And so, I became a writer

I became a writer out of fear.

Fear of being misunderstood and fear of misunderstanding others.

I became a writer out of desire.

Desire to conquer my silence and to give voice to those who had none.

I became a writer out of pain and sorrow.

Desperate to put words to the shards in my belly, so I could finally understand. Wilful cry for an embrace I have yet to find.

I became a writer out of rebellion.

To shred the pretty boxes and labels. Daring to Create and taste the sky; to touch the ocean and smolder my fire.

I became a writer for truth.

To demystify a tangle of lies and misgivings.

I became a writer out of loneliness.

My pages bearing witness to what others would not hear or see.

I became a writer out of friendship.

Because I heard your whimpers and whispered back.

I became a writer out of safety.

When I stuttered and hid my face, you did not try to understand. So I had to find another way.

I became a writer for hope.

A heartbeat searching stars for reply.

I became a writer to see.

Because I saw you that day, one fragment in eternity.

I became a writer out of love.

Because I hold your story for you and remember what you cannot. When you forget your truth, I will cradle the jewel of you to your palm.

I became a writer out of protection.

Because I saw the onslaught and joined you in the fray. I built a shield for us, plus a weapon or two.

I became a writer out of need.

Because I was starving and a desert surrounded me. What a great chef they said as I tumbled.

I became a writer without conditions.

Because I didn’t know what I was doing. I was simply compelled to alchemy.

I became a writer for wisdom.

Because I wanted perfect words for any need. Even if only to nurse my wounds with no one else here.

And I stand here alone, in my mother’s room, gazing over her last traces.

Grasping at straws, choking for air, keening for a hand I cannot have, floundering for the words to text a friend.

Will anyone hear, or will I fall. The black hole beckons.

Water in my lungs, a desert in my hands, I am simply.

Without words that can help

Memories of Mom

Today would have been Mom’s 73rd birthday. It’s hard to believe it also marks 4 months since she left us.

Women are often afraid of becoming their mothers. I’m no exception, yet I cannot deny that mine formed the very foundation of who I am. The things people know me for, the skills baked into my very soul–my mother was at the heart of forging them. My volunteer work. Even my music and writing are at the forefront.

In my childhood memories of Mom, I recall a mother who worried about her children a lot. She worried about our grades. She worried about what opportunities my brother and I might have. She worried about our safety, about our health, about us going to college, and about finding the means to pay for it.

My journey to learn piano really is an odd one. Even when we couldn’t afford a piano, Mom found ways to expose me to learning how to play. Even if it was a self-taught situation. Borrowing a keyboard from church. Staying after school to play in the auditorium. Even sending me to summer keyboard camp at the local university when I’d never had lessons in my life and (still) didn’t have a piano at home. A place where I met amazing teachers and opportunities. After all, I was a spectacle every summer amongst the sea of kids who knew what whole steps and half steps were (and I didn’t). Those teachers told Mom they could help me if she could just get me a piano. Mom talked to family, and my aunt came forward to give me her piano. And one day, in my mid-teens, I finally had piano lessons at the university. And even though I was the most frustrating student Dr. McCollum ever had, with all my self-taught bad habits, it all set the stage for many experiences to come. Competitions. Performances. Dates. Even random lessons with savants.

When it came to my writing and research skills, my mother was the driving force behind my early successes. She and a certain principal I’ll always be grateful to. Mom even helped me develop my early public speaking skills, though it terrified me at the time. I was painfully shy and afraid of people. So she gave me homework to notice elderly church members who seemed to be alone and to go talk to them every week. To go listen to their stories. An activity I grew to love. And she signed me up for the 4-H speech contest when I’d never given a speech in my life. I bombed my intro joke for that speech, froze in front of an audience of strangers, and still won a prize. And I learned that I didn’t die.

As I think about Mom’s life and how she lived it, I’m reminded of the importance of nurturing vision in our kids and an undying belief in their potential. When Mom wasn’t sure how to help us, she found other mentors to put into our lives. She told me once that she prayed daily for God to make up the difference in her parenting and to see to it that her children had what they needed to grow and be wise. These are lessons I’ve carried in my heart as I raised my own children.

Mom taught me to be acutely observant of others and their feelings. And it was because of her that I learned the importance of treating others with kindness and compassion. We never know what someone else may be going through. Many stories are hidden, and what we see on the surface is rarely “everything.” A kind word or gesture can make a world of difference. It can shine a light of hope where there once was loneliness, fear, and despair.

She didn’t always do it for the right reasons, and we didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but I’m grateful for the lessons my mother brought into my life and the faith she always had in me. Mom was the first to believe I could do things no one else thought I could, not even me. And somehow, in all that, even in adversity, she taught me creativity. And that I can create my reality if I want to. I’ll always carry her memory with me.

Happy heavenly birthday, Mom. Love you. Say hi to John.

Nothing left to give…

A friend commented once about how she and I were often put on a pedestal in our communities as “superwomen.” Highly skilled women who could conquer anything thrown at us, manage every task asked of us, raise good kids, run a business, volunteer, and more.

It seems like a compliment, doesn’t it?

Until you realize it’s completely unsustainable. Unhealthy even.

Humans are capable of heroism when the need arises.

But as a continuous state of being, it’s nothing anyone should aspire to.

Because we’re NOT — superhuman.

It was easier for us to go faster and do more than to figure out how to stop and say no. It was easier to just do it all instead of only handling a more humanly sustainable load. It was easier to be “compassionate” and say yes to everyone.

It was easier to stuff ourselves into every yawning gap because we couldn’t figure out how to ask others to help. And everyone else just figured we had it under control.

But there’s no room to gasp, much less breathe that way.

Chopping every candle in half to burn at all four ends.

Others saw us as compassionate inspirations and examples of capability and strength.

We were called godly women.

But as we saved the day over and over, no one realized we were isolated, starving, and drowning in everything hurled our way.

There was no one to heal the healer.

When you’re always flying by the skin of your teeth, there is no room left to adjust for adversity. No bumper pad.

No reserves left to adjust for human physical limitations.

No space left to pivot out of the way of the oncoming train.

No bandwidth left to actually save lives or survive the next disaster.

No patience left for friends or family.

No place left to even Be.

And the truth is–adversity is inherent in the human condition.

It will come. It’s inevitable.

Living by the skin of your teeth only works inside a closed system.

A place where no anomalies or aberrations exist to overcome.

No challenges. No growth.

No one to get in your way.

And that’s just not human.

Perhaps the next time we are complimented as superwomen,
we should see it as a warning.

We’re in danger. Getting too close to the edge.

And listen.

Three Ways To Fight Overwhelm – Body, Mind And Soul

My Secret Hacks to Quelling Overwhelm?

Besides coffee? Two old things and one new thing stand out.

Flylady’s concept of breaking routines down into manageable bites changed my life.

Not so much because I followed her specific routines–I needed to build my own. But because of the methodology behind FlyLady (created by Marla Cilley). The idea that a routine and habit don’t require much to become established–just 15 minutes a day. And tackling any bear of a task can still be done in time-bites of just a few minutes at a time.

Flylady’s concept was life-altering because it helped me focus on reframing everything into baby steps. And that made things much easier to accomplish as a WAHM, a military wife, and active volunteer at the school. Meditation, sales copy, exercise, laundry that never gets folded (LOL)–EVERYTHING can be broken into 15-minute bites.

Brain health and mental hacks are an area I’ve been deep-diving into for years.

Brain coach Jim Kwik teaches a concept of helping the brain wake up in the morning by tying a cognitive task to a habitual one, like brushing your teeth. It’s impressive really. I’ve been using it for over a year now, and it’s had a positive effect.

Learning about the brain’s natural rhythms for sleep cycles, cycles of alternating dominance between right and left brain function during the day, and how to frame my daily tasks around those left vs. right brain rhythms has also significantly improved my quality of life and work. I don’t hate myself when I pay attention to my sleep cycles. When my left-brain steam runs dry, I let it rest and shift my tasks to right-brain-focused activities.

Respecting and using my own natural brain intervals to my advantage by planning around that timing really helps me take my work to the next level and reduces mental stress. I’ve been using right vs. left brain techniques for several years, and whenever I fail to mind those mental routines, I don’t feel as on my game.

To me–this is the most crucial routine/habit/hack I’ve acquired.

My newest life-changing routine/habit is framing my daily and weekly to-do lists around the concept of “what will help me *feel* like I have won the day?”

It’s a bit of a meditative technique and a Jedi mind trick, BUT it’s working, and I feel less overwhelmed. Less overwhelm is a GIFT, and it helps me drive farther! I have my giant list of things that need doing, but I filter them into daily to-dos with this framework.

This approach requires a disciplined mind, and works well for someone who is in tune with themselves, is highly motivated, and likes to work hard. Each day the list can be adjusted as needed because things pop up and change our schedule. But focusing on wanting to feel like I “won the day” keeps me on top of the things that even my subconscious wants me to take care of. Because I can’t trick myself into feeling anything I genuinely don’t.

Life can be overwhelming. These 3 routine-based life hacks contain my “body-mind-soul” approach to reducing overwhelm.

• A way to reduce physical overwhelm by breaking tasks into smaller bites.
• Reducing my mental overwhelm by working with my brain’s natural rhythms and how it wants to work.
• And by supporting my emotional well-being–ensuring that my soul feels satisfied at the end of the day.

Easy Button…

I find myself writing a crochet pattern again (spawned by a request).

It’s been over a decade since I completed and published my last pattern.

Writing a pattern to international crochet standards is one of the most challenging–yet rewarding–exercises I’ve ever learned in crochet. But even the photos, illustrations, and formatting of the document layout took many hours and a lot of work. Don’t get me started on pattern testing, modeling, and photoshoots.

Designing is a lot easier than figuring out how to put an understandable (and pretty) explanation on paper that describes how I make things without thinking and “how you can too!”

And maybe I’m a little picky about the appearances of what I stamp my name on.

So I haven’t been looking forward to this request, for which chicken scratch isn’t going to do. Even though, at the moment, all I need are clear, basic beginning instructions that I can disseminate quickly and digitally.

As if that isn’t marvelously critical to the success of everything when working with newbies.

And then I remembered–I have tools today that weren’t available to me a decade ago. Even my Adobe and Word products are better tools today.

And it occurred to me–I’ve been writing and marketing on social media all this time. I’ve been designing graphics, e-courses, and web pages for clients–all this time. And I’ve been writing scripts and building templates. All. This. Time.

I wished for an easy button, but honestly–she’s right here. It’s me.

I’m the magic I seek.

And even better–I have a Canva Pro account today. Which is slick as heck and fun to use.

I’ll flesh out a right nice template that I can slip my instructions into in no time.

One of my favorite quotes: “Do something today that your future self will thank you for.”

Thanks, younger me.

—
September 19, 2022
7:49pm

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Words for my 17-year-old self…

Sweet girl, seize a little more confidence.

You are more capable than you think.

And the county reporter’s job isn’t that bad.

Keep the music degree.

But for the love of Grandpa, take some business and finance classes and join the debate team.

Take an acting class.

Enter more speech competitions.

I promise, if you don’t, you’ll wish you had.

Keep composing.

Stop hesitating on those ideas of yours.

The window won’t be open long.

Get to know your professors.

They would like you to talk to them more, I promise.

Ask Grandpa to talk about the wars.

Stay in touch with JC.

Don’t stop writing letters.

Love yourself enough to have boundaries.

You have a right to safety.

When you head to California next year, take advantage of every opportunity, including sound advice.

Go to Magic Mountain with your friends.

Go on the ski trip.

I know you don’t have the money.

Find a way. It will be worth it.

That campus will close, and you won’t have the time left that you thought.

Also, don’t talk to strangers in CA.

And don’t walk alone.

You have no idea the danger there.

Thankfully a few of your friends do, and they will watch out for you.

Speaking of, you will make many new friends–don’t be afraid of them.

When Elaine asks you to call, don’t forget.

Don’t.

When you head to Texas the year after that, take advantage of every opportunity.

Adopt others into your family.

Take breaks just for yourself.

Accept those free horseback riding lessons!

Sleep more.

It’s not laziness, I promise.

Grades aren’t everything.

You are going to break your immune system, so stop it now.

And stop sacrificing sleep because a friend needs to talk.

They can talk to you in the morning. I promise–you won’t miss anything.

Friendship should never bring you to the brink of death.

Don’t get the tonsillectomy, but do see the surgeon in New Orleans.

Remember the people who show up.

Open yourself to new career ideas and swap to a better major.

Watch out for the math classes, though.

That plan of yours to take all your high school math when you were 14, so your grades stayed high?

Yeah, it doesn’t work out so well when you wait a few years before taking college algebra II.

Your authenticity is a strength, not a weakness.

And your loyalty is a breath of fresh air.

Stop beating yourself up for being honest; it’s what your friends count on.

And don’t be timid about keeping up with your relationships.

You may feel awkward and afraid, but so is everyone else your age.

And most of your friends in college have no idea that you’re terrified.

They don’t see you the way you do.

One day those relationships will save your life.

And one day, many will pass away.

Your choice to call and write everyone you can is the right one, even if you don’t get to everyone.

So don’t give up.

Dare to define yourself.

Dare to create something worthy.

Trust your gut.

When it tells you to run, don’t hesitate.

It’s the right choice–never to violate your conscience.

Stop doubting what you know to be true.

It’s OK not to know where the next step is sometimes.

Love hard.

That and compassion will get you everywhere you need to be.

Don’t let anyone tell you it’s God’s will that you be barren.

And don’t you ever feel ashamed for challenging the system.

ANY system.

When your body changes, love it.

She’s so much stronger and heartier than you realize.

Everything you need truly is inside you.

And the right people will accept all of you.

Keep your mind and body plastic.

Keep researching.

Keep writing in your journal.

Take a risk making new friends.

And label those photos.

Above all else–

Love and believe in yourself.

I do.

—
September 3, 2022
8:13am

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Conscious Rebellion…

I’m not a joiner by nature. Never have been.

And as a result, there are times I’m cross-wise with the world.

It’s just that I resist, more than anything

being boxed,

and labeled,

and tied up with a pretty bow

to be cataloged on a shelf.

I want to remain free to evolve.

I reject the world’s arbitrary expectations and control.

I question all the shoulds.

I question why you want to redefine me without my permission.

The more you try to convince me, the more I’m not.
The more I see your blindness.

Why do you think these limiting things?
Why do you define life this way, much less MY reality this way?

It doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in rules.

The polite world needs an honor code.

I’m a lover of systems. I see the world in patterns.

I notice when seemingly unrelated things are connected.

Which, of course, is part of why I design.

I Am a Creator.

I recognize that when we use design thinking and build conscious systems, which require cooperation, we improve quality of life; we solve world problems.

Systems are just programs that we use to empower ourselves.
They work alongside us as we continue to innovate.
Once built–click.
C:\Users\Julia>start program.exe

Now I don’t have to use up brain power and resources for that.

The program is now built.
It runs.
It maximizes what I can accomplish.

I enjoy using, analyzing, and building systems–as long as they serve as the good tools they were meant to be.

Systems help us understand our universe and free up our horizons for greater things. Tools, however, should never shackle the soul.

As a spiritually evolving people–Collectively, we are Stronger.

But, if we’re not careful, we can get into a rut.

We can stagnate, become toxic, and oppress.

Our systems of expectation become our God.

And we become finite echoes of what could have been.

We can forget the individual, our unlimited capacity, and lose our humanity.

And in the pursuit of “peace” and flow, we can forget conscious compassion and individual responsibility.

We can stop seeing the human, the soul.

Make everyone a label.

Become victim to the system.

There are times we just have to get out of the box and rebel against the status quo.

Dare to be and think differently.

Allow ourselves to become uncomfortable and take the inconvenient path–because it is the right one. Or at least, a better one.

I become weary and jaded the more people push me to live or be something that I just am not.

Try to convince me to care about things that, on the eternal level, just do not matter.

In the process of John’s dying, never was the superfluous more clear.

Things that don’t make sense. Things that make me ask why, why, why.
Things that make me feel like finding another planet to live.
Things I DON’T want to give energy to.

The more people tie me up with those pretty labels.

Am I what you expected?

If I label you, you’ll stay in your lane–right?

And as a Creative, I reject all notion of living a life of sameness without purpose.

It’s hard being here, in this reality.

Beauty and wonder are matched by pain and difficulty.

Risk is everywhere, and nothing (and no one) is guaranteed.

Not even the next breath.

If I have to be here, I will have my Creativity and Purpose and Face the unknown head-on.

I will partner with my Creator and consciously Craft my Direction.

I choose to bear witness to and celebrate the paths that cross mine without the world’s arbitrary rules of definement.

Where there is no room to breathe, I will hold space for oxygen to unfold.

Among the things that I appreciate that John gave me while he was alive was the grace to be me and the space to evolve.

There was always room to move and oxygen to breathe in the air around John.

We shared the same Chaotic Good heart, the same first-born sense of protection and responsibility, and the same desires for the freedom to Create, Transmute and Become in this life.

Never violate your conscience.

The strong should protect the weak.

The able should teach and elevate others.

Always do the right thing.

Embrace the suck.

Help others find their way through, and you will too.

We never forced expectations on each other, John and I.

It wasn’t our thing.

We didn’t adhere to the marketing concepts of what our life together should look like.

We had no insecurities about each other. We didn’t starve each other’s needs for career, friends, life experiences, or dreams.

And I think one of the defining features of our friendship, as well as our love, was that we allowed each other space, always.

We were never glued to the hip. We didn’t have to be.

We were two whole people who decided to become lifetime battle buddies.

We had no desire to stifle each other, and we were never threatened by the need to be alone or have our own things.

Maybe because we were both firstborn, I don’t know. But it worked for us.

In doing this for each other, we evolved in ways that wouldn’t otherwise be available. And we helped each other pursue our individual goals and dreams.

We didn’t have to have a life partner. We didn’t have to be together.
We just wanted to be. We liked being in each other’s space.
And we freely chose to be tethered and back each other up in this life.

It was a much deeper, more respectful way of being. I was never afraid to be myself. I knew I was loved for me. The young woman I was. The mother I became. The soul I was growing to be.

We always held space to rediscover each other as we grew further into adulthood together.

And there was born great love. We became more than our parts–together.

I think back to John’s grandmother’s words, “You don’t marry a body; you marry a mind.”

Though I think for me, it’s that I married a soul.

How can you possibly contain a soul?

Especially a force of nature like John.

You can’t. And you don’t want to.

What a crime to try. What a blessing to share.

John loved me fiercely and never wanted to change me or bottle me up. So as I.

I never understand people who want to remanufacture their partners.
Go remake yourself.

I don’t want to lock down the world and reality. Even while there is chaos, I know that possibility reigns and that order will come. Out of Chaos, magic is born, and Creativity holds all the cards. Holds all the art supplies too.

If we are to be free of the chains of the past–we have to explore and innovate new systems. We can’t stick with the same old habits and perspectives and expect different outcomes.

They’re only tools. And they lose purpose and wear out.

We have to allow each other the space and grace to evolve.

And dare to craft new systems as needed.

Craft new lives. Embrace new purposes.
Change our labels, or reject them altogether.

It’s mucky work, being human.

This Life was meant to be rich with experiences and opportunities to grow.
But it was not meant to be a museum and always pretty.

It wasn’t meant to be without Risk.

You have to take chances to have and love more than you thought possible.
And be willing to see the world and Life differently.

You have to be willing to get hurt along the journey, knowing that even failure enriches our growth.

The Path of the Conscious Rebel is not easy.
Yet it’s ripe with possibility and rich with uncommon love.
A journey of creative textures and colors.

After all, who are humanity’s heroes?
If not those who Dared a Life that was Different?

While I may look at life, love, and the world differently, I am not that unique.

I am not the only widow in the world. Not the only mother whose child is fighting cancer. Not the only woman carving out a career in a male-dominated world. Not the only friend trying to sift through the digital age to reconnect with someone real.

And not the only wounded soul trying to free herself from the black hole behind her and find the next step on the path.

But these are the things I sometimes think about.
On a pensive Sunday morning over coffee.

—
August 21, 2022
2:21pm

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Stop Waiting for Something to Happen…

Stop waiting. Stop wishing.

Stop holding out for the perfect thing–or someone.

And allow yourself to taste Life.

I promise you, stagnation isn’t a Life well Lived.

Or Loved.

And never mistake stagnation for Peace.

Allow yourself to be uncomfortable.

Allow yourself to be vulnerable.

At least sometimes.

Risk is everywhere.

And in every one.

Yet so are the greatest of treasures.

As I’ve shared before, one of two things will happen.

Either you’ll take the next breath.

Or you won’t.

Risk is in the very air we breathe.

All creation comes with inherent risk.

So there’s no sense in being frozen while time flows into oblivion.

You might as well breathe deep and smell the rain.

Or the coffee. Or the Italian Tex-Mex restaurant around the corner.

Rest in the Now.

Breathe in deeply and savor what the Universe delights in bringing to your doorstep.

She is so excited for you–if only you could See.

You made it here against all odds.

Maybe take note of that. Like Hey.

Soak up the Miracle of those things showing up in your life now.

Celebrate that with Trust.

You might as well dig your toes deep into Mother Earth and let her hold you.

You might as well look beyond the surface of things and see what a Creative Life, consciously Lived, looks like.

Or, for that matter, a Creative Love.

Have you truly looked at the hearts around you?

Have you dared to bear Witness and see their Souls?

And dared to let them Remember yours?

Have you truly accepted and given friendship–unconditionally?

You may get hurt.

I can’t promise you won’t.

But I can promise that if you genuinely Love and Live…

The means to come back to Life after a crash are also there.

Risk is about Receiving as much as anything.

Stop waiting to Live.

And Love.

And Breathe.

And Receive.

Stop waiting for permission to Exist.

Stop hesitating just when things get good.

Stop judging the Universe when it toddles over and places its gifts in your lap.

Dare to live unconditionally.

Dare to love and give unconditionally.

Dare to receive and feel unconditionally.

Dare to face fear and ego.

Dare to value what others can not see.

Dare to share life, give life, and taste life with others.

Dare to Adventure.

And dare to dig deep and Believe.

Believe that you are powerfully Favored.

Believe that you have all the art supplies you need.

Believe that you deserve to be a Creator.

Before it’s too late.

“The trouble is, you think you have time.”
— Jack Kornfield, Buddha’s Little Instruction Book.

—
August 11, 2022
11:11pm

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Elusive

I want to write.

I’ve craved it for weeks.
An omen welling up. A portent.
Murmurs of words and feelings threaten to howl.

But there is no moon.
And my lungs are bruised.

A song of wisps.

Reaching through the fog.
To take initiative. Evanescent trust.
To seek connection, audience, witness.
To offer comfort.

Ten minutes. That will do.
Duty served. Pledges complete.
She’s ok.

She’s the strongest person I know.

Bloody thorns–to reach out first again and again.
Holding back the event horizon.
I will only be first so many times
before I relax and give in to the waves,
watching you peacefully
from the drifting deep,
at one with the seaweeds.

I will watch and listen from the other room,
remembering our once mingled laughter.
I’ll read your books and treasure your sorrows;
provide sanctuary when you pass through.

I’ll watch you walk away and never return.

The silent cornerstone balanced on a pedestal–
until the earth shakes again. Silly humans.
That’s not how any of this works.

It is challenging to reach out and preserve,
much less nurture a one-sided companionship.

But this is my blog–a reflection.
And I guess that means my struggle
on this one-way street
is with me.

—
June 23, 2022
12:21am

Copyright © 2022, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Surviving Tornadoes

Just finished assessing my trees after the tornadoes in the Austin, TX area last night. The supercenter all over the news is the one near our house. We were at that Home Depot just a couple hours before the tornadoes came. My daughter needed paint sealant and I needed to mail a package.

My trees are old-growth, 2-3+ stories tall. One of the live oak clusters is suspected to be 2-300 years old, and our house was designed around it. There are 20+ trees on our city lot. One of the features that drew John and me to this place. This neighborhood was built around the trees in the 70s–they didn’t clear-cut them.

One of my cedar elms near the street has had a broken branch caught in its top since the polar vortex storms last year. I haven’t tried to get it down yet. Well, it’s gone now. And the top was snapped off another tree.

In the meantime, absolutely NO debris on our streets within a couple of blocks of our house. No twigs, no gravel–nothing. The roads look vacuumed and washed.

I saw the wind change in the rain yesterday–when it took on a pulse in its blustering. The rain and wind were so hard that they created a sheet that looked like a wall. I’m used to that. Spring storms here are like that. And when the wind is really blowing, the rain turns sideways. We see that sort of thing when the hurricanes come inland through our area–sideways rain. Not really a surprising thing.

But then it turned different. The rain started pulsing as it rained sideways. It looked like morse code pulsing in the sideways blowing rain. Like smoke signals in a drumbeat that you could see in the sideways rain–as if you could see the sound.

But it stopped about as quickly as it started.

I also found bits of insulation in the backyard. I thought it was feathers floating out of the trees, but it wasn’t. Looking up into my trees, there may be some debris caught in them.

After my experiences surviving tornadoes in OK and TX, I have sober respect for them. I’m also familiar with many other stories through the Red Cross, back when mom provided disaster relief training in OK and as her classroom assistant, I’d watched every training film available.

Our house was damaged but passed over by a tornado when I was 7 years old. An event called “Terrible Tuesday.” Our house stood while our neighbors’ on every side weren’t as lucky.

I’ve never forgotten what that was like, the damage, or how long it took our family to recover.

I think a tornado passed over our house yesterday. And I’m so grateful.

The Room…

The room is full, a straggling chair or two in the corner.
Men vs. women, about 50/50.

There are no more blocked-out spaces, but every face is masked nonetheless.

“Have you traveled anywhere outside of the country in the last 4 months?”
“I’m a teacher. I can’t afford to go anywhere.”
There’s a hesitant chuckle. “Hopefully that… will improve, ma’am.”
“Even if things improve, I’ll still be a teacher.”

The room’s chatter is low, respectful.
Broken only by an occasional voice from the front.

The voice calls out, “I have three more names on the booaaard….”

The room pauses as everyone turns to look.
Three people stand up. The low murmur returns.

A farmer from Tennessee meets a farmer from Corpus Christi.
They may not shake hands, but their friendly voices do.
A third aged voice chimes in, “My late husband used to farm in East Texas.”

Mixed southern accents discuss the impact of hurricanes in the east on the crops.

“How’s your cotton doing?”
“It’s alright. We’ll go to harvest in September.”
“We’re a little earlier than that. How’s your corn though?”
“We didn’t get enough rain in spite of that hurricane.”
“Your fields on irrigation?”

Everyone listens, quietly appreciative of the social ease found in this place.

A woman gets up to go check on something,
phone in hand, leaving her purse on the floor, open.
There’s a solidarity in the room. Not only will no one
bother her purse, no one would dare to.

It’s a fraternity that no one chooses to join–but it is one nonetheless.

The woman returns to her open bag. A man wearing a backpack,
a leg brace, and carrying a telescoping cane limps by her side.
A glance at their wrists tells you–she’s the patient, not him.

The room is a sea of silver hair, spotted with dye jobs. In 45 minutes
of polite waiting, only 3 patients appear to be under the age of 60.
Two are quiet, unabashedly former or current military. Only one,
quiet, lanky 20-something in the room. He is my son.

I see the faces look toward my son. Their eyes soften as they
see him next to me. I’m used to it. My son stares at his phone.

A look around the room tells you, most of these people came here
alone. A few with spouses. What a good son they know mine must be.

“I wish my son were here.” The barely audible whisper echoes
across hidden faces and watery eyes. What a good son.
He is, but they don’t know why.

The board on the wall changes. “I have new names on the booaaard…”

And there he is.

My son stands up, in his tank top and camping shorts. He
ambles to the front of the cancer lab. Startled looks spread
across the space, a wave bouncing from one wall to the next.

“Hi, Mr. Chambers. Have you had a fever this week?
Let’s get your bracelet printed.”
—-

July 12, 2021
1:11pm

Copyright © 2021, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

If you found this page because your family is fighting glioblastoma and you need support, please visit https://frellcancer.wordpress.com for some helpful resources.

PS I am still looking for full-time work to cover cancer care at MDA. If you know anyone who needs a writer, I would be grateful for an introduction.

Voice Of Hope…

It was 20 years ago that I nearly lost my unborn son.

It was in the middle of the night.  Four and a half months into my second pregnancy, I woke up in a pool of blood.  And it became quickly obvious that I was miscarrying.  A call to my doctor confirmed my fears.  It was about 3am, so I was told I might as well rest a couple hours before coming in, and that I had a long day ahead of me.

Amidst the various bits of information over the phone, my husband and I were made aware that at this stage of pregnancy, there’s not much that can be done to save an unborn child.  That the main concern at this point was my own life and the rate of my bleeding.  I was told that I needed to go to the emergency room if my bleeding increased to filling a menstrual pad every two hours.  There was blood all over my bed, and I had no idea exactly how much I’d lost.  But an hour and a half later, my fresh pad was full.  I had no fear for my own life.  I didn’t feel weakened by the blood loss yet, but I knew I was going to lose my baby.  That I would experience what my own mother and grandmother had gone through before me.

I’m no stranger to trauma, so I did what came naturally to me.  I braced for the blow that I knew would come.  No fear about it really, just systematically getting ready to get through one more traumatic event that would shape my life as I knew it.

There was no doubt what was happening and there was no reason in my mind to see things any differently.  I was going to lose a baby.  Women have born this pain for ages.  I was not unique in this and there was no reason or time to whine.  It was just time to face it and get through.  I could fall apart later.

I had accepted that I was indeed losing a child.  And for many really good reasons.  My mother and grandmother and sister all had before me.  And I was readying myself for it.  But I had much more reason than most to so simply accept this fate.

Once upon a time, I couldn’t have children.  It was absolutely impossible.  I was baren. Until I had a full open surgery for endometriosis.  In fact, it wasn’t until after the surgery that I even found out.  Up until that point, I’d already had to embrace the understanding that women with endometriosis as bad as mine simply have a lot of trouble bringing pregnancies to term.  But I was only 23, with the scar tissue damage of someone more than twice my age.  It had begun to affect my other organs.  I was getting sicker and sicker and something had to be done.  Surgery was part of the answer.

However, it wasn’t until they went in that my surgeon discovered that my tubes were completely closed.  That meant something quite profound: it was impossible at that point for me to ever conceive.

And so he fixed me.

After the surgery, my surgeon told me that without having me open on the table, there was no way with just a scope they could have seen that my tubes were closed.

I would have tried my entire life to have kids, never knowing why I couldn’t.

That said, the surgery wasn’t 100% successful.  I still had problems with endometriosis.  But, I lived a much more normal life than before.

So as you can see, I wasn’t surprised to be losing a child.

And as I felt life flow from me, I lay there in the dark preparing myself for the emotional pain ahead, getting my head and heart ready – knowing that after so much already, I was strong enough to endure even this.

And then one of the most powerful things happened and broke me down. 

It still makes me bawl to remember it to this day.  In fact, my face is a soaking wet mess now as I type.

The experience was that powerful. 

Nothing fancy. It was simply this…
I heard a voice.  Clear as day.
And it said, “Mommy, don’t give up on me.”

That’s all the voice said.

And it was then that I knew that my son was alive.

I don’t care what you think.  I really don’t.  Whether you believe my story, or think I’m lying or you think my mind created the experience because I couldn’t accept my reality or whatever.

Because I know better.  I know exactly where my head was.  And I didn’t even try to hope.

I spent that first day going through all the things they do in a situation like mine.  Doctors everywhere consoling me about what I was about to go through.

My bleeding slowed and days would pass.  My doctors would continue to check the heartbeat and have me come in to see them every day.  They would send me for ultrasounds to evaluate the new hole in my uterus that caused the whole situation.  Doctors continued to tell me that I needed to face the reality that I would lose my child.  That I was too calm and not processing the situation as I should.  This child was not destined to live. That I needed to get a grip and prepare myself for this impending loss.

But I wasn’t phased.  I knew.

It would be 9 weeks before we knew for certain that our son was going to make it. Nine weeks of doctors telling us that we should not hope too much because the odds were so far against us.  Until finally, they said one day, well… maybe he’ll be OK after all.

I continued to bleed throughout the rest of my pregnancy, though just a trickle.  And a month early gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

So there you are, little one.  Thank you for making mommy believe in you. 

For years it seemed we had an unexplainable connection.  Every time I woke up, he was soon awake.  Not crying, not upset or fussy, just awake and ready to be with mommy.  It was so prevalent that sometimes I’d wake up and lie there quietly and think to him, no-no-no honey please do not wake up.  Stay asleep.  But he usually woke up anyway.  Other times I’d wake up, and sneak a peek at him while he slept, only to find him awake and looking at me.  And I’d think to myself, You little stinker! Are you deliberately waking me up?  Or are you just being there for mommy?  It wasn’t every night, but this unexplainable connection continued well into his school years.

He is 20 now. And 19 months ago we found out he had a very rare form of kidney cancer unheard of in anyone under the age of 20, just 5 months after the death of his father.

I faced the mortality of losing my baby that night, more than 20 years ago. And an unexplainable voice gave me hope. Gave me faith.

I think about that miraculous experience from so long ago and wonder if I might hear it again.

Will a voice in the dark give me hope? Comfort my soul?

And then, my son comes home from his late-night college class.

And while I am working away on yet another project,

he hugs me and whispers,

“I love you, Mom.”

—
11-5-2019
Copyright © 2019 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

‘Tis A Silly Place

“It’s like you’re a Doctor Who evangelist.”

That paused me.

I measured my gaze.

“What do you mean?” I asked, looking over.

“Every group of kids who come to the door! You’re like, ‘Do you like my TARDIS? Do you know what a TARDIS is? It’s from Doctor Who! You should look that up on YouTube.”

My daughter’s wry smirk looks just like her father’s.

I smile.

She’s not wrong.

Halloween is a geek’s and cosplayer’s dream holiday.

Only for me, I haven’t been costuming up that much the last few years.

This year, I grabbed my handknit Doctor Who scarf, a brown “Indiana Jones” hat and one of my wool coats and called it good.

But what I really look forward to each year is dressing up my yard.

Right square in front of our door is a lifesize TARDIS that’s my pride and joy.

You have to walk through the TARDIS to enter my home. Literally.

I bought it in a charity auction 4 years ago, the October before John was diagnosed with brain cancer.

October is our birthday month and I knew this TARDIS was perfectly my birthday gift. I also found a killer deal on a BlendTec the same month, so I was doubly happy.

Little did I know how important that BlendTec would be for John in the coming months.

The TARDIS matched our house under the overhang, beautifully. And the kids and I crafted a garden of hand mines that year to go with it.

It was glorious.

And only the knowing had any idea what they were looking at.

We were only lacking in Weeping Angels at the time. A fact I rectified last year. There are now at least 13 in my yard, hidden everywhere.

I’m sure some delivery people believe we must be very Catholic. Or simply very into angels.

What they don’t know just might steal their future though!

And then there’s our annual spider infestation.

I was so pleased when I first heard that the newly introduced season of the 13th Doctor had an episode with mutant spiders in it. Though in truth, I was disappointed with how they concluded the episode. I’m a fan of spiders and that ending was frankly illogically cruel.

But from a yard decor point of view, my spider invasion combined with the TARDIS and Weeping Angels makes my yard a pretty authentic fan fiction of its own.

Finally, after all these years they wrote an episode just for me.

We’ve lost 3 trees since John died, but we still managed to put up a good infestation of spiders this year. I couldn’t find all my crochet spider webs that I’ve made over the years. Not sure where they got put, but the giant one went up and giant momma spider, the 10-foot spider we have, was hung on the web with care.

And the effect paid off as always, demonstrated by the audible gasps when people rounded our 200-300-year-old live oaks to step onto our front walk.

You have to have big old trees to display a 10-foot spider in the air.

“There are some fun decorations in the neighborhood,” one kid told me. “But nothing compares to this! Your house is the coolest. I was here last year!”

You can believe that boosted my ego.

Though in truth, the TARDIS and angels stay up year-round.

I only take down the spiders outside. And mostly inside.

But the eclectic inside of our family TARDIS is a story for another time.

“This house has chocolate! Omg, we can have more than one piece??? You are the nicest!”

I love the smiles on the kids’ faces. Even the dubiously older ones.

Here, take another KitKat.

John always believed in handing out only the good stuff for Halloween.

None of that generic crap. The kids get plenty of that from everyone else.

Chocolate. Every year we give out chocolate.

I heard of a family that gave out king-size Snickers bars to kids one year.

I think that’s cool, but I’ve never gone that big. I stick with fistfuls of smaller bits.

I used to have a bucket of shiny pennies that every child under the age of 6 could stick their hand in and grab a handful to take home.

I liked the idea of fostering a healthy experience with a money blessing.

To give little kids that magical feeling of receiving generosity, without measure, only that they must reach out, seize it and receive it.

Besides, there’s something so pretty about shiny copper.

I need to get back to doing that again. Giving change to little kids is not very expensive at all. Especially when you consider the cost of candy.

Halloween is an odd holiday for sure.

And while it does occur during The Day Of The Dead celebrations that we have here in Texas (which culminate on November 2nd), I’m not really speaking to that part today. Though there’s certainly an influence and a magic in that part, which I do obviously appreciate.

It’s something else about Halloween. I share my perspective as someone raised without the holiday, who later came into the participation of it, thoughtfully, as a mother.

No one thinks about it being a holiday of generosity.

Its American celebration may have started out with the goal of curtailing mischief, but today, it’s evolved into an opportunity to exercise our imagination, to dress up and play as adults, to face our fears, and to bless strangers.

How interesting is that.

STRANGERS.

Of all things.

Without guilt.

Without shoulds.

Without major expectations.

Without commandment.

I mean it’s simple. It’s candy.

And fun.

And we tell each other how cool our costumes are and find out our favorite superheroes, movies, legends, and puns.

Don’t forget the puns.

No family fights over obligations.

No tantrums for not getting the latest iPhone.

And it’s OK to buy yourself something, just because you thought it would be fun.

Or thought it would make someone laugh.

Not because it was practical or necessary or expected.

It’s an interesting holiday, with something to teach.

If we let it.

Hope yours was great.

 

 

Compliment…

My son asked me to please be there for a friend of his tonight.

Of course, I agreed.

Afterward, I thanked him for asking and trusting me to help his friends.

And he paid me the highest unexpected compliment I could ask for.

“You’re literally the wisest person on the planet I know Mom, how could I not?”

[tears]

Ember…

The mountains are so pretty at sunset.

I gaze into the light.

Blinded above.

Blinded below.

Beautiful trees in my peripheral.

A warm wind swirls across my cheek and I disconnect from my body for a while.

I focus on the gift of sight.

Please God. I wanted him to see Montana.

It feels just like him. Rocky and beautiful.

Air flows around me, separating the barbs of my feathers.

I feel each loosen as I close my eyes.

Arms surround me from behind,

as a head of soft dark hair leans into my shoulder.

I loosen my soul to blend with his.

An eternal moment, destined to pass.

My skin crackles.

The fire burns so hot now.

I don’t want to go.

I don’t want you to go.

I don’t want to be reborn without you.

Please, hold my hand. Don’t leave me.

Knowing is a consuming crown.

Ashes smoke the air.

Desperately. Don’t. Want. This.

My fearless Force of Nature.

You kissed my tears and told me once that you would find me.

That nothing would stop you.

The Raptor I set free, returned but for a while.

Life without your comfort is unconscionable.

I try to calm the smolder.

Afraid to breathe on the embers of my own heart and soul.

Hold the space a little longer please.

“I’m burning up a sun, just to say goodbye.”

— July 31st, 2017 —
Copyright © 2017 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

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All I Know…

In the grand scheme of things, what will matter in 20,000 years?

All I know is that we must spend our energy wisely to get the most out of this experience we call Life. And in doing that simple thing, on a personal level, we can actually effect positive change on a universal scale.

Things go awry when we get outside ourselves. And we miss things. Important things.

I am the center of my own universe.

Nothing is more powerful than I and God in my world.

If I am not attending to my center, then I am not in balance. And if I am getting caught up in the drama of others and things outside, no matter how “justified” the cause may or may not seem, then I am not where I need to be. If I cannot act cleanly, then there is muck to clear away and work through.

I learned a long time ago – I can make a great difference in this world with just about everything and anything I put my hand to.

Without doubt.

But if that thing takes my peace and balance away, and I cannot keep upright, then it is not where I’m supposed to be, or what I’m supposed to do.

—
2-1-2017
Copyright © 2017 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

I Will Find A Way…

It is difficult to minister to the spouses of the terminally ill.

But somebody has to reach a hand back into the darkness.

Somebody has to.

I cannot turn my back knowing what I know.

Caked in mud, blood and tears.

For now, it is my hand.

Someday, somehow, I will find a way to do more.

Paradox…

How can my soul speak, when your language isn’t clear.

I flip through my collection of filters.

Each lens allows me to experience and express reality uniquely.

Colors, musical notes, equations, sound waves.

Geometric shapes, lights, patterns of stars and cells and DNA.

The mud, the bark, the rocks, the slime, the webs, the flowers.

Water, wood, metal, earth, fire and wind.

Each virtual reality filter at my fingertips.

My soul seeks, but the words are not there.

I cycle through like a ham.

Orchestrating a message of parts that even I cannot speak

And only raw flesh can comprehend.

I pull it all together into a ball and set it spinning.

A beacon, a light, pulsing with meaning.

A wolf scattered in space and time.

Casting my net into the void.

Searching for you.

—
11-30-2018
Copyright © 2018 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

Tonight I want to tell you a story about my husband John…

My name is Julia. My husband died from a terrifying brain cancer called glioblastoma. Tonight I want to tell you a story about my husband John…

John was my best friend in the world. I remember the first time he told me that I was his best friend. And I remember after years of marriage, still feeling bewildered. That John Chambers thought of me as his best friend. Because he was the toughest guy I knew. And he was cool as shit.

I asked him about his sister, and his best guy friends, all of whom he was very close to. Because I figured surely they were his best friends before I was.

And he said “That’s true, but it’s different with you. You’re my life, you’re my breath. I trust you implicitly with everything that I am. I trust you more than anyone else in the world.”

And I was humbled by this 6’5″ operatic giant, who was intelligent and tough, and who believed in always doing the right thing. That the strong should protect the weak. That the able had a responsibility to use their strengths for good. That those with knowledge should train others. And I was slightly terrified to be entrusted with so profound a thing.

John was a hero and a great leader to others. The guy who rescued people from an elevator during a power outage in a snowstorm, because it was the right thing to do. And he was the only one strong enough to open the doors to do it.

He was Super Man, and out of everyone, he cherished and trusted me most.

I was stunned at the beautiful confirmation that our souls spoke beyond words. He was my everything. Together we were empowered. Together we could do anything. Together, no one could stop us. Together we were both better individually and collectively.

How did I come to be the one to hold the precious jewels of his heart and trust. It was easy for me to see why I trusted him. Why I fell so hard for him. He was such a good, good man. Not to mention he had an enchanted singing voice. But for him to fall so hard for me, to so deeply trust me…. How did it come to be?

John told me a story about a lesson he learned from his widowed grandmother. One summer during college, he stayed with her, helping her paint and repair the home that his grandfather built. John loved great conversation and he cherished the time he spent with his grandparents. At some point during this summer, the subject of relationships came up, and John made some comment to his grandmother about the kind of (tall) woman he needed to find to marry. And she told him “You don’t marry a body, you marry a mind.”

Her words struck his core profoundly, and he never forgot. “You are gorgeous,” he said to all 5’1″ of me, “But more than that, your heart and mind are astonishingly beautiful. I love who you are inside. Others don’t see it, but I do.” It was a raw moment of love and joy. To be truly seen, soul to soul. A moment I couldn’t believe I was lucky to have.

John told me often during our 22 years together that it was his job to remind me how beautiful I was, inside and out. To set things right and make up for traumas of the past. To help me to see my beauty and believe in myself. To help me experience that life could be fun. John taught me that I had a right to safety and that it was OK to have healthy boundaries. And he told me, over and again, unto the last weeks of his life, that I was the reason that he was a better man. That without me, his life wouldn’t have been enriched and that because of me he wanted that much more to be a better man. That he wanted that much more to do good things, to help others and make a difference in the world.

And here I thought it was he who taught me more about real love than anyone I’d ever known.

As I stumble through the shards left of my reality after his death, I try to hang onto his words. I remind myself that one of the best souls I’ve ever known never stopped thinking that my mind was smart and beautiful. He even thought I gave good advice. I always counted on his, and boy could I use some of it right now.

I wrote before about the gift of holding our children’s beginnings. The part of life that later our kids cannot remember. The part of their beginning that no one else sees. No one else contains more of those moments than we parents. We hold our children’s first stories.

I did not expect the astonishing reality of holding my husband’s ending. It is a terrifying, yet precious gift. To hold him, his heart and soul. To walk his last walk with him and share his nightmare. To fight for him with every drop of my blood, every beat of my heart, every breath in my chest. To crack wide open and pull out every possible skill I could to save his life. To be the one to bear witness to every honorable and gritty detail. The one who contains his final story. The one to be entrusted with his death.

I am his horcrux.

I hold his story. Together he can never be defeated.

Graph…

Life has always been a series of Stories.

Some more enjoyable than others.

There’s always a Path.

There’s always a Creative Lesson.

There’s always some Pain.

There’s always some Joy.

Some days are Zen.

Some are Hell.

Some are Kittens and Sunflowers.

Some are Simply Now.

Some days we’re Aligned.

Some days we’re Not.

Life is a Line Graph.

Up and down, back and forth.

Never in the same place twice.

Except when Lightning Strikes.

When the heartbeat of my line graph flat lines,
I have to ask myself these things…

What are my trigger points and why?
What needs have I neglected?
What boundaries do I need to repair?
What am I not giving voice to?
What message is my soul desperate for me to hear?
What nourishment am I starving for?
What circulation has been cut off?
What relationships need cultivation?
What is the urgency I feel in this moment?
What is aching to Move?
What actually Matters?
What actions will help me to slow down?
What does it take to Breathe?
What programs are running?
What flow is missing?
What routines need to Be?

My dear, dear Julia
What Sign do you Need?

—
11-28-2018
Copyright © 2018 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

Comfortable…

“Why do you keep doing? It seems like no one notices. Has anyone told you they cared? What value is there in continuing to give in ways that may never return to you?”

And I don’t know what to say to her.

I mean,

I have never…

known…

what to say

to reason.

I saw things differently as a child.

I see things differently as a mother.

I’ve been different all my life.

I’ve never focused on the “fairness” of giving without condition; of serving without thanks or feedback.

I see need and I scramble to salve it.

Because someone must.

The world is just mommy spit and kisses away from being lost.

I do not do

what I do

because I need

permission

from anyone

other than

myself.

“But you are giving everything away and nothing is coming back,” she tells me.

I still don’t know what to say.

Is that true, I wonder?

Is nothing coming back?

Am I hurting myself?

Considering how comfortable my conscience is,

I doubt the damage would be too much.

—
11-27-2018
Copyright © 2018 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

How: The Question Of Overwhelm…

Instead of asking, how can I make this easier?
Ask, what can I do to make this easier?

Instead of asking, how can I be happy?
Ask, what do I need right now to be happy?

Instead of asking, how are you going to do that?
Ask what steps will you take to carry out xyz?

Instead of asking, how are you doing?
Ask, what are you feeling?
What do you need? What is helpful?
What can I do that will make a difference?
What’s the most loving thing I can do for this person right now?

Instead of asking, how am I going to get everything done?
Ask, what can I cut out that will free up the most time?
What tasks can I rearrange to reduce the stress I feel?
What resources can help me win this?

Instead of asking, how is this going to work?
Ask, what is our plan? (Do we have a plan?)
What is our focus? What can we accomplish this week?

Instead of asking, how could they do this to me?
Ask, what boundaries have I not set?
What expectations do I have?
What needs have I not expressed?
What messages am I sending that I didn’t mean to?

Instead of asking, how was your day?
Ask, what was the most interesting part of today?
Or most entertaining? Or most terrifying? Whatever fits?

Instead of asking, how will I afford this?
Ask, what are our goals?
What do you need to meet our goals?
What actions are needed to make this happen?
What are some ways I can cut my expenses? Increase my income?

HOW is too often the nebulous, undefined question of stress, reaction, and overwhelm.

For forward-motion, focused solutions, and freedom, instead ask WHAT.

—
November 25th, 2018
1:13pm

Copyright © 2018, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

The Waters Of Dragonfly Pond…

I’ve always loved the idea of having chickens, though I’m not actually sure on the follow through. I certainly enjoy buying eggs from friends who raise them.

When the kids were much younger, they took pottery and drawing lessons. The drawing lessons were especially helpful for my son, who had both dysgraphia and amblyopia.  The lessons were amazing, and came from an art studio based out of a beautiful little ranch/farm property north of town. It was called Dragonfly Pond.

The family who lived there and owned the studio didn’t really have an actual “farm” like some of their neighbors, but they did have chickens, peacocks, guineas, geese, and all sorts of other birds that freely roamed their entire property.

Did you know that peacocks will hunt snakes? Such beautiful birds, and very loud.

In the back of the art center, the owners built a little bubbling brook; a man-made fountain stream, running through the back “yard.” There were bushes and Texas holey rocks and flowers and bits of pottery projects all around.

A picnic table and tree swing was set up next to the little stream. Parents and students would wait on their lessons outside in the little garden brook area (and enjoy the scenery). It was beautiful and the farm birds roamed everywhere. There was plenty to enjoy even while waiting for lessons to begin or end.

I enjoyed some blessed little Zen moments waiting in that little garden stream area for my kids. Waiting for the moments when they would rush outside, “Mommy, mommy – look what I made!” Cheering them on. Picking up acorns, feathers and rock treasures and soaking up the fresh air.

Happy moments.

Though the art studio family had a fenced off coop for the birds at night, the chickens would literally lay eggs just about anywhere and everywhere. Eggs could be found in the rocks by the stream, by the parking area, even in the prickly pear cacti! Seeing eggs nestled up against the base of a cacti is one of those moments I wish I’d caught on film. I mean, just imagine…

Many of the chickens were very docile and there was one in particular that my daughter Jack would pick up and carry around. The little hen seemed to beg for her attention, follow her around. And once a year when the peacocks shed their tail feathers, the art studio would let each kid take home a feather.

Coming there every week was an amazing and healing experience for the kids and I both. Back in the days when John was deployed. The days when the kids first cried every night for their father.

And I always thought, you know – that’s the way to do it. It was obvious the birds were happy in this place. And it was such an organic experience for the kids and I both. If I were to have chickens, that would be the way to do it.

Sadly Dragonfly Pond has since closed and sold, years ago.  Volente bought the ranch land backing their property with the intention of putting in a water park. I’m not sure if the park will ever be built, but there was a big brew-ha-ha when the land was first bought. Several homes on the other side of the fence sold. Supposedly the water park was going to be like a Robinson Caruso theme park, with tree-house hotels. But nothing has yet ever been built. Sad.

I’m just glad someone introduced us to the studio and that we were enriched by it. And during a time we needed nurturing. I’m grateful that it became part of our treasured memories before it went away.

I’m not sure I’ll ever own chickens one day or not. But if I did, that would surely be the way.

My Current Favorite Method For Instant Pot Roast Beef…

I joined the IP madness last year on Black Friday. Got a killer deal on a Duo Plus after researching them for a few months prior.

Ever since, I’ve been absolutely smitten by this little wonder pot.

I grew up with pressure cooking, but also never forgot the time my mom blew up a pressure cooker in our kitchen. Nor had I forgotten what a pain the pressure cooker pots were to clean. So I really kind of ignored the whole IP frenzy for a few years. After all, I had TWO pressure cookers in my cabinets that I just didn’t want to use, because I didn’t want something to go wrong or have to clean them up.

Enter the magical world of Instant Pot (IP)!

Now, I wish I’d never waited. It’s very portable and travels easily. I’ve used it to cook dinner in hotel rooms and to help out when I visit friends and family.

Instant Pot would have saved the day many times while John was sick. Not to mention all those times we’d look at each other around dinner time and ask each other – “Hey, did you pull the meat out of the freezer? “No, I thought you did….” “Sigh… Sh******!”

As long as it fits into the pot, it doesn’t matter what shape your frozen food is in – the Instant Pot (IP) will cook it in no time!

My current favorite recipe right now is this roast beef method on This Old Gal. This method is surprisingly quick and exceptional.

It’s been a big hit for our family, and our gatherings, but I tweak it this way…

I use Apothic Dark for the wine, skip the fish sauce, mustard and TOG seasoning. For the rub I use grape seed oil, Trader Joe’s 21 Seasoning Salute, Fiesta fajita seasoning and salt/pepper instead. And 2 bay leaves added to the pot, not just one. Rub it all over with minced garlic too! This time I also sprinkled on smoked paprika. AND I let the roast rest at room temperature for a couple hours before putting into the pot. Resulting in this beautiful baby!

For reference, this is a 2.45 lb eye of round beef roast. Ready to go into The Pot.

Instant Pot (IP) Roast Beef – fresh from the pot! Slicing up thin.

Just like the recipe calls, I use the sauté setting to just barely brown the roast on all sides, then use the meat setting on low pressure for 4 minutes.

After it’s reached pressure, I let it natural pressure release (aka. NPR) for 25 minutes.

I didn’t use a thermometer on mine to gauge it. I just found that with this small of a roast, this got me where I wanted the doneness to be.

In this photo, though, the roast is a little more done than I wanted, because I accidentally let it NPR about 40 minutes instead of 25.

But still, not bad! And quite tasty!

Know what my 2nd most favorite part of making roast in the IP is?
Warming up leftovers!

Leftover Instant Pot Roast Beef warmed up on the STEAM function. 3 days later!

So here’s the thing. You can warm up your leftover roast (steaks and such too) in the Instant Pot – without over cooking it, without slicing it and packing it in ice and putting in the oven, and without a number of other often suggested ways that usually result in overdone meat and lots of time.

Instead, put your leftover roast into a Pyrex container on a rack inside your IP. Make sure there’s at least 1 cup of liquid in there. Put the pot on the STEAM setting for 8-15 minutes (gauge depending on the size of the roast). Then NPR for at least 10 minutes.

And voilà! It may not still be medium rare, but it’ll be hot and medium!

Just look at my photo on the right! That’s the same roast, warmed up on the STEAM setting 3 days later!

And it tastes almost like I just made it today!

Let me know if you try it! 😁

The World Needs More Love Letters…

Another good man is dying in great pain tonight, while his loyal wife loves by his side.

She’s reached out multiple times to our prayer text chat.

I don’t know her. She doesn’t know me. We’ve never met.

A friend of a friend, desperate to try to help me through the tasks set before me, asked if I’d like to receive encouraging bible verses.

She sends them via group text every morning. I said sure.

I know she spends time, prayer and meditation on what verses to share each day and I find them pleasant. And I deeply respect and appreciate her efforts to show comfort to others.

More recently there have been extra requests for prayers, as this man’s cancer battle is ending.

The texts are brief, but potent with pain.

It hits my heart and I soul-search on what I can say that isn’t trite, or cliché, or preachy, or meaningless? Or that doesn’t send me into a tailspin of anxiety myself.

After all, I know better than most what she’s going through.

I know she feels hopeless and I’m not sure I can give her any. But I’ve found more than anything, the gift of witness is something powerful.

I no longer need someone to tell me things are going to be ok. They aren’t. They won’t be. I’ve survived more than most people can imagine and I’m quite aware that life goes on, whether I want it to or not.

But acknowledgement. Compassion. Witness. Those are powerful supports when the worst has/is happening.

I can’t stop the raging sand storm, but someone please pull out your camera and acknowledge that the storm exists. That my hair is a fantastic wreck. I really did see Big Foot.

“Ah, this is nothing. You’re too strong to let this get you.”

This stranger isn’t the only one. At least 3 of John’s and my friends are fighting for their lives against terminal cancer right now.

I don’t know what’s happening to gen-x, but deep sadness pervades our circles.

Encouragement has been a lifeline for me, and I very much want to provide encouragement for others as well.

I know how life saving it can actually be.

I also understand how hard it can be for others to figure out what to say.

No one has been trained for these things with the modern eye and understanding. No one wants to hurt me. No one wants to be afraid or feel these things or contemplate the possibilities that they might ever endure something similar to what they see when they glance my way.

Even in understanding all these pieces, sometimes words fail me when I want to encourage others.

Perhaps because I’ve already processed too much data for the day, and my words don’t want to work anymore.

And sometimes I wish I could just reach out and hold somebody’s hand, or hug them, or cry with them to show them I care and they’re not alone. Our experiences may be different, but there’s a fraternal understanding of the nuances of trauma, grief, disease, tragedy and loss. Something I’ve come to recognize with honor.

We try too hard to do everything right, that we are willing to freeze our souls just so we don’t make a mistake. We feel compassion, but we’re afraid to show it, or speak. We’re afraid to risk, so we bury the talent we’ve been given, to make sure we don’t judge or cause harm to others.

But risk is in the very air we breathe. We cannot escape it.

Nothing which has changed the world for the better has ever come at less than the price of risk.

So much of the time we stop telling people the things we feel. Messages never said, thoughts never spoken. We should all write more “letters” in the world.

If we never held back on communicating the love and encouragement we feel, I wonder how would that change the world?

Maybe it doesn’t change the world. Maybe it only changes one moment. But even that solitary seed has to count, right?

I keep reminding myself that there is No Fear In Love.

Every small nudge of encouragement, even a simple “thinking of you” is helpful; like a palm at my elbow, helping me find balance when I’m dizzy. Like a whisper on the wind; God’s reassurance working through others.

But then there are the insightful and creative responses too. And they do more than steady me.

They sparkle.

They deliver a bit of Life essence, something I have given out so much of and need to replenish. If given in love and honesty, they’re more than whispers – they’re God breezes and life-saving Light.

I’m not the only person in the world to go through awful things. So I feel it’s only right to learn from these gifts and seed it back out to my world.

I realize it’s an assumption that others experience this as I do. But it feels like Truth. And I want to be better and more generous with my love and words.

I don’t understand God’s plan for us, but I’m convinced that if we’ll allow it, He’ll use us to transmute these things.

I have long thought of tribulations in Life as a series of Whys, that if we consciously work with the Divine, will turn into Wows.

I haven’t found my big wow yet, but I look forward to discovering it someday.

And I hope you find yours too.

If Wishes Were Fishes…

I believe the only way to get through crisis is to focus on the right now, and the just next.

That and healthy boundaries.

Obviously there are some things that could have long-term impact on your family if they don’t get done, but…

I wish I’d spent less time handling paperwork while John was sick, less time letting people tell me what I needed to do with said paperwork, and spent more time just holding my love’s hand, giving him every kiss I could and snuggling every chance.

I wish I took more naps with John. Sat on the couch and watched TV with him more.

It’s not that we didn’t have those moments. We did. But we could have had more before he died.

I did a lot, yes, and in a weird way, it was our trips to Houston for cancer treatment that gave us more time together, than at home when all the stuff had to be done. When the mailbox screamed at us.

But even so, I still wish I’d forgone some of the papers and phone calls and spent more of that time/energy with John.

In the end, maybe it helped some that I was on top of papers, but it didn’t prevent issues completely, I’m still in paperwork hell. The mailbox is just as loud and off-key.

And right now, I don’t care. I just want those moments with John. Once more his arms around me.

Don’t take it for granted. Don’t let the world tell you to focus on anything else.

The little moments matter so much more than you know.

NaBloPoMo Tribal Resources – Find Your People People!

If you are looking for ways to participate in NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) this November and meet others as crazy as you for considering this challenge in the midst of Thanksgiving, or if you’re a NaBloPoMo wannabe-supportive-I-eat-blogs-for-breakfast-groupie, here are a few places where people and information are pooling this year:

The challenge known as Nano Poblano has been around a while, hosted by the Cheer Peppers. If you want to join their ranks as a Cheer Pepper and share November posts, that’s done in their Facebook Group and on their website here. I joined them last year, so you’ll see me in the group if you join too. Check out the 2018 NaNoPoblano Team for some great reads from bloggers ranging from seasoned (spicy!) and new. You can find the badge here on the left and a list of blogging resources from the Cheer Peppers here.  Official Hashtags/blogtags: #NaBloPoMo #NanoPoblano2018 #TeamTinyPepper. You can even find an active team Instagram page: @teamtinypeppers

Aimie Clouse over at Blissful Lemon hosted a NaBloPoMo challenge list last year. For 2018 she’s proposing a #Create30 challenge, where you create something every day for 30 days, but the form is more flexible. It’s not just geared towards writers. If you found the pressure of NaBloPoMo to be a bit much, but you want to keep your creative juices flowing, then you might want to check out her challenge for November.

A NaBloPoMo Revival Group has been established on Facebook just in time for this year’s challenge as well. As their tag line suggests, it’s a group “for all of us dealing with the withdrawal.” Think I joined? Duh, yup. They’re singing my song. Well, I’ve asked to join anyway. I’m sure they’ll approve my request soon, right? You can join too -> here. There are some other groups listed on Facebook for NaBloPoMo, but some are expired BlogHer groups and honestly this is the only related public FB group that looks like it’s active or cares.

To help with the enabling, I’ve created a NaBloPoMo Roster event listing over on my Aberrant Crochet Facebook page where everyone can share their NaBloPoMo posts. I’ll monitor it, but please feel free to share and chat there if you like. Being on Facebook should make it easy for people to share their posts without crashing anyone’s website. You can find that event page here: https://www.facebook.com/events/305018210336226

See Jane Write is also hosting a November blogging challenge called #BlogLikeCrazy. By all descriptions it seems identical to NaBloPoMo, just much younger and perhaps hosted differently. You can check out that November challenge and any connected communities here: https://seejanewritebham.com/bloglikecrazy.

Several bloggers are taking to social media to share their challenge posts on their own.

You can find all sorts of goodness from them at the following links:

https://twitter.com/hashtag/nablopomo

https://plus.google.com/s/nablopomo/top

https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/nablopomo

https://www.instagram.com/explore/tags/nablopomo2018

Know More Places?

If you know of more communities and places where the collective heart of NaBloPoMo can be found this year, do share in the comments below! Help our fellow writers and creatives find each other and commune again.

Should make for some really interesting and wonderful food for thought during this month of Thanksgiving. Good luck to all!

Talk to you tomorrow!

 

Reaping Thorns: The Only Lifeline Is Love…

Yesterday, March 7th, marked the 2 year anniversary of rushing John to the ER. The day we first learned about glioblastoma. The day his 18 month, 8 day, 8 hour fight for life began.

Today our son walks into MD Anderson for surgery to remove the tumor inside his kidney.

We’re a whirl of emotions that should not exist all at once. But this Oprah article about failing friends in grief was appreciated.

Nothing teaches you harder about the impact of well-meant but misplaced words than the death of a spouse (or child), and worse when it is prefaced by a long, traumatic and even horrific journey to get there. A patient/caregiver/lovers’ journey that appears quieter than its reality, because you cannot talk about most of the grit. Because it’s too raw for anyone to experience. And you cannot go there without knowing you’re safe to open that door. No matter how desperately you need it.

The yearning for meaningful witness reaps thorns with it too. The callousness of the world levies its attention. And as the thorns collect, you cannot help but fear, dear God, did I ever do this to someone myself?

At least with the anticipatory grief that comes with a terminal illness, John and I could hold each other and witness each our tears.

With widowhood, any coping equipment you had for dealing with trauma is taken from you. The one person in your world who you always counted on and shared with is no longer there. Not to mention your every reality is permanently changed by no choice of your own. You not only lose your spouse, but everything you know and have is either taken or threatened too. Your time is stolen and effectiveness reduced; responsibilities change and magnify.

Unless a safety net can be successfully cast, your fall will be permanently disabling. Perhaps this is in part why the ministry to widows and orphans is so compelled in the Bible and in other religious texts. The alteration of reality can be crippling.

You will never ever see your husband again. You will never again feel their touch. They will never earn an income or owe taxes again. They will never put their things away ever again. They will never share the rest of your memories in any way. My John will never physically see his grandchildren and they will never get to meet him, even in passing. My heart will never recover its missing pieces. The bonding that marriage is, when you succeed – is excruciating when it is severed in trauma. Love is valuable, but it comes at a cost in the face of trauma. And the possibilities of never are endless.

Widowhood is torturous on multiple levels. The loss alone is more than enough. Grief will have its way with you, regardless of how much you understand. Regardless of your power of will. Like cancer, it is no respecter of persons. That carnivore will alter your capability in life, augmented by the quality of your relationship. The deeper the bond, the deeper the fractures. Yet the world steals more than just its lump of flesh. The startling negative things people will say. The vulnerability in a society that is still male dominant. The opportunists who come out of the wood work. But we don’t have the protection of neighbors and communities today like we once did in our history.

Even our friends get weird. They expect us to be normal, to react normal, to think normal, to remember like a normal remembers. They cannot see we lost an entire soul that once was inside. We simply cannot perform the way we did, until we recover. And maybe not even then. Maybe we’re different forever.

And then there’s the impact of silence, and the secondary vacuums that friends disappear into, which augments the feeling of losing every thing you value, trusted and recognize about the way you live, move and operate in the world.

In grief you are often forced to alter your perspective on relationships – that you did not expect to have to – along with your sense of trust and safety with others. Imagine suddenly having to reevaluate the safety of every relationship you’ve ever had. As death brings out the strange in people.

Some say cancer/illness/death shows you who your friends really are. Because friends wouldn’t hurt or abandon you if they cared, right? Especially when the demands upon you have multiplied beyond what a normal human being can expect.

I don’t know if that’s necessarily quite accurate, or even completely fair. That blanket seems a bit big.

Even now, in the well I’ve fallen into, I think that perspective is largely thanks to the filter of trauma we cannot help but be altered by. The tunnel vision we rely on in trauma, as all that we are often able to see is just the step we’re executing just right now. Blindingly looking for something to lean on, but faltering to find, because life knocked us silly and it’s not always easy for others to recognize.

No one is trained for this.

Not me. Not my friends.

I do not even now entirely understand what I need.

Just that I do. Need.

I know I’m far too vulnerable when a furniture salesman almost gets an earful from me, because my voice has been dumb for too long.

Neither I nor my friends will learn this without going through it together. And they cannot learn it if I am silent too.

I’m being forced into a rebirth I desperately did not want.

Every aspect of life as I’ve known it, in every way possible has been forcefully altered. It is unlike anything imaginable. Anguish that cannot be fathomed without experience. Something I could never wish on another. And yet desperately need witness for if I’m to heal.

We are all afraid of being overwhelmed, especially by what we do not understand. Trusting in God is helpful, but it doesn’t erase the way we’re designed. Without regular compassion to offset the regular negative, it’s no wonder that the loss of social support leads to “excess mortality rates” after the death of a spouse in our society.

Loss is part of the way of Life in this world. We cannot escape loss as part of our molding. Our losses are matched by our ability to Love. Our overcoming matched by the growth we already have achieved.

Well-meant but misplaced words injure. Silence injures less, but still injures. Silence robs friends of the opportunity to offset injuries caused by others. Because the callousness of the world will be on the doorstep. Not to mention judgement, gossip and malice. These too exist.

Am I what you expected after all.

How do we surmount both the precipice and the mountain falling down around us, as the tornadoes roar and floods gather at our knees?

There is only one answer. Face what you fear. The physical is transient. And the only lifeline is Love.

“Embrace the suck.” It was John’s message when he trained his men.

John’s words, his love, the Love of my Creator, and the love of my children and friends prop me as I face our son’s surgery today.

—–
March 8th, 2018
8:15am
by Julia Meek Chambers
All rights reserved.

Dark Side Of The Moon…

For me the storm is not over.

Merely changing its color.

Noise still deafens.

Wind still rages.

My head still tucked,

Bracing against the force and hanging on.

Bleeding wounds still unattended,

My furious storm shifts gears.

Black Hole devoured my Trees,

Swallowed my Sun

And gave black ice.

Dark, blinding, cold.

Vacant spot beside.

I am no longer a shield.

I am solitaire.

—

Written 11-30-2017, 01:30am
Copyright © 2017 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

Silence Is Broken…

I finally dreamed about John 3 nights ago.

I was at an old drive in movie place, but instead of parking for cars, there was a collection of remodeled vans, cargo trucks and buses in the movie lot – tiny house style.

Where the guts of the original vehicle are removed and the inside is remodeled like an apartment.

Only these were basically just rooms to hang out in.

All the wheels had been removed from the vehicles and they just sat on the ground.

I walk up to the back of a long, converted cargo van and open the doors.

All the seats and stuff inside had been cleared out of it, save a single white bench seat/couch positioned in the middle, facing the back doors where I stood.

A custom couch made to look like it belongs in an old car, but obviously way more comfortable.

The van definitely seems bigger to me on the inside.

And there was John sitting on the couch, in his jeans, t-shirt and ball cap.

He tells me, hey baby – why don’t you come in and spend some time with me?

I look around, noting the absence of anything else inside this van.

And I quip, “Well now… I guess you did clean everything up quite a bit!”

Cocking my head, I smile coyly and start to close the door and come sit with him.

And then I freeze, staring at him – suddenly realizing, dear god I’m dreaming about him.

Nine weeks since he died and I’m finally seeing him.

But as soon as I realized he was there, the vision broke and I woke up. 😦

I tried to go back to sleep and revisit that dream, but it didn’t work.

Still, it’s remarkably comforting.

After weeks of complete vacuum, without a good or even a bad dream about John or our fight again GBM, I finally saw my love.

I just hope I see him more.

I don’t have to agree with you to find value in what you have to say

You know, a common (perhaps even fear based) block occurred to me this morning.

It’s a prevalent misnomer to think we have to embrace or commit to another point of view in order to gain from it or find value in it – we don’t.

Listening, learning, considering other points of view does not somehow lock us down.

It does not place chains on us. If anything, it makes us free.

The value is in the exchange, testing and even the voicing of ideas.

The keeping of ideas is not as laudable as reasoning and consideration.

We don’t have to agree in order to both be right.

And when you are fearless enough to accept that truth, the value that cracks open from that geode is breathtaking really.

We are amazing, intelligent and creative creatures.

Even when we don’t agree.

 

 

Drive…

I don’t have a lot of answers. But I do have a few.

Life is too short a game to stick with things you hate.

Anything that takes your peace away is not healthy for you long-term.

Sure, there’s risk in change.

But all things worth anything require risk.

Life is risk. Love is risk. Hate is risk. Health is risk.

Winning is risk. Losing is risk.

Just releasing your voice upon the ether is risk.

ART IS RISK.

You can do everything right and lose every thing.

But in risking everything, you actually risk nothing.

Because you can’t opt out.

RISK is in every breath already.

It’s what makes life – LIFE.

Regardless of what you choose to do,
one of two things will happen.

You will take the next breath, or you won’t.

There’s freedom in that fact.

Might as well see what this game can look like.

And therein lies the key.

So ok, you can’t quit that job you hate today.

Or drop that class. Or move your family.

It sucks.

But you can craft a plan and set things in motion to move in a direction you want.

What does that take?

How would you get more data to look at those ideas more closely?

What doors would need to open?

How do you find those doors?

Who are the people associated with those doors and where do you meet them?

Work the problem backwards and find yourself some steps to start with.

If nothing else, life won’t be boring if you pursue this exercise in free will.

And know this.

YOU are the most powerful thing in your entire universe.

Nothing is more powerful than you. Save God, but he gives you free will.

So be your own creator.

Whether you’re an introvert or an extrovert, doesn’t matter.

Grab the handles of that motorcycle and drive that engine where you want to go.

Whatever you do – DON’T make a plan based on what you think the world wants.

Screw that.

What would you like to do? What does quality of life mean to you?

What would you like written on your gravestone?

Start with that.

But don’t wait around. Death is certain for us all.

I’m no one special, but I hope this helps.

Resolve to trust yourself a little more tomorrow than you do right now.

You won’t regret it.

“The trouble is, you think you have time.”
– Jack Kornfield, Buddha’s Little Instruction Book

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El Dorado…

It’s been a difficult few days.

Actually, a difficult few weeks and months.

Actually… 18 months of crisis fighting tooth and nail to be exact.
Difficult challenges around every corner.

Culminating up to a pinnacle, a colossus.

I suppose befitting the force of nature that I fiercely love. Who showers me and our children with his fierce love in return. Our love that was not simply stumbled upon in luck, but worked, created, earned and crafted between us over 22 years. #SeizeTheRide

John’s chariot came. He was stolen away this weekend, far too soon.

Neither he nor I did anything to deserve the pain and trials received through this journey, but we strove to create something better through them anyway. We chose to transmute and live consciously and as gracefully as possible. And do every damned thing we could to help others, every chance possible.

I’d like to think our lives were richer and more meaningful for it.

The love and support of others helped in every way.

To everyone who has followed and simply made a point of reaching out and holding our hands in this most terrible of storms – our utmost gratitude.

– ♡♡ –

#RaiseAwareness  #Glioblastoma #CureGBM #PrayersContinued

Here’s what I wrote for John’s FB page.  I don’t think I can write it again: https://www.facebook.com/303426583411423/photos/a.303554250065323.1073741831.303426583411423/368767613543986/?type=3&theater

The Reveal…

The din rises and surrounds me.

Complaints and feelings and judgements and hate.

Everyone hurts, at least a little.

And so I stretch and I climb.

Petty ideas and rigid mindsets
disassemble easily in the face of extremity.

Every thing someone wants me to invest into,
I can sling shot at that.

The true test of mettle.

You’ll never know how strong something is
until you push it to the breaking point.

This is true of ideas, things, ethos and people.

The Face of Extremity will undress anything.

My can crusher of Enlightenment.

Clatter beckons at my knee; I reach for limb and pull.

The noise has always bothered me; the annoyance and distraction.

I used to be impatient with it.

But right now it simply falls away.

My ears and eyes and heartbeat only have room for Now.

Purity, truth, honor, love.

The gap that swallowed me whole.

Right Now.

Right Now.

Just Now.

One heartbeat. And two.

Who knew faith required a plastic mind?

—

Written 03-18-2017, 02:48am
Copyright © 2017 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

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Heartbeat In My Ears…

My true story. 

There’s a heartbeat sounding in my ears.

“See mom, these are the Hot Wheels I want to keep, because they have moving parts.”  The rest can go to the fundraiser.

Moving parts are always more interesting.

Thump-thump.

I hear the crashing sound of a demolition crew.

Wait….  That’s not right.  I’m sitting at a stop light.  At an intersection on the edge of town.  Nothing but trees and cacti on my right.  I turn to my left.

Heartbeat.

There’s an infinity in the space between moments.  Did I leave my body?

Heartbeat.  Silence.

My child!

If I left my body, it wasn’t for long.  But I’m frozen.

The pickup driver’s hair is blonde.

Flash…..

My earliest childhood memory takes place in my father’s arms at an amusement park.  My parents told me that I must have been about 18 months old when they took that trip.

I’m staring at a ride that looks something like a huge airplane propeller with rockets on each end.  It’s painted red, white and blue, with one end red, the other blue and a band of white at the axis.

The propeller spins and there is a boy in the blue rocket.  His shirt is yellow.  He’s screaming his head off and I can see a look in his eyes.

Flash…..

A black pickup is hanging in mid-air.  It twists and grows larger.

Fractured glass.

The driver’s hair is blonde.  There is a look in his eyes.

My hand flies out in front of my son.

Flash…..

It’s Friday before Spring Break 2005.  I’m going to see Grandma Dot and Grandpa Jack.  I packed the antique dishes Grandma Dot’s great-uncle gave her, that she passed on to me.  He was the US ambassador to Mexico once and he brought her back this set of white dishes.  I want to ask her for more details to complete the story about these dishes.  She always remembers the stories to everything.  But when I tried to ask over the phone, she wasn’t sure which set I was talking about.

They were last to load into the trunk.

“Darling, let me keep the kids.  I know you wonder if this might be the last time they’ll get to see the kids or not, but you’ll be stressed out trying to keep them away from the breakables at your grandparents.  I’ll keep the kids.  Just go, enjoy your time with your grandparents.”

My husband is wonderful.  Though guilt worries me.  What if this is the last time Grandpa is able to see his great-grandchildren?  But John’s right – Grandma’s house is not child-proof by any means.  I remove the car seats from the back seat, say goodbye to my children and leave them with John.

I always say prayers in the car when I go on a trip.

It’s Friday before spring break and Interstate 35 is filled with college students, excited for the break.  Mid-terms are over and I see kids hanging out of cars at 65 miles an hour whooping up the day.

It’s dangerous.  But I also remember college mid-terms and how delirious they make you feel.  Stress that only the young can take.  Why do we do that to them?

At mile marker 299:  The highway suddenly goes from three lanes to two, with no warning.

Some kids cut off a yellow moving truck; they’re trying to merge and going too fast.  The yellow truck practically stands on its brakes and every car around it suddenly fishes right or left to avoid collision.  There is a full shoulder on the left which only lasts for about one mile.  The young man in front of me and I quickly and successfully move to that left shoulder and safely get by.

Suddenly, there’s a force from behind me that is so great.

Can sounds blind you?

I look to my rear-view and see the demolition hitch.  It’s coming through my back window towards my head.  The white Ford F-350 doesn’t have a grill on the front.  There’s something else attached.  It looks like the front of a snow-plow.

The truck is so much higher than my silver Altima, that it never hits my bumper.  Unbounded, it plows through my back window and seat. The trunk of my car is center-punched down the middle.  Slammed, I collide into the car ahead of me.

For an instant, everything is black.

My hood blows.  Glass sprays like snow.  My shoulder hurts like hell.  My air-bag never deployed.

Just two weeks before this, I saw a little silver car smashed between the highway median wall and a semi truck on the way to the kids’ school.  I came home and told my husband, “I don’t want to drive a little silver car anymore.”

I guess I got my wish.

I start shaking uncontrollably and burst into tears.  I am going numb.

Flash…..

It’s just like a movie stunt, except without exciting music, and without a drumbeat.  Just my heart, ringing in my ears.

The little black truck is hanging high in the air – twisting, flying towards us.

I am frozen.  Caught between stories in time.

My stories.  My traumas.  My time-warp.  The words ring through me, “I just got a new home and now my child and I are going to die.”

And those aren’t spoken words.  There is no “hearing” of them.  They impress on the very soul, like a stamp.  Like a vice.  Punching through the heart and being.

My hand flies out in front of my son.  The truck slams to the ground on its nose and bounces, flipping towards us.

The driver’s hair is blonde.  I’m boxed in.  I can’t back up.

There’s nowhere to go.  I am frozen.

It is silent.

---

Minding My Tabs…

There are 666 tabs open on my Firefox browser.

I’ve officially gone to the dark side…

Where they have tabs.

Poppies – Pins for a Cause…

My daughter’s new enamel pins–just finished for her Etsy store (SquashRabbit) to support another worthy cause.

This time the flowers are poppies!

These are completely her design, inspired by remembrance traditions from around the world.

Including the shiny metallic black back cards. She wanted the cards to be as elegant as the pins.

Aren’t they beautiful? #ProudMama

She’s decided to benefit veterans and their children in crisis after a loss.

If you don’t mind sharing, I know she’ll be grateful for your support.

Pins can be found here: https://www.etsy.com/listing/1113279930/remembrance-poppy-enamel-pins.

#pinsforacause

It’s Not Enough…

It’s not enough to just be a writer.

We must be partners and creators.

Comprehend more than reducing life to nouns and verbs.

We must be ambassadors between worlds
that otherwise would not share a glance.

Bearing witness to the untold story–we celebrate the unfamous.

We must not be quiet.

Otherwise, certain stories will never be told, and many of us will disappear.

—-
Pondering pitches….
November 4, 2021
6:41pm
Copyright © 2021, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

Copyright and Fair Use…

I run into creative licensing discussions when writing ads for clients–frequently.

Many myths abound over an image’s fair use, what’s considered public domain or free, whether you can be sued if you’re not profiting, etc.

The following resource was developed for educators, but it is one of the most comprehensive and easy-to-understand explanations of creative copyright that I’ve found.

https://www.theedublogger.com/copyright-fair-use-and-creative-commons/

Sanctuary…

It’s raining, but my backyard is filled with birds and squirrels—even the rosy red minnows in my ponds love the rain.

Yesterday I saw the cutest baby squirrel inch its way down to the pond’s edge to drink and then munch on one of my water lilies that were blooming right at the edge.

I had no idea that squirrels could eat lilies—nor could I have imagined the sweetness of a baby squirrel face gingerly buried into a snowy water lily! Wish I could have whipped out my camera in time to show you, but it did not last even a moment.

Cardinals and sparrows bring their babies to the feeders. Dove, robins,
blue jays, titmice, chickadees, wrens, mockingbirds—they’re all regulars.

It calls back memories of Grandma Dot, who always
had a metal drum filled with bird seed sitting on her back porch,
some recycled Parkay and Coolwhip tubs to scoop with,
and a rainbow of birds lined along her fence.
Like pigeons on a telephone wire, they would sit
and wait for her every morning to open the door.

Cardinals were her favorite, and I always think of her
when I see our cardinal families come to visit.

Occasionally I see a hummingbird or hawk here
(there’s a cast of Cooper hawks in our neighborhood).

One of the last times I saw a hawk in our backyard,
it flew off with a baby snake! It was right after John died.

I looked up from my computer to see the hawk sitting on my back fence,
seemingly staring right through me before he dove for the snake.

Recently I’ve also seen meadowlark, kingbird, and goldfinch!
Not many yellow birds visit, so it’s always lovely to see them.

If the local monk parakeets ever find my backyard,
it’ll make my whole year.

My yard is a bit wild and definitely not manicured,
and I surely don’t know how to garden,
but it holds songs and peace for me.
It’s my blessing place.

#LoveMyBackyard

—
April 30th, 2021
2:24pm

Copyright © 2021, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Words…

That moment…
Revealing the Voice
to someone’s story in their heart;
the meaning behind their work;
the vision they aspire to;
the soul that has been there
…all along.
Words to the songs
no one has sung. Yet.
Wings of the butterfly
not formed, yet.
Born, steps forth
the creator anew.
Welcome to the world,
little song.

—
4-27-2021
Copyright © 2021 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved.

Remember When…

I have a love-hate relationship with each digital app that shows me memories.

I mean, it’s not bad. It really isn’t.

In some ways, it helps me to reconnect pieces of my life, so there’s more in my line of sight than just this crisis or that.

But there’s no denying that being faced with a sudden memory can have an emotional impact at an inconvenient time.

John’s smiling face in a hospital room.

My kids when they were little.

Conversations with friends who have passed away.

Memories from a time that was less “responsible.”

Memories around old goals. Dreams unspoken.

Memories from before deployments.

From before Cancer.

From before Death.

From before.

Before…

These inconvenient memories pop up while I must be serious
and keep my game face on.

Making up for my shitty memory.

Oh yeah. That’s right. I was going to…

Waves crashing…

Is that even bad?

Probably not.

We’ve tried to create a world where public perception and professionalism always mean never showing what’s really happening under the surface.

Never let them see the mud–unless artfully displayed.

Always have a show closet near the door.

A YouTube corner.

Selective reality.

But is that healthy?

Is it natural?

Is it destructive denial in the long term?

Life is full of challenges, some bigger than others.

And that’s how we grow as humans.

Life has always been in the overcoming.

In the transmutation.

It has always been about becoming bigger than our initial perspectives.

Digging through challenges and beliefs–layered deeper than we thought possible.

Reframing our viewpoints.

Dawning new understanding.

Digging into why we’re really here.

What meaningful thing can I learn in this experience that can serve others?

Surviving is surviving.

But to THRIVE, we must grow.

We must transmute.

But that requires acknowledging reality as it is.

In order to transmute it into something better.

Anyway…

Facebook showed me memories today, including a memory of profound words spoken by my son a year ago.

Somehow I needed to hear them again today.

And while I’m inconveniently emotional, I think I’m also grateful…

—
April 8, 2021
9:22pm

Copyright © 2021, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.

Gig Hunting On Social Media…

Shenanigans with Algorithms

Taken from actual job suggestions I’ve received on social media in the last month….

AI Algorithm: Hey Julia, I have job suggestions for you!

Me: Great! Show me what you’ve got!

AI: “Technical Writer!”

Me: Totally makes sense. I am a writer after all. Let me look at what industry that’s in.

AI: I have others, do you want to see them?

Me: Sure, what’d you find?

AI: “YouTube Media Manager.”

Me: Eh, close-ish. I don’t really specialize in the videography side of the social media pool.

AI: How about “Temperature Taker” or “COVID-19 Test Administrator?”

Me: Nooo. I mean, we have a cancer patient at home and really wouldn’t want to risk that. And I don’t have any formal medical certification either. But I guess there’s a wide-spread need for people to do that job right now. I understand why you might ask. Thanks anyway, AI.

AI: There’s “Office Clerk” and “Personal Assistant.”

Me: Eh, not quite the field I’m aiming for, AI. I hope you didn’t ask because I’m a woman.

AI: I know! “Medical Device Quality Engineer” or “Pharmacist!” Or there’s “Veterinary Technician!”

Me: Uh, nooo. I do write for the healthcare industry, so I can see why your wires are crossed there, AI.

AI: “Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist!”

Me: Um… nooo?

AI: There’s “Nursery Worker” and “Toddler Teacher.”

Me: Look AI, I know I’m a seasoned Mom, but I’m not looking for that kind of work. I’m a writer. Remember?

AI: How about “Full fabrication and installation of quartz and natural stone countertops?”

Me: Excuse me?

AI: Or “Shuttle Driver” or “Car Wash Attendant?”

Me: What? No!

AI: “Farm Hand.”

Me: Now you’re just making stuff up!!

AI: FINE! Be a “Sheriff Department Jailer” then!

Me:

Copyright © 2021 by Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. Julia has more than 25 years of experience as a freelance writer, content creator, and editor.

What Hope…?

A couple of days ago, a brain cancer charity let me know that I am one of the top 10 influencers on Twitter for brain cancer. The data measurement is done through a service that serves the healthcare industry only.

I haven’t known how to feel about it. I mainly share studies and medical articles aimed at treatment for Glioblastoma. As is logical.

I used to be one of the top 20 influencers in crochet, but… that’s another story.

As I read the note, I was teary-eyed. My son was in the room when I read the note, and he queried the look on my face.

I don’t know how to feel, and I’m kinda sad, I said. I can barely do what I do. I don’t have any resources, and I can’t create a charity or foundation yet. Brain cancer patients suffer so much for lack of research funding.

And here, I make the rank of top influencer on Twitter.

What hope is there for a cure if *I* make the top 10? Because I have not yet been able to do much. I don’t have time to network or chat. I cannot unleash my full dedication to move mountains, create a foundation and find a way to help. All I can do is share links to studies. I don’t even have the bandwidth to write much about it.

And my son said, “Excuse me? What do you mean, what hope? With everything you’ve been through, even while working as hard as you do, you still manage to help. Something good is born. The willpower to make a difference with literally nothing but your determination to do so. You demonstrate the difference that a single person can make, even with nothing. To be an influence for good in the world. And if that isn’t hope, I don’t know what is.”

A second revelation dawned as I felt the truth in his words.

Even one imperfect voice can matter.

I love that kid of mine. And sometimes, he has me in awe.

—
April 8, 2020
7:10am

Copyright © 2020, Julia Meek Chambers, all rights reserved. No part of my post, writing, or words may be copied and shared without my express written permission and attribution.