Coffee Shop Moment

Aug15

I am out of the house. At Starbucks. Alone. The coffee shop is one of my favorite places to be, and not just for the coffee, believe it or not. It started with the coffee of course, but it didn’t take long to realize there was so much more to my outings than a good cup of coffee.

Most days there’s a kind of quiet here I can’t find anywhere else and the company quite often fascinates me. Most days. This morning I’m only five minutes into my much anticipated mini retreat and the gathering crowd is beginning crowd me. Todays caffeine connaisseurs are chatty and a bit on the rude side.

I’ll just sit here and write, avoiding eye contact and any possibility of accidentally appearing available for conversation, basically what I typically do anyway. You might not believe this, but I’m not much of a people person. I’ve tried to be, I admit I haven’t employed Herculean effort into my attempts at human contact, but occasionally I smile at people, that’s trying. A little.

My moment has passed. This is not turning out to be the morning I had hoped for. I’m only halfway through my venti iced coffee and thoughts of poking people in the eyes with a straw are washing over me. Just so you know, I wouldn’t do it, straws are bendy, not nearly reliable enough.

I swear I am a good person. I am.

Thankfully, the mouthy masses are moseying off to . . . other pastures. Not sure where I was going with that, all the chatter messed with my ability to form coherent thought. Maybe I can salvage the last five minutes before reality resumes and I head home to face the laundry pile.

. . . . . . . .

This morning was just made perfect. God is good, He knows just what we need and when we need it. I finished my coffee which prompted a trip to the restroom. There was a young man tapping his foot and singing to himself while waiting for the men’s room to open up. The ladies room was occupied as well so I stood in that little hallway, listening to his song.

He noticed me listening. I asked if he had a song stuck in his head. He nodded and told me it was a good one . . . Then, he took a step closer and looked me in the eyes, he serenaded me with his song.

I couldn’t understand the words, but I felt them. Each one leaving goosebumps on my arms. He was precious, he was pure and real and his sweet heart touched my soul.

A few people took notice, they stared, some even smiled. When a Down’s syndrome angel gives you a gift, you take hold of it and treasure it always.

Enemy Within

Aug13

Whispers scream
in the dark of night
echoes of fear
not there in the light
When the day comes
it does not surrender
unwelcome companion
constant tormentor
Close your eyes
cover your ears
it’s coming for you
you can’t hide from this fear
It flows through your veins
it robs you of peace
squeezing your heart
as you pray for relief
There is nowhere to run
there is nowhere to hide
there is no escape
from the monster inside
You face it and fight
it tells you your weak
holding for ransom
the comfort you seek
Relentless it strikes
time after time
an insidious fog
filling your mind
An unwilling warrior
in this battle for power
sometimes you stand
sometimes you cower
The battle is private
without allies or help
you are fighting alone
at war with yourself

Crystal R. Cook

O Captain, My Captain . . .

Aug11

“We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, “O me! O life!… of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless… of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?” Answer. That you are here – that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?”

Dead Poets Society

Bangarang Peter – Rest in Peace Mr. Williams

Aug11

Second star to the right, and straight on till morning . . .

Unconditional Love

Aug10

“The measure of love is to love without measure.” Saint Augustine

What is unconditional love? Exactly what it sounds like, love without condition. We cannot truly love if we place conditions upon our giving of it. I’m not certain as human beings we are completely capable of embracing the concept of unconditional love in its truest and purest form, in my heart I believe we can come close.

I know without a doubt I am loved unconditionally by my Heavenly Father, and I return such love in faith. I am loved without condition by the ones who gave me life and by the ones I have given life to. I’ve felt the power of love; I have seen it and I have been blessed with it.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it his not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. As for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Mother Theresa said, “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.” It seems to be a part of human nature to judge our fellow man based on nothing more than learned ignorance without regard to reason. While this may not be true for all, it is the unfortunate reality of many. Perhaps those who place conditions upon their love and acceptance of others were never given this gift of powerful and consuming love, and in turn, do not know how to give it.

“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality.” Martin Luther King, Jr..

In their most basic definitions, we take these two words, which together symbolize one of God’s greatest gifts, and we can see the simplistic beauty they create when combined; unconditional love truly means love without condition.

Unconditional: Adj. – Not limited by conditions; absolute.

Love: Noun – There are many definitions pertaining to the word love, among them are . . .

– A profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

– A feeling of warm, personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child or friend.

– The benevolent affection of God for his creatures, or the reverent affection due from them to God.

Unconditional love is the purest of love; it is the truest of love.

It is the love our Lord has for us, the love we carry for him.

Unconditional love is the expectant mother, who without thinking, places her hand upon her growing belly to caress the new life growing within her.

Unconditional love is the father with trembling hands, cradling his newborn babe in the tender warmth of his arms.

Unconditional love is the crying baby, soothed by a mothers soft song.

Unconditional love is sitting by the bedside of someone you love, letting them know it’s okay to let go.

Unconditional love is the butterflies stirring in your heart when that special someone reaches for your hand.

It is a shoulder to cry on, it is forgetting and forgiving.

It is allowing for a mistake now and then.

It is faith, belief, and hope.

It is not expectant, asks for nothing in return and lasts forever.

Unconditional love is a gift worthy to be given and a blessing to receive.

Luciano de Crescenzo whispered beautifully profound words when he said, “We are each of us angels with only one wing; and we can only fly by embracing one another.”

Crystal R. Cook

Pixie Farts & Snot Bubbles – A Baby Fix

Aug9

I often hear veteran moms talking about needing a baby fix, it sounds kinda seedy and back alley, but it’s not, I promise. Sometimes we just get a little nostalgic for those long ago days when our children were brand new.

Personally, I don’t need them. I’m good. I will admit though, to every once in a while being lulled back in time when I see a newborn babe nestled in its mothers arms, or smiling sweetly and cooing from a carriage.

I guess you could say I got my baby fix, not that I was in need of one, at Walmart the other day. A chubby little cherub smiled up at me from his cute little monkey car seat, he let out an itty bitty sneeze, it sounded how I imagine a pixie fart would sound. His little face smushed up for another sneeze, but this time it was more like a full on pixie explosion.

A snot bubble starting forming out of his left nostril which quickly became the size of the little guys actual nose, then, he sneezed again and that oozing bubble made an audible pop as it burst. The busted bubble bits quickly began drying into cemented snotcicles on his cheek and part of his eyebrow like frost on a winter windowsill.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that spewed from his button nose, the rest of the vile fluid was being hungrily lapped up by his tiny pink tongue. I had to hold in my lunch and wait it out, or lose my place in line. Walmart was packed, I was not going anywhere. Just as the nausea began to quell, I smelled it. It was like . . . death. Death in a bayou garbage pit at the peak of summer.

He was still greedily eating his own boogers when his momma leaned over and kissed his snot frozen cheek and said, “Did you do a stinky? Did you? Did you?” He answered with a smile that grew almost as fast as the next snot bubble it came along with. She again nuzzled the now whitish-green, booger speckled cheek and asked him again if he did a stinky.

I just wanted to shout, YES, he did! Stop asking or he’ll blow another mucus balloon and I will definitely throw up, probably twice! But then I saw that little twinkle in his eyes, it may have been dried snot, but it reminded me of what a precious moment in time it was for both of them. Then I began to think about the gallons of bodily fluids I had smelled, wiped, and gagged at over the years.

I realized how thankful I was I survived it all, how grateful I was I no longer had to wonder what the weird taste was when I kissed my precious babes. I knew right then I had to run because the sound and smell which yanked me back to reality even made that poor mommy take a step back. I decided it wouldn’t kill me to wait in a new line, but the beautiful mess in front of me just might.

So, if I was to ever, ever, feel some longing for a new life to cradle, I would simply need to make a trip to Walmart, there is always a baby fix to be found there . . .

Crystal Cook ~ Veteran Mommy

Reaction . . .

Aug9

My Chosen Path

Aug9

Why is this happening to me? Why, oh why?

Aug8

Okay, I’m being a little dramatic . . . I have a question for the more seasoned bloggers here, maybe you can help me out.

Do you know why my last post from yesterday will not relinquish it’s place at the top of my blog? I checked to be certain it wasn’t somehow set to be pasted there, the box was unchecked and I am befuddled.

I typically consider myself a fairly intelligent gal, but this has me stumped. I don’t like being stumped. I don’t care for feeling befuddled.

Do you know what it is I have done to deserve this frustration?

My thanks in advance if you’ve any help to be given 🙂

Captain’s Log: August 6, 2014

Aug7

I reblog for your entertainment . . . The keeper of this log/blog is a dear friend of mine. She is an excellent human being, a fantastic writer, and I cannot wait to see what she shares. I feel a wee bit responsible for adding blogging to her unbelievably, hectic enough life, but I hope she finds it as therapeutically necessary as I have.

Write on, Captain. Write on.

bringingupkitten

Captain’s Log: The one known as Terra is asleep after attacking several crew persons. Again, she has tried to take on Bill and not gotten very far. He appears to like her much more when she is asleep….As do all of us. She has tried to attack number 2. Jonathan knows much better than to engage with the crazy one. Number 1, was able to make her yodel in her attempts to flee his embrace. Laney is nowhere to be found. She will be here soon for lights out. She prefers the tiny little psycho asleep.

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