familiar foreigner

I drew circles on her flat, brown tummy with the tip of my finger.
"This is where those things are with the eggs inside them", I said.  Then I went on in greater detail, referencing my Nurse's knowledge and history with physiology and using my somewhat newly acquired maternal instincts, plus incorporating traits I've most  recently adopted when dealing with her in particular, it's called frankness.  I try to be blunt and direct, because flowering up the subject with subtext and subterfuge dilutes it too tremendously and things get lost in translation.  
I worried as of late.  I see her growing up and I see her body change.  This is normal, but she is not.  She is different.   She is remarkable.
I worried that the very important start of puberty would come for her while I was not around, like say in the middle of math period at school.  I had visions of a scene, something not unlike the horror movie Carrie, heaven help me.   So I preempted the whole thing by telling her what to expect.   I concluded by explaining that this was rather private, not a topic for the lunch table, but something she may only discuss with me and with female members of our family.   I cautioned to avoid talking about it with good friends even, until she was a few years older and then I said, "by all means, when you're bigger, you can talk about it with your good girl friends".  To this, she responded, "Oh mom, don't worry, I don't have any good friends".   She smiled then, meaning to comfort me.  My heart twisted inside my chest and a discomfort I cannot explain overtook me.  My love for her burned a hole through the roof above us, straight up to the stars in the sky.
People with Asperges Syndrome seem to have a hard time making friends.   
Last night, again, lying beside her, talking before sleep, in a language I know, but which I alter so that we can communicate clearly.  "What do you feel inside when someone cries?"  I asked.  "Sad", she said in reply.  But I didn't buy it.   Her flat response was typical, but even still, I sensed that she was not telling what she felt.   "Tell me what you actually feel like when someone cries, not what you think you should".   She breathed deeply, thoughtfully and turned to me;  "I wish they would stop.  Their face looks funny.   I don't like the sound".  Bingo.  
I didn't give her instructions on what to do when someone wails after that.  I stopped talking to her and just looked at her face a while.   We made eye contact.  Such a gift.  So neat to look into dark eyes that stay connected to mine, when so often they do not.  I spoke with my eyes to her.  I said, "I love you". But what I meant to say was, "Oh man, how I love you, even more then I realized I could ever.  You kill me.  You, with your little ability to live in the world and remain unaffected by all that surrounds you, never change.  Always be this way.  I think maybe you are onto something... and if I could, I'd be exactly like you, my little Martian, my stranger, my familiar foreigner".  
Today I looked up 100 ways to say I Love You in different languages.
Wo ai ni  -   Mandarin
M 'bi fe   - Bambara
Te sakam  -   Macedonian
Volim te  -   Serbian
Thank God for you  -  Aspergerian

One, Simple, Right Thing

There are not all that many things I can look back over in my life and say, I did it exactly "right".  That's not to say that there aren't a whole bunch of right things in my life, because there are.  My life is packed with "righteousness", but also admittedly, it has been riddled with wrongness, both avoidable and unavoidable.  Luckily the wrongs are mostly wrongs  somehow made right, or in time turned right, or maybe just seem right enough now.  


One thing I've done correctly, not by accident, but by purposeful decision is, to ignore my big, bad, lovable dog.  


I chose to rescue a dog two years ago and I pretend it was for my daughter and her special needs.   


Dog was large.  He was handsome.   He appeared clever.    He was trouble. 


Within an hour of his arrival I contemplated my sanity.  Within a day, I fantasized about breaking up with him totally, just returning him to the place from which he'd come or maybe him getting hit by a car and instantly, painlessly taking his peaceful leave.   For weeks I devoured Tums to sooth my agitated, dog-induced, acidic abdomen and prayed he'd run away. But, after about a month, I did something definitive and that sadly is a very rare thing for me.   I gave up.  I actively let go of the situation and allowed nature to take its lovely course.  I wasn't irresponsible.   I simply didn't fret the reality of this monster and all that could go wrong.   Instead I assumed it would go right.  I trusted I had the strength to nudge it gently into rightness.  This dog, giant enough to eat my couch in an hour, wasn't about to make me worry all day and ruin my sleep all night.   I was the boss of this place I realized, had successfully been for quite some time and this was still my house with my soft, but serious rules.  I decided that I was just not going to get myself in a tizzy over this big boy.   "Come to mama", I said.   And he does.  


I don't love it when people blubber over their precious pets.  Clearly I care for animals or he wouldn't be here, maybe by this point he'd not even exist, but I really don't relish animal centered conversation for more then a few moments here and there.  However, this one time, let me tell you that I have come to treasure these 5 words very, darn much;  "Wanna go for a walk?"  
If not for big dog, I probably wouldn't see the top of as many mountains as I do.  I might not have been present for all those tangerine tinged sunsets over the Pacific where I often head after 5:00 pm in winter to let him exhaust himself in the sand.   I might have paid attention to the "No Trespassing" signs beyond the reservoir, where I've happened across more natural beauty then I can possibly tell you of, as I let him run a delirious muck and it does get very mucky along the water's edge.

For me, I realize, much as I hate to admit it, my big, stinky, awful, horrible, rotten, sweet, wonderful hound adds things to my life that I would have never known I'd missed.   Just doing one thing right, simply, letting go of my futile attempts to control the situation, by having blind faith in my powers of gentle persuasion, I have gained the awfully nice upper hand.  
I let go; calmly, happily, fearlessly, positively, never-looking-backwards-ly.  

Love l e t t e r s

Writing a love letter today to my first great love...

My mother.

I loved her first.

If I could, I'd like to see her for even just five, small, brief, priceless minutes each and every day for the rest of my life.  

My mother was never and is not perfect. 

This is of course the very reason she is a perfect parent.

How else can you teach your children to survive and hopefully thrive in such an imperfect world,

then to be flawed and still utterly lovable yourself?   

My mother is the most honest person I know, a trait she didn't pass genetically down to me, I can sadly assure you. 

She possesses an endless capacity for understanding and a willingness and desire to be helpful that shocks me, even though I've witnessed it first hand, been the recipient of it, over and over again my entire life.   She never ceases to amaze me with her extraordinary and sometimes unappreciated characteristics, which are truly gifts; compassion, patience, steadfastness, genuineness, practicality, initiative and grace.

  

There were times in my life where I couldn't stand to be away from my mother, even when I was almost grown.   I loved her so ferociously, not for just her wonderfulness, but because she was absolutely the only person in the world who truly knew me completely and totally and yet she loved me anyhow.   No one else could or would if they knew me as she did and does.  

Even when it was time for me to leave home, I hated the idea of her not seeing me daily.  

Couldn't stand the possibility of being forgotten by her for even just a day, which is likely why I did so many memorable and not always lovely things throughout my entire life, to keep at the forefront of her mind.   In my head, to be forgotten by the person who loved me best in the world might mean the actual end of my existence. 

I fretted her dying and obsessed about her ever really being gone from my life for those reasons.  

I don't worry about that anymore.

Somehow, I don't worry about her ever being away from me or about being forgotten.    She's finished her work with me I guess.  I must be grown, because I no longer need to be a headache to her to know that she won't ever stop loving me.  I know this like I know my own name.

And I don't need to see her or hear her voice to know what she'd say to me.  

I can locate her at any time, day or night, inside me.   

Remarkable to have been inside someone,

 come from someone,

 only to later have them live in you.  

She once gave me a wallet and inside it, a card with this inscription, which was meant for someone else from someone else, but to me, it's "ours" alone, always, always...

"I will not forget you, I have carved you on the palm of my hand"

Isaiah 49:16

And on your birthday, I say to you Mom; I will not forget you, I have filled myself up with all that you give me, so I won't ever run out of you.

Odd song to have remind you of your mother, but it does...
I gave her this album on her birthday in 1988.


Once upon a time, once when you were mine...