I don’t mind rain, really. However, sometimes I am not prepared for the gray skies and the tears of heaven falling upon me. This summer weather transitioning into fall weather is tricky. I never know what to expect when I get up in the morning. Sometimes the forecast is wrong!
Today I didn’t want rain, but it didn’t care. It gently dropped to the ground in an almost drizzle form. The skies show no let-up, and so my dream of a sunny day must wait until another time. They predict heat again next week, but that is then and this is now.
Sometimes the weather emulates my mood. What I want though, is for the weather to be sunny so that my mood will reach up and be elevated. But in this moment the dreary sky and the little spit from above keep me in a place of gloom. I don’t like gloomy moods, but occasionally they come upon me for no good reason.
So, for now I am trying for gratefulness in the lovely green of Oregon. Without this rain there would not be this gorgeous symphony of color, which sustains me throughout the year.
I think what I need is a ride through the Columbia River Gorge. There may be places as beautiful, but I don’t believe greater beauty exists. Fortunately for me, I am taking that ride through God’s country this upcoming week. Something to look forward to and something to rejoice about.
A little piece I wrote about the most beautiful place I know:
Driving along Interstate 80 in Oregon I have such anticipation upon entering The Columbia River Gorge. The elegant and sweeping highway winds through the foothills which frame the view that can lift my weary spirit. I always gasp in amazement at this awesome spectacle.
Year round the colors are like the air I breathe. They extend deep into my pores as I once again absorb the different greens of all the trees, which surround the incredibly beautiful Columbia River. This is pure joy, for many miles, in what is a treat for the eyes and solace for the soul.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Watch Out Behind You!
This is a little story that I wrote while attending college. It was for a class I took on body image, and it made me take a look hard at my values and prejudices. This is the first one of four that I worked on. One day I hope to have these published.
Watch Out Behind You!
I have one. Most people have one. They come in all different sizes and shapes and provide necessary functions for our bodies. What is this wondrous thing that follows behind? A butt it is, and by any other name it would still be a butt.
What would I do without by behind, which holds up my pants. I always wear pants, so this is very important in my life. “Honey, do these pants make my butt look fat?” I see this look of horror rush over my husband’s face when presented with this no-win questions. “Of course not!” he answers.
We’ve been married 38 years and he has learned, through the many times I have asked this question, that there is only one correct answer. Smart man! My butt has gone from small, to medium, to fat, to medium. Sadly, it has never gone back to small. I would rate my butt as medium to fat at this stage of my life. With just the right pair of pants, it can look like a medium butt.
At a glorious 56-years-old, I have finally come to terms with my bottom and the many other necessary parts of my body. It is wonderful to be older and understand that the fluid nature of body size does not reflect character. It may reflect mood; depression, happiness, sadness, or just a love of food. My butt has been the recipient of many of these moody experiences, from the food that enters through my mouth and exits through the rear.
It has also been part of the process of birthing two children and was then the beneficiary of stretch marks. These are truly marks of valor, because anyone who has managed labor and then the birth process can attest to the pain of it. What an experience! Having my first child at a teaching hospital, I was the proud laborer who had a bevy of student doctors and nurses watching my butt, and other appropriate regions, for the ejection of the baby. At least one of us was very happy for that moment, because I could take my private parts back to cover. This experience did leave me with the advantage of being much less modest throughout life.
My butt has been with me since birth, and I have used and abused it. By this I mean the self-hatred I directed toward it when it was not the size I wanted it to be. Most of the time these days, my butt and I are in a pretty easy truce. Every now and then I give it a good talking to for not fitting just right into those pants I have spoken of.
I like this truce. I appreciate my butt for being there for me. It continues to provide a pants holder, a physical function, a place for my husband to pat. I still wish it would fit perfectly into every pair of pants I own, but overall I have come to terms with my derriere.
Author: Theresa Huber
Copyright © 2008
Watch Out Behind You!
I have one. Most people have one. They come in all different sizes and shapes and provide necessary functions for our bodies. What is this wondrous thing that follows behind? A butt it is, and by any other name it would still be a butt.
What would I do without by behind, which holds up my pants. I always wear pants, so this is very important in my life. “Honey, do these pants make my butt look fat?” I see this look of horror rush over my husband’s face when presented with this no-win questions. “Of course not!” he answers.
We’ve been married 38 years and he has learned, through the many times I have asked this question, that there is only one correct answer. Smart man! My butt has gone from small, to medium, to fat, to medium. Sadly, it has never gone back to small. I would rate my butt as medium to fat at this stage of my life. With just the right pair of pants, it can look like a medium butt.
At a glorious 56-years-old, I have finally come to terms with my bottom and the many other necessary parts of my body. It is wonderful to be older and understand that the fluid nature of body size does not reflect character. It may reflect mood; depression, happiness, sadness, or just a love of food. My butt has been the recipient of many of these moody experiences, from the food that enters through my mouth and exits through the rear.
It has also been part of the process of birthing two children and was then the beneficiary of stretch marks. These are truly marks of valor, because anyone who has managed labor and then the birth process can attest to the pain of it. What an experience! Having my first child at a teaching hospital, I was the proud laborer who had a bevy of student doctors and nurses watching my butt, and other appropriate regions, for the ejection of the baby. At least one of us was very happy for that moment, because I could take my private parts back to cover. This experience did leave me with the advantage of being much less modest throughout life.
My butt has been with me since birth, and I have used and abused it. By this I mean the self-hatred I directed toward it when it was not the size I wanted it to be. Most of the time these days, my butt and I are in a pretty easy truce. Every now and then I give it a good talking to for not fitting just right into those pants I have spoken of.
I like this truce. I appreciate my butt for being there for me. It continues to provide a pants holder, a physical function, a place for my husband to pat. I still wish it would fit perfectly into every pair of pants I own, but overall I have come to terms with my derriere.
Author: Theresa Huber
Copyright © 2008
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Be careful what you ask for: Irony
I guess these early days of fall-approaching have put me in a reflective place. This has recently popped up in my mind, and I realize what an irony it is. I do not view this as a sad accounting, just an accounting of growth.
After Alex died I became a freight train of movement toward having my son known everywhere, and that included the whole world. There were articles for the local papers; poetry; television; state laws; speeches; anything I could think of. I witnessed to all that I would carry the torch of his memory.
So, that said, I wrote a book which is available at Amazon, worldwide. In 1999 and again this year, I created poster/signs for The Compassionate Friends Conference, in memory of all our beloved children. Alex’s name was centered at the bottom of these 45 and 152 signs, respectively. People came from all over the world and his name was witnessed.
This year was the 15th anniversary of his death and much of this I did to commemorate him. There is really so little to do at this time and space. What I realized though, is that I gave up the torch-carrying role many years back, and no longer felt the need for strangers to know him. Those who know and love him don’t need me to beat them over the head with said torch. But isn’t it ironic that after letting go of this desire for his visage and name to go worldwide, it happened, but it no longer matters. The greater world community can never really know him and while they may care in a global sense, it is not possible to mourn the death of each individual who is unknown to you.
I asked God for help with my plan, and I do not regret that Alex's name is out there. But it in no way alleviates the pain in my heart about his absence. My growth is in the letting go. Irony abounds.
After Alex died I became a freight train of movement toward having my son known everywhere, and that included the whole world. There were articles for the local papers; poetry; television; state laws; speeches; anything I could think of. I witnessed to all that I would carry the torch of his memory.
So, that said, I wrote a book which is available at Amazon, worldwide. In 1999 and again this year, I created poster/signs for The Compassionate Friends Conference, in memory of all our beloved children. Alex’s name was centered at the bottom of these 45 and 152 signs, respectively. People came from all over the world and his name was witnessed.
This year was the 15th anniversary of his death and much of this I did to commemorate him. There is really so little to do at this time and space. What I realized though, is that I gave up the torch-carrying role many years back, and no longer felt the need for strangers to know him. Those who know and love him don’t need me to beat them over the head with said torch. But isn’t it ironic that after letting go of this desire for his visage and name to go worldwide, it happened, but it no longer matters. The greater world community can never really know him and while they may care in a global sense, it is not possible to mourn the death of each individual who is unknown to you.
I asked God for help with my plan, and I do not regret that Alex's name is out there. But it in no way alleviates the pain in my heart about his absence. My growth is in the letting go. Irony abounds.
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