So it begins...(cont. 2)

     Delphine smelled coffee and stirred under the covers. She'd fallen back asleep, watching the moon rise over the river, and now the sun was high over the fir trees; she hadn't slept this late in six months. Time to rise and shine.

     She put on yesterdays clothes and savored the wood smoke trapped in them. Downstairs dishes were being washed and music was playing, Patsy Cline's I Fall To Pieces. How appropriate, she thought. The screen door slammed and the dog came bounding up the stairs to find her. Violet, her sister, must have taken Darwin for a walk. Darwin was a Beagle mix and she knew right away if she shared a sense of humor with some one, because they'd get the joke when told his name. She often felt like she was born in the wrong century. Being born in the Romantic era of nature centered quests would have suited her better than the life of the mind where she lived spinning in one place most of the time.

     "Mornin', Sleepyhead," Violet said as she poured herself and her sister a coffee.

     "Mornin', yourself," Delphine yawned, "How far did you walk him?"

     "Only once around the loop road," she replied while adding milk to both our mugs, then added, "he started sniffing around hollowed out logs and storm drains. Didn't want Dar to come home with face full of quills or needing a tomato bath!"

     "Thanks, Sisafus."

     "You're welcome."

     An awkward silence then fell between them. Delphine knew Violet was wanting to ask something, something that she probably couldn't easily answer, and yet no one else would ask. They hadn't been alone together all weekend. The moment passed and Violet said she was going to town to buy provisions for the rest of the week.

     "Need anything special?" Violet asked simply enough.

     As Delphine looked up, she added, "Beside your usual list of chocolate, coffee, nuts and bread, I mean."

     "Nope, that'll cover it, thanks," nodded Delphine.

     Everyone else was doing other weekly runs; the dump, hardware store, gas station, farmer's and flea markets. Delphine had the whole house to herself. Looking at the tide chart, she realized the dock was hers alone, too. Water would be good for kayaking or swimming for the next two hours, enough time to go exploring with Darwin.

     The dog started to go berserk when she took off her clothes and put on a swimsuit and Chaco sandals. Darwin spun in circles, getting between her legs, trying to make her head to the door before she could collect the requisite sunscreen, shades and bottle of water.  Once on the path, she realized that she hadn't walked down it alone in decades. Perhaps not since she was little, sneaking off at sunrise to find the best shell or treasure that had washed up during the night.

     Delphine found herself softly singing...I fall to pieces...Each time someone speaks your name...I fall to pieces...Time only adds to the flame... until the last line stung. She stopped on the path and realized that she was standing by the tree. Their tree. The tree where they'd cut their initials the first summer they'd met in college. Darwin continued down the path, as Delphine circled the American Beech. It was fifteen years earlier that they had taken her Swiss Army Knife and cut each other's initials into a compass pattern on the tree. Instead of N(orth), E(ast), S(outh), and W(est), they'd carved, D(elphine), P(elletier), S(cott), and W(hite). It was their private totem; her first rose from him and him confiding she was his true North. The tree bark had scarred over the compass; it was bent up into triangular folds over the rose. Yet at each point the initials we still clearly discernible: D, P, S, W. For a moment Delphine felt like the Polaris of photographers tricks; holding stead in the center while all else spins around it.

     She abandoned the idea of a swim in favor of a circumnavigating the island in a kayak. Delphine urged Darwin into the boat, which was always are trick,  as he still held a grudge against the kayak for tipping him into the waves unexpectedly as a pup. Darwin sat between her legs, in front of the paddle as they headed out of the cove and into the river. Normally the green-black water would be too much for her to resist. She regularly swam a mile or more and was known for her love of open water. Yet the sight of the compass rose propelled her to revisit the trail she and Scott had first taken around the island fifteen years earlier. There was something along that route calling to her, like a clue to help her navigate her grief and anger. 



   



   

So it begins...

     The sand rolled out from under her toes, as the wave receded to the sea. The grains were the size of Israeli couscous and amber colored. Nature's foot massage and it's restorative powers were bringing her back to a centered place. That place where a deep belly breath can clear your head, while sending electric goosebumps to your appendages and resetting yourself.

     She didn't want to turn around. She let her feet sink into the ground. With each consecutive wave, her heels were dug in just a centimeter more, as the beach had a steep rake to it. All the people were gathered just beyond her peripheral vision, yet she could hear them laughing, talking and throwing logs on the fire. They had arrived for their annual lobster bake and this year almost all were in attendance. The hood of an old Chevy was the center piece of the cooking station. It would be covered in seaweed, foil wrapped corn and potatoes, steamers, occasionally mussels, and last, but not least, the lobsters. This would be encased under a damp canvas tarp and left to steam to perfection.

     It was low tide and the youngest children were splashing in the tide pools behind her near the high water mark. The adults were wrapping the veggies, collecting seaweed, unloading the trucks, sedans and bikes, then schlepping the various foods and serving items to a low make shift drift wood table by the fire. Teenagers were setting up a volleyball net and throwing frisbees. Dogs were chasing crabs, swimming and trying to steal a clam or two.

     A finger tapped her on the shoulder. It was a warm and calloused finger. She knew by the height of the "hello" who had come to fetch her.

     "Devin, who sent you?" she asked, knowing full well it  was Janette.

     "Jan, she's worried it's too soon for you to be here," he replied, "and I'm afraid she's right by the look of it."

     Turning around she said, "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure." Yet her voice had a catch in it that he'd never heard before, or least only once before, at the funeral.

     She looked up, her eyes smarting, as she hid her true feels to the best of her ability. "Go on ahead, I'll join you all in a second or two," she sighed, and with that Devin walked back up the beach to the fire.

     Maybe it is too soon. Familiar doesn't feel natural any more. More thoughts like these percolated around her brain as she found herself not returning up the beach, but rather choosing to wade into the waves. She finally stopped when the water was knee deep and she knew she'd regret having wet clothes after the sunset if she didn't stop there.

     The riotous splashing and exclaiming about how cold the water was could only mean one person. Again, she didn't have to turn.

     "Ronny, you've lived here half your life and you still find the summer water cold?",

     "Yup, Delphine, and you will be too if you don't come up by the fire right now," he laughed and added, "or if you want to stay cold, we have some of that Elephant beer you like to drink!"

     Delphine caved, turned around and they skipped out of the water, hand in hand, all the way back to the bonfire.

                                                                           ***

     The moon woke her up. It was shining through her childhood window, streaming into her eyes. She kept them closed to listen to the now high tide wash over the rocks below the house. Delphine was uncomfortably full. She'd eaten the deviled eggs with curry, the steamers, mussels, corn, potatoes, a whole lobster plus another tail, and had not one, but two slices of blueberry pie. Thank goodness she resisted the s'mores, or it would have been her stomach waking her, not the moon.

     Surf collided with snoring as her ears refined their range. She knew her father's and sister's snores. She was surprise to hear the dog, curled behind her knees snoring, but guessed she wasn't often that tired at home; run ragged by a day a the beach.

     Ragged. An island name. An island roughly two miles off the Coast of Harpswell, ME. An island where a dear poet lived, bought by her doting Dutch husband and the inspiration for the following poem. An island about six miles as the crow flies from the island where she's resting now.

Ragged Island, by Edna St. Vincent Millay

There, there where those black spruces crowd
To the edge of the precipitous cliff,
Above your boat, under the eastern wall of the island;
And no wave breaks; as if
All had been done, and long ago, that needed
Doing; and the cold tide, unimpeded
By shoal or shelving ledge, moves up and down,
Instead of in and out;
And there is no driftwood there, because there is no beach;
Clean cliff going down as deep as clear water can reach;

No driftwood, such as abounds on the roaring shingle,
To be hefted home, for fires in the kitchen stove;
Barrels, banged ashore about the boiling outer harbour;
Lobster-buoys, on the eel-grass of the sheltered cove:

There, thought unbraids itself, and the mind becomes single.
There you row with tranquil oars, and the ocean
Shows no scar from the cutting of your placid keel;
Care becomes senseless there; pride and promotion
Remote; you only look; you scarcely feel.

Even adventure, with its vital uses,
Is aimless ardour now; and thrift is waste.

Oh, to be there, under the silent spruces,
Where the wide, quiet evening darkens without haste
Over a sea with death acquainted, yet forever chaste.

     An island near this island, where Delphine has been coming for decades. An island on which she went from being a girl to a woman. Gone from chaste to knowing, from innocence to acquainted with loss and now desperately trying to braid herself back together. Tonight all saw her scars, they were too fresh to hide; not even seven months, let alone the seven years it takes to grow a new skin.

     Another season is coming to an end, the second of four without him. How long does it take to grow a new heart? It won't be made of the same material; her DNA had altered, immutable, she was now a new person. One she didn't yet know, but was obvious for all to see. She longed to be of one mind and spirit, and Nature, particularly the seacoast, usually delivered her that tranquility. But not this time...she was admitting to being adrift and needed to own it to move  forward.

   

Inheritance

     I listened as he spoke. The images he painted in words brought my mother to  mind, yet he was speaking of me. "I know you want to do grand things," he said carefully, "but you don't have to do them all in one heroic effort or not do them." He was succinctly describing a habit that I'd inherited from my mother. Only, like Nora Ephron advised the Wellesley graduates of 1996, I liked to believe myself to be own Heroine, and some how I'd managed to do so most of my adult life. Yet I knew he was right. I needed to break down my grand goals into small manageable boxes and as Nike so adeptly sells, "Just do it." Our family has been trying to get my Mother to Just Do things for years; first finish her degree and, second, downsize her home(s).

     My grand goals;  first, to edit out all of the wasband's and children's accumulated stuff so that I can sell my house and decant to a smaller home or cohabitate with another adult with children, and second, to write a memoir (although lately I've been flirting with fiction first, to tune my chops, and then produce a creative nonfiction memoir later).

      My mother has lived in the same house, with two different husbands, and 45 years of accumulated stuff. The only formal purging was after my stepfather left 29 years ago. I'm now at year 14 in my house and about to enter the fifth year since I kicked the wasband out. My mother and second stepfather have shared her/their house for nearly 25 years at present.

      I found my friends words to be a reckoning. I was following too closely in my mother's footsteps and knew action needed to be taken. Most of my adult life I was childless and moved often enough to edit my few material possessions. I'd reached a tipping point and needed to address it at home. In the life of the mind, I've fitfully (as my faithful readers here know) written snippets that I've hoped to string together into a book length work. Much like my mother's inability to move, due to conditions never being just right due to over-seeing 12 children between them, nor finishing her degree, although she's surely taken enough credits in college and through Harvard Extension to do so. They always put everyone first at the expense of themselves. So thoughtful and reflective that they spin in circles.

     My father on the other hand is an action-solution guy. We have a running joke that every 7-10 years my father and stepmother will move; and that is exactly what happens. It's always to the best  or  most perfect location, size and layout for their needs. In their 70's they've started to downsize. The huge house with lots of land became a townhouse in the city. Now the town house has turned to an efficient one bedroom apartment on the 4th floor. The second home went from being an Acorn house with three bedrooms on the sea; to a self designed one bedroom w/bunkhouse in a seaside town. They are spending half their time on the single floor house in the coastal town by my brother, and the other half in the city walk-up near my sister, as it suits them now. They decide as a equal unit what they want to do next, plan it and execute it. Then they tell the four adult children, sometimes in process and other times after the fact.

     I'm a goal setter and reflective person like my father. I've been good at doing that most of my life, when I was the only one I was responsible for in a given decision. But since being a married person and then a single mother of two, my decisiveness on the home front was weakened. Other than keeping the house for my kids to finish school and for me to keep the capitol intact for my self down the line. Yet I find the accumulation of stuff and the lack of an immediate plan for my next step to have been weighing me down psychologically. And it's taken away the energy required to face the fear of putting my thoughts into words every day, in any meaningful way. (Plus I was wanting to have my private thoughts be private for the first year of my relationship with my man friend. This has been a real exercise in holding on to a renewed confidence, not being impulsive, nor quick to judge (cut bait or go whole hog). So I've been in a reflective spin-cycle like my Mother for a few years now.

     But as we rode into Boston, on the way to what would become a wonderful evening of company and a concert, I found that his words could just as easily have been about my mother as myself. And when I said as much, he said, "I don't know her, I know you and I want to help." It's nice to become known. It's nice to trust asking for help, receiving it and realizing what a gift that can be if you can listen. I wish my Mom would listen and act; but I'm only her daughter, so now I will listen, reflect and act to break the chain for my son and daughter.



   
   

Thankful Tuesday

     A year ago this day I was filled with trepidation. I'd only known my boyfriend for a little over a month and he, with his two sons, were coming to my extended family's Thanksgiving dinner. Was I taking this too quickly, too casually, too seriously? What did my kids think, what did his kids think, what did my family think? I did minimal preparations for the potluck meal, yet I was now adding six people to my mother's table. We'd already have to add a second table that would technically place several of the dinner guests outside of the dining room!

     Thursday came, all convened, and hours passed as if we'd done this for a decade. We broke bread, ate heaping plates of delicious food; everyone having contributed and cooked (even allergy-free desserts for my boyfriend's son). I'm not sure if we sang or not, we often do. A simple Quaker hymn, although none of us are religious; it's just a tradition:
Simple Things: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fYi9Vr8bHJY.

     After pies and ice cream and chocolate turkeys the clan scattered. The four children, teenagers all, played quietly and riotously in the back room with the door shut most of the time. The adults sat fireside and discussed politics, personal details of their daily lives, concerns and desires. None of us had any inkling that we'd have the President-Elect who now occupies the Twittersphere. We were mostly Bernie, and a few Clinton, folks. For two of the teenagers it was going to be their first time voting; so the heightened sense of civic responsibility was palpable. No trepidation, mostly history excavating of voting records and bills initiated. The mood was mostly light, with occasional fiery inquiries. But what it was grand to have the discussion span three generations and be respectful.

     In December, after not having a holiday party since my divorce and having hosted them most of my adult life, I felt like it was time to get back in the celebrating the season saddle. As a single woman I'd done cookie swaps. As a business owner it turned to thanking my clients and friends by baking dozens of kinds of cookies and calling it a tree trimming party. This resulted in my tree being magnificently dressed to point of dripping, with ornaments from around the world and made from a diverse array of materials. After I married a Dutchman, the way to halt the ornament onslaught was to change the theme to Oliebollen, "oil balls", or dutch donuts, which he would make and we'd serve to all who came to a holiday open house we'd host annually. He made plain, raisin and apple-rings. All covered with a heavy dusting of powdered sugar. The kids and I made dozens of gingerbread folks and at least one Gingerbread house as the center piece of the party. When they were younger we decorated sugar cookie and even made stained-glass window cookies.

     I realized that I was happy and wanted to thank the people who had carried me through the dark years in which my marriage ended, the change of course it took during the divorce and was then entering a new phase with meeting my boyfriend. I realized that it should be a Gratitude Party; and I invited all the people for whom I was grateful to have near and dear in my life. Some I don't see often, but with a phone call, text, or nudge, they just help me brighten up. Others I lean on as much as I allow myself to lean on anyone, and I wanted to give them a night of food, music, mulled cider and calm companionship in return.

     The Gratitude Party was a success. For many it was their first chance to meet my boyfriend and the first chance to be in the house post-divorce or for more than a summer night BBQ. Many remarked on how little the wasband took with him...which is true. If you didn't know he'd moved out, you wouldn't. Another girlfriend was just entering into a divorce and I was glad she came; to see that there is light beyond the darkness and doubts. I'd kept the house for my children and it was finally being used to be happy and joyful.........for this I was grateful. For my family, friends and health I was grateful. Also to feel seen and loved by all; grateful.

    New Years Eve. My kids, boyfriend and I attended our neighbor's annual party. Many other members of my family have joined it over the years, too: my sister, brother-in-law, and niece from ME, my Mom & Stepdad, and sometimes my nephew from OR. Last year they were all in attendance. We ate ourselves silly on my neighbors delicious bake goods, tasty dips and gourmet grilled meats. Again it was many generations under one roof and all contributed to the party. This year I had a man of my own to kiss, I was grateful and and startled at how my situation had change so dramatically for the better during the passing of a year.

     New Years Day. My boyfriend offered to drive my niece and nephew back to Maine with me. I kept telling him about how Portland was the city where I most like to retire to and he was intrigued to see it through my eyes. We delivered the kids my siblings and stayed with my Dad and Stepmom in Portland. My dog, had never been there. It is a newly built condo and it was my first overnight in it. While were out at a lovely sushi dinner, Cora played "barkerella" and is now banned from the condo. However the company, conversations and coziness of the condo was very welcoming. We looked around the city and it's outlying beaches the next day.....recounted memories from the past and hopes for my future. He took it all in and shared some of his, too.

    Valentines Day. Roses. Lots of roses. Felt adored and dreamy. Grad classes and grinding through March. Grateful for  family and my boyfriend who tried to help when there was an obvious way to do so...but I learned I'm not very good at delegating at home. Spring came. A death of a co-worker struck. My daughter got into college and my son was having trouble in high school. Hilary and Trump won their nominations. My work load was insane. Yet I was thankful for my boyfriend who always checked in and listened. He's a great listener. So are many of my closest friends and family members. In this year, of all years, the art of listening should be elevated in the matrix of social civility. He invited me to crew Thursday nights on his boat and it was a guilty pleasure, a real weekly escape to the sea.

     Summer and Sailing. Two of my favorite things. More racing and a two week cruise. One week with his one of his sons and a friend; one week just the two of us. Heaven. Didn't want it to end. I'm most myself on the sea and so is he......Time off the planet; away from news cycles, house maintenance and other tethers of responsibility; priceless.

     Fall; My daughter is off to college and his son is too. My son and I have the house to ourselves. We go to my boyfriends for meals sometimes; he and his son come over other times. My son, boyfriend and I attended our neighbor's daughter's wedding in NH in October, a year after we started dating. How we felt is captured in the picture posted here. Then the election cycle came to a close; as did much hope in the heart of my family, friends and students. I'm going to be an active Tigger in the pursuit of open, respectful and vigilant conversations for progress. We must talk to those outside of our self-designed bubbles. I have that opportunity each day where I teach and serve my chosen community. I know for others that isn't as easy to practice without making some sort of concerted effort or taking a perceived risk. But it must be done for the sake of the future...for there to be one.

     Thanksgiving is now upon us. My boyfriend and I are hosting at my house. We're going to be having 13 people over for our family potluck dinner. He's roasting the turkey and we're making gravy. I'm making braided cheese bread, stuffing, creamed onions, roasted brussel sprouts, and two pies. The other people will bring side dishes, desserts and appetizers. After I finish writing this I'm going to fetch some Golden Russet apple cider, "The Champagne of Ciders", from Bolton Orchards. I'm feeling thankful; deeply, sincerely and wholly thankful for all my friends and family. So I thought I'd say so here and now...before I get too busy creating some love, in the form of food, to give from my heart on Thursday!

   

"Normal is a setting on a dryer..."

That is what Alton used to say before it was a placard hanging in guidance counselor's offices. That phrase keeps ricocheting around my brain this week with the advent of "normalizing" entering the daily lexicon of what I'm reading.

Normal. Does that mean as set by a standard of normalcy? Of Tradition? Of a court of Law or Mother Nature? Americans were sick of "business as usual", or rather, the rusting of the political machinery that had come to a grinding halt in Washington.

Trump is already breaking the "norms" and 'Traditions" of a President-Elect; by going AWOL from the Press and changing transitions team members as soon as he entered the river of the White House reality. He did look "shook" after his 90 minutes with Obama, David Chappell was on the nose w/SNL. Normally, the President-Elect would put his holdings in a private trust and keep members of the campaign team close at hand assuming that had served up good advice during the proceeding years to the West Wing. Neither are happening, and the fringe are moving into the foreground.

Normally family members of the President-Elect are separated from the day to day operations concerning policy, trade and military. Trump wants them all in, up to the highest level of security clearance, while still running his global enterprises.

Normally a President-Elect doesn't have to face a trial for Fraud in first 77 days (now 69- but whose counting) between the election and inauguration:
 http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2016/11/trumps-legal-gambit-in-his-fraud-trial-is-also-a-fraud.html.

Normally, I don't hear people every where I go (store, restaurant, library, dog park, post office, gas station...) discussing the same topic for days! And folks who voted on different sides of the ticket are talking to each other about "why" and "what next". So some discourse is happening that stored in people's heads and not out in the air before November 8th, and that's a good thing.

Politics, like religion, are topics we are "normally" taught not to discuss in "mixed company", at dinner or at work. But now we all are starting to do so. I've heard more candid  thoughts from people who voted for Trump, Clinton, Johnson or didn't vote than I've every heard before, during or after an election. I've always felt that not discussing religion and politics was a fallacy of logic regarding knowing some one fully  or being a part of a community, as we'd never learn to accept and respect our differences. They were silent and hidden. This would result in atypical behavior when some one "unknowingly" said some thing offensive. Thus the rise of political correctness, and starting phrases with "I don't know your politics or religion, but....".

Normally we didn't group ourselves with "others who believed differently" that we did. Yet I thought we'd come farther than that. 9/11 made us take stock of our global voice and how "others" reacted to it. Now I feel that we have to take stock in our domestic voice and, I'll write it again, not react but actively listen to each other. Listen, listen, listen and then talk. It's like the British Miners and Gay Pride activist who joined forces to be heard and respected:

"In a decade when a degree of homophobia was the norm, LGSM drove a couple of minibuses from Hackney Community Transport and a clapped-out VW camper van to a bleak mining town in South Wales to present their donations, uncertain what sort of welcome to expect. The events that unfolded said a lot about what it means to be empathetic, to overcome dissent and face common enemies: Thatcher, the tabloids, the police. They told a story about solidarity. " https://www.theguardian.com/film/2014/aug/31/pride-film-gay-activists-miners-strike-interview

1985 Reagan/Thatcher years in the UK...yet, against the "norm" people with different sets of problems who would "normally" have very little exposure to each other, let alone actively supporting each other, came together to do just that. "Prejudice can't survive proximity" was the take away line from that film!

Thirty years later the norms of prejudice continue domestically and abroad. Used to be the Haves and Have Nots, followed by the Know and Know Nots, and now we are entering the era of Learners and Stuck in Neutrals. This is why education, STEM and reading are so important. This is why class, race and gender identity need to fully understood, explored and owned by each of us; not to differentiate from one another or be prejudice or hateful, but the opposite; to transcend our "normal lot": and support each other to each of our abilities.

We all have to continue to not accept Normal as a state of being, but rather a starting place for discussions to build a common language, understanding and foundation on which to build a better country and global community for us all. We honor the national traditions that hurt no one and keep order, so we can progress. And try to look at each other as unique individuals who each have a place of respect in this country. I'd like to set our society to that "Normal" on a cultural dial and let peace warmly reign.

Hiraeth: You can't go back, You must only go forward!

How to move forward? I used to be one of those who felt that life was moving too fast. It was why when graduating from High School in 1980, I moved to Maine, lived on a boat and apprenticed under a cabinetmaker who didn't use power tools. By 1990, I'd moved from Maine to NYC to SF. I'd learned to embrace change and even had a hand in creating it; Manuscripts written in rooms on the WELL, first digitally-delivered multi-colored manuscript to numerous NY Pub houses, set standards for electronic text rights, long conversations with EFF/WELL/WiReD folks, fought Disney for Theme Park rights and so on. By the mid-90's, it was getting harder to see the future as it had become so vast a horizon. In fact it had gone global; like the British and Dutch Empires with navies, now the internet lead with Captains of Industry: The sun never set on the internet.

In the early 90's, I tried to sell a manuscript with a Forward by the former CIA Director, William Casey, regarding domestic terrorism. It stated that terrorism was increasing internationally, and would be continuing to escalate domestically ~ World Trade Towers hadn't been truck bombed yet (1993), and  McVeigh hadn't committed the OK bombing (1995) when I was shopping this text.  After them no one wanted to "sell that kind of fear"~ and no publisher would touch it, even though it was written by two renowned journalists (one had opened Eastern Block offices for Newsweek after the wall came down). You who know me well are sick of my phrase "what sells is fear and advise (or fear and desire)". Under Clinton the country sold desire. Most of us bought it, Internet Bubble and all. We kept inventing and innovating. We set our own hours and started "casual Fridays". I pitched books with a Harper's Index of stats to illustrate the future market audience.

Yet I still had the manuscript in mind when 9/11 happened and Bush decided to invade Iraq. Those same two journalists had the same reaction I did, " it's not Saddam, it's Bin Laden". History would prove us right and the powers that be wrong. We'd already moved from the 24 hours news cycle of the 90's to the 3 hours news cycle of the new Century. At that speed, if you repeated something often enough the truth could be buried or misdirected easily. We didn't notice that truth was disappearing, too. We just did more research with our new search engines (Card Catalog to Microfiche, Alta-vista to Google--I've done them all). We were the generation of Watergate, so we followed the money and questioned authority. Men stopped wearing ties, unless they worked in finance. Women wore tailored clothes that suited them, not men's suits for women. Being an agent required more editing skills as the independent publishing houses were being bought up by International Conglomerates, and when the music stopped there were far fewer editor's chairs under each roof. Electronic books began to gain traction. So did other established editorial content move to the web.

The Republicans ruled for 8 years. In that time the language of our nation became riddled with fear and rigid thinking. The Patriot Act, War on Terror, and Axis of Evil ruled the headlines. We weren't scared of Bush, but rather his policies home and abroad that spent down our budget, ruined our reputation with Allies and left many disenfranchised. Cell phones became everyone's pocket computer. News cycles sped up to hourly events; if they could happen near a East Coast meal time, good, but no longer necessary. Fact checking was getting looser, online and in print. System disruption was starting to be the new terror source. Terror of this kind was become many headed and globally run in cells as small as two people. Many editors started becoming agents and writers. Others, with the advent of Print on Demand, started to be packagers and publishers of sorts.

In 2002, I left city life, with my kids and husband, moved to the suburbs and started teaching. Once again trying to reflect, slow down, make a family nest, and do meaningful work. Obama spoke at the 2004 Democratic Convention and I was riveted. I read his books, along with Bill and Hilary's, and found him the better writer. I  pounded on doors in NH and voted from him in both election cycles. During the last 8 years words like "mindfulness" and "authentic" became the touchstones of movements, and industries, focused on paying attention to the self in relation to others and the planet. We were back to selling desire in the name of Hope. Overseas terror bombings started to happen with more frequency. Cell phones became our pocket computers; for good and evil. More people on the planet had cell phones than computers or TVs. News cycles sped up to the speed of light; social media made Barack's campaigns like none before. It could also make communication hard to trace. Raw data spilled over everything. If you could make sense of it, you'd win, if not lose or disrupt (which may have been the true intention all along).

May 2011 Bid Laden, the real 9/11 mastermind, was caught and killed in a theater of war staged by Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton. Also the Arab Spring started to flow in 2011. Again it was social media and cell phones that allowed this to happen. It went around and under governmental systems of tyranny. At home hackers were getting bolder attacking financial and governmental systems. Identity theft was on the rise. People had to be careful of keeping track of and changing their numerous passwords. The news cycles were just open 24/7. It came to your phone. Network/Cable news started to fall. Cable entertainment was at an all time high. Data mining began to be a valuable commodity; as numbers strained  through x's and o's became king.

The last 4 years Obama has moved Forward despite constant stonewalling and obstruction from the House and Senate. Internationally he has fared much better than Bush; travelling more and vacationing less. Domestically we've been schizophrenic, or a body of opposites. Hate crimes are up and Same Sex Marriage is legal. Black Friday is being rivaled by Shop Local Saturday. Makers are making and Materialists are buying online at record rates. Tiny Houses are up and Clear Cutting is still tearing our forests down. Technology and the life of the mind are in sync with Moore's Law;  we are all having to integrate our circuits twice as fast each year.

And now? Trump. All Data was wrong. A silent, none-majority won this election. The words now are "normalizing" and "truth" or worse yet, emojis. Driving through 5 states in 5 hours in October; I saw the signs ~ Trump/Pence. Plain as day. Where I teach, same thing. 48% Clinton, 48% Trump, 4% Johnson. They liked that he "spoke his mind", not "being politically correct". He Tweets! Small speed of light missives that can be corrected, but never apologized for, within heartbeats or headaches. He says he wants to "Make America Great Again". Hilary says America is Great and wants to "keep it that way going Forward". She doing what one does with a Japanese Businessman. She is saying "Yes, but..." which is the only way to say "No" and save face in negotiations. There is no going back (Hiraeth---remember the top of the page). There never has been a way back. We are a country of people who want opportunities and to create the impossible, not go back in time.

America said No to Hilary. They believe that Trump is a Choice for Change (my campaign slogan when I ran and won a spot as a College Senator). I believe we are all American. I believe that we are all dancing as fast as we can and trying to stay in the eye of a global hurricane. I believe we all want  work, respect, knowledge, health and a future for our planet. I'm a rural and suburban child of the 60's, who went to High School in the 70's, worked in NYC in the 80's & SF in the 90's,  and now have teenage children while I also teach teenage children. It's in my DNA to look Forward (did I mention my family on both sides have been entrepreneurs and inventors for generations?)! Yet at this time I'm not sure where to set my sights other than saying There is no there there. There is only this moment in which we can carefully monitor each move and not react to the policies and politician that are put in place, but ACT. Once everyone is done mourning or being excited (yes I have a few Trump voting friends) ~ lets get back to the American values  believing in a Future that is better than the Present. We must be kind, smart and vigilant.

We will probably have to not Want More, but may be happier with Less as a Goal, too. The planet and our population depend on that. That is a real futurist change ~ Less is More. Those who have never had Too Much, that will be hard pill to swallow. Those, who have just come up and into their powers, will not want to let go. But let me tell you, as a person more than half a century old: the first half of your life is about acquiring skills, relationships and stuff. The second half of your life is about acquiring more skills, maintaining your relationships and getting rid of stuff. Look up George Carlin's act on Stuff. He's says it better than I can. The American Dream, like the notion that we could ever go "home" again, is a myth. Let's write a new myth where even moving at the speed of light, we recognize, respect and resolve to help each other to move Forward and not slip back into the false myth of the past being better than the Now! No one is superior to anyone else! We're all in this together ~ w/love & respect ~ KN

Back to Being Me!

I was asked to contribute my reflections on being female (Period to Post-Menopausal) for a book a friend is working on right now; she offered specific questions and I answered very candidly...this is risky business, but good memoir exposing practice, so here goes nothing:
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Howdy,

I'm glad you're working on this topic, as I've been discussing it amongst my women friends this summer; the super power of becoming simultaneously invisible and fearlessly present or "seen" as a post-menopausal mid-fifties female!


My periods started when I was 12 at the top of the Empire State Building! (No joke). They continued in cycle with the moon, without fail, until my two pregnancies. Throughout my teens and twenties, I had terribly painful and heavy periods, especially as a teenager. The only thing that helped them was exercise; particularly running, swimming, hiking or rowing. I never took the pill (as many friends did to modulate the flow) until I started menopause. I was a diaphragm girl. Bloating in my belly was always noticeable to those who knew me well, too. Tight waist band, all else fine, and tired (I now think as a non-meat eater from 17-27 it may have been lack of iron that made me so wiped out). Started Anti-depressants at 28, and that seemed to help, too (although sex-drive was driven down).

My feelings about becoming a woman and starting my period were very strong. At 10 I started to develop breasts and was told to "not take off my shirt" in the summers anymore. First indication that this "growing up" was not all it was cut out to be as a girl (1972- height of be who you want to be, yet, not really). I was mortified by having my period start during a trip to a family friends apartment in NYC and having it start at the top of the Empire State Building! The family friend's apartment was pure white; shag carpet, baby Grand, matching sofa set...total nightmare. Then my stepfather, who was not Jewish and was a practicing psychiatrist in Cambridge, upon hearing the news slapped me hard across the face and said, "Now you're a woman", and explained it away by stating that it was a Jewish tradition?!? My mother and her college roommate were in as much shock as were my older and younger sisters!

Married at 34 and then pregnancies. My first child was born when I was 35, the second at 38.  I breastfed each child, girl then boy, for 14+- months. I had to eat a lot of meat to stay balanced for both pregnancies and during breastfeeding. While weaning my son, I was wondering why I was still getting so hot at night, since I was no longer producing the gallons of milk that kept my furnace temps up. I would wake up from this hot wave of energy in a puddle of sweat. I was 39, almost 40, and what I thought was an exceedingly long baby-brain and a weakened physical grip at times, slowly struck me as the on-ramp of menopause.

For the first time in menstrual life my cycles were berserk. The Moon and I got divorced. This was a huge personal loss, as I felt like a human animal being connected to the moon, and like I was related in some way to the sea, which is a great love of mine.

I felt stripped of that connection by these arbitrary gushes that would be heavy and last not 5-6 days, but up to 2 weeks, followed by a week off and then geyser action again. Not to mention that I had just moved from San Francisco to the suburbs of Boston, while career changing by attending Graduate School, working in a new field, having my kids enter school and my marriage falling apart. I often describe these years as "Adolescents in Reverse".

Hormones. To take or not to take; that was the question. It seems that when it comes to our ever longer lives and finally realizing that women and men are different animals, and need to be researched as such, the jury is still out! It was definitely in full debate 14 years ago, as I muddled through ahead of my peers (early with getting my period - feeling like an ugly ducking, and early to lose it- feeling at first like an ugly duckling and now like an empowered critter, more like the one I was before I was 10)! My solution was to take The Pill, a low-dose one. So for the first time in my life, when I was dwindling in both my ability to become pregnant and to be desired by my husband, I was taking The Pill (again, kind of like a teenage girl coming into her powers, and not sure yet how or when to use them). Adolescents in Reverse...

Your question of Haunting, sounds like a different framing of how I think of it  as the Reversal. I don't feel like I'm being haunted by a self I no longer am, as much as I'm finally able to return to the person I always have been.

I feel like I can finally handle the powers of being female on my own terms. I've always been "untraditional"; didn't go straight to college, did male jobs (cabinetmaking, boatbuilding, salvage diving, reporting), it wasn't until after college and Radcliffe Publishing Course that I started working in female dominated fields (Publishing and Teaching). Even then I started my own Literary agency and was told I was intimidating on dates in NYC and SF in my 20's & 30's. I always felt like the same nature-loving, curious minded, adventurous girl who loved to run through the woods and go body surfing, but society and males in particular, saw me as "intimidating"  or "brave" (more from females).

This last decade (I'm now 54) has been a tough yet rewarding. Like a teenager going through a growth spurt, I now teach juniors and seniors in HS, I thought I was going crazy for a while. In your 40's you don't expect to become unfamiliar with your own body and mind , especially after enduring two safe and natural pregnancies (during which I was off Anti-depressants for the duration and the breastfeeding). That same decade I started doing Triathlons, Marathon Swimming and Obstacle Racing. Yet my mind, like it had been during PMS as a teenager, was most clear after exercise and the most muddled the farther away from an exercise or yoga session I became. Getting a dog was a big boost. Much like a teenager joining a team or sport and having to manage their time and health better, a dog did the same for me regarding knowing that no matter what I was doing, I'd go for 2 walks in the woods each day. Shrinrin-yoku  is the Japanese word for "forest bathing." It became popular in the 80's as a mental health and healing philosophy. When I first heard it a few years ago, I realized that I was going back to my girlhood with the dog. During my parent's divorce and pre-pubescent years , my favorite pastime was to hike in woods with my dog. It calmed me and gave me a clarity that later (and earlier) only came with REM sleep or exertion.

As a teenage girl and young woman, I both commanded a great deal of male attention, craved a great deal of male attention, and didn't manage it very well most of the time. I both didn't like being "so visible and available" to the male gaze (streets, subways and such) and wanted desperately to be "seen". The problem was I morphing so fast intellectually and geographically, that the physical and emotional me where often at odds. Thus the "me" that was "seen" was as often a reflection of what I wanted to project as much as who I was, making most relationship foundations fragile from the start.

 When I started college in the early 80s, at the height of androgyny being in vogue, I actually wrote a short story entitled, "Life in the Median". It was Metamorphosis meets Middlesex! In my mind it was a Romantic (in the sense of Mary Shelly being a Romantic) tale of what it would be like to just experience the world through your character and spirit, not a gender. The protagonist goes to bed as a man and wakes up discovering he's become "sexless" in the shower. Now we have so many pronouns (Your, It) that didn't exist then, but I've always had "fluid" friends and a great empathy for human animals (all animals actually, but that's a different story).

I think girlhood and post-menopausalhood are quiet on the mind, body and spirit. Regarding your questions about sex, I'll be as candid as I am comfortable in this moment:

Girlhood: Always curious from a young age to explore my own body and those of my friends/family. Learned very young about masturbation (pre-double digits) and was explored (with invitation on the one hand and with trepidation/out of control on the other) by a girl friend (invited) and older neighbor boy (scared).

Teenager: Too much, too soon. Enjoyed and then depressed, as there was often no real relationship connected to the acts, so I was left to feel like a hollow shell.

20's-30's: Came into my powers; was an adventurous and "sex-positive" person; AIDs and STD's entered my lexicon, yet became committed emotionally as soon as I became sexually connected. It's who I am and it was still too soon at times.

Menopausal (40-46)  & Post-Menopausal (47-beyond): Painful during the Reverse. Needed to figure out how to get my mojo on (especially with no hormones AND Anti-depressants). Made me feel undesirable and "dried up". My husband left the marriage in that department, before I could even "test drive" the solution for the Reverse. Interestingly, I've been divorced for 4 years and a year ago I started dating a terrific man who "sees" me! I've not needed hormones or medical solutions for my relations with this man; I feel my true self with him!


The three years of being a post-menopausal 50-something as single mother living in the suburbs, teaching an urban high school and connected to sentient beings around the globe via the internet were interesting upon reflection.

The Positives:
Wisdom
Usefulness
Mindfullness
Deference
Energy
Fearlessness (some say I've always had this, but those who know me, know that I used to expend too much for too little in return or by stalling in a negative holding pattern).
Balanced Body Image
Power from all of the above


The Negatives:
Match.Com  and the like; Yes it's how I found my man; but the odds were stacked against me. Seems most men my age still stereotypically desire a younger woman and conversely older men (beyond my algorithm setting) were approaching me. I kept saying (and it turned out to be true) that I'd have to wait for either a widower or long divorce man who is really looking for parity (in all ways) who has just joined Match, as they get scooped up right away because they're the white whale of the online dating forums.



A Positive and a Negative:
Invisibility:  On one hand you can be stealthy in some situations; agism provides a cloak of invisibility. On the other hand, being "noticed" would require more work with artificial constructs that I either don't care about, desire or want to spend my time, money and energy producing. It's not just the "male gaze" (translate that to any authority run by males), but it's also using that cloak to not give a damn, to the negative can become a positive!

My Place in the World:
Trying to be true to the authentic me (the one who could take her shirt off in the summer) while using the wisdom I've gained by riding the planet all these years to help make the world a better place.
Trying to be a role model for my kids, students, younger friends  and ultimately my readers (yes I hope to write something worth reading, but that's another story).
Giving as good as I get with love and friendship.
First half of my life has been acquiring stuff (knowledge, house...) and the second half will be about releasing it and living with less.

Prejudice:
Have I felt it as a post-menopausal female: yes once. From my wasband (former husband).
Most painful and unique. Won't allow it to happen again.

I teach Women's Literature and Science Literature; so I'm hoping to educate and enlighten the next generations of men and woman who will be going through this right of passage we call Menopause.

That's really what it is for me; in the cycle of my life it's the Reverse and by extension the corner round which the last chapter of my life is beginning. I'm a Romantic, and I always love new adventures!

The Spirit of Studio Ghibili life lessons....

     Tonight, the last night I'm with my kids for a long time, we watched Spirited Away. They'd both seen it before, but it's one of few Miyazaki films I hadn't seen. It all started when we were still living in SF and our neighbor, punnily enough, introduced us to My Neighbor Totoro. We must have watched that a dozen times the first year we owned to video. Then came Kiki's Delivery Service , Howl's Moving Castle,  and Nausicaa (which I've recently taught in Women's Lit and may use also for Science Lit, as it applies to both). I own, but have yet to see Princess Mononoke (highly recommended by students for the "Princess" and "Woman Warrior" sections of my W's Lit course), and haven't seen (and don't own) Ponyo, but plan to remedy my deficiency on both counts this summer.

     But tonight watching Spirited Away (2001 on the above graph), on the eve of my children going away from me for the longest time in their entire lives (2 weeks for Frank and a month for Lenora), it was a good reminder of how parents must let their children prove themselves by having adventures on their own to test their flight feathers.

     Now this may seem odd, coming from me, who many of you consider an adventurous soul, and I am. And I've tried to exemplify and instill that in my children. However, I've mostly been the parent that has been just out of reach or sight while that was happening. Most family vacations, even before the divorce, were done by me and the kids without the wasband. The last time we all took a trip together was 6 years ago, 2 years before I asked for a divorce, but quite a few years since we'd taken family vacations or even weekends away together. It has primarily been me and the kids, since before we left San Fransisco (Frank was 18 months old and Lenora 4.5 years old when when we moved here 14 years ago).

     The protagonist of this film is a young girl who is being driven by her parents from her childhood home to a new home and new school. Her parents "get lost" very near to their new home and the girl is quickly separated from them in a magical and menacing world where she has to learn who to trust (and not), how to think fast, and to work harder than she ever has before in her life in order to insure her survival and a positive fate for her parents. This isn't simple filial pity and has nothing to do with patriotic duty or her gender. It's totally about her being stronger than she thinks and smarter than she knows (much like Christopher Robin would tell Pooh Bear and he'd learn to believe it).

     Much like my newly graduated girlie going abroad (which she has done numerous times without parents : Quebec, France, Spain, and China. And with me: QuebecII, Australia, New Zealand. And with her father and I as a child: NL, BEL, GER) with her Dad and his fiancee (for the first two weeks with them and her brother: Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Maastrich); however what is new is the 2nd two weeks staying with her Auntie Kiki - in A'dam. I know in my bones she's ready, willing and able for the second two weeks and I can't wait to hear all about them (and for the bag of licorice drops I've requested -- the varieties are simply amazing and I've placed my specific order). I've just never been away from both of them, simultaneously, for two weeks, EVER....

     I doubt she'll encounter witches (the good and bad in SA), or Radish spirits or a golden object charmed with death potions, but in the current crazy climate of fractured hate around the world, there are random acts of violence and senselessness everywhere. The EUFA cup lasts only two more weeks, I know they won't be in any stadiums near the finals or any such densely populated "targets", other than two days out of 4 weeks where she/they'll be in airports. But that is the modern way of parenting now, isn't it? Don't succumb to inaction out of fear of a hateful random action! That is certainly my message to my kids (and students, for that matter). However, it does grate the nerve endings a bit when the morning news has a daily violent act that appears evermore deadly and deranged.

                                         Click on the below URL for a pick-me-up (courtesy of Miyazaki):
   

http://imgur.com/gallery/cfkuv

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     When I was growing up, my parents bought me the classic Maurice Sendak story "Where the Wild Things Are." I believe it was published a when I was 1 or 2 years old. The above illustration is a Miyazakification of Sendak's book, and when I first saw it a few years ago, the gears in my head said, "Yes". Miyazaki is the one who now gets how families and other children are experienced in children's minds, with his moving images and simple language that express complex emotions.  Sendak said, when I saw him at MIT 5 April 2003 during his seminar entitled: Descent into Limbo, When developing the monsters for the book, Sendak drew on his childhood memories of his immigrant relatives. His uncles and aunts would come on Sundays and "all say the same dumb things," he recalled. "How big you are, how fat you got, and you look so good we could eat you up. So the only entertainment was watching their bloodshot eyes and how bad their teeth were. You know, children are monstrously cruel about physical defects—the hair curling out of the nose, the weird mole on the side of the head. And so, you would glue in on that and then you talk about it with your brother and sister later. And they became the Wild Things." Much like, I imagine, Miyazaki used ghosts, spirits and family members from his culture and childhood to inform the creatures and characters of each of his films. As a child, when Sendak was driving his mother nuts, she would call him "vilde chaya," or wild animal in Yiddish. In the book, the mother calls Max "Wild thing!" and he says, "I'll eat you up!" Many of Miyazaki's characters are in dangers of losing a parent's attention and often go hungry as a consequence....

     The last trip the kids and I took, without their father, while we were still a "nuclear family" (how mid-last century does that sound) was to Disney in Florida during February Break of 2012. After years of saving money from selling homemade bird food and bizarre kid to kid yard sales, Frank and Lenora had saved up $500 towards the trip. We had promised to take them once they reached that goal. They'd reached nearly a year earlier, but the wasband kept saying, "not now". Well I began to realize that meant never, so I took them without him. By this point I had my teacher discount (Disney treats teachers from all over America as if you're an Orlando resident and you get their discounts through your union travel agents), so for the three of us the plane, car, motel and tickets to 3 parks (Epcot, Animal Kingdom and Legoland) was roughly 2K for a week (-$500 from the kids)- a bahgin! 

     After the years of saving and a year of waiting, I was shocked that they didn't pick the Magic Kingdom. But they had become too old (Frank was 11, Lenora 14) and they picked the above very deliberately. Legoland had just opened and Frank wasn't near the end of loving his favorite plastic building bricks. The gardens, exhibits and events were grand. Same for all of us with the animals and the "Safari" that transported us to Africa while staying  on the continent of America. But it was Epcot that let them both be kids and young adults. They loved the varieties of foods, music, architecture and cultures all within one circular days walk. They loved walking to meet Pooh (and Tigger too - Estate of A.A. Milne has a deal with Disney - the estate was/is a client of Curtis Brown) as well as going to Japantown for supper. 

    Again where the two worlds collided, Miyazaki and Disney, was in the gift shop in Japan that held all the exclusive Studio Ghibli items. Lenora came away with a Giant Totoro pillow. I bought a medium plush Catbus and I can't remember what Frank bought, but there were tough choices all around! We are fans and love the messages and lessons in the art and narrative so Studio Ghibli, just as I did with Sendak and Milne. I know that wherever my kids go, they'll carry my stories and lessons with them, and when they are faced with new challenges, they may get into scrapes and need to find solutions, but that is how one becomes your own person after all.......

     So I'll leave you tonight with some fan art of all the characters that most kids under the age of 23 can name for you incase you get stuck...just ask them and they'll share their favorite story and lesson with you! 

     Good night to all you lovers of children's books and films (and especially the ones who work just as well for grown ups, too)! xoxo

3 Generations

                                                          3 Generations




                                                       Dusk at one table
                                            Communing with food, love, thoughts
                                                    Lilies closed, all leave.



                          Haiku after a late, long, and lovely dinner with 3 generations.

                           

I'd like to be...under the sea...

     Tonight, after waiting for many years, we finally saw an animated octopus who was not malicious! Hank, the co-star of Finding Dory, is actually a septopus with an unexplained back story on the loss of his eighth limb (except that the incident was so horrific that he never wants to return to the sea. Which bugged me, as I know that octopus are great limb regenerators and very good at staying protected on the ocean floor (http://blogs.scientificamerican.com/octopus-chronicles/how-octopus-arms-regenerate-with-ease/), and found it odd that they could spend two years creating the mechanics of bringing Hank to life with digital media, but couldn't write us a plausible back story for the missing leg.

     So I kept thinking about this inconsistency driving home with the kids in the car. They kept referencing Dory's loss of memory and her family. I kept thinking back to Nemo's loss of his mother and losing the full size of his fin. Perhaps the next movie will be Hank's story; how he came to be damaged, afraid, without family and an eighth leg. We'll already know that he learned to be brave and compassionate after meeting Dory and learning to trust his inner voice again.

     Only Octopus are solitary creatures for the most part, after they are born. The mother's ultimate sacrifice, after she lays her hundreds of eggs, is to wash water over them until they hatch, never leaving the cave or rock wall where she's hidden them, not even to eat. The longest documented case of an Octopus mother's love is 53 months of caring for her brood before she died. http://phenomena.nationalgeographic.com/2014/07/30/octopus-cares-for-her-eggs-for-53-months-then-dies/ That's what Octopus mother's do, at the ripe age of 2 or so, they mate, lay eggs, care for them until they start to hatch and then die.

     The kids and I were honored to see such a mother in action, as a captive in the Quebec Aquarium. (This is one photo from a series of 8 that I took). That mother was roughly 3 years old, but there was no male octopus to fertilize her eggs, so she was tending them and paying with her life, only the eggs would never hatch.  The wall of her tank was roughly 5'x4' and covered in eggs. She kept climbing up and down it, slowly, turning and washing water over the eggs. The woman who worked with this octopus told me that she'd been tending them for 2 weeks and might have another 2 weeks to live. I remarked on how pale the mother was and I remember the woman saying, "She's getting paler ever day."

     Most of the film was examining instinct, natural abilities and how that holds us together. But it also showed how the "crazy behavior" of being present in the moment, making choices based on passion and love can be just as valid as those which we are genetically programed to follow. Migration for the manta rays is just as valid as having chosen family that you risk your life to help and keep intact. Having a deficit (runty fin, no short term memory, a missing leg) isn't a reason for giving up or letting go, but rather the opposite; reasons to be resilient and resourceful.

     On one hand these two "Finding" films are more about finding yourself and believing in yourself, then they are about any external journey to find another who will make everything whole again. Dory still forgets, only she's learned how to thrive, not just survive; like Nemo before her. Hank seems to have accomplished all of this in one foul swoop (much like Dory did in Nemo; but in both the narrative was tracking the protagonists and the co-star was comic or cynical relief).

    I'm very tired now, and I know I'm going to have many additional thoughts in the morning, but I find it interesting that in Nemo, Dory had no parents or wasn't sure if she did, while in Dory, Hank makes no mention of family at all. The one thing they did emphasize about him however, which is true, is that he has three hearts (all octopus do). So I'm guessing that the third in what I'm assuming will be a trilogy, will be to discover that his family will become his students and the Nemo's and Dory's. Being of use and loved are the greatest ways to ride the planet, or navigate the oceans, after all!

New Directions

                       (Section of Acton rail trail in the process of being made from tracks to bike path)

     9 Months: the time it takes to make a child, the time it takes a Senior to finish HS and to decide what college they will attend as a Freshman, the time it takes to realize that the new relationship you've started is growing into something substantial, the time it takes to learn how to best help some one you love and the time to create space for reentry of those who you no longer love.

     I've been silent here for 9 months, too. I was writing this blog every night before I went to sleep for the better part of a year. 4,000 readers from 21 different countries some how found their way to this page of x's and o's, and quite frankly it both startled and excited me. Then I entered a new face to face relationship with a man and that had a similar effect. 

     In these three seasons of silence, I've had to carefully budget my energies: teaching full-time, single motherhood, college applications/visits/acceptances/orientation, a struggling transitioning student, a new man, and the final Grad Class required to equal my second MA for licensure and a lane change (strategic to the one child going to college). There hasn't been much room for not being 100% healthy or for selfish acts of dumping my thoughts here. 

     10 Months ago, however, I injured my ribs. The muscles tore between them and took a long while to heal. Being a teacher is very physical work (standing, walking, writing, carrying and basically moving for 7-8hrs a day). Being a single mom is very physical work (cooking, shopping, cleaning, yard chores and so on). Being mentally healthy is very physical work (dog walking, running, swimming, yoga, biking and more). It has felt kind of like the Freshman mantra of the 3 S's: you must sleep, study and socialize, but you can only do two most of the time (sleeping being skipped and food being consumed for false energy instead = Frosh15#)! 

     The Holidays were celebrated with an immediate blending of our children, who are close in age, all 4; his 2 sons and my son and daughter. This came about seamlessly and with little, to no, fretting. My family liked him and his family seemed to think I was okay, too. The fluidity of this, after being single for the better part of 4 years was astounding and scary. There were moments where I know I had to erase previous relationship tapes and learn how to be the me I wanted to be in a relationship now. Not the married person of nearly 20 years, nor the single person from 20 years ago, but the person I am now. This required really reflecting on all of it and taking the path that is most authentic to me, even if it's unpracticed and unfamiliar. Those are often the most terrifying and rewarding roads to travel.

     

     Ribs healed by January, in time to do a 6 mile winter obstacle course race with my new man, a friend from work and her husband. It was wonderful to be doing something I usually do alone or with work mates/ friends and do it with my "hunny bunny" (as I wrote his relationship to me on my emergency info/waiver - he called me his "significant other"). Then February  and March brought a double whammy of strep throat combined with bronchitis. Wouldn't wish it on anyone. Yet, those months I learned that I can be not 100% and not have to apologize for it. This was new for me and very welcome in my relationship.

     Spring brought an invitation to travel to California with my man, which I had to decline, but it felt great to be asked. My Grad Class, College visits and son need my full attention. Yet some weekends, I started going with my man to help get his sailboat ready to go over. He races during the Spring and Summer seasons. I wanted to learn about his boat (racing, not cruising; more lines than a Shakespeare play) and prepare for being crew. You can learn a great deal about some one by how the folks in the yard treat them, and it was all favorable. Plus, I found them very welcoming to me, as well. 

     By April I was back to running 10K's, doing yoga and looking for tri's and open water races to enter. Then after a lovely Saturday day sail, just the two of us, and at the start of a short dog walk, it happened. Went to hug my man from behind, he leaned forward, and it felt like a hot silver spike was jammed between my ribs in the exact same spot as last August! Drats, dagnabit and double drats! Didn't happen carrying kegs over my head, swinging from ropes or climbing over walls, but hugging my man! So a minor, but effecting every breath, set back.

     These last two months have been busy, ever rallying, trying and grand for my family. My man and I will soon be going for a 2 week sail; one week with two boys (one of his with a friend) and the other week just the two of us. My kids will be in Europe with their father and his fiancee, their soon to be stepmother. 

     So here I am; starting off in a new direction, uncharted and full of change. This summer will be the ending of the family structure I've managed alone for the last 4 years; the beginning of my daughter slowly leaving the nest, while my son receives some TLC and I endeavor to explore my new way of being. Figure it's time to stop being silent, and start practicing my skills at covering transitions, as that is what I hope to write about in depth down the road.