Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

My ex mother-in-law, Deb, sent me these words yesterday--life is a journey, is it not? Wise words from a woman who is the epitome of grace. A kind of dignity we should all strive for. I teared up not out of sadness, but out of awe for the beauty of it. Sometimes our journeys seem rather unordinary and constant, and then you have those bumps that push and challenge and shake things up in a way where you wonder when your feet will ever touch solid ground again. My journey this year has been large. From selling my home and moving and remodeling this new home, to my sister's bout with breast cancer, to blending my family. I have an incredible 13 year-old step daughter, and even though not on paper, we are family all the same. And I have the head over heels kind of love that is written about in books. It came on as if it was always so, no beginning or end, no question. Every time I look at Matt I count my lucky stars. I could write about him and what he gives to the world on a mountain and still run out of room. Last night we were driving and I told him how strange it was to be on these streets that I passed as a child, how that young self could have never imagined I'd be a grown woman living here. As if our future is hinted forever in our present. And here we are with this love and these woods and this land with all our dreams for growing, all those hints of what can and will be. My favorite Christmas song holds the phrase "let your heart be light". I can think of no better heart to have with such a journey behind and before us.

Every 7 Minutes

More and more I have noticed how connected our energies are on a mass scale. Countless times while standing in a check out line at a store I look around and it's as if every customer in the store is ready to check out at the same time. Inevitably someone will remark how they need more check out lanes open, more workers working, and generally flummoxed as to why they can't be more prepared for customers. But the thing is, we come in waves. If we'd been there 5 minutes prior, we might have been the only one in line. But we didn't. We move in droves en mass. I can't help but think this phenomenon is animalistic, akin to watching a herd of animals storm an open field. We move together. When we see one person making a move, it sparks a chain reaction. Imagine what that can mean. Though we strive and push our individuality, the fact is we are still very much connected. Even in our silence we are one--there's that Harvard study that concluded there is a lull every 7 minutes in our conversations with one another. Some believe this is the result of being hardwired from our ancient hunter/gathering days as people would pause every now and then to check for predators. I've been tired ever since daylight saving time ended. A lot of people around me seem to be run down lately as well. I wonder if that too--the energy we have for making it through our days--is connected and affected and felt en mass. Imagine what that can mean.

This Guy...

It's been a year today since my first date with Matt. With the encouragement of my mom and some friends, I had signed up on Match.com with the only intention of getting out of the house on a few dates. I signed up on a Saturday night and finished up my profile the next morning. That's when I came across Matt's profile on there and I sent him an email. And another. And another. (I had forgotten to mention a few things in my first emails--and faux pas aside, I wouldn't date someone anyway who wasn't keen on my words and followed the rules of dating conventions. Plus I have things to say, and I can be impatient...) And anyway, I hadn't scared him off as that night we ended up texting each other for over 3 hours. The next day our texting marathon continued and by the third day we were both downright giddy to have our first date. We met up at a restaurant downtown and when he saw me I saw his eyes widen. He was clumsy and nervous throughout dinner, but as we talked he softened. And I bet that nervousness wasn't nerves but a kind of awe, as ever since that night we have maintained that kind of awestruck feeling for one another. I love his face. His brow line. His laugh. I love his kind heart and his thoughtful mind. Really no words can suffice for the gratitude and reverence in my heart. This man amazes me.

The Pusher

Two weeks ago I wound up in the urgent care clinic because of strep throat--my second case of the infection in the last month. I was talking to the nurse about the measures I had taken to fight it off, including tinctures of nettle leaf and echinacea and lathering myself with essential oils. But there comes a point when you have to go at it with harder meds, so that's why I was there--to knock it out with antibiotics. The nurse asked me what kind of oils I used (young living) and said a friend of hers swore by those and that she constantly talked about them and tried to convince everyone to try them. I could tell by the way she relayed this that her friend's fervent persuasion had ruined it for her. She was too pushy, too all or nothing, and completely unwilling to see any side but her own. Everyone knows that kind of person, the type that becomes extremist in their beliefs to the point that they are blinded to anything but and come across as elitist. Whether it be a workout, a religion, a political stance, or a diet--they climb that mountain and see nothing but the side they are facing. A lot of times what they're pushing is a good and valid thing, but because they have that pushy "there is only one way" mentality, those benefits are lost. Just as one bad seed can spoil a bunch, so can one pushy voice turn us off. It's as if the louder the words are spoken, the less people hear (unless of course they're already on that bandwagon). Again and again in life I come back to that line from Bob Dylan's "To Ramona" song--"you're better than no one and no one is better than you." Not only does it remind me not to judge others, not only does it give me confidence, but it also reminds me that there are a lot of ways of being. I do appreciate the fact that people are passionate about whatever issue they espouse, but let us all remember that there are a lot of ways of being. When we lose sight of that fact, well, really we lose.

On Aging

Doesn't it feel like no matter where you are in life, the world is geared towards you? We live in a constant bubble that captures everything that is pertinent to our age group. And it's not just the marketing tricks of the internet, which target browsers based on age, gender, and location. It's a much more deep-seated phenomenon--an unconscious decision we all make so that we feel like we matter. We have a footing here. Philosophers have pinned this unconscious move for years--how we see what we want to see and hear what we want to hear; our entire belief system is mirrored and controls what we allow ourselves to see in the world at large. I find comfort in this. Comfort in knowing that as we go through life we will always feel at home here. It makes the inevitability of aging easier to embrace. Our culture is not always kind to older generations--stereotypes about their driving, their Floridian takeovers, their slowness, their frequent talk about all their ailments come to mind, as does the term "set in their ways". With this kind of judgment, I always wondered if they felt as if they didn't have a good footing and a respected voice in our society. I hate to think that anyone feels irrelevant. But this revelation I had recently puts that wonder to bed--no matter our age we are surrounded by peers. At every stage we all face the same kinds of things as our peers and because we are always trying to make sense of the world and what we are doing here, because we see what we want to see, I reckon we always find a place--a way to feel at home. And I'm sure that at every stage we look and stereotype those who are not among our peer group. I wonder what is said of 30 year olds, of which I belong. Perhaps this--slow down and relax a bit, before you know it the kids will be grown. You'll see that in time the things that cause stress are fleeting. For every age group I say this--embrace where you are.

The Sweetest Community Act

My sister Carrie started back to work last week at Hubbel Elementary after being out for 10 weeks for her double mastectomy. All the cancer was successfully removed and she had a lot of love and support whilst recovering, so recovery went well. Just like that it's done. Hard to imagine in those early stages of hard times that one day in the future you'll walk out of it and keep moving on and it'll be done with. She faced one of the most terrifying ailments we can be struck with, but she stayed absolutely positive and stoic and rarely complained throughout those darker, painful days. Last week when she walked into her office at the school--she's the principal there--taped to her window were 18 pictures, one from every class. And in those pictures were all the kids from Hubbel wearing pink shirts and smiling huge. Another photo was taken of all the staff and teachers at the school, again all donning pink shirts. Just as the tears were starting to prick her eyes, the doors were opened and all the hundreds of kids started filing into the school, every single one of them wearing pink shirts and welcoming back Mrs. Belt. That kind of community action will no doubt impact all those kids, inspiring them to be kind and supportive to those in need, and I imagine they will all remember that day and what they were a part of just as my sister will always remember. Here's to a long life of remembering.

Everything Will Be

I love fall the most of all the seasons--the crisp, spice-like scent, the harvest, the evening light on a hillside, the cooler temps. It's in the air now. All summer I've been so caught up with moving and remodeling and a mountain of stress unlike any I've known that I did what is so easy to do--I lost myself. I became a shell and made no time to get back into being, to do the things and the thinking that give me a sense of purpose. I still feel like there's no time, and it amazes me how much busier my days are with Fisher in school full time--all the extra driving and errands. We're not on our own schedule anymore, we're caught in the shuffle. But this air has given me pause. Soon the leaves will turn and fall from their boughs, grounding the way I also need grounding. For me that means more walks, more woods, and simply more looking--the fuel for the thoughts that inspire my writing and make me feel connected. It means finding the balance in my days so that I don't solely exist as one who carts, cleans, cooks, and cares for kids. We are many things to different people, but sometimes we forget what we are to ourselves. And it's okay, as long as we recognize that disconnect and work to improve it. It can be as simple as making a little space each day to do something for yourself. I've been struck by this thought lately--you do yourself a disservice when you think you're supposed to be happy all the time. Life isn't always going to be great, and it's hardest when you think you're supposed to be happy and can't obtain it at every turn. I'm realizing it's better to strive to be comfortable with being, no matter the swirl of the seas we all face. Not complacent, but content in knowing that things will get better eventually. Everything will be alright.

A Sweet Exchange

On a Tuesday morning after dropping Fisher off at school, Phoenix and I were headed to Home Depot to pick up some supplies for the house. She rolled her window down as she often does, and she says to me--I'm blowing kisses out the window and they're floating up to land on the birds flying by. And so all morning as we drove we blew kisses to the birds and the world. I told her maybe the wind would carry one to Fisher, who by then would be out on the playground for recess and it would land on him and he wouldn't feel alone. Kindergarten has been a difficult transition for him, as it has for me--his absence is known. Over a week has passed since the wind took our kisses. Yesterday Phoenix and I were walking downtown just to see what we could see. There I am pushing her in the stroller and crossing a bridge when she raises her arms and shouts--let it free. Good words, I told her. And then as if on cue, a feather caught in the scuttle of the breeze came to a stop right at our feet. Phoenix, I said, I bet that came from one of the birds you blew a kiss to and it dropped a feather to say thank you. Maybe it's a birds' way of blowing a kiss back. But in my mind I was thinking it was a sign that taking time to be present with just Phoenix--to have that one on one girl time--was exactly what I should be doing. I find a lot of feathers--they'll appear and land in front of me in the most random of places. Like the one that blew along the street and landed, still, in front of me on my first date with Matt. Always in these moments I get the feeling that it isn't some random thing, that it's some sign telling me this path is right, I'm doing what I should. Maybe these little nudges are all around us and we just have to take the time to notice. We just have to look.

Moving Forwad

This summer has been a whirlwind. There have been days on end where I don't recall having had time to sit down and eat a meal. I've busted my knuckles, bled, and bruised my body. Weeks went without time to pause under the sky and breathe. There were more struggles with closing on the house and when it did finally come, because it had been stalled for so long, we had to work in overdrive to get things ready. And for most of it, it has just been me and Matt working alone. We painted every ceiling and wall, moved everything out of my house (which finally sold last week), and have run with our minds stretched in 100 different directions to get things in shape on this house that hasn't been touched for years. Our first night here I discovered a gas leak. New lights and toilets and drywall patching and plumbing and overgrown yard work and trying to feel settled in this place where we can't fully unpack. This week we'll be tearing out the kitchen cabinets and installing wood floors throughout the upstairs and building new cabinets to install. Again, just the two of us. But then we can finally unpack, finally have a chance to sit back and not look around and see only work to be done. The kids have been troopers, yet it hasn't been the same kind of kick it around summer here, not when my stress is a mountain. Fisher has said this to me--mom you work too much, I can't wait for you to take a break and play with us. We did manage to find space for a family vacation--took them to the Black Hills and camped and climbed mountains and slept all 5 of us in a tent and watched Fisher morph into his latest fascination--a lumberjack. Translation: Matt and I got no rest. So this slimmed down version of the last two months is a reason for my absence here.

And this too--in the midst of all this work and stress my beautiful, smart, mother of 3 great kids and talented sister learned she had breast cancer. She just turned 40 last spring. It was the closest the C word has struck. How could I not cry and wonder, but she told me she didn't want any tears, that she only wanted to be surrounded by positive thoughts, and to go get a baseline mammogram myself, which I did and which was clear. The cancer was in the milk duct of one breast but since us Hickman girls are strong stock and because she didn't want years of worry, she opted to have a double mastectomy. Her surgery was last week and it went well. I've heard it's a hard thing for a woman to have that part of her taken away, but she's tough enough to reason that it's a small price to stay alive. And so you do these things and move on and move forward. The Carrie I know has always been stoic, a grin and bare it type, so I didn't think she would want me to give words on here. But I went down to see her and give her a massage and reiki session this week and she told me she didn't mind, that she has found herself talking about it with others because she wants every woman to be aware and to get tested. In her mind the best way to support her is to go get tested. And the thing is that is how she learned of her own cancer--she got a mammogram because her husband's cousin was diagnosed with breast cancer. It's no wonder Carrie correlates support for her with others protecting their own lives, because the outpouring of kindness sent to her has been heartwarming. I've been driven to tears several times because of the little things people have done for her. Like this--she went to have a pedicure and the woman next to her learned of her recent surgery. As Carrie went to pay she was told that woman, who by then had already left, paid for her services. The local salon pooled together to offer her free hair washes since she can't shower and raise her arms to her head for some time. Her family will be eating well for weeks because of all the meals brought to them. She says she'll be writing thank-you's for a good long while. And I think this--now she will be around for a good long while. My sister, the sharer of my childhood.

It will be some time before things slow down enough that I can write daily again, but it will come. The other day I was using a hand saw to cut a tricky angle on a board (Matt's new nickname for me is rough-cut), and when I first started it was hard and slow going and I was unsure for a moment if I would be able to do it. But then I reminded myself that it doesn't matter how long it takes, if I just keep hacking away at it eventually I'll get through. And I did. You do these things and move on and move forward. Just keep going.

On Magic

With over 30 hours of driving time together a few weeks back as we took Ella to her mom's for a visit outside of New Orleans, Matt and I had lots of time to talk. When we weren't weary of the road construction and other drivers and rain, when we weren't singing along to tunes, we were talking of future plans, present thoughts, and sharing stories of youth--even down to Matt relaying a story of the first kid in his hometown to discover gummy worms--all those little-big wonders of our childhood. So much in those days was word of mouth, which only added to the mystique. I wonder about "kids these days." And I don't aim to sound like an old curmudgeon, but I think about the vast number of new things they are exposed to at the warp speed of internet and various forms of media and I wonder if it takes away from the magic of childhood. I think of my kids who aren't largely spoiled with material things and yet how quickly the thrill of the gifts they do receive vanish. And maybe that's because they live in a world awash with advertisements and consumerism. What's so special about anything when everything is available? Will they in turn grow up unsatisfied or wasteful? Not if I can help it! When you become a parent all of the sudden it draws to the surface values that you had no reason to name before. When I became a mom phrases like "want what you have" and "go outside and play" took up residence on my tongue. What has become clear is that I see one of my roles is to nurture their ability to see the beauty in the little things so that when they grow up they'll be able to make due and be happy with anything they face. I can't help but think that the magic of childhood stays with us--keeps us soft, rewards us with the fun of simplicity.

Back From the Shadows

I'm not shy about how I feel. I take after my mother in that sense--we have the inability to hide our feelings. Despite the weight of feeling I am usually pretty good at keeping my head up and not losing sight of the silver lining. But everybody has their breaking point, and mine was last week. Matt and I still haven't closed on our house--we're dealing with a seller who lives out of state and just completely goes off the grid for weeks at a time. He rarely makes contact, never returns messages, and his word means nothing. We've been told so many times that we're going to close on a certain date and he never comes through, never comes to town when he says he will. Last week he claimed he had a mild stroke and not even his realtor believes him. The constant let down has been hard, especially when I'm trying to register my son for kindergarten. I've learned how the actions of a single person creates a ripple affect that touches many. And the buyers for my house backed out because they couldn't get approved for a loan, so it's back on the market and I am left alone with the task of all the cleaning and mowing and getting it ready to show all the while caring for two kids and a dog who seem to cherish mess. And divorce is hard. I've been stoic and positive through it all, especially for the kids, but I never imagined how difficult it would be to see my kids smiling in photo after photo with another woman. I know I should be grateful that Derek's significant other is good to them, but it's hard to hear your 3 year old daughter talk about her constantly and unfiltered and wonder why Katie doesn't come over to my house. Phoenix probably doesn't remember the fact that she had been in my home and I cooked dinner for her and her then boyfriend. Hard to picture this woman walking around town with my kids and thinking how others must think she's their mom. And I know it's selfish and one-sided and I know Derek and I are in better places. I wouldn't change that, but I can't help but think this girl just waltzes in and feels pride and adoration for my kids when she had nothing to do with how they got to be such great kids. I'm there for the hardest times, for all the highs and lows. I'm sure every mother can attest to the fact that it isn't easy and there is little appreciation for all your sacrifice. Appreciation is even harder to come by when your kids talk about another woman. But the fact is that's my reality now, as it is for a lot of other mothers. And the truth is there isn't anything in this world that will change the fact that I am their mom and there is nothing that will break the bond we share. So I'm done with this weight and I will trust the truth in our hearts. My kids are loved and that circle of love is just growing larger. My house will find the right buyers. Matt and I will close on a house when the time is right and start fleshing out the dreams that have been building in our minds. And all the while the sun will rise and the dew on the grass will burn off and the owls continue to hoot. Stars and meteor showers and water. Just yesterday I heard two separate people say "there's just something about the water". It's time to be still and breathe.

The Animals - House of the Rising Sun (Official Music Video)

While Fisher had soccer practice in the rain last night, Phoenix and I sat in the car and watched youtube videos of old classics like this one. I would have never guessed the guys behind this song dressed in such dapper suits, with those hair cuts and gentile movements. Completely restrained. Classy!

Hello Stranger

My son Fisher has always had a big, kind heart. Ever since he could talk he was the kid in the stroller that would say hello to everyone we passed on our walks. He did this completely of his own accord, and sometimes the people he'd greet would not return any words. It always broke my heart, especially when he'd ask why that certain so-and-so didn't say hello back. I always told him that not everyone is used to saying hello to people they pass on the streets, that not everyone is as open and talkative, and that he should never let that keep him from being the friendly kid he is. Most of the time though people would respond to his greetings. You could see the warm surprise register on their faces. He must have noticed this too--must have seen how just a simple hello from his beautiful little sunny face brightened the world that much more--because he's 5 now and still doing it. There was one day during this long cold winter when I picked him up from school and we were driving home on our regular route through downtown and happened to be stopped at a stop light when he rolled his window down. "Hi!" he shouted to a woman standing on the corner bus stop. She didn't say anything back but she gave a shocked smile. She was weighed down with bags, worn out from what must have been a long day of work, and staring blankly at the sidewalk. And here's this little kid hailing from the back seat of a car. "You know what, Fisher," I told him--"that woman might have been having a long stressful day, maybe she wasn't feeling great, and your hello made her feel better. She'll go home now and carry your voice with her and when she reflects on her day she'll remember your kindness. It's the simple little things that can go a long way." I imagine she has told people about it--this little boy who rolled down his window and said hello to her. We see her most days when I drive him home from school now, and every time we do the same magic happens--he rolls his window down and shouts hello and she comes out of her blank reverie and smiles like it's the first time anyone has taken the time to notice her all day long. This has been going on for months. I think she looks for our car now in anticipation of their sweet little exchange, and now her responding hello's are just as bold and enthusiastic. It's a small act, but to give recognition to another human being is a grand thing. Just to pause for a beat to smile and say hello to a stranger, just to get out of our own heads for even a second to notice someone--it is enough to make the world that much better.

A Poem on a Tuesday

I came across this poem a few weeks ago and the simplicity struck me. It made me long to just sit in a place of beauty for a good long while and think of nothing but what is present, to do nothing but open my senses to the moment. Fill up on the energy there. It's titled Lychees and was written by Meena Alexander:

Terrace deep as the sky.
Stone bench where I sit and read,

I wandered by myself
Into the heart of the mountains of Yoshino.

In one hand a book, in the other, a bag made of newsprint—
No weather-beaten bones here

Just lychees bought in the market,
Thirty rupees per kilogram.

Stalks mottled red tied up with string,
Flesh the color of pigeon wings—

Sweet simmering.
Sunlight bruises air

Pine trees blacken.
Where shall I go?

The Dhauladhar peaks
Are covered in snow.

Happy Mother's Day

My mother is a worrier. I'm 36 years old and she's still concerned about my safety and well-being as if I lived under her roof. As if nothing has changed. As if I'm not grown up with kids of my own. It's a great relief, that kind of care. A great relief to know that there is one person out there on whom you can rely on to be a constant source of comfort. Any age, any issue--that kind of love is secure. I'm 36 years old and I still find myself reverting to that childlike phenomenon of feeling safe in that love. It's the safety of tears. When I was young and hurt I'd go to her and cry. Now I'm grown and when I hurt she's the first person I call. I can vent and cry and question and be. My mother is a worrier, which means she is a great reliever, comforter, I-got-your-back-and-why-can't-everyone-get-along person. Interesting how closely the word worrier resembles warrior. That's what our mothers are, really. Happy Mother's Day to all you warriors out there--and to mine. I love you!

Life's Too Short

"Life's too short to..." It's a statement many of us use, myself included. But I'm thinking I'll start using these lines instead: Life's too delicate. Too beautiful. Too winded. Too intricate. Too rich to waste. Time is relative. As a mother of young kids I hear the old "enjoy it now because they grow up in the blink of an eye" phrase quite often. And maybe someday I'll say that too. But for now I am in it. And since I stay at home with them there are some pretty long days. I read this about aging and memory in the book Super Brain: "Every time you complain 'My memory is going,' you reinforce that message in your brain.... Once you stop paying attention and give up on learning new things, you give memory no encouragement. A simple axiom holds: whatever you pay attention to grows." I think of this axiom whenever I hear the statement about kids growing up fast, and it's true for "life's too short" as well. If you believe that, it will be so. You're essentially speeding up time by thinking that it flies by. Last evening the kids and I were playing outside and I made them bracelets from dandelion stems. Then they ran through the grass picking dandelions (one of their favorite "flowers"), and Fisher told me he could run as far as 100 moons. It was simply beautiful.

To Witness

There's this robin edging closer and closer, studying me with its seedy eyes, head cocked to the side. This air belongs to spring. Trees belong to birds. I'm just a witness here. Somewhere, the mountains happen. Pelicans migrate. Tadpoles do their tadpole thing. If ever you're feeling self-important go out to the woods and stand, stunned. Don't forget how small you are, even born of stars. This world is full of people who only look out for themselves, people who strive with the single-minded aim of getting their own without thinking of what it costs others. But that selfishness costs--it pollutes not only the air and the earth, but our minds and ability to trust. There's nothing lonelier than not being able to trust. But that's exactly what happens in a world gone corporate. I remember reading once how scientists had genetically modified butterflies in an attempt to study their genes, one day giving them the ability to adorn their wings with advertisements and slogans. Must everything become staked and named? What of witness?

Hold Your Head Up

Here's a thoughtful line I heard in a movie recently: you spend your childhood hearing you can grow up to be anything in life and your adulthood hearing 'that's life'. As if to age is to turn you to stone, to keep you from changing and from shaping the world as you see fit. Why would we ever give up the ability to progress, to dream? I think it goes something like this--you know last week when I talked about the frustration with closing on the house, how Matt and I were waiting for something to happen and in the meantime keeping our heads down and just forging ahead? It's that kind of looking down that keeps us down. Think of how often that happens, think of how many times people are unhappy with their lot and just keep their head down and go with it, hoping things will eventually change. Ever sit on a bench in a busy place and watch people pass? It just struck me now how most of the time the adults walk by with their heads down, focused on a singular thing, while the kids that pass keep their gaze fluid. They look up, they look around. I can't help but think it is the difference of believing in possibility. What if we still believed that anything is possible? Back to the house--things are finally coming together. The day after I posted about it last week we got a call from our realtor and were told that the sellers were finally coming around and were going to do what was necessary in order to close. We're looking at next week for the house to be ours. I don't believe the timing of that news was mere coincidence...

Whirlwind

I've missed this. I've missed waking up at 4 a.m. and starting my days with a good coffee and a long train of thought. The quiet world all to myself before it blazes awake. I feel I am barely keeping my head above water and the longer you keep from doing something the easier it is to keep from doing it. I listed my house for sale by owner 3 weeks ago. The next day I was contacted by my old work asking if I would help out with a project and if I could put in 40 hour weeks. The day after that someone contacted me with interest in the house. It sold in less than a week. Meanwhile I spent every spare moment working. And every other spare moment going back and forth to spend time with Matt. Last week was our 6 month anniversary--it seems we just met yet at the same time it feels like we've known each other forever. We have big dreams, and these dreams start with getting a house together. I'm talking urban farming. Chickens. Goats. Orchard. Grapevines. A tree house for the kids. We put in an offer on a house with 2 acres a while back and we are still unsure of the closing date. It was supposed to be last week, but the absentee sellers have not made it easy, have not done anything to facilitate the sell, have been impossible to get in touch with. Our own realtors said they have never had an experience like this before--it's been that frustrating. So we keep our heads down and forge ahead, waiting for something to happen. I keep telling Matt this--life changing things happen overnight. One of these days it will finally happen, it's just this interim of wait has us feeling detached from the quiet inside each day and also quite anxious. Come on already! If you have the notion, we'd sure appreciate some positive prayers/vibes/energy sent our way--that our future becomes a solid thing. And I can get my brain back to doing what it wants to do--writing.

It's the start of National Poetry Month

Because the weather can't make up its' mind and today marks the start of national poetry month, I'm including one of my favorite weather related poems from my time in Iowa City. Here goes...

Infestation

The week the ants came,

you learned what mercy meant—

woke to find them braiding a path

crossways in the bathtub from a hidden rift

near the faucet,

so many black dots, they assumed Monet,

each one a kind of living.

March was uncertain, windows drawn

open, then shut,

even the sparrows lost their minds--

ridding their nests too soon of wrappers,

bits of blue string.

A hundred ants that did so little,

and you without a heart

ruined enough to kill them. A hundred

too many to keep. You played roulette,

closed your eyes to the swift work

of killing. Washed the blood

from your hands. Said you were sorry.

Outside, the world pitied northern weather,

bushes collapsed in their thoughts,

and wind chimes forgave over and over.

Somewhere in town, a man you could love

eyed the bending column of a tree and wondered

how it belonged.

Casey Lord

The Hawks

Matt and I witnessed over 50 some hawks flying en mass above my house last evening. It was if all the the hawks in the city decided to rally right before us--circling in speechless waves. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it, and chances are it was a one time view. Matt said that it was as if they were having some spiritual gathering up there. To see it was like witnessing a hundred sunsets. Within 20 minutes they were gone, nary a sound carried from their black beaks. I couldn't help but think they were ushering in a new season--one mild and peaceful and heartfelt after the longer season of cold. I couldn't help but sense it as a sign of my present and future with Matt, that our coming together was written in the sky, and it is a sweet, sweet thing to marvel.

Because a lot of folks I know are struggling these days...

Here are a couple of poems by Mary Oliver that offer a kind of hope...

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Morning Poem

Every morning

the world

is created. 

Under the orange 

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again 

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands 

of summer lilies. 

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails 

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere. 

And if your spirit

carries within it 

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging --- 

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted --- 

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly, 

every morning, 

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy, 

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray. 

God Bless America - Frank's Speech

I came across this movie on Netflix last week: "God Bless America", a dark comedy that critiques America's fascination with pop culture and the cruelty of media and reality TV. This scene here is the spine of the film's message. With so much weight, so much attention given to the likes of the Kardashians and Paris Hilton's of the world--people who are famous for being famous--when everyone tries to be the most shocking in order to be known and the media just panders to that strive for fame, what do we lose? For one, we miss out on real honest to goodness talent. And more importantly, we lose our civility. The film isn't for the squeamish--there's a lot of blood and violence, but the message should hit home for everyone.

Some Long Days

Yeah, it's been a few weeks since I've posted anything here. In those few weeks I've been sick, working every spare moment I have every single day scoring SAT essays, caring for the kids, the dog, the fish, the house (which I'm trying to get ready to sell). I've tasted spring and then winter and spring and then winter again. I've gotten one step closer to getting a new house. Essentially I have not had the balance my mind needs in order to write. And who wants to read about all the things I have going on that are making me feel exhausted? This isn't a space for complaining--it's a space for questioning and discovering and striving, a place to make something beautiful known, to be thoughtful. And life isn't always easy and even flowing. There are times that become way off balance and your only goal is to keep on and wait for the hectic to subside. Sometimes you just have to keep your head down and pluck away, have to hold your breath and follow through. Because there is always a point at which it evens out again. Despite the feeling that I haven't been able to relax, to just breathe, every day I am grateful. It is that gratefulness that makes it easier to get through those long days. Whenever I'm stressed I just think this--it means I'm alive. Who can complain about that, really?

Pics and Poem on a Monday

What can I say--I saw my best girls and we had a famous time, captured here in some photos:

 Taking in the St Patty's festivities in Oak Park

 Bagpipers.

 Lots of walking

 After dancing downtown for 8 hours we waltzed home only to keep going with our fancy moves,

And since I'm always the first to fall asleep and sleep so hard that nothing wakes me, this is the kind of stuff they like to pull. 

In recognition of our famous times, here's a beauty of a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye:

Famous

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,   

which knew it would inherit the earth   

before anybody said so.   

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds   

watching him from the birdhouse.   

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.   

The idea you carry close to your bosom   

is famous to your bosom.   

The boot is famous to the earth,   

more famous than the dress shoe,   

which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it   

and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.   

I want to be famous to shuffling men   

who smile while crossing streets,   

sticky children in grocery lines,   

famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,   

or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,   

but because it never forgot what it could do. 

So Long Iowa!

I'm off to see my best girls this weekend in Chicago. I'll be hitting the road around noon, enjoying loud tunes and rolling hillsides and 5 hours of alone time in the car. Never mind the fact that the cruise control ceased working. I'm going to swing by Oak Park and pick up Kristina, and then we'll meet Jessica at our hotel downtown. We'll be discussing great things--everything in our hearts on display. And then we'll dance and get to bed late and get up too early to make our way to Kristina's house in Oak Park, where the St. Patty's parade and festivities will be taking place. These are the bones of my weekend. A getaway that is overdue and much welcomed.

 Look how young we were! This was the first of our girls weekends in Milwaukee--8 years ago.

 Another Milwaukee trip. We've been doing weekends like this at least twice a year for the last 8 years.

 The last time we were all together in Chicago--last spring.

Kristina was with us in spirit here in Madison last fall.

The Waiting Place

Dr. Seuss would have had his birthday this week. There's one passage from his book "Oh The Places You'll Go" that I find myself coming back to whenever I feel stuck. It goes like this: "and grind on for miles across weirdish wild space, headed, I fear, toward a most useless place. The Waiting Place...for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or a No. Or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting. Waiting for the fish to bite or waiting for wind to fly a kite or waiting around for Friday night or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake or a pot to boil, or a Better Break or a string of pearls, or a pair of pants or a wig with curls, or Another Chance. Everyone is just waiting." I fear I've been waiting too much of late--waiting for winter to end, waiting to find a house and to build a new life therein with Matt being among the big ones. Yet I keep reminding myself of this passage, keep telling myself that the right things will happen at the right time. And then I think of that line from the movie "Shawshank Redemption"--the one that goes "you can get busy living, or get busy dying." And too, I think about my buddy Tim and his trademark phrase "or not". To be stuck waiting is to be unconnected to each moment that shapes a day, is to miss out on potential, is to escape presence. Some things, especially those that are close to our hearts, are hard not to wait for. My friend Amy who spent the last several months as a nurse for our troops in Afghanistan just landed on US soil last night. How could her parents not have been held in wait for her return? I imagine their breath is more full now. But the thing is, she has returned. The robins have returned so I know that spring is not far off. This house I am in now will sell and some new place will become available. I'll plant seeds. Plants will grow. It's all happening. It's all eventual.

Pandora's Box

Last week I attended Ella's band concert and one of the songs they played was Pandora's Box. Pandora, according to Greek mythology, was the first woman on earth. Zeus created her, gave her a beautiful jar which just so happened to contain all the evils of the world, and sent her to earth with the knowledge that she would open it. It struck me then how similar the story line was to Adam and Eve and the forbidden fruit. And then it struck me how these stories hold an important truth--how for centuries women have been seen as temptresses. Apparently if women didn't exist there'd be no sin, no wickedness. Isn't it true that the things people fear become objects for blame, by which one attempts to contain and have power over? Stories of temptresses are so thoughtlessly ingrained in our history that it's no wonder women are still discriminated against: we get paid less, we hold fewer positions of political and corporate power, and in certain areas of the world are stoned to death for bringing shame on families for tempting men to violate us. Women are feared, and because of that are made weak by given less power in a male dominated world. It has always been so. But think back to when these views of women were perpetuated--a time of ruggedness where one needed more brawn than brain to survive. Because of the physical strength required it was men who rose to dominant status. Somehow they skimmed over the fact that without women there would be no men. I'm not suggesting that women are better--we need each other. It's symbiotic. And I'm not suggesting that all men have or still do believe that women are inferior. But I think about my daughter and how important it is for her to have confidence and how I hope she doesn't ever have to feel objectified. And I think about my son and how I hope when he hears the old stories he'll keep to his compassionate heart and feel a sense of ridiculousness for the fact that equality hasn't always been given to every human being. Because it is, in a word, ridiculous.

A Poem On a Monday

A quote by Robert Bly:

''If a man, cautious, 

hides his limp, Somebody has to limp it! Things do it; the surroundings limp. House walls get scars, the car breaks down; matter, in drudgery, takes it up.''

Winter Poem - Robert Bly

The quivering wings of the winter ant

wait for lean winter to end.

  I love you in slow, dim-witted ways,

  hardly speaking, one or two words only.

What caused us to live hidden?

  A wound, the wind, a word, a parent.

  Sometimes we wait in a helpless way,

  awkwardly, not whole and not healed.

  When we hid the wound, we fell back

  from a human to a shelled life.

  Now we feel the ant's hard chest,

  the carapace, the silent tongue.

  The must be the way of the ant,

  the winter ant, the way of those

  who are wounded and want to live:

  to breathe, to sense another, and to wait.

Phoenix the Zen Master

My daughter Phoenix has a new habit of explaining herself by not explaining herself beyond the measure of what she seeks. What I mean by this is she'll say "I want a ponytail because I want a ponytail," or "may I have milk because I want milk?" Her lack of qualifying is somewhat refreshing, and it has me thinking--do we justify our needs and wants too much? (Not only to others but to ourselves as well.) Of course the WHY of things is important, but I find her method akin to some kind of Zen detachment, not in the sense that she is seeking to detach from worldly desires, but that she is unstained by thought, which is the hallmark of Buddhist philosophy. She wants something because she wants something = it is because it is. Anyone who knows Phoenix is aware of the fact that she is happy and spunky and light. She's always the life of the party, she's the spark wherever she goes. And maybe part of that is because she doesn't dwell in justifications--she just is and she is unashamed about that. And so I'm thinking maybe we should spend less time analyzing and qualifying and a bit more time just being--for no other reason than that we are.

Humor Me

I don't know about you, but these long cold winter days are taking their toll. I am fresh out of ideas on how to entertain myself these days. I've done everything there is to do in this part of Iowa in this stage of winter. I like living where there are 4 seasons, and winter for me is a restorative time, a time to settle in and let things marinate. But the extra bitter cold air that has kept us indoors longer than usual has made me restless for something...anything to splice through the monotony of doing the same thing every day. Since it's still zero degrees and I don't have a sauna and the 10 day forecast isn't much better, I decided the only thing I can do is laugh. Did you know the average 4 year old laughs 300 times a day, while the average 40 year old laughs a mere 4 times? So I'll be perusing youtube comedy clips like the one posted here. Enjoy!

Wolf Parade - Modern World (OFFICIAL VIDEO)

I'm Still Here

My absence on here is due to the fact that I've been picking up extra work--scoring essays for the SAT as well as scholarship essays for a local college. And when I'm not reading essays, running the household, parenting, taking care of the dog, getting the house ready to sell, looking for a new home, and exercising, I'm spending the rest of my time with Matt. We are working towards our future together. So right now I'm in the limbo phase again. Come to think of it, I am often in this transitional state. I don't feel like I have ever settled down. I went from graduating from Simpson College to graduate school at Minnesota State University. And then it was on to Iowa City for two years while Derek was in school, before moving to Green Bay--which was to be a 2 year stint and turned into 5. 3 years ago we moved to Des Moines. And then the separation and divorce. I've never felt like I have lived in a place where I can actually set down some roots, where I can plant apple and pear and cherry trees. I wonder--does anyone actually ever feel settled if the only constant is change? At what age do we feel moored to something? I do know one thing--I am ready to plant, ready to settle in with Matt. Maybe this is why hitherto for I've been unsettled. Maybe this is why for years my writing has been plagued with a sense of longing. I was waiting for him. Since we have been together things seem to have just fallen into place, so much so that it honestly feels like our togetherness was crafted by some universal plan. And then these little occurrences happen to solidify that magical feeling--last week Matt was talking with an older gentleman who recommended the readings of Immanuel Kant. And last night he and his daughter Ella were over and Phoenix had gone to my bookcase and randomly pulled out my one and only Kant book and set it on the sofa. Why did she choose that book out of hundreds? And why did she place it alone on the sofa where Matt would easily see it and tell me that Kant's works were just recommended to him? I flipped open the book and read the first line that appeared, which was about how our happiness is a moral law. One of my favorite quotes by Kant is "Morality is not the doctrine of how we may make ourselves happy, but how we may make ourselves worthy of happiness." Maybe all this time I've just been working on my personal growth to make myself worthy. We'll be starting our garden soon, I hope.

"AT LAST" + Lyrics ETTA JAMES - Original Version

...for Matt. His daughter Ella sings an uncanny version of this song but since I don't have a video of her singing this original will have to do. Happy Valentine's day from me and these two lovelies...

Brewing Coffee

I like my coffee dark--the color of black dirt, dark as bald eagle feathers. Several scoops of ground coffee beans go into a single cup. But I notice this--while the steaming water is dripping from its marriage with the grounds it appears pale and tea-like. Every time I think it isn't going to be dark enough for my taste, but yet every time when it all comes together in the end it is just right. How is it possible that those pale drips become a dark cup? It hit me this morning--how the simple act of brewing coffee is akin to trust, to holding to what we envision, to our dreams. Dreams very rarely happen overnight--they are the accumulation of our daily actions and intent. And every good intent no matter how small will build, will become the eventual. Just because you can't see it right now doesn't mean that it isn't happening. We just need to trust that these small things will become the larger thing we are working toward. We just have to hold out. And the opposite is true--think how this applies to pollution. Picture a factory polluting a nearby stream--they may have you believe that their pollutants are minuscule but in reality they accumulate over time. They do harm. Their toxins touch every living thing in those waters. So today I'm thinking this--no matter how small. No matter how small we must be positive.

A Poem On A Monday

I shed a lot of tears yesterday--not because I was sad, but because my heart felt so full and so thankful and I was simply overwhelmed with the feel of it. It was as if the universe bloomed there. I always imagined to love someone was to to feel encapsulated--a box in your chest. But having met Matt, I feel only expansion. Too vast to name. All I can say is that I feel incredibly lucky. And I can think of no other poet than the passionate Pablo Neruda who can give words to that feeling...

Always

Facing you
I am not jealous.

Come with a man
at your back,
come with a hundred men in your hair,
come with a thousand men between your bosom and your feet,
come like a river
filled with drowned men
that meets the furious sea,
the eternal foam, the weather.

Bring them all
where I wait for you:
we shall always be alone,
we shall always be, you and I,
alone upon the earth
to begin life.

And here's a passage from his poem titled "Epithalamium":

...
On the walls the climbing vines
murmured letting
dark leaves fall
as we passed.
You too were a little leaf
that trembled on my chest.
Life's wind put you there.
At first I did not see you: I did not know
that you were walking with me,
until your roots
pierced my chest,
joined the threads of my blood,
spoke through my mouth,
flourished with me.
Thus was your inadvertent presence,
invisible leaf or branch,
and suddenly my heart
was filled with fruits and sounds.
You occupied the house
that darkly awaited you
and then you lit the lamps.

A Selfless Act

I've said it before and I'm repeating it now--I've been blessed to know some really great people. Andy Rosendahl, a friend of mine from my Green Bay years, is a testament to that fact. Think back to your 20s. Imagine if your one-time boss became ill and, it turned out, needed a kidney transplant in order to live. Would you do the test to find out if your kidney was a match, and if it was, would you offer to donate this piece of you? That is exactly what Andy did. The surgery was held this week and thankfully everything has gone smoothly. Andy took a few walks just hours after the surgery was complete, and Cheryl, the recipient of his gift, was told her new kidney is functioning well. I imagine Andy is filling those hospital hallways with his infectious laugh, that his genuine and almost constant smile is making him the top stop among the nurses. His gentle nature and humor has no doubt played a large part in the success of the surgery. Andy--here's to you and your kindness. Here's to your big heart. Not only are are a gift to Cheryl, and in turn her husband and son and extended family and friends and so on, you are truly a gift to the world... Love you!

Space

I like to give my kids the experience of space, be it buildings or downtown or prairie or wooded. Yesterday we took up space in the Iowa State Capital building. They were awed by the architecture and murals and marble, by the sheer largeness of it all. So they're too young to truly grasp the meaning of state politics, but you're never too young or old to just simply appreciate space. And it's a grand place...

 Inside the gold dome.

 They did a lot of this.

 Our favorite space was the 5 story library.

 Here's the view from the library.

 We lunched at zombie burger afterwards. The Pittsburger is my new favorite.

 Zombie face.

Cute buns and boots walking in the shadows.

A Poem On A Monday

My absence on here has been due to the fact that I've been scoring essays for the SAT test so what little spare time I have is spent working. One more week to go. In the meantime, here are two poems to start the week off. (And RIP Phillip Seymore Hoffman. I loved him in every movie of his that I saw. A true master.)

The Real Work

It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,

and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

by Wendell Berry

Kissing a Horse

Of the two spoiled, barn-sour geldings
we owned that year, it was Red—
skittish and prone to explode
even at fourteen years—who’d let me
hold to my face his own: the massive labyrinthine
caverns of the nostrils, the broad plain
up the head to the eyes. He’d let me stroke
his coarse chin whiskers and take
his soft meaty underlip
in my hands, press my man’s carnivorous
kiss to his grass-nipping upper half of one, just
so that I could smell
the long way his breath had come from the rain
and the sun, the lungs and the heart,
from a world that meant no harm.

by Robert Wrigley