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Spark Notes

10 Aug

Today’s title, ‘Spark Notes’, has been patiently awaiting my attention while in the holding cell of my “drafts” folder.  In fact, my opportunity and drive to write, this week, has been somewhat prolific.  And I say, “take it while I can get it,” because I expect next week to have to linger on the tails of my past three postings (this one included).  I have even had time this week to peruse a few blogs I have been introduced to over the past year.  I feel much accomplished, as far as having invested in a few writings and readings that give me a little spark.  AAAhhhh, my segue into the title at hand.  What is your spark?  What is mine?

Now obviously I cannot answer the question for you.  But I can share a bit of the sparks in my life, and in that, in the lives of my nuclear family.

For me, dyed black hair is a pleasure I enjoy.  And if I encounter true, naturally black hair, elation wells up within me.  I began dying my hair black back in high school.  My then boyfriend (who happens to now be my husband) and I bought a bottle of some sort of “cover the gray” black rinse and we applied it, each to the other, without the use of protective gloves (uh oh, in the category of teenagers this could sound like a covert innuendo–I promise it is not).  And because we used our skin exposed hands for the job, we consequently went through the next month with the evidence not only imprinted onto each of our strands of hair, but also emanating from every skin pore on the palm of our hands.  The box said, “washes out with several shampoo’s,” and though our hands recovered after a months time, my long tresses did not.  In fact two years after the occasion, on my wedding day, my long hair was sporting a half and half d00…the top half naturally brown and the bottom half unnaturally black.  My husband, on the other hand, had shaved his hair off long before our betrothal.  Now in between that time and now I have experimented with reds and blondes and blacks.  I like the reds though I don’t like them with my skin tone.  Blonde, I am just not.  So black it is for me.  And though it began as a love affair with the color, it has sadly become my battle cry against father time and his minions in white.

The Black Bottle

Naturally, unnaturally beautiful!

I realize that sharing hair dye as one of my “sparks” is a little weak…at face value.  But truly my greatest spark comes from humor.  Humor in all things, aging included.  And in consideration of the humorous undertone of the black bottle bit, you can better understand my spark.  I am also fueled by that which fuels my husband and children.  I find their happiness to simultaneously fill my cup (this is a very weird sentence structure–any help on it, if it indeed is incorrectly written, is most appreciated).

Thus I will indulge my fancy further by writing about the newest spark in the Bent clan…

A sailboat.  Yep, a 25ft fiberglass hull vessel.  My husband and son have ventured into this purchase together (one has the money and the other has the brawn–read my past post to guess which is which); and it is through their adventurous spirit the rest of us (my daughter Esther, and I) become sailors.

As most of the readers of this blog know, Cole has suffered a very significant loss in his quality of life.  He was a strapping and strong young United States Marine, prior to having his brain tumor removed.  And now he is dependent upon others due to the physical impairments which are his.  Result of cranial nerve damage from having a growth on his brain stem removed (death was the alternate option).  In all reality, we are so very fortunate to have him alive and in as good of shape as he is in.  We know that, but he doesn’t.  He struggles so much–every day.  Every night.  And so becoming an owner of a boat, alongside his dad, is a step in the right direction.  The hope is that there will be a piece of flint lurking about his new adventures…it will find its way to the concrete of his soul and scrape against it.   And when it does, I pray it will create a spark which will turn into a roaring fire.  A fire within my son’s being that will give him back purpose, feeling, and desire.  I do believe G-d can do this with a little 25 foot sailboat.  I just don’t know when.

Brian and Cole

Gilligan and the Skipper

Cole catching a fish

Fishing off the stern

Yet in the meantime the four of us are enjoying the open seas, the calm of the harbor, and each other…at least we are making every effort in this direction (I am prone to seasickness of all things).  We have yet to spend the night on her, but these warm summer nights are like a siren’s call.  I’m sure it won’t be long before we yield.

Esther at the bow

Ahoy Matey! Esther catching some sea air

My last two posts (‘Shut the Hell Up!’ and ‘Betwixt, Bothered, and Be-Whining‘) came fiercely and quickly as the intervention of my cathartic pen was needed for the health of my psyche.  But this post, this patiently awaiting its time, post…this is my spark note.  Please feel free to share yours.

Brian the Skipper, Cole as Gilligan

Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, A tale of a fateful trip
That started from this tropic port
Aboard this tiny ship.
The mate was a mighty sailing man,
The skipper brave and sure….
source: http://www.lyricsondemand.com/tvthemes/gilligansislandlyrics.html

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Shut The Hell Up!

8 Aug

This past weekend I had the pleasure of traveling north to Santa Barbara and meeting my sister and her friend for the weekend.  As we perused the street vendors and kitschy wall hanging plaques we laughed out loud as we read the crass slogans which illuminated truths about our lives.  For instance, one plaque had a picture of a woman in an apron and alongside her read, “The menu for the night? Take it or leave it!”

Now fast forward to Sunday evening when I was again home and surrounded by my motley family (dogs and all), we had a visitor who happens to be expecting her seventh child.  She had a moments reprieve from her “little birds” and came over to our house for a visit (because she acquiesced to my daughter’s request, not because she had some free time with nothing to do!);  now as the dinner hour fast approached, the subject of feeding the family was laid out on the table.  And of course with that subject comes much comedy especially when two or more mothers are gathered and interject their own trials in nutritiously satisfying the varying palates of their brood.  So it was with appropriate context that I shared the kitschy plaque about “take it or leave it.”  To which my friend answered, “I don’t want that plaque, I want one that says, Shut the Hell Up!”  Now you have to understand why this is so funny to me…it is because my dear friend, who has six little ones with another gaining speed, is such a loving mother and wife.  Her passion is taking care of her family and loving the great I AM.  So this crass response was just absolutely hysterical (my word choice here is no coincidence for those of you who love language, look up the etymology of hysterical and you will understand its perfect fit), and of course I love her rendition of the plaque much more than the original.

In fact, I have found myself uttering those very words this morning…

I was in the bathroom, having some private time (or so it should have been), the door was closed and the fan was on (now that should be clue enough for everyone to get the gist of what I was doing in the loo) when my husband decided to have a sit down near the door and converse with me about details of, who knows–I can’t remember, all I remember is the subject was not pressing and the details could have, should have, and would have to wait!!  In that moment, just about an hour ago, I found myself thinking the uttering of my friend, “shut the hell up”!  Now I realize it could be argued that a response such as that is warranted given the circumstance of the situation, however, I personally feel that such abrupt and rude language is never the appropriate manner in which to respond; so I didn’t use it…out loud.  But I thought it.

And the fact that I thought it bothers me.  I will tell you why.

There is an old adage that goes something like this:
“Be careful what you think because your thoughts become your words.  Your words become your actions, and your actions become your character.  And character is everything.”  So truth be told, my thought life has been a bit polluted for a while now.  And when considering the truth of the referenced proverb, I am in for some trouble if I don’t let the thought police come and do a bit of housecleaning.  I am in trouble because I don’t like the slippery slope of negativity that the “shut the hell up” response suggests.  No, not the “shut the hell up” said in a humorous context of kitschy plaques and dinnertime, but the “shut the hell up” thought toward my happy go lucky husband who is undeserving of such a response.  Actually, he is undeserving of me nurturing such responses, as is the rest of my family, as are my neighbors, as are the anonymous drivers on the road, as is the community in which I live or travel to, as is my G-d, as is myself.

Granted, my husband sitting outside the bathroom door while I’m taking care of “business” is definitely not a habit I intend to encourage.  But I will employ a gentler attitude when I stand firm upon the platform of “absolutely not.”  And the impetus to my decision is this:  love builds up, it does not tear down.  If I allow “shut the hell up” to fall from my lips upon the ears of any one of my beloveds, then I have failed to express the true essence of love.  So I avow at this moment to climb up the rope of the slippery slope backwards and by doing so redirect the course of my actions.

Thought Police, permission granted to come aboard!

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Loving the Good

10 Jul

I would make a good vigilante.  Well that is not completely true…a partially good vigilante.  A possibly good vigilante?  Ok, okay; vigilantes and good cannot coexist–at least they would not coexist within my person.  But I can attest to the fact that I do love it when good prevails and within my fantastical perspective, which I am indulging within this writing, the vigilance committee makes no mistakes while righting the wrong of another.  Thus, it is always good (do I really need to remind that this is fantasy, not reality?  Well there it is, the reminder, just in case one of you reading wanted to jump on that last statement as if it were rooted in truth.).  And with a deep sigh of relief…sigh, sigh, sigh…I can tell you that today I was privileged to experience the good; no vigilanteism required.

As written in my previous post titled, “Choosing My Stride”, my friend and her children were in peril as a result of violence within their home.  I am happy to say that she and the wee ones are in the loving, and extremely adept, care of Human Options (humanoptions.org).  Their safety is secured and the process of healing has begun.  Within the chaos of the last several days, there was one aspect of calm that came alongside us and whose presence brought forth such good that I am still blown away by it at this moment.

The calm force, ironically, was the high profile criminal attorney (also mentioned in the last post).  Without so much as a dime in his pocket, he invested time, energy, expertise, and his connections toward assisting my friend and thereby her children.  The result?  Today we received word that the district attorney rejected the case against her due to the complexity of the domestic violence circumstance.  This victory came without a signed contract, without a verbal agreement for payment, and in full knowledge that funds were not on hand.  And with today’s news, no funds are needed.  Case closed.  Again, as mentioned above, my loved ones are now fully able to focus on healing.

When goodness crosses my path, I feel as if I am bubbling over inside myself with joy.  I honestly feel giddy, as if I have been granted access to something extremely special.  As a result I want to express my elation from the roof tops (or tree tops, or any tops for that matter), “I have met a person of quality; a person with integrity; a person who exhibits generosity; a person who cares!”  It is not that I do not know and dwell in the company of such people, I assure you I am blessed to say I do.  And to them I give the same accolades, and for them I thank G-d daily.  But in the last several days, and most specifically today, I was privy to be witness to the good in action–the selfless, generous gift from a stranger.  A stranger only because the introductions are fresh.  Though with the bond of fighting the good fight between us, a new alliance is formed.  And indeed I am proud to say I know this person.  He is a good man!

For the first time in six months, in regard to the circumstance of my friend and her family, I can truly breathe.  The vigilant Rivka is not needed, of course it never is.  Gratitude abounds and joy leads to a peaceful slumber.  Hallelujah and an Amen.

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