pen and inklings

What do dogs have to teach us?

2009-10-19T19:25:00.000-07:00

On Saturday we got another dog. I fought with myself over this decision for well over a year. Why would I want yet another body to take care of? I'm a care taker by nature, by role, by circumstance, by chance. It's what I do. And do well, I might add. But do I need another responsibility? One more to feed? One more to take potty? One more to keep safe? Against my better judgement I have to answer yes to all of these. It goes against logic but not against the joy that a happy carefree being brings into my life. Was this one sent by life and chosen by me to help me understand something about attitude and perspective? I worry a lot. But Sallini Bellalini has no worries. She trusts. I think about all the things that could go wrong. She wags her tail at the tiniest pleasure. She doesn't miss a moment of the day focusing on yesterday or tomorrow. She is where she is right now....happily. What do dogs teach you?

What is your vision?

2008-11-30T15:29:00.000-08:00

Your vision will only become clear when you look into your heart. Who looks outside....dreams. Who looks inside....awakens. Carl Jung

About Us

2008-11-06T15:15:00.000-08:00

About Us

This blog is devoted to my family and friends, to the journey of life, to writing to and for each other. It is a place of encouragement and fun, celebrating all the good things that surround us. Thankful to God for all of His gifts I want to share thoughts, ideas, my heart and maybe even recipes. So, stop by, say hello, leave a comment. Life is a gift. Open it!

I've been married for 33 years to a wonderful man. I have two sons and three daughters and three grand-daughters. We are retired from 25 years in restaurant business. I believe the best is yet to come.

Please Read

2008-11-05T18:13:00.000-08:00

Jenny Rough has a great post today. Stop by. www.jennyrough.com click on roughlyspeaking.

2008-10-26T15:43:00.000-07:00

Begin Today! No matter how feeble the light. Let it shine as best it may.The world may need just the quality of light you have.~Shaker Saying

Art by James C. Christensen

The Writing Journey Continues

2008-09-11T16:36:00.000-07:00

On Sunday I attended the Writer's Faire through UCLA Extension. It was so inspiring. Just being with other writer's, hearing their stories, buying a really cool t-shirt, was exhilarating. That very afternoon, when I got home, things began to fall apart. Stuff inside of me started coming to the surface. Self-doubt like a huge rock breaking off from the side of a mountain, toppled down onto my soul. It has taken me all week to regain my balance, but I think I'm finally able to get up, bruised and bleeding, but standing. The companion of self-doubt, I realized, is comparison. While the rocks of self-doubt immobilized me, comparison was the hard ground I fell on. So many suave, funny, intelligent writer's on panels with microphones, published. I, a writer undercover, posing as an audience, one of many hearts filled with hopes and dreams, looking from the outside to a place I want to be, wanting to articulate well what my heart has to say.

On any journey there needs to be preparation and planning. On the writing journey this equates to going to Writer's Faires, taking classes and sitting down to write everyday, believing in the destination I need to travel to however unknown or perilous. There is a way to get there.

One thing is needed: Courage. Writing is a battle. I will choose my companions carefully.

I Like this Idea

2008-08-17T10:10:00.000-07:00

Here's a chance to win Mary E. DeMuth's book "Authentic Parenting in Postmodern Culture". Just leave a post on my blog and you will be entered into the drawing. For more info go to http://tekemestudios.blogspot.com. Good luck and have fun!

Win a copy of Mary E. DeMuth's "Authentic Parenting in a Postmodern Culture: Practical Help for Shaping Your Children's Hearts, Minds, and Souls" from Tekeme Studios by leaving a comment on this post! Contest ends August 29, 2008.

Perhaps This Is What Heaven Is Like

2008-08-07T20:31:00.000-07:00

Be Inspired...

A son asked his father, 'Dad, will you take part in a marathon with me?' The father who, despite having a heart condition, says 'Yes'. They went on to complete the marathon together. Father and son went on to join other marathons, the father always saying 'Yes' to his son's request of going through the race together. One day, the son asked his father, 'Dad, let's join the Iron man together.'To which, his father said 'Yes.' For those who didn't know, Iron man is the toughest triathlon ever. The race encompasses three endurance events of a 2.4 mile (3.86 kilometer) ocean swim, followed by a 112 mile (180.2 kilometer) bike ride, and ending with a 26.2 mile (42.195 kilometer) marathon along the coast of the Big Island . Father and son went on to complete the race together. View the video by visiting the link below...

http://www.godtube.com/view_video.php?viewkey=8cf08faca5dd9ea45513

This Room I'm In

2008-08-05T19:06:00.000-07:00

The fragrance of line-dried linens gathers in the room and swirls around with the steam of my hazelnut coffee up into the heavenly, high ceiling, white. And down again along the edge of my mind pulling me along the tail end of a dream lost many years ago. The curtains float on drifts of air breathing in and out. Deep purple shadows cast on a periwinkle blue wall have come to delight me, to call me on to an unknown destination of....artist?....writer? I don't know. But here I sit and wait and write and wait, pen poised, waiting for the hovering words and pictures to circulate.

A Cabin in the Woods

2008-07-28T17:55:00.000-07:00

Solitude. Recently I've met someone who has a cabin in the woods and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind. The thought of getting away into the quiet where I can be alone sounds refreshing and relieving. Since I can't go to a cabin in the woods right now I try to practice solitude here at home. I sit down with my paper and pen, out in the warm air of the garden, hoping to empty my mind of it's busyness. I try to get to a place of tranquility and calm. I want to leave the static in me behind. I want to create open space where I can get some perspective. Where can I find restoration and rejuvenation? I listen. The curtain draws a breath in and then out. I do the same. Breathing in,"I forgot to."..............Breathing out,"I have to"..............the curtain knows something I don't. Being.

I realized today that even if I go to a cabin in the woods I won't find peace because I'll still be with my anxious self. There's no where to run. This week I will spend time catching my thoughts, the ones that rob me of hope and faith and love and peace. I will say to myself, "breathe." I will ask myself, "What is it that rejuvenates you?"

And now I ask you, dear reader, what is it that rejuvenates you? Where do you find solitude? What restores your soul?

Leo

2008-07-16T14:18:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my friend found a little dog. She called me to tell me that he looked exactly like my dog, Henri. Henri is a Bichon-poodle. She said that he was under a car and she couldn't get him out.

I had just spent the morning lamenting over the fact that I need to have a schedule. But even when I have a schedule, I thought, there are so many distractions that make it difficult to keep on track. I had just sent my husband off to the store with his mother, who is visiting, in hopes of writing a schedule while they were gone.

"Oh", I said. "Poor little guy". I remembered when Henri climbed a brick wall when he was a puppy, ran off into a busy intersection and was rescued by a lady who called me because he had his tags. "Does he have a tag?"

"I don't think so", she said. "He growls at me when I put my hand toward him. I'm afraid he'll bite me if I try to get him out".

"Try giving him some meat or cookies", I said.

A few minutes later she called me back to say that he wasn't interested in food. He just stayed in one place looking at her.

"Do you want me to come over and help you?" You don't have time to do this, I thought. But neither did I have any clear idea of what actually needed to be done because I hadn't written my schedule yet. It wouldn't take that long. I would come right back. The dog's little face was now in my heart. I saw him shaking underneath the car, white fluffy hair leaning hard against a hot rubber tire. I had to go.

My friend was waiting on her front porch, her chin resting on her hand. We were so happy to see each other and gave a long hug. She only lives two miles away. I have known her for 32 years and was her maid of honor. We are so comfortable with each other and enjoy each other's company. When we haven't seen each other for a long time we just pick up where we left off. But our busyness, our schedules, my preconceived idea that I must have a schedule and stick to it, can keep us from life's valuable interruptions, like friends dropping by. Now there was a need.

I got down on my hands and knees, talking gently, trying to coax the dog out. I brought some lamb meat with me, but he just stared at me. He was trembling and looked so sad. He barely fit under the car, so oily dirt turned his fur black on top of his head. My friend decided to get a broom and push him toward me. He got really mad and bit at the straw, made himself heavy in the grass but she just kept pushing. As soon as his head was out I began petting him. He just laid there on his side. I pulled him out a little further, kept talking softly and could tell by the way he was laying that he had a sweet disposition, much like Henri.

. I picked him up and held him close, he put his head under my chin and stayed perfectly still. We brought him into the house to calm him down and earn his trust. Soon my friend's husband had him checking out his new environment, maybe his new home. My friend had always said that only if she could have a dog like Henri would she have a dog. I thought maybe he was a gift to her. My friends wanted to take his picture and put it around the neighborhood. They looked in the Lost and Found for possible adds. They also considered what his name should be.

My friend's husband had just opened the screen door when we heard children yelling from a car window. At that moment the dog's ears perked up and he ran out the door. My friend's husband tried to stop the car but it went by too fast. So he jumped in his car and went after them. The dog stood in the middle of the street, ears hopeful. He didn't run from me when I went to pick him up. "He's so happy now", my friend said.

A mom and two kids pulled up. "Leo!", they said. I handed the dog to the little girl. The mom thanked us so much. They were neighbors who had not met before. And this was the path they took to walk the dog, so Leo was probably just taking himself for a walk.

Old friends got together, a little dog was rescued, a family was spared a loss and new friends were made all because I left my time to make my much needed schedule. I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Let's Do This Again

2008-07-12T07:13:00.000-07:00

My daughter, Joy, and I took my niece and nephew to the beach last night for dinner. They were so excited. It was 5:30, the sun was still up, it was warm and the parking lot was full. We crossed the busy bike path, down the boardwalk to the sand.

"I don't like sand", John said. John is eight. Sahar is thirteen.

We spread out our big square, striped towel. Set down the pizzas, the paperbag with salad, salsa and chips and the coldbox of drinks. Joy and I already had our shoes off. But John and Sahar decided to keep theirs on. We ate and talked while the seagulls began to gather around us, their eyes on our plates.

"I want to get out of here", John said. "The sand is in my shoes".

"Take your shoes off", I said.

"Are you kidding me?", He said.

"Okay leave them on", I said.

Joy and Sahar went down to the water to find sandcrabs. Sahar had taken off her shoes but not her socks. I suggested John go with them to see the crabs. At first he said, "no way". Then two minutes later, "oookkaayy, I'll go". He took off his shoes and ran down to the water.

The seagulls had now surrounded our towel, cautiously moving closer and closer. One snatched a pizza crust and ran away. Another drank coke from a cup. The boldest of the group grabbed the whole pizza box with his beak attempting to take it with him down the beach. "Go away", I shouted chasing them. John stood there looking at me. "I told you we better get out of here", He said.

"Let's get our feet wet", I said.

"My mom's not going to like this", He said.

"She won't mind", I said. "It will be fun".

We stood at the edge of the forbidden sea. The water came up and touched John's toes. He squealed and said, "that feels so rad". He started to relax. Our rolled up jeans got wet.

Sahar said, "Let's go in, let's go under a wave".

I had on my best jeans, a white linen top and I thought this seemed like such a childish thing to do. But something else within me said, "It will be fun".

"Okay", I said. "Let's go!" I counted to three, we ran out toward a breaking wave and went head first into the cold, salty foam. John, still on the edge, was jumping up and down, caught between wanting to join us and wishing his clothes were still dry. Sahar wanted to go out further, she wanted to dive into every wave. I felt so refreshed and renewed. A seagull sat perched on top of all our belongings as though trying to get a better view of what was going on out there. On our way in Sahar splashed John with water. He told her to stop but started laughing. She put her arms around his waist and dunked him from head to toe. He didn't want to leave.

Neither did I.

A Monday That Did Not Act Like A Monday

2008-06-09T18:12:00.000-07:00

I didn 't know the name of this day. It definitely did not feel like Monday. My friends came for lunch at 11:30 and stayed until 5:30. We sat in the patio under the umbrella. The shade stayed over all the chairs except one corner. A breeze blew only slightly, only when it was beginning to be needed. We ate, talked and drank iced tea. How refreshing to just be without time constraints, with nothing in our hands to tend to. I'm not very good at this though, just sitting, just being. I found my foot tapping or my hands wringing as though I needed to be somewhere. My mind kept drifting off, away from the conversation to things I had not done. Afterall it was Monday, a day of getting the week off to a good start by getting as much done as possible. Each successive day would have less to do because the bulk had already gotten done on Monday and Tuesday. Then Wednesday, usually a medium, inbetween day, Thursday, a lighter day and Friday down to almost "do whatever you want to do" day. Saturday, gardening day. Sunday, church.

We were all so relaxed and happy that we didn't want the time to end. But the sun went behind the clouds and the breeze cooled into gentle but firmer reminders that there were other things calling. We went inside, hugged and said goodbye.

Relationships are so much sweeter and meaningful than all the "stuff" I have to do. I'm reminded to protect this time with my family and friends. The "stuff "will always be there, those I love may not.

In the Market Place Without a Shirt

2008-06-06T18:40:00.000-07:00

An Artist risks vulnerability. It is kind of like taking off your clothes in front of strangers, although the clothes I'm talking about are the ones that cover the soul, the true me, my life as it really is. Why should this be so difficult? Why would I want to cover up my true self, my heart? Is it more important to be accepted and approved of by another than to be who I was created to be? Very often, yes. Acceptance, approval and fear: that is why I cover up my true self. In fact, acceptance and approval and fear, because I hold their hands say, "you don't need to know who you really are. You just stick with us and we'll make you into who everyone wants you to be." Hmmm, that sounds like a line from Pinnochio. I may never measure up to someone else's standards or expectations. What about my own standards and expectations? Do I know what they are? They are more important you know. Can I learn to be confident in who I am? I mean for real? What if I know that this is what God has called me to? What if I know this is my gift?

When I was 7 or 8 I went to the market in shorts with no shirt. I was rather chubby and had no business in public without a shirt! I didn't even think about wearing or not wearing a shirt to the market. I have no idea why I did this or why my mother allowed me to do this! Suddenly I became fiercely self-aware and it literally sent all my blood to my face when I realized that everyone else had a shirt on except me. Now as an adult I know I can't go to the market without a shirt, at least not if I don't want to get arrested. But this same fear, this same self-awareness has the power to stamp out any fire of passion, any voice that wants to tell her story, when I realize I'm exposing myself to the public.

Maybe someone will read something that I have revealed about myself, a truth I've told and say, "I do the same thing or I'm like that or I have one of those." C.S.Lewis said, "we read to know we are not alone." This is why I write.

Watermelon Seeds

2008-06-04T20:51:00.000-07:00

Saturday is my gardening day. I usually water all the houseplants and then make my way outside to see what needs my attention. Today it was the front yard. I have been gone a lot and completely forgot to tell anyone that my pots needed to be watered. So when I came home all the plants were dead. I was disappointed mostly in myself for neglecting this detail. But as my friend said, "out with the old, in with the new". I took that to heart and decided to move on.

With my trowel in one hand and a clump of allysum in the other I heard my husband call me from the backyard. He was getting ready to go to the bank today instead of his usual trip on Monday and needed the deposit slips, now. I patiently washed my hands, found the deposit slips and was on my way back to my project when I saw two little packets of watermelon seeds on his desk. He saw me looking at them and asked, "when are you going to plant these?"

I said,"I'm not. Watermelons take up too much room, they need full sun, we don't have the space."

"You know what?" he said , "You make me so angry sometimes. Look at this!", he pointed to the Austrailian Tree Fern growing tall and beautiful. "What good is it?"

I said, "Why don't you rip it out and plant watermelons?"

I grabbed the packets off his desk and said, "Okay, fine". I shook the seeds from their packets and let them fall where they would among my roses blooming magnifincently alongside fragrant geraniums. I continued on with my Saturday gardening . A few minutes later he appeared on the front steps. Natural linen pants, black shirt, clean shaven and said, "This whole garden is yours. I don't say anything about what you do here. Now I'm asking for one thing and you say "no". Don't you think that's selfish?" I thought about that. Yes, it's selfish. But aren't I the one who takes care of this garden? Am I not the one who has carefully considered where and what to add and take away in order to make it beautiful? And now impulsively you want to add watermelons?

Yet somehow I understood his point of view. Would it be that terrible to add watermelons that could potentially take over the entire backyard? Since these days I've been thinking about life and it's brevity, I decided that I rather let my husband, who I love, enjoy the prospect of watermelons than to fight with him and perhaps grow bitter against him.

Sunday morning, before going to church, I went out and gathered all the watermelon seeds I could find that I had broadcast across the garden. I carefully placed them in trays in seedling soil. There they will sprout. Then I'll decide where to plant them so they spread out and have everything they need to bear fruit.

I said," I'm sorry". This was humbling and painful.

"Come give me a kiss",he said.

"You have to meet me half way", I said.

He took the tiniest step forward. I demanded half way, and then we kissed.

Whether or not the watermelon seeds grow and develop he has become a part of my garden.

We are in this together.

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January 06

Welcome to pen and inklings!

2008-05-25T15:07:00.000-07:00

Small ideas in small spaces means to find in the seemingly insignificant, ordinary, dysfuntional moments of life, the extraordinary, the holy and the divine. When i plant a seed and it sprouts, grows, flowers, dies and hands me a pod full of more seeds, i'm astounded! i see the seed as a metaphor for life and even for ideas. Everything that lives began with a seed. Some seeds are so small i wonder how anything could be inside. But given the right conditions new life emerges. This also speaks to me about my own seedling efforts in art or writing this blog. i don't have to know everything to begin. In fact, when i just go ahead and jump in, instead of thinking so much about something, that's when some beautiful, surprising things happen.

So, i hope my blog will be a place of inspiration. A place of sharing ideas about art, writing, faith, God and my ordinary, daily life.

i

The dot above i is a seed.

An idea waiting to be

Thought,

Nurtured,

Loved.

An idea is a fragile thing.