Happy New Year

You know that movie Spaceballs when captain Lord Dark Helmet orders for the ship to travel at ludicrous speed? "Sir, ludicrous speed?!" That was 2013 for me. I experienced so many changes, I grew and learned over the course of weekends what I would normally have experienced over the course of a year. A warp speed of revelations. And now I'm coming into the new year with the feeling that I can breathe again. That the ship has returned to its normal speed and Rick Moranis, smashed helmet and all, is saying "smoke if you got 'em!" It wasn't an easy year, but it was necessary. And the fact is I made it through better than ever. Now I am finally in a place where I can kick back and enjoy things as they come. I've found the source to the longing in my heart and I just want to breathe it, to nurture it like a proper season. Live it. Part of my impatience stemmed from not wanting the bad times to linger--I didn't want to drown there. I embrace whatever I am faced with head on, but so much of what I faced wasn't all that great. Until now. It was a rough year for many people I know--strange how often you seem to face hardships at the same time as those close to you, so even in our struggles we aren't alone. My friend Jess and I always seem to be on par with the emotions that life stirs up. So to her and to everyone else who had kind of a crappy year I want to say this--we made it, and we're only better for it. I believe 2014 will be a year where we can "smoke if you got 'em." I really do.

Life Is Everyone

Last week I watched the documentary "The Human Experience", which tells the story of Jeffrey Azize as he travels in search of an answer to the question "what does it mean to be human?" It was incredibly touching. I cried, brimmed with empathy and love and compassion. It made me want to do better, to volunteer, to love larger, to be nicer. I was particularly struck by the summarizing phrase that "life is everyone." It's a sentiment that I know I've thought about and written about (the connectivity of all our separate lives), but it's another thing entirely to see that idea unfold onscreen. Whether he was talking to the homeless on the streets of NYC or disabled kids in Peru or a leprosy colony in Ghana, it became clear: human beings intuitively believe that life is bigger than what it seems, that we all seek and believe in some type of purpose. And one way in which we do that is by forming communities no matter where we are, by asking who we are, by giving of ourselves. I think the most important thing we can give, even beyond money and things, is dignity. To do so is to believe that every life matters, no matter our differences and stations in life. At one point during the film there was a homeless woman being interviewed who recounted a time when she was starving and freezing on the streets in the dead of winter, overlooked and ignored by all the passerby's. And then 4 puppies appeared, wandering orphaned and aimlessly, and suddenly those people who looked through her gave pause. That's when they stopped--to rescue the dogs. If life is everyone, than we are doing a disservice to it when we don't pay our respects, when we don't see the worth of every human being we encounter.

Celebrating Here

I haven't posted anything on here all week because I've been celebrating the holidays. I gave myself a break and just allowed myself to get caught up in the festivities, large and small. Here's a taste of what we've been up to this week:

 The neighbors invited us to go bowling. Even bigfoot got a taste.

 At Nana and Papa's

 Cousins!

 Sneaking treats.

 The luminaries in my neighborhood--a Christmas Eve tradition.

 The note reads: My name is Fisher (in case Santa got a case of amnesia).

 Fisher unveiled his gift to me--pictures he drew of all the things we've done together over the holiday season. He taped the pics to wrapping paper and rolled it up.

 Checking out his bigfoot robot.

 The lovely Tana was in town from NYC and we spent an evening together. This photo was posted on facebook (as were several of these). But this sweet girl added this comment on there, which melted my heart: Casey Lord, I once met a drummer with one arm (yea, that drummer) who would have told you that the beautiful light/orb above your head in this photo is a representation of your soul!! A lovely soul indeed!! (or, you know, it's just lens flare... but your soul is pretty lovely anyway).

 Wish I could see this girl more often! Love her.

I caught Fisher talking to the tree. And then he got all dressed up in greens and decorated himself.

John Lennon - Happy Christmas (War Is Over)

The absolute best.

Otis Redding - Merry Christmas Baby (Atco Records 1967)

Here's to a merry Christmas Eve!

Live

A curious thing has been happening lately every time I send a text message--when I intend to type love the word live is what appears. I live Thai food. I live the snowfall. I live you. I'm thinking it's no mistake. Because what is a life without love. Isn't everything we do in the name of some kind of love? Peel back all the layers of a day--reason and intent ultimately draw a line to it. All our work and bills and errands, though seemingly mundane and a necessity without attachment to the heart--isn't the driving factor to support the ones we love? Just how much doesn't matter; it's still the same thought. And don't we live what we love when these people and things and places take up residence in our hearts? So these words are interchangeable. To live to love to love to live. And personally, I like the image and feeling that stirs in me when I say 'live'. I live the world. I live a good fire and a glass of wine and conversation with a friend. The word resounds.

Humor Me

I wonder if I've been too intense of late. Too serious. Too attached to my thoughts. There comes a time when everyone is too involved with their own minds. It's time to shuffle the deck, to loosen up. Winter is such a serious time--something about the starkness and bone chill that creates such an edge. I'm all for going inward, for confronting every mood, every trial of the heart. But I also know when to say when, and then to pull back and get unserious. Dance around the house to obscenely loud music, spend some time among the trees, goof off, relax. When I was in college and studying in Leiden, the Netherlands I used to take the train into Amsterdam. It was just a 20 minute ride. There was one night that I was returning to Leiden late, on the last train that ran there. I was so tired I thought I could just rest my eyes and they would open when the train pulled into the station. The next thing I knew I was being nudged awake by a conductor. In Luxembourg. On an empty train that was parked for the night. In a station that was closed. I remember thinking of all the other passengers on that train and what I must have looked like asleep like a pile of bricks as one by one they had to pass by me to exit the train at the stop that should have been mine! That kind of ridiculousness. That kind of loosening up. That's what I need.

Surprise

My son Fisher is a worrier. He talks big but when it comes down to it his steps are small. Just yesterday the kids and I went down to the creek to walk on the ice. It was his idea, but when we got there he dropped to his knees and crawled. Worry is always a discouragement. It's a way of boxing yourself in to a small space in an attempt to keep the world out, from letting it get to you too much. Of course there are some things we should worry about, but there are different degrees and I don't believe we should ever let it get to the point of stagnation. The richness of life comes from the experience of all the highs and lows--so many mountains to cross, and of course the plateaus in between. It comes down to trust--if we trust ourselves then we can forge through with the knowledge that we will stop if it isn't right, that we won't break for trying. So recently I posed to Fisher that he should do one thing every day to surprise himself. The idea clicked for him. He'll jump from greater heights and distances, try a food he adamantly claimed he wouldn't like, he'll let go of my hand and try things on his own, he'll stand up on the ice. And every time his face alights with the surprise of accomplishment. No matter how small, it is something. And even if things don't go as imagined, he needs to learn how to face those bumps and bruises that will inevitably come. He needs to learn how to deal and the only way that can happen is to stop trying to build a shelter of worry. Because the only thing that shelter does is prevent surprise and experience and growth. The world happens anyway.

A Poem On A Monday

Though my list of favorite poets may be long, Linda Gregg is up there among them. She is passionate and earthy and precise. Here's a sampling of her good words:  http://www.smith.edu/poetrycenter/poets/theprecision.html

Hearts Beating

After a 5 hour surgery (the doc had to move Matt's osteomy) and all that positive intended space held by readers on here and the many people whose lives have been touched by Matt, he pulled through surgery and is well on the path of recovery. I was able to see him last night--the nurses even let me in to the recovery room when they normally don't allow visitors there, but they made an exception because his surgery was late and long and his room wasn't ready. He was undoubtedly groggy and in great pain, but still able to wink and ask for a neck rub. So I stood there soothing his muscles in this place where people come to from surgery, listening to the nurses delivering the first promises of life to all the patients, bodies stiff and minds confused. When the room was ready I followed alongside his bed through halls and elevators--so many tiny bumps transitioning between carpet and tile and doorways--the faintest of which caused painful movement. So many little things we take for granted being able to bare. And then he was settled in his room and I sat alongside him and listened to his heart beating. It's a sound I never liked to hear, even through the small chests of my kids, because it always struck me how precarious it sounded, as if life is but a delicate thump. It never seemed solid enough of a sound. But after hearing Matt's ticking chest last night, it's become a sound I will forever want to hear--no longer a thing of fear, but a source of reverence and awe.

Hold Space

The most incredible man I have ever met is going into surgery today at Mercy hospital. The reason--to fix up his stomach. It's pretty major surgery--and for this reason and for the fact that Matt has one of the kindest, thoughtful, giving hearts I know I'm asking for everyone reading this to hold space for him today. If you pray, pray for him. If you send vibes, send them his way. If you are the type to think positive thoughts, direct them at Matt. Do what you do with this dear person in mind.

Here's to a successful surgery, here's to a quick and full recovery.

A Poem On A Thursday

A few by Czeslaw Milosz...

Love

Love means to learn to look at yourself
The way one looks at distant things
For you are only one thing among many. 
And whoever sees that way heals his heart, 
Without knowing it, from various ills—
A bird and a tree say to him: Friend. 
Then he wants to use himself and things
So that they stand in the glow of ripeness. 
It doesn’t matter whether he knows what he serves: 
Who serves best doesn’t always understand. 


Faith

Faith is in you whenever you look
At a dewdropp or a floating leaf
And know that they are because they have to be.
Even if you close your eyes and dream up things
The world will remain as it has always been
And the leaf will be carried by the waters of the river.

You have faith also when you hurt your foot
Against a sharp rock and you know
That rocks are there to hurt our feet.
See the long shadow that is cast by the tree?
We and trees throw shadows on the earth.
What has not shadow has no strength to live. 

A State Of Praise

Lately I've been feeling like a buffalo--in the sense that I feel abundance and gratitude. The Plains Indians believed the buffalo to be the most sacred of animals--it was the major source of sustenance and yet it did not readily stampede and run from hunters. As if it desired to give the gifts that its body provided. For this reason the Plains Indians likened the buffalo as a kind of prayer--praise for the richness of life, for harmony, and gratefulness for what was received. I am not running scared, rather I feel utter contentment and honored to be on this pathway. For over a year I had been living in hyper-speed--so many trials and changes and opportunities for growth. I had so much longing! I realize now I was searching for a place to rest my heart. And now--now it's come to find a home and it is peaceful. I've found a place to rest, to be thankful.

A Weekend In Pictures

Jess and I had such a great time hanging out this weekend. Despite the cold, I managed to take her on a tour of several of Des Moines hot spots. She loved it here! Loved the people and options and unique places and look of things. When we weren't touring the town we were lazing at home with good coffee and music and talk. Our weekends together always feel restorative and insightful.

 Phoenix getting dressed up before Jess's arrival. Her latest kick is wearing swimsuits over clothes. I caught her standing on the bathroom counter putting star stickers on the wall...

 Did I mention Fisher is obsessed with playing santa? He really gets in to taking on different personas. If he doesn't become an artist like he says he wants to be I'm pretty certain he'll be an actor. Here we are at the Science Center before we dropped him off at preschool--Phoenix is telling him what she wants for Christmas.

 My turn...

 First night with Jessica!

 Came across this sweet bike rack in East Village--an old radiator.

Night numero dos!

Weekend Plans

Look out Des Moines! One of my best girls will be heading westward to this here city today, slicing her way in a tin box through the cold to spend the weekend with me. I imagine I'll take her out to my favorite sushi joint tonight, then we'll stop at a few of my favorite haunts, and later on sit in the blaze of music for hours and talk about the world and writing and love and doing and goings on. We'll figure out the missing pieces--ones we didn't even realize were missing--the right words only a good friend with a bead on your heart can flesh. Tomorrow there will be much of the same. And dancing--lots and lots of dancing. (And Kristina, there will be missing you--the completion of our triad!) You'll be inundated with pics of me and Jessica once this weekend is through. May all of you find a richness to your weekend...

Incredible Shadows

A friend recently sent me the link to this site which includes the work of two artists who assemble trash in such an astonishing way that when light is shown it creates shadows of people in various poses. I couldn't help but think of the idea that "we are what we consume". The shadows are absolutely incredible and the materials used to make them are utterly gritty and disgusting. But therein lies another truth--we are often clouded to the wake of our consumption. So often we see only what is in front of us and not how our choices mar what we can't readily see. We toss it aside, tie it in plastic bags and let the world deal with it. This is the art of sustainability in a round about way. Have your mind blown here: http://www.thisismarvelous.com/i/4-Amazing-Shadow-Sculptures-by-Tim-Noble-and-Sue-Webster

Excerpts

Instead of starting my morning with coffee and a thought to expound upon I dug into a book I picked up the other day: Super Brain: Unleashing the Explosive Power of Your Mind to Maximize Health, Happiness, and Spiritual Well-Being by Deepak Chopra and Rudolph Tanzi. I'd been wanting to read this for a while and I feel the pull to fill my mind with books and learning--to make that my focus these days. I mention this because my posts might be sparse for the next few days. I'm doing research for future thoughts! Here are a few excerpts from the first chapter:

"One of the unique things about the human brain is that it can only do what it thinks it can do. The minute you say, 'My memory isn't what it used to be' or 'I can't remember a thing today,' you are actually training your brain to live up to your diminished expectations. Low expectations mean low results. The first rule of super brain is that your brain is always eavesdropping on your thoughts. As it listens, it learns. If you teach it about limitation, your brain will become limited. But what if you do the opposite? What if you teach your brain to be unlimited?"

And in regards to biofeedback loops: "Try the following exercise: Look at the palm of your hand. Feel it as you look. Now imagine that it is getting warmer. Keep looking and focus on it getting warmer; see the color becoming redder. If you maintain focus on this intention, your palm will in fact grow warm and red. Tibetan Buddhist monks use this simple biofeedback loop ... to warm their entire bodies."

Back to reading...

A Poem On A Monday

I've been on a kick lately--enjoying the photography of Noel Kerns. I am drawn to his photos of ghost towns, of industrial decay. There is something alluring and romantic about seeing constructions that had once been lived and loved and worked in. A representation of toil and of what it takes to sustain our physical lives, and once they have been used up or something else comes along, it's left abandoned. Small Iowa towns are dying (factory farms and the promise of larger towns and cities have resulted in dwindling populations) and I imagine some day tourists will come visit these areas for the first time. The reason--to see the bones of a certain slice of history. Growing up, I had a friend who lived in the country and near her house was an abandoned trailer. And by abandoned I mean it was as if the inhabitants had just vanished, leaving all the accessories of their lives--clothing, food, containers, books, furniture--behind. We used to think it was some brave thing to go wandering around that trailer, to peek in the windows and even tiptoe through the rooms. I'm not sure why we felt the need to tiptoe around in there, a place unlived in for years, but it seemed like the honorable thing to do in the wake of all those things that had belonged to someone. So here's a poem about that place (which was previously published in White Pelican Review), but first here's the link to Noel Kern's website...http://www.noelkernsphotography.com/

Abandoned Trailer

An uncapped wine cooler,

three sips gone, near the kitchen sink

and dirty dishes, frying pan

on the stove for some ghost

with a hunger. Garbage bags full

on the floor. Raccoon droppings

in overturned dresser drawers.

Women’s dresses, bright make-up

in the bathroom, bobby pins, some

combs. There’s a crow’s nest

by the bed. Broken windows,

target practice holes. Sofa,

lonely chairs.

When they left, they took only

a car and their skin. What release

that must have been.

Front door slapping shut and they

looked back once at home

choked in dust from their tires

feeding open road.

No one remembers them. 

For years I’d wander through their

rooms like a wind and wondered

what air it takes to abandon.

There’s a strong bone behind

hands that quit. A raw heart to change

when so few of us could.

They’re mocking us in their deserting,

or else teaching. All these bits

are nothing. They saw this and ran

through dusty fields to know the sky

under their arms, at their back

like an oath, loose as gravel.

Ripe feet shooting sparks

like waterfalls, the certain miles.

Casey Lord

Black Friday

I'm not into crowds unless we're talking concerts. I've never gone shopping on Black Friday because I don't like to witness the ugly side of consumerism--and it can get ugly. But I can get behind events that support local crafters, which is what I did yesterday, selling bracelets for my friend Tiffany's company, {made} community, at the Market Day event in the downtown Des Moines Kirkwood building. The lobby itself is worth the visit--original art deco and gorgeous. There were 70 crafters from the midwest selling their goods and it was busy. It was good to see such support for local handmade products--good to see people ditching the malls and big box stores to make it down. So many beautiful people out there! I ran into some friends and one of them asked me if it bothered me to hear stories of others happy in their marriages now that my marriage has ended. It's a fair question. Honestly, it doesn't at all I told her. For one, I am happy with my own lot these days. And also, because I truly believe that this life I am living, the events that occur, are meant to be so there is no feeling of "why me?" Everything I face is teaching me something I was meant to learn. Whatever is happening is what is supposed to happen, so how could I be anything but open to it, anything but thankful for the experience that shapes character. And as the crowd at Market Day reminded me, there are so many beautiful people out there! Some come and go from our lives, some stay--no matter the course I feel blessed for the markings of their beauty.

Thanksgiving

We spent the morning and afternoon at my parent's for Thanksgiving. 31 relatives were present. We ate a bird and stuffing and potatoes and salads and rolls and deviled eggs and too many sweets to list. The aunts always keeping space in the kitchen with their stories and memories and gossip--their voices rising and rolling like the land in which they grew up, a place deep in the countryside. The uncles forever sprawled on sofas watching football with few words yet with a kind of contented knowing. Breath and bones. Cousins and siblings and kids as couriers, traveling from room to room to the outdoors in haste like blood cells. As if together we form the whole intention of our ancestors. And how many it takes to shape them. I am thankful for history, for the present it forms.

Some Kind of Web

Yesterday was Fisher's school conference and the first words out of his teacher's mouth were--Fisher is awesome. She went on to say how he made friends with and included everyone, how he was kind and shared, how he had never gotten in trouble, how he was imaginative, how she would love a whole class of Fishers. For the most part he handled any issues with other more aggressive kids on his own, only bringing attention to the teachers a few times. Basically, he uses his words. This is something I discuss with him constantly--use words, explain yourself, share, be kind. We have these discussions because at home with me and his sister he doesn't always do these things--he gets frustrated, argues over toys with Phoenix, doesn't like to pick up the by-products of all his art projects, has to be told 20 times to do things like brush his teeth and get dressed! We are often late. In these struggles I often question if I'm doing enough or doing it right. But clearly he is proving himself in the world at large. Why is it kids are so much better behaved with others? Come to think of it, aren't we all? For the most part I don't take his outbursts at home to heart because to me it shows that he can trust me, that he feels safe to experience and express the gamut of emotions he needs to work through. So it is an honor even though it isn't always easy. At some level things are sticking. I've been surprised and blessed with people letting me know how much they look forward to reading my blog posts. Some folks have even contacted me to let me know that my words have helped them work through the things they are facing in their own lives. I appreciate when people reach out like this because it offers that same kind of glance at how we indirectly connect with and affect others. There's got to be a phrase for this--something that includes the words "web" and "intention". I want to say that even if we can't see it, things are always happening. No matter how lonely you feel your outreach is greater than you can imagine. We are not isolated, but rather quite beautifully interconnected.

Took the kids out to lunch to celebrate Fisher's good work at school. He, of course, chose Big City Burgers.

A Poem On A Tuesday

I subscribe to a poetry once a day site so I start every day off reading a poem. Today's poem was so remarkable that I had to share. I don't care how cold it is today, I will be going for a walk in the woods so that I will "have changed, a little."

You can find it here...

Sending Vibes

You know how when you sometimes hear a certain idea or phrase and all of a sudden it seems to crop up in conversation with strange frequency? The phrase for me lately is that all life is a transfer of energy. It's true for everything from car engines to plants and animals to people. Think of how the moods of others can affect your own mood. So even our moods have an energy to them. I feel like this idea kept appearing in my life because there was something I hadn't seen, something I needed to learn. I just discovered it. I recently had a new friend in my life who had a lot of great qualities, but they were also very guarded. They didn't start out that way--it was an easy, comfortable, and reciprocal friendship to start. But suddenly they withdrew out of self-described caution. It's interesting how you can pull back layers upon layers of various reactions to reveal one word. In this case--doubt. Because at the root of a guarded spirit is doubt. And it was doubtful energy that was transferred to me--I see that now. I had been driven to frustration, found myself thinking and questioning too much. But now it is clear why that phrase of transferring energy kept appearing in my life...I had absorbed the energy of doubt and I wasn't aware that is what had been causing my frustration. But now having acknowledged this fact, I've let the doubt go. And that's all it takes to remove the things that block us--acknowledge them and then release them. And then be mindful not to cloud your awareness so you won't become stuck again. Hey...people don't call me a hippie for nothing.

Legend Has It

There are a lot of big old oak trees in my neighborhood so mounds of leaves flank the streets. I want to drive through them, watch them blow about and tumble through the air in the rear view mirror. I want to hear the sound it makes. But I don't and here's why--someone once told me a story about a kid getting run over because they were hiding in a leaf pile alongside a curb. Who knows if it's true or from where the story originated. So I was driving--hugging that center line--and it got me thinking about urban legends. I remember when I was little there was a weariness to trick-or-treat candy because word spread that some kid had discovered a razor in one of their treats. (Razors seem to be a popular theme in these legends.) I'm sure the story went something like this: "he bit into it and it cut off his tongue," because shock and alarm seem to be the hallmarks of urban legends. It's likely that the razor bit never happened, that it was born of some parent trying to get their child to stop eating candy. And just like that the idea spread spontaneously, morphing from a tool to curb a child's sugar fix to a thing of fear. So there I'm driving and I can't stop laughing about all of the urban legends I've heard over the years and how funny it would be to come up with my own obscure legends but with a totally different edge. I'm thinking more on the lines of "if you stare at a full moon on an empty stomach you'll start craving pancakes every day for the rest of your life," or "if you walk backwards while whistling you are my sunshine, an owl will land on your head and you'll forever have dreams that you are flying." Something sweet and funny. But I wonder, without the element of fear present in these would it spread with the same gusto? I wonder if the current legends hold weight because we let fear be our guide for living...

Cold

The most beautiful phrase I heard this week was uttered by someone I recently met who had lived in Alaska for 10 years. I was telling him how I'd traveled to most of the states but never to Alaska and it had always been a dream of mine to go there. He said most people obviously visit in the summer but the winter was an experience all its own--to see the northern lights, to witness that kind of cold. He said 50 below didn't feel as cold as the winters around here because in Alaska you don't have the wind chill. There's just one kind of cold. The only animals you come across in that season are moose and ravens. And the winter cold makes the air so quiet that you can step outside and hear the wing beats of ravens slicing through the air. Now there are a lot of sounds that I find endearing--the ping of flag posts as they clap for themselves in the night, the hollow scuttle of cans when kicked or blown across concrete, the hiss of damp wood being ravaged by a fire--but the sound of a ravens wing beats against the backdrop of nothing else I imagine would trump all of these. It's like saying you can hear a fly cough or the earth orbiting or a thought unfurl. And there it is--something else I need to know.

Late Nights

I've stayed up late the past few nights so my mornings haven't come to me early enough to get much writing done. If I don't make the time before the kids awake then it doesn't happen that day as I prefer to write at the start of the day when my thoughts are my own, untouched by the litany of daily distraction. Right now the dog is at my feet and the kids flank my sides...but I wanted to give some words. So here's this: I was having a discussion with a friend the other day and the subject of music, namely songs by Radiohead, came about, to which he noted "Everything in its Right Place and Different Names For the Same Things--between the two of those songs you pretty much got life covered." I've been chewing on that thought, and that's all I can do for now...

Say Something

Is there anything more frustrating than indifference? Detached, impassive, unmindful? There's that line in one of The Lumineers songs that goes "the opposite of love's indifference." There couldn't be a truer definition. In high school I was voted most opinionated so it's no wonder that I find indifference to be such a thorn. But if we are to matter shouldn't things matter to us? And I'm not saying one should be fixed in their ideas but that we should at least gather our thoughts and seek an answer while being open to the fact that that answer can change. And I'm not saying one should find every issue to be of such great importance that it demands a strong opinion. And of course we don't have to agree. I just find it to be a respectful, attractive thing when others express their passions, their ideas and feelings. You don't have to wave them above your head and shout them to the world--though that's fine too--there are lots of ways in which we express ourselves and certainly our personalities shape our expressive forms. I'm not even sure why I'm ranting about this today--the idea came out of nowhere and I went with it. But it helped structure another thought--if we are to matter we should make things matter. I guess what I'm trying to say is say something!

A Poem On A Monday

I don't believe this one needs an introduction other than to say it's an oldie of mine.

First Impressions

Why does a butterfly lie low on a rock

at the edge of a gravel parking lot

not for minutes, but hours?  What about

a man, what possesses him to wear

a straw hat in wind on a bike with a flag

that spells out peace, love, anarchy? 

Maybe he woke one morning with a mind

for action, decided to wave

his life above his head. See him now,

unsure of himself for years and then

that morning in the shower, the idea

coming to him like a scent, how he

stood there and let the drunken water

wash over him. Years from now he’ll be

walking, laugh with the memory of that day. 

There he’ll be in a town laughing,

others will hear him and look, and what

will they think of him, a man with an unkempt

garden upstairs, a man in love, a bit of both? 

They won’t know how he laughs

at the mind, what it remembers.

We don’t know what anyone’s thinking,

all those tracks in the mind. There are

days we just need to start something, speak

words we’ve never mouthed before, sit

in a bar at two in the afternoon—elbows

on an oak slab, a tall one in hand—just me

and a cowboy sipping wine. I came

because I’ve never known a bar at this time

alone, came to drink in a place

where all that thinking goes down, who would know

this? It echoes like a coffin in here. I feel all those

ideas left behind as loose shirts.

Casey Lord

The Question

So...what do you do? It's the question most often asked during first-time encounters, a question I fear will be asked of me even more so these days. If you ask me this question is a complete cop-out because it is a rare thing when the job a person does really defines them. Some people are blessed with a job that is truly in line with their passion in life but I would venture to say that the majority don't or can't define themselves with the work through which they are compensated. To them the money is a means to pay the bills and to provide the opportunity to follow their true passion. I wonder if the question is asked more often to subconsciously gauge how much money the person makes. It's a conspiracy! I kid. Sort of. I digress...why don't we ask "what would you choose to do," or better yet, "what makes you happy or content or laugh or..." Imagine if someone were to ask you the latter question--wouldn't it make you reflect on who you are in a more intimate manner than then pre-rehearsed answer you would give to what it is that you "do." My problem with "what do you do" is that I find myself rambling off a list of things (stay at home mother, writer, learner, and so on) when I'm sure the one who probed the question is looking for a brief one word answer. As if we can place a person in a tidy little box. As if we are what we are paid to do. As if money is the source for being. I know this question will continue to be asked but I just want to say--lets not stop there.

Opportunity Knocking

Yesterday the kids and I discovered a woodpecker in our screened-in porch. It's as if it appeared out of thin air as we hardly use that porch and thus the doors remain closed most of the time and one of us would have noticed it piggybacking its way in. But there it was. Fisher of course wanted to keep it. When he understood that couldn't be so we opened the doors to offer it an escape and then we stood in the house, pressed to the glass slider, and watched. It wouldn't budge so we let it be and came back later to find it gone. The doors remain open even now. Maybe I read too much into things, maybe I look too hard--but I started to wonder why a woodpecker and not a sparrow or swallow or any other bird. Maybe it's a kind of sign from the universe. And because I not only have what some may view as odd notions, but also odd habits, I googled "woodpecker spirit meaning". Did you know that Native American Shamans believe animals are like guides that offer us insight and impart messages? There are loads of sites and books that detail the meanings behind animals, so whenever I come across an animal that seems out of place I look them up on one of these sites out of pure curiosity--another way to shine light on an experience and draw connections because as a writer that's what I like to do. Here's what was said about the woodpecker: "it is signaling you that great changes are happening in your life and it is up to you to seize the moment. Whether it is the renewal of an old project, the finishing of a new project or simply a serendipitous meeting with someone in your life. Whatever way you perceive it know that the door is wide open for you right now." Some other words attached to its meaning were: increase of activities, progress, attention, opportunity, determination, listening, communication. Maybe it is true...I'll go with that.

A Good Song

I recently discovered the band Trouble In The Wind. I can't sit still when I hear the singer's voice. Here's a taste of their work. The song is titled Rising...

Whatever

Lately I've been thinking about the word 'whatever'. It's one of those words that, given the tone and context, has more than one connotation. Picture Moon Zappa in her father's (Frank Zappa) song titled "Valley Girl" using this word in the way she does other phrases like "like" and "gag me with a spoon." Picture its use after a heated argument and it becomes another way of dismissing the other person. And then there's the Doris Day song "Que Sera, Sera," which goes something like this: "Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be; the future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera, what will be, will be." It is the latter use of it that I am struck with, that has given me a new appreciation for the word. Isn't it absolutely bewildering and stunning how the universe seems to constantly bring us face to face with obstacles that challenge our weaknesses? It's as if we are confronted repeatedly with the challenge of ourselves until we get it right. Only then can we move on from that cyclical spell. Because we aren't here to remain unchanged in our ways. We are doing a disservice to life if we don't seek to continually grow and improve. I lack patience, which can be a positive attribute when faced with a decision that requires quick thinking, which often means that I don't dally about but rather go after things straight on. But when it comes to matters of the future I need to drop my impatience and just allow things to happen on their own time and to enjoy things as they come. To let go of my desire to figure out what's next and just be in the moment. I think I'll make "Que Sera, Sera" my new anthem song.

THE SAGAN SERIES - The Pale Blue Dot

Last night a friend sent me this video clip, and I was so moved by it that I had to share. We live on this speck in the universe with finite resources, surrounded by over 7 billion other humans--why would we do anything but preserve, show kindness, and share. It's serves as a reminder that sometimes we need to get over ourselves...

Click here to view the video clip.

Changes

Some of you might be wondering why I prefaced yesterday's post with the line that it wasn't about Derek. Some of you already know. I knew last fall that our marriage would never be the same when the ficus tree we purchased 17 years ago and had nurtured into a looming 7 foot tree died--left outside in the frost. Neglected. I took it as a sign. The fact is Derek and I are divorced. We signed the final divorce decree on Friday and it will be official November 16. After 17 years of togetherness, after 3 states, 2 homes, 1 dog, and 2 incredible kids, we changed in ways that I'll just say left us feeling amiss. I'm not going to go into who started what and why because it doesn't matter. We are where we are. And most importantly, some day our kids will be able to read. Here's what they need to know--they were born of love and that kind of love is never a regret. I am only thankful for those years. They are a part of me like the limbs on my body. I have no bitterness and no anger because I believe things happen for a reason and as you know, I always find and hold to the positive. It's made me stronger, made me awaken further, will only make me better. And who knows what kind of future it will make. I honestly look forward to that discovery. And when people ask me "are you alright" I say of course I am--I have no other choice. Everything will be fine because that's what our kids need and that's what they will get. Derek and I remain friends--we still have dinner together, still talk, still show respect. And you will never read ill words about him on here because for one, they aren't necessary, and most importantly, I would never diminish who he is in our kids' minds. He's a great person and has a lot to give to the world. The kids look up to him and rightly so. This is what I tell them all the time--you have two parents who love you and would do anything for you no matter where they live. And that is something that will never ever change.

Impostors

Right now there are hundreds of black birds stirring in the air and the leaves on the trees around here are mostly gone, so when they land on one in droves they make a perfectly black-leafed tree. A night tree. But it isn't night. The sky has just been lit and up there above the birds is a long jet exhaust contrail pretending to be a cloud. It stretches as far as I can see. It reminds me that for all the beauty and honesty in the world, for all the real connections we make with others, there are still impostors. People that at first glance seem legitimate, but once you take the time to look closer it becomes clear--they aren't who they seem. They don't have your best interests in mind. They are, in a word, selfish. Of course everyone is a bit selfish as the name itself contains it. But there's a difference between the kind of selfish that takes the time to care for the self and the kind that takes the time for nobody but their own self--the one who gives nothing away. I know I always talk about how I try to live through my heart in an open and positive way, but that doesn't mean we should let our guard down and let the world have its way with us. Because it isn't all rainbows and sunshine and unicorns now is it. Simply, sometimes people are mean. So when it happens that you are faced with one of those pretenders you just can't take it personally. It's not about you, it's about them. It's about their inability to have a real exchange or to give of themselves. So there's the silver lining I suppose. And this too--there are still hundreds of black birds out there.

The What and When

I workout daily and even my recent foot surgery kept me away from my exercise regimen for only 2 weeks. I prefer Tabata workouts, where you rotate between doing 2 moves for 20 seconds each with a 10 second break for a total of 4 times (or 4 minutes). So here's my workout for when I want to take it a little easy but still feel like I got something done (it takes 27 minutes):
Set 1 (do 4 times):
1st move: Lunges with rear leg inclined (prop one foot behind you on a chair and squat down so it looks like your planted leg is in a lunge--switch sides after 10 seconds).
2nd move: Weighted squat with arm twist (hold a weight above your head and as you squat down bring the weight down across your body to one side, so that you're twisting at the waist).
Set 2:
1st move: Twist crunch with weights (just like it sounds--do side to side crunches whilst holding weights)
2nd move: Mountain climbers
Set 3:
1st move: Side plank raises (from side plank, lift up the leg that is on top for a beat and release--continue for 10 seconds and then switch sides)
2nd move: Weighted side lunges
Set 4:
1st move: Jumping jacks
2nd move: 10 pushups followed by 10 dips
Set 5:
1st move: High knees
2nd move: Reverse plank raises (get in low plank--on your elbows--and alternate raising your legs as high as you can)
Set 6:
1st move: Jump rope
2nd move: Front rows (looks like you're rowing a boat, but with weights)
For the last set do these 2 moves for 30 seconds each (no rest), 3 times thru: reverse crunches and flutter kicks.
So there that is. And now this--I often get asked when I have time to work out--I'm a stay at home mom. My first reaction is always--what? Of course I have time...I do it every morning while the kids are awake either watching a cartoon or eating breakfast or tearing up the house. I head to my room, turn up the music and do it. Sometimes they will try to do the same moves I do, sometimes (like yesterday) they jump on my bed as they watch. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me. I believe that in taking the time for myself to do the things that I think are important to my physical and mental well being--like exercising or reading a book, which by the way I also do in front of them--I am bettering not only myself but them as well. I'm setting an example. How could it not benefit them to see me doing the things I enjoy? And it's not like I spend my entire day doing things for myself, it's just that I don't think they need me looking over their shoulder and getting down and gritty playing with them and holding their hand through every task every single minute of the day. That isn't good for any of us. They need time to themselves as well, they need to discover how to entertain themselves, how to be self-led. There is time for all of it in a day, it just takes balance. I've never been one to read books on how to parent, but the one that I did read, which I happened to like very much is titled The Idle Parent: Why Laid-back Parents Raise Happier and Healthier Kids by Tom Hodgkinson. The author claims that in worrying and helicoptering over children to keep them flawless we are doing them a disservice. That "in our quest to give our kids everything, we fail to give them the two things they need most: the space and time to grow up self-reliant, confident, happy, and free," and that parents should "stop worrying and instead start nurturing the natural instincts toward creativity and independence that are found in every child." I remember shaking my head yes in fervent agreement on every page of the book. And if you're in the mood to read more about this topic, check out this post from a blog that was sent to me yesterday (which ironically occurred after I already decided that I was going to write about the subject for today's post--I'm not alone!): why-my-kids-are-not-center-of-my-world.html

Questions of Fear

Yesterday Fisher asked me if I could live all the way until next Halloween. I told him I'd do everything in my power to do so. Earlier in the day the kids and I were driving and came across the first quiet seconds of the aftermath of an accident. There was a truck in the ditch that had veered off the road and flipped numerous times--you could tell by the tracks in the earth and the dents and chunks of grass on the roof of the truck. The lone occupant--a woman--sat in the driver's seat with her hands held up to her face in shocking wonder. The driver of another truck was making his way to the scene. I told the kids to think of her--to send hope that she was alright. We talked about the seriousness of driving, how we need to stay alert and be safe. I don't know if it was the accident or a song he heard or just his sensitive mind, but Fisher was truly concerned about my safety last night. I took the kids out to dinner because the weather and early dark left us stir crazy and all throughout Fisher kept asking what would happen to him and to Phoenix when I died. He was particularly concerned about being alone with no one to care for him and no way to get in touch with anyone. Who would come get him, who would take him to school, and what if he died--what would happen to Phoenix then? With every question his face tensed, withholding tears. I did my best to ease his mind--told him police officers have ways of finding and contacting relatives, told him our neighbors would help, that he would never be alone because so many people love him. I showed him how to dial 911 on my phone and I promised him that we would go visit the neighbors today to discuss what to do in the case of an accident. With every answer I gave I could see his face lighten, could see the gears of his mind clicking away through his eyes. We held hands as we ate. I'm here now, I said, so lets enjoy this moment and all the ones hereafter that we share. I sang him that Tom Petty song that goes "most things I worry about, never happen anyway..." Sing it again he said. And I did.

Fisher's preschool picture

A Poem On A Tuesday

I was going to include a few poems by James Wright yesterday, but I got caught up reading them all morning instead. And then my son woke with a fever so my priorities shifted. Had I posted yesterday, these are the poems I would have included:

Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s 

Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota

Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,

Asleep on the black trunk,

Blowing like a leaf in green shadows.

Down the ravine behind the empty house,

The cowbells follow one another

Into the distance of the afternoon.

To my right,

In a field of sunlight between pines,

Two droppings of last year’s horses

Blaze up in golden stones.

I lean back, as evening darkens and comes on.

A chicken hawk floats over, looking for a home.

I have wasted my life.

Today I Was So Happy, So I Made This Poem

As the plump squirrel scampers

Across the roof of the corncrib,

The moon suddenly stands up in the darkness,

And I see that it is impossible to die.

Each moment of time is a mountain.

An eagle rejoices in the oak trees of heaven,

Crying

This is what I wanted.

This Is How I Do It

I'm not very good at meditating, though I've tried many times--sitting upright and proper, focusing on breath, and emptying my mind. The problem is I think too much, or I get bored of sitting there, or I want the time to pass more quickly so I can get started on all the things I recall needing done, or my back gets stiff and uncomfortable... Meditation is touted as a great physical and mental benefit, is purported to improve health, which is why I keep trying to make a go at it. But today I realized that I don't have to try because I do it all the time. I was sitting in the living room looking out the window at the maple tree ablaze in its autumnness and I was thinking how utterly beautiful it was--those leaves that provided shade all summer, teeming with phosphorous. And now that they've given all they could they will fall and turn to dust, giving the air that smell of spice, decomposing and becoming part of the dirt which will feed new life. I gave my mind over completely to admiring so that my heart wanted to burst with the loveliness of it and I felt like I could cry. So this is my way of meditating--to look at a small thing of beauty in the world, to see its beauty, to be thankful for my eyes. It doesn't matter how long I look or how I sit or if my mind wanders. I feel the same calming benefits of textbook meditation every time I appreciate life. And that is so damn easy to do.

On Forgiveness

I can't think of anything that psychologically enslaves us more than anger and regret. When you are unwilling to forgive you carry the weight of whatever misdeed that occurred like some grey fog. You wouldn't think there is a weight to fog but it is there in the absence of space--open and light and searching. How many times have you been upset by something and stayed upset, unforgiving? Days and years can pass and you can recall the source of your anger as if it is fresh. The world out to get you. But the only thing that can get you is your own mind, is how you relate, how you perceive, and whether or not you let things go. It isn't a weakness to let things slide and carry on, to forgive people for treating you wrong. It isn't as if you're opening some door to allow others to continue to wrong you. I think that's what it is--the fear of being seen as weak and/or a lack of confidence that renders one unable to forgive. But really to forgive takes strength, takes the ability to recognize that there are several other factors at play in the world (I'm thinking of crossfires and others' selfishness, I'm thinking of people like Nelson Mandela--feared and used as a scapegoat). But it isn't you versus the world. Our greatest freedom is that which we give ourselves.

Halloween in Pictures

Last night was trick-or-treat night for Des Moines. Fisher of course was Bigfoot and he came up with his own joke to tell. It went like this: "what's inside Bigfoot?.. Candy!" Very crafty wouldn't you say? Phoenix made for an absolute adorable unicorn. She refused to tell any jokes or say much of anything at each stop.

 We had an early start to contacting the Halloween spirit.

 Fisher has taken it upon himself to decorate the house every single day. Last night he told me it would be funny if he kept adding decorations all year long.

 Here's another one of his random artistic expressions--a cut-out pumpkin tied to a string and taped to the wall. I'm not even sure how he reached that high to tape it. I'm not sure I want to know.

 More of his work that he designs, cuts, and tapes up for display all over the house. This is one of my favorites (a monster).

 Unicorn and Bigfoot.

 Charging through the neighborhood shouting "candy!"

 I wore Phoenix's rocker wig from last year. I'm saving my other costume for tonight!

 We met up with the neighbor kids and walked for a time with them, until Fisher and Quinn kept fighting over who got to tell their joke first so we had to split them up.

 Their favorite house.

Heading home with a ridiculous amount of treats. See those red lips? I rarely wear makeup but I picked up some lipstick a few days ago and decided to wear it every day just because. It's nice to change it up now and then. 

To Wait

I can hear some critter in my basil plant--every so often there's the faintest sound like a raindrop on a petal that gives it away. It has no plans to go anywhere. It is alive fully in whatever it is that it's doing. In a word, it is patiently absolute. I am of the mind that once you decide something you go for it, and thus there is no second guessing and therefor no need to wait. But the world isn't always on the same time frame is it. Sometimes we have to wait...and wait...and wait. While my thoughts are absolute, I lack the heart for patience. But if I have no choice in the matter at times, it begs the question--who is in control of our lives? If we let the whims of time dominate our lives we might occasionally get lucky, but most often we'll feel stuck and frustrated and powerless. This is what I'm learning these days--it is better to let the moment and my current place therein dominate. Yes we have to look ahead but we can't live there. We can hope and decide but we can't put all of our stock in time frames. To be patiently absolute is to be in control.

A Poem On A Monday

There are places you can go to watch the Iowa DNR burn the prairie. I've gone to see it a time or two--the last time was near Iowa City, and the experience sparked this poem:

County Park

They burn the prairie, hope for wind,

control the wild before lightning does,

clear out evasive plants, raze the native

seeds asleep for years beneath,

their memories of buffalo, of native feet,

then schooners. We give the land back,

wash our hands in the smoke,

let orange heat breathe the life back in

to local texture. Miles west, open windows

claim the sacred scent. This is our birth

and death. Fire circles tall grass, two forks

connect, the flames insist, they mean

to blister. Pheasant and singed bits

lift from their blanket roots, as if from nowhere. 

All this sting to reclaim the flat tract of grass,

a kind of harvest our bodies know,

our living hardly felt without

failure, our having gone.

Casey Lord

How Are You Doing?

So far today three friends have asked--how are you doing? It's a question I've been asked a lot of late and not for the purpose of filling conversation, but with genuine purpose and wonder. Given the circumstances of my life right now, given the fact that huge changes are underway and the life I knew has shifted I suppose people expect to hear me answer a certain way--one peppered with sadness and the vision of me with my hands in the air in a grand gesture of how and why. But my answer is I'm well. I am utterly peaceful, forever optimistic, and truly thankful for the wisdom of experience. I'm awake. I'm not sitting back avoiding or forgetting, but rather forging and devouring and creating. So much of our personality lies dormant, only rising to the surface out of necessity and in small doses. But I feel completely tuned in to my spirit these days and it is light and searching and strong. I'll be fine no matter what. No matter the mood of the hour I remain unfazed. I live by that Einstein quote that I've written about in a previous post--the one that poses "the single most important decision any of us will ever make is whether to believe the universe is friendly." I think you know my decision--so there is only gaining. How could I not be well?

246

A few months ago I noticed an electronic billboard on I235 here in Des Moines started displaying the number of traffic deaths so far this year in the state of Iowa. I remember taking Fisher to school one day and it read 223. A few hours later when I drove to pick him up the number had changed to 225. As of yesterday it was 246. 246 lives ended on this pavement that spans like some web. Every time I see these numbers it gives me pause--I think about what's behind it--mothers and fathers and grandparents and friends and lovers and kids and siblings. People like you and me on their way to some job or running errands--ordinary things. And I look in the rear view mirror to my kids and think--lucky. And I peer at the other drivers on the road in their boxes of metal and think--be mindful. And I look at my speedometer and slow down. I love to drive, especially in a golden circus-like sun, with music, with the window down. It feels so solitary, yet we are in the hands of a much larger network all the while. Our lives entwined, relying on the moods and wits of others. It's a kind of blind faith. When the sun rises today I will view it with awed gratitude for the 246 who no longer can. And to the rest of you--take care, take care, take care.

Text Me

You know that old cliche that pictures tell a thousand words? Such statements form on tongues because they're frequently true and experienced by a wide audience. But sometimes they don't capture all the facts do they. Because the thousand words are created by the viewer. There's a name for that--subjectivity, whereby the perception and story belongs to the thinking subject rather than to the object of thought. And think of how our moods and attitudes influence our notions--our very nature is egocentric and sometimes we get it wrong. This is the problem with texting, where one can't see and hear the tone and expression of the sender. Emoticons can only go so far. Whatever we are feeling is exactly how we interpret a text. Think of all the misinterpretations that arise if this is our only mode of communication. More and more our society is relying on this medium and others like it that reject the humanness of things. What we gain in time we give up in understanding, in self expression, in truly connecting with others. I'm guilty of this myself--I've succumbed to texting more than making phone calls. I held out on getting a cell phone for a long time, was the last of my friends to finally get one. And I didn't get a smart phone until a year ago, didn't text all that often until 6 months ago. I've always been resistant to technology because I felt it took away from appreciating nature. And yet here I am and I will keep on texting. But I've learned that whenever I receive a text that stirs some emotion that I don't find pleasant, instead of stewing and responding with an equally negative emotion-laden text I will put the damn phone to my ear and make the call, will use my voice. Let's be clear with one another.

Poem, Pics, and Places

I feel like I barely had a moment to breathe this weekend because I gave my mind over to completing things. I painted the kitchen ceiling, put together a dresser, cleaned and organized every closet in the house, found a box spring and frame for Phoenix, found furniture, listed items on craigslist, attended a couple of parties, took my friend Tim out for a going away brunch, and did a whole lot of downsizing of things all in the span of a couple of days. I stayed up late and I cranked up the music. I have results...

 The neighbor kids had a Halloween party on Saturday. Bigfoot was quite pleased with his apple bobbing technique.

 This particular unicorn preferred the candy corn.

 Just starting in on building the dresser I picked up for Phoenix's room.

 Complete. (I won't mention the struggle of carrying the box into the house by myself or the pain in my back and neck and fingers from straining and hammering and screwing pieces...well I guess I just did).

 Tim is on his way to Las Vegas and then eventually Hawaii. The kids and I took him to brunch at Tacopocolypse on Sunday. It was the first time they met him and they warmed to him within minutes. I'm going to miss our talks, miss his wisdom. I'm thankful to have met him and become friends.

These hands of mine have been constructive. I ordered this sofa off of amazon and put the whole thing together last week (it came in boxes and pieces without even the back attached). Things are happening here on Ronwood Dr. 

All of my labor of late reminds me of a poem by Billy Collins, titled Splitting Wood. It's good stuff and you can read it here... (be sure to read the second page as well--it's a longer one).