7 Things Meme

Seven Things Meme.
I got this from the lovely Melanie.
It’s my first meme.

7 Things I Can Do:
1. Play piano and bassoon.
2. Camp.
3. Make the best chicken spaetzle soup you’ve ever had.
4. Make yoga accessible to a wide range of people.
5. Love unconditionally.
6. Jump into things. (It’s a talent.)
7. Give most excellent massages.
8. Laugh. (Yeah, I know.)

7 Things I Cannot Do:
1. Speak German or French fluently, dammit.
2. Rollerblade.
3. Kayak. (on my list for next summer)
4. Cook Thai. (yet)
5. Swim the way one is supposed to, with my head down in the water.
6. Hit people.
7. Follow rules. See above.

7 Things That Attract Me to the Opposite Sex:
1. Brains.
2. Good with words.
3. Able to communicate well in a relationship, because one of us should be able to.
4. Honest, with others and with himself.
5. Openly physically appreciative. I really like to be touched.
6. Likes to cook.
7. Good sense of humour.
8. A strong social conscience.
9. Warm.

7 Things That I Say Most Often:
1. Hang on.
2. And WHY are you in the left lane???!!!!
3. Thank you.
4. Yes, please.
5. OK
6. I guess.
7. I love that song!

7 Celebrity Crushes:
1. Tim Roth. (He was in this movie, where he played a prisoner who got out on work release. Totally fired my blood.)
2. Sean Bean.
3. Viggo Mortensen. (These last two were pre-LOTR. Do I have good taste, or what?)
4. Steve Earle’s voice.
5. Patrick Fitzgerald.
hmmmm…..
6. George Clooney is pretty sexy.
7. I could probably have some fun with Dave Matthews.


7 Things I Plan to do Before I Die:
1. Rent a villa in Tuscany with a group of friends.
2. Hold many, many parties and gatherings.
3. Have a gas stove and a great kitchen. Not fancy, just a usable one, with room for everyone to congregate and enjoy.
4. Spend more time in Morocco.
5. Speak German fluently. (French would be good, too.)
6. Spend weeks and weeks and weeks in Europe.
7. See my sons happy and comfortable in their lives.

7 People I Want to do This:
You. All of you.

Where to now, St. Peter?

The final installment of my birthday trilogy. It's a new year for me. Where to go with it, what to focus on?

1. Get back into really good shape, mainly with yoga over this winter, then back on my bike like I did in '04. Keep my eyes open for a good and affordable used bike.

2. Write my teacher's manual.

3. Write more letters.

4. Find more outlets to teach yoga. Of all that I do, that gives me the most joy.

5. Find another place to live.

6. Entertain.

7. Clear out, pare down.

8. Do what I want to. Really want to.

Upswing

Today is better. It's a beautiful day outside, to begin with. I'm done with work, and after I finish this, I'm taking a walk to pick some leaves to mail to a few friends.

This last week was tough. It reeked of death. I watched Hotel Rwanda five times, four with students and once with Matt. Then there was the obligatory accompanying research and discussion. The Iraq war death toll just from US soldiers, not counting the thousands and thousands of others dead, reached over 2,000. To end the death march, on Thursday evening I heard that a young woman who had gone missing from her college an hour away had been found, her body dumped and burned in an old chicken coop along I-55 in Mississippi. It turns out that she was the girlfriend of a former student of mine, with whose father I work. It was a dark, dark week.

The birthday disappointment just came on the tail of that. I felt really alone Thursday, when I heard about the death. I didn't want to email someone, or chat about it. Didn't want to call anyone on the phone. I didn't even want to talk, I just wanted to cry and be held. Knowing that isn't possible right now gave me an ache.

I need to say that I have wonderful friends. I have women and men in my life for whom I thank God every day. Some are physically close, some are far. The worst part about how I felt yesterday wasn't about my friends, it was about me, wondering if I was lacking as a friend. If not hearing from some of the people I love the most was a reflection on how I am with others I love.

So anyway, it's another day.

the 44th

Happy Birthday to me. 44 years today.

Today was actually kind of sucky, and I spent a part of it fighting off sadness. A confluence of issues have been weighing me down, and the approach of this birthday was an unknown variable. How would it be? I knew I wouldn't have my sons with me. My friends are too far or largely unavailable. Not that I called everyone I could have. In fact I only called one, but that's because the ones close have too much else going on and I knew better. I've been a little uncertain about the whole thing. My last two birthdays were fun. Good times, after a long time where my birthdays were not considered a big deal. Then this fall comes and I'm on my own re: sons, no lover and most friends gone or busy. I wasn't planning to sit around and be morose, though. Thought I might get a long massage, buy some music. Exciting, huh? A massage would have been good. Instead, yesterday afternoon, I ended up making plans to go out with two women I teach with. So, birthday night plans taken care of.

I came home yesterday to find Sean and Matt pulling into the drive behind me. They'd been to the store to get charcoal, steaks, veggies, German chocolate cake fixings and a card and gift. Terrific, they are.

I did hear from both of my parents, a good thing on a birthday. Got a card from one of my brothers yesterday, and an email from him today. Giftcard for WorldMarket, too, which I can't wait to spend. Didn't hear from any friends. Nada. That made the day drag by so slowly. It's not a fingerpointing, since I vary on how well I'm doing with others, myself. I just didn't expect a complete lack of any attention. When I got home, I saw that TerBear had made a thread for me, and that lightened my mood considerably. My evening out was great fun. Things to remember include me giving advice on which way to turn from the backseat. 'Yeah, it's a two-way.' ..... I really thought that second wine would be ok since I wasn't driving. It did, however, lead to the funniest situation I've been in for a long time, barring a certain canoe ride a couple of weeks ago. The fact that it was on a par with that says something about how much we laughed. We had a great dinner, good conversation and ended with a French film. It was a good night. And my day began with a note taped to my bathroom mirror, saying 'Happy birthday, Mom.' It was a good way to start my 45th year. I can take a flat middle sometimes, when the beginning and end are worth it. And it definitely left room for improvement next year. I'd hate to have such a great time that nothing else could ever come close. OK....I'd give it a try.

Reste avec moi.

I looked at his fingers, could feel them slide over my skin,
softly searching,
savoring touch.

His hair curled softly along his nape,
my fingers knew their texture.

I breathed in his scent,
smiling at this first knowledge.

He talked,
and the words tumbled into my mind.

He remembered,
and my being expanded.

The night passed,
and his distance grew.

Love offered and sidestepped,
mutely tendered and left to hang in the midnight air,
drifting through music to find a place to rest.

A Year and a Half

“Guess who I'm chatting with, Mom?”

"Who?"

"Erin."

Stop.

"Erin who?"

"You know, Don's daughter."

Keep folding.

"You've had her AIM all of this time?"

It's been a year and a half.
A year and a half and a lifetime.
A year and a half and a day.

"I just remembered it."

"That's some memory you have."

"Yeah."

It runs in the family.

"I'm having trouble holding on to who I am."
He said.
I understand.
I always understand.

I don't want to lose myself, either.
Getting to myself was hardwon.
A year and a half later, I've gotten back parts that I let go.
Funny how quickly that happened.

I don't think I would do that now.
Two and a half years ago, it was so new to me.
I didn't feel like I had to be on guard.

And I don't cut and run.

I don't think it was about feeling lost.
That’s an easier excuse.

It
was
about

surrender

trust

acceptance

believing.

Easier to cut and run.

Is it a fault or a grace to see the best parts of someone?
To see that the entirety is greater than the sum of the parts?
To love the parts because they formed the whole?

Progression Regression
Reversal
Whole
Gain in loss.
Refinement in fire.

Love
Laughter
Joy
Peace

It's all here.

I don't seek perfection, I seek what's real.

I'm real.

Ask Me Almost Anything, Pt. II

OK- Second Try:

:-)

You do 2 things:
1. Answer the following A-D for me.
2. Cut and paste this into your blog, to continue the game.


A. Recommend a book and tell me why:

B. Recommend a movie and tell me why:

C. Recommend a cd/album and tell me why (Can you tell I'm a teacher?) :

D. Ask me anything, unless it would embarass another person:

A Cold Weather Bonus

Long hot showers.

Lucinda

I woke up this morning with a Lucinda Williams song filling my mind. "Something About What Happens When We Talk" It's a sweet song, wistful and bittersweet:


If I had my way I'd be in your town.
I might not stay,
but at least I would've been around.
Cause there's something about what happens when we talk.
Something about what happens when we talk.

Does this make sense?
It doesn't matter anyway.
Is it coincidence or was it meant to be?
Cause there's something about what happens when we talk.
Something about what happens when we talk.

Conversation with you was like a drug.
It wasn't your face so much as it was your words.
Cause there's something about what happens when we talk.
Something about what happens when we talk.

Well I can't stay round, cause I'm going back south.
But all I regret now is I never kissed your mouth.
Cause there's something about what happens when we talk.
Something about what happens when we talk.
Cause there's something about what happens when we talk.
Something about what happens when we talk.


Then the alarm went off and 'Heart" came on, screaming 'Magic Man,' piece of mania that it is. It takes me back to summers in high school, waxing the upstairs floors of my grandparents' farmhouse, blasting the radio. 'Barracuda' and 'Magic Man' must have been played hourly, and I liked them, as they fit all of that teen angst I had.

I like Lucinda better.

Frustration

What's causing frustration across the U.S. and in numerous other places around the world?

The work of some damned Romanian hackers!

:-p





On the upside, which is more important, I had a most lovely weekend.

:-)

I Love My Freshmen

I have a great freshman class this year. I don't know what dynamics are making it so lovely, but I'm enjoying it. It's not that it's all perfect. There's the girl who reminds me of Tracy Flick. The groups as a whole can chatter enough to raise a barn roof. But- they shine, to me.

Part I:
In one of the classes is a boy who is so....cute. I want to pinch his round freckled cheeks. I was watching 'Stand By Me' with one of my sons this last weekend, and when Vern came on the screen, I started. 'He looks just like that student I was telling you about! The freshman who makes me smile all of the time!' Except my student looks more innocent and sweeter than the Vern character. And he sits right in front of my podium. :-)

Part II:
I did something new with my room this year. I have the wall above the green chalkboard in the front of the room covered with a bright blue piece of paper (covering the top 30" strip of the entire wall). Decorating that is an assignment which I had the seniors do. I had terms of some of the most glaring instances of injustice in our world written on paper and taped to that strip. I had them trace their hands and decorate them, along with a written inclusion. Then they picked an injustice they would like to help to erase in their lifetime. The hands are bright and colorful. It's a hopeful scene.

I also had the windows open today (cool enough not to have the A/C on!). My room was light and airy.

In my seventh period freshman class, one of the girls said,' You're room is so bright! It feels so good. It makes me feel like I'm coming home on a sunny day, and my dad is mowing the lawn, and my sister is in the pool. It just feels so nice!.....Thanks for creating such a nice learning environment for us!'

?????

Never have I had a student say that. It was a good, vibrant moment. Memorable. Another reason to be thankful for this blog, so it doesn't just become another lost good memory.

Moving on....

Part III:
Later, in my eighth period class, one of the freshmen accompanied a statement with 'Aaargh!.' (Yours is not to ask why....) I mentioned, 'You know, 'National Talk Like a Pirate Day' must be coming up.' Their faces were a sight to see. Bemusement, hope, wonder....almost like a child at Christmas. Like me, in some good moments. One student blurted out, 'How do you know this?!' Several of them looked at each other and nodded at this question and turned quickly back to me. I answered, 'It's just the sort of useless, quirky knowledge with which I like to fill my brain.' One of them answered, 'We're a lot alike.' (He was me 'aaaargh!' matey.). Later, while they were working on their groupwork, I looked up the date. This coming Monday! gulp. Not much time to prepare, and I'm leaving for the weekend. I'll have to see what I can do. I saw a party store that had blow-up palm trees a while back. I might check into that tomorrow. 'Twould be worth it.

A Bruderhof School's Peace Barn

The Bruderhof is an organization for which I have great respect. They send out a weekly Peace Calendar email. In this week's edition was a link to a site about the efforts of the 5th–8th grade students of the SpringValley Bruderhof School in Pennsylvania. The following words are from their website. I hope you'll take the time to look at it.

The Flight 93 Memorial:
September 11 changed all our lives. Here in southwest Pennsylvania, the crash of Flight 93 in our "backyard" directly affected us. We, the children of the Spring Valley Bruderhof School, wanted to give people hope and help them find peace. So we decided to transform a dilapidated barn near our school into a memorial to the victims of terrorism and war.

In Memory of Eric Hull:
The Peace Barn's memorial to a local soldier killed in Baghdad helps us remember all the soldiers killed and wounded in Iraq, their families, and all the other people on all sides who are suffering because of war.

http://www.peacebarn.org/articles/teenvoices/Flight-93-Memorial.htm

"Has word-finding difficulties"

Language is a funny thing. In the course of having a son with learning disabilities, many labels have come up. One was about the ability to find the precise word. I find that happening to me all of the time, though not to the same degree, and sometimes with funny consequences.

A couple of weeks ago, I went into the living room. Wanting to say 'hey' to my son with an endearing term, a quick succession of options flashed through the tip of my brain...'Honeybunch'...'Sweetums'...'Sweetiepie'.... (My sons are pretty tolerant of their mom).

What should come tumbling out of my mouth, but the worst possible combination, of course,

"Hey, Sweetiebuns!!"

Ah, to have been able to capture the looks on both of our faces at that moment. His slightly uneasy, slightly shocked, slightly amused...mine, the latter two. "Mom. You didn't just say that?"

My explanation as to why followed, along with the assurance that it would surely never come out that way again.

Language, what a ride.

My Mother's Hands

At some point in my adult life, I recognized the scent that I will always associate with my mother. I was cutting vegetables for dinner, and even after washing, the smell of chopped onion and celery clung to my skin. I was immediately taken back to the thousand of times that I breathed in that scent, as she adjusted my collar, or brushed my hair.

I love that smell.

Maybe for some people, the scent of their mothers is a certain perfume, but for me it is the gift that she provided for her children as we grew, the meals that we only really appreciated as we ventured into other peoples' homes and tasted what they had for supper.

My mother's early childhood was spent in a prison camp, where no babies under the age of two survived, and where all who lived there experienced starvation. She takes food seriously, and she passes on the gift of hospitality and love through meals.

I love that smell.

All in a Jumble

I love this blogging. I've written much less than I have wanted to, since I began it. During the day, maybe while I'm driving, I'll find myself thinking of things I want to write. Other tasks then distract me. That's alright, but it reinforces to me that I need to make changes in my life. It's not that I can't remember the important things, but I like the idea of using this to remember the serendipitous things I experience- linkages of words, lyrics, sights, smells, emotions,..... the funny ways that daily life can play out. For instance, writing that last sentence reminded me of two things I wanted to write about last week.

And so, back to changes.

I've made a lot in the last five years, and they've gone for the good overall. I like my life. In 2000 I was fighting just to stay afloat, and I made it. My sons are healthy and happy, and so am I. My ex would never admit it, but he seems happier, too.

Five years ago, I asked of my counselor, 'What if I don't like myself when I find out who I am?' I knew at the time what a devastatingly sad statement that was, but it was honest. It's hard to describe. It's not that I am different, in my core. It's that my core was so covered over with the layers I had assumed, trying to keep afloat in waters that were increasingly unfamiliar.

Yet here I am, having come back to myself in more fullness than I have ever experienced. I know that I need to make changes. I've gotten rid of a lot of stuff, but I feel like my house is overflowing. My garage has room for my car, but the rest is packed, full of items for a yard sale. But when I look around my house, I still feel an urge to shed. With my southern friends just now going through the initial aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, I feel a need to pare down and share. Pare down. Lighten up.

Pare down my possessions, but also pare down the extraneous things that take my time. Cut away the creeping cynicism that is a legacy of my last two romantic relationships. Lighten my load a little more. Free myself to be more available for whatever experiences cross my path.

This blogging is good. I have felt so jumbled up today. Now my thoughts feel a little lighter, anyway.

Before I began this, someone mentioned an aspect of blogging that I am really valuing. (Thanks, Joseph.) No apologies. Then Jennnn remarked the same thing after my second entry. This is all mine, and I can write what I want to. It's an interesting concept, because it is a public offering. It's not that writing is new to me. I have a handwritten journal, and I seem to express my thoughts better in writing. But the idea of doing what I want to, with no apologies, is one of those things I have made significant strides with since 2000. It was hard enough for me to be honest in my private journal, just a few years ago.

I may not understand, but I accept.

One regret dear world
that I am determined not to have
when I am lying on my death bed
is that I did not kiss you enough!--Hafiz

I just got that from a friend and felt like leading with it. See why I like Hafiz so much?

I had a strange experience tonight. I'm cleaning out my bedroom, and on one of my shelves is a stack of mementoes. A Greg Brown ticket, many DMB tickets, a Lucinda Williams, the printout from my VA trip last summer, and some cards. One of them was a Valentine from my friend, Leslie, with some lovely sentiments about our friendship, and ending with a wish for a lovely V-day with Don, the man I loved. In the card were some photos I had stashed there, one of me holding my nephew, another of my older son playing with one of my nieces. The pics were from the previous Thanksgiving. The last one I came to was of me and Don. I didn't expect it. I stopped in my tracks, as the enormity of love I had had for this man hit me. We looked so happy. I felt certain, safe for the first time in my life. Six months later we broke up on our one year anniversary. As I looked at that picture, I said aloud, 'I had such love for you.'

I really don't understand love at all. I have it. A huge amount, in fact. And I feel at peace with what has happened. Our love was like a universe of its own. It stayed like that for me. I believe love is a choice. You decide whether you are going to really love someone, or you withhold a little part of yourself, so that when you want an out, you can feed that little part, begin to focus on the imperfections, create things to give you pause. Love needs to be fed and nurtured. That's one of the things that led me to be able to let go, realizing that he had such little regard for that love that he preferred to let it die a slow death by neglect rather than address it. A wise friend of mine said to me later, 'Maybe he just doesn't know how to really love.' I think that was the truth.

One thing I learned from that relationship is that I am capable of unconditional love. Without a doubt. I knew I still had the capacity for that huge love and more, but I thought somehow that I had let go of some of that which had been attached to him. When we broke up, I kept thinking of the good times, and there had been many. As time passed and I dealt with the grief, I saw more of the negative, remembered what it felt like to experience his increasingly parsimonious doling out of affection, knew I'd never accept that again.

So the smack of emotion was a shock. Joni Mitchell's voice began running through my mind. 'I really don't know love, at all.' For me, though, I do know love. I just don't understand it. It's outside of all laws and expectations.

Some Rilke came to my mind also, from his Letters to a Young Poet.

Whoever looks seriously at it finds that neither for death, which is difficult, nor for difficult love has any explanation, any solution, any hint of way yet been discerned; and for these two problems that we carry wrapped up and hand on without opening, it will not be possible to discover any general rule resting in agreement. But in the same measure in which we begin as individuals to put life to the test, we shall, being individuals, meet these great things at closer range. The demands which the difficult work of love makes upon our development are more than life-size, and as beginners we are not up to them. But if we nevertheless hold out and take this love upon us as burden and apprenticeship, instead of losing ourselves in all the light and frivolous play, behind which people have hidden from the most earnest earnestness of their existence - then a little progress and alleviation will perhaps be perceptible to those who come long after us; that would be much.

That would be much, indeed.

We'll Make the Best of What's Around

I took the title of my blog from a song that has held great meaning for me.

The Best of What's Around
By: The Dave Matthews Band

Hey my friend,
It seems your eyes are troubled.
Care to share your times with me?
Would you say you're feeling low and so
A good idea would be to get it off your mind.

See, you and me
Have a better time than most can dream,
Have it better than the best
And so can pull on through
Whatever tears at us,
Whatever holds us down,
And if nothing can be done,
We'll make the best of what's around.

Turns out not where but who you're with
That really matters,
And hurts not much when you're around.
And if you hold on tight
To what you think is your thing,
You may find you're missing all the rest.
She run up into the light surprised,
Her arms are open,
Her mind's eye is
Seeing things from a
Clearer side than most can dream,
On a better road I feel.
So you could say she's safe.
Whatever tears at her,
Whatever holds her down,
And if nothing can be done,
She'll make the best of what's around.

Turns out not where but what you think
That really matters,
And hurts not much when you're around.

Some might think that making the best of what's around means not looking to make things better, that you 'make do,' but it's not, at least not in this sense. You can only get to the next place by how you use what you have available to you where you are now.

I could look back on my life and bemoan why I didn't make different choices, yet I appreciate finally reaching a vantage point where I know that I made the best choices that I could have, given the tools that I had. Would I do differently now? Yes, for some of the situations and no for others. And even with that, would different choices have led to me being a different person than the one some of you know? Had my life flowed more easily, I might have felt no choice but to stay at the places I was, because they'd have been what I'd asked for. I'd have felt even more obligated to remain static.

About 2 1/2 years ago I began to enter into a relationship which I thought was the answer to many, many dreams. Now, as Garth Brooks sings, thank God for unanswered prayers. Had it worked out, given the direction things were going, I'd have ended up miserable, trying to make an inherently unhappy person, someone who doesn't quite understand the meaning of love, feel better. I wouldn't have taken my Saratoga trip with my son. I wouldn't have had the time to spend to really get to know the people at Radio Paradise.

The future wouldn't be wide open to me, as it is now.

Thanks Housewives. Thanks RPeeps. Thanks to Linda, Kiah, Tracy, Jana and to those who have come and gone, to help me get to this place. I'll do my best with it.

I shall attempt to make my third entry less navel-gazing. Maybe something about my toes.

Beginnings

Eudora Welty said, "Writers and travelers are mesmerized alike by knowing of their destinations. "

I understand what she says, but I'm not sure that I agree. I'm a traveler, and I am clueless about my destination. The child in me who yearns for safety would doubtless be gratified if I did, but kid, hang on. You're not alone in the ride, anymore.

I have a kind of a gestalt view of my place of arrival, but it's only a view of the whole, the gut feeling that I will arrive. The details have yet to be worked in. Sometimes that lack of certainty throws me into a panic. What if I choose wrongly? Pick too early? Wait too late? Or God forbid, make a mistake.

I try to then sit back, even if only figuratively. Relax. Gather the fragments which have begun to splinter out from residual fear and sink back into myself. Finally, at 43, I have gained a feeling that I am where I'm supposed to be. It started a few years ago, the knowledge that I was on the right path. After some detours and interruptions, I finally feel like I'm there. Not at the place where I'll end, but on that journey, the right one. I'm no longer wondering which train to hop, or worse yet, afraid that I missed the right one.

Destinations are good, but what I live for is the journey.