I did work for that hour

yep. First I went over the first two pages, which each have three sentences on them, and I struggled with getting the exact right wording, which I know is stupid, because I shouldn't be focusing on that yet. Why do the first two pages, each only have 3 sentences on them? That is just the way it is, and I am not going anywhere near trying to change that. (oh my God, these blueberries are miserably sour. No, that isn't one of the sentences, that is my breakfast.). Actually I like it that way, the pages and sentences, it sets up the rhythm and the echoes.

I then, did the first paragraph (and that is as far as I got). All the parts already existed, I was just gluing them together. But of course, I became agitated. There was too much symbolism in it, or rather too much metaphor. It had all the subtlety of an elephant covered in bells, shaking and stomping, on hundreds of squeaky rubber duckies, and bicycle horns. Not really the feeling I was going for. But I didn't write it as metaphor, I wrote it as actual, as what I saw, it is only now when I read the words, that they mean more. "this, is the whole story, you are telling me everything, no need to go on and write the rest of it now, why bother" the annoying voice, chatters on, in my head.
"It is just rain!" I say back. " It is raining, and this is how the story always began, and it was always spring, and you know it". "Should I make it not rain? Not be this time of year? No, because it is important to the story, so shut up".

I see it everywhere now, the repeats, the echoes, the metaphors. I read over something, and it seems to be saying more than it did before. Of course in stories these can be good things to have, in beautiful subtle meaningful ways, but I didn't put them in there, they are just there, sneaky, and all over the place. I ask myself why this happens, or that and all of sudden the explanation is because this means this, and this represents that, and I am just dumbfounded and "oh" "really?" "has it always?" "because I didn't know". Maybe this is just the trouble with working on something for 10 years, maybe this sort of thing is just bound to happen. (it collects debris and dust and stuff, gets layered on it, over the years)

I wont be able to take them out now, or make them softer. I will just have to work on the draft as the ideas already are, (otherwise I wont move forward at all). I can rework them later. And the story is Echo, and it is filled with them, echo, echo echo. And though I do worry that some may feel contrived, none of them are.

alright, so go exercise now, because, you want to drag Cheese outside later, and you need to do yard work, and, I have set up a huge goal for you today, are you ready for it? ONE, more paragraph! Whew, I know such a big goal, I hope you can handle it.
Don't obsess, make progress!!!!!

honestly woman, sometimes I wonder why God gave me you to work with. Filled me with visions of beautiful cathedrals, and gave me a person who can't measure, lift, or design, can't sculpt or carry. One who is not architect, engineer, or builder. Gave me a mud pie maker to work with.
Why?
Because mud pie makers are dreamers?

Is the only answer I can think of.

the name is not the same

Okay, so I am tired of calling my husband, the husband, and my son, the son, on this blog,
it makes it seem like, their purpose/interest to me, is merely such designation. I would never remember names if I just made them up, and DH, and other abbreviations, feel more like initials, and don't invoke anything for me. So I have decided to use the names we chose for ourselves as animal crossing characters. Since we have used these as nicknames; I can easily remember them.

Bob= my husband

Cheese=my son

Taffy=me

I shouldn't really refer to myself in the third person here, I have been trying not to, as I know others find it nutty, but the truth is that in my notebooks, I often have conversations with myself, as if one person to another. And this blog is my notebook replacer. This blog is a conversation I am having with myself.

Hiding as usual

I have been pep talking myself all morning. I need to do the rough draft, no matter how bad it will be. But I keep dodging, and finding cover. Four books, sit beside me on the floor, each designed, to motivate in a different way. But whatever they make me feel, that aren't a passage-way into the story.

I just finished, one of those, if you could do anything and not fail, question essay things. Over the years, my answer is always the same, which I guess is good, I feel deju ve (sp?) (oh, dejavu) while writing out my responses. I wonder, where is the action which should come with this insight? The point of knowing, is to be doing.

In these responses-
I am always someplace warm (I am cold right now), I can see the ocean from my window, the flowers in my yard. (girl no time, you just wrote the whole thing elsewhere, paraphrase). Anyway, writer, it is always writer. I paint too, that is always there too, but the writing is the title, the definition, where the meaning of me, comes from.

The thing that did surprise me this time, was that, as it said to list many things, that you would do, if you could not fail at them, I found, I wrote, fall in love. If I could do that and not fail, which in my mind, means be successful at it, which means he would fall in love with me too, and it would be a sustaining sort of feeling, then that is something I would do. Strange that it is something I have never done, not even unsuccessfully, it would be easy for me to imagine myself falling in love with someone who didn't love me, but I haven't even done that. My husband thinks I am damaged, broken, unable to feel certain things. I don't know. I really don't. I guess part of me, must believe that, otherwise I would have made different choices. Of course then again, there is more to it, it isn't just, whether or not I am able to. I usually choose to believe that I would probably be able to, but that I have chosen not to.

I am not one to take risks. (the risks I have managed to take, have merely been the result of not paying enough attention, not realizing I was taking them, or have been the sort that go along with breathing, and therefore are fairly impossible to avoid. There are also those risks which one can avoid but only with a great deal of aggravation, and thought, I don't usually bother with avoiding those, that is just too much work. ). My point, since as usual I went on and on for no apparent reason, ..I am not one for taking risks. Not for dreams coming true, certainly not in romance, but (what drives me crazy is) not even for writing. Not even alone on paper. It is hard for me to take risks; but what would I be risking there, a paper cut? And on the computer, less risk than that even. Maybe just that I would be wasting my time (feel foolish). But I do plenty of that anyway, so, so what. No, I say to myself, the risk is far greater than that, and you know it. The risk is the death of the dream. The realization of emptiness (of being empty), or of being filled with crud instead of beauty. Of not being able to pretend anymore, and being left alone, inside with feelings of, I am no more than I am now, I will never be more, there is nothing great inside me (there is no, could be), nothing of value to add, no gift to give, nothing to unfold, to discover, to unearth, all is what is already there on the surface. I must need to feel more, to believe in more, so I pretend there is more. But what if, when I search and dig, nothing of value is found? What will I do, if that is true? To unlock so many doors, to work out so many barriers, crawl through such a labyrinth, over and under, till I get through, to the heart, to my core, and only then to see, I wasn't protecting something delicate, and special, sheilding out the world. I was instead hiding my own barreness from my eyes. (stark, bleak, wasteland, empty). I don't want to peer into such darkness, such a void, and call it my center, the substance of my being. It is one thing, to go through life with, could have been, but was a big chicken, and quite another to go through it with, had nothing of value to offer.

Silly. Then I say to myself. You may very well be a sucky writer, but you know very well that you are not filled with emptiness, or even sucky things (well maybe some sucky things. But isn't everyone?). You may never be able to share the good things, to recreate them in such a way that others can feel them, but they do come, you feel them, you know them, know they are there (and there are scenes and lines, which mean a lot to you. Ones you consider gifts, presents, whispered in your ear. Don't deny that). . Yes, there is murkiness, and some muckiness, in trying to take an idea, from the realm of spirit, and make it corporeal. But it is certainly worth trying. And when you get over, all your stupid fears, you like trying. Like trying to catch a butterfly, that isn't really even there, till you do catch it. You are the only one who can see it flying around now, but as soon as you net it, it becomes something visible, and anyone who looks, can see it. Then you let go of it again.

and anyway, maybe that is the point, to go through the barriers, unlock the doors, figure out the labyrinth, open the door of center, look in, and deal with it, whatever it is, and whatever it isn't, maybe that is the reason why, you feel the call to do this, the struggle to try and write at all, maybe it is so you will take up this quest. And find/face, the heart of the dragon, the dragon at heart. (whatever be its form or feeling). Are you afraid to look at me? To confront me? To deal with me? You'll never be able to come up with a workable life plan, and a strategy to create a life you want to live, if you are always hiding from me. (you will forever muddle about, and feel frustrated). You can hide from the world, I will always let you do that, but not from me, I wont let you hide from yourself.

Don't worry about not being of much value to the world, there are many ways a person can be, and there will always be ways for you to contribute, you don't have to worry about not being smart enough in that regard, you couldn't be of zero value, if your intention was to be of use, of service. (Yes, you would like to have a talent, a special gift to offer, but lack of that, doesn't mean lack of value. It just means that specific area isn't your way to give, there will be other ways).

You are still sitting here!! WTF for? For goodness sake, don't be so idiotic. Ugh! We only have 1 hour left. No, you aren't hungry! No, you can't exercise till after you have done some "real" work. Okay, I'll let you, just do the master copy thing, were you go over what you already have written (safe, easy), and weave it together, straight through, beginning to end, holes and all. I'll let you listen to your ipod, and wear the peppermint chapstick (special just for writing), (it is in the studio, just like all your papers, and boards, go to them). Go.

I live in the words

You will find me there

home

Saturation of color

It is a beautiful day (it is supposed to rain for the next couple) and I worry that I have not spent it well. I went seed shopping. I am giving those shirley poppies one last chance to enter my garden. The package mocks me, easy, so easy, it says. I have yet to see one, and I have tried plenty. My son had me buy zinnias year before last, looking at the photo,ugh yuck, I thought. Now, zinnias bless them, are easy, I soon found I thought them quite beautiful. I planted them agian last year, and added cosmos (very easy), to the list of seeds that I love. Most of my plants, I bought as plants. And they are the only ones, I can see coming up so far. I have planted so many seeds over the years, that I tend to hold out hope, and let the weeds that come, take root too strongly, as I whimsically pretend something I planted is on its way.

The roses. 4 have definitely returned, 2 seem doomed (dead), and 2 seem undecided. The peace roses, my favorites, fall into the undecided catogory.

The iris (what is the plural of iris?), though coming up, look to be in bad shape, I should move them. (to where?)

I went to the used book sale again today. Three measley dollars in my pocket, I had to scrounge around to find 50 cents, to buy the second paperback. I have a check in my purse (for the book sale), my husband gave it to me brokenly, under the sheer force of my will. But I find I haven't the heart to use it. "We'll have to sell the house" he says "I'll have to get a second job". All I want is some lousy used books, I think to myself, ranging from 50 cents to four dollars. There are only about 5 more books that I want there, but surely they will be gone by Friday, half price day. But I can not pretend that I need them. And for used books their emotional price tag, seems a bit high.

For I am just sitting out here, halfway in the sunshine, half shaded. My laptop does get the internet out back (just not outfront. ??). And I don't want any used books enough to go get a job, and not be able to sit here right now. There are plenty of books at the library.

At the booksale, there were some art books. I didn't buy any, but paged through.
Matisse, I liked the photo of him, with the white doves he kept. Something wonderful I saw in it, like he was perhaps odd in some ways, but entirely himself.
The painting, in the book, that caught my attention, was the yellow cow, by marc franz (I think that was the what and the who, I will never stake anything on my memory). Strange that I should like it so much. Such vividness, such saturation of color. Are not you, the you, you were yesterday? Two years ago, I would have thought it horrid. Each day, between then and now, must have been a step in this direction. Each increment so small, I didn't realize I was moving. My liking for certain works of Chagall, starting last year, was the only step I noticed. Always so pastel, and soft, the colors that please me. They could be impressionistic or realisitc ( not abstract), but they always whispered, even while they sang. That is how I have always been. ( as far back as my memory of me goes).

Even the garden, originally full of soft purples, has given way to even more delicate pinks. What shall I do, if I wake up tomorrow, and instead of seeing it as ethereal beauty, I find it washed out and faded? This is a project of years. What if, in time, I find myself filled with a desire to have my eyes saturated in color, with this garden all light pinks and palest yellow?

It seems unlikely to happen based on the past. There are no tones of red or orange (not intentional ones anyway), and no hot bright pink (my eyes, they burn my eyes). It has always surprised me, that I don't care for red flowers. Don't most people like them? Even those red roses, the signature of Valentine's day, I don't care for them. Woo me with pale pink, fading to a center, of cream or light yellow. I like variations, modulations in color, as part of a whole, played out in subdued hues. Red cars, red flowers, seem to showy, too needy, too having to have attention. They don't blend and harmonize with my inner palette.

But what if I change? I mean, I seem so static, always the same, year in year out, but then one day, I find, a massive, vibrantly yellow cow is an object of great beauty (I so didn't see that coming). Well if that happens, then, I will just have to plant flaming annuals, all around the other flowers. And anyway, I am making some different color areas (beds), for that very reason (shades of purple on the one side of house. If I want it to pop someday I can add in orange, or yellow,or apricot, or red. There is an area, I am saving, incase I become interested in red). There is still room. And, I am not changed, I still love the pastel colors that whisper, I just also now like, vivid explosions of color, that dance, and sing louder, and deeper, and with another kind of vitality, a different way of being in the world. But a whole garden like that? That would never suit me. But to leave spaces open in my garden now for such notes, that is something I should surely do.

To one who does not garden, it might seem odd to spend so much time, thinking about color, but a garden is an endeavor toward the future, (it helps to have a vision, a cohesive one), some things you plant this year, wont bloom till next. Sizes, colors, textures, all build on each other to create a whole, that wont be fully realized today (the little tree you plant, wont reach its full beauty till years and years from now). But a garden is also for today, to be enjoyed every year along the way.

annoying people

So my Husband is going to get his oil changed this morning. I get up and get ready to go. He says "I thought I might take our son with me. Oh, you are coming too?" I say "yeah, I thought I would drive my car so you wouldn't have to sit there and wait" he says "yeah but your car needs to have an oil change too". I say "well would you like us to leave both cars there at once?". He doesn't like either idea. Then our son walks in the room and says "are we going to Mc D's?". The husband says "probably not, your mother is coming". So I realize there was this whole plan, I say" I don't care. Do what you want". And my Husband finally shares the plan with me. They will drop off the car, walk to Mc Donalds across the street, eat breakfast (it is 11 now though), and then get the car and come home. Then we will take both cars over, drop mine off, and take his out for the day. "Great, let's do that" I say. And off they go. (why didn't he just say this in the first place?). So I get my laptop, walk downstairs, get my pineapple, and watermelon (hello sugar), sit at the table (this makes the cat very annoyed and he keeps meowing at me with much tone. We are fighting over a patch of sunshine. I think there is room for two, he does not). So I sit down, and..the phone rings, I get up, it is my Husband, it is going to take hours to do the car, he wants me there in 15 minutes to pick them up. Ugh! while I have typed this 15 minutes has passed. I will be annoyed if I drop my breakfast and just go get them, but I feel all tense now and can't relax, knowing I should go get them. Just 15 minutes, aren't they going to chew the food? (oh cat just came back. See grumpy, there is enough sunshine for two) (by the by, he is on the floor, I am in a chair. It really wasn't the same exact space, he left purely on principal.)

Oh, well I gotta go

no, I didn't work on the draft

I bought groceries, made dinner, got boy from school, ate dinner, went outside. It is/ was a beautiful day. Even now, the last hints of light remain in the sky.

I came up with a paragraph while driving, not much, but better than nothing at all. And I was glad to know that the story is finally back into my daily thought processes (two or one s at end?). I can be doing other things, and parts will come to me.

I'm excited about the plants in my yard. The leaves are coming in on the rose bushes.

My husband seems lonely ( I am not an ideal companion), I guess I will go hang out with him, he keeps calling me into the next room to see what he is watching on TV. He thinks the show is funny, but it is guy humor, I don't get it. I really don't want to watch it (it will make me uncomfortable, gross me out, and annoy me, by turn). I wonder if I will be able to sway him into watching something I can enjoy? I wanted to rent a movie, but he didn't like that idea. ( oh well, we probably wouldn't agree on what to rent anyway). He feels strongly that we should watch rogue squid later, uh..it is probably my best bet. Oh he just realized this is already on. Oh calling me again

rough draft

Trying to think of a reason why I can't start it. Did the rest of the boards yesterday. Exercised yesterday. Counted the pages in the binder, where I keep all the bits and pieces I have written so far (which have been sliced up and now make up the boards) and there are 150 pages, that seems like an okay amount of foundation. I always worry that the story wont turn out long enough, whatever that means; what, long enough to burn for more than 20 seconds if I lite it on fire? Long enough for what? I keep thinking, I need to go buy stuff now, so I can make dinner later. I keep thinking I need to leave the house. I told myself yesterday that I could have the first rough draft done by the last day of April (didn't tell myself it would be any good, just that I could have it done by then), and there is no reason why that couldn't be true. None except that in order for that to happen, I would have to do it. And there are so many places, and ways to hide. I am not asking myself to be a good writer. I am not asking myself to spend the rest of my life writing (attempting to be a writer), all I am asking, is that I finish this. Write this one story, out completely, for myself, if only so that I don't spend the next 10 years doing it, a line, or a paragraph at a time (it is like a friend who haunts me. Like a ghost who will not leave, till I fulfill its final request). And when it is done, I should be clear, for whatever is next. That is such a little thing to ask, to expect of oneself. I mean really, come on.

I try to work different mental/emotional angles, saying, all you have to do today, is go through everything you have already written, and organize it down on paper sequentially (into one master copy). But this fills me with so much anxiety, I have written specific scenes many times over the years, and to do this I would have to make decisions, which line is best, which isn't, how do I say it, which is the best way to convey it. And I will walk right (write) up and fall into holes. Hole areas, whole areas where I am not sure how to get there from here, I will have to create the transitions. This of course is the reason for doing a rough draft, to make these decisions, and start filling in the holes, and connecting things. It is just that it scares the heck out of me.

I panic so easily. I was freaking out yesterday, because I am out of certain colors, for the sturdy paper I use to create the boards, and I had to use other colors. I could have gone out shopping for them, but I tried that in the fall, and I can't find this particular kind of paper anywhere, (my Mom gave it to me, and doesn't have anymore of it). So my whole color system doesn't work anymore. I had certain colors for certain things, for different parts of the story, to help me quickly visually organize it (it was quite thought out. It echoed the internal structure of the story, and showed how the story structure contains echoes), and in order to add yesterday's pages on, I had to mess up my system. It made me so stressed, it felt so wrong, and horrible to do. But what else could I do? I don't want to use the lack of certain colors of paper as an excuse for not moving forward.

When I don't know what I am doing, or how to do something, I just lose it. Several years back I started hyper ventilating while making home made pizza dough (and kneading it. You know making pizza), just because, I felt so uncertain, and unsure. I knew it was ridiculous, I was being ridiculous, so much emotion, so much panic, over dough, (what was the worst that could happen? and so what if it did?) but still, I couldn't change the way I felt. It turned out so so, not great, not horrible. But I still clearly remember the amount of self help, and pep talk, I had to employ (like those TV scenes where someone is trying to talk a potential jumper, safely down from a ledge. "its okay" "you're gonna be alright") , just to keep myself moving along, trying to do it, so that at least it would be done.

Okay, so I gotta go, I will try and make myself work on the rough draft, if I fail, well at least there will be food to eat tonight.

ut oh, done with that. Now what?

only 641 words. The husband came in talking, so I got him to turn the light on. I love spell check. I wish I could have it here. I can not spell. I am always using ( ) when writing on computer, not so much in notebook. The dash rules my notebook writing. They are everywhere, and also I only use so many words on a line, breaking up thoughts and ideas, as need be, traveling down the page. (I'm not so much into periods, or paragraphs- just dashes and jumping down a line. a new paragraph is a totally different topic, a different idea, another day), But dashes take too much time for me to type in, so I resort to the more common comma. But I prefer the dash. And I can't use tons of paper and have my ideas take up so much space that it is hard to collect them, so I am forced to keep things on the same line, which changes the flow. And then I don't seem to know where to stop and start, my words huddle in massive clumps. Heaps? And I notice I am not so much with the question mark either (am I too shy to ask?). I am trying to use it more, but the thing is, though I am often questioning, I am not often asking.

It could be I am procrastinating now.
Who's afraid of the big bad draft, big bad draft, big bad draft?
The big bad first draft?
I am.

Actually, I should organize the printed pages- I have plenty of others I printed out and haven't added in either. I need to cut them apart, and add them to the boards according to where they belong, so when I do the draft, everything will already be where it is supposed to be, and it will be easier to make sure I don't forget anything (I already have a lot of boards with a lot of words, it will be a pain to get them all out, and find where this stuff fits in, and find space for it. Seriously I don't feel like doing it, at the moment. Probably not at any moment). Many writers, don't do this, they just write it. For the second draft maybe I could do that. I don't know, to me that would feel like jumping off a cliff, you just go.. who knows where you are going, where the wind will carry you, where you will land (what's the weather forecast? Be it flying and falling, falling and flying. Flapping and flopping). Yeah, that is not so much me, I am freaking out plenty, and I do have a map. I know plenty about the journey already. And still I am so scared. (damn it, the ipod batteries just went).
Time to move on.
Your call, dishes or cut and paste?
ugh..

Am I afraid of my desk?

Why don't I work there? I am sitting here on the floor, leaning against the desk, macbook on my lap, the light is really bad here, day is fading, it is annoying, looking for something (my chair) to prop my notebook on, so it is easier to read and type stuff onto the computer. Why don't I just sit at my desk? Why do I have to sneak up on stuff, why can't I say this is what I am doing, and with purpose do it? All I know is, I'm not moving from here.
I didn't do my research today (spent time watching 360 and Oprah about the..well you know what about), nor did I begin the draft, though that is why I am sitting here now, but decided first I need to type up the last of my story notes. So I better stop doing this and go back to that, before the light coming from the window is all gone. Who knows how long it could take me to actually get up and turn on a light.

alright, so I printed out

the step outline, as far as I got, from October- 30th, and the one from November, 1st, and now added the ones I started yesterday, and the one I started yesterday and finished today, it does have holes in it, and variables (some time line issues) but it does go from start to finish, so I am happy about that. ( I kept trying to do, just a very basic simple outline, but in sections I would start fleshing stuff out) And when you add these to the, mounted board pieces I have of the entire story (both outline parts, and the scenes that I know well), there is sort of enough structure to just dive into it now, and start the draft. (someone is running out of excuses).

What I need to do tomorrow (ah still have that excuse) is to finish the research that will answer the timeline questions, and then I need to start, and to agree that it is okay, to over stuff it, to put everything in it, and remind myself, that I can take it out later, rather than getting all finger tied now, because I can't decide if something should, or shouldn't be.

None of this solves the narrator problem, since I have two main characters, who both want to tell the story (or rather one character, wants to tell the story of the other one), and I am very unsteady about the way I am resolving this issue (it brings up problems), but it is the way I see it, feel it (and it has been that way since the beginning), so I will do it that way, the hard way, and also I will do it the more logical way (which for some reason isn't emotionally appealing) and then I will see, which way it works.

Oh and it is unsettling to have changed the one character's name in the past 6 months, after saying Zaph for about 8 years, to be calling him Koji now, feels odd. I go back and forth in the writing, one line says Koji, the next Zaph. But Koji is a real Japanese name, so it is better, and it means- little boy, which has extra meaning in the story, so it works better, but I fell in love with the character as Zaph, I discovered him, learned about him, with that name. That name still pulls on my heart, this one, Koji, I have to keep trying to feel, have to keep pouring that character into it.

I tired so hard to get rid of Zaph/Koji over the years, but he kept telling me, he was the story. And so now too, I believe you are, but how do I tell the stories of two, with the eyes and words of the one. You carry all the heart and emotions of the story it is true, but Mikiyoshi carries all the plotline developments. Your plotline, is watching. What trouble you give me little one. Little one who will not be left out. Wont be left behind. Heart of Mikiyoshi, heart of mine.

How odd. Yesterday, working on the story stressed me out, today, I find comfort here.

I don't want to

think about Virginnia Tech.,
what happened there,
those kids, their parents, the teachers,
but I can't seem, not to.
It hangs thick in the air around me,
suspended in each particle,
if I breathe,
I take it in.

(I do breathe, and over and over again, it comes in. How do I breathe it back out? How do I let it go? How can it be undone?)

I am going to exercise now, an insconsequential act. I intend to think of nothing that matters while I do it. If I can't stop really thinking, then I will have failed my intention. I will focus on a pound to lose, and a silly story, I know the pound doesn't matter, and the tale will be meaningless, but in that moment, my world will be smaller, and as such, I will feel, that maybe if I do this, and do that, that then I can control it. My thoughts will be simple and easy while I exercise, and I will feel safe in them. At least that is my hope. It isn't anything in the way of ambition, but right now, I admit, it is what I am reaching for.

oh yeah, that is why I haven't been

working on my writing, because it makes me feel like I am about to jump out of my skin. AAAHHHHH!! I did work on the plot outline though. (so far, I would say it sucks) (not really the story so much, it isn't its fault, I sort of like it, rather my not knowing how to tell it, and how I do tell it, that is what sucks about it)

Oh, yes, my aunt made a birthday cake today for A. God, how sad to eat it without her, do you still sing "happy birthday" or do you just sit there and cry.

I can't believe the V- Tech thing. I don't want people murdered on my recently deceased cousin's birthday. (or on any other day)
The parents, the loved ones, the friends. I think 80 years old is too young to die. The gift of time. I always want more time. Why did this happen? I want to know, why, but really there can't be a real why. There is no justification, there is no sense. ugh...

and still here I am over-wrought by words on a computer screen, and my inability to turn them into something meaningful. Well isn't that a cheerful thought no matter what tragedies go on in the world, and around me, I will always be able to feel quite tortured by my inability to be a good writer. Or should that be by my inability to write well. I certainly wouldn't know.

of course, I do admit, I would rather feel anguish over such inabilities then (than?) to in any way, internalize, and truly feel, the loss/loses of all these young people.

Birthday

Happy Birthday Alena.

Today, would have been, (is) your 15th birthday.

I wish you were here.
I wish you could say hi to your mother, in some way.
I wonder where you are, if you are.
You live on inside us, but I hope you live on outside of us too.
I pray God, the universe, with gentle hands, gives your mom a hug today.
These are my wishes on your birthday.
Do you still have wishes? What are they?

The universe is staging an intervention

I can not find any avocados. Where are they? I went to two grocery stores today, nada. I was forced to have an avocado free day. (now it is Sunday, so it has been three days).

(our cat is so into equality- he divides his time up between us (Husband, Son, me). He just came up to sit next to me on the floor of my room. Left the Husband on the sofa, with a blanket, because he hadn't spent time with me yet.)

my moods lately are so food dictated. Wednesday, tried to eat pizza, didn't like it= depressed. Thursday, made this Kashi mango bean stuff (to clear it out of freezer), didn't think I would like it (planned on trying to get husband to eat it) when wonder of wonders, I liked it fine, and ate it = a good mood. Rather unhappy this morning, Friday, as I was once again forcing myself to eat strawberries for breakfast, too hard, too sour, mash mash, add sugar, still bad. Then at grocery store, I actually started to cry, because I have always loved grocery shopping, I think of it as fun, and I wasn't having any fun at all. Nothing looked good, and they didn't have four items I was looking for, and hoping for, and I felt sort of defeated, because I didn't think it would matter what else I did buy, I didn't think I would enjoy any of it. I had just asked my Husband if he wanted me to buy a specific item for him and our son, and he said "if you want it". I used to like it, but I would spit it out in disgust now, something he would know if he was paying any degree of attention (to me, for the past 8 weeks), and something that I find depressing, a store full of food I used to like, but now can't stand; so like the big sissy baby that I am, I started to cry about it (discreetly. No sense in being depressed, and looking crazy). I felt shut- out of the grocery store; like how someone feels shut-out if they become a size too big for the regular stores at the mall. You can still go look at the stuff, but it wont fit you, and you can see people all around you who can just go, and get something and enjoy it, and you have to be careful, and hunt around, and see if you can find anything (scarf, earrings, big top), anything that might work, that might make you feel okay, like the other people. Among my purchases I did buy some grilled veg (pre made- asian bar), and some asparagus wrapped with eggplant (also pre- made). And these items all went over really well= so all of a sudden I was really happy. Don't let me mislead you into thinking I am eating healthfully, I added not only dill, but lighthouse jalopeno ranch dressing to these. And I used the grilled veg to get down a slice of pizza. (and heck, I added powdered sugar, and whipped cream to the peanut butter balls, I ate the other day, in an attempt to make them taste like something, to me)

(my Husband keeps calling upstairs to me. First he tried to get me to go downstairs to watch rogue chimps, now it is wolves and some guy. I'm not interested. But as our child, who is supposed to be sleeping, just wandered in to talk to me, I sent him down. Oh, I just realized he probably ignored me when I told him to shower about two hours ago, and called down to ask, and no, he didn't shower yet. So now he is awake, watching TV and dirty. It is after 10 pm, it is a Friday, but still. I said he should come up, but now I can't get him back up, as Husband feels wolf special is valid reason for being up. Oh good, child just came upstairs, he is however talking to me rather than showering. Off to shower)

I have heard that happiness comes from within, and shouldn't easliy be tossed about by external circumstances, that fluctuate daily. Of course it would be hard not to be effected by true hardships, but clearly that isn't the issue here, I am discussing my trifling daily variances which shouldn't so easily be able to change my mood. I'm saying this because I strongly feel, that whether I am happy or depressed this weekend and next week, will rest almost entirely on whether or not I find something I like to eat. And I don't want my feelings of well being to be tossed about so easily from meal to meal, up and down. I want to know I will be in a good mood, feel in control of it, regardless.
Can I be in a good mood regardless?
I don't know.
And when I get depressed I wonder if I am having food troubles because I am depressed, or depressed because I am having food troubles.

Saturday
I ate 1/6 th of an egg bagel, with butter, on an empty stomach, about 40 minutes ago, and I am in no pain. So maybe I can eat bread products, straight up, again. I did not however like the taste of it, well okay, the butter wasn't bad.

Sunday
(we are all here together, watching the 3rd Harry Potter movie. The boy is watching it upside down and teh husband is half asleep. - Now it is near the end of the movie, they both are right side up and awake)

Cheese today was nasty, no go. But yesterday went fine with the bread, and I made a choice to eat chicken today, just to see. It was okay, so far I am fine (no pain, no nausea, no bloating). So whatever the stomach pain issue was, I think it is gone. I ate the bread, and chicken to prove to myself that I am over my fear of certain foods. Now, I will decide what it is I want to be eating, and eat that. And not have a boo- hoo fest over it. As long as it is no longer a question of pain, I can change my perspective on it, from one of - things I can't eat, to one of- things I am no longer inclined to eat. So my tastes are changing, so what, for the most part, they seem to be changing for the better. So I can eat what the rest of the family is eating, if I want to. ( I just probably wont want to, most of the time)

My husband is complaining that I cost too much to feed now. Well, it is sort of true, as it has been a separate meal from their's, an extra one added to each day. And I do buy things, and then find I am unable to eat them, and often find I am unable to force the boys to eat them either. "Anyone want these cooked carrots? Carrots tasted great last week, this week, they taste like licking a sweaty horse." (not that I ever have, mind you.) He is upset that I want more fresh basil (already ate two bunches this week). I am unusually adamant and inflexible on the matter. (I can never seem to find the right kind for planting in the yard, or on the sill.) Fruit and veg, and herbs, do cost more, so does the one kind of bread I am eating, and so do pre-made foods, especially so called healthy pre-made ones. But everything else tastes bad, right now. (and I am so happy when I find something that I like.) If my tastes stay the same, in time, I will figure out how to eat/ make these foods, cheaper. (like-what kind of basil it is, and grow my own). And anyway, who knows, what I will be eating by June.

My attitude has shifted, and I intend for it to remain so. I will find what I enjoy and eat it, and never mind what I don't (What does it matter, what I liked yesterday?). I am so lucky to have so many options and foods available to me. (as long as I can find, buy, and enjoy something, it's good)

I still haven't resumed typing and working on the book, but I am excited about the story again (which considering the way it had been, I call progress). I see white birds flying everywhere. How the sight of their wings sing to me. How stupid I feel, for how happy the sight of them makes me; asking the question, again and again "why don't you go back into the story, why don't you finish?"

why don't I?

soon the soil will call, earth will be under my nails, my energy will be spent in trying to make plants grow, so the best time for writing is now. Please don't pick up the weight obsessive thing. Don't make my days all about excercising, and numbers on a scale. Yes, you can weigh less, and you prefer to, but then all your days are all about that, your life is all about that, fill my days, my life, fill me with something else. Fill me with words, with stories, with art and paint, fill me with pictures and sounds. I just need to lose three pounds to feel okay about myself, to fit into my clothes well. I want you to write. Writing makes me so tense, and so stressed out, so emotional, I'll want to over-eat, to try and stuff the feelings down. You wont ever be happy if you don't finish this. It is all I am asking of you right now, finish it. Goodness, I am not even asking for you to finish it finish it, just complete the first rough draft. In fact, do it tomorrow, the out-line, step outline, whatever it is called, just as it is, just what you know now, I know where the holes are, write up to, and around them, give me this. Then you can figure them out, and research and fill them in, and then do a complete rough draft. Think how happy you will be when you have a complete rough draft.

please

On Easter Eve

The Easter bunny froze her tail off, hopping around the yard Saturday night hiding (okay placing) Easter eggs. She was mighty glad she didn't hide them any better because it was still very cold on Sunday morning (so cold that even Mr. bunny, who had sat inside watching TV while she had hidden the eggs Saturday night, complained about just how cold it was), and the eggs were found much faster this way (and they could all hop back into the house, I mean burrow).

I actually wrote some yesterday (Easter). I was daydreaming in bed, as sleep was elusive, and one character in the daydream was telling another the story (so this is how I snuck up on it unawares). (yes, I was supposed to be up with the son, doing the inside, outside, egg hunt, but the Husband was still asleep. He was wrapped so tight in blankets, you couldn't tell which end was head, and which was toe. The son would go over and tentatively say "Dad, dad? You know it's Easter?" and no sound would be uttered in reply. I could only be amazed, as the son screams "MOM!" two inches away from my head when he asks me to get up. The mound next to me, did eventually stir, a head and arm emerged, the arm went around me, "Happy Easter baby" was the first sound it made.

- (which is quite good, as the Husband often calls me things I do not like, for example Chubby tuna. Excuse me, what kind of pet name is that? I am not chubby (though of course I could stand to lose some weight, and to gain a lot more tone), nor am I, in any way, like a fish. When I complain, he insists he calls me chumby tuna, and the cat chubby tuna, but it is the opposite, the cat gets called chumby tuna, and I, chubby. But seriously why do the cat and I have the same pet name?!!! And the other night it was bun-key boo-key. And I said "what did you just call me!?" Because for a moment I thought he had called me monkey booty. I call him things like "bear" and "honey bear". anyway)-

So I was thinking about the story in this way, and when the Husband got up, I got up to put in my contacts and brush my teeth. Which resulted in much complaining from the child, who felt I was torturing him, wasting time in this way. I was still thinking of the story while I did these things, so when I finished, I got paper and started writing stuff down before I could forget it. This did not go over well with anyone, the Husband kept coming in and singing and talking to me, the child kept coming in and whining, I kept yelling at everybody that all I needed was "5 Minutes!", and that I couldn't be done, until they let me finish, and I couldn't finish while they were talking, and it was only two pages.

I had forgotten about this, that I often write at inopportune times, and that it causes much infighting, as I will threaten people and chase them away till I get to write down the sentences, before I lose these ideas, these words (these parts of me). There was a time when I would have left the words and hoped they would still be there to find later, but now, I growl, and fight, and protect their right to exist, for now I know, I need them. After the egg hunt, while in the shower, I found I was still thinking and writing, which drives me nuts when it happens, because then I have to worry about forgetting stuff before I am done in the shower, and can get paper and pen. But I did remember. And I was happy. Because I felt the characters and the story come alive before me, and in me, again. I realized how much I had missed it, having this story breathing inside me. Feeling its heartbeat within mine.

Monday
oh well, today not as good. No writing at all. Maybe tomorrow I will type in what I wrote in notebook, that will help reactivate stuff. But I probably wont have time, as I need to clean the house, as we are having company on Wednesday. (so perhaps Thursday, I can do it). Today I have accomplished nothing. Nothing more than being depressed about eating. I haven't had stomach pain in awhile (which of course is good). But nothing tastes the way it used to, it isn't good, and so many things are unappealing. And there are plenty of things that I am afraid to eat. Things that burn, or make me sick to my stomach (just thinking of them), and things I am afraid will bring back those stabbing pains. Even my standbys weren't good yesterday, nor today. I did find another kind of mango salsa that I like though (as they still haven't restocked the brand I've been using), so yeah for that. I'm tired of feeling sick to my stomach. I used to love food. I had some chocolate yesterday and today, but I am not enjoying it, I am eating it, because I remember I used to like it, and I want to enjoy it again. So I keep trying it. Hoping it will change, go back to the way it was. How about now, do you like it now? How about if we mix it, with dark? Okay, what if we mix it with white? What if we add this peanut butter stuff? (what do you mean the peanut butter ball doesn't taste like anything? How can it not taste like anything?) (So what you feel nauseous, you felt nauseous before you started eating. You wont feel less so if you stop eating.) I mean it isn't bad, I can eat it, but it doesn't taste any better than a can of asparagus, it doesn't feel any different to me. And I want it to, darn it all, it is chocolate. Chocolate! And it is my favorite kind of chocolate. And I just feel "whatever" about it. This sucks. Not at all a tragedy, but still it is a bummer.
If I was losing weight, throwing up, unable to eat anything, or still in pain, then of course I would go get checked out, but I'm not. It is just stupid, and annoying. Maybe I will give it a time frame though, since obviously it is sucking up time and energy. Let's see, it has been seven weeks. May 22, would be 13 weeks, that would be long enough to see if it might fix itself.

In memory

-So tomorrow is Easter. We always used to go to my aunt's house, but they moved at the end of August, so we wont this year, which would have been sad anyway, but since her daughter (my cousin) died in December, it is so much worse. So I am thinking of that part of the family and thinking of my cousin. Her Birthday is in April so we would add that celebration onto Easter; it is her 15th birthday. So, I am typing in my memory tribute, that I had on the funeral home site, I waited till just before the last day it was up, because I wanted to say just what I needed to say, and worried that I would sound, I don't know, too sentimental; but my Husband said there is no such thing, as too sentimental when it comes to tributes to loved ones who have died.
I'm going to change her full name here, to A.


Jan. 8, 2007

A memory tribute to A.


Hi A,
I miss you! I'm sitting here printing out all your tributes (you are so loved), and as I look out the window above my desk, it is rainy and grey and all the flowers are gone. I miss their happy beautiful faces, but I know they will return in the spring (like a gift and a promise from God, though things appear gone from us, they go on and continue in other ways, and eventually we will see them again). How I wish you could return in the spring with the flowers. Spring is my favorite season, and Easter my favorite holiday, and we always spent it at your house (easter egg hunt, good food, chocolate). I will miss you most every year, when the flowers return, and you are not among them. But I believe you, little flower, kind and beautiful still grow and bloom, just somewhere where we can't see you right now, this I must believe, for it is all my heart can bear. And someday I hope to grow and bloom near you, there will be sunflowers for you, and pink peonies for me, and our souls will walk together in fields of flowers, and we like them, will bloom and grow forever, no partings, no pain, no sorrow (the end of a winter all our hearts must endure till then). Till then know, that thoughts of you will continue to bloom and grow in my heart (that is where I have planted my memories of you). And from now on, whenever I see a sunflower's sweet joyful face, I will think of you, A, and maybe if sometimes for a moment, in that moment, you would see a sunflower and think of me too, then maybe our souls can still touch.


Goodbye for now,
Love you always,
Tiffany



-I can't believe I wont see her tomorrow. I wonder who will be the first one to cry? I think it will be our grandmother. My mom will try hard with the happy till then; but I don't imagine anyone will cry alone.

While I was reading her tributes, the song Edelweiss, from The Sound of Music, kept playing in my head. That is why you have the bloom and grow, in my tribute. Bloom and grow, in the snow, Bloom and grow, forever, edelweiss, edelweiss....

"yeah, I guess we should visit some New England shore spots."

The DH just said. Finally. I have been asking to, for at least the past two years. The request has been met, with as much enthusiasm as if I had said "hey, lets spend the weekend picking up trash off the side of the road". Why his change of heart? The food network (or possibly the travel channel), was showing a clambake (in Cape Cod). So at least now, I know how to angle my pitch when the warm weather comes.

I have had a surprisingly hard time, getting these people (a.k.a. husband and son) to go on day trips, or stop along the way of looonnng road trips, to different shore locales. Last year I did manage after much wheedling to get them to go to Cape May. My Husband made fun of my interest in going, insisted I wouldn't like it and it would be a waste of time. (I couldn't help but be in awe of the fact that I married this person voluntarily, no one made me, I chose him, and chose to do it. Why, was that again? There are plenty of other people in the world, surely I could have found one other person sucker enough to do it). One year he just strung me along, agreeing, but always, not this week. I was only asking to see it, not go over-night or anything. Cape May is about 20 minutes south of the place where we take our yearly vacation, and where we go on daytrips, or one night over night trips, through-out the summer. So finally last summer he agreed to go. Oh, did they carry on, what a car trip. So much griping. The kid in the backseat sounded like he was being tortured. I am surprised he could look up long enough from his DS video games, to complain so frequently. Oh and they joined each other, in happy chorus, of how nutty I was "but she just has to go". The ride felt long.

Everything was a struggle. There was plenty of attitude. Where are the victorian homes? Eventually we made it to the boardwalk type of area, and were walking along. Husband at least was quieter. The son, not so much, he walked on so slowly, heel of one foot, going down by toes of the other. Verbally we dragged him along. He sounded like the oldest, grumpiest man ever, " I can not believe you are doing this to me! Taking me away from the house, and my room. From video games, and air conditioning, and TV, my beanbag chair; I miss my bean bag chair. Why? Why would you do this to me??? What did I do to you? Why are you ruining my summer?". I tried to block him out, tried to block them both out, and have a good time, but it was fairly impossible. The husband had switched over his frustration now, and was presently annoyed with our son's negative attitude and inability to walk at a speed that was greater than standing still. So on we went, looking in stores, and moving very slowly. I of course, had to pee, but couldn't find a bathroom.

(-it is so hard to focus and type this right now, everyone is upstairs, we are all in different rooms, but we all have our doors open. The son is playing xbox 360, DH on his computer in 'game room', and I am on mine in my studio. So the DH is sharing all his passing thoughts. Example, Sears is having a sale on tractors, he thinks he will use our tax refund money and go buy one, he would rather have a new computer, but the tractor will have the greater impact for making his life better. These jellyfish pictures are pretty good. Dave's girlfriend got sick in Texas. yada yada. The son comes in the room to tell me how much different pinatas cost, and how he will earn the money to get them-)

I would have had a much better time, if I could have interested them in one of my favorite games "what is around that corner, what is over that hill, what does that look like over there?- let's go see", but they didn't want to play. When we got to the end of the boardwalk thing (promenade?), we went on the beach. The son's whining pitch hit new heights. "You like the beach!", I nearly screamed. I was getting so annoyed now, the child loves the beach and the ocean. I mean seriously what gives? I walked on a bit, and sat in the sand waiting for them to catch up. I told my DH it was nice here, but that I like our usual place better, it feels like home. He said I told you so, I said yeah, but now I saw it, and that was what I wanted, and it is good to know we like where we usually go best. Our son wandered around the shore line. I was emotionally worn out, and still had to pee. We decided it was time to go. The child was upset, he was currently picking up little rocks, or shells, and didn't want to leave at all. "Now that there is finally something good to do, now you want to go!". I pointed out to him that if he walked in a forward going movement we would have been on the beach an hour earlier. We stayed about 40 more minutes. We drove around a bit in our car, and then we drove the 20 minutes to O.C. N.J. a place that feels like home, and a place where I know where the bathrooms are. (oh and on the way home, the boys decided, Cape May was pretty nice, and they wouldn't mind going sometime again)

And that was our trip to Cape May.

I have had similiar difficulites with getting them to stop at shore points, when we have driven to Florida. Different places in North and South Carolina, and one year Sarasota. Oh the aggravation, the wheedling, the whinoceros-ing, the bullying, I had to do. But we did go. And they did have a good time, and afterward, my DH would go on and on about how glad he was that he had stopped there, and how good it is to see new places, and basically act like it was all his idea. (which would be fine with me, great, if only that meant that the next time I wanted to go, I wouldn't have to do this whole song and dance routine to make it happen. I am all tired and worn out from the struggle of getting them to go, by the time we actually get anywhere).

Ditto the cross country trip. We were going to San Deigo, CA. He wanted to fly. I don't currently fly. (plus we needed a car and our stuff anyway, he had taken a job out there, we were most likely moving). I pitched it as the great american road trip. Something every family needs to do, at some point. He hated the idea. I said we should get books, and stop at all the cheesy places, biggest ball of yarn, and eat at the dives, that have the good food, that you always see on the food network (et cetera). Finally he agreed, because he didn't want to spend the money on the plane tickets, and then have me refuse to get on the plane (yes, that did happen once before), though not before first trying to go without us, saying he would send for us later. I pointed out here, that I still would not be getting on a plane. Did he want our son and I to travel cross counry alone? The answer was no, so a road trip it was. You should hear him now, about 2 1/2 years later, going on about how great it was, and how glad he is that we did it. Ugh. The thing is though, because of his bad attitude at the time, we didn't get the books, and we didn't go to all the quirky places. We did go to the cadilac graveyard thing in Texas, but that was it, and we ate fast food. (my son looked like a pumpkin by the time we got to CA. And I realized I had to put my foot down, and explain to my husband that our son was not hungry every twenty minutes, he was bored.) Oh, we did stop in Sante Fe, and go to the Grand Canyon, and Las Vegas. But I had to carry on and beg and beg, and push, and so what it is raining, we are so close, let's go, and then we only could stay for a short amount of time. And now, I have to listen to him say, how he wants to go to these places, "You know I would really like to go to the Grand Canyon again, and how about Vegas?". And I just want to scream, if only you would have let us really go and explore these places when we were there, it would have been so great, that was what I wanted. And he knows damn it all, that I don't fly, and just how the heck are we supposed to get there again, unless he takes a lot of time off from work. And if I go through the nervous breakdown of attempting to fly, it will be for clear blue water and beaches, not any sort of desert landscape.

On the way back home. Why didn't we stay? That is another story, for another day, but the DH still drives me crazy, saying we should move to CA. He says this, about every two or three months (he is heavy on this kick right now). But my Son and I didn't want to leave CA, we begged to stay for one more month, it was the DH's idea, to come home (actually he suggested just sending us back, which made me furious), so, I don't say much when he goes on about it now. I have told him, if he wants to go, this time he can go on ahead of us, and if he happens to at some point, make up his mind, then yeah, we will sell the house, and go join him. I can't become emotionally vested in it at all. Plus it messes me up, with my gardening and our house stuff, half here, half there. I don't want to play this game. I am thinking we live here, we are here, and it would take a lot now for me to believe he is serious about any ideas he may talk on and on about. (He flys out twice a year to visit a friend out there and go skateboarding, et cetera. He likes to say, " I would take you, but you don't fly". I'm not sure I believe him)

Anyway, on the way back home. I had to talk him into going to Disney Land. He just wanted to start driving home. Again, me whining, and wheedling, on and on, at least this time our son was on my side, and joined me. They had the best time. We stayed over so they could go to the CA themed one the next day, I had to agree not to go, to save money, so that he would agree to it. ( I don't go on rides, so this was no sacrifice). They left me in Donwtown Disney, I bought over-priced, natural face soap, spent a lot of time in a book store ( I can still remember the books I picked up and read the backs of), and then I went to the movies. My DH and son had a wonderful time. I don't know why it was so hard to get my DH to agree to go.

Now he complains about all the places my son and I went without him on that trip, while he was working. I spent about a week in the house, no car, son and I trapped, than I started to get uppity, and demanded wheels. So the son and I went to the San Diego Zoo, and balboa park (museums), and to Lego Land, and Scripps aquarium, and to all these different beaches. I did manage to get DH to go to Sea World. It is only in retrospect that his voice takes on regret, about what he didn't do. (while there, he worked, and went skateboarding with his friend)

So again, my point is, it is really amazing that the DH has voluntarily expressed an interest in going to shore points, in the New England states. Now if only I can find some angle for getting the son on board. I am not that much into the middle of the country, it is nice, just for vacationing I'm more of a shore person. It is one of my things, I want to go up and down both coasts- Maine to the Keys- Washington to Baja. So, there is more hope now, that "someday" it will happen.

my stomach chapter 29

Well, at least I am adding chapters to something I am writing.

Eggs, nope, can't eat eggs. Feel sick, no eggs.

I know I am not getting 40 grams of protein a day

-Looking out window, snow on the wind. Snow!!! I want flower petals on the wind. They are just beginning to bud and open on the trees. I hope this cold doesn't hurt my (just pushing through the soil) plants.-

I am a little bit disheartened,

There were a lot more words, but it was, as the subject is, boring and tedious, so I just took the first sentence or so of each paragraph.

Daffodils

Didn't they say it would be 70 today? It was all misty and cold this morning, no sunlight. And I was freeeeezing. But I couldn't help but notice that the daffodils, happy little faces, had finally appeared. And in my own yard, the tulips are just pushing through the earth, and many green things are appearing in the dirt (some are certainly weeds, but others are certainly plants I planted). I never know what will and what wont come back, it is all anticipation and hope, from here till summer, as each week goes by and I see who has made it, for those that do return, they come back fuller and more beautiful; and those that are lost, make me sad, and then do I replant, or plant something else, or decide that I shouldn't risk the life of anything green?

It is hours later and the sun is out now, and in honor of those little yellow flowers that will now be bathed in warm sunlight, that I am looking forward to driving past, I proceed.


by William Wordsworth

I Wandered Lonely

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee.
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed-and gazed but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

I will have my son recite this today, it has been awhile since I have had him read any poetry, in the past I made him do this one many times (for practice with his speech), he will complain to be sure, but it is so sweet, to hear his voice say these words. Speaking of him, it is time for me to go.