I have to seize these moments for there are far too many that present and as i file away the thought with the accompanied, "I will write about that later tonight when it is quiet," I never do.
So, the race is on; as it always is. Sidney is in his chair taking his last bites and I will be summoned into my rightful court. But the thoughts are sporadic, fast and fleeting and if not harnessed; they will fade from view. These prominent thoughts will be eluded and sadly, thoughts of dishes, stories, clean up and kids will mark with territorial strength.
So, what is this about.
Words.
I love words.
I love how a good author will encapsulate a simple feeling or thought within a rainbow or letters, producing a symphony of sound in my mind. I love the way words sound. I love placement of the tongue, i love syllables, I succumb to the force of the well trained mind.
Time has yielded this experience.
Words I love to say:
Circuitous
Loquacious
Endoplasmic Reticulum
Provexity
Phrase: Verbal Gymnastics
Now in overtime.
Thanks for listening.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Battling with Borders
I have been itching inside lately. An itch that i can not find, a pestering sort of itch that needs a really good scratch and relief.
I have been faced - or perhaps it is I who is not necessarily being faced, but doing the seeking.
When the three children were barely making their markings on this Earth - I had clear vision on where each marking was to be placed. I mapped out their day to day and made sure that all were scheduled accordingly. Play dates were over before 1:00 pm and all heads were laying upon pillows promptly by 1:15. During summer months, small running legs and laughing children were interrupted from outside play - as quiet time was soon approaching and all needed moments of rest. This followed by a strict 8pm bed time with ritual of read alouds, bath time and tuck ins. This part was easy for us, for all were able to read in bed after good night kisses.
I was strict on borders and boundaries and proud of accomplished parenting -
I didn't know better.
Tonight is a school night. at 8:35pm, voices of children are heard outside. Mine are pj'd, teeth brushed, and in bed. in 20 minutes, they will hear my voice, "lights out."
Chores have now been the filler. Piano Practice. School Work. Earned Computer Time. Nothing seems to come easy in this house that is overseen by yours truly.
Recently, stories have filled the news of 13 year olds climbing Mt. Everest. 16 year old sailing the seas and 17 year olds rowing across the Atlantic alone. Olympic Athletes, X-Game participants, breath taking outdoor adventure seekers - most likely were not called in by their mother for quiet time every day at 1pm.
Today, two neighbor boys began fighting across the street, physically punching and yelling and hurting. I yelled, "Knock it off!" and as they stopped, they were left with heated words towards the other. Loud yells and accusations filled the surround. I sat and watched, prepared to interfere if needed, but let it go- my children were not actively involved. I was surprised, however, that the parent of the home the fight was brewing never stepped out of the house. This is not all together atypical. Her boys are let free and always have been. I am the parent with borders and she can't seem to find the line that is crossed daily. Her children are being raised in an independent, self-reliant world.
BREAK
I had to pause. The last sentence is true, but it is also true for my own children. They are all independent and self-reliant.
So, what is it? Why do i wear the badge of damage? Who are the 'good' parents? and what are their secrets to success? Have I stripped passion away from my children while stifling them with borders? with any decent border patrol, each one is keenly aware when the have crossed over and need to be put back in place. I think it's time to change hands. I think it's time to scratch that itch.
I have been faced - or perhaps it is I who is not necessarily being faced, but doing the seeking.
When the three children were barely making their markings on this Earth - I had clear vision on where each marking was to be placed. I mapped out their day to day and made sure that all were scheduled accordingly. Play dates were over before 1:00 pm and all heads were laying upon pillows promptly by 1:15. During summer months, small running legs and laughing children were interrupted from outside play - as quiet time was soon approaching and all needed moments of rest. This followed by a strict 8pm bed time with ritual of read alouds, bath time and tuck ins. This part was easy for us, for all were able to read in bed after good night kisses.
I was strict on borders and boundaries and proud of accomplished parenting -
I didn't know better.
Tonight is a school night. at 8:35pm, voices of children are heard outside. Mine are pj'd, teeth brushed, and in bed. in 20 minutes, they will hear my voice, "lights out."
Chores have now been the filler. Piano Practice. School Work. Earned Computer Time. Nothing seems to come easy in this house that is overseen by yours truly.
Recently, stories have filled the news of 13 year olds climbing Mt. Everest. 16 year old sailing the seas and 17 year olds rowing across the Atlantic alone. Olympic Athletes, X-Game participants, breath taking outdoor adventure seekers - most likely were not called in by their mother for quiet time every day at 1pm.
Today, two neighbor boys began fighting across the street, physically punching and yelling and hurting. I yelled, "Knock it off!" and as they stopped, they were left with heated words towards the other. Loud yells and accusations filled the surround. I sat and watched, prepared to interfere if needed, but let it go- my children were not actively involved. I was surprised, however, that the parent of the home the fight was brewing never stepped out of the house. This is not all together atypical. Her boys are let free and always have been. I am the parent with borders and she can't seem to find the line that is crossed daily. Her children are being raised in an independent, self-reliant world.
BREAK
I had to pause. The last sentence is true, but it is also true for my own children. They are all independent and self-reliant.
So, what is it? Why do i wear the badge of damage? Who are the 'good' parents? and what are their secrets to success? Have I stripped passion away from my children while stifling them with borders? with any decent border patrol, each one is keenly aware when the have crossed over and need to be put back in place. I think it's time to change hands. I think it's time to scratch that itch.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Time Explosion
My fingers are set in motion. They place themselves upon the keyboard, as if to set up for the countdown. 3..2..1 - and they're off. They begin to type within fury of movement. back and forth, up and down, knowing how to guide and direct; confidence! They are quicker than the eye, the mind, the emotion. I answer the door and it is neighbor boy number 3, asking to come in and play with the kids downstairs. There are 7 in all sitting in a closed bedroom door; voices are heard from where i sit. I set the baby down, for hsi day has been absent of rest, his head is eager to lay upon his small pillow. pacifier in mouth, cool and quiet jazz filling the space in is room, he goes down happily. I roam the kitchen table and begin to wipe away the evidence of day but my body directs me further.
i sit at this table, and we are back at the beginning.
Time Explosion. These are the moments when time ....time...time finds a placement. a contentment and satisfaction. I am an expert at Time Explosion.
My time is almost up. The door opens downstairs and it is a matter of time, a moment in their time that something will begin to shift within the reality of the fulcrum. The shifting brings an erupted energy that can only be contained for so long. Another shift, a louder voice, a slam of the door, a yelling of one peer to the next. The baby is now making noise. Similar to the Butterfly Effect, one shift, one tiny shift in nature, in movement, in behavior and decision sends an electric wave throughout and all in it's path are affected.
Time Explosion...3...2...1 .......... the end.
i sit at this table, and we are back at the beginning.
Time Explosion. These are the moments when time ....time...time finds a placement. a contentment and satisfaction. I am an expert at Time Explosion.
My time is almost up. The door opens downstairs and it is a matter of time, a moment in their time that something will begin to shift within the reality of the fulcrum. The shifting brings an erupted energy that can only be contained for so long. Another shift, a louder voice, a slam of the door, a yelling of one peer to the next. The baby is now making noise. Similar to the Butterfly Effect, one shift, one tiny shift in nature, in movement, in behavior and decision sends an electric wave throughout and all in it's path are affected.
Time Explosion...3...2...1 .......... the end.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Something Borrowed
This is an older story that a friend recently sent to me......
I`m invisible...
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"
Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more:
Can you fix this?
Can you tie this?
Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?"
I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?"
I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going - she's going - she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great Cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
* No one can say who built the great Cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
*The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
I`m invisible...
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"
Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more:
Can you fix this?
Can you tie this?
Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being.
I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?"
I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?"
I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going - she's going - she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great Cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
* No one can say who built the great Cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
*The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Men and Shopping
I wish i knew what it was about men and shopping. There is a raging stream of question that comes to mind as i write the previous sentence.
1. Why do they get to fall short in regards to shopping.
2. Why is it deemed 'cute' when men are seen out shopping (in particular, grocery shopping)
3. Why do women prefer to shop more than men - what is the physiological connection?
4. Why would the woman typically look for what is on sale and the male typically looks for what they like and buys it?
I hate to shop---hate it with a capital H. This includes grocery shopping as well. Christmas shopping is 95% online and i *do* take pride in not knowing the layout of the local mall. Shopping with all four kids is altogether another story. During this past year, when john was absent for most of it, our cupboards ran as close to bare as they have ever been. Each night, i somehow made it to the grocery store to get the night's dinner or i made something on the fly for the kids and i had something menial later on. BUT, this is not why I write today.
Yesterday was Mother's Day. John went to the grocery store early in the morning (and he noted upon his arrival home that there was not one woman in sight, the aisles were speckled with men)and on my request, picked up 'donuts' for all so that he didn't have to make breakfast before he headed off to work. The time honored tradition on special occasions is that john makes his eggs benedict and cinnamon french toast. Knowing he would be in a time crunch, i asked to make it an easy morning. The man brought home three filled grocery bags of 'donuts.' Pop tarts in all flavors, cinnamon rolls, caramel rolls, pull aparts, sugared cereal and the wrong kind of baby soy milk for sidney accompanied his ride home.
Our family is keen to John's shopping history and we expect no less. Ask to pick up eggs, we get two bags of eggs and anything else in the dairy section. Ask to pick up a bell pepper, we also receive grapes, cucumber, banana, and fresh deli bread...whether we need it or not. This. "I am not sure what to get, so i will get one of everything" mentality has played it's role on many occasions. So, we unloaded the three bags of breakfast items, laughed and carried on.
Which brings me to yesterday afternoon. Talking on the phone to john, i say, "I am taking all 4 kids on some errands and we will eventually end up at target (4 kids in target??? how do you ever get out), let me pick up supplies for dinner. I think we should have chicken enchiladas since we have all this extra cheese (John went to the store to get supplies for nachos one evening and thinking that it would be more convenient to get pre-shredded cheese, he purchased a 2 pound bag of cheese....i don't use pre-shredded cheese at all when i cook. but now we have it...a lot of it). I come home from Target and as i brought up the bags of 'dinner supplies' to the kitchen, i saw a grocery bag; a full grocery bag, staring back at me atop the kitchen counter. This is the flow of conversation ---oh my husband knows me better than i know myself.
"John!! What is this bag doing on the counter? Did you go shopping?"
"Yes, remember our conversation? You asked me to go to the store to pick up everything we will need for dinner?" replies the husband.
"What?? (pause) John?? (in exasperation), I just spent the last couple of hours with the kids and I brought home dinner stuff...i ne---ver told you to get dinner!" Clearly upset, and the day is waining on me.
"Yes you did. (john smirking a bit now) You told me to pick up some chicken and make sure to get some cheese."
"CHEESE??? You picked up cheese?? C'mon, do you know how much CHEESE we have in this house!"
He is laughing a bit by now. And i take this as an affront and am ready for battle. For those of you who know me well, you can imagine the tone.
I walk over to the grocery sack to investigate this communicative blunder and pull out the top box of pasta (not sure why he would be buying pasta, if anything , we are never low on pasta). I take it out of the bag and notice the box, mixed in with all the other grocery items that he recently pulled from the cupboard before my arrival home. In the box was a Toshiba Mini Notebook laptop that I am currently typing on now.No cheese, but a new laptop. A while back, Sidney pulled down my laptop from the couch and broke the screen. I have been stationed at an external monitor for quite some time and am unable to move my work around the house. This is small enough to travel with us to Europe and very cool.
There are great benefits to being married to a computer geek. One year, I received some computer memory for an anniversary gift.
Anyway, that is my story. Thanks for listening.
1. Why do they get to fall short in regards to shopping.
2. Why is it deemed 'cute' when men are seen out shopping (in particular, grocery shopping)
3. Why do women prefer to shop more than men - what is the physiological connection?
4. Why would the woman typically look for what is on sale and the male typically looks for what they like and buys it?
I hate to shop---hate it with a capital H. This includes grocery shopping as well. Christmas shopping is 95% online and i *do* take pride in not knowing the layout of the local mall. Shopping with all four kids is altogether another story. During this past year, when john was absent for most of it, our cupboards ran as close to bare as they have ever been. Each night, i somehow made it to the grocery store to get the night's dinner or i made something on the fly for the kids and i had something menial later on. BUT, this is not why I write today.
Yesterday was Mother's Day. John went to the grocery store early in the morning (and he noted upon his arrival home that there was not one woman in sight, the aisles were speckled with men)and on my request, picked up 'donuts' for all so that he didn't have to make breakfast before he headed off to work. The time honored tradition on special occasions is that john makes his eggs benedict and cinnamon french toast. Knowing he would be in a time crunch, i asked to make it an easy morning. The man brought home three filled grocery bags of 'donuts.' Pop tarts in all flavors, cinnamon rolls, caramel rolls, pull aparts, sugared cereal and the wrong kind of baby soy milk for sidney accompanied his ride home.
Our family is keen to John's shopping history and we expect no less. Ask to pick up eggs, we get two bags of eggs and anything else in the dairy section. Ask to pick up a bell pepper, we also receive grapes, cucumber, banana, and fresh deli bread...whether we need it or not. This. "I am not sure what to get, so i will get one of everything" mentality has played it's role on many occasions. So, we unloaded the three bags of breakfast items, laughed and carried on.
Which brings me to yesterday afternoon. Talking on the phone to john, i say, "I am taking all 4 kids on some errands and we will eventually end up at target (4 kids in target??? how do you ever get out), let me pick up supplies for dinner. I think we should have chicken enchiladas since we have all this extra cheese (John went to the store to get supplies for nachos one evening and thinking that it would be more convenient to get pre-shredded cheese, he purchased a 2 pound bag of cheese....i don't use pre-shredded cheese at all when i cook. but now we have it...a lot of it). I come home from Target and as i brought up the bags of 'dinner supplies' to the kitchen, i saw a grocery bag; a full grocery bag, staring back at me atop the kitchen counter. This is the flow of conversation ---oh my husband knows me better than i know myself.
"John!! What is this bag doing on the counter? Did you go shopping?"
"Yes, remember our conversation? You asked me to go to the store to pick up everything we will need for dinner?" replies the husband.
"What?? (pause) John?? (in exasperation), I just spent the last couple of hours with the kids and I brought home dinner stuff...i ne---ver told you to get dinner!" Clearly upset, and the day is waining on me.
"Yes you did. (john smirking a bit now) You told me to pick up some chicken and make sure to get some cheese."
"CHEESE??? You picked up cheese?? C'mon, do you know how much CHEESE we have in this house!"
He is laughing a bit by now. And i take this as an affront and am ready for battle. For those of you who know me well, you can imagine the tone.
I walk over to the grocery sack to investigate this communicative blunder and pull out the top box of pasta (not sure why he would be buying pasta, if anything , we are never low on pasta). I take it out of the bag and notice the box, mixed in with all the other grocery items that he recently pulled from the cupboard before my arrival home. In the box was a Toshiba Mini Notebook laptop that I am currently typing on now.No cheese, but a new laptop. A while back, Sidney pulled down my laptop from the couch and broke the screen. I have been stationed at an external monitor for quite some time and am unable to move my work around the house. This is small enough to travel with us to Europe and very cool.
There are great benefits to being married to a computer geek. One year, I received some computer memory for an anniversary gift.
Anyway, that is my story. Thanks for listening.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
It's Quiet Now...and what it brings is everything
The airliner above begins to descend into the Minneapolis Airport. A child breaks the silence with her dry cough. The coffee steams to the left. I sit in the furthest corner of this house, distinctly surrounded by windows. Both hands comb through this head of hair, expecting inspiration.
The plane will land and passengers will scatter with significant momentum.
What is my significant momentum?
Life is relative. This is a boring sentence and excusable at times, but undeniably true. It is hard to focus and yet, your conscience knows the steps in front of you. Life takes a claim on you - scooping you up in its timely breeze. Each of us with our own story - looking to our beginning as we struggle and strive to find our end.
Sometimes you fight the ride and your heart beats with yearning. However, and far too often, we let tomorrow gain speed on us and simply wait in compliance.
Another airliner passes over head. Passengers will soon be told to adjust their seat trays and sit in the upright position.
My 'lost in the moment' presence finds me where it always is...what i know...mothering to four. The children are physically and emotionally scattered...consequently, so is their mother. Each demonstrate with patience, a weighty intention.
My oldest is struggling. Perry is struggling; or is it me? As I cuddle and rock the 14th month old and read Miss Spider's something or other, I sense the shift in scale. It is Perry's time. He is the tilting the scale and my efforts are falling short. Not seeing a solution to balance.
A scratch of the head, a readjustment on the chair and another sip of coffee - now luke warm.
We are at the screaming genesis of teenage-dom, but i must address the questionable caveat. Perry enters into this realm with an irrefutable strength of character. He is already 'heard' in this family. What is the process? The world turns his axis on end and he does not have the humility or ability to accept the change.
The airliner makes it's decent - the fourth one this evening. Each passenger takes a deep breath, unbuckles their belts and disembarks from the journey.
Lost in this moment. Focused on this moment. Looking for balance.
Thanks for listening
The plane will land and passengers will scatter with significant momentum.
What is my significant momentum?
Life is relative. This is a boring sentence and excusable at times, but undeniably true. It is hard to focus and yet, your conscience knows the steps in front of you. Life takes a claim on you - scooping you up in its timely breeze. Each of us with our own story - looking to our beginning as we struggle and strive to find our end.
Sometimes you fight the ride and your heart beats with yearning. However, and far too often, we let tomorrow gain speed on us and simply wait in compliance.
Another airliner passes over head. Passengers will soon be told to adjust their seat trays and sit in the upright position.
My 'lost in the moment' presence finds me where it always is...what i know...mothering to four. The children are physically and emotionally scattered...consequently, so is their mother. Each demonstrate with patience, a weighty intention.
My oldest is struggling. Perry is struggling; or is it me? As I cuddle and rock the 14th month old and read Miss Spider's something or other, I sense the shift in scale. It is Perry's time. He is the tilting the scale and my efforts are falling short. Not seeing a solution to balance.
A scratch of the head, a readjustment on the chair and another sip of coffee - now luke warm.
We are at the screaming genesis of teenage-dom, but i must address the questionable caveat. Perry enters into this realm with an irrefutable strength of character. He is already 'heard' in this family. What is the process? The world turns his axis on end and he does not have the humility or ability to accept the change.
Another evening flight is heard overhead. Passengers shift, look through their bags, check their surroundings, gather belonging and garnish energy to begin.
I recently told a friend, "I'm through with Perry." She replied something to the affect, "I didn't know we had those cards. Can you give me your 'I'm through with you' card when you are done?"
The airliner makes it's decent - the fourth one this evening. Each passenger takes a deep breath, unbuckles their belts and disembarks from the journey.
Lost in this moment. Focused on this moment. Looking for balance.
Thanks for listening
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