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/