Oak Creek Crazy

Isn't that just Grand

The inside of a tree

When Tigo was in Kindergarten, I would go help out in his classroom on a regular basis during work groups. The class divided into small groups and each would go to a table and work on a different assignment. One day when I was there, the class was learning about the seasons of the year. The assignment that I was to help the kids with, began with a piece of paper divided into 4 sections. Each section with a silhouette of a deciduous apple tree and its empty branches. Simple enough, the kids were to each write the name of the season below and then proceed to color the tree in to what it might look like during that season.

Now, Tigo is my son. I believe that we are all biased about our own children in one way or another. And if we, as parents are not, we should be or something is wrong. I am totally biased about my kids and think they are brilliant and creative and they continually surprise me. And frustrate me. And confuse me.

When Tigo came to the table that I was stationed at, I told his group what the assignment was. Some of the kids needed help spelling the names of the seasons. I prompted them for ideas on what the trees might look like during those seasons. But we were in Virginia then, and it's pretty darn hard for anyone, even a kindergartner to not know the seasons of the year. Virginia is case book scenario for 4 seasons.

But Tigo was different.

At first, I thought it was because of me being there. I was his mom, so he had to act a little different with me around. But as he proceeded, I knew it wasn't just him being difficult with me. He was really seeing something, in his own mind that was really hard for me to stiffle, but it also didn't follow the norm for the assignment.

Tigo began to draw the what the tree looked like on the inside during each season. As he colored away the interior of each tree, he describe out loud what it was he was coloring and why. "In winter when the tree gets cold and loses it's leaves. The sap inside the tree works hard to stay warm. It turns yellow and brown." "In the summer there are so many colors, it's so excited to be alive."

I don't remember all of what he was saying. I do remember a lot of confusion on my part. That back and forth in my mind of trying to figure out if he was just trying to change the assignment or was he really believing what he was saying. Or did he know something that I didn't. Could he feel something that I couldn't.

We block so much out as adults. There are rules to follow and things that need to be addressed. Bills to be paid, society desires to be filled. Wanting to fit in. Does this education really have room for variance like this? Can a large classroom function with deviation from the norm? But if everything is a deviation from the norm is anything really even taught at all? We stray away as we get older from the truthful thoughts and the purity we are born with.

Heck, maybe he was pulling it out of his ass to be difficult with his mom. But I'd like to believe that not just my amazing son, but all the amazing children out there have something to share with us that we have forgotten. I remember a camp counselor that I had growing up. He would always say "Now that's a good kid." And he would say that about almost, if not every, child that he met.

So where does that insight go? How does it slip away? With my three kids ages 5, 8, & 10, they are all at different levels of innocence and self awareness. I love watching them grow and change. Unfortunately, as this happens something slips away and it is harder and harder to hold onto what it looks like on the inside of a tree. Or the inside of a child.

So anyhow, for Spring Break this year, which came earlier than we are accustomed, we roadtripped it from our current haunts in central New Mexico through Northern Arizona. The road travel is a lot easier to stomach in the wide open west, than it is on the East Coast.  We made our first destination to the Petrified National Forest, just across the state line and did a little exploring. The scenery was amazing. Truly, truly a painted desert landscape. The layers of geology which I do not know but can, anyone can, with out a doubt know that magic was working, to create it. Or created by the hand of God.

The Petrified Forest has a main road that travels about 20-some miles through the landscape with pull offs and small trails for exploring. The deeper into the park you get, one wonders where the forest actually is as it's not obvious for some time. Slowly fragments of the trees that once grew on the now barren landscape begin to appear. Upon closer investigation these scattered tree stumps, as they seem show an amazing beauty.

Through the petrification process a rainbow of colors is preserved in the wood that once grew tall. My dingy camera does no service to beauty and the colors found. But right away when I saw the rainbow with in the tree I thought of the morning I spent in Kinder with Tigo, three years ago.

That's what he saw, I thought. That is what he meant. He saw the colors in the trees that were growing.

I reminded him of that day and the pictures he drew. He only vaguely remember and kind of laughed. I still don't know. Did he make it up or did he know. I want to believe that he knew and felt the trees. But that also means that he may be forgeting. How do we hold onto the innocence and sixth sense of knowledge that we may all have and may slowly hide under our layers and layers of bark?

Yes, of course I saved the picture.

(though seeing the real picture holds my memory better than the scan of it)

Petrified Forest

Yoga Bag Baby

Oh I'm so happy to be back sewing again. It's mostly just stress, but it works.

Made this little bag yesterday and finished it this morning. It's a birthday present for one of my yogi friends. I hope she likes it and gives me good feed back on how to make it better.

Those are little pockects on the outside of the bag.

I kind of love it.

Carefree

We went to Carefree, Arizona a few weeks ago for a "business trip". It was a great excuse to get out of town and see a little different area of Arizona. A bit different than deeper into Scottsdale and Phoenix. Some friends gave us their home to stay in during our visit. Sooo kind.

We got to see some wildlife that we don't get in the high desert.

Yes those are Javalinas. (Don't say the "J")

We also say lots of quail and even a bobcat! Yes a stinking bobcat. Apparently wild cats are pretty common in the Sonoran desert. The kids and I saw one strolling past the house and Elmer saw one on the golf course waiting to pounce on some quail. Which also means that we saw lots of quail.

Swimming, outdoors, in January. Another anomally.

Gorgeous sunset. Picture does not justice. And I took it while driving. Probably another initiative that should be taken on. Instead of no texting and driving, it should be no photographing and driving.

Dancing in the waterfalls.

Yes, this was too good, to pass up. Carefree, no shooting.

Namesake

Last night at the dinner table Tigo was clapping out syllables to all our names. He is learning a little grammar in school and parts of words so that, that is probably what gave the rythmic inspiration. As he went around the table saying everyone's names, he used their legal, official, names. I think he did this, mostly because we almost all have a nick-name that we go by and our birth certificate names have more syllables.

By the time he got to Lola, she cut him off.

"don't call me that"
"but it's your name"
"don't call me that"
"but it's your name"
"Lola is my name, I am not in pain."

When I was growing up, I had numerous conversations like this with my brother. Or on the first day of school with a new teacher, or when there was a substitute. I swore up, down, left, right that I would never ever name my kids one thing and call them another.  As I've gotten older, I have discovered that best way to end up doing something is by swearing under sacred oath that you will never do it.

So anyhow, her name is Dolores. Which means pain in Spanish. Or quite literally more than one pain. Multiple pains. I didn't quite put it together before it became official on her birth certificate. Or maybe I did, and just ignored it. It's definitely a practice that needs to occur with every pregnant family when deciding on name options for their unborn child. The practice of determining the side effects or potential name-calling tactics by school mates on certain chosen names.

How can the name be changed to be made fun or to become annoying.

Lola was named after her grandmothers. First name Dolores after her paternal grandmother and Lynne, the middle name, after her maternal grandmother. Lynne was a middle name and I wanted to keep it that way. I also never ever had intented (though never publicly denounce or stated that I wouldn't) use Dolores, that she would always be Lola. Lola Lynne.  Maybe a country music star one day. Probably not if she has my singing genes, at least.

Dolores is also the name of Elmer's hometown.  Grandmother, hometown, old school classic name. No doubt it had meaning and it was meant to be.  Now she states she wants to change her name. The same way that I wanted to change my name from legal name of 4 generations of legacy to something different than what it was, is. Something known.

Now, I can often look back and determine how well I know a person, by what they know of my name. If they know my full name, they likely have known me for a long time, or they are a cold caller trying to sell me something.

It seems when you know the history behind how things, or a person, got their name, how they came to be you know them much better. A secret, that is not really a secret, just something that doesn't necessarily need to be talk about.

When I finally turned 18, I had no intention of changing my name. I still regularly struggle with trying to figure out the best name to use at the doctor's office or signing papers for my kids. Quite honestly it took me a long time and a bit of emotional turmoil to change my name after I got married.

Only time will tell whether Lola will still want to change her name when she is 18. Whether the importance of history is more important or the ease of removing some pain overrides.

She will always be Lola to me though.