Peace

 

The view of the sky from my favorite bench in my favorite park.

 

I love the surroundings, the solitude, and the breeze from the lake on my face.

 

Surely what heaven must be like.

 

 

 

 



Another Day at the Office

 

DAY 1

In preparation for Sissy's half-day camp in the morning, we discussed what she would like to take for a snack.

 

Sissy: All the other kids get to take JUNK FOOD! I am NOT taking anything that we have here!

 

Me: I'm not buying junk food. And I'm sure the kids don't take junk food to this particular camp.

 

Sissy (tearfully): Yes, they DO! They ALWAYS have junk food!

 

Dad: Well, we have some leftover Zebra Cakes from the camping trip...

 

Sissy: Okay! I'll take those!

 

Me: Okay, but don't advertise that you have a Zebra Cake because I am SO EMBARRASSED to be sending you with junk food for a snack.

 

DAY 2

Since it turned out that someone (Sissy) had eaten all but one of the Zebra Cakes so that there was only one to take but four days of camp, we are at the co-op looking for camp snacks that we can agree on that she can take for the rest of the week.

 

Sissy: Oooooh! Nectarines! I'll take those for my snack!

 

Me: Okay, what else do you want?

 

Sissy: That's it. Just the nectarines. All the other kids had just berries for their snack today.

 

Me: What?!? You told me that they ALL would have junk food!!

 

Sissy: Yeah. They all had berries, so I just looked at my Zebra Cake like I didn't know what it was and said, "What? What is this THING that my MOM sent?!!

 

*sigh*

 



Night Sky

 

This is the view from the window at the top of the stairs this evening. I have never seen clouds like this before, so I called Snacks from his bed as I often do when I see a glorious sky on my way up for the night. (For the record, I would call Sissy too, but she is typically first asleep and not easily awakened.)

 

We like to stand to together in awe and marvel out loud at what we see.

 

 

 

Tuesday Afternoon

We stood on the street corner in the middle of the afternoon having a focused debate. I said I felt him pulling away again and that the past ten days I had had thoughts and feelings that were too reminiscent of "before" for my comfort. I said I didn't want to go back there ever again. He said he didn't know what I was talking about and that it must be my imagination.

And then he paused and I saw him squint to see who was in the car that drove past. "That was a guy from Monday night," he said. A man from the meeting that he had attended for the 12 years that we had deluded ourselves by believing that he was working a solid program of recovery when he, in fact, was not.

Our discussion ended abruptly and we turned to continue our walk. It was not lost on either of us that this man from a meeting that is held 30 minutes from our neighborhood drove by us on a weekday afternoon just when we were arguing about whether or not old behaviors were creeping back. The Universe didn't send us a man in a car from the Tuesday night meeting or the Thursday night meeting where he has gone for the past year to find the strength of recovery that has kept us together. No, the Universe sent us a messenger from our dark years.

It was like God's exclamation point.

The Spark

She asked, "Have you ever thought of writing a book?"

I said it was funny that she should ask because I had given up on writing but yesterday, out of the blue, I had gotten a check in the mail for advertising from a blog that I had deleted five years ago. I had been wondering if it was a sign.

I told her I had given up my dream of being a writer after trying my hand at being a copywriter and a ghost writer, freelancing for small newspapers and pitching articles to magazines. I didn't like the politics and the rejection. I didn't like comparing myself to others and feeling I was always coming up short. I said I don't take criticism well.

She said that she liked hearing my stories. She said that if wrote down my stories the same way I tell them, she would definitely want to read my book. And I thought maybe that sounded good. Maybe that's what I could be: a storyteller.

The Journey

I dove without hesitation from the beach into the river--the deep green water surrounding me, guiding me forth with purpose toward my destination. I swam toward the now-familiar stone archway and, once through, stood on the flat stone surface--my hair and clothing now completely dry as though I had never been in the water at all.

The lion stood waiting for me on the golden plain, just as before, and I asked him to perform a dismemberment for whatever he deemed needed healing in me, and then to rebuild me again. He turned away from me toward the horizon and together we watched a sudden and rapid gathering of dark clouds off in the distance. I realized then that the dismemberment I had requested would come in the form of a tornado, and not by creature or fire as I had predicted.

The clouds gathered power and speed and began to spin as we stood side by side and watched. I had the thought to be afraid but did not experience the fear in my body. I had been told that the dismemberment experience would be one of comfort and relief, and the lion stood near as my guide. Separate from my mind, my body knew to trust what I had been told.

I felt the wind approach and we stood and waited much longer than I had expected; the wind whipping through my hair and my clothes in a way that felt both ominous and exhilarating. I waited to be caught up into the tornado, to experience the breaking apart of my limbs, my body, but I did not. Instead, I felt the spinning and the darkness overtake me. The lion was no longer standing next to me. I had simply become the winds of the tornado. I had no body, no human form now; I was the dark gray spinning cloud.

I saw the lion again, standing where I had left him down on the golden plain under the clear blue sky, staring off into the horizon just as before. But I was not there standing next to him. Now the dark clouds were gone and I wondered what had become of me--I had no feeling, no form, no sense of my own existence except my thoughts.

And then I saw that I was there--on the plain, under the sky, next to the lion. I was in the shimmering particles of the air--I was the shimmering particles of air, floating and formless. My mind wondered how I would come to be re-membered; rebuilt.

On the horizon I saw clouds gathering again, but this time in deep colors of pink and purple. They began to spin. I imagined that I would experience the tornado in reverse this time, and would be deposited, whole and in human form, next the lion on the plain.

I became part of the magnificent, richly-colored clouds, but they did not turn gray-black as before. I did not understand and began to lose faith that I would not be re-membered at all, and so the clouds ceased their spinning. I felt fear begin to take over and my mind told me that I would not succeed and I believed my mind. And then I remembered that Spirit has taught me to trust and watch and wait to see what is going to happen instead of allowing my mind to try to think my way out of danger or uncertainty.

Trust became my mantra and as part of the rose-colored sky I felt a warmth in my face and my fingers began to tingle. I felt gentle sensations that told me that my human legs had returned. I was filled with relief, but still I did not see myself standing next to the lion. I asked him, "Why do I not see myself?" and he answered, "Because you are within me." It was time to go back.

I ran toward the stone archway as the lion. Through his eyes I saw the flat rock shelf that was the portal for my return. And then I was in the green water in my human form--my heart filled with gratitude--swimming. Swimming up from the bottom toward the light, until I collapsed on the beach, soaking wet and exhausted, cradled by Mother Earth.

The Clues

OM ~ Generosity

MA ~ Ethics

NI ~ Tolerance and patience

PE ~ Perseverance

ME ~ Concentration

HUNG ~ Wisdom 

 

Sometimes clues as to where my path is leading next come to me in unusual forms. We are standing in the uncomfortable darkness of uncertainty these past couple of months, so I am more open than ever to receiving Guidance however it wants to come to me.

 

Sometimes I have a very powerful and completely unexpected emotional response to a line in a book or song or meditation that causes a sudden welling up of tears of profound gratitude or deep sorrow that shows me what's to come next for me. Sometimes I am struck with a thought of absolute clarity like lightning out of nowhere in the middle of the sidewalk or the living room or the grocery store. Sometimes someone I am with will say something completely out of context or character and I have the undeniable sense that what they have just said was spoken not by him, but through him.

And sometimes messages come in the form of a $4.18 check...or something written in the sand just minutes before I arrive at the beach.

Mystery Unfolding

Tonight, the supervisor at one of my volunteer jobs asked me if I had ever considered writing a book. She said she thought I seemed like someone who had a lot of stories to tell. This was particularly striking because, prior to this evening, in the eight months I have known her, I don't recall ever having much of a conversation with her beyond what my assignment was for whatever shift I was working. I'm not sure how I've made this impression on her.

I shared with her that I have been drawn to writing for as long as I can remember, but that it was something I have rarely allowed myself to do--outside of a few brief periods of freelancing frenzy and a short-lived blogging obsession--because I don't seem to have the courage.

But the Universe has my attention now. I'm willing to show up...and to see what happens next.

The Call

 

And so I return, once again, with the intention of pursuing my desire to put my thoughts, ideas and experiences into some sort of story form. My love/hate relationship with this medium of expression remains a mystery to me. But I cannot deny that my desire to string words together in some sort of meaningful way will not go away. No matter how far or how hard I try to push it.

Today I think it's fear that keeps me away. Fear of judgment (mine and yours), fear of losing track of what I "should" otherwise be doing, fear of not having enough time, fear of not being "as good as...", fear of making a commitment that I might not be able to keep...

Today a check came in the  mail for $4.18 for advertising revenues from a blog I deleted five years ago. I'm taking it as a sign that this is where I belong.

I hope this is me coming home.

Conversation Pieces

Mommy: Sissy, just make sure you don't marry a guy who still lives with his parents when he's 35.

Sissy (age 6): I will not do that.

Daddy: Wait, I thought you were going to marry me!

Sissy: Daaaaad! You didn't think I was going to marry someone old, did you?

State Fair

Today the kids found out first hand why it is that I always refuse to go on amusement park rides. This morning the kids and I found ourselves at the State Fair without another adult who could ride down the Giant Slide with Sissy, who tearfully claimed she was too afraid to ride all by herself. I was nervous after a 20 year hiatus, but I soldiered on for my little girl.

The experience was far worse than I had imagined it would be. With Sissy sitting on the burlap in front of me, I proceeded to make horrible involuntary and uncontrollable retching noises with each drop of the slide; my poor darling girl asking, "Mommy, are you okay?" all the way down to the bottom. I'm certain she was fearing that I was going to vomit in her hair. I'm also certain she'll want to ride down by herself next year.

Mean Kids

I realized this afternoon that, these days, when I am picking out clothing, sports equipment, and the like for Snacks, I automatically ask myself, "Will Malik make fun of this?" A truly sad state of affairs...

First Day of Kindergarten

Today would be Sissy's first day of kindergarten if we were sending her to school. As we watched our neighbor get on the bus early this morning, John and I agreed we couldn't imagine putting our baby girl on a school bus and sending her Who-Knows-Where. But then she came downstairs and started whining and scowling at me and I thought that maybe I could imagine it after all.

My Big Fat Do-over

As I mentioned, oh say, a year or so ago, I have really been missing this blog and I keep meaning to get back to it. I keep meaning to get back to writing in general and I keep meaning to keep a log of my children's growing up, which I have mostly been a failure at doing. Somewhere along the way I got the notion in my head that I couldn't write a blog post if it wasn't a perfectly written essay, (which I have been pretty much incapable of writing for the past several years). I'm not sure how this happened. But then, out of the blue the other day, I realized the irony of the fact that my blog is titled Running from Martha, referring to Martha Stewart and her perfectionism. Ha ha ha, the joke is on me.

So now I am going to feel free to post completely inane things like this again:

Today my beloved green 1998 Honda CRV reached 222,222 miles and I thought that was pretty cool. Among other things, the check engine light is stuck on; the driver's side window doesn't roll down; the locks work only when they feel like it (so sometimes I get locked inside); the CD player, the clock, and the rear wiper haven't worked for years; the heat only works if the car is in DRIVE; and the cold air from the AC only comes out in a trickle (which is especially annoying since I can't roll my window down). BUT I still LOVE my car!

So I'll be back to recording my notes as my blog description says, and hopefully my children will forgive me for the Lost Years...!

The Perfect Way to Enjoy a Spring Afternoon

Decide that you have nowhere to be and no specific time to be there.

Invite a sweet little girl to go for a walk along the river.

Hold hands while you walk.

Notice all the flowers as you go and try to identify as many birdsongs as you can.

Hold a small hand so the little girl can walk along a stone wall and jump off at the end.

Pick giant handfuls of dandelions gone to seed and make as many wishes as you possibly can.

Remind each other not to tell what the wishes were or they won't come true.

Tell the little girl that when you were small, you used to wish for a fluffy white kitten with blue eyes.

Admire the colorful butterflies she points out to you.

When she says she feels like running in the wide-open grassy space, watch her go.

When she comes back, tell her that when you were small, you used to imagine you were a white horse named Wildfire.

Show her how you used to gallop across a grassy field with your friends when you were six years old.

Hum the song Wildfire by Michael Murphey.

Admire beautiful shimmery green clumps of elm seeds and tell her why they are special to someone your age.

Watch an eagle fly overhead.

Hear a giant woodpecker and stop to look for it.

Watch it fly by and marvel at its enormous size and unusual appearance.

Comfort her when she realizes she has lost something she brought along.

Help her look for it even though it takes an extra hour.

Walk home hand-in-hand.

Appreciate the preciousness of a perfect sunny spring afternoon.

Haiku of Regret

Oh Ben and Jerry

I look to you for comfort

cold false promises

Dear Family,

Tonight, as I stepped over the veritable mountain of dirty laundry that was lying next to the empty laundry basket in the middle of the dining room, I realized that it is time for me to point out very clearly what you all have been missing over the past few months:

Things around here are going to hell in a handbasket.

I am feeling so overwhelmed that, soon, if you want help finding your missing pajama bottoms/swim goggles/camera/musical instrument/shoes/ipod/backpack/favorite stuffed animal/LEGO micro figure/bike helmet, you will have to dig me out from underneath a huge pile of Cherry Garcia containers and Nut Goody wrappers--and you will probably have to rent a crane large enough to lift my ever-increasing fat ass off the couch--before I can even begin the search.

I can no longer keep up with all the empty toilet paper rolls and dental floss bits that are regularly left all over the bathroom floor. I cannot understand why it looks like someone spit all over the bathroom mirror each night, no one ever flushes the toilet or drains the tub, or why there is a large rock on the tile behind the door.

And why, if no one ever practices their instruments, are there music books, folders, cases and shoulder rests spread all over the living room?

No one but me seems to notice that the kitchen floor has not been scrubbed since 2007 (I have been too busy turning every single clothing item that goes through the wash right-side-out to find the time to undertake the arduous task of mopping) and that, ever since the dog died, dried up vegetables and crusty pasta bits have been accumulating on the rug underneath the dining room table. I don't know why the ants from the kitchen haven't discovered this cornucopia yet, but maybe I'm just not being patient enough.

The dust around here is so thick I don't even need to use a coaster on the antique table anymore--it's absorbent now, like a tablecloth. And instead of removing the cobwebs in the corners of every room, I pause to admire them, like works of art--it's far less work to accommodate the spiders than to haul out the vacuum.

We have three lawnmowers in the garage, yet the grass is higher than my ankles. There is a plastic table top lying in the back yard that we haven't used since Snacks' first birthday party...eight years ago. There are 3,000 orange Nerf darts strewn all over our property.

I know you're all Extremely Busy with all of your Important Activities, but I'm hoping that just maybe--before I am forced to start drinking heavily or act on my recurring impulse to get in the car and drive westward--you  might be persuaded to stop for a moment, look around, and start picking up all your shit. Put away all your toys/shoes/art supplies/mail/random accessories, do a load of laundry, throw away your used Kleenexes/gum wrappers/Haagen-Dazs lids, and wipe down a counter or two. Sweep the porch.

Otherwise, it won't be long before I'm thumbing for a ride in that handbasket.

I need therapy. Or a divorce. Or maybe just a very, very long vacation.

I love the idea of my life. But mostly I have set up my life so that it sucks. And I say that with the full realization that it could suck so much more--like if I were sick or homeless or (God forbid) had lost a child--but more than one therapist has told me that I have permission to want more for myself, and so I frequently find myself indulging in bouts of self pity which, of course, do nothing to improve my circumstances.

For the past nine years I have lived my life in fear of what my children will tell their therapists about how I ruined their lives (because, of course, I have lots of my own experience doing this) and running myself ragged trying to prevent them from even needing therapy in the first place. Because I imagine I have this kind of control. I imagine that, somehow, I have it in me to be the Perfect Mother--if only I'd try just a little bit harder.

And I have spent much of the past eleven years trying to be the Stepford Wife that my husband has always wanted. Not surprisingly, I have failed miserably at this too--though certainly not for lack of trying.

And so, at 41, I find myself at a crossroads: I have high blood pressure, 80 extra pounds, and a heavy heart. I don't write anymore, I don't sing, I don't laugh, and I love only desperately--out of fear, not joy. I have always worried that my children will be ashamed of me--or come to hate me for one reason or another because I am so much less than what they imagine I should be and wish that I were--but now I am terrified that I won't even be around to watch my children grow up at all.

And yet, I feel too exhausted and paralyzed to figure out how to take my life back, though I have visions of what it would look like...

I want to write freely and go for walks outdoors and read endlessly in the back yard and eat only lovely, delicious homemade masterpieces that I cook myself. I want to practice yoga every day and learn to play beautiful, haunting ballads on the Irish tin whistle (and sing those same ballads with complete and total abandon), and I want to enjoy my children and I want to be adored by my husband and I want to have the energy to nurture my most important friendships.

But I don't know how to say "No" to my children and really follow through: No, I won't let our lives revolve entirely around the neighbors. No, I won't pay for and take you to music lessons that you don't practice for. No, I am not buying you that/taking you there/signing you up for that. No, you may not treat me that way!

Because then I have no hope of ever being their Perfect Mother.

And I don't know how to feel okay being me around my husband--not that I even know who I am anymore...

If I ever did.

I can see well enough to know that my life has so much amazing potential...

I just can't seem to stop spinning in the wind.

I see now that I've been in the dark for a very long time. Years it seems. I'm starting to unpack the dreams that most of the time I didn't remember I had...except when I'd catch a brief glimpse that would leave me almost doubled over with the pain in my heart--a sickening flash of longing now and then--before I would stuff it all back in the box and go on.

I want my body back. And my spirit. And my heart. I have given them all away over the years...over decades. I want them back so badly that I feel anxious and queasy and shaky.

So now I'm doing what I can.

I'm filling my shelves with the books that I haven't allowed myself to buy until now--borrowing them instead from the library over and over when I needed an old friend to lift me up. Now I'm making permanent homes for Byron Katie and Geneen Roth, Judith Lasater and Lucinda Bassett, and others who are helping me find my way back. I can see them and touch them and "hear" them now whenever I need to--they literally help me breathe.

I'm finding and protecting time for myself in the morning to read, meditate, do yoga, and increase my strength, even when it means I'm finishing up with a small audience.

I'm taking the time and spending money to care for my skin, my hair, my nails, and my overall appearance; something I haven't allowed myself to make a priority for years.

I'm saying NO. "No, that doesn't work for me." "No, he can't come over." "No, that doesn't fit into my schedule." "No, I can't help you right now."

I'm teaching myself to play the piano because I've always wanted to be able to play the piano and sing like Sarah McLachlan, Tori Amos, Bruce Hornsby, John Ondrasik...

I've signed up for a fall adult Irish step class because I've always wanted to dance.

And I think I'll come back here to write. Not for pay, not for my kids, not for my friends or for strangers...

Just for me.

We've been spending these fall days mostly exploring farms and river towns and chasing the changing colors as far as we can. We've seen cows and eagles and mansions and rising flood waters. We've learned about locks and dams, gin poles, and lumbering. We've dined on a deck over the St. Croix and picnicked next to the Mighty Mississippi.

But sometimes, some of the best homeschool moments happen when absolutely nothing is planned...

This morning we went over to Dowling for a clean up day to make up some volunteer hours. Though at first he groused at the idea of having to be there at all, Snacks ended up spending almost two hours on a gorgeous, sunny fall day working beside two grown-ups whom he had never met before. I proudly listened as he happily conversed intelligently and politely, and watched as he was able to help the older men with things his eyes, back, and fingers could do more easily than theirs.

And I'm pretty sure that during the course of the morning while working with those kind and patient men, he learned more than just a thing or two.