A Venture to Remember
Tonight I went walking in memory lane,
Picking flowers from tree's most reminiscent to me.
First blown in with the scent of fresh fallen rain,
Came visions of growing, which taught my closed eyes to see
Lost dreams and lost passions that time has proved vain,
Which had sprung up behind me in the cracks of the lee
Whose shelter I crawled from, and yet I left fain
To explore the forgotten held in my memory.
For then I saw blossoms of laughter and game
And among glowing branches I danced joyous, happy
To remember their shining moments of flame.
My dancing brought me to the shores of a great black sea
Into which I careened with no thought of pain
Until crashing down on my heart and mind came the key
To rememb'ring why I'd no love of the lane
And why stayed so many years in the safe little lee
Hidden, forgetting, with no venture to diegn
Tempt me from imagined invulnerability.
Yet then I was trapped neath the waves of my bane
And suffered full punishment for the things I let be
That could have been succored with a righteous aim
If only I had listened when called upon to see.
A hand reached to grab me from waves that would maim
And laid me upon sweet smelling florets so softly
That I wept from the sudden absence of pain.
I looked up for the savior passionately
And tears stung my eyes for the unforseen gain
Of a friend I'd forgotten lived here in memory.
His smile angelic, he called out my name
And told me he had always been and always would be
The force I could lean on to keep my soul sane
To keep me from wallowing in my own misery.
He took up my hand and together we came,
Through long meadows of flowers each more precious to me
Home by the trial of my memory lane.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Battle
How do you fight a battle when you don't understand your enemy? How can you win a war when you're fighting on both sides? How will I defeat my foe if every step I take pulls me in two directions so forcefully that I will soon be split in two? How do I fight a battle when my enemy is me?
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Searching Stars
Searching Stars
Sitting in the cooling sand,
While the gloaming settles round us.
Wavelets whisper against the land
As if to still the world with trust.
Here I tell my secrets,
My dreams and all my soul.
Here are all my doubts met,
By a private, comforting lull.
With the sun set all my worries,
Burning rays that brought no peace.
In the silence there's no hurry,
This night to struggle brings a cease.
The stars map out my future
As they appear in the gentle light,
To promised happiness they lure,
Leading me carefully into soft night.
Night that brings tomorrow
With hopes and dreams I've not yet seen.
Night that brings a new day,
With beauty that has not yet been.
...But now I watch it coming
And my heart cries out for yesteryear.
The pain in truth is numbing...
The future should not bring me fear.
But the sun comes in the morning
And sheds its light on all my days
...There's no hiding from the mourning.
It will find me no matter where I stay.
And those daylight hours will burn me,
Though my mind stays in the night
And I can only pretend to be free
When surrounded by the twilight.
Yet sit in cooling sands I will
And let my troubles seep
Out of my mind and fingers til
The night takes me in sleep.
-KristiAnne Atkinson-
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Talking with Tarantula's
The Tarantula's name is Killer. He's as big as my fist with more eyes-that probably see much more-than I care to think about. He's covered in thick brown hair and he moves a little slower than frozen molasses. You see, he is very shy. You would be too, if you were his size and lived in a house with four sporty, rambunctious young boys--Who happened to find it entertaining to shake your cage to see if you would move.
He became the newest member of one of the households I work at last week, when the six-turning-seven year old's father presented him as the paramount birthday gift.
"Well," I spoke in nasally tones, trying not to sneeze, "it's nice of you to finally grace us with your presence sir." I nodded at him cordially, "Those boys have been awfully keen on pulling you out of your reticence. Not that I blame you for hiding really, I'd be frightened if someone put their face that close to me as well."
His little hairy body bobbed slowly up and down. I was reminded irrestibly of Harry Potter's first encounter speaking parseltongue to a python in the London zoo. I couldn't resist.
"Can you...understand me?" I asked slowly.
Killer simply stared at me unblinkingly. Can tarantula's blink I wonder? Hmmm...but perhaps that is a question for another time.
"Hmmm." I said. "You know Mr. Killer, the more I see you, the less frightened I become of you, and the more sympathetic I grow. It seems you enjoy a quiet conversation as much as I do. I notice you only come out now-when it's just me humming along here in the kitchen."
At this point the four year old and his playmate came running into the room screaming.
"I'm gonna spank you-I'm gonna Spank YOU!" They bellowed at each other.
My legs became a mighty fortress and the kitchen an endless track. Killer quickly retreated into his coconut home.
I fed the boys their lunch of slightly warmed hot dogs with apples and cheese and sent them back to their upstairs playroom/battlefield.
I turned to the plastic cage next to the sink.
"That was an adventure wasn't it, Mr.Killer? Goodness those boys are silly. I do wish I had that much energy, don't you?"
Killer stuck one leg out of his coconut, and then another.
Eventually he re-emerged from his hidey hole and we spent the afternoon having a lovely conversation about the best methods to cook stew, how to entertain children without electronics, and what Santa might be bringing the boys for Christmas. After all-how do you top a tarantula?
I got to thinking after I left this afternoon-that perhaps I will never be cured of my inexplicable desire to speak to little furry critters. Of course, it could be an even worse sign that I seem to be under the impression that they understand me, and are communicating back to me in whatever various sundry ways they can.
This realization hit me when I was dropping off dinner at a friends house, and I was mid-conversation with a perversely mean cockatu who takes particular issue with human females. What am I doing? I wondered. This bird probably thinks I'm insane. Of course, that thought just proved my issues went even deeper.
I thought back on all the conversations I've had with God's smaller, speech debilitated creatures over the course of my life and it hit me like that crazy flock of sparrows that attacked me behind the outhouse in the middle of Idaho.
I have a problem.
Does this problem stem from feeling that there are not enough humans on whatever brainwave channel I'm using and so I must release myself to the animals? Or am I simply unable to consider that any living creature might not be able to communicate with the world around it?
Now come the deeper questions. Am I right? Am I simply more in tune with nature? Or am I an escapee from an asylum for Disney princesses gone wrong? After all I'm pretty sure the birds in all the movies I've seen sing along with the princess-rather than attack her at every turn.
Did you know I've been attacked by more than 22 different types of birds that I can count? Five of those in flocks?
He became the newest member of one of the households I work at last week, when the six-turning-seven year old's father presented him as the paramount birthday gift.
"Well," I spoke in nasally tones, trying not to sneeze, "it's nice of you to finally grace us with your presence sir." I nodded at him cordially, "Those boys have been awfully keen on pulling you out of your reticence. Not that I blame you for hiding really, I'd be frightened if someone put their face that close to me as well."
His little hairy body bobbed slowly up and down. I was reminded irrestibly of Harry Potter's first encounter speaking parseltongue to a python in the London zoo. I couldn't resist.
"Can you...understand me?" I asked slowly.
Killer simply stared at me unblinkingly. Can tarantula's blink I wonder? Hmmm...but perhaps that is a question for another time.
"Hmmm." I said. "You know Mr. Killer, the more I see you, the less frightened I become of you, and the more sympathetic I grow. It seems you enjoy a quiet conversation as much as I do. I notice you only come out now-when it's just me humming along here in the kitchen."
At this point the four year old and his playmate came running into the room screaming.
"I'm gonna spank you-I'm gonna Spank YOU!" They bellowed at each other.
My legs became a mighty fortress and the kitchen an endless track. Killer quickly retreated into his coconut home.
I fed the boys their lunch of slightly warmed hot dogs with apples and cheese and sent them back to their upstairs playroom/battlefield.
I turned to the plastic cage next to the sink.
"That was an adventure wasn't it, Mr.Killer? Goodness those boys are silly. I do wish I had that much energy, don't you?"
Killer stuck one leg out of his coconut, and then another.
Eventually he re-emerged from his hidey hole and we spent the afternoon having a lovely conversation about the best methods to cook stew, how to entertain children without electronics, and what Santa might be bringing the boys for Christmas. After all-how do you top a tarantula?
I got to thinking after I left this afternoon-that perhaps I will never be cured of my inexplicable desire to speak to little furry critters. Of course, it could be an even worse sign that I seem to be under the impression that they understand me, and are communicating back to me in whatever various sundry ways they can.
This realization hit me when I was dropping off dinner at a friends house, and I was mid-conversation with a perversely mean cockatu who takes particular issue with human females. What am I doing? I wondered. This bird probably thinks I'm insane. Of course, that thought just proved my issues went even deeper.I thought back on all the conversations I've had with God's smaller, speech debilitated creatures over the course of my life and it hit me like that crazy flock of sparrows that attacked me behind the outhouse in the middle of Idaho.
I have a problem.
Does this problem stem from feeling that there are not enough humans on whatever brainwave channel I'm using and so I must release myself to the animals? Or am I simply unable to consider that any living creature might not be able to communicate with the world around it?
Now come the deeper questions. Am I right? Am I simply more in tune with nature? Or am I an escapee from an asylum for Disney princesses gone wrong? After all I'm pretty sure the birds in all the movies I've seen sing along with the princess-rather than attack her at every turn.
Did you know I've been attacked by more than 22 different types of birds that I can count? Five of those in flocks?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Head Tenants: Miss Frank
Do you ever start talking and then realize that everyone in the room is giving you far more attention than anyone else has received...and perhaps more than you should be given? Have you realized that your audience reacts with gasps and enthusiastic laughter-to something you actually meant to be a rather serious thought? Have you ever then realized that it is because what you are saying should really not be said in the company to which you are narrating it?
This is a frequent occurance for me. And not quite a pleasant one. But you know, it is not completely my fault.
There is another head tenant, you see. One with whome I am sure some of you are intimately familiar, but who I have failed to mention so far.
Her name is Miss Frank. She has an opinion on everything, and feels absolutely no compunction to silence when that opinion is offensive, misdirected or even downright ridiculous. So, listening to this woman as a third party in most conversations and all lectures and intellectually inspiring speeches, naturally makes me forget that others have not heard her...and consequently when her shoking words come out of my mouth I become the full recipiant of every appalled (and generally highly entertained) listener's rebuttals, sarcastic remarks, teasing and of course, hilaric laughter.
She has most certainly caused some of the most embarrassing scenes in my life.
For example, when she doesn't understand something she hears, she will insist upon knowing its meaning. Even if it sounds like the definition could be something highly inappropriate. Even if I am in a classroom full of people who obviously know what the word means, and are made uncomfortable at its mention. College lectures were one of her most inspired scenes of devastation. However, no experience truly conquers the time she demanded that I know the meaning of the word circumcision, in a classroom full of highschool freshman. And kept demanding, despite the teachers assurances that she could explain to me later, that I draw out an explanation.
Another of her most infamous tricks is to spit out my opinion on a person before I have fully discovered their character. This inevitably leads to horrible regret. But occasionally, very occasionally, it can get me out of sticky situations in quite a jiffy. I once began a friendship with the friend of a roommate online. I would talk to this boy sometimes for several hours a week, and we grew to like each other rather quickly. He became determined to meet me. Which would have cost him quite a pretty penny, since he lived in Missouri and I in Rexburg, Idaho at the time. He started talking very seriously about a relationship. Miss Frank was terrified. This boy was not mormon. A relationship with him could never really be possible. But for a while she held back her opinion. Then one day he sent me a picture of himself. Oh yes. I'm serious. He then asked my frank opinion. Well-he did ask. Miss Frank told him without my permission that he was rather homely and should definitely shave that scraggly young man beard...but that it didn't matter any way as I could not be attracted to him because he could not be my eternal companion and a relationship would be superfluous. The not-really-existant relationship was then permanently terminated. As you can imagine.
She gives me a lot of cause to repent.
Today she out did even herself however, because I didn't even see it coming. I was proud of myself for actually speaking up in Relief Society in fact (where I am usually quiet and shy-feeling as though I am a mouse in a room of spiritual giants) when she opened her obsidious maw and let out the first thing that came to her socially inept mind.
The lesson was beautiful. It was on how we should treat our spouses and children (and for us of the younger generation, it was a consideration of future relationships, and a look into the manner in which our parents have to have picked up some of their favorite punishments in years past). Everyone shared comments about ways they honored their husbands and ways their husbands glorified them, how they maintained peace in their homes with kind, loving children who never fought.
Miss Frank said to me, "You should say something encouraging, so that the others who are sitting here going 'uh, my children fight all the time, does that make me a horrible mother?' maintain some hope for the future and realize that total home peace is really a non-reality in most situations."
"How would I do that?" I asked.
"Well, you turned out alright didn't you? And growing up in our house was not always a picnic, I remember...share some of the craziness and how your parents solved it!"
"Ok!" I answered, excited. "This will be grand!"
I raised my hand. Before I knew what had happened, Miss Frank was talking for me.
"I would just like to say, there were times in my home growing up that were absolute craziness. There was tons of contention." Imagine now the looks of horror on the Relief Society Presidency's faces. "I remember me and Bri used to tie Traci up in chairs." Now hear the entire room errupt in whispers, a few titters, and a loud half-whisper from the front saying 'Poor Traci!' At this comment I began to realize that perhaps Miss Frank was being just a little too frank. "So my dad came up with a wonderful punishment," I continued, smiling, "every time we thought a negative thought about somebody, or said something hurtful, we then had to come up with 10 wonderful compliments to say to that person." This is where I should have stopped, instead of revealing more of my inner home madness. "Then, we had to kiss their feet." The entire room explodes into laughter.
This is when Miss Frank loses her control over my person and the shy Maiden who usually takes over during Relief Society hours resumes her throne. She is, of course, horrified at Miss Franks behavior and freezes with absolute embarassment, turning me red to the hairline.
Luckily the speaker saved me and quickly adressed another person, changing the subject.
Is there any hope for muffling this mortifying woman inside me?
This is a frequent occurance for me. And not quite a pleasant one. But you know, it is not completely my fault.
There is another head tenant, you see. One with whome I am sure some of you are intimately familiar, but who I have failed to mention so far.
Her name is Miss Frank. She has an opinion on everything, and feels absolutely no compunction to silence when that opinion is offensive, misdirected or even downright ridiculous. So, listening to this woman as a third party in most conversations and all lectures and intellectually inspiring speeches, naturally makes me forget that others have not heard her...and consequently when her shoking words come out of my mouth I become the full recipiant of every appalled (and generally highly entertained) listener's rebuttals, sarcastic remarks, teasing and of course, hilaric laughter.
She has most certainly caused some of the most embarrassing scenes in my life.
For example, when she doesn't understand something she hears, she will insist upon knowing its meaning. Even if it sounds like the definition could be something highly inappropriate. Even if I am in a classroom full of people who obviously know what the word means, and are made uncomfortable at its mention. College lectures were one of her most inspired scenes of devastation. However, no experience truly conquers the time she demanded that I know the meaning of the word circumcision, in a classroom full of highschool freshman. And kept demanding, despite the teachers assurances that she could explain to me later, that I draw out an explanation.
Another of her most infamous tricks is to spit out my opinion on a person before I have fully discovered their character. This inevitably leads to horrible regret. But occasionally, very occasionally, it can get me out of sticky situations in quite a jiffy. I once began a friendship with the friend of a roommate online. I would talk to this boy sometimes for several hours a week, and we grew to like each other rather quickly. He became determined to meet me. Which would have cost him quite a pretty penny, since he lived in Missouri and I in Rexburg, Idaho at the time. He started talking very seriously about a relationship. Miss Frank was terrified. This boy was not mormon. A relationship with him could never really be possible. But for a while she held back her opinion. Then one day he sent me a picture of himself. Oh yes. I'm serious. He then asked my frank opinion. Well-he did ask. Miss Frank told him without my permission that he was rather homely and should definitely shave that scraggly young man beard...but that it didn't matter any way as I could not be attracted to him because he could not be my eternal companion and a relationship would be superfluous. The not-really-existant relationship was then permanently terminated. As you can imagine.
She gives me a lot of cause to repent.
Today she out did even herself however, because I didn't even see it coming. I was proud of myself for actually speaking up in Relief Society in fact (where I am usually quiet and shy-feeling as though I am a mouse in a room of spiritual giants) when she opened her obsidious maw and let out the first thing that came to her socially inept mind.
The lesson was beautiful. It was on how we should treat our spouses and children (and for us of the younger generation, it was a consideration of future relationships, and a look into the manner in which our parents have to have picked up some of their favorite punishments in years past). Everyone shared comments about ways they honored their husbands and ways their husbands glorified them, how they maintained peace in their homes with kind, loving children who never fought.
Miss Frank said to me, "You should say something encouraging, so that the others who are sitting here going 'uh, my children fight all the time, does that make me a horrible mother?' maintain some hope for the future and realize that total home peace is really a non-reality in most situations."
"How would I do that?" I asked.
"Well, you turned out alright didn't you? And growing up in our house was not always a picnic, I remember...share some of the craziness and how your parents solved it!"
"Ok!" I answered, excited. "This will be grand!"
I raised my hand. Before I knew what had happened, Miss Frank was talking for me.
"I would just like to say, there were times in my home growing up that were absolute craziness. There was tons of contention." Imagine now the looks of horror on the Relief Society Presidency's faces. "I remember me and Bri used to tie Traci up in chairs." Now hear the entire room errupt in whispers, a few titters, and a loud half-whisper from the front saying 'Poor Traci!' At this comment I began to realize that perhaps Miss Frank was being just a little too frank. "So my dad came up with a wonderful punishment," I continued, smiling, "every time we thought a negative thought about somebody, or said something hurtful, we then had to come up with 10 wonderful compliments to say to that person." This is where I should have stopped, instead of revealing more of my inner home madness. "Then, we had to kiss their feet." The entire room explodes into laughter.
This is when Miss Frank loses her control over my person and the shy Maiden who usually takes over during Relief Society hours resumes her throne. She is, of course, horrified at Miss Franks behavior and freezes with absolute embarassment, turning me red to the hairline.
Luckily the speaker saved me and quickly adressed another person, changing the subject.
Is there any hope for muffling this mortifying woman inside me?
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