Housekeeping Disease

I have a problem. Whenever my home approaches "nearly acceptable" (which isn't the same as clean but it's as close as I'm going to get at this stage of life), I develop a need to maintain the level of acceptable that I have achieved. I know if I let down my guard for even a few hours, that will be the end.

The problem is that I don't accomplish anything else. And I get very short tempered with my children. I extend my ideal fantasy of a nearly acceptable home to include nearly acceptable children who follow most of the rules and play respectfully with one another. But I am too busy focusing on keeping the home acceptable so I have no energy for teaching them to be pleasant with each other and obedient to the rules. I expect them to achieve these things on their own.

Will there ever be a day when both children and house are simultaneously "nearly acceptable "?

New skills

First Year of Four

I made my first photo book with Shutterfly. Thought I'd share.

First Year of Four

Horizontal

I fell asleep with my feet off the bed. I kept dreaming I was stepping onto trap doors.

Tree-ish Family

Park Tree

I am fascinated by trees. As a kindergartener, when I came home before everyone else and there was no one to play with, I would go out in my yard and hug all the trees. I imagined that they were my friends. In junior high when I read J. R. R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" trilogy, I identified with the unique character of each forest through which the characters traveled. Tolkien's personification of trees went so far as to create tree shepherds, called Ents, that could move around and even talk with the people who traveled through the forest. I rejoiced as the trees, guided by the Ents, participated in the battle against those who thoughtlessly destroyed large portions of forest.

Today, as I walked through "Old Corona", I was pleased to encounter a number of tree characters. It's warm this June. Not terribly so, but enough that I wanted a cool spot of shade as I walked. The trees were unremarkable at first, so I looked instead to cool grass under bare feet to give me a sense of refuge from the sun. While several of the grassy places were green and thriving, more were brown and sparse. The farther I walked, it seemed, the sparser the grass became, until finally it seemed the town's residents had given up entirely on grass, and left the spaces under their short trees completely bare. Not even a weed or small flower grew beneath these shady spaces.

Georgia

In other spots, grand trees commanded their surroundings. I met several of these great trees: not fancy palms such as grow in my neighborhood, but humble shade trees that have simply lived undisturbed and have thrived. I viewed most of them from a distance, taking comfort from their presence, despite not benefitting directly from the coolness of their shade.

I left these old neighborhoods and entered "South Corona", the area where orange groves once stood but is now a comfortable subdivision for commuting working families. All of the grass on the sides of the walkways was lush and green. Trees lined the road at regular intervals, shading the sidewalks. On the "house side" of the sidewalks, a beautiful variety of bushes, flowers, and vines covered the ground. And, although I saw only a handful of people during the whole of my walk, I felt that I had been in good company among the trees of Old Corona. In South Corona, I was grateful for the continuous shade.

Belgian Forest*

I remembered then the trees in all the places I've lived. After high school I lived near a park with large trees good for sitting in and reading a book. They just felt like trees -- pleasant enough but no character worth noting. In Belgium the forests were surreal in the sense that you imagine those types of trees only exist in paintings. The trees were intentionally spaced, with little undergrowth, and branches that seemed to be shaped in perfect symmetry. Even the spiderwebs between the branches caught the dew and held the glistening drops like something out of a fairy story.

The trees in Pinehurst were tall and noble. They grew so tall and straight before branching out that they were used as masts for Mother England's sailing ships. They seemed to be secure as a family of trees, without noticing much of the people far below.

Pinehurst

In Georgia the forest behind our house was young and wild. There was no camaraderie between the trees, the tangled undergrowth, the animals, or the people.

My growth in terms of the different stages of family life resembles each of these groups of trees. As a young child I was like the wild Georgian forest, with no appreciation of the protection and pleasant company my companions. My teenage mind envisioned the future to be like the unnaturally regular Belgian forests. My college years were pleasant, good for reading books in, like the trees in the park.

Then, as a young adult, I began to appreciate the strength of belonging to a family, like the tall and noble trees in Pinehurst. Finally as I begin to establish myself firmly in adulthood, I find myself with (at least) two choices. I can fal in line along the main path like the South Corona trees. Or I can find a place of my own and stand alone, not in the company of those who are like me, but offering security and age-tested comfort to any who come in my space.



*Note - I borrowed this picture from an image search on Google images / genieo images. I could not determine the original source. If it is copyrighted and the owner does not wish it to be here, please let me know.

Acrobatics

I woke up from a dream around 5 this morning. It started as me walking into a stage area. It felt like a stage in a warehouse. Almost big enough to be real, but without any of the detail of real life. There was a single tree. A stage tree. I was big, overweight, wearing a cream-colored dress with an empire waist that made me look more fat. I had come to the stage for inspiration, and just to live out my imaginings that I had written into a novel / play. I carried the pages of my writings with me. I laid down, melodramatically, looking into the sky and talking to myself in a monologue reminiscent of a child playing pretend, but made the more pathetic because I didn't sound like a child. A man I didn't know startled me as he strode purposefully into the room. I was not expecting anyone. He looked like he had a very specific purpose. And he walked straight to me. I'm not exactly sure how the next thing happened. The stranger did something with the stage rigging and with the tree, and then I was being lifted into the air. And then there was another man with me in the rigging. It was a man that I felt I could trust. Perhaps it was the same man as before, but it wasn't immediately obvious to me, and I never really focused on the man/men. The rigging was made up to resemble branches. They were quite vine-like, as they were really a conglomeration of cables. And there was an endless mass of them. They stretched up and away from the tree, going farther and farther until I felt they had circled the room. And the feeling, as I was carried along with them was that it was a circus and I was an acrobat. I was terrified. I felt that the tighter I clung to the ropes, the more in danger I was of falling. Once, I accidentally slipped and was sure that I was going to fall. But somehow, loosening my grip made me feel more secure. I began to experiment, and after a short time I was moving like a true acrobat. I delighted in the freedom of flying, the feeling of strength as I flipped myself upside down. I landed once, and a man -- a man with kind eyes and a gentle face, black skin and bald head -- seemed to be expecting me. Though it was more of a general expectation that I would land, and not so much of expecting me to land at any particular time or place. He looked at my joy and exhilaration. It seemed he understood, but more than understood. He actually saw the experiences I had just had, remembering them as I stood before him. And he watched them pass through my memory as if he was watching a movie. And odder still, when he watched the movie, I saw that he was the main character, though it was my memories of my own experiences. And then I knew that summer vacation was over. I had to go back to my mundane life. Disappointment began to color my excitement. Though there was also hope. "I wish I could stay forever," I said, and his kind and wise look empathized with me, but showed me how going back would take me to greater joy than I had just had.

The Long Arm of God

I lived a Mormon stereotype today. My son is an exuberant new Sunbeam. This is his third week in the "big kid class" (a.k.a., Junior Primary), and I have the pleasure of witnessing these precious moments because I am the pianist.

I was half listening to the lesson while I discussed music matters quietly with the chorister. A member of the bishopric was setting up the lesson by waving his keys in the air and talking about the importance of keys. I heard him mention Jesus, and suddenly I heard a familiar voice say, quite loudly,

"Jesus saves us from the darkness!"

The Bishopric Guy was surprised, but recovered quickly. "Yes, He does. He does save us from the darkness."

"Can He open the door?" Keenan, had obviously been paying attention.

"Yes He can."

"Does He have long arms?" (I gather that the doors of heaven had been described as big, heavy doors.  I guess Keenan was trying to get his head around how a person could open such big doors.)

By this point, the whole adult population of the Primary was smiling up their sleeves and bishopric guy said a quick testimony, making sure to say that Jesus' body is like ours, and he has two regular sized arms. I was crying from laughing and from pride.