::: stream of consciousness whilst I wait for the day to end :::

Here's what's on this fickle mind of mine:

My son in Africa: He's dealing with an illness that required hospitalization. We can't really communicate, so I'm quite worried about him. Could be over and done with in no time, could be a long haul. Could be very mild. Could be quite serious. I can't help thinking he wouldn't be there if I hadn't planted the idea.

My faith: I'm turning so much over in my head about groupthink and jingoism and the heartlessness of some people who claim to follow Christ.

My passions: I used to think of myself as a writer. Now, the more I think of writing, the more I think I must have some audacity to believe that I fit into that scene. Or any scene, for that matter. At this point in my life, I feel that anything I write is either adding to the noise. Am I just a clanging cymbal? Do I have anything to contribute in this information age, in this sea of words?

Sexiness: It's sexy to adopt a child from an exotic foreign country. It's not so sexy to adopt a child from 50 miles away who has a learning disability. Do I want to make a difference, or do I want to be sexy?

Education: I'd always chosen to homeschool because I wanted my children to be exposed to a broad variety of subjects and I wanted them to have the freedom to learn at their own pace and according to their interests. Home education, I have always felt, is a superior education. I'd never felt that I wanted to educate for religious reasons, or for social reasons, but now that my children are growing and changing and I'm growing and changing, I see that my reasons always have been mainly social. My daughters are both starting to show interest in attending a local private school, and I'm not so sure how I feel about that. After this year of dealing with the ups and downs of our 14-year-old, Monet, attending this school, I can see how the girls would thrive academically. But socially? It's not that they aren't social girls. They are very, very social girls. But I've been around some of the kids from this school and heard the things my son and other kids have dealt with to have some serious reservations about sending my daughters to school. They're both very smart, outgoing and sweet. I'm worried that even a year in the environment where what you look like and what sports you play are more important qualities than how you treat people and what your passions are will break them into tiny little quivering pieces of self-doubt. I don't, don't, don't want to go there. And yet I fear that my economic abilities limit them from pursuing the kind of education they really desire.

Relationships: There are a couple of people who have really blown my mind this past year with their hubris and selfishness. On one hand, I feel like I am so over these people. On the other hand, it burns me to no end that they don't see how terribly self-centered and hurtful they are. And, if I had another hand, what would be on it is that I want so badly to be at peace with everyone I know that the fact that rifts remain drives me wild. Is it worth it to try to invest time in these relationships, or should I take joy in the peace that is my life with these people removed from it?

My own selfishness. That's all I'll say about that.

And that's all I'll say.

::: stream of consciousness whilst awaiting my twentieth anniversary :::

I love celebrations.
I love planning them,
preparing for them,
sneaking around about them
(paying for them, not so much),
and springing them on people.
I love surprises,
both creating them
and receiving them.
My dear husband?
Not really.
He doesn't create surprises,
and most birthdays/anniversaries/holidays,
he's attacked by some virus or bacteria
and sleep overtakes him,
and I am left alone to celebrate.
It's not his fault, but yet I blame him.
It's not his fault, but yet,
every holiday,
every birthday,
every anniversary,
I awake, hoping to find
breakfast in bed,
or a piece of pottery,
or a surprise getaway,
or a love song written,
or even just a letter,
a paragraph,
a sentence.
The emptiness leaves me feeling
selfish.
It's one of my biggest fears about Heaven,
that I'm looking forward to this grand mansion,
this eternal life free from pain and tears
and sickness and anxiety
and worry and fear
and loneliness and hope deferred,
but that I will find, instead, only death
and darkness,
and nothing.
Dear God, I want to lean on you
and find my joy in you,
but this too too solid flesh,
which will not melt,
longs for tactile proof
that I have worth,
that I am known.
In the meantime,
I will create the surprises,
and try not to hope for
too much.

::: stream of consciousness whilst listening to beatles rock band :::

Nine batches of white trash down, who knows how many more to go.
Almost all of my Christmas shopping is done.
I'm broke.
We put the tree up today.
It was the first year my family cut it down without me.
I was having a pouting party.
People were being mean to each other, and then they turned on me.
They chose and cut the tree.
I cried in the car alone.
Sometimes Christmas traditions suck
and leave everyone grumpy and depressed.
Houdin called from Africa today.
I miss him.
I woke up the other night worried about him
and the gigantic poisonous snakes in the village
and the inadequate shoes he packed.
I want to send him steel hip waders.
He wouldn't wear them.
I hope he's taking his malaria pills.
He only had four minutes to talk
and we got cut off.
His girlfriend was here. She got to talk to him.
I feel badly that I didn't let everyone say a word or two.
We tried speakerphone, but it was to echoey and no one could hear anything.
He was telling me about how he's learning all about African cuisine,
and how you can make just about anything there into food.
Made this mother-heart kinda worried,
made me think of Christopher McCandless.
I hate to sound selfish, God, but would You mind keeping an eye
on that boy of mine?
And, while you're at it, God, can you work on the heart
of that other boy of mine?
You know the one. Full of hormones and anger and independence,
but still goofy and hyper,
with his mother's talent for losing track of time.
This, his first year of school after having homeschooled all of his life,
has been a rough one.
He gets picked on.
Mostly by girls.
So, naturally, when he comes home, it's time to reverse the roles.
He picks on his little sisters.
Their patience is wearing thin.
Bard is home from college for a few weeks.
She had her nose pierced.
It looks cute, yes, but I can't help remembering
her tiny, perfect, unblemished nose,
that little baby I held to my breast.
Now she walks around the world without me,
making decisions about her life, her future, her body.
I'm peripheral.
That's a little hard to take.
But there are still young ones in the house,
and they still think I'm the center of the universe.
That can be such an ego trip.
It can also be exhausting.
So I need some patience
and some kindness
and an extra helping of forgiveness,
both to hand out
and to cash in on.
The Christmas trees are up.
It's feeling quite festive around here.
I'll post pictures soon.
For now, I think my consciousness has been streamed out.
May God bless this Christmas
and may you be reminded of how very much
you are loved.

Stream of Consciousness Whilst Avoiding Cleaning My Room

I have a stack of papers on my floor that need to be gone through.
Most of them are probably trash, but I can't just throw them away.
I have to filter through them.
And then I have to burn the ones I don't want.
Identity theft is so stupid.
"Jesus in New Orleans" is playing on iTunes.
Some days, I want to clean.
Some days, I want to stay in bed.
Some days, I want to go away.
Some days, I want to stay inside.
What kind of day is this?
Bard is home for three more days.
Today, she's getting her hair cut and colored.
I have a grocery list the size of someone's arm.
Remember Ed Grimley?
That was funny stuff.
But I think it jumped the shark with the cartoon, don't you?
I mean, watching Martin Short himself was 98% of the fun.
Why animate that?
Who's your favorite comedy actor right now?
I think mine's either Jack Black or Steve Carell.
The Office is my current obsession.
HTML is amazing.
I need to dust.
"Stella's Tarantella" is playing now.
The Baby loves this song.
She's not much of a baby anymore.
Actually, she's a pretty amazing little girl who is almost six years old.
I love birthdays.
What will we do for this birthday?
When she turned four, my friend Kim painted her a picture.
It was a pink and purple birthday.
There were balloons, and windows, and buildings and guitars and a cake with four candles.
It's one of my favorite things.
It's hanging downstairs.
Are we still friends?
I miss our walks.
My running has stopped.
I want to run again.
Monet and I are hoping to train for a 5K, but we've not been doing very well.
I bought him a pair of running shoes.
I think we'll do it.
But when?
"Spark" by Over the Rhine is playing now.
It's one of my favorite songs.
Especially this line:
"Obsessions with self-preservation
faded when I threw my fear away.
It's not a thing you can imagine.
You either lose your fear or spend your life
with one foot in the grave."
That line was an epiphany for me.
Lose my fear.
What's the worst thing that could happen to me?
No one can steal my soul.
The next life is so glorious.
Eternal bliss.
Oneness with Christ.
Knowledge. Happiness. Freedom from pain.
Wake up dreaming.
Only love can turn this around.
Jesus was an incredible man.
I wish more people could see him and not what his followers do to him.
It's time to wrap this up.
It's time to love life.
Blessings on this amazing day.

Stream of Consciousness Whilst Avoiding Work

Everyone is asleep except me, the dogs, the chickens, the cats, and the pigs.
I'm not sure what I want to do with my day.
I have a hankerin' for a good thrift-store visit and maybe a movie.
I should make potato soup.
I should have a tea party with the girls.
The chives are up. It's officially spring.
I'm looking forward to gardening this year, but I'm not looking forward to the work.
Someone needs to fence in the garden so the pig can till it up.
I'm glad for the pig.
It's cold out today.
It's too cold to put up a fence around the garden.
It's not too cold to do laundry.
Darn.
I need to go running again. I haven't been for almost a year.
That's terribly depressing.
I'm glad for other things, though.
I'm glad for Bard's scholarship.
I'm glad for a church family.
I'm glad for my iMac.
I'm glad for food in the fridge.
I wish I had more money.
But I'm not glad for wishing I had more money.
I'm glad today's Saturday and there are no outside plans.
I'm not glad that that means I have a whole day to do the cleaning projects I've been putting off.
I didn't put up my Easter decorations this year.
I don't really want to put up my Easter decorations this year.
I should put up my Easter decorations this year.
But then, I'll just have to take them down again.
Laundry always inspires me. Not that I *want* to do laundry, but that once I get it going, I feel like doing other things. That makes me productive.
I've been dealing with a lot of depression lately.
Wish I could overcome that.
I think it's caused by too much time on the computer.
I don't want to give up my computer.
It's a vicious cycle, isn't it?
I should be knitting more.
I should learn to sew.
I'm glad I filled my birdfeeders.
I need another birdfeeder.
Why do I always need "more?"
Human nature, I guess.
The neighbors are moving to New Zealand.
It's interesting to me that they're moving as far away from us as they possibly can.
I should be a better neighbor.
The rooster is crowing.
I need to take some of our livestock to auction.
I don't want to go another year with goats eating my garden.
That was extremely depressing, goats eating my garden.
I won't be working at the greenhouse this year.
Is that a good thing or a bad thing?
When I worked, I knew my time was limited, so I used it all as efficiently as I could.
When I worked, I never felt like I had time to *really* clean my house.
Now that I'm not working, I feel like I have all the time in the world to clean my house.
So I can do it later.
So I don't do it.
Ugh.
It would be better if the weather weren't so gray.
But then I'd have both the indoor work *and* the outdoor work to do.
I should clean the windows.
Anyone want a female Jack Russell Terrier who isn't fully housetrained?
Me neither.
My stomach is growling.
It's time to make soup.

::: stream of consciousness about getting older :::

I think I'm having an identity crisis.

For so long, I've felt that I was in a stage of life that I could ride on out, and when it was over, I could get on with my life. After I'm done being a mom, I'll be a writer. After I'm done being a daughter, I'll be a lover. After I'm done having babies, I'll lose weight.

But now I find that I'm approaching a stage I wasn't quite prepared to enter into.

Middle age.

And it reminds me that I shouldn't wait. That I need to get right to those things I want to do. I need to write. I need to travel. I need to love more and yell less and be patient more and procrastinate less.

But it also has another effect on me. Futility. I feel so much like the writer of Ecclesiastes. Futile! It's all futile! It will all go up in a puff of smoke! I spend a lot of my time wondering, "Why start now? Your life is half over!" or thinking, "If only I'd done that way back when..."

I hadn't realized how much this would affect me. Why bother running? The body's falling apart anyway. Why bother starting a career? Educating myself? Reaching for goals?

Smoke!

I'm trying to embrace today, struggling to improve, hoping that my best days are still ahead of me.

Do you ever feel this way?

Stream of Consciousness Whilst I Avoid Getting Ready for Church

I really should be taking a shower now, but I'm here instead stealing what few moments I can get to press my fingers against these keys and make some clickity-clacking noise.
Life has been moving at breakneck speed.
The greenhouse, where I've been spending most of my time, has been burgeoning with life.
The greenhouse, where I've been spending most of my time, opens tomorrow.
The Pierce Pettis show was tops. We had over 70 people here and Pierce was a real trooper, singing his lungs out even though he was recovering from bronchitis.
We had a great jam session after the show where about a half-dozen musicians, including Pierce, had fun with songs like Man of Constant Sorrow, Aimee, Harvest Moon and lots of old-time tunes, reels and jigs. A few of us practiced our Irish step dancing. Some of us weren't as good as others. Still, it was quite fun.
I got to cuddle on my nieces and nephews, which was quite loverly.
Bo and I have still been delivering pizzas.
I've still been working, ever so slowly, on the Couch Potato to 5K. Kim and I ran a mile straight on Friday. And I'm still alive.
School has been a very, very hit and miss with my work at the greenhouse. Reading aloud has suffered. The boys did come to the greenhouse with me on Friday and did some schoolwork there, but it was quite distracting for them, so they didn't get a whole lot done. I hope to set up a table somewhere where they can work and not be distracted. It's such a beautiful work environment.
Bard has also been working at the greenhouse, when she isn't doing speech and debate or classes or drama.
Spring is here! My perennials are coming up, and I'm quite jazzed about that.
My asparagus didn't come up, and I'm quite bummed about that.
I think I lost my red raspberries too. The goats got out and made short work of them.
I haven't lost my weeds.
Bo tilled the gardens yesterday. He made a couple of patches for pumpkins and melons as well.
The boys have been working on their treehouses. REMIND ME TO WRITE ABOUT THIS!
I have to get ready for church. I know there's more, like the baby goats and houseconcert stuff and dinners out (I have to write about my early birthday dinner!) but I really need to get in the shower now.
Be blessed!

Stream of Consciousness About the Trip to the Art Museum

• The impressionist paintings were awesome.
• I could stare at a Van Gogh all day.
• I think Van Gogh is my favorite. Along with Mary Cassatt.
• I couldn't believe that I was standing in front of Water Lillies.
• Some art is really bizarre.
• I'm not sure why a wax leg with real human hair sticking out of the wall is considered "art."
• I signed the guest book with a nice, long story.
• The art presenter didn't know anything about homeschoolers.
• The kids recognized a bunch of art.
• We saw an Andy Warhol.
• We saw Picassos.
• We saw a work by Chuck Close.
• There was a really awesome one there called Lot's Wife.
• They had good food in the cafe.
• Food in the cafe is expensive.
• It's expensive to park at the art museum.
• Monet hit one of the other girls while we were in the room of ancient artifacts.
• Monet apologized, but he refused to move because he "wanted to be alone."
• We ended up leaving because of it.
• I missed looking at some of the cool stuff, because of Monet's temper, Houdin's moodiness and Bard's insatiable curiosity (read: I couldn't find her).
• Sweetheart and Baby were darlings.
• I want to go back.

Stream of Consciousness About NaNoWriMo

Finding the time to write is hard.
I started with one concept, and gave it up because I really felt I needed to pursue a different path.
I can't believe where it has taken me.
Somehow, the adventure has been life-changing.
So many things have happened in these past fourteen days.
Of course, I've been neglecting my blog, but that doesn't mean I don't love it.
Be patient with me, little blog! I hope you don't worry that I'm seeing other blogs. You have a very special place in my heart, and I'll come back to you. I promise.
NaNo is almost half way over.
I'm not quite at my word count.
When I do sit down to write, it's difficult to begin.
Once I get started, the words just flow.
I can usually do about 3,000 in one sitting.
Bard is doing NaNo, too. Her regular blog is here. Her NaNo blog is here.
Because I'm writing about my own experiences, I have a hard time determining which are interesting because they're interesting, and which are just interesting to me. Feel free to go over there and be my critic. But don't make me cry. Yet. Let me get the whole thing hammered out first. Then you can make me cry. I've been crying enough lately...
I haven't really been reading other people's blogs or nanos lately. I'm trying to stay focused.
Bohemian has been a wonderful support system. I just wish The Baby would go to him more. She's very attached to me.
Because I've been working at the local cheesehouse through the week, part time, just through Christmas, it's been difficult to keep the house clean *and* get the NaNo done. Bard has been a very great help with this. Thank you, my dear eldest daughter!
It's time to go write.

Stream of Consciousness about Art Lessons

Woke up late.
"Everyone, get dressed! Don't forget your pencils!"
Pick up a girlfriend's daughter.
Drop off my own daughter.
Quick hug.
"Goodbye!"
Pull in the library parking lot.
"Shhh!"
"Did anyone see the lunar eclipse?"
Nods.
Drawings of the lunar eclipse.
"Time to paint."
Painting by Renoir.
Only three colors...yellow, blue and the resulting green.
No brushes.
Only fingers.
Two practice paintings.
Clean canvas.
Swirling blues.
Spiky greens.
Grass.
Sky.
Water.
Texture.
A few mistakes.
Learn from them!
Dabbing with a towel.
Lifting off color.
Wonderful depth!
Pleasant surprise!
Sweetheart does wonderfully!
"That's really good!"
"I hate mine."
"Yours is better!"
"I'll never be an artist."
Encouragement.
Smiles.
Reluctant sharing.
Washing hands.
Cleaning up.
Admiring work.
To the craft store...buy some frames.
On the wall.
Lovely.

Stream of Consciousness about The Family Gathering

It's over.

It started last Wednesday.

I was in a panic.

The house wasn't clean enough.

The projects weren't finished.

My checking account was aching.

I called my mother-in-law for advice.

She gave wise counsel, as usual.

Calmed, I hung up and began to pray while cleaning.

Things began to fall into place.

Family started to arrive in the late afternoon.

Chicken Paprikash and Rice were on the table.

On the island, pies on pedestals and cookies on plates.

Bedrooms were clean...rooms were assigned.

Time to rest.

Singing, laughing, a little bit of anger.

Hay bales and cornstalks on the porch. Mason jars filled with sand and tealights.

Sister-in-law takes a bath in the jacuzzi.

Doors open to the outside. Kids laughing, running, playing, excited.

Bonfire crackling.

This is autumn. This is good.

More family arrives. And more. More food, more cookies, more games, more music.

Resting, games, a trip to the exotic animal farm.

Golfing, more games, a lot of food.

Tension, dog accidents, trips to the general store.

Visits from neighbors. Some family members leaving. Rides on pony carts. Cake. Happy Birthday. Visits from friends. More friends. More neighbors. Maple branches above the doorways. Candles in every room. Oak and maple on the window casings. Music in the family room.

More friends. More neighbors. More food. Pies, cakes, chicken, cole slaw. Cookies, hot dogs, sloppy joes. Gorgonzola, baby swiss, cheddar.

Surprise visitors. Tears. Happiness. Hugs.

More surprise visitors. More tears. Tours of the new home. Who will come next?

Sun is setting. Candles lit again. Coffee and hot mulled cider. Ponies go home.

Rocking chairs on the porch. Amish neighbors visiting. Music in the family room.

Very late. Phone rings. Another visitor, lost, needs directions.

Time to clean up. Time to rest. Talking long into the night. I fall asleep.

Breakfast comes. Eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, toast, sausage.

Pregnant sister-in-law is thrilled! "My favorite breakfast!"

Last minute conversations. Packing up. The last of the family is leaving. Wait! Don't forget! Oh! And one more thing!

House is empty now. It was good. No regrets. Checkbook will recover.

Stream of Consciousness Whilst Awaiting Awakeness

The house is quiet except for the whir of the hard drive.

This is hard to do sometimes, write stream of consciousness.

Everyone else in the house is sleeping.

I'm a bit bothered by a few things.

I'll get over them eventually.

Most of it is about vanity, pride and money.

Our family gathering is in four days.

I'm not sure I want to do it anymore.

I feel inadequate.

I feel like I live in a fishbowl, even out here in the middle of Amish Country.

I wonder if I should have more children.

I feel like I should have more children.

I feel like I want more children.

But sometimes, the children drive me mad.

In my heart, I know, that most of the madness is due to my own selfishness and impatience.

I want my house to be clean.

I want to spend time writing.

I want to receive accolades.

I want to have good, obedient, intelligent children.

What does that mean?

I also want to have bright, analytical, questionning children, children with personalities.

I haven't been sleeping as much as I should.

I don't know what to try to accomplish today.

How long will everyone sleep?

What should I be doing while they're sleeping?

I already fed all of my birds...

Actually, today should be a fairly good day. It's Saturday, Bohemian's home, we have an extra helper in the house (Kat, Bard's friend) who will help Bard clean the cabin, yesterday was payday (even though most of it's gone already), the kitchen cabinets are done, and my female Budgie acutally looks like she's getting better.

What else should I be doing?

I want to go read some other blogs. I have enjoyed reading other people's blog links. I read one this morning by Valerie called Barefoot and Pregnant. Her posts about being "done" and about "habits" made me think.

I need to learn to sew.

Bard has been knitting. She finished a scarf and is working on a second.

I should be knitting my Christmas gifts.

I have so much I want to do.

So why am I sitting here?