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