Category: Pieces of Me

I think things.
I have scribbled my thoughts down on bits of paper, soggy napkins, and junk mail for as long as I remember.
The few things that I am collecting here are saved for new days. I want to remember the day that I had a thought that was so urgent; it poured out of my head, through my hands, and onto a scrap of nothing. My heart was consumed by the words written that day. The writing was a pressure valve that released me from consumption.
The things that I have written and lost or that I have trashed or deemed unnecessary or unimportant are my gift to the wind. The wind is my most loyal listener. To the sparrow, my little songs sound sweet.
This collection of words, thoughts, memories, and more is my attempt to allow others a glimpse into the mind of my madness.

I am mentally ill.
My illness does not define me, but it is one of the many things in life that has shaped my soul.
There is still stigma attached to mental illnesses. It may always be this way. Yet, in a way, my illness is a gift. It allows me to see things askew. It causes me to see aspects of the extraordinary in the mundane.
My illness is similar to yours if you take a pill to control an organ, have an autoimmune disorder, or a digestive issue, that requires medication, we are not so different. Your body is not healthy without medical intervention. Neither is mine. I take a pill to control a chemical imbalance in my brain.

It is not the illness I would choose if I were to pick, maybe the one who suffers Parkinson’s Disease, or a kidney or liver disorder would trade places with me. We each bear a burden. However, my illness is stigmatized and misunderstood—still today.

I am no longer embarrassed or ashamed. I am thankful.
I am thankful for the gift of seeing things differently. I enjoy writing little ditties to the wind and for the birds. Someday I hope my grandchildren will see and understand who I am and why I love them with no reservations.
I am sure many of the thoughts I log here are irrelevant to most in this generation and in the ages to come; however, some need to hear that they are loved and valued for who they are.
Do not be ashamed to be you.

Be willing to think things.
Try a new point of view. You are worth it.

I know that I use the phrase “profound revelation” too often. It is how I think and see. I find many aspects of life profound.

I am an amateur. I always will be. However, I exist, survive, and thrive. I desire to be a continual learner. I want to remember the young confused me so that I understand the young and confused. I want to be a flicker of hope to them, light in their darkness. I have been in very dark places. I emerged. There is always HOPE.

Do not let this world dictate to you who you should be. You are you. Find out how to love yourself and embrace that in your heart.
Think and believe. You are a gift to us.

Be willing to think things.

(I have written a similar blog, but this is a bit different, as the days after her accident have become years.)

I had a profound revelation today concerning my mom. She lives in Regents Park, an upscale assisted living complex.

Her memory is from day to day. She is my ‘50 First Dates’ mom. (See the cute movie if you don’t understand the reference.)

She rarely remembers what happened yesterday.

The accident that took my dad’s life in the summer of 2018, left my mom in a state of mental limbo. Her brain injury precipitated a dementia that is both cruel and merciful.

She remembers us (for now). Thankfully.

She, however, has no memory of what happened yesterday. On good days that is what you get; my mom, who has no memory of yesterday.

On bad days she works in a twenty minute loop. “I love your sweater.” Nineteen minutes pass, “I love your sweater!” Nineteen more minutes until she again voices her love for my sweater.

It used to drive me nuts.

Frustrated by her continual loop, I’d try to divert the conversation so that I wouldn’t have to hear of her profound love for my maroon sweater.

Then? I accepted it.

My mom was doing what she does best. She was kind. She was complimenting me. She showed her love and let me know she was happy that I (in my maroon sweater) was visiting.

I cannot change the situation in which we find ourselves. I CAN change the way I react to it.

This is my profound revelation.

She is not in control of her memory; of what she does or does not know.

She is not in control of remembering what she has or has not already voiced.

I AM in control of loving her, no matter what. I am in control of making her feel warm and accepted. I can accept her compliment (every time she gives it) with appreciation and grace.

I can show her that I love her and that I am thankful for her kind words and the time we share.

I am thankful for my maroon sweater.

More?

I am thankful for This Mom.

I am a time- gapper.

I live my life caught between six generations. I fill a gap in time that reaches from distant past to unknown future.

I knew and received love from those who were born in the 18th century.

I see the kinetic energy, marvel, and unadulterated love of children born in the 21st century.

I live my life, having been shaped by the love of both great-grandparents, grandparents, parents, children, and grandchildren. Six generations in succession; three before, and two after.

Suspended in time, as I am, I watch from my peculiar perspective as the world unfolds.

I see a few constants. I see a Star for the navigation of my soul. I see both love and hatred weaving their way through history.

Yet, I have my fixed point in time and space as a reference.

I have the shared knowledge of family; their horrific trials, true triumphs, and wrenching tragedies.

Reaching into the 18th century is an understatement, in that I have heard family stories from a time known only to historians and 9th-grade history students.

My knowledge of time is telescopic.

Polaris- the North Star has been the guide for many a mariner.

I have a different guide for who I am.

I have a God-given family, which tethers my heart while fueling faith in Possibility.

I have an unusual gift.

I have ancient eyes.

I stand in this gap in time, and in wonder, I see the past and touch the future.

I am a time- gapper by gifted grace, anchored to HOPE for our Future by the sparkle in my granddaughter’s eye.

Though I wasn’t looking-

I found myself in Colorado,

it was somewhere along an

Archuleta river plateau.

I was in the whisper of the wind

as it sighs through the trees;

in every glistening rock

and every gale-force breeze,

in the cool mountain air

saturated in the Springtime sun,

and I was in the glorious skyline

as the day was done.

So now, the question that I ponder,

what I just can’t see

is if I am in Colorado;

who is that living in me?

5/28/2010

There is a beauty in small inconsequential things

like the iridescent spot on a monarch’s wings

fluttering by and concealed by motion, by flight

unseen, but for a fleeting ray of silver light.

Small things, such as a sparkle of glitter in sand,

a bump on a toad, a freckle on a hand.

Beautiful things: small, tiny, and often obscure,

the radiant, the glowing, the plain, the pure.

Simple pleasures are for simple innocent minds,

who take unexpected joy in these treasured finds.

They seem unimportant in the great global scheme,

but cause a heart to wonder, to reflect, to dream.

Open your eyes fully, and see what the wind brings;

simple beauty in inconsequential things.

08/2010

Life is but a mist or a vapor.

Our years on Earth transitory.

Realizing this is the key to grasping meaning.

Our moments in Time are filled with myriad emotions, sometimes unceasing sorrow, other times inexpressable joy.

Change is a force moving us through Time, often without our consent, or desire.

Meaning, therefore, must be found not situationally, but intentionally.

Is Purpose individual or universal?

Are we nothing more than microcosms in a macrocosmic universe?

Are we moved along by chance and force only: or is there choice?

Pain, suffering, poverty, grief, and loss are not generally choices that are made, but instead, situations that are thrust upon us.

Choice comes in reaction to the situation, not in the situation itself.

Choice is critical, though often uncomfortable.

If indeed our lives are but a stitch in the fabric of Time, where is meaning found?

Meaning is found only in perpetuity.

Intentionally.

Life on Earth is transient.

Time, however; infinite.

I had a strange thought about that which is mine.

Someone was talking about my little brother saying derogatory things about him. The funny thing, is that what was being spoken, was the truth. He did those things. He was unwise in many ways. (In truth, aren’t we all at times.)

The negative words about him, however, caused me to react in my soul differently than I would have reacted, had I heard those same things about any other man.

In my soul I screamed, “yes, but he is mine! He is my brother. What he did does not define him. My love defines him.”

My brother passed away many years ago. He is gone but he will always be mine.

The strange thought I had, has to do with God. Does God love me for no other reason than because I am His? He brought me into His family.

When HE hears derogatory things about me, does He scream, “She is Mine.”

I believe HE does.

I am His. He owns my heart and my soul.

Mine.

A newly comforting word.

Am I who I am because of my DNA?

Am I who I am because of emotional encounters? Nature versus nurture is an age old debate.

I wonder if DNA dictates just my stature, diseases, and propensities; or does it play a significant part in the way I process information in the pathways of thought?

My intellect is certainly partially genetic. Thought. Reason. Ability. Is it ALL dictated by the genetic code I inherited? OR. Is there a spirit, a soul, an inner me who is able to take that which was given to me genetically, and shape it?

Am I able to become who I want to become, or must I become that which I was designed to become?

Nature or nurture?

Both I believe.

A question for a scholar, perhaps?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loving the laughter and chitter-chatter the language of smiles is all that matters.

Different Nations converge on a train… babies, toddlers, an old man with a cane.

Spectacular views, a serpentine track, vivid blues, baby-leaf-greens, and coal-black.

Chug-chugging engine and cool Mountain breeze… heavenly vistas, vibrant diverse trees.

Glittering rocks, living sparkling streams, time stands still and lets Eternity dream.

Until…

Rabid rivers, rushing, raging, racing. Past and present, current, churning, pacing.

Running down river at a break-neck-speed,

to where waters wander; unconfined- freed.

On the train smoke wafts, on the wind of whim.

Soot, seeking eyes, makes my vision dim.

There are billows and puffs and charcoal smells

And somewhere deep inside; my spirit swells.

Chug-chugging engine and cool mountain breeze,

City-hardened-heart begins the unfreeze;

on the Narrow Gage.

Vacation time is full of dreams and of wishes

of quiet listening to pine branch swishes…

Bees and beetles, cacophony of crickets …

Wild beasts in the brush and the lush green thickets.

Rest and peace; soul-solace at last.

Just a blink.

It vanished too fast.

Time. Who knows you? Where do you go?

Though I need you, you seem my foe.

My soul can drink the song of the bird; sounds of Forrest, I have never heard.

But ticking so loudly and beating so clear

The sound of the clock and my heart I do hear.

Dreams. Wishes. Must you really wait?

Invisible soul; dormant state?

Quiet listening; clear blue thought,

Elusive joys, may you be taught?

janatisdalehorton.com

Open the little tote I keep hidden in my soul. It is shoved to the back behind the important bill-paying, money-making, responsible-citizen tote. It is the tote with the colors of the galaxies splashed across its hidden but conspicuous lid.

Open the tote.

Crazy wants to come out and stay.

She wants to color the world with rhymes and rhythms and the depths of spectrum that she alone sees.

Open the tote. She has so much to say. Poetry and beauty; prose, and the loveliness in small things.

Incongruity. She sees incongruity and can not fathom the universe of humanity.

Crazy cannot come out of her tote.

At the core of who I am I hear her singing of her solitude and a tear escapes from my heart as she is confined to the very center of my soul. She listens to Pachelbel and she reminds me, of who I am in the universe. I am one who wants to appreciate the mysteries of God; to hear the rocks cry out and the trees clap their hands. I am one who wants the simplicity of a humble heart and a spirit of kindness. Crazy tells me this. I believe.

I must not listen to her. It is unacceptable.

She is lost to me.

I do however, keep her glorious tote hidden as proof that I have seen her, and I know her. We both cry at the refrain: “open the tote,” but it cannot be.

The unwritten joys will stay unwritten. The melancholy melodies must flow from another. I have banished her for the good of self and sanity.

I do still hear the flutter in my heart. The flutter of wind through a green glade. I am happy. I hear Her still.

I must push her back to her place of inconspicuousness. She does not mind, she has the Master of the Universe as her maker and King. It is to Him she weeps. He gathers the dreams in her dormant state and promises her wings and depth of understanding on the day the tote is presented to Him; on the day He opens the tote.

He will open the tote splashed with the colors of the galaxies. He will delight in the unorthodox way she sees and praises and lives. May He not question our strange union but bless us both with renewed vision, compassion, and hopeful hearts.

We are thankful for those who are labeled ‘a bit odd,’ those who seek unexpected experiences, in place of the mundane. We desire to encourage those who are unusual and unaccepted. The social castoffs, what if they have a tote!?

Perhaps we are different together? Perhaps we are souls who bear a special bond, a forever gift we offer each other. The knowledge of ‘Unique’ living in the center of our souls… a gift to our God…

our glorious tote containing our socially unacceptable selves.

Open the tote.

My great grandmother was Nancy Viola Pool. She was known as Ola.

Ola was born on February 8, 1896.

Yes. This was during the eighteenth century; just barely, but definitely. It was long, long ago.

My youth and adolescent years were lived in a house next door to Ola. My brothers and I called her Gran-Gran. My mother called her Mama. Ola was the only loving motherlike influence in my own mother’s life.

I always thought that Gran-Gran was my grandmother (not my great grandmother) and I loved her dearly.

I am now sixty years old and Gran-Gran has been gone for over forty-five years. Yet, there is a phrase that I inherited from her. Words of wisdom, or just an observation? Was it unique to her, or was it a quote of the times? I do not know.

During uncertain times, I hear it in my head, as if she is speaking. During times of dismay, or times when I am baffled by the actions of others, I hear it in my head.

It was repeated so often by my mother (and attributed properly to her “Mama”) that it is part of who I am. It is one of the core fibers of my being. It is a phrase that shaped my point of view.

Now that it has been properly contextualized, it may sound simplistic, disappointing or be misunderstood.

My Gran-Gran used to say, “Honey, it takes all kinds of people to make this world go around, and they are all here.”

Simple? Trite? Outdated?

No.

These are words that take me out of my egocentric point of view and catapult me into an understanding that I am not the center of the universe. The things that I think, may be as foreign to another, as their thoughts are foreign to me.

I am an observer. It is not right or wrong to be an observer, but it is who I am. I love “typing” people using the Myers Briggs test (in my head). I do it subconsciously, and almost instantaneously. As I come to know someone, I look back at my initial evaluation and judge myself; how right or wrong was I?

It is how I think.

We are in times (2020) where there are unfathomable, and unimaginable things happening.

As an observer; how do I act. What can be done by me?

Will I speak when the issues are not clearly defined, and are horribly blurred by hatred? Pivotal issues rage.

Murder. Racism. Rioting. Looting. Retaliatory Murder. Distrust. Ambivalence. Insecurity. Isolation. Terror. Fear.

Who am I? How could I possibly in my minute existence in Small Town Texas, effect anything at all? These issues are bigger than any one of us.

No one person can solve the deep unrest and horror that is brewing in our country and world.

So. Inevitable unrest? Hatred and distrust of others who think differently? Continued and escalating violence?

I choose trust.

“Honey, it takes all kinds of people to make this world go around, and they are all here.” -Ola Pool

I chose to believe. I believe that in the wisdom of GOD comes knowledge. Strangely even in these situations, I believe in an overcoming love.

I chose to believe that “it takes all kinds of people…and we are all here.”

Those who choose trust, seem weak.

Choosing love may seem to be blind ignorance; however, with my heart, my prayers, and my observations, I am consciously focused on understanding the unfathomable.

Am I protesting and demonstrating? No.

I am watching.

I am loving.

I am asking for a discerning heart.

I am seeking actionable kindness.

We are all solitary souls united around the clamor of fear.

I choose trust.

I choose faith.

“We are all here.”

Our existence is not chance.

I was asked to name my greatest achievement.

Looking at one’s own life, it is hard to pinpoint specific achievements if you refuse to use cultural standards.

I refuse to use my culture’s definition of great achievements. So? Greatest achievement?

Fame.

No. I will never be famous.

When I was in a high school theatre program and later went to college for Theatre Arts; I dreamed of fame. I didn’t care about the ‘fortune’ that accompanies fame. I wanted to be recognized for my ability to act. It was a gift that many people recognized, and one that college professors encouraged in me. I was in special classes to develop specific talents that I thrived on.

My gifts in this area brought me such joy and in the end unbearable tragedy.

The LORD rescued me from my GIFT. He rescued me from what I considered great achievements.

It was because of the unbearably hurtful things that I endured during these times in my young adulthood, that I ‘looked up.’

I was very mad at the world and mad at GOD for causing (or allowing) so much pain in the world; and more specifically, pain in me.

Strangely abandoned by friends and loved ones; I returned to what I knew.

I started attending the Methodist Church near my home in Austin, TX.

I wanted to give God a piece of my mind. I wanted Him to know how mad I was at Him. As I sat in the beautiful church with the intense saturated colors from stained glass windows, and the glorious sounds of the Bell Choir, I told God how unfair it was that He made people blind and deaf. Some people could not see the beauty or hear the music.

I vowed that day to start a deaf theatre troupe. I would learn sign language to communicate with the deaf culture. I would use deaf actors to communicate ‘unheard’ to the hearing world.

That week; I went to the School for the Deaf in Austin, and bought The Big Red Book. I started a journey to learn sign language.

I heard it was okay to be mad at God.

Good.

I was mad. I was furious, hurt and inconsolable.

A wise Methodist man told me that God made me with emotions, and that He was big enough to embrace my anger.

Making a vow that I have never fulfilled may be one of my great achievements.

Seeing inequality in life and struggling with difficult questions, started me on a path that questioned God, and everything I knew, or thought I knew about Him. The red book I bought, and the sign language I vowed to teach myself, led me to the earthly love of my life. More importantly; it led me to my Jesus.

I never achieved the fame I desired.

I achieved something I never expected. I gained the knowledge that the King of the Universe loves me more than life itself.

That knowledge is my most cherished achievement.

It is not an achievement I am able to claim. It was a precious gift.

Psalm 135:13 Your name Lord endures forever, your fame Lord, through all generations.

Achievements are a strange thing.

How does one reconcile in ones’ mind the disparity between the rich and the poor?

As I soak up the sun on the dock of a beautiful lake home, on a glorious day, my mind turns to those in abject poverty.

Each situation; that of those enjoying the beautiful lake, and that of those suffering from hunger and want are conditions that were perhaps out of the control of those finding themselves in these situations.

How does Heaven view the rich and the poor? Are temporal things; gorgeous Lake homes, verses mud huts in third world countries, viewed differently from the Throne of God?

Does one represent a blessing while one represents indifference by the Almighty?

The heart of the poor, who put their children to bed hungry each night, is it somehow different from the heart of the one whose child eats contentedly?

Disparate.

How is it that with my out-of-focus mind, I question inequity? I am not a believer in redistribution of wealth, but I am a questioner. Is what I call a blessing rather a distraction? Or should I take this lovely day and do nothing more important than give thanks for it.

I give thanks, while also pondering the hungry waif and the struggling parents who question their lives; and perhaps question my life.

Reconcile my mind to You Lord.

Show me.

In tangible ways I want to be one who is aware; one who takes action.

Send Hope to the hopeless.

Send Love to the unloved; may we see by the Spirit of wisdom the condition of our own hearts.

May we seek and may we find as we seek You without the temporal distractions of this world.

May my disparity be one of soul, where I recognize that this world is but a shadow.

I want to continue asking.

I want to know.

What do I think? What do I do?

Most importantly; what do YOU think?

Who do I LOVE? What do I give.

Oh! Where does my heart wander as I soak up this sun?