Creative Juices

I want my son to be a creative guy.

I believe that every last one of us is a creative soul and if you don't happen to think you are it's because some mean and stupid person made you feel that way when you were young.

Not way, no how for Mr. Oliver.

His creative soul will be given many mediums for expression.

I was thinking this just now as we sat on the kitchen floor. I was slicing apples for making apple chips and to keep him entertained put out a few pots and chopsticks.

He has a thing for rhythm so we often entertain each other by banging on things with our hands.

And so it went with the chopsticks. Fun, laughter, rhythm and yes, noise.

And so it will go I think.

Creativity isn't clean and pretty and properly volumed. Its messy, loud, and perhaps even ugly.

Ugly can be beautiful.

After a long break...

I want to write again.

I have long believed writing can be therapeutic. Creative writing, venting, poetry, letters to friends can all feel good and clear the webs.

Sometimes it can be helpful to hear responses from people with shared opinions or opposing points of view. Other times just the process of getting it out can make things more clear.

Alice Walker wrote about how writing saved her life. She's described times when she has been backed into dark corners and how picking up a pencil and just writing has carried her out of the dark.

I want to write again.

When I was in high school my close friends and I had a few shared journals that got passed around. When I was around 7 or 8 I got my first journal, a diary, at the time. My years of journaling stopped sometime in my twenties. It started when there was a man more regularly by my side at bedtime and in the morning. Those were my frequent writing times. So, its faded. But...

I want to write again.

I have so much to write about at this point in my life.

I am Oliver's mother. And I love it.

It's the most beautiful, meaningful thing I do every day.

At times I am bored. I miss my work. I miss my team. I miss going out at night, catching up with friends, dancing, drinking, sleeping and all that good stuff that we take for granted until they aren't so easy to do anymore.

At times I am lonely. In the early months it was so easy to scoop him up and go do something. He was lighter to carry and slept so much of the time.

Well, the times have changed.
He has opinions.
He is awake more.
Its true that all of these things make being with him more fun.
The joy of discovering the world through a baby's eyes, your baby's eyes, is unimaginable, pure, gorgeous, lovely...maybe beyond words.
But its also been limiting. I get out less. The day slips by and his schedule, which has come to be important on many levels, rules my day. The lack of sleep gets to me more now than before.

I think the honeymoon phase has past. I think the first 8 months as a mom, I was blissed out. I am still in love with it and with him but the beer goggles are off and I am feeling the impact of my life being out of balance.

Not enough working out.
Not enough creative time.
Not enough sleep.
Not enough time with my love.
Not enough sex.
Not enough time following my whim as to where to go and what to do.

This is it. I am in a huge life transition and the rest of my life will be determined by the choices I make, the patterns I get into in this new me.

So, all those not enoughs are just me defining, writing, getting out into words where my imbalance is. And now I can do something about it all.

I've begun recently to take steps.

I joined a gym with child care.
I've been talking with my love more about what he can do to help.
Action is started.

It's pretty funny that my first time writing here in so long is about the challenges I am encountering rather than all the amazingness that has been this year with Ollie.

That'll come.

For now though, I'll write my way out of a dark corner.

Opinions Running Rampant

What are you gonna do?
Everyone has an opinion.

I am reminded of a walk and talk with my friend Jessica when she was pregnant where she shared with me the wisdom of this fact. It was something along the lines of--everyone has an opinion about how things should be done in pregnancy, with babies and with children. The hard part is not falling into the trap of the "I know best" mentality, and imparting your "knowledge" on others.

Its true.

You can do your best to shrug off when others impart their "wisdom" on you as the right way, the only way and definitely the best way. But the challenge on you is not to fall piece by piece, inch by inch, hair by hair, into the path of telling others how they should do it--whatever it might be (names, sleeping, feeding, discipline, etc).

Goodness, I am only 17 weeks pregnant and it has already begun. It makes me not want to tell many folks we are planning on a home birth just to avoid the comments, paranoid questions and most of all, the opinions.

Pete and I were laughing today at how many people react when we say we aren't going to find out the gender of the baby until it is born. Even this simple choice: you either find out or you don't, brings on unwanted and unbridled opinions.

"Oh wow, I could never do that".

"Oh good for you, I would never do it any other way".

"I think its silly not to find out. It makes everything so much easier".

"I think you should find out. It helps the bonding process".

Goodness. Its pretty comical. Why do people have to always make it about them? I don't really care if you did it that way or if you found out as soon as you could. Great. No judgment here. You did what was right for you and that is all that matters. I support you honoring our own judgment and your own decisions and if its different than what I choose it doesn't make me think you were wrong in any way whatsoever.

I am on a bit of a soap box at the moment...apologies.

The take away for me comes back to what my friend said way back before this pregnancy/babies thing was even a reality for us.

Our challenge is to stay clear, open and not take the opinions people share (however strong and pushy they may be) as a test of our choices. Because ours may not be "right" choices for someone else but they are, thank goodness, ours and ours alone to make. And the bigger challenge is not to do this to others.

Can't you picture it? A year from now a friend is pregnant. I am excited for her and she is sharing with me that they are considering whether or not to find out the gender of their baby. Can't you see how easy it would be to tell her she should definitely wait? There is a different way though. That of sharing our experiences while acknowledging that it worked for us but doesn't for everyone...

Its a good reminder to do our best to be aware of this in general...for all of us.

A good challenge.

Week 8: Wiggles and Prayer

Week 8 has been alright. Still puking nearly daily but the number of things I can tolerate going down my throat has increased for sure. Maybe I am getting more optimistic since I'm about to be at 9 weeks and the countdown to end of awful illness is likely within a few weeks...hopefully, I should say, not likely. I can only pray, or intend, as is my kind of praying.

Taking a rest on the mac and cheese and ramen and eating things like fried rice, potatoes, pizza, bagel with peanut and apple butter and of course my middle of the night and early morning rice cakes to absorb some of that plentiful stomach acid that leads to the nausea and pukes.

Fruit is good but still no veggies. Julie's Organic frozen yogurt, blueberry flavored...yum. That was my nighttime snack for a bit but now I am out. What I wouldn't do for a personal food shopper and a personal chef (they'd have it pretty easy right now) and fresh beverage provider and I worry that Pete is wearing out though he promises he's fine. He has had entire charge of dish duty for the past month since being at the sink and smelling the food on dirty dishes brings me running to the toilet.

He is a rock star.

Yesterday we had our first big appointment. It was a rough start to the adventure and as soon as the ferry landed at Coleman Dock in Seattle I was headed for the bathroom to have the most embarrassing puke session thus far. I made it to the toilet fine but there were women in and out of the stalls next to me who clearly heard my hacking upchuck sounds. Lovely. It made me think of the few times in the past I've heard someone puking in a public bathroom and my thoughts went immediately to drunk or bulimic for some sick reason. More likely is the pregnant puke excuse. I'll forever be more sympathetic in public rest rooms I swear.

Pete and I were equally disgusted by how cold and unfriendly the nurse tech was who called us into the office, took my blood pressure and weight and told me to put on gown open in the front. She walked out and Pete just looks at me like "what was that?"

Whatever, I tell him. We've just got to figure out a midwife soon so I can stop coming to this baby factory for check ups.

Next the nurse practitioner came in. Her name was Lucia (pronounced Loo-sha). We liked her. She did an exam and talked to us forever about birth options. We told her we'd likely be using a midwife when we found one and she was supportive of that. She told us that Swedish has nice birthing rooms with tubs but that their C-section rates were right at the national average of 20-30%.

Yeah, unless we are at high risk for some reason later in pregnancy, we will go with mid-wife and birthing center or home birth. Good to know your options though and if it has to be a hospital, Swedish is a great one: Pete was born there.

Lucia puts the magic wand in the magic hole and there we see our little embryo. Its head is half the size of its body and right about where head and body meet, yeah right there, you can clearly make out the flutter of the beating heart. Cool. She points out that its wiggling. I see it. Kinda. Pete imagines a little wave and immediately is calling it a he.

If its gonna be a boy we are gonna have to come up with some names. I think we are set with a girls name. Love it.

Speaking of praying...there is a job opening in Redmond that could mean a move back to Seattle for us. I told Tara that I was gonna google "effective praying techniques" because I want this job to work out so badly. I was kind of kidding but...what the heck?

Here's what I found. According to some person on some website that talks about prayer and relates it to quantum physics, prayer releases an energy that emanates from the human mind and has a direct effect on the environment. Okay. I believe that. Quantum physics has shown us that we change the basic nature of matter just by thinking about it and the human mind releases an energy radiation that is capable of interacting directly with matter. Whoa.

It says that with a basic understanding of the mechanics of prayer, we can use this knowledge to help us pray more effectively. Cool. I know nothing about prayer besides: "Please G-d, let that cute boy not be at school today or tomorrow or at least until this huge zit goes away". Everyone knows that kind of prayer. But I mean real prayer. The kind that heals people.

Here are the supposed keys to effective prayer:

Key One: Adding positive emotion to the energy of a prayer improves the outcome of the prayer.

When you pray, think about an event that is positive and emotionally meaningful. This event should be something that makes you feel good no matter what you were thinking about before the prayer. Research shows that this type of positive imaging improves the power and focus of the prayer.

Key Two: Repeat a prayer mantra focused on your desired outcome.

Mantras are ancient tools that are designed to empower the force of prayer. The rosary is one good example of a prayer mantra. Repetition amplifies the force of a prayer and gives it more power. Some mantras have been repeated millions of times and have a great deal of standing force attached to them. Adding your prayer to this standing force field can greatly increase the chance that it will be answered. The mantra need not be long and you don’t even have to speak the language for it to be effective. Here are some examples that you might find useful.

"AUM GUM GANAPATEYE NAMA”

This is the Ganesh Gayatri Mantra. It has been spoken for thousands of years as a tool for removing obstacles to progress and achievement.

Key Three: Pray for others; especially strangers.

When you pray for others, the energy of the prayer automatically benefits you. Most people do not know this and tend to pray only for themselves and those that they know. Praying for others, especially those that you do not know, releases a powerful force from the unconscious that benefits you as well as the recipients of the prayer.

Key Four: Pray while meditating.

While you are meditating, the mind is much calmer. The calm and focused mind generates a great deal of positive divine creative force. By praying while meditating, we take advantage of this force and make our prayers much more powerful and effective.

******************************************************************************************************************************

Alrighty then. These are the laws of effective prayer as described by some guy named Mitchell Earl Gibson, MD. I left stuff out that didn't resonate with me or, in other words, was a bit too cheesy.

With this in mind maybe I'll have a go at some prayer. I do after all have a lot to pray for right now: healthy embryo soon-to-be-fetus and some day baby, Pete staying healthy and alive to help raise this kid, my preggie-sickness passing sooner than later and with all the world troubles there's always plenty to pray for in the way of selfless prayer.

I'll give it a shot. All this down time (ouch my ass seriously hurts from being on it just too much) has got to be good for something besides reading about pregnancy and watching every show I've ever wanted to see and then some.

Notice the ultrasound that looks like a blob of nothing. Translation: See the dark oval at the bottom left of the picture? Thats the outline of my amniotic sac. Inside it (the dark area) is amniotic fluid and in the middle of all that is the embryo (two more weeks and it becomes a fetus).

See there are two little plus symbols and a dot in the middle of those marking head to rump distance (21mm or 0.8 in). From the dot up to the right is all head and from the dot down and left is rest of body. The nurse practitioner could see arms and legs moving about. We just nodded along "sure"..."right". The resolution is not so good but in a month we'll pay a bit extra for the better machines and therefore higher resolution image. What the heck right?

Transformers GO!!

I had a dream last night I was a transformer. Remember those guys on the cartoon when we were kids? There were names like Decepticon, Megatron, Optimus Prime, Cybertron and more.

In my dream I am an autobot incarnate as a motorcycle. I have a vivid image of my front wheel following a narrow road for a ways until I get to a place where I need to go up some stairs. As a motorcycle this would be hard, but as a transformer all I need to do is transform and voila, I can walk up them.

The dream was a middle of night dream so I lay there briefly grinning at the subject of my dream and since I went back to sleep I don't remember much more.

The comedy is that I am taking a generic form of Zofran (anti-emetic drug) called Ondansetron. Now if that's not a transformer name...

Guilty

Thats us during the guilty weekend.
Its funny shit actually.
We spend 13 months having at it during the time when its supposed to make something happen and for 12 of those months nothing happens.
I make a commitment to a more holistic approach, order books from Amazon and expect its gonna take a while.
Pete gets his army tested and we find out all is good there.
I make arrangements for a procedure that shoots die into ya thang and makes sure it goes through those hopefully nice and clear tubes.
We have a long, serious and fun conversation about adoption.
I feel more and more okay with the possibility that we will have a baby whether it comes out of my body or not.
The procedure can happen in month 12 but my gyn is unable to do it and I'd have to do it with doc I don't know.
I decide to wait a month so my doc can do it.
I'm supposed to call and set up the appt. the first day of my new moon.

The weekend before I pop the egg Pete and I head up to Mt. Baker to spend the weekend partying with his Mercer Island crew for some birthdays.
We party all day...all weekend long.
We do it a bunch.
I hit my head on the low ceiling of our room.
This is my blowout before I begin this awesome get clear and healthy as shit plan. Monday the egg pops.

I burn through two big books in like 3 days about getting healthy and vital and letting your body do what it needs to make a baby.
LOVE the books and start up right away.
Imagery first thing and last thing each day, no sugar, no crap, lots of veggies and fruits and yoga and dream writing.
I do this for two weeks.
I feel amazing.
Better than I have in a long time.
I am feeling very confident that doing this for a while, my body is bound to make a baby.
Or if it isn't that will be okay too.

The day my moon should arrive I wake up at 6:30am.
No alarm, just hot and anxious.
I take my temperature as I've been doing for years: first for birth control and now to understand my cycle in a way to help bring on birth.
It's higher than its ever been in the four years I've been taking it.
In fact its higher than its ever been for about 4 days now.
I can't wait for the missed moon.
I go to the bathroom and pee on a stick.
I'm supposed to wait 3 minutes for the result.

It comes in 30 seconds.
Pregnant.
I stare in total disbelief.
No fucking way.
I don't smile or giggle.

I'm protecting myself.
What if its wrong, I ask myself?
That doesn't happen.
Not this way anyhow.
False-negatives, sometimes.
False-positives, not possible unless you are on drugs that I am not.
What if I am dreaming, or tomorrow it will be gone or something.


I walk out of the bedroom into the kitchen where I hear Pete getting ready to leave. He sees me in my robe and looks at me staring at him with a weird look on my face.
He apologizes for the Indian music he is blaring and asks if it woke me.
I say I don't give a shit about the Indian music.
He asks whats wrong.
I step forward and hand him the stick.
He looks at it, and then me, and says oh my god a few times before stepping forward to hug me.
I tell him not to get too excited.
I don't know why I say that.
I'm protecting us both.
Pete leaves after kissing my face and kissing my belly and being a perfect husband.

I go for a long walk.
I do yoga in an abandoned cul de sac.
I am late to work and don't give a shit.
I still have the WTF-holy shit look on my face.

I have a seriously stressful day at work that involves high winds and rescuing children from areas where trees are falling down.
I think I am going to die numerous times.
I go home thinking that the stress may cause me to miscarry.

I pee on another stick the next morning.
It says I am still pregnant.
Holy shit.

That was a month ago.
Still pregnant.

Alien Inhabitant

You know that last post? The one about the amazing, healthy, delicious waffles? I just re-read it and it made my mouth water with queasiness. Actually the thought of eating those is pretty freaking retched. Why?

Because I have the big lie of a thing called morning sickness. No, no, no. It's not morning sickness but rather sick or close to being sick all day long broken up by small periods of time where I feel okay enough to do something.

And so I am here at my computer rather than laying still and moaning quietly to myself because I feel alright for the first time today. What brought me from crumby to alright? Freaking Ramen noodles!

If you know me you know the concept of Ramen noodles is something I left behind in, oh early college long before my undergraduate studies in whole foods nutrition. See, I know better than to eat crud like that. Its processed, nutrient empty fake food. But for me, right now, the question is pretty much what can I actually tolerate putting in my mouth? Vegetables? Barforama! Whole grains? Same, unless they are pressed into a rice cake or a cheerio. The best nutritional things I have going for me these days are chicken and cheese. Other than that it seems to be only nutrient empty-ish things like mac and cheese, ramen, cheerios and the occasional burrito, heavy on the cheese light on beans.

Lovely right? Hell, its good f-in thing I have been eating quite healthy for some time and have been on pre-natal vitamins for about 15 months (can't tolerate those right now either).

In addition I had go on a magic little anti-nausea/vomiting pill called Zofran. The first evening I was on it I had secret musings about naming our child after it. Zoffie or Frannie, Zof or Ofran. Uh...maybe not. Anyhow as it turned out the stuff works but not as great as I had hoped. Still quite nauseous through more of the day than not and still puking, though not every day now.

The plot thickens because guess how Zofran works? It inhibits serotonin production. Do you know what serotonin does in your body? Oh, about a zillion important things like mood regulation, appetite, sleep regulation and the biggie...intestinal movement. Oh really? TMI? Just wait. I'm talking non-existent poop for like 5 days now. And the bits that have come in that time are hard, dry and tiny though for how long they take to come out you'd think they were logs to be majorly proud of. You know the kind where you feel 5 lbs lighter afterward? God I miss those.

Prunes aren't working so now I am on to other ideas I've heard on the pregnancy chat rooms: apple juice and stool softener. Hoping for a miracle.

Through the haze of puke, nausea, food issues and constipation I catch glimpses of the excitement of pregnancy. Looking forward to being able to sit with it longer term in 5-7 weeks. Dear Goddess help me get through this.

Fertile Soil

The image came to me today on my way into work. I was rushing in, eating while driving (bad habit I know). Every bite of the waffle I ate was fully enjoyed seeing as I spent most of my day yesterday preparing the stinking things. See, these waffles ain't no ordinary waffles. These waffles are teeming with love and nutrients. Funny that the recipe is one of the few good things my ex gave me. Oh well. They are good.

What's in em? Buckwheat and rice flour, ground flax and cashews, apple sauce and grated carrot and zucchini. Yeah, I know, right? Amazing. I added a bit of cinnamon this time round and bingo, made 'em even better. Threw a half in the toaster oven this a.m. and spread a bit of almond and apple butter on top. Holy goodness. Worth the 20 minutes they each took to actually cook. Note to self: might need to make the batter thinner next time round.

Anyhow, back to the drive and the image that came while I drove. I was thinking about this new life plan I'm on. It involves no alcohol, no (or very little) processed sugar, no caffeine, limited animal products and a lot of whole grains, beans, fruits and veggies.

The image I had on the way to work was really rich, dark, sweet, and fertile soil. I could practically feel it as I drove, imagining it falling between my fingers. What is all that beautiful soil good for? Growing new life. What am I wanting to be good at? Growing new life. Therefore the analogy fits so nicely.

Do I pour red wine or whiskey around my new kale starts? Nay. Do I sprinkle coffee or black tea atop cilantro sprouts? Heck no. Am I mulching with hamburger meat or even chicken breasts? That would be weird. It would make the soil filled with bacteria and acidic funk.

What do I put in that sexy soil to make it extra fertile? Lots of composted vegetables, bean and grains, among other things.

It made this new plan of mine feel even more right. In fact, I think my body is screaming for it. How to make a baby? Make the soil the baby needs to grow in re-he-he-he-he-ly luscious and clean.

Here's to adzuki beans, quinoa, kale, shitake, and carrots.

A picture can tell a story better than a thousand words...specially when you know the story...but sometimes even when you don't

An angel on Obstruction Island

Nourishment on top a Volcano

Hopeful Love on a Country Road

Family Bonds Grew as We Watched

Twas a Brutal Battle Tween a Lichen and a Moss

Bearing Witness to the Promise of Commitment

Tom Ka Gai. First Attempt. Absolute Success.

Ole Fashioned Love Song

Guess Which Two Became Dinner? The Boys Silly.

Fungus loves Lacey loves Fungus

These photos are in honor or my sweet sister love, Lacey Bediz. Thought I might lure her out here by showing her the likes of what treasures we can go seeking if she comes out here this fall. October tends to be pretty good. She loves her a good found food. That lobster mushroom was pretty delish with a tad bit-o-garlic and olive oil.

Confrontation

In certain circles its avoided at all costs. Others over do it. Too much of it can become annoying or provoking. But too little of it? Well, that can turn into self-sabotage: torturous, painful, sickening. If one doesn't confront someone who hurts them, what happens then? It depends, I guess. Either we let things go or that person continues to hurt you over and over simply because something wasn't put to rest.

I have felt the pain that comes from hiding from anger, hurt, or frustration. I know what it feels like to be angry at someone who has hurt my feelings and instead of talking to them about it, sitting, frozen, in a whirlpool of words and phrases I want to say . Silence begets silence. It has a tendency to expand exponentially and the longer you sit, cold in the water, the deeper and deeper the words fall away from your tongue, the faster they swirl around you.

Ouch.

I can remember exactly when, in my life, that all began to change. It was during a class i took at Burlington College in VT. A three or four day-long class about dreams that took place at our professor's sweet green-roofed home in Lincoln, VT. We had to stay over, in tents, in his yard. We spent time learning about how different cultures view dreams and practiced remembering and writing down our dreams. We learned various ways of understanding the messages in dreams as well as practicing intention-building dream rituals.

I had the honor of being the focus of a dream/healing ritual where I sat in the middle of the circle of about ten people. They drummed and chanted while sending the intention of movement, of awareness, of opening, of healing.

It was incredibly overwhelming. As I sat there, my throat tightened and tightened and began to pound. All I could do was open my mouth and quietly cry. I honestly don't think that group had any idea what they were in for when I sat down in the middle of that circle. The ceremony ended with them walking me outside to the door of the dream hut. You are supposed to go into the hut with a journal, pen, and water. Nothing else. You are to pose a question and ask for a dream to give you what you need to know.

I was gifted a dream that changed everything. There were all these distinct characters: a wacky and wild short-haired blonde woman with glass in her lip, a young girl inviting me into her home, another woman being incredibly helpful and kind and my teacher with his hands on my back, helping/healing.

The night in that dream hut left me with some heavy realizations. Mainly that I had a lot of work to do. That I didn't want to live my life afraid to confront anyone. That the relief of getting something out was worth the discomfort of the process.

That was 14 years ago. One of my colleagues told me I was the queen of confrontation the other day. He said it because I handled some things at work that weren't easy and that he was struggling with. When he said it I had a moment of connection to my life as a whole. I saw how much I had grown since those days in Vermont. And I thought back to all the teachers along the way: my aunt, many different friends, teachers, boyfriends...

I have much gratitude to all the people who showed me that confrontation can be done safely and respectfully and is always worth the effort.

It brought back one of my favorite quotes that I memorized when I was in high school:

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear."
— Stephen King (Different Seasons)

Hal Hillman "Papa" 1926-2009

That's my Papa. He was a very handsome man. He meant many things to me as a young woman and his vital role in my life changed over the years. I learned at a very young age how to tell if it was a snuggle-Papa-like-crazy day or an avoid-Papa-at-all-costs-day. He, like me, was never good at hiding what kind of space he was in. If he was in a happy space everyone knew it. He showed it by laughing loudly, squeezing your butt and making a sound something like "bahhhhhruuuuch!!". Sometimes it hurt but you still loved it because he shined so brightly in those moments. You were special. You were loved by the Pops.

He was an incredible cook. He was extra proud of his spaghetti and clam sauce and boasted that his were the all time best pancakes ever made, any where. I will admit that everything he made was delicious especially those pancakes which he filled with fresh blueberries, bananas and walnuts.

He showed love freely and openly and I'll never forget the feeling of kissing the skin on his paradox of a face: scratchy-scruffy but smooth and soft. His smell...which Nana says can not be attributed to any one cologne since he used a wide variety, was markedly delicious. Nana says it was just his smell. His smell which I can still remember and hope to never forget. While all the kids were in Florida, after his passing, I walked into his closet and caught Jason smelling his clothes in search of at least one shirt or jacket that held on to even the faintest trace of him. No such luck. It was his secret potion that disappeared from his clothes the moment he took them off. The magic of his scent was emmanated from him and him alone. No cotton or polyester could fake the glory of Hal Hillman. No way. Even so, I joined Jason in the search and was equally disappointed to find no trace of him.

My memories are plentiful and yet lacking. He was a regular part of my life from day one and therefore melts into the background of days gone by. Lots of memories of breakfasts and dinners with he and Nana. Many of them also include Charlie, my cousin closest in age. A whole bunch of sleep-overs at their house where Nana would lay talking to me until late in the night before retreating to sleep in her own room. When I was younger, he often gave me a hard time about something or other. In elementary school it was my average grades, in high school it was the way I dressed or my hair which needed brushing (it did). But his hard words were balanced with praise for my art work which he and Nana loved. I gave most of it to them over those years. Once Papa gave me the oil paints he bought for an art class he took. He didn't end up using them too much and was frustrated with his inability to create the way he wished he could. He was always a little jealous of my ease with drawing but praised me just the same. He had many talents of his own.

I have some memories with him that were hard. Getting slapped in the back seat for giggling too much (I was young and giggly with Charlie), getting an earful about how I was "in never never land and didn't know the real world which was not all peachy creamy like I thought it was" (I was happy and cheerful and he was clearly not that day), hearing him say something totally racist about a family that walked in front of my car (we are Jewish for goodness sake). I was afraid to say anything to him as a kid when he was said things that were mean or that I felt were wrong, but as I got older I found that I had to. I couldn't hold back. He started referring to me as the district attorney. "Anyone's getting picked on and here's Maddi to defend them". He said it jokingly but it was true and I heard it again and again. Many times my responses to him were as simple as "Papa!!" And he would mimic me but I know it seeped in a bit.

It was hard for him later as he was often so uncomfortable with back pain or neck pain or leg pain and would be grumpy due to that. I would go behind him and place my hands on his shoulders and massage him. Sometimes his pain was too intense and in those moments I would just sit my hands on his shoulders and pray for the pain to calm down. He always thanked me and said I had magic hands. Love IS magic.



How do you absorb the fact that a very loved one is gone? And what comfort do you find in their passing? They are no longer in pain. They are at peace. They lived a good life and were loved by many. Yeah, it helps. It has been a hard 15 months for my family and especially my grandmother. How impossible it must be to watch your husband of 60 years nearly die and then improve and then get worse and then improve and then finally, to die. I think of her every day. I think of my aunt who now goes to work everyday knowing her father isn't upstairs in his room. I think of my mom who struggled with loving him and hating him most days of her life. I think of his mother who died when he was three. Is he with her now? Is that true? Is he with his grandmother who died when he was 13?

Amazing that he created such a legacy out of such a broken family. He held family above all else and taught that to us well. Thing is, we now have to learn how be family without him. Not that we don't know how. The bonds in our family are strong; we are solid and love one another deeply. Its just weird to think of it. It saddens me greatest to think that he won't meet his great grandchildren. I laugh at how many times I actually wanted to have a baby right away for him to enjoy meeting and cuddling. I wasn't fast enough.

I didn't want my writing here to be sad or depressing. I just wanted to write about Papa. I will miss him so much. I will save the voicemail on my phone for as long as I can: "Hi darling this is Pops. I just want to find out how everything is. Miss you, love you, and goodbye". I will hear his whistle or his silly songs, I will smell his cologne or his delicious cooking, I will hold on to my love for him for as long as I live. And I will tell my kids about him and they will know him through our stories. And his memory will live on through future generations.

What a sadness in his eyes in the last year. Where I just wanted to jump in that bed and squeeze him so hard he would fill up with love and relax into it. His eyes, with the respirator down his throat...I heard them cry for release. Like my sweet dog Cass, when she was roaming around looking for an entrance into the woods and I forced her back into the cabin so she would rest. That look of being done. Of being so uncomfortable that death seems a gift and all that you held near during life are miles away, hidden behind layers and layers of the nagging distraction of discomfort. I want to remember him different than that and I do. It is just hard to forget the look.



He did have time though. He had time to apologize to my mom for being so hard on her. I got to tell him how much i loved him, how he was such an important father figure in my life, how grateful I am for that. He was still mean to Nana for too many visits. Even then, he couldn't see what he had. Dementia was setting in, they said. He was wiping at things that weren't there and saying things that didn't make sense. This was so hard on Nana...how strong she is, how much she loved him through all the muck and mire. Her advice is good. How do we respond to the hard times with our loved ones? The good times are easy she said...wow I love that woman. I pray to God that she stays healthy and gets to know her great grandchildren like she should.

I miss her. She is so far away. I am so thankful she has Pete, her little dog.

How quickly it must go. Our lives which seem so long at times. When you have reached the end, it must seem that only yesterday were you riding your bicycle or kissing your girlfriend or bouncing your grandkids on your knee. A flash of light brings it back and then all is quiet. The here and now will finally catch up to you. I hope his passing was painless. He saught relief from that pain for so, so long. I hope that in the end he was calm and that he looked up at the nurse that was with him and I hope she was beautiful.

Kisses to you Papa where ever your spirit dances. You are loved and you are forgiven for all your punky times. Just hang out with Nana for a bit if you can. She'd love a sign of your presence, but if not, just be there and help her feel that you are there, that you adore her, that you thank her for all she gave you.

HOPE: Si Se Puede!!!

Check out my sweet friend Simmy feeling the love, feeling his future, begging the nation to evolve.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MXTK2by8dLI

Here we are, 6pm PST election night. We got PA! I am hopeful and still there are butterflies galore in my belly. Remember the last few times? I thought we had it...and then we didn't. But who's to say? Who knows? Destiny is strong. Perhaps Bush had to make such a mess of things to wake up enough of those red folks. I mean, really, Sarah Palin? That feels like begging to lose plenty of those republican votes, you know? Is this where we get to a place in the VERY YOUNG history of the U.S. where the nation finally grows a few inches?

Its a hard day. One doesn't like to get our hopes so high to only be crushed by a nation of lie-believers. Come on, Barack Obama a terrorist? A crack-cocaine addict? A murderer? People....seriously? And you have the right to vote? Whew....scary.

Okay, I'll take my nervous excitement to the house down the road to a house with friends, a TV and some warm stew.

Before I go, a prayer:
Dear God....Sweet Spirit...All that is right, all that is just, all that makes a child giggle...that which binds us with love to ourselves and each other and all the critters hunkered down for the cold, rainy night....please, let freedom reign.

End of the Line

Well it's alright...riding around in the breeze
Well it's alright...if you live the life you please
Well it's alright...even if the sun don't shine
Well it's alright...we're going to the end of the line



We will to work together to reach our greatest potential.
We will support one another as we embrace our truth.
We will honor and embrace the challenges we pose to one another.
We will work together to envision the future we hope for and welcome the lessons that come.
We will seek balance between nurturing the self and nurturing our relationship.
We will celebrate life's blessings together and laugh together when shit happens.
We will work through our challenges and disagreements with respect, compassion and love.
We will apologize when it is necessary and accept apologies when they are offered.
We will make tradition, ritual and connection to Spirit an integral part of our lives and the lives of our children.
We will be tolerant with the parts of one another that are challenging and patient as we learn to embrace them.
Together we will plant seeds and sing songs.

Well, don't wanna make a big fuss or anything but I am now a married woman. Don't feel terribly different really. The process of becoming married was beautiful and special and does require words more meaningful than I have the time to write at this moment. In fact I am off tonight to go celebrate my marriage again. This is celebration number three. Cool right? Different facets of our worlds who want to honor us. Geez how incredibly lucky are we?

Give thanks.

Reuniting the Masses

And so it begins. The request has been dispersed for family and friends to join Pete and me on Orcas Island in September.

These invites took some time. I folded them from old National Geographic magazine pages. Lace helped a bit, but besides that I did them largely on my own. I loved folding them. Most of them were done watching August Rush and Darjeeling Limited (both really good movies) and flying to and from Tara's wedding in FL listening to Oprah and Eckhart talk about living a life that goes beyond our over-caffeinated minds. It was the best use of time in the sky ever.

The envelope folding was Zen. The print carving was super fun too. I messed up the first one but the second came out perfecto.

So now we wait until September for the gathering of the peeps. 

Just back from Jason and Nesreen's wedding on Sanibel Island. My oh my...sun, sand, mojitos, late nights with old friends, dolphins swimming near us as we lingered in the perfect temperature Gulf of Mexico. It has been probably 20 years since I visited this island and I look forward to returning soon.

So many highlights and I haven't the creativity at the moment to do them justice. The picture of Eva Luna Cohen, the daughter of my beautiful friends, Susie and Sean tells the tale well I think. Smiles and warm, melty chocolate. Nourishment, nurturing, indulging...a lot. So many friends I miss that live scattered around this country and others. 

Some of them have little ones and I am sad to not be a regular part of their lives. To see them grow and take first steps and learn new words. Sydney said 'bubbles' this weekend and 'yellow'.

Eva Luna (chocoface) told me a story about running and jumping into a pile of clothes she had just inherited from a bigger girl friend who outgrew them. She told me she squealed while she jumped and demonstrated the squeal. Priceless. She danced with us for hours to the movin' rhythm of the salsa and reggae beats. Amazing little expressive people they are becoming. 

I miss my friends that are scattered. There are those that come in and out of your life and you think of them on occasion. But some come in and stay, no matter where they are. Some you think of often, even if you don't speak often.

I've always hoped my wedding would be a time to reunite my masses...my people...my sweet and important roots.

The people that helped me be who I am.

Some will make it, some won't. I am from all of them.