Mind Games

There's a part of me that wants to sit down and write everything that's been playing through my head. And almost literally it has been playing through my head, like a movie re-run on the stage of my imagination. Scenes from past events, current events, and future experiences; they run over and over and make me dizzy with confusion. And I want to just sit down here and let my fingers take on the role of the script writer, flying over the keys into the world of stories and make-believe, hoping that some sense will come of my desire to express myself.

But there's another part of me here too, that says (firstly) "Sera, you ought to be asleep right now, what on EARTH are you still doing up!?" To which I have no reply. No satisfactory answer. All I know is that I'm not following a schedule or logic for that matter, and instead I sit here waiting for a thought to strike me as though I were waiting for lightning to suddenly pierce my thoughts and thereby provide the answers to my quarries. And so this second half of me sits here scolding myself for siting here without understanding or reason for doing so. None that can be explained anyway. Not by logic to that half of my brain that is demanding those answers.

I've had this happen before. I've had feelings, and reasons I thought one way, that I couldn't figure out, and I knew there were reasons but I was left unable to give any reason at all for them. Later on of course, much further after the opportunity to have done something about the feelings, I found myself in a quiet room pondering when suddenly the thought hit me and I realized what the source was, and the reason for the feeling. But by then it was much too late. The person I was speaking to had probably forgotten the conversation, and was on to other more noble efforts, while I stewed on the thought at hand. And so here I am trying to come up with a reason for that half of me that is demanding a sensible answer. And I just don't have an answer.

So now I have a dilemma. I've got one half of me saying "Express yourself and find answers" while the other half says "Go to bed before you say something you'll regret"... meanwhilst I recognize that I've chosen the path directly in between. I've sat down as if to begin expressing myself, but have not allowed myself one word about how I'm actually feeling. Instead I've side-stepped the whole issue.

Which makes me think a little bit here about the phrase that I've come to adopt "How you do one thing is how you do everything." I agree fully, and now if I support that quote so whole-heartedly, I must take a moment to consider that indeed, I live life like I have done this one thing. Which is true. Here I have ridden the line in between going and staying, in between jumping in and sitting on the beach, in between yes and no. And I live life like that. I now realize that I live my life by the word"maybe".

I think I should change that. But for now it's time for bed. I'll have to say what's going on in my head at some later time. Maybe once I've done some figuring out. But shhhh... My favourite re-run is about to start, and I don't want to miss it. I might find the answer this time.

Traveling Teddy

It was grade two, and I thought our teacher was very cool. To all of us kids she was amazing. She was one of those teachers that when you look back on the memories, you can't help but smile. Kids would flock to her and give her hugs at the beginning of class, give her little thank you notes and other tokens of appreciation. She made every class fun and made it exciting to learn, live and go to school.

At the beginning of the year, she told our class that she had a teddy bear. And not just any teddy bear, no. This was Traveling Teddy, and he was special. See, Traveling Teddy had been all over the world with her, packing along his mini suitcase where in lay a little bottle of real toothpaste, tiny Teddy pajamas, swim trunks, a little hairbrush, a camera and many other teddy-sized necessities.

And then she told us that she was going to let Traveling Teddy go home with us kids for a sleep over. She explained that everyone was to put their name on a piece of paper, and put it into a bowl, where she would draw from to see who would take Traveling Teddy home on the weekend. Who ever had their name chosen would be given Teddy, the suitcase and the camera to take pictures of what Traveling Teddy experienced while at their home. She said that Teddy wanted to go to friendly places, and so when someone was mean, Teddy didn't want to go over to their house anymore, and they had to win back Teddy's friendship, otherwise Traveling Teddy wouldn't come over.

So every Friday, a name was drawn from the bowl and Traveling Teddy along with his suitcase and belongings would be carefully placed into the arms of a very excited boy or girl. All during the rest of the week, it was a common topic to guess who would be the one to take home Traveling Teddy on the weekend. Traveling Teddy would sit on the file cabinet during the week, and Mrs. Powell would take him down after each day back to her home where the two of them lived.

Every week I waited anxiously for my name to be chosen, and every week someone else's name was picked from the bowl. It was finally almost the end of the year with only two months left, and names were being put back into the bowl for a second chance with Traveling Teddy, and I still hadn't had a chance to have him over. I thought it wasn't fair, so I went and talked to Mrs. Powell. I told her I hadn't had Traveling Teddy yet, and she told me that my name must have fallen out of the bowl at some point. She said that Teddy had wanted to come over to my house because I'd been so friendly with everyone, but it was just a mistake that the paper had fallen out. Mrs. Powell wrote my name on a new piece of paper and put it into the bowl. She told the person who was about to take him home for the second time that they would do it next week since I hadn't had a turn yet. She said Traveling Teddy would be in my care over this upcoming weekend. The day I took him home was different though. That day, Mrs. Powell wasn't there. Another teacher read from a note that she should give Teddy to me. I took Traveling Teddy home, hoping to show Mrs. Powell the pictures I took and how happy Traveling Teddy was with me. And he was happy that weekend, I made sure of it. Teddy did everything I did. We went on the swing together, played with my other stuffed animals, and ate food together. When the weekend was over, I slipped some Monopoly money in his wallet inside the suitcase, so that he would have a bit of cash with him when he got back to school.

Monday morning, Mrs. Powell was back, and all the kids gave her hugs, but she didn't look well. She looked pretty sick. Pale mostly. I gave Traveling Teddy back to Mrs. Powell, and she put him back on his file cabinet and watched us from his podium. Mrs. Powell didn't get better. Throughout the next few weeks substitute teachers became more frequent, and Traveling Teddy had to sit on the file cabinet over night instead of going home to keep Mrs. Powell company. Mrs. Powell had made sure that the substitute teacher knew that it was important that every kid had a chance to take Traveling Teddy home on the weekend. But soon we had a permanent replacement, and Mrs. Powell would only come to visit. At some point Mrs. Powell must have taken Traveling Teddy home with her, because he wasn't on the file cabinet anymore. The principal of the school came in and told us that Mrs. Powell had cancer and was really sick. He said that this was the last year she was going to teach, and that we should probably all say goodbye to her.

Someone decided to give Mrs. Powell a large cotton teddy bear for everyone to sign to give to Mrs. Powell. Everyone in the class signed it, and all the teachers too. We gave it to Mrs. Powell to help her get better. It was our version of Traveling Teddy. But after a while, just before summer break, I was returning books to the library and noticed that our big, white bear was sitting all alone on a shelf in the library. Looking up at the big white Teddy, no one had to explain it, I knew what it meant. I felt tears run down my face.

That night I went home and picked up my own Teddy bear. I looked at his ruffled fur and worn black nose. This would be my tribute to Mrs. Powell. I made him a cardboard suit case, and I put monopoly money in it. This was my Traveling Teddy. And I would make sure Teddy wanted to sleep over every night, because he saw how friendly I was to everyone. I found my Traveling Teddy some red overalls, and I tucked him into bed beside me. And now, he has been to all sorts of places with me. And he's been in many photo shoots. I still tuck him in to bed with me, but he sleeps with his overalls on.

Mrs. Powell left a mark on me, not through her stuffed bear though. She knew she had cancer, and she decided to spend her last year teaching us in that grade two classroom, exciting us for life and learning, and giving us opportunities to grow and be better people. She gave part of her life to us, and shared some of her light. And for that, Mrs. Powell, I sincerely say Thank You.

Question of Perfection

The question of the evening is: What makes something perfect?

I realized that there is either no such thing as 'perfect', or every single thing is 'perfect'.

Imagine looking at a bowl of soup, and wishing you had something to use to get the soup out of the bowl and into your mouth without getting your fingers or chin mucky. Then imagine a perfect utensil for this job. Maybe you think of a large straw, or a spoon of some sort, or an elongated bowl or something. Well each of these things would be useful and one of them would likely work best, and in this situation, it could be labeled as the 'perfect' utensil. But then imagine the same utensil in a different situation. Now you've got a spoon or straw etc and you've got a plate of spaghetti noodles. 'Now what?' You ask yourself, as you try to get just one blasted noodle onto that spoon. Now, is that spoon still perfect? Yes it's perfect for the soup, but we aren't staring at soup anymore... So is the spoon perfect?

If we say 'yes' the spoon is perfect even though we are staring at spaghetti, then it would not be a huge leap of logic to assume that most if not all things are at some point 'perfect' somewhere or sometime else in this world, but perhaps not here or now. Yet on the other hand if we say 'no', the spoon is not perfect as we stare at spaghetti, then it would not be a huge leap of logic to assume that there is nothing that is perfect in the world because we can always find at least one situation where in the object would not be useful or 'perfect'. It is a matter of perspective as to whether you say 'yes' or 'no', and that is what makes the spoon perfect or not. It's a matter of timing, opinion, and the ultimate goal.

Timing:
At one point in time my shoes were perfect. A perfect fit, and perfect comfort and perfect style. Now they are worn, dirty and frankly imperfect. At one point in time the bow and arrow was the perfect weapon, now outdated, guns are preferred for hunting. Timing helps decide when something is perfect or not. So perhaps everything is perfect, somewhere and sometime in the world, but just not right there or right then.

Opinion:
Priorities and goals of different people also conflict in the quest for perfection. One person may deem some project or invention perfect, but that's according to their standards, and to another it is imperfect because of the standards they have set out for it. Opinions affect the final say of whether something is perfect or not because who or what is to say whether or not something is perfect unless it has some sort of observer to say so.

The ultimate goal:
And of course, who or what can to say that something is perfect unless there is something to measure it against such as a goal or an ideal. Otherwise there are just things in this world with no particular greatness or value to them other than the mere fact that they exist. The ultimate goal of the creator of the object/invention says whether or not the object is perfect, judging between its beginning vision and end product.

And if we present something that is perfect for a job, useful in every function, and then add to it, does that make it imperfect compared to when we started? My opinion is that no, I think not. Because, at the time of its first presentation, it was appropriately perfect for that time, but as time goes on, I think there tends to be a greater need and therefore has the potential to be perfected again. Like a hairdo. One is perfect for school, whereas another hairdo is perfect for a luncheon with the Queen of England.

Forgotten Lessons

Hello. My name is Sera. I pronounce it "Sarah" though. I can spell my own name now. My middle name is harder to spell. I went to kindergarten once.

I remember the big blocks we used to play with. I played with Jeff and we made dinosaurs out of the blocks together. The dinosaurs were as big as I was. That was the first time I was told that I should clean up after myself. We had a lesson on it. I remember the blue frilly shirt mom picked out for me to wear and the pink clothes with skirts that I don't like anymore. I remember the fake food we would pretend to eat during play time. The teacher told us not to really put them in our mouths, because of tiny invisible things called germs or something. I remember using little stuffed animals and tiny kid-sized pillows to sleep on when they turned out the lights. I was usually the only one awake during nap time. I never slept very well. I remember my favorite white bear that I took to nap time with me, and I remember other kids fighting over the rest of the stuffed animals. I cried when kids called me mean names.

Things were so much easier back then. When I was small.

If someone stole my toy or pulled my hair, I could go cry. It was so simple. It would make it all better... After the teacher scolded them, of course. If I had a runny nose, I could wait until the teacher gave me a tissue paper to wipe my nose with, and that was okay. If I fell and scraped my knee, it was okay to cry about it, and the teacher would help me up and take me to the sink and wash my cut and put a bandage on it. And it was not a bad thing to feel hurt back then. It was okay to cry. It was normal.

But I can't solve my problems like that now. Problems are so much harder today. Grown ups don't like it when others cry. I think they don't know what to do because they're all the same height. They're the same size now as the teacher was back then, back when it was okay to cry. They don't know if they should be like the teacher and help people up, and clean their cuts, or if they should be like any other kid from class and cry along with them. After all, we are all the same height now. And instead, in the middle of the confusion between being teacher or class mate, they usually leave, not sure how to deal with what they left back in the room. And the other tall person is left where they were, feeling sad, and still crying, and now a little ashamed that they cried in front of another tall person.

Did I miss that lesson somewhere? The one that told us kids that it's still okay to cry, even when we grow up? Did someone forget to tell me that sometimes people need a hug when they cry, because we all need to feel? Did the teacher just not know that people need love and care, even when they are all grown up? Did she just forget to tell us? Or did her teachers not tell her that if she scraped her knee, it's okay to cry? And that it was normal?

Well, I must have missed those lessons. But I've found out through my own life that sometimes teachers don't know everything. Sometimes nobody knows anything, and all we have left is our feelings, and all we are, is confused little kindergarten kids. Someone out there should let us know that it's okay to feel lost and confused and that it's okay to cry. Someone should tell us that it's still normal.

I am someone.

It's okay to cry.
It's normal.

I think they forgot to tell us that.

I have truly begun to realize the convenience and quite frankly, the joy of elopement. After planning my mother's wedding, a bridal shower, and been part of several other weddings and plannings... I am amazed at the time, preparation and stress involved. It's so incredibly hectic to try and organize every article of clothing for the wedding party, and the table arrangements, and the little kids with their little tuxes, and the microphones and equipment...

I've decided I want to elope.

I want to elope just to get away from all the stressful people who think that two bags of potatoes and five bags of buns and two massive containers of mayo and all the many bags of veggies, as well as the three turkeys won't be enough and that we must get more! I finally get why people get stressed on their wedding days. I used to think it was because people planned on certain things being there like a grand staircase or a red carpet or a specific outfit for the groom that made it stressful because it just didn't work out, and they just want these things so badly... that it must be... But it's not because of all the planning or even because of lack of planning... it's because there are so many people that think that it must be done a certain way and won't accept 'no' as an answer! And because people don't cooperate. At least that's what I think.

But I won't be eloping.... because I know my mom would really hate to miss it. So... Ok, she can come...

... but then if I let her come, I should probably let her husband come...

...and if they come then his parents should probably be allowed to come...

...and maybe my brothers would want to be there if my mom was there...

...and their wives and kids shouldn't be left out...

...and food should probably be provided especially if there is a good distance to travel...

...we should probably get a building booked to have a dinner...

...because that already is a lot of people...

...And if we have food, then tables and chairs would make sense...

Wow... weddings are stressful... I should just elope.

Darkness exists due to the absence of light.

I must have been fairly bored to be staring at my hand so intently. The way the light hit it just so.... I’m sure I looked equally odd when I held my hand still and moved my head down to get a look at the shadowy underside of it. But luckily no one was in the room, so there was no witness to my odd behavior.

It was about that point when I came to a conclusion about light and darkness. Here is an observation, which can be seen at any point in time by any person with access to the sun, a candle or even a child’s plug in night light; it’s not new information. I relate the metaphor to life. Light being anything that uplifts and makes one to feel better in the long term. Darkness being anything that depresses and makes one feel worse in the long term.

Here is the metaphor.

You can light a candle or lamp or turn on a light in any dark room, and the result is a spreading of light through out the whole room, the brightness of the light depending on the power behind the source. Light spreads in all directions, insistently outward, bouncing off the white walls, traveling quite a distance into and around the room, and reflects off of mirrors. In this way, light is shared and spread all over. The light naturally disperses everywhere, lighting everything it can reach.

But these qualities are not reproducible with darkness or shadow. A shadow or darkness cannot spread every direction through the room by lighting a ‘dark’ source, or bouncing off the walls or reflecting in a mirror. Darkness doesn’t spread itself or naturally disperse like light.

I looked at my hand and noticed that the light is only blocked in small areas by objects, and that that is what causes shadow. The light source is there, and then the object blocks the light source's reach to a certain area. That's what darkness is. You can't burn a dark candle, and make a shadow light. You can block the light to small degrees by placing objects in the way of the light, but shadow and darkness does not spread like light. You can have a singular shadow from an object, but there is no type of burning, spreading darkness.

There is one more piece to this. And that piece is that candles, or any light needs a source or fuel. It needs energy or fuel to keep it going. The only power the darkness has over the light besides blocking portion of it's reach, is the power of giving up or drying up. When the fuel runs out or the source dries up, there is darkness. So if we continue striving, hoping believing and trusting, we have power over the darkness, but as soon as we give up, darkness can take over. Other than our own hope drying up, light and goodness prevails.

This is the metaphor I came to realize while staring at my hand. Oh the things we think when we are bored. And yes, I am very glad for the blessing of every once in a while, having nothing to do, being bored enough to stare at my own hand and the light casting shadows on it.