Wendell's Waking

4:04 am

Calling out to someone walking their dog on the beach wakes me from my dream...

I get up to walk the house and see

White egg moon 
resting on a ribbon cloud 
against navy sky. 

That middle of the night fear arrives, always without invitation, and I remember Wendell's poem, how I read it on the counter of the ice cream parlor and wrote it quickly down in my small black notebook, how I felt my shoulders drop, breath ease.

Wendall's waking in the middle of the night 

is the gift on this early Monday morning.

The Peace of Wild Things

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

- Wendell Berry

May you rest in the grace of the world today.

xo b

The Exaltation Of Being Human

Thanksgiving Prayer

We come to this table today, 

O Lord, humble and thankful and glad.

We thank Thee first for the great miracle of life, 

for the exaltation of being human, for the capacity to love.

We thank Thee for joys both great and simple-

For wonder, dreams and hope;

For the newness of each day;

For laughter and song and a merry heart;

For compassion waiting within to be kindled;

For the forbearance of friends and the smile of a stranger;

For the arching of the earth and trees and heavens and the fruit of all three;

For the wisdom of the old;

For the courage of the young;

For the promise of the child;

For the strength that comes when needed;

For this family united here today.

Of those to whom much is given, much is required.  

May we and our children remember this.

Amen.

Whether you celebrate Thanksgiving, or not

or if the Lord goes by the name Ethel in your world

it doesn't matter.

Gratitude is available to everyone

This prayer from my beloved mother, 

shared many Thanksgivings ago.

It always makes me cry

and come back to what's truly important.

Mom always said,

Of those to whom much is given, much is required.

Peace be with you.

xo b

All Out Of Knees

Michael's in for his second knee surgery, 
nothing too serious, snipping this, cleaning up, 

I'm thinking he's all out of knees so 

I hope this takes.

I'm sitting 
in the waiting room
big windows
lots of sunlight 
book/laptop/journal, crunchy apple...

~ learning to retreat wherever I am.

even with the guy on his cell phone 
across from me prattling on in a too loud voice

okay, send me the proposal, okay, tell him that he'll have the 167 for Monday night and we're just waiting to get everything done with 169 before hand.. ? ? ?


while Dr. Phil chats it up with the women from The View

Waiting rooms are a great place for material, that's for sure

But I'm musing about the blue triangle 

Elizabeth gave Claire for her birthday,
how the light comes through the center  
and how it sorta 

stands on its own two feet 

or knees?

Held Up By Love

Dr. Falbo, beloved therapist, 

used to say that my world was a tad small.

Besides teaching by day, and being a Mom to Jesse, 

I lived a funny triad life of

bed
books 
and hanging with my dog, Che (rhymes with Ray)

this practice, helped me to feel that I wasn't 

completely losing my mind.

Beloved therapist would say, 

Blanche, he called me Blanche,

you are not crazy. 
you are one of the sanest people I know, trust me, 

This puffed me up, 

thank god i'm not nuts...followed by,

if I'm not crazy, well, the world is in a pickle.

Che died/
Beloved therapist moved.
Bed and books remain. 

Plus the Ladies Home Journal I took from the dentist's office on Thursday where one of the headlines, Mood News: Dressing Up Is Good For Your Soul, caught my eye. And the shrimp recipe which looked absolutely delicious and which I'm quite certain I will never make.

It's been a long couple of weeks for many people, especially in the New York/ New Jersey area, where to begin to pick up the pieces, so whenever I start feeling sorry for myself over the front of our house which looks like a giant marched through, toppling six very big trees, I tell myself, get over it. 














More than a few things have crossed my mind lately 

way more than a few, trust me

like Why is this Pig wearing a Tommy Bahama shirt, while riding the bus panty-free? The same goes for his best friend, Hudson, the mouse. Nice tailored jacket but no pants. 


Just inquiring.

[ Poppleton and Friends - Cynthia Rylant, Illustrated by Mark Teague]

or should a mother be concerned when her daughter, outside with the dog for his morning pee, is inhaling helium from the shriveling birthday balloons tied to the chair? 

Yes, I taught her this but still.

Just wondering.

And in my journal, this recurring theme of 

lost and found-ness

I am not lost. That is a lie I tell myself. I can work myself up about degrees not earned, career paths not taken, money yet to be saved, I can beat the crap out of myself if that makes me feel worthy in some warped way? Or I can practice, in this moment, self-love and kindness, tenderness towards self and others, practice this for one minute, five minutes

I went on to write two pages of things I was grateful for

family
my brothers
health
warm house
tea
dad
yoga
friends
work
books
daffodil bulbs










being held up by love

and a thousand unseen helping hands ~


xo b

Things Haven't Been The Same

Things haven't been the same since Claire turned 13.
The house has gotten cold, light switches don't work, we're flushing toilets with the old yellow bucket.










 

Before Sandy hit land we watched videos of Claire from years ago. She was such a cute baby. We kept oohing and aahing while I couldn't help noticing (kinda hard not to) how much younger I looked or thinner Michael was and how goo-goo ga-ga we were over our little girl. We still are. Really.

















Still, I'm thinking she needs

to lighten up on the birthday energy.

last year = snow storm
this year = hurricane sandy

A friend said, 

"So many people are in worse shape, I know, but I'm so done."

with no heat, running water, lights.

It's getting colder. And occasionally tense. And then very funny, almost maniacally so. I knew we'd crossed into new territory when we tacked up a bed sheet between rooms to keep the heat in the fireplace room. I've slept with Chewy, the big-eared dog since Tuesday night. Michael prefers the morgue-like temps of our bedroom. I think try sleeping with husband. I walk in, walk out and curl up like a dog with my dog in front of fire.

I'm writing to you from our local library.

library = kind of church

So many people love and use this library which makes me want to shout that if you don't get out and vote for President Obama, Willard Mitt Romney will not only be de-funding Big Bird, but our local libraries too. 

Please VOTE.

But NOT FOR THIS GUY!

But I digress as I often do. 

I'm thinking about you and all the people out in the world... 

Showering in the locker room at the University with strangers has been an eye-opener. Scrubbing up my arm pits while the young woman in the black and white polka dot bikini tells me about how she's studying biology and wants to be a physician's assistant made me feel very happy. And so did the hot water. double wow

Claire was mortified that I was naked while showering in the open space but...

People are kind. People need hot showers. And water to brush their teeth. Some people need places to stay. Some people lost their homes completely in this mess. I thought I couldn't imagine this but now I kinda can. ever so slightly.

We had dinner at friends who were also out of power but they have a cozy wood stove cranking so it was a lovely social time, chatting over pasta and cups of red wine with candles everywhere.



We really are all in this together. 

This is a rambler, I know. Forgive me.
I've been wearing my ski cap for days. 
My head is squeezed.
I feel slightly incoherent in general.

so
stoke the fire

thanks to my incredible daughter, Jess, for bringing extra wood over from her stacks xoxo



be safe
stay warm
help a neighbor,
keep your belly laughs coming...

and remember ~

and though we may be out of electricity we're 

NOT OUT OF POWER!!!

namaste,
xo b

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.