Epitaph

They say there is beefcake
For every fine lassie.
But only if you promise
To keep your fine chassis!

While his member is throbbing
To enter a beauty,
(He doesn’t care which,
Only knows it’s his duty!)

So, I’m leaving the men, to their own discredit…
And what of my cake? I already et it!

For the "short story" people:

I met a man one day, while walking at the park. When I was home teaching the children, the family would go to the park daily to walk, for exercise. We would sometimes meet people who had started a routine of the same. One day, we met a man there who chose to walk with me. We walked several times around (it was about a quarter of a mile track), which gave us plenty of time to talk. The concept of aerobic exercise is to get your heart rate at a level that is ideal for cardiovascular benefit. A good rule of thumb is to be sure that while you are working your heart, you are still able to comfortably hold a conversation. So walking and talking is a good plan. Not that I had a chance to find out if this rule of thumb was working for me, personally, as this man was doing all the talking. And I mean the entire time. He wasn’t boring or tedious. The things he said were interesting. He was intelligent and articulate and humorous. All the things one would want in a speaker. He had been many places and had done many things, which gave him plenty of interesting stories to tell. And he told them well. But in truth, the largest sentence I said during our walk was, “uh huh.” At the end of the walk he went up to my husband and said these very words, “You have a very interesting wife! You should spend more time walking with her!” Just goes to show ya… if you are interested in a person, they think you’re interesting.

Skeleton Woman

There is a story told in folklore, set in Alaska. It is of a man who went fishing one day. He chose to fish in a secluded little cove which didn’t seem to be too often visited by other local fishermen. In fact, they never visited it. For they all knew the story. The story of a girl who fell in love with a boy from a tribe other than her own… many, many, many moons ago. And not just another tribe, but one at odds with hers. Her father forbade them to marry, but she snuck off in secret to do that very thing. Her father apprehended her in the midst of her escape and he took her and threw her off the cliff into that secluded little cove, to her death. The people had passed this story down through the generations, and no fisherman was to ever draw life from that water, as it was thought to be full of the evil of that terrible event. This poor fisherman knew it not. He didn’t have his line in the water long when he felt a great tug. Oh my! This had to be a big one! As he fought with the creature to bring it to the surface, his mind wandered to all the great riches this great catch would bring him. He had struggled for so many long and weary years. It would be great to have some relief. But as the creature came into view, he realized it was not a fish at all… it was a mass of bones and hair… and a skull! And it seemed the eyes of that skull were looking right at him! He panicked. He set his pole down in the boat and immediately rowed to shore, looking back to be sure that the monster was gone. But it wasn’t, as it was still attached to his pole! But, as it is with panic, he didn’t realize this. He just frantically rowed to shore, seeing behind him the dreaded thing bouncing on the water, appearing to chase him. Once on shore, he grabbed his pole and ran for home… again, looking over his shoulder to find that he was still being chased! He dove into the darkness of the little cave he called home and sat there panting, hoping the ordeal was over. He lit a candle and in the dim light, saw that the thing he had hooked was amassed in a pile in the corner. The soft light softened his fears and he approached and began to untangle the mess. He realized these were the bones of a woman and, after untangling her, he wrapped her in a warm fur and went to lie down on his bed to sleep. During his sleep, a tear escaped from his eye. She approached him and drank up the tear, drawing some life from it. She then put her hand on his chest and began singing a song to the beat of his heart. As she sang, all of her sinews and flesh and skin began to recover her body. And when she and the song were complete, she crawled under the covers and she and the man warmed one another. They warmed one another heart and body and soul for the rest of their lives.

(Anyone care to try to interpret that one?)

Footnote from Teri:
It’s not that we really think men are stupid. We were all created as intelligent beings, men and women. It’s just that when a man doesn’t take the time to figure a woman out (or "untangle her," if you will), he’s sorta shooting himself in the foot. And that’s stupid.

We are doomed...

In view of the fact that God limited the intelligence of man, it seems unfair that he did not also limit his stupidity.
-- Konrad Adenauer

Where there is no vision, a people perish...

It’s a problem among men. Long ago, they were given a phrase to cling to and cling to it they have! They can be seen in the streets marching to the song. They can be found in front of their televisions chanting the eternal, valiant phrase, “Quality, not quantity!” (Yes, and I’m sorry to say, that in the name of equality, women have also chosen to adhere to the ill philosophy, as well.) So we are left with a shabby population which chooses to spend little (and sporadic) amounts of time on things that really require much more consistent attention. I wonder if a man knows what reward awaits him if he just gave a woman the gift of his time on a regular and dependable basis. And as much as I’d like to spell that all out for you boys, I really believe that even if I were able to do so, it would be contrary to the entire concept. Suffice it to say that anything worth having… is worth comprehending.

If we take care of the moments, the years will take care of themselves.
Maria Edgeworth

One of My Adorations:

William Cowper was a writer I greatly admire. The more I learn of him, the more my heart is filled with him. He lived from 1731-1800. He was a deeply sensitive man and had bouts with overwhelming depression. Once, at one of his lowest points, he hailed a cab in London and asked the driver to take him to London Bridge. It was foggy and the driver got lost, finally being only able to accomplish bringing William back to where he started. He refused payment, but William insisted saying, "If you had taken me where I had intended to go, I would have thrown myself from the bridge to my death." He then went inside and wrote these words:

God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform.
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm!

These four small lines have encouraged me so very many times since I discovered them and I can only imagine how many I would have to multiply that by to show the lives that this man continues to touch. (In fact, I set the words to my own tune and taught them to my children.)

But on a lighter side...

"Cowper loved animals tenderly and understood them in a wonderful manner. He tamed some hares and made them famous in his verse. And when he felt madness coming upon him he often found relief in his interest in these pets. One of his poems tells how Cowper scolded his spaniel Beau for killing a little baby bird "not because you were hungry," says the poet, "but out of naughtiness." Here is Beau's reply—"



“Sir, when I flew to seize the bird

In spite of your command,

A louder voice than yours I heard,

And harder to withstand.



“You cried, ‘Forbear!’ – but in my breast

A mightier cried, “Proceed!’ –

‘Twas nature, sir, whose strong behest

Impelled me to the deed.



“Yet much as nature I respect,

I ventured once to break

(As you perhaps may recollect)

Her precept for your sake;



“As when your linnet on a day,

Passing his prison door,

Had fluttered all his strength away

And panting, pressed the floor,



“Well knowing him a sacred thing

Not destined to my tooth,

I only kissed his ruffled wing

And licked the feathers smooth.



“Let my obedience then excuse

My disobedience now,

Nor some reproof yourself refuse

From your aggrieved Bow-wow;



“If killing birds be such a crime

(Which I can hardly see),

What think you, sir, of killing Time

With verse addressed to me?”

C'est Moi!

I haven't posted for awhile.
Headaches... and heartaches... and living and loving and long-lasted learning have prevented me. BUT... I just want to share this poem that is so close to my heart. I don't know the girl who wrote it, but I feel like she is my twin... in a sense.
So, here is a tribute to Trisha:

The Moon Was Half Empty That Night
by Trisha Buhrley Lee

I.
Her head
pounded the 1812 Overture
blood flooded with confidence at first
and then shied
and slowed
just as she had.
She stared at the broken glass on the floor
to find her reflection
did not resemble
even vaguely
the way she felt.

“Feel me now and tell me what it’s like!
Tell me what it’s like.
This makeshift of memory
where sickness has no sound
where reason is just too tired
and anger tastes like rice-cakes
tell me what it’s like to feel me.”

Blinking is fatal
but it smells like coffee
and it could keep her awake here
keep her awake and keep her here.
Here.
In this ocean’s insurrection
that believers refuse to believe in
that the disbelieving fear.

II.
Is beauty enough
enough to stop the poet before pain
to keep the raging rib in its place
-for its moment-
electricity among the golden vibrant wheat
just prior to the setting sun?
Rays no longer intending to warm
bow out in brilliance

a curtain-call sunset sends shivers down her November spine.
Is kindness enough
enough to slow the frenzied shark
to hold your open wound to him and stop his charge?
Is loving enough
enough to conjure this moon tonight
to show you the beauty
the kindness
the love?

III.
She looked at the moon through a telescope last night
“Never the same moon twice.”
It was just as bright as tonight
and looking at it made her squint.
She saw Saturn too
“scatter my ashes there.”
It has rings you know.
She saw them.
We’ve been told Saturn had rings.
She saw them.
She’ll show you.
You’ll see what it’s like to feel her.

IV.
She will never stop lighting lamps for the blind
and it just might not be enough.

V.
The moon was half empty that night.

Brian Doherty @ reason.com says:

Defending non-voting in bars across this great land, I often hear the ultimate "shut up"—that if you don't vote, you have no right to complain about politics or society. The reality is the exact opposite: By voting, you are playing a game whose rules are that the majority vote winner gets to control the reins of government, in all its unspeakable power. If you complain about the results of the game you chose to play, you're just being a sore loser—or winner.

Here's the whole of it:
http://www.reason.com/hod/bmd110204.shtml

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

I watched an HBO movie this weekend entitled, "Iron Jawed Angels." It was an excellent and moving story. Truly amazing to see what women had to go through to receive some measure of equality in this country. I would recommend watching, if you get a chance. It should give american women some understanding of the privilege of being allowed to have a voice in their own government. Interesting thing presented in the movie, though. In the midst of their protest, these women were confronted with the dilemma of electing to postpone or continue their cause at the onset of World War I. They knew that, at the very least, it would be rude to picket the office of the president during wartime. They chose to continue and hold the president accountable for his policy which included a zealous agenda of helping the citizens of other nations to reach the respectable position of a self-governing society while neglecting a large percentage of the citizens that lived under the rules of his own administration. The women were spat upon and called names, assaulted and arrested. Some of the onlookers told them to "go to Germany." I found this to be an ironic twist, in that this is the very thing that some have been known to say to me in today's world when I say I choose not to participate in the voting process. Honest to God, they tell me to move to Germany, as I've no right to live here in their precious democracy. Seems to me that those women, and many who came before, have always been fighting for the same thing. Liberty. The right to live according to one's own conscience. The fact that I don't vote is not because I'm lazy (although I am lazy) and it's not because I am disillusioned by the whole mess (although I am that, as well). My reasons are a matter of conscience. And when the people of this country choose a platform that would deny people the right to act in response to their own chosen belief system, then they lose the right to be called a free society. And then, in fact, those who lost their lives to provide that freedom, really did do it all for nothing. Postscript: This article was printed in the letters to the editor of the Ogden Standard Examiner on November 12, 2004.

And the beat goes on...

Five years ago, I left the father of my children. The kids were ages 18, 15 and 12. It was very hard on everyone, but especially them. They were confused and angry and have wrestled with the many aspects of recovering from a broken home. Strangely, it was easiest on the youngest, hardest on the oldest… and right in the middle, is the girl. She felt the strong pangs of grief and upheaval the most acutely, but had the capability of working through the emotions a little better (with a lot of help from a supportive network of friends and family). She now feels like a stronger and greater person because of the adversity. All three kids have excellent spirits and solid characters. I’m sure they’ll bear the scars for life. But scars are things we all have to live with. The phrase, “He (or she) is a survivor,” is often heard. That’s no big accomplishment… because it’s true of just about everyone. We are created to survive, naturally. It’s surviving WELL that we’re after… that’s the gift that we admire. And, although I know my children to be overcomers, I’ve often thought perhaps I should have stuck it out in the marriage for their sakes. In fact, it was for their sakes that I stayed in it for eighteen years. And it was upon realizing that it was not helping anyone, least of all them, that I chose not to continue in it. So this thought keeps me from the large part of regret. But still, no one wants to know they are responsible for the pain their children feel. I knew it would be hard on everyone. All three of them knew that living with their father was killing me. They all understood that it was a no win situation. I have never sensed any resentment toward me from them… except from the oldest. He had decided to deal with the situation by calling his childhood “a lie.” You can imagine what that would do to a person. He has only spoken ill words to me a couple of times. But I’ve heard a few things here and there of things he’s said about me. Not to mention the things others have said about me. It’s been a long and terrible road. But it’s been a necessary one. And one that has brought immeasurable insight and freedom to us all. This we only know by the little glimpses of hope we see on the journey. You see, this oldest son is the one who recently had the privilege of becoming a father. He lives very close by, so I’ve been able to be actively involved in the whole experience. And, as luck would have it, he and the momma have been staying with me while their house is getting some improvements done. They’ve been with me for almost a month. It has been nothing but a pleasure. Last night, he said the smallest little statement to me… but it meant the whole world. We were discussing identity theft, or something to that effect. I mentioned that someone may have used my social security number but it was no big deal, because it’s not like I have a good name that they could ruin. And he looked squarely at me and said, “To me, you have a good name. To your children, you will always have a good name.” The moment passed quietly… uneventfully… but our hearts were stronger for the greatness of it. I know many have misunderstood and questioned and judged my actions, regarding the demise of that union. There really are no words that can justify such decisions. I can only say that, at the time, I knew my children to be like little birds that I had taught to fly. And now they were going to have to do that very thing. And I’d be here for them, if they ever wanted to know less about the earth and more about the sky. And they’d be here for me… as they were last night… in the loving words of that one man.

Post Script:
I shared the above composition with Jake, my oldest. He said he was quite touched and wanted to take me to dinner and talk about it. We went out saturday night and talked about many things, but the main thing he wanted to let me know is that he didn't mean those things he said... and that he doesn't feel like his childhood was "a lie." He said, "Mom, I had a good childhood, and the only reason it was good was because you were in it. You have been the good part of my life."

At the risk of becoming a theological forum...

Trotting Paul...

While driving to work today, I was thinking about the apostle Paul. I spent a number of years under the influence of religion. Some of it mainstream… some of it not-so-mainstream. The doctrines varied, but there was a common theme. They often used Paul as a crutch to back up their destructive teachings. Effectively doing harm to men, women and children alike. His name is sometimes used to browbeat women into submission, to force men into positions of authority or action (in the name of GOD) which they have no business in and to give children a skewed view of the family structure. These being all well-meaning souls who have just picked up these ideas from the traditions of their chosen sects (one of the most famous sects being “Americanization”). As I would hope most of us have already discovered (along with Tevye), tradition consistently has nothing to do with truth. And as a result, we reject Paul, labeling him a controlling, judgmental, self-righteous ass… a man who couldn’t possibly know anything about women or families, having lived his entire life as a single man. Well, I’ve come to find out that in order to receive his teachings properly, a couple of things have to be in order. First, realizing that it is God’s words you are studying, not Paul’s. God may have chosen Paul to deliver the words, but that doesn’t make them any less His. Secondly, study what is being said in light of the entirety of the Bible, WITHOUT any extra biblical instruction, going back to the original Greek, if possible. In fact, you will find Paul to be probably the most humble and gracious man (apart from Christ himself) to have ever walked this earth. He had a lot to be humble about. He was in no position to feel superior to anyone, considering his history. He had previously been all of those things listed above. He had even gone to the point of standing by and holding the coats of the Pharisees who were stoning a man to death for the crime of preaching Christ. He had committed the greatest crimes against Christ that were possible to commit. When Paul’s eyes were opened, he saw some terrible, terrible things about himself and all the foundations on which he stood crumbled in a moment. For me, it is one of the most ill things I’ve had to encounter (and continue to encounter), to see this man used to validate ideas about patriotism, sectarianism and submission. Those being the very things he was trying to clarify! If you do get a chance to study the topics that Paul wrote about (which he wrote usually from prison) please do not be swayed by the prejudices of your background or the oppressive slants of your society. His words are truly full of life and health and light. I would not be able to do without them.

In Response to Charles, as follows:

Believe me... I know the feeling...

http://www.lewrockwell.com/orig4/featherstone7.html

Being a Christian in these times... it ain’t easy. Of course, it never was… and never was meant to be. It was meant to be simple and full of peace… but not easy.

Likely one of the most misapplied aspects of Christianity is prayer. The use and abuse of it abounds. And it is nearly impossible to force oneself to pray for those you despise. It feels as if you are asking God to bless their horrific actions. But in fact, God never does instruct us to pray for their prosperity. It’s really a change in us that he is after. (and out trots Paul)

[1] I exhort therefore, that, first of all, supplications, prayers, intercessions, and giving of thanks, be made for all men;
[2] For kings, and for all that are in authority; that we may lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and honesty.

The act of praying for all men, including those that are in positions of authority (which includes the entire world, not just OUR leaders) gives us that quiet and peaceable spirit, regardless of what it gives those for whom we are praying. In other words, prayer changes us. When I stop clinging to my country’s boundaries and claim all mankind in my view, it changes entirely the way I see the big picture. The scene changes to an eternal one. Where I am realizing my prayer is for those that are poor in spirit, just as some are praying for me when I am poor in spirit. And in all honesty, I can’t think of anyone in the world who is poorer in spirit than the world’s leaders. Giving of thanks for such creatures does seem to be a call to pure torture, but when I’m on my knees, it’s hard to look down on anyone.

Call unto Me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not. Jeremiah 33:3

(Had to hang up my spurs a minute for that one.) *wink*

Some Advice to Seriously Ponder:

Are you bored with mainstream religion and ready, eddy, eddy for something different? Then why not consider converting to the Church of SpongeBob Squarepants? In fact, you probably don't even have to give up your existing faith. Spongebob is quite ecumenical, in this regard. To convert all you have to do is "drop on the deck and flop like a fish."
From Alex Boese's Museum of Hoaxes

Another Kitty Says:

"The way I feel about music is that there is no right and wrong. Only true and false."
-Fiona Apple

Mommy and Daddy Love

Little treasure toes.
You spend your days dreaming of painting toenails.
I’m sure of it.
(At least your daddy is.)

Daddy says he found you in a treasure box.
He calls you his “precious.”
(Fortunately, he doesn’t use the smeagol voice when he does it.
But he does ask if you’ve seen the movie.)

Mommy says she knows of no thing more beautiful.
(Plus, she’s the one who painted your toes.)
She wants you to remain small forever and ever…
So she can hold you and kiss your face and you’ll be happy.

When you hear daddy’s voice,
You turn your head to find him.
When he’s at work, mommy puts the phone to your ear.
Daddy says he loves you. And he does.

You will always be surrounded by love.
But no love will ever match the love you have today.
From mommy and daddy.