Aug. 1, 2011

For just a moment I can be still

I can place my mind in beige and cotton and

forget about the problems of the world,

I wish to take this slice in time, this peace

and wrap myself around it.

To preserve it somehow.

But the butterfly in the jar

will surely die

just as surely as tomorrow will come.

My 4x great grandpa from Scotland

This robust looking fellow is my great-great-great-great grandfather, CharlesWright Spence. (Yes, that is four greats, and this is on my dad's side of the family.)

He was born on November 5, 1824 in a small village in Scotland. His father, my 5x great grandfather served as a soldier under King George III of Great Britain.

Because his father died when Charles was very young, he began working at the tender age of ten , earning just six cents a day to help his mother support his brothers and sisters. He then tried shoe making, but, eventually became a coal miner, and was a coal miner for 30 years.

He married Elizabeth Morrison Spence on Jan 11, 1847, and soon after they both converted to the Mormon church. In October 18, 1872, they began the long journey to America, and on Nov. 3, 1872 arrived in Rock Springs. In March 1873 they moved to Wellsville, Utah, where they lived the remainder of their lives.

Charles passed away in December of 1902. Elizabeth passed away in December 1916.

Elizabeth and Charles Spence

About A Girl

I had an amazing experience last week that is too amazing to not document some how, some way.  I met this girl, this women, who changed my perspective.

 Without getting into too much detail, lest I give away who she is, because yes, she is a real person, I had the opportunity to meet her through my job  . . . I was able to quite literally give her a gift. When I called her to tell her, she was beyond grateful, I made her literally cry because she was so grateful for what I had given her. A school coming up, the single mom needed the money. 

Some back ground . . . she is beautiful, gorgeous, in fact she has done some modeling work. It is absolutely mind blowing how pretty she is. When I spoke with her, she confided something to me. She is bi polar. Yes, this beautiful, stunning woman also has this neurological demon, this inability to control the happiness, the sadness, the rage, the despondence in her own pretty head.

We have become sort of pen pals since that brief conversation. I felt it only fair to tell her my own secret. That, though we deal with different things, I can relate to the madness, the waking up each day not knowing if it will control you or if you will maintain your sanity. It is a sort of David and Goliath battle every day. It seems impossible, at least highly unlikely. Few understand, so meeting some one who does is quite the amazing thing.It is reassuring to know that we are not alone in this ocean of chaos.

Even just a few years ago, her looks alone would have been reason for me to hate her  . . . such a paradox. She would have been the enemy, because she most certainly would have been mean to me because of the way I look. I have learned a lot in the last few years, but that moment last week reinforced something for me: The most beautiful girls are not necessarily the happiest. The way you look on the outside does not define how you feel.Happiness is a choice, not a gift or prize won by a genetic lottery.We have been programmed to equate happiness with beauty and vice-versa. I learned that in all of my advertising classes. People buy things because they see people on TV, beautiful and happy using certain products. It is a science, but it's not rocket science. 

She told me that she can tell I am a fighter. That meant a lot. I think I am. I am here. I am not addicted to drugs or alcohol, I have met and married my soul mate, I have two beautiful kids and a full time job. A home, my car is paid off. So I am not physically what I want to be . . . is that really what is most important? Or is it how I project myself to others, and how I change the world and lives of everyone I meet for the better?

Walking sleep

    Last night I had an experience that is just too weird to not tell some one.  And I feel like writing and I cannot think of anything else at the moment, so this is what you get!
    At about 1:30 a.m., I saw my little boy, Devin, standing next to my bed. He was saying, “Daddy, daddy. . .” Daddy had gone down stairs to sleep on the couch because, our bed room is upstairs and it gets really hot, and as he told me this morning, “I was sweating my ass off!” (Last I checked, his ass is still there, however, and I am a cold-blooded female so I have no idea what that means).
    Anyway, Devin then turned around and walked down the hall toward the living room. I assumed I was dreaming and went back to sleep. It is not often that I sleep deeply enough to dream, that is a gift from my ever restless mind, but when I do, my dreams are pretty crazy, so this was actually normal for me.
    About a half hour later I woke up and looked into the doorway of my bedroom, and I could see Devin’s two little feet poking through the doorway. When I went to him, he was lying on the floor, cuddled up with his “blankie brown,” sleeping in the hallway.
    OK, so do I just let him sleep, or do I try to wake him up and get him back to bed? I whisper his name a few times, and he rolls over and looks up at me, still mostly asleep. I ask him if he wants to go lay down, and he stands up and nods his head yes, then follows me into my room. He starts to climb into my bed, and I am too tired to care and instinctively want him to sleep with me so that I can keep track of him.
    I rubbed his little fuzzy head for awhile, something I always do to my kids when they are scared and having trouble sleeping. We went to sleep, snuggled together, it was probably pretty cute.
    A bit later I woke up again (yes, it is completely normal for me to wake up 8 times a night. No wonder I am so tired during the day), and he was no longer in the bed with me. I assumed he had gone back to his bed or down stairs to cuddle with daddy, and went back to sleep.
    My alarm goes off at 6:30 on Tuesday mornings, because on Tuesdays I don’t need to wake the kids up to take them any where, and this morning when my alarm went off and I sat up, there he was again, sleeping side ways at the end of the bed.
    I am so confused. Where was he when I woke up and he was not there? When did he come back? How did I not wake up when he got on and off the bed? I wake up when the neighbors sneeze. OK, not that bad, but pretty close.

    I wonder if he was sleep walking. I know I did a bit of that when I was a kid. I remember one night in particular I was staying the night at my grandparent’s house, and I got out of bed and walked to the doorway to their bedroom and said, “I like chocolate ice cream with sprinkles.” And it’s true, I did then and do now, I mean, who doesn’t right? But why would I get up in the middle of the night to announce that to people I knew were fast asleep?
    The summer after the eighth grade, several of our class members went on a trip to California. We went to Mediaeval Times, SeaWorld, Universal Studios, the San Diego Zoo, etc. One morning, my roommates told me that I had been talking in my sleep. I told them to turn off the TV, though the TV was not on, and then I said, “I’m in a cage and I can’t get out, but that’s OK, I can stay here forever.” Freaky!

    Aria will randomly sit up and look around while she is asleep. That is pretty close to the scariest thing you will ever see, screw scary movies, wait ‘til you see your kid sit up in bed, open her eyes, look around, then lay back down and know that she won’t remember it the next day because she was asleep the whole time.
    Some times when I go to check on her at night, her eyes are half open. I am not sure how she sleeps like that, but she does. And she talks in her sleep too, I can  never tell what she is saying, but she can carry on quite the conversation the wee hours of the night while she is asleep.

    Is it a genetic thing? Does everyone do that kind of stuff? Mike doesn’t, but I have never seen anyone fall asleep so fast or sleep as deeply as he does, it is incredible. What is that like, sheesh?!

    But now I worry that Devin is going to wake up in the middle of the night and go totting down the hall and fall down the stairs and I will sleep right through the whole thing. He has gone down stairs in the middle of the night before, and been just fine going down the stairs, but I guess it is normal to worry.
    What if, when he gets older he decides to unlock the front door and go for a nocternal stroll in his SpongeBob PJs? What if he wakes up at 2 a.m. and subliminally says, “Now would be a good time to go out in the front yard and catch that June Bug I saw earlier!” How will I explain that to The Fuzz? “I don’t know what happened, officer, he was in bed the last time I checked.” Hmmmmm . . .
    Oh the things you never ever thought you would have to worry about. . .

Orchids and Ash

"Is this a test? It has to be, otherwise I can't go on." ~ Tool, The Patient

We have to believe that all that seems negative and destructive in our lives happens for purpose, lest we go insane.

It seems endlessly cruel and ironic that we are born with the abilities to rationalize, to reason, to question, and these things end up being our most persistent enemies. We end up using our best strengths against ourselves, as if "self destruct" were a setting on our life cycle.

We ask the wrong questions, we reason for the wrong reasons. We run in metaphoric circles, like a bird with one wing trying to fly. . . the will is there, but not the ability. We will never stop seeking answers to questions we will never stop asking. We are never calm.

There exists a great balance: Fire and ice, sky and sea, orchids and ash. Some things just are because they have to be. We are not meant to understand it all.

"If there were no reward to heal,
A loving embrace to see me through
This tedious path I've chosen here,
I certainly would've walked away by now.
Gonna wait it out.
Be patient.
I must keep reminding myself of this."

Anchors

"Where would we be without these anchors? You can't quite believe oceans never ending." ~ 36 Crazyfists "Anchors"

Tonight I walked until I stepped on sidewalks I'd never stepped on before. Unfamiliar dogs barked at me through chain link from a dirt worn path. I smelled fresh cut grass on thick blades of green I'd never smelled before. Different strangers stared at me as if I was a threat, because, you know, I look so threatening, always wearing black and all. But, I have learned that I do not quite see myself in the same way others do; maybe better, maybe worse, but never the same.

Sometimes the day needs a few extra steps, a literal walk off the beaten path to feel that I you are truly free, that you are not tethered by the fear of the unknown. I have to prove to myself that I am in control of my direction. Choosing to turn left rather than right reminds me that I am in control of my mind. Something so simple, and yet a huge step.

I close my eyes and let the crisp spring air and crunch of gravel remind me that everything works together to keep us sane. We just have to be wise enough to recognize what we need.

I think things that few others do, and even fewer would understand. And that's OK. A certain amount of unselfish pride comes from knowing that you see the world just a little bit differently. Lonely pride . . . what an irony.

I think about how foreign this town would look if I'd never been here before. All the little houses dot the hillsides, nestled near junipers, lawns strewn with children's toys and perfectly placed perennials. The church steeples sit high above . . . whether they are guarding or judging from high upon their post, I may never know.

The smell of smoke coming from a nearby chimney clearing its throat from a long winter chill tickles my throat. It reminds me of my childhood. . . the smell of smoke from a wood stove is something I may have taken for granted. If I close my eyes I can remember being small, cuddled inside a blanket next to the stove in my parents' house, reading a book.

Tucked inside, sheltered, finding a way to escape. Some things never change. :)