It’s been waiting in that silent darkness where I trapped it with my will
By my need to survive, to seem strong and capable
To move on amongst the pain
To walk along the eggshells of my life.
The sobs stay trapped, inside of me.
Except when they transform into sickness
And work their way out as barf
Or catch me unawares and shake my body in the familiar way that reminds me of snot covered corners, of huddling under the blankets, of being told to stop my bawling…
I did
Now they stay bottled up inside. Deep down inside.
Except when they don’t.
Then, every gasping sob that comes out is coated in shame. Even when I’m mourning on behalf of others.
I cannot mourn my own loss. I must rationalize it away. It was not my loss. My brother in law was sick for so many years. It was a gradual loss. We knew the end would come. It would be welcome. It would finally be that which we dreaded. But it would finally be over. I cannot make the sadness wash over me, my loss. I lost a brother in law who was an awesome big brother to my husband. I can cry for my husband’s loss. I can cry for their parents’ loss. I can cry for my sisters in laws loss, and their brother, for my nephews’ loss of their father. But I cannot cry for me.
Sometimes success looks like a smashed cutting board
Who knew?
As we stared at the shattered cutting board, and I made sure nobody had gotten hurt, we all had the same idea. The older son put words to it, “Yes, I’ll get the Hoover but first, a picture.” (Hoover, for those of you unfamiliar with the term is used for all vacuum cleaners by some people, including, it turns out, some of my children.)
I knew the moment needed to be recorded, but my reason was likely different from that of my sons. I imagine they saw a beautiful shatter pattern and a crazy thing they’d never seen, a cutting board shattered by the impact of a knife. (And it kept cracking for several minutes: it was really phenomenal!!)
I, however, saw a moment of freedom from my normal startled reaction to loud noises and broken stuff. I felt a release from the temptation to yell at the one who had caused it. I was able to be present, to focus on what actually was important in that moment (that nobody got or gets hurt) & figure out what needed to happen next (the cleaning of the shattered glass, with nobody walking on it).
Cliché but true, no rainbow without rain
Without a potentially triggering event, I would not have known that my reaction could be so… grown up. I could be an adult, even if my kid willfully damaged something. (He was frustrated and chopping a bit, uh, energetically, because I asked him to chop the celeriac thinner for the recipe we were making.) I could have yelled at him. I could have cursed, screamed, all the things. But they would not have helped. Besides he didn’t intentionally break the cutting board. And maybe he learned to be more careful next time. Who knows?
Right on the edge, where our experience butts up against the unexplored, that’s where we grow best. Not in the familiar, nor in over our heads… No, it’s right here. On the edge.
A friend was recently telling me tales of her failure, how she knowsnot to say the thing, but says it anyway. I’m not convinced that’s failure. It really depends on what she does next. Sure, you cannot take words back once they leave your mouth. And there are plenty of things best left unsaid. But apologies are worth more than gold when correctly applied. Our kids can learn how to recover from their own similar mistakes with words. Our spouses and friends can see our humility when we apologize. And maybe, just maybe, we can learn not to say the thing the next time the opportunity arises? More than half the battle is the awareness NOT to say the thing. She’s on the right track, for sure!
*Whatever The Thing is varies for each of us. We’re meant to speak life, but it can be so tempting to say other things, unkind, untrue, unhelpful, etc.
Pain, it’s not always bad. It might mean we’re walking on beautiful seashells 😁
The next day I was bicycling. I’ve been gradually getting back into biking, after a more than 25 year break. So I’m trying to increase the intensity to build muscle and endurance, to up my cardiovascular strength, etc. I’d heard of interval training and how good it’s supposed to be for you. (HIIT, anyone?) So I try to apply that whenever the bike ride isn’t already kicking my butt.
Anyway, there I was, going up a hill that used to kick my butt all by itself, when I decided to apply a little interval training. Go really hard for 30 seconds to a minute, take it easier for a couple of minutes, repeat the process. Yeah, this is working. Oooh, wait this is killing me!! I’m not sure I’m going to make it to the top! Argh!! I’m a failure!
Yes, my mind went to what a failure I am, how I overdid it and now I can’t get up the hill, how badly I hurt and therefore how I’d botched it. That’s when I saw the parallel. NO, I’m not a, failure. I’m living in the growth zone, the place where what’s become easy for me meets where I want to go, who I’m becoming, who God created me to be. And this is success. With God I cannot fail!
Stay in the place of growth and see who you are becoming
I made this vase. It doesn’t hold water. Nor does it hold the flowers how I’d like it to. A learning process for vase shape and mixing different clays
My entire “snow safety strategy” boils down to two basic principles (plus “dress warmly enough so you don’t freeze”).
As I’m driving along, repeatedly downshifting to avoid using the brakes, which could lead to sliding on the icy, snowy streets, I realize that 2nd gear is my go-to. In fact, my whole snow safety strategy really is very simple…
Second gear & “walk like a penguin”
I watched a woman picking her way alongside the road this morning and wondered why she was lifting her feet and placing them, one at a time, precisely and distinctly on the sidewalk in front of her. Then I considered that maybe it was her way of avoiding sliding at all. I wanted to yell, “Bad strategy, lady. Be careful! Embrace the slide and walk like a penguin!!” But she was already out of sight by the time I’d processed all that.
Be careful! Embrace the slide and walk like a penguin!!
It might sound counterintuitive, but it’s what penguins (and Minnesotans) do on the ice. It keeps your base of support large to minimize the chance of falling all the way down, whereas, if you lift one foot all the way off the ground and slip on the one that’s supporting you… Boom! Not good!!
That’s all, folks. Downshift to second gear to slow down, minimise the use of your brakes in the snow & walk like a penguin, just shuffle along when it’s slippery. Of course you also avoid the worst slippery spots, if possible. Unless you are a child and determined to enjoy the ice!! 🧊 ⛸️ ❄️
PS Take all my advice with a grain of salt because: real fingers were frozen for the writing of this blog post whilst supervising free ranging chickens in the snow. In my defense, I don’t have gloves that work with my touchscreen.
You know, when you put it like that, it seems pretty obvious. But I really don’t like food waste. I don’t want to contribute to it. I don’t want any cooking efforts in my house to go to waste, whether it’s my work, my hubby’s work, or the work of the kids. Maybe it’s even food we’ve grown, so there’s that effort, as well. Or we’ve paid good money for the food. Or a friend took the trouble of cooking for us. Or bought us something… As you can see, there is NOTHING about food waste that I like, with the possible exception of having an occasional treat of “people food” for our chickens, cats, or rabbit.
I can salvage halfway rotten fruit with the best of them. It’s a skill my momma taught me. She used to buy whole boxes of bananas from Bob’s Produce Ranch for $2. Yes, it was a long time ago, but you can guess as to the quality of bananas that you could get for $2 a box. We were chopping the bad parts off, peeling and freezing those bad boys to use in banana bread and what I called “fruit shakes.” (I’m pretty sure we invented smoothies!)
Anyway, there’s also been plenty of other fruit and vegetables salvaged in my home growing up and even now. So I am a food waste warrior. [Although I’m managing to keep my TooGoodToGo addiction under control for the moment, so I don’t end up with a ton of stuff we cannot use.]
“Don’t eat that. It’s rotten!“
As I reach for food in my fridge, I sometimes hear the nudge, “Don’t eat rotten food, Maija!”
“But is this rotten already? It’s relatively new.” One sip, bite, and/or sniff confirms that the voice was correct, and I’m amazed. I need to listen better. It’s so good for my health.
I realized that this is also true of spiritual food. Don’t eat the rotten stuff, the old, the recycled, the stale opinions and traditions of men.
Let your relationship with God be steeped in the current situation of your life, what God is working there. Let your joy and pain inform your worship. Listen, and you will hear the voice of God speaking to your situation, bringing love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faith, and self-control.
Delicious 😋 gorgeous Christmas Dinner. NOT what I’m talking about being rotten. Unless it’s 2 weeks later…
Let your eating be an act of worship
Thank God for delicious food & the ability to enjoy it
I made this vase for floating blossoms (pictured with dahlia from our garden)
Can it be both…
Art AND ugly at the same time?
“What makes something art?”
Janine, my ceramics classmate
She was flipping through a book about ceramics, filled with pictures of gorgeous vase after gorgeous vase, interspersed with a few that were a bit… less expertly executed.
“A 2 year old could make that!” I said, but quickly corrected to “a 5 year old” because it wasn’t quite THAT basic. Also, because it is ceramics, which requires some attention to physics and chemistry, it was maybe more along the lines of a young teenager quality. BUT it didn’t seem to fit with the other masterworks in the book, so we were wondering. “What makes something art?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. But it made me think. I do know, something.
A bowl I’m working on. I’m having a blast “painting” with different colors of clay. Sadly, some of the experiments with this method have flopped. The different clays don’t always bond well together.
Having recently watched the movie “Being Michelle,” observing her artwork and the role it played in her communication and healing, I do know that she is an artist. Whether or not her work ever hangs in a museum exhibit, is sold for beaucoup bucks, is published widely (beyond the movie) or whatever standard makes one a “good artist”, Michelle is without any doubt an artist.
An artist is someone with a message to share who shares it through some form of visual expression. A craftsman, on the other hand, is someone with skill in an artistic medium, or even in multiple media. Devoid of inspiration, a craftsman creates beautiful objects but doesn’t necessarily communicate with them. However, when inspiration strikes, when a message falls into the hands of a skilled craftsman, that’s when masterworks can be created. That is what is usually described as “good art.”
I’ve begun playing with pouring medium, definitely not at craftsman level with this!
Pondering that leaves me with more new questions:
What happens when someone makes a work that is skillfully executed but it doesn’t resonate with you?
Perhaps you disagree with the message being communicated?
Does that make it “not good art” or “not art”??
Does each of us define what is or is not “art”??
Pre-glazed paper porcelain tealights
I know that I’ve been around long enough to have a few messages to share (hence the blog, I guess 😀), but some of my thoughts can’t be effectively expressed in words, so… art? I also feel called/inspired to make a lot of the works I create. Pretty sure all that adds up to declare that I am, in fact, an artist…
I think this piece speaks of depression. It was definitely a product of inspiration. I still remember the rush I had when I got to class that day… “I’m going to make a big pumpkin out of black clay,” I declared enthusiastically. Nobody understood, for a long time. Now they do! 😀
I am, in fact, an artist
😆 autocomplete wanted me to end that phrase with “outcast”… maybe that, too, AI. Thanks, robots, I appreciate the vote of confidence.
Trying to find the best clay/glaze combos for these tiles. These were the first tests… skilled craftsmanship takes work, patience and BAH, let’s see if I’ve got any of that!?!
My sister in law bought a bunch of Sudoku puzzle books last summer, so I learned Sudoku.
Since then, I’ve processed a lot of emotions over number puzzles. It’s interesting how looking for numbers can free up the emotional part of my brain to process emotions.
But more importantly, I have an analogy for the things I seek to do now. They have to “tick lots of boxes” (like the numbers in Sudoku — they have to be in the right place to be the x for that row, column and box). I’m looking for the things in my life that are at the intersections of my responsibilities. How can I serve lots of people at once with minimal effort? How can I get the most “bang for the buck” in terms of my energy and resource usage?
How can I serve lots of people at once with minimal effort?
I can’t go to Israel this week, as originally planned, but I can burn the candles I bought there in June and pray for all the people there
This is Belle, named after the Disney princess. She’s not the only princess, though. We also have Cinderella.
who likes to perch in treesAnd then there’s Snow White, who shares coloring with Belle
Belle was born on the day of the ballet (danse classique) exam and recital of one of our family members, so it makes complete sense that she gets called Bellerina, for long.
Pure black from head to toe, here’s a pic of baby Belle with her mama
She was an only child, orphaned on August 2nd. Poor thing!
Standing on her mom’s grave (and many aunts’, uncles’, and her dad’s grave, for that matter)
She used to be at the bottom of the pecking order, being the very youngest of the whole flock. Then, she was so traumatised after the great chicken massacre of 2023 that she was afraid of everyone, including, as I mentioned before, my hubby. She’d occasionally look for treats from me but not get very close.
She was in such a state by the time we got the rabbit that I actually had to chase her outside one of the first days that we had him. She was too frightened to even go out, an activity that is normally greatly appreciated by cooped up chickens.
We gradually introduced him, but still there was fear…
I think the game changer was when I brought them a huge juicy plantain plant from the garden and told them I brought them a meal to share. I saw them gladly gobbling it, together. He was doing what males of some species do to acquaint themselves with others… (I didn’t have my camera with me, or I’d have some pics to share. You’ll have to trust me that it was awfully cute, except the, um, sniffing part, of course, which was just hilarious.)
She was helping him clean his paws within that first week.
It didn’t take long for them to get friendly with each other, to seek out each other’s company, sometimes even when they are outside free ranging.
But now she is leveraging her friendship with the King to make her way up the pecking order
I’ve seen her challenging some of the new chicks, gradually making her way up from the bottom of the pecking order. It’s actually a little amusing, considering she used to be afraid of her own shadow, practically!!
There was a stunned silence when I declared, “No, I do not celebrate Halloween.” It hardly seemed the place for a deep theological explanation of light versus darkness and why one chooses to celebrate one but mourn the other. However, I did want to explain a little, so I said that I find gory things ugly and unpleasant.
Ceramic pumpkin I made last year; not gory, beautiful!
My classmate agreed, saying she’s afraid of spiders. Meanwhile, her neighbours installed a gigantic spider on their front door that she has to see every time she goes out.
“Exactly!” I said, “we have enough trauma in our lives. We really don’t need to add to it intentionally.”
This time, the atmosphere was more one of agreement and understanding.
Let’s add beauty to the world. Hold the trauma. Skip the drama (except on the stages where it belongs).
There’s a magnificent fungus. I guess beauty comes, eventually, from death and decay, also.
Technically, she flew up onto it and then down the other side, but same diff…
Of course she did. Because she needed to demonstrate that boundaries are not that simple, that there will inevitably be boundary crashers, some of whom will also try to gaslight you.
So much for boundaries
Boundaries need to be set with enough margin that every boundary infraction doesn’t trigger a major conflict. Allow enough space between what you request and what you absolutely need (at a minimum) so that your toes don’t get metaphorically trampled every time someone disregards your boundaries.
BTW, you might have to be okay with being labelled selfish for having boundaries and trying to enforce them (as I have). These are the people you need lots of space from, in order to heal. Ideally, they will just give you the space, when they dismiss you as selfish, but it’s likely to come with some nastiness and name-calling. You are above that. Lift your chin up and move on…
Sometimes, he bounces right through the flock of chickens, just to watch them freak out and scatter.
I’m learning to give myself the space I need to let my nervous system regulate, so I don’t feel constantly attacked. Perpetually feeling under attack is super bad for your health.
I keep saying, “I don’t have the tools to deal with this kind of crap!” But the fact is, maybe I do? Now that I can tell when I’m disregulated and can find ways to regulate my nervous system before responding to mean people, maybe I do have the tools, after all.
There are people who try to get you to question your own needs and emotions, even question what you saw and heard. This is called gaslighting. Sadly, it’s far more common than some people realise.
Would you think of that as a place to drive your car? I don’t… it’s a bike path, and very clearly labelled as such!
Recently, while I was bicycling on the above-pictured bike path, I met an oncoming vehicle. I was flabbergasted. I stopped my bike as she passed and asked her to drive her car on the road, which is parallel but separated by an embankment. There was no traffic on said road, so no real excuse, as far as I could tell, for her to be driving on the bike path. I chalked it up to pure stupidity, but felt bad for being so judgemental. Still haven’t come up with another reason, although I suppose an inexperienced driver might get confused, so I’ll cut her some slack.
But the clincher was what she said when I asked her to please drive on the road.
“C’est pas grave, madam!”
Roughly “no big deal” or “It’s not so bad, ma’am. “
It’s not “grave” for who? I lost all my French at that moment (I know, I know — it was a missed opportunity for “Pardon my French!”)… “What?” I said, “Not bad/grave for WHOM?”
Belle leverages her friendship with King Louis to improve her standing in the pecking order
As she drove away, the anger welled up, and some “French” found its way out of my mouth. I could not believe the audacity… She’s telling me it’s no big deal, not so dangerous, if she drives on the bike path? WTF?!? That’s like the definition of gaslighting. Of course, it’s dangerous. That’s why they made an entirely separate bike road for the bicycles, so they don’t have to drive on the road with the cars. Incredible! Really and truly incredible.
This is just another illustration of why my friends say, “I don’t bike because I don’t trust the Belgian drivers.” Sad that you can’t get away from the bad car driving even where there are bike paths which are entirely separated from the roads. I’m still befuddled by these interactions.
(There were some earlier incidents on the same bike path involving car drivers who were avoiding a road closure. That was also incredible, but at least I could see why they might be on the bike path. Clearly, they were above the “road closed” situation.)
There actually are some fall colors in Belgium, too, you just have to look for them. This is a leaf from my Austrian (Bing?) Cherry tree. They grew to a gigantic size this year. Leaves as big as my hand!
Still trying to figure out how to deal with gaslighting
elämänpuun lehti 