Laura's blog

Sadly, Laura's blog has been down for a few days.

Happily, it is back up at a new domain address.

Here's the address:
http://www.johnandlaurawilson.blogspot.com/

Old Friends

I'm a bit addicted to finding new music on the web- mostly indie singers, and especially women. One particular blog I look at recently featured a couple of great songs by a woman named Sylvie Lewis. One of the songs, "Old Friend" sort of sums up how I'm feelig this Christmas. (If you are so inclined, you can download it here)

My Uncle Craig recently started a new blog of his own. I guess his nieces and nephews were saying so much that he decded to toss in his two cents. This morning I woke to his latest post, which also summed up the melancholy that I've been feeling.

My family never had Christmas on Christmas Day. Every year we would write Santa and tell him that he needed to come a few days early because we were going to go visit our family in Oklahoma for Christmas and we wouldn't be at home on Christmas day. Santa was very accomodating. And why wouldn't he be? I always figured that this was (of course) how Santa got all the presents out in time- he had enough people traveling for Christmas that he would spend several nights delivering presents, and thus, no one night rush (Duh)!

Anyway, the result is that we spent Christmas with my extended family until I was 21 or 22 years old. It's only been in the last few years that I have stayed in Tennessee, or gone to visit my in-laws (wherever they might be) over the Holidays.

This year Josh and I intended to try to go to Oklahoma to visit everyone. This year it seemed especially important. I wanted to see my family- all of them, especially my Grandma and my Great Uncle Joe, who I haven't seen since Christa's wedding.

But this year I am about to transition into a new job and Josh has limited time off, and we're going to visit Jack and Carole in Colorado (yay- snow at Christmas!) and... it's not going to happen. I don't really think I want to see my Granny's house empty anyway.

I keep looking at the pictures that my Uncle Craig took. We'd just gotten home from the funeral and the wind was really blowing hard and we all just stood out there watching the storm coming and coming. When it did finally come it was cold and the rain would come right up under the porch to soak your feet and legs. What my insides couldn't express came out in the violent wind, thunder and lightning. I stood out there a long time. Looking at those pictures feels like looking at old diary entries. It wasn't a rain that washed me clean, it was the beginning of a long journey.

Old Friends
The next time we meet we will be Old Friends.
We'll stand on the street laughing like old friends
Time will be kind, you won't have changed
your smile will be exactly the same.
One day we'll meet,
but we don't know when,
drink coffee and tea just like two old friends
you'll tell me your stories and I'll tell you mine
and we'll wonder at the passing of time.
No one can take your place
no one fill the space you leave when you go.
If we should lose touch you will not lose my love.
We'll catch up. Somewhere down the road... down the road
I hope you'll agree we'd make good old frieds.
If it were up to me that would be my goal, friend.
We'll take stock of one (?)in rooms full of song,
And we'll be old friends if I'm not wrong.
We'll be old friends before too long.

Well, I'm still at my parents house. I'm on my Dad's computer.

It's weird working here- it gets really quiet. I'm probably going to go for a walk sometime today.

**twiddles thumbs**

well, not much going on.

Happy Birthday Hadyn!!!

Once upon a time, Haydn had a 3rd Birthday. Her wonderful Aunt Chara had made her this wonderful felt dress-up book to keep her quiet during church. (See pattern here)












Haydn's Gran had made her a Barbie Cake. She was pretty excited about it, until...










...she realized they were going to set it on fire.










Oh Well! Instead she opened her presents with her Aunt Tara.









She got some sparkley Sunglasses that were really cool.








But she liked the Dress-up book her Aunt Chara had made her the best of all the gifts.








She played with it...









And played with it some more...









And wouldn't even eat cake because she was having so much fun!




And later, when she was napping, Daddy got to play!

Who am I without my Granny?

I realize that the question above seems sort of rediculous. I am the same person without my Granny as I am with her- she may have shaped me, but I do not need her to hold my shape for me. Therefore, it is really only important that she lived, not that she now ceased to be alive.

However, I would like to propose to you that it is not a rediculous question.

It ocurred to me, while I was still in Oklahoma, that if my Granny hadn't been who she was, there is no way that I would be who I am. I would not love hummingbirds, or wind chimes. I would not have such a deep and abiding faith. I would not have had a home.

I had thought that I would get the opportunity to introduce my Granny to my children. I had though that I would have a small opportunity to show them what it was like to be her grandaughter. However, that's where it comes down to being rediculous. I am still her grandaughter. So what is it that is causing my identity crisis?

I think it goes back to the final sentence in the third paragraph. I would not have had a home. When I was growing up we moved about every 5 years. It was rough, even if you were ready to leave a place. It was horrible being someplace where you had no friends, knew no one, no one knew you and you got to reinvent yourself every few years. I think, in some ways, it led to an instability in my personality that makes me avoid attachments (looking back at the last post now and trying to figure a way to make that sound advantageous... giving up).

But every Christmas we made the same journey to the same place and were with the same people who knew us and loved us and were interested in who we were becoming. If i wanted to just sit in silence in their presence, there was nothing awkward in that.

So if that is completely gone now, what is the defining stability of my life?

I am married. I have Christmas with my parents, or go to Colorado to see Josh's parents. I have a job and I practice an art. So why do I feel like the defining stability of my life has disappeared? And why didn't I experience this when Papa died?

After a long conversation with my cousin Audrey I can articulate it much better. It's too intangible a loss to articulate by saying that I am grieving the loss of my Granny- because I am, but not as much as I am grieving that I can never have the things that she offered me ever again. The only way to really make those tangible enough to express with any clarity to to try to explain what it was like to be at her house. The laundryroom filled with dessert every christmas. The breakfasts watching birds and eating venison sausage. The library, The creek, the mimosa tree we all climbed, the horses, the jujubees, Papa's chair, the swing that hung on the tree way in the back of the yard, the tractor.

These things still exist (most of them- I know that tree with the swing and Papa's chair were both casualties of the tornado almost two years ago) but they do not belong to me anymore. That is what makes me so sad.

The last time I saw my Papa was at my wedding. When we were taking pictures he reached over behind me and took my hand. He died about 10 months later and I didn't see him again. We cling to the tangible things- the evidence of who loved us and who we are.

My husband-

An Ode-
To my husband-
Who fixed my car- twice-
Who always talks to me- even if I'm trying to sleep-
Who does the dishes- when I haven't- and they start to stink-
Who enchanted me with his green shirt-
Who took me to Sweetlips on our second date- and didn't kiss me for eight months-
Who pronounces it franchiSe instead of franchiZe-
Who eats my weird concoctions-when I am coooking-
Who helped me duct tape posterboard teeth on my car for Halloween-
Who gets me water when I have a headache-
Who knows everyone- and remembers their name- so I don't have to-
To my husband-
An Ode.

The Rule of Eight

Okay- all the boys can just roll their eyes at this but this post is about clothes and fashion ( saw that Uncle Richard!) This is SO going to be a story!

My sister (Laura) was telling me about the points system for telling whether you are fashionable or frightening. (Laura please correct me if I am wrong)
1. Every peiece of clothing you wear is considered one point. Shoes, socks, pants, top, each piece of jewelry, etc.
2. For every piece of "trendy," or loud piece of clothing you get an extra point. (for instance, if you are wearing a really bright colored top, a halter top, or a technicolor dream coat- add a point for each)
3. If you are wearing very noticeable make-up, add a point.
4. Your points should average around 8.
5. Storytellers can average around 11.

I spent part of the weekend teaching this to my Dad.

Chara

Chocolate Meat

Okay-
A few years ago, right before Josh and I got married I was living with my sister- and that's when it happened. I came home form work and Laura said- Try this. It looked harmless. It was a buiscut. Sort of. Inside of it was meat and chocolate.
Yes, Meat and Chocolate.
Well needless to say- it was also AWFUL. poor Laura was only trying to mix her two favorite things to eat. This has always stuck with me. How to mix chocolate and meat.
Well recently I mentioned this to some people in one of my classes and the next time we came to class there was my friend Tonya with two recipes. I have included them below.

Quick Mexican Mole
1/2 C. Chopped onion.
1 clove garlic, minced.
1 lb. boneless skinless Chicken Breast- cut in chunks.
1/2 c. barbeque sauce
1 square unsweetened bakers chocolate. Finely chopped.
1/2 tsp. red pepper flakes.
Cook and stir onion and garlic in 1 tbsp oil at med. heat until tender. Add Chicken, cook and stir on high heat for 5 min. or until golden brown on all sides.
Add 1/2 c. water and the remaining ingredients; bring to a boil, cover; reduce heat and simmer for 10 min. or until the chicken is cooked through.
Serve with 2 c. prepared rice.
Makes 4 servings.

Secret Chili Recipe
1 lb lean ground beef
3 cans (15 oz.) chili style diced tomatoess undrained.
2 cans (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
1 square Bakers unsweetened baking chocolate
2 c. shredded chedder cheese
Cook meat in lg saucepan on MH heat until cooked thoroughly, stirr occasionally.
Add tomatoes, beans, chocolate; mix well. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low; simmer 10 mins, stirring occasionally.
Top with cheese.

This is my sister Christa, my mom and Dad and Dewayne on Their wedding Day. Today is Christa's Birthday! Happy Birthday!!

This is my niece. There's no reason for her to be on here except that she's really cute! Someday she's going to hate me for putting this here, but for the time being she can't say anything about it.

Final Draft

The Plaid Dress Wishes
By Chara Watson

There were once four little girls who went to the state fair. They went every year to see the quilts, jars of jelly or preserves, to eat cotton candy, and to ride the car up the needle, hundreds of feet above everyone and look all around for just a few minutes.
But then there was the year of the plaid dresses. That was the year their mother made them each a dress of a different color plaid and white collars embroidered with their initials. Christa, the oldest, wore a purple dress and had a purple ribbon in her dark hair. Even though Tara and Chara were twins they did not wear dresses that were just alike. That’s because they didn’t look alike. Chara wore a blue dress to match her eyes and Tara wore a red dress to match her hair. Laura was the youngest and she wore green.
They all held hands as they wandered past strange booths and displays taking in each of the sights and sounds around them like treasures to be tucked away into the special boxes their Grandma had given them to keep their treasures safe. They were young then, in ways they might never remember when they grew even a little bit older than they were.
They were memorizing all the things they saw when their eyes fell on the balloon man. There wasn’t anything all that interesting about the balloon man himself. He was wearing brown pants and a brown riding cap and he had a long white moustache that covered the ends of his wide smile. There wasn’t much to notice if he hadn’t been holding those balloons.
Those balloons! They were the brightest colors the girls had ever seen. Even when they went to the material store to choose materials for the dresses their mother would make for them, running lost among hundreds of bolts of soft fabrics, they had never seen anything quite like the colors of the balloons that the man held in his fist. The girls approached him, saying nothing, only looking wide eyed at the floating rainbow above his head.
“Would you like some balloons?” he asked.
The girls nodded and he handed each one a balloon the color of their dress, only much brighter.
“How much?” asked Christa. For she was the oldest and she had been given the money they would be allowed to spend while they wandered through the fair.
“A nickel each.” he answered.
She carefully picked out two dimes from her little purple coin purse, which had been tucked into the pocket of her purple plaid dress.
The balloon man took the dimes, dropped them in his pocket and looked adown at the little girls.
“Now, before you go I think you should know something.” He beckoned them closer. Wide eyed, the girls came close and leaned in.
“These balloons are magic. If you are brave, for an hour, you can have whatever your heart wishes for. But there’s a catch.” he grew silent and the girls leaned a little closer.
“You have to pop the balloon.”
There was nothing but silence as the girls walked away.
The balloon man had expected the silence. The silence came every time he told the people about the magic. A lot of people didn’t believe him or were too frightened to pop their balloons. If they popped them and there was no magic they would have nothing but a shriveled bit of colored rubber on a string.
But you couldn’t just pop the balloon without thinking either. A wish that forever is an easy thing. Who wouldn’t wish for a magic coking pot, or a hundred bags of gold, or whatever else they thought would make their hearts happy? But a wish for just an hour is a different thing entirely. You wouldn’t want to wish for a thing like that if it were going to disappear in an hour. No one wants to find out that all the things they’ve been content without are things they would have been much happier with, and them have them snatched away. No there isn’t any happiness in a wish like that.
The girls met their parents and rode home in silence. Their mother and father looked to the back of the station wagon and saw each girl looking suspiciously at the strange, brightly colored balloons they had bought.
When they got home they had a sister’s meeting under the oak tree in the backyard. For a while they sat in silence, no one knowing what to say. They said nothing. They each knew that they had all made up their minds to pop their balloons and wish for something. But what?
Because Tara was the bravest, she went first. She pulled down the string attached to her blood red balloon and took it in her hands. Thinking of the one thing her heart desired, she squeezed that balloon- not the way a timid person would squeeze, afraid that it might pop in their face, but hard and fast in her hands.
Tara wished to be a boy. More than anything else she wanted to wear pants and hit a baseball and climb trees. She wanted to ride her bicycle around with her shirt off and feel the sun on her skin. She wanted to get dirty and rip her clothes and have people just shake their heads. You couldn’t do those things in a dress. Girls weren’t supposed to get dirty and climb trees and be loud, but it was her wish and that’s what she wanted.
Before any of the other girls had a chance to ask her what she had wished for, she stood up, not in her red plaid dress, but in a pair of overalls, dirty and patched at the knees. Out came a loud “Whoop!” and she ran off through the yard through the yard toward a mud puddle and she stomped right into it.
She didn’t look like Tara anymore. Her red hair was short, and her freckles were darker. She looked like she could have been their Dad when he was young.
The other girls watched as she got dirty and made lots of noise and climbed trees. Their mouths hung open and questions hung unanswered on their lips.
After a while she ran out of things to do. Her sisters were sitting under the tree singing and braiding each other’s hair, waiting for the hour to go by. Boys didn’t sit around singing and braiding hair.
And suddenly she was ready for her wish to be over. She jumped out of the tree, back onto the ground in her red plaid dress. She was clean as cotton and blushing a bit at her silliness.
Christa hardly waited a moment before she took her balloon in her hands and popped it with her fingernails. She wasn’t all that eager to make her wish, it was just that she felt she should have gone first since she was the oldest. But as she felt the pressure of the balloon give way in her hands her wish, not the silly wish she had been going to make, but her heart’s wish came into her mind and came true. Her sisters disappeared. In their places were only three little dolls in brightly colored dresses, two still holding balloons. She knew immediately that they would be back in the passing of an hour and so she got up and ran toward the house.
For a while when she was just a little child she had all of her parent’s love to herself. Sometimes she still thought about that time before she had to be responsible for her sister’s and before she had to share everything with them.
She opened the door to the kitchen and went in. Her mother smiled when she saw her. It was a smile just for her.
They read books and played cards for a while. Her mother had taught her how to play go fish and sometimes she won. Her father came in and she was Daddy’s girl. No one else played with them or interrupted her Daddy’s stories about Silly Sally and Mean Milford.
When the hour was almost up she went outside and sat under the tree and looked at the little dolls. The sat there, just waiting for the passage of the hour. It wasn’t as fun to play with dolls as it was to play with your sisters.
And suddenly she was ready for the wish to be over. Her sisters grew back to their normal size with the blink of an eye. It was nice to see them.
Chara reached up and pulled her blue balloon down into her lap. She had thought a long hard time about her wish and she finally decided. She took her balloon and put it on the ground beside her she sat down hard on it and it popped.
Chara knew what she had wanted to wish for. She loved to read books and pretend that she was a princess in a magical adventure. She wanted to see magic and do all the things she had pretended to do and had imagined in her head.
As the balloon popped the backyard changed. Their daisy patch changed into a sleepy forest, the shed grew into a castle and the bee hives turned into a huge evil mountain with twisted trees, where a witch lived.
Chara met her fairy godmother who gave her magic berries that she used to save a prince from the evil witch who had cast a spell on him. Then the Prince took her home to his giant castle and they crowned her the princess. Then they went to a huge ball and danced and danced all night long.
But then she came to the part of the story that said, “…and they lived happily ever after.” There wasn’t anything else. She had to just be a princess all the time and wear big dresses and do princess things. She knew she was supposed to be happy, but there wasn’t much to do now that she was living happily. She wanted to go home where she could play with her sisters in the daisy patch and pretend all sorts of other adventures for all of them.
And suddenly she was ready for her wish to be over. Her big fluffy dress melted away into her simple blue plaid dress with her initials on the collar and her sisters were all around her again.
Laura was last. She was always last because she was the youngest. It hadn’t taken her long to decide exactly what she would wish for. The other girls looked at her and she stood up. Stepped on one end of the string and stomped the balloon. It popped loudly and suddenly Laura was five and a half feet tall. She had earrings in her ears and she was wearing perfume and makeup like her mother!
She was grown up! Almost immediately a car pulled up into the driveway and a boy got out of the drivers seat and waved at her. He opened her car door and she ran to get in the car. The girls watched the car pull away and wondered where she was going.
She was on a date with a boy. They went out for ice cream and met other grown up friends and talked about grown up things. For the first time Laura felt like she wasn’t going to be told to be quiet or be the last one to get what she wanted. She could do and have whatever she wanted. She even had two scoops of ice cream!
But soon she got bored. The boy was nice but all her talked about was politics and cars and adult things. She wanted to know if he had noticed the snails on the sidewalk or if he liked to jump rope, or if he could whistle. Her sisters noticed snails and stars and would jump rope with her.
And suddenly she was ready for her wish to be over. So she asked the boy to drive her home, and just as he pulled up the driveway the car and the boy disappeared and she walked toward her sisters. Christa met her halfway and the twins were behind her. Christa picked her up and carried her into the house. They all put her in bed and tucked her in. The sun had gone down and it was time for sleep. They all lay in their beds that night whispering about the things they had seen and done and wished for.
Tara had liked being a boy, but she liked being herself, and being with her sisters. Besides, they never told her to be quiet or to stay out of trees. Maybe she could just be herself, with them anyway.
Christa thought about how lonely it had been without her sister. It was nice to have something more than a doll to carry into the house at night, even if she did have to share everything with her sisters and watch out to make sure they didn’t get into trouble.
Chara thought about how exciting it had been to have such wonderful adventures. She enjoyed knowing that she could do big things, but it was also nice to know that she could have all sorts of different adventures in her imagination, not just one little adventure all by herself.
Laura thought about how nice it would be to be grown up someday. Just not yet. Even if it meant she had to be the baby, she still liked being taken care of. Each of the girls had carefully placed their popped balloons into the pocket of their dress and each one would tuck the balloon away in a corner of their special box. Someday when they grew older and couldn’t quite remember quite so well what it had been like to be so young they would be able to look at the balloons and remember what it had been like to discover just how happy they were to be together and to be just who they were.

This is a picture of us in the plaid dresses. Aren't we cute? I think we were all talking- except Christa. 

People we meet along the way...

Just so anyone knows, I have fixed the settings on here so that anyone may comment now. I just ask that if you comment anonymously that you sign your name.

Well, today has been a bit boring- especially since all I have wanted to do is try to figure out how to work out my newest issue. I would like to tell stories that are personal, but I have to be able to tell folktale type stories as well. So I have come up with a compromise. I would really like to put together a folktale about my sisters.
My youngest sister gave me a book last year, called Three sensible adventures- I really reccomend this book to anyone- and it has made me want to portray my own sisters in supernatural, metaphorical ways. I've been a bit stuck, though.
I was re-reading the poem The Goblin Market by Christina Rosetti- one of my favorites. I thought I would post the end for you all to read. I really reccomend the whole poem but it's a bit long to put here. It's about two sisters, one named Laura and the other named Lizzie. Laura succombs to the temptation of the Goblin's forbidden fruit and Lizzie risks everything for her. (Okay I know that it's a little cheese city, but I really like it)

Laura awoke as from a dream,
Laugh'd in the innocent old way,
Hugg'd Lizzie but not twice or thrice;
Her gleaming locks show'd not one thread of grey,
Her breath was sweet as May
And light danced in her eyes.
Days, weeks, months, years
Afterwards, when both were wives
With children of their own;
Their mother-hearts beset with fears,
Their lives bound up in tender lives;
Laura would call the little ones
And tell them of her early prime,
Those pleasant days long gone
Of not-returning time:
Would talk about the haunted glen,
The wicked, quaint fruit-merchant men,
Their fruits like honey to the throat
But poison in the blood;
(Men sell not such in any town):
Would tell them how her sister stood
In deadly peril to do her good,
And win the fiery antidote:
Then joining hands to little hands
Would bid them cling together,
"For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands."

Christina Rossetti

If this makes you think of anything in particular that you might want to share about your siblings feel free to let me know. Mine are particularly wonderful, even if it's hard to think up good super-abilities for them.

Laura (my baby sister, the artist) has come up with her own super-ability: something to do with vision. I think that she will be the one who can see the beauty in all things. Tara (my twin) will probably be the one who heals all wounds. I can't seem to come up with anything for myself or my oldest sister Christa.
Hopefully after my Historical and Psychological Aspects of Storytelling class this will be much easier.

Well I've rambled long enough...

Charlie