deep in the ground

Dance & Sing, People

2011-12-29T19:59:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure how this is going to work but I'm bringing the blog back. There, I said it.

Dance & Sing.

Happy Imbolc!

2011-01-31T21:49:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of the season, poetry from a Seattle Poetry Slam of the past. The poet, Karen Finneyfrock.

Imbolc 2010

2010-02-02T22:29:00.000-08:00

Thankful
Meshell Ndegeocello

just wanna be happy

motherfuckers like fancy things
big houses,
big cars,
like movie stars
gotta have everything
numb myself to the suffering

just wanna be happy
and thankful
not just
try to get through
just wanna be happy,
thankful
not just
try to get through

should i lie
should i cheat
turn on my tv
tell me what i want,
what i need
i lose my faith sometimes
i lose my faith sometimes, yeah

so much suffering for
fancy cars,
big houses,
everything
i lose my faith sometimes
i lose my faith sometimes, yeah

just want to be happy
and thankful
not just
try to get through

just want to be happy
and thankful
just want to be happy
and thankful
try to get through

you're all i need
lay your burden down
ease my sadness
you're all i need

i lose my faith sometimes
i lose faith sometimes
just trying to get through
i lose faith sometimes

you're all i need
lay your burden down
i lose faith sometimes
you're all i need
i'm thankful
that i feel you

ease your sadness
you're all i need
lay your burden down
ease my sadness
you're all i need
lay my burden down

i laid my burden down.

Listening for the Possible

2010-01-10T20:03:00.000-08:00

“What we think we want from each other when we say "I love you" or any of those other things is, I think, very complex and sometimes very depressing and sometimes kind of weirdly beautiful.”
-Joss Whedon

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
- From Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

I am in love with a man who doesn’t want me.

Strange, isn’t it? I have received all kinds of advice and wow, do I have some opinionated friends. But I am not wracked by pain now. My health goes up and down, but I am a long way from the crisis I was in. With short-lived exceptions, my mind is clearer. I can listen to my heart now, listen to the soft animal inside me.

I don’t know what it means. Mister is talking to me again. There were eight long weeks where he was not. But now, we are talking. We go out for drinks and meals. We talk. We talk like we used to talk. We talk about what happened to us. Sometimes it is hard. Sometimes it is just awkward. Often, it is good.

I want him back. It would be stupid and disingenuous to lie about it. I spent a number of years in nonprofits and in political campaigns putting out fires. Identify the issues, resolve or eliminate them, return the group to its vision. Some strangely pragmatic part of myself wants to apply that here. Our main stresses had to do with my health and all the issues that grew out of that. His reactions. My reactions. My pain is 75% better. My mental health? Up by at least 66% percent. I am doing all my maintenance stuff, joining a gym this month. I/we have identified several key areas where our communication and coping skills went offline. Mister and I are moving through the process of forgiving each other. My background as a social justice activist and my affinity with a goddess of chaos lends a certain comfort to things falling completely apart and the need to begin again. Mister seems to think it is not that simple.

He will not discuss getting back together. He is adamant it is off the table. He is guardedly willing to be friends. I cannot guarantee anything either. All I am asking is that we stay open to whatever might happen next. To Possibility. We don’t know. We can’t know. Some days I am better at living in the land of I Don’t Know than others. I am openly looking for ways to love him even if he cannot return the feeling. We will find a way. To go forward. Into something.

For my own sanity, here is where I am. I will not hide how much I love him, which is Beyond All Reason, as Donald would say. Yes, he hurt me. A lot. The more he tried to fix it, the worse it got. It just doesn’t matter. Not in the way that I didn’t deserve more or better but in the sense that he was doing the best he could and I lived anyway. In the sense that I behaved very badly, perhaps unconscionably so, and don’t even have the decency to remember it all, but he lived too. In the sense that this was an incredibly bad year that pushed and punished people in ways that we may not uncover for some time. Let’s go on.

Except we don’t trust each other. There is that. My inner, secret, animal self wants to curl up beside him and just breathe together. It doesn’t trust him either. But it trusts that we could learn to trust him again, that we could rebuild that trust. I don’t think that has ever happened. My trust is slow to come and on a hair trigger. Once you break my trust, second chances are rare, if they ever happen. That this door is even open now is a wonder to me, like a sunrise. Over a year ago, I told Eris to show me something new. The new, it just keeps coming.

Bittersweet

2010-01-09T20:03:00.000-08:00

It is Solstice Morning. Mr. Man climbs into bed with me, all smiles. Love is already up and moving around the house. Mr. Man gives me a cuddle and suggests I get up. There is a present for me. He found it. Outside. A mystery. His grin is wonderful. I know this mystery box is from him and he is very proud. But he wants to continue the game, making up a story for me. “Maybe Mr. Understatement left it for you.” he says coyly. I do not burst into tears. “I don’t think Mister left it for me, sweetie.”

And then we came apart...

2010-01-08T20:02:00.000-08:00

I’m losing my faith again, losing my open hand,
Losing my how & why, losing my great divide,
And in this world where we are, who can say what’s going too far?
You punch out the windows baby, I slash all the tires.

I’m feeling that undertow, like maybe it’s time to go,
It’s getting so sick & thin, getting right under my skin,
And in this song that we sing, who could ever point to one thing?
You are still in hiding baby, I am still on fire.

Waiting under the waves,
Waiting under the waves,
Waiting under the waves to be saved,
And I am sorry that we’re sinking but we’re sinking just the same.

I’m losing my faith in you, losing my balance too,
How does it get so wrong, how can it all take so long,
And in this time that we live, who could find a way to give a damn
That we are drowning in two separate stormy seas?

Waiting under the waves, (2x)
Waiting under the waves to be saved,
And I am sorry that we’re sinking but we’re sinking just the same.

Darling do you ever wonder if we two could both slip under?
Learn to sink and learn to swim and breathe again?

All these tears that we cry, and who can say if we will live or die,
Stand or fall, live in love or none at all? Waiting under the waves.

-Kris Delmhorst, Waiting Under The Waves

Snapshots

2010-01-07T20:01:00.000-08:00

My memory crumpled and fell apart in the last year. There is a lot to say about that. What it means for the history of Mr. Understatement and I is that I don’t have a clear memory of most of it. Migraines themselves carry memory loss as a symptom. Extended periods of pain, or of any trauma, bring more memory loss. The brain may be right that it is not good to remember the pain. Sadly, my brain tended to sweep away large swaths of my life. I have some memories; I am learning to tease back more of them but the reconstruction is slow and taxing. So the memories I have of Mr. Understatement tend to be brief. More like scraps - a bit of texture, a flash of emotion - than a narrative. Perhaps because of this, perhaps simply because it is my nature, I find I cling more to small moments and the feelings behind them then the events most people would recall as their memories.

***
Mister has long, smooth fingers. When we would sit across a table from one another, he would play with my hands, gently pushing at my fingertips, sometimes holding one or both in his. Our hands would have a conversation of their own as we chatted above them.

We are walking in the park. It is our second date. We have been talking rather frankly about what we might be interested in with each other. I have put out there that I have just ended a long, protracted relationship and that something in the nature of a friend with benefits, someone to have fun with and not much drama would suit me. “So,” he asks, “are you open to a more dating-like, snuggling on the couch-type relationship?” “A Boyfriend Experience?” I laugh, “Yeah, I’d be open to that.”

I had been traveling for work and busy. Finally, this night I was meeting Mister - in one of the small, dive-bar strip clubs that Portland favors. From the moment I walked in, we were rapt with one another, holding hands, touching, catching up. There was a woman on a pole working her ass off just 5 feet behind us and we were oblivious. Another dancer came over. She wasn’t there to chat us up, we were simply adorable. Had we been together long? A few months. Mister explained we simply had not seen each other in a while - we had been apart for a long time. “Oh! How long?”, she wanted to know, her eyes wide at the tragedy of this. “Like...” Mister smiles, “Like a week.”

One of the most challenging things about Mr. Understatement is that he is slow to reveal himself. One of the most wonderful things about Mr. Understatement is that he is slow to reveal himself. We are in bed, quietly chatting in the dark and he slips out of bed, pads downstairs to return with a copy of the Tao te Ching. We turn a small light on so he can quietly share his favorite passages.

We have gone to the coast for our one year anniversary. It is evening and he is ridiculously attempting to steam an artichoke in our motel room’s microwave. (It was too big to fit in the tiny pans the place provided for the tiny stove of the kitchenette.) “I am glad we met when we are old” I say, “I like that you have a whole history I have yet to learn.” The artichoke was very good.

Despite having told me to bring layers twice, he has forgotten a coat. We walk on the morning beach passing my hoodie back and forth for warmth. The tide has gone out; one large rock outcropping is covered in barnacles and small, stationary creatures. I show him how you can blow on them or gently nudge one to watch a cascade of shells closing and shifting away from your presence. Such tiny life. His gentle smile and eyes lit up with delight are my reward.

Mister has maybe three main kinds of laughs. Other laughs are variations or derivatives of these. The first is the public laugh. A little hard and a bit loud, you hear it most when he is in a social setting. Sometimes I think this is his laugh when he wants you to believe you are funny and entertaining. Other times, this laugh can pop out if you surprise or shock him. The second laugh is what our mutual friend refers to as his “real laugh.” It is much quieter, sometimes almost silent and centered mostly in his eyes. When he laughs like this, you can’t help feeling you have somehow done a great, Good Thing. The third laugh is a low chuckle found most often in the bedroom. It says that if desire and pleasure are a game, Mister knows he has won. If you are there to hear it, you have won too.

He brought me little flowers, from his garden or perhaps stolen from someone else's. Randomly, on dates or sometimes just if he knew we were going to see each other. At first, I didn't know what to do. Tiny flowers? For me? But I would tuck them in my hair and feel beautiful and silly.

I am sitting in my usual spot on the couch. Mister is in the chair adjacent. My pain is at a 10 but oddly, I am managing. Perhaps it is as this study suggests: when you look at someone you love, the pain is more manageable. And I do love this man. He is telling me stories and trying to talk to me. I am barely maintaining my end of the conversation. The content of what he is saying drifts away and the pain washes in and out. I am focusing on the sound of his voice. I am watching his eyes and hands dance as he talks. My eyes run along the line of his jaw and neck. The pain crests and washes back. I see the pain in his eyes, “It was bad just then, wasn’t it?” he asks. I want to lie to him so he won’t worry, but he is watching my eyes too. I hold his hand.

Have I mentioned his eyes? Dozens of memories of his eyes. The depth of them, the way they turn like the sea. The way they laugh. The gentle lines around them a landscape.

In the weeks after he decided we were done, he elected not to have any contact with me. I was left to my own devices and grief. It surprised me that the thing I missed most was touching his face. This is what I miss most. I want to run my fingers across the scruff of his beard. I want to roll my thumb over his lips. I want to reach up with both hands to smooth my palms over the back of his head, sliding my hands down the lines of his jaw and rest them on the sides of his neck, feeling his pulse.

Introducing Mr. Understatement

2010-01-06T20:36:00.000-08:00

I’ve been talking about Mr. Understatement a bit but I have not formally introduced him. I’ve meant to write about him before now, but it seemed private at first and then complicated. There could be quite a bit to say. I’ll just start at the beginning.

It was way back in May of 2008 when life was great. I was finally starting to get my poop in a scoop about having a business of my own. I was back to doing work around nonviolence and peace teams which I love. I had actual coaching clients. I was at my lowest weight in my adult life. Even better, I was taking kick boxing and yoga and feeling like my body might be capable of coordinated movement.

A. and I were long overdue to break up. So when I got back from my trip to Michigan, we went out to breakfast and did just that. It was ...anti-climatic. It is worth mentioning here because of Eris.

Now, some readers may know that at the end of what is a very long story, I have a relationship of sorts with Eris, sometimes known as Discordia, Queen of Chaos & Strife, the Fairest One, etc. She’s a goddess so her ways of being and logic probably (hopefully) don’t resemble your own. For all she has a questionable reputation, she and I tend to get along pretty well. But she didn’t like me with A. Not at all. She was quite adamant that it needed to end. When it did, she was very pleased. Moreover, she approved. I hadn’t felt anything like it before. She was comforting about the break-up in her own way and I was very aware she was waiting at the edge of my consciousness. Senses out, waiting for something.

And so it was later that night, maybe 12 hours from the time I had sat across the booth from A at breakfast, that I sat at my kitchen table. The Esteemed Roommate was living with us then and in her accustomed place on the couch as we both companionably looked around the internet. I was restless from the sense of waiting. The intuitive bit in the back of my head buzzed and crackled a bit. There was something.

I was free. I turned that idea around in my head a bit. The Esteemed Roommate was fond of “shopping” for possible partners on local dating sites. No need to actually contact anyone, I could just look through the catalog as it were. I went to the random match page of one such site. I wasn’t going to message anyone. This was almost pre-cognition - I was thinking about thinking about dating someone new. The Roommate said I should think about what I did want. I thought to myself that Eris knew what I wanted, even if I couldn’t put it all together. I felt her stirring a bit in my consciousness. I addressed her directly, “I did what you wanted. Now show me something new.” There are those who question the wisdom of handing over your love life to Eris, but really, she was going to take it anyway.

There may have been one or two people prior to this attractive man on the screen but I had not lingered, so little was their appeal. It really was like flipping through a catalog. But this man, with the great, still eyes, he held my attention. I read his profile and he sounded grounded and well-balanced and fun. He was a big fan of honesty and eye-contact. I liked him. Maybe I would message him someday.

I went to another dating site. (There are apparently hundreds.) On this one, I put in minimal parameters -- men age 30-60, interested in women. Here was this man’s picture again, right at the top. The buzzing and whispering at the back of my head was getting pretty loud. I flipped the laptop around to show The Roommate. She had emailed with him in the past. He was really nice. “Show me something new” I had said. So I wrote a brief message. Who knew, maybe he wouldn’t even write back.

But he did.

The first date was fine, maybe a little awkward. We were both a bit nervous. The second date went much, much better. When we relaxed, it was easy to fall in sync with one another. We talked, we walked through the park, I skipped kick boxing. When we kissed the first time, I was shaking. He felt Important.

By the numbers

2009-12-13T17:47:00.000-08:00

Days with pain is one way to measure how I am doing. Average intensity is another. Neither of these take into account other symptoms like nausea, dizziness, etc., but they are an excellent place to start and easy to quantify. So far, December has had a lot of poor head days so numbers like this give me some perspective. The other reason to keep these numbers in mind is that sometimes when Love or I say I am doing "much better" people interpret it as "not in pain anymore" and this isn't accurate either.

I could probably write a whole post about my pain scale, but in general it is helpful to know it goes to 11 and the scale is not incremental but exponential in orientation. That is, new levels are not the same increment apart but rather the previous level multiplied by some instinctive increment in my head. So an 11 is perhaps 3-4 times greater than a 5.

Month - Days in Pain - Avg Pain Scale.

September - 10 - 6
October - 11 - 7
November - 14 - 6

Thankful

2009-11-26T21:14:00.000-08:00

“My barn having burned to the ground, I can now see the moon” - Chinese proverb

It is easy for me to lose sight of the good these days, so focused am I on the mess and the disarray of my current life. I am still spending a good amount of time just trying to make sense of things as they are now, how they were in that year I only partially remember and trying to make tentative decisions about how they might be in the future.

There has been so much pain, but there has also been much to be grateful for.

Dianne Sylvan says "As long as you're breathing, the gods are saying, "Try again. You've got time." Her post about this is a favorite of mine. And I have time. Love and I keep saying it to each other - I made it through this year. Whatever happens next, we have come this far.

We. I could not have done this without her. She has been amazing. There was so little she could do for me this year and she did it perfectly. She took care of our home, she took care of Mr. Man, she loved me.

Being in pain constantly, and large amounts of pain at that, makes you crazy. One of the ways that manifested for me was my need to reaffirm that I was not alone and adrift. Love and I have been together over 17 years and through some really hard times. I am as sure of her as I will ever be of any human being. Yet I know I must have asked for reassurance a thousand times. And everytime I asked "Do you love me?" she answered yes. She held my hand through some of the worst of the pain. When I was bitchy and mean and hostile, she didn't fight back, she didn't take it personally. She just loved me through it and kept trying to help.

She took care of herself. This is huge. I wasn't often able to be a support for her in the last year. I can't know how hard it was to stay with me through all the pain. I felt powerless and I can imagine that she felt this way also. There have been times in our marriage where I needed to do the heavy lifting - run a household, raise a child, manage our small funds - by myself while Love took time to focus on her own needs. Now, she was called to do this, not for a little while, but for a year. She could have so easily been overwhelmed and fallen apart, but she didn't. She went to martial arts classes three or four times a week to work her body and free her mind. She reached out to friends and received support. She let herself cry and ask for help when she needed it. She learned to let me know when she just needed a break and to be away from me and my pain.

She is still doing it. I am in much less pain now and my thinking is much clearer, but I am not sure how much more functional I have become yet. She still holds my hand; she still tells me she loves me. We celebrate every good day I have and she reminds me to celebrate that I am doing the work of recovery I am doing now.

She is amazing. Thank you, Love, thank you so much.

Waking Up

2009-11-22T18:08:00.000-08:00

I see my primary doctor quite a bit. At least once a month, sometimes more. We also exchange email in between visits. She is oddly motivated to help me. She thinks I am great, a model patient. Because I have so much trouble with my memory of events, I show up at every appointment with a list of what I need to tell her and the questions I need to ask. Every appointment we work through my list, she asks about my support network and then we try to plan our next attempts to stop the migraines. I ask questions, take notes so I can tell others what happened and remember where I need to follow up.

This is what I remember of one appointment. Mr. Man is with me that day, reading a graphic novel while the doctor and I talk. I am trying not to cry as I inform her that Mr. Understatement is no longer part of my support network. He is, in fact, currently not communicating with me at all. She is very kind and that makes me want to cry more. So she moves on to her latest idea. She wants me to try a new drug, a calcium channel blocker that works for some people. I say fine. She just looks at me. Before, I have always asked about side effects, how the drugs might work, and so on. Almost any medication prescribed for migraines has a list of serious side effects. Things like tardive dystonia, seizure, that sort of thing. This time, I don't ask. She says, "You're done, aren't you? You'd let me give you anything now." I tell her I don't care. What did she want me to take now?

And so I started a new drug. The pain didn't stop completely but it dropped dramatically in intensity and frequency. A consulting neurologist made better suggestions about painkillers. Yet, I didn't feel better. Not right away. I waited for the pain to come back. It always had.

I cried all the time. I cried about Mr. Understatement. I cried about the mess my life had become. Sometimes I just sobbed and I couldn't tell you why. I just let myself do it. Days stretched out. Somedays I had a migraine. I took the painkillers. It was manageable. Sometimes better than that. Part of me thought that if I wasn't in pain, I should spring up and get busy putting my life back together, find work, make plans - all of that. The rest of me stared out the window for long periods of time, took extended naps and cried.

Eventually, I (mostly) stopped crying. I began to trust I could make plans to see someone in a few days time and I would be well enough to do it. I kept to my personal practice, ran Iron Pentacle, did metta meditations. I journalled everyday. I read my journal from cover to cover. I wondered about what happened to that woman, her thinking didn’t make a lot of sense. Love was so patient. She said I needed time. I was healing. I didn't know what to make of any of it.

One night, I was walking to the bus stop from a coffeeshop. I saw Mr. Understatement kissing his new girlfriend in the street. They were laughing as I went by; they didn't see me. I had made this man’s life very hard. And he had hurt me in return. Really, I was just happy he was happy. Just deeply glad for him in a way that felt right. And I noticed that my emotional reaction was exactly what I would expect from me. A me that I had not been in some time. I stood at the bus stop and looked up into the night sky. I watched the blinking lights of the shops and restaurants. Like a drunk after a blackout, I took stock. I was mostly safe. I knew where I was. How I got here was going to take some time to sort out. I called Love and told her I was coming home.

Losing My Mind III

2009-11-16T18:24:00.000-08:00

And this is the part I haven't told anyone. I came to look forward to the pain. It was mine. It was almost always with me. It was familiar. It was part of who I was. I found myself getting angry when people talked about "when I got better." There was no better, there was only this. I and the pain were one, to love me you had to love my pain. I had developed Stockholm Syndrome with my migraines.

With this perspective, I felt like I was doing better. In reality, I just couldn't see how much I was coming apart.

I would forget to take painkillers. I had stopped resisting, even though the pain was terrible. It simply didn't occur to me to stop it. I have a memory. I hear Mr. Understatement let himself in the apartment with his key. He finds me in the darkened bedroom, motionless and in pain. "Sweetie, what have you taken? ...Did you take anything?" The concept seems so foreign. Take something? Oh, for the pain. No. No I hadn't. He returns with pills or maybe a cannabis brownie. I fumble with hands and lips that seem to belong to someone else so I can take the medicine. Everything outside of the sphere of my pain seems distant and foreign. He presses against me on the bed, holds me and I suddenly remember that I am not alone. That I am connected to him, to the world. We lay in the dark and talk quietly, waiting for the drugs to take effect.

I knew that all the pain was taking a toll on me. On those days when the pain wasn't there, I was exhausted. I felt worn. My pain scale went from 1-11. Previously, anything below a 7 would have allowed me to move about, get things done even. At an 8, I would be slower, but still more or less functional. Now, even a 6 would be cause to lay down. I was being ground down, a bit at a time. Larger pain took everything, smaller pain levels kept the erosion going.

I was anxious all the time now. It manifested in a need to control as much as I possibly could. What blankets I had on the couch, what sounds and lights could be present, the types of food I would eat (mostly cereal, peanut butter, smoothies if the nausea was bad). I held court from the couch in our living room.

Love gently describes me in this time as being "wildly unpredictable and mostly grumpy." I was emotionally reactive to almost everything. I would burst into tears at the slightest upset. Love can call it "mostly grumpy" I think I was mean. I was angry at everything and everyone. No one could do enough for me and I was angry that they would even try. I was angry when they didn't want to try too. Another memory: Mr. Man is throwing up his arms over his head. "I get it." he snaps, "You're upset. I'm going to my room."

Perhaps now is the time to talk about time and memory. It was long a feature of my migraines that I would forget whatever had happened when I was in pain. My mind just blocked it out. That was interesting and ok when the migraines lasted a day or three. I had been in pain for almost a full year now. Even as I recount this, my memory is in flashes, moments not rooted in time. I also wasn't sleeping a lot. Functionally, this meant that days and nights ran together. Events were disjointed and seemed chaotic. It didn't help with the anxiety. It didn't help with the isolation. I couldn't remember if I talked to my friends recently or what we had talked about unless they reminded me. Mr. Understatement and I were struggling in our relationship and I was having the hardest time piecing together why. He seemed to take it as belligerence when I wanted to review or ask for clarification and reassurance. Somehow it never occurred to me to admit I couldn't remember the last time we were together or what we had said last month.

In August, my migraines began spreading out. I would go 2-3 days without pain. It happened more than once. I didn't know what to hope for. My constant companion had become unreliable. My newest doctor was determined and asking me to change medications and treatments frequently. I was afraid to feel hope, but it crept in.

At the end of August, Mr. Understatement decided it would be better if we were not together. I don't remember a lot about September. It is probably just as well. I do know that for two weeks, I didn't have a single migraine. The sudden relief in the face of the emotional pain of losing Mr. Understatement made me hysterical. Pretty literally. I wondered if perhaps there really was a limit to how much pain a human being could take. Perhaps my body understood that to hurt me now would end me. Others were excited, opining that the end of the relationship was just what I needed. Obviously, it had been toxic and the source of my woes. Either way, the migraines came back.

Losing My Mind II

2009-11-13T14:24:00.000-08:00

"[Cindy McCain] says one of her first challenges was finding the words to describe how painful the headaches can be. When she first told her husband, a former POW during the Vietnam War, she used a word she knew he would understand.

"Torture," she says. "Being tied to a chair for four days. I can't imagine how unbearable that pain must have been, but yeah, I can, because a migraine may come close."
-People Magazine as excerpted by The Huffington Post

“Suffering is by no means a privilege, a sign of nobility, a reminder of God. Suffering is a fierce, bestial thing, commonplace, uncalled for, natural as air. It is intangible; no one can grasp it or fight against it; it dwells in time / is the same thing as time; if it comes in fits and starts, that is only so as to leave the sufferer more defenseless during the moments that follow, those long moments when one relives the last bout of torture and waits for the next.”
Cesare Pavese (1908-1950)

I had not thought of my migraines as a form of torture before Cindy McCain went on her press tour, but now this has a certain resonance. When you think of my daily migraines as torture, everything that happened next makes much more sense.

First, I wanted everyone away from me. I wanted Love and Mr. Man to pretend I didn't exist, to just go on. I attempted to convince Mr. Understatement to break up with me. Everyone rebuffed my suggestions; they wanted to support me, not leave me. The pain was blinding and felt a huge malevolent storm rolling in to stay. "Save Yourselves!" I wanted to scream.

During this time, the pain was a menace. I felt under attack from this thing living inside my head. I reached out for medical support, but doctors were indifferent and in one case rude. No one who I thought might help seemed to understand the urgency of making it stop.

I was anxious, racing on wheel of either being in pain or being afraid of being in pain. I would make childish bargains with the air. If I did everything right, took all the supplements, rested, ate or didn't eat at all, gave up coffee, then all caffeine, maybe it would stop? Please, I would say to this disincarnate presence in my life, I've been good, please let me have an evening out, please let me see my son's event. When my head was good, I tried to get in all the joy I could. When it was bad...

When it was bad, I tried to hang on. Often the pain was worst early in the morning. Love would wake to find me sobbing on the couch, the pain threatening to split my head apart. She would hold my hand and tell me how much people loved me, that I could do this, that I could hold on. And it helped. I held on, the pain would subside. Increasingly, I wanted someone to hold my hand all the time. I clung to the people I loved like lifelines.

At the same time, it was hard for the people around me to see me in pain. From parents on the playground to Love and Mr. Understatement, I tried to downplay the way I felt. I talked about how much the painkillers and drugs were helping. When I had a day I felt good or even a day when the pain was small, I told everyone how good I felt. I calmly told my therapist that while, yes, I was suicidal, not killing myself was very empowering. By choosing to live, I was affirming that I was choosing to move through the pain and this experience.

My relationship with pain changed. It was subtle; I almost didn't recognize it happening. I told people that I was doing better with the pain. I received a lot of guidance about "flowing" with the pain, about just being with it and not fighting or fearing it. I was trying and it got easier not to be upset to find myself hurting. I learned to take care of myself, to rest, to accept painkillers and a full Netflix queue with grace and compassion for myself.

But I was still riding a teeter-totter. The pain would go up and I would think, let this one be the one that strokes me out and ends this. Then I would quickly recant, no, please don't let me die. Love needs me. I want to see Mr. Man grow up. Back and forth. Somedays this internal tug of war was more stressful than the pain itself. One day in June, I stopped caring. It came like a beautiful gift. I felt peace, it didn't matter if I died or not. I would or I wouldn't, but I couldn't do anything about it. I still see this as one of the greatest gifts to come from this experience. I also remember reading about women in domestic violence situations who stop fighting back. They show up at hospitals without defensive bruising. They too, have accepted that it does not matter.

Losing My Mind I

2009-11-12T15:00:00.000-08:00

I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, Sir, because I'm not myself you see.
Alice, Alice in Wonderland

With regard to my mental health, I can say it is like waking up from a nightmare, where you walk around your house touching the furniture to make sense of where you are and what is real. For me, it also reminds me of those days when I used to drink far too much and take drugs that were not prescribed to me. Somedays, after I had passed out not really knowing if waking up was an option, I would suddenly wake up and feel really clear - clean, like everything was out of my system. I would look around at my life and think, "Wow. Well, what the hell was that about?"

I suppose the mental health thread of this story starts back in the summer of 2008. I was down then. The pain picked up in September. As I have gone through the last year in pain, the depression, crushing at times, has woven in and out. There is some biochemical reason why depression and migraines go together. I wonder now if that first bout of depression was really the beginning, a sign we didn't recognize or heed.

The pain picked up in September. My relationship to my migraines and the pain is an old one - 23 years now. I first tried to stop it, to solve it, in my teens. It didn't work and I ended up addicted to opiates. I learned how to deal without painkillers - rest when I could, push through when I couldn't. Sometimes they were worse or more frequent than others but I tried not to let them slow my life down too much.

In September, they slowed my life down. They were much more painful and more often. I was accustomed and comfortable laughing them off with others. I hid times when it was hard. I discouraged caretaking. I didn't want anyone to treat me differently or think of me as sick. But by October, it was much harder to laugh off. As winter came on, more and more days were a question mark = how bad would today be or would I get a break? Still, I tried to deny that anything was wrong. Really, I told myself and others, this was nothing I couldn't handle.

Then January happened. There was no more pretending. It was bad. Pain began to shape my life in earnest. I fought with myself about how many painkillers I could take. For several weeks, I did not have access to anything that would work. Sometimes I could lower the pain, but nothing stopped it. Most days had pain, often more than I had known before. Days without pain were spent in exhaustion, fearing pain's return. I knew that everything had changed.

The Long Walk Back

2009-11-12T13:54:00.000-08:00

Platforms by Ani Difranco

Life knocked me off my platforms
So I pulled out my first pair of boots
Bought on the street at Astor Place
Before New York was run by suits
And I suited up for the long walk
Back to myself
Closer to the ground now
With sorrow
And stealth

Where to start? It has been a very hard year. My pain is much less now and much more manageable and my head has begun to clear. I find myself taking stock of all I have lost this year. And I have lost so much - my self esteem, my work, my tiny infant business, my health, my ability to trust my body, my mental health and Mr. Understatement. I am not sure how much I will write out here, but both Love and I think I need a way or a place to talk this all out. Therapy by blog, as it were.

Last September, my migraines got much worse. By January they were almost everyday. They stayed that way until a month or so ago when they began thinning back out again. Right now they are sporadic and managed with daily medication, supplements and four kinds of painkillers. That's the bare bones. I want to talk about the rest of what happened.

So much in my head

2009-03-03T00:54:00.000-08:00

There is indeed so very much in my head. Perhaps THAT is what is wrong. I have gotten overly reflective lately, but then I sit around a lot now.

What I know looks like this.

On January 23, I woke up around 6:30 AM, like I usually do. It was a Friday and on Fridays Love takes Mr. Man to school. I got them all out the door in a timely way, took care of my own morning needs and around 8:15 went to what I affectionately think of as my home office and sat down to work. I was a bit behind, like I usually am. I was excited about the projects I was working on, enamored of my clients. The world was a good place.

I had forgotten this detail. There was no coffee. We were out. I could have gone down the street to a cafe, but I didn't. I went without. Made decaf.

I do remember that I was tired. Not even tired, I was exhausted. I was overly fatigued. I was doing the nod like a cramming student or a hospital resident. I could not keep my eyes open. Chat records of the day show that around 9 I left chat to do physical tasks around the apartment in an effort to get moving and wake up. Around 10:30, I gave up and decided it was more sensible to lay down for an hour. I set my alarm for 11:30 PM accidentally, so of course it didn't go off. I slept until 1:30 PM.

I woke up with a migraine.

No reason for this to be worth noting really. I get them all the time. It wasn't particularly bad. I went out, got espresso and a Los Gorditos Vegan Chorizo Burrito (they are magic) and actually worked. Billable hours on a grant, paid some home bills, ordered groceries. I thought nothing of it. The pain was gone by nighttime and I went to bed.

I have been in pain or otherwise ill every day since. Except last Monday. Last Monday I felt good.

Otherwise, otherwise...the pain varies from simply irritating to debilitating to that place beyond the very bad...I am wobbly most of the time, the vertigo is bad and the floor and other objects never seem to be where I left them...the nausea is the most irritating part...flashing lights, momentarily losing my vision, extreme sensitivity to sounds, smells, colors are apparently all part of the package...and I am never the right temperature.

I don't want anyone to ask me how I am.

There are tales to be told about my experiences with the world(s) of doctors, about how beautiful my life is even in this, about pain and illness itself, about grace. They have to wait though. I have so much in my head.

What I Do In My Free Time

2009-01-22T21:17:00.000-08:00

Make one french press of mediocre decaf coffee. Sprinkle the grounds with cinnamon before brewing.

In a mug, mix the following items:
1 T Silk plain creamer
3 T Trader Joe Sipping Chocolate powder
1 T or to taste Sugar-free hazlenut syrup

Fight the urge to eat this concoction as fudge.

Blend coffee into fudge mixture.

This is your Poor, Fat Girl Mocha. It has a Weight Watcher value of 1 point. It is better than the one the 19 year old made me at Starbucks the other day (WW=4). I am content. I have been watching my weight for way too long.

Thankful

2008-11-27T18:48:00.000-08:00

I've never started a meme and I rarely participate in them. This year, however, I have been assigning this task to a few of my clients and decided to do it myself. At some point, I decided others should do it too. I want you to list 25 things you are thankful for sometime between now and New Years. Thanksgiving to the New Roman Year is a space of reflection and gratefulness, a time when most of us take at least a moment to count our blessings in an informal way. For me, this usually begins at Samhain, so I assume that I am not the only one ruminating on this for some time already. At the end, I will "tag" or make individual requests just to get us started, but really anyone can pick this up. Here are 25 from me:

My beautiful wife. Beautiful in spirit as well as in body, she is my best friend and I treasure every day. We've been together 16 and a half years today.
Mr. Man. Goodness, there is a lot to say there. He definitely makes the list.
Mr. Understatement. We just celebrated six months together. He is good and I am grateful to have him in my life just as he is. He also challenges and helps me in ways I could not have predicted. He calls me to be more present in my own life. Hail Eris for that.
Cats. We have a new feline resident this week. As a child, we were not allowed to have "pets" and so I had very little contact with animals of the non-human variety Amidst the chaos of growling and territory wars of two cats negotiating space and rights, I am more conscious of how much I enjoy these relationships.
A week ago, there was a bald eagle in the large pine tree outside my kitchen window.
Our new apartment. We moved in August and it felt like home immediately. I love our views from the top of our small hill. I love the wood floors and the good light. I love being closer to the movement of the city.
New Friends. There have been a few join my life this year. Some connections are just tentative, others seem like we always new each other. Both are fun and good.
Reconnecting with old friends. This past year, I've had the chance to reconnect with folks that had slid out of my life on a day to day basis. It's good to have people back.
New Life - babies! There are more in my life now. Babies of friends and acquaintances and of course my two new nieces. Small life is so great.
My clients. I really like these folks. I feel so fortunate to witness their growth and their goals and see things come into focus for them. Yay! I have a cool job.
Nonviolence training. I have been doing a lot more of this in the last year. It was just over a year ago I woke up from my burned out state and decided I could go back to work in this way. I've met great people, had fantastic conversations and been able to do some good work.
I love this town. Yes, it has its issues and problems. It also has some of the most interesting, creative people I have ever met, a devotion to letting everyone's freak flag fly and a sense that we can get things done or changed if we just put our mind to it.
I love the Pacific Northwest. I love the weather (yes, even the rain). I love the mountains and the forests.
I love Oregon coast and the way the sea meets the rocky craigs. When I think of West, I think of this.
I'm thankful that I've taken more time this year to consciously focus on my spiritual practices. Strengthening my sense of connection here has been a great gift.
I'm grateful I have more ideas than time or energy to accomplish them. It's a good problem to have.
I'm grateful for what an emotionally hard year it has been in many ways. I have learned so much.
Facebook and rss feeds of my friends' blogs. Sometimes I don't need a lot of contact, I just like to know everyone is ok and maybe a little bit about what's on their minds.
Barack Obama is the next president of the United States.
Warm, soft blankets and pillows. Never underestimate a good place to rest and sleep.
Good travel gear and systems. I have travelled a lot this year, from visiting my sister's family by train to enough plane travel to rocket my carbon footprint toward the sky itself. Good gear and a way to pack and access it makes everything feel much better. I feel much more self-sufficient and more secure. Being happy with what you've brought and how you packed it is a great feeling.
My intuition or the way I listen to the universe. I am paying much more attention these days.
Montessori. I am so grateful to Maria Montessori for her insights and the many, many people who make my son's education possible in such a way that he can express himself, learn and thrive.
Good, healthy food. I am aware that I have access to better quality and diveristy of food than many of the earth's people right now. I am also grateful that I take this to heart and make good choices.
I'm grateful every time I take the time to stop and reflect and think and write. It's good to spend time with myself.

That's 25. There could be and are many more.

To get things started, I invite Ash, Moss and the Snakelady Librarian to post their own list of 25 things they are thankful for this year.

I can exhale now...

2008-11-04T20:30:00.001-08:00

Something to read since I am not writing

2008-10-28T21:59:00.000-07:00

OK, I will post again. Promise.

In the meantime, I have been reading.

In particular, I want to recommend this.

The last chapter posts on Halloween.

I can't wait.

It's 3 AM.

2008-09-25T02:55:00.000-07:00

Am I late to this story?

My migraines are back. As in a lot of them. Close together. With the pain and the weird visuals. After months of living mostly like a person, I am not functioning at what you might characterize as a top level.

Sometimes I am terribly exhausted. Other times, I can't sleep at all. It's ok though, it gives me time to think about this and that.

When we were all hard core in college, we talked about the things that are happening now as though they might happen. As though somehow we were more edgy or smarter or something to speculate about our dystopic future. I have been reflecting lately that I secretly hoped we were wrong.

2008-09-02T09:45:00.001-07:00

nataliedee.com

Fun with YouTube

2008-08-05T22:45:00.000-07:00

A friend of a friend of a friend (got that?) is trying to get a scholarship so she can study sustainable business. Part of the deal is that she had to make a video (she did) and post it on YouTube (also done). Now she needs as many people as possible to see it by Wednesday at midnight in order to get the best score possible. So please, check it out:

On the other hand, I think this next video is beyond standards. I was just saying the other day that what would have stopped WWII was better funding for the Arts in the 1930s... [thanks to Matt Ruff for the tip.]

I'm a bit down lately...

2008-07-31T20:26:00.000-07:00

"The unhappy person resents it when you try to cheer him up, because
that means he has to stop dwelling on himself and start paying attention
to the universe. Unhappiness is the ultimate form of self-indulgence.
When you're unhappy, you get to pay a lot of attention to yourself. You
get to take yourself oh so very seriously."
- Tom Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume

Don't you though? I must be soooo important. I've been a bit down lately. It is perhaps more accurate to say that my mood fluctuates wildly, with sudden bleak periods at the very deep end of the pool. It is hard, really, to know what to attribute this to or to even identify correlations that might hint at causality here. But then, this is not the first time this has happened. So there are a couple of things I can count on.

This will pass. It always does; there is historical precedent. Everyone, including me, can just relax about the whole damn thing.
Whether I want to do them or not, eating well (as in protein and vegetables), exercising and taking vitamins will help me. So I need to do them, whether I want to do them or not.
Going outside is almost always a good idea. The Universe is more visible that way.

Always happy to model good behavior, I went out and found myself a therapist. It has been a while since I had a therapist and I am a little ambivalent about it. The woman I have chosen has nice energy and I feel comfortable with the idea of therapy. I tend to think that everyone should have a therapist, a life coach and a personal trainer from the time they are 12.

I think where the ambivalence comes from is that I have no idea what I am going to find. Ordinarily, this would make me curious and I would want to know what crazy mess I had backed myself into and how. Yet at the moment, I can not manage even the slightest curiosity about myself. Which tells me I am probably pretty f*cked and now gets to be the time to address that. Poop.

So, in order to see the universe more clearly, I am going to have to focus on myself a bit. Watch this space, I suppose...

The saga goes like this...

2008-07-30T17:52:00.000-07:00

An advertisement is posted. Probably on Craigslist, maybe in one of the papers, maybe it is just added to a management company's website. You have 10 minutes to 2 hours to respond. Otherwise you can probably give it up, they already have too many applications or interested people.

You will go to open houses and join 45 other people looking at a tiny, dirty, overpriced apartment in a killer location. Many, many of them fill out the application.

The ad will say "spacious, updated townhouse close to downtown." It will reek of mildew and have strange stains on the carpet. It is 82 blocks from downtown.

A likely prospect emerges - you get a private showing. It is huge. It has an accessible downstairs/finished basement big enough to hold a small meeting in. It has two bathrooms. Washer/dryer hook-up. A small backyard. It is pretty ugly, having not seen a decorator since 1984, but still...You do the pre-paperwork. You check out the crime stats - there are a lot. 350 prostitution arrests alone for the neighborhood. You watch your kid play in the yard of your current place. You tell the nice rental agent no thank you. You are scared you will not find anything this good again.

There is another ad. You call and leave a voicemail. You and a friend drive through the parking lot of the complex. It looks clean, updated, promising. You call again and talk to a nice woman. She tells you that she has 12 completed apps. Yes, she will keep your name and number in case something changes. Your partner makes a joke about it requiring a certain deity to get you into this building. The next day, the owner calls. Would you come see it? Tomorrow morning?

You go. You smile at the other prospective tenants there. The hardwood floors have seen hard times. You are thinking it is a bit dirty when the owner marches up and says hello. The next thing she says is to reassure you it hasn't been cleaned yet - they are painting it first. It is about the same size as what you have now. No washer/dryer hook-up - the coin-op laundry is down a half flight of stairs. No real yard, but a nice balcony. The town mountain is 10 blocks east. You can walk to two different friends' houses from here. It is good. You are hopeful. You fill out the application. You are kind to the stray cats as you leave.

The owner calls. It's yours if you want it. Now everyone goes to see it. Your partner is uncertain, your son demands the largest bedroom. Under your partner's critical eye, you worry you were wrong to get excited. Still...

Your partner says yes. You will go Friday and pay an enormous sum of money all at once - this is called "first and last months" as deposit. She will give you keys. You are moving.

Overheard in Our House

2008-07-29T20:22:00.000-07:00

Love: So we have a week and then C comes into town and then [Mr. Man] and I go...for a week. We get back and four days later you leave. You get back the same day T arrives to stay for a week and then [Mr. Man]'s school starts.

Me: Yes. Somewhere in there we might move.

Love: Why couldn't we have had Kwan Yin as a patron deity?

Hysterical laughter ensues...

July 2008 - Blood Noir by Laurell K. Hamilton

2008-07-21T09:44:00.001-07:00

This is a terrible book. Each one in this series has gotten progressively worse and this book continues the trend. It was only my pledge to complete one book a month that compelled me to finish it. Gah.

See more progress on: read a book a month

43 Things

2008-07-21T09:30:00.000-07:00

A new fun toy in my life is 43 Things. The life coach in me loves this. It's really simple.

You make a profile.
You list (or pick from their big list) your goals.
You remember to look at them on a regular basis. Alternately, the site will email you reminders.

I like this for a few reasons.

It is beyond and above a task list, so you could use it to build habits or to set larger goals.
They send fun reminders. The email is addressed to "Dear future self..." and signed from your past self (the one who set the goal).
You can easily find other people who share your goals and also people who have accomplished them in case you want to message them or read their entries about how they did it.
You can make entries yourself about your progress and so forth. You have the option of publishing these to your blog too.
You can cheer others on! It is silly but pretty fun when someone cheers you. I cheer friends, I cheer people I don't know.

The one drag here is that the social networking function doesn't go far enough, so I can't easily see when my friends' goals have changed or when they post entries. So it goes. [EDIT: Yes, you can! See the comments for how...]

So there's my goofy tool review. And warning that sometimes I will post my little progress here as well.

Advice

2008-07-18T23:38:00.000-07:00

As found in the bathroom of Vic's in Olympia, Washington this evening:

You will go watch this now.

2008-07-17T16:02:00.001-07:00

Thank you.

Chaos Theory

2008-07-16T01:07:00.000-07:00

So it has been an odd summer. As a person rather accustomed to living in the midst of chaos, turbulence and mischief, this summer it has been a bit challenging to stay in the flow of things.

I said good-bye to my relationship with A. (perhaps more to say about that)
My hard drive died. Horribly. Without much notice.
I suddenly had a good deal of work to do, as in, for money.
I met Mr. Understatement. (decidedly more to say about this)
My hard drive was replaced. Much time went into salvaging what could be saved and rebuilding what could not. (I could say more about this too.)
My laptop fell into a coma. A Genius saved her.
My friend went to court to resolve a relationship dispute. I was asked to attend many days. I learned much by observation.
Esteemed Housemate made many inconclusive noises about moving with us into bigger quarters. Or not.
More parts were needed for my lovely laptop. We spent more time apart.
I went to California for the first time. I saw very little of it, but trained some lovely Californians.
The Esteemed Housemate decided to sublet a friend's place for the summer. She may (or may not) hope to live with us again, but we are free to look around without her in mind.
My migraines returned.
Love and I began The Great Search for a two (or three) bedroom, cat and child friendly place in Inner Southeast.(ah, the saga)
I stopped sleeping.

Well, that about catches us up.

If one intensifies all the colors, one regains peace and harmony.
--van Gogh

The Big Read Book List

2008-06-26T08:50:00.000-07:00

So Blue Sky did it, so naturally I had to as well. C'mon, it's a book meme...I started out strong, but it gets sad and pathetic toward the bottom of the list.

[Ed: Yes, I see the formatting is messed up, but I don't quickly see why, so perhaps I will fix it later or perhaps you will lump it. Thanks.]

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed.

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Strike out the ones you didn't like.

1 Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6 The Bible
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
~~12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy~~
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare (Blue Sky adds: "The complete works? Really? No partial credit?" I am in total agreement. Please. Especially when you see the rest of the list.)
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll (several times, Mr. Man loves it!)
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis (sorry, I choked on the first one. Racist, sentimental drivel... )
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
~~36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis~~
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden

40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood

49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding (Love this book! You may bite me, Blue!)
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel (started it, the charm eluded me. Maybe I try again...)

52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley (For the life of me, I can't remember how it ends. Did I finish it?)
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding (How is this book not like the others?)
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce (never finished, but I will one day! I will!)
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell

83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom (see #68)
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo (I started it once, it was really good and surprisingly funny.)

This Is Where I Come From

2008-06-11T00:19:00.000-07:00

The training was a mere hour from the place where I grew up.

Wonderful friends who lived in the vicinity generously offered me a place to stay the night after the training. They picked me up and listened to me debrief in the car as they carried me to a lovely veg place for dinner. We went back to their house where we drank wine and talked and I fell asleep happy. I woke in the early morning to hear morning ritual being carried on upstairs. I smiled into my sleeping bag and fell back asleep. Happy. Comfortable. Homey.

The Chief drove all the way to southeast Michigan just to take me to breakfast. She's that great. My hosts had recommended a fun place up the street and she and I sat and caught up over potatoes and oatmeal. By now it was mid-morning, but I did not need to be at the airport until 1. What should we do?

As we discussed where we were, what there was about, the Chief remembered that, yes, I grew up around here, didn't I? We could go see my old neighborhood, I could show her where I grew up. It sounds innocent enough, doesn't it? Kind of silly, but maybe fun.

It had been a long time. I remembered the roads. There was my neighborhood. The abandoned private school where I used to hide to smoke cigarettes in the 8th grade was now an apparently thriving Islamic Montessori. There might be at least some people of color living in this neighborhood then. I wondered how that was going. I wondered how my parents would take the news. There were new homes mixed in with the same houses I remembered from years before. How long since I had been back? Maybe 10 years, it seemed. Before Mr. Man was born. Before we were pregnant. Maybe 10 years. It is like remembering the dead. All these weird stories at the edge of memory.

We pull up in front of my house. My house. My parents brought me to this house from the hospital and I lived there until I was 19 and didn't come "back home" anymore from college. My parents sold the house six or seven years later. The new owners had changed some, but not all, of the landscaping. The wood siding was a new color. New windows.

"Wow" said the Chief, "your house is ...big."

No, people would say that, but I always thought they were silly. Now, I sat in the car on the street and looked at it. Looked at the four bedroom, 2.5 bath ranch and thought of the space within.

"Those big windows, that's the living room?"

"No, that's the kitchen eating area. The living room is in the back with full windows facing the woods."

Next to the sunroom and dining room, I think, calculating the space. I think of the back patio we never used and the den where my father seemed to live if he wasn't in the full basement underneath. Yes, I am right. We could have led the training I just completed in this house. Sleeping would have been tight, but certainly there is space for a class of 30 in this house I grew up in. My big house.

The Chief lets the car slip into gear. We circle through the parking lot of the church where I was raised, where I preached and led services, taught Sunday school. Who was that person? Like remembering a language, I give her new directions to head "downtown" so we can get tea or something. We end up walking the streets of Birmingham, Michigan.

I keep waiting for security to approach us. We have no business being here among these people with their tiny purses and matching shoes. The shop windows are surreal, the streets unnaturally well-kept. Who lives here?

We pay what I think of as airport prices for juice smoothies and wander through town. As we leave the library where I spent a huge portion of my adolescence, I confess to the Chief that if she did not already know my history of drug and alcohol use, I would be far more comfortable sharing that with her than admitting to her that I once lived here, in this way. "Well," she sighs, "one might explain some of the other."

Affirmation

2008-06-08T00:15:00.000-07:00

In the midst of this huge training, I kept coming back to a topic I don't know how to hold, even now. A. and I had been having some difficulties, let's say. My head was full. My chest was empty. How to go forward? We agreed to take a "time out" while I traveled. But everyday I was away was a day closer to coming home. How to go forward?

I don't talk to myself well. I rarely know in words what is going on for me until it is on top of me. Sometimes I think my subconscious wants to reach a decision before it fills me in on the situation at all. Sometimes, when I say I am "thinking" about something, I am really just sitting quietly, waiting for me to tell me what I need to know.

Sometime during that week of training, out of that silence was the surety that I was not going to be with this man anymore. So. How to go forward?

I am sitting with all this, but I am also living with 30 other people. We spend late evenings talking about all number of things, but especially relationships - family, friends and lovers past and current. One evening the conversation turned to polyamory. Those of us that live this way tried to be helpful to the understanding of our (serially) monogamous friends. Someone asked about my "man-friend" and I found myself admitting that I didn't think we would be together much longer.

Immediately this good room of just and loving people offered suggestions about communication, perspectives, self-care, on and on. I didn't want to hash this out, I did not even understand the forces behind my own conclusion. In an effort to deflect their well-intentioned efforts to save the relationship they did not know, I offered a reason to their questions of why?

"Besides," I said, "he feels that Israel's behavior toward the Palestinians is justified." "OH" the room moaned in unison, "you can't stay then..."

Ground Rules

2008-06-07T01:08:00.000-07:00

I'm not in the Zone. My teaching-as-a-channel-for-the-greater-Good Zone. Not there. But I am in spitting distance. This is either going to be the longest week of my life or a lot of fun.

The group I have come to train is about 30 people. 30 really opinionated, life-tested, stressed out people who are not super happy right now. It is the first night of training. Some people have been traveling all day. Most people just realized that yes, they really did commit a week of their life to this and it damn well better be worth it. Folks are edgy. My job - to get them to agree to live and work together. How? We're going to start with Ground Rules. Community Agreements. Shared Understandings. Whatever you want to call it. If we are going to make a space (a community, a container) for us to stretch and learn in, we are going to need to make some things plain and spoken and visible.

The ground rules I introduce for groups like this has gotten simpler over the years, which is how I like it. In no particular order:

Volunteer Only Yourself. (Speak for yourself, from your perspective. Only you can decide what you can do. You may not decide what other people can do.)

Risk is Different. (What constitutes a risk for one is not a risk for another and vice versa. Respect the difference. How people respond to taking risks also differs. Do what you need to do.)

Confidentiality (What happens in training, stays in training)

If you have a need, say it out loud. (As soon as you know you have a need, share it. We can't help if we don't know.)

Is it obvious that these guidelines are a pretty good way to live overall? The group bought into them and we kept coming back to them all week. We lived as a community and held each other accountable. It was wonderful.

We were gentle with each other when we took risks and we pushed each other to risk bigger. When we fell back on old patterns of placing responsibility with others, a chorus of "Volunteer Only Yourself!" would rise up to meet us.

The ground rule "If you have a need, say it out loud." was new to me this training. It is my new favorite. Just putting it out there gave people permission to have needs. I lost track of how many times someone would announce "I have a need and I am saying it out loud!" before sharing what was going on with the group. I realized how many people just do not ask for what they need (me too) and how many do not expect anything to come out of that expressed need (me too). Even when people decided to share their needs (some practical, some emotional, some idiosyncratic), most seemed to have little belief that anything could be done to meet their need. Instead, the group responded compassionately and creatively. We all moved forward.

To be immersed in such an environment was wonderful. I always learn something when I train. That week, I learned how to live a little more of what I teach. Nice.

Even in the Wal-mart!

2008-06-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

I had fallen into bed around 12:30 AM. My bags waited by the door. At 3:30 AM, I dragged them out to the waiting hands of the Eco-Shuttle driver so we could wind our way through the dark city to the airport. I wondered why it seems to take so much longer to drive to the airport than to take the train. But there is no train running at 4 in the morning. The driver and I chatted about his new business start-up, how to grow without selling out, the huge learning curve entrepreneurs must climb and so forth.

PDX (the easiest airport ever) was quiet and friendly as I slid through security and settled at my gate. I love having friends in other time zones. At 5 AM, I am calling friends now at work to chat while I wait.

The first flight is short and uneventful. I read, but don't sleep. Sleeping, I think, is for the next, longer, leg of the trip. Our flight is delayed by weather and we land at the gate with only enough time for me to run the length of the terminal to connect with my next plane, now boarding. I am perversely delighted to recognize that I am fit enough to run with luggage and not be winded as I hand my boarding pass over for inspection.

Th flight is completely full. The staff take a few minutes to help everyone stuff their luggage in to the greatest space advantage so we can take off safely. I am seated next to a mother and daughter moving across country. Good, I think, they will occupy each other. The bell sounds and I am reassured that I may use my electronic devices within the cabin. I recline the seat. I press play to hear Bill Maher and friends talking over each other about the latest political tidbit. It's comforting. My eyes close.

There is a hand tapping my knee. My eyes open. Yes, my seatmate is speaking to me. Why? Is the plane on fire? I was asleep.

"So!" she repeats, "Where are you from? You going home?"

I was asleep. I am at a loss. She continues to talk, apparently only requiring my consciousness to spur her on. She used to live in Florida. She didn't like it. No one spoke English there. "Not even in the Wal-mart!" she says, "They would just look at you."

I stay awake for the rest of the flight contemplating the implications of that phrase, not even in the Wal-mart. My plane descends to land in the Midwest. Yes, I am going home.

How are things?

2008-06-05T23:39:00.000-07:00

"I follow Eris blindly in all things. That She is the Goddess of Chaos simplifies this immensely." -- Christian the Pagan

Sometime in the week leading up to my trip to the Midwest last month, it became academic and silly to deny that there were larger forces taking joy in messing with my life. So be it. Though the impulse to write it all out for the sake of memory arose often, I never made it back to this place to type it all in. So, let's see if I can't sketch in a few stories to remember the time...

Cause and Effect

2008-06-05T13:57:00.000-07:00

In the first of this series of updates, I have noticed a horrifying correlation.

I have not had a cup of coffee since April 5, 2008.

With one exception, I have not had a migraine since April 10, 2008.

The one exception was a mild migraine that lasted maybe 6 hours after a week of stress. I could have easily worked or carried out my day with it had I chosen to do so.

This is the longest period I have gone without significant pain in at least 5 years, possibly longer.

Damn.

I would still really like an espresso.

Good Thinking about Community

2008-05-28T10:35:00.000-07:00

Here is the secret: if we all have power, there is no need to fight for scraps. If each has a role to play, there is no need to jockey for position. The quiet bring in listening. The noisy bring in liveliness. Some grind incense and others teach our children. We can all be equal, but this means we cannot be equivalent.

There is much to share here, but let's start with this. I really like this essay from Thorn Coyle. It is short, go check it out...

Mr. Doughty wishes me to share this with you...

2008-04-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

Specifically, he said, "we'd be humbled and grateful if you guys put it on your profiles; we'd like to get our message out. Thank you." And I am happy to oblige. The song is "Fort Hood" and it is also apparently quite popular there.

The greater and lesser orbits

2008-04-23T10:22:00.000-07:00

I am in the cafe this morning working through pages of material that will become curriculum for nonviolence trainings of the future. I am in the cafe because my family is home sick today and causing wonderful commotion in our house. I have my laptop, some notes, a binder. I am content.

I wish to acknowledge the woman at the table next to me. She arrived and purchased coffee. She set down her umbrella, her coat. She opened her bag, carefully extracted a pencil cup with an assortment of highlighters of various colors. Several books, diagrams, and other materials followed. She put on large, noise-canceling headphones and activated her ipod. She began to work. She has no idea any of us are here.

Coffee Bean Blues

2008-04-14T11:17:00.000-07:00

One week. One week without coffee. At all.

This sucks.

I first dropped from 10 shots of espresso a day to 3. That was...too fast, perhaps. I was cranky. Cranky and irritable beyond the telling of it. I hated everyone.

And then, after the first wave of pain and regret passed, I went to 2 shots. Then a single blessed cup of coffee a day. And we went to the shore. Mr. Man says, "You should be coffee-free by my birthday." And I was.

I have been coffee-free for a week now. I am so tired. I can't get anything done. The unanswered email alone is monstrous. Everywhere in this beautiful town of dark roasted beans, I am mocked.

The headache starts around 11 am. I think it takes my body that long to believe that I am really not getting coffee. Maybe I am really busy, it thinks. Maybe I am waiting for a certain cafe. But by 11, it knows. There will be no coffee today, friend. And it hates me.

The headache is not to be confused with a migraine. (I have had more of those as well, but they are different.) The headache is all in the front, like I have furrowed my brow for hours and will never be happy again. And it happens every day.

The upside? My favorite cafe (where I am having tea, thanks) is playing old Madonna on the stereo and I am listening to my favorite barista sing "Crazy for You" while she cleans.

Misery Loves Company

2008-03-24T14:33:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes my friends, welcome to another post wherein I go on about my migraines.

I woke up Saturday VERY photosensitive. This is when I feel like all light is like the glare of an oncoming truck. This may also explain my interest in vampires, because, hey, they get it. I had a mild headache, but the degree of light problems bothered me. I debated and then decided not to go to kickboxing. Which was the right decision because things immediately got much worse.

Much worse can mean a few things. There are usually three axes on which to plot my migraine - How much dizziness/vertigo? How much pain? How is my brain working?

Pain is pain, when I tag posts about my migraines "Knitting Needle to the Head" that's how it usually starts and then it gets spreads a chain reaction. Often, it hurts a good deal. Sometimes, it hurts quite badly. Other times, it hardly hurts at all. Or there is pain, but it is subtle and feels more like the memory of pain than a sensation itself. Frankly, I am fine being in pain. It is obvious, people easily understand it and know they can expect little of me at that time. I have had a long time to build coping mechanisms and strategies for migraine pain. I can get pretty zen about it.

Dizziness and vertigo suck. SUCK. I hate them more than anything else that happens. I am pretty sure that the nausea that I experience isn't its own symptom, but just a reaction to the spinning and rocking I feel. Last year, Love and I were on a "Christmas Cruise" on this mid size cruiser. We were rocking in the harbor, not yet underway and smooth. Love was looking a little green. "This is what it is like," I told her delighted, "This is what it is like in my head!" Sometimes, of course, the room really does spin, or the floor suddenly is not flat, or the boat lurches wildly. All of this used to be rare, or only accompany intense pain. Lately (especially in the last year) it is the primary feature of a migraine. Often I am in little pain and horribly seasick. This is frustrating because you can look at me and never know and so reasonably expect me to function. And I do my best, it's just not very good.

Once my brain breaks, it's pretty funny. Or would be, if I wasn't trying to use it at the time. It's like being trapped in an Oliver Sacks book. It can be extreme - slurred speech, losing language all together so I end up describing things in concepts that make sense maybe only to me, verbs optional. Other times I am just stupid. Really, really slow. This is frustrating because I keep having to remind people during and long after that I was wrong, or I don't remember because my brain was broken then!

Anyway, the best thing that has happened with all these migraines came from a friend. He sent me an article in the New York Times about a musician with migraines. At the bottom there was a link to a whole series the NYT does about migraine. I have never really read a lot of "patient lit" about migraines - back in the day when this was new to me, it was mostly whiny and unhelpful. But through this series, I have found some good info and even a blog or two. And, at least right now, it helps to know that I am not crazy and not the only one.

Et Tu, Coffee?

2008-03-20T12:34:00.000-07:00

"You know you have to give up coffee, right? I'm just telling you what you just said to me."

That's my friend Dawn talking. I'm standing in her kitchen telling her the latest of my health adventures - the iron deficiency, the migraines, etc. She tells me about the how and why she gave up coffee and the good effects on her health. As she tells me of her past issues, I volunteer that doctors keep testing me for immuno-deficiency viruses just because my system is so weak.

Give up coffee. I love coffee. Coffee is a sacrament. Coffee is life. Coffee is the wedding of the elements. The rich, dark earth that the verdant plants rise from with their shining red cherries, the sun and fire that tests the beans and transforms them, the water that gives them new life and form, the steam and aroma that fills our being and brings peace and joy, a reawakening. Coffee.

And, I hear the truth in the statement. I don't think I drink a lot of coffee, but when I tell other people how much I drink, they look askance. After I left Dawn yesterday, I tried not to drink anymore that day. It was hard. I had my usual french press cup followed by a 2 shot latte that morning, but then I was adrift. I ended up in the hallowed Stumptown, watching the man pull shots behind the counter with reverence and longing as I sipped my weak, uninspiring tea.

Be it age or just years of abuse, my body needs to heal and rejuvenate. I also find as I do more energy work and magic, I am more sensitive to what does go in my body and whether or not I am getting enough movement and stretching. Love has given up most caffeine all together. So has the Esteemed Housemate.

I can not fathom my life without coffee. How does one do this?

If I do, that is.

"I'm just telling you what you just said to me."

Life of an artist?

2008-03-16T16:21:00.000-07:00

Several years ago, I went for a tarot reading from my friend Dawne. I like her readings a good deal - she is not wedded to one interpretation and very much approaches the tarot like an impetus to growth and reflection rather than a paint by number.

At this reading, I was pondering career choices and paths and the question of how will I make a living? Dawne and I were talking and I don't remember how it came up, but I said, "I would like a business card with nothing but my name on it." No titles, no explanations or justifications, just a sense that this was who I was and I could do whatever it was I did or be with you as who I was and that was enough.

This comes up for me now because I am much closer to this actually being true. Increasingly, I find that the line between "work" and "life" are falling apart. Formerly, things were held in separate boxes, there were many lines that clients didn't cross or I did not introduce to them. Yet, increasingly, I think, why not? It makes no sense not to bring all of myself to my clients and I worry less about what they will think, even if they do not seem to be "the type" to embrace journaling, ritual, and so forth.

For me too, it means that I am more willing to let my own personal journaling or meditation or self care come out of "work time" because it is obvious that taking care of me allows me to give more to my clients and to the work in general.

Especially as the economy tanks and given the fact that many coaching clients wait until they can feel the pain of not having a coach or someone to help them navigate their life, I barter more for my services, often in the form of art or intangibles. Most days, I am ok with this.

Right now though, we need a new house. We have the Esteemed Housemate with us now, sleeping in the living room for want of space. I could really use someplace to see clients. (Again, the idea of allowing clients into our house is a new one for Love and I - previously, we had both been resistant.) There is a list of things we would want. And we are too far south in the city to be on the most practical buslines or near to the places where we have found community.

And we don't have enough cash on hand to match what gets requested for the places that would meet our needs the best.

Couple this with the idea that what I would love in my life is more time to write, to design workshops, to explore new things that interest me and could be interesting to bring to other people. But that would mean getting some more help raising Mr. Man. Which means cash.

And this is where I crawl up in my head. I begin to weigh my worth by how much cash I brought into the house last year, and currently. I set aside all the other ways I contribute the world in favor of this one metric, which has never fit my life well to begin with. Yuck. Fortunately, Love yells at me (nicely) when I do this. Yet, she then takes on the idea that she is supposed to support us (with cash) while I do this other thing. So the cycle continues.

Today, while over at Starhawk's page looking for something else, I found this piece she had written about her vision for a new San Francisco, updating her Fifth Sacred Thing vision. In one section, she talks about work and economy and describes a system based on energy units, both hours and the energy used to produce goods etc. She quotes a character from the novel explaining how people are paid based on their hours and output. The character then adds, "Of course, some jobs don’t lend themselves to counting hours, like mine, or like being an artist or a musician. We get a fixed stipend.'” And I thought, yup, that could be me. My hours come and go, or happen while I am also doing other things (like riding the bus). Clocked time is pretty meaningless. So where is my stipend? And what do I do until we work this system out?

I do? Do what?

2008-03-09T17:56:00.000-07:00

About the only thing I read in the Lesbian Connection these days is the obits. I don't know what that says about me or about the LC. At any rate, Jane Rule has died. I know her as the author of Desert of the Heart, transferred to film and screened by me and Love at age 19 as Desert Hearts. I did not know anything about her or her politics. The obit talked a bit about this and she sounds like a right-on woman.

In particular, Ms. Rule did not support the struggle for same-sex marriage legislation. The LC reports that in 2001, she wrote "To be forced back into the heterosexual cage of coupledom is not a step forward but a step back into state-imposed definitions of relationship. With all that we have learned, we should be helping our heterosexual brothers and sisters out of their state-defined prisons, not volunteering to join them there."

In fact, when her partner died, Rule refused to apply for survivor's benefits, which she was eligible for by Canadian law.

I think a lot about same-sex marriage these days. In many ways, I am married, or at least coupled as it were. Love and I will have been together 16 years this May. Neither she nor I have felt the need to do anything "official" about this with either a state or religious body. There have been a couple of potlucks in celebration of our longevity, but that's about it. It took years for both sets of our parents to come to terms with our relationship, although for very different reasons.

When Mr. Man was getting ready to be born, we went to see our friendly neighborhood Lesbian Lawyer and paid some money (not too much by legal standards) to have a whole mess of paperwork drawn up to protect us from the state and our loving families should anything untimely happen to one of us. With some more difficult and convoluted back and forth, I am a legal and non-revocable parent of Mr. Man in all 50 states.

We are more or less content to leave it there. We have long been polyamourous. We have long been anarchists and disinclined to do more for the state than absolutely necessary to keep them from inflicting harm upon us.

But other erstwhile folk were not content. And in the good state of Oregon, it is now possible to legally recognize our "Domestic Partnership." Do we? Don't we?

Naturally, some folks rushed right off to get a star upon thars the first day it was possible (early in February, I think). Love and I haven't done anything about it yet. We have a meeting with a new tax person to do our returns for 2007 and one question we will have is what will this new thing do to our taxes? More or less? It's very romantic. More pressing is the idea that Love's employer and the provider of my insurance might decide not to take our word that we are together (the previous standard) and require this little official nod to continue benefits. Now, that's motivating.

And here is Jane Rule, refusing benefits and claiming her right to be an autonomous human being. Of course, she was in Canada, where autonomous people get healthcare anyway.

Tired

2008-03-07T22:48:00.000-08:00

In the midst of everything, and most inconveniently, I am really tired.

I go to bed earlier and earlier. I never get less than 6.5 hours of sleep. I sit down every chance I get. I often feel like I am falling asleep even as I am deeply interested in something. There is not enough coffee in the world to bring alertness.

The why is a little more evasive. There was a couple of weeks when I wasn't sleeping well. My migraines have been...strange. There are less of them. They are more painful. And now, for the last couple of days, they don't get started.

This probably sounds weird to anyone who doesn't have migraines. But migraines, mine anyway, have a pattern. Well, three to five patterns, depending on the type of migraine I am having. And I know them. They have rhythms. I can sometimes even predict how much longer I will be in pain based on the way they build and sustain themselves.

Except the last few days. They start, sort of. I recognize the signs. I know the pattern that should unfold and plan accordingly. And then...they stop, they fade away.

I am not complaining. They are free to go. But it is...disconcerting.

And then there is the other thing. I am mostly still anemic. Previously, I had thought this was "pretty easily addressed" but I was wrong. Now my hemocrit is borderline OK (whatever this actually means) but I have no stored iron in my blood. So as soon as my doctor and the infusion clinic sort their paperwork out, I will begin intravenous iron infusions. On the upside, I will get to read quietly for an hour every week for the next five weeks or so. I hear there is a new book out that is good.

Meanwhile, I am tired.

Many Things Do Come To Pass...

2008-03-05T23:04:00.000-08:00

So when I think of life and everything being a spiral, this can be both comforting and frustrating. On one hand, you never truly end up where you were. On the other, you sometimes end up damn close instead of at the incredible distance you were hoping for and you have to see yourself again.

If you followed that, stick close. Often, I am a little (or more) surprised by how I have changed my life and my approach and my priorities in the last five years. And many days I feel really good about all of that. Especially the big breathing-in-breathing-out that happened once I came to my beautiful city.

So two things are on my mind tonight. One, I have recently spun around the spiral to find myself meeting the eyes of me of several years ago in the "bad time" when my life and everything I has put my faith in to be true about people was demonstrably wrong and I was at a low ebb. I have also watched myself in the last few days behave as though I were still that person and be horribly depressed and self-loathing about the whole thing, which is to say, my life to date. I am not that woman now. Also, there is a lot of unfinished stuff there that needs to be turned over and worked with. Sometimes leaving things fallow only heals so much.

Two, I am realizing that I hold back from writing about these things here, in part because so many people I knew then read this. My big shift and what might ultimately qualify as a transformation is driven by events that other people have stuffed or processed or gotten over. For a variety of reasons, I was not, as we say clinically, "okay" and I make up the idea that people might not want to hear about my process or old stuff. Or that people are most comfortable when I remain the same.

I have thought about moving the blog (and I might). I have thought many times about ending this blog (and I might, but probably not). Or I might slog on regardless and let people who know me make whatever it is they make of it. It is an interesting problem to have in some ways. This isn't the first time I have sat in front of the "Create Post" screen with it. Interesting, indeed.

giggle

2008-02-13T22:31:00.000-08:00

I told myself (and a lot of other people) that I would (re)pierce my ears when I got down to my lowest adult weight. Not that I am done with my little body mod project, but it is good to reward progress. Now I am in unknown territory...

I feel like a 12 year old at the mall. (giggle)

Happy Imbolc!

2008-02-02T13:03:00.000-08:00

and yes, this song will stay with you all day...

This is Sing by the Dresden Dolls.

A Ritual in a Poem

2008-01-25T10:41:00.000-08:00

I am loving my We'Moon Calendar this year. The colors seem brighter and I am doing a better job of paying attention to all the information it contains. This week featured a poem. Usually, there is a copyright notice on them - whether they can be used with respect or if a more traditional copyright is in place. This one isn't specified, so I am re-publishing it respectfully and will pull it down if needed.

This feels like a ritual or a meditation or something. I have read it everyday. I love it.

Hearts Wildly Open

Breathe
Breathe love
into the cup
of your hands
and place your flaming
palms against your heart
Let this warmth
melt your fears
like wax before a fire
and watch the delicious
softening reveal
the wildflower
of your heart.
We must live
with Hearts Wide Open.
Hearts Wildly Open.

from Kali Heydel (2006)

Announcement

2008-01-24T21:36:00.000-08:00

Last night, some time between 8 and 9 PM PST, Mr. Man lost his first tooth. I can also report that the tooth fairy gave him a Sacagawea golden dollar.

I don't even know where this child comes from

2008-01-14T22:48:00.000-08:00

Today is the day when our friend returns from the Midwest. We refer to this act as "she's coming home," I am not sure when the Midwest was no longer "home" but there it is.

It was to fall to us to meet her at the airport. Mr. Man was excited to take the train on the fast part all the way to the airport - its termination point. Our Lady Eris, Queen of Chaos sneezed and my friend didn't make her flight. She is getting in much later tonight, way past the bedtime of 6 year olds. Mr. Man was devastated that we would not be going to the airport. So we went anyway.

I picked him up from school in the pouring rain and we rode the bus downtown and transferred to the train. Mr. Man was initially quite concerned we could not procure a window seat, but soon suitable arrangements were made. Forty-five minutes later, we were at the airport. We looked at the planes. Soon, we had to use the restroom.

As is common with city toilets, one can lift the handle up for "fluid waste" or push down for "solid waste" and modify the amount of water expended for disposal. In our particular stall, the handle was clearly labeled opposite of the explanatory sign posted on the door. Mr. Man pondered what to do. Which illustrated explanation was correct? Testing proved that the toilet handle had been placed upside down, rendering the graphic opposite from the truth.

We then had to discuss how such a thing could happen. "Probably teenagers" was Mr. Man's opinion. He has a very low opinion about teenagers and their penchant for poor behavior.

The subject was dropped as we looked around and got fruit smoothies, raw nuts and french fries for dinner. (Hey, this was a special thing and still nutritionally mindful.) Finally, it was time to head home. One more trip to a restroom before the long ride back. Again, we had to discuss the earlier anomaly. I put forth the idea that perhaps some staff person was merely tired or inattentive when they installed the toilet. "Maybe they didn't get enough sleep or hadn't had a good breakfast." I offered, trying to reinforce lessons we are working on at home.

Mr. Man grimaced, "Probably drunk."

Metal

2008-01-11T21:30:00.000-08:00

My migraines are back with more frequency these days. And that is what it is. I've spent the better part of the last two days in the dark in bed. But what I want to know is why all the metal?

My mouth tastes like metal. Strongly. You can smell it on my breath. I have dreams about holding metal pieces in my mouth and wake knowing that it is my brain talking about the overwhelming taste. Furthermore, I smell like metal in general. It sweats from my pores. It's odd. Some metallic presence is pretty common with my headaches, but with this last migraine, it was particularly strong.

I haven't found anything really useful online or in my reference books, so I am open to theories. Also, I would like to be able to spit this penny out.

"It's the funniest song in the world!"

2007-12-18T22:15:00.000-08:00

'Tis the season to be naughty, fa la la la lah la lah la lah
Deck the halls with poison ivy, fa la la la lah la lah la lah
Drop the dishes and pop the tires, fa la la la lah la lah la lah
Shoot a missile through Fred Meyers, fa la la la lah la lah la lah!

Yes, Mr. Man is a first grader.

Goddess!

2007-12-15T17:19:00.001-08:00

I've had a migraine for 3 days and counting. Lea showed up and made sure I was warm and had food and basically acted as my brain.

She played with Mr. Man, she pushed on lots of accupressure points and was generally lovely.

Lea is a goddess!

My very upsetting morning

2007-08-29T10:10:00.000-07:00

I have been awake for 2 hours. Two.

It all started off well. Mr. Man was caught up in building but eventually came to breakfast. There was chocolate milk and warm Wheetabix with peanut butter. I had just poured the hot water into the coffee press.

Then there was this loud crash. Then there was chocolate milk and shattered glass all over the kitchen floor. Mr. Man was great. He pulled his legs up onto his seat and froze there at the kitchen table. He listened and did everything I asked him to do. Good. Cleaning up all that glass, all those tiny, grainy fragments, not so good. Now I have picked up by hand, hand sponge mopped the floor and vacuumed. Just now, I picked up another piece of glass flashing in the light on my very clean floor.

So I took the compost out, hoping the mail had come so I could seat Mr. Man in front of the new nature documentary from Netflix so I could take a very long shower. No mail. And, AND the cat (probably miffed I had locked him in the bathroom so the idiot didn't eat the glass) launched a full-on attack. So now I am bleeding also.

I have been awake for 2 hours.

Think about it...

2007-08-28T22:31:00.001-07:00

Click To Play

Now I am a Grown-Up

2007-08-24T00:44:00.000-07:00

So, our man in Colorado informs me that I am now eligible to serve as President of the United States. I'll get right on that.

Why does turning 35 suddenly feel like I am now offically old and a grown-up? 30 felt like an accident - I was in my 20s and suddenly stepped in something. But 35, now there is no stepping around the fact - I am grown.

Today itself was pretty nice - in no particular order...

I slept in until 8:30.
I had vegan bacon and homefries for breakfast. (I am far too fond of vegan bacon.)
I went for a long walk.
I took a nap.
I worked some, not too much.
I got quiet time to myself tonight. (Sadly, because Love is sick and could not stay up with me.)
I saw two hawks circling my neighborhood. (They are often close, but they were right overhead today.)
We had tacos and nachos for dinner.
There is a new birdfeeder outside our living room window.

Also worth noting are the spider webs. Mr. Man and I have enjoyed quite a few nice ones lately as we walk through the neighborhood or even our yard. It always surprises me how quickly they can go up and still be as large as they are. Today on my walk, I saw a lovely one. At first, from a distance, there was only a dried leaf floating in mid-air. As I got closer I realized that a spider had suspended her web between branches. To support a lower tether would be challenging at best from the web's vantage point, the ground some 7 feet below. So, her solution was to weight that anchor with the leaf and let her web float like a ship in the breeze. It was still undisturbed when I passed again an hour later.

An aside

2007-08-23T22:23:00.000-07:00

This is so funny, I can't help but repost it. Put a little serotonin in it.

Maybe I am dying...

2007-08-16T13:27:00.000-07:00

But then, aren't we all?

So, instead of getting better, I got suddenly and horribly worse. For about 9 days, I had a high fever, I threw up more than I would like, I was delirious, I couldn't breathe. When I did get to the doctor, they put me in a wheelchair before they sent me downstairs for chest x-rays and blood work. In the end, we think I had some kind of bacterial thing. I am up and around as they say and doing much better. I am still incredibly tired ALL THE TIME and take 2 hours naps whenever the opportunity presents itself.

This all piggybacks with my finding a new physician - one who believes in preventative medicine and science. (Oy! the stories I could tell you about my last doctor!) So, she wanted to run a few tests anyway. Turns out that I am anemic (more tests this week to determine the extent and type of anemia) and borderline diabetic. The anemia might actually explain a few things (the naps, lack of energy and weird malaise for example) and is pretty easily addressed. The impending diabetes thing is not so fun.

Basically, this means that I need to do what I have known I need to do for some time: exercise, lose weight and eat better. None of which comes easily for me but too bad. I don't want to have diabetes, so I do want a lot of encouragement. So far, so good. Love and A have permission to ride me about it. The rest of you can make good noises and applaud at appropriate intervals.

You may not follow the example of my father. He and I were discussing my latest doctor visit because my mother was not home but we both knew she would want to know what happened. So, against my better judgment, I told him so he could pass the news along. I told him that I would need to lose yet more weight. (Remember, I lost a small child's worth a couple of years ago.) And he responded, "That's good. If you lost some more weight, I think you would start to look attractive." Thanks, Dad. I replied that I was fortunate to have people in my life that knew I was beautiful right now. The point was lost to him as he went on extolling how he thought I might have beautiful features if I were thinner. I talk about these things to point to them as exhibits. When people tell me they don't know how my self-esteem got so f*cked up, I can point - Look! Look here!

Did ya have sex?

2007-08-10T23:18:00.000-07:00

The Kinsey people are trying to figure out what people mean when they say they had sex. Good luck to 'em. If you want to help, the survey doesn't take long and can be found here. They even give you a chance to win $50 if you are willing to leave your email, but anonymous responses are all fine too.

Misc.

2007-08-02T23:40:00.000-07:00

I have said I will tell you why I am so devoted to Matt Ruff, and I will, but I have been distracted as of late.

Yes, I had (maybe still have) pleurisy. And now Mr. Man is sick (again) - this time with a weird fever virus which has lasted a week and makes him an emotional basketcase.

Yes, my Love and I finally had a date. We went to Matt Ruff's reading at the City of Books and then had a beer at some trendy microbrew establishment. It was wonderful to see her and catch up a bit. She looked beautiful. Yes, this is my wife I am talking about as if she were some long-lost acquaintance. Which, in many ways, she is.

Yes, I am back together with A (must find a proper nomenclature for him here). This has caused a small tide of implications, clarifications and repercussions to roll through my polyamourous sea. As these things go, drawing A closer also has meant acknowledging that I will only hold another loosely. Such is life, but I find it interesting the people who will now tell me they never approved of the other, but also never said anything.

So these are the things that occupy me.

Say something

2007-07-27T09:28:00.000-07:00

So, apparently at least one person is having problems leaving comments. I can't replicate the problem. (It works fine for me.) So, if you can read this, please try to leave a note. If it doesn't work, drop me an email. Thanks!

I'm feeling better. ... I think I'll go for a walk.

2007-07-24T21:17:00.000-07:00

Well, after much coddling and acupuncture and Motrin, I do feel a good bit better. I had lots of people text messaging and instant messaging and even calling for heaven's sake to see if I was ok. It seems most people read the link that said people die of pleurisy and didn't read the Mayo Clinic page that said not anymore (or, you know, not that often).

Today I got dressed and went to a friend's house. Tomorrow I will actually work. (egads) I have the urge to run around doing everything, but then the lingering pain in my side and the strong urge to nap remind me to take it slow.

Tomorrow, I think, I will tell you about why Matt Ruff is so damned important to me and why I am devoting as much time anticipating his reading as I am avoiding Harry Potter spoilers.

Long Live Sekou Sundiata!

2007-07-20T15:00:00.000-07:00

Great poet and teacher Sekou Sundiata has moved on. I would like to say I know more of his work, but his words that I do know are amazing. Fortunately for me, Mike Doughty can say more. The video he links to is good and sadly the only one YouTube has to offer. You might also try the sound of memory from his recording longstoryshort:

Blue Roses

2007-07-20T07:34:00.000-07:00

So, I have pleurisy. If you look it up here, you will learn that a bunch of famous people have had it or died from it (mostly pre-WWII folks). When you read about it here, it doesn't sound so bad. The answer is somewhere in the middle.

This hurts. A lot. I went to the ER on Monday night because I was concerned that some small organ was about to rupture or something equally dramatic due to the incredible pain in my side. A lot less dramatically, a few x-rays and some blood work led the doctor to conclude I simply had pleurisy in my lower left lung. Super.

Except it's still there. I have a viral cause (there are other causes of this) and so there is little to do but take large doses of motrin and rest. The resting is hard for me, but so it the not being able to move without pain.

So here I am. I want all of you to visualize my pink, healthy, happy lungs returning to their regular business of providing air with incident. Bonus point if you can identify the title reference in the comments.

Bad Monkeys

2007-07-15T19:45:00.000-07:00

8 Days!

I am so excited I could wet my pants. I don't do this for every author. But he's special.

It's a Summer Cut!

2007-07-11T13:59:00.000-07:00

It's warm here. I know, it's warm a lot of places. I'm so glad that global warming is just a theory.

Some of us here have it worse than others. Some of us are covered in fur.

In the summer, the cat wants to die. You can tell. More so than usual. Sometimes, on a warm day, he will flop down and arise having left the imprint of his body in fur on the carpet. The hair balls reach epic proportions as he tries to groom his way to coolness. So we decided to help him out.

The vet suggested it. They sedated him (always a good idea) and bathed him, clipped his nails while he was unable to draw blood from his handlers and then...well, it's called a "lion cut".

Hello? Is this thing on?

2007-06-30T20:48:00.000-07:00

So, should I bag this thing or pick up again? Is anyone still reading? Does it matter?

Huh.

Ok, so what should I talk about?

a) Mr. Man developments and wonders never cease. He's in an Indonesian martial arts camp right now, headed for elementary in the fall. Now that should be interesting...

b) The Cat has been back the cat hospital. Again. Now there is special food. And weekly changes to his regimen of medicine. And, nothing, as far as we know, is wrong with him. Now if he would just stop throwing up and pooping water on the carpet, we could pay off that credit card.

c) I could go on for days without end about the insecurities and ineptitude of starting one's own practice as an introvert.

d) My migraines are not new, but are time consuming. As are the various ways I have been attempting to work with them. Also, my pain tolerance is going up. That's good news, right?

e) The trust thing? That keeps me up nights? I've been thinking and rethinking the trust and relationship piece on a continual basis for some time now. Anyone want to go down that rabbit hole?

I'm quite sincere. My little counter says that even though I haven't added a word in almost two months, this page gets checked 20-30 times a day. (And no, Chief, it's not all you.) So if you have any suggestions, I'd love to hear them...

My wise self

2007-05-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

After disappearing without further explanation, I have returned to tell you I am relatively wise. The New York Times is sponsoring a fun little measurement here that you can play with. For the record, I scored a 4.1. I have no idea what that functionally means and I am marginally curious to understand what assumptions the researchers are using, how it is scored, etc. But also, I may not care enough to check it out because there are larger things in my proverbial day. Is it a sign of my "relatively high wisdom" that I am content to shrug this off or a just a sign that the sun is out and my latte is cooling?

Thanks to 327 for the fun.

Quote of the Day

2007-04-18T20:03:00.001-07:00

"It's because of life experience," said Jimmie Powell, 73, a bartender and factory worker from El Reno, Oklahoma. "I don't think younger people really know a whole lot about anything. They don't care because there is no draft. If there were a draft, we'd finally have the revolution we need."

He's 73. He's talking about why a greater percentage of people under the age of 29 support the war and the president than people in other age groups. He describes himself as a political independent.

Aah, the month of March...

2007-03-30T22:43:00.000-07:00

1) I had a major migraine which lasted 4 days. Twice.
2) I started acupuncture.
3) An acquaintance of mine stole the identity of two good friends and then disappeared.
4) A couple that I know that has been together for years recently split up. Simple enough until you add the restraining order, changing locks, breaking in, "disputed" material goods, general nastiness, etc. There is lots of questionable or regrettable actions around here on all sides. Oh, AND he has a physical disability that makes all this that much harder. I have been trying to help. Or something.
5) Mr. Man got strep throat (with a fever of 105) for 6 days.
6) We went to our second peace march/war protest in Portland. It was huge.
7) It is apparently really difficult to get involved with groups here in Portland as the question, "How do I get involved?" seems to stump folks. Even when they are at info tables at a major event.
8) The cat started throwing up again and pooping everywhere while crying. Another $200 and he is on a new antibiotic. In addition to the other daily medication. He is only a year and a half old.
9) I am now in Pennsylvania with Love's family for the week.
10) You may not ask how the business is going. OK?

New ways of thinking

2007-02-26T21:44:00.000-08:00

The other day over breakfast together, the fam happened to be listening to music on the laptop. I mentioned to Love and Mr. Man that I had found a new source for free music downloads. Mr. Man wanted to know what that meant. I explained to the young man that it meant that the music was free for us to listen to all the time.

"Except for the electricity you need to play it" he replied.

"Well, yes," I had to agree, "except for that."

"And the computer, you had to buy it."

"Right." I conceded.

"And the internet access," Love added helpfully.

"But other than that," I said, "It's free."

Moral Support

2007-02-25T22:58:00.001-08:00

My head was full of the complications of my life, of relationships in flux, of work unrealized, of friends' relationship woes as well. I stood at the sink trying to focus with a mindfulness that wouldn't stay on the dishes. Finally, I sighed, "I need to journal."

My wife was immediately attentive across the kitchen. Her eyes full of concern, she inquired, "Do you need a hug?...or to fondle my ass?"

So this is my life...

2007-02-23T12:00:00.000-08:00

Look, it's not in my nature to be mysterious. But I can't talk about it and I can't talk about why. - Rusty Ryan, Oceans 12

Sometimes life is really good. And really confusing. And good. Also difficult. But good.

Watch this space.

Bored Now...

2007-02-20T00:21:00.000-08:00

So I haven't been saying anything lately because there is precious little to tell. Life goes on, as it were.

First, Love was sick...

Then I was sick.

Finally, the indomitable Mr. Man was sick.

Then we all got better.

Then I got the worst migraine I've had this year.

The End.

Man Under Construction

2007-01-29T11:01:00.001-08:00

Riding the bus to school today, Mr. Man and I found ourselves sitting across from a couple of guys headed to class at the community college. From their bags and conversation, they were apparently art or design students. From their dress, the music on their players, their affectations, they were decidedly emo and probably (though not certainly) gay. As folks go, they were not atypical nor remarkable from the other commuters.

Except Mr. Man was watching them. Watching them in his intense way, the one where you know he is taking in every detail, every movement, the way the men's legs touched as they watched a video on one's phone, the way they laughed. Mr. Man took it all in. He would look away to check on the passing scenery and then look back. I could see the turning of his mind, the recording, processing and filing going on. I thought, this is how he learns what it is to be a man. Because I had a certainty that was what he was watching. Men being men together. I am so interested in what he comes up with for himself.

What a week...

2007-01-26T14:46:00.001-08:00

So, life goes up and down, just like that old lady in the Parenthood movie said it does.

This week, it became official that whatever people want to call my relationship with A is now over. We're gonna try for just friends and see how that goes.

Since I was mopey and grumpy already, my parents called to let me know that my mom has breast cancer, so they probably won't be going to Florida this year. She will most likely be fine as they have caught it really early. Surgery and radiation are planned for later in February. How this bit of news ends up being all about me is a mystery of psychology and the joys of my megalomania.

On the upswing, I made a new friend this week. Also, I have a date on Saturday. And best of all, a friend I don't talk to directly much (hey, we read each other's blogs, that counts, right?), this friend sent me the greatest message about why he likes me. I've been happy about it for two days.

Knitty

2007-01-23T21:42:00.000-08:00

OK, knitting people, even I can do this, although I need to get some blue yarn. You can too. Thanks to J for the initial heads up.

I Knit - Knit a River

It's a knitting demonstration for the right to clean water and safe toilets. Also, beautiful. I recommend checking out the blog.

Breaking News

2007-01-22T10:45:00.000-08:00

Heads Up - There's more fun to be had at Mr. Man's page! Now updated and everything!

Madness & Vexation

2007-01-18T22:57:00.001-08:00

So a friend recently asked me to respond to the statement "Children are madness and vexation." I have no idea what prompted this request in his life, but this was my response...

yes. children are madness and vexation.

Did you want more than that? The whole idea of children is madness, from the physical impossibility of reproduction and growth and development, the embodiment of souls, etc. to the fact that they run around, demand their own schedules, continuous monitoring, and never stop making sound unless unconscious or involved in deep mischief.

Vexation, I believe, arises from we larger folk wanting to have our own lives, our own thoughts, adult moments, or a moment of quiet. Also, we enjoy planning things and considering future entertainments or even necessities which is ridiculous in the face of children's realities.

Also, once children have entered our lives, under the most innocent and loving of pretenses, we suddenly must come to terms with the fact we are enslaved and only partially unhappy to be so.

It may be worth mentioning that we have had not one, but two snow days this week. Also a delayed start today which also entailed navigating the public transit not hampered by ice and snow, even as these same buses shifted the the less frequent midday schedule.

I adore my son. We do tend to have a strong bond and generally get along well. He is amazing and amazingly crazy-making. Last night, all I wanted to do was watch a movie and knit and do nothing. I felt so brain dead and unmotivated. With some encouragement and nudging from Love and a couple of friends who happened to be online, I did begin to work on some business-building tasks. Soon, I was focused and happy working. It was then that I realized the act of mothering sucks the life out of me. I had been "full-time" at it since Monday (Happy Birthday, MLK) and three days was enough to lull me into passivity and inertia with regards to my own personal needs and desires. Scary huh?

At the same time, Mr. Man and I had a pretty good three days. There were snow people, hot cocoa, reading aloud and card games. Not all happiness, of course. There was also time outs, cat attacks, yelling and pouting (only once by me), and the force of being ignored by a five year old who will nonetheless not stop making sound. More than anything, I am struck by what an interesting person my son is. I am so glad I have taken the time to learn this. There may be a method to the madness after all.

It's in the stars, Rob tells me...

2007-01-10T09:56:00.000-08:00

I like Rob Brezsny. He's the guy that does Free Will Astrology and other fun stuff with the idea of getting people out of their boxes. At any rate, here's my latest horoscope:

Normally there are about 9,300 people on the planet who could be your very best friend, even your soul mate. But in 2007, I believe that figure will rise dramatically--possibly as high as 16,000. This hot tip from me to you should clue you in to the fact that the universe will be exceptionally sympathetic to your interests in the coming months; it should motivate you to ask aggressively for what you really want, as opposed to whining and pining for what you sort of want.

In the last 24 hours, I met with a new client, another prospective client emailed me out the blue, a bunch of people asked for my card at a professional meeting I participated in and two people sent me flirty messages based on an outdated online profile I have left up on the web. I tend to take astrology with a grain of salt, but this is kind of interesting...

2 years old

2007-01-07T21:39:00.001-08:00

So this page is 2 years old today. 202 posts to the wind. Weird. All day I've been trying to think of something suitable to say. But what?

When I started this blog, I was depressed, a mess and stuck in grad school unable to write. I hoped that by posting little bits, it would free me up to write more of what I was supposed to be writing. I'm still not sure how well it worked. But here I am.

The blog title comes from a Dave Matthews song, Bartender. The lyric I like goes, "the wine that's drinking me, came from the vine that strung Judas from the devil's tree, its roots deep in the ground..." As I began the blog, the idea was that it would be a place to record events, yes, but also to push around in the murky places of my head that lead me to be who I am. As more people I knew in real life learned of the blog, there has been a bit of mission drift there. Of course, now that most of those people are 2400 miles away, perhaps I should go back to that...

The cat came back...

2007-01-06T19:06:00.000-08:00

Well, Pumpkin is home again. He's had x-rays, blood tests (two sets), peed in a cup (OK, maybe on a tray), been poked, prodded and had an ultrasound. The vet is fairly sure that nothing scary - her word - is wrong with him. I'm pretty sure that continuous vomit and poop from a cat is scary enough. He never threw up the whole time he was there. Go figure.

So, we brought him home. He missed home. He was playful, visited all his favorite spots. By this morning, I knew he was feeling better. How? He smeared poop across the carpet and bit me when I picked him up. That's my boy.

One last holiday scene

2007-01-05T09:56:00.000-08:00

One night at my sister's house, her husband spent 35 minutes listening to my father talk about self-closing flues for the furnace. My sister should never doubt the strength of her marriage.

Holiday Redux #2

2007-01-04T09:29:00.000-08:00

My sister and I have a new strategy to deal with one of my mother's little quirks. My sister adeptly demonstrated this in a conversation at a Chinese restaurant one night before Christmas...

Mom: I think it's neat to have foreigners here. They say the cutest things and make the funniest observations.

My sister: Like, you're a blatant racist?

See, simple, totally ineffective for my mother, helpful for my sister and I. It's all we can hope for.

Our baby is sick

2007-01-04T09:16:00.000-08:00

I just walked the cat to the vet for the third time in as many weeks. First, he had fleas. Next, he had a bladder infection (we think). But the medicine only made him some better and now he is vomiting 8 times a day and has quit eating all together. So today, he gets to spend the day with the vet. And, I opened a new line of credit to pay for the whole thing. Think good feline thoughts.

Futile yet painful

2006-12-30T16:37:00.000-08:00

So they hung Saddam. I kinda want to throw up a little. How 'bout you?

Why I Think This

2006-12-27T20:51:00.000-08:00

My sister got me this great gift for the holiday. It's a learn-to-knit kit complete with needles, a threading needle, two skeins of yarn, an instruction booklet and maybe 50 different patterns at differing skill levels. Better, her husband sat down and showed me how to cast on and get started.

So Christmas night, I am sitting on the couch trying to get the hang of my new craftiness. A ball of baby blue yarn in my lap, I keep adding and dropping stiches and the whole thing takes all my concentration and feels awkward. I rip it out and start over a few times. Even as I settle into practicing, my fuzzy, growing piece has strange gaps in it and is oddly uneven looking in places. But I am just practicing. Everyone in the room tells me so. My brother-in-law is gently making fun of me for being such a control freak - "Just relax," he says, "no one has to be perfect the first time they do something."

"I don't know why she thinks that!" my mother barks from the chair in front of the television. Just then, my father walks in from the other room and asks to see what I have done so far. I hold up my little piece.

"Huh," he says, glancing it over, "why does it have those holes in it? That's no good."

How was your holiday?

2006-12-27T20:30:00.001-08:00

Where to begin?

So the season swept over me. We had Solstice. We went to visit my sister and my parents outside of Seattle. We came home. Now Mr. Man and I have until after the New Year to amuse ourselves with each other. Wow. No wonder I want to go to bed.

I find it comforting to think of the past two weeks as a series of small vingettes. To think of them as a unified whole is overwhelming and nonsense. I'll try to offer up a few brief scenes from the insanity over the next few days.

Baiji Gone

2006-12-18T09:39:00.000-08:00

Sad. Take a minute.

NYT story on the extinction.

"It's a wind day..."

2006-12-15T10:02:00.000-08:00

Or a rain day. So says Mr. Man.

Huge rains and high winds have ripped across the Pacific Northwest. I spent a good portion of last night on the phone with my sister in Seattle so she wouldn't feel alone. Her husband works for the power company and got called in as power outages grew, leaving her alone in a house with no power and many, many large trees around it. There is also a substation not to far from her house so as we talked she would comment on the sound of transformers "arcing" in the distance. (Hint: that's not a good sign.)

Today, we woke up in the usual painful way and Love went to the computer to check school closings and bus delays. I have to admit, it hadn't occurred to me that the aftermath would be that serious. Sure enough, all schools on a two hour delay while they cleaned things up. List revisions began to include school closures where there was no power or other damage. The list of re-routed buses scrolled off the screen.

About the time I began cajoling Mr. Man to get dressed and stop enjoying his school delay, we received new word that while his school did have power, the boiler had not restarted and his school would be closed all day. In fact, all year. Today was to be his last day before Winter Break. Somehow, Mr. Man is not crushed to have missed it. He's building a Lego car right now.

Wallowing

2006-12-14T10:13:00.001-08:00

So a couple of things at play this morning. One, I have Mr. Man's cold. No fever yet, hopefully not at all. I don't know if I have mentioned it here, but I have actually had a cold or been recovering from a cold for about a month now. I just don't get healthy enough to fight the next one off.

Also, it is pouring rain again. It has been doing this at night, but the sun came up and the rain didn't stop.

Foremost, I am indulging in nostalgia. At first, I thought it was homesickness. It is that time of year after all. But I realized last night that really I am missing past feelings and atmospheres more than familiar places. But it starts with the places of course. I was reading Jim's website and that linked to Everybody Reads (yeah! It opened! The owner is vegan. Go buy something.) From there, I could follow the litany of my (former) neighborhood. Gone Wired, with the big booths upstairs and the play area where Mr. Man and I spent our days without air conditioning, Rudy Bagg's counter, listening to the guys rattle on about coffee quality and espresso brewing tips, sitting in the dark of Emil's, the barbershop our neighbor owns, all the trappings of home and all the faces of folks who inhabit those spaces.

Beyond that, why don't I have any flamboyantly gay men in my life right now? There used to be so many. I saw a movie preview last night where a man in a suit tossed his hand in the air and exclaimed, "Oh, Mary, pleeease." and my mind flashed to so many faces, Steve, Paul, Misha, Jamie - I haven't seen any of these men in over 10 years.

I have had two friends here try to talk me out of this - as though taking a minute to wallow in how good I've had it is something to be stopped or cured. "Think of how much you love Portland!" one says. "You just need to manifest those things here!" But really, I am enjoying this sweet melancholy. I have a lot to look back fondly on. Besides, it's raining.

Makeover

2006-12-12T09:24:00.001-08:00

Ok, so what do you all think of the new layout? I actually spent some time making the beta system more complicated than it was. Then I discovered if you are able to read and look at the obvious, it's a lot less painful. No doubt I will be tinkering more with it. It is so much more fun to play with now...

Day 5

2006-12-11T16:57:00.001-08:00

Mr. Man has been sick for 5 days. Initially, on Thursday, he had a cough. A dry cough, like 87 year old men on the front steps of tenement building are reputed to have. But he didn't feel good and didn't wake up at his accustomed 6 AM reveille, so we kept him home. That day, Love stayed home too. Mostly because she could and had ambitions of not getting sick even though she was feeling draggy.

On Friday (Day Two), parental authorities had already decided Mr. Man was staying home a second day when he awoke from his space in our bed to announce at 9 AM, that he didn't think he should go to school. Oh, yes, did I mention he has been sleeping in our bed from the beginning of his illness? He awakes often (every 45 minutes) with coughing fits and needs water, tissues, to find the bathroom. So really, our bed makes more sense. Adding a full-size 5 year old to your bed makes you appreciate just how much space you thought you required to sleep.

Friday was an ok day to be sick. We painted tree ornaments, played math games and spent a lot of time on YouTube watching Sesame Street. Love came home from work and I dashed up to the library to bring home an early reader book that Mr. Man was thrilled to learn he could read all by himself. At some point in the day, Love said to me, "you remember I am going out with XX tonight right?" Well, no, I forgot. So she went out for socializing with grown-ups and I remained at my post. But revenge was mine! While I read in bed with a flashlight, Mr. Man and I had maintained his 45 minutes schedule of waking and coughing and returning to sleep. Shortly after Love returned to our bed, Mr. Man realized that what he needed was to sit upright, cuddled by Love so that he could breathe. Evil, negligent parent that I am, I went to sleep.

Saturday however, looked promising. We took things slow, we promised little. But Mr. Man was bouncing around. He felt much better. He really wanted to go to the party at the Children's Museum that night. And he did, carrying a little pack of tissues in his pocket. When we picked him up a couple of hours later, he was tired. Somewhere in the middle of the night, he had a fever. Then a bigger fever. And now the cough was wet and thick. Damn.

Day Four dawned. On the schedule was a morning birthday party held on the outskirts of town. We had reserved a car just so we could reach it. Now we had a child with a wrapped present and a fever of 101.2. There was much crying and lamenting, but at last it was agreed that you can't give a friend a cold for their birthday. We would stay home. I called A to cancel our plans for the day. Love returned the car and also returned with lights to decorate the house. I read an entire chapter book (100+ pages) to Mr. Man. His fever stayed up all day and you can't send a child to school unless their fever has been down for 24 hours (or close enough to fudge it). Thus, we are now in Day 5.

I am bored. Mr. Man is bored. His fever has been 99 or below all day. We played cards, we talked to my sister on the phone, we built things and destroyed what we had built. Even the Legos are no longer exciting. Praise the sweet Goddess for Kepola, who sent new YouTube links to animated electronic music. They took up at least 30 minutes. Please, please let us go to school tomorrow...

meme

2006-11-28T00:01:00.000-08:00

So I don't often do these things, but GoGo tagged me, and I have not been so prolific lately, so I will now subject you all to this:

The meme commences:

Three things that scare me: impending nuclear war, my unpreparedness for the collapse of the United States economy, dogs
Three people who make me laugh: Mr. Man, this guy, Moby
Three things I love: Soy lattes, quality office supplies, bookstores
Three things I hate/dislike: vegan cheeze, toy weapons, cat litter
Three things I don't understand: Neo-cons, economics, monster truck rallies
Three things on my desk: a dying printer, a basket, my cell phone
Three things I'm doing right now: listening to music, this meme, sitting in bed
Three things I want to do before I die: travel more by train, create the home of my dreams, finish answering this meme
Three things I can do: write (evidence in this blog to the contrary), teach, listen
Three things I can't do: speak Spanish, crochet or knit, file paperwork
Three things you should listen to: your intuition, people or ideas you disagree with, children
Three things you should never listen to: your arrogance, smooth jazz, people who tell you not to listen to things
Three things I'd like to learn: Spanish, how to crochet/knit, everything else
Three favorite foods: popcorn, chocolate covered almonds, soup (of many varieties)
Three beverages I drink regularly: water, coffee/espresso, soy milk (it's in the espresso)
Three TV shows I watched as a kid: Muppet Show, Remington Steele, M*A*S*H

Snowing in the city this morning...

2006-11-27T10:52:00.000-08:00

When we left the homestead in Michigan and made our trek out here, I thought the snow I saw in Wyoming would be the last I would encounter without purposefully seeking it out. And yet this morning, the weather report had that little flaky graphic and schools were closing in the mountains.

Mr. Man and I were bundled in layers and riding our second bus to school when the first flakes blew down from the southwest skies. A thin layer of white powder quickly covered the cars and bus huts as Mr. Man pressed his face against the window. He excitedly talked about playground time and made up a little song riffing on "Snow Day, Snow Day, there is snow today!" No time to say good bye to me this morning as he bustled into his classroom eager to discuss meteorological events with his friends.

I took a quiet bus ride back downtown, the snow turning to rain as we left the hills and approached the city center.

And so it begins...

2006-11-21T23:16:00.000-08:00

"I'm so glad I'm not a woman."
- Mr. Man

This sentiment came from Mr. Man as he watched me "change my diaper" by which he means my pad a.k.a. my sanitary napkin in a public bathroom tonight after dinner.

Love and I have always been truthful and more to the point, direct about bodies and "private parts" and their reproductive features with him. We do try to put things on his level and in his terms. He understands that babies grow inside women on pillows. If a woman is not having a baby (the Goddess decides who gets to have babies), then the pillow gets washed out every month so a new, fresh one can grow for the next month. Mr. Man volunteered that it looks like blood because your whole body is made of blood. Fair enough.

So there we are (Mr. Man and I) in one of those unisex single unit bathrooms and I need to do what I need to do. Mr. Man has seen this many times before. As I am approaching the heaviest part of my cycle, let's just say that it was a bit more of a messy process tonight as I juggled new pad, used pad, accompanying wrappers, toilet paper and all in this wheelchair accessible bathroom that places the trash far from the toilet and nothing is so sanitary as you would want to sit yourself or anything destined to touch yourself on it.

Finished at last, I am gathering our belongings and preparing to exit as Mr. Man and I are discussing that only women must do this and yes, it happens every month. And he issues his pronoucement in his most deadpan voice, far more mature than one would expect from any 5 year old but Mr. Man. We can teach him all the respect and love for women in the universe, but like some ancient rabbi, he has made his judgment.

Note to Self...

2006-11-17T01:40:00.000-08:00

When you have not had cow milk in almost two years AND
You are lactose intolerant to begin with AND
You are given an odd tasting "soy latte" at the nearby corporate coffee empire

YOU SHOULD NOT DRINK IT

even if you are cold and it is warm.

ooooh, my tummy...