Trying to get some good habits

So, so, so, so. The topic is random thoughts on Sherman Alexie's collection of short stories Ten Little Indians. In the story, "Whatever happened to Frank Church?" i am curious as to why the main character gives up basketball after the death of his mother. Why does he turn from that opportunity to honor his mother? I will now include a short passage from the story:
He'd given up this game to honor his mother, and now he was reclaiming it to honor his father. He wanted both of them to rise from the dead.

I've got some parenting to do now. Read to my dc (dear children). I'm on to Alice through the Looking Glass; we finished Alice's Adventures in Wonderland.

I will say that tonight I may re-read that story and search for meaning in the parental-child relationships. Maybe authors don't pay that much attention to what they're saying about such matters, like maybe Alexie didn't calculate his meaning as much as I'd like to find the meaning that is there.

~liz

Random free style writing

Oops. I accidently deleted this post.

Quixotic

Quixotic is pronounced "kwik-sah-tik."

This adjective means ~foolishly impractical especially in the pursuit of ideals, marked by rash lofty romantic ideals or extravagantly chivalrous action.

Quixotic implies a devotion to romantic or chivalrous ideals unrestrained by ordinary prudence and common sense.

Quixotic crusade.

Don Quixote/etymology

I am very tired today. Need a nap.

Peanuts for pistacios

I have an old friend, someone who has meant a lot to me in my life, but for all the wrong reasons. You see, I should've recognized him for the fraud that he is a long time ago, but my innocent/ignorance/unassuming way, I did not. I think perhaps there was much about him that subconsciously reminded me of my father, and I was intrigued by his blatant statements. Oh, and you see, also, I met him in my favorite building on campus. The building was the official Humanities Fine Arts center on campus. It's architecture was simple by today's standards, but at the time, the first time I saw it, this being after witnessing some wonderful castles and cathedrals in Germany, Austria and Switzerland, well, something about the simple nuveau lines of the building on the outside. The rumors of the ghost on the inside, but more importantly it was the place I sang in a choir, the Messiah, for the first time in my life having been talked into dropping choir in 7th grade with my rowdy, unmotivated best friend, so we could hang out in an extra study hall and do nothing but pass meaningless notes to friends and develop a crush on a particular upper classman who would be another person I fell for --for all the wrong reasons. "I didn't know what the right reasons were!" today I plead. Why wasn't I taught or why didn't I learn about self-dignity and self-preservation and more importanly self-love when I was a child. And more importantly, now that I realize this horrible lack (enough to publically post it on a blog--albeit an unread blog--even my husband doesn't care about what I write here--even though he gave me the computer for Christmas that I asked for and he set up the screen saver to flash and wave "Now I will write!" in shiny metallic block letters) Okay, enough, I digress, I go off on a little sidebar of the brain, follow a little synapse that goes happily on it's way off the main path. MAYBE THAT'S MY PROBLEM--I DON'T HAVE A MAIN PATH AND NEVER HAVE. Sometimes I think that....oh, what does it matter I think a lot and who ever heard of using a public blog as a sounding post? as a therapist? I write for my sanity sometimes. I get lost when I read too much about what other people write about what should be writtten or quality. I also get lost when I fall back on my suspect mysognistc upbringing. My father, did not respect women. He said that he loved his wife, most definitely, but he blamed women for the problems in the world. He said cutting remarks about women at poignant times throughout my "formative years." How do I learn to love myself and respect myself? I'm 45 years old, if I haven't learned it yet, when am i going to learn it. And I have 3 sons I am raising. I need help. But the pastor we have at the current church I "belong" to which I did not even go to at Christmas! this year, well, I don't feel inspired by him or like I belong. Oh, yes, I am a tormented soul and probably have a lot of material for some works of literature, some stories, some poems, a play or two, maybe a wonderfully hopeful children's book. The children's book of my childhood, the iconic book, the book that holds untold depth must be "the giving tree" by shel silversteen. Now that is a book. the problem is, it's a sad book about the exploitation of devotion--at least that one interpretation. The tree's ability to give all until nothing is left--maybe that was my mother. Oh, how I miss her and oh how I wished that she could've had a wonderful life. I am sure there were parts of her life that were much more notable and joyful than parts of my life. Simpler. Purer? I don't know. Maybe I just idealize her childhood. But she was beautiful and she was smart and talented and oh, so lovely. And had a best friend. And had a spirited mother who was like her best friend only she had another best friend Barbara who was the best friend a girl ever had.

I never got to the subject title of my post. I never told about HFA. I never explained much. I just rambled. If anyone reads my blather here, please know this is dross, but I believe some is worth refining. Also, I think I developed this maddening stream of conscious through Artist's Way workshop.

Oh, and to further muddle, here are some categories I have listed to help me organize my oldest son's room:
!) Entertainment
@)Sentimental
#)Academic
$)Useful

~Liz

Ephiphany!

Good MORNING BLOG! I'm on a roll.........and a spin.........and a twist. I'm getting things done>>>>>>I'm re-vitalized...............! The dogs are wrestling in the the kitchen----------it's their place for a few minutes whilST I TYPE and Vent and EXPLORE and have FUN with the SPLENDID BLOG SITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ahhhhh, yes. Glorrrrryyyyyy BEEEEEEEEEEE...^^^^

Today is the best holiday concept I like nowadays. I've always thrilled at the idea of an AWAKENING, A NEW INSIGHT. Isn't that what the epiphany is all about? I don't want to research it. I don't want to go over what the Greek Orthodox do on this holiday. I just want ta make it the way I wanta make it and go with it and get theings done, and don't correct spelling erroers and don't edit and don't do antything I really don't have-ta do.

So there. Happy Epiphany everyone. I love ya. Thanks for making this world an interesting place.

God Bless you on your searches and may you find the equivalant of Befana's baby infant and may you reach the depth-defying insights that Joyce (James) had in mind.

~Liz

Broken arm

My 11 year old son broke his arm on New Year's day. He was at a sledding party with friends. The parent in charge had been warned, my son is a rambunctious, "I-can-do-anything" kind of child. He assuredly proved that yes, he can break another bone. He's broken his collar bone at 2 years old leaping off a table. His thumb was broke getting stuck in a door while chasing his older brother. He also has had four teeth pulled from another accident with his older brother. Sigh. I love him so much.

I don't feel like blogging at the moment. I'm waiting for a call back from the pediatrician's nurse to see about scheduling a cast for above-mentioned son.

~Liz

Writing in the room....

Ha, ha. Today I am "writing in the room;" I believe it was Virginia Wolf who said every writer must have their own space, their own room or closet or what have you to write. Well, here I am.
In my room....sorta.

This morning I feel a little on the glorious side. It's most likely due to the fact that I got up early and helped get the three boys off to school. Now this is not an easy task, but this morning, after the long Christmas break, I relished the time spent in the kitchen, I appreciated my husband who gets up even earlier than me to turn the heat back on (we turn our old furnace off at night) and also turns the space heater on in the bathroom. God bless him. I was almost giddy knowing that I was prepared enough to have both chicken baking in the oven and some unthawed home-made gluten-free "nuggets" ready to fry up for oldest son who likes to eat them with BBQ sauce. Breakfast is not your fast fix bowl of cereal in our house. Usually there's some kind of meat. I believe in a dense source of protein in my kids stomachs to get them through the morning. This practice came around because I was concerned that my kids did not eat much for lunch, so viola` "we do breakfast right" around here. Yesterday I made a healthy pumpkin pie custard for the kids. I fully expected to have some of it left to offer them for breakfast this morning, but last night all three boys ate the entire pie in one setting. It's made with honey, no refined sugar, but the two "olders" did have some whipped cream on their pieces. So... I also make tea, and eldest has gf corn flakes, the younger two also had "sweetie squares" this morning. Sweetie Squares are toasted home-made gf bread with a thinnish layer of sunflower butter spread first, then honey on top. It's fun to make sweetie squares. It's fun to say "sweetie squares." It's even better to know that the sunflower seed butter is organic and it comes from North Dakota. Can't you just image fields of sunflowers in late summer, their fat heavy heads held up by strong North Dakotan stalks, turning toward the light, hanging low in the morning, and at sunrise they lift slowly in unison, awakening toward the light in the east, following the light till dusk when they face west. The plants work done, just following the glorious sunlight, making tasty seeds so some cold dark winter morning, after a long winter/holiday break some mother like me can make her kids "sweetie squares" for breakfast on the first day back to school.

~Liz