More Garden Woes

First, the weight of one of my butternut squash, that I failed to fashion a hammock for in time, snapped the vine. I lost about three feet of vine and two budding squash--one medium size well on its way to the table and one strong baby.

Lesson learned--all remaining squash are in nylon hammocks and vines secured to bamboo stakes.

Second, this morning I take my walk outside to check-in with my plot. I start with the porch garden, looking in on the seedlings, cantaloupe and butternut, then the herbs, peppers. Looking good. No frog burrows this morning from our resident porch frog. Then I make my way to the raised bed--ah. Bees burrowing their little busy bodies into the succulent centers of our sunflowers--there are about 10. Beautiful. I notice an extra splash of yellow in an out of place sort of place--I look in closer, excited by the possibility that we have a new bloom. Not exactly.

The yellow splash that I spy is not a new flower like I had anticipated but the head of a mature sunflower that has been snapped in half at mid-stem, no doubt by hungry, greedy ass little squirrels feasting on the bountiful center of seed. Argh.

Upon closer inspection, I see that they have completely removed the heads of two other dwarf variety sunflowers edging the plot. Argh. Fuckers.

I have to tell my kids, these were their babies. As sad as it is, it helps them understand the anguish I feel over the worm infestation as it devastates the plants I have nurtured from seed.

We have declared war--at least a firm resistance. They are earth's creatures after all, simply looking for food albeit overeating for sure.

Cayenne pepper seems to be the go-to measure of force to deter the sneaky rats, ah...um...squirrels.

Moving forward in our experimental gardening venture, we have grown in knowledge yet again.

But really, can't we just get there already?

My Challenge to Every Human Being...

...especially the ones groaning about the costs of food, try growing it your damn self.

No really. TRY.

Asparagus cost too much for you? Grow a bundle. Better than that, I further challenge you to grow a bundle without lading it with toxic chemicals to fend off nasty critters ready to devastate your plot.

For that matter, grow anything naturally--you'll find that you appreciate the effort involved in bringing your edibles into fruition.

I have a new found appreciation, hell, it's damn near idol worship, of farmers and gardeners everywhere.

In this one week, my poor little plot has been invaded by hornworms--the tomatoes are the real victims here as those slithery little bastards help themselves minute-by-minute to their foliage, reducing it to skeletal, web-like remains.

What the hell to do? I'm gardening organically so I can't just blast the fudgers. I did find one spray at my local corporate-big-beast-we-offer-token-organic-supplies warehouse, but get this: The spray wears a label naming it "for organic gardening" yet when you peel the sticky label back to read the real-deal, it announces that the product is TOXIC TO BEES.

Really? Toxic to bees? Bees need anymore shit right now? Aren't they just trying to keep their colonies from collapsing?

So....

I take my search to the Internet and find a spray identifying itself as "Caterpillar Killer" and apparently a recommended choice of organic gardeners and, well, bees for sure :-)

I pay 12.00 for the product and $9.00 to ship it here--Jesus-freakin-Christ. I know $21.00 seems a small price but having already sunk nearly $400.00 into my gardening venture thus far, I need a fucking life boat NOT an overpriced caterpillar kool-aid.

The best part of this chapter in my little story is this--by the time the kool-aid gets here, my plants are likely to be sucked dry of their life by the hornworms. My only option to keep some sort of reign on the fudgers is to pluck the visible ones off throughout the day and slice them in half with a stick or bludgeon them with a rock reducing them to green paste and leaving them for ant food.

Yum, right?

12 hours later in my day...

Fortunately, I scoped the foliage tonight and found less than I have been finding--only two stems packed with babies, that I ground to mush, and a few leaves with mid-sizers that I sliced in half. I am, forever more, the hornworm assassin. Tell your friends you little bastards.

This makes me think that I can potentially stall their progression until my deadly, buff kool-aid arrives.

I can only hope--other wise this has been not only a painful lesson as I mourn my lost life but an expensive one.

Growers of organic food everywhere, I bow to you and will do less wincing during my market trips from here forward AND I will enjoy the fruit of your labor, forever more, in awe of your commitment and bounty.

Down by the banks...

...of hanky panky where the butternut hangs all swanky-swanky.

Yeah. So I've been having loads of hanky-panky with my butternut flowers, delicately taking the yellow powder from the stamen of the male flowers and transferring it to the pistil of the female flowers with a small paint brush. Ideally, these fancy terms I'm throwing out here are the correct names of the the parts I'm doinking on a daily basis.

It's cool though--the female flowers that I am not able to 'pollinate' shrivel and drop off but the ones that are fertilized are plumping up like a round pregnant belly.

The Daily Grind

Surely, I jest.

I commute to work and the drive is roughly 30-45 minutes, with traffic for the first half only and c'mon, I'm driving to the beach. Not a bad gig, right?

When I arrive at the studio, I unlock the building and roll out my mat. Then it's time for my first morning break.

I begin my 'round the corner' walk to the beach and start the time when my feet hit the sand. I like to give myself a solid 30-40 minute wake-up walk.

I am in awe of the crashing waves before me, the smell of the ocean hanging heavy in the air and the feel of the sand on my bare feet. It feels like freedom and salvation all at the same time, it feels like hope and promise.

I think I stopped loving the beach a couple of years after I moved here--a single gal of 18. Where it had once represented escape and refuge for me, after my first child it represented sand in my car, sand in her diaper, a mad supply of towels to keep wet butts off my car seats, a thousand supplies stuffed into an over-capacity diaper bag equipped to anticipate 2,000 different scenarios but never actually prepared for one, watching and waiting for her to dash into water with a mind and strength of its own, the salt water in the eye cry and if her dad came along, his sandy feet in my car too and another towel for his wet bum because we know who cleaned it up after every beach outing.

I'm falling in love again. As I walk there 3 mornings a week, alone and free, I am drawn back into the refuge of this place and I know I am blessed to be here for, of all things, my 'job'.

Once I'm down the beach about 20 minutes, then I turn around for the journey back so I have time to prepare for class.

Soak it up, take it in, watch for shells under my feet but also scope the vitality of the water--the time passes like a vapor dissipating before you have any real sense that it was there.

I turn for one last look out over the beach, one last contemplation of the vast ocean and I turn to leave.

Back in the studio, I unlock the doors, light the incense, start the music as the gentle chants fill the space and then I wait.

I wait for my students and I smile because I know how lucky I am--how right I am for this.

They trickle in, we greet each other and I'm so glad they've come. I'm glad that they want this as much as I want to offer it up

We move through our practice, we breathe, they make it their own and all too soon, it's over.

I lead them into relaxation, mist their space with lavender, prepare a reading and wait for their bodies to rejuvenate in Savasana.

We close our yoga circle by coming back to the seated position from which we started, holding the final moments of inwardness. Eyes open and we bow, Namaste.

They trickle out and I walk across the street to get a cup of coffee for my drive back home from a morning's work--ah, the daily grind. Thank goodness.

Tina, Tina Quite Verbena, How Does Your Garden Grow?

I am inspired, by another blogger I've recently corresponded with, to add pictures of my own garden to my blog. This is the full-frontal of my raised bed--the pollinator seductresses clad in terra-cotta pots.

A close-up of my pollinator seductresses--how sexy and irresistible are they?

This is a side view that shows my big-boy tomatoes in the foreground and cherries (tomatoes, that is) beyond them--basically, a giant green foliage cluster!

My nasturtiums fighting for their space but doing mighty fine.

Red climbers doing what they do--they are flowering these vibrantly red flowers and vibing me to keep the butternut vine from taking them over!












Beyond the sunflower I have moved aside, you'll see my jalapeno just trying to be a pepper and fighting for a bit-o-sunshine.

Front view of the butternut going nuts.













This is the rear view of the other butternut. I have to check on these sneaky, territorials daily and unwind their vines from the surrounding garden occupants.

Here is my parsley, sprouting up from seed and to the right, an orange seed hiding under the soil, awaiting it's debut!









To the left, in order of appearance, behold my basil, cilantro sproutlets grown from seed and more basil.

Catnip grown from seed by my little man--a favorite of squirrels and stray, well, cats.

My children's father

My posts as of late have been peppered with references to him. It has been almost four years since he talked with the kids, longer since he's seen them and I found him on My Space.

I wrote earlier that we had heard from his son--the one he put up for adoption 19 years ago. This confrontation, of sorts, prompted me to talk with the kiddos about their dad--were they even still interested in knowing him, talking to him, seeing him?

Resounding YES.

Before I could even ask my questions, their answer was yes.

I was determined to find him, for them and partly, in a way, sort of, for me. I don't remember making it easy for him--and by that, I don't mean I stood in the way or didn't pick up the phone or limited his visits. I mean, I didn't make it easy for him. He's a certain sort of guy--passionate and deep and because of his life story, vulnerable to emotional panic or withdraw.

I was typical--I constantly asked about child support, reminding him of his financial obligations to the children he fathered, reminding him that I was not the only parent, that he had to assume some level of responsibility, that he should be just as concerned for their well-being as I was, that he had to be consistent. Blah, ex-wife, mother-of-his-children, blah.

Mind you, he has NEVER paid child support of any significance. The first year of our separation, my attorney had child support and alimony drafted from his income every pay day but after that year, I have maybe received a total of $300.00 from him for the last 7 years of their lives. I'm here to tell ya, I've spent a bit more than that on raising them.

Anywho--in resurrecting him from absent-father land, I resolved to let it go. He's never going to assume any level of responsibility for them, much less financial, and he's never going to take their care as seriously as I do. Bottom-line.

In the wake of my conversation with the kiddos about finding their father, I began talking to them about him, this man they knew only through faded memories of their own, pictures embodying their disconnect and what I passed along.

It suddenly became important to me that they know they came from love--regardless of what happened to him and I later down our road, they were of love. A deep, passionate love between two people desperate for each other at one time.

In retelling these stories to them, I think I became attached to a memory of him from then. My emotions were hard to categorize, they were blurred and out of context.

In my defense, I never got closure in our relationship. One day he came home from work, 8 hours late, and said he was leaving--we needed a divorce. My world crashed--I was at the lowest place I'd ever been and sinking with every action he took toward leaving us behind. He never looked back.

I didn't think I was going to surface from that--I had meaningless sex with meaningless people, drank too much, ate too little and damn near lost my will to mother my children. It was a long road back for me from that period of my life.

Then, finally, closure.

After reconnecting with their dad for about two weeks over the phone, I invited him to come stay in my home (because I knew he couldn't afford a hotel) and spend time with the kiddos for the weekend.

I stayed close. No way was I trusting him alone--after this long, I don't even know him.

We watched movies, went to little man's play--all three shows--and they slept together on the futon. I knew how important that was to them.

Saturday, when we were driving home from the last play of little mans, I asked their father to go walking with me when we got home. I needed a walk and wouldn't dare walk alone after dark.

While walking he told me that he was sorry for the way he left--he said I didn't deserve that and it's bothered him every since.

Closure.

Closure is such an odd thing really and, in the end, unnecessary. I didn't need him to take responsibility in order to know already that he had been wrong. But I can honestly say, that I just got over my divorce last year, the process and the experience that is, I've been over our lost love for longer.

But it took me that long to mourn, to mourn him, to mourn for the interuption to our family, to long for him, hate him and forgive him and to redefine my new family. In forgiving him, I think I thought I loved him like I did then but that wasn't it at all. I love him in a new way. I love him as a human being not strong enough to take the first step toward his children without me. I love him because they love him and because they resemble him and because they have certain characteristics of his--she has the shape of his face, he has his eyes. She has his toes and he has his dimples.

How could I look at them everyday, loving them everyday and harbor ANY resentment or ill-feelings toward him?

I couldn't reconcile it in my heart.

So his acceptance of blame and expression of remorse was a seal on my heart, already pieced back together nicely. And his visit was a firm reminder that I've already walked that road--the scenery hasn't changed, the path has crumbled through the years making it even more treacherous and my destination is transcendental now because the theme of my living is greatness.

I am more.

Verbal Diarrhea: Part II

I'm done.

Verbal Diarrhea: Part I

Ever been a victim of?

Ever spewed it to your ex?

Ever said SO much fucking shit AND kept talking past the point when you should've shut the FUCK up?

Ever dealt with emotions that you've buried deep inside yourself, for yourself, where you don't even know what you feel, who you feel for or why and suddenly you're on this plane of existence--it's shaky, it's foreign, it's familiar, it's real, it's illusion, it's tumultuous and crazy and inexplicable and spawned from nothing but maybe everything.

Did you ever have someone giving you advice who is SO categorically uNqUaLiFiEd? A person so unfit to speak an ounce of alleged wisdom that their tongue should be removed?

I can't explain what happened tonight, I can't explain why I opened my mouth--I think sometimes I need to hear my own words, to talk something over with myself in order to make sense of something myself, to say something out loud regardless of who I share my voice with. There seems to be but one requisite--said 'hearer' must breathe and walk and, apparently, be inextricably tied to my past. Of my past so as to be THE past, like, THE story that gets told. Whatever.

I'm not being totally honest here. In fact, I'm evading the truth because I don't want to admit the ugly truth--the awful, embarrassing, ugly, backward truth.

For one second or a few, for one day or several, if at all, I think I wanted something back--something I haven't had in a while. Something I haven't wanted in a while. Someone. Him.

It's best explained by understanding that the past few weeks have been something of a soul-shake, a breath-quake--for me, for the kids and surely my honey though we rarely talk about it.

For fuck's sake--it's been cRaZy. I can't even muster the words to categorize the level of crazy, to capture the experience for what it's really worth.

I have felt every emotion available in my arsenal of emotions and I have felt them backwards and I have felt them sideways and I have felt them deep, raw and unprotected, unguarded, exposed. Totally exposed. I have felt them alone, inside, this total internal trip because that's how I roll--this lone warrioress that I suppose myself to be.

But in this total eclipse of the heart, this total darkening, shadowing, I surfaced cleansed of all idiotic notions heretofore unspoken.

It's like, for the past couple weeks, I've had SO many questions that I didn't even know what I wanted to ask. I had so many thoughts, I didn't know what to think. And the emotions tied to all of these questions and thoughts, these emotions that crossed spans of time and criss-crossed again, making them almost current, almost relevant again, almost...real? Like I awoke from a coma where time had moved me forward but my heart was parked in another era.

Only there was no coma and time was steadfast.

"Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you think everything's okay"~~Alanis Morissette

Sure as shit.

I embrace my compulsion to speak what's on my mind and I even further embrace and exert my right to experiment within the spectrum of my emotions, to try them out and try them on.

There are times when I think I am a mess--a total wreck. And then there are times when I remind myself, usually in the aftermath, that I am alive. I am just alive and as such, I am open to mishaps and foibles and prone to travel the paths of various emotions, these little links to consciousness that connect us to others, to self and beyond.

As this living being that I am, I am subject to myself and all that implies.

My children's brother?

I just talked to my ex-husband's son and not the one we had together.

I'll start at the beginning.

My ex-husband is a phantom. He lives his life under the radar so it's not unusual that I would get a call from someone looking for him...like tonight.

I noticed a TN phone number on my caller id that I did not recognize but because I have family in TN, I picked up the phone.

The male voice on the other line asked for my ex-husband by his first name. Obviously, I responded that he had the wrong number and hung up.

I was marginally concerned that an individual was calling for him versus the usual business or creditor but swept it under the rug...for 10 minutes.

My heart leapt when the phone rang again from the same number. This time, when I answered, the caller apologized first and then asked if I knew ** ** (name of my ex), it was very important he said.

I explained that he was my ex but I had not heard from him in over 3 years.

"This is his son."

My heart fell--I knew of this adoption so I knew, from what he shared, that he was telling the truth.

This 19 year-old young man just had a son himself and is trying to find his father, a man that makes a life of leaving loved ones buried in the past with not so much as a glance back in their direction--even those whose diapers he changed, whose little fingers grasped his own as they were taking their first shaky steps, those whose first word was da-da and they meant it for him.

I gave him all the information I had which amounted to very little.

I didn't tell him he was chasing a ghost.

The Family has Left the House

I have been alone since about 9:00 this morning and ya wanna know something? I'm okay. I'm actually really enjoying myself. It's freakin' fantastic!

I drank coffee, wrote, read email, responded to email, checked on my garden, ate lunch, watched TV, took a shower, took a power nap on the sofa, wrote some more, emailed some more...

I'd like to have higher aspirations for my time alone but in the wake of a pretty scary migraine episode yesterday, one that impaired my vision for about an hour, I'm taking it easy today.

Chillin'

I would like to practice yoga before the night gets away from me, maybe make a run to the grocery store but in truth, I'm waiting on a call back from a yoga studio. They made me an offer and I countered their offer with my own, what I think are fair, terms~~now it's a waiting game.

I SO want this.

Sure, it's a long drive, about 40 minutes to the beach, but great experience and exposure that I really want to have under my 'yoga strap'. But I'll be okay either way~~I sort of have to be. But I really want this.

More later cuz' I got nothin' but time...

Nature Write

The kids and I took thirty minutes to observe nature from our window during the rain. Then we wrote from our inspirations and shared our writing with each other.

The tree stands barely cloaked in its foliage, receiving new growth green sprout by sprout. They come to the seeds numerous times a day--fluttering to stay atop one feeder or finding just the right method of entry for the other. Blue-Jays and Cardinals, or Squirrels.

The Mourning Doves prefer to stay close to land, selecting from the seeds that fall from the feeder, a result of seeming greed and haste--or the squirrels.

Determined little creatures they are, the squirrels. They don't know that the feeders are not meant for them and they snub their intended food. They don't even care that one feeder was designed SPECIFICALLY to keep them out. They simply circled and circled, studied and studied, tried and tried--they eventually gained their entry and feasted on seed, bird seed.

There is a lesson in this squirrel behavior--if you've never been told that some things can't happen, won't happen or of the general nature of impossibility, improbability or unlikelihood, nothing is out of your reach. Rather, ambitions are merely paths to puzzles that must be solved, conundrums that have a solution for the determined.

Like the squirrel who circles, studies, tries and succeeds only to look out on the humans from the inside of the squirrel-proof bird feeder.

The Blue Jay flies onto the tree and off again--his colors darker and more vibrant because of the rain. A nibble of seed, a look around and off again.

The Woodpecker is our more unusual guest today, a highlight that we do not get often enough but what a pleasure to observe the deep red-capped head and skillful beak hunting out food on the trunk of the pine tree.

Not one has found the window feeder yet or perhaps it's that they do not dare its proximity to the window but I hold to the hope of 'build it they will come' from Field of Dreams.

More appropriately, Feeder of Dreams--it has been hung, now will they come?

I have my money on the squirrels.

Blog posts as of late...

...have been sort of, um, stale. I don't mean to be. I try to trudge forward with my writing, whether or not what I have to say is of any real value or depth. This, a suggestion of Ariel Gore in her latest "how to write" book and probably of writers ad infinitum before her. It works for me but does mean that, from time to time, my writing is dull.

In relation to my honey's car trouble and our latest BAM--this morning I have something that I didn't have last night, though I was nearing it a bit before bed as I tried to articulate my emotional stance here on my blog (see prior post).

Perspective.

I have a little perspective on this issue in the greater orbit of my life.

I have a fighter spirit, I've talked about this before. There's not much that can take me down...for long anyway. I've made a life of overcoming. But I'm also reading this book, I'm afraid it sounds self-helpish but what-the-fuck-ever.

"A New Earth" by Eckhart Tolle--there's a plug I suppose but it's unintended because I bring it up only to mention what I read that coupled with my internal power to swing me into perspective.

He writes: "Life will give you whatever experience is most helpful for the evolution of your consciousness. How do you know this is the experience you need? Because this is the experience you are having..."

Now, I don't believe for a second that there is an external force subjecting me to experiences for the sake of shaping my character and fortifying my soul BUT I do believe that I stand to learn from whatever comes my way, to find the power within myself to step outside of the emotion of the event and observe my response or determine my response.

I do not have to be a passive player or an object of my life--I can choose to be the force of my life, the actor deciding the action.

Tolle's discussion on the above takes place within another discussion of "stuff" and the value we put on having stuff, having more than someone else, having better than someone else, etc. and how we allow this "stuff" to affect the feelings we have about ourselves: "I have, therefore, I am."

Thinking in these terms, it really allows me to release and let go. To move beyond this feeling of inadequacy that plagues me when money is tight. Tight finances do not imply or mean that I am inadequate, I simply have to give more thought to what comes into our home or orbit.

Ya know, it's not that I consider myself an eternal optimist, I don't. Optimism is the wrong label here. I simply get the cyclical nature of life, "to everything, turn, turn, turn"--that's just how it rolls. I will have distress and I will have bliss. It is as certain as I will inhale or exhale.

That is the promise of life, the certainty I can count on.

Turns out, dirt's expensive

I have a garden--a raised garden. My honey was working all day on the construction of my raised bed. We rose early and headed to Lowe's for the supplies, to the tune of $140.00 but we got:

Organic garden soil, wood for the frame, nails and brackets for the "construction", a jalapeno plant and vine tomato plants

Then, after we realized that the first 8 cubic feet of soil was not going to touch the space we needed to fill, honey headed back to Lowe's for 16 cubic feet MORE of soil for another $60.00.

WOW! Who knew dirt was so pricey? I certainly didn't but it was worth it--I've been on a cloud all day knowing that I have my garden space to tend, a place where my little plastic cupped seedlings can FINALLY spread their roots. They are my other babies. So, yeah, sort of pathetic--whatever.

If this is where the story of my day ended, it would be bliss but, alas, it's not. At the end of our day, honey was heading out to get gas so it was one less thing she had to do before work in the morning and BAM. Her car died with no warning and wouldn't power back up.

Fucking fantastic.

I really wonder what I've done or not done to attract this level of bullshit. Is there a reason at all? Are we working on total randomness in life or does our energy put out determine the energy that comes back?

If the former is true, well, then hell. Take what comes and deal, right? But if the latter is true, then what gives man?

Ya know, I'm not going to sweat it--it's probably just the battery. And, sure, it should be an easy fix--in another household. Unfortunately, we have a garden to show for this last payday and no leftovers. We'll be sharing a car until next payday and hope that there's an extra bit for whatever car repair we need.

I'm an adult--I'll be SO glad when things like car repairs and gardens, simultaneously, don't threaten our financial security or more accurately, our ability to buy food.

But I've had my cry and I've had my dinner. I lined my garden tonight with the seedlings to map their placement. I swept the driveway and baked cookies. I kissed the faces of my children. I have another car to share for now and tonight, I'll lay my head on my pillow in my house.

I'll be fine. Because I want to, because I have to, because I need to.

Especially if the timing of the next shit-bomb is spaced appropriately from this one.

The Stagnation After Graduation

Five days out of graduation with my yoga certification and still no bites in the studio realm. I'll be on sub lists in two studios. How often they actually call subs and how many down I am on the list preoccupies me.

I also listed on YogaFinder.com as a private instructor - I created rates and packages that are well below industry average - expanded my yoga blog to include my services as an instructor and designed business cards.

So - sure I've been busy and proactive but there has to be more I can do. What sucks is that I know I am going to have to take classes at these studios in order to show my face, get to know the teachers that will be calling me as a sub - in a word, network. Nevertheless, money I don't have.

This is SO not what I expected but it's cool. The veil is lifting and I'm not scared enough to run or give in.

I want this SO bad. I want to make a living out of this but at the same time, I want what I do to really make a difference in people's lives.

Patience is a good lesson on my yogic journey - why not start now, huh?

Feast of Love

AMAZING movie - can't say enough.

I don't often watch movies again after seeing them once. What's the point?

But with this one, I felt compelled - as if I needed to learn something from it, take a lesson or a direction.

The movie is about love - the birthing of love, the ending of love, the rootedness of love and the humdrum of love - all set in lovely Oregon.

Something in it I needed to hear...to see, because I question every day of my life in love. I am miles from where I was, I crave life and think deeply about my existence, my point here on this earth and I look in her eyes for the same sort of hunger and quest but I find a void that I don't even think she knows exists.

I have certainly had, in my life on earth, my own feasts of love - I know I can again.

Lines of thought...

The following are lines of thought that I want to continue, someway, somewhere.

It occurs to me that I can no more remember when she developed this independence than I can remember when the sweet little dimples disappeared from her knuckles. "One day they'll be gone," the Olan Mills photographer had said, "and you'll have these pictures to recall those precious little dimples." She photographed my daughter with her hand on a railing and her little face leaning in--her dimply knuckles frozen in time.

I still think about that conversation and the dimples--just the other day, I wondered where they had gone. All of a sudden noticing that they had faded from her now slender hands with long fingers.

She's beautiful. She's absolutely magnificent. She's pulling into herself and folding out into this stunning young lady afraid of nothing and capable of everything.

=============================================

As he laid on his back on the floor with his eyes closed awaiting my hands to touch him, I noticed how very small his mouth is still. I could see the babe in his face and I felt such warmth as I leaned in to kiss his forehead. This son of mine--so young, so innocent and naive.

It occurs to me that I've cradled him, I've coddled him more. She only had that for so long--having to share with another the love of her mother so early. Graciously stepping aside to make room for this force of life, my son, her brother. He acts his part, this little boy.

=============================================

As I watched the movie the other night, it occurred to me that I love fine lines and wrinkles on faces. His face was carved with them and they told a story of his life. During this thought, I remembered seeing a photograph of Helen Hunt on the NPR website and the close-up revealed her own facial lines. I couldn't stop looking at her, her life was written into those lines. Why would you want to erase those? To me, it's like a passport of where you've travelled--even if you've never left.

And I know, sometimes people have to talk themselves into embracing their wrinkles--they use trite humor and sentimentality as evidence of their peace with aging. Not me. It's not about making peace, it's about earning my place, recording my moments of expression be they joy, worry, pain or remorse. My face reminds me of all the times I've smiled, cried or fretted--the lines are place markers that say insert here, she's done this before. I can't surprise my face anymore.

Now ask me how I'm embracing the gravitational pull on my boobs and there's another story. I'd never go under the knife for any bodily altercation but if there's a pill that would stick these babies back in place, I'd take it.

At the rate I'm going, these saggy sacks are going to be at my belly button in no time and it occurs to me that for all my talk of lines and stories, that's one story I don't want told thank you very much.

The power of two little pills & other musings

And now I'm ready to start my day. I had a really hard time falling asleep last night, the intensity of my all-day call out was of no help to finding calm respite in my tattered mind. Wow, if my mind was tattered from merely hearing the details, what of hers?

Nevertheless, every bump, scatter of cats and flipping on of lights outside my bedroom was startling me from sleep and just when I crept into the tingling escape of bare consciousness, my beeper beeped and I was on again at 1:30 in the morning. Fortunately, only a crisis call. I talked to her from my pillow until she was prepared to brave sleep herself.

This fragmented pattern of sleep resulted in a dull headache this morning--something that always zaps the zing right out of my ambitions. So I started the coffee pot, poured the red pills into my hand and admitted defeat only minutes from rising.

But now I'm on. I'm jazzed and ready. Lunch is making it's way to the stove--the brown rice needs more time than the rest so it will simmer for about 50 minutes. I sprinkled in red lentils for appeal. Later, I'll mix salmon with minced carrots and onions, whole wheat breadcrumbs, wheat bran, eggs and freshly grated romano cheese for salmon patties.

I'm still courting my cup of coffee, not as hot as the first cup but certainly worth sipping during my quiet time. The kids are working on math with instructions to move into reading time when they're done. I lit incense for effect--it's effect almost futile against the aroma of garlic rising from the steaming pot of brown rice, but ah well.

My hopes for the day are many, the reality of my day as yet unknown. I hope to venture through science together and read Moorchild. I found some pictures of moors online and showed them to the kiddos this morning so they can have an idea, a picture, in their minds of what a moor is exactly. Then I hope to have some journal writing based on a discussion question in our novel:

"The Moorchild is dedicated to all children who have ever felt different. Is this another way of saying that the book is dedicated to all children? Do you think every child--or adult--has felt different at some point in their lives? Have you?"

In light of my feelings with family this past week, I thought this question appropriate for ALL three of us to respond to--my difference among my own family was palpable.

Following our journal writing, my little man and I will work together to recreate the project I ruined as I packed the car for our trip home from family. I haven't written about this incident here yet. Now is as good a time as any I suppose so I might as well venture in; it's not as if I'm currently following any one line of thinking on this post.

His poster presentation of China was magnificent. Both kids did great, I couldn't have been more proud of them and I learned from them along the way. But back to little man. His was quite the accomplishment for a little guy with very little patience for detail. Thus, we worked over the course of about a month, really taking our time, preparing something he could learn from, be proud of and not hate in the end. We baby-stepped it.

I digress.

I was packing the car in the rain, tornado sirens in the distance and hail on the horizon. The winds were working against me at every turn and I was already emotional as I packed the car alone, something I haven't had to do in years because my honey always takes care of those details but she had stayed home to work. Anyway, his poster was already in the hatch spread across the pillows, the cooler and the duffel bag. I went to put something in the front seat but like an ass-idiot, I left the hatch open and wind caught his poster. It slid into the red-clay-mud-lake building around my car. (Worse, is that I had just scolded him for such absent mindedness when he shuffled something in the hatch and caused the poster to fall--only he caught it in time for just the corner to touch water. My own cluster-fuck-up resulted in a full on soak fest).

Standing in the rain, I cried as his words blurred down the poster, as his sweet little pictures ran away from their intended place and the edges of the various glue-mounted info-bits curled into the murky moisture on the poster.

All of his work, all of the time he spent preparing this for his presentation to family--his pride in every step of accomplishment. All of this wrecked by his saboteur mom.

Fucking fantastic.

I finally forgave myself after a good long breakdown on my father's porch. My dear dad was inside with a hairdryer attempting to salvage my wreck, which only made me cry harder when I saw the futility in his method. My little man came out to comfort me as I stood forlorn on against the wood railings of the porch. He put his little hand on my back and rubbed, "it's okay mama, it's not a big deal really, it's not important". I was so moved by his sweetness that I cried even more.

When I collected myself, I told him we would turn it into a family project and we would ALL work together until we recreated his project, just the way he had it or better if he wanted.

===========================================

It's later in the day from when I began this post and though we never got around to science or to the project, we had a great day. We'll get to science and project 'China re-do' tomorrow. And, yes, the journal entry too.

Today, however, was a good day for a spontaneous move on my part. We left the house on a whim to get my hair cut--I couldn't stand the short-hair-limbo another second as my neckline grew ever more undefined. Following my GREAT haircut and leaving so much cuter than I arrived, we made a run to the bank. On the way, we passed a park that we used to frequent and fondly recalled the fun we had, vowing to return soon.

Well, I decided to be someone other than the mom I usually am, the mom stocked full on 'vows', the "sometime" mom, the "soon" mom, the "in a minute" or "maybe" mom.

On our way home from the bank I detoured by the park we had passed, only a few miles from our house, and I parked in the street. The kids were asking what we were doing and I told them they were moving awfully slow for kids with only 30 minutes to play at the park.

Needless to say, they erupted from the car and we actually stayed 45 minutes--I would've stayed longer but I needed to page in by 5:00 and still wanted to have story time with the kiddos when we got home.

I felt so satisfied with myself for pulling something so spur-of-the-moment. I vow to do that more often. I love the mood it created for us and the tone it set for our evening.

Sometimes you ride the pain of a headache in the name of healthy choices and other times you dunk those powerful little bastards down the hatch in order to honor spontaneous inclinations.

I would say now that the reality of my day outlived the hopes I had for my day. No, we didn't get in all of the academics I had planned but we lived and that's the certainty in this house. We will live.

$35.00 until Payday

I have some food items to work with already in the fridge/freezer and the cupboard but not enough to serve well-balanced meals for the next four days, so I will do some grocery shopping today with my last $35.00 (borrowed from my dearest daughter who takes tremendous joy in being able to loan me money--sweet soul).

I figure, I can buy some staples to couple with what I already have and manage to whip up some mama magic in the coming days. The following is my staples list, keep in mind the staples are organic so the prices are higher:

Bag of baby carrots=====$2.00
Wedge of Parmesan=======$4.00
Yellow onions===========$2.00
Gallon of milk==========$5.00
Dozen eggs==============$3.00
Tub of vanilla yogurt===$3.50
Bananas=================$2.00
Assorted fruit==========$9.00
-----------------------------
TOTAL==================$30.50

Oh la la, $4.50 to play with--whatever will I do with myself? I'm such a lucky girl, I'm such a savvy shopper, I'm a grocery diva with a head for stretching a dime. These and other such ego stroking self-told lies will be necessary in the coming days and months.

So what do I plan to do with the aforementioned staples? Well, I figure I can mince the carrots, onions and Parmesan together with some salmon, eggs and whole-wheat breadcrumbs for salmon patties over wild rice. Veggies, protein, grain, oh my!

I can use the yogurt with the granola and frozen blueberries that I already have for breakfasts or healthy snacks.

I have some frozen spinach which is always great in risotto and frozen broccoli that can pair well with just about anything--I'd say we've already made it until payday on that mother lode!

My cup runneth over.

Tightening the Purse Straps

This month is going to be hard--a sort of hard like we have yet to feel. On our path to financial peace, I've cancelled ALL credit cards, which, for us, have always acted as a sort of emergency pull. Now they're gone. Well, use-proof anyway--they all still carry their balances until that FINAL payment.

What is different at this juncture is they have been closed. We've paid them off plenty of times in the past, carrying a zero balance for months, only to run them back up to the limit before the next tax season when we'd pay them off again.

I've noticed the pattern and refuse to mindlessly forfeit any more of my money to this dreadful cycle. They had to go--for good.

This forces us to live within our means, to be at peace within the minimal proceeds of our work. As I trek through this next month and possibly the next, I must be mindful that this is NOT forever. This is not my point of destination. I am more than that which I cannot afford.

I still have many outlets open to me for financial means. If ever I finish my master's thesis, I will have my M.S. (finally) and this alone affords me some level of hirability. In two short weeks, I will be certified in yoga teaching and can move forward, exploring the teaching opportunities available to me. Perhaps a studio of my own in the next few years...hmmm.

My point is, take a deep breath Tina. This will challenge every part of you. This will break you down in those moments when you feel despondent, when the hope appears to have been sucked from every molecule that sustains you. Hold on. You have certainly survived more than this and a month or two of rationing is not that which will take you down when you are so much more than the sum of your earnings.

Home

We arrived, safely, back at home from a three day trip to see family.

It's always great to come home but this time it was especially great. Don't get me wrong--I LOVE visiting family, I LOVE my family but I'm SO different from them and those differences become accentuated, pronounced and inflated when I'm with them.

I feel like an outcast, an oddity.

I put A LOT of emphasis on nutrition, my own and my children's. I count their fruit and vegetable servings and don't pour just any juice in their glass. I dress pancakes in maple syrup NOT high fructose corn syrup. I use olive oil not a vegetable blend that expired two years ago--shelf life resonates with me. I opt out of microwaving plastic in order to opt out of having it in me. And, I don't eat just any meat--I am concerned with the treatment of the animal from which it comes because when I consume the flesh of the animal, I take its energy, its experience and it becomes me. I take that very seriously.

I don't ask everyone to adopt my views and practices but do understand that I am my own person and am following a path of consciousness built on doing better when knowledge is heightened.

I thought I had made peace with our differences and perhaps I have. Something about this trip made me feel especially awkward and I suppose I need to explore that more.

Nevertheless, I came home and lit incense. I practiced yoga with calming chants in the background. I cooked two square meals for my family with wholesome, whole, natural and organic ingredients.

I connected with myself, centered and affirmed I am just who I want to be.