Now I lay me... still awake
it's Three AM
Midnight of the soul
I'm fishing for words
fathoming depths only imagined
I cannot anchor here,
Do not wake my love
I pray...
Keep moving on.
Twain
Now I lay me... still awake
it's Three AM
Midnight of the soul
I'm fishing for words
fathoming depths only imagined
I cannot anchor here,
Do not wake my love
I pray...
Keep moving on.
Grenan // Skagen // Denmark
Same old, same old song, new melodies interwoven...
You're not here
It's better that way
And also, no it isn't.
I watch a low-budget movie
We are in it.
We are everywhere
When you disappear
I tell a friend that I have been
Both May and cold December
Himself, an August Eagle
circling nearer me
He is
as far from you as I can get
Better or not, we agree
It's how things have to be
The movie says
Grenen is a land between two seas.
Quick embrace on shifting sands,
before you fade into you and I flow back to me.
Read About Grenen here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grenen
'Same Old Song' by Iron & Wine:
The Decade Challenge: April 2010 - Ty_Me Flys
Ten years ago in April, Tyler Johnson turned 14. We'd not seen him since he was 12 and his biological dad agreed to let Tyler's stepdad adopt him. Before this year was up, we would halt our plans and move across the river, back to Georgia, where I would add Tyler to my homeschooling line-up and a new installment of 'As The Family Business Spins' would begin.
My children now have a stepmother of their own and though we've only briefly met, I understand the auxiliary nature of my role in Tyler's life better than before, but also the importance of being patient and kind.
Tyler has a mom, whom I didn't try to replace
and a bio-dad I tried to encourage to step into place...
but, in the end,
my willingness,
the trying,
the birthday cakes and hair dying -
now lay buried beneath the lie
that it was not his dad but I
who tried to erase the chapters he was written on
As he now hopes to erase me.
Theory: Make the cake yourself, just as you do for the other children, to demonstrate your love for all is the same.
Theory: Sentimental 'Guess How Much I Love You' board book sends message of deep abiding love.
Theory: Each sibling gives a card they chose on their own, to increase the level of tangible love.
Theory: Fostering togetherness and fun would give them ample chance to bond
This just in: Theories are only theories, you cannot make them work.
Once upon a Savannah time, a hundred years ago,
this girl tried to be a good mom to all those in her shoe
Spoiler alert: She mostly failed.
Two faces of a difficult and unkind coin are to be silenced and at the same time, maligned
More Thoughts on 'The Truth About Us' by Brant Hansen
Today, my friend's book released on Amazon: #TheTruthAboutUs
I participated in a launch team to help raise awareness of the book. I only get involved with things I believe are worth multiplying. That is hands down the truth in Brant's case and in the case of this book.
God not only put Brant on the radio in His great providence, I firmly believe He also formed Brant as a radio in his own right, emitting a unique frequency that is the only signal a select few of us are able to pick up on.
Those of us who get the clearest signal when tuned into Brant's frequency have an assorted variety of super powers but one thing we seem to share in common is this ability to feel at once isolated and privileged to be grouped together. Brant speaks directly into that. And I, for one, appreciate it.
Remember Gilligan's Island? Brant is a radio, powered by salt-water and coconut shells, broadcasting messages of hope and rescue to our motley band of 'three hour cruise' castaways. (truly, that's the kind of special we are... able to upend a joy ride on the Crags of Doom with one well placed 'Actually... ')
But, this post isn't really about Brant. Or my ever-growing band of 'actually-friends' And it isn't an additional standard review for the sake of Brant's really great book. It's a more personal one... about where the book actually found me and truly did its speaking. It's about the frequency I locked in on.
If you routinely read what I write here, the season I'm walking through is no secret to you. I am not that far removed from the finalization of a fairly bitter divorce. After two decades, bitter is the only casket option for burying what one thought was love.
Still... bitter is actually bitter and not just a descriptive word. There are parts that linger like bile in the throat.
My ex-husband is remarried now (yeah, kinda fast...). I am still learning the balance between being truthful and respectful. I do not seek to disturb his new union or re-claim anything not my own, but I do often seek to identify some fragment or other poking up from the ash. What did it used to be ? Do I recognize it? What did it do? Are there any salvageable memories inside, any photos of the children?
Forgive me if I do a sloppy job.
During the divorce process, the children I devoted my life to, exchanging the pursuit of career for time spent with them and the opportunity to think, create and explore, were called between their father and me.
They gave affidavits to various official people and one gave deposition, swearing under oath that he no longer believed I love him. The whole thing was a heartbreaking mess. But when the smoke cleared, the way things have settled to this very day, is with my two eldest children estranged from relationship with me.
It is almost too heavy to explain. As I try, I feel the weight of lies roll over me again, occluding clear vision for onlookers, making everything echo as defensive. It feels too big to fix. Even now, I do not understand how, if He is willing, the Lord will untangle the knots that exist.
Sometimes, I go to bed thinking something like: "Well, c'mon though...since we're being honest, lies actually did get to win... "
On good nights, I turn on YouVersion's audio feature (thank you guys, for that!) and set the timer to 10 or so, praying myself to sleep as I listen for something comforting He may have to say. Sometimes it simply sounds like "...for now."
Other nights, well... there are other nights. I am thankful they are not the only nights.
Now, as a quick aside, I have to say that I love logical thinking. Logic puzzles? The best! And when I was homeschooling my children (we home educated for over ten years) we made a point to learn how to think as much as finding subjects to think about. We worked through The Thinking Toolbox and The Fallacy Detective. I'm a big fan of clear and thorough thinking.
And here is where that unique frequency thing Brant can do comes in.... I did not think to connect 'thinking' to my heart breaking. But along comes Brant with his pantyhose story... with his book about doubling down when we ought to repent...
This book was certainly about me.
But also it helped me see how some things may not actually be.
Some of my hard questions on those "other nights" when the dark steals in have been:
"How can they really think this is what their mom deserves, and their brother ?"
"How can they go along with versions that don't match the reality we were all in the same room for ?" and especially "How can they know the truth and still choose to hate me?"
The Truth About Us didn't let me off the hook, but it also helped me stop taking some things too personally.
This book doesn't really fix anything, except maybe, a little bit of me.
Exactly what I need
Frequently.
I participated in a launch team to help raise awareness of the book. I only get involved with things I believe are worth multiplying. That is hands down the truth in Brant's case and in the case of this book.
God not only put Brant on the radio in His great providence, I firmly believe He also formed Brant as a radio in his own right, emitting a unique frequency that is the only signal a select few of us are able to pick up on.
Those of us who get the clearest signal when tuned into Brant's frequency have an assorted variety of super powers but one thing we seem to share in common is this ability to feel at once isolated and privileged to be grouped together. Brant speaks directly into that. And I, for one, appreciate it.
Remember Gilligan's Island? Brant is a radio, powered by salt-water and coconut shells, broadcasting messages of hope and rescue to our motley band of 'three hour cruise' castaways. (truly, that's the kind of special we are... able to upend a joy ride on the Crags of Doom with one well placed 'Actually... ')
But, this post isn't really about Brant. Or my ever-growing band of 'actually-friends' And it isn't an additional standard review for the sake of Brant's really great book. It's a more personal one... about where the book actually found me and truly did its speaking. It's about the frequency I locked in on.
If you routinely read what I write here, the season I'm walking through is no secret to you. I am not that far removed from the finalization of a fairly bitter divorce. After two decades, bitter is the only casket option for burying what one thought was love.
Still... bitter is actually bitter and not just a descriptive word. There are parts that linger like bile in the throat.
My ex-husband is remarried now (yeah, kinda fast...). I am still learning the balance between being truthful and respectful. I do not seek to disturb his new union or re-claim anything not my own, but I do often seek to identify some fragment or other poking up from the ash. What did it used to be ? Do I recognize it? What did it do? Are there any salvageable memories inside, any photos of the children?
Forgive me if I do a sloppy job.
During the divorce process, the children I devoted my life to, exchanging the pursuit of career for time spent with them and the opportunity to think, create and explore, were called between their father and me.
They gave affidavits to various official people and one gave deposition, swearing under oath that he no longer believed I love him. The whole thing was a heartbreaking mess. But when the smoke cleared, the way things have settled to this very day, is with my two eldest children estranged from relationship with me.
It is almost too heavy to explain. As I try, I feel the weight of lies roll over me again, occluding clear vision for onlookers, making everything echo as defensive. It feels too big to fix. Even now, I do not understand how, if He is willing, the Lord will untangle the knots that exist.
Sometimes, I go to bed thinking something like: "Well, c'mon though...since we're being honest, lies actually did get to win... "
On good nights, I turn on YouVersion's audio feature (thank you guys, for that!) and set the timer to 10 or so, praying myself to sleep as I listen for something comforting He may have to say. Sometimes it simply sounds like "...for now."
Other nights, well... there are other nights. I am thankful they are not the only nights.
Now, as a quick aside, I have to say that I love logical thinking. Logic puzzles? The best! And when I was homeschooling my children (we home educated for over ten years) we made a point to learn how to think as much as finding subjects to think about. We worked through The Thinking Toolbox and The Fallacy Detective. I'm a big fan of clear and thorough thinking.
And here is where that unique frequency thing Brant can do comes in.... I did not think to connect 'thinking' to my heart breaking. But along comes Brant with his pantyhose story... with his book about doubling down when we ought to repent...
This book was certainly about me.
But also it helped me see how some things may not actually be.
Some of my hard questions on those "other nights" when the dark steals in have been:
"How can they really think this is what their mom deserves, and their brother ?"
"How can they go along with versions that don't match the reality we were all in the same room for ?" and especially "How can they know the truth and still choose to hate me?"
The Truth About Us didn't let me off the hook, but it also helped me stop taking some things too personally.
This book doesn't really fix anything, except maybe, a little bit of me.
Exactly what I need
Frequently.
Kate's Writing Challenge #6
In more good practices I should still be doing from The Artist's Way, Kate prescribes routine... a date set with one's self for writing at the same time each day. When I have managed to be disciplined about it this, it is always a good time, just me, myself and my words.
I am working on the part about sitting down at the same time every day for the sake of my writing muscles but also in hopes of returning to a somewhat normal and healthy sleep cycle. I'll let you know (or oversleep a bunch and forget to)
Kate's Writing Challenge #5
This week Kate reminded us about the importance of taking time to read.
As writers, we likely all came to our love of writing through a love of stories and reading. But, it is easy to get in a rut where life is too busy and there's no time for stories of any kind.
So, I made time to finish a book I've been stalling on for over a year then started the next in the series, too. (Mitford books) It makes complete sense how reading primes the writing pump, but like staying hydrated, it's an easy essential to lose sight of. Writers are watered by words.
Old Journal Entry
As part of the writing challenge with Candlewick Press hosted by Kate DiCamillo, we've been asked to keep a journal. I usually prefer a new journal for each new batch of thoughts or 'season of writing' but I pulled a barely used one out of the stack and determined to use it despite the few scrawled in pages. This is what I found in there, without dates but (obviously) before the final decree.
***Begin Transcription***
Things You Interrupt Before I Can Say (and to keep me from saying) or
Things That I Think To Myself Sometimes:
You say (to our oldest daughter): Your mom wasn't dressing to attract. She was wearing baggy clothes when we met.
I feel the reason a piece of fruit is used in the story of the first sin is because it seems so inconsequential. One bite. One under-developed little Nemo fin, stuck out defiantly to 'touch the butt' when suddenly - all is lost. And there was blame enough for sandwiches all day after the forbidden bite - there always is. Each excuse held truth of a sort, but not a drop of pardon.
I wonder if Eve ever realized, in retrospect, that she could have pulled a Nancy and just said 'No', or if Adam ever wished he had just controlled himself. I bet becoming parents helped them -maybe they warned Cain about limits but had to watch as he pressed ahead, knocking their love out of his way.
*** It ends there, I guess I got distracted, because the thought is incomplete***
***Begin Transcription***
Things You Interrupt Before I Can Say (and to keep me from saying) or
Things That I Think To Myself Sometimes:
You say (to our oldest daughter): Your mom wasn't dressing to attract. She was wearing baggy clothes when we met.
I think: Tell her the rest..."she told me her plan to wait but I talked her out of that nonsense. But, you dear daughter, should do as I say and not as me and your mother.
Notes: My choices are and ever have been my own. I am not freed from them because you were involved. I am not who I started out as (for better or worse) and neither are you. These changes are not isolated events - more like chemical reactions or natural growth. How does the baggy-clothes-wearing girl become persuaded she had best get more attractive? It comes doewn to cause and effect.
Who is a bigger whore- the girl who drops her purity for a bread crust of compliment or the fox who runs off with it in his sly mouth?
How can a man with a monthly subscription to locks-on-the-door media be the same man undone by his wife's back tattoo? (So- you want sexy, but only on women you rent, not those who belong to you?)
You always change his identity for her. The guy she attracts will be some redneck wife-beater, you say. She is exactly like me, you say - but also not like me at all. I was wearing baggy clothes, not being a slut also everyone knows a tramp stamp makes you a whore. But whether she is like me or not (I believe it can be both) You are never in these scenarios accurately depicted. Her mom is a harlot, does she want to be like that... attract guys like that... like who? Not you. We all know you aren't attracted to me.
I feel the reason a piece of fruit is used in the story of the first sin is because it seems so inconsequential. One bite. One under-developed little Nemo fin, stuck out defiantly to 'touch the butt' when suddenly - all is lost. And there was blame enough for sandwiches all day after the forbidden bite - there always is. Each excuse held truth of a sort, but not a drop of pardon.
I wonder if Eve ever realized, in retrospect, that she could have pulled a Nancy and just said 'No', or if Adam ever wished he had just controlled himself. I bet becoming parents helped them -maybe they warned Cain about limits but had to watch as he pressed ahead, knocking their love out of his way.
*** It ends there, I guess I got distracted, because the thought is incomplete***
Kate's Writing Challenge #4
This week, Kate reminded us that keeping everything in one notebook is smart and keeping that notebook with us all the time is even smarter. I try to do this, though I tend to want a fresh notebook for each set of thoughts. For this challenge, I chose a notebook with only a few entries from a year or four before and decided I would just use it all 'willy-nilly' til full.
In the spirit of 'I always enjoy writing when I get back into the practice of it' - I now share some of the writing that was already in the notebook chose. I wish there were dates, but it seems safe to say I was still married... or mostly.
'Some men want an impossible thing:
A woman whose beauty makes him
the envy of everyone he meets
And also, a woman, the very same woman,
that no one else can see.'
~~~
---
I still exist, beating heart, daily breath
the rest of me invisible
~
I seek the sun, its warmth
and cheer
~
I am complimented on my eyes.
he says this makes me a hoar,
~
I didn't solicit strangers' kindness,
It's the sunshine they're drawn to, not me
~
Gratitude makes every life better-
Even his, if he would allow himself to see.
---
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