The Perks of Being a Cool Mom

1:40am

Parenting strikes me as the sweetest past-time I have tonight.

Tomorrow it may be another activity but for now, I am wide awake and reliving the evening's ongoing activities.

They swam and swam and swam as long I would let them.

They dined like the young ladies they are, complimenting my fine grilled cheese sandwiches as "the best and quite tasty. "

Then they asked for their ice cream.

They launched a movie to watch tossing them selves across the carpet and said,

"Ready for kettle korn. A BIG bowl."

To be witness to a young pure friendship brings the widest smile I can possibly make to my face. And I forget awhile all the things I have promised myself I will do while they amuse themselves. To be an eavesdropper this evening is my dessert.

Two bright and happy and funny little girls are being so present to each other they have forgotten I am here.

Till they realize they are hungry again...

Haiku series dedicated to Bronte and Heidi

The quiet fills in

with a soft reflection on

a tender evening

Laughter earlier

tumbled down the hallway as

two young souls played

Sweetest this friendship

long will it be a fixture

in my memory

Young girls innocence

and a summer spent laughing

till they fell asleep

Tomorrow more time

please mum more time together

more time together

Ah yes, it is simply that simple. How come we forget so easily and so often and for so long?

residues of a tender time

Do you like adocavos?

Could you tell me what you think a booktangle is?

Ever jumped in muddle-pullies for fun?

Want to meet me nexterday?

Are you a good ordinator?

Will you answer all the questions I ask mom?

(I hope my daughter never stops making up words: she is a constant source of inspiration and laughter.)

I’m trying to be a Light Unto Myself! But in the event I want to join your group…

This evening, I attended an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting as a guest with my friend who is nine years sober and an absolute inspiration. The meeting was in a beautiful church and after the large gathering had opening addresses and readings, three distinct groups separated for the remainder of the evening program.

My friend and I joined the Women’s Group and nearly three dozen of us crowded into the churches conference room that was ideal for no more than 15. It was a hot night and given where we ended up sitting, deep in the room in folding chairs against the wall, I knew I was about to be tested.The windows were also permanently closed and the fan at the top of the conference room in the doorway, even on high did not reach the back corner. I knew I was about to really be tested.

Is this not the Essence of Spiritual Living? To be tested and choose surrender to what is? I did my best to simply be fully present with an open heart and witness what was shared, one person after another. I heard in each story a piece of my own history. I appreciated each individual who was truly unknown to me. I was especially fascinated by the women who were knitting and crocheting all the time the program was facilitated. I chose also to remain silent, anonymous and distinctly felt noticed as a newcomer.

I didn’t feel unwelcome but curiosity (without judgement) was palpable and fascinating to me.

And while AA is not a spiritual organization, I heard time and time again the mention of fellowship, higher power, gratitude, and acceptance. And for 90 minutes I did my best to “Be a Light Unto Myself” in a new group that was entirely foreign to me. Conclusion again: Sacred space is sacred time.

I was reminded again that spirituality comes in every color, shape, size and format. This remains my conclusion after years of being a “visitor” but never becoming a member of organized religion. Okay, so I was baptized Episcopalian but really my mother made that call for me at nine years old. And shortly after being baptized I revolted and wanted to stay home on Sunday. I remember saying with conviction: “I can pray at home. God is here. God is everywhere.” My mother said, “You are going to church whether you like it or not.”

And, I’ve been wrestling with that resistance to being part of a group ever since.

Now, Seattle is an extraordinary place with its full range and diversity of spiritual offerings.

I peacefully co-exist with them all. I even give the Mormon’s a few minutes each time they tap on my door. And recycle their pamphlets in the spirit of being green.

I could say that my “teacher” has not yet arrived, or that the student I am is not yet ready to recognize said teacher. Or perhaps my teacher is me? But I remain curious and embrace having a beginner’s mind.

In truth, I have yet to find a spiritual home and community. No particular community has entirely captured my heart or my time on Sunday or any other day of the week. No particular set of spiritual principles precedes all others. In fact, recently I’d say I am on a long sabbatical from spiritual dating, but may resume the search for the perfect church-mate. Or not.

What I do know is I embrace living a brand of spirituality I created thanks to all the established paradigms in existence long before my distinct self. What I appreciate most is the "source code" for all of the world's religions and spiritual practices.

Spirituality at it's Essence is exquisitely individual for me this season. Making living a spirtual existence as simple as I believe. And I reserve the right to join again a sangha that I hope will accept me as I am, rainbow light that I can be.

Reflection

Somethings are
better left unsaid
For my eyes
will surely
speak for me

And when you
look into me
That way you do
I need not
be touched

The way you look at me, Beloved: perfection.

Lorraine Ellis Harr

After the crickets stop
evening silence grows
louder and louder

The Red Barn, 45

Dragonflies—
Even if I could catch one
—I wouldn’t.

Tombo, 34

A dragonfly touches down
Leaves a few circles growing
In the water …

Tombo, 27

Winter moonlight;
Between the house and the barn
the untracked snow.

Snowflakes, 17

Burnt-out beach fire;
Rinds of a watermelon
among the ashes.

A Flight of Herons, 30

Summer at the pool...sacred moments

Interesting observations at the pool…a game of three is going on, two middle school boys and one young adult who is what, an older brother? The Objective: whomever is in the pool must be kept in the pool. My daughter CRAVES to join though they all have years and strength on her, but she is joining in all the same. Only requires a little prompting from me a little to stand her ground. They will be playing this game all summer…and tickles are tactical and strategic at times. She used her smarts once to gain an advantage as the Elder attempted to get out of the pool. She couldn't over power him but she tickled and back in he fell in a giggle.

She amps up her awareness as to where she needs to be. Plus her swimming goggles make her impenetrable when water is splashed in her face. It’s a fun game for the players. And even more fun to watch as she grows more confident in her ability to still make new friends with a simple request she used to do with tremendous ease as a pre-schooler and “Can I play with you?”

Gone for now are the days of making new best friends every time we went to the park. It is replaced with a hint of self-consciousness...little girl growing up...sigh!

1am again

I linger over silence

and drone of a hard drive

to bed dear child, go

does an angel then whisper

to sleep and to dream

the many things that fill my head

also excite my heart

Stories: Which Shape My Life?

"It is all a question of story.

We are in trouble just now because we do not have a good story.

We are in between stories. The old story, the account of how the world came to be

and how we fit into it, is no longer effective. Yet we have not yet learned the new story.

Our traditional story of the Universe sustained us for a long period of time.

It shaped our emotional attitudes, provided us with life purpose and energized action.

It consecrated suffering and integrated knowledge.

We awoke in the morning and knew where we were.

We could answer the questions of our children.

We could identify crime, punish transgressors. Everything was taken care of because the story was there. It did not necessarily make people good, nor did it take away the pains and stupidities of life or make for unfailing warmth in human associations.

It did provide a context in which life could function in a meaningful manner."

-Thomas Berry

Explore the practice of becoming ever more mindful of the stories that shape your life and when they come clearly into view, begin to investigate and question those stories have come from, how they live in you, and how they either serve of diminish the quality of life. Discovering, questioning, and revisioning the stories by which we live is a liberative artform worthy of your exploration. Can you imagine how different our lives and world would be if more and more people were to come to live by stories that are more closely aligned and congruent with the true nature of reality - and of themselves?

Thank you Joel and Michelle Levy for your wonderful Thought for the Day. To find out more about their work visit: http://www.wisdomatwork.com/WisdomAtWork/Home.html

It requires self-esteem to receive--not self-love but just a pleasant acquaintance and liking for oneself.

Thank you to http://www.delanceyplace.com for the daily missiles of fiction that prompt one to seek out and read the WHOLE book.

I was a highschool student when I read Cannery Row, The Log of the Sea of Cortez and Pastures of Heaven (my personal favorite of Steinbeck's to this day.) In late January of this year, while on a visit home to the Monterey Peninsula, my mother, daughter and I visited the Monterey Aquarium and I was drawn back down the "rabbit hole" as I fingered each wonderful Steinbeck offering in the main gift shop, with artful modern covers. And yet I could see my Penguin Classic Editions with tattered corners as clear as I could see my hand before me reaching for crisp copy of The Pearl and other stories. Those were the days, when so many of my dearest friends were as my mother calls them "bookfriends."

In this excerpt, John Steinbeck eulogizes his recently deceased friend, Ed Ricketts:

I have tried to isolate and inspect the great talent that was in Ed Ricketts, that made him so loved and needed and makes him so missed now that he is dead. Certainly he was an interesting and charming man, but there was some other quality that far exceeded these. I have thought that it might be his ability to receive, to receive anything from anyone, to receive gracefully and thankfully, and to make the gift seem very fine. Because of this everyone felt good in giving to Ed--a present, a thought, anything.

Perhaps the most overrated virtue in our list of shoddy virtues is that of giving. Giving builds up the ego of the giver, makes him superior and higher and larger than the receiver...It is so easy to give, so exquisitely rewarding. Receiving, on the other hand, if it is well-done, requires a fine balance of self-knowledge and kindness. It requires humility and tact and great understanding of relationships. In receiving, you cannot appear, even to yourself, better or stronger or wiser than the giver, although you must be wiser to do it well.

It requires self-esteem to receive--not self-love but just a pleasant acquaintance and liking for oneself.

John Steinbeck, The Log from the Sea of Cortez, Appendix, ""About Ed Ricketts"", Penguin Books, 1951, pp. 272-3

At fourteen, I would say I was not quite in possession of self-esteem, but rather that I was still on a quest to find it and claim it like a treasure. It took a lot longer than I could ever imagine. I was already an expert at giving and giving certainly has its place. Hindsight being what it is, I see now I was resistant to receiving, except in the most dire of times. And even then my capacity to receive what I most needed was colored with angst.

That all began to change the day I became a mother. And I am not the first to say that the birth of a child marked the beginning of a new era of self-actualization.

The reality and experience of pure love given and received in a mutual moment of exchange came about 8:30am on January 31, 2000 when my newly delivered daughter was placed across my chest, met my eyes, and clasped my little finger with her own fresh perfect hand. And her crying evaporated as did my nausea from the epidural and time stood still a moment. And there began my sense of self, relative to her, and my new role and responsibility. She would know love and self-love and be given every opportunity to accept herself from the beginning. And that has made all the difference in the last decade for me. I remain an expert at giving and am no longer a novice at receiving. And that new "talent" makes life sweeter.

"It requires self-esteem to receive--not self-love but just a pleasant acquaintance and liking for oneself."

May you enjoy the journey of making your own acquaintance.