Sunday, February 27, 2011
Do We Dare? A Wedding Gown Repurposed
A dark lid boxes in a woman’s most anticipated and painstakingly planned formal gown. Many married women when asked what has become of their wedding dress answer with one of three words: storage, closet, or box. Some believe they are saving their nuptial gown for a future landmark anniversary or perhaps a daughter’s far away wedding. However most dresses for various reasons do not make it to these ends. Maybe they are taken out once or twice in a life time to share with admiring eyes. Memories and details are recounted, if you’re lucky, for an afternoon and then the dress is returned to its tomb. With so much “to do” surrounding the wedding dress before the wedding, it’s a shame that it is forgotten so quickly.
But could there be another way? Could the wedding dress continue to transfer meaning and beauty after the wedding as well, and maybe even for a life time? One way to extend the function of a wedding dress is repurposing. After adorning a beautiful bride a wedding dress can be transformed to communicate the love and commitment begun in a formal ceremony. A gown can be remade to serve in a new capacity. Be it functional or ornamental, a wedding dress can be part of a marriage and family for more than just a few hours or days of a life time. A repurposed dress can extend a wedding’s magic and meaning.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Transform Children’s Creativity into Miniature Art Quilts
Curious kids always wonder what mom is doing. My children were no exception especially when it came to quilts and sewing machines. Brilliant cotton shapes pinned to the wall, how could they resist? Shiny scissors slicing through geometric prints, how could they stay away? Steamy iron pressing pictures in place, how could they be content with plastic toys? My sewing room drew them in like a magnet. The more I was interested in a project, the more they wanted to be involved. I was perfecting my free-motion quilting skill. The more I refused them, the less I could practice.
In order to manage their curiosity and maintain my own sanity, I had to include them. We all would work together in that special creative zone. I cut large muslin rectangles and set up art stations near my sewing machines. I provided permanent markers, fabric paints, sewing shears, and fabric scraps backed with heat sensitive adhesive. My assignment: create a picture on fabric. Then, when they were finished, we would turn them into miniature quilts. I was there to help cut and iron and prevent any permanent marker or paint accidents. It was focused, intense, creativity in action. When they were finished, we lined them up and voted which ones would be completed as quilts. And finally, I had the chance to practice thread embellishment. Their fabric pictures gave me the opportunity to perfect my free-motion quilting. I dropped my feed dogs and let my machine hum. It was what I wanted from the start. The result was simply a treasure: children’s creativity transformed into miniature art quilts.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Simple Professional Looking Puppets
Any story can come alive with the addition of theatrical puppets. Puppetry gives rise to another dimension of expression. You can make lively professional looking hand puppets easily from stuffed animals. With a few modifications, a stuffed animal becomes an animation tool and transports actor and audience into the heart of any captivating tale.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Brillant Birthday Cake
This birthday cake prop was made for Cayle Crane Children’s Theatre, Bowling Green University, Firelands College’s production of “Children’s Letters to God”. I thought the process of making it was easy until I wrote down all the steps. The fabric covered foam form features a plastic top on which whipped cream can be applied.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Salvaged Sweater Turned Retro Shoulder bag
The art of salvaging sweaters for repurposed artsy bags requires finesse, not just any sweater will due. Choosing a medium to light weight sweater is a must. Bumpy, thick, and cabled varieties yield less than polished results. Sewing through cut knit also requires a special tool for a successful finish. A walking foot sewing machine attachment makes all the difference and prevents seams from gathering as the presser foot crosses the fabric’s surface. Potential sources for creative sweater retro-bags are your own closet, thrift shops, and local garage sales. You too could make your own sweater-turned purse today.
First Dance, Different Drummer
First Dance, Different Drummer word count 910
I puzzled, as boys raced from the building, making a bee line to waiting cars. I wondered, while slouching loner kids followed. I worried when chatty animated girls, totally absorbed in conversation, filtered out of the building. The first after-school dance of the year was letting out and junior high kids poured from the school looking for rides. They didn’t really look like they were coming from a dance, dressed in typical adolescent fad style: skinny jeans, baggy pants, layered snug shirts and roomy pullovers. I studied the crowd watching for my 6th grade daughter.
Earlier that morning, I mutely fussed over what my 12 year old girl would wear to her first school dance, long past were the days when I dictated her wardrobe. Dramatic and eclectic, her outfits were self composed. I indulge her creativity with trips to the local thrift shop to experiment with new looks and combinations. I took pride in her free spirit. She played with hairstyles, makeup and fancy shoes. Sometimes her results were completely over the top but I knew eventually, through trial and error, she would accomplish her own original polished look.
But as middle school approached, with peer pressure and puberty looming, I silently pondered. Would she be accepted by the other girls who took their cues from mainstream culture? My daughter, so on the edge, didn’t pay attention to fads or gimmicks. She made her own way singing and dancing on stage. She was, a nose in a book, dreamer. My concern was justified. I knew how hard the world was on dreamers. Would she be ostracized? Would she sacrifice her free spirit in order to fit in or would she come out whole? Would her self expression be tolerated or misunderstood? I wondered these things because I remembered my own adolescence.
Self consciousness and low self esteem secretly plagued my adolescence. As an oldest child who wanted to be accepted, I went the, be-good, route. I accomplished a lot, was ultra responsible and followed the rules. I did what the formative institutions in my life suggested. I took their advice and was outwardly led to form my path. It created an unreal me, a false self, that fit other people’s needs and expectations more than my own.
It wasn’t until my children were born, that I began the process of shedding that false self. I had the opportunity to forgo full time work and stay home to care for my children. Finally, I discovered freedom. I was completely in charge of my time, actions, and thoughts. There were no job evaluations, no end of the year reports, and no philosophies or rubrics to keep. Being at home, with these children, meant we could play, visit parks, hang out in libraries, tour museums, and just have fun together. I found, through this freedom, each year they grew, I grew. I became more the person I wished I could have been growing up. I thought of these things as I scanned the crowd.
As I waited for my daughter to emerge from the school building after the dance, I pictured her as she left in the morning. She wore a flowing white chiffon party dress with misty blue flowers. Her hair was neatly brushed. I wanted to say, “Honey, are you sure about this outfit? I think the other kids may be dressing down for the dance, since it immediately follows school.” But I held my tongue, listening to my intuition, and simply said “You look beautiful.” Her eyes lit up with happiness, independence, excitement, hope, and innocent expectation. She waved good bye and walked in her strappy heels, with back pack slung across her shoulders, to catch the bus. I wondered what would become of her. I fretted about that sweet innocent girl going to her first junior high dance.
I noted especially the girls as they evacuated the school. I scanned again for my daughter. And then I spotted a small white dot near the door. This wispy cloud grew larger and more defined. A girl, as if floating through the crowd, chiffon dress blowing in the breeze, headed for my car. She looked like Ginger Rogers amidst a throng of tousled adolescents. She smiled, pulling the car door open and gracefully collapsing in on the passenger side seat. “It was the best, mom” she said.
I was awestruck. My beautiful girl was back, whole and unscathed. Out tumbled detail upon detail of fun. And I realized that she, a dreamer and free spirit, was going to make it through the adolescent tunnel intact. She was rooted. She stood on a foundation of her own making. Her own real self wasn’t fragile, delicate, or hidden but was strong, flexible, and indomitable. I discovered in giving myself permission to be real, an authentic self, I had, as a result, given my children that gift as well.
After that first dance, I worried less about my daughter. The early teenage years will always present bumps and challenges but when a child has the freedom to create themselves, they also develop the skills to better adjust to life’s unexpected challenges. When a person firmly knows who they are, life’s sting isn’t as potent. I celebrate as I watch my daughter create her self. I trust her unpolished experimentation, because it is through this opportunity that she will continue to discover who she is.
I puzzled, as boys raced from the building, making a bee line to waiting cars. I wondered, while slouching loner kids followed. I worried when chatty animated girls, totally absorbed in conversation, filtered out of the building. The first after-school dance of the year was letting out and junior high kids poured from the school looking for rides. They didn’t really look like they were coming from a dance, dressed in typical adolescent fad style: skinny jeans, baggy pants, layered snug shirts and roomy pullovers. I studied the crowd watching for my 6th grade daughter.
Earlier that morning, I mutely fussed over what my 12 year old girl would wear to her first school dance, long past were the days when I dictated her wardrobe. Dramatic and eclectic, her outfits were self composed. I indulge her creativity with trips to the local thrift shop to experiment with new looks and combinations. I took pride in her free spirit. She played with hairstyles, makeup and fancy shoes. Sometimes her results were completely over the top but I knew eventually, through trial and error, she would accomplish her own original polished look.
But as middle school approached, with peer pressure and puberty looming, I silently pondered. Would she be accepted by the other girls who took their cues from mainstream culture? My daughter, so on the edge, didn’t pay attention to fads or gimmicks. She made her own way singing and dancing on stage. She was, a nose in a book, dreamer. My concern was justified. I knew how hard the world was on dreamers. Would she be ostracized? Would she sacrifice her free spirit in order to fit in or would she come out whole? Would her self expression be tolerated or misunderstood? I wondered these things because I remembered my own adolescence.
Self consciousness and low self esteem secretly plagued my adolescence. As an oldest child who wanted to be accepted, I went the, be-good, route. I accomplished a lot, was ultra responsible and followed the rules. I did what the formative institutions in my life suggested. I took their advice and was outwardly led to form my path. It created an unreal me, a false self, that fit other people’s needs and expectations more than my own.
It wasn’t until my children were born, that I began the process of shedding that false self. I had the opportunity to forgo full time work and stay home to care for my children. Finally, I discovered freedom. I was completely in charge of my time, actions, and thoughts. There were no job evaluations, no end of the year reports, and no philosophies or rubrics to keep. Being at home, with these children, meant we could play, visit parks, hang out in libraries, tour museums, and just have fun together. I found, through this freedom, each year they grew, I grew. I became more the person I wished I could have been growing up. I thought of these things as I scanned the crowd.
As I waited for my daughter to emerge from the school building after the dance, I pictured her as she left in the morning. She wore a flowing white chiffon party dress with misty blue flowers. Her hair was neatly brushed. I wanted to say, “Honey, are you sure about this outfit? I think the other kids may be dressing down for the dance, since it immediately follows school.” But I held my tongue, listening to my intuition, and simply said “You look beautiful.” Her eyes lit up with happiness, independence, excitement, hope, and innocent expectation. She waved good bye and walked in her strappy heels, with back pack slung across her shoulders, to catch the bus. I wondered what would become of her. I fretted about that sweet innocent girl going to her first junior high dance.
I noted especially the girls as they evacuated the school. I scanned again for my daughter. And then I spotted a small white dot near the door. This wispy cloud grew larger and more defined. A girl, as if floating through the crowd, chiffon dress blowing in the breeze, headed for my car. She looked like Ginger Rogers amidst a throng of tousled adolescents. She smiled, pulling the car door open and gracefully collapsing in on the passenger side seat. “It was the best, mom” she said.
I was awestruck. My beautiful girl was back, whole and unscathed. Out tumbled detail upon detail of fun. And I realized that she, a dreamer and free spirit, was going to make it through the adolescent tunnel intact. She was rooted. She stood on a foundation of her own making. Her own real self wasn’t fragile, delicate, or hidden but was strong, flexible, and indomitable. I discovered in giving myself permission to be real, an authentic self, I had, as a result, given my children that gift as well.
After that first dance, I worried less about my daughter. The early teenage years will always present bumps and challenges but when a child has the freedom to create themselves, they also develop the skills to better adjust to life’s unexpected challenges. When a person firmly knows who they are, life’s sting isn’t as potent. I celebrate as I watch my daughter create her self. I trust her unpolished experimentation, because it is through this opportunity that she will continue to discover who she is.
Ehow.com Contributor / Demand Studio Writing
Here are some links to recent Demand Studion submissions for Ehow.com. I didn't create the titles. They are web generated, but I did write the articles.
Great Kid Costume Ideas
http://www.ehow.com/info_7965222_great-kid-costume-ideas.html
How to insert a zipper in a pullover sweater
http://www.ehow.com/how_7969526_insert-zipper-pullover-sweater.html
'80s Party Costumes for Men
http://www.ehow.com/info_7968158_80s-party-costumes-men.html
How to Sew a Patch Pocket
http://www.ehow.com/how_7818158_sew-patch-pocket.html
How to Adjust the Feed Foot on a Singer 5028 Sewing Machine
http://www.ehow.com/how_7906462_adjust-singer-5028-sewing-machine.html
How to Put a Zipper in Plastic Boat Windows
Read more: How to Put a Zipper in Plastic Boat Windows eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7900586_put-zipper-plastic-boat-windows.html#ixzz1EgoZJ7Id
How to Manipulate a Bodice Into a Knit Sheath
Read more: How to Manipulate a Bodice Into a Knit Sheath eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7898125_manipulate-bodice-knit-sheath.html#ixzz1Egou9Cto
How to Use a Knitting Machine to Transfer a Carriage
Read more: How to Use a Knitting Machine to Transfer a Carriage eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7891059_use-knitting-machine-transfer-carriage.html#ixzz1EgpH5K2S
How to Create Your Own Knitting Machine Transfer Tools
Read more: How to Create Your Own Knitting Machine Transfer Tools eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7885454_create-knitting-machine-transfer-tools.html#ixzz1EgpcKMT6
How to Make a Macross Uniform
http://www.ehow.com/how_7879397_make-macross-uniform.html
How to Use a Spool to Wind a Bobbin on a Sewing Machine
Read more: How to Use a Spool to Wind a Bobbin on a Sewing Machine eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7863104_use-wind-bobbin-sewing-machine.html#ixzz1EgqFdrMb
How to Thread an Antique New Home Sewing Machine
Read more: How to Thread an Antique New Home Sewing Machine eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7855454_thread-new-home-sewing-machine.html#ixzz1EgqbcG9H
Great Kid Costume Ideas
http://www.ehow.com/info_7965222_great-kid-costume-ideas.html
How to insert a zipper in a pullover sweater
http://www.ehow.com/how_7969526_insert-zipper-pullover-sweater.html
'80s Party Costumes for Men
http://www.ehow.com/info_7968158_80s-party-costumes-men.html
How to Sew a Patch Pocket
http://www.ehow.com/how_7818158_sew-patch-pocket.html
How to Adjust the Feed Foot on a Singer 5028 Sewing Machine
http://www.ehow.com/how_7906462_adjust-singer-5028-sewing-machine.html
How to Put a Zipper in Plastic Boat Windows
Read more: How to Put a Zipper in Plastic Boat Windows eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7900586_put-zipper-plastic-boat-windows.html#ixzz1EgoZJ7Id
How to Manipulate a Bodice Into a Knit Sheath
Read more: How to Manipulate a Bodice Into a Knit Sheath eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7898125_manipulate-bodice-knit-sheath.html#ixzz1Egou9Cto
How to Use a Knitting Machine to Transfer a Carriage
Read more: How to Use a Knitting Machine to Transfer a Carriage eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7891059_use-knitting-machine-transfer-carriage.html#ixzz1EgpH5K2S
How to Create Your Own Knitting Machine Transfer Tools
Read more: How to Create Your Own Knitting Machine Transfer Tools eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7885454_create-knitting-machine-transfer-tools.html#ixzz1EgpcKMT6
How to Make a Macross Uniform
http://www.ehow.com/how_7879397_make-macross-uniform.html
How to Use a Spool to Wind a Bobbin on a Sewing Machine
Read more: How to Use a Spool to Wind a Bobbin on a Sewing Machine eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7863104_use-wind-bobbin-sewing-machine.html#ixzz1EgqFdrMb
How to Thread an Antique New Home Sewing Machine
Read more: How to Thread an Antique New Home Sewing Machine eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_7855454_thread-new-home-sewing-machine.html#ixzz1EgqbcG9H
Labels:
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Potato, Love, and Other Musing
Potato, Love and other Musings
Under cover of darkness a secret love is transmitted to plants everywhere. Earth energy, nourishment, and the spark of life soak into various forms. Even the unassuming potato sinks its roots deep into the passion of the planet preparing to disperse the essence of life. The tubers covertly get ready for the ubiquitous disguises they will take on top side. Whether mashed, scalloped, or shoestringed, the simple potato conveys love from our source. Through an ordinary potato, or any other vegetable or fruit for that matter, a chemical form of love is transmitted and surges through our bodies giving us strength and vital for the living of these days. Can we remember this when we eat our next potato chip? It is from simple places that we rise up; and to simple places we return. Can a dusty eyed field potato help us remember that the love which turns the universe also flows through our veins? Simple things can remind us of our source.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Redesigned Zippered Cowl Neck Sweater
A sweater with a cowl neck features a great looking collar when converting a knit pullover to a zippered jacket. Shrinkage often creates the need for this alteration. Nothing is worse than a cowl neck and shoulder area that is too tight. Adding a zipper and opening up a cowl neck can make a sweater worth wearing again.
Wellness in Spite of Illness
Word Count 706
Wellness in Spite of Illness
They stared in disbelief after hearing her words. Did she really say her mother was well? The daughter’s response was so unexpected. Did she really say her mother was good and improving everyday? How could this be? The mother had been given a direr diagnosis, stage four cancer, a glioblastoma brain tumor. How could she be well? Yet the daughter said as much. The daughter proclaimed her mother’s wellness in spite of her illness.
The practice which allowed the daughter to respond with a conviction of wellness is an unpopular and little used approach. It is unpopular because it is misunderstood. It is little used because it challenges our illusion of control we think we have over life. The approach is the practice of surrender. If you or a loved one is battling for life, this approach may feel unappealing. It might sound like giving up. But on the contrary, it really refers to a strategy of allowing. It is allowing life to be as it is in the present moment. The daughter chose this approach as a way of coping with her mother’s illness and as a result, God’s presence and peace entered their lives more fully. They gave up attachment to a preferred outcome, rested in the present moment and, in doing so, felt God’s presence enough that they could proclaim wellness in spite illness.
Unfortunately the practice of surrender, the strategy of allowing, could be called the road less traveled. Some are not willing to accept what life brings. Many can’t suspend judgment. Others desperately cling to categories of good and bad which help frame the circumstances of life. The strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender, simply put, is accepting the present moment as is. It is saying yes to life, no matter what. Some may protest, “But I can’t say yes, something really bad has happened.” None the less, the strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender is accepting the now. It is accepting the facts of what is happening in the present. Some may wonder, when considering this approach, what about action? The strategy of allowing doesn’t prevent action. Action happens in the present moment. The family, whose mother was ill, took swift deliberate action to diminish the cancer. They did everything they could and then presently waited for their action to take or not take fruition. Action happens in the present moment and therefore is compatible with the strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender.
The key to the strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender, is giving up judgment about the facts you are accepting. This is difficult. Culturally, we have not been trained to do this. However the results gleaned from this approach are worth the leap of faith. When one surrenders, when one allows, a space is opened to feel God’s presence, comfort, and confidence more fully. An unexplainable peace has room to enter and be present through any circumstance.
The Bible when telling Jesus’ story never uses the words, practice of surrender or strategy of allowing. These concepts are articulated more in eastern traditions. However Jesus lives and dies these strategies. The strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender, gives Jesus the presence and courage to face betrayal, torture, physical pain, and loss. Jesus is not caught lashing out, bemoaning his predicament, blaming, feeling sorry for himself or trying to escape. He lives in the moment, accepting the facts and reacting to the present. Jesus is what he is today because he surrendered, allowing God to be fully present in his life. Jesus was able to live a broken human life the way he did because he was filled with God’s peace which comes through surrendering and allowing.
Like Jesus, we all struggle with and suffer from human brokenness. The good news is that God’s presence and peace, mends human brokenness. God’s presence and peace makes a person well no matter what the outward condition. In spite of human brokenness, an act of surrender, a strategy of allowing gives one faith and confidence to say, “Yes, I am well, no matter what.” Following Jesus’ example of surrender and allowing helps us know God more fully and experience peace beyond understanding.
Wellness in Spite of Illness
They stared in disbelief after hearing her words. Did she really say her mother was well? The daughter’s response was so unexpected. Did she really say her mother was good and improving everyday? How could this be? The mother had been given a direr diagnosis, stage four cancer, a glioblastoma brain tumor. How could she be well? Yet the daughter said as much. The daughter proclaimed her mother’s wellness in spite of her illness.
The practice which allowed the daughter to respond with a conviction of wellness is an unpopular and little used approach. It is unpopular because it is misunderstood. It is little used because it challenges our illusion of control we think we have over life. The approach is the practice of surrender. If you or a loved one is battling for life, this approach may feel unappealing. It might sound like giving up. But on the contrary, it really refers to a strategy of allowing. It is allowing life to be as it is in the present moment. The daughter chose this approach as a way of coping with her mother’s illness and as a result, God’s presence and peace entered their lives more fully. They gave up attachment to a preferred outcome, rested in the present moment and, in doing so, felt God’s presence enough that they could proclaim wellness in spite illness.
Unfortunately the practice of surrender, the strategy of allowing, could be called the road less traveled. Some are not willing to accept what life brings. Many can’t suspend judgment. Others desperately cling to categories of good and bad which help frame the circumstances of life. The strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender, simply put, is accepting the present moment as is. It is saying yes to life, no matter what. Some may protest, “But I can’t say yes, something really bad has happened.” None the less, the strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender is accepting the now. It is accepting the facts of what is happening in the present. Some may wonder, when considering this approach, what about action? The strategy of allowing doesn’t prevent action. Action happens in the present moment. The family, whose mother was ill, took swift deliberate action to diminish the cancer. They did everything they could and then presently waited for their action to take or not take fruition. Action happens in the present moment and therefore is compatible with the strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender.
The key to the strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender, is giving up judgment about the facts you are accepting. This is difficult. Culturally, we have not been trained to do this. However the results gleaned from this approach are worth the leap of faith. When one surrenders, when one allows, a space is opened to feel God’s presence, comfort, and confidence more fully. An unexplainable peace has room to enter and be present through any circumstance.
The Bible when telling Jesus’ story never uses the words, practice of surrender or strategy of allowing. These concepts are articulated more in eastern traditions. However Jesus lives and dies these strategies. The strategy of allowing, the practice of surrender, gives Jesus the presence and courage to face betrayal, torture, physical pain, and loss. Jesus is not caught lashing out, bemoaning his predicament, blaming, feeling sorry for himself or trying to escape. He lives in the moment, accepting the facts and reacting to the present. Jesus is what he is today because he surrendered, allowing God to be fully present in his life. Jesus was able to live a broken human life the way he did because he was filled with God’s peace which comes through surrendering and allowing.
Like Jesus, we all struggle with and suffer from human brokenness. The good news is that God’s presence and peace, mends human brokenness. God’s presence and peace makes a person well no matter what the outward condition. In spite of human brokenness, an act of surrender, a strategy of allowing gives one faith and confidence to say, “Yes, I am well, no matter what.” Following Jesus’ example of surrender and allowing helps us know God more fully and experience peace beyond understanding.
A Curious Craving for Ice cream
“A Curious Craving for Ice cream”, word count 762
"It was on a bright, starry night that the traveling circus rolled into town."
I spotted them from my bedroom window. The circus trucks and vans, through starry twinkle, passed my house on the way to the abandoned strip mall parking lot across the street. By moonlight, excitement building, I watched animals unloaded, tent poles erected, and canvass stretched by road worn men. The ticket booth, quickly assembled, starred back at me. The grand stand, an erector set construction, called my name, saving me a place. With my chin resting on the window sill, I noticed my eyes growing heavy as I watched the preparations, dreaming of the show I would soon see.
I sat in rickety stands awaiting the first act. When it began, a crowned princess clown stepped onto the ringed stage, her name Gladiola. She was tall, regal, wearing bright, vertically striped pants with a royal blue tuxedo jacket. Gladiola’s long curly red locks swayed with momentum as she paused slightly, gazing upon the crowd, mesmerized. With white face poised and a delicate ruby heart painted on pursed lips, her lean body stepped into action. High silver spike heels and accordion polka music danced Gladiola the clown across the stage.
With hand to head, she made a grand search. With a circular motion across her belly, showing a terrible hunger, Gladiola the clown looked for a tasty snack. Strolling her way to a popcorn stand, a hot dog vendor, and lemonade seller, she had a mimed fast food feast. In spite of the junk food gluttony, the red headed clown was still hungry. Finally, to her satisfaction, she discovered an ice cream booth and ordered a cone with a large spherical scoop of ice cream. Pure bliss over came Gladiola’s face with each enticing lick of the creamy treat. With a twist of her tongue, the silly clown encircled the huge ice cream globe. As her pleasure heightened, an unfortunate bit of trouble hit. Licking ever more aggressively, Gladiola the clown licked so hard that she knocked the enormous ice cream ball clean off its cone, thudding as it hit the floor. Shocked and stunned, miming all the way, through silent shrieks, Gladiola lamented her ice cream’s fall. She paced and mutely ranted, stomping in those fancy silver shoes until Gladiola came too close to the ice cream ball. Miraculously, one silver spike high heel speared the ice cream ball right through its core, becoming stuck on the heel. Astonished, Gladiola tried to flick the ice cream off her shoe. She hopped, kicked, shook, flung, and spun but the ice cream ball held fast and would not let loose of her heel.
With polka music mirroring the tragedy, Gladiola, finally collected herself by stopping for a quick study of her predicament. The silly clown took off her shoe, held it up high, contemplating the stuck ice cream. Gladiola remembered how much she wanted that mouth watering ice cream. She sadly noticed some long hairs and bits of debris sticking to its sides. With exaggerated gesture, the clown pulled off the hair, wiped off the dust, and shed a tear over the loss of her ice cream globe. However, in an instant, all of a sudden, raising a knowing finger, she emphatically suggested a silent idea. Gladiola looked around, wondering if anyone would notice. She looked longingly at the fanciful ice cream ball on the silver high heel spike. Would it be terrible to have one more taste?...one more sweep of the tongue?... one more lasting lick? And with a surge forward, swaying to the music, the clown took a giant lick all the way around the spike heel and returned to paradise. With one shoe on and one shoe off, Gladiola, the silly clown, unevenly plodded off stage eating her speared ice cream ball right off her shoe…...delicious
I noticed drool pooling, as it dripped from the corner of my mouth on the window sill. With my neck stiff because of the odd angle, I opened my eyes to see the sun lightening the sky beyond the circus tent across the street. I rubbed my eyes to be sure of what I was seeing; it really was a newly erected circus tent, set up through the night. Then hazily, I started to recall bits and pieces of a dream, accordion music, a silly red headed clown, and ice cream. Yes, I had a curious craving for ice cream, but didn’t know why. Maybe I could find some at the circus.
"It was on a bright, starry night that the traveling circus rolled into town."
I spotted them from my bedroom window. The circus trucks and vans, through starry twinkle, passed my house on the way to the abandoned strip mall parking lot across the street. By moonlight, excitement building, I watched animals unloaded, tent poles erected, and canvass stretched by road worn men. The ticket booth, quickly assembled, starred back at me. The grand stand, an erector set construction, called my name, saving me a place. With my chin resting on the window sill, I noticed my eyes growing heavy as I watched the preparations, dreaming of the show I would soon see.
I sat in rickety stands awaiting the first act. When it began, a crowned princess clown stepped onto the ringed stage, her name Gladiola. She was tall, regal, wearing bright, vertically striped pants with a royal blue tuxedo jacket. Gladiola’s long curly red locks swayed with momentum as she paused slightly, gazing upon the crowd, mesmerized. With white face poised and a delicate ruby heart painted on pursed lips, her lean body stepped into action. High silver spike heels and accordion polka music danced Gladiola the clown across the stage.
With hand to head, she made a grand search. With a circular motion across her belly, showing a terrible hunger, Gladiola the clown looked for a tasty snack. Strolling her way to a popcorn stand, a hot dog vendor, and lemonade seller, she had a mimed fast food feast. In spite of the junk food gluttony, the red headed clown was still hungry. Finally, to her satisfaction, she discovered an ice cream booth and ordered a cone with a large spherical scoop of ice cream. Pure bliss over came Gladiola’s face with each enticing lick of the creamy treat. With a twist of her tongue, the silly clown encircled the huge ice cream globe. As her pleasure heightened, an unfortunate bit of trouble hit. Licking ever more aggressively, Gladiola the clown licked so hard that she knocked the enormous ice cream ball clean off its cone, thudding as it hit the floor. Shocked and stunned, miming all the way, through silent shrieks, Gladiola lamented her ice cream’s fall. She paced and mutely ranted, stomping in those fancy silver shoes until Gladiola came too close to the ice cream ball. Miraculously, one silver spike high heel speared the ice cream ball right through its core, becoming stuck on the heel. Astonished, Gladiola tried to flick the ice cream off her shoe. She hopped, kicked, shook, flung, and spun but the ice cream ball held fast and would not let loose of her heel.
With polka music mirroring the tragedy, Gladiola, finally collected herself by stopping for a quick study of her predicament. The silly clown took off her shoe, held it up high, contemplating the stuck ice cream. Gladiola remembered how much she wanted that mouth watering ice cream. She sadly noticed some long hairs and bits of debris sticking to its sides. With exaggerated gesture, the clown pulled off the hair, wiped off the dust, and shed a tear over the loss of her ice cream globe. However, in an instant, all of a sudden, raising a knowing finger, she emphatically suggested a silent idea. Gladiola looked around, wondering if anyone would notice. She looked longingly at the fanciful ice cream ball on the silver high heel spike. Would it be terrible to have one more taste?...one more sweep of the tongue?... one more lasting lick? And with a surge forward, swaying to the music, the clown took a giant lick all the way around the spike heel and returned to paradise. With one shoe on and one shoe off, Gladiola, the silly clown, unevenly plodded off stage eating her speared ice cream ball right off her shoe…...delicious
I noticed drool pooling, as it dripped from the corner of my mouth on the window sill. With my neck stiff because of the odd angle, I opened my eyes to see the sun lightening the sky beyond the circus tent across the street. I rubbed my eyes to be sure of what I was seeing; it really was a newly erected circus tent, set up through the night. Then hazily, I started to recall bits and pieces of a dream, accordion music, a silly red headed clown, and ice cream. Yes, I had a curious craving for ice cream, but didn’t know why. Maybe I could find some at the circus.
God Sighting
A God Sighting
It was unexpected, the response I received from those who, out of concern, inquired about my mother’s health. I would say, “She is doing well” or “She is great” or “She is improving everyday”. Sympathetic, disbelieving faces acknowledged, what seemed, my wishful, deluded words. After all, how could anyone who was diagnosed with stage four cancer, a glioblastoma brain tumor, be doing well? But the honest answer was, yes, she was doing well. Yes, to understate, she was tired, sleeping the days away. And, yes, our family, over fueled by adrenalin, was tired, too. But, in spite of the fatigue, somehow, I knew, even in the face of a terrible diagnosis, that my mother was doing well. How could I know this? It is hard to say how I could proclaim her wellness in the middle of such uncertainty. This knowing, an assurance which rested deep inside me, like taking for granted the obvious, grounded itself in something other, something infinite and indefinable. It was in this conviction, my mother’s wellness in spite of her illness, where I spotted God.
At first God was easily recognized in the concern poured out to my mother through friends, acquaintances, and even strangers who showed love, care and compassion to our family. There were so many cards, prayers, offers of food, help and companionship, all vehicles for God’s presence in my mother’s life and kin. We were nourished and sustained through these acts of kindness. In addition God was reflected in the humility these gifts brought. Illness humbled and brought us to our knees. We couldn’t do it all ourselves. The experience rendered us, at moments, helpless and dependent. However, mercy and grace flowed through those who helped us, showed concern, and silently cared and in turn, kindly revealed God to us.
Yet there was in this ordeal another place where God stepped forward. When someone receives a serious diagnosis, it doesn’t come in a vacuum. It invades the lives of all who are close. Illness makes everyone near, to some degree, ill. In order to cope with my mother’s diagnosis, I resorted to the art of surrender and unexpectedly bumped into God. To clarify, surrender, in this instance, is not the act of giving up. You can be sure we took swift, extreme, and potent action to combat the cancer. Rather, the surrender to which I am referring is more like a strategy of allowing. It was in surrendering to the process of illness where I spotted God. It was in allowing the illness to be present, where I caught God’s shadow.
After the diagnosis hit our family, it was like I jumped into a white water river, surrendering, allowing the waters of life to rush me down stream. I had to accept an unpredictable and unknown destination. I had to trust the flow of life. Trying to stand up would have gotten me stuck and pinned down by the current. I decided not to resist. The intuition to let go, trust, and feel buoyant, is where God became tangible. God was the water that surrounded, enveloped, and carried me. Sometimes I was drowning, other times I was floating. In surrendering to the flow of life, I didn’t just see God, I felt, heard, tasted, and smelled God. In this God sighting, I have been thoroughly soaked and it was only by this thorough soaking that I have the conviction to know my mother is doing well no matter what the outcome. It is in this assurance that I rest and see God very clearly.
Presently we are in a calm point of the stream. After nearly two years, my mother has been diagnosed as in remission. Really…. she is doing great! And we are all very thankful.
It was unexpected, the response I received from those who, out of concern, inquired about my mother’s health. I would say, “She is doing well” or “She is great” or “She is improving everyday”. Sympathetic, disbelieving faces acknowledged, what seemed, my wishful, deluded words. After all, how could anyone who was diagnosed with stage four cancer, a glioblastoma brain tumor, be doing well? But the honest answer was, yes, she was doing well. Yes, to understate, she was tired, sleeping the days away. And, yes, our family, over fueled by adrenalin, was tired, too. But, in spite of the fatigue, somehow, I knew, even in the face of a terrible diagnosis, that my mother was doing well. How could I know this? It is hard to say how I could proclaim her wellness in the middle of such uncertainty. This knowing, an assurance which rested deep inside me, like taking for granted the obvious, grounded itself in something other, something infinite and indefinable. It was in this conviction, my mother’s wellness in spite of her illness, where I spotted God.
At first God was easily recognized in the concern poured out to my mother through friends, acquaintances, and even strangers who showed love, care and compassion to our family. There were so many cards, prayers, offers of food, help and companionship, all vehicles for God’s presence in my mother’s life and kin. We were nourished and sustained through these acts of kindness. In addition God was reflected in the humility these gifts brought. Illness humbled and brought us to our knees. We couldn’t do it all ourselves. The experience rendered us, at moments, helpless and dependent. However, mercy and grace flowed through those who helped us, showed concern, and silently cared and in turn, kindly revealed God to us.
Yet there was in this ordeal another place where God stepped forward. When someone receives a serious diagnosis, it doesn’t come in a vacuum. It invades the lives of all who are close. Illness makes everyone near, to some degree, ill. In order to cope with my mother’s diagnosis, I resorted to the art of surrender and unexpectedly bumped into God. To clarify, surrender, in this instance, is not the act of giving up. You can be sure we took swift, extreme, and potent action to combat the cancer. Rather, the surrender to which I am referring is more like a strategy of allowing. It was in surrendering to the process of illness where I spotted God. It was in allowing the illness to be present, where I caught God’s shadow.
After the diagnosis hit our family, it was like I jumped into a white water river, surrendering, allowing the waters of life to rush me down stream. I had to accept an unpredictable and unknown destination. I had to trust the flow of life. Trying to stand up would have gotten me stuck and pinned down by the current. I decided not to resist. The intuition to let go, trust, and feel buoyant, is where God became tangible. God was the water that surrounded, enveloped, and carried me. Sometimes I was drowning, other times I was floating. In surrendering to the flow of life, I didn’t just see God, I felt, heard, tasted, and smelled God. In this God sighting, I have been thoroughly soaked and it was only by this thorough soaking that I have the conviction to know my mother is doing well no matter what the outcome. It is in this assurance that I rest and see God very clearly.
Presently we are in a calm point of the stream. After nearly two years, my mother has been diagnosed as in remission. Really…. she is doing great! And we are all very thankful.
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