I will never forget watching my Afro-American friends style their hair in the dorms in the mornings. It was new to me and they were lovely. I listened to people of various faiths discuss truths that I was lead to believe only were true for those “like me”.  Through Ms. Boone, I was introduced to St. Exupery’s The Little Prince there. The fox’s part of the story has become my definition for building and maintaining relationships. It is a very deep part of me. From Ms. Rochelle I learned to grieve and love well. A life skill I needed with my dad. I have never forgotten her drawing a butterfly on a flip chart and writing, “”Death belongs to life as birth does” beneath it. It was years later that I could find the entire quote and author:

 ”Death belongs to life as birth does
The walk is in the raising of the
foot as in the laying of it down”
— Rabindranath Tagore (Stray Birds)

I’ve come to love that also. From Ms. Smith, I learned to play. “Gorilla, Man, Gun” ( http://www.angelfire.com/ca4/SnugglyBug/games/gorrillamangun.html ) or the infamous “Chubby Bunny.” An example (can be gross so not for the weak of stomach):

     I was talking with some friends of mine today… And remembering a very “happy me”. These ladies invested in me. I wish I could say the return on their investment is huge. They believed in me. I wish I could say it was warrented. But I will say, I am grateful. I will say my story isn’t finished yet. They showed me a bigger world than I could have ever imagined. They began opening the door and windows in the house of my heart to allow fresh air to stream through. My beliefs and heart are larger thanks to them. There are friends I have now that I would never have been open to have without their touch on my life.

     One of the songs I remember hearing that year at camp has stayed with me:

I am richer for these ladies and the other students who gave of their time, attention, and love in my life. Thank you for your part in showing me the way.

       It is dark. It is provocative. Under the gothic vision laid out by Burton…I found it to be hopeful. I went to see Disney’s Alice in Wonderland as directed by Tim Burton . ( http://adisney.go.com/disneypictures/aliceinwonderland/ )

Disney’s Alice In Wonderland (2010) Cool Trailer! – The best video clips are right here

I have come to expect the macabre and somber in Burton’s art. More than expect it, I have to respect it. I couldn’t dream up the fantasy scape Burton creates!

       My son fell in love with The Nightmare Before Christmas.

(http://images.fanpop.com/images/image_uploads/The-Nightmare-Before-Christmas-nightmare-before-christmas-68261_1024_768.jpg)

I found The Corpse Bride fascinating.

(http://www.freemoviestheatre.com/media/images/CorpseBride(2005).jpg)

But here married to Linda Woolverton’s screen play I really fell in love again with Alice.

(http://weblogs.baltimoresun.com/entertainment/books/blog/alice%20in%20wonderland%20via%20disney.jpg)

Woolverton’s Alice is directing her own dream. This Alice stands “alone when facing the beast”. She is a champion of her own choosing. That message is imperative today. (Yes, I’ll say it, for women today!) Not since Whedon’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer have I felt such a respect for the men behind the champion. The Hatter, the caterpillar, and the would be father-in-law turned business partner all respect Alice and do not appear in the least jealous of her success or driven to rescue her as a damsel in distress. She is a respected hero. She is expected to be the hero. The choice is hers.

Description: Illustration to the poem Jabberwocky. A work by English illustrator Sir John Tenniel (1820-1914). First published in Carroll, Lewis. 1871. Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There.

The movie is dark and therefore some smaller children might struggle with it. But I believe the message is important and the work is stunning. It left me thinking and longing for more for Alice.

I am a huge Mrs. Donna fan. For a lot of reasons. Some incredibly personal to me. Moments like finding this video just reaffirm to me how valuable my friendship with her is. Mrs. Donna’s faith is a subtle power house. Mrs. Donna’s healing influence is often quiet and soft.

      It may seem small to get a music video link. That may seem like no big deal from the senders side, but you never know what kind of miracle a kind word will work in the heart of a reciever.

       If you haven’t checked out Mrs. Donna’s blog …Why not? She is doing some remarkable stuff for the past month that merits attention. I won’t steal her thunder; the link to her site is on my side bar. What Mrs. Donna is doing is walking out loud in practical faith. Again for some it may not seem huge, but you never know what kind of miracle… you just never know.

In the begining it was a dream….

So I have to say with Mat and Abbey….

My white knight ankle deep in the white…

Abbey’s view

Siblings+Snow= Snowball fight

And the shot rang out…

Though he may have fired the first shot, who is on the run?

Abbey prefers tradition…

Mat’s homage to Calvin and Hobbes’ snowmen

     Last weekend Mat and Abbey explored the Dallas Museum of Art.

The exhibit of focus was “All the World’s A Stage” about all kinds of  performers of all kinds of performance art from around the world. The Contemporary Ballet of Dallas also performed. (http://www.schoolofcbd.com/index.html) It is more of a modern form than traditional. For example they performed dances to Jason Miraz’s “I’m Yours” and the Indigo Girl’s “Virginia Woolf” as well as a piece about women fighting breast cancer. It was amazing.

     I am hoping that my children won’t know a time when they were not introduced to great art, literature, theater, and music. I am trying to offer them as many experiences as possible that will help them grow to their full potential. I want them to see more than their own views and needs. I want them to be strong, open minded, and open hearted. I want them to be problem solvers and creative thinkers who “think outside the box”. I believe quality art, of any kind, urges us toward that. It is harder to ignore the visions, dreams, and ideas of others when someone is brave enough to conceptualize them in art. Exposure to that, begining during childhood, makes us more open to diverse and wonderful people, their hearts, passions, and ideas that we might have missed or ignored before.

     My mom use to tell me that she could sense my moods by the songs I played as I came home from school each day. She monitored my emotion by just listening to the the albums spin (yeah, I am that old), or the turning of the radio dial and what I let it land on, or what I hummed working on projects or swinging outside. Music does that for me. Writing does that for me. Reading does that for me. Art does that for me. It is a thermometer for my emotional state and those who love me can generally read me if they pay any attention at all.

       There are certain places I always turn to during growth spurts when I am too overwhelmed to speak. L’Engle’s writings. Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s Fox, from The Little Prince, is my definition of friendship.  Brennan Manning’s views of grace. Ken Gire’s view of the sacredness of each man. Marc Chagall’s paintings. Jean Arp’s sculptures. The BBC version of Anne of Green Gables or the Disney’s version of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Recently Schwartz, Holzman, and Mantello’s Broadway musical Wicked.

       Some musical artists that are my northern stars when I’m lost are Carolyn Arends, Andrew Peterson, Brandi Carlile, and Sarah Bettens. Those who know me, know that I am a muller and thinker. I’m not always as Pollyanna on the inside as I am on the outside. I think that’s just the way it is. These artists help me along …with a few others.

       My latest growth spurt has provoked me to relate to this song of Ms. Bettens. I respect and appreciate her and her work very much. I am grateful for the depths of this song.

Kyler England has some powerful lyrics.  This is one of many. It moved me, so I’m sharing.

I am trying to explain
Wringing my hands, prying at words
Dislodging those that are stuck

I know she is listening
I know it by the glistening
Light there that is shining
In her eyes

“I can’t remember a time,”
I say as I squeeze her hand
She narrows her eyes in pain

“When we were not friends.”
I finish coming up for air
Our tear drops fall like rain

She scuffs her toe in the grass
Kicking at emotions
Dislodging those that are stuck

I feel her squeeze my hand
There are more words in that moment
Than in any full of voice.

She knows I am listening
Beyond the ‘seen’ bright and glistening
To the Light there that is shining
In her eyes.

“There will never be a time,”
She says breathing so deep
Her words falling soft as snow

“When we are not friends”
There is bedrock, a touch stone…wait
“I just don’t know this you.”

     A few years ago, I took my kids to stand in the places I stood. Beside her. I told them stories. There were some memories for me too precious and too “grown up” to relay. Some so dear to me still that the aches and longings that she inspired when I walked away in 1997 have never healed. Those emotions, learning experiences, periods of growth, momentary back slides are part of the fabric of who I am. They unconciously and purposely shaped me.

     When one of the most special people in my universe sent me this clip :

http://etbu.edu/Media_Resources/merleBruceDemolition.htm

I wept like I did leaving La. to stand beside her for the first time. Like so many beautiful things in our memory, the clip plays faster than real time. So piece by piece, I watched her be surgically removed from that landscape… and mine. She was old. It was time. I fault no one. I just am reminded of the old cliche’ “you can never go home again”. I can’t.

Her face gazed out above the upright

Her avatar in a frame of gold

I passed her open visagedaily

Gray haired shelter from the cold

She has safeguared so many

New lives moved within her womb

She birthed me as surely as my mother

I wept at her ruin

She was part of home to me

Flights of stairs and basement parlours

Aged carpet bare and worn

Halls of visions, prayers, and laughter

Sounds from girlish lips were born

While but a year our romance lasted

For a life time she will be

Part of who I am becoming

Always a part of me.

Years may not have been as tender

And perhaps it was time

But I pray hearts will remember

This passing friend of mine

She was part of home to me.

Good-bye Merle Bruce Hall, East Texas Baptist University campus… Marshall Texas…1927 -2010

http://www.etbu.edu/News/news_item.jsp?NewsID=915

What is that? (Τι είναι αυτό;) 2007 from MovieTeller on Vimeo.