The water of life–I dreamt early this morning about water. First I found myself in a room called “the monster room” which flooded. Pushing on the crash bar, I escaped from the dark monster room. I carried 3 goldfish–two the regular orange color and one shine silver. Finally, I found a deep puddle to put them in, but when I looked back, they were gone. I asked my self where they had gone. They had returned to the source–the water of life. (I wanted to go, too, but I woke up)
Returning to the source (from Unsplash.com)
Happy Poetry Friday!
And did you know it’s also National Trust Your Intuition Day (and National Clean Up Your Room Day, which I’m not celebrating!)
Thanks to this week’s Poetry Friday host, Elizabeth Steinglass, and congratulations to Elizabeth on her upcoming new book–Soccerverse! (poems about soccer)
And, of course, Mother’s Day is coming this Sunday. I always feel a little blue to be away from my mom and my daughters on Mother’s Day, but that’s just how it is–at least this time around.
Mother and child–a watercolor painting by me
Mother’s and the Water of Life
I woke up after my watery dream thinking about my mom and the fountain of life–thinking my mom gave me life (my dad, too, but it’s not his day until next month).
As a long-time teacher of young children and parents, I think a lot about parenting and the wonderful gifts and challenge of it. (For example, Parenting–the toughest job you’ll ever love)
But today, the water image has stuck with me, so here’s a little attempt at a poem about mothers (I tried not to be overly sentimental, but I do feel rather mushy thinking about my mom because she’s awesome!):
You held me in the water of your womb
for nine months
Before releasing me into the
cold, dry world.
But even after I left that
warm, wet, safe place,
you bathed me in
the fountain of your self
I splashed in the water
of your love
and sometimes your tears
your fears
and anger.
But your love has supported me
like the warm ocean water
in Hawaii
Given me life
nourished me.
What greater gift
can there be
And what better way
to say thanks
Than to become the fountain
for your grandchildren.
Lake Michigan
Thanks for stopping by–and Happy Mother’s Day to those of you who celebrate it!
wondermonger–I thought I made up this word, but Collins dictionary defines it as: a person who tells of or works wonders. Merriam Webster defines it as: a person who tells of or exploits strange or freakish things, but I don’t like that definition.
Snow in springtime–wondrous and lovely
Susan’s definition of wondermonger
Neither of those definitions is what I was thinking of. “Monger” is a suffix defined as:
denoting a dealer or trader in a specified commodity.
“fishmonger”
a person who promotes a specified activity, situation, or feeling, especially one that is undesirable or discreditable.
“warmonger”
So just as other negative words have been reclaimed and used to empower people, I’m reclaiming “monger” and becoming a person who promotes wonder. Care to join me?
More springtime snow–magical!
It’s Poetry Friday–and this post was inspired by–
Carol Varsalona told me about being a wonderologist and Wonderopolis in response to my post on Wonder. (She’s also practically a neighbor now that I’m a Coloradoan)
This week, Poetry Friday is sponsored by Jama at her lovely blog, Jama’s Alphabet Soup. Thanks!
I’ve had a busy and tiring week, so just a little haiku from me today:
Wondermongering
during springtime wanderings
clouds beneath my feet.
And here’s another poem entitled “Wonder.” I learned a lovely melody for it in teacher training, but couldn’t find a recording of it.
Now that I’ve decided to be a wondermonger, I need to figure out how to do it. Remembering to be open to the wonders around me is a good start. And being proud of it, too. In a way, maintaining a sense of wonder is to nurture the child within, to embrace a sort of innocence and openness to life–while still being a grown-up in some ways.
I was just going to write about YES, but then I decided that my “yes” needed some balance–and maybe I needed a little time more time to decide.
A jump rope rhyme:
from Pixabay.com
Also, here’s a jump rope rhyme–does it make me want to go out and jump rope? Yes, no, maybe so!
A, B, C,… etc. (say the alphabet until skipper messes up on a letter.)
(Name a name that begins with that letter)
Name, Name, would you come to tea?
Yes, no, maybe so (skip until lands on one)
Name, name, would you marry me?
Yes, no, maybe so (skip until…)
How many children did we have? 1,2,3,4,5,6,..etc.
Although this is the one I remember from when I was a kid:
Blue Bells
Cockle shells
Evvie ivy over
I like coffee, I like tea,
I like the boys and the boys like me!
Yes no maybe so, repeated over and over until the jumper misses.
Some thoughts on deciding
Sometimes making a choice seems like a jump rope game–we just keep going around and around until we trip over the rope and wherever we land, that’s our choice. I thought about moving out of Chicago for a few years before I actually did it. A little more than a year before, I left my job of almost 20 years and sold my condo–renting instead. I wasn’t sure quite when I would move, but I knew it would happen in the next year or two, especially after both my daughters moved away (which was a good choice for both of them, even though I miss them!)
choosing clothes (from pixabay.com)
Often, I like to sleep on my questions before making a decision. I’ve given myself permission to say “maybe” or “I’ll get back to you on that” if I’m not sure or if I want to say no but I don’t quite have the wherewithal to say “no” at that moment.
I try to listen to my inner voice–or really that feeling in my tummy. If I feel happy about something (and it fits in my schedule), I say yes. Sometimes I feel scared to try something new, but I know I would really like to try, so I say yes and toss myself into the pool, so to speak. And sometimes, I just say no.
When I’m too tired or overwhelmed, or auto-immuny I give myself permission to say no–even if it’s with someone I love or something I really want to do. I also give myself permission to change my mind (ooh, that feels very daring!) especially when one of those things I just mentioned happened.
I guess my whole point is–we don’t get to choose everything in our lives, but the ones we do, we should dare to say what we really want. Yes, no, or maybe so. It’s up to us. Sometimes we need to pause and consider and other times, we just know right away. Choosing when we can helps us to create a life we love and a life where we can breathe.
And sometimes we don’t want to choose because we are afraid of making a mistake. But here’s the thing–we all make mistakes. I’ve made plenty myself. I love this quote by Samuel Beckett:
Ever tried
Ever failed
No matter
Try again
Fail again
Fail better
That’s all for today. Thanks for stopping by! xoxo
Xeniality: Being hospitable, especially to visiting strangers or foreigners. Of the relation between a host and guest; friendly (google dictionary),
and: giving gifts to strangers (urban dictionary)
I learned a new word in honor of the A to Z blogging challenge. Last time I did the A to Z blogging challenge, my word for X was xeranthemum (I was doing the alphabet in flowers)–but I had a hard time coming up with a word for my soul blossoming theme until I came across this word in one of my favorite magazines: Mary Jane’s Farm.
Are you xenial? Am I?
Xeniality is a lovely word–and a lovely sentiment. But I’m not sure that I am a xenial person. If it means inviting strangers into my home, then the answer is definitely no. As a single woman who lives alone, I don’t invite people I don’t know well into my home. Still, when I’m out and about or here in my virtual home, I try to act hospitably to everyone I meet by smiling and saying hello. I do it here in Colorado–where it seems more people act xenially– I did it in Chicago and even in New York City, where my daughters insisted that it was inappropriate (and perhaps embarrassing–not sure). I’m a fairly quiet person, so my interactions tend to be the same–a little smile, a hello, that’s about it.
I found one quote about xeniality by Lemony Snicket (Daniel Handler):
“‘Xenial‘ is a word which refers to the giving of gifts to strangers. . . . I know that having a good vocabulary doesn’t guarantee that I’m a good person. . . . But it does mean I’ve read a great deal. And in my experience, well-read people are less likely to be evil.”
Funny, right?
my new welcome mat!
What does it mean to be hospitable?
I found this great quote from Ruth Soukup (of Elite Blog Academy, among other things):
“Hospitality is not about inviting people into our perfect homes, it is all about inviting people into our imperfect hearts.”
And when I read that, I thought: that’s what I’m trying to do right here in my blog. I spent so many years trying and pretending to be perfect, and now I’m embracing my own imperfection–which in turn gives me the space to embrace other people’s imperfections. And what could be more hospitable than that? Accepting people just as they are and just as they aren’t seems pretty darn xenial to me. And opening ourselves in that way creates a great opportunity for blossoming on all sides!
I’ll end with one more quote:
Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines.
Wondrous: that is to be marveled at; inspiring a feeling of wonder or delight.
Wonder: a feeling of surprise mingled with admiration, caused by something beautiful, unexpected, unfamiliar, or inexplicable.
A wondrous spring day!
A “W” word list poem (more or less):
In honor of spring, which seems to really have arrived–another wondrous rebirth of Mother Earth.
A SPRING POEM IN (mostly) Ws
Winter’s waning.
Water’s warming.
It’s
Wild, wonderful,
Wooly, wistful
Spring.
It’s
Wet, wicked,
Watching and waiting,
long-wished-for
Spring–
When
Woods waken,
Wrens warble,
Willows waltz
and weep green
While wind whistles–
It’s wondrous, whimsical,
and very welcome
Spring.
Wondrous wonder, and wonderful words by Walt Whitman
One of the greatest joys of spending time with young children is the chance to re-experience the wonder they find in everything in the world. Everything is wondrous and new. The whole world has yet to be discovered.
I love this poem by Walt Whitman, which speaks of the wonder and imagination of the child:
There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he looked upon and received with wonder or pity or love or dread, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day . . . . or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phœbe-bird,…
And for some reason, I was also thinking today of this poem–which doesn’t use the word “wondrous” or “wonder,” but evokes that feeling for me. I also like it because it’s about dreams:
The Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light;
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W. B. Yeats
a blanket of stars (from Pixabay.com)
Look for the Wonder of it All
It’s easy to get caught up in everyday tasks and forget to be amazed. But wonder lives all around us–and we can experience it if we open our eyes and our hearts. What wondrous things did you see today? I saw many–when I pause to think about it–I witnessed 2 children falling asleep, about 5 of them pouring water on the sidewalk and painting with chalk in the water while singing a song they made up, lots of smiles and a few hugs, the sight of flowering spring trees and bushes, and of course, the newest wonder in my life–the mountains and today, watching a storm blow in from them.
I hope you have a wonder-full day. Thank you for stopping by! xoxo
Finding home–we all long for a place we call home. Here’s one of my favorite quotes about home–
We are all longing to go home to some place we have never been — a place half-remembered and half-envisioned we can only catch glimpses of from time to time. Community. Somewhere, there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats. Somewhere a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power. Community means strength that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done. Arms to hold us when we falter. A circle of healing. A circle of friends. Someplace where we can be free.
And, of course, what we want more than anything is for our children to find a home–a place where they feel truly loved and accepted for themselves. A place where they can grow and try things out–and make mistakes. More than any physical space, we create this home in our hearts. Sharifa Oppenheimer writes that our job as parents is to carry the question “Who am I?” for our child until they are ready to carry it themselves. We can create a home for questions–a sanctuary for our children and ourselves.
Think about what makes you feel safe and protected. Also, consider how the world looks to a little one. Try physically to see it from their perspective–get down on your knees or tummy and look around. Remember what it feels like to be small and totally dependent on others.
And don’t forget to experience the wonder in everything around you–let yourself experience the newness each day or each moment like our little ones do. How does that shape your experience of home?
Finding home–trying to fit in
I’ve spent a lot of time and energy trying to fit in. Through observation and a mistaken idea of what it means to fit in, I’ve tried to shape myself into what I thought was an acceptable shape.
I wrote the first version of this poem when I decided to give up practicing law and become an artist instead–how’s that for meeting other people’s expectations!
Finding home
I built myself a little box
to live away my life in,
but when I tried to step inside,
I found I didn’t fit in.
So I took a little hammer,
and I pounded on my head
to see if I could cubify
to fit my little bed.
I pounded and I pounded,
but still I didn’t fit.
I needed a place to live in,
but I knew this wasn’t it.
So I put away the hammer,
and the box melted away.
Then I built a house for all of me,
and that’s where I live today
Susan Bruck
Finding home–our body as home
Mother and Child–S. Bruck
In my many years as an early childhood teacher, I observed children learning to inhabit their bodies–to make their physical bodies their home. Especially with the littlest ones, I sometimes felt like I was watching a game of bumper cars and could almost hear them saying–“how do you steer this crazy thing?!)
I often did verses about home with them during circle time. I’ve recorded two favorites–you can check them out, if you want–I’ve written the words out below. (I don’t know who wrote either of them).
Deep the cellar–
Deep the cellar,
Timbers high,
Pointed roof
against the sky.
Drive the nails
straight and true,
this is home
for me and you.
Windows,
shining eyes that see;
Doors that open
to welcome me.
Fire burning
on the hearthstone bright,
This is home
on winter’s night.
author unknow
The mice were hungry
The mice woke up one morning, and they were so hungry. “Let’s find something to eat.” So they crept up to the first floor, but there was nothing to eat, so they ran back down to the cellar.
But they were still so hungry. “Let’s find something to eat.” So they crept up to the first floor, they crept up to the second floor, but there was nothing to eat. So they ran back down to the cellar.
But they were still so hungry. “Let’s find something to eat.” So they crept up to the first floor, they crept up to the second floor, and all the way up to the attic.
And there they found a nice piece of cheese. And they nibbled, nibbled, nibbled it all up. They nibbled, nibbled, nibbled it all up.
Then they scattered the crumbs to the birds. They scattered the crumbs to the birds. They scattered the crumbs to the birds.
Then they went back down to the cellar and fell asleep.
If you would like to see more nursery rhymes, circle songs, you check out my post: I’m a tall, tall tree
My wish for all of you–that you find your home–a home for body and soul. A home within you for your true self and a home where others love and welcome you for all of who you are and also who you aren’t.
You might also like to read my post about Xeniality: Welcoming others to your home.
