Morning Thoughts. Thoughts at Noon. Late afternoon thinking: Ballet of the Birds
Long time personal beliefs:
1. A new day is always a wonder because you never know what's going to happen when you get up of a morning.
2. Never make assumptions and judgments based on what you think is going on in my mind. More than likely, you are way off the mark.
3. Belief number two is applied to every person. There are too many worldviews in operation - different perspectives - complexity of "The Rule of Diversity."
President Bush dominated my dreams last night. He flitted in and out of several vignettes. I awakened remembering only the last one. G. W. and Laura were being introduced before walking onto an auditorium stage to make an opening statement, which would start the regional finals of a ballet competition. I was part of a group of parents with children participating in the competition.
The seating arrangement called for the contestant spectators to be separated. The director of our group asked us to sit in a single row, starting at the top of the auditorium and ending at the bottom seats closet to the stage -- forming a long single line. I couldn't find a way to be part of the determined seating map as every empty seat I found was "being saved." So, I jumped the aisle into a different seating section.
After I found a seat, I ran back up the steps to wait in the stage wings for G. W. to appear. I was curious to see what he would wear as he'd been to so many events during the day, I wondered how he would have time to change into proper dress for the ballet.
I was surprised. He walked onto the stage with Laura wearing a red and white sports shirt. He looked like he'd just come from a barbeque. On his way to the microphone, he began his famous hand wave -- one of his symbolic actions for the public and the camera. I wondered if these "G. W. friendlies" disappeared in private.
I could see the Velcro straps of a black protective flak jacket. He and Laura turned their heads to the side where I was standing and I could see checkered bandana's covering half of their faces. Only their eyes were showing. They took them off, looked at the crowd and smiled. I wondered what the joke was?
Later in the day, an email arrived from iced in Columbia, MO. One of my sister's colleagues, along with her husband had been stuck in their house over the weekend because of "two inches of ice coating everything and frigid temperatures." They were, however, thankful to have the basics of electricity and food. Bored with the enforced hibernation, they pulled up a couple of chairs in front of their kitchen windows and entertained themselves by watching the birds in their backyard. The subject of the movie in play was bird's trying to get to food.
Since their birdfeeders were all iced-up, Peggy and her husband had scattered seeds on the ice for quick and easy frozen meals. What they didn't figure on was when the birds flew in for a food-landing, they slid all over the place. Peggy said it "looked lik a birdie ski resort." My imagination pictured a bird ballet. According to Peggy, the birds soon figured out how to choreograph their timing and moves to slide gracefully in to successfully feed on the seeds.
The connectivity in a day never ceases to amaze me. It begins drawing the circle and ends with its powerful closure. Today, it was the three B's: Bush, the birds, and the ballet.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
elementary epistomology and ontology
January 19, 2007 - Friday -- Mother Letter #5
(written 1-17-Wednesday)
Stir craziness is taking over. The city has been iced in for three days. I've not budged from the house since Monday. The physical inactivity has started to affect me. Hyperness and a pervasive feeling of restless has taken over. Up, down. Up, down. It's hard to sit still. Jumping jacks have provided intermittent relief. In my first venture outside, I slipped and almost fell. Every time since then, I've bundled up as a caution. In case I did slip and fall, at least I'd be warm laying on the ground waiting for rescue.
Last evening, tired of serious reading, finding nothing of interest on T.V., and bored with videos, I crawled into bed with my latest "grocery-store-tranquilizer-mystery-paperback-novel." The sleep-charm worked. I was asleep within fifteen minutes; both glasses and bedside lamp still on. I know this because I woke up thirty minutes later. And, I know this, because for some reason I looked at my watch. It seemed important at the time. Was it the dream that awakened me?
I could see myself standing in a sterile room in the middle of a complex grid of lazerbeams emitting white light. The beams were running parallel and perpendicular to each other, almost in perfect squares. The horizontal lines had hatch marks. Instinctively, I knew I needed to be still. I was watching myself like a hall-monitor. My back was to me in the dream as I was facing a large, secure door. It was then I awakened, wondered why it was so light, and the dream faded. But, as all my dreams go, I knew what I saw before the image faded.
Mid-morning, I thought about the dream again and compared its similarity to my almost every morning ritual of watching the sun start its journey over the horizon. First it alerts the clouds and they signal the coming of the new day with expressions of color. This sight is fleeting. One second the cloud-color-mixes of the morning are there, and in the next second the exact artful vision is gone. But, I know what I saw. This early morning experience is like the dream. How I see the sunrises and my dreams are esthetically mine and mine alone. It is in how I see them that I tell you about them.
(written 1-17-Wednesday)
Stir craziness is taking over. The city has been iced in for three days. I've not budged from the house since Monday. The physical inactivity has started to affect me. Hyperness and a pervasive feeling of restless has taken over. Up, down. Up, down. It's hard to sit still. Jumping jacks have provided intermittent relief. In my first venture outside, I slipped and almost fell. Every time since then, I've bundled up as a caution. In case I did slip and fall, at least I'd be warm laying on the ground waiting for rescue.
Last evening, tired of serious reading, finding nothing of interest on T.V., and bored with videos, I crawled into bed with my latest "grocery-store-tranquilizer-mystery-paperback-novel." The sleep-charm worked. I was asleep within fifteen minutes; both glasses and bedside lamp still on. I know this because I woke up thirty minutes later. And, I know this, because for some reason I looked at my watch. It seemed important at the time. Was it the dream that awakened me?
I could see myself standing in a sterile room in the middle of a complex grid of lazerbeams emitting white light. The beams were running parallel and perpendicular to each other, almost in perfect squares. The horizontal lines had hatch marks. Instinctively, I knew I needed to be still. I was watching myself like a hall-monitor. My back was to me in the dream as I was facing a large, secure door. It was then I awakened, wondered why it was so light, and the dream faded. But, as all my dreams go, I knew what I saw before the image faded.
Mid-morning, I thought about the dream again and compared its similarity to my almost every morning ritual of watching the sun start its journey over the horizon. First it alerts the clouds and they signal the coming of the new day with expressions of color. This sight is fleeting. One second the cloud-color-mixes of the morning are there, and in the next second the exact artful vision is gone. But, I know what I saw. This early morning experience is like the dream. How I see the sunrises and my dreams are esthetically mine and mine alone. It is in how I see them that I tell you about them.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Thoughts on Words and Nature
4th Mother Letter of 2007. It is the 13th of January. Wintry day in Austin
Dear Mother,
Lean over and bend your ear close to the paper. I want to whisper something to you. i've had no headaches in over a week. Hallelujah! If they've ended, this will be a record. The 2nd shortest Cluster time - ever.
Ever since using the word, omphaloskepsis, in your 2nd Mother Letter, Brother-in-Law Dan and I have been parleying back and forth on word meanings. In a recent email he suggested that in this technologically, every-changing, fast-paced world we are living in, "We are in danger of losing the ability to connect with our past and our people who lived in those times" by corrupting meanings of many old words and re-arranging meanings to suit modern demand and fashion. If this is the case, "It is possible that the language we use to convey our thoughts may not carry the ideas originally intended by those people from our past who generated the ideas." As an example, Dan dug through his old files and shared an expression sent to him at one time by his brother, Ernest -- one that with the passage of time just "slipped-slided" into a current idiom.
"Many years ago in Scotland, a new game was invented. It was ruled that Gentlemen
Only could play the game. Ladies Forbidden. Thus, the word GOLF entered into the
English language."
Among all the little points unfolding in this story, there is also, one of synchronicity. Wednesday morning on my early drive down Mesa to go meet Judy and Laura for our early run, rounding the first corner from the house, I slowed to let a squirrel cross the street. Usually, It's deer. This morning, a lone squirrel had the right-of-way. A couple of hours and couple of cups of coffee later, I remembered the second part of Dan's email and his story of the squirrel. That we'd have two instances of meaningful squirrel stories so close together is the wonder of synchronicity.
Brother-in-Law Dan, is very proud of the deck he added onto his and Karen's Columbia home. He calls it their, three-seasons room. It's outfitted with indoor-outdoor carpeting and has eight, fairly sizable windows opening on the front and sides of this covered porch to bring closer to them the beauty of their treed, woods-like, backyard. Deck project finished, here came the winter storms their part of the country withstood this past year.
While scraping up and sweeping out almost a foot of snow that had blown in through the open windows, Dan mentioned that during a couple of work breaks, he noticed a squirrel running down one of the large oak trees in the backyard. Curious, he stood and patiently watched. The squirrel ran down the tree until it was almost six feet from the ground and then took a diving jump right into the middle of a snow pile leaving a hole of about three inches in diameter. "About 30 seconds later, the squirrel popped its head up out of the hole and, in fits and starts, made a 360 degree check of its surroundings. Then back in the hole the squirrel went. After it repeated these various maneuvers 4 times, the squirrel re-emerged with an acron in its mouth."
Dan told me that it was at this point he got hit with the "duh" bolt of memory. "Growing up, I remembered watching squirrels find acorns in the winter, no matter how cold or wet the weather happened to be." However, he'd never had the experience of watching squirrels high-dive from trees into banks of snow to food hunt as the part of Oklahoma he grew up in didn't see snow too often. Then, right behind his first memory jog, quickly came another thought and then another.
First Dan thought, "those squirrels will probably be finding acorns or whatever passes for food eons after humans become a piece of archeology." Second thought coming to Dan and shared with me -- "Maybe being viewed as "Squirrelly" is not such a bad thing. Maybe I should not have been so upset with the fellow who once arrogantly told me that my ancestors must have lived in trees. If the squirrels can survive, perhaps my people really do have a chance."
Patience and observing nature really do provide opportunity for profound lessons. Getting a chance look at the survival techniques of the winter squirrel, Dan's follow-through on his curiousness, synchronized nicely with how many would dub his time spent as eccentric or "Squirrelly." Lessons from the animals can take racist words and spin them into hope.
(Squirrel story provided by Dan Cockrell, Master deck-builder and Professor Emeritus, University of Missouri-Columbia)
Dear Mother,
Lean over and bend your ear close to the paper. I want to whisper something to you. i've had no headaches in over a week. Hallelujah! If they've ended, this will be a record. The 2nd shortest Cluster time - ever.
Ever since using the word, omphaloskepsis, in your 2nd Mother Letter, Brother-in-Law Dan and I have been parleying back and forth on word meanings. In a recent email he suggested that in this technologically, every-changing, fast-paced world we are living in, "We are in danger of losing the ability to connect with our past and our people who lived in those times" by corrupting meanings of many old words and re-arranging meanings to suit modern demand and fashion. If this is the case, "It is possible that the language we use to convey our thoughts may not carry the ideas originally intended by those people from our past who generated the ideas." As an example, Dan dug through his old files and shared an expression sent to him at one time by his brother, Ernest -- one that with the passage of time just "slipped-slided" into a current idiom.
"Many years ago in Scotland, a new game was invented. It was ruled that Gentlemen
Only could play the game. Ladies Forbidden. Thus, the word GOLF entered into the
English language."
Among all the little points unfolding in this story, there is also, one of synchronicity. Wednesday morning on my early drive down Mesa to go meet Judy and Laura for our early run, rounding the first corner from the house, I slowed to let a squirrel cross the street. Usually, It's deer. This morning, a lone squirrel had the right-of-way. A couple of hours and couple of cups of coffee later, I remembered the second part of Dan's email and his story of the squirrel. That we'd have two instances of meaningful squirrel stories so close together is the wonder of synchronicity.
Brother-in-Law Dan, is very proud of the deck he added onto his and Karen's Columbia home. He calls it their, three-seasons room. It's outfitted with indoor-outdoor carpeting and has eight, fairly sizable windows opening on the front and sides of this covered porch to bring closer to them the beauty of their treed, woods-like, backyard. Deck project finished, here came the winter storms their part of the country withstood this past year.
While scraping up and sweeping out almost a foot of snow that had blown in through the open windows, Dan mentioned that during a couple of work breaks, he noticed a squirrel running down one of the large oak trees in the backyard. Curious, he stood and patiently watched. The squirrel ran down the tree until it was almost six feet from the ground and then took a diving jump right into the middle of a snow pile leaving a hole of about three inches in diameter. "About 30 seconds later, the squirrel popped its head up out of the hole and, in fits and starts, made a 360 degree check of its surroundings. Then back in the hole the squirrel went. After it repeated these various maneuvers 4 times, the squirrel re-emerged with an acron in its mouth."
Dan told me that it was at this point he got hit with the "duh" bolt of memory. "Growing up, I remembered watching squirrels find acorns in the winter, no matter how cold or wet the weather happened to be." However, he'd never had the experience of watching squirrels high-dive from trees into banks of snow to food hunt as the part of Oklahoma he grew up in didn't see snow too often. Then, right behind his first memory jog, quickly came another thought and then another.
First Dan thought, "those squirrels will probably be finding acorns or whatever passes for food eons after humans become a piece of archeology." Second thought coming to Dan and shared with me -- "Maybe being viewed as "Squirrelly" is not such a bad thing. Maybe I should not have been so upset with the fellow who once arrogantly told me that my ancestors must have lived in trees. If the squirrels can survive, perhaps my people really do have a chance."
Patience and observing nature really do provide opportunity for profound lessons. Getting a chance look at the survival techniques of the winter squirrel, Dan's follow-through on his curiousness, synchronized nicely with how many would dub his time spent as eccentric or "Squirrelly." Lessons from the animals can take racist words and spin them into hope.
(Squirrel story provided by Dan Cockrell, Master deck-builder and Professor Emeritus, University of Missouri-Columbia)
Saturday, January 06, 2007
3rd mother letter of 2007 - finding holes in the fence
Dear Mother,
Do you remember -- I think it was a couple of years ago -- when I was driving a loop around Tulsa, lost as usual, trying to find Matt's house for the family Thanksgiving gathering and the two pieces of metal flew off of a car passing me at a high rate of speed and they hit my old Camry in the middle of the driver's door. It all happened so fast. I thought I'd been shot at by a speeding motorist. Since then, I've been asked many times what caused those two large dents in the door, followed by the next question: "Why don't you have them fixed? My response has always been the same. "No way. Those two dents in the car door keep me reminded of the time I was almost killed in Tulsa, Oklahoma." It's a pretty good living story.
When I was running the neighborhood Christmas morning, tripped, and fell face forward on the street, skinning the palms of my hands, left knee and ripping a hole in my favorite running pants, the Tulsa time of two years ago reappeared. People now want to know, "Why are you wearing running pants with a hole in the knee? Why don't you go buy a new pair?" Well, "No way." The new hole in the pants reminds me of the fall, the pain of it all, and feeling alive, Another pretty good living story.
Over the years, with every inch of separation I've made from No. 10 highway in Tahlequah and then, 133 N. E. in Bartlesville, it seems that as the distance increases it matches the inability of people to understand the way I think.
It's like being out exploring on a Saturday morning and finding yourself standing at the forefront of a large meadow with a fence stretching across the whole expanse, blocked from going forward, straight ahead, to find out what is in the far distance. Sometimes you are lucky enough to find a small hole in the fence to get through and sometimes, you've just got to buck up and walk around the whole dang thing to get where you are going. It may take a little longer, but you can get there.
The farther away I've gotten from Indian Country, the fewer holes I've found in the thinking of folks to maneuver through. The time it takes to walk around the whole dang outside of the Indian-Country-mind can get pretty tiring at times.
Friday, January 5th
Here's a good early morning story for you -- driving down Mesa this morning, by the light of a full moon, on my way to hook up with Judy and Laura for the early morning run, I slowed, as I could see in the distance flashing lights from police cars.
Getting to the scene of the "accident,' I crept by three police cars trying to get a good look at what was causing all the commotion. What I saw didn't make any sense at the time. There seemed to be a golf cart surrounded by three "blue and whites." all of a sudden one of the police cars, lights flashing, sped off.
Almost a mile down the street, I could see flashing lights again. Passing by, there was a repeat of my earlier vision -- a golf cart, sitting half in the street, half on the curb.
When I got to the Hitt's house, I asked Judy and Laura if they minded running back to the first police car to find out what was going on and I could check out my eye-sight. Off we went. Everything was still in place. The police car and the second spotted golf cart. It really was a golf cart!! The policeman told us that a group of teenagers had stolen several carts from a tennis club, located about four miles away. So far, they had caught two of the teenagers. The others ran. Well, actually, according to the policeman, they all ran, but there were two slow ones.
I mentioned to the policman that they would probably use "the full moon" defense. But, he told me he thought that was a myth and didn't believe people acted out a little more strangely under the light of a full moon.
Saturday Morning -- January 6, 2007
Rare opportunity missed this day. No alarm clock needed last night. I could have slept as long as I wanted. Instead, "up with the chickens." My last dream remembered was chauffeuring around the Queen of England. No joke! Thoughtfully, she gave me pretty earrings to wear so that I would be dressed in a proper manner. HA!
Being mindful of the full moon again -- times of stormy weather and earthquakes. I love my 2007 Cherokee Heritage calendar. January is the "Month of the Cold Moon," and it features the herb, Mullein, suggesting its leaves be used to make a tea for congestion.
Well, daylight has finally appeared. I think I'm going to go get out of my jammies and locate the place on the street that caused me to fall Christmas morning and give it a good talking to. Then I'm going to walk the neighborhood looking for holes in the fences. There was no workout this morning as Emil went to San Antonio for a training seminar.
Love,
Jody
Do you remember -- I think it was a couple of years ago -- when I was driving a loop around Tulsa, lost as usual, trying to find Matt's house for the family Thanksgiving gathering and the two pieces of metal flew off of a car passing me at a high rate of speed and they hit my old Camry in the middle of the driver's door. It all happened so fast. I thought I'd been shot at by a speeding motorist. Since then, I've been asked many times what caused those two large dents in the door, followed by the next question: "Why don't you have them fixed? My response has always been the same. "No way. Those two dents in the car door keep me reminded of the time I was almost killed in Tulsa, Oklahoma." It's a pretty good living story.
When I was running the neighborhood Christmas morning, tripped, and fell face forward on the street, skinning the palms of my hands, left knee and ripping a hole in my favorite running pants, the Tulsa time of two years ago reappeared. People now want to know, "Why are you wearing running pants with a hole in the knee? Why don't you go buy a new pair?" Well, "No way." The new hole in the pants reminds me of the fall, the pain of it all, and feeling alive, Another pretty good living story.
Over the years, with every inch of separation I've made from No. 10 highway in Tahlequah and then, 133 N. E. in Bartlesville, it seems that as the distance increases it matches the inability of people to understand the way I think.
It's like being out exploring on a Saturday morning and finding yourself standing at the forefront of a large meadow with a fence stretching across the whole expanse, blocked from going forward, straight ahead, to find out what is in the far distance. Sometimes you are lucky enough to find a small hole in the fence to get through and sometimes, you've just got to buck up and walk around the whole dang thing to get where you are going. It may take a little longer, but you can get there.
The farther away I've gotten from Indian Country, the fewer holes I've found in the thinking of folks to maneuver through. The time it takes to walk around the whole dang outside of the Indian-Country-mind can get pretty tiring at times.
Friday, January 5th
Here's a good early morning story for you -- driving down Mesa this morning, by the light of a full moon, on my way to hook up with Judy and Laura for the early morning run, I slowed, as I could see in the distance flashing lights from police cars.
Getting to the scene of the "accident,' I crept by three police cars trying to get a good look at what was causing all the commotion. What I saw didn't make any sense at the time. There seemed to be a golf cart surrounded by three "blue and whites." all of a sudden one of the police cars, lights flashing, sped off.
Almost a mile down the street, I could see flashing lights again. Passing by, there was a repeat of my earlier vision -- a golf cart, sitting half in the street, half on the curb.
When I got to the Hitt's house, I asked Judy and Laura if they minded running back to the first police car to find out what was going on and I could check out my eye-sight. Off we went. Everything was still in place. The police car and the second spotted golf cart. It really was a golf cart!! The policeman told us that a group of teenagers had stolen several carts from a tennis club, located about four miles away. So far, they had caught two of the teenagers. The others ran. Well, actually, according to the policeman, they all ran, but there were two slow ones.
I mentioned to the policman that they would probably use "the full moon" defense. But, he told me he thought that was a myth and didn't believe people acted out a little more strangely under the light of a full moon.
Saturday Morning -- January 6, 2007
Rare opportunity missed this day. No alarm clock needed last night. I could have slept as long as I wanted. Instead, "up with the chickens." My last dream remembered was chauffeuring around the Queen of England. No joke! Thoughtfully, she gave me pretty earrings to wear so that I would be dressed in a proper manner. HA!
Being mindful of the full moon again -- times of stormy weather and earthquakes. I love my 2007 Cherokee Heritage calendar. January is the "Month of the Cold Moon," and it features the herb, Mullein, suggesting its leaves be used to make a tea for congestion.
Well, daylight has finally appeared. I think I'm going to go get out of my jammies and locate the place on the street that caused me to fall Christmas morning and give it a good talking to. Then I'm going to walk the neighborhood looking for holes in the fences. There was no workout this morning as Emil went to San Antonio for a training seminar.
Love,
Jody
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