Tale of A Fish Tile

Dear Diary,
See this fish tile?
This brightly painted piece of Spanish clay holds a lot of meaning for me and my husband.

It's a reminder,
a memory,
a souvenir,
a promise,
a hope.

~Reminder~
I keep it in my bathroom where I see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night (right next to Psalm 118:24: This is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it).

~Memory~
A few years ago we had the privilege of traveling to St. John, Virgin Islands, for our wedding anniversary.  It was a wild adventure, one that we wouldn't have been able to handle well as newlyweds (our plane was filled with them); but as seasoned partners, we could giddily absorb the highs and maturely roll with the lows.

As part of our weekend package at the guest house Treetops, we were supposed to take a boat tour of the islands with our hosts, Hank & Karen Slodden. But, of course, the islands had just experienced the worst storm of the season the day before we showed up, and the marina was unable to prep their boat and get it into the water.  One of many disappointments on the trip. Can I help it we were married during hurricane season?

Yes, I am getting to the tile.

Hank and Karen are innovative and artsy. They had collected this authentic Spanish tile from an island Rockefeller resort undergoing renovations (Caneel Bay, popular with celebrities).  The tiles were discarded and abandoned in the undergrowth. So they gathered what they could and started incorporating them into their landscape.

My legs and some creatively placed fish tiles.

~Souvenir and Promise~
Upon our departure, Hank handed us a tile, with the promise that if we bring it back, he would accept it as our ticket to the boat ride we never had. And the best snorkeling, to boot.

~Hope~
I really would like to go back.
Some day.
(When I need a break from seeing other parts of the world I haven't been to yet.) 
I envision us driving down the steep stone-and-cement drive and producing the tile with a triumphant smile that says, "We remembered. We came all this way. We dare you to renege!"

But it won't be during hurricane season, to be sure.
LJ

Colorful Hearts

Dear Diary,
I sat next to her, a sugary sweet kindergartner.  We were coloring. 
She showed me her picture: two brightly dressed scribble people. I could tell they were girls from the long hair--one blonde, one brown. 
Colorful hearts surrounded them; green, purple, red. 

"Guess who this is," she smiled at me.
"Hmmm, who?" I asked, not wanting to assume.
"That's me and you!" she replied.
"Oh, I love the colorful hearts you made!"
"Yes!" she said, then added, "My daddy got 'trans'-ported to Mexico."

That was an eyebrow raiser. 
And a colorful heart breaker.
Just what does one say to that?

"Ooh, I am so sorry to hear that," I sympathetically replied.
"I am never, ever going to see him again," she continued, frowning.
Oh Lord, what do I say to this girl? I prayed.
"I bet you can write to him or talk to him on the phone," I replied feebly.
"Yes, I could!" she replied with a glimmer in her eyes.  "I could give my letter to mommy to mail."

Heavy stuff for a sweet little girl to bear.
The weight she carries will leave an impression on me for a long time.



courtesy layoutsparks.com

But her green, purple, and red hearts will always be part of her story, too.

<3  <3  <3LJ

Cups and Oreo Cows: Illustrations of Futility

Dear Diary,
Take a look at what I see on my kitchen counter every night before bedtime. 

Cups.

So many cups.

Adult cups.

Kid cups.

Cups with lids.

Breakable cups.

Cups.

Except for a fresh cup at dinner time, I try to establish a one-cup-per-day rule.  It is simple.  Drink from a cup, then keep it for use the rest of the day.  With a family of five, it just makes sense.  Without this rule, my dishwasher's top rack would hold nothing but cups. But, as illustrated, even with this rule I have a plethora to deal with at the end of a typical day.  Probably because I don't want to drink wine out of my coffee cup from the morning or send a kid off to school with a glass of water!

While I do believe this one-cup rule helps rather than hurts, it almost seems like a futile rule judging by the amount I still have stranded on my counter.  This observation makes me think of other recent activities in my life that are examples of futility.  Things that do not provide effective results and are not worth the time and effort to do.  Here are some of those things:

• Shaving when I have goosebumps. 
  We are entering the chilly morning season.  Showers are hotter and longer and, sometimes, goose-bumpy.  Not the best time for a razor-sharp blade on the skin.
• Training the husband to pick up his clothes pile in the bathroom. 
  The result won't be long term.  In fact, I give it an hour.
• Looking for a contact lens that is, in actuality, still adhered to the eye. 
  Yes, I was convinced it had popped out and bounced all over the bathroom counter/sink/floor; especially since I had already mauled my eye trying to determine if it was still there.
• Pointing out to the girls anything of interest while on a road trip. 
  "Look at those Oreo* cows!"
  "Look at that pink house!"  or
  "Look at the monkey dancing on top of that firetruck truck throwing $100 bills at passersby!" 
  ........are all a waste of breath when the girls are so engrossed in their electronics.
• And not to appear too jaded, but lately my job search falls under this classification as well.

I could go on and on.
But it is getting a little depressing, no?

Listing everything that seems futile in life is not the way to go about living.  At least not happy living. 

I don't want to be an Ecclesiastes kind of a person.  You know, "all is for naught" and that kind of thing. 

I don't want futility to break me, to see me end up listlessly lying in the backyard hammock eating from a box of graham cracker Scooby snacks.  (Don't ask.)

I want to live with an attitude of feasibility, not futility. 

Feasibility makes the world go 'round!

Feasibility helps me to get up out of that hammock!

OK, and a ringing phone does too.

Crushing the futile,
LJ

*Oreo cows are actually Belted Galloways, a breed one won't find in too many places in the US, though there are a few farms with them not too far from where I live.  Thanks to Wikipedia for this picture.

My Tunnel Moments

Dear Diary,

On the verge again.

Moments away from the worst winter storm of the season. 
Goody for afternoon rush hour!

A phone call away from knowing if my first day of work is tomorrow or the next day.  Yes, I am newly employed until June. 

Meanwhile.....

I read Tessa Hardiman's blog today and I loved her analogy of Tunnel Moments, referring to the state of mind of an athlete prior to entering the arena (via the tunnel). As a stage performer, I could appreciate her definition of tunnel moments, which has given me some food for thought.

But my tunnel moments evoke a different image.

When I first read her title I was thinking about tunnels, as in driving-out-west-through-the-mountains kind of tunnels.  As a kid from the Midwest, where tunnels were something I dug every winter in the drifts of snow piled against the house, I loved going through mountain tunnels on vacations, and couldn't wait until the next one came along.

Am I the only one who feels this way?  (Yes, present tense, feels.  I am still a kid a heart!)
Driving along in the bright sunshine only to be suddenly engulfed in darkness, sunglasses removed and headlights switched on; and sometimes Dad would comply with my deep desire to hear the car horn reverberate through the cavern before rolling out into the open road and sunshine again.

Why the thrill?  I can only guess it is the change of scenery, if only for a moment.
It is knowing that, once entombed, there is sunshine at the other end, and that the darkness is only a temporary blindness for which we have tools to overcome, and from which there is recovery. 

Tunnel moments.
Temporary darkness for which we have the tools to overcome,
with anticipation of the light we know is there,
and are in constant motion to attain.

Dr. Phil, eat your heart out.

Now that I am at the end of this post, the snow has arrived (with gusto), and I got the phone call. (I start tomorrow.)

I know of people going through their own tunnels right now.  I pray they find the tools to get through it, knowing there is a light at the end!

LJ

The Lord is God, and he has made his light shine on us. Ps 118:37