feeling the need to blog.
I'm sure commas were needed in that sentence up there, but I don't have time for commas. Commas will have to wait until next week.
Back when the dust settles.
It's pouring today. It's not raining, it's pouring. It's hard to see, but I did see the bus barreling up our street 12 minutes early. I yell for the youngest lamblet and scrabble for the door. Her stop is a block away and if we're lucky, the bus driver will see us and pick her up in front on his way there. The bus driver stopped alright because my lunkhead of a dog decided this was his chance to express his reined in wild side. He bolted out the door, running willy nilly in the rain.
At this point, another neighbor has his kids out and is trying to get them to the bus, stop our dog and not get soaked. I yell to my lamblet to get on the bus which now has its door open and I run for the dog thinking the neighbor looks awfully clean and a muddy dog might not help his morning.
I get the dog, am heading back when I see the bus stop at its usual stop. I exhale, keep heading back home where Grizzled has the nerve to be laughing. I'm wondering where he was this entire time. As we get inside, we see the youngest lamblet's bus coming up the street. The rain has slowed enough that we can actually see the driver and realize that one was indeed her bus. She's on the wrong bus. Grizzled, while looking out the window, said, "Gee, I wonder what school she's going to??" He's laughing, I start to cry thinking of the insane mother making her child get on the wrong bus.
She did make it to her school. Apparently the bus we were all running for in the deluge was just taking a shortcut and that's why it was going up our street. The driver, whoever he or she was, I never saw him or her, had the presence of mind to let my lamblet in out of the pouring rain and then escort her to her appropriate stop where she caught her actual bus. We found this out when we called the school to make sure she was there and not at some other district school. She was there. She was fine, but apparently she had been talking because the last thing the secretary asked Grizzled before hanging up was, "Did you get your dog?"
The dog is now on lock-down. As I have said before... this is the first dog that either Grizzled or I have had that has never been trustworthy enough to stay unless we're up at the lake so he's rarely off his leash or chain. You'll think he's finally come around, is finally getting it and then there will be a morning like this and blammo, he's off like a shot. All of my years of good dog ownership down the toilet with one goofy pooch.
As if the morning hasn't been insane enough, I now get to head to painting class. Only 2 more to go.
Yes... I am... a state I remember fondly, a state I also wanted to leave and not because it was terrible, but because I heard life's call elsewhere. Every time I hear someone bash on Indiana I think of all of the opportunities I was given there. Every time I think of Indiana, I think of a state where my eyes were opened and I was allowed to see the world outside while given the safety and comfort to explore.
By all accounts I should have been raised in a narrow fashion. My parents, both from Indiana, raised their family there, but, my parents, both of inquiring minds, realized there was a world beyond. My parents, of humble beginnings, eventually became a surgical nurse and an art dealer with both traveling the world and expecting the most from their children whether raised in Indiana or not. Indiana was not an excuse to set our sights low. Indiana was a beautiful place to rest in between mental and physical travels.
My parents worked hard and we had many comforts and luxuries. We could have been happy where we were, but we were also taught about the world at large... . The world came to us in the form of many exchange students and business colleagues, but also in the form of trips over the border.
I also attended a state school! Yes, I was ambivalent about colleges when the time for my enrollment came so I went to Indiana University. It was a beautiful campus, but it was also there that I found my world view enlarged even more! Yes, a college in Indiana was capable of teaching diversity and complexity... more so than I had even touched in my diverse and complex home... Indiana raised and educated an open-minded and diverse person.
I am grateful to Indiana... always will be. It was where I got my start... a safe place where I was able to slowly checkout the world at large. Indiana has some large, ugly spots as well, don't we all... but I won't deny her. She is a part of what made me what I am and I am forever grateful.
My husband says my experience was the exception and not the rule. He's probably accurate... but you know what? We exceptions exist and if there are exceptions, the place can't be all that bad.
It's been a funky few weeks lately. I've not been in sync with the life around me on any number of levels and I've probably taken responsibility for too much or have taken too much personally.
I'm not the only one, others seem to be coming out of a funk, rising out of a dismal haze. Maybe it's just the lengthening of the days. Maybe it's just focusing on what's important and not sweating the small, petty stuff. Maybe it's just realizing that this too shall pass so you better hunker down and enjoy the good as well, because it's not guaranteed either.
Things feel good right now. I was getting there, but the warmth outside, the emerging daffodils and the commonsense words of friends made it all the more clear and for that, I am grateful.
Have a good weekend everyone... and now, a song I've put up before, but it needs to be played again.
Dr. Fish is giving us a glimpse of his softer side. Go read his post about his daughter's 2:30 AM wake-up calls. There isn't a parent alive who doesn't have a love/hate moment with that time when a sweet little child realizes they can get what they need from themselves and that we won't be heroes forever.
She had learned a lesson tonight. She had learned that she could not always rely on her father for comfort. She had learned to comfort herself. While this was the lesson that had to be taught, was the lesson I had taught, I found no comfort in it.
I found loss.
Read the rest here.
I overheard the eldest lamblet talking to her sister the other day. She saying something about, "Mom and Dad being semi-happily married for X number of years...". I had to step in and ask her what she was talking about. She said that her father and I seemed to be happy together, but there were also many times when we were less than thrilled with each other. As I started to launch off on my "Marriage is a Challenge No Matter How Much You Love Someone" speech, she cut me off and said, "No, I think semi-happily married is a good thing. The marriages where people are always swearing they're 100% happy are the marriages where one of them ends up dead!"
No doubt killing each other with kindness... :)
Yes, I know I said I was pulling the blinds on the blog for awhile. I'm still up to my neck in work that needs my whole focus, but I couldn't let the day go by without briefly touching on one of those nice surprises that you don't fully expect.
I had painting class again today. It was a make-up from a couple of weeks ago when my youngest lamblet was oh so sick. I was not looking forward to it. I had just gone yesterday and had had my usual struggles with those who say they want to be taught and yet show every sign they don't want to be taught unless you stop teaching... No, I was not looking forward to today, especially since it's really nice out and the snow and ice are melting and the sky was clear, but I went.
It was going to be a small class. Most people had previous commitments or just didn't like the thought of the schedule being changed. That's ok, I thought. I'll take a small class. I'm not up for more and I was grateful when only 3 out of the possible 4 showed up.
The women ranged in age from late 60's to early 80's and also ranged in abilities. One had been painting longer than I have been alive and one only started this year. They all told me to just sit down and to not set up anything that they would work on their own stuff. So I sat and we talked. We talked and we listened and we opened up.
It was nice to hear their stories and for us to compare where we were at life-wise, etc. One of the women is turning 81 and is going into Senior Living center on Monday. Another woman is 72 and I would swear is no more than 58. She’s confident and adventurous. She does so many things and goes so many places and just seems very young for her age. I also love that she can ask for help and not mind being helped. The last woman, the one just starting painting, is in her late 60’s, she sounds like she's had kind of an odd and hard life, but she is so funny and is just full of insights. She was an accountant before she retired, but when I listen to her, I hear the heart of an artist. She sees things that only an artist can see.
It was a nice class. They worked on various painting projects, but mainly we just talked and even better, people listened. Today there was no one-upping, no passive aggressive tendencies, just a sharing of creativity and stories.
Today people painted, people talked and people listened.
... and the blinds go back down...
The blinds on this blog will be down for awhile. See you sometime after the ice melts.
As most of you know, I started teaching an adult (adult in my class's case being anyone between 67-83) painting class back in September. When I was first offered the class it sounded intriguing. It sounded like another way to get out of the house doing something I love. It was to be a simple once a week thing with other people who love painting, but few things are ever really simple.
As time went on, it became clear that "learning at your own pace with individual instruction" would mean I was going to have to plan 5 different levels of activities. I would also have to set up a still life for those who didn't feel like participating. Of course I'd also have to listen to those who didn't want to participate at all no matter what I had done, but who would let me know all through class that I had let them down.
As time went on not only was I spending lots of extra time trying to come up with the magic plan, I was spending extra amounts of time worrying about their reactions, their contentment, their creative development. Most of all I wanted this class to be a fun place to be where creativity was thriving. Some were very on board, but some had to drag their feet the entire way. I tried to ignore, I tried to thicken my skin, but as time went on, I noticed I didn't even want to be around my own easel. If I were working on something for myself, I felt like I should be using the time for the class. Eventually, enough was enough. This was not how I wanted to spend my time. This was not the point of my journey so... I called the cultural affairs director and told her that after this next session was over, I would be going on my way.
This blog is entitled Saying yes... because that rule was ingrained in me during my couple of years in the Second City training center. You said yes so that forward motion would not be stopped. You said, "Yes and..." and you built on what had come before. Well, sometimes you have to say no in order to move forward. I have approximately 10 more weeks before I am officially through, but at least I have said my official no. I feel like I can look at my easel again.
Maybe I'm feeling extra sensitive today since the book I'm supposed to be is Watership Down, but I was reminded a little bit ago that hawks are still large. Hawks are still fierce. We have at least a pair of hawks that hang out in our hood. They even look large and ominous from 3 yards away, but today, they buzzed my house. I nearly had a heart attack wondering why a small child or two was going past my 2nd story window. It wasn't until they landed in the neighbor's tree that I realized they were hawks. They looked like red-tailed hawks, not even in the large range for a hawk, but still MIGHTY BIG and intimidating.
They're probably having a field day out there. We got another 10 inches or so of snow yesterday and there is not a thing outside that is not covered in white. I can only imagine how visible every little scurrying rabbit or rodent must be. I can't even imagine what it must be like to know that creature is coming for you. Heck, I was inside and I ducked and took cover.
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