Sunday, August 26, 2012

You. And Me.

A fat letter addressed to me came in the mail and I've been carrying it around ever since, reading and re-reading, visualizing my soul-sister, Kerry, sitting in her tent in the Canadian wilderness, mosquitos swarming on the other side of the cloth while she scratched on paper her feelings of being away from her husband and child and the home she loves and writing because really she needed someone to talk to and I'm so happy she decided to talk to me. 

in a handwritten letter.

It will be good for me to get away, she had thought.

But she was miserable. It was too soon to be away from Quinn, her almost two year old toddler. 

Sure, the canoeing was spectacular. 

But what she longed for was her daughter's little paws holding her face while saying

you. and me, mommy.

In her letter she reminded me of my own get-away fest two years ago, my meditation-writing retreat in the middle of Vermont, locked up with a bunch of noisy Buddhists trying to calm my mind while staring at a spot six feet in front of me, counting my breaths, all while my mind was swinging like a trapeze artist from thought to thought. Three times a day we sat and then there was the writing and the sharing of the writing in the evening. Then I would return to my cell-like room where I'd watch The Daily Show on my laptop and skype with Michael and Claire, unable to sleep. The sound of the blowing conch shell woke me every morning at five am which eventually drove me to the Barnet General Store for a jumbo Snickers bar...walking walking walking in the brilliant October air, sucking in air like a fish out of water. 

I had thought it would be good for me to get away.

The best part of the trip was the end when I left the retreat center and drove east on Route 2 to Waitsfield where I got to hold six week old Quinn on my chest, a healing orb of baby, calming my overly-meditated, sleep-deprived self. 

I'm not sure what I'm getting at here. 

Home is where the heart is?

Or that writing a letter is a greater gift than you know so give it a whirl. Pick a person, get your pen and tell them about your morning, your memories, your fears. It is the great connector when we share ourselves. Write a letter, a postcard, a post-it note.

Writing and reading help me make sense of 

this life/ my life/ our life. 

I'm thinking too about the it would be good for me to get away syndrome, how I've felt that urge for years except as a young girl when I loved so much to be in the fold with my parents and my brothers, in our home with the dog and cat. 

Just like Quinn's little paws holding my face saying, 

you. and me.

and how I don't need to get away at all but could bloom where I am, with my own family and house and dog and cat (and turtle) and know this is where I belong, that Paris will have to wait, for now anyway. 

you. and me.

has a nice ring to it, don't you think?


Monday, August 20, 2012

Easy With It

"So, how are you feeling about school starting?" 

"Well, I'm just trying to be easy with it." Claire said.

    be easy with whatever is today,
       especially with yourself.


Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Masterpiece Mess

When you arise in the morning think 
of what a privilege it is to be alive, 
to think, to enjoy, to love... 

- Marcus Arelius

It is a privilege this being alive 

the morning hum of cicadas 
the sound of silverware 
and dishes clinking as Michael empties the dishwasher.

the green of everything; 
trees, grass, shadows, the walls of this room.

Dad's voice on the phone last night, a gentle laugh as he talks about the end of the road, always my laughing father, who has written love death on a yellow post-it note and stuck to the mirror

Claire across the country with whales
Elizabeth on her first kindergarten school bus ride

black crows


think shimmer today.

Even if you feel a bit upside-down, uncertain, worried.
Even if you feel joy, right-side up, filled with trust.

embrace this masterpiece mess

Friday, August 10, 2012

Paint Our Way Out

Where your comfort zone ends, 

your life begins!

- chandra alexander

Something to think about for this Friday...

and I am thinking about it. 

Where is my comfort zone and is it really all that comfy?

I'm thinking no. it's not as comfy as I think

I'm heading up the mountain to do more sorting and tossing in Dad's old house and jump in the pond and sit back to take in the big sky up there. Maybe we'll see the great blue heron that likes to drop by the pond early morning when everything is still wet and very green. 

Maybe we'll paint our way out of our comfort zones...

or write about it... 

what I mean by my comfort zone is...

xo b

feel free to ponder your own comfy (or not so comfy) zone. 

drop a note. i'll write back.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Turns Out To Be

By sitting with your thoughts, feelings, and sensations without trying to hold on or reject but simply to be with them, you cultivate the experience of just being yourself. No more, no less. This turns out to be the most relaxing thing of all.
-Susan Piver
[ visit The Open Heart Project @ ]

Friday, August 3, 2012

A Joyful Noise & Other Things

It's that time of summer when people fret that 

it's going to be over soon.

As if we can control time, control the seasons. 

Time does pass, 
like my sweet Jesse who really was just a baby 
but is now a grown woman and a mom herself, with her own girl gearing up for kindergarten. 

how did that happen?

something is always over soon
and then there's the next something,
like this moment which is slipping away 
as I type these words
and the cicada buzz

one minute you are buggy buddies.

then white-haired cousins leaning in at the funeral.

After the service, we made a lot of noise on E. 43rd Street as  flight attendants and pilots spilled out of the hotel next to the old church, climbing into vans headed for the airport...

wooooooo! wooooooo! woooooo!

That's what we do in my family. 

We make a joyful noise. 

and then laugh at ourselves.

Last night Dad said, I'm splendid!

and then,

You need to be patient with yourself.

For today:

joyful noise
be splendid
practice patience with self