A Selfish Fool

I will say this:
love is an action word.
music muscle flexing
cyberconnecting

I know
your heart
is rythym
broken beat
still
it's not yet

I'm always out there and sticky
bumpy
lumpy
learning
yearning

carrying my grooves
with me
everywhere I go

that's so I hear the music when it comes

you're always
silent waves
softened soul
polished smooth
too slippery
to stick
staying so still
even the music
misses you

I am four years old and I am having that same dream again. The one where I am running through a dense dark forest, running for my life from a large, hungry, brown bear, “California”. I am running through the thick branches and then I am in a tree and I am climbing as fast as I can. The tree is so tall it goes on and on and I am being chased. Now I am six. I go faster and now I see a boy above me, urging me on, saying, “Come on, you’re almost there, you can do it!” and I am almost reaching him and each time he urges me on, saying, “Just one more step, I know you can do it!” and I climb up to that branch and he is still one branch higher. I am climbing faster and faster but he is always out of reach and then, finally, I can see it, I am going to reach him this time, and I climb up to that branch and it breaks under me. I am twenty three now. The boy reaches out to me and grabs the tips of my fingers and I slip away and fall and fall and fall. I fall so far that eventually I look around and realize that I must not be falling at all. I am a baby. I am flying. I have total control of where I go and I can swoop down over houses and hills and by people and they don’t seem to see me. I fly over my hospital and then I circle around and look in the windows to see the children in my ward sleeping and the nurses walking around and it feels so nice. I keep flying, past familiar streets and houses. I come to my own house, and my family is there and none of them see me and I realize the will never see me in this state. I realize I must return to my body and I feel the jolt and wake up crying. I am confused. Even though I must be awake I don't know how old I am or where I live. I want to get back to the dream. I close my eyes and float, but the phone rings. It sounds distant. I go for the phone but find I can't move. I struggle and manage to reach it on the fourth ring. I hear my Mom and sister crying. I am awake.

A Bit of a Rant

Okay, let me start by saying that I probably should not be posting at this exact moment bec aue I am so stinkin mad I feel like my ass is on fire, but it must be done, I can no longer be silent.
I am innocently whiling away my hours listening to a little "Morning Edition" on NPR when I happen to glance at a link for this article: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=104107045. I start getting a little tight in the throat as I am reading it, so trying to distract myself, I glance over at my Facebook page and I read this post from my friend, Kathy: "Health care reform is not optional. As a former social worker, I can tell you there are numerous individuals in need of medical assistance and only able to get limited help if any. I had to deny or terminate benefits for folks that would probably die without it. In fact, I had a client who died a month after having to cut of his medical benefits. For him, I send this out. Get involved & make it happen." along with a link to this: http://www.healthreform.gov/. Needless to say I about blew my stack COMPLETELY when I started reading some of the pedantic, high brow, philosophical discussion of poverty I have seen in some time in the commentary after the "richless" article (I might add, I listen to NPR regularly).
My comments started out trying to be illuminating, but finally descended in to my typical hysterical defensiveness like I get when I am really deeply RIGHT about something that means a lot to me that others don't ever seem to get. So, if you're interested, you can read my comment thread (Obviously, I am Fndr Bndr). But in case you don't have hours to waste on the internet skimming over another's petty rant, I will sum it up thusly: While I didn't want to get in to a pissing match over who has it bad and who has it worse, on some level, when does it occur to you that your perspective on life is so skewed that you can't even conceive that REAL SUFFERING exists around you? Why does it never occur to some people that their highly educated, WASPy snobbery is not enough? When is buying lattes that protect the rainforrest or sending a hundred bucks once a year off to the World Wildlife Fund not enough to make up for the enormous, unfair disparity between people who have their basic needs met and those who don't? Is anyone even listening to what they are saying when they post about this stuff??
I must say, I thought that the mainstream media was coming a long way, when on Mother's Day on John King's broadcast, he highlighted a homeless single Mom and talked about Moms who do what they have to do to get by. (Sorry, I don't have the link to the story, but if I find it I'll put it in here later.) We don't use the term poverty enough in our media in my opinion.
Anyway, end of rant.
Here are a select few pictures from MY Mother's Day.

A Lesson in Smiling

Yesterday the junior choir sang in church. The kids range in age from about six to about 13. I love watching the children sing. Not because they make beautiful music or because they are cute, (in fact, some look painfully uncomfortable and self-conscious) but because a few of them display true pride and joy in what they are doing. These kids seem to intuitively understand that they are generously giving, channelling a gift to the congregation. I try to listen with all attentiveness in order to humbly receive their gift. I love to look for the children that are in Little J's Sunday school class and smile broadly if I can catch their eye. Since we are usually running late, we sit towards the back, and most times it is a one way exchange. But yesterday, I received the most beautiful smile and enthusiastic waive of recognition from one little girl from Little J's class. She made me feel so special I almost blushed. I made sure to thank her afterwards and I told her she made me feel special. She seemed to understand what she had given me. But more than that, she set a powerful example. It was a big risk she took: a little girl standing up there in front of dozens if not hundreds of people, waiving enthusiastically at one specific (adult) person.

If even one out of a hundred smiles I give makes someone feel the way she made me feel, then why should I ever fear giving an unanswered smile? Spread the joy, and smile!

Lollipop Eats Kid

Adult Confirmation

I just completed a class offered at my new church and run by our Pastor, Pete. Five of us met once or twice a month over the last six months or so and discussed God, Jesus, the bible, the history of the Christian religion, the structure of our services, discipleship and community to name a few. Last night we had our final discussion at a cozy little Italian restaurant. We drank delicious red wine, ate an amazing meal, chatted and finally, we each read a one pager we had written on what we got out of the class. I went last and here is what I read:

When I started this class I thought I might try to figure out whether or not I believed in God. My thinking was that belief and understanding went hand in hand and were a prerequisite for truly belonging in a religion. I have always liked the idea of having a religion. I think it felt to me like it would be a structure or a framework that would always be there, unyielding and strong to hold me up against whatever tragedy might blow me over in the future. But as the class went on I realized that this might not be the best path for me to follow. Do I believe in an omnipotent, omniscient, benevolent being? Is there a God? The more I contemplated it the more confused I became until I finally heard the one thing I realized I had been waiting to hear: it is okay not to understand God because we are only human and God is that profound. This was new to me. The idea that God isn’t something pre-existing that I just never learned about, but that God is actually something I would have to define for myself. Of course, when you think about it it makes sense. As I began pondering that, it became obvious I could never understand it. I think the most profound moment for me came when Pastor Pete said that all our ideas of God are always wrong. Duh. How could we possibly understand God? By my own definition of God, he is not able to be understood. And, for some reason, this class made me okay with that. I began to realize that religion is simply a way of putting God in to tangible terms that a human being might be able to comprehend, work with and learn from. I also became aware that I had an understanding of religion based on prejudice, a cursory knowledge of history, but mostly ignorance. I thought of Christians as haughty, self-important, “righteous” people who were mostly imperialist conquerors who felt they had a mandate from God to rule the world. Perhaps this is even true, but there is a deeper understanding of being Christian that I had missed. Being Christian means being brave. It means standing up for those who can’t stand up for themselves. It means following a path that leads to harmony and peace, not war. As we began to learn about and discuss the evolution of Christianity and the bible through the ages I learned something more important than understanding God, understanding what God is for: the power to transform. Yes there is much suffering in life. I do not know why God allows it, but the question is, what can I do about it? What can God help me do about it? This class has inspired me to be a better person because it is possible and because it is important. This class has allowed me to believe in God with out understanding what that is. I can not think of a greater gift or a greater reason to contribute to the fulfillment of God’s kingdom.

Thank you,
Wendy

God is a Musician

Life is his music.

What song are you?

Life is Hard

My child is six years old now. I don't know how this happened. He is an independent being with his own thoughts, likes, moods, colors and imprint on this world. It amazes me to watch and humbles me that I have so much influence over who he becomes. We got him a bike for his birthday. His favorite color: green. It is a beauty with sturdy training wheels, and we proudly purchased it from our local bicycle shop instead of Walmart. We spent twice as much as we should have but walked out feeling we had done our part for the economy, the local guy!

And he hates it. First time on, he immediately fell, terrified, looking at me like I am some sort of maniac for making him get on this dangerous contraption. Tears, meltdown. Second time on, trembling, wobbly, total frustration because the pedals are too hard to push, and especially because the lack of coordination means pushing backwards on them at least half the time, engaging the breaks. More tears. Third time on was pulling teeth. Only accomplished through bribery involving both chocolate and extra TV time. Same results, meltdown, tears, and a feeling of betrayal: Why am I doing this to him? It is so HARD! Um... Because it is fun! No it's not. Because it will be fun when you learn and it becomes easy and you gain independence! But I don't want to!

I don't want to say this was never a problem for me. I am sure somewhere along the way I encountered some seemingly impossible task that others wanted me to undertake for which I saw no virtue. These things happen, occasionally. But it gets to me. I can't help but boil under the surface with frustration, which leads to anger, which is definitely NOT the space to be in when trying to teach your kid to ride a bike. I stopped myself from saying no pain, no gain, but COME ON!!! Dude, life is HARD! Don't you know that yet? I learned to ride my bike with ONE LEG! Falling down never deterred me from anything! I was never just automatically good at anything! I remember wanting to learn how to shoot a basketball. It took me YEARS to get even close! But I never stopped trying. I have no idea why. I don't even like basketball. I just saw that other people could do it and I knew it was possible and I just wanted to be able to make it in... SOMETIMES!

I should not be surprised. This is nothing new with Little J. There are other recreational activities his fear has won over his desire to learn: swimming, ladders, fireman's poles, rope swings, sledding. He has a good healthy sense of danger. I should be happy. But I can't make myself come around, on principle. I think he thinks it should be easy. He doesn't want to try. Why should he? TV is easy. Video games are easy. No matter how many times Scooby-Doo narowly escapes the zombies, at the end of the show, there is a bad guy in cuffs and a torn zombie disguise on the ground. This infuriates me, mostly because I am not really interested in instilling a first hand sense of the hardness of life, so I am at a loss.

The children's sermon at church yesterday was timely. It was the story of Rick Allen, the drummer from Def Leppard. He was at the top of his game when he lost his left arm in an accident. He worked with a manufacturer to develop a drum kit for a one armed, two legged drummer, learned how to play it and continued his career as if nothing happened. Of course, the story is irrelevant to this situation for two reasons. First, as the passive listener, you come away feeling that sure, it might have been kind of hard for him, but not THAT hard. Afterall, he did do it. There just isn't any way to transfer that kind of experience using only language. Second, Little J is six years old. Let me illustrate:

After church I casually asked Little J what he thought of the story. He said the drummer must have turned in to some sort of zombie because he lost his arm and you can't live if you lose a body part, so he must be a zombie now. Too bad for him. Um... what about me then, am I a zombie? No, you're a Mommy! Um, yeah... Like I said, doesn't translate. But apparently Scooby-Doo does!
I've got my work cut out for me...

Little J Makes Sense of Genetics

My sister and I are trying to get my car out of her driveway. It is stuck at the bottom, as the driveway is paved in ice. Multiple attemps have been made, resulting primarily in an oder of burning rubber and a net movement of 2 feet. Backward.

Little J to his cousin M:

I think your Mommy and my Mommy are sisters because they keep laughing.

Brilliant.

If only the two of us could remember that more often.

A Typical Conversation with My Car

me:

PRND321

car:

beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP! beep STOP!

me:

40 MPH, 44 MPH, 50 MPH

car:

beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP! beep CHECK ENGINE

me:

NO RIGHT TURN

car:

ABS [!]

me:

EXIT 8

car:

ASR [!]

beep BRAKE FAULT

me:

65 MPH

car:

STOP! BRAKE FAULT STOP! BRAKE FAULT STOP!

me:

Cruise control

car:

33 F 13 Min

me:

[sigh]

car:

beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP! beep CHECK ENGINE beep EMISSIONS WORKSHOP beep CHECK ENGINE

STOP!

me:

Fuck you! [turns radio on full blast]

Voluntary or Involuntary Suicide, it’s your choice! (a memo from my boss)

Over the past months I know many of you have been aware of the weakening and inevitable failure of the life-breath of the universe.
Of course I hate to be the bearer of such terrible news but I know you will understand that I must save myself.
Already there have been several parts of my conscience that have left me entirely due to the necessary severances from which I recoil.
However, in order to ensure that my personal satisfaction is in line with the needs of my appetites,
and because it has been brought to my attention that our models are no longer in line with the storage capacity of the requisite thousands of basements, boneyards, freezers and underground lairs required (and so unfortunately necessary) in order to keep my very own cavernous house of emptiness from overflowing with severed heads, you understand,
I am pleased to have seized the opportunity to both implement and announce to you an acronym I made up myself, which is sure to become famous, called the VRMMIP (Voluntary Relief for Me and Mine Insurance Program).
There will be two rounds of this program, which you may hear being referred to as the Voluntary Suicide or Voluntary Self-Decapitation Program by some of my kiss-ass minions, who also may be eligible for this program depending on the quality of their self-deprecating performance.
The second round, to be announced at an undisclosed time, will be the i-VRMMIP or Involuntary Suicide Program, the details of which, obviously can not and will not be divulged until the time has come, by which time you will no longer need to strain your inadequate intellect to comprehend its’ very complex details.
If you choose to take advantage of my generous offer, the VRMMIP, understand that you will be eligible for ENHANCED suicide in addition to the benefit of escaping the shame of having someone else sever your less than optimally productive head unexpectedly.
Of course you know, reducing head count is a step I don’t take lightly.
I appreciate your loyalty in the coming days, months, who knows? maybe years between now and when the final axe will fall.
As anyone in our business knows, loyalty is the main difference between you and me.
Please, feel free to scream in to the night waiting for an answer which will not come.

Sincerely,
Your Chief Severance Officer