August Break~Lunch

Peanut butter and jelly, or honey, is the chosen main course for these two.

Wonder~those laughs

I have, dreamt a numerable amount of times, and wept the same. But those laughs; no number could encompass....or hold the sacred peace in their meaning.

Grow~My birthday month and the best i've known

Last month I felt on the verge; the weather blending in and out of cold. dreary days and weary spirit.
I sit here today and school suddenly started again and was delayed by snow, and it seems I can't get on top of anything, lastly writing here; though i enjoy it, even if for myself- i feel connected in a sense. And yet, I feel as if I am sitting next to a pile of thoughts and dreams because lately I have been trying, consciously, to shift perspective-not exactly knowing of how to take these dreams and thoughts on, or even the slightest of ways to make them happen. I guess sometimes they just do. I am daily making changes in how I take care of myself, and my family-mentally, physically-the whole. It's not that I haven't to this point, but just in a different way.

Digging more into peace and family connectedness. Holding tight to the moments even as they detach from my grip. Coming to resolution about where I must take my mind so I can become this teacher I am, somewhere deep within and still, yet to be introduced. At the beginning of everything rather than laden in dream-This feels lovely and shaky in my moments, but I trust- I always do. Life happens how we need it, especially when we live with intent and most definitely love. In love with the infancy of new direction carved out of the old roots of growth. I've learned a lot this past ten years- ten years- what a long and short time. I look at 22 and smile through tears at the then unknown journey. Some things heart-breaking and breathless, and even more pure magic. Nowthis month-32-and I smile at knowing myself better than ever, even though I am scared-it's OK. It's the best I've known. So to think of that and what may come I cannot feel but blessed and all about letting in the joy.

Wonder~The lovely process

Have you ever? I've never made bread, like this. It's cooling on a rack. I hope it tastes good- my house smells divine-bread bakery smell. It's taken me three days to make. I didn't read the recipe directions through before I started making it- I had no idea it would take three days. I started on Friday with the ferment, Saturday for rising and folding, salt water and more rising, Sunday to cook. It's been a process- bread is a lovely process. It shouldn't be rushed, it needs time to develop. You have to be present in the process.  I really enjoy learning how to make things from scractch, especially taking time for the process and finding appreciation for the fruits of the Earth that provide such beautiful ingredients to meld and savor. It makes me happy to my soul to be learning how to cultivate with my hands.

Growth~Feeling a little hidden among the changing shadows

The slow shift from Fall to Winter has left me feeling on the verge of everything-anxious almost to just know what it will feel like once this change has settled in and become routine . But I remind myself that change is the beauty;where the power of the Universe reveals itself in unbelievable colors and shapes and lights and energies; and humble hearts, and I suppose the anxious feeling is instinct shouting to take notice; once it shifts you'll miss the newness, it says. But it's hard to recognize this when the day stops short and the mixed emotion of weather tires my bones and causes deep pressure in my head.
Today after two days of rain without a glimpse of sunlight and after the day gives over to night without so much as a sign its closing I begin to waver. I went for rainy walks with Korlyn- her covered in warm layers and I drenched in the goodness of  Fall rain. I listened to music and found every color in the fallen leaves- piercing colors against the rain-painted jet black of the cement walking trail. I gave thanks for everything drenched in dreary and took a deep breath of midst. Yet, I just want to sleep. And as I lay on my bed after fixing dinner, tears in my eyes, as daylight as left me feeling vulnerable in the grip of midnight at 5:00 my three come charging in- drawings in hand. Cole says hers is scribble. I tell him that is how she expresses herself through drawing at this age and his used to look somewhat like hers when he was two. He shows me his detailed drawing of a dragon with colors "in a pattern" and tells me that his has always looked liked what he shows me now. I guess we are both correct. Who knows what she was drawing, but I know she must have had a perfect vision for it. So with warm tears and a fatigued spirit J asks me whats wrong- and I think for the first time, I blatantly admit that the change from Fall to Winter throws me into moody sadness; I sigh in his hug and feel peaceful with my admittance. I go to sleep at 8:00- I've spent years resisting how susceptible I am to shifts of whatever kind- weather, moods, time, permanence- empathic. On the verge of my next birth year I find myself resisting myself less and less. And it feels peaceful.
 My heart the other day in church felt wide open- i could feel the warmth of spreading possibility deep inside and it felt fantastic. Like delicate layers of tissue paper folded gently open and the energy surrounding my heart felt warm and unblocked- like it can often when I worry. I felt on the verge of everything again; except this time it was welcomed with much more hope.

Today the sun came.

Artistry~A Part of my Writing Memoir

 

I loved these rocking chairs in the loft of the cabin where we stayed during our vacation. I wish I could have spent more time here; rocking, wondering, dreaming, internalizing, and most of all writing. Writing from the heart, honestly. While I was here I thought about the intricate relationship between the unassuming power of wind pushing against and flowing through the magnificent structure of the trees. How the seemingly subtleness of the wind can bend and sway a being so revered in strength as we see the trees. I am reminded through and through how the answers are already here, in nature, in our day; if we listen, if we watch, if we see the understanding in the relationship of coexisting. I thought about how every thing and being is a teacher in our lives.

 As I enter this important work of becoming teacher I've been thinking a lot about the voice of our children. I took a writing class this summer and we were asked to write our writing memoir. The most powerful thing I learned in this one week intensive class was that we do not write like we talk. I feel empowered by this understanding. This is not to say  I am a brilliant writer, far from, but that when I write I feel honest and that my writings express the realness of me better than I can often verbalize. Here is part of my writing memoir- I wrote about my writing process. We all have one- whether it's where we sit, or where we are emotionally and spiritually in our lives, even right down to the visual cadence of how are words form on the page. We are all writers because we all have a story to share. Here is part of mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I like my writings to be tangible. I usually write by pen first. I like to feel the words on paper, looking like inked graffiti, weighted against my hands. By writing I can share and move my understandings and ideas outward; let go of possession over my internalization and instead take ownership of my ideas. Like the last thistle floret gripping against the rounded belly of a dandelion, my words are held close, unsure of when to let go. At first, in the beginning, they are just seeds of thoughts; growing and blooming into fractal formations, a kind of chaotic system of context and convention; parts becoming a whole; Then the detachment.

At first my writings linger close, as the mother does when taking her baby to kindergarten for the first time.

I look up and around as if I am staring at them form against the stationary in my mind. Then like a bloomed parachute my ideas float quietly and slowly downward, towards the page.

Writing allows me to let go. As I write, the words stir and move from within to my fingertips in movement to pen to paper, down along the page allowing me to express and reflect and release. I’m giving over to the words so I can express my growth. I notice when I am energized by authentic free-flow writing, I write fast. My handwriting becomes less legible. My hand tightens to hold the pen securely so I can write more, write faster. Words lose letters, letters lose formation, but it is all there- I know the rules, mostly; letters, punctuation, semblance; but expression takes precedence over convention. My writing stops and starts randomly and sometimes I use the wrong word or context, but it flows and makes sense to me. When I get out what I want to say, then I can come back to fill in the rules. I feel writing, and I feel alive.

I will always write. I need it to house a lot of my creativity. Not all the time, or at any particular time, but most significantly when inspired.

                                   

I put this picture on the back of my portfolio for my launching class into the Master's program for Teaching. It's become my informal teaching mantra. I attached to it the words~

 Children are made from Dreams and Superhero Powers.

We still are, I hope.

Grow~Waking up Happy

Cole made this for me at school. He asked to hang it above the dresser in front of my bed, so that upon waking I would look up and see these hearts and be so happy. He even acted out waking up and smiling to them. In these moments I can feel my lungs expand with air and everything in that loved-laden moment slows down. Everything feels simple, less adult~ish. I think to myself that childhood can be a sense not just a memory. Like when I am laying on the trampoline staring at the sky, wide open and accepting of all that is possible, as I've done a million times as my younger self. That honest feelings and open hearts are not lost upon children. Each day I wake to these happy hearts and I smile that one smart four-year-old has so much to show me, and that because of him I must continually grow.