May 2008

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Gregory asked for a photo, so he’ll see me when I call him on his new phone.  This is what I came up with.  How do people take such nice self-portraits?  I had such a hard time keeping the camera steady.  You’d think I was a drunkard.

Anyway, here they are…

Not bad if you like eucalyptus.

I’ve seen worse…

Many politically incorrect mutterings running through my brain about this one.  I do like that I can finally see the whole outfit.  Cute shoes.

Fingers over the flash?  Oy, where is a professional when I need one?  By the way, I’m trying to wave, so yes, I did intend for my hand to be that close.

Buddy, you’ll just have to take a photo of me, okay?  I think that would be best.

Andrea, over at one of my favorite blogs Superhero Journal, is always getting me thinking.  This week, she asked the question, “What are you willing to receive?”

The Answer?  EVERYTHING.  That’s right, everything: love, hate, friendship, rain, sunshine, flowers, filth.  I believe that if I am not fully willing to accept whatever comes my way, then I miss out on important opportunities for learning, growing, and most importantly, enjoying life.  Life is good.

Take this photo.  Last fall, I sat down on the toilet and swung my right leg off to the side, injuring myself, badly.  I could not walk, sitting back down on the toilet was excrutiating, as was standing up, lying down, and any other type of configuration that required me to move my right leg even slightly. 

Yet it was fun, too.  Gregory, my friends, and I had loads of laughs at my expense.  For starts, I injured myself on the toilet!   How is that not funny?  Then we went shopping at the Value Village to find something to help prop me up because medical supply stores are not open on Sunday.  I bought the walker for $15 after a serious test drive around the store.  I got many queer looks, but hey, at $50 and up retail, it was also a real bargain!

It was also a hoot to hear me groan at the slightest movement.  I felt like Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally.  I don’t get that feeling often.  I’m usually more like Meg Ryan because I’m the worst kind of high maintenance, if you know what I mean.

On a more serious note, I also gained a greater appreciation for my body.  I have been known to say unkind things about her, pointing out her flaws, when, in reality, she is really quite remarkable.  Using a walker requires more arm strength that one might imagine.  I also discovered how much I love to exercise.  When it was over, I was sure happy to return to my yoga and rowing practices.  I had missed them.  I also learned to be a little kinder to old, and sometimes, not-so-old people with disabilities.  It takes a lot longer to maneuver a walker than two feet.

So there you have it, my willingness to receive turned what could have been an awful, crabby, pity party into a truly fun and wonderful experience.  I am smiling in the photo, after all.  Thanks for EVERYTHING.

Madame Augden, my junior high French teacher, was a patient and thoughtful lady, always going that extra mile for the class.  One year, she decided that we should make Mother’s day cards.  She brought scissors, construction paper, markers, and various other craft supplies for each of us to make a masterpiece in honor of mom.  It was a very sweet idea, actually, but, as with many such notions from the minds of well intentioned teachers and into those of crazy teen age girls and boys, it went slighty awry.

The word for mother in French is mere and the word for day is jour, but silly kids that we were, we kept going at it in Franglais combining mere with day, and at a rather fast clip, so in the end, it sounded like mere-d.  Happy Mere-d, Madame Ogden!

Upon hearing this, Madame Ogden looked at us with a horrified expression.  We could not fathom a reason.  We were happily repeating mere-d in sing song voices while cutting out hearts and flowers, and aside from being a bit boisterous, we were generally doing as well as a class of junior high students could.

Then she told us, her voice serious, knowing full well that this little bit of knowledge could be dangerous.  You see, merde is that other word, the one with the # and * in it, and if you say it aloud, you’ll hear how close we were.

We were stunned by the information.  How could she say a curse word in class?  How could that word be so close to mother?  Those crazy French!  Then we each repeated it aloud a few times while she looked on in terror, certainly wondering if some sort of melee would ensue.  In our defense, hadn’t she given us permission?   Luckily for her, the fervor died down after a few minutes and we returned to our cards, proud of our new found knowledge.

After that, I never used it against her, but did tell my friends in rather hushed tones, books to my chest, “I know how to say s#*t in French.”

But, that is only the beginning of the post.  I started out wanting to write about my mom and wish her a happy Mother’s day, but as is very often the case, I was waylaid by my own thoughts.

These are some of my fondest memories of my mom:

Hanging laundry on the clothesline

Being home every day after school

Having an after school snack for me, even in high school!

Telling me what I was like as a baby

Having my ears cleaned because it meant I got to rest my head in her lap

Kids at school saying, “Your mom is so pretty!”  Me knowing it was true.

Homemade dinners (except spaghetti and chicken Chinese)

Watching her write – she has beautiful cursive

Running from the cold, air-conditioned grocery store, to sit for a moment in the hot car, windows rolled up.

Admiring her homemade birthday cakes – they were the best!

I love you Mom and wish you a very happy day…

What?!

Colleen is a nut

Stuck in a rut?

Willing to say tut-tut

Oh and but

She shall not shut

Herself in a hut…


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Red Door

Where do you lead?

To the hills of my ancestors or brave new territory?

Alluring and powerful

I cannot decide

What if I am not ready for the journey?

Bound by a million tides within

Each taking a different direction

Each terrifying with the possibility of a thrill

If only I’d try

Am I lost?

Or am I just beyond the threshold

Waiting for me?

Colleen

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