the fine mingling of art and living

...And so I think that seeing the whales surfacing and diving again and again today means more then it does.   

I think because I'm all open inside and vulnerable and engaged in my life, that being a mere few feet away from the largest mammals on the planet indicates that my life is special,  I'm blessed, its peachy-keen-ness personified, which it can be and sometimes is.

And yes, things eventually go my way; this is relatively true and if not true, then in time I go the way of things.  So in that regard, without much notice those things and my way intermingle and I feel kinda lucky.

And maybe things are going my way, maybe the whales are signs of beneficence,  but what I realize later on in the day, the day the whales made me feel blessed, is that my way is not so important...

I really care a whole lot more about the way things go for them, for the ones I love.

I could give a flying/swimming shi_t about what I have to deal with, overcome, surmount, forge through, figure out, live with or in more cases then not, live without.   That is easy-peasy.  Whats not easy is when I can't deliver on my word or present those I care for with what they deserve, desire, need, should have and not have to go without... or perhaps it is only what I desire for them.  

I want to want nothing sometimes, so that everything that comes is an unexpected gift and even more so, so that the things that never arrive aren't ever missed.

It's raining hard.

The whales will be getting wet now.

Art school, f_rt school.

You are my favorite Artist H and I have a Chagal, I mean a Dali.  So there.

Who knows better then I?   No one, not even the whales, a hundred feet long...

love languages

And heaven knows what might have tweaked her mood during the course of the school day.
Its hard to be around people all day, for her.  It is.
Many afternoons she is semi glum when I fetch her.
Some days glum is an understatement.

And I get it, but just because I get it, doesn't mean I am perfect at dealing with it always.

"Why are you pulling up here?"

"What are you doing now?"

"What?

"MOM!"

and then.. "What are you thinking MOM?"  

And it was that last one, the "what are you thinking"  which insinuated that I was not thinking at all, that comment and here comes my no longer suppressed snap back, "STOP!" which is not what I want, I've no desire to stop the communication with someone who struggles to speak at all sometimes, much of the time, but this is what it comes to.

Sometimes.

  Sometimes - like when she wants to control every single thing, but doesn't need to.  

and I just want her to let go of what is not hers to worry about.  But there are times when she won't or can't and so she doesn't.  Instead she gets sad - sadder and also tense and also uptight and more then semi glum for sure.    Sigh.

There is nothing I can say to shift the mood, boost morale, change the tone of things.  I am in the "wrong" column now.   So... I do what any reasonable mother would do - I speak in tongues; I talk like the big dog does or would if he could, which he can't, but he does...

"Girl, why you am so sad, Girl?   You am mine favorite person-able in da world Girl.  You am."

This is what I have decided, pretty much by accident, that our large, yellow dog would sound like if he could talk.   And this is where I go and how I speak and what I say when I want to reach her, teach her, touch her, but being me is not remotely enough.

He's says, "Girl, I am you dog.  You am mine girl.  I am love you Girl.

When you go Girl, I am lonesomely and I am bored too and I am lick mine fur and bite mine tail until you come home Girl.  And dats all.  Yup.  Am.  Dats all Girl"

And she laughs a little and then it's different and it shifts and we are moving towards okay and I am back in the driver's seat and she is not asking why and what and huh and all the contrary questions that were on the tip of her tongue go away and it's easier to be us when I am the dog.

I don't think this is exactly what the author of The 5 Love Languages had in mind when he wrote the book on how to communicate your love to the ones you love, but here, with us, sometimes...

"This am all it takes to show you love.  Dats it.  Dats all.  Am.  Yup.  I am love you Girl,  Foreverness.  Even when it's hard and even when you bossy and even when you abstinent and den you go quiet.  I am love you Girl, no matter what".

what we know, when we know it

...after the unexpected pleasure of sipping coffee pretty much all darn day long, I vibrate happily down the sidewalk.
I thought about my life and the path I move along.  How I didn't predict it and how I have wished it was different and then on a day such as this, how I'm so overwhelmingly grateful for this exact path, worn out as it seems at times, there is no place I'd rather be then here, walking this way, in these shoes, with these companions and all my co-travelers.  

Pace quickening, heartbeat accelerating, palms sweating; with every step closer I feel the hopefulness spread through me, like the smile spreading across my face.

I am excited to see him and whats even better is, he is excited to see me.  Excited, not relieved, but just plain old vanilla excited.  Wahoo!

I realize it's too soon to tell, but then again, I always know exactly what I feel the moment I feel it.  

I'd save a whole lot of time by just taking what I see when I see it, believing that it is what I want.  Why do I hesitate when it comes to trusting my guttural decision making skills?  Why do I insist on over speculating, questioning whether or not it's just right, when I tend to know right away what is right?

I know who I love, how to dress, what to order, where to live and which is best, but the knowledge is so instantaneous that I often can't trust it.  It should be harder, right?    

I lamented about a decision for my boy and I wondered what was right and if and how and why, but I knew pretty much from the moment I saw it, that the place I'd place him, would be a fit...and it is.

Bingo.

He's back...

Holding hands, chatting away, watching for cars in the parking lot, but animatedly discussing the day and how it slipped away, this n that, that n this.

"Buckle up", I say

"Your car smells new mom".  I laugh, because it does NOT and yet in a strange way it does, everything feels and smells and just seems new today.

"Ooh.  Can I have this mommy?"   

"Why Baby?  Are you thirsty?",  I ask him as he drains the contents of my Smart Water bottle into his very tiny tummy.

"No, not thristy", followed by a belch.   Then so matter of factly he adds, "I'm going to fill this with concrete then shoot it out of a cannon"; said with all the confidence and conviction of a boy who actually owned a cannon along with a handy sack of concrete waiting to be mixed back at home.

I steer my car out into the street and smile more.  Smile even bigger then my face.  

"Thats a great idea.  You do that".  

artista

What once was a church in the center of a medium sized city, in this large state of our huge country, we four sit.  

Without turning my head at all, I can, in my mind clearly see their faces perched on top of rigid postured, stiff shoulders - one on either side of me.  He is not having it, she's lost in thought, concerned about something, but not something I could likely imagine.   And the smallest of us set upon my lap, for lack of an empty chair, whispers that he's hungry.   I point out that there is no eating in this auditorium as I fish from my purse a crumpled, well traveled package of Nutter Butters and open it for him.  
We are all contradictions, much as I strive to be the answer to the question of us, I am, I must admit, only part of our unsolvable equation.  

Just 11 years old and we are pressing the question; "What do you want to be when you grow up?"   Remarkable thing is, she actually knows the answer.   Confidence doesn't mean you're outgoing, nor necessarily that you are comfortable in crowds.  It doesn't mean you'll make eye contact or speak when spoken to.   It doesn't mean you have friends and dine at a crowded lunch table.   It doesn't mean that you'll try to be funny like your mother or stoic like your father nor smile all the time like your brother.  
It means that you know who you are inside, despite what you display on the outside.

Art  school tour

In private she expresses her concerns about her own artistic ability.  I tell her that she's truly "more then capable, but that if for any reason this place feels like it's too much,  we can make other choices".   "Lovely choices" I assure her.     She wants this, she really does and she's sure.  This is what could make her happy but no one would believe it, because she's barely looked around, not cracked even a half smile.  She's mopey and slow to move.   She is awkward in public today and it winds me up like a twister.   Where she is flat, I'm bubbly.   When she's quite, I'll speak.  She looks down, I turn up, she recoils, I shift forward, she ignores, I adopt.   
Compensation personified.  

I want to shield her from the not so nice things in this life, just as I am certain that I can't and also positive that she can endure more then even I could, ever.  

About all the things I wonder, she doesn't question.   Where I'm open, she's impenetrable.   What I wait for, she's passed.   Everything that pushes me, pulls me, tears me - she is numb to.  
Compensation personified.

I have never been able to see my future, try as I might, I couldn't picture it or my place in the years ahead - until just today, focused on where she'll go, I saw it.  
I saw myself with her and so now I know and I feel it ... my life will be long.


"All the art of living lies in the fine mingling of letting go and holding on".  H. Ellis

get over yourself

resolutions schmezolutions.

I like em.  I do.  I like the idea of clean slates, new beginnings as much as anyone.  

Like a new car;  no dents, full tank, new wipers, bright headlights -- just add an open road.  

Yet, try as I might, I can't keep my resolutions, well at least not entirely.   And I wonder why.

Today as I moved round my house, accomplishing nothing much, but in this lack of accomplishment my thoughts had the opportunity to go full circle.  

Full circle is a good thing.

My resolution for the year 2013 was; "be open to more and feel less guilt".   For what good is there in being open if truly unreceptive?   It's like taking a voyage without suitcases but carrying heaps of in-obvious baggage.  

Not much good about that.

Today I contemplated my past and then more recent resolutions and what exactly they were founded in.   

It's almost as if I wanted to resolve to forget myself.   Leave behind bits and pieces of me that didn't pan out or produce the desired affect.  Like I wanted to absolve me of, well, being me.  Not so easy.

And so I wondered what about myself and what I did last year 

and the year before that 

and the year before that 

and before that

and before that

what about me and "her" and who I was did I not just love and adore?   

What about me did I not want to take into my future?  And in the end, the end of my thoughts and the END of 2012, I concluded that there was not much about me that I didn't really love.  There was plenty I was ashamed of.   Tons I would have done differently knowing what I know now.   Much I should or could apologize for, perhaps.   Some I'd like to hide or consider lying about, but not really.  Nope, not really.  Because if I didn't have that, if I didn't do, see, feel or take part in all of that, then I'd not be this.   And what is this?   This is a woman who loves her parents, despite the odds.   This is a mother who can't get enough of her kids.   A sister who adores her siblings, more so each passing year.   A friend who can never repay the kindnesses shown to her.   A responsible pet owner who resists the urge to euthanize her dogs for being a-holes regularly and doing things like eating the last Duraflame log ( I really felt like a semi-artificial fire that night).   A volunteer who isn't afraid to hug other people's children, despite the social stigma.    A nurse who loathes the healthcare system.   An investor who fears the bank.   A chick who buys dresses without having anyone to wear them for.    Someone who says no, but means yes and vice versa.   A female who is not afraid to live alone, independent utterly.  A choice maker who makes decisions and deals with the results, good and bad... and here is the kicker, when you deal with your choices, in the end, there isn't any good or bad - there is just change. 

 AND change is good.  

I am a mess but not really, not when I look at myself with eyes that don't see everything I ever did and was and wasn't.   I am in fact the anti-mess.  I am just fine or really fabulously close to fine.   

So -  I wouldn't neaten my life up given the oportunity.  I would not have kept those now seemingly silly little resolutions I made before.  I wouldn't change a thing about it all.  I wouldn't dare go into the uncertain future unless I'd experienced the unavoidable mistakes and rewards of my past.  

I wouldn't alter a thing, except maybe one - I'd have accepted myself for just exactly who I am/was/am.  

That alone requires a huge amount of resolve.

RESOLUTION 2013, accept yourself.

It's alll about you.

Happy New Year.

big boys don't cry

He was going to fly planes.

...And also be an Astronaut; an Archeologist, a shark diving helicopter pilot with a cannon, who married his sister.   All of which I was very comfortable with, even the sister marrying part, but then he wasn't.   

Then he wasn't interested in any of it.  And then he sort of wanted to be nothing when he grew up, not even a shark diver and maybe not marry his sister after all. In fact he decided that he didn't want to grow up.  He wanted to be a baby all over again and stay that way forever.   

And then he sort of was.

I thought we had met our quota in the social maladies department in this teeny, tiny family of mine. 

Apparently not.

Would you believe that some of the smartest folks on earth are Dyslexic?  

It's true

thya uwer.  (they are)

Tomorrow morning, my son, my sun, will wake up, put on his new uniform and spend his day at a school for Dyslexic kids and though I'm feeling awfully fortunate to have figured out what exactly was getting him down, robbing him of his desire to soar through the sky, swim with man eaters, dig up old bones, blow holes in the world and screw up our blood line with potential incest, I'm still sort of freaked out about it.  

I have spent the majority of the past month with him night and day, night and day, night and day - while he's missed school, lost 1/6th of his body weight, been sickly and anxious, afraid to read, feeling dumb and hopeless - and it's been one of the saddest, sweetest times of my life.  

As I tell him not to be afraid of the new school, I have to say it to myself as well.  

Gonna hurt to let go of his little hand.  

We've had some of the most meaningful conversations of my life over the past thirty some odd days.  Together we've Christmas shopped, shared secrets, planned meals, taken walks, developed a routine thats become, well, routine.   

We've listened to an awful lot of music.  We have "our songs".  We have our lunch spots, our sleeping positions.  He's become a resident in my bed.  We have our private jokes and we have our shared attachment to his sister, whom we wait anxiously for outside the school yard gate at the end of each day.  The school yard where he used to play, where he loved to be, until he didn't anymore, until letters and words caught up to him.

Crazy to admit to myself and then of course to you, that it hurts to do the right thing. You see, I know that my very smart boy is going to fit right in at the new school.  He's going to learn to read.  He's going to realize how very clever he is.  He's going to make friends, feel strong.  He's going to love school and probably sleep in his own bed.  He'll start dreaming of diving with sharks, finding ancient ruins, flying to the stars and probably even find some non-relative girl whom he can legally wed.   I'm going to lose him to himself; his bright, sweet, brave, incredible self.

Just remember my little man, you can always come home.

The Fog

Tension.

I felt tense.

No way to turn around.  Can't go back to the house for the night.  Can't risk a do over, try again to leave in the morning light.  

We couldn't see 5 feet in front of us.  

Rainy.

  Felt very late, but it wasn't even five O'clock.

I will mind the fog advisory in the future.

This is exhausting.

"It's my fault", she whispers. 

Note to self, call the cable company.

I was clearly high when I said that we could live without TV on lake house weekends. 

My kids are anxious to return to civilized life and Nick Jr, etc...

I tell her that ultimately all decisions are mine.  

"I decided we'd go home".   I decide because I'm the mom. 

"Just look with me Baby, be my second eyes.  We are fine", I say.

" This fog isn't anyone's fault anyhow".

Even I'm calmed by my own voice.

Even I trust me.

... I had this inner assurance that we'd be A-okay, but I don't know why or from where it came.

At one point I was forced to a complete stop, which meant that any one of the nearly dozen vehicles trailing behind me could have smashed right into us.  A huge boulder, the size of a lawn chair lay in the middle of the road, surrounded by baby boulders, smaller versions of itself.  Apparently the mountain was just off to my right, dropping stone, haphazardly onto our narrow, steeply declining roadway, but you'd never know that hillside was right there.   

Nothing, not a single thing was visible.

But... I had that feeling inside, that undeniable knowledge, a certainty that we were and would continue to be safe.   And then when we reached the far clearer highway, having come down the 5700 fog socked feet, I flew, instantly free from dense, soupy, clouded oppression and miraculously void of the tension I felt on my descent.   It was as if it had never happened.

Why is it that we can be in the center of something dangerous and obstructive and yet be utterly positive that it will end and not kill us?

Why aren't we able to employ that logic or sense in all areas of our life?

Tonight, as I lay me down to rest... I'll remind myself that there is nothing I can't navigate and endure.

 What feels heavy will lift in time.

It's just a fog...