I Am You, You Are Me

We are all connected, joined together by invisible threads.

When we hurt one other person, we hurt ourselves, hurt humanity.

Each of us is all of us.

Love each other.

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A Christmas Fantasy

Here’s how it would be in my world:

There would be no such thing as Christmas once a year.  All of the good things about Christmas would be divided evenly by 12 and scattered throughout the year.  (All of the bad things would be divided as well.)

  • The poor and hungry are always with us; they would be donated to and thought about all year long.
  • People living in institutions, like the Denton State Supported Living Center for instance, live there all year long and would probably enjoy little gifts and visits every month of the year just as much as they do in December; they would get that.
  • People would buy gifts for loved ones occasionally just because they happen to see something they know that person needs, or would enjoy; gifts would have more meaning, and the stress of HAVING to find SOMETHING/ANYTHING at a certain time of the year would be eliminated.  And they WOULD find things they wanted to buy because the people who design, create, and market all the things we like to consume would let some stuff out of the box all year long instead of withholding everything until the Consumer Frenzy Season.
  • Stores would sell a little more all year long, instead of waiting until “Black Friday” (aptly named for reasons other than the one given, in my opinion) to turn profitable.  We would be able to go to the store for routine purchases in December without having to fight massive crowds and crazy traffic.
  • We would still get just as much time off from work and school, and we could still use that time to get together with our families, catch up on whatever, shop, go on vacations, etc.
  • The pressure and expectation of having just the right family/life situation would no longer be concentrated and dumped all at once on people who do not have that, causing some to sink into depression – and some even to succumb to despair to the point of just deciding to end it all.
  • People who want to enjoy fantasies as the source of good things with their children would still be free to do so if they wished – maybe Santa would come down the chimney on the first of each month in those houses with just one toy for each child, instead of once a year with a whole bag.  And those who want to always tell their children the truth could do that too, still buy nice things for their children, and let the children say “Thank-you!” to the person who actually bought it or made it for them.
  • As far as all those lights and decorations – well those are pretty any time of year.  Maybe not snowmen in Arizona (ridiculous) or elves or reindeer, or anything else that makes no sense, but why not have buildings and trees lit up with pretty colored lights to enjoy every evening while we walk about in our less stressed and hurried shoes, buying something maybe or maybe not, and just enjoying the pretty sights?
  • Most importantly, for those who really want to celebrate it once a year as Jesus’ birthday, maybe they could start celebrating that at a time of year that approximates the time of year Jesus was actually born on earth, instead of on a co-opted Pagan holiday that originally had nothing to do with him (in fact had some pretty horrifying, evil traditions.)  The ideal of peace on earth, good will towards man could be shouted from the rooftops then, and I believe be more likely to be practiced every day of the year.
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Broken Hearts Teach

I want to tell you something about people who have had their hearts broken.  I don’t mean a teenage crush not working out; I mean a really, truly, thoroughly BROKEN heart.  That isn’t always from a romance; in fact I think the worst ones usually aren’t.  Maybe the first man or woman they ever met broke their heart (a parent.)  Maybe a repressive, abusive religious upbringing did the damage, or being an outcast for some reason beyond their control or understanding.  Maybe their heart was broken because their child was hurt badly . . . or worse.  Maybe they have experienced loss you can’t even imagine.  Real heartbreak comes from any number of sources.  And it is amazing the degree to which people can heal and appear basically normal eventually.  If you are one of these people, then you already know this.  But for the rest of you, here is what I want to tell you about these people:
They know things that you do not. Don’t judge how they see the world using a measure calibrated with how it looks through your eyes.

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Trying To Enjoy The Ride

Skidding  . . . Spinning  . . . Rolling  . . . Screaming  . . . Boom!  Wish I would hurry up and get to the part where I’m surprisingly OK.

I’ve told a few people about the car wreck I had in 2004.  It was awesome.  Best car wreck ever.  My Isuzu Rodeo skidded in the rain, spun 360 degrees, and then rolled over and over into a ditch.  I landed passenger side down.  The only broken glass was the rear window, giving me a place to climb out.  I was driving alone, no kids in the car.  Just before leaving on this trip, I had thoroughly cleaned out the car, so I didn’t have to worry about all my belongings being all over the place.  The only things I had with me were my purse – ZIPPED closed (see characteristics of the perfect purse in another article) and the book I was reading at the time (I think it was Dorothy Parker.)  I took these two items and climbed out the rear window, much to the wide-eyed astonishment of a man who had apparently seen the wreck and stopped to help.  I think he expected to find someone dead or paralyzed – which is exactly what I was expecting while spinning and rolling.  But I was not even bruised or scratched!  I wasn’t even SORE the next day, or ever, from this wreck.  The car was totaled, and we had Gap insurance, so this got me out from under a car I totally could not afford.  I’ve made the joke a few times – I was “upside down” on my car loan, so I just turned the car upside down and that fixed it.  My husband had recently bought a junky but good little used car that I could drive, so I didn’t even have to go car shopping.  Everything about this was good for me!  There is absolutely nothing about this incident I would have changed . . .

EXCEPT for just this one little thing:  At the beginning of it, I would know how wonderfully it would end; then I could have enjoyed it!  That spinning and rolling – if I knew it wasn’t going to hurt me, that would have been so much fun – Wheeeee!  A pretty great thing was happening to me, but I didn’t know that until it was over.  At a certain point, I was quite aware that I had absolutely NO control over what happened to me next.  All I could do while the car tumbled was offer up the Terrified Scream Prayer.  (In case you don’t know, that prayer goes like this, “HELP ME! HELP ME!  HELP ME! HELP ME! HELP ME!” – as loud and fast as you can manage.)  Then, BAM!  Everything was still, I was ok, and the perfection of what had happened began slowly and over the next few days to unfold before me – not hurt, no more car payment, lost absolutely nothing, and had a bit of an adventure to boot.  To this day, my Ex sometimes asks me if I want to drive his truck for a while, implying maybe I could repeat the performance and get him out from under a big vehicle loan.  Haha, David you’re funny. 🙂

The other good thing about that wreck is that it gives me a great metaphor for what I’m going through in my life now – wondering if I’m going to get a teaching job, and if I’ll really be able to handle it if I do get one.  Even if I do get a job, even if it is the perfect job, and I am great at it, I already know that, best case scenario, it is going to be just-barely-actually-not-quite-but-I’ll-make-it-work on time before I am completely, seriously, not even kidding, BROKE.  So, I sort of see this period as like when I was in the middle of the slow-motion wreck, before I found out how OK everything was going to be.  I’m seriously scared, and part of my brain is definitely screaming, but I’m trying to also remember how that wreck turned out, and enjoy this ride, hoping that soon I’ll hear a big BAM, and start seeing how OK everything is going to be.

Then if that happens, wouldn’t I feel silly for not enjoying and making the most of all of this free time?  So far, since being unemployed this summer, I’ve gotten some big projects taken care of that really needed taking care of.  I feel so much satisfaction from that and I’m looking forward to tackling a few more of those.  I’ve spent more time with loved ones, and plan to fit in some more of that soon—haven’t gotten to everyone yet.  I’ve been available to help someone who needed my help, but I usually wouldn’t have been able to give it.  And today I’m off to spend some time with my nephew and I’m going to enjoy the stuffing out of it.

image001

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Time

I’ve been thinking since this morning about time.  It started as I finished a hurried, distracted conversation with someone who has so much to tell me but not enough time to tell it because she has to get to work.  And, so do I.  Frustrating.  I want to hear the story!  I think about other times when I want to “spend time” with someone but it just doesn’t work out because one or the other of us “doesn’t have the time” after taking care of our responsibilities.  I remember time from the past, periods of my life that I want to rewind to and play over and over again, or maybe freeze and just stay there.  But I can’t.  It’s in the past, and I can’t go back, but only forward.  Because that’s the way time works.

Wouldn’t it be great if there was no time?  I don’t mean “no time” like we usually mean when we say that phrase, as in, “I have no time for myself,” or “I don’t have enough time to get everything done!”  No.  I mean—what if there was no such thing as time?  What if time didn’t exist?  That seems like a very pleasant existence to me as I think about it today.  Maybe that’s part of what makes heaven—timelessness.  A constraint lifted, eliminated, freedom.

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I Wish I Had Treated Her Better

Christmas (6) - Copy

“I wish I had treated her better.”

I’ve heard almost everyone I know, who knew my niece Kami, say something along those lines since she passed. I wouldn’t be surprised if it is the most common feeling expressed ever by loved ones when anyone dies, because even if you basically treated a person well, we are human; miscommunications happen, we get impatient with each other, snap when we should speak with love, get too busy with the urgent and neglect the important, fail to understand the burdens someone else is carrying and criticize when we should just love–even in the best of circumstances. It is always going to seem, with loss, like you could have done better. And if there was indeed any problem between you or mistreatment on your part, it will probably seem bigger/worse to you when the person is not here anymore–when you can only say “I’m sorry” and “I love you” to the air and hope she hears.

The lesson is obvious and I hope we will all hold on to it the rest of our lives instead of letting the passage of time numb us to it. Since that day, I have spoken harshly to someone I love, and I regretted it and apologized much more quickly than I would have before.

I don’t like regrets. I have enough of them already to last me the rest of my life – don’t need any more. If I have wronged you, I’m sorry. If you have wronged me, I forgive you.

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Dedicated to Kami Hunter – Peril and Rescue on the Farm

The below is also published in the 2009-2010 Tarrant County College Fine Arts Literary Journal, “Marine Creek Reflections,” along with a few other of my pieces which I may add here later.   These three narratives are all true.

The “28 pound screaming angel with golden curls” in the final of the three accounts, is my precious niece, Kami Deann Hunter, who passed from this plane of existence on May 1, 2013.  She asked me before she left us to write her biography.  I reminded her that I had already begun in a way, having written this about her.  My brother Paul, in the first story, is her father.   We are all brokenhearted to lose her, but I hope comforted a little remembering her precious, unique personality and courageous spirit evidenced so early in life.

Dedicated to Kami Deann Hunter, 1975 – 2013.  Aunt Donna loves you.

Peril and Rescue on the Farm
by Donna Hunter, 2008

 

Some snapshots from my childhood and youth.  Most days were uneventful, boring even.  But when they weren’t, they were often scary.  Here are three stories of dangerous situations and the heroes who came to the rescue.

 

The Red Bird

My brother Paul thought he’d raise some chickens.  He bought the brooder and the fertilized eggs.  The eggs hatched.  He took care of the little chickies for a while, and at some point lost interest.  They managed to grow to adulthood anyway (most of them.)  Reddish gold colored chickens, roaming wild, dotted the property.  Paul had moved on to another venture.  I watched as their numbers dwindled.  The local predators were likely enjoying a time of plenty.  Every so often it would be observed that there were noticeably fewer of them until one day . . .  there was one.  And he was not well.  Survival in this heartless world had made him crazy and mean.  No one, especially not a 9 year old girl, was safe if they dared enter his territory.  I discovered this pretty quickly after a failed attempt to go play in the barn.  An angry squawking blur of rooster feathers and talons flew at me, driving me back to the house.  I was no longer allowed to play in the barn; the Rooster owned it now along with the surrounding area.  I was sad and afraid.  I begged Paul to take care of the problem, but he was in no hurry.  Finally (I imagine when it became clear that I would never stop begging) he agreed to kill the rooster if I would agree to bring it back to the house from wherever it landed.  I agreed.  He shot it at the very back of our 6 acre plot of land.  No problem; I got bailing wire from the barn, tromped determinedly back to where the little bastard lay – finally motionless, harmless.  I had won.  The barn was mine again.  I looped the wire around his foot and drug him through the dirt all the way back to the house, where Mama and I plucked him, boiled him and ate him with dumplings.

 

The Big Sheep

His name was Buck.  My brother Byron bought him to raise, and show for Future Farmers.  Buck was the biggest Ovine I’ve ever seen and he struck fear in the barnyard.  The sound of his bleat would not have been recognized as coming from his species.  On hearing the sound, unaware of its source, one would think himself near to encountering something vicious, perhaps even demonic.  It was a low, guttural “BUUUUUGGHHHH.”  I trembled when I heard it.  I remember watching Byron standing on one side of the pasture while Buck charged at him.  Buck outweighed his lanky teenaged body by a significant amount, but he was unafraid.  Byron planted his feet, squared his shoulders, stretched out his arms and clasped his hands together in front of him while he watched Buck gain speed coming toward him.  As soon as he could reach Buck’s head, he leaned forward and put his clasped hands on it to stop him.  Buck’s rear legs flew up in the air and Byron’s feet skidded back in the dirt a few inches.  But the charge was over and Byron had shown himself to be the master in this relationship.  I did not fare so well.  Once, daring to attempt to cross the pasture I found myself trapped halfway to the barn by this beast.  I don’t know what kept him from knocking me to the ground, I only remember standing there pulling at his wool, petting him, afraid to stop because every time I started to let go and walk away he would seem to start to charge again.  I have no memory of how I escaped this situation; it’s kind of a terrified blur.  My guess is that Byron noticed me missing and came to rescue me.

Perhaps I wasn’t intended for farm life.

The Vicious Dogs

By my teen years, the scary farm animals were not much of a problem anymore and I sought adventure beyond our property line.  One day, while babysitting my niece and nephews, I decided to take them for a walk in the woods behind our property.  Today this area is a fully developed neighborhood, but in those days it was still just “the woods.”  It was beautiful, shady, filled with interesting trails and quiet adventure, one of my favorite places; and I thought the children would enjoy it as much as I.  They padded along behind me, my small, innocent companions, trusting that their teenaged Auntie knew how to take care of them, and certainly knew better than to lead them into danger.  It was a peaceful, beautiful day walking the trails, until . . . suddenly it wasn’t.  As we walked up a trail curving up a steep hill, we heard a horrible sound coming from a distance but approaching very quickly – growling, barking, drooling, snarling, running beasts!  A number of dogs (the terror of the moment erased the exact number from my mind) were dashing at us at top speed.  With several small children to protect and nowhere to hide, I had no idea what to do and no time to think about it.  Running would have been pointless at best; I could not have moved fast enough with all the children to get away from the pack, and running from a dog is a bad idea anyway.  Only a few seconds elapsed from the time I was aware of the impending attack until we were all rescued – by a 28 pound screaming angel with golden curls.  While my mind raced and screamed silently, and no doubt all the children were terrified, we were all suddenly stunned by an ear piercing screech and turned to see the youngest of our group – my niece, Kami – knees locked, bent forward at the waist, fists extended behind her, nose to nose and eyeball to eyeball with a dog at least twice her size, screaming into his face at the top of her tiny lungs.  Time froze.  I don’t know how long she screamed, but it was long enough.  The dogs were all stopped in their tracks and turned and ran back the way they had come, silently except for the sound of their quickly retreating paws.

This is about the age she was when the dog incident happened.

This is about the age she was when the dog incident happened.

Kami high school

Sweet Kami, teen years

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