A Week Of Transformation

My sister (who was born on my grandmother's birthday and is currently pregnant with my second nephew!) turned 39 on Friday, May 15th. A lot has happened since my (one and only) sister's birthday: I've transitioned out of grief, marked the healthy loss of 19 pounds, been zapped by the lightning strike of finding my next, right career, joined a women's running group that benefits local trails and a village in Tanzania, put one writing project to its final rest, and launched a brand new writing project into the stratosphere. In the midst of all of that I have celebrated my daughter - the Ninja Princessa's 14th birthday, celebrated my mother's birthday, and had numerous, numerous validations that I'm on the right path for my life.

The grief has (obviously) been a long time in passing and I am not pretending like there are not going to be after pangs. However, I've been working persistently and kindly through it and feel confident about leaning forward once again. Though processing grief is not the ONLY thing I've been doing lo, these many months of not blogging. For all of 2009 (thus far), I have been doing things like training for my triathlon, staying connected with my kiddos both near and far, focusing on nutrition (and becoming a vegetarian - eeek!), writing in lots of other venues, and discerning what my next steps are going to be. All that slow, steady plodding came together in a conflagration of energy, resources, and forward progress last week. It all clicked. I am miles into my next ventures and my spirit is joyful again.

I feel myself impatient to get to my projects this morning - which is very different from not blogging because I am worried I'll just dump stress, anger, frustration, and ick onto the page. I will say before I dash off to my studio that I met Meinrad Craighead last night at the premiere of the documentary about her. It was a phenomenal, affirming and challenging experience. My fiber art and my prayer life will never be the same again. She is an artist who has been exploring and expressing the Divine Feminine for half a century. She was a cloistered Benedictine nun for 14 years and even 30 years after leaving the abbey, lives a contemplative, solitary life. She is fearless and gritty - many of her images disturbing, entrancingly dark, and rending. She is also peaceful and present and genuinely humble. She offers you the feral wisdom of her connection to the Great Mother - in a way that gives you an access of your very own. In closing the presentation Meinrad told a story of the Pueblo people. (Sidenote - she lives in Albuquerque, NM and to travel to NC for this was a BIG deal for her.) She told the story of the Salt Mother - who nourished and protected her people (maybe with the Corn Father??) As peoples are wont to do with their dieties, the Salt Mother's children began to fall away from her, forgetting to honor her, turning away from her. As a result, She fell away from them and turned away too. And the people sickened and no longer thrived as a people. The people realized their error and began pleading, asking the Salt Mother what they had to do to return to her. She told them to start every morning by placing a small amount of salt in their mouths, taking it in to honor her and to align themselves with her restorative, healing, preservative power. She told them to absorb some of her very godstuff intentionally, each and every day in order to live as they should - in harmony and peace with the Mother. Meinrad ... I want to say charged, instructed, or commanded us to do the same - but she used no coercive or authoritative language. She merely offered the story with such powerfully resonant invitation that it strikes me as beyond foolish not to accept. Accepting, however, was not without its internal backtalk. My new nutrition plan is very, very low salt as it's all fruits and vegetables (mostly raw) and almost no processed food. My first thought was "Salt? On purpose?! I can't do that!" I shushed the sass in my head by reminding myself I do make small exceptions for training food (e.g. Gu on long runs and electrolyte replacement drinks). I decided to make another "exception" and incorporate the Salt Mother into my daily, intentional living practice.

One final Meinrad note. I was standing in the group surrounding Meinrad as the evening was winding to a close. (The friend I went with wanted a chance to speak with her as they've known each other in the past.) We were in a cluster and the woman in front of me was telling Meinrad how much she needed Meinrad's example and inspiration. The woman said several somethings about how she wanted to be as brave and courageous as Meinrad in her own artwork. Meinrad tried to deflect some of this saying she'd only done what she was called to, she affirmed the fearful artist's own ability to do the same, and finally when the woman wasn't hearing her, Meinrad said forcefully, "No. It is for you. Take this! I give you permission to [and here she bared her teeth and growled] be FIERCE in your pursuit. Go." Her energy and her growl encompassed us all. She took the woman's hands in hers and while pulling them together, pushed her gently away. Then Meinrad looked directly at me. It's possible she swept the whole circle with that gaze but I wouldn't know because I was RINGING with the force of those words and her attention. Words said to another, but meant for me too, all the same. She and the Divine Mother gave me permission - a directive - to be FIERCE in my pursuit. Fierce has always meant scary to me - but fear can't get a hold of this inside me. It's too big, too right, too deep for fear. Meinrad Craighead's example gives me an incredible reassurance that my fierceness in this world will be entirely reflective of my own, personal and unique connection with godstuff. I am so grateful to have had the chance to meet Wisdom in this way.

And now, my studio beckons! Peace.

I've Never Been Called For Jury Duty But...

Guess who spent 15 hours in a room without windows telling people where to put their ballots on Tuesday? Honestly, it was a fantastic experience. I was totally jazzed about being part of the voting process. (I single handedly saved at least one ballot from total obscurity. "Ma'am that's a trash can. If you want your vote counted you have to feed your ballot into that machine right over there. Yes. That one with the big sign. See the arrows? Yes. That one.") It was exciting to see folks I knew. More than a dozen people waved and called me by name as they came through. I could feel my tendrils unfurling as I let myself take root in this community. My fellow poll workers were an interesting mix: a rabbi, a blue-collar lesbian, a retired Coca-Cola Co. executive*, a 20 year-old college student studying to be an elementary school teacher, and a well-dressed woman in her fifties who seemed uptight at first but who turned out to be witty, organized, and quite kind. (Her two kids brought her coffee mid-morning. The two of them were tattooed, pierced, skinny in an 80's hair band kind of way, and when they walked in, she LIT UP. They gave her a big hug and she beamed for about 10 minutes after they left. It was pretty remarkable to see a complete stranger morph like that. I don't know if it was the coffee or the thoughtfulness of her kids (or the combo) but she was much more easy-going for the rest of the day.)

It was a long day. We were required to be there from the set up through the official poll closing/clean up procedures. We all brought our lunches and snacks and only left the room to go to the restroom. It was a busy day, as you'd expect given the democratic primary race thus far. I had expected clumps of voters, long lines at times and dull moments at others, but we were steady all day. The veteran poll workers assured me that we had an unusually high turnout, especially for a primary, and also that we'd worked out a good system to get folks through the process without big lines. Our precinct was very well run. I think the only people who had to wait at all were the 17 1/2 year olds (because we ran out of ballots for them!) or the few who had issues with their registration. The hundreds of others fairly sailed through. One woman even seemed miffed that she wouldn't have a chance to read her book while waiting! All in all, it was an incredible experience for me. And? I didn't know it when I signed up, but they pay you for it! I have no idea how much - probably not a lot - but maybe enough to take myself out to eat to make up for the lunch and dinner I missed. Peace.

*There's more! You find out all kinds of things about people when you sit and talk to them for 15 hours. This guy turns out to have played in the NFL!!! He played for the Chicago Bears in the early 60's. I was babbling excitedly to Linus about how this guy had played at Lambeau Field. Lambeau! I heard about the icy January game, the field like concrete, and how by the fourth quarter, everyone's pads were frozen solid. This guy described having to get in the showers fully dressed in order to thaw the gear enough to get it off. I recounted it all to Linus who smiled and nodded. Uh-huh. "Do you even know where Lambeau Field is?" I asked. "Texas?" he guessed. "TEXAS?!!!" Linus hugged me and said,"Maybe you should call your surrogate sports husband Duncan for this one, love." So I did. Duncan, at least, was properly impressed.

This same guy also mentioned (when I pulled out my Vanderbilt sweatshirt) that he was going to a family reunion in the Nashville area this summer. He said his nephew had 400 acres. "A farm?" I asked. "Well, kind of. It's over there...not in Brentwood. What's the area close by?" "Franklin?" I suggested dubiously. "Yes! Franklin." "Wow. Four hundred acres in Franklin? What is he, a country music star?" I joked. "Actually, yes," was the reply. "Anyone I've heard of?" "Maybe. You heard of Brad Paisley?" "Er, yeah. I have." But of course Linus hasn't. So I called Duncan again. There you have it - my very Amurican day, chock full of voting, football, and country music stars!

Forget the Cuppa, Make It A Tubba

Did you know they made caffeinated soap? The website says that the caffeine is absorbed through your skin - giving you that wake up buzz without the coffee breath. Uh yeah - about that...

I wondered before if Starbucks should get into the bath and beauty product business. I was totally joking but maybe I shouldn't have been! Peace.

A Phone Call From The 'Rents

My father called me yesterday to say he'd seen the interview and that he thought I did a fine job. He used adjectives that coded in my head as positive even though I can't for the life of me remember them. Calm? Composed? I know he said I looked "great" and I have it in my mind that he may have said I sounded "articulate". I know for a fact that he said I did NOT sound nervous or inexperienced. He said I didn't ramble. He said I made clear points and came across as sincere. Ha! If he'd only seen the un-edited version he would not have said that.

My father was both genuine and sweet. The fact that he called to tell me what he thought - and the fact that what he thought was positive - all of that tripped me out. You see, I had all kinds of classic cross-parent/child issues with him when I was younger. Every bit of what you'd expect from a daddy's girl who was abandoned due to the divorce process when she was 14, in the mid-80's by her Dartmouth-educated, dashingly handsome & charming father. Did I mention I'm an oldest child? I have always - all my life - been desperate for his approval and attention. To a degree that shocked his socks off when we finally talked about it all - a decade or so ago. I think he had NO idea how much his say so meant to me. He spent his life trying (and feeling like he was failing) to be "good enough" for HIS father. It was a complete surprise to him to have passed that down without meaning to. To be perfectly fair, he is so different from his father that I can understand why it didn't occur to him that I would feel the same way about him as he felt about Grandaddy.

My dad and I have a great relationship (now) - and I genuinely love to be around him. I feel so much more comfortable with him than I used to. I don't analyze everything he says looking for the barb, the criticism while simultaneously trying to contort his words into praise. I'm a lot better at being myself and letting him be himself. It helped A LOT to learn more about anxiety patterns and how they manifest themselves in families. (You know that time I invited my father over for supper - when I scrubbed my house, spent a week planning the menu and the entire day cooking it, making sure to find interesting recipes for some of his favorite foods - only to have him show up and say he couldn't eat a bite because the ladies at work had brought in potluck and made him try everything and he was too full? Yeah - that wasn't about me - and it wasn't just that my dad was being a big fat jerk!! It wasn't a failure in communication. I didn't do anything wrong. It was anxiety - and now I know. I know what to look and listen for - how to diffuse and interpret it. And sometimes I know how to avoid it - and sometimes I'm good at acknowledging it and poking fun at it in just the right ways. As I said - things are sooooo much better between us.)

As good as things are - the reality is that my internal negative critic uses my father's voice. And it probably always will. It sucks. It's probably not fair to him or me. But there you have it. I heard myself on TV, mangling basic grammar and I instantly imagined my father upon hearing it, being embarrassed to admit knowing me, much less to having sired me. And then he called to say I'd done a fine job, that he was proud of me.

I'm glad I'd already made my peace with how I'd done in the interview. I'd already writhed, talked myself through it, whined some more, and then truly decided I'd done the best I could have done - given that moment, those circumstances - and that it was fine to have it be exactly what it was. I didn't consciously know it, but I needed to have done all that on my own without the warping affect my dad's approval or lack thereof can have on me. So... how wonderful just to be able to listen and honestly thank him for caring enough to call, and to be able to allow myself to savor his words. This growing up stuff? So worth it sometimes.
Peace.

My Love Of Cob

I LOVE cob. I am in awe of <---this. For more info on the artist Sarah Machtey (and some incredible pictures of the work in progress) of this cob stairwell - go here. Someday I want a cob house or writing studio or something!

I tried to post about my reaction to the second (and final - thank the gods!) part of the interview that aired last night, but I just couldn't face it. Hence your getting cob. And a quick word to say that we biked Monday, swam yesterday and ran today. Registration for the race is on Saturday. I hold it out in front of me when I can't cope with anything else. Peace.

Forget The Gold Star - Give Me A Sharpie

Have I mentioned that my children are Sharpie-mad? Chaos would rather be caught without underwear on than be Sharpie-less. (I kid you not.) It's handy on a regular basis: they label (and often decorate) the freezer bags when we're processing groceries into the deep freeze, they whip Sharpies out when I've forgotten a pen, and where do you think I got the red and black ink for the zombie-fest? I do have to remind them that PERMANENT marker bleeding through onto the tabletops and counters is not a good idea. (A couple of scrubbing sessions with clorox and wood cleaner and the threat of a new table coming out of their pocket has almost solved that issue.) When we found a multi-pack of Sharpies for half price this week, we decided to take a page out of Bet's book of teacher tricks and dole them out as a reward. Last night we presented the first family Sharpie award to Mayhem who has managed to stay out of homework lunch, get his planner signed, AND take the trash and recycling to the curb three weeks running without complaining (justifiably!) that it should be someone else's turn already. He got to choose his favorite color from the pack. Each week (or whenever we remember to) we're going to award a Sharpie to the kid who shows the best attitude (or whatever we want to encourage that week.) I was all kinds of pleased with myself - until there was an impromptu game of "Sharpie Tag" in the kitchen last night. I'd have fussed more, but I'm pretty sure that Bet started it. I know she's the one who agitated to set up an organized game of it for next weekend. Clorox anyone?
Peace.

Dude, Where's My Spleen?

As a treat for the older boys, Unky Dunky took them to the sneak preview of Romero's Diary of the Dead at the Carolina Theater last night. It was an anti-Valentine's Day Zombiefest. Perfect, eh? Those of us left at home (Havoc, The Ninja Princessa, Bet, and I) decided to have our own zombie fest by making cookies. Zombie cookies! Zombie-barnyard-animal-warrior cookies, even! (It was a sign from the universe when we found kits this week with cookie cutters in the shapes of cows, pigs and manatees!) The pictures should all be clickable for a closer up view: This is the Cow Army Headquarters. See the Zombie crawling through the minefield of cowpies? Havoc and Bet made the cut-in-half cow. Please note, Havoc also decorated the back fence with body parts.
The Manatees of Death were for Chaos - because only he could want to turn a gentle, sweet, lovable creature into a bombadier.
The pig cookies were pink! Pink dough. Ooey-gooey red/pink frosting guts. Pigs of doom! As much fun as the zombie farmyard army was, the coup de grace was the spleen cookie. Last night the guys went dressed in their best zombie attire (which if you didn't know - officially consists of zombie-themed shirts, boots, leather trench coats, and pants with clanking chains <- so we can hear them coming and outrun them?) Chaos has a shirt (that he loaned to Bug last night) that used to be a normal t-shirt: short sleeve, brown, nice heavy cotton. "Somehow" it got a horizontal rip in it and Chaos decided to add further Sharpie modification by writing the words "Give me back my spleen" above the rip. (I'm not sure from whence came the original spleen fascination, but spleen comments have been a running gag at our house for a while.) Bet (who was the only one patient enough in the first place roll and cut out batch after batch of deformed livestock cookies) finally said enough is enough - we're making one last, awful cookie. How about a spleen cookie? There was some debate about what a spleen actually looks like wherein the Princessa immediately suggested googling pictures of spleens and then almost as immediately turned green and said, "Wait! On second thought, don't!" You know it's probably the weirdest phone call our buddy Rob (the science teacher) has ever gotten, "Hey, what does a spleen look like?" After all of the suggestions were made, here is the final result: There was a brain cookie too - but everyone knows what brains look like and it got eaten before I got a good picture of it anyway. Hope your Valentine's Day was as filled with love and fun as ours. Peace.

Our New Thing

Thanks to our buddies C is for Coffee and Salsa Man - we are recession-proofing our pantry. (The nod also has to go to Grant and Sandra who tried unsuccessfully to infect us with the savings bug years ago!) I'm pretty sure I've already mentioned that we signed up for The Grocery Game last month. Our goal has been to save more than we spend. We did that once on a small run to the store where we saved $38 and paid $31. We're getting closer on the big, weekly shopping trips but we're not quite there yet. Still, looking at the receipt where we paid $153 and saved $110? Happiness making.

What are we doing with all that fabulous "extra" money? Err, paying the lawyers. Bleck.

It does feel a bit like no matter how much we save right now, we won't be able to get out of the hole. To counter that, I look at the pantry overflowing with food and I celebrate the abundance in our life. I am trying to get myself to the thrift store to donate the clothes we've been culling from the overflowing closets. I want to keep good things flowing to and and through our home. Getting kick ass bargains on food we eat anyway makes me feel powerful and responsible. Giving what we can no longer use to someone who needs it makes me feel connected and aware. Being intentional in one area gives me energy to stay open and intentional in other areas.

It's a little mysterious how using a $.75 (which doubles to $1.50) on a tube of toothpaste (which was 1/2 price already) can help me get to the post office (which if you know anything about me - you know I am, for all intents and purposes, permanently disabled in the postal department.) I cannot explain it. You'll have to take it on faith. (And maybe wait to believe it until you see the valentine I mailed you.) Peace!

In Which Lilymane Falls In Love

Linus has been traveling this week. He went to Boston and then Detroit (by way of Chicago where his flight was canceled and his luggage took five hours longer than he did to get to Michigan) and now today he's on his way home from Detroit (by way of Dallas). Sounds like fun, no? Yeah, not to me either.

While he's been gone, I've fallen in love. With a hair salon. Crazy but true. Among my other loves, now I heart the Aveda Institute. I went in simply to buy Bet some Blue Malva shampoo. While I was paying, I noticed the huge room full of empty salon chairs/stations. The little guy at the desk (whose makeup was flawless) explained that Tuesdays through Saturdays they offered full salon services provided exclusively by supervised students. I must have looked as skeptical as I felt when he tried to get me to book an appointment. He launched into a fairly dramatic description of how wonderful and fab-u-lous it was, only all-natural products were used, they were the first to have an emphasis on the whole person, and that it was more than a haircut, it was an experience at Aveda. I tried to pay and scoot out the door, but the festive lout insisted on showing me the salon price list. Eeek! A haircut was half the price of the shampoo I'd just bought! He smirked and asked if mornings or afternoons were better for me. He promised me I'd love it.

I admit I had doubts and almost canceled. I thought about the only beauty school I'd ever seen before which was called something like Elite Beauty & Style Academy. Wedged between the Books A Million and the China Wok in a strip mall, there were always sad looking waifs in smocks tossing their cigarettes to go in and little old ladies with bad perms coming out. The store section of the Aveda Institute was a gazillion times cleaner and classier than that so how bad could the salon section be? I figured I didn't have much to lose. I hadn't had a haircut in nine months and I'm planning to shave my head after the triathlon anyway. If worse comes to worst, I could shave it now. That was my thinking.

I showed up at 9:25 for my 9:30 appointment. I was not the only one. In fact, I was one of about 38. I was totally unprepared for that many people. Yes, I'd seen all the empty chairs but I didn't think they'd each and every one be taken! It was a bit of a cattle call. You gave your name and signed a sheet of paper saying you knew they were students and then you lined up along the side wall and waited to have a stylist call your name. I stood flat against the wall marveling at how many people there were. I was a trifle bit intimidated about how hip the stylists appeared at first: lots of spiky hair gelled into interesting geometries, quite a few piercings and tattoos, all black outfits everywhere, and several gals with great boots. I watched a bit more and noticed that there were folks of all shapes and a few older students than at first glance. I saw that some of the stylists that I'd thought were sneering at first actually looked more nervous than anything else. Stylist after stylist came and called a name and took away the women along the wall one by one. More people kept coming in, though. I began to notice that some of the ones who'd just come in were starting to get called too. It felt like grade school, standing there waiting to be called, wondering what to do if I didn't get called, trying to decide how long I should wait before I said anything. Feeling uncertain about the process and overwhelmed by the noise, I'd just started to inch towards the door to escape when a girl with a lovely smile waded through the crowd calling my name. She was maybe all of nineteen but she radiated kindness. I answered and she took me back to her station, which turned out to be in a room I hadn't noticed off to the side. It was MUCH quieter. Her name was Megan. She offered me tea (organic peppermint and licorice). She talked with me about what I wanted done with my hair. She got her supervisor. She told her supervisor what I wanted, her supervisor checked it with me and then advised her on how to go about it. Then she walked me back to the even quieter shampoo room where I got to choose whether to sit or to lie down while having my hair washed. What a fantastic thing, to get to lie down while having your hair washed! I highly recommend it. Megan washed my hair (lather, rinse, repeat!) and gave me a mini-facial (toner, moisturizer, short massage, steamy towel). Then we went back to her station where she gave me a stress reducing treatment (a short neck and shoulder massage). Then she cut my hair (exactly the way I wanted it) and styled it (way better than I can do myself). All of this pampering for the low, low price of $19. And they don't let you tip the students. It was nineteen bucks total. I'm used to paying upwards of $60 for about a tenth of the attention. I mentioned I heart the Aveda Institute, didn't I? It was quite literally my favorite haircut ever. I'm thinking of going back every two weeks. Haircuts: cheaper and more fun than therapy! Be warned, if you ever come visit me, I will give you a whirlwind tour of UNC and Duke and a day long saunter through Aveda. Peace.

Yay Australia!

I meant to post about this the other day and got too caught up in my own crapola. I am THRILLED for Australia. I wish I could pull Australia just a little bit closer and rub shoulders with her in the hope that whatever fever of sanity her electorate caught is contagious. Howard lost because he was seen as old and out of touch with the rest of the world. I do not discount the many positive things Howard has done during his long tenure, but it's like he missed the part where his people are concerned about the climate change and the war he's supported, and that cost him. The environment was a huge election issue and the younger generation voted vocally to support a prime minister who would ratify the Kyoto protocol. I am impressed by Australia's forward-thinking move. Gee, where can I get me some of that? Peace.

Morning News And Compulsive Peace

Maybe reading the news first thing in the morning isn't such a good idea.
This is sad. This is horrifying. Both are senseless. This helps if I can overcome my cynical side sniping and dismissing it as political theater.

My new wf Jeff asked me yesterday about my obsession with peace. I want peace. I yearn for it. I have a passion for it. I am searching for inner peace, outer peace, and sideways peace if it's available. I will visualize it, grow it, document it, explore it, sit with it, and share any little bit of it I can find. If I were a superhero, I would want my superpower to be peace. I'd dish up some serious Pax Lilymana. Peace talks, peace walks, peace deals - grasping at straws is better than refusing to reach. I don't mean to be glib as I repeatedly write the word peace, wish it upon random folks, and generally sling the concept around in my daily life. It's my way of praying without ceasing. It's my antidote to this morning's news - or any morning's news for that matter. The microscopic glimpses I have of peace are redemptive to the degree that I believe a full-sized, industrial-strength, global dose of peace would be nothing short of heaven. If we have the capacity to perceive even the shadow of it - how can we not ache to bring it fully about? Dynamic hope. Transformational love. Universal salvation. Divinity: inclusive, transcendent and immanent. Relational unity. The peace which passeth all understanding. That's what I'm talking about.
Peace be with you.

Squirrel Guts Everywhere

There are so many things I have in my brain to post about this morning - the debate last night, how meeting new friends is stirring up old memories, Beowulf tonight on the IMAX, Bug's 17th birthday party (OMG we are old enough to have a 17 year old son!!), football matchups this weekend (Havoc's fantasy team the Gridiron Chefs are still undefeated even after the Patriots' bye), comments about being transparent but not invisible in my life, etc. And I would post about all of that - or at least about SOME of that except I can't hear myself think!! This is what's going on at the foot of my bed (from which I blog):
(**The soundtrack doesn't come through but imagine if you will - "GRRRRL! RWLLLL! RRGHHHH! RWLLL! GRWWWL!" And toss in a few dozen SNORTS and a few whines.**)



Wasabi has a friend Grace staying over for a few days. They have been playing tug-o-war with a fluffy squirrel toy for HOURS. (You may remember this is Wasabi's favorite game.) Squirrel fluff is flying. Everywhere. It's on my bed, my floor, my hair. Wasabi is ridiculously happy. He and Grace are very cute. They are also very loud. I have tried to shoo them out of my room, but they think I am trying to play with them. Real posting may have to wait until tomorrow!
Peace.

Who Wears The Skirt In This Family

Bet lost a bet and had to wear a skirt and heels to school. That may or may not seem like a big deal to you, but I assure you it was a BIG deal to her. They were having contests between the homeroom classes. Bet was sure her homeroom would win and force the other teacher (a die hard Tarheel) to wear Duke gear for the day. Alas, her kids let her down and she had to raid my closet. The reason this was photoworthy to me is that I've known Bet for 16 years and I'd never seen her in a skirt or dress before. It is not her thing. At all. To my knowledge, the only other time she's worn a skirt was to a beloved Div school professor's son's bar mitzvah at an Orthodox temple. Ten years ago. Since it might not (probably won't) happen again, I had to get a picture. And share. :D

Bet was a good sport. If she was uncomfortable, she didn't let it show. She modeled her "big girl shoes" for her colleagues who came by in flocks to peek into her classroom window. She fended off comments like, "But you look so good! You should wear skirts and heels more often," without growling. But I bet she'll never wager on her homeroom again.
Peace.

Serious Tool User

Find more photos like this on NaBloPoMo


I took a bunch of new photos today to post to NaBlo and they made a little slideshow for me. Isn't this cool? I'm going to make an actual Who's Who post with static pictures sometime soon. The 100 Things post is two years old and needs updating. I think a visual guide would be fun. So consider this a preview.

In other news:
The Bat Mitzvah was incredible. Anna has a beautiful voice. She's been studying and training one on one with a woman from her synagogue specifically for this day since she was in the third grade. Her Torah portion was exquisite. Her smile as she sang the last few bars was radiant. I could tell her mother was tickled pink. It was a wonderful service, very inclusive. The only hitch came when they processed the Torah and started on the side of the room that had no idea what to do. Even that was ok, though. The sanctuary (temple?) was architecturally stunning. Beautiful woods, the Ark made from gorgeous lapis tiles, soaring beamed ceiling with windows up high letting lots and lots of light in. It was spacious and intimate at the same time. What a beautiful place to worship. I love sacred spaces. The reception afterwards had yummy food and great conversations with other parents. It was a lovely experience.
Peace.

The Saturday Morning Post

Thank you for the support about the teacher. I can't get Havoc out of that classroom, but I have decided to go talk to the principal. I have also decided to talk to Havoc very frankly about this situation. He LOVES school. He is a pleaser. I want him to know that he does have to figure out how to live by this teacher's rules and function in her classroom. That's an important skill even in (or maybe especially in) a situation where there is a personality conflict. However, I need my kid to know that I have issues with his teacher. I don't want him internalizing something she says (like "Havoc, you are just not creative.") It's the same way I am with my kids about music and tv and books that express a value or opinion that I either don't share or that I'm totally against. I don't forbid (most of the time) but I do make them talk to me about what they understood and what they think and I let them know where I stand and why. I can't figure out anything else at this stage - but I very much appreciate your comments!

In other news, we are off to a bat mitzvah. I've never been to one and I'm really looking forward to it. The Ninja Princessa's friends are incredible. They read and study together. They have been asked out by boys but they've decided they'd rather be friends with boys right now. (And they mean that. The Princessa stayed good friends with a boy she had a crush on and who asked her out. He totally understood her. She even thinks he's more comfortable with her now than before.**) The girls are organizing a bake sale to raise money for mistreated animals. The Princessa openly wears her pentacle and there is no issue. They talk to each other about their beliefs and experiences and affirm each other even though they are very different. It is SUCH a change! The girls from last year (with few exceptions) were boy crazy, materialistic, righteous and preachy, exclusive and bratty. Their entire repertoire was shopping for slutty clothes, gossiping about what a bitch some other girl was, sniping about whose church was better, and whining to/about their parents. I was tempted to think at first that The Princessa lucked out with her closest friends here, but even her casual friends seem like intelligent, sweet, and quirky girls! I am so willing to help the Princessa invest in these friendships. Not only are the girls great, but I've enjoyed all of their parents! (Well, duh. With just a tiny bit more thought, I suppose that's not so surprising.) I'm truly looking forward to the bat mitzvah. The only thing that has me the least bit trepidatious is that I don't know what to expect from the ceremony itself. I'd hate to make a fool of myself. Surely they'll have some way of guiding visitors through the appropriate protocols, right? Hanukkah and Passover Seder are both full of instructions and easy to be a part of (sing this, repeat that, and best of all - eat this!) I think we'll be ok. We care, we're respectful. Really we'll be ok. I'll stop worrying. Any minute now.
Peace.
**In a weird twist, it turns out that we were already friends with this boy's moms. Bet taught the boy's older sibs but since she's not teaching him we didn't put it together. At the housewarming party the Ninja Princessa eeked at me, "That's HIS mom! That's HIS mom!" I guess the Princessa's still a little crushy. The inadvertent shrieking up there in those bat frequencies gave it away. She may not be as calm and cool about this boy as she'd like to be, but I'm ok with her wanting to go slowly. Linus would like her to go even more slowly. In fact, he'd like her to move so slowly as to have all motion in the dating direction imperceptible to the naked eye. Scratch that! He doesn't want the word naked coming anywhere close to his daughter. Poor dad. Being realistic, I think we've got a few short months before the boy friends start becoming boyfriends. Still, the Princessa could do worse than this boy. He's kind, very goofy, and has nice mamas. But Linus can rest easy for at least one more night because this boy won't be at the bat mitzvah. Anna's mother told her she could invite boys and she said, "Eew. Why?" LOVE these girls.

WWJB?

I absolutely LOVE this picture from the site What Would Jesus Blog. It seems like it would be irreverent, but it isn't really. I think my old boss (the dean of the Episcopal cathedral) would appreciate this image immensely. It's that living word thing, don't you know. I just love it. I'm not sure I quite understand the site as a whole (since I don't listen to enough music to know what it's talking about) but I enjoy the way the author (JC? :D) rides right on the line between deeply respectful and utterly outrageous. Absolute gem to find tonight. Thank you Terminally Cute for having this crazy link on your blogroll.
Peace.

Icons, Badges, And Buttons - Oh My!

You may have noticed a little more clutter in my right side bar recently. I've found two wonderful sites (groups? what exactly is the right blog word for these eddies in the ether stream?) I may have to move my blogroll (and I sure as heck need to update it!) so I have room for these other ways to connect. I have enjoyed surfing other people's blogrolls but recently I've been finding myself clicking on their button affiliations more often. I'd love to hear what works for other people. Do you zing around on your own? Do you follow links (blinks or blogrolls)? Do you like buttons and badges better? Comment at me! :D


Now here's what I've found:
The first new gem is my "Passionate Blog" badge. It connects to Magpie Girl's Small is Beautiful manifesto which starts by saying, "We believe stories are valuable, no matter how matter how many people read them." How can you not like that?? If you have time, check out their blog roll or their Saturday prompts. I found this just when I was needing some reaffirmation about baby steps. I took a few steps ignoring whether I was being watched (evaluated, judged) or not and now my training plan is zipping along and I have some sketches for my quilt project. Sometimes it takes a nudge here and there!

The second delight is the "Wishcasting" icon. I loves me some magic. Her concept? To provide a safe space to launch wishes. She encourages you to be a magic maker and a wish tender by inviting you to offer up your own wish and to support someone else's. Communal wishing! Fantastico! (*I'm not sure why social bookmarking strikes me as silly but communal wishing thrills me down to my taproots. If I were consistent, I'd be boring.) Check it out. Send a wish into the world - and hey, while you're there, look for my wish and give it some oomph in the comments. Easy, fun, magical, brilliant.

The third thing (which lest you think (again) that I can't count, isn't really considered new since I already told you to look for it) is my NaBlo button. I am having gobs o' fun with NaBloPoMo! Click my badge over there and see. It's connectivity with zero pressure. I've added a dozen interesting blogs to my "I want to read more of THIS" list and I've met several new friends. Me! Anxious, tentative, bag of self-doubts me - making friends out of strangers. Cool, creative, insightful, fascinating strangers, no less! It is absolutely a testament to how telling our stories (e.g. blogging) can bring us together - which I didn't know when I started nearly two years ago. (Hey - blogversary coming up on the 26th! Can you believe it?)

Recap:
Talk to me today! Tell me about your linking, surfing, blog winnowing habits. (<--This is known throughout the (blogging) world as "begging for comments" and it's considered a tad bit unsavory so don't make me take it to the next level, my dearest internetters.)
Admire my icons. *preens* Make a wish. Think Small, be inspired.
Venture forth to NaBlo.
And as always,
Peace.

Gundecking The Blog Post #1

*This post was backdated. I ported it in from NaBlo because I realized that I didn't know how available any of my posts on that site would be after November and I want to keep this one. Since I wrote it to "make up for" the two days I had absolutely no way to post. It makes sense to me to stick it here.*

LOOK WHAT I MADE TODAY

My first SoulCollage card. I'm a tiny bit vague on the details of the "suits" as I didn't run right out and by the book and spend three weeks researching the exact "right" way to do it (=usual m.o.). I jumped in. (After all, I had cardstock, catalogs, scissors and rubber cement!) I think she'll end up being called "The Navigator" or maybe "The Pathtaker" and it seems like an internal voice card. I love cloaks and I loved that I found reversed colors and reversed directions - especially in purple and green. Purple is all about the spirit and green is a color of growth. (And aren't choices about growth even if they turn out to be "bad" or "wrong" choices?) I have one descending and one ascending - but there's not judgment of good/bad with that for me. Sometimes you have to go down/inwards and sometimes you have to go up/out. I included some fun navigational tools (compasses both old and modern) and some background paper of the inside of a geode. I'm not super skilled yet with the macro feature of my camera but I think it's not a bad photo.

It was fun to cut and paste (the old fashioned way) and end up with something tangible. Strangely it was a relief for me to use paper instead of fabric/fiber today. I thought a lot about making quilt artcards along SoulCollage lines and embellishing the heck out of them (because that's what I love to do) but this was simple and gratifying. Definitely primed the well. (And hey, I'm posting twice today to "make up for" the two days I didn't get to post when I was traveling and couldn't get connection. It doesn't "count" for anything other than for me but it feels symmetrical or like good blogging karma or something.) Peace.

PS - If you're reading this and you've made some art cards/SoulCollage cards/or quilted cards that aren't sort of at the top of your blog where I could find them in the 30 minutes I have left on my surfing allotment, would you send me a comment with a link? I'd love to see other people's take on this idea. Thanks!!

A Little This, A Little That

Havoc's pumpkin soup was a hit. Well, it was as much of a hit as it could be given that half the family doesn't like the taste of pumpkin! His soup was creamy and beautiful - served in the pumpkin itself. The spices were nice (paprika and coriander) and it complemented the garlic bread perfectly. The green salad was a nice touch. The kids have really gotten on board with kids' cooking night. Mayhem has the next turn and he's chosen a Rachel Ray recipe for Grilled Shrimp Scampi over Angel Hair Pasta. Yummy! (I have some teensy concerns about children using the grill so there will be major parental oversight for that part, but over all the kids are doing so much on their own - it's amazing.)

It's raining here - which the news reporters keep telling us won't bring us off of water restrictions - but still! Lovely, drippy, drenching, wet rain!! Mayhem's rain dance worked!

Hmmmm - what else to report?? I do not want to open the can of tapioca this morning. I have nothing exciting on my agenda to celebrate or agonize over. (Balance bank account, go to grocery store (again!), vacuum, scrub shower using as little water as possible - so exciting!) I have some NFL type of things to say about the changes to the draft and the Pro Bowl, but you - my five loyal readers - NONE of you like football. What is up with that?!! (If I happen to have a reader out there who does like football - send me a comment - something, anything! Let me know!) I could comment on the news (fires in SoCal - scary, be careful people!, war in Iraq - scary, be careful soldiers!, political debates - scary, be careful voters!) Training is going well with our base run being six sets of 5:30 min run to 2:00 walking. Tomorrow is a day of speed work which I suck at but secretly look forward to because it means a shorter run day. I'm building weight lifting back into the training routine. Woo hoo. Are you mesmerized yet by my thrill-a-minute lifestyle? It may not be much to blog about, but I am happier than I have ever been (minus the tapioca). I LOVE being boring this week. Count me content.
Peace.

Old Newness (And New Oldness)

So here is the entry I was fixing to post TWO WEEKS AGO when life (in the form of a silly ex-husband) intervened.

New this week:
1) Fall weather! I LOVE 50 degree nights and 75 degree days!!! Hello football weather.

2) Speaking of football, Havoc wanted to play fantasy football too so he created a team this weekend called the Gridiron Chefs. :D He jumped up and down in excitement when he got his favorite QB, Tom Brady, in the draft. He's wearing his Patriots jersey today to celebrate. (**Update is that Havoc's fantasy football team is kicking the snot out of mine and Bet's team. Butterhead.**)

3) Mayhem has a girlfriend! He told me that at the dance, 8th graders kept asking him to dance and he turned them down. I asked him why and he looked AGHAST. "I couldn't dance with them when I was there with Lisa!" Ahhhh. Because I was supposed to know that he was "there with Lisa"? I dropped him off at MAT'S house before the dance and took MAT home after the dance and all I'd heard about the girls was that business of zapping! Bet teasingly asked Mayhem if he had kissed Lisa and Mayhem said, "Never on the first date!" which was funny but also good. However, yesterday Mayhem went ice skating on what was supposed to be a "double date" of him and Lisa and then his buddy Sam and Sam's girl (who I think is Lisa's best friend.) Turns out that Sam couldn't make it and Lisa had two friends with her. Mayhem did not seem to mind spending the afternoon with three girls. (**Update is that Lisa is not only quite pretty but she's in the super gifted group at school. Cute and smart! Yay Mayhem. Only thing is, I think she's turned his brain to mush. Calls from teachers over the weekend indicate that Mayhem needs to pay a leetle more attention to school. A suggestion was made that turning in worksheets with actual work on them would bring his newly dropped grades back up. Doh!**)

4) Ridiculous emails: Mr. Tapioca Head has been sending me harassing, pathetic, crazy emails. He calls me names. He threatens me with things he's going to bring up in the "trial." Then he closes with something like, "Do not respond to this email. I will not read it. Respond only to my lawyer." So I haven't responded. THEN he starts sending me whiny, lecturing emails because I'm not answering him. My attorney told me to send this email to him (which I did):

Mr. Tapioca Head -
Unless there is an emergency affecting the children, please direct all communication to me through the attorneys.
-Lilymane

It is amazing how free I feel having sent that email. Don't get me wrong - I HATE the lawyer games. They are expensive and stupid. But since "he started it" and I have to pay lot$ just to have an attorney - it is great to know that from now on she can be my filter. I no longer dread opening my computer.

(**Update is that I was all ready to post that until I immediately got more email from my ex. Not only that, but he started sending email to MY attorney, too. She responded to him with this:

mr. tapicoa head:
it is my understanding that you are represented by the firm of bubba, redneck, and earl in this matter. since you have an attorney, it is improper for you to communicate directly with me. please do not email me directly any more. just ask your attorney to communicate and i will deal with him. if you are not represented by an attorney, then i can talk to you directly.
lilymane's kickass attorney

(Apparently I do not pay my attorney enough money to use capital letters. That must be the platinum level of representation that I can't afford. Still, lower case aside - I love my attorney.)

Do you know what Mr. Tapioca did when he received that email from my attorney? He wrote her back saying he had not meant to be improper but blah, blah, blah. He wouldn't shut up! A dozen emails later (sent to both of us) and my attorney sends him another note:

mr. tapioca head:
please stop emailing me. it is improper and inappropriate, as i have already told you. i will not read what you write. if you have something to communicate about this case, please direct it to your attorney, who can then get in touch with me.
lilymane's kickass (and pissed off) attorney

Take one guess what the man did! One. Guess. If you guessed that he EMAILED HER BACK then you have begun to comprehend the vast expanses of my ex's inability to respect anyone's boundaries. Would it surprise you to learn that at one point he was TEXTING me trying to get me to agree to his proposed visitation plans? What did he expect back, do you think? A text saying, "ok u get kids when u want & dont 4get Rx info"? I don't know about you, but in my world text messages are for things like, "Will be 10 min late. Sorry." NOT for discussing issues that are in the process of being contested in court! The man is beyond irritating.

His new and completely passive aggressive strategy is to send an email detailing how he wants things to be and then to conclude with "If I don't hear from you, I will assume this is all ok with you," which makes me want to pluck out his eyeballs. Does he think that strategy is going to work? When he shows up at the airport and the children don't get off the plane, do you think he'll whine to the ticketing agent, "But she didn't write back and say she objected to taking the children out of school to fly them to me so I assumed she'd just do it." As if he hadn't already been a pain in the ass enough for four exes, he has changed jobs (and phone numbers and health insurance for the kids) AGAIN. That makes seven times (although Linus insists it's eight times) in six years. And again, he's playing games about getting the information to me. i could care less about his address but I found out the health insurance was no longer valid when I couldn't refill Havoc's prescription for asthma medicine. My child needs this medicine to help him BREATHE! I get emails without ceasing concerning matters of Mr. Tapioca's convenience but not a bit of communication about matters vital to the health and well-being of our child (in spite of my lawyer asking his lawyer for it, etc, etc.) And that is waaaay more update than any of us wanted, isn't it?**)

So maybe now you can see why I haven't been posting? I've been trying to spare you the rant that I knew would spring forth the minute I got to typing. I also have to admit, I've spent as little time on the computer as possible in the past two weeks in a futile attempt to avoid the tapioca tide myself. That's been a little bit like throwing the baby out with the bath water as I've really missed my blog and it hasn't stopped the insanity of my ex. I need a new coping mechanism that's lighter on the avoidance and maybe heavier on the butter and salt. Butter and salt make everything better, don't they?
Peace.

PS - Mojo requests! Please send good thoughts to St. Ann and John the Magnificent this week as they have their own tapioca to deal with. And send some healing vibes down South to my buddy Steve's mom. Peace, peace, peace to everyone!