The Lottery

I didn't win the lottery.  You probably didn't either.  But I played.  Why not.  While it may be true that the odds are against it, someone has to win.  Just like millions of other people last night, I was making my plans for the 540,000,000.  Not investing my happiness into it but coming up with a plan of action just in case.  First of all, I would give two weeks notice at work.  I would probably be very distracted during those two weeks but I would try to do the best I could nonetheless.  I would also start looking for a big house in the town that I'm moving to this summer.  Big enough for 2 adults, 6 kids, and some pets, and maybe an "Alice" for our Brady Bunch.  On the water if possible.  I would also want a quiet space for writing and spiritual practices.  But that's pretty much it.

I was a gypsy for several years, loving each of the places I lived in but as soon as I was settled in a town I would think, "what's next?"  There were many years of vague dissatisfaction with what I was doing, or not doing as the case may be.  If I had won the lottery at that point I think it would have been a disaster.  I would have been one of those people that blows through all of the money in a few years because I didn't have any direction, but never wanted to be where I was.  Now I do, and it is a great feeling to know that if I came into a lot of money I would just like to make things a little more comfortable and free up some more time to pursue my current interests.  I guess that means that life is good, with or without 540 million dollars, and that is kind of like winning the lottery.

In The Driver's Seat

The only things I manage to keep alive in my house are my children.  Our pets have met unfortunate and untimely demises, and plants are a hopeless cause.  Slightly overprotective, it was not that long ago that I stopped a nightly ritual of making sure they have not stopped breathing in their sleep.  Every stage from infancy to teens has its own parental terrors.  Keeping them physically and emotionally safe has been a full time job.  However, today it was my life in my son's hands.  He just got his Learner's Permit.

I think I pictured having to cajole him into driving, imagined myself giving him a little pep talk.  I pull up to pick him up from his last Driver's Ed lesson and he doesn't hesitate--he heads right toward the driver's seat.  He reached his hand under the seat to pull the lever and scooted back to give his 6'3" frame some room.  This was his first time in my car and I could see it dawning on him that my car was going to be different than the one he was used to practicing in.  He pulled out of the parking lot onto Route 1, the sensitive car jerking under his touch.  He glanced over at me and admitted that he was much more nervous with me in the car, but quickly added that I was not doing anything to cause that.  I recognized the look of concern in this face that has more than a passing resemblance to my own.  Knowing how seriously he was taking this new responsibility allowed me to slightly loosen my grip on the door.

School Lunches

When the kids start the count down to summer vacation, so do I. However their countdown is measured in days, mine in school lunches.  3 per day.  Packing school lunches has been the bane of my existence since we stopped homeschooling almost 5 years ago, or approximately 730 sandwiches ago.  171 left to go this school year.  It may not be rational to hate making lunches so vehemently when preparing breakfast isn't a chore and even dinner on a busy evening isn't too bad.  As is often the case, out of the mouths of babes, came a plausible answer.  My son, who was nine at the time, pointed out that while the meals that I'm cooking for a sit down meal are more work, I have the pleasure of watching them enjoy the food that I made for them.  With the school lunches I don't get to hear their appreciative slurping or them asking if there is more food.  I don't get to have the instant gratification of making my sons happy.  And as they say the way to a man's heart after all is through his stomach.

Last June I read an article in some woman's magazine that was written by a woman who had just packed her last school lunch since her youngest graduated high school.  It was a touching article and I actually get teary every time I think about it.  I also feel guilty.  I'd really like to be the mom that enjoys doing this daily act of maternal benevolence.  At least I did until when I thought I would be commiserating with a fellow parent over the banality school lunch packing, she looked at me incredulously and asked, "You mean they don't pack their own lunches?"  A ray of hope appeared and I accosted several other parents as they were leaving karate class with their respective broods in tow, and many of them had similar responses.  It turns out a lot of kids make their own lunches.  Who knew?!  Of course, I made my own school lunches as a child but I don't think I enjoyed it much then either.  I probably thought if I did a bad enough job my mom would take over, so as a result some of my fifth grade lunches contained ham and M&M sandwiches, and in my thermos a little bit of every beverage in the fridge, resulting in an orange juice-Pepsi-milk shake.  I have 2,621 more chances to embrace the lunches.  If not, I'm afraid in eight years I will be writing an article of regret over not packing them food made with love.

Happy Endings

Like many other adults and teens, I'm reading the Hunger Games.  I had tried to read it before, even though the plot was too morbid for my taste, but the opening pages did not grab my attention.  With so many interests and obligations competing for my time, I decide early on with a book if it is worth it.  Not peer pressure, but the need to keep up with cultural references was the reason I picked it up again last night.  This time I was able to get farther into it, in fact I'm looking forward to reading it when I'm done here.  The theme of sacrificing yourself for a young one that you love strikes a chord with me.

Parenting is terrifiying.  There are so many things that I wish I could shield my children from experiencing.  From small annoyances like a skinned knee, bad grade on a test, loosing a $20 bill, to big heartbreaks and disappointments such as a divorce, death, and soul-crushingly unfulfilling careers.  But like Dory said in Finding Nemo:  "Well you can't not let anything ever happen to him.  Then nothing would ever happen to him.  And that wouldn't be any fun for little Harpo."  We all came into this world to experience life; not just the fun and easy parts of it.  I'm sure that I'm  in good company when I say that the best parts of my life now, would not have been possible without going through pain to get there.  That  will inevitably include watching my children battle these challenges as well.  Hopefully it will all conclude with some great stories and a happy ending.

Spring?

For the first time in 44 years I am not ready for spring.  Typically by now, the bare branches and brown grass have worn out their welcome.  Normally, the sarongs that I wear all summer long would be beckoning to me from the drawer that does not get opened for 9 months of the year.  Any rise in temperature should be sending happy hormones pumping through my veins.  Not this year.

With only enough snowfall to get me out on my new skis twice this winter, even in Maine the season was a non-event.  I never even got stuck at the bottom of an icy hill once this year in my crappy car; while it was a biweekly event last winter.  There weren't many reasons to hole up at home in front of a fire.  Perhaps that is why when it was time to be inward, still and introspective, I was energetic, creative and expansive.  And now, just when the birds are singing, quite loudly at the moment, I'm tired.  For weeks I've been exhausted and starved.  Eating everything in sight and sleeping much longer than usual.  My mind has been too quiet.  Like a bear preparing for hibernation just at the time it should be venturing out.

There was a story on the news about apple orchards being at risk of losing much of their crops because of the unusually warm weather.  The fruit mature too early or another frost can come and damage them at a crucial point in their development.  One owner of an orchard said that similar conditions a few years ago caused him to drop from his average yield of 40,000 bushels to merely 3,000.  Can people also be stunted in their development if they are out of rhythm?  If so, I wonder if there are any fixes to get back to the natural order of things.

The Skirt Off Her Hips

Maybe it was because I was an only child.  Maybe it was because I lost my father at a young age and was lonely and self-absorbed with insecurities.  Maybe I was just a spoiled brat who had an epiphany at age 11.  Regardless, I clearly remember the exact moment when I realized that everyone else has their own thoughts, completely independently of me, and it was in the fifth grade.  In particular, I was thinking that a cute violin-playing fourth grader was probably not thinking about me that sunny Saturday afternoon.  If he did have a thought about me it probably involved how annoying I was.  The good old days before stalking got you expelled.  There has to be research out there quantifying the average age we are when we realize that we are not the center of the Universe, and reason for all other beings to exist.  11 years old sounds a bit on the high side.  My 10-year-old has me beat; for sure.

This morning, I was actually on track to have a good day.  Lunches were made, breakfast wasn't a hassle, my hair was even dry and it was looking like I'd have enough free time to actually put on make-up before getting to work.  That's where I was wrong.  I had given my middle son a twenty dollar bill which he proceeded to lose within 5 minutes, somewhere between the dining room and bedroom.  He was very upset and hard on himself.  Then I heard the 10 year-old say that he found the money under the table.     But that wasn't true.  The original twenty had fallen out of his brother's pocket upstairs. I found it on my bed.   So by now we had two twenty dollar bills, two upset boys and one late mother whose hair in the meantime frizzed out and circles were darkening under her eyes.  Aaaarrghh.  It turns out that the younger brother had planted a twenty under the table to make his brother feel better about losing money.  When the original one was found he slipped the other one back into his wallet.  So sweet.  Maybe it's because he is the third child, a position that is impossible to be under the delusion the world begins and ends with you.  It's not the first time that I've seen an altruistic side to him.

That wasn't the only act of generosity I witnessed today.  The other was toward me when a friend literally gave me the skirt off of her hips simply because I really liked it.  Now, I protested at first and tried to convince her not to give it to me, but she is not a woman who takes no for an answer.  It turns out that I'm twice her size so I can't keep it anyway, but I was touched by the gesture.  Gratitude is a state that I've improved on a lot as an adult, I'm content with less.  But what I'm feeling gratitude for today are the people in my life that aid in my growth, and the knowledge that being grateful for something that you have is important, but so is recognizing when there is someone out there that would appreciate it even more.  I wonder what my grade-school crush is thinking about today.

Hand in Hand

A sound from the hallway roused me from my sleep a few minutes before the alarm was set to go off.  I rolled over and snuggled behind the handsome man sleeping next to me and rested my hand lightly on his side.  I was hoping I wouldn't wake him up but I couldn't resist a few moments of contact before starting one of my typically hectic days.  He stirred, briefly covering my hand in his, and fell back to sleep.  For fifteen cozy minutes I was at peace.

I don't take these moments for granted; far too many of my mornings are spent with a sweet warm cup of coffee instead of my man.  But I always know when the next time I'm with him will be.  Four years ago I was waking up every morning alone.  The worst part about it was not knowing when the next time I would have human contact would be.  Any kind.  A kiss, hug, even a handshake at that point.  I was feeling affection deprived.

That's when I came across the Chinese chair massage therapists in the mall.  A dollar a minute.  My back was very sore, I could definitely justify a 20 minute massage.  The therapists did not really speak English but the person working on me had a very nice presence.  He was very tall, great leverage for massaging, and he was not afraid to put the pressure on.  He intuitively knew my problem spots and quickly dispatched them.  He worked on my glutes and thighs too.  But then he took my arm and bent it around my back to position the muscles correctly. To keep my arm that way he lightly pressed the palm of his hand to mine.  Some people may have been unnerved by someone massaging their butt and thighs in public, but it was that light touch of our palms that almost made me cry.

Sex Not Equal to Sadness

My son told me today that his health teacher taught their class that they should never "have sex" they should always "make love."  The teacher followed this up with, "Sex always leads to one of two things: sadness or poor decisions."  My response:  "If that were true there would be a lot of depressed people walking around."   It is a hard job she has; I sympathize with the difficult task she's been given.  She's trying to keep them physically and emotionally safe, and I appreciate that.   Encouraging good decision making is a good thing.  However I think that trying to shape a particular attitude about sexuality is intrusive.

Even though I put quotation marks around the teacher's statements, it is probable that these quotes aren't entirely accurate.  They are filtered through a 13 year old boy's brain.  It's likely he heard the word sex and then every ninth word after that.  But I'm concerned about the message that is getting through, regardless of the original wording.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with having sex.  It can actually be a lot of fun, and it does not mean that you do not love or respect each other if you'd rather have sex than make love, at least some of the time.  You can show your love other ways like making them ice cream sundaes and hand holding in the movies.   I'm pretty sure the only sadness the next day would be wondering when the next time will be.  I'm not in a hurry for any of the boys to rush into their sex lives, but I don't like the fact that a woman is already putting rules on what it should be like.   They will have enough women trying to do that in the years to come.  No pun intended.






   

Chickadee Dee Dee

I'm not the first person to be compelled to write about springtime, nor will I be the last.  I'm probably not even the first person to write the previous sentence.  Robert Frost, Robert Blake, Shakespeare all wrote eloquently of springtime so what could I add that they did not already cover?  Nothing, but it does not matter since I have no choice.  The only thoughts in my head are of spring.  Specifically all of the birds that seemed to know it was coming before me.

The male Black-capped Chickadee, state bird of Maine, is the herald of life after winter. There was one perched on the bare branches of a tree outside of my office last week.  Although I heard him before I saw him.  Today was almost warm, just breaking 60 degrees--40 degrees warmer than I week ago, and it was sunny.  I walked around the perimeter of my office building, continuing my search for life and found a single purple flower up against the concrete foundation.  I also saw that the trees were not bare, they had smallish fuzzy buds which I petted like a rabbit foot for luck.  If the luck works It will be another 20 degrees warmer next week.

The second harbinger of spring is the willingness of my sons to take a walk with me.  For an hour, we were able to hang up our winter coats along with our cares and traipse outside.  Meandering down the windy street we daydreamed semi-realistic hopes for a home in the future, and not so realistically planned our defense strategies in the event of a zombie apocalypse.  I'm thinking that early spring with the good visibility of bare trees would be an asset when avoiding the walking undead.  But the birds just might give us away.

Sunrise, Sunset

You notice the beauty of the sky in the morning.  The colors draw your eye up, and curiosity keeps them there.  The tone of the day can be set in those moments.  Friendly fluffy clouds, dramatic dark clouds, or clear cloudless skies.  It's exciting to have a fresh start ahead.  

Then the whole day speeds by and we don't notice the sky again until the colors return.  The mystery is over at that point.  We know what kind of day we had.  We can enjoy the vibrant colors of the sun setting either in celebration that a difficult day is ending, or in contented reflection of a day well spent.  But without the colors and the dramatically lit clouds, was there much of a reason to look up?  

When our kids are babies we notice every little nuance in their behaviors, we have the honor of witnessing most of their milestones:  sitting, rolling over, eating solid foods, walking and talking.  As older children, they continue these daily advances but we only notice a fraction of them.  And at a certain point the milestones that they are achieving normally aren't meant for their parents eyes.  

Eventually the days wind down and colors return.  There is something intimate about sunset.  The lighting is soft and indirect, like candlelight.  A time for honesty and self-reflection, until the sun has gone completely away.

Full of Hot Air

I hate blowing up balloons.  They taste strange and powdery.  It hurts your cheeks to blow then up and can be tiring if the balloon is large and thick.  Tying them off is awkward and can pinch your fingers.

People are like balloons.  If they aren't filled up enough they are too soft and won't rise.  They are sad looking and lack purpose.  If they are filled up with too much hot air they have the potential to burst and are disconcerting to be around.  When a balloon is filled up the right amount, it is light, buoyant and achieves the size and shape it was meant to have.

I once knew a gloriously wild woman who first introduced the concept to me of the importance of filling up the right amount of space in the world.  Some people probably thought she took up more space than was due to her, with what my boyfriend would refer to as witch hair, and a certain flair for the dramatic as she walked with her head held high.  I wouldn't agree.  She was simply comfortable in her own skin and that can be intimidating.  Filling up your own ballon does not prevent others from doing the same.  If anything, it is an invitation to join in.  The more balloons the better at this party we are all invited to.

Guilty

I'm feeling guilty about not posting on here every day.  But perhaps slightly less guilty than I would feel subjecting people to the mindless drivel that I would produce if I posted what I wrote when I'm exhausted.  I have been writing, and I've been thinking about writing, which was really was my goal.  But I need to find some bursts of mental as well as physical energy to write anything worth reading.

I've been exhausted all week--it's no wonder since I go strong 5:30 am-11:30 pm.  However I'm not the only one complaining of fatigue; many of the people at work have been saying the same thing.  Maybe it's because we are starting to come out of hibernation.  Feeling groggy like coming out of a nap. Woken up by the sound of Chickadees, hopping from bare branch to bare branch sounding much more awake than me.  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to remember the dream I was having, and start to plan the spring.

Cloak of Invisibility

Scientists are on their way to inventing a cloak of invisibility like in Harry Potter.  They've invented a synthetic fabric that can allow light to bend around an object, and if light is not bouncing off of an object then it can't be seen.  So the question is, are there objects around us that are already doing this?  Are there things right next to us that we can't see, simply because the light is not hitting it?  Like spirits or an alternate parallel universe?  Is it the same thing as the tree falling in the forest, if there is no one to see it is it not there?

Gratitude

The children in my life know not to ask for anything in the morning until they can see the bottom of my coffee cup.  They exhibit either great patience since it is a considerably large cup, or self-reliance if they give up and eventually take care of their own needs.  The youngest eventually caught on that I was refilling it when they weren't looking.  The rest of the day I'm at their disposal, I probably even do a little too much for them, so it isn't an unwillingness to cater to them, I just really need that morning ritual for both the quiet centering time as well as the caffeine.  After that I'm generally in a good mood and ready to start the day.  My good mood today however is oddly specific.  It is a good mood with a theme--gratitude.

Eating my eggs this morning I thought of the chickens that hopefully were relatively comfortable in their job of providing protein.  I was grateful for the boyfriend who bought the more expensive cage-free eggs since he knows that it is important to me.  And that isn't the only thing that he's done for me even if he personally thinks it may be silly if not downright nutty; like the time he took my crystals outside in the freezing cold night so that they could soak up some full moon energy.  Listening to the little girl across the table from me chomp on buttered toast, while I enjoyed the same, I could see the wheat in the field on a warm sunny day, even though the view through the window today is dreary.  The wind that pollinated the field and the fresh water and fertile dirt all a part of making our breakfast possible.  The farmer, baker, truck driver, cashier all playing their roles to get food on the table for us to enjoy.

Truthfully, if I were reading this I probably would be gagging a bit.  At times I can get a bit cynical of public displays of gratitude, wondering what the motivation is.  Like a child coming up and giving you a big hug and saying I love you right before asking for a hot fudge sundae.  That may have been unfair though.  Assuming I've finished my morning coffee the next time I hear of someone raving about how grateful they are, I will take their comments at face value, and take the opportunity to revisit everything that I am grateful for as well.

Almost Perfect

Perfection is desirable during brain surgery and synchronized swimming.  Other than that it is the flaws that make life interesting.  Sure,  it would be great not have cellulite or to be able to sing on key.   My nose is bent and I have a distracting mole above my eye.  There is a tooth that snags my lip when I smile.  I truly dislike all of these things but for better or worse, they are a part of me.   Not much is actually perfect in life, and that is actually a good thing, because perfection is boring.  There are no surprises in perfection.  

I used to know someone whose whole life was chasing perfection, and even with considerable talents and advantages he was never happy.  He was an accomplished violinist but would only let me hear him play with his orchestra, not alone where I could actually hear his individual sound.  His house was gorgeous on first glance, but the facades were artificial.   He kept his girlfriends at arms length and after their inevitable break up he would write beautiful and poignant romanticized accounts of their relationship.  The idea of everything more perfect than the reality.  I'm concerned that in this quest for the perfect relationship, he's missed out on authentically wonderful ones.

I'm paying an exorbitant amount of money for braces for my son, so I do believe some things are worth trying to "fix."  But it's important to know when to enjoy what you have while still striving for improvement, not perfection.  Except if you are a brain surgeon or a synchronized swimmer.  

Out of the Closet

Snow day!  Which means even though I'm in bed for the night but still wearing the nightshirt I slept in last night (although I did slip on a pair of jeans to move my car for the plow truck) I had an extremely productive day.  A snow day is almost like a bonus day--sort of like Leap Day should be.  Now that I think of it Leap Day should be a national holiday, observed by doing everything you've really wanted to do but just don't have the time.  For me that was clean the bathroom, start an online course on the Power of Intent because I want to make the most of my time (ironically I started the course 6 weeks late) and tackled the younger boys' closet with their assistance.

Their closet is not used for clothes, it is where board games, toys, costumes and several boxes of lego sets live.  There were many cloth grocery bags filled with random objects, some once-loved and have been MIA for years, others cheap broken gadgets from birthday party grab bags.  Most of the process of cleaning out this closet consisted of playing with the loot.  I kept trying to remind them of the purpose--a pile to keep, a pile to give away and a pile to toss.  The ratio ended up closer to 10-1-1.  By the end of the afternoon, there was a sense of order, at least the threat of a lego avalanche was less likely.  A mental inventory of toys and activities was refreshed in their minds. Fire hazards abated.

My first shamanic journey was about 6 years ago.  At the time I just thought it was going to be a relaxing morning, since I did not believe that my mind could break away from this reality and visit with guides from the spirit world.  On the contrary, within seconds of the drumbeat starting I was in a beautiful other place meeting animal guides and dancing from dawn until nightfall around a fire.  When my companions left I looked into the sky and the constellations came to life.  One that looked like a grandmother gave me advice.  It isn't often that stars want to give you words of wisdom so I was enthralled.  But mostly all she said was. "You need to clean your house."  Although that advice was somewhat anti-climatic, she was correct.  When the house is in order, our minds can be in order, and our spirits will follow suit.