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Christi Diggs
on May 23 2013 - 06:00 AM
A drop of spin, a cup of deception and tsp. politics=Apathy
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Lindsay Metcalf
on May 22 2013 - 06:00 AM
When that tornado siren sounds, I'm in the basement
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mara williams
on May 21 2013 - 06:00 AM
Summer break has this mom on a house upkeep war path.
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I have had a lot of time to think lately, which sometimes spells doom for me. If I can’t do something with my thoughts, I begin to feel like what I imagine a rat in a maze would feel, compartmentalized with very little chance of escaping.
In true thinking spirit, this time hasn’t done me much good at all this week. It has made me stew over news stories in the community and world that have saddened and darkened my spirit. I have questioned whether I have a place in the lives of some of the people around me, because if they really knew me, the whole package, I might surprise them, and they might not like me, or maybe even hate me. That isn’t to say that I am seeking their approval, because really I am not, but to be pushed away for being just who I am, well, I guess I am not ready for that judgment.
With all of this crazy, dark thinking going on, I took my butt out of my easy chair and decided that I should try to clear my head and find some blog-spiration. As I pushed out my strides on the elliptical to the tune of my favorite metal music, with sweat tickling down my face, I caught a glimpse of the women’s archery competition on the Olympics. This became my focus for the next forty-five minutes.
I watched these women, impressed with their almost statuesque stances. No amount of Tai-Chi could make me that serene and still. With one arm cocked, ready to fire, their eyes intently sat on the targets in front of them. Expressionless, their eyes didn’t move, face muscles dared not twitch. They let their fingers go, gently and the arrow flew; yet their bodies did not allow movement until the point of the arrow pierced the target. That was moment when their faces spoke and I didn’t need the sound of the television to hear what those women were thinking or feeling. The bull’s eyes and the misses, they both meant something to them, they felt those in their souls. The camera would show images of the coaches, and like eager parents, you could see them silently praying, giving their last, silent coaching tips, praising and even pouting just a bit.
Before I knew it, archery was over, and I was left to mull over the thoughts in my head again. That little bit of archery competition made me realize that those athletes, my children, the coaches and I, we have something in common. I was once like those athletes, trying to take instruction from the coaches in my life, missing the target more than I hit them, but I pressed on and eventually made a mark, in my own “Olympic” style.
Later, I was blessed with my only little “athletes”. Now, I am the coach, teaching, encouraging and even praying. Proud no matter whether they hit or miss the target, because I know it takes a lot of trial and error to hone those skills to near-perfection-if it even exists.
Today I found my writing inspiration and I took the thoughts that had scrambled my brain this week and set them out in front of me so they could be sorted, in my own time and on my own terms.
At forty, still an athlete in training, a little closer to a bull’s eye today, and hoping, praying every day that the kids continue on to make more hits than misses, in their own Olympic style.
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