The Smallest Gifts

As I was saying goodnight to my husband this evening, I bumped my head on a set of chimes dangling from one of the rafters in the bedroom. As they tinkled their familiar music, I remembered the source one more time. This small set of chimes is one of the smallest gifts that I've ever received, and yet jangles my memory of my sister every time I see them. As I recall the story, my sister gave them to me unexpectedly. Someone was walking the neighborhood selling these door to door. My sister looked at them and simply thought they were pretty. The chimes are made of an inexpensive metal of some sort, with the center chime painted a silvery blue, the chains are silver, and from each silver chain hangs a beautiful painted angel with an irridescent sparkle to all her colors. Cyndie was correct, they are very pretty. It seems in my memory that she bought some other chimes that day also, but I don't remember that as clearly. These little angels have brought me more joy than any other small angel dares to share. They have been hanging in my bedroom for nearly twenty years now, I'm guessing (not exactly sure) I frequently bump my head on them as I walk past, but with regularity I remember to me what was one of the purest gifts that I ever received. What better gift than one that was simply pretty, and it made her want to give me one. Not just anyone else, but specifically me. I was quite touched that day although I'm not sure she knows it. I value those pretty silly angels hanging in my room to this day. Much of their shine is gone, but the brilliance with which they shine for me is nothing short of glorious. They engender in my heart a deep feeling of love for my sister. I said earlier that I believe it to be the truest, most sincere, and heart felt gift that I ever received from her simply because it was a spontaneous gift simply because it was pretty. I think the silly thing cost all of $5, but I love them more than anything. Simply again they remind me of my sister and her love for me. I hope she knows how much I value her.

A God-fearing Woman

Yesterday, I made a trip to our local library to do some homework. I'm working toward my Bachelor of Science degree in Paralegal Studies. While I was at the library, I came upon a book titled "The Atheist's Bible". Out of curiousity I picked it up. The book was a few hundred pages of quotes from famous historical figures, some living and some dead. They were great quotes, so I checked it out of the library and brought it home. My husband was entertaining some guests that day, and we ended up in one of those great late night conversations until 2 am born from sharing the title of the book that I checked out.

One of the quotes bothered me a bit in it's reference to "a god-fearing woman". I started thinking of that and soon realized that at one time in my life I thought it was a good thing to be "god-fearing". I don't think so now. Who wants to be afraid of god, if you are so inclined to be a believer? Not me. Any god that I would choose would be a god of unconditional love, or god would not have my allegiance. Any person following a god that must be feared must live in a terrible place. I cannot imagine waking up from day to day with the thought that if I'm not good enough then my god will judge me, that I could somehow be consigned to know that I had somehow "disappointed" god. I cannot subscribe to such a view. So for those of you out there who do not agree, please let me hear from you. But in the mean time, I, for one, do not want to be a 'god-fearing' woman. I can't imagine that fear would ever be part of a spiritual base that I could actively choose. I am not a Christian, and do not define myself as such, however, I'm still deciding on the existence of god. I'm not sure if "god" is a state of being, found in nature, or if he exists at all, but I can tell you that I do not fear him, not now, not ever. I simply choose to not label myself or my thought. I am a person free to think, and choose when evidence presents itself, when I find it convincing, and when I find truth. And truth is in rare supply these days. Choose to not live in fear! Choose to think! Choose to believe in the evidence of life!

Inside My Head

Inside my head is an unusual world. I think of things that I believe that no one else would ever know. But I'm sure others have their own lonely thought that will never reach another human. What I am sure of is the part of who we are that we share with others.

It's the things that we say out loud that betray what is in our mind. For good & for bad! I'm of the opinion that what we show on the outside probably often tells only of our current emotions, which pass with the next thought. What people hear me say is not really what happens in my head. I think of all the times at work when I've looked at someone who just said something that hurt me, as I brush it off on the outside and move on. I don't forget, and the words often come back later for me to examine in my real world that resides in my head.

But what happens when someone else connects with you, and understands what is in your head without you saying a word. That is the experience that I have with my husband. He just knows, he gets it. We communicate in ways that I never thought possible. I think this knowledge comes from living together for almost 10 years (or is it nine?). I know he catches the fleeting glances that betray what really is inside my head. He catches the nuances of the days when I don't quite feel well, or the days that I wake up cheerful (rarely happens, not a morning person). He knows not to talk to me until I'm dressed and prepared for the world.

Today is my husband's birthday (he's almost sixty, you know?). Private joke. LOL.

I asked him tonight at our Birthday Dinner, how old he thought that we would get to be in this lifetime. He guessed that we would live into our 80's, and that would be wonderful, but I want to live to 100. I just want to hit three digits. The one thing that I know, however, is that our love is timeless. Simply because he understands what really lives inside my head, without my ever saying a single word. Happy Birthday, Greg!

Watching the World Go By

It's midday, I've finished a lunch. I left my office to get away for a few minutes to remove myself from the hectic pace. Today, as I do often, I drove to the local library for some quiet time. I love my library. I can sit here totally alone in a comfortable chair and look out a beautiful big window. This little area is perched on the second floor and overlooks a street coming out of downtown St. Cloud, MN. Sitting on this corner, I can see the American Red Cross, HRA, a few older homes, and Denny's Shoe Repair. A gray lady walks down the street carrying her bag at a snail's pace. On the other side, a Somali woman strolls to the library entrance. Cars pass on the journey to ....wherever. Another young fellow is walking across the intersection with what appears to be a box of donuts or another bakery treat for someone.

I sometimes sit in this spot and just watch. I catch myself wondering who these individuals are and where they might be going. I wonder about the journey that brought them to this instant, and wonder if they know that they have played some ever so tiny role in my pleasure of watching the world pass by.

Today, I muse on the life of the Somali woman. Coming from a culture that is so far removed from the rather homogenous background of Saint Cloud, I think that her life may be difficult. Did she come here for opportunity? Was her family able to come with her? How does she survive in a culture so foreign to our existance? I just moved here from Texas a few years ago, and find this place foreign; I can only imagine the culture shock for her.

I also watch the cars driving by and wonder about the destinations. I ask myself why are they all in such a hurry. That's why I come here, to sit and not be hurried. I need a space in my day that is not filled. I need a spot where I can reflect no matter how mundane the thoughts. I like finding the most remote section of the library, and simply sit. Occasionally, my spot is interupted by a person or two strolling the stacks, but overall I'm alone. Alone and yet not really alone as I watch my friends, that I have not yet met wander through my life. I hope they know that I am enriched by their simple presence.

Where are your quiet places?

Since I am having a tough week, I find myself looking for the quiet spaces in my life. I love the nooks and crannies of our local library. They have huge windows, big tables, and quiet.....beloved quiet. One of my other places is sitting on bed in the loft in which I often sleep. It's quiet, and has 3 windows in the top of our 1946 Sears house. Those windows look out over our property. Even if I get only a few minutes in these places they are able to recharge my batteries, and help me gain a perspective on my sometimes too busy life.

The other place that has afforded me great comfort and peace this year has been my garden. My husband and I are first time gardeners. Truthfully, we picked a very poor year to start. We've had bad weather for gardening, and picked a very bad location for the garden plot. We planted tomatoes, squash, zucchini, onions, peppers, cucumbers and a few other of the usual garden dwellers. We didn't use pesticides or harmful fertilizers, but our weather did not cooperate with us. We had some minor successes, and some failure to thrive plants. We learned so much! We will be better gardeners next year. But the success or failure of our plants to grow is not what was valuable. I learned that I am disconnected from the real world.

Many of us think that the real world is the job we hold, the grades we make, the people that inhabit our daily lives. But for me the real world is the expanse of my heart and my soul. Nothing can contain my real world, my internal life. What is important is watching a seedling grow from the deep dark earth into something that feeds my physical body. Watching that seedling, however, is what feeds my soul. That is the real world.

My real world is what I touch in my heart and soul. It is hugging a tree to feel it's rough brown bark. It is walking under the shade of my 30 some odd oak trees. It watching my sleeping cats as they twitch while dreaming on my couch. My real world is feeling the love of my husband as his arms envelope me and I feel the loving safety of my emotional home.

These are the things of the real world, which is the best quiet place that I find.

Blogger Venom (Just Plain Mean)

You know what is on my mind today is actually something that affected someone whom I love. This person writes his very own, wonderful, music blog. During certain periods of time , he get hits as many as 400 to 500 per day, and slower times in the summer, he gets 300 a day. So for an independent blog, that's quite a number of followers. This blog today is sort of about him, but more important it is about the impact that he has on the hundreds of people who follow his work. Not only does he know enough to fill ten books on music, he is a wonderful writer. He's written his music blog for several years now, and at one time taught journalism at two well known schools, and at another point has worked for several area newspapers. Now at 56, he finally has the opportunity to blog what he wants.

His blog mainly mixes music and his personal history. He talks about how music affected him as young man, and how it affects him now. He's made lots of friends in the music blog world, some have even become "real" world friends. And many "real" friends also follow his blog. So enough history.

Today on his blog, he received a rather rude comment, the writer basically called him a self pretentious, know it all, who thought that he was a good writer, but freely told him that he wasn’t. To quote his not so pretty language he told whiteray to " Get the Fuck" over himself. (Excuse the language, you will rarely if ever see that used in this blog)

Now not to say to much about the insulter, but I have given this some thought. I call these folks venomous people. I feel sad that someone who clearly set out to hurt another person with his words, has only hurt himself. The person of course posted anonymously. It's much easier to be a jerk when no one knows who you are.

This is kind of a long lead into my thought today which is ,"Where do these venomous people come from and what purpose does this kind of commentary serve?" I can tell you that it serves no good purpose. This person dropped his comment, and left some one feeling less because of it. Of course, I told my husband to ignore the rude man. My husband is clearly a competent writer and likely knows more about music than this anonymous person will ever know. I wonder what this person thinks that he gained from being unkind. Especially over the internet, if you don't care for something, just leave. No one invites someone in to be rude. It rarely works, it's not like my talented, wonderful man will take this to heart for longer than a few short moments.

What I think is sad is that this commenter cursed and used bad language and left a message of hate that was not needed, nor solicited. Nobody asked him what He thought, and if he didn't like it , he didn't have to be there. He's one click away from leaving the site at will. On a meta physical level, this is like the equivalent of walking up to someone with a bucket of pig slop, dumping it over his head, and then walking away never to be seen again. What could this possibly serve? Don't we have enough hate in the world without it spewing about for no good reason. My husband is the kindest, most loving spirit that I have encountered in this life. He is whole and good. If you happen to read this, know that you accomplished nothing except for the feelings of pity that we hold for you. You must be a very unhappy person. I hope that you will consider the impact that you have on others, especially on a gentle soul who is only writing about something he loves. At lease when you spew this trash, have the decency to sign your name with something other than anonymous.

This leaves me with little to say, but only makes me feel badly for the person who left the comment, I feel he/or she is sad and lonely, and I will send you love and peace to counter what ever makes you lash out. I will care and respect you, no matter how you abuse and behave unkindly to people who don't even know you.

To my readers, I say "thanks for listening". I wish you all much love, much happiness, and a smile so big that you can never remove it from your face. Namaste.

Rocks and More

Rocks and more..... I looked up pictures of rocks on the web tonight. I have an affinity for all kinds of rocks. If you don't believe me, ask my husband Whiteray, I pick up all sorts of stuff that no one else would find any use for at all.

I've picked rocks from Texas beaches and Texas deserts. I've pick up petrified driftwood from Duluth, MN, and I've picked up assorted granite pieces from the thousands of rock quarries here in Saint Cloud, MN. So why rocks? I really have no idea, except that I'm fascinated by the life that a rock lives. (Yes, I do believe that rocks have a spiritual life, and I do believe that once I was a rock). Rocks make me feel earthy, don't know how else to say it. I'm a water sign who tends to drift from one thing to the next. Sitting on a big rock leaves me feeling earth bound and connected. Go hug some great big piece of Granite or any large rock for that matter. I like granite because it is so solid and so cold. It makes you feel like you are hugging the whole earth. I dare anyone to try this and walk away the same if they really put their heart into it.

When you do this, you have to get past what people passing by are thinking of your current quirky behavior. And, oh, how they stare!!!! When it happens you simply must turn around and say "Hey, buddy, haven't you ever seen anyone hug a rock before?" You have to make them feel as if they are the odd one, not the other way around.

One must remember that rock hugging is not for sissies. You have to be prepared to man up! You have to get into this place and be really, really present. Once you get past the initial grab and go, it's not so hard to step forward and try to really hug it the second time.

The first time that I really hugged a large rock, I felt like I was home. It was as if, from that moment forward rocks became my children. I have two large granite bolders sitting on top of the water well in our yard. They guard that entrance to my water supply, and keep the lawn mower from heating the well head. They were there before we moved into this house. But they will never leave me, and will always stand guard at my well. I sit on my well rocks, they hold me as I , the Piscean water sign, sit lovingly above my wellstream that provides for me daily. (I have a similar relationship with water, but I'll save that for another day).

My rocks make me feel solid, and strong, and lasting when I think that I won't make it through the day. If I want to feel strong, I carry one of my rocks to work. It's energy grounds me and keeps focused when I don't feel like it. I have a real love for the sandstone rocks that I picked up in a small roadside rock shop in Chihauhuan Desert outside Big Bend National Park in Texas. It's probably the only rock shop for miles so if you've been there you might know it. I have now carried those rocks with me through around 5 states. They have become part of who I am.

My rock in life is my lover and friend, whiteray2, he runs a music blog. He'll love this.....he reminds me of a rock that I love to spend time with, always solid, always bring me back down to earth. He lets me run into these strange things and hug rocks, and then he says when it's time for me to come back in the house and cook dinner, or do the dishes, but he lets me love my rocks

So someday when you are driving in Saint Cloud, MN and you see a house with a well and 2 large granite bolders, you'll know you are looking at my granite guardians. Treat them with respect, and go out and find a rock to love for your very own. Afterall, rocks are people too!

Thoughts from the Moon

Welcome to my world! This is my first blog post, and I hope that you will join me in my personal journey. I expect that this blog will truly be a mish-mash of everything that crosses my mind, thus the title "Hanging on a Moonbeam". The moon is a great personal symbol which I love immensely. It's somewhat misty, and obscure. The moon astrologically has a way of changing the view and turning things upside down. Does that sound like me? Well, hang in there and you might just find out.

I've conciously decided not to share a lot of personal information so that the knowledge of who I am will reveal slowly. I'd like people to come to this blog site with no preconceived notion of what you will find. I expect that I will talk about everything from trees to rocks to law to quilts, and back again.

I'm not much of a planner so this may or may not become manifest, but my intent is to blog once a week at a minimum. (I'd like to more often, but I'm taking a minimalist viewpoint for now). If I find that I desire to write more frequently, I will. Since this is based on my thoughts, I may have more or less material than planned.

One thing I will share is that I don't take my own thoughts all that seriously. My opinions may change with my thoughts. Some may be more or less clear. The point for me is the process, not the result. I'm sure that I will blunder through this endeavor and that often readers may disagree with me, only to find that I change my tune the next day. My hope is to be true to what I'm thinking and feeling in the moment. Thoughts and feelings are fleeting, and I wish to capture them only so I can look back to think "Where the hell did that come from?"

So welcome to my world! I hope you will stay and learn to put up with this nonsensical, and sometimes quirky view of the planet we live on.