INEXPLICABLE

Twice in the last 24 hours I've been asked to describe Rojo to people that know of him, but don't know him. I'm a flippin' writer. I'm his own mother, for God's sake, why is this so hard?

On paper Rojo is/has this:

* 13-years-old next week
* Somewhere on the very broad, very vague, very unhelpful in understanding him, Autism Spectrum
* ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, which is so poorly named it's laughable. The boy has an ABUNDANCE of attention, not a deficit - the problem is he pays equal attention to every single thing vying for his attention. The hyperactive part is fitting.
* OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, although the argument could be made that this is part of the "fun" of being "on the spectrum")
* Auditory Processing Disorder (disconnect between what is heard and what the brain understands)
* Sensory Integration Dysfunction (both tactile defensive and seeking - it's complicated)
* Poor motor planning both gross and fine (rode a bike at 12, handwriting is laborious, forget about ever tying a shoe)
* Unofficially learning disabled (by definition this is a gross discrepancy between intellect and performance - because we have no reliable method to test his intelligence, this will never be proven)

Some of the things he cannot do at this time:

* Fully bathe/shower by himself
* Prepare his own food (even a sandwich, although he does open a mean bag of chips using scissors and several attempts)
* Listen to teacher directions and get to work, he requires an aide to reinforce/repeat what the instructions are, and help him stay on task, as well as help to modify as needed
* Tie, button, snap or buckle, which means on school days he needs help dressing - summertime T-shirts and basketball shorts he's got covered

What the tests/diagnoses/report cards don't say:

* He's fully enlightened. He has no ego. None. He loves everyone, has no judgment, only compassion, and is incapable of having an unkind thought or speaking an unkind word.
* He is always in the now, with no regrets and no looking back. He has positive expectancy for the future and looks forward to the simplest of pleasures/activities, and none are beyond the next 24-hours or so.
* He never complains. Never.
* His sense of humor is highly developed and his comedic timing is dead on.
* He's incredibly empathetic, he sees/senses when others are upset and "holds space" with them so beautifully, I wish he could teach classes on how to do this. He just knows intrinsically how to be with another's pain, not fix it, not make it go away, just be with it.
* He is well loved by all: teachers, classmates, kids in other grades both older and younger, and of course, his family.
* When he smiles his dimples dig in, his eyes twinkle, and his pure, unadulterated joy washes over everyone in the room.

And that's just for starters...



(Photo of him playing the "Yelling Game," I think in this one he "is" TD Jakes.)

TOP 10 FAVORITE MOTHER TERESA QUOTES

10. "Good works are links that form a chain of love. "

9. "The success of love is in the loving - it is not in the result of loving. Of course it is natural in love to want the best for the other person, but whether it turns out that way or not does not determine the value of what we have done."

8. "Love begins by taking care of the closest ones - the ones at home."

7." Let us always meet each other with a smile, for the smile is the beginning of love."

6."Do not think that love, in order to be genuine, has to be extraordinary. What we need is to love without getting tired."

5. "I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love."

4. "Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls."

3. "It is not the magnitude of our actions but the amount of love that is put into them that matters."

2. "I do not pray for success, I ask for faithfulness. "

1. "In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love."

ALL PATCHED UP AND ON MY WAY

Last July I started having some serious hot flash problems, and made an appointment with a naturopath I'd heard about. All I knew was that I was going to gracefully move through menopause naturally. It took weeks to get in with the doctor, and by the time I did, in September, the hot flashes had mysteriously disappeared. All that led us to believe they were stress related, and not menopause.

Long menopause story short, they were both. Been working with her for almost a year now and NEVER FELT BETTER.

Until end of June, aka, a couple weeks home with the two loves of my life.

Hot flashes started again - a few at night, then escalated to the level they were last summer, every 30 minutes, round-the-clock and absolutely crazy making. So, booked another appointment with her and was able to get in yesterday. I've already blogged about how much I love this woman, and yesterday was affirming of that. It was like having coffee (or herbal tea, as the case may be) with an old friend. We sat in cozy chairs with our legs tucked under us and talked for 60 minutes. She listened. Finally, she said, "You could go the natural route and I think it would be effective, but it would require several supplements and probably 4-6 weeks before you'd see any significant relief. Or," she paused, "I could prescribe the estrogen patch and you'd feel better by tomorrow."

I'm patched.

I'm going to use it for July and August, and in August start the natural supplements so that they overlap with the patch, and are in full swing by September 7th, aka Labor Day, aka my favorite holiday.

And yes, I feel better already. Only woke up three times last night, instead of 12-16. I may make it through the entire day without biting anyone's head off.

Maybe.

BIG DAY FOR ME

See this pile of unmatched socks? The pile of hopefuls? The pile of singles that have long lost their mates, but for whom I still hold out hope of finding?

Getting tossed.

Today is the day I free them of their need to be matched, and let them go to sock heaven where they can live out the rest of their soul's journey without my forcing their need to couple.

When I was a little girl my favorite book included a double page spread of unmatched mittens, and my mom and I would sit there for what felt like hours, and match them all up. She would point to one, I'd point to the match, then it would be my turn. I still have that book, it sits on Rojo's bookshelf now. Neither he nor Woohoo have been charmed and hypnotized by that game like I was. Perhaps they don't have the same innate need to "tidy" as I do.

You see? I like things neat and clean, no loose ends, no "we'll sees," no pots without their lids, no singleton socks. Life, as it turns out, doesn't work that way, have you noticed that, too?

Today? Socks.

Tomorrow? The sky's the limit.

LET'S START A TREND

When I went back out to WUG (acronym that stands for the three initials of the 5 original owners/siblings) after writing the "Affirmation" post, I told my cousin about it.

"I wrote a post about you," I said. She is not the extrovert so many of us WUGgers are, so I assured her I hadn't used her name or shown her picture. "I love how you said, 'I affirm that in you,'" I continued.

Adjusting her sun hat she said, "Someone said that to me once."

Clearly that person made an impression on my cousin, who in turn passed the favor on to me.

I vow to "affirm" someone today, to look deeply within their eyes, to listen intently and without agenda, to hear them, then to simply and beautifully say, "I affirm that in you."

Hell, I may even do it to/with my husband. Lord only knows how far that could ripple!


* Photo from www.jitzul.com

LET FREEDOM RING

This is a very bad picture of a very good image - a rainbow in the background, our flag of freedom in the foreground.

Happy 4th of July!

love.

AFFIRMATION

The main reason for our "vacation" this week of all weeks, is that Sisters is an hour away from my extended family's annual 4th of July week reunion. 42 years in a row, and going strong.

Each day the gathering grows, the river gets warmer, the mosquito bites and sunburn lines increase. Most of these cousins I don't see all year, but when we meet up at WUG, we pick up right where we left off. We stick our now middle aged bodies into old swimsuits, apply the SPF 50, the spray with DEET, and grab a floatie. We slog through boggy water and duck under willow branches to climb to the top of the property. We 1-2-3 jump into the Little Deschuttes river and float away the last year of our lives for each other to hear, and the river to wash clean.

Beer O'Clock comes early and we move ancient folding chairs into the water and enjoy the best of both worlds: half submerged, half basking in the sun. Talk moves from surface to deeper layers as the week progresses.

We watch as our beautiful teenage daughters canoe upstream. Standing up. We remember when we were those girls, coming to WUG in between years of high school, in between childhood and adulthood, in between innocence and harsh reality.

I tell a cousin of my year - my "successes" my "failures," my hopes and dreams for the year to come. "I need a project," I say. "I need something that takes my mind away from the day-to-day minutiae, that betters the world, that makes a difference."

"I affirm that in you," she says.

And just like that, I feel affirmed, and although I know I don't need another to affirm me, I soak it, and the love all around me, up like the hot July day.

The four of us are "vacationing" for a week, and more than once the thought has occurred to me, we need another family here to make this work. So, any takers? Here's what we're looking for:

1 boy, any age, to wake up at 5:30 with Rojo and squeal with glee. Must like to count water fountains, watch "Wheel of Fortune" and "i Carly," watch him "play" basketball, and repeat themselves many hundreds of times per hour.

1 teenage girl with whom Woohoo can argue. Girl must prefer the hours between noon and midnight, and like to live in squalor. Sense of humor required, as well as good self-esteem as Woohoo is one of those "I can eat anything I want and never gain a pound" type of girls.

1 husband to watch Fox News and endlessly discuss the intricacies of domestic affairs. Must know the unemployment rates of every state (both reported and actual). Must own a mountain bike and be able to keep up for 2-3 hour rugged rides.

1 wife that will do all the cooking (I will do all the shopping and cleaning). Must like to sit under the shady tree with a good book, looking up every now and then to share a good laugh and/or cry. Must walk at precisely my speed and laugh at all my jokes and never tire of my vents. Must enjoy a good Margarita promptly at 5:00.

GARAGE SALE AFTER THOUGHTS

The garage sale went better than I'd expected, especially considering there were multiple opportunities for my pain body to become activated.

What I didn't expect was all the surprise visitors. You see, this is a neighborhood-wide garage sale, it's "famous." People come from all over to have the ease of garage sale after garage sale as well as well-placed port-o-potties and opportunities to support youth groups, and other worthy causes, by buying a hotdog or snow cone.

The traffic started about 7:30 A.M. and didn't start to die down until after 3:00 P.M. In that time one of Rojo's preschool teachers came by, his 6th grade teacher and two former babysitters. Old neighbors that have moved and were back visiting, neighbors that still live right where they always have but whom we seldom see, and friends from every chapter of our lives.

The whole thing ended gloriously when a friend from high school - on the hunt for soaker hoses - showed up. She didn't find her soaker hoses, but she met up with another friend, stopped by to get me and said, "You know it occurred to us, we could be drinking Margaritas right now." 15 minutes later the three of us - one old friend and one new and me - were drinking delicious Margaritas on a hot summer day, and laughing until we made spectacles of ourselves.

We sold all our junk, Woohoo made some money for her room makeover project, and several family members worked together harmoniously.

Last night I was keyed up from the day and having trouble sleeping. Eventually I did sleep, and I dreamed of the garage sale. People kept coming up to me with odds and ends and were asking, "How much?" Finally someone came up with a lobster cage filled with books. I knew it was some kind of sign. Time will tell just what kind of sign it proves to be.

All in all a good day.

Can't talk now, got a garage sale to get ready for.

The one I said I'd never have again.

The one I said I'd sooner pay people to take this *&%$ away before I'd haggle over a quarter.

The one that involves multiple sellers with multiple coded price tags, with multiple inherent headaches and mix-ups.

That one.

20/20

Been awhile since I've been to the eye doctor. In fact, been so long I could no longer remember the name of the doctor that had examined my eyes, or just how long it had been, but it's been at least five years. Or. Ten.

Red veins started appearing on my eyeballs over a year ago, and finally vanity alone forced me to schedule an appointment to have them checked out. Of course with the phone phobia and all, I was limited by which doctors I could see in the Portland area, namely those that had an on-line scheduling option.

So, I pretty much got on Google and finally found an eye clinic nearby, one with a million doctors, and me with no preference other than which one could see me the soonest to assure me I wasn't going blind.

Got there and boy, have things changed since the last time I had my eyes examined, so much high tech equipment. I was eye-dropped, tested for glaucoma, had my field of vision tested, and a bunch of other things I wasn't following.

My right eye passed with flying colors, the left one? Not so much. The young doctor, approximately 1/2 my age says with his face 3 inches from mine, "You have amblyopia, 'lazy eye,' undiagnosed. This is my specialty. You also have cataracts on this eye. Also my specialty. Very unusual for someone your age, but we'll get your vision improved in that eye, don't you worry."

He then went on to suggest a test that clinic didn't have, so I'll be joining him at his other office in a couple weeks to have a P.A.M. test, whatever that is. Then we'll know if I'm "looking" at surgery. Didn't feel too bad that I didn't know what that test was, as neither did the assistant, the receptionist, nor the other eye doctor that walked by as we were discussing it.

Couldn't help but have "No accidents" run constantly through my head as I marveled at how my phone phobia landed me with the one guy whose specialty is just what I've got.

Oh, and the ugly red veins that brought me there? Just ugly red veins. Nothing wrong, nothing you can do about them. They're the result of UV damage. Ironic, as I've lived my entire life in NW Oregon, where the UV rays have to be amongst the lowest on the planet.

REALIZED POTENTIAL

"When we talk about gaining the perfect wisdom of a Buddha, we should not think that we need to create qualities in ourselves that are not there already, and acquire them from somewhere outside of us. Rather, we should see perfect Buddha wisdom as a potential that is being realized." The Dalai Lama

* Photo from urban.csuohio.edu

THE ANNOUNCEMENT

I must admit, I've been following the Jon and Kate drama. Like millions and millions of people, I tuned in last night to hear (and read) of their decision to split up.

The whole thing makes me sad, and although I have plenty of opinions on the matter, my greatest opinion is simply this: marriage is hard. That any survive is a flippin' miracle. That any survive after kids is a bonus miracle. That any survive when there are extenuating circumstances around the children (i.e. sheer number or need), is a miracle beyond all miracles. That being said, it's not because they have eight kids that their marriage has failed. The stress and strain of the extenuating circumstances is a fire that burns a person down to their true essence, and sadly enough, sometimes there's just not enough there to work with after the burning.

I have a new theory - one I've been working on for awhile, but the Jon and Kate thing has brought it to the light. It goes a little something like this: When your marriage is tanking, it really doesn't matter how well anything else is going. When your marriage is running smoothly, it really doesn't matter how well anything else is going.

Sunday was my in-laws 57th wedding anniversary. The fact that they've been married 40 more years than we have, blows my mind. We all got together for Father's Day/anniversary and my mom (divorced three times) asked for their words of wisdom. My wise father-in-law said, "Don't you have to be wise to have words of wisdom?" My mother-in-law quietly said, "He's been a good listener."

I think somewhere along the way Jon and Kate stopped listening to each other.

I know I've been guilty many times of not listening - not wanting to hear, and definitely I've failed to speak in a way that could/would be heard.

But after trial by fire my husband and I have finally learned how and when to speak.

And how to listen.

And when to just abide.

A PERFECT MORNING

Even though yesterday was Father's Day, I'm the one that scored the perfect morning. Everyone else was either sleeping over somewhere or otherwise engaged, so I got to do what I seldom get to do: luxuriate.


The perfect cup of coffee.


The perfect book of inspiration.

The perfect background music.

The perfect candle in the perfect scent (and I generally can't tolerate scented candles, but Spanish Amber is TDF).

Perfect.

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

This is your sixteenth Father's Day and you've earned each one,
This is your real job, yet you still make it fun.

There's been "knee," the Jo-Jo Man and marking his shoes,
There's been doctors and meetings and even blue twos.

You have counted the drinking fountains in parks near and far,
You have learned to make toast like a flippin' rock star.

You're up with your boy at the dawn of each day,
You're up with your girl when at night she's ready to play.

You're the kind of father I wish I'd had,
You're the one I'm proud to call my children's dad.

I love you.

I appreciate you.



*STM and Woohoo at WUG 7/95

NO REGRETS

In yesterday's post about the widening gap between Rojo and his "typical" peers, I mentioned that Rojo will need help with the burning-of-the-regrets portion of the 7th grade retreat he'll be attending in September.

Because he won't have any.

Been thinking about that ever since, and as Michelle O'Neil said in her comment, "I'd say a person who lives with no regret has already gone further than most."

The Dalai Lama says this: "Guilt, as experienced in Western culture, is connected with hopelessness and discouragement and is past-oriented. Genuine remorse, however, is a healthy state of mind - it is future-oriented, connected with hope, and causes us to act, to change."

Rojo doesn't have any regrets, guilt, OR remorse, and maybe if I hang with him long enough, neither will I.

THE WIDENING GAP

Met with Rojo's 7th grade teacher yesterday. Great woman, had Woohoo three years ago and remains Woohoo's fav. teacher ev. She also happens to have an adult child with special needs - 30 now - she gets it.

She asked me the kinds of questions we all hope a teacher will ask: "Tell me about Rojo." "What are your goals for him?" "What would you like to see us work on this year?" That kind of thing.

Felt kind of silly just saying, "Love him."

It's not that I/we don't have "goals" but really, does the boy need to finish the year with algebra under his belt? Really?

She started telling me about a retreat the 7th graders would be going on first thing in the fall. "We write down our regrets and burn them," she said.

"He'll need help with that," I said. "Not only will he have no concept of what a regret is, he won't have any. Really."

"Then we assemble a lunch for a partner - I provide all the makings for sandwiches, and the kids take each other's orders and then make the sandwich according to what their partner wants."

"He'll need help with that," I said.

The 1-hour conference continued in that fashion. She with the "We..." and me with the "He'll need help with thats..."

Later, Rojo had STM running up to Plaid Pantry to replace the package of Skittles he'd absconded, and I agreed to ride along and run in for him (wife of the year moment).

I was telling STM about the conference and he said, "You're starting to make me feel like the parent of a special needs child."

"I know," I said, "that's how I felt, too. The gap gets wider and wider each year. It's hard to even see the other side from here."

Just then we saw from our car windows, a girl in a motorized wheel chair leave her home and head on down the sidewalk.

With no arms and legs.

None.

OMHOG

So, guess what Rojo has me doing this summer?

Go ahead, guess.

Did you guess: Making you pretend to be Sonia (the one on the far right) on the reality show, "Repo?" If so, take an A.

He is Matt (center). Woohoo is Lyndah (brunette), and STM is Froy (left).

Need I say more? Because I hardly can.

Fortunately Sonia doesn't "talk" that much, most of what she says gets bleeped out. That's his favorite part.

I consider it getting in touch with my, how shall we say it, less Junior League side.

"NORMAL"

Those of us that walk to the left side of "normal" seek to know just exactly what normal is.

I think.

Don't ask me, I'm not normal.

But I do have friends that most definitely walk right through the very center of normal, and it's so helpful to have their input on things. It's a balm to hear, "That's perfectly normal" when I'm explaining a feeling, a problem, a parenting dilemma, a marital issue. Just hearing, just knowing, just being reassured that what I am experiencing, others have also experienced, helps.

I was teaching back in 1987 and attended a workshop for teachers on how children of alcoholics view the world. "Children of alcoholics don't know what normal is," said the presenter.

Those words I never forgot, and frequently replay in my head when I'm thinking, What the hell do I know about normal?

Those of us with special needs kids have been taught to eschew the word "normal" in favor of "typical." Splitting hairs, if you ask me, either way it means not the same. Different. Off.

Last night I had a dream in which the most memorable kids from that first class, appeared. Not a "normal" one in the bunch. They were all grown up and we stood around cocktail party style and reminisced.

When I woke up this morning and turned on my computer, I had an e-mail, via Facebook, from a "kid" in that class.

No accidents.

Has a kid of his own the age he was when I had him. "I know now what you were up against," he said with good humor.

Not every "normal" person would have gone to all that trouble.

At least if I walk to the left, I walk in good company.

SURPRISE ME

I thought I wanted to know what would happen on "Grey's Anatomy," and so I "cheated" and surfed the Internet until I learned ahead of time that George and Izzy would both be killed off.

Ruined the whole finale for me.

I thought I wanted to know what would happen with my book, so I consulted a really amazing astrologer. Twice. First time gave me a false sense of "knowing" that nearly crippled me, and then I went back for more. To be fair, if I really listened to the reading with ears wide open, I'd probably hear more "truth," but I have been listening for what I wanted to hear, and it's messed me up.

I thought I wanted to know what someone was saying about me behind my back, so I found out. Wrong. Much happier not knowing. There's a reason I have a back, and it's a good place for those conversations to take place.

I've decided I simply don't want to know what's coming around life's corner. I don't want to know if and when my book is going to get picked up. I don't want to know what people think about me, unless they feel the need to tell me directly. I just don't need to know a lot of things.

This I know.

SUPREME WEALTH

"It is through listening that your mind will turn with faith and devotion, and you will be able to cultivate joy within your mind and make your mind stable. It is through listening that you will be able to cultivate wisdom and be able to remove ignorance... Listening is like a torch that dispels the darkness of ignorance. And if you are able to make your mental continuum wealthy through listening, no one can steal that wealth. It is supreme wealth." HH the Dalai Lama

COMING UP FULL

One thing my psyche has been working on during all these hours of sleep, is the "Never give up" philosophy, versus the concept that enlightenment comes at the END of desire, therefore, quit wanting, quit needing, quit hoping, quit never giving up-ing. Accept. Move on. Let go.

Been listening to Meg Hutchinson again a lot lately, particularly her song, "Come Up Full." Two stanzas stick out:

"So go drag your boat to the water
Just when you swear it off those nets are gonna
Come up full"

Making me think: See? It's when you swear it off. When you "give up," that you catch something in your "net."

And this one:

"At night the fire replaces the sun
Just as one good dream’s replaced by another one"

Could the holding on tightly to one dream, keep it from being replaced by another, perhaps un-dreamed dream?

I don't know, but that's the way I'm leaning.

(To hear Meg sing "Come Up Full," click here.)

* Photo from flickr.com

SLEEP

Stress, busyness, conflicts, end-of-year stuff, menopause, wild changes in temperature, all have been sabotaging my sleep as of yet.

And it's not been pretty.

I've missed the dreaming.

I've missed the peace.

I've missed the healing.

But yesterday I dropped everything and climbed into bed - mid day - and woke up three heavenly hours later.

Then at 7:00 PM I crawled back into my all-white bed, put my sleep mask on, ear plugs in, and fell asleep again. For 12 1/2 more hours.

15 1/2 hours of sleep in the last 24 hours has me starting to regain perspective.

But just starting.

There's definitely a nap in today's future.

THE GOOD MOOD BOY

Just overheard Rojo saying to Daddy, "I just love today. I really do. Wednesday. Wednesdays are one of my favorite days."

Here's to Wednesday. One of Rojo's favorite days.

And speaking of Rojo, here's his latest creative writing piece. He had to take a folk tale and give it a twist. He chose "The Three Little Pigs."

A MOST DANGEROUS STATE

"What irritates us in the first place is that our wishes are not fulfilled. But remaining upset does nothing to help fulfill those wishes. So we neither fulfill our wishes nor regain our cheerfulness. This disconcerted state, from which anger can grow, is most dangerous. We should never try to let our happy frame of mind be disturbed. Whether we are suffering at present or have suffered in the past, there is no reason to be unhappy." HH the Dalai Lama

I'm in a most dangerous state. Going to put on my visor and see if that helps.

TORTURED SOULS - RELEASED

For weeks I've known it was coming: the anniversary of my father's death, June 7th. A man who didn't want his own grave, but wanted to be cremated and buried between his parents. And so he is.

Yesterday was the 13th anniversary, and through some psychological "trick," I "forgot," I didn't think of him all day long. It wasn't until this morning when I pulled off yesterday's page-a-day calendar and saw today's date, that I caught myself.

It's amazing what we can block when we want to, at least in the mind, the body always knows. And those around us. Felt a sense of ennui all weekend, a restlessness, a vague and nameless sense of ill-being.

But now it has a name: grief.

Thirteen years later it's not so much his death I grieve, as his life. He was a tortured soul. It made him a challenge to deal with, but now, in death, there has been healing, understanding, forgiveness. As my brother says, "Dad and I are getting along really well now."

He's come to my brother in a dream - just one, but he didn't say anything. "He's not at a place where he can communicate yet, but he's getting there," my brother explained, and I believe him. I haven't had a single dream about him. Yet. I know that soon I will, and that our souls' journey together will move to the next level.

And that will be something I will never forget.

DO WITH IT AS YOU WILL

Rojo likes to go to Saturday night Mass with STM. One reason he likes it is the cantor, the woman that leads the singing, and does so with a flair. She raises her arms indicating it's time for the congregation to join in, and she holds them up there fairly dramatically, at least to Rojo's way of thinking.

Without fail he comes home and "is" the cantor. He'll do a few "alleuluias" an "amen" or two, but mostly he just sings whatever it is he wants to say.

Over and over again.

But last night, apropos of nothing, threw his hands up in the air and started singing, "Faith of the wisdom, faaaaaaaith of the wisdom, faith of the wisdom..."

I'm sure there's a message in there somewhere.


*Photo from www.missouriskies.org

LIFESAVERS

On Saturday Rojo had me driving him to three different grocery stores looking for a Lifesaver popsicle. "Mom, do you think Big Safeway might have Lifesaver popsicles. I know Little Safeway didn't, but maybe Big Safeway does. Do you want to go to Big Safeway? Do you want to go now? Do you want to go to Big Safeway now and see if they have Lifesaver Popsicles?'

And so it went.

Big Safeway, the "Little Store" and Plaid Pantry were all tried.

No dice.

On Sunday we went to four more stores: QFC, Fred Meyer, New Seasons and finally 7-Eleven.

God bless 7-Eleven and the horse it rode in on. They had them. Individual ones with some serious freezer burn, but we bought up all they had, 4, and came home and put them away.

"Okay, I am going to be the ice cream man, and I am going to sell the Lifesaver popsicles to you, Daddy and Woohoo. You are going to buy them from me and I am going to sell them to you, because I am going to be the ice cream man. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget."

Then he got a bigger and better idea. "Mom, I am going to invite K and G over after school on Monday. I want them to come to my house after school and eat Lifesaver popsicles. Go e-mail their moms and see if K and G can come over. Go e-mail their moms right now and tell them to come tomorrow and eat Lifesaver popsicles that the ice cream man will sell them."

I e-mailed the moms, and one mercifully e-mailed back within a couple hours that yes indeed, her sainted son could come and "buy" ice cream on Monday after school.

The other mom didn't e-mail back until Monday morning and I thought the planet might stop spinning, such was Rojo's angst over this loose end. But e-mail she did, and her sainted son could, and would, also come and "buy" ice cream.

I love my village. It's not everywhere that an Elmo toting almost 13-year-old, can get that kind of response.

And respect.

And dignity.

And love.

Period.

TOP 10 THINGS TO DO TODAY

10. Get kids off to school so I can watch the last episode of Season 1, Disk 2, of "In Treatment"
9. Put Disk 2 in my Netflix envelope
8. Drive to the nearest post office and mail. Immediately.
7. Check e-mail and see that yes, Disk 3 has been mailed
6. Check the mail compulsively
5. Plan out how I can watch Disk 3 today between all the comings and goings
4. Plan out how long it will take for Disk 4 to get here
3. Plan my whole Friday so I can watch Disk 4
2. Start to get depressed because eventually I'll be out of disks, but get happy again when I see it's possible to order Season II
1. Consider the fact that I need "treatment"

I was tooling around the Internet looking for quotes that include the word "abide," ones that might work to include in the as-yet-unwritten-but-totally-in-my-head sequel to UNSTRUNG, when WHAT pops in my e-mail?

"For as long as space endures, and for as long as living beings remain, until then may I, too, abide, to dispel the misery of the world." HH the Dalai Lama.

No accidents.

MERCURY RETROGRADE

Mercury starts moving out of retrograde today.

Thank. God.

Mercury controls communication, and if you've been experiencing disruptions in that department, you can blame it all on Mercury.

To read more about it, go here.

We should all be back to "normal" by June 14th.

TRUE FRIENDSHIP PART II

I'm re-running this post because the comments were so awesome. I've been thinking about this question of true friendship all week, and your thoughtful comments have helped me hone in on my "answer." It's part of a bigger theory I've been working on: some things just need to crash. I think for me, personally, the tendency is so great to "help" that I may not see the widescreen view - the one that shows the need for things to get worse, before they can start to get better.

And isn't any advice I would give just that, advice? What the hell do I know? I don't know what the greater plan is for any given person's life. I don't know if the "wrong" choices they are making are leading to something greater. I. Don't. Know.

I like what Wanda said about advice vs. support: "Support always has the highest good of the person as a goal. It isn't advice per se. It could be observations, concerns, or even questions that allow the person to see or wonder for herself where this path leads. One thing is certain, support is not support if it is capricious or randomly pulled away. It is constant."

St. Teresa of Avila said, "Prayer is an act of love, words are not needed. Even if sickness distracts thoughts, all that is needed is the will to love."

So it's back to love. I can "hold space" with another in crisis. I can listen. When asked, I can offer that I'm concerned. But really, all I can do is love. And that's enough. And everything.



TRUE FRIENDSHIP

Got an e-mail this morning from a friend that is at Medugorje. She visited a community that is devoted to healing those suffering from addictions (but remember, I only have a "dependency.") She said, "They focus on spiritual healing, and true friendship. Their kind of friendship was about being real and being true to one another, not just saying what one wants to hear."

Reminded me of a dear friend of mine who each week trudges her brave soul to 1:1 therapy to excavate deep childhood trauma, then she trudges back again later in the week for "group" where a room full of trauma survivors hold each other's feet to the fire, while loving and supporting each other every step of the way.

Asked another friend recently what she does when someone she loves is making what she considers to be a poor choice, does she tell them? Does she pretend to support it? She said she tells them she'll pray for them, which seems both kind and wise.

Lady at the hairdresser's yesterday was getting her perm cut off - had been getting her hair permed for over 20 years until a friend one day innocently asked, "Have you ever thought of not perming your hair?" She'd never thought about it.

Now it's one thing to talk about perms and a whole other thing to talk about major life decisions.

When is support, support, and when is it not, and how do you "know" the difference?


*Photo from www.medjugorje-online.com

15 COMMENTS:

Maddy said...
Is 'friend' SP? As for the question.....still trying to fathom that one myself.
Best wishes

8:00 AM
kario said...
Tough question. My first instinct is to say that when the 'support' is pure and benevolent, without any intent to tear down the other person or build up yourself, then it's support. I tend to avoid giving 'advice' until I really know the person well, though, so that I don't stick my nose in where it doesn't belong.

Thanks for the food for thought today.

8:10 AM
Suzy said...
After a while, you being to trust your instincts and faith, and probably make some mistakes along the way, but sooner or later you acquire the tools to tell them apart.


Love you

Suzy

8:25 AM
jesswilson said...
i struggled with this issue with a dear friend not long ago. i decided to tell her that i didn't think that the decisions she was making would serve her well - that i didn't think that she was ultimately going to make herself happy on that particular path. i then told her that as her friend, i hoped that i was wrong. and that having said what i'd said, i'd be there for her every step of the way.

unfortunately, i was not wrong. she found herself heartbroken and angry. but she also had a friend to turn to when it fell apart.

your heart will tell you what your friend can or can't hear. you'll know.

8:37 AM
Michelle O'Neil said...
Support is seeing who someone really is, and holding that vision of them, even if they are not acting like "who they really are" in the moment.

Support always comes from a place of connectedness. If you think you are supporting someone, but feel diminished after offering said support, that is martyrdom, not support.

Support is also the elusive perfectly fitting bra.

8:40 AM
She said...
Ooooh! I love what Michelle said. I'm going to have to write that down.

Good food for thought.

10:03 AM
Tanya @ TeenAutism said...
Good question - I think it's difficult to tell the difference. Sometimes when someone who is connected to me appears to be offering support, it feels more like unwarranted criticism. But it could just be my dynamic with that particular person. Tough one!

1:37 PM
Wanda said...
Support always has the highest good of the person as a goal. It isn't advice per se. It could be observations, concerns, or even questions that allow the person to see or wonder for herself where this path leads. One thing is certain, support is not support if it is capricious or randomly pulled away. It is constant.

And it is what Michelle said about the bra.

2:15 PM
Lola said...
support without judgement is support...:) ANd often it's not what you say but HOW you say it:)
xo

5:06 PM
graceonline said...
Interesting. I thought the image was of Quan Yin, but I see the townsfolk expect it to be the Blessed Virgin. Some might think them different incarnations of the same being.

I too have been grappling with this issue of support and how best to be in compassion for another who seems determined to destroy all that is good in her life. I love your friend's response to pray. Send love. Pray. Send love.

Then of course, some of us may have residual feelings of betrayal, anger, impatience--all the uncompassionate feelings that arise when a loved one is in crisis and making choices with which we don't agree. That's when I try to remind myself in time--before I say or do something harmful--that I am the only one responsible for what I am feeling and so must send love. Pray. Send love.

Thank you for this thought-provoking post. It helps me immensely to see others faced with similar situations and learn of their process.

4:05 PM
Angie Ledbetter said...
Tough, especially when it's someone you love dearly. I try to support whatever is best for the soul of that person...whether they know it or want it or not.

Thanks for posting that picture. New to me, and lovely as your post.

8:00 AM
Deb Shucka said...
It's that still small voice of love from your heart that gives you the right words, or no words.

12:34 PM
Jerri said...
Enough but not too much.

(sigh)

Hardest damn thing in the world.

5:13 AM
Robin said...
I am reading a book on personal growth and one of the ideas is that we should always be struggling or working on something. The authors believe we should have a small group in which we can ask and be honestly answered, what could I do to be a better person? Wow, I don't know that I am ready for that honesty and then sometimes I think how freeing it could be. Because with with "advice" has to come total acceptance -- first.

In other words, I have no wisdom to offer on this subject, but I love to hear your thoughts.

I've shrunk nearly 2 inches.

I'm "aggressively greying" according to my hairdresser/therapist.

I'm saggy and wrinkled, receding and protruding in all the wrong places.

That's what age, and 13 years as the parent of a special needs child will do to you.

I am slower to anger, blame or judge.

I am overflowing with gratitude most every day.

That's what age, and 13 years as a parent of a special needs child will do to you.

love.

IF I START TO CRY

The Edie concert last night was INCREDIBLE! And it raised good money for Rojo's school, WIN WIN!

Edie is an absolute delight in person, as well as an amazing singer/songwriter. I urge you all to check out her concert tour schedule and make an effort to go hear her live. She held us all in the palm of her hand. We laughed. We cried. We were moved. Deeply.

The song that got me the most was the one she wrote about her dad, Tim, and with whose blessing she performs it. It's about asking her dad how he could love her when she was so much like her mother, and he didn't love her mother. Anymore.

I think a lot of us can relate to raising children just like our spouse, and/or being just like one of our children, and the "interesting" dynamics this creates in a marriage - in a family.

And the conclusion that many of us come to: if we love our children so deeply and fiercely, can't we work harder to love their grown-up version? Unconditionally?


if i start to cry

I got so much to ask you
It's never the time
Why would I spoil a perfect evening?
We've gotten this far on being polite
Besides, I know you're proud of me

When I was made
Did they leave out a part?
Did you know this
And choose to guard the secret?
You said everybody's born
With a beautiful heart
What was wrong with hers and
Why did you leave it?

If I start to cry, I may not stop
Love runs dry, I run off

Can you help me with this heart
Inside my chest?
It ain't perfect
But you should see me use it
But it only works when I make a mess
When it looks like I'm about to lose it

If I start to cry, I may not stop
Love runs dry, I run off

Yeah I'm just like my mother
Yeah I'm just like my mother
And if you don't love her,
What does that mean about me?

If I start to cry, I may not stop
I wanna know why I run off
I wanna know why I'm like this
I wanna know why


From the CD "When I Was Made" - (2004)

EDIE CAREY

Guess who is coming to my house for an in-home concert TONIGHT?

Oh yea, baby. And guess who drives a car exactly. like. mine. EXACTLY?

And guess who is super janked up, hyper and in a good mood?

Both of the black Honda '97 CR-V drivers, that's who!

Go check out this great video to see what you'll be missing, then go here to buy all her CDs. You'll be glad you did.

How did I come to have this amazing woman come to MY house you ask? Friends. In. High. Places. Shining City Music. And if you live in the Portland area, you can catch her Thursday night at Alberta Pub!

"Another Kind of Fire" Video 2 / Artist: Edie Carey

RUN, GET ME A SPOON

Rojo has been both extra darling lately, and extra buggy - could be the fact that he's on the brink of 13, a teenager, how is that possible?

There are times I could just eat him with a spoon, and I tell him that. Exactly. Actually, what I say is, "Run, get me a spoon" and he generally ignores me and keeps doing whatever it was that elicited that response: looks over the tops of his glasses with a look of utter nonchalance, gives me a closed mouth, huge dimpled grin, or the newest one, the open mouthed gap-toothed smile that kills me every time.

"Run, get me a spoon" I say whenever he's being extra darling. I've added a hand gesture, and at times I just give the gesture - a loop-de-loop with the right index finger pointing towards the kitchen - and just offer that. Sometimes that hand gesture provokes the tiniest of smiles, which is reward in and of itself for me, and thus, requires another, "Run, get me a spoon" response.

But yesterday afternoon he was anything but darling. He was annoying. He was "janked up." "Mom? Am I hyper? Am I in a good mood? Am I janked up?" Yes. Yes. Dammit all to hell, YES! He was extra obsessed with the ice cream man, and whether or not he would show up.

"Mom? Is it hot and warm today? Is the ice cream man going to come today? Is he going to come at 5:15? Are you going to buy Bubble Gum Swirl? Is he going to come at 5:20? Is it hot and warm? Is he going to come? Are you going to get...."

We're talking for four hours straight.

Until I thought I would kill him with my bare hands.

And do you know what that SOB did? Of course you do.

He ran and got me a spoon.

IN MEMORIAL

CONFESSION

Got another e-mail from my friend that's at Medjugorje. Apparently Mary appears as an apparition to one man over and over and over, and one can hang with him and he'll tell you what she says.

I buy it.

Guess she told the group the other night to go to confession, that it was so important.

That's where Mary and I might have to part ways.

I have always struggled with the concept that we need ANOTHER to forgive us, or to hear us, or to "take" our confession, or to absolve us, or, or, or. I get all fired up just thinking about it.

But then I went for a walk and thought about blogging, memoir writing, and BFFs. Aren't those just greater examples of "making our confessions?" And don't we feel better for having done it?

Mary's right again.


* Photo from flickr.com

WHY I KEEP THEM AROUND

STM got up early with Rojo today and made the toast, made the coffee, made it possible for me to sleep in. When I finally wandered out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, looking like something the cat dragged in, I'm sure, Rojo said, "Are you going to leave your hair like that today?" I looked in the window to see what he was talking about, saw enough to know it wasn't good, and then he finished, "because it looks really cute."

TRUE FRIENDSHIP

Got an e-mail this morning from a friend that is at Medugorje. She visited a community that is devoted to healing those suffering from addictions (but remember, I only have a "dependency.") She said, "They focus on spiritual healing, and true friendship. Their kind of friendship was about being real and being true to one another, not just saying what one wants to hear."

Reminded me of a dear friend of mine who each week trudges her brave soul to 1:1 therapy to excavate deep childhood trauma, then she trudges back again later in the week for "group" where a room full of trauma survivors hold each other's feet to the fire, while loving and supporting each other every step of the way.

Asked another friend recently what she does when someone she loves is making what she considers to be a poor choice, does she tell them? Does she pretend to support it? She said she tells them she'll pray for them, which seems both kind and wise.

Lady at the hairdresser's yesterday was getting her perm cut off - had been getting her hair permed for over 20 years until a friend one day innocently asked, "Have you ever thought of not perming your hair?" She'd never thought about it.

Now it's one thing to talk about perms and a whole other thing to talk about major life decisions.

When is support, support, and when is it not, and how do you "know" the difference?


*Photo from www.medjugorje-online.com

OH, MY HELL OF GOD!

Just got my Internet restored after about 20 hours of funky service.

Thought I would DIE!

How am I supposed to read blogs?

How am I supposed to check e-mail?

How am I supposed to Google each and every thing that pops into my brain?

How am I supposed to check the weather report?

How am I supposed to SURVIVE?

Besides, really wanted to tell you all about the hole in Rojo's mouth I just noticed this morning, and then the weird little white thing on his BEDROOM FLOOR I almost vacuumed up before realizing it was a tooth.

Besides, really wanted to tell you that I just got back from the naturopath's office and now have a new stock of bio-identical hormones, which should help significantly with the near PANIC I am experiencing.

Besides, really wanted to inform you that according to the receptionist/also-a-naturopath-that-specializes-in-mental-health, upgraded me from Internet ADDICTION, to Internet DEPENDENCY.

Besides, really wanted to get all this out of my brain and onto the "page" before it shorts out again and I am left stranded with only my own unexpressed thoughts!

TALKING DEAD

I am not a fan of talking "live." In fact, I have such an unbelievable and irrational fear of it, it's crippling at times. I needed to order STM a gluten-free cake from the local bakery. Total phone time? 1 minute. Total number of minutes spent trying to figure out if it could be done on-line? 30. Total number of days it took me to work up the courage to call? 5. Total number of hassles when I did finally call? Zero.

Once I actually get on the phone, I'm fine, it's the thinking about making or accepting the call that's anxiety provoking.

What is UP with that?

I might be more inclined to work on it if the good Lord hadn't invented Caller ID and the Internet. Not a day goes by that I don't give thanks for those tremendously thoughtful inventions.

My mom has neither - she just up and answers the phone each and every time it rings - can you IMAGINE? And when she has a question, she just picks up the phone to call someone to answer it. Unthinkable.

Woohoo takes after her, she thinks nothing of calling a store to see if they're open, checking on an item, or ordering something to go.

I want to be more like her when I grow up.

SPIRIT WEEK

This week is Spirit Week at Rojo's school.

However.

We talk about Spirit Week the other 51 weeks of each and every year for going on six years.

"Mom, when is Spirt Week this year? Is there going to be a Crazy Day? Are people going to wear crazy clothes? Do I have to wear crazy clothes? Are people going to have crazy hair? I do not want to have my hair crazy, I do not want blue hair. I do not want anyone to make their hair blue this year, Mom. Are people going to wear their hair blue this year, Mom, on Crazy Day?"

But all weekend I heard this:

"Mom, Monday is Pajama Day, I am just going to wake up and boom, wear my pajamas to school. You will say, 'Rojo, go get dressed!' and I will say, 'I don't have to get dressed, Mom, because it is PAJAMA DAY!'"

"Tuesday is Hippie Day, what am I going to wear for Hippie Day, Mom? Do I have to talk like a hippie all day? Do I have to have a hippie accent? Do I have to speak Hippie? What do hippies sound like? Can you teach me some Hippie?"

"Wednesday is Hawaiian Day and I am going to say, 'Aloha!' I am going to say aloha all day long. I am going to talk Hawaiian. I am not going to wear my swimsuit to school. I am not going to dress like Hawaii, I am going to say aloha all day on Wednesday."

"Thursday is Sports Day! Should I wear my Louisville Cardinals shirt? My Oregon State shirt? My Oregon shirt? My Delaware Fightin' Blue Hens one? How about Texas Tech Red Raiders? Maybe Boise State Broncos? Which one should I wear, Mom? Which one should I wear for Sports Day, Mom? Which shirt should I wear on Thursday when it is Sports Day, Mom?"

And then back to the blue hair conversation.

And back.

And around again.

Friday is not the only thing going crazy.



* Image from http://school.discoveryeducation.com

Dear STM,

Today you are 50, that's nothing small,
Half way to a hundred, and that's not all.

Your body, it feels the age,
But the good news? You've become quite the sage.

I've loved you in your 20's, your 30's, and 40's,
We've journeyed through much, or Lordy!

I couldn't love you more if I tried,
In our love I will abide.

MENTAL ILLNESS OR WELLNESS?

Ever since I heard an interview on NPR with author Ayelet Waldman, (in)famous for writing the words, "I love my husband more than my children," I've been thinking about something else she said. She herself is bi-polar, and she says you can always tell who else is bi-polar because they're either the ones at the party over-sharing, or they're memoir writers.

I'm sure she was partly being funny.

I'm sure she was partly serious.

I'm sure I'm partly concerned I might be bi-polar.

But I don't think I am, and I don't agree that all memoirists are by definition.

Still, she's definitely right about one thing - memoirists are in a class of their own - they're willing to let you in, REALLY in to their lives, their problems, their joys, their struggles, and maybe most intimately, their thoughts.

Was in a discussion about this very thing last night and one woman said about another memoirist, "She just writes what I'm thinking."

Exactly.

And to me, that's the point.

We are one.

What affects one, affects the whole.

We are more alike than we are different, and if we don't have brave souls out there willing to stick their necks out to show us that to be true, than we remain isolated.

So maybe we do it because we're bi-polar, or didn't get enough attention as a child, or are exhibitionists, or extroverts. Or maybe we just do it because we believe that's the only way we, and the collective, will ever heal.

So we can move on.




* Photo from www.beaconlearningcenter.com

TAKING TURNS

Had an epiphany while frustrating myself in the kitchen last night (doesn't take much). STM being gluten-intolerant has required me to step it up in that department, and it's been a big step. I'm baking gluten-free brownies, I'm making gluten-free pasta, and last night I tried making gluten-free pizza dough - well, actually the whole pizza, not just the dough.

Had one cabinet open to get the pizza tray, opened a drawer to get a knife, knocked into the corner cabinet and just had to laugh: how like me. How like me to want it all NOW. I can have it all, the knife, the bowl, the pizza tray, just not ALL AT THE SAME FLIPPIN' TIME. But really, moments within each other if I just relax, closing one door allowing another to open.

Allowing one door to close.

Before opening another.

WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

Try to get past the 80's, pulled-through-a-cap-frosted hair.

Try to get past the heavy eye make-up,

Try to get past the obvious irony I was going for by holding up a plate of cinnamon rolls and juxtaposing them against the NIKE signage.

And then you'll "see" the girl that first fell in love with STM.

Woohoo asked the other night at dinner, "How did you two meet?"

Well, there is some disagreement about HOW we met, but we do agree on where/when we got to know each other, and that's when we were both sweet young things working for NIKE.

The day after our dinner table conversation STM brought home this picture, IN A FRAME, that he's had on or around his desk, ALL THESE YEARS.

How sweet is that?

MORNING MANTRA

I have a friend that's been in and out of my life for 28 years. We connected easily and quickly and no matter how long goes between e-mails or visits, our paths appear to be parallel and it's just a hop, skip and a jump from his path to mine, or vice-versa.

E-mailed him awhile ago to say, "Do you think we have karma?" He wrote back in about 5 minutes, "Old and deep."

That's what I'm talking about. Easy. The fact that he's gay doesn't hurt, either.

He wakes up each morning with what he calls his Morning Mantra. Sometimes I'll just send an e-mail with only "MM?" in the subject line, and wait to see what comes back. His MM is always apropos for me that day - of course.

Yesterday he voluntarily sent his Morning Mantra to me: "The highest level of sophistication and enlightenment in this world is simplicity." This speaks to my theory that developmentally disabled individuals are amongst the wisest.

Today I woke up with my own, and first, Morning Mantra: "Write every stone," which I took to mean, leave no stone unturned in terms of writing - write everything, get into some of those last deep, dark corners and write them out. Clear them. Release their hold, their energy, their power.

It won't be sophisticated and it won't be simple, but it's sure to be enlightening.

MARY, QUEEN OF HEAVEN

I've written about Mary before and my affinity for her, but she is making her presence known a lot these days, so I told her I'd toss her another bone.

And she laughed.

Because Mary is nothing if not funny.

I'm not sure just why I love her so much.

Maybe it's the fact that she raised pretty much the most "special" boy ever.

Maybe it's the fact that to me she represents the divine feminine, the "energy" that I think is sorely missing on our planet today.

Maybe it's because when I talk to her she listens - there is a deep sense of being heard - and understood - that brings me a sense of calm that I don't get anywhere else.

For my birthday in February a friend gave me Mary Seeds. (To order, click here.) Little clay bits with the image of Mary, Queen of Heaven stamped upon them. The idea is to plant them, literally, where you want Mary to grow. I've done me some planting, and I keep a few seeds around for more figurative planting. Got one on my desk, in my purse, in my car, and always in my pocket.

I've given Mary Seeds to friends, she is helping to sell houses that desperately need to sell, she is helping to build schools, she is re-building marriages, she is healing and blessing left and right.

And always, she is love.

May is Mary's month - her presence is particularly felt this month - let's go big with it.

SUMMER READING LIST

Had all the moms in Rojo's class over on Friday night (well, almost all, 18/29). Everyone brought a book that they'd already read and really liked and we did an exchange. You know the kind: the kind that involves drawing numbers, stealing and laughing.

Here is a list of all the books exchanged - maybe you'll get some ideas for your own summer reading lists.

Enjoy!

1) Everything I Needed to Know About Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume

2) The Story of Edgar Sawtelle*

3) The Birth of Venus*

4) Ishmael*

5) The Zookeeper's Wife*

6) Dry

7) Behind the Bedroom Door

8) It's a Chick Thing

9) Paris to the Moon*

10) The Summer of Naked Swim Parties

11) The Friday Night Knitting Club

12) Love and Other Impossible Pursuits

13) The Hours

14) Watermelon

15) The Last Lecture

16) Peace Like a River*

17) Love in the Time of Cholera

18) Agatha Christie

* On my own summer reading list, the others I have either read or they just aren't up my alley.

"Nearly all of us receive our first lessons in peaceful living from our mothers, because the need for love lies at the very foundation of human existence. From the earliest stages of our growth, we are completely dependent on our mother's care and it is very important for us that she expresses her love. If children do not receive proper affection, in later life they will often find it hard to love others."   H.H. The Dalai Lama

Happy Mother's Day to all you mothers and all you "mothers." You make a difference. 

love.

MOTHER'S DAY COME EARLY

Remember when I wrote about our front window failing? Well, it's taken us awhile to order and install a new one - not exactly our first choice of where to spend money, but it needed to be done.

Thursday, as an early Mother's Day present, STM arranged to have someone come help him install it. It arrived over a week ago and has just been sitting in the living room. I'm having 20 women in my house this morning for a support group meeting, and 20 different (actually some are the same) women over tonight for a 6th grade moms book exchange/Margarita party. He knew getting the new window OFF the living room floor and IN the wall, would make me very happy.

Smart man.

Then he really outdid himself.

TOP 10 THINGS STM DID TO MAKE ME VERY HAPPY

10. Got the new window in

9. Got the old window hauled away

8. Painted the trim of the new window

7. Arranged to have his friend the window washer come over and wash BOTH sides before I got home

6. While he had the touch-up paint out, he painted the big "ding" on the silverware drawer in the kitchen

5. And the one by the dishwasher

4. And the one on the basement door

3. And then he did the RISERS going up the stairs

2. Then he mowed both the front and back lawns

1. And edged them

THAT, is abiding love.

My book club is reading LOVE IN THE TIME OF CHOLERA. It's been on my list of books to read for 21 years. Worth the wait.

I was grabbed when early in the book, and mid-way through their 50 year plus marriage, the husband comes out of the bathroom and informs his wife there hasn't been soap in the tub for a week.

She knows perfectly well it's only been three days.

They fight for months over that, neither one backing down.

Many years later when the man is too elderly to bathe himself, there's a beautiful scene of the wife tenderly and lovingly spending an hour bathing him and helping him to dress.

When he dies his look is full of love, and his last words to his wife are: "Only God knows how much I loved you."

Abiding love.

TEACHER APPRECIATION

It's Teacher Appreciation Week, and I for one don't even know where to begin with my appreciation for all the various teachers in my life, and my children's.

Thank you.

Times one million.

Our PTO (Parent Teacher Organization) has a special week planned at Rojo's school, and the kids were given a couple 1/2 sheets of paper and asked to jot down a kindly message to a teacher or two. Taking a gamble I gave four to The Wonder That is Jenn and hoped she'd be able to get some response out of Rojo.

Up popped this e-mail today:

Carrie,

If you can meet me before school gets out today that would be great. I have Rojo story/stories that will bring you to tears. Not with laughter, but pride. He is so stinking cute, I can hardly handle it. Let me know.
Thanks,
Jenn


I was able to get to school a few minutes before he got out, and Jenn had made copies of the SIX teacher appreciation notes he'd written just today, with vows to make more tomorrow. "I'm going to make ALL the teachers one."

Which is darling.

But not as darling as the fact that he peered over the top of his glasses staring off into space, deeply contemplating just the right words to put down for each teacher. DIFFERENT words, hand crafted for each one.

"Jenn, what's that 2nd grade teacher's name? I'm going to do one for her," Jenn told me.

He was stumped, though, because he never had this particular teacher, but that was no excuse not to be appreciative.

So instead of telling her what a great teacher she IS, he just advised her to BE a good teacher. Good advice, you gotta admit.

He's really loving the creative writing "rotation" he's in. "Jenn, if I just write CW will Mrs. Martin know what it stands for?"

She assured him Mrs. Martin will understand.

I just hope she, and all the other teachers, understand our full appreciation.

"Love is simple
I worship this tenacity
And the beautiful struggle we’re in
Love will not elude us"
From the song "Simple" by K.D. Lang

You know how it is when you hear or read something and you get that, "Ahh yes, that's IT" It just resonates. For so long I made love complicated. I discounted tenacity. I failed to see any beauty in struggle. But really, that's what abiding is all about.

SIMPLE
By K.D. Lang

Flawless light in a darkening air
Alone...and shining there
Love will not elude you

Love is simple
I worship this tenacity
And the beautiful struggle we’re in
Love will not elude us

Love is simple
Be sure to know that

All in love
Is ours
And love, as a philosophy
Is simple

I am calm in oblivion
Calm, as I ever have been
Love will not elude me
Love is simple
Be sure to know that
All in love
Is ours...
Is ours...

That all in love
Is ours
And love, as philosophy
Is simple...
And ours...

To see K.D. perform this song, click here!

ST. KATHLEEN

A mutual friend of Kathleen's and mine recently pointed out that I always get cranky when Kathleen is out of town or otherwise engaged, and our walking schedule gets interrupted. And our walking schedule has been wildly affected because of her saintly taking to and fro of Rojo to Outdoor School, then last week her parents were in town and she had to go and be all good daughter on me. Again with the saint.

Could be the lack of endorphins that's causing the problem, the whole cranky problem that is, because God forbid I walk a step without her! Won't. Do. It. Feels like torture.

But it's more than that. It's the loss of who and what grounds me.

According to Wikipedia, "a connection to ground limits the voltage built up between power circuits and the earth, protecting circuit insulation from damage due to excessive voltage." And if I know anything about electrical engineering (stop laughing), that's a good thing to protect oneself against.

So that's exactly right, that's what Kathleen does for me, she protects against damage due to excessive voltage.

I am nothing if not full of excessive voltage.

And I'm nothing without St. Kathleen.

BAD PICTURE, GOOD TIMES

Remember when I told you guys I got together with 3 friends from college, and one drove up from Eugene, just for the 1 1/2 hour time together? Well, she was back in Portland on Thursday for a workshop (she's a school nurse) and she had another 1 1/2 hour window of time to meet for lunch.

Long story short, we chose to meet here. Yes, right where the (blurry) picture captured. A little Mexican restaurant close to her workshop so we'd have extra talking time and barely any driving time. It was a sunny (but not warm) day so we decided to "upgrade" to the outside dining area, clearly marked in the above picture. It's that area right under the awning, immediately adjacent to the garbage cans. And in the parking lot. As in cars drove right up to our kneecaps.

But we didn't care in the least.

It has been years and years and years (like 15) since we spent any 1:1 time together, and 90 minutes barely tipped the iceberg, but we did a good job of trying.

One of the things she shared with me as we parted was this: She had a friend in high school, a guy, they were really good friends and then lost touch. Now they're back in touch, e-mailing and texting left and right.

The guy is crippled with ALS. He has use ONLY of his left ring finger.

Only.

After processing all the guilt I feel for taking for granted my able body, I was struck by the profound need we humans have for contact.

And friendship.

HEY, FORGIVE YOURSELF ALREADY

So I've had this whole apathy thing going on, and Wednesday I was driving in my neighborhood and saw the message above: Hey, forgive yourself already. Just there. Just there in all it's colorful glory - a sign, literally and figuratively.

Someone in my neighborhood keeps leaving cool inspirational messages like this in that same place. I always drive by, read them, love them, then promptly forget about them.

For the most part I don't walk around with a ton of unforgiveness, but I've got my share.

Wednesday night I was putting Rojo to bed and was grumpy and hurrying the process along. "You're not mad at me," he said, "you're mad at yourself."

Same message, twice in 24 hours - no accidents.

Time to forgive.

Time not to forget.

Time to promise.

WHEEEEEEL...OOOOOOOF...FORTUUUUUUUUNE!

The nine months I was pregnant with Rojo were the same nine months my dad was actively dying. My dad was a HUGE "Wheel of Fortune" fan, and most of the conversations we had involved that show. Vanna White was pregnant near the same time I was, and the way he felt he was monitoring my pregnancy, was to watch that show each night, see how "fat" Vanna was getting, and let me know.

He died a month before Rojo was born. One of the few things that calmed Rojo during his screaming-filled first months of life, was the sound of that damn show coming on - the song, the chanting of Wheeeeeeeel ooooooooof Fortuuuuuuuune, the spinning of the wheel - click, click, click, click, click.

Throughout these last nearly thirteen years, Rojo's gone in and out of a "Wheel of Fortune" phase. Right now he's back on - in a big way. We play the game constantly, and watch it religiously each night, the six nights a week it's on. We rest on the Sabbath.

He is EXCELLENT at guessing the puzzles, the other night I did one for him and he got the whole thing with only the 3 A's in place.

To watch him struggle to draw the little lines and fill in (correctly) my guesses, is painful, but part of the process. Sometimes it's more than I can bear and I get impatient, my need to do it "right" versus his need to be the one in charge.

But then there are moments like the one we had last night where he marked off the correct number of lines indicating the correct number of letters, with the space in the right spot.

"It's a place," he said with a satisfied look on his face.

I couldn't get it for the longest time, not until I started with A and ran through the alphabet. "H" I finally said.

"Yes! There are two H's!" he said enthusiastically, placing them in the two first letter of the word positions.

"L" I said.

"Yes! There are 3 L's!" he said, filling them in excitedly.

"Oh, my God, you're funny," I said, when I finally got the puzzle:

FIGURES

Just wasn't feeling a blog post today - couldn't get anything going, didn't care, didn't care that I didn't care. Wasted some time by checking my dashboard widget for the word of the day. Wouldn't you just know it: Apathy.

Apathy
One entry found.

Main Entry:
ap·a·thy
Pronunciation:
\ˈa-pə-thē\
Function:
noun
Etymology:
Greek apatheia, from apathēs without feeling, from a- + pathos emotion — more at pathos
Date:
1594
1 : lack of feeling or emotion : impassiveness
2 : lack of interest or concern : indifference

FEELING PUNCHY

Getting any kind of details out of Rojo about Outdoor School has been a lot like pulling teeth (raise your hand if you're surprised). In fact, the term "monosyllabic" comes to mind.

"Was it fun?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"Dunno."

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"What did you eat?"

"Dunno."

And so on.

But, the one thing we've heard about in excruciating detail, is the punch.

"Mom, they had PUNCH at Outdoor School! It's red and they put it in a pitcher and in the pitcher is ice and you pour the pitcher and the ice and the punch comes into your glass. Can we get punch? Can we pour it in a pitcher? Can we just keep refilling the pitcher after it's gone? Can we put ice in the pitcher? Can we just all drink the punch from the pitcher with ice?"

Yesterday my cell phone rang. "Jenn" came up on Caller ID. Jenn is Rojo's aide and that is pretty much the only call I take. No. Matter. What.

She was calling about the punch.

They hadn't been able to get off topic all morning - he wanted the NAME of the exact punch they drank at Outdoor School, and of course Jenn wasn't there so she could only guess. Rojo had poor Jenn Googling "punch" until she found the label he recognized.

"That's it!" he said upon seeing the Hawaiian Punch label.

"Oh!" Jenn said, "That's called Hawaiian Punch."

"No, that's not it then, ours was called Oregon Punch," he said.

HAPPY 15th BIRTHDAY, WOOHOO!

Dear Woohoo,

This week you turn 15, which somehow sounds so much older than 14. You ARE much older than you were a year ago, too. Much.

A year ago you were in eighth grade, middle school, at the end of a long stretch at the same school. You walked in a young five-year-old kindergartner, and walked out a ready-for-high-schooler.

But now you're rounding out your freshman year and are thinking of things like driver's permits, dates to dances, and the shifting sands of friendship.

You're able now to discern the wheat from the chaff, the true friends from the false ones, the ones that have your back and the ones that don't.

Fourteen years ago I took this picture of you with your favorite friend, Bear. He was bright and pink and well-stuffed. Today he is not so much your friend as your pillow. He is still pink if you catch him in the right light, he's shrunk, grainier, his plush has mostly rubbed off. You've made him Real. I swear I look into his scratched up black eyes and a soul looks back at me. Your love did that.

Fortunately, I think you were too young to remember when Rojo insisted on taking Bear to the grocery store one day when you were at preschool. He dropped him and it wasn't until we got home that we realized we'd left Bear. We called the store, we got Daddy, and every manager and all four of us searched every inch of that store until we found him. I never let Rojo touch him again. He takes a lot, but he can't have everything.

I know it's hard being Rojo's sister. The minute he was born the pie got cut disproportionately. You may not get 1/2 of our attention and energy, but I guarantee you get all the love in our hearts.

We couldn't be more proud of you, you are wise and kind, funny and generous. You are honest and sweet, hard working and responsible. And while we may be winding down the number of years you will live in our home, you will always live right in the middle of our hearts.

Happy birthday, Woohoo.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY 5- HE'S HOME!

Bus was due to pull up at 1:30, STM and I were both poised ready at 1:25, nearly frantic by 2:15 when if finally arrived. How did he do? Did he sleep? Was he warm enough? Did he eat? Did he take his meds? Was he up at 5:15 and driving everyone crazy? Did he cry? Was he lonely?

Great.

Yes.

Won't say, so probably, yes.

Not really, but that's okay.

Yes.

No.

I found him first, gave him a big hug which he endured with a smile, but it was Daddy's arms he was looking for.

"So, Mom, did the ice cream truck come when I was gone? Did you remember to take in the garbage and recycling on Thursday when I was gone? What time is Woohoo coming home? Can we go to the park?" HE was full of questions, there was no getting OUR questions in edge wise! He was wearing JUST what I sent him in yesterday, plus a shirt. Why actually CHANGE your shirt, when you can just layer another one on TOP! (He is his father's son.)

Finally - and painfully - extracted that he'd slept until 6:45(!) and then Tsunami took him to the nurses for his meds, and because he was QUITE janked up and the rest of his cabin was asleep, he and Tsunami played tether ball and basketball for 45 minutes until the others woke up.

How do I properly thank a person I've never met, probably never will, but who made it possible for me to sleep Thursday night? I'm putting love and blessings out into the ethers, and praying they find their target.

When St. Kathleen left yesterday she handed the baton to Tsunami and two of his Rojo's friends, one in charge of reminding him to pee, and the other charged with keeping him warm. "I'll just go ahead and lay out his hat and warm clothes on his bed, so we don't forget," said 12-year-old-going-on-40, N.

Several times throughout the day Thursday, Tsunami would flash Rojo the thumbs up sign and say, "I got your back, Rojo, I got your back!" Finally, after about the fourth time, Rojo turned to St. Kathleen and asked, "What does 'I've got your back' mean?" After she explained it was just an expression, that he didn't actually HAVE his back, that it just meant he would watch out for him, take care of him, defend and protect him, Rojo was able to fully relax. I actually think Rojo knew 2 seconds into meeting Tsunami that he "had his back" but nonetheless, always nice to know your back is safe and sound, and nobody plans to "have" it.


I may never meet you, Tsunami, but don't you worry. I have your back.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY FOUR

Woohoo comes home from school on Thursday STARVING, wants to know if I'll make spaghetti with meat sauce. Again. Made it Wednesday, too. But she's now the Only Child and is milking it, and that's okay. That's better than okay.

So I'm standing at my very nice and hardly used six-burner, cobalt blue Viking stove, stirring and simmering and the phone rings. Scares the hell out of me for two reasons: 1) Nobody calls us - I've got everyone well trained to e-mail me instead, and 2) Thought for sure it was Outdoor School calling to tell me there was a problem, since it had been a full hour since St. Kathleen had left Rojo up there, "alone."

It was our attorney. I say that all, "we have our own personal attorney on retainer" type of way, and that couldn't be further from the truth. But we do have an attorney we used five years ago when we wrote up our first and only Wills, and now we're using him again, so basically, yeah, we "have" an attorney. ANYWAY. He called because he'd received our revisions and had a few questions and clarifications he needed made before committing our dying wishes to paper and making them bound by law.

So, what just a few weeks ago had me "janked" and in a funk, was a mild intrusion and matter of fact exchange of information Thursday.

"You have that at age 25 Woohoo becomes the trustee for Rojo. I'd recommend 30."

"Okay, 30," I say, giving the sauce a gentle nudge.

"You have that ________ would have Power of Attorney. Who should I put for STM? I spend 2 seconds considering who should make life or death decisions for STM if I am already dead and he's incapacitated. I supply the name while pouring the noodles over the strainer and giving them a shake.

Five minutes later we've sewed up all the loose ends. Our Wills will be prepared accordingly, and next week we'll sign.

Check, check.

None of this matters to me yesterday, the only thing that matters is that my boy, MY boy, is "alone" at Outdoor School, surrounded by people that love him - old and new friends- and I'm home with my girl, making spaghetti. All is right with the world. This "Rojo overnight at ODS" marked on my Daytimer forever, is now here. Here. Not out there, not coming up, here.

And it's so fine it's funny.

If I could take back all the angst I endured in preparation for this night, I would. Now that it's here it's no big deal. I wouldn't take back all the careful planning, all the ducks in a row, step-by-step way we prepared for this day, starting YEARS ago, but I would remove and effectively dispose of the ANGST.

Now I'm applying this lesson to Rojo's future. If he can do this, he can do lots of things I have not thought possible.

Lots.

Anything.

And everything.

Let the planning, without the angst, begin.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY 3, AND TRUE LOVE

"I'm excited, am I?" Rojo asks as he jumps from the same car that only two days ago he nearly fell from. Partly it's the drop in temperature (40 degree drop in one day, welcome to Oregon), partly it's the fact that on Monday he was apprehensive, didn't know the routine, everything was a guessing game and now he OWNS the place, and partly it's because he's IN LOVE.

The picture above is of Rojo and his "girlfriend," J. He and J. have been "going out" for nearly two years. Could even be three, I lose track. I just know that every time I ask him if J. is still his girlfriend he gets OUTRAGED and says, "Mom! I told you, I'm never going to break up with her!"

St. Kathleen took this picture of the two of them, which is apparently indicative of how they move through Outdoor School. Her, by his side, gently guiding, reassuring, "holding space." Him, offering his undying love in return.

So, J. is his day in, day out, sweet and true love, but the new object of his love is TSUNAMI!

St. Kathleen says Tsunami isn't even bending over backwards for Rojo, but Rojo sees the light in his eyes that says, "I get you," and that has opened the magic door. Tsunami is a seasoned Outdoor School counselor, and specifically assigned to help this week with Rojo and another dear, sweet love of my life that we'll just call PK's son.

PK's son went up on the bus Sunday and won't be home until Friday. PK is a mess. Her son? A. Happy. Camper. Both of us have been worried sick, literally, for YEARS about how our boys would do.

They are fine.

And now so are we.

OUTDOOR SCHOOL DAY TWO

Do you love the irony that Rojo is at Outdoor School on Earth Day? He's been telling me about Earth Day for a few weeks, now, warning me we were going to turn off all the lights, reduce, reuse and recycle more than we already do (which borders on fanatically, already), but he didn't put it together that he'd be like, ON and IN the earth during Earth Day. But he is.

Another really hot day and another day of keeping that hooded sweatshirt ON and over his head - again, the "bees" which means anything that flies. Anything that crawls is a "spider." But he came home less tired, less dehydrated, and more enthusiastic.

"Mom, there's a counselor named Tsunami. He's my BFF. He is going to sleep in my cabin on Thursday when I spend the night. When Kathleen leaves then just, boom, there will be Tsunami. He will just, boom, be my counselor and help me after Kathleen leaves. In the morning I will be all, 'Tsunami, wake up! It's time to take me to the nurse's for my medicine! Tsunami! Wake up! Are you just so excited to see me? Are you ready to go to the nurse's office with me? Don't forget! Promise you won't forget!"

"Mom, Wednesday at lunch I am not going to sit by Kathleen, I am going to let Tsunami sit by me because Kathleen will have me for the whole ride home, but Tsunami will miss me when I leave on Wednesday, so I will just sit by Tsunami so he won't be sad when I leave. Tell Kathleen. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget."

"Mom, we are singing the 'Chicka Chicka Boom Boom' song! You do it in all the funny voices. I like the sad voice. I like to pretend cry and say, 'Chicka Chicka Boom Boom' like I'm pretend crying. That's really fun to pretend cry."

"Mom, today the Field Study counselor's name was Tangerine. Because she's orange, get it?" (Actually, no, I don't, but he seemed to get why she is orange, and that's good enough for me.) "And there's a counselor named Latte, you know, like you like? Latte, like you like, get it? Latte?"

"Don't forget to pack my suitcase. Don't forget to pack my sleeping bag. Don't forget to pack my medicine. Don't forget to pack my clothes. Don't forget, Mom, promise you won't forget."

I've had my reservations that our whole spend-just-one-night plan would work, but it looks like I've been saved.

By a Tsunami.

Outdoor School Day #1

Yesterday St. Kathleen picked up Rojo and away they went to Outdoor School. The rest of the class left on a bus Sunday, but Rojo "does not go to school on Sundays," and besides, asking St. Kathleen to go up four days is A LOT, and a Sunday, too, would be even more than I would ask of a friend of whom I've asked a lot. A. Lot.

We've been going over (and over and over and...) the plan for ODS for MONTHS. He and St. Kathleen (my BFF and his one morning/week aide for the last six years) would be "day students." They would leave at 8:00 and get there at 9:00, and stay until 4:00 and get home at 5:00, just in time for garlic toast, which all of you know by now, happens AT 5:00 PM sharp each and every single day. (Yes, there was a time we were on Cinnamon Toast Crunch, but that, my friends, was but a phase. A. Brief. Phase.)

"Mom, am I janked up? Am I excited for Outdoor School? Am I hyper? Am I just so excited? Am I going to get there at 9:00 and leave at 4:00? Am I going to be janked up when I'm there? Am I going to FREAK OUT if there are bees? Am I just so excited?"

One big blanket "yes" from me, and the litany started again, and again, and again.

Sunday he was triple "janked" and Monday morning he was "janked" times 10. Poor St. Kathleen.

The sun was shining and it was a perfect 80 degree day up on the mountain, an auspicious beginning.

St. Kathleen hit traffic and didn't get home until 5:30. A very tired and overheated Rojo nearly fell from the car. But once we fed and hydrated him - and striped him of his extra sweatshirt he'd insisted on wearing to keep him safe from bees - he came back to life like a flower, and the stories began.

"My counselor's name is Griz. Who the hell has Griz for a name?"

"We went on a HIKE. A LONG hike. I do not like hiking."

"We had cabin time. I am in K.'s and N.'s cabin. They were really janked up when I got there because they were so excited to see me."

"I did not eat the lunch. I am never going to eat the lunch. I just had the Johnny Jump-Up get me water. I will just drink water every day at lunch and make the Johnny Jump-Up get it for me."

After dinner he went digging around the house looking for our old walkie-talkies - apparently the adult counselors at Outdoor School use them, and he's hoping nobody will notice if he gets in the game. I successfully convinced him to leave them at home with the promise of playing on them ALL morning and ALL night with him, instead. Can't talk now, gotta go talk on the walkie talkie...

This is sure to be a week that will change lives, probably the least of whose is Rojo's.

* Photo of Mt. Hood, near Outdoor School

THE SECOND CUP

Has enough been made that I went from fully caffeinated to very little caffeinated?? I am not really interested in becoming totally uncaffeinated, though. I have my "cup" (12 oz., give or take a few) a day with the perfect amount of 1/2 and 1/2, in the perfectly selected mug each day, and I am happy, happy and more happy.

So happy, in fact, that I ALMOST always think, just one more. What's so bad about just one more?

And usually I distract myself out of it by saying, "I can't have one now, but I can have one later. Maybe."

But there are days those little games don't work, and I go to the bother of making just one more "cup."

It's never as good as the first, and I almost never drink more than 2 sips of it.

As it grows cold and I then pour it down the drain, the perfect amount of cream sticking to the sides and looking icky now, I think, how many other things do I think I want, but really don't?

There is going to come a day when the coffee loses and I win. When I finish that cup of perfect joe and sit back, eyes closed, and bask in the perfection of it.

With gratitude.

And nothing else.

They say enlightenment comes at the end of desire. I figure if I can start with the coffee, it's downhill all the way.


* Photo from flickr.com

"Penetrate the heart of just one drop of water, and you will be flooded by a hundred oceans." Mahmûd Shabistarî

Someone e-mailed me and wanted my opinion on whether two people with seemingly disparate religious views (Conservative Christian and Buddhist) could make it as a couple.

My opinion is yes, yes they can make it. "Opposites" make it work every day and twice on Sunday. But what concerns me more is the question. It was the Conservative Christian's hesitancy to getting involved with the Buddhist that concerns me.

It's the doubt.

Doubt will bite you in the ass every time.

My opinion is that Jesus and Buddha line up on MOST things, and there isn't a whole lot to fight about when you both agree love, peace and compassion ROCK. There are lots of good books on the subject, and if two people are entering coupledom with wide open hearts and minds, I'd like to believe anything is possible, in fact likely.

But again, it's the question that concerns me. It's the looking for trouble. It's the doubt.

The Dalai Lama says this: "Faith dispels doubt and hesitation; it liberates you from suffering, and delivers you to the city of peace and happiness. It is faith that removes the mental turbidity and makes your mind clear. Faith reduces your pride and is the root of veneration. It is the supreme lake because you can easily traverse from one stage of the spiritual path to another. It is like your hand, which can gather all the virtuous qualities."

Thoughts, Readers? The person that asked the question reads this blog. Many of you are Conservative Christians. Many of you are Buddhists. Many of you are in partnership. What do YOU think?

OUT WITH THE OLD

Cute (and functional) as this Rubbermade "nightstand" has been for STM all these many, many years, I just went NUTS and bought the man a new one!


And it was an IMPULSE purchase! Was just walking by an antique store and saw it in the window. The price, size and color was right, and the few dings just makes it match the one on my side, all the more.

STM will be 50 in a month, we've been married forever. It's time to get our bedroom out of the college dorm look, and into something resembling permanence.

HAUNTED HOUSES

Had a counselor in grade school named Mrs. Knott. Loved her. Every once in awhile she would come to our classroom and teach us some lesson about cliques, peers, and our feelings. Looking back now and knowing what I know about public education, we probably shared her with several other schools and maybe once a week she came to our school and was supposed to perform miracles in her 8 hours a week there.

She performed a miracle in my life.

In fifth grade some guy named Ken was working on his thesis project at the University of Oregon, and he was looking for a bunch of kids to act in the Halloween movie he was making. He needed names of kids that would be good.

Mrs. Knott gave him my name.

Not sure why. I'd done no acting in school (not that there was any opportunity) and as far as I could tell, I didn't stand out when she came to our room on those rare occasions.

But there are no accidents, so she suggested my name and the next thing I knew Ken was calling my mom and it was all set up.

I played a trick-or-treater (it was called "Trick-or-Treat") and for months we stomped all over the U of O campus - the Pioneer Cemetery in particular - and made a cheesy 1/2 hour movie that showed on cable. Twice.

There was a crypt in the Pioneer Cemetery that we used in our filming, as well as the front of Deady Hall for the haunted house. We never actually went IN the crypt or the "haunted house," the camera would show us with our hands on the door, then cut away.

Close, but no cigar.

That became a pattern in my life - get right up to the scary and dark places, but don't go IN. Cut away.

But eventually we must. We must go in to those scary and dark places. All the way in.

And shut the door, maybe even let it slam shut behind us, and stay there until we make our own light and find the way out again.

Thank you, Mrs. Knott.





* Photo of Deady Hall, University of Oregon

If doubt is challenging you and you do not act,     doubts will grow.  Challenge the doubts with action and you will grow.  Doubt and action are incompatible.  John Kanary (I'm nuts about the daffodils in my front yard.)

FOUR RANDOM AND TOTALLY UNRELATED WOOHOO AND ROJO STORIES

1) So O,magazine had a really good article on mothers and daughters talking about sex. I read the article, asked Woohoo to read it, then asked her if she had any questions.

"Just one," she said. Oh, boy, I thought, here we go...

"Where was I conceived?"

Not really where I was going with that...

2) My mom gave each kid Easter cards with $5.00 in them, Woohoo got a $5 bill and Rojo got five ones. He, within seconds, doled them out, two for STM (his favorite, just ask him, he'll tell you, and that works-beautifully-for me, since that means his "favorite" can get up at 5:15 each morning and make garlic toast), one for Woohoo and one for me, keeping one for himself.

"There," he proclaimed, "now we all have some."

3) Yesterday Woohoo came home from school upset - lots of drama (we don't miss that about high school, do we?). She was venting and Rojo was uncharacteristically quiet and attentive. He finally raised his right index finger, swept the air with it and in his best Josh from "Drake and Josh" voice said, "Don't forget the I-word, irritated!"

4) I forgot what the fourth one was, but the point is, they're cute.

REUNION

Just got home from having lunch with three friends from college. One of those things that you can never plan, but sometimes they just happen - you know the times - serendipitous.

Syncronistic. 

Holy.

It all started when one friend (whom I hadn't seen in 7 years) found my blog and left me a comment to e-mail her. We arranged to have lunch today.

That would have been wonderful, in and of itself. I owe the "girl" a lot - she was the one that pointed out I was meant to be an Elementary Ed. major, and I never looked back.

But then a friend from Florida e-mailed to say she'd be in town visiting her brother for Easter, and could we get together. Hadn't seen her in almost 2 years, and before that it was like 10.

So we would be three for lunch, as "Florida" went to both high school and college with "Elementary Ed."

Then on a whim I let "Eugene" (2 hours south of here) know of our meeting, and she said she doubted she could make the trip. Hadn't seen "Eugene" in 3 years. Think about her all the time.

I've got family in Eugene and she's got family in Portland, but it's hard, don't you know, hard to put all the pieces together.

Until fate takes over.

She surprised us. She drove 2 hours up and 2 hours back for a 1 1/2 hour lunch with three old friends.

I don't know why all I really want to do is sit in a corner some where and cry.

The lunch was lovely.

The women are lovely.

And maybe that's the "problem." How'd I let them slip away?

Yea, yea, life is busy, kids, jobs, moves, blah, blah, blah.

But still.

Guess what matters is they're all back in my life now.

Maybe when I need them most.

Probably.

(Photo of Memorial Union at Oregon State University)

BLOODY FANTASTIC

If that doesn't work, click here!

Happy Easter!

(Guess what word Rojo was saying over and over again while he bellowed from his bed, waiting for the rest of us to awaken?)

ANGER

Last week when I interviewed Suzanne Finnamore, she responded to a comment, and her response was so wonderful, it bears repeating for those of you that may have missed it:

SHE (short for Shelia) said...
Great interview. Makes me want to read it again since I'm grieving right now.

The anger stage is the worst.

Doing and saying things that you wish you hadn't is hard.

Needed someone to remind me that the things I said (and wrote even) in anger (stage!)are based on feelings/beliefs that will pass! That is very HELPFUL FOR ME TODAY!

9:41 AM


FINNABLOG said...
to SHE

when i wrote Split, i discovered my raw manuscript had approximately 90 pages each of Denial, Bargaining, Grief, and Acceptance....and 300 pages of ANGER.

In books as in life, i had to cut a lot of the Anger out in order to see my creation realized.


;)
suzanne finnamore


Here's to cutting a lot of Anger to have our creations realized.


* Photo from photobucket.com