So the boys, all of them, three, 15, 17 and 48 (acts like another 17 yr old) went north for the great white tail deer hunt. I've never been away from them this long, and in the house alone. It is very peaceful. And, when I buy something at the grocery store....it is still in the fridge when I get home from work. Joy.
It is very very quiet...I've hardly even played music because the silence is so nice.
So, since the 15 yr old said his dad is running out of $$ and they will probably be home tomorrow...I just wanted to remember, the sound of silence.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
In The Beginning
.....she thought her life was normal
.....she thought everyone was like her....or that she was like everyone else
.....it was a shock when she found out it wasn't so
In the beginning, she was a pretty dark haired, doe eyed little girl, innocent, sweet and naive
Those first 5 years at home were Heaven, then the world intruded and nothing was ever the same.
She was the first, shoved out into the prickly sunshine, to find herself lost in a world where she was never sure of the rules, always afraid of doing the wrong thing. But there was an excitement in it too, being the first, uncharted waters and all that. She found she loved to read, and was able to slip her little sailboat from the dock and search out the adventures on the sea, with just a book, and a quiet place to sit.
It was there she learned of Mickey Mantle, and his perseverance, Amelia Earhart, and her bold daring, Hank Aaron, and the breaking of barriers and Florence Nightengale, who gave comfort, aid, and made a difference. Through those beautiful books she ran with Laura Ingalls on the prairie, suffered the cold cold winters, and braved the unknown wagon train with a spirited soul.
...then came High School..
She found a boy who needed her, and by that time, she needed him too. He was a boy rejected by his birth mother, adopted out of an orphanage at an age when he was still able to remember how horrid the beginnings of his life had been, how cold, how without the comfort of loving arms to hold him.
She loved him, and gave her heart away, but he didn't take very good care of it, and he gave her back the broken pieces. She knew it was somehow her fault, and he never let her know that it wasn't.
Comfort was found in food, unjudging, feel good, loving, life giving food. Her parents loved her, she supposed, but they never said so, they just told her about the things she didn't do right, and her father......his childhood must have been hard, for he was afraid somehow to show his children how important and special they were. That was a lesson in itself. Her mother seemed always to be the sunshine she ran to, where she got a smiling face, and appreciation, that was as essential to her as oxygen. It fed her parched soul.
He died when she was in her early 20's, massive heart attack, probably from holding all those emotions inside for his whole life...he had barely passed the 50 year mark.
Her mother was left alone......and she was only in her mid 40's. A woman who had come pure as snow from her parents house, to her husbands house, and had known no other love. Shy, sweet, innocent still, she needed to be protected. So the eldest daughter stepped in....that is me, Morning Star. My mother gave me that name one year when she made me the most beautiful Indian Princess costume for Halloween. She embroidered it on my headband, in a sky blue thread, she made my doeskin outfit of soft, white corduroy, with lots of beads and long fringe that swung with my arms when I moved, and I was beautiful.
That is how she made me feel, beautiful, loved, needed, wanted, cherished and necessary. My first 25 years were as a child, the next 25 as a protector of my mother.
I wouldn't change it, I don't regret any of the things I did for her....sometimes, even though I know it wasn't possible at the time, I wish I would have done more, given more, loved more, held more, listened more......but that is the way it is when something you cherish is gone, you forget how much you gave, how much you cared, how much you sacrificed, so that you can grieve and want to give it all over again, tenfold, just so they know, just so they know.
So now, that was the beginning, and this is the middle....racing on toward the beginning of the end. I am trying to get my self in order, to figure out what, where, and who I want to be. So, after much consideration, and taking in that I know myself a little...I will lose a journal, or misplace it, or be terrified someone will find out my secrets, I decided to blog it.
1..I can access it wherever I am, as long as I remember the password, and can get to a computer.
2..I type much faster than I write....thoughts seem to flow better and my fingers don't cramp.
3..It won't burn in a fire, or get wet in a flood
and 4..I can make it pretty, and decorative, and put pictures in it if I want to...and if I Do want to show it to someone, all I have to remember is the address, and I don't have to sit there and watch them read it.
So, here I am, and here I go......to find me.
.....she thought everyone was like her....or that she was like everyone else
.....it was a shock when she found out it wasn't so
In the beginning, she was a pretty dark haired, doe eyed little girl, innocent, sweet and naive
Those first 5 years at home were Heaven, then the world intruded and nothing was ever the same.
She was the first, shoved out into the prickly sunshine, to find herself lost in a world where she was never sure of the rules, always afraid of doing the wrong thing. But there was an excitement in it too, being the first, uncharted waters and all that. She found she loved to read, and was able to slip her little sailboat from the dock and search out the adventures on the sea, with just a book, and a quiet place to sit.
It was there she learned of Mickey Mantle, and his perseverance, Amelia Earhart, and her bold daring, Hank Aaron, and the breaking of barriers and Florence Nightengale, who gave comfort, aid, and made a difference. Through those beautiful books she ran with Laura Ingalls on the prairie, suffered the cold cold winters, and braved the unknown wagon train with a spirited soul.
...then came High School..
She found a boy who needed her, and by that time, she needed him too. He was a boy rejected by his birth mother, adopted out of an orphanage at an age when he was still able to remember how horrid the beginnings of his life had been, how cold, how without the comfort of loving arms to hold him.
She loved him, and gave her heart away, but he didn't take very good care of it, and he gave her back the broken pieces. She knew it was somehow her fault, and he never let her know that it wasn't.
Comfort was found in food, unjudging, feel good, loving, life giving food. Her parents loved her, she supposed, but they never said so, they just told her about the things she didn't do right, and her father......his childhood must have been hard, for he was afraid somehow to show his children how important and special they were. That was a lesson in itself. Her mother seemed always to be the sunshine she ran to, where she got a smiling face, and appreciation, that was as essential to her as oxygen. It fed her parched soul.
He died when she was in her early 20's, massive heart attack, probably from holding all those emotions inside for his whole life...he had barely passed the 50 year mark.
Her mother was left alone......and she was only in her mid 40's. A woman who had come pure as snow from her parents house, to her husbands house, and had known no other love. Shy, sweet, innocent still, she needed to be protected. So the eldest daughter stepped in....that is me, Morning Star. My mother gave me that name one year when she made me the most beautiful Indian Princess costume for Halloween. She embroidered it on my headband, in a sky blue thread, she made my doeskin outfit of soft, white corduroy, with lots of beads and long fringe that swung with my arms when I moved, and I was beautiful.
That is how she made me feel, beautiful, loved, needed, wanted, cherished and necessary. My first 25 years were as a child, the next 25 as a protector of my mother.
I wouldn't change it, I don't regret any of the things I did for her....sometimes, even though I know it wasn't possible at the time, I wish I would have done more, given more, loved more, held more, listened more......but that is the way it is when something you cherish is gone, you forget how much you gave, how much you cared, how much you sacrificed, so that you can grieve and want to give it all over again, tenfold, just so they know, just so they know.
So now, that was the beginning, and this is the middle....racing on toward the beginning of the end. I am trying to get my self in order, to figure out what, where, and who I want to be. So, after much consideration, and taking in that I know myself a little...I will lose a journal, or misplace it, or be terrified someone will find out my secrets, I decided to blog it.
1..I can access it wherever I am, as long as I remember the password, and can get to a computer.
2..I type much faster than I write....thoughts seem to flow better and my fingers don't cramp.
3..It won't burn in a fire, or get wet in a flood
and 4..I can make it pretty, and decorative, and put pictures in it if I want to...and if I Do want to show it to someone, all I have to remember is the address, and I don't have to sit there and watch them read it.
So, here I am, and here I go......to find me.
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