Klondike

Day, night, night, day...I've been spending days on end mostly in one space, my living room by my fireplace.   This has made it seem like one, long, continuous moment.  My head is full of words.  My mind is composing, composing but no writing has happened.  There's so many places to start.  There's so much to say.

Big dog is sick.  I don't have to believe it because there's something growing in his mouth.  What I have to believe is that it will undo him.  When I was told the news, my vigilant watch began.  It's hard to know how heightened my senses have become.  I listen to his breath, his snores.  I watch him twitch when he dreams.  I woke up this morning, almost afraid to go to him.  Would he be in a pool of blood because I slept overnight?  I read something into his every look.  He comes to me with enormous brown/black eyes - lumps of coal in the snowy white face.  I translate those looks through my feeble, spiritually disconnected, limp, selfish human filter.   Last night I thought he was trying to tell me that time was getting shorter.  He followed me and needed to be touching me.  His paw reached out as if to say, "stay close friend."  We laid by the fire some more, my hand on his side, massaging, stroking, scratching, so he would know of my deep love.   I wondered how the clock was ticking.  Then, all of a sudden, dogs bark and out he and they go, running full out to the back of the big yard.  Barking, chasing, leaping, protecting.  Being true to their work and breeding.  My big white protectors.  I laugh at myself and all that I'm fabricating in my mind about this moment.

To be fair though, this fabricating isn't all bad.  I'm trying to make sense of this time.  I'm trying to learn about what it means to be living and what it means to know it's not forever.  I was (am) afraid I'd spend every moment feeling that weight around my neck of grief and sadness.  I did have days where my arms felt loaded down with rocks, too heavy to raise all the way.  Utter grief.  My friend is going to leave.  How will I get through this?  Then, I tried to place myself in his world - yes, Klondike's.  I do believe that these canine beasts, and this one in particular, are aware of our energy and emotions.  Are we sad, sick, angry, happy, content?  I think he would know if I was wallowing in distress, anxiety, fear, sadness.  I think he would also know if I was in a place of gratitude, love, and the sheer delight of being with him no matter the circumstances.  So, by grace I have been able to spend time in the latter.   And we are enjoying hours of rest, and hours of walks, hours of him being the keeper of the yard.  Days on days have been given to hibernate together in this house, and by a lit hearth.  The other dogs have been calm and patient.  We have been quiet together.  We have been reading Mary Oliver, and Dog Sense.   They have been sitting near while I read and work.  It's been cold, and he likes it.  The cold, winter days have been a gift for me too...more justification in hibernating, more still, more quiet.  

I will continue to try to interpret his looks and movements.  I have always believed he has given me exactly what I  have needed, when I have needed it.  He's a calm force.  He is patient.  He is content.  He is happy, loving, attentive.  He's predictable.  He's ready when I'm ready - for a car ride, a walk, a nap.  He snores every night the most contented, snuffly, beautiful, loud snore.  I don't mind.   I am soothed by it.  

We will take each moment.  

Coffee talk

Once again, I find myself at a local coffee shop, this time in my home town, listening to the entertaining and intriguing chit chat of the other coffee sippers. This is one of my favorite past times. My introvert self sits back, looks busy on my iPad, and my extrovert eavesdrops on the stories being told...the connections being made. We live in such an place of luxurious richness - we who are fortunate enough (like me ) to have the time and resources to even buy a cup of coffee, in a part of Greensboro that is beautiful, safe, friendly, relaxing. This morning I'm thinking about how rare this is - or nonexistent - for so many people in this world. And, I am thinking about how much I depend on these places in time where people meet, greet, share, talk, extend good will to strangers.

I'm also really aware these days of time with my Dad. Yesterday when he rolled up on Guilford's campus in his adorable mini pick up truck, full of pine needles, after his morning trip to the Garden Center, I grabbed that moment in my mind knowing what a gem it was. We all have those moments don't we? When we know for not nearly long enough, that the precise moment we are in is the only one we've truly got. And then, poof...that crystal clarity disappears again. I went to two memorial services this week. Those rituals that give us the opportunity to ponder the fragility of life - the uniqueness of each moment. I always think about how much I take for granted every day, and how I forget to really look at the faces and into the eyeballs of my friends, loved ones and even strangers. How I don't listen to the sounds around me, or the timbre of my children's voices. About how many times I have not taken the opportunity to tell someone that they matter to me, or to demonstrate it.

Serendipitous lessons

You never know where life's biggest lessons are going to come from.  For me, this time, is was a microorganism that found its way into my gut.  Yep, that little critter just wrestled me to ground and fast last week.  I was outraged, the way some of us typically are right before we face new realities, or before we let go of the things that have been getting in our way.  I let go alright, about 15 times.  But that's not really the main point of my story.

First of all, for the first time since my holiday retreat days, I spent days not focused on all the ways I have come up short in my work and personal life.  All the things I'm not doing, all the "shoulds," all the short comings, all the what ifs.    That bug forced me to focus on one thing and one thing only...not vomiting.  I spent hours thinking about the position of my arms, legs, torso and head.  In some ways it was like yoga - ok, and in many ways it really wasn't like that at all.  But is was similar in that I was truly in my body, aware of the incredible systems that our bodies have in place to deal with all that we have to go through to stay alive.  I was captivated by my digestive track, and what I put mine through.  Listen, I eat pretty well.  I have changed my eating habits drastically in the past several years.  I didn't think I ride that system hard, but when all gears are in reverse lets' just say, it seems shocking to me that our little guts can process all that we dump down there.  I made a pact with myself:  little, tiny meals forever.  Eat like a bird!  Keep it clean, keep it simple.  Simple.  Simplicity.  Lesson # 1.

Secondly, after that bug pried my bony fingers from the day to day fretting over god knows what, it directed me towards this whole line of contemplation.  Once I could hold my head upright without too many props, I found myself diving into my iPad.   NOT to email or facebook, or leadership websites, but to topics that I am curious about.  Curiosity.  I read about China and Syria, the Chi of Running, Mary mother of Jesus, and more.  It was the most wonderful day (even feeling like a wet noodle, and with a sore gut) of exploration and enjoyment.  No agenda, just meandering.

That critter also showed me, frankly as other bugs have done before it, that health of any degree is such a hot commodity.  I have such gratitude for days of feeling good, for bodily systems that allow for ways of being and experiencing this world in new ways.  While the bug was holding me down on the sofa at home, it also began giving me a mental slide show of myself moving, running, playing tennis, walking, hiking...all things I am  blessed to be able to do so far in my life.  While I wasn't quite ready to get up and do any of that yet, I knew I would again.  And I knew that I would appreciate those abilities so much more than I did the day before the smack down.

I have spent so many minutes and hours of  my life fretting about my short comings, and focusing on  obstacles.  Let's face it, I am the best manufacturer of my own obstacles.  I can conjure them up and then put them right in my own way with the best of them.  I'm about ready to shut down that particular factory.

So bug, while I didn't welcome you at first, you and I made peace in the end.  Wow, that reminds me of my most favorite poem of all time.  The poem that helped save my life once upon a very dark time.  (below)

So, for today, bug lessons:

Be in your body.  Celebrate with gratitude all that it is doing every second of every day.  Respect that.

Be simple.  Live simply.  Let go of fabricated complications, from food to obstacle construction.  (Oh those Quakers, they know.)

Be curious.  Allow curiosity to lead the way.  Open up and welcome serendipitous learning.  Meander. (Even if it needs to scheduled!)

By the way, happy Serendipity weekend.  It's not all bad.

(And, thank you Rumi...)

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

 

~ Rumi ~

 

 

(The Essential Rumi, versions by Coleman Barks)

the God box (a suggestion from Anne Lamott)

First, if you dare, read this:  http://www.salon.com/2012/12/12/i_am_cuckoo_but_hope_is_coming/

I was searching to see if Anne had her own blog this morning and found her again on Salon.com.  My goodness.  This made me cry and it's not even noon.

(I was looking for beautiful images of holiday lights, etc. and this is the first one that I found - I'm pretty sure it's Lago d'Orta, Italy, where I've been.  Wow.)

Right before Christmas, as I was trying to create one Hallmark/Walton's moment after another for myself and the children and Dad, (and anyone else who might have wandered in from the edges of my life during the holidays, she says breathlessly, fearfully and at the same time hopefully), I found myself with the prospect of a lonely evening ahead on one of the Eve's eves (which I love, love).  I was peering a little bit into a dark well, and thought about going home to eat all the Christmas cookies, or clean out everything I own, do more laundry, or watch another holiday chick flick, when I had a flicker of sanity that none of those options might be a good idea.  So, I decided to take myself out on a date.  This was a big shift -- one of those change directions moments that sounds tiny but it wasn't.  Let's do something holiday-ish, I said, so Me and Myself started out walking around some shops in the new glitzy Friendly Shopping Center (a place I swore I'd never patronize after they tore down the Burlington Industries building and used up all the grass...which was AFTER they built the Burlington building on the beautiful little piece of farmland-in-the-city back when I was a kid - but I'm not bitter).  As I remembered my vow about not going to those dumb stores, I hightailed Me and Myself over to the old Friendly Shopping Center (not sure why that's any better), specifically to Barnes and Noble (which is right on the place where Scott Seed Store and the Winn-Dixie used to be - I should boycott that too I guess).  Anyway, I was getting happier the minute as I walked into all the hustle and bustle because not only was I going on a date with Myself, but I had decided to buy Myself a present!  I had decided to buy Anne Lamott's new book Help Thanks Wow.  I have loved Anne Lamott since I read Operating Instructions when I was pregnant with Julia, which I'm pretty sure gave me the courage to be a mother (along with my friend Elaine) (if you haven't read it - it is amazing).  Anne's writing makes me feel as if we are having a conversation.  I also tend to try to mimic that style, especially after I've been reading her, which I bet is officially annoying as hell to anyone who is reading this.  

Anyway, I got one of the last 3 copies in the store and had a nice little chat with the lady at the help desk about it, and Anne.  We bonded over Anne's irreverent spirituality.  Then, I made my way to the Starbucks area, and decided to really go all out and be flashy with my bad self and get a salted caramel hot chocolate.  Unbelievably Christmas-y.  Myself was happy and was liking this date, even though still fighting the "I'm alone thing."  I found a good seat, and commenced sipping and reading my new book.  

The real feeling better started happening almost immediately after beginning this book.  The first section is "Help" where Anne talks a lot about letting go.  I realized that I was in the actual process of letting go right then and there.  I started breathing differently; I started to relax.  I thought about how much it helped to "be" where I was and stop struggling with my concocted version of how now ought to look or what the future holds, or how I wish I could change the past and other people.  (From Anne:  "A sober friend from Texas once said that the three things I can't change are the past, the truth, and you.  I hate this insight so much.")

Lamott talks about her "God box" in this book.   It is a place she physically puts notes with the name of a person or situation with which she is "crazily, toxic-ally obsessed."  She "gives it to God" and then agrees to keep her "sticky mitts" off of it until she hears back.  From Anne:  "We learn through pain that some of the things we thought were castles turn out to be prisons, and we desperately want out, but even though we built them, we can't find the door.  Yet maybe if you ask God for help in knowing which direction to face you'll have a moment of intuition.  Maybe you'll see at least one next right step you can take."  

"When we think we can do it all ourselves - fix, buy, or date a nice solution - it's hopeless...We're going to get our tentacles wrapped around things and squirt our squiddy ink all over, so there is even less visibility, and then we're going to squeeze the very life out of everything...Or, we can summon a child's faith and put a note with a few words into a small box in the hope that we can get our sucking squid tentacles off things...You can go from monkey island, with endless chatter, umbrage, and poop throwing, to what is happening right in front of me...God, what a concept..we can release ourselves from the absolute craziness of trying to be our own - or other's - higher powers...we can be freed from a damaging insistence on forward thrust...we stop the toxic peering and instead turn our eyes to something else:  to our feet on the sidewalk, to the middle distance, to the hills whence our help comes - someplace else, anything else.  Maybe this is a shift of only eight degrees, but it can be a miracle...It may be one of those miracles where your heart sinks because you think it means you have lost.  But in surrender you have won."  Eight degrees of shift, turns out, can be a big deal-like taking yourself on a date.  I have a lot of squiddy, jet black ink.  It's all over when the monkey chatter and poop throwin' starts.  

Another funny thing happened on my date.  I have this whacky way of saddling up to people who seem to need a receptive, encompassing listener.  I didn't think about it too much, but I chose my seat at the Starbucks area near two older men.  They looked cozy in their easy chairs (which I wanted but made do with a table).  I was really delving into Anne's book and that hot chocolate, when one of the gentlemen lowered his paper and asked "what are you reading?"  Sigh.  I'm nice you see, some even say sweet, which makes me furious.  And my dear Aunt Mabel belief is always in here thinking everyone is WONDERFUL AND PRECIOUS.  So, of course, I started describing the book and Anne.  Forty-five minutes later, and after realizing that this stranger and I used to live a few neighborhoods apart in PA, I knew that  I wasn't going to read anymore Anne in the bookstore that evening - that moment had passed.  But it made me laugh a little to "watch" this interaction which is so typical, and to try to make sense of what it means about me and my intention and belief system.  It also made me grateful I suppose.  Although slightly annoying in the know-it-all way, he was kind of interesting.  And talking to a stranger like that made me remember how much I crave community and the familiarity of small townishness (the kind that Garrison Keillor brings each week).  I figured out more.  Sometimes in my feebleness I get the slightest insight that it is a really gigantic thing to realize that everyday, and maybe even every moment, is "the perfect teacher" (to quote Pema Chodren).  Each day actually comes with it's own syllabus, readings, lecturers and experiential learning opportunities.  I like this. A lot.  I wish I'd sign up for it more often.

So, today I'm thinking about a few things.  How to simultaneously let go and be prepared in my life.  Part of this break for me has been bringing all kinds of things out into the light of day, and getting prepared for the things that always happen like taxes, and check ups, and vet visits, and holidays.  I looked back over the year's calendar to see what the patterns are starting to look like.  I kept a good calendar this year - writing down little things about what was happening each day and month.  I got this from my Dad who can tell me what happened on any date from years past, because he writes it all down.  It gives good perspective.  I'm just deciding to emulate this at age 53.  I am a late bloomer.  Maybe if I do this even a little, I can sign up for each day in a really awake and open way.  Help.

I'm going to be thinking a lot about what to put in the God box.  I tend to get very philosophical about these things, but I'm going to make it as simple as I can.  I am going to consider what I'm gripping and clenching and holding on to.  I'm also going to consider my intentions.  I am going to consider what I want.  I am going to send myself little reminders on my Google calendar.  I wish I could schedule emails to myself over the year. (I bet someone knows how to do that.)

I am not my, nor anyone else's,  higher power it turns out.  I am going to try to remember that.  I am going to ask for "HELP."  I'm AMAZINGLY getting to start the year off with 3 really strong women friends on New Year's Eve. They are brilliant and hilarious and humble and strong.  To that I can say with Anne..."THANKS.  WOW."  

Question 1: Body/The Week of Inward Looking

Where have I learned and lived in 2012? In my head, in my body, or both? What would living more fully in my body in 2013 bring to me? How can I embody life and learning as I move through this liminal space between now and next? How can I more fully learn from the neck down in 2013?

In our hyper-intellectualized disembodied world, we sometimes allow technology to take the place of our bodies, don’t we? We sit, with only our arms moving as we type. We’ve even begun to distrust what our bodies say to us. Instead, we learn from the neck up, when learning from the neck down and fully embodying life will provide us with such greater riches. What do you allow yourself to really feel in your body, without the need to clarify, intellectualize, provide proof, capture with data, or block? What can you allow yourself to really feel in your body in 2013?

This first prompt from the ever faithfully encouraging and challenging Patti Digh is part of "The Week of Inward Looking" in which she has invited friends to participate.  It is encouraging, I suppose, to know that so many (the privileged and blessed and lucky) of us are pondering these types of queries at this time of year.  I just reread blog posts here and on another more private blog dating back to 2007.  I do a lot of writing this time of year; a lot of reviewing and assessing and lots of hopeful planning.  Unfortunately, I do it all with a certain amount of dread, wondering when the momentum will give way and be overtaken by the busy-ness, worry and fretting about it all. I can only hope that it is the journey on the spiral staircase, and than it gets better with time.  That with each turn and step of the stairs, I learn a little more.  I think aging helps with this.  What I would give to have some of my current insights in my 30's.  (How I wish I could give them to my children.)  I have had so many moments this past month especially when I realize I am older - I am truly middle aged.  Actually, 53 is "old' to the 20-something- so I'm squeaking by with the middle aged title!  My older self is the one shaking her head at things like the sign that read "Starbucks:  Open on Christmas Day;"  the one who wonders where all the "real" Christmas cards are...why back in my day people just sent beautiful cards and a simple greeting, not a recap of the year (which I did as well);  the junk and the plastic that people rush to buy...I kept having fantasies of holing up in a cabin with a tree, some books, green food and lots of wood for the fireplace (I would invite everyone over of course); I was outraged when I, in a fit of nostalgia, visited the church of my youth on Dec. 23 to find that they use a ...projector...to throw the scripture lines up on the wall of that beautiful, old, church (along with images of Joseph and Mary that looked like they had been going to the nearby gym and beauty salon).  It made me laugh at myself as I grumbled like Norman in "On Golden Pond."  I think it's funny that I'm now a crabbier older person - maybe just discriminating, really.

So as far exercise and moving in space and time, out of the chairs that suck my (much larger) rear end into their deadly clutches each day...I admit it:  I struggle with wanting to get back to a version of me that I discovered at 40.  I wrestle with an all or nothing attitude about my fitness plan...but...not as much as I used to (says older me).  I know that anything, any getting out in the air, anytime I wander into the gym or a yoga class or take a walk with the dogs, or ride my bike...gives me an entirely new perspective on everything.  Entirely! It's a miracle. We were meant to move and work and breathe the OUTSIDE air.  

I have decided to be selfish this year.  I thought this was a new revelation and plan until...lol...I read my old blog posts last night.  Turns out 2012, 11, 10 ...were supposed to be the years of Karrie care.  Selfishness I say...and say it with abandon.  No longer will I see that as negative - I must pay attention to Karrie, care for her, listen, take her places, let her do what she likes to do.  Then and only then, can she possibly have a chance at figuring out how to give what she's got to give.  Moving and paying attention to this self - the whole enchilada bodymindspirit - is the (and has been part of the) plan now.

So, I have been thinking a whole lot about bendiness - my body and how I could nurture it and it could fuel my heart and mind - fuel it by moving it, airing it out, sweating it, feeding it really well, hydrating it, moisturizing it, soothing it, resting it, celebrating it.  So don't laugh, but I've signed up for yoga online, the DailyBurn online, and I'm back to Weight Watchers.  The goal before the new year starts is to map out a plan on how to create the space for this self care - how to let go of my fretting, racing, fear of getting behind - KNOWING that if I tend to Karrie, she will show up at the right moments in the right ways, with something to give.

a quote from Martha Graham, choreographer:

There is a vitality, a life force, an energy, a quickening
That is translated through you into action,
And because there is only one of you in all of time
This expression is unique.
And if you block it,
It will never exist through any other medium,
And be lost.
The world will not have it.
It is not your business to determine how good it is,
Nor how valuable, or how it compares with other expressions.
It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly,
to stay open and aware to the urges that motivate you.

A late post from a beach weekend....fall 2012

Time...there's not enough...it moves so quickly...it's a funny thing.  How many times have I said "it seems like yesterday" when at the same time it seems like an eternity.  How many times do I think about how fast time has gone, and how little of it may be left, leaving me not holding precious the one certain thing..this very moment.  Klondike is 8.  I can't stand to even say it.  Hard for me to put it in writing.  People say "oh, he's an old guy" yet, we just rescued each other a moment ago.  He needing me, and I so profoundly needing him.  There was no doubt.  It was as if I conjured him, and he was perfect.  Dad is 83.  I hate to put that in writing, although 83 doesn't seem or sound so "old" to me.  It seems a solid age.  Easy for me to say.  He calls for dinner, Captain Bill's or maybe Mythos Greek, and I do put on the brakes of my frittering and fretting and to do lists and wonder how many times will we have the opportunity to share a meal together?  It is a finite number.  They are all finite.  Say yes, say yes, say yes.   Joseph is 15 (I just wrote 13 first by mistake).  His shoulders are broadening, his waist and hips are straight as an arrow.  His legs are long and heavy laden with strands of adolescent muscle, soon to be man muscle.  As I walked on the beach tonight with Joseph I was distracted by the middle aged, pudgy, scantily clad couple standing together, embracing in the surf, bathed in the magnificent pink orange of today's sunset and holding hands as they headed back towards the shore. I was surely longing for a hand to hold of my own, wondering if there will ever be one and what it must feel like to have a kind of solid love, grown up, captivating love.  Meanwhile, Joseph was surely distracted by a longing for his future, his freedom, and the ability to set forth on his life, fueled by beautiful, unbridled enthusiasm and desire.  Running, doing handstands, headstands, writing S.O.S. with a stick in the sand, as if to say "life, come and get me!"  I am so glad he's feeling ready, and alive, and excited, with a belief that he has endless opportunity.  This is the point, yes?  Get them ready to fly.  Love them to the point that they believe they can launch.   Julia is 18.  I actually have no difficulty understanding that this is the number of years my oldest child has been alive.  Yes, I remember the glider rocker and the revelry of nursing and cooing and talking that we had the luxury of indulging in for so many hours together.  In some ways our conversations seem only slightly different now.  The gist is the same:  how much we love each other, respect each other, know that our lives our intertwined even mysteriously into our future together.  That is why I struggle as the sun sets today with her current object of desire, the new boyfriend.  Just for today, the day I have invested in both emotionally and financially, the day that I looked forward to being a rare gem of celebration with only me and my children, he is right here in the middle of.  A know it all young man who's busy overcompensating for the fact that he knows (as every suitor of my spectacular daughter must surely know), he is not worthy of this rare beauty!  It is only a matter of time I tell you that she will realize that you too, you new boyfriend, are only a step in the ladder of this girl finding more of her true self.  She does not need you.  And you, Mr. Not-So-Hot manners, better get ready lest you take an excruciating fall.  OK, OK, this is of course the ramblings of the biased, love-blinded mother.  She leaves for Italy in 3 months.  Time.  She is ready to launch.  She is ready for her own countries.  I can see us, all three, standing on the edge of the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The place where Joseph exclaimed as a very young boy, "it's the ocean!"  It is time stretching ahead.  My two beauties are envisioning possibility.  The world is enormous and they want to know more.  I believe they have the confidence they need, the moral compass that they must have, to seek their heart's desires.

There are so many things to write about today:  my dream about being Garrison Keillor's good friend, and his encouragement for me to write A LOT  using my over the top enthusiasm in my writing to share my unique perspective; my day with Dad at the farmer's market; my time with Dad in general;  my friend Patti's commencement speech at Guilford; my new male friendship and how much it means to me; my friend Elaine's call to me on Mother's Day weekend; my love for piddling around my house; planting my garden and finding turtle eggs; my daughter's tough decisions about a relationship and not being able to keep her from having a broken heart;  and, being Julia and Joseph's mother.

Today, it seems like a good idea to think about being a Mom.  I could write about my Mom.  I had a Mom, and yes, I miss her today.  I think of her more than I would've imagined.  I hear her in my own laugh, and some silly little things I say.  My voice pitch is her voice pitch.  I can feel me being like her when I'm out to dinner or lunch with my Dad.  I wonder if he feels it too.  I have never asked him if I remind him of Mom.  I'm not sure I want to know.  Sometimes when my girlish enthusiasm comes out, I feel like her, and I can imagine her clearly. People say the bad times will fade away, but I still remember her lying in that bed at Friends' Homes in her last week.  I remember the day we took her there and it still fills me with anxiety and grief.  She and I had hard times.  I needed things from her that she could not give me, and she needed things for herself that I could not provide.  I have not forgotten, and I still have to wrestle with the not receiving of those things.  But I can also see her beautiful smile and her laughter over being completely delighted by beautiful and simple things like flowers, the cat, my children, Dad, something delicious to eat like strawberries, picking violets, Dionne Warwick or the the Pops on PBS.  Mom found happiness in her everyday surroundings, which is sort of it's own little miracle.

I am a Mom.  I am the Mother of two people.  One of them just wrote the most beautiful message to me on Facebook -- so beautiful that I think my life could be complete right at this moment.  I had so much fear about being a Mother.  I analyzed it and did column comparisons about the pros and cons.  I thought about all the ways that I wasn't mothered.  I wondered if people really did have those movie magic relationships with their "best friend" moms.  Did people really go their mothers for advice?  Were there really mentor-like moms?  I tell this a lot, but when I was reading a Barbara Kingsolver book once, the main character talked incessantly about her mother who was sort of "over the top" in awe of her.  Anything she did her mother experienced it like she had won the Nobel prize or something.  It made me cry.   Now it makes me cry for another reason.  I get it.  I'm that Mom.  And the best part is, my kids think I'm that Mom too.  I mean, you should see me watching Julia wait tables at Pizza Hut - yeah, her first crappy job!  I couldn't be more proud if she were performing brain surgery.  It just fills me up to see these two remarkable kids of mine out in the world, doing, well, anything.  People say "oh you are a good Mom."  Well thank you but there's a secret here:  they came this way.  I got these two people sent to me who are, frankly, over the top in the fantastic human being way.  I knew it on arrival.  I could tell.  The universe knew how scared I was - scared of my own inabilities, scared I would not know what to do or how to do it - mothering.  But who got sent to me were these insanely intuitive, loving, sensible, brilliant, funny, interesting, delightful, beautiful people.  My children.  Being their Mother is the best thing about my life.  They are the people I would choose to be with. Oh, I realize that my hang out time with them is dramatically changing all the time now.  Julia is 18 for god's sake, she doesn't even need me to sign forms for her anymore.  REGROUP!  I have to be invited in, find my way, be careful not to stalk them!

Mother's Day - fraught with all kinds of issues for so many people:  loss, difficult relationships, transitions, delight, gratitude, fear, sadness, pride, joy.  To say I count myself blessed is a ridiculous understatement.  I am thankful everyday for these two children; for being given the opportunity to navigate motherhood with them; for the love they give me.

I hope all the mothers who I admire and have learned from, all the surrogate moms, and mentor moms, know how much I appreciate them for the support and love they've given me and my children for the last 18 years.  And somehow, I hope my Mom, my Aunt Mabel and most especially my "Naneen"  know that they are my mothers all the time.