A Talk with My Piano Teacher

Ever since we moved to California, my family and I have been unable to find a piano teacher we can afford. So, my brother’s and I have been teaching ourselves new pieces. Our old teacher, Fran, told us before we left that we all knew enough between the three of us that we could all keep learning with each other’s help and no teacher.

  Yesterday I called Fran because I hadn’t contacted her in a while and had been meaning to for some time. Her husband picked up and I when I said my name he didn’t remember my name, but after I said I was the red-head who used to take lessons from Fran and they would always run late he remembered me and said he’d try to find her.

  Fran was always more like the grandmother I never had than a piano teacher, she’s sweet and forgetful like an older woman should be, and she tends to go off on some story and then forget what her point was; though there was plenty of piano playing involved in the time we spent with her I assure you. She was just very special; I wish we could have brought her with us.

  She answered the phone and was very pleased to hear me as she said at least five times throughout the phone call. She would just tack on to the end of her sentence, “and I’m so glad you called me dear, it’s so good to hear from you.” I don’t have the greatest memory in the world either, so this is not exactly the way the conversation went, but she is just so sweet and I miss her so much, I couldn’t avoid writing it down.

  After she greeted me she said, "I knew you were going to call me, because I was thinking about you and I thought they should call me."

Me: And here I am!

  Fran: Right dear, here you are, now how are things going have you found a job? (it‘s obvious in hindsight that she had wanted to ask this question since she got on the phone).

  Me: Yes, I’m selling Avon.

  Fran: Oh, really? That’s wonderful dear. How about your brother?

  Me: He’s still looking.

  Fran: Right well, I should have said this…but- I know it’s going to sound silly but, I think you all should try teaching piano. I think it would be a good experience for you since lessons are so expensive out there, you could probably find some little kids to teach and it will greatly benefit you, as well as making some money. You won’t charge as much because you don’t have a master’s degree and you have no experience, but that will be fair, and the teachers there shouldn’t get upset about you charging less because you don’t have any experience.

  Me:  Yeah.

  Fran: I mean, I learned so much after I started teaching. Because you have to think a lot; you have to ask yourself, ‘how am I going to teach this?’

  Me: Yes, but I’m not sure what a good age to start would be, because as I got out doing my daily errands I see kids and a lot the five and six-years-olds are just so unruly.

  Fran: Five year-olds are terrible and my old teacher got four five-years-olds and she didn’t want to teach them, so she gave them to me and I was seventeen-years-old and with no teaching experience at all! I had no idea what I was doing and they left after three weeks. I couldn’t control four five-year-olds! They were running around, jumping, and laughing at me. I had no control over them. So they left. Then after I got married and my first husband and I were living in Wichita Kansas, and like most young people, we were short on money. So my husband told me I needed to start teaching and I said ‘O-o-okay’ then I loved it. I learned so much! And the feeling that you get when your student goes to a recital and plays well is great. You can imagine what that did for my ego, because if your student does well, then you must be a good teacher.

  Me: Yeah.

  Fran: And I am a very good teacher, I’m so old now, there’s really no point in modesty. I am a good teacher and have been for a long time. Then there’s my old student S- did you ever meet him?

  Me: Yes, I believe I did once.

  Fran: Well, he lives down in Florida and he works for a music store and he was doing pretty well, but he still needed some money, so he started teaching and he does rather well…I don’t know how I started talking about all of this.

  Me: You think piano teaching would be good for me.

Fran: Right, yes, it would be very good I think for you and both your brothers, but especially you.

  Around this time the phone was disconnected and I had to redial, I won’t go into all that we talked about, but after I spoke with her I decided that everyone needs a Fran in their life and my brothers and I are going to make an extra effort to speak to her more often.

Timber, I'm Falling in Love ~ Patty Loveless

This was one of my favorite songs a couple of years ago, and every night I would listen late to the Old Country station up in Missouri (whose digits I can't remember right now) hoping that they would play it. Every once in a blue moon the New Country stations: Kix 104 (which on my radio came in better on 103.9) or Sam 98.3 would play it and I would be ecstatic.

Belief

I remember when I was much younger and my family went to church, I didn’t realize for the longest time that people actually believed the stories in the Bible. It was a gradual realization, there wasn’t really a specific moment in time that it struck me that people took those stories seriously and as actual documented events. Like the Ancient Greek stories that my Mama told me, I thought they were good moral stories to learn from, and that church was just a place where people who had a particular connection with those stories gathered (which I found kind of odd, because I found the tales a little hard to understand because of the way they were written, but they were adults, sometimes adults did things that didn’t make sense to me because I’m the kid. It would all make sense once I was grown up, which in my mind was around fourteen or so). I remember not wanting to accept that adults believed these stories, and having to keep on reminding myself that they thought it was all real so I wouldn’t make a comment that might offend them.

  At one point I tried to think it was all true, I even said it out loud, but it rang false in my ears. The statement made me feel dirty, because I didn’t believe, I just wanted to, really badly, I wanted to, but I didn’t like the feeling that the Lord’s Prayer gave me when I recited it, it was the same feeling I got when I was trying to lie to someone.

  So for years I discouraged my family going to church. When my parents asked if I wanted to go, I would just say I didn’t like getting up early, and they would leave it at that and let me sleep. One year on Easter Papa was feeling some pressure from his boss to go to this Easter play his boss’s church was putting on. I tried to pass the “too early” excuse, but it was an evening show. So we went, and I remember feeling some surprise after the show was over and everyone was invited to come up to the alter and be forgiven all of their sins, and neither of my parents budged. Later, our parents bought us some shakes for behaving so well, even though none of us had wanted to go. As we slurped they explained that sometimes in the work world you had to do things that you wouldn’t normally do, and in this case it was either Papa would have to spend hours on his boss’s boat to go fishing, or go to this play; and that if he didn’t do either, it would have been very awkward. We asked what they thought of the Easter story; the most that they would commit to was that if Jesus was a real person, it didn’t really affect us because it was so long ago. I felt a rush of relief, because I felt that way too, though I wouldn’t have been able to put it to words. It wasn’t until years later that I found out that my parents never stated their own beliefs because they wanted my brothers and I to find our own way, and not be influenced by their opinions when we were too young to make our own, and no matter what conclusions we reached, they would accept it and love us no matter what.

  In my late teens whenever I made a statement about beliefs or religion in general, Mama would present the opposite side of the arguments, which baffled me, then she told me she just wanted me to have my arguments down to the letter, so my opinions would be complete, like a house with four walls, a door and a roof (I’m paraphrasing, she didn’t say this exactly.) As I became more observant and I just saw more of the world in general, I learned that there were people out there who had their opinions, and stood by them, even though their “house” was very incomplete, the one thing that they had finished was a closed and padlocked door to keep all other options and opinions out. So because of my parent’s unique and wise way of upbringing, I feel confident in my house, and that I try to keep all doors and windows open, and I’m not afraid of remodel as circumstances change in my life.

You Were Mine ~ Dixie Chicks

I have always loved the Dixie Chicks, and I grew up listening to this song, so I figured it was about time I posted it!

Daycare

Mike’s ears were ringing as he left the daycare where he worked. As a teen aged boy, he had gone to his share of rock concerts, and he’d thought the loud music was really bad, but it was nothing compared to the screams of the five to twelve year-olds at the center. The noise those little monkeys (as Mike called them when none of his co-workers were around) made was excruciating after half an hour, but staying for five hours like he had to was a new kind of hell.

  Then there was the fights, blood, pee, broken toys added to the mayhem. There was not one decent kid in the bunch. The new ones that started out okay always turned into one of the monkeys given enough time. It was as if the kids knew they were being abandoned by their parents and they were releasing all of their frustration on everything and everyone around them. Aaahh, the parents; they’re another case in and of themselves: rude, self-absorbed, inconsiderate monkeys in suits.


Monkeys, each and everyone, making more monkeys, then they all wonder why no one acts like a decent human being.

Last Day

Today is the day before my eighteenth birthday. Not only is it the last day I shall be this age, but it is also the last day I shall be a child as far as the law is concerned. It’s a big thing, according to many. Lots of people mark their eighteenth birthday by doing something they weren’t able to do while they were children, such as going to an R rated movie, or buying a pack of cigarettes, not to smoke them, just because you can. I’ve decided to reflect on what I’ve learned before I turn eighteen.

If there is one thing that I have learned during the last seventeen years of my life, it’s that you can always be a kid inside, even while you’re dealing with adult issues. People that look upon the world with the eyes of a child laugh more and cry less. They are more content because they know what makes them happy. People with child’s eyes can cut through the drama and see the heart of a problem. Children know life is simple and that life should be fun instead of hard and cruel. Adults make the world hard, not the world.

I’m facing my adult life with the determination to keep my child’s eyes well taken care of, instead of letting them be blinded by “obligations”, and “responsibilities”.

As long as we live, we learn, and as long as we learn, we make mistakes. Making mistakes is a part of being alive, so why sweat it? Why tangle ourselves in the delusion that life is hard when we hold the key to making it simple? When you hurt someone, you apologize. When you fall, you get back up and clean you wounds and heal. When someone hurts you don’t let them hurt you again; whether that means talking it out, avoiding that subject, or avoiding that person all together.

When I was thirteen, I dreamed that I died. Mama told me that it was my self-consciouses way of acknowledging that my life and body were changing from girl to woman and I wouldn’t be able to go back again. In a sense my childhood was dying, but she said “with every end there is a beginning.” My childhood would be over, and I would be an adult, there is no way to turn back the clock. I will go to college, get some degrees and do things no child could ever do. I will not be able to go outside after a rainstorm and throw mud at my brothers unless I wanted to be put in the psycho ward. There are things I can never do again; but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun like a child, smile and laugh like a child, and be carefree whenever the opportunity presents itself.

With this last essay as the seventeen-year-old me, I bid you farewell.

A Conversation Between Three Parents

Linda: How old are your children?
Jim: Thirty-five and thirty-three.
Martha: Nineteen, seventeen, and fifteen.
Linda: Ooh.
Martha: What?
Jim: Don’t worry, they’ll be gone soon.
M: Why should I worry?
J: Well, when my children were teenagers, my wife and I took every opportunity to be out of the house: golfing, fishing, hunting, women’s group for her and poker every Friday and Saturday night for me, and adult church supper every Sunday evening.
L: Yes, yes. I have a three year old and a five year old, so I know exactly what you mean by needing to get away.
J chuckling: I still remember all of those sleepless nights getting the baby to stop crying!
L: Tell me about it.
M: Well, that’s the deal with babies, they don’t understand how to wait; when they need something they need it now.
L: Yes, yes, but they’re so….needy.
J: That’s how they are, and it doesn’t ever stop. Even now my kids call me: “Benny broke his arm and I don’t think I can pay the bill.” Did you ever think of getting health insurance? He’s not my kid; it’s time you take responsibility.
M: Is Benny your…step-grandson?
J: No, he’s my grandson, why did you think-
L interrupting: Maybe they can’t afford insurance.
J: Oh they could if they thought ahead and saved.
There was a silence.
L: I can’t even fathom three teenagers.
M: It’s really not that bad-
J: Oh, you’re just more patient then the rest of us.
M: Perhaps.
L: I must say I’ve never seen three teens more well-behaved. How did you do that?
M: Love, care, coddling and being honest.
J scoffs.
L: Well, we all do that, but what’s your secret? What do you do to make them behave?
M: I don’t do anything. They learned basic manners when they were really young. Every once in awhile they need reminders, but we all do, don’t we?
M gives a laugh to break the tension.
J: How did you do that?
M: I was always right there reminding them. If I said “No” and they didn’t listen, there was always a consequence. I never let them get away with anything, so they grew up knowing that if they chose to cross a line they would get into trouble.
L: But that sounds so time-consuming.
J: And straining.
M: Sometimes that part of raising a child is hard, but I found most of it all a joy.
J grunts and walks off.
L as she walks away: Well, I have no idea how you can have all of that energy.
M to herself: You don’t care enough to make the effort. That’s too bad for you.

My Dog: The Actor

My doggie has a cold. I know it’s so sad. But I think he’s hamming it up just a bit. While I was hanging up the clothes Merlin was looking more depressed than I had ever seen him. He didn’t even bother to say hello to me.
Once I was done with my chore I ran inside to put some shoes on so that I could get to where he was without getting my socks dirty. When I came back outside, and he saw that I was laundry-less and my shoes were on, he got up and hurried over with big toothy doggie grin. I wanted to be mad, but I was out there anyway...So I sat down, he hopped in my lap, and I gave him some pets. Well, okay, a few pets. Okay, okay a lot. Alright, my hands went black I petted him so long now leave me alone!

Death

I don’t suppose a lot of people think about Death these days. When they do, they think of it as a disease that needs to be solved, rather than a natural course of events.
Aging? A disease? Get out of here! What’s next? Pregnancy is a parasitic condition? That actually makes a whole lot more sense to me.
There are so many interpretations of Death that I enjoy studying its many interpretations. One thing that’s evident to me is that everything dies eventually. Even the mythical Gods couldn’t truly escape it, if one wished to “off” the other; it was usually possible. (Although, usually the Gods got so angry at each other, they prefer to keep their enemy Gods around to torture them.) But that’s besides the point. The point is, everything dies, so why be afraid of it? Why pretend there’s a way around it? It’ll come eventually to everybody, so just live your life and be happy. The only thing that’s known for sure is this life, so just live your life and be happy.

Driving

I recently received my driving permit (RED ALERT! Watch the roads!!) No I’m kidding…a little. I’m keeping most of my driving in abandoned parking lots, so you don't really have to worry about bumping into me...or me bumping into you, I guess would be more accurate.

So far I’ve managed to crash into six imaginary cars while backing out of parking spaces, which I was pretending was a crowded mall parking lot (rather than an empty college parking lot); and I’ve hit two more imaginary cars by forgetting to look before changing lanes. Just for laughs, I gave backing into a parking space a whirl, and I’m not even going to tell you what happened. All in all, I’m getting better, and I was unleashed upon a real road with real cars yesterday, and I didn’t freak out…not on the outside anyways.

My car of choice hasn’t sustained any damage, and I haven't given Mama (who has been my licensed driver in all of my driving adventures) whiplash. So all in all, I guess I haven’t done that badly.

Passing The Love

When you’re in a family, and one person gets sick, you can pretty much count on the whole family taking sick in turns. That’s just the way the circle of life goes. You bring a little something into the family, you share it with everybody. By the time everyone has gotten sick, the chemical code that the illness possessed has morphed into an unfamiliar code, and the first person will undoubtedly get sick again. Sure you feel bad for ‘em, but you can’t help feel as if justice has been served. “Take that for getting us sick!” Maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m just evil.
But anyhow, this little circle of illness has been dubbed "passing on the love." Because you wouldn't pass this on to someone you don't know, better to pass the love on to someone you love! (Maybe I'm a little batty too.)

Mama

Mama

She does all she can for you.
Not for the pleasure of telling you what to do.
But to let you learn from her experiences
So you won’t have to burn the way she did.

She loves you like no one else can
She always has a plan
For something fun and new to learn
Never indifferent she is always filled with concern.

Never does she ignore
She runs when you cry
Never speaks scathing words
She asks what’s wrong when you sigh

She is love. She is Mama.

Photo Albums

Now a day’s everybody is going digital with everything. I find myself asking: Is this a good thing?
It seems to me that people who do their billing, banking, picture taking, writing, communication and filming all digitally are just one Super Virus away from becoming nobody. I don’t read much science fiction, but I’m sure that there is some author somewhere who has addressed the issue of a technologically advanced species that lost everything in a major power shortage, and everybody was reduced to a very primitive way of living. These people forgot who they were and where they came from and went back to telling stories about gods who control everything that happens, because that will seem more logical than microorganisms, atoms and neutrons. Because these people forgot their own histories they became in essence, nothing…

I’m not about to go into all of that, I’m not predicting that something like that will happen, I’m just planning upon making a smaller point, that will demonstrate that going digital is not necessarily a good thing.

Photos

I love my families albums, I love being able to just sit down and remember things that happened, and even the things that I was too young to remember, I like to imagine that I can. I’m not capable of relating how much these albums mean to my family and I. The ability to recount events and recall old conversations and events that we shared together helps us stay strong as a family, and helps bring forth our individuality.
Another thing I don’t think I could ever live without is our old family portraits. I can’t remember a time when Great Grandma and Great Grandpa Mezzano didn’t gaze down at me from a wall in my families home. Although I never met them, it’s a constant and comforting reminder that I am a part of a family; that a piece of those two people lives in me, and I feel as if as long as they hang on the wall, they will always be alive as well.
I feel similarly about the photo albums, except they have me and people that I know and have met in them, I can’t help but feel as long as they are there, I will always live on. My history and my story will always be there for someone else to see long after I’m gone. It gives me a sense of long lasting security. I will never disappear. I will always be there in those happy, or angry, or frustrating moments, it’s captured right there in that second.

Now this digital thing, I’m afraid of it quite frankly. I walk into people’s houses and there isn’t a single picture on the wall. Not a family portrait, or a school picture. It’s like these people are ghosts, these homes feel as empty and as expressionless as a hotel room. I immediately feel alien from these people; there isn’t a sign of them anywhere!
So when I hear that people have gone digital and their kids are rebelling against it, my immediate reaction is: “of course they are!! Why wouldn’t they?”
They’re growing up like ghosts. No wait, if they were ghosts, they would have a past, and they would be clinging to it. These children are without a past. When you’re growing up, you are constantly wondering “Who am I?” and “Where did I come from?” It’s in human nature to ask these questions. To have a past gives you your identity, something that can never be stolen from you. Photos in easily accessible albums, and hanging on the walls were children can see it gives them a sense of security.
Growing up I know that man on the wall is my Great Grandpa. I know that my Great Grandpa immigrated to this country and married my Great Grandma. That's the greatest feeling in the world: to know that there is a place for you; to know that you are an essential member of a family. Even though they never met me, I am a part of my grandparents lineage, and they mine.
Humans need that sense of belonging, which is why it makes perfect sense that the kids are rebelling against the going-digital thing. What doesn’t make sense is the adult’s immediate willingness to strip themselves of their identity in their own homes.

Moving On

Moving On

Moving on is hard
Leaving the known
Is hard
For all you receive is unknown

We all put it off
No one likes a change.
We can no longer put it off
We need the change.

To keep life like this
Will suffocate us
To accept everything as is
Will mean the end for us.

I can’t stay with you
If you continue
To allow those who harm you
Around you.

I seeing you hurt everyday
By those who
Have the audacity to say
They love you.

I always ask myself: How can you hurt
Those you say you love?
I want “this take and hurt”
Way of love.

If this is the way it is
I will skim above
Any chance of
This so called “love.”

All that is left a web of lies
With mere whispers of the love
That first made the ties
Of a home of peaceful love.

So many tears fall
I fear there’s more to come
God can’t count them all
Yet each partake in who I shall become.

It is a burden on my heart and mind
I cannot fight your fight
I can’t cut the ropes that bind
Your will and might.

I walk away
So that I may breathe again
And I will pray
That you will learn to Fly again.

Inspirational Thoughts on Life

I figured most people have some sort of personal Inspirational realization through their life; some pieces of information that have snapped together and no matter who you are or how much time elapses, thoughts that won’t ever change. This is merely my teenage Inspirational thoughts, I have them weekly. One day I just decided that I’d write it down as some kind of speech. Now I’ve decided to rewrite it as a blog. But in essence it’s the same thing that I originally wrote down.

First off, I will acknowledge the fact that everyone has a different way of approaching everything, whether it is a problem, job choice or anything else, so I will start this off by stating that what this says may or may not work for you personally. Everyone’s way of dealing with life differs from person to person. So, I won’t bother trying to sell that what I am about to say is true for you.

Goals

I know an excellent thing for everyone (and everybody does it, consciously or otherwise) is to set goals. Goals are a way of knowing what you want, and having an idea of how you are going to get it. One’s position always influences the goals one has; a position also changes the way to reach certain goals. Your position could determine if the goal you have could mean more or less work for you. So, why should anybody ever even bother to tell anybody what a “good goal’ is? Quite frankly, no one should. No one has any right to tell you what you can or cannot do, or can or cannot achieve.
For that reason, I’m not going to bother going into what a “good” or “bad” goal is, but just for the brief I’m trying to make I’ll just list some examples: gaining a college scholarship, graduating college, a job promotion, a good/successful relationship with a partner. Goal setters are recognized as outgoing people, and if you really want what you’re setting your goal for, you will achieve it, one way or another.

Wishes

I also firmly believe that everyone should wish less. Wishes should be made only once in a great while, over a birthday cake, or on a shooting star. Wishing is the wanting something without having the initiative or determination to go and get it yourself; it’s wanting something that you think you can only gain with the help of a Divine Other. Wishes are over-used, and are often a big waste of time. But as humans, we can’t help but wish for things that are impossible to achieve, like wanting to speak with an ex-President…whose dead; or wishing that a puppet would turn into a real boy. Wishing is a way of wanting things that are completely out of our hands, with no exceptions.
Wishing less is something that someone with a high self-esteem and self-loving person is smart should strive for; because wanting things that are impossible can only make you be disappointed and discontent with life.


Dreams

Now dreaming is something we all need to do often, but like all things it can be over done, and like all people, the limit line is different for everyone. But I think I can safely say everyone needs to dream more often. It can be looked at as a more healthy form of wishing, though it’s not really even close if you think about it.
We have established that the art of wishes are people hoping for things that are completely out of reach, and often times impossible: like winning the lottery. Dreams on the other hand, are when you want something that is possible to have, and there is a clear way of getting whatever it is (in a lot of cases, dreams can be the beginnings of a goal.) Dreaming is thinking up a goal before the goal has been set.
Dreaming is what makes a lot of people push harder, to do better and be better. What we dream about, (and how often) determine the type of people that we are.
Dreamers can be good-natured people that are always trying to do better. But like most wishes, some dreams don’t come true too. Usually the reason for this is even if you do all you can do to reach your goal, and dream with all your might, there is a chance that it can all go down the drain. How you take your failure that determines what kind of a dreamer you are: Whether you are the disappointed or the ordinary kind.
The worst thing that you can probably do when a dream spoils is to blame yourself when it happens. I think a lot of stuff we all want (70% to 90%) have portions that are another person’s choice. So even in dreaming you’re still relying on someone else to get what you want. 70% to 90% of one dream needs someone else’s positive action to make your dream come true. Blaming yourself on “wasted” dreams, breeds resentment, and restlessness. I believe one of the worst things anybody can do is blame yourself when something is out of your control. But that doesn’t mean you can be irresponsible.
Everything isn’t your entire fault, but sometimes it is you that shattered your dreams. But it isn’t common that a situation is caused totally and utterly by one’s self.
So, dream more, be responsible, and don’t blame yourself needlessly.




Caring

We all need to care about something. What you care about makes you a better person; whether you are caring about others like family, you partner, or children. Caring and doing good go hand-in-hand. If you really care you do something. And when you do something, it causes change, and things can only change for the better if you care. Caring for something gives you a goal and you dream about what is the best way to achieve that goal, and caring about your goal, keeps you focused. And when you’re focusing on a goal, you’re doing something and you’re working on making your dreams come true.
If we all cared more, we can make better children, better families, better neighborhoods, better communities, and a better world.



“Do no Evil”

The last and probably the most important things to add to my list are to “Speak no evil, hear no evil.” “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” “Hurt no others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.” “What is hateful to you do not to you fellow man……” “….desire for your brother that which (you) desire for (yourself).” “Bless is who preferreth his brother before himself.” *
You would think with it written in so many ways in so many places, it would be catching!
The saying “speak no evil, hear no evil” the one that means the most to me would be the "speak no evil", but the one most people need is the “hear no evil” since we are all gossipers at heart and like to hear when someone else has it as bad, or worse off than we do ourselves, it makes us feel better about our own situation.
“Speak no evil.” Everyone does it. Gossiping (again), back-talking, lying, cussing, telling unkind truths in hurtful ways, the list is endless.
Words can’t break bones…they hurt more. The people closest to you, can break you more easily and more thoroughly than anything in the world; and it’s their words that hurt more than anyone else’s. Because the people close to you know the most about you, they are the people you trust to know the most about you. And they can break you, and you can break them too; which is why words from a loved one can hurt more than any stone could; because they have abused the information that you have entrusted in them to respect and to keep, and that hurt runs deep.
“Speak no evil; hear no evil…..do no evil”

* You may have noticed I’ve altered a few of the quotes to make them more appropriate for my point. The reason I changed the first saying raises a good point that I feel needs to be written. The saying is “Speak no evil, see no evil, and hear no evil” in my opinion, you need to see evil. If you see evil, and recognize it for what it is, then you have acknowledged that fact that something needs to change, then you are dreaming of something better. If you care enough to try to change whatever it is you have given yourself a goal. And you will start working on a better world, even if it doesn’t work out in this lifetime, you would have realized that the meaning of life is to enjoy the good things that are in life already, and to see if you can’t make it better.

Why me?

A few weeks ago, my family and I were going to see the Getty Villa. We were all excited to go, or my parents and I were anyway. (It's hard to tell with my brothers.)
I woke up early that morning to cramps (which is, hands down, the most agonizing reminder that I am a girl.)
I hoped that it would soon pass, but it didn't. I was still lying on the floor of my bedroom when my parents' alarm went off. I still hadn't moved as my father made his way down the hall with the wake up call.
Once he saw me, he didn't have to say anything to know what was going on. He asked if I had eaten breakfast, and I gave him a negative.
He left for a few moments and came back with a banana and a water bottle. After I thanked him, I wondered: why do my cramps bring out the best in my family?
Both my brothers passed by and expressed their sympathy in their own way.
Eventually I made my way to the breakfast table and had some oatmeal, I still hoped that I was reaching a turning point...
When it came time to leave, I wasn't dressed yet, and I was back to lying down. By all accounts, I had turned green, which is not my best color.
Mama had asked if she should stay with me while the guys went, I said no, she was the one who really, really, really wanted to go, it would have been completely pointless if neither she nor I went.
So I didn't go to the Getty Villa but I hope next time will be better.

Creeping Down the Hallway

Creeping down the Hallway

Quiet as a mouse,

Girl sneaks away

In the old house.

Up and down the stairs

Shadows on the walls

Nobody cares

If the spirit falls.

When she was living

All that she knew

Was the mother called "Darling"

And a father that was new,

Daddy she called him,

though he was not

It didn't matter to him;

Of another she knew not.

Creeping Down the Library,

Quiet as a Mouse

The empty shelves are airy

In the little house.

Memories are Alive,

For the dead Girl

Every absent book Survive

In Deaths World.

Parents read a fairy book

To the little Girl

Before the fever Took

Away the quiet Girl

Now the house is Abandoned,

The books are Gone,

The gods Commanded

The Girl not live Long

Creeping in the House,

Without company of Mother

And her Spouse,

The Girl refuses another

Chance at Life,

Full of fun and Play.

In the Shell of her Old Life

She prefers to Stay.

Silent are the Rooms,

Long are the Days.

She wanders through the tooms

Remembering her lost Ways.

Creeping down the Hallway

Quiet as a Mouse

See her if you may,

In the abandoned House.

There a family was Broken,

Hearts were Shattered

There are Out-spoken

Who ask if it all Mattered;

To one little Girl

Whose Life was snuffed Out

The one quiet Girl

Who I spoke About

It was all she Knew

And it mattered Much,

It matters Still.

Those who believe in Such,

Know she shall Stay,

Until Judgment Day,

And Trumpets Play,

Then she shall go Away.

She shall go to Heaven

Where her family await,

She shall go by Raven,

To those who Dictate,

The ending for All,

In life or in Death,

No one shall Appall

The girl whom in Death,

Loved her home

Her family and her past,

At End of Time, she shall go Home

To rest at Last.

The Face of a Clock

When I was in first grade, I got so bored, I memorized all of the little cut out crafts that were pined to the cork board plaque on the wall. The teacher had made them all, which never made sense to me. Why would a teacher take the time and the energy to cut out colorful flowers for the spring, Suns for the summer, and leaves for the fall (winter was the only time we students actually made the paper decorations, they were paper snowflakes, of course, but then we had to clean up the mess after we were done.)
Then there was the Alphabet that was taped to across the top of my desk, the capital letters right next to the little letters, and all of the vowels (Except Y and W)were red, the rest were in black type. Beneath the alphabet was out first name, spelt out by the teacher on the first day of class. This entire arrangement always confuse me...
I had learned the alphabet when I was about two (thank you Barney!) and how to spell and write my name long before I had ever set foot in a school room. (Actually that's a bit of a lie, Mama was going through college when I was a baby, and she used to take me with her to the classes.) The first time I set foot in a class room where I was the one who was supposed to be learning....(No, that's not true either, I don't think I was meant to learn anything in school and anything I did learn was probably an accident.) But that's all besides the point. Why were they taking all of this trouble to make sure that the alphabet and my name were right under my nose? And why didn't they make Y and W red too? Or maybe purple, since they don't always work as vowels. The whole thing just confused me, and it shook some of the foundation blocks of my reading and writing skills in the process.....so it was more of a hindrance than a help.
When the teacher was taping that table alphabet/name table tag to the desk, I told the teacher that I already knew the alphabet, and I knew how to spell my name. She said "that was very nice" but she was putting it down so that I would always know which desk was mine. I told her not to worry about it, I was sure that I could remember which one it was. Then she said it was for the other kids so that they would know that desk wasn't theirs. But this didn't make any sense either, because these kids had already been in school for a longer time than me, and I had just arrived from another state; wouldn't they know their own desk from another desk? Especially since their desk had their name written on it? I just said "Oh." and we moved on.

Another thing I remember about first grade is the face of the clock. Either I was looking at the clock as I waited for the other kids to stop talking so that the class would start; or when I was waiting for the kids to be quiet and get in a line so that we could go out to recess, or to go to another class, or to eat lunch; or when I was waiting for the "appropriate time" to go the bathroom.
In the class room, Cogsworth and I got along really well. He was as silent as I was, and his face was filled with disapproval as he looked at the screaming Rug Rats that were my classmates.....yes, he and I got a long really well.

Songs That Help Us To Remember

Song of Love

Song of Joy

Song of Memory

Song of Battle

Song of Lost

Song of Memory

Song of Hate

Song of Fate

Song of Memory

Song of Death

Song of Past

Song of Memory

Song of Change

Song of Victory

Song of Memory

Song of Murder

Song of Blood

Song of Memory

Song of Life

Song of Child

Song of Memory

Buddhist Temple

One sunny Sunday afternoon, an average American family drove down to the Buddhist Temple in Hacienda Heights California. The father was telling the rest of the family that the last time he had seen the temple it was still under construction, but even in its unfinished state it had been extraordinary to see. As the family pulled up to the parking lot entry, the mother expressed concern that perhaps the general public could only go inside on certain days, or on an appointed tour. But the father point to the clearly written WELCOME sign past the entrance at the gate. He said, since there was a greeting in English, he thought it would be alright. Once the family secured a parking space, the family stood in awe of the intricate detail and beauty of the temple. Once they walked into the looming entrance, they looked at the huge alter immediately inside the door. The entire family felt deeply embarrassed and self-conscious, for they had not thought to bring anything. They all briefly admired the inside of the entrance building, then went along a hallway to the left of the entrance doors. They went out into the sunshine and again, the family lost their breath at the sight of a second temple across the courtyard.

The family had not expected to see so much. So there was not enough time to truly admire the gardens, or to visit the museum, or to spend much time in the gift shop. So, the family left that afternoon, having seen more than they had expected, however not fully satisfied with their rather rushed and choppy self-tour. But they all left with the conviction that it would not be the last time they laid eyes on the Buddhist Temple.

(The writer acknowledges that she is not familiar with the terminology of the Buddhist Temple in Hacienda Heights. She begs the readers to forgive her ignorance, she meant no offence. She just wished to share the beauty and the experience of visiting the temple with others.)