Mothers & Sons

Last night, while we were watching the Academy Awards, my 7-year old son, listening to Byonce sing with Andrew Lloyd Webber, turned to me and said,

"She sounds like you, Mommy."

and he didn't even want (me to get him) anything from the kitchen.

[the sound of munching]

Hear that? That's the sound of me eating my hat, shorts, bra, blog, whichever you prefer.

As I have been herein wallowing in my discontent, a tiny voice has been whispering to me his name and a few of the things that he said, particularly, here and, especially, this.

".... [to be happy] - this is a gift of God."

The ability to be happily at peace with life is not something I earn, deserve, cultivate or inherit. It is a gift. All I must do is accept it.

I am continuously, consciously, seeking to see myself as I am, not as I would wish. This means that there are days when I look in the mirror, after having not in a while, and cringe. Embarassed. Like when you glimpse your reflection AFTER you get home from the store, kicking yourself (more likely your partner) that you went out looking like that, suddenly understanding why folks were staring.

My parents immigrated to the US from the Middle East, just after they married. I was born within their first year here. They fought when we were young over what role their culture would play in our lives. My Dad was determined for us to be American, red, white and blue. My Mom wanted to teach us their language and heritage, which is rich beyond most. I sorely wish she had won that argument.

Estranged from my culture and more specifically, my grandparents, for most of my life, it is one of my life's greatest victories and joys to have been so close to my Father's Father in the last few years of his life.

He was somewhat of a celebrity in his circle and you can learn more about him here, if you speak that language. I don't, but I visit every (not) so often and look at the pictures and listen to the audio links of him speaking mostly about Rumi, the Sufi mystic whose poetry he published two books about.

We drove to L.A to see him two weekends in November of 2000. He was moved by our efforts to connect and we bonded, despite the fact that few in the family still spoke to him.

He would call me often over the last year or so of his life. He was happy beyond measure and just before he died December 17, 2003 (the same date Rumi died hundreds of years ago!), he was preparing to go on a speaking engagement in Las Vegas, at 89 years of age.

He would often call me just to tell me that I knew "the secret". He would go on and on as he was known to do, preaching about many ideas that monks and saints are intimately familiar. I often wish we each had a better command of the other's language, so we could have discussed our beliefs in greater detail.

Although perhaps it is best that we never did.

My Father told me later that my Grandfather often spoke of me to my parents. He would reassure them (as they often needed someone to) that I was on the right track and boast of my ability to make my own tough decisions and follow a path very few choose to travel. I knew "the secret to life", he would tell me over and over again, in broken English. As if repetition would make up for what he knew not how to tell me.

The secret. It isn't in a clean kitchen, that's for sure. Nor is it in a perfect lifestyle full of successful careers and big mortgages, healthy bank accounts, ski vacations, piano lessons, multiple cars, kids, pets and a secure retirement.

This is really no secret.

So, if you don't catch me here very often anymore, know that I'm off doing one of the following:

1) making every effort to practice what was taught here

2) making mad passionate love to a man who presses his face against mine and breaths deep the scent of she whom he loves with all of the largest heart I have found

3) making movies and taking pictures of the big-eyed, laughing, loving little creatures who will soon shrug a hug and turn a teen shoulder to all the love I have for them

4) making time somehow to record it all here

Thirsty? Here. (It's on me)

Umbrellas

Umbrellas protect us

from what may infect us,

imperfect and defect us

in perfect attire.

and the rain

needing protection,

finds only rejection.

If speaking your love language means I must sacrifice my soul on the altar of your ego, I think I'll shut up now. *

* Note to Reader: This is actually directed at someone you don't know who doesn't read my blog.

WARNING: Issued to Microwave Users

No urban legend here folks, this is a true story that just happened:

so, no matter what your freaky co-worker tells you, don't EVER microwave eggs no matter how much of her olive oil you use and how wet the paper towel on top is.

i have been nuking eggs all week for breakfast (shut up) and averting miny explosions as i pick out the yolks in tribute to the high cholesterol i inherited. today, however, the trash can over top i warily poked at them could not contain what next splattered all over me, the walls, window and floor. Ouch! that piece barely missed my zit!

PANIC!

this is PUBLIC DOMAIN, folks, and do you know what happens to people for crimes committed in workplace kitchens? unspeakable things and hatred that makes racism feel warm and fuzzy in comparison and venegence by all who find out about it. it only takes ONE lame coworker with too little work to do walking in who will spread the scandle like wildfire and seal your fate for eternity. yep and yr doomed to be the one who stole the milk or nuked the fish or burned the popcorn. forever. and noone will EVER eat your dish at any office potluck heretoforth.

luckily for me, the 409 was nearly back under the sink before mild-mannered man from contact-wording walked in to expressively coin my "eggsplosion". Nobody in contract-wording talks to anybody. whew.

um, is there egg on my face?

Had she walked in, Raymi would have yelled "burn!" (which woulda been hecka appropriate) and made me feel stupid. She's allowed.

[still nonconforming]

My best friend of 28 years emailed me this yesterday. She must think I'm a Very Good Looking, Dang Smart Woman. Like The Hun, I have my days, and today happens to be one of them. And I am sorta hung over in a I-was-up-to0-late blogging way. C'mon, blogs are the new drug. But I do have this zit on my chin that kills my look a bit. If the world's revolving around me, then we're all revolving around my zit. Eh, perfection's overrated.

Oh yeah, the email:

"02/24/2005 06:32 PM

FW: WOO HOO

Today is International Very Good Looking, Dang Smart Woman's Day, so please send this message to someone you think fits this description. Please do not send it back to me as I have already received it from a Very Good Looking, Dang Smart Woman! And remember this motto to live by:

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"

Have a wonderful day!

xoxo, K"

I dunno bout you, but I'm planning to skid in sideways in a thoroughly used up, totally worn out, hot "mama, you just can't be THAT old" chocolate smeared bod doused with wine in the back seat looking up at someone else screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"

But that's just me.

[no title for the new nonconforming me]

so i have been going through tough times. when your friends call you for no reason because they're worried about you times. perhaps growing pains for the new don't-wait-til-the kids are-off to college-before-you-live-life-again life and times of

she who does not measure her worth by the cleanliness of her 1950s kitchen

the what- do-you mean-we're out-of clean silverware, you-can't-wash a-fork? me.

the why didn't i call the 2 talent scouts who discovered me on 2 separate teenage occasions me. oh that's right, i'm more than just a pretty faced hot high heeled pin me up you gotta buy these jeans or at least rip them off me in your next post-pubescent fantasy bod. and i feel my pockets for their business cards some twenty years later.

the i coulda been a rock star and now i sing kareoke in my living room when i should be helping give baths and spoon medicine me.

does learning to love me mean that i unlearn loving you?

where do you belong in my self-portrait?

i don't want to be a martyr. that's not love. that's an enamored narcissist turned suicide bomber. whatever that means.

self-deceit at it's deadliest.

i hope i inspire my kiddos to be content with themselves. allow them to follow their hearts and find happy.

in oakland they have a saying that goes something like this, if momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.

isn't that the truth?

someone told me yesterday that i have soul. she's a black friend who meant it as a compliment to one not black, though often thought to be.

something like: you have soul, though nobody expects you to.

um, thanks.

i'm always wary when someone begins their observation of me with, "you're just like me ..." and i have this urge to plug my ears and hum lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala

because there's only one person i'm just like: me.

but we can vibe like tuning forks passing a tune. dirty, unwashed forks.

love someone who doesn't love me? Piece o' cake.

but few things in life are as painful as loving someone who doesn't love themself.

One More Reason to Blog

Since I started writing a blog last month, I have dropped almost 20 pounds. What's up with that!?

And yahooeay for Tilly Merrell!!!!

Archives

So last night i got kicked off my internet again (ARRGh) and being the junky that I am, i went around to blogs i have been to and read off-line. i had access to everything up to the last post i visited. which meant i was reading your archives.

it was as if life stopped, giving me a chance to catch up. except it didn't really stop. i just stopped. like being still during a meditation. you may seem to think you'll miss something, but in the end, you come back to life better able to appreciate and understand what's there.

i read about True's classroom tsunami experience, wow, she really remembers that moment. i can remember moments like that, but need to learn to write them down. what a powerful memory, she was there and i was there with her, looking over her shoulder trying to catch the images on the screen as she was beckoned out the classroom door.

my greatest fears, the stuff i have nightmares about, have been in the news lately:

1) kidnapping

2) being buried alive

3) knowing a loved one is buried alive and you can't get to them

so i notice i have been a bit unsettled this week. isn't it such a commentary on our world that many thousands of children are taken from their parents each day? what kind of hardened anti-human takes someone's child and knowingly and deliberately causes them all, parents, child, siblings, grandparents, communities, such unknowable grief and pain? it is disturbing.

and then there are those children who lost a parent in the Tsunami, and the other parent is like gone or in jail so they can't be adopted because the stupid living parent leaves them to grow up in an orphanage because they don't have idiot-loser parent's consent for adoption. equally disturbing.

so in other news, barry bonds rocks, and i'm sorry i'm not linking this stuff, but it's front page in the papers and i'm tired. i know, i know, it's not exactly the blogger spirit is it?

barry bonds brought the beef in his press conference, didn't he? i mean, he could be so wrong and the biggest cheater, but i have to love him, even if he does ship to the American league where he can be designated batter and not have to dive on his knees anymore in the outfield. i love him because he's so unafraid.

wow, i talk sports. go me.

i was reading over someone's shoulder on BART today *sheepish smile* (perhaps all the blogging has me thinking everyone wants someone reading over their shoulder!) and she was writing a letter to a membership of whatever organization and opened with a bit about being involved vs. committed. she wrote there's a saying about a eggs & bacon breakfast, which i'll change to steak & eggs (my favorite).

so, in this illustration and the steak and eggs breakfast, the chicken was involved, but the cow was definitely committed. and i thought about what it might mean to be the beef. like before you ever open your mouth, people know and maybe, maybe not (just as good), respect what you're about because you live it and are whatever it is that you believe. you lay it down. sacrifice all you got for the meal. maybe even your life.

it is why i admire the military men and women. they are committed, no doubt about it. they are their beef.

it's unafraid. and i'm almost there ...

City of Raingels

http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/object/article?m=/c/pictures/2005/02/23/mn_storm9417.jpg&f=/n/a/2005/02/23/national/a060424S36.DTL

Please drive carefully down there kids.

Love,
Mom

No Shame

There is no shame in imitation. We've all heard it's the highest form of flattery. Well, I'm not here to flatter, more to discover, explore, connect.

Anti is about as genuine as a soul can be. That is so refreshing. My blahg is currently all about my efforts to reclaim self from motherhood, rediscover me again, blah blah blah. So Anti is my new best friend because he, my friends, is a good influence. !!!

There may be no 'i', but there is for sure a 'Me' in Motherhood. So I'm all about putting the oxygen mask on my OWN face first before I even begin to pretend to take care of somebody else's.

Live life one breath at a time.

Must ... Write ... SOMETHING

I'm feeling painfully distant from my blog. I believe I am running from things I don't want to face about how I'm feeling and thinking. That, and I've been lazy about coming up with words for where I'm at.

Funniest thing I heard lately: thunderstorms are Farting Contests between universal energy forces! Big Tanky said that. That reminded me of Lion King (I'm too into Disney for someone my age) when they were speculating about the stars and Timone said they were "fireflies caught in that big blackish thingy". Love that stuff.

Thunderstorms are a childhood memory for me. We had tons all summer long in New York. They are one of the few things in our world that are frightening and also beautiful. Can you think of any others? I can't right now, but I know there are other phenomenons like that.

Nothing beautiful about earthquakes I've decided. How about taking up a collection to build adequate housing in places around the world where an earthquake happens at least once a day? "Where have you gone? I had a lot of plans for you," sang Hossein Golestani. God, that broke my heart.

I read Anti's best laugh i have all day blog and envy his fearlessness and wonder how long it would last after he had kids. I remember being so unafraid. Ever since I became Mommy, though, I am such a slave to my fear. This has come to me recently. That and the fact that this needs to change.

Whatever natural instinct phenomenon has taken over my heart and psyche needs to be countered for the greater good. I can not be a slave to fear for the rest of my life.

And I must find a way to quit my soul-sucking day job.

Back from the Near Dead

sick as dawgs we've been. after using up 2 more sick days, i have one left for the rest of the year. corporate america has such optimism when it comes to my family's health. so sweet of them really.

have missed blogtopia due to DSL/weather issues. how bout that thundertorm yesterday, huh? the atmosphere on the home front has been equally charged, but some post-storm peace is upon us.

have determined i need to learn more wisdom from koans.

Thank You!

I read some blogs & am feeling much better about things. how cool is that?

Thanks ...

bigbonusanky
robyn
jamie
sierra

All I see is black

All i see is black
darkness surrounds
no light in the eye
at the end of this tunnel
despair
it will never be right
be what it might
become all i believed it could be.

i feel nothing about anything
yet i know i'm hurt
trapped
enraged
frustrated
defeated
scared
alone

why am i destined for such a life?
suffering
it's in the air we all breath
in the water we drink
waiting behind the next
dip in the road

i lie awake
and can't go to sleep
even though i'm tired
so tired of
treading life and getting nowhere

working hard
giving much
and getting nowhere

when will this end
when will i laugh again
when will i enjoy all i've been given?

counting the days until heaven
where life begins
no tears
no pain
no wondering why

singing
dancing
praising
living

at last
a peaceful home

yet all i see is
black

Happy Black History Month

So where have I been? My coworker/friend gave me a copy of something folded up in her arms and looked left then right then left again and cautioned me to read it when i had some time and space. the look on her face made me tuck it away until a week later.

I just read the now infamous (where have i been? in the kitchen...) letter, which she printed from here, which has more than just the speech Willie was supposed to have made, but his slave-making instruction "kit" as well.

After i finished i was disturbed to say the least. Just reading the word "nigger" that many times was enough to do it for me.

flexing my newly developing blogger muscles, i did a google search of the letter and after reading a few other versions (most without the instructions, one with "n-word" substituting "nigger") and chat chains about it, i stumbled on posts and articles that questioned it's authenticity and this argument by Bill Cobb convinced me, even though it hasn't yet made it onto snopes.

so now i get to go back to my friend and tell her, yeah it sucks about your people's history, and by the way, that letter's most likely a fake?

no. i tell her i read it and then listen to what she has to say.

even if the letter is a fake, history paints not an unuglier picture of the slave trade and institution in this country. we all know it has had far reaching effects, how could it not?

i too have been alienated from my roots, not brutally at all, and it has had devastatingly negative effects.

but nuf said. i had to write something about this letter. and now, my february Oprah issue has been waiting all day ...

Sick Day

I called in sick this morning because toddler sizzled the spit off my finger when i touched his cheek. So after leaving 4 instant messages through our corporate voicemail in hopes that one of them would get to the seven people i copied, calling off grandma who was preparing to watch boy, who's also sick, as she's been doing all week, and the school to say boy would be home again today and the daycare to say toddler would be home too, i crawled back into bed with toddler while boy watched cartoons.

then we had some tylenol, went out with our bottle of tang to watch TV and contemplate breakfast, which ended up being the new cereal with teen titans on the box (Honeycomb rocks!) and grand's biscuits (they were buy 1 get one free this week) and this slammin saugage Languinisa (sp?) that my mom-in-law always hooks us up with.

i had coffee and shared my eggs with toddler. then we watched sesame street while boy played games on the internet. toddler loved sesame street. i watched religiously as a kid, along with my mom, who was also learning english at the time. that show is brilliant. why can't those folks be in charge?

anyhow, toddler fell asleep and i got on the internet, checking email, blogs. called mrs. reflux and chatted like we're in eachothers' daily lives again for the first time in 15 years. began the continuous dialogue with self about how to share my blog with others. realized i did it again and sent mrs. reflux the link to www.nomoredishes.com, apparently some restaurant list for spots in So. cal.

thinking i need a new site name, even though it still applies - "no more dishes", meaning i don't care if my kitchen's a mess, it's no longer the measure.

hung out with boy, let him marinate the meat for dinner and he did a such a professional job, tasting his concoction before each new ingredient. he amazes me. go food network.

then we almost played a game, but toddler woke up and HUNGRY. so we made sandwiches and had lunch together and i got a kick out of watching their big brown freaky japanese anime eyes watching mine from across the table.

then we all took a bubble bath, them in their birthday suits and me in my bathing suit. it was so fun with the extra bubbles, for beards, earrings, snowballs, hats, war paint. mr. bubble's still making trouble.

hair dryer for everyone, oh what a treat, and then off to blockbuster to get mulan II. popcorn, juice and sofa time after a round of medicine for those under 5 feet. (hey that rhymes!)

toddler almost fell asleep again, boy was rivetted, it was pretty good for a sequel video/dvd release.

then i made a dinner fit for guests: steak, roasted veggies in olive oil, basmati rice with "tadik" (crispy, crunchy fried saffron rice & potatoes on the bottom of the rice pot) and salad.

i could get used to a day like today, sick kids and all. i was more at peace than i have been all week, finally able to stay home and take care of my children.

I wish someone would have told me when i was young and steaming along the private, all girl prep school track, destined for law or medicine or something equally professional, that i should prepare for the day when i will want to be home to care for my small children.

for now, five sick days a year will have to do.

Thoughts While Getting Your Cavities Filled

So I'm lounging in the dentist chair, waiting for the left side of my mouth to go completely numb and it does begin to feel like someone punched it there, but without any of the pain.

I was thinking about the fund-raising for armor and the support for our troops that folks have been buzzing about. I am very impressed with this effort by pacificists who by no means "support" this war.

For the same reason I have always noted the Christian parent who fully supports and cares for their pregnant teenage daughter, or the HIV-positive gay son. For me, it is the hallmark of true family. That unconditional, no-matter-what-you-do-you're-mine-and-I'll-take-care-of-you-even-though-I-may-not-agree-with-you, love.

I'll pass on the novocain and feel the pain of "with you to the end" love.

For the more enraged among us: heap burning coals on the heads of your enemies love.

Here's a twinkie and some bed sheets and kevlar blankets to keep your bodies safe and warm love.

(i just discovered green catfish and i are totally on the same page today)

"Ditto."

- Iran

It's the Little Things

long curtains and rods, female products, t-shirts to sleep in, boxer shorts, socks, female and male underwear, hair products i.e. gel, dye (jet black) shampoo, lotions, conditioner, body spray, vaseline, cocoa butter, pedicure stuff for you feet, batteries, chips, cheese nips, trident(tropical), cotton balls, popcorn, kettle corn, stuffed animals, tasteful posters for the walls, small rugs, plactic bowls, tampons, pantyliners, softsoap, crest toothpaste, mentadent toothpaste, Gain and Tide detergent, Dryer sheets, twin size sheets for our bed, Motions hair products, Oil sheen for black hair, rasberry lemonade, Tone soap, shaving creme, smores pop tarts, hangers, Lancome lip gloss, dark brown and black eye liner, Lancome cleanser, toner, for oily skin and combination skin, different color nail polish, clear nail polish, Sea salt body scrub, Mary Kay products, Oil of Olay products, Spicy Beef jerky, ankle socks, candy, gum, Scope, Listerine, journals, paper, pens, envelopes, facial scrubs for oily skin, Proactive, color printer paper, speakers, thumbdrives, CD-RW's, Refillable Jet Dri Liguid and Pads, tylex soap scum and mildew remover, Electric skillet, hot plate, To-Go chicken salad and tuna salad, Oxy Clean, Fudge strip cookies, Document protectors, vanilla wafers, power strips, bonnet hair dryer, straight razors, beach towels, wash clothes, club crackers, sqeezable pickle relish and mayannaise, palm pilot, iPod, digital camera, toilet paper, milk duds, honey roasted cashews, calander, mouse pads, mouse, 50ft. extension cords.

On any given day i have many of these things in my little apartment. i never think twice about the ease with which i can purchase them, as well as the comfort they add to our lives.

Reading the requests on Any Soldier has been an amazing experience. I don't always read the posts because I'm going to send a package. I find I also read them for insight into their lives and sacrifices, and my own life here in the US as well.

I find I am much more grateful in general about many gifts I've been given in life and my mood is evidenced in a song from Sound of Music - "I must have done something good..." that I can't get out of my head...

It isn't a song about how deserving a person is for the gifts of others. It's a song about a state of being that is thankful. Like, wow, i totally don't deserve this.

Lately, I do things I never would have 2 weeks ago, like:

1) Putting quarters in a stanger's expired parking meter
2) Offering a nearby vacated seat on BART that is clearly MINE, to somebody else
3) Saying Thank You repeatedly for like ANYTHING

I have also decided that American is anything anyone does who is one. If I'm an American and I'm kind, then it suddenly becomes an American thing.

If I do something and then others do it, too, and it becomes like a movement of sorts, even if it is just 2 other Americans, then that's American, too.

The trick is to DO something.

Freedom is Not Free

"To all whom this may concern,

I would personally like to thank all of those who have recently contributed their time and efforts in what I believe to be an awe-inspiring and frankly quite dramatic display of support from the home-front. The correspondence and care packages have been coming in at an overwhelming and nearly monumental pace. The "Any Soldier" campaign has seen tears from some, given hope to most, and has been inspirational to us all. Your relentless support has provided the simple reminder that any one of us would proudly die for a grateful nation in our ongoing fight against terrorism."

"Freedom is not Free"
SGT Brian Horn

Blog Reading

Yup, been doing it again. It takes energy, don't it? And all the links mean it takes like half an hour to get through a sentence sometimes.

But it is SO cool. I love it. I think it's because I really enjoy people. They amaze me.

As far as what to put on your blog. Hmmm, there's really no rule is there? Blogs are people and people are different degrees of openness and comfortable with themselves and it will always be that way.

I liked reading this off Anti's blog. As one new to the blogosphere, it helped identify the faux pas and fuzzy paws and all that. Cause it is mostly about respecting folks. Most of it was so obvious, too, after I read it!

Kinda like Radiohumper's mature, masculine man / friend with the advice on guns. It's so obvious, after you read it.

I think you need to treat every blog like it's fully loaded, keeping your finger off the trigger and not pointing it at anyone you wouldn't want to hurt.

It really is an amazing thing that we get to be in eachother's lives so intimately, in a world where everyone is usually so guarded and protected and into themselves.

I am way too tired to write anymore. And I have to go to the dentist tomorrow. But I get to play soccer tomorrow night, so I'll just focus on that part of tomorrow.

To Be, or Not to Be, a Hypocrite.

Hypocrisy is not falling short of a noble, albeit impossible, standard.

Hypocrisy is mercilessly holding others to said impossible standard, which apparently doesn't apply to you.

Humility is not taking responsibility for nobly enforcing said standard.

Humility is being honest about said shortfall with everyone, especially yourself.

Arrogance is not the adopting of said impossible standard.

Arrogance is making yourself the impossible standard.

Fresh out

So I have been off reading all your blogs and writing you emails and stuff so I'm fresh out of blogergy.

Big Tanky's feeling empowered, the Hun's got song du jour on and Radiohumper is making me fear the teen years and all the heartbreak in store for we moms. i'm gonna need a cat.

My son tells me he never wants to leave home - and I just keep telling him, just you wait. He doesn't believe me. I should tape him, huh?

anti is hilarious and you just have to love him, no? someday i too will make it look that easy ...

and he loves Oprah. very cool. i know he does because that's exactly how I am when she comes on - the world stops, kids become unborn and all is Oprah for an hour. either that, or he's mocking folks like me who love Oprah. i dunno, can't tell cause i don't know him well enough yet.

oh no! something just came to me. things are coming full circle in my circle, as Anti pow-wows in NY. let me explain ...

over the past couple days i have been trying to figure out how i got here. you know, in this circle of sorts. i started blogging one night and i had never before and so i got lost and it didn't matter cause i'm enjoying bring the beef and odd child and fuzzy brown and big T too much too care how it all happened and what brought us together.

then i'm reading anti's blog about jamie ... doink. my dear college friend moved west from NY in dec with her family. she was my very first role model (she would cringe) and i am so juiced she is only 20 minutes away now!

3 weeks ago, i told her i just started writing a blog and she told me about her husband's friend's blog the known universe. and that's where it all started ...

why this is making me so happy, i just don't know. and no one else can share my joy right now. unless they too have been lost and found in blogtopia.

Better Homes

She lives in a beautiful house.
Brought to life from the magazine images,
where nobody actually lives and they just take pictures.

All sculpted chrome, embellished tile, marble, slate and colored glass.

Granite countertops.

The monochrome color scheme was intentional.
Beige and creams make the spaces clean and large
and brighter.

Every corner has a tale of woe. The carpenter started this here, but never came back to finish it there. The tub leaked through the closet here, the curtains were mismeasured over there.

And for all its hard fought renovation, there is
an unmistakable spirit of despair, of bottomless sorrow
dwelling there.

It was cold. Light bounced, never trapped, and I didn't warm up our entire stay. I mourned for all that has been lost.

I dreamt the first night that my man had died and left our life as hers has, not dead, but gone just the same.

No tribute or shred of any evidence can be found that he was ever there. Just the quiet loneliness and the countless photographs taken by his hand.

It is a beautiful house. A better home? Not today. Perfect like the pictures, where no one ever really lives. The end result of a very poor trade.

Meditation

I close my eyes and begin.
Pulling the air up through my nostrils,
I feel it breeze past the follicles, into the nasal passages,
down my throat, filling the lungs and raising the rib cage.

My shoulder blades expand and stretch out the back.
Stress leaves its roost there like the sudden rush of startled
birds on a wire or in a tree.

Again the breath is drawn and the effects repeat.
Effects repeat
Effects repeat
Effects repeat

As thoughts beg for attention, I dismiss their banter, hearing
the air in the nose, in the small bones at the base of the neck.
Spine straightens as the diaphragm draws in then out.
In then out
In then out
In then out

A smile

It spreads warm like sunshine across the face.
Born not of thought nor image nor stimulus other than
that of a mind at peace, a body willing at last to be still
Be still
Be still
Be still

Energy is born here.

A life force awesome in strength,
yet subtle in attribute, showing itself as many elusive
intangibles, hunted like the Holy Grail.

Patience, kindness, purity and peace.

I can accept you now as you are and forgive the countless ways
you bring each bird, one by one, to roost between my shoulders.

Hype

recently i notice how often people get turned off by hype. hype is like the biggest red flag for me. what? everyone's doing it? talkin about it? blah blah blah. no thanks. never mind asking why or having just the smallest thought that there must be something to it.

some of my very favorite things were once that which i shied away from and now am all about. but hype pressures me, and if there's one thing i know i hate, it's being pressured.

i 've been swinging lately. i'm either high or low with no even keel. not myself. pretty sure it's adding a few hours of blog to the daily schedule and letting the world with all it's disturbing woe and unsolvable angst back in again. it is so tempting to shut it all out. as i fear losing my hard sought sanity.

i find there is a quiet discontent inside me, one that comes with long-suffering. a regretful acceptance that things are what they are and they will be that way for a while. it is my lot. when will this end?

my brain is wired such that if i ever want to feel really high, i don't sleep. this was a cheap thrill in college. i'd stay awake for days and float around with a surreal feeling of both peace and euphoria.

someone i respect recently told me that if i can't be myself here, then what's the point. the point is, i can't be myself anywhere. don't know how to get there. but i am closer today than i was 3 weeks ago. that's why i'm here.

i was thinking today that most people find their own and stick to them. there is comfort, family and security there. i realized that i rarely find my own. my life's choices, for good reasons, have alienated my own. they view me from their distance and dare not venture after.

wandered far across the tracks i have and settled here. but my children are at home. i learn from them.

my own gather on a soccer field and have a keen, trained love and mind for the game. it is a powerful thing when you can kick a ball with total strangers for little over an hour and feel bonded like old friends or longtime teammates. it's the magical force of a mutual love, even for a sport, that can pull strangers from across boundaries of culture and over walls of faith, politics and socio-economics, to a place of harmony and synergy. witnessing that always fills me with an inexpressible joy.

home is a music hall or concert where the songs are beloved and familiar like sunday morning making breakfast in the kitchen, or spur of the moment roadtrips with a college roommate. and the people dance and sway and mouth the words in perfect unrehearsed unison. syncronicity. elation.

witness two people locked in misunderstanding and hate. communication breakdown. clatter, shatter, noise and the violent rush of unbridled emotion. i cover my ears, hum hum humming because i just can't watch.

why don't we value our relationships as we do the sanctity of the single soul, each one with it's own birth, life and purpose in history? why don't we treasure our relationships above personal gain and arrogance? why do we spend and waste them so easily?

when all is risked and pride sacrificed on the alter of good faith and doubt's benefit, the effort is amply rewarded. manifold. enjoyed not just by those immediate parties, but all who are on the outside watching, humming, touched as well.

nothing fills me with more home than the presence of peacemakers. those who find nothing worth their fist-tight grasp, if it's forfeit might bring peace.

hype threatens those who are not at home.

Number One

February 2, 2005

Dear Platoon,

I read your post today on anysoldier.com and will send a package soon that includes some of the items you listed.

I thought I'd write first, though, because I'm a working Mom with 2 kids, and often, things on my "to do list" don't get done. But promises I make to people, more often do.

I'm so sorry I haven't written anyone sooner. It has been so encouraging to find out, recently, all the ways that we at home can support you over there.

I am SO GRATEFUL for you and other U.S. military men and women who are serving right now. "Serving" is exactly what it is. Whatever made you decide to enlist, is admirable beyond words. I am sure there may be days when you regret that choice. It is understandable, considering the awesome sacrifices you have made that benefit others at your own expense.

-Page 2-

You are all in my prayers each day. We are so happy and relieved that Election Day went so much better than expected. Great job!

I hope this letter finds you as well as can be expected. I will send a care package soon. No need to write back, no such pressure here, ok? I read that in so many soldier's posts, that they feel so bad and sorry that they can't write more often. I can't imagine anyone who is supporting you all, needing anything in return.

I'm just proud of you doing what you do, and wanting to show my appreciation and support. Nothing I could do could ever be enough.

Best of luck with everything and I will write again soon.

Yours,

Speedy

Never been an Artist

I was a five-year-old kid who stared at a blank piece of paper and then looked at the paper next to me and drew what they were drawing.

I had so little imagination. nothing to bring to the paper on my own. And what I drew was never as good as someone else’s. I think I thought I needed to draw what I was supposed to and I needed someone to tell me what that was.

Countless people who have met my family have come back to me and reported, “it all makes sense now”. People who love me and wonder why it is that I am the way that I am. It isn’t supposed to be as hard as I make it. Ever.

I love my blog because for the first time I’m learning to bring my own vision to the paper. It may be wrong and it may be ugly. But it’s mine.

I often imagine this: us being friends, you and i. Coming together and making our existence that much more, just by having shared it with one another.

Have you noticed the days are getting longer? Last night, I was driving down the street I always drive down after work to pick up the kids and all of a sudden I felt completely lost. Where am I? Did I miss my turn? Everything looked so foreign. And I panicked because I had no time to be lost. Not to mention what that must say about my sanity if I get lost on my daily commute!

Then understanding flooded me like a burst of warm sun from behind a cloud on a cold day: it is not pitch dark like it’s been for months! Alas, it’s still too dark to go out and play, but a sunset commute? I’ll take it.

and draw a blog about it later.

People Who Love, People You Love

i find sometimes that toddler is easier to "love" than my seven year old. he is totally and completely himself, all the time. Meaning it is simpler to know him and interact and enjoy life with him.

Boy is not. Boy worries about what someone else is feeling and doing more than he thinks about himself. he comes across sweet, but it is sad to watch as i see him crawl up and down in his skin, searching for comfortable. i am sad for him because i know what lies in store for him. Sartre's version of hell.

it is in the wiring. boy and i are so wired. the default is to please and make happy, charm and heal and wheel and deal. but in the end, we're alone and exhausted. (now doesn't that just make it sound so much less selfish than it actually is?)

toddler was such a little squeezapotomus tonight! oh, who says they're the terrible twos? i never want them to end...

"want play da panano"

"that's the guitar baby"

"no, it dee panano"

"sweetie, that's a guitar."

"no, panano."

then boy tells him what it is and he shuts up. why does mommy lack such credibility?

i love writing. it is such an exploration and adventure. i wish i'd been an english major. no wonder they usually seemed to have it so together. writing is an exercise, a discipline and a journey to self and others. and there are so many rites of passage.