Saturday, March 28, 2009

Mom and me


My Mom

My mother's name was Cindy and she passed away when I was 26 from a heart attack. She was 55. It was sudden and took us all by surprise. I never thought I'd lose my mother at this stage in my life, before I was married and had my children. She would have been an incredible grandmother. She was certainly one incredibly devoted and loving mother. I was an only child, so of course, I became a focal point of my parents attentions and hopes. more than I wanted to be; however, now I miss my mother tremendously.

I miss what I know she would do.. Talk about her grandchildren endlessly. Share and brag about their pictures. Send them gifts and save things just for them. I feel like my children are missing out on that-the kind of devotion and love that she she was overflowing with.

I do believe; however, that she is with us in ways that I can't even a guradian angel..part of the mysterious Concourse on High.. Perhaps life would not be so good right now without her "protection"..I feel like she is helping protects us. perhaps.. And her influences..perhaps she whispers in our ears the guidance we need in those rough moments..Perhaps she soothes my children in their sleep.

One example of her love was that she read to me every night. I can't say enough how important it is to read to our children. Reading was something I looked forward to every evening. It comforted was and expression her love, her time spent with me and because of that I have loved books, reading, learning..and because I loved books, I found a way to survive/and sometimes thrive in school.. And now, I read to my children every night..

I would like to write more about her in this blog..about her influence upon me..and about how that impacts my own "motherhood".."womanhood"

This is a poem I wrote about her a few years ago:

Squishy Love: Raw Memory
In my memory of
My Mother:


Warmly soft voluptuous
Folds and handles
Sweat and rash
Womanly musk

Jagged cropped to quick fingernails
Striped stained shirt damp from dishes
Short straight black hair wet
Slow wobbled walk
Unhurried speech
A treasure map of side trips

Her eyes fiercely loving
Searched and squinted
Trying to understand
Straining to see


Her smiles like her name full of light
A complete unguarded eruption of joy
Gleamed in her eyes.
Her laugh robust, unchecked and unpretentious

An ox of will
A mission she holds fast
Generations of her mothers within her cells
Drive her onward

Strong, she ascended her damaged brain
Her mind remembered
Despite corporeal commands to forget
Her heart would later fail her
But never her will
Forever her will and her love
Perhaps she hugs me still
In the whisperings inside my soul

Lioness of love
Fierce and protective
In the layers of reign I’d feel overwhelmed
She’d see where I would try to hide
Under my bed or within myself
My childhood basked in it
My adolescence rejected it
…..My adulthood misses it….


Faithfully every night beside my bed,
She read stories
We journeyed together with
Imagined and real characters
A rabbit gentleman and
A spunky pioneer girl
Her low rich womanly voice
Stumbling over words
Soothed me
Into a safe, comforted slumber

Night fears were greeted with patience
She rocked me back into her womb, my refuge.
Her body like a luxuriant fleshy pillow heated my own
In the cold dark house
We snuggled in the company of the gentle ticking of the mantel clock
The humming refrigerator
The crunching wooden joints
As our weight strained the chair

On the couch, the three of us
Our Tradition of Laurence Welk and Waltons
Buttered popcorn and salty tears
Her touched heart would unveil
I fondly remember,
In the shake of the couch
A silent cry, like her unquiet laugh
Unmasked by her all familiar tremor

Her heart open and moved
The child inside
Footprints of who she has always been
Petals opening briefly
Revealing her sentimental heart

Walks, the two of us
Colored lights sparkling over
Snowy cold New Hampshire dusk
The smell of the cold metallic
Snow crunching and melting in my mouth
Memories of the
Quaint New England stores
The white gazebo and fountain
The steepled church -
The Queen of the traffic circle

What lives on…

Now I hold my own children
Against my milk filled breasts and spongy middle

I regret that they do not know her
I ache that I can no longer be a child in her arms
I mourn for my father’s loneliness and
I feel cheated of a mother’s comfort
When I most want a grandmother for my children.

But, in my touch I know it is like hers
And because of her, I can love my babies fiercely
I read to them as she read to me
And walk with them as she walked with me.

I even think that perhaps
Through my touch, they will know her
Squishy love
Someday, in the ethereal
The place where we all eventually
Mesh in a forever embrace

Friday, March 27, 2009

What this blog will be about

I was reflecting this morning about what this blog will be about. I want it to be important, somehow, not just for my own reflection, but somehow be of service to others?? All these years of writing journals I imagined that someday someone would open them up and see a picture of what it might be like to live during this time period. It is an important time to be much is happening, falling apart, building up at the same time. Technology is incredible, but that isn't as important as the spiritual development of this age. What really is the spiritual development that is happening?

I grew up as a Baha'i and am raising my children in the Faith.. How is that important? It feels important to me... But why write about this for a more public medium. Why share my journals? I'm not sure why it might be important. I haven't done anything REALLY important. I am just a ....person..not a really important person. But what I am doing feels important to me..raising my children the best way I know how, crossing my fingers that they will grow up to be okay, happy, contribute to the world in a positive way..

I am trying to live more sustainably...This past year, we have taken some big steps..making bread, trying to buy much less processed foods, choosing organic and natural products, buying bar shampoo to minimize the plastic pacakaging..things like that. That feels important..minimizing our footprint. I have been such a packrat...still am, still trying to attack that pattern and trying to limit our clutter...Not as successful at that goal..yet..but still trying. It seems important, because our planet is on the edge of becoming a wasteland of toxicity.. perhaps that is a dramatic way of saying it?? but it feels like it is becoming so toxic.. all the landfills, all the toxins. That is a blog entry all in we looked for a house to buy and when faced with where will we live for years and years..and what we don't want to live next to??

In any case, I want this blog to be the time capsule I envisioned my journals to be. I want to include some of their entries so that those thoughts are not lost..The paper will not last forever, they will disintegrate over time, and I feels so will those thoughts and feelings be forgotton. This blog will allow me to preserve them a little bit in another way.

Is my life interesting enough to be worthy of this project. I don't know.. Are my thoughts interesting enough to make it worthwhile for some people to read?? I don't know. But we'll see...I'll give this blogging a shot! (-; Well, I'd better check on my kids.. Hopefully they aren't getting into too much trouble right now!

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Eight Years Old 1981

I was born in 1973 in Keene, New Hampshire. I was an only child to older parents. My father worked quite a bit and I spent a lot of time with my mother who was a stay at home mom. I was a little lonely and longed for a sibling. My mother read to me every evening and for awhile we had been reading the Little House on the Prairie Series. I adored those books and the spirited Laura. I idealized her and wanted to be just like her, so I decided one day that I would write a book of my life just like her and this is how it began. To this day, I have continued to journal. I have volumes and probably thousands of pages of my life written down. Some of it is a time capsule of my life and its happenings, my feelings, my ponderings, and a good bit of it is venting my the hearing, non-judgemental pages before me. I wish to share a bit of it here in this blog, edited of course, to protect the innocent (LOL!) -including myself.

Here are my first few pages:

These didn't scan so well..need to figure out a way to make it more readable:

Chaper 1: Sad on the hot water. Once there was a little girl named Melinda and she allways thought of Laura and she wanted to right a book of her life likeLaura. and she is eight. Sometimes it is isad and sometimes it is happy. My mother's name is Cindy. My father's name is David but don't get tricked Because my doll is name David too. Ok Lets begin now.

Page 2: One time I wanted to help my mother blanch some zucchini my mother said yes but I'm am not ready so I cleaned my bookase then my mother called me then I saw the steam it ccarried me I droped the pan with the zucchini and the water splashed onto my foot we quickly put my foot in water it was no use I called the Docter and I had to go to the hospital they said 1 or 2 days then second day they said it was deep so they said I had to have anoperation.

Page 3: then the next day they said I didn't have to have teh operation I flet better then next week came then he said I had to have the operation then I hurt I found out that it didn't hert I cam ehome Friday. I missed my father and mother. I go to school. it stil herts wen you touch it. mom said Melinda do's it hurt wen you touch it. then I went to school I cam e home from school then my father came home from work.


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