Cry Me a River

I don't have one of those walk barefoot in the snow to school stories (uphill both ways of course). In fact, you can subtract snow from any of my childhood stories because that's what California will do for you. But I do have a limping with crutches in the rain story.

During a soccer tournament in high school, I tore a ligament in my ankle. I can still remember the sound and the mud that greeted my fall. I can remember how the swell overtook that bone that sticks out (maybe the fibula?)...anyhow, it was awful. Crutches are awful. Trying to fit into shoes with an air cast is also awful.

On one of the earlier days of my injury, I found myself without a ride. I waited and sulked and finally started walking, the not so terrible distance, home. But with each step I felt the pain and humiliation growing. The pain under my arms was growing as the crutches started rubbing and my ankle was throbbing. And I was feeling sorry for myself. So sorry, in fact, that I started crying. I would look at every car pass and think, why aren't they stopping to help me. I surely look pathetic enough. I started blaming each and every person and my pain and sorrow started to mix with anger. I had decided that it couldn't get any worse. And at that very moment, it started to rain. Rain. I had an umbrella, but it was useless as my hands were very much engaged in walking with the crutches. So, I had two choices: to keep going in the rain, or stop and stand with the umbrella. The martyr in me pushed me on.

I still was crying, but I was less angry and more resolved. I somehow accepted what was going on. And it was then that a friend drove by. Hannah, you may not remember, but I will never forget. In that moment, you were my salvation and hope all rolled into an Astro minivan.

~ ~ ~ ~

Last night, I heard that same pop. My ankle isn't as swollen, but it is the same one. My injury that won't go away. And as I was carried off the soccer field in tears, I couldn't help but remember what had happened Junior year so long ago. My drive home was filled with some of the same reactions, but decidedly more of the acceptance. I stopped holding on to the "what-ifs" and started thinking about the "what next's."

I have noticed that if you spend too much time re-living "the moment" it becomes larger than life. You make it bigger by all of the effort you spend thinking and rethinking and analyzing and reanalyzing. I have decided that the "what could I have done differently" stops becoming effective when it isn't about affecting change in the future.

And I want to live life looking forward (even if it with a big large boot that makes me look helpless).

Midnight - part I

I did it! Me, Myself, and I headed over to the movies theater at a little past midnight. I joined the throngs of fifteen year olds and their parental chauffeurs. I went back and forth - should I go, shouldn't I? The reasons I shouldn't: I had to work this morning and the movie got out at 3am, I wasn't really waiting on pins and needles for the film (in fact, I didn't see the last Harry Potter until it came out on video), and ultimately it seemed a pretty ridiculous thing to do. The reason I should: it seemed a pretty ridiculous thing to do!

You know when you are in a crowd - a big and excited crowd - you just feel that energy. People were clapping through all of the previews (well, booing and laughing for BRATZ), cheering through kissing scenes, and just generally having a great time.

The movie was alright - it just can't compare to the book - too much to squeeze in. But, I felt young and alive. You know, frivolous and silly. I've decided that life is more fun when you have something to get excited about - and if it means Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at midnight - so be it.

Oh, and I should mention, in the end, I was even able to pass by the big car line up and drive myself home!

And the Charade Begins

Unlike Audrey Hepburn in the movie Charade, my own charade involves the lab coat costume I recently acquired (ok, its a real lab coat - and i am a real teacher - it just feels foreign). And my leading character is sadly not Cary Grant - but a badly behaved fifth grader (the second and third graders make much better leads). Anyhow, I will try and stay a day ahead of them. Yesterday was the circulatory system, and the chicken heart I brought in was greeted with ooh's and ah's (for the record I'm in the "ewey" category).

The Object of My Desires

I know its a little silly, but I can't stop thinking about this lab coat. I want it, need it, but feel fairly silly about both the wanting and needing. Its a lab coat after all...a lab coat. The truth is, I am teaching a science class this summer for eight weeks and I feel like I may be more respected if I am wearing one of these white beauties. I asked Ben to snag one from his dental office - but no luck. If I had one, I know I would feel like I was wearing a costume (that suddenly reminds me...I did wear a lab coat as part of a costume when I was Elizabeth Shue's character from the Saint - you know the scientist - Dr. Emma Russell - where is that coat I wonder and digress). Anyhow, would you take a science teacher seriously is she weren't wearing a lab coat?

M.I.A.

My phone has been missing now for five days and I am sick of it. I am sick of the looking, the wondering, and I am mostly sick of the not having it. Sigh.

The truth is I have been missing in action as well - but instead of by accident, its been by choice. Earlier in the month I just disappeared into the wedding planning and visitors and more recently to Utah. But the truth is, now that its over, I have too much time on my hands to think about my own life. And I'd rather not. Sometimes its just easier to stay busy and invisible then to stop and take a hard look at ourselves. I loathe the thought and question - what next?!

But, I do have a few things planned. I have recently passed the CBEST (the California State test to teach)...and I have applied to substitute a few times before the end of the school year to see if I like it - teaching?! I hope I like it. But I'm not sure what I will do for the summer - if anyone has any great brainstorms send them my way.

See's Suckers

I remember biking to Stanford to get See's Candy when I was just old enough to start going places alone...it still holds a special place in my heart and my tummy. The Butterscotch is my still my favorite. And two is better than one if you ask Chase.

Alright, enough posts for one day! I'm just trying to fill the reservoir...my family starts arriving Monday!

Scars

Little eyes notice the smallest things. There is genuine concern for the smallest scrapes and cuts. I watched as Chase found a scar on his Grandpa's arm - a motorcycle scar from many years ago. He carefully touched it, almost in reverence for what could have caused such a lasting mark.

I couldn't help but think of my own scars. Of course, the biggest I wear is a gash across my right thigh. The final reminder that I did, in fact, crash through a sliding glass door when I was eight. The story begins and ends when I mistakenly thought the door was open and hurried to be first outside. And although, the smaller cuts from the glass have long since vanished, this one clearly never will. A reminder of a mistake.

The emotional scars are of course deeper, but fewer in number. And sometimes they don't reflect personal mistakes - just deep sorrows and pains - the price of being human.

I think that's why I like this idea so much. I found it in a novel several years ago and was given the gift of new sight...

"Some people see scars and it is wounding they remember. To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing." Linda Hogan

Healing...what a gift. Somehow it allows me to find beauty in the gash I see as a part of me - a wonderfully strong, healed part of me. Its not the same, but almost better, because it shows that I fought a battle and came through mended.

Medjool and Gray Hair

On Saturday night, I went to the city and caught up with old friends at Medjool (in the Mission) it had a great terrace overlooking the city.

So, this what happens every time we haven't seen each other for awhile...its a little awkward as we politely ask each other about residency, children, and family. We avoid the temptation to talk about "old times" for fear it will come across that we haven't done anything new. We pause, laugh, and then someone finally breaks the ice. We then laugh and tell stories - friends dressed in drag; cravings for the smell of gasoline; and share in horror and laughter our first gray hair sightings.

Yes, I said gray hair. The first one I found earlier this year I pulled out so fast. And the second one, I simply cried. I had no idea it happened so early. But, these girls know and we will all soon follow Heather's pioneering footsteps and turn thirty this year. Yep, I'm almost old. It feels nice knowing I'm not going there alone.

And although, I am decidedly less cool than Jenny, less schooled than Dr. Iezza, less confident than Hannah, less busy than Mindy, and less organized than Heather - I can proudly and without hesitation say that -- I am still the shortest. And I treasure these girls who knew me before I plucked my eyebrows - and still loved me!

Soccer, Mon

I was giggling to the point I was drawing attention. So, here's what happened. It was James' first day of soccer practice. He looked the part - new cleats, red Adidas socks, strong shin guards (I know they're strong because he kept asking me to kick him in the shins to make sure they worked). We drove up and joined the "where do we go - what do we do now" crowd. And at 11:30 the adults and children were called over to the orange line on the field.

Coach Cann introduced himself and was met with the stares of many confused five year-olds. You see, Coach Cann has a decidedly thick island accent of the "Hey, Mon" variety. After a few minutes, the kids seemed to warm up to the cadence of this Jamaican accent. And the mini cleats seemed to do their best when he said, "Repeat after me - Hi, Coach Cann."

Stop. Now, before you continue reading you have to practice saying some phrases outloud with a Jamaican accent. The story just isn't funny unless you hear it as you go. So here are a few..."Yuh did see dat?" or "Mi love chaklit cake with nuff icenin." or "No womon, no cry."

Okay, back to the story. When they all met Coach Junior(or Coooach Juuun"a" as the head coach pronounced it) and in unison they repeated in a distinct Jamaican accent, "Hi, Coooach "Juuun'a'!" I couldn't help but giggle. Twenty kids imitating perfectly what they heard.

Anyhow, the "repeat after me's" and the Jamaican accents that followed continued to give me the giggles. I brought home a decidedly better dribbler and my own little Rastafarian. Hey, Mon... it doesn't get any better than this.

Fifteen Minutes of Music with Nothing Playing

I stumbled upon Mary Oliver's poetry book - Blue Iris at the bookstore. I sat and drank my hot chocolate and the words. And with moist eyes I found someone who said what I felt. Here are a few of her poems (I dark blued my favorite parts)

Freshen the Flowers, She Said

So I put them in the sink, for the cool porcelain
was tender,
and took out the tattered and cut each stem on a slant,
trimmed the black and raggy leaves, and set them all-
roses, delphiniums, daisies, iris, lilies,
and more whose names I don't know, in bright new water-
gave them

a bounce upward at the end to let them take
their own choice of position, the wheels, the spurs,
the little sheds of the buds. It took, to do this,
perhaps fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes of music
with nothing playing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roses, Late Summer

What happens
to the leaves after
they turn red and golden and fall
away? What happens

to the singing birds
when they can't sing
any longer? What happens
to their quick wings?

Do you think there is any
personal heaven
for any of us?
Do you think anyone,

the other side of that darkness,
will call to us, meaning us?
Beyond the trees
the foxes keep teaching their children

to live in the valley.
So they never seem to vanish, they are always there
in the blossom of light
that stands up every morning

in the dark sky.
And over one more set of hills,
along the sea,
the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness

and are giving it back to the world.
If I had another life
I would want to spend it all on some
unstinting happiness.

I would be a fox, or a tress
full of waving branches.
I wouldn't mind being a rose
in a field full of roses.

Fear has not yet occurred to them, nor ambition.
Reason they have not yet thought of.
Neither do they ask how long they must be roses, and then what.
Or any other foolish questions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Understand from the first this certainty.
Butterflies don't write books, neither do lilies or violets. Which doesn't mean they don't know, in their own way, what they are. That they don't know they are alive-that they don't feel, that action upon which all consciousness sits, lightly or heavily. Humility is the prize of the leaf-world. Vainglory is the bane of us, the humans.

Anyhow, don't you love her (I'm not really the best with poems but I know I like this). Perhaps because I too, think that the flowers have figured it out - if only we could learn from them. You know - the lilies of the field - adorned in more beauty than we could ever create - satisfied just being. I have often said that we are worthy of being loved just for being - after all we are human beings not human doings. And if we could find the quiet confidence this knowledge brings we would be truly happy.

(Art Work ~ Denise Nielsen)

All Things Bath

Tonight I dragged soaking children out of the bath and subsequently, my thoughts on all things bath...

+=

One. I dropped "Big Blue" in the tub and its busy fizzes and frothy foam scared Chase. But, James loved the seaweed that appeared. So, tonight the bright blue bath water transformed the ordinary bath into the ocean and the boys into two large fish.

Two. I bought "Big Blue" in Carmel. And although LUSH is in New York, LA, Australia, Hong Kong, etc.; I still get as excited as I did the first time I found the store eight years ago. I bought a few bath bombs to introduce James to the experience. The Tisty Tosty is shaped like a heart. For $5.35 it makes a heavenly bath filled with a light scent and dried roses. And if you saw the Friends where Chandler bathes with emulsifying salts - you know that even the most skeptical showerer can become bath believers - you'll just have to try it.

Three. This poor mother elephant dreams of five minutes' peace but never attains it - she doesn't give up on the dream (a dream my mother must have shared). In the end of the book, 1 minute 37 seconds of peace in a quiet bath will have to do. Perhaps tomorrow she will find her peace.

Four. On rare occasions I bathe in the darkness - no candles (although that's nice) - there is something about taking a bath at night when the house is silent and all you can hear is the gentle sound of water. Somehow my senses are hightened...showers for business, but always baths for pleasure.

Five. The bubble bath. I can imagine the crackling sound of the bubbles as I type. My Grandmother always had a huge bottle of Spring Gel Vitabath by her tub, and my mother kept the tradition alive.

Six. And then there's Bath in Sommerset, England. Its one of my favorite places - the architecture, the Royal Crescent, the history. Visiting the Roman Baths made me feel part of the past. And when I looked up at the fan vaulting on the ceiling in Bath Abbey -- heaven.

Seven (its a stretch). Jane Austen's Persuasion takes place in Bath; I love the pivotal scene where Anne makes the assertion, "We certainly do not forget you, as soon as you forget us. It is, perhaps, our fate rather than our merit. We cannot help ourselves..." These words overheard by Wentworth spark a passionate letter he hands her, with renewed hope for the future. (Northanger Abbey and Pickwick Papers have scenes in Bath as well.)

Fin.

Senior Quote

I was never included in the initials of someone's Senior Quote - you know the people that typed ARSBJWBCMB - a mysterious code to their BFFs. My Senior quote was a line from a song..."I could laugh until I cry, or cry until I laugh, so cut the deck right in half, I'll play from either side." I don't know what triggered this memory; perhaps just driving past the high school or a general fondness. But I am surprised that I still remember the quote and doubly shocked that I still relate. Its reassuring to think that tears and laughter are intricately linked. I still wish that all my tears transformed into laughter - and that my laughter moistened my eyes with happiness.

As for the weekend - there were tears because I just don't understand sometimes - and laughter because James told his dad, "I don't get baseball cards willy-nilly, I have to earn them." Yes, he used the phrase "willy-nilly" - I am hoping it is a phrase that will quickly sweep the nation.

Anyhow, do you remember your Senior Quote and is it as profound (or deep to use a really high school concept) as you thought it was then?

Good-Night, Moon

Don't you wish you could really say good-night to the moon and the bears and the chairs and even to that little old lady whispering "hush" AND THEN JUST FALL STRAIGHT TO SLEEP.

Some people probably do, but I seem to be flooded with racing thoughts and one-last-things. Even if I am bone tired, I can lay awake fretting. A long time ago I learned that I fall asleep the fastest if I have to stay awake - so my rule is - I can't go to sleep until I think of one unique activity to do with the boys tomorrow. This is where I plot and hatch - ideas like - when we wake up we will be dogs all day; we'll eat our cereal on the floor, we'll run around on all fours, pretend to be different breeds, and play fetch.

But usually, trying to force something creative quickly lulls me to sleep, and my last thought is one of hope for tomorrow. The nice thing is that any thought that doesn't fit this requirement I abandon - its ok to stop thinking sometimes. Its a time that I can do a lot of harm some nights.

I have actually been thinking about this mysterious crevice between awake and asleep. And then my friend wrote about the same thing in her post - to read it you can click on "Hey Bert" (referring to Ernie's tendancy to wake up the sleeping Bert) - she puts it better! Its nice to know, I'm not the only one.

Plum Tree Popcorn

Popcorn is popping on the plum tree in the front yard - and on every other tree in the neighborhood. Everything about spring fills me with joy, but the Magnolia Tulip Tree the most of all. Growing up, I would walk past a Tulip Tree every day coming home from the bus stop. And every day of spring I would pick a large blossom off the tree and pull the petals off one at a time..."He loves me, He loves me not, He loves me, He loves me not..." until all of the petals were gone. I didn't even have a "He," but I did it religiously. I never understood where this little rhyme came from or how love could be so simple. I know now it isn't--but it is lovely, like Spring.

I just learned that the original expression in French is: "Il m'aime un peu, beaucoup, passionnément, à la folie, pas du tout" or "He loves me a little, a lot, passionately, madly, not at all." It makes me feel a little bit better to know that its complicated for other people too - at least for the original rhymer, whomever that is.

Wild Fennel

We went to the Bay Lands today (and on a totally unrelated note--Chase thought a large floating log was an alligator and stared for twenty minutes scared to death but transfixed). Anyhow, one of the plants at the edge of the crocodile infested waters smelled exactly like black licorice. It couldn't be - could it - but it was - wild fennel. I don't know why I am so fascinated - but wild herbs are not something I come across frequently - I feel a bit like a colonist (or someone who would be equally excited about wild fennel). I smelled it over and over and even brought some home - I should have cooked with it, but I just smelled it.

Now that fennel is on my mind, all I can think about is going to Chelsea Market, waiting in line at Amy's, and buying a turkey sandwich on - Semolina with Golden Raisins and Fennel (their signature bread). It is so yummy! And the last time I was there, one friendly baker saw James peeking in the window as they weighed bread dough, and he brought us out a piping hot baguette...how's that for a friendly New Yorker! Anyhow, I love wild fennel and Amy's.

Wall Street

This is the Wall Street image most people think of...

...here was my reality. This picture was taken a year ago at the Wall Street Subway stop. We were taking the 4/5 who knows where. The plastic was over the stroller and no one in a suit was offering to help - sometimes I complained - but in retrospect, my arms were a lot stronger then they are now.

I have thought about it and life can be seen as a series of doors and stairs. The only truth I know is that there is a lot of climbing and a lot of options - which door and which stair. But the day that I feel like I have arrived or like there isn't anything to change about myself, is a terrible day. Because it is only in the climbing that we grow. Here are a few things I have learned (and relearned) about myself and life the last few months:

1. Hard things suck...but what a gift to have friends and family support me
2. Its actually ok to give in and not know what tomorrow holds - its really hard, but the less control I scramble for, the more free I feel
3. The more love and forgiveness I feel, the happier I am--real happiness
4. I'm ok - "just as I am" (thank you Bridget Jones)
5. I am such a wonderfully blessed woman - I really feel lucky that I have a James and a Chase - my life is richer looking at life through their eyes
6. Life is fun - and worth dancing through - really dancing - and boy did I dance to "Hey Ya" today (thank you Outkast)

iTunes - The Fray

As long as I keep running while I listen, I don't cry. But, if I start walking, I can't help it. I seem to listen to How to Save a Life more than other songs. Its a really good song.

"...As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
And you begin to wonder why you came
Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness And
I would have stayed up with you all night..."

Crocodile Tears

Today at gymnastics, James landed funny and twisted his ankle. His coach brought him an ice pack - and I watched as he tried to hold back the tears. His little lips were quivering, and he was trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, but he looked up and caught my eye. He couldn't hold it any longer - a tear or two ran down his face. But, then he looked away, trying his mightiest to be brave.

Looking at his little face, I was flooded with that feeling, trying to hold back my own tears, trying to be brave, but feeling so sad inside. I felt so much compassion - not just for his little ankle (which will be just fine) - but that he is old enough to even think about holding it in. What a tragic circumstance. When babies are distraught - there is no public awareness. They could care less about bawling, throwing tantrums, shouting out in pain. But as adults, we care...or perhaps we want to avoid questions. Questions like, "Are you alright?" Its kind of a silly question - obviously, if someone has crossed the threshold from trying-to-be-brave and is actually welling up there is something wrong. I have made a solemn promise to myself - that I will avoid this question. That I will instead sympathetically smile, give someone that knowing touch, just change the subject and not bring it up unless they want to, or simply say, "I'm sorry." These are the things that help the sad two year old (and I guess me).

I will now start mourning for James - I hate the idea that he has to become so publicly aware - isn't he too young?! I wish we could all be raw and real - but sometimes that doesn't help heal the hurt either. Sometimes just making it through until we are in a safe place to release our burdens - in James' case the car ride home - is the best way. Thank goodness for safe places.

Starry Night

James named his cookie art - Starry Night - and said, "Doesn't it look like a starry night?" I asked him how he thought of the name. He replied, "I didn't, the guy with his ear cut off did." Anyhow, here are the two - for comparison. I think he's right - it does indeed look like Van Gogh's Starry Night - or just a starry night.

Tangent 1 - I remember taking a road trip down to see the Van Gogh exhibit when it came to the Getty. There were insane crowds - but they provided a good chance to be "accidentally pushed" inches away from the canvas to really admire his brush strokes.

Tangent 2 - The cookie art resulted from a desperate situation. I started making cookies (which I do every other dayish). But, this time, I was an egg short. In an attempt to make it work, I used the last egg and then an egg-amount of water (whatever that is). The dough was great. The cookies were very flat. So, I decided that decorating the pancake cookies would be the perfect way to mask the mess up.

Tangent 3 - I took a Native American Lit class - and for our final project we went to Seven Mile Canyon looking for petroglyphs and trying to experience what we read. That night as we camped, one of the girls played Starry Night on her guitar and sang. I have never heard anything so beautiful. Josh Groban does have a nice version - it just seems more befitting to a solo guitar under the stars.

Tangent 4 - "Look, the star is out..." We used to plagiarize the movie Madagascar, because there are no visible stars in Manhattan. But, I love the stars and am glad to see them here. I find myself captivated on a dark night.

Hello, Home Depot

My sister, Abbie (Snap as my boys call her), went to LA to see Wicked. My sister, Emily (Mimi to the boys), took a road trip to the Grand Canyon. What did I do for President's Day Weekend? I tore up carpet.

On Saturday morning, Catherine decided that she wanted a new floor in the playroom - so guess who was labor? Roy, Ben, Ridi, and I. Of course, the boys thought they helped - although they were much better hinderers. At the end - we did get to use the empty studio to play football (at James' request) and dance (at my request). There is nothing like a great empty space for running around in. All the furniture is back - and the floor is beautiful. I am reminded that I really like to play fix-it. Who cares that none of us knew what we were doing - we had fun figuring it out together.