This Year, A Hurricane

Claire is 13 today. 
Hurricane Sandy is barreling towards the coast.
School is closed.
The university too.
I was circling around the house, not anxious, just circling.

inside, not outside.

Claire said, 

What do you think you're supposed to be doing?

I took a bubble bath.

There's so much I want to say about 

my kid turning 13. 

Claire said, 

Mom?You're not going to blog about it, right? 

It's joyful, and painful. and going fast/very fast/
Maybe not painful. 

but Tender. 

In my family we've developed a numerology practice that helps ease any age-related issues, for yourself or others...

Take your age. Add the two numbers 

(unless you're still in single digits)

13 = 1 + 3
1 + 3 = 4

Claire is four.
Jesse's four too.
I don't know when that will happen again, 13 & 31
with both my girls being the same age. 
Elizabeth is five.
Dad is five.
I am nine.
Michael, terrible two but not terrible

The great-grandchild can be the same age as her great Pop, the mother younger than the daughter, the husband [a toddler?], 

beginning all over again...

It's freeing, this number thing.

Like anything, it's how you look at it.












Last year it snowed on Claire's birthday.
This year, a hurricane.

birthday wish = be bold.











that's my girl ~

happy birthday.
xo mom

ps. may you be safe wherever you are today...

It Feels Much Simpler

The up-shot of taking Chewy, the big eared dog, out for his early morning ablutions, is that I get to step into the morning light, the way it sweeps across the yard in ribbons, lighting up leaves, the tips of trees, landing a yellow square on my red kitchen sink.

Once up, I tend to stay up.

tea
journal
blankie
sofa
Owen, the old orange cat purring

Everyone rests on Sunday mornings at my house.

Unless you have small children, you know who you are.


I remember those days well. 
Big Bird was my morning babysitter. screw you, Mitt.

Last week I was away at a conference. 
My room-mate snored [like a freight train.] 
Our room had no outside window. 
I was breathlessly claustrophobic. 
We moved to a new room. 
I was away for three nights. 
It felt long and odd, in spite of the fact that I am often 
full of wander-lust, to be away, doing something else!

What is that something else?

"I don't want to do this alone," Michael said on the phone.
"Do what alone?" I asked.
"Live."

Me neither.

A Sunday thought on marriage, 
(or any other relationship)
Even if we live alone, we are not alone.
We are loved, even if its your mail carrier that brings you the most joy.

I'm taking a class that had us write our personal mission statement. I scribbled pages about being an inspirational speaker, a well-loved writer, performing on stages around the world...

yada yada yada  I confess to all of it

but from my sofa, it feels much simpler:

live well.
let peace come first.
allow for ease and flow.
love deeply.
laugh more.

xo b

ps. just for today, what's your mission? 

trust your path.

Doggy-Paddling

Eyes opened at 5:23 am = instant thrumming of anxiety 

monkey mind.

call the woman at school
can i make it to claire's meet
monday is my late class day
is today the day i take dad to eye doctor
my neck still hurts
how am i going to pay for that

I lay in the dark and watched the action, as if from above, or from the sidelines. It felt a little like The Housewives of New Jersey, 

(Claire insists it's a bonding thing when I watch with her)

people shouting, screaming across a table at each other 

i never said that
yes you did
i swear on my children, i never
shut up, you...

It's a lovely show. 

(but not if Theresa's in your head)

Post-bus stop drop in the dark I come home, make tea, take Chewy out into the sprinkling rain, feed Owen, the orange cat and sit with my small stack of books, my morning companions, my in-house therapists/spiritual guides? Words are life-lines that can pull us back to land when we're doggy-paddling in circles. 

Here on This Being Alive, my intention is to toss out a line or two, and if even one person benefits (which is my hope), it's a good thing.

It could be a quote, a story, a rant, a meditation...

No good work comes from unrest. Unrest, fear, anger, or sadness may motivate us. These feelings are sometimes intended to compel action. But our best work emerges after these feelings have been replaced by peace...Let go of unrest. Let peace fill the void. Let peace come first. Then proceed. The task will get done, naturally and on time.

Today I will get peaceful first, 
and let my life and work emerge from that base.

- Mom's Meditation Book

let peace come first today.

xo b

What Are You Expecting?

We have our brush and colors - paint Paradise and in we go.

- Nikos Kazantazakis

We find in our experiences and our daily reveries just what we anticipate. If we greet the day wearing a smile, confident that we are needed and able to make a contribution, we'll discover that the day holds great promise. What we need to understand is that every day holds just as much promise as we're capable of expecting. We carry within ourselves the image of the picture we're creating.

- from Mom's Meditation Book (The Promise of a New Day)

What promise are you expecting today?
What picture are you carrying?

xo b

How Does All This Work Out?

some thoughts on motherhood, marriage, learning to love my own face in the mirror, wondering about the lady in the tangerine coat in the bean aisle at the market...the usual suspects.

I've written about marriage plenty.

journals packed with marriage-mania, short pieces and plays, monologues, and a full-length play about my marriage, or should I say, Evelyn's marriage, the tender character who spoke for me, 

or through me in Pieces Of Evelyn.

Evelyn's voice flowed as easy as...

pouring myself a glass of cold water? 

I couldn't shut her up.

But on this blog, not so much...

I 
mull 
ponder 
worry 
rejoice in 
freak out over
and think WTF
about marriage (and all kinds of other things)

or as Claire asked the other day,

Just how does all this work out? 

speaking about LIFE in general, I think.

Who knows.

So I'm offering up this wonderful read

The Nature Of It, 

by most gifted writer, Kerry Jackson

@ www.eatanotheregg.blogspot.com

It's lovely in every way.

xo b