Monday, December 19, 2005

Ten fingered blogging...

If I could just slow my thoughts a little and write. If I could relate, inspire, produce, spark, infuse, saturate, haunt, re-live, re-love, amuse, distract, inquire, rant, rave.

My sweet husband isn't techno savvy. I asked him if he wanted to hear my blog. He wasn't sure.

"Will it smell?" he asked, using humour to cover his ignorance of all things technical. I explained to him what a blog was - he seemed bored.

"Who will read it?" He asked as though he were concerned that I would write all of our deepest darkest secrets here.

I explained.

"Hm. Okay, shoot."

His head turned to the book he was writing in. Knowing that the sound of my voice would soon be drowned out by the sound of his thoughts, I prepared to read my silly blog dramatically.
I read. My back was turned to him. I was lost in my own thoughts when I heard him "humph". I finished reading and turned back to him. His book was on his lap and his eyes were on me.

"I'm envious of the way you can put your thoughts on paper", he offered his praise. I corrected him - it wasn't paper... we teased eachother briefly.

Sometimes I fear that I might be forgettable. God says we are but a mist. A mist that is burned off in the welcomed morning sunlight. Is my life really that unimportant and yet so important that he would come rescue me over and over again? Living with that paradox is perplexing. If my life is just a mist, then I should live it up and fly by the seat of my pants, right? Or - do I buckle down and retrieve the lessons I've learned in my short life hoping that anyone who cares to read will find significance there - and infuse my life's lessons into their own. Is that how my life's mist will linger?

I'm curious about this blogging experience. Who reads blogs, anyway? What kind of a world do we live in when we can connect with perfect strangers - relate - and never meet? At least this side of heaven. Are the people who read blogs shallow, lonely, uninteresting? Am I?

I've taken the step to the techi-side. Just as the telephone didn't wipe out intimate communication in the home, blogging won't wipe out the need for tangible friendships and true connection.

My husband doesn't use the computer because he can only type with two fingers. It's Kharma... he can do almost everything else. I've stood and watched as he progressed with his Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing Lessons, but I just can't bear to watch him fuddle his way through it, maddenly frustrating.

I haven't settled my thoughts. They'll likely keep me awake for another hour. But, I must put an end to this day before this day puts and end to me.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

Introspection... a good thing. Unless of course, like salt... you use too much...

The purpose of this blog is to give opportunity for you to see life's passing through my window. You may want to pull up a chair, or pull the shade. Your response is entirely up to you.

What makes my perspective unique? Well, each soul is unique, a special craft - fashioned by the almighty, created for a special purpose. My perspective - well... I must have a special room in God's mansion, for my perspective offers me views of live that are like no others.

I was born out of wedlock, a half breed to an addicted mother. There was no father. There were men.

I was adopted to a white family. An old fashioned mother, preacher father, and eleven siblings became my family when I was seven. I had already become worldwise. But, this new home offered a second chance at innocence.

I grew up with no televion in a generation that would be shaped by it. My shaping would have to come from somewhere else. Growing up in the forests of Northern Saskatchewan provided the perfect environment for the cleansing and preparing of a young soul. Many young souls.

I was seven when I moved from my biological family to my adoptive family. Seven years later, when I was only fourteen, I was ready to move out of my new home and into a boarding school that fostered my first attempts at independent spirituality. Seven more years, and I would find myself married with a child of my own. I hadn't been in an established home for a decade when I was creating a fledgling little family... a home of my very own. I would have a second, no... third chance at a parent/child relationship.

There was a time when I obsessed about my psychology. My make up. The mess up. The fix up. What a waste of time. My psyche didn't need fixing. Peddlers only offered excuses offered in pretty packages that promised so much more.

Introspection just pointed to where I was... but I am here. Where I was doesn't define me. Where I am and where I'm headed is all I need to know.

Don't be fooled by the peddlers. You don't do what you do because of the way you feel. You feel the way you feel because you do what you do. Chew on that.