Geek vs. Neat

I once saw a t-shirt that read, "I (heart) my Geek", I laughed out loud and commented to Blake "hey, I need that shirt!" He was amused but we never bought the shirt. Well as many of you know, I am some what of what society would consider a "neat freak." Everything has a place and everything goes there. I try really hard not to be to ridiculous with my expectations of my house, but I do pride myself in it's tidiness, sometimes to a fault. This last Monday, Blake had his wisdom teeth removed and was put on "rest" for 72 hours, so my story goes; I get home on Tuesday after a long day of work and worry about whether Blake was feeling o.k. or not and I walk into the house fully expecting to see him laying on the couch or in bed relaxing. Those of you who know Blake might be laughing right now because that is not at all where I found him. Instead I walked through the house and to the back room where we have created sort of an "office", there he was, but he was not alone. He was sitting in the swivel chair and accompanying him on the floor in a perfect, full circle around him were  about 2 dozen printed articles from the internet along with about a dozen books, most opened exposing a rainbow of highlighted "important information". I gasped at the sight. There he was in his glasses with a huge swollen face working on a research paper fueled on by soup and pain killers! I refrained from commenting on the mess before me, and left him to his work. That was Tuesday, today is Sunday and our office has only been added to. I still have never mentioned the "mess", though the thought to pick it up and vacuum has run through my mind, I wouldn't--couldn't. I know when Blake is done, it will be picked up, for now I am amazed and slightly amused at the sight of it. There it is, proof in my office, of the wonderful intellect, I married. I love that about Blake. His burning desire to fill his mind with knowledge and his ambition to apply that to his school and his life. He intrigues me, most of the time if I want to know something I go to Blake first, instead of the internet! I look forward to our conversations after a day's work. I go crazy if I hear something on the radio on my way to work and I have to wait all day to tell Blake and get his thoughts on the matter. Blake is interesting and intriguing, well-balanced and beautiful in all his ways. He inspires me and I am so lucky to have him and the mess in our office in my life. Come to think of it, I just might buy that t-shirt, "I (heart) my Geek," I'll wear it proudly and while I am at it, I think I will find one that reads, "I (heart) my neat-freak."

27 lb. Superman

As trying as my line of work can be, there in the midst of challenge, are always rewarding moments. On a daily basis I am humbled by little people that are naive, yet innocent; unassuming and truly believe in the unbelievable. They, in their small form, can believe in possibilities that we as adults have mostly dismissed--be it because we have tried and failed, or that we have faced a life full of harsh disappointment and unforeseen turmoil. Perhaps, the mere thought of hurt, or "what might happen if I believed in, or tried that" intimidates us to the point of leading safe, yet scared lives. I have a small child in my classroom, and when I say small, I mean tiny. I work with three year olds and although they are all small, this little boy is abnormally small. He is not a dwarf, but he has a condition that makes him unable to grow at a normal rate. He has to have daily shots of hormones to aid in his development. At a diminutive 27 lbs, I believe that his heart counts for half of that weight. As I sat on the floor with him the other day, he was engaging in childish, imaginary games, and decided that he wanted to administer a "shot" to both of my legs. I agreed, and he proceeded to pretend to stick a needle in my legs and then bandage them up. When he was finished, I asked,"do you have to have shots to help you?", trying to better understand his world through his play. His little eyes lit up and a smile broke across his face. In a wee little voice he said with great pride, "Ya! Just like Superman! So I can be big and strong!" I laughed, and I was taken aback. For the next few days I pondered it. How is it that a small child's fragile body can be poked and pierced, in a such a painful and frightening procedure, and yet inside can truly believe that he is becoming powerful and superhuman with each painful poke he endures? I am in no way implying that we should believe that we can become superhuman, but why can't we, as adults, believe with every pain that pierces our flesh, our inner being can grow stronger, more resilient, and more faithful in what we can become. We need to realize that the pains and trials of our human form are small in comparison to the strife we will endure if our souls are not "big and strong".  I can only hope, in my ephemeral existence here on Earth, I can endure enough pokes and prods to my outer being, that my inner soul will grow "big and strong." Please don't misunderstand me, I am not wishing for a life full of pain and no joy, I am only remarking on the knowledge that there will be inevitable pain and turmoil, and I wish only to be childishly naive and innocent in believing that I am becoming better than I was, and stronger than I am. 

-Sam.

Autumn's fleeting friendship

Autumn is here now, gilded by it's sober amber, everywhere, which is curiously soothing. I feel I can confide in the Autumn, that it's soft-spoken and unassuming and a great listener. Autumn is gentle. It has to be. It mediates between choking summers and chilling winters. So it strolls with me in the middle-ground, contemplative and nodding, low moans and grunts to acknowledge my anguish. But we all know what Autumn really is. It's a short-term fix for a long-term problem. No matter. I'll still cling to it in a delusional postponement of reality, secretly imagining to myself that if I count every second as it slips away, I will have somehow stretched the time space continuum, making my adventure up and down its fluid slopes prolonged. But Autumn is a cheap anesthesia, and everyone imbibes from it's numbing toxin. Oh well. We sip tea and swill coffee, and we banter and wax philosophical. There's a mutual understanding, of considerable depth. Autumn knows me as a quasi-intellectual, something of a test-tube intellectual. A commendable effort, but incongruous and encumbered by stigma. I look a bit silly, and no less a dilettante when reposing on Autumn's shoulder, next to the symmetrical portrait of Autumn. And Autumn is a flawless thinker. Autumn's pragmatism is all earth-tones. It's beauty is understated, yet its wisdom is impeccable, and impenetrable. There are no holes in Autumn. And in this way, it is ruthless. The only love Autumn knows is the unrequited kind. Autumn uses us. It knows we will ache annually for its return. For our return to the introspection we've so desperately put off, like Spring's cleaning. Long ago Autumn learned all it could of us. It predicts us now, and prognosticates our pain. Autumn is a detached confidante, hard to invest absolute trust in because just as children are prone to Halloween's mischief, Autumn can not help but capitulate to Winter's domineering depression. But for now Autumn is still vaguely warm and cozy, and here. 

This is my first time in the land of blogging. I am usually hard pressed to find the time to sit, let alone the time to write down the millions of thoughts that inhabit my mind daily. Of all the topics I would love to embark on, one in particular has been on my mind, rattling around as just a thought; now, thanks to the world of blogging, I am able to release this thought onto paper(screen) for the free world to enjoy! Perhaps its the upcoming holidays, or the fact that I just returned from a wonderful vacation with Blake in which we spent a little less than a month visiting family; whichever, my heart has been in a constant state of joy. Why you wonder? Well, although I have a million reasons for being in this state, lately it has been the amazing privilege that I, in a small part of my world, am known as 'Auntie Sam' to two wonderful nephews. With the arrival of my newest nephew, Tyler, emotions began to stir within me. The feeling continued with some pictures of Austin on his 4th birthday and of him playing on his little soccer team! It is amazing to me the love that I have for these little boys. I remember growing up, the incredible love and relationships that I shared with my aunts. Now, I find myself on the other side and I can't help but wonder if they will grow with fond memories of Auntie Sam and with the knowing that my love and support for them is unconditional and of abundance. As I think of them, I wish I could kiss their little noses, and tell them that in no comparison to their wonderful parents, I will always be here for them. So in ending, I am weakened by to small little men that are part of what Blake so passionately and endlessly loves--his brothers. With this, I have officially posted a piece of my mind and heart and leave with this for Austin and Tyler: "you are a connection to life, a tie to the past, and a road to the future."