Sara Bednark

Wow!

It's been a long time since I have written on-line, almost a year, and like everyone is fond of saying "What a year it's been!"

The other day I was getting rid of an old notebook of mine and an entry entitled "I want . . ." caught my eye. The date was 2/12/07. "I want to lose 5 pounds." Doesn't everyone have that on their list? Yes, but unlike everyone else, I have lost 30 pounds since then. Another entry was " I want more happy and centered friends." That one has started to happen, too.

But of course, not everything has turned out so good. I am eating healthier and living better with my husband, but the start-up company we were so excited about two years ago has never shall I say...started-up. And even though I wanted it to in 2007, I'm glad it didn't. We learned a lot in being a part of its stagnation and are now starting our own company. Though I really want it to succeed, we'll see what lessons another two years will bring.

A wise teacher of mine once warned his class, "What you want for your life might not be what is good for your life." I really try to remember this when I dream of being rich or famous or even a successful business owner.

Patience and humility, maybe that's what's good for my life right now.

March Snow

The snow has decided to fall again. Though this is not surprising in many areas, it is here in the Pacific Northwest. March is a month with days of rain broken by days of sun. What happened? Five degrees colder than average, the weather report says. But for me, knowing the numbers doesn't make it any better. The wind still blows.

Yesterday it snowed then rained in the morning, hailed in the afternoon, then snowed again last night. What next? I am used to the rain, but the rest is just Mother Nature going over-the-top. It's just unnatural.

The flowers that have been blooming since February are hiding. Pulling their little heads with all that Spring color back underground. Trying to stay out of the way until the enemy finds another target. The hyacinths believe they have been transported to the high altitudes of the Himalayas, unprepared. They reach for warm air to breathe out their thick rich fragrance, but there is none.

To be honest, I've never really liked March. And I'm not just saying that because of the unexpected snow. Of course, I don't like March's unpredictability, but its lack of purpose, that's what bothers me the most. April has a reason. Without April there would be no May flowers. June, July August? They all have something to warrant a whole month. March just moves along at a snails pace, high stepping it like Hitler's armies.

Me? I think I'd be better off following the daffodils. My writing has become a little over-the-top. I'm blaming March.

Today

Yesterday had blue roses sitting on the coffee table waiting to fly into the sky with all the other migrating flowers.
The day before that was chicken. Fried chicken, boiled chicken and chicken swimming happily with noodles and carrots over a warm heat. And just the right amount of pepper.
Last year around this time I remember the lace curtains swam in the wind making pretty puppets. They were doing the Marriage of Figaro and laughing hysterically at the fateful cat that had walked into their final scene.
Today's flavor has yet to be discovered. The bread knife may come alive with the soup spoon but that seems a little forced. Too nursery rhymish if that's a word. The raspberries seem a likely candidate. Frozen solid in the freezer but oh so full of life.
Married and wanting, I'm dreaming full dreams. The ones that end in fairy tales but begin in real life.

Silence

I'm being quiet today.
Not the angry silence of the Rook upon the board. Stepping over squares till it check-mates the mighty King.
Or the silence that comes when things are just too hard to say. Today, stillness and quiet seem right.
Laughter is not out of the question. Love never takes a holiday. But to reset, to regain the wonder of life, abstinence is the best policy.
So staying with that theme . . .

a bird flew

through my fingers
out the door and into the crystal clear sky
it rose to the top of the next wave
and followed the ocean of currents
concealed within the wind

from there it flapped it's wings
from feather to feather
(very unnatural for a bird of its kind)
then opened a door in the blue
and disappeared from my eyes

it was followed by another & another
throughout the day
one emerged as I was hanging out my clothes to dry
another after a long nap
and a third when it started to rain
very curious, if you ask me

each time the same exact story
wings tickling my fingers
a peck of gratitude on each pink tip
and on to the unforeseen waves

that crash into us all the time
with no warning
no explanation
yet, we feel them
waves

unless of course our birds do

Successful people can't write poems.

The title is a quote by the Oregon poet William Stafford. I was drawn to its honesty, its truth, and my own need to fight against it. When I was younger, poetry and writing were never something I strived for. I didn't have a journal like other budding authors. Once in awhile I'd get a diary and sporadically write in it, but only a few pages would be filled. And I've never been a good speller and would choose to write words I knew how to spell, instead of what I really wanted to write.

All this leads me to wondering when it all changed. When did the struggle turn into something exciting, a challenge. Maybe William Stafford is right. Maybe it changed when my life after college didn't measure up to the standards I expected. When the world only valued me at eight dollars an hour and I began to believe them. But now what. Now that I've accepted myself as a success, no matter what I do, is poetry the bird that flew out the window? As I read that previous analogy, I think it might be. Is poetry lost to me forever?

All I can say is "I hope not."

A New Years Resolution

Today the clouds are hanging low again. Though the weather has been cold, we've enjoyed many days of winter sun. Santa blessed us with a snowball maker. We drove to Mt. Hood's snow and I'm not lying when I say I made ten snowballs in ten seconds. For a girl who grew up in Minnesota this was a dream. My son sure knows what to ask for for Christmas.

Now that the weather has clouded up I feel like . . . I hate to say it . . . shopping. Yes, I can almost see the sale racks full of winter clothes waiting for me to bring them home. Now I'm not a shopper but when it rains the bright cheery lights of the mall draw me in like an evening moth to a porch light. Next week I'll indulge.

What else do I have planned for the new year? Not much. More of the same I suppose. Playing cards, building Lego airplanes, watching cartoons, reading, writing, meditating, kissing, hugging and loving. There are a few things I hope to increase. Letting go is a big one, feeling more gratitude is another, and giving to those who really need is the last.

Now I'm not trying to be Mother Theresa, but wouldn't that be nice, I am just trying to be better. Now I must go, some Lego building is happening without me.

Happy New Year!!

boredom

I am deep in the Winter blahs. Yes, I know it's mid-Fall. Around six o'clock I was ready for bed. Put me out of my dark, dreary misery. At the dinnertable we were discussing the roll-a-bility of dog poop. A long story. I laughed until I cried at the absurdity of it all.

Where did the warm summer nights of backyard baseball go? My son would run from tree to tree to tree then home again. We'd stay out after nine running, laughing and counting the emerging stars. It was just last week, I'm sure of it.

The rains have set in. The first day I was delighted to be cleansed by Mother Nature. The world will feel new again. The second day I enjoyed seeing the water rush from the drainpipe. Remembering a time when it didn't and instead collected in our kitchen. The third day, which was today, our hiking was doomed to end in a muddy mess so it was aborted for an extended stay at the library.

Don't get me wrong, I love the library, but I ended up with a book about an Oregon pioneer woman living alone in the 1800's.

I bet she went to bed at six o'clock.

tracks

School started so now most of my day is free. I must decide what fills the hours between 8:00a.m. and 3:00p.m. It's a little disconcerting. Probably how East Germany felt when the wall fell down. Now what?

My son on the other hand has every minute planned. Bus ride, color, recess, math, lunch, science, recess, music, etc., etc., bus ride. We are now on different trains.

I like to think of our lives that way. As trains following a track. When there is a Y in your track you must choose, then accept the view until another Y presents itself.

My husband is going somewhere completely different than either my son or me. Across town, over the mountain, and into the big blue. IBM, not the ocean. But soon that ride will be over. He's been disengaged, dissuaded, discouraged, dis . . . I'm not really sure, but soon he'll be layed off.

Soon he and I will be on the same track. It's been years since we've ridden together and I'm looking forward to it. I'm not sure how we'll fill the hours, but my wish is that when the next Y comes around we'll keep riding together.

All aboard.

shooting star

last night we laid on the driveway and looked at stars
it is seventeen years since we were married
and last night we looked at stars
Orion, the big dipper, Polaris
and they looked at us
knowing

satellites flew by keeping the world connected
and we followed their path between the stars
seventeen years of being connected
Pegasus, the milky way, Vega
and they followed us
knowing

mosquitoes swarmed above our heads, bats feasted
and we felt the air move with life
married, still hungry for years
Pisces, shooting stars, Arcturus
and they felt us
knowing

Believe

Here is another great quote I'm trying to live by.

]]> Believe nothing
--because a wise man said it.
Believe nothing
--because it is generally held true.
Believe nothing
--because it is written.
Believe nothing
--because it is said to be divine.
Believe nothing
--because someone else believes it.
But believe only what
--you yourself judge to be true.

-The Buddha

through the looking glass

I now wear glasses. Odd, but I always thought I had good vision. The headaches? Allergies. Tired eyes? Doing too much. Squinting? Habit. I guess these were the signs. Believe me signs can be ignored.

Seeing has become easy. Less stress and the end of struggle? Well, not exactly.

At first it was distracting. Not just having something on my face framing my world but being able to see everything. It crowded out my other senses. I couldn't hear as well, or feel as much, even taste was affected. The glasses threw me headlong into the world. I became too involved with what I could see.

Oddly enough, mixed up with all of that was a sense of being distanced from everything. Not involved at all. Like watching the world on a TV. All the action was happening somewhere else.

As a child I always wanted glasses, now I wonder why. Lewis Carroll knew that life is never the same on the other side of glass. I'm surprised that something so small as glasses has given me a new reality. Alice woke up from hers but I guess mine is just beginning.

Be Fabulous

Our worst fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our darkness, that frightens us.

We ask ourselves "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, or fabulous? Actually, Who are you not to be?

You are a child of God

Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing Enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God within us -- it is in everyone.

And as we let our Light shine we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fears our presence automatically liberates others.

--Nelson Mandela--

Please join me.

All I Want for Christmas

Santa must be preparing his runway because we have snow. Albeit the spotty, slushy, and almost gone type of snow, but it doesn't matter, it's almost Christmas and there's snow.

This year I wasn't sure what to ask Santa for. World peace was at the top of the list, fewer natural disasters in 2006 was another favorite, but most of all I would like an end to all disease, especially the cancer that is this minute killing my uncle. Hurry Santa, please hurry.

A big job you're saying.

Yes I know. Maybe I went a little too far with my wish list this year. Some problems may be solved this year. Maybe we'll start rebuilding the ozone layer or more people will be driving alternative fuel cars or someone will forget a grudge. But even Santa will be unable to stop death.

I guess Christmas comes even when the snow is slushy and the presents are all socks. This year what I really want under the tree is a greater acceptence of life in all its glories and horrors. And in my stocking, a little more compassion for everyone involved in both.

a small dissertation

The cat’s tail is the most dangerous part of the cat, also the most expressive. Anger a cat and see what it does. Whap, whap, whap! The tail hits against the food filled counter. A kind of morse code for, “You are not going to deny me a taste of this Thanksgiving feast!” Whap, whap, whap, whap! “I will taste the turkey first and without fail I’ll taste it again and again and again.” At that point let go of the cat and forgo a perfect meal.

The tail is so dangerous because we really do not understand it. Legs, yes to walk on. Ears, yes, to hear. Whiskers, yes, to shave. And hair on the back, legs and ears, yes, well some of us understand that more than others. But the tail, what’s it for beside the previously mentioned communication and of course getting under our shoes. If this unfortunate event happens to you then be prepared to encounter the second most dangerous part of a cat, the claws. You will have wished you were wearing those cowboy boots you purchased in the 80’s. Oh, for a little cow skin to protect your delicate ankle.