The Plank-Eyed Girl: Revolts; Secret Places; and Whispers

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Revolts; Secret Places; and Whispers: This day, like all 17 school days before it, seems to be filled with issues that I don't have a quick remedy for.  They are multi-...

Revolts; Secret Places; and Whispers

This day, like all 17 school days before it, seems to be filled with issues that I don't have a quick remedy for.  They are multi-tiered, and certainly not my forte.  My heart is ready to revolt.  I have felt this revolt rising for the last 16 school days and now, I'm afraid it is about ready to explode with some very ugly outward signs.  

 My days used to be filled with books, children, and teaching.  Now days, they are filled with other things that create a heaviness inside of me.  A revolt is impending.  Hours creep by, as I continue attempting to gain answers by reading "How to's" and googling.  

Unexpectedly, a group of students saunter in to find new books and in an instant, I find myself out of my office and skipping toward them.  Like a young child being let out to recess, I approach a small one in front of the

Lego books in the middle of the aisle, he pats the floor and locks eyes with me.  Not being able to resist the invitation, I plop down onto the floor. He snugs up next to me, just like we are the only two in the library.  Before I know it, he makes his way onto my lap.  (I love first graders, they don't know that students aren't suppose to sit on teacher's laps.)  I am savoring the moments with him. 

I am blind and deaf to everything else around me. My heart is receiving much needed oxygen. Suddenly, another set of little arms wrap around my neck from behind, like a butterfly closing its wings around itself.   I feel a head close to my ear and another Little One whispers, "I LOVE the library.  When I am having a bad day or when I am sad, I come here and it makes my heart happy."  I lock eyes with him and wonder if he really understands how powerful this moment is for my heart.  His words are undiluted and authentic. Spoken from a place deep inside of him. In this instant, my heart is full and I am grateful for the opportunity to pour into these little ones.  

I LOVE that the library is this Little One's secret place.  I also have secret places where my heart finds peace and re-inflation.  Sometimes it is behind the lens of a camera.  Other times it is in the air swirling and circling my body as I run barefooted on my

secret sandy beach.  Yet, in other moments, it is when I am carefully cocooned inside my velvety sunflower yellow throw in my overstuffed purple

studio chair.  In all these "secret" places, the one consistent, calming factor is His presence that whispers to my soul, "Be still, I've got this and I've got you!"  

May your secret place be filled with His presence and my your heart hear your creator whisper, "Be still my child.  I've got this and I've got you."

Enjoy the gift of this day!

Until we Chat Again,

The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Hooker Shoes; Sequined Slinky Dress; and an Unforg...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Hooker Shoes; Sequined Slinky Dress; and an Unforg...: As silent as a feather falling from the sky, my feet slid into my beautiful hooker shoes.  My body screams, "YOU are a fool!  It has...

Hooker Shoes; Sequined Slinky Dress; and an Unforgettable Night

As silent as a feather falling from the sky, my feet slide into my beautiful hooker shoes.  My body screams, "YOU are a fool!  It has been to many years since you walked in these."  My heart is set and there is no going back.  

Approaching the closet, my hand probes the dark enclosure.  With the silence of a butterfly landing on a flower,  my fingers gingerly alight on the chosen garment for the evening.  I remove the hanger and slide into it.  Like a free falling waterfall,  the slinky, black sequined material falls over my softly aged body.  

Vowing not to look in the mirror, I turn my head away as I pass.  I am aware that my mind has one
"better than life" picture of what I probably look like, and TONIGHT, I want to savor that. 

Moments pass, and my escort for the evening is straightening his attire in the loo.  The mild enticing aroma of his cologne arrives before my eyes rest on him. I hear a pregnant pause in his footsteps as he enters the room.  Arising from the edge of the bed, our eyes meet.   Oddly, it feels like our own wedding day, but I am reminded that that was over thirty years ago.  His arms slides around me and he whispers, "You look beautiful!"

I slid my hand through his arm and we stroll to our vehicle.  A warm breeze gently enters through the open car windows and gently wraps itself around me.  Peace and excitement are my companions on this drive.  

Arriving at the stunning lakeside venue, I am greeted by my soon-to-be new daughter.  Her kind heart; gentle mannerisms; and love for my son is evident is each action and word.  She is simply beautiful inside and out. My heart is overwhelmed and I can feel the hot tears sneaking out already.

Two hours have slipped through my fingers.  My mind is searching for a way to stop time.   I want to fully savor every detail of this evening. However, the grains of sand keep sliding through the eternal hourglass and I know that my search is futile, so I will do the best I can to allow each moment to be etched into my heart with indelible ink.

Giving us the final instructions, the Rabbi strolls to the front of the lakeside deck and the ceremony proceeds. Pristine beauty and raw emotion twirl through the next thirty-three minutes as the traditional Jewish ceremony

brings these two precious humans together as man and wife and the ketubah is penned.  My heart is full of gratefulness.  My feet are still enjoying my shoes.

In true jewish custom, the fabulous celebrating starts and, us who are new to the family, attempt to join in.  My feet do not know the dances, but my heart is determined to fully

celebrate with them. Laughter and joy are a delectable mix as they the room is filled with movement, song, and joy.   New people   (family and friends) to love; Dancing; Sentimental and funny toasts; Hilarious photo booth opts; Cuban cigar rolling; Warm, fresh, donuts to die for; A beautiful honoring memorial table; Scrumptious food; and wonderful new family is all embraced.  Truly this is an unforgettable evening!

1:10 am I am horizontal in a splendid hotel room, but my mind is reliving each precious moment. 3:10 arrives and I become aware that my feet are tremendously swollen. It is in this moment that I realize they are throbbing and this is why sleep is evading me.  Maybe I missed the lesson, but for this stubborn, Plank-Eyed Girl, I still think the shoes were perfect!  

May you savor the moments that make your heart breath and your soul thank the one who created you.

Until we Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

Gluts, Subway Trains, and Eight Minutes of Life

I feel it, long before I see it.  Suddenly, out of the dark hole, it arrives.  Like a silver bullet being shot out of a gun, it hurls itself forward toward the loading platform.  

I glance at my phone, 11:30 pm. We are part of a larger crowd, standing along the edge of the loading platform. As the subway screeches to a halt, the train opens it's sliding doors.  Glancing at the human sardine can in front of me and then at my friend, she gives me a reassuring smile, grabs my arm, and we are moving toward the door.  With only seconds left, she slides in under several taller people, attempting to pull me with her.  The only problem is that I am MUCH taller and bigger than she is.  My foot barely makes it over the threshold and a tall, strong gentleman reaches out, places his hand on my lower back, and pulls me forward into the contorted mangle of bodies.  I reach up for a hand grip, and realize there is a smallish lady with her face directly in my armpit, oh yikes! (I can only imagine what she must be thinking.)  Not wanting to stand out as a "visitor", I decide not to make eye-contact.  My unreasonable mind decides to have fun with this. Suddenly, thoughts of "the train crashing and the aid workers finding an odd assortment of body parts in places that they shouldn't be" are swirling and attempting to hijack the hilarity of this situation.  

Seconds tick by and the doors start to slide shut but bounce back open.  My body is touching so many others, I am working hard to remain calm. Obviously, people around here don't seem to have a problem with this.  Maybe it is just my "West Coastness" and my desire to keep a personal bubble around me.  Anyway, I just keep telling myself that this will just be for eight minutes as we go under the Hudson River.   I can do anything for eight minutes.  

Suddenly, the gentleman who just pulled me in by my back, simultaneously gives me a sympathetic glance, whispers "Sorry, lady" and scoops my bum up and into the car.  Yes, you guessed it, the door couldn't close because my bottom was in the way.  Realizing this is an awkward situation for both of us, I attempt to stand still and think of other things.  BUT....I can't, this is just too hilarious and I fear it is about to get even funnier.  This stranger now has his hand on my bum and won't be moving it for the next eight minutes because he can't!  It is stuck between the pressure of my well developed gluts and the steel door.  Truly, it is like a can of sardines, with five too many crammed in.   To top it off, there is a deafening silence in the train car and all I can think of is, "The pizza I ate after the poetry slam, really isn't sitting well in my tummy.  I hope the rumblings don't decide to exit before the eight minute ride to Hoboken is over." 

The train finally pulls into the station and the doors open.  We have arrived and I am beyond grateful.  

Taking care to keep my joy contained and my eyes diverted, I exit with the masses up the steep stairs to freedom.  Suddenly I am stifling the giggles.  I can't even tell my sweet friend what has taken place because I am undone with laughter.  

It is 12:10 am.  Strolling through the dark streets of Hoboken, we chat about the evenings events; poetry and short story readings; deliciousful tapas with Adrian Pasdar and the two others; the "Snakeman";  and the fact that I am so "West Coast".  It has been an amazing day.   

Arriving back at her 500 square foot residence, we quickly dress for bed and turn the lights off.  I lay here pondering the gift of this day.  My heart is full;  my mind is entertained;  my body is exhausted; and I am grateful that the air-biscuit did not escape on the train.  Joy and contentment for the gift of this day flood my heart and I smile as I drift off to sleep.  Maybe this is what all days are intended to be like?

I never knew that eight minutes of life could be so full of wild experiences; random thoughts, and such a vast variety of feelings.  Maybe this is how life really is - just eight minutes.  When I am old, and my body is worn, will my life feel like just one long eight minute adventure?  May we not be so plank-eyed and self-absorbed as to waste the days that our Creator has gifted to us for His purposes. 

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Which Instrument and Which Author Will Tell Your S...

The Plank-Eyed Girl: Which Instrument and Which Author Will Tell Your S...: Tonight, effortlessly,  I  draw my pen across the paper.  The smooth, colorful, purple ink magically adhering to the paper. Something...

Which Instrument and Which Author Will Tell Your Story?

Tonight, effortlessly, I draw my pen across the paper.  The smooth, colorful, purple ink magically adhering to the paper. Something about this is inexplicably enticing, mesmerizing, and familiar to me. The pen seems to dance across the page like a ballerina on pointe. A stream of beautiful, powerful words appear as the pen moves. These words are permanent and indelible.  

Pausing to read what has been penned, I realize that these words silhouette my heart's plans, desires, and thoughts. Both ink and words flow effortlessly.  There is more begging to flow out.

I continue. More ink. More words.  More sentences.

Finally my fingers pause, the pen drops and my eyes focus in on the penned purple words. Oddly though, after one casual reading, I find my thoughts centering in on the permanency  of the ink.   It feels like the writing is calling out to me. It is telling me that I have a say in my life, trying to convince me that it means I have control over my journey because I have used ink.

I pull the soft yellow blanket over me and ponder the "Writing" which is precariously resting on the arm of the overstuffed purple chair.  

It reminds me of a new chickadee ready to take flight for the first time.  Snuggling deeper into the coziness of the cushions, my mind races back to a similar piece of writing done with the same type of ink ten years ago.  Suddenly, I am propelled up and out of the chair.  Like a human cannonball being shot out of a rocket, I fly with abandon into my bedroom, drop on all fours with my bottom in the air and dig in the tub under my bed.  Surfacing with the paper, I return to the safe coziness of my purple chair.

Gingerly I unfold it.   It reads like this:

  1.  Quit teaching at 20 years

  2.  Design clothing

  3.   Have grandchildren

  4.  Live on the beach in a tropical climate

Closing my eyes, the realization whacks me in the head that NONE of these things have come true, even though they were written passionately in purple ink.  Hum.....

I like ink.

It is smooth.

It flows freely and almost effortlessly.

It comes in pretty colors.

It is continual.

It is permanent.

Why had I been thinking that if I wrote in ink, it was supposed to happen?  I even discovered additional notes with "steps" to ensure I reached these goals. However, here I sit with NONE of them accomplished. My mind is vacillating between amusement and disappointment.  Honestly, at the moment, it is giving me whiplash.  What kind of "False Beliefs" have I had about who is really in charge of my life?

How plank-eyed of me to think that I would or could "plan" the trajectory of my days, let alone my life by putting it in "ink".  Very little of my life has turned out as I planned or even thought it would. God has orchestrated my days for His purposes and it has been one unpredictable, marvelous, painful, and wild adventure that I wouldn't trade a moment of for accomplishing any one of those goals.   

Maybe this plank-eyed girl will try writing in pencil.  

Until We Chat Again,
The Plank-Eyed Girl