Fog

For those that might not be able to see the graphic, here is the poem:

Fog

Unseasonably warm, and yet a chill rides through my bones.

And the gray fog wraps around me whispering secrets I have buried.

For the fog does no longer hides and disguises, but reveals.

I try to speak but it says, “Shhh. Just listen.”

And I realize that the fears I have hidden have awoken

Resurfacing from their dormant state

Resurrecting  to haunt me again.

Fingers of fog holding tighter as I struggle to become free,

But freedom is a high price and my karmic debt is not yet paid.

I have no credit left.

                                                               ~ Pasty Dunbar

I wrote it this morning looking out of my bedroom window at the thick gray fog that surrounding the house. The snow is melting and, warm for Wisconsinites, a lot of people have been wearing sweaters instead of thick coats.Yet it is only January. Very warm.

Last night, as the house was very quiet a large boom rang through the house shaking the floors. Startled I stopped and yelled to make sure my husband, Brian, was okay. He said, "What the hell was that?" Looking through the house we didn't see anything. Then it dawned on us both at the same time. The extremely large icicle, about seven feet high and three feet round, had fallen on the extended roof. Sure enough there lay the fragments. The roof unharmed, but the memory of house shivering and shaking fresh in our mind. 

Our home was built in 1890. There was no damage, but there was this thought: Damn! They sure built this house to last. 

Winter vs. Spring

Today is rather a gloomy day. It is supposed to be Spring, but it's like Winter won't let go and is clinging to the Earth for dear life. It is as if when Spring comes Winter will still have it's icy fingers embedded somewhere keeping a chill in the air so it won't be forgotten. 

Post Valentine's Day

Things around the house have been crazy.

The idea of having my sister's child with us didn't go as planned. All the expectations we had of moving forward and making a difference went flying out the window. It really is true that you can only help those that truly want to be helped. Some people, even children, seem to think that they way they think and behave is perfectly rational.

If anything good came out of it at all I think it is that she learned to appreciate where she was previously. That her adoptive mother wasn't being mean - she was being caring. When you are on the caring side of things sometimes it feels that people are picking on you. I learned that from experience.

The timing was bad as well. Coming right when I had to have my surgery and take care of things. She was the one that wanted to be the center of things. It's kind of hard to become the center when someone else is needing time to recuperate. Instead of just being able to heal, I had to put a lot of the focus and energy on her, but she didn't want 80% or even 90% - she needed 100% and it just wasn't possible.

The teenager's chest with chicken pox and eczema

Of course then the teenager contracted chicken pox, in spite of his inoculations. That combined with his eczema made him one pretty miserable young man. Then there was the unexpected birth of my first grandson; who is adorable, even if I do say so myself. He ended up in the NICU for about ten days. My daughter showed amazing fortitude during his delivery and through his recuperation. Of course things don't end there. The eleven year old now seems to have contracted something as well. It's like a never ending Winter Battle, but our spirits are still high.

I've given myself a goal now. Last night my husband and I went out for a Valentine's dinner. He didn't buy me chocolates, but he wrote me a poem. I think I got lucky. I don't need a chocolate heart, after all. The poem is wonderful and sentimental. He said something that struck me though. "I was going to write you a sestina, but it turned out to be more of a challenge than I anticipated." In husband talk this means that he didn't have enough time to whip one out. It would take a lot more concentration and time than he can actually put toward it.

His idea of writing is answering blogs. He can spend hours reading them and answering them for people. It's become a topic of ribbing by the boys to him. He even does it now on his Blackberry as we grocery shop. I'm waiting for the day that he looks up from his reading and discovers that we've all left him there.

However, now the idea of a sestina intrigues me. They can rhyme or not rhyme. They can be in iambic pentameter (the older ones were) or not. Each new rule you put to it will not only change the dynamics, but will make the writing more difficult.

Tomorrow I will post my first sestina. Hopefully it will be more inspiring then just a bunch of words that fit a form. I also want to get back to painting - go back to the gym - write more - and generally just take back my creative side of life that has been shelved with illnesses and recuperations.

So, let's get started.

Fifty and Pigtails

So, you are fifty or almost fifty and you aren't you are getting old? Pishaw.

I think that we should always remember to be somewhat youthful so that we can actually enjoy the life we are given. So, today I am supporting pigtails.

Maybe I will look funny if I go out grocery shopping because someone will think I'm a bit old for wearing them. After all, who beyond age 12 really looks good in pigtails? Well I do! Because how I feel is important, much more important than some random strangers who have no affect on my life at all unless I let them.

So, today is my day to reclaim a bit of my youthful exuberance. I am going to put on my makeup and do whatever I can to make myself feel pretty and young.

I am going to celebrate the melting of the snow and the coming of the spring.

It's sometimes very easy to give into the stress of everyday life, but I also have to remember that I cannot control everything that comes my way. In spite of that I can control me and who I am. I can handle anything.

My youth really isn't lost, it's just tucked away in my memory. It's good to bring it out every once in a while so that I don't forget that life is meant to be lived.

So today, I'm living.