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.

Sweat Lodge Deaths were Unspiritual

I was horrified when I heard of the deaths of the people in the Arizona sweat lodge. My husband was equally horrified because he knew that it was one practice I have been enjoying with some new and wonderful Native friends in the Dells. The people I practice with are very spiritual and the process is ritualistic from the heating of the stones to the entrance into the lodge. The entire process if filled with love and honoring of the Spirit that they call upon for the well-being and health of those entering and their families and friends.

My experiences have been life altering and beautiful. I gained an understanding of the true essence of the people I shared the experience with and learned a new way of healing and sharing. They had specific rules and guidelines from what you were allowed to wear to what you did once inside. The event cannot occur without certain Holy people present.

This life altering event cost me absolutely nothing but gained me world of new spiritual awakening.

The people in Arizona were not as fortunate in their experience as I. They paid $9695-a-person for a "Spiritual Warrior" retreat. This retreat left people scarred and three people dead. There is nothing spiritual in any of these things.

It is heart rendering that someone profits on stealing a sacred ritual and turning into a money making opportunity. I find it to be a disgrace for him to shame the Native American community and focus his opportunistic endeavors on their spiritual success and turn it into a question as to whether these practices are "safe."

Native Americans are not looking to profit from their spiritual activity. They are looking to help friends and family with a centuries old practice that has rules and guidelines. It is one of the practices they have kept through their generations of hardship in surviving the progression of being overthrown by greedy land developers and cheated out of their properties by over eager settlers relocating for whatever reasons in the 1800's.

James Arthur Ray was not looking to instill a new spiritual awakening in the people he converted, he was looking to make a profit with his charismatic presence. He spoke of being on top and how many material possessions he had and how he had to regain them after his loss.

Ray's lessons for spirituality come with a high price tag. His "Practical Mysticism" classes cost a whooping $5,295. What I find mystifying is that anyone believes that the only people that can help you become spiritually adept are the ones that make you pay so much for it. The price tag doesn't indicate a man wanting to help others as much as someone wanting to line his own pockets.

Spirituality is free, you just have to open yourself up to the possibility. Some of us may not be nearly as rich monetarily but we are rich in so many other areas of our lives. Money does not make you successful, it just give you the appearance of being so.



And not allowing people to leave when they felt too much pressure was negligent. Not allowing someone to help that had the proper training was criminal.

Wearing of the Green

I think that my family believes that I love St. Patrick's Day because it allows me to wear green without anyone making comments about my color obsession. I think there is more to it then that, honestly. It is a time that we have created where my family gets together and share traditions without all the hoopla and mania that other holidays seem to bring about. We don't have to shop for gifts or cards. We don't have to make sure that no one feels left out. We just are allowed to be together and share our time with one another. Of course bangers, corned beef and cabbage, and colcannon don't hurt the spirit either.

This year my favorite part of the day was sharing it with my oldest daughter. She was married last year and doesn't live that far from me. It's rare if we don't speak during the day, and yet it's not the same as when she lived inside the home. It's actually better. Not because she doesn't live here, but because she's reaching out to me more. It's funny how that works.

She actually called me and said, "Mom, you know how when I was younger we used to go and buy a birthday outfit for me? I'd like to do that this year. I miss doing that." (Her birthday is on March 19 and we do the family celebration on St. Patrick's Day.)

Now, some suspicious people might think she just wanted to get something from me, but I know better. She didn't ask me to buy her anything, I volunteered. We had lunch together, did the shopping, and just shared our entire day. It's a memory that means a lot to me and that I'll never forget.

It doesn't matter if your children grow up and become adults, because they are always your children. Their little faces lose the Cherub style and grow into something just as beautiful, if you're lucky. I'm very lucky. I do have beautiful children; from their faces into the very core of their hearts.

So, it may be a little early to actually drink, but I raise my virtual Irish beer and make a cheer for all:

May you never run out of good friends;
May your coffers never completely be empty of coin;
May your table always have enough to feed the ones you love;
And may you always be able to raise your drink in celebration of a good life.

Sláinte!