thirty threadbare mercies

The outward expression of an inward grace.

Defining Families March 27, 2013

Don’t you all feel like we are living in an episode of The West Wing this week, only with more Facebook profile changes, and less beepers? My life is like one long walking-conversation between CJ, Sam and the gang, discussing the cases before the Supreme Court about marriage equality with everyone in town.

Marriage Equality

Most of Olive’s little friends at church have same-sex parents, which she accepts completely, with no questioning or fear. In fact, she is even a little jealous of her buddies, and one day recently in church she turned to me and said, “I have two mommies AND two daddies.” I said, “Oh yeah? Where’s this extra couple? When are they going to start pulling their weight?”

Later that week, one of the moms from church who had been sitting in the pew in front of us emailed me about something and I took forever to get back to her, which I apologized for. “That’s okay,” she said, “I know you’re struggling with a one-mom household.”

It made me laugh for days, because it totally flipped the conventional ideas about heterosexual vs. homosexual families, and it also struck me as really true. For the years that my husband and I lived in community, I loved having extra women in the house so much that we often joked about the viability of sister-wives, as long as we didn’t also have to share sexual partners. I could really use another mom around here, although I feel less enthused about the idea of a second dad. We’re pretty happy with the one we’ve got.

Anyway, I think it is extremely powerful that Olive’s main interaction with families who have same-sex partners is at church. There’s something about her making those connections in the very place that she worships and learns that God is love that is beautiful and prophetic to me.

Holy Innocents Marriage Equality

We have a picture from our wedding on her dresser, and she often asks to hold it, and wants to hear the story of why we are all dressed up, dancing, in the photo. She says, “Mama and Papa are getting married? Because they love each other?” We say yes and tell her some details from that day.

She’s only two and half, but she knows marriage is more than a piece of paper. It’s a special day, and if I told her that Cora’s Papas or Christopher’s Mommies aren’t legally allowed to get married, THAT’S where the confusion and fear would come in. The fact that anyone would think they are any less of a family than ours would be totally baffling to her.

Joel and I on our wedding day.

Joel and I on our wedding day.

We are lucky to have found a church that welcomes all people, all kinds of love, and supports marriage equality. I hope that soon we will be blessed enough to live in a country that from the highest court in the land also says, “We recognize all families. We will not stand in the way of two people committing to each other, in the form of marriage.” Maybe as adults, we don’t need recognition from church and state to live any way we want to. But think of the impact it could have on our children, to grow up in a place that honors all persons, all kinds of love.

Our family is a queer family too, since I identify as Bi, and the government can’t stop me from being both queer and married. They don’t get to define my sexuality or police my identity. However, since I chose a man instead of a woman to commit myself to eternally, I get to say “I’ve been married almost ten years” with pride. I want that for my GLBT brothers and sisters, too. I want that for our country. So I’m living on pins and needles until June, praying for justice, and liberty for all.

 

Breaking Down and Building Up: Letting Lent Begin February 13, 2013

Last night we celebrated Fat Tuesday with rum, dancing, incredible food, and lots of jokes (as well as serious conjectures) about the pope.  We were, after all, at our Episcopal church.  It was an exceptionally merry celebration, and I really needed it.

Beads, crayons, and King's Cake.

Beads, crayons, and King’s Cake.

This week has been rough.  Olive’s transition to preschool has not been as smooth as I would have hoped, and she is telling me, in ways big and small, how hard it is for her to be away from me three mornings a week.

Basically this means that she is finding every button I have and pushing it, over and over again, until I feel more like a broken-down robot than a human mother, and all I want is to be taken to the junk yard, to lay in pieces on the scrap heap.  I know that it is her job as a two year old to break me down a bit.  I hope that as I build myself back up, I can graft in extra pockets of patience, to be drawn upon in those “DOES NOT COMPUTE.  SYSTEM OVERRIDE” moments.

Anyway, we danced and sang out our Alleluias, as we won’t use them for another 40 days.  Also, some of us chatted about what we were or were not giving up for Lent.

Every year, I like to give something up but also take something on.  The thing I give up usually has to do with food or drink, since those are my very favorite things, and it gives me frequent chances to be reminded of my practice to wait for renewal as I go about my day.

My husband and I are giving up white flour, which means local bakeries will probably go under (sorry, guys!) since they won’t be getting the boost in their sales as we usually give them.  Also, we are adding doing something each day that helps us to focus on our marriage.

Already getting into our Lenten spirit.

Already getting into our Lenten spirit.

It is coming not a moment too soon.  Lately the two of us have been so stressed out and stretched thin that we have said to each other, “I don’t feel as connected to you as I usually do.”  So, on our Valentine’s date (yay!) this week, we’ll be writing out lists of things our partner can do if he or she needs some suggestions for a particular day.  For instance, one of mine will be “research my favorite cocktail, buy all the ingredients, and mix it up for me when I get home in the evening.”  Thank God we didn’t give up booze for Lent this year.

Today, Ash Wednesday, is a day meant for us to ponder our fragility, our vulnerability as humans, and consider how grace surrounds us all the time, keeping us here on earth for yet another day to risk and hope and love.  I don’t think I need any extra practice in focusing on my failings or my human nature, as I have been very in touch with those aspects of myself this year.  However, that makes me specially primed for the opportunity to make some space in my life for grace to get in all the cracks, all the times I’m feeling broken down, and remind me that renewal is coming.  Renewal starts now.

 

I’m Searching For a Real Love November 25, 2012

I fucking love being human. I love the feeling when you’re trying not to cry, and your heart expands so much it hurts, and your whole face burns, and then the tears flow and everything is blotchy and so much better. I love caring about people, even when it is messy or confusing. I want all of my feelings, rage and terror and longing, to wash over me and fill me, as the alternative is the dull anxiety of every day living.

I want human reality, with imperfectly symmetrical faces rather than CGI-inspired features. I want the Charlie Brown Christmas tree. I want the half-falling-apart sandwich my husband made me with a child clinging to his knee, rather than the photo-worthy panini I could get down the street.

I want to love all these little flaws in myself the way I love them in the external world. I have created space for all the parts of myself that make me uncomfortable with their pedestrian imperfections, but I want more than space. I want to love those pieces of myself, as they are not just pieces. They are me.

I castigate myself for my failures in friendship. I often wish I could be a million places at once, showing up for my friends in the ways they perfectly need. But that would leave no place for longing in their lives, no place for other people to meet those needs in them. I mess up communication, miss a coffee date, leave people out of plans, overschedule a Saturday night.

However, if your dog dies I’ll be the one there with the shovel, helping you bury him in the backyard. I can’t always handle the group interaction of a party, and feel bad for declining, but if one of my friends wants a heart-to-heart, I’m that person in a flash. I’ve got to start having grace for myself for my every day failings. Nobody wants me to be a saint, and without failure there is never space for forgiveness, which is a beautiful thing.

My husband and I in the glow of Thanksgiving, after having bickered on and off that morning over something inexplicable.

When I’m feeling really tender and like I’ve let everyone down, when I’ve nagged my husband about something he already did, or growled at my child when she just wanted my attention, I take to prayer.  I ask for mercy, mercy, mercy. Sometimes those are the only words to the prayer.

Whatever you believe about prayer, mercy is a wonderful ingredient to add to any situation. I think of mercy as those little ways the world shows you that the nature of life is love. It’s when you’re frantically explaining what you need to someone, asking for their help, and instead of matching your panic, they calmly explain what you need to try next. It’s when you think you can’t hold the baby for one more second, and they fall off to sleep or someone comes to do the holding for a while. You can find it even in the midst of terrible tragedy. It’s there, dimly glowing, probably in the one relationship you’ve written off for being the most flawed, or the most mundane experience, like taking a chest-expanding breath.

I named my blog after those moments. Mercy is my central philosophy. I may not understand it, but it always returns. Tiny mercies come, when you least deserve them, when you see no way out. All we have to do is pay attention, and say, “Thank you.”

 

The underlying message of the 2012 Election: We’re Here, We’re Queer, Get Used To It. November 7, 2012

In the late 1980′s and early 1990′s, my sister and I had a raging obsession with Madonna. We choreographed our own dances to her albums, which we played over and over again on our casette players, vogueing our little hearts out. This Madonna-love culminated in getting our hands on her 1991 documentary, Truth or Dare, which we somehow convinced our parents to let us watch on VHS in our living room. Afterwards, much to our parents’ mortification, we stomped through the house shouting over and over, “We’re Here! We’re Queer! Get used to it!”, the chant that Madonna & co. took up at a gay rights protest in the film.
I was 10. My sister was 13. My parents’ horror was not a cause of homophobia, it was embarrassment because they thought we didn’t, couldn’t, know what we were saying. They hadn’t even had the Sex Talk with us yet, and they certainly never dreamed of having to have the Gay Sex Talk!
We did and we didn’t know what we were chanting. Our childhood was not sheltered, by any means, and our parents had gay friends. To me, though, being “queer” meant different, strange, outside of the mainstream. This was something that I wholly identified with, and if that meant two men were going to kiss each other, like they did in the movie, that was fine with me too.
As I grew, I unfortunately wavered in my gay rights chanting ways. I held on to my early sensibility that I belonged outside of the norms of society, but when I was in late high school I went through an Evangelical Christian phase, and started to doubt that everyone should be allowed to be any way they wanted to be in the world. I became judgmental and proselytizing. Looking back, I see that this was internalized homophobia on my part, because it came right after having my first experience making out with a girl.
I am glad to say that this phase was brief, and in college I found a church that was Open and Affirming, and from then on have only worshipped in churches that shared my belief that God loves everyone and is for everyone. But I bring up this shift because I was extremely proud of our President, Barack Obama, when he announced in May that he believes that same-sex couples should be able to get married, and described his stance as an “evolution”. He set the tone for others in this country to open themselves up to such an evolving experience on this issue, and I resonated with it because I had been through my own journey.
Many people were sure that Obama’s “coming out” as in support of gay marriage would cause him to lose the 2012 Presidential Election. Last night, such naysayers were proved wrong, and I was so moved that folks stood up for Obama at the polls, some in spite of his stance on gay marriage, and some because of it. I never doubted his choice to affirm gay marriage. I believe in standing up for love, and that in doing so you can never be wrong.

(Credit: Benjamin Wheelock)

But it wasn’t just Obama’s re-election that is causing those of us in San Francisco to hug total strangers on the street this morning. Maine and Maryland both passed propositions to legalize same-sex marriage, the first time it has been done by popular vote! Minnesota voters struck down a proposed constitutional amendment that would have banned same-sex marriage in the state. Also, we elected the first openly gay Senator, Wisconsin’s Tammy Baldwin! Finally, the mayor in Michigan who called homosexuality a “mental disease” has been ousted in a recall election. We are still waiting to hear how Washington state’s measure to legalize same-sex marriage pans out, but suffice it to say that victories for the LGBTQ community were massive in this election.
Last night, 8 adults and one toddler squeezed into our tiny living room/play room/music studio to watch the returns together. When the election was called in favor of Obama, we rejoiced, and we cheered the election of Elizabeth Warren in Massachusetts, and the news from Maine and Maryland as well. Perhaps the biggest shout, however, was when, in Obama’s acceptance speech, he included “gay or straight” in his rundown of the kinds of people who he will fight for to be able to make it in America. None of us in that room are in committed same-sex relationships, or are necessarily looking for one. But some of us are on the spectrum of sexuality, and we all felt that in that moment, people of the LGBTQ community were not just being “allowed to exist”. They were being welcomed into the fold of our country.
I look forward to bigger change in the four years to come. I would love a federal mandate for marriage equality, from the Supreme Court. I want recognition and rights for Transgendered individuals, to have them be included by name in such a victory speech as well. But I accept that my President is a moderate. I trust his wisdom in the speed of change. I am incredibly buoyed by the fact that more Americans are opening their hearts and minds to the idea that love is something to be celebrated, not legislated.

Also, we ladies get to keep our vaginas! I have grown awfully fond of mine, so I am relieved.  There are now a record number of women Senators set to represent their states, so hopefully they will help us stem the tide of repressive misogynistic politics.

I understand that Republicans are not happy today with the results. And I offer them my condolences, as well an opportunity to consider why slightly more than half of the country disagrees with them, to see this as an invitation to evolve, like Obama and I have. We will not tell them how to live their lives. But we will live ours as boldly and beautifully as we can, never looking back.

 

The Longest Day June 9, 2012

Filed under: Loss,Marriage,Personal — rheabette @ 8:41 am
Tags:

Our anniversary ritual is to sit over a meal and go through the previous year, highlighting areas of growth, memorable experiences, and where we want to go from here. The eight other times we’ve done this, we’ve ultimately come to a place of: it was a good year, but a hard year. This time, we shocked ourselves by stating, this is was not an easy year by any stretch, but we were really, really happy. The difficulties were not at all related to our relationship, and only made the two of us closer. Maybe we’re figuring this thing out! We went to bed grateful, with an unexpected joy at doing our yearly couple inventory, and finding ourselves in an unprecedented time of contentment.
Later the next day, I was wondering if admitting that you are happy with your relationship is like standing up in the middle of a stormy field together, your arms clasped tight around a lightning rod. The reason for this sudden cynicism is that in the course of doing what couples do on their anniversary, we found a mass on my husband’s body. A lump — something odd that definitely did not belong on this body that I know from head to toe. It killed the mood, and absolutely terrified us.
So, in the cold hard light of the day after you find a possibly cancerous tumor on your beloved’s body, it’s challenging to stay away from the place of sure abandonment. Next month will be 10 years since my father died of cancer. That disease is my biggest trigger, my greatest fear, as I have lost most of the older generation of my family to it’s icy grasp. Maybe Cancer figured a few years was enough respite time, and it was coming back, after taking my Uncle just a little while ago, to grasp the dearest person in the world to me. I could also picture Cancer as benevolent: “Rhea, you can handle this now. You’ve worked through your grief. I’m showing up in your life again, but you’re ready for it.” Nope, totally incorrect. I completely freaked the fuck out.
First, I got really angry with my husband for how I assumed he would behave in the doctor’s office. That morning, we had no coffee or breakfast food, and I heard that Faye’s Video was serving NY style bagels on Wednesdays and Fridays now. So, I sent Joel out for some of that carbohydrate deliciousness, to shore me up for the day ahead. He came back… with croissants.

Me: “What happened to the bagels?”

Sheepish, possibly dying of a cancerous tumor husband: “They didn’t have any out.”

Heartless wife aka Me: “So… you didn’t ask?”

SPDOACTH: “Nope. I’m just really shy in those situations. And Simon even came by and said ‘Oh, you’re here for the bagels?’”

HW: “And you still didn’t speak up and ask where they had them?”

SPDOACTH: “No, I had already bought the croissants so I just laughed awkwardly and left.”

I ate my croissant with increasing dread. My husband does not have very good health care. They recently misdiagnosed a virus he had and it led him into a month-long bout with bronchitis. I got really scared, thinking that if he couldn’t ask where the heck the special bagels were at our neighborhood store, there was no way in hell he was going to advocate for himself to the doctor.

HW: “You’ll demand to talk to the real doctor, right? Not the guy who just looks up stuff on his iPad?”

SPDOACTH: “Yes, Rhea.”

HW: “I don’t know, I’m scared. Do you want me to come with you?”

SPDOACTH: “No.”

I was literally throwing shoes at this point, in such a panic that I actually did the dishes from the night before, needing desperately to have busy hands. He left for work. I burst into tears. My sister serendipitously called.

Saintly Sister: “I’m calling because I realized Joel is now the longest living man in our family. He’s been in my life for 12 years now, longer than my husband, my father-in-law, and the most constant since Dad’s been gone.”

Totally Flipping Out Me: “Well, he’s about to die so…”

SS: “WTF???”

She talked to me for an hour, while Olive watched Yo Gabba Gabba and played a very disengaged game of catch with me. My sis really helped me ground myself, but I was still losing the battle in my mind. I basically spent the whole day living in the world in which my husband was dead. I really, really tried not to go there, but it turns out that the big C word was just too powerful over me. I was having a serious flight response to it, and it felt like imagining my life as a widowed single parent would somehow help me prepare for the worst.
It didn’t. Instead, I had a friend take Olive to the park that afternoon, and I got my butt to dance class. I stood in the back and flung my body around, dripping with the knowledge that my husband’s doctor had sent him straight to the hospital for an ultrasound. He called right before the last routine. I ran out of class, desperate to hear the news.
Malignant. Benign. The words themselves carry so much power, with all their smug g’s and n’s, so sure of their potency. Maybe proclaiming happiness is a lightning rod after all, but this time we cheated death, standing there in the rain together. “It’s benign”, the Not Dying After All Husband told me. I went back in and danced the final song, which, fittingly, was to Beyonce’s love song Halo. “You’re my saving grace”, she sang, and I leapt and wrung out my body with every beat. Then we got huge hoagies and lots of pie for dessert.  We’re off to spend the night in a swanky hotel together, our first night ever away from Olive.  Thanks to the speed of modern medicine, we’re not going to spend it staring at each other with crazy eyes, terrified that it could be our last anniversary together.  Instead, it will be a glorious celebration of our love: “I thought I was losing you, I didn’t lose you, I get to love you a little while longer.”  Amen.

Joel and I as an engaged couple, circa 2002.

 

The Continent of Marriage May 29, 2012

Filed under: Community,Marriage,Personal — rheabette @ 10:04 am

Marriage is a continent that you move to when you say “I do.” At first, it is a foreign country, that appears to be landlocked and filled with unfamiliar terrain. You have no way of knowing what it will feel like to be there until you actually arrive, but, after having lived there for a time, you could describe it with your eyes closed, having learned the streets in sleepless nights wandering together, trying not to get irreparably lost. In best case scenarios, you are welcomed on to the continent by people you know and trust, but most of the time, it is populated by people are struggling there, unsure of their citizenship and contemplating swimming as fast as they can away from this place, on one of the great lakes they’ve found that leads to the Sea of Singleness.


I am always interested in knowing, in honest conversation, how others are faring on the continent. Sure, my dwelling may be right next to theirs, but the walls are often double reinforced by fencing and soundproofing. And rightly so — privacy is an important part of retaining the sacredness of the pairing of each couple. However, there is nothing like a no-holds-barred account of what mountain a couple is scaling, or what waters they are finding refreshment in. It helps you fill in your own map, which always seems to be shifting before your eyes, of hills you may have to climb with your beloved, or areas of refuge to check out when you are in dire need.
Moments like that are few and far between for me, so I cherish them. I rarely have friends who are trying to live on the continent in the same way that I am, staying passionately in love with their partner while retaining the firm boundaries of the relationship, not allowing anyone else to gain a visa illegally. But I am no Border Patrol Officer: in fact I often find myself in the role of a coyote, fighting for the rights of others who have been denied access to gain citizenship on our rocky continent.
I am the kind of person who cries when she hears that someone has invited another person on to the continent. Such an invitation makes my heart soar, knowing that there are still people in this world willing to stand for something, to make a soul commitment, especially when the stakes are so high. When I hear of a couple dissolving their citizenry, setting sail for a new country, I am often unspeakably sad, but rarely am I shocked. Those are the risks of living on the continent of marriage, and in some ways it adds an urgency to those of us still residing here — the stakes are high, so don’t turn away from the peril, face it head-on and learn from it. My husband often gets really afraid when he hears of the newest defection, though – I try to ease his fears but I know that they are real.
No one is perfect, and no couple can say 100% that they will never be asking to change their passport status. That is why impossible vows are so beautiful. You state, “I will do this forever. I will love you unwaveringly.” and then you attempt to live up to this incredible challenge. You cannot do it alone. You need the other members of the continent to help you get out of the crevasses you find yourself in, hurting and unsure you can continue on. The continent has no islands — you have to exist on it in community. Your neighbors may be living on it very differently than you are, but you are dependent on them nonetheless. They may be the ones to show you the healing stream to allow the love to flow anew into your cracked relationship, to make your heart swell with patriotic pride, renewing your pledge to love with your hand on your breast, your voice quavering but true.

 

The Beautiful Cracks in the Rock of Marriage May 20, 2012

We sat around the table in our brunchey best, while appetizers that all had the questionable word “tot” in them arrived, one after the other. In the Midwest, the waiters are so friendly they ask to be pen-pals with you, and even at 10am, the starters are fried beyond recognition.

Two of the brunch attendees and I, glad for a little girl time.

After some untoward joking about how “tots” was the name of a special sexual move only executed in this area of the country, we brought a taste of San Francisco to Wisconsin with our witchey blessing ritual. Our resident visionary, Vanessa Verlee, had asked us to choose a stone to give to the bride to take along on her honeymoon journey, and into her marriage, which would officially begin later that day. So, one by one, we held up stones as varied as Tiger’s Eye and a rock from the parking lot outside the restaurant, telling our friend what we hoped for her as she carried it with her into this new stage in life.
When it was my turn to speak, I could feel my heart thumping, because I wanted to share the shadow side as much as a blessing. Earlier that week, I went to my favorite store for crystals, Scarlett Sage, to purchase a Rose Quartz, because I had lent my big Rose Quartz rock to the bride many times over the years of our friendship, whenever she was feeling particularly heartsick. I wanted her to have her own, a fresh one for this new relationship. But, I intoned gravely, marriage will break your heart, too. In this season of weddings, I think this is an important message for newlyweds to hear. Marriage does indeed break your heart, so when that happens, don’t be alarmed or put off. Feel it, and bring all of that passion and beauty back into the relationship, once you’ve healed your heart a bit.

Just like when you are pregnant and need to hear about how hard it will be so you don’t despair when everything is not adorable socks and sweet-smelling snuggles, folks about to be married need to be told, very kindly and gently, that marriage is a struggle, but it is totally worth it. I think such frank talk could prevent some of the tendencies to avoid any pain that often result in jilting, or early divorces.
Mary was warned, before she took on the Incarnation into her body, that it would not all be fun and games with the Son of God in her womb: “Yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.” — Luke 2:35, World English Bible. The angel Gabriel advised her that she would suffer greatly as a result of what God was asking her to do, but he also told her the result. Many hearts would benefit from revelation just from her act of willingly putting her own soul through such piercing pain. I believe that marriage is the same way — when a marriage between two people (I’m using the term marriage loosely since for archaic, hateful reasons, it is only legal for straightys in most states) is open to struggle, to hearts breaking so more can be revealed, then it is a blessing to all around them. So, let your heartbreak show, dear friends, hold tight to your healing elements, and you will find that every break, if healed well with love, will make that relationship stronger. I will try to do the same, letting my friends in on when my heart is breaking, allowing love to permeate the cracks until flowers grow there, sturdy and lovely and true.

 

The Year of Enough April 16, 2012

Filed under: Christianity,Community,Friendship,Marriage,Work at Home Mom — rheabette @ 11:35 am
Tags: , , ,

I love that my birthday comes around Easter time, every year. It gives me a chance to reflect on new life: what is coming alive in me, after another revolution around the sun? I turned 31 on Saturday, and it’s a pretty blah number. After the triumphant horn blast of 30, “I survived my 20′s!!”, 31 just feels like, well, getting older. So, I decided to create a theme for my year, to center myself and change the narrative from “one step closer to the grave” to “what do I want for this new year?”

I decided on: The Year of Enough. Am I talking about the J-lo domestic-violence-revenge movie?  Nope.  So, what the heck does it mean?  First of all, it means feeling like I am enough, just as I am. Stretch marks, wrinkles, grays, all the signs of age, I don’t need to change them or try to turn the clock backward. My body is enough. I am enough in my career, even though it is in flux right now and I often don’t know where I am heading in my work life. It is enough to be raising my small daughter and making the steps I am towards creating a life of meaningful work and financial sustainability. I don’t need to be there yet. I am enough, even when I don’t really know “what” I am anymore. I know who I am, and that is infinitely more important.

The Year of Enough also means finding balance, knowing when I’ve had enough of a particular thing, and putting it down before I go overboard. Recently I got food poisoning for the second time since January, and all because I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was eating, just shoveling everything in as fast as I could, enjoying it plenty but not thinking at all about the effects on my body. It is an embarrassing and irritating habit, as this time it meant I had to miss Easter Sunday!

Finally, the Year of Enough means doing some relational work, identifying when I’ve given too much and need to regroup. It also means letting people in and letting them love me in the ways that they can, letting that be enough as well. Part of what is hard about having a birthday is letting people celebrate you. Everyone has a myriad of feelings about themselves, and it’s hard to allow your birthday just be a great big exclamation point, “I exist!”, when you feel a lot of ellipses… and commas after great big buts, BUT, it is a time to let yourself feel loved, even when it seems like a debt you can never repay. Because you can’t. Proper love is not earned, deserved, or justified — it is unconditional, irrational, and, at times, uncomfortably stretching, like a back-cracking hug.

Some days, I just feel like Ezra Pound:

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass

I think the only way for me to accomplish feeling enough is through my spirituality. After I wrote my blogiversary post, even though it was really positive, all I could see was the things I HAVEN’T accomplished this year. I have thoughts about not being enough about 30 times a day, at least. The only thing that brings me back is the fullness of feeling at one with Spirit, an ever-flowing Love that, though I may feel it ebb at times, never runs out.

I believe that the best way to interact with that Spirit is through meaningful relationships with others, complicated as it may be to try to love another contradictory ball of beauty-mortality-ideas-flesh.  I had two dreams about my father right around my birthday, and in the second one, I found a mass of papers in his old, huge wooden desk, and, scrolled in his looping handwriting was, “The Five Secrets of Life”, only one of which I got the chance to read before the evil nuns (!) found me.  But I think it was enough.  The gem I got was a quote from Yoko Ono (my dad was not an Ono fan, this was my own subconscious’ creation) about interdependence.  I think the connection is that the only way I will gain this feeling of enough is through depending on others and letting them rely on me as well.

My husband Joel and I, leaning on each other at our joint birthday party picnic.

I’m sure the Year of Enough will reveal its lessons to me, and they will be myriad. How about you? What are you saying “enough” to, and what are you coming alive to this year?

 

Cabin Fever Outbreak: Contained! March 15, 2012

Yesterday afternoon turned out to be really fun, thanks to your comments, dear readers! When Olive awoke (after only a ONE hour nap, sweet jesus, Daylight Savings you screwed everything up and I am coming for you!!) we had a short playdate which got me in the right spirit to get creative. We did almost everything you all suggested. We took Rebecca’s recommendation to take a rainy walk to the grocery store. We came home and put salt in a box and dug our hands into it, following Joanna’s idea. Rosy gave us two gems: we baked brownies, and did a LOT of magic carpet rides, Olive’s little face looked up at me with wonder from the blanket, giggling maniacally as she held on for dear life.
Olive is really getting into baking, which makes sense because it’s so sensory and has delicious results. She stirred the batter so well that she told herself, “Good girl! Good job!” as she was doing it. I concurred.

She didn’t even know it was edible (which is why she has a piece of bread in her mouth in the above photo) until I took a tiny spoonful of it, put it in a little bowl, and taught her how to dip her finger in and have a taste of the chocolaty goodness. As I suspected it would, it COMPLETELY blew her mind. “MMMMMM!” she exclaimed, actually smacking her lips and totally cracking me up. Can you imagine having brownie batter for the very first time?? And in that moment, even though I was tired of being in the house all day for the 2nd day in a row with a small person, I was so very glad to be present for this.

"Oh, what's this?"

 

" It's the best EVER!!"

Being with her all the time means I don’t have to miss any of the firsts. It is a privilege, and I’m not going to take one second of it for granted.  Even the boring seconds.
She didn’t actually get to eat any of the baked brownies — I saved them for a late night dessert for Joel and I once I got home from work, a chance for us to sit down together and connect, since we both have full day jobs AND evening work to do. So, they were the brownies that kept on giving — a new experience for my baby girl, a moment alone with my husband, and a delicious chocolate fix for my belly.  Today should be a little easier — the rain has calmed down enough for me to plan several forays out into the world, but I am so grateful to you all for giving me a whole list of toddler activities to try the next time I have that itchy cabin fever.

 

Ashes, Ashes, we all fall down. February 23, 2012

So far, my Lenten “vow” to give up sugary desserts is going fine.  When I long for them, which is probably every hour (I usually eat quite a bit of chocolate in the course of a normal day, a little square here, a pan au chocolat there, nutella with strawberries, etc.), I am reminded to come back to my breath, come back to prayer, and remember that this fast, like my life in this body, is temporal and will pass.  And then I begin plotting what I will make on Sunday for my “feast day” break.  I think I will make the nutella and carmelized banana tart that I have been dying to bake ever since seeing it on a food blog  earlier this month.
I actually added another Lenten promise, after talking with friends of mine at church.  They are a couple, and they both give up states of being that are troubling to them every year, rather than an external habit.  One of them is giving up his moodiness, which his husband is rather excited about.  The other gave up making quick judgments about people, which I think is excellent.  Their way of thinking about Lent inspired me to ask Joel if in addition to our personal Lenten fasts, we could fast as a couple from the kind of backbiting comments that have crept in recently.

Having a toddler is a constant juggle of flexibility, joy, and utter frustration and madness.  A dance friend of mine was laughing with me as I told her about how mad I got at Joel for taking 10 minutes to clip his toenails (I mean, how long could those mo’fos BE?!) while teething toddler tornado Olive was tasmanian devilling all over the house, and she, a mother of two, said, “Yeah, having children doesn’t actually bring a couple closer.”  I have been noticing a mean-spiritedness in our interactions recently, a reluctance to give the other the benefit of the doubt, and a tendency to be short with each other when really we’re frustrated with the fact that Olive is on the floor screaming about having to have her diaper changed.  We can’t very well yell at her, so we snipe at each other.  So, as a couple, we are going to try to take a break from saying things like, “Why did it take you so long to get trash bags at the store!  Didn’t you realize I was here dancing like a monkey for this little being for the past half hour?!” and just trust that the other person has good reasons for their actions, and truly understands just how annoying it is to be left alone with an unpredictable ball of love and terror, when you were expecting to have help.
Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, and I was able to go get my ashes with Olive at the BART station, where our priest and several laity were gathered to give them to anyone who wanted a reminder that they are dust, and to dust they shall return.  Which was a surprisingly great amount of people.  There is so much to mourn in this life, and in the constant pursuit of happiness that our culture is obsessed with, we often don’t take the necessary time to be solemn and reflective.  I think this leads us to break downs in which we can’t get off the couch, or, if you’re me in the teen years, laying on my bed listening to the same Smiths song over and over, letting Morrissey’s voice velvet its way around my sadness like a beloved animal.  Lent is, like one priest friend of mine said, a Spring cleaning of the soul.  He also told me at Mardi Gras that he gets more pious the drunker he gets, so who knows if we should take everything he says at face value!
My husband was unable to come to get his ashes or attend service, because he was trying to get our computer fixed, the one he needs to do all the freelance music work that has been saving our butt as my unemployment benefits are hung up in appeal-purgatory.  We are currently still without it, so I need to wrap this up, as I’m working on the slowest laptop known to man and this blog post has taken forever to complete.  I’ll leave you with a pic of Olive, ashes faintly shown right at her hairline.  When Fr. Bertie said, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” she said, “No!”  Yup, I’m not crazy about remembering my own impermanence, either, baby girl.

 

 

 
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