I got you, Paula. I got you, forever.

Paula Gayle ; the Angel.

She is perfect.  She is complete.  She is my sister.  She is my angel.

Her name is Paula Gayle.  She has blue eyes and blond hair.  She exists in my dreams because she couldn't exist in my reality.  

If she was in my life she would follow me everywhere, she would tell on me, and she would share my secrets.

I'm forever wondering why she didn't make it... Why her and not me??

I will never not ask that question.  

Why her and not me?

She could have been the one that cures cancer.  She may have been the one to follow her heart in love.  She may have been all that we needed.

Why does she go?  

I comfort myself by imagining Paula as the overseer of my life.... The overseer of all our lives.  The example of a perfect life... And yet does the perfect life have to be shrowded in sickness?  

She didn't have a choice.  She never had a voice.  She didn't have a chance.  She did have all our love.

I love you, Paula Gayle.  You are my sister.  You are my partner in this world of love and misunderstanding...I hold your imaginary hand and I go forth with our strength together... Because I could never do this alone.

I forever love you... And someday we will dance together... My sister; my lovely best friend.

My "Bad" Bucket List...

I finally finished all 771 pages of The Goldfinch.  Don't get me wrong; I loved every paragraph, but now I am , as always , stuck with unanswered personal questions.  Every time I finish a book I seem to dwell on the next steps of each character... This time stuck on whether Theo finds his happiness and what eventually becomes of Boris.  

The book held several tragedies...hopefully ones that most of us haven't ever experienced; but tragedies just the same.  Losing your mother at a young age is never going to be a positive position in a script; but certainly an intriguing one. 

As is suffering through drug use and deception...but I don't want to be a spoiler.  What struck me most was the last pages where the author, Donna Tartt,(cool...two T's), states,"What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight towards a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster?"

What if?? Do you not hear that?  Do you think that we are absolutely supposed to follow a course of self-destruction in order to find the goodness that dwells within?  Do we have to make mistakes in order to improve our lives?  What if we do have a predisposition to be "bad"if even so very slightly?  

  

Well the last time I checked, I am only human...which brings me to my "bad" bucket list.  Take a moment and recall the lessons you had to learn...did you take money from your mom's purse?  Did you sneak a cigarette from your dad?  Did you lie about where you were?  Did you ride your bike without a helmet?  What is it that causes us to take a risk and be bad??

Billy Joel says the sinners are much more fun...why is that?  What is the need to be slightly off the perfect scale and display a bit of naughtiness?  So here I am thinking about what I could do to be "bad".  

I've snuck candy in my purse to the movies; well, have you seen the prices?

I've challenged several yellow lights while driving, well, I can't slam on my brakes...

I've purchased shoes that were not on sale but still told my husband they were...

I've had too much to drink while visiting with my mother-in-law...  Wouldn't you?

I don't always grade my papers; seriously, can't I ever relax?

Now I must think of my top "bad" buckets...

  I would love to book a flight and just go.  Alone.  No questions.

  I would love to drink all damn day.  Start in the morning and just drink until I fall asleep.  Possibly including karaoke.

I would love to cross a "no trespassing " sign and camp out.  Well...maybe just hang out .

I would love to talk back to my dad.  Just to let him know I am a bit too old to be nervous around him.

I would love to start jumping into famous fountains...so that I can be rescued by handsome men.

I could go to church with my mom; exactly what a  nice Jewish girl should do.

I don't want to harm anyone else... Just satisfy my own badness.  Maybe I could get arrested.  Doubtful.  Maybe I could eat some shrimp on Yom Kippur.  Yea Right.  Maybe I could wear my Birkenstocks with socks.  Never.  Maybe I could buy a book and never read it. Hmmmm.  I could stay up late listening to  awesome music on a school night.  Maybe I won't do the dishes...Maybe I'll drop the F bomb at least 5 times a day...

An older man asks his doctor..."please help me live to be a hundred"! The doctor asks him, "Do you smoke? " the man says no. "Do you drink?" The man says no. "Do you gamble?" The man says no. "Do you eat healthy?" The man says yes. The doctor then asks, "Then why the hell do you want to live to one hundred?"

Yes, I drink wine.  Yes, I love potato chips.  Yes, I would love to vanish for a few days no questions asked.  Maybe I'll find a nude beach...Maybe I'll have dinner with an old lover...Maybe I'll start being who I really am.  

Maybe my "bad" bucket list is just getting started.  Maybe its who I really am.  Maybe the good goes with the bad.  Yin and Yang.  Maybe two wrongs do make a right.  Maybe I should just be myself.  

Sheryl Crow says, "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad."

Maybe if it makes me happy, I should just be bad.  Well, as bad as I can be. Actually, when I hear George Thorogood...I am bbbb Bad.  I once threw up on a man in a wheelchair...  Kinda bad.  

But I had my reasons.  Bbbb Bad.

If Not Now; When???

Thoughts on Being Common

I was able to take my regular walk this morning in the rain.  Beautiful tiny drops, slightly chilly and slightly damp fell on my face, hair, arms, and earphones.  Rain in my desert in not as common as I wish it were; obviously it won't ever be.  You should observe  the desert in the rain: you can almost see the cactus stretching out to grab each and every drop. 

My regular morning walk is commonly very hot.  The sun will normally shine down and leave my face and arms slightly pink; reminding me that an average person should always wear sunscreen. 

But this uncommon morning I got to thinking ( oh boy) about the words we use so commonly: regular, common, same,  average, and normal.  I don't think I want to have another regular day.  A regular day would consist of following my normal schedule, eating average meals, and dressing in my same clothes.  If you are a people watcher like me I have recently discovered that we are not so common. And most of us thankfully are not so normal.   We may be eating at the same restaurant but are we having the same conversation?  We certainly aren't from the same backgrounds; are we?  We may have some commonalities, or similarities, but not exactly. 

I have a common domesticated cat.  She is simply the most regular looking feline there is and yet she hates to be picked up, will bite you even while she is purring, and she must sit right on my newspaper every morning. Actually, maybe that is common.  But what about a regular white t-shirt?  Pair it with some normal jeans and whoa! James Dean.  Certainly not average.  I like to drink regular coffee.  Just black.  I find that the people who normally drink their coffee black have a lot in common with me. 

I don't want anyone for a second to think that my classroom this fall will be filled with average children.  What is an average child?  What is an average test score?  When parents are so happily holding their healthy baby do they hope that this new person will be common, regular, and average?  I don't know any parent that thinks their child is average.  I hope that I never become a regular teacher.  One of my favorite vocabulary activities in my class is to set out a line with opposite words on each end.  Imagine a line with hot on one side and cold on the other.  The extremes.  Now we try and fill in the middle of the line with words that gradually go from hot to cold.  The kids come up with the most astute, descriptive words; always surprising themselves.  Boiling, warm, steaming, chilly, freezing, cool, etc...the words are endless.  How can these kids be average?

I can think of some things that I wish were common.  I wish peace was common.  I wish we could all just be  regularly nice to each other.  I wish that we would have normal doctor check-ups.

In this world of ours with millions of people nobody has the same fingerprint.  They might be similar but not exact.  The expression, " we are bound by a common thread... " are we really?  I don't want to know a world that has been melted together like  wax; I love that everyone is so Different.  All of my friends are different.  There is nothing regular about anyone in my family.  Sometimes, actually most of the time, our views are not even the same.  Can you imagine if slavery were still common?  Or segregation?  What if children with special needs weren't allowed access to the normal curriculum?  I am tired of the way we so casually put people and ideas into categories of normal, regular, average, and common.  There is nothing common anywhere in this world.  There are thousands of varieties of spiders, flowers, rocks, trees, ideas, and people.  Thank G-d.  I think today I will do something very regular like feed my animals and I am so thankful for my regular walk in the uncommon rain.  When I finished my walk today the first thing I did?  I drank a huge glass of PLAIN water.  (oh boy, here I go again).

My Grandmother...

Firsts and Lasts

Yesterday was my 48th birthday.  And as I consider how wonderful the day was I am met with bittersweet thoughts.  Two months have passed by since my precious grandmother  left this world to be whole and healthy again.  I think about her so often and all of our "firsts and lasts"; the first time she took me swimming, the first time we made plum jam, the first time she let me drink a coke.  

Then there are the lasts; the last time I spent the night with her, the last time I held her hand, the last time I told her I loved her.  The last time I saw my grandmother she told me how proud she was of me and my family and how much she loved me and she said she wasn't allowed to drink coke anymore.

After our last visit I got a letter in the mail from her.  It must have been delivered with the hands of an angel because I couldn't even read the address.  All that was clear was my name.  She thanked me for coming to see her and that she was looking forward to the next time.  That was my last letter from her.

Now I have been traveling that road of  " I should have gone to see her more often, I should have stayed longer every time I was there, I should have told her what she means to me..." and I can't .

Firsts and lasts have a way of following us in every area of our lives.  Ask yourself some firsts and lasts questions and your answers may amuse you, awaken you, and reveal to you what you have in your memories.  The first time you held your baby in your arms as a new parent, the first house you bought, the first time you met your in-laws.  Go back even further and think about your first day of school, your first best friend, your first kiss.  Your first love.

Hold those feelings and embrace them.  They are what has made you who you are and how you feel.

Now, think about your lasts; the last time you were in your old house, the last time you ate your grandmother's peach cobbler, the last time you rode a bicycle, the last time you told someone special you love them.

We only have today.  We hope for tomorrow and we hope for more time.  I want to make sure I notice the firsts and celebrate them because I will never know when the last is coming.  

I'm starting my new year off remembering my grandmother telling me about the first time she saw me.  And I am also remembering the last time I saw her.  I won't get another letter from her in this world but I am so thankful I kept so many that she sent me .  I have read them many times...not yet for the last time.

My Name is Paige and I Am a Late Bloomer

I just found the most wonderful, thought-provoking quote,"late bloomers can risk so much more because at this point no one really expects anything spectacular from them any longer".  I don't want to be too dramatic but doesn't that sound freeing?  Just think about it...if you decide to write a novel Right Now and it's never published; who cares?  Wouldn't it be great to know you wrote a novel??? If you are finally learning how to cook chicken (sorry Thumbelina) that's not dry; good for you!! And if you haven't actually been to Florence yet at least you can buy some beautiful sunflowers at the market. (And possibly  even use them as a setting for a wonderful watercolor painting ! ) It's like finally realizing that maybe our big dreams won't be actually happening NOW , but we can certainly continue to "bloom " even if it's 30 years late.  

What does that actually mean?  30 years ago I just knew I would be living a fabulous life somewhere in Europe, living in an abandoned castle with a would-be prince while watching our vineyard produce award-winning wines...(can you feel it?). Sidelined by a degree in Elementary Education , a 24 year marriage , 2 grown kids ( with jobs!) , 19 years of teaching, and other wonderful occasions ; I have yet to set foot in Europe.  So am I to believe that my dreams haven't yet to come true?  What if I now decide to take up tennis? I don't need to assume that I will be at Wimbelton to learn the game.  But it would be great to spend an afternoon with friends yelling " love-30"!   What if I decide to create a farm community so that local children can get their hands dirty while learning about Mother Nature and her resources?  I'm 48.  Is it too late to have dreams?

What I continue to find on my journey to "Authenticity" is that if the dream didn't happen it wasn't supposed to.....yet.  I know that I have never quite been ready to fly over the ocean...sea monsters and all...but I will get there.  I also know that the prince and the castle are right here with me not over there.  And I also know that I don't know anything about growing grapes but I can grow pumpkins, zucchini, and jalapeños and I'm also really good with kids and animals.

Late Bloomers! Let's dream!! Let's dream big! And when we do something spectacular ( which we will) let's celebrate with Authenticity.  

Our Dreams are waiting!  My name is Paige and being a Late Bloomer might be the best thing that ever happened to me!!!

Miracle!!!!!

My little Thumbelina is brooding.  She does this often enough to make me sad because , well, I don't have a rooster.  That's Chickens 101... A hen needs a rooster to make a chick.  So, when the conversation turned to incubaters and fertalized eggs in the teacher's lounge, my friend and I "hatched " a plan!!

She actually was the lady who gave me Thumbelina 4 years ago so we are already 2 birds of a feather.  (Sorry.  Couldn't help that ).  We curiously hypothesized what might happen if I sneakily placed one of these eggs in her nest!!  Well, yesterday it happened and she is very happily snuggled in her nest cooing away.  It's possible that the egg isn't fertalized but I like the hopefulness of my little Thumbelina as a mother.

How perfectly timed.  My little chicks are now 18 and 20; so this mother hen is very excited to think there might be a little baby chick running around my yard again!   Happy Mother's Day!!!  

The Egg Smuggler

The Wind has Settled

Wind can do damage.  Wind can also be wonderful.  Most of the time, we don't quite understand which wind we are experiencing until it's finally over.  Are we going to have a cool breeze that helps the dandelion puffs drift around or is the sky about to disappear along with the mountain that sits in the middle of my city? 

 I don't remember wind as a child.  My memories rarely revolve around the weather we were having...except for the snow that sometimes reached my desert home.  And because  I have never suffered with allergies or asthma I don't have the memories of doctor visits to get better.  But lately wind has really become the most annoying way Mother Nature can get under my skin.

I very much realize that I have not experienced wind like our fellow Americans in tornado areas.  I feel so helpless when I see the devastating affects of what tornados can do.  Those poor families losing all their possessions and thankfully hugging because they miraculously still have each other.  Or the wildfires that can't be contained because the wind won't let up.  Families evacuating when they see the ridge of fire approaching.

Wind.  What exactly does it do?  If I pose the question scientifically I understand that it is the force that moves our weather patterns all around the world which is of course invaluable...if I pose the question personally I would have a set limit of how much force could be used daily.  I would never allow the heavy winds on the weekend.  Especially on special holidays like Mother's Day, Father's Day, or Easter.  I am actually Jewish but thinking about all the sweet children searching for colored eggs in their darling outfits in heavy winds is just not acceptable.  So when would I allow the monster wind storms that are so very necessary to nature's need to move the clouds and seeds around?  Maybe on Mondays.  Maybe on Tuesdays.  

About 6 years ago I awoke to a wind storm that knocked over part of my most beautiful Mexican Elder tree.  The tree had made a bough that arched over my doorway and a dove had decided that would be a perfect place for her nest and babies.  She had already raised her young so they were no longer there but when that tree was laying over my sidewalk I was devistated.  "It's a tree," my husband keep saying...but it was so much more to me.  That Saturday we went to our Shabbat service and the prayer that I read first was...Psalm 147 ...he causeth His wind to blow, and the waters flow..."  Yes. I was startled into the knowledge that I may not know the purpose for the inconveniences that I face but there is another plan that I get to watch unfold if I choose to pay attention.  

My tree has grown back in another beautiful way... Not a bough that covers my walkway but instead holds a grandfather bee who loves to visit every time I water.  I must appreciate the tree in whatever form it is in and I must except wind as a necessary force that moves weather across the planet.  The evening news said that we were in for another gusty day of 40 mph or so... I have to just say...He knows why and I will have faith in Him.  Hopefully some beautiful seeds will fall in my yard and bring boundless blooms.  

Wind.  Good or bad it is what helps us see the miracles around us.

Ode to Dirt

One summer, possibly 35 years ago, my grandmother, Hattie, asked me to help her with home keeping for the weekly income of $5.  With the possibility of earning $35... I clearly accepted.  

She first gave me the task of watering all the trees around her home making sure to fill each "well" that she had personally dug to the top.  Kinda boring but ok.  I can close my eyes and smell the dirt and hear the morning doves cooing and I can hear my grandmother's voice adding more instructions.  

She had a sun room full of plants in different stages of growth and life.  She could take a twig and with her healing hands return it to the strong leafy branch it once was.  Plants were everywhere.  (As was a lot of other stuff but that's a different blog...)

I am not sure when I started my love of gardening but the seeds were surely planted that summer.  Thinking back now  the mud pies and dirt tunnels that I created were not only  the products of a childhood played outdoors.

Fast forward to today and I find myself fascinated with the idea that things actually grow when you plant them.  A seed carries all that it needs to begin a new chapter as long as someone helps by adding a safe dirt home and water.  Doesn't that just blow you away?  Maybe a seed is the first teacher of hope; it is planted with the hope that it will indeed sprout and give it's bounty.  We expect it to happen.

I think back to the wonderful "Frog and Toad" series and the story of "The Garden" where Toad is so distraught at why his seeds haven't started growing.  He thinks they may be afraid of the dark so he brings candles to his garden and reads them a story.  He sings, reads poetry, and plays music for his seeds and yells to them to start growing.  Only when he falls asleep and Frog awakens him does he see the little plants coming up from the dirt.  "Gardening is very hard work!" is Toad's conclusion .

Gardening is hard work.  I recently planted lavender and gladiolus and I am not sure that is what is sprouting.  I am actually thrilled that some little seed has found its way to my yard... 

Yesterday, I helped 40 kids plant some seeds in a "reused" container in hopes to spread some love of dirt and hope.  I couldn't believe how so many of them didn't want to get dirty and their reaction to touching the soil was clearly so new.  Wow!! I am not sure they know where all our vegetables and fruit come from!!  My work has just started if I am to help these kids learn about seeds.  

I often think of my granny, Hattie.  She was garden cool way before it was cool.  I am so thankful for that summer.  Every time I hear a morning dove cooing I can feel the pull of the hose and Granny saying "Pay Attention." I am, Granny, I am paying attention.  I will continue playing in the dirt and choosing beautiful seeds to grow with hope.

I could use $35 ... 

The Happiness Project...in my own words.

I've had  this book for awhile but never seemed to pick it up...and once again I am serendipitously ( is that a word?) holding a new source for authenticity.  I have come across this quote "when the student is ready the teacher will come" about 4 times in the last two weeks.  All in completely unrelated places!  

This Saturday was my second water coloring class at our museum.  I have wanted to do an art class for awhile possibly holding to a thought that I might be a "natural".  Ha!  Until the instructor actually took the brush from my hand I could not figure out what I was doing wrong.  I seem to use horizontal strokes when a vertical stroke would make more sense, I have a hard line that is difficult to blend, I didn't purchase the best paper, and I didn't have an easel.  Oh well.  I began the class thinking this was going to be my shining moment and left the class feeling slightly embarrassed.

"My chapter one is not the same as someone else's chapter twenty," I told myself on the way home.  What did I expect?  

I am barely in the third chapter of The Happiness Project and Gretchen Rubin says, "Enthusiasm is more important to mastery than innate ability, it turns out, because the single most important element in developing an expertise is your willingness to practice."

So there it is.  I will just practice until I make those dang watercolor clouds jump from my paper!  And of course, I just bought better paper.

Started making the cards and then started wondering....Do I drink too much?

Opened my heart and my spirit poured out .

Cereal Box Books....

The Language of Flowers

Morning is ...well, first there's a full pot of coffee, but on this Saturday morning, with my back door open and the dogs running in and out, it's all about flowers.  If you know me already , you know that last summer it was about pumpkins.  I had no idea that pumpkins would spread and take over the whole yard!  I loved seeing the orange-yellow blooms and then the harvest!  But this spring I want to begin with flowers.

"The Language of  Flowers", by Vanessa Diffenbaugh,  a romantically enchanting novel tells of a young woman growing through the foster-care system and her knowledge of the meanings of flowers.  I was so intoxicated by her definition of "moss" not usually associated with floral bouquets as representing maternal love.  The roots of moss are not deep but can overtake and flourish.  I personally have a wonderful mother and mother-in-law,  but for those women who struggle with the reality of estrangement from their mother I find the idea of moss so beautifully encouraging.

I posted a picture of two books; the first being the novel mentioned above and the other a dainty little book that I found at a flea market for 3 dollars.  I love looking at all the meanings for each flower and imaging different bouquets that I would send to my loved ones.  What struck me though was that Lavender, which I am planting today , has a definition of "distrust".  Imagine that!  I also will be planting Gladiolas, which by definition are "strength of character".  Put the two together and possibly the distrust of character is the one symptom women face.  We should never distrust our strength of character but in fact let the lilac color of the lavender wash over us in the pursuit of our strength.  I just looked up Lilacs and wait for it... Lilacs are the first emotions of love. Beautiful.

 Today I will think about the Language of Flowers as I begin my spring garden .

Creative Thursday!

Bookstores intrigue me like no other place.  I will stop dead in my tracks even if it's the local Barnes and Noble!  One particular day I found this book, "Creative Thursday" and my inspiration overflowed.  The author, Marisa Anne writes, "Enter into the spirit of trying" and " We must always be willing to evolve, to be new at something again".   So, I set to that idea and started a bit of artwork.  Eek...as soon as you say artwork someone asks, "Are you an artist?"  Probably one of the hardest questions to answer.  No, I don't dare to compare myself to Mary Cassatt or a Canyon Road Gallery Hopeful; but isn't it ok to get some watercolors and just explore?   Remember the pack of markers you got in elementary school?  Even if you just draw hearts and flowers or dogs and rainbows I bet you will love the feeling.  If you are so  inclined, explore "mixed media" on the internet and go crazy!  Just be creative!  No one has to see your work...no judging.  Just create!! Create something every Thursday. 

Chapter One

Chapter one is probably the most difficult to write.  Mostly because I have a perfect idea of where I want to go with this blog but not quite sure of how to get there.   So better just to jump in...cute shoes first- and go for it!!

"Authentic" seems to be a catch word lately and I have been focused on personally getting "Authentic".  Sarah Ban Breathnach's book, "Simple Abundance," is my source at the moment ( and for the past 13 or so years) to find my "Authentic" self.

It is very true that you can read something over and over again and not recognize the truth you need until the moment you need it.  Truth is a word that can be associated to Authentic.  To truly become authentic; you must open to the truth.  The truth about how you feel about yourself, your family, your friends, your job, your dreams, your fears.  Today I want to understand my truth.  Today with this blog I hope to become Authentically ME.

My First Blog Post

Thumbelina