story time

Here is another Jacob story. Again scroll on down to the beginning and go backwards. Sorry, maybe someday I'll get this right.

And the cat watched it all.

I relaxed in my chair.

I even helped out.

I looked at the pond,

moved these bricks and heavy rocks,

because I'm strong.

I got my shoes dirty in the back yard.

They have a lot of dirt!

I did other stuff too,

like watch for bugs,

and sit on this tree stump.

because I did it again in the back yard

I don't know what I was doing here,

But it must have been fun,

Uncle Tom grew a, you know, a moustache!

Today I played at Uncle Tom and Aunt Carol's house

story time

I took this picture of myself.

See it's me Jacob!

The Kitchen

I like this poem by Jocelyn Wright. I think it fits in with Katie's post on priorities. It also describes how some women see themselves. Does anyone agree with the ideas in this poem?

The Kitchen

The pressure...
The pressure is on to be
tall
thin
and blonde
To be worked out enough to be firm
But not muscle-y enough to be masculinely strong
To be demure and deferential when you tell a man he is wrong
To be coiffed and well groomed at all hours of the day
Women are still cooking in the pressure pot
Cause little girls are being raised to be hot hot hot

Priorities

This morning, as I got dressed in the women’s locker room after my swim at the YMCA, I overheard a conversation between a mother and daughter. The mother teaches water aerobics classes a couple times a week, and she brings her 13-14 year old daughter to the gym, where she works out before going to school. I’ve never met either of them, but we often wind up in the locker room at the same time, where I overhear their interactions with one another. Today’s conversation—similar to conversations I’ve heard in the past—went something like this:

Daughter: Guess what you forgot to pack in my gym bag.

Mother: What?

Daughter: My toothbrush. You packed the toothpaste, but you didn’t pack my toothbrush.

Mother: Well, you probably need to get a separate toothbrush just for your gym bag. You should just keep everything in your gym bag separate from the stuff you keep in the bathroom at home.

Daughter: Well, what I’m supposed to do now?

Mother: Oh, wait! There’s a toothbrush out in the car. I’ll go get it. I don’t want to drive all the way home for you to brush your teeth.

Daughter: But who’s going to straighten my hair before we leave the Y?

Mother: You can do it.

Daughter: No, I can’t. You have to do it. If you go out to the car now, we won’t have enough time to straighten my hair.

And so on. I quit listening at that point, but when I stopped in the sink area to dry my own hair, I watched as Mother straightened Daughter’s hair.

This conversation got me thinking. First, about hair. I think my mom stopped doing my hair in elementary school. I can’t imagine speaking to her the way that this girl was speaking to her mother, as if it is her mom’s duty to pack the girl’s gym bag every night and act as her personal hairdresser every morning.

But then I started thinking about keeping up with appearances. Flat irons and hair straighteners. Who’s telling this girl that she needs to straighten her already straight hair? Her classmates? Media? Her mother? I don’t know.

The above conversation made me thankful for the lessons on independence and responsibility my own mother taught me.

I’m pretty sure that I was responsible for packing my own gym bag, lunch, suitcases, book bags, etc. by the time I got to 6th grade—probably before then. If I was missing something, it wasn’t my mommy’s fault; it was my own.

Hair. Yes, I’ve gone through phases of acquiring/using perms, hair spray, hair gel, mousse, hair dye, etc. Haven’t we all? But I’m pretty sure I stopped demanding that my mother do my hair sometime in elementary school. I actually don’t recall demanding any hair-dos from my momma after 1st or 2nd grade when she’d help me curl my hair ... but my memory isn’t all that swift, so I’ll just say that by late elementary school, I was my own personal hairdresser.

More importantly, my mom herself never really succumbed to the pressures of achieving whatever look for hair was trendy at the moment. She’s pretty much always been a wash and blow dry kind of gal, and now so am I. What’s the point of spending so much time and money on our hair? One of Andy’s friends spends $300 when she goes to the salon for a hair cut and color. I read in the New York Times that people spend $70-80 for a blow out. Do you know what a blow out is? It’s a blow dry!! They spend that kind of money for someone to blow dry their hair. That’s a student loan payment for me!!

As you can see, this mother-daughter exchange got me thinking about how we demonstrate the value we place on material things, appearances, and our interactions with the people to which we’re closest. I’d love to hear your thoughts, Fiddler Kin.

Copycat

I have decided to copy my beautiful cousin Katie & donate my hair to Pantene Beautiful Lengths. I was getting tired of my hair anyway & I have always wanted to do something like this. Katie, thank you for letting me know about Pantene. I had only heard about Locks for Love. My head feels so much lighter now, though I will probably grow it long again, possibly for more donations.

On a side not, Peter is NOT going to be happy about the shorter 'do. I don't care, I'm happy so he'll have to get over it.

Carol, Jacob & I look forward to seeing you Saturday, we'll have to take a look at your pond.

on golden pond

well I am up to my eye balls in nothing. I read an interesting story on the internet about ponds. We have had a little pond in the back yard with frogs--not a big deal, but Tom wanted more. Last week the man who owns the field behind our house decided to destroy the trees on his property which gave us lots of open space, nothing to sing about, our privacy is gone. No more taking the trash out in my pjs. But Tom ran out and asked him to dig us a bigger pond with his front end loader. Now we have a big SQUARE pond or a big whole with no water in it. Another project gone to hell (don't tell Tom I said that.) But back to the story I read. Someone posted a picture of a note he found buried under the lining of the pond that he dug up. It told the story of the pond and how hard it was to build. The final paragragh pointed out that who ever was reading this story must have dug up his pond and he hoped their head fell off. Now I have this idea. I might try creating a kind of mosaic picture of something and put it in the bottom of our pond. If any of you fiddlerkins have ideas about this please post them.

A Little Bit of Frost This Spring

I came across a couple of poems by Robert Frost in a book I am reading. I will share with my Fiddler kin.

The Pasture

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;
I'll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the clear water, I may):
I sha'nt be gone long. - You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's too young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'nt be gone long. - You come too.

Forgive, O Lord

Forgive, O Lord, my little jokes on Thee
and I'll forgive Thy great big one on me.

Did the choir you heard perform either of these Katie? Just wondering.

Poetry in Song

Last night, Trent and I attended a free choral concert at KSU, where one of the choirs had commissioned two composers to create songs using the text of poems by Robert Frost and Edna St. Vincent Millay, among others. It was really beautiful. Here is one of poems they sang. I think it's rather appropriate for the changing of the seasons now.


The Spring and the Fall

In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The trees were black where the bark was wet.
I see them yet, in the spring of the year.
He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach
That was out of the way and hard to reach.

In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year,
I walked the road beside my dear.
The rooks went up with a raucous trill.
I hear them still, in the fall of the year.
He laughed at all I dared to praise
And broke my heart, in little ways.

Year be spring or year be falling,
The bark will drip and the birds be calling.
There's much that's fine to see and hear
In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year.
'Tis not love's going hurt my days, B
ut that it went in little ways.

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I hope you find "much that's fine to see and hear" as spring makes her way into our neighborhoods and homes. The Bradford Pear trees are blooming here, and they smell and look divine.

Spring Time

I'm so glad that we have such creative folks posting on our blog. Carol, your photo story of Jacob's day at the park is lovely, and, Honor, your recollections of Beth's love in action warmed my heart. Thank you both for sharing these stories and memories with us.

I don't have anything very creative or heart-warming to share. After a delightful snowfall last Sunday, it's now in the 70s here. The windows are open, and we're trying to let some of the fresh air in and the stale air out.

Two weekends ago, we were in Kansas for a short visit, and I have fond memories of playing Mexican Train Domino's with Sharon and my folks while listening to "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and taking turns singing along as we laid down a bone (bone is what you call a single domino). "Once upon a time, I was falling in love. Now I'm only falling apart. Nothing I can say, total eclipse of the heart ..." Oh, yeah.

Trent's back to work for the Braves, and his physical therapy is going well. His shoulder is feeling better and better. He's been doing some neat projects around the house, installing new light fixtures that we took off his mom's hands, installing hooks in the garage to hang our bikes from (Dad gave him his old mountain bike, so now Trent can join me and Andy on the Silver Comet Trail), and installing a nifty pulley system to hang the F150 shell from when we don't want to use it. I don't even know how he managed to do that by himself, but it's working pretty well.

Work is going well for me, too. I'm feeling pretty confident in my teaching, and I think an article I wrote has been accepted for publication in a volume of Queers in American Popular Culture that my colleague is editing. I think it's a done deal, but I've never submitted anything for publication in a book before, so I'm not entirely sure how the process works.

Tonight, after the KU game, I think we're planning to attend a free choir and orchestra concert at the new performance arts center at KSU. I love listening to choirs!

I hope everyone is enjoying a beautiful spring day. Love you!

Love Is A Verb

While surfing the web I discovered a website called Love and Forgiveness. It provides rituals for people to start forgiving those who have hurt them. It also deals with forgiving oneself. Much of the information describes small ways we can change the world for the better. One suggestion is to write about a time when someone showed you love in an extraordinary way. This is my intent.

Beth, my daughter, was a teenager when I broke my right elbow. The Doctor put a cast on my good arm and suddenly I was unable to do some of life's basic chores. I needed help to do the most mundane things. I could not brush my teeth or comb my hair. I had to have a spoon taped to my left arm so that I could feed myself. I needed help dressing, taking a bath, and going to the bathroom. I had started my menstural cycle before my injury. I needed help with every intimate detail of my life. Beth stepped in willingly,and with enthusiasm and humor, took care of my needs. She made it seem like it was a pleasure to take care of me. Her kindness made me feel less afraid; less desperate; less ashamed of my weakness. I am grateful to her for all that she did.

My daughter's second great act of graciousness was to allow me to be present when she gave birth to her son. She also allowed her husband's Mom, Mary, and our sister, Carol, in the delivery room. It was a thrill to watch Jacob Leyva enter the world. I was unconscious when I gave birth to Beth. I did not get to hear her first cry, touch her skin, study her face and marvel at how blessed Doug and I were to have her. She was several hours old when I was awake enough to hold her. I felt cheated out of those first moments. But Beth shared her first moments with me. And I am totally blown away by her unselfishness.

I cannot thank Beth enough for her generosity. She has truly enriched my life with her caring. I know every relationship has its bumpy moments, but I hope we will be close forever.

Beth I have a hundred photos of Jacob on the play ground. I'll try and put them on a cd for you. He is pretty easy to take pictures of. He is always smiling. I had a lot of fun. I think photo bucket can actually turn this into a book for around $35.00.