the box

I constructed it in the fall of '88. It was an assignment in my design class at community college. We were told to "make a box".

Yes.

I can't tell you how hard and how fast the wheels starting turning in my head when I heard that. No other instructions were given. What a delight. Art instructors are beautiful and understanding people.

The first thing I did was spend some time in my dad's garage. I found a box. See the thing was, not to MAKE a box, but to start with a box, and do something with it. So I found a big sturdy cardboard box. I dumped it's previous contents on out onto the garage floor, turned it rightside up, and sat down and stared at it for a while.

After getting a feel for what I wanted to do, I got to work.

First, I duct taped the whole thing up tight, to where you couldn't see any flaps sticking up. Then I exacto'd a window in the center of one side. I painted the whole thing white, then threw sand from my little sister and brother's sandbox on it, for texture.

Next, I mounted it on four bamboo rods, which were actually two of my dad's fishing poles (or "canes" as he called them) broken in half. I didn't ask him. So now, it stood about 3 feet off the ground.

I stood back and sat down and stared at what I was creating. It was looking good. Now it was time for the scene, the things I wanted to place inside, so that when you looked in through the window, you'd see something really interesting. I filled the bottom with dirt, sprayed down with glue fixative. Then I stole the pirhanna out of my little brother's room, it was a real one, all dried up and preserved somehow. I ran fishing line through it and strung it up so that it hung from the top. I then cut the black leather strap off of my Twilight Zone watch, and laid the face of the watch in the dirt, sort of leaning over. Last but not least: I went to the craft store, in search of the final touch. I walked the aisles in hopes of finding the perfect item to complete my project. Nothing suited me, nothing fit the mood. That is, until I found myself down the bridal aisle.

Of all places, this is where I found what I was looking for, but didn't know it: a cake decoration, the little plastic bride and groom, standing together, that goes atop a wedding cake.

I stood the plastic couple up inside, right under the pirhanna, and beside the Twilight Zone watch, that I made sure was all wound up and with a new battery, so one could hear it ticking , if they listened closely. I was satisfied. It was a masterpiece. It said so much. It was eerie, and deep. It had a spiritual feel to it.

I brought it to class, and all of us students got to set up our boxes out in the hallway, for an "art show". The instructor went and inspected each of them, one by one, and when he came to mine, he stood still for a long time, quiet, just staring at it. He asked me what it represented. I told him I didn't know, but it had to do with danger, and waiting. The thin bamboo legs made me think of no real solid ground, and the watch gave me a sense of folded and stretched out time. Do you know what I mean? Can you look back on your years and view it all in a lump, events and phases all folded up together, and then zoom way out, and think

nevermind


He liked it. He asked if he could keep it.


My little brother noticed his pirhanna missing. I do feel bad about that. But it was fair, seeing as how he undid the lid to the lava lamp I bestowed upon him, it was like my heritage, and I asked him to take good care of it, but instead he somehow got the top off and played with all the goo inside and ruined it.


Interview with Mark

no regrets

I have no regrets or apologies for my online shenanigans over the past 2 years. Today it occured to me: this is what I enjoy. Writing. Also, I have a burden to tell people how much God loves us all. I have a very early memory. So early that you might not believe this. But I have a memory of before I was even conceived. I've always had this inside of me, even as a child, I remember standing in heaven, on the "edge", that's how I sensed it. I was standing near the "exit", it was to my right. I stood facing God, or an angel, or Jesus. I can't remember the face or what the appearance was, I just know, it was love, and there was light everywhere, and He stood there before me, and said, "Tell them how much I love them."
So I tell you how much He loves you in the only way I know how~ I tell how He showed His love to me, throughout my existence so far on this earth. I leave some things unsaid, hoping my voice will speak the loudest with the things I leave untouched. Know what I'm saying?
No?
Ok well I want to change the subject anyway. I'm sitting here this morning drinking my tea, fully aware of how the thought of God, and God's love for us, and images of Jesus ready to embrace you with a big fat loving hug can annoy the living daylights out of folks. How do I know? From personal experience with other people, listening to their reactions and hearing how they describe their annoyance with Christianity. One person I know has said, "Just the thought of Jesus makes me bristle with discomfort. I don't want anything to do with it."
He also said that when Jesus is mentioned, he feels himself glazing over and his brain shuts down.
So I know and I'm aware of how uncomfortable my blog title is for some people to see. That's why it's there.
I had to get used to His love. I had to receive it, and believe it. I had to learn to get comfortable with love, and closeness, and intimacy, after coming from my family, where affection was a foreign word- humor took it's place- and after screwing up so many times, and learning to accept forgiveness.
I never mentioned this one: several years ago, I had a dream, I was in my old room again, and Jesus sat on my bed, like He did in the one where He spoke of restoring my heart.
In this one, I sat beside Him, and He hugged me tight, and I could feel a real love. It was protective and loving and sincere. It was also foreign. A new experience, a new feeling, but at the same time, I recognized it. I was at home in that hug.
As He hugged me, I heard Him say to me:
"This is how the love of a man should feel."
When I woke up from that dream I got the feeling that someone out there had been praying for me.
I have never known that kind of love in real life, but I do know, He loves us SO MUCH, and I'm going to keep reminding you until the cows come home.
Also, did you know, I have it all?
I'm a rich woman.
Just so you know.

hedge of protection

jump in, jump out! turn yourself about!!

stepping stones...
How many of these have I started out with, "when I was a stay-at-home mom"? Well, here's just one more.

We lived at my husband's family's place. The "yard" was actually lots of acres, but there was a treeline sort of way back from the house, it created somewhat of a yard. We pretty much stayed in front of the trees. Even my dog Jemma stayed within the boundaries that I showed her. When we first moved there, we looked into getting an electronic fence thing that would shock her, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. And nobody wanted to put a real fence up, it would be too much. So I just looked at Jemma one day and told her, Come with me, stay by my side, I'm going to show you where you can go, and where you can't go. I really said that to her. Then I asked God to tell her what I said, in Dog Speak.

So we walked the perimeter of the place, front and back, and she stayed right by my side, occasionally looking up at me with such joy. She loved it there, she could run. As we walked, each time she stepped over the border that I decided in my mind, I said, NO!, and she put her ears back and quickly returned to my side.

Not once did my dog disobey me while we lived there. I could even open the door, front or back, and let her out on her own. I trusted her. She did her thing, snooped around, and came back to me.

But that's not what I got on to talk about. I'm trying to sleep, actually, but I can't. I'm thinking of the stepping stone path I made in that yard one time.

It was the summer of '96. I was frustrated. I remember feeling waves of anxiety come over me for no reason during that time, I was sensing something coming. I had no idea we'd be divorcing soon, but I sensed that time slowing down and coming to an end. I also sensed a storm brewing. I began to feel like a caged lion. Sometimes I would walk outside down by the treeline, just to feel like I went somewhere.

I got an idea. I began to create a walking trail that weaved in and out of the trees, just outside of the view from the patio. One could not be seen on my trail. I planted flowers alongside it here & there, ordering different varieties from mail order places. Then I started buying those round stepping stones, one by one. They were expensive to me, and it's not like I had any money to spare, but I did it anyway. I'd just get one here and one there, with leftover grocery store money each week. Actually there wasn't any leftover grocery store money. I just made sure there was.

By the end of the summer I had a real live walking trail, it started at one end of the yard, weaved its way in and out of the trees, old fruit trees that used to be an orchard at one time. My trail spanned quite some distance, but it never really went anywhere. The trees were in an arch- so my trail slowly led back up to the house.

Even though I felt independent and free and psuedo-adventurous when walking my woodsy trail, I always ended up back home.

Those stones are on my mind tonight. The more I say, the closer I feel to home. My clusters of words are like stepping stones.

I'm still not home, nor do I know where home is. In my real life, I still have no home of my own. Currently I'm sleeping on an air mattress on the floor of the bedroom I'm renting. My clothes sit on a shelving unit that serves as a dresser. I brought nothing with me.

Not even my curio cabinet. But only because it wouldn't fit in my car.

walking along the beach with Leah

The first thing I ever lost...
I was four years old, and we were vacationing in Galveston. Before we got to the beach, we pulled into a bait shop. My dad is big on crabs. He can stand there in the sun all day long, reeling in crabs on some line rigged to a stick in the sand.

So we were making the usual bait shop stop, where my dad got his stuff and we girls got candy. But I remember this day. On this stop, I did not choose candy. Instead, I brought a sand toy to the counter. It was a plastic turtle, but it was really a bucket and a shovel and a sand castle mold, all packed away neatly into the turtle. I fell in love with it and spent the whole trip on the beach, creating sand castles, shoveling sand, sifting sand, putting seashells into the turtle, creating waterways and channels that allowed sea water to occasionally come up and surround my castles like a moat. I love the beach with all my heart and soul.

So after a few days, we packed up our things into the old white camper, and headed back up to Dallas. Everything was packed. Everything, except...


except my sand turtle kit.

I started crying and wailing the second it occured to me. My parents were startled and asked what was wrong, and I remember not being able to get the words out between my cries. Finally I managed to get it out, that my turtle was still on the beach, alone in the sand, and could we turn around and go get it? I wanted it, Daddy can you turn around?

The answer was no. We weren't even out of Galveston yet, I didn't understand.

I was quiet the whole way home. I remember closing my eyes and seeing my turtle on the beach. I thought about some other child playing with it. I thought about the turtle missing me as much as I was missing it.

By the time we got back home, I had thoroughly wrestled with and accepted my loss. It was ok.

But I can still see it, sitting there under the hot Texas sun, wondering where I am.

I wonder who found it.

I was thinking about this today, then I started thinking about my very first experience with pain.

It was during the same time period. We were vacationing at Lake of the Pines, in East Texas. I was walking beside my mom and dad and older sister along a trail that was literally covered in pine needles. It was winter. The sky was blue and the cold air blended with the sunshine made me feel so happy. I remember as we all walked along, I just got this gust of joy and took off and started running. I just ran. As fast as I could go, down the path littered with pine needles. It didn't last long. Within seconds I was on my face, and my hands were on fire with pain. I laid there crying until my parents caught up with me. They looked at my hands. Pine needles were embedded in them, all over. They started pulling out the ones they could, then brought me back to the camper for a painful session with the tweezers. The next morning my hands were swollen red, and I learned what "pus" was that day. It was painful. My hands were oozing. I was infected with pine juice.

We had to go home and I had to go to the doctor. Somehow I recovered from my run-in with the pine needles.

So these two memories are my first experiences with pain, and loss.

What are yours?