Hope. Wish. Dream. Be.


Hope. Wish. Dream. Be.

I really should be packing for my trip to Washington D.C. I leave tomorrow morning. I am flying into D.C. I am going to the Kennedy Center’s National Seminar for Teaching Artists. I am a professional teaching artist. If you are looking for a writing workshop for your school, business, organization, or group, check out the workshops I offer. I can tailor workshops to meet your needs too.

I spent the day cleaning, which is what I do when I need to be doing other things.

And here I am creating when I should be packing. I don’t like packing because it involves so many decisions. I am not very fond of decisions. Call me indecisive. Call me an Aries. I short circuit.

So, I am creating and this is what I created. I have made a commitment to watermarking my photos no matter how long it takes me. I do feel it takes away from the photo. I am still learning so much professionally.

Well, better get to packing. I hope you like the flower.

I host brain tumor patient profiles on my blog on Thursdays (Brain Tumor Thursday). My mom had benign brain tumors — one in her cerebellum and one on her brain stem.  She was diagnosed in 2000.  She passed away on Christmas Eve, 2012. Her funeral was July 1.  I plan on visiting her grave (urn cubby as I call it) while I am in D.C. this week. My parents are buried (inurned) in the same place. So I will visit both of them. I feel it will be less heavy on my heart as the funeral is over.  That was intense. But beautiful. I do plan on writing a post about it soon. I am writing a piece now which I will present at the South Atlantic Modern Language Association Conference in November.  I am the chair of the Creative Nonfiction panel.

This is the template.

I hope…
I wish…
I dream…
I am…

I am going to fill out the template really fast and not worry about the need to elaborate. Just a quick fill in the blank.

I hope… to publish several books.

I wish… I didn’t worry so much.

I dream… of being on a talk show taking about my book.

I am… a writer.

3 Things about me…

  • I am a mom; my son is three.
  • I consider myself to be highly right-brained.
  • My favorite color is blue, especially the blue hue of my mother’s eyes.

Feel free to fill out the template and email me at memomuse@gmail.com. I will post it on my blog.

You don’t have to have a brain tumor to submit your profile. If you do have a brain tumor or are a family member of someone who has/had one, please submit your profile and I will post it on a Thursday.

Either way, fill out: I hope, I wish, I dream, I am and share three things about yourself and a photo if you would like. The 3 things and the photo are optional.

This is my home

This is the house where I lived since I was fifteen years old. This is the house where I got married. This is the house where my father died. This is the house that I knew for fifteen plus years. This is my home even though my parents and I don’t live there anymore. My parents rest now at Arlington National Cemetery.

Cheers.
Hope. Wish. Dream. Be.
Journal Your Journey

memomuse

The Clean Side of the Living Room


I am typing this post in the messy half of the living room. I just cleaned half of the living room — vacuuming and steam cleaning. I moved all the toddler debris to the other side of the living room. I moved the couch until I could not move it anymore. I blocked in all the mess and decided it was OK to clean what I could. Half is better than none.

I managed to put away rogue toys and forgot (intentionally) about the proper container to put them in. Thinking to myself — if they are in a container that is good enough and then musing about containers and problems and people and who is an IKEA or container store person and WHY. WHY? Why must all the debris be put away? It is in the messy side of the living room that true living happens, but I long long long for the clean side of the living room, with its toys put away and rug vacuumed. And steam cleaned. Steam clean it all away — all of life’s dirt and grit.

But the dirt and grit is where the living truly happens.

F that. I want a clean living room. But for now I acknowledge that the messy side is where I really live.

Ben sits in front of me finger painting  his lime green Dollar Store Play-Doh knock off cap (with water colors).  A stack of boxes he will not let me have or rather disassemble to put in the nice IKEA/Container Store cubby shelves. The plastic cubby buckets are his ladders to his roof. His roof is his Mickey Mouse Playhut. Ya know the square tents that fold up to be one dimensional. But once unfolded are three dimensional with a fourth reserved for the imagination of a toddler’s mind. The dimension which transforms it to a roof to a house that hold everything that is needed: messy imagination on the other side of the living room.

So, one side of my living room is clean. The other still messy. And guess where I feel most comfortable and write this right now? Yep, the messy side.

Life gets messy. And sometimes it is just as beautiful and serene as the clean side.

Photo by Megan Oteri

Photo by Megan Oteri — Field in Southeast Wyoming

 

Separation Anxiety


“Separation Anxiety”

I don’t like to sort silverware.

period.

there you have it – my domestic torture chore

maybe it’s because the classification

doesn’t match my moods or sequence

We separate into categories

lesbians, doctors, Asians

the homeless, the humble, the humane

categories of separation:

of color

of race

of sexual preference

of tax bracket brooch

it really doesn’t matter to me

I accept all

but perhaps not as much as I’d like to think

do the knives always belong with the knives

does the silver spoon

always have to fit tight with its brother

or the fork with its corky spikes

the other utensils get tossed in with the rest

yet, we always, separate the knives from the forks

as if, the garlic press can tolerate the ladle!

perhaps an analogy for our domestic tolerance

I break down periodically

segregating the forks, spoons, and knives

into their happy little collated coves

usually thinking they belong that way

yet, I never have liked it

and, probably never will

m.e.m.o. muse

Copyright 2009