snow laden foxgloves

It feels unfair. Leaves still on trees, foxgloves blooming, rose bushes with opening buds and yet pillows of snow on every leaf, every blossom. I didn't expect this, and so it has caught me by surprise. In the midst of my growing grief this has taken my breath away like an unexpected blow across the face. Undeniable, I reach for my scarf and winter coat. For the past months the weather has been saving grace in my life. I felt a kinship with the untidiness of my garden and it flourished without human direction. Since closing my office in Bryn Mawr I have felt a sense of loss of that dream of the" Wellness Collective". It was such a lovely idea to have a group of practitioners working in the same space, offering services to enhance and maintain wellness. It was an idea worth working toward. Investing our hearts and our time we just couldn't sustain it for long enough to pay the bills. I'm not sure where to go from here...There is value in pausing for a moment and allowing the journey to unfold in it's own time. And so, I remind myself to trust the process, to be the process and to savour this period of incubation, or relaxation, enjoying my free time to catch up on accounts, take a long walk, and day dream. My life has changed so much and so quickly over the past six years that I haven't had a chance to adjust or integrate the new opportunities I have been offered. I remember the fall 25 years ago, with an undiagnosed, ruptured ectopic pregnancy: the pain, and recovery. The realization that I had experienced a near death episode and the second chance I had received with wonder and delight. My determination to devote myself to parenthood and my ignorance about what that might bring over the course of my life. I'm still not sure, but I have a sense of the cycles, with the surprises like this morning. Waking up to snow covered flowers, something of the poppy scene from Wizard of Oz. Perhaps this will wake me up to the fleeting responsibilities of parenthood and the changes occurring over the next months. And the possibility of each day, each conversation being the last. 

plum jam

Growing up in southern Minnesota had it's pleasures. We had plum trees laden with fruit which were made into plum jelly and jam to last through the winter. We had no sense of what a treasure those jars contained. And now I search specialty stores for a similar product. The price tag slows me down, yet the flavor of rich ripe plums on a scone from Rustica Bakery takes me back to the few pleasures of my childhood. We were poor and many, yet we had what we needed for the most part. And as a popular and available babysitter I had a little stash of my own personal funds to turn to when I found something I didn't want to live without... Like my guitar. Purchased in New Ulm for around $100 it was a ticket to another world. A world of independence and charm, popular music, classical, flamenco, and funny improvisations. It was a place where I could escape my younger sibling encroaching my territory. No privacy, only chaos. With tension an underlying element of my parents relationship I grew up thinking that was the way all marriages worked. It was a mark of success. However it is simply a mark of having successfully duplicated the model I observed. I graduated from high school vowing to never marry. To never enter into that contract which would rob me of my personal identity, compromise my values and tempt me into a submissive role where I would shrink and cower like so many of my female ancestors.

rainy saturday

Am I in love? With someone besides myself? Am I in love with myself? Will I ever manage to love myself in all my aspects? All the different parts of myself that I try to hide from the world, and especially from my kids, and especially from myself. The fat parts, the aging parts, the ugliness, the horrible thoughts of self-doubt, second guessing as if there was a right answer and I had missed it. In an unexpected conversation, this unexpected question: am I in love? I wonder if she meant am I living with someone. Or perhaps: am I in an exclusive intimate relationship with someone. It's a common question, yet I wonder what is behind it. Is it am I identified as being in a relationship, or am I identified as a partner, identified as my partner whomever that might be...and what the partner does. I felt obligated to answer. As I felt obligated to attend a social function this evening. After realizing that I didn't want to go, and that my internal conversation was bullying me towards going with great reluctance, and out of a sense of obligation, I stopped. I gave myself permission to skip it, without an excuse or explanation. So I walked through the back garden and lingered in the cool rain listening to a distant cardinal checking out for the night. He wasn't going anywhere either, and he wasn't shaming and blaming himself either. I noticed the progression of my birch tree changing color. She knows it's time to prepare for winter and just does it, no nonsense, no questions, no mind games. Perhaps I can learn a lesson from her natural wisdom. Perhaps I have and I'm not giving myself credit for it. I keep those less attractive parts of myself in a glass jar and when I hear their voices chipping away at my self esteem, my confidence I put the lid on to take the volume down a bit. The truth is that after many years of anorexic type behavior, compulsive exercise, attempting to conform to cultural expectations, and approaching dance from the stereotyped definition of a dancer, my goal is to be well nourished  with nutritious food. My somewhat compulsive work habits are becoming more relaxed as I am less interested in my role as a rescuer. My financial status stable and I have discovered a growing trust in my ability to generate revenue I live in a growing abundance which replaces my identification with the word poor. I have not abandoned myself: I am successfully thriving. I appear to be learning from my mistakes. When I choose to spend time alone I don't feel isolated. I give myself permission to be less than perfect, to practice detaching in non violent ways without beating myself up for needing to learn new or more advanced, effective skills. I'm entitled to enjoy the fruits of my labor. I can say "yes" to my life even when it means saying "no" to someone else. 

chocolate and kiwi

And Jasmine tea. I have been haunted by the chevre cheesecake from Rustica. Each time I return, hoping to meet it again, I find other selections available, but nothing comparable to the cheesecake. On inquiry I learned that they cycle through their dessert selections every 3 months. It seems like an awfully long time to wait...I googled for a recipe, but nothing quite the same as the creation living in my memory. There are so many variations of the chocolate tart and after a fashion they all begin to taste the same. I am eating more Zespri kiwis to strengthen my immune system. And the combination of the chocolate and crunchy fruit was satisfying. Complex. Worth pursuing, but....always "but." I kept imagining the kiwis with the chevre cheesecake. And frustration set in. I've put myself on the waiting list, requested the recipe, and notification when it is next available. Worst case senario: I will ask to special order one for Sunday brunch. Until then the photo must sufice. 

http://www.rusticabakery.com/menu.php

Brunch

Sunday brunch has come to be a high point of my week. All events lead to this one meal. We've tried many venues with great success but decided to give it a try at home. Adam exchanges his services for massage time, which supports his running recovery and I provide the ingredients. We limit the budget somewhat and come up with a menu as if we were offering it for a catering. I invite guests, let him know the numbers shop with him if appropriate and sit down at 11:30, ready to relax and enjoy. Maggie and Gabe, Jonathon, Adam and I shared this arrangement of fresh figs,  Zespri

Kiwi, and St Andre. It was bliss. The nutty seeds of the fruit and the triple cream of the cheese were a perfect compliment to the more savory selections. Individual blue cheese and green onion quiches, cucumber and chevre sandwiches, and scones preceded the fruit and cheese. Jonathon brought an Indian desert and real chai tea. It was an experiment worth repeating and the goal is simply to get together and share ideas, and stories, and relax. Try new ideas, and not create a lot of stress around eating and food. Last Sunday we ended up at Grand Cafe eating Eggs Cocotte. Always fantastic also a little pricey. So we will try to get the recipe and the ramekins, and do it here for ourselves. It is my idea of luxury to have a personal chef, even if it is only for one meal. And as I am still working 6 days a week, this Sunday commitment is part of my self care routine. So far it is working.  As important as the food is the conversation. And our conversation today led me back tho the memory of the first time I read "Gabriela, Clove and Cinnamon". I moved back from beautiful Napa Valley, post divorce, having lost an important friendship, I was experiencing some anger and grief. Cynical, feeling unlovable, my failure inescapable Jorge Amado and his lovely characters came into my life and seduced me back. They convinced me that love triumphs. endures, and finds a way. So when my Brazilian friend spoke about his country, and particularly the area of Bahia, the longing cam flooding back. We discussed going  there together. To be continued...

turtle flower

A lovely creature, looks like a member of the dragon flower family. I was drawn to it immediately as it seems so happy in the shade and not all of them are so content to be in limited light. Something of a wallflower, I guess. Next year they will grace my humble garden and that is something to look forward to during the cold and frosty winter. The seasons are so dramatic here, yet it doesn't seem to bother the flowers, they just nod their heads and smile. Their confidence is inspiring, yet it doesn't seem to be contagious. I wish to possess such incredible trust and security. Never second guessing themselves, they bloom where they are planted, without a lot of fuss or demands. On the other hand, I have become high maintenance, constantly seeking reassurance that I am acceptable, and loved, if not by me then by someone wiser with more prestige or notoriety. Someone with a touch phone of one kind or another. I am going through a whiny phase, I'm not sure why, I'm not sure if it matters why...It's just there and I'm trying not to pay too much attention or give it too much air time. Station KFKD is so busy handling requests from other listeners that they really don't need my song and dance. It's impossible to be in the flow when you are busy complaining about it. Too cold, too hot, too fast, too big, there is just no limit to noticing what something is not, and a huge distraction from what something actually is...and it's value...and it's meaning. And even then it's easy to stop and get all stuck in it and miss the movement of the musical phrase. Give those notes only the indicated value no more, and no less, without being seduced by the interpretation or the texture or the quality of the sound. Go for the big picture and your contribution to the tapestry. So it is with the turtle flower, up close it has individual grace and personality, distinct from the other varieties in the garden. But once it joins the chorus, it's power is magnified exponentially.

http://www.ehow.com/how_13994_grow-turtle-flower.html

chevre cheesecake

A creation of Rustica Bakery, served with fresh blackberries. Slightly sweet, definitely tangy and so creamy that you can't stop, or in most cases you won't want to stop. I wondered how it would taste with other berries, perhaps raspberries or huckleberries? The blackberries were not as flavourful as I imagined. They were layer on the sponge cake crust and garnished the top of the generous individual portion I purchased. I couldn't finish in one sitting, and my family helped devour the creation through out the day. The next day I decided to go "sugar free" just to see how I would feel. Would I have headaches? Uncontrollable cravings? It is the end of my second day. No headaches but unexpected depression and a feeling of failure, or deprivation, or sensory deviation. I just don't feel as happy as I did three days ago. And I'm beginning to wonder if this isn't more than a little too extreme.  I think of my friends sitting in LaDuree in Paris eating rose cream pastries and I wish I were with them. The longing, and the memory permeates my dreams and I wake to the new day determined to join them.  Imagining their surprise when I arrive, I brush my teeth. Planning what to pack, I drink my Jasmine tea. Greeting my first client, my fantasy slips away, simmering somewhere on the back burner, or stored in the freezer. I have bills to pay, appointments to honor, and a week in Arizona around the corner. Rose cream will wait, and in the meantime, there is Rustica.

marigolds

In a pot decorated with fish, petunias and marigolds co-exist. As we move into fall I am happy to have their hardy blooms in my life. Inspiring me to trust the wisdom of the unfolding universe. And to stop messing up with the flow of grace, to just allow the sun to rise and the moon set without stressing over my part in it's progress. Surely I can manage to stay out of the way, and participate by observing, by receiving. How hard could it be? For some of us active busybodies it is an effort of sheer strength and endurance. We are more comfortable jumping around, rescuing, adjusting, and re-arranging with delight and abandon. And where does it take us? Soon we are exhausted, depleted, and somewhat bewildered. Wondering how we arrived at this point, with a few regrets, and shattered dreams. Pausing, remember those marigolds growing with the petunias...not needing too much but simply soaking up the sun and waiting for moisture from whatever source appears. Until the cold arrives, and it is time to drop seeds and let go.

Jack in the Pulpit

I never knew what happened to Jack until Saturday. And now I can see how stunning he becomes...Perfect for a relatively moist shade garden. I was inspired to go back to my own little patch of dirt and clean it up. This was shortly before I read an e-mail from two college friends on their way to Paris. They had told me they were going. And they had told me the dates". And they had invited me along. I just didn't believe they were serious at the time and then I forgot about it, I made a vow I wouldn't travel before Christmas and put it out of my mind. Then last week I started reading about Messiaen's composition of "Quartet for the End of Time" and someone suggested I visit St Gervais in Paris to study chant, and I ate a lovely Chevre cheesecake that melted in my mouth and I thought of LaDuree and French cakes and I had Paris on my mind. And while my timing is off, I think I must go there soon. In the meantime, my nose is to the grindstone, while I hope I will end up with more than a bloody nose. I am tempted to go on sabbatical, but how would I be able to afford it? After all, I am not married to a doctor! Not that that is the only way to get to Paris, of course! And not that Paris is the only place I would like to go visit...However, first things first and that means Quartet for the End of Time: February 14th, 2010! First movement: nightingales and blackbirds, masks and wings!

franklin bakery

This was my 'hood when I moved back from San Fransisco. Ther was a 7-11 where the bakery now stands perfuming the air with the aromas of bread and pastries. It's not Buchon, and doesn't pretend to be anything close to it. There are no fancy french creations with hazelnut fillings. No eclairs, truffles or chocolate ganache. A carrot bread, cupcakes, brightly colored American cakes are always available. Merangues and macaroons which quickly disappear. Ho-hum cookies, nothing to dream about, somewhat plastic looking doughnuts. Not tempting, easy to pass up. But the pleasure of sitting in the sunshine in between clients cannot be measured. The perfect late summer day, a week before school starts, not a cloud in the sky. The breeze caressing your arms and shoulders gently, just enough to keep you interested. Just enough to make you wish for one more moment in the sun, with no demands, no questions, no responsibility but being here. Breath and smile. I can do that...with my eyes closed.

birthday princess

marzipan and cream: what could be more perfect on your 26th birthday? sleeping late? weather we dream about for 10 months of the year? flowers? friends cooking dinner together? dressing up? the celebration stretching out over 10 or more days? all this and more says "yes" to life. Live your life, if it isn't in your own backyard, you might have never really lost it in the first place. There is a little bit of Dorothy Gale in all of us. And that is helpful to remember when you hit a rough spot, a little temporary whitewater in the river of your life. When your daughter's a princess, that means you are a Queen. And you've got the privilege to rule, and with great privilege comes great responsibility.

She's always watching, always checking, always copying, practicing, re-assessing. Wondering how this works, what has been tried, what were the results. She remembers things that have faded form my memory long ago. Reminding me of a chance comment, a remark, a piece of advice. My hope, my dream is to one day be as wise as she sometimes thinks I am. And to always be as generous as we both deserve...which is unconditionally generous. If she had two lives she would give me one, it isn't a matter of half empty or half full. Overflowing, without measure, like Big Anthony and the pasta pot filling the whole village with freshly cooked, tasty noodles...My runaway bunny, I will come after you with my last breath. I had two lives, so I gave you one. Then I found that I still had two lives. So I gave one to your brother...My plan is that, when I am gone you will have each other.   

ponder, wonder

....dream. And dream some more: when I grow up. This is the beauty of living here and now: you can do anything you imagine if you are willing to make the effort. To do the work. Set a goal and move toward it. Ask for help. Ask for more help. Keep asking and be patient. Make a plan, break it down and approach each step with enthusiasm and determination. Like surfing, not the net, but real surfing, with the undertow and sharks. Finding your balance waiting for the wave, your wave, the one which will carry you back to the beach. And I will be watching you, celebrating your success.

post celebration

Something about the farm feels so safe, so familiar, even though it's not the same since my Uncle's death. It's not  a "working farm" like it was when I was a kid. Yet, there is something so reassuring walking out in the field of soybeans listening to them grow. Seeing those fuzzy bean pods hanging down like ornaments, earrings and knowing their story. Sensing the nitrogen moving into the soil and the nutrients moving into the beans. There is a sense of theprocess of photosynthesis making music with the sun. The air is filled with a loving presence as if there really are angels moving up and down the rows singing to the plants, "grow, my darlings, grow". It's not a real farm simply in the sense that it doesn't have to make money in the same way it did when my Aunt and Uncle first started out...There is a relaxed atmosphere as if it were a museum or an out-of-the-way theme park. You can walk in the fields of clover and look down to find a "cow-pie" as if it were treasure or memorabilia to be noticed, rather than avoided and shunned. I watched three young cousins hanging around on the trampoline, quietly chatting in the sunshine. They looked so blissful for the moment and pleased to have the time to spend in each other's company. While their elders relaxed on the front deck, waiting, wondering who will be next to cross over the threshold; to move to the next station. And how? Will it hurt? Will people cry, and remember?  Or shrug and forget...A couple of weeks ago I went out to dinner with my Dad. Inadvertently I selected a place that was a little pricier than I remembered. But he didn't seem to care. He said he considered that we were spending my money, since he was planning to give it to me anyway and that this way he could see what I spent it on, and enjoy it with me. It's the thing that really bothers him about dying: missing the party and seeing how his money is spent. It's important for me to remember him like this: generous and easy. And when I said good by, he held me fiercely, tightly and for a long time. Right in front of his widowed sisters. And I let him, maybe for the last time, because he's still here. And, sooner than I care to imagine, he won't be... 

scoliosis: exercise your options

Over 35 years of working in the fitness world it has been my privilege to work with numerous people aspiring to the goal of improving their quality of life . People interested in taking responsibility for their health, willing to consider and utilize the services available in the traditional medical community, and learn about their most recent scientific developments. Yet, they were, and are, willing to seek second opinions, and explore holistic approaches to healing and wellness. Many people have begun to recognize how our emotional lives affect the functions of our physical bodies, especially the immune system. In the past we have perceived the physician as a god-like figure, all knowing, infallible and benevolent. And in those “good old days”, scoliosis was frequently treated with spinal fusions, braces and body casts. There is increasing evidence, based on research, that both Pilates and Yoga are effective, non-invasive methods of retarding, and in many cases reversing the progression of this chronic spinal condition. The combination of gently extending, lengthening the spine, and strengthening the abdominal, back and pelvic floor muscles is the foundation of both pilates and yoga. These exercises counter act the effects of gravity and allow the spine to open and unwind. Scoliosis is more than a simple side to side curving of the spine it is actually a spiraling motion of the bones twisting in on themselves for no discernible reason. There are theories related to latent viral infections hiding dormant along the vertebrae. And speculation around emotional disturbances, perhaps abuse issues, domestic violence, intimidation a sense of the body attempting to protect itself. In any case there appears to be an emotional component which is important to consider and examine. It is common to find some degree of degeneration in the spine over the age of 30. We have developed habits of sitting for unhealthy lengths of time with minimal stretch breaks. Many of us are not properly hydrated and reach for water only after we notice we are thirsty. Even then we may chose carbonated, and/or caffeinated beverages, sometimes loaded with corn syrup, hardly the wisest choice. In the process of helping so many clients develop body awareness, increase sensitivity to structural weakness, improve balance and postural alignment, I have come to believe methods like pilates and yoga, or , even better, a combination of the two approaches are preferable to surgical options. The most successful cases also incorporate rehabilitative massage to support the optimal structural integration of the postural changes of the body. Currently, there are excellent DVDs available to rent, borrow or own with selections and sequences of simple exercises which identify and address the various lateral curvatures termed scoliosis. Physical therapy is another valuable resource for those who wish to utilize other options before surgery. As spinal fusion is irreversible, it is best reserved as the last choice. A group class, another inexpensive option can be effective if you take time to inform the instructor prior to registration to identify your concerns and limitations. This will also help you determine if the particular instructor is an appropriate choice for your needs. I suggest you look for a class described as “restorative” or “rehabilitative” taught by someone experienced in modifying the standard exercises for a variety of conditions. Another terrific option is to work one-on-one for 2 or 3 classes to get started safely and to develop a personalized program for your individual needs. Over the past year I have watched a determined pilates enthusiast as he slowly, methodically lost 80 pounds and rebuilt his body by working on the pilates apparatus called the “reformer”. His muscles are now long and lean. His scoliosis is largely undetected. The physical discomfort he experienced is gone and he carries himself proudly, full height, no apologies. His emotional change is dramatic. Previously bullied, he is now positive, creative and full of enthusiasm. His self esteem has flowered carrying him into new adventures and projects. Like so many of the people I am honored to assist, he is an inspiration to anyone on the path to better health. http://www.easyvigour.net.nz/pilates/h_pilatesscoliosis.htm http://www.ehow.com/facts_4828544_pilates-exercises-scoliosis.html http://astore.amazon.com/wwwcurvedspic-20?_encoding=UTF8&node=1 http://www.muellermassageandpilates.com/pilates/ http://www.accelerated-wellness.com/raindrop_therapy_technique.htm

losing sight

We just can't always see where we are going, where the path is taking us...and if I were brutally honest with myself I would just admit that it's all something of an experiment, taking me into areas of interest and curiousity. Writing an article about scoliosis I am holding an image of the spiraling movement of the spine not unlike the curving movement of this path in the Japanese Garden at the Uof M Landscape Arboretum. Even if there was a definite destination there could be so many detours that the arrival time is unrealistic. And if we allow extra time for detours, and getting lost, we may easily arrive earlier than expected. Staying alert and attentive is helpful advice in any case. All we really have is our present location: standing under the cherry tree with a waterfall on the right, a tea house on the left, and the hosta garden somewhere behind me. And a cell phone, in case I get lost...

mango cheesecake

A rainy August Friday afternoon and canceled clients. They canceled, not me...a wise man once reminded me in the face of devastating disappointment that it's all good. While driving to Broder's Italian Deli with my daughter, in a '98 convertible Z3 to eat mango cheesecake and drink jasmine tea I remembered his words: it was all good. 

http://www.broders.com/cucina-italiana/index.html

The summer had been incredibly dry and all vegetation had suffered. But after 24 hours of slow steady rain, everything was vibrantly colored. My tiger lilies were neon and the silly little petunias looked like velvet. Daughter was pensive, and relaxed. She was looking forward to a little retail therapy after tea, and had spent time working at the community gardens in spite of minimal sleep the night before...Her friend's mom, younger than I,  had recently died of pancreatic cancer. Her friend's mother refused treatment and died within two months of diagnosis. Her friend claimed she deliberately decided to "wean" herself from her Mom in subtle ways. I have vivid memories of weaning my daughter. It was one of the most painful things I have ever done, right up there with her birth. I thought of the time we had spent at Tate Britian last February, eating the best scones and drinking jasmine tea made in teapots like the ones at Broders's. It reminded  both of us of the time we spent in Krakow in coffee shops hanging out eating cream cakes, warm ponchki with rose jelly filling and "Lody Bambino." My own mother, her grandma, is a cancer survivor. I wanted her to skip chemo and radiation. I was silent, no one can make that decision for someone else. At 79, a heavy smoker for much of her life, a recovering alcoholic and DV survivor, the process left her fragile, toothless, and disorientated. The tea was scorching hot, too hot to drink. The fragrance of jasmine steamed in our cups, and we smiled, happy to be together.

Crust

• 1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) unsalted butter, melted

Filling

• 3 large very ripe mangoes (each about 13 ounces), peeled, pitted, coarsely chopped
• 3 8-ounce packages cream cheese, room temperature
• 1 1/4 cups sugar
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 4 large eggs

• Sliced peeled pitted mangoes

preparation

For crust:
Preheat oven to 325°F. Lightly butter 9-inch-diameter springform pan with 2 3/4-inch-high sides. Stir cracker crumbs and sugar in medium bowl to blend. Add melted butter and stir until evenly moistened. Press crumb mixture firmly onto bottom (not sides) of prepared pan. Bake until crust is set, about 12 minutes. Cool completely. Maintain oven temperature.

For filling:
Puree mangoes in processor until smooth. Set aside 2 cups mango puree (reserve any remaining puree for another use). Beat cream cheese, sugar, and vanilla in large bowl until smooth. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Add 2 cups mango puree and beat until well blended. Pour filling over crust in pan.

Bake cake until set and puffed and golden around edges (center may move very slightly when pan is gently shaken), about 1 hour 25 minutes. Cool cake 1 hour. Refrigerate uncovered overnight. Run small knife between cake and sides of pan to loosen. Remove pan sides. Transfer cake to platter. Cut into wedges and serve with sliced mangoes.

Kellerville, Napa Valley

By the time we reached Bouchon I couldn't eat another bite of anything. The pastries were beautiful. So tempting and at another time I could buy a box full to go and devour them slowly over a longer period of time. But for this day, I passed them by. And I have no regrets. Tomorrow is another day...

Ingredients

Filling:

• 2 cups whole, 2 percent fat, or 1 percent fatmilk
• 1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
• 6 egg yolks
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1/4 cup cornstarch
• 1 tablespoon cold unsalted butter

Pastry:

• 1 cup water
• 8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 1/2 teaspoons sugar
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 3 eggs, plus 1 extra, if needed

Egg Wash:

• 1 egg
• 1 1/2 teaspoons water

Chocolate Glaze:

• 1/2 cup heavy cream
• 4 ounces semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

Directions

Filling: In a medium saucepan, heat the milk and vanilla bean to a boil over medium heat. Immediately turn off the heat and set aside to infuse for 15 minutes. In a bowl, whisk the egg yolks and sugar until light and fluffy. Add the cornstarch and whisk vigorously until no lumps remain. Whisk in 1/4 cup of the hot milk mixture until incorporated. Whisk in the remaining hot milk mixture, reserving the saucepan. Pour the mixture through a strainer back into the saucepan. Cook over medium-high heat, whisking constantly, until thickened and slowly boiling. Remove from the heat and stir in the butter. Let cool slightly. Cover with plastic wrap, lightly pressing the plastic against the surface to prevent a skin from forming. Chill at least 2 hours or until ready to serve. The custard can be made up to 24 hours in advance. Refrigerate until 1 hour before using.

Pastry: Preheat the oven to 425 degrees. Line a sheet pan with parchment paper. In a large saucepan, bring the water, butter, salt and sugar to a rolling boil over medium-high heat. When it boils, immediately take the pan off the heat. Stirring with a wooden spoon, add all the flour at once and stir hard until all the flour is incorporated, 30 to 60 seconds. Return to the heat and cook, stirring, 30 seconds. Scrape the mixture into a mixer fitted with a paddle attachment (or use a hand mixer). Mix at medium speed. With the mixer running, add 3 eggs, 1 egg at a time. Stop mixing after each addition to scrape down the sides of the bowl. Mix until the dough is smooth and glossy and the eggs are completely incorporated. The dough should be thick, but should fall slowly and steadily from the beaters when you lift them out of the bowl. If the dough is still clinging to the beaters, add the remaining 1 egg and mix until incorporated.

Using a pastry bag fitted with a large plain tip, pipe fat lengths of dough (about the size and shape of a jumbo hot dog) onto the lined baking sheet, leaving 2 inches of space between them. You should have 8 to 10 lengths.

Egg Wash: In a bowl, whisk the egg and water together. Brush the surface of each eclair with the egg wash. Use your fingers to smooth out any bumps of points of dough that remain on the surface. Bake 15 minutes, then reduce the heat to 375 degrees and bake until puffed up and light golden brown, about 25 minutes more. Try not to open the oven door too often during the baking. Let cool on the baking sheet. Fit a medium-size plain pastry tip over your index finger and use it to make a hole in the end of each eclair (or just use your fingertip). Using a pastry bag fitted with a medium-size plain tip, gently pipe the custard into the eclairs, using only just enough to fill the inside (don't stuff them full).

Glaze: In a small saucepan, heat the cream over medium heat just until it boils. Immediately turn off the heat. Put the chocolate in a medium bowl. Pour the hot cream over the chocolate and whisk until melted and smooth. Set aside and keep warm. The glaze can be made up to 48 hours in advance. Cover and refrigerate until ready to use, and rewarm in a microwave or over hot water when ready to use.

Dip the tops of the eclairs in the warm chocolate glaze and set on a sheet pan. Chill, uncovered, at least 1 hour to set the glaze. Serve chilled.

say "yes"

Another thing to remember, is to say "yes." "Yes" to life. To getting out of bed in the morning. Step by step, one day at a time a life is created and celebrated. It isn't always easy, it isn't always fun but it is always an opportunity to grow and evolve into somone more loving, more giving and more grateful. Easy to forget to love ourselves, until we meet ourselves in another person, a courageous soul who will do whatever it takes to live in the face of fear. Without illusions, without hair, overweight, underpaid and hungry for more time with her young children. Surgery, chemo, radiation, whatever it takes...for as long as it takes, until the last dance, the last drop, the last crumb, the last breath. 

roll-up

In Pilates terms "roll-up" is a powerful exercise to strengthen core muscles, train alignment and traction the spine. Some enthusiasts consider it to be the most important exercise of the Pilates tradition. In another world, a culinary world, it is a spongy cake rolled around a creamy, sweetened and flavored filling. The sponge cake can be yellow or chocolate or any flavor you wish to attempt. The filling may also be diverse. This particular variation hold hazelnut cream and the cake is a dense dark chocolate, a little heavier, slightly more moist than the traditional sponge. The recipe is a close relative of our favorite brownie. Garnished with three kinds of berries, what could be better. I remember making jelly rolls as a kid. They were usually filled with strawberry jam and didn't last too long at our house. Sometimes I would make two: one to eat right away, fresh out of the oven, spread with jam before the cake was cool and rolled immediately. The second was was also rolled but without filling and saved for a thicker, creamy combination of fruit and cream Chantilly. On a summer evening, with fresh blueberries, there was nothing more comforting than watching the stars from the front steps with a slice of roll-up melting in your mouth.

dance lesson

The first thing to remember is that it's brief, over before you know it. The undeniable truth is still that: this just doesn't last very long. And even if you are lucky enough to get some borrowed time, it might not include everything you have today. Like an invitation to dance. To find ways of moving together, perhaps not in unison, but at least in love. We take so much for granted, and then it's gone, and we can't get it back together again. Like Humpty Dumpty.

There is a fleeting series of present moments, the frames of a video clip. And when you add them up, you have a story. A young woman struggles with her identity. Talented, energetic, skilled in so many different areas she cannot choose easily how to shape her life. Her priorities shift like the landscape she inhabits. Her aging grandfather watches her evolution, her growing pains, he sees her pain, he has advice but he cannot live her life for her. He knows he may not even witness much more or her process. And his cataract surgery has literally opened his eyes to the beauty and wonder he had been missing. Out of practice, out of shape, he asks her to dance. Something easy, and not terribly aerobic: a waltz. Then, a rumba. A few minutes at a party, with his grand-daughter's friends. He had spent the day with his dying brother-in-law. His hunger for contact, for meaning, has grown out of that meeting. Maintaining the quality of one's life, savoring each moment, each sensation, each joyful exchange. This dance was a rare gift on a beautiful, sunny first day of August, almost 26 years to the day of his grand-daughter's birth, ...the beginning of good-bye. An opening of heart. Alleluia, Amen.

remember

The beauty of pain is that it is a clear reminder that you are ignoring and/or overridding something that could turn into a much more painful condition. It could be alignment, over overuse, or a lack of sensitivity. It might simply be fatigue or dehydration. A drop in blood sugar. It's your body's way to "text message".  

note to self

This bird lives in Loring Park. When it flies from tree to railing it is indescribable. The vases at La Belle Helene were covered with flying cranes and this reminds you of those vases and that magical time in your life. The bird has companions there and they are part of a larger force which may benefit, and be beneficial to you personally, and the people you hang with collectively.Their elegance is inspiring and inspired. They are not separate from you, and yet they are not you. They share in consciousness, yet they are only a part of the larger consciousness which informs our world. Think carefully before you eliminate regular physical contact with them. As we were doing qigong today there was a heart opening that was so easy, so relaxed, so sweet it would be silly to minimize it's value. And the opening carried over into the rest of the day allowing a little more relaxation and trust in my world, my whole world. And this is no small thing. Shine on, my friend, the park is going nowhere, must you abandon this opportunity for joy, for encounter? This opportunity to bathe in the  beauty and majesty of the natural word and it's creatures? And I include you, you are an integral part of nature, inseparable. Live that truth with courage and trust knowing, without question that your least desire will be provided for in a heart-beat. You are so loved. Relax for all is well. Abundance is yours.

baby beets

Sometimes I get the urge to cook. Not often enough to cause a problem in my schedule or my leisure time. Or my work time for that matter. It's actually rare, perhaps every 6 weeks, but definitely more frequent than the urge to clean the house. I stop by my neighborhood farmer's market on Sunday morning and I am inspired by the fresh produce or the artisan cheese and it hits me. So I buy something irresistible, nutrient dense, without really knowing who will be eating it. But knowing it won't be just me. I knew I had olive bread from "Rustica" at home, so I picked up a wedge of artisan goat cheese to compliment the Thai-style beet soup I was planning to prepare with the beautiful beets I had purchased. I decided to steam them instead of roasting. I sauteed sweet onions in unsalted butter, whooshed it in the blender with chicken stock and added a little sea salt, rosemary, cinnamon and coconut cream. The flavor was rich and intense. If it would have been a hot summer day, I would have served it cold with yogurt garnish. But eating it steaming hot was perfect. Followed by a melt-in-your-mouth rhubarb cobbler topped with vanilla ice cream. It was a wicked ending to the festive 4th of July weekend. In the past I have been a meticulous cook, devoting my full attention to the creation of a meal. Recently I have been more easily distracted by food preparation. For me this results in burnt pans, sometimes destroyed as I forget that I have put something on a burner, using high heat, and then forgotten about it. Distracted by a writing idea, or a phone call, or a business appointment, I don't even notice what is occurring until my nose reminds me of the forgotten pan. Today was a huge success in that, knowing my tendency, I kept everything on low, slow heat. I still forgot about the steaming beets, but the damage was minimal and easily remedied. The soup was unique, the company charming, and the dishes quickly in the dishwasher. In time to relax over a cup of jasmine tea before bed. 

All Seasons, Calistoga

I am over a dish of ricotta gnocchi at All Seasons. The co-owner, Gayle Keller, described the process of making the ricotta. She said it was easy. I haven't cooked for so long that it was difficult for me to visualize the process as she described the various steps. So I just focused on the product. It was piping hot, so I waited for it cool enjoying the fragrance of the creamy sauce.  I didn't wait too long but dipped into the dish and popped the first little dumpling in my mouth. It was rich, as I suspected, and comforting after a long day of hard core relaxation. We had spent long hours at Spa Solage training on the Pilates reformers, swimming laps, and doing Tai Chi and Yoga adapted for the pool. Over appetizers at the side of the pool we talked about the changes in the valley since I first arrived in 1975. I had left in 1980 to follow an urge to live in Europe for a time. Out of sight I had forgotten how it felt to be surrounded by the northern hills of the valley. The dry, golden grasses and the rows of terraced vines in all directions. The creamy sauce of the gnocchi reminded me of that rich, indulgent time of my life. I had lived in a little cottage with a fig tree in the back yard. How tempting to move back, even for just a few months or a year; or two, or three...I believe I could be happy waking up to those hills. breathing that air, hearing those sounds. By the time I finished the last drop of sauce I had a plan. And in the morning when I awoke, the plan, like the gnocchi, was gone.

reflect

Then we stop working and reflect. On our efforts on our process, our methods. How we might perform more effortlessly more seamlessly, more elegantly. With clearer intention. or perhps on the impact our work has on the people around us. We acknowledge their participation in our lives. And we recognize the dance that is happening, all the time, even when we forget about it. We just relax, enjoy the scenery and flow from one encounter to the next. Transition to transition, life unfolding, happening, and falling away. I woke this morning slightly off balance, just on the edge of dizzy. Not enough to be alarmed, but definitely enough, very subtle, for someone who is pretty tuned into her body to notice. So I'm moving through my work day watching the tipsy tendency and taking it slow, eating apples and being very aware of the humid heat.

working

We work. And we are grateful for the opportunity to do so. And when we fall asleep at night, bills paid, a little extra in a pocket. We are happy to wake up in the morning and do it again.

peace out

For some of us it's not about paying the mortgage. That would be a privilege we are not yet, and perhaps may never, be blessed to enjoy. Some of us are just trying to cover our rent, and make the payments on our truck. Which allows us to work, which enables us to make the payments. It's a cycle we volunteer to participate in for as long as we are willing to carry the responsibility. We are the "other half" and when we wish to see how the "other half," the privileged half, lives, we need only to glance in the mirror. We have educations, credit scores, health insurance, libraries, and the luxury of vacations. We are employed, and some of us are small business owners. We work hard, sometimes 60 hour a week. Then we take 2 weeks off and canoe the boundary waters, or stay with friends in the Napa Valley, or Seattle or Atlanta. While in other parts of the world people struggle to feed their kids, teach them to read, or learn a skill. The only "vacation" available is unemployment. Social services are few and far between...One of the benefits of traveling is the subtle experience of groundlessness, not knowing where you are, stepping out of your comfort zone, reaching out and having to say, "I don't know where I am; am I close to the park; is this the right stop; does the bus stop here?" Recognizing our gifts, and opportunity, our success, and the people and circumstances that support the continuation of our successful encounters. 

Forever and  a day.

Alleluia, 

Amen.

St Helena

In case we forget: it's just wine. It's a farming community. Growers and field managers. Tractors, cultivators, fertilizer. Even when it's wrapped in gold leaf, it's purpose is to awaken awareness, to celebrate the passage of time from one phase to the next, one season to the next. It can be a way of saying goodbye, of finding closure, of showing gratitude. When I first came to the valley it was 1975. I remember my first view of the terraced rows of vines as I drove down from Lake Berryessa. I thought I was back in Tuscany, a place I had hoped I would never leave; a place I had first found love. And here I was, my first time in California, experiencing the best of both worlds. It was still a sleepy place, pre-bottleshock, before the explosion of global awareness of Napa Valley excellence, before the hype. Ah, the good old days...

aging gracefully

It's not so much aging, as it is dying. I spend a lot of time searching for the perfect flower at the peak of it's beauty. Without bugs or blemishes...then I saw this formerly lovely lily wilted into the shape of a heart. Curling around the edges and folding in on itself. And I recognized myself in it. I could sense it's sigh of relief, a relaxation around not having to perform in the classic way. Contributing it's form in another, equally valuable manner. Without the pressure humans feel to pretend it is still in it's earlier phase of bursting potential. It's perfection has peaked, it is sliding down the other side of the mountain into the valley of repose, and release. It will begin to release it's stored nutrients into the earth enriching the soil and becoming the nutrients for the next blossom. The plant will continue to produce flowers, and the flowers will continue to dance in the breeze off the San Fransisco Bay. They will drink in the sun shining on the face of the rocky soil of Alcatraz. Even after I have gone. 

spa solage

The privileges of being a member at Spa Solage include free corkage and 10% discount at Solbar. But with privilege comes great responsibility. Responsibility for your own recognition and awareness of the privilege you enjoy, as opposed to the Hispanic woman bring fresh towels as you are hanging around the clothing optional hot tub drinking ice water with cucumber slices floating in the glass. The fragrance of eucalyptus wafting out of the steam room each time the door opens and someone jump into the cold plunge pool. The gratitude and the wish for everyone to enjoy the same privilege and pleasure of being totally relaxed for just a few hours. Without schedules, commitments, or a desk full of bills to be paid. The food arriving at just the right time, with just the right combination of flavors, in just the right proportions. Everything just so...and bottle after bottle of fabulous wine, including a 1975 Joe Phelps Cabernet, and the company of old friends. There are people in the world who collect incredible wines, planning to open them for a very special occasion. The wine gets older waiting for that "special time"...a perfect time. Then the wine begins to fade, and the owner re-defines his idea of special time.                

chocolate?

What is it about chocolate that is so divine? so seductive? I don't even have to actually eat it to enjoy the experience of it's charms. Just the fragrance is enough to satisfy me. So, as I recline in the "clothing optional" area of Spa Solage, Calistoga, CA,  with my glass of cucumber water and one of my best friends (a Macbook), I ponder what little I know about that which we fondly refer to as "chocolate." With all our attention to winetasting techniques, chcolate tasting techniques, by comparision, have been under publicized.

Suggestions below, courtesey of http://www.wikihow.com/Taste-Dark-Chocolate

1. Find a location free from background noise and smell , such as television, music, a crying baby, road traffic noise, talkative friends etc. Being able to concentrate as intently as possible will facilitate flavor detection.
2. Clear your palate. This means that your mouth should not contain residual flavors from a previous meal. Eat a wedge of apple or piece of bread if necessary. This is crucial in order to taste the subtleties of chocolate's complex flavor.
3. Make sure that the piece of chocolate is large enough to accommodate full evolution of the flavor profile. A piece too small may not allow you to detect every subtle nuance as the chocolate slowly melts. The important thing to remember is that flavor notes gradually evolve and unfold on the tongue rather than open up in one large package. So remember, don't think small here. 10g should be a minimum starting point.
4. Allow the chocolate to rest at room temperature before tasting. Cold temperatures will hinder your ability to detect the flavors. Some even advise that you rub the chocolate briefly between your fingers to coax the flavor. This procedure is optional.
5. Look at the chocolate. The surface should be free of blemishes such as white marks (called bloom). Observe the color and manufacturer's job at molding and tempering. Does the chocolate appear to have been crafted carefully or slovenly? The bar should have a radiant sheen. Chocolate comes in a multifarious brown rainbow with various tints, such as pinks, purples, reds, and oranges. What do you see?
6. Break the piece in half. It should resonate with a resounding "SNAP!" and exhibit a fine gradient along the broken edge. This is quality stuff!
7. Smell the chocolate, especially at the break point. The aroma is an important component of flavor. Inhaling will prime the tongue for the incoming chocolate. It also gives you a chance to pick up the various nuances of the aroma.
8. Place the chocolate on the tongue and allow it to arrive at body temperature. Let it melt. Chew it only to break it into small enough pieces that it begins to melt on its own. After all, we're tasting and not eating! This step is crucial, for it allows the cocoa butter to distribute evenly in the mouth, which mutes any astringencies or bitterness in the chocolate.
9. Observe the taste and texture. As the chocolate melts, concentrate on the flavors that are enveloping your tongue. Melting will release more volatile compounds for you to smell. Close your eyes, take notes, enjoy this moment of bliss, and bask in contentment. Texture can be the most obvious clue about the quality of a chocolate. Low quality chocolates will have a grainy almost cement-like texture.
10. Now the chocolate is nearing its finish. How has the flavor evolved? Is the chocolate bitter? Heavy? Light? Was the texture smooth or grainy? Do any changes in texture and flavor occur? Take note of how the chocolate leaves the palate. Is there a strong reminder lingering in your mouth, or does it quickly vanish? Note any metallic or unpleasant flavors in the finish. This is a sign of stale or lower quality chocolate.
11. Repeat the process with a different chocolate. The comparison will highlight the subtle flavor notes in each chocolate. Be sure to cleanse your palate thoroughly before tasting each different chocolate.

In a nutshell, find your "happy place," listen to it break, stare at it, smell it, and then eat the chocolate very slowly instead of eating the bar quickly.

I arrived in San Fransisco and was picked up by friends who whisked me off to "nopalito, 306 Broderick & Fell. We ordered a selection of appetizers, all winners all tasty, fresh and tantalizing. To reach the loo one went through the market next door, past these amazing looking chocolate creations. As a child, visions of sugarplums never danced in my head, but I would gladly Tango with these charmers any time, even in my dreams. Too full to do more than look and smell, I vow to return someday soon with an empty stomach and a full wallet.

attempting to grow

I ponder the question: what would it take to gracefully accept your loss? Simple question, isn't it? Actually elegant in it's simplicity. No frills, no unnecessary details, or modifiers. No specifiers. Just what would it take to accept this loss (not failure) that has happened whether you wanted it it, and or caused it, gracefully. As in Grace Cathedral? Gracefully, does that mean without fighting it? Without tripping over yourself and falling over and over? Without temper tantrums? I don't even know if that is possible for me to do. Does it mean without judging myself. I am overcome with grief when I go there, to that idea, that question. I start making list of everything I've ever lost, every promise, every innocence, every illusion and belief I have had to put aside in order to learn something more about technique, to acquire new skills. It's really quite a task, an exercise in naming and acknowledging my many losses, big and small. And a sense of deserving to be loved, a conviction that I am lovable, and that I am capable of loving others, any others in a bigger way. A more vulnerable way. An unprotected scary way. Without rescuing. In a sense, letting myself of the hook of needing to fix anything and letting other people manage their passion, define their passion. I have crisis (pl?) around parenting as it shifts through the various stages.  Yet I am literally surrounded by incredible beauty. From the peonies to mock orange to blooming sage and fox glove, marigolds, iris, roses. I find myself on the verge of tears so often, aware of my grief. My anger is incapable of protecting me now. I reach for it, like my beloved parents used to reach for a cigarette or a shot of gin. And then I pull back, and pick up a tissue instead. Not knowing where to turn for help, I turn inside. It's really about me, no one else (or everyone else?) So what is it about me? Why is it so difficult for me to give this up? This longing for my loss? Do I miss the temper tantrums? The adrenaline? The sense of feeling right and righteous? Is this grief a process of re-wiring my brain in a healthier way? Like the addict moving toward recovery? Do I need to just distance myself from the triggers, the known triggers? There are so many of them around, like bullies. We are all capable of being bullies, so how do we 'fess, notice when it's happening and change course? Wish for success in whatever form it may come. And to recognize it, when success comes to us (me).  

There is something about the act of surrendering the desire for control, about recognizing that it isn't necessary or possible. And I feel like I do have occasional breakthroughs but that they are few and fleeting. I'm not always sure who I am at any given moment, I seem to change so quickly from one being to another. I'm not really ready to go, but I am so looking forward to it. There is a part of me that just wants to walk away from the situation, and the temptation to engage. I have enough copies of the letters to use in the book which will illustrate my point. Why do women stay in violent relationships? How do they recover? How do they make sense of the experience and the effects on their children? How do they deal with the trauma and PTSD, the flashbacks, and the residual impulses? The "death wish" and the self-hatred, self-judgement. I love my kids and I would never knowingly cause them harm or suffering. And I know they love their Dad, no matter what he does or says or thinks. Without ribbons or whistles, fame or fortune. That is built into the system. Right on the hard drive.  

bryn mawr wellness collective

Open house success! Lovely party, people, refreshments and babies. What is it about community building that is so exciting? What is it about new beginnings that hold so much potential and hope for growth? In spite of history we continue to dream and grow and believe and learn.

Reaching for new understanding and releasing out-dated patterns. As I listen to my son and hear his heart-felt  concerns and recent lessons learned I am in awe. He is opening, spreading his wings before my eyes. In spite of the fact that he is living at home, he has expanded to fill the shoes of a man. His thoughtful reflections and sense of who he is and who he wants to be is rare in one his age. Of course it means he doesn't really fit in with his friends anymore. But I am confident he will find the friends he needs and the support he deserves. I am honored to be in his life and hope our relationship continues in one form or another. 

An adventurous young man, traveling easily from west coast to home. And then from east coast to home again. Designing, creating in the midst of chaos...finding friends in the most unexpected places, a kind of vision quest in spite of himself. I often wonder if I am a good enough parent, but there are times I realize the answer is right in front of me. Smiling, laughing amd going for a bike ride. And then, I let go.

reflection on revenge

"The more technology allows us to prop ourselves up by putting everyone else down, the more we'll level our blunderbusses at every passing ant."

This idea of "better than vs less than" caught my attention this morning. The image of feeling superior and separate from nature is inviting. Human superiority over the animals, the belief that we are in control of animals and that we are free to exercise power over them, bending their natural instincts to our will at whim.

another birthday celebration

Performing as an older adult is something I never imagined myself doing. In fact, when I first accepted this opportunity I planned to choreograph on a much younger, pain free body. Then they would perform the piece without injury or complaint. This hasn't worked out as I planned, so where does that put me? Sharing a stage with others, younger, more energetic, and with perhaps less responsibility, distraction and more opportunity to rehearse. Quite a challange when I stop to think about it. So I try not to dwell on it, simply letting it come up, saying to myself, "There it is" and then fe-focusing on something else. There is always some sort of task to be done. From oil changes, tire changes, house maintaince, to eating, sleeping, exercising and at the bottom of it all: we have paying the bills. I'm better at living my life one day at a time. I know that it all adds up eventually. All those tiny, interwoven, moment to moment decisions, changes of attitudes and shifts of attention become the world I inhabit, my reality and now, when I begin to feel shame over tiredness or illness I recognize my own self destructive attitudes, which can easily turn into behaviors. I change paths. Actually, I change brain pathways. Move in another direction. Will I fail? Maybe, but at least I will show up, not just for one night but for three. Will I embarass myself? Perhaps, and not for the first time. Will I learn something? Absolutely, I am open to (almost) whatever comes up. With gratitude for my teachers and students.

birthday breakfast in bed

What could be better than breakfast at Tiffany's? Breakfast in bed, before a long day working and then a lovely dinner lovingly prepared by my daughter and her best-friend. These two have been my house guests, visiting from London, trying to assess their current situations, and dreams before taking the next step. My house has provided them with a kind of sanctuary, a space to make choices without feeling pressured into taking what ever job comes along. Or to borrow money before paying some of their last loans off. I am happy to be able to offer this to them for the moment. After all, anything can, and will happen, so it is best to do what I can for today. It's a "one-day-at-a-time" kind of thing I learned from my Mother, a recovering alcoholic and breast cancer survivor. 

We had three kinds of scones, but my favorite is the traditional current scone. These, from "Rustica Bakery", melt in your mouth. They also had rhubarb tarts; and a little creation called "Ode to S'mores". This combination of sponge cake, chocolate ganache, and marshmallow cream was surprisingly tasty. I was tempted to heat it slightly in the oven to reproduce the warm, toasty sensation or freshly roasted marshmallows. But my laziness won out and the cakes were devoured at room temperature.

The disappointment of rushing off to work was eased by the anticipation of the evening meal, also prepared by my daughter and her best friend. The luxury of finishing work to be greeted by a glass of chardonnay and the aroma of caramelized onions cannot be described. But allow me an attempt: It was a wave-like sensation of nurturing attention and gratitude which, for a fleeting moment, I wondered if I truly deserved. The moment passed and I relaxed with confidence into the realization that I did indeed deserve it. Not just from so many things I had done, but also for what I had NOT done! The many outdated beliefs and behaviors I had left behind or placed aside, in spite of the pain it cost. 

great-grands

Both ends of the spectrum. Saying good-by, and just getting started. What goes around comes around. And in more ways than one. I have just returned from a 3 hour workshop identifying the effects on children and youth who witness domestic violence. This is my family's legacy. This is the foundation of where we come from...the fastest growing relationship of domestic violence is among siblings.

Assignment!

"Ex-in-the-city" wrote this recently: "This is one of those question things like they do on Facebook.  I'm supposed to answer them and then tag more people who will do the same etc.  I like the title of this one--La Meme is French and translates to "the same."  We are all more alike than we imagine, I think.  Plus, I guess La Meme  is also a brand of absinthe, which sounds really good to me right now." I am a sucker for assignments, I think they are fun (usually)

Here goes:

What are your current obsessions?

Guardian ad litem case: the public defender requested that I be replaced with someone more objective.

Quartet for the End of Time: being performed with the Bakken Ensemble next season,

The third movement being performed at the Decatuer Arts Festival on the 22, 23, 24th of May 2009

Food, aging, motherhood changing to cronehood.

Domestic violence

Black Books and Dylan Moran's work

Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?

Black sweatpants and my massage/pilates business logo t-shirt

Last thing you bought?

a flat of marigolds and a flat of petunias

What are you listening to?

The clock in the next room

Favourite kid's film

Nanny McPhee

Favourite Holiday Spots

Kew gardens, Hampstead heath, MN landscape arboretum, my friend's back yard in Calistoga, Golden Gate Park Japanese Garden, Greece is probably one, Argentina, Arizona, Catalina Island, m friend's organ room in kirkland, the ocean (any ocean)

What are you reading right now?

Tender mercies

Four words to describe me: 

chubby, crabby, badhair, tired

Guilty pleasure?

ice cream with stuff in it

Who or what can make you laugh until you are weak?

Ann Lamott, Black books, Dylan Moran, 

First Spring thing?

Saw crocuses in London. 

In Minnesota: watched maple sugar tapping and production line at arboretum, and ate the pancakes with their own syrup at the breakfast

Planning to travel next?

Atlanta, West coast and Maine

What do you wish for most?

gentleness, and grandchildren

Best thing you ate and drank recently?

lavender scones with clotted cream, high tea at cafe latte

When & with whom did you last eat dinner by candlelight?

Last winter, with Kathy and Denise at pazzaluna. I think I ordered risotto.

Favourite ever film?

A Good Year

Care to share some wisdom?

Look before you leap, then leap anyway

If you could change anything about yourself, what would it be?

greater awareness of self destructive behaviors

What's your motivation for starting another day?

Jasmine tea, sunshine, unpaid bills, wanting to be a more loving parent/adult

Rules of la meme:

Respond and rework. Answer questions on your own blog. Replace one question. 

I didn't actually replace a question because I liked them all

Add one question.

What is in your refrigerator?

Pasta salad, red raspberries, yogurt, granola, oreo ice cream, frozen sour cherries, eggs, cheese, beelers bacon

Tag 8 people: 

Maggie M

Alex B

Adam M

Lola W

Kathy H

Beth H

Kathleen W

Pat R

Mother's Day

What can you say about your first baby? It's something you never forget. It's an incredible not knowing. An adventure. A journey that never ends and, if you are lucky, it keeps teaching you. Everyday is fresh, surprising. The new identity of "Mum" doesn't always fit at first, but you try to bond. And the attempt itself does the trick. Suddenly you are tuned into her every sensation, discomfort, pleasure. And you feel bigger that you physically are...you can hear each other's heartbeat with very little effort. You become a better person, more loving, more patient, more selfless. 

When number two comes along you make the mistake of thinking you know something. But everything is different, the rhythm, the character, the distractions. What you do know is that it will all go very quickly. And it doesn't go backwards, your only chance is to catch it when it comes round again. They move upward, in spirals, and each interaction becomes more subtle, refined, rich in texture and nuance. And you just love them: their flesh calls to you across the ocean, over the mountain tops. Their laughter is music to your ears and their tears break your heart, one day at a time. And the life you planned for yourself is never the same again.

first times

I remember my own 1st communion. There were only two of us prepared to receive. And we had simple, inexpensive dresses. No frills. We had been drilledd on protocol: do not, under any circumstances bite the host! Don't touch it, don't drop it, don't spit it out. Mine stuck to the roof of my mouth and I began to choke. My eyes teared up and my mother seemed to be embarassed. I had to go out and get a drink of water to "melt" the wafer in order to finally get it to go down. Nyah was very poised, and had it all under control. Obviously she looked and behaved like a princess. An impatient princess, but still with an aura of regal charm. I love this shot of her framed by the priest and her parents, highlighted by the window with the cup to her lips. Blessed wine bringing blessing, the beginning of a long exploration of spirit made flesh.

What does that feel like at 8 years old? The ritual, the candles are all somehow seductive. The image of surrendering to higher will, mistaken sometimes for the masculine will is drilled into our psyches. And we live with the temptation to value ourselves, our own dreams and talents less than the demands, dreams, and beliefs of the male figures in our lives.

roses from shit

Dear Friend, Reigning Queen of Kirklandia, Shit makes fertile soil for new growth Never underestimate the power and value of shit. Think of roses and lilacs, tomatoes, fresh basil and cabernet grapes. I forgive myself for my ignorance. He is no longer any of my business. Do I forgive him? Is there really anything to forgive him for? For what? For finally telling me the truth? In a really hurtful manner? I was simply cheap childcare according to his latest story. The woman he's with now is the love of his life. Thank God he finally found her so he could let me off the hook! The man I was married to was a figment of my imagination, a projection of my inner desire for a creative partnership which honored, valued and acknowledged my skills, my interests and my creativity. Someone who gave me credit and gratitude for my contribution to his development I grieve for the fantasy man, the dream partner I believed was devoted to me. But the truth is he's gone, and I'm still here, doing my thing, eating chocolate praline torts and looking for a new voice coach, Getting ready for a choir tour to the west coast, enjoying my relationship with my daughter and my son, planning a week in August on the East Coast, And loving my life, in spite of the fact that I have lost one of the loves of my life. The truth is that, that happens to people sometimes. Shitty perhaps, but I have always loved roses, especially the yellow ones. And you, my dear, wisdom incarnate, I am immeasurably grateful you are in my life. From our first glass of wine at the La Playette, To the cookies at the reception after your last recital. It is an honor to know you, forever and a day....

Chastity Brown: life will hit you

You say you wanna know me-

type of person that I am,

do you really want to know me?

this is bound to happen sometimes

oh, my momma said that sometimes 

life will hit you in the heart,

straight between the eyes,

and it's strange what you will find

when you look around

you'll see where your friends are

Momma said sometimes....

life will hit you in the heart

would you like a definition 

what is riding a fence,

would you like a definition

what is black and white, blurred skin

where exactly I come from

type of person that I am

dinner with friends

Dear Friends, 

How wonderful to see you all last night. It was worth rescheduling my Friday night clients to be able to join you all. Even though it was a stretch for me, it was very enjoyable. I had been at work since 7 am and didn't realize how exhausted I was until I sat down. Did I mention that on Fridays I provide deep tissue, rehabilitative massage and craniosacral therapy at a Chiropractic office. I work with people who have been recently injured in car accidents. My patients are mostly Muslim, Somali men who have never experienced bodywork , let alone from a woman(!) and many have had interesting experiences in the Somali military, refugee camps and sources of trauma. Two years of military service is mandatory on completing school in Somalia. I leave there with my hands, particularly my thumbs, swollen and throbbing, sometimes spasming. I go home, soak them in hot water and epson salts, collapse, then, go back and do it again the next day. Just to spend an evening relaxing with a hot meal is my idea of heaven. I hope you will understand, when in the future I pass on opportunities to provide you with spontaneous, complimentary massage services. Your request took me quite by surprise and if I were thinking more clearly, I hope I would have responded differently, than to simple unquestioning compliance.

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

good idea?

Sometimes it's just that the weather is too distracting. And one just wants to put most everything on hold and be in the sunshine. It's winter for so long and it's so severe, then a day comes when you look out the back door and the tulips are open. And the world looks different when the tulips are blooming. And even though it's dry, and it might be a good idea to water, there are new possibilites. I haven't changed my winter tires, because it could snow, but it just doesn't feel like snow anymore...The darkness falls away and the list of "good ideas" begins to grow. And even if they are never moved to the "to do" list you don't mind because its just so much fun to imagine them happening: buying a new bike, cleaning out the garage, finishing the bathroom project, learning to speak French, having tea with forgotten friends, dinner parties, writing a book and on and on, until you are adding to the "good idea" list more frequently than crossing off items on the "to do" list. So, just for today, between working on the tasks listed on my "to do" list, I moved things around in my garden, while exploring the green shoots coming up and unfolding, searching for water. And I didn't actually unpack the garden hose, stored somewhere in the shambles of organizing the garage, but I moved the item from "good idea" to "to do"!

new dance, old dancer

http://www.decaturartsfestival.com/newdance.php

prison bars

Each of the bars of our self constructed prisons are forged when we make a decision based on fear or scarcity rather than abundance and generosity. Yet there are times we find ourselves in situations, or relationships, with some bottomless pit which no amount of generosity can satisfy. No matter how much is given, it is never enough, in quantity and in quality. No amount of attention will relax the irrational compulsion to hide whatever shameful secret haunts perception. There must be one more conquest, one more seduction, one more cookie. I remember times I invested all creativity at my personal disposal to entertaining a dissatisfied partner. I literally bent over backwards hoping to finally satiate a hunger which has no end. I, and my creativity, failed. In frustration, I tried to gently and painlessly extricate myself from the situation, in the best, most loving means I could manage. Without compromising the integrity of my investment. The investment of my attention.  The attention was misplaced when it rested exclusively on my partner. The endless, abusive, violent demands for my attention prevented me from sensing my abundant creativity. I was severely limited, isolated. Distorted. Discounted. Doomed. And in the cessation of the effort to avoid fear is a happy ending. Rebirthed, refilled, renewed, creativity returns and begins again. Capable, courageous, and in glory.

prison sentence

 "People can build prisons for themselves and live in them quite happily for the rest of their lives."

last look

I set my alarm for 4:20 am. Our plan was to drop him off, park the car while he got his boarding pass and checked his bag, then get some breakfast before he had to go through security. Great plan, but a bit too early in the morning, even for the airport and travelers. So, we just hung out, half asleep, groggy but supportve, nervous, and wondering about the journey. Hoping for the best, but honestly, so tired that everything wrapped in a dream like ambiance. And now, hearing his tired, awestruck voice as the bus pulls into Belfast, being met by Rick and Karen, witnessing the begining his new adventure.  The romance of living on the sea...I realize this day has been unique in it's ordinary profoundness. I imagine this is how Moms feel when their kid leaves for the Navy but without the military aspect. I don't know how he managed to pull this off but I am so pround of him, awestruck myself in the face of his competence and independence and willingness to do what it takes to be in the flow of his dream. Bravo, my son! My runaway bunny...I'll be following you before we know it. In the meantime, I'll be visiting the website everyday and meeting you in my dreams. XO

good-byes

How do you say good by? 

Is a hug enough?

Is a kiss too much? 

A photo? 

A glass of wine? 

How do you say "I'll miss you?

I'll think of you,

I'll be in touch,

I'll come find you.

I follow you with my heart?

Starting fresh,

leaping into the unknown,

from the safety of familiar faces,

smiling, loving you, 

wanting you to be happy and grow.

This is life,

and life finds a way.

adult children

The clock is ticking. Monday is departure day. My daughter returns, my son takes off and the celebrations continue. We make mental notes to ourselves: last time here, last trip to there, last stop at this place, last English tea here. And it's all sweet and silly because it's not really sad. He's eager to leave, nervous, but longing to get out into the world and this is perhaps the next "best" thing to joining the Navy or the Coast Guard. You don't even have to think about killing someone, or defending yourself. It's just you and the Atlantic Ocean and the sky. And, of course, the rest of the crew. The un answered question is: How do we say good-bye?  It's a little different each time. Each time is a little easier and more confident. More trusting of the process, like learning to walk. Each time a little farther into the unknown, a little more demanding, requiring a bit more commitment and effort. A bit more time, money, patience. And each time I breathe a sigh of relief. There is the ambiguous sensation of wanting the separation yet loving the closeness. The unconditional love of motherhood mixed with the desire for grandchildren, which would take us to a whole new level of relationship. I listen to my friends, with their new grand babies, working through their adult children's fears and expectations. It appears that many of us start parenthood wanting a perfect, pain-free, disappointment-free environment for our babies. We don't want them eating dirt, playing in the mud, falling, scraping, bleeding and breaking bones. Eating out of the dog dish, throwing things in the toilet and fishing them out. But that is how they learn, how we learn...and we have to go with it. Letting our unrealistic expectations die. I am reminded of this each day and the universe shatters my unrealistic ideas every way imaginable. Just when I have convinced myself intellectually to release some useless, out-dated attitude or belief, I come face to face with the physical application.  A kind of instantaneous pop quiz. I haven't gotten a perfect score, but I feel like I'm getting closer. Recovering from domestic violence happens one day at a time for me, maybe I'm just a slow learner. Maybe I just like to take my time, and do it right, Fred Roger's famous advice. I'm not really too interested in why it's not different for me than it is, I'm going to assume that what ever it is, it is just right for me and go with it. Slowly.

Easter

A storm of emotion and frustration. Not at all the Easter celebrations of our romantic fantasies. A loving and calm expression of familial love and devotion. But real, definitely raw and genuine. Demanding. Brutally honest. and a stuggle to be born into a more mature version of ourselves. My daughter struggling with jet lag, my son struggling with starting a new phase of his life. Leaving home for the somewhat unknown. Having established a comfortable familiar environment, and starting anew in a completely unfamiliar place. Wanting to succeed yet not wanting to make mistakes: who has never been there? I feel for him and struggle to find a balance myself between being overly involved and holding back too much. Wanting those feelings to come up but not wanting them to express in inappropriate ways. Violence toward his sister or me. And it's difficult for me because I have a high tolerance for violence directed at me. I make excuses when it might be more appropriate to say, "Whoa!" The chocolate eggs were mediocre. We are spoiled by my son's truffle creations and the quality of ingredients he uses. Even the more high end chocolates available in stores are inferior to his products made with organic ingredients and no preservatives. Life keeps on keeping on. I finally gave in to my ill health, surrendered and spent the day in bed with a heating pad on my neck. I expected to feel better by now given the life expectancy of the virus. No such luck, and tomorrow: a full schedule of work. The weather is mild and slowly blossoming into Spring. My tulips are coming into view, and I will start clearing the mulch soon. Seasons change and we with the seasons. I imagine my son on the boat in his new life, preparing the meals for the guests, learning a new team dynamic. And I wish the very best for him. And get a sense of the pain of sibling discord. I can't be a referee or mediator for them. All I can do is hope for the best whatever that means. And know in my heart that it will include some wrong notes here and there from time to time. It's on the hard drive. All these patterns are on the human species hard drive. And all are part of the blessing.

Loving as an adult

Here's the thing: we just love our kids. And there is folly in clinging too tightly to a narrow, rigid definition of "good Mom" I just have to let go and keep letting it go. Releasing the tendency to avoid conflict at all cost. Any sense of disagreement, discord, unrest, anxiety is automatically interpreted as wrongness on my part and my personal failure as a parent. I get tired, exhausted really, and then I interpret everything as a mistake or a failing on my part. I don't take care of myself properly, and feel vulnerable and run down. Like now. And I grieve my losses at the same time I celebrate the freedom and courage and creativity of the people around me. 

Day 9: graduation

Ordinary people with an extraordinary interest in breaking the cycle of child abuse. Our ninth day includes swearing in and receiving our "orders for appointment of guardian ad litem and authorizing access." district court-juvenile division, fourth judicial district. There is a sensation of power and responsibility to have a judge asking your opinion, requesting your assistance. We met informally with Kerry Meyer before she gave her speech and administered the official oath. The most moving realization washed over me when she pointed out that she was required to make decisions which will have significant impact on the lives of children she (frequently) has never even seen. Not even a photo. Nada, especially if the child is under 10. She knows nothing but what is in a  bare bones report, which she may have only read through briefly before the trial.

"...Further, this order authorizes and directs that the guardian ad litem shall be given access to and be furnished with copies of all information relevant to the child's and family's situation, including but not limited to: social services records; corrections department records; medical, counseling, therapy, treatment and mental health records; academic records; psychological, psychiatric and chemical dependency evaluations; and all other relevant records without the oral and written consent of the child or the child's parent(s). No claim of privilege or other claimed  right of confidentiality may be asserted to prevent the guardian ad litem from obtaining information relevant to this proceeding. The guardian ad litem shall have access to all information and records relevant to this proceeding, whether written or oral, which are in the possession of any person, corporation, political subdivision, organization, organization, agency or other entity. Nothing in the Federal Regulations, Minnesota Government Data Practices Act, Rules of Public access to the Records of the Judicial Branch, or any other statutory provision shall have access to the child including meeting with the child alone as deemed appropriate by the guardian ad litem. In an adoption proceeding or a case in which adoption is the intended permanency plan for the child, authorization is granted for the guardian to review the home studies."

Interesting, and more than a little bit intimidating. When I read this the first time I had to stop and get bigger somehow, in order to take in the meaning and depth of these words, to wrap my brain around the scope of that image  This statement covers pretty much everything. No stone is left unturned. But it goes on, just in case there is any remaining doubt:

"...the guardian ad litem appointed under this court order shall have access to protected health information as defined in that federal regulation, including but not limited to, psychological and chemical health assessments, which have been conducted by service providers deemed "covered entities" under the regulation. Access to this protected health information is for the purpose of aiding the guardian ad litem in her or his investigation and development of recommendations regarding the child or children who is/are the subject of this court order and may include protected health information related to the child as well as the child's parents or others designated by this court...shall continue until further order of the court."

In the face of feeling overwhelmed and helpless, perhaps hopeless, about how slow people can be in waking up to what is, this one, 40 hour journey, less time that it takes to drive to the West Coast, has been indescribably powerful. I remember the pain as I listened to the court proceedings a year ago. The frustration and compassion I felt for the man who tried to shoot my daughter. A man who had been neglected and abused from his earliest years and so desperately had tried to find a way to fit in somewhere, somehow with his peers. To re-build his self-esteem. And the words of his mother, thanking us, and describing her prayers for her son to wake up, to grow up. And her grand-daughter. We talk a lot about satisfying the basic needs of the child and providing what is adequate for the child. But in reality we are trying to prevent further trauma, we are not even talking about dealing with the trauma that has already been caused. So, this is where I am today: sworn to faithfully and justly perform all duties of the office and trust which I am assuming as guardian ad litem to the best of my ability.

Amen.

Alleluia.

 

Groupies

Dear Daughter, 

We had a light dusting of snow. I drove by the place we were sitting before you left for London, when we spotted Frances McDormand. You and I were at the "Kiddie beach".  She was walking around the lake with Joel, remember? And you got all excited and wanted to run after her. Now everytime I drive by I think of that day and our serious, deep, philosophical conversation which suddenly deteriorated into total fantasy and frivolity. I just watched the scene from "Notting Hill" where Anna goes to William's sister's birthday party. It is so fascinating to watch the groupie dynamic and wonder what is up with all of that blind devotion. I suppose it "is what it is" but what the heck is it? Infatuation, fantasy, a projections of our own illusions...How do we mature through it to something a little more workable, compassionate? How can we come to the point where we just see the whole, complex creation in it's changing form and not try to direct the perception or control the process. I think of Bonsai and how we are shaping the tree to a particular, specific esthetic. We wire the trunk to imitate the form of a wind swept plant struggling to survive in an unfriendly environment. When I look at my little bonsai I am reminded of the condition of scoliosis and the lateral twisting of the spine. We can't prove the cause of scoliosis. We can simple identify the patterns of occurrence: detected in adolesence, in an emotionally stressful environment, could be school, peer groups or family situations. There is a spiraling that begins to show itself, a moving in on itself, a sort of attempt to shield or protect itself for whatever reason. When facing an adversary what do we do: confront or turn away? How do we turn an adversary into an asset? Is that possible, is it desirable? Or are we meant to simple recognize that the adversary is what is, and be in that somewhat distressing relationship. And know that there is value in the opposition, without resolution, or judgement. I have heard that you are in Brussels, on your way to Amsterdam, London and Paris for Alex, then home in time for Easter. I am so looking forward to seeing you in the flesh, and holding you in my arms. Until then, taste everything, smell everything and dance everyday. 

Yur Mum

Break through

Last Tuesday's Guardian ad Litem training session continues to unfold. The audio tape of a young girl's call to 911 for help triggered not only my adult experience with domestic violence, but also my experience as a child. I flashed on the incident in which Mike came to my sister and I and begged us to come into bed with him because he was afraid our Dad was going to hurt him. He had been the one to make the call for help when our parents got into one of their "incidents". I remember my Mom screaming for him to call our grandma. I realized today the depth and the quality of Mike's terror. He figured that our Dad wouldn't hurt him if his sisters were in the room. He was safer with us than by himself. He slept in a bedroom which shared a closet with our parents room. He must have heard everything that happened in their room. My sister and I slept down the hall, far enough away that we were out of earshot. I remember hearing my Dad's parents arrive and every one's voices getting much quieter. From my bedroom I called for my Grandma, but my Grandpa was the one who actually came upstairs to check on us. I don't remember how or when we got in our own beds. It was the only time I can recall that I had direct contact with that Grandpa. My memory is that he was gruff, distant and harsh. Except for that one time when he appeared tender, nurturing and sad or apologetic. 

As the timeline progresses forward I remember my two year old son standing between his Dad and I, while I tried to cover my head to protect my face from his blows. And I remember my glasses flying across the room, looking down and thinking, "He's going to get hurt. Go!" I was in shock, and numb, yet wanting to reassure my kids I tried to act normal and deal with their needs, before I attended to my own. I got them ready for bed, going through the usual rituals. Assuring them that they were safe now, without knowing if it was true. After I was sure they were asleep I went to get help. Looking back on it now, I realize I was numb, exhausted and not thinking clearly at all. 

When I asked my Mom about the incident in which Mike called our Grandparents she remembered her father-in-law asking her what she had said right before my Dad started hitting her. He advised her not to say it in the future. My mother became an expert in hostile silence. The silent treatment: if you can't say anything nice then don't say anything at all. It doesn't work for kids. They don't understand and they just think it's their fault. And she used me as a scapegoat and a hostage in her war with my father. Just as he used Mike against her. A family divided. I identify the coping mechanisms: alcohol, drugs, television, workaholism, compulsive obsessive behaviors, all combined with poverty and a very real struggle to feed and cloth us. It is no wonder she just wanted to get rid of me. And no wonder she resented my demands. Perhaps my expectations were unreasonable, but at the time I was a child. Do I have unreasonable expectations now? Of myself? Of the people around me? Or do I just like challenges, testing the limits and is that such awful trait? Something to be ashamed of? 

The only way out is through. Domestic violence isn't going away. There are valuable lessons to be learned from the process if one is willing to take advantage of the opportunity. Gandi says we must be the change you wish to see. Embodiment of the lesson of domestic violence in as much depth as we can muster/master. It is our only hope for illuminating the journey for those who are coming behind us, through the same dark tunnel, and into the light.

Day 6: Guardian Ad Litem Training

Hey Girlfriend,

The ice is melting. It is healing to watch the awsome inevitability of the progression of the seasons. The shift from darkness into light. From fear into release. I have been working with the phrase "I release you..." In Craniosacral Therapy we release the horizontal diaphragms, and when the release happens there is frequently a little shudder or vibration and a deep relaxation. I have glimpses of compassion which spill over into compassion for my kids and then for all kids of all ages who have experienced the violent attempts of their Dads to control their Moms. The terror and trauma which repeats the intergenerational pattern of domestic violence overwhelms me. And I am so grateful to be out and alive and free to flower again. To unfold, and explore my passions, and to love my children without shame or guilt or apology.  My pattern is to focus on the things I didn't handle as well as I would have imagined. The things I think I did wrong. When today I recognize the "things I did right" I feel overwhelming gratitude which leaves me speechless. 

"The necessary context for children's recovery from exposure to battering behavior: A strong bond to the non-battering parent. Children who have experienced profound emotional distress or trauma are largely dependent for their recovery on the quality of their  relationship with their caretaking parent. Assisting battered mothers and their children to heal their relationships is one of the most important aspects of promoting recovery." 

Amen.

Alleluia.

modified sun salutation

Sun salutation is an excellent exercise for focusing on the breath and balance while loosening the spine. It is a lovely way to start the day, something of a thank you note for the gift of another day and, if the sun is shining, even more reason to feel gratitude. For anyone with conditions which affect the functions of the nervous system it is an important tool for slowing the progression of the symptoms. It is effective in strengthening balance. Each repetition is about 60 seconds or 10 repetitions can be accomplished in 10 minutes. You could continue the repetitions for 30 minutes for cardiovascular benefits. The video posted here is a simple variation originally designed to be performed standing in water, armpit deep at the side of the swimming pool. The sequence can be performed very slowly, with up to 3 minutes holding in each pose, or even more rapidly than in this video. There are 12 positions starting with Mountain Pose and an inhale breath.  

1)  Stand behind a stable chair in Mountain Pose, then exhale as you

2)  Flex knees to squat in prayer pose. Inhale while you tuck your tailbone and move into 

3)  Mini Back bend with no discomfort in back of neck or lower back. Exhale into  

4)  Forward Fold hinging from hip joint, head and neck relaxed, hanging loose. Inhale and 

5)  Step left foot back into Lunge, heel may be up or down. Exhale as you place

6)  Hands on back of chair for Plank Pose, spine is a diagonal line, inhale. Step close to chair,

7)  Push up and away into Cobra. Exhale as you  

8)  Pull hips back into Downward Dog. Inhale and   

9)  Step right leg forward into Lunge. Exhale for second 

10)  Forward Fold. 

11)  Mini Back bend. 

12) Prayer Pose.

and finish or begin again with: 

1)  Mountain Pose.

memories of a happy childhood

The new conservatory at Como Zoo is spacious and healing. There is an element of surprised integrated with the familiar older areas of the facility that we liked very much. The central area, with the little fountain of the water nymph dancing is a place my son wanted to stop and reflect. He began to list all of the times he remembered coming to the conservatory and the things he had discovered. The picnics, the goldfish, the magical sensation of being surrounded by greenery even though we had to struggle through the snow and freezing temperatures to arrive through those glass doors. He was over two on out first visit. We had returned from our two year journey as homeless travelers, living out of a suitcase. It was October before he slept in his own bed, his first bed. And he remembers. It was a time he was fascinated with Magic Flute, and Prince Tamino, chased by the dragon. We spent hours re-enacting that opening scene, the sword, the cape-like cloak, and the rescue by the handmaidens of the Queen of the Night. Papageno's appearence and the bird catching activity. 

Rage

Where does it get you? Out of the nursery, into the real world...is it injustice? Is it vengeance? All I know is that the only way out is through, so I keep moving through as steadily as I can. Letting the rage come up, feeling it, noticing it, but trying not to judge it. Just knowing I want to get through it and the sooner the better. I watch myself struggle with the beast, knowing I don't want to live there, yet feeling helpless in the unexpected recurrence. "I don't want to go back" becomes my mantra. I close my eyes and visualize a scene from a movie in which Morgan Freeman faces a bear. He doesn't back down, doesn't back away. He simply holds his ground in spite of his fear...and anger...and vulnerability. Vulnerability is the aspect of my rage that is the most uncomfortable. The sense of opening myself again to abuse in spite of my past experiences, and then the sense of being betrayed once again. I betray myself when I expect a different outcome. My old patterns range from turning the rage on myself in self-destructive behavior or becoming hype-irritable and turning on people around me. Time to try something new and different...but what? Intellectually I know it is unreasonable to expect a life without injustice, misunderstanding, miscommunication or offending at least one other person. It still feels so personal when it happens, my ego shrieks don't do this to me. And it happens anyway, and there is no going back, not even any real desire to go back, just the horror that it has occurred and my humble attempt to get through it. Perhaps this rage was triggered by court observation this morning. The father's refusal to deal with his issues of depression, chronic pain, grief, violence. Possible homelessness...Not showing up for the review? How is that in the best interest of his daughter? Or himself.

walk like a man

I watch my son with wonder. He courage amazes me, as does his compassion. He has shaped his own life and searched to discover role models for himself in surprising places. Somewhere along the journey he has become close to his maternal Grandfather in a way I did not anticipate. I saw my brothers struggle with their relationship with their Dad and their struggle continues to this day. They grew up watching the violent relationship of our parents. My son has never known my parents as a married couple. And I observe my son confiding his dreams and fears to his Grandpa with respect and admiration. His Grandpa has logged an impressive amount of hours in 12 steps groups. At one point he was there most nights of the week. I don't know how effectively he actually worked the program, but he showed up for the meetings. And that alone is more than my son's Dad was willing to do for him. Showing up is the first step. 

English tea

High tea comes in all shapes and forms. Today it was a picnic at the U of MN Landscape Arboretum. This is a place I have been many times with my daughter looking for the perfect future wedding site,  or just parent/child bonding, sometimes enjoying low stress nature therapy, just dreaming, scheming, healing. Occasionally, we would be negotiating my (knock on wood) grandparent time, in case I ever have grandchildren. I will definitely be taking them to the arboretum...But my son had somehow fallen through the cracks. He had never been here, bless his tree-hugging soul! I had fleeting moments of shame and guilt and even questioned my parenting skills, when he informed me I that of all the places I had taken him including Mystic Lake, Reno, Chez Panisse, and Golden Gate Park, he had never been to the arboretum. A sad oversight which was corrected this afternoon. We stopped at Sofitel to pick up brioche and bagette. Our next stop was at Lakewinds Co-op for Beelers (the very best) sliced ham, camembert de chevre, St Andre (triple cream), baby field greens, a few organic cookies, and sea salt and vinegar potato chips (or crisps, as we say in London). Our high tea feast was spread out in the dining room as the outdoor areas were still covered with melting ice and snow. We ordered cups of hot china green tips and settled in for some serious celebrating. In less than 5 weeks he will be gone. It's going so fast. As I watch him eating his ham on baguette with dijon mustard, he appears to be morphing from my baby-faced-boy-with-cheeks-of-tan to an independent, competent, confident young man. Capable of planning what to take on the boat, traveling through Boston to Maine and finding his way in the world. Doing his job quietly and efficiently. Honoring his commitments. While I cannot take credit for his success, I am so grateful to have the privilege of participating and observing his ongoing journey. And sharing one more teatime repast in his smiling, light-hearted company.

hello/good-bye

One day at a time we move closer to departure. I have a stream of mixed emotions moving through me like a roller coaster, but the underlying sense is unending gratitude. Gratitude for health, financial opportunities, for support, for creativity, and discipline. For the interest, education and the skills to succeed. And to the awareness that our time together is quite likely coming to a close. Perhaps a temporary close, but in any case, the end of a phase in our relationship as parent and child that has been bittersweet. My son has gone through a conscious transformation of his physical structure since February 2008. Starting at 243lbs, he moved to 213 lbs by June 1st. And by September, 2008, he had reached 200 lbs. His current weight of 170. He has lost over 70lbs! On his own, he has memorized calorie counts, designed and fine-tuned his workouts and measured his portions. Honestly, I can't say what has inspired and motivated him. But I am impressed with the longevity of his commitment in a world where it is all to easy to just give up, go the easy route, and eat anything and everything that is around. I struggle with my own compulsive eating tendencies and my reluctance to control my portions. In that light his accomplishment is even more impressive. He has taught himself to find other ways than food to celebrate his achievements. He has considered the possibilities, definitions and frequencies of eating disorders. Unhealthy relationships with food.

As a baby, toddler, and preschooler he was very active and never had an ounce of excess fat on his body. It was when he entered kindergarten, ate school lunches, and was forced to sit inside for longer periods of time that his weight and eating began to be a problem. Now that he has finished school and is on his own, he has empowered himself and created a lifestyle that lends itself to  conscious health. This will serve him well in life on his new home, the eco-cruise ship, "Wanderbird."

boy/man

Before he was born I felt ill-equipped to be his Mom. I didn't feel like I knew enough to parent a boy into manhood. After all, I was a girl before I became a woman. I couldn't imagine being in his skin. So, I practiced imagining I was in his skin. The more I practiced, the more information came to me. And by the time he was born I had developed trust in the process. Now, whenever I hit a fork in the road with him, I just step back to imagining I am in his skin. Seeing what he sees, hearing what he hears. I don't have to do or say anything, just be with him and he does the rest. I admire his discipline, and his methodical approach to life. He has a plan, but not actually on paper, not even something he can put into words. Just a general outline of his ideas, his journey. We went on a road trip to Napa Valley to celebrate his 21st birthday and the completion of his culinary training, in a convertible 1998 BMW Z3. It was a privilege to share that with him. It was his first experience traveling as an adult. Driving with the top down during the most lovely summer days of June. What could be better? The sun, the sky, the ocean and the open road. No worries. What a contrast from our first trip together. He was 4 months old, we were homeless and on our way to stay with his grandparents in Easter bloc Poland until we "sorted things out." And now, he leaves for Belfast, Maine in less than 6 weeks. This is his time for adventure and travel. I will miss him, but I am immeasurably excited for him. I may have to go visit in September. "Wanderbird", a Dutch fishing vessel will be his new home. The website is inviting and I imagine myself sitting in the sunshine, with a cup of hot tea and freshly baked scones, scribbling away. Weaving my stories. Relaxed and happy. Salt in the air, moving up the coast toward Labrador. Down the coast to Boston. Dreaming, drifting, loving.

http://www.wanderbirdcruises.com/ourvessel.html

day 3: guardian ad litem training

Increasingly detailed information re process starting with the moment a call is made to child protection. This is an extensive department and one wonders how effective it really can be when people are constantly working on overload. The USA and Somolia are the one countries which do NOT recognize the Rights of Children Act. Interesting combination. Today the term "court appointed" finally sunk into my consciousness, in a deeper, more visceral way. The authority to view various records is an impressive tool. And I admit, this is the first day I considered backing out simply because the demands of that kind of responsibility loomed overwhelming. Before this my question was always, "do I have the time to do this job?" This is a huge leap of faith on so many levels for me, on top of my own personal experiences coming up. It is tempting to blame myself for not exploring and using some of the services we will be recommending for others. And it reassures me regarding making calls on behalf of my own nieces and nephews in unhealthy situations. Orchids have it easy compared to my experience today. I just remind myself that showing up relaxed and alert is the first step, and that everything we need will be provided to us, all we have to do is ask, and sometimes we don't even have to ask. The necessary tool or opportunity will appear.

maple oat scones

Maple oat scones with clotted cream and mango raspberry jam. My impression is that the oatmeal will balance the cholesterol in the cream. And that the cream will balance the sugar in the jam.  The hot jasmine tea will balance the unexpected drop in the outside temperature. Rustica Bakery is close and a constant temptation for me. The olive bread is my favorite savory snack and I usually have a backup loaf in the freezer for unexpected guests or to take to my hostess when I am the unexpected guest. One is always just a little more warmly welcomed with something like olive bread in hand. Rustica had a fig pastry today, which was new to me. I am a devotee of figs when they are on my radar. My place in the Napa Valley had a fig tree in the back yard and the magic of harvesting the fruit lingers in my memory even after 25 years. That memory is the gold standard against which all other figs are measured, and their memory has been enhanced by that time of my life. I was young, carefree, and very much in love with being a dancer. At that time I was choreographing and performing, dancing full-time in my own company, enjoying only amazing wine, truly bottled sunshine, and an exotic collection of foods for a girl from a small town in Southern Minnesota. The sense of endless summer seduced me into staying much longer than I had planned. And, in those days, my plan to follow in the footsteps of my teacher were compelling. It was one of the things which had brought me to California in the first place. As a choreographer, I believed I would be welcomed into the dance community in a way I had not experienced in Minnesota. And I hoped I would have the artistic support I was so hungry to find. It is only now that I realize this: finding a mature fig tree bearing fresh figs growing in my backyard, next to my bedroom window was more artistic support than I would ever need to satisfy my hunger. We are all surrounded by indescribable beauty, such majesty, and still, we forget. So, let's sit down, have a scone and remember.

day 2: guardian ad litem training

An overwhelming amount of information and statistics. Amazing. Last year 16,ooo reports were received by child protection. 7,000 of those reposts were actually investigated. 5,000 were diverted to other resources and programs. There 700 petitions filed. 33% were child neglect, which is the biggest concern as neglect has largest and long term impact on brain development. 25% were physical abuse, 24 % parental drup abuse/endangerment. 12 % abandonment and 10% sexual abuse. Sobering numbers, to say the least. What a mess this can turn out to be and trauma and pain. Yet the other way is just as painful. The secrets and the isolation are equally or more damaging. Either way kids are dumped right into heavy questions of personal value, safety, survival and trust. The training triggers my own personal experiences with this process and I question my own decisions regarding child endangerment and responsibility. My own denial and blindness to creating an unhealthy enviroment for my children. I was overly concerned about my own safety and not nearly concerned enough about my chldren's safety. It was what I was taught. And now I am learning something new and hope that others may benefit from my efforts. I a vocal, active advocate for my children in school settings and healthcare issues. Yet I failed to recognize the warning signs of the trauma of domestic violence. Ironic.

Crocus song

I am life. 

I find a way. 

I am beauty unbound,

I am love unmeasured.

Nothing stops me: 

snow, dogs, 

dog poo, mud, rain, 

ice, dead leaves, 

impacted dirt, 

fog, garbage, 

people polution, 

your footprints, neglect, 

abuse.

Give it to me.

I'll do my best,

and more,

because I am life.

And I find a way.

day 1: guardian ad litem training

Nervous, wondering if I would "fit in", what kind of people would be at the training, am I competent to meet the expectations of the assignment. All kinds of things and ideas come up when we step out of our comfort zones. After all it hasn't always been safe to make mistakes in my world. Sometimes there were intensely painful consequences when I made mistakes. And I lived in denial that they were mistakes. Honestly, maybe they were simply a means of rebalancing a system of learning. When I set out to learn a new skill I tend to become intensely focused on mastering that particular process or material. And then, as I gain confidence in my ability to exercise the new material, I relax with it, and enjoy the process, taking in more of the subtle nuances and integrating my new skill with other, older skills. 

West End

Evening of the last day: Quiet, reflective. We spent time musing about our various conversations many of which were about money and living fearlessly, trustingly. And about traveling together. The places we would like to go, share, and see together. My flight out was delayed for three hours so we had extra time to commune and converse. I know as we were talking that I would miss my connecting flight and the airline would put us up in a hotel getting me on a flight very early the next day. As it turned out it was very healthful to have a night without laundry, mail opening or cleaning after crossing an ocean. The perfect opportunity to adjust to the time shift and feel a little more normal in less time. Clean sheets, and a hot bath were wonderful before falling into a deep sleep. Everything was literally taken care of for me.

It was an unexpectedly joyful parting. With a sense of having done and said enough, not everything but everything that was important, compelling. Enough.

And I think we both sensed a shift in attitude, in concept, in philosophy. A change in how we want to live our lives. In what we want to include and what kinds of experience we don't need to keep repeating anymore. Deprivation, scarcity, abuse, bullying, other experiences along those lines. Self-condemnation. 

Tai Chi

A practice video for participants from the groups at Loring Park and Plymouth Church or anyone interested in experiencing meditation in motion. 

Brick Lane

What is it about Mothers and Daughters that never ends? Is it the love is it a co-dependency? Is it it simply the recognition of one's self in the other? Or is it more than that: recognizing one's self as other. And so this has been a reminder of my own daughterness. Following on the heels of my visit to my own mother there is a sense of continuity, a sense of flow in the nuturing and witnessing that inevitably happens. Is there any thought, any statement more destructive than "your mother doesn't like you"? Dylan Moran retaliates against a roommate with that very idea: "Your mother is glad you didn't ring her up!" My truth is that my Mum is glad I when I don't ring her up! She hands the phone off to my Dad or doesn't pick up if she sees me on the caller id. And there are lots of daughters with the same stuff happening. Living with their mother's rejection, disapproval, conditional love. In our compulsion to be "good mothers" we lose sight of our daughters' authenticity and privilege to make their own decisions, even when they appear to be mistakes. I married twice without inviting my mother's attendence or seeking her opinion. And even now, I feel that I don't know her. She remains a shadowy mystery. Our difference is that I have one daughter and she has four. Four chances, four choices, four relationships, four worlds. Like the Washburn swim team, I realize I will always be finishing last. And there is comfort in that: one only competes with one's personal best.

Kew Gardens

The beauty of many events is in the anticipation and the preparation. And, in fact, there were many dark times of overworking and frustration that were endured as a means to this end: two weeks of relative freedom to take each day truely as it comes. Loose plans were in place, but so was permission to alter those plans at any time depending on health, weather, finances, or whim. After seeing pictures of the foxes and peacocks at Kew Gardens it became the destination of choice for this snow-weary traveler. We spent most of an afternoon searching for the foxes without a trace of their bushey little tails. Finally content with the stately peacocks we strolled leisurely, side by side, off into the wilder area of the park. Moving along the fence a fuzzy red creature emerged. Unnoticed by yours truely, he followed us at a distance until I grew tired with following the peacock and stopped to watch him disappear off in the distance. Turning I noticed the fox watching me, watch the peacock. There was a flicker of recognition and a dawning of delight. He appeared to be limping and his left rear leg was shaved. Perhaps he had been in an accident or been injured somehow. It had not killed his curiousity or his charm. A voice in the back of my mind kept repeating "rabies, caution, diseases, wild animal, unpredictable, caution," but after seeing my daughter's photos of him for three months and imagining my own meeting with him, I felt we were old friends. Of course, he was hoping for food, and I happened to have an apple which I was happy to share with him. 

adventure

I've learned a few things during my time here in London but I have not figured out how to maniulated the photos on the blogger format. It remains, for the time, a complete mystery in spite of my attempts to move them around. For example, in this post I wished to have a lovely arrangement of my daughter eating pork belly at Jamie Oliver's trattoria 15. And a description of our adventure finding the place from the tube stop to Moorgate eye hospital to the fireplace restoration shop down the un pretentious side street marked only with the sandwich board. We expected womething quite pretentious with snobby waitstaff and appropriately unusual, "offal" offerings on the menu We were pleased to find our misgivings were groundless and we were seated in spite of our tardines. And more than satisfied with the entire experience which included a hot ginger press with lime when our waitperson realized I had a nasty cold. 

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=2228323&l=56369&id=746559828

Laduree, for real

Until today my experiences at Laduree have been via their website. I have fantasized, and rehearsed my trip, varying the menu with my whims and the weather. Perusing their menu has been the late night occupation which has gotten me through many subzero nights in the month of January. Shivering, bundling, lost gloves, frostbitten nose, tinkering with the garage door opener were all tolerated as I reminded myself the day would come when I would sit at a marble topped table in Laduree and drink tea surrounded by elegant, irresistible french pastries. Proof that dreams come true is everywhere. We can get on planes and fly across the ocean, taking a homeopathic remedy to avoid jet lag, and find yourself sitting in Laduree eating cakes which melt in your mouth and are even more exquisite than you imagined. So often the tempting array of pastries in the display case turn out to be plastic and tasteless. This was NOT our experience today. The delicate flavour of rose cream opened our hearts as the raspberries sitting between layers of macaroon tickled our fancy. I was fortunate in that I was not at Laduree alone, and doomed to over-indulgence and subsequent discomfort. I was accompanied by my daughter and her boyfriend who generously agreed to help with the consumption of the lovely creations offered at Laduree. One is rarely enough, but two is definitely too much. We ordered 4 selections to split and the artichoke soup to start us off, preparing our stomachs for the sugar and fat.

Excellent choice as it turned out that the soup comes with lovely hard rolls and the best butter. The Jasmine tea was delicate and hot. Daughter had the hot chocolate with Chantilly cream. Boyfriend went for the cafe macciato followed much later by a delicate tisane of lime blossoms. We had planned to take numerous photos until we were standing in line next to a notice prohibiting photos entirely. this left us with few options including no photos and illegal, stealth photos. We chose the latter rather than the former, and have no regrets. As the afternoon progressed it became obvious that we needed to move around a bit. Making our way to Hyde Park as the light faded, our last glimpse of Laduree at Harrod's was after the lights outlining the building began twinkling. In arguably better than my dream, definitely worth repeating. After all, this is only the second day of my holiday!

snow days

After reading about the London snowstorm I remembered my own blessed snow days. Sitting on the stairs leading up to the 2nd floor praying to hear my school's name included in the list of announced closings. And the joyous relief when I realized I had a whole free day to frolic around in the snowdrifts without homework assignments, tests, lectures, sitting still, and keeping quiet. As kids we waited, praying for these rare snow days and I certainly did not grow up feeling that when life was too difficult I could just stay home. On the contrary, I lived the belief that "when the going got tough, the tough got going!" and "No pain, no gain!" It has taken me great effort and more than a few injuries to learn to discern when to push harder and when to back off. And I am still not as good at the discernment art as I will be with a bit more practice.  Consequently, when I read this last paragraph from the Startribune I roared with laughter upsetting my sleeping cat and my Youtubing son.

"Many Londoners noted that bus services had continued through WW2 and paused only for about an hour during the city's 2005 terrorist attack, when four suicide bombers killed 52 commuters on the transit network. Some suggested the British workers had set a poor example for the nation's children. Young Britons may become adults who think that "when things get difficult you should just stay home and have fun," said Margaret Morrissey, of the parenting lobby group Parents Outloud."

time warp

Dear Daughter,

Feels like I'm in two different places; not really here, but not yet in London. I'm preparing to leave and yet already planning for my return. Time is a fluid medium. And yet I feel present to the activity in front of me at any given time. I wonder about my expectations and how realistic my ideas may turn out to be...there is no way to know. Anything can happen and probably will. I am just grateful to have an opportunity to do something like this trip. Who knows when it might happen again? In any case, I imagine myself with you at Kew Gardens. I had no idea it would cost 13 pounds to get in! Luckily, the orchids are worth it and I have no regrets after that initial sticker shock. 

See you in 14 days, 

yur Mum

lumen de lumine

Lumen de lumine light from light

behold, and be radient

From the dwelling place of light,

Summoned from it's velvet home,

Rising shines tha Star in night,

Light no dark can overcome.

Rise, O Star and clear our eyes;

World and need lie dim concealed;

Rend the dark of inward skies;

Shine, and all shall be revealed.

Shine, O shine, bright with grace;

Radient now, your people rise

Glory shining from each face.

now we shall radiant be like stars forever lumen de lumine

ever and ever

light from light.

girlfriends

fortune brings us back,

transcending time together,

know: I'm here for you

Margret

I met Margret Dietz the year before she died. Others dancers had much more time with her, and more intimate conversations. My relationship with her was quite brief by comparison. Yet she changed my life in a way I am still discovering, still trying to embody. Her gravestone, which you can see on my website, bears the inscription "To dance is my way of saying yes to life." 

I recently watched the movie called "The Reader" with Kate Winslet and Ralph Fiennes. As I watched the story unfold I thought about that post WW2 Germany and her work with the rehabilitation of members of the Nazi Youth Corp. The exercises she used are the same ones I use in my fitness and personal training work.

I love her hands in this photo. Her fingers are like little branches growing up toward the light out of that amazing backward arching of the spine. Her throat exposed, the billowing skirt, and the movement of the shoulder blades back toward the spine opening the heart all speak of surrender: the surrender of a women who lost her father to the Nazi's and her husband and son to a train wreck. A woman who took a gas mask off a dead man and walked out of Dresden during the bombing. Haunted, yet still willing to somehow say "yes" to life.

to be continued...

fierce creatures

The zoo 

used in the movie "Fierce Creatures" 

is located on Jersey,

one of the Channel Islands

it is accessible by ferry

There really is a Jambo; 

remember the scene with Willa 

checking her heart rate

suddenly finds herself face to hand 

with the silverback gorilla?

And they actually do sell sponsorships!

chocolate

Writing about chocolate for the next "Good Age" fitness column means thinking and reading about chocolate, which also means eating chocolate. It's a dirty job, but I wouldn't expect others to do something I am not willing to do myself. Turns out there is quite a lot of well documented research singing the health benefits of our friend chocolate. For me, the fitness benefits are a big concern: it motivates me to complete my daily workouts, not the easiest part of my day. And I love my workouts, once I begin. It's getting started that is the challenge. A small but flavorful bit of the dark stuff gets me on the floor, with the music on, ready to sweat. 

jasmine (tea)

is actually an "essence"  not an essential oil. Flowers must be picked at night to maximize fragrance. One pound of jasmine oil requires about 1,00 pounds of jasmine or 3.6 million fresh unpacked blossoms. The blossoms must be collected before sunrise, or much of the fragrance will have evaporated. The quality of the blossoms may also be compromised if they are crushed. A single pound of pure jasmine oil may cost between $1200 to 4500. in contrast, synthetic jasmine oils can be obtained for $3.50 per pound, but they do not possess the same therapeutic qualities as the pure oil.

Nicknamed "queen of the night" and "moonlight of the grove." For centuries, women have treasured jasmine for its beautiful, seductive fragrance. Medical properties include antidepressant, stimulating, antibacterial. Uses include anxiety, depression, menstrual problems/PMS, skin problems, frigidity.

It's fragrant influences are uplifting, counteracts sense of hopelessness, nervous exhaustion, indifference and listlessness. University researchers in Japan found that diffusing certain aromas in an office environment dramatically improved mental accuracy and concentration. Diffused lemon resulted in 54 percent fewer errors, jasmine 33 percent  and lavender 20 percent. When aromas were diffused during test taking, scores increased by as much as 50 percent. 

cinnamon rolls

Imagine my horror, 

when I opened my "doggie bag"

 and found both my omelet 

and Maddy's cinnamon rolls! 

Last night's leftover chocolate

calls to me as I struggle 

to ignore the temptation.

To be continued...

quartet for the end of time

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bdq09OBAz3c

Laduree

Today, I sat here.

Tomorrow. the red velvet chairs.

Next day, whoever knows? 

real teatime

Laduree at Harrod's

(of course)

3:30 to 6 pm

2 sandwiches:

smoked salmon

ham

2 viennoiserie:

almond and walnut croissant

chocolate croissant

2 pasteries:

ishpan

plaisur sucre

jasmine tea

repeat as needed

Monday at Laduree

Mondays are the best day to start new projects: novels, diets, jobs, love affairs. In this great tradition I rekindled my love affair with Laduree, the teashop not the man. I got an early start to hike a substantial portion of the journey to Laduree. I planned to meet my daughter there after she finished work. She has a grueling job teaching in inner city schools where child neglect is apparent, and appalling. I think of London as a civilized nation so, to see children with rotten teeth is a surprise.

As I waited for my daughter I studied the Laduree propaganda: "The story of Parisian tearooms is intimately linked  the Laduree story.  It started in 1852, when Louis Ernest (my gran

dfather's name) Laduree, a man fron the South West, a miller by trade, created a bakery at 16 rue Royale in Paris.

In 1871, while the Baron Haussmann was giving a new aspect to Paris, a fire led to the conversion of the bakery into a cake shop. Jules (my grandfather's middle name) Cheret, the famous poster designer of the end of the century was in charge of the decoration of the cake shop. He was inspired by the pictorial techniques used for the ceilings of the Sixtine Chapel and the Opera Gamer.

At the time of the second Empire, with the development of Parisians cafe, Jeanne Souchard, (wasn't Modigliani's lover/model named Jeanne Souchard) Ernest Laduree's wife, daughter of a famous hotel-keeper in Rouen, had the idea to mix styles: the cafes and the cake shop therefore gave birth to one of the first Parisian tearooms. They had one advantage over the cafes: women were welcome and free to come at any time.

A place with such refined atmosphere and rich historical background attracted David Holder and his father Francis Holder, founder of the Holder group. They both decided to repurchase the famous house then upgrade it and extend it. It's chairman, David Holder insisted on keeping the great classics which gave the House its reputation, and on turning it into the Mecca of Parisian pastry creation, in its shops, restaurants and various tearooms."

I like history, but my true love is NOW.

A bird in the hand is worth more than in the bush, yesterday.

This wasn't my first trip to Laduree

and I wasn't interested in spending alot of money

so I sipped a cup of steaming chocolat viennois

with Chantilly cream on the side

as I carefully made my selections.

After all this was Monday:

the first day of the rest of my life,

and the last day of my past life up to NOW.

I was reminded of my quiet New Years Eve in Arizona:

watching 2008 pass away 

as my daughter, in London, 

was already living in the 2009.

caffine

fragrant jasmine tea

makes everything better.

crash and burn

Flying high, freedom

without limit. Turbulence,

then I crash and burn.

not knowing

Dear Girlfriend,

Leaving Arizona,

I think it's a movie title...

in any case it's done. 

I've gone from desert to snow drifts.

Relationship, stepping back in time,

seeing events from new perspectives

new points on the map.

Not knowing what will occur

how it will feel 

what will come up 

and how to stay detached but authentic.

Witnessing my parents devotion,

and their transition from here to their next places

is both an honor and a practice.

The dual nature of our interaction 

and the not knowing if the process of walking through these memories

is beneficial or destructive:

these half remembered facts and impressions.

Watching the shame, guilt, and pain surface and disapate..

I attempted listening to the tapes,

but it's too soon.

Too intimate, too vulnerable,

too naked and exposed: 

like bare bones drying in the desert sun.

How to include this part of my world,

this family of origin, historical world which keeps on spinning

and rocking and aging.

I help my mother shower and dress, 

but not too much.

Resisting the urge to do it for her,

protect her, 

rescue her.

To literally speak for her until her mouth is healed

and her voice returns.

Assuming it will return...

I watch her struggle to communicate,

passively forcing her to ask for what she needs.

I dance around to find the balance between enabling and empowering.

The irony of observing my father, unable to hear, 

and my mother, unable to talk, 

attempting to communicate, understand and to interact.

Spending time with my Dad, away from my Mom,

knowing how she cherishes her privacy.

Knowing that talking

and listening tire her.

And that she hasn't been slept for three days...

I watch my Dad move through the world 

he has created for himself, 

his routine become ritual.

His safety net, his need for companionship.

His desire to please, to apologize, 

seeking absolution

and redemption.

They truely live one day at a time

one meal at a time,

one ambien,

one nap,

one shower

one hour in the sun.

Trusting that what is,

will be more than enough.

Amen,

Alleluia. 

 

gold rush

This week continues to be a very rich 

(and painful) trip down the mining shaft here in the Superstition Mountains

The weather, mountains and the flowering desert

are healing even as the wounds are revealed,

opened, 

examined 

and cleaned.

The intricate strands of our web are revealed

in more detail with each conversation, 

each interaction,

And the red rock vibrates with gratitude.

practice, practice, practice

Dear One (out of Two or more),

I'm practicing seeing people's glory:

their courage, their various challenges,

and their ability to trust the process

to make mistakes 

and learn from the experimental nature of the process.

Like skiing, skating and everything else:

no one does it perfecly the first time.

It's easier to do this when I'm on vacation

feeling relaxed and carefree.

One day at a time

and not knowing what tomorrow brings.

Creating the experience by exercising choices,

even when it means not chosing.

It is quite an elegant design.

And I never tire of the dance,

the shifting landscape 

as we move from one step to the next

supported by more unconditional love 

than we can ever imagine.

My definition of love 

has morphed into something relaxed

and a little more spacious, long distance.

Did you do that?

I seem to have developed this ability to love from a distance,

detached,

without wanting to be with someone to love them.

without needing to like someone to love them.

To be non-judgemental while still owning my preferences.

Freedom from imposing my preferences on others.

I feel lighter,

and free from compulsion to save, rescue,

or do the "good girl" thing.

I feel like I don't have to please my parents.

Or be in the middle of their relationship as a mediator

or a buffer

a human de-militarized zone.

Even my eating compulsion has been manageable,

knock on wood.

And I walked

while practicing Brahms!

I love vacations-

this could be a whole new thing for me!

But,

for tonight

I'm dreaming only about

about my vacation in London

with YOU!

Meet me on the astral plane,

XO

Yur Mum

lies about death

There is truth in personal experience.

Yet it must allow for differing personal experiences

without falling into conflict.

This is where evolution comes in

and we struggle to transform basic instinct

to allow for seemingly conflicting truth.

In the face of all this dying I want to scream:

"it's fake...

they're not dead.

You just don't know where they are anymore

because it's not fitting your expectations.

The environment my Dad lives in here in Mesa

can be depressing, misleading, unless you see the other end:

the babies, the fresh incarnations.

When I hear him talk about his Grandpa Huffman

and his cattle businessand his longing to work in the same area

I am humbled by the patterns of manifestation.

I is the most elegant and lovely of all dances.

So, I'm still practicing seeing the glory,

today, at 7 am, in the middle of a senior's park pancake breakfast.

With Dad's friend, Dick, believer in spirits and psychics.

Listening to an aged keyboardist accompanying himself,

singing music that speaks to that particular crowd.

Dick took concertina lessons in college

from Betty Wolf, Cowgirl Betty, of Deuchmeister fame.

And still remembers her buying him a beer 

after he finished each lesson.

Perhaps she needed it more than he...

Our glory is not only in our accomplishments

and to be present to out own creative process

and to recognize our own power.

To be fearless in the face of certain death

without excuses or denial.

To live each day as if it were the last.

Minimal medication.

Zero need for protection.

My Mom can't work her phone

much less a laptop,

much less a CDplayer,

much less the dishwasher.

Do we get someone to come in

and watch a movie with them?

To turn things on and off.

To babysit, to clean take out the garbage.

It doesn't have to be this painful or complicated.

And it can be a whole lot cheaper than a nursing home.

Unless she starts to wander off

but I don't think she'll last that long.

Overdose is an issue.

Depression is an issue.

She's cold

and old. 

3 haiku

Witness the struggle.

Opening your heart, without

controlling outcome.

No expectations

but learning. Watching your love

struggle to evolve.

Don't believe every

thing you hear, it's not ultimate

but relative truth.

boxing day

Dear Daughter,

Watching you and your grandpa converse via skype

was like opening a lovely present beyond imagination.

Some of us dream about getting a pony for christmas,

going to disneyland or Hawaii,

or some other exotic trip or experience...

but the simple experience

of sitting in an ordinary coffee shop

in Mesa Arizona

observing you two

(three counting your brother)

is worth more than a trip to the moon.

I wish I had taped the event

but I wanted to savor each subtle shift

in your exchange. I find myself fascinated by simple experiences

which in the past I had not entirely appreciated.

Good teeth.

Hot tea.

Walking without pain.

Talking articulately.

Seeing 

Hearing.

No diapers.

All these pleasures will be gone one day-

either all at once 

or one by one.

But gone, you can put money on it.

Grandpa's place seems wonderful,

but maybe because I'm on vacation.

And everything is being taken care of for now.

I don't even feel responsible for taking care of anyone.

Or makeing anyone's decisions

or giving adice.

I'm trying to just focus on listening

to whoever is around me and myself.

It's all good practice.

champagne haiku

Champagne today at

Laduree to celebrate 

your first Brit paycheck.

a mother's confession

I like Alex.

I know he's a great dancer

and makes you laugh.

But today the matchmaker in me,

was tempted to "fix you up"

with a 25 year old man from Kenya.

When I realized he was muslim

and I switched over to "fixing him up"

with Salma.

He has brothers living near you 

in the East End...

He started telling me about his girlfriend

so I wisely decided to stay out of his love life.

There are amazing people on the planet

living very simple lives,

paying their bills and driving fork lifts,

drawing blood and living in places like Fridley...

having car accidents 

and playing soccer.

Traveling to Ethiopia to see their parents.

Or Rowanda to learn how to improve 

the orphanages in Somalia.

When I'm at Access I think of my Uncle Joe

and how much he loved Somalia

and didn't want to leave.

The day came when it was too dangerous to stay.

Some days it is impossible to miss the glory in humanity.

And on those days, 

it is gratifying to be in flesh

and to participate in the dance.

Sunday tea at Laduree

There was a chill in the air

when I arrived at Laduree Harrod's.

Chosing a table in the front area near the windows

I ordered Jasmine tea immediately.

Sipping quietly, I perused the menu.

I decided to splurge

and get a decadent, "full meal deal"

I started with Scottish smoked salmon 

served with salmon eggs whipped cream.

What can I say?

Very pleasant.

Would I order it again?

Yes, but after I had tried everything else on the menu.

This was followed by Salade Bonaparte.

More smoked salmon, more salmon eggs 

and a some-what weird seaweed tartare-

a double dose of Omega-3s and

Easily finished as all because the servings are petite.

I'm definitely not ordering it again.

I wasn't bad, just not worth repeating.

Lucky for me I had room for two desserts:

The Carre Chocolat and 

Saint Honore Rose-Framboise.

I will definitely order both of those winners again!

Something about the combination of the zabaglione cream

and the chocolate macaroons was so heavenly.

Their textures are complimentary 

and the variations in chocolate flavors subtle but compelling.

They were served simutaneously

so I was able to alternate between the rose/raspberry delight

and the dense chocolate.

Unfortunately, there are no words to describe the experience.

All I can do is urge you to join me on my next trip to Laduree

and share the pleasure.

In the past, I was one of those women that prefered sex to food,

but today the sensual gratification was far beyond 

any sexual experience known to humans.

To be continued... 

lost in the past

I want to learn from the past 

but I don't want to live there,

so I'm shifting the domestic abuse 

material and memoirs to another blogsite.

WORK IN PROGRESS will be specifically

for material to be used in the book on domestic violence.

This will include interviews, memories, research, 

statistics, resources, references to other blogs and websites.

LOVE LETTERS will be for other pieces

on other subjects to other people.

Domestic violence is a choice.

Why do people make that choice?

Is it a lack of conflict resolution skills?

Is it a lack of awareness 

of the inner conflict that's happening.

and our projection of that into the outer reality?

My intention is that the piece is more about conflict resolution 

and mediation rather than domestic violence.

There is a piece of limiting changes or growth

in a partner to maintain status quo 

or to control the targeted partner.

I imagine one site will be darker

and this site will be more about the future 

and creating a warmer, more detached, healthier life.

A reminder of my loving intentions

and my attempts to witness suffering without judgement.

And kindness in the face of attempts which appear to be failures.

And my own determination to be in healthy relationships 

for the time I have left.

Ist christmas apart

Dear Daughter,

If memory serves correctly, 

this is our first Christmas apart.

How did I miss that!

For many years, 

my conflict was between wedding anniversary

and Christmas celebration.

Now that has been resolved.

Adam and I will have moo shu

at shuang chen

and then I will go, alone,

To sing at Midnight Mass

and the 9:30 on the next day.

And I will be thinking of you.

And missing you in a new way.

Knowing that you are with people who love you,

even adore you, but are not me.

It is and always was my goal for you

to move out and be on your own.

Independent, yet interdependent.

At least until you have children 

and then my intention is to be available 

to play with those babies...

Until then I want to travel and grow my life

in all the ways I set aside

while I was working on my marriage.

I remember when I first held you

and felt an overwhelming desire

to protect you from all harm,

to give my life for you, if necessary.

Ditto your brother. 

Most mothers feel the same, of this I am sure.

Last year I wasn't even there to protect you from those bullets

And this year, an ocean separates us.

Life is just like that: intention and reality.

With learning in between...

Today I learned how much I miss you.

And how important it is to let you go.

See you in our dreams.

  

so beautiful, so cold...

Dear Daughter,

Winter, and the snow is fresh and light.

It sparkles like the sunlight dancing 

on Lake Harriet in the summer.

But now the lake is solidly frozen, 

and covered with snpwdrifts.

In the midst of this frigid beauty

I am haunted by the descriptions of your students:

their poverty and neglect.

It resonates with that phrase JK Rowling used at Harvard:

"as impoverished as one can be without being homeless."

I think of England as the civilized world,

and so the idea of rotting teeth, mal-nourishment

and open sores which do not heal are disturbing to imagine.

I look at your brother and remember a time in Krakow

when I was told he would not survive his respiratory infection.

We had traveled so far, while homeless, and unemployed,

and I felt a failure.

I lived on dreams and empty promises.

Words spoken to seduce me into compliance.

A fantasy and an illusion built of smoke and sand.

This is the anniversary of that time of  moving to Poland.

And our struggle to endure in spite of poverty and illness.

You refused to be left behind with your Babcia.

Walking everywhere, you accompanied me

first to nearly empty stores with rude sales staff.

Then to cafes with menus filled with items 

that were "sold out" or "unavailable"

Still we were wealthy by comparison with our American dollars

and knew we would never starve.

Cold, yes...but never hungry.

The black market was designed for people like us...

And we used it. 

Slowly we repaired the decaying apartment

and by the time Spring came

your brother was healthy

And you were eavesdropping 

and translating the conversations of the strangers around us

who survived their initial shock 

of seeing Americans living in their midst, as Poles,

and apparently by choice.

So much has changed since that time,

and we live in a new world.

Yet children are still under-nourished,

cold,

and sick.

I believe 

you are making a difference 

in the lives of the children you meet each day

simply by showing up for work,

and giving them your loving, compassionate attention.

Your sense of humor

and curiosity.

Imagination.

Remember: all it takes is one person.

One little starfish.

Only one to make a difference:

You

(or Alex)

Sweet dreams, my super-heros,

XO

Your Mum

check these out

Dearest and Darling Daughter,

I have been holding our conversation in my heart

as I blog around.

And ran across a tango blog

which had JK Rowling's commencement speech

and commentary by the tango dancer

who had attended the ceremony.

I was moved to tears,

not always an easy task,

and imagined you having a conversation with her,

as you had with me,

describing your experience in the British school system.

And I was also touched by her insights re failure.

And imagination...

There is something of you in her story 

and heroism. 

Hope you are feeling better each day,

XO

Your devoted Mum 

http://confessionsofatangodancer.blogspot.com/2008/06/cortina-why-i-have-a-crush-on-jk-rowling.html

http://www/schuylersmonsterblog.com/

Laughing

at myself!

I've been telling myself that I'm bad

(not the good kind of bad)

because I don't blog something everyday.

Like a student who doesn't turn in her homework.

Now I'm surfing around,

reading other peoples 

and realize they don't write something everyday!

Some people haven't posted anything for weeks!

Some people have posts saying that they are shutting down!

And that they are just too busy.

It was so funny when I realized

how hard I was being on myself,

and for no good reason.

So I stopped.

My new assignment will be to notice 

when I'm being too hard on myself,

and stop.

There are so many opportunites

in my life for self-abuse 

that it is no great surprise I ended up

in an abusive marriage.

I set impossible goals with unrealistic expectations 

and then stress myself out trying to reach them.

Even when I succeed, I am too exhausted to celebrate.

I am going through a process of recognizing 

how incredibly overwhelmed I feel much of the time.

Too much.

Luck for me, I can teach myself to let it go

And not care about it so much.

I have so much I want to do and watch and experience

I feel like a little kid who knows she needs a nap 

but can't bear to miss any opportunity for activity.

starting over

Life happens. 

We plan to exercise and we do it.

One workout activity at a time. 

Then we look back over our exercise journals 

or calendars and realize we're on a roll. 

We're feeling great, looking good, our clothes fit better, 

and people start to notice the change. 

And then a day comes it just doesn't happen.

Maybe you wake up with a sore throat 

or your grand-daughter is visiting from London and you skip a day. 

Maybe you skip two. 

Or you break your toe and you have to sit out for a week.

And then when you try to start back in, it hurts.

You have many options to explore

and this is when cross training is helpful.

Maybe you decide to switch from walking the mall to swimming, or yoga.

Take a break from tap dancing but try a Tai Chi class.

And if you're still stumped, call me. 

friend of foxes on facebook

Oh, Honey, 

How can we learn to make any decisions at all 

unless we make some stupid ones 

and some mediocre ones 

and some brilliant ones...

Personally, I have made,

and plan to make, stupid decisions, 

sing the wrong notes and words, 

stub my toe (like your Gramma), 

pack the wrong clothes 

and keep on playing with the divine process of making decisions 

which is really just about creating my life and my world of experience.

Try to remember your amazing brilliant decisions 

(there are more than I have time to list-

but tell me if you want a list!)

And, girrrl-friend, don't be kicking yourself about the decisions

you judge to be stupid. 

You and I don't know which is which,

We just know what feels good.

And which ones hurt.

The ones that hurt aren't always stupid 

but that doesn't mean they don't hurt

And vice versa...

The pleasant ones aren't always smart-they're just pleasant

Smartest thing you ever did: reach down 

to put those boots in the trunk.

How did that happen?

If you can figure that out, 

everything else will be

a piece of cake from Laduree Harrods, 

Knightsbridge, 

London, 

UK, 

Earth,

Milky Way, 

The Universe.

More later.

In the meantime, be gentle with yourself,

I love you.

I miss you.

And I'm so proud of you, 

you shining creature, you friend of foxes...

XO

It's the shoes...

A day without tango,

is a day without swollen feet.

It's actually not the dance that does it:

it's the shoes.

How can something so cute be so uncomfortable?

And not right away but gradually,

so you don't notice until it's too late?

All in all a truly remarkable day...

It helps to think about it from the question:

"if this were my last day here what would I want to do?

Who would I want to talk to, where would I eat lunch

or have tea, would I really skip dessert?"

reflection

Dear Husband,

Domestic violence is frequently a long term, repetitious pattern 

not a one time incident.

It wears many faces: 

abandonment, intimidation, threats,

cruelty, and neglect, 

simply not responding to a request for attention, 

or sexualizing a teenager's physical development...

even trivializing their developmental achievements 

or having unrealistic expectations causes trauma. 

Ignoring their pain and suffering, 

deliberately limiting their appropriate growth with rigid boundaries, 

or neglecting their health care needs.

With sorrow I watched you create your current relationships

with your daughter and son.

I enabled it, even as I tried to prevent it

and share my observations.

I hope you will find courage to open your heart 

and transform the current estrangement.

With affection,

So beautiful, so cold...

Dear Daughter,

Winter, and the snow is fresh and light.

It sparkles like the sunlight dancing

on Lake Harriet in the summer.

But now the lake is solidly frozen,

and covered with snowdrifts.

In the midst of this frigid beauty

I am haunted by the descriptions of your students:

their poverty and neglect.

It resonates with that phrase JK Rowling used:

as "impoverished as one can be without being homeless."

I think of England as the civilized world,

and so the idea of rotting teeth, mal-nourishment 

and open sores which do not heal is disturbing to imagine.

I look at my son and remember a time in Krakow

when I was told he would not survive his respiratory infection.

Traveling so far, while homeless, and unemployed,

I felt so alone.

I lived on dreams and empty promises.

Words spoke to seduce me into fantasy

and an illusion built of smoke and sand.

This is the anniversary of that time of meeting in Poland.

The struggle to endure in spite of the poverty

and illness.

You refused to be left with your Babcia.

Walking everywhere, you accompanied me 

to empty store with rude sales staff.

And to cafes with menus filled with things 

that were "sold out" or "unavailable"

Yet we were wealthy as kings with our meger American dollars,

and knew we would never go hungry.

Cold, yes...but never hungry.

The black market was designed for people like us...

And we used it.

Slowly, we repaired the decaying apartment

and by the time spring came 

Adam was healthy,

and you were eavesdropping and translating 

the conversations of the strangers around us

who had survived their initial shock of seeing

Americans living in their midst, as Poles, 

and apparently by choice.

So much has changed,

but our children are hungry,

underfed,

and cold.

I believe you are making a difference in the lives of the children 

you meet in your work

simply by showing up, and giving them your loving compassionate attention.

Your curiousity.

Imagination.

All it takes is one person.

One starfish.

Only one:

You.

Sweet dreams, my super-hero,

XO

Your Mum

Laduree at Harrods

Dear Daughter,

I am visualizing our trip to Laduree

And visiting the website to read the menu everyday

until I have it memorized.

Those macaroons are the same ones we eat at Sofitel!

I'll be there March 27 through April 10th....

XO

Self-compassion

"The writer is a person standing apart, 

like the cheese in the 'Farmer in the Dell' 

standing there alone but deciding to take a few notes. 

Your job is to see people as they really are, and to do this, 

you have to know who you are 

in the most compassionate possible sense." 

Anne Lamott

Recently my world has been a bit darker-than-usual place.

Grateful and relieved, I seem to have turned a corner.  

There are moments I am convinced,

without a doubt, that my life has been one big fat mistake

and that my kids would be better off and far happier without me.

Where does that nonsense come from?

And how does it manage to come back once I wade through that slime.

I guess it's like the main drain that is seriously cracked, shifted,

keeps filling up with tree roots and

threatening to flood the basement twice a year.

I put it on my calendar now, with my six month teeth cleanings

So it is now a preventative ritual 

rather than an emergency service call.

Is this learning to be compassionate with myself

or just learning to be an adult?

My hope in leaving my last marriage 

was to transform the tidal waves and dramatic whirlpools 

into barely perceptible ripples in a slowly moving stream.

Not only I tired of being banged around in the storms

I didn't want to watch my kids being slammed by the waves, 

gasping for air, 

wondering when and where the next downpour would occur.

Swimming in Pensacola, my son got caught in an undertow 

that scared him out of the water for the rest of the week. 

He forgot everything he had learned about relaxing 

and going with the current.

Panic and terror set in, 

and he lives with the memory of feeling overwhelmed 

and out of control.

It isn't wise to mess with Mother Nature.

Dreaming life

Dear Daughter,

I love you, miss you,

And plan to see you in my dreams:

waking and asleep

Your M.

White walls

Empty white walls, fresh,

canvas waits for creation: 

dramas continue... 

Dear Friend,

Do I miss marriage drama?

While some parts were seductive,

I don't miss the parts where people and animals got hit.

And maybe he didn't really mean it

But it still hurt.

Thanks for asking,

Jules

Why Tango?

Thanks for the lesson.

I'm not prepared for the test.

Is this a pop quiz?

Dear Daughter,

It's surprising how challenging it is to dance 

with partners of various levels and interests.

How important is this to me?

The shoes alone are torture.

Yet they look ever so cute 

and they do change the way you follow,

and how you sense your vertical axis, 

your alignment.

So, this is an experiment: 

I don't know what the outcome will be.

Releasing expectations

I focus on the process.

Feet swollen to numbness...

But no blisters so far.

Sweet dreams,

Your Dancing Mama

Queen of Kirklandia

To Lola, 

Reigning (raining) Queen of  Kirklandia,

Your Majesty,

It is still surprising to realize how divine process works.

And then remember that I am seeing only a fraction,

and not even a very big fraction of the actual process.

Flow doesn't stay flowing; there are always opportunities for turbulence

and I for one, have never been attracted to literally shooting the rapids.

(Figuratively is another matter, obviously)

The most monumental thing to happen (for me) is recording a tiny little (5-8 minutes) clip

of "Quartet for the End of Time" for a grant application.

I hold the idea he had regarding time in my day dreams.

And wonder about the concept of rhythm...

I don't have as much insight into Messian as I would like 

but my understanding is growing that direction.

Working with Tai Chi Sword form and the other forms

helps me to tune into the inward turbulence and possible causes...

or conditions and opportunities for transformation.

My recent study of Butoh technique has supported a deeper understanding 

of the violence that came out of the events of WW2.

Step by step, or bird by bird as Anne Lamott says,

rivers are opening which I believed were permanently closed.

Alleluia, Amen

Affectionately,

Jules

chocolate haiku

Steaming hot chocolate

in your cup tempers homesickness,

rain and poverty

Dear Daughter,

The death of your old life,

the birth of new life

this is a dance we learn 

without even being "in control" of the process.

It isn't even necessary to be conscious of the process

unless you are interested and find it helpful in some way.

And this never stops but keeps growing and changing

shifting in the light like a cat sleeping in the sun.

It's funny how we think some parts of our lives are over

and then we realize 

that they are very much still alive and working 

their way back onto the front burner.

I love that you are there with your Boyfriend

and building some history together.

And I know that things will work out for the best

with your Girlfriend

I just hope it isn't too painful...

Let's have tea together soon

XO 

ocean of grief

Dear Daughter,

Sometimes the bottom drops out

And all I can do is sleep.

I can't catch up with myself.

Is it the season?

Or have I caught your homesickness?

Grief seems endless,

like the ocean,

and just as deep.

I miss you,

but I'm happy you're there...

XO

reality check

I'm not entitled 

neither are you,  get over yourself

and clean up this mess

are you a good witch...

Dear Daughter,

Cold water flat?

Dodge-y end?

Selma and Alex and you.

When I daydream about you three together

in London, England,

I remember your story 

about an image of being with Selma 

flashing through your head

as bullets were flying through the car,

past your shoulder

and shards of glass scratched your face.

I am so grateful for the boots on the floor of the car,

and your decision to reach down to pick them up

and put them in the trunk.

Brilliant, as usual, my little bird-by-bird.

I had the pleasure of referencing Glinda today 

in a conversation re Halloween costumes.

I have a massage client who could be the twin sister

of Christina Ricci,

but she's not.....

Sweet dreams

You-Know-Who

(not Voldemort)

rescue me, not

At some point we gotta admit

there's nothing seriously wrong with our lives.

And that rescuing is just a movie we like to play.

For example, the domestic abuse triangle:

victim, perpetrator and rescuer.

And the subtle shift of roles. 

After noticing how much time was spent 

"rescuing" others,

I quit 

and focused on rescuing myself.

That's when I noticed I didn't actually need rescuing

because there was nothing wrong with me,

Except thinking something's wrong with me.

Not that I am perfect,

but I am on my way to being more authentic,

and  kinder to myself.

Doing things differently?

It's possible...

1st frost

carpet of red leaves,

naked maple tree freshly shorn,

frosty skirt beneath

happy place

Dear Daughter,

Disembodied dance: music.

Nothing wrong with it,

I just get tired of "the body" getting such a bad rap

when we are so lucky to have them.

What an incredible creation!

How could we be so neurotic about this unbelievable wonder?

The thing I like best about singing is this:

it feels like I've swallowed a clarinet upside down.

I remember the first time I saw Jesse Norman up close.

Her head is HUGE

What an incredible echo chamber.

It reminds me of this old instruction:

imagine the inside of your skull as the sky.

It's like CST from the inside out.

Slowly stretching those membranes,

opening the sutures,

reconstructing the underlying structure.

And in 7 years you have a brand new, bigger head.

Awesome!

Much love,

Your Mamasita

PS Are you getting enough sleep?

You looked tired when I saw you today.

from Walt Whitman

Dear Jules,

"From this hour we ordain myself loos'ed of limits and imaginary lines,

Going where we list, our own master total and absolute,

Listening to others, considering well what they say,

Pausing, Searching, receiving, contemplating,

Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold us.

We inhale great draughts of space,

The east and west are ours, and the north and the south are ours.

We are all larger, better than we thought. 

We did not know we had so much goodness in us.

All seems beautiful to us,

We can repeat over to men and women,

You have done such good to us we would do the same to you,

I will recruit for myself among men and women as I go.

I will scatter myself and you as I go."

Hang in there, the best is yet to be,

not that you currently have anything to complain about...

Much love,

Walt

Hey Girl-friend

If you performed on a regular basis,

say once a week, or month,

the "recovery" time would be much less.

However our first composition 

is like your first baby: 

it requires a huge reserve of focused attention

to get it off the ground, like a space ship launch.

And it is wise to  honor that feat of will and discipline.

You done good girl, don't dismiss it lightly!

I believe my 1st ex-husband is currently single,

however, last time I saw him 

I was introduced to a woman I assume was his "significant other"

Doesn't mean, of course, that they are living together

or in any way financially committed to each other

which is really what it's all about at this point, isn't it?

That, and  "will you push my wheelchair, 

wipe my chin 

and change my 'Depends'?"

It appears that for the past 5 years of legal single motherhood,

my goal has been simply to pay my mortgage each month.

And I've done that, and now I want something more,

something in addition to paying my bills.

We women have an interesting path to walk:

The desire and gratification of having children, 

care-taking others, often at our own expense,

and no instruction in the art of caring for oneself 

except for that fleeting pre-flight reminder:

"put your own oxygen mask on 

before you assist the people around you."  

It isn't a cultural priority over care-taking others, 

hildren and men.

It eventually becomes a compulsion, 

an illusion of value and an addiction,

and just as destructive as any mindless habit performed 

without awareness or conscious intent.

 I guess this is what self-realization is about:

Recognizing our compulsive reactions, beliefs, habits, 

and our attachments to them:

from coffee (jasmine tea for me), 

comparing ourselves to others,

leisure activities,

ideas about who we are and what we deserve, etc, etc

The dawning of the understanding: we don't have to do that any more.

We can stop using the old choreography, 

fall back on our improvisation skills

and allow everything in our lives to shift, 

change, 

and move into new forms.

And the shift may be so subtle it may occur unnoticed

unless we really pay attention.

So that's what I trying to do.

Amen.

Alleluia

Painting Day Haiku

Having stalled this long 

I'm in no hurry-Your brother helps

but not too much.

new beginnings

Dear Daughter,

You have successfully, officially, transitioned 

from Mpls to London.

And from living with Mom and Brother 

to living with lover, partner, friend, colleague. 

It appears that you have left your anxiety behind, 

at least temporarily. 

And why not permanently! 

You don't need them any longer. 

They have served their teaching purpose.

Your preparations for the journey 

were so graceful,

ditto your spontaneous restructuring of baggage items

at the suggestion of the NWA staff woman.  

I watched you float through the security checkpoint

with impressive confidence and ease. 

I think you're out of the tunnel of mis-diagnosis 

and pointless placebos. 

Well done. 

Insomnia?

I couldn't sleep last night. 

I lay in bed all night in a twilight place

dreaming of you on the plane, tired and happy. 

This afternoon I heard your voice mail, 

garbled for the most part,

but I assume you are safe

and with Alex

and that is really all I need to know.

I miss you 

and I'm so happy you're gone 

Cold today, rainy, we move into winter.

Darn.

Sweet dreams,

Your Moms