A photograph

I'm taking a creative writing class and I had to write a poem for Tuesday. This is the final draft.

Still Shot

The mesmerizing stillness of a smiling photograph.

A bronzed, rugged cowboy atop his barely tamed horse paused on the edge of a cliff.

Turned back to smile for the camera.

A perfect shot.

A shot in the dark.

Finally.

And he leaves just the haunting of his smile

atop his closed, lovingly polished, coffin.

But the smile I want to resurrect

is before he turned his back.

Before the laughter slid into silence.

Before his merciless demons chained

him to only one hope of escape.

This man of wild epiphany’s and chaos, encased in a perfect façade,

Who saved me from here, the home I had known so far,

and then left

demanding my life be worthy of more than he was becoming.

I could not hold his horse away from the edge.

Fleeting moments and choices made sear the beginning and end together

And only fragments in-between remain.

And nothing can ever change the time that was.

Choices cannot be re-made.

Memory cannot be trusted.

We can never go back to before.

His smile will remain unchained in the merciful coffin of his inevitable choice.

I will remain

looking on from here.

Living the life he gave me by living at all,

and leaving.

Still.

___________________________

This isn't really a post for mothers. It's a post because I was a woman before I became a mother and something happened that reminded me that maybe I'm still a woman. Just not the woman I was. Thank God.

Not everyone marries their high school sweetheart. I didn't. Thank God. Some of us came close to marrying dozens of handsome (and not-so-handsome, but funny) men. I did not marry my high school sweetheart. I came close to marrying several other girls’ high school sweethearts though. And I thoroughly relished the process. I am a very good flirt. Something my husband reminded me of on Saturday night...I have never considered that I actually flirt - I just like to have fun. Men are a little more fun than women.

While my husband is the bravest, funniest, cutest, best one of them all, there was one who held my heart deeply in his embrace for 10 years before my brave, funny, cute, best one showed up and he was the best flirt of all time. He was the most charming person on earth when he was in an upswing. He was devastating to know when he wasn't. A bi-polar man trying not to combust his entire life. He was only biding his time here until he could get to heaven. My mother pointed out "He held on as long as could." He was in his sixties when he gave up waiting for heaven 2 years ago and took a short cut.

He and his family were the first people who showed me I was lovable and it changed the way I viewed the world for the rest of my life. I'm grateful to remember the woman I was and relieved I'm the woman I've become.Very.

It's haunting how you don't think of someone for years and then early one morning you get a phone call that says their gone and immediately you remember them....as the flirt they were...at first.



You Can Lead

Hannah holding Fred. "Doobers." She's 14 in this photo, 16 now. Unbelieveably good, too. A miracle.

Maybe she was switched at birth. At least that was my dear friend, Terry's, suggestion.

At four, she believed the world was her friend. This terrified me.

Even then, she did not judge, hit back, or retaliate very much when other four year olds threw tantrums and hit first. She laughed, played, danced, forgave, forgot and moved on.

She was a little, living example of grace.

She has remained strong and able  - to laugh, play, dance, forgive, and forget.

It seems her heart is forever able rise above tantrums and selfishness and dance instead.

I hope she always dances with me, and forgives and forgets - but mostly, if we do get to dance - she should lead.

Hamilton High Parking Lot Instructions

7:22 A.M. finds the Hamilton High Parking Lot swarming with hormonal, panicked and nearly late teenage drivers and/or a parent of some kind. Monday through Friday between 7:12 and 7:22 I drop off my two, panicked, nearly late, hormonal teenage daughters.

Instructions/thoughts/prayers/fervent hopes I have derived at 7:24 in order to survive the parking lot and where it leads:

Look both ways before you are in the middle of the traffic.

Please find more clothes that cover more of you. You aren’t prepared for the kind of attention you’re asking for.

Please don’t kiss anyone today. At least not someone I don’t know. Or like.

Stand up to Mrs. *&*!@%$%^*!

Do your best at something today.

Get an idea of who you want to be.

Be grateful you get to go to school. At some point in your four years, realize this is a privilege.

Please survive the day.

Please don’t be tempted beyond your values.

Come home when school is over and tell me something - out loud.

Please let me hug you the moment I see you…or at least before you go to bed - at midnight.

Note to self: I will, with super-human power, resist reacting to your ever changing attitude, so we will both live to see you graduate.

Please don’t let this be the next Columbine.

Pay attention to the very heavy moving vehicles in the parking lot! They are all driven by teenagers checking out the other “beautiful” teenagers walking blithely in front of them, or by parents devising instructions to save you from yourself and the rest of the world. On a side note: We can't afford the emergency room.

Please make it safely to the curb.

Be brave and step off the curb confidently. But look first.


I will miss this parking lot in three and a half years.

How to Accept a Gift

He handed me a tiny blue bag. Every girl who has, well, been alive, recognizes this exact shade of Tiffany Blue.

My first ever…AND there was a tiny little

Tiffany Blue

box inside!! A little box!!! Little boxes contain the best things.
I didn’t want to open it. It was wrong. I didn’t want a gift. To receive a gift of any kind is always humbling, but in this instance, I really did not feel right about accepting a present. And I love presents. Especially presents that might be contained in a

Tiffany Blue

box.

He said “Santa left something under the tree for you.”

Oh, it was from Santa.
Still.

“How to accept a gift?” I managed somehow to say out loud.

“Really? You’re asking me this?” he replied as he clasped his hands to his head as if to press down any further emotion from potentially escaping.

I did nothing to deserve this. I only came along for the ride.

It’s the same with grace; doing nothing, coming along for the ride and then loveliness appearing almost out of nowhere to be taken just because it was offered.

Only grace doesn’t come all neatly wrapped in a trademark box. It’s harder to spot.

To accept seems to imply worthiness. I have pretty much spent my entire life trying to prove that I am unworthy. I’m very good at it. I have almost perfect proof that this is true and I’m not alone in this skill.

Has anyone ever felt they deserved to be forgiven?

Or that there was enough grace to cover a million mistakes?

Or to be healed?

Did the witnesses at Jesus crucifixion feel worthy to be saved?

Jesus whole point was that we are all worth dying for, even those of us humbled at the foot of the cross, in doubt. Yet Jesus opened up his hands for the nails - as if anyone was someone worth dying for. Even those of us trying to prove otherwise.

How to accept a gift like that? I don’t fully know. But, I did. I do. Accept it.

I opened the

Tiffany Blue


box because if I didn’t, I would hurt the giver. Oh, what I do every day that hurts the giver, just by stopping short of unwrapping all that is offered.

Inside the box was an Elsa Perretti necklace significantly called “The Origin of Life.” That’s the name of the necklace, “The Origin of Life” and it was given to me by the friend who accepted my husband’s kidney. This friend must have wondered at some point if he was worth dying for. But he heard “Yes, you are” and he had to accept that. His gift was wrapped up in a

Man.

Interesting wrapping. Almost as recognizable as

Tiffany Blue.


The necklace has what appears to be a kidney bean on a thin silver chain. It looks a little bit like a jelly bean. I haven’t taken it off. Daily it reminds me to open up what is offered, even if I don’t recognize the color of the box right off the bat.


Karen

Gift Ideas

"Greater love has no man than this,

that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13

“Will you help me give life to my Son?”

“Of course,” Mary replied. “It will be my honor.”

“You will give life to all of your children forever?” asked the Son of His Father.

“Of course” was the reply. “That was my plan and hope from the beginning.

“You will give my son your kidney?” asked Nelson of Keith.

“Of course” Keith replied. “It will be my honor.”

86 years ago, an adorable man named Nelson came into this world.

64 years ago he welcomed his son, “Chip” along for the rest of his journey.

24 years ago Chip became friends with Keith.

On Tuesday, Keith gave Chip one of his kidneys.

It was a nice thing to do.

To us, it was a precious miracle orchestrated by gifted physicians.

To God, it was the plan and hope from the beginning.

Just because Keith replied “of course:”

Thousands of people, who had never met any of us in this story,

prayed for a wonderful transition,

47 people who had never met before this day,

held each other and cried at the selfless act of one man to offer another –

hope.

Keith was granted time-off from his work, gifts, grace and favor beyond comprehension.

Those that could help ease the transition of a purifying organ from one body to another

did everything within their power.

Just because one man was willing to open his body to save another.

One act of honor brings one hundred acts of kindness.

What will be your honor to give this Christmas?

Your one gift will inspire one hundred more.

And that was the plan and the hope from the beginning.

Time On

I thought it would take less time to raise children as they grew into independent personages. It doesn't. It only becomes more intellectual. Intellectual pursuits are so time consuming.

While time in their younger years was spent bathing, feeding, teaching basic human decency, and just by being present, time together was the obvious display of love. This obvious display of love in the teen-age years is replaced by either: complete and total rejection on both sides, annoyance of everyone in a 3-mile radius, driving them to endless destinations, cooking some form of ignorable vegetable, trying to make fruit in its original package enticing (this does NOT change with time), reasoning with them about boys not providing the sole reason for existence, awkwardly presenting the truly, deeply, blessed part of their reasons to live - their God-their dreams-their families and friends-and the gift of school. (Each of these reasons to live are patiently waiting for their own time to be first rejected and then embraced.)

All of this only takes more time. I'm so glad I took the time to finish my college degree - which is in Communications (huh...). Otherwise, I would be even more ill-equipped for the level of intelligence and thoughtfulness required to raise two girls to be self-sufficient citizens of a male directed world.

I would like our Chandler, Arizona, Fox Crossing neighborhood to know that this is what I'm doing with my time instead of painting the house or mowing the lawn, or walking the dog....or moving on...

The Break is Over

Modem and router were incompatible today. So no internet access. Having Qwest forcibly removed from Arizona, if not the planet. It was Qwest's idea in the first place to have a separate router, which today their "friendly" service rep told me was the problem...

Phone battery was dead – could not find the charger. Just found it. Underneath Talia’s bed. Why I didn’t think to look there…?

I could not communicate with the outside world.

Girls go back to school tomorrow after 2.5 weeks. More than a little guilty about the thoughts I’m having- I really don’t like year round school. I love my girls, but I want them in school, not: on the couch in front of “How I Met Your Mother” ignoring me and dust bunnies and stacks of wrinkled clothes, texting all known human life also on a 2.5 week fall break. Eating tortilla chips. With cheese.

Arizona has Qwest and 2.5 week breaks in fall, winter, spring and a 6 week summer break. Summer lasts for 6 months here...this is incongruous...or ironic...or a cosmic prank.

I love the outside world. Please God, don't take it away from me again.

Tomorrow, around midnight when I'm done: taking the girls to and from school, caring for a friends blind, deaf dog which requires 25 miles of driving; delivering meals for Meals on Wheels, working 8 hours (5 of which I'm paid for), saying hello appropriately (!) to my husband who has been in Catalina for a week with 60 eighth graders - I'm going to sit on the couch, watch Modern Family and eat tortilla chips. With Cheese. And ignore every complaint listed above.

If anyone deserves a 2.5 week break - it's my husband.

Still Relevant After All These Years

Everything I need to know I learned from Simon and Garfunkel. My 15-year-old daughter loves Simon and Garfunkel. If ever someone taught me right from wrong, flighty from deep, it's Paul and Art. Mostly, I am a much better person and mother for their words and harmonies...maybe 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover I didn't need to take so much to heart...

If only all of my parenting could have come with perfect harmony and infinite wisdom. Oh well. I firmly believe Paul and Art have helped to raise Hannah into the gentle, loving human being she is becoming. Is this why she loves their music? Does she recognize the soulful genius that pierced her mother’s soul also at the age of 15? It’s possible, isn’t it? These two men have theoretically raised thousands of people.

And, here's to you, Hannah:

“And the vision that was planted in my brain

Still remains

Slow down, you move too fast.

You got to make the mornin' last.

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more

People talking without speaking

People hearing without listening

People writing songs that voices never share

And no one dared

Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools", said I, "You do not know

Silence like a cancer grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you

I got no deeds to do, no promises to keep.

Ba da da da da da da, feelin' groovy.

Just slip out the back, Jack, make a new plan, Stan

…and get yourself free

I wish I was,

Homeward bound,

Home where my thought's escaping,

Home where my music's playing,

Home where my love lies waiting

Silently for me.

All lies and jest

Still, a man hears what he wants to hear

And disregards the rest.

But all my words come back to me in shades of mediocrity

Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me.

Ba da da da da da da, feelin' groovy.

Jesus loves you more than you will know.

Time it was and what a time it was it was

A time of innocence a time of confidences.

Long ago it must be, I have a photograph

Preserve your memories, they're all that's left you.”

Their words came back to them in shades of mediocrity? How could this be?

If Hannah disturbs the silence even once or listens for more than she wants to hear and on occasion sings
“Ba da da da da da da, feelin' groovy.” That will be all good.

Well, then there's Cat Steven's:

"Ooh Baby, baby it's a wild world. I'll always remember you like a child girl.

Exactly, Hannah. You and me both.