The highroad is paved with sharp pebbles....

Rest in Peace, Grandpa. Julie commented just a bit ago that she is losing her grandfathers very quickly. Grandpa Doug died last week and Great Grandpa Art died today. Sadness in a 5 year old is bittersweet. Does she really understand death? Does she think about not seeing these people again? They were far removed from her by the time they died. Grandpa Doug over a year and GG Art over two. The down side of living so far from family and the crux of divorce.

Just the same. I wonder when it will hit me. I have been very accepting of both deaths. Shock over Doug and peace for Grandpa Art. Will an emotional tidal wave take me under when I least expect it? Will I go on indifferently? Everyone has different reactions to death.

When I was a small child I would wake up nights in a cold sweat, worried that my parents would die while I slept. That I would never see them again. Then sometimes I would have dreams about being cooked in a boiling cauldron by my mother, she was large and black and angry. This must have been around the same age Julie is now.

Like Del I would wish out loud that I had never been born, when things weren't going my way or I was upset at my parents. I would blame my mom for allowing me to live. Del will say very similar things now; asking how to get back inside of me where he was loved and safe. I remind him that even then he was living...inside of me. The idea of him was alive inside me years before the reality...would he ask for that idea to be taken away?

At this point in my life, death is still not a jovial topic of conversation. Julie still talks about my mom's dog dying after it was hit by a car--over two years ago. She obsessed over it for months. Talking about it whenever anyone mentioned even the word "dog".

Death has always been a fear of mine. Influencing my choices for where to live, what activities I do, even how I sleep at night. When I had children I worried, like most parents, what will happen if I die? Or, "I better not make this stupid choice, who will take care of my kids if I die". All the way to thinking I can never die, the world will end if I do!

When my sister-in-law turned 18, my mother-in-law threw a huge party. Not completely a celebration of life, but in honor of the fact that she (my MiL) could now die. If my MiL had died before SiL turned 18, she might have had to go live with her biological father. Not that I blame her for such feelings. If I were to die now and my husband was solely responsible for raising our kids...who knows how they would turn out!

As I get older I am learning to appreciate life more, excited in how things flow. Even bad times are better than no times. I recognize that we are born, we struggle and survive, and then we die. Just like the reproducing cells in our body, ever cycling, until they stop...then a cell at a time...tick tick ticking until they all stop and then life stops.

My mother believes in a very complicated hierarchy of heaven. Her religion believes all righteous people will make it to heaven but not all of heaven is equal. There are different levels. Only the truly Christ-like will enter the Kingdom and again walk with Christ. Earth is apparently a level too. So where is Hell?

Hell in my mind is perspective. One of those glass half empty sorts of questions. A bloody car accident or a terrible war scene, in my mind, is pretty close to Hell. Being connected to life-support or being alert inside my mind while those around me are unable to understand me. There are a lot of things a person can live through and not die...where dying would actually be relief--that is my impression of Hell.

But where is Heaven? Another perspective question. How about the smell of a freshly washed baby, sleeping in the nook of his or her mother's neck? The feeling of elation that comes from a true accomplishment? On some days, Heaven can be getting through a public place with all three children uneventfully. Or early in the morning, when the sun is just coming out and the misty fog is lifting. Everything peaceful and still for a few precious moments before all the household wakes. On other nights, kicking back with my husband after a very long and exhausting day.

The ending of stories or sappy movies always seem to have someone explaining that a person never truly dies if we just keep their memory alive in our hearts. Seriously? Our hearts are an organ...a pump. Nothing stays in there very long and its function is so critical that I wouldn't want to complicate its task by adding the burden of holding memories. That is what my brain is for, on any given day. I am lucky that the memory section of my brain functions well...like a trap even.

At any rate. Isn't it interesting that when someone dies we forget the painful, unfortunate part about them or how they treated us? We remember the good about them and wish we could have had more time to show or tell them how much we appreciate them. Or we regret not getting to know them better and learn about them through someone else's memories.

In angry moments, wishing someone else dead, or ourselves dead is usually frowned upon. Rejoicing in someone's death is usually frowned upon. Living without appreciating life is usually frowned upon. Yet, it happens.

Del, at 7, said what no one else wanted to say when he heard that Doug died. "Good!" with a fist to the air. He was elated and has already moved on. Do not get me wrong. The kid doesn't want everyone dead and he certainly is not wallowing in his own misery day after day, waiting for his own death. Though this post makes him seem so. He was expressing exactly how he felt about the situation based on his relationship with his grandfather. Just the same as he cried when I told him G.Grandpa Art was dying. Julie was equally distraught over both deaths.

She asked me recently when Grandpa Doug turned into a "mean stupid man." When I asked her why she said that and who she heard it from she said that is what her daddy had said (before finding out about his death). She always had a very strong relationship with her grandfather, which honestly made me uncomfortable. She loved him genuinely. I told her that she is allowed to keep her good memories of Doug. She can think of him however she wants and ignore whatever she hears about him. When I asked how she felt, she said she was sad. I asked if she was angry or upset. No, she said, she was just sad.

So that is what death really is in the end. Sad. But, sad is an emotion that can be recovered from with joy. Almost instantaneously. Unlike being angry or upset, which tend to ferment and continue on endlessly.

Today I am sad. Sad for my mother and uncles who have lost their father. Sad for his wife, who has lost her life partner. Sad for my kids, who lost an important person in their lives. And sad for my youngest son, Arthur, who was named after his great grandfather, because they never actually met...we were going to do that in two months.

I am sad for my step family as they grieve for the loss of their father, Doug. For the mental anguish they might be experiencing as they settle his estate. But I am also relieved and glad, because when my mother finally recovers from her sadness, she might find peace in all this chaos. She was able to leave the marriage before the penalty of death. She was able to say good bye to her father before he died. She has a lot to find joy in...later...when she is done being angry, upset, and devastated.

Just a reminder to say good bye more often and show love and appreciation to people we care about frequently. Love always and forgive often...it saves a lot of "heartache" later.

Peace. I love you.

Dinner's served...cover your ears!

There is a reason I prefer eating from a box. I do not enjoy cooking. It is stressful and requires constant concentration for me to do well. Literally, I can feel the vertical crease in my forehead, just between my eyebrows; deepen while I stand over a stove. Usually I make things up as I go along. On the occasions when I succeed at following a recipe, I feel a sense of accomplishment, but these moments from scratch are few and far between. Tonight's Baked Mac & Cheese was no exception. Not only did it take an awfully long time to prep because of additional steps (and because I let my children help with each step), but after baking, it was still watery. Like vomit in my mouth and I ate it anyway because as I told the kids, there were no alternatives allowed tonight.

Alternatives like jumping in the car and heading to McDonald's! Sure there are other things to make at home, but unless it comes out of a box or a can, or I can prepare it on the stove top in under 15 minutes, I'll pass, thank you.

My best meal is breakfast. I can make the most delicious pancakes, palatable eggs and on rare mornings home fries. No one does bacon better than me--possibly because I painstakingly follow the package directions, flipping several times. But even my kids get tired of breakfast for lunch and dinner.

Of course there are times when I will make the whole meal, but if I can avoid it I will. Peanut butter spoons all around, cheers!

Betty Crocker really is my best friend in the kitchen. We go way back. I love to make anything with her seal of approval. Add eggs, water or milk, butter and bake. No timer necessary, I know it's done when it smells like heaven. If we could eat muffins and cake everyday, I might be tempted.

More insulting than anything is the smoke detector. It just doesn't seem fair that after I have spent my precious time trying to make a balanced and thoughtful meal that my family instantly arrives to eat at the sound of the alarm. At first it was funny. When we lived in an apartment the initial reaction was that something was on fire, we would panic and look around everywhere, relieved that it was just my cooking. Now, in a multi-story house it is like surround sound, screaming on every floor--"Kitchen's full of smoke! Time to eat!" The food is not actually burnt, (most of the time) but apparently having too many pots bubbling at once is a call for help.

Time management is also a continuous struggle for me. There is actually a process to cooking; prepping the ingredients, setting water to boil or simmering one pot while prepping for another. Too much! There was a time in my life when no one was allowed in the kitchen while I was working because I needed all my concentration to make sure everything came out ready to plate at the same time. Ridiculous. My husband is the only one I am comfortable cooking with, but baking? Even he is sent out. That is why when I allow my kids to participate it takes an extra long time to get anything done. It's not because of them, they are professional helpers, the process just creates so much confusion for me!

As a mom of three and a husband who usually works the dinner shift, I don't often have a choice--I'm in charge for dinner. This is why for the past several years we have been eating more fast food, carry out, or dining out than I ever imagined possible. Not only is driveway life convenient and cheap, they have toys! There is a price here, however, and it is steep. With our prizes and quick meals we have actually spent a great deal of money and I personally have gained an unfortunate amount of weight. Not the kids--some how I am always conscious of what they eat and how much activity follows--but I have been slacking on my own activity. The faster the meal, it seems, the less time is left for exercise. Part of this is the need to run from one activity to another--because I am officially a soccer mom after all.

All this changes now. This week actually. My husband and I decided the addictive habit of drive-thru windows and restaurants has to stop. We are making menus for the week and shopping for the ingredients. Only two days left on this menu and it has been a constant struggle not to head for the car. I keep reminding myself how much we are saving and how nice it will be when my pants aren't so tight…but then I realize I will be standing in front of the stove waiting for the dinner alarm to sound. Such a picture.

To be fair, I love the comments of contented eaters. The highest praise my son can give is going back for seconds…and for my daughter? Finishing what's on her plate is a great reward, for me. It is very fortunate for all of us, that my husband enjoys cooking. He loves planning the menu and selecting the ingredients. He loves prepping ingredients and actually encourages the kids to be involved. He loves to eat! His favorite mantra is to never trust a skinny chef--a person who cooks well, loves to eat.

Well, I am trying. I think I know exactly what went wrong with the Mac & Cheese tonight and because I want to succeed, I will try the recipe again…but next time I am unplugging the smoke detector.

Hello.

Welcome. The intent of this blog is to provide a vessel for my thoughts, an invariable dumping ground for my pictures and a tracking devise for my whims as well as a few aspirations. The title comes from my identity as a mother and incorporates my growing passion for ceramics. The URL comes from my penchant for soaring off topic in random directions and my unapologetic promise that you will find such behavior within these pages.

My proclivity for uploading pictures and news to Facebook is addictive in itself and while my rational mind says that a blog is one more drain on my already limited time…I feel abundantly free to continue sharing too much information on a whole new level! This being said, my hope is to offer entertainment through my own provocation and perhaps even a new height of kindred spiritedness.

Please feel free to check in, comment, commiserate, or congratulate. Enjoy!