It's Saturday. Half time of Texas/Iowa game.
These are days of carefully watching and listening. Practice for registering in the
consciousness many of the things that people do and the comments they make. All on the search
for new material to make the Mother Letters. This new alert sent my mind flittering off to
memories of Grandmother Sunday's backyard. The countless evenings and afternoons of
childhood spent in exploring. One of the magical treats was just being still. Watching by day and
listening by night. The longer you could be still, the higher the possible reward of the backyard
neighborhood living things revealing themselves to you -- coming out to enjoy the new company
with sights and sounds never before imagined. I'm kind of comparing this memory with the
almost lost art today of not stopping to carefully watch and listen for the truly magical messages
and sights of daily life.
Karen and I were talking Christmas Day after she'd just read the first blogged Mother Letter.
She asked me if I had fun writing them -- the letters. Hmmm. I've had to think about that one.
Early in life, I started my collection of words. I remember the year, 1959, when I discovered
and added the word, omphaloskepsis (that's sitting around and thinking about your belly-
button) to my vocabulary. Was I cool, or what?! To me, words are like the multi-colored
marbles I pushed around as a child, hour-after-hour, making unique arrangements on a
hexagram board game. I could and would with time, take words and roll them around in my
mind until they fit shapes and patterns of meaning. Then I would play with them, put them on
paper to say something or take a "marble" away, add a couple more, to change completely the
perspective of what I was saying. Using words to illustrate or create pieces of verbal art is
pleasing to me. So, yes, the Mother Letter is a form of fun. But, word marble playing is not such
an easy game.
Judy Hitt and I ran this morning and talked over each other on the same topic -- eating too
much and gaining a little too much. Laura was missing and couldn't add her two cents worth as
she has strep throat. We tackled the "stress test" hill. That's a neighborhood street with a
continuous, almost one mile gradual incline. Since Peter and I saw the Rocky Balboa movie
Christmas day and Judy and Curtis caught the afternoon show yesterday, this morning, 6:00
a.m., we hummed the Rocky song all the way up to the top. No arms pumping in the air when
finished though. Just the noise of strange sounds that can only come from breath catching.
I tell you what. Every time George Bush opened his mouth earlier this week to Hallelujah
praise the memory and reputation of former President Gerald Ford, he just shined a light back
into his own face, illuminating that he's the exact opposite of every single word he spoke. True to
form, I don't even think he realized what he was doing. One remembered example was Bush's
crediting Ford with being the healer of a divided Nation when he assumed the office of the
President. Doesn't G. W. realize he's the "decider-divider" of the Nation?
Respect for the President of the United States is one of those childhood "learnings" embedded
deep inside of me. Throughout my life, as our Presidents have come along, I've been able to
apply this particular teaching -- until G. W. The man simply stirs up such a negative visceral
reaction inside of me, the old deeply buried learning is violently disturbed and I have to leave
the room when I hear his voice.
Update on the neighborhood deer -- Abel from the office was helping his dad on a recent
weekend. His dad owns an air-conditioning/heating company and Abel often volunteers as his
"helper." Abel was telling me that he was on his way to the work-order-place, came around a
corner and stopped his truck to look at these two life-sized bucks that some silly people with a
little extra money had stationed in the front yard of their house. And, the longer he looked, he
realized they weren't statues, but real. What he didn't know was this was my neighborhood and
he was seeing part of the herd I always talk about. Mentioning his sighting to the customer, they
told him about the unusual twin black deer that appeared this season. Good to have the story
about the herd addition verified because I don't think Abel believed me when I'd told him about
those two babies earlier in the year. He just blew it off as "girl talk."
Do you think we are going to be molecularly changed by eating the meat of cloned animals?
Mercy! When I first heard this story last week, my appetite vanished. Score one point in the
positive column. With a molecule tweaking, the G. W. tendency to bash might vanish, though.
Score two. Government help is on the way. Heck of a job, John Wayne.
And, with that last thought, I'll let you be for another week.
Love,
Jody
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Monday, December 25, 2006
2007 mother letters
Dear Mother,
That was supposed to be the last "mother letter" of the year. The one mailed to you a couple of days ago. But - but - but....this morning, Christmas morning, I woke up with some "tag along" thoughts and yesterday happenings I wanted to share with you before the day gets along and they are gone -- gone to the attic of things I wished I'd remembered to say.
Peter and Lucky watched a couple of movies last night and good time to do it as Christmas Eve in Austin proved the weatherman right -- it was a rainy one. Joel called earlier in the day and I told him about listening to Jon Meacham, the Editor of Newsweek magazine and Dr. Rick Warren, author of, A Purpose Driven Life, talk about religion on Meet The Press. It was all kind of timely as yesterday, Joel was concerned about making money and Warren talked about his internal tug-of-war with making money on the sale of this new book and how he finally resolved it. Turns out, it all depends on what you do and how you use the money. Nothing new here. This is an old lesson. It kind of shoved its way into other things I was hearing, realizing, and considering yesterday and this morning.
Before I forget, Tim Russert's, Meet The Press, ended the program with a "tip-of-the-hat-nod" to Robert Frost by playing old clips of the Nobel Laureat's reading of his famous poem, "The Gift Outright". It begins: "The land was ours before we were the land's. She was our land more than a hundred years before we were her people. She was ours in Massachusetts, in Virginia." Now maybe I didn't understand exactly what Robert Frost meant, but, my ears clamped down after listening to those first words. The land wasn't "ours"! Listen to the words of George Hicks, Cherokee leader on the Trail of Tears in 1838. Coincidentally, I was reading his "poem" in Wilma's autobiography yesterday..."we are now about to take our leave and kind farewell to our native land, the country that the great spirit gave our Fathers, we are on the eve of leaving that country that gave us birth...it is with sorrow that we are forced by the authority of the white man to quit the scenes of our childhood...we bid a final farewell to it and all we hold dear." "The land was ours," my ass.
The Pope told the world this morning that we should not worship technology. But, with Time magazine's focus on "You" as the person of the year and the whole world becoming more interactive, is there time and space for the "old lessons" any longer. Are they becoming irrelevant. Is speed and the immediacy of "now" going to rule and dominate everything. Will my spending time reading about, thinking about and writing about how the Cherokee Chiefs of yesterday have any meaning and lessons in this fast moving world we're living in today. Will anyone care. After all, this is old stuff.
Peter and Lucky watched, Kingdom of Heaven last night, a movie about the Crusades and battles for control of Jerusalem between the Muslim and secular worlds. The time was a thousand years ago. Turn on the T.V., though, and you're watching a re-play. compliments of G. W. Bush. I think he could have used a little relevance by opening a history book. So, that's enough "proof in the pudding" to me that some of the "old lessons" still count.
What can I tell you about Lucky, your grandson's new "rescue" dog. Peter says he just had the bejeebers beaten out of him as a pup and has lost all of his spunk and personality. I'm not so sure about this. That dog doesn't miss a thing as he sleeps with his eyes open. And, if he happens to forget and close them for a second or two, his ears are cocked so as to catch all sounds roaming around the room. It's possible that old Lucky has lots of personality but for the moment, he's just keeping close council until he gets everything figured out.
Well, mother, clean out your closet as you are getting ready to fill your 92nd year. And, don't forget one of Betty Jo's elementary catechism's..."keep one foot on the sidealk at all times." That one often times gets me through a hard day.
Love,
Jody
That was supposed to be the last "mother letter" of the year. The one mailed to you a couple of days ago. But - but - but....this morning, Christmas morning, I woke up with some "tag along" thoughts and yesterday happenings I wanted to share with you before the day gets along and they are gone -- gone to the attic of things I wished I'd remembered to say.
Peter and Lucky watched a couple of movies last night and good time to do it as Christmas Eve in Austin proved the weatherman right -- it was a rainy one. Joel called earlier in the day and I told him about listening to Jon Meacham, the Editor of Newsweek magazine and Dr. Rick Warren, author of, A Purpose Driven Life, talk about religion on Meet The Press. It was all kind of timely as yesterday, Joel was concerned about making money and Warren talked about his internal tug-of-war with making money on the sale of this new book and how he finally resolved it. Turns out, it all depends on what you do and how you use the money. Nothing new here. This is an old lesson. It kind of shoved its way into other things I was hearing, realizing, and considering yesterday and this morning.
Before I forget, Tim Russert's, Meet The Press, ended the program with a "tip-of-the-hat-nod" to Robert Frost by playing old clips of the Nobel Laureat's reading of his famous poem, "The Gift Outright". It begins: "The land was ours before we were the land's. She was our land more than a hundred years before we were her people. She was ours in Massachusetts, in Virginia." Now maybe I didn't understand exactly what Robert Frost meant, but, my ears clamped down after listening to those first words. The land wasn't "ours"! Listen to the words of George Hicks, Cherokee leader on the Trail of Tears in 1838. Coincidentally, I was reading his "poem" in Wilma's autobiography yesterday..."we are now about to take our leave and kind farewell to our native land, the country that the great spirit gave our Fathers, we are on the eve of leaving that country that gave us birth...it is with sorrow that we are forced by the authority of the white man to quit the scenes of our childhood...we bid a final farewell to it and all we hold dear." "The land was ours," my ass.
The Pope told the world this morning that we should not worship technology. But, with Time magazine's focus on "You" as the person of the year and the whole world becoming more interactive, is there time and space for the "old lessons" any longer. Are they becoming irrelevant. Is speed and the immediacy of "now" going to rule and dominate everything. Will my spending time reading about, thinking about and writing about how the Cherokee Chiefs of yesterday have any meaning and lessons in this fast moving world we're living in today. Will anyone care. After all, this is old stuff.
Peter and Lucky watched, Kingdom of Heaven last night, a movie about the Crusades and battles for control of Jerusalem between the Muslim and secular worlds. The time was a thousand years ago. Turn on the T.V., though, and you're watching a re-play. compliments of G. W. Bush. I think he could have used a little relevance by opening a history book. So, that's enough "proof in the pudding" to me that some of the "old lessons" still count.
What can I tell you about Lucky, your grandson's new "rescue" dog. Peter says he just had the bejeebers beaten out of him as a pup and has lost all of his spunk and personality. I'm not so sure about this. That dog doesn't miss a thing as he sleeps with his eyes open. And, if he happens to forget and close them for a second or two, his ears are cocked so as to catch all sounds roaming around the room. It's possible that old Lucky has lots of personality but for the moment, he's just keeping close council until he gets everything figured out.
Well, mother, clean out your closet as you are getting ready to fill your 92nd year. And, don't forget one of Betty Jo's elementary catechism's..."keep one foot on the sidealk at all times." That one often times gets me through a hard day.
Love,
Jody
2007 mother letters
Dear Mother,
That was supposed to be the last "mother letter" of the year. The one mailed to you a couple of days ago. But - but - but....this morning, Christmas morning, I woke up with some "tag along" thoughts and yesterday happenings I wanted to share with you before the day gets along and they are gone -- gone to the attic of things I wished I'd remembered to say.
Peter and Lucky watched a couple of movies last night and good time to do it as Christmas Eve in Austin proved the weatherman right -- it was a rainy one. Joel called earlier in the day and I told him about listening to Jon Meacham, the Editor of Newsweek magazine and Dr. Rick Warren, author of, A Purpose Driven Life, talk about religion on Meet The Press. It was all kind of timely as yesterday, Joel was concerned about making money and Warren talked about his internal tug-of-war with making money on the sale of this new book and how he finally resolved it. Turns out, it all depends on what you do and how you use the money. Nothing new here. This is an old lesson. It kind of shoved its way into other things I was hearing, realizing, and considering yesterday and this morning.
Before I forget, Tim Russert's, Meet The Press, ended the program with a "tip-of-the-hat-nod" to Robert Frost by playing old clips of the Nobel Laureat's reading of his famous poem, "The Gift Outright". It begins: "The land was ours before we were the land's. She was our land more than a hundred years before we were her people. She was ours in Massachusetts, in Virginia." Now maybe I didn't understand exactly what Robert Frost meant, but, my ears clamped down after listening to those first words. The land wasn't "ours"! Listen to the words of George Hicks, Cherokee leader on the Trail of Tears in 1838. Coincidentally, I was reading his "poem" in Wilma's autobiography yesterday..."we are now about to take our leave and kind farewell to our native land, the country that the great spirit gave our Fathers, we are on the eve of leaving that country that gave us birth...it is with sorrow that we are forced by the authority of the white man to quit the scenes of our childhood...we bid a final farewell to it and all we hold dear." "The land was ours," my ass.
The Pope told the world this morning that we should not worship technology. But, with Time magazine's focus on "You" as the person of the year and the whole world becoming more interactive, is there time and space for the "old lessons" any longer. Are they becoming irrelevant. Is speed and the immediacy of "now" going to rule and dominate everything. Will my spending time reading about, thinking about and writing about how the Cherokee Chiefs of yesterday have any meaning and lessons in this fast moving world we're living in today. Will anyone care. After all, this is old stuff.
Peter and Lucky watched, Kingdom of Heaven last night, a movie about the Crusades and battles for control of Jerusalem between the Muslim and secular worlds. The time was a thousand years ago. Turn on the T.V., though, and you're watching a re-play. compliments of G. W. Bush. I think he could have used a little relevance by opening a history book. So, that's enough "proof in the pudding" to me that some of the "old lessons" still count.
What can I tell you about Lucky, your grandson's new "rescue" dog. Peter says he just had the bejeebers beaten out of him as a pup and has lost all of his spunk and personality. I'm not so sure about this. That dog doesn't miss a thing as he sleeps with his eyes open. And, if he happens to forget and close them for a second or two, his ears are cocked so as to catch all sounds roaming around the room. It's possible that old Lucky has lots of personality but for the moment, he's just keeping close council until he gets everything figured out.
Well, mother, clean out your closet as you are getting ready to fill your 92nd year. And, don't forget one of Betty Jo's elementary catechism's..."keep one foot on the sidealk at all times." That one often times gets me through a hard day.
Love,
Jody
That was supposed to be the last "mother letter" of the year. The one mailed to you a couple of days ago. But - but - but....this morning, Christmas morning, I woke up with some "tag along" thoughts and yesterday happenings I wanted to share with you before the day gets along and they are gone -- gone to the attic of things I wished I'd remembered to say.
Peter and Lucky watched a couple of movies last night and good time to do it as Christmas Eve in Austin proved the weatherman right -- it was a rainy one. Joel called earlier in the day and I told him about listening to Jon Meacham, the Editor of Newsweek magazine and Dr. Rick Warren, author of, A Purpose Driven Life, talk about religion on Meet The Press. It was all kind of timely as yesterday, Joel was concerned about making money and Warren talked about his internal tug-of-war with making money on the sale of this new book and how he finally resolved it. Turns out, it all depends on what you do and how you use the money. Nothing new here. This is an old lesson. It kind of shoved its way into other things I was hearing, realizing, and considering yesterday and this morning.
Before I forget, Tim Russert's, Meet The Press, ended the program with a "tip-of-the-hat-nod" to Robert Frost by playing old clips of the Nobel Laureat's reading of his famous poem, "The Gift Outright". It begins: "The land was ours before we were the land's. She was our land more than a hundred years before we were her people. She was ours in Massachusetts, in Virginia." Now maybe I didn't understand exactly what Robert Frost meant, but, my ears clamped down after listening to those first words. The land wasn't "ours"! Listen to the words of George Hicks, Cherokee leader on the Trail of Tears in 1838. Coincidentally, I was reading his "poem" in Wilma's autobiography yesterday..."we are now about to take our leave and kind farewell to our native land, the country that the great spirit gave our Fathers, we are on the eve of leaving that country that gave us birth...it is with sorrow that we are forced by the authority of the white man to quit the scenes of our childhood...we bid a final farewell to it and all we hold dear." "The land was ours," my ass.
The Pope told the world this morning that we should not worship technology. But, with Time magazine's focus on "You" as the person of the year and the whole world becoming more interactive, is there time and space for the "old lessons" any longer. Are they becoming irrelevant. Is speed and the immediacy of "now" going to rule and dominate everything. Will my spending time reading about, thinking about and writing about how the Cherokee Chiefs of yesterday have any meaning and lessons in this fast moving world we're living in today. Will anyone care. After all, this is old stuff.
Peter and Lucky watched, Kingdom of Heaven last night, a movie about the Crusades and battles for control of Jerusalem between the Muslim and secular worlds. The time was a thousand years ago. Turn on the T.V., though, and you're watching a re-play. compliments of G. W. Bush. I think he could have used a little relevance by opening a history book. So, that's enough "proof in the pudding" to me that some of the "old lessons" still count.
What can I tell you about Lucky, your grandson's new "rescue" dog. Peter says he just had the bejeebers beaten out of him as a pup and has lost all of his spunk and personality. I'm not so sure about this. That dog doesn't miss a thing as he sleeps with his eyes open. And, if he happens to forget and close them for a second or two, his ears are cocked so as to catch all sounds roaming around the room. It's possible that old Lucky has lots of personality but for the moment, he's just keeping close council until he gets everything figured out.
Well, mother, clean out your closet as you are getting ready to fill your 92nd year. And, don't forget one of Betty Jo's elementary catechism's..."keep one foot on the sidealk at all times." That one often times gets me through a hard day.
Love,
Jody
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