Category Archives: Love
“Jesus is the reason for the season” ~
I just googled that phrase and this was the result:
- WEB: About 2,990,000 results (0.15 seconds)
- IMAGES: About 25,200,000 results (0.27 seconds)
Try as I might, I can’t bring myself to pull in one of these 25 million or so images into this post. Maybe I should go with the Santa suit hanging on the cross? Brrr gives me the shivers to think that someone thought of that and actually released it on the internets. That is definitely a good thing. I’m guessing that at this rate, I’ll never find out who coined that phrase or how it originated; but I can tell you one definite thing. I hate this sentence. It’s over used as evidenced by this one, single google search at 8:26 in the morning. I was never a fan of cliches, and this one in particular. The rhyming sound of it sounds so cheesy to me. reason for the season… reason for the season… reason for the season Great marketing? Hardly.
I guess we all need our little catch phrases, but I’m coming to believe more and more that using these “fun” phrases is just a way to avoid speaking the beautiful words that can be used instead and I’m not really talking about “Merry Christmas,” though I do like that and “Happy Christmas” is another one I like because it’s different. Of what I’m really speaking about are the beautiful words that come from our faith. I’m finding that we avoid using them because we are uncomfortable saying them. Not all of us are uncomfortable, though. The most beautiful people in the world go around saying stuff like, “May God bless you” or “I’ll pray for you,” and really mean it. Those beautiful words just roll off their tongues and it sounds so natural. After you shake off the shock of hearing it, you realize that you are touched by hearing words of love and caring, yet we hesitate to use them ourselves.
I guess I should interject here that I’m talking from my own experience, but believe that I’m not the only one with these experiences. IN my own experience, my very first recollection is feeling awkward and embarrassed if someone said something, anything socially having to do with religion to me. Maybe I too desperately wanted to appear “cool” at a time when I so obviously wasn’t. Maybe I was just uncomfortable expressing ANY greeting at all? Anyway, so hearing religious Christmas greetings like wishing people love, joy and peace in the same sentence, verbally, was awkward. If we never hear these words, we will never use these words, or be comfortable around them.
When I started to practice my faith, I came to know people who openly praised God and regularly said, what I’ll call, “religious” words like God, Jesus, bless, praise God and the list goes on. At first, I was uncomfortable but as time went by, I grew more comfortable and eventually started expressing myself in the same way…. but only at church. Little by little, I got comfortable using these words to help express myself in other, outside church social settings… and it felt good. First, we need to surround ourselves with like people of faith, it’s community we all hunger for. They are people with whom we can comfortably practice our faith openly.
In these days of political correctness, somewhere along the line we stopped being comfortable being ourselves, at least in public, outside our churches. There are so many beautiful words to use for expressing “holiday” greetings. I hate that word used in this context. If we mean Christmas, we should SAY Christmas, or the proper greeting for whatever holiday and stop saying, “Happy Holidays”… pleeease~! It’s just playing it safe. That phrase means absolutely nothing and does not transmit joy or any emotion that we most certainly feel when we reach out to strangers in this glorious season. “Glorious,” another word.
One of my favorite Christmas book/show/movie is “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.” I’ve not even seen it yet this year and my heart is swelling up three times it’s normal size already. THIS is the feeling we all need to connect to, then express with all the innocence of Little Cyndi Lou Who, who was no more than two. Once we all realize, I mean REALLY realize that the Christmas Spirit originates in the heart, then nothing and nobody can spoil it. Sound those trumpets!
There is no shame connected to honestly expressing oneself. We look for lightning fast catch phrases, sound bites. I can’t help but wonder if we just don’t want to own what we say. Say it fast, exit as fast as possible. Let’s slow down and savor the moments we speak, which means speak with care and own what you do say. We just need to take the time to move our lips (watch out don’t give yourself a cramp) and get them used to moving and using those numerous mouth muscles. I know that often I speak or post very quickly and often put my foot in it. Even so, I try to own what I say and if I need to apologize, I will. I do not hesitate about that, and well, being me, I sort of expect it quite often.
Well, I’ve used up too much of my time this morning for this post yet I feel that I’ve failed miserably in trying to communicate the thoughts that flooded into my head during the foggy moments of my morning…. pre-coffee. So, please if anyone has anything to add or say, feel free to comment and shed more light on my damp, foggy morning.
Like I tell my Gabe, USE YOUR WORDS.
I posted a bit yesterday about a life lesson that I’m all caught up in right now, Some Life Lessons. It’s been a long time in the making, but this will hopefully be a short follow up.
I just wanted to add another thought, something that I had forgotten over the years. If you’ve read some of the earlier posts of my blog, you will have gathered that for most of my life I did not have a good relationship with my mother. She was distant, cold and definitely unapproachable. I have come to understand how and why this was so; but that does not help the little girl inside who longed for and needed to be shown the love that I know (now) she must have felt. I’ll try to be brief and describe a little background.
When I was born, it was 9 months and two days after my parent’s marriage. All the women of the family were counting the days on their fingers from the day of the marriage and my birth, hence how I know the exact number of days. That was back in 1961, she was 22 years old and the times were not as relaxed now about getting pregnant before marriage and, well, things were pretty stressful for my mom. Add on to that the pregnancy was in danger with hemorrhaging and from the second month, my mother was on complete bed rest. When I was born, I had stuff wrong with me. The one I’ll talk about because I believe that it shaped my mother, and I can imagine hardened her, gave her a tough skin and eventually, she closed herself off to feeling, experiencing the hard emotions. I was born with a condition, probably arising from my constant position in the womb, of my head and neck being scrunched down onto my chest. The doctor told my parents that it would amount to a hunched back as I grew up if not treated. I became part of an experimental treatment.. and I am even proudly in some medical journal somewhere. It was prescribed that I would receive muscular therapy. It was a very painful process of stretching my neck (and probably shoulder/back) muscles. A nurse had to come to the house and teach my mother what to do. She was to lay her infant (me) on the edge of the kitchen table, with my head hanging off of it. She then had to proceed to gently twist my head from side to side. I was told that this was very painful to me and I can imagine how my mother must have felt having to do this to me. I can imagine the pain she felt and yet knowing that if her daughter ever had a chance to grow up “normal”, she had to inflict this horrible pain onto her. I must have been screaming. My mother was also probably alone in this because my dad was working 2-3 jobs. Sometimes two, sometimes three. There were other things, too, like a bright red, pot-marked area on the left side of my face and two clubbed feet, which were two inwardly turned feet and legs. After I was born, I needed to have casts on my legs up to my hips in the (successful) attempt to straighten out my legs. So, as you can see, I was born a literal mess. Oh crud, it wasn’t until I became a mother in my mid forties I could not fully understand the pain and stress my mother went through with me and during my growing years. To be honest, I was the source of a lot of pain for her during the eight years between my mid twenties to mid thirties. So that is a little bit of background.
So, my mom hardly if ever showed us any affection. To make matters a little worse, I was not interested in the typical things that bonded mothers and daughters, like talking about home decorating, cooking and the like. BUT, one time, a year or so before she passed on, we were talking. I was in my late thirties and our relationship had recently gotten a lot better. I was able to communicate with my mother on the level of peers, not as mother daughter, or I should say not as mother, authority figure and blindly obedient daughter. We communicated honestly and we respected what the other had to say. It was a time I felt that I could honestly just say what I thought and had no fear of doing that… also, it was a time when my self confidence was on the upsurge, the first one in my whole life. Well, on day we were talking and she told me that I was special and that I should never forget that. I seem to remember that not being the only time she said that, but I don’t remember that time very well. I remember this time. I remember bodily freezing and fighting my hardest hold back the tears…. not like now.
I just wish that I knew then what I know now. What pain she suffered just to make me a “normal” kid, girl, woman. She was much as I am now. No income of her own, though she worked before having me. I am so much in debt to her for what she has done for me. I can understand now how and why you became so cold and seemingly to me, unfeeling; and it’s that understanding that will lead me to be a good mom in my own right. It was survival. It was something that I’m sure was not an intentional thing. I totally get that. I’m glad now that you just did what you had to do to carry on the business of raising two girls in your tradition. I understand and that comforts me. I can’t sit here and wish things were different. I’m really grateful for the time we had together during the brief years at the end of your life. I’d want you to know that your actions have now given me the courage and strength to, in turn, do what I now have to do for my son, the grandson that you never got to know on earth.
Thanks so much, MOM.
Please raise your hand if you totally suck at working a pattern. Nobody? ME… I’m the doof!
While I have finished my girlfriend’s wedding shawl (((original post here))), THE wedding shawl, it’s totally too BIG. Ugh. I had an awesome time working on it and maybe that’s what I should be focusing on, but after I gave it a soak and got it on the blocking mat, seems that it’s roughly TWICE the height she wanted. So, I’m hoping that just blocking for the points on the end will be enough. It’s laid flat with the ceiling fan going, so I should know by tonight whether it will be a bust or not. I’m totally not ripping it back a repeat. If I do that, I’d have to redo the edging, assuming I rip back to the right row.
Sorry about the really unnatural looking pic, but I wanted to make the stitches stand out. Actually, I’m really please with how it came out…. but it’s just really big…. and I could not pull on it hard enough to make really nice points. Want to see a thing of beauty? You can’t see the silver in this, but the yarn is Kraemer’s Sterling Silk and Silver, in Tuxedo colorway, which is really a nice black. This is real sterling silver inter woven into the yarn. Unfortunately, because of having problems sourcing the silver for this yarn, Kraemer’s has changed it a bit. I heard that now they are using artificial metallic fibers for the silver part, but on the up side, the new yarn, itself is supposed to be softer feeling.
It’s settled. I’m going to HAVE to make another one for me. Maybe next year. I’ve got so many projects waiting in the wings… BUT if a wedding pops up in the next couple of years, this will be my shawl.
Okay, I guess that’s enough. I feel better now…. just hoping Paula still likes it. If she totally hates it, I get to keep it… weeeeee~!
1 Corinthians 13
1 If I speak in the tongues[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,[b]but do not have love, I gain nothing.
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10 but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
Whenever I think about or refer to this passage, I simply must include the whole chapter. Every time we hear this reading in church, we only hear From 13:4-6, and maybe 13:13. Everything else is eliminated. Very sad because there is so much more to hear here that is really important. The one time I had control over this was when the DH and I got married. We had the whole reading included and that made us very happy.
I often wonder why we do not get the benefit from this beautiful passage and the only reason I can guess at is that church officials really do think we are sheep and maybe don’t have the brains to grasp and appreciate the full meaning. Even I, with my limited understanding, understand that if I don’t have love, I have nothing. I am nothing. And that does mean that if nobody loves me I have nothing. It means that if I do not have love within myself to give to others, I have nothing. Hmm, very interesting. Love seems to have more weight than even faith, which I find shocking, but there it is:
and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3
Amazing. I can have the strongest faith in the Lord, but if I do not have love inside myself, love for my neighbors, I am nothing in the eyes of God. Truly amazing. I’m going to “amaze” myself out of readers if I keep this up, but the capacity for learning never ceases to amaze me (couldn’t resist that last one).
Anyway, this passage popped up today while I was commenting on another blog. I was expressing my hope that my son will, later on in life if not sooner, will recognize the love we, his parents, have for him and how much it has influenced every bit of our marriage and our efforts on his behalf to make him a better life. It’s our hope that no matter what happens, no matter what we do, he will know that everything said, everything done was done out of love. We hope that our love for him will shine through all the disagreements and arguments, all the times we need to say “no”. All the times we make him do his homework, do his chores, practice his social skills using the tools he collects along the way. Well, it’s our desire for him to truly understand what love is. Can he feel it? Yes. Are we sure that he knows what it is, or ever will? The jury is still out on that because we do not fully understand the traits of Autism, in particular his lack of empathy; and we certainly do not know how severe of a lack that is in him. He can learn, or I should ask: Can he learn about love just has he learns social skills? How can we, or CAN we differentiate these kind of emotional, age appropriate, milestones? We hardly know what is age appropriate, let alone what would be age appropriate for an autistic child.
I find myself verbalizing a lot. My new thing is to constantly ask my little guy to repeat back his understanding of different things, whether it be word definitions or emotions, or anything I get the impression needs work.
But maybe sometimes we fail love. Thank goodness love is without condition or I’d be a really sad person right now. I am putting a lot, no all of my eggs in the basket of love. I’m so afraid of failing my child. Is this too much of an expectation to place on my love for him? I am wondering, but even as I do, I know that I have help. My husband’s love for our son is amazing and in some ways out shines my own. His perpetual love and consideration is amazing and so matter of fact, as if he’s been doing it all his life, so integrated into his nature… so natural, no questions (or answers) needed. When I picked this man as my life partner and as the father of my children, I not only picked a keeper, I picked a winner… so unusual for me… lol. Thank God that for one time in my life, I made a good assessment of the opposite sex.
So where do I go from here? First and foremost, never give up on love. Love really does conquer all and this family is living proof. Second, always trust my judgement , but also DH’s judgement. He is a very deep person and his motives are not always apparent, and almost never verbalized…. which leads me to the next. Always ask questions. I’m always amazed at what I learn.
FORGET about what’s “hot”. If you can look at your partner and feel drawn to them, no matter what the circumstances or wherever you are, OR how ridiculous they look at the time, then THAT’S love… I don’t NEED to see hot… I HAVE love…. and ladies there is nothing more sexy than seeing Ed interacting with our son…. Just a thought taking me over, there… carry on.
I wrote this on my facebook wall (complete with excessive dots which is my trademark) and got virtually no comments. I am wondering why. So, I am asking for opinions/comments from anyone. Do you agree? disagree?
So, let me go back a bit. I am prone to spontaneous urges to document my thoughts, feelings and urges… as I’m sure we all are. Last week I had one such feeling, desire, urge, whatever you want to call it, at the most inopportune time you can imagine – while attending a Day of Reflection for the ministers at our church. It’s not that I wasn’t paying attention, because I was; but there came a point when I looked over at my hubby and was overcome with emotions. There was a deep love, there was respect, there was affection…. and yes, there was frisky. I thank God for him in my life and the family we have created.
Fast forward just a little bit, and I am reminded by the young people in my life how much they admire and are attracted to whatever they consider “hot”. I thought to myself, well, the first thing I thought was how young they are and how much of their lives must pass away before they realize that “hot” usually brings with it disappointment, betrayal (maybe) and too much expectation.
Why are people attracted to “hot”? Well, I’m not going to insert here what I think. I really want to know what YOU think. All I will say of both my Drake and myself is that we are definitely not main stream hotties, though my Drake is a sizzling hot in my eyes. I wrote this post because I see too much out there of people prejudging others on their looks and while there is nothing wrong is sowing wild oats, too often we get hurt or we get into trouble…. real trouble.
Think about me when your arms are around my brother.
I could have been there to teach him about the world.
Think about me when you see children in the park.
I could have been there walking beside you.
Think about me when you want a hug.
My hugs are unending and filled with love.
Think about me when you’re in doubt.
My eyes trust you unquestioningly.
Think about me when you marry.
Think about me if you don’t.
Think about me when you love.
I love you unconditionally.
I am your greatest student.
I am your greatest teacher.
Think about me
Think about me.
copyright April 12, 2010
I was inspired thinking about all the what-could-have-beens. I was also inspired by my son, Little Drake who is five years old this year. When I think about what my life could have been without him and what it’s been since he’s been in our lives. I am just sitting here bawling my eyes out. So much I could have missed had God not deemed us worthy to care for a life. Motherhood is an experience that I am so grateful for and I simply was not an individual who was mother material…. yet here I am.
Babies are a gift from God, plain and simple. He graces us with these little bundles of unconditional love. Think about it. Children are the very embodiment of God’s love for us. He sends us a very real, a very touchable manifestation of His love… we can touch it, people! How blessed it that when so many of our brethren need physical evidence like Thomas the apostle to believe. What more can we ask for, and so many of us are destroying this innocent gift from God by aborting their pregnancies. It’s our responsibility to be grateful and to protect and nurture our children. I don’t care if it’s what some would call instinct or some biological function. I don’t care…. it’s there, I can see it and I accept it willingly. A rose is still a rose by whatever name. Yes, I was nervous and yes, we are not the richest couple in the world and we never will be. Life is much richer for us because of this child.
Thank you, God!
Hey Everyone. As a sort of introduction for adding more content to my Hair Page, I’ve decided to write more about what’s been going on with me and my hair that prompts such drastic action. Let me preface the following by saying that what comes next will sound like the ramblings of a vain person, and you’d be right! I am pretty vain about my hair, so it goes without saying that the story of my hair loss will sound like a horror story…. because, to me, it is a horror story. I write about it because I’m certain that there are more women out there going through the same thing, though, they’d be loath to admit it… or just plain don’t want to think about it, let alone talk about it….geez!
To give a little bit of a background, for most of my life my hair has been the key to my identity. I somehow got it into my head that hair = femininity. I still believe that my hair is the most feminine part I’ve got. Ha.. seems that in some areas, I’m a very blank and white kind of person… just think of the sweet blank and white cookies, the Drake’s favorite, BTW. All my life I grew very long hair, down past my waist and I was very proud of it. Then somewhere along the way, my friend next door got very long, thick hair and thicker than mine… and mine was pretty thick. Soon, we were in a hair competition, unspoken, of course. I think it was that competition that blocked out any thought of cutting it or going for any kind of style. My own hair credentials are that it was long, shiny (hers was not) and I had a lot of it, which made it pretty thick. The hair shaft was not course, but fine; which gave it a really nice shine. It has a slight wave to it, which allows me to also have wavy hair. I am lucky enough to have hair that can be set into a style and it will actually stay. The great volume of it means that with so much hair, it can be still classified as thick even though the hair shaft is fine. I wore my glorious mane down most of the time, but I was constantly nagged by my mom about it being messy all the time… HA… Now this so called “messy-ness” is called the casual look. When I was a teenager, I had no idea as to how I could style it, or even the proper way to maintain it other than brushing. My mother was totally unapproachable as her very presence was a threat to keeping it long. I never asked her for advice because I didn’t want to draw attention to my hair… and her making me cut it. Her two aunts were beauticians and ultimately, during the summer between the 8th grade and the 9th, she dragged me kicking and screaming into the backyard and one of my aunts mutilated my head by chopping my hair into three distinct sections. I was devastatingly traumatized and spent the next several years just trying to grow it out. It took four to five years to get it back to where it was before the “incident”. Such a waste of time. My stupid mother did not realize that she was cutting away my security blanket… or maybe she DID know that and did it as some sort of act of parenting. Anyway, she ruined me for high school because I spent my time striving to blend into the woodwork of a school made of cement blocks. I digress…….
So, I pretty much kept my hair long after that with the exception of a few years in the 80’s when perms became popular. I loved how my girlfriend’s hair looked and decided to hack off my hair AND perm it at the same time…. a pretty drastic change for someone who clung to her hair/security blanket. It just goes to show you what can be achieved IF you really want it. I loved Stevie Nicks. Remember her hair? I got that look. I got the longest layered style possible and had it permed into Stevie. I loved every minute of that phase! After a few years, I stopped perming and found out that, with the particular characteristics of my hair, I didn’t need to perm to get the look. All I had to do was wash my hair and let it dry naturally… oh yes, into the “messy” look….. WTF?
Okay… so I stopped spending money to perm my hair and started spending $$ to color it. I loved the reds and went for the lightest auburn, even though I had dark brown coloring. I did blonde a couple of times, but I never saw what was so great about it. Now, RED! That is something! There was one summer that L’Oreal came out with really bright, intense colors that were supposed to be temporary. The red one came out fire engine red, literally; and I loved it! It pays to have a DH working at L’Oreal. I get to try out anything I want for half price, which is great when you have really long hair and need 3-4 boxes of the stuff. Last summer, however, they discontinued it in their store and I scooped up the last of what I could find. Copper Craze. Now the reason the colors looked so intense on me is because a lot of my hair in the front is gray, so color on top of white, makes it exceptionally bright. Copper Craze turned out to be bright ORANGE. I wasn not very happy with that, but it did grow on me and I ended up loving it. As it got washed out, it turned a nice Honey Blonde and I got so many compliments about that phase. People thought I colored and highlighted my hair blonde…. brrrr! To this day, I still have blonde-ish streaks that are growing out.
Enough background, don’t you think? Onward…. In my thirties, my hair stopped growing. I could not get it below my shoulders. When I got pregnant with my son, it started growing, along with my nails. It grew so fast and so unexpectedly, that I started treating it like long hair and took care of it nice. Several months ago, it went through a shedding phase, but it I will call it hair loss. I call it that because literally tons of it came out every time I showered. Usually, we lose 50 or so strands of hair a day. That is normal. Visually, I know what that looks like; so when clumps of it started to come out in the shower, I panicked. Now, I have a thing that I do when I wash my hair. As it’s washed, and especially during conditioning, it comes out into my hands and I throw the clump onto the shower wall to prevent it from getting into the drain. Oh, and there is also a small basket in the drain to catch everything. Before, I cleaned out the basket after my shower…. NOW, I am cleaning my hair outta there two and three times. The amount of hair that is hitting the wall is at least double if not more of the volume. Pretty freaking scary. This has been happening for a long and the only thing that is saving me is the volume of hair that I started out with because if I didn’t have really, really thick hair to start with, I be freaking bald right now. My friends don’t really understand because they don’t see a difference, but I can feel the difference. I can also see my scalp and almost count the follicles. I can SEE the individual strands, whereas before, I could not…. so I know what’s going on. Maybe it looks okay now, but if the shedding doesn’t stop, I’ll be bald soon.
Still, not the end of the world, right? Of course, and I DO know that. So now, I will have a bald head and a face and neck full of manly hair that needs to be shaved just about every other day, if I cared about it. Funny, I don’t really feel weird about having that facial hair, which is because I’ve had it all my life… UGH another thing to contend with, but I do it every day. No bid deal, so why is my head hair such a traumatic experience? Because I’m vain about it. Because I have a certain perception of it… and that is how beautiful it looks when I fix it up nice… and how I cannot now create beautiful, soft updo’s that project my femininity because they fall flat with no hair inside to puff it out. I wanted to become the mature Storm… you know, from the X-Men. All her power is in her hair, you know. HA…. I KNOW. That might not happen now because I’ll be bald before I go completely gray. I’m sad that my grays are falling out, too…. I love my grays!
So, with all this said. My next posting will get more into hair loss and various causes… and how we can be proactive with prevention of hair loss. I’m a firm believer in having as much understanding as possible in everything I experience. Understanding is the key to acceptance. It’s the key to living, in general. That is my belief. If I can’t get my hair back, I want to understand why. I want to know that I’ve done all that I can do to prevent it; and if I still cannot get it back, my understanding of the situation will allow me to accept where I’m at and know that it’s out of my control.
oh well, there’s always wigs.
This was my tree last year.
I name this post for the subject of my post. Her name is Petra and has a son, Lennon, who is loveable, kind, gentle, loving, and just the best son ever…. except when his ammonia levels skyrocket. When this happens, he becomes very aggressive, disoriented, incoherent and has been described as appearing to be a bit crazy. In other words, he becomes a totally different child. Normal ammonia levels are 50-60. I do believe I read that Lennon’s had gotten as high as in the 300’s. Lennon is of preschool age. He has already had two liver transplants. Lennon has Urea Cycle Disorder. Please check out the link for this genetic disease. Can you imagine this happening to your child? I am sitting here doing just that. I cannot imagine myself living through, and witnessing what my friend has witnessed happening to her son. All I can think of is that I have a hard time when my preschooler gets a cut, let alone going through life saving surgery and the gory details that go along with it… just to NOT get graphic about it. Just to think of their little perfect bodies enduring what seems impossible… becomes a reality. It’s a hard reality for mothers to come to grips with; and at the same time, no one should have to experience.
I’m not writing Petra’s whole story here, but if you’re interested, you can find it here. The reason for my writing is that I want to get her story out. She is not asking for donations; but as it happens, she does have an Etsy shop, HERE. She does wonderful work with beads and pyrography, or, wood burning.
I don’t make it a practice to advertise for other people, but I was moved to, today. I figure, “Hey, it’s the Holiday season and maybe someone is out there shopping around for gifts.” A part of me felt powerless until I thought of writing about her. After being paired with Petra in a beading swap, we corresponded ourselves into a friendship that has survived a few long spells of not corresponding. She made me a beautiful bracelet that rests so pretty on my wrist. It doesn’t happen often, that I will just love something that wasn’t made by me. She seems to know what I like.
For this announcement:
Earlier today, officially, Little Drake addressed me as “marmie” and “ma ma” ~~ Several times! Unbelievable! At first I could not believe it, then I realized that it could not have been anything else.
THEN, later in the evening, he reached out towards his daddy and said “da da”, a few times… I saw, and it could not have been anything else. Oh man, two in one day!
He’s been saying more and more words lately, but this just totally blew me away. I was resigning to the reality of never being personally addressed by my child. It came after he got home from an early morning walk and visit to the park. He must have been in a great mood… or dare I say, he missed his mommie? The Drake’s addressment came while we were sitting on a bed, watching the Drake adjust the crib to the lowest rung. Little one has been using his crib as a trampoline and we need to be safe. The little guy reached out towards the big guy and said, “da da da”… so cute.
Okay, that’s enough sap for tonight. We return you to your regularly scheduled program.
I wrote this for The Drake when we were courting. He so inspired me to write love poetry. I guess my creative heart benefited from abstaining from each other sexually. So, you people I dare you to try it!
I know that I’ve hesitated posting my poems, but I got the urge today and will go with it before I relent.
Your Angel’s Angel…
Looks for you in the night
Eyes powerless but spirit willing
She reaches for you with her very soul
On a thread of time
Exquisite recognition flutters through her being
So faint and frail yet a clear, roaring trumpet
Making no mistake
Senses so alive, so awake
Breath does not come
You call her from within
She can almost touch you
Almost taste your
Your Sweet Lips
Oh Lord, I pray
May that You would carry me home
I yearn for you so
copyright 2003 Debra M. Sedita