I couldn’t stop myself.

If you haven’t yet read, Please Don’t Judge Me, click the link, it explains everything. Sort of . . .

https://theqwietmuse.com/2014/07/03/please-dont-judge-me/

I couldn’t help myself . . . They were just there, unattended, so beautiful. I walked away with four this time. I’ll admit not getting off to the best start with them, but at least I didn’t leave them in the trunk. Again. I lined them up near the porch to get some sun and forgot about them, just for a day. Okay, a day and a half, but they seem to be fine.

Today I will begin the process of making them a home. I’m excited to get my hands dirty. I was going to buy new caskets pots to place them in, but the ones from last years lost victims flowers will work just fine.

image

Wish them me luck.

Had I known.

Had I known
what tomorrow
would bring
when I dreamed
my little girl
dreams,
would I be
who I am
today?

Would I have
followed the road
that led me
to here,
would I be
who I am
today?

Would I have
gone through
the heartaches,
the horrors,
and fears
endured
through the
years
to become
who I am
today?

Would I be
who I am
this day
if I’d known
who I would
one day
become?

Before the
question
was asked
the answer
was clear.

Gladly I’d follow
the path
that led me
to here,
to become
who I am
today.

Crystal R. Cook

This Place

A place to be who I am
no walls to hold me
no chains to bind me
A light in the
dark recesses
of my soul
Acceptance
long searched for
may finally
be found
No longer alone
with my
thoughts
never shared
no one cared
until I found
this place
where the
thoughts of many
are kept by keepers
who know
the value of
each one.

Crystal R. Cook

Never was.

Hopes and dreams
of yesterday,
faint memories
of a life
once wished.

Shifting sands
and seasons
of time.

Mourning
the loss of
nothing
and
everything
that
never
was.

Crystal R. Cook

I rise and write.

Hendrick ter Brugghen - Old Man Writing by Candlelight

Hendrick ter Brugghen – Old Man Writing by Candlelight

When the sun settles for the night and the moon begins its reign, I rise and I write.

Insomnia is often a writer’s friend, perhaps even their only friend at times. It can also be an innocent and unintentional adversary. Many nights I have laid my head upon my pillow in hopes of drifting into dream. Instead, my mind begins to think on things I should have thought of throughout the day. Ideas and epiphanies chance moonlight visits to my conscious mind, begging me to rise and give them life upon a page.

Sonnets of silence serenade me with lullabies not meant to calm me to rest, but rather charm me to dream a thousand wakeful dreams. With my eyes open, pen in hand, word by beautiful word, they enchant me. A writer’s respite is not often found in the dark of night. Meandering minutes quickly turn to hours when a wandering muse beckons. When night retreats to the rising sun and the words silence to claim the sleep that was meant to be mine, it is time again to start another day.

Coffee in hand I stumble through, vowing not to stir again before the morning sun. I almost make myself believe I will slumber when the night comes, but when it does the seduction of solitude is too much to resist and I find myself once again, dancing with words across a page like lovers in a dream. I know too well the next day will be filled with weary eyes and a yawning, yearning for sleep.

Sometimes, when the night words come to steal my tomorrow, I refuse to play. When I do not heed their call, they whisper louder to lure me from my bed, knowing I will mourn their loss if I do not rise and claim them for my own. As a willing servant I follow and frolic just as I did the night before. Though happy to have the gift of them granted to me, I know there will be a price to pay, and I gladly pay it without pause.

There are moments I admit I have wished them gone. When my tired eyes blur and my head pounds in time with the beating of my heart, sometimes I wish them gone . . . but not really. Without them I would cease to exist, at least I fear I would. Every now and again, they retreat and sleep consumes me. I never fear their leave of me; they are silent and still only long enough for my body and mind to rejuvenate before they come again to play.

I welcome them and look to the light of the moon to guide our way through another night.

Crystal R. Cook

Teach the children well.

Teach the children well.
“Let us think of education as the means of developing our greatest abilities, because in each of us there is a private hope and dream which, fulfilled, can be translated into benefit for everyone and greater strength for our nation.” John F. Kennedy

There is among us a group of individuals who hold the future in their hands. They mold the present into what will one day become our past. Few are willing to take on such an awesome task, such a mighty responsibility. We call those few teachers.

Teachers become a part of every student they reach out to. They leave an imprint that remains with them their whole life through. There are many teachers whose lessons still resonate within me and I still go back to those memories every now and then and gain strength from them.

I remember the names of some, can recall the faces of few, but the ones I remember most are often faceless and nameless in my mind’s eye, for they have become something more than a faded memory to me. Those teachers did more than simply teach.

They grasped for the potential they saw within me. They gently pushed me toward success and I knew without a doubt they were pleased when I achieved it, I knew they still had faith in me when I did not. They incorporated values, pride in oneself and good work ethics into everything they tried to teach. They gave boost to low self-esteem, a pat on the back and a smile for every effort made.

Unfortunately, I remember all too well teachers that approached each day with the unspoken expectation that their students would fail. Too many of their students did fail; they failed to learn from a teacher who failed to teach. I do suppose in some small way I learned something from those teachers. I learned lack of enthusiasm and empathy would only lead to an end I did not desire.

“I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind; yet strange, I am ungrateful to those teachers.” Kahlil Gibran

I remember teachers who thought sarcasm and ridicule would teach. I remember teachers who lectured and yelled. I remember teachers who told students they would never amount to anything. I wonder if they ever did.

“Do not train children to learn by force and harshness, but direct them to it by what amuses their minds, so that you may be better able to discover with accuracy the particular bent of the genius of each.” Plato

I have fond memories of teachers who taught with kindness and understanding. I remember teachers who said good job and nice try. I remember teachers who turned a failing grade into the opportunity to learn. I remember teachers who told their students they could do anything if they tried. I imagine many of their students were able to reach out and touch the stars.

“The job of a teacher is to teach students to see the vitality in themselves.” Joseph Campbell

Teachers are one of our greatest resources. They do not always receive the gratitude, the accolades and the credit they deserve.

Children are another of our greatest resources. They do not always receive the praise, the attention and the credit they deserve.

Teachers are human. They have bad days and buttons that can be pushed. Some days, they may not want to be where they must be.

Children are human. They too have bad days and buttons that can be pushed. Some days, they may not want to be where they must be.

So many of us were inspired to become who we are because of the role one good teacher played in our life. I became a writer because a teacher believed in me. She showed me a path I’d not known existed. Though neither of us knew where it would lead, she pointed out the possibilities, she help me envision what might lay in wait for me. I am still on that path and in some small way she is right alongside me.

A teacher must be on a continual quest for knowledge else they cannot guide and teach and inspire. A teacher must learn to adapt in a changing world. They cannot teach today’s children effectively if their methods are cemented in ways of the past. They must maintain the core elements of their curriculum, yet have the ability to incorporate them in different ways for different children.

“You can’t direct the wind, but you can adjust the sails.” Anonymous

A teacher must remember each student is an individual. Not every student is equal. They all learn differently. They all act and react differently. Some have disabilities, some are gifted and some are right there in the middle. Some require a strict approach, some require a sensitive one. Some need a bit of both. Not every student is equal.

“There is nothing more unequal that they equal treatment of unequal people. ” Attributed to Thomas Jefferson

A teacher must recognize the uniqueness of each student, seek out their strengths, their talents and passions as well as their weaknesses.

“Expecting all children the same age to learn from the same materials is like expecting all children of the same age to wear the same size clothing.” Madeline Hunter

If a teacher truly wants the respect of their students they must first model it by giving it.

“The secret of education is respecting the pupil.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

Respect is learned and then earned.

“Great teachers empathize with kids, respect them, and believe that each one has something special that can be built upon.” Ann Lieberman

Teachers have a direct connection to who their students are and who they will become.

“Treat people as though they are what they ought to be and you help them become what they are capable of being.” Goethe

My goal, my dream, was to be a teacher. I never made it to the front of a classroom, but nevertheless, I became a teacher. I taught my children the faith and the values and the morals they need to have and then I built on the knowledge their teachers imparted to them. I tended to the seeds they’d sown, but just a seedling cannot grow without sun and water and care, a student cannot learn without praise, encouragement and time. Next to a parent, a teacher can be the most influential and guiding force in the life of a child.

“I put the relation of a fine teacher to a student just below the relation of a mother to a son.” Thomas Wolfe

Every action a teacher takes, every word they utter and every mood they have, whether it be for a moment or a day, will affect and impact the lives of the children they teach. A child should never leave a classroom feeling a failure. A child should never leave a classroom with guilt or fear or shame.

“Education . . . is a painful, continual and difficult work to be done in kindness, by watching, by warning . . . by praise, but above all example.” C.B Neblette

A student should walk away knowing even if they failed, they have the opportunity to succeed the next time. They need to walk away knowing their teacher believes in them. They need to walk away and want to come back.

“Nine tenths of education is encouragement.” Anatole France

For every seemingly troubled child, there is an underlying reason for their every action, whether it be emotional, mental or physical, there is a reason. Children are born with the innate desire to learn and please. The child labeled problematic was born with the same desire; something or someone along the way robbed them of it. A good teacher can help find what was lost. Some children may seem unreachable, even unteachable, but those are the ones who often have the greatest potential to learn.

“A child miseducated is a child lost.” John F. Kennedy

Sometimes a teacher will see the fruits of their labor as they watch the growth and change their influence has made. Sometimes though, they may not. There is a certain Chinese bamboo tree that once planted, seemingly does not grow. Initial growth takes place deep below the surface for many years. Before the first signs of life can be seen the tree has grown a strong root system that will sustain it as it begins to grow above ground. Within a year it sprouts from the earth and grows to be one of the strongest and tallest of the bamboo trees. There is no way to know which student will be like that bamboo tree. Just because you can’t see growth, doesn’t mean it is not taking place.

As parents, we entrust the most precious and valuable things in our lives to teachers. We trust they will provide the care and nurture required in our absence. We must do our part to teach them to respect and honor their teachers as someone of great importance in their lives. I valued my children’s teachers, they were role models partnered with me in shaping my children’s futures. I only asked they value my child and all the children in their charge. While teachers mold the future for their students, they are molding their own as well.

“A teacher affects eternity; he can never tell where his influence stops.” Henry Adams

Crystal R.Cook

 

 

A day at the river.

image

More shoebox memories.

I remember this day so well . . I woke early and sat on the picnic table next to the tent we’d pitched by the campfire’s glow the night before. I just sat, watching all of God’s glory begin to stir. I spent most of that day in silent observance, I watched and I listened and I wrote throughout the day. I wrote of love, of memories, and questions often pondered.

At the end of the day I felt such peace. Tranquility washed over me as the sun set below the tree line. It was a beautiful, beautiful day.

The morning sun
brought the
flowers to bloom
along the banks
of the sleepy river.

They stretched forth
their petals
as if in praise,
while hungry bees
dined upon their
sweet nectar.

The glistening dew
that formed
in the night,
fell to the ground
for the thankful
earth to drink in.

Songbirds
sang out
in soft serenade
as they searched
the moist soil
for food
to fill the
mouths of their
hungry babes.

Diamonds danced
upon the surface
of the waters
while life below
began to stir
from slumber.

Trees swayed
in the soft
spring zephyrs
as the sun
peaked high
in the
afternoon sky.

Furry little
squirrels darted
to and fro
beneath the
shadowy shade
of the trees
they called home.

The sun then
slowly made
retreat from her
lofty place
to spread
rays of gold
elsewhere,
the trees
bowed in thanks
as the sky
grew dim.

Mama birds
flew home
to their nests
to cradle
their young
in the warmth
of their wings
while the
crickets welcomed
the moon.

Fog again settled
over the river
as the flowers
tucked themselves
in for the night.

With bellies full
the bees
nested
and the
playful squirrels
were at rest.

Once again,
dewdrops formed
as moonbeams
began their nightly
waltz atop the
once again
sleepy river.

Crystal R. Cook

*Credit for the photo above is unknown, at least to me.

 

 

 

 

Please don’t judge me.

Black thumb

Every spring I get this incredible urge, it lasts throughout the summer. It borders on obsession really, if I don’t satiate my desire it overwhelms me. Every year I tell myself, not again, but when the spring zephyrs begin to blow, I find myself searching for them.

I suppose I should call them what they really are, I have come to a place of acceptance with what I do. Victims. They are victims, innocent and unworthy of their fate, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot help but seek them out in an effort to fulfill this secret fantasy of mine.

I guess you could say I stalk them at first. Once I find one I think would be perfect, I admire from afar, building up the courage to take what I should not be taking. No one ever suspects, I don’t look like the type to be engaging in something so unseemly, it only makes it easier to walk away with my prey. Usually it’s just one at a time, but every once in a while I end up with more. It’s easier to do what needs to be done with just one at a time.

Last summer I went crazy for a week and ended up bringing one home every day, it was too much to deal with, they expired quickly. This year, I have so far resisted, my husband intervened after I was
caught dumping my last failure, his disappointment in me was heartbreaking. He stuck by me though. That man is a rock.

I’m not sure I can hold out much longer. My desire has become a need, a thirst begging to be quenched, a hunger screaming to be satiated. I think today is the day. There is no one around to stop me. All I want to do is nurture and protect, I convince myself I’m rescuing them but in the end, they all end up dying, buried beneath the damp earth in my yard.

I remember every one of them, how beautiful they were before I stole away with their life. I miss them, I just can’t help but think the next one will be different, I will be different and we will be happy together, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

If I could find an accomplice, a partner who would not judge me or interfere, maybe it would be easier. I can’t ask my husband and involving my children is out of the question. I should go to the authorities and just turn myself in, I just want to try one more time before I take that step. I have to believe I can make this work.

This may be a silly question, but . . . What kind of fertilizer do you use? Do you water in the morning or the evening? Potted or in the ground? Is there some special type of soil I should be using? Help me. Please, help me before I go to Home Depot and find more helplessly, beautiful flowers to kill again this year.

Don’t judge me. I try.

Crystal R. Cook