Songs That Shouldn’t Have Been Written
When songs are written with a pen
And they these songs are sung again
But other ears are never asked
If sense is made of what was taked
And no one else can comprehend
This weird thought pattern that you penned
And what you wrote could never be
Understood by any you or me,
Well that is when the song you wrote
Should maybe have never left your boat.
Bad dreams come to the young
And they come to the old
They come to discourage rest from sleep
They bring you a mish mosh
Of unpleasand thoughts
They mix your fears with a glob of unease.
Sporting A Superlong Goatee
Nothing says I am a manly man
And not a goatlike man at all
Like a long goatee with shaven cheeks
As long as you are tall.
These wonders are great to behold
They scream “Please braid me now
Or trim me and I will look nice”
And it should be done somehow.
Fear of the Dark
Irrational Fears can often attack the mind.
Fears of hurt or pain or the color puce
But none is more common than the fear of dark
And nothing is of littler use.
For half our lives is lived in dark
And half in light as well
And where we can switch on a light for a bit
We can see that it always prevails.
When I was single and child-free, travel was my big escape. Once my cousin and I went on a road trip to the Grand Canyon. Often, I went alone the all of 30 minutes to Lake Michigan’s Tower Hill beach and wandered about. Once, I moved to Glendale, California with only one friend there, what fit into 2 suitcases and 2 carry-ons and started over. Often, I found hiking paths, mostly alone but once in a while with a good friend. Always it was to run away. Life overwhelmed me, I needed to be alone in nature or with a piano. A piano in nature would be ideal. 🙂 But once children came, I had to stay. Their well being trumps my desire to run. Yes, when overwhelmed, I still want to get away and be alone or with one good friend. That remains. Yes, I still want to be alone in nature or with a piano and would love a piano in nayure to this day, but my responsibility to raise these children trumps that. I just can not run anymore. I have very little alone time. Most people think that is a good thing but for me, being alone clears my moveractive brain and forcs my focus back to God and restores my mind, body and soul, which is quite off balance of late. So, I am working now on how to restore and revitalize my balance without my trusty escape run. It is forcing me to workout new brain cells that seem sluggish right now, but I am certain I will figure it out. In the meanwhile, I stay and do my work and force little goals to focus on. And when the kids are out of the house, I may yet hit the road with a roadtrip or fly to Hawaii a bit to visit good friends there. Who knows. But perseverance pays off in the long run and God does not give you a vision of beauty without allowing you that for hope at the right time. And I know a lot of people who ran away in the midst of everything, ran into a bottle, into drugs, into porn, into a new life or state or country. Many people I know and patients have told me stories and the common theme is regret. They regret their weakness in those moments that started them down a path of daily or even hourly running from crazy or stresses. These people lived years of regret when they realized they lost their kids while running from spouses. Life is a very fragile flower. It is easily shaken apart. It is easily missed. And I would rather run sometimes but I must and will stay because my children are my responsibility and need a mother present to teach them how to be grown ups later. Good ones. So children first and run later. And those worth running with will still be worth running with if worth anything at all.
The absolute best thing in the world my mom taught me was how to play the piano. I could play and read music before I could read books well. Not always the best student, I readily admit, I often did not practice. But when it came time to perform, I nailed it and no one ever knew. Except me. And mom. But I digress. I loved playing, could play for hours at a time on a rainy or snowy day, wrote many many songs and loved hearing the music that came out of my emotions and thoughts of the moment. I was encouraged by my church and played for church. Music is a benefit to the soul and the body and mind. It was a gift of healing from God. Many years I left it alone because of no access to it with school (too many years of college) and work and life. One day I went to the music department and asked for special permission to use a practice room. Hadn’t played in years and had to try out for a college piano master teacher. I played a little piece I wrote and he offered me not only the practice room but also a position in his department teaching dynamics and original composition. I had to turn it down (like a sensible idiot) because I was in premed and had a full time PCA position at the hospital. But I felt confident again and started to play again when I could. Years passed, I tried out for a band at a church playing piano. Then I had access to the church piano anytime. A gorgeous grand, I loved going late at night and playing on it. Piano has always been my staple, my comfortable home wherever I have been. When nothing else made sense or when crazy became too crazy, piano was my outlet and calm. It was my friend I could turn to wherever I was for any reason or emotion. It was always also my saving grace link to my God, who I am so thankful provided music to my life. And when the kids came, I lost it again, having much to do until the last several years of being in bands at church and oldies rock and roll. I even got some of my classical pieces out the other day and was surprised I could play them, though a tad rusty. Piano is my home. Nothing is more perfect than standing or sitting behind those familiar keys, always beckoning me to play, always accepting of my successes and failures, the perfect way to express where my heart is, the love of my life. I think all musicians feel this way with their instrument of giftedness. So musicians speak in this language of mutual respect for this same deep bond of music we share. It is sacred and irrevocable. No one but a musician can truly get that aspect of another musician. They can try but never quite understand its importance. So, play on and rock on, my beautiful musician friends. And thank you, God, as always for music, a piano, the opportunity to play and a mom who started me on this path of no return.
The broadest brush has the least sensitivity.
The right art to make is what has voice to you.
There is a great deal of beauty in everything, you just have to look at it right.
Symmetry, balance, color and texture are invaluable to recognize beauty.
Your mind can fill in a lot of missing information.
Thirty sets of eyes see thirty different interpretations.
Never understimate the power of someone feeling understood because of your art.
Many things people underestimate can be beautiful together.
Making someone think is just as important as making them happy.
Perfection is impossible but imperfection can be perfect.
Sometimes the littlest things are the most important.
You must have something to say in order to convey that voice to another.
Age does not matter, vision does. Where that vision exists is different for everyone.
To be an artist is to be one who appreciates and mimics the Great Artist, God.
Art is never ever time wasted or money misspent.
The heart and soul whisper the important things and scream the generic ones.
Tied at the soul. There are a few people you meet in life that fit your being like a glove. Sometimes it is a really good friend, sometimes it is a physical aspect to it, but always it is a love connection. Love comes in many flavors. It can be pure and sweet like a clear brook that sees to the rocks below and loves it adores all of it. It suits you. It is comfortable, home, peaceful together. It also can be a flooding, gushing, turbulent river where you meet and go through that turbulence together and understand each other’s struggle because you can relate to it. Either way, there is a connection of mutual understanding and experience. To know and understand someone really well through these experiences and opportunities is to love them and connect to their souls. Then there is a special beauty where we can be friends that share a connection- a hobby, music, art, carbuerator rebuild ability, similar pasts, whatever- that begins the understanding and it matures through time and experience and realizations of similarities and mutual appreciation. This blossoms to a soul connection that allows communication through feelings and conversations at levels too subtle for most to pick up on. To truly learn someone is a very beautiful thing. And these connection of souls operate at a level deeper than one can see, farther than the bounds of time and distance and never can be severed while life remains and some swear after. This perfect experience is a longing of the soul. We want connectednss, we long for intimacy of the souil with another. If the timing is bad, it is torture. If it can work out, it is bliss. Nothing is better. Except. When God is in both, there is also a spiritual connection. To be connected via spirit and soul is to have perfection here on earth that can weather any storm, cross any obstacle, overcome any hardship, help plow through the undealt forgiveness of the past, support both parties. This is where the most precious and rarest of all earthly pleasure and perfections lie. Here is where the best of us may be found better. This is oursweet spot. God in any connection fosters a stronger connection, produces a greater love, and He can fill in until such a time as both spirit and soul may be connected to another without limits or boundaries. And the sacrifice of some time in patience now will pay off in enormous dividends for eternity later. And if you have been blessed so as to have these connections to another soul and spirit, be so very thankful for it because some go much of tbeir lives searching for such a beautiful thing. Appreciate every day, every minute, breathe thankfulness.
A philosopher by nature, my explorations into the realm of meaning and purpose in life, my thoughts walk across my memory. I wonder, as the transport ambulance drives off to the nursing home with my father, if his life’s meanderings met his expectations. And I wonder less about my own life’s meanderings be ause of this. I am certain that many experiences in my Daddy’s life he thought were mistakes or missteps. I wonder if he ever regretted extremely long hours worked. But every step he took, good or bad, right or wrong, made me possible, contributed to my existence and participation in life in such a way as to have my own meaning as an extension of his. Every hour of work kept us alive and housed and clothed and fed and schooled. Every choice I have made inevitably contributed to the existence and life of my children. My precious babies exist because of my life’s meanderings. So each chance we take in the realm of our best decision of the moment is truly purposeful when God gets a hold of it. Each bad decision can be made to be as useful by Him as any good one. We strive for perfection, we thrive on feeling useful and meaningful and worshipful. But even the bad can be turned into good by the God who still reshapes and creates. And the heart is a master representative of where God wants to send you. He appreciates access to it and forms good from it. If the focus is on Him who seeks the heart and truly gets and loves it, the focus is often enough. Then good or bad decisions can be useful and purposed for very good things. So maybe the choice meant well from a heart of focus on God, whether good or bad, can be the best one. Maybe we can leave perfect to the only One who is and we can draw our hearts to focus on Him and do the best we can. And this is truly beautiful.
Dad has been accepted into Palm Terrace’s full term memory care facility for the remainder of his days on this planet. I meet this news with mixed feelings. Obviously I want him home because he is my Daddy and I love him and know he wants to be home. On the flip side, my lower back right now is shooting remembrances to me that it is growing increasingly difficult for me to care for him at home and I cannot live there and take care of him day and night. So, he will be looked after there and I will make frequent visits at various time to ensure that. Also, he is at the same facility he had rehabbed after his initial stroke, so they know me and more importantly they know him. So if he has to be away from his home he loves and his doggy he loves, he will know he is still loved and safe and I will bring his doggie in to visit when I go there. The weight of grief is bound in the mere fact of his decline in health, whereupon it is increasingly difficult to remember that this man while talking to neighbors on the lawn would hold one arm out for me to swing on for a quarter of an hour or more without breaking a sweat. This man who patiently taught this clumsy girl to ride a bike is the same who now can’t walk. This man who could sing so angelically can now barely speak. I am realizing that my process of grief is not confined to a wherabouts. And the other crazy going on in life and my friends’ lives compounds this grief and fries it up nice in a pan with a side of exhaustion. So, I am calling this season of life “Grief & Reef” because I have given myself up to the flow of grief mixed with the sheer blessing and beauty of new things happening in life alongside, like you are drowning in despair but look under the water and see a beautiful colorful reef with life. So things are leaving but things are coming too and the memories of a house filled with family celebrations with the absolutely best father God ever made are in the reef part. I can still see the beauty in my Daddy. I can still remember him bringing me and Tina home the perfect stuffed boodles (bear/poodle mixes) ever made that he picked out himself just because he loved us. And this shopping excursion in between a night shift job with overtime and the day farming. Just one example of his love. I would call home after moving away, and his first questions were always, “You need any money? You need anything?” I rarely ever needed his help but always loved that he asked me. I remember him giving someone from church a car because they needed one and “We only need one.” This was my Daddy. It still is. So, during my Grief and Reef time now, I will be as diligent as I can to focus on the life of the reef and save the grief for a coming storm. It is what has to happen.