Tumbleweeds dance across the freeway And I grip the steering wheel tighter.
I’d like to move that way:
Let go, be free,
Tumble wherever the wind takes me,
But then maybe
I too would end up caught in a fence
Somewhere in the desert.
Written by Brigitta
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Goodbye - Finn Nana Dies
On Monday June 27, 2004, the day before Helen died, Finn visited her at Mary’s Woods for a couple of hours during the morning. He played with her black toy truck, sat in Barbara’s lap by the foot of Helen’s bed, and played mice with Claes behind the big chair in the living room. When it was time to leave, Barbara asked if he wanted to say goodbye to Nana, because she was going to die.
“Yes,” Finn answered.
He walked up to Nana’s bed, where she lay dozing, her worn body ravaged by cancer, but her mind still lucid.
“Bye,” Finn said in a cheerful voice as he leaned close to her.
“Give Nana a kiss too,” Barbara said and lifted him up on the bed.
Finn leaned over, gently kissed her cheek, and said, “Love you, Nana.”
Written by Brigitta
“Yes,” Finn answered.
He walked up to Nana’s bed, where she lay dozing, her worn body ravaged by cancer, but her mind still lucid.
“Bye,” Finn said in a cheerful voice as he leaned close to her.
“Give Nana a kiss too,” Barbara said and lifted him up on the bed.
Finn leaned over, gently kissed her cheek, and said, “Love you, Nana.”
Written by Brigitta
How Are You?
That is the question people use as a greeting and walk right on. It’s a question and in my mind it is rude to just say that and not care or wait for a reply. On occasion I have stopped someone, store clerks and told them it was inconsiderate to say that and keep on walking. Poor people, they must have thought I was crazy but it just depends on how I’m feeling that day. Sometimes I have said I’m ok, or just hanging in there, or some other brief comment that gets a response of agreement about how their day is going too.
This all started for me when I got lupus and even though I was walking around like there was nothing wrong, I hurt all the time but no one could see that pain or that I was disabled. So can the empathy and the sincerity be taught so we ask that question with compassion? I don’t know the answer to that yet. It’s something that I think needs to be considered because so many are disconnected from any feeling of realness in our relations. Possibly most people don’t really want to know how someone really is and just expect a “fine” answer like it’s automatic and irrelevant. This unconsciousness needs to be changed so we become more aware of people in the moment. Some cultures have much better greetings than the American “how are you?” like the Hawaiian Aloha.
I never ask the How are you question unless I sincerely want an answer and want to know how someone really is doing and feeling even, although that takes more time. My friends know that I mean it when I ask them how they are and there is an element of reciprocity in it too that is meaningful and honest. They know I want to listen, that it is important to me and they are relevant in my life.
How do you ask the question? How are you? Do you stop and look someone in the eye and wait for a real answer? Do you mean it sincerely or is it just something you use without thinking or being aware? Do you care? Ask yourself the question before you walk right on by again just because you’re busy. And what answer do you use automatically without thinking when someone asks you. Is it a lie? Do you just say I’m busy and dismiss any chance to make a real connection? Maybe, just possibly, if we as human beings started being more honest with this seeming simple question it would be a better world and we would all feel more connected on a daily basis.
Written by ccwriter
This all started for me when I got lupus and even though I was walking around like there was nothing wrong, I hurt all the time but no one could see that pain or that I was disabled. So can the empathy and the sincerity be taught so we ask that question with compassion? I don’t know the answer to that yet. It’s something that I think needs to be considered because so many are disconnected from any feeling of realness in our relations. Possibly most people don’t really want to know how someone really is and just expect a “fine” answer like it’s automatic and irrelevant. This unconsciousness needs to be changed so we become more aware of people in the moment. Some cultures have much better greetings than the American “how are you?” like the Hawaiian Aloha.
I never ask the How are you question unless I sincerely want an answer and want to know how someone really is doing and feeling even, although that takes more time. My friends know that I mean it when I ask them how they are and there is an element of reciprocity in it too that is meaningful and honest. They know I want to listen, that it is important to me and they are relevant in my life.
How do you ask the question? How are you? Do you stop and look someone in the eye and wait for a real answer? Do you mean it sincerely or is it just something you use without thinking or being aware? Do you care? Ask yourself the question before you walk right on by again just because you’re busy. And what answer do you use automatically without thinking when someone asks you. Is it a lie? Do you just say I’m busy and dismiss any chance to make a real connection? Maybe, just possibly, if we as human beings started being more honest with this seeming simple question it would be a better world and we would all feel more connected on a daily basis.
Written by ccwriter
Sunday, April 11, 2010
2003 03 Finn Hide and Seek
(March 2003)
Frank and Finn are sitting by the playhouse at the landing halfway up the stairs to the attic, busy parking their fire engine and backhoe.
“Grandpa, let’s play hide-and-seek,” Finn says.
“Ok,” Frank answers.
“You hide here,” Finn says and pushes Frank into the low playhouse, “And I’ll find you.”
Finn runs down to the kitchen. “Have you seen Grandpa anywhere?” Finn asks Barbara, who is peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink.
“No,” Barbara says. “Did Grandpa go away?”
“I wonder where he is,” Finn says. He hunches his shoulders and spreads his arms, palms toward the ceiling.
“Is he in the bathroom?” Finn asks as he looks into the bathroom.
“Nooo. He’s not here. Where could he be?”
Finn searches in the closet, in the living room, up in the attic and keeps a running commentary.
“Is he in the attic?”
“Nooo. He’s not in the attic. Where could he be?”
Finally Finn comes to the playhouse and opens the door.
“There he is,” he yells as a cramped Frank crawls out.
Written by Brigitta
Frank and Finn are sitting by the playhouse at the landing halfway up the stairs to the attic, busy parking their fire engine and backhoe.
“Grandpa, let’s play hide-and-seek,” Finn says.
“Ok,” Frank answers.
“You hide here,” Finn says and pushes Frank into the low playhouse, “And I’ll find you.”
Finn runs down to the kitchen. “Have you seen Grandpa anywhere?” Finn asks Barbara, who is peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink.
“No,” Barbara says. “Did Grandpa go away?”
“I wonder where he is,” Finn says. He hunches his shoulders and spreads his arms, palms toward the ceiling.
“Is he in the bathroom?” Finn asks as he looks into the bathroom.
“Nooo. He’s not here. Where could he be?”
Finn searches in the closet, in the living room, up in the attic and keeps a running commentary.
“Is he in the attic?”
“Nooo. He’s not in the attic. Where could he be?”
Finally Finn comes to the playhouse and opens the door.
“There he is,” he yells as a cramped Frank crawls out.
Written by Brigitta
2002 10 Finn- Run Titta
I’m out walking with two-year-old Finn, when he dashes off shouting, “Run, Titta, run.” An old knee injury prevents me from running, but I pretended to jog. As we trot side by side he cheers me on, saying, “Great, Titta! You’re doing great! Good job!”
**
Finn settles into my lap with a book and asks me to read. We page through the book, discussing the pictures. “Där är en katt,” I say and point at a striped cat. He looks closely at the cat and says, “Cat, Titta, it’s called cat,” carefully enunciating his words.
**
I settle Finn in his buggy for a nap, kiss him and say “Night, night.”
“One more kiss,” he answers.
“Where?” I respond and he points at his nose.
I comply and he says, “Have a nice nap.”
I laugh and reflect that, yes, I am ready for a nap.
**
“Mom, my shoe feels funny,” Carl, age five, complains as he is leaving for the school bus. I straighten his sock, but he says it still doesn’t feel good. In exasperation I pull off the offending shoe and to my surprise find a pair of scissors inside.
Written by Birgitta
**
Finn settles into my lap with a book and asks me to read. We page through the book, discussing the pictures. “Där är en katt,” I say and point at a striped cat. He looks closely at the cat and says, “Cat, Titta, it’s called cat,” carefully enunciating his words.
**
I settle Finn in his buggy for a nap, kiss him and say “Night, night.”
“One more kiss,” he answers.
“Where?” I respond and he points at his nose.
I comply and he says, “Have a nice nap.”
I laugh and reflect that, yes, I am ready for a nap.
**
“Mom, my shoe feels funny,” Carl, age five, complains as he is leaving for the school bus. I straighten his sock, but he says it still doesn’t feel good. In exasperation I pull off the offending shoe and to my surprise find a pair of scissors inside.
Written by Birgitta
Friday, April 9, 2010
Sing Out Loud...and with enthusiasm!
In sixth grade I loved music class. All of the sixth grade classrooms at Knollwood Elementary came together as the sixth grade choir. Within the group, some were more elite than others. There was a small select choir who sang special parts of the program. Membership in this exclusive group was by invitation of the music teacher. My friend and neighbor, Peggy McGinnis, was in the select group. Peggy and I had a lot in common. We lived on the same small street and hung out in the cu-de-sac playing kick-the-can on those long, warm California evenings. We each had an annoying brother two years younger, and we both loved to sing. Peggy always did everything right. She knew the answer to every question. She was neat and tidy. She never blurted out in class and was always in her seat. I did none of those things. But, we both liked to sing. Why wasn’t I in the select choir?
If you wanted to be in the select choir, Peggy told me, you had to audition for the teacher. That was why I wasn’t in the choir… I just hadn’t known that I needed to audition. So I confidently marched up to the music teacher and told him that I needed to audition. In my mind, it was just a formality. So the next Monday I stayed after school and met the teacher in the auditorium. He sat at the piano and asked me to sing. I don’t remember the song, but I do know that I belted it out with my usual enthusiasm. The teacher thanked me for auditioning. He explained to me how important it was to have strong voices in the general choir. Those voices were an important reason our choir was so good. He was counting on me to continue to keep the general choir strong. I left knowing that I was making an important contribution to my class.
It was years later that I realized that I had failed the audition. How fortunate I was to have a teacher who knew how to maintain his standard of excellence (because I know now that I cannot carry a tune), but still allow a small child to maintain her dignity and passion for music.
Written by #1Nana
If you wanted to be in the select choir, Peggy told me, you had to audition for the teacher. That was why I wasn’t in the choir… I just hadn’t known that I needed to audition. So I confidently marched up to the music teacher and told him that I needed to audition. In my mind, it was just a formality. So the next Monday I stayed after school and met the teacher in the auditorium. He sat at the piano and asked me to sing. I don’t remember the song, but I do know that I belted it out with my usual enthusiasm. The teacher thanked me for auditioning. He explained to me how important it was to have strong voices in the general choir. Those voices were an important reason our choir was so good. He was counting on me to continue to keep the general choir strong. I left knowing that I was making an important contribution to my class.
It was years later that I realized that I had failed the audition. How fortunate I was to have a teacher who knew how to maintain his standard of excellence (because I know now that I cannot carry a tune), but still allow a small child to maintain her dignity and passion for music.
Written by #1Nana
Carrie's submission for week 1
The old woman entered the store wearing a long print skirt, white long sleeved shirt, and a long leather jacket with large pockets. Her black hair hung down her back in a fat braid, and her face was lined from too many days in the sun and cooking over an open fire. Her moccasined feet made no noise as she walked around the Five and Dime looking at all the trinkets and beads, which sometimes found their way into the pockets of her coat. No one seemed to take notice of her, and when she was ready she stopped at the counter and paid for one item. She then strolled silently out the door.
Written by Carrie
Written by Carrie
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