Back to Business

I'm home - finally - and getting back to the business of looking for work (that will have associated income) and following through with the legal processes we have on tap.  It was an interesting trip home.  We drove through very heavy rain for most of Sunday and then got stranded when we were only 30 miles from home.  The winter storm that moved through here had the roads in impassable condition even for this woman who thinks she can drive through anything!  (I don't have the same confidence about the other people on the road so I consider it the better part of wisdom to know when to just get out of their way.) 

So the kids and I spent the night in a Hampton Inn where they were dismayed to find NO Cartoon network on the in-house cable system.  Image the oversight!  Those corporate types should be ashamed. 

I had packed their k'nex to entertain them on this trip though so they settled in to build robots and space aliens while I was able to lie back and relax.  I can think of worse ways to spend the evening!  Thank you for all your prayers and well wishes for our safety. 

Terri     

Out of Time -

Do you ever have a day or an hour that seems to be something "other" than regular time?  You do things, see things, feel things and say things that just don't quite fit with your normal life?  I've had such a weekend. 

Natasha took me shopping.  And oh, what shopping it was.  I won't tell you all the scandalous details, but she began by saying "You have to come in this store and see these panties, they would make even the most boring butt interesting ..."  My poor kids.    They did the typical male thing, sat in the chair and rolled their eyes at the antics of the women. 

We tried to accommodate them too, we thought it would be fun for them to go ice-skating.  Well, Tucker made it around the rink once mostly hanging onto the wall and Natasha.  Michael got onto the ice and then had a full scale panic attack.  So he and I sat out the experience.  We were somewhat redeemed when we took them for ice cream instead.  But then we were back to the "girl" stuff and they were back to long-suffering male mode. 

After reading about it for years, I had to see if it's true that the Waffle House here is some kind of Bermuda Triangle where interesting people are sucked out of their normal time and existence for the entertainment of the diners.  Well, perhaps that's not exactly the way it happens, some of the interesting people transported to the WH are the diners.  Perhaps it would be better described as a phenomena in which entertainment and writing fodder are arranged for Natasha's benefit.  The kids were pretty sure they wanted to go to MacDonald's but well, Natasha was driving the truck and I voted for Waffle House, so they were out of luck.  They sulked.

Oh, they sulked in a fine sulky fashion.  When it came time to order, they said, "No thank you, we aren't hungry."  Natasha and I ordered our food.  And talked.  And while we talked and they sulked, the smells of hash browns and grilled cheese began to melt their cold little hearts.  Surreptitiously, Michael reached for a menu.  He didn't SAY that he changed his mind and wanted to order, he just started waving his fingers over a particular menu item as though he could charm it off the paper without having to lose any face by admitting that maybe he really WAS hungry after all.  And he was hungry.  We had walked him all over the mall, all over several other stores, plus, there was the adrenaline rush from the panic attack working on his system.  He was hungry.  We knew it, he knew it, and we just waited him out.  Eventually, he ordered a dinner. 

Once Michael caved, Tucker couldn't hold out much longer.  And surely enough, faster than the speeding waitress could offer advice on the proper behavior of children when they had someone offering to buy them dinner, he had expressed his desire for a grilled cheese sandwich with a pile of pickles on the side.  Natasha approved that order.  Harmony was restored, we thought.  Then we heard from the cook - WHAT DO YOU MEAN CHANGE THE ORDER AGAIN!!!  I'm really glad that the cook at Waffle House does his job right there where you can watch him. Because I'm pretty sure if he'd been back where he could work unseen, he'd have spiced Tucker's food with something less savory than pickle juice. 

See what I mean - it isn't that people are transported there for the benefit of the generic diner, it's all to give Natasha fodder - because last night my KIDS were the entertainment. 

They weren't the only entertainment in the place.  The waitress was full of interesting advice and a couple who came in just before we left must actually live at that address.  They started taking off their shoes, he pulled out the newspaper, and the cook didn't have to ask them what they wanted, he just began to prepare their "usual." 

When Natasha came to my house, I cheated.  I kept the kids off the Nintendo for two weeks prior and then the night before the big weekend, I rented them a new game.  They disappeared and didn't come up for air.  This time, she's gotten much more the flavor of what they are really like.  And subcw Tucker has only kicked her a half dozen times, so I think it's going pretty well ...

I'm headed home today through some rainy and possibly freezing conditions, so you guys think happy, warm safe thoughts about me okay?  Time to get back to regular time. 

Getting to Know Me

It's Qenya, the language of the Elves written in the frame of my banner.  Now I know what the words say.  "Welcome to the Evolution of Quiltnmomi."  I had a wonderful day yesterday, it wasn't exactly as I'd planned, but it was wonderful.  The boys and I drove from Indiana to Atlanta.  I am writing this blog using a machine with a name - and if you know who "Loocious" is then you know where I am.  If you don't know who "Loocious" is, then it won't mean anything if I tell you.  How's that for cryptic? 

On my way down through the Tennessee valley, I got a phone call.  (Have I mentioned that I LOVE it when I'm driving and my phone rings?  I'm dangerous, I answer it even if I can't pull over to talk.   )  This time it was Tina Cantrell.  I had never spoken with her before.  But I was hoping, and we've worked it out, that on my return trip, I'll be able to meet with her for at least a few moments.  She's just about at the halfway point of my drive and a good stopping place for the kids to have lunch so they'll be busy for a few minutes and I'll have the chance to meet someone who has come to mean a great deal to me.  Tina does the design for my Xanga site and has an uncanny ability to take my vague requests (can you make it look elegant and use lavender ... ) and interpret them into exactly what I had in mind even though I couldn't put it into words. 

She is just as wonderful on the phone as she is on her site.  Real and funny.  We laughed and talked, and then after she double-checked some map information, she called back and we did it again.  I can't WAIT to meet her in person and exchange that hug we've been promising each other for months. 

Meeting people that I've first met here at Xanga isn't like meeting strangers.  It's like the experience of the blind man when the bandages come off for the first time after the surgery that restores his sight.  The experience I've had with my other senses - mental, sometimes hearing the voice over the phone line - is expanded a hundred fold when I can see the face, return the smile.  It's a pleasure that I wish for all of you.  That you are able to close the miles and meet your Xanga neighbors in the "real" world. 

It's been a constant source of wondering, of interesting speculation how well anyone could know me through this site.  It's only words after all.  And carefully chosen ones at that.  A narrow topic per blog.  How well COULD anyone really KNOW me from this.  A lot better than I would ever have expected when I started this journal.  People who've been reading me for any length of time respond to my blogs with advice, concern, questions that reveal that they see more than I realize I'm showing.  You know how I think, how I feel about things.  You know what makes me laugh, cry, and blush.  You know what hurts me and what exhilarates me.  You know me better than some people who've known me in the "real" world for years.  You know that I'm evolving. 

I have some good news.  After I wrote the other day about my bitter disappointment over the mix-up with the application form for substitute teaching, I received it back in the mail.  So I've resubmitted it with the proper forms and I still have hope that will be a part-time job for me soon.  I really want that because it would have my schedule the same as my kids' so I wouldn't need to arrange day care.  You know, it was hard enough putting my babies in a SCHOOL, the thought of day care arrangements is more than I'm prepared to handle.   

Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.  I  need my friends' support. 

Prayer of a Heretic

On the wall of my attorney's office there's a prayer.  Matted and framed and written in lovely calligraphic hand, I look at it every time I go there.  I read it while I wait.  I wonder how close or far I am from the ideals it suggests.  And I think about prayer. 

I remember when the subject of prayer first captured my imagination.  Some years back, I was invited to teach a class on prayer.  Of course, I already had my own perspective on the topic, but I take teaching very seriously.  I poured through a dozen or more volumes written by men and women on prayer through the ages. 

I had the idea that I'd be explaining how to pray, kind of a Prayer for Dummies thing.  As I studied and prepared, I was struck by the conviction that most of us (okay me, for all you new readers, feel free to assume that when I say us I mean me because really this blog is all about me), anyway that most of us have an inadequate understanding of what prayer is.  I have a friend who says that prayer is nothing more than a superstitious petition.  More than one person has said that the fact that so few prayers are "answered" is proof that God does not exist.  After all, if God exists, surely He would respond to the pleas of the faithful if He were at all able. 

Before I began my notes, my own idea of prayer was that it was a conversation that I would enter and leave.  I'd talk to God at various times convenient to my schedule, and then the prayer would end.  I thought of prayer as primarly a mental activity, one in which my goal was to phrase my words as precisely as possible.  I learned to pray by the ACTS model (Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, Supplication).  Oh, and always "in the name of Jesus."

I hope that I haven't given the impression that I now dispute that these are legitimate elements of prayer.  It's just that my original understanding was inadequate to cover all that I began to learn about prayer.  Prayer isn't ulimately about talking to, or even talking with.  To pray is to relate.  When I am able to open myself to this understanding of prayer my entire concept, my entire being changes. 

See there is an aspect of prayer that is verbal just as there is an aspect of me that is verbal.  And on this note, I'll go ahead and tell you although I'd appreciate it if you'll keep it just between us, that sometimes when I pray verbally, God answers me the same way.  Mostly, He tells me jokes.  Sometimes He makes me groan because I've discovered that God as He reveals Himself to me is the Master of the Pun.  But my relationship with God is much broader and deeper than words.

Because relating to God is at the basest level the process of orienting myself to God, everything I do is prayer.  Everything I think is prayer.  Everything I am is prayer.  Everything about my life is prayer.  No wonder the Apostle Paul said, "Pray without ceasing" ceasing to pray is the same thing as ceasing to live.  Some of my prayers are laments, some are celebrations, some are quiet being in the Presence, and some are actual conversations.  Now remember you aren't supposed to be telling on me, I have enough on my plate without having to spend the weekend in the hospital. 

Whenever I say your name, where ever I walk, whenever I lie down to sleep, what ever I raise my hand to do --- I'm already praying. 

and the prayer from my attorney's office:

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself that I am growing older and will some day be old.  Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion.  Release me from craving to straighten out everyone's affairs.  Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy.  With my vast store of wisdom: it seems a pity not to use it all, but Thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends in the end.

Keep my mind free from teh recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point.  Seal my lips on my aches and pains.  They are increasing and love of rehearsing them is growing sweeter as the years go by.  I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoythe tales of others' pains, but help me to endure them with patience.  I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others.

Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.  Keep me reasonably sweet, I do not want to be a saint, some of them are hard to live with, but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the Devil.  Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places and talents in unexpected people, and Gove me O Lord, the grace to tell them so.  Amen  (17th Century Prayer)

Momi in the Hood

Quiltnmomi is BACK!  And I have RESET my password.  LOL.  Thank you to my friends for keeping my site lively while I was in internet no man's land.  I'll be back later today to write a real blog.  As you may have guessed, being offline for several days, I have thoughts piling up that must be expressed or my head will explode. 

Hey "Matrix" Dude -

I was here first!

/Begin Syntax: [ English]/

User:

We are the Matrix and we know. We know by the current syntax and the element offered that the user currently accessing this space previously occupied by the user known to us as quiltnmomi is not one and the same. It is apparent that this site has been hacked by an unauthorized user. Ergo, this new user is using this space as a redirect to her site and this is most unacceptable. The user known to us as quiltnmomi has reserved this Matrix space for a higher function than redirect.

            It is our understanding that user quiltnmomi has found herself between programs and is in a dead zone. Agents of the Martix have been dispatched to recover her program and re-interface her program back into the primary category: Internet, midlevel category: weblog community, Sub category, Xanga weblog community, User File: quiltnmomi. This upload will be completed by the mainframe as soon as electronically possible.

            Any unauthorized use of this designated space, quiltnmomi, is expressly prohibited by the Architect. Agents have been dispatched to neutralize the rebel hacker and unauthorized user of this field of code.

There is, and always has been… a spoon.

Terri is having some major computer problems.  It started out as just an intermittent connection issue but by the time tech support got finished (3 & 1/2 hours later) her entire operating system had failed.  She is waiting patiently on new software disks to arrive by snail mail and asked me to post an update to let you all know what was going on.  She said it will be about 5 days before she will be back online.

5 days ........ hmmmmm ......... wonder what I can post in the next 5 days - the possibilities are practically endless ...... you will just need to check back and find out, and in the meantime - visit me!

Cheryl

(for those new readers - I am quiltnmomi's sister)

Life with Boys - Part II

This Evening:

Michael: "I'm gonna give you a wedgie!"

Tucker: "No, you're not."

Michael: "Yes, I am"

Tucker: "No, you're not."

Michael: "How are you planning to stop me?"

Tucker: "I'm not wearing any underwear."

Michael: "MOM!!! Tucker's being gross, he's not wearing any underwear!"

Tucker: "MOM!!! Michael's tattling again."

I sent them to take a bath.  I should have thought that one through a bit more.  They now believe themselves too old for Mom to supervise their bath.  Okay, that's fine.  I'm standing outside the bathroom door. 

"Guys, it sounds like you've run plenty of water."

"No, Mom the tub isn't even half full, we need more."

"Guys, I'm really sure you have enough."

"Oh, NO Mom, we need more."

"GUYS!  THERE IS WATERING RUNNING OUT FROM UNDER THIS DOOR YOU"D BETTER BE PLANNING TO EITHER CLEAN UP THIS MESS OR DIE AND THEN YOU ARE GOING STRAIGHT TO BED."

My sons are in bed now.  Before 7 pm.  They are being quiet. 

And Tucker IS wearing underwear.

You and Me

There are two kinds of people in the world.  The people who believe that everyone can be divided into two kinds of people, and all the rest of us who wish to slap them.  I understand the attraction of reducing the world to a simple duality, it's simple.  It's either black or white, sheep or goats, us or them.  With the wealth of possibilities comes dread and confusion.  Which is better, which is worse, what if there is no clear line ... We prefer a single choice between two clear options.  *I* prefer a single choice between two clear options.  Walking the path I choose may be difficult, but I want the choice to be easy. 

The problem with trying to divide everything into an either/or proposition is that life tends to consist of all kinds of overlaps and intersections that keep things from staying in one neat category or another.  The lesson of yin and yang, that in every darkness there is a bit of light, in every light there is a bit of darkness is one that we have to ignore in order to preserve a dual view of life.  But in reality, every "saint" has the possibility of sin and every "sinner" has the possibility of grace in every moment and in every choice. 

Still, we tend to divide things and try to make them fit.  Martin Buber in his incredible little book "I and Thou" talks about two ways that we view life.  The first is to see everything in terms of I-It.  With I-It thinking I approach everything "objectively," that is I see myself as being surrounded by objects.  I'll let Buber take over the description since its his idea . . .

      I contemplate a tree.
      I can accept it as a picture, a rigid pillar in a flood of light, or splashes of green traversed by the gentleness of the blue silver ground.
      I can feel it as movement, the flowing veins around the strudy, striving core, the sucking of the roots, the breathing of hte leaves, the infinite commerce with earth and air - and the growing itself in its darkness. 
      I can assign it to a species and observe it as an instance with an eye to its construction and its way of life.
      I can overcome its uniqueness and form so rigorously that I recognize it only as an expression of the law - those laws according to which a constant oposition of forces is continually adjusted, or those laws according to which the elements mix and separate.
      I can dissolve it into a number, into a pure relationship between numbers, and eternalize it.
      Throughout all this the tree remains my object and has its place and its time span, its kind and condition. 

The opposing way of seeing life is the I-You.  With the I-You construct I don't observe, I relate.  At the core, relationship is reciprocity.  I don't look at, I relate to and deal with in the full awareness that the other is relating to and dealing with me.  Even something so thing-like as a tree.  The boundaries are blurred between us as I inhale the oxygen the tree exhales and it takes in my carbon dioxide. 

But of course, I'm primarily concerned, not with the way I relate to trees, but with how I relate to other people.  Buber describes how we objectify other people, making them into He or She which is just another way of saying It.  And then he talks about the difference when we take the other view.

    When I confront a human being as my You and speak the basic I-You to him, then he is no thing among things nor does he consist of things.
     He is no longer He or She, limited by other Hes and Shes, a dot in the world grid of space and time, not a condition that can be experienced and described, a loose bundle of named qualities.  Neighborless and seamless, he is YOU  and fills the firmament.  Not as if there were nothing but he, but everything else lives in his light....
     The human being to whom I say You I do not experience.  I stand in relation to him in the sacred basic word.  Only when I step out of this do I experience him again.  Experience is remoteness from You. 
     The relation can obtain even if the human being to whom I say You does not hear it in his experience.  For You is more than It knows.  You does more, and more happens to it than It knows.  No deception reaches this far: here is the cradle of actual life. 

That's what I'm looking for.  Actual life.  Reciprocity.  Relationship.  And I'll be real honest with you, this is a scary thing.  I'm beginning to understand that the thing I'm seeking is seeking me and it's demanding everything I am if I don't want to be an It.  Seeing through the I-You perspective opens me up to something bigger, more awesome, and more terrifying than I've ever chosen to come near.  If I really see you, I see all of you, and all of the Divine as well.