Invisible Heroine

2011-10-20T15:21:00.000-07:00

I'm packing for my trip to Bolinas, California to start a year-long Permaculture Design course at Regenerative Design Institute. I'm so excited to finally live a little piece of my dream! On my way there, I may go to a memorial service for Sonny Cresswell, Cress's dad who died last night. It's all the way up in Fort Ross area, so I just don't know if I can handle that much travel, but it's so close that I may just try. I'm staying in San Rafael.
I watched a lot of the live webcast from the Bioneers Conference last weekend, and I got new information, new links, new energy.

2011-08-21T23:54:00.000-07:00

Pt Reyes Station. Yarn shop. farm. Garden. Little house with little in it. Writing in Cafes. Screenplay. Seeds left out and not hidden, where even I can't find them. dancing in the kitchen. the colorful quilt. kayaking. running. beloved cats. Francesca. Electric car. Solar powered. the house and the car. spinning wool from sheep. lavender. mint. chard. parsley. broccolli. Kale. Cheickens for eggs. Writing writing writing. Sometimes in cafes. love. beauty. truth.
hanging aroumd the spirit rock kitchen and learning to cook.
lovelove love. all you need is love.
going off to the bookstore and the palace market. Inverness. a hike on Mt. Tam.
what happened to my old manual typewriter. dying yarn in a wringer washer and squishing it out. water water water coming out of the sky. nourishing the plants and the ocmpost.
no rats.

My mirrors

2011-08-19T19:26:00.000-07:00

The neighbor kids who come over and play all the time are being my mirrors lately. Their mom is a young blond Barbie-ish looking woman who is very serious minded and works fulltime making what I presume is a lot of money as a pharmacist. Last night when Francesca sang at the restaurant where Tim plays, they came and sat and watched. When the older girl saw Tim's tip jar, she asked me what my job was. I explained my job was mom and I didn't make any money at it. "Well no wonder Tim has to work so hard all the time!" she exclaimed. I just laughed. I really didn't want to have to explain myself to an eight year old, or say anything that could be interpreted as disapproving of my neighbor's job. Her job leaves her limited time with her kids, and sometimes she drops them off in our driveway on her way home from work so she can cook dinner while they play. I have sometimes resented the implication that I have the time and energy to take care of her kids for free. But I try to be neighborly, friendly, etc.
Today they showed up at the door, no surprise there. The two daughters ran into the backyard to jump on the trampoline, and while I helped sweep the leaves off so they could jump, the younger daughter told me I was old and the older one asked how old I was. "Older than your mom", I said ,and she persisted asking how old I was when I had Francesca.I finally told her I had her in my forties, and the younger one went on and on about how I was old and that she knew because of my gray hair. I'm kind of tired of my gray hair, and am seriously thinking of coloring it again. So I went in the house and thought over whether I should respond, and explain that I worked and traveled a lot before I had Francesca, and now I don't have a house payment or any debt whatsoever.
On the other hand, I spent time today lamenting how I can't do anything because of Tim. I need to resist this mindset. But I am very limited on scheduling anything for myself because everyone else's schedule takes precedance. I was about to talk to Tim about going to Karen Maezen Miller's zen retreat in Colorado next month, when Tim mentioned he might change his flight and not leave August 29th and come back SEptember 5th. Well, if he leaves later I have no coverage for Francesca if I go. This leaves me unable to definitely schedule anything, and by the time I know the fares will have gone up, and I'll get discouraged and give up, just like always. This happens over and over, to the point where I'm not even asked if something fits into my schedule. I have no schedule.

What I dream of: Point Reyes Station. The year-long permaculture design course at Regenerative Design Institute in Bolinas. The natural dying class there too, with Rebecca Burgess. Going to literary events at the Point Reyes Bookstore. Shopping at the Dharma Trading Company in San Rafael. Kayaking on Lake Tahoe from my own lakeside tiny solar powered cabin. Living off the grid in an alternative building like a yurt or a Tumbleweed Tiny House. Growing a vegetable garden. A certificate in Sustainable Practices from Dominican University. A career writing for magazines. Expert status.

First Day of School = Mom Freedom

2011-08-17T20:26:00.001-07:00

I walked with the neighbors. I went to the Pilates class at the gym. I read a book about writing for magazines. I ate, mostly non-carbohydrate. I drank tea. I filled up my car gas tank. I deleted email. I did two loads of laundry. I almost cleared my desk from the detritus of summer: receipts, brochures from places visited, more receipts, bookmarks, books. I still have Maryland taxes and several books to clear off. Plus an old slinky. Tim and I picked up the desk I bought yesterday. I made school lunch. I asked about school. I RSVP'd for a birthday party. All the typical mom things I suppose.

What do I have to offer that could make me some money? Making something, writing about something, teaching something, calculating something, moving around.

I was so disoriented after Feldenkrais last night. I actually felt funny getting up, and all we did was move our eyes, our heads, and our tongues and sometimes our knees. It was a powerful yet simple lesson.

2011-07-13T21:30:00.000-07:00

Rolling around on the floor is my idea of fun. I really do think it's fascinating to see what the body is up to, where it's resisting, where it's being jerky and stiff. The brain connections, the emothions, the awareness. I love Feldenkrais. I used to love dance. I sort of like yoga although I never really fell in love with yoga, although I wanted to. It's like Gretchen Rubin of the Happiness Project says, you can't control what you like. Be Gretchen. Be Janet. I like this stuff a lot.
And I love Clarissa Pinkola Estes of Women Who Run With the Wolves, Jungian psychotherapist and mythologist.
And I loved dance history with Barbara Land at University of Nevada, Reno, the history that started in ancient times in ritual, and is illustrated on clay pots.
I also loved environmental toxicology in college. I think epidemiology is fascinating.
My favorite season is spring, because I love flowers and a little rain and cool temperatures. I think I should live in Scotland, where my ancestors are from, where it rains and is cool and green. Maybe not so great in winter, and my true home is the San Francisco Bay Area in the New World. Nevada is beautiful in its way and I adore the open and apacious views, the big sky country feeling, but it's much too dry and hot.
Francesca and I spent time at Lake Tahoe today, at Nevada Beach for a birthday party with friends. It was pretty windy, but still warm and pretty.

Out of the Fog

2011-07-06T10:38:00.000-07:00

I came out of my depression last night, so this morning after dropping off Francesca I didn't drive around randomly. I went right home and had another cup of tea, and a bowl of raisin bran. I went to the first Feldenkrais class in Carson City last night. It takes me about 35 minutes to drive there, which is so much nicer than the hour and 15 minutes to drive to the class in Reno. We laid on the floor with our knees up, and slowly moved the edges of our feet this way and that which had the effect of working our legs loosely in our hip joints. When I got up I was relieved to discover my depression had dissipated. Perhaps it was only that I focused on something besides the triggering thoughts repeating over and over in my head, but it worked and I am grateful and lighter today.
I thought of another middle class assumption: that your children don't go to community college. There is this middle class ritual of the college application,the scholarship, the going off to college. Community college is apparently for those who 1. don't have the grades to get into a four year university 2. those who didn't save the money to send their kids to a four year university 3. a combination of bad grades and no money which doesn't allow your child to receive a merit scholarship to attend a four year university. But the key is "Four Year University". Maybe my community college was unusual but I had fantastic instructors who gave a lot of personal attention. Classes were cooperative, it wasn't a cutthroat cometition to see who would get the highest grade, and therefore an "A", if everyone reached the same level of competance everyone got an "A". And guess what - it was free! Free college education. Now this option no longer exists- California's community colleges are the midst of a serious budget crunch along with every other state funded program, but they're probably still cheaper than any four year college you could name, and definitely any private university. You knowyour middle class if: going a hundred thousand dollars into debt is just a rite of passage for sending your kids to a real four year university. you would never send your kids to a lowly community college, despite any well deserved reputation for academic excellence, small class sizes, or lower cost. Going away to college is a god given right.

2011-07-05T11:36:00.000-07:00

I recently started reading Gretchen Rubin's The Happiness Project, and decided to start my own project. Well, on her blog this week, the resolution is to do something every day. July is focused on CREATIVITY so the resolution is to do something creative every day. I would like to write, knit and dance every day, even if for only ten minutes each. So I am starting with writing. I did write in my journal this morning. I was feeling really depressed, so I drove around randomly after dropping Francesca off at her theatre camp, stopped in a shady spot at the Minden Creamery and wrote in my journal about how I was feeling. Which was that I was feeling awful, but why? Difficulties in my marriage, which I sometimes feel is all I've got. I realized since I haven't seen the neighbors I normally walk with, that even that is making me feel depressed. I really enjoy that daily talk, ruminating on the weather, discussing neighbors' activities or the water situation. Linda has been out of town, Sandy is out of town, Pat's knees are hurting, Kathy doesn't walk with us in summer, and I don't know where Diane is. I know Diane's family is going out of town, but I don't know when, so it could be they are already gone. Anyway the last three times I've walked I've been all alone. Maybe Linda will be home soon and I can walk with her.

I've resolved to exercise more. I am planning ot go to the weight training class on Monday Wednesday and Friday mornings, until August 5th. Starting tomorrow. See what difference a month can make. Summers are crazy because there is always the possibility of leaving town for week, which we may do in August. Plus I have reservations for camping at Fallen Leaf Lake the first week of August, so weight training may have to wait.

I have an idea for a book that involves lessons in middle class suburbia. What is funny is that people who grow up in suburbia don't even realize they have this skill set for fititng in, whereas those of us who didn't have to figure it out as we go along. Expecially the parenting stuff. Volunteering at the school, college admissions, what to wear, hairstyles, what to bring to a potluck, how to put on a birthday party, what the front yard should look like, what kind of car to drive, how to get your kids into sports, talking to teachers. This is all stuff you have to research and assimilate in order to fit into middle class suburbs. For example the car. I drive a car that seems to be interesting to young Latino males. This is not a middle class suburban car. It has a fake hood air thing, only two doors and low, a dark blue with a pinstripe and tinted windows. Oh my god. So NOT suburban housewife. It is also very very fast on windy mountain roads. If I were a true instinctual suburbanite my car would be, if not the minivan which holds enough kids for a carpool, well at least it would be a sport utility vehicle, probably of foreign make. A Toyota 4-Runner, Highlander, or RAV. Or, if in the slightly uppper middle class group, a Lexus SUV, or an Audi, and if in the lower, a Subaru wagon. I drive a Subaru sporty coupe. Not a mom car by any stretch, but I can always borrow my husband's Subaru wagon if I need to drive a regular mom car. It can have those little stickers on the back that have a mom and a dad and the number of kids and pets, but probably not a sticker that says Kucinich for president. Probably no crystals hanging in the windshield, but I'll have to check on that. If it's the sporty kind of family it can have a bike/ski/kayak rack.

Perhaps I can find some lessons on the internet on how to fit in with the middle class. Or perhaps I ought to move to a city.

Weekend with Holocaust descendents

2011-06-07T22:16:00.000-07:00

My husband Tim Goldsmith is the son of a holocaust survivor named Erwin Goldschmidt. I never met him -he died before I came along in Tim's life. He was sent from Germany at age thirteen in order to start a new life in San Francisco with foster parents, and possibly to help the rest of the family get out of Germany. The letters he received from home are currently being translated by a woman named Julia Drinnenberg in Hofgeismer Germany. She works with a museum there that is putting together some kind of exhibit regarding Tim's dad.

So all the surviving cousins were invited this weekend to get together at one of their homes in Mariposa California, just outside Yosemite National Park. It was a long interesting weekend. Long for me, because at a certain point the memories devolved to things like "I remember when we visited you at your dorm room at college I heard Bob Dylan's Desolation Row for the first time. I love Bob Dylan, and this particular memory was funny and interesting, but some of the memories were not so much, and since I hadn't been there all those years ago, I couldn't contribute anything. I was stuck mostly listening, a position I have found my self in often. I finally got bored, and did the dishes in the off grid house, which apparently had no hot water, so I heated some up on the propane stove.

The two yurts were beautiful, especially the large one that would make a great dance floor. But there was no dancing this weekend, just lots of talk talk talking.

I have a hard time with gatherings where there is no dancing. Is dancing so difficult? I could become a Feldenkrais practitioner just so I could lead a movement class on occasions such as this. Talking is so cerebral, so heady, so nothing from the neck down. There was lots of eating as well. Eating talking eating talking.

I came home with a headache and a stomachache. I desperately needed some hot springs to wake up the other parts of the body, the parts that exist below the neck. And some vegetables would have been good. Hot springs and vegetables and less coffee and sugar. Some movement to break up the tension in my neck, a lower chair to keep me from hunching my shoulders.

Today at Feldenkrais class I had a difficult time moving and integrating the whole body in the movements, which involved rolling in various ways from side to side. We become so disconnected as we age. Even as I rolled, it was jerky and stiff. When I waslaying there letting it all sink in at the end, I didn't have the falling off to the side feeling I usually get, which I think is a really good sign that maybe things are finally breaking up in the imbalance in my body.

Today Francesca watched Annie and Mary Poppins. She has a pretty big part in Annie, the role of Molly, one of the orphans. So she's starting to study up on the part, while wating to get her script. She's impatient to get started and I'm loooking forward to it.

Being asked to write and not knowing what to say

2010-09-22T20:19:00.001-07:00

Jennifer asked me to write a comment on her blog about my breech birth- c-section experience. I thought about it for days, wrote out what happened, talked about what the doctor conveyed to me about motherhood, cried some more over it all, and finally wrote back to Jennifer saying I couldn't do it. All I really wanted to say was that parents should be kind to themselves. Well, she responded,"when did you start being kind to yourself?" and asking would I want to write something about that? First of all, I didn't start being kind to myself. Sometimes I am and sometimes I'm not. It's not exactly a done deal. The more I think about it all, the more I feel there really is nothing at all to say about it. And yet, I was asked, and Karen Maezen Miller says sometimes being asked is a good reason to do something. Could there be something helpful that I could say about my birth experience? Mostly I don't want to bum anyone out; it was not a blissful dream birth. It was one of those things you get through and move on. I'm still not happy about it, and I don't think there is any way to put a good spin on it. It was hard to be vented at by the doctor, hard to be humiliated by the smiley face nurse who kept calling me "The Mommy" even though I have a name. So, it was hard. I had a baby and moved on. I'm not "grateful to my torturer" as Jennifer stated in one of her posts aobut how women feel about their doctors who performed c-sections. I never went back or spoke to her again after my six week checkup. At the time Jennifer said I could write a letter ot her, and to the board, and get something on her record. I was busy taking care of a newborn, and trying to to heal from major abdominal surgery, so no, I didn't write a letter. Besides I am unsure of my own perception of what happened, and now the memory of it is untrustworthy.

Home home again

2010-07-07T19:27:00.000-07:00

I guess Nevada has become my home, because the minute we landed I felt comfortable again. The wide open skies bring relief from this claustrophobic feeling of no-place-to-get-up-and-see-where-I-am, and the large slice of land, our little sanctuary, gives privacy and contentment. I miss the rain and resulting greenery, but I don't miss the hustle and wondering if the landlord will let himself in.

I still feel on the cusp of some big change, and I still don't know what it will be. I've been walking with the women in the neighborhood, which has brought connection and physical invigoration, even a little weight loss. I dance in the kitchen and I feel good about it. I'm ready for a physical change, to be strong again. It was difficult hiking in Yosemite over the fourth of July weekend, a wakeup call that it won't get better unless I make the effort. I didn't walk for a couple days and immediately got depressed and angry, another wake-up call, so I jumped on my treadmill and ran and walked a half hour, and then I felt fine. I felt as good as James Brown.

My camera was lost in Yosemite I think, and I was depressed about it for a while. It may still turn up but I don't hold out much hope for that. I wasn't the one carrying it when it was lost.

Tim has been avoiding me and I don't even know why, but I sense a big change is coming there too. I can't keep on being so not cherished, and yet I've lost the will to fight. It just never helps and I don't feel heard or understood, so it's pointless. He says over and over, "I don't understand" and I am done saying that he's not even trying to hear me.

I signed up for the Bioneers conference this October. I want to take a graywater class, and another class in permaculture.

But mostly I want to get strong. Physically able to run up a mountain and lift the burdens.

What Now?

2010-01-04T08:28:00.001-08:00

Not because of New Year's, but just because, I've been sorting in my mind What To Do Next. After Costa Rica, I didn't want to come back and resume my days of munching junk food and gaining weight, reading my boring email multiple times a day, and burning up energy resisting housework. In short, I'm bored. Lacking passion for life.

It wasn't that Costa Rica was SO exciting. It rained a lot, was expensive, the snorkeling was so-so; there weren't any fabulous beaches. I didn't have peak experiences there. It went along pleasantly enough. The thing is, it was different. I walked all over (even lost weight), did laundry by hand in the sink, swam in pools and the ocean, ate beans and eggs for breakfast, drank Coca Cola, walked in the jungle, spoke Spanish, and read a whole novel. It was different from sitting in the house, shutters closed, seemingly agoraphobic, not talking to anyone, going out to grocery shop in places where I don't have to talk, ordering things on the internet, where I don't have to talk, posting on Facebook, where I don't have to talk. I don't know exactly what to do here in Annapolis, Maryland. This is what I've come up with so far:

Learn to cook: I made some excellent black bean soup using the bones from the Christmas ham
Learn to draw.
Revitalize my sitting practice.
Bring some kind of artistic order to my surroundings.

It's a start.

I looked up "Dark Night of the Soul" in Clarissa Pinkola Estes' book Women Who Run With the Wolves:

"These feelings are just the right feelings to feel. They are a message that says" Come here now." That feeling of being torn comes from hearing, consciously or unconsciously, something calling us, something that we cannot say no to without hurting ourselves. If we don't go when it is time, the soul will come for us.."

WWCS? what would Clarissa say? I know i can't spend all my time reading Dr. Estes' book. Maybe I just need to go out and walk around more, but I don't really want to.

2009-11-05T06:35:00.000-08:00

I've got sunshine! It's much better, although I didn't get enough sleep last night. I was up looking at someone's blog trying to give feedback until I realized I was too sleepy to even think.

I have more yarn today than I did yesterday at this time - I went and used my gift certificate from last Christmas at the yarn shop to get some nice blue painted peruvian wool and some organic stuff. Cool, no plan for what to do with it. I wanted something NOT FLUFFY and I hope this is it. I want the stitches to stand out and be seen, and the fluffiness hides them, especially if the yarn is dark. I think I'll try a simple scarf, maybe mittens again. I should have enough for both.

If I force myself to eat raisin bran when I want to eat girl scout cookies for breakfast it's better.

Francesca is having baby spinach and ranch dressing dip in her lunch today. So funny, I learned from her school on "Math Night" to just put it down and say "and here's your healthy salad" .....like, yawn, just the usual. So I did that last night, next to her chicken. "Oh, and here's your healthy salad" I said with no fanfare. She asked me what it was, and I told her "baby spinach" and she ate it, all of it. Asked for more in her lunch today. (Jaw drops.) I'm being super casual about it, and will try to come up with something different now, rather than bore her to death with baby spinach. Yep, been there done that. Yay for vegetables.

There was something I wanted to post about while I was downstairs and now I am upstairs with the blog open and can't think of what it was. Ha ha. My errant brain.

2009-11-02T05:31:00.000-08:00

I'm still sick, and now we're dealing with Seasonal Affective Disorder, the depression that comes from not enough light. Maryland is cloudy and rainy in the summer and the winter, but somehow I managed during the summer. Maybe it was the longer days, the higher sun, the fact that a lot of sun did poke through occasionally, or maybe it was the thunder and lightning that broke up the malaise. Now it's cloudy, sometimes rainy, and kind of cold. Nothing extreme, or interesting, and it puts me in a blah mood. Tim has had three weekends in a row where all it did was rain all weekend, and he's had it. Today he started yelling at his spilled oatmeal when it wouldn't go properly down the drain. I mean really yelling at it. Not good.

We are preparing for a trip to Costa Rica, and having never been there, we have no idea where to go or what to do. We've always heard it's pretty great there, so we decided to go. At one point I tried to put it off until spring so we could plan, get reservations, know what the heck we were doing, but then Tim found some cheap plane tickets and, well, now we're going. In about three weeks. So this has to become my focus now, over everything else.

It's the first big trip we'll take with Francesca, so the "hike around with backpacks looking for a place to stay" approach is probably not going to work. Besides I just don't have the energy for that right now. I want a vacation. I'd like to sit on a balcony overlooking the rainforest and watch colorful birds, take yoga classes, and sip fine coffee. Tim would like to hike in the jungle and take a zip line tour and kayak up a river with alligators. Francesca has no interest in alligators, but will want to do everything else until she drops from exhaustion. So, this should be "interesting".

here now

2009-10-22T04:09:00.000-07:00

Is my daughter a drama queen? Is that a derogatory term, or an affectionate recognition? Someone without kids called her that when she got tired of walking and complained. Some people don't like or understand kids but everyone is an expert on how they should be. I suppose everyone is an expert on how other people should be.
I'm still happy I dropped the writing class. In fact I have dropped aspirations of being a writer, and maybe that was the true purpose of the class. I put my money where my mouth was and the dream went away. I don't feel sad about it, I feel tremendously relieved. I can check that dream off - no just cross it off completely. Here I am writing but I don't have to be a writer.

Same with the ballet class I'm taking as a result of pining for and missing dance. I may be able to finally let go of dance! Hard to believe but I think it's true. The class is fine, it's the one with Maryland's friendliest people, but still it doesn't light me up.

I love my yoga class on the other hand. I feel peaceful when I leave the class. Rested. Wanting more. It's the only place and time where I don't berate myself constantly. What a huge relief.

It's the time of day where I have to go get dressed and get Francesca up out of bed. She's sick so it's been tough lately. Tougher than usual, especially now the excitement of being in school has worn off.

Okay off I go.

2009-09-24T07:56:00.001-07:00

Sign up for writing class, drop the writing class after one meeting. Is it just fear, or was it really not the right place for me? Maybe I'll never know and it's okay anyway. I am not interested in workshop style writing classes where everyone shares and criticizes. I've heard too many horror stories of people giving up writing when they were just starting out. So, I wasn't willing to put myself in that position- yet. When I get stronger or more confident or more experienced or or or .....

I started crying at Francesca's school. It was soo embarrassing. I tthough the nurse was angry at me for bringing Francesca's clothes to her office instead of the front office. She sounded really angry to me. Later when she called to apologise I realized she just sounds that way. Francesca said "yeah I'm used to her voice now". But I still feel stupid, and humiliated for crying. I always do. And I don't even cry much any more.

"The Buddha said that we are never separated from enlightenmant. Even at times we feel most stuck, we are never alienated from the awakened state. This is a revolutionary assertion. Even ordinary people like us with hang-ups and confusion have this mind of enlightenment called bodhichitta. An analogy for bodhichitta is the rawness of a broken heart. This is our link with all those who have ever loved. This genuine heart of sadness can teach us great commpassion. It can humble us when we're arrogant and soften us when we are unkind. It awakens us when we prefer to sleep and pierces through our indifference. This continual ache of the heart broken open is a blessing that when accepted fully can be shared with all."

Pema Chodron, Comfortable with Uncertainty

I am rambling today I don't know why. It's my steady state delusional mind I suppose. I need some body sensory awareness to bring me back to earth.

2009-08-30T22:07:00.000-07:00

I finally got to go to the National Gallery of Art and it is just so beautiful.

How to be invisible

2009-08-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

Being the angry person that I am, I wrote a whole screed with this title, and I don't know how to turn it into something humorous, because I guess it's just not that funny to be invisible for so many years, for such a huge fraction of my life. I have been invisible, and disappearing even more lately. I'm one of those nice people whose name noone can ever remember, if they remember meeting me at all. And I know that, and expect it now, but it's still a disappointment to make such a small dent in anyone's life that they don't even remember meeting me. I remember meeting them. I observe and scope out people around me, remember traits, faces, hidden emotions.

When you're a kid of an alcoholic you learn to keep track in minute detail of the hidden emotional nuances surrounding you, so you can perceive what's coming and keep safe. My way to keep safe was to disappear. It was easy, especially with an attention grabbing brother around. Play in my room quietly. Go to a friend's house. Read a book. Leave home. I didn't create a disturbance, and the flip side is noone really paid any attention to me. My mom's definition of a good kid (apparently) is one you don't have to pay any attention to. Therefore, I was a great kid. But it hurt me to not have attention. It still does. My brother was gifted. Well, I was gifted too, just not as gifted as he was. He had a bad temper. He was an angry guy. He needed a lot of attention. Teachers had to be met with. Problems had to be dealt with.So the family was very busy with him, and I dreamily drifted in an invisible fog. Once in a while some jokes would be made about my spacy nature. Janet the Planet, always out in space. Ha ha. I WAS spacy and introverted, but for a good reason- it kept everyonne out. And it still does, except it doesn't. To hell with it I decided today. I'm criticized whatever I do, so why be afraid? It doesn't matter what I do, I attract ire no matter what.

Yes this is a screed too. There is no audience for screeds. No one likes a whiner. People want hope and inspiration, and why shouldn't they when each and every life encompasses it's own suffering.

2009-07-19T14:56:00.000-07:00

I must have been hormonal on that last one. Nothing has so much meaning now, not chance encounters with books and poems, no skateboarders, etc. funny!
I want to move to Corvallis oregon. It has 43 inches of rain, the lowest per capita participation in religion, and hight temps in July average 80. Sounds perfect to me, plus it's on the west coast, has a university, but isn't too close to the family. Perfect.

wild nights at the library

2009-07-15T06:48:00.000-07:00

I returned the overdue book and went to find the George Washington biography I had come for. It was on the shelf in the W's,, predictably. I turned around, and suddenly, there was Twyla Tharp - a dancer heroine - her autobiography Push Comes to Shove staring out at me, so I picked it up. I wandered, and out jumped "Ten Poems to Change Your Life" edited by Roger Housden, and I turned to this Mary Oliver poem:

The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice-
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do-
determined to save
the only life that you could save.

ZING. I put the book on my little pile. A keeper, for sure, but how are these finding me?

Quickly, because the library would close in twenty minutes, onto the pile went CDs by Sheryl Crow and Marshall Crenshaw, and around the other side, a DVD of the Frontier House and the Great Wall of China. Out of the whole pile that one was for Francesca. The others were for me. How rare.

Back in the car, Tim called on the cell phone to ask if I had tried to call him. No. He ranted on and on about modern phones for a while. I listened, saying nothing and waiting.

I fell in LOVE driving aimlessly toward home. HE was skateboarding down a long smooth road while I listened to Marshall Crenshaw singing Wild One, loud, with the sunroof open. He was having fun, long dark hair flowing back, smoothly gliding in the moonlit darkness down down down a long curving entrance to an underground brightly lit parking lot at the mall. I turned left instead of right, and cruised and watched as he disappeared into the lot. I turned the car around around, and coming back, caught sight of him on the road again. He smiled, wildly, at me as I drove by. Fun! Right on his face. Fun! Fun is the missing ingredient.

I'm a middle aged married mom, and I drove home, sober but awake, to my real life. Who knew a trip to the LIBRARY on a Tuesday night could be so passionate?

I had a dream the other night that told me "keep the pathways clear". Sweep, sweep, sweep.

moving into a future of blessed moments

2009-07-14T11:51:00.000-07:00

This picture is from the past, the almost ancient past, well 27 years ago to be exact. And it so encapsulates what I loved doing at the time, - dance obviously - with good friends, and lots of craziness and heartbreak and sadness and ups and downs of all kinds. Poverty and drinking and drugs. And yet it feels so romantic, a past with a purpose. When I looked for other pictures I might post on Facebook I came across one of my ex-boyfriend smiling at me as I took his picture, and my heart melted. I really loved that guy, but but but..........and there's where the romantic part ends and the drug abuse and neglect begins. The reality beyond the romance was really hard. And yet the "inner him" was so fragile, and I believe he is a person who saw me and understood. So when I danced in this Boarding House show, he was there, and maybe we were even living together at the time. I don't know, we kept breaking up and moving back in together. I felt he knew my soul.

Today I am comfortable and fat and middle-aged and I no longer dance and I feel pretty stiff in body and mind. I have a non-drug-abusing husband who makes good money and tells me he loves me all the time. I mean okay we had wild romance too, although I always felt it was somewhat one-sided, with me being crazy in love, and him going along with it all, and anyway he is a really really nice person, except when he's angry. I have a seven-year-old daughter who has never known real hardship. I live in a nice place, have a big (joint) bank account, and when people ask how things are going I talk about how HIS job is because I don't have a job anymore, what SHE is up to with her homeschooling and dance classes because I don't have dance or any other kind of classes any more. I have nothing to say about my self, because I don't do anything any more. I really miss that craziness! In 1982 I still had the passion that gave me faith that things would work out, and of course most of it did not. I would still sign up for too many classes at college and try to do it all, and fail. I can't say I was happy, but I sure wasn't bored. Viva!

2009-06-24T06:47:00.000-07:00

I've heard for a long time about east coast supermarkets importing California produce across the country. So why was I shocked when I ventured into the new Whole Foods Megalopolis in Annapolis and discovered all the produce was from California? I must have assumed that Whole Foods, being a healthy alternative, would attempt to procure more local produce. I was able to find some spring greens from Maine, but everything else was from California or farther: Ecuador, Chile.

I'm used to seeing California produce in stores, having grown up in California, and lived the last twenty years in Nevada where it's difficult to grow vegetables in the climate extremes. In Nevada you could even justify California vegies as "local", with some being trucked a few hours over the "hill" (the Sierra Nevada mountain range)from the Central Valley. Here on the east coast, it gets ample rain, so irrigation should be minimal, and there seems to be plenty of summer warmth and humidity for growing stuff. I see plenty of open space and forested land surrounding the Metro DC area, so it's been a mystery to me why they are shipping produce 3,000 miles, when homegrown produce should be easily growable here. I've seen explanations of subsidized water and transportation, so that would make sense as being difficult to compete with, and naturally California has the extreme advantage of a mostly frost-free climate, giving it the abillity to grow and ship during the long icy winters the rest of the country experiences. California's agriculture has to import water from the mountains to irrigate, as rain is not plentiful in the Central Valley, so water politics as well as increasing oil prices may eventually make California's produce uncompetitive.

I discovered the place to get local produce is at the farmer's markets. Big surprise huh?

2009-06-23T06:55:00.000-07:00

And today, another day, better. Another of my dad's cats died yesterday and maybe I was just psychically picking up the grief. I tend to forget I'm psychic, and a few weeks back when his other cat died, I was in the same pissy depressed mood all day long.
A touch of running, some exercise, always brings me back to earth. It's why I danced, it's why i want to dance again. Today my hair is wavy instead of a giant frizzy puff. glamorous instead of sloppy.

I dropped off Francesca at her irish dance/swim camp. she truly thrives on activity, friendship, sunshine and sociality. She's been making friends and seeing old friends at these camps, and I'm so happy that she's happy. It does give me pause to rethink the whole homeschooling thing. I'm not sure it's the best for either of us. The separation during the day allows for some freshness when we're back together so we're not nagging each other all day long, and we can do things we love without the other being an obstacle or burden. I think she may be right in that she is an extrovert. Not the best match for this old introverted mystic homebody.

As I pulled away from the curb this morning I realized I don't like to go places. I like to stay home. It reminded me of the book "Ordinary People as Monks and Mystics" by Marsha Sinetar. I rarely find being home alone boring.

New Directions

2009-06-22T07:39:00.000-07:00

As I meditated this morning a new set of categories came up for my life and my blog. I made myself stop grasping at those categories and felt myself fly into a groundless state where those thoughts floated away and nothing came to replace them, and it was a little scary, disconcerting. it's like when you move to a new place and you don't have any new friends yet. You don't have your new habits, and you feel lost, completely lost, as if you have nothing and no life. Is life all subjects and categories and places to go things to do people to see? I'm tired.

I have a hard time with anger from other people and I have a hard time living with other people's clutter. So my marriage last night was unsatisfactory. I seem to be expected to "do the cleaning" although this was never explicitly decided. Yet with so much stuff piled around, it's hard to clean anything. Last Friday Tim told me "I don't want to get rid of my stuff". and he's said it before.

I regret getting rid of some of my stuff. I really regret I got rid of the girl scout sash with the badges on it, because I'd like to take it out and look at it now that Francesca is a girl scout. But the thing annoyed me for years, kicking around my underwear drawer, or a box, I never knew where to keep the thing. I wish I'd taken a picture of it.

The anger gets me the most. I find it paralysing. It makes me sad, even now, the next morning, and it was only a simple misunderstanding about some books in the stair landing. Such a trivial thing to set off an outburst. I tried to just stay away this time, not go back in and keep arguing it, keep trying to get my side stated. It's no use to do that, there is always some logical way he "wins" and I end up in tears or feeling hopeless. So I pulled back from that temptation, but it was so distracting to have to listen to him yell all alone and slam the door and go through his stuff looking for his cd of himself singing. I tried to read Francesca a story, but I couldn't focus on the words or the meaning, just rote reading. I don't know if she heard it, if it made sense.

I don't want to live in a world where I get yelled at and criticized in my own home. Perhaps it's unintentional but he has me so I can't get away, not without a huge struggle. No job, living in another state, my house rented out, it all makes for being kind of stuck. Of course there's always a way out, and that is a mantra I sometimes survive by in my life. But is there a way to live where you're not just surviving day to day, where it's okay to have real joy, or a misunderstanding you can laugh at? I really want my life to get away from so much anger.

I have to wonder how he thinks of our marriage, but if I bring up a problem, it somehow becomes an instant personal attack on him and then the passive aggressive put downs begin. You know I don't know if I can take it any longer, even for Francesca to live with both her parents. It sucks and now I'm upsetting myself.

I don't clean as much as I should, I certainly don't cook now that we're all on completely different diets from each other, I'm not a very good homeschool teacher, but I think I could get better if I did it longer, and I don't even have a job. So I don't feel very useful right now, and that messes with my mind and my mood and my motivation. I always wanted to start my own business and work from home, but I've never seemed to be able to move forward on that in any way. Not even deciding what I would want to do. So where does this all leave me? Like, just kill my self and get it over with? There is no outside approval going to lift me up, perhaps gratitude itself for life, or just a simple walk in the sun, or hanging up some laundry - maybe the little things are enough to get me through, even if not a wild dream of a life. Because whatever dream I once had is just gone. And maybe that's just groundlessness kicking in, as Pema Chodron talks about. No hope, get over it, plunge down, into freedom. I don't know.

2009-06-09T08:05:00.000-07:00

We finally took a trip to an art museum. The Smithsonian Museum of American Art, which has the National Portrait Gallery right upstairs. I love the location due to its very close proximity to a Metro Station. Unlike the National Zoo which feels like quite a hike to the station at the end of a long zoo day. Favorite Painting was the Georgia O'Keefe of New York. Of course if you want to see her paintings you have to go to the museum in Santa Fe devoted to her (I have)but it was nice to see her represented. I also loved an Edward Hopper painting of a woman leaning out of a window. Another of my favorite painters, and I didn't realize he was American for some reason.

Home again

2009-03-29T18:30:00.000-07:00

Back home - hopefully our Nevada house will be settled with new renters who don't slam doors so hard they break them, don't gouge the ccarved wood front door, don't pull apart the fireplace insert, don't dump garbage in the front yard after they move out, and don't forget to pay the rent. I hired a new property manager, hopefully one who will let me know about expensive repairs and problems, and also let me know if they change the front door locks.

I'm tired, but happy to be home, my new home where my love is, my cats, my things, (of which there are way too many, but I do like them), my day to day life. Living in a vacant house was fun for a while. It's twice as big so my gymnast six-year-old could do lots of cartwheels, and it was nice not to be oppressed with stuff in my way everywhere. Not much to clean, no vast piles of stuff to organize, sort, wash, put away, file, and get rid of. After a while it was too empty. I like my house to be cozy and lived in. Vacant was a little too sterile. We had two bowls, two cups, one pan, two towels, two kitchen stools, a chair. It was fun to camp out. But nice to get home again. Here. Home is where I am.

2009-03-09T05:33:00.000-07:00

We've been in the greater Washington DC area now for a few months, and I've ceased being terrified every time I drive. I had one last temper tantrum (I hope) a couple weeks ago-someone honked at me when I slowed down- and now I'm just not daunted by it any more, not emotionally involved. People here like to honk, so what.

Now that I've gotten used to here, we're heading west this week for a visit home, and staying (I think) at our vacant house. A renter moved in one month, moved back out one month later in an unfolding succession of hair pulling events. It is difficult to manage property from two-thousand-five-hundred miles away, but when the property manager isn't telling you anything, it's maddening. So off we go. Our old house is twice as big and much warmer than the one here, and we have lots of kid friends, so my daughter is looking forward to the visit. In these hard times, it feels unfair to have two homes when there are those who struggle to maintain a roof over their heads. I don't know what to do about that yet. Our homein the west, almost paid for, is my security blanket, the sanctuary in a rough storm. The life here has no promise, the temporary job, renting a home, never knowing for how long.

How do I balance what we left behind with making a life here? It's difficult to know how involved to get with this place, how attached. I try to live day to day, enjoying what we have right now, and knowing it's all impermanent. It always is, no matter the illusion of security and settledness. Some days I've longed to go "home", but now the line between "home" and "here" is blurring, and I have days I don't think of Nevada at all. Mostly I miss my neighbors and the quiet. When we leave here, if we do, I'll miss the activity and bustle, the endless stream of "things to do". It's addictive, always having an external thing to fill a craving. In the quiet of the rural west, boredom sets in more easily, that boredom that is aversion to the present reality. Nothing to do. Nothing to be. Moments alive with possible outcomes.

Arrived.............

2009-01-09T11:15:00.000-08:00

We (me, daughter, mom, brother) arrived ournew home on the east coaast on December 23, 2008 after seven long days of driving. All in all not a bad trip, but I hope I don't have to repeat it any time soon. At least I'll have the benefit of experience next time(?)

Number of inches of snow in the driveway on the day we were scheduled to leave: four
Number of days trip was delayed: one.
Number of snowstorms we actually drove through: one (Las Vegas, of all places).
Number of major detours to avoid twelve inches of snow on I-40: one (to Phoenix instead of Flagstaff, Arizona).
Number of times I locked my keys in the car: one (Las Vegas, on three hours sleep after driving through a snowstorm).
Number of cats that flew out of Las Vegas after driving through a snowstorm: three. and they were. very. quiet.
Number of times someone threatened to fly home: one (Phoenix, on three hours of sleep).
Number of times the truck ran out of gas: one (Tennessee)
Number of rest stops with an indoor sitting room with rocking chairs and a fireplace: one (Tennessee, wow!)
Number of times my six-year-old daughter asked when we would get there: three (once in Nevada an hour after we left, and twice in Virginia the last day).
Number of times the credit card was declined while trying to fill up the thirty gallon tank on the truck AND the 15 gallon tank on my car: once (somewhere in Arkansas).
Number of times the contents of the truck were inspected: once (before crossing Hoover Dam).
Number of times we crossed the Mississippi River: three (West Memphis to Memphis and back, and again the next morning).
Number of times stuck in traffic: twice (outside Albuquerque for an accident, and one really LONG one coming into DC at commute hour).
Number of Starbucks we stopped at: lost count.

I became an expert GPS operator, learned how to say "Roger" on the two-way radio and ate lots of hamburgers, though I am "officially" a vegetarian. All in all an uneventful trip.

Currently Procrastinating

2008-11-25T17:14:00.000-08:00

If boredom is aversion to your life as it stands right now, I can tell you I am super averse to packing. The material possessions are oppressive. Without them I could leave right now. We're blessed with house, giant landscaped yard, furniture, cars, musical instruments, exercise equipment, clothing, books, toys, and lots of food. I can't complain about not having enough, but I could use a little peace and quiet and simplicity.
We get in a big truck December 8th, and caravan across the country with my mom and brother and my car.

Top Ten Reasons Why Being Married Sucks When Your Spouse is on the Opposite Side of The Country

2008-10-28T17:59:00.000-07:00

10.You have no idea what he is doing.
9. You have no idea who he is talking to but the phone is always busy.
8. You have no idea what internet sites he is visiting.
7. You have no idea when he'll call, webcam, instant message, or email.
6. You do 100% of the childcare, cooking, cleaning, and house repair.
5. It's boring, but you can't date anybody.
4. He leaves for work at 4:00 in the morning your time, and goes to bed at 7:00 in the evening your time.
3. Nobody cares.
2. you see the same old scenery.
1. No sex.

he made it.....................

2008-10-26T22:51:00.000-07:00

Well he made it all the way to DC. Rolled in and unpacked the station wagon this afternoon, and starts the job tomorrow.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, I packed and moved things around a bit today. I love having the whole master bedroom closet to my self (I haven't had any of it for years), and I really love that you can walk around the house without turning sideways to get around all the crap that was in here, but I'm getting lonely. Everything has changed, and none of the old habits apply any more. Which is the point, but still disorienting and exhausting.

on our way

2008-10-22T07:24:00.000-07:00

the backgound check came through last week so we're in overdrive mode around here.
Hubby left on Saturday and made it to almost Oklahoma last night.

taking breathing for granted

2008-10-15T14:31:00.000-07:00

I had the most severe attack of exercise-induced asthma ever today, running down the road all alone. I thought I might pass out right there on the side of the road, with no ID and no phone. I could not get a full breath. I considered stopping a car and having them call an ambulance, but I seemed to still be standing okay, so I walked home as fast as I could. Walking fast didn't help, but I knew at home I had an old inhaler of my daughter's, from when she had a bad cough. Thank goodness I didn't throw it out. I had no idea if it was the right kind, but it helped me start breathing again within a couple minutes. As soon as I could talk, I called my doctor for an appointment.

I guess road running can wait - I've been trying to get back in shape on the treadmill, which has been bad enough for my asthma, but controllable. It was such a beautiful day, and I've been wanting to get on the open road, but no more. Not until I have a prescription inhaler of my own.

It's amazing that you could take the breath for granted your entire life, and in an instant it's gone. I'm so thankful for each breath now.

Waiting.....

2008-10-13T08:36:00.000-07:00

View to the west.....

The elusive federal background check has still not been completed, so we are in limbo, boxes packed, furniture in storage, waiting for the signal to "go". This new job is part of a federal contract with the US Treasury Department, and intimately involved with the "transfer of money" part of the computer system, so who knows, maybe they're being extra careful. For whatever reason, we are stuck in Nevada. Which is not a bad place to be stuck. It's just we didn't buy firewood this summer since we thought we wouldn't be here, and now it's freezing and snowing. And other plans I put on hold - it's turning out I would have had time to do some of the things I wanted to do after all. So it's difficult. I have to practice letting go over and over. If it happens it happens. I have no control over it. It's been really good to get the house cleared out, so if it all falls through tomorrow, we still have that. The summer we spent moving, and NOT.

Americanism, continued

2008-09-17T14:06:00.000-07:00

I have to take responsibility for perpetuating the cycle of greed in my daughter. After all, didn't I let the catalog into the house in the first place, and practically hand her the pen and say go for it? I bought her a lot of the toys that are overrunning the house. Last weekend I bought a five hundred dollar vacuum cleanner, talk about painful. I justified it for my health because it's an allergy and asthma vacuum cleaner, but isn't better health just another way of wanting to control external events so that I don't ever have pain? It's a judgement to say my need for an expensive vacuum cleaner is greater than her need for an expensive toy. I have the moula so I get to make that judgement, but how does that demonstrate anything other than that I'm controlling what she gets and doesn't get. The whole incident has me questioning more of my core beliefs, so I judge that to be a good thing.

(She Was An) American Girl

2008-09-16T16:23:00.000-07:00

Could we possibly survive without another unsolicited shiny-paper doll catalog arriving in the mail to tempt my six year old daughter? AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!! She devours catalogs, circling everything that will bring her lasting happiness. Sometimes we buy a thing or two from a catalog. I think she circled an eighth of the items in this catalog, and it still totalled over three thousand dollars. When I informed her of that appalling amount, she bargained, listing ten items she could make do with, and when I didn't immediately whip out a credit card, just one item made the list, the Ruthie doll, for a cool $90 if you only get the paperback book that comes with it, and not the holiday dress, holiday baking set, accessories, and table and chairs. Real tears followed, then anger, hitting, screaming, and finally RPT (Really Pathetic Tears) but people I did not budge. I will not spend $100 on a DOLL, not when our economy is sinking under the taxpayer-financed bailout-du-jour, not when our insatiable desire for manufactured STUFF is overtaking our planetary resources and creating climate instability, not when greed becomes the defining factor of American childhood,(and we don't even have television in our household), and not when millions of citizens of OUR PLANET live on less than a dollar a day. I just can't do it. I know our president believes I should just go out and shop, but I will not do it.

If this was the only doll in the house, I might consider it, but are you kidding? We're overrun with dolls and their accessories, art supplies, trains, stickers, stuffed animals, games, books, castles, dressup clothes, littlest pet shop stuff, polly pockets, barbies, and the latest craze,horses.

I can't explain it all to a six year old, so we went for a bike ride. It hasn't been mentioned since, but I know it will come up again. Probably she'll hit up Grandma, who believes she's somehow making up for my poverty stricken childhood by showering my child with more material objects than she can possibly play with or put away. Her cousin has a roomful of presents she's never even unwrapped, so abundant is material affluence in this culture. How we will choose what to move across the country I do not know, but I'm not looking forward to THAT pain of letting go. I can attest to the fact that six-year-olds do not understand the happiness of letting go and living a simple life. Except that they do, just not when our advertising industry places beautiful pictures of beautiful (and they are beautiful) perfect dolls, with happy smiling kids playing with them, and if you get your mom to shell out the money you will attain that happiness too. A six-year-old is not ready to cynically reject slick advertising promises, at least not my six-year-old, not all the time. She wants it all and thinks I'm the nutty one. Well I can work with that. Long live the nutty ones.

Happy Birthday to my Dad

2008-09-14T19:25:00.000-07:00

My dad turned 70 on the seventh annniversary of the Twin Towers coming down, September 11. I would have posted that day but I was too busy hanging around with him. We had a spaghetti and french bread dinner, I gave him a little digital camera and some money, and we just hung around his little house. My daughter got to collect eleven eggs from the chicken coop, and see a cow looking in his front window (it had gotten in through a hole in the fence), so Granpa is a-okay with her.

He informed me that August 23rd had been his other birthday, his 23rd year of being sober. My childhood was difficult because of his alcoholism, and he really doesn't remember any of it. Over the years I've pointed out to my dad that I wasn't the mellow happy person he thinks I am. He can scarcely believe it, I was such an introverted kid. We had poverty, instability, neglect, and homelessness, but never serious hunger or intentional abuse. I've forgiven all of it, I know they were doing the best they knew how.

My dad is a talented musician, artist, builder, archaeologist, geologist, and still makes a living painting houses. So many talents and never "got anywhere". But he's okay, laughs, has lots of smile lines, doesn't worry (too much).

allergies, unfortunately continued

2008-09-08T10:42:00.000-07:00

It's not working, not exactly. I think the Breathe Easy tea is helping, but I didn't make it to Tahoe yesterday. At 2 a.m. I was woken up by a giant sneezing attack, which is unusual - my immune system usually sleeps at night and it's the one time I get some relief. I have to give my new regime a little time, but I am super impatient to be done with all this sneezing and tearing. People keep asking if I'm okay because I look like I've been bawling my eyes out for two weeks.

I go out to the coast this Wednesday for my dad's 70th birthday. He was born on September 11th. His house, despite his working-class roots and lifelong poverty, is within sight of the Pacific Ocean on the beautiful Sonoma Coast, and THAT will be some sweet relief. We're going to pitch a tent in his 16,000 acre backyard. (He rents a two-room house on hilly pastureland, so I'll have to put it inside the fence to keep the cows from tromping on us in the night.)

Humidity, here I come, and NO SAGEBRUSH. If I can only get the energy to reach escape velocity from the gravitational force field of Nevada.

2008-09-06T22:50:00.000-07:00

This is my new allergy relief regime: vegetables, no dairy, less sugar, aerobic exercise, vitamin c, Breathe Easy tea, ibuprofen, and trips to Lake Tahoe. Tahoe is about one thousand feet higher in elevation, and I can zip up there in twenty minutes. They do not seem to have rabbit brush and sage blooming in the profuse amounts we have down here in the valley, and it's colder so the blooms die off sooner. That's my theory anyway.
Last year when I was mostly vegan and running, I didn't have allergies. So, now that I've felt like I have the flu for about two weeks now, I am trying my new regime. I started today, with a trip to Tahoe for two hours, Breathe Easy tea, 2,500 mg of vitamin c, a big salad for dinner, and ibuprogfen for the nasty sinus headache I had up at the Lake. I feel much better tonight so I cross my fingers for tomorrow. Please please please oh please............

cats, continued

2008-09-05T14:54:00.000-07:00

So it turns out you can SHIP cats. Yes, for five hundred or so dollars I can put my three unsedated cats in their separate carriers on a plane, (assuming the temperature is not predicted to go above 85 degrees on any stops, or in the beginning or ending airports) and nine hours later they can be picked up by my husband to go to the as-yet-undetermined new house.

This of course is still way off in the future. Things are moving v-e-r-r-r-y slowly, I guess because it is a federal job? So we will probably not be shipping cats until November. Believe me, this is much cheaper than renting a RV and driving across the country for six days with three meowing cats clawing at their carrier doors trying to escape, and a six year old who I assume will be getting pretty bored. Three cat carriers simply will not physically fit into my two-door car with a child booster seat in the back, and that car is small and tight. If I want to go completely insane I will consider that as a final option. Probably more likely I will sell the car, ship the cats and limited furniture, and fly with the six year old. Sanity has got to be worth something here, especially MOM's sanity, whom everyone is depending on to keep it together.

Moving

2008-07-24T06:57:00.001-07:00

We're moving to Washington DC for my husband's job, pending the security clearance. I haven't moved in seventeen years, so this is big and disruptive. Boxes are everywhere, and it's hard to move through the house. Empty shelves too. I will like it much better when the boxes are out, the birthday party (Saturday) is done, and I'm living with a few dishes and books and my clothes in the house that has been collecting "stuff' over the years.
I've never lived anywhere east of Nevada so I'm happy I'll get to see parts of the country I could never see in a vacation. However, all of our families are in California so that's the tough part. Plus my now six-year-old daughter (as of yesterday!) has real friends, and they get together and play and talk.
What will I do with the CATS? We have three cats. The two big brothers are outdoors in summer, inside in winter, and they were born here on our little half acre. Their mom stays ouside, and we feed her out there. She acts like she's terrified of us and won't come near until you shut the door. How will she survive without the daily feedings we provide? The other kitten will go with us, and she's happy indoors or out. THIS is what's tearing me up the most about moving. CATS.

Running

2008-05-04T17:30:00.000-07:00

So I've been running lately. Longer and faster every day, although you won't see me in any upcoming marathons or anything like that. I started because I want to lose weight, but I've noticed whenever I start an exercise routine I gain weight. So I'm not weighing myself any more. I feel good when I get off the treadmill and I feel happier with my life and that's enough for me right now.
Now if only I could figure out a way to knit and run at the same time my life would simply be perfect.

Happy Birthday to Me

2008-04-29T10:53:00.001-07:00

I just want to jump back and kiss myself.

Happy Birthday to Me

2008-04-29T10:53:00.000-07:00

I just want to jump back and kiss myself. mooaa! moooaa! mooooaaa!

2008-04-18T09:02:00.000-07:00

I've been in low level pain for about three months from a bad crown on one of my teeth. Well the dentist finally fixed it yesterday, and third time was a charm, I am now pain free. What a relief. I feel like a new woman. I even cleaned the carpet yesterday afternoon. Well, part of it.

I haven't decided about the future of my blog. Mostly it seems too pointless. I changed all the posts to drafts while I mull.

Mulling along...................

Mr. Ugly

2008-04-11T09:21:00.001-07:00

We have a new cat coming around that is definitely the ugliest cat I've ever seen. Just looking at him this morning I got a stomach ache. I think one of his ears is missing, and half his head is missing its fur and has some kind of exposed sore red stuff. Ugh. He is also huge, and all the other cats instantly vanished when he showed up a couple weeks ago.
My husband was opposed to me letting this cat eat, and urged me to chase it away and bring the food bowl in. He looks like the kind of cat that is going to give you big vet bills when he tries to kill your cat. But I don't think he's agressive. I don't know how he ended up here looking so horrible, but this morning when our kitten was at the outside food bowl, she growled at him while she ate. Did he come and kick her ass and eat the food? No, he sat six feet away and waited. A few days ago I saw him sniffing noses with another black cat while sitting in the sun. When I was out calling the kitten the other night, he meowed at me. I've found over the years that if you give food and kindness to the meanest ugliest cats they change. If they were harassing our cats before, they stop harassing our cats after they get some food in their stomach. Most of them don't live long; it's a tough life being an outdoor cat here. They disappear, get hit, get eaten by coyotes. I wish I could adopt them all, but there are too many, and mostly they don't want to be adopted. They accept kindness, some food, a spot in the yard, and then they hang out together in our peaceful sunny sanctuary, not fighting (mostly) for a change.

The State of Naah

2008-04-07T08:17:00.000-07:00

I've been pondering this thing I've named The State of Naah. The State of Naah goes like this: I could meditate right now; I have the time and I'm all alone and I know I'll benefit in the long run if I do a regular meditation practice. Naah. I need to get some exercise. Naah. I could go for a walk? Naah.

The things I *know* make me happy and healthy are the things that get the "naah" treatment. What force in me makes me NOT do the things that I know will make me happy? What makes me DO the things I know will make me unwell, like drink too much caffeine and not enough water until I'm dehydrated and get a cold? It's a predictable outcome, and I do it anyway. Sometimes getting a cold is the only way I get an "excuse" to get any rest.

I think sometimes *feeling good* is too difficult, too demanding. When I do the things that make me happy and healthy, I have more energy, and I get more done. Feeling good means I run more of the energy of the universe through my body and soul, and sometimes I'm too tired or too vulnerable to run the energy of the universe through my body and soul. In the long run, overcoming this resistance will be better for me, but for now maybe it's just a way of pacing myself.

And now for some of the rambling mind....

2008-04-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

I can't believe it's already midnight, and, on a day I dragged my tired self out of bed at 6:30 to get the kid onto the school bus, and not in my robe and pajamas mind you, and my mind is racing with wonder at this world, and of course I cannot even think of sleeping. Matthew Flickstein, a dharma teacher, said, (in a group setting), you've never had an original thought in your life, and I'm sure it's true, yet it feels as if the world is snapping and popping. Or maybe it's just a caffeinated brain talking. Our experiences aren't really unique, they're just human, but sometimes it seems like you break through and become more human and alive and awake and connected. I think I crave and fear connection in equal parts.

Some days I almost weep at the wonder of it all, the joys and sorrows of life. My irritating husband! This morning he left for work early as usual, and as I wandered back to the room that has become "my room" with my cup of tea, I saw that out the window was a stunning pink and purple sunrise, with silvery streaky clouds, coming up over the black and snowy mountains to the east. I thought about my husband calling me to tell me about it. A minute later the phone rang and he told me "there is this amazing sunrise - you should go look at it". I just said thank you. After I hung up the phone I thought about how I am married to someone who thinks it's worth it to call me at 6:30 a.m. to see the sunrise, and I was grateful as heck. And yet every other minute I'm irritated by how he can't hear me, or doesn't want to, and is going conveniently deaf. Or how this or that priority takes precedence over listening to anything I have to say.

I talked to an aquaintance at the swimming pool where my daughter had her last swimming lesson today -her son was in the same class- and she home schools her three children. I started asking about homeschooling in Nevada, and the talk turned to "socialization" and suddenly we were in a deep discussion about public school socialization and whether it is true socialization or just group torture. Then the conversation turned to where we grew up, and we discovered we both went to high school in Marin County and we talked about how that was, the materialism, the extreme wealth, how painful to be excluded, and neither of us would ever, ever, ever go to a reunion. It was so sudden, that this person who I had felt was ignoring me on purpose, trying to pretend she had never met me every time I saw her, was suddenly connected in background, mutual friends, interests. Is that what it's like to have friends? I've hardly ever had friends, it always seems like people just want too much from me.

Tonight I was thinking about DeAnn and how she died, and she was my friend, and one who gave instead of always taking. The first time I saw DeAnn she was performing a sword dance in Fairfax at the Sleeping Lady Cafe, and just a year later at age nineteen I was dancing with her at the Sleeping Lady cafe, part of a troupe of ten women dancers and six male musicians. What a party! She taught me to dance, more than anyone. She called and said she loved my letters because they made her laugh out loud. When I was at my semester in London, trying to run far far away from my own mind, (it didn't work) she sent me bright letters in pink envelopes with flowery stickers, and then inside she just said she was doing her laundry. Why did SHE have to die, her heart broken into too many pieces. The last time I saw her was when she forgot we had planned to go to dinner, and her house was a mess (it had never been a mess), and she was in a thin nightgown she could barely keep on her shoulders, and her little untrained dog kept jumping up on me, and she was so oblivious to my discomfort (I am not a dog person) and just kept slurring over and over how the dog really liked me. I ordered pizza. She died a couple months later - she tripped drunk in the night, and her rib punctured her lung.

I ran into the mom of a girl who my daughter adores. I knew she was going through a divorce, and had tried to start a daycare when I was working full time. I asked her if she'd gone back to work, and suddenly it was as if she desperately needed to talk to someone about all her problems. I could barely hear the whispering above the noise of the kids we were picking up. At first I was flattered, but later I thought "well, same old same old - the good listener" -it's a role I take often, listening to others complaints. It's good to be a good listener, but there has to be balance or people just use you. I recoiled at helping her, although as I left I agonized about how to help her. Her own inlaws kicked her and her children out of her house - gave her thirty six hours to get out. I guess they own the house, and it's been vacant for months now while she stays with a friend. What kind of person does that to their grandchild? I said it sounded like a good family to get away from.

I'm reading a book called Starbucked while the tune "One More Cup of Coffee for the Road" runs over and over through my head, the Scarlet Rivera haunting violin just whining a high note through my mind. It's all about Starbucks and the rise of the coffee culture across mainstream America. When I read that the present owner, the one who had the "vision" to open two thousand Starbucks, had said he brought the latte to America in 1983, I just had to laugh because back in 1981 I used to make lattes and mochas and capuccinos at a restaurant in Point Reyes Station, the Station House Cafe. So he for sure did NOT bring the latte to America. I also had my own espresso pot, and brewed up a pot every morning. I boiled milk in a little enamel pan and put it in the blender to foam it up. Talk about mindfulness. I was really present to making those home brewed lattes.

We're going to Washington DC for a conference my husband is attending. I have never been east of Indiana, and that was when I was seven years old. The farthest east I've been as an adult is, I think, Albuquerque. Except for airports - Kennedy in New York for four hours on my way to London, and the Miami airport for five hours one time on my way to Belize. So I've been planning, reading, orienting myself all day.

My neck is killing me, I'm going to bed.

What a Wonderful World

2008-02-29T14:14:00.000-08:00

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They're really saying I love you.

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They'll learn much more than I'll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.
Louis Armstrong lyrics

Muir Beach

2008-02-24T16:03:00.000-08:00

I used to live in one of the most beautiful places in the world, Muir Beach, California. I lived right up the hill from the Little Beach, in a basement apartment with an ocean view, and I could hear the waves at night. Paradise? I was depressed the whole five years. Okay, that's an exaggeration, it's more accurate to say I was manic - depressive. I blamed my depression on the fog, and having no money. Out at the beach we could be enveloped in cold gray fog for weeks. I had no idea I was lucky to live there, and just let myself be blue over the things I lacked, instead of grateful for the amazing abundance that was handed to me, practically for free.

We have no idea how unique and wonderful it is to be human. Even now, I grouse about what I don't have, and I miss my nomadic lifestyle that required packing once a year and letting go. I've been in the same house, at the edge of the eastern Sierra, at the bottom of the big drop to the deseert, for eighteen years. How can anyone live in one place for eighteen years? It's alien to me, this business of always having the silverware in the same drawer. My back windows look straight up at snow-covered mountains that are ten thousand feet high. It's beautiful, but do I appreciate it? Sometimes. But mostly I miss my home, the Bay Area,and wish I could garden all year, and grow irises, and and and....... all those external things I believe, really believe, will mainline happiness directly into my heart.

Retreat

2008-02-23T20:06:00.001-08:00

It's been more than two months since my first four-night residential retreat, at Spirit Rock in Woodacre, with the teachers Gil Fronsdal, Howard Cohn and Mary Grace Orr. It was difficult - I got a horrible cold the first night, and spent the next four days focusing on not breathing. I had to accept this wasn't going to be the blissful retreat I expected. I tried not to resist too much. It was not a spa. It was not relaxing, at least not in the traditional sense.

It's the only time I've been out of contact with my five-year old daughter, and that's what broke my heart open. I thought I might cheat the system, make secret cell phone calls to her at bedtime. In Woodacre, California there is apparently no cell phone coverage. Technology kept me honest.

When I described the experience to my brother-in-law at Christmas, it sounded like his idea of hell. (I married into a talkative articulate family.)it's so hard to explain what would motivate me to "put myself through this". It's the going deeper that appeals to me. Realizing how much I project onto the world and call it my self.

2008-02-23T16:24:00.000-08:00

More changes: I'm working part-time at my former full-time job. The day I gave my notice my boss asked if I was interested in part-time, and of course I said yes. It finally came together and I started this week. I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. It's kind of scattered feeling, but I'm grateful for the opportunity.

Waiting for Spring

2008-02-05T06:51:00.000-08:00

Something in the water system froze last night, because this morning there was no hot water. It is currently 9 degrees outside, cold even for the high desert. The furnace room, where the water heater resides, is 19 degrees. We have an "on demand" hot water heater, which means no giant tank of hot water sitting there. It's supposed to be energy-saving. Our electric bill decreased from over $100 a month to under $70 a month, but so far it's hard to tell if we're really saving, because the propane furnace and water heater were installed around the same time. I do know that propane is f'ing expensive. Over $3.00 a gallon, but then so was the heating oil, which is just differently colored diesel. Where am I going with this? My writing time is ending shortly, when the Cinderella alarm clock starts beeping. To add to today's fun and excitement, there is a failed fuse in our furnace, which means we are currently heating the house with the wood burning stove, until the most-unusual-fuse-in-the-world arrives from the internet supplier. The furnace is supposed to keep the water heater from freezing. This level of detail is only interesting to those of us who are freezing our butts off wearing wool scarves in the house. So be it. Our coming energy deprived lifestyle.

Cinderella calls.

2008-02-02T17:51:00.001-08:00

Well, I quit the job. I and my husband decided working full time and being a mom weren't compatible. It wasn't working for our family. I have a lot of different feelings surrounding this. Here are two: Relief. Guilt.
Relief: I can step off the crazy-paced life of day care pickups, commuting, rushing my daughter through kindergarten homework, shopping-cart loads of expensive, already-prepared foods, making lunches to-go every morning.
Guilt: What is wrong with me - lots of people make this work, why can't I?
So, I choose not to adapt, not to loosen my control of my daughter's life just yet, not to spend every waking hour devoted to making money. I choose to nurture the home fires, and I'm so very grateful to have a choice.

Happy New Year

2008-01-02T06:34:00.000-08:00

Still here, still at the job. We made it through Christmas. I went to a four night silent retreat just before Christmas. It was difficult and lonely but I did reach a level of quiet I've not experienced before. I don't think I have sat once since getting home from the retreat. But now all the house guests are gone, I got up early today, went to bed early last night for the first time since the holidays. All the chocolate and most of the cheese and cold cuts are gone. There is room in the refrigerator for vegetables again. I was inspired by the vegetarian cooking at Spirit Rock, and I am determined to learn to cook delicious vegan meals. I plan to floss my teeth every day. Soon I will get on my treadmill and exercise again, but it didn't happen today, I didn't get up quite early enough.

It has been difficult being a working mom. Sometimes I cry when I drive to work, because I miss the long unstructured days we had, and the closeness that fostered. It's busy busy busy, the American Way. It seems like a crazy way to live. I have more compassion for all the people who have no choice but to do this, work two jobs, never see their kids, put up with substandard daycare. It's not civilized. We are doing upgrades to the house and appliances, so it seems like the second paycheck is sucked up immediately upon arrival. I'm not feeling the gravy, the excess in the checking account. What I am doing is paying the propane bill, the furnace installation bill, the daycare bill, the gas bill, and still looking around and saying "what about the retirement account?". I hope the financial picture gets better, because right now it seems like I'll have to stay in the job whether I want to or not, whereas when I took the job I felt like I was making a reversible choice.

Last Day of Freedom

2007-11-13T09:08:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow I start my new full-time job as an engineer. It does feel in some ways like I am going off to jail. I'm not sure why I feel that way. When I first became pregnant I kind of thought my life was over then too, but it turned out not to be so, not at all. My life is better now. My daughter has helped me grow in ways I never even knew about. I never knew I could function on so little sleep, or how much patience I could muster, or how much more fun it is to do errands while looking around at everything, or how fun it is to do art every day, or how unlimited love is.

In my life I have always chafed at full-time work. Full-time work was always something to get out of as quickly as possible. I finally found a job I loved, and I worked hard at it, ten hours a day, and drove back and forth from Nevada to the Bay Area to do it, adored my boss, felt competent. Then, ironically, I got pregnant, so I left. I couldn't imagine a life with a baby AND a 200 mile commute. So I left the only full-time job I ever loved. I tearfully said goodbye to my office and shut the door, with my boss standing by, forbidding me to go back and finish one more thing.

So, fast forward five or so years, and now I am on the verge of another change. Change is scary. I like my life. It's been pretty good having her in kindergarten every day for a few hours. The afternoon program two days a week gave me two long days to get things done and have some time to myself. Now I really, really worry about time. For the first six months of this job I am not allowed any time off. That stinks, but it's state law.

I already miss those unstructured afternoons where we had fun doing art, or visiting the art museum in Reno, or going to Lake Tahoe or just going to the park. I won't miss the long afternoons where I was tired, and she was bored and whining. I won't miss the every-five-minute interruptions of "look at me!" I'll miss her craziness, her singing, her dancing, taking her to her activities like gymnastics and ballet. I just won't be doing as much of that. She's already too tired from so much daycare. I'll even miss waiting outside the fence to pick her up from kindergarten.

Unlike having a baby, this is one decision where I can change my mind. You sure don't have that option with a child. "Gosh I'm tired of staying up all night, I quit." NOT. But that still doesn't mean my life will ever be the same as it is right now. That is painful! I wish I could lock up the happy stuff and hold it close forever, but that will never happen. I should rename my blog "Letting Go" because isn't that what life and parenting are really about? It's all unfolding, one way or another, no matter how tightly I try to hold on and keep it the same.

p.s. that's my dad up above

Letting Go, continued

2007-11-06T14:41:00.000-08:00

Today was my last day of volunteering at kindergarten. I spent the day painting twenty-six kids' hands five different colors and helping them make hand prints. Later they will turn the prints into turkeys and the turkeys will be made into laminated placemats.

I never realized how many different kinds of hands there are. Little tiny ones, big fat ones, long fingers, short palms, wide palms. The kids all have different personalities too. It was fun, but by the end I was exhausted.

Every time I talk to the kindergarten teacher about my job I start to cry. She just does that to me. I told her, "you're the only one who makes me cry", and she completely understood. She said when she had some bad stuff happen, she finally had to tell people to stop being so nice, and that it would be more helpful if they would just say "come on, just suck it up." I had to laugh - she hit it right on the head. Most people just say how nice it is I am getting a job, with the hidden implication that it's about time I got back to work. Only this teacher said "do you have to?" And I don't have to, I want to. Just because I want to go back to work doesn't mean that change is easy and painless. I'm going to miss my daughter a lot. She is going to miss me too. She already does since she started kindergarten every day.

We used to talk about homeschooling and now I see the appeal, the temptation to have my daughter with me always. But she adores her teacher, and her learning has exploded since she started school. I have to hand it to this teacher. We taught her a lot at home, but this woman is a professional. I so appreciate her.

So I am letting go of kindergarten, being at school, picking up my daughter every day and hanging out at home to eat lunch, and do art, and watch videos, and argue about hairbrushing and baths and bedtime. If it doesn't work it doesn't work, but at least I have to try this. Goodbye free, unstructured time. Goodbye long lazy afternoons.

Pick It Up, with a smile

2007-10-20T18:26:00.000-07:00

I'm just so mad. Why, oh why did my house not clean itself up while I sat on the couch reading magazines today? okay, I didn't ONLY sit on the couch, I did get up and START cleaning out the garage. HOW can we have SO MUCH STUFF? I am overwhelmed. When I look around at it all I just get so pissed! Especially all the stuff on the floor. Didn't I recently pick EVERYTHING UP OFF THE FLOOR AND VACUUM? Am I deluded? Is my memory faulty? No, this is my life, my practice: pick it up, pick it up, pick it up again. Repeat.

Laughing Hysterically

2007-10-19T17:31:00.000-07:00

For some reason I just kept cracking up yesterday. It's good to crack up in private, you can really get into it, let it transform into sobbing if you want, but it can be embarrassing in public. First I was reading the brilliant book "Momma Zen" where the author talks about tending the garden of your marriage. When she mentioned how your child will do anything to keep you together, the recognition caused me to throw down the book and start the belly laugh that ended up sobbing. Are laughing and crying really so close? My daughter will physically get in between us if we are arguing, or even just intensely discussing, and make a corny joke. And she's only five. If we get really mad and go to separate rooms, she'll try to relay messages back and forth, thinking that's going to help us somehow, when it only makes me cry more.

Next my dad sent me this picture:

It's an unidentifiable something on a paint tarp (my dad is a housepainter) so I sent an email back asking "what the hell is that, a dead squirrel?" When I finally zoomed in and discovered it was a cat I went into hysterics again. I just could not believe it.

But the topper was at the grocery store checkout line all alone reading the magazine covers. My eyes lit on this:
Why You SHOULD Be a Jealous Bitch
Six Relationship Tips
Or something like that, and by the time the checker looked up at me I had tears running down my cheeks, but I was trying to laugh really quietly. I tried to explain, but when you are trying to pull back from hysterical laughing in public it only makes it worse. It took supreme effort to get myself back together, and TRY to think about other things. Anyway, you probably had to be there, but whew!

Solitude Junkie

2007-10-14T00:11:00.000-07:00

I've been completely stressed out since the potential job came up, the interviews, (two now), the back and forth, the kindergarten teacher saying "do you HAVE to work?", and I've decided I'm just going to DO IT. The other night I fell asleep on the couch at 4:30, (although not for very long), a sudden nauseating withdrawal-like exhaustion. What, do I have narcolepsy now? I think I was just exhausting myself with crazy worry about everything, my voice shaking every time I told a new person about the job, the logistics of daycare. After the nap, I relaxed and haven't gotten all worked up since. I just don't feel that worried any more, and I feel excited about having a job and having some money again. Life feels a little normal again, and I don't feel so nuts. A little solitude helps. That little nap somehow relaxed my mind.

Almost Done

2007-10-01T09:32:00.000-07:00

It has been a crazy week. We had no hot water all weekend. The tankless water heater was installed Friday, but there was no propane til Monday afternoon, and the plumbers had ripped out and hauled away the giant old electric water heater. It wasn't that horrible, just so non-routine.

My daughter and husband were both home sick at various times during the week. Wednesday I had a job interview. I am totally stressed by the thought of daycare, pickups, dropoffs, I don't know how all this stuff works. I have been "home" since my daughter was born five years ago. So, what a scary adventure.

I packed for our weekend trip to Sierra City, which included cooking lots of food - we are on this almost vegan diet. We've never been to the area - it's close, and very beautiful. But - six people, all related except me, in a tiny two bedroom cabin, and a kitchen with no counter space. It was stifling for me, but we had fun.

Between plumbers and sick people and the weekend cabin I've had virtually no time alone. Which is why it feels crazy to me. I am a solitude junkie - I like people, I just have to get away from them, a lot. When I'm "getting along" with people, I smile a lot, and my eyes and jaw get really really sore. I have to lay down and relax everything, try not to be so "nice" all the time.

I have an ongoing debate going in my head and on paper. How do you say "yes" to life in all its wonderful and crazy manifestions, but still have personal boundaries? Aren't personal boundaries just a way of saying "no" to life, particularly to parts of life that are unpleasant? I can find no Buddhist references to personal boundaries. I am still looking though, it is my current research project.

I am almost finished with my quilt, just the binding around the edge is left. It's machine-pieced, hand-quilted, and is my first project. I started it during a class last winter, amid questions about my choice of colors and maybe my sanity as a functioning adult? "Is that for your daughter?". No. I just happen to love bright circus-like color. Many of the fabrics are by Laurel Burch, and so it contains butterflies, elephants, and of course, Cats.

Living in Bear Country

2007-06-22T06:03:00.002-07:00

Here: one of the joys of a semi-rural existence. Bears. A couple weeks ago the cable guy came yelling for me at my open front door, and explained there was a bear cub up a tree in our front yard, and no mom to be seen. I walked to the tree (what was I thinking?) looked up, and saw the cutest little golden bear was hanging on up there. A few hours later he came down, and I was able to take this picture through our front window, just after he walked up to our (now closed) front door.

This morning at 5:15 it cruised through our backyard and out to the driveway following its mom. I was so fascinated I forgot to yell or bang pots or anything to try to scare them away. I do worry about my four year old - she loves to play alone in our large foresty backyard, and those bears wandered right by a large tree where her swing hangs. I worry I will do something stupid if I find the bear between me and my daughter. Now I know what it means to be a "mama bear".

Ding Dong

2007-05-06T06:31:00.000-07:00

I don't want to answer my door any more. For a while I was in a "throw open the doors, let life in" mood. I opened my curtains every day, I kept the house clean (enough), and I had this excitement about "community". A couple things happened in one week though, and now I just want everyone to leave me alone. I feel trapped, and paranoid that someone could come by and disturb my peace.
The first: A neighbor's kids come by: DING-DONG, there they are on my doorstep. I invite them in, looking out at the street for the parents, who are usually close by. Nope, nowhere to be seen. Okay, I think, they're in the driveway, which I can't see from the front door. The kids invite my daughter to their house. I say "sure!", thinking, of course, I'll check with the parents when we get outside. My daughter gets out of her Tinkerbell costume and into clothes and shoes unusually quickly, and we head out. Still no parents. The kids tell me they're supposed to meet their parents at the end of the block. Okay, but which end? We pick. It turns out we pick the wrong end. It turns out the parents are frantic, looking for their disappeared kids. The kids were told not to ring anyone's doorbell, and not to go into anyone's house. They forgot. Sigh. My daughter and I head home. I feel like a space cadet, and for some reason blame myself for the mixup.

The second: Fast forward, Friday of the same week. It's been a hectic, busy week, and we've been out a lot. It's morning, well, late morning, and my daughter is in her pajamas. The living room is strewn with toys and papers and art projects. Along with the clutter, there is a cereal bowl on the table that's been there for several hours, and the cereal is looking pretty soggy. I'm procrastinating by reading a copy of Oprah magazine I got for free at the library. DING-DONG! It's a friend from up the street who I walk with occasionally. She now has two kids. The daughter, almost three, walks in, throws her jacket and hat on the floor, looks me in the eye, and says "I play" and gets right to it. I am mortified and delighted at the same time. She doesn't care that the house is a disaster. I invite the mom in, what else can I do? At least I'm dressed. I try to laugh it off, cop to reading Oprah, redirect the kids outside. But the yard is a mess after the long windy winter. I cleaned off the slide a couple days before, so that's a big plus, but in all, it looks like a lot of trash strewn about, and I feel like something strewn about too. It gets quiet. I was at this mom's house the other day when she casually invited us in, and her house is not a disaster, even with a toddler, a baby and a job. I feel like middle class failure. This is an old familiar feeling. My excitement for community evaporates.

Maybe I would like a community park, where I can present myself when I'm ready, when I have an armored, suburban, middle class appearance prepared. In my home I want to relax, space out, and be a mess if I feel like it that day. Do I have to move to the end of a long winding road? Can I accept that life is messy, and open the doors anyway? Can I accept that some will judge me, or maybe even that they won't? Others will move in and out of my life, and I can't control that. I think it was Anne Lamott who said, "don't judge your insides by others' outsides". What would Anne Lamott do?

I want a new friend to move in down the street, into the house that's for sale, with her wonderful kids. She will love me though I'm messy, and introverted, and spacy. The kids will play, and we'll have espresso,(decaf of course), and talk about life and art. Hello, best friend, are you out there?

Spring Cleaning

2007-04-24T18:31:00.001-07:00

I'm trying to get ready for a visit from my mom - she's coming up tomorrow and staying until my birthday, which is on Sunday. The problem is trying to find room in this overstuffed house. I moved a small dining table out of the "guest" room, which also houses the treadmill. It's a small room, filled with boxes of books, a sewing machine, yarn, kids' videos, the ubiquitous papers. I have eight boxes of engineering books. I'm not sure I'll ever go back to engineering. You can bet if I get rid of them I'm going to find I suddenly need them.
May I be able to let it go, let it go, let it go. My garage is getting quite full of things from the house. From there I have been able to slowly move some of it out into the world to start new lives. It's a long process.

The Artist(s) at Work

2007-01-03T11:44:00.000-08:00

The other day my daughter looked up from painting rocks and said, "I'm the artist, and you're the maid".

I had to laugh, because it was the perfect mirror to how I had been feeling lately. The night before I had read a chapter from Julia Cameron's book, "Walking in This World", called, "Discovering A Sense of Personal Territory". Her books are about recovering your artist and doing your creative work. In this chapter, she writes, "saying yes to our creative selves may involve saying no to our significant others. This week focuses on boundaries."

As a stay-at-home mom, I get the effects of taking care of others on one's own creative life. When I left a full-time engineering job to stay home with my daughter, I somehow became, by default, the main housekeeper, as well as mom. I resentfully muse that. yes, I could also do more creative work if I, like my husband, had someone to clean up the dishes, vacuum, babysit on demand, do all the grocery shopping, and all the other "stuff" that I just do. Totally unnoticed stuff. On reflection, I realize my husband's music career is not handed to him in a gift-wrapped package. He struggles to balance a full-time job, parenting, the business end of music, marriage, and sometimes blissfully sitting down to practice. He has to grab moments to keep his art alive. It's just that he's doing it a lot better than I am, hence my envy and resentment.

So, I learn to balance time out to keep myself alive: write, play with photographs, meditate, exercise, paint, with the chores that must be done, even if not perfectly: cleaning, laundry, cooking, and somehow make them a meaningful meditation as well. And say no to meaningless activities, like shopping at Target and worrying about other people's relationships. Death is always at our door. My job is to make the choice each moment to pay attention and do what matters most. Find what makes me come alive and keep at it no matter what, even if it's just a clean kitchen counter.

Kitchen Window

2006-10-30T08:09:00.000-08:00

I'm enjoying the fall color out my kitchen window. The kitchen is one of the places I enjoy hanging out because it has good light. I am always having to clean it. I like the hominess when it's clean, the details of tea, teapots, jars with noodles and raisins, the wood floor, my crystals throwing rainbows around the room, my art glass. It's a happy place.

Dharma Chatter

2006-10-28T07:05:00.000-07:00

When I'm with Buddhist "friends" in real life or online in the Buddhist Mommas Tribe, I feel this intense pressure to ONLY say the perfect thing, as if that's the definition of right speech. I'm only supposed to say meaningful dharmic stuff. The pressure is so great that I just don't say anything at all. How fun is that?

Letting Go - A Work In Progess

2006-10-26T14:01:00.000-07:00

I am practicing "letting go". I gave my room to my daughter, and moved my stuff into boxes in the garage. I've had that room as my own space for fifteen years, and have always been fiercely protective of it. Now it doesn't even seem to be painful to let it go, which amazes me. I still haven't figured out what changed to make me able to do that. I don't feel resentment.

The part that is painful is all that stuff I have been harboring in the back of the closet, and I am overwhelmed with what to do with it all. Now, off to work on those boxes.....