begin anew

I miss you!

2012-01-18T17:17:00.002-05:00

Work today was a bit of a whirlwind. It involved good karma boxes, distraught parents, some contraband, and a non-existent lunch. This combination led me to misplace my Iphone.

I noticed this exactly as I pulled into my driveway, after work, to make a call. This is one of my odd little habits. I consider the driveway my home office, and often place a call or two before I go in and get distracted by pure chaos. No phone. Ok, no big deal, I clearly left it at work and will pick it up tomorrow.

To cut to the chase, I have needed to check appointments, text, look at the specifics of a pattern I had photographed, and email. I have been forced to move to the big machine and it is woefully inadequate. If I do not find my phone tomorrow, I will stop on my way home and have a new one by the evening. I am wired in....

How did this happen? Is all this texting and talking and organizing doing something to our neural pathways? I just googled that question and the answer is apparently "yes." There are such things as internet and texting disorders. We are, indeed, redirecting our brain circuitry.

How long can we go without our smart phones? Do we need to take a break on occasion?

This kinda reminds of the time when I forgot to go food shopping and then decided that an all day fast would be "cleansing." It was not. I know I don't want to get rid of my smart phone, maybe just turning it off on occasion is a good idea. Just realized I can't listen to tunes on the treadmill. Bigger issue is that I can't seem to see the treadmill under a pile of books, art supplies, and maybe a stuffed snake? I would take a quick pic to post, but you know the story by now.....

I am going off the grid. At least until tomorrow:)

Sometimes, just listen to a good tune

2012-01-11T17:28:00.000-05:00

Yippee

2012-01-06T16:15:00.000-05:00

WCE accepted a job today....about 15 minutes from the house. I know he is saddened by the dissolution of the dream team but I have faith that they may come together again someday. The process was a harrowing one which included my heart getting all fired up, literally; the kids asking if we could afford Christmas this year; and picking through our values with a nit comb.

I'm also grateful for the partner that I ended up with....even though I didn't include him in the favorite pics of the year, he has such integrity and compassion and all good things that I sometimes can't believe our luck in finding each other. It is when things go off the rail that he becomes most steadfast. I just get kinda loud:)

Congratulations Sweetie! They, and us. are lucky to have you!

And by the way, thanks to all my friends and family for lending an ear, giving us such generous Christmas gifts, and talking this thing through. I must have rocked in my past lives:)

Favorite Pics of 2011

2012-01-03T18:10:00.000-05:00

Before church

After the race

A Day at the Beach

Contemplation

More Contemplation

Getting There

Warrior Dash

Bermuda

There you have it:)

One last day

2012-01-02T11:11:00.001-05:00

Today is the last day of a week long vacation. What did I not get to? Oh yeah, getting my oil changed, renewing my expired driver's license, and putting away the holiday decorations. Of course, I can't really do those things on the very last day of vacation, that would be unvacation-like.

What I need to do today, what we all need to do on our last day of vacation is figure out the last lego piece to the holiday sculpture. What magical winter experience eluded me? Besides anything having to do with snow in the becalmed Northeast. Although we did ski, hike, climb, and run. We also partied, laughed, read, ate, played games, and enjoyed each other. I got it. Today should just be more of the same.

Enjoy each other and the gifts of vacation for one more day. The oil and the laundry can wait.

Happy New Year

2012-01-01T19:52:00.000-05:00

We rang in the New Year with good friends, good food, and some fierce dancing! Do you think you can dance? Hang out with a hip-hopping 9 year old, a friend with a Jazz background, and a dude with a Dean Martin hat. You will be disabused of your notion:)

This is the post where I get to wax poetic about the gifts of the year. I love this part of the holiday, although another friend pointed out, rightly so, that this time of year is really about the death of the old year. Reverend Judith with her Buddhist perspective, wished us all "Happy Continuation Day" and I like the flow of that.

I'm thankful this year, in no particular order for the following:

1. My bodhisattvas, the people on my path who are teaching me....that is all of you so a big shout out for that. My daughter teaching me love, my son teaching me compassion, my husband teaching me trust, my friends teaching me faith and joy.
2. My job-- a difficult one but a raft in turbulent economic waters.
3. Adventures--Bermuda, skiing, Harvard Square, Brimfield, the Warrior Dash, and the Cape. Most within 50 miles of here. Go figure.
4. My docs--they continue to work to contain my fear and my occasional irregular heartbeats. Go team.
5. My elders--they are "wicked pissah".
6. My Community-- I complain a bit about the suburban life but I've got neighbors who are getting my son on the bus, carpooling with me to dance, and preparing for ski season together. I found a village and I'm grateful as hell.
7. Yoga-my friend Rolf told me years and years ago that I was going to need yoga more than I was going to need any other physical activity. His words have proven to be prophetic. With my racing heart, arthritic knee, and herniated disc (I don't look that great on paper anymore), yoga keeps me going.
8. Church-- I need to sing, pray, meditate, teach, laugh, and cry. That all happens every Sunday. Amen
9. The Things I made this year--not enough of them, and some half-finished....one even had upside down snowmen in the end but every minute I spent making something by hand was a gift I gave myself. More next year, I promise myself.
10. My Clients--I don't blog about 'em but I am immensely grateful for the amazing stories I am privileged to bear witness to and for...it is an honor.

So seize this year and embrace it. I love you all!

Why Read....Books?

2011-12-29T16:49:00.000-05:00

Thank you Kindle, for being built by a bored teenager in an impoverished part of the world (most likely) and breaking down in a way that my WCE * husband could not fix...even with his high-powered safety googles and very tiny screwdrivers. Apparently, I just need to call Amazon and they will send out a replacement but the universe is talking to me, through imperfect products, and I'm listening:

Universe: What were you reading on Kindle that you miss?
Me: Not much, I downloaded the entire Game of Thrones series which included murder, incest, rape, and naked princesses.
Universe: What have you picked up at the library since your Kindle went offline?
Me: Biographies of Margaret Sanger and Kurt Vonnegut, a book on Buddhism, and some Irish short stories.
Universe: Hmmmmm
Me: What are you saying, Universe, that the Kindle's choices are mainstream and that I have to pick up an actual book and see if it calls to me?
Universe: No, I'm wondering how the the last book in the series turns out.

Regardless of the smart ass universe, I'm not sure I liked what I was reading on the Kindle. The choices overwhelmed me and for whatever reason, I picked down, not up. I was talking to my buddy about reading and why we do it and we came to the conclusion that we all read for different reasons. She beautifully stated that she reads to be moved. I think I read to know more about what we all share. The best writers transcend their culture and place and speak a universal truth. The best example of that for me this year was The Elegance of the Hedgehog. Stop reading this silly blog and order it on your Kindle, right now:)

May the new year be filled with transcendental books, and of course, the next one in the Game of Thrones.

*World Class Engineer

Dear Santa

2011-12-25T18:58:00.000-05:00

Dear Santa:

I love all the stuff you give me, every year. So I'm writing this note to ask you a couple questions. Like:

1. Do you have any pets? (besides reindeer)

2. Do you ever get sick after eating so many cookies?

3. Do you have back-up reindeer? (if one gets sick or dies)

4. How many people usually get on the naughty list?

5. Do grown-ups get presents?

6. Do you ever shave?

From Emma...please write back
PS. Am I on the naughty list?

HO HO HO

I do have some penguins-
You and Luke never make the naughty list
I'm off to Jersey,
Thanks for the cookies
--SC

Merry Christmas Everyone, may the wonder continue throughout the year!

Updated Version of 12 Days of Christmas

2011-12-22T19:42:00.000-05:00

On the first day of Christmas, my true love said to me: I think we can do it this year.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love said to me:  100 postage stamps?
On the third day of Christmas, my true love said to me:  darts can be safe .
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love said to me:  are you sure you want flannel?
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love said to me:  I may explode.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love said to me: I hope it's not Strep.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love said to me: It's all my high school buddies.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love said to me: Tequila hits the spot.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love said to me: The tupperware's on fire.
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love said to me: What do you want for Christmas?
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love said to me: Time to hang the lights
On the twelve day of Christmas, my true love said to me: We are very lucky.

All true and please sing it out at the top of your lungs:)

Sadly, there is now wax in the hummus

2011-12-10T18:49:00.000-05:00

So, we are in the Tsunami party season. We kicked it off last week-end with a rollerskating party for 18 eight year olds and I consider it a personal success story that we only needed one icepack. I consider it a personal failure, after my years of skate ranch experience in Lubbock, Texas, that I could not out skate aforementioned eight year olds, not one of them. Something about their starting hockey at age three gives them the hometown advantage. After the skating birthday party, we moved into pageant practice. This year's pageant is a morality tale focusing on the Tinsel children and featuring my son as a:

Shrub. He nailed it in practice. They hit their marks, yes they have marks, and they projected into the wee hours. All of that will not make one whit of difference tomorrow morning but it gave us something to do on a Wednesday evening. It was especially fun to keep them from running around on the seductive wooden floor as the yoga class downstairs was entering into shavasana. Namaste from all of us.

Next in line are the yearly holiday parties: baking cookies for the swaps, buying a brilliant gift for the Yankee swap...one for all the discerning gals at the neighborhood party and one for my husband's family party with the theme "Occupy Boston" with not one word of explanation. Next comes the clarifying call to another friend....do we exchange Christmas gifts or just birthday gifts? I feel the slide into the Christmas Zone. Packages wrapped and sent off to Texas? Pictures taken for Christmas card? Seven relatives emailing for suggestions on gifts for the kids and telling them all the exact same thing? Half-finished advent tree? I am standing on familiar ground.

Today, these snippets of conversation captured it all. I will not bother telling you that I am going to relax and enjoy the season. The best I can offer is to try and laugh about it all once or twice:)

I'm not sure fake poo is the way to go (me)
That is way too fancy for a rugby player (my daughter)
This is my blue book, I need to write that down in my red book (my husband)
Doubles tennis, anyone? (my son)
Sadly, there is now wax in the hummus (me)

Good luck to us all.

Sands of Time

2011-11-25T10:42:00.000-05:00

Much has happened in the last week. My husband's company shut their doors for good last Friday, and he joined the ranks of Americans struggling to find work and security in these turbulent times. But, as the universe is wont to do, it sent some monks my way to help me keep perspective. The Gaden Jangtse Tibetan monks are traveling throughout the country for a year, building medicine sand mandalas and educating us about the ongoing plight of Tibetans who are denied religious freedom in Tibet.

So the monks came to our church and seven of them spent a week building the mandala. They used small brass tubes and amazing technique which takes 6 years to learn. We joined them mid-week and Luke pronounced the whole process "awe-inspiring." Indeed. On Sunday, they joined our service and it was quite fun to watch our minister metaphysically arm wrestle with the lama for control of the service. I learned that lamas are pretty good at metaphysical arm wrestling. At the end of the service, the lama blessed both of my children. What a gift.

That afternoon, there was a formal ceremony where the monks undo all that they have done in the previous week. The chanting and music was beautiful, and we all left with some of the sand. It is quite auspicious for your next life to have the sand placed on your corpse. I'm in. Several of my non-Buddhist friends have asked about the meaning of the ceremony...why sweep away such beauty?

The first noble truth of Buddhist theology is that life is suffering....we can't escape it. Suffering is caused by attachment. Attachment to a job or a way of life. It will change and end and you must flow with those changes. Be in the moment but don't cling to what was. Scott came over mid-week and watched the mandala being created. He also joined us for the ending ceremony. He and his coworkers were doing good work, building solar panels and trying to move the world closer to renewable energy as a viable energy alternative. It is a great sadness to see that work swept away. But just as the monks travel on to a new city and create new energy and patterns, so will the engineers/technicians of Evergreen Solar. Here is to the journey:)

Notes from the Pew

2011-11-13T17:10:00.000-05:00

So much to stuff into an entry when you are only writing every other week:) A few things have happened: the kids and I got lost on the way to the bookstore to pick up the latest copy in the Ranger Apprentice series, ended up in the projects and the locals threw yellow paint all over the car as we were touring through....I have been deconstructing this event in my mind since it happened. It threw me. It threw my kids. We had to have a tough conversation about class, urban life, violence, parenting, and compassion. What a suburban tale, really, lost in the projects on the way to the bookstore.

Then, we went to the Cape and had a wonderful time, frolicking on the beach in the off season. I have always been drawn to the water when the people leave. I spent a winter in Gloucester in a summer home, powered by a wood stove just trying to stay warm. I walked the beach every morning and found such peace. My partner at the time nearly went insane with the solitude. Each to their own.

Today, it was back in the saddle, teaching RE. Our topic was the question "what is prayer?" Here is what my beautiful class came up with:

Prayer is when you are talking to the Gods....you don't really get an answer sometimes but
it feels good to keep trying.

Ain't it the truth.

Here is my favorite Buddhist prayer:

May I be filled with lovingkindness.
May I be well.
May I be peaceful and at ease.
May I be happy.

May you be filled with lovingkindness.
May you be well.
May you be peaceful and at ease.
May you be happy.

May we be filled with lovingkindness.
May we be well.
May we be peaceful and at ease.
May we be happy.

It is Raining Geraniums

2011-10-29T17:54:00.000-04:00

We all turn into our elders. It is only a matter of time. One of my favorite dad stories is the time he sat me down to talk to me about being more aware of my surroundings and encouraged me to slow down and think before I sped from one thing to the next. I nodded in agreement, willing the lecture to be over; "I get it, I get it." As he nodded that I could go, I shot up and hit the hanging plant over my head, shattering the pot and raining down dirt and geraniums on both our heads. The next nod I got was one of resignation.

Now, I am giving the speeches, and they are so very good and equally effective. Today's classic response to one of those eloquent speeches that I have given 30 times before was "I never heard you say that before." Just like I never heard my parents, until right about now.

Kids are karma, your very own spiritual teachers reminding you of you...the younger you, the you that sped through life without a care in the world, trusting your parents would pick up the pieces, which they did, time and time again. My mom pushing us to be compassionate, my dad pushing us to "do right" and my grandmother pushing a spiritual path. What a pushy group. So as I sit here, watching a foot of snow fall in October, I am thankful for who I am turning into.....it was my grandfather's voice telling me to fill my car up with gas before the storm. I am especially grateful for those voices when it is raining geraniums. Bring it on my little campers, I was taught by the best.

3 Cups of Tea

2011-10-19T17:18:00.000-04:00

I enjoyed Greg Mortenson's tale of building schools for girls in Afghanistan and combating terrorism, racism, and poverty. I even continued to feel sympathy and compassion for all involved after Jon Krakauer wrote his digital expose "3 Cups of Deceit" detailing how much of the story was a myth created by a self-aggrandizing odd duck. Don't get in the middle of dueling mountaineers, they are notoriously cranky.

My own tale is a more humble version having nothing to do with a global vision and everything to do with my internal descent into chaos. This morning I woke at 5:30 from a dream that featured me frantically trying to dial my husband at work on a rotary phone and a cranky operator coming on the line telling me that "those phones" don't work anymore and that I would have to drive over and give him the message. Am I the phone? Most likely. I do a little negotiating with myself in the morning....5 more minutes and just forget about picking out jewelry. 5 more minutes after that, you can just buy lunch at work. There is a lot of wheeling and dealing with part of me that really just wants to sleep, a bunch more.

Still so tired, I made some tea and put it into Cup #1. Just as I was about to drink it, a great debate ensued about the application for ski club that had a hard and fast deadline of "right this minute". No tea for me, time to drive to work. I poured tea into Cup #2 and headed out the door. As I sat in the driver's seat, I realized that I had chosen a cup with no lid. Cup #3 was chosen from several possibilities because the content was still liquid.

Lately, I have felt combative, restless, and astray from my path. When those feelings wash over me, I return to the writings of those who have travelled for many lifetimes:

Drinking Tea

This cup of tea in my
two hands,
mindfulness is held uprightly.
My body and mind dwell
in the very here and now. Thich Nhat Hanh

Even if you have to do it three times:)

You can't use your crossbow in the house

2011-10-16T20:26:00.000-04:00

As a mom, you sometimes find yourselves saying things that perhaps have never been said before, by anyone at anytime in history. Or that is how it feels when it is coming out of your mouth (see title).

Still, the trickier times are the ninja conversations. These are the conversations that sneak up on you, pulverize you and melt back into the alley. Today, on the way to church, we all read this billboard in front of the local Church of Christ:

God invented Sex, so follow his advice about it in the bible.

Son: What does that sign mean Mom?
Me: Well, that sign is saying that you should follow what the bible says about sex (trying to remember what the bible says about sex....is it that sex is bad? Maybe....no, that is not it exactly...oh, right, right, you shouldn't have any for quite some time....until you are married...I think that is it!!!!!!!)
Daughter: What does the bible say about sex?
Me: To the best of my recollection, the bible says that you should not have sex before you are married.
Son/Daughter: That sounds good....what do you think mom?
Me: (Thank you Church of Christ, thank you so much) The thing about sex is that your body is ready for it before your mind and soul are ready (where are these words coming from...an after school special lodged in my psyche?)
Son: I'm not ready, I haven't even seen the puberty film (coming up in his 5th grade health curriculum)
Daughter: What is puberty?
Son: It is a growth thing
Me: It is not gross...I know your wigged about the puberty film but puberty is a natural thing, it is not gross
Son: I said growth, not gross.
Daughter: It is gross.

Ninja conversation, come on back...I'm going to do a little training.

Things are being interfered with.....

2011-10-12T19:22:00.001-04:00

This working thing is relentless as in it happens every single day. Things are being interfered with like writing and musing and running and creating and singing and raking and planting and dancing. Just to name a couple. All my buddies are telling me this thing takes time, that I will acclimate to being back in the work force full time. But here is the thing; I acclimated pretty damn well to not working. I got used to being sorta relaxed and most of all, being my own boss.

Here is my metaphysical quandary: all that gold may glitter but at what cost? We buy into this idea that we need to work hard, doing something we are passionate about and contribute to the greater good. But sometimes, we let go of our creative selves, our balanced selves, our best selves unless we are very blessed to find a job that allows us to be those things, some of the time. I hope my job will turn out to be that....it is my spiritual work to make it so.

Restraint Training

2011-10-03T20:18:00.001-04:00

I spent today in restraint training, which poses a few philosophical questions not unlike the questions politicians are faced when going to war. To maintain peace/safety, I am going to invade your country/physical space and move you to where I think you need to be. Same deal. A country or student is aggressing and hurting others. What to do? My answer is usually to walk with the kid, away from the trigger and talk/listen. It goes a long way. It is helpful to know what to do if things escalate but I'm not going to put a kid down and I'm not going to fire a weapon in the name of peace. So, I think it is safe to say that I did not pass my training with flying colors. No heart, no skill.

On the drive home, drivers were beeping at each other, and cutting each other off. I yelled out "everyone needs to calm the hell down." I thought I showed great restraint.

In True

2011-10-01T19:05:00.001-04:00

I have added a yoga class to my regime, in the quest to come back in true ( a great word left over from my cycling days which means "to make true, shape, adjust accurately; to make level). When you are 20, you still blame your parents for being out of true. In your 30's, it is your crazy spouse, job, commute, etc. Now, I'm finding that it is on me. My happiness, my balance, my peace are in my hands. If I choose to go back to work full-time and continue to try and do it all, the wheels will come off and I will be, spectacularly out of true.

Here is the week in review:

Monday: Working off of 3 calenders and 4 lists. Spend 1/2 hour at work figuring out a system for which list/calender to put which items on. Can't remember teacher/student/parent/nurse or crossing guard names. Eat lunch alone.
Tuesday: Work, kid's soccer, SuperStore of one kind or another, laundry, happen to notice it is fall. Put rusty Halloween pail on porch. Trip on pail and may need tetanus shot. Yoga:)
Wednesday: Colleague at conference, no lunch, lock-down, no peace. Husband takes kids to Lion King, I cry with joy.
Thursday: What, work again?
Friday: Work, kid's dance, and somehow everyone needs to eat. Living on Luna bars, green tea, flatbread sandwiches from Dunkin Donuts and grapes...just to keep it healthy.
Saturday: Yoga, seeing my friends,kid's soccer and now...writing a few notes to myself.

I'm not sure what to let go of...so far it seems to be healthy eating and cleaning my house:). It is possible I will have to cut down to one book club and less crisis response volunteering. I know I can trim the metaphysical fat.....by adding yoga? Maybe, maybe.

Lessons on Starting Over

2011-09-28T20:30:00.002-04:00

One of my dear friends said to me tonight "I knew I had to make this job work because I don't know how many first years I have left in me." I have turned into a bit of a crank. I didn't know this about myself until I started a new job (at age 47) this fall. I still have a lot of energy, a bit of humor, and some flexibility. I also carry with me an internal standard of how to do my work. When I was younger, I looked for an external framework. Around job # 3, I realized that some external frameworks are termite-ridden and you better build a back-up for yourself.

The building takes awhile but if you do it mindfully, you get pretty attached to it. I like mine, that's why I bring it with me now. The trick is in presenting your framework without dissing everyone else. There are many ways to do things, I just know what works for me. I hope that I am not holding up my way as the way but just a way. Cut to home.

When you go back to work, you have to turn over some stuff to your partner. Then, you have to be OK with how he/she does it. Go easy on yourselves, all the way around. I was was giving this very speech to a friend when my husband casually walked up to me and said "Oh, I was supposed to pick up Luke"...and turned around and left to take care of that. We are eating on the run, skipping food groups, and the house is never, ever, ever in drop-in condition but we will find our balance.

Meanwhile, my kids see us both sharing in more of the responsibilities of home and that work is equally important to both of us. Two salaries in this economy make a good back up plan. Some of my friendships seem to be taking a hit but in the end, your friends hang with you through all facets of your life and so you might as well get that sorted out now, before illness, old age, and hospice.

See, I think I have maintained my cheery outlook:)

Peace to us all.

Notes from the Pew

2011-09-23T15:33:00.000-04:00

Let me start by saying "Holy Cow". Working full-time after 10 years of doing the part-time thing is an adjustment that I completely underrated. Kinda of like childbirth, heart surgery, and writing my thesis. All good things that looked less complicated on paper:)

http://www.c-spanvideo.org/program/HouseSession5258/start/0/stop/241

Take a look at this CSpan clip. It is our very own Reverend Judith leading the opening prayer on Wednesday at the House of Representatives. Then, she gets cited by Representative McGovern for doing good.

Reverend Judith has set the bar high by doing good all over the world but I'm going to start smaller, and just do good within spitting distance. In fact, I may just start by not doing bad:)

I hope to get back to writing more often and staying in touch with all of you more when I swim to the surface. Who knew I could hold my breathe underwater for 3 weeks?

Peace to you all....I miss this blogging energy!

It's time

2011-09-02T16:45:00.000-04:00

In no particular order of importance, we have survived the following this week:

1. Returned from Bermuda unscathed by rough waters or sunburns. We did get a coral rash but it was a small price to pay for seeing the beautiful underwater vistas.

2. Hurricane Irene with no power loss. We know have 100 lbs of extra ice and may try our hand at building a luge run this week-end.

3. Started a new job in a great place with great people. To be yourself with like-minded colleagues in a school with an appreciation of what you bring to the table is nothing short of miraculous. Amen and Blessed be.

4. Eldest started middle school. Now that I think of it, this one should be right at the top of the list. He is doing a great job and I am so very proud of his courage. Youngest started the 3rd grade, and she is rocking it as well.

5. Husband is acclimating to the fact that his company declared bankruptcy right before we left on vacation. He has decided to not freak out and I am trying oh so hard to meet him in Calmsville. He hangs out there a lot and I only visit so I'm trying to get the lay of the land.

6. Soccer, karate, and one asthma attack. I won't get into how I was reading my Kindle at karate while my son was hacking up a lung at the dojo and one judgemental yet prescient mom said...and I'm quoting here "your son has an awful cough".......no, no, those are seasonal allergies...."Really, sounds like a bad case of bronchitis to me." Hard stare. He is being treated for allergy induced asthma and the moral of this story is do not ignore all bitchy people.

In short, we survived the summer with all its glorious together time. I loved it but when it's time, it's time.

Back from one of the B Islands

2011-08-27T12:04:00.000-04:00

We just got back from beautiful Bermuda. We had a most fabulous time! Unfortunately, I inadvertently told some family and friends we were going to the Bahamas and what with all the hurricane activity....well, folks were glad we made it back.

This was our first time on a cruise and for a multi-generational family vacation, it has many advantages. First of all, you get to be on the ocean for several days. There is something very expansive about looking out and seeing water and the horizon every way you orient yourself. The bear and I had to take motion sickness pills even on the calmest days but they worked beautifully. Then there is the cornucopia of food: fresh seafood, Indian, chilled soups, and a mango lime souffle, just to name a few of my favorites. Each evening, we went to the Stardust theatre and watched a song and dance show. Who knew you could feel nostalgia for hits from the seventies?

Bermuda is beautiful and surreal. You can't drive a car there or own a home so it has a very insulated feel. Bermudians seem to be very proud of their island and their way of life and can talk at length about the complicated water system that every house uses (special roof that collects rainwater that goes to a holding tank in the basement). See? It can be described quite simply but I didn't want to appear rude.

Highlights of the time on the island were snorkling, swimming in the cove pictured above and a sunset Catamaran sail with my sweetie. The last picture depicts the Norweigian Dawn and Enchantment of the Seas docked at night. I was swizzled by that time so the picture may be a bit blurry:)

Best of all, I was off the grid for a week (sorry to those who thought we were in Nicaragua or drowned)....unplug, it does wonders.

New Piano

2011-08-14T19:13:00.000-04:00

One of the items on the summer bucket list was purchasing a keyboard and learning some tunes. This leads to a small list of things you can no longer do while your kids are learning to play the piano:

1. Blog
2. Talk to anyone on the phone.
3. Read
4. Keep from commenting that Fur Elise should not be picked out while the digital keyboard is on electric mode unless you personally want to be responsible for Beethoven haunting your very abode.

Here are some things you do that even the scales:

1. Play the first four bars to "The Entertainer" 47 times with a big grin on your face.
2. Pull out your old bassoon music books and play the grandfather part of Peter and the Wolf 47 times with a look of longing on your face.
3. Pick out a bit of Chopin with a look of befuddlement on your face.
4. Try to explain scales without knowing what you are talking about..."remember Sound of Music?"

We have gone too long without our instruments out. I'm not sure our neighbors agree, but we are back, baby:)

Words to live by

2011-08-12T20:25:00.000-04:00

One of my soul sisters came up for her annual trek to New England and we took a little field trip to Harvard Square. One of the glorious things about showing someone your neck of the woods is that you see some trees you have not seen before. It is all about the looking, really.

Right in the square is an old cemetery adjacent to one of the first Unitarian Universalist churches in the country. How many times have I walked past that church? This was my first time to do a little urban exploring. All the tombstones written in Latin slowed us down just a bit but we persevered until we found the last resting spot of one Mr. Levi Bridge....he was a man of various acquirements...... Improved by education, study, and use.

Bingo.

I don't think it is macabre to ponder one's tombstone while still living, in fact, I think you better. 20 years ago, my tombstone would have read "She loved hats and she never voted for a Republican." So, not only do you have to ponder your tombstone, you have to re-ponder every now and again. I would add that if you are really blessed, you will have an old friend who carries your history and honors who you have become and does not think it a bit odd that you take her to look at graves when she comes to town. I love you Jen!

Wisdom from the Whiskey Priest

2011-08-09T09:53:00.001-04:00

So much wisdom I could share from Friday night but I will distill it down to the key points:

1. Free shots are never free. I want all daughters to know this in their bones.
2. There is a small window where you can wear a bikini in a bar and pass out free shots. Just because you can physically, does not mean you should spiritually. Just saying.
3. The Whiskey Priest seems to be long on whiskey and short on priests.
4. If you ask the hostess if they sell tshirts, you lose some street cred, immediately:)
5. Free Mentos do not a dinner make.
6. If you are going to be standing up at the Whiskey Priest, and then dancing to the John Butler Trio all night, please, please wear cowboy boots.....

And finally, get out, sample some music, feel the sea breeze on your face while someone is playing a didgeridoo and listen to this band. The guys can play.

And a huge shout out to Roving Reporter, who got us there, and Maine Maverick who demonstrated the correct technique for seat pounding when the time came. Rock on sisters!

Freedom

2011-07-30T19:39:00.000-04:00

I am ashamed to say that it took me until mid summer to make it over to the rail trail. I have waxed poetic about this neck of the woods in several posts but to summarize: this run is what running is all about. Babbling brook, breezy on the hottest of days, friendly folks, and very few hunters ( OK, there might have been one today but the shots helped my time tremendously).

I left it all on the field during this run (you runners out there know what I am talking about:) and it got me thinking about how rare it is that we allow ourselves to go right up to the edge of what we are capable of: physically, emotionally, or intellectually. Part of the problem is that many of us are busy raising kids or earning a living. Both honorable pastimes but they don't allow for edge-living. Now that I think of it, maybe edge living doesn't allow for the continuation of the species and so we are hard-wired to back off a wee bit.

When my sister heads off to Nicaragua, we carry around the worry for her safety. When my husband goes climbing in the mountains for the day, I reconfigure my life as a single mom...what would that look like? Part of me chides them for not letting go of regressive pursuits but when the fear subsides, I remember how important edge-living is to sustain us through everyday living.

So Roving Reporter and Maine Maverick, give 'em hell at the Spartan Challenge. Auntie T, read every book you get your hands on. And Scrappy, create until you drop. We all deserve a little edge living this summer, whatever that looks like.

The Cuss Box

2011-07-21T19:24:00.000-04:00

Namaste. Well, almost Namaste. Before Namaste came me placing a bet with my little Buddha that I could not go a day without cussing. She bet me a make-up box, a wily bet because I would not get it for her unless I lost aforementioned bet. For the record, none of my close friends (with whom we were spending the week-end) thought I stood a chance. Never mind the lack of faith. I don't have to curse to make my points. I have been meditating for 20 years...surely that will help me win a small bet and prove I can achieve equanimity when there is honor at stake.

I would like to show you a picture of the cuss box...my daughter is awfully proud of it but blogger won't let me upload the photo. Damn it.

For the record, I made it until 10:20 a.m. Also, my husband set me up but that is a Freudian post for another time.

Do you need an Ostrich....in tube socks?

2011-07-18T16:55:00.000-04:00

My antiquing buddies have flat out denied me access to their personages after I took an artistic shot of them last year standing next to a purple brontosaurus...in the rain. It captured the essence of Brimfield, but they think that ridiculous tall animals should henceforth be captured next to me.

We all came away with treasures including an old first aide box, WWI poster, hooked rug, and a vintage cap gun. The weather was perfect, the company sublime, and the pilgrim sandwich (fresh turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce)....you have to drive up for a taste of that. Follow it up fresh squeezed lemonade. It just doesn't get much better.

Leaning into the sharp points

2011-07-17T22:06:00.000-04:00

There are moments in life that one will remember when turning 80. Some of these moments are about transcendental joy...when you hold your newborn in your arms for the first time and even though she looks like an Eskimo, your husband assures you that he saw her come out and that she belongs to the both of you. This child's first word is "mama" and she has placed her trust in you. You say to yourself, "I will keep her safe, no matter what else I do, I will keep her safe."

But you can't...and she hits the coffee table edge going about 20 mph and needs her eyebrow glued shut, all the while saying "I'm OK, Mom, I'm OK". And she falls on her bike, on her skis, on her skates, and off the monkey bars. You think you are prepared for what may come, but you are not.

Some of these moments you will remember are about a fear so deep and so old that to go anywhere near it is to risk some part of yourself not returning. Pema Chodron recommends that when we hit this place of profound fear that we "lean into the sharp points" and through the leaning will learn to work through our attachments. I have found that sometimes we get thrown there.

Thursday afternoon, I went to pick up my daughter from a local camp. As I drove into the parking lot, there were several squad cars and a bevy of reporters all lined up across the street. As I walked into the building, I asked a staff person what was going on...she responded with "the headmaster will be addressing all the parents in the auditorium." It finally dawned on me, in a flash, that something bad had happened. I walked into the gym and in the chaos of the moment, I could not find my daughter. I asked the headmaster if all the children were safe, and he did not answer. It took me a minute, maybe two, to find my daughter. It was the longest minute of my life. We listened as he explained that there had been an accident in the pool and a camper had been transported to a local hospital. As I write this, the camper remains in serious condition.

As a crisis counselor, I can tell you many of the symtoms of an acute stress reaction: surreal sense of time; physical symptoms of nausea, headache, or fatigue; confusion around facts of an event; and disbelief at what has just occured. I would hazard a guess that every parent that picked up their camper/s that day experienced some of the above. In the end, we all moved into shared grief for the parent that was not in that gym but in a hospital room with the child that is a part of her transcendental joy. We are all with you as you lean into the sharp points.

Within a certain context.....

2011-07-06T17:16:00.000-04:00

As luck would have it, most of my friends are on vacation this week. All at the same time. They are in Maine, New York, the Cape, New Mexico, Texas, Florida, New Hampshire and even Massachusetts. As a courtesy, I do not call or text my friends when they are off the grid....even if I have big news. Which I do not, I don't even have medium news. Still, today I couldn't put my finger on what I was feeling until I realized it was lonliness.

I don't tweet or do facebook because once I go down a social media path, I get lost in the brambles. I have had to change my texting plan, twice. My husband, who will not answer the phone or a text asked me what I was texting on average of 15 times a day:

Here are some recent examples:

headed out for clambake and lobsters, the thing New Englanders do to make up for blizzards....

Done with stress test, they made me stop when I started hyperventilating.....I think I was hyperventilating because I was arguing with technician about stopping....they seem a little juiced about people passing out, if you ask me.

Thank you for warrior beta...feeling strong although difficult to text because I need bifocal contacts:)
Safe journey to you guys

You can't teach someone to be Zen, especially if you are a fake buddhist......

What is texting, really? I think it is a place we get to distill our philosophy of life and wish each other luck or condolences, and say "we are in this thing together". It is also an easy way to orient oneself. I am here, where are you? This may be yet another relational thing, the latest Nielson figures point out that women text more than men. A friend of mine who is still in the dating arena says that texting has become an art form if you want a follow up date. Clever, but not sarcastic; supportive but not cloying; and interested but not desperate.

Typical text to my husband, which I think captures all of the above:
At Ready Med, per doc's orders, 2 hour wait.....where are you, exactly?

So come on back you guys. If I don't get to text you, I have to analyze my texting patterns and figure out the meta-meaning of texting.....lonely work:)

Cliff, We hardly knew ye.....

2011-07-05T17:28:00.000-04:00

And, in fact, I don't know you at all in the tangible world. But here is today's lesson about blogging and the internet...it follows the second noble truth which reads "the origin of suffering is attachment." I got attached to your voice and to your blog.

When I first started reading blogs, it was a cacophony of metaphors, language, and stories. My head hurt. Then I learned I could plug in key words like "Buddhism" or "Buddhist social work crafters" or any number of permutations. My head still hurt, although in a more specific way. Then, I stopped trying to find anything of significance. That's when I found Cliff's blog.....the last entries chronicling his journey from the couch to the Paris marathon. A journey that did have significance to me.

Here is the thing that I didn't realize until Cliff took his blog into semi-retirement. In the world of blogging, bloggers get tired or move onto the next creative endeavor.....get attached and be reminded of the second noble truth. As I have been doing the goodbye thing this week, I will add "This is This" to my list: what the hell, when it rains it pours:)

Best of luck to you Cliff....your words were a joy to read.

Saved

2011-07-03T18:57:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, you happen upon something that takes you back to another place and another time. I am not going to west Texas this summer, but a bit of it found me on a hot summer day in New England. With some free time on our hands, I called a family meeting and we voted for our top three things to do this holiday week-end: swimming in a local lake; climbing; and buying a dog. Two out of three ain't bad. As we rounded the turn and walked toward the water, we were met with the above sight. My kids had no idea what was happening but I was hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong, I could hear it...and in fact, this song made it's way to the front of my consciousness:

Are you washed?

Are you washed in the blood of the lamb? Are your garments spotless are they white as snow, are you washed in the blood of the lamb?

As a matter of fact, I am washed in the blood of the lamb....many years ago (this is code for being baptized). Not in a lake, but in a baptismal which is kind of like a bathtub set high above the altar. When you take Jesus for your savior, you wade in with the preacher, dressed in white robes, and he dunks you in the water. The water washes away your sins, and you begin anew...walking with the Lord. I remember two things from that day: water getting up my nose and my grandmother's face, registered with relief, joy, and something else. Perhaps the realization that her granddaughter had a few more spiritual beginnings to tackle before landing on sacred ground that would prove to be a better fit than the Church of Christ. My dad was baptized in a lake by his dad, a Baptist preacher. I think all of these rituals are embedded in my cultural memory.

I had mixed feelings when we witnessed yesterday's sacred act. I felt like we were out of place and eavesdropping. I also joked with my husband about swimming in holy water. Then I remembered we are all striving for something holy in a world that sometimes forgets to look for it. Sometimes it finds you when you least expect it.

How to say Goodbye.....

2011-07-01T17:28:00.000-04:00

I have a few goodbyes coming up and contemplating how to do them honorably has left me in a bit of a funk. I am also suffering from a post-dash injury: an over-zealous pedicurist, horrified at my mud-caked feet, went completely postal and gouged me with a very sharp mud-cleaning instrument. My toe is inflamed and so am I. Additionally, there might have been mud gnats as I have some kind of rash from the waist down...could possibly be poison ivy.

But back to the goodbyes: how to say them? Therapists have their own word for saying goodbye: Termination. It is an honest word because the promises we all make to each other when we are saying goodbye very rarely come to pass. They are smooth phrases that ease the transition but as I have gotten older, just hit me with the truth: I like you a lot, but I'm not going to drive 45 minutes to see you, so it looks like this is it. I know in my heart that there are some folks I truly care about a great deal whom I will never see again. Maybe being in a funk is not about figuring out how to say goodbye, maybe it is about the stone, cold fact that saying goodbye is part of being human. We travel on and often, we do it alone. Maybe it is contemplating that my kids will say goodbye to me someday, and move to Switzerland or Texas. Maybe it is about the fact that I moved away from my parents, and now they are aging.

And then it comes to me: the names of the few folks who have not allowed me to say goodbye. The ones who show up routinely even though we live thousands or hundreds or tens of miles apart. The ones I can see once every few years and no time has passed. My soul sisters/brothers. You just never know which relationships can morph into those, the ones that transcend termination. Those are also part of the human condition.

As an aside, I have picked my summer reading program: the intersection of science and religion. Please join me. The first book, which took about 2 months to read is "Cosmic Jackpot: Why our universe is just right for life" Paul Davies. My husband called it "pop physics". It had enough heft to it to make a nice thud when it hit him.

There is your world within......

2011-06-28T22:13:00.001-04:00

The Times are Nightfall

The times are nightfall, look,their light grows less;
The times are winter, watch, a world undone:
They waste, they wither worse; they as they run
Or bring more or more blazon man's distress.
And I not help. Nor word now of success:
All is from wreck, here, there, to rescue one--
Work which to see scarce so much as begun
Makes welcome death,does dear forgetfulness.
Or what is else? There is your world within.
There rid the dragons, root out there the sin.
Your will is law in that small commonweal.

--- Gerard Manley Hopkins

(thanks mom, he can turn a phrase:)

The Warrior Dash

2011-06-26T20:49:00.000-04:00

Hard to find the exact words to describe a race where you have to sign a waiver that states "I will not dive head first into the mud pit." Also a few items about the fire pit you jump over but nothing about the barbed wire you crawl under. How did I get here:

It started, as all good quests do, with a warrior friend who emailed me the specifics of the "warrior dash." 3 miles of fun-filled activities including crawling under barbed wire, climbing a military-style wall, jumping over fire, and slogging through the mud. She had me at jumping over fire. Sadly, my warrior buddy had a family emergency and could not dash. Then, there was some bold talk at a wine and cheese party and several other friends thought the whole thing sounded pretty good. The wine wore off and so did the good intentions. In the end, I dashed alone.

Last night, I could not get to sleep thinking about the soundness of my decision to dash with a recent back injury (good news there, mud gives way and so if you have a back injury, slogging through 3 miles of mud is possibly quite therapeutic...who knew?); the need for a stress test to make sure my patched up heart could handle the aerobic strain; and the realization that I would be running with a bunch of 20 somethings who might just be wearing bikinis (only one that I saw, mostly folks were in full viking garb). Luckily, as good quests do, I had a mission to pick up some viking helmets and so I put my nerves to bed around 2:30am.

My family came with me. I met new warrior buddies and I had a beautiful day. My favorite part of the race was pulling lighter racers out of waist deep mud when they did not have enough bulk to free themselves. We were one. One of the photographers shouted out the following, "you are kicking ass and you are twice as old as the girls you are running with." I will take it....but let me tell you, the ass I was kicking was my own. The voice that kept me up the night before, the voice that tells me I have to start taking it easy. The voice that tells me I shouldn't, not anymore. That voice got left in the mud. I hope it stays there.

Special shout out to my buddy who got me into this: you have a helmet waiting for you.

Summer Starts

2011-06-24T22:50:00.000-04:00

Whew! I think we might have made it out of soccer evaluations-4th grade graduation-dance recital-quidditch blood rematch season and are sliding into summer.

As I was breathing a long sigh of relief tonight, I realized that I have not written down any of the camp dates for either of my children for the following camps: science, dance, nature, climbing, or island magic. How could that possibly be? How could a competent therapist who manages several jobs and does not miss appointments, who arrives on time, and supports her friends and family decide to willfully not write down a single, solitary camp date? This, by the way, will entail emailing several camps and trying to come up with a plausible reason why I have no idea when my child will be attending.

Do you ever watch yourself? I feel my alter ego is a benign coach on the sideline who is starting to lose patience: Hey, D....pull it back a little...you are over-committing on the ball....they are going to get around you

D, you are walking a little tenderly...did you throw your back out at yoga doing "the dying warrior?"

D.....I need you with me on this.....you have to choose to let go of something......the beautiful game is being present and aware when you are with your family.

Coach, I hear you. I will spend the summer getting back in the game. Right after I figure out this camp thing:)

Just Delicate Needles

2011-06-19T11:32:00.000-04:00

This is a poem I usually ponder during winter solstice but I post it today in honor of all of our fathers: one who emerged relatively unscathed from a car accident (heal up quickly, Dad); some who are making peace with the "new reality" of aging; and some who are watching their families struggle. To all of you, your sacrifices have not gone unnoticed. We love and honor you today.

Just Delicate Needles

It's so delicate, the light.
And there's so little of it. The dark
is huge.
Just delicate needles, the light,
in an endless night.
And it has such a long way to go
through such desolate space.
So let's be gentle with it.
Cherish it.
So it will come again in the morning.
We hope.

--by Rolf Jacobsen

Translated by Robert Hedin

Humbled....A conversation with a 92 year old

2011-06-17T06:16:00.000-04:00

Yoga took me out....again. This time, it was the dying warrior pose. Perhaps it is always the dying warrior pose, hard to say. Wednesday morning, I tried to put my breakfast dishes in the sink and my back decided to shut down operations. I had several home visits that day with elderly clients, all of whom offered me their walkers. Here is a snippet of one conversation:

Me: You look good today P
P: You look awful, worse than me
Me: It was yoga
P: God Bless you, here is what we are going to do....you take my walker and use it to get to your car. Then, call me, and I will buzz the nurse who can come get it and bring it back

It strikes me that the most therapeutic thing I can probably do, that all of us can do for the elderly in our lives is to still be needed by them, and helped by them. This week, that was surely the case. Thanks for all the good energy!

A Bit of Wind

2011-06-09T19:08:00.000-04:00

Pardon the blogging interruption, but we have been dealing with a bit of wind here in New England. Last week, a series of tornadoes touched down in the western and central part of the state and left 19 communities reeling. Folks I work with and for lost homes, all their possessions, and any faith that tornadoes are reserved for out west. For the record, I think it is a bit of a raw deal that we can now add tornadoes to a list that already includes hurricanes and blizzards. Also for the record, it is nothing short of a miracle that more people were not killed.

In our neck of the woods, hysteria ensued when a very serious voice emerged in the middle of "Wizards of Waverly Place" and announced the following: You are in the direct line of a tornado...seek immediate shelter. Our 1889 basement does not exude the sense that everything is going to be alright. On the other hand, as roving reporter pointed out, the house has been standing for over 125 years and that should count for something. In fact, the tornado hopped over our town and travelled south. My Northern husband did not feel the need to take shelter and continued to cook pasta which he graciously brought down to us, one bowl at a time. My daughter sobbed "I am so sad that I am not going to get to live out my full life." My son, the scientist, calmly retorted "there is a small chance we will see our friends again."

As I wrote about in an online newspaper the next day, the crux of these things is trying to manage your own anxiety and calmly reassure your children that everything is going to be alright. No small task, as it turns out. In fact, it is an impossible task because we can't know that things are going to turn out OK. One mother died shielding her teenage daughter from a falling roof, another young man was killed when a tree crashed on top of his van. Everyday, somewhere things go horribly astray.

The following week-end, I spent some time in a small town hit very hard by the storm. I watched young people travelling all over town passing out water from a red wagon to their neighbors. I ate a piece of peach pie dropped off at the fire station by grateful townsfolk thanking their first responders. When you listen to stories of that day or stories from 9/11 or any life-changing event, you realize that our resilience and desire to do right by each other outweighs our fears. So, although we don't know things are going to turn out for the best each and every time, we can with confidence tell our children that we live in a community with people who will be there for us every step of the way when trouble comes.

As for my Texas relatives, don't worry about us, we can, indeed, handle a little wind.

Why is it always Soccer?

2011-05-14T19:32:00.000-04:00

Soccer and I have a checkered history; I blame it on coming to the game late. Growing up in Texas, soccer was offered but it paled in comparison to basketball, track, and even volleyball. I'm not sure our high school even had a soccer team, maybe an underground one. In college, it was all about the bike and then I moved out East. Suddenly, there were pick-up soccer games everywhere and the gauntlet was thrown down by a guy who was an awfully good climber. Could someone my size play such a quick game? He was involved in a pick-up game that had been going on for 10 years. Little did I know that he invited me to play soccer not for the love of the game but to set me up with his buddy. Before falling in love with any of the players, I fell in love with the game. It was almost a short-lived romance as the players in this particular pick-up game went to the climber and told him that I was going to hurt someone and he better get me under control. He has been trying ever since. I am not a pretty player but I have learned to play a little cleaner unless the situation calls for something else. I have broken my toe, vomited blood, and had a stroke on the soccer field. I have played in several leagues and made some friends and lost some. I am a defender. I take it very personally when you get past me...I don't have a balanced perspective.

Now, fifteen years later, the climber and I are trying to teach our kids the beautiful game. We are also trying to give them the perspective neither of us had or has. I coach. I'm not sure that I should. The climber doesn't coach. We are pretty sure he shouldn't. My goal as a coach is to get my players to start the flirtation with the game that will ultimately grab their hearts and make them ask themselves 30 years from now...Why is it always soccer?

I don't know the answer to that question, but I know that Memorial Day Week-end, we are staying in town to see the Revs play the Galaxy. Most nights, we watch taped games from the Premier League. There is no greater joy than watching your child score a goal, or stop one. Why is it always soccer? Why not?

Jung at Heart

2011-05-06T21:30:00.000-04:00

Carl Jung is my guy. When asked on the rare occasion what my theoretical orientation might be as a therapist, I reply "I am a Jungian, at the heart of it." My own analyst was a Freudian and for many years, she and I grappled with her idea that I became a Jungian just to recreate their famous split. This is a very Freudian approach to analysis. I'm not sure I completed analysis as somewhere in the process it seemed like a very bourgeois endeavor that only the wealthy could afford. Still, without her efforts on my behalf, I would not have married or had children and so I hold her in my heart, as well. She pointed out that Jung was anti-Semitic, possibly schizophrenic, and slept with his female patients. All true. He also developed the idea of the collective unconscious and was unashamed to be a mystic. His writing is virtually unreadable in English but some of his points are soul-piercing: Bidden or Unbidden, God is present or The decisive question for a man is: is he related to something infinite or not?

At the age of 82, he wrote (I am quoting here from Jung, A brief insight by Anthony Stevens)

In the end, the only events of my life worth telling are those when the imperishable world erupted into this transitory one....All other memories of travel, people and my surroundings have paled beside these interior happenings....my encounters with the "other" reality, my bouts with the unconscious, are indelibly engraved on my memory.

How do we journey into the "imperishable world"? Jung had a small place on a lake with a room that only he was allowed to enter. This is where he did most of his writing and I daresay journeying into that world. His wife, Emma, who was a brilliant analyst in her own right, took care of hearth and home. So she is in my heart, as well....the workhorse behind the racehorse.

Jung would say that we are all in each other's hearts from the beginning of time. As I age, I have moved through the archetypes of maiden to mother and am headed toward wise woman or crone. These have not been smooth transitions but what has allowed for some small semblance of grace has been turning inward.
As I return to working more, I have to make such a conscious effort to protect that. I have no workhorse sweeping my castle:)

The last thing I want to say about Jung is that he believed that all psychological events, even the most disturbing symptoms, have purpose and meaning. Those symptoms are the psyche's best shot at solving prickly problems and they provide a jumping off point for movement toward health. It seems a good place to start in doing this work.

Heightened

2011-05-01T19:52:00.001-04:00

I look at this picture and I can see how I get there, at least once a week. This is their protected time and it means my time really belongs to them. But that can lead to quite a state....roving reporter, who happens to also be a crack diagnostician, and not just because we agree most of the time pointed out that I was "heightened" based on all the evidence I had presented which included thinking our passports were not only good for an upcoming trip but would also be good if we had to flee the country. That, my friends, is heightened. Your emotional state is razor sharp, no matter which emotion you are leading with; you experience the world as somewhat treacherous; and your friends and family are fair game. Since I spend some time analyzing others, I thought I would try and figure out how I became heightened this week-end and stayed there. Somehow getting the passports triggered it. It is hard enough being in charge of these young lives when I am on my home turf but stick us on a ship and head for another country, and I think my subconscious starts acting like an ass at the post office. I berated Ed for taking all of our birth certificates and tried to barter with him. Bartering works not one whit in the passport line at the post office. Good to know. It never helps that the more juiced I get, the more Zen-like my husband becomes. Although admirable on a spiritual level, it is irritating as hell down here on earth. Throw in 22 sporting events, including coaching myself and I just never came down. Church didn't do it and running didn't do it. Now, it is Sunday evening, and I have come to this simple conclusion: I have always had the gift of becoming heightened and it has served me well many times. Being a parent has allowed me to develop it into an art form. So, embrace your crazy energy and let it be the fuel that keeps what Zorba the Greek called the "full catastrophe" going.

Notes from the green field

2011-04-22T19:32:00.000-04:00

Glorious Spring has Sprung. Never mind that tonight the forecast is calling for a rain/snow mix. Today, we ran on the green grass; picked up stale chips from a previous benefactor and feed the geese; and biked as if our lives depended on it. One of my favorite short stories is about a girl who lives on a planet where the sun only appears for one day every seven years. She obsesses about the day the sun will appear and her cruel classmates lock her in a closet and forget about her on the day the sun arrives. The passage where they finally remember her, after the sun has set, and unlock the closet has stayed in my mind for 30 years.

Spring in New England is a bit like the one day of sunshine. One can't lament the fact that the trees are still bare and that snow could still drop at any moment. When the moment comes, you have to seize it, drop everything you are doing, and run.

Conversation while recovering from our one Spring day:

Daughter: If I do get a tattoo, it is not going to be all over my body but just on the inside of my wrist, like Anna has....

Mom: What will it say?

Daughter: Peace and love

Son: If I have to get a tattoo, there is only one possibility

Mom and Daughter: What's that?

Son: The recycling symbol, of course

Bad Ass.

Thanks, May

2011-04-17T23:34:00.000-04:00

I just finished reading the last journal that May Sarton published entitled, "At Eighty Two". I don't know when I started reading her journals but my favorite is "Journal of a Solitude". She was also a poet and novelist and traveled the world. Her great sorrow was not to be considered a a first rate poet, which I don't think she was. This last journal you can skip, as well. It chronicles a deep depression, her ill health and the difficulties of old age. All those things are admirable to write about but I was left feeling sorrowful for her because she spends so much time on obligation...writing thank you notes for flowers and so little time creating. My wish for my old age is just the opposite.

Regardless, she falls into the camp of those women who came before, who broke out of society's conventional roles and broke ground for all of us. She loved women, poetry, and life....especially poetry. Here is one of her favorites from Yeats, as quoted from her last book:

A Coat

I made myself a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat.
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world's eyes
As though they had brought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there is more enterprise
In walking naked.

Thanks for the poem and the reminder of how much we need our poets.

Cold Harbor Trail lessons

2011-04-14T19:45:00.000-04:00

A runner could get excited when they see a trail with this title. One could envision the sound of the waves and the briny air pushing one on to greater distances. Lesson One: if you are running in the central part of any state, any trail name with the word "harbor" in it is apt to lead you down a false path. Lesson Two: if you stop paying attention to the roots that are lying in wait for you to ponder if there ever was a harbor of any sort anywhere near here, you will fall and have some new things to ponder, like can I run with a sprained ankle?

Lesson Three: If you stop perseverating on the harbor business, you will begin to notice the beauty that can be found on an early spring day in New England, when the ground is still saturated from snow melt, the tree buds are contemplating busting loose, and the daffodils already said "what the hell".

Lesson Four: Running can be a form of praying. Today, my run guided me into thinking less about my time, and more about the day that was enveloping me; less about my creaking knees, and more about the creaking birds; less about me and more about the universe. Amen, and blessed be

He's the Man

2011-04-10T15:17:00.000-04:00

Son: Mom, if ever thing went your way, what would that look like?

Me: I think the house would be cleaner, other than that, everything is pretty much going my way

Son: If everything went my way, there would be no more war, deforesting, poaching, or pollution. I think more people should drive solar powered cars too.

Me: Oh, you are thinking big

Son: Do you want a do-over?

Weak in Review

2011-04-09T10:20:00.000-04:00

Notice my calm visage. It is all smoke and mirrors, brought on by a quick run that felt spring-like but not so spring like that you still don't need a hat and gloves. I am blogging less, running less, creating less because I am working more. The irony is that I am working more for problems that might happen in the future, thus very effectively pulling me out of my present life. Something has got to shift.

So here is my week in review, just for giggles:
Monday: Job interview in town about 30 minutes from here. With my aforementioned need to shift, thinking it is a good idea to pursue one job instead of 4 part-time gigs. Spend 15 minutes scrubbing out the ketchup? stain on my one suit. Spend 15 minutes looking for one heel. Spend 15 minutes figuring out what to do with my hair. Spend 15 minutes looking for appropriate shirt to wear under suit. Realize that I no longer have fluidity when I have to wear anything other than cords and boots. Exhausted before interview starts. The interview itself consists of 6 people peppering me with questions for exactly 20 minutes. How did I do? I believe I am as rusty at interviewing as I am at getting dressed for the interview. Also, I have reached the age of a bit of arrogance and inadvertently laughed at one of the younger person's questions. (it was a bit silly). She did not appear to be amused. Roving reporter sent me this link to cheer me up:
http://blog.penelopetrunk.com/2011/04/07/how-to-be-yourself-in-an-interview/ It did and it will you too.

Tuesday: Worked two jobs to make up for taking the interview on Monday. Met an 87 year old with terminal cancer. Helped put some things in perspective.

Wednesday: Rushed to drop off camp forms that are due today for camps that start in July. Realize that organized people, although sometimes less fun, have an evolutionary step up on the rest of us. Rush back home to pick up my son for karate. Husband calls to let me know he has heard from son's teacher and son was inadvertently exposed to pornography at school. Really? Son gets in car and we have a talk about pornography, sex, cultural mores, mating, the beauty of the human body, the F-word, spiritual connection to love-making, and mortality. Did the talk go well? About as well as the interview.

Thursday: Long day at the middle school where I work. Some people got hurt, futures changed in under a minute. This all went down on a day I wasn't in the building. I feel like a Picasso painting, fragmented and not put back together in a coherent fashion.

Friday: Decide that I am not leaving my current job which is probably brought on by my not hearing from the place I interviewed with, how lucky our thoughts match:) Rush home from work to fix dinner at 4:30, pick kids up from field trip and get them dressed and ready for literacy night. Daughter is crying because she is a reader and is very anxious. Son helps situation by stating "what you're feeling now is why I would never do this in a million years". Daughter faces her fear and gives a great reading. While relaxing with 300 other parents in the cafeteria, roving reporter reminds me that I have 20 minutes to get across town and pick up daughter's lacrosse uniform from the trunk of a car. She takes daughter, husband takes son, and I get uniform.

We are all charging through life at this pace, I get that. I say yes to everything and then spend a lot of time trying to manage it all. My friends are great at helping me thread the loose ends back into the tapestry but they have their own gigs. So, next year one sport per kid, no coaching, and one or two less jobs. There is strength in doing less but doing it more mindfully.

Have a peaceful week-end!

Notes from the Pew

2011-03-27T20:30:00.000-04:00

Reverend Judith talked today about a couple of famous New Englanders...John Winthrop and Anne Hutchinson. John Winthrop got a little agitated when his direct conduit to God was challenged by Ms. Hutchinson who claimed that she was also chatting with God. So agitated that he excommunicated her and she had to leave the state. She and her family were killed by Native Americans in New York. This was all a backdrop to the idea that we are in charge of our religious communities and our relationship with our God. Back in the day, this was a pretty radical idea. Now it seems we are too distracted to think about what God is.

One of the things I like about Sundays and the structure of church is that it forces me to unplug, and become contemplative, at least for an hour. There is always music and some readings to think about. For me, that it is pretty damn close to hanging with God. Today's reading talked about remembering "our highest resolve." I am so good at lofty resolutions, to whit:
--for every Justice purchase (local kid's store), I will force my daughter to do a real act of justice
--no more canned soda after reading "the history of stuff"
--help a local crafter in need get her goods in the appropriate stores
--renew composting
--get the Eminem song off my daughter's itouch
--more yoga, more meditation
--less buying
--maybe get the Eminem song off my Ipod
--read some articles on censoring

And so it goes.....our highest resolve, however much we fail should always be our guide. Every time I pop the top of a can, I need to be reminded of the excessive nature of that act. Start somewhere and fail because one day, you won't.

Speaking of resolve, Cliff over at www.thisisthis.org is running a marathon in a couple of weeks. The cool part of this story is that he wasn't really a runner 9 months ago. An example of "higher resolve". I like his blog because I think the Brits have way better curse words. They sound slightly bemused when in point of fact, they could be going postal. Happy trails Cliff!

The Texans came to town.........

2011-03-19T18:09:00.000-04:00

Life is all about the timing. Last week, I was diagnosed with pneumonia which I never realized you could "catch". I thought pneumonia was something waiting in the wings for a good cold gone bad:
Pneumonia: Hey you, you in the trachea....come check out the lungs
Cold: I'm not supposed to go into the lungs, I'm not sure I could find my way back
Pneumonia: Just follow me......
So the nurse thinks I picked up pneumonia in one of the nursing homes I have been visiting for work and this happened right before the Texans headed up north for a ski vacation.

We soldiered on.....

Kat adopted the Heidi look, very appropriate for the mountains of Central Mass

Next year's Christmas card, perhaps

Isak is a natural boarder, I'm sorry to say. We tried our best to talk him out of knuckle-dragging, but he would have none of it. This is a picture of his very first jump. It ended poorly but it's all about the glory, even if you take a hard fall It was a great visit, including meeting the french boyfriend. He was very gracious and did not compare Mt. Wachusetts to the French Alps, even once:

Sometimes you see your family through a stranger's eyes. I like what I see. Older cousins who watch out for their younger ones, sisters who reconnect over the miles, and so much laughter, you have to be careful not to pee your pants. Nothing foreshadows a joke like 40 years of history. The Texans came to town and it was a great visit. Happy trails, y'all

Dr. Drew

2011-03-06T19:40:00.000-05:00

As a therapist, I try not to think about Dr. Drew all that much. On a good day, I feel compassion for his narcissism and on a bad day, I am surprised that he doesn't lose his license. This week, he was the talking head on all the talk shows commenting on Charlie Sheen's disintegration. Charlie Sheen, rightly so, felt outraged that he was being analyzed from afar. Lindsey Lohen, Britney Spears....Dr. Drew feels he has the right by lieu of his credentials to go on national television and speak about the addictions or mental health issues of celebrities. He also fights the good fight on celebrity rehab. Really? How is any of this healing for anybody?

When I was in my twenties, I was the president of the Massachusetts Association of Rape Crisis Centers. I was asked to go on a local talk show as an expert on rape and comment on a case against Mike Tyson. My "opponent" on the show was a feisty defense lawyer. What I remember about the taping was that the interview pitted us against one another and the actual facts of the actual case mattered not one bit. Additionally, in retrospect, I did not know the people involved and really had no business commenting at all. It is enticing to be thought of as an expert, but it is a false path.

So, Dr. Drew...here is some advice from one therapist to another. Put the camera down and get back to slogging through the mud. You do not honor the stories or victories of your clients by breaking their confidentiality, even with their blessing. One of the biggest emerging drugs in our culture is the incessant need for fame and exposure. I don't think you are facilitating lasting recovery without tackling that addiction, both in yourself and in your clients.

How I spent my winter vacation....

2011-02-25T20:55:00.000-05:00

So much for my dream of delving into fractals....and so it always goes. My daughter had a bigger vision, and it included a lot of manual labor from me. To her credit, she pitched in as did my husband. A separate post might be about how an engineer and a social worker paint a room together. Our old house will never be remodeled in any kind of extensive way because it would cost us a big part of our relationship. I now know this to be true. I also learned that it is a day wasted at Home Depot to try and talk my daughter out of her designated paint color "Barely Sage". I did manage to talk her out of "Coriander Seed" for the trim by telling her it looked like poo. Which it did. She told me that "Whispering Birches" would be too light for trim. Which it is. For those keeping score, I'm down a point but I made the realization that my daughter has a better eye for design than I do.

So what I really did over winter vacation is continue to admire the artistry of my daughter. Her room is shaping up beautifully, and we will put the finishing touches on the forest room by taking a road trip to IKEA to pick up a shag green "grass" rug. She also wants me to hunt down some bamboo for her indoor garden. When I look at the room, I see the artist she is and the artist she will be. Fractals can wait.

Me and Yoga

2011-02-22T22:53:00.000-05:00

Yoga: You want to come over later and do some downward dog?

Me: You know the last time I came over, you started with downward dog and then things got a little wild.....

Yoga: I would not call The Pigeon wild, you have got to center yourself and breathe through the pain

Me: Pain, that's just it, I'm supposed to be blissed out when I'm hanging out with you and yet after 15 years, still so much pain. Also, while I'm at it, I still can't touch the floor when I'm bending from the waist down. A lot of broken promises, yoga.

Yoga: You want to talk broken promises? You think I don't know about running, undoing everything we have done together? And what about tele-skiing? You couldn't even enjoy the child's pose because of what you did. Don't deny it. Namaste my ass.

Me: Now the truth comes out. You need me to give up running. By the way, running is perfectly happy for me to do all the poses I want. Seems like running might be a bit more enlightened than we thought, heh?

Yoga: Running will leave you as soon as your joints go, you know it, I know it. I'm in it for the long haul. So you don't get butterflies or a big adrenalin rush. Those things are distractions. I'm not going to beg but know that when you are broken, battered, and bruised, I will be here waiting.

Me: I do know that yoga, I do know that. Maybe we should go away for a few days together. I could work on pigeon and you could work on that temper.

A few thoughts on Fractals before Winter Vacation

2011-02-18T22:00:00.000-05:00

Who gets to define who we are? I have become increasingly aware that it is not only ourselves, defining ourselves. I know who I think I am and who I want to be but that is one fractal, really. Don't get me started on fractals. I can't tell you what they are exactly, but I think they may be the key to unifying some things. They are actually geometric shapes that can be divided into infinity. It is clear that I am over-identified with fractals because I feel that I can be divided into infinity. Start thinking about where you started and where you are now.

I started as a beloved daughter and granddaughter and now see my mother in my daughter and we divide. Samsara. Over and over again until we bust through. I try and contemplate my divisions, throughout the ages but the noise in this time and moment blocks the longer view and a deeper understanding. I sense it rippling under the surface but it is elusive and can only be touched upon in silence. Of which I don't have access to lately.

So here is my stated intention for Winter Vacation: Bone up on fractals so what I write about them makes a bit of sense. Sit in silence. Be damned grateful for all the lifetimes that have led me to this post in this moment at the beginning of a vacation. What a gift.

I Agape You

2011-02-14T21:37:00.000-05:00

I was pleasantly surprised to get a dentist's appointment today, on short notice. As I was driving to the dentist, it hit me: a single person would not make a dentist appointment on Valentine's day. My cheerful dental assistant, as she was taking digital X-rays asked me what I was doing to celebrate the day. "Just recovering from this visit" I cheerfully responded. As luck would have it, I had a psychosomatic cavity and so needed no drilling. Which left me open to celebrate the day of love.

Here is my Valentine. He could be looking a bit grumpy because he cleaned out the fish tank and inadvertently murdered the shrimp while trying to annihilate the 50 tiny black snails that were taking over the tank. Scott was then forced to buy an assassin snail to finish the job. So, knowing about and buying assassin snails to protect the family fish, that's love. Then there is the nightly job of reading "Little House on the Prarie" Volume 7 to the bear or building rockets with the boy or driving to Braintree to pick up up a book for me entitled "A time to keep silence" about a Brit's sojourns to some of Europe's oldest monasteries. Much, much better than flowers or chocolates.

Apparently the Greeks sectioned off love into three categories: Eros, passionate love; Philia, brotherly or the love found in friendships; and Agape, the love of a committed decision. My husband and I started with Philia, moved into Eros and now find ourselves committed to one another through the trusting eyes of both ourselves and our children.

Agape isn't the easiest love. Jesus talked about it when he advised we should love our enemies. Buddha talked about it in the dharma when he advised that we are all connected and that lovingkindness is the default position.

Start with your Valentine...and then move out and plow through the world with agape. I will see you out there.

Get Drunk

2011-02-12T11:35:00.000-05:00

Get Drunk

One should always be drunk.
That's all that matters; that's our
one imperative need.
So as not to feel Time's horrible burden.
One which breaks your shoulders
and bows you down,
you must get drunk without cease.

But with what?
With wine, poetry, or virtue
as you chose.
But get drunk.

And if, at some time, on steps of a palace,
in the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak
solitude of your room,
you are waking and the drunkenness has
already abated,
ask the wind, the wave, the stars, the clock,

All that which flees,
All that which groans,
All that which rolls,
All that which sings,
All that which speaks,
Ask them, what time it is,

And the wind, the wave, the stars, the birds,
and the clock, they will all reply:
"It is time to get drunk! So that you may not be
the martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk, get drunk,
And never pause for rest!

With wine, poetry, or virtue,
As you choose! Charles Beaudalaire

With thanks to Mr. Coggins who sent this out over school email with nary a thought of the possible ramifications of sending out an email with that header. Makes me think that the great poets were quite un politically correct, which we should all aspire to.

Boldly Go

2011-02-05T19:56:00.000-05:00

Apparently my winter workout regime of skiing down a run that is over in under a minute has not kept me in top physical condition. To be exact, I appear to have gained 8 pounds. My husband, because he is wicked smart, calmly states "it is muscle mass, you have been working out more." Letting himself off the hook, he quickly exits the room. I have been working out: shovelling snow, blowing snow, skiing in snow, and snowshoeing in snow (exactly once). I'm not sure any of those activities add muscle mass.

So that is the backdrop to my story today. I went to the Y to get a run in because I am running a ridiculously short race in March and I need to run at a certain level; the not walking level. I decided to run for 45 minutes, nice and easy. The beauty of running at the track in the Y, is your buddies will see you and most likely comment on your progress. My friend noticed that I was laboring and anxiously asked if it was OK that I was running. I think she might have been referring to my heart surgery or maybe my stroke but underneath it was compassion.

I have watched my dad, who lost the use of his legs at age 11 due to polio, struggle with this his whole life. I am not comparing my small trials to his but he has been a great example of exceeding everyone's expectations. When he was in his early twenties, he applied for a job at Exxon. They calmly told him that they didn't hire "cripples" and he said OK and went on his way. I could give a 1000 examples of his bearing with dignity other's assumptions about his health or his abilities. The thing is, I was paying attention.

So when my friend expresses her concerns about my health and she attributes it to my heart, I know that I don't have to set her straight. I don't have to tell her that it is really some extra weight brought on by a really tiny ski slope masquerading as an aerobic workout. I know to smile and say "I'm OK, thanks for checking."

You have to boldly go, in spite of people worrying about you, in spite of your own fears. You have to boldly go.

Notes from the Pew...and a few bad puns

2011-01-30T19:43:00.000-05:00

Today was the Sunday my skirt caught on fire. Roving Reporter might have mentioned this is how Sunday school teachers burn out. It happened like this: a student got overly excited about lighting his candle during "joys and concerns" and held his candle upside down. He burned his hand. I got overly excited about his burned hand and quickly volunteered to light another match. I struck the match so hard, that it broke in half and the flaming end landed on my skirt. It blazed momentarily and then I brushed it to the floor, apparently not caring if the room went up, as long as I could save the skirt, which I did. What do you say to your students after you have been on fire? I believe I said "Holy cow" and then giggled for an inappropriate amount of time. My sister and I have the longstanding affliction of laughing when a grimace or stoic silence is really the way to go. The most egregious example of this behavior was at my mom's third wedding. We were sitting in the front row at church and both of us started laughing and could not stop for the entire wedding. We grabbed some hymnals and buried our faces into them, but the damage was done. It might have even contributed to the ultimate demise of that union, I can't say for sure.

So, setting myself on fire (just a wee bit, really) and then laughing hysterically was really just a trip down memory lane. I take comfort in the fact that God does watch out for all that is holey:)

Winter Wonderland

2011-01-29T20:29:00.001-05:00

For the past three weeks, it has snowed and snowed and snowed. This has led me to an undeniable conclusion: I am still a Texan at the heart of things. Here is a list of things I can now do after living up here for 20 + years:
1. Ski on ice-covered slopes. Today I learned the hard way that I can no longer ski on any kind of powder.
2. Drive on ice-covered roads. I can't speak for all my colleagues who tried to slide into me on Route 20 last Tuesday because I'm trying to forget that morning commute for the rest of time.
3. Walk on ice-covered driveways. See the picture above? I have learned, again the hard way, that the beautiful sheen is black ice, it lies in wait until you take your mind off of winter for one nano-second.
4. Operate a Snowblower and shovel wet snow without ending up in the ER.
5. Dress in layers and not feel mournful about looking like an Inuit for 6 months out of the year.

Here are the things I will never get the hang of because my cultural muscle memory formed in a warmer, lighter place:

1. Making peace with the sun setting at 4:30. Each winter, daylight savings time brings forth a bewilderment in me as I wonder how we are going to possibly make it through the season with such a paucity of light? I also wonder each winter why we don't get rickets.
2. Parking backward in your driveway so you can get a jump when your battery dies in sub-degree weather. Also, keeping your windshield wipers sticking straight up so they don't freeze to your windshield.
3. Owning fur-lined things...hats, boots, mittens, underwear.
4. Letting go of my worry that things are going to freeze; pipes, fish, children, and tires. So far so good but it feels a little dicey this winter.
5. Not buying into the "Snowmegeddon" hype surrounding every type of precipitation highlighted by the newscasters.
6. Pacing yourself. Winter lasts a long, long time up here and you have to go easy.

So upon reflection, the list is pretty even. Maybe I have picked up a couple of New England tricks. Get out in it, if a Texan can do it, you can too.

Falling

2011-01-23T21:40:00.001-05:00

Another great day of skiing. I have switched to telemark skiing at the local hill and have been rewarded for my efforts with a bruised butt and slightly sprained wrist. You might notice that the above picture is not of telemark skis, either but I have been experiencing technical difficulties on my blog and am feeling darn lucky to have a picture of any winter apparatus at all. My son seems to be more proficient than I am in problem-solving and tonight googled "how to import pictures from the Iphone" while I was pouting. His way led to a solution while my way made me look his age. Go figure.

Anyway, after falling, I spent a good portion of time thinking about falling....falling on a slope, falling in love, falling down, falling to pieces, falling asleep, and falling through space in a recurring dream I have, a recurring dream we all have. I had a little epiphany as I was trying to get up; I'm glad I am still falling. Where can I fall more? I fell into a new job and that has bruised me up a bit but I'm learning something new in my field for the first time in a long time. Parenting is freefall and marriage is about falling into each other whenever you are brave enough. Falling seems to be an OK thing to aspire to.

As an aside, I own 4 helmets upon my neurologists' insistence, after 5 closed head injuries. Just saying.

time

2011-01-23T18:38:00.000-05:00

I am still trying to figure out this balance thing. Just like a second child, a new job can throw things into a bit of a tailspin. How hard can it be to go from working 3 days a week to 6? Turns out, very. Seems I got attached to having my house in order (somewhat), running (a lot), having non-frozen groceries in the house, writing, reading, and being the boss of my own time.

This week we had a snow day and I spent a glorious morning reading a murder/mystery. The book was by a Scottish author whose protagonist was a bit rough and the phrases "wanker" and "cocked-up" were used liberally throughout the book. I think I could do OK in a pub in London now. I want to go to London and try. And that is what being out of balance feels like. You don't have time to read and dream about how your life intersects with wounded detectives from Edinburgh. Maybe that is a luxury none of us can afford as parents who are worrying about the economy and our kid's college funds and mortgage rates and all manner of grown up business. But I think not. I think we have to read and snowshoe and make collages and remember....remember the gift of time.

A Found Day

2011-01-12T19:13:00.000-05:00

Another blizzard came spiralling our way, and we all found ourselves together again. This allowed us to take care of some basic necessities:

1. Dismantling of Christmas-- As I was yanking ornaments off the tree and then wrapping them gingerly in 20 year old tissue paper, my daughter said "this is the saddest part of Christmas." I gave her my take, that by dismantling Christmas, we keep it special for the brief time we get it.

2. Time to process what happened in Arizona: We were skiing the day 19 people were shot and 6 were killed. I have learned my kids are vicariously traumatized by the news, so I have not had it on to tell me what to think. When we demonize "other" be it political parties or religions or Sarah Palin, we diminish ourselves. I'm not a big fan of her gun toting ways but I have to hang on to her humanity to hang onto my own. Still, she needs to review what "blood libel" really means.

3. 7 baskets of dirty laundry and 3 baskets of clean. The laundry is my third child. She tantrums, spills all over herself and out of her baskets, and gives me the silent treatment. I know you need attention, I know it but I am working outside the home, a lot. Today, I am all yours.

4. Time to take a couple of photos. My camera likes to go outside. I like to go outside with my camera. We didn't last long today but I see the storm gathered on a small cherry which may be a little like an angel on a pinhead.

5. Our main computer has a virus. My husband spent the day attacking said virus with vigour, and keeping his philosophy about how the virus got there to himself although his eyes spoke volumes and they were not all that twinkly. I called my back-up crew to see if blogger was down (nope) and if there was a trick to downloading photos on a laptop (nope). Seems this sneaky little bastard of a virus is redirecting me to a fake site when I try to open my blog. Ponder the pain of that. And also the creativity of the virus author.

6. Finally, I cooked some bean soup and buttermilk biscuits for a family lunch. Cooking when there is absolutely nothing else to do except laundry brings back the joy. Eating together with no place to be accents the joy.

Today was a found day. The best kind.

Aging with Grace, good luck with that

2011-01-07T20:42:00.020-05:00

I remember the first time I was called "Ma'am". I remember the first grey hair..way back in the day; followed by a grey eyelash and don't think I don't know what is coming. When you are told that you are a stroke survivor, your first impulse is to call your neurologist a dirty, stinking liar but then you remember it took six months to get the appointment, so you check it. Ditto when your cardiologist tells you that you have a small hole in your heart and it might make sense to "plug that right up." This is what aging looks like for me. Up close and personal it has a grit to it that I thought I could escape.

Here is some of my history: I started running when I was 12 because my parents were divorcing and I thought maybe I could outrun that. I played a little ball and skied down a few mountains and figured out I was an athlete. In college, I found a bike. Soon, I dropped out of college and explored whether I was good enough to make the Olympics. Not even close but I never regretted trying. I moved North and found some mountains. Climbing them led me to my husband and to a deep reverence for the sacred energy found on a lead climb when your gear is sketchy and you are in way over your head. More skiing, some back country sojourns (one of which was so very close to being deadly), whitewater adventures, kayaking and then time to learn soccer. The gist of all this is a life lived physically. No need for a lot of contemplation. I was too damn tired and sore.

Then, the thing that had always served me so well went wonky. I started having neurological symptoms that nobody could figure out. My first neurologist blamed my symptoms on my 5 previous concussions and started lecturing me on Mohammad Ali. I developed auto immune difficulties and am the proud owner of "inflamed status." Anyone could have told you that, really. Then the stroke, caused by the PFO, then the closure and here I am, aging with grace.

Nobody is immune but nobody thinks all this stuff is going to land in their holy temple. I am standing on shaky ground. Then it hits me, we are all standing on shaky ground, courtesy of Samsara and lifetimes of going round and round. Maybe it is a blessing to know it.

As an aside, this whole post was born out of a buddy telling me that I looked good "for my age."

.

Notes from the Pew

2011-01-02T19:24:00.000-05:00

We are returning to going to bed before midnight, eating a vegetable or two, and breaking up this incessant togetherness that must have driven families to pick up the wood axe and ponder dark thoughts, back in the day. I can hear the maniac laughter in the other room that signals my family is still overstimulated from it all. God Bless the teachers that get them back tomorrow. Truly.

Today, we returned to church and I taught one combined class to all ages. These are the Sundays before and after holidays when folks are staggering back from Disney or Vermont and attendance is low. The students who did come were subdued, probably contemplating their eminent loss of freedom. I was, oddly enough, quite energetic. There is no better place to be than pondering metaphysical questions with...anyone but especially young thinkers who don't have their canned response quite figured out:

We started with Joys and Concerns and my son soberly offered up a candle of concern for the rain that was obliterating all the snow we are yearning to be skiing on. My daughter offered up a candle of joy for her new Ipod. Comme si, Comme ca. Then I thought I would get to the heart of it and I asked my students the following: Why do you come to church? I also took off the table the stock response of "because my parents make me." The responses were varied and touching and will remain private because what is said in church stays in church:) Except for my daughter who said "church is a place I meet people from other cities" and my son who said "church is a place where you get to be mindful" and then my daughter responded with "except my dad who doesn't come to church because he is an atheist" and then my son said "he worships nature" and my daughter, turning to me said "our church allows that, I think."

We came home, all hyped up on theology and my kids asked my husband if he considers himself to be a UU. He responded with "I am a future UU." Meanwhile, he spent the morning climbing and seems more at peace than the rest of us. Go figure.

Go now in peace, go now in peace...may the spirit of love surround you.

Happy New Year

2010-12-31T16:05:00.000-05:00

My favorite book is usually the one I just read. I am coming out of a book coma where I finished "The Island"; "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society"; "The Life and Adventures of Bradford Washburn, America's Boldest Mountaineer" "My Losing Season" and am still plugging away with "Reaching Deeper". There is no need to ask what I did over winter vacation.

I would love to speak to them all but Guernesy.......will take top billing. I would never have picked this book up because of the ridiculous title. I thought it was some mad mystery caper set in a dank Scottish castle. Again I will state for the record that two years of Texas history and no world history or geography does not help orient one if they have the audacity to move out of Texas. Guernsey is one of the Channel Islands and now I know the Channel has islands. Read the book, it is quite lovely and join a book club where you are forced to read books with ridiculous titles.

Bradford Washburn fell in my estimation after reading that he insisted his wife accompany him to Alaska, leaving their newborn babe at home with grandparents. Pat Conroy (the losing season) rose. As a center, I have a love/hate relationships with point guards but he captured something about the game, and leaving it.

This brings me to my new year's wish for the world. We all need to read. To have enough food and light and peace to lose ourselves in what was, what could be, and what will be. We take it for granted, just like clean water and gortex. May we never forget the abundance of wealth that is at our fingertips when we read and may we work together to have this be a right for all.

Laurel Hallman, a UU minister put together a book of her sermons "Reaching Deeper". This passage is from How to HelpYour Child have a Spiritual Life:

Our children should be taught poems and scripture so that they will have wisdom words within their hearts throughout their lives. It is important that they be able to move comfortably among the world's great religions but it is even more important that they know themselves as religious people, as having 'thou' relationships with people they know, with nature and with the holy in life.

Happy New Year. May the upcoming year be filled with books, wisdom words and thou relationships with all that is holy in life.

namaste

How did I get here?

2010-12-29T17:59:00.001-05:00

We had a wonderful, wonderful time at the American Girl Doll Bistro for Emma's birthday today. Roving Reporter made the reservations in September when she thought I might be dying. As luck would have it, I lived and serendipitously, the date was today, Emma's birthday. Here is a bit of irony: I found myself in the bistro with two of the smartest women I know, talking about the latest books we have read and drinking tea out of perky pink teapots. There was a lot of pink. The girls had a blast. It was an island of serendipity. Then we left the island and I found myself in front of this case. What color are her eyes?

After American Girl, we went for Justice. Not the concept, the store. And then it hit me. How did I get here? When my daughter says "I love Justice", I want it to mean something else. It has to mean something else. So, for now, when we make a Justice purchase, I am going to insist that we find a way to make real injustice right. Could be canned food to the food bank, helping out a neighbor who is elderly. I will let my shopping prodigy come up with a list. I will also let you know how this all goes. Could be interesting.

And a special shout out to Roving Reporter for making reservations months in advance and Auntie T for serving as birthday fairy godmothers. I get by with a little help from my friends.

Amid the wrapping paper

2010-12-28T19:07:00.002-05:00

I have a battered relationship with my birthday and not for the usual reasons that one struggles with a birthday in this youth obsessed culture. No, my birthday and I have circled one another since the beginning. It started with the shared birthday party with my sister. We are both December birthdays, hers in the beginning, mine toward the end and our parents, rightly so, decided in the early years that we should have one party. But here is the thing: the party was on her birthday because my birthday is......drummer-boy-roll-instead-of-happy-birthday.....the day after Christmas. That set the tone, really.

I get it. My birthday is the most inconvenient of times. Everyone is partied and presented out. Hey, how about one big present for both holidays? NO THANK YOU. Hey, how about we shop for your birthday present on your birthday to take advantage of all the Christmas sales? NO THANK YOU. Do you mind if your birthday present is wrapped in Christmas paper? YES, I DO

Then, came the divorce. As a teen, every single birthday was spent travelling from one part of the state to another to spend Christmas number two with my dad. Did me and my birthday need that extra bit 'o trauma? NO, NOT REALLY.

My birthday is actually pretty tough, now that I write and muse about it. Perhaps all these years, I have been looking for a pastel, inside the box type day. Maybe my birthday will take me to a different place. Maybe my birthday has just been trying to prepare me for letting go of old notions. It is possible my birthday has gone rogue.

I'm not saying we are there yet, but maybe there is some hope for me and my birthday.

There is Something about a Blizzard

2010-12-26T19:23:00.000-05:00

We are expecting a couple of feet of snow in these parts and I can't say I'm sorry about that. The real blizzard has already passed, this one should be no problem. All the parties have been attended, the gifts opened, the sacred services honored, and the toasts to dear friends and health have been made. I never forget that my greatest blessings are my dear friends, many of whom take into account my culinary skills and happily invite the whole family over for holiday feasts. Much ado, much ado.

Cue the winter storm. The foreshadowing is the best, with each weatherperson "outweathering" the next station and frantically scrambling for the appropriate graphics: New England under Blizzard Warning; Governor declares State of Emergency; Storm track, storm watch, storm team, and my favorite Snowmagedon. We are emotionally prepped for this weather event, bring it on.

As I look out the door, I see the light on across the street as the snow starts to accumulate. The light reassures me that my neighbors are OK. In fact, I have checked in with all my people and can tell you that everyone is stocked up and ready to hunker down. It is the hunkering down that is such an old reminder. Taking off a few layers of unnecessary ado, stocking up the woodpile, filling the cupboards and checking on your people. Everyone I love is safely hunkered down.

And because I still have a wee bit of Christmas cheer, I will share this app with you: Elf ur face. A very good way to while away a few hours during a blizzard.

Ho, Ho, Ho

Celebrating Solstice

2010-12-22T19:22:00.000-05:00

Celebrating the winter solstice in the public school system has always been tricky. Historically, the following has occurred: I have been accused of being a witch; I have set off the school smoke alarms, and I have been banned outright from burning the traditional solstice candle. That led to this year's lighting of the solstice flashlight. May we all bask in the glow of the new year's light, however we manage to get there.

Peace to you all

One Year

2010-12-15T20:51:00.000-05:00

Today is the anniversary of my heart surgery. A year of recovery, adjustment, and profound gratitude. A day to post a poem, one of my favorites.

Just Delicate Needles

It’s so delicate, the light.
And there’s so little of it. The dark
is huge.
Just delicate needles, the light,
in an endless night.
And it has such a long way to go
through such desolate space.
So let’s be gentle with it.
Cherish it.
So it will come again in the morning.
We hope Rolf Jacobsen

Falalalalalalalalala

2010-12-12T14:39:00.004-05:00

Such a festive time of year. To add to our festivities, we have all of our birthdays, winter solstice, and the Festival of Lights. I might have snarled to a friend on the phone as I was balancing a tray of unwrapped sugar cookies in my lap while driving "I hate this time of year." My daughter immediately called me on my outrageous behavior and has given me the hairy eyeball ever since.

For the record, I do not hate this time of year, I am overwhelmed by all the festivities: I am a ritual addict and Christmas is my crack. I can not and will not say no to any part of this season: to date we have mailed out our Christmas cards and are working on our Winter Solstice packages; made sugar cookies and are working on our gingerbread house; made presents for teachers and are working on mailman, aftercare, and all coaches. But nothing compares to the church pageant, the Festival of Lights.

Again a word of love for the UU's. We celebrate every winter ritual there is during our holiday pageant. We have a yule log, star children, lighting of both Christmas trees, Menorahs, and solstice candles. We throw in a nativity scene, and deck the halls. We sing, we light candles, and we pass out cookies. It is a glorious tribute to everyone. It involves all the RE parents and all the children. It is exactly what all of our parents wished fervently for us when we were children and they were thinking of karmic payback.

So grab onto the holiday season and let it ride. Honor every ritual from every corner of the world. March forward until you fall down from exhaustion. Know in some small corner of your mind, that you will miss these days will all of your heart when the kids are no longer filled with joy to ride a camel into the fray.

Then came the lama.....

2010-12-06T19:28:00.002-05:00

I have been working, working, working and murmuring "I am out of balance, I am out of balance." When asked by my friends and family why I have suddenly taken on so many new jobs and responsibilities, I reply "I started taking iron pills."

Upon reflection, there seems to be more to the story than this: I think I needed to prove to myself that I could do it, that I could be well again and productive and whole. Perhaps if I work more, I will worry less about the physical vulnerabilities that are now part of the landscape. Working to outrun fear, seems like the American way.

Still, I have some spiritual ninja warriors who help guide me back when I have jumped the tracks. First are my children:
"Mom, why are you working on the week-end? We miss you."
"Mom, those people don't need you more than us."
Sometimes the needs of others seem more exotic than the needs of those we see day in and day out. No more working on the week-end. Thank you ninja wee ones.

Then came a dear friend. We hadn't talked in awhile and ran into each other at a holiday party. She was genuinely distressed that we had been out of contact. I explained my predicament of working all the time but it sounded like an excuse, even as I was saying the words. I don't want to be the person who puts work, however honorable, over relationships. Thank you ninja friend.

Then came the lama.

Lama Migmar is the chaplain at Harvard University and I had the great honor of hearing a dharma talk he gave on Sunday, entitled "Calm Abiding." Oh the twisting and turning it takes to carve out 3 hours during the holiday season to hear a lama pass on his wisdom on maintaining a calm spirit. Oh the spiritual reality of sitting on the mat to quiet your mind when you have been working, working, working. Brutal but so necessary. He spoke of many things, and the group meditated together. He told a parable of a woman who lost a needle and many neighbors helped her look for it outside. Finally, one asked her where she had last seen it, and she responded with "inside my house." When asked why she joined the search outside, she responded with "you were all outside looking, so I thought I would join you."

We are a culture that looks outside for what we have lost. However blessed I have been in the last year, and I am so very grateful to be here, I have lost something. I need to head inside now.

I may struggle with my monkey mind for many lifetimes but I surely hope this gets through: Always, always hang with the lamas.

Namaste my patient friends:)

Art of Dating

2010-11-22T18:50:00.000-05:00

My husband and I are a little rusty on the art of dating, but every now and then, we give it the 'ole college try. We are blessed to have a very flexible babysitter and so periodically, we head out into the suburban wilds. Our typical date night usually includes a nice dinner and a trip to the bookstore.

Last night, we made a strategic error. We went out on a Sunday. The dinner part went swimmingly but then we realized that all the local bookstores close early on Sunday night. Many of you will recognize the panic state that ensues when you have a babysitter for the night, but no concrete plan of where to go. I am always willing to jump into the fray and so I came up with this retro idea: "Let's go parking." My husband's eyes narrowed, hard to say with what emotion, and off we went.

Our first stop was the local park in the center of town. In theory the moon was shining and reflecting off the lake, the darkened trees were standing guard, and our pear-tinis were working their magic. Cut to actual conversation:
"UHHHH, there are people here, probably teenagers."
"Yeah, that is generally who goes parking."
"We will be the creepy old people who get busted parking and featured in the S------Chronicle."
"So you need a parking lot with no parked cars."
"Yeah, let's try that."

Our second stop was a local school. True, there were no cars, but the police bust that I was sure was eminent just got a lot worse. No go. At this point, and let me say for the record that this is why I adore my husband, he started getting amused. I think he realized that the actual parking part of the evening was going to be the driving part of the evening. We contemplated a church lot filled with cars using the technique of blending in with the natives but a lot of elderly folks probably finishing up bingo started pouring out of the building. No go.

We ended up at a trail head, tucked off the main road. The setting was benign vis-a-vis police presence. The moon was still working it's magic. My husband cut the engine:

"Wow, it got cold in here fast." As my good friend pointed out retrospectively, teenagers park because they don't have anywhere else to go. We have our very own home with sleeping kids and a babysitter who is only too happy to leave a bit early. You can't go back but you can go home:)

Thank you, Latvia

2010-11-16T16:34:00.000-05:00

Roving Reporter and I were talking about blogging, we do that sometimes, and she tipped me to the Stats tab on Blogger. This is a miraculous device that lets one see who is viewing one's blog. I have 13 faithful followers which is a comfortable amount. Still, there are days when the comments dry up and I do wonder who my audience is? My most avid fan is my mom but she hasn't figured out how to comment so I have to take her involvement on faith. Faith, and her phone calls when I have not posted in awhile. The rest of my family (including my husband) read when I send them a specific post. I usually do this when I have something laudatory to say about them or something embarrassing about another family member.

Then there are my faithful blogging friends: I will read your blog if you read mine. That is how it started but I am hooked on each and every blog, even blogs one step removed. I met Roving Reporter's sister and felt like I knew her because I follow her blog. I was very proud of myself for not asking any obtrusive big sister questions, since I am in point of fact, not her big sister. My sister does not follow my blog. I will email her this link but it will do no good. It started when I was in 9th grade and she was in 7th. I pleaded with her to join the track team so we could rival the Mayfield Sisters, a local sisterly running dynasty. She ran one lap in one practice and sat down on the field to read a book. Things have continued on that track every since. She does her own thing. My soul sisters and brothers read my blog and leave smart ass comments, just as they should. You can get a little high falutin' when you are philosophizing in a vacuum.

Finally, today I learned I have a faithful reader from Latvia, a few from China, Russia, and England. I appreciate their interest, even if they wandered in by mistake. Maybe things would be a little crisper if I knew my target audience but as Tolkien said, all who wander are not lost. Meander on my friends.

Art lessons from my daughter

2010-11-15T09:02:00.009-05:00

I have taken on a few additional part-time jobs and have thrown myself and my family out of balance. See what happens when you take a few iron pills and start feeling like yourself? Emma is particularly aware of my increased absences and lack of patience when I am home so Sunday, we stopped the music. Luke and Scott were climbing so we had an afternoon to ourselves. She asked to make something so I pulled out my assortment of beads.

Pulling out your stash, be it beads or fabric or yarn or translucent papers, is an exercise in letting go. Most of us are material hoarders and a project has to be worthy of my beautiful materials which I have gathered from all over the country.

Lesson # 1: My daughter has no such connection to materials....any precious bead, especially those that I have been saving for "just the right thing" are fair game for what she is working on in the moment. In her mind, the art we are making here and now far outweighs the nebulous future.

"How do these pink beads look"?

"Oh, let's not use those, I am saving those for a pair of earrings"

"What about the birds"?

"UHH, I have had those for a long time....."

"Good, I'm using them."

In the end, she didn't use the birds, but she did pick up the lizard (from Sante Fe), the grape clusters (estate sale), and the silver pineapples (Brimfield). Her necklace is a map of my treasure hunting expeditions.

After finishing up our necklaces, she announces: "I'm giving my necklace to F-----"

Lesson #2: Even though a new necklace has treasured beads and takes an afternoon to make, it becomes even more of a treasure if you give it away.
I thank you Emma for a couple of art lessons I had forgotten in the hub-bub of my life at the moment. I will try and remember them as we slide into the holiday season:)

She probably needs a vacation

2010-11-11T15:52:00.008-05:00

We have always had trouble with the tooth fairy in our house. She started off with a bang and big bucks when each child lost his/her first tooth. All show...Luke got an antique silver dollar and Emma got a crisp five dollar bill. Nothing too creative but she seemed competent for the long haul. We were wrong about that.

The trouble started with Luke's second tooth. It was raining hard that night and a big thunderstorm blew into town. Luke appeared at our bedroom door the next morning crestfallen: "The tooth fairy didn't come." I wanted to strangle that little pixie. What the hell?

My husband, in a very co-dependent fashion if you ask me, told our son that the tooth fairy often has difficulty navigating through thunderstorms and clearly was blown off course. The only bonus to the situation is that if the tooth fairy runs into difficulties, she has to double down the next night. She managed to find her way and left several dollars the next night. I was beginning to sense she wasn't reliable.

This week, our daughter lost her third tooth in as many weeks. I get that the tooth fairy is fatigued but she has signed on for this and needs to not dash a small girls dreams into fairy dust. Really. Emma forgot to put her tooth under her pillow for several nights, and then in a ninja move, slipped it under unbeknownst to her parents. She appeared at our bedroom door the next morning crestfallen: "The tooth fairy didn't come."

"Sweetie, you put a tooth under your pillow last night?" She hands me the tooth in a little treasure box her teacher gave her when she lost the tooth at school.
"Why did she forget about me mom?"
"I think she probably has a drinking problem." My husband glared at me and said "Pumpkin, sometimes the tooth fairy gets overloaded in one night and has to come back the next night."
"Why are you defending her?"
"Why are you presenting her as a substance abuser?"

She wobbled into town last night and did right. She always does, eventually. I am trying to feel some compassion for her as she is clearly overworked and stressed out (I did, in a libelous fashion, make up the drinking part). I am sure it is no picnic, whizzing through the night air, loaded down with bloody little teeth. Still, this is what she signed on for.

Maybe I will give her a hand

Notes from the Pew

2010-11-07T15:43:00.005-05:00

It has been an interesting experience, teaching religious education to my children. I don't have my own religious background to draw upon because I went to Sunday School in the south at Pioneer Park Church of Christ. Here is a sample of a song we used to sing:

Are you washed?
Are you washed?
Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?

Are your garments spotless, are they white as snow,
Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?

One learned not to ask how one's garments could be "white as snow" if you had the bad sense to wash them in lamb's blood. Some questions are metaphysical in nature, apparently. In fact, early religious education teaches you the difference between a question that can be answered and one that can't.

My students are not used to the blood and guts that can be found in the Old Testament. I know this because my co-teacher and I are teaching stories from the bible this quarter. Two weeks ago, I told the story of Moses and how his mother left him in a basket in the river to escape the Pharaoh's edict that all first born Hebrew children were to be killed. I think it is accurate to say that this bit of history traumatized them. Why, why, they asked? Why would anyone kill a child? Sadly, our own modern history is filled with instances of infanticide and horror. Am I preparing them for the inevitability of history? I hope I am laying the groundwork for these young souls to always, always think there is another way. May we all remember to be horrified when history repeats itself.

The lesson today on the oppression Moses and his people faced by the Egyptians ended with the song, "Let my people go." While we were cuing up the CD to listen to it, my son turned to me and said, "Didn't they play this song at your wedding?"

Namaste.

Notes from the field

2010-11-06T18:57:00.011-04:00

Last week-end was over-scheduled, over-stimulating, and over-abundant with a plethora of parties and friends. We loved it (in retrospect).

During the week, there were a few auspicious signs that things might be a little dicey at work
They were.

Today, I recharged in a city that never fails to restore balance and remind me of why I moved 2000 miles from home twenty some years ago. Throw in good friends, a craft show, and our ritual of eating on the pier....I think it doesn't get any better.

I hope you all recharge, reconnect, and revive this week-end.

Hallow-Weinie

2010-11-01T16:19:00.009-04:00

After all was said and done my husband, the elf, called me a "Hallow-Weinie" when I begged off hour number two of trick or treating. Are you kidding me? Granted, I did not put on fake ears, a leather tunic, and a wig but I think this makes me a balanced and mature adult. I would also like to direct your attention to the vein bulging out of my neck; this is my I'm-in-the-middle-of-my-last-marathon-event-and-it-is-possible-I-may-not-make-it vein. This vein pops out when I have over smiled, no word of a lie. It is also a good indication of nonstop activity for many hours. Notice the elf has no bulging veins, this is both his gift and my curse. I do get a bit riled up before having people over because our house is not party ready. Here are a few things we had to take care of before folks came over:

1. Washing the stair rail where I found to my complete surprise that the paint I had assumed was antiqued is actually green....no patina, just grime.

2. Picking up more than one board with rusty nails sticking straight up...I call them "ghost busters."

3. Rounding up a pot to mull the cider. Realizing we don't have a little ball or cheesecloth to put the mulling spices in....later, instructing people to spit out mulling spices...later still, picking up many glasses 3/4 filled with cider.

4. Excavating the playroom, the sandbox, and the dining room table. Vowing to keep them all pristine until Thanksgiving. Vows broken one day later.

So this Hallow-Weinie had logged a few miles before the main event. Nostalgia for the week-end set in about an hour ago. I have figured out next year we will add a scavenger hunt and maybe a haunted sandbox. Needless to say, the vein has receded.

A moment in time

2010-10-28T17:09:00.004-04:00

Today starts the push into Halloween purgatory. It is of my own making, as it so often is. Luke is having a buddy over tomorrow night for a sleep-over, his first and his friend's first. Nothing could go awry there. Saturday morning, I am going to "fit in" a quick home visit before soccer games, soccer end-of-the-season ceremonies, a dojo magic show, and the church haunted house. Nothing could go awry there because we have 5 minutes leeway between each event.

When I get a little overwhelmed, I often find myself at BJ's. There is no amount of over scheduling that can't be fixed by buying a lot of food in bulk. Tonight, we will fortify ourselves for the fray by eating 23.00 dollars worth of salmon. Bj's was hopping will all the other shoppers who needed to calm their jangled nerves and so I parked at the far end of the lot.

I unloaded my groceries, whipping 20 rolls of toilet paper and a case of juice boxes into the trunk and noticed an elderly gentleman gingerly rolling his cart toward me. He looked to be about 85 and had a pound of coffee, some bananas, and a magazine in his cart. I briefly wondered why he was shopping at such a behemoth of a store but that might have led me down the path of wondering why I was shopping at such a behemoth of a store so I quickly got off that track. I smiled at him as I pondered if I had the time or energy to return my carriage to it's rightful spot...far, far away.

"Excuse me young lady?"
As you might imagine, I had no idea he was talking to me but I turned around to see who was joining our party, and it was just the two of us.
"Do you mind taking my carriage back with yours? I can't just leave it here, and, well, since you are taking yours back."
I would be happy to. He slowly got into his car, and on the bumper was a sticker that said "D-Day Museum."

I thought about this gentleman the rest of the afternoon. I thought about his generation and how they mapped out the connection between duty and not leaving your shopping cart in the parking lot of BJ's. I hoped that he had not outlived all of his friends and family. Most of all, I wished I had introduced myself and thanked him for the quiet lesson in responsibility and integrity.

As for Halloween? Bring it on.

Craft Dealer

2010-10-27T19:14:00.016-04:00

It started with the small stuff: "Come on over and we will do some scrap booking pages, I have all the supplies, you don't need anything, really."

I arrive, bright-eyed and nervous. I see a portable machine that cuts paper, glue that comes in dots, and paper as far as the eye can see...arranged by color, by season, by thickness. I look around at a beautiful studio and think "I can do art here." And thus it begins.....

The wily craft dealer will create something each week that looks effortless and seamless in her hands. She will pick up a new craft, crocheting, by watching scratchy you-tube videos and encourage you to try it. You will want to stab yourself in the eye with a crochet needle after one night of knotted yarn and expletives. Yet, you still go back for more because you have become a friend of a craft dealer. The gateway projects are mini-albums, embellishments, and, cards. You think to yourself, "I could go a little harder, and a little bigger, and use sharper tools."

Then come the die-cut machines (see above pumpkin faces which were all done by the dealer); the intricate dimensions needed to put a photo album inside an Altoid mint box; and the obsessive need to save old jeans, old labels, old sticks, old keys, and old books. Especially the old books. There is no such thing as trash anymore, everything can be re purposed. The craft dealer only smiles when you bemoan your fate, "I see Art everywhere."

It has been about 5 years and this week, I spent 5 hours, with some help, creating the featured Halloween treat bags that my children's friends will rip into and toss away like the impermanent containers they are. Suddenly it hits me like a cut, my friend is not a craft dealer at all, she is a Zen master. I should have known.

Notes from the Pew

2010-10-24T13:50:00.007-04:00

Two summers ago, I went to a two day training on DBT: Dialectical Behavioral Therapy. The gist of DBT is that we are often struggling with dialectics or the art of holding two contradictory feelings/wants/needs in balance. As a parent, I want to spend time nurturing my children and giving to them but I also need time alone to recharge. Another dialectic in this culture is wanting to be liked and accepted in one's community but struggling with the materialism that often goes along with acceptance.

Today in church, we had a wonderful guest speaker, Rev. Dr. Laurel Hallman, who has written a book entitled "Reaching Deeper" about our Unitarian Universalist faith. The title of her sermon today was "Whose are we"? Last summer, a group of UU ministers got together in Seattle to look at the issues of faith, spiritual cohesion, and how we, as UU's, identify ourselves as a cohort. All heady questions for a faith group that emphasizes the individuality of each person's spiritual path.

The answer for all of us is a complicated one but I think it is time to embrace complications. Yep, I married an atheist, found Buddhism, and wandered into Unitarian Universalism when I had kids. I may have wandered in, but I have found spiritual shelter and welcome at First Parish. I found a group of people who welcomed my husband, and even had a name for him "humanist." My minister spent her sabbatical in Nepal in an unheated monastery. She rocks.

So here is the dialectical part: I don't believe in proselytizing and yet I want you all to experience the blessings I feel each Sunday when I sing with my beloved community, when I teach my students in religious education, or when I share a joy or concern by lighting a candle. I cry almost every Sunday at some point while I listen to the sermon. I want that for you, I want that for us all. We are spiritual people, yearning for something bigger than just ourselves to make sense of it all. Dr. Hallman spoke beautifully about the power of metaphor and the power of blessing and prayer, no matter what word we put on it. Perhaps just the word "mystery."

Today, I was filled up by a sermon that challenged me to define my faith and wake up from spiritual slumber. My spiritual home allows me to journey with others, even on such a personal quest. May you be blessed with a beloved community.

Namaste

Feels so good to be feeling good again

2010-10-22T19:31:00.006-04:00

Robert Earle Keene, singing my truth of the moment!

Time Marches On

2010-10-17T19:02:00.006-04:00

When you start some new gigs you have to do a couple of things in this day and age: provide a head shot and write a "brief bio". These tasks have proven to be a bit more difficult than I had imagined. The biography needs to capture your essence without sounding arrogant, or awash in metaphysics "who am I really, and who can say who they are, really", or padding your experiences like a cheap push up bra. I have been guilty of all three things in the last week.

But that is nothing compared to picking out a head shot when you have not really taken a close look at yourself for 12 years. Who the hell is that? I mean she seems happy enough but her hair is not tinged with gray, it is gray. Although her kids get a big kick out of her silver pirate tooth, it kinda catches the sun and glints back at the audience.

Still, the glasses remain red, the eyebrows still impressive (and sometimes menacing), and to earn crinkles like that around the eyes, you had to have spent some serious time being amused at the world. I look at my head shot and think "so far, so good."

As an aside, some of the most beautiful women I have ever seen are women who have been doing yoga for 20 or 30 years. Aging gracefully and with wisdom, something to strive for.

Namaste

Down to the Bone

2010-10-11T16:45:00.008-04:00

Last week-end was a whirlwind of activity, culminating in the "playground crawl" on Columbus day. Roving Reporter and I write a new column entitled "Moms about town" featured on http://www.shrewsbury.patch.com/ (look for us there, please ). She had the brilliant idea to check out some lesser known playgrounds in town and feature them in a couple of articles. Oh what to write about?

I tell you what we opted not to write about: the bone my daughter found in the woods behind one of the swingsets. CSI meets small town America. I am not saying the bone is human, but it ain't small. The thing is, at every playground, it wasn't the swings or the shiny new slides that held the interest of our children; it was the large pine tree, the fence surrounding the tennis court, the hiking trail, and, yes, the bone. It was also getting together with friends, joining the action as community members reporting on their playgrounds, and rating the experiences.

My daughter carried around her talisman on a stick for about 20 minutes. Then, with some reluctance, she handed it back to me to return to the wilds. It reminds me of a beautiful poem her grandmother wrote which I reprint here without permission:

Pagan Death

Supposed death, as well as love,
calls me to this earth.

Still- I live in finite
heart memories, as
emphemeral as moth dust.

While aspen leaf and rose vein,
infinitely circling
Reflect the light of ten thousand
corporeal souls-

At last
At last
One with beauty

Karen Jordan

Co-people

2010-10-06T17:38:00.014-04:00

Today was a good day. My energy is returning, with the help of 3 iron pills a day, and I have inexplicably acquired three new part time gigs. I am going to be co-writing a column for a local online newspaper, co-facilitating a group for children whose siblings have a disability, and co-working with visiting nurses to provide services for elderly clients.

When I was 24, I was the director of a rape crisis center. I carried the back-up beeper 24/7 and made many a visit to local hospitals in the middle of the night to provide support to women (and men) who had been brutally violated. I was young enough and arrogant enough to do much of the work on my own, I didn't want to burden our volunteers with those tough late night calls.

When I was 33, I started having nightmares about some of those visits. I dreamed that I was being chased down a deserted hospital ward and all the doors clanged shut. I would often wake up screaming. I now know that is called "secondary traumatization" and is quite common for first responders and clinicians who work with trauma survivors. I worked through a lot of it with my own therapist.

Now, in my 40's I have been liberated from the idea that I need to do any of this work in a vacuum. In the various schools I have worked in, I have been part of a multi-disciplinary team that looks at a student from many different perspectives. All those different viewpoints ultimately provide more clarity.

So I want to shout out to all my most fabulous co-people: I will not do it anymore without you. I need your wisdom, your perspective, your humor, your creativity, and your strength. I need to be reigned in, applauded, encouraged, reigned in a bit more, and honored. I will do the same for you.

Today was a good day.

A little compassion, Dear Lord!

2010-09-28T18:19:00.006-04:00

Dear Lord:

Admittedly, I'm sort on energy, perspective, time, money, and balance. But I'm not going to talk to you about any of those things because they have a tendency to ebb and flow and I don't want to waste your time praying about things that will shift of their own accord....what with trillions of people trying to capture your attention.

I could also point out that in the last several days, I have personally witnessed a couple of folks lose their ever-loving minds but again, they should probably go down on their knees of their own accord, who am I to piously pray for the salvation of others, even though that seems to be the American way.

No, Lord, instead I'm going to pray for more compassion. I need it now because my kids are involved in all manner of organized activities. With these activities, comes interactions with other parents. Parents who want to tell us how to coach soccer and yet have opted out of coaching themselves. Parents who want to tell me the virtues of the Brownie vest over the Brownie sash which my daughter is so clearly wearing, indicating, perhaps, that we have already pondered the weighty decision of vest vs sash and made our decision. Parents who commit to teach something of significance and then quit by email.

Now Lord, you are pretty sharp and probably figured out that I am not innocent in all these interactions. I gave the parent complaining about soccer more air time than I should have and hurt a dear friend; I might have suggested that the Brownie vest looked a little SS in nature; and the email I sent back to the parent who quit.....not my most spiritual writing.

So, I will try to remember these words from one of your main guys:

If you don't find God
in the next person you meet,
it is a waste of time
looking further.
Gandhi

Thanks for listening.

Happy Fall Y'all

2010-09-26T14:22:00.004-04:00

This is Fred. He will be on our porch (newly painted!) until the spring. He will have a sprig of holly in his pocket, a scarf, and a different hat on in a month or two, but he will remain seasonally viable until the work that went into him is paid off. You could say that Fred is an indentured servant but aren't we all? To the man? To our unconscious desires? Wait, wait....back on message...Happy Fall Y'all!

Curriculum Night

2010-09-22T20:44:00.007-04:00

Just back from curriculum night with a couple of do's and please do nots from a parent's perspective:

Please have enough chairs in the cafeteria, auditorium, library, etc. If you do not have enough chairs for the parents, when they arrive late and stand out in the hall chatting with their friends, they will never come on time again, ever. Chatting with friends is so much more fun than listening to statistics on MCAS. I wish that were not so but the folks on the outside were in a much better humor than the folks on the inside. You see, standardized testing is deeply flawed and talking about it, a lot, at these events does not remove the bitter taste of it. You can cook liver anyway you want and you can drone on and on about your recipe, but it is still liver and it is hard to stomach.

Please do not make us sit in tiny desks for longer than 20 minutes. We are big people with big body parts that fall asleep when squeezed into tiny spaces.

Please do not ask parents to write to their children to prove that they attended. The thing is, the kid whose parents are working a night shift or the single mom/dad who could not get a babysitter, that kids is going to feel lousy the next day when all the other kids have notes and they do not. I know that it takes a village and I know how important it is for parents to be involved and present....but some are not for reasons we can't fathom and the student should not carry the burden of that.

Finally, this note of thanks goes directly to my son's teacher who assured me when I read this line in my son's biopoem:

The Dutch like heron. I am Dutch and I'm going to try heron someday....

that he really meant to write "herring." We parents never for one minute forget that you are doing god's work.....so curriculum night is really, despite all the grumbling, a night to feel blessed that such spiritual people are teaching our kids.

In the interest of full disclosure.....

2010-09-17T17:33:00.008-04:00

Hospitals are as close to prison as I hope I get. I can't say for sure that I won't end up in prison but if I do, I will have been prepared by the best.

For starters, once you get admitted to the hospital, you can't leave until the doctors, many of whom are at least 25 years old, say you are cleared to go home. If you get up in the middle of the night and ask the night nurse to call you a cab because you have had enough, she will kindly explain to you the concept of AMA...against medical advice. Leaving AMA means that your insurance will not pay for your hospitalization costs. When you explain, equally kindly, that seems a lot like extortion and is probably against the law, the gentle exchange takes a turn. This was the lesson from a previous stint in the big house so this time, I used a different tactic.

To get out of the hospital, you have to be cunning and seemingly full of energy. On day 3, I had been on IV fluids and felt full of vim and vigor. I called my gyn and made an emergency appointment. When the young lads at the hospital came in for rounds, I explained to them that I needed a pass so I could go to my outside appointment. I promised I would come back, but really, this was an appointment I had to keep.

We don't give day passes from the hospital.
Wow, I would hate to explain to my doc that the hospital wouldn't let me come for an emergency appointment.
How did you get this appointment?
Well, my doctor is quite concerned because of my history and thinks I need to be seen immediately.
I suppose you could do the capsule study outpatient but your levels are still low.
I will let him know that, that is good information for him.

So, my friends, what is called for when it is time to break out of any institution is your very own expert. You, who have lived in your body for years, do not qualify. Your intuition is not valid, and your voice will not be heard. Still, if your docs are not paying attention, you might have a few tricks up your johnny.

In the interest of full disclosure, the week-end was pretty rough and might have been easier if I had stayed in the hospital. Here is the take away (my blogging buddy taught me that is a good thing to have embedded in your post, somewhere): no matter how sick you are, it feels damn good to break out of prison.

Back in the Saddle

2010-09-14T19:10:00.006-04:00

I have been pondering my previous lives. I am thinking that I had a hell of a good time, but perhaps at the cost of hurting others. Or, maybe in this life, I have relied too much on my physical self, that maybe the years I spent running, cycling, and climbing have not prepared me for the spiritual component of aging. How does one become acclimated to the body breaking down, slowly? The same way one prepares for any summit, you train.

I went back into training last week when I was driving into work and experienced heart palpitations and shortness of breath. With my spiffy cardiac history, I could not chose to ignore the classic signs of having an actual heart attack so I went to the ER. Very quickly, they ascertained that I had a dangerously low hematocrit level and admitted me. What? This is a blood thing, not a heart thing? What the hell. I stayed for three days and got probed in every which way, including swallowing a camera which the kind nurse informed me should not alarm me when it comes out still blinking. I worked hard to get out of the hospital and came home too soon. I spent the week-end simultaneously thinking I was dying and acting as cheerful as I could for my kids.

So, I'm not dying. I'm dangerously anemic and I get to have a procedure next week to fix that. All in all, in the scheme of things, this isn't a headline. No cancer, not terminal, a somewhat easy fix. Still, even a second page story can throw you down. I spent my twenties thinking I could summit Everest, bike across America, and live on a commune. My thirties were dedicated to establishing my professional persona, finding a soul mate (whom I met when I was in my twenties but was too blind to see) and having my kids. The forties were supposed to be about accruing spiritual wisdom. I think spiritual wisdom is a wily old bastard who refuses to hang out in temples. Instead, he skulks around hospitals and pops up during a colonoscopy. He hangs out with you in the middle of the night when you are afraid you are not going to wake up. He doesn't ask for my opinion on anything but instead burns away a lot of who I thought I was. All in all, he is proving to be a colossal pain in the ass and after last week, I know of what I speak in that department.

So my friends, one thing is constant in all this turmoil. My love and connection with all of you is what I am left with at the end of the day. And that puts a smile on the face of the wily old bastard.

Namaste.

Pre-labor day labor

2010-09-05T18:16:00.005-04:00

I realized today that I have two "pending" files and two "ongoing" files on the top of a shared desk. I figured this out because I spent most of the afternoon renewing my professional social work license.

This gave me a chance to do a quick personality assessment:

1. People who have 4 files labeled "ongoing, pending, urgent, etc" with no discernable difference in the contents of said files are not organized.

2. People can be disorganized and still be Type A.

3. Being disorganized does not always help you move forward in your Type A environment but.....

4. Being Type A and disorganized can help you mobilize when you realize you have 1 day to complete 12 continuing education credits. An organized person would have sweated the disparity between taking online courses on hospice care, genetic counseling, and mindfulness. I think they are all one and I had no time to sweat anything.

I look at my children and my husband and myself and I think we are who we are. It doesn't mean we aren't working on some things but really, since day 1, given some love and nurturing, we will become more of who we always were. And that is not just my genetics expertise talking:)

Perspective

2010-09-01T18:54:00.004-04:00

I write about perspective fairly frequently as it is an elusive bird, flying away at the mere hint of change. Why do we lose our perspective when things shift? I think that solid ground is an illusion but it sustains us during our very brief stint in each lifetime. When things change, we get a glimpse of the bigger picture, that we have perhaps weathered thousands of transitions and yet here we still are, in Samsara.

Samsara is a Buddhist concept and the Sanskrit word means "continuous flow." One translation refers to it as "the continuous but random drift of desires, emotions, and experiences in this lifetime." We are in samsara and will continue until we reach enlightenment, lifetime after lifetime. Our clinging and our wild unbridled thoughts keep us here. The first moments of meditation always give me some idea of how wildly out of balance I am. The idea of focusing on my breath and the current moment is continually interrupted by my strutting, bodacious thoughts on nothing of import. All dressed up and no substance. Harlots, one and all.

Monday I was clinging, rather tenaciously to the idea that we would not, could not be late for my son's first soccer practice. He was enjoying the last moments of summer and was blissfully swinging on our great swing, fully in the present moment but not taking care of business. I yelled at him to get going, he ran across our newly painted front porch in soccer cleats, and here we are.....8 stitches later. He split his knee wide open. No soccer, no karate, painful first day of school. For the record, I was not a fountain of compassion on the drive to Ready Med, either. I lost perspective.

I lose perspective a lot. I want to not. I will begin anew, somehow. Who we are as spiritual people should play out in every facet of our lives. My goal is to shorten the distance between personas. You should see me at retreats, I look very Zen. You should see me coach soccer, I look very Texan. You should see me yell at my children, I look like I have lost perspective. Our children are born broken wide open and we are responsible for their need to build defenses. I want them to stay open so I have to let go of some things. Next time you see me at an event, and I am late, please congratulate me.

Namaste

We go back:)

2010-08-26T16:26:00.003-04:00

In the whitewashed world that exists in the spring, you do not sign your kids up for camp the last week of summer because you will be doing the following idyllic activities:

1. Shopping for school supplies together, while talking about the symbolism of various notebooks and which colors best represent divergent personalities.
2. Hitting the lake, beach, trail one last time for a nostalgic ritualized end-of-the-summer visit.
3. Cleaning out desks, writing out schedules, and getting the house organized for the beginning of 27 fall activities.
4. Weeding out the garden and admiring the burgeoning pumpkins which will adorn your front porch in a few short weeks.
5. Bike riding on the rail trail.

In my mind, these things happen at the end of every summer. I am now writing this post to remind myself that is not how it goes....it looks more like this:

1. Forecast for 4 days straight: rain, rain, and more rain. No beach, no lake, and hiking if you want to carry one of your wet children who, within 20 minutes, slips off your shoulders like an arctic seal.

2. Any trip to any store for any supply ends in this threat "if you guys don't stop arguing, I'm leaving the cart here and we are going." Oldest now realizes this is a hollow threat and has developed a grin that conveys that knowledge.

3. Great dramatic hand-wringing when mom attempts to throw away any piece of paper from the last two years of school. This archaeological viewpoint impedes getting the desk cleared off. Mom realizes she will have to sweep in when kids have returned to school.

4. Garden looks like it has been blitzed. Pumpkin buds have been eaten by burrowing creature, tomatoes demolished by bugs, and squash attacked by ninja warrior animals. Not watering or weeding for past month might have contributed to devastation.

5. The rail trail? Again? Family threatens to go on strike. Let's arm wrestle for who gets to go on strike. Really, I can take you all.

It is time. Summer is swell, it really is but it is time.

Story of Stuff

2010-08-16T15:05:00.004-04:00

I just finished reading "The Story of Stuff" by Annie Leonard. My family will be getting this book for Christmas and I hope the rest of you take a look at this video (thanks for sending it on Michelle).

There are moments when you read something or think about something and it rings true in a calm and devastating fashion. We are giving away our planet in service of more and more disposable goods and it is not going to be an issue for our grand kids, it is going to be an issue for our kids. As parents, we are right to be concerned about our children's development as spiritual, intellectual, and physical entities. All that care and consideration will be for naught if there is no healthy place or way for them to flourish.

I am an offender in many, many ways, as are we all. I pledge to start somewhere, anywhere and give up the luxury of being overwhelmed, and thus doing nothing. Please take a look at the video or borrow the book from your local library. I think we want to do right and need each other to cheer us on down the road of less consumption.

One great website from the book is http://www.goodguide.com You can plug in any of your household products and see how they are rated vis-a-vis toxic chemicals and impacting the environment. A good place to start!

Dissection of an Evening

2010-08-13T19:11:00.003-04:00

I have admitted that I am a group floozy but upon further reflection, I think I have mined some insights into why that might be. Last night, after a month off, our Chicks With Sticks group gathered and secondarily made some progress on our knitting and crocheting. Of more importance and why groups are so danged much fun, we did the following:

1. Got away from our homes and the nagging sense that there is always something to take care of there....laundry, dishes, re-financing talk. Enough. I believe my last words out the door were "I have no idea when I will be home, could be tomorrow" (sorry to our hostess who did not escape her home but did create such luxury for us....

2. Drank grown-up drinks in beautiful glasses with exotic components like pineapple juice and whipped cream. Used cloth napkins on our very own faces.

3. Networked with one another and got to hear about a fabulous job one member earned with her journalistic prowess. I realized at some point that men do this all the time, get together and talk about work and how they can help each other out.

4. I would be remiss if I did not mention that at the end of the evening, we did figure out what our porn names are: name of first pet and street you grew up on...mine is Tiger Oxford. I will not tell tales but some names will be remembered forever:)

What a beautiful thing it is to get together as women and nurture the kind of energy that women bring to the table; some of it serious and some of it absurd. I cherish my women friends and anytime any of them want to meet to knit, read, paint, garden, fund raise, bike, hike, run, or just laugh until we can't breathe, well, I'm in.

What matters

2010-08-11T18:47:00.009-04:00

I have found that there are, literally, thousands of things that are more fun to do than strip your front porch. Weed the driveway, clean out closets, go to the local art museum. With so many dazzling choices, I went with the art museum option. My good friend and I have been talking about doing this for several years. Last time we tried, the museum closed 15 minutes after we arrived. The porch can wait....my end of the summer mantra:)

We decided to visit the room entitled "Changing Exhibits" first, as it seemed so fleeting. At the risk of giving away too much, this is absolutely not a bad thing. As you walk into the gallery, your eyes are drawn to a big pine box in the middle of the room. Upon reflection, the viewer sees a few tufts of hay sticking out of a small hole (about orange circumference) drilled into the box. Eureka, this is a pine box covering a bale of hay. Hay that we would not have known existed, except that the artist drilled a hole, albeit a tiny hole in the box. Here we go.....Worcester Art Museum - What Matters

Next, your eyes are drawn toward a shelf on the wall. On that shelf, are several painted bricks. Ah, the starkness of the human condition or maybe the fecundity of the human condition, hard to say.

In the corner of the room, leaning against the white wall, was a fur-covered hula-hoop. (actually a steel hoop) Artist out of Glasgow, using a reclaimed ermine stole. I don't know if the hula-hoop was reclaimed. Here is where I fall into the wormhole: How does one define art? Is it a thing of beauty that allows one to transcend boundaries? Or is it a piece that allows you to have a conversation with yourself? The fuzzy hula-hoop allowed me a greater appreciation of the Rembrandt I saw down the hall. I daresay I will still be talking about the fuzzy hula-hoop on down the road. I fear I may have been hoodwinked by a wily Scottish artist into a slight appreciation of modern art.

I know my tastes are not sophisticated and with some time and effort, I could come to appreciate the post-modern angst represented by the installation I saw today. I admire the courage of an artist who hangs plastic bottles from the ceiling and demands that we see beyond the fact that if I stole this work of art, it could be replaced out of the recycling bin. Modern art forces you to transcend your own aesthetic, but here is the thing... I like my aesthetic. It runs to the Dutch painters, especially the frozen winter scenes. I'm a fan of anything cold, dark, gray, and forlorn. Van Gogh's sunflowers don't do it for me but Picasso's blue period is riveting.

So, just like literature, love, music, and dance...art is personal. I am not a student or fan of modern art but I admire every artist making art. So rock on with your fuzzy hula-hoops and your painted bricks. Art matters.

Owning an Old House

2010-08-10T14:12:00.006-04:00

I'm taking a little break from stripping the front porch to write about stripping the front porch. Suddenly, it becomes clear to me why people love to write, it is cooler and works different muscles.

The home we live in was built in 1889 and you can tell that immediately. Not because of the quaint architecture but because some part of the house is peeling, at all times. I had no idea what owning an old house meant, I just knew that I was drawn to the energy and sense of history that older homes exude. The minute I walked into our house, my gut told me that we would be here as long as we lived in New England. My husband's gut told him the same thing, because very few people would buy a house this old. So here we are, falling behind more and more each year.

In the beginning years, we did basic work: new heater, new roof, new windows (the old ones were circa early 1900s and they made a very cool rattling sound, before the rain and snow came in). We had the floors redone and put in new sinks in the bathrooms. We had no money or time for aesthetic work so our butterfly wallpaper and yellow toilet are still hanging tough in the downstairs bathroom.

That is the thing with an old house, you are running uphill to keep your house from sliding downhill...did I mention we need some foundation work done? Last summer, it was replacing our old picket fence and this summer, everything needs to be painted. Inside and outside.

Still, we have an acre to play on and I can garden until the cows come home...the state of my garden is a post for another time but we have had a couple of tomatoes and cukes and plenty of herbs. Our pumpkins are the real showstoppers and I put my faith in them. I don't ever sweat it when kids are romping through because the house was made for messiness and clutter and worn-in-ness.

Our realtor told us this house used to be a chapel. I can feel the holiness in trying to keep things going. Each project has it's moments of loss of faith, repentance, and redemption. All we can do is be fully present in the middle of the chaos...and that, my friends, I can do.

Namaste

August Blues

2010-08-08T10:51:00.007-04:00

It has been hot here in New England and anything over 80 is considered a heatwave, which causes the town to promptly issue an outdoor water ban. This, in turn, leads to a droopy landscape. Upon reflection, this is the perfect backdrop to August, especially after a week of Camp Mommy.

I marvel at the fact that I have no patience for children, and yet I have two and work in a middle school. I think I have patience for wounded children and angry children but not middle-class entitled children. Lately, I have been quoting Karl Marx and "unwaged labor"....a title I think is quite applicable to parents. I am whitewashing the past, thinking about how my sister and I happily did a day of chores for the betterment of the family community, and how we got along splendidly.

August is rough. There is a fine balance between too many camps and structured activities and not enough. Siblings have spent the summer honing their ability to supremely irritate one another and by August, well, I think it is nothing short of an art form. Underneath it all is the buzzing irritation of my own perceived reverence for my elders and for my sibling relationship. In my memory, I was never disrespectful or fresh. And yet......

How about the time I whispered into the air vent "I hate you Mom" at my grandmother's house and stopped Sunday dinner cold?

How about the time I talked my sister into running me over with a bike and then framed her when my parents ran out to see what all the screaming was about?

How about the time I figured out that I could outrun my dad (he walked on crutches) and told him so? His calm response....you will eventually have to come home...

How about the time I took one of every shoe I owned to high school in a duffel bag so my sister could not borrow a pair of my shoes?

Every parent feels that karma resides in their grandchildren, and I think they may be right. At any rate, I'm feeling a little less blue thinking about what a little s---- I was, because look how I turned out. There is hope for my kids:)

Integrity

2010-08-05T13:33:00.005-04:00

I have been thinking a bit about the idea of integrity. It all started with this video:

I got an email from a group that pointed out Target is sponsoring a candidate in Minnesota that supports anti-gay sentiments. I consider myself to be a bit of a Target addict, the red is so cheerful and they have very cool bags that you can make other very cool stuff out of like braided rugs. I shop there weekly for one thing or another. Still, 150,000 to a man who believes that gay and lesbian folks should be actively discriminated against? This is an issue of justice and when you know about something, you have a choice of what to do.

We go along pretending that big corporations are OK, that some are better than others when in fact, they are quite similar. Target helped put the 5 and 10 store out of business just as readily as WalMart did. How can we get back to making more mindful choices as consumers? One purchase at a time. We are headed to a local family-run bike store to get Emma's bike (our next Target purchase). We should have gone there to begin with but the colorful bags and inexpensive goods at Target lured me away from making a choice with integrity. I am going to work hard to get back there.

Group Floozy

2010-08-03T11:02:00.005-04:00

I just got an email to join a Rogue Book Club. I feel a bit sheepish because I am already a member of a great book club but the thing is, I never met a group I didn't want to get to know a bit better. Even if I don't actually do the thing the group is doing, like scrap booking or tole painting or Tai Chi. Of course, after you join, you end up doing the thing, sometimes for a good long time. My affairs with groups have started me down the path of Buddhism, meditation, yoga, and hindeloopen (dutch folk painting).

I am currently a member of two book groups, one knitting group, and one scrapbooking group. I am contemplating joining a hiking group, a training group for triathletes, and an artist group. I am in full support of local plans to start a women's mediation center and a local art and cultural center. It is an orgy of connection.

Stay open. Connect. Flirt with all of life's possibilities. In the end, come home to your partner and family with renewed energy and a twinkle in your eye. Who knows, you might talk them into a night of dutch folk painting:)