reflection on revenge

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

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

another birthday celebration

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

birthday breakfast in bed

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

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

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

great-grands

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

Assignment!

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

Here goes:

What are your current obsessions?

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

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

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

Food, aging, motherhood changing to cronehood.

Domestic violence

Black Books and Dylan Moran's work

Which item from your wardrobe do you wear most often?

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

Last thing you bought?

a flat of marigolds and a flat of petunias

What are you listening to?

The clock in the next room

Favourite kid's film

Nanny McPhee

Favourite Holiday Spots

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

What are you reading right now?

Tender mercies

Four words to describe me: 

chubby, crabby, badhair, tired

Guilty pleasure?

ice cream with stuff in it

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

Ann Lamott, Black books, Dylan Moran, 

First Spring thing?

Saw crocuses in London. 

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

Planning to travel next?

Atlanta, West coast and Maine

What do you wish for most?

gentleness, and grandchildren

Best thing you ate and drank recently?

lavender scones with clotted cream, high tea at cafe latte

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

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

Favourite ever film?

A Good Year

Care to share some wisdom?

Look before you leap, then leap anyway

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

greater awareness of self destructive behaviors

What's your motivation for starting another day?

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

Rules of la meme:

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

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

Add one question.

What is in your refrigerator?

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

Tag 8 people: 

Maggie M

Alex B

Adam M

Lola W

Kathy H

Beth H

Kathleen W

Pat R

Mother's Day

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

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

first times

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

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

roses from shit

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

Chastity Brown: life will hit you

You say you wanna know me-

type of person that I am,

do you really want to know me?

this is bound to happen sometimes

oh, my momma said that sometimes 

life will hit you in the heart,

straight between the eyes,

and it's strange what you will find

when you look around

you'll see where your friends are

Momma said sometimes....

life will hit you in the heart

would you like a definition 

what is riding a fence,

would you like a definition

what is black and white, blurred skin

where exactly I come from

type of person that I am

dinner with friends

Dear Friends, 

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

Looking forward to seeing you soon,

good idea?

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

new dance, old dancer

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

prison bars

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

prison sentence

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

last look

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

good-byes

How do you say good by? 

Is a hug enough?

Is a kiss too much? 

A photo? 

A glass of wine? 

How do you say "I'll miss you?

I'll think of you,

I'll be in touch,

I'll come find you.

I follow you with my heart?

Starting fresh,

leaping into the unknown,

from the safety of familiar faces,

smiling, loving you, 

wanting you to be happy and grow.

This is life,

and life finds a way.

adult children

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

Easter

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

Loving as an adult

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

Day 9: graduation

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

Alleluia.

 

Groupies

Dear Daughter, 

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

Yur Mum

Break through

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

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

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

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

Day 6: Guardian Ad Litem Training

Hey Girlfriend,

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

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

Amen.

Alleluia.

modified sun salutation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

8)  Pull hips back into Downward Dog. Inhale and   

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

10)  Forward Fold. 

11)  Mini Back bend. 

12) Prayer Pose.

and finish or begin again with: 

1)  Mountain Pose.

memories of a happy childhood

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

Rage

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

walk like a man

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

English tea

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

hello/good-bye

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

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

boy/man

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

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

day 3: guardian ad litem training

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

maple oat scones

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

day 2: guardian ad litem training

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

Crocus song

I am life. 

I find a way. 

I am beauty unbound,

I am love unmeasured.

Nothing stops me: 

snow, dogs, 

dog poo, mud, rain, 

ice, dead leaves, 

impacted dirt, 

fog, garbage, 

people polution, 

your footprints, neglect, 

abuse.

Give it to me.

I'll do my best,

and more,

because I am life.

And I find a way.