Soul Gold

In between moments of "Do you know where crazy is, cause you're driving your mother there" and "No, no more goldfish" and "Do you want a timeout?" (Which just proves that I'm already at "crazy" because no two year old is going to take his fingers out of his brother's nose willingly and say, "Why, yes, mother...I think I do want a timeout, thank you) Anyway, the sane moments I have this week are moments I am immersed in THE ALCHEMIST by Paulo Coelho.

If you haven't read it yet...run, don't walk to the nearest bookstore and read it NOW. Especially if you're a writer. It's seriously a spiritual experience. Okay, maybe that's just me, but WOW. I can count on one hand the number of books that have touched something deeper than my intellect. This is a book that is more like an experience. An experience of seeing the invisible thread that connects us all--to each other, to nature, to the stars, the wind, the past, present and future.

It also is a confirmation for me in some ways. I've talked before about how much I believe in serendipity and how I feel that when you're on the right path (your personal right path) you will know by the way things open up unexpectedly. Like floating down a river, instead of trying to swim up it. Not that there won't be obstacles--mountain-sized boulders and man-eating fish--but that those obstacles won't matter because what's a few bumps, bruises and delays when you are following your dreams?

"When you want something (something referring to your one great desire, not the '69 Camaro you've been dreaming about...or is that just me again?) all the universe conspires to help you achieve it."

Anyway, the book is basically a fable about finding your Personal Legend. Everyone has one.

One of the parts that I liked the most was when the main character realized at one point when he's about to give up, that it didn't matter how long it took him to reach his goal, every step was a step closer.

Isn't that a great thought to ease some of the pressure we put on ourselves? It doesn't matter if two years have gone by between step one and step two. As long as you take that step, you will never fail.

This is such an important point, especially as writers. We are trying to find personal fulfillment in a business that moves at the speed of molasses. A novel can take years to write, years to get published (with odds on forever). But the only way you don't succeed is if you give up, if you stop moving toward your purpose in life.

So, take that step! Step away from the self-doubt and dare to dream. Even if it's been a year...or ten since you took the time out to write, paint, dance, make someone laugh...whatever it is that opens your heart and pours in warm unending streams of sunshine...move toward it. It's a good day to realize you are still on the road to fulfilling your purpose in life.

How do I know?

You're breathing, aren't you?

A Bead in the Hand

I hear people say all the time that they wish they could be a carefree kid again. I always nod like I know what they're talking about, but truly I don't. Carefree is not how I would describe my childhood personality. I often wonder how far back I would have to go to find carefree. Five? Three? Two? Do you remember what it was like to be carefree? Before things like responsibility, worry, guilt and fear nudged their way into that space?

This week, I found it. Not by reliving my childhood--as that's not even possible, much less desirable--but by being present for someone else's:



As I studied this little face, so bent on concentration, I saw something so much bigger than the task of putting a plastic bead on a string. I saw that the bead was my child's only care in the world.

Can you imagine? One tiny bead, his only worry. The one slid on the string beforehand was already forgotten; the one he will put on next--not even a thought yet.



Translated into adult language: I can guarantee you he wasn't sitting there letting his mind wander to the playground this morning, torturing himself with thoughts of "If I would have only got to the swing first, I could have rode it longer." Or "If I would have just not thrown sand in my brother's hair, mom would have given me that cookie. I'm such a baby." Or "Maybe I can put these beads on faster and then maybe the next thing we do won't be so tedious. OOO, I wonder what the next thing is?"

That would suck the fun right out of stringing this bead, wouldn't it?







So, go ahead--plan for the future, learn from the past...but give the bead between your fingers some attention, too.

(Thanks for the reminder, boys)

Just Write Tuesday

I wonder sometimes--during warm cloudless days when I'm dreaming of the ocean--if there isn't some underlying intelligence to the color scheme of our world. Blue skies above us, if we're lucky. Over seventy percent of uncharted oceans surround us, cradle us and reflect blue back to us.

Blue is supposed to be a calming color. Peace. Salve. Tranquility. Our world is painted these things. Maybe the designer (in this scenario, there is one) knew we would all feel edgy, knew all the craziness we would conjure up and knew we would need to live in a blue world. Maybe blue is nature's prozac.

This used to be my favorite color, but now it’s red.

Red like rubies and blood. Deep red. Red like velvet roses and ugly velvet curtains. Red like lava and Rudolph’s nose. Red with tiny silver beads. Red with texture. Red lipstick that tastes like cherries and red high heels that transport you to magical places of daring and dancing. Daring to dance.

Click Click.

Take me any place but home.

Maybe I am just craving the feeling of being alive, being bold.

Sometimes when you are tired of blue, red is just the thing to sink your teeth into.

A Dog's Life

I've mentioned before how I always knew I wanted to be a writer, but--thanks to worshipping James Harriot growing up--I also thought I could be a vet. Animals have always been an important part of my life. In fact, there has never been a period of time in my life that I haven't had a dog. My parents had dogs, and when I moved out of their house and on my own at eighteen, the first thing I went out and got was...no, not furniture...but a dog. He was a wild mop of a dog who liked to sleep on my pillow and pee on the pizza man, and--looking back--I can't imagine making it through those hellish, hyper-turmoil years without his cuddling and silent love.

This week, something special began emerging regularly between the boys and our dog. Maybe it's because she's allowed around them more (as they are tall enough now she doesn't run them over) and they are old enough to understand why they can't poke her in the eyes.

They are all beginning to bond. It's an amazing thing to watch now that I'm watching.


I got hooked on this prison show a while back where inmates were given a rescued dog from the pound to turn into a service dog. I fell hard for this show as I watched man and beast melt under the power of unconditional love. It was amazing, not only watching how the attention turned the dog around, but how it opened up the possibilities for hope in the men that grew to care about them.

I'm hoping that's the lesson being given and taken as my boys discover man's best friend.

Here's a great example:




A moment of time-out transformed into heaven for both parties.

Oh, and this may be cheating, but since this peace and bonding at our house this week was the highlight of my week, I'm using it as my weekly F-U-N posting!

Carnival of F-U-N Friday

Two things fueled my daily grind with the twins this week. One is, I've been reading this book THE GOOD SON by Michael Gurian to try and figure out how their little minds work, because really--I don't have a clue. I know they came from me...I was there. But, I don't understand them at all. Why do they have to bite and hit and stare at me daringly while they do it? Why, when I give them a new book, do they find some way to use it as a weapon? Why is stuffing cheerios up their nose an acceptable form of competition? Maybe if I can understand them, we can all survive toddler hood.

I won't go into all the nitty gritty details of the book, but I will highly recommend it if you're raising your own tiny Rambos. Basically boys need space to run, they need healthy competition, they need to be taught empathy (this is apparently not pre-loaded software), and they are more physically aggressive than girls by wiring default. Channeling that aggression is mom's job (cuz the ex-marine dad in our house just encourages it).

The second thing was mindful F-U-N. A challenge thrown down by Between the Lines Twim Mama to make mothering a different kind of f-word.

For our first activity, I thought, what a better way to kick off the carnival of fun than with balloons! Who made up the rule that balloons were just for special occasions? We began our party and here's what I learned:



It takes exactly eight times for a twenty six pound toddler to kamikaze you will an orange balloon for it to pop and illicit a severe giggling fit from said toddler.



It takes exactly four point two seconds for second toddler to realize he can create his own challenging game of mad frustration by throwing balloon over a gate where he can't reach it. Why is this game worth playing twelve-gazillion times? Again, the male brain at work. (Actually, I sort of recognize this in my own life. Maybe I can chalk this one up to DNA)



Ah! Now this unabashed swatting was fun! (Channeling the aggression was a bonus!)

Then it was time to calm down and break out some sit-down fun, which in our house means strapped-in.




They were supposed to be painting paper plates with primary colors, artsy fun with real learning value. Ha. So here's what I learned:

When you mix these colors together, you get...mud...that you can then paint on your body in some primal need to blend in with the environment so the prey doesn't see you coming. The dog didn't, anyway.

Now that was fun!

Update Tidbits

1) I have found so many amazing, inspiring people through this wonderful, wacky medium of blogging. One of those woman is Bella, who has introduced us to her friend Jenni Ballantyne, a woman who is living with terminal cancer. She is a single mom with a six year old son, Jack. She is bravely sharing her journey with those who are brave enough to step through the looking glass and be with her. If you'd like to help her and her son out, a group of friends are organizing a fund-raiser, click HERE for information about the ebay auction or other ways to show some love.


2) On a lighter and so much less important note: I have rewritten the parts of my novel that needed to be rewritten, added scenes, fixed grammer, dots, lines, stupidity...I'm sufficiently satisfied with the results and sufficiently tired of looking at it, so I've jumped on the query-mobile. As always, out of ignorance or the over-achiever gene, I've aimed high and sent out the first five to my dream agents. Sooooo...cross your fingers, light a candle or kiss a fairy for me. I'll just be here clicking my heels together and obsessively checking my email.

3) And last but not least, is my rekindling interest in photography. Maybe it's because finishing such a large project is giving me a bit of creative breathing room, or maybe I'm just catching the enthusiasm bug from some of the photography blogs I've been discovering lately, but I've decided it's time to stop thinking of photo shop as the digital equivalent of cheating. I've been wrestling with learning layers these past few days...and by wrestling I mean being pinned to the mat by these mind-bending suckers. But, I'm not down for the count yet.

So, donate, pray, stop by Jenni's blog and leave some light and kind words of support...time is love.

Bug Soup

For the next thirty seconds you will be reading a cop-out. Because I am living in a flu-fog this week and can't even read an email and get it to make sense, I'm going to just share a really, really cool fact I ran across last week about one of my favorite subjects--butterflies.

It is simply this: memory survives metamorphosis.

Apparently when the caterpillar turns into bug soup within the chrysalis--with the help of eroding digestive juices (yummy)--the components of the brain that retain memory remain intact.

They apparently learned this by exposing caterpillars to the smell of nail polish remover and at the same time giving them a mild electric shock. The older the caterpillar was when exposed to this combination, the greater his chance of remembering to avoid the smell of nail polish after the metamorphosis.

Nature rocks.

7-Up

The one thing that is fascinating about raising twins is you can see, by comparison and because they are being raised in exactly (almost) the same environment at the same time, what is truly passed down to them through genes. Jayden is so much like his father, with his fearless love of life and jumping into any situation without looking. Tye is the reserved one, sticking a toe in a situation by watching it first and for a long time before he's comfortable enough to stick a real toe in. That's me.

Seeing this in him both fills me with wonder and with dread. I don't want this insecurity and fear about the world that I've passed down to him genetically to be fed by his environment like mine was, making it an out of control force to be reckoned with all his life. So, I started thinking back into my childhood, something I rarely do anymore, trying to find the events that enforced my insecurities about myself and the world, moments that maybe could have given me confidence instead of more fear. One in particular stood out, even though it was a small event. I can't even remember how old I was...probably six, maybe seven.

The day I went to school with my cousin instead of to my own safe, familiar school. To a school on a giant hill with classrooms with real wooden floors and long sticks of soft chalk and a teacher that seemed both mysterious and sweet. A teacher I was instantly enamored with.

I remember pressing my wet palms against the unfamiliar desk, trying not to look at the other kids, who were staring at me with that rude curiosity we learn to tame as we get older, when the teacher announced we were going to play 7- Up. The kids seemed excited. I was horrified. I didn't like games. Games were for outgoing people, competitive people, people who enjoyed winning things and the attention that came with winning things. Worse was...I didn't know how to play this game and no one bothered to explain it to me.

So, we began.

Put your head down on the desk and close your eyes. I could do this. Darkness, anonymity, closed eyes. This game was fun so far. I don't remember the point of the game, I only remember the point of the game that made me want to bolt through the door and back down that big hill.

I lifted my head. Slightly, to see what the other kids were doing, to see what I was supposed to be doing.

"Hey!" I heard a boy cry to my left. "She peeked! She cheated!"

I felt the soft presence of the teacher to my right and turned my head to her, still trying to keep it on the desk.

"Did you cheat?" she asked quietly.

"No," I stammered.

"Did you peek?"

I wanted to explain that I wasn't actually peeking. I was trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing. But, in her eyes I saw that all knowing disappointment as if she were peering into the mystery that was me and had already found her answer. Disappointment. She didn't know me, didn't know I wasn't the kind of child that would cheat. Or maybe I was? She seemed to be entertaining the idea and she was an adult who understood things, who knew about things. Maybe she knew something about me I didn't. I could feel my face burning. I couldn't speak because I was too busy trying to swallow tears. So, I just shook my head yes.

"Well, you can keep your head up then. You can't play this round."

I had to pick my head up. That was hard. I stared at the desk, feeling disappointed in myself, feeling that I would never understand the world and how it was supposed to work.

This is a feeling that hasn't quite gone away, maybe that's why this memory is so clear. My first taste of it. The feeling that you are always in over your head, in a game where you don't know the rules.

Can I save my shy, sensitive son from knowing this feeling?

Gra-feet-tee!

I need some of this.

I've written here once in awhile about how well...we'll just call her offspring A...is going to be heading off to college in a few months and how I've had a few pointed moments of realizing just how much of "her own person" she really is. Most of these moments were touching, bitter-sweet and ones I want to remember.

This weekend, despite protests, bribes, lectures and tears...she did something to "express herself" that made me feel like I have failed her as a parent.

And then I blamed her father.

She got a tattoo.

Now, I'm not against tattoos totally. I've seen small ones that I admired, ones that people thought long and hard about, that expressed a philosophy or engrained a permanent (permanent being the key word here) memory of something important to them. But, what my dearest, only female offspring has chosen to do to celebrate being eighteen is get giant mutant flowers covering BOTH of her feet. BOTH. It seriously looks like vandals attacked her and dipped her feet-first into a bucket of graffiti.

It took me a few days to stop being physically ill over this and luckily it took her a few days to return from Georgia with her father where this crime took place. So, I had a lot of time to consider my reaction after the initial text picture she sent me, because my initial reaction was to forbid her from ever leaving the house or making another decision on her own.

By now, you must be wondering, considering my violent over-reaction, what exactly it was I said to her when she walked in the door and said "don't you want to see them?"

Well, I looked into her beautiful blue eyes first and found my little girl, then I looked my little girl's feet and tried to just picture the soft pink baby toes I had kissed and watched grow into my own shoes and I simply ask if they hurt.

Eventhough she knows I don't approve, I haven't expressed the extent of my horror and disappointment to her. I just don't see the point. It's done, it's something she's going to have to live with...apart from me. Something she's going to have to learn that she will be judged by.

Hell, I love her more than any other person on this earth ever will, but even I can't help but feel my confidence shaken a bit in her ability to make good choices about her future.

Then again, if this is the worst mistake she makes, I will consider myself lucky.

Until then...

I will buy her shoes.

Girl Talk

This is called sharing just because I feel like writing.

At the gym this morning I was dropping off the monsters in the monster room when I overheard a pregnant woman behind me laughing and saying something to the effect of "yeah, I'm so glad to be off of bed rest now, I hit thirty eight weeks so they let me come back to the gym." They let her come back to the gym????! And she did???!!

Seriously, when I was on bed rest, I would have been happy if they would have let me walk to the kitchen for my own ice-cream, but if they said "hey, you're about ready to drop that baby anyway, so go ahead and go back to the gym," I would have had a monumental laughing fit and...probably the babies.

Now, for those of you who have never been on bed rest, it is not something you jump up from, get in your car and run back to the gym with a big smile and even bigger belly. Your muscles atrophy, your joints ache, your spirit is basically broken. My bedrest lasted four months and it has taken me exactly two years to jump (struggle) into the car and run (struggle) back to the gym with a small smile and a small-ish belly. But here this woman was--glowing, beautiful and standing without passing out after getting off bed rest!

I have to say, the accomplishment I had felt at even leaving the house this morning in twenty degree weather turned into something small and slimy that I wanted to shake off of my finger.

The moral here I guess is not to compare yourself or what you can handle in life to others but sheesh...

It's hard not being hard on yourself.

Today's Short Story

In honor of a story's beginning, today I try to begin again.



recollection of meditation

the house creaks beneath the power of winter winds
follow your breath

in
out
slower

what is breath?
it is nothing and everything until I inhale
and then exhale
then it is breath
and still
nothing and everything
stop thinking and be like the exhale
disappear

how long have I been staring at the brown weeds beyond the fence?

Where did the purple spot of light go?
That was cool
It sounds like ghosts are walking around upstairs

stop thinking

stop

damn, forgot to turn the phone off.

I'll begin again tomorrow.

Of Memes and Butterflies

There is lots of great writing advice floating around out there, but since I've been tagged with two Memes by my twin-toting, writing gal pal Shawn, who I can't deny anything, I'll add mine to the mix. Here are a few things I've learned this past year about writing:


Join the Club: Writers tend to be introverts. Let's face it, you have to enjoy spending a good amount of time locked up with yourself to be a writer. We sit around chewing our pens, our fingers hovering over the keyboard in moments of anxiety feeling like we're alone on our make believe planet. The thing I've learned is, it's healthy for us to realize we're not alone. So, join other writers. Join online communities, join local clubs--form connections, friendships, fall in love with other writers, laugh with them, complain to them, rejoice with them. They are your kindred. You are not alone in your nightwalking, your insecurities, your love of words. These are the people that understand you and your goals, your successes and your fears. How great is that???


Be Fearless: I'm still working on this one, but when I say fearless, I mean in life too, not just on the page. One of the things I regret, because it does affect my writing is not having enough life experience. Not getting on that plane or talking to the stranger crying on the sidewalk, not taking the scuba diving class or the chance to learn a new language. You can be the most talented wordsmith in the world, but if you have nothing to write about, no interesting experiences, no first-hand details to weave into your stories they will lack not only substance but authenticity. So live. Be a writer, but don't be just a writer.

Embrace the Struggle: It's not going to come easy, success in this business. I've stopped wanting it to. Did you know--

It’s the struggle against the crysalis that sends blood into the butterfly's wings so they will be strong enough to navigate the wind. Without that struggle, the wings would come out, but they would be deformed and of no use. There is beauty and strength within the struggle--as long as you don't give up.


As for the second Meme...here's the rules:


1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages)
2. Open the book to page 123
3. Find the 5th sentence
4. Post the next three sentences
5. Tag 5 people

The only book I have on my desk at the moment is Natalie Goldberg's Writing Down the Bones. So, even though these aren't very exciting lines, here they are (cuz I play by the rules, I can't help myself)

In writing class, painful things come up--the death of a husband, throwing the ashes of a dead baby into the river, a woman going blind. The students read the pieces they just wrote and I tell them they can cry if they need to but to remember to continue to read.

Her point here is-writing is the goal. She goes on to say that writing gives us a chance to take these emotions, even the hard ones, and give them light, color and a story.

Light, color and a story. We have all the fun, don't we?

If you want to have some fun, and haven't done these yet, try it!

Valentine Surprise

Last night I went to let the dog out and was shocked to see big, juicey wet flakes tumbling through the moonlight. In this city, we see snow very rarely. In fact, the news called it “snow shock” because no one knew it was coming. Within minutes the ground was covered and we spent the next few hours watching the magic show as buckets of glitter fell from the sky; swirling in gusts of wind and piling up on cars, bushes and lawns in a thick, fluffy shimmering blanket. We were inside our very own snow globe.

Besides covering our little corner of the world in white, I was most enchanted with the idea that it was unexpected. When did I stop expecting the unexpected?

Well, in a sense, I haven’t, it’s just that when I think of the unexpected, I think of sudden disasters…car accidents, freak lighting strikes, bombings, a bridge collapsing. You get my point, basically, all the things brought into our livingrooms and minds by the daily news.

The thing I realized is we try to make our world so predictable--so padded, strapped in, secured--that we think we have a handle on what happens within the span of our day. But, then something falls from the sky and we realize we don't have control. We have illusion.

So, the real question is…when did I stop expecting the unexpected to be soft and beautiful and kind?

Expect the unexpected. Sometimes it is truly a gift.

Happy Valentines Day. Love, the Universe.

Update

Thought I'd post a few bits of good news here. First, I have officially typed the last sentence of my novel! I would like to say I've finished it, but with all the editing and filling in of details ahead of me, that would be a big fat lie.

It does feel incredibly good to have it all down though, the whole plot--beginning, middle and end--unfolded and complete. I can now look back at the seeds of its beginnings over three years ago without anxiety over whether I will ever find the time to finish it, find the perfect ending, find myself staring at the words: THE END.

Because I have found all of that and more.

The writing life is good!

On a second happy note--we have made the official decision to move back to Florida this summer. Our house will go on the market in March. Soon sand will replace the hard red clay beneath my feet; a wide open sky will replace monster scrubby trees on rolling hills; balmy breezes will replace frozen toes and saltwater will be my new therapy. I'm going home.

Of course, now we have three weeks to complete a three thousand item list the realtor has provided to get the house ready for sale. I'm sure my euphoria will wax and wane during some of the scrubbing, painting, packing...(what, we have to install a garage door opener?) part. But, right now I am enjoying the joy. Looking forward to the change. Trying not to hug and kiss strangers--that kind of joy.

Okay, just wanted to share. Back to editing I go!

New Year, New Approach

Once again, a new year waits patiently for us to arrive. Or, at least that's how I've felt lately. I keep watching it out of the corner of my eye, ever aware of its presence. It's like the wise father with a knowing smile holding the door open, waiting for the child to come in from playing.

I didn't feel this last year, this pulling, this anxiousness to step over that thick black line we've slashed in time, allowing for fresh perspectives, new resolutions...fresh starts. I also feel a pull toward not just writing, but finishing what I've started. It's time to focus.

I've decided to give myself a deadline, which has always been a four letter word for me, but I'm feeling ready for a new approach. I'm giving myself three months to finish my novel. I will have to write about two pages a day to meet this goal and being a slow writer, this is definitely a challenge.

Unfortunately, this need to focus all my time and energy in one place means that I will be taking a hiatus from writing here. I'll still visit those of you that have become my connection, my life lines in the solitude, my friends and co-conspirators in this crazy writing business.

New beginnings, new loves, new experiences and successes to you all!

Happy New Year & I'll see you soon!

Personal Meaning & Sincere Wishes for You

I know I've been quiet here lately. Quiet and getting quieter. Unfortunately, I think it's my response to outside activity increasing. The holidays. The family. The upcoming travel plans. It's all overwhelming. The noise levels are too high, the lights are too bright, the expectations of fun and happiness are too much. I feel like a startled rabbit ready to bolt to a dark corner at any moment. Can you say introvert, anyone?

So, going inward because outward is feeling very toxic, I started wondering what exactly do the holidays mean to me?

I know some of my friends use this time to celebrate the birth of Christ, some use it to celebrate Hanukkah, some just to be with family or try to find some meaning within their family's traditions. I get it, I feel the excitement for them, but I also feel a bit like I'm watching all this from a window and it isn't touching me.

Growing up, my family had traditions--yes, but my family is now defunct; each in their own space rebuilding their lives with different people. So, it is up to me to salvage what traditions I deem important and meaningful and integrate them into the family I have made.

What do I deem important? I don't know. What the freak does this holiday season even mean to me? I don't know anymore. I mean, let's break down Christmas: The date of December 25th stems from the feast of the Son of Isis, St. Nicholas is a borrowed idea from the patron saint of Russia and the Christmas tree was considered a pagan symbol until the 16th century Catholic church was kind enough to wave in it. It's a smorgasbord of cultural customs and beliefs that have nothing to do with mine.

In order to not feel like a fraud for covering our entire house, fence, shed and dog in blinking colored lights, I had to find meaning. Meaning on a deadline. Not too difficult, right?


Luckily, today the temperatures climbed to the mid-70's here and I found a starting point in my quest. Today was a reprieve, a much needed unthawing from the shocking thirty degree weather last week. Being able to sit outside and feel the sun warming my skin was truly a gift, a break, a holiday from the emotional struggle cold weather brings for me.

This word kept sticking in my mind.

Holiday.

It's a vacation, a break from work, from the struggle of day to day things. It's a sanctioned rest. This is something I can relate to, something I can get excited about. A holiday.

So, this is what I'm building on. This notion of a holiday.

It is beginning to feel a lot like peace.

So, that is what I wish for you all, no matter what you are celebrating this month...that you find rest, stillness and peace.

Happy Holidays!

Colors of my Life

I kissed you today and smelled strawberries in your hair. I watched you pause to point at the sliver of cotton in the sky and declare it a ‘moom’. I heard your babbles and private language mingle with whatever birds warble as the sun sets.

And as the sun sank, I saw the blue deepen into the same hue as your eyes. The sky was your precious face fading from this familiar blue into the pale peach light glowing from your cheeks. These colors, these sounds that make you inseparable from nature are no coincidence. They are promises, gifts, and little whispers from mother earth that you are also her child and she will cradle you and comfort you when I cannot.

Excavating Some Rules

This post is in response to Shawn's list of "rules you live by" writing project. I had a few of them sorted out (see previous post), but the rest didn't come easy. Mostly because I don’t feel like I’ve learned enough about life yet to have established any hard and fast rules that I’m living by. I'm always still looking to others, still searching--other people, other belief systems--trying to figure out what’s working for who without really trusting anyone. But, as I thought about what core rules I live by right now I was surprised by the things propping up my life. Here they are in no particular order:

1) Pay attention to the reoccurring themes in your life. These are quiet lessons being whispered to us every day in the form of an overheard conversation, a book flipped open to the right page, a photo on a passing bus. Tiny messages that accumulate like snow flakes until they are big enough to get our attention.

2) Accept change. It is part of the natural cycle, the ebb and flow of life. Sorrow will follow joy, but joy will also follow sorrow. The only thing we can control is our reaction to change.

3) Don’t lose your inner child. Allow yourself to be silly, ride roller coasters, make snow angels, chase fireflies and invisible dragons, build sandcastles, play dress-up, spin until you fall to the ground and watch the clouds whirl above you. Of course, it helps if you have an actual child doing these things with you. Do everything you can to not take life or yourself quite so seriously.

4)Widen your view of the world. It is much more expansive, far- reaching and deeper than the space we occupy. There are so many cultures, philosophies and places to explore, experience and love and--so little time.

5)Remember how to breathe. As children we breathe deeply into our bellies. As adults we breath shallow into our chest. Be conscious of your breath, use it to fill your belly, calm your emotions, quiet your mind.

6) Live well. This is not as easy as it sounds. Letting yourself rest when needed, saying no when you are overwhelmed, exercising, fueling your body's furnace with healthy foods, creating, meditating, worshiping, laughing, learning, connecting. There is so much to taking care of your mind, body and spirit but it's worth the investment. Give yourself a chance to reach your full potential in life.

7) If you’re going to bother doing something don’t do it half way. Delve into it, immerse yourself in the whole experience. Don't just taste the wine-- learn how to swirl, close your eyes and separate the fruit from the oak from the earth. Life will be richer and full of color.

8) Friendships are vital. It's the space in between people where things happen. Pay attention to this space, this is love.

9) Hold on to hope. Hope is our greatest weapon against cause and effect, against knowing what the future can and will bring, and against ourselves when we feel like giving up and giving in.

10) Live free. Not free of responsibility or relationships, but free of fear, guilt, judgment and boundaries. Let yourself off the hook and off the leash.

Words of Love

Words.

Words fail us when we need them the most, but they are also our salvation. We pass ideas, stories, and memories from one soul to another. We connect. We communicate. We fight. We solve. All is possible with words. We say I love you and even though we don't really understand the concept of love ourselves, we use the word "love" and it is understood.

We love our children most fiercely. Those innocent, new beings we guard and protect. Those that we cherish, feeling their pain as our own. We love them with an infinite, uncondional fire.

I bought a journal to fill with words for my daughter. I wanted to give her something special for her eighteenth birthday/graduation/moving on to live separate from me in college gift. It is the highest gift I could think of--words.

I have always wanted to fill a journal for her with bits of advice, poems, glimpses of what she means to me, but I have never been able to do it, until now--eight weeks before I will place it in her hands. I sat down this weekend and filled twenty pages of things I want her to remember, to read, to take--or not take--but at least...to have.

In my twenties and thirties, life was spent mostly trying to hold my head above water, above the chaos that I can look back on now and see what could have been avoided, where I could have swam to shore. I don't often look back, only when I wonder things like "why haven't I started this journal sooner?" I now finally find myself shrugging off the struggle, catching glimpses of peace and truths that have calmed the ocean around me and within me.

I finally found the words.

To my dearest daughter:

This journal is my gift to you in hopes that it will be there when I cannot, in hopes it will bring you greater understanding of what it means to be a mother, to be your mother, to be a woman, to discover yourself and to discover most of all that you are never lost. You are right where you are supposed to be. I'm not sure what this will become. Advice when you are ready to hear it, inspiration when you find your wings, laughter and tears, unconditional love when you wonder if you are worthy of it. It will not be so you avoid mistakes, but so you know that nothing is a mistake. Everything is just a teacher and love is the greatest teacher of all.


This is what I'll be working on for a little while. There are plenty of pages to fill, so any words you are moved to share are welcomed!

Tis the Season to be Non-Productive

So, the frost has come, the holidays are bearing down on those who choose to be beared down upon. Last year, I barely looked up from my duty as twin toddler mom to recognize the holidays. This year, I'm in the mood to celebrate my family and friends by paying them some attention. Most of them live out of state so, I thought I'd send each one something special, something thoughtfully created instead of store-bought.

On the first leg of my quest I found this incredibly talented photographer who makes jewelry from her photos. She puts little supportive poetry or messages in each box, too. Very special work. Perfect for my girlie friends.

I've also gone a bit crazy with making personalized photo albums over at Snapfish for family members. I am trying to refrain from forcing pictures of my children upon friends.

So, if my posting seems a bit scarce during these next few weeks, you'll know what I'm busy doing.

Feel free to share any creative gift ideas or links here!