A Penny for Your Thoughts...A Thousand for Your Soul

I was walking down the street the other day and saw a penny on the ground. The face was looking skyward, so I picked it up and put it in my pocket. I heard you are supposed to pick up pennies if they are face up so that you can have good luck. I’m not exactly superstitious, but there’s no point in taking chances. I didn’t notice the guy across the street. I was on my way to visit a friend I have known since second grade. She had moved to an apartment in this neighborhood about three months ago, but this was the first time I could finally come by. I was unfamiliar with the area, so I stopped to pull out a piece of paper from my pocket, the pocket without the penny. I already knew the address by heart, but I checked it again anyway for the hundredth time. I can be compulsive that way. I looked up to check the number on the building, and, for some reason, I turned around to look across the street, even though I knew I was on the correct side. That was when I noticed the guy.

He was standing on the sidewalk, and he was wearing a brown bomber jacket and a rabbit fur hat with ear flaps. He had his hands in his pockets. It looked like he was staring right at me, but I’m not conceited enough to actually think I was the center of his attention. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the cloudiest day in recorded weather history, although I’m not sure if the weather people actually record cloudiness. I couldn’t really tell if I might possibly know or even vaguely recognize him. Not to be a profiler or anything, but he looked like a serial killer or a terrorist or maybe just a creepy guy who likes to stand on street corners. I started walking again towards my friend’s apartment, and I allowed the strange man to slip from my thoughts.

I finally reached the right building, and I looked up at the tall brick structure. It looked like all the others I had just passed. My friend was on the second floor, number 202. Don’t ask me why, but instead of entering the building, I glanced across the street. The bomber jacket guy was there! He was staring at me. I know it was me this time because I was the only person on this side of the street. Should I be scared? Who was this guy? Why was he wearing a jacket and a fur hat in the middle of summer? My stomach decided to move north into my throat, and my bowels threatened anarchy. It was a good thing I had reached my friend’s building. I had never been stalked before, so I didn’t really know the correct protocol in handling the situation. I suppose I could have screamed and flagged down a car, but I think I would have come across as a paranoid girl with too much time on her hands. I decided to do the next best thing: I turned my back on the guy. Denial isn’t so bad. If there had been a pile of sand nearby, I would have stuck my head in it.

I yanked open the main door of my friend’s building and sprinted up the stairs. I quickly located number 202 and pounded on the door with both fists. My friend cracked the door open just enough to peek out. She had a startled expression because I had not stopped pounding the whole time. I pushed open the door and slammed it shut behind me. I told her there was a creepy guy following me and that he was across the street. We both raced to the front window to see if he was still there. He wasn’t! It was nothing after all. Boy, did I feel silly. I breathed a sigh of relief and we turned around.

The guy was standing in my friend’s apartment wearing his brown bomber jacket and rabbit fur hat with ear flaps. He still had his hands in his pockets. My feet took root in the carpet, my tongue made its way to the roof of my mouth and stayed there, and my ears started ringing. My vision blurred, and everything looked like a freshly painted water color with too much water. The room was slowly melting into the floor. I was pretty sure I was going crazy, but there was no doctor around to confirm my suspicion. I guess I could still be asleep and was just having a really bad nightmare. Or this could mean I was dying and life as I knew it was finished. Or maybe I just ate too much cheese last night and this was the result. All I knew for sure was that even though I could no longer feel my body, I was positive I had just peed my pants.

***

I couldn’t tell how much time had passed, a minute maybe or a year, but coherent thought finally returned, my vision cleared, and the ringing in my ears faded to a not-so-unpleasant melody. I was relieved to notice my pants were dry. I was sitting on a couch and holding a sandwich: ham and swiss on whole wheat. There were two bites missing. I was sort of sure I wasn’t responsible because I didn’t have that lingering sandwich taste in my mouth. I could hear my friend talking in another room, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. As I finished analyzing the sandwich, I noticed the coffee table in front of me. I saw about fourteen open jars filled to the brim with pennies. The jars were lined up in rows like coppery soldiers. Their penny smell wafted up to my nose, and my upper lip curled up in disgust at the brassy odor; they smelled like blood. I suddenly tasted ham in the back of my throat, which meant I really had taken those two bites of the sandwich, and those two bites were clamoring to get out. I swallowed really hard, and I tossed the sandwich across the room. The bread fell away, but the ham and swiss kept going until they hit the wall. I could tell my friend was coming back because her voice was getting louder. “You wanted a Bloody Mary, right?”

I looked up at her, and I noticed she was wearing a brown bomber jacket and a rabbit fur hat with ear flaps.

Whither Thou Goest, I Will Go

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
~ by Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

*******************************
Ken,
I promise you the moon, but I can only deliver myself. I want to give you nature, but I can only give you art. I wish to stop time and capture the moment, but change surrounds us always, and the future beckons. Forgive my clumsiness and ignorance as I strive to care for you. God has entrusted you to me, and I beg you to accept the only thing I have to give: love

Weathered Wood Upon My Rooftop

Unrestrained weather attracts and repels me.
I have an outrageous desire to know the weather personally, but if that should happen, I would pray for deliverance and forgiveness. I would pray for the sunny weather that is safe and free from peril.
Thunder, lightning, sleet, snow, hail, vigorous wind, torrential rain.
I am afraid of it all, yet I tingle at the thought of the violence, the unpredictability, and the frenzy.
I am never more alive, nor more afraid, than when the weather mocks me.
The weather mocks my sense of order and routine, my tenuous grasp on a security that does not exist and never will.
The weather breathes on my neck, whispers in my ear, thrusts me into the maelstrom, and whips my brown eyes into chocolate milk. It lures me to the window to run my fingers along the quivering glass...and wait...and expect . . . and tremble in anticipation.

I close my eyes.

2009

So the new year is looming . . . 2009. I'm ready and I'm not ready. I'm excited about grad school and going back into the classroom, but I'm also nervous because it will be hard. I'm hoping I'm up to the challenge, but . . .

Another thing that must happen in 2009 is a job! I really need to find a job. I must rescue Ken from that stupid place that has stolen so much from him over these past 20+ years. It's time I lived up to the promise I made to him a few years ago. I will find a good job so he can retire. But I'm afraid. I don't want to sit at a desk eight to ten hours a day, every day. I've done that--a lot. I want something more, but I don't know what. I guess I wouldn't mind the cubicle if it didn't come with all the corporate baggage. I still want to edit, but I'm not sure I'm ready for the path that would take me there.

I'm at sixes and sevens, and I am not sure how to right everything!

Perhaps I should give it to God. He has never abandoned me! Everything is possible through Him--I know this very well. Maybe I'm not listening, or maybe I don't like what I hear. I'm sure I don't know, but I will put my trust in Him. I will greet 2009 with an open heart, and I will be ready for whatever God has in store for me :-)

Blandishment (Sonnet #2)

A smile, a secret, a compliment to share;
I do not fear because my heart is mine.
I'm lovely you say--my lips, my eyes, my hair;
Laughter escapes because your lust is why
You talk and dream of what you cannot have.
I walk the cobbled streets and long for home.
Flattery is why a kiss I gave--
Say goodbye and ride away alone.
What I have is all I'm living for!
My lfe is here not there, and so I know
My heart is full, there is no room for more--
I cannot chance to let my true love go.
I must say I'm happy that I'm here,
But your words will be forever dear.

~ RC Jones 2008

Brave Love (Sonnet #1)

A delight to warm my hardened heart has come!
You play and love and show to me in time
How I cannot allow the world to shun;
It must be fate because your traits are mine.
Flee my love and hide your silken face
From those who chance to see your fear let go.
It is but I who knows your qualm; I chase
Your trembling core concealed beneath your coat.
A burden rains down and changes you in and out!
I deny the truth and leave you all alone
To cope and cower behind your soulful pout.
I try too late to save my friend, mine own.
I miss your heart and beg you to forgive;
My love for you grows every day I live.

~ RC Jones 2008

Catching the Train

When you read the choppy sentences, can you feel the choppy movement of the train? Amtrak is not the Eurostar!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

All Aboard!

Traveling on Amtrak--The Texas Eagle--is an adventure. The 29-hour ride from Texas to Illinois is long, silly, and fabulous. If only the bathrooms could be cleaner. Did someone say adventure?

Ahhh! the thrill of boarding the train and settling into the roomette. Checking out all the gadgets. Figuring out how the door works--and not getting too worried when you can't get it open again. It will open--you don't have to spend the next 29 hours stuck in your room. Looking at each other and laughing. Turning on the lights and off again. Adjusting the seats. Closing and opening the curtains. Folding down the table. Feeling adventurous and childish - what's wrong with that?

The train starts to move promptly at 7:00am. "Who wants to ride backwards?" The smallest one easily gives in. The smallest one also gets to sleep in the upper bunk later tonight. That's okay, you're not scared. It has a harness so you won't fall out. Breakfast in the room because the dining car doesn't open until after Austin when the dining crew comes aboard. You're too excited to eat, but Ken isn't.

Walking through a moving train: Walk with your feet wide apart--"like John Wayne" you tell Ken. Walk fast before you can bang into the wall, or worse. Standing in the room to check through the overnight bag for reading material while the train is flying down the track is an adventure all by itself. If you weigh seven stone, you will probably lose your balance. Ken will catch you. Ken will hold on until you can sit down again.

There are two buttons to open the doors between cars. Kick the bottom one with your foot, especially if you are carrying an orange juice and coffee. Don't dwell on the floors between the cars. It's normal that they move up and down and side to side. Kick the button and move on.

"Shall we check out the sightseer car?"
Find a seat and look out the window. Go downstairs and peruse the snacks in the lounge. Return to your seat and admire the scenery. Is that another discarded tire? Was that an abandoned hot tub next to the tracks? Wave to the people who are waiting in their automobiles behind the red and white striped bar, clanging bell, and flashing lights. Who else is in this car doing what you are doing? People watch. You know they are watching you. Everyone is in this together.

Eating in the dining car means you will probably have others sit at the same table. It's fun to meet new people. Everyone has a story and something to contribute, even you. The menu isn't too bad. "Where are you from?" Where are you going?" "Have you ridden Amtrak before?" "No, but we have ridden the trains in Europe. "

Night.
Catch 40 winks. The train stops throughout the night to greet new passengers and say 'so long' to those who detrain. You don't know or care because you are dancing with the sandman. Or maybe it's only the swaying of the train. Either way, you are in full swing.
Night Night God Bless.

Never underestimate the concept of the sleeper on such a long journey. Everyone should experience the art of sleeping on a train, especially in the top bunk. A net for those necessary items you might need during the night is the work of a genius. Turn over and let the sound of the train whistle make you smile and the movement of the train lull you to sleep or maybe cause you to speculate if the train could sway too much and tip over.

Is it morning? Is it wise to apply mascara when you are on a moving train? Breakfast in the dining car and more new people to get to know. Polly and Fabian are happy to take your order. "Coffee please." "Which state are we in?"

Next stop! Yours.

****
Ride the train: Discover your country * Discover new ways to spend time together * Discover yourself.

Shhhh

Stop talking
Keep quiet
Zitta!
Go back
It worked well
Keep mum
Tick a lock
It is safer
It is smarter
Shhhh

Writing is Art

I do not write because it is my first choice of expression. I write because it has taken the place of drawing. It is easier to hide writing and not let people see your struggles, failures, and attempts at creativity or expression until you are ready. Drawing and painting can be big and messy and public and difficult to keep prying eyes from peeking over your shoulder or peeking when you are away until the work is finished. Drawing with a pencil or charcoal or pastels or paint or pen and ink is beautiful and fulfilling and obsessively cruel in its ever changing strokes, lines, and shadows. O! the emotions that flow from your brain to your arm to your fingers to your implement of choice onto the paper and then seeing a wordless picture emerge and envelope! Draw without looking at your hand, your paper, your expectations, your assumptions. Let your brain see and express; allow yourself to become lost and then found. Can writing compare to the beauty that is drawing, shading, building layer upon layer until the picture is complete? I seek the answer to this question as I continue to write and discover. The answer is being revealed to me at a snail's pace, but I know it will come because I am just beginning to see its unique beauty and promise. Words, grammar, the English language, and reading are my passion, so writing must be my passion as well. It must be.

God, show me the beauty in writing that I have found in drawing. Guide my thoughts and fingers as I seek to honor and praise You. Help me to reveal You and myself, your faithful servant and child, through my word-filled art that is writing. Amen.

La Vita è Bella

I try to focus less on myself by focusing more on myself. Sounds like a contradiction . . . doesn't it? It is and it isn't--another contradiction. Contradiction is just one aspect of how we live our lives--or maybe I should say how I live my life, since I shouldn't speak for anyone else. I am a walking, talking, listening, living contradiction, but I'm not unhappy about that. This just means I am alive and kicking and three dimensional. I make mistakes, recognize those mistakes, and work hard to fix them. I do not live in a vacuum, and I am positively and/or negatively affected by everything and everyone I come in contact with. I still have selflish moments of course, but I'm working at recognizing that selfishness and flipping it to selflessness. I constantly pray for guidance!

How do I focus less on myself by focusing more on myself? By way of explaining, I will tell you one story with two side effects:

Seven years ago, I finally admitted I was a soda-holic. I had been drinking Coca-Cola to the extreme (and not the diet kind). I realized my dependence on the caffeine aspect of it all when I tried to quit cold turkey. I failed miserably, and I became so ill that day I had to leave work early. I was terrified of that failure and the control caffeine had on my body and mind. My typical day centered around soda . . . fountain soda . . . from specific places. I was enslaved, and I hated this addiction. I became irritable if I did not get enough ice to last until I finished the soda. I had to get my third 32-ounce soda of the day after 3 o'clock pm so that it would last the rest of the evening. This was a sickness, and I drove myself, and more importantly my husband, crazy! I needed to quit this addiction (focus more on myself) so I could keep my husband from running screaming into the night or eventually dealing with an unhealthy wife (focus less on myself).

When I did finally decide to really quit, I didn't quit cold turkey because my body refused to do it that way. I slowly switched to canned soda, and I eventually pared it down to one can in the morning. Ahhh! the burn of carbonation in the morning--this part was going to be missed. In addition to soda, I cut out iced tea (I did not drink coffee yet). One morning in October of 2001, I woke up without a can of Coke in the refrigerator to take with me to work. How convenient! This was my first day without any soda. I had done it slowly, so my body adjusted quietly, easily, and happily. I was free! I was alive! I have since reintroduced caffeine into my bloodstream, but I manage it successfully. I have become focused more on moderation, not just with caffeine, but all food/drink. I am aware of what I consume--both the good and the bad--and I am happy.

One side effect of the elimination of non-diet soda was weight loss. I had no idea that sugar had become such a giant source of calories for me. I was not overweight to begin with, so losing weight was not on the agenda. I went from around 110-112 pounds or so to 95 in less than six months. Not a lot to some, but for me it was a little startling. I bought a scale when I noticed my clothes hanging on me in an extremely unflattering way. To this day, I weigh myself every morning. I was worried I would keep losing, but I bottomed out at 95 and eventually bounced up to 97-98 about a year or so later. I will never forget the brief look on my stepdaughter's face when she saw me for the first time since my transformation at her high school graduation in May 2002. She walked through the hotel room door and her expression said it all. Horror! It was gone in a flash, but I saw it. It may have been an unconscious reaction, but it made me realize the extent of the change that had occurred. Later that summer, on a trip to England/France, my mom reacted the same way, except she verbalized her thoughts, "What's wrong with you? Are you sick?" No, I wasn't sick--just different, healthier, and aware.

Another, and more important, side effect of eliminating soda from my diet became apparent when I donated blood. I have always enjoyed donating blood because I am O negative and I test negative to a specific virus--this means my blood goes to premature babies! But with the increase of soda over the years, my blood eventually started flowing like molasses. I was drowning in my own glop that used to be a healthy life source harvested to help premature babies. The girls at the clinic would try hard to get my blood to flow. They brutalized my arm, but the little bag would sometimes remain unfilled. If they managed a full pint, it would take 30 minutes or more, and I would leave feeling ridiculous--clutching my bruised arm. They couldn't use a partial pint, so I sometimes left feeling like the very sludge that had begun flowing in my veins. "Drink more water!" was the advice from a young technician when my blood refused to leave my body. Hmmm. At that point, I was already on my way to being free of caffeine and I was drinking water, but I started drinking more and more and more--a healthy amount. When I went to donate blood months later, my blood flowed out like Niagra Falls. Eight minutes to a full bag! La Vita è Bella!

I focused less on myself by focusing more on myself. I improved my health and the quality of my blood (focused on myself) and helped premature babies (focused less on myself).

Aren't contradictions wonderful?

The Truth Hurts

So I was insulted not too long ago--by my own husband no less. So what else is new you ask? Of course Ken insults me all the time--in jest of course...I'm sure. They are those "I love you therefore I must make fun of you and say mean things to you" kinds of insults. I don't mind them at all, really. I give them back just as easily, and we have a fun time laughing and joking until our sides hurt. No, I'm not being sarcastic. It really is like that (well maybe not the laughing hysterically part). If Ken ever stopped making fun of me, I would start to worry.

Well, the insult I refer to, the one that kind of stung, was said a few months ago. I laughed it off at the time of course, but it set me to thinking. Maybe this one is true. What did Ken say? Well, let me start by saying I did really well in school. The last five years in college have been fun, exciting, and chock full of As in every class. After the first couple of semesters of straight As, we both looked at each other in amazement. Cool. The grades at the end of each semester became commonplace and predictable--to everyone but me. It seemed that no one knew how agonizing it was for me to wait for final grades to be posted. Everyone said, "of course you made all As. Duh." I just wanted to shout, "Stop it! Those As didn't just fall in my lap you know! I worked hard for them!" The pressure I was inflicting upon myself was suffocating and building to a fevered pitch. I couldn't do it! Why was it so important to me? I didn't start out with this goal. Who really cares anyway? I wasn't like that in high school.

As time went on, my own private thoughts were filled with the exciting possibility that I could actually pull off a perfect 4.0 gpa. Ken would be amazed and astonished and oh so very proud of me! I know getting all As isn't such a big deal to most people, but to me it could sort of make up for the failures and unfinished things peppering my past. Could I actually finish something AND do it well at the same time? After each semester, all signs pointed to yes! So I graduated with a 4.0. The euphoria didn't last too long, but I'm still proud of my overall accomplishment of doing so well and just graduating in general.

The insult came not long after graduation. I can't remember why we were even talking about me and my recent accomplishment. Ken said, "You made all As because you studied all the time, not because you're smart." Ouch.

A joke of course . . . or was it? My long-time companion, self-doubt, was giggling. I have become quite adept at banishing that ugly friend to the nether regions of my heart. Every once in a while it peeks through with hopeful eyes--then I box its ears and shout, "Out Vile Jelly!" Those threats aren't working too well lately. Go away and leave me alone.

So grad school in the spring. Here we go again.
*sigh*

Do Not Ask Me to Abandon or Forsake You

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
~ by John Donne

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No;

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so much refined
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

************************************************
Apart or together, it is all the same really; that is how it has been for us and how it must always be. Time and Distance are meaningless because we can't be separated, we can't be forced to forget or forsake; like the compass our souls are forever connected. This wasn't a choice. We did not choose this path or even look for it. But I'm glad of it all the same. Are you glad too?
************************************************
[Ruth: 16-17]

Must all Inevitable Convergences End in Tragedy?

The Convergence of the Twain(Lines on the loss of the Titanic)~ by Thomas Hardy
In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres,

Over the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls - grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.

Jewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.

Dim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: 'What does this vaingloriousness down here?'...

Well: while was fashioning
This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything

Prepared a sinister mate
For her - so gaily great -
A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.

And as the smart ship grew
In stature, grace, and hue,
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.

Alien they seemed to be:
No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history.

Or sign that they were bent
By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,

Till the Spinner of the Years
Said 'Now!' And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

***************************************************
Hmmm . . .
So whatever happened to the iceberg? Was there only one victim in the tragedy of this convergence? Of course not! Perhaps the iceberg died as well, but a death that was silent, stoic, and always faithful to God's plan. Which one am I? Am I the iceberg that makes its way cautiously, slowly, and quietly towards its fate, cradled in God's knowing hands? Or am I the ship that purposely glides into the night surrounded by laughter, music, and celebration, also cradled in God's knowing hands? One is never better than the other because both are doing what is natural and purposeful under His gaze. It's not the convergence that must be feared--that is the easy part believe it or not. It is how we both conduct ourselves after the convergence as we look to God and pray that we follow Him with dignity and grace and continually trust in His will until our last breath.

Who Am I Anyway?

Who is this person I have become? I don't even know you. Everything about you seems different somehow. Perhaps I am becoming someone new, someone better, someone worthy of the purpose I have been given. I am not at a crossroads mind you. I have just suddenly stopped in the middle of the road. On my right and on my left are tall sunflowers joyfully pointing the way. If only my feet would move. If only my face would turn towards the sun as the faithful sunflowers do.