I'd like to tell you a story. It's like all the other stories, but a little different, so listen closely. It bears telling, this story, so that we all know what has brought us to this point. You may have heard part of it before; you may have lived part of it; you may have wished you lived part of it; you may be lucky enough to have been sitting by watching it all unfold. Now you will be a witness to the telling.

As many stories do, it starts with a baby. A sweet even-tempered, blueberry-eyed boy who only had two real difficulties - eating enough, and going to sleep. The baby fit himself into his parents' lives quite well - teaching them patience, and flexibility, and wonder. There came a point, not long after his birth, when the parents couldn't remember not being with the boy. And that was good.

So the boy ate, and grew, and ate, and grew, and eventually learned to sleep on his own. And he and his parents set out to explore the world.

Now it happened that they were visiting a mountainous place, and they stopped in a meadow for lunch. The meadow was huge - acres in all directions. The sun was hot, but the breeze was cool (as it often is in the mountains.) The scrub around them was filled with clicking sounds and once they got out of the vehicle, they saw that what made the sounds were not grasshoppers but hundreds upon hundreds of hummingbirds.

The boy ran after them on chubby 2 1/2 year old legs, trying to catch them, but never quite succeeding. Time became nebulous in that meadow: the blue of the sky matched the little boy's eyes - the smell of hot rock and crushed sage - the clicks and whirs of the birds - all melding together and somehow redefining the rules of time and space.

They returned home, filled with the magic of the mountains, and family, and hummingbirds. Later that year another blue-eyed boy joined the family - this one with eyes the color of a crystalline lake, or the light blue afternoon sky. And the blueberry-eyed boy took on a new role: brother.

He was a good brother, helpful and kind. He started school that year as well, and learned about sharing, and numbers, and frogs, and words. When he learned about words, he also learned about stories. There was one story in particular that he often shared with his parents. His stories always started "Remember when..."

He'd take a deep breath and tell story without pausing:

"Remember when we went to Colorado and I got stung by a hummingbird and it gave me special skin which is tougher than your skin so I don't feel cold like you do and I don't feel pain like you do? Do you remember that? Do you??"

And the parents would say "Yes we remember the hummingbirds, but we don't remember you getting stung." And the boy would shout "I did! I did!" and tears would come and threaten at the corners of his eyes. So no more was said of it by the parents. But when they'd press a sweater on him, or comment on cuts they were bandaging, the boy would look up at them with serious blueberry-eyes, and say "Remember when? Remember my hummingbird skin?" and the parents would smile and nod their heads, and set aside the sweater with a grin.

The boy was an observer. He'd sit back and watch with those big blue eyes. He appreciated scientific theory and logic, and yet, still hold onto the magic he'd found in the hummingbirds. He clung to black and white expectations for others: teachers *should* know more than their students; other people *should* be fair; little brothers *should * know not to touch his stuff.

When the boy was 6, and the brother 3, a sister joined the family. She had changeable eyes, sometimes blue, sometimes green, sometimes the dark grey of the sea in winter. Now the family was whole and complete, and somehow bigger than 2 plus 3.

The brothers were extraordinarily proud of their sister and she, in turn, was fascinated by them. They found a rhythm in their days, and in their lives, and it was comfortable.

Even with a sister in the family, the boy was dismissive of girly things. He'd use the term "whitish-red" to describe things that were pink. He'd put trucks and blocks into his sister's hand, hiding dolls and animals when he could.

He went to school, asking why or why not as the case may be. He read voraciously and remembered more than most. He told jokes, and ran races, and was pretty patient with his siblings.

Life moved on like it's been know to do. The boy grew in mind and body. Sometimes more in mind, sometimes more in body. Always stretching; always watching; always growing; always questioning.

****

And so we find ourselves here, at this point; where the meat of the story truly begins. We've finished the prologue for the most part, and are now eagerly anticipating "what's next".

In some cultures this is where the boy would go off into the woods for a week or so with a pipe, and some water, and no food, and wait for his totem to speak to him. In other cultures he'd train a bird to hunt, and when it was successful in the hunt they would call the boy a man. In this culture there is no recognized point at which the boy gets to move easily or assuredly into adulthood. Sometimes it's based on a number, sometimes its happenstance, sometimes its laziness on the part of the other adults. But this family has chosen: 29 years ago this family decided to start a tradition of recognizing this transition into adulthood.

When I was 13 (29 years ago!! ack!) my aunt Robin brought up this idea, and I was kind of skeptical. First of all it was different, which is pretty much the kiss of death for anything involving a 13 year old; 2nd of all everyone in the family would be looking and talking to me - almost every 13 year old also has a love/hate relationship with popularity and attention.

But she carved this beautiful heron sculpture, and my great-grandparents were there (a 4th of July celebration in Rockford, IL under the oak tree) and it turned out to be exactly right and just what I needed.

The ceremony has continued - all 9 grandchildren, and now Liam starts the next generation. If you will take the sculpture around the circle Liam, each family member will impart some advice, or reflection, or just think kind thoughts toward you. All you have to do is listen, smile, nod, or say thank you.

***

And so, with this, we say goodbye to the blueberry-eyed boy and welcome the young man who is taking his place....

My Journey to Black Belt
by Lysne Tait



I wish I could say my journey to my black belt had an auspicious beginning. A fortune cookie, say, or a little old lady with a gnarled finger pointing me to the dojang; but it didn’t. My journey started with peer pressure. My husband and sons were going to taekwondo on a regular basis, my daughter wanted to go, and my new friend Tasma had just started. (I should probably add that Tasma was such a new friend, I didn’t even really know her name at the time - we had met in Pilates class. She was soft spoken, well read, and had rabbit-fur mittens.) She would bound up to me after Pilates and say “When are you going to go? You’ve got to go to taekwondo” and finally, sometime in February, I went.

That first class took me by surprise. It was so much more difficult than I had ever imagined. Even standing up straight and still on the mat was hard. I laughed out loud at myself and my inability to make my body do what I wanted it to do. It was fun - a lark. Not something that I was going to take seriously. It was just something to fill the time while my daughter was at school.

Slowly it changed into something more. I can’t even put my finger on the point when I started to enjoy the challenge; that point when I let taekwondo be part of my future; when I let go of being self-conscious. Instead of filling the time, taekwondo became purposeful. I was calmer, more focused - I could handle life in general, better. I was never one for sitting still and meditating. My mind would go off to a hundred places at once. I needed to do walking meditation - to keep my body moving so that my mind could be calm. The forms provided that outlet for me. Here was a place that I could let go of ought-to’s and should’s and just be.

I’m not a church-going person. I haven’t found the place that feels right yet, but taekwondo is close. The rituals, the acceptance, the support, the camraderie - I’ve seen similar instances in houses of worship. I belong and I love that I belong. My taekwondo friends have become family. I need that structure, that outlet, to keep sane.

My first tournament was nerve-wracking and fun at the same time. I didn’t participate in organized sports growing up, so I had never really been in a competitive atmosphere. My knees were shaking as I heard my group called to the staging area. They separated us by gender, age and belt level. My group consisted entirely of moms of other taekwondo students; instead of being competitive, they were very supportive. I came home with a few trophies, had a terrific time, learned a lot about competing, and became fast friends with the women in my ring.

Taekwondo slipped into other parts of my life. I set up a self-defense course for the parents at my daughter’s school. I typed up a list of addresses for Master Flotka, then designed a brochure, organized a volunteer spring cleaning for a former student who was incapacitated, and headed up a Holiday potluck. Soon I was working on the website and answering phones for Master Flotka and dreaming of getting my own staff shirt.

Now I help out with teaching a couple of times per week. I answer phones, pick up trash, cheer the kids on, and always have part of my mind thinking of the school. I am supremely thankful to those who pushed me in this direction (my husband Craig, my kids, Tasma, Mr. Duncan), and to those who have helped me along the way (Master Flotka, Master Lance, Maria, Melissa, Lindsey, and everyone I’ve been in class with). In every version of what I imagine I will do next in my life - taekwondo is a major player. I have become more self-confident, more engaged, more excited about life. I am looking forward to becoming a certified instructor. My black belt is not the culmination of a journey, it is the beginning: a most auspicious beginning.

my heart is full, and heavy,
my limbs are aching with inaction and indecision;
restlessness runs up and down my spine,
- itchy fingers tracing patterns:

stress manifests itself into jawline pressure
crawls up to the top of my head
around my neck

so much to do
when all I really want to do is sleep, or read.
too many things too many things too many things

dishes mock me from the sink
dog hair blurs the edges of the floor, the couch,
the dirty sock islands

detritus of five lives deliniates high water marks in the house
(and this is when I worked until 8;

and this is when Craig was gone;

and this is Liams lacrosse practice;

Molly's party;

Adam's game; leftovers for dinner, or take out..)

tattoos beating in my head: you will nevernevernevernevernevernevernevernever

Testing

Please write your answers on a separate sheet of paper.

The bruise seeps away from the toe, coloring the other toe and the top of the foot. I keep it up, raised, covered with ice, like the book says. The other toes are cold and stiff, but the movement of color slows and the swelling abates. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just pretty - purple and blue and pink. I am trying to figure out how I can still work out with this injury.

Please shade in the entire circle. Do not mark outside of the circle.

My husband is educating my son - finding Eddie Murphy on YouTube talking about Elvis, and lemonade. My son Liam is 13 and could care less, but he still comes over gamely. My other son Adam, 10, is at his computer, making the Google Translate lady talk to him in Spanish. “Liam sucks his thumb” becomes “Liam se chupa el dedo pulgar” - and he laughs and plays it again. There must be something magical about teasing your brother in another language.

and still, blood pumps rhythmically in my toe, pounding.

Use only a number 2 pencil to complete this area.

Sleet falls against the window. I am sitting on the “cold couch” - the one closest to the window. The couch is leather, and sitting here in the winter requires soft blankets, a warm computer and a cat, if possible. It’s a loveseat, and I can rest my foot on the arm - which ensures that the toe stays elevated. Condensation from the ice dribbles down the arch of my foot, tickling.

Do not leave your seat until notified to do so.

My daughter comes over to check my foot. Her forehead creases in concentration as she touches the ice pack. Her hand rests on my shin, and she giggles. “Cold hands mama! Didja feel my hand? Want me to tell you a joke mama? Would that make you feel better? Why did the skeleton cross the road?” Before the “d” of “road” is out of her mouth she jumps back in with the wrong answer “He had no body to dance with!” and then she is off again, caroming around the room; fearless.

If you have any questions, please raise your hand.

I do have a question... This is good, it is pleasant, I am warm, my family is happy, I want for nothing and yet

What do I want? What drags my shoulders down, carves lines in my forehead, forces my jaw together?


I am raising my hand wildly in the air

and no one comes.

"We had a good run, and now it’s over; what’s wrong with that?" — Garth Stein

Today we had to put our dog Java down. She was 15, with arthritis and dementia, riddled with lipomas (fatty deposits), and in pain. Funny, how all that comes to mind is cliche: she's in a better place now, it was the best thing we could have done, and so on. I think, Oh, I'm OK, and then the tears run down my face.

Java was our training for children. I remember the first night we had her home, and I was teaching her how to go up and down the stairs when suddenly it hit me: I was Responsible for her well-being. I had to teach her how to be safe, to listen, to obey. I had to feed her, and give her water, and exercise her, and comfort her. I sat down on the top step and took her in my lap and promised her I'd do my best, even though I was scared. And we worked well together.

She was very protective of the kids, hated any man with a hat (sorry Mr. UPS man), and loved to snuffle under the bird cage. She tolerated Buck (the frisky 5-year old golden retriever), ignored the cat, and barked at us when we didn't go to bed on time.



Thank you Java. You will be missed.

(as seen in ATA World Magazine - June 2010)

RELUCTANCE
by Lysne Tait

I did not want to join taekwondo. I had been watching for 7 years and I enjoyed being a taekwondo mom. I enjoyed my relationship with the school owner Mr. Elijio Martinez and his wife, the respect of the other students, and the ability to chat with the other TKD moms during class. I loved watching my boys and my husband do something they loved. Besides, I wasn't (and had never been) very athletic. Then, our school changed owners, my youngest decided to join taekwondo, and my mom's cancer returned. I thought all I needed was an outlet, but what I found and what ATA has provided for me was so much more.



I joined Master Flotka's ATA Black Belt Academy in DeWitt, MI in January 2009 with my 5 year old daughter. I was worried because classes were held at night - right around dinner time. How could I juggle the kids' classes, adult classes, dinner, and bedtime, and remain sane? My family stepped up. My son Liam (a 2nd degree Black Belt) had been urging me to join for years. He offered to babysit the younger kids while I was in class. Molly (my 5 year old) was just excited that we were the same belt color. My other son Adam (then a blue belt) would coach me on my kicks and stances, and my husband, Craig (also a 2nd degree Black Belt), offered to make dinner once a week (and help me learn my material and sparring, and ferry kids to and from classes). Our new school owner, Master Carl Flotka, a Sixth Degree Black Belt with more than 30 years experience also started a morning class twice a week, and that clinched the deal.

After watching hundreds of taekwondo classes, I thought I knew what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised. I have never been surrounded by so many people who wanted me to succeed. For the first time in twelve years it was all about me. I have been a teacher, a wife, a mother, a friend - always worried about the welfare of others - and here I was, learning some something new, with people who wanted me to do my best. Taekwondo may be a competitive sport; the learning of taekwondo is not. At the end of my first class, I was in tears: overwhelmed by the kindness and support of my family, my instructors and my fellow classmates.

I was also in a position that I hadn't known in quite awhile - that of a newbie. For years I have been the expert, or at least pretended to be the expert. Joining taekwondo was a new beginning. I would get upset with myself because I couldn't remember 3 steps in a row, and my husband would admonish me by saying, "It's new. You’ve never done it before. It’s OK to not get it right the first, or third or fifth time."

I never expected to enjoy taekwondo. I never expected the friendships I've found, or the sense of accomplishment and pride I feel. I've been to 3 tournaments in the past year, and had an awesome time at each one. I've lost weight, tightened and toned, and feel incredible. Perhaps the most unexpected and life-enriching benefit is that of the family I've found. Taekwondo members cared for my house and dogs when we were called away to take care of my mom during her final week. I came back to DeWitt to a clean house, a stocked refrigerator, and flowers and other treats. But that’s simply what family does for one another.

is it possible to fall in love with your love again?

there are times, when the sunlight falls through the window at a certain angle;

when his hand caresses a dog's ear, or a child's curls, 

or rests on my knee - only for a second -  

 

that the feelings rush to the surface, coloring my cheeks, and my breath sticks in my throat.

 

who knew, that after 20 years, my heart would still pause, and skip with delight?

 

It's not always like that - there are days when my teeth grind into each other and my eyes roll at every comment -  but those days are scarce - sprinkled sparingly amongst the better days.

Really? July was the last time I posted? Wow. My world has been rocked and then some since then...

At the end of September, Kisti, my mom, lost her battle with cancer. She had been fighting it/dealing with it for 13 years. And Oh! how I am so grateful for those years. I really thought I'd be more bereft. I am sad, and I miss her greatly - but it's only in those quiet times, in the middle of the busy times - when I used to call her just to say hi - that tears come to my eyes. My favorite quote right now is Edna St. Vincent Millay: "Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. "

To keep myself sane, I've been doing taekwondo, taking care of my kids, reading, talking with my father. The taekwondo has been most helpful. We have an awesome TKD family - dinners once a week (20+ people), facebooking, coffee. I've been to two more tournaments, (2nd & 3rd in Sparring & Forms, both times). I'm now a blue belt - more than halfway to my Black Belt. This is so much fun. I never thought I'd be in TKD: I never thought I'd like it so damn much.

The kids are growing like weeds. M is 6 going on 21, A is the same, time-oblivious kid, and L is soo soo excited about starting Lacrosse - in a month. Craig & I have started our 21st year together, (OMG!) and we are enjoying our life with the 3 kids, 2 dogs, 2 cats & 12 birds.

I participated in a taekwondo tournament in Kendallville, Indiana this past weekend.  It was so much fun.  I earned two trophies, a first in Sparring, and a second in Forms.  Which is neat - I have never received a trophy for a physical feat before.  (I did get a trophy when I worked at McDonald's back in the 80's.  We got first place in the McDonald's Olympics for Drive-Thru.)  But it was nothing like this.

I was nervous, but not terrified.  When we left the house at 6 a.m.  I had already been up for an hour: getting uniforms ready, gear bags packed, food for the drive, things to do for the drive, etc.  It took about 1 1/2 hours to get to Kendallville (just north of Ft. Wayne).  

The morning was taken with opening ceremonies, Tiny Tiger competition (The Divine Miss M competed - she's 5), and waiting.  Finally, at about 3:15 they called White, Orange & Yellow belts 18 & over.  Kim & I were the last to compete - luckily everyone else was engaged when we went on the floor.  Craig was judging, L was scorekeeping for Master Flotka, Haley, Lindsay and Fletch were competing.  M & A were playing in a corner.  (ack - I was a bit concerned about them, but they're good at keeping themselves amused without hurting anyone - or each other!)  

No one else in our ring had ever been to a tournament before - so that was good.  I was told later it looked like the "ring of moms" - I'm not sure how many of us had kids in the tournament - at least 4 out of the 6.  The judge was patient, and kind, and patient.  (he had to be, poor guy)  I enjoyed doing my form - even though I messed up the last move.  I was most nervous about sparring, although at our level it's just one-steps.  One person acts as the attacker - does 2 moves & stops - and the other person goes through 5-8 defensive steps.  Then the players switch.  So, there is no contact - supposedly :) .

Actually, after we were finished, I was ready for more.   

We watched a lot of others compete.  The third degree (and above) black belts did some weapons-fighting  (so much fun - like hitting each other with pool noodles, but with flair!)  And we watched the judges get to compete.  I'm beginning to understand how things work in TKD.  

Afterwards, we ate at Pizza Hut with a couple of other Lansing-area car-loads.  And then, the long drive home.  

The next tournament is in Fort Wayne, Indiana on Sept. 12.  I will be a camo-belt then, which means real sparring, not one-steps.  I know what I get to do next!  Lots of sparring practice.  

I cannot wait.

Really, how did it get to be the middle of May?   

and my last post was March??  geezlouise.  Guess it's time for some priority setting.   I've been having fun, enjoying life.  Went to Texas for a b

it to see my mama & spend some time with my dear friend Pam.  It was a wonderful, life-affirming time.  I turned 40 while I was there.  (what's up with that??  I don't feel 40.)  

We went to see the Wall between the US & Mexico while we were there.  I really didn't know that they actually started work on that wall.  Really, 

how many Walls-between-countries have ever worked?  One?  and that one was 3,700 miles long 

and had slave labor build it.  I took a few photos (with my cell) of the parts we saw:

  

My purse was stolen on Saturday.  (I'm not looking for commiseration - it was my own fault - I left it in the unlocked car in my driveway.)  It was definitely a not-so-gentle push to look at my life differently.

So, the obvious things: be more responsible.  Put things away, where they belong.  (I'm sure some people will read that and say "well, duh" :)  )  It did force me to clean up a bit - I wanted to make sure that the police officer didn't slip and fall on my dirty laundry, and I wanted to have a clean place to fill out the paperwork.  I was also so upset with myself right after I found out that I did all the dishes and cleaned the kitchen.  

I will find a central place to write all important info down.  (and I will re-assess what I mean by important!)  It was difficult to get a replacement debit card without a photo ID; it was also difficult to get my Driver's License renewed with only two pieces of ID. However, the lady at the License place let me renew it early, so I don't have to go back in two months.  Hooray!

The other nice thing that was a result of this is that I got to get a brand new checking/savings account.  Things will be so much easier to keep track of now.  I have a starting balance!  

I wasn't that upset about the physical things that were lost - I liked that purse, and the clicky wallet, and the checkbook made of recycled plastic.  But, I have enough.  If I didn't, I have ways/skills/options to make more money legally.   What would it take to steal something?  How much self-respect would I have to lose?   

I am pissed at those who were responsible.  The deputy said that he's following up on more and more robberies.  He said it was the economy.  I thought it was kids - they missed the iPod, didn't mess with the radio.  But hey, they only got a dollar in my purse.  I am horrified that someone had the audacity to walk up to my  house in the middle of the night!  Calm again because the dogs would never let anything happen to us.  Angry because whoever it was had no reason to do this, and yet, I don't know what baggage they were carrying.  They better not come back though.  It is unsettling.  

That is, actually, the best thing probably, about the whole situation.  To be unsettled = less relaxed, more aware, better prepared.  and I did start Tae Kwon Do today!

These are our first 3 birds.  They are zebra finches, and we got them in August.  (From left to right: Susan, Jack and King Tut)

Not more than a month later, we had eight birds. (Susan laid 5 eggs, and they were all viable!) They are sweet.  They have a chatter/chirp that isn't constant, but it is regular.  At first I thought it would drive me crazy, but it doesn't.  It is very calming - a kind of white noise that I really didn't know I needed until it was there. 

Thursday I was changing their water and I noticed that the perches were all bloody.  It wasn't a lot, but they are birds.  It was King Tut.  His belly was red, but he was fluttering around OK.  So I didn't really give it a second thought.  (This had happened to Susan within the first month, and she was fine the next day). Friday I found King Tut on the bottom of the cage, with his poor little orange feet in the air.  I was all for just chucking him in the trash. Cold, I know - but I really didn't feel like having the conversations with the kids ( that I was SURE we would have) once we told them.  Luckily, my husband saw reason, and placed King Tut in a butter-box and set him outside in the snow.  The two boys were already at school, but my daughter, M, (who is almost 5) was still home.  My husband gently took her onto his lap and said "M, honey, I have some sad news.  King Tut died last night.  Somehow he cut himself, and ended up dying."  M took a deep breath, her eyes were wet and bright, and sighed.  She said "OK, on the next sunny day, Mama will get a shovel, Daddy will bring the flowers, the boys will help me carry King Tut, and we'll sing him a song and bury him."  Then she hopped off C's lap and said "Mama, are you ready to go to school yet?"  

I really don't know where she came from.  (grin)  I'm glad she's the way she is, though.  And it's not just tragedy that makes her start making lists & delegating.  Today we were talking about how close Christmas is, and she started "we need to get the ornaments out - do you know where those are Mama? - and then the stockings.  And we need to frost cookies." and so on.  sigh.  I am going to frustrate her -  Poor girl.  I just barrel ahead and do stuff, I don't think of a logical progression.  (which is probably why I'm so tired all of the time.)  It's more of a "oh, and I should do this" and then I do, which reminds me of something else, which reminds me of something else... etc. 

***

Yesterday I went to a cookie swap.  I made toffee.  Mmmmm.  Ya know, you really can't go wrong with 2 lbs. of butter, and 2 lbs. of sugar topped with melted chocolate chips.  (some of it had pecans in/on it) .  I came home with some marvelous cookies as well.    I need to learn some photography skills.  

***

I've been making felted flowers and then beading them.  OMG so much fun!  I take 100% wool sweaters (that I get from the Goodwill) and wash them in hot water, then throw them in the dryer, cut them into flower shapes and then bead the stamens.  I've made them into pins.  Then I've  made a few stuffed animals - a mouse, a Totoro (Japanese wood spirit), a pig, a cat, etc.  I had to take books back to the library UNREAD because I was having so much fun with the needle work that I didn't have time to read.  The kids have been working with me.  I'll try to set up some kind of photo booth so I can post pics.  I've been toying with the idea of setting up an Etsy shop.  (Have you been to Etsy?  So.much.fun.)  My friend Debbie has a shop  here:

She uses a similar technique, but I'm not sure if she has any flowers on her site. 

How can it be December already?  I guess I've been caught in the crush of kids-going-to-school, grocery shopping, and house-cleaning.  (can't wait to read more about my exciting life, huh?)  

My parents drove up in October from Brownsville, Texas.  They brought their cat, Stella, in the back of the camper.  My mom is doing well - this chemo is less toxic.  Her hair has grown back, her strength is back.  We had a blast while she was here.  (They never stay long enough.)  grin. I did put my dad to work - he built a mesquite counter top for us.  So pretty.  (and so useful.  The kids just love sitting "at the bar".)   

(SOAPBOX)  I just have to scream for a moment.  My parents are 64 (too young for Medicare), have no insurance, & a limited income (made even more limited by the recent stock market woes) - but not limited enough for Medicaid.  In order to get the best price on a port (for her chemo) my mom had to shop around at hospitals for the best price.  A port (so that they don't need to poke her veins each time) costs $11,000 if you have insurance - she got them down to $3,000.  Of course, that does not include the physician, the lab work,  or the anesthesia.  It makes me so angry that she had to shop around for something that was integral to her care.  Sigh.  (end SOAPBOX)

But...  in the interest of full disclosure, her sister  had a fund-raiser for her that contributed; and her church also had a fund-raiser, so this one is covered.  It still makes me angry. 

+++

I decided this year that I needed to pull back a bit - to tighten my circle of concern.  Mostly because I was worried about my mom and I felt I wasn't giving enough attention to my family.  Also because I was giving giving giving, and not taking any time for myself.  So, I took a leave of absence from the school board; I am not volunteering in the kids' classes; I'm taking Pilates at the YMCA.  It's working very well.  I have time to cook.  I've been going Crazy with needle-felting/recycling sweaters into flowers and stuffed animals.  I've been spending WAY too much time on the internet.   I wish I could find some sort of balance, but maybe this is the way.  

+++

Last week we went to Wisconsin for a family reunion.  It was lovely.  

(It's not often that those two terms, family reunion and lovely are used in the same sentence.)

We were celebrating my grandfather's 93rd birthday.  He was born in 1915.  

The cottages were old, and fairly well cared for - linoleum tiles on the walls

 (baby blue and dark brown in the kitchen, yellow and red in the bath), kno

tty pine cupboards and trim, gawd-awful beds with fitted sheets that didn't hold, and feather pillows with no support. I'd go back in a minute though. It was so nice to live in that leave-it-to-beaver kind of way - I'd send L to my aunt's house to get coffee, or butter. We'd take turns feeding the lot of us (15-20) at our respective cabins and then sit around and ask my grandfather questions about his early life.  The kids and I sent him a book called "me and My grandfather" or something like that. It has lots of questions followed by blank pages to write in. we learned how he met my grandmother, (during a stomach surgery - she was a student nurse, he was a resident), their first date (in which they both held down a patient during electric-shock therapy), where he proposed to her (the garden of a mental hospital), why he decided to be a doctor, pranks he pulled. It was very very fun. 

As my mom is dealing with cancer and the bitter aftermath of chemo, she couldn't come to the reunion. (too many germs for her suppressed immune system) So it was bitter-sweet to spend time with her sisters without her there. My mom has 4 sisters - I did get to look at each one and appre

ciate those parts of them that are like and not-like my mom. I really am so lucky to know (and be related to) so many interesting people.

 and my girl-cousins were there, and they are wonderful and supportive and huggy, which is just what I needed. (one brother, and a few boy cousins were also there. They too are huggable, and creative, and super cool - gives me hope)

My kids loved spending time with those relatives.  M fell in love with my aunt Sara.  It came as no surprise, as Sara and M are cut from similar cloth: the youngest, very girly-girls.  My aunt looks a bit older than me, but not much.  She's fit, tan, and dresses the part.  She and M were squealing over in the corner about being twins (they both had lip-shaped band-aids on), being the babies, etc.  Sara said, “M, you'll have to come visit me”  and a little while later, M came over to me and said “I have a new Mama now.  You can come visit us.”  and she was serious!  When we finally figured out that M was planning on moving to Colorado (she is only 4!) it took us awhile to talk her down.  So funny/cute/etc.  

We came back home through the Upper Peninsula.  What beautiful country!  I can see why I-27/I-75 is packed every Friday.  Who wouldn't want to run away to that?  

About two years ago, I visited an art gallery with my mom. (The Peachbelt Schoolhouse Studio Gallery near Saugatuck, MI www.peachbeltstudiogallery.com ) I was so moved by the artwork there I spent the drive home scribbling on the back of an envelope. (Yes, I was the only one in the car, and I was driving.) It's taken me two years to get up enough nerve to send the poem those scribbles turned into to the artist (Dawn Stafford), but I did, and she answered! So cool. And I'm so glad I did. Here it is:

++++++++++++++++++++++++
For Dawn Stafford

Schoolhouse Solace

I stood in the middle of the schoolhouse, looking at Vineyard Grapes V and was lost in them for a moment –

Felt sunlight dapple my arm

(As it must have yours

in that vineyard on that afternoon others might call lazy )

Could hear a fly, or a bee

Perhaps,

Buzzing around the dead fruit,

or your hair

Pausing on your shoulder

To look at the full dusky purpleness

I can only imagine your intention –

Never before have I wanted to speak so eloquently about work – not to define it, but to communicate how my spirit soars in recognition of the moment/light/image you've captured.

I look at the painting and my soul shouts yes yes yes! – that is it – I've been there.

dappled in sunlight

I'm not convinced that the magic lies in your schoolhouse. One look at the walls and how they work so well with your art; the flowers outside, the placement of pen and flyers and small studies of the larger work–the magic is in you – your ability to look at yourself

lay open for others that bare spot so vulnerable, raw and say

This is What I See. This is Who I Am –

it is beautiful and strong and so what I long for.

I so wanted to put my hand on your shoulder, reassure you that taking time for yourself, time to recharge, renew – is all important. You are right to do that. Right to take care of yourself. You can't keep giving so much of yourself to your paintings without caring for you. There won't be anything left.

It has been so long since words have forced their way out onto paper for me. I spent the entire ride home trying to capture them, trying to look out the window of my car and see what you see, trying to make sense of how those paintings rocked my world.

I feel like I'm breathing through wet wool. I'm tired of coughing. Every exhale is an imminent cough. I can ignore the tickle for awhile, but then the urge to cough overpowers and my back & neck muscles tense up and the cough racks my body.

It's at times like these that I think of making my life easier. I barely have enough energy to make it downstairs, much less cook breakfast. And then, during one of my many naps today I dreamed that I was in WalMart. (For the record, I hate WalMart with a passion. The one here smells mildewy and most things are made in Vietnam or Korea. And I don't really want to fund the Sam Walton family's life.) At any rate, I was actually shopping at WalMart in my dream. So, when I woke up, I went. We needed bread anyway, and it was right there. UGH. If I wanted to make life easier though, I would go there. It wasn't as bad as I had remembered. (they've remodeled, and the smell isn't there anymore.) It was crowded, but every grocery is on Saturday anyway. The thing that struck me was the prices. It really was cheaper. If I wanted to relax my standards a bit, I could probably save an awful lot of money by going there on a regular basis. BUT... It is important to me to support my locally-owned businesses. I like knowing where my money is going. I like to know that some of my money will be reinvested in the community, somehow, someway. Yes, some of my money that I spent at WalMart today will go into the pockets of those who work there. Small comfort.
I really enjoy the small business owners I know. (Linda, Laura, Scott, Aura, Janice, John, etc) And I give them a lot of credit for doing what they do. It is worth a few more dollars to support them and reinforce that sense of community.

****

Just finished reading The Bone People by Keri Hulmes. Beautiful, poetic, and stirring.

There's something about the lick of a cat

rough and gentle

that speaks of quiet nights and peace.

(Even though I hate the sight of that cat,

she's old and mean and doesn't like to cuddle.)

There are times when she pretends well – acts

like one would expect a cat to act, and yet

at that last second.

The split before your hand reaches the back of her neck

the pretense shattered, your hand touches nothing.

And so, each day. You'd think I'd learn

the cat doesn't like to be touched.

Yet I try, I get sucked into the calmness that surrounds

a sleeping cat

Teased by burnished black fur, glossy under the overhead light,

lulled into believing that this once, she'll capitulate.

Such is the curse of eternal optimism. Even the rats in the maze; even Pavlov

was successful in teaching his dogs the meaning of repetition.

Here I am, stuck in the endless loop of choosing to believe the best,

even from an old black cat that hates the world. Lucky for me she doesn't have claws.

Our Weekend:

Saturday we headed down to Cobo Hall for the North American International Auto Show. It was fun. The kids enjoyed themselves and we did too. People were very kind, not pushy or rude (which I've come to expect with large numbers of people). The guy who took our tickets warned me against the high prices of the food inside.

The people-watching was incredible. All walks of life, all countries, lots of kids, tired moms & dads, dreaming teenagers. We sat down in a side hallway to share a bottle of water ($3!!!!) and a protein bar (between the 5 of us). This guy came up & said "I wish I had a camera - this is what life is about! Everyone sharing. What a beautiful picture." So nice.

Sunday:

Ugh. my arms/fingers are asleep/tingly this morning. Guess I carried M too long on my shoulders yesterday. (Large groups of people + an interested 4 year old = frantic mom-state.) it was easier for my heart to keep her up on my shoulders. (We did write our cell phone numbers on all three kids with a permanent marker in case we got separated. A & M loved their "tattoos".)


Cirque de Soleil (Saltimbanco) was delightful. I had the most fun watching M & A watch the show. We were on the main floor, in the back row, so the dancers/acrobats (I'm not sure what to call them) walked by us often. One in a pink dress patted M's hair for about 30 seconds or so. M was in heaven! Then C's coat had fallen off the back of the chair & another clown came up & put it over his head. Good for another couple of giggles from my kids. L was on the other side of C, so I didn't see his reaction to most of it, but M & A were all over my lap, and their two chairs. I was thankful we didn't have anyone behind us.

Gee, I am so lucky. We have had a tremendous weekend. I really do love my family, even if they aren't exactly sure where dirty dishes go... (that silver thing, with the water spout, in the kitchen? It would be the sink, kids.)

They were excellent travelers for the 3 hour round trips (both days!) And we only watched one DVD.

The blight of downtown Detroit makes me sad. (at least what we could see from the highway) So many burned out buildings, boarded up houses, closed down stores. A lot of fanciful names though: The Victory Social Club; The Pentacostal (sic) Church in Christ (founder, Samantha Bullet); my favorite building - I've never been in - King's Used Books. (OK, so that last one wasn't very fanciful, but when I see it, I know I'm close to Joe Louis Arena.)

The Day After...

OK, so really it's the day after the day after, but why be picky?

The organizer wasn't as scary as I'd anticipated. She was oh-so-helpful (really) and very calm & collected about the whole house.

J (the organizer) handed me a pad of paper & a pen and we started walking through the house. She gave me ideas about how to tackle each closet and room. (Move this clothes-bar, install hooks for the kids, move the boots to this side, take off the door) And ideas of where to purchase the needed items. She also noted empty bookshelves and dressers and where they could be used elsewhere in the house. (who knew I had 3 empty dressers and 4 bookshelves to play with?) I followed with my pen & paper, taking copious notes and explaining my "organizational style". (those who know me well realize that I don't really have an organizational style...)

J gave me ideas for games to play with the kids to get them to do their part in the cleanup of the house, and a structure to do so. (Choose a time an hour before bed, set the timer for 20 minutes, give everyone a basket for their stuff & yell "go!" Race to get everything off the floor and PUT AWAY IN IT'S PROPER PLACE before the timer goes off. ) I mean, gee, that's a great idea, why can't I think of these things? I can think of 50 different things to make out of popsicle sticks, but I can't think of a way to get kids to pick up their socks. Sigh.

She also looked at my huge storage area (i.e. the basement!) and gave me ideas for that too. Then we tackled the room in the basement that could be a game room, but needed all the toys off of the floor first. While we were cleaning that room, we found two of the ORGANIZER's business cards - I had picked them up a different times thinking I'd call her - and a book at the very bottom of all the toys entitled Confessions of an Organized Homemaker.

Well now, most of my books are on shelves (oh so pretty!) and the games are on their own shelves, and there's space on the floor, and we found the loveseat. I have a plan for each room, and ideas of how to attack them. Now if only I could find some way to live on 4 hours of sleep...

The organizer is coming! The organizer is coming!

OH SH*T, the organizer is coming.

I am approaching this with joy, and reservation. I crave order, simplicity, starkness; but I am afraid. Not of her judging me, because I know no one is harsher than I am about that! I'm afraid of what I'll learn about myself. Can I let the "stuff" go? What will happen to me once it's gone?
Will I be able to maintain? How many hours beyond the 3 1/2 I'm alloted will she have to be here?

She said not to clean before she comes. She needs to see how we use & don't use the space. I'm all aflutter. Since she said not to clean, I've had the biggest cleaning jones. Is that all I need? Someone to tell me not to do something, so I'll do it. The Reverse-Psychology Institute.

So, since she told me not to clean, I've been playing this week. On Monday, at the MSU Surplus I found a stack of vinyl records in the "free" pile. I took them home (yeah, I know, I am trying to git rid of stuff!) and looked up info on the web about making bowls from records. 200 degrees in the oven for 5-10 minutes, then form over whatever shape you like. Oh my. They look terrific and it is so fun! I've made some trays, some shallow bowls, some plant-pot-covers, and the beginnings of a purse. Now I have to figure out how to seal the labels, and sew in a lining in the purse - well, and a handle.

I also gave away 3 pieces of fabric from my stash.

Maybe getting rid of all this stuff will help get the rest of my life going. What-ever-it-is I'm doing next. I can only hope. and clean. and prepare for it.