Message in a Bottle: Metablogging

I hope it is okay to use someone else clip art from the web? The artist's website is included in the image so I think I am giving him/her the credit for the picture..

The idea of blogging is fairly new to me. The idea of journaling is not.

Last night I was thinking about the concept of it and how incredible it is.

Whenever I journal, I imagine I am talking to someone...perhaps to God, or in hope that someday someone might read it...although, perhaps many of those pages I don't really want just anyone reading...

Blogging on the internet is more public. Perhaps, I am still writing to "God" in case no one is really reading this.. But, I think, perhaps, many that do blog do have a reader or two or two hundred..

In any case, as I write, it is almost like putting a message in a bottle and releasing it to the sea-to the world. Perhaps someone will find it; perhaps no one will.. I may never know the outcome of it.

There are proably thousands who blog? millions? I don't know.. All these bottles floating out in the ocean looking for a reader. Perhaps some of them are an "SOS to the World"..Many people reaching out..perhaps in loneliness, or simply wanting to connect in a meaningful way. Perhaps someone wants their 5 minutes of fame from it. There are probably countless motivations for it. But my imagination of it is that there are many souls reaching out with blogging- wanting to say something they can't easily say to other people in everyday association.

I think of the movie Powder.. We don't realize how connected we are. We see ourselves as separate, but we are truly connected and we don't "see" it. We are more the "same" than we think we are. Our feelings..our need to connect. This blogging experience IS truly amazing. It is spiritual...each post is like a light out into the ocean..and expression of who we are..and that desire to connect with each other..and perhaps our Creator..

This is my own photo. (-;

Camping

My parents next to our HILO trailer

My parents first introduced me to camping when I was one year old.

I do not remember the tent camping stage of that part of my childhood, but I do remember our old Starcraft pop up trailer. I had my own bunk and I couldn't touch the canvas if it was raining or I'd get wet. I loved my little corner of the trailer. We also had a screen house we would set up that would help to keep out the mosquitoes and rain- so we could have our meals in relative comfort. I loved the outdoor cooking, the smell of the meat on the grill, helping my mother shuck (sp) the corn..the campfire popcorn, marshmellows, sometimes strawberries and cream. I loved being outside in nature, the peace, the time to relax and read a book by a lake or river. I loved the nature walks and ampatheater shows/talks, and the new places we were able to explore. Hiking with my dad. Cooking with my mom. Occasionally, we would go camping with my father's parents. I remember exchanging stories with my grandmother as I helped her walk to the bathroom. (she was not very steady on her feet) I remember singing to her "who's afraid of the big bad wolf" (She was very patient and never seemed to mind) Sometimes I'd lie down beside her when she had to put eye medecine and wait for it to work into her eyes and we'd share stories again-episodes of the Waltons or Little House on the Prairie. I remember her telling me that she liked the earlier Walton episodes better before they started drinking. I remember clipping some of blond hair into her hair thinking it would make her gray/white hair change back into younger hair and this would make her reverse in age.

Each camping trip was an unique experience. Each was special in its own way and each had its challenges too. When I was about ten, we sold the Starcraft and my parents bought a HILO trailer that would raise with a hydraulic system. As I entered my independent teen stage; I opted to be in my tent and I loved my "own space". I loved listening to the sound of the rain pattering on the canvas as I read or wrote poems or thoughts into my diary. Ahhhh..the endless hours I could spend in my own thoughts back then... (is that child calling to me NOW?)-

my tent on the right

Even after graduating from high school, during college I'd go camping a little by myself. My parents worried, I know when I was on my own..It wasn't quite as fun alone...

One of the first traditions I wished to preserve after getting married was to go camping every summer. We have done that (almost). We tent camp. (I prefer using a tent.) My husband and I camped across the country back in 2002. Then when our son was 3 1/2 months old, we went camping for 8 nights in Florence, Oregon. (a tricky experience because it was cold and we had to lug our food and equipement in a wheelbarrow every mealtime) Our daughter had her first camping experience when she was one. This year we went to the Redwoods for a week and a half. My father was able to join us which felt really special as I owe this important aspect of my life currently to him and my grandfather.

Camping with young children (as parent) isn't the same as when I was a child/teen...It is MUCH more work and less relaxing, but still, it always feels worth the effort as I see my children gain from the experience. Each year, they seem to learn something about nature or become stronger more mature/wise. My son especially is very much at home "outside". My daughter also toughened up quite a bit this summer as we did a lot of "kid hikes" It is good to get away from the TV, the computer, the landline phone..the housecleaning, the toys, the the the... and simplify life a bit..

My father, myself, and my 2 children

My father told me the story of how he started camping. It was my grandfather's idea after reading a magazine. I think my father was about 14-15 when they first went...so that would have been the early 1950's.

They found an old tent that my great-grandfather had collected when he was working as a janitor. The rest of the equipment they made themselves.. I think it was very cold/hard sleeping on the bare ground/

I guess that parks were just being built as a way to boost the economy-getting families to sight-see, to travel, spend money, etc..

In any case, it has become our family tradition; and I hope it continues for more generations to come.. I hope we preserve enough of our parks that my great-grandchildren can also experience the awe and spiritual relationship to our world.

my husband and children (drawing/writing in their journals).

Poem I wrote while in my tent and listening to a storm outside:

The Test of Life (8/21/89) 16 years old.

The violent storm raged

Gales of wind whipped the ocean

as lashes struck each wave

A war between land

that wanted to be constant

and forces that made change

The clouds covered the earth

with black malicious eyes

and loud striking commands

So much hate, yet the earth's world is a mirror

of the spiritual trials we follow

The cruel attacking

The merciless striking of lightening

leaving a shock of pain

To look at the clouds

No realization of the malice

that could break you

because you cannot really see

Until it hits you

you can ignore the clouds

fight the wind

but you cannot obstruct the lightening

all their lives

people fight the wind

and deal with lightening

as it strikes close by

If they fight hard enough

they will survive the storm

to be rewarded with a definition

stronger than the hurt

The sunny day seems so much brighter

And the person

so much more whole, confident,

and less wary of survival

If this can be gained

how could those hateful clouds

be seen as so hateful

when they give us a gift

nothing else could giveenjoying nature (me at 14 yrs.)

A little blurb on the history of camping:http://www.talkcamping.co.uk/guides/history_of_camping.html

Age 12 (1987) Second to last visit with Grandma

Ok. I did say that this would be a time capsule "eighties" And in my vision of this blog; I imagine a going back and forth between the past and the present time including excerpts from old journals. I took a look at 1987...Yikes. I was a dork. Well, not really a dork, but it is embarassing how much I talked about "crushes" and the such at that stage in my life. I was 12. But here at the end of that diary is a significant memory I have.

So, here goes: (keep in mind that this is in the words of a 12 year old...many spelling (sic) and such errors and probably typos in copying.) and forgive my immature 12 year old perspectives..

Saturday, April 25, 1987 age: 12

I just finished the paper route with dad. He didn't have to work today. So we didn't have to get up at four. I'm not tired at all even if I wen tto bed at eleven and got up at five. Yesterday the most amazing thing happened to me. We went to go visit Grandma at the hospital, because she had a severe shock almost a stroke leaving her right side paralyzed. This happened Monday just after we had spent the weekend with Grandpa for Easter. Grandpa told us Grandma wouldn't even recordnize (sic) us. She couldn't talk or anything. Excpet somehow deep inside me I couldn't realize that. When mom and I went into her room (which last time we were visiting her I was about eleven and wasn't allowed to see her, because of my age) The first look at her I thought she was dead, I was so scaired(sic). I waslked over to her and she was sleeping. I tried to wake her, but I coudlnt' tell if she was awake or asleep. I tried to talk to her, but she gave no signs of recordnition (sic). I read her a healing prayer(my favorite the one I read when I burned my foot). still no recordnitions I told her over and over how much I love her still no resonse that was when I remembered all the times I told her that and she would kiss me and later on when she went to the convelenscent (sic) home she would squeeze my hand, but she just lay there unrecorditionalble. I started to cry. I have never eally felt this way before, except when I couldn't find Panoochie, (our cat) or when I aw that dead cat. When I cried over Mr. Wyman it wasn't my true feelings or when I cried of Grandma Kennedy it really wasn't real, but this time it was true tears not tears that I thought I should shed.

Then mom came over and said a prayer for her. I then kept talking to her and telling her about camping all the fun we had. When I told her stories about the tv series, Waltons, and Little House on the Prairie. The n the nurse came in and I asked if I could hold her hand, I no longer felt like crying. I tried to hold her hand, but she shook it and didn't want any part of it. She probably thought I was a nurse. So I just put my hand over hers and kept talking ot her. I put my head on her sholder and closed my eyes for a while. I wanted to show her my love and that it was me. that was when she turned her head and looked at me. She moved her hand and I held onto it. She sqeezed my hand! and looked at me directly in the eyes. I knew she had responded to me. I told her about the movie Rags to Rickes and I cold tell she liked that. Itold her again that I love her. The time was running out though, we had been with her for most of the time and had to give dad and grandpa a chance to see her. I told her we had to go and I kissed her on the lips and she kissed me back! That gave dad and granpa only 20 minutes to see her. while we waited in the waiting room I saw people talking to a deaf person in sign language. I wen tover and talked to that person with my hands too using letters. When dad and grandpa came back they said granma was very conscous(sic) and even reached for granpas (sic) hand. I have never felt this good in my life.

Core of Self: Unapologetic

I've been thinking recently about how I identify myself and how I have related to other people for years..

I often find myself in a role of looking for assurance from the people around myself. Am I okay. Am I lovable. Is my existence worth something to them? Do I often try to impress them, or share a piece of who I am with them from this locus?

In my life this search for assurance has taken on so many forms. And I realize that even my personality is (slightly) altered depending upon who I am with. Often their energy sways my energy; and I try to fit in with them.. This isn't' the case always. I do not think I do this so much with my husband, or when I already feel accepted and loved.

Alas, though, when I do not get this assurance; I wonder about my own value-or feel hurt that I don't think I am liked. (Isn't this silly) It is not who I want to be.. I should not depend so much on assurance from other people.

I want a strong "core" I would love to not care so much what others think. I "know" I have value. I am proud of who I am and where I have taken my life. I don't think everyone is proud of me..I don't think everyone respects that I chose to be a stay at home mom at this point in my life. I don't think everyone appreciates that I am really into gardening, violin, my kids..care about what goes into our bodies, into the air, the soil, etc.. I think many people might not even agree with the principles of my Faith/and or the things I choose not to do for my faith such as not drinking alcohol.

Many people may look down on how I parent...That I believe in nurturing them/the relationship.I also do not believe in over-scheduling them (but we are still busy) I am also not always a die-hard disciplinarian...I also know I'm protective of them.. perhaps too much.

There are so many points where someone could disagree or look down on how I choose to live/raise my children, etc.. I can do the same thing, probably do...Seems inside our "shell" we think we are doing things in a "better" way. I am living and raising my children in the best way I know how, within my own conscience...and I am not saying it is better than anyone else's way. but I am so often plagued by the "feeling" that I am not approved of.. I wish I could be like Philip Glass and just laugh at the criticism-see it as a sign I am doing something right. And I pray that my children grow up to be okay, well-adjusted, etc..


Inside my heart, I am not apologetic. I am on this path honestly...and I adapt as my children grow...as I learn better.. Some of my "protectiveness" is making way to encouraging their autonomy, independence. I am NOT set in stone.. I have changed so much in this journey and I continue to change when I feel the path is "right" for me..when it seems I am doing the "right" thing. But I hate skepticism/and or competition...it drains me..especially when a part of me is looking so hard for assurance..the skepticism hurts. I already know I'm not perfect. I am doing the best I can. And sometimes I long to hear "I'm doing just fine" and that my children are doing just fine, etc..

I'm rambling.. But I suppose that is the point of the blog. It is the journal I am willing to share. Personal, but not too private. (-;


In any case, I wish for a stronger core..one that is not swayed..I think it is stronger from just realizing the limitation of "seeking assurance" from other people. I don't want that to be the place where I am coming from. I wish to transcend that. Perhaps I already am transcending that..I can see myself leaving that limitation behind..flying above it to something else more solid and real..