I have so much to write about.  These thoughts and various words keep zipping in and out of my mind, and I want to give them form and meaning but am feeling pretty incapable. Soothing…I need soothing, and these things called words that pour from my fingers can be like a balm on these hurt places. However, my choice of words and the words of others can also dig into wounds to tear and rend.

Truthfully I am sick unto death of hurtful words, words that divide and separate. Words that aren’t necessarily spoken aloud, but that penetrate the spaces between supposed loved ones with their stony silence and make their intent so very very clear.

I have the ability to use my words to hurt, to wound, just as words have been used against me. Such powerful little things! So easily misused! But for now I want to focus on words that heal, at the very least to heal myself.

I am reading Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own…and I want to devour it and run out and get everything ever written by this magnificient lady. Then I also want to savor every syllable and ponder the deeper meanings and currents of her words. For now, before I digress too far, I want to share with you some of her words that were of particular help to me yesterday:

“One only has to read, to look, to listen, to remember. But why say ‘blame”? Why, if it was an illusion, not praise the catastrophe, whatever it was, that destroyed illusion and put truth in its place?…Yes indeed, which was truth and which was illusion?…I spare you the twists and turns of my cogitations, for no conclusion was found…”

Friday there occurred a minor catastrophe that is creating great hurt in my family. It is this minor catastrophe that the words above were so helpful to me to process. This occurred on the wake of a much greater catastrophe from which none of us had yet begun to heal, but instead were dealing with the thrust back into normal life after the storm. That in itself was painful and a challenge for us all, I know. I never imagined how painful, how much regret, how difficult to walk amongst others as if in a fog and feel so distant and removed. To say that my cogitations have been convoluted seem inadequate to describe my thought processes as I sought to make sense out of a lot of chaos. I am coming to terms with the reality that I will never make sense out of it, but hope to find peace. The greater catastrophe was the death of my oldest sister last week. I have much to say about that, fleeting thought forms that desire to be given these hard little black forms on this screen. But that will have to wait.
The minor catastrophe (minor only in light of the major) is the loss of my younger sister. No she is not dead, but she feels very lost to me and to others in my family right now. You know, I always heard about people doing crazy things when someone died; crazy things that were so hurtful. But I never imagined how harmful, how difficult to all those grieving and never imagined that it would truly happen in my family until it started last weekend. I am almost still in disbelief and I want to deny that she could…ah well, I don’t feel ready to write about that now. And maybe I will never feel ready. But I do pray for peace for us all.

And all of this while my husband is dealing with his own grief half way across the world…and I cannot be there. And I miss him so much.

Thinking about this and what the hell is wrong with pushing 1 for English. This is prompted from several emails that I have received lately that talk about this as a bad thing. (Sometimes just hitting delete is a very good thing. When I don’t, issues like this take up headspace).

 I personally like knowing that I have options. I also like knowing that other people have options too. I have cared for people who didn’t speak English, and not knowing what is going on can be a very frightening thing. I have been a patient in a foreign country, and it was a challenge hearing other people talk about me and what was going on with me and having no clue what they were talking about.

I like knowing that I am from a country with choices. My ancestors certainly had those types of choices when they immigrated here several generations back. No one was denying them opportunities because they didn’t speak the language. I think all those haters just need to take a giant leap in the river. Or at least realistically think about what would have happened if someone had denied rights to their grandparents or great-grandparents because they didn’t speak English. Sure their foremothers and fathers probably tried to learn the language. Probably. Maybe not..because most immigrants moved into communities where there were other immigrants from the same countries and they didn’t HAVE to learn the language to get by. They relied on their children to learn English.

And another word to those haters. (I am feeling like a hater towards the haters today). I wonder how many of those naysaying republican conservative nationalists  actually speak another language…fluently. Its not easy to do. Believe me, I have been trying to learn Turkish for years now. And I, unlike many immigrants, have a lot of resources available to me to learn another language. Its harder as you get older. The immigrants that I know that don’t speak English well desperately want to speak the language. They want to fit in. But its hard. And the English languages classes can be expensive. The ones that aren’t expensive fill up very very quickly. Hell they all fill up quickly.

I really don’t curse very often, but this has just rubbed me the wrong way today. So hell, hell, hell, hell.

Seriously, lets focus on a real issue. Quit being a hater racist prig.

(prig is a good word don’t you think?)

I have updated my book list and and ever nearer to approaching the actual #50 that the list is entitled. Woohoo! I must say, that as I look up likely titles I begin to feel overwhelmed by the sheer amount of literature out there that I feel I ’should’ have read or should now read! Good golly. I think I could devote forever to just reading classic fiction and not ever read everything. Plus I really want to include some non-fiction classics and other ‘must-reads’. Phew. Talk about making a girl feel insignificant and uneducated.

is on its way back to the library in just a few moments. I thought it would be nice to share an idea or two first about this very lovely and incredibly sweet story. I wonder how much the story relates to Antoine de Sant-Exupery’s life…how much he felt like the little boy in the story and/or how much of him was the marooned narrator. Did he have a love like the rose and fail to recognize her worth while they were together? Did he make it back to the rose?

Many many lovely messages in this story…but the primary one I will speak of is how we do so often fail to recognize the value, the beauty, the uniqueness of those in our lives. How often do we cherish special time with friends and loved ones as if it were the only moments we have – fully enjoying them and expressing our love and gratitude for them? Instead are we easily irritated with them when they show us their thorns and fail to recognize their beautiful need?. Then when that together time is over do we lament for what was , or what could have been?

“The Little Prince went to look at the roses again. ‘ You’re nothing at all yet,’ he told them. ‘No one has tamed  you and you haven’t tamed anyone. You’re just the way my fox was. He was just a fox like a hundred thousand others. But I’ve made him my friend, and now he’s the only fox in all the world.’

And the roses were humbled.

‘You’re lovely, but your empty,’ he went on. ‘One couldn’t die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she’s the one I’ve watered….Since she’s the one I amlistened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she’s my rose.’”

And then the fox shares a secret: “‘One sees clearly only with the heart. Anything essential is invisible to the eyes.’”

I think that fox is on to something.

Apprently despite my best efforts, pumpkin is practically un-ruinable. Last night while I was blogging instead of watching my potts I scalded the pumpkin butter. Slightly burned on the bottom. I didn’t realize it until I had already stirred in some of the burnt bits from the bottom. Unbelievable, it is much much better than the first time. More carmelized and divine. I don’t even know how to describe it. And even more amazing with my morning yogurt.

On another note, I get these quotes from Story People. Love love. This one today really spoke to me. This is exactly where I have been. 

Wrapped tightly against a chill wind she just remembered from a long time ago & no amount of current time & temperature can help this one

My Jack-O-Lantern!

I love pumpkins. Truly I do. I love their orangey-roundness and their autumnal-significance. Fall used to be my favorite season. However for the past few years…ahem…decade or so I have dreaded the fall due to what it portends: that winter and rain and no sun and general dreariness are just around the corner. But truly there is so much about Fall that I love. Smell of crushed leaves, golden reds-oranges-browns-yellows of trees. And of course pumpkins.

 Anything pumpkin is grand, pumpkin pie being the all time favorite. But there is so much fun-ness! An eon or so ago (it seems) I picked out two grand pumpkins. Beautiful oranges - one duskier perfectly round and the other larger, brighter orange and a little on the lopsy side.  Love love.

Tonight I finally had time to do some carving. There is something wonderful about digging your hands in pumpkin slime to scoop out the seeds. I made a jack-o-lantern that I am quite proud of and as I speak it is shining in my front yard for all to see. I also scooped out some of the pumpkin fles and baked it. It is simmering in spices on my stove and will eventually evolve into my newest obsession: pumpkin butter.  HEAVENLY. A dear glamourpuss told me that pie pumpkins make better cooking. I tried that last week and it was marvelous. But I must have more, so we will see how the big ole pumpkin does. If worst comes to worst, I have back-up cans of pumpkin that I am sure will make lovely pumpkin butter.

I am also roasting the seeds as we speak. Those are my husband’s addiction…and I must admit I am rather fond of them myself. We (read he) roasted a batch of pumpkin (from the pie pumpkin) and butternut squash seeds but I think used to much oil or cooked too long or something as they don’t break open well. I think its grand to just pop them in, chew up the flavor and spit all the bits out…but he…well he is a seed connoisseur and they must pop open just so.

Pumpkin love love. It really has done wonders to soothe my soul. And my soul needs soothing.

Oh, another thought before the mindless immersion in a television fantasy-land. I intend to soon begin reading “A Room of One’s Own” by Virginia Woolf, but needed some mindless sci-fi for a break and am reading a Darkover novel (second read) by Marion Zimmer Bradley. I wanted to share a quote that really spoke to me this weekend:

“You speak of being afraid. Yet fear is something you generate in yourself, from your mind’s lack of control; and you will learn to look at it and discover for yourself when you choose to be afraid. The first thing you must to is to acknowledge that the fear is yours, and you can bid it come and go at will. Begin with this: whenever you feel fear that prevents choice, say to yourself: ‘What has made me feel fear? Why have I chosen to feel this fear preventing my choice, instead of feeling the freedom to choose?’ Fear is a way of not allowing yourself to choose freely what you will do next; a way of leeting your body’s reflexes, not the needs of your mind, choose for you.”

That is what I have been doing lately. Tumbling through places of despair. I tumble through and in and out of those places much like a dry bristly tumbleweed. Thank God I do tumble back out again. Tumbling through is not much fun. In fact I hate it passionately. The winds of chaos, despair, sadness, or some other such pick me up and off again I go. Just when I thought I had mustered up the strength to stay put in a place of stability again…off I whirl.

That is just the way life is right now. It hasn’t helped that the sun chose to hide her face for what seemed to be a milennia. Driving home from the hospital where I had just gazed on the tired, careworn and drug-weary face of my dying sister, it seemed as if the dark clouds had penetrated my very being and I saw everything through a stormy doom-filled lens. I saw every homeless person and the despair on their lined and hungry faces. Behind every wheel of every car accompanying me on my journey home was a person tired of life and its angst and pain. Phew, yeah I am totally driving myself off a bridge just talking about how despondent I felt.

The weekend didn’t get much better. In fact, it got much work. I even thought about drinking for who-the-heck ever’s sake.  There is a reason I don’t drink. OR smoke. But I did neither of those. Instead I drove to a park and turned my back on all the happy smiling people and families and silently cursed them all.

Today was much much better. Tumbling out again, but ever so slowly. Dragging myself painfully out one inch by tiny inch at a time is more like it.  The sun does improve my mood immeasurably. As well as the love of friends. AND perspective. Its no wonder I tend to see a skewed world with all those dark clouds sifting through my brain. And it never helps to be menstruating at the same time. That is a perfect remedy for despair upon despair.

So for now I am sipping on a beautiful chai latte (i made myself…ummm) and about to drown myself in a meaningless television show and trusting that everything is going to be okay. Somehow. Somehow.

I really wanted to blog about finishing the third of my 50 list: The Little Prince …which almost doesn’t count because it was so short. But so so so sweet. And a lot to ponder about, particularly knowing the history of the author. Beautiful. I may just read it again before I return the book to the library.

I also want to blog about monsters. And why the movie Where The Wild Things Are brings me to tears. Well the previews do – I have yet to see the movie. But I will.

Also about this lusciously marvelous pumpkin butter (sans butter) that I made this week. I could seriously upturn the jar and inhale the succulent stuff. But I am restraining myself and savoring it in my daily morning yogurt instead.

Okay, nuff already. Drowning in mindless television begins….now.

Okay, so it has taken me 5 days to blog about this and I have almost lost my enthusiasm for blogging about this…but I feel it is important to do so, because it is important to me. Unfortunately life and visitors got in the way of having lots of time (beloved visitors all around…and don’t get me wrong, I would rather be with people, but you know).

Anyhoo…I ran my first 5k on Friday! Woohoo! This may not be a very big deal to many, but it is a HUGE deal for me. You must understand context. This race really made it clear from me just how much so much of my life has been dictated by my insecurities about my weight. I have always been the “fat girl” and avoided situations where I would feel embarrased because of my weight or where I felt my weight would bring me down. I always compare myself to others – others are slimmer, more fit, less out of breath. Generally engaging in any kind of activity with people other than those VERY close to me has been something I have avoided and had a lot of shame about.

This race was a big prover to me that I CAN do what I set out to do, and that really I have just been holding myself back unnecessarily. I will say that I was a bit nervous on the way there…nervous about other people judging me…about being the fattest girl there, fear about being the very last person crossing the finish line - all kinds of negative garbage. But absolutely NONE of it was true. A friend told me I would love the race energy, and she was RIGHT! There were people of ALL shapes and sizes, at all different levels of fitness, and everybody was having a good time.

I ran the whole way – slow but steady. I was planning on being okay with needing to walk – but I didn’t. I ran slow but sure and it really felt good. It helped that my hubby trudged along (for his natural speed is much more than mine) encouraging me all the way.

It felt good. I felt good. And I feel like I can meet my goals…and that the future is filled with a Jennifer that doesn’t let her weight dictate her life…and for this girl of currently 206lbs (and steadily trending downward), that is a very good thing.