Sleeping habits

I've been noticing a few things upon waking to the sunshiney world morning after morning. Things that I must do in my sleep but of course am unaware of such actions as I am asleep. Thus I can only make guesses from information gathered after rising from slumber.

I rotate clockwise. 

(I basically unravel all my sheets in one direction and send them plummeting to the ground)

I switch places with my body pillow. 

(I wake up on the other side of my body pillow than originally arranged)

I somehow push the mattress away from the wall. 

(when making my bed faithfully every morning I have to push it back up to the wall so my pillows don't disappear into the black hole behind my bed)

I pretend to eat suckers. 

(Carrie, my roommate, tells me that she hears noises that sound like I'm sucking on a sucker or eating quite noisily)

I write music in my dreams and hum it to Carrie.

(Pretty self-explanatory...)

I sometimes remove items from about my person. 

(nothing scandalous, things like earplugs, socks, etc)

I'm a really light sleeper and always have been. All my roommates, siblings and most especially my lovely mother can attest to this. 

It's a wonder I can do all these without waking myself up. 

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The Path Ahead

I don't pretend to be a good writer. I just try to make things interesting once in awhile and if it suits me, I share the thoughts and feelings inside me. Feeling very pensive on this fine Sunday morning, this is one of those times.

Sometimes in life the path ahead is unclear to me. Things that happen along the way make me pause and overthink all sorts of nasty thoughts.

The destination is clear.

But there are times when the path has been overgrown by a thicket of doubt or a tree has fallen in front of me that takes much effort and pain to clear.

Since General Conference (2) is coming up this next weekend, I have been pondering a lot of things in my life. God has promised me so many great blessings and given me many blessings that I have done my best to appreciate. But what an impatient creature I am. I want these blessings now. I have not the patience it requires. Because of this impatience...I falter. I stumble. I doubt and fear what is ahead. That maybe I'm not going to receive those blessings after all. 

But God is great. There is no one more trustworthy than God. It is my weakness that bars the way. But it is through His strength that I will overcome.

I may not know my pathway's journey ahead but I do know that God knows it. He is the Master who loves me and will lead me through all that I may encounter. He knows and understands my pain and in Him will I trust. 

D&C 24:8

"These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world." -John 16:33

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Habit-killer

Change. It doesn't bode well for some people. The worst is when it comes and kills the uniformity of habit. Especially if it's a good habit. For example:

The Kitchen Garbage Can

The garbage can has always resided under the kitchen sink. Always. Forever. Since before time and even the creation of time. So growing up, I always walked into the kitchen opened the cupboard door without thinking and tossed the undesirable trash into the trash receptacle where it belonged. All of 23 years I've done this. Without too much complicated thought to the process either. 

Today, it got stinky as garbage cans are wont to do. Mumsy put it out in the garage, I suppose to make it think about what it's done. ;)

Every blasted thing I throw away I have to make the long trip to the garbage can. First to the kitchen to it's usual residence under the sink to where the frustration lies.

Every time I open the door and look in to find the bare spot, I curse (the clean kind of cursing of course) and make my way either to the laundry room or the garage where the garbage cans actually are. Twice the amount of effort for something I don't particularly care for. That's the point of throwing it away you see. Blasted change. No matter how much I tell myself I won't go back to the empty cupboard, the pure FORCE of habit makes me go and open the door again and again and AGAIN!

I guess it's good for the exercise in the least.

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Entrails become extrails

Okay not really. Just an update on my surgically removed lump.

After a drug-induced blackout and a hazy awakening, I found myself in one of those hospital rooms. Yep. One of those. All clean and white.

Clean. Or so you think. Everything has a pristine smell. But beyond the pristine is a reeking chemical smell. Medicines, Clorhexydine, bleach, starch. Leaves a weird taste in everyone's mouth. Beeping, wires, iv catheters, all the weird hospital things.

There's a difference between hospital clean and home clean.

Home clean has a warmth and coziness. Soaps smell of pretty and flowers. All sorts of loveliness makes the home clean like citrus smells, mint smells, lavender smells, even comet has a nice friendly home smell.

Hospital clean isn't warm or cold, it's very detached and isolated. No friendliness in this clean. If not for the nurses and their kindness it would be a grim experience.

Nurses are angels. No doubt about it. Forgoing their own comfort to constantly ensure the comfort and satisfaction of their wards.

If not for the effects of Insanity and P90X workouts and regular running, my recovery would be longer-lasting. With a foundation of abs of steel (insert a small amount of sarcasm...just a small amount though, my doctor said I was the healthiest patient he'd had and he could tell I took care of my body because my muscles were well toned...insert some pride here at this moment...) I am on a fast track to recovery. I think my inability to be an invalid for long and my stubbornness to do things on my own will contribute as well. My main thing now is to NOT overdo it.  Easier said than done.

In which case my entrails would become my extrails...

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A word on being cut open

6 am. That's when I have to be there. 

NOT when I have to open my eye lids to a dark world.

NOT when I have to awake myself and arouse my faculties. 

NOT when I have to take a shower to scrub the special antibiotic soap all over my bacteria-ridden body. 

NOT when I have to prepare myself for my doom.

NOT when I have to leave my home to get to the hospital. 

I'm the first 'case.' That's right. The lucky girl that arrives at 6 am. 

6 am. Oh how I haven't missed you. Lucky for me, I get to be knocked out for a couple of hours to make up for it. That's when they cut me open. Yup. Like in the child's game, Operation. 

Tools needed...true story

Only for real. 

Due to many hilarious stories of delirious post-anesthetic behaviors, I'm leaving my phone in the care of my beloved mother who will be sane and drug-free at all times. She will be in possession of the device whilst I am in a drug-induced craziness. Until such a time that I can coherently converse with you lovely peoples.

SO nothing too scandalous if you please. It's my mother who'll be reading them. Just sayin.

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Readjustments

Sigh. A nice weekend. Family get togethers full of laughter, music, games, and fun.

My happy tummy is full. Has been all weekend. Yummy food stuffs in well-stocked cupboards and grand dinners for the holiday season have seen to that.

But...lurking in the back of my brain, a whisper. A grating reminder.

Bare cupboards. Cold empty fridges. 

Grumpy belly gnomes. Grumbling and gnashing of teeth.

Food. A foreign dream for a college kid like me.

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Wanderlust

My bag is packed. Selected and designed to get me to my journey's end.  I open the door. The first step is always the hardest, the leaving part. But yet not the hardest. The excitement for adventure in me makes it easy. I step onto the road to test my true endurance.

The road is long. I've known it for some time. Prepared in every way possible. But what awaits me, is beyond my comprehension. I've only heard stories and fairy tales of the place at the end of this road. I must get there. The desire in my heart and the strength in my soul begs me to reach out for it. Despite the promised dangers that lay in wait and the strain on my mortal body, I travel.

Thirsting and starving. Stumbling, weary, and travel worn. I stop. Only for a time. I am alone on the road. I find a stream heading the same direction I am. The cool water refreshes me and I eat my bread to strengthen me. The night is coming.

Much must be done to prepare myself for the long night. Shelter is thrown up and a fire lights a small circumference around me. I sleep for a time.

Noises coming from the dark. I've been taught to stay in the light. The creatures of the night don't bother with fire and its company. But sleep is hard to come by with the fear and anticipation of what lay beyond my eyes' seeing. The fear gathers inside me and I doubt the sun's rising. But just the slightest glimmer on the eastern horizon sparks hope in my heart.

The road stumbles me. My small torch only shows me so far ahead. Many times I climb huge obstacles and other times I walk sluggish through dense forest. But always my mind remembers where I'm going. And who will be there waiting.

I've reached the mountain. My destination lies beyond. With determination I reach up and take hold. My load weighs me down at times but it is essential for me to keep it close. Climbing requires all my strength and fortitude. Sometimes I run out. But Someone's hands push me forward or lift me up when I get caught.

Right now I must struggle on. The hardest part of my journey is stretched up before me. I have come a long way. But more is required if I am to reach this place. My heart yearns for it. Although my body is weak, strength will come.

Nothing can stop me but myself.

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Monsters, beasts and the like

I listen carefully as I wait for them. They always come when it's the darkest. When I can't see them, only then will they come. The thud of my heart drowns out their coming, but I can feel them all around me. I can feel their empty souls. Ugly and lacking in light.

I try to elude them but the darkness is theirs. I kick and punch with all my might but nothing I do seems to faze them. My strength is being spread too thin. Too many.

Slowly they infiltrate the small space inside me. I scream but no sound comes out. The more space they take up...the harder it is to push them back out. They are cold and spiky. Prickly. My body crunches into a tiny ball, trying to squeeze them out. But somehow they've found more space to occupy. They reach into the parts of me that are weak and try to break anything they can.

Weakness. I can feel it piling up. How easily they found it all. How abundant it has become. There is no hope within me. It must come from outside. Anything.

Eternity drags by as the skirmish continues. Repetitive fears and worries flung around the room. Good always prevails...my time is coming...

Light. The Sun.

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On the clock

Darkness surrounds me. A soft darkness against the back of my eyelids. My body slowly relaxes against the welcoming couch cushions. Breathing slows down to a quiet rhythm and my heart thuds a low bass. The gears of my mind wind down and settle into place.

tick.

NO!! Please. I beg you! Do NOT Listen.

tick. tick.

Listen to the white noise of the fan blowing cool air across the room. Its purr will calm the senses. Ahhh.. much better. Listlessness takes over once again. My mind does a replay of the events and worries of the day, slowly stumbling along.

tick. TICK. tick. TICK. tick. TICK.

Furrealz?! Ugh. Sounds like this clock has a hitch in its getup. Perhaps a limp? Whatever. It doesn't matter, either way it was seriously delaying my time of rest and recuperation (which considering how much I really don't get anyways you'd think I'd be used to it by now...), something most precious to me.

TICK. tick. TICK. tick. TICK. tick....

Blast my light sleeping habits. Other more fortunate people would find it almost soothing to have the telltale rhythm of the clock rocking them to sleep. Oh no. Not me! That would be too wonderful. My body enjoys torturing itself at night. Even as a wee infant my mother told me it was my habit to wake when she so much as took a step into the room. I've had quite the amount of practice it would seem in a fifth of a century.

tick. TICK. tick. TICK. tick. TICK. tick. TICK. TICK. TICK. TICK.

ARGH!!! I will crush the stupid wall decoration! I swear that it will be done.

I tear down the time keeper and pull out its heart. The clock becomes quiet and useless without its power source. Blessed silence. Hallelujah!

Goodbye loud world of clocks and ticking. I'm headed to a world of quiet dreams.

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Real faces

A mask to the world. With light colors and happy faces painted on the outside. A sunny lie. Something different resides behind the facade. Nothing black or evil. But something different. The truth. The real face.

The face I don't like to see.

When the world looks at your face they see beauty and sunshine. Your pay isn't an actor's pay as much as it should be. Happiness that bright has to be of an actor's creation. Contentment and serenity dance a scene on your mask.

Weathered eyes see past the age old play.

What lies behind. The thing of masks is their holes. Flaws. No matter the finesse of the painter, there cannot be perfection. Sight would never be sacrificed for such.

Eyes. Windows to the soul. Souls cannot lie. Eyes. Two way streets.

No contemplating on what lies behind. Studying what is seen is a dangerous game to play. Knowing what resides there behind the pretty mask stutters the painting's beautiful image. All feel the unrest and the dissonance. To discern the origin of discord requires well-traveled eyes. A hard road traveled.

A road never traveled twice.

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Scottish traveling

The rain splatters across my windshield. The wipers scrape a grating rhythm. Poor weather stripping makes loud air whistle to get inside. No sounds but for these, the rain and wind. Besides its setting, the sun has long been hidden behind inky wet clouds. Hills and mountains shrouded in billowing fogs.

My long drive from the "Welsh" city, made mysterious by the dark mists. Cars few and far between increase the stretch of darkness.

Misty Highlands from ancient times, feel close. Looking through the mist to the darkened hillsides, I can almost see long ago Scotsmen. Bagpipe reeds drone a melancholy melody through canyons and ravines. Kilts of various tartans and half cloaks blend in a bagand procession. A longing rises in me.

The lands of my ancestors. The British Isles where much of my heritage hailed from. There has always been a deep longing within me to see the green covered lands of lore. The luring pull of unseen places and beguiling stories of yore, entice my mortal existence to adventures.
 
To see my homeland, turned into such a place by spring rains, always turns my mind and heart to those lands that lie so far away.

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Glowing inside

I sit inside this decaying mortal body. I've been trusted with its care. It functions well. But every moment is precious. Although there is strength and physical hardiness to be found, my gift is fragile. Any moment could find me flying back to the presence of my God, leaving it behind.

My beautiful perfection has been marred by some of the things it does. I feel bits of me being chipped off by the sheer depression of a mortal mind and the weak faltering of a carnal nature. I try to stop it. To warn it but while I am in this body, my voice goes unheeded a lot. My voice. It used to ring through the halls of heaven, but now it's small and quiet, barely a whisper. 

Words of encouragement drizzle down on me like warm summer rain. There is nothing else comparable to this feeling. The voice of the prophet of the Lord carries in it the voice of my Savior. My Redeemer speaks to me through his servants, words composed to lead me through the darkness into His everlasting light. The love and light in their eyes reminds me of moments before this life. Of a Heavenly Father and Mother. I swell with happiness and fill the shell that holds me here.

First Presidency

These are the moments that regenerate the light within me. The channel that mortality hinders, opens up at their soft words. The more light my mortal lets in, the less I am pushed back. The abundance of light that this gathering and teaching has provided always stitches a part of me to my frame. This is why I'm here in this body.

To become what my Father is. Light.

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Golden delirium

I watch the little white fluffs coasting down from grey low-cast skies. Street lights cast a glow of gold across the white terrain, almost beguiling me. 

But I'm no fool. 

There is no warmth on the other side of the double-paned glass that I look through. It is a false type of gold. 

Hell's gold.

The real gold won't come for a long while it seems. The presence of cold and slushy snow drifts acts to push back its coming. 

The world has been subjected to this cool silver season for a small eternity. Every year it seems to last longer than the winter prior. And colder. It's always colder than the last roll around. 

Heat. 

That's what I look forward to. Hot molten sunlight saturating my skin and hair. Inhaling spicy summer air, warming my frozen soul. Gold and lively green hues surrounding me and feeding my dull spirit. Sunlight reaching into every dark corner and refurbishing the winter dilapidated happiness.

To run through fields of lush green grass chasing balls and frisbees. To catnap in sunlight's warm embrace. To accompany nature's inhabitants through morning's first waking, along deer trails and mountainsides. To explore the wilderness of a hidden grove. To lay in repose, watching the clouds drift lazily across an ocean-blue sky. To watch tiny seedlings swell to adulthood in the sun's daily presence. To lose yourself in the pink and white frothed orchards.

These are what I hunger for and every winter I'm left wanting. Starving.

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Dweam wiffin a dweam

DREAM ONE

Snow is stacked around the road in plowed piles. Pine trees make a high skyline and through their hallways a dark and spacious warehouse opens. To the side of the mountain road a mining pit. Tiny figures pick at the rocks and small explosions spatter the mine. Formless people mill around the constricted open area; disappearing and reappearing with little purpose other than to exist in my mind.

From the deep blurry forest a Tyrannosaurus Rex bursts into the scene. Frantic movements of the figures becomes a haze in my peripherals. My limbs feel sluggish and my vision can*t seem to clear as I search for a hiding space from the huge carnivorous creature. A dugout; only tall enough for me and just as wide as a person across the shoulders; appears in the ground at the top of the hill with a few hiders in it already. I drop down inside and wait for the all*s clear.

A military march is heard in the distance. Soundless voices urge my escape. Only I can get away fast enough to come and rescue them from the overrule of the foreign military. I run up the hill and down through the warehouse. My computer and its cord are in my hands. It is essential that I keep it.

The officers of the brigade enter the warehouse moments after I run down the stairs. My fingers lose their grip on the computer. I look towards the opening to the upper floor and the leader looks at me with calculating eyes. He points at me and I weave and jump through the bottom floor to safety.

I am in the city now. I make my way into the Taggart Student Center. I find an elderly man who puts his arm around my shoulder; shielding me from the view of the occupant soldiers. His wife comes to my other side and guards me there. A soldier comes and tries to see my face. I keep it turned away and make my escape outside. I somehow find myself on babysitting duty. They only get to have 10 minutes to play outside.

At the close of their playtime; barrels of various colors float down from the sky. They melt into the ground where the storehouse resides. We wait in line; first come; first served. I come second after the first unlucky man. I turn to the boy behind me and we walk away trying to keep our spirits up. The front man attacks me and thrusts me up to the wall by my shoulders.

I push him away several times but each successive attack he gets stronger. My fists pummel his face but seem to have lost their substance. I feel completely helpless. I don*t have the strength I can feel in my anger. Something is wrong. My limbs don*t have strength at all. With one final attempt at escape from the evil man; I punch his face with everything left inside me and the jolt wakes me.

DREAM TWO

I look around. I*m in my room. Thank heavens. It was a dream. Odd. I*m not in my bed. I crawl out from under the covers and look to see that I am in fact at the foot of my roommate*s bed; scrunched into a ball and she is still asleep. I slip out onto the floor. I swear I don*t sleep walk. Perhaps tonight had disproved that. I stand up and look around. There isn*t much light seeping in through the blinds. It must still be night time.

Well I don*t feel too sleepy. A television sits on a dresser that has somehow replaced the head of my bed in the corner. I toggle the switches and look for a channel to watch. A female news reporter; in front of a red background; rambles on indistinguishably about something boring but I can*t seem to get away from this channel. My other roommates are still asleep so I try to find the volume button. It can*t be found. The television gets louder and louder. I panic because I don*t want to wake them all up. The noise eventually wakes me.

DREAM THREE

I*m in my old apartment in Old Farm. I*m laying on the ground between Sally and Charlie; my feet propped up on Sally*s armrest. The lights downstairs are all off and the hallway light upstairs shines down the stairs and through the bars of the stair railing. A movie is on and shadows of people I know sit on the couches attentive to its story. I try to sit up and my body won*t move. I*m so tired. I can*t seem to keep my eyes open. I can*t make anything move. My eyelids close but then flutter open as I come awake.

DREAM FOUR

I*m in my bed. My clock blinks early morning. My eyelids are heavy and my mind is grateful for the promised rest until my alarm is actually set to go off. I close my eyes and go back to sleep to find blurry dreams and sluggish fantasies.

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Day of conundrums

First conundrum: To wake or not to wake?

Out in the world of the awake is a haggard life full of dreary colors and drawn faces. No warmth resides in earth*s first morning breath. The happiness of the sun*s rising has not yet come to pass. The remaining winter bird*s twittering and lilting songs are absent. No sane creature stirs from its place of slumber. A sombre existence in a cognizant world.

Second conundrum: To class or not to class?

A professor*s lecture; full of pomp and vague humor; falls upon many closed ears. Numerous thoughts revolve around a world of dreams and happy hauntings sporadically tapping into instruction. A scarce few nod to the beat of exhaustion and button their eyes secure to the drone of the professor*s lulling oration; which arrests sycophantic attention alone. The chosen subject parades no excitement or fascination to claim justification for the sinful earliness of the rendition. The sandbag man is a far more virtuous and heeded competitor in this dark hour. 

 

Third conundrum: to eat or not to eat?

Being that the first and second conundra coupled; cause for quarterhour shuteyes and hurried traveling; eliminating tardiness served as a consequence for cuffing the snooze button. Time warrants especial division. Gluttony doesn*t comprehend the college cuisine and time deficiency increases eradication. Barren cupboards and wasted spaces common corridors in scholarly quonsets.

Fourth conundrum: to cut or not to cut?

Safe paths on busy highways in blocks and rows. Cut pathways snake through glades and manmade forests frothed with cultivated ices. Danger*s path the quicker road whilst safety*s course runs straight and eternal. Time saved prospects point out slippery ways.

Fifth conundrum: to work or not to work?

Well earned bills and hard spent hours; counterparts work well with instruction. Double-crossing juvenile*s wander lazy patterns within dusted academies while worn out managers sings praising. Beastly creatures run rampant through lowered appendages chasing star sounds. Late leaving monsters grate on hearing aids and mentors. Shaved trees whir round signatures and metal spikes in endless rhythms. Creeping bothersomes watch through clear membranes. Racing to time*s clock to beat the lagging constitution. 

Sixth conundrum: to study or not to study?

Missed concepts from early mornings literally book-ridden. Reconciling weary eyelids and drooping posture steps to ambrosia. Waltzing figures catching butterflies and bowling bubbles in neighboring ballrooms cast shadows on rainbow walls. Rambling attention befits festivities and laughter. Social calls inhibits motivation*s flow. 

Seventh conundrum: to sleep or not to sleep?

Days lain awake; end results to rest. Began with sleep*s deprivement now swift to late activities at it*s expense. Life*s spent worries laid to rest at bed*s edge.

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misericordia Domini inter pontem et fontent

The ground is hard. It hurt a lot when I fell on it. My mother had to let me go. I want to cry but I don't know how. I can't see her. I don't have eyes yet so life is dark around me. All I can do now is feel and listen.

My entire being shakes with the rumblings of the earth. Noises penetrate my protective shell. She gave me that protection when I was still with her. Days go by I think. I feel the warmth of the Big Light each passing day. He is essential to my growth. But I can't grow much right now. It isn't the right time.

It gets really cold for a long time. It's so hard to survive on my own. Luckily the Light still comes around. It's nice to have someone to rely on. Whenever He shines through the snow I know I can make it at least one more day through the bitterness. Sometimes I just wish that I could grow all the way and be done with this stagnation. But the whisperings of my genetic coding cautions me to continue my dormancy. I do not understand the world around me yet so in order to survive this frail existence I must abide.

I don't know how long that part of my life lasts but I feel the snow melt around me. The warming soil lets me sink down into its protective depths. The voice of my instinct nudges me and whispers encouragement for my future.

It's time to grow.

Time has no measurement in my life. But it is of the essence that I am timely. My size seems to expand and I press against the walls surrounding me.  The protection of my shell has always been such a comfort to me, but I must not be restrained. With all of my might I burst through and see warm darkness. The warmth is a promise of seeing my old friend the Light.  

My roots sink deep into the Light-warmed earth and I anchor myself here. I soak up the living water and essential nutrients that saturates the warmth. I can almost feel my body filling with light. I have so much growing to do.

The surface is near. I can feel the air touching part of my searching fingers.

I break the surface. I have eyes. So many eyes. To see the world and the Light and His brightness all around me. I can't take it all in fast enough. There is so much wonder. I stretch out my first arms and devour the brightness from the outstretched rays of the Light. My entire body leaps into growth almost like a fire burning! I grow as many arms and hands as I can. I want to be closer to Him. It seems like such a hard thing to do. But every little piece of my body yearns to get closer to the Light.

Sometimes huge creatures move past. I see them ingesting the bodies of some of my family. This scares me but I push past my seedling fears to keep growing. I can see that I am still smaller than my mother. Her familiar love provides a canopy overhead. I see in her my own potential. Can I really get that enormous?

The voice that is always with me, my guide and my protector, fills my tiny mortal with hope.  It tells me of my future. I look within and see...the possibility of Me.

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I dono

Where is it? Is it happy?

I wouldn*t know. I can*t seem to find it.

But surely it*s there. Everyone else has theirs.

I can*t feel it. I can*t see it. I can*t hear it anymore. I can*t remember what it felt like.

Where could it have gone? It*s impossible for it to just disappear.

Is it? Can you find it? It has to be gone. Otherwise I would be able to find it.

I*m not sure where to look. I got so used to it being there that I forgot to remember.

I feel like giving up now. How can we find it if we don*t know where to look?

But surely we can*t give up. That would be depressing if we lost it permanently.

I don*t think it would. It might make things a LOT less complicated. We wouldn*t have to worry.

If we found it though; we could lock it away where no one else could find it. It is so precious. We can*t leave it out there alone.

That*s what anyone else would do. Why can*t we just do what*s easy?

Because it means so much to us. I know that it can be full of sorrow; but there is so much joy found in it too.


That*s just it. How will we know if it still has any joy left in it? We might have used it all up.

I don*t know. But remember how much joy there was before we lost it? Perhaps we can replenish it.

Yes. Yes I do remember that. But where could we go? Who would know so much about something like this to be able to help with that?

I just...I just don*t know. There must be something we can do. I don*t like being without it. It*s uncomfortable.

I know. Me too. We can acclimate. It*s part of our survival instinct right? I know we can do this. 

It will be hard though. Maybe we should find it and let someone else take care of it. That way we wouldn*t have to worry.

Sigh. I don*t think you are understanding. It was our burden to bear. We are the caretakers and we lost it. IF we are able to find it then we would have to guard it lock and key. We can*t lose it so easily again. It belongs to a very important person. No one else can have it. It*s just not meant to be stretched out between more than one person. We*ve failed.

It*s just not there anymore. How could this have happened?

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Fire + Men = ?!!!

Midnight approaches and everyone is getting antsy. Food adorns the kitchen counter and none of it has been left untouched. Standing in the kitchen are a few of the men; exchanging funny stories of things that had happened to each of them over the past year. On the kitchen table a riveting game of Picture Dice is commencing and the occupants are raising their voices according to their luck or lack thereof. In the living room in front of the couch four or more dancers jam out to the songs on Just Dance 2; the newest addition to the Wii repertoire; while an unlicensed cameraman takes an unauthorized recording of one particular dancer...! A few people are gathered around the computer playing some extraordinary game I*m sure. My Dad however after waking from a short evening nap; has gone outside to rig up the launching pad.

The clock strikes 12 and everyone scrambles to throw their coats; gloves; scarves; hats; and boots on. The babies and small children are asleep inside and a few stay in to keep warm. But testosterone is pumping and all the men must launch something big and spectacular.

A few bottle rockets fly into the sky and explode with a pop! Drifting down the porch stairs my puppy*s whines reach my ears. I walk out past the halo of light surrounding the house to cover her ears and hold her trembling body close as firework after firework explodes in the air. Reds; golds; and a few blues shower the sky with their brilliant light. My horse paces a frantic burrow in the snow along the far fence; making worried noises with each burst of light.

Silence once again reigns. The show must have ended. I watch as the bystanders march inside.

The proud launchers still buzz a pattern around the remaining fireworks. Some are saved for the next years show; but there are a few of the men that can't leave a firework unfired! One last big firework is sent screaming into the frozen New Year air.

Something just feels off. The men stash the rest of the fireworks in a bag for next year and pick up the burnt out remains of those that were fired. But something was missing. I ponder the events that had just transpired.

No near death experiences this year. All of the illegal Wyoming fireworks had actually ended up in the air as was their purpose. That was it!!! Almost every year of the Crook get together for New Years at least ONE of the airborne fireworks hadn't made it up where it belonged. One year a bottle rocket fell over and shot at almost every group of family members huddled together around the yard. Another year a huge blue firework hadn*t shot out of its canister and had exploded on the ground where everyone was still gathered.

The excitement of those years outweighed the excitement experienced this year. Safety was always a good thing...but you never have stories to tell from those years. Just a thought.

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Hazy

I fall down from the sky and creep down the mountains through canyons and ravines. My fingers seep into every crack, every orifice as I spread my being across the valley. Darkness is my friend and best companion and we give protection to those who seek it.

My thickness blocks out the sun and the sky. I surround and cover everything beneath me. I take chill and ice with me wherever I go. In the winter time I leave marks of the fabled 'Jack Frost' along railings and windows. My breath slips through leaks in buildings and touches every living thing. I am relentless. I cling to every surface that I can, drawing the warmth out of everything I touch. I have no substance but I am a wall.

No one can see what I hide. I hide the lovers' trysts. I hide the thief's scheming. I hide the world from every eye. No one knows what can hold me. The sky can only hold me for so long. I am wild and free. No one can control me. No one can stop me. No physical hand has power over my spirit.

I am what makes lake's mysteries stay mysterious. I am what shrouds the countryside with charm. I am cause for a poet's passion in a poem. I am the listless feeling of the clouds. I am the cap of a mountain. I am the warning of an ocean storm. I am the yore of the Scottish glens. I am in the morning. I am in the winter. I am in the cool spring.

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No place like it

I sit in my car, taking in the seemingly painted scene before me. Except for the light illuminating the air around the two story house, the world around me is blanketed in cold darkness. The silence and solitude that keeps me company, causes my stillness. I look to the beacon of light that this place represents in my life. What a wonderful feeling to return here. There is a sense of relief, of calmness. I know that here I am loved. It is here that my character was built. Here I have made memories.

Opening the door I climb out of the black vehicle and grab my things. The closer I come to the lit building, the more happy my being becomes. My feet barely the touch the ground as my heart feels lighter and freer.

The burdens of everyday life can be left outside at this place. I step through the threshold into the light. Warm greetings and shouts of excitement welcome my entrance. My face can't help but break into a smile. This place seems to increase the light in my spirit just by being here. Though the world has dumped snow on the world and on my life of late, nothing can take away the warmth and comfort here. This lit world within is my refuge, my safe place.

I can be myself here. I can find myself again. All the despairs and stresses of life are still a part of me, still looming in my mind but I can forget them...for a little while. I am filled with peace and tranquility because I'm home now. Home.

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