Friday, October 31, 2014

TToT50: Halloween, Haiku, and Half of a Hundred

I was smart this year:
no headgear and no facegear;
we went for comfort

Cold autumn night calls
 for jackets over costumes 
and fire pits ablaze

Discarded costumes,
orange and black tossed away,
sticky ones abed

And, in other news, it's been a good week full of good weather and good adventures.

Focused, intentional
This requires careful planning
An artist at work

Purple and orange
and green in a yellow bowl;
beauty made me pause

Deconstructed gourd
brings loved one to mind, makes one
echo, damn squirrels!

Fifty thankfuls end
in twenty-eight verses;
two weeks to a year!

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Sunday, October 26, 2014

TToT49: Haikus are Getting Hard

I'm just not feelin' the TToT this week, you know? Not that it was a bad week; it was just an exhausting one. To borrow the word Christine borrowed, I was clobbered. Which makes me think of this:

Which, in turn, makes me think of a bruised and bloodied face. Which brings us back to clobbered.

But rest assured, no one bruised and bloodied me this week (at least, not literally). On the contrary, a strange change is taking place inside me. I seem to be burnishing up an seldom-used candlestick so I can let my scottian (see Clark's Doctrine) light shine.

In other words, I've been volunteering for things. Lots of things. And, as I understand these things have gone for time immemorial, if you send out the message to the universe that you're a willing volunteer, you'll be asked to do more and more and more.

And then you find yourself having to organize hoards of people you don't know, and host meetings at your house, and run around a hotel for 14 hours in high heels.

Let's just say these are not my natural inclinations, and I am finding myself in need of a significant resting-up period. And my feet still hurt.

Nevertheless, I'll stick with my haiku, and though they may end up difficult to interpret, they reflect the positives of my week.

To be a part of
something worthy, serving many--
I'm grateful for that.

A whole lot depends
on a worthy committee--
B, R, S, and A

Meetings, feedback forms,
Frantic trips to the PO.
My boy is patient.

Surprised and intrigued,
I hear leadership announce
temple inclusion

Annual Review
came and went without fanfare
That is a good thing

What's new is suspect
I don't hate the Common Core
Kids can subitize!

Varying sizes
Our thirty toenails adorned
in autumnal hue

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Sunday, October 19, 2014

TToT48: OctPoWriMo in Haiku, Take Three

Here I am sliding in at the last minute with my TToT post. The haiku continue with the ones I scribbled down on a car drive last night. It's been a busy week.

Mutsu and Sun Crisp
Green and with a touch of pink
Fill our bags, tummies

In cuffs, underwear,
bits of hay are discovered
long after the ride.

Braved traffic jams
for a brief fall afternoon:
swings, slides, candles, cake.
Playtime with cousins
reveals hidden social skills. 
Family comforts.

Mrs. Blimlimlim:
our new houseguest brings unease
as she conquers fears.

And what does shit mean?
Vocabulary develops
through circumstances.

(See my Facebook page for that one.)
Comfort can travel
across oceans, through the web
in modern frienship.

And a bonus this week, from The Dude, himself:

She gets lost in dreams
Singularly unaware
Not meaning to hurt

Illustrates my post from earlier this week perfectly, doesn't it?

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Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Dreams of Daytime

I am a daydreamer. Always have been.

I remember the horror and embarrassment the night my third grade teacher called home to discuss my daydreaming propensity with my parents. In retrospect, I think Mrs. Vincent was too strict to have been a truly good teacher, but I think she was a good person and was genuinely concerned that I'd rather sit alone with my imagination than interact with classmates during free time. And that I never seemed to know the directions when it was time to start an assignment.

I never felt like I got my classmates. Or them me. I had friends with whom I dutifully interacted (and had fun sometimes), but the deepest, me-est part of me didn't seem to be the same as anyone else. So I kept my core hidden and visited as often as possible, sometimes on purpose but mostly slipping in unintentionally because my mind wasn't engaged elsewhere. I dreamed of my dolls secret lives and adventures when I was at school or asleep, of the conversations I would have with my favorite fictional characters when they popped off the page, of the feelings my furniture might have about me. Way would lead on to way until I could not begin to reconstruct the path my fantasies had taken.

Daydream by Leonid Afremov
Even to this day, I can't attend to a purely auditory source. That's probably just a smidge of an attention deficit, and likely why I never get much out of sermons. I solemnly resolve at the beginning of a lecture to focus, to attend, but then I am awakened by a question or an exclamation a minute later, and I discover I have no idea what has been said. One of my high school English teachers reported to my father at an open house that it always looked as if I wasn't paying attention, but when she'd ask me a question, I'd know the answer.

Can you imagine the inward sigh of relief on hearing this report? I can still feel that moment of frozen panic when being called on and having no memory of what had been asked. Hearing (or imagining) the quiet snickers or impatient shifts of posture of classmates recognizing that I had been daydreaming once again (I'd gone to school with the same core of people for years; they knew my propensities). Frantically searching my brain for a snippet of what had just been said to gain a clue as to what my answer should be. I guess by high school I'd developed that skill well enough for Mrs. Vurlicer.

To this day, I prefer tasks that don't require my full attention. Crafting, cooking, gardening. I like to work with my hands to leave my mind free to roam. Thoughts on relationships, real and fictional; fantastic or unlikely situations; alternate lives and realities. And too often: perseverating on my worries.

Last school year, my daughter's teachers approached us with their concerns about her intense daydreaming. They reported that even when they called her name she did not respond. And there it was: a flash of recognition and strengthening of the understanding between us that sometimes seems too tenuous. I am 38 years old, and I often awaken to the realization that my children are calling for me or my husband is repeating my name with annoyance, and I have been been tripping through my imagination for untold minutes, blocking out real life. It's a coping mechanism, true, but it's also a joy.

I once even lost a friend over this trait. But in true stubborn (and appropriate) form, I figured if she was willing to abandon me over daydreaming, she wasn't worth holding on to.

But I wonder (as I daydream): Is this typical? Does everyone do this to an extent? Tell me.

It's time! Join Josie's Two Shoes Tuesday 100th Anniversary!

Saturday, October 11, 2014

TToT47: OctPoWriMo in Haiku, Take Two

There is beauty in
busy-ness, intense mental
avoidance of pain.

have red tables, yellow chairs.
And now so do we.

What a tasty treat
the squirrels find our pumpkins.
Ha! These are fabric.

Chalk paint and elbow
grease yield similar-colored,
mismatch-ed nightstands.

The "remnants" bin draws
my eye and creates visions.
Or, new snack baggies.

Staunch believer in
holiday segregation:
only Halloween!)

Yet, wooed by need to
practice winter repertoire:
holiday singing

Intricate cutting,
gluey fingers, ornaments 
of Advent emerge.

So, once again a little OctPoWriMo and TToT combo. What'dya think? 


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Friday, October 3, 2014

TToT456: OctPoWriMo in Haiku

Bending the rules here a little. I'm going out on a limb to join my very first daily-writing-kind-of-blog-hop with OctPoWriMo, in which I am supposed to write a poem a day for the month of October.

Talented poet, I am not. Daily poster, I am most certainly not. But I can draft a haiku. And I can produce seven a week. So, for the month of October, I'll draft, every week, seven haiku of thankfulness. The SGV will have to cut me some slack for missing three. Surely there is a rule that states you can get away with fewer than ten if you write them in verse.  

October may be
my favorite of all months
Except for spring ones

Portrait of my babes:
One immediately wet
Other hesitates

Licensed arborist
supervises the trimming
Maple's new haircut

She enters the yard
with plunger in hand, plunder
from the dark garage
Finally, she says
Knuckles white, enormous smile
Oh, how she likes it

Dyanne understands
the emotionality
of hoarding; sends pics

Surely the last of the 
summer. One final fresh sauce 
for our pasta. Yum.

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