A 10 year old girl's dreams

I'm sure no one else will find this as fascinating as I do - but recently my mom found something that I wrote when I was 10 years old. Here it is as I wrote it:

When I grow up I want to be a writer. I don't care if I'm famous or not. Just so I can write. If I do become a writer I would want to write about several things. I want to write about my life and add something different maybe or something that I made up about someone else's life. Maybe my days at camp. They were exiting. So many different odd things happened. I might call that book _____ days at camp. _____is for who ever I name the person. Or I could write about one certain thing like a kind of animal or different people from different lands. What I would really like to write about is something that happened to somebody maybe something funny or maybe something sad. I would like to write a book about a half inch thick. Maybe I could write about a girl in girl scouts and what she did, so the people who read it might join if they weren't already a girl scout.

Some of my dreams came true. I did write about my life and someone else's life and I did not become famous. I think my first book was a little thicker than a half-inch, but close enough. I don't remember writing this, of course, but I know that I always thought writing to be a most noble profession and to see your name on the cover of a book would be the ultimate experience - and that turned out to be true also.

Dolphins and Parrots and Lizards, Oh My!

That's me being kissed by a dolphin in Mexico. The whole experience was amazing and so much fun. You go in the water with 5 other people and at first the dolphins just swim among the people and let you touch them. The trainers claim that they love being petted and touched. You get your picture taken in various poses and then you get to swim out, lay flat on your stomach, stick your feet out and two dolphins push you across the water by your feet! They also do other tricks like jumping over you. As I looked around at the other people in the water with me, everyone had a huge smile on their face the whole time. It's something I've probably wanted to do since watching "Flipper" when I was a kid. It was just too cool.

I also got my picture taken with an iguana on my shoulder and another one with two parrots, but there is just too much of me in a bathing suit on those pictures to subject the public to.

Mexico

Yes, we were in Mexico for five days at a resort in Playa del Carmen on the Carribbean Sea. Last year I dragged my husband to New York City for his only week of vacation and that wasn't his type of vacation, so this year was his choice. It was, of course, spectacularly beautiful and relaxing, but it is very strange being in another country - the unfamiliar food, the language barriers, the lack of access to what's going on at home (no cell phone signal there). On a vacation I find that not just my body goes on vacation, but my brain too. Everyone on the beach would be reading or sleeping but then you would see people (like me) just staring out into the pale green-blue water for endless amounts of time, thinking about pretty much nothing. It's a weird hiatus from normal living and one I feel very grateful and blessed to experience. It rained for about a day and a half because of Hurricane Dolly, but we managed to entertain ourselves :) Well, it's time to get to the laundry and sweeping up dog hair and watering thirsty plants, so for today I'll leave you with a picture of what took my mind away from reality for a little bit.

Forget-me-not

I'm going to take a blogging break until next Friday. I'll miss you all and probably have tortuous withdrawl symptoms. I'll update you on what I've been up to when I return. Feel free to click on the archives while I'm gone!

Summer Storm

Published in Tributaries - Spring 2007

Sunlight a moment ago, now dark
tree limbs sway like dancing partners
hanging plants twirl and tip
leaves turn inside out white
yard machines silenced
replaced by distant thunderous moans

squirrel vanish, birds swoop
into sheltering trees, then
a scarlet streak in the charcoal light
a brave one clings to the swinging feeder
the tangled wind chimes and
pattering drops on the awning
make music as I inhale to smell the rain

waves of silver move over the rooftop
a whoosh through the downspouts
its force pushes the long-stemmed
daisies to the sidewalk
the overflow streams off the gutters
in perfect parallel lines to the ground

out the window, is it a large rock?
an ugly, wrinkled snapping turtle
has washed down the driveway
from the lake across the street
I watch it waddle away
as the quiet returns

Leaving Home

This poem was previously published in The Rockford Review in 2007. It is about my mother.

Hers was a childhood rooted in the Great Depression,
the sixth and last baby born in the summer of 1929,
the least wanted of a life-weary woman
who had born her first twenty-one years earlier.

Steel mills sprang up across the Ohio River, spewing
ash and fire into the sky as the Greeks, Italians, Poles
Germans, Slavs traversed the bridges daily
to toil in the fiery pits.

How did she know it was time to leave when the
only world she had ever known was covered in soot,
when the only place to live was by a menacing river?
When the only night sounds were train whistles and
fog horns and the whoosh of flames hitting the air?

What evening was it when she looked out at the orange sky
and knew she didn't want to fall in love with a mill worker,
didn't want her children's hands and feet
blackened every summer day at play,
never to know the whiteness of snow
or a quiet, black, star-studded sky?

A Faith Worth Believing

Faith is an openness to the unknown. It is the willingness to walk in the darkness, to proceed in life without certainty. Faith does not preclude fear, it enables us to act in the face of fear. It is not the opposite of doubt; rather it invites us to entertain and examine all that appears inconsistent with our inherited beliefs. Faith is not an unwavering adherence to a way of life, but a radical interfacing with the unpredictable changes and chances of life itself, and with the commitments we make along life's way.

(Frank Stella from "A Faith Worth Believing.)

Lavender

There is nothing I do not love about lavender. I think the plant is beautiful and luscious. I adore the fragrance. I even like the word - I named a character in my new novel Lavender. I am drawn to anything in any shade of purple. I've had a small lavender plant in my semi-shade perennial garden for years and it's all but dormant. It just lives with no growth. So I stubbornly tried again - near the front of our yard there is a little more sun, but not full sun as lavender needs. Well, it's thriving (but so is everything else this year) So this is my first lavender harvest!!! My husband doesn't get it - what are you going to do with it? Smell it, of course!

Heaven

In this one sacred moment
I am thinking about nothing on Earth
- as it is in heaven.
I feel nothing but a breeze lifting my hair.
I hear nothing but bird songs near and far
and the low shushing of the leaves
moving against each other.
It is a pleasing, singular void,
a reverie of quietude
when every sense is stilled
except for God.

Me and My Guitar

I've known how to play the guitar since I was 12 years old. I have a certain amount of ability. But my growth on the guitar, just like so many other interests I've had, seems to halt abruptly at a certain point. Playing the guitar and singing - by myself - in my living room is a summertime pastime. I get great enjoyment from what I can do when I'm alone, and I have the time to build up some callouses on my tender fingers.

I spent years strumming away at camps, coffee houses, vacation bible schools, a summer camp for a nearby private school, and a few times in church. But it's strange to me that I never gained enough confidence to fully use what seems like the perfect instrument for me. I say that because I have an extremely high singing range and generally you can adapt the guitar to your own key with a capo.

A few times in my neighborhood I attempted to play at our lake picnic area and I felt like a real idiot and swore I would not make a fool out of myself anymore. Even though I consider myself a singer I have a light-weight voice and it really needs amplification. Whenever people find out that you can sing they expect you to be able to sing anything, anywhere! My neighbor kept insisting that I could sing like Janis Joplin so I finally gave him a CD I recorded so he could hear that I sound more like Sarah Brightman than Janis Joplin!

Anyway! A couple years ago my dear husband, trying to be encouraging and supportive, gave me a whole set-up to perform - an amplifier, microphone, and a device to amplify my acoustic guitar - and have I used it ? NO! So I'm feeling guilty and confused by something I had made a decision to give up on - especially at my age. I mean, if God wanted me to be the next Joni Mitchell wouldn't I have figured it out by now? The desire is still there. A desire that I have for self-expression of every and any kind I can manage. But will I ever dare to risk being a fool again - an amplified fool this time?

Arte Y Pico

Ruth's Visions and Revisions is a blog I truly admire and respect, so I am honored that she chose COEXIST for an ARTE Y PICO award! This award is given to blogs who "deserve this award for their creativity, design, interesting material and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what the language." Arte Y Pico is roughly translated as "Wow! The best art. Over the top!" Please check out Ruth's blog. Thank you so much, Ruth!

Rules of the award:

1) Pick 5 blogs that you consider deserve this award for creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.

2) Each award has to have the name of the author and also a link to his or her blog to be visited by everyone.

3) Each award winner has to the show the award and put the name and link to the blog that has given him or her the award itself.

4) Award winner and the one who has given the prize have to show the link of "Arte Y Pico" blog, so everyone will know the origin of this award, which is here:" Arte Y Pico

So my choices are:

1. Old, Old Lady of the Hills. This wonderful lady lives in the Hollywood Hills and has been in just about every area of entertainment. She has great photos and memories to share. She also takes great pictures of the wildlife of southern California.

2. The Moohaa - dear Kelly shares honestly from her life, her heart and her faith.

3. Daughter of Eve - this blog looks beautiful and has beautiful writing to match.

4. Writing in Faith - Sandy has an abundance of talents in writing, sharing and photography. Always meaningful.

5. Kathie's Poet Tree - Kathie is a great poet and artist and shares both freely.

A blog takes a certain amount of committment, and strangely you are committing to people you don't know and probably will never meet. But it is a unique way of reaching out to the world and sharing the gifts God has given you. I think all of these bloggers do that beautifully - including Ruth!

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Under the Sun

The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. The wind blows to the south and turns to the north, round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, where they return again. All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. Ecclesiastes 1:5-9

To view more Skywatch photos visit Tom at Wigger's World!

Ohio Summer Flora Update

If you look back on my June 2 post I had a photo of a pathetic looking hibscus. That's it against the back. All it needed was some sun and rain. In northeast Ohio we've had a lot of rain this summer and every perennial plant I have is thriving. There is some miracle in the rain coming down from the heavens as compared to the water that comes from a faucet. I think the perennial garden (top) is actually out of control! Everything seems twice the size of last year.

The Guilt of Living

Did you ever feel guilty for being alive? Today I have gone through each moment noticing all that I am here to see, hear, touch, enjoy and love - all that my friends Jeanne and Jacquie are not here for anymore. (see today's earlier post) Maybe that is only one of the gifts that those who go ahead of us leave behind. New eyes to see what they cannot any longer. From the moment I awoke this morning - in a healthy body, in a soft bed that I share with someone I love, to buying a new plant for the house, to getting books to read from the library, to precious time with both of my parents, (still here, still nearby) - I have thought of Jeanne. I walked out on my side deck just now overwhelmed by the sight of the sky and the blooming flowers all around me. I heard my daughter's voice today, I feel the coolness of the rain that is about to fall outside, my little dog is at my feet, keeping me company. I did not spend the day getting chemotherapy or in pain. I did not worry about how to pay my bills - yep, feeling mighty guilty, and yet, aren't all of these things good gifts from God above? Don't we spend our lives striving to attain some kind of peace and contentment?

Both Jeanne and Jacquie touched many people while they were here on Earth. We waited an hour last night at the funeral home just to express our condolences to Jeanne's family. My friends were both loving, wonderful people who loved and knew God personally. This earthly life is all we know right now. We think it is the best of everything and we do all we can to hang on to it, but my friends are now experiencing what we have not. They are in the loving arms of Jesus - where we should all pray to be someday. Any peace or contentment that we experience here on Earth is nothing to what we will know someday. Can I prove that? No, but I believe it with all my heart - no matter how blessed your life is - there is something much better. This can't be it.

So, I've had my moments of guilt today. I'm sad that Jeanne's children have lost her so soon. I am sad that Jeanne will not see them grow to adults. But I also am happy for her. She's already there.

The Dichotomy of a Day

My husband may never know how much it means to me that he always takes a day off for us to celebrate our anniversary. We've gotten into the habit of spending a day riding our bikes along a beautiful wooded towpath trail that follows the remnants of the old Erie Canal. Yesterday we rode 7 miles one way, had lunch in a little town and rode the 7 miles back. The only thing hurting at the end of the day was the result of inadequate bike seats - ouch! It's quite an historic area and there are markers to teach you about the building of the canal. The photo is of one of the remnants.

The dichotomy of the day was because after we came home from such a pleasant time together, we showered and dressed and visited another funeral home. My friend Jeanne lost her 6 year battle with cancer. She left behind two teenage children and her husband, Jay. We became friends in junior high and then, in the 80's she moved next door to me. I'll never forget walking over to meet the new neighbor with a plate of brownies and Jeanne opening the door! Jeanne loved butterflies and the room where we said goodbye to her was filled with them - in the flower arrangements and decorating the collages of photographs of her life. Looking at the photos I realized that I couldn't even imagine what Jeanne looked like without a smile on her face. She loved her God and I have no doubt that Jeanne has left her cocoon and is now a beautiful butterfly.

Our Anniversary

It's our 12th anniversary.

Here's poem I wrote to my beloved a long, long time ago.

It's pretty lame in it's execution, but its truth remains:

My Unpoem

Thousands of words have bled through my hand

in healing expressions of painful years.

Hours spent seeking precisely the phrase

to vanquish the need in my heart.

In agony on countless nights

the pen would wildly run across my page

until finally I could lay it down in peace.

Now I plead with my brain

for some remnant of language

to satisfy the omnipresent craving

that saturates my heart and mind.

The minute by minute need

is to express fully in words
the experience of you in my life.

My mind is a vacuous space in my head

yet my heart is completely flooded

with a deluge of newfound joy.

And I must accept the unacceptable truth

that there is simply no syntax of words

good enough to describe you.

On The Fourth

In a tiny pocket of Ohio every Fourth of July

children still decorate bicycles in flag-like streamers

and parade around the neighborhood while parents follow

dutifully, the air heavy enough to make them collapse

into beach chairs by the lake with sufficient talk

and beer to take them through the day, with nothing

to do but watch little sun-screened bodies on diving boards,

on the sand, in paddle boats, hands full of chips.

Hawks in trees watch silently, while a blue

heron may, at any moment, take flight with a giant prehistoric

wingspan over the scene, geese honk, ducks laugh,

snapping turtles hide in the mud, the deer wait until dusk

to stare unmoving in the shadows, the tree frogs and bullfrogs

will start up a lonely chorus in the dark.

A campfire will arise from old ashes, chairs will assemble

to watch fireworks in this, their own little world.

As children disappear to beds, adults will encircle the bonfire.

The women may talk of their book club selection,

and of how their discussion will veer off topic so easily.

The men will talk of the Browns and the Tribe and keep throwing

mighty logs on the fire into the early morning hours of July 5th

because no designated drivers are needed.

The smell of burning wood will permeate

hair and clothes and open-windowed houses,

smoldering into the breaking day, calling them back

to a place where children are children and neighbors are friends

where America hasn't changed as much as we'd thought.

Anais Nin

I have once again become entranced by the writer, Anais Nin. (anna-eese). She lived from 1903-1977. She was a woman ahead of her time, most notably for her sexual exploration and expression at a time when women weren't publically showing interest in sexuality. But above all she was a writer. (She did write erotica, but only to make some money at a time when she needed it badly.) She wrote novels and a study of D.H. Lawrence, but in the end her diaries brought her attention as a writer. She filled so many journals that eventually she had to store them all in a bank vault. (see photo) While in New York City my daughter took me to Strand - a two-story book store of old and new books. I purchased one of her diaries and read it, and now I am delving into her other writings. She wrote the kind of books that you want to underline because there are so many beautiful passages. The diaries are edited, but there are also unexpurgated copies. Either way they are a little disconnected and confusing as reading anyone's diary would be - but fascinating just the same. I think I mentioned that a main character in my new novel is named Anais, and I've become extremely fond of the name itself.

Anais Nin is of French and Spanish parents, but raised mostly in the US. She was one of those writers who lived in Paris, lived in New York, lived in LA - that always intrigues me - how writers and artists could just pick up and move thousands of miles away for the sake of their work. It somehow appears that it was easier in the earlier part of the twentieth century. A Parisian writer would get up one day, pack up her pen and journal, hop on a ship, land in New York, walk down the street, find a small apartment and start writing again. So easy!

Here are a few Anais quotes:

There were always in me, two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning and another who would leap into a scene as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.

There is not one big cosmic meaning for all, there is only the meaning we each give to our life, an individual meaning, an individual plot, like an individual novel, a book for each person.

Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.

The dream was always running ahead of me. To catch it, to live for a moment in unison with it, that was the miracle.

My 200th Post!!!

This is my 200th post on COEXIST and time to reflect on this blogging trip I've been on since September. In the beginning I was sure I would quickly run out of ideas, but to my surprise I have experienced just the opposite. As I wrote on June 20th, blogging has taught me that I no longer write for healing and understanding, but out of the abundance of love and experiences that God has blessed me with.

Most surprising is YOU - yes, you who are reading this right now. You have blessed my life more than you can imagine. The knowledge that people all over the world can read what I write and the kind, encouraging words of my dedicated "commenters" have renewed my faith in the goodness and generosity of people. What a phenomenon to grow friendships with people I have never met. Thank you.

Living in this world takes a little piece of our spirits every day. We can let it be chipped away until great damage is done, or we can find ways to repair and renew the little injuries we experience throughout our lives. This blog has been just one of the ways I nourish my spirit and my brain.

I hope and pray that when you visit me here you will be refreshed by an inspirational thought, a piece of art or a poem, a rant (that you agree with or not) a photograph of the limitless beauty of the sky, or something that just makes you smile.

Here - I offer what I am.

Be Ye Glad

I hesitate to print out song lyrics because usually you love a song for the music, melody and lyrics. This song is one of my all-time favorites for all of those reasons. Back in the eighties most of the music I listened to, and the concerts I attended were contemporary Christian artists. I was a youth counselor at my church and the kids were really into Michael W. Smith, Amy Grant and many others. I had the opportunity to meet many artists when they would play at colleges and churches in the area. One group I loved was called "Glad" and this was their signature song. I still think it's one of the most beautiful and meaningful songs I know. If you want to hear the song there is a video on You Tube (type in Be Ye Glad). It's kind of a lame video so just close your eyes and listen - or just read these lyrics by Michael Blanchard:

In these days of confused situations

in these nights of a restless remorse

when the heart and the soul of a nation

lay wounded and cold as a corpse.

From the grave of the innocent Adam

comes a song bringing joy to the sad

Oh, your cry has been heard and the ransom

has been paid up in full - be ye glad.

Oh be ye glad,

oh, be ye glad

every debt that you ever had

has been paid up in full

by the grace of the Lord

Be ye glad, be ye glad.

From your dungeon a rumor is stirring

and you have heard it again and again

ah, but this time the cell keys they're turning

and outside there are faces of friends.

And though your body lay weary from wasting

and your eyes show the sorrow they've had

The love that your heart is now tasting

has opened the gates, be ye glad.

So be like lights on the rim of the water

giving hope in a storm sea of night

Be a refuge amid the slaughter

of these fugitives in their flight.

For you are timeless and part of a puzzle

you are winsome and young as a lad

and there is no disease or no struggle

that can pull you from God, be ye glad

Oh be ye glad

oh, be ye glad

Every debt that you ever had

has been paid up in full

by the grace of the Lord.

Be ye glad, be ye glad, be ye glad.

Growing Old Gracefully (cough, choke, gag)

Yes, ladies, it's time for a rant - t's all the perfect female bodies in commercials and ads (not to mention everywhere else). The latest one to piss me off is Evista (It's for menopausal bone loss). This ad shows a bunch of women wrapped in towels. A few of them truly look menopausal (the ones when the camera lens goes fuzzy), all very slim and attractive though. But most of them are young women POSING as mature women. What they do is take a youngish woman, maybe in her thirties, and put gray streaks through her hair to make you think (if you're stupid) she's in her fifties, but with a flawless body. No sags, no bags, no age spots, no wrinkles. How many dark-haired women do you know walking around with giant swaths of gray through their hair? After all, the next commercial is for hair color in which a young woman with 28 pounds of hair that is 42 inches long swings it around in the lights of a studio. Do you know anyone with hair like that? I don't. (It should be an ad for wigs). Or how about the mascara commercial where the lashes actually GROW right before your eyes? How stupid are we if we can't tell the difference between real and fake eyelashes? (False advertising!!!)Then there are the commercials where the mother is about four years older than the teenage children. Or how about Oprah? Somehow she loses 30-40 pounds before every photo shoot for the cover of her magazine and then manages to put it back on for TV. Amazing.

I'm disturbed by the media assumption that we can't tolerate anything less than gorgeous anymore. According to the media our eyes are no longer equipped to relate to mediocre, plain or average. Advertisers seem to be on a mission to crush every normal females's self-esteem - but WHY? They could be sending the old subliminal message that if you use their product you will somehow be more perfect, more beautiful. Maybe. If you've lived for awhile you know it hasn't always been like this. Watch TV Land and see imperfect actors and actresses from the past who entertained us whether they were drop-dead gorgeous or not. Growing up I don't recall any emphasis on what kids were wearing. It's a sad turn of events.

So why are "they" doing this to us. Money, of course. Think about all the products we are inundated with through television and print media - all the products that are completely unnecessary - until they convince us that we can be younger-looking, more lovely, stronger, healthier - oh yeah, just like those Evista ladies who need bone loss medication, but have bodies of 30-40 year olds. Even magazines geared for women over 40 (More) feature beautiful age-defying women in every magazine all in their air-brushed, computer-enhanced glory - saying "This is what 50 looks like!" Uh, no, it isn't.

She is Risen

She rises from her nightmare and lowers
her pink and blue face to the sink, scrubs,
rinses, banishes the dark night.
In the mirror she tries to see what others see.

She dresses in new clothes as surrender songs
sing in her head. She whispers secrets God already knows:
It is time to break roof, swing free of this rocking chair
and these mouse-colored walls.

She quietly closes the door behind her
and leaves the building like an untethered
helium balloon, unfocused on worn-out
adages and daily crucifixions.

She joins the parade, lifts her banner high,
flicks the gadfly off her broken shoulder,
dancing, twirling, the sun on her
scarified skin, she marches on.

At the end of the line she sits foursquare
in the mercy seat, arms up, hands out.
She is risen indeed, and like the three wise men
she will go home by another way.

Skywatch Friday - Way up high

Thirty-four thousand feet over Pennsylvania every space looks perfectly planned. Asymmetrical patches of green and gold, S-shaped rows or concentric circles, roads leading to the horizon, countless ponds and lakes. There are towns with perfect orange baseball diamonds, golf course sandtraps that look like tiny footprints. Swimming pools are aqua dots (I never knew there were so many!) Shiny roofs and sparkling car hoods twinkle in the sun. One town looks as if a giant cement mixer dumped its contents from the sky to smother the green with gray. Now, as I float along, I see a plane and a cloud - below me.

To see more Skywatch photos visit Tom at Wigger's World!

Ohhh- Noooooooo

I can't help it - I love Mr. Bill. I also laugh at the Three Stooges, Lucy, and at people tripping and/or falling. I can't be alone with my slightly sadistic sense of humor though- right? I even laugh when I trip or fall. So Mr. Bill is in a new commercial for Mastercard. I hate to put a commercial on my precious blog but click on this if you haven't seen it. Ohhhh-Nooooooo!! Love it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uiq9FzJNKnQ

Goodbye to the Hippie-Dippy Weatherman

George Carlin died this week. I think it would be nice to die knowing that you made a lot of people laugh in your lifetime. That's a good thing. Here are some Carlinisms to honor him:

On stuff: "That's all your house is, it's a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff. Now sometimes - sometimes you gotta move. You gotta get a bigger house. Why? Too much stuff. You gotta move all your stuff and maybe put some of your stuff in storage. Imagine that there's a whole industry based on keeping an eye on your stuff."

"How is it possible to have a civil war?"

"Why is a person who plays the piano called a pianist but a person who drives a race car is not called a racist?"

"Why do they lock gas station bathrooms? Are they afraid someone will clean them?"

"'Older' sounds a little better than 'old' doesn't it? Sounds like it even might last a little longer... I'm getting old. And it's OK because thanks to our fear of death in this country I won't have to die. I'll 'pass away' or I'll 'expire' like a magazine subscription. If it happens in the hospital they'll call it a 'terminal episode'. The insurance company will refer to it as 'negative patient care out-come'. And if it's a result of malpractice, they'll say it was a 'therapeutic misadventure.'"

And from the Hippie-Dippy Weatherman -" tonight's forecast - dark."

And of course, his famous routine - The Seven Words You Can't Say on TV - but, well, ...I don't know any of those. :)

Project Runway

I am not a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination. But my daughter has a degree in fashion design and worked for the iconic designer Betsey Johnson (if you're not familiar look her up on the web). I have learned to appreciate fashion and all the creativity and skill that it takes. So I started watching "Project Runway" a few years ago, and then my daughter and I could chat about it the next day. The show is definitely set up to entertain, with infighting and drama - but the talent of these designers blows me away. Each week they're given an imaginative challenge, maybe $100 and 12 hours or so to create something FABULOUS! While in NYC a couple weeks ago my daughter and I walked past a candy store window that displayed one of the Project Runway challenges from last season. They had to create dresses from candy wrappers! If you're interested a new season starts on Bravo in July. (The photo on the right has a dress made of the brown Reese's cup holders.)

Wife

(This is not me - it's just a poem I wrote a long time ago. See June 18 post.)

Dusting pain off a silent surface,
sweeping boredom out of the door,
sleeping when she should be waking,
picking, picking crumbs up off the floor.

Fluffing his pillow to lie closer to hers,
setting, then resetting the table,
straightning piles of paperbacks to escape
the dreams that became a child's fable.

Doing a half a load of his laundry,
crying when the damn toast is burnt,
seeking shelter in her pretty bottle,
mopping a clean floor as it it weren't.

Dancing alone across the shiny wood,
falling, shattering a hopeless bone,
stitching and binding to make it all right,
wondering why she's dancing alone.

Sprucing up the agony of years
with a brand new yellow curtain,
calling him in her screaming silent voice
but no one can hear her, she's certain.

Brushing the dog, someone to talk to,
another phone call to say he'll be late,
dinner's on the table, teddy's on the rug,
she'll be sleeping alone or she'll wait.

Ashes of love sprinkled at her feet,
brush them off before anyone can see.
The house is perfect, the day is done,
maybe one day she'll set herself free.

Writing from Abundance

I once wrote a book and a whole lot of poems out of pain, heartache, and for the purpose of catharsis and healing. I have written a new novel with characters that have experiences that I have never had, but I love them and believe them to be realistic and honest. Then I started this blog - and writing took on a new meaning. At first I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Why is it so stimulating? Why, in the first few months, did it seem almost an obsession?

While in New York my daughter took me to a place she knew I'd love - a giant bookstore called Strand. It's motto is "18 miles of books". New, used and old books. Somewhere in the 18 miles I found the second volume of Anais Nin's diaries. I bought it, and today while reading I found the explanation why I write now - out of abundance. Here is what Anais says:

"The diary was once a disease. I do not take it up now for the same reasons. Before it was because I was lonely, or because I did not know how to communicate with others. I needed the communion. Now it is to write, not for solace, but for the pleasure of describing others, out of abundance."

Ironically, I named one of the characters in my new book - Anais (ahna-eese).

I reserve the right to still write out of solace occasionally.

SKYWATCH FRIDAY - Over the Rainbow

There's nothing like a trip in an airplane to renew your wonder at the infinite sky. I secured a window seat both ways to view the other side of the universe. At sunset my mind played tricks on me as I kept seeing Earthly views - when in fact it was contained in the heavens. An eruption of clouds out of clouds that resembled mountains . A flat floor of dark clouds that looked like land. Blueness in the space below me replicated the sea.

For more Skywatch views visit Tom.

Writing a Novel

Okay, enough with NYC for a while. (Yes, I've got more stunning observations). I am now home and working on the final revisions of my second novel. I learned A LOT from writing the first one. It was definitely a beginner's effort. I believe this one is more well-written and hopefully more interesting. This book started almost two years ago while sitting on my deck one day in the summer. I had no intentions of putting myself through the torture of writing another novel - but it started writing itself. Three characters began talking through my pen and have continued to talk at me ever since then. So - no I don't know any of these people and no, it is not about my life - at all! I do not know where this book belongs - but I have to believe it's for a reason. I've had three other generous and talented writers support and critique it along the way. I've been rereading it the past few days to refresh my memory after a long break - and , well - I like it! A couple parts make me cry even though I obviously already know they're coming.

Getting a novel published these days is about as likely as winning the lottery - but it's something that some of us are driven to do - so I do pray that it has a place and purpose in this world. However, I don't have any real expectations - there is no daydreaming about being on Oprah this time.

Here's a quote I read recently by Nikki Giovanni:

" I resent people who say writers write from experience. Writers don't write from experience, though many are hesitant to admit that they don't. I want to be clear about this. If you wrote from experience you'd get maybe one book, maybe three poems. Writers write from empathy."

I'll keep you posted on my progress. I'm sending out query letters already even though I'm still putting the finishing touches on it. I'm going directly to publishers and by-passing the agent route. Writing a good query is crucial. You have one page to capture someone's interest in your book and tell them about yourself as well. It's almost as tough as writing the book itself. So -wish me luck - say a prayer!

Carnival

A weird thing happened to me while in NYC. My daughter and I were at the Gershwin Theater waiting for Wicked to start. It is apparently quite an historic theater with memorabilia displayed and many, many photographs of all the actors that have performed there over the years. Across the second floor lobby I spotted something familiar - I said (out loud) - "There's Horrible Henry!" My daughter followed me, having no idea what I was talking about. There, in a glass case were four worn-out puppets. So what?

During my senior year in high school I had the starring role in the musical Carnival. I played a waif named Lili who wanders into a carnival and befriends the people there. A puppet show was central to the plot and there were four puppets - Horrible Henry, Renardo, Marguerite and Carrot Top. I loved working with the puppets so much that after the show closed my father asked the director if he could buy Horrible Henry for me. He couldn't because they were rented. The fact that he wanted to do that is special to me because people just didn't buy things much back then like they do now.

Anyway, here in the glass case were the original puppets. They had been owned by Jerry Orbach - who worked the puppets and did all the voices. You may know the late Orbach if you've ever seen "Law and Order" on TV. The only famous song from "Carnival" was Love Makes the World Go Round. The original Lili was Anna Maria Albergetti and it was later made into a movie called "Lili" with Leslie Caron.

It was kind of surreal to see those puppets after so many ( and I mean many) years, and strange that they, of all things, would be displayed. There wasn't that much memorabilia! Don't be too impressed though, because "Carnival" was the beginning and the end of my acting career. The photos show me and the puppets then -and now at the Gershwin Theater.

The Cloisters

My trip to New York and spending three days with my daughter was well - priceless - in every way. It can be exhausting being in the city because you walk and walk and walk. But then the next day you get up and you can't wait to go back into the chaos again. The sensory overload is intoxicating to me. We went far uptown to The Cloisters. It is a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art dedicated to medieval art and architecture. Built in a medieval style, it sits atop a hill overlooking the Hudson River. We were there on a perfect summer day. A cloister is in a monastery. It is a square or rectangular open-air courtyard surrounded by covered passageways and situated next to the monastic church. Its use is limited to the monks or nuns. Most of the art and architecture came French and Spanish monasteries. The architecture is actually built into the building, so you feel as if you are in the real thing. There are a number of chapels and cloisters. It was fascinating. We spent several hours there in the peaceful beauty and had an audio tour to guide us. Here are photos of the building itself and one of the cloisters. More highlights tomorrow!

Wicked

After the show last night I was speechless, but now I can think of a few words, well, maybe one - WOW. Also, stunning, incredible, visually spectacular. If you can ever go see it -do. Experiencing it with my daughter was wonderful. Wicked is the story of what happened before Dorothy got to Oz. It's about the relationship between Glinda, the good, and Elphaba (her name is derived from the initials of L. Frank Baum, author of Wizard of Oz.) It explains how Elphaba became wicked and it ties in many elements from the Wizard of Oz, all with a clever twist. I have a lot more to say, but just a little post. The play came from a book by Gregory MacGuire if you're into fantasy. I bought the tickets off of a sort of eBay for tickets and was nervous that they were legitimate - but they were and we had seats in row J in the orchestra section!

New York, New York

I realize that everyone is not as enamored of New York as I am. I trace my adoration back to my teens when I read so many novels set in the New York of the 40's and 50's. I just fell in love with it through other people's eyes. It seemed exciting and romantic. My aunt and uncle lived about an hour north of the city near West Point, so at seventeen I got to experience NYC first-hand, right in the midst of my novel-reading frenzy. My cousin actually lived in Manhattan at the time in an apartment near Central Park with his French girfriend! And he was an artist! How much more romantic could it get for a 17 year-old!

The fascination continued through movies and television and numerous visits. And now I can visit my daughter there. (I hate that she lives so far away - but if it had to be anywhere . . . .)

Last summer I dragged my husband there (he was a good sport, but a beach is his idea of a vacation) because I think New York City is a place everyone should experience at least once in their life. My favorite thing on that trip was taking a ferry boat around Manhattan. It was a beautiful July day and I couldn't get enough of the sites of the Brooklyn Bridge. It's spectacular! I took more pictures of the bridge than anything else. I have a goal of walking across it on one of these trips.

So I'm off to a place I never tire of experiencing. We all have certain senses that dominate what stimulates us - I'm visual and auditory - that's why the excitement never ends for me in New York City. Spending time with my girl is always delicious.

I might be back to blog over the weekend, so check back - but if I don't I'll see you Monday!

Getting Ready to Go

My brain is a little too chaotic right now to think clearly about an intelligent post (why start now?) So here is a poem I wrote after a New York visit last year.

From a Sidewalk

Moving against consciousness
beckoned repeatedly into the crosswalks
of neon-lit, variegated turmoil
going both ways at once

the assault on the senses
diminishes with the days
into a rhythm of walking, smelling
stopping, hearing languages

bodies don't touch or bump
get rammed by a taxi
or knocked down by a bike-weaver
on their personal paths to a million destinations

from the New York sidewalk
I called my daughter's cell phone
she was right across the street
but we couldn't see each other

My Kids

Okay, okay - I have to admit to being old enough to be the mother of these two grown-ups. (Some of you thought they were still 2 and 4.) I'm off to the Big Apple to see the one in pigtails on Thursday. (They're still my babies, of course.)

Gold Dust

These are my children at ages 4 and 2 - Oh, so long ago. I think about the lyrics to a Tori Amos song called Gold Dust:

How did it go so fast?
You'll say as we are looking back
And then we'll understand
we held gold dust in our hands . . . .

Addendum to Making a Joyful Noise

I felt a little guilty after my last post. A long time ago someone gave me a plaque that read -Three reasons to be a teacher - June, July and August. I really didn't like that sentiment and I eventually threw it out. Of course, teachers don't become teachers just for summer vacations. Anyone who believes that isn't a teacher. However, it's a wonderful thing to have a career, earn a living, do something meaningful and still have time for your real life. For me, it's time to write, (my second book will be into heavy revision) see friends and family, maybe paint a picture, catch up on a neglected house, and already I don't feel like there will be enough summer for all the things I want to do. I am truly grateful for all of that.

The impression I do not want to give is that I can't wait to get away from students. I don't. The adults - well, maybe. Here's what we need a break from - unreasonable expectations of us with less time and materials to work with, some administrators that don't trust our judgement or even that we're doing our job, standardized testing that judges our efforts without considering the circumstances, parents that don't show up to conferences but blame us for their child's problems, inadequate working conditions, being subjected to every new education fad that comes down the road and then seeing it disappear in two to three years.

Last week I received a piece of paper in my school mailbox saying my assignment for 08-09 is working in two buildings. No one spoke to me about it. I've been in my present building for 13 years. I don't want to go to another building. I do not want my day split in two. I do not want to be somewhere else when my students need a test read to them or help with something else. It may not sound like a big deal, but every teacher I talked to felt panicked by my news. We have a union, but we are only guaranteed A job, not the job we want or feel we're best at. Basically, it will suck. Suddenly I won't belong in either building. I sent an email to my supervisor about my concerns and the fact that, as a team, the special ed teachers and the principal had already planned next year - but she didn't even acknowledge my email.

At the end of the year we often see retired teachers at certain events. We are always amazed by the fact that they look younger than when they left us - they look rested and relaxed. Hmmmm.

So, I do still like kids and I love seeing them learn - but all the other stuff I can do without. Fortunately, the contentment of summer allows me to sort of forget all that stuff and I always seem to be ready to go back in the fall - hoping for a better year.

Making a Joyful Noise

Elated, felicitous, aglow, joyous, euphoric, merry, exhuberant, blissful, glad, blithe, jubilant, contented, satisfied, pleased, a halcyon moment - ahhhhh - listen to the quiet - SCHOOL IS OVER!

Skywatch Friday - Look Up

Pull your eyes away
from electronic interlopers.
Stave off all urgent replies and forwards.

Gently lay your burdens down
as a baby enveloped in a crib
of blankets and soft comforts.

Guide yourself out
where the humid winds move
through you like shape-shifters,

and the spring peepers
noisily mate in the the twilight.
Look up, look up.

Don't wonder how it happens
every night of your life.
Don't say it's beautiful.

Say nothing at all.
Forsake the moment.
Disremember the day.

Look up, look up.


Visit Tom for more Skywatch photos.

Happy Wednesday

A Dichotomy of Movies

This week I saw two movies at the theater!! It is rare for me to even go to the movies. I've thought about both of them and it's kind of funny how completely opposite they are. One was Prince Caspian (The Chronicles of Narnia). I am a C.S. Lewis fan, but not a big fan of fantasy. I admire and respect his theological writings. I saw the Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe because I knew the story and was very moved by the Christian allegory. I cried my eyes out when Aslan succumbed. Since I'm too boringly level-headed and grounded in reality I wasn't going to go see Prince Caspian until I heard Lewis's stepson, Douglas Gresham on the radio. He is the heir to Lewis's work and has been a co-producer on both of the movies in order to assure their integrity to Lewis's stories. Late-in-life Lewis married and adopted Gresham and his brother.

The movie Shadowlands is about this part of Lewis's life. Anthony Hopkins plays Lewis. I was fortunate to walk the grounds of Oxford University while on a choir tour in England. C.S. Lewis was a professor there, and after seeing the movie all I could do at Oxford was picture C.S Lewis strolling the Oxford campus - and he looked just like Anthony Hopkins! Sorry, I digress.

Gresham described in detail the moral and spiritual struggle that the four main characters go through in a world of corruption in Prince Caspian and how they each have to find their way back from it. That sparked my interest. But to me the movie was one big battle scene - bows and arrows and swords. I feel like I missed something. Sure there's the battle between good and evil and good wins, but the deeper plot passed me by. If anyone has seen it and gotten more from it I'd like to hear what you have to say. I guess I can read the book too.

The other movie was Sex and the City! I loved it! It's definitely a shallow guilty little pleasure, but it was fun and funny! You should probably like the show if you want to see it. I don't know why so many of us got attached to it. There 's just something about the women's vulnerability I think we can all relate to. I never saw it on HBO so I've only seen the cleaned up version. I went with a neighbor and sat in an entire theater of women (if you really want your hubby to go tell him there is, in fact, sex in the city :)

The other reason I like the show is that New York City is definitely the fifth main character and I have a life-long fascination with New York City. In fact, I'll be heading there again next week to see daughter!

So, two movies that couldn't be more different. One I should have learned more from I think, the other just plain entertainment. And there's my two cents - take it or leave it.

Why Bad Things Happen

This was the sermon topic in church yesterday. I thought I'd share a few points the pastor made since it is perhaps the toughest question we have as human beings. His first point was that - it's a fair question. Don't let anyone tell you that you have no faith just for asking it. Even Jesus asked God why He had forsaken him on the cross. Second - we just don't know. It may be a question we never know the answer to. I think it makes us trust God even more because we have to believe He knows what He's doing. Third - there is goodness. Newscasts and papers announce to us everyday the horrors of earthquakes, the evil of crime, the sadness of misfortunes, but there is goodness too. We have all experienced that as well.

Harold Kushner writes, " I think suffering happens and then, we have the immense, incredible power of conferring meaning on that suffering. We can either make it a cause for despair or cynicism, or we can make it the source of renewed insight and compassion. The experience of tragedy can lead us to self-hate or to a sense of fraternity with suffering people everywhere. This is our point of decision and it is a decision only we can make. We can't decide whether tragedy will happen to us. We can only decide how we will respond to it when it happens."

I posted a photo of my hibiscus plants. They have been lush and beautiful in the past. This winter - not so much. Now they sit on my side deck trying to adjust to warmth and sunlight. They usually lose leaves, but I've never seen them this bad. Yet admidst their suffering and neglect they have both decided to bloom (where they're planted of course.)

Lastly, my blogging friend, Cheryl left a comment on the previous post about my pathetic hair. She noticed in my profile all the things I have been given to do in this life and her comment was - hair is minor in the scheme of things, right? You are SO right, Cheryl.

Basket O' Flip-flops (and other summer stuff)

One thing I love about summer - my Basket O' Flip-flops. My feet are free!! It's all I wear from April through October (if at all possible). I also love going barefoot. When I was a teen I would walk on the steamy asphalt to toughen up my feet for the season. Even though I have a whole basket of flip-flops I have a favorite pair every year - I've been wearing the black Reebok pair all winter as slippers (sometimes with socks if it's really cold.) I bought a pair of black "Born" flippies this spring - they were $95! But at DSW with 80% off they were a steal (and very impressive). Of course they aren't as comfie as my foot-molded Reeboks, so I'll have to break them in.

One thing I hate about summer - that weightless, wispy, lifeless, yellowish stuff on top of my head. Today was the first day that seemed a little humid and when I looked in the mirror I was reminded of how ridiculous my hair looks all summer. How horrible it looks in every vacation photo. Hate, loathe, detest, abhore, despise - these are not nearly strong enough verbs to describe how I feel about my hair. It does absolutely nothing that normal hair does. In the winter I can hold it in a satisfactory human-looking place with hairspray - but summer is hopeless, no matter the products or cut.

Is this why I cannot bring myself to enter a salon? I hate the whole experience, no matter how nice the stylists are. This week I decided that a cut would help. Making an appointment was on my list of things to do all week - but I cannot bring myself to do it - it's like torture to me - having someone focus on my hair, telling me about all the products and styles that work on everyone (but me). I am only capable of cutting my hair on the spur of the moment - so I do it myself. (I know - I see all of you shuddering out there.) I've actually gotten quite good at it. In analyzing myself I think I just don't want to be let down as I have so many times - if it sucks it's my own fault.

So I just cut about an inch and a half off and put in a couple weak layers - and it looks pretty much the same as it's looked since my first grade school picture - a little blond bob - BORING! It's my cross to bear. Maybe in heaven I'll have thick hair.

Salad Days

College street
on the first warm April day,

half-naked young men and women
prancing in the grass like elves,

smoking in plastic chairs,
frisbees slicing the air.

Will they remember
their proud bare bellies

melanoma-free
youth sprouting all around them?

Will they remember afternoons
with nothing to do

but throw beanbags
into wooden boxes,

the sexual tension,
the temptation of beach towels?

Will they remember
these days of bookless learning,
these salad days?

SKYWATCH FRIDAY

In the heavens he has pitched a tent for the sun which is like a bridegroom coming forth from his pavilion, like a champion rejoicing to run his course. It rises at one end of the heavens and makes its circuit to the other, nothing is hidden from its heat. Psalm 19:5-6

For more beautiful sky pictures visit Tom at Wigger's World.

Laughing Babies

Please don't give up on some well thought out, well written posts - hopefully coming when these crazy two weeks are over ! In the meanwhile click on this link and if you don't laugh and/or cry check your pulse to see if you're alive.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=GwriOyQf1EA

Coexist VII - Imagine

Imagine no Memorial Day.

Imagine all children growing up in loving nurturing

homes, children never growing up to become Hitlers

or Husseins or Bin Ladens. Imagine God wiping

every tear from every eye - that will be Heaven,

and we must wait for heaven.

In the last days -they will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. Isaiah 2:4

Imagine there's no countries. It's easy if you try. Nothing to kill or die for and no religion too. Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us and the world will live as one. John Lennon

John wasn't the only one. If you go to Strawberry Fields in Central Park now you will see other dreamers - every day of every week - just sitting there - imagining.

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Memorial Day

This is a photo I took on Friday of a cemetery that I go by every day on the way to work. Every year they place thousands of flags throughout the cemetery grounds for as far as the eye can see. It's quite moving. I don't know if the number of flags has any significance, but it makes me remember to be grateful to all who have served or given their lives for our country. I wish the photo could show just how far the flags go.

PS - My Skywatch Friday photo was NOT a tornado as several people wondered - but it sure looked like one!

SKYWATCH FRIDAY

Just out on Saturday errands earlier this month when a storm was ROLLING in! I got scared and headed for home. I think this scripture describes it:

All the stars of the heavens will be dissolved and the sky rolled up like a scroll. Isaiah 34:4.

To view more Skywatch photos go to Wigger's World.

Phonics? Fonixs?

Today I sat through yet ANOTHER training session on yet ANOTHER reading program - a new way to teach reading - another new way! I have no idea how many reading programs I have been trained on - have used - have gone by the wayside because something new came along. It is true that many children are not learning to read as they should and I admire those who are trying to unlock the mysteries of their difficulties. But after so many years of teaching it's hard to keep buying into new things. Sometimes it's just a company trying to make money. They hire really convincing spokespeople that amaze you with their ideas and results - but alas, the same children have the same problems. In honor of this day I thought I'd share a very clever poem that was written by the late Dorothy Griswold - a friend of my parents. This poem explains a lot about why English speaking children have it rough.

Phun with Fonix

When I was youngue, my mother toung

seamed eezy as a brease.

In grammer schules they taut us rools

along with a-b-c's.

With eech gnu wird I wred or herd,

my vocabulary grough.

The rools and stough did know seam tuff

two me. Did thay tue yew?

Bigh and bigh I went to hye-

skule whair thay tought me moar

on hough to spell and sheau and tell,

witch I cood knot ignoor.

I set my hart on lurning eart,

lyke hau to peint and draugh.

But tewday I greave to seigh

my talent has a flaugh.

Sew back I'll gow tew what I no,

Inglish and its youse.

We knead gould turse and huyclass virce

and that's what I'll produse.

Faith

She, a little lower than the angels

was sure of what she hoped for

and certain of what could not be seen,

and when she was weak she was strong.

Being an alien, she brought nothing

into this world, and will take nothing away,

even after being polluted by it,

even after it tried dividing her soul and spirit

down to her joints and marrow.

The flowers fade and the grass withers

yet prophetic messages and words

of exhortation are still written on her heart.

Who builds her house?

Can both fresh water and salt water

flow from the same spring?

She does not believe every spirit, but

only the one that makes her stumble,

the scandalous rock that makes her fall.

An idol not of bronze or gold, but the

cornerstone, a living stone

with the power to shut the sky,

to throw a mountain into the sea,

to give or take breath.

Although perseverence must finish its work

she now rests from her labors,

and does not neglect her gift.

What she sees is temporary,

but what is unseen is eternal

and it does not change like shifting shadows.

(a plagiarist poem))

Monday Musings

First of all I've had some kind of annoying stomach virus since last week and it might be affecting my mind - so I'm going to ramble today. At the moment I'm watching Oprah and it is a Mary Tyler Moore reunion show and I'm getting teary-eyed! It brings back so many memories of Saturday nights at home in the living room - with Mary - and the Carol Burnett show - shows the whole family enjoyed and laughed at together. I really loved Mary as Laura Petrie in the Dick Van Dyke Show too (reruns of course). Anyway it's amazing how TV shows can become part of your life. I think more so in the past because there were so many less of them. TV shows were special and I believe the characters were generally written with much more thought and humanity. Now maybe we are too overwhelmed with so many choices - and with shows like Desperate Housewives which make you wonder whether to laugh or be horrified. Nothing seems special anymore. Oh well, I'm sounding like an old fart now.

My book club read For One More Day by Mitch Albom. I bring this up because the book asks you to think about someone you would spend one more day with if you could. In the book, the main character gets to spend one more day with his deceased mother. During that ordinary day he finds out all kinds of things about her that he never knew - including things she sacrificed for him. He, of course, is full of regrets. So it makes you think. The book club ladies had a wide variety of thoughts on the afterlife, reincarnation, ghosts and all sorts of beliefs that kind of took me by surprise.

Anyway, who would you spend one more day with if you could? I first thought of my friend Jacquie who passed on in March - or my friend Maryanne who left before I could say goodbye, or my Aunt Lydia who was warm and bright and special to me. But then I realized that I was fortunate to have many great times with them. So the person I wish I could spend a day with is my maternal grandfather. A man I never spent a day with, but have heard about all my life. I'm pretty sure he was someone special and fun to spend time with. My mom was the last of six children and all I've ever heard all my life was how my grandfather took the time to spend with her when no one else would. Her stories are always humorous too, as he seemed like a man who tried to make everyone around him happy. I was fortunate to know my three other grandparents until my teens. My own children still have three grandparents and I am so grateful for that.

So, think about it. Who would you spend one more day with? Several of the book club ladies insisted that our loved ones are looking down from heaven watching out for us. I said - if they have to look down here on Earth and see us messing up every day then I don't think they're in heaven! That's not my idea of heaven anyway!