Time in Space

My one regret with my 13 year relationship with my Love is that I never wanted to fully live within the quiet periods. I have had my fair share of quietness during the last 13 years. Two years into my relationship with my Love we started living together. About that same time he accepted an internship to study at Stanford University for the Summer. I planted flower pots, smoked on the back deck, tried working out and read alot of books. It was quiet. Ultimately, I was anxious to move forward.

A couple years later, (now married) my Love graduated with his BA and we moved up to Seattle so that he could start and finish his Masters degree. Again my Love accepted an internship in Washington D.C. for the Summer. I worked out (running became my passion), sat on the beach, watched the Alki summer sunsets every night, read alot of books, and went to the office early in the mornings (commuted all the way down to T-town). It was quiet. Subsequently, I was lonely.

Shortly after graduation we moved back to Tacoma and my Love took at job with an international adoption agency. All of the sudden he was taken away from me again, traveling with families, uniting with their children. These trips were shorter (14 - 16 days) but pretty frequent. I stayed at the office late, worked out and obsessed over having a baby. Many of my evenings were quiet. I imagined myself as a mother.

A year later we bought a house (still childless) and filled it with stuff. I now had a fancy dinning room table. During my Love's frequent trips I would sit down to eat at this dinning room table and would imagine how amazing and enjoyable it would be to have a full table (complete with a husband and kids). A couple months later, the night before one of my Love's trips, I discovered I was pregnant. The next day it was quiet again. During thenext few months I read alot of books and learned alot about my body. Four months into my pregnancy I was laid off from my job. My Love was traveling at the time. I listened to alot of loud music, but it was still quiet. Appropriately, I was depressed.

At six months of age my son and I found ourselves alone again in the evenings. It was less quiet, but sometimes even more quiet. I had every Wednesday off from the office (new job) and I was perplexed as to what to do with myself during his epic 3 hour naps. At the end of my Love's travels he came home and told me that he intended to start his own non-profit, bringing clean water to children all over the world. It required more time away. By December his dream had come true.

One year later we decided to have another baby. It took 12 months of trying (I am convinced this was because of the hectic ill-timed travels). At the same time my now two year old decided that it was fun to wake up at 4:00am every day and scream until we relented and went to him. During my Love's travels my space became less and less quiet.

Flash forward two years...My Love is out of town. I am desperately trying to get dinner on my (not so fancy anymore) dinner table. My baby is screaming because she has dropped her pacifier and, being strapped to my back, she cannot get down to get it. My four year old is talking incessantly to me about superheros, obviously unaware that there is a crazy screaming wild child in our midst. My pasta has just boiled over and in the back of my brains somewhere I remember that I am out of baby formula and diapers (trip to grocery store after dinner?), my telephone is ringing and my four year old has now moved on and decides that he does not like pasta and is throwing a fit. To top it off my Love decides that this would be a very good time to skype us for a fun, friendly, family chat (I sometimes add another "F" word to this). My life is nowhere near quiet. At this very moment I want to shoot myself for wishing for a full dinning room table. At this very moment all I want is one milli-second of quiet. I yearn for flower pots, a smoke on the back deck, a sunset, a workout, a book (anything fiction), a late evening at the office, an epic 3 hour nap...It took me almost two more years to finally realize that it was too loud. Quiet, please.

I went on a search for the quietness that had all too often permeated my life. I wanted it back. I needed it back. I meditated upon those quiet periods and wished with every part of me that I had taken advantage of that time in space. Instead I had tried to rush through the quietness or I had tried to distract myself from it. I never fully realized the gravity of my quietness and for this I am sorry.

My search has finally led me to some quiet waters (although noise is all around). I am so very thankful and am determined not to rush or distract myself through this time. My soul is content to be quiet.

To Be, continued.

After reading my last post I thought that I should probably add my own paragraph regarding my fall into full time motherhood. I am not sure I can put it into any sort of  verse as I am still living within the fall, and have yet to come together again. But here are a few of my emotions that I am exploring (using all the time I need; looking under all the rocks). ...Learning to relax into the chaos of transition.

Energy, under appreciated, learning curve, lack of routine, happy, hurt, peaceful (quiet?), flashes of brilliancy, at home in my skin, slow, angry, spirited, relaxed, free, overwhelmed, jovial, loved.

To Be.

Lately I have been trying something new with my kids. Whenever we (they) are in a transition (walking out the door, leaving the park, heading off to nap time, putting dinner on the table, etc.) I speak in a soft whisper. This is not for my kid's sake, but for mine. As tensions rise in my house, I can feel myself wanting to fix things; somehow make the transition easier, take away the problem, or just get angry enough to cause my kids to silence themselves. Whispering helps me to remember that it is not my job to fix anything. Whispering also allows my kids the room to feel their own emotions and to live within their moment.

After 15 years of full time work, starting right out of highschool, during which I graduated with a BA, got married, moved four times and had kids, I decided to quit. A better word, transition. I'll spare you the details regarding what led up to my decision (for another post perhaps). Ultimately, I had to give five weeks notice. During that five weeks I pumped out more work than I thought possible. At the same time, I recognized the huge U-turn I was about to enter into and spoke softly to myself. I read, When Things Fall Apart, by Pema Chodron. My husband wondered about my choice but I knew that my life was "falling apart" and I needed some wisdom. This is what I found.

"When things fall apart and we're on the verge of we know not what, the test for each of us is to stay on the brink and not concretize...From this point of view, the only time we ever know what's really going on is when the rug's been pulled out and we can't find anywhere to land....Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don't really get solved. They come together and fall apart again. It's just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen; room for grief, for relief, for misery for joy."

I meditated upon this for five weeks. I told myself that it was okay to fall apart and in turn, it was okay for my kids to fall apart. I shouldn't try to fix the problem. I shouldn't try to stop the falling. Relaxing into the falling, allowing room for all the different emotions helps with the coming together again (the healing).

During my U-turn I took my 5 year old up to Seattle to see Santa on the top of the Space Needle. I had great expectations. My son fell apart half way through the day. He was miserable (tired, cranky, who knows). The day didn't go like either of us had planned. I was hurt. Driving home in silence my 5 year old handed me the stuffed flower that he had won at one of the arcade (the claw) games. "You can have this, Mom. I won this for you," he said. I smiled at him. I have kept this flower by my computer. It reminds me that I should live within the moment and experience the emotions of the moment for what they are. I shouldn't try to stop the falling. Eventually things come together again (and then they fall apart again). The healing (the teaching) comes from within the moment when there is room to explore.

I had to carry my not-so-little bundle of joy out of the park tonight kicking and screaming. My first inclination was to try to appease her with anything. I wanted the screaming to stop. My whispering tone helped me remember to live within the falling; allow her to scream, allow her to feel mad; allow her to feel hurt. She came together again and we had a nice snuggle before bedtime during which she told me that she, "wanted to stay at the park forever." I told her we could go again tomorrow. She replied, "that's fun."

Our lives, (even as adults) are constantly falling apart and coming back together again. During my five week transition leading up to staying at home full time, I understood that I was on the brink of falling but that it was okay to fall. I am learning to live withing my falling and in my coming back together again.

Dad

I vividly remember receiving a HUGE bouquet of balloons from my Dad for my 6th birthday. It was right in the middle of my kindergarten day, all the five year old eyes were on me. I felt awesome. That same year, my Dad watched me fall off our swing set (so it did travel with us) and hurdle backwards into space breaking my arm. He was the first one to my side. I am not sure which memory came first.

What I do know, is that my Dad loves me. He has attended to me in my happiest times and in my scariest times.  The catalog of events that he has saved on me must be overwhelming. Tonight, while jabbering on the phone with him he reminded me that he has, in total, over 90 years of parenting under his belt (adding up all the siblings, etc.). He also, through a fun spirited conversation about my son, reminded me to have a sense of humor and to recognize the good in people, even when only the bad decides to show up.

Thank you Dad for deciding to recognize my good (my Mom during the same telephone encounter decided that this was grace) and for the humor surrounding "my goodness".  Thank you for being with me through my life; through the tough and the fun.  Congrats on 90 years!

It's the View!

On my way to the office, almost every day during my 15 years at MultiCare, I would walk by the same picture. I probably didn't notice it at first (isn't this like everything in life?). I am not sure when it became a part of me. But then, all of the sudden it was a ritual, something I yearned for every morning (right along with my coffee).

I cannot tell you who the artist was/is. I am sorry. This is obviously a downfall of mine. In every aspect of my life, details get swept under the rug. It is a watercolor. It is a painting of a treacherous mountain road turning a corner. One side of the corner is hillside, the other side has a spectacular view of the ocean. No vehicles are in sight.

For years, when I would come upon this painting, I would always wonder where the road was taking its passenger. What was around the corner? I wanted to know so badly that, daily, as I passed the painting, I would imagine what might be in store for its passenger. A car wreck? A home? Another corner? A vacation? Another mountain to climb? A valley to coast down into? A never ending road? Every day I imagined some different destination for this passenger. It became a ritual. Part of my routine.

There was one particular day however that I stopped short and refused to participate in my routine. I think I had finally run out of options for the passenger. All of the sudden, I felt a surge in my body. It was the view! I had missed it completely. The destination or what may happen didn't matter. It was the view of the ocean in all its greatness that was being missed.

The next day I couldn't wait to see the painting again; to soak up the view that had been missed for years. Too often in my own life I get caught up in the getting somewhere that I forget that its the going and the enjoying that really matter.

.

Happenstance

It is a funny thing, happenstance. An accident, a coincidence, a fluke. My life is filled full of happenstance (that's how I met my husband). What am I to do with these chaotic happenings? How do I put them in order so that I may live a more purposeful life?

My not-so-little bundle of joy and I attend a YMCA class every week. Toddler Gym. A bunch of screaming banshees running around, tackling all sorts of play equipment. Flitting from one activity to the next. Singing, circle time, and we are done. I am exhausted.

Last week there happened to be a new teacher. Not all the right toys had been placed in the right areas. Of course my bundle of joy took notice. I told her she should, "go ask the teacher." She went running up to him screaming at the top of her voice, "slide, slide, slide, slide..."

He took one look at her and calmly said, "now lady, you seem old enough to make a sentence, let's try this. May."
She replied, "May."
Teacher said, "I."
She replied, "I."
Teacher said, "have."
She replied, "have."
Teacher said, "the slide please?"
She replied, "the slide please?"
I was mortified. Way too strict. I hoped he wasn't the permanent replacement. They walked to the closet and took out the slide.

A couple days later I found my home under attack; crazy kids were invading. Yelling, chanting, dancing, the decibel level was off the charts.
My not-so-little bundle of joy came running into the kitchen screaming, "drink, drink, drink, drink...."
I took a knee, held her by the shoulders and calmly said, "May."
She replied, "May."
I said, "I."
She replied, "I."
I said, "have."
She replied, "have."
I said, "a drink please?"
She replied, "a drink please?"
Wow. The screaming was gone. In its place was a toddler asking politely for a drink of water. ...Perfection. A fluke interaction had helped me save my home from the crazy invasion.

Six years ago, having just moved into the neighborhood, I started a friendship with a gal down the street. She had a baby about the same age as mine. One day she was gone. Disappeared. Divorced. Moved out of state. I was concerned, I didn't know the whole story. Late that night I rang up who I thought was her best friend. We talked. Six years later this woman has become one of my best friends.

A couple of months ago I was nursing my sick kid, a really sick kid. I had shipped my baby off to my mother-in-law's so as not to infect her. My kid was miserable. No fluids for hours. He refused. My husband was traveling. I called my best friend. I needed a shoulder to cry on.

No more than ten minutes later there was a care package on my doorstep. It was filled full of apple juice, soup, saltine crackers and beer (for me of course). I walked into my kid's room and told him that I had some "_____ (insert name of friend) juice" ready for him. He gulped it down. Anything from _______ (name of friend) is met by my kid as an awesome item (invention). At a very early age she was known by him as the "snack lady" and would feed him wonderful snacks on our walking routes.

She had saved me. She had saved my kid. She had possibly saved me a trip to the hospital. He kept on drinking. A happenchance telephone conversation six years ago. A self sacrificing friend.

A little while later my sister's kids were all sick with a flu virus that just wouldn't give up. I called her everyday to see if I could help. I would have done anything. I had fully learned how it felt to have a self sacrificing friend, and I wanted to be that friend to my friends. Excellent.

To live with my eyes wide open, to meditate upon all chance encounters, to absorb the lessons taught, to act upon all the teachings, this is the only way I can bring order to my life and begin to live more purposely. Life may be filled with chaotic, random, fluke moments that seem to have no order or purpose but by simply allowing myself to be shaped by these encounters I can begin to live a more commanding life.

Beauty

Oh, how I behold the beauty of my walking route. It takes me on hills overlooking Puget Sound and Mount Rainier. It drops me down to the waterfront only to be showered with shady trees and views of the Vashon Island ferry. It picks me up as I travel up more hills overlooking ravines and beautiful homes. The clouds whisper my name and the sun shines on my face. I am free. ...Except for the occasion when I find myself pushing a 30 pound girl plus a 10 pound stroller up one of these massive hills. At these times I find the only thing I can muster is a laugh.

Near the end of my pregnancy with my first child (6 years ago) I began fantasizing. My fantasies were of running. I wanted to be free. I wanted to run up North 30th Street hill as fast as my little (well big at the time) legs could take me. I wanted to feel the wind on my face. I longed for a drink of beauty that did not come at the cost of contractions or knee pain. I didn't know at the time what it would take to be free again. My child wrapped his heart around mine like morning glory. After pregnancy I did indeed run my hills again. I also walked these hills many times with a baby in tow. Slowly, however, as the morning glory wrapped its thicker and stronger vines around me, as my baby turned into a toddler with needs and wants of his own, I found myself forgetting the feeling of being free. I found myself pregnant again. Near the end of this pregnancy all I wanted was a Dairy Queen blizzard. I had no fantasies of running.  I was happy to be having another wonderful bundle of joy. I never (rarely) ran again.

I am trying to free myself. My walks lately have helped. The rowing machine in our basement helps (when I remember to use it). My next door neighbor inspires me when I hear her gate close at 5:30am and I know she is off on a run. When I do on occasion bring my not-so-little bundle of joy on one of my workouts I am amazed to find myself again fantasizing about running the hills. This causes me to laugh, I am on the road to recovery.

City Services

Trash Day is a fun event in our house. Every Monday one of my kids exclaims, "trash day" and peers out the window at the notoriously green stinky trash truck. We wave at the trash man, he waves back and then we go about our business until the next trash day. But what if our trash man decided not to come? What if Trash Day did not exist? Every year my husband and I clean out our garage and basement, getting rid of the accumulation of junk. Cardboard boxes, old broken toys, clothes too small for our growing babies, books, worn out furniture, these are all items that find their way into our basement. How is it possible to accumulate so much junk when Trash Day comes every seven days? How about doing without trash day, or for that matter, no electricity, no running water, no buses, no firefighters (I could go on, but you get the point)?

As my husband is readying himself for upcoming travels in Nepal I have begun to wonder if I could survive in this country where garbage is left on streets to rot (creating an epic environmental crisis), solid waste disposal is not being properly managed, electricity is inadequate and parcelled out haphazardly, bus services are frequently and without warning shut down, and where in Kathmandu (population 2 million give or take) alone, I found (via a few internet searches) that there are only about 7-10 firetrucks. Coupled with this lack of services, is a staggering chronic water shortage.

http://thehimalayantimes.com/fullTodays.php?headline=Garbage+worries+valley+dwellers&NewsID=254521


http://www.thehimalayantimes.com/fullNews.php?headline=No+alternative+in+sight+for+Aletar+landfill+site+&NewsID=283345

http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20110410/wl_asia_afp/nepalenergyeconomy

http://www.thehimalayantimes.com/fullNews.php?headline=Insufficient+fire+engines+render+city+vulnerable&NewsID=282529


http://myrepublica.com/portal/index.php?action=news_details&news_id=30257

Every Monday, as I watch our trash truck rumble down our street I am grateful (even  if it comes late and wakes my two year old from her nap). Yes, I pay a hefty price for my city services but all too often I forget what it would be like to live in a place without.

Bull Sharks

If I were to pick an emotion that could only be realized in the present it would be pain.

Falling asleep on the couch a few nights ago, letting my husband channel surf to his delight, we happened upon a program called "River Monsters".  I sat up with goosebumps. Sharks, in rivers? Unbelievable. Unlike most sharks, Bull sharks can tolerate fresh water.

Since watching this episode I have been wondering about fear. What makes me afraid? As our human instincts die out, fear still holds its powerful grip on us.

To be put in no particular order (and to only name a few), sharks, spiders, strangers, the dark and utter embarrassment are very real fears for me.   I am also afraid of unleashed dogs, raccoons, and pain.

Pain. This to me seems to be the root of my fear. I once drove a staple into my thumb with a high powered staple gun. This was quite by accident, of course. It was pretty painful. Interesting to note though, I was not afraid. The expectation, or forecast of pain is what drives my fear. To know that some experience might possibly be painful is what paralyzes me. My imagination runs wild. To be hurt. To suffer. To draw blood. While actually living with the pain I can assume the bravery of a lion.

As a fastpitch pitcher in high school, I once had ball hit back at me from 32 feet away. I missed it with my glove and it plowed into my jaw. 6 innings later (during which I summoned up the bravery of a lion and continued pitching), a neck hematoma and an inability to breathe landed me in the ICU. Later my jaw was wired shut for 30 days and I carried with me wire cutters in the case that I had to throw up.  A few months later, back on the pitchers mound I was paralyzed. My memories of the event had expanded within me and my fear had taken on epic proportions.

Living fully within the present unable to forecast my emotions of pain or unable to conjure up painful events would no doubt lessen my fear. To jump into a river with no fear of what may lie beneath. To jump into a river after having encountered a Bull Shark once prior. Unfortunately this is not possible for me. Our emotions span the timeline of our history. My story is important. My future is important. My past is important. To live only in the present, to have no fear, to be valiant would be amazing but ultimately I would have no depth. So I will continue to conquer my fears living within the present with my past and future as defining bookends.

Past and Present

Virginia Woolf once said, "I can only note that the past is beautiful because one never realises an emotion at the time. It expands later, and thus we don't have complete emotions about the present, only about the past."

Last night while having drinks with a dear friend, I told her of my ambitions to write more and maybe start a blog. She asked if I was lonely. On the contrary, I said. I now have a small window of time during the day to reflect and to simply be present in my world. I am blessed to have been given this quiet space.

One of my very first memories is of my sister. Our family was being uprooted by the military and being transported across the country. My sister and I wanted to haul our swing set across country with us. Everything was packed. My dad, my three year old sister and  I stood up on the hill where our swing set had lived for the past three years. It was a wonderful piece of metal that held for us memories of our friends. Memories that too soon would perish in our thoughts. Here was one piece of tangible evidence that we had lived and loved. With no avail, my Dad tried to pull up the swing set poles out of the cement. No luck. My sister, bundled up in her denim blue jacket with a cute red brimmed hood came along and wrapped her arms around one of the poles. She pulled and the pole was uprooted. That is my  last memory of the swing set. I could not tell you if it traveled with us. Reflecting back on this memory my emotions are raw. I see a strong determined little girl who was brave enough to tackle  the impossible.

The emotions that connect me with my past are still present today. My sister is no longer three years old but a strong determined woman, brave enough to tackle the impossible. Her third child (all under the age of three) was just born in January and she looks terrific. I cannot remember the last time I heard her complain (even when her whole household is on week three of flu/sickness). She makes time for her friends (and dog) during the day and loves her husband fully. She takes great pictures and has a real talent for photographing babies. She has all the new photo equipment and practices daily on her kids. She makes time to catalog her life for her future and she loves me. I could go on....Fully grasping my emotions about my sister within the present is what brings ultimate beauty to the scenario.

Now I am going to go call her and tell her so.

Women's lib, continued

Could it be that our life giving power and the decision to bring forth life, modifies woman's role on earth? Could our performance be different than man's and still be equal? Our neighborhoods are empty during the day, our kids are spending more and more of their day/evening in care facilities, normal dinners are spent in the drive thru, for the sake of saving time many important kid to parent conversations are not being held, marriages are falling apart...all this so that a woman can feel equal (or at least have a sense of worth).
Here is where I tip my hat to those Moms who seem to handle both full time work outside the home and full time motherhood with ease. Kuddos. However, you and I both know that this isn't the norm.
Many would argue that the economy has given families no choice, I would agree. Many parents take on two to three jobs just to put food on their table. Shame on our nation. Ultimately, I come back to the fact that by deciding to give life, our (woman's) role on earth should include our children. They are the ones that need a voice and sometimes a hug. Until women start fighting for their children, through government legislation, a sit down dinner (or breakfast or whatever meal you have time for), a walk to the park, providing a safe haven or simple availability, I fear that our feminist movement runs the risk of becoming immobilized. This is the sacrifice, to use our well fought after political and social rights for our children and not ourselves.

1st Timer, details

So you can gather from the title that this is my first ever blog post. Don't all clap at once. My space will probably not have pictures, so if you are looking for cute babies and a wonderful husband, you can visit my Facebook wall. My space may offend some people. If this is you, please help yourself and refrain from reading any more of my posts. My space is not up for discussion. This space is simply my thoughts written down so that I may start to archive and protect my memories and my meditations, my fancy and my not so fancy feelings.

I have been wondering about the feminist movement in the United States. Anyone that needs a refresher course, you can visit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feminist_movement. In the beginning is was about earning the right to vote (to have a political voice). After the vote, this movement tried to combat social and cultural issues with equality being the goal. We now are striving for further political equality, pushing and sometimes breaking the "glass ceiling". What a great story. Inspiring to say the least. Yet, what a juxtaposition. In the fight to gain a  political voice, higher education, reproductive rights, equal pay (well, almost) and legislation on domestic violence (to name only a few) women have, in many cases, had to give up on the welfare of their family.
This is where I might start to offend you. If so, please refrain from reading any more....I can't promise it will get much better.

I wonder how (if it can be) this quandary may be rectified? It is not simple. Having a daughter makes it even more difficult to rectify. I would never throw out what women have gained over the last 50 years in the U.S. But now that these rights are afforded to us, there has to be a conversation on how to utilize these rights to the best of our ability, keeping our family bonds intact. I am not speaking to the single female. I am speaking to the females that readily enter into  relationships with the thought of procreating. This one act, giving new life, being the one to bring life to fruition, should cause women to pause. Should there be personal sacrifice attached to the decision to bring a new life into the world?

And this is where I stop today. There is laundry waiting, a kitchen to clean and a workout to be had.