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).

Work Is Never Done

This has been the epitome of my week--every time I mop the floors, the dog finds a way of tracking dirt all over my intention. I've had to clean up his prints once or twice or more a day every single day, so frequently that it feels like it is never complete. I long for that feeling of completion--always been drawn to work that allows me to see it--always liked hard labor and working with my hands so that I'm rewarded with tangible results. But those damn paw prints are a daily reminder that hardly anything is complete or fixed right now. For every 10 things I pick up the kids toss 50 more on the floor as if everything they get their hands on is just a speck to be taken by wind. The mail is piling, as are dishes and dust and laundry and books to read and things to think. When I lie down to rest I only think of all there is yet to do. I know this isn't an anomaly and everyone the world over is doing the exact same thing, but my point is it's been heightened this week. Buddha claims we should "be happiness itself" and maybe that's the key to my struggle for completion--instead of speeding up to try to tackle everything at once, take it slow and take it singularly and then embrace the print-free floors for the the short time that they are. And when life gets messy again, just remind myself that I'm lucky to be on this planet doing anything at all...I'll do that in a bit, but for now my son just awoke with a bloody nose and a bed that looks as if some sacrifice occurred...

Reiki Attunement

When I attended the Reiki training class on Saturday and had my body attuned to be able to perform this healing on others I was told that I would go through a 21 day cleanse as a result. As I noted earlier, all they did was spend a few minutes touching various points on my shoulders, neck, head, and hands--and I explained how I felt a pulsing during and the sensation of having my posture lined perfectly afterward. What I didn't share and what I'm discovering is that my body is going through something peculiar. Ever since I have been extremely sleepy and I can't seem to drink enough water to quench my thirst. I usually go to bed around 11 and wake up around 4 but ever since the attunement I can't keep my eyes open past 9 and I sleep long and hard until 5 or 6. I've been taking naps and taking it easy. And when I am awake my movement feels slower and more methodical, like I'm resting my body for some metamorphosis. It's been strange and amazing. I talked to Tiffany the other day to see if she was also feeling different and she recounted that she too had been feeling extra tired and even her food cravings have changed. Yesterday both of the kids took turns throwing holy tantrums about issues too mundane to even mention--this after my post on not staying angry. My reaction to their madness was utter calm. It was as if I was being tested and I feel that I passed by not mirroring their anger, by not letting it break my calm. When they were finished I told them to imagine there was a door in their chest, to picture that is was being opened and that all their anger was being let out. We cupped our hands to catch it and threw it outside. That was it.

Don't Stay Angry

Here's the lesson I've been teaching my kids of late--don't hold on to anger and frustration and other emotions of the negative sort. Don't carry these things around all day because it is a waste. Fisher and I had a grand struggle yesterday morning over the matter of socks. The kid freaked because I was making him wear socks and they were too tight. He threw a holy fit, he made us late, he made me angry as he chucked his socks and shoes across the room and stormed about, crying and yelling. By the time we actually got in the car I was fuming. But as we pulled out of the driveway and headed down the road I tossed the anger aside. I talked calmly then about what happened, about my perception and intention, about what we both did wrong in the situation and how we could avoid it in the future. And that was it--it was over. I explained that it's okay to have those feelings, but to feel them and move on. Don't hold on to it. Don't let it keep you from anything. For my part I didn't punish him all day by staying angry and continually talking about it--it was as if nothing happened. And that's important--to not fixate and make these emotions the important ones. Later that day when I picked him up from school we drove to the countryside to pick apples. The place was closed and disappointment set in. My response--be disappointed for now but not all night. We'll try again tomorrow--and anyway we'll have more time to pick them. I refuse to let dark clouds hang all day over this house. We keep the doors open. We keep it aired out.

A Poem On A Monday

We extended the celebration of Phoenix's 3rd birthday yesterday with a small party...

 Pleased us punch.

 This is how Miss Sophisticate eats her cake.

And this is how she rolls, birthday party style.

In honor of this sweet girl, I'm including one of my favorite poems about daughters. It's titled "The Writer" and it is written by Richard Wilbur. You can find it here...

Mysterious Things

I was short on time yesterday morning so not only was my post riddled with errors but I forgot to include this story: my cousin James Beard had lived for years and years in Kansas City and St. Louis, hours from his folks (Jim and Gloria) who lived in Knoxville, IA. Last May he was laid off from his job in St. Louis and so he moved in with his parents to search for work. I'm sure at the time he was frustrated and stressed--who wouldn't be--but after all those years away and only seeing his parents over holidays and in spurts he had all summer and into the fall with them. Jim was a season ticket holder to the Knoxville Sprint Car track and so father and son attended every race together this summer. They had lunch weekly at Jim's favorite little restaurant. They had time. Now that Jim has passed away, I imagine James has a whole new take on leaving his job in St. Louis. I can't help but think it is no coincidence, no random event that brought James home. It was nothing but a blessing, nothing short of a beautiful mystery.

And the reason I was short on time yesterday morning was because I had to be in Iowa City at 9 am. My friend Tiffany had asked me if I'd be interested in attending a day long Reiki training class and my response was why not. Some new road to follow and learn from. I'd had Reiki done to me once and it left me feeling calm and full of energy but I really didn't know much about it. Not at all. And so I arrived and we (6 attendees) learned about the history of Reiki, and how it was done, and what it meant. The two teachers held PHDs as well as other titles and they were simply amazing--funny, sweet, light-hearted, unpretentious. I felt completely comfortable and at home with everyone there. It felt right. Since it was training and the point was that I was going to walk away from it knowing how to perform Reiki on others, I had my body "attuned". I'm not sure what they did, but it only took 10 minutes and it involved one of them placing their hands on various points of my head, neck, shoulders, and hands. With my eyes closed I saw the whitest of light and I felt a warm wave-like sensation pulse through my shoulders up to the crown of my head. It is this process that apparently enables one to perform Reiki. While sitting silently and waiting for the others to get it done I had the strangest sensation--it was as if a string was pulling the crown of my head and I, slouching, felt compelled to sit upright, which I did. It felt like a rod had been placed in my back--I'd never had such impeccable posture and I'm telling you that sensation has lasted. And this too--when it was our time to practice Reiki on a partner (I had Tiffany) I felt this buzz in my hands turn on and it didn't stop until I was finished. I felt a warm pulse as I held my hands over her chakra points, felt the pull to linger over certain areas longer than others (I was specifically drawn to her knee and when it was over she told me she had a lot of pain in that spot). Tiff worked on me then and spent so much time on my feet she began to wonder if she was doing it right, so she snagged the teacher. The teacher noted that there was a lot of old painful energy at my feet and together they worked at clearing out that space. My feet went from feeling burning hot to cool and light. When it was over it felt like I'd had the best foot massage of my life and they hadn't even touched them. The whole experience was incredible and I drove home, my body utterly singing with peacefulness. Thank you for inviting me Tiff! I love you.

Saying Goodbye

Last night I attended the funeral services for my uncle James Clement Beard, who passed away this week at the age of 72. Jim was a welder for many years and I'll never forget the time he surreptitiously handed me a metal Christmas tree that he had welded, which I still have and set out every holiday. We were at my aunt and uncle's house for a family Christmas gathering and to my knowledge he never gave one of his welding art pieces to any other niece or nephew. He must have like my response because the next year he handed me a pair of candle sticks that weighed about 20 pounds. Because he was quiet and kept to himself during our family gatherings, I always felt special to have received these gifts. The strange thing about funerals to me is how it gives you a bigger picture of the person's life--all the parts and people they connect with coming together with their stories and perceptions, revealing characteristics and sides of the person you never knew about. You're left feeling that the grieved is a mystery and at the same time made whole now. For instance there was a pair of dice in the casket with Jim and when I asked what that meant someone said to me, didn't you know he was a magician--a master a slight of hand card and dice tricks. It reminds me of a passage from a short story I wrote some years ago, which I will include below. But first let me say this--Jim's wife Gloria is one of the strongest and most poised woman I know. And it is clear that his kids (James and Barbara) and grand kids were close and full of love and admiration for Jim, which was reciprocated in kind. My heart goes out to them. Peace to you all.
Now for the passage:

Sometimes I worry I’ll die, a car wreck or heart attack, and I will leave nothing behind but a few images in the minds of people I knew. And all those images wouldn’t add up to stand for who I was. No one would have known me. I picture my funeral, my wife and two sons crying for the half of the man they knew. Or my few close friends, grieving for another part of me, the side that likes to fish and throw back a few domestics. Maybe a handful of people from work would show, say they’d miss talking about food with me, my business sense. No one knows all my parts. My world alone in my hotel room. All those solitary dinners at the hands of impersonal waiters. The hours, miles, years in my company car with its limitless gas and radio. All that thinking. My wife complains I don’t talk enough about my feelings. She doesn’t know that the years spent alone driving has trained me not to. No one asks.

3rd Trip Around the Sun

Phoenix Irene Lord was born 3 years ago today after a drug free and fairly easy delivery where I pushed her out in a mere 9 minutes. Even in her first week of life people remarked at how wide and bright-eyed she was, her stare cuts straight to your heart. She was ready for the world but I'm not sure the world is ready for her--as lively and funny and beautiful and friendly as she is. She's a force. She's sunshine. She's ornery as hell. Words and photographs don't touch the surface of the vivid flair she brings to the world. But here's a try...

 First day in the open air.

 First visit from her big brother. He was sweet with her from the beginning.

 She refused to cross the threshold of a new year alone so Fisher accompanied. 

 The other day while driving and listening to music Phoenix told me she wanted to be a drummer. I'm a believer in supporting their passions.

 There she goes. Couldn't she aspire to play air guitar or something? Of course not. 

 3 fingers!

 Bright eyes...

and a bright smile. That's my girl. Happy birthday sweet Phoenix! I love you in the whole world (that's her favorite phrase).

Wanting Less

Forget spring cleaning--fall is my time to clear things out. There's something about the bite in the air and the leaves cascading that makes me desire clean and simple. Maybe it's the clutter cast by fallen things outside, so inside I want it to be bare, I want to own less. The only things I care to have a lot of are books and music--add a stocked pantry--the rest can go. So I'm in pitching mode and it's a good thing I don't feel attached to stuff. Things are distractions to me, and I'd rather there be room in my mind for observing action and nature and space. To watch the organic side of life unfold. I just watched the movie Zero Dark Thirty and there's a scene where the military is torturing a Bin Laden supporter by forcing him to listen to loud, distorted heavy metal music--a clutter of sound. One can scarcely get a thought or deep breath in when surrounded by stuff. Can you tell I'm serious about this? And how ridiculous, how lucky am I to sit here and bitch about wanting to own less when there are so many people living in poverty, in shacks, in the open air. I don't lack gratitude. And on the other end of the spectrum are those who have a lot and think everyone should and do aspire and desire what they have. You know the type. I'm sure it stems from the fact that people seek like-mindedness, that people want others to think like them and in that they find security. Wow, how did I get here to this idea when all I was doing was writing about clearing out the house? How about this--you go your way and I'll go mine. Do and be confident in what your heart desires--looking inward is enough.

A Poem On A Monday

A friend recently gave me a book of poems by Leonard Cohen for my birthday, and here are a few of my favorites from the collection (Book of Longing):

CLOCKWORK

the crow knows
exactly where to sit
on the yellow bench

the wave
exactly where to break

the jaw that will not
unclench
is fastened perfectly
to the writer's skull

future generations
come like clockwork
under the damp
cement arches

to include themselves
in the well-recorded
afternoon

THE SWEETEST LITTLE SONG

You go your way
I'll go your way too

REPORT TO R.S.B.

Peace did not come into my life.
My life escaped
           and peace was there.
Often I bump into my life,
trying to catch its breath,
pay a bill,
or tolerate the news,
tripping as usual
over the cables
          of someone's beauty -
My little life:
so loyal,
so devoted to its obscure purposes -
And, I hasten to report,
doing fine without me.

An Unplanned Trip

Call me crazy (you wouldn't be the first) but I've had about enough of doing nothing and I have a daughter who's almost 3 and in need of bedroom furniture (she's still in her crib) so I just decided upon waking that I'm going to drive up to IKEA in Minneapolis today. I can hobble around pretty decently without my crutches now, and since the weather isn't noteworthy and cars have the convenience of cruise control I think it will be fine. I don't like to beat around the bush and I don't like to wait for things--I go after it. In my mind the best kind of trips are the ones that are last minute and unplanned. Yes, I agree with that P alliterated phrase that "proper planning prevents piss poor performance" but I don't believe this is the hallmark of every action, especially when it comes to adventure. Sometimes you just need to follow the notions that balloon in your mind. Carpe diem and all that. What do you miss when you don't? And what do you miss when you do? In either case you don't miss anything so long as you remain positive and optimistic--there is only gaining. Maybe I'll meet someone there who will alter my life. Maybe my kids will see a thing of beauty out the window as we drive and that will forever soften their hearts. All I know is when they wake up we are going to get around and hit the road, singing at the top of our lungs and burying the land in our eyes as we glide north on the spine-like interstate. Happy Sunday.

Taking Over

Since my surgery and subsequent reliance on crutches to keep off my right foot, I've noticed aches and pains in other areas of my body. Specifically my neck, shoulders, and left knee--they hurt...a lot. But it reminds me how when one part of something is out of commission, other areas immediately take over. We may never be whole but we are always shifting and making adjustments to try to get there. It is a remarkable thing isn't it--to think that our bodies instinctively chase alternate easements and never give up (unless of course outnumbered). When something fails, another thing quickly falls in line to replace it. It's a good and simple metaphor for life--don't discourage. If what you aim for doesn't happen, of course something else will. There is no other way! I'm feeling the truth of that as I readjust to my new mode of getting around. And when I heal my body will quite simply adjust again. And I will not get in the way of life unfolding...

Laying Low

My armpits hurt from the crutches. So do the pads of my hands. My foot throbs all day and all night. I can scarcely do anything at all except lie on the couch. For weeks I had been busy with the kids' school starting, birthdays, errands, appointments, and so on but now I can do nothing. Most people who know me said I'd have a hard time sitting still after surgery--I always need to be doing something, and I even take sitting out under the stars at night seriously. But here I sit and it isn't all that bad aside from the pain. Yes, the kids have terrorized the house and Phoenix cried frequently yesterday for me to carry her and the dog is always needing something... Yet I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, which is taking it easy. I actually watched a movie yesterday (Searching For Sugarman--a superb documentary about a musician who should have been more famous than Bob Dylan, and he was in South Africa, but here in the states he fell into obscurity and wound up doing hard labor). As I'm lying here being waited on the frenzied movements of others is magnified. Is that what I look like when I'm devouring my days? I always strive for balance, but until you sit back and see the other side you don't really recognize what kind of balance is needed to offset our busy days. That's what I'll take from this (aside from pain free steps)--maybe sometimes we get in the way of things with all of our frenzy of keeping up with it, maybe we don't have to do everything for the days to work themselves out, maybe we should give up control now and again so we can sit back and see what we have been missing and what we look like in the bigger picture. So my wish for everyone is a few days of a whole lot of nothing but lying around. The world will not end. Things will work themselves out.

Surgery

It's been about 15 years that I've been walking around with constant pain in my right foot. Every day. Every single step, a sharp pain in the joint where my big toe meets my foot. I've always been a grin and bare it person, always assumed that the pain was just from being on my feet too long, always recognized the fact that there are a lot of people in the world with worse pain so who was I to complain. This past year I finally decided to get it looked at, to get myself whole inside and out. Come to find out I have a rare curvature in the big toe joints of both feet, which always leads to arthritis, and which I have. But the kicker is on my right foot I also had a bone spur (picture a sharp horn shaped bone) sticking out at the top of that joint and causing extra pain as it poked the corresponding bone that was required of bending my foot--thus the sharpness with each step and the reduced range of motion I had there. The cortisone shots we tried hardly lasted and so I decided to get the surgery done to remove that troublesome spur. After all these years I was so excited to finally be pain free and so I looked forward to surgery like it was some vacation. How could I not imagine that until the thing is healed there'd be a lot of pain and throbbing and difficulty getting around on crutches while taking care of two kids and a dog? Alone for the most part? (My mother and my neighbors helped out a great deal yesterday). The doc told me I'd be able to start running at least on the elliptical machine in a few weeks, so surely that means healing time won't be too bad, but for now it's a real show stopper as I try to figure out how to cart my kids to school and meet all of their needs when I can scarcely meet mine--and I realized last night that I can't even pick up my daughter and place her in her crib. I also realized last night that it's not a good idea to walk on crutches in the dark when you can't sleep because when the bottom of one crutch accidentally came down on the exact point of my stitches I just wanted to collapse! Still, I have a high tolerance for pain, good friends and family, and only improvement to look forward to...

 Just home from surgery, with a son that did not like seeing me hurt. He's been even more thoughtful and loving than usual.

 My new view for a while. I hate sitting still.

And my adorable bed side nurse who pulled up a chair next to me and kept offering me water and kissing my forehead. She was worried they were going to cut off my whole leg, and she told me she didn't want anyone cutting out her brain.