Trying to....

The NeverEnding Story....Sans Falcor

I've realized

that there really is no end result.

As far as making goes

I find it's all about the process.

As far as life goes

I've realized it's just the same.

If it were all about an outcome,

then what?

Do you take a photograph

of what it looks like when you get there

hang it over the mantel

and sink back into your chair?

If you could be completely fulfilled

before the end of your human life

what would you do?

A life of constant goals and aspirations

of journeys climbing mountains

and crossing valleys

never has a finish line.

Even the old folks rocking on their porch chairs know this.

They still travel in their minds

or live vicariously through the youth.

Their hearts are still in the game.

There are no endings

only beginnings

only treasure to seek

and souls to rescue.

There is no stopping point

but there are plenty of vistas.

The pauses are imperative;

one cannot eat and eat

without taking a minute to digest.

You stop -- not stopped

your particles are buzzing --

and digest the peaks

digest the canyons and the pastures

digest the lives you've witnessed

and the marks they've left on your own

make sense of the directions you went

realize the necessity in the roads you chose

even if they were filled with potholes.

But you never stop at the goal.

There are moments to take action

and their are moments to absorb.

One is equally as important as the other.

I used to be afraid of change

now I fear the redundant.

Change is the heartbeat of life

the current that propels vitality through the body

the repetition that keeps things flowing.

Even the swallows thirst for change.

They'll fly south

but they always come back home.

Keep moving, keep moving

because the breeze is blowing the minutes away

and the times are changing quickly.

Ready or not

the docks are full

and the ships are sailing

and nobody likes to be left behind.

They're sailing in a circle

because that's all we've got for now

It's all new and it's changing

but it's the same and repeating.

Keep all your clothes

because you'll be wearing them again.

Time is an illusion

I'm motion

you're motion

and we're all getting dizzy

trying to balance on the same spinning globe.

We have our goals

set, accomplish, repeat.

set, accomplish, repeat.

and I've realized

that there really is no end result.

-h-

Losing a Brother and Sister

Sometimes it seems like all I do is say goodbyes. Just this time it wasn't me leaving. Last year my family hosted a sister and brother from Latvia, Santa (now 14) and Olegs (now 10), for the summer. It was through this hosting program that I came to know of Helping Hands India, and what led me in the direction of my latest journey, but that's another story for another time. Santa and Olegs quickly became a part of our family and connected with each of us. Not to mention physically they fit right in! The end of summer goodbye was rough to say the least, and just speaking about them over the past year always made me a little weepy. I spoke to them a few times via middle of the night international calls to my cell phone, but other than that communication was minimal. We were told that because we weren't adopting them, we wouldn't be able to host them again, so that they could be hosted by other potential adoptive families, which they were over the past Christmas.

Olegs, me, and Santa

The family of ten that hosted them after us were very interested in adopting Santa and Olegs, but the two declined the offer, apparently they didn't feel it wasn't a good fit. They were picked up by a new hosting agency and I was elated to find out we would foster them again this summer. Upon my return from India, there they were splashing around in the pool, my long lost brother and sister!

Olegs, Violet, Santa, Clementine, and Otto

I have always been the baby of the family, so getting the opportunity to be a big sister was an exciting (and at times, exhausting) change of pace. Santa is a sweet girl, a beautiful, blossoming teenager who swoons at the sight of Justin Bieber. It was fun to do big sister things like take her shopping, listen to music, play cards, paint our nails, and talk about girl things with her. Olegs is a little rough around the edges, but he cottoned to me from the get-go. The youngest of the family, I tend to have the most patience, letting him hang on me and follow me around, not to mention beat me up on a daily basis with his karate moves. At night though, after the witching hour when he ran up and down the stairs, from one end of the house to the other making noise and jumping on every piece of furniture, he would settle down and we would head upstairs for our nightly routine. We would snuggle up in his bed, him with his head on my shoulder (any type of affection from him was extremely rare) and read from a book of Curious George stories. This was the most special part of my day.

My parents Dovey and Beard with Santa and Olegs

A few days ago we had to say our goodbyes once again. The hardest part about this is not knowing if we will ever see them again. There's no way to know if we will be able to host them again, or if they will even be in the program again now that they have declined an adoption from a another family.

The farm has been pretty quiet the last few days. Three kids (my nieces and nephew) instead of five, is a big change, and without Olegs, the whole bunch has settled down quite a bit. Though it's been a little more relaxing around here, I can't explain the void here without them. I'll miss the way Olegs would chime in while I was reading, 'George was a good little monkey....'and always very curious!'', that he would only show affection when no one was looking, or how when he walked behind me I knew to brace myself because he'd be riding on my back within seconds. I'll miss the way Santa sang Justin Bieber quietly as she bounced around the house, asked me to do her hair, shouted 'Love ya!' every time I said goodnight or left the house, and appointed herself as best friend and caretaker of my two-year-old niece Clementine.

My Sister Jane with the whole brood (they could easily all be hers!)

It breaks my heart to think of Olegs, a vulnerable little boy who has been tossed around from family to family, or orphanage to orphanage, who has a hard time keeping his anger in check. He just wants to be loved and wants to show love but has a hard time allowing himself, but finally began to open up and feel like a part of a real family this time around. When he left, he not only threw his arms around me, but whispered 'I love you' in my ear. How can you say goodbye to that?? I didn't go to the airport this time, but my parents said he cried all the way through security. This from the little boy I have never seen shed a tear. I imagine him back at 'home' in Latvia, living with the 'mean old woman' as they call her, missing us and feeling angry and alone, just wanting someone to read him Curious George. I have never had a brother, but I loved every second of it when I was given this opportunity.

I don't know if I will see Santa and Olegs again, but I pray that I will, whether it be next year, or thirty years from now. I hope that we have affected their lives as much as they have affected ours, and that they will be a part of the change that their society needs, and become the parents that theirs never were.