Don't Try This At Home

Earth

I promise that a) this will not become a complete showcase for Whit and Coolio's writings (it's just that they are so talented I can't help but share!) and b) this is not a plea for you to be green (I am unapologetically NOT green--but that's another post for another day).

Whit's description of Earth:

Blue

Why does man have pride? Why does man believe significance, if man is less
than a trillionth the size of the earth, which the universe would describe as less than a
picometer? Tourists on the beach never cherish individual grains of sand, or individual
droplets of saltwater. Why would the universe ever cherish the earth?

Blue. A blue speck is all the earth is. Blackness surrounds it, and it is lost,
circling the sun, looking for something with life. But it has life. It is the most precious
gem in a giant’s coal mine. That is why we cherish it.

The earth is like enlightenment in a sea of emotions, or a sapphire in the Sahara
Desert. Envying the earth, the moon circles it, looking for a way in. By day, it searches.
By night, its heart fills with malice, and it blocks the earth from the glory of the sun.

Blue. Blue is a blue home for love, life, friendship, hatred, corruption, and
enlightenment. It is an alloy of sapphire and flint, eventually settling into purity, but we
are not sure how. Will it become Fire or Light? We will attempt to move to other
floating lumps of coal, and grind them into gems, all because of the original Earth.

A blue speck.

A blue gem.

A blue light.

A blue bliss.

A blue Earth.

Coolio's description of Earth:

The Speck

Every man has a place on the Earth.

So does every woman.

Every child, every individual, every species, has a place on the Great Speck.

Everything you know lives on this speck. This speck is an infinitesimal fraction of the universe.

The Earth is like an opal, it holds the colors of hatred, frustration and despair but it also holds love, fun and happiness.

I'm telling you: Druidawn. Look into it.

Druidawn and Some Bragging

A few years ago, my homeschooling homey, Emily, turned me on to the creative writing program called Druidawn. From an article at the Druidawn site:

Druidawn is a lot of things. It's a series of anthologies written by and for children and teens. . . It's a role-playing game used by language arts and creative writing teachers to motivate kids and get them excited about writing.

For a few weeks, Emily hosted my children and some others and walked them through the first lessons of Druidawn. My kids were immediately hooked. They were asked to imagine a character and choose physical and emotional traits for that character. Each child was also assigned writing tasks: they had to write a song for something, they had to write a poem to open a box, they had to describe what was in the box, etc. The creativity, the drawing, the peer interaction and discussion of ideas interested them even though they were only four and six at the time.

Emily has since moved, but my children still remember and love their Druidawn experience. If I were a better mother, or at the very least, a homeschooling mother, I would re-start Druidawn with them. And who knows? The summer hasn't started yet. There's still time for me to get in gear.

Emily has continued Druidawn with her own children. The poems her kids wrote in order to open a box bowled me over. Seriously. They knocked my socks off. I have to share them with you or I will explode.

Whit's poem:

What am I?

I am a river. I flow on and on. But when I find the perfect rock, I linger behind it, forever.

I am the sky. Lives pass away time and time again, but once I’m created, I never die.

I am a metaphor. I am abstract, but exquisite and poetic.

I am air. Every man hungers greatly for me, but I never run out.

I am paper. New inscriptions are made every day, but are seldom erased.

I am life. I am an optional feature of the universe, but a universe without me is unbearably tragic.

Incredibly, in my own special way, I am only one thing:

I am love.

Coolio's poem:

I   AM   VOID.   I   AM    UNAVOIDABLE   WITH  MY    STAFF   IN   MY  HAND.   

I   CAN   DO  ANYTHING. 

I  am  water, I   flow  in   a  stream,  you  can   not   stop   me.   

I   am   sand,  as  you   tread   over    me   you   make   a   physical   imprint  in  me. 

I   am  glass,  I   can   be  broken   easily.   

I   am   strong.   

I  am . . . really.

Whit is not yet a teen; Coolio is not yet in double digits.

Dude. Are those some awesome poems are what?

Spring Fun

I gave them a hose.

You would have thought I'd given them gold.

Wild Thing's Story

This is a story Wild Thing wrote at school today:

One day a mama cheetah didn't feel so good. She said, "Oh, I don't feel good." So she went to the doctor. When she came out, she found out she was going to have babies. Her stomach opened up. "Babies!" she said. She named them Emily and Nick. The end.

I don't know. That just struck me as completely hilarious. Probably because I'm her mom. Remind me to tell you how my kids re-enacted birthing sometimes. Let's just say that was the end of Magic Schoolbus.

Sunday Morning

This is my idea of a great Sunday morning:

This may have something to do with why my children refer to me as Lazy Bones.

Overheard

Max: I missed three on my spelling test.

Wild Thing: Yeah, well, I missed seven.

Max: That's a D!

Wild Thing: No, it's a D-.

Max: Well, on the bright side, I got a 100 on my states and capitals test.

Wild Thing: I don't have a bright side.

Max: Of course you do. I'm your brother!

Things I Realized in Iowa

• The men on Uncle Dan's side of the family favor facial hair.

• I love listening to my dad play the guitar and sing.

• I love listening to my family sing together.

• I hide from people by pretending to work on my computer when I don't know what to say.

• There is a gaping hole in our family now.

• My dad keeps all of his guitar music in a special folder with special plastic protectors and carries it with him any time he goes out of town. He keeps all the photos he has of my brother and me as kids in a trash bag. I'm not sure he knows where the bag is. I'm not taking it personally.

• My grandpa plays a mean harmonica.

• I love Iowa. Even when it's ridiculously cold and windy and nothing is blooming. It's still beautiful to me.

• My family has the best sense of humor on the planet, even when we are grieving.

My Brother is THAT Guy

Those of you in Virginia Beach may have been witness to a most appalling site two weeks ago. Your retinas are burned and your ears bled. I can only apologize.

Apparently my brother thought it would be OK to cruise in the minivan with the windows rolled down while singing If Ya Think I'm Sexy by Rod Stewart at the top of his lungs.

No. I don't know what he was thinking.

And again, I'm really sorry about the retinas and ears.

Thank You

Thank you for all your kind e-mails and calls.

Things just aren't the same. Life is horribly terrible for Auntie M and her kids. There are no words to comfort them and nothing to do to fix this. That is the hardest part for me: To know that I can't fix this and make my family happy. Auntie M and Dan gave so much to our family and it's been devastating to watch Dan's immediate family try to come to terms with everything that has happened.

If you have a moment, please visit The Green 3 and let her know you're thinking of her and her family. She is working through her grief on her blog and your personal comments have made an impact on her. Thank you.

The Black Skirt

You know how "they" say you should have either a little black dress or at least a black skirt--or both? I didn't have either.

In January I happened to be shopping and found a great deal on a black skirt that fit very nicely. Having had to attend the funeral of a dear friend's father in December and not having had anything to wear that seemed appropriate, I bought the skirt.

In fact, I have attended many funerals in something other than black or in an outfit that wasn't my first choice because I refused to buy a black dress or skirt. In essence I was declaring my outrage against death.

I bought the skirt.

And now I must wear it.

Already.

And I really don't want to.

I would give anything not to have to wear it.

One of my very favorite people, my uncle Dan, died Friday morning. His daughter is my closest cousin, Green3.

While I was growing up, Auntie M and Uncle Dan were an integral part of my life. The weeks we spent in Iowa were spent shuttling between their house and my grandparent's farm. Their kids--my cousins--were my closest cousins. Green3 was my pen-pal and we still e-mail each other several times a week.

As an adult Auntie M and Uncle Dan opened their house to me and my family any time we visited Iowa--which was as often as we could. Because they live on a lake, my children wanted to be in the boat as much as possible. Uncle Dan never said he couldn't drive the boat. If there was anything we wanted or needed, he jumped up and had it done.

He was young--55. He was going to retire next year.

I took it for granted he would be here for a very long while. Although I'm terribly sad, it's nothing compared to what his family is going through right now. My heart is breaking for me, but it's breaking even more for those I love who have lost a husband and a father.

I'm not going to be around for a while. Maybe a very long while.