once someone has touched your life
they are a part of it forever
every starry night, every sunshiny day, every storm cloud
holds a memory
every laugh, every tear, every sigh
carries a feeling
every thought, every whisper, every word
shows what they meant to you
every song, every painting, every flower
points to the beauty of experience
no matter that they have left you
or the manner it happened
be it temporary or seemingly permanent
you always
have a piece of them within you
and they always
have a piece of you within them

sappy song to go along with it.

In other news, I played with acrylics on paper. I like. 

That’s a poem by the delightful Shel Silverstein. (from A Light in the Attic)

#wintsh 25. Read a collection of poems by one individual and write 3 poems inspired by or in the style of their work. #npm extended because I’m me.

I think I’m allergic to morning
It comes without warning
Nighttime I’m mourning
The alarm hurts my ears
Steals some of my years
A dream disappears
My covers attack me
Tentacles though fuzzy
Hold on exactly
When I get out of bed
I fall on my head
Thinking it my feet instead
You can’t make me get up
What? There’s coffee in my cup?
Sleepyhead- catch up!

where winds up over there
why whistles in the sky
when willy nilly ends up then
what will you make of that
but…
who happened to miss the memoo

I think I’ll have a yellow day
just like a daffodil
or perhaps purple is the way
to go, if you will.
Sometimes the day requires red
with its powerful refrain
or a soft pink instead
as I stroll down life’s lane.
It’s best to avoid the black
of storm clouds in the night
and brown shows a lack
of brightness to my sight.
When so many colors are around
the choice is yours to make
a color day that brings you down
or a color that makes you wake.

Interesting day.

But before I get into that, a fascinating update on the Purge.  Perhaps I should call it the Great Purge.  Or something.  In any case.  Yesterday I was up close and personal with my fire pit again.  Made the decision that perhaps I needed to back away from the fire for a day or two.  It seemed once or twice last night that something somewhat catastrophic was as likely to happen as not.  Anyhow. What succumbed to the fire purge yesterday?  Only an entire shelf full of papers that I haven’t looked at in 13 years.  I figured that was a good indication that they weren’t necessary.  So, yay. 

Today’s purge was a box of wine.  Not nearly so purposeful. I have to say I’m glad that wine doesn’t appear to give me headaches any more.  This is a good thing.  As I’m quite enamored of it lately.  And that’s all you need to know about that.

So. Interesting.  I’m trying really hard not to burn some cookies right now.  One of our classroom volunteers is graduating from college this weekend.  My job was cookies.  Tough job.  Anyhow. I mention her because she had a bit of a saga today complete with photos.  Being the sap I am, I cried when I saw her photos.  Her brother’s girlfriend or boyfriend’s sister or somebody’s something just had a baby yesterday.  The baby was due in August.  The sweet little angel weighs about a pound.  She’s about the size of somebody’s hand.  There she is. A tiny thing, red and perfect, yet so tiny.  Covered in what looks like Saran Wrap.  A tube down her throat.  I’m crying again.  Because what a miracle that she even made it this far.  I know the odds are against this little precious girl.  That the road for her is long.  The road for her parents is long.  I’m hoping for her.  That the odds don’t matter.  Her name is Neveah.  Heaven backwards. 

On the other side of the evolution spectrum.  My brother.  Who manages to just flip me off every time I talk to him.  And it’s not like I’m looking to talk to him, I’m not.  He called today and I couldn’t get out of talking to him.  I did say I had died. But nobody believed me.  Anyhow.  He pushed the two buttons that he always pushes.  The career choices button.  He said that he hopes Spawn goes into a medical career instead of a teaching career.  This plucks my second to last nerve for a lot of reasons, many of which are that I believe that children should be permitted to decide for themselves what career is best for them.  Long story on that, which I don’t care to share, but it involves a lot of chemistry and calculus and really bad grades.  Anyhow.  The second button is the “when are you going to get a real job” button.  He and my dad are going to bust if they don’t find out that I’m getting a full time job next year.  Bust away, folks.  I don’t know.  I’m in the wait and see stage of my life right now.  The universe will surely tell me when it feels like it.  And I’m ok with that.  Because I love my part-time job, and I love that I have free time now to do all kinds of stuff that I like to do.  I’m lazy. I’m poor as dirt.  Get the freak over it.  However, aside from it being non of his damn business what I’m doing next year, there is the galling fact that the hosebag is a professional student.  He’s been going to nursing school for about a decade now, is not finished, and has no freaking real job of his very own.  Dude. Your house is so glass.  And his house has been glass for a long time.  I was a stay-at-home for a while when Spawn was little (I’ve done the best I can with that most of their lives, thank you very much, because it’s important and almost feasible for us) and my dear brother was in between jobs or something. In any case, he was living on unemployment.  And this is when he chooses to start the litany of “when are you going to get a real job”.  Hello.  You’re not working.  And I am.  Just not outside my home.  I mean seriously.  Yes, of course, I should have evolved away from being pissed off by this.  It’s been a long time.  Clearly, he has the mental acuity of a gnat and the social skills of a dung beetle (oh tee hee. the dung beetle) and this isn’t going to change.  But it pisses me right off.  Five minutes with my brother and I go from zero to bitch.

But now I’m happy again.  Because I’m not driving my car with my butt.

Somebody asked me what I was going to burn today.  Paper is what I burned.  Ha.  Some random junk and a big envelope full of paperwork I was supposed to do at the beginning of the school.  I figured if I hadn’t done it yet and nobody seemed to care that this fell under the “screw it” category.  Woosh. 

In other purge news, I went through a drawer the other day.  I was looking for something I wanted but didn’t find there but instead found something I don’t want.  I stitched this tacky heart thing a long time ago, even bought a frame for it, and it’s been sitting in this drawer for quite a while.  Could be years.  Actually is years.  The question would be how many.  The answer is lots. Fascinating, isn’t it?  Anyhow.  There’s something about it.  I don’t even know what.  I like green and purple and hearts.  But I just don’t like this thing.  And I can’t think of any (sucker) one who would.  I would love to gift it.  I’ve been coming up empty for years on who.  I’m kinda hoping that the answer will come to me just by sticking it here.

Still waiting. Oh well. 

That’s all I got for purge.  Some days are more purposeful than others.

@Thatslifekid suggested a purge challenge which I think started today.  I’m all about purging. And I’m all about fire.  So I did a purge fire.  Evidence here:

What did I burn you ask?  This is probably the dull part at first glance. Probably at second glance too.  But I did lots of thinking while I was attempting to burn my purge.  Magazines don’t burn so well.  I also lost interest, so I have many more to burn.  Burning is therapeutic for me and I’m sure I’ll require more therapy this week. 

Anyhow.  Cooking Light and Southern Living magazines were the purge today.  No point in ever having these subscriptions, I can assure you.  I don’t read magazines. Really not my thing.  I rarely used a single recipe out of either magazine and I am the least southern living person on the planet.  These subscriptions were from a different time in my life, and I’m not going back there.  Don’t need any person or magazine telling me that I’m not good enough or not doing something right.  And that’s that.

The only reason I got these magazines was because a friend started one of those infernal home businesses.  What is it with women in their 30′s and 40′s starting home businesses.  Egads.  I went to her introductory parties, bought some dust collecting stuff that was pretty but never suited my lifestyle and my people in it.  And somehow got these stupid magazines.  I opened them in the beginning.  Looked at photos of pretty gardens and organized kitchens.  Things that definitely went with this friend of mine and her life, but so didn’t go with mine. 

I went to her teas and Christmas cookie exchanges and Friday evenings with chocolate martinis.  I enjoyed her wardrobe of flowered capri pants and twinsets. Then I started going to school and didn’t have time or money for coffee dates and lunches.  Or inferiority, for that matter.  And she removed me from her mailing list, thank you very much.  I was upset for a while. 

But now I’m not.  Because I’ve been hanging with some other friends of mine.  People who don’t care what I wear. Don’t even care that I may disappear for a while. People whose company makes me feel good, with whom laughter is far more important than anything else. 

This is all just another step in my new life of choosing what I do and who I do it with. (or “with whom I do it” for you people who care about the proper fork and grammar and stuff)

what seems like a terrible twist of fate
is sometimes the best thing
and sometimes the best thing
turns out to be a miserable lie

#npm  kinda like a poem

Also the bread disaster (and it really seemed like a disaster) looks and smells fantastic. 

don’t take them from me
my wild delusions twirl
about in a maelstrom
inspiring big lifedreams
that fill this silly heart with helium
i talk funny but i’m harmless
i need delusions
or i’m mud under your shoe

#npm pay me no mind. i’m just insane.

In other news, I finished my hammock project today.  Is cute, yes?  Need I say that I have never replaced the canvas on a hammock before? LLO was so pleased with me, she picked violets. For jelly.  Which I suppose I could make now.

#npm Rondelle or rondel which appears to maybe be a rondeau too or some such.  Rhyming pattern: ABba abAB abbaAB with A and B as repeated lines. 

I cannot make a decision
Ideas wiggle around my brain
I hear a familiar refrain
The plan often needs revision

A simple path I envision
Another way has good terrain
I cannot make a decision
Ideas wiggle around my brain

I long to choose with precision
With many viewpoints I will strain
My thoughts wavering I complain
To reach a nothing collision
I cannot make a decision
Ideas wiggle around my brain

I’m the poster child for Freewill (get your Rush fix here) “if you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” I can debate all 26 sides.  The grass is greener on both sides of the fence.  I tell you it is exhausting to be in my brain.  I’ve been debating a plan for next year, trying to decide which option is the best in the long run and the short run and any other run there might be.  A couple times I almost made it my Final Answer.  Well, this afternoon I heard from someone else who is more proactive than me that it’s too freaking late for me to decide to get my heiney in gear.  So. That’s that.  And truly, my heart made it clear that I was ok with that.  I wasn’t disappointed.  Often enough I discover what I think after it’s too late to do anything about it.  Hallelujah! Decision made! Except I later thought that there are other options too.  To be debated ad nauseum.

In other news, I’m making the cutest hammock in the history of hammocks.  It may not actually be functional, but darn it’s cute.

It’s been a paint-y day.  This is good, because any time I wasn’t painting I was a little disgusted with the world.  And now that I finished a painting project, I’m in love with the world again.  So, clearly, I need acrylic paint in my life in order to be happy.  Whatever.

So the lovely teacher I work with is preggers with twins. Holy sh.  Anyhow, so the class and I decided that we needed to make quilts for the babies.  Today was step #1 of the secret project.  I have to say, I think it’s going to be pretty darn cute.  Here’s what we did today.  (I’ll try not to bore you with each step, because I really don’t do stuff the easy way. ha ha.) In case it isn’t obvious, we did fingerprint painting.  We’re doing a wetland unit, so there are lots of trees, butterflies, ducks, a couple alligators, birds.  You gotta kind of use your imagination.  But pretty darn cute, huh?

eager little hands
full of love and energy
create for teacher

And the other side of my zen door.  Happiness.

Unless I get back to work on the bench I started last spring, I’m out of paint projects.  Sigh.  I guess I could always put up a door frame and paint that. Naw. Too much like work.

dip the brush in small plastic bottles
long brush strokes on rough wood
lines, curves, swirls peel away ugliness
bright colors soothe an aching within
each line brings release from the
dissatisfaction that isn’t earned
and a smile wraps itself around
the release that goes on and on
every time my eyes touch my creation

#npm (who the heck knows what number perhaps it’s time to stop pretending i can manage 30 poems this month.)

You cannot imagine how much difference a door makes.  I’m not making this up.  Here’s the thing.  I’ve had a sewing room since we moved into this house.  It’s a cubicle in the basement and a mess, but worse than that it was a room without a door.  In a basement.  In a house full of cats.  Who are furry and lay down wherever they feel like.  And other stuff that cats do.  This is a problem.  Because I have a sewing room because I have done a lot of sewing.  Cat fur and other stuff is not good. 

Sure. I asked for a door. Once or twice.  And then I stopped asking.  Not because I no longer wanted the door.  You know.  I gave up figuring it was a big deal to get and my time was spent on other things.  Until I got miffed and did a little research.  To discover that Home Depot was practically giving away cheap doors.  So I fetched myself one.  Even took it into the basement.  And asked nicely.  So now I have a door.

I have a space that is completely mine.  Mine.  Nobody else has any business in there.  I am a valued part of this little household because someone was willing to use power tools to meet my needs.  When I’m in my space, I’m not in a basement any more, I’m in a room with four walls and a door.  Not just any door either.  Here’s one side of my zen door.

I started the other side tonight. 

#npm 6 (maybe) a haiku.

four walls and a door
private space and solitude
door opens inward

song
sung
daily
brings a joy
uncounted in life
the secret of a melody
enhances gratitude,  intelligence, harmony

Today’s random poetry style #npm 5 is Fibonacci poetry is a 6-line (or more) poem that follows the Fibonacci sequence for syllable count per line.  In this case, syllables per line are 1,1, 3, 5, 8, 13

Music makes you smarter.  It seems that the scheduling drama for band and choir for next year are over.  LLO didn’t even try to get out of band.  She had the paper filled out and ready for me to sign.  Spawn has decided to do band again next year because the boy she’s crushing on is in band.  Whatever, I’ll take it.  Also, Spawn wants to take piano lessons again.  Hallelujah.