Romper Room

"Romper, bomper, stomper, boo,
Tell me, tell me, tell me true.
Magic Mirror, tell me today,
Did our friends have fun with us at play?"

Miss Jean, 1955, WOOD TV, Grand Rapids, Michigan

 

I wanted to be on "Romper Room" in the worst way!  On the morning of my 3rd birthday, I ran to my parents' bedroom to wake them up and inform them I was now old enough to be on Romper Room.  (The reason, of course, was because it was a "school" ... and I wanted very badly to go to school.  Because I wanted to learn to read.)

I've had fun "playing" on Multiply today!  And I finished my laundry.  And my son DID get his hair cut.

Now it's time to say my prayers and go to bed.  It's back to work tomorrow after a 4-day weekend.  (Unless we get a Snow Day -- which is slightly possible and I know of probably 300 children who are praying for it LOL)

Goodnight, friends.  Sweet dreams.

If I Stand

There’s more that rises in the morning than the sun,

And more that shines in the night than just the moon.

There’s more than just this fire, here, that keeps me warm,

And a shelter that is larger than this room.

There’s a loyalty that’s deeper than mere sentiment,

And a music higher than the songs that I can sing.

The stuff of earth competes for the allegiance

That I owe only to the Giver of all good things

So if I stand, let me stand on the promise

That You will pull me through;

And if I can’t, then let me fall

On the grace that first brought me to You.

 

Rich Mullins

 

 

 

 

Quondam Quote du Noir

"This life here and now was never intended to be fair.  In fact, the frustrations of this life are intended to make you long for something more."

Pastor Bob Coy

Writers Block #52: The Agnostic Shepherd

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is dismal.  Some have heard angels sing.  Some say that star leads to a faraway hope.  My feet are wet, and I have no idea why it has to snow again tonight.  I am looking for a lamb that wandered off at sunset.  Perhaps we’ll both be dead by dawn. 

 

Centuries from now, people will hate and kill each other, because of differing interpretations of what was seen and heard tonight.  If, indeed, anything remarkable has happened tonight at all.

 

If God was real, and he was going to save us, you would think he could just start over, and get it right this time.  What could be so important to him about my wretched life?

 

And where on earth did that lamb of mine go? 

15 Years Ago

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This will be under his car someday soon, I hope

Instead of on his bedroom floor!

The above photo was taken Monday, the day UPS delivered the new "performance" exhaust system for my son's car.

Yesterday he ordered the headers and the catalytic converter.  Hopefully, they will arrive this week.  And hopefully, somebody will be home when they arrive.

In the meantime -- he is away this afternoon (getting that haircut, I still hope) and the car parts are no longer in the living room, but are on the floor of his bedroom.  The bedroom door was shut, the lights were out, the sun has gone down, Mom is going into his room to put away his clothes that I just washed.

DANG!  I forgot about the car parts on the floor.  And they GOT me!

 

How to Get Your Life to be the Way You Want it to Be

Okay, first you have to realize that other people's lives intersect with yours, and you are not going to be able to change anything about them.

 

But if you want to tweak a few things about how your own days go, here are some suggestions of what has worked for me.

1.)  Best advice my mother ever gave me is this: Depression is to be avoided at all costs!

Writers, artists, musicians, photographers, etc. tend to be blessed with a streak of melancholy.  Keep that melancholy in line!  You grab it -- don't let it grab you.  Nobody can do this for you.  Friends might try to remind you.  Listen, when they do.  But only you can do it.

When you look deep into that hole, do not be charmed by it, do not think it is your tragic destiny, do not rationalize about the creative beauty it can evoke.  That's a bunch of crap!  YOU are the creative person -- not the ethereal sense that wraps around you.

I repeat:  Depression is to be avoided at all costs!

2.)  If you feel overwhelmed, just grab the task in front of you and do it.  No task invites you?  Then wash your kitchen counter.  Or mop a floor.  On your hands and knees if you don't have arthritis too bad for that.*  Polish your bathroom mirror.  Little stuff like this is easy to do.  Do some more little stuff like this.

Don't feel as though you have to dive 100% into spring cleaning or self-improvement.  Just do some little thing.  You don't have to feel like it.  Just do it.  It's little.  It looks nice when you're done.  Smile at it.

3.)  Do this first -- but it's no big deal:  Pray.  Doesn't matter if you don't believe God will help you, or even that He exists.  Ask Him to help you anyway.  What harm could that do?

*Note about the kitchen floor on hands & knees -- I don't haul out a bucket and scrub brush any more.  I grab a spray bottle of Mr. Clean or some other brand.  I grab the roll of paper towels.  I do it like that.  Pretty easy.  Not a big drawn out affair.  Looks good.  Smells good.  Makes me feel so dang "righteous" when the floor is shining after just a couple minutes worth of scooting around.

The Christmas Season Begins at my house

I did go back to bed this morning.  I had woken up with that Aquinas quote in my head twice before I actually got up and posted it.  Go figure.  Then I read a few items in my Multiply InBox, posted a couple replies, and finally did just go back to bed for another three hours.

Went to church this morning.  First Sunday of Advent for those of us who follow the ancient Liturgical Church Year.  In my congregation, the tradition for the First Sunday of Advent is for all the women and children to go in and sit, but all the men from 9th grade to 90 years old come in together following the cross and singing "Oh Come Oh Come Emmanuel" -- and this sounds WONDERFUL! They sing 3 verses on their way in.  As they get to the front, they bow to the cross, which has preceded them in, and then they hang out around the sides of the sanctuary.  On verse 4, they don't sing but the women and children do for verses 4 and 5, while the men find their places in the pews.  Verse 6 everybody sings. 

I gotta tell you, though, I love to hear the men singing!  My congregation is quite into singing anyway.  Sometimes we all sing a capella and it's a little like a huge organized choir.  I guess that's because of our Day School.  All our children learn to read music, so that by the time they are grown up, they can sing just fine in church or anywhere.

When church was over this morning it was SNOWING dreadfully!  I had to stop and buy milk on the way home.  Now I've got the week's laundry started.  The photo above is the violets in my dining room and the snow falling out the sliding glass door behind them.

This is what my comfort-seeking cocker spaniel thinks of winter:

She is laying on the heat register.  She just got her hair cut yesterday, and so she has a holiday bow in her ear.  She is pretty, and she knows it.  She has learned to actually pose for me when I want to take her picture.

Friday we put up the tree:

And this afternoon my son is (I hope) off to Great Clips to get a haircut.

Here is a photo of the tree, fully assembled and decked out:

The dog assumes the photo is intended to be of herself, and so she is posing.

Quote du Jour

"Whatever is received, is received according to the nature of the recipient."

-- Thomas Aquinas

Nature Should Be Nurtured

Nature Should Be Nurtured
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

God put everything we need in place before He created us.  In the beginning, we were created to tend a garden, to conceive and raise children, and to walk with God.

In everything we have to do on earth, the challenge is to find what is best, and to nurture that.

Gardening, raising children, walking with God -- the way to be most successful in life on earth is the same for all three.

Find what is beautiful, and nurture it.  It is perfectly fine to move things around -- just do so carefully, and at the proper time for each thing.  Keep the soil well-fed and aerated.  Pull the weeds when the weeds are young and tender and when the soil around them is soft.  (They come out easily then.)  Enjoy, celebrate, and praise.

That's life in a nutshell. 

Breaking News in India

Haven't seen this on CNN yet, but here's what the BBC knows:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/7753726.stm

Maybe I'll just do a journal entry

Maybe I'll just do a journal entry.  If I don't get too personal, maybe I can share it with my Multiply friends.  But maybe I'll just write the way I do in my journal.  Because I probably ought to write right now, so I don't get all stoved up with emotion and get myself a writer's block and then wander off into other pursuits, trying to keep the pain at bay.

It is Thanksgiving night.  Today we remember to be thankful.  Today we also remember all the yesterday holidays.  Or maybe we think about somebody else's better holidays.

Some of my friends have losses.  No.  Make that ALL of my friends.  I am certain that all of my friends have losses.  Life can be so full of losses sometimes.

No, apparently I cannot write about this.  It just causes me total creative shutdown.  Temporary, I am sure.  It seems important to me, though, to actually DO the stopping.  It's this way.  Some things DO require some mourning.  Some things are really bad, you know?

Can you read between the lines?  When you read between the lines, do you think that I have some "fresh" loss?  No.  Not fresh.  Maybe you do, though.  And when I see (or think I see) that you do ... well, then I can barely speak.  Or even think at all.

Thanking God for Life.  Mine, yours, and theirs.

Sigh.

Wednesday Note to Self

Re: Email from Marcia at ACCESS -- remember to watch WGVU tonight at 8 p.m.

Marcia wrote:

"Thanksgiving wishes to all of you.  Despite the media focus on how difficult things are, I am hoping each of you has something you can think of to be thankful for.  There is so much positive we can focus on that will help direct our energy in a more optimistic fashion. 

 

"Despite the increased numbers of individuals visiting the food pantries, we are still receiving calls and emails from families wanting to provide a holiday food basket.  Our pantry volunteers and directors are stepping up to the increased need but if you get a chance to visit any of the pantries, please let them know how much we appreciate their willingness to give of themselves.

 

"Every day, our mail brings us surprised and welcomed donations that will help ACCESS continue to provide the services for the community and it's congregations.  We continue to hear God stories of those who offer to help and are surprised when they find themselves receiving as much satisfaction as the individual they are working with.  God continues to work through the people of our community and it is for that we are very thankful.

 

"I saw the premier of a locally produced film called, The Gift of All: A Community of Givers.  It will be shown on WGVU this Wednesday, Nov 26 @ 8pm.  In 2004, the Chronicle of Philanthropy recognized Grand Rapids, Michigan as the nation's second most generous city, per capita, next to Salt Lake City, Utah, with Grand Rapids residents giving 10 percent of their income to a variety of charitable causes. The Gift of All was a researched, written and produced by a group of local citizens to learn from and honor a generation of givers as well as to inspire everybody by showing the history and potential of giving and voluntarism in our community.

 

"We have so much to be thankful for..... May God continue to bless you and your family with grateful hearts."

Penpals are real people

I just read an essay here: http://blogs.northlandchurch.net/2008/11/19/perceived-connection-actual-isolation/

Okay, well I'll confess, I read part one.  I did not continue after that.  The writer's thesis seems to be that our online connections are not "real".  Writer tells a story of 2 people who go into a coffee shop, fire up their computers, and chat with each other, neither of them realizing they are both physically in the same coffee shop while they chat.

Okay, I guess that's funny.

But crimeny!  What's the big deal?  Let me give some "historical perspective" here.  I dig into genealogy.  I also like to read "old" books.  I know a bit about days gone by.  People WROTE LETTERS.

ALL THE TIME.

That is all we are doing, kids.  We are able to choose friends who don't live near us nowadays perhaps -- people we find interesting == people maybe who share our interests, or broaden our horizons.  We know they are real people!  We are NOT "isolated" (as the essay I read thinks we are) when we share ourselves with people through our CORRESPONDENCE.

Sheesh!  Just because we have a "new" word: Blogging ... or Chatting ... or IMing --

Dude, it is CORRESPONDENCE!  Humans have been communicating this way since before the printing press was even invented.

We just do it "in real time".  And I LIKE that.

Deviating only slightly from this theme -- my husband made an interesting comment today.  Talking about his sister when she first got married (20 years ago or so).  He said of her and her bridegroom, "They didn't have time to psychoanalyze.  They had a farm to run."

Okay, maybe that's deviating a lot from the theme.  I see I'd better tell you why this latter comment seems connected to the beginning of my blog here today.

I think sometimes people gripe too much about the wrong things.  And I think sometimes people "buy" the song-and-dance that we are all so isolated these days, sitting in our own little spaces, able to communicate with people almost everywhere.  DANG!  That just simply is NOT what I call "isolation".

My grandparents' grandparents were isolated.  If they moved across the country to settle the Michigan wilderness, they maybe NEVER got to communicate in real time with the folks they left behind them EVER AGAIN.

Shoot, my sister even chatted with her son when he was in the Navy ON A SUBMARINE!

Gotta love this century!  Quit psychoanalyzing! 

Now for your laugh of the day:  This is the link that first sent me to the website where I read the essay I have here blogged about.  I got this one in an email today, and it is HILARIOUS!


The Mom Song- LIVE from Northland Video on Vimeo.

http://blogs.northlandchurch.net/2008/08/11/the-mom-song/

It is called "The Mom Song"

His Story

     The Sovereign had angelic children, all of them bright and promising, each of them well-brought-up, and well-provided for.  The eldest knew his father well, and envied his father, if truth be told, though why this should be so, I cannot say.

     In due course, upon attaining his maturity, the eldest took his place and ruled at his father's right hand.  He was well-equipped to fulfill this destiny, for his father had personally taught him everything that he, himself knew.

   The eldest was said to be so like his father: he excelled in science and art, mathematics and music; and his understanding of all these things was very keen.  It was said that the eldest was every bit as creative and capable as the Sovereign himself.  Every bit as creative and capable.  Furthermore, his countenance, much like his father's, was very stunning to behold.

     The Sovereign, being very ancient, had a goodly number of angelic children, and governed his kingdom with incredible wisdom, setting each of his children in positions of authority perfectly suited to their particular temperaments.

     This, then, was a peaceable kingdom.

     You have heard of what once happened, though, have you not?  It has long been told that the eldest once led many of his siblings to usurp the kingly throne.

     You have heard of what the Sovereign did, to preserve the peaceable kingdom: how he banished the usurpers to the pain of his own heart. 

     Have you heard, though, of the anguish of the other angelic children?  Have you heard, dears, of the anguish of the ones who did not rebel when their brother led a band against their father, and was captured, and was banished, to the pain of the Sovereign's heart?

   Oh, they did not understand -- these angelic children.  They could not say why the eldest took upon him what he did.  They could not say why so many followed in this horrid train.  Nor could they say why they were not also caught up in this folly themselves.

     Hence, the Sovereign himself would teach them, telling stories -- many stories.  So creative was the Sovereign that a whole new world was born of his words, as he taught his angel children with a wisdom full of nuance, rich with color, music, logic, justice, humor, mercy, irony.

     The stories first began, though, with a single metaphor:  how in overcoming chaos, there had been the first dividing of the darkness from the light.

    The stories have continued since before the dawn of time.  Many stories every evening, many stories every morning.  Every nuance, every possibility, is explained to angel children, as the Sovereign tells his story.

     Sometimes, still, the angel children, as creative as their father, when they know just how the tale should go, will write part of it themselves; never usurping, though, for that brings chaos.  Mostly, though, they watch and listen.  With eager faces they urge him on, as he creates new characters, new situations, amazing stories, all intertwined, a tapestry that is really one story yet seems to be infinite as the heavens themselves.

     Have you guessed, yet, who the Sovereign is?  Why the Creator of All, my dears.  And the angelic children are the Watchers and the Holy Ones.  And we, dears, are his story.  And this is not the end.  So creative is the Sovereign that the characters in his story have been crafted in the very image of the Sovereign himself -- have, in fact, been given life, and that not merely fictional, either.

    The angel children continue to watch, but we who are the characters of his story have been created to be more creative, even, than the angel children themselves.  We always write our own places in his story, whereas they only write a few lines.  Yet we are limited as to time and place, which they are not; and our stories are collective and diverse, overlapping with each other's as we co-create and tell the tale of all that can ever be.

Fiction by Rani Kaye - All Rights Reserved

Writer's Forum Find Your Muse #9 'Language Barrier'

"Lost in the Scenery"

Drat!  Now this is EXACTLY why I won't let myself imagine in color:  Because I ALWAYS get lost in the scenery if I do.  I have absolutely no sense of time.  I am "directionally challenged" in my home town.  So what am I gonna do now?  Just HAD TO gaze into that painting, didn't you, girl?

I'm in Rome.  I was in the Sistine Chapel with a tour group.  Why did I let Joyce talk me into coming on this tour?  I NEVER go on tours.  Joyce is so dang visual.  Joyce is so into experiences.  Joyce is so gregarious.  Yeah, and Joyce is off with the rest of the tour, because she can see things and remain connected to reality.  Not me, though.  Oh no.

In the sixties they started calling this phenomena "tripping out."  Mom and Dad just called it "day dreaming."  "Earth to Rani," is what my sister Vickie would say.  Yeah, well, earth (or the part of it I'm familiar with) just walked away and boarded the bus without me.  Yeah, I don't just get lost in the scenery in my imagination.  Oh no, I'm more lost than that.   I am a wall flower.  Absolutely forgettable.  I am so quiet, nobody notices me.

Yeah, they probably said "last call" or something.  But I was reading Michelangelo's mind.  I was living in his world.  So now how do I get back to my hotel before they all head back to America without me, for crying out loud?

"He is a foreign man.  He is surrounded by the sound, sound.  Angels in the architecture, spinning in infinity.  I said hey, hallelujah!"  Paul Simon.  I love Paul Simon.  What would Paul Simon do?  He travels all over creation, and he's a poet.  THINK, Rani!

I need to ask somebody how to get back there.  NO!  I need to beg somebody to GUIDE me back there.  Or I need a map.  In English.  Okay, now what am I going to do.  Think!  Think!

Hello ... does anyone here speak English?  No.  Well how about this one then, Parlez-vous Francais? 

Yeah, like that will help if somebody says, "Oui, je parle francais."

When I was foster-mom to Than and his English wasn't so good, I tried to remember my French, because he'd told me he'd learned French in school in VietNam.  But my schoolgirl French and his schoolboy French didn't sound the same, so THAT didn't work.  I had wanted to impress upon him some concept, and I just could not find the English words he knew to do it. 

Oh!  I remember!  Finally I found something along those lines in my Bible, and then copied the same chapter and verse out of HIS Vietnamese Bible.  I don't remember if that worked, though. 

But what the heck!

Bibles, Bibles, this is a CHAPEL for crying out loud.  Do they have any Bibles here in Italian?  More importantly than that, is there ANY dang verse in the Bible that says, "I am from America and I am lost.  I do not even remember the name of my hotel, let alone the street it is on."  Obviously THAT is not in the Bible.  So pointing to a verse in an Italian Bible and using that to express myself is NOT going to help me out of this situation.

Yeah, well, quit thinking about that.

Universal language.  Music is the universal language.  Yeah, but not all songs are universal.  What songs do I know in English that your average Roman is going to know in Italian?  Think!  Think!

Pavarotti is the only Italian singer I know.  No, wait, Placido Domingo.  And he sang a few in English: "Perhaps love is like a resting place, a shelter from the storm ..."  SHELTER!  Where is my shelter in this foreign land?  And WHY isn't my group coming back in search of me?

"Stop and stare.  I think I'm moving but I go nowhere ..."  Now WHY am I hearing that song by One Republic in my head?

No, wait!  That isn't a song in my head.  That is the ring tone on my cell phone!  Cell phone!  Answer it!

My son!  Back at home in the USA!  Hi, honey; how ya doin'? ... Oh, ... Well did you look in the study?  Yeah, under Dad's desk, in that little drawer thing.  Say, listen, do you have your computer fired up?  ... Good.  Listen, honey, could you do a Google Earth for me?  ... Yeah.  See if you can find the Sistine Chapel in Rome.  ... Okay, I'll wait.  ... You've got it?  Great!  Now could you look on my desk next to the calendar for the copy of the itinerary of this tour I'm on and see what the name of my hotel is supposed to be? ... You found it?  Great!  ... No, I don't need to know the name of it.  Just do a Google map for me of the directions from the Sistine Chapel to that hotel, and then STAY on the phone and talk me back there. ... Yeah, I know.  Just help me, okay?  STOP laughing and start Googling.  Thank you!

Fiction by Rani Kaye - All Rights Reserved

Old Age - A new Perspective

Link

My Multiply friend, Ronnie, posted a wonderful essay she received via email.  You should read it!

Picture Perfect -- Worn

November 22nd, 1963

From the scrapbook I made when I was eleven years old.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The following poem is on the last page of my scrapbook.  It is an adaptation of the eulogy given by Senate Majority Leader Mike Mansfield.  The adaptation was written by Rudolph Umland.  My apologies in advance, but I do not know what newspaper or magazine I clipped this from.  I had just celebrated my eleventh birthday days before President Kennedy was assassinated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a sound of laughter; in a moment, it was no more.
And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands.
There was a wit in a man neither young nor old, but a wit
Full of an old man's wisdom and of a child's wisdom,
And, then, in a moment it was no more.
And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands.

There was a man marked with the scars of his love of country,
A body active with the surge of a life far, far from spent
And, in a moment, it was no more.
And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands.
There was a father with a little boy, a little girl,
And a joy of each in the other.  In a moment, it was no more,
And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands.

There was a husband who asked much and gave much, and
Out of the giving and the asking wove with a woman what could not
Be broken in life, and in a moment it was no more.
And so she took a ring from her finger and placed it in his hands,
And kissed him and closed the lid of a coffin.
A piece of each of us died at that moment.

Yet, in death he gave of himself to us.
He gave us of a good heart from which the laughter came.
He gave us of a profound wit, from which a great leadership emerged.
He gave us of a kindness and a strength fused into a human courage
To seek peace without fear.

He gave us of his love that we, too, in turn, might give.
He gave that we might give of ourselves, that we might give
To one another until there would be no room, no room at all,
For the bigotry, the hatred, prejudice and the arrogance
Which converged in that moment of horror to strike him down.

-- Senator Mike Mansfield
prose adapted to poetry by Rudolph Umland

Notes to Self

Go look at this week's Picture Perfect entries when you get some time.

If you want to hear Luciano Pavarotti or Placido Domingo, go to Vinster's videos.

See what the CC challenge is on Bill's page.

Try to read some more of those De Maupassant short stories, because they might be good for the writer in you, even if you don't like the endings.

I'm Yours

Before the cool done run out I'll be giving it my bestest
And nothing's gonna stop me but divine intervention
I guess that it's again my turn
To win some, or learn some

So I won't hesitate
No more, no more
This is our fate
I'm yours

-- Jason Mraz

OKAY, I will write the story, if YOU will watch the video!  It's posted in My Videos on my page!

Heard it on the radio ONCE, while driving in my car.  The lyrics grabbed me.  Hurried home to do a google search for the song.  I was lucky that the title turned out to be "I'm Yours" because the radio announcer did not give the name of the artist or the title of the song.

Now please, go hear this one.  I think you might like it.

Still trying to write "Fiction"

I got an email with the next Writer's Forum challenge just before I went to bed last night.  It will have to be fiction, because I have no life experience of this challenge to draw upon.  So I'm laying in bed last night trying to imagine myself in the situation required for the story.

My imagination is totally self-talk.  My imagination is not even slightly visual.  And so, the story I wrote in my head was all words.  Had I been at the keyboard, I can type almost as fast as I can think, so the story would have appeared on my blog with the click of a mouse.

Today, I can remember what I wrote in my head last night.  And I suppose it may have been a good enough story.  But it is a story that I now am bored with.

I have until next Tuesday night to do a new one.  Next time, I guess I'll imagine another scenario, but this time I will do so at my keyboard.

So I learned something about myself, anyway.

And sorry if it seems like I am "teasing" here.  I did used to write fiction back in school.  But I wrote it at the typewriter, and never worked at it for very long.  I'd just type it out and hand it in and get my usual "A" and everybody would say how "creative" I am.

My creative writing teacher wrote in my yearbook, "To a girl who is creative to her very fingertips ... "

Well, apparently it is ONLY my fingertips.  Because if I am not at the keyboard, I can "write" it in my head, but once I've written it, I don't want it any more.  Unless it's poetry.  Poetry I keep.  Poetry is my soul.  Fiction is just my imagination, which I do not actually employ in my day-to-day life unless it is to rehearse possibilities or to try to solve a problem.

But I do enjoy reading fiction.  And I can see great value in fiction.  Because with fiction you can hide in plain sight, and spotlight a truism without seeming to be doing so.

Stay tuned for the story, I guess.

But I'm not going to think about it again until I feel inclined to actually write it.  Because in order to write it I will have to re-imagine.  And I do not particularly enjoy imagining.  I much prefer thinking, sorting, and looking for connections.

Taking a stab at fiction

Well, I started working on this around 1 p.m. today, and I had to be someplace else at 1:30, so I wrote it on a snatch of paper.

When I got home, (from the place I had to be at 1:30) I changed a couple of words, and then changed a couple of them back, and then I let it sit some.  (The snatch of paper, I mean.)

Then I came online and read some real fiction over at Writer's Forum.  Liked most of it, and admired the ones who can spin a tale out of wisps of imagination.

So I let my own muse play around with thoughts and characterizations in my head, while I chopped potatoes, cabbage, onions for boiled dinner for tonight.

Now I'm bored with the whole idea (I apparently was gifted with a boring muse), and I'm thinking like, "Crap (I say crap nowadays sometimes.  Learned it from my son.)  I don't feel like messing around with my so-called 'muse' -- it's so much plainer just to say what you want to say."

But I figured I'd type out my little piece of fiction.  I can type.  So here goes.  (Oh, I guess I should point out that this is only the opening couple of paragraphs to a potential short story.  I dang well do NOT wish to write a novel.  Just the occasional short story. ...  So that I can hide in plain sight, I guess.)

... Nope, never mind.  The dinner's almost boiled and my son will soon be home, and we will eat and then do stuff; and I'll either shred the piece of fiction, or tuck it in a notebook, or lay it on the counter, or type it out some other day, in some other blog, when nobody remembers that I am hiding in plain sight.

The Words My Mama Taught Me and The Songs My Grandma Sang

Music is an outstanding gift of God and next to theology ... I would not give up my slight knowledge of music for a great consideration ... and youth should be taught this art ... for it makes fine skillful people ... I would certainly like to praise music with all my heart as the excellent gift of God which it is and to commend it to everyone.

-- Martin Luther

I woke up this morning to the music in my memory:

My mommy told me something
A little girl should know
It's all about the devil and I've learned to hate him so
He'll only give you trouble if you let him in the room
He will never, ever leave you if your heart is filled with gloom, so:

Let the sun shine in
Face it with a grin
Smilers never lose
And frowners never win

So let the sun shine in
Face it with a grin
Open up your heart and let the sun shine in

Does anybody else know this to be the first verse to Rock-a-bye Baby? --

Rock a bye baby, your cradle is green
Daddy's a nobleman, Mommy's a queen
Sister's a young lady who wears a gold ring
And Johnny's a drummer who drums for the king

Rock a bye baby
In the tree top
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall
And down will come baby, cradle and all

In adulthood, I heard that some think that cradle falls and crashes to the ground, injuring or killing the baby ... but by the time I heard that interpretation it was too late to stick that ugly picture in my memory because I already saw it floating gently to the softest of landings on the notes my grandma sang to me as she rocked me in her arms.

Remember to sing to your children

Have a joyful day, my friends!

Quondam Quote du Jour (Okay, so I'm quoting myself again)

Here's another Rani-Kaye-ism for ya'll:

"Sometimes the best place to hide something is in plain sight."  -- Rani Kaye

Writer's Forum Find Your Muse #8 'Secret Rendezvous'

A Shared Secret

My literary career began before I could read or write, and I suppose that Mother Goose may be partly to blame since I learned of rhyme and rhythm from the sing-song-y verses Mama read to me at bedtime.

It's the wanting to REMEMBER, though, that birthed the writer in my soul.  More specifically, it's the COMPENSATING for FORGETTING.

And it is as simple as this:  I often heard songs, I often heard poems, I often heard stories that I loved.  I loved to hear a well-told tale.  I loved to hear a lovely song.  I loved to repeat a well-turned phrase.

The stories my Mama read to me, she read over and over again; and I could remember every word.

The songs my grandpa taught me, he sang with me over and over again; and I could remember every word.

But there were OTHER songs.  There were OTHER stories.  I would hear them once.  I would want to tell them.  I could not remember the words.

I would try to sing a song I had heard.  (This was generally for my own amusement.  At that point I was a toddler, and for the time being, an "only" child.)  I would recall a phrase or two, but not the whole.  So I would think.  I would try to remember. I would wonder what comes next. "Now what word sounds like sky?" I would say to myself. 

Then I would sing, and just PRETEND my new verses were how the true song went. 

I needed to memorize my made-up verses as I went along, though.  So I would do two lines, and get them to rhyme, and then repeat them again and again before making up the next two.  Repetition like that is how my grandpa always taught new songs to me.

Sometimes I would remember almost nothing of the "real" song, and I mustneeds make up MANY verses, in order to go with all the notes.  It seems I could naturally remember the tune and how long the song should be, even if I heard it only once, but I couldn't memorize the words fast enough to keep them forever.  And I mustneeds keep them forever.  That I cannot tell you why, because I do not know.  I have simply always wanted words to be kept forever.

When I got older and went to school, I loved to share songs; but at first I continued to pretend these all were songs I'd learned somewhere.  I ashamedly hid the truth that I had "written" them myself.  At that young age, I somehow felt it was wrong of me to selfishly make up words just so I could teach myself to sing the pretty songs.

Eventually, however, when I was nine, a teacher found me out.  I had escalated my criminal behavior to include teaching my songs to a girlfriend whose daddy played guitar, and this little girl had a charming voice.  Her daddy had her sing for people, and she liked to do that. 

Our teacher played piano, and our whole class sang at the beginning of every school day.  My little entertainer girl friend volunteered to sing my songs in front of the class and dragged me up front with her to sing along.  I could carry a tune, and she could sing like an angel.  Our teacher loved music, and she encouraged us to perform this way every time my girlfriend said that she and Rani had a new song.

Without my knowledge, that teacher started writing down some of my words, and she gave typed-up copies of my "poems" (as she called them) to my mama at parent-teacher conferences. 

When my mama showed those "poems" to me, I was stunned to discover that it pleased my parent and my teacher that I was doing this dishonest thing of making up my own little stories and rhymes.

Well needless to say, my temperament being such as it was, I was all about pleasing the parent and the teacher; and heck, by that time I could make a rhyme out of anything, any time it struck my fancy to do so.

So that's my story
Each word is true
And I have remembered it here for you.

My girlfriend's name was Mary Lewis.  Her voice sounded just like Mary of "Peter, Paul and..."  I just this moment remembered her name.  The school was Malcolm, the town was Sault Ste. Marie.  Mary, if you're out there, write to me.  You moved away before I did, and I never knew what became of you.  I wonder if you knew that I was "making up" the songs.  I do not think I told you.

Looking at the world with my grandmas' eyes

These are two of my grandmothers.  And then me.  The top set is my mother's mother.  The bottom set is my father's grandmother.  I had hoped the album page would appear larger on this page, but I can't seem to get it to. Maybe I'll try to do it another way tomorrow or something, but for now I'm just going to leave it as is.

Betty's Birthday

I am not pleased with you for dying when you did, Betty; and I know that you were not pleased with me when off you went;  HOWEVER: I have a magnet on my refrigerator that you gave me, and it says "Forever Friends" ,  so I intend to hold you to that promise.

Happy birthday to you in Heaven, Betty.  And as to whatever you didn't like about how my life went on when yours didn't: Get over it.

I damn well would have been there if you would have told me, and you know it!

Now.  Shall I pour the coffee, or is it your turn?

Writers Block Challege # 51

Solace:

I am holding up a mirror
It is holding back the tide
All the monsters that could harm you
Are here on the other side

You are safe within the vessel
Safe is what you'll always be
Though the demons think they see you
All they really see is me

Poem by Rani Kaye
All rights reserved

Today's List

What I am reading:
A History of the American People (c) 1997 by Paul Johnson, originally published in Great Britain in 1997 by Weidenfeld & Nicolson; published in the USA by Harper Collins Publishers.  I began by reading the section on Industrial America 1879-1912, and was so impressed with the book, I started at page 1 and read through page 99 yesterday.

I am also re-reading Nicholas and Alexandra (c) 1967 by Robert K. Massie, published simultaneously in Canada by McClelland and Stewart Ltd. and in New York by Atheneum.

Book I read in high school or college I want to find a copy of and re-read:
Black Like Me.  I do not remember the author's name, but will find out and check second-hand booksellers locally.  Just noting it here so I'll remember to do so next time I go out.

What I am thinking about:
Economics.  Specifically now, Value.  The "true" valuation of goods and services.  Especially this morning, of real estate.  And the lie of "Location, Location, Location."  (That the 3 most important factors that affect the value of real estate are location, location, and location.)  I have always believed that to be a lie.  Which is why my home is in what is called "Urban" Grand Rapids, but was until very recently called "the Inner City."  The Value here is tremendous.  The materials and craftmanship of my home could not be replicated today without emormous expense.  The fertility and beauty of my back yard pleases me very much.  I have public transportation, nice neighbors, nearness of churches and stores.  But where I live, until very recently, most of my contemporaries were "afraid" to come, because I live near so many of "those people" -- you know, the ones with the same ethnicity as our President-Elect.  Sigh.

What I have to do today:
Rake leaves.

Economics 3

Towards the end of the depression/recession of the 80s, I remember thinking, "This thing has to end soon -- too many people need to buy new cars.  Sooner or later, they are going to replace their broken-down cars, and then everybody will be back to work."

I have lately been noticing a lot of unrepaired vehicles on the road in mylittletown.  Fender-benders that are staying bent.

Michigan got a head start on the latest depression several years ago already, in case you didn't know.

But before this latest round of hard times, everybody (except me) was driving SUVs that cost as much as I paid for my house back in 1974.

A couple of fellows came to my front door yesterday, asking could they rake my leaves for $7.00.  I told 'em no, I'd have to rake them myself.  (There were not $7.00 worth of leaves on my lawn ... maybe 50 cents worth.)  But afterwards, I wondered if maybe I should have hired them.  These were not teenagers.  These were 20-something men.  Probably unemployed.

There's people who can work and do stuff.  There's people who need to buy stuff. 

Lots of houses for sale here.  And that was before the bottom fell out nationally in the housing market.  Bunch of people moved south because there weren't a lot of jobs in Michigan the past several years.

Construction was booming here all summer, at least.  Building our "Medical Mile."  (Grand Rapids is becoming a medical research mecca.)

There's people who can work and do stuff.  There's people who need to buy stuff.  Seems like there's a simple solution in that duplex of statements.  But it eludes me.

More on Albert and Jay

Here's Albert and Jay in 1901, with their sisters.  The oldest sister is my great-grandma.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here's another of their military photos:

Kep, this one may be of some interest to you.

 

And here's their daddy's (and my great-great grandpa's) military headstone.  My grandpa Charles served in the Civil War.

 

For those of you who do genealogy research, please appreciate the difficulty of researching the last name of White!  As they say about Pokemon, "Gotta catch 'em all!"

I have, in fact, collected data on nearly every White family in the counties and states where my own ancestors lived in the 17 & 18 hundreds.

Veterans

These are my uncles, Albert and Jay.  Photo was taken in 1907.  They enlisted together.  However, Albert was told that he could not enlist with his brother.  So he left the line of volunteers, and rejoined the line at the rear, and used the last name of some family friends instead of his own last name.

 

 

 

 

 

 

These are some photos of my uncles' military days:

 

Economics 2

Link

Please read this excellent analysis by my Multiply buddy.

My grandparents

The first of my immigrant grandpas was William.  He came to Massachusetts from Scrooby, Nottinghamshire via Leiden, Netherlands in 1620.

http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~mosmd/leaders.htm

Shortly after William arrived, my grandpa, Christian, (a Mennonite) came to Pennsylvania, where he died 4 years before the American Revolution.

Right around the time Christian died, my grandpa, Aaron, also arrived in Pennsylvania.  When the War broke out, he migrated to Canada because this branch of my family favored the King.  They returned to the U.S. a couple decades before the American Civil War, in which they fought for the Union.

At about the same time Aaron's descendents returned from Canada, two grandpas, Pieter and Johann, came to Michigan from the Netherlands.

My most recent immigrant grandpa, Johan, brought his son, my grandpa Wilhelm, to America so that Wilhelm would not have to serve in the German military.  Johan was, according to family verbal history, the illegitimate son of Wilhelm I of Prussia.

None of these grandpas ever knew each other, but their children were all living in Michigan and eventually produced my two parents.

 

I have been studying genealogy, and history.  Unraveling riddles from my childhood.  Some day, when I have finished my research, and found my voice, I hope to write about those riddles.

     

Economics

I watched the News Hour on pbs a couple of hours ago.  I am going to post links to transcripts of two stories I thought were quite helpful and informative:

http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/business/july-dec08/stimulusplans_11-10.html

I thought the ideas expressed in the above-mentioned link were excellent.

And then this:

http://www-tc.pbs.org/newshour/rss/media/2008/11/10/20081110_china.mp3

Unfortunately, pbs did not offer a transcript of the china story; and so the link is in mp3 format.  It was, however, a very informative and hopeful story for the world economy.

Zuiderzee

"Take me down to the banks of the ocean, where the walls rise above the Zuiderzee.  Long ago, I used to be a young man; and Margaret still remembers that for me." 

 

from "The Dutchman"
by Robert James Waller
(a song I have tried to add to MyMusic, without success)

http://www.lorentz.leidenuniv.nl/history/zuiderzee/zuiderzee.html

http://archives.cbc.ca/war_conflict/second_world_war/clip/11425/

What I did special on my birthday -- I voted

I think our governments (that’s we, the people, on the local, state, and national level) should pass laws to protect the weak, the innocent, and the idiotic.  I think euthanasia should be against the law.  I think abortion should be against the law.

 

So I am a right-wing conservative, Republican.

 

 I think our governments (that’s we, the people, on the local, state, and national level) should pass laws to protect the weak, the innocent, and the idiotic.  I think business practices and profit-making ventures should be regulated by government.  I do not trust business to keep uncooked books, and I do not trust those who wish to be rich to care for anyone but themselves.

 

So I am a left-wing liberal, Democrat.

 

I believe in the first amendment.  I think Christians have a right to be heard, and seen, and to live according to their beliefs.

 

So I am a right-wing conservative, Republican.

 

I believe in the first amendment.  I think Muslims have a right to be heard, and seen, and to live according to their beliefs.

 

So I am terribly left-wing ... incredibly liberal.

 

I think all of your rights stop at the tip of my nose, and that all of my rights stop at the tip of your nose.  That’s how my mother used to explain “rights” and “freedom” to me.  We have “rights” in America ... but we do NOT have the right to harm each other.

 

I am GLAD Obama was elected President of the United States.  I have always voted for Republican presidents.  (I did not vote for Richard Nixon, however ... Jerry Ford was the first person I ever voted for, but he lost.)

 

Yesterday, one hour before I went to vote, I realized that although I was planning to vote republican, as usual, I was hoping for the good of the nation I love that Obama would win the election this year.  So I looked myself in the eye in my car’s rear-view mirror, and I decided to put my vote where my heart was.

 

And I did.  I voted for Obama.

 

I do NOT think he is a “terrorist”

 

I do NOT think America will go to hell in a hand-basket because a democrat is presiding.

I do not understand why anyone would want to be the president of the United States.  But he wants to be, and he is qualified to preside over our government of checks and balances, and he is an intelligent man, and a charismatic leader who has shown his ability to lead and to inspire in the midst of adversity.

 

If I remember correctly, a Republican was in office when Roe v. Wade was decided.

 

If I remember correctly, Republicans have held the presidency for the majority of the years since Roe v. Wade, but we people have NOT yet managed to overturn Roe v. Wade by an act of our collective will.  Apparently those of us who see moral outrage here have not yet successfully persuaded our fellow-Americans to view this issue as we do.  Maybe we should think some more and then use thoughtful words to persuade instead of inflammatory words to polarize.

 

If I remember correctly, our “great national nightmare” was when the Republican Party pulled shenanigans trying to ensure a republican re-election.

 

Checks and balances, People.  And the watch-dog press.  And Yankee ingenuity. That’s what defines America, in my mind.

 

And now, apparently, a lot of white, usually-Republican voters, have left the ranks of the party they usually vote for.  I can’t speak for all of them.  I can only speak for myself.  I wanted Obama to win.  I think he will be good for America.  So I voted for him.  Because he is a good, decent, qualified, intelligent, charismatic, patriotic, young, black man.  And maybe also because he’s a democrat. 

 

I’ve lived long enough to see that we need to shift the balance of power between the parties from time-to-time, because both points of view have their inherent weaknesses.

 

And I guess I’m just going to be brave enough to admit out loud what I’ve kept in my heart for most of my adult life.  I am SICK of racism.  I think it is high time we had a black president.

 

One of the BEST, most helpful mentoring bosses I have ever had in my life was a black woman manager when I worked for Michigan Bell.

 

One of the most self-centered, arrogant, and ignorant bosses I have ever worked for was (like me) a white Anglo-Saxon protestant.

 

Obviously character is what counts ... NOT race.

 

Dry your tears, fellow-Republicans.  If you want other people to see the world as you do, then persuade them!

 

And as for what to do about President-elect Obama – well, how about praying for him.

Dang I love this country!  I can tell you I think you ought to pray.  And you can tell me to go to hell (if you want to).  But I don’t have to go there just because you say I should, and you don’t have to pray just because I say you should.