Incomprehensible

I've been looking at the images of the devastation left behind by Katrina. I've been listening to the stories of miracles and tragedy. It all seems so unreal. I can't quite wrap my brain around it. Is this really happening just a few hundred miles from my own small Texas town? Unbelievable. The survivors are grateful to be alive, echoing the same refrain...it was just stuff and stuff can be replaced. Yes,they're right. Stuff can be replaced. But it was more than stuff. It was lives. It was dreams. It was heritage and memories. It was meaning. And it's all gone. Entire coastal villages gone. I'm having a difficult time processing how I feel. On the one hand, I feel so removed, so far away, like this is some crazy movie, not reality. Because it hasn't personally touched me I can't quite take it in. On the other hand, I find my eyes filling with tears with each new story I hear. I feel a little silly. Afterall, what have I lost? Why am I grieving? Then I remind myself that it's only natural. Aren't we all really connected? It's only our bodies that give the illusion of separation. So of course I would feel grief. It belongs to all of us, not just those who have been directly effected. And, it's the compassion within each of us that is our only hope. It is that compassion that won't allow us to turn away, that inspires us to offer a helping hand, even if the only help we can afford to offer is a single heartfelt prayer.

Self Portrait Tuesday

This is the first time I have participated in Self Portrait Tuesday. While I'm not "officially" on the group list I'm still going to participate until I am on the SPT list. It's kind of a relief to have a set topic for the blog one day a week. It doesn't require that I be "creative" in what I say. But it is a new kind of blogging risk...actually putting my own photograph out there for the public.

ckgirl has invited me to join a little community blogging game called the meme game. The basic idea is to build our blogging community by answering a question. See rules below:

Remove the blog at #1 from the following list and bump every one up one place; add your blog's name in the #5 spot; link to each of the other blogs for the desired cross polination effect.

Then you invite other friends to join in the fun to grow the community even larger.

So the question is "What 5 things do you miss about your childhood?"
Here are my answers:

1. Emotional outbursts were understandable...although it may not be acceptable and I might get in trouble for it, a tantrum was more okay then than it is now. Just look at my two year old. When he's upset he just throws himself on the ground, screams, whines, thrashes his body, and gets it all out. Now, if I throw a fit, flinging all the rubbermaid containers across the kitchen because I can't find a matching lid for this particular bowl, I think I need a visit to my therapist. If I stomp my feet and rant and rave at the grocery store people stare. I liked it when people just overlooked it because you were a kid and kids did that.

2. Birthdays were a big deal...I remember the day when my birthday really was about me. I got to have a party and people brought me presents. Now if I want a party I have to throw it myself and it seems like a week or two before my big day I have to start reminding people, "You know my birthday's next week." "Hey my birthday's coming up." I still love my birthday so it's always a little disappointing when it's not as big a deal as it used to be.

3. Lap time...I miss it, those moments when I would crawl into someone's lap and just let them love on me. My mom, my dad, my grandmother, my grandfather...it didn't matter. Sometimes I would just sit there, sometimes I would fall asleep being cradled, sometimes the person whose lap I was occupying would read to me. It didn't matter what the purpose of the lap time was. The ultimate purpose was always about feeling loved and safe. If it weren't for the fact that Trey does occasionally still let me have lap time with him I might have a serious on-set of "lack of lap depression."

4. Having absolutely no agenda...Do you remember those days. You woke up with nothing in particular to do. Just play...or whatever. I might lock myself up in my grandparents basement and read all day or lay in my bed and listen to music. I might play with Barbies or pretend I was one of the Mandrell sisters or Marie Osmond. I didn't carry around a never ending to-do list. The only list I kept was a list of all the movie stars I was going to marry one day.

5. Speaking of movie stars to marry(and I can hear Steve making fun of me as I write this)...I miss all those crushes and the pin ups that would cover my walls. Oh I still have the crushes but now I don't publicly express it, wearing a t-shirt with Orlando Blooms face on it like I did when I was a kid and I had a favorite pink t-shirt with Rick Springfield's image. I might still giggle with girl friends about the latest episode of Grey's Anatomy (that hot little Patrick Dempsey) or Tommy Lee Goes to College (yes I know he's a little skanky but so hot), but I don't cover my walls with their faces. Oh, I remember Tiger Beat and TeenBeat. Back in the day it was Don Johnson, all the guys from The Outsiders (Tom Howell, Matt Dillion, Tom Cruise, Emilio Estevez, Patrick Swayze, Ralph Macchio), and yes, Bruce Springsteen's cute little blue-jeaned butt with the baseball cap haning out. Nowadays being that crazy about a movie star (and publicly sharing it) seems immature and unrealistic. When did I start caring about the reality of it and other people's opinions? I remember the days of playing MASH over and over again (I was going to marry Ricky Schroder, live in an apartment in New York, have 3 dogs, 5 kids, and be an English teacher), and loving every minute of it.

Here is the current community list with my blog added...
1. Heather
2. Suzanne
3. Rebecca
4. gkgirl
5. Michelle

and here is who I'm inviting to play along...
1. Four Sweet Peas
2. Server Girl
3.Celebrating Mediocrity
4.Steve in a Day

And you can play too...What do you miss about your childhood?

As Promised

As promised...here is an update on that hunk of rusty metal Trey calls a smoker currently sitting in our driveway. Many, many days passed with not an ounce of progress. The three phase reconstruction project was just a bunch of hot air and wild ambitions. Then, this weekend Trey actually got a little motivated. For several hours on both Saturday and Sunday he worked his butt off trying to sand the rust off. Sunday a miracle occurred. Trey's mom found someone who would sand blast the thing for him and then would do some welding work. Praise the Lord and hallelujah!!! We may actually have briskets some time in the near future. And this thing may actually get to make an appearance or two at this season's TTU tailgate parties. If this contraption does get into working order it really will be a miracle...right up there with the parting of the Red Sea and the feeding of the 5 thousand.
On a sweet note...guess who has been Trey's biggest supporter through this whole ordeal. Brit. Daily he talks about the day we will have brisket. When we ask him what he wants for supper the usual answer of "chicken and french fries" has been replaced by "bwisket." He may be even more excited than Trey about the possibility of a never ending supply of meat. I've told Trey that he better remember this, that he needs to never forget who his biggest cheerleader was. When no one else believed...Britton did.

Tasting Heaven

Some people say that every poem should have

God in it somewhere. But of course Wallace Stevens

Wasn't one of those. We live, he said, "in a world

Without heaven to follow." Shall we agree

That we taste heaven only once, when we see

Her at fifteen walking among falling leaves?

It's possible. And yet as Stevens lay dying

He invited the priest in. There, I've said it.

The priest is not an argument, only an instance.

But our gusty emotions say to me that we have

Tasted heaven many times: these delicacies

Are left over from some larger party.
Tasting Heaven by Robert Bly
********************

Today I tasted heaven...

Trey and I eating breakfast together on the patio at Daybreak Coffee House

holding hands with Trey in Wal-Mart

picking up Britton from his night at Gammy's (and he was happy to see me)

Britton and I driving with the windows down and the radio blasting, dancing as the wind blew our hair

going with Britt, Nana, Kyler, Kalysta and Keeli to the movies, laughing at Willy Wonka

enjoying the cool afternoon, sitting in the grass watching the clouds build, getting ready for rain

So many ways to taste heaven...How do you taste heaven?

Not Your Ideal Date Night

Sometimes I go and go and go, never stopping to re-fuel, rest, or pay heed to the needs of my body, mind, and spirit. But when I have reached my limit, my body is very good at assuring I come to a screeching halt. I like to call it "hitting the invisible wall." It happens when I don't tune in to myself, when I don't take care of myself as I should. It happens when I nurture everyone around me, but not myself. And it happened this afternoon at about 5:00. So tonight, instead of going out to celebrate our anniversary, which was earlier in the week, we are opting to stay in. The babysitter has been arranged and the evening in ours. But instead of our planned picnic in the park with a poetry reading and drinks at La Diosa, my favorite local wine bar (an enchanting place that reminds me of a cross between Chocolat and Like Water for Chocolate,) we are watching movies in our pjs and ordering pizza. Not really your ideal date night...or is it? It may very well be just what I'm needing. And it's definitely all I have energy for.

A Memory

It's funny how your birthday comes and goes and I never think of you. Or, our anniversary passes and it's just another day. I can flip through an album full of happy images and see just another couple locked in a half-hearted embrace. But then, on an ordinary August afternoon, your memory creeps up on me, catching me unaware, and for a moment I feel lost, caught up in what used to be. I don't know that I can adequately describe how I feel. Regrets not quite right. Maybe something akin to grief, a deep in-the-marrow kind of grief, not because I miss you but because I feel as if I've lost something, something I can't name and can never recover, something that was precious at one time but now is just ashes and sighing. Your face is fuzzy. Your voice an unrecognizable hum. But your memory, it's still there, trapped in the shadowed corners of my soul, a place where time doesn't exist and wounds never heal.

We Now Interrupt this Program

Just about everyday, when I come to blog, I have a two year old in my lap. "I wanna bwog Mama." If Trey comes into the room to find out what we're doing Britton announces proudly, "We're bwoggin' Dada." He wants so badly to type and I end up having to get on to him for pushing various buttons or leaving fingerprints all over the screen. A time or two he has gotten so upset that he has reached right over and turned the computer off to spite me. So today I decided to let him have his day of "bwoggin"(he even picked out the photo - "Brit with the spwinkler" he calls it). Hope you enjoy.

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777777pp777u uuuuiu777877777 777kjhhh
jjllppoepoepoeop eoeeeeeoopoppppppppo
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A little something I read today that I've been thinking about:

For years and years I struggled

just to love my life. And then

the butterfly

rose, weightless, in the wind.

"Don't love your life

too much," it said

and vanished

into the world.

from One or Two Things by Mary Oliver

As an aside...I reached a parenting milestone today. Yes today is the day I officially got the first "I'm not going to be your friend anymore" retort when punshing him for messing with his dad's stereo. It's just the beginning I'm sure.

Missing Myself

It's that girl,
the one in the beloved family stories,
stories of impossible strength and unexpected glory, a girl with full knowledge of her radiant power,
a girl living impulsively,
in direct accordance with need and want,
a girl listening to another voice,
not the voice always shouting "yes" and "no" or "should" and "shouldn't,"
it's that girl with all her terrible beauty,
still buried beneath wrinkles and memories,
still living obscurely in the depths of my soul,
that I miss the most
when I turn out the lights at night.

August and Everything After

Four years today. In this four years I think you have seen every side of me that exists. We have gone from being friends, to being more than friends, to being so much more than friends. Now we are deciding who will give the sex talk, who will answer the tough questions about God, and how we will pay for his college education and his first car. And I wouldn't choose anyone else to have these conversations with.
Over these four years you have lived with my craziness and I have lived with yours. You let me keep my dirty clothes on the floor for a week (before you just go ahead and pick them up for me) and I let you keep that so-called smoker in our driveway. I always rearrange the rubbermaid containers after you unload the dishwasher and you always roll up my yoga mat after I use it. It's all these little things that irritate the heck out of us that we choose to overlook and keep right on loving each other.
I love you for so many reasons. You have always seen the beauty in me even when I couldn't. You have always believed in my talent and ability when I struggled to believe in myself. You have never tried to rob me of power or silence my voice. You have always seen me as a partner even when I struggled to take that authority. But I think what I love the most about you is that you just let me do my thing. When I am caught up in new passions and brilliant plans you stand back and let me go with it. When I've got a new interest or I'm off on a new tangent you let me be. You have never demanded that I put my needs and wants second to the stereotypical roles that women are supposed to play. In fact you have never at all expected that I live up to any stereotypical roles. You have never asked me to be anything but Michelle. You give me all the freedom I need to unfold, to grow, to be. God only knows how many women I have been since we first met...but you have loved them all knowing that all of them are a part of my whole.

My Moment with the Moon

I hold back. I don't always follow my intuition. I don't always act on my instincts. I sometimes feel like a prisoner in my own body. My body wants to act but I won't let it. I don't give that hug I'd like to give, I don't make that phone call, I don't dance to the rhythm surrounding me. So many, many ways I hold back. Maybe it's because once, as a child, I did let go and as a result was reprimanded. Maybe I was told I was a little too big for my britches and I promised never to be that big again. Maybe we all learn it, the fear, the need to be accepted.
It's usually still dark when I leave the house for my morning walk. Very few people are out and about. I'm alone and have the sidewalk to myself. I hear nothing but my feet on the pavement, the morning melody of the birds, and the soft wind in my ears. This walk isn't so much about exercise. It's more about centering, about meditation, and about prayer. A way to connect before I encounter the day. I get lost in my thoughts most mornings, lost in all I want to release and all I want to fill me. But every once in awhile something from the outside breaks in. This morning it was the moon, peering from behind the clouds, its luminosity forming silver and gold circles against the dark sky, it's radiance magnified by the grey clouds. It stopped me in my tracks. And for once I didn't hold back. I sat right in the middle of the street and enjoyed its glow for a few sweet seconds...still a little worried about who might see me, still a little uncertain of what I might look like. When I got home I had not had enough. So I lay in the wet grass and let its beams cover me. By now even the stars were starting to peek through the clouds and together, me, the moon, the stars, and the clouds, had a sweet moment that has stayed with me throughout the day. Perhaps I need more moments with the moon. Perhaps I need to care less about what I might look like. Perhaps I need to relax and trust that spirit in me that so longs to live in harmony, connection, and freedom.

My Favorite Time of Day

How I wish I could say my favorite time of day is whatever time it currently happens to be, the now, the present. But I'm just not that "zen." I have my prejudices. I find the time I hold the dearest is those sweet moments right before sleep. He picks out his books, we snuggle as I read them aloud, and then we turn out the lights and I lay beside him until he drifts into dreaming. It's during that precious time that I really stop and pay attention . Sadly it's about the only time during my frantic day that I turn my mind off to everything else and practice true consciousness. Sure, during other times throughout the day I notice the new bruise on his cheek, the dirt underneath his fingernails, the spaghetti sauce on his shirt. But it's during this time that I notice something more. I see all the wonder and possibility in the palms of his hands, the softness of the tip of his nose, the pink and purple veins running across his downy cheek that remind me so much of Lela's. And, when I look closely at his deep brown eyes, I see myself in his features and I'm softened and humbled. Then, we offer our prayer to God, not your typical "Now I lay me down to sleep" or "Our Father who art in heaven," but the kind of prayer a two-year-old soul understands. The prayer of a mother holding her son close, singing several rounds of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. And isn't that what prayer is really about anyway? Not the words, but the act of two spirits separated by flesh and bone, reconnecting in the sweet darkness, finding their way back to each other, back to the oneness they came from, belonging once more to each other and to God.

Wedding Bells

Today my lovely friend Anna is getting married in her home town of Wichita Kansas. Last weekend I went to Target, spent a good 20 minutes picking out the right card, wrote her some lovely, heart felt words, and then stuck it in the mail...or so I thought. Yesterday, I found that very same card stuck in the pages of a book, where I put it so it wouldn't get bent (along with some bills that are now late). Because my card will be very, very late, I offer her a poem and some beautiful words from The Prophet. I am so excited that she has found a partner, someone she can share her life with, someone who sees the truth of her beauty. I know today will be a joyous day for her and that she will make a truly beautiful bride. I wish her many, many years of happiness and want her to know my heart is with her on this day of celebration. I send her my love...

To Have Without Holding

Marge Piercy

Learning to love differently is hard,

love with the hands wide open, love

with the doors banging on their hinges,

the cupboard unlocked, the wind

roaring and whimpering in the rooms

rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds

that thwack like rubber bands

in an open palm.

It huts to love wide open

stretching the muscles that feel

as if they are made of wet plaster,

then of blunt knives, then

of sharp knives.

It hurts to thwart the reflexes

of grab, of clutch; to love and let

go again and again. It pesters to remember

the lover who is not in the bed,

to hold back what is owed to the work

that gutters like a candle in a cove

without air, to love consciously,

conscientiously, concretely, constructively.

I can't do it, you say it's killing

me, but you thrive, you glow

on the street like a neon raspberry.

You float and sail, a helium balloon

bright bachelor's button blue and bobbing

on the cold and hot winds of our breath,

as we make and unmake in passionate

diastole and systole the rhythm

of our unbound bonding, to have

and not to hold, to love

with minimized malice, hunger

and anger moment by moment balanced.

***

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. And stand together, yet not too near together: For the pillars of the temple stand apart, And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow. from The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran (Thank you Danielle for this!)

Dear Reader, A Gift For You

When I wrote the title I felt a little like Charlotte Bronte in Jane Eyre ("Reader, I married him.") Tonight I'm tired, that kind of tired where I can't watch a tv commercial without crying. So I won't say much. Instead I'll let someone else speak for me. I'll let her words say what I want you to know. Because even my fingers are tired tonight, I won't write her words out. I'll give you a link to her fabulous poem.
Mary Oliver is my favorite poet. You've probably guessed that by now as I tend to quote her work a lot. Although I've never considered myself a nauturalist I do greatly appreciate the spirituality of her poems. She writes about what I want: a deeper life, a life of meaning. I love when she asks, "Are you breathing just a little and calling it a life?" Do you relate? I do. How often I have accepted scraps, how often I have settled for a life that isn't full, sometimes because of fear, other times because I was just too exhausted for more.
It is a rather long poem. For that I apologize. But believe me, it is well worth the time. If tonight you are as tired as I am then save this for another day, a day when you have the energy to take it all in. For now just know this is my gift to you. A gift of hope. As she says there is still time. Go on, wander away and look for your soul. I give you permission. Risk being overcome with amazement. And when you find that sweet life, fall in, fall in. I dare you. And please, let me know how your journey went.

Have You Ever Tried to Enter the Long Black Branches? by Mary Oliver

Dumpped

The thought of expending any more energy was just too much. So I called and canceled my weekly Wednesday-at-6:00 date. It's one thing to sit in his office for an hour and then leave energized after a major break through. I could handle exerting that kind of energy, the kind with a pay off, the kind where you rehash your current life and unearth treasure in the process. Maybe come to a better understanding or a deeper acceptance of myself. The hour would end and I would walk out a little changed, a little different than the way I walked in. But somehow I imagined our date would be just like all the others...I would sit across from him for an hour and do nothing but explain myself, try to clarify my wants which our differing perspectives of life would make immensely difficult. Sure there would finally be a connection, a break through, but it would never be about what I was really there for. It would be about finally, after struggling, wording and re-wording, getting him to hear me, understand me, see me. The thought of an evening of that was too much. So I dumped him and I practiced my own kind of therapy. A trip to the park, walking in ankle deep grass, photographing mushrooms, communing with the ducks, no one else there but my shadow. The ducks don't demand an explanation. They don't insist upon clarification. They just listen. They let you pour it all out with never a questioning look in their eye. They don't ask, "So how did that make you feel," or "and what does that mean to you." They just go about their way, no questions, no demands, no expectations. And I could just be, which was all I had the energy for anyway.

Of course! the path to heaven

doesn't lie down in flat miles.

It's in the imagination

with which you perceive

this world,

and the gestures

with which you honor it.

from The Swan by Mary Oliver

The Color Purple

Here's the thing, say Shug. The thing I believe. God is inside you and inside everybody else. You come into the world with God. But only them that search for it inside find it. And sometimes it just manifest itself even if you not looking, or don't know what you looking for. Trouble do it for most folks, I think. Sorrow, lord. Feeling like shit.

It? I ast.

Yeah, It. God ain't a he or a she, but a It.

But what do it look like? I ast

Don't look like nothing, she say. It ain't a picture show. It ain't something you can look at apart from anything else, including yourself. I believe God is everything, say Shug. Everything that is or ever was or ever will be. And when you can feel that, and be happy to feel that, you've found it...My first step from the old white man was trees. Then air. Then birds. Then other people. But one day when I was sitting quiet and feeling like a motherless child, which I was, it come to me: that feeling of being part of everything, not separate at all. I knew that if I cut a tree, my arm would bleed. And I laughed and I cried and I run all around the house. I knew just what it was. In fact, when it happen, you can't miss it...Listen God love everything you love - and a mess of stuff you don't. But more than anything else, God love admiration.

You sayin' God vain? I ast.

Naw, she say. Not vain, just wanting to share a good thing. I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don't notice it.
from The Color Purple by Alice Walker

A Letter on Your First Day of School

Dear Kalysta,
Today you start school. I can't believe how quickly you've grown up. I can remember the day you were born. Yaya, Nana, and I were all in the room with your mom. There were some problems with the cord being around your neck so as soon as the doctor had you in her arms she put you in a clear-sided bassinet under a heating lamp. You didn't even get to see your mom since you were immediately whisked away to this special bed. I remember feeling so worried about you being by yourself, afraid that you would feel alone, afraid that you would think you'd been abandoned and that you weren't loved. So I went and stood by you and caressed you're soft forehead with my index finger. Of course Yaya yelled at me because I hadn't washed my hands but I was thinking too much about you feeling lonely to think about my hands. I hold so many memories of you in my heart. I remember your pigtails of tight kinky curls. I remember taking pictures of you in Meme and Gaga's kitchen as you struggled with your first steps. I remember your first birthday and the princess hat I made for you that was so pretty nestled in all your soft curls. I remember your first tooth and I remember how brave you were when you pulled your first tooth all by yourself. I remember how you renamed family members - Grandad became Gaga, Lela became Yaya, Brandon became Uncle B - making them your own. You have always had a wild beautiful spirit and I hope as you continue to grow, experience new things, and let life touch you that you will hold on to this very special spirit of yours. So today when you go to school for the first time I hope that you remember that, just like on the day you were born, you are not alone. You have a family that loves you and is holding you in there hearts. If you are still and quiet I bet you can feel all of us stroking your forehead, wishing you well. If you have times today when you feel scared or nervous just remember that it's okay to feel that way. Everybody does. And then remember that no matter what, you are very, very loved. I can't wait to call you this afternoon and find out all about your big day. How exciting to be starting school where you will meet new friends, learn neat things, and grow so much. I am excited for you and a little bit teary when I think about how grown up you are. And so beautiful too. I love your wild beautiful life. I hope you have a wonderful day. I love you very much.

Michelle and Britt (he's sitting right here in my lap)...

I met a lady in the meads,

full beautiful -

a faery's child

her hair was long,

her foot was light,

and her eyes were wild

John Keats

Enough Said

There are so many of you out there, family, friends, and stranger-friends, who are reading my blog and sending me wonderful, supportive comments. It means so much to hear from you all and I really do appreciate the support. I've actually had one friend request that I dedicate a blog entry to him. The comment he left said, and I quote...

"I would like to hear about Trey's best friend and how he has managed to stay pretty darn cool, while Trey has become less cool. Me thinks he's in Albuquerque."

I think I will let the photo speak for itself. What do you think? I'm seeing no coolness there...

1 Santa hat - $1.99
1 turtle brownie - $2.49
1 Shiner - $2.00
1 blog totally meant to humiliate one's friend on the world wide web - priceless

The Boys are Back in Town

They're home, safe, sound and smelly. They came home with a few minor abrasions and hours worth of stories about hiking and horses, caves and bear hunts, muddy boots and rain soaked sleeping bags. And I have never seen such nasty fingernails in all my life. I missed them...

What I'm Trying to Say

He's trying to tell me I have two options for dealing with my anger...get rid of it or control it. I'm trying to say I don't like either option and why are there only two? I want to befriend it , grow from it, sit at it's feet and learn from it as if it were the Dali Lama himself. He's trying to tell me I need to give it to God. I'm trying to say I don't see it as being separate and apart from God. He's trying to tell me I need to write it all down then burn it or rip it up. I'm trying to say it's a part of who I am, a gift of the soul, not to be dealt with so heartlessly and carelessly. He's trying to say it's a pebble in my shoe to be discarded before causing a limp or blister. I'm trying to say it's a diamond I choose to wear on my finger just as I do joy, love, sorrow, or any other emotion. He's trying to compare it to fire, beneficial but potentially destructive. I'm trying to see it as holy light, something to fearlessly open my arms to and allow to consume me, fill me, resurrecting all that is dead and decaying. I don't think he gets me.

"It's real though, the fury, even when it isn't. It can change you, turn you, mold you and shape you into someone you're not. The only upside to anger then is the person you become, hopefully someone that wakes up one day and realizes they're not afraid of its journey, someone that knows that the truth is at best a partially told story, that anger, like growth comes in spurts and fits and in it's wake leaves a new chance at acceptance and the promise of calm." from The Upside of Anger

Table for One

I just came in from the driveway after waving goodbye to my boys. Yes, Trey and Britton have left for the weekend to go "camping hiking" as Britton calls it and I have a full 48 hours to myself. Oh the joy! Although I'm grateful for the time to myself I can't say it's easy to watch them pull away. There is always this little voice inside my head that doubts and distrusts. Can Trey really handle Britton by himself? Will he really watch out for him, especially in the mountains of Ruidoso? Grizzly Man has not helped those fears. If it wasn't for the fact that Uncle Steve is going and taking his two boys my baby would not be going. In all honesty most of the time I think Trey is a better parent than I am. He's more patient for sure and tends to be more inclusive and commands more authority. It's just my fears that leave me uneasy. And there is no way I could not let Britton go. He loves it. Ever since his first camping experience he's been dying to go again. For the past few weeks it's been nothing but "Mama, I go camping hiking again. Two weeks." Even a few days ago it was still "two weeks." This morning when I woke him he was back at it "I go camping hiking. Two weeks," but I got to say, "No baby it's today." Of course he was very distraught to realize he had to go to school first and when I picked him up after work he had decided he wasn't going. The promise of pancakes in the morning easily persuaded him to change his mind. So all week I've been pondering how I will spend this 48 hours of paradise. I've made a list of some of the things that have come to mind. I may or may not do some of them or all of them. Basically this weekend is mine and the one rule is I absolutely will not do anything I don't whole heartedly want to do. If I love it and want to it's fair game...

1. Maybe catch a matinee of this or this.
2. Try to finish this up so I can devote more time to this.
3. Get caught up on this.
4. Do a little yoga while listening to this or this.
5. Visit this favorite store just to browse.
6. Go here and use the 15% coupon I received this week.
7. Get a wedding card for my lovely friend Anna who is getting married next weekend.
8. Purchase this cd I've been wanting.
9. Eat some of my favorite foods including a nice thick sandwich with Boar's Head meat, Boar's Head cheese, and a Boar's head pickle on the side.
10. Watch Chocolat while eating a big slice of key lime pie.

There are a few things I absolutely will not do this weekend...
1. Cook
2. Anything that requires that I sweat.
3. Wear pants that do not have an elastic waist band.
4. Wake up early.

I'm heading out now to rent a movie and pick up some chinese food. After that it's pjs and the couch for the rest of the evening.

Saving Myself

Some mornings are easy. I wake up to find all the pieces of my soul in their good and proper places. I can find beauty and meaning all around me and like Neruda I could probably write an Ode to just about anything. But other mornings , well I just don't recognize my life anymore. The reflection in the mirror is the same, older yet still familiar, but nothing else seems to belong to me. I know I opened the door and willingly invited in this intruder - this intruder call motherhood - but some days...It's much easier to write about beauty and consciousness, about letting go and trusting, than it is to actually live it. Lest ye think I'm kidding just stop by unannounced one morning and peer through our windows. There is a very good chance you'll find a woman gone mad, maybe even hurling something across the room at the wall, or a woman doubled over in tears. Don't worry. I'm learning to befriend my anger, to let it teach me about limits, needs, wants, boundaries. And I'm of the belief that a good temper tantrum is quite cathartic. I'm taking care of myself, seeing a therapist once a week and will soon, much to Tom Cruises dismay, be discussing with my primary care physician my options for medication. It's not the first time I've paid a visit to a therapist since entering this wasteland called parenting. I just kept thinking I'd shake it by now. Afterall, can you still have postpartum depression when your baby is now 2 1/2? I's not necessarily that I overestimated my strength. I underestimated the staying power of this funk I've been in. I'm trying everyday to reach my hand out to myself, an offering of grace in a time of sweet craziness. I'm doing what I have to do to save myself. In April, when Trey and I decided to move in together but forgo the wedding vows I received my fair share of disapproving nods and disappointed glances. I've answered all the questions. Believe me. I expected it all. But I really had little choice. When the demands of single parenting leave you so broken you want to disappear then it's time to make a change. When you fear being left alone for an extended period of time with your own child because it's just too overwhelming then you have to make the necessary adjustments. I asked for help and took the help that was offered. It's not easy for a mother to ask for reinforcements, at least not his one. I wanted to do it all, be it all, have it all. Supermom. I had to learn the hard way about my limitations and inadequacies. I'm still learning. Humbling to say the least. Difficult, of course. But so very, very wise and courageous. So I did what I needed to do to save myself. I feared the alternative would be ending up as many of the women whose creativity I admire so much have ended up...Sylvia Plath - head in the oven, Anne Sexton - found in her garage, car running, radio singing, vodka in her hand, Virginia Woolf - face down in the River Ouse, pockets full of rocks, Vincent Millay - journals full of the tedious details of her drug addiction instead of her poetry. I'm learning to have the courage and wisdom to save myself. I'm learning not to have so much fear of my dark places, that there is treasure in the shadows. I'm learning that God is there in the darkness and she is glorious.

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.

The Journey by Mary Oliver

For a full version of this beautiful poem (one of my favorites) see here or purchase this wonderful book which includes 9 other equally fabulous poems.

I've Been Tagged

I've been tagged by Danielle, who was tagged by Stef, who was tagged by Mati, to make a list of five of my idiosyncrasies. Here are just five of my many quirks...

1. I have an obsession with books. Fat books, thin books, paperback books, hardback books, small books, big books, fiction, poetry, self-help, biography...I don't discriminate. I love them all. I have been guilty of choosing to purchase a book over paying a bill or buying groceries. I have purchased a book for no other reason than I liked the way it felt in my hands. I have shelves of books, some of them I've never even cracked open but at the time I just had to have it. One of my favorite times of the year (right up there with Christmas and my birthday) is the yearly Friends of the Library booksale. You can purchase books for $2-$3 at this deal. It's heaven. I have come home with sack loads. Some I've read, some I always intended to read but still haven't.

2. This goes hand in hand with the first idiosyncrasy...if I do start to read a book I will always finish it even if I absolutely hate it and swear its the worst piece of published manuscript ever. I feel like if I've made a commitment to a book I have to see it through to the end. I can't just stop in the middle. It would somehow amount to book betrayal, like giving up on a relationship just because we're having a bad patch. It may take me forever. I may only be able to mange a paragraph at a time but by-god I'll finish that thing if it's the last thing I do.

3. Also book related...Although the concept of libraries is awesome I will never check a book out at the library. I'll purchase it instead. I can't imagine investing that much time and energy into a precious book and then returning it. I just can't bring myself to do that. Once I've read a book it becomes a part of me, like a friend or a family member. How can I take it back to this place where it will be just another call number and where someone might not appreciate it the way I did? So you will never see me with a library card. I like to see the books that I've given my time to lining the bookshelves of my home, proof that I set out to do something and I did in deed complete that task. Plus, I like to take notes in the margins and highlight favorite passages. How can I do that if it is a library copy?

4. I completely stink at car maintenance. I've already ruined one vehicle by running it out of oil. It's not that I don't understand the importance of car care. I do. I just hate to do it. It's something that seems like a waste of time and money. Twenty bucks for an oil change?!?! I'd rather buy a book with that $20.

5. I have a quirky process of eating things but I think once you let me explain it it really does make perfectly good sense. I like to eat things least flavorful and fulfilling bite to most flavorful and fulfilling bite. For example...pizza - handle first, then pointy tip, then I alternate side to side until I get to the middle, which to me is the best bite of the whole thing, hamburgers - I eat in a circular motion working my way into the middle which, once again, is the best bite, sandwiches - same circular motion as the hamburger, crusty edges first then in a circle until I reach the center, burritos - first I eat the extra, folded over portion of the tortilla because it usually doesn't have any of the good stuff spread on it, then I eat the extra tortilla at the top (once again, no good stuff there), next I eat the bottom because it's mainly tortilla and I want to get that out of the way, finally I'm able to alternate bites from the top and bottom, getting to the middle which usually has the most bean, cheese, meat, etc. Makes sense doesn't it?

So now I'm tagging Steve. Steve is married to Cherri, one of my very best friends in the world. He is bitingly sarcastic, incredibly artistic, terribly humorous and just one of those God-you've-got-to-love-him kind of guys. Plus he's the only other blogger I know.

Happy

They learn early just what it takes to wrap you around their finger. And once they know the key to melting your heart they ruthlessly use it against you. We were in Dallas. Britton was sitting shirtless on the couch in our motel room eating a ripe, juicy plum. I was storming about the room complaining because my hair wouldn't do anything in this humidity, angry because Trey had talked me out of buying snacks before we left town and the hotel's vending machine just stole my only dollar, and frustrated because I had wanted to arrive at the zoo by 10:00 and it was already well after 10 and we hadn't even left yet. In the middle of my tirade Britton, purple plum juice streaming down his chin and chest, interrputes to say, "Mama, I happy." That one statement leveled me, leaving me both humbled and teary eyed. I had been complaining about everything under the sun when my son, sitting right in the same room, was just happy to be alive, sharing new expereinces with his mom and dad, eating a delicious plum. I was reminded in that moment that joy is not in controling every little detail to my liking, but in letting life unfold and enjoying being a part of that process. Britton was very aware of how his statement effected me and now repeats it on a daily basis - tugging at my shirt tail as I'm washing the dishes, cupping my face in his hands while were playing, or snuggling with me as we read a book at bedtime - he finds every opportunity possible to make sure I know, "Mama, I happy." It doesn't matter what I'm feeling - if I'm overwhelmed by all the demands I deal with as a mother and and a woman, if I'm discouraged because life hasn't quite worked out the way I'd planned, if I'm disappointed in myself for some recent behavior, if I'm greiving because my dreams are taking longer to fulfill than I'd imagined - when I hear those three little words coming from that sweet toothy smile everything changes and in those few seconds I can honestly say, "I'm happy too B."

this isn't a poem about foolishness

but about how I rose from the ground

and saw the world as if for the second time,

the way it really is.

Alligator Poem by Mary Oliver

I am now the proud owner of a...and what exactly is this again?

The Saturday before this past weekend Trey excitedly called to inform me that he had purchased us a surprise. He wouldn't give out any details over the phone and told me I would just have to wait and see. I was outside cleaning out my car before heading to pick up my wonderful friend Cherri for a movie date when I heard a noisy rattle coming from down the street. I looked up to see Trey, all giggle and grins, attempting to manuever this hunk of rusted metal into our driveway. All I could do was stand there paralyzed and open mouthed. After getting it parked he hopped out of his Explorer, "Look what I got us!!!" "What exactly is that?" "It's one of those smokers on a trailer. You know, you've seen them at the tailgates." "Yeah, but the one's I've seen at the tailgates didn't look like that." So now we have this contaption sitting right in the middle of our front yard for everybody and their dog to get a look at. And Trey, well he's so proud of the thing. He can't believe that it will actually hold 12 briskets. It's too much for him to bear. I asked him when exactly he thought we would have 12 briskets and if he was planning on handing them out as Christmas gifts. So, if you get a nice hunk of beef in your stocking don't say I didn't warn you. I predict that in the next couple of months one of two things will have happened...

1. Trey will have totally lost interest in this project and that lovely rusted I'm-not-really-sure-this-thing-qualifies-as-a-smoker will still be sitting in our driveway until we are finally forced to do something with it.

or

2. We will have the most awsome smoker in all of West Texas and be the envy of all our friends and neighbors. If this is the case feel free to bring over your ribs, chicken, briskets, what have you. We'll only charge a small handling fee.

Phase one of Trey's three phase reconstruction project was supposed to begin tonight but it has been delayed (am I sensing the beginnings of prediction #1 happening right before my very own eyes?) to be rescheduled for some time in the future. Hmmm....Just look at what you can find at a garage sale and all for the fabulous prices of $175. I'll keep you posted...

On-Line Photos

Hey guys I have exciting news. I set up an account on Flickr and Trey helped me to download most of my pictures from Corbin's birthday. Now in the future I can download my pictures and there won't be any gripping about never getting copies (yes, I'm talking to you Gwen!). You can go to this site and do it yourself. Go here to see my photos.

Bashful

I've kept a journal since High School. Most of the time I have it with me, tucked in my purse just in case. Years from now, when I am gone, my son will have hundreds of spiral notebooks and compostition books to sort through in some loving attempt to discover this woman who was his mother. I hope there will not be too many surprises. I hope there is not a huge expanse between the fact and fiction of who I am. My goal for my life is to be as true in living as I am in the secret pages of my beloved journals. But I have found times when it is difficult to put into words exactly what I'm feeling. It's just as hard to tell the truth on the blank page as it is every second of living. It's during these moments, most in which I feel wounded, broken, or disappointed with myself, the world, or love, that I become bashful. I choose instead to curl up inside myself, to pull tightly in and not express my true thoughts and feelings. Like a startled and frigthened turtle, I pull deep within the shell of my being and sit with my truth, not wanting it to spill over onto anyone around me, especially not the people I love most. I can't even manage to tell my precious pages the truth for fear that if I do, if I actually let it go, get it out, I might just implode and find nothing left but tears and ashes. I'm in one of those places today, one of those fagile and vulnerable places when I'm just not certain I want to say too much. It's easy to find the words when my spirits are high and the day was good. But that's not today. So today I will take time to pull in and nurture my wounded spirit. Perhaps when the afternoon cools and the sun finishes her long toil in the sky, I will put on my tennis shoes, strap my camera around my neck, and take a short quest to capture a little of life's beauty. I'll be back...

When your eyes are tired

the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone

no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark

where the night has eyes

to recognize its own.

There you can be sure

you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb

tonight.

The night will give you a horizon

further than you can see.

You must learn one thing.

The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds

execpt the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

confinement of your aloneness

to learn

anything or anyone

that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

Sweet Darkness from The House of Belonging by David Whyte

Oh, I Love Those Crazy Blonde Curls

Happy 1st Birthday Corbin!!

The first thing Britton said when he woke up this morning was "I want to go to Corbin's house," which was immediatley followed by "Get up mom, I want a corndog." He has been talking about your birthday all week long, excited to have cake and icecream but a little anxious about swimming in the lake again.

We are so excited about being invited to come and help you celebrate your big day. It's always fun to watch you swim because I have never seen any child as crazy about water as you are. It's probaby because your parents already have you sking and innertubbing.

We are so glad to have you in our family. We waited a long time for you. You are so sweet and so precious and like I said, I sure can't get enough of those crazy blonde curls. The ladies will love 'em!!!

Happy bday from your aunt 'Chelle and her B-Dog!

Snail Watching

The morning after a big rain is always an exciting time here at the Stoffminger household because I have a rambunctious, precocious, adorable 2 year old who is extremely intrigued by snails. After the rain they fill the yard, hundreds of them. It's amazing to see. They meander up the walls of the house, they nestle themselves deep in the grass, amost invisible to the eye. They take the excruciatingly long journey (if you're a snail) from the yard, over the sidewalk, to the flower bed where they attach themselves to the monkey grass, the leaves bowed over under the weight of their crustacean bodies. It truly is a spectacle to behold. The promise of the possibity of finding a slimy snail treasure is just about the only way I can coax Britton from the house to the car. This is our typical morning routine: exit the door, stop to thoroughly investigate the front porch for rolly pollies (in our household these are called ladybugs as Britt only uses two words for bugs of all kinds...if it flies its a butterfly, if it crawls its a ladybug), then hurry to the lawn to do some snail sluething. So I've taken to snail watching or more acuratley, I've taken to watching Britton engrossed in his snail watching. He lives in such wonder and amazement, in sweet abondonment to the here and now. And, I'm re-learning to live this way as well. Snail watching reminds me to stay conscious, to be aware, to notice the small things, to seek out the details. I'm learning to let snails and ladybugs enfuse my eyes with the same bright wonder that floods Britton's. I'm learning to re-use the word "ta dah!" I'm learning the amazement of living with childlike eyes. I'm learning by stepping back and letting the child lead. And I needed to. It's a sweetly slower pace that's filled with an abundancy of joy.

I love Friday mornings on NPR news. They have this segment called StoryCorp and it never fails to touch my heart. A person tells a very brief portion of their life story and as a result reminds listeners how sweet life really is. This morning it was Jean's turn. She spoke about a time when she really felt empowered. She recalled discovering her husband was being unfaithful. She located the other woman's home, drove there, found her philandering husband's car, picked up a large rock from a neighboring garden, smashed his back window with it, then filed for divorce. Telling the story she was giddy remembering her defiance, her act of self-protection and self-care. Years later her ex-husband told her he still had some of her belongings that she could claim from him if she was ever in his vicinity. She took him up on his offer and received a very heavy box which she hauled through various airport terminals beforing finally arriving home with it. When she was finally able to open the box she discovered that it had nothing at all in it but one bowling ball sized rock - the very one she sent sailing through his window all those years ago. Oh how I love people's stories. I love how one otherwise small and unobservable moment in time completely rocks another person's world. I love the meaning we make from the mundane. I love all the little ordinary events that, added together, create one extraordinary life. I love knowing that although our experiences may be far different we all have those moments, those moments that leave us changed forever. Such delicious moments...What is your story? I'd love to hear it.

I have a beautiful friend named Irma who's been really struggling lately. Her life has been turned upside down and yet she does everything in her power to maintain a positive attitude. She continues to search for purpose and meaning and to trust. Many of the recent changes have been positive but it's still difficult adjusting. It's been raining down on her - hard and heavy. She is a single mother of four beautiful kiddos. She does it all. Is she perfect? Who is? But there is no doubt she loves those kids of hers. She would do anything to give them a better life. She is one of the most generous, compassionate women I know. Her heart is so full of love it just oozes right out of her. So I wanted to send her a little shou-out. I wanted to take a moment to be a little SARK-ish: I send you a blanket to crawl under when you need a short break from it all. I send you a soft, feathery pillow to cry on when you feel like breaking into a million pieces. I send you a magic mirror that will always reflect the truth of your being and reminds you that you are beautiful, talented, intelligent, and loved, even when you don't feel like it. I send you a shower of belssings that will meet all your deepest needs and leave you weeping for joy. I send you all the hugs we long to give but sometimes hold back, not knowing for sure how.

they told you life is hard

it's misery from the start

it's dull and slow and painfull

I tell you life is sweet

in spite of the misery

there's so much more

be grateful

who do you believe?

who will you listen to

who will it be?

it's high time that you decide

in your own mind

Life is Sweet by Natalie Merchant

The Center of Life

...Poems, parenthood, sorrow, all we have learned

From these, of tenderness, holds us together

In the center of life...

from Amusing Our Daughters by Carolyn Kizer

Living a sweet life...I often think it's about being open to life, letting everything that touches me teach me. That's what I want for my life but often find it easier to philosophize about than live. I want to stand in the center of life without wiggling away from intense feelings of joy or overwhelming feelings of fear and grief, to just be still in the unfolding of life and to learn to trust this crazy, unpredictable unfolding. To somehow find peace in the unknown and acceptance of the messiness, to look within and beyond to a place I used to know but have unknowingly burried beneath shoulds and should nots, a place that still lies underneath all the worries and wrinkles, somewhere below the memories of life, a place deeper than soul, and once there to rest and know with certainty that I have come home. And hopefully I can use this little corner of the cyberworld as a witness to that unfolding. As my fabulous friend Kel says, this is my blank canvas. I choose to paint the unfolding of my beautiful life upon its bright newness.

Searching for a Sweet Life... When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox; when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness? And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, towards silence, and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth. When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world. When Death Comes by Mary Oliver