mindaTHINK

Been thinkin' on victims and "good enough"

heavy thoughts going on over here today.  I have noticed we all have a healthy dose of why me.  For the most part, what happens to us in life is a result of choices we have made...unless you are filled with the Holy Spirit, and then you have a big ole dose of grace hitting you and tipping the balances in your favor.

One thing most of my online friends don't know about me as I have an unhealthy delight in scandal.  I obsessively put my head together with one friend or another and talk excitedly over the bad choices I see people making daily.  Its pretty transparent that somehow I feel like a better person when I can point out the foibles of my fellow man.  In reality although I keep coming back to it like picking an ugly scab, it really makes me sick when I do it.

Bad behavior aside on my part, I sure do have alot of fodder for that bad habit.  Instead of spending so much time seeking "poor me" status from those who will listen, it would be time better spent to think a bit about how we got where we are, and weighing the benefits of a do over.  We all seem pretty good at pointing the finger at the thing or person or circumstance that is making our lives hell, and not so good at seeing how we play a part in it, past, present and future. 

When I look at the irritants in my life; because honestly I don't feel like I have anything in my life that ranks any higher than a mild irritant, praise be to God, it doesn't take long for me to see the part I play in each situation.  I am not a victim in any of the situations, I just have hard choices to make and I'd rather not make them out of a misguided belief that where I'm at is better than where I would be after making those choices.

We all have real "tragedies" in our lives.  Some seem more "legitimate" than others.  One acquaintance had a stroke which left her without use of part of her body, I mean certainly that gives her a right to our sympathy, right?  And yet is that really what she wants?  Is the role of victim what she seeks?  Is that label how she wants to be known?

When some people find out I'm a homeschool mom I get to hear a wide variety of victim speak.  They could never do that.  They can hardly stand their children during the summer break.  They would never survive on one income.  They were never really trained on how to be a part-time parent much less a full-time one. In one swift moment they declare themselves a victim of stupidity, children they dislike and under the slave trade of money.  I'm guessing that isn't really what they mean.  I'm always curious why they feel the need to justify that they have chosen not to homeschool.  I mean its not like I look at them funny or ask them to explain.  I respect their choice as much as my own.

Which leads me to the second thing I've been contemplating this week.  A good friend, one who often divines and speak the truth, walked with me this week and we were talking about guilt.  We have several joint friends who approach issues in their past with a deep seated feeling of guilt, wishing that they had handled things already over in a different manner.  I commented on how that is really not my approach and that when I find a hurt from my past I rush to give it to God and seek healing from it.  She offhandedly commented, "yeah, you instead operate out of bitterness"  OUCH!  And yet, YEP.  Nail on the head and all of that.  Of course I think I know what bitterness means, but I looked up the definition anyway---one definition is "marked by resentment or cynicism."  Resentment means "indignation or ill will felt as a result of a real or imagined grievance."  Pretty much a template for the attitude of a victim.  Sigh.

While we were walking and talking, I started thinking about "good enough".  God sees us through "rose colored" glasses.  He's not duped into believing something that isn't true, He's just powerful enough to see what is true, that we cannot conceive of.  He sees past the victim mentality, the bitterness, to the full potential we have.  I gotta be honest and say sometimes I wish He couldn't do that.  There are many areas in my life that need major renovation.  I know it, and even know a little bit about how to get from here to there.  But I'm comfortable.  Sure these falling down parts of my life irritate me from time to time, when I can't button my pants or I speak sarcastically to my husband or I look the other way when we are having money troubles, but hey, if I look around at others long enough I'll find enough evidence that I'm at least in the middle of the pack, so why reach higher? 

Now would be a great place to insert a rah rah statement about how I'm gonna change and I'm gonna fight to be better, but this is my blog and I refuse to lie to you.  At this point I see the problem, I'm ashamed of it, but I still can't seem to see that I have what it takes to move on.  Not because I'm a victim of anything other than my own laziness.  As I was praying about this the other day a thought came to me - "You don't have much time left to drift along half done.  Pretty soon events are going to require more of you."  How sad that I seem content to wait until it seems necessary.

Where I have been

Reading this:

with something so deliciously quotable on every page I feellike I need to keep a notebook nearby:

"It wasn't possible; it wasn't possible anymore.  What else?  Was this what came from thoughts of time running out and death; that all of a sudden you didn't know anymore what you wanted?  That you didn't know your own will anymore?  That you lost the obvious familiarity with your own wishes?  And in this way became strange and a problem to yourself?"

"He had never thought of a doctorate; if anyone asked him about it, he only laughed.  Such things didn't matter.  What did matter was something quite simple: to know the ancient texts down to the last detail, to recognize every grammatical and stylistic detail and to know the history of every one of those expressions.  In other words: to be good.  That wasn't modesty--his demands on himself were utterly immodest.  Nor was it eccentricity or a warped kind of vanity.  It had been, he sometimes thought later, a silent rage aimed at a pompous world, an unbending defiance agains tthe world of show-offs who made his father suffer all his life because he has been only a museum guard.  Others, who knew much less than he--ridiculously less, to tell the truth--had gotten degrees and solid positions: they seemed to belong to another, unbearably superficial world with standards he despised." 

"Of the thousand experiences we have, we find language for one at most and even this one merely by chance and without the care it deserves.  Buried under all the mute experiences are those unseen ones that give our life its form, its color, and its melody.  Then, when we turn to these treasures, as archaeologist of the soul, we discover how confusing they are.  The object of contemplation refuses to stand still, the words bounce off the experience and in the end, pure contradictions stand on the paper."

So, sorry about the limited updating, but dang, life is moving fast these days.

Deanna P. and Reality

So, not everything I post on my blog shows my best side, not every entry is designed to make my parents proud.  This is MY blog, and on it, I try to leave a record of the REAL me.  Sometimes the real me is pretty cool.  She reads high literature, writes poetry, does the right thing by her man and loves God. 

And sometimes the real me is just a big goof ball.  I have three crushes:  fortunately, the biggest one is on my husband.  There is not a day that goes by that I dont' realize just how entirely lucky I am to have him in my life.  His qualities are first and foremost what every girl dreams of, and I feel like I won the lottery most of the time. (but dont' get me wrong, there are still times I inevitably want to bop him on the head, and I'm sure there are far more times he'd like to do likewise!)

My second crush is Dancing with the Stars.  I love the elegance, the underdog-rises-to-the-top and the good clean fun of this show.  I'm in serious miss-it mode right now.

My third crush is on the TV version of this little lady:

I know, huh!  Deanna Pappas, as portrayed on The Bachelorette rules.  She is honest.  She is willing to put her heart on the line.  She has crazy romantic ideas and she carries them out.  She can't hide her true feelings (Robert: so, can I kiss you?  Deanna: Uh, maybe right here (cheek offered grudgingly)) She is a better racer than all the guys.  I mean she is just off the hook.  Of course I realize that the REAL Deanna Pappas may be a totally different chick.  I understand editing and support staff and retouching.  I do.  But dang, TV Deanna is my ideal woman...model...for my own behavior I mean.  Sheesh, what were you thinking?!?!

I even watched this weeks episode twice, I'm that afflicted!  But seriously, my REAL LIFE take away from this show is her honesty.  I always strive to be honest with people, but she inspires me to try harder.  Plus, she really inspires my romantic side, which my practical side often has for dinner.

So honey if you are reading...big brownie points for fulfilling this dream...

(oh and NOT the taxi ride, blue and white taxi, been there, done that.)

Anyway, so there, now you know something less than regal about me...more to come...I'M SURE OF IT!

Mood for a Shoot

 I've been itching to go do a shoot at this place I found last year:

Here are some photos of the grungy backgrounds that just make my camera fingers itchy!

So come on!  Who wants to get shot?  Maybe I can talk my niece who just graduated from high school this weekend to come on down there with me.  She'd be fabulous!

Mi'kmaq, Acadien, Scots, freemen and Evangeline

You may remember me speaking briefly of our encounter last weekend with a show at the Ordway called DRUM! which was an intricately woven carpet of music from a region I know little about.  NorthEastern Canada, primarily New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and a little further to the east, Newfoundland are locations that are described in the few ficition books I've read about them, as harsh and unyielding.  In E. Annie Proulx's The Shipping News and Anne-Marie MacDonald's Fall on Your Knees, the people are painted as divisive and wordless. I admit not pursuing much knowledge of the area.

Then I saw DRUM!

The tale DRUM! weaves is entirely different.  And it piqued my interest.  So I started doing a little research today.  In addition to studying maps to learn a little more about the area, and ordering the very few books I could find on the subject from the library, I learned some interesting literary facts:

Henry Wordsworth Longfellow's Poem Evangeline was written as a ficitonalized account of the french acadien expulsion in 1755 from the area by neighboring Brits.  Longfellow learned of this event through his friend Hawthorne, who did not wish to take up the cause of writing a fiction based on it. 

Here is the lyric and compelling opening to that poem, published by Wordsworth in 1895.

Evangeline.

A Tale of Acadie.

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

 

THIS is the forest primeval.  The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers,--
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands,
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven?
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed!
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the ocean.
Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.

 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and endures, and is patient,
Ye who believe in the beauty and strength of woman's devotion,
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the pines of the forest;
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of the happy.

I am going to print off this whole poem, which is available for free at Project Gutenberg, and study it with Andrew along with our geography and history research on the area. 

The second interesting fact I discovered was the Anne of Green Gables is set on Prince Edward Island, which although I have read several of the books and even seen a play version of it, I had forgotten.  I ordered part one of the Anne of Avonlea BBC series from the library, should be fun to watch together.

The Mi'kmaq indians were the native inhabitants of the area known today as New Brunswick, Newfoundland, labrador, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and Maine.  Before outsiders arrived, they were part of an alliance with four Algonquian nations. Once the colonists began to arrive in the middle of the 17th century, they became allies with the french and intermarriage was common.  One of the more famous Mi'kmaq indians was Rita Joe, who passed away last year at the age of 75.  She grew up an orphan, went on to obtain doctorates in three subjects and wrote many books of poetry beginning in her 30's, so her eight children would not only see the natives portrayed in the harsh ways that were then in vogue.

Here is a lovely montage paying tribute to her and her poetry.  Parts of this poem were used in the DRUM! production:

 

House of Wax

Lightning hits the house of wax

Poets spill out on the street

To set alight the incomplete

Remainders of the future

Hidden in the yard. Hidden in the yard.

Thunder drowns the trumpet blast

Poets scatter through the night

But they can only dream of flight

Away from their confusion

Hidden in the yard. Underneath the wall.

Buried deep beneath a thousand layers lay

the answer to it all.

Lightning hits the house of wax

Women scream and run around

To dance upon the battleground

Like wild demented horses

Hidden in the yard.  Underneath the wall.

Buried deep beneath a thousand layers lay

The answer to it all.

I'm ONE of a kind, baby!

HowManyOfMe.com

There are 0 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

If I lived in Texas I would drive them to their children.

The clear bias in this video, the words used, and the accents given, make me sick.

As much as we  would like to believe otherwise, we will never know the truth.

Thank God that the courts ruled as they did.

http://www.cnn.com/2008/CRIME/06/02/texas.polygamists/index.html?eref=rss_topstories#cnnSTCVideo