Ceremonial Jingle Dancer


I accept this perfect poet award from Jingle. This is the second one I’ve recieved, and I am just as honored as I was the first time. I’d like to nominate Poettraveler.

Ceremonial Jingle Dancer

Sage smoke, rising, sinking
Tum tum tum of the drum
Sea shell necklace clinking
Reverberates a melodious hum

Pitter, patter, feet moccasin toed
Buckskin fringes swaying midair
Clitter, clatter, metal cones echo
Lone feather swinging from your hair

Tobacco pouch in hand
Amulet to promote healing
Great spirit to bless the land
More than just a feeling

Intricate footwork blazes a trail
Pattern of shedding snake
Health, again hearty and hale
Tis your interest at stake

Feet up and down on sacred grounds
Moving to mother’s heart beat
Happy and free, your soul resounds
Creator and dancer meet

I have watched Jingle dancers perform at Pow Wows. The are amazingly graceful and energetic. Simply beautiful. I can’t even begin to describe my emotional response. Within each of the imagery in this poem is a sacred meaning to the dancer.The Jingle dance is one of the ceremonial dances which is for healing. Legend is that a Jingle dancer is chosen because she has at one time been close to death and was healed thus carrying the ability to heal others. She hides a pouch of tobacco on her body or carries it in her hand as it is supposed to have healing powers. The snake shed dance pattern represents renewal.I can’t remember what the feather in her hair represents. But the cones and beads make the music. And is said they dance to their mother’s heartbeat ingrained in their soul.  They always burn sage within the sacred circle of Indian dances.  Sage is burned to purify and vanquish bad spirits.

The Essence Of My Existence

“Yes, Mother. I can see you are flawed. You have not hidden it. That is your greatest gift to me.” ~Alice Walker

I have spent much of my life holding my mother at bay. Not actually pushing her away, but not allowing myself to love her to my full capacity. I have been afraid to love her. I realize that sounds stupid. Let me try to explain what I mean and where I think it originates.

Though I don’t have any recollection of this, I feel like I do because I’ve been told this story so many times. When I was three months old, my mother had to go back into the hospital for a hysterectomy. At twenty-nine years of age, I was her sixth child, and much younger than the other five. My mother developed an abscess and a blood clot. They didn’t even stitch her up from her surgery because the physician had come to the conclusion that she was going to die. They called in her family for their last good byes. My mother went into a coma. She doesn’t know how long she remained that way but knows she was hospitalized for twenty-nine days. When she woke up, she was in a tub of ice water. She was told that her temperature had gotten to 108. (She jokes that this is what happened to her mind!) Anyway, there was older woman that was her nurse by day and took it upon herself to stay with her each night on her off duty time. My mother credits her to nursing her back to health. While she was recuperating in the hospital my father would take all six children to visit my mother. Apparently, I had forgotten my mother and our bond was broken. I’d get upset when handed to my mother which broke her heart. The doctors would not allow my father to continue to bring me to my mother because it was declining her recuperation.

This was me about the time my mother went into the hospital.

When I was probably in the eight or ninth grade, my mother had to be hospitalized for a knee surgery. She had been motorcycling riding with my father and got off the bike and fell into a hole and damaged the cartilage and ligaments. Anyway, my mother was in the hospital for four days. I could not eat and was in a state of apprehension. My oldest sister couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. It came tumbling out like a volcano. I was afraid my mother was going to die. My sister tried to explain that it was not a life threatening surgery. I was embarrassed and had no way to explain the inner confusion, guilt, and worry that I was feeling.

My mom and I

My mother’s own mother died when she was two and a half years old. She didn’t have a role model for motherhood. She went head first trial and error with her first child at age sixteen. She tried so hard to be involved in my life and she was as much as I allowed her to be. On the surface, we appeared close, but I held back. I easily blamed her for her short comings, and I was far from the perfect daughter. Through the years, I continued to try not to let myself get to close to my mother. And somehow, through those years it happened without my realizing it. We began to appreciate and respect our differences. And as much as I never thought I’d admit it, we are quite a bit alike. And believe it or not, I am proud to have those traits. She is very much a part of all that I encompass.

I live four hours away from my parents. I only see them once or twice a month. However, I talk to my mother on the phone almost daily. Sometimes we might even talk four or five times in one day. It is a rare day that I don’t speak with her.

My mom, oldest sister, next oldest sister, Peggy, and I.

In watching her on Sunday, as she sat in her chair with a headache and in tremendous physical pain throughout the rest of her body. I looked at her pale face, brows furrowed and eyes squinted in pain as she tried to enjoy my visit. I thought about the pain she has endured throughout her life. ( And I am an emotional wreck as I am sobbing uncontrollably just typing this.) And I have thought about what a wonderful, beautiful soul she is…what a truly remarkable role model, blemishes and all. After all, we are human and incapable of being perfect. From all I’ve ever aspired to be to all I’ve vowed never to become, I am an apendage of my mother. I am overwhelmed and frightened at the tremendous amount of love I have in my heart for her. I’ve never realized how much I need her. And it has hit me like a ton of bricks, I am absolutely petrified of losing my mother.

Guilty As Sin, Or Not

Are you a guilt prone type of person? I am. If you even suggest I might have done it, I’ll believe I did do it. When I was younger, I got in the habit of thinking that whatever unpleasant things happened were somehow my fault. I’ve always been ready to take the blame for things that I have not done nor had any intention of doing. And when I really was guilty, I’d often confess, unless of course, it meant I was going to get into a lot of trouble. Which in that case I only admitted guilt if I got caught!

Once my cousin and I decided to skip school and go into the city to the mall and shop for prom dresses. My cousin’s car was a little off white kinda grey VW beetle bug, you know the old original ones. It was kind of an obvious little doo hickey when it was zipping through our little town. My cousin started to pass this big slow logging truck. Right as she got to the front of the truck near the cab, I could see it was blue, I knew without even looking at the driver that it was my father. We both nearly crapped our pants. Did we slow down, not pass him, and take the first exit and head to school? It would have been the smart thing to do, but oh no, we sped up smiled and waved at him as we passed. He smiled back, nodded his head, and waved his hand. Hmmmmm? We continued on to the mall. We spent all day there and got home just minutes before he did.

First I told my mother that I had skipped school and she was not angry. I was a very good student, so my grades wouldn’t have been affected, but she assumed my dad would be mad because I didn’t have permission. He acted like nothing was up, but I decide to approach the subject anyway while we are eating dinner.

Me: So, you saw us when we passed you and waved at you today? We skipped school and went into town.

Daddy: I never saw you. Wait what did you say?

My cousin looked at me like she was ready to kill me, and I was ready to remind her that she was the idiot that passed him on the highway. I was only a passenger.

Me: Oh, never mind.

Daddy: You just said you skipped school.

Me: You saw us. You waved at us when you passed.

Daddy: I never saw you. I wave at everyone.

Then he wanted to know why I didn’t go to school and if I’d missed anything. He asked my mom if she would’ve let me and she told him yes. So, he said he was ok with it since I came clean.

The other kind of guilt that I’m talking about is like when someone makes a reference about someone or something and I automatically think they are talking about me. The kind of vague accusations that make me second guess my actions and motives wondering if there was any possible way I’d unintentionally offended them. Usually, it is not in reference to me but still in the past I have spent countless hours wondering if I’d said something to hurt their feelings. I even feel a stab of guilt when total strangers relay stories to me. What the heck is wrong with me? Is there actual evil lying beneath my good intentions that everyone but me sees? Why am I so willing to take the blame for things of which I have no control? Is it somehow granting me power?

I’ve also read blogs that refer to other bloggers negatively, and I wonder if they’re referring to me. I worry that I’ve made a comment that was taken the wrong way.

Another example is that I can be cruising down the highway doing the speed limit and I hear an approaching siren and look to see those flashing lights of a police car. I automatically think it is coming for me. I think I have inadvertently broken a law.

I am one of these shoppers that makes sure my sales receipt is in view if I’m carrying a purchase to may car that is not bagged. Or if the beeper at the door goes off, I stop and wait for security to check me or wave me on. It’s almost as if I need to be assured of my innocence.

I don’t spend countless hours worrying anymore because I realize these are things of which I have no control. However, I am embarrassed to admit this underlying guilt.

I am willing to accept responsibility when I am wrong, but why I am I willing to accept blame when I am innocent?

Personal Wealth

Personal Wealth

What finer things in life could there be
Than to love, laugh, hope and be happy?
Let us have patience, to wait for all good things,
Time to enjoy the song the robin sings.
Let us know the peace of freeing from the past,
And remember that the beauty of love will last.
May we discern that loving does not make us weak,
And simpler truths wait for those who seek.
To taste the sweetness of falling rain,
To welcome growth from experiencing pain,
And to know we’ve given all we can
Far exceeds the wallet of the richest man.
One holds honesty in the palm of his hand,
Ready to radiate like sun glistening on sand.
When our taking is outweighed by our deeds,
When we care to respond to another’s needs,
When we understand that people are deeper than skin,
When we have wisdom to know those who lose also win,
And when we know in our hearts that hope exists in all we believe;
Then, and only then, is there nothing greater we can achieve.
A rich soul knows a hard day’s work is comfort earned,
And failures are nothing more than lessons learned.
If we have diligence to climb when life appears steep,
Show affection and compassion for those who weep,
Find happiness in smelling lilacs and holding babies,
And trust enough to reach beyond the maybes,
We are living among god’s most wondrous treasures.
These are all ours, free and simple pleasures.
If we look for kindness beyond a scorned man’s heart,
And hold him, comfort him, help him make a start,
We might feel the gentleness beneath his hurried touch.
Our encouragement and understanding is valued much.
The words we speak can break or mend;
We must be careful with messages we send.
We have the ability to heal one’s soul,
To love and humor him, make him whole.
We should live each day with gratitude,
And give with an unselfish attitude.
These make us richer than all earthly means,
More than we could imagine in our dreams.
Drinking trust from a newborn’s fist,
Finding love wrapped in a small child’s gift,
Seeing hope that brightens a stranger’s eyes,
Watching a fledgling take off when it tries,
And having faith in what we cannot see
All make us and shape us into the best we can be.
Having the strength to love and to trust
Gives us character of integrity and just.
These things make us richer than any millionaire,
As long as we take our lives and live them fair.
However, love is the greatest wealth of all;
It has the power to ascend the implausible wall.

                                                                                                                                                                                       Originally written June 26, 2002

Tin (Aluminum) Can Wylie

The face looks sweet and innocent enough. Right? Wrong! She has motives. Trust me. It’s in the back of her head. And it is always concerning food. She’s not cozying up to you and licking you just because she loves you. She wants that cookie in your hand.

This innocent adorable mutt woke us up at 5:30 this morning. She was throwing up. – I grudgingly get out of bed to let her outside. Oh, no, the little (BIG) princess won’t go out alone first thing in the morning. She backs up as I open the back door and won’t budge. She is waiting for me to go first. I trick her by walking out and quickly coming back in to close the door behind me. She then proceeds to jump and claw at the door.

Eventually I go back upstairs to clean up the doggy vomit. Guess what I find in it. Pieces of an aluminum can. Mountain Dew to be exact! The dog ate a dang soda can. It’s not like we don’t feed her. In fact we buy her very expensive organic gourmet dog food. She probably eats better than us! We just don’t oblige her desire for human food. There were probably about eight pieces of can, each roughly about the size of a nickel.

What was left of the Mountain Dew can!

First we panic thinking we are going to have to take Wylie to the vet for x-rays and possible surgery. Then we google “dog ate soda can” Do you realize she’s not the first stupid dog to try this? Apparently, lots of dogs have tried this. We find several suggestions in what to worry about, look for, and do. The first thing was whether or not she had thrown all of it up. Dirt Man checks outside and finds half of a chewed up Mountain Dew can in the flower garden. That’s where she takes all of her treasures to be destroyed. Then I go out there and see all of the chewed up pieces scattered which equals about another quarter of the can. She threw up about a quarter. So, we figured it is safe to assume there is none left in her since she was back to her exuberant self and other bodily functions and eating habits were otherwise normal.

Now, how did she get the can in the first place you ask. A few days ago, I decided to make beer can chicken on the grill. I only had bottled beer, so I poured it into a Mountain Dew can. When Dirt Man lifted the chicken off of the can he set the can aside in an above ground flower bed and forgot about it. Two things about Wylie. One, she loves beer. If we’re not careful and sit it on the floor, she will purposely knock it over and lap it up. Yes, we’ve caught her pulling this more than once. Second, she would love to get her paws on some chicken if we let her. I guess opportunity knocked and she took matters into her own paws! So, Wylie the Labradoodle is just a redneck-beer guzzling-chicken chompin’ mutt! *For the record when she licks me, it’s because she loves me…I refuse to believe she’s trying to undermine me. Only my human kids do that!

Two Poems

I am submitting two poems to Jingle’s Thurdays’ Poets Rally. The first poem is by me. The second poem is by my BIL, Dwight.

My poem
My Other Half

Time and distance
Your love enfolds me
Heart of my heart
Soul of my soul
You smile upon my life

Deep dynamic dreams
Your love invigorates me
Serenader of my song
Painter of my portrait
You purvey my truth

Dark remote heavens
Your love clarifies me
Heart of my heart
Soul of my soul
You write my days

All that you are
All that I am
Into one heartbeat



Dwight’s poem
Without end…..

Rain on my roof

tickles the darkness


whispers in my ear


remind me


the time


walked barefoot across

my soul.

It’s Just Me

small cycle

So, this Spin is supposed to be all about me. Geesh, where do I start?!

I suppose I could say that I have always been quite sensitive, the overly emotional type. I’ve always hated it and tried so hard to change, but I can’t help but wear my heart on my sleeve. I have in recent months come to terms with it. I have decided that it is ok to show emotions, good or bad. Whatever I feel, I feel it deeply, and I’d truly rather be happy or sad or whatever than to not experience these feelings at all. And there are people who don’t feel…really there are, I saw it on an episode of “House”. I just can’t remember the term for it.

I talk way too much, and I talk with my hands. It is a family trait. I was the kid with the report cards with the warning that I talked too much. I was also the kid that had to write twenty-five times (on more than one occasion!) “ I will not talk in class.“ or “I will not interrupt Mrs. Rotch in class”. That was a lot of writing for a second grader, but it didn’t cure me. It only made me hate Mrs. Rotch who I dubbed Mrs. Retch! Actually, Mrs. Wretch would have been better, but I didn’t know the difference then. Come on, I was only in second grade. I remember on the first day of my seventh grade science class, the teacher goes, “Oh my God. Another one of you. Please tell me that you are the last one. Are you like the others. I swear if I’d tied their hands behind their backs, they wouldn’t have been able to say a word.” I assured him that I was the last of the six kids. I tried my best not to talk too much in his class and he was surprised to find that I got straight A’s in his class. Maybe, he was thankful that I was trying to be quiet! So anyway, maybe, my blog is giving everyone around me a break from listening to me, and I have a place to say what I think without being overly annoying. I mean at least this way, if I am annoying people have the opportunity to walk away and not read me. But those within my reach, too bad…unless of course, you learn to tone me out like my family!

I am a creative person. I put my soul into whatever I am producing. And I think my emotions show through as well. I write, art quilt, pattern quilt, stamp, bead, sew various crafts, embroider, knit a little, crochet, and love felting with crochet. I enjoy making things for other people. My kids think that I can make anything. Shhhh, don’t tell them any differently. Sometimes, the things they want me to make are way over my talent level, so I tell them it’s just as cheap to buy it!

The fact that I am shy will probably come as a big surprise to you. I am actually quite shy until I get to know you. Then all hell breaks loose. Another surprising thing is that I am not always as quick with sarcasm in real life as I am on paper. I usually think of things to say after the fact. I’ve been told that sarcasm is an insecurity issue. It might be.

One thing I absolutely am is loyal to a fault. If you have managed to fit into my little world of friendship, you will be stuck with me forever. I have many acquaintances. Many call those people friends…I do not. Superficial relationships are for acquaintances. Friendship goes to a much deeper level. One must earn my trust to become a friend. I value my friends and loved ones and will go to the ends of the earth for them.

I spend way too much time thinking instead of doing. I don’t mind being alone with myself. I used to stay busy because I was afraid I wouldn’t like me if I got to know me. I must say it’s been an interesting journey. I do NOT look like a super model, nor am I rich or famous. But if you take the time to peer into my soul, you’ll see I’m a fairly complex yet adequate.

How It All Began

Today I am participating with Tattoos and Teething Rings’ Write On. I have chosen Prompt #2 – How did you meet your husband/wife (or boyfriend/girlfriend)? Was it love at first sight? Did you think they were completely obnoxious? Maybe they took you on your worst date ever?

I knew Dirt Man in high school. Well, actually, I didn’t really know him. I knew of him. (I didn’t start dating him until he was in college and I was a senior in high school.) At that time, he was a senior and I was a sophmore. He happened to be dating a girl that I had a lot of classes with. They were quite comical in retrospect…like they were inseparable and they even dressed alike. Yeah, kind of sick actually, but when you’re in tenth grade, you see it as real love. I mean capital L. I remember watching them and praying that some day God would bless me with someone who looked at me the way he looked at her, someone who would love me like that sans the twin dressing. I never actually thought he’d ever pay any attention to me because he was like way cute, and besides he was totally in love with this other girl. I mean after all she was already purchasing wedding china one piece at a time! Seriously.

Well, they broke up and he was off to college and I was still in high school. And I still continued to have many classes with that girl as I had every year since seventh grade. She went through a few other guys, and I didn’t have any idea what happened to him.

In my senior year of high school, I became really good friends with a freshman girl. Little did I know that she was Dirt Man’s younger sister. She would tell me all the time that he was asking about me. And I later found out she had been telling him that I was asking about him. Neither was true. She was secretly matchmaking.

Anyway, I had been dating a guy who thought nothing of going out with anyone he wanted besides me but thought I should not go out with anyone but him. Dirt Man’s sister told me about a party that he was at and he saw this guy with another girl. I wrote him a note asking him about it, and sent it by his sister. (He was home from college for Thanksgiving break.) He responded back that he looked like he was having a great time, and would I like to meet him at school the next day in the “dark room” as he had some pictures to develop and was using the school’s dark room. I sent him a note back that said I would.

Yeah, my hubby likes to tell our kids that he and their Mom’s first date was in a dark room! Then the next day he picked me up at school and we had a sort of after school date. The very next day, I went back to school and told my best friend that I was going to marry him some day. She laughed and told me that there was no much thing as love at first sight. I reminded her that it was not first sight but a soul connection. She laughed again. I was invited to his home for Thanksgiving dinner. Yes, in a matter of a couple of days, I had met his entire extended family. Talk about pressure! We spent all of our free time together through Christmas and then he transferred to a university about four hours away. We continued a long distance relationship.

He’d come home on weekends, and I’d ride the bus home with his sister and spend the weekends with he and his family. They had a cabin in the mountains and they also owned a private family campground. We usually got to spend a lot of time hiking.

We dated for two years before we tied the knot. He was still a college student. We had our first child almost four years after we were married. And well, the rest is history as it will be our 28th wedding anniversary this September. For more on the story, you can see To the Love of my Life.

The Card He Didn’t Buy

My father has never been a gift giver. It is not in his nature. He doesn’t shop period, and especially not for cards. That is why having four daughters has saved his marriage…well, not really. But we would get money from him and go buy a gift for our mom from him and a card. We’d even wrap the gift. All he had to do was sign the card., and hand the stuff over. He was always as surprised as her when she opened her presents.

One such time, my oldest sister was in charge of buying for their anniversary. She took care of all the details and just had him sign the card and present her with the card and gift.

We later asked our mom if she liked what he’d gotten her. She laughed and said, “Well bless his heart. He bought me a birthday card instead of an anniversary card. I don’t have the heart to tell him since he went to all that trouble of picking it out himself.”

My sister and I rolled our eyes at each other. It was all we could do not to double over in laughter. She let Daddy take the blame for the card because otherwise we’d be ratting him out for having not bought it in the first place and she was so touched that he’d tried. Or so we let her continue to think.

It was funny that my sister had read it. I had read it. And my father had read it. None of us caught it. My mother caught it instantly. We secretly laughed over it for years. Eventually, we told them both, and they got a good laugh as well.

Sweet Awards

A lovely weaver of words honored me with the Spring Trust Award. This comes from a writer of beautiful poetry, Worlds of Words. Please go read what he has to say, you will walk away deep in thought. Trust is an extremely important value to me. It is not something I take lightly, so I will only be awarding this to ONE person.

As writers, our words are like newborns. We take words and we create life. We nurture them and hold on to them until they are ready to be released. And then we send them out into the world and hope they are accepted. We construct images and trigger emotions. These words generate vulnerability in us and approval validates us. The power of the word should never be underestimated. Because to a writer it is EVERYTHING. There is absolutely no one I trust more for an honest critique than Karal, http://theorangechair.org/. I also trust Karal explicitly as a friend and fellow writer. Karal is the recipient of the Spring Trust Award.

I picked up the Honest Scrap Award from Jingle. Jingle hosts the Thursday‘s Poets’ Rally where you will friend many wonderful poets. Jingle is amazing. She is very talented and one of the kindest souls I’ve had the honor of meeting through Bloggyland. Please pay her a visit.

Rules to Accept the Award:

Thank the person giving you this award.

Copy the award to your blog

place a link to their blog

Name 7 tidbits people don’t know about you from reading your blog.

Nominate 10 Bloggers.

Place a link to those Blogger.

Leave a comment letting those Bloggers know about the award.

My seven tidbits are:

1. My fiber art is not limited to quilting. I also crochet, (I can knit but am not good at it, cross-stitch, and embroider.

2. I used to do some beadwork, but not as much anymore.

3. I used to love riding motorcycles.

4. Dogs are my favorite animal.

5. I was afraid of the dark for many years.

6. For the life of me I can NOT whistle!

7. I was ranked number ten in my high school graduation class (it was a small town).

I will pass this award on to:

1.Teri’s Blip in the Universe

2. Eva Evolving

3. Second Blooming

4. Megzone

5. Adventures of a Grocery Clerk

6. Welch Happenings

The Michief Maker Award comes from Megzone. I love Tinker Bell, and anyone who knows me knows I like a little mischief. The only rule to this award is to pass on to one or more bloggers. I’d like to pass this on to a few blogs that I find to be a lot of fun. These guys never fail to make me laugh.

1. http://whatpassesforsaneonacrazyday.blogspot.com/

2. http://thegoodthebadtheworse.blogspot.com/

3. http://www.triloquist.blogspot.com/

The Golden Cup Award comes to me from Destiny’s Child. This is a very creative blog. You will find all kinds of interesting things there by a talented writer. Check out this blog. I think the rule for this one is to pass on to one or more, and I chose five. I would like to pass this award on to:

1. Reaching for my pen

2. Diary of a Technophobe

3. Menopausal New Mom

4. Jingle

5. 20milesfromnowhere

I just received this Circle of Friendship Award from Jingle.

The rules to accept this award are:

  • List 5 things that make you happy.
  • Try to do at least one of them each day.
  • List 5 bloggers who brighten your day, let them know you have the award and will pass to them.
  • link back to the person who give you this award.
  • Five things that make me happy

    1. My first cup of French press in the morning

     2. Listening to my dog snore

    3.  Sunshine

    4. A good book

    5. Someone else cooking dinner once in a while

    All of my blogging friends make me happy, so it’s very difficult to only name five. So, rebel that I am, I am breaking rules. If you follow me and leave comments and I do for you, I consider you my circle of friends…grab the award! Then scoot on over and check out the others!