A Pebble Makes a Ripple

                            smooth as glass
                            calm complacncy
                            the pond lies quietly
                            undisturbed
                            silent

                            splash
                            water ripple chaos
                            pebble disruptor
                            crud and rude
                            myopic
           
                            promises launched
                            accusations spat
                            some embrace
                            some irritate
                            disruption

                            silence lost
                            ripples call
                            pebble drops
                            to blog bottom
                            mud sludge

                            mud once sleeping
                            wake to voice
                            confusion hastes
                            aware now
                            speak

                            mirky unclarity
                            wild vocality
                            the pond boils
                            disturbed
                            loud

This is my truth. We float here in anticipation of the future of America united we stand. Um, united we stand. With the election our quiet pond became disturbed. Ripples from all angles began to form as the pebbles were tossed out with ignorance and anger. Many made their voices heard stripping bare; a protest. Many yelled back for a new way. And yet, more shied in their safe zones in the mud. Yet, the pebbles kept dropping to the bottom of the pond to wake the voiceless, to bring up the ugly truths, to unite those who once thought were solo. Our pond of America, the United States of America, is stirred up.  It is mirky and muddy. It is unclear. My folks, it is my truth that this is a good thing. It is unsettling, unclear, yet prudent. We are not aware of pain or joy if we don't call out. So now the silent mud is awake. Be awake. Listen. Share. Meditate. And love your neighbor. We are united as we are humans. Let us be the models of compassion and honor in the face of uncertainty.

Thanksgiving Blessings

     When I wake in the morning, I peer out a slit of a second story window to the north east. The sky is pale pink or coral as it silhouettes three trees. I have measured these trees growth in the twelve years I have inhabited this space by the levels of blind panels their tips touch. One is the first to turn golden in the late summer signaling fall is on its way. It is also the first to begin to leaf. I can predict with mild accuracy the weather of the day. Today, is sunny and windy. Gusts of wind bends the spruce like a wobbly soldier. The movement of the three trees in the subtle light is mediative.
     Yesterday morning during yoga my instructor, John, asked us to write something we were thankful for on a post-it-note and put it under our mat as our intention for our practice. "Now, there is your family, your job, your house, the food you eat. Let us now think about something smaller that you might over look; something in your life as simply as your breath."
     It didn't take me long to start writing about my hands and feet. Movement. I am thankful for movement. Holding my paintbrush can be painful after an hour. So I switch to my left hand or a bigger brush and see what I can get done in the remaining studio time for the day. Some days, I push myself beyond pain being inspired to create with the realization I will have trouble making dinner and holding my fork. Same with my right foot. I use my left for my sewing machine pedal and have developed nearly equal cadence control in free-motion quilting. Driving is tiring and my ankle can begin to cramp. Consequently, I hold the break with my left assisting something I learned to do when I stopped nose-up a steep hill and when I drove a Jeep Cherokee as the brake was so stiff. I reflect that four years ago after my craniotomy my right appendages could have been paralyzed. How would our, my family's, lives have changed? What would have become of my art? I couldn't drive my children to their music lessons and the swimming pool. And, not being able to climb stairs, I wouldn't be looking out a second-story window at sunrise-trees swaying in the wind on this Thanksgiving Day. But, I am. I am.
    Take a moment today to meditate on a moment you take for granted. Find thanks in the everyday, the ordinary, the sublime. As Americans, we have this annual day to slow down, gather our family, our friends, our peers, our enemies and be thankful. Everyone has goodness in them and a place on this Earth. We are here in this very place, this country, this state, this city, this home because we arrived here; this very space we exsist. Our neighbor belongs here. Those who anger us belong here. Today, follow the compassion of the First Peoples to the wayward aliens who washed up on the Atlantic coast in their wood ships hundreds of years ago. Find compassion as love begets love. Move. Move however you can. Push yourself to go beyond your fears and trepidations and be thankful. Allmen.

The Hangover, December 26

         It is quiet in the house. As I sit here enjoying, I sip my chia tea and savor the cinnamon roll my dad gave me in response to my exclamation I was longing for one like Mom used to make. Sounds of the Season has changed into the Solid Gold Oldies. The tunes make me swing and dance as I remember the words from my days as little and helping my family cleaning the house every Saturday. I liked dusting because I could redecorate as I went through the house.
          With every object or piece of furniture, there are memories. I sit here in the middle of my house and am pressed with the stuff around me. Bubble wrap, curly ribbon, empty envelopes, sacks of new things, and baby-dolls my daughter took the in-laws are all mark the giving that precedes this day. They are remains of giving and celebration. Happy. Fulfilled.
           My mind wonders to Mary. Exhausted. She probably looked upon her pink faced bundle knowing the he was something special. The morning after his birth, she was surrounded with physical and energetic gifts to reflect the gift he is to become. She is grateful. Yet, the overwhelming, the questioning, the complicated feelings of new mother must fall heavy in her heart. What next?
            I am absolutely positivity that my overwhelmed feeling of what to do with all this new stuff pales in comparison to Mary's. I am graciously empathetic. I hold tight, to the quiet after the storm of joy and giving. I fold these memories of joyful community in a box I will store I my heart.  I can visit the box at will.
             I will start today by picking up the remains of the past two days with joy and rememberance. My friends vary in their following the belief of Jesus as the Son of God being born during the Winter Solstice. However, it is this time of year that the folks all over the world have celebrations of community and giving. Whatever your faith path, I hope you take in the goodness of this time. Be joyful of the gifts you receive and thankful for the gifts you have given others. Smile at yourself as you go through the celebration season hangover. Fill up your little box, wrap it in color and light. Hold it in your heart as a gift to be opened whenever you feel the dark. Namasta.

TGIF. Thank God I'm Forty

When my husband came home from work, he asked me how my last day in my thirties went.  Shrug. "About the same as the day before except I did have MLD."  After explaining the MLD was Manual Lymph Drainage massage therapy to relieve the pain and swelling in my arm and other blocked node areas, I continued prepping dinner.

Truth is I didn't really think about it.  Woopy, am turning fourty. (Sarcasm)  Social norms proclaim one should be inundated with black and silver gifts proclaiming you are on top of some hill and there is nowhere to go but down.  What does that mean really?  I thought we were supposed to prime with age like a vintage wine.

The last six years of my thirties was a verticle ascent. I had to dodge boulders and even got smashed in the head it a big one that resulted in surgery.  It's there.  It happened.  Six years ago, age 33, I wasn't too sure I'd make 40.  Six months.  Okay, you made that.  Awesome. A year, check.  Okay, let's set our eyes on five years.  Oops, boulder falling, dodged it.  Another year, check.  Crud here comes another. And another.  Wait, did you say five years. Sweet.  Let's do another year. A couple of rock slides but no major pieces missing.  Six years ago I said I was going to be fourty.  Your smiles were twisted with hope and doubt. "Blay on," I yelled. You watched my ascent with eyes of fear and amazement while keeping my ropes taut. I kept my focus on the next finger hold trying not to look down.

I am standing here and honestly a little scared.  I made forty.  I beat the statistics.  Now, what? Society says I have hit the top; that all my parts will start falling off like antique bicycle rolling down a cobblestone path. I can choose a challenge of rock hopping mountain bike trails or an easy descent on my fat-tire cruiser.  I just got all my parts in place on my life-bike, and my tires filled with air.  You know what?  It isn't the easy way, but I am going to acend this hill. New goal, grand children. Let's see if my kids are anything like their parents they will be about thirty when they become parents.  So twenty years from now...I will be seventy.  That sounds good. 

I arranged what I hope will be a fun filled, belly busting with laughter, and awesome GF/CF cupcakes consuming bowling party for a few friends and their families this following Saturday.  I am pretty excited to have an excuse to throw myself a big party. Happy dance. Thank God I am fourty.  No seriously, thank him/her. Amen.

Do your best! Do your best! Do your Best!

Public Announcement from the Soapbox of the Midnight Housewife.

Colorado children are about to embark on a two month journey of state testing in all grade levels 3-11. I believe many other states are performing similar testing programs. Ours is called PARCC.  If you have a student, you are well aware of the impending testing.

I have heard from parents, teachers, and all kinds of folks much complaining and adjetation.  I have heard may children stressed out to the point of crying. My nine year old is so afraid of the typing element and failing just because he can't think what to write and how to type at the same time.  Yes, he has had typing in computer lab when his class should have been doing paint and draw programs.

Here is my message.  STOP FREAKING OUT IN FRONT OF THE CHILDREN.  By sharing all your burdens, unhappiness, and anger we are creating negative feelings in these already anxious students and pave the path for failure.  I don't mean failing the test.  I mean failing themselves.

HELP them by not sharing your feeling. Rather LISTEN TO THEIRS.

Let them know that EVERYONE IS IN THE SAME BOAT.  Ask them how many kids in their own class is confident at typing.  My 9 year old said "one maybe two."  I would guess this is the stats for most classrooms with a slight increase per grade level.

Share that the only thing they need to do is DO THEIR BEST. Play some card games or trivia games encouraging them to do their best even though you might know a little more then them.  Help them feel good about trying their best even if they don't win.  Then draw the connection with tests.

Let them know this is really not about them but the global performance of the state.  Whether true or not, it takes the pressure off of feeling like they are allone.

And last and definitely not least, HONOR YOUR TEACHERS. They are doing all they can and more to Shepard the kiddos to do their best with less stress.   All the while teaching the curriculum their charges need to move to the next level in school in a dozen subjects. It is an awesome task to do.

Moan and grown in the privacy of adults.

FOSTER DOING "YOUR BEST" IN YOUR CHILDREN.

Afterall, if you didn't like the rules in soccer, you wouldn't whine and complain to your child and then throw him out on the field and expect him to do his best to score a goal with his team mates, would you?

End soapbox rant.  

GO TEAM AWESOME ACHIEVERS

Living Forward

   I pass a rose so beautiful in its placement in the shy sunlight of the morn.  Yellow with red tips.  I feel a loss, a spur of anxiety, I don't have my phone.  I can't take a picture, pooh.  Soon I pass the wash out with sunflowers growing straight out from the flooded waters.  Where is my phone?!  I have to get this and share it.  Everyone ought to see it. Yes, this moment needs to be captured and shared....
     Go back about fifteen minutes, I had grabbed my iPod and headphones when I was heading out for the morning run.  Run.  The iPod didn't work even though I swear I had recently charged it.  Shoulder shrug, it is about 10 years old or something, maybe it is shot. So I walk. I speed walk because I don't have the tempo of Lady Gaga to keep my knees pumping.  This is not a bad idea as it does allow me to notice what I am passing. Beautiful roses, sunflowers with their toes submerged in the water and geese flying Vs to the South.  For a moment, I am irritate that I don't have a camera so I can share the beauty.
     Oh, wait, it is my beauty, it is my moment, I don't need to share it.  I am the only one here at this moment noticing and that is complete and perfect. As I continue my 3 mile walk around the Dry Creek greenway up to Lager Reservoir, past four schools, and a new city park, I think about the "why" of my agitation that I had no electrical devices in my presence.
     Recently, I have been involved in many conversations and exposed to research and ideas of the effect of electronics in our world. School has started up and there is a blossoming of irritated messages of social media about switching over to electronics for reading, text books, math, testing, and other assignments.  In my opinion after studying how the brain works through research, art teacher education, and my own brain surgery recovery, I concur that children do not learn as well from electronic devices.  I know that most children, especially those favoring their right brain functions like space and intuition, learn by feeling, touching, doing.  Typing in a "symbol" or two to make a word is NOT the same as drawing a "symbol" to make a word.
    During an evening gathering with good friends Homa, Kristin, and Maureen, we discussed this topic in great detail. We came to a consensus that books and writing needed to remain and continue to be the primary source of learning in the schools especially for the elementary children. "Let me just ask this," I say,"is it possible that our children learning from the beginning of their lives to use technology in they're learning necessary for the Human race? Is it important for them to adopt and therefore learn differently then we did for their generations that follow them?"
   Think about it.  Most of my friends are between the ages of 35-45.  We are the X-generation.  In general, computers were these mysterious boxes that were placed in rows in a converted room near the library in our high school. Personally, I wasn't really sold on the need for a personal computer to take to college.  Eventually, I found that typing my reports on my MacClassic in my dorm room was much better then the computer labs other folks had to haul resources and binders of notes through snow covered walk ways.  However, I did have to seek the EEs who might be able to get these precious items off my disc and print on their printers.  And, email!  What the heck? You, Colorado State University, are giving me this sequence of letters, and I am supposed to figure out how to "log on" daily to get memos. Whatever.
    Flash forward twenty years, and I find myself composing conversations I need to have in my head for the next moment I can pull out my phone and text someone. And, lets not even mention the hour every night we are glued to our devices checking the junk mail folders to make sure we didn't miss a coupon, following the news, and wishing happy birthday on Facebook to people we last saw 20 years ago. According to my office-worker husband and friends, they are bombarded by hundreds of thousands of emails a day.  Communications that used to be held in the office or on an international phone conference, are now being held at the dinner table in front of little Hansel and Gretel. Yes, it is awesome I can speak to my phone and get information I need or dial a friend.  Well, that is if "HE" can take requests at that current location and moment.
   Life has moved forward. l have been studying "life" for as long as I can remember. Why am I me? I know there is something here with me, a Being without the Human body. What is going on? How is this important to us as a globe of Beings in Human bodies? My quest for global understanding began in junior high as I watched Indian TV at my friend Radhika Kannan, now Danesh, with her grandmother as I stopped by her house on the walk home from school. I learned about her rituals of body care and ornamentation as she got ready for a dance performance( She still teaches dance at Alarippu Dance School, California.) In high school there was my best friend Lisa Gouchnaurer (now Wagner) with her Japanese mother who parented completely different then my mother and had served awesome dinners. Then there was Kirk Akahoshi who was, at the time, the smartest person I knew. No, I don't mean math, for that I have no clue. I mean he was a thinker, a ponderer, someone else wondering about global and personal concepts. We'd go out to dinner and talk about how French eat rabbit, Buddhism, Christianity, and how things are really all just about the same when you get down to the nuts and bolts, or yin and yang, that hold us all together.  College was Dave... hum, what was his last name?  I know he got married to a Hawaiian helicopter pilot on the same day in 2000, as I did. Mitchell, I think. We both read the Celestine Prohpcies by James Redfield and "book clubbed" them with a couple of other folks. And Chad, the archeologist, who spent most of his time on dig sites in Wyoming and South Dakota. He tutored me in geology as memorizing minerial names is not my strong point. With his knowledge of how this stone and sediment layer became this way and therefore got its name, made sense.
    Books, web-video media, Oprah Winfrey (yes, she has been pivotal in pointing fingers at wonderful thinkers and writers of our time) and continuous conversation with my brilliant mom, Christine Broers, added spindles to my wheels of conciousness. All these spindles in my complex, jumbled up noggin is filtered and stitched together during my yoga practice. Meditation during this practice is pivotal for working it all out and finding connections. The Knowing. I just know.
   The other day, my mother set me a You Tube link of Gregg Braden (https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=whKrENfkMEM) Woo, did this getting me thinking. No, Knowing. All of the spindles started to find permanent homes in my wheel. After two hours of listening while I was painting, I just wanted to jump up and say, "YES, that was totally what I was thinking. Now, I get it." Do be aware that if you choose to listen to the talk it may not speak to you in the same way as me journey to here is not the same as yours. The one nugget I prescribe you contemplate is to live forward with wonder and love.
    How does this all relate to the anxiety over not capturing that moment that was mine, personal, only for me, and sharing it on my cell phone camera? I have begun the think of how technology has made a difference in my life. And, how it effects my children who have known it since they were conceived. Let's think about their children. Lets think about the children born after 2050.  Doesn't it take seven generations for things to change.  Let us face it. If we are talking about electronics, it is here currently shaping us Humans in ways we had not known before. Or, have we?
   I, for one, vow to follow my heart solo more. Loose my tight grasp on what has happened and what used to work in education and wonder with curiosity what is happening now. I vow to let go of the fear; the fear that it is not the same as it is not. I will live forward fearless. Live forward from the heart.

Contemporary Me

       "I wish I had a system for composing paintings, because the way I do it is horribly inefficient. Often I collect materials...and play with it until a composition presents itself.  More often then not, the elements just don't "feel" right, or and idea emerges but doesn't quite work and I have to wait a couple. Month eps for the right [inspiration.]"

                                      ~ Eric Wert, artist, as quoted in 

                                      Hi Fructose, The Contemporary Art Magazine, Vol. 23

In the spaces between my mothering and housekeeping, I am an artist.  The past couple of months I have mauled over the concept of this label.  Where are the cracks in my life that I am and artist?  Wait, why are these times cracks, just slivers?  Should it at least be a fourth of the pizza that is my existence as a human Being?  And, what the heck makes me honorable enough to be labelled an artist, or a semi-famous artist as my daughter has introduced me to her fifth grade class?

Sometime last spring, I found I was hungry for more then just a slice of cheese pizza.  No, I wanted artichokes, olives and mushrooms.  The first step in "owning" the label of artist was to validate this as my job, my career choice, how I make money even though the amount is minute compared to my husband's income.  So, I set office hours. For a minimum of three days a week, I work from 1-3.  I modeled my hours after those of writter-mothers I read about by finding a time when I am least busy and feel my best (example: the commercial where Tina Fey locks herself in the laundry room so she can write...think they were selling drier sheets??)  Though I crave more time many days, two hours seem to be a block of time for many creators that is doable in that it avoids being so incredibly drained from the creation process that you can't get dinner on the table.

Summer changes this rhythm as I care for kids, travel, and grasp at family time while it is still the four of us and no grumpy teens.  Yet, I insisted on providing myself with time, studio time.  The kids eventually accepted that no means no.  That "I need a studio day" meant I'd be pretty grumpy if I didn't get it.  And, they realized I did actually stop and make them lunch at noon.  Yes, this process of training myself to take my studio time was also beneficial for the kids.  They learned to be by themselves, figure out what to do without a coach, and just have their own creative time, often near me in the studio.  Wow, imagine that, free range parenting.  Of course, I might slide in that we had set an incredible foundation of moral grounding with the structure of common sense and routine.

As we roll into the school year, my days are opened up to silence; just me and the air conditioner.  Awe, and yoga.  Even though I couldn't attend classes, I continued my practice during the hot months with what I call Lazy Yoga.  Some might call it am/pm or sunrise and sunset yoga.  None the less, I would not be standing straight without it.  With yoga comes meditation.  They are partners, twins, a yin yang.  Imbedded in the meditations are my images.  My images are what I create.

As I move forward to a school year with more office hours, a bigger slice of the pizza I call my life, I gift myself to pick up something and just do it, empty my brain, and follow my intuition.  In college, I had a severe ear infection, pneumonia in my mastoid.  I know, weird.  After being hospitalized for nearly a week, I was released to my mother's care.  We stayed in a hotel and had strawberry Belgium waffles every morning.  I could not think straight and  walking was a real trick.  Fortunately, most of my professors allowed the two week absence as the term was nearly completed and I was in awesome standing.  One did not.  My figure drawing prof insisted I attend or fail the class.  So I did.  Mom drove me to campus, walked me to class, and insisted I be allowed to sit on an easel horse instead of standing the three hour lab like everyone else.  So here I was, strung out on Demerol trying to draw a naked human.  Long story short, in my final portfolio of ten drawings shows my growth throughout the term. I can see why artists often do drugs.  Yep, I learned to draw what I see, not what I told myself to see.  I stopped trying to draw humans and just started drawing what I saw.  The Demerol turned off my left brain, the analytical and fear based brain, releasing my right brain to do what it does best.

So I sit in the first few hours of my "work shift," and feeling extremely excited for this coming year.  Through the last two years, my brain has been rewired.  My brain surgery in 2012, almost took my painting hand.  Yes, I was worried about this and that and important stuff like family in the hours before I was contorted and strapped to a table (okay, they put me asleep first but was apparently twisted up and strapped down).  I was also really concerned that the right side of my body would be paralyzed.  I had called in my artist friends giving them charge to make sure I could still create whether it meant training my left hand to hold the brush or finding acceptance in figure painting abstracts.  Graciously, I came out walking...well, in a couple of months after therapy, anyway.  And I can paint short times  the gift is the surgery was in my left hemisphere.  May sound silly, but thank goodness!  Like the Demerol, it turned off a few unnecessary cells allowing to the right ones to grow and thrive.  Yet, again, I have changed the way I look at my art and the process within which I play.

I am ready to sit down, or stand, at my easel and create.  Accepting the title of artist is not always easy no matter the medium one expresses themselves.  Yes, I truly believe EVERYONE can learn to draw.  I mean you.  Stop turning off your brain with the "I can't," just grab a marker and make a mark.  An artist has the ability and drive to strengthen the ability to follow their intuition and LET IT GO. <insert Daughter singing Let it Go from the movie, Frozen here>  May my office hours commence.  I, the artist, am ready and committed to my role.

Amen.

Mopping Up Summer

     As I shake out the sisal mat at the sliding door to the back door, the sand, the pebbles, the wood clips, the bits of leaves and dead insect bodies flood me with memories.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.  Shut the door!  The kids two, three, four, sometimes six flying in and out in wet swim suits and fingers pressed against their lips signaling not to tell the other guys where they are.  Spies, fairies, dragons, Legos dude running from the Kragle, and princesses just letting it go visited this house.
     This was the summer of exploration.  In the creases between, pioneer day camp, cabin time, Girl Scout camp, Lake Powell, more cabin time, and trips to the pool,  they kids learned to play.  This was the first summer for me as a mom that I intentionally had weeks of unstructured free time, un-mommed free time.  Wow, free time?  Yes, free.  Do what you want as long as you check in and tell me where you are.  Interestingly enough, it was quite a chore to get them out the door.  But, once there, they realized it is pretty awesome.  Fortunately, Son found a new buddy a bit down the street.  And, Daughter discovered the telephone so she could arrange overnights.
       I really enjoyed being the mom at the house with the sprinkler in the back and jelly sandwiches.  Unfortunately, after several spills and debacles with the juices, this house only provided water for the rest of the summer.  Never mind this inconvenience, the other house had juice boxes.  I loved watching the kids, mine and our guests, discover things on their own.  All the while I thought about the wonderful things I did when I was their age.
      I lived in Texas north of Dallas and had lots of different friends.  There was the twins.  Everyone went their house to play Barbie.  They had a Dream Mansion of three floors and all the furniture.  Their dad let us use all his bi-fold record album covers to make walls for more buildings so we had a city.  I remember the day they moved.  Their room was cleared out and Karen was desperately looking for one of her Barbie rings.  I found the tiny thing near the vacant imprint of the Dream House.
     A few houses down the twins, both way up a steep hill from me, lived a girl with a boat.  We'd get to spend the night in there and pretend we were lost a sea.  But, one night her mom asked me if I had the go "pee." Finding this word and others offensive in their crudeness, I stopped staying the night there.  There was also some girls who had an RV parked in their driveway all summer.  We used to make PlayDuh hamburgers and play drive up window with other kids roaming around the hood.
    Roaming, that is what I remember the most fondly.  Moving out of the city a little further north on I35, we were in farmland.  I befriended a gal who lived on one.  What an adventure we had teasing the cows and building a fort with pallets and carpet squares her dad dragged over for us.  We also went exploring on a creek near my house.  Creating altered personalities as Rambette and Conette (from the movies Rambo and Conan the Barbarian because they were the strongest characters we could come up with.)  we got all kinds of muddy chasing our "bad guys."  Yes, might I add, we were still climbing fences and walking along the creek when we were 12.
     Tonight, the eve of the first day of school, my kiddos, one almost 9 and the other almost 10.5, must retire their wings and capes and join the soldiers of learning.  The good intentioned mom that I am, bed time was seven, 7:30, okay fine, 8.  "Just one more Lego to finish the motel," they plea.  "Wait, I have to build a bed so my guy can go to bed.  Wait, I need to.... No I didn't brush my teeth.  Fine."  The stall tactics commence.  Quickly following comes the fears.  "What am I going to wear?  Will they like me?  Will I have friends?  What am I going to do at recess because I don't like sitting around talking like the other girls.  What if I am weird? Too loud? Not loud enough?  What if.......?"
    Sigh, a hug, and all I can say is, "This doesn't all have to be figured out tonight or even tomorrow.  Just be the authentic you and you will find the people who want to be with that you."
    "But what if I don't find that person and I am all alone?" she questions.
    I can only hold her and say, "I know. I know. I have been there."
    Wringing out my mop, I watch the brown water drip into the drain.  I ponder the beauty of the age of innocence.  The freedom to be who one is exactly as they need to be at that moment.  The summer of freedom of schedules and judgement.  A couple of weeks to be truly who they are.  I watch the evidence of barefoot prints, well played in the mud and grass, wash away in the dirty water.  I smile at memory of the garage door slamming shut announcing the presence of an explorer and his team seeking a beverage.  With a stone in my throat, I think about all of the other moms out there consoling their children to sleep as they mourn the aberrant loss of the freedom to be authentic.  It will be okay, you will fit in.  I just know it.  How could it be any other way as you are so awesome, child.

Mantra on Learning

I was going to go to bed. But, it turns out that I have something swirling in my head.  It needs to be flushed out.the morning started off lovely.  Once I got tired kids out the door, everything seemed to line up.  We were going to be on time.  The guy down the street with the motorized snow mower thingy saw us and continued to clear the walk at adjacent neighbors.  Did I say we received eight inches over night?  As we rounded the corner, we bump into Kate and her son armed with a snow shovel.  She clears a path through the four foot mound of dirty removed snow opening up a clear walk into school.
        I volunteer to administer spelling tests on Fridays.  This is a quite enjoyable time as I have gotten to know each kids over the past two years.  And today was most enjoyable as the lowest score was 14/16 with most receiving a perfect one hundred perception.  They were so happy and jovial laughing at my sentences for faultier and abler.  And, my explanation of why the mad hatter was madder then a barefoot kindergartener in the snow may sparked some interest in reading Alice and Wonderland.  (madder was the spelling word.)
       As I exit the school, I stop to talk about a book I passed on to my former art student and works in the front office.  I can't believe she is going to be a mom soon!  We banter over professors we had at CSU and mall over how hard abstract painting class was.  I explained how it wasn't until a year after graduation, on my own, new job, new apartment in a new city and sitting in front of a new blank canvas that I learned I could actually paint things that weren't realistic, aka abstract.
      Duh dah dum, on the walk home, inspired by the intellectual conversation about art that my brain is horrible starving for, a mantra pops in my head.  I find it repeats over and over through out my afternoon.  In my studio, I tackle a complex problem with a painting I wanted to toss into he trash just yesterday.  Things just seem to fall into place as I listen to Katie Perry's new album.  All through the grey afternoon as I fuss with my lighting of my ten by ten room and dream of the studio I will have in my next life, the mantra repeats.
       It's Friday.  We have no plans.  Life is so much more relaxing with no plans.  Son tackles new weavings on the Rainbow Loom by watching You Tube videos and Daughter plays mommy it her dolls explaining to me the characteristics of each and how well the sleep.  She arranges them in the door way of my studio making sure they are cozy for their naps while I concentrate on painting straight lines.  I move into other unconventional techniques on this stubborn painting and Daughter's humming becomes a questioning watchfulness.  She is intrigued and sakes me what and why I am doing what I am doing.  I reply,
                           "The best thing about learning the rules
                             is knowing how to break the rule."
She spoke her questions and quieted in her contemplation.  Grabbing my drying pallet, she starts work on an old painting of messy swirls she had made when she was four.  She claims that she likes to do whatever she wants and following rules is what she doesn't like about art in school.
         "I just want to paint green whirligigs like this, " Daughter says as she shows me the green swirls on the red mess of paint.  
         "Yes, that is understandable," I reply.  "That is what you should be doing, exploring.  However, there will be a time when you need and want to learn the rules so that you can make you exploring extraordinary."
                             "The best thing about learning the rules
                             is knowing how to break the rule."

Smile When You Open Doors.

I am all warm and cozy.  I lay in my bed as the air gets cool for the night.  The blankets are heavy warming my tired legs.  A shawl my friend knitted me before I dashed off to Pheonix for my brain surgery is wrapped around my exposed shoulders warming them up with more then its navy cotton yarns.  Saturday night I danced the night away with my friend, her husband, and several others for her birthday.  I find great gratitude in all of this. The gift of friendship, the gift of dance and music, the gift of warmth and shelter, and most of all the gift of life to be lived.

        Over the past few months, I have focussed my inner language on acceptance.  The breadth of this line of contemplation is expansive.  In a nutshell, it is about finding purpose and beauty in all things internal, external, and universal.  For example, once I made my household a party of two instead of one, I had twice as much to pick up.  And, now we are a party of four, two of which keeping getting bigger and more stuff, I am picking up four times as much stuff.  Stuff stuff stuff.  The acceptance comes when my anxiety over too much clutter and misplaced things rises to my head, I am working to let it go and just pick it up.  Now, before you imagine me trailing behind all my peeps with a dust pan and yelling expletives, understand this is a work in progress.  I am trying to not announce my chatter of frustration aimed to create a seed of guilt in their minds.  Rather, I am claiming some tasks, assigning other tasks, and accepting that quite a few items of stuff will end up in the trash or resale. I am currently considering holding hostage of washed and folded clothing until dirty laundry hits the basket instead of the floor in a habitual manner.  In turn, this will promote an exuberant display of anger and blame on their part.  I accept that.

       As I begin to find acceptance in the inner and outer workings on my life I have learned that the more I resist, the more the problem persists.  The other day, not even considering the whole phenomenon of Balck Friday, I zoom into Target assuming I could purchase desired toy at sale price.  Wrong.  There is no desired toy.  Not here, not there, not anywhere.   After a moment of frustrion in my head, I shrugged and said to myself, if it is meant to be, it will happen.  When I woke the next day, I thought, even though my city's store called that city's store and found no desired toy, I think I will call promptly when they open to make sure.  Sure enough there was one desired toy!  Once the kids were settled in school, I ventured to said neighboring town to purchase desired toy put on hold.  Yeah, check off awesome Santa at our house.  Being as the shopping is quite questionable in my town, I thought I would drive through the mall of the "fancy" stores.  If a car pulled out of a parking space then I would spend an hour window shopping. Just as I finished the thought, a car pulled out.  I parked.  I wandered.  I liked.  I didn't like.  And, I ended up in one of my favorite stores.  As I started to look for Christmas gift suggestions to add to my wish list, I heard a familiar voice.  One of my closest friends had just popped in to do the same.  We lunched.  It was a blessed morning that led to a copacetic afternoon and evening.

      Over the past weeks, there as been a series of frustrations that melted into better solutions then previously imagined.  I found looking at the bright side extremely fulfilling.  Like the other day, In begrudgingly entering my eye care facility, I helped usher in an elderly couple that reminded me of my grandparents.  I had a quick chat with the woman about the silver lining of them giving up driving.  She thanked me and smiled as I let her in front of me in line.  Then, I discussed my boots with the gentleman behind me as he thought they would be perfect for his wife for Christmas.  My day continued with bits of gifts given and received.  It all started with opening up a door with a big smile and good morning.

      Yes, that is what happens when you find acceptance and patience in irritations.  You smile.  I lost count of how many times women have told me they have enjoyed practicing next to me on their mats in yoga.  At first I thought it was odd.  My balance is still off after a year of recovering from brain surgery.  I am falling all over the place so how could that be any good?  Last week, a fellow yogi inadvertally explained these locker room comments when she said, "Where you aware that you smile the entire class?"

       Maybe we don't get it right most of the time.  What is right?  Maybe we aren't the perfect mom (or dad) with all the answers.  Could you tell me what a perfect parent is?  Now, think about perfection from the child's mind.  Changes your perspective, doesn't it?  Maybe things just seem to get in your way at work, on the road, at home, and in the gym.  Could it be a reason for this?  Could it be you are going the wrong way, need to slow down, or not ready of it yet.  If it happens differently then planned, is it okay, maybe better?  Just think, if I hadn't had the frustration finding the only toy my son really wanted from Santa, I would not have had the timely luncheon with my dear friend who I have been missing in the maze of our revolving doors.  Nor, if things in the past didn't happen as they did, would I be wrapped in a cozy shaw knowing the heartfelt message of caring it embodies.  Find gratitude in the things that you have just the way they are and acceptance in the things you can not change.  Live here now while moving froward.  Smile and open doors for people seeing their perfection in their imperfection in the moment of your shared presences.

White Water

There are many days I have felt like I was consumed by a tidal wave.  Just swallowed whole in a crater and washed down with a huge wave into the monster of life.  But, not today.  No, the past couple of weeks I have been rafting class six white water rapids.  Wave after wave, holding on with the tips of my fragile nails in spite of the water in my eyes.  I have so many stories swirling in my head.  I will flush them out in here yee blog.  But, to spare you the burden of my can of worms (yes, the kids and I have been researching idioms for school), I will keep to the tiny night crawlers good for bait while staying clear of the big fat foot long ones that scare my daughter towards screams of terror.  Let's see, where do I begin...

       It was 3:33 am.  The sun had not risen.  It was dark.  The phone rang.  No school.  Desperately trying to understand the situation in my fog of fours of sleep, I search the news feeds, Facebook, where ever I can find information.  Then, I look outside.  Rain.....   Hours later, my world was flooding.  That evening, the city was cut in half, people evacuated,  and my neighborhood was put on evacuation notice.  Rain , rain, rain, a day later, we are fine, high and dry...sort of.  The lucky ones.  Kids have the first ever flood days, an impromptu fall break.  It rains every day.  Kids sweep out the garage and play in there anyway.  Son has his birthday party with two boys in the area.  We walk and skate when the sun is out. From our hill vista, we evaluate the rise and recession of our Dry Creek and ponder why parents are letting their little ones get in the nasty brown waters of the ponds left once the creek started to receed.  It smells.  And so it goes....

     Meanwhile, these five days were scheduled for me days.  Days to be an artist and slip in a little yoga here and there.   Amazingly, two paintings were started, a little one finished, kids learned to use the sewing machine, and I cleaned my studio to get ready for the Longmont Studio Tour.  The house did not get cleaned.  Oh, did I mention a day volunteering in one of the neighborhoods with the worst flood damage.  Talk about smelly and dirty.  The kids and I resigned we were no good AT&T he heavy lifting and dirty stuff and opted to sit with the ladies in the shade scrubbing Christmas ornaments.

     Meanwhile, I prepped for a friend's wedding in which Hubby was best man.  This included walking over to the only shop in walking distance to find a dress for the occassion.  Score, the perfect dress bought on my consignor credit.  I love consignment stores!  Friday rolls around, Hubby snaked his way in from the airport, and we are off for a five hour drive to Basalt.  Out west near Aspen, the weather is great.  We had tons of fun.  And, we shared buckets of love to our sortofbutnotreallyknownyoufortwentyyears extended family.  Five hours we are home to celebrate Son's birthday with family.

     Meanwhile, during all this flooding, volunteering, art making, sewing, teaching, walking, wedding, and generally trying to maintain the sanity of my offspring and myself, I am screening calls.  When's my scans?  They are supposed to be next week.  What do you mean they aren't approved by the insurance company?  What, huh? The doctor needs to do what?  Who the heck knows what is going on here?  Agagagaggghhhh!  A good week of figuring, waiting, returning calls from four different locations, and finally I get resolution only three days prior to when I am supposed to have my fall cancer screening.  The PET is denied.  The appointment is cancelled.  CTs are ordered.  The MRI finally gets approved.  Blah blah blah, appointments for scans scheduled for Friday.  Keep in mind, the Studio Tour is Saturday and Sunday.   Thank goodness I am organized.  Somewhere in the week, I got it all done and the laundry too.

     Wait, there is more.  I know.  Really?  The nurse at the CT stabbed me five times to get a good vein for the IV.  That makes six punctures in my elbow pit if you include the blood drawl a few days before.  My arm is so sore, black and blue.  Oh, yes, and get this, she forgets to do the chest CT, and I have to go back in on Monday.  Really?

     Meanwhile, yes there's more, a dog bit me on Tuesday.  Since I was rushing to get to yoga, I didn't hesitate to look and limped through the pain to be on time.  Ergo it wasn't until after my shower Wednesday that I noticed the area was black an blue with a puncture scab.  And, Thursday, the dogs rushed at me again.  That snow balled into calling the animal control and trying to get a tetanus shot on Friday.  After my Scans in the am, I went of the IM who said I had to go to the ER who said I should wait until Monday and go to the public clinic run by FEMA with shots for $21.  Monday, after my make- scan I find a well earned seat on my porch and chill while eating my sandwhich and drinking pint of water to wash out the contrast from the scans.  I am on my iPad feeling pretty relaxed and ready to head out the door for my 2:40 appointment when my dad walks in.  I am surprised because he wasn't supposed to come over to help move art back into storage until school was out.  Then he says he should go get the kids.  What?  It is only 2:15, and I still need to go get my shot.  Oh, crud, iPad clock is an hour behind.  It's 3:15. So the end of that segment is three times I have been diverted from getting my tetanus shot.  Three strikes your out.  Guess it wasn't meant to be, at lesst not at this time.

      Somewhere between medical personnel shrugging their shoulders and saying, "Welcome to Obama care" and this moment, I had a wonderful weekend during my Studio Tour.  It was a busy couple of days, and I am extremely glad my mother was there to help me host the steady flow of guests.  I made some big sales and lots of connections.

      All of the above, the good, bad and the ugly, occurred in a web of events through the past couple of weeks.  In the spaces between the waves, I found joy in my children, danced at a wedding, helped food victims, painted, received uplifting critique, finished three magazines, almost finished a book, took a salt bathe, did yoga, spent a lot of time with my folks even if it was via phone worrying about each other in our own parts of our flood-split town, and breathed.  On Monday, after my second set of scans for which I had to fast, I went into my favorite coffee shop for a sandwhich and rice milk latte.  My favorite barista committed on my happy smile.  "Whatsa happening with you?"  After spilling a list of my woes including the tearful sibling spat over rock collections this am, I told her I am happy because all that is done.  It's my yesterday.  And, by Wednesday, I might get to stick my head out of my shell to find the calm in the storm.  I look forward to a rejuvenating therapeutic massge and a short to do list.  

      My mantra for today: Accpet that which is troubling.   Muddle through without resistance and forgive their burdens.  Like the seasons, they will pass.  There is a calm in the storm of life.  It is coming.  It will be here.  Breath.  Namasta.

Survivor's Guilt

So there I was, laying on the front porch.  The sun had come up.  My feet were up on the arm of the rocker. I breathed in the delicate sent of lavender and cedar stirred up by the rain.  The breeze was gentle whistling through the varied tones of my four wind chimes.  Life was alright.  My house had flooded.

    I really wanted to go take a shower.  But, I couldn't. How could I when so many didn't have water to shower in?  How could I use up fresh water?  Did I deserve a shower after getting a few moments of stillness while the kids played for and hour at a neighbors house?  My basement wasn't full of muck.  I didn't just loose all my valuable memories.  No, did I endure a rigorous evacuation.  No, we stayed home somewhat confident our house was high enough above the flooding creek.

    Survivors guilt is something I have dealt with many times in the past.  Being one of the "lucky" ones carries a burden all of its own.  In the process after a terrific event, little or catastrophic, personal or all encompassing, every one goes through the stages of mourning.  Guilt, is the third stage after denial and anger.  As one of the lucky ones, it is a challenge to move beyond feeling guilty that you have it better then someone else.  

    I watched a 30 minute aerial video to assess the damage to the town of Longmont.  Earlier in the day, after opening a pad way near our home, we saw the plane swoop down over our head to land in the airport.  I had thought it quite odd that the "jumper plane" (owned by Mile-Hi Skydive) was out on a trip.  After watching the video, I under stood and looked for our car on the footage.  At any rate, the speaker, as he looked down at a shopping area, remarked, "That is so odd that everyone is just going about there business like there wasn't a flooded river a mile away." This got me thinking.  Why shouldn't we, everyone, be going about business?  Shops still need to sell stuff, make money, and feed the economy.  People still need to eat.  In fact, owners and friend of Sugarbeet, one of our best high end restaurants in town, will be open for business as soon as the road is fixed up.  according to friend's posts they fought tooth and nail, or sand bag and broom, to keep the space from flooding.  Doctor appointments need attending.  And, baby still needs formula.

     So the question is, how does one deal with the quilt of getting out alive when eight families lost loved ones, hundreds still unaccounted for, and thousands of homes are lost or severally damaged.  The first step, actually it is the fifth stage of grieving, is to accept where you are and what you have.  Skip right over stage four, depression.  Accept that you are one of the lucky ones and go take a hot shower.  It's okay.  With acceptance, you can release your guilt that tethers you like a brick on the string of a helium balloon.

    I went to go take that hot shower but kept it short.  In doing so, I was able to relieve my own rattled nerves and step forward.  More over, I was better able to step back into my main role on this Earth at this time, motherhood.  By finding my own thankfulness and rejoice, I could share my light with my children and elevate their own emotions out of their fear of uncertainty.

     Today, we decided we need to help those less fortunate then us after the flooding.  I had one appointment to bring bins over to a church.  The bins are used to shuttle stuff out of basements to be washed and saved or ditched.  The church had moved their volunteer site to a house closer to one flooded neighborhood.  No one was home so we left the bins and continued along our way talking about plans for lunch.  Then, I remembered a friend posting her father, and our dentist, needed help in his home in that neighborhood.  So the kids decided everyone needs lunch.  We would go home and change in our "yuckies", grab lunch at Wendy's, purchase fifteen sandwiches off the dollar menu, and go hand them out.  The curbs were full of vehicles.  Using our Jedi power, or luck, you choose, we found a spot right at the entrance to the neighborhood.  With our waters and the sandwiches slung on our backs, We ascend the hill handing out sandwiches.  We head towards 1159.  Upon our arrival, we receive quizzical looks.  The family we thought we were helping was not at the residence.  We shrug it off with a grin. Must just be where we are supposed to be.   They put us to work.  The kids shuttle cleaned items up the stairs to the "clean room". I help the grandmother of the house locate a tarp and find small tools that are laying about.  Everything is laying about.  I take a second to head across the street with the sandwiches to the food tent.  There, I find that family we were intended to help at 1156. Oops.  Returning back to the other house, I find the kids happy and helpful.  We finish our assigned jobs of moving things from point A to point B and head a Ross the street.  There, we are given the assignment to help bring ruined stuff from the basement in bins to the middle of the culdesac.  We put on two gloves and a mask.  Everyone is covered in mud.  Men are pulling muddy things out of the basement.  Women and teens are carrying the bins back and forth.  I carry one bin with the kids and a small Christmas tree before we decide this type of work is not for us.  After washing up, we head over to the tent on the front lawn with the aunts.  There items deemed washable or setting out to dry in the sun.  After a toothbrush cleaning, the ornaments and knock knacks are shining like the day they were purchased.

    What felt like a full day was only a few hours.  My brain toyed with the guilt again.  Did I do enough? What a wimp for getting out of the dirty work.  Should I come back tomorrow?  I just don't feel like I did enough.

    "Mommy," Daughter says as she clicks her seat belt, "I feel really good about what we did today."  All the clouds of guilt were pushed away.  If you find yourself on the better end of a crisis, find your acceptance, be grateful. and move forward.  In stepping out of the stuck places in your head, you open the door to do what it is you are supposed to be doing on this Earth.

The Flood of 9/11/13

So it's Wednesday night.  Business as usual.  It's raining so soccer practice is cancelled again.  Daughter enjoys Jazz 2 while Son and I run errands.  It is really raining as we return to the dance studio.  We watch her dance.  Boy, is she having fun.  So little compared to all those middle schoolers who make up a majority of the class.  The way out the door is a fuss as Daughter is told she can't wear her "expensive jazz shoes" out of the studio.  She can't remember where she put her street shoes.  I think, and I am the one with the brain injury... It's raining. 

      We arrive home, snack, put out a bucket to see how much rain collects, and off to bed.  No interest in a shower.  Oh wait it is nine o'clock, and now she wants a shower?  It is really raining.  They fuss.  I knock them over the head with a...no, they pass out after letting them know I will be getting them up early in the morning to do homework that wasn't completed.

      Wrong!  4:44 am, the phone rings.  I am so deep in sleep I am not sure how I got the phone to my ear.  The district is calling.  My heart is in my throat.  Why are they calling at this time in the morning?  It must be tragic.  School is closed due to flooding warning.  What the f#€¥!  

    I go outside and it is raining, really raining.  I crawl into bed freezing cold.  I check my iPad, Facebook, MSN.....  Zzz.

    7:30 on the nose, Daughter dressed for school wakes me from the terribly deep nap.  "Can I go finish my homework?  I am dressed and my bed is made."  Yes, seriously, this task gets done only on school mornings.  However, I would give the bed making a C, up from the D- of last year.  I tell her there is no school.  "why?" She asks.

    "I really don't know.  The district just called and said all schools were closed."  The morning is spent trying to balance kids questions, research on what is going on, touching base with my parents, wondering what state my husband was currently in, and breakfast.  Breakfast, yes, the most important meal of the day.  You know what, I don't feel like making it, get your own d@#^ bowls.  Okay, just thoughts as I sweetly tell them, "Pancakes are not on the menu just because school is cancelled today.  Here's your cereal bowls.  You know where the rice milk is.  Fine, you can watch Johnny Tech.  Whatever it is called since school is cancelled."  Ah, time to think.  The bucket is over flowing, by the way.  I mean the bucket outside with rain water.

    In a nut shell, the St. Vrain river flooded.  Earlier that morning, before the alarming phone call telling me to stay in my home unless otherwise directed by the authorities, Jamestown, in the mountains was hit causing mudslides.  One man lost his life as his home collapsed.  Lyons, at the base of the foothills and in our school district, was flooded, and it was coming our way.

   Well, it was already flowing the ten or so miles we live from Lyons.  By the time I figured out what was going on, finished breakfast, button up rain coats, and walked over to the "sled hill" above the Dry Creek, it was not so dry.  Guess I won't be doing the run I was planning.  The water level was not quite to the foot bridge.  The kids are nervous.

   Getting home, the kids each call all their friends in the neighborhood to see if they could play.  Better entertained kids then worried kids.  We pick up one gal and drive around to see the flooding on the bike under pass on the secondary road between the schools.  The small pond in the new park is becoming a lake.  The path is blocked off with its gate.  Sometimes it floods under there.  Yes, in the spring with mountain snow run off.  This is fall, it is supposed to be mostly dry, ergo the name.

   A sweet young man joins us and the four of them, two second grade boys an two fourth grade girls, rummage through the house for entertainment and end up in the garage.  This worked out as a win, win solution.  I got some time in my studio and a swept out garage.  And, they had shelter with outside access for quick dares to run out in the rain.  I think they were playing house or vetinary hospital.  Hard to tell.  

  Time melted quickly.  After a quick load of wet clothes in the drier, the boy went home.  Son and the girls were fed whatever I can scrounge up.  I am exhausted from all the thinking and trying to get news without a TV.  We drive girlfriend home. We know the flooding is really bad by now.  On the way back, its dusk, we stop at the Sled Hill.  The flooding is over the footbridge.  Kids are nervous.  They climb up on my bed after getting their teeth brushed.  They watch a video on my laptop.  I work on my studio that I had rearranged and had planned to finish organizing so I could start a new painting.

   Some where in my lost time of Thursday I get a call from the district that they will close on Friday too.  I find out friend in Lyons is on a "hill" and okay but the rest of the town evacuated.  Bridges are out. Homes are lost.  This is bad.  This is a One Humdred Year flood that is over due since 1870 something was the last one.  The phone rings.

   It is the city this time.  We are on evacuation notice.  It is getting dark.  I am confused what to do.  I see neighbors out in the street.  We confirm.  Stay put.  It is better then trying to drive somewhere as the flood has cut the city in two and effecting towns out east, south and the Thompson is flooding the cities up north.  Call or come over if you need help.  But, it is all okay, we aren't considered flood zone on the map we looked at when we bought our house, right?  And, the "sled hill" is at least two stories tall above the creek that has necome a river.  We are good.  I don't sleep.  Messaging other mom friends worried all night.  Worried about so and so.  Did you hear from them?  So and so is evacuated and okay at their friends house.  Should we leave?  It is curfew, we are okay up here....right?

     Four hours sleep at the most.  It's Friday.  Kids half joking and half freaked out taunt about being off school another day.  Oh, just wait when they realize Fall Festival, soccer, and all that is cancelled.  Oh, and they can't go anywhere and school is closed until next Thursday.  Shoot, if I'd only known, I would have booked a trip for this impromptu fall break.

     Now, I do make light of the situation.  But, do know I lost complete track of time Friday in a daze of survivors guilt.  Here I was, my little corner of Longmont on our high ground, here we are dry.  After lunch, the kids go play at a friends house.  The sun is out, and I take a little walk.  The water receded a bit.  There is an impromptu lake created by sewer over flow.  People a cut ally let their kids and dogs swim in this brown water.  Yuck. 

     I take a little me time on the covered front porch.  My brain is not acting great with lack of sleep and stress.  I can't think straight.  Meditation and the aromatherapy of my lavendar and cedar bark settle my nerves enough to go up and take a shower.  I feel guilty using my water.  I rationalize that my only job is to take care of my children.  And, I can't do that if my brain is so out of whack that I can barely see.  That's okay, right?  Put on your air mask first when the plane is crashing or you can't help those in need.

    I feed the kids when they get home.  They aren't too hungry.  Neither am I.  My stomach is upset.  Collitis acting up with all this stress.  Phone rings, evacuation order is lifted. Husband gets home from the airport.  The National Guard is in town.  We are classified as a National Disatser.  I sleep, sort of.

   Today is like any ol' day of summer.  It is a bit rainy and a bit sunny.  Kids are needy.  I idealize an image of working in my studio while kids do their own crafts.  Yet, I succumb to teaching both to sew on my old machine.  Two quilts, one with puppies and the other for a baby girl who is due to arrive in February.  Time fades in and out as I accept the four days of painting I had planned are shrunk to an hour here or there maybe nowhere.  It is okay.  We have our house.  We have electricity, water and food.  Everyone I know is safe, even if displaced.

    And, that is what it is like being one of the lucky ones.  My second disaster.  One being the 1989 Loma Preeta 8.5 earthquake that collapsed the Bay Bridge.  Just like our home here, my parents bought a house on bedrock in a good school district. they did thin in spite of the further commute for my dad to work.  We were safe, sort of.  Dad got home after several anxious hours.  We slept together  on couch cusions in the living room for over a week as we endured aftershocks, dry bread and emergency water.  And, we only lost a few colliectibles while gainimg a few cracks in the ceiling.  

     Yes, I say we are lucky as a new storm lingers in our forecast.  Love and charity to all in the Front Range. Check out this arial footage.  

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=lZBw_vkJb98&sns=fb&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DlZBw_vkJb98%26sns%3Dfb

PS Wednesday was 9/11.  I want to acknowledge that date and all the losses in the aftermath.  And, lastly, we survived another Friday the Thirteenth, isn't that awesom?!

Kids Teach

This past Labor Day weekend, I had the pleasure of joining three other families and a nearly-newlywed couple.  We had a great time full of laughter, games, spoons, cards, singing on hikes, fishing, exploring, watercolor painting, doodling, s'mores in the rain, cops and robbers, bedtime stories, scary tales of the BIFFY monster just before trekking the fifteen feet in pure darkness, stars, drizzle, thunder claps as loud as a cannon, and special early morning visit from a doe.  One of my favorite moments came just after the children were band from playing cops and robbers due to stealing the toilet paper from the BIFFY ad using them as bombs and locking one of the littler guys in the wood shed with the axes.  Instructed they needed to do some quiet play, they found came inside and taught each other new card games. Then they went outside and built a fort together under the twelve year old's guidance.  It was wonderful to see seven kids ages four to twelve work together.  Later, one of the smaller ones came in and asked if they were all cousins.  That made me feel so happy.  I also love the fact that both my kids noted the others had little imagination in their play.  They made it their mission to teach them what they know.  By the second day, the youngest girl accepted my winged purple elephant as her guide and joined my daughter in making a fairy home down by the stream complete with mud balls, tarins (stacked rocks) and leaf alters.  I noted a lot  of awesomeness watching these kids running around.  Here is few things that stick out in my mind.

Kids like being with other kids.

Kids fight.  Life is a completion for attention and siblings are the worse enemies.  

Kids don't like being told what to do.  

Kids like being asked to do something when you get down to their level and look them in the eye.

Kids love to help.  They just need to know they are part of a community and everyone else's is helping. 

Kids only think it is fair when everyone is doing it, including the adults.

Kids don't like being different.

Kids like being different.

Kids love it when they are in time out and everyone else's is still playing....not.

Kids don't like being in trouble when one person is at fault and the whole group gets the punishment.

Kids accept the punishment with less resistance, negotiating, and bitterness when everyone else is punished exactly the same.

Kids are weak, they cry.

Kids are strong, they cry

Kids are brave when you show them compassion for their struggles even when it seems minor to an adult.

Kids know a tiny little splinter or cut really, really, really, hurts.

Kids know the cream you put on that cut really hurts.

Kids know who to trust to make them feel better.

Kids actually do know you know best even if they try to prove otherwise

Kids push your buttons and long for you to pull them back.

Kids know it is tough what you are going through and when to give you a hug.

Kids love to know what you are going through so they can give you a hug.

Kids are the best huggers.

Kids are smarter then most adults think.  Sometimes they just need a little time and guidance to sort it all out.

Kids love challenges.

Kids thrive when you tell they you noticed just about anything they have done, said, or thought.

Kids criticize.

Kids can be taught to critique constructively.

Kids know it takes time and adults are always slow, too slow.

Kids do know how to wait if you tell them your objective of your task at hand.

kids can learn social manners.  

Kids are hilarious.

Kids pick their noses and pee on themselves.

Kids don't like to stay tidy when there is fun going on.

kids love when tidying up is a game.

Kids get bruises, scraps, and cuts and it is always someone else's fault they got them...so they think.

Kids know it is never their fault until an adult tells them it is.  Even then it is questionable.

Kids are selfish as it should be.  It is a survival skill.

Kids are fragile and they are tough.

Kids have a lot to learn and much to teach.

Kids can show you how to take pause to notice to fungi on the tree, the caterpillar on the bench, and the mushroom that looks like a Smurf house.

Kids want you involved in their world and pull you to the Earth when your head is in the cloud of business.

Kids seek knowledge and to understand.

Kids talk a lot and want you to hear them, not just listen.

Kids want to be talked to, sang to, read to, and given head rubs.

Kids accept.

Kids forgive.

Kids are amazing.

Tonight, watch your kids, or borrow someone's kids for a bit.  Listen, observe and slow down.  There is much you have forgotten.  Make a list.  Find acceptance and teach acceptance.  Give and receive to these amazing beings.  Someday, they will be the adults, and this is their training session.  Let's make lots of mistakes together while the stakes are low.  Time is running faster then you can imagine.  Right now is the right time, you are in the right place, and you are with the right people.  So be it with love and acceptance.  Namasta. 

First Day of School Cool

Fist pump and they're off. In seconds, they are off to rekindle friendships they had to put on hold for what seemed like "FOREVVERRRR," or 82 days, depending on your perspective.  I chat with a fourth grade father who I would describe as capitol G double E...  okay let's just say...the electrical engineer type.  Actually, in the two minutes we pointed out our daughters he managed to tell me he was newly divorced, relocated and his daughter was being picked up by Grandma just like mine.  Daughter reassured him she and her best friend would take care of his daughter with a quick chin bob and "sure thing.".  With a quick hug and a reminder Granma was the pick-up goddess today, I  head over to second grade.  One more fist pump to the cool cat in blue, and out of there before the bell rings at 32 seconds past 9:01 am, according to my watch.

There are times in the course of parenting when you are thumped on the head and hear the whisperings, "They are growing up?"  My son changing his clothes in the men's locker room unaccompanied is a great example.  Also, my daughter asking to use the phone in her room so she could talk for an hour about "stuff" with her girlfriend is another.  Walking into class on the first day of school unaccompanied, with no tears, and a fist pump instead of a hug is another one.

We have come a long way finding acceptance in where we are in the space in time in which we exists.  I say we as I reflect that it was me who got teary eyed when I sent Daughter to her first day of Mom's Day Out at the Sunflower Farm.  Yes, she didn't fuss.  She twirled around to the dress up clothes, put on some fairy wings, and jumped up and down wanting to feed the baby goats.  Son was more hesitant at his first day of Farm School a year later, but he had his sister shoving him around to this goat pin and that chicken coop. "Use the sanitizer after you feed the animals," she instructs the rules in her three year old speak.

Transition to inside school was pretty smooth as the move was made as it was getting cold and snowy.  This preschool was two days of painting, crafting, numbers, and letters.  Really, the teachers were quiet excellent so we stayed on through four year old and pre-K.  Well, that is not the only reason.  My cancer journey started during those preschool years and the church preschool was so supportive of my needs as well as having a lunch hour option when I needed more time to recoup from treatment.

Starting at the public school was a whole different demonstration of attachment on the first day of school and beyond.  Regardless of the fact that we had just gone through a hard year of surgeries and chemotherapy and daughter technically didn't attend Kindergarten, her first grade year was full of tears.  Each morning, I pried her off my leg crying.  I blessed the teacher and left trying to keep calm.  Luckily Son's pre-K started before his elder siblings, and he missed the drama except on Fridays.

Maybe watching his sister's drama once a week was enough of an example. The next year, second grade, Daughter gained her courage and entered class a little more smoothly.  She would hold me for a little too long at the door making us late.  Anyway, we often just made the late bell due to Daughter or Son having a fit at the house about going upstairs to get socks, shoes won't tie themselves, hair doesn't want to be brushed, or shirt is too itchy.  This was the year, Kindergarten, for Son to write his own screen play drama called "I Don't Want to Let Go of My Mom's Apron Strings."  Since the room door was on the inside of the building, I had to literally pick him up and put him inside.  Some mornings I just walked him down to the principal's office to "collect" himself because I had an appointment at 9:30.  With assistance of the teachers and school counselor, both kids found their way into their classrooms by the end of the year.

Last year was touch and go on wanting to be away from me.  The year started well as Son got to go in to his classroom prior to the school year starting to "help" his teacher.  This was so he could work out with her some special needs he had before starting with all new kids.  They created their own "sign language" and he started off as a leader in the classroom.  Or, maybe the year started off so well because Daughter had the same teacher the past two years...or because Mrs. D. is so totally awesome!  Daughter was a bit of a struggle as she had reading tutoring at 8 am.  pretty tough year for her always thinking she was "stupid" because she was "one of those kids."  One of a dozen kids from her grade level.

Whether it is accurate or not, I put stupid cancer to blame for my children's attachment issues.  I was pondering the other day how growing up in a cancer family effects them.  I know lots of children have a hard time going to school.  I know it is age appropriate to spout off to your mother one minute that she is "ruining" your life by asking you to where you are going, who you are calling, not letting you go there because she hasn't met those parents, and did you do your chores.  And then, the next minute, turn around and cry when you are asked to leave her side.  My children are old enough now that they talk about their past four years.  Jack told his friend the other day, "You never saw my mom with long hair, huh?  I can barely remember what she looked like."  There is a family portrait in the living room taken the Sunday before my surgery.  Son is three.  Daughter is four.  Husband is, well 40 ish. And, I had just turned 34.  When I heard this comment by my son, I realized his only memory of me with hair is that portrait. Daughter has talked to me at night before bed that she is sometimes afraid to go to sleep at night because she is scared that I won't be there in the morning.  She says that she was too scared to sleep when I was gone for ten days (brain surgery) last October, she didn't know if I was coming home...ever.

This summer, I heard the whisperings, "They are growing up, Mom."  They rode bikes over to friend's houses, called peers to set up their own play dates, learned phone manners, jumped off the top of the houseboat with the teenagers, climbed a 14er, rafted class 3/4 rapids, learned to ride a bike with only hand breaks, didn't really want me around in the pool but did want me to teach them how to swim correctly, and they even flew to my in-laws all by themselves so I could attend my high school reunion.  It has been a crazy summer of cutting the apron strings.  Okay, I refer to it as more like making the apron strings bungee cords.  They bounce right back to my apron folds when they fall, get picked on, get frustrated, or even when they are totally excited.  I love you kiddos!  I am so proud of you for walking into school without drama nor fuss especially when you are going home with Granma because it is my treatment day.  Yes, don't forget your fist pumps.  Id rather have a hug, you know. 

Because of You - the Poem

Because of you I ate rabbit.

Because of you I swallowed a gold fish.

Because of you of you, you, and you,

I have swallowed a snail, ate rattle snake,

Munched on ants, considered scorpion 

and passed.

And you, you made me laugh so hard

Soda sprayed out of my nose,

Gross.

Because of you I have climbed a Fourteener,

Or two, or three, or seven.

Because of you I am a poor fly fisher

It's not your fault, you tried.

Because of you, you, and you, I have

Kayaked, swam under the ocean, tried surfing, 

Jumped waves, ran from sea foam, and

Built castles in the sky, I mean sand.

Because of you I have water skied, snow skied, 

Snow shoed, cross country skied, ice skated

and sled down the bunny hill.

Because of you I jumped off the high dive.

Because of you I decided not to jump out of a plane.

Because of you I climbed up a rock face

And loved the thrill of the repel.

Because of you I have seen the South West quarter

Of the United States of America, Florida

Tennessee, North Dakota and the Presidents who rock.

Because of you I have been to Guadalajara, Hawaii, 

Costa Rica, the Bahamas, and climbed The Mayan ruins.

Because of you, I hiked the Swiss Alps.

And I have been to Disneyland twice.

Because of you I have tried knitting, needle pointing, quilting,

Sewing Barbie clothes, painting, scrapbooking,

Printing, metal smithing, carving, figure drawing, 

Writing Poetry, memoirs, and blogging,

Choir, drama and jazz with various degrees of success.

Because of you I have thought about Buddha and the Dali Llama

Because of you, I read parts of the Bible and Tao.

And it is all of you who have helped me

Wrap my head around the profound collective conscious

Knowledge of the Source.  

Because of you I have learned much.

Because of you I want to learn more.

Because of you I have been places, 

Sought peace and knowledge,

And spoke the words I heard.

Because of you I am who I am.

And all that I am becoming.

Because of You

Since I could speak, I have asked the question, "why am I me?" God made you that way.  Because you are no one else.  Why do you think you are you?  I remember looking up into my elder's eyes and hearing these phrases.  To this I would respond, "I just don't understand why I can't see my backside without  using  two mirrors."

I would go to my room and think and think trying to make sense of a big problem.  I just didn't understand why I thought what I thought.  And, why the color of blue of the sky I saw just may not be the color you saw.  Why did God put me here right now?  (At the time, I thought of God as a big man who watched over us and made us do things like puppets; the guy in the sky, right.). The questions were so big and so profound I would get a headache, loose interest, and return to my Barbies and Legos.

Oh, the things I have learned thus far in my life.  I will save much of my musings for another day if you will stop and have a cup of chia with me.  Today, though, I was thinking about how you help sculpt my concept of who I am.  I am in California.  I am here to visit my BFF from high school.  Twenty four years.  It was art class.  Everyone was listening to Mr. Akamichi's instruction.  The room was quiet.  Suddenly, not knowing her own volume, she shouted, "Do you have any batteries?"  She was referring to her dying CD Walkman, of course.   Later, lunch I think, I saw her leaning up against the library wall some other folks.  I asked her if she got if trouble in art class, and the rest is history.  

Throughout the years there has beenthe usual ebb and flow of a relationship.  Her life leading this way, mine that way, and both to return back to the same place. Just for a moment.  thousands miles away, we can pick up the phone a talk as if today was twenty years ago.  Today, as we walk along the coast at Point Lobos, I ask her, "what one thing in your personality do you think has changed over the years?"  I will keep her response and our further pondering between us as it should be.  But, this conversation sparked a question I had been rolling over in my mind for years, why am I me?  And, how has those I encounter in this life time effect what I know about myself?

The second reason I am here this weekend is it is our twentieth high school reunion.  Two birds one stone.  I didn't leave my school with warm fuzzy memories about all those standing with me in sheer, white acetate robes that stuck to our calves.  In fact, I left the promp and circumstance as quickly as I could eloquently place the school in my rearview mirror.   

Tonight, we had a small meet up at a pub.  I chatted with a few peers I recognized, tried to remember the names of some others, and shared photos of our kids on our IPhones.  Yes, we have come a long way from hand written book reports.  Stories were shared..."Oh,remember when... What was that teacher's name?  How's so and so doing?"  Honestly, I could only understand fifty percent of what was shared due to only having one good hearing ear.  And, I will remember even less tomorrow.

What I do remember is one fellow student telling me he'd recently had a dream about me saying something profound that changed his way of thinking.  I said something like, one doesn't go anywhere without common sense.  That comment opened up a lot of his thinking.  I so wish I could remember that conversation.  The more I think about it the more I  get closer to knowing what the heck I meant.  Yes, I think it was in Physics.  Is that right?  

At any rate, thinking about this moment in time and other memories sparked with the simple phrase, remember when..., had me thinking about how being in the same space and giving it each other thoughts in words, we inform each other.  Just because I met you, Who I am is built upon.  I am who I am because of you.  And if you think too hard on it, I know from experience, it will become so profoundly crazy you will need to go play scrabble on your iPad to crest some sense of order.

Potluck

Potluck: whatever is available or comes ones way. (1586-95)

    If you ask my children what words Mom says with frequency, they will tell you: Awesome, way cool, apparently, breath, hold on a sec., its okay,and, of course, no, not now.  Recently, I have realized I have a new word on my list, potluck.  This past several days have been full of potluck.  Saturday, we went to Lyons for their Old Time Days.  I had gotten up early to go for a run while they drooled over their cereal and watched Phenius and Ferb.  Getting distracted with this and that as we headed out the door, we weren't able to get out until ten.  So much  for going to the Farmers Market before hand.   As we arrived in Lyons, at the feet of the foothills, we don't see the festival which is usually downtown.  I get on the phone seeking a map, times, etc on the iPhone.  I was frustrated with slow data  and not finding what I wanted when the kids brought over a dad with his two little girls.  He told us where the festival was and thanked us for reminding him to take his girls.  Win-win, I'd say.  Arriving at Bohn Park, we see nothing but carnival rides.  Where are the crafts and stuff we thought would be there?Bummed, we wonder down to the children's area behind the stage.  Face painting, craft projects, magic show (best I have seen), and hot dogs at noon...all FREE.  Jackpot!  A morning of free fun.  Well, almost.  As the storm clouds loomed, and a few drops were felt, the kids took the ,money I had brought for lunch and rode one ride.  A three dollar trip up and down a little track to which Son exclaims, "that ride wasn't very good.  Now I know and won't worry about going on it during the County Fair."   Score one for mom, no wasting dollars on silly rides in August.  We took it as it came and enjoyed ourselves immensely, potluck. 

      Things continued to ebb and flow through out the weekend.  We missed something then got something different.  Sunday, we missed yoga (surely more of a bummer for Mom)  So we went to the outdoor pool.  It was cool and breezy.  But being so, there was hardly anyone there.  No lines for the slides!  Oh, and great karma at the cashier.  I had thought we had run out of punches for entrance fees last we visited and was prepared to pay cash.  Boom shock-a-locka, we had thirty three punches in our account.  And now had dollars to spend on afternoon snacks from the vending machine.

       Life has been a series of stumbles and jumps, bad luck and awesome karma.  Though we missed things, lost things, argued about things, and plain got frustrated, we were given something in its place that was even better.   We found DVDs for our car trip at the library.  They a due in seven days, three days before Wed return.  Not to fear, we can check them out twice at the first check out and not have to renew, two weeks!  Wish I knew that as I had reluctantly returned my Book Club novel I was not finished with not being able to renew as there was a hold on it.  Bummed, my peer  Book Clubber said she'd lend me her copy to finish.  Potluck!  

       Yesterday, we rode our bikes to Proto's for lunch to celebrate Daughter's reluctantly starting summer school (we also have nothing in our fridge). We bike over after school.  I am hesitate to order as Son is going through a gluten cleanse.  Okay, one meal, I have nothing to serve him at home away. Oh, yeah!  They have a gluten free crust and with no cheeses, toppings are free.  Potluck!  After a delightfully stimulating luncheon on the patio with my two Lovelies, I go to pay the bill.  Where I my twenty I had put in my pocket?!  So embarrassed, I pay the tip with the five I must have grabbed by mistake and promise to call in the payment when I got home.  With grace, I am trusted.  And that felt pretty great.

       Today, I am at my oncologist.  His MA announced she was leaving.  She is one tough cookie.  As she talked about her plans of a new home, new job, and her impending civil union, her excitement was muffled with doubt.  Stress.  Everything changing all at once.  I shared my wisdom of band-aides.  It is better to just rip them off as opposed to pulling them off very slowly yanking on every little, fuzzy hair.  I told her I felt this was an awesome twist in her life that will open up some awesome things.  She started to cry.  My tough cookie who is always stoic crying.  With a few words and a look in her eyes, she told me how much I meant to her life, a passing by, a moment.  For a moment in her life,she received my gifts of inspiration.  Yes, I now know that is why I am still here.  There are just too many hugs and smiles to be shared.  I teased her to not let the nurses see her cry as she walked out of the exam room.  She smiled.  Off for a new adventure at the middle of her life.

       I am no saint.  I get frustrated and cry.  I get mad and cry.  I want to punch a wall.  And, sometimes I want to wring your neck.  Mostly, I want to make you laugh and teach you to find the luck in the potluck of life.  For every mishap, there is a goodness.  You just have to find it.  Many souls do not know how to find those silver linings.  I am happy to show you.  Just give me you patience in my Humanness in return.

       Lesson number one, change all your wording to positive.  Think about what you say to someone, especially young ones.  Did you point out where they failed or did you accent their successes?  Have you said " I noticed you..., thank you" to something they did well?   Did you pay attention and turn off your electronics when they share a story or want to show you a new trick they taught themselves even if it seems "stupid?"  Ask yourself, "Was that comment necessary?"  Maybe it was not.  If it is not positive, maybe it doesn't need to be said.  If it is a judgement, it doesn't need to be said.  If you could help them make improvements, compliment first then say, " Let me show you something I know/learned...."  And, last, when your children are picking on or judging others, simply ask, "Was that necessary?"  Nine times out of ten it is not.  By catching your young ones, you can teach yourself.  Flow out positive and you will be filled in return.  Fill someone's Love Bucket today.  Good karma.