Shortly, we will be leaving this city. Unknown of our return, we are like the baby who holds his hand out, reaching for something enticing while his mother drags him on to his destination.
In short recap:
Wednesday: Arrive. Paris greets us fondly, but missing luggage throws major kink into day.
Thursday: Meet Erin and girls in the morning. Girls hang out and play ball with kids in old roman park/Colosseum below our apartment where gladiators and lions entertained. Erin and i shopped for provisions. Came home and headed our for a very long day of walking and bus riding. walked to her favorite crepe place for lunch (jamon and formage), walked by her old apartment, the pantheon, university and variety of streets. took bus to a cute amusement park. Kids went on many rides together --- great day for bonding. Took VERY crowded metro train home and capped off with great dinner right by our apartment.
Friday: Erin and girls met us at apartment. We walked to the Bateaux Bus (water bus) and boarded the Seine for an afternoon of sight seeing. First stop: Effiel Tower. Super crowded. Got kids slushies. No ice coffee stands in Paris. Because of the crowd, we stood beneath the tower for quite some time in awe - watched the people shuffle by us and communicatively decided upon lunch at a park. More crepes. Park was by an aquarium. Bought tickets to go there instead. Kids enjoyed this time more than the Eiffel Tower, I believe. It was a great aquarium. Back on boat to stop at the Jardin des Tuileries. large sculpture garden. This is where Rodin's "The Thinker" is. Again, there are three adults and 6 kids all together. One day, john and I will come back and envelope oursleves within an educated history Small park for kids to play. three adults got a table outside small cafe and toasted the afternoon with a nice cold beer. Walked over to the Louvre, had delicious apricot gelato. Back on boat and home.
Saturday: Met Erin, Gilles and girls in a cool part of downtown Paris. Erin and I went shopping while dads and kids went to fun market. walked to Jardin des Luxembourg (cool playground) and had lunch in the park; baguettes, meet and cheese. walked the streets of paris again, found cafe for quick drink, departed as a group and met up again for dinner. Simon and Perry shared Escargot.
Sunday: rain storm. family to the Louvre. Met up with Erin at Notre Dame. More walking. Lunch. back to Jardin des Luxembourg for some relaxation. Families depart and Avensons take to the streets once again, stopping for crepes on the way home. Beautiful Catholic ceremonial march (?) passed us on the way home. Lots of catholics in Paris.
Monday: John took metro to go get our car. kids will be up soon and we will be off to Strasbourg.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
A Poem in Tuscany
Like the Seine River, this post will have its own ebb and flow and up and down rhythm. As I near the end of cleaning this apartment we have called home for the past 5 days; I sneak into the back corner room, open my lap top and allow my fingers and mind to dance with the other.
Enjoy
Many years ago, my (now 81) year old neighbor, came to my door after a trip to Italy. He said, "While looking out my window, I saw a cat that reminded me of your Gato. He was there every morning when I awoke." He then took out a small alabaster figurine; that of a cat. "This is for you," he said. "It reminds me of a poem I wrote in Tuscany about the orange cat outside my window."
Tonight, I smile. Presently, there is a wild black cat roaming the walkway below, meowing in the lonely and 'nobody loves me' way that is similar to our cat, Alice, at home. No money will be spent on alabaster tonight.
Today, after a heavy rain storm, the family embarked on a trip to the Louvre. Because it is the first Sunday of the month, the Louvre was free and all countries seemed to be in generous representation today. Saying there was a multitude of people would be an understatement. The line wrapped around the outside pyramid and out an arch way and around the courtyard. Knowing that I did not want to endure this, I walked up to a man selling his Eiffel Tower key chains and asked to show me the other entrances (I did research before). He looked at our stroller and said, "Oh no Madame...you and baby get to walk right in. Go to the door on the far left and go in." In disbelief, we did as instructed. Found ourselves at the left door of the pyramid and literally walked right on through. A man was waiting there for us with an open elevator and took us straight down. We continued to act like the sophisticated family we are known to be - but once inside and out of view, the excitement was abounding. SCORE!!!
I had made a scavenger hunt for us but left it at home. It was a good thing. We would not have been able to navigate as freely as I had planned. It was crowded and steamy hot. Clearly not the most attractive of circumstances for your first visit - but we proudly endured. Simon really wanted to see print drawings, but the floor was closed. Perry wanted to see the Mona Lisa and he did. It would not be Perry if he waited patiently three rows back. He and his camera worked their way through the crowd, he got front and center with Ms. Lisa and took 7 pictures (or so he says). We also enjoyed the Egyptian Antiquities wing. Sidney put up with us for over two and a half hours but ultimately was the catalyst in our departure; being quite disagreeable with our personal venue. No amount of milk, biscuit or pacifier soothed the antsy demons within.
Notre Dame. Oh I wish I had more than three sentences to say about Notre Dame; but today, its only purpose was a meeting place for sister and family. All involved parties were quite hungry. Brother in Law led the way down his streets of Paris. Lunch, crepes, and then Luxembourg Gardens for a 'sit' near the incredible Senate building.
A walk home with the family; who decided upon a nice long walk home through the open streets of Paris in lieu of a Metro ride home. Perfect Dinner. Discussion of the day. Play at the park. Showers and bed.
Tomorrow we leave for Strasbourg. Another page, another journey, another dance with fingers and mind. Till we meet again, adieu.
Enjoy
Many years ago, my (now 81) year old neighbor, came to my door after a trip to Italy. He said, "While looking out my window, I saw a cat that reminded me of your Gato. He was there every morning when I awoke." He then took out a small alabaster figurine; that of a cat. "This is for you," he said. "It reminds me of a poem I wrote in Tuscany about the orange cat outside my window."
Tonight, I smile. Presently, there is a wild black cat roaming the walkway below, meowing in the lonely and 'nobody loves me' way that is similar to our cat, Alice, at home. No money will be spent on alabaster tonight.
Today, after a heavy rain storm, the family embarked on a trip to the Louvre. Because it is the first Sunday of the month, the Louvre was free and all countries seemed to be in generous representation today. Saying there was a multitude of people would be an understatement. The line wrapped around the outside pyramid and out an arch way and around the courtyard. Knowing that I did not want to endure this, I walked up to a man selling his Eiffel Tower key chains and asked to show me the other entrances (I did research before). He looked at our stroller and said, "Oh no Madame...you and baby get to walk right in. Go to the door on the far left and go in." In disbelief, we did as instructed. Found ourselves at the left door of the pyramid and literally walked right on through. A man was waiting there for us with an open elevator and took us straight down. We continued to act like the sophisticated family we are known to be - but once inside and out of view, the excitement was abounding. SCORE!!!
I had made a scavenger hunt for us but left it at home. It was a good thing. We would not have been able to navigate as freely as I had planned. It was crowded and steamy hot. Clearly not the most attractive of circumstances for your first visit - but we proudly endured. Simon really wanted to see print drawings, but the floor was closed. Perry wanted to see the Mona Lisa and he did. It would not be Perry if he waited patiently three rows back. He and his camera worked their way through the crowd, he got front and center with Ms. Lisa and took 7 pictures (or so he says). We also enjoyed the Egyptian Antiquities wing. Sidney put up with us for over two and a half hours but ultimately was the catalyst in our departure; being quite disagreeable with our personal venue. No amount of milk, biscuit or pacifier soothed the antsy demons within.
Notre Dame. Oh I wish I had more than three sentences to say about Notre Dame; but today, its only purpose was a meeting place for sister and family. All involved parties were quite hungry. Brother in Law led the way down his streets of Paris. Lunch, crepes, and then Luxembourg Gardens for a 'sit' near the incredible Senate building.
A walk home with the family; who decided upon a nice long walk home through the open streets of Paris in lieu of a Metro ride home. Perfect Dinner. Discussion of the day. Play at the park. Showers and bed.
Tomorrow we leave for Strasbourg. Another page, another journey, another dance with fingers and mind. Till we meet again, adieu.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
When in Paris...Do as the Parisians???
Parisians sit. They sit and they sit and they sit. Dr. Seuss might eloquently take pen to pad and say, "Parisians sit here and they sit there; they sit everywhere. They sit on a chair, they sit in a pair, they sit without a care.
Parisians know how to relax. The "to go" intellect does not exist. There is no eating or drinking in active transistion and if hungry or in need of coffee, Parisians make time to sit in a corner cafe, side by side and watch the world (in envy) pass them by.
A family of 6 does not sit, it never sits. If it does, it has plenty of activity to keep it sitting: activity books. puzzles, doodle pads, games; and then it is off again. It careens through a slow motion warp of tranquility.
We can all take lesson from those who inhabit this lovely city. But, as I sit here, stealing my own time, i am forced to leave this post, as the youngest avenson has not learned from this philosophy.
Thanks for listening.
Parisians know how to relax. The "to go" intellect does not exist. There is no eating or drinking in active transistion and if hungry or in need of coffee, Parisians make time to sit in a corner cafe, side by side and watch the world (in envy) pass them by.
A family of 6 does not sit, it never sits. If it does, it has plenty of activity to keep it sitting: activity books. puzzles, doodle pads, games; and then it is off again. It careens through a slow motion warp of tranquility.
We can all take lesson from those who inhabit this lovely city. But, as I sit here, stealing my own time, i am forced to leave this post, as the youngest avenson has not learned from this philosophy.
Thanks for listening.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Beginning of Something Wonderful
The Icelandic plane (Klafka) departed ontime with all 6 Avensons aboard; settled, comfortable and eager. Upon landing in Iceland, we realize our luggage tickets indicate that the 'Sorenson luggage' is on it's way to Amsterdam. With all intent and commitment, Icelandic Air desperatly tries to stop this from happening. To no avail, our luggage is gone, flying the unintended skies, marking its destination.
Arriving at the apartment, the sleepless family goes down for a nap while Lucy and I take foot to the Parisian streets. We are able to navigate both to a market and a patissere. With limited knowledge and abibility to communicate, we pay our first euros and purchase provisions for the family.
Back at the apartment, john is now up and embarking on his own (unknown at the time) exhausted journey - dealing with the airlines. The apartment has a phone to use for local calls. We are with one cell phone, that will be out of power by evenings end. The phone calls made are futile; offices are now closed, automated systems have no record of our luggage. We put in our first load of laundry and call it a night.
Thursday morning
John talks to a human being who informs him that our luggage is in Copenhagen. It will make a flight to Paris, but will not be here until evening. The directions are clear: a French and non speaking driver will pick up your luggage and call you locally on a french phone. Translation: If we dont want to be trapped in our apartment all day, we will have to purchase a French Cell Phone.
My sister Erin calls and says that she and her girls will have breakfast and then she and i will depart for a morning of 'not on our itinerary' errands. I, therefore, take the kids out to the small patissere just outside our apartment and order (in French...although, comically find that when answering yes, I say 'Si' instead of 'Qui.' Thankfully the owner thinks this is cute and plays along) our morning faire: chocolate crossaints, brioche, and almond pan.
Erin arrives and we hit the streets. Underware, hats, t-shirts, toothbrushes and a cute little wallet for moi and two new pairs of sandals- hee hee.
The day is lovely. Truly idealic. The cousins reconnect, laugh, joke, play, hold hands and share stories. this makes my sister and I mimic in action for we are truly happy watching our children together. Holding Sidney the entire time (remember, stroller is in Copenhagen) the day arms get tired, but it is rewarding just the same. it is a day in Paris and all company is in good spirits. The evening with family closes with a delicious dinner.
BUT -- all good beginnings need an end. And this story, fortunately, has a terrific ending. However, the journey there was nothing short of a living nightmare.
LUGGAGE
We arrive home last night. My cell phone was dead. My computer was dead. There was a message on the home machine from the driver. He is French and hence, his message was in French...and it was very quick. So, while john attemps to call my sister on his new "all in French" cell phone, I am putting all four kids to bed. The first three are easy. They are whipped. The 4th (baby), not so much. He held it together amazingly well during the day. He never even flinched as we boarded the busting at the seams metro (he got a bit sweaty standing shoulder to shoulder with a multitude of strangers, but he never flinched). He ate a perfect dinner and now home, when we needed him to do one last thing -go to sleep - he wasnt having it. All those times he felt like crying during the day, all came out that evening.
So, to recap - cell phone in french. cant make calls out. Message from driver all in French. Baby crying.
Not being able to get erin, john begins to decipher message, playing it over and over again. phonetically writing what he (and i when i can) hears. Erin calls. he plays message for her, but she can't understand it through the cell phone line. John records it on blackberry. calls his work and talks to the General Manager (who knows French). He can't decipher it All he can say in French is "Tough Luck."
John takes to the streets. Goes into a restaurant and a waiter helps him with the number. Even if we *were* able to call, we would be talking to a French man who wouldn't understand us. Also, as an aside, our cell phone only had 10 minutes of air time, we were instructed to call a particular number later in the day to receive the credits we had purchased in the store. So, with each phone call on the cell, the minutes were ticking away...tick, tick, tick...beep - time is up.
john calls the number he received from the waiter's translation, leaves a message (in english) and at 10pm, the baby falls asleep. In the meantime, john is trying to use his online translator to help with any type of translation.
10:30 FRENCH brother in law calls on his way home from his very long day at a conference. Yeah!!! FRENCH brother in law calls. He tells us he will be at the apartment shortly to help us out. FRENCH brother in law!!
Shortly after 10:30, Gilles arrives. HUGE HUG for Gilles! He not only translates the message and writes down the CORRECT number, he also fixes our cell phone and gets our needed credits and switches our 'French' cell phone into the understandable english language. He also calls the driver and although the driver was making his last couple of deliveries and preferred to call us in the morning, Gilles pressed on and arranged for a 2am drop off.
Long story short: our luggage arrived last night at 1:50 am. We are now currently dressed and ready for the day.
Arriving at the apartment, the sleepless family goes down for a nap while Lucy and I take foot to the Parisian streets. We are able to navigate both to a market and a patissere. With limited knowledge and abibility to communicate, we pay our first euros and purchase provisions for the family.
Back at the apartment, john is now up and embarking on his own (unknown at the time) exhausted journey - dealing with the airlines. The apartment has a phone to use for local calls. We are with one cell phone, that will be out of power by evenings end. The phone calls made are futile; offices are now closed, automated systems have no record of our luggage. We put in our first load of laundry and call it a night.
Thursday morning
John talks to a human being who informs him that our luggage is in Copenhagen. It will make a flight to Paris, but will not be here until evening. The directions are clear: a French and non speaking driver will pick up your luggage and call you locally on a french phone. Translation: If we dont want to be trapped in our apartment all day, we will have to purchase a French Cell Phone.
My sister Erin calls and says that she and her girls will have breakfast and then she and i will depart for a morning of 'not on our itinerary' errands. I, therefore, take the kids out to the small patissere just outside our apartment and order (in French...although, comically find that when answering yes, I say 'Si' instead of 'Qui.' Thankfully the owner thinks this is cute and plays along) our morning faire: chocolate crossaints, brioche, and almond pan.
Erin arrives and we hit the streets. Underware, hats, t-shirts, toothbrushes and a cute little wallet for moi and two new pairs of sandals- hee hee.
The day is lovely. Truly idealic. The cousins reconnect, laugh, joke, play, hold hands and share stories. this makes my sister and I mimic in action for we are truly happy watching our children together. Holding Sidney the entire time (remember, stroller is in Copenhagen) the day arms get tired, but it is rewarding just the same. it is a day in Paris and all company is in good spirits. The evening with family closes with a delicious dinner.
BUT -- all good beginnings need an end. And this story, fortunately, has a terrific ending. However, the journey there was nothing short of a living nightmare.
LUGGAGE
We arrive home last night. My cell phone was dead. My computer was dead. There was a message on the home machine from the driver. He is French and hence, his message was in French...and it was very quick. So, while john attemps to call my sister on his new "all in French" cell phone, I am putting all four kids to bed. The first three are easy. They are whipped. The 4th (baby), not so much. He held it together amazingly well during the day. He never even flinched as we boarded the busting at the seams metro (he got a bit sweaty standing shoulder to shoulder with a multitude of strangers, but he never flinched). He ate a perfect dinner and now home, when we needed him to do one last thing -go to sleep - he wasnt having it. All those times he felt like crying during the day, all came out that evening.
So, to recap - cell phone in french. cant make calls out. Message from driver all in French. Baby crying.
Not being able to get erin, john begins to decipher message, playing it over and over again. phonetically writing what he (and i when i can) hears. Erin calls. he plays message for her, but she can't understand it through the cell phone line. John records it on blackberry. calls his work and talks to the General Manager (who knows French). He can't decipher it All he can say in French is "Tough Luck."
John takes to the streets. Goes into a restaurant and a waiter helps him with the number. Even if we *were* able to call, we would be talking to a French man who wouldn't understand us. Also, as an aside, our cell phone only had 10 minutes of air time, we were instructed to call a particular number later in the day to receive the credits we had purchased in the store. So, with each phone call on the cell, the minutes were ticking away...tick, tick, tick...beep - time is up.
john calls the number he received from the waiter's translation, leaves a message (in english) and at 10pm, the baby falls asleep. In the meantime, john is trying to use his online translator to help with any type of translation.
10:30 FRENCH brother in law calls on his way home from his very long day at a conference. Yeah!!! FRENCH brother in law calls. He tells us he will be at the apartment shortly to help us out. FRENCH brother in law!!
Shortly after 10:30, Gilles arrives. HUGE HUG for Gilles! He not only translates the message and writes down the CORRECT number, he also fixes our cell phone and gets our needed credits and switches our 'French' cell phone into the understandable english language. He also calls the driver and although the driver was making his last couple of deliveries and preferred to call us in the morning, Gilles pressed on and arranged for a 2am drop off.
Long story short: our luggage arrived last night at 1:50 am. We are now currently dressed and ready for the day.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Spontaneous Blimp
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.
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.
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.
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