Monday, May 31, 2010

We Shall Not Sleep...

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'If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders Fields'
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This was the only poem my Dad could recite and he recited it often and always with a proud Navy grin.
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This was the first poem I read and I memorized it with a reverence beyond my six or seven years of life.
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This is the poem I think of when I think of war and soldiers and combat and patriotism.
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This is the poem I turn to when I cannot reconcile why war never goes out of style, why we take arms against one another when we could just as well roll the dice or mediate our nations into some wriggly compromise.
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This is the poem I remember when it is important that I understand the protection and pride of military families who feel abandoned and disrespected when voices rise and a war is opposed.
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This is what I think of today, Memorial Day, when I think of my Dad and his stories about WWII, the ones that always without fail made him cry;
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When I think of my brother in Viet Nam;
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When I think of my precious job working in an Army Education Center;
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When I think of Deborah's PFC now Specialist Ryan;
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When I think of the horrors and highs of combat;
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When I think of No. More. War.
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Love,
kj

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Memorial Day

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If you follow the wonders and whines of Emily Rabbit, you know that there is a mighty fine poet leaving her melodic messages that bring chuckles and cheers.
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This poet is by day an Artist
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She might not know that her art includes words. And rhymes.
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There are no poems on her blog.
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Yet.
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So I offer this poem of mine to her.
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And on this Memorial Day weekend, when just being alive is so precious, I offer it to you too.
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And....anybody feel like writing some rhyme time too? Anne? Anne?
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Distraction
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The paint awaits
The sweetest fate
As though I’m eight
And already late

I’m moving slow
And well below
No grass to mow
And even so

Who would have known
The sunrise tone
From the telephone
Just might be foam

The laundry stack
Wants to attack
But instead sneaks back
in a laughing sack

Who would have guessed
My maybe best
will now confess
that more is less

The colored sky
Does not ask why
So why would I try
To reach so high?

My list is long
I could plug along
With little tongs
Instead of songs
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BUT:
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Suddenly I stop and rest--
Decide to quickly flunk the test,
Remember why I’m kind of blessed,
And snuggle in my secret nest

It’s distraction, yes, it is, no doubt
It snakes inside and then peeps out
When I forget to pause and pout
It’s because I’m playing all about

Tell me that I’m wasting time
And I’ll be inclined to remind
The kettle to forget to find
the hooting steam that fails to bind

I’m painting words upside down
Twirling, turning each around
Until they fall without a sound
Onto orange sacred ground

I might watch them dance before they spill
Just beyond the window sill
or maybe roll down the widest hill
into space that I won’t fill

It’s Saturday and winds will blow
Around everything I use to know
And should you stop instead of go
Please be glad I told you so

You can sniffle, wince, regret and moan
And cover, conquer, then atone
But when it’s clear you’ve finally grown
I hope you hightail it back to home.

As for me, I’ll still be here
Distracted from this daily care
Strangely brave about old fear,
Skipping side wards, holding dear.

You can tell me I am wasting time
But don’t forget the time is mine
And if I forget to toe the line,
Well…all I can say is: “Fine!”
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Thank you soldiers
and brave warriors for the life I lead.
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And to my friends: Why not count your blessings
and relax today?

Love
kj

Saturday, May 29, 2010

ANNOUNCEMENTS!

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I have promised myself I will catch up on blog visits and get the mulch in the flower beds before the sun sets.
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So instead here I am writing a post about some current thoughts and new ideas:
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1. I have decided to post the snippets from book # 2 on a new, 'by invitation only' blog.
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This is allow me to stop weighing and censoring so much of what I include.
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So if you would like to follow my snippets, please leave a comment here or shoot me an email. I can't tell you how much I appreciate and benefit from your feedback.
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And just so you know, if I don't hear from you , I may send you an invitation anyway, which of course you can decline!
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2. It's coming.
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I am definitely more shy than I was the first time around, but within the next couple of weeks, kj's Second Annual Sex Survey will appear. If you have burning curiosity about anything sex-related, leave your question(s) here. You can do this anonymously, you know.... :)
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3. I am starting a new series called "Life on the Cutting Board."
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The first addition involves several recent blessings in the form of the most creative friends.
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This is a bowl named "Sweet Pea" made by Annie Coe of Blissful Bohemian. Isn't it totally beautiful? Emily Rabbit says she wants to keep her supply of frozen peas in it, for obvious reasons, but absolutely, she will have to share it.
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And look what arrived today:
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TA DA:
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I am in love with Annika. I would have fallen in love with her even if I did not know who the artist is. But in this case, there is a back story that makes me happy.
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The artist is Pam Smallcomb, also known as Yoborobo. I had read Pam's comments on Renee's blog for months, but recently, after Renee's death, it seems we have befriended one another. And I have a feeling about our friendship. Basically, I want to hold on to Pam for a long time. I like her energy, her art, her sense of humor, her sensitivity, her books, her decency, her honesty, and did I already say her sweet humor? So Pam, if you're reading this, I hope you don't mind this public announcement.
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And Pam: Annika makes me smile every time I look at her. Adorable. Adorable.
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The final addition to "Life on the Cutting Board" this week is this card, which happens to be one of JB's favorites of all time. Many of you will recognize the artist, who happens to be one of my favorites of all time: Ms. Laurel Gaylord, Ms. Studio Lolo, Ms. Lo to me.

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5. I totally appreciate the concern and caring for Stella.

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Since her surgery for a Mast Cell Tumor, she is doing better but not best. We see the surgeon on Tuesday and I'm not sure what we'll do if he wants to continue her on steroids. It's nasty stuff. It would keep Stella's cancer at bay, certainly it would slow down any return of it, but at what cost?

So we will wait to see what's recommended and go from there. Hopefully, as of Tuesday, she can resume her loved walks in the park.
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6. And finally, in this part of the world, it's Memorial Day weekend. It's the official start of Summer and fun in the sun.
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I spent yesterday helping a friend and her husband move into a new house. They are newly married and this was a significant event for both of them.

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It was a pleasure for me. I came home feeling happy that I could offer a concrete act of friendship, one that I know mattered and was appreciated.

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I ended up with this glass bottle stop in the process of packing. I am saving it for JB, who arrives home tomorrow after nine days in Colorado. I already know she will like it.

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And the garden: here's where I'll be for much of the weekend. Me and the Garden Angel, grateful for people to love, for reasons to tend, even for the hard knocks that teach all those damn lessons.....
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Happy Weekend, dear friends and visitors.
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Love
kj

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Known & Not Known

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It's late and I have an early morning ahead.
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But I can't resist a quick post,
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even though I am behind in my blog visits.
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Today I started thinking about what I know
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and what I don't know:
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I know how to publish a book
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I know how to listen.
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I know how to make love.
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I know how to work a budget.
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I know how to clean a hot tub.
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I know how to forgive.
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I know how to decorate a room.
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I don't know how to change a tire.
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I don't know how to do CPR

(well, I might, but not with confidence)
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I don't know how to forget.
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I don't know the names of birds and trees.

I don't know how to read music.

I don't know what's right for you.

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I do know a miracle

when I see one:

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or two

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And thanks to lori times five's most recent post,

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I know a little about lizards.

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Did you happen to see this

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fierce yard lizard

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in the desert, Lori?

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love

kj

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Deep Love

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Illustration by my beloved friend Laurel Gaylord,
a.k.a. Studio Lolo,
used without permission

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This is a long post. I know better, and I beg your indulgence. But this essay somehow found me tonight and since I've been looking back as I look forward, the time seems fitting to share what I wrote almost four years ago; what I wrote before I called myself a Writer.
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I stand by it. My falling into deep love didn't exactly turn out the way I expected. My heart would be stretched almost beyond my capacity. And yet, here I am, wounded even, but still loving, still choosing love.
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I'm not alone. Maybe that's why each of us struggles sometimes. We have been to the alter of love, and we cannot settle for anything less....♥

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Deep Love
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In my counseling practice, I sometimes quote my favorite line from Paul’s Simon’s “The Boxer”—the one that says “After changes upon changes we are more or less the same.” But lately I’m thinking, “Pardon me, but I don’t think so”.
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These days I’m coasting along in this internal existence where time is on my side and I’ve mastered the important details. I know how to squeeze my privileged budget to drip out that trip to Italy and freely partake of the should-be smoky ambiance of the hole in the wall Smithsonian restaurant. I meet my friends there almost every Friday night and we laugh and catch up like the family we are becoming.
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I also know how to navigate the prickle of practical and craft of creative: I get the chores and requirements done first on those sometimes grey and sometimes stunning early mornings and then I write. Sometimes I doodle, or walk around this sanctuary of a house with my little Canon One Shot camera and click on the words and colors around me. Finally, I have learned to see the details-- even the woody path in Look Park and the small person-made lake where happy safe ducks float and bob and occasionally there is a wedding or some other celebration at the smallest open air wooden chapel that always strikes me as a sacred place. I haven’t yet but I would go there to pray in a jam.
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I’ve had six months of this good life. Exactly on June 30th I stopped my billable hour schedule and let my own rhythm put me to bed and wake me through the brightness of the sun or the damp of the rain. I hasten to add that I live this way because my lifelong partner is supporting me: working and keeping track of it all so I can ease into this transition of the writing life. “Ease” is a too safe and not fully honest verb here: I am feeling my way along an unknown wall. It is pitch black and I count on the wall to guide me, one step after another, and it does, but don’t ask me where I’m exactly headed. Some days I am moderately shocked that I don’t know. And other days I am significantly shocked that it doesn’t matter.
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So this is the context and the landscape upon which I have encountered deep love. How is it that anyone I say that to so easily understands what I mean? Sometimes I mention that it is the kind of love that makes you cry, just leaves you standing there wiping your eyes with your sleeve because you never saw it coming, and they understand that too.
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Other times I say it leaves me depleted by the sheer volume of its size and scope. Have I not loved like this before? How is it that I’ve lived these adult years, raised a family, worked hard, been a good citizen, and not until now truly felt and deep love all around me? Deep love: the kind that pays dividends on every emotional deposit—even the quickest glance in the grocery line, my hand on an unsteady shoulder, a decision to care and protect my friend who listens to me with sacred ears and will stand up at the alter with me, no questions asked.
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Don’t get me wrong. I already know how to love. And I’m not prone to melodrama. I’m also not in a permanent state of bliss. This is something altogether different.
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And actually, it’s not an easy existence. My heart is equipped with these little toothpicks, ready to protect itself should someone particular try for entry I cannot handle--little toothpicks: now that’s a fortified defense. This might be the problem. I don’t have a fortified defense. I don’t have much of a defense at all. I am walking along, strolling the crunchy streets of Northampton, planting my sun garden with wide hope and wide grins, writing poems and painting words with my buddy soul mate, and I am loving deeply. So deeply that I deplete and refill and expand and deplete again almost every day.
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Still, no matter how good it gets, death, drought, deception and disarray swirl around me like foreign objects—particles of dust descending on the blue pearl of my strengthening spine—but falling only on the surface, never beyond. The blue pearl is protected. I now know this from faith. Mostly these days I walk around stunned by the love around me. Sometimes it is quiet, like a prayer, other times it spikes up my spine and I gasp, sometimes I am overwhelmed by it for no other reason than I understand what it is.
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And what I understand is that my path starts with my own heart and ends at someone else's. I have been diverted and misguided and several tragic times dead dead wrong. I have twice committed the most unforgivable crime of betrayal when only love was needed, and I have watched my ego dance around every stupid purposeless question asked and expected of me: Am I right? Do I have power? Will I come in first? Am I strong enough? Smart enough? Full enough? Do you love me enough?
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But that was then. That is not today, because today I am breathing and writing on a green covered couch, looking around and seeing faces that offer me a place and purpose to be heard, who treat me kindly, who take the time, and who hear the rhythms too. It is not difficult to be right here right now.
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But none of this relieves me of the weight of deep love. Living and loving this way means that I have not only diminished my ego, but I have dropped my toothpick defenses and cast open my full and fragile heart. Not the defenses you would expect of someone who does not want to be taken advantage of, or misled, or under appreciated. And not the defenses that guard the bank account or strive for the promotion or protect hurt feelings.
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These first line defenses are now gone. They melted. Or maybe they shriveled from too little use. Or they recognized the little toothpicks of my heart would give it all up anyway, so what’s the use.
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So if you ask me what all this means to me day-to-day, I will tell you that I am way more vulnerable than ever before. I am quite unprotected and quite unanchored. I cannot tell you what my life will look like tomorrow or next week or next year. I will tell you I no longer know how to operate my skimpy arsenal of protection, and yet I feel more protected in general, not less.
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I will also tell you that I now cry at the drop of a hat or the sound of a gentle word, and I don’t try as hard anymore not to. A friend says “I love you” and I know it is true. My daughter’s voice carries a calm wisdom I have never heard before: she talks about this baby she will soon deliver and I know in the deepest safest place that enough of her life has been right. My partner walks out the back door and I swallow hard knowing she will help me find myself even when it looks like some of me will be lost to her. I look in my mother’s eyes and I know I have the deepest special honor of helping her prepare to say goodbye.
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I am transformed. I am transformed by deep love. That’s what it is. Am I happier because of it? No. Am I wealthier, or wiser, or clearer or safer? No.
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It’s not any of that. This is all it is, I think all it may ever be: I get up each morning, I put on my red fuzz slippers and my purple silk nightshirt, I make the coffee, feed the dog, skim the paper, greet my family, and I do what is expected of me, and sometimes I do what is not expected of me. I look for and welcome opportunities to love, to connect, to work, to create, to share, to understand, to see rightly and to laugh my head off.
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I am blissfully present. And surprisingly safe. Perhaps this is where I started, where I’ve been hiding all along, where I will now live and thrive. And perhaps, after changes upon changes, I have become more or less the same after all.

Monday, May 24, 2010

Sunday in the Neighborhood

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6 AM, He/she shuffled through my yard

and across the street. Doesn't look healthy...

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11 AM The yard is taking shape...

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3 PM: I cross the Connecticut River

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8 miles on Route 47: the farms are waking up
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Plans in progress
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for planting season.
In just a couple of weeks:
all this will be neat rows of green
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I'm on my way to a friend's house.
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Where I live, there are seven colleges nearby

but all around everything, it's farmland
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and open spaces
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I love living here this time of year.

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And tonight
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I settle in for the finale of 'Lost'
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And lie on the floor with Stella,
who had a good day
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And look who dropped by to say hello and send love.
Hello my beloved darling Renee.
I know...
thanks for reminding me.
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Love
kj

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Three Proverbs & One Student

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JB's Collage made on the porch one fine day
with kj and Ms. Studio Lolo
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1. When the cat's away the mice will play

Heehee :)

JB is in Colorado for a special week-plus vacation with her sister. I have not been alone for this long for quite a while. I'm not sure what will remain the same and what I might do differently. I won't need to keep things mutually neat and picked up so I wonder if I will or won't hang my clothes up, keep the kitchen free of dishes and clutter, put the papers and mail where they belong.
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I wonder if I will plan time with friends or decide to keep my own quiet company.
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I know I will care for Stella, who is slowly recovering from her surgery last week. I know I will visit my Mom, work in the yard, lay down mulch in some of the beds, plant the garden. I will write and blog. I will stay up late and get up early. I will as always savor my first cup of coffee. I will talk to myself. I will take long baths. I will watch the finale of "Lost" and "American Idol." I will work.
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It's likely my routine probably won't change dramatically, but I think my rhythm will. What that will look like, I don't know. I will do what I do and not do what I don't do. I wonder if I will feel lonely. I know I will be happy to hear from JB, I am happy she is with her sister. And I am happy to get to know myself again in this solitary way.
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2. Sticks and stones will break my bones
but words can never hurt me
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Ugly. Depraved. Dysfunctional. And there have been more. These are words involving me from someone I loved and trusted. My friend told me this week she's surprised I'm still not over it. Maybe I should be surprised too. But these words still break skin, even now. I understand alot more than I did before, but I've come to realize much of this is beyond my scope. This level of distain is like expecting me to recognize a stop sign that is suddenly plaid and round instead of its customary color and shape. I think I am not capable of understanding because I've never experienced anything like this before, never felt vilified like this before. And because I can't imagine using words like this, even in an aftermath. They make me sad, and not just for me.
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So it's going to take me a little time to catch up with this proverb.

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3.Cultivate your own garden

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I read Voltaire in college and understanding this phrase escaped me then. I just didn't get it. But I do now. "Cultivate your own garden" means focusing on making yourself better, rather than blaming others or trying to change them. It also means tending to what matters.
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I like this metaphor.
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Today I planted our tomatoes. I surrounded them with basil and marigolds as I have for as long as I have gardened, a protective shield to help them grow. I LOVE watching the garden grow. It's a miracle every time.

I think my joy is partially because the process is measurable, observable. Okay, sometimes weather and other conditions interfere but there is a step by step orderliness to gardening. Do this and this and you will, hopefully, be rewarded with that and that.

Isn't that a lot like life? There are no guarantees: and yes, weather and conditions interfere, but generally good choices lead to good consequences.

Too funny: maybe this week I'll reread some of my childhood fairy tales. I have a feeling there is wisdom in those too that I may have missed the first time!

Love

kj

Friday, May 21, 2010

A Mish Mash of Gratitude

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This is what I aspire to.
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Where does this photograph take you?
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Myself, I am transported to a magical place.
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I want to write about it (I will).
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I want to learn to use my camera like this (not possible).
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This is the special eye of Lori Graham, aka Loritimesfive.
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I am astonished, over and over,
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by how and what she sees in the world around her.
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Thank you for being my friend, Lori. ♥
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Many of you will remember that Emily Rabbit held an auction on Blogland Lane to raise money, uncharacteristically!, for several worthy causes. I was the lucky duck highest bidder for Marianne's mandala (Karin, I've wanted you to see Marianne's work!)
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My photographs don't in any way do it justice. It is SPECTACULAR. See the little pearls?
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Thank you, Emily's best friend Marianne and my dear friend too. You are amazing and I can't wait to meet up with you this summer!
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Can you even believe the sky could truly be this color? It doesn't last long, but here is a shot of Provincetown by local artist Jeff Lovinger. He and I, along with a dozen other artists including JB, built the Provincetown Artisian Cooperative. Jeff gave me this as a gift when I left town. I finally had it framed, and manoman, I bow to him.

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I did not do this justice and I almost didn't include it in this grateful post for that reason. My favorite watercolorist in the whole world is Caroline Soar, who I also am lucky enough to count as a dear friend. I promise I will show this again some time when my skills and the light are better.
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This arrived in the mail along with a hopeful heart pansy ATC, much to my surprise. Thank you Caroline. You are a treasure. Really. Truly.
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So this is the start of my thank yous this week. I had these all framed at Michael's and they came out fabulously well.
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I probably should end this post now but I can't help moving on to my yard. It brings me such joy this time of year.

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I finished stacking the woodpile, just in time for a delivery of mulch. JB had to help me. There will be crisp dry firewood next winter, not that that's enough. I don't like winter. I do like fires but I don't like winter. But what an accomplishment to get this finally done.
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Lori and Robyn, this is for you. heeheehee
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WRobin, the next five are for you:
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And last: this........
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becomes this.
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I look out my kitchen window and wave to these little flowers who are happy to dance for me.
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Sometimes they wave back.
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Happy weekend dear friends.
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If you've made it all the way to the end of this post, thank you for the privilege (a borrowed beloved saying from the ever present beloved Renee)
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Love
kj
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who is also grateful to break bread with friends....
including my dearest most special Studio Lolo,
who sat at my table while
i squealed with delight.