la vie en rose...a sweet life

I've Moved

2006-07-13T19:47:00.000-07:00

Come visit me at my new blog--

www.asweetlife.typepad.com

Blogger Drives Me to Binge Eat

2006-07-07T18:26:00.000-07:00

Blogger has pissed me off for the last time. I apologize ahead of time for any foul language that may occur in this post but I have been pushed to my breaking point. Do you know how long it took me to get last night's post to finally publish? 3 hours! THREE hours! That's insane. That's ridiculous. Seriously! What did I ever do to Blogger to make it hate me so? I really don't understand why we can't just all get along. Ugh! And so my friends I'm moving on to another relationship, one that will show me a little more love. Yes, I'm moving to Typepad. I realize it's not free. At this point I don't care. I'll pay the $5/month if it will mean no more heartaches, no more nights sitting in front of the computer pulling my hair out. I figure it's worth it. I could stay with Blogger and be bald (due to the hair pulling) and fat (due to the binge eating) or I could pay $5 a month and be in a healthy, happy relationship with Typepad. And besides all that I think it will cost me less in the long run. $5 a month will be a whole lot less than purchasing a new computer when Blogger pushes me to the point that I hurl my computer into the wall...or the tv...or the bookshelves... Please come visit me at my new location. Right now it's a little rough (haven't gotten my photo loaded, my bio typed, my links transferred, etc.) but it will get there. I know it's a little inconvenient to change a sidebar link but at least for the time being you can always come here and just click anywhere on this post to get to my new blog. Same name, same me, only now it's just at typepad instead of blogger. And I promise you, if my family didn't read this blog my final pic with Blogger would be me, giving Blogger the bird.

Hasta la vista Blogger!

PS--For all you fellow Typepad users, please pass along any helpful hints, tips, and advice you might have for navigating through this new territory.

Lessons Learned from What Started Out as the Worst Trip of My Entire Life

2006-07-06T20:21:00.000-07:00

if you know you have an 11-12 hour drive ahead of you, leave as early as possible. should a client whose website you host call right about the time you're going to leave, do not answer the phone. i repeat, DO NOT ANSWER THE PHONE. it could possibly lead to having to complete an hour or so of work before you can hit the road.
although it is a very romantic idea to just hop in the car and drive until you find a place to camp (one that will allow campfires), i wouldn't recommend attempting such a trip on the weekend of a major national holiday. you will quickly discover that half of america has had the very same idea and because they didn't have to complete a couple hours of work before they hit the road, they have gotten a head start.
when leaving town it is best to get all your supplies together before the morning of the drive. stopping by the grandparents to pick up a sleeping bag only leads to unnecessary chatting and long goodbyes. although it is nice to tell your loved ones goodbye, the morning of the trip is not the best time and will only put you further behind than you already are.
never, never, never stop at the Sonic in Dalhart, TX on a Saturday afternoon. it will take an hour to get your food and that is just unacceptable for a Sonic. this is supposed to be FAST food.
speaking of fast food...attempting to eat at fast food restaurants when you're a vegetarian can be a challenge.
if you didn't get an early morning start and your lunch took entirely too long (even though it was Sonic), i would not recommend you stop along the way to admire the view. it is more essential to get to your destination. oh sure the mountains are lovely and how often do you get to see a buffalo but you must refrain. it is the weekend of a major national holiday. this fact should always stay in the forefront of your mind.
if you are heading to the Aspen/Breckenridge area (in northwest Colorado) on July 4th weekend there will not be one single camping spot available if you do not arrive until 10:30 at night. not a single damn one.
you cannot always trust the internet. just because the internet says the temperature in northwest Colorado is 80 during the day/50 at night that does not mean it is true. even in July you may find that there is frost covering everything. FROST! trusting the internet could result in the possibility of packing inappropriately for such cold weather.
don't waste your time roaming around the Aspen/Breckenridge area (in the dark) attempting to find a camping spot. there won't be any! the other half of america arrived long before you did. there will not be a single damn camping spot.
if you do by chance find the one and only spot left in all of the Aspen/Breckenridge area don't turn it down because it's ugly. TAKE THE UGLY CAMPING SPOT. if you pass it up you won't be able to get back to it. now you have lost the very last available camping spot.
after wandering around the Aspen/Breckenridge area for a couple of hours and giving up on ever finding a camping spot don't think for one minute that you will be able to find a hotel room. IT'S THE WEEKEND OF JULY 4TH! THERE ARE NO HOTEL ROOMS AVAILABLE.
you can stop at every hotel from Aspen to Denver if you want to but i'm telling you now, you WILL NOT find a hotel room.
if you use the phonebook in a hotel lobby at 3:30 in the morning and actually find a hotel room available, don't expect it to still be available when you arrive at the hotel. IT WON'T!
attempting the romantic notion of hitting the road and just ending up wherever does not work on the weekend of a major national holiday and will only result in spending the first night of your much anticipated vacation in the last hotel room available---IN DENVER!!!
4:30 in the morning is a very late time to finally arrive at a destination when you left at 10:30 the previous morning. that's 18 hours on the road--5 of which were spent roaming the Aspen/Breckenridge area in search of a camping spot or a hotel.
always, always, always take the interstate when traveling in Colorado. taking the side roads only leads to winding around the mountains of Colorado at 10 mph for hours. as much as you think it might, this roaming does not lead to finding a camping spot.
don't trust shortcuts. they may look tempting but they can not be trusted. you may just find out that the pass has been closed due to SNOW. sure it's July but were talking about a 13,000 foot level of elevation.
if after roaming the Colorado countryside you finally end up in Breckenridge please remember that on the weekend of a major national holiday you are going to wind up in bumper to bumper traffic.
if the driver of your vehicle finally looses it while sitting in the bumper to bumper traffic always remember that this is not a good time to argue with him about your destination. i would suggest you just sit back and keep your mouth shut. he's going to do exactly what he wants to anyway. save yourself the heartache...and the cursing and pounding of fists.
keep in mind that although it is July it does in fact rain ICE in Breckenridge, Colorado.
endless roaming around the northwest section of Colorado and the bumper to bumper traffic in Breckenridge is likely to result in turning around and heading home because at this point your just hopeless.
when driving back towards Texas there is no need to stop at every campsite you find along the way expecting to find one that allows campfires. if there is a level 2 fire restriction in most of the Colorado area you're not going to find a camping location that will allow campfires. it just won't happen.
you may really long for a campfire (after all what is camping without a campfire) but you just need to give it up. it's NOT going to happen. it's best to just LET IT GO!
23 hours of driving around Colorado looking for a camping spot makes one extremely bitchy!
if you do spend 23 hours driving around the northwest section of Colorado you could at least take ONE photograph. it's just a shame to travel that far then turn around and head back home without a single photograph.

Don't worry. We did eventually find a beautiful location to camp and there was a happy ending to this tale. More on that in tomorrow's Grateful Friday post.

I know I just got back but...

2006-06-30T20:12:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm hittin' the road again. The B-dog, the T-dog and I are headed for the mountains of Colorado for the long holiday weekend. We'll be trying to get an early start in the morning so I know this will be my last opportunity to wish you a fond farewell and a happy, firecracker filled 4th. Maybe I'll finally get my cool mountain air, my hiking through the pines, my reading among the trees. I'm off to finish packing...and doing laundry...and washing dishes...and straightening up the house...and watching a Netflix movie...and paying bills...and, well, you know all those last minute things you always want to get done before leaving town for awhile. Be well my friends and I'll see you when I get back (probably Thursday). Light a sparkler for me, dear ones!

Happy 4th of July!

XOXOXOXO
me

Poetry Thursday - The Way to Grow

2006-06-29T18:42:00.000-07:00

I like the way the tree grows,
up and out,
lifting itself on tiptoe straight into the clouds
then spreading its long arms across the yard.
I like the way its branches
twist and tangle.
I like the way each one
has found its own path,
its own place of belonging.
I like the way they
bow and bend,
making room for each other
while continuing their own movement forward.
I like the way the sky's desire
calls it upward
and the Earth's hunger
pulls it downward.
I like the way this delicate tug of war
gives it strength and flexibility.
I like the way it wears its leaves
so loosely,
letting them fall without a fight,
without regret.
I like the way it kisses each morning tenderly
then cradles the stars every night.
And most of all,
I like the way it knows
without a doubt
its place is here
in this present moment.
It never forgets.
It never looks back.

Finding Myself

2006-06-28T18:37:00.000-07:00

And this is where I found myself, my spirit. Right there curled up in the bright pink petals, singing sweetly with the bees, turning my face warmly towards the sun. And you know, sometimes when you finally find that piece of yourself that you've been longing for, that peace of yourself that's been missing, all the walls you've been defensively constructing for so long start to crumble away. Your heart opens, your lips part, a song tunnels it's way from the dark and you finally start letting go. Yes, you finally unclench your fists, you finally lift your eyes, you finally let your soul crack open, you finally embrace the love around you. And you wonder what ever took you so long. You wonder why you haven't done this sooner. And you breathe again. And it is sweet.

SPC {Pop Art--4}

2006-06-27T17:47:00.000-07:00

4 days that rocked in a nutshell (...well, a fairly lengthy nutshell):

My mom and I left last Wednesday night. We traveled as far as my aunt's house, which is located in a small town just east of Clovis NM. We spent the evening munching on cheese and veggies and laying in my aunt's hammock. The next morning we took a 2 mile walk and then drove around the town photographing various sights and locations. My grandparent's lived in this same town when I was a child so it holds many fond memories for me, like playing Miss. America on the steps of the Baptist Church (where my grandfather pastored) and searching for pencils in the school yard. Next we were on the road, working our way towards the small town outside of Albuquerque where my mom attended school as a teen. You've probably heard me mention that both my sisters and my mother are Arbonne consultants. My mom's best friend from high school was hosting a party for my mom and my mom wanted someone to tag along. Enter oldest daughter, stage left. I was just along for the ride, someone to be in the car just in case (in case of what I don't know since I can't do a whole lot when it comes to mechanics), and someone to pass around the Arbonne products while she gave her little spill. We took our time making the journey, stopping at various places along the way to photograph crumbling buildings, historical markers, and beautiful catholic churches. After all this is Billy the Kid country for all you Young Guns fans. There was only one near-fatal incident in which my mom tried to kill me by plunging us off a cliff. We were able to laugh about it after we realized that although we were probably driving on only two wheels we didn't in fact actually flip the vehicle or cruise right on over the edge of the ravine. My mom tried to make a quick exit at a historical landmark site only to find that the road was sprinkled with gravel, gravel that didn't provide adequate traction for our SUV. After our nerves calmed we laughed until our sides ached. When we finally arrived at my mom's friend's my butt was officially asleep but not enough to prevent me from being driven around to the small towns in the surrounding area. When I yelled stop she pulled over and I hoped out to take some photos. This area of New Mexico is filled with old cemeteries, adobe buildings, and abandoned train stations. It's fascinating. That evening it was enchiladas for all--always a treat when it's New Mexico style.

Friday I literally spent the majority of the day laying on a blanket in the grass under a huge tree. It was divine, absolutely divine. I read, I journaled, I napped, I daydreamed. I did it all without leaving my little nest in the shade. We did take a short trip into my mom's old home town to see how things have changed--who's still around, what buildings are still standing, who's kids are now grown adults, and what happened to the yard my grandfather kept so religiously all those years ago. It was fun to hear my mom and her friend reminisce about their teen years--sneaking out to see boys, stealing their enemy's panties, babysitting the kids in the community, and various other secrets that have been kept all these many years. That evening was the Arbonne party which went very well for such a small community. When the house cleared it was time for laughter and strawberry margaritas--and I do believe my mom's friend entertained us with a little dancing as well.

Saturday was by far my favorite day of the trip. They let me choose where we would spend our day and of course I chose one of my most beloved towns in the US--Santa Fe. Santa Fe is 70 miles north of Estancia (the small town we were visiting.) Did I enjoy the drive? I should say so. It took us a total of 4 hours to travel that 70 miles because there were so many Kodak moments along the way. At this point I would like to insert a small word of advice. If you are going to trespass in an old cemetery to capture a beautiful crumbling headstone please make sure that your "get away" vehicle actually waits for you and doesn't abandon you at the scene of the crime. If they decide to take off down the road to see what other photogenic treasures lay just ahead it could lead to disaster. I happened to get lucky and didn't get caught but still... Not cool! We did eventually make it to our destination where we dined on French cuisine and then enjoyed being carted around the plaza by a bicycle drawn carriage--yes, not a horse, a bicycle. All three of us paid a visit to the Georgia O'Keefe museum and then while my two comrades sauntered around the plaza I enjoyed the Mexican Modern art exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts. This is where I got lucky enough to actually behold an original Frida Kahlo masterpiece. Breathtaking! We ended our day at Santa Fe's plaza by enjoying the two catholic churches in the area: the St. Francis and the Loretta. The Loretta is the church in Santa Fe which houses the miraculous spiral staircase constructed of wood but not a single nail. And my friends guess what I discovered on our way back home? A Trader Joe's. I've heard many of you talk about the goodness that is Trader Joe's but I had never had the privilege of being inside one. May I just say, Move over Mark Ruffalo--I have a new love and it's name is Trader Joe's. It was wonderful, magnificent, divine, all that I could have hoped for in a grocery store. I thought I loved Wholefoods Market. Well that was pre-Trader Joe's, when I didn't realize that there was a place where one could actually afford to shop for organic/whole foods. *sigh* Heaven! We made it back from Santa Fe a lot faster than we made it to Santa Fe but we still stopped to enjoy the smoke from a wildfire rising from the mountain tops and the sun setting over the desert. I heart New Mexico...and Trader Joe's...and Mark Ruffalo...heehee...I just had to throw that in there. I didn't want you to think my love had waned over the course of my 4 day road trip.

Sunday we headed back to Tejas after a fabulous brunch of Swedish pancakes, fresh peaches, and bacon (only no bacon for me because I'm a vegetarian.) There wasn't any photo taking on the way home because, lets face it, I was exhausted and just wanted to chill in the passenger seat, dozing off a time or two along the way. We did stop to visit my aunt before crossing the Texas state line and continuing towards home sweet home...

So why was this trip different from any trip I've ever taken before? Well, for starters this may be the only time my mom and I have traveled together without someone else tagging along--one of my sisters, my brother, my grandmother, a kid. I've been trying to remember if the two of us have ever taken a just-the-two-of-us trip before and ya know, I just can't remember. But the real reason it was so different is because it was the trip that marked the longest I've ever been away from Britton. Yes my friends, I left him here. I took this little vacation sans B-Dog. Oh don't think it was an easy decision. I floundered back and forth up until the last minute. Finally, I put all the if's aside--you know, the ones a mother knows she has no control over but deludes herself into thinking she could at least make it a little better if she were around--and made the decision to do what was best for him. And there was no way that what was best for him consisted of a 6 hour car ride and a boring Arbonne party. So he stayed with daddy--not before giving me a nice dose of guilt of course. The first thing he said when I told him I was taking a trip with Nana and he was staying here was, "But what will I eat if you're not here?" I promised him that his dad would indeed feed him and then proceeded to threaten Trey if I should come home and find a constipated child--too much meat, not enough fruits and vegetables...men do that kind of thing sometimes. And then the B-Dog sadly told me, "But I love you and I'll miss you and I'll cry!" *sigh* What's a mother to do? But I did it my friends. I left him behind and spent 4 days and 4 nights, a grand total of 96 hours, being Michelle and not Britton's mommy. And ya know, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. In fact I think I could have handled a couple more days before I started having serious withdrawals...as long as there's a Trader Joe's to fill the void.

And so I'm back. I'm back but there's a part of me that's still out there, still out there wandering the desert, roaming the plaza, and trespassing in old cemeteries. Life is sweet...

I've Got the Post-Trip Blues

2006-06-26T20:32:00.000-07:00

Do you ever find, after a really wonderful road trip, one in which you've enjoyed yourself more than you imagined possible, one in which you felt more alive than you've felt in a very long time, one in which you've laughed until your side ached and your eyes burned, that you're just not ready to return to your "real" life? Do you find you're grateful to be reunited with the ones you love, grateful for the comfort of your own home and the familiarity of your own bed, but you wish you had just a few more days? Do you find, when the alarm sounds the next morning, a knot of dread in the pit of your stomach, a reluctance to return to the daily grind? Do you find your beloved morning walks aren't quite the same because you aren't striding down a dirt road surrounded by the greenest, most lush alfalfa fields ever? Do you secretly wish for one more day of laying in the grass doing nothing and one more evening sitting on the porch enjoying a strawberry margarita? Does every cell in your body want to weep because you must return to a job that gives you little more than a paycheck and a couple valuable friendships, a job that you're too scared and uncertain to leave? Do you find you want more, more of the life you just lived? Do you already start planning your next escape, the next time you'll be able to really feel free? Do you realize that you're not here, not all of you, there's a part of you that is still wandering the deserts surrounding Santa Fe, a part of you that is out there photographing every old catholic church, every steeple in the sky, every cactus in bloom, every barbed wire fence, a part of you that is tiptoe-ing lightly through the brush to ensure a rattlesnake isn't curled up on your path? Do you recognize that your heart is somewhere else, standing in front of a painting of a weeping coconut as your pulse quickens, your eyes focusing on the signature in the bottom left hand corner, a name written in the most delicate, deciphirable handwriting: Frida Kahlo 51. Do you know there is a piece of your spirit haunting the hallways housing Georgia O'Keefe's incredible work, a piece that wants to lick her oil paintings because they are so thick and creamy and inviting that they remind you of soft serve ice cream? Do you find that your body may be here but your mind is still roaming the cemeteries of the wild west? Do you find an aching to be back in the sun and the air, on your knees in front of a crumbling tombstone of a long forgotten stranger? Do you know with each breath you take that part of you is still back there, lost somewhere in the streets of Santa Fe? Do you find yourself tacking a photo of Frida Kahlo to your bulletin board at work just to remind you of who you really are and what you really dream of? Do you find yourself longing for a place you love and feel connected to for some reason others can't understand? Do you find that there is a piece of your soul buried somewhere in the mountains of New Mexico, just waiting to be found again? And do you pray at the old tree stump, the one where you kneel each morning before starting the day, to hold on to the fire that was birthed in the cool desert air? Do you? Yea, me too.

Peace Out

2006-06-21T21:13:00.000-07:00

Question of the day: Why does blogger hate me? Really. I'm starting to take it personally.

Anyway, this isn't a proper goodbye but due to blogger's pissiness I can't post a proper goodbye. I just wanted to let you all know I'm taking a road trip with my Mom. We actually left town about 4 hours ago but I'm trying to post something very quickly (on a dial-up account--UGH!!) to let you all know I won't be back until sometime Sunday. I wanted to tell you all about the trip and why it's different than any other trip I've ever taken but I guess that will have to wait until my return.

In the meantime, have a fabulous Poetry Thursday, a wonderful Grateful Friday, and a glorious Sunday Scribblings.

Peace Out (heehee...I actually typed Peach Out when I first wrote that...)

Trying to Keep it Light and Humorous on a Tuesday Night

2006-06-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Jake,

In light of recent events, namely the discovery of Just Like Heaven over the weekend, I feel I must address a few issues. I know there has been much Mark Ruffalo madness the past few days. I go to sleep thinking about Mark Ruffalo, I wake up thinking about Mark Ruffalo, while taking my morning walk I think about Mark Ruffalo...you get the picture. I just want to assure you that my dedication to you has not waned. This is just a little crush, a passing phase. The fact that I have moved Rumor Has It up to the top of my Netflix queue, to be delivered to me this week, means nothing, absolutely nothing. You will always be the Donnie Darko of my dreams--only not, because that movie really creeped me out and still gives me nightmares. I can't handle movies with scary oversized bunnies. The Shining took care of that for me years ago. I'm not even going to link Donnie Darko because even the website oogs me out. I feel I must say these things because, well, I feel as if I've cheated on you, like I've had an affair or something. And for my peace of mind I need to assure you that you still hold the number one position in my heart...right up there with Robert Redford...and Denzel Washington...and the Wilson brothers but you totally have to give me that one because it's all about supporting the boys from my home state and a girl has every right to root for the home team, and in this case drool over the home team--and yes, I'm going to go ahead and include Andrew on this because although he's really not made anything on his own and usually just tags along on his brothers' movies if I didn't include him in the love I'd feel as if I were betraying the fam--that's short for family--I threw in that last link because well, it seems like lately it's been all about Owen and I just want Luke to get a little time in the spotlight.

I girl needs her crushes--even if it's only on unattainable movie stars. It's what keeps her young at heart, giddy, and playful. And you know that ever since the cute copy machine guy quite coming to check our copier everyday there just hasn't been much crushability in my life. I was clearly easy prey for the goodness that is Mark Ruffalo. But I assure you that when Zodiac, your next movie (which is in post-production--and which, by the way, co-stars the one and only Mark Ruffalo), is released I will be in the theatre, front and center. I'll even show up 30 minutes early to ensure that I get a good seat, one that poses no obstacles to my viewing pleasure...okay, maybe not 30 but at least 15. If I weren't committed to you would I have paid good money to rent Proof? Would I have sat through it, because let's face it Gwyneth Paltrow is just whiney and annoying in this movie. If I didn't adore you would I actually know how to spell your last name? The answer to all these questions is no. And believe me, after your stellar performance in Brokeback Mountain (and if I were a member of the Academy I so would have voted for you for the Oscar,) I only love you more. Especially after I saw what you might look like when you're older, with the tufts of gray at your temples and the full graying mustache, *sigh*.

In other matters, it has been rumored that you have a new love interest. When Kelly told me I almost didn't want to know who and plugged my ears so I wouldn't hear her. I just didn't know if my heart could take it. When she told me you'd been seen out and about with Natalie Portman I released a huge sigh of relief. I can handle Natalie Portman. She's cute, a little scrawny but still cute. I was afraid I was going to hear that you were back with Kirsten Dunst and if that were the case I would have to make a weekend trip to the Hollywood Hills, a copy of the recently popular It's Called it a Breakup Because It's Broken, by my side. I'd have to beg you to GIVE.IT.UP.ALREADY. But Natalie Portman's okay. I'm cool with that. Sure I'd like for you to always stay my beautiful blue-eyed bachelor but all things must change. I know that much.

So this letter is just to let you know that you can rest assured--my heart still belongs to you. I'm still crushin' on ya. There's room enough for both you and Mark Ruffalo.

Love Always...or at least until my next big crush,
me

A Quickie with a Confession Tacked on the End

2006-06-19T19:40:00.000-07:00

Well peeps, I'm still computerless. The computer I had been borrowing went back to its owner this weekend (hence the postless weekend) and now I'm trying to get in a quick word on one of Trey's many computers (hence the photolessness) that normally he doesn't let me within 5 feet of. Hopefully (keeping fingers crossed) he will have a computer up and running for me in the next day or two. At that point I will be back to regular posting, regular reading, and for those of you participating in the Journal Project (see my other blog--link on sidebar), we'll finally get that up and running.

And my Monday evening confession? Well, I'm not a big fan of romantic comedies. There are so many other excellent movies to watch (dramas, indies, documentaries, foreign flicks--which by the way I saw Central Station tonight and it was so, so good) that I normally won't pay money to see a romantic comedy (unless it stars one of the Wilson brothers, especially Luke, and then I'm there.) And after all, they're usually corny, cheesy, and unrealistic. And the absolute worst are those about ghosts/spirits. I've had a romantic comedy or two in my Netflix queue (at the recommendation of my Oscar buddy) but I kept pushing them to the bottom in favor of more "intellectual" films. Because I didn't have a computer last week I didn't get to update my queue and one of these said romantic comedies showed up in my mailbox. And peeps, this is where I tell you that I LOVED (in all caps) Just Like Heaven, the adorable flick staring the cute-as-a-button Reese Weatherspoon and the to-hot-for-words Mark Ruffalo. I watched it Saturday afternoon while putting together my Father's Day gifts. I started out on the couch and by the end of the movie I was laying on the floor on my belly gazing up at the tv on pins and needles. And yes, Sunday afternoon I watched it again. I couldn't help myself. And the second time, even though I knew what was going to happen, I was still on the edge of my seat. I don't want to give too much away but there is this scene (for those of you who've seen it, it starts in the hospital and ends with him walking through the house alone and is accompanied by an Amos Lee song) that gets me right here everytime (and if you don't know, when I say right here I'm pounding my heart with my fist.) Yes it was all things romantic comedyish--corny, cheesy, and unrealistic--but I don't care! I loved it! I've always had a bit of a crush on Mark Ruffalo anyway and this satisfied all my charming-leading-man cravings. *sigh* And I'd watch it again...I would...I'm not ashamed to admit it.

WORD OF WARNING: If after reading this post you say to yourself, "Ah, Michelle likes Mark Ruffalo. Perhaps this weekend I'll check out one of his films," I just want to warn you that the man likes to get naked and I do mean naked. If you go with something other than Just Like Heaven or 13 Going on 30 I can't be held responsible. And if you take a trip to your local Hastings and notice a copy of In the Cut (staring Mark Ruffalo) and think, "Ah this should be a nice one. It stars the adorable-girl-next-door Megg Ryan," I'm just here to tell you to beware and rent it at your own discretion. I thought the same thing. I thought, "Megg Ryan and Mark Ruffalo! What could be better?!" and boy did I get the surprise of my life. It was porn I tell you. Porn! Or damn close to it anyway (not that I've ever watched porn.) I was a bit self-conscious and embarressed while watching it and I was sitting alone in my livingroon without another soul in sight. I felt a little dirty when it was all over with, like I needed a shower and a quick trip to the nearest catholic church for a confession. However, it didn't change the fact that Mark Ruffalo is hot, hot, hot and if the point of watching the movie is to see him in all his nakedness then this is the flick for you. But don't say I didn't warn you.

PS--I can't get the spell check to work on this computer so I hope there aren't a million and one misspelled words in this post. And if there are then you know one of my deepest, darkest secrets: I can't spell worth a crap.

Grateful Friday or The Sweet-Crazy that is My Life

2006-06-16T21:18:00.000-07:00

The Crazy
Do you ever find yourself clinging to the day with clinched fists, heels dug into the ground, tugging on each minute begging it to slow down? That's how I've been all week. This morning felt like it should only be Wednesday, not Friday. Where did it go? All I want is a little more time to get some things done. I have a to-do list that never ends. As soon as I get one thing crossed off the list a few more jump on. I'm behind on updating the Journal Project blog which I wanted to have done by the beginning of the week. I have goodies to get to some of you sweets that are still sitting in the middle of the dining room table. The house is a disaster--and I do mean a disaster. I haven't read a word of Eat, Pray, Love since Sunday. There is wet laundry in the washer that I started Sunday and never moved to the dryer. My computer is still dead which means I'm behind on blog reading and am having to borrow a computer to make posts. It's father's day weekend and I didn't get my dad's gift in the mail which means he won't get it until early next week. Family is coming into town which means the weekend will be packed with activity. I have Netflix movies from last week that still haven't been viewed. Britton had another doctors appointment today--that makes an appointment every Friday for the past three weeks--ear infections-*ugh*. Work has been hectic, overwhelming, and headache inducing. I'll start a project, get distracted by something else that needs to be done, and then, a couple days later realize I never finished this first project. *sigh* I just hate days when, as I crawl into bed at night, I don't recall even being present all day. Obviously I was because I'm here, alive. But I was just along for the ride. It's days like these that I'm grateful that breathing is a natural reflex that doesn't require any thinking.

The Sweet
Even with all the craziness there has been sweetness. There were several family get togethers this week to celebrate Trey's birthday. The mechanics looking at my car couldn't find anything wrong with it which was wonderful because 2 weeks ago I had to put $300 worth of work into it--$319 to be exact--so I didn't have any money left for additional repairs. Trey's Papaw paid to have a new windshield installed--no more cracks or rock chips! My father's day presents may not be together but at least everything is purchased. I have walked every morning for the past 3 weeks (excluding weekends which just don't count.) Every morning this week the sunrise has been different and each one beautiful in its own way. One morning the clouds looked like wisps of pink cotton candy torn off the stick and tossed into the air. Another morning they looked like purple peaks against the horizon, a touch of white light making them resemble snow capped mountains. And yesterday the sky looked like a linen dress--white, light, and slightly wrinkled. I got the dishwasher unloaded and re-loaded tonight. I have taken some time every day (even if it was only for a few moments) to quiet myself and connect with my inner self. I had a fabulous portabello gardenbuger tonight. Blueberries, raspberries, and pineapples were on sale this week. The pineapple was one of the sweetest, juiciest and most delicious I've ever had. Britton and I have had some really lovely moments this week. I feel close and connected to the people I love the most. The struggles I've been experiencing the past month or so are, well, they aren't resolved completely but I don't feel as if I'm struggling as much as I had been. And despite it all, despite the tiredness, the busyness, the craziness, I still feel happy and alive and empowered. I'm not lost in a swirl of darkness begging to be found. I'm just wishing life would let me catch my breathe for a moment. Ah well...this too shall pass...and in the meantime I'll surrender to the sweet-crazy that is my life.

Poetry Thursday - A Poem for Summer

2006-06-15T20:09:00.001-07:00

We were kids.
It was summer.
We did all the typical things that kids do
when they have too much time on their hands.
We rode our bicycles around the neighborhood,
daring each other to glide handless down the bumpy sidewalk.
We climbed the tree that separated our yards to pick
the biggest, fattest, juiciest mulberries we could find.
We lay side by side in a twin sized bed listening to the same record
over and over and over again.
We played teacher, secretary, mother--
the only real options we thought women had.
And in the evenings, when the summer sun began
to have a little mercy on us all
we'd chase the tinkling sound of music
filling the air with its special kind of magic.
Stumbling over our flip-flops,
the ones that simply refused to stay on our feet,
we'd hurry to make perhaps our most important decision of the day.
Sitting cross legged in the grass
we'd let the sugared stickiness of our frozen treats
melt down our arms,
our tongues stained brilliant shades
of red and blue and green,
me insisting my choice was better than yours,
you insisting your choice was better than mine.
That was years ago.
I don't know where you are now.
I don't know what you do for a living,
if you're married,
if you became a teacher, a secretary, a mother,
or more importantly if you're happy,
really happy.
But if I happened to bump into you
while forcing my way through the crowded aisles of a grocery store,
if I were still able to recognize you
despite the change time has made to your appearance,
I'd tell you I'm still chasing the ice cream man,
bare feet slapping the hot pavement,
arms flailing to catch the driver's attention,
letting him know that yes, I am coming,
just as fast as I can.
I'm just a little slower now,
weighed down by a child's chubby hand clasped in mine.
And should we ever have our long awaited reunion
I must remember to tell you that yesterday,
when I finally caught up to the frozen paradise on wheels
slowly rambling it's way down the block,
I was overjoyed to find a woman behind the wheel.
There were so many options we never knew we had back then.
Yes, old friend, when the summer evenings cool
and the sun begins to make room for night
you'll still find me in hot pursuit of magical tinkling melodies,
you'll still find me chasing the ice cream man.

Summer Thoughts

2006-06-14T19:47:00.000-07:00

The hardest decision to make was always which color to choose.
Should I go with the green or the yellow?
What about the red?
But there's also the blue--
and if I choose the blue will I go with the dark royal blue or the softer pastel blue?
A very important decision,
for this spiral notebook would cradle all the memories of my summer vacation.
It was here I would record the minute details of our daily itinerary,
the silly things one of us said or did,
the important events I didn't want to forget,
my impressions of the world I was discovering,
even my most intimate thoughts about the day's menu.
It was here I would recall the moments that had us all in fits of laughter,
like the time Grandad ran over the main water line while trying to park the trailer,
putting the entire campground out of water until proper repairs could be made.
Of course he didn't find anything amusing about it at the time
but we were always able to make light of the mishaps and mistakes
once tempers had a chance to cool.
And it was here I would tape every shred of memorabilia that was tapeable--
receipts and brochures,
my ticket to Disneyland,
a ziplock bag filled with sand from my first trip to the beach,
postcards from Red River, Colorado Springs, the Grand Canyon,
a flattened penny engraved with the heads of four former Presidents.
It was those summer journals that taught me the value of recording the days of my life--
both memorable and mundane.
It was by staying awake just a few extra minutes each night
in order to avidly record the day's details
that I learned everything may not necessarily have a purpose or reason
but everything does hold the meaning you choose to give it,
and I have spent the rest of my life making meaning.
Summer journals lead to years of putting life between the pale blue lines
of a spiral notebook.
And this is perhaps one of the greatest gifts my Meme ever gave me.

SPC {Pop Art...Kind Of? - 2}

2006-06-13T20:01:00.000-07:00

...Among some tribal people names change when character-evolving events take place. Members of an aborigine tribe take on a new name when they feel ready for one. They keep their birth name until five or six and then choose a name based on a talent or interest. They'll hold a party to declare their new name, which may be something like "Interested in Wood." A few years later they may hold another party and become "Boomerang Maker" and, eventually, "Number One Whizbang Boomerang Maker." They'll declare they've undergone a transformation and honor this with a name to help everyone see them in a new way.

"A name should be taken as an act of liberation, of celebration, of intention," writes Erica Jong in Fear of Fifty. "A name should be a magical invocation to the muse. A name should be a self-blessing."

Poetry can be about discovering and naming ourselves. And creating a name can be like writing a poem...
from Poemcrazy by Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge

Black Hawk circling the blue sky
My real name is buried,
here,
far below the heavy rocks,
the tender scars
Yesterday my name was hunger,
hunger and confusion,
a dog chasing after it's own tail
Tomorrow my name will be forgotten by many,
but somewhere I know
it is safely kept for eternity
In my dream my name was poet,
healer, warrior,
Radiant Butterfly Woman,
the wind in this present moment
And I, the mighty hawk,
continue to circle,
higher and higher into the blue
and all my names make up my wings
and all my names make up the sky

Now you try.... In the wonderful book Poemcrazy Wooldridge suggests you write your own name poem using the following prompt:

My real name is
yesterday my name was
tomorrow my name will be
in my dream my name was

I can't wait to see what you come up with...

Making the Best of It...Or at Least Trying To

2006-06-12T18:16:00.000-07:00

I'm back! And how was the road trip I mentioned in the last post? Well, it didn't happen...at least not the way we had planned it. I had the road trip music all picked out, the DVDs were packed so Britton would have something to occupy him while we traveled, the canoe was safely strapped to the roof of the Explorer, everything else was good to go when the air conditioner decided to quite blowing air from the vents. UGH! We knew there was absolutely no way we'd make a 5 hour drive without an air conditioner. If the heat didn't kill us the complaints from the child in the backseat would. After searching the internet we found a state park with a lake (essential for the canoeing) 176 miles away. However it soon became obvious that we wouldn't be able to make it even that distance without an air conditioner. It was just too hot. So we ended up at a lake/community called Buffalo Springs a mere 20 miles outside of town. Bummer.

Of course Britton didn't know any different and he was still ecstatic about the whole thing. But it was hard for me to adjust to the new scenario. I could say that despite the change in plans I was able to make the best of things and that the trip was still spectacular but that would be lying. The truth is it just plain sucked. It was like the ghetto version of camping. Britton couldn't leave the tent without shoes because of all the broken beer bottles in the dirt. He couldn't play in the dirt because of the numerous beds of huge red ants. I thought I would be worried he would wander off into the wild. Instead I was worried he'd get hit by a car on the road a few yards in front of our tent. There wasn't a grassy spot to be found which meant I couldn't spread a blanket in the shade for afternoon napping. Instead of silence there was heavy metal music blaring from our neighbor's vehicle. And instead of solitude we shared a measly plot of land with several other campers. They were in such close proximity that we could hear the conversations they were having in their tents.

But there were a few redeeming moments. Like I said Britton didn't know any different and he thoroughly enjoyed himself. It's hard not to find joy when you're camping with a child. It's just better, kind of like the way Christmas seems to be so much better when a child is involved. Their excitement is just plain contagious. And then there was the canoeing, a new experience for me. I was a bit timid at first, frightened of the rocking and afraid Britton might tumble into the water, but once we were steadily making our way down the lake, the wind blowing my hair, the sun on my cheeks, the noticeable strength in my muscles as I plunged and rowed, plunged and rowed, it was, well, addicting, exhilarating. And it made me feel downright giddy. And of course the most important part of it all was simply having time to be together, away from everything else. Trey has been so busy lately that I've felt very disconnected from him. It was nice having a weekend with no computers, no cell phones, and plenty of smores.

Although I didn't get my cool mountain air, my grassy shade, my solace, my silence, I did get plenty of laughter, hiking, canoeing, and peeing in the grass. Oh yes, and the campfires. I definitely got the campfires too. And isn't that what camping is all about...well that and the smores.

Grateful Friday-What I'm Lovin' These Days

2006-06-09T12:23:00.000-07:00

1. Gardenburger Riblets--just what a girl needs (well a vegetarian girl) when everyone around her are eating steaks
2. my new summer bag
3. the bohemian bird necklace i purchased from Miss Sarah
4. the cuff bracelet I won on e-bay--created by the fabulous Sarah
5. my new tattoo--which now that i look at it is similar to the bohemian bird necklace--that wasn't planned
6. laying in the grass reading or just staring into the sky
7. family time in the evenings
8. my horizon pin from Miss Nina
9. the wonderful Alba coconut cream lip balm--so good i want to roll the tube up as far as it will go and then just eat it

also lovin'...
~the buy 2 get $1 off coupons in the Gardenburger Riblets box
~morning walks
~finding time daily to sit in silence, even if only for a few minutes
~showing up in my life
~black bean and corn pico
~a&d ointment--for treating a new tattoo
~the road trip i'm just about to take--we're heading to a lake in the austin area (i wanted the cool mountain air but apparently new mexico has a fire ban--and we sleep in a tent and cook over a campfire)

so i'll be out for the rest of the weekend! have a good one! talk to ya monday...

~Poetry Thursday~

2006-06-08T18:55:00.000-07:00

Sometimes words fail me,
like today,
when I wanted to tell you
about my orange,
this orange,
sitting in the palm of my cupped hand,
like a little moon
wrapped in perfect dimpled goodness.
I wanted to tell you
how its flesh was thin but firm
and how it held on tightly,
not as if in a struggle,
but like a familiar lover in a playful game
of hard to get.
I wanted to tell you
how excited that little orange was
to offer its juicy sweetness
at the alter that is my tongue,
how it was so anxious that it began
spilling its sacrifice before I could completely
unfold its bright orange flesh.
I wanted to tell you
how the wet stickiness was like a river
running from fingers to elbow,
how it simply could not contain its joy,
how it so reminded me of the delighted squeals
of a young child,
of hungry shouts calling, "Look at me, look at me!
Look at me!"
I wanted to tell you
how much I understood this orange,
how I too am standing in this place,
in the palm of life's cupped hand,
begging, "Look at me, look at me!
Look at me!"
**************************************
I want to tell you about my unusual and unexpected poetry reading. Saturday night I went with some girlfriends to get a tattoo (pics to come later, once the redness and swelling are gone.) I got a beautiful bird tattooed on the top of my left foot with the words "live you poem" written underneath it in French--because everything's more beautiful in French. When the artist asked me to translate the words for him he begin to recite Robert Frost. I had my own little poetry reading there in the tattoo parlor, my foot propped up, the artist working to create another beautiful masterpiece.

Finding God in an Empty Bathtub

2006-06-07T18:51:00.000-07:00

An intensely spiritual experience. That's the only way I know how to describe it, and even that doesn't do it justice. In fact I question even writing about it because it's so far beyond explanation. Now before you think I'm getting all religious hear me out and know that as crazy as this sounds it was one of the most real experiences of my life.

I've been struggling with some things lately, some very painful things. I've been seeking direction and asking myself (and others) what I should do. Sunday there was yet another tangle of perspectives and expectations that sent me into an emotional tailspin of sorts. I wanted, I needed, to run, to hide, to be alone, even if only for awhile, until I'd had time to feel and dump and recover enough to continue on. I don't have too many options when it comes to solitude. The closest is great but I have to admit that currently my closet floor is one chaotic pile of shoes and clothes--both mine and Britton's. So I slipped into the bathroom. I locked the door, crawled into the empty bathtub, pulled the shower curtain around me and bawled my eyes out. Tell me, what's a woman to do when she needs to be alone and she knows that's not really possible? Before you knock it, before you write me off as crazy, you ought to try it. It offered a nice little shelter, a respite, from the day's storms. As I sat there, knees pulled into my chest, crying, screaming, asking questions, I realized I've been doing this all my life. All my life I've been searching for, calling out to, begging for assistance from something, someone, "out there," some invisible power in the sky, something looming above me, away from me. I know it's because that is my childhood concept of God, a holy father figure sitting in heaven, who has to reach down to offer comfort/assistance, etc. I tend to run to God when I'm a wreck. That's what I know to do. And despite all my growth I still have times when I stumble back into those childhood concepts.

Is there another way? That's what I asked myself there in the empty tub. Is there another way? What if I pull it inward? What if I put my questions, my struggles, my anger, inside, into the very deepest places of my heart, instead of hurling them "out there?" What would happen? Would it be different? Many of you may read this and think, Well duh! But honestly I don't know if I've ever really done that before--especially not in times of crisis. So I tried. I tried sending my questions into the deepest place I could, "What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?" I sat and I listened and nothing happened. I sat until my tears dried up. I sat until I was certain that at any minute little fists would be pounding on the door. Then I sighed, parted the curtain, and stepped out of the tub.

I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, cleaning up my puffy, tear streaked face, when something deep within, I don't know if you'd call it a voice or not, said, "You are beautiful Michelle. You really are. You are beautiful and whatever you need to do, you can do it. I promise you that. You can do it. You can do what you need to do." By this time I was crying again, not from the pain and struggle, but from the intense feeling of love that I felt both within myself and surrounding me. It was my own voice, and inner voice from deep within, but it was also not my voice--it was wiser, more compassionate, more loving. It was me, and it was different than me. I'm choosing to call it God because if God is real I know God has to be the intense feeling of love that I was experiencing as I stood there staring at my reflection. Maybe an inner voice has tried to get my attention before and I wouldn't listen. I don't know. But I do know that I don't remember anything like this ever happening before. And do you know what? I believed it. Maybe that's what makes this time so different. I believed it. I believed every word and that has made the difference. I've doubted my beauty, doubted my ability, doubted my strength, but not in that moment. In that moment I knew without a doubt it was true. Maybe you think I'm crazy or delusional. Maybe I am. Maybe you don't believe in God and therefore can't accept this as anything more than wishful thinking or some absolutely normal psychological occurrence. Maybe you're right. I don't care. Whatever it was I needed it. And it was more real than I can ever begin to explain.

That message, that sense of love, has stayed with me. Throughout the past few days I've gone back, over and over again, to that moment, grabbing onto those words. And I still believe them.
I have done some hard things this week, things I never thought I would have the courage, the clarity, to do. But I was able to do them because I believe those words. "You can do what you need to do." I've done some easy things this week, things I haven't felt I had the energy or drive to do and I've done them because of those words. "You can do what you need to do." I don't know how to explain it. I don't know if I even can, but something happened in that bathroom that changed me. I felt a very distinct shift in being. Elizabeth Gilbert describes such a life altering encounter in her book Eat, Pray, Love. Jennifer describes one on her blog this week (Which by the way, if you aren't reading her blog you really should give it a try. She is real and honest, creative and artistic, and a fabulous writer. On top of all that she is doing some wonderful inner work and I truly admire her for that.) Knowing other people have had similar experiences helps me feel a little less awkward about it. It helps me know that there are other women out there seeking and finding and being changed.

It started in the empty bathtub; it finished in front of the mirror...and I'm choosing to call it God. I don't know what else to call it.

(UGH!!! I give up! I've been trying since 11:00 last night to get a pic on here. I give up!!!! Sometimes I hate blogger!)

SPC {Pop Art Kinda?-1}

2006-06-06T19:12:00.000-07:00

somebody thinks I'm a swirled rubber ball, bouncing around, changing the world with my truth
somebody likes all my facets and complexities
somebody thinks I'm simply beautiful
somebody appreciates my truth and honesty
somebody feels as if I'm a kindred spirit
somebody believes I am precious, wild and alive
somebody thinks I have guts and grace
somebody calls me amazing
somebody says I'm a girl who rocks
somebody loves my bravery
somebody believes I'm a gift
somebody tells me I'm special to them
somebody thinks I'm inspiring, a minister, a force of change
somebody thanks me for being open, loving and real
somebody sees me...really sees ME

Thank you! All of you. These are words taken straight from comments you've left me. All of you are my somebodies. Thank you for seeing my truth. Thank you for seeing all the beauty in me. Thank you for constantly holding the mirror up to my face, reminding me of who I am...because god knows there are times I can't see it for myself and I need your eyes. Thank you for being eyes of grace.

ps--I have posted the game plan!

300

2006-06-04T20:29:00.000-07:00

Words that spoke to me this week...

The Bhagavad Gita--that ancient Indian Yogic text--says that it is better to live your own destiny imperfectly than to live an imitation of somebody else's life with perfection. ~Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

...and though the questions that have assailed us all day remain--not a single answer has been found--walking out now into the silence and the light under the trees, and through the fields, feels like one.~Mary Oliver, First Snow

All enjoying is your best gift to your self.~SARK, the June 4th message in Living Juicy

Poetry has an interesting function. It helps people be where they are.~Gary Snyder

To experience a place I need to walk in it as often as I can.~Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge, Poemcrazy...and I think she means the places within as well as the places of this world.

MamaSaysOm - Warm

2006-06-03T13:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Britton,

I've got nothin' this week. I tossed the word warm over and over in my head and just couldn't come up with something that wasn't cliche or already done. But I think the real reason I couldn't come up with anything is because I know there's something else I need to write to you about. We'll throw in the word warm a time or two so it qualifies for the theme and call it good. Or better yet we'll title this letter the-not-so-warm-and-fuzzy moment of our week.

I hit a parenting milestone this week. There are these moments in a parent's life, like watching their child walk for the first time, or the first time they hear the words I love you, or teaching their child to drive, or seeing them graduate from high school, that every parent prepares for. And each moment is a right of passage that both child and parent must pass through. Well this week I got my first "I hate you!" Ouch! Yes, right in the middle of a lovely (and warm) spring evening you hurled these three little words at me and it hurt. I was taken completely off guard and when the spinning in my head subsided I was surprised to see I was still standing because I really thought I had stumble backwards and fallen on my butt. I guess it wasn't my body that stumbled and fell but my heart.

I've been preparing for this moment because I knew it would come one day and I wanted to handle it with as much grace and understanding as possible. But honestly I thought I had at least another 7-10 years. I thought those daggers wouldn't head straight for my chest until you were a teen/pre-teen and taking even longer strides towards asserting your independence and becoming your own person. To get them when you are just three, well, I wasn't ready. I always imagined that when the day came for us to cross this threshold, I would look you right in the face, let you see the love in my eyes, and then give you permission to hate me, not because it's okay to disrespect me but because I never, never want to take your feelings away from you. Every feeling you ever have in your lifetime I want you to own, to feel, to sit in for as long as you need to. And I imagined I would sit in those feelings with you just so you would know you always have someone there for you. But when those words ripped through the air, they also ripped apart my heart. And as much as I hate to admit it, my first reaction was, "Don't you say that to me!" Not very mature. Now mind you the moments following your declaration of hatred are very blurry and I honestly don't know if I said those words aloud or just thought them in my head. I just can't remember. But whether I said them or not what they really meant were, "You hurt me." I didn't want you to tell me you hated me because it hurt worse than I ever imagined it could. I thought I would be able to take it. I thought I could sit with it. I was wrong. It stung, terribly.

Since then I've recovered and we've talked about it. What I want to tell you about this whole incident is sometimes, no matter how much I try to prepare for things that you and I will encounter, I may still get rocked to my very core. I'm human. Not only am I a human but I'm a human very much in love with another human. And sometimes when we say things to each other, like "Don't say that to me," we are really saying something more, something underneath those words, something like, "You hurt me." And finally what I want to tell you is I don't know if unconditional love is really possible but I do know that the closest that anything will ever come to that kind of love is the love a parent has for their child. Sitting here today I cannot think of anything that you could do that would make me not love you. You might do things to hurt me, things to rip the ground out from underneath me, things to anger me, things to disappoint me, and things to embarrass me, but I just don't think you can do anything to make me not love you--even telling me you hate me.

Parenting is hard. It's indescribably hard. It's exhausting trying to show up and be present for someone 24/7. It changes pretty much everything about one's life. And I try to say these things over and over again so that you, and others, might have a little bit better knowledge and understanding than I did. But in case I say those things too much, let me also remind you how wonderful being a parent, your parent, is. There are the not-so-warm-and-fuzzy moments but they are far outweighed by the warm-and-fuzzy moments. And we've had those moments this week too, like when I came home Thursday night after running errands and you jumped into my arms and squeezed me so hard I thought I might explode with joy. Or at breakfast Friday morning, when in between bites of egg and hash browns, you said, "Mama let's talk." Or Tuesday night when we laid on a blanket under the spring moon and read a book. Or mornings when you must be certain you've kissed me at least a dozen times before I head off to work. Or every evening when you want me to sleep with you for "just 10 minutes" (everything these days seems to be "just 10 minutes.") Yes those moments far outweigh the not-so-warm-and-fuzzy ones. And that is why, when a parent gets knocked on their butt, they get right back up and keep on loving.

Yours even when you hate me,
Mama

Grateful Friday - Happy

2006-06-02T20:51:00.000-07:00

Happy. Dare I even utter that word? It's a word that seems to elude me lately. I fear that if I admit to having actually experienced moments of deep happiness this week I will jinx it all. But I'm grateful, so very grateful, for the sunny rays of happiness that have shone down on me these past few days. Even in the midst of a crazy and chaotic week, I felt clarity, focus, presence, joy, friendliness, hope. I have not dwelt in the land of these emotions for some time. Lately I seem to be bedfellows with heaviness, loneliness, fear, depression. But it was also this week that my daily dose of Wellbutrin was increased from 150 mg to 300 mg. I fear the happiness I've experienced this week is not real but medicated...and I so want it to be real. I want to take these pills for as short a time period as possible but I must admit that I'm afraid that when I give them up the happiness will slip away too. When the fear creeps in, I breathe and I tell myself to take it any way I can get it UNTIL I am able to get it on my own, without the assistance of medication. And I breathe a prayer of thanksgiving every morning: I'm grateful I can get out of bed. I'm grateful I am able to once again enjoy my morning walks. I'm grateful to be showing up for my son. I'm grateful to feel the flow of ideas. I'm grateful to be creating. I'm grateful that words are spilling out. I'm grateful to be treating others with kindness and respect. I'm grateful to be embracing myself instead of turning away. I'm grateful to be happy.

Poetry Thursday - Right Between the Eyes

2006-06-01T16:54:00.000-07:00

I knew exactly what I was going to write about this week. I had the poem, the poet, the story all picked out. I had a plan. And then, yesterday while reading a few poems from Mary Oliver's American Primitive all my plans came to a swift halt. Isn't that the way life is. There sitting in the sunlight, lounging at a picnic table, enjoying my lunch hour--which I usually always keep to myself for the sacred acts of reading poetry and writing in my journal--I was unexpectedly hit right between the eyes. It was a bowl of words, stirred together, to give us a glimpse into the life of the fabled Johnny Appleseed. But then, right in the middle of the mix, I found a message written just for me. And of course I knew this is what I had to share tonight. I had to share because this is what I love about poetry. I love those "Aha" moments. I love those times when, in the middle of reading a line, a verse, a stanza, you feel the ground beneath your feet shift just a little bit. I love when, at the end of the poem, you look up and realize the details of the world have changed colors. Yes, that's what I love about poetry. And isn't that why Liz created this adventure, to encourage us to have more of those moments, to give us a safe and love-filled place to share those moments.

You see friends, there are things in my life that I don't tell you about, personal things that weigh heavy on me, breaking my spirit, crushing my heart. I can't share these happenings because there are others involved who don't really want to be blogged about and I want to honor that. This poem was a message to me in the midst of these heavy moments. I'm not expecting the words to speak to you in the same way they spoke to me. You and I are in different places in our lives and the life message I need right now is not the life message you need. But I choose to share my message with you because when you get hit right between the eyes you can't help but talk about it, share it with a group of kindred spirits who can look into a pool of words and see your reflection staring back at them.

I think you can easily find the words that spoke to me but I highlighted them for emphasis all the same.

John Chapman
by Mary Oliver

He wore a tin pot for a hat, in which
he cooked his supper
toward evening
in the Ohio forests. He wore
a sackcloth shirt and walked
barefoot on feet crooked as roots. And everywhere he went
the apple trees sprang up behind him lovely
as young girls.

No Indian or settler or wild beast
ever harmed him, and he for his part honored
everything, all God's creatures! thought little,
on a rainy night,
of sharing the shelter of a hollow log touching
flesh with any creatures there: snakes,
racoon possibly, or some great slab of bear.

Mrs. Price, late of Richland County,
at whose parents' house he sometimes lingered,
recalled: he spoke
only once of women and his gray eyes
brittled into ice. "Some
are deceivers," he whispered, and she felt
the pain of it, remembered it
into her old age.

Well, the trees he planted or gave away
prospered, and he became
the good legend, you do
what you can if you can; whatever

the secret, and the pain,

there's a decision: to die,
or to live, to go on
caring about something. In spring, in Ohio,
in the forests that are left you can still find
sign of him: patches
of cold white fire.

The Transformation of a Blogger

2006-05-31T18:19:00.000-07:00

Some days the post I wrote the night before sits with me all day. Today was one of those days. Last night I went from not knowing what I would write, to spilling my guts. So of course I couldn't help but ponder the evolution of the post. I know, I think too much but that's me. That's what I do. My mind is usually always spinning and the majority of the time I'm asking myself, why. Why did I react that way? Why did I feel that way? Why did I write what I wrote and what was I really trying to say? Did I say it? What was I trying to give voice to? Those are the questions I've thought about today. Sometimes I start to put the pieces together and I end up understanding myself, my wants, and my needs a little better. Other days the questions remain a mystery and that's the way I leave them--as a mystery. As I sat with these questions today one word kept creeping into my head: relationship.

When I originally began this blog, almost a year ago, I wanted a place to give voice to my experiences, my thoughts, my feelings, my poetry, my life. I had been writing for a long time (mostly in journals) but I had never shared my writing with anyone. This blog was a next step. It was a chance to put it out there, in the public sphere. It was a scary and vulnerable step but it was a step I was aching to take, and one I have no regrets about. At first I wrote solely for myself. No one read my words. No one left comments. Then over time I begin to gather a little audience. And as my audience grew something unexpected happened: I started building relationships. I started belonging to a community. In the back of my head I had always hoped that would happen but it was one of those wild wishes made in the middle of the night that was never spoken outloud. I've been asking myself if having a community, if having readers, has changed the way I write. Perhaps some, but what has changed even more is the reasons I write. The initial reason is still there and still important. I still write to give voice to my life. If tomorrow I lost all of you I would still write...at least I hope I would...after I grieved the loss of all you beautiful souls of course. But now I also write in order to build relationships. I share myself so that you will know me better and in order for a deeper relationship to take root. And then, I'm lucky enough to come to your blog and get to know you and an even deeper relationship can take root.

This is a long way of telling you how I feel my blogging life is changing and evolving. I may have secretly hoped for readers but I never expected to feel so committed to my fellow bloggers. I never dreamed that in the middle of the day I'd stop dead in my tracks and think about one of you. I never dreamed that as I curled up in bed at night I would take time to hold one of you in my heart. I never dreamed that I would talk about you to my family and friends as if you lived right next door and we had tea everyday. I never dreamed I would feel so committed to you. And so I have begun to share myself here not only out of my need for voice but also out of my feelings of commitment.

Which brings me to some changes I'm having to make in my blogging life. Once upon a time I read every single blog on my sidebar, every single day, and left a comment on every single post. That was also done out of my desire to build relationships, and because I know the heart and soul that goes into a post and I want to honor and acknowledge that. However I'm beginning to realize I just can't do that anymore. I would like nothing more than to spend all day reading blogs, discovering new blogs, connecting with each of you fabulous beings...and get paid for it (HAHA!). Until that day I'm gonna have to do something different. Many of you have commented on the new organization of my sidebar. I'm glad you like it. It was born out of this new realization of my limits. Since there are going to be days I can't read every single one of you (I hope there aren't TOO many of those days but you never know...) I'm going to have to decide how to handle that. And so I decided the best way to do that was to ask myself on those days one question: What do I really need today? Some days I may need a good laugh. Some days I may need delicious words that I want to eat. Some days I may need a shot of inspiration. Some days I may need to loose myself in beautiful art and creative juices. Some days I may need to come home to some of the first bloggers I ever read and feel the warmth of familiarity. You get the picture.

Why then, you may ask, did I ask for some of your favorite links this week. That too is based on relationship. I love my circle of bloggers (each and every one of you) and I also want to open my arms to others. I want my circle to grow. I want to explore and discover and be further challenged and supported and inspired.

So if you don't see me around EVERYDAY, on EVERY post, know that I have not lost my commitment to you. If anything I hope this post speaks loudly about how committed I feel to this community. It is amazing and incredible and life altering. My not being around as often may just mean life has gotten in the way, again... And I hate when real life gets in the way of blogging...

ps--I have posted an update at the Journal Project blog.

SPC {Introduction-5}

2006-05-30T21:18:00.000-07:00

I had no idea what I was going to write about tonight. None whatsoever. So I strapped on my tennis shoes (after I dug them out of the bottom of the closet) and went for a walk. I walked while the birds calmed themselves (and me) with their evening melodies. I walked while my feet pounded a steady drumbeat on the sidewalk. I walked while the dark clouds huddled together, threatening rain. I walked while the moon, the tiniest cheshire cat smile you've ever seen, fought the clouds for a little attention. I walked until I saw a wall of dust just on the horizon getting ready to head my way and I knew it was time to head home. And while I walked I asked myself one question, tossing the answer around in my head over and over again, Who is Michelle? If someone were to ask me who I am, what would I say? The truth is I don't have an answer to that question. There just isn't one. Why? Because it's not a question that can be answered with something pat and simple. I am a messy and magnificent combination of all my experiences, all my beliefs, all my emotions, all my roles, and all my relationships. And how do you sum all that up in a nice little sentence or two? You just can't. That is something you spend a lifetime answering not in words but in being and becoming.

I am a girl with a blog and everyday I come here to try and give meaning to my life. I tell you a lot. I don't tell you everything. I try to live honestly and I hide from the people I need to talk to the most because I'm scared shitless of what their reaction might be. I have days I shine brilliantly and I have days that I wonder what the hell just happened. I have moments with Britton when I know without a doubt I'm doing an excellent job and I have moments I think what the hell just happened. I strive to be present for you and sometimes I shut down. I am a girl who has been shattered into a million pieces and is slowly learning to glue them back together again and live with the cracks and chips. I am broken in ways you'll never imagine. I am stronger than I give myself credit for. I am all the wonderful things you mention in your comments and I have times I struggle to believe those wonderful things are really true. I am a girl standing in front of life, opening my arms as wide as possible, shouting, yes, yes, yes. I am a girl running madly away from her life because she's scared of being real and full and as alive as possible. I am a girl who wants so desperately to live in complete love towards and acceptance of herself. I am a girl who has never seen that done and so doesn't even know where to start. I am a girl who has seen her dreams come crashing to the ground. I am a girl who keeps right on dreaming. I stumble, I trip, I fail and yet I keep getting up again. I keep moving forward. And there has been a time or two that it's taken me awhile to get back up and in those moments I crawled until I could stand, I stood until I could walk, I walked until I could run, I ran until I could fly and I have all the scars and bruises to prove it. I am a girl full of words who can not find the words to tell the man she lives with, the man she loves, that she's lonely. I am a girl brimming with emotion and passion and creativity who is afraid to let go, afraid to let loose. I am a girl whose most painful experiences can not even begin to touch the amount of pain some of you have lived through. I am a girl who says let me sit with you in your pain. I'm bitchy and cranky. I'm loving and forgiving. I'm irritable and on the edge. I'm compassionate and full of grace. I'm all of it--every drop of it.

That's what I would tell you today. Tomorrow may be a different story. And I tell you all of this not in order to receive comments telling me how great my writing is, or how touching my words are, or how true and honest and real I am. I tell you because I want you to know that I'm not an either/or person. I am a both/and person. Everything you see here has a flip side, a shadow side, and I live that too--everyday. The dark, the light, the yin, the yang, the love, the fear, the yes, the no, I live it all. I tell you all of this in order for you to know I'm not all that different from you. Really I'm not. So today, if you choose to leave me a comment just simply say, I'm so glad we have some things in common.

Hi, I'm Michelle. I'm a girl with a blog just trying to give meaning to her life.

A Quick Post on a Monday Evening

2006-05-29T19:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a very full three day weekend. I'm tired and ready for a nice long bath but I do have a few things to report on before I head to the tub.

I worked today on a separate blog for The Journal Project. For any of you interested in participating in the traveling journal you can check out the new blog here. I have compiled a list of participants on the sidebar. Please double check and make sure you are listed if you are wanting to participate. It's not too late to join. It's going to be exciting!

You may remember that at the beginning of the month I mentioned giving myself a new blogging challenge each week of the month. I never mentioned that last week's challenge was getting my feet wet with Picassa and another photo altering program called GIMP (I don't have Photoshop--boo hoo!). Every photo I published last week was tweaked just a little bit with one of these two programs. I added lighting, shadows, blurriness, etc. to give the photos just a little bit of extra 'oomph.' I'm learning slowly but surely.

This week's challenge is a little different. This week I will be expanding my blogging community with your help and suggestions. I read so many blogs that I haven't really had time to explore other fabulous blogs that are lurking in the blogspere. This is where you come in--I'm asking for your help. I'm certain that you are reading some blogs that I'm not. So tell me about one of them. Tell me what you love about it and pass along the link so I can discover it too. Or, maybe you're reading me but I haven't discovered you yet. Leave me your link so I can mosey on over and check you out. I know there are all sorts of wonderful, inspiring blogs out there that I just haven't stumbled across yet. I'm making it a little easier on myself by asking for some of your favorite links. Pass them along. I can't wait to discover something new and fabulous.

Sunday Scribblings {First Love}

2006-05-28T20:18:00.000-07:00

He slips into my dreams more often than I care to admit.
I drift off and there he is, just the way I remember him,
just the way I created him in my childlike heart.
I didn't really know him, really,
but I loved him,
I loved him because children do that,
they love fully and without questioning.
I loved him because I didn't know any other way of being.
I loved him without reason and without sensibility.
I loved him just because.
It's been years,
so many, many years
and there's this little piece of him I still carry with me.
The funny thing is he never knew.
He never knew I watched him from a distance.
He never knew my heart skipped a beat when he walked into the room.
He never knew about all the times I held my breath, waiting to catch a glimpse of him.
He never knew I scribbled his name on the cover of my math book.
He never knew I would pretend to be his girlfriend.
He never knew any of it.
Now we're all grown up.
He has a wife and kids.
He wakes up everyday and does the things his life requires that he do
and I wonder if he realizes he slips into my dreams.
I wonder if he knows there is someone in this big, crazy world
who thinks about him almost every day,
someone who will always carry him in her heart
just because,
just because he was her first love,
just because they were two kids,
two kids who knew each other a little bit
and she chose to love the boy he used to be
and has never stopped loving him.

MamaSaysOm - Nature

2006-05-27T20:37:00.000-07:00

they've been working relentlessly for days now
both of them busily flitting around
collecting twigs and other such necessities
i imagine they've recently fallen in love
and are anxious to build their little nest
welcome a few tiny ones
get on with living their short lives
i'm not familiar with the names of birds
maybe they're wrens
too big to be finches
they each have a little touch of pink
covering their chest and head
one slightly more colorful than the other
they take turns
first one
then the other
flying about to make another important collection
there's business to be done
no time to waist
but i can't help wondering why they've chosen a light
and not a tree
maybe they know more than i do
maybe they know in the evenings
the warmth of the bulb will keep
their little ones warm and snug
maybe they understand that it's important
to have some distance from the merciless texas sun
maybe they look out toward the trees
the same ones that have already been stripped
of their leaves more than once this season
by the unforgiving wind
maybe they see the mockingbird and the sparrow
building their homes
among the unprotected branches
and think
those silly little twits
maybe they know there's more than one way
to do things right

Grateful Friday - Feelin' Alive

2006-05-26T20:08:00.000-07:00

Happy Friday!

After writing my Sunday Scriblings 3 Wishes post I knew I wanted to create more moments in which I felt alive and passionate and connected to myself and the world around me. This week I did one little thing every day to make that happen. I decided to start with the small things, the little gifts of pleasure that I can give myself daily. Each day this week I promised myself I would not end the day until I had given myself something, anything, that made me feel happy, healthy, and full of life.

Monday--walked to the grocery store instead of driving. It not only gave me an opportunity to get a little exercise but it was also a chance to breathe deeply, enjoy the sunshine, and have a few moments to myself.

Tuesday--crawled into bed a little early and read a few chapters from Eat, Pray, Love. I really enjoy reading in bed before drifting off to sleep but I rarely make time to do this.

Wednesday--started my day by watching the sun rise. I took a walk around the neighborhood, breathing in the damp earth and listening to the birds sing.

Thursday--slipped out of the house for an hour or so, went to a coffee shop, sat on the patio letting the wind blow back my hair while sipping a delicious iced tea. Divine!

Tonight--Britton and I crawled into his bed, hid under the comforter with a box of graham crackers and had a cookie party complete with stories about our day and silly songs I made up about putting him in my pocket so he could shake it, shake, shake it.

Now--about to curl up on the couch with a wine glass full of ruby red grapefruit juice and watch Something New

The Journal Project Update:

I've had a great response to the Journal Project. This weekend I plan to create a new blog just for this. I'll work out all the logistics and post the details there. Once I have it up and running I'll provide the link. I'm so excited about this. Any suggestions you might have is greatly appreciated. Send 'em along.

How I plan to spend my holiday weekend:

*relaxing
*cleaning this god-awful dirty house
*creating in my Book of Dreams--I'm a week behind on the techniques. UGH!
*working on the Journal Project blog
*reading Eat, Pray, Love
*taking Britton to see Over the Hedge--only if he promises to get a haircut first. Yes, we have to bribe him to get a haircut.
*Updating my Flickr account
*catching up on my blog reading
*watching Empire Falls
*taking photographs
*spending time outdoors with Britton
*doing nothing that I don't absolutely want to do

Have a wonderful holiday weekend!

Answering More of Your Questions

2006-05-25T19:45:00.000-07:00

Last week I gave you, my beautiful readers, the opportunity to ask me any question you wanted. I left some of the questions unanswered so I could have some time to mull them over. Here are my answers (to some of them at least--I don't want this post to get too long...)

Josephine asked who I want to be when I'm 53? In twenty years, what parts of myself do I want to stay, and what parts of myself do I want to change?

Great question and I think about this often. Who do I want to be? Who am I becoming? What choices do I need to make in order to support the person I am becoming?

I really do like who I am. That hasn't always been true but within the past decade or so I've really started to build a good relationship with myself, seeing myself as my own best friend instead of my worst enemy. I do like who I am right now. In 20 years I still want to be able to say that, and not only say it but believe it even more than I do today. So I guess my answer would be I want to be who I am right now but more...more accepting of myself, more passionate and alive, more poetic and honest, more in touch with myself and the world around me, better able to let go, better able to stand in the truth, better able to show up in my life. I want me, only more of me. And I think the better able I am to be real and true, the better able I am to show up for my life, the things I want to stay and change will take care of themselves. I'm not trying to cop out on that question. There are things I want to change about myself. I'd love to loose the 15 pounds I'm still carrying from my pregnancy. I'd love to be healthier--my cholesterol is outrageous for someone my age but genetics plays a big part in that. I'd love to stop holding back so much and really express myself (I do a great job of that here but not so well in 'real life.') I would hope that as I grew into myself those things would begin to happen or I'd learn to just accept it and unconditionally love myself anyway.

Ali la Loca asked what does being a bitch mean for me? Am I happier being a bitch, or is it something I want to change?

I mentioned in my post feeling like a bitch lately. I wish what I meant when I wrote that was the way Ali was defining the word--a woman standing up for herself, a woman determined to be seen and heard. I'm totally for that definition. But unfortunately that's not what I meant. In fact after thinking about it, I think the reason I've been feeling like a bitch lately is because I'm NOT doing those things. I'm not asking for what I want. I'm not having the tough conversations that I need to have. I'm not taking care of me. The result: a woman who is irritable, short tempered, intolerant, and volatile. Hmmm... Guess I have some tweaking of my definition to take care of.

Susannah wants to know about my favorite noun, verb, adjective and adverb.

I love this question because it makes me feel like I'm a guest on Inside the Actors Studio. I can just see it now...I'm sitting in front of the audience and James Lipton is asking me this very question. But as much as I love the question it's harder to answer than you might imagine. Having to pick just one word for each category is difficult. After much deliberation this is the answer I've come up with.

noun: grace

What does that word mean to me? Here's a story. When I was a chaplain I had to break down and purchase a laptop in order to complete some of my educational assignments. A week after I bought it someone broke into my house and stole it. Ugh! I had only made one payment on it. I was telling my CPE supervisor about this and about an hour later the secretary of the department called to let me know that the department had decided they would not require I pay the next year's tuition so that I could purchase a new computer. I was amazingly grateful but that gratitude was also a tinged with guilt. What had a done to deserve this? Why me? I can't accept such a generous gift. Suddenly I had a huge revelation. This is grace. Grace sees into the heart of someone. Grace sees the truth of who we are and treats us accordingly. Grace sees the beauty, worth, value, and wholeness of each of us. And that's how I want to live my life--in grace.

verb: becoming

I like this word because I think this is what life's about--unfolding, being in process, growth, living what's inside you.

adjective: whole

Another aspect of becoming--living out of all your parts and pieces, the entirety of who you are, undivided and undiminished

adverb: passionately

That's how I want to live, how I want to do everything I do--with great passion, with fire, with heart and soul.

Marilyn asked about my occupation because she's amazed to know that I have a three-year old child and a lot of free time.

Free time? Huh? heehee... I think you're confusing having absolutely no social life whatsoever with free time. Seriously, I have no life besides working, parenting, and blogging. Yep, that about sums it up. I get my blogging done in the evenings after Britton goes to bed. I try to get other stuff done on the weekend which may be why I feel I didn't have a weekend when I wake up on Monday mornings. But all joking aside, I work in the Bursar's office of the medical school. In other words I collect tuition payments and deal with other student financial issues. And you know that god complex that doctors are so famous for? Yea, they get it very early on, like in their second year of med school.

Dani asked how I manage to say everything so well, how I turn my experiences into amazing insights for all of you to share?

I'm always amazed, and grateful, when anyone actually gets something out of my writing. When I read my words it sounds like Michelle rambling on and on again. Every once in awhile I'll write something that I really like but most of what I write seems, well, like me trying so hard to express what's inside and not quite getting there.

I still have Lee's and Rebekah's question to answer. They tie into each other and I'm afraid the answer may get lengthy so I'm saving them for later. I just noticed I also have part two of Kamsin's question. That will have to come later too.

TTFN

Poetry Thursday - Ode to People Magazine

2006-05-24T16:45:00.000-07:00

I'm posting my poetry choice of the week a day early because, well, the 2 hour season finale of Lost is tonight and I won't have much time for blogging. Writing my Poetry Thursday post seemed like the quickest and easiest entry to make.

One of my favorite things to do is take myself on a date to Barnes and Noble. I'll curl up in one of the oversized chairs and flip through magazine after magazine. I can do this for hours. I usually don't read any of the articles. I just like to look at the pictures. I love images and magazines feed my image craving. Say what you will about the evils of advertising, there's no denying they offer some damn good images. One such evening, some time back, I was flipping through an issue of People (yes I like images of celebrities too, especially if that celebrity happens to be Jake Gyllenhaal) and a book review caught my eye. It was about a new collection of poetry by Jane Kenyon. I wasn't familiar with Kenyon's work but the poem printed in People really grabbed my heart. Since then this collection has been on my Amazon.com wish list. Only available in hardback, I figured it would be some time before I was actually able to own a copy. When I received a very generous gift certificate from Trey's dad for my birthday this book was the second one I wrapped my arms around after sweeping up a copy of the very popular Eat, Pray, Love--which I am loving!.

For the past week I have been opening the pages of this collection and randomly reading some of Kenyon's work. I still don't know much about her other than the little snippet offered on the book's jacket but her words truly resound in my depths. Her language is accessible, her images are easy to relate to, and her subtle metaphors tap on my heart, begging me to sit up, pay attention, and take another look. It just goes to show that you never know what might fall into your lap while flipping through People magazine. Who said People was nothing but tabloid trash?

ps--If you happen to be familiar with Kenyon's work and know anything about the story of her life please pass it along in your comments.

Let Evening Come
by Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

SPC {Introduction-4}

2006-05-23T19:02:00.000-07:00

a meme stolen from bluepoppy

I AM: wings unfolding, soaring to touch the sun, unfurling to reveal their beautiful, vivid colors

I SAID: let me be free and I found myself lifting further into the clouds, playing tag with the trees, skipping from star to star

I WANT: to take long naps curled up in the branches and the leaves

I WISH: that each of us could see the beautiful and radiant truth of who we are even if for only a few minutes, and that we would let those few minutes transform our lives

I HATE: the masks I sometimes wear because I'm afraid to show my true self

I MISS: my former slender self and I'm not always able to open my arms to the body I have right now

I FEAR: getting lost in all my fears

I HEAR: the birds calling my name

I WONDER: what it would be like to fall in love with myself

I REGRET: the moments I chose to stay small instead of choosing to live in my fullness

I AM NOT: willing to tuck my wings behind me and pretend they don't exist

I DANCE: with the butterflies

I SING: the song of my heart

I AM NOT ALWAYS: who I know I truly am

I MADE: a poem from my life

I WRITE: to let my soul breathe

I CONFUSE: knowing with accepting

I NEED: music, poetry, beauty, community, affection, solitude, creativity, words

I SHOULD: let go of the shoulds

I START: over and over and over again, and that's okay

I FINISH: with all the pretending

I BELIEVE: everything I need is right here, within, I only need to reach out and take hold of it

I KNOW: the things I know today might very well change tomorrow

I CAN: learn to live with the questions, to rest in them, to give up the search for answers

I CAN'’T: put it off any longer, I must give myself the gift of passion

I SEE: you--your beauty, your possibility, your wholeness

I BLOG: to give a piece of myself to you

I READ: because words tickle my heart

I AM AROUSED BY: the wind whispering in my ear, the sun caressing my back, the moon licking my neck

I FIND: my face in the petals of the rose

I LIKE: the way the Earth never forgets me

I LOVE: myself

ps--I'm still putting the together The Journal Project. If you haven't read yesterday's post please do and let me know if you're interested in participating...and I still have journals to give away... More to come...

The Journal Project

2006-05-22T18:49:00.000-07:00

Because my Mother's Day weekend was so incredibly busy I didn't have an opportunity to respond to that week's Sunday Scribblings prompt. The prompt was titled The Books I Would Write. I've been turning that thought over in my head for the past week asking myself what books I would write if given the chance. As much as I love to write I've never considered myself a writer. I've never taken my writing seriously. It's something I enjoy doing, an interest, a hobby of sorts. After all I haven't taken an English class since my senior year in high school. I don't feel very confident in my skills, in my vocabulary, in my grammar, in my use of punctuation. Anytime any of you wonderful blogging friends leave me a comment suggesting I write a book I'm always a little taken back. Me, write a book? About what? What kind of book would I write? I'm not saying I'm opposed to the idea. I do love books and the thought of sitting in a cafe reading passages of my own writing from a beautifully bound book does bring a thrill to my heart. But I've never really considered that a feasible possibility. Many of you have all kinds of stories swirling in your heads. You have characters you've created, characters with a story, characters who are begging to come alive on the page. That's not me. I rarely read fiction much less consider writing it myself. I've never had a real interest in writing fiction. That being said, there has been a book or two out there that I wish I'd written. It just so happens that none of them are fictional and they all center around helping others write. The one that comes to mind first is Sabrina Ward Harrison's The True and the Questions. What is it I love about that book? What is it that draws me to it? It is much more than her writing. It is her beautiful, creative, and incredible writing combined with journal prompts that give others (primarily women I would suppose) the opportunity to share their own lives, their own stories and feelings and thoughts and memories. I love the idea of offering women the opportunity to write from their lives.

I received my first diary as a Christmas gift from my grandparents. I can't remember how old I was, maybe 10 or 11. My entries were short and sweet, more factual than emotional. "It snowed last night. We didn't have to go to school. We played in the snow. It was fun." I only made entries sporadically and very soon gave it up all together. In high school, when I was struggling so terribly with anorexia, I began keeping a journal. When my grief and my pain would overpower the teacher's lecture I would pull out my notebook and record all that I was feeling. That was the beginning of my faithful commitment to my journal. I have kept various journals off and on ever since. I am rarely without my current journal and am pretty good about writing in it at least 4 to 5 times a week. I love everything about journals. I love the blank pages, the filled pages, the pen, the ritual of sitting down, opening the cover and letting the ink spill forth. I love it so much that I'm often guilty of purchasing journals as gifts to others, forgetting that not everyone is as passionate about keeping a journal as am. I often think that one of my life dreams is to see a journal in the hands of every woman in possible. Why? Because I believe that keeping a journal has the potential to be life changing and life healing.

This Sunday Scribblings post has made me stop and really think about why I journal and what it does for me. It's more than recording the events of the day. It's giving voice to my life, my experience. It's naming my feelings, expressing my opinions, clarifying my thoughts, claiming my dreams, wants, and desires. It's the map of my journey that can only be written along the way, while my life is en route. It's getting everything out so it doesn't stay inside, rotting, festering, eating me alive. It's seeing myself and as a result of my willingness to open my arms to my life, finding empowerment. It challenges me to be present, to ask myself the tough questions and to sit with the answers. It's exploring all the corners of my being. It's acknowledging my wounds so they can begin to find healing. It's a place to put the things I'm unsure of how to live with. It's demanding that I show up, really show up. It's an opportunity to say what I need to say until I have the strength to say it out loud. It's a safe place to be, to dream, to unfold, to doubt, to question, to explore, to vent, to mourn. It's the challenge of being aware. It's the progress, the process, of becoming. Some days I write for pages and pages. Some days I don't write anything more than a grocery list. But both say something about where I am at the time, whether it's just how exhausted I am or whether it's a way of resisting what I really need to say.

The are a hundreds of ways to get what I get out of journaling. Keeping a journal may not be your thing. But for me it's what works. It's what I use to check in with myself and keep myself healing and growing and accountable. Each day's words not only prove that I existed on that day but it sheds some light on the nature and quality of my existence on that particular day. It's what I do to keep my heart beating and my soul breathing.

So after thinking about this prompt all week I have come up with an idea. I've had ideas before, ideas that seemed great but I talked myself out of following up on them and the next thing I knew the great idea had gone on to someone else and that person did act on it. This time I'm taking the risk of acting on my idea. Maybe it's been done before. I don't know. I'm giving it a whirl anyway. It's a two part idea that I'm calling The Journal Project.

Part I

If you've never kept a journal before, or if you've kept one but it's been a very long time and you'd like to give it a try again, I would like to send you a journal. It won't be much--a cute spiral notebook or a charming composition book, but I would be honored to be the one to help you get started on the journey of giving voice to your life. The first three people who e-mail me with the words The Journal Project in their subject line will receive a journal. Just let me know you'd like one and where I can send it. My e-mail address is provided here on my blog. I have to start small but if I can distribute three journals every few months then perhaps that will be a little way I can facilitate others in seeking their own healing through words. For all I know all of you readers may already keep journals. We tend to form circles around others with similar interests. But if there is anyone who would like a journal I'd love to send one to you. And you don't have to be a blogger. If you are a reader but you don't have a blog you're welcome to this offer also.

Part II

All week I've thought about journals and the gift of journaling I would love to shower on others. In addition to actually placing journals in people's hands I also envision a journal that would consist of single entries from a wide variety of women. What I have envisioned is a traveling journal that would be passed from woman to woman until it was full...and then we might just start a new one. I don't have all the details worked out in my head yet but what I see so far is each woman writing whatever she wants to write and then mailing the journal to the next person. It can be as long or as short as you would like it to be--it could be a story you want to share, a secret you want to get off your chest, a poem you've just written, a single sentence that sums up exactly where you are right now. There wouldn't be a specific topic (although that may be an idea for a future journal project), so you can write about whatever you want. I'll provide a few journal prompts in case someone gets the journal and is just plain stuck. Eventually the journal would make it's way back to me. The result would be a book full of all the beauty, all the heartache, all the struggle, all the joy of women's lives. And it would be the best book ever written because it would symbolize the coming together of women's lives in order to affirm, encourage, and support each other in the process of becoming real. (And this is open to men as well, I just kind of assumed that the majority of my readers were probably women.)

And maybe this is the book I want to write...or to at least start writing and let others add to it.

If you're interested in this portion of The Journal Project please let me know in the comments. And again, you don't have to be a blogger to participate. There'll be more details to come as I'm able to see what kind of interest there is in completing this project.

Sunday Scribblings {3 Wishes}

2006-05-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

I.

A one hour session with a massage therapist in training. Just what every worn out, overwhelmed, slightly on the edge mother really needs. I was laying on my back while she softly massaged my face, my temples, my cheeks, my hairline, when I felt the first ones travel down my cheeks. Just a few small tears, not all that many really. As the session continued I found myself more present than I think I've ever been before. I was present to the birds singing outside the window, present to my breathing, present to the gentle voice of the massage therapist in the room next to mine, present to my body as it melted into the table. I was laying on my stomach surrendering to the magic balm of loving hands working their way through my scalp when she gently patted me letting me know our hour was up. She softly told me to take my time and only get up once I had the strength and presence of mind. I lay there for several minutes, face planted into the head rest, when the tears started flowing, not just the little trickle they had been earlier, but a flood. They came swiftly and heavily and in great sobs. Slowly I managed to get up and re-dress. But the tears wouldn't stop. I sat next to the table, my head on the cushion, letting my mascara stain the white sheets. I wondered who could hear me but didn't really care. The kind therapist offered tissues, water, and several gentle hugs while repeating, "Oh baby, oh baby." I let it all out, all of it, everything I'd been holding onto, holding in, for as long as I could remember. I let it all out until there was nothing left. I cried like I hadn't let myself cry in a very long, long time. It wasn't all better when the tears finally dried up but I did feel a little less heavy, a little more healed.

I wish for more moments like this one--moments to let go, really let go, moments to finally stop holding everything in.

II.

The weather was so much friendlier today, not nearly as unbearably hot and sticky. I spread the blanket on the grass and lay on my stomach preparing to read Eat, Pray, Love. Before I could read the first chapter an overwhelming need to melt into the day's stillness came over me. I lay there listening to the birds singing, chattering, gossiping, wooing. I listened to the grass bending under my weight. I listened to Britton circling around me over and over again on his scooter. I listened. I felt the sun creeping higher into the sky, slowly making her trip west. I felt the shade shifting and the sun's warm fingers moving up my back. And then I felt my heart grow two arms, arms that plunged into the soil and embraced the Earth's raw core. I felt my cheek, my toes, my belly, my breasts, sink into the deepest depths of Mother Earth's heart. The sun felt like fire and I thought that this wouldn't be a bad way to go--me clinging to the Earth while exploding into a radiant burst of flames.

I wish for more moments like this one--moments to feel alive and connected and perfectly present, moments to feel fire in the Earth and fire in my heart.

III.

May 17. My birthday. I wanted this day to be special. I wanted it to be about celebration and happiness, not like the heavy depression that had been flooding my days lately. I rose a little earlier than usual in order to have plenty of time to fix myself up. Appearance isn't everything but looking good can often help the heart feel better. Panty hose, a cute skirt, a favorite sweater. Then I tiptoed into Britton's room and woke him with the surprise of a cupcake and a candle and a song he knew all the words to. We lay in bed enjoying the chocolate treats not caring that crumbs scattered the sheets. I was determined to smile, to love, to breathe, to open my heart to the world. And it worked. Taking time to make the day special paid off. I felt as if I were breathing deeper, walking lighter, laughing with more heart. When I crawled into bed that night, exhausted and stuffed to the seams with chips, salsa, queso and key lime pie, I felt a new hope, a hope that suggested more happy days might be right around the corner, a hope that whispered not of my ability to control my life but of my ability to choose the course of my days. It was a good start to a new year.

I wish for more moments like this one--moments when I intentionally set about the business of celebrating, of feeling special, of living fully and passionately, moments when I remember I have the power to choose.

MamaSaysOm - Ache

2006-05-20T20:20:00.000-07:00

Dear Britt,

I am so many things. A woman, a daughter, a sister, a friend, a pilgrim, a warrior, a poet, a dreamer, a life unfolding, a journey through rough and wild territory, and of course a mother. I am so many things. And it may be hard for you to see all the pieces that form my whole, all the pieces that are constantly pulling me in their different directions, raising their voices, demanding to be heard, coming alive when I give them even the tiniest bit of attention. It may be hard for you to see because when you look at me you see one thing: your mother. Motherhood is one of the pieces, one of the most important pieces, if you can really call any one more important than the others. I don't know that you will ever be able to see beyond my role as your mother. Everything I do, every choice, every action, you will view through eyes that see me as mommy...mama...mom...mother. I try to keep a record of my life. All my parts and pieces play out their story through my words. One day maybe you'll read them. Maybe you'll turn the pages of my life and begin to see someone who is so many things, who is so much more than your mother. Maybe the words will begin to fill in the gaps, begin to explain the ache of being pulled in so many different directions, the ache of wanting so much out of life, the ache of playing so many roles at once and never quite knowing if you're being seen as a full person or only as a portion of who you really are. You'll be an adult one day and maybe one evening while you're watching your own child kick a soccer ball around the back yard you'll feel your own ache--the ache that tells you you're right where you need to be but...but you used to be someone else and that life still calls you, but you feel so much inside and you know that must be lived out too, but you are so much more than that child will ever comprehend, but you don't know where to start, but it seems so overwhelming, but... Maybe the ache is about past, present, and future all existing at one time within your soul. Maybe the lesson is learning to be present, truly present and alive to all of it. I don't expect you to see me as anything more than your mother, not any time soon. But maybe one day you'll begin to see the other pieces of the puzzle and then the picture you carry around of me in your heart will become bigger, fuller, more whole and complete.

I am so many things
I am your mother

Grateful Friday - Recapping the Birthday Goodness

2006-05-19T21:27:00.000-07:00

It's been a fab-fab-fabulous week. First of all, when I woke up Monday morning a miracle of God occurred. My hair actually did what I wanted it to do. It was one of the best hair days ever. It was as if the hair fairies knew it was my birthday week and they were sending their blessings. I can't say much for the rest of the week but starting the week off with a good hair day always sets a positive mood for the rest of the week. On Tuesday I had my annual physical exam. Now I know annual exams aren't really something to be grateful for and yes mine did suck but I'm still grateful that it's over and done with for another year. Wednesday there were many wishes for a very happy birthday and several baskets of chips served with plenty of salsa and queso. What more could a girl want? Oh and let's not forget another intense episode of Lost. Thursday Britton spent the night with his grandmother which meant I got to spend my evening planted on the couch watching the finale of Will and Grace (in the joy of childless silence) while eating a slice of my very favorite key lime pie. And finally, tonight Trey and I went out for dinner at one of my favorite restaurants where I had a delicious salad with some kind of fabulous orange dressing followed by a hearty serving of Eggplant Parmesan. And I have leftovers! We just wrapped up the movie Layer Cake which was really, really good--great use of film angles and editing. It also has an awesome soundtrack.

This week also happens to be the birthday week of my friend/co-worker Kelly. To celebrate the glorious occasion she and I decided to play Oprah. Everyday this week we brought each other some of our favorite things. Of course we don't have Oprah's connections or her salary so it was just small, inexpensive gifts like lip gloss, office supplies, candles, snacks, etc. It was so much fun to share some of my very favorite things with someone else and to be introduced to some of her favorite things.

And this post wouldn't be complete without sharing with you some of the goodies I received...

*Trey's dad sent me a gift certificate to Barnes and Noble which is only my favorite place in the world. Normally I would try to get the most out of my money by purchasing as many lower priced items as possible. I decided not to do that this time and instead purchased three books from the higher end of the price scale ($25 being way too high for my budget--I work for the state after all). I chose this biography about Frida Kahlo, this pick from my wish list, and a book of poetry by Jane Kenyon.
*Kelly gave me a fabulous Wonder Woman vintage t-shirt...self portraits in said fabulous t-shirt to come
*Tonight Trey and Britton gave me a tripod which I'm just dying to try out.
*Our delicious meal tonight was purchased with a gift card I received from a co-worker.
*I received so, so, so many other wonderful things that I can't possibly list them all.
*And I still have one special gift making itself to me. Deb, I think you'll appreciate this story. You may remember that Trey's grandmother passed away in December. She was a quilter among other things and when Tricia (Trey's mom) was cleaning out the house she discovered the quilt Mamaw had been working on prior to her death. Nobody knows what/who she was making it for but Tricia believed that because of the size, the pattern, and the beautiful pastel colors that it must have been for something/someone special. Tricia took it to a quilt shop to have it finished and guess who gets to be the lucky recipient of this treasure?!?! ME!!! When Tricia told me I could feel my eyes well up. I'm so honored to have one of Mamaw's pieces and it will be something I can pass on to Britton one day.

Poetry Thursday - The Birthday Poem and The Birthday Project

2006-05-18T16:47:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking all week about the poem I would post today. It's my birthday week after all so it had to be something that would stop me in my tracks and really make me think. It had to have that little punch of power that would grab my spirit and hold on for days.

For me birthdays are about celebrating life and growth. They're about new beginnings and taking some time to reflect and refocus. Its a rebirth offered generously to us every year. It's life whispering, "Here's your chance, your chance to start over again. Take it and don't look back except in gratitude and hope." But it's also not unusual for me to also think about death every new year, not because birthdays remind me of how little time I have left but because they remind me to live fully and passionately. This poem dares to voice the one truth we can't escape: our mortality. But it doesn't stir thoughts of fear. It offers that death may simply be another possibility, a fresh start, a new chance, a birthday of sorts.

For the Anniversary of My Death
by W. S. Merwin

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day
When the last fires will wave to me
And the silence will set out
Tireless traveler
Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer
Find myself in life as in a strange garment
Surprised at the earth
And the love of one woman
And the shamelessness of men
As today writing after three days of rain
Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease
And bowing not knowing to what

In yesterday's post I mentioned that I had a little birthday project going that I wanted to tell you about. Well here goes: The year I turned 29 I gave all the guests at my birthday dinner a copy of the beautiful poem The Time Before Death by Kabir. For my 30th birthday I passed roses out to 30 people who had contributed to the woman I was at that age. I spent two days driving around town searching for my junior English teacher, a former church member, old roommates, childhood friends, mentors I've adored, my swing dance partner, and coworkers who've made working a little brighter. I couldn't find everybody on my list but they still received their rose. The un-delivered roses sat in a beautiful vase in my living room in honor of their beautiful lives. I haven't done anything like that the past two years and I knew I wanted to get back to that tradition with this birthday. After all there is just something magical about the number 33. Three is such a special, magical, symbolic number on it's own but two of them sitting side by side is well, extra special, extra magical, and extra symbolic. And so I concocted a plan. I chose 33 cards from my SARK's Living Juicy deck and placed each card in a separate envelop. On the outside of the envelop I simply wrote, A gift for you. I spent yesterday spreading the SARK. I knew there were a few people I wanted to receive a card (mainly friends and coworkers) but the majority of them were randomly distributed around town. I casually dropped one on the sidewalk, tucked one in someone's windshield wiper, hid one in a book of Mary Oliver's poetry at Barnes and Noble, threw one out the window while driving down the block, left one in the book drop at the library, etc., etc., etc., until all 33 had been released into the universe. I was hoping, trusting, that whoever needed a little bit of inspiration would find a card. And that was my birthday project. My gift to the world on my 33rd birthday.

The Big Day and The Answers

2006-05-17T20:24:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday to Me!!

It's been a wonderful day and I'm so grateful for all the birthday wishes. Thank you, thank you, thank you! My heart is overflowing.

Now...on with the answers to your questions. I'll be honest I wasn't expecting so many questions that would make me think so hard. They have been truly amazing questions, so amazing that I know I won't be able to answer them all tonight. There are some that are going to take a day or so to mull over. This post will have to be part one of a two part (at least) series. So here's what I got for ya tonight...

Kim G. asked if I could have lunch with anyone for my birthday (other than Britton) who would it be and why?

I'm going to go with my first reaction to this question and say my friend Donita. Donita is a friend I met through the chaplaincy program. She has the biggest spirit of anyone I've ever had the privilege of knowing. When I think of Dot (as we like to call her), SARK comes to mind. She has that kind of overwhelmingly generous, sensitive, and beautiful nature. I lost contact with Dot about 3 years ago. I don't know where she is or what she's doing. I miss her terribly. I'd love to have a chance to sit with her, laugh, catch up, and simply enjoy each other's presence.

Mindy asked what special plans I've made to celebrate.

There'll be more on that tomorrow. I had a little birthday project in the works and I'll tell you all about that tomorrow. In addition, I woke up early, got myself all fixed up, shared cupcakes in bed with the B-Dog (there's still chocolate crumbs everywhere), tried my best to enjoy my busy and hectic day at work, joined Trey's parents for a wonderful birthday dinner (Mexican food--yum!), and then spent the Barnes and Noble gift certificate I received from Trey's dad. You can never go wrong with a little B&N. Oh yes, and I did watch Lost--or at least part of it--my VCR cut off the last few minutes...UGH!!!

Snowsparkle wants to know if Britton ever walks around in my shoes and if so, which ones?

Oh yes, he loves the heels. Anything that clacks when he walks. I think his favorite pair is my sexy brick red heals (they happen to be one of my favorite pairs too--he's got good taste!). He especially loves to put them on then kick his leg to see how high he can make them fly. He thinks that's hysterical.

Elle wants to know where I got the name Britton and what made me decide to give that name to my baby boy?

Well, when I was pregnant I started accumulating a list of names I liked. I would read them over and over to my friend Irma whittling them down one by one. Every time I pictured my son in my mind (taking his first steps, screaming his head off in his car seat, sleeping snug in his crib) the name Britton kept coming to mind. My brother had a friend in high school whose last name was Britton and I guess that's where I got it. Britton was the name that always seemed to rise to the surface and it just stuck. Blake is his middle name. I told my oldest nephew that if I had a boy I'd like to name him after him. His name is Kyler Blake.

Megg wants to know what would be the best birthday present I could possibly get (a THING.)

Does a trip to Paris count?

Thea wants to know why I don't go by my first name and what I like to have for breakfast?

As for the name question---I don't know. I guess that was a decision my parents made and I never asked them why. I always assumed it was because my mom went by that name and they didn't want two people in the house with the same name. I will say it's very confusing and I never know how to sign official documents. And by the way, my social security card is just Michelle Ensminger.

As for question two--my favorite breakfast treat would be a huge, stuffed to the edges, omelet. I'm not a big sweets eater anyway so I don't ever eat donuts or any other kind of pastries. Most of the time (since I'm usually pressed for time) I opt for a bowl of granola with soy milk, peanut butter on toast, a bowl of brown rice or a fiber/protein shake. They aren't my FAVORITE choices but they're manageable.

She also wanted to know about my contact usage.

I'll be quite honest with you, I hated them so much I only gave them a month or two. My eyes were always so dry that I had very blurred vision. I couldn't stand that. All day long I was having to add eye drops and that just got annoying. I complained to my doctor and she said it could be because I was breast feeding (Britton was a new born at the time). I've just never tried them again.

Mayseeklife wanted to know if I know how much my writings are a source of contemplation(therefore gifting her/you) and if I know how appreciated my efforts are? And she hoped I was answering YES.

Well my friend I couldn't answer yes because I was choking back the tears. Thank you so much for that encouragement. I'm terrible at selling myself short and I often need to be reminded of my strengths and gifts. Thank you for this birthday blessing.

EEEKat wants to know if I'll ever get married again.

My first reaction is no but I guess you should never say never. Life is full of surprises... Who knows...

Maggiegracecreates wants to know why women always want to change something about our hair?

Beats me! I've been surprised by how many of you thought I already had red hair. There is some red in it but it's mostly brown.

Toni wants to know what I eat with my salsa?

I think the proper question is what DON'T I eat with salsa. In fact sometimes I just eat it with a spoon...heehee... I like it on just about everything--scrambled eggs or omelets, brown rice, chips, tortillas, salad, roasted vegetables, Gardenburgers, black beans, black eyed peas, any kind of potatoes, I could go on and on... You name it I can probably find a way to work in a little salsa. I've never thought about it like this but I think salsa may be my chocolate...and my butter...and my salt...and my sugar...and my coffee...and my...well, you get the picture.

She also wants to know why Britton and I will never have the same last name?

He has his dad's last name. I know I can fill out the proper paperwork and change that but I probably never will especially now that he knows himself with this last name. He'll always have his dad's last name and I'll always have my last name. Even if I ever get married again I don't know that I'll change my last name. I've gotten pretty used to being Michelle Ensminger (even though it is a hell of a last name to try and pronounce). Of course, like I said, I guess I should never say never.

Kamsin wants to know what my favorite kind of cheese is?

Oh I can not even answer that. I tend to go in phases and get really stuck on one cheese and then eventually I'll move on to another one. Right now I happen to be in love with pepper jack. I've even been known to enjoy a good stilton and brie. I like sharp, strong cheeses. But if I just had to pick one cheese to live off of the rest of my life (oh god I hope I never had to do that!) I'd probably go with swiss.

She also wants to know if I could do one thing to make my life just a little bit better by this time next year, what would I do/ see/ make/ be?

This question is just too good so I'm saving it for later (and it ties in perfectly with the journaling I did today).

I'm also saving Lee's, Josephine's, Ali La Loca's and Susannah's questions.

Debr wants to know about my favorite salsa.

Right now I'm stuck on a locally made brand called Santa Fe.

Jo wants to know if I'd rather be a bird or a monkey.

I'd have to go with a bird but that's ironic because I'm not scared of monkeys and I do have a little bit of a fear of birds. I don't know if fear is the right word. Let's just say I'd own a monkey and pet a monkey and I don't think I could ever own a bird or pet a bird. There's something about their flighty, fragile, feathered bodies that kind of freaks me out. But lately I've really been resonating with birds so I have to choose bird for my answer.

Whew! That was long...but fun.

In parting let me say Thanks again for all the birthday wishes!! You have really blessed me today.

Oh and if you're wondering why I haven't been around to leave you any comments lately it's because my life has been so crazy that I haven't had a chance to read blogs since last Thursday. That's been a week!!! It's about to kill me. Work has been nuts which means not extra time there and because work's been nuts I've been coming home completely exhausted, not wanting to do anything but lay on the couch and watch tv...especially the 3 hour finally of Grey's Anatomy. I hope everything calms down soon because I feel so disconnected from everyone. I actually tried to read a few today but I only made it through the A's, the W's, and the C's. Why those letters? Well, there is a method to my madness but I don't want to take the time to explain it. I'm so far behind that once I do get to read blogs again I'm not going to get to read any back posts so if anything huge has been happening in your life and I've missed it please let me know!!!

Is it after midnight? Holy crap! I'm never going to wake up in the morning...

SPC {Introduction-3}

2006-05-16T19:21:00.000-07:00

Because I will turn 33 tomorrow I give you 33 random, pointless, trivial (and perhaps a little bit interesting) facts that you may or may not know about me...

1. Michelle is actually my middle name. My first name is Gwendolyn.
2. I'm named after both my parents. My mother's name is also Gwendolyn (she goes by Gwen) and Michelle is the feminine form of my dad's name, Michael.
3. I am the oldest of four children. I have two sisters and a brother.
4. Some things I wanted to be as a child: a missionary, a teacher, a singer, an actress, a wife/mother, Barbara Mandrell, and Marie Osmond.
5. Some things I've wanted to be as an adult: an actress, a movie director, a rock star, a poet, a dancer, a writing/journaling teacher, a women's studies professor, a life coach
6. My favorite color is pink.
7. I've had stitches twice. The first time was when I was a sophomore in high school and my thumb was slammed in the door of my youth minister's mini-van. The second time was when I had a c-section.
8. When I was around 9 or 10 the back of my earring grew into my ear and I had to go to the ER and have it cut out.
9. I inherited my freckles from my dad.
10. I love salsa. Every week, when I make my weekly grocery run, I pick up a jar and I always finish it off before the next week. There has even been a time or two that I've had to make an emergency grocery run to procure another bottle.
11. I wear glasses all the time but I seldom wear them for photos because of the glare. I've tried contacts but they hurt my eyes.
12. I'm not a big desert eater and please don't gasp too loudly but I'm not a big chocolate fan either.
13. I prefer the Beatles over the Stones.
14. One of my life dreams is to spend an extended period of time exploring Paris.
15. When I was a child my sisters and I traveled with my grandparents to my aunt's home in Albuquerque NM to meet my dad for Thanksgiving. My aunt had a suitcase full of Barbie dolls/clothes, a parrot named Jose that could sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow, and an atrium with a little kumquat tree.
16. I adore the ice from Sonic.
17. One thing I have absolutely no interest in ever doing is bungee jumping.
18. I've seen Bruce Springsteen in concert four times.
19. The last concert I went to was Metalica.
20. The one book I've read more than any other is The Color Purple.
21. I've always wanted to be a red head. I've dyed my hair a couple of times but that's just too much maintenance.
22. If I could have anyone's body it would be Selma Hayek's. I love her voluptuous curves.
23. The worst job I ever had was as a receptionist for a podiatrist's office. The job itself wasn't too bad but the office manager (who also happened to be the podiatrist's wife) was impossible. A friend and I nicknamed her Itsy-Bitsy because she just wanted to keep everybody small and treated people like they were worthless.
24. The hardest job I ever had was being a chaplain...so much grief and death and emotion.
25. The one thing about being a chaplain that other's hated but didn't really bother me much was cleaning, dressing, and photographing stillborn babies. It was hard emotional work but I didn't mind doing it not because I'm morbid but because parents who have just lost their baby are in so much grief that this was the only thing I felt I could do for them. There was no way to comfort them, nothing that would ease their pain, but I could love on that baby, get that baby ready for them to hold and spend time with, and take photographs that they could have in the years to come.
26. I do own a pink feathered boa, a sparkly tiara, a versatile straw hat, and an all purpose cowboy hat but I DO NOT own a tutu and I would really love a tutu.
27. If Britton had been a girl I would have named her Gracyn Vianne (and yes, Vianne is the character in Chocolat.)
28. Britton and I don't have the same last name and I sometimes regret that decision. Having a different last name doesn't make me any less his mother but the fact that me and my son will never share a last name holds a lot of symbolic meaning for me.
29. My first date was with a boy named Mike. I was 17. He was 16. He took me to a local Italian restaurant then we drove around town in his mother's car listening to Bel Biv Devo waiting for the next showing of Total Recall which we ended up making out through.
30. Since I've become a vegetarian I can not live without whole grain tortillas, black beans, Gardenburgers, avocados, brown rice, and of course salsa.
31. Since I've become a vegetarian the only thing I really miss is fried chicken (KFC, chicken nuggets, chicken strips, etc.)
32. I can give up meat but I just can't, Can't, CAN'T give up cheese.
33. I still wonder what I should be when I grow up. I guess the best and only thing I really can be is Michelle and so I'm trying to master the art of being Michelle...which isn't always easy because sometimes I struggle with liking and accepting myself and lately I've been feeling really bitchy...

So, in light of this information what questions do you have for me? Is there something you want to know that I haven't covered? Ask away. Tomorrow's post will be dedicated to answering your questions... Stay tuned...

The List

2006-05-15T20:16:00.000-07:00

The comments are back on!!! Feel free to let me know you're still reading. After a week of only leaving comments and not receiving any I've learned a little about myself. I knew I censored myself to some degree because I have some family members and friends who read my blog. But I didn't realize until the past week how much I censor myself in other ways. And maybe censor isn't the right word to use. I'm very careful about how I say things. I write a post and then I re-read it several times editing as I go. It's not unusual for a post to take me an hour to complete. I have a tendency to make absolutely certain that I clarify my thoughts, that I make myself as easily understood as possible. I don't want to leave any room for misinterpretation. I wrestle with every sentence, perfecting it as much as possible, so that I will be clear and precise. And that can be exhausting. Last week I didn't put as much pressure on myself because although I knew people were still reading, I didn't have to have any proof through the form of comments. There's some freedom that comes with that knowledge. Of course I'm turning the comments back on because as much as I've enjoyed that freedom I have missed the connection the comments bring.

This week's challenge is a self portrait every day. This challenge is perfect considering that this week is my birthday and I'm a firm believer that the week of your birthday should be all about you. I love birthdays. I love my birthday. I'm not one of those women who dread getting older and avoids it at all costs. I don't mind getting older because every year I get better and better. Every year I find myself more accepting, more real, more grounded, and more open. If aging is a bi-product of having the rest then I'll take it. But I have discovered that as I age other people don't put the same emphasis on my birthday as they did when I was younger. It's as if they think that because I'm an adult now I don't really care about those things. Well they're wrong. I do. I love my birthday and I love having that one day a year that is all, all, all about me. So why not make it a week all about me? That's what this week will be--all about me. I hope you'll enjoy the celebration of me and then, when it's your turn, that you'll do the same thing for yourself.

Where do we start? The wish list of course. These are just some of the things I have my eye on this year... Oh, and another thing I've learned as I've gotten older is if you want something don't wait for someone else to get it for you--get it for yourself... And so I will...

Bohemian bird necklace (should be making its way to me though the mail!)
tripod for my camera
Messy Thrilling Life
a little Tegan and Sara
some Brandi Carlile
a bit of Patty Griffin
the highly recommended Eat, Pray, Love
a cute bicycle I can pedal around the neighborhood on, and it needs an adorable wicker basket for my camera
a guitar...because I'd love to know how to play...
a vacation to some place quiet and serene...the ocean, the woods, a rose covered cottage, Santa Fe
the soundtrack to Il Postino
a retreat to some place I can be nourished and cared for and rejuvinated...*sigh*...
another moleskine
photography lessons

Happy Mother's Day

2006-05-14T21:00:00.000-07:00

Make a wish...

I hope it comes true...

MamaSaysOm - Juicy

2006-05-13T21:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Britt,

Here are some juicy words for you from the scrumptious SARK...

Living Juicy is: Jumping for Joy on the inside! In the midst of our daily lives, we must find the Juice to nourish our creative souls. If we rush around, never look closely, or practice self denial, we will begin to feel dry and cracked, for the lack of sweet, wild moments that elevate us, and those around us. The name for this is Living Juicy...ride into your Life on a creative cycle full of Juice, Abundance, and ecstatic wonderment.
from Living Juicy

How to be really Alive!Live Juicy*stamp out conformity*stay in bed all day*dream of gypsy wagons*find snails making love*develop an astounding appetite for books*drink sunsets*draw out your feelings*amaze yourself*be ridiculous*stop worrying*now*if not now, then when?*make yes your favorite word*marry yourself*dry your clothes in the sun*eat mangoes naked*keep toys in the bathtub*spin yourself dizzy*hang upside down*follow a child*celebrate an old person*send a love letter to your self*be advanced*try endearing*invent new ways to love*transform negatives*delight someone*wear pajamas to a drive in movie*allow yourself to feel rich without money*be who you truly are and the money will follow*believe in everything*you are always on your way to a miracle*THE MIRACLE IS YOU
from A Creative Companion

you are my miracle,
Mama

Grateful for my Peeps

2006-05-12T20:57:00.000-07:00

Kyler

Kalysta

Keeli

Britton

Corbin

Kennedy

Canyon

Poetry Thursday - An Author and a Poet

2006-05-11T21:06:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite authors is also a beautiful and thought provoking poet. Here are a handful from Alice Walker.

I Can Worship You

I can worship
You
But I cannot give
You everything

If you cannot
Adore
This body.

If you cannot
Put your lips
To my
Clear water.

If you cannot
Rub bellies
With
My Sun.

Grace

Grace
Gives me a day
Too beautiful
I had thought
To stay indoors
& yet
Washing my dishes
Straightening
My shelves
Finally
Throwing out
The wilted
Onions
Shrunken garlic
Cloves
I discover
I am happy
To be inside
Looking out.
This, I think,
Is wealth.
Just this choosing
Of how
A beautiful day
Is spent.

What Will Save Us

The restoration to the cow
Of her dignity.

The restoration to the pig
Of his intelligence.

The restoration to the child
of her sacredness.

The restoration to the woman
Of her will.

The restoration to the man
Of his tenderness.

Fragile

2006-05-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

Fragile
that's how I feel today
I feel like a package that has those words stamped across it in big red letters
I'm afraid that at any moment I'm going to burst into a million pieces
I'm going to crumble and be blown away by the wind
like the dried out paper thin petals of a dead rose
If someone were to touch me
not a casual bump or an unexpected crash
but a pure deliberate hand reaching out towards me
to brush my arm or guide my back
I think I would melt
Fragile
those very words
right here stamped across my forehead
lonely
volatile
empty
broken
shattered
fragile
I don't write this to make you feel uncomfortable
I know seeing other people's pain can be uncomfortable
especially when you want to do something and can't
especially if it makes you look at your own pain
I write this because that's where I am today
and because of that this is all I have to give tonight
the ugly not so cheerful truth of my fragile state of affairs
and it really sucks
I wish I had something brilliant and uplifting and inspirational to share
but today just isn't that kind of day
So why write at all
because I like marking my days
I like seeing where I am and where I have been
because sometimes the shitty stuff needs to have a voice too
because being fragile is something we've all know at one time or another
I'm not that different from you
I have days that flow so beautifully
and I have days that I feel so lonely and splintered
that I question my very existence
I wonder if maybe I might be invisible
I wonder if maybe I should just turn the computer off and go to bed
I can lay in the dark and forget
Perhaps it would be nice to cover up the hurt and simply say I'm fine
I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine I'm fine
How often to we do that
How are you today
I'm fine
Today I'm not fine
I'm fragile
sad
hungry
bitter
heavy
tired
on the edge
everything but fine

SPC {Introduction-2}

2006-05-09T20:01:00.000-07:00

a tag from Sarah

Do's and Don'ts

i do love accessories--earrings, necklaces, hats, etc
i don't often accessorize, i don't make the time and i forget

i do adore poetry
i don't 'get' a lot of poems

i do write everyday
i don't consider myself a writer

i do love independent films and foreign films
i don't like cheesy comedies or manipulative dramas

i do love me some eatin'
i don't cook anything that can't be microwaved

i do enjoy grocery shopping
i don't like putting the groceries away and discovering a just spent a ton of money on nothing

i do make lots of lists
i don't always complete the tasks on the lists

i do want to have a slim, lean body
i don't want to have to exercise to get it

i do like animals
i don't have any pets

i do appreciate nature
i don't always enjoy being outside

i do love, love, love Jake Gyllenhaal
i don't like Donnie Darko--that creepy rabbit gives me nightmares, even this website kind of creeps me out

i do consider myself to be a spiritual person
i don't consider myself to be religious

i do love my boy
i don't always like how worn out and on the edge i feel

i do love affection
i don't get near enough

i do have so many needs that go unmet
i don't know how to ask for what i need

i do believe in god
i don't always know exactly what that means

i do believe i have a soul
i don't always know what that means either

i do ask a lot of questions
i don't always find the answers

i do believe people see me
i don't always think the people i love the most see me

i do want to fall in love with myself
i don't know how to get there

i do desire to be a 'whole' person
i don't do a very good job at keeping myself from being so fragmented and divided

i do at times struggle to show up
i don't want to waste anymore time not being authentic and real

i do have a lot of fears
i don't want to live from those fears

i do struggle to believe i have worth and value
i don't want to stay small any longer

i do want to live in truth and honesty
i don't always know how to address issues with other people

i do long to reach out to others
i don't do a very good job of coming out of my introverted shell

i do believe in practicing self care
i don't always practice what i preach

i do appreciate the journey
i don't often remember it's the journey and not the destination that's important

An Experiment

2006-05-08T19:09:00.000-07:00

The color is back but the comments are off. For this week's challenge I have decided to turn off the comments. When I initially began this blog nobody read it. I wrote everyday just for myself. Eventually I picked up a few readers and once I joined the Self Portrait Tuesday group my readers increased, as did the comments. I'll be the first to admit that I love comments. I love receiving them and I love leaving them. Comments are a little way of knowing I am seen and heard as well as being a way I can encourage others along their life journey. But I'll also be the first to admit that sometimes I like the comments a little too much. I love reading the responses of others. I love the feedback. I love knowing how my thoughts and words have impacted others. But for a change I want to come back to the days when I would write everyday not expecting any comments. I want to know what a week without comments will feel like. I want to know how I will respond to writing without the possibility of receiving any feedback besides my own thoughts, feelings, doubts, and assurances. I just wanna know what it would be like, if I can go back, if I can write for nobody else but myself. I want to see if I can let go of any hopes and expectations. I want to know what it will be like to put myself out there without the opinions and encouragement of others. It ought to be an interesting little experiment.

Also, I've added some new shots to my Book of Dreams flickr account. You can view the new creations here. This week's technique was layers. I wasn't quite as good at putting together the layers as I was at putting together the pockets. The first layered page I made I hated so much that I ripped it out and started over. Once I stopped trying to put SO much on the page I liked the results a whole lot better. And again I let the poetry of Mary Oliver come alive through vintage photographs, pretty papers, ribbon, fabrics, and paint. I also discovered Modge Podge. I love the stuff! It's a wonderful consistency that is very user friendly and it leaves a lovely glossy finish when used as a sealant. I spent the weekend peeling the stuff off my fingers. It reminded me of being in elementary school when friends and I used to slather Elmers all over our hands then peel it off once it had dried. Fun times!

PS-I'll still be around leaving comments and if any of you need to get in touch for whatever reason there's still e-mail. The comments will be back on next Monday night...just in time for my birthday week!

Sunday Scribblings {My Shoes}

2006-05-07T20:01:00.000-07:00

If you could walk around in my shoes,
slip into my skin,
for just a moment,
you'd see just how full my heart really is,
how it holds so much love,
so much fear.
You'd see all the dreams holding me together,
all the things I hunger and yearn for,
all the hopes breathing and evolving,
and you'd see all the broken and shattered pieces
of dreams that crashed and burned,
dreams that never had the chance to try their wings.
You'd see all the choices I've made,
the ones I'm proud of,
the ones I regret,
and the ones I wrestle with everyday
as I faithfully attempt to build a life
that satisfies my deepest needs
for love and growth and connection.
If you could slip into my shoes for one small moment
you'd see the incredibly intense contradiction
of strength and struggle,
beauty and brokenness,
determination and depression,
gratitude and grief,
solace and surrender.
You'd see the doubts that plague
the darkest corners of my heart,
the ones I'm trying so desperately to shine a light on
so that they won't consume me with their dread.
You would finally be able to see life through my eyes
and perhaps you could come to understand
what really makes me who I am,
what makes me tick,
what sets my soul on fire,
what keeps me up at night.
And you'd see that I'm really not all that different from you.
We both have our moments,
good ones,
bad ones.
We're both burdened and wounded
and yet we continue on this journey.
We continue to delve deeper and deeper
into creativity and imagination,
into stories and poetry,
into healing and acceptance,
into loving and being loved,
into knowing and being known,
into the very soul of life.
If you could walk around in my shoes
for just a moment,
you'd see all of this
and so much more.

MamaSaysOm - Liquid

2006-05-06T20:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Britton,

Tears
the bittersweet liquid of the heart
I cry because there is so much beauty to behold
I cry because there is so much pain to absorb
I cry because happiness abounds
I cry because sorrow never ends
I bite my lip and hold back
I crumble to the floor and let it flow
I cry in the dark of night where no one can see
I cry in the light of day for everyone to see
I cry because I must
I cry even when I don't really want to
I cry to let go
I cry to renew
I cry because when it's all said and done
when the emotions have been released and
had a fair chance to breathe
I feel lighter
freer
better able to open my heart
to the fullness of life
Tears
both bitter and sweet
the sacred liquid of the heart

Counting all the tears
yours and mine
Mama

Grateful Friday - Keeping My Eye on the Blessings

2006-05-05T20:13:00.000-07:00

This week my life has been a tangle of emotions. The depression has hit especially hard over the past few days. Many of the days I've not been sure I could get out of bed. I'm one small step away from not being able to function which is why I find it so necessary to seek out each day's blessings. When the heaviness hits it's the little things that mean so much. I'm determined to keep finding at least something each day to be grateful for. Without that I'd be lost and hopeless.

the beautiful images of Visual Voice
the necklace I ordered this week as an early birthday gift to myself
enjoying the documentary Born Into Brothels
laughing through Mrs. Henderson Presents
sharing a turtle brownie icecream sundae with Britton
having lunch with my friend Irma and surrendering myself to the deliciousness of a Steinwich and carrot ginger soup
the last 5 minutes of this week's episode of Lost
Jen Gray's beautifully honest post about her own struggle with depression
the fabulous Poetry Thursday blogspot
Andrea having her blogging sisters' backs
Bohemian Girl calling her blogging sisters together to support one of our fellow bloggers
making it to the weekend
spring rainstorms
Britton's toes
mangos
eating lunch outside and savoring the beautiful weather
finishing Sabrina Ward Harrison's wonderful book The True and the Questions
Poemcrazy
being a mere week and a half away from my birthday

Poetry Thursday - One of My Own

2006-05-04T18:53:00.000-07:00

She always meets me where I am.
I don't have to roam around to find her;
she has a canny way of finding me.
First in a tree, then
clinging to a barbed wire fence,
this time circling the clouds.
Higher and higher she rose with fierce grace
and elegant beauty.
She's strong and powerful.
Her song reminds me that I'm strong and powerful.
I imagine myself flying with her,
not straddling her massive back
or tucked under her feathered wing
or clinging to her downy chest,
not hanging from her tail feathers or
gripped in her golden claws.
I imagine myself curled within her chest,
caged in the hollow of her ribs,
right next to her small red beating heart,
there where it's safe and warm,
there where I can absorb the pounding rhythm of
her wings in flight,
there where her calling can echo through the
dark corners of my heart,
there where I can learn the secrets of touching
the sun with delicate wings,
there where I can rest and build my strength
until my own wings are healed.

Soft Spots {Part 2}

2006-05-03T16:41:00.000-07:00

Over the course of the two years I worked as a chaplain there was one thing I became really good at: telling my story. When the educational period first began my fellow peers and I sat in a room and over the following days we each, one by one, shared our story. When our supervisor was replaced we told our stories. When we lost a peer and gained a new one we told our stories. When a new supervisor was contracted to teach a series of seminars we told our story. When I chose to stay on a second year I told my story to my new peer group. Telling our story was what we did to build relationship and community. I got very used to telling my story. I not only got used to it but I also got used to having my story picked apart, analyzed, questioned, and put through the wringer. I've had a lot of practice in story telling. And so it is not all that difficult for me to come here and share myself as openly and honestly as possible. I see it as sharing my story yet again. I am often so comfortable sharing my story that I forget that others don't share that same level of comfort.

One of the things I've learned about sharing my story is that secrets can hold a lot of power. When the are kept in the dark, hidden from view, they gain power and that power can destroy lives and relationships. Secret keeping is crazy making. When these very same secrets are brought to the light and given a little bit of breathing room the power they hold begins to dissipate. Suddenly they aren't as big and scary as they once appeared. Suddenly they even appear to be manageable. Suddenly the shame is replaced by a community of supporters who have been there too and know what it's like. Secrets and shame go hand in hand and when the secret is addressed the shame begins to be addressed too. And I for one am about ready to live somewhere else besides shame-land.

Last week when I wrote my Soft Spots post I had intended for it to be the first in a series of writings in which I began to bring to light some of the events and issues that I am addressing in my life. I wanted to give them voice. I wanted to grieve and heal and talk about the things that I've been afraid to talk about anywhere but in the dark. I wanted to tell my story to someone other than my therapist. What I had not anticipated is that in sharing my story I would actually create more pain than I was currently experiencing. But that's what happened. The story I shared last week ended up hurting and angering the people I love and for the past several days I've been trying to untangle my mess of emotions. I've been trying to decide if I crossed a line. I've been trying to figure out how to balance sharing the grief, the secrets, the failures, the wounds of life with honoring and respecting the need others have for privacy. Is balance even possible? If someone is so ready to break free from all the pain that's holding them back that they will pretty much do anything possible to find healing how do they then protect the people who aren't quite ready to live in that much light? How does one balance the right to tell one's story with the right others have of not telling their story when the stories intermingle and twist and brush up against each other? Those are the questions I've been asking myself over the past few days and quite honestly I haven't found any answers. I haven't decided if I did something right or wrong. I haven't decided how much is too much. What has resulted is my feeling the need to pull back not because I'm not ready to share but because I'm not ready to hurt others and I'm not ready to deal with the pain of hurting others.

It's easy to trust the sharing when I've built such a strong supportive community. It's easy to share when there are other like-minded bloggers out there wanting to do the same: wanting to find acceptance, wanting to find healing, wanting to let go of the shame, wanting to live in the light. It's easy to share when I don't consider you all strangers but friends, friends that may even know me better than my own family. It's so easy that I can forget that this is the WORLD WIDE WEB. It's easy to forget that you all aren't the only ones reading. It's easy to forget that others don't view blogging the same way I tend to.

So my question for you is how do you balance? How do you balance the sharing and the protecting? How do you share your story without sharing other people's stories too? I don't need to know whether you think I was right or wrong. That is something I'll have to work out for myself and I haven't done that yet. What I want to know is how do you claim your voice and own your story here in this blogsphere without crossing a very fragile boundary? How do you do it? I'm not willing to stop sharing who I am as openly and honestly as possible. I just won't do that. But I don't know how to share the parts of me that happen to intersect with the parts of others. Yet leaving those parts out is only painting a portion of the picture. It's leaving large chunks of my story out. It's like writing a book but omitting chapters. And yet I'm also not willing to hurt those I love just to hear myself rattle on about freedom and healing and living in light. These are tough issue to address that perhaps many bloggers have to face. I'm at the place where I'm having to face them and I'm wondering what answers you've found, or are you struggling as I am? What choices have you made or are you currently making in regards to sharing yourself, your story, in this blogging community?

SPC {Introduction-1}

2006-05-02T17:41:00.000-07:00

I am a poem
a tangle of meaningless words
carefully chosen
placed side by side
creating a voice
a verse of power and life
I am a poem
a mix of secret metaphors
sometimes contradictory
always illustrating a truth
I know to be real right now
I am a poem
a string of letters and spaces
sounds and silences
both spoken from holy places
sacred depths
expressing what needs to be said now
to keep the soul alive
I am a poem
each breath held then released
anticipating what's next
each pause a time for reflection
each comma separating past from present
each line break a moment of emphasis
I am a poem
tumbling lyrical rhythm of life
creative breath of being
a letter from the gods to a universe of light
words
meaning
breathe
love
I am a poem

Seeing the World in Black and White

2006-05-01T17:40:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to shake it up a bit here in the sweet life blogsphere. Ya know, do a little something different. So, I thought, this being a new month and all, that I would issue myself a different challenge every week of the month. Not that I don't already have enough challenges with the 21 Day Challenge into it's second week, the Book of Dreams group, and a very rambunctious three-year-old ripping through the house like a bat out of hell. I thought a little challenge here would be nice too. Week one: the black and white challenge. In other words, every photo I post this week will be in black and white.

I love black and white photos. I think they are classic and can often times turn a mediocre photo into something fabulous. I just don't usually take a lot of b&w pics or edit a pic to remove the color. I don't know why. I just rarely think about it or take the time to do it. But this week I'm going to take another look at the world around me and see just what I can capture in a colorless format. It ought to be interesting and a nice step outside my color filled comfort zone.

And for those of you participating in Artsymama's Book of Dreams challenge I have created a Flickr set for the photos I've taken of my book. I thought that would be easier than trying to post all the pics here. When I've updated my account with new creations I'll let you know so that you can click on over and see what I've been up to. For those of you not participating it's never too late. We just started this week and the technique for the week was pockets. I love me some pockets!!! I spent my weekend surrounded by vintage photos, double sided tape, glue sticks, scraps of delicious colored paper, tags, and all sorts of other goodies. I have created and created and created. And I love my book!!! I had originally intended for the book to feature bits and pieces of some of my favorite poems. Well, over the weekend it metamorphosed into a book honoring the poetry of Mary Oliver. It seems I love her so much I never could manage to move on to another poet. So this is my Ode to Mary. I must admit I haven't seen the work the other participants have created. I want to but I'm also scared. This art journal/altered book business is new to me and my inner artist is still a little fragile. I'm lovin' my work and I don't want seeing other work to usher in the inner critic. So I'm inhaling deeply, taking the risk, and heading over to see what the other gals are doing. I'll remember that my inner critic is a scared little girl who received too many reprimands in the past and just wants to be loved and accepted. And you never know...I just might find some really cool techniques that other participants have used to try out in my own book. To view my BOD pages click here.

Sunday Scribblings {Why I Live Where I Live}

2006-04-30T18:39:00.000-07:00

I've lived in the same town since I was a child. With a population of just under 200,00 it has all the conveniences of a city, but with a small town feel. Famous people from my hometown include Buddy Holly (rock legend), Natalie Maines (the Dixie Chicks), Mac Davis (singer and songwriter), Craig Ehlo (basketball great), Glenna Goodacre (artist), and her daughter Jill Goodacre (model and wife of Harry Connick Jr.) It's a dot on the map right in the middle of West Texas. This is where I belong. It's where my roots are. It has it's faults--it's very conservative, very red, very close-minded, and doesn't offer much in the way of cultural opportunities. Sometimes it can be a bit suffocating, especially for an unwed mother living with her son's father. But I choose to live here because everything I love most in this world is right here. And if it's not within a few blocks, then it's just a couple hours drive away. My family is here, my support system, my strength, my roots, my love, my heart. And I love this place for all those reasons.

Someday it may be time to leave. Someday it may be time to spread my wings, to try and stand on my own. Someday I may have to sample life without the support of my family. Someday that day may come. But for right now this is right where I need to be. I need the strong arms around me. I need to know that if I need anything help is just a phone call away. I need Britton to grow up with his grandparents, with his great-grandparents, with is aunts, his uncles, his cousins. I need the strength of family.

It's windy, it's dusty, it's hot, there are more tumbleweeds than trees, there are cotton fields instead of oceans and streams, but there is a beauty here, a beauty I love, that I'm connected to, that I'm not ready to leave yet. It's a beauty I want to share with my son.

And just so you'll know, in Texas we don't ride horses to work, we don't all where cowboy boots, we don't all like country music, and we don't all vote Republican...just so you'll know...

MamaSaysOm - Wild

2006-04-29T21:32:00.000-07:00

There's me, there's you, and there's this space between us that we call relationship. It's wild, filled with the unknown and all manner of possibility. And this space is almost like it's own living, breathing entity. It includes us but is also separate from our individual existences. It holds all its own dynamics, all its own characteristics, all its own adventures. It's wild, crazy territory to navigate. But wild isn't a negative quality. Wild is adventurous. Wild is discovery. Wild is courageous. Wild is daring, and passionate, and instinctual. Wild is untamed--raw, honest, vulnerable. Wild is a natural state. Wild is what exists before we try to mold it into something it was never meant to be.

What will we take with us into this new territory? Lewis & Clark had a knowledgeable guide. Christopher Columbus had faith. Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins had blessing. Jane Goodall had the ability to sit with nature and listen to it, learn from it. Chuck Yeager had his gut instinct. They all, every new pioneer, had desire, determination and a whole lot of fear. And they did it anyway, even with the fear.

We'll take all of this with us as we brave this wild space between us. We'll choose to see wild as something alive and growing and full of beauty. We'll choose to sit with the nature of our relationship and keep traveling further and further inward. Sometimes we'll dance into the space because we know we must. Most of the time we'll do it because we love. We'll slip, we'll fall, we'll step on each other's toes. We'll get tired, we'll get angry, we'll get lost. We'll stand on the mountain top and admire the view, we'll lay in a field of wildflowers and watch the clouds, we'll walk along the beach gathering seashells. We'll get motivated, we'll get inspired, we'll get nourished. And we'll do it every day for the rest of our lives. Even when we're apart that third entity will exist. It will continue to grow, and thrive, and evolve. It will change as we change. It will reflect our hearts--our wounds, our wholeness, our beauty, our shadows, our light. It is wild. And wild is about as alive and honest and true as you can get.

Daring to enter the wild,
Mama

Grateful Friday

2006-04-28T20:38:00.000-07:00

I've found a new love: black bean chipolte Gardenburgers
speaking of chipolte, don't ya just love that word--chipolte, chipolte, chipolte...I love the way it jumps off my tongue
Madness has been mentioning Larabars and I finally found some--they are delicious
speaking of Madness, check out her awesome family portraits taken by Tara Whitney, one of my other new loves of the week...her photography is absolutely amazing. I'm blown away.
taking Britton to the annual Arts Festival last Saturday--seeing Artists displaying their phenomenal work and letting Britt make some of his own creations
speaking of last Saturday, Britton and I joined my aunt and two of my nieces for a picnic at the park
we also discovered a new ice cream shop built to look like something right out of the 50s--spinning stools, records on the walls, and sundaes served in pretty glass dishes
colorful wildflowers popping up all along the side of the road
roses blooming wildly
vanilla chai latte
the poetry of Sharon Olds
Artsymama for putting together the Book of Dreams challenge
Rhonna for offering another 21 Day Challenge
receiving some wonderful goodies in the mail this week from two blogging friends
finding some vintage photographs at a local antique mall
just 2 days until we have a new episode of Grey's Anatomy!!!

Poetry Thursday - Because Sometimes I Like My Poetry with a Side of Sarcasm

2006-04-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

Dorothy Parker. What a life. Poet, storyteller, screenwriter, winner of the prestigious O. Henry award, Academy Award winner, and member of the legendary Algonquin Round Table. She traveled with Hemingway, befriended the Fitzgeralds, and kept company with Updike. She wrote for Vanity Fair, Vogue, and the New Yorker. Her words always had a bite of sarcasm and her quick wit made her famous, if not infamous. She lived the life of a legend, with all the glamour and all the pain, including several divorces, a string of suicide attempts, and a commitment to left wing politics resulting in being called before the House on un-American Activities. She died in 1967 from a heart attack, leaving her literary estate to the NAACP. Her sarcastic voice still endures.

Resume

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

One Perfect Rose

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet--
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
"My fragile leaves," it said, "his heart enclose."
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.

Healed

Oh, when I flung my heart away,
The year was at its fall.
I saw my dear, the other day,
Beside a flowering wall:
And this was all I had to say:
"I thought that he was tall!"

Soft Spots {Part 1}

2006-04-26T19:23:00.000-07:00

I have some issues in my life that I consider my soft spots. They are those things, those memories, those experiences, those griefs, that despite time and intention haven't quite fused together to created a healed wholeness. They are the things in my life that I still carry around, that I can't quite release or lay down. When Britton was a new born I used to cradle him and watch the soft spot on the top of his head. I was so afraid I might touch it too harshly. When I'd brush the few stands of blond hair on the top of his perfectly round head I would be extra gentle with the soft spot. There were even times I could see his spot rise and fall with his breathing and his heart beat. It was like this raw, vulnerable part of him that was not quite ready for this world. I imagine if you could see my soul, whatever material a soul might be made of, you'd find these same types of places riddled throughout--these places that need a little bit of extra gentleness. You can't really see them from the outside but the evidence is there and every once in awhile you will know you've touched a tender place, much like a bruise whose blue-black discoloration has diminished, but, when rubbing your fingers across the wounded area, you are quick to recognize the familiar tenderness.

Because I am choosing to focus the next 21 days on my emotions, sitting with them, listening to them, honoring them, it's hard not to think about the soft spots in my life. The pain I carry deep within slips to the surface from time to time and I know there is still work to do. The story I'm about to share with you is one of those tender places of my soul. Although many people in my life lived with me through the details and events, I've never really talked about any of it. And I've never written about it here. It's not easy to talk or write about for several reasons. This story involves people I love dearly and I want to protect them. They don't get a chance to defend themselves here and so I feel I must do that for them. In the past I've chosen to do that through my silence. In addition, addressing my feelings out loud means I have to look honestly at myself. I have to revisit the regrets and the failures, those things that I've done that I can't go back in time and change. And it also means that I am putting myself in a position to choose where to go and what to do from this point forward. None of those things are very easy. But I'm choosing tonight to sit in this room, alone, so that my tears can overtake me if necessary, and weave a piece of my story.

As most of you know by now Britton wasn't a planned child. Trey and I had been dating a little over two years when I discovered I was pregnant. I was both scared and excited. I'd been having problems with my body and in April of 2002 my PCP told me I wasn't ovulating any longer and should make an appointment with an Ob/Gyn in order to get my menstrual cycles regulated and force my body into ovulation again. I had been enduring menstrual cycles that lasted 3 weeks out of the month and it was miserable. Because I paid this visit to my PCP the last day of my insurance was effective I had to wait until August 2002, when my new insurance plan became effective, in order to see an Ob/Gyn. The Ob/Gyn concurred and placed me on a heavy duty birth control pill to regulate my cycles. For several months I continued to experience the 3-week-long cycles and suddenly one day I realized I'd gone longer than a week without spotting. I also noticed my breasts were very tender. My sister, who had already birthed 2 children, suspected I was pregnant and suggested I take a home pregnancy test. I thought there was no way she could be right but bought a cheap two-for-one test just to check. I tried it and noticed a faint, oh-so-faint, blue line. I took the second one--same thing.

The following day was filled with questions and decisions. I didn't know how I was going to tell Trey and seriously considered breaking up with him, disappearing from his life, and raising my baby on my own. You see, if there was one thing Trey had made perfectly clear from the beginning it was HE NEVER, NEVER, NEVER wanted to be a father EVER. I wasn't 100 percent sure but I was pretty certain that if I told him he would view it as the end of the world. I decided to purchase one more home test (a better quality one), and this time I drove to Trey's apartment to take it. I disappeared into his bathroom while he nervously waited on the balcony smoking cigarettes. Sure enough BOLD blue line. I stayed in there, where I was safe, for what seemed like eternity before I finally came out and broke the news to him. He took it worse than I had expected. He cried, he ranted, he cursed, he drank, he left the house with a friend. The next day I missed work so that I could stay home with him and make sure he didn't hurt himself. He stayed in bed crying for the first few days. He barely functioned and only left the house for the things that were absolutely necessary like attending class.

Trey was the hardest person to tell but I knew my family would be difficult as well. When I called my mom I totally set myself up for failure and swore I'd never put myself in that position again. She wouldn't talk to me for days. Months later I realized she hadn't told any of her friends and when I let them in on my good news I could see her rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Next I had to tell my grandparents. They had such high hopes for me as a future minister that I knew I would break their hearts. But I was proud of myself for telling them instead of allowing them to hear through the family grapevine. Both of my younger sisters conceived children out of wedlock and neither of them ever told my grandparents. My grandparents were the last to know because there has always been great pressure to not disappoint them. I called and told my grandmother who was shocked but tried her hardest to sound happy for me. Before hanging up the phone she stabbed me with an arrow of shame when she said, I'm happy for you but you know this isn't the way God wants it.

I saw my Ob for the first time a month later, in November 2002. I went alone. The doctor and I were both surprised to discover that my previous menstrual problems had masked my pregnancy and instead of being an estimated 10 weeks I was in fact 17 weeks--almost half-way through my pregnancy! I was immediately scheduled for a sonogram where I discovered I was carrying a precious little boy.

All my life I dreamed of being a mother but I had seriously begun to think that it wasn't in the cards for me and that I should prepare myself for the disappointment. Now I was having a baby. All the times in the past when I had imagined being pregnant I thought it would be a time when I was happy and glowing and supported by the people in my life. My reality was a far cry from that and quite honestly I feel robbed. Brittons is three-years-old now but any time I think back on my pregnancy I feel robbed. Instead of being loved and nurtured I spent my pregnancy fighting shame and catering to Trey's depression.

Trey never changed his mind about wanting to be a father. The following months were spent in an emotional nightmare. His fear, his woundedness, paralyzed him. I don't know how many late night conversations we had in which he would drunkenly swear he would not change, he would not give, he would not sacrifice, he would not, would not, would not do this with me. We broke up more times than I can count but we always ended up back together. We even started seeing a therapist but I eventually shut down. I was a woman caught between the child she loved and the man she loved. I couldn't handle it any more. How can a mother sit there and listen to the cold, cruel remarks being made about her child? How is she expected to endure that? She can't. I think that was the beginning of our disconnection. I had always been his best friend. I was the one he talked to about everything and now he couldn't talk to me. I couldn't listen to the hateful things he had to say about the child I loved. I couldn't bear to hear all the ways in which my child was going to be cheated of a father. And each time Trey lined out all the things he refused to do I became a little more discouraged and a little more overwhelmed because it meant I would be fulfilling both my role and his.

The part I regret the most is all the things I did to try and show Trey he could do this, his life wouldn't have to change as dramatically has he was anticipating. I regret it because it meant I sacrificed myself and my health...and Britton. I would stay up until the wee hours of the morning listening to his fearful ramblings instead of getting the sleep I needed. On the weekends I would hang out at smoky sports bars with him so that I wouldn't have to stay at home and sit alone with my pain. He certainly wasn't going to stay home with me. He needed the relief that drinking with friends provided him. I tried to take care of him, protect him from this. It was too much and I paid for it. Throughout my entire pregnancy I had to go for non-stress tests every Tuesday and Thursday morning because Britton wasn't gaining the weight he needed to. The nurses would strap a monitor around my belly and for the next 30 minutes monitor Britton's heart rate and movement. They wanted to ensure that despite is low weight he was still as active as he needed to be.

Trey was so caught up in his stuff--fear, denial, pain--that he couldn't face any of it. He never offered any support. He never attended an appointment. He never bought me a nice little gift. He never acknowledge Britton. I nourished Britton. I blessed Britton. I named Britton. I planned for Britton's arrival. I did it all. Trey never even told his parents. Two months before Britton was born the mother of a friend of ours called Trey's mom at work to let her know Trey was expecting a child. She was tired of watching it all and thought they deserved to know. Every week was a new ultimatum: you're telling them this week or I will. He wouldn't. I'd give him one more week and we'd start all over again...and again...and again.

Sometimes I wonder how I survived this time because it truly was one of the darkest of my life. I can not tell you all the painful conversations I endured with Trey. I can not explain the overwhelming sense of aloneness. I can not begin to count all the tears. I think one of the reasons I did survive was because there were shining moments. I have two beautiful sisters and they went with me to sonogram appointments, planned my shower, and loved me through it. I have a boss who brought ice cream to work and purchased me a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting. I have a beautiful friend and co-worker (hi Irma!) whose excitement for me was overwhelming. I cherished every bottle of chilled lemonade served over Sonic ice, every chocolate cigar, every cute outfit, every thoughtful gift she bestowed on me. My mother eventually came around and even drove me to Dallas so that I could excitedly walk into a Pottery Barn Kids and choose baby bedding. And my grandmother never said anything more but offered me support through money slipped into my purse, hand made baby blankets, and Saturday afternoons spent on the sewing machine making wonderful creations for my child.

I hated this time but I am glad I stuck it out. Today Trey and Britton have a beautiful relationship. Trey is attentive and patient and loving and everything a child could ask for in a dad. He's pretty much father of the year. Well, I wouldn't go that far. We still have our issues especially when it comes to money. Trey helps with daycare, food, doctor appointments, and medications. Everything else is mine. Birthdays are mine. The Easter Bunny and Santa Claus is mine. Gymnastics is mine. Toys and books are mine. Clothes, shoes, and other important articles of clothing are purchased by either me or Trey's mother, who absolutely adores her grandson and has been a constant source of support since the day she was surprised at work. It's hard, really hard. And some days I hate it. Some days I hate him.

I grieve because I was shamed. I grieve because Trey couldn't offer me the support I wanted and needed. I grieve because Trey couldn't show up for me. I grieve because my pregnancy was more about his shit than our child. I grieve because I didn't take care of myself the way I needed to. I grieve because my pregnancy wasn't the shining moment I had always dreamed it would be. I grieve because I feel robbed of one of the most extraordinary moments of my life. I grieve because I felt so alone, and in many ways still do. I grieve because I tried so damn hard to make Trey happy and it cost me my own happiness. I grieve because the stress and the sadness had a great impact on the life growing in my belly. I grieve because my son didn't get the blessing he so deserved. I grieve because I'm still carrying the hurt.

SPT {April Fool-4}

2006-04-25T18:35:00.000-07:00

This past Sunday I decided to take a walk downtown and fool around with my camera. I must admit that since my new baby has come into my life I've been a little frustrated with it. It may be more complicated than this amateur photographer had anticipated. My pics aren't coming out quite the way I want them too. Every time I see the divine Mizz Kim's photos I want to fly her down here to give me a few lessons and help me set up a mini-studio. Just take a little looksie here, here, and here...oh yeah, and here...hell you might as well just go straight to her flickr account. And all these have just been within the last week. *sigh* But I know part of my frustration is stemming from lack of familiarity. I had four wonderful years with my previous camera whereas I've only had a few weeks with this one. It takes time and practice...and patience. I've decided to designate Sunday afternoons as "photo excursion time" in order to put myself in the position of using my camera more than I currently am. I was more pleased with the outcome of my pics from Sunday than I have been with any so far. I'm still struggling to get my image straight and there are some other features that I haven't mastered yet (like how you force the damn thing to flash when you want it to--even if it insists there is enough light and you don't need any more.) Once I've conquered the auto setting I might find the courage to try a little manual action. Trey gave me a photography book (quite a nice one I might add) for Valentines Day but I don't feel like I've learned a whole lot from it. I think I have finally grasped the concept of shutter speed and aperture but I haven't progressed much further from there. I don't know how many times Trey has tried to explain ISO speed to me and I still can't get it. Sure I can repeat his words and definition but I can't really get the idea to sink in. Oh well... It felt good to meander up and down the quiet streets with my camera around my neck. I sensed a kind of joy that some of my favorite photo bloggers, like Andrea, Jen, Topleftpixle, and Chromasia, must feel when they are on the prowl for their masterpieces. I don't know that I captured any masterpieces but I did get some I was very pleased with (see yesterday's pic) and you'll probably be getting a glimpse of some of my favorites over the next few days and weeks.

*the collages above and below are some of Sunday's pics including a few of my reflection captured in different glass surfaces.

Another 21 Days

2006-04-24T18:56:00.000-07:00

Rhonna is offering another 21 Day Challenge and because the first one I participated in was such a positive experience for me I decided to join up for this one too. When I first read that she was all for going a 3rd round I thought this would be an excellent time to incorporate a daily walking regimen. I already have the yoga going, throw in some cardio and I ought to be well on my way to health. Wenda was such an inspiration to me as she shared the journey of her own 21 Days with walking that I wanted to hear my own feet pounding the pavement. However, the more I thought about it the more I realized that although I do need the walking, right now there is something more pressing that I need to focus on. I need to give some intentional attention to my emotions--naming them, sitting with them, feeling them, letting them have their place. I need to ask myself the tough questions and be courageous enough to at least throw them around, even if I'm not at a place where I can really answer them. I need to be willing to untangle the inside. I've noticed lately that I'm not addressing the root of my emotions and as a result they are spilling all over the place but not in their original form. I'm exploding in anger at Trey when really I'm feeling hurt because I feel ignored. I'm experiencing meltdowns with Britton when really I'm feeling frustrated at work. And it continues to build because I'm not asking for what I want and need. This is a little more tricky to measure and define than my last challenge but I feel it's really something I need to give some dedicated time to for awhile. I don't know where this path will lead me. I don't have any clue what it will look like. But everyday, for the next 21 days, I intend to at least start the journey. I intend to name my feelings, invite them in, sit with them instead of run away, give others my truth instead of a secondary outcome, and open myself up to the emotions that scare me the most. It seems like a tall order, not to mention emotionally intense, but I see this 21 days as a beginning point, as an opportunity to scratch the surface. It's easing my way into a new way of being. It's 21 days towards purposefully looking at my life--messy emotions and all.

Sunday Scribblings {Chocolat}

2006-04-23T19:00:00.000-07:00

As most of you know from reading my blog, I come from a family of avid church goers. My grandfather is a Baptist preacher and so church, and God, has always been an important part of our lives. It's pretty much inseparable from our way of being. My grandfather always pastored small town churches which meant there wasn't any money to hire janitors, librarians, secretaries, ect. My grandparents were all of it. As a result, we were at church even when the doors weren't open. On Saturday's we'd help pick up the trash from the pews and place all the hymnals back in the pew racks (and of course we'd sneak in time to play on stage with a microphone and saunter up and down the stairs pretending to be Miss. America). I don't know life without God and organized religion. Even when I was very young I remember praying every night before going to sleep. I didn't understand it all, but I knew it was a part of my life I couldn't separate myself from. It came as natural as breathing.

As I grew older I became more and more involved in church for my own enjoyment and nourishment. I wasn't popular at school but at church I fit in. At church I found my place of belonging. And I did it well. By the time I was in college I new this would be an important part of my life from here on out. One summer, at a week-long retreat at Glorietta, NM with the Baptist Student Union from my university, I surrendered to the ministry. It is typical in the Southern Baptist tradition that when you make these kinds of commitments to God you publicize them by coming forward, sharing your decision with the church body, and letting them offer you their congratulations and support. I did all of this. Shortly afterwards I met the man I eventually married and shortly after that we were divorced. My plans for ministry took a dramatic change of course.

The August after our divorce was final I began an educational program called CPE, or clinical pastoral education. Basically it's a year-long residency as a chaplain in a hospital. I thought that by beginning this program I would get back on track with my ministerial plans. I thought this program would strengthen my beliefs and further solidify my faith in the God of my childhood. It didn't exactly happen the way I had planned. My two years as a chaplain were the most intensely life changing years of my life, but I found something I hadn't counted on. This program had nothing at all to do with religion and that freedom sent me into a tail spin but also gave me room to grow, breathe, and become. Through this program I learned to focus on my spiritual growth instead of religion and church. I learned to honor my voice, my feelings, my story, and my experience. I learned more about showing up and being honest than I ever had before. I began to acknowledge the limits my childhood religion placed on women and I began to break free from those shackles.

It was an amazing life experience but it left me in a very uncertain place. I felt much like Eliza Doolittle after her big success at the ball. Chuncking her shoes and shouting at Henry Higgins, she demands to know what she's good for now that he's completed his transformation. She even wishes he'd left her in the gutter where he found her. All the change, all the growth, but nothing to do with it and no place to use it. Although I didn't wish to be left in the gutter I did feel very similar. I wasn't cut out for traditional ministry anymore, not just because of my divorce or because I am a woman (although both of these are obstacles in this conservative, patriarchal, Bible-belt area of the world), but because my beliefs were no longer typical. And I was no longer fit for my Southern Baptist heritage either. I had begun to incorporate more Eastern philosophies into my beliefs. I explored the history of the goddess and the idea of the feminine-divine. I began to doubt and question more than I had ever given myself permission to do and although I would still have moments of communing with the God of my childhood (I'm sure you're familiar with him--white beard, white robe, sitting somewhere in the clouds), most of that communion revolved around ranting, raving and cursing. I found my most satisfying spiritual communion when I connected to the spirit of love dwelling within my spirit. None of this was expected and I didn't know what to do with it (and I'm still on this journey of discovering how this all fits together for me). I found myself, a woman with a minister's heart, with no place to use it or express it.

Towards the end of my two year stint as a chaplain I saw the movie Chocolat. To this day it is my favorite movie, one of those I can watch over and over again and never tire of. I love it because every time I watch the unfolding story of Vianne and her chocolaterie I find my own story. I relate and connect to this character because in my mind she is a minister, the best kind of minister, the kind of minister I want to be. Not a minister caught up in rules, tradition, deprivation, and unforgiveness, but a minister who uses what she's got (a gift for concocting mouth watering chocolates--and choosing people's favorites) to heal the lives of those around her through her grace, her acceptance, her boldness, her daring, her listening ear, and her open heart. And I love that she's not perfect. She has her own demons she fighting and her own past she's trying to come to terms with. But she doesn't let that keep her from her calling--walking side-by-side with others as they recover their power, their worth, and their wholeness. This fictional character is my constant reminder of what a non-traditional minister can do when she offers the greatest gift she has--herself. She inspires me to keep finding that place of sharing who I am...even if it is only here on this blog.

poetry thursday on saturday

2006-04-22T21:16:00.000-07:00

friday when i checked the mail i not only found my next round of netflix movies to view over the weekend but i also received a check from the utility company for an overpayment i made almost a year ago. you know what that means--a trip to barnes & noble. you can't really blame me. i've been fishing for a reason to purchase a new book or two. after reading about liz's recent excursion to powell's and all the fabulous books she picked up i was really aching for my own little book binge. so this unexpected check came at just the right time. tonight i took myself to b&n, curled up in a chair with about 25 poetry books, and came home with three that really spoke to my heart. tonight i give you a short poem from each of the three books.

This Is Just To Say
William Carlos Williams

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Once
Sharon Olds

I saw my father naked, once, I
opened the blue bathroom's door
which he always locked--if it opened, it was empty--
and there, surrounded by glistening turquoise
tile, sitting on the toilet, was my father,
all of him, and all of him
was skin. In an instant, my gaze ran
in a single, swerving, unimpeded
swoop, up: toe, ankle,
knee, hip, rib, nape,
shoulder, elbow, wrist, knuckle,
my father. He looked so unprotected,
so seamless, and shy, like a girl on a toilet,
and even though I knew he was sitting
to shit, there was no shame in that
but even a human peace. He looked up,
I said Sorry, backed out, shut the door
but I'd seen him, my father a shorn lamb,
my father a cloud in the blue sky
of the blue bathroom, my eye had driven
up the hairpin mountain road of the
naked male, I had turned a corner
and found his flank unguarded--gentle
bulge of the hip-joint, border of the pelvic cradle.

The Fish
Mary Oliver

The first fish
I ever caught
would not lie down
quiet in the pail
but flailed and sucked
at the burning
amazement of the air
and died
in the slow pouring off
of rainbows. Later
I opened his body and separated
the flesh from the bones
and ate him. Now the sea
is in me: I am the fish, the fish
glitters in me; we are
risen, tangled together, certain to fall
back to the sea. Out of pain,
and pain, and more pain
we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
by the mystery.

Grateful Friday - A Grateful Dozen

2006-04-21T21:02:00.000-07:00

discovering a secret sanctuary where I can go, sit, think, and read or write
the arrival of my Inara George cd--I'm just lovin' her, check out track 1, 2, 6, 9, & 10 (with the fabulous Jackson Browne on background vocals), I can listen to this cd all day
taking the day off to help Britton celebrate his 3rd birthday
the books I picked up at a local used book store to be used for the Book of Dreams challenge
playing on the typewriter I purchased from e-bay (once it arrived I discovered it wasn't actually 'aqua' blue but some other shade of blue--I'll try to get pics later)
finishing up my 21 Day Challenge art journal (pics to come but I'm too tired tonight...)
watching An Unfinshed Life feature my all time favorite actor, Robert Redford, and another favorite, Morgan Freeman
none of the headaches I've had this week have turned into migrains!
black bean enchiladas
starting The Kite Runner
all the supportive comments I've received regarding my depression--it's amazing how many people struggle with this illness and yet there is still such a stigma associated with it and so many misunderstandings about it
the weekend

Antidepressants

2006-04-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

The dreaded word was mentioned last night in my therapy session. Not only mentioned but suggested. Not only suggested but a card with a psychiatrists named and number (the only psychiatrist in town on my insurance plan) was placed in my shaky and vulnerable hand. When she leaned towards me, looked me straight in the eye, and said, "There's an elephant in this room that we aren't talking about. What are we going to do about your depression," I immediately burst into tears not because I was surprised or offended but because my bluff had been called. I had been fighting against the depression for months now. I thought I was doing it successfully. I thought I was the only one who knew, who could see it. And I thought I could do enough to will it away. I thought I could fight it. I thought if I worked on my issues, took care of my body, incorporated the yoga and meditation, that I could head it off. Now I've been found out and confronted...and I have a choice to make.

I'm not against the use of medication for depression. I've been there before. This isn't the first time. But, because this isn't new to me, I also know about the opinions and judgments that come with it. I've sat in a physicians office and answered the questions while he looked at me, not certain whether to believe me or not. I understand the hesitancy. This country is over medicated and many therapists and physicians go straight for the meds, prescribing left and right without ever really monitoring the patient. And so I usually resist the idea of taking medication for my depression. I do everything I can to avoid it. But there comes a time...

I thought this time would be different. I thought I was doing 'okay', whatever that means. My signs have been different this time. It didn't show up as lethargy and an incredible desire to stay in bed all day for days on end. It didn't show up as withdrawal and uncontrollable tears. Okay, there have been tears but not like previous bouts with this black monster. This time I have been terribly volatile, my emotions bouncing all over the place. Little insignificant things set me off and it's so sudden and so uncontrollable. One moment I'm fine; the next moment I'm a raging monster or a puddle on the floor. I've been 'functioning' which a lot of times when the depression hits I'm not able to do. There have been times when small everyday tasks have become completely impossible to perform. But I haven't had that problem this time. And so I thought I could beat it before anyone called me on it. This past summer when I was seeing another therapist, a therapist I didn't really click with and therefore discontinued seeing, choosing to return to a therapist I've used in the past and really liked, he suggested the meds too. I disregarded his advice and just kept doing my thing. Now the blackness is creeping in at an ever steadier pace and I'm loosing ground. And the one thing that every dance with depression has shared in common is starting to plague me: thoughts of hurting myself--not death, but physical punishment--a physical pain to cover the emotional pain.

I've had a little over 24 hours to think about it and I'm still not sure how I feel. It's hard to admit that you're at a place where you need the additional assistance in order to continue thriving, and maybe even just surviving. It's hard to surrender. It's hard to look others in the face and admit you're depressed, AGAIN. And that's the hardest part about it--it never goes away. It always manages to return. It's difficult to accept that this is an issue that I will have to deal with for the rest of my life and there's nothing I can do about it except face it when it comes along, take care of myself the best I can, continue to do my work, and consider the meds if it gets to that point.

In Case You Haven't Noticed

2006-04-19T18:34:00.000-07:00

Just in case you haven't noticed by now, I'm a perfectionist. I don't want to be a perfectionist. I know it's not healthy, not wise, and not realistic, but I just can't help myself. I've been seeing a therapist since January to help me work through these issues. Isn't that kind of ironic. A perfectionist seeking help so that she can perfectly master the art of imperfection? I have tremendous grace when it comes to others. I can overlook and forgive a multitude of sins. I can easily encourage others to accept their shadow, their wounds, their humanness. But, I can't seem to do the same for myself. I expect nothing less than perfection from myself and somehow I got the crazy idea that it just might be possible, and so I keep trying and trying and trying.

After my recent weekend from hell I've thought a lot about my perfectionism. With motherhood there are so many ways to fail within the first couple hours of waking and so my perfectionist tendencies, and the cruelty I heap on myself when I don't meet my own idealistic standards, has been kicked into overdrive. I have demanded more from myself in the past few years than any one human being could ever live up to. Not too long ago I wrote a post about running from my mother's shadow. I have thought a little more about that concept. If I stopped running from the mistakes she made what would that mean? If I am no longer repeating the mistakes she made then I am free to create my own life, free to own my life and write my own story, and free to make my own mistakes. That final thought sends me into a tailspin, circling in a vortex of fear and anxiety. You see, the simple truth is I DON'T WANT TO MAKE ANY MISTAKES, EVER! Now before you remind me that that is impossible and that I don't have to be perfect, I just have to be real, let me just say I know that. I know all of it. But knowing and accepting are two very different things. Despite the knowing I still want to be perfect. I don't want to make mistakes, especially not when it comes to the people I love the most. If my mistakes could be contained in a bottle and therefore only impact my life that would be one thing, but the fact that my mistakes wound Britton and hurt Trey is just not something I've been willing to accept. I don't want my humanness to hurt others. Yes, I realize I worry too much about hurting other people, about protecting them, especially from me. It's a crazy neurotic thing I do. I worry so much about hurting others that I often sacrifice my truth, my voice, and my power for the sake of others. But this desire is starting to backfire because lately all the holding back is spilling right on over...and it's not pretty, not pretty at all. Just ask the people I live with. The hidden anger, the muffled cries, the unmet needs, the denied passions are showing up when I least expected it. And I have very little control over it (something else perfectionists hate--the lack of control.)

So where does that leave me? In a pretty big mess. As much as I long to live a mistake-free life that's not happening anytime soon. And yet every time the mistakes occur--the raised voice, the explosions of frustration, the spewing of anger all over Trey--I fall a little deeper into my pit of self-hatred. I know being gentle with myself and forgiving myself is something I need to do. Yet lately my drive for perfectionism is just getting in the way of being able to do those things for myself. And quite honestly I'm getting pretty tired of myself--tired of my bitchiness, tired of my volatile emotions, tired of my explosive behavior, tired of my crying, tired, tired, tired.

I continue to return to the imagery of breaking into a million pieces, shattering all over the place, tiny shards of glass everywhere. That's exactly what I'm wanting. I'm wanting to break free. I'm wanting to fall apart. I'm wanting to be loosed. I'm wanting to rebuild, to start all over again, to stop holding on to everything so tightly. I'm wanting to crack wide open and in so doing find the courage to live with the imperfections. I'm wanting to live as a beloved porcelain pitcher, broken and pieced back together, still usable and valuable, still spilling it's goodness onto life, always aware of the cracks and chips, but able to see the beauty of the brokenness. So how do you get to the place where you can finally risk being real and human? How do you finally decide to believe that you, imperfections and all, are enough? How do you let go of the fear that your faults and failures will hurt others? How do you trust? I don't know yet. I just know I'm tired and I'm ready to fall apart.

SPT {April Fool-3}

2006-04-18T19:04:00.000-07:00

Britton's 1st birthday--me as a Star Belly Sneetch

Britton's 2nd birthday--me as one of Captain Hook's pirates

Britton's 3rd birthday--me as Elastagirl

I'm not really into dressing up and making a fool of myself. I don't like anything that will draw attention. I can't stand for everyone's eyes to be on me. It makes me nervous and uncomfortable. I'm far too reserved, conservative, introverted, shy, and poised. Let others act silly; I prefer to disappear into the crowd, blend in, become invisible. I prefer the behind the scenes kind of business. I don't wear flashy clothes. I don't stand out. I don't insist on being seen. I don't do anything that might put the spotlight on myself. But, there is one person I'll risk it all for. There is one person I'll down right make a spectacle of myself for--my son. Yes, he brings it out in me, not because he's so flamboyant, in fact he's a lot like me and pretty shy himself. But because I want to set a good example for how to let go and have fun and I want to build memories that he'll never forget. I want him to remember that mom wasn't afraid to look silly. I want him to remember that when the crowd was implored to clap and repeat "I do believe in fairies," in order to bring Tinkerbell back to life, mom led the cry. I want him to remember that when Bert and Ernie wanted the crowd to dance and sing along, mom was the first one on her feet. I want him to remember that when the Curious George movie was over, mom clapped even though nobody else did. And when it comes to his birthday parties, I want him to remember that mom went all out just for him. So even though I don't normally feel comfortable dressing up and acting like a fool, I do know how to do it when it really counts.

And one final picture for your Self Portrait Tuesday viewing pleasure: three years ago today...

The End of the Challenge

2006-04-17T19:53:00.000-07:00

Rhonna's 21 Day Challenge officially came to an end yesterday. I'll have to admit that it didn't quite end the way I had hoped. Last week was my toughest week yet. The birthday party planning, Easter, and other priorities pulled me away from my commitment. Although I did attempt to do some yoga every day I think there were only a couple of days last week that I actually completed the initial 21 minutes/day commitment. It was hard to find the time or the motivation. But, if I compare the time dedicated to yoga over the past few days to the time dedicated to it prior to the challenge I'm still coming out way ahead. So all in all I think I did really well with the yoga portion of the challenge. I feel stronger, leaner, and more flexible. And, I definitely have a desire to keep my practice going.

I had even less success with the eating portion of the challenge during this last week. Well, more specifically, during the last couple of days. Over all I did excellent. I reduced my sugar intake, reduced my portion sizes, increased the amount of fruits and vegetables in my diet, and didn't eat a single fried food over the entire challenge. That was exactly what I was wanting and my body could feel the difference. But then this weekend sneaked up on me and reeked some havoc. The anxiety over the party planning, the overwhelming number of priorities, and my immense fatigue finally caught up and I found myself eating to calm and re-fuel. Added to that is the typical crazy family dynamics that occur around any holiday. The craziness usually always drives me to eat. My family's get-togethers always revolve around food...and lots of it. I gave in to the habit of overeating and by the time the weekend was over I had eaten more than my fair share. As much as I love my family and enjoy their company being around them for any extended period of time always results in a binge. As much as I've tried to analyze the dynamics to figure out what triggers the binging I have yet to pin point an exact cause. All I know is if you put me in a room with them for more than a couple of hours I'll binge. There is some emotional turmoil that gets stirred up and before I realize it I'm eating to pacify the chaotic feelings. And I'm not just eating--I have an intense urge to have something in my mouth at all times. If it's not food then I'll chew on my fingernails...and I'm NOT a nail biter. After a day of binging I woke this morning feeling bloated, gassy, and disgusting, and with a couple of nails bitten down to the quick. Needless to say I was very disappointed in myself and I've spent the day trying to get back on track.

The art journal is still a work in progress. With all the busyness I fell a few days behind on it as well. I still need to work on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. I have the ideas in mind; it's just a matter of getting them put down on paper. I hope to complete the last few pages over the course of this week and I'll try to post the final week's creations with my Grateful Friday post. I have no intention of giving up the art journal. I have loved it. If Rhonna offers another challenge I'll get on board. In the meantime, ArtsyMama is starting a Book of Dreams group and I'm definitely joining that. If you're interested in starting an art journal or want to continue with the one you started with the 21 Day Challenge you might be interested in this group. It's an opportunity to learn and experiment with different techniques while creating a book of dreams--however you decide to define that. I've decided my book of dreams is going to feature bits and pieces of my favorite poems.

Now with the challenge over I'm feeling some anxiety about keeping the newly formed habits going. I remember when ArtsyMama finished up here first challenge she voiced similar desires and concerns. At the time I had encouraged her to trust the foundation she had built over the past 21 days. Here I am, at the end of my first 21 day challenge and I find myself feeling the same way she did. And I guess all I can do is give myself the same advice: trust the foundation.

Sunday Scribblings {When We Were Wee}

2006-04-16T20:18:00.000-07:00

When we were wee summer seemed to last forever,
the days spread one into another making one glorious whole,
every firefly that lit up the night was counted and remembered,
cotton candy was a sacred miracle,
and the Easter Bunny lived in an abandoned shack in an empty field.
When we were wee climbing trees was a full day's work,
blackberries stained our hands and our jeans,
dandelions were picked for wild wish making,
and every wild flower was gathered and pressed between the pages of a book.
When we were wee, we melted crayon shavings between sheets of wax paper,
enjoyed cinnamon graham crackers under a tree,
listened to my mother's Elvis records while laying feet to feet,
and dreamed of all the movie stars we'd marry someday.
When we were wee, we never doubted that we were enough.
We never wished to be someone else--someone more brilliant, more beautiful, more alive.
Hide-and-go-seek was nothing more than a game we played on rainy afternoons.
We knew how to play...and how to live.
When we were wee the simple act of being was enough.

MamaSaysOm - Delight

2006-04-15T21:55:00.001-07:00

a dozen balloons
3 candles
148 photographs
1 pinata
hundreds of pieces of candy scattered all over the grass
too many empty plates and cups to count
brisket, turkey, pinto beans, potato salad
cake and ice cream
a drum set, a scooter, a leap pad, a grill, a soccer ball, some matchbox cars
shorts, hats, pants, shirts
colorful cards and gift wrap
family and friends
a million smiles
a day full of delight

A Grateful Good Friday

2006-04-14T20:44:00.000-07:00

· my mom is making the pinto beans for tomorrow's birthday party so I wont have to

· my grandmother is making the potato salad and the kids' take home treats

· the house is cleaned

· the presents are wrapped

· I was able to find a drum set at Toys R Us--I know, I know, I'm crazy and probably going to regret this decision

· Trey's mom is keeping Britton so we can get last minute details completed without him following behind us undoing them

· my mom and aunt found an Incredibles pinata

· the aqua blue typewriter I won on e-bay this week--for my art journaling of course

· TGI Friday's Gardenburger

· seeing Britton and his friends hunt Easter eggs at his daycare--and Britton even letting me get a couple of pictures of him

· spending time with my grandparents last night

· another round of Netflix movies--now if I can just find the time to watch them

· the weather is expected to be beautiful this weekend, warm but a little windy

· tomorrow is the big party and I've survived to this point!

· Happy Easter everyone!

Poetry Thursday -Giving Voice to Women's Lives

2006-04-13T20:29:00.000-07:00

One of the things I look forward to the most on Poetry Thursdays is not only being introduced to new poets and new poems but the opportunity to discover new books of poetry. I'm all about the books and will take any suggestions offered in order to build my little one woman library. Tonight I'd like to share a poem from one of my favorite poetry collections, Cries of the Spirit. What I love about this collection is that every poem and exert contained within its pages is written by women. It includes writings by Maya Angelou, Anne Sexton, Margaret Atwood, Erica Jong, Denise Levertov, Audre Lorde, Mary Oliver, Alice Walker, Julia Alvarez, May Sarton, and Nikki Giovanni, just to name a few. It is a collection of poems that gives voice and value to women's lives. It celebrates and honors the life events that only women can experience, things such as giving birth, miscarriage, menopause, abortion, menstruation. It beautifully and heart breakingly portrays the roles that women fulfill throughout their lives--daughter, lover, mother, wife, care giver, sister, goddess, warrior, priestess, advocate, mentor, friend. It pays tribute to the unique perspective of women's existence. It is a volume that prides itself on letting women speak for themselves--boldly, honestly, emotionally, and without apology. I love it because when I flip through the pages, reading a poem here and a poem there, I feel proud to belong to a sisterhood that is striving to be seen and heard, acknowledged and valued. I love it because when I loose myself between the covers I am reminded that I'm not alone--there are other women out there struggle, there are other women out there succeeding, there are other women out there shining.

Myth
Muriel Rukeyser

Long afterward, Oedipus, old and blinded, walked the roads.
He smelled a familiar smell.
It was the Sphinx.
Oedipus said, "I want to ask one question. Why didn't I recognize my mother?"
"You gave the wrong answer," said the Sphinx.
"But that was what made everything possible," said Oedipus.
"No," she said. "When I asked, What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in the evening, you answered, Man.
You didn't say anything about woman."
" When you say Man," said Oedipus, "you include women too. Everyone knows that."
She said, "That's what you think."

Giving You All I've Got

2006-04-12T20:39:00.000-07:00

We turn outward, attracted by the beauty we see in created things without realizing that they are only a reflection of the real beauty. And the real beauty is within us.
Ernesto Cardenal

And that is all I have for you tonight my friends...a simple quote. Why you ask? Because Britton's 3rd birthday party is Saturday and I'm crazy busy trying to pull this thing together. If I survive it all it will be a miracle of God. A miracle I tell ya...right on up there with the parting of the Red Sea and the feeding of the 5,000. Britton's 1st birthday was planned to a 't' 6 months in advance. My Star Belly Sneetch and Britton's Sam-I-Am costumes were hanging in the closet weeks in advance. I started planning his 2nd birthday about a month before hand. Treasure chests were purchased and pirate gold was procured. Tink was spreading her fairy dust about weeks before the big day. This one slipped up on me and now I find myself with only 3 days left. I really thought I had another week until I realized THIS weekend is April 15th. And then, on top of that, I realized that Easter is THIS weekend too. So I'm running around like a crazy woman trying to get birthday plans pulled together and Easter goodies bought and tucked out of site. *sigh* But, after Saturday, when his smile is a mile wide and lasts for 3 days and I have pictures of me in my cute Elastagirl costume and Britton as the most adorable Dash you've ever seen, it will all be worth it. It's just getting everything done between now and then that I worry about. Is there a support group for mothers who do to much? If so I need to join it. If not I need to create one.

SPT {April Fool-2}

2006-04-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

Oh how they do bicker...
the good girl in me who wants to follow all the rules and be as perfect as possible, and the not so good girl in me who wants to live life by her own terms and tell the world exactly what she thinks. And somewhere in between the two is a place of balance and authority. So when will I finally rest in that space and stop bouncing between two such radical extremes? *sigh*

21 Day Challenge Update

2006-04-10T18:48:00.000-07:00

Day 15! I can't believe it! Below are the art journal pages I created for days 8-14.

15 days into the challenge and where am I? I'm doing great...not 'perfect' but I still give myself an A+. I'll admit I've missed my yoga twice and there has been a night or two when all I could manage was some light stretching. But part of the challenge is learning to listen to the needs of my body. Developing a habit includes incorporating life's interruptions and challenges and limits.
15 days into the challenge and I feel stronger and leaner and more energetic. Over the weekend I noticed a distinct change in my proud warrior pose. My legs were more flexible, stronger. I could hold the pose longer and lower. My body is feeling the benefits of 15 (minus two) days of consistent yoga practice. And I'm opening my heart to the lessons this challenge is offering as well:

showing up is half the battle, the first step is the hardest
I can go to bed hungry--it won't kill me
too much deprivation is never a good thing
get it over with--the longer I procrastinate the more likely I am to create excuses
if at first I don't succeed (with the art journal), layer, layer, and keep on layering...and if I still don't like it, shrug my shoulders and let it go
plan ahead
be kind to myself
being present is a challenge--focus on the breath
when temptation whispers in my ear just walk away

One more week. That's all. Just one more week. Bring it on! I'm ready. This really is a gift I'm giving myself!

Sunday Scribblings {Real Life}

2006-04-09T20:27:00.000-07:00

Real life...
arguments at the dinner table, exchanging kisses before the start of each day, the pull-up leaking again, always having a 'visitor' while I'm in the bathroom, complaining about the high cost of fresh fruits and vegetables, laundry, laundry, and more laundry, having my hair washed by a three-year-old with a watering can, the dead pigeon on the sidewalk, broken beer bottles in the alley, gummy worms in the middle of the street, dandelions invading the yard, another broken nail, cuddling before bedtime, toes touching in the night, trying to sleep while Trey watches re-runs of CSI, tulips ravaged by the high winds, running out of tampons when I need them the most, discovering a sippy cup of spoiled milk under the bed, noticing the tuft of grass growing in the middle of the sidewalk...

And just like that tuft of unexpected green, real life slips in all around. It springs up in the most unlikely of places. It continues to flourish in the harshest of environments and despite the greatest odds. Real life invades my ideals and romantic notions...and the contrast is frustrating, overwhelming, breathtaking, and beautiful.

For this week's Sunday Scribblings theme I paid attention to the real life details of my weekend--while completing my day to day activities, while taking an evening walk, while shopping for groceries.

MamaSaysOm - Unusual

2006-04-08T20:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Britt,

It's not unusual for parents to want to offer blessings to their children. They want to pass on their wisdom, their experience, their knowledge, their words, their love. They want to offer light for life's dark nights and a smooth path for life's journey. I want this as well. But I'm also learning to want more. And so I offer you this blessing, an unusual blessing:

I offer you my humanness so that you may not fear your own shadow.
I offer you my brokenness so that you may learn to live as a wounded healer.
I offer you my imperfections so that you may know what it mean to be real.
I offer you my vulnerability so that you may see how to live honestly.
I offer you my tears so that you may have a safe place to lay your broken heart.
I offer you my failures so that you may experience the beauty of forgiveness.
I offer you my inadequacies so that you may know how to rest in the imperfections.
I offer you my powerlessness so you may witness the promise of hope.
I offer you my questions so that you may feel comfortable in the places with no answers.
I offer you my struggles so that you may know the blessings of living.
I offer you my sorrow so that you may be able to sit in the pain.
I offer you my emptiness so that you may appreciate the stillness.
I offer you this unusual blessing so that you may always trust the voice within you.

Many blessings,
Mom

Crazy with Gratitude

2006-04-07T21:07:00.000-07:00

feeling more positive, more hopeful, more empowered
the parenting conversation Trey and I had that got us back on the same page and equipped with a discipline plan
all the right things I did this week like utilizing time out (and not caving), reading books at bedtime, keeping my temper, painting together, and exchanging lots of hugs and kisses
dinner with two good friends (Anna and Damani) that I haven't seen in over 3 years
my head cold finally clearing up
the meds that helped my head cold to clear
trying new things like tofurky (it's okay), Pom black tea (yum), and eggplant (I'll let ya know)
my art journal--other's may be better...no better's not the right word, how about 'more experienced', buy my art journal is mine and that's why I love it
finishing Britton's birthday invitations (there's nothing like waiting till the last minute--his party's next Saturday!)
all the supplies that helped me finish the invitations--double sided tape, hole punch, eyelet punch, cardstock, cutter...
tulips

if you liked the poem I posted yesterday by Naomi Shihab Nye check out this link for another of her fabulous works

Poetry Thursday - Wrapping Myself in Something Familiar

2006-04-06T19:55:00.000-07:00

I don't care for a lot of the early poets. In fact, there are many poets from the early years of the 19th century that I don't care for either. I get lost in their outdated language and their heavy use of metaphors. I prefer poets who give it to me straight. Give me a poet who uses modern day language. Or better yet, give me a poet who uses modern day language with a bit of a Texas drawl. Now that I can get. And perhaps that is one of the reasons I have a great appreciation for Naomi Shihab Nye. She was born in St. Louis, MO to a Palestinian father and an American mother but she has resided in San Antonio, TX since her college years. Because of her dual heritage, her poems are filled with images from two very different cultures. She writes about bridging the gap between these two places of belonging, about prejudice, about the pull of differing values and experiences. She writes from the unique perspective of a woman at home in two different worlds. And she also writes about a life that is very familiar to me. It is familiar because it's in my backyard. When she writes about picking peaches in Fredericksburg I can relate. I've held those luscious softball sized peaches in my hands and let the juice drip down my arms. My grandmother has made the best homemade peach ice cream with those peaches. When she writes about the tumbleweeds in Portales, NM I know exactly what she's talking about. I was born in Portales, NM. She writes about streets I've walked. She writes about a land that I call home. Her son even attends the University where I work. She is my neighbor...well, not literally but symbolically. Sometimes with poetry it is easy to get lost in the language, in the symbolism, in the rhyme and meter. And when that happens it's nice to be able to come home to someone who writes about the world right in my own backyard.

Kindness
by Naomi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till you voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
It is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.

Running From My Mother's Shadow

2006-04-05T19:19:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about this past weekend's events a lot over the last few days. I suppose I'll be thinking about it all for quite some time. I'm not rehashing it to punish myself. Thank god I've moved beyond that. Now I'm just standing back trying to understand, trying to learn what I can. One thing that keeps resurfacing in my mind is how often I try to run from my mother's shadow, and when I say her shadow I mean her mistakes. I'm no different from a lot of you. I've looked myself in the mirror and swore I would never make the same mistakes my mother made. I vowed to do things differently, to do things better. Most children have probably done this very thing. Maybe my own mother did when she was a new mother. There are a lot of qualities and characteristics about my mother that I would love to inherit, but I didn't want her mistakes--as if we have the power to pick and choose. I wanted to be spared from those. In high school/college I loved having my youth/college group over to our house after the Sunday evening service because I knew my mother wouldn't just lay out a bag of potato chips and call it good. My mother is an entertainer. She oozes hospitality and I love that about her. When I taught a girls class at our church I always wanted my mom to be my assistant because I knew she would get on board with my ideas and show the same excitement as I did. I knew I could count on her to go above and beyond, making the girls' learning experience something memorable. I love that about her too. She always made birthdays and holidays special and I'm lucky to have inherited that from her. She is one of my favorite people to spend time with (despite the fact that she can spend more time in Wal-Mart than any human being alive--you've been warned people!) and often when she's in town my siblings and I fight over her. And as far as our relationship goes I've reached a point in my life where I don't feel as if I have to live to please her, and that is a great blessing, one of the greatest blessings a parent can give to a child. But her shadow has haunted me and I've carried it all my life. The irony is that the more I run the faster it pursues, eventually reaching its bony hand out to grad the back of my shirt. It always catches me. ALWAYS. And this past weekend was no exception. More than once, when I'd get angry and frustrated, loosing my temper and raising my voice, in my minds eye I could see my mother. I was doing the very thing I swore I'd never do. So why do I insist on continuing to run?

That is the question I've been asking myself the past couple of days. What would it be like if I stopped running? What would it mean? What would it look like? What would be the worst possible thing that could happen? I'm not sure I even have an answer for these questions yet. I'm still pondering and stewing. I don't even know if I know how to stop running or if it's even a possibility. Is it just a part of the parent-child relationship? Is it a natural part of wanting to be separate and unique? I don't know. I do think that I'm afraid if I stop running, if I stand still, if I open my arms, if I crumble to the ground and refuse to move another step, I'll enter a dark place and never be able to work my way back out. I'm afraid of who I might become. I'm afraid of losing control (key word being control--I'm such a perfectionist--yuck!). But the truth is, the very thing I'm most afraid of, the things I just described, is what happened this weekend. It's what I'm creating every time I run. So how do I stop running? How do I make peace with the past, the mistakes, the things I secretly wanted but never received? I don't know the answer to that yet. I do know that becoming a mother has helped me to be a lot more understanding. Now I know what it's like to feel exhausted, and fed up, and empty, and fearful, and stretched beyond my limits. But this week I also realized that understanding and forgiveness aren't the same thing and that maybe facing the shadow begins with a generous combination of the two. So that's what I've been thinking about lately. I've been trying to figure out how to stop all this running I've been doing.

PS--Mom, I know sometimes you read my blog. If today happens to be one of those days I want you to know my words aren't meant to hurt you. I know you can be sensitive like that. This doesn't have anything to do with not loving you or not being grateful for you. It has to do with wanting to become my own person and the very fact that I want that means you did something really, really right. If you hadn't then I'd be satisfied with just staying in your shadow and never living up to my own potential. I'd be happy settling for second best. A child realizing her parent made mistakes and had weakness isn't a bad thing but it is a difficult thing. I think we all secretly want our parents to be perfect. I'm just trying to work through it all, trying to learn, trying to come to terms with my own parenting mistakes, trying to figure out how to stop trying to be so damn perfect (yes, I said damn), and trying to live out of the positive instead of the negative.

SPT {April Fool-1}

2006-04-04T19:04:00.000-07:00

A new month. A new theme for SPT, a theme that is intended to be about being playful, having fun, and maybe taking the risk to look a little foolish in front of the camera. While most of the time those things would be right up my alley I'm not feelin' it today. I'm still recuperating from this weekend's extreme emotions and so I'm feeling very empty, very detached, and very exhausted. Realizing the severe degree to which I beat myself up this weekend can be very sobering. I'm recovering from an emotional lashing that I never would have dreamed of giving anyone else. On top of the emotional depletion I have a head cold (sinuses, allergies, swollen/watery eyes, all that kind of icky stuff) which has kept me in bed most of the day. But being in bed was a good thing. I needed to rest. I needed to surround myself with soft pillows and take a good long nap in the sunlight. I don't have a lot to give the camera tonight. I don't much feel like being playful and silly. So I give what I have--a few minutes alone to sit outside and enjoy the warmer temperatures of spring while wearing a favorite pair of shoes because you know, the right pair of shoes can make a heavy heart feel a little lighter.

Right Where We Left Off

2006-04-03T19:01:00.000-07:00

If I remember correctly, when we left off, before I had my emotional meltdown over the weekend, I had promised you some pics of my art journal. The one positive point of not posting them on Friday is that now you get 7 days instead of 5. Below are the creations I've been working on over the past week (can you believe it's been a week already!!)

I am really enjoying the art journal aspect of this challenge and I never dreamed I would. Each day I get to try something new and different--a new technique, a new color scheme, a new image idea. And although there have been some mistakes (my stamping ability needs some serious tweaking--If you have any ideas please pass them along) and some less than desirable outcomes, I've used this as an opportunity to learn, embrace the imperfections, and layer until I get to where I want to be. I love being able to tape down bits and pieces of paper, layer upon layer, until I have a sort of paper collage. I wish I could give you some better close ups so that you can really get the full effect. The process of layering paint, paper, tape, and words to make a collective whole seems to speak to my spirit and I find myself leaning more and more towards that style.

I also owe you a Grateful Friday post...

my new favorite comedy, Bottle Rocket
the release of journalist Jill Carroll
my niece Kalysta's 6th birthday
feeling sore from a week's worth of yoga--the good kind of sore, the kind that lets me know I'm doing something right and getting stronger and more flexible in the process
the arrival of my first round of Netflix movies
Il Postino
discovering the incredible music of Inara George, Tegan and Sara, Patty Griffin, Brandi Carlile, and Susie Suh
all things art journal related including...scraps of colored paper, masking tape, paper doilies, and cosmetic sponges
the May issue of Body+Soul magazine which has several articles I'm looking forward to reading including one about mindful walking (I thought about you Wenda), one about creating a soul garden ( I though about your beautiful backyard Yoli), one about transforming anger by Jennifer Louden, one about yoga (I need that during this 21 day challenge), and one about reducing the sugar in your diet (I thought about you again Wenda, and you too acumamakiki)
the creation of Sunday Scribblings...which I didn't partake in this week but I'm looking forward to becoming a regular participant
and of course I want to thank all of you for your thoughts and prayers and comments and e-mails over this past weekend. It was one of the darkest weekends of my life and you will never, never know how much I appreciate the support. Every single one of you are a gift to me. I was speechless and tearful when I finally came back to the computer after taking most of the weekend off and found so many loving comments awaiting my hungry, bruised soul. Thank you for your compassion and your concern. Thank you for reaching out to me when I needed it so terribly. Thank you for reminding me of my good and my value. Thank you for holding me in your hearts. Thank you for the prayers, the love, the poems, the multiple e-mails and comments. Thank you for affirming my parenting and reminding me that doing the right thing sometimes sucks. Thank you for reminding me to nurture myself and offer myself forgiveness and gentleness. Thank you for sharing all of your experiences so that I will know I'm not alone. My cup runneth over.

Finally, there is one last issue I want to address. When reading the comments from the post I wrote yesterday to Britton I found a comment left by an anonymous reader that really stung. Because it was left anonymously I can't address the issues with them one-on-one so I will have to do so here. Until I address it I don't think I will be able to release it and it will continue to torture me. I am thinned skin and a perfectionistic people pleaser so comments that come across as being shameful really do grab a hold of me.

First let me just say I hear you. Second, let me clarify a few things. When Britton opened his car door he wasn't in the front seat. I never said he was. He was in the back, buckled in his car seat where he always is (he still sits in one of those huge, bulky seats that I swear weighs more than I do, not the smaller booster-seat type jobs.) You are right, I am responsible for Britton's welfare and I should have locked his door so that this never would have been an issue. I do take full responsibility for that. Up to this point it had never been an issue because he wasn't developmentally or physically able to open the car door (he's only two) and the fact that he is now able to do this sneaked up on me. I will admit locking his car door will be a habit I'll have to develop, one that I'm not currently used to. I do admit to raising my voice at him when it happened because I was scared to death for his life and fear sometimes causes one to yell. I have apologized to him for that. You're right, this was my fault and I had no right to take that out on him or let my fear shame him. However, Britton did get reprimanded for the action because although I am the parent and it is my responsibility to protect him and keep him from harm it is never okay for him to mess with the car handle while we are in motion regardless of whether there are child safety locks or not. There will be times he'll be in other vehicles and the driver of that vehicle may fail to lock the door just as I did Friday. He needs to know he can not try to open the doors period. As for "getting a clue," I wish all of life's lessons (especially those concerning parenting) came easily and that I never had to learn one the hard way. This is one I learned the hard way. As much as I push myself to be perfect, I'm not and very often I make mistakes and need to get a clue. Your comment bothered me because it didn't feel like helpful, constructive criticism. It felt like shame. I can't speak for others but generally when someone wants to get a point across I respond better when there is less shame and more grace. Shame usually has the opposite effect and actually shuts me down. And shaming someone just doesn't seem like an effective form of communication. I hope that after reading yesterday's post you took a little more away with you other than the fact that I made a mistake and failed to lock my son's door. That was my fault. Like I said, I'm willing to own that. I never intended to leave the impression that I blamed Britton for that or that I thought it was his fault/responsibility.

There. I felt I needed to say that or else I might take on the shame and god knows I didn't need to do that, especially not right now. Yesterday's post was very difficult and that one comment felt like being kicked when I was already down. Because I really put a lot of focus on using my blog as a place to share my life/experience with openness and honesty, and because I use it as a source for connecting with others who desire the same, I didn't want this one anonymous comment to shut me down and cause me to second guessing my blogging. Now that I've addressed it and clarified some things I can let it go. I just hate feeling like someone totally missed me. Not feeling seen and heard sucks, even if it was only one commenter out of many.

Well, I'm off to create today's art journal page and do a little yoga. LOVE YA!

MamaSaysOm - Blue

2006-04-02T20:25:00.000-07:00

Dear Britton,

It's after weekends like these that my heart feels black and blue, bruised and tender. It's after weekends like these that I wonder if I'm cut out for this. I wonder if you're not better off with someone else. I love you more than anything. I'd give my life for you. But you deserve more. You deserve someone who doesn't get so angry. Someone who doesn't scream so much. Someone who isn't so overwhelmed that she can't get out of bed. You deserve someone who'll laugh with you and play with you and take you on grand adventures and it just seems that anytime I try to be that person it always falls apart. I have the best intentions in the world but somehow they never seem to play out the way I'd imagined.

We started our weekend off on the wrong foot. Daddy was out of town and I was really looking forward to our special weekend together. I bought tickets for Sesame Street Live, we had Kalysta's 6th birthday party, and I'd planned a photo date. But before we could even get out of the parking lot of your daycare we were fighting. Ten minutes later we were at it again because while driving down a busy access road you opened your car door. We butted heads a couple more times before we finally made it to Kalysta's party. Once there nothing seemed to go your way and because you were tired you became a little too grouchy, whiney and rebellious. I ended up having to make one of the hardest decision of my life, a decision that broke your heart. After getting in trouble several times for not minding and being put in time out twice, I had to make you leave the party. You cried so hysterically that we had to sit in the car before going home because I couldn't get you buckled in the car seat. You have never been so crushed and heartbroken.

Honestly, I'm still second guessing my decision. Was it the wrong choice? Was it too harsh? Did it break your heart so badly you'll never forgive me? Will it leave an indelible mark on your psyche? Did it wound your spirit? I've been wondering about these questions and part of the reason for my wondering is because I know some of the motive behind my choice was more about me than you. You see, I've had a lot of voices telling me what is and isn't good parenting. Since Kyler was about 1 (Kyler is my sister's oldest child and the first grandchild of the family) I've heard all about being a good mother. Everyone (and I'm guilty too) has talked about Karee behind her back--she let's her kids run wild, she doesn't discipline them, they're out of control, she doesn't give them enough attention, she doesn't care about them, she's doesn't listen to their needs, she doesn't protect them, etc. All the different opinions of her parenting has indirectly formed a "good mother"/"bad mother" image in my mind. And I know part of my decision to leave the party was so I wouldn't be accused of letting my child get away with unacceptable behavior. I'm guilty of basing my decision not on what was best for you but on what I thought was best for everyone else. I didn't want to be the one talked about--"there was a house full of shrieking 6 year olds. As if that weren't wild enough Michelle let Britton whine and cry and misbehave." The irony is that by making you leave the party and breaking your heart they probably talked about me anyway. If it's not the lack of discipline it's the harsh and unreasonable treatment. You can't win either way. And Friday night I certainly didn't win.

I remember all the times before you were born when I'd see a mother with a screaming child in Wal-Mart. I never remember thinking, that poor woman, I bet she's had a really lousy day and she's exhausted and doing the best she can. No, I always thought, when I become a mother I'll never let my child act that way in public. Judgments really do come back to bite you in the butt. Now here I am, a mother myself, and that voice is still ringing in my head, dictating my actions. I'm constantly wondering about everybody else's opinion, wondering if they're thinking, my god why can't that lady control her child, she's letting him run wild. I feel the pressure to be perfect so that others won't think less of me, so that others won't think I'm a "bad mother," so that others won't be inconvenienced. And I'll be honest with you, there have been times I've been so angry with you because I have looked like an inadequate parent. I know I'm supposed to let go of those voices but I don't know how. They are so loud and overpowering and controlling.

They say children are resilient. They bounce back and forgive so easily. It's true. The morning after the birthday debacle you were all smiles. When I told you we were going over to Karee's to have breakfast with Kalysta and her friends you said, thank you mom. I won't cry. I'll be good. How could you thank me? I broke your heart, made you cry yourself to sleep, and ruined an evening you'd been looking forward to for days. I don't deserve that. And promising me that you would be good further bruised me heart. I never, never wanted you to think that you were bad. Maybe you were grouchy and irritable and whiney but you weren't bad. You're not bad. You are everything that is beautiful. The fact that you thought you were bad broke my heart and I can't live with knowing I made you feel this way. I tried to explain but I'm not certain you understood and I fear all you'll remember from the evening is that I made you go home because you were bad. How do I help you understand the difference between who you are in the core of your being and your behavior? Certainly they are intertwined but they are also separate and that's a concept your almost-three-year-old mind just can't grasp yet.

Children may be resilient but mommies aren't. They remember. They carry the bruises on their hearts. Every time I yell at you I hate myself and I never let myself forget it. Every time I make a choice I regret it latches onto my heart and weighs me down a little more. Every time I fail you I become a little less confident in myself and a little more certain that I don't deserve you. I just wish I didn't fail you so damn often. The really awful thing about parenting is that there isn't any kind of manual to help you along the way. There isn't any book that will tell you exactly how to handle the different situations we'll encounter. So I'm stuck muddling through in the pitch dark making some of the most disastrous mistakes of my life. Most of the time while I'm busy trying to decided what the right course of action is it's already escalated to such a horrific degree that I'm screwed. The situation is out of control and I can't find my way out of all the gray...and another mistake is made. I just can't help but believe that you deserve so much more than my mistakes and failures.

Perhaps one of the lessons to learn from parenting is how to rest in the powerlessness (because god knows I feel completely powerless.) Maybe I'm supposed to be learning that in the powerlessness is my strength. Maybe I'm supposed to be learning to accept my inadequacies and embrace the part of myself that doesn't have all the answers. But there isn't time for that when I have to keep you from dodging out in front of cars and being taken by a child molester. Instead of resting I'm wrapped in all my fears of what could happen. So I find myself becoming the crazy woman in the street yelling at her child because he was almost run over by a car. And I never wanted to be that woman...and I certainly don't like that women...and yes, there are so many critical eyes turned towards me, wondering why this woman doesn't know how to control her kid.

I know I've said it a hundred times but I just want to say it once more: I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry for every time I've lost my patience, for every time I've yelled, for every time I've been so enraged that I made you feel less than beautiful. And I'm sorry for anytime I've hurt you. Those are my darkest moments and that is never the mother I wanted to be. I want to be the one person you can always count on. I want to be the one person you never doubt loves you with everything she has. I want to be the one set of eyes that always light up when you enter the room. And I know I fall short of this. And that is why my heart is black and blue. I love you more than anything but I'm learning that that isn't enough. Loving someone is a great start but it just isn't enough.

Please remember you are the love of my life...even when I'm acting like a crazy woman,
Mommy

2006-03-31T19:15:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends,

I had big plans for the night. I had complied a lovely list of all the things I was grateful for. I was going to show you some shots of the art journal I've been working on all week. And then it all fell apart. I had one of the shittiest evenings ever. I broke my baby's heart and if you are a mother then you know what it's like to realize you've hurt your child. It's one of those horrible moments in time that I'm afraid will hurt him for a long, long time and tonight I'm just not feeling like I can live with myself. The weight of motherhood is crushing me. I'm afraid he'll always remember this night and that it will be a pivotal moment in his development. Maybe I'll be able to write about it later but not tonight. That loving community I wrote about Wednesday night, well I'm really needing it right about now because at this very moment I can't see past my mistakes. Trey is out of town and I have no one to talk to. I feel so alone. I wish just one of you could be here right now to hold my hand. I wish one of you could hug me and let me cry on your shoulder. I've hit bottom. Maybe tomorrow, when the sun comes out I'll find a little more light but as for tonight I'm going to bed to cry it out.

Poetry Thursday - Sensuality and Sex

2006-03-30T19:50:00.000-08:00

Warning: this poem is not for the faint of heart or the easily embarrassed. It is a very raw and real description of the act of love making and it just might leave you a little weak in the knees.

I discovered Galway Kinnell about the same time I happened upon Mary Oliver. Like Oliver, Kinnell relies heavily on nature for his imagery. It was that quality that first drew me to his work. And then I stumbled on the poem featured below and fell in love with his intensity, his sensuality, and his raw honesty. The first time I read Last Gods I felt my face flush. His detailed and evocative description of two lovers in the act sent tingles through my body. Never had I read anything quite like it. He brilliantly managed to capture the erotic elements of sex while also playing on the importance of relationship, and relationship is the soul of sex. Last Gods is about being in the experience instead of distancing yourself. It's about the perfect pleasure that is possible to receive from sharing our bodies with each other. Here man and woman are in their natural state and a part of nature. There is no shame, no looking away, no games. Here the body is honored. Here the defenses are down and we witness a vulnerable openness. Here we find nature celebrating and affirming our loving. And each time I read this poem it takes my breath away. I still feel the fever. I still get tingles. I'm still amazed by the sensuality of love making and the perfect way a poem can capture this most sacred of acts.

Last Gods
by Galway Kinnell
She sits naked on a rock
a few yards out in the water.
He stands on the shore,
also naked, picking blueberries.
She calls. He turns. She opens
her legs showing him her great beauty,
and smiles, a bow of lips
seeming to tie together
the ends of the earth.
Splashing her image
to pieces, he wades out
and stands before her, sunk
to the anklebones in leaf-mush
and bottom-slime--the intimacy
of the visible world. He puts
a berry in its shirt
of mist into her mouth.
She swallows it. Over the lake
two swallows whim, juke, jink,
and when one snatches
an insect they both whirl up
and exult. He is swollen
not with ichor but with blood.
She takes him and sucks him
more swollen. He kneels, opens
the dark, vertical smile
linking heaven with the underneath
and licks her smoothest flesh more smooth.
On top of the rock they join.
Somewhere a frog moans, a crow screams.
The hair of their bodies
startles up. They cry
in the tongue of the last gods,
who refused to go,
chose death, and shuddered
in joy and shattered in pieces,
bequeathing their cries
into the human mouth. Now in the lake
two faces float, looking up
at a great maternal pine whose branches
open out in all directions
explaining everything.

Goodness and Growth

2006-03-29T17:24:00.000-08:00

Christina Baldwin tells a story in her new book Storycatcher about the Babemba tribe in southern Africa. When a person does something wrong, something that injures the tribe, everyone gathers around the "offender" and one by one they tell the stories of everything he has done right in his life. They recite a truthful praise list. They "appreciate the person back into the better part of himself. The person is given a chance to remember who he is and why he is important to the life of the village," Christina writes. This is a life-giving story--truthful and shared for the sake of goodness and growth.

When I read these words in an e-mail from the talented Jennifer Louden, my heart swelled and my eyes filled with tears. Can you imagine a community that chooses redemption over punishment? Can you imagine a life in which all your wrong doings are replaced by what is whole and good and truthful? Sure, critics could pick this philosophy apart, laying bare all the faults of this concept, but can you, for just one moment, imagine the transformative power of this way of life? Can you imagine how it might possibly change the hearts of a society, a country, a people? Try to imagine it for just one moment. Close you eyes, breathe, and remember a time in your life when you felt you did something so wrong it was unforgivable. Now imagine those you wronged circling around you, reminding you of your goodness. Did you breathe a little easier? Did your shoulders drop? Did you feel a sudden and terrific release? Maybe it is hard to imagine something so radical. But can you bring it down to a smaller scale and imagine choosing to give this gift to yourself even if others can't or won't? Can you remind yourself of your goodness in the midst of all your faults, failures, "sins," weaknesses, mistakes and trespasses. Can you appreciate yourself back into the better part of yourself? Honestly it's not easy for me to imagine. Most of the time I'm my own worse critic. I whole heartedly believe in the art of self-compassion, it just doesn't happen to be an art I've mastered yet. Even if there are loving others standing in line waiting to sing my praises I can usually nullify all their good words with just a snap of my fingers. Imagining is one thing; practicing it is quite another. But this week, with three days of the 21 Day Challenge under my belt, I'm learning a little about finding good in the process of growth and creating.

I never thought an art journal could teach me about self-compassion. Lessons often come from the most unlikely of sources. Creating this week in my art journal has been an opportunity to release the perfection and accept the little mistakes. Yesterday I journaled with a pen I ended up not liking. Today I smudged my writing because I failed to let it dry before reaching across the page. Poor color choices. Bad paper choices. A million ways to screw it up and then let it go. All the little mistakes have become an opportunity to let it be, a chance to allow the imperfection on the page symbolize the beautiful imperfection of real life. So tonight, with white paint in my hair and the majority of my writing transposed on my forearm, I choose to let the little mistakes have their own beauty. I choose to remind myself of all that is good and perfect about the pages, and the life, I'm creating. I choose to stand back, admire, and learn. I choose to remember why my voice, my experience, and my creating is important. I choose to offer myself the redemptive power of compassion.

For a glimpse into the art journal I'm creating tune in to this weeks Grateful Friday post. I'll share a few pics then.

SPT {Time-3}

2006-03-28T19:38:00.000-08:00

The longest 45 minutes of my week...

A couple of months ago this mama had a brilliant idea. If my child was going to insist on being a daredevil then I might as well sign him up for a class that would allow him to do just that. I mean, if he's going to jump from couch to chair, from chair to rocking horse, from rocking horse to floor, then he might as well learn to do it safely, right? I might as well put him in an environment that will not only allow him to put some of this energy to good use, but it will also teach him the invaluable lesson of tuck-and-roll. Brilliant! Yea, right... It was brilliant right up until the moment he actually had to go to class. Once he realized the shoes and socks had to come off and mommy didn't get to go with him then all hell broke loose. There was much clinging and grasping. There was much whining and screaming. And there were those eyes...the pleading ones that look right into your heart and beg you to save them from this torture, the eyes that you can sense upon you from 100 yards away, asking, in all their childlike innocence, how you can possibly do something so horrific to them and still live with yourself. Yes it was a nightmare.

And over the course of the last few weeks there has been total lack of participation! As the other kids warm up, he sits. When the teacher asks him to do something, he turns his back on her, pretending she doesn't even exist. While his classmates run the length of a long trampoline, he walks AS.SLOW.AS.HUMANLY.POSSIBLE, and then looks over at me as if to say, "I told you." Yes, it is the longest 45 minutes of my life. He cries the entire time and I sit with all the other parents (whose kids aren't crying) wringing my hands and questioning my ability to even be allowed to be a parent. The frustrating thing is that this isn't anything he can't do. We've been to this facility before for a birthday party and he played on all the equipment just fine. The trampoline was his best friend...and the rings, the ones in which he got to swing out over a pit of foam blocks and drop--awesome! He can do all the activities. He just won't. Not in a class setting anyway. So for the past two months I have spent every Tuesday night wondering if I've made a huge mistake. What kid wouldn't want to jump and climb and hurl their body into a pit of foam blocks and then get strapped to a bungee swing and fly through the air? Well, mine! And every Tuesday I make him. Not because I'm cruel but because I'm hoping that with time he'll get adjusted to the class setting and let loose. In the meantime, I endure 45 minutes of extreme guilt. All the other parents have built relationships with each other and they spend the 45 minutes laughing and talking and exchanging recipes. I spend it in detached silence, knots in my stomach and my heart in my throat.

And finally, after a long and painful two months it happened. The moment I dreamed about finally occurred. Britton decided to stop crying and participate. Yes, there was still the initial clinging and grasping, the teacher trying to pry his hand loose from the tail of my shirt, but once he got on the trampoline all the tears vanished and he did all the things I knew he could do (because I'd seen him do it on our couch at home). There was jumping. There were somersaults. There was his tiny body giggling with glee inside of a pit of foam blocks. And there was mommy, finally breathing, tears in my eyes because I was so proud that my son finally realized he could not only do this, he could do without me holding his hand.

21 Days and Counting

2006-03-27T20:32:00.000-08:00

Rhonna's 21 Day Challenge began today. The idea is to commit the next 21 days to creating a new habit or breaking an old one. I struggled all weekend trying to decide what my habit would be. I had two ideas in mind and because I couldn't decide between the two I combined them and I'm calling this my 21 Days to a Healthier Me. This goal includes making better food choices and pursuing some kind of exercise program. For the most part I'm a healthy eater. I don't eat many sweets, I've been meat free for almost 2 months, and I eat a lot of fruits, vegetables, and whole grains. That being said, I do have a soft spot for fried foods (I love fried okra, fried cheese, fried mushrooms) and I have a terrible habit of eating too much. For the next 21 days I will focus on reducing the fried foods and the portion sizes. The exercising won't be as easy. I hate to exercise but I know it's something I need to do for my health. I know I wont' join a gym so that option's out. I don't have any home equipment and I'm only kidding myself if I commit to waking early and taking a morning walk. Right now it's still a little too chilly for early morning walks. So I'm committed to establishing a yoga practice--at least 21 minutes a day. I do fear that by choosing to pursue both of these habits I'm getting in a little over my head. One habit will be hard enough but two... Perhaps I should have chosen one and then, once the 21 days was over, start working on the other one. But I saw both as being extremely essential so I'm tackling them both at once.

Even before the challenge started I was encountering my first feelings of resistance. For most of yesterday I felt very panicky, restless, and a little depressed. It was as if I knew the challenge was upon me and I was dreading the change. I was fighting it before I even got off the ground. All change, even good change, requires a little letting go and yesterday I just wasn't sure I was up for it. At 10 o'clock last night I found myself standing in front of the pantry looking for something to eat, not because I was hungry but because there was something emotional stirring and I needed to stuff it down. That is how I deal with the most of my anxiety--I feed it. One tortilla later I realized the anxiety was about the changes that today will bring and the fear that I might fail. As much as I tell myself that this challenge is not about perfection but about growing and learning, I still want to succeed. I still want to complete the 21 days having not missed a day of yoga and having made great strides in reducing my portion sizes. Knowing there are others on this journey too is encouraging, but it also adds some pressure to perform. Being able to release that will be as much of a challenge over this next 21 days as the yoga and eating.

Another aspect of the challenge is recording the unfolding of the 21 days. I pulled out the moleskin tonight and made my first entry. I'll try to post pics throughout the challenge but I'm still working on today's entry. I've always kept a journal but have never really done a lot with art journals. I look forward to establishing this habit over the next 21 days and I'm hoping to find a style and process that works for me. I've already encountered some problems with curling pages and tomorrow I'll try my hand at gesso. In today's entry I focused on defining what I'm wanting to get from this challenge. I think it's easier to accomplish a goal if you have a very clear picture of what you're aiming for. Making my goals as specific as possible was my first step.

One day down...20 more to go...
Oh, and if you have any great vegan recipes--and I mean EASY vegan recipes--please pass them along. One area that can be a potential pitfall for me during this challenge is boredom and I need to prepare to counter that. I tend to eat the same ol' foods over and over again, eventually reaching the point where I don't feel satisfied and want more just to get that satisfied feeling.
Wish me luck...

MamaSaysOm - Foundation

2006-03-26T19:20:00.000-08:00

Dear Britt,

Most of the time I have these letters planned out. Most of the time I've thought long and hard about what I want to say. Most of the time I've written, revised, and edited before I've posted. But this week I wanted to talk to you without planning it all out. I wanted to write a letter that was like a conversation we'd have while sharing a bowl of ice cream--no big lesson to teach, no moral to unfurl, no advice to give--just me and all the things I want to say yet never know how. But where do I start? There's so much I want to share. I want to give you words that will help you stay confident and secure through your life's journey. I want to reveal the secrets of loving yourself and becoming your own best friend. And I want to tell you about girls, all the things you'll need to know, like how they think, what they want, and all the ways they say no when they don't feel they have the power to say no. I want to share with you all the ways they feel vulnerable and powerless and misunderstood so that women's issues are as important to you as men's. I want to teach you how to listen, how to stay present, and how to remain connected to others, even when you really, really want to shut down. I want to show you how to love bravely. I want to tell you how to revel in the joy and goodness and how to sit in the pain and emptiness. I want to convince you that your spirit is big enough to handle anything and that you can learn to live boldly even with the fears. And of course I want to protect you and prepare you. I want to spare you from the depression that sometimes creeps up on both me and your dad. I want to warn you about the horror of credit cards, the dangers of smoking, and the risks of drinking in excess. I want to teach you how to tie your shoe, how to spell your name, how to drive a car, do your own laundry, and cook for yourself (okay, maybe your dad will have to teach you that one.) I want to instill within you a sixth sense so that you can see into the hearts of others. I want to teach you to value your own voice and to stand up for what you believe. I want to encourage you to question, to doubt, to push against the norm in order to own your own beliefs, your own faith, your own life. And most of all I want to give you the gift of a relationship built on love and respect. Yes there is a lot I want to share with you while we're enjoying our ice cream and most of the time I don't know where to start. Most of the time I don't have the words. Most of the time I'm fumbling through life myself. Most of the time, despite how much I want to give you, my crankiness and irritability get in the way. I really hate that. So, since I struggle to find the words, we'll start with this one simple thing: I love you. This love will be our foundation then we'll build from there.

Love,
Mama

A King Size Bed

2006-03-25T20:01:00.000-08:00

I cried through the movie,
not because it was good
(believe me, it wasn't)
or because it was emotional
(although it tried to be)
but because of that one pivotal scene,
the one in which the leading man,
bashful yet determined,
leans toward the leading lady
(faces so close their eye lashes touch),
and then passionately, tenderly,
envelops her with hungry kisses,
noses colliding, lips tangling, cheeks brushing.
I hadn't realized until that moment
how lonely I felt,
how assuredly I believed that no one would ever
touch me or kiss me with that kind of tender passion again.
When the realization settled the tears began.
She asked me a few days ago if he cared.
I was quick to answer yes,
almost too quick,
and then defended him by adding,
but he's so busy--
two jobs, school, fatherhood.
Later I secretly wondered about her question.
Does he care?
Really?
Maybe he's sitting at the bar right now
being asked the same question,
does she care?
And he's answering yes,
a little too quickly,
and then defending me by adding,
but she's so busy--
a full-time job, motherhood, a million other priorities.
How do two people who really love each other
become so disconnected?
The full-size bed gets replaced by a king
and now our feet don't even touch at night.
There is a wealth of space between us,
a space big enough to hold all the questions,
all the doubts, all the excuses,
and all my loneliness.

Gratitude, Assistance, and a Request

2006-03-24T17:06:00.000-08:00

Gratitude

sitting outside while it rains, enjoying a cup of tea
time with Trey's Aunt Nancy (Ancy Ancy as Britton calls her) and Grandma Betty
our first snow of the season
finding the receipt for a pair of shoes I bought and needed to return--somehow I ended up with two left feet, go figure...
walks around the block with Britton
finally! Britton participated in his "jumpin' class"
I'm in love
pandora
naked
dreams about blind date with Luke Wilson *sigh*

Assistance

I joined Netflix this week. If any of you are Netflix users please let me know what you think of it and pass along any tips you might have about getting the most out of your membership.
Whether you're a memeber or not, please pass along the names of some of your favorite movies. I want to keep my Netflix Queue full so now's the time for me to try out some greats that I may not have seen before. What movies can you watch over and over? Or, which ones are must sees? I have a love of indy films and foreign films so bring it on...
As part of the 21 Day Challenge I will be keeping an art journal. Please pass along any tips, hints, or words of advice on keeping an art journal. I don't even know where to begin. Do I need to treat the pages first? Are there some materials that aren't good to use because of bleeding, etc.? Do you know any good instructional sites? What are your favorite tools? Anything you think a new art journal artist needs to know please pass it along.

Request

I've been really into birds lately and have decided to get a new tattoo...of a bird of course. I'm wanting one for the top of my left foot. I haven't been able to find anything that I love so if any of you artists are up for a challenge and want to design the tattoo for me I'd really appreciate it. I'm not sure what I'm wanting. I just know I'll know it when I see it. I'm leaning towards stationary over in flight and cartoonish over real. And I think I want her to have something special about herself--like a crown on her head. If you're interested just let me know.

Poetry Thursday - First Love

2006-03-23T19:42:00.000-08:00

About six years ago, when I really started to slather myself with the deliciousness of poetry, I purchased a book in which modern poets paid homage to the poems that sparked their love of words. The book is appropriately titled First Loves. For some poets it was a childhood nursery rhyme. For others it was a beloved hymn. For some it was an old English classic and for others it was a family favorite, oft quoted and well loved. After completing the book I pulled out my journal (I wasn’t a blogger then) and wrote my own contribution to First Loves.

As I’ve mentioned before, I always wanted to love poetry but never really “got it.” I struggled with poetry throughout my school years. I memorized the required assignments. I struggled through the tangled words in the textbook. Nothing reached out to me, offering that first unforgettable lovers kiss. It wasn’t until my marriage dissolved, and words began to support me through my pain, that I found my first love...and it happened to be the lyrics of a song. As one man left my life (my ex) another man walked in: Bruce Springsteen.

As a child of the 80s I was familiar with The Boss. I spent many an afternoon glued to MTV just waiting for his Dancing in the Dark video—the one where he pulls a very young, pre-fame Courtney Cox on stage to dance with him (oh god how I used to wish it could be me.) I remember the poster—the one of his blue jean clad butt, red baseball cap hanging out of the back pocket, standing in front of an American flag. Yes I knew the 80s pop idol. But it wasn’t until 1999-2000 that I ever listened to his earlier music (some of which was written and recorded before I was born—yes, the boss is older than my parents). When I purchased my copies of Greetings from Asbury Park NJ, The Wild, the Innocent, & the E Street Shuffle, Born to Run, Darkness on the Edge of Town, The River, and Nebraska it was like coming home. To my knowledge I had never heard this music before, yet it was so familiar. It resonated with something deep within.

And that, as well as therapy, friends, and family, is how I survived one of the darkest times of my life. I listened to Springsteen until my heart found courage and healing. I love so much of his work—the Born to Run album being my all time favorite—but the first song that truly embraced my wounded heart and passionately kissed my spirit until I was left with hot cheeks and wobbly knees was Jungleland. These lyrics—the imagery, the storytelling, the mystery—are my first love.

There is a lot about his lyrics that I don’t understand. I’m a girl from a small Texas town. I don’t know anything about the inner city or NJ or racing in the streets. But I felt permission to release the struggle to understand and instead, to experience and feel the words and the music. And that is the gift his lyrics gave to me: the ability to step outside of the mind and into the spirit. It wasn’t too very long before I was progressing from The Boss to Plath, to Millay, to Nye, to Kinnell, to Rumi, to Oliver, to Whyte, to Neruda. Maybe a master-poet’s mind can’t make the leap from Springsteen to these classics. For some reason mine could. And anytime I need to remember that poetry doesn’t have to be complicated, it just has to be raw and honest and spirit breathed, I pop in Born to Run and let the words of Thunderroad, Meeting Across the River, Backstreets, She’s the One (which inspired Ed Burns to write the screenplay of the same name), Born to Run, and the final tract, Jungleland. I let his poetry do what it does best: take me home.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you The Boss…

Jungleland

The Rangers had a homecoming
In Harlem late last night
And the Magic Rat drove his sleek machine
Over the Jersey state line
Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a Dodge
Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain
The Rat pulls into town rolls up his pants
Together they take a stab at romance
And disappear down Flamingo Lane

Well the Maximum Lawmen run down Flamingo
Chasing the Rat and the barefoot girl
And the kids round here look just like shadows
Always quiet, holding hands
From the churches to the jails
Tonight all is silence in the world
As we take our stand
Down in Jungleland

The midnight gang's assembled
And picked a rendezvous for the night
They'll meet 'neath that giant Exxon sign
That brings this fair city light
Man there's an opera out on the Turnpike
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cops
Cherry Tops
Rips this holy night
The street's alive
As secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanish unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades
Hustling for the record machine
The hungry and the hunted
Explode into rock'n'roll bands
That face off against each other out in the street
Down in Jungleland

In the parking lot the visionaries
Dress in the latest rage
Inside the backstreet girls are dancing
To the records that the DJ plays
Lonely-hearted lovers
Struggle in dark corners
Desperate as the night moves on
Just one look
And a whisper, and they're gone

Beneath the city two hearts beat
Soul engines running through a night so tender
In a bedroom locked
In whispers of soft refusal
And then surrender
In the tunnels uptown
The Rat's own dream guns him down
As shots echo down them hallways in the night
No one watches when the ambulance pulls away
Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light
Outside the street's on fire
In a real death waltz
Between what's flesh and what's fantasy
And the poets down here
Don't write nothing at all
They just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night
They reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
But they wind up wounded
Not even dead
Tonight in Jungleland

Inspired

2006-03-22T19:15:00.000-08:00

Lately I've been feeling inspired...

to create a want list
to purchase a canvas and illustrate my experience
to start an art journal
to intentionally focus on the relationship I'm building with my child
to write and write and write and write because my voice deserves to be heard
to really listen to the music that surrounds me...and let it move me
to get my groove on
to click, click, click, click until I perfect my photography skills
to let my inner diva shine
to pay attention to the little things because they really are the big things
to capture my soul on film
to laugh more
to focus on my bliss
to press the self-timer button and let loose
and finally, to participate in the next 21 day challenge. Is anyone else up for a challenge?

SPT {Time-2}

2006-03-21T19:12:00.000-08:00

Poised. She keeps using that word to describe me. Poised. I hate it. Every time she utters the word it's like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Long, immaculately manicured nails. With bright red nail polish. Poised. Screeeeeeeech! The real reason I hate the word is because she's right. I am poised. Even during the most difficult times of my life I have remained poised. I might be dying inside but no one would ever know. On the outside I am the pictured of bravery, strength, and faithfulness. I am poised. When we tackle tough issues in her office I remain stoic, unemotional, detached. I bite my lower lip. I control the shaky voice. I remain poised. And I hate that I just can't, won't, let go.

She asked why I stay so poised, who or what is keeping me frozen in this state? She asked whose opinion and reaction is dictating my stoicism. She asked who my "other" is--the other that keeps me locked in this poised position. Is it someone/something real or is it something I've created? A voice that keeps me in line but doesn't really exist. For the most part I would have to say it is fictitious. My "other" is a figment of my imagination. There isn't a literal someone that keeps me in a straight line, that keeps me in my "good girl" straight jacket. Perhaps a few reprimands in the past that I've internalized but nothing that's really tangible in the here and now. But, the more I've pondered her question, the more I've realized there are times my "other" does have a face and name--it's my grandparents. Don't get me wrong, I love them more than anything. They are my rock. They are the heart and soul of this family. But all my life I've been told to behave for their sake. Oh the secrets this family has kept from the two of them. Late night whispers over the phone all followed up with, "But don't tell M & G." Don't tell. Stay in the appearance of perfection. Stay poised. It's as if my realness wasn't acceptable. There was the message that I had to protect them from my imperfections, my choices, my rawness, my wildness, my passion, and oh yes, my "sinfulness." And so I hid it, we all hid it. We hid the truth.

I remember my mom sending my 15 year old sister on a summer vacation to Florida with my grandparents (Disney World, Epcot Center, the works) without ever telling them she was pregnant. She couldn't tell them her 15 year old daughter was pregnant. You don't tell those kinds of things to them. You hide it, as if that will somehow make it go away, make it less of a reality. And so they were always the last to know when news of this nature struck our family. Just a couple of weeks ago, when my brother noticed the tattoo on my lower back (I guess he'd missed it before now), the first words out of his mouth were, "Has M seen that?" All of life is lived with their invisible hovering presence, their watchful eyes, their moral standards. And because their moral standards are supposedly in sync with God's moral standards, and the fact that my grandfather is a minister, the line between grandparents and God can get a little muddled.

Their influence on my life has been so positive. They have taught me everything I know about love and support, compassion and service, giving and faith. And yet there is this other, this other that holds me back and keeps me poised. When I think about this other I feel angry. But, then I remember they never asked me to hide my realness. That was a choice I made and keep making. It's easy to want to blame because blaming gives me a place to put my hurt, my anger and my disappointment in myself. It gives me another option instead of owning it. It gives me an excuse to stay stuck. Blame is so much easier than change.

I don't know how I got trapped in this behavior. Did someone think they were too fragile, too "good", to handle the nasty truth? Did we decide we just couldn't bare to hurt them with our less than perfect reality? As far as I can remember they never asked for this and would probably be quite surprised to know I even feel this way. I feel insecure even bringing these thoughts and feelings to the surface. Maybe I shouldn't write this. Maybe I should go back to doing what I do so well--staying quiet, remaining poised. You see, it's even a risk to say these things outloud. It's safer for the fragile family dynamics if it all stays in the dark. I know before I publish this post I'll revise and rethink and re-evaluate many times. I'll make sure I choose my words carefully so that there will be no misunderstandings, no hurt feelings. I'll make sure I've emphasized that this is no one's fault but my own because god knows I wouldn't want anyone to think I was pointing fingers and not willing to take responsibility for my own life. That all comes with being poised.

So, is it time? Time to let go. Time to stop living with the voices of all these "others"? Is it time to slip from my poised persona and break into a billion tiny, jagged, delicate, shining pieces? Is it time? And if it is am I really ready? It's been time before but I only managed to make the tiniest of baby steps then. Maybe that's all anyone is ever required to make at any given time--baby steps. Is it time to stop living as if so many other opinions matter? Is it time to allow myself to fall apart, because falling apart really can be freeing. All those broken pieces. All that lack of confinement. All that freedom. All that space to move and breathe. All those secret wants and desires spilling into the universe. I want it to be time. Really I do.

It is time for what I can do now. And this may be all I can do until I'm stronger, braver, a little more desperate. Until it's time for more, I guess it would be wise, and kind, to accept that I may always be a little bit poised. That may be a little too ingrained in my psyche to ever really let go of. Perhaps I can befriend my poised-ness until my alter ego, the one with the fish net stockings and the Janis Joplin attitude, gets her footing a little better...until she just can't wait any longer and she whispers seductively in my ear, letting me know that yes, it's time.

Shine

2006-03-20T19:26:00.000-08:00

I was watching when it happened,
that moment of splendid emancipation
when the delicate edges of the candle gave way
and the molten wax spilled over,
filling the crystal votive with its blood red liquid.
I was watching when the flame,
which had been burning brightly,
flickered then raged with renewed boldness
as if knowing the moment
it had been waiting for
all this time had finally happened
and the new found lack of confinement
meant it could now burn with
a freedom and fierceness it had
never known before.