now for the slowing down...

Finally home! I love being home. But I can't go to bed~ too much buzzing around in my head...

This tends to be the situation when I get home from just about anywhere in the evening: it takes me an inordinate amount of time to settle in and wind down before I can put myself to bed. It doesn't matter that I'm exhausted or that I have a full day of work tomorrow or any of that. I just get all zoomy and wired and have to ride it out.

It's been an interesting day. That's for sure. Yesterday was great, Christmas was great. Today was sometimes good...ish... in a kind of a way. Sometimes kind of harder than I would have liked. Such is life, eh? Pretty great and pretty hard, at random intervals, without warning, woohoo!

All in all, I'm a lucky girl. I try my darndest to remember that.

In other news:

My brother would not love me to say this to the Internets, but he has a girlfriend, and I get to meet her next week. I'm looking forward to it, but I don't think he trusts me not to embarrass him.

I told him I was going to show up like this:

His response was to uninvite me. But I thought I looked pretty awesome. My up-do and my giant green earrings that you can't see in the picture make the ensemble truly and fabulously complete.

Ok, now I'm going to try to unwind the rest of the way and get a few winks before the fast-approaching rising of the sun...

merry christmas

Happy everything to everyone!

I'm off to the magical Christmas Eve service at the UU~ I've been looking forward to it for a couple of weeks already. :)

Wishing you all rest and love and communion and joy~

return of the balloon head

Two whole weeks with that whiny old post sitting at the top of the page. Sorry for that.

My trip to Colorado, mercifully, went by quickly. Not too quickly, though, for me to contract a wholloping sinus infection. I was so glad to be home, and have slept copiously over the past three days. Really, I could go to bed some more right now.

I have to say that Colorado was stunning. Such an odd thing to spend a positively mind-numbing week in such beautiful surroundings. Flying over the Colorado Rockies, I was amazed to find myself breathless, not just because of the gorgeousness, but also because of the newness. This country is so huge. There's so much to see...

I don't regret going on the trip, but it's not something I'd volunteer to do again. Unless there were things to do with a toddler, anyhow. An indoor playground or pool would have been much appreciated. As it was, there were three outdoor pools, two feet of snow, and lots of running up and down corridors and riding up and down elevators...

The most beautiful day was luckily the same day that I got a little break to go out and take pictures, some of which are posted on my Flickr page. And a very serendipitous thing happened during the birthday party we had for Z. She'll be five on Monday, but there was a party there in Snowmass, since everyone was together. We had the upstairs room of a little restaurant mostly to ourselves, save for one father and daughter at a table behind us. As it turned out the girl will be turning 11 on the same day that Z turns five~ magic! She and her father stayed for cake and ice cream and it made the whole night better for everyone.

Aside from trying to get well, I'm trying to get ready for Christmas, which seems sooner than possible. Today I decided that I'm going to skip my usual sending of photo-illustrated Christmas letters. I'm not sure what I'd say about this year, anyhow. Goodness.

I really enjoyed Jennifer's post about getting ready for Christmas, and I'm trying to ride that same wave...

I hope you're all well~ more soon.

the end

Good riddance, NaBloPoMo! I have failed you. You asked too much of me. Fie.

I think I also expected too much in return. And I think that expectations are tricky things~ sometimes they're just necessary, and other times they screw things up. I wanted to be all wondrous, posting mesmerizing entries every day and making connections with more folks in the blogging world. I thought for sure that Pogo would inspire love, and even his fuzzy little snout failed to do any such thing.

I feel lonely here at the moment. I've read other bloggers' posts about this topic, and am only mustering the chutzpah to be honest about it because others have been honest before me. But, anyhow, yes, I'm feeling needy and neglected, which probably calls for a bit of deeper delving...

Other than that, I met with a new client today and felt very good about that. I've actually met about five people today who I'd like to know better. I imagine that there's some unwritten rule about not socializing with clients until after the project is finished, but it's nice to meet new people in this town where I sometimes feel like I already know everyone. Truthfully, I have a richer, fuller social circle than I ever have before, and it's sometimes challenging to keep up with the lovely friends I already have, but there are just so many magical folks around... I met some others at a birthday dinner tonight, and we're going to get together so I can teach them to knit and crochet and have a cozy little yarn party in my tiny little nest.

Another friend has started to have weekly craft nights at her house, and I went last night with a project that needed to be finished up and a project that needed a jump-start. Success! One finished, one started, and the people there were wonderful, too.

I also got mah hair did today. By a new person, and I really like her and I really like what she did to my hairs. After leaving the salon, I took my cute self shopping for Christmas gifts. I'm buying less this year, but I really love giving gifts, so it's not something I want to do less of, it's just necessary because of my current financial state. I love making gifts, too, but that still requires supplies, and TIME, and I leave for Colorado in less than a week. And then it'll be family visits and Christmas and New Year almost all at once! Oh, 2007, where hast thou gone?

meet pogo

When I was growing up, we had some unconventional pets in our house. We had rodents: mice, gerbils, briefly a guinea pig. My sister's little gray mouse was named Fuzzy, and he was in the circus. We all were~ I was a trampoline and trapeze diva, my sister was a clown, and Fuzzy was her sidekick. He walked a tightrope and dazzled the masses without fail. It's true life! Before the High Flyers became serious, famous performers~ our very own Cirque du Soleil~ they put on a very home-grown show in the ringleader's back yard, and we were stars.

We had a juvenile delinquent crow named Binky for about two days~ he was messy and loud and fond of mulberries. He had to go elsewhere. We had a squirrel named Hickory~ our dog, Zipper, found baby Hickory in the woods on campus after a storm, and when my dad went to investigate, a teensy lost critter ran right up the leg of his corduroy pants. Hickory let all of us hold him when he was small, but pretty soon my dad was the only one who could handle him. He had his own little room, with branches and things, and my dad would hide food for him to forage. We thought he had epilepsy, but it turned out to be a case of Too Many Sunflower Seeds.

We had parakeets and newts and rabbits and toads. But mostly we had Pogo. Lucky Pogo Possum Guy. Someone found him in the road, a tiny little bean of a thing, separated from his marsupial mama~ she knew that we had fostered Hickory, so she brought us the wee lonely possum. He was my favorite. Unlike Hickory, he never unfriended me. He would fall asleep cupped in my hands, with his nose tucked in. He smelled like dog paws, which smell like corn chips. And he had those fabulous animal instincts that told him to act scary if need be~ I'd reach into his nest to scoop him up and he'd turn around and make his most frightening open-mouthed possum face... until he smelled that I was me, his friend, and then he would waddle up my arm, sit on my shoulder, and snuffle his nose in my ear.

I was so sad when we had to let him go. We had to let a real rehabber teach him about the great outdoors before he got too big, but I wanted to keep him forever. He was the Opossum O'Love and I'm glad my hippie parents let him stay with us for a while~

getting bettah

Thanksgiving was great~ the trip was actually better than any of us expected, despite the wind and rain and squeaky windshield wipers and people being sick and swapping lots of little airborne buggaboos.

I hope everyone had fun like me! I got to act like a goober with my sister and her sister-in-law (who is a good friend of mine) and spend time with my astoundingly awesome almost-three-year-old nephew and eat good food and swim in the hotel pool and sit in the really powerful hot tub and then jump back into the pool, which made us more understanding of the crazy Polar Bear Club folks. It feels really, really good.

And I'm supposed to be asleep now so that I can get up at 5:30 in the morning and also because I'm still not quite unsick, so I'll just give you this assignment and get ready for bed. (Do you notice a pattern? Of me not being in bed on time?) Ok, in the spirit of flu season and Getting Enough Vitamin C, I assign you to make and drink this very perfect stuff:

Lemon, Ginger, and Honey!

Boil about an inch of fresh ginger root in maybe two cups of water for probably five minutes or something. (This is not science.) Squeeze a lemon. Mix the lemon juice with the ginger water in your favorite giant mug. Now empty the contents of your honey bear into the mug. Breathe it and sip it until it reaches the perfect guzzling temperature and then guzzle. So, so good!

the 19th...

Last night I forgot to post. I'm still sick, coughing like a smoker, with the gravelly bedroom voice and all. Tomorrow we head to Minnesota for Thanksgiving. It's not likely that I'll be able to post until I'm back~ so much for NaBloPoMo. I don't really mind, though. As with most things that I enjoy, as soon as it became an obligation, it wasn't so fun anymore. I've been wondering how my NaNoWriMo friends are doing... and now I almost think that would be a better project. Not so public. More room for sounding really dull.

I'm sort of ok, really. Hormonal and ill and stressed out, but ok. Tuning in to the light and the shadow, trying to allow more gently for the latter to have its place. S'pose I'll share this little Langston Hughes poem and go to bed~

Gather out of star-dust

Earth-dust,

Cloud-dust,

Storm-dust,

And splinters of hail,

One handful of dream-dust

Not for sale.

day seventeen

Down to the wire almost, and I got nothin'. But thanks to Miss Heidi, here's something fun for you to play with. Now, play!

instant gratification!

I did it! I am now a juicer user! Look at the color of this stuff. That is all.

to float away

I'm having a bout of the Vagabond Blues, the Getmeouttaheres, Whiny Whiner Syndrome. I want to run away from everything, or maybe to be rescued. Yikes. I don't like it. But it's a pretty frequent feeling for me, nothing unusual, sadly, at all.

I have a recording of a speech that Jack Canfield gave last year. (He may be best known as the Chicken Soup for the Soul guy, but he's involved in all kinds of other stuff, including The Secret.) Anyhow, I think the speech is really great, and different things come back to me from time to time. Lately, it's the part where he talks about joy. I don't remember exactly what he said (the CD is currently on loan to a friend) but it's basically the idea that you can gauge the rightness of where you are by the level of joy in your life. If the joy is missing, something is out of line.

I'm mostly not feeling the joy. And I feel like I don't have time to go looking for it, whatever that would entail. And that's because I'm so scared about money. And that's so crappy!

I don't want to sound like a hypocrite or a split-personality or whatever~ with my happy "get to" philosophy right next to my hand-wringing, money-stumped, shakin'-in-my-boots joylessness. These are both very real parts of my humanness, the light and the shadow, and I'm just muddling along and trying to shift the balance and find the best answers for me.

In other news, not unrelated, I have made it to baby-step four with my juicer. I've owned the thing for two or three years, but hadn't even taken it out of the box until today. A long (LONG) time ago, I opened the box and set the accompanying audio tape by the stereo and read part of the recipe booklet. Last month, I pulled the box out from under the sink, listened to the tape and looked at the recipe booklet again and read part of the instruction manual. The box has been sitting out in the open since then, so that I see it every day. And today, today I took it OUT OF THE BOX and washed the washable parts and learned how it goes together and comes apart.

I have carrots, an apple, and some ginger root. I'm going to juice them. Right now! Maybe it will get the joy beans jumpin'...

the random

I am sick. I think I've been pushing myself too hard recently and that, combined with general stress and the fact that all four children I take care of are sick, has finally taken its toll. I am steamrollered. I am squashed. I am under this cold, cold, blustery weather.

But look at that -----------------------------^

I didn't make it today, but it makes me happy to see it today. I'm inordinately proud of it. As you can see, if you read the fine print, it was inspired by a page out of the Klutz Hand Art book. See? His trunk is my thumb, and the bumpity belly ruffles are my knuckles. And doesn't he look just like a Blue Meanie? Yes!

What else? Well, I've (sort of) made it half-way through NaBloPoMo now. And, oh, here's something I wanted to say:

THANK YOU!

Thank you to the lovely commenters who say nice things and let me know that they (you) hear me. When I had my Livejournal blog, there was a convenient little button that allowed me to reply directly to each individual comment in a nice little format. I miss that button, and I don't respond directly as much as I used to. But I want to be sure that you know I'm appreciating you and not ignoring you in my heart, not one bit.

Now, I have to tell you the thing that I did today that was very unlike most days: I scolded someone. Ok, that might not be unusual. But I scolded an ADULT. An adult STRANGER. I had to.

I was behind his great big SUV in traffic and noticed that there was a child, maybe seven-years-old or so, standing up in the back seat. We were at a red light, but when the light turned green, he didn't sit down. He was walking back and forth and the guy was just driving along... and talking on his cell phone. At the next light, I ended up next to him and motioned and rolled down my window and hollered that I was concerned because I saw that he was talking on the phone and driving while his child was walking around in the back seat. I don't know if he really quite heard me. The light changed and we drove away. But I couldn't believe it. It makes me crazy when I see people acting all invincible and putting children's safety in jeopardy. So, I said something. Eeeek.

Now I'm going back to the couch. I've cancelled everything for the next three days so that I can be well for next week. Next week is going to be manic, and I need to be strong like ox.

where I'm from

Tonight was the awe-inspiring public read-around that my writing class holds each semester. I feel so blessed to be part of that group! And I think I'll just go ahead and share the piece that I read tonight. It's an unaltered fast write that I did in class, and the form is based on a poem by George Ella Lyon.

************************************************************

I am from a welcoming womb.

From a dome in the woods in Virginia.

I am from the gooseberry bushes that always took too long to ripen.

I am from the gravel path, meandering from the barn to the pond to the cottage to the mansion and back, dotted with chamomile buds.

I am from a cardboard box, with a window cut out and a crystal in the doorway.

I am from the red brick house in the center of town, with the farmer’s market bustling in the backyard each Saturday morning, and the library two doors down, the library that was always open.

I am from choose your own adventure, girls who could fly, and girls who died, keeping my mother in tears on the old red couch.

I am from the bottom row, second aisle on the right- the boxes of penny candy in the Kirkwood Pharmacy.

I am from pink sweatsuits, hand-me-downs, shimmery feathery earrings, and K-Mart boots.

I am from a nest in a tree in a storm. Falling, falling, eyes barely open, snuffling black nose, suddenly safe.

I am from a parking lot in the dark, his father’s winter studio, a car parked carelessly sideways.

I am from words written large in the sand and sung loudly into the wind.

change your perspective...

I'm exhausted. I'm constantly stressed out about money and all its cronies. And yet, I ate medjool dates today, and played outside with munchkins.

The simple thing is this: whenever you (I) find yourself (myself) feeling overwhlemed and overrun, complaining about all the things that you (I) have to do~

Change that "have to" to "get to."

I have to go to work.

I get to go to work. I get to talk to almost-five-year-olds about the golden retrievers they dream of. Today she told me that when she's eight and her sister is five, they'll get a golden retriever. When I asked her what she would name her dog, she thought for a minute and said, "Maybe... LOVE. Or maybe Anna!"

I have to clean my kitchen.

I get to clean my kitchen. I have a kitchen to clean! I have hot running water, dishes to dirty, food with which to dirty them. I remember a cafe in Oaxaca, Mexico where the kitchen was about a third of the size of mine, and my kitchen is pretty tiny by American standards.

It works for anything, really. We forget how fortunate we are, and even though happiness is relative, there's always value in gratitude and sharp focus.

And I'm grateful for the children who drive me nuts and poop in the bathtub and clobber each other when they're tired and hungry. Because they also snuggle and laugh and create and act silly with me.

I'm grateful for the mess in my kitchen, because someone loaned me a small appliance today so that I could make something delicious for an equally delicious gathering that will happen tomorrow evening. And here is the recipe, so that you can have a messy kitchen, a happy belly, and a grateful heart right beside me and mine.

*Raw Fudge

1.5 cups raw walnuts
12 fresh medjool dates (take the pits out! and do not skimp! sub-par dates will kill your fudge.)
a dash of salt
1/3 cup unsweetened (organic if possible) cocoa powder
1 tsp. vanilla
2 tsp. water, if needed
1/2 cup shredded, unsweetened coconut

You just mix each thing in the food processor in this order, adding as you go. It sort of balls up eventually and you can just smoosh it around with a spoon. You can play with ingredients~ leave out the coconut if you're not a fan, try a bit of almond or cherry extract... And when it's all nice and mixed up, blob it into a shallow container and smooth it out. Maybe 1/2-1 inch thick is good. Let it sit in the fridge and then cut it into squares. It's easier to cut and arrange the pieces if it's cold, but tastes best if it warms up a bit before you eat it.

Yum! You get to eat healthy fudge!

And I get to go to bed.

like Attila the Hun with a cinnamon bun

It's just that I'm tired and this NaBloPoMo thing is getting on my nerves. Tomorrow there won't be so much as a blip. Not a quote, not a Nellie McKay lyric, not a photo of a chocolate-covered Brazil nut hamster. Tomorrow there will be no time. But then on Tuesday we will have something to look forward to, because on Tuesday I will write about a small-yet-profound sort of happy philosophy. In the meantime, make friends with Nellie. She's kind of a genius. And also marvel at the cuteness of that hamster. I made it by accident. It's really cute!

*Mangia!*

I'm about to zip out to an Italian dinner party, and so I leave you on NaBloPoMo day ten with this wonderful piece from Brian Andreas:

"There are things you do because they feel right & they may make no sense & they may make no money & it may be the real reason we are here: to love each other & to eat each other's cooking & say it was good."

Good night, lovelies~

the ninth

It's been an odd day. I decided to stay home and rest, hoping to fend off the microbial gremlins that were trying to colonize in the back of my throat. I'd had two DVDs from Netflix that had been sitting around for ages, and finally took the time to watch them~ one was a documentary about Howard Zinn. I've wanted to read one of his books in particular, A People's History of the United States, and this documentary thoroughly renewed my interest. What a remarkable man, working with absolute dignity to bring buried truths to light.

The problem, though, is that I get so overwhelmed. Instead of just being inspired and grateful, like I imagine most people would be, I end up feeling like I've been punched in the gut. I see the images of war and hear the stories of oppression and deceit and corruption, and I'm disgusted by the world. I question everything I'm doing and feel like I'm wasting my time, and when I go there-when I get so recklessly dismal inside- I really can't do anything help anyone, myself included.

I started looking at Peace Corps and Heifer International and other stuff online~ the video clips on the Heifer site are so amazing, you should take a look. I love that organization so hard. I also had a good conversation with my sweet friend and watched this little Elizabeth Gilbert video and tried to just get centered and let myself be inspired instead of guilt-ridden and despondent. Good grief.

I know that we all have different ways of walking through the world, different gifts and passions and capacities, and as long as we do our various stuff with mindfulness, compassion, generosity, and (gosh darn it) joy, each contribution adds value to the whole. I believe this. I do. I just have to be reminded again and again and again to apply this belief to my own self.

Breathe, sleep, nourish. Allow, accept, move forward. Practice, practice, practice.

day eight, post five

Life sure the heck is interesting. Good night.

behind- already and again

To force myself to turn on the computer and post something when I finally got home last night would have been nothing short of an act of self-loathing, and I'm trying to mostly avoid those. Even so, my few short hours of sleep were painful. Physically painful. I painted a friend's room last night, wearing too-tight old jeans that are the only thing I don't care about getting paint on. And there was stuff in the room. In the small, crowded room. Where I was supposed to expertly wield brushes and rollers and an unruly drop-cloth and a chair to sometimes stand on. And all of that only after moving quite a few large and small items out of the room. My body is mad at me. My shoulder blades are stuck. My left SI joint thinks that it belongs to an octogenarian. I have painter's elbow. The arch in my left foot feels all delicate and needy.

But! I'm not actually complaining. It was fun, and the morning-after woes are just messages, little reminders that my body needs more practice at muscle-usage. I really should indulge my poor, neglected muscles and tendons and joints more often.

So I hobbled (I mean I literally hobbled) into work this morning, and my day progressed like a Ben Stiller movie, only less dumb and with more kids. It reminded me of a Baby Blues comic strip I saw years ago. It was so totally on the mark that it stuck with me forever. Basically, you have a full-time mom with a baby and a toddler and she's been home all day with the kids and dad comes home from work and their conversation goes approximately like this:

Dad: Hi, honey! What did you do today?
Mom: Well, I did two loads of laundry, played five rounds of hide and seek, ran the dishwasher, changed two poopy diapers, supervised a finger-painting project, and bathed the kids...
Dad: I don't know how you do it!
Mom: ...and then it was time to make breakfast.

Ha! It's ridiculous, and so very real. And now I really must go to bed, because tomorrow is looking just as harried as ever. And I'm going to love it, by gum.

creating family

When other people bring thickly-iced sheet cakes, my mother brings raw "fudge" made with dates, walnuts, vanilla, and organic cocoa powder. They bring the karaoke machine, she brings her recorder. They bring board games, she brings paper and markers. And she weaves her little self into their hearts~ she just does.

One afternoon during our holiday, she had several women in the group sitting around the table, tracing their hands and making turkeys. She made a very snazzy one. And then she went and filled it with our names in hearts. The next day, she pulled a similar feat... I woke up from a nap to the sound of her recorder, her laughter, and everyone else applauding.

She's a bit radical, sweetly so~ she can give a speech about anything at any moment, using big words and swooping metaphors and concepts most people have never considered. She's had the life shaken right out of her, and somehow she manages to love and love and love. Having parents who are so not status quo can be hard sometimes, but I know how lucky I am...

There has been a recent flurry of reconnections, and new connections. Mostly with the women on both sides of the family, some related by blood and some by marriage. My mother has jumped with both feet into the work of creating extended family. And I've been tagging along, admittedly apprehensive some of the time. Now I'd say that I'm officially on board, and I'm so grateful to my mom for getting me to that point. It feels like we've moved to a whole new level now. (We were never very involved with the extended family when I was growing up~ there was too much hurt that had yet to be healed~ and so it's taken a lot of time and a lot of wading to finally feel safe and confident enough to take the plunge and get to know these other people.)

(I think I'm starting to ramble now, so bear with me, if you like.) I think that it's hard to come into a family that's already established, and to let them know who you really are. It's one thing to scandalize folks that you never have to see again, but when you're trying to become part of a family that wasn't always yours, it becomes a little more delicate. Telling the truth can be risky.

I was happy and relieved to learn that some of my values and truths are shared by some people I thought disagreed with me. And that everyone in the group loves each other, up to and including their differences. I need to learn that one over and over again. I can be my real self without alienating everyone forever. And I can find the beauty and goodness in them even if they believe certain things that I don't.

And sometimes karaoke and cake, or markers and "fudge", can be just enough to get us over any bumps in the road and bring us back home again.

NaBloPoMo 3-in-1

On Friday morning, I woke up to this view. It was dark long before we arrived in Gatlinburg on Thursday night, so we missed some of the most beautiful scenery that day. Obviously, we were appeased. We stayed in a "chalet" on top of a mountain, 12 of us in all, ranging in age from 13 to 76. My family of origin didn't do things like this, so it was a little like visiting a foreign country...



I'm absolutely exhausted from the last four days of driving and wandering and visiting and eating and drinking and laughing and playing and singing and more driving. We played more rounds of Apples to Apples than anyone has probably played ever in the world. (Margaritas and pajamas make it even more fun than it already is.) And last night we sang really loud and obnoxious karaoke, which I'm sure the neighbors loved passionately.



My brain isn't functioning a lot right now. But it's day four, darn it, and I'm posting. I did write while I was away, even though I didn't have internet access. My mom found me tucked quietly away yesterday and said, in her Proud Parent Voice, "You are a writer." See?

So, even though I didn't BloPo for two days, I was productive. And even though I may be incoherent right this minute, there will be more quality postings to come.

hit the road

This is very much an on-the-run post!

Today I'm off to Gatlinburg, Tennessee with my mom. We're meeting up with some of the women in my stepfather's family for a long weekend... I was looking at a map, and there are places down there with names like:

*Piney Butt Loop!

*Boogertown Road!

*Loafer's Glory Way!

My motivation has been bumped up a few notches because of those names. I'm easy.

Also, I'm posting because it's November 1st, and it's NaBloPoMo. No, that is not National Blow Pop Month. That is National Blog Posting Month. You post every day. Like NaNoWriMo before the steriods.

Of course, I may not have any internet access while I'm out of town for the next few days. But oh well oh kay. I'll do what I can~ maybe there will be wireless in the hotel...

Happy November!

we are stronger than we know...

I'm amazed by how hard and then how good life can feel, all within such a smidgen of time. I'm so familiar with the roller-coaster riding by now, you might think I'd be better at remembering that another high is always around the bend... Those moments of plummeting are just so breath-taking, though. Such velocity. But here I am, chugging skyward. Standing, at the very least, at the top of a big pile of gravel.

My nephew, A, is pictured here on that very gravel pile. He got me to run/fumble up it with him and then sort of ski back down many, many, many, many, many times the other day. I only see my little sister and nephew a few times a year, so it's a very special treat to spend time with him. He's an amazing little person, and he's been awesome at having conversations for a pretty long time, considering that he's not yet three.

When we were all together the other day, my 14-year-old brother, M, was working on a writing assignment at the computer. He'd been given a character prompt: Tiny-foot Johnson. I thought that he should be a winner of sack-races at family reunions, but my brother thought that he should be a mafia boss in Chicago. He managed to find a particularly hideous image of a body builder on Google, and he stuck the image right into his document so that his teachers could fully appreciate what he had conjured up. When A saw the picture, he ran in to tell us about it. "That weird man on the computer has nurses!" Nurses = breasts. I am beside myself just thinking about it.

Today I was out in the palatial yard of some people I work for, playing with two of the cutest children you can imagine. The five-year-old takes on different characters every day~ Harry Potter, Pharaoh, King Tut, Buzz Lightyear, etc. Today she was Robinson Crusoe. She was swinging -her new favorite thing- and all of a sudden, she hollered, "King Tut is in my pocket!" I laughed and asked if he had shrunk. She gave me that grown-ups are ridiculous look and said, "No... he's really just a piece of mulch, but I'm pretending that the piece of mulch is King Tut." Ha!

Tonight there was a family-friendly Dia de los Muertos event. I made sugar skulls for the kids to decorate, and they were a huge hit. I ran out quickly, so now I know to make about four times as many next year. (Everyone was very groovy about the skull shortage, and we made clay skulls after the sugar ones ran out.) I adore this holiday and am thrilled that more and more people are celebrating it each year. Since I'm on a roll with the kids' comments, my favorite snippet from tonight was:

"Audrey licks pennies."

"I do not!"

I get so much energy from events like this that I have trouble winding down afterward... and I have an early, early start tomorrow, but I'm too buzzy to go to bed...

Before I go and try to be appropriately snoozy, there's one more random thing that I wanted to share. I was looking at Craft magazine at Borders (hooray for free looking, especially when a magazine costs $15) and this woman's dolls were featured. I am in love.

Happy everything to everyone~

*A*

picking up the pieces

I've been spiraling downward, curling inward, losing my way. It's a desolate place I travel to sometimes, and I always tell myself I never want to go there again, but sometimes I just parachute right down into the center of it. And there I am, weary and teary and sitting on my butt in the middle of nowhere.

Things are not peachy right now.

I seem to have ended a relationship that was sweet and wonderful in so many ways. (Please, if you know us, help me to respect his privacy by keeping the lid on names and details.) The friendship won't end, ever I hope. And the romance is far from gone. But I finally had to accept that sometimes love doesn't conquer all. And that sucks.

So, I've been on the verge of tears a lot of the time, feeling like my whole life is dumb because I'm so dumb and everything I do turns out to be a great big neon mistake. Can't fall asleep, can't wake up. Wanting to be alone, to eat things that will ultimately just make me feel worse, to get really unhinged and run far, far away. But as away as I go, I'm still me, and my heart still has to mend itself. (I just had a little image in my head, of my big cartoon heart stitching itself up with a pink silk thread...)

Someone said something to me yesterday that shook my brain a little. Basically, depression.

Oh, who, me? Oh, no, I'm not depressed, no no not me no sir.

But what do I think it is? It's not just this relationship. I was feeling a lot of it before that. I've felt a lot of it at a lot of times. And maybe I'm too stubborn, too much my little virgo nanny goat self, to admit that I'm not all fixed and done. I want to be, but I'm not. Part of what I had to face is that, despite all of the work I have done and despite the fact that I'm much less deflated than I was a few years ago, I still have some big work to do before I can be truly healthy and grounded in a relationship.

So yesterday I was feeling very bad. I cried when people asked how I was. If they didn't ask, I could sort of pretend to function, but as soon as The Question was hanging in the air between us, I was sopping and furrowed and concave. And as soon as I was free from my obligations, I came home and watched TV until my butt was numb.

This morning during a business networking event, people started receiving text messages. Unsettling ones. We had a sniper in town. Our wonderful, magical oasis was under fire. I was immediately queasy, hating the windows all around us. But we finished the meeting and went on our separate ways. I was pissed. I didn't want to suddenly become more paranoid, questioning the safety of every formerly-friendly place around me.

And then something shifted, like magic. I thought of all the people all over the world who walk through their lives every single day in much more danger than I've ever had to face. And I felt lucky.

Then, this afternoon I was gifted with the funds for two visits to my therapist. I love my therapist, and haven't been able to afford her for quite a while. It wasn't much of an issue when things were going along like a nursery rhyme, but this week I really could use some extra care. When this gift was offered (by someone I cried in front of yesterday), I was humbled and grateful and speechless. And that alone created another shift. I moved into the next phase of my day feeling so much lighter.

And. Another gift tonight! At another networking meeting- a very different one- where I connected with wonderful people and opportunities... someone I was wishing I could have a session with gave each of us a certificate for a free session.

Ask, even in a whisper, or between sobs, and you may be given just exactly what you need.

words to live by

"Have compassion for yourself when you write. There is no failure- just a big field to wander in."

~ Natalie Goldberg

in and of the world

I went missing, eh? Not exactly intentional, but a month has slipped past. My life feels not my own at times, and I'm trying to correct that, as much as possible... At the same time, there are things I simply can't share~ because they're not really mine to share, and I have to respect the boundaries and privacy of other people in my life.

So what can I share that is mine enough to share?

Last weekend was Lotus Festival, a magical event that I look forward to each year. The colorful character to the right is a member of the first group we saw on Friday night~ The Dhoad Gypsies. They made bizarre and intriguing noises and did bizarre and intriguing things! In the photo, he is balancing a vessel full of water on top of two glasses on top of his head. He danced around, stood on nails and a sword with bare feet, bellowed fire... I had to look away a few times!

There's always so much running around at Lotus, skipping in and out of venues, trying to catch bits of as many acts as possible. Along with the Dhoad Gypsies, we saw Balkan Beat Box on Thursday night, and snippets (some more snippety than others) of MC Rai, 17 Hippies, Red Stick Ramblers, Amazones, March Fourth Marching Band, Golem, Javier Garcia, Chic Gamine, and Alasdair Fraser & Natalie Haas. (I'll add links later... I'm supposed to be asleep right now.)

So much wonderful music! And amazing performers. I think that my favorite actual music was from Chic Gamine. They have an album coming out in November, I think... I will be having a copy. Oh, yes.

The other really lovely thing about Lotus is all the people who come back to Bloomington for the festivities. I got to see so many people that I hadn't seen in too, too long. Amen and hallelujah to that!

Now, as noted, I need to vegetate. Tomorrow is another busy day, and I've been a sleepyhead of truly great proportions. I didn't manage to habeas my corpus out of bed until after noon today, and even then, I only got up because I had a 1:00 meeting to scram to. Tomorrow I have to be ready to leave at eleven. Can you imagine?! Woe to me, y'all. Woe to me. But it's all worthwhile~ it's my grandpa's 80th birthday, and he most certainly deserves to be celebrated. :)

So, here I go. I'll be back much sooner this time...

birthday eve

I was doing some deep-cleaning and reorganization yesterday, and came across the album that my mother made to document my birth. As tomorrow is my 31st birthday, I thought I'd share her writing, and this photograph of her and my father sharing a quiet moment during the labor~

A note: I'm staying true to her account, so my name is Heather here. I was Heather at birth, and became Anna later on...

"We arrived at Ann's dome at about 8am after about three and a half hours of labor. She put on a pot of coffee for the five of us- I had a special tea instead- Squaw Vine tea- good for soothing labor. She and her family continued with their morning routine- undisturbed by my little "dance."

Giving birth is the hardest work we've ever done. It requires such close "inner listening." I can see now how it could be very painful if the parents are not well prepared to co-operate with nature by this close "listening."

Ann is a very gentle and poised midwife. We were lucky to find someone so fine.

We tried to provide a quiet and unhurried space for the new one to be brought into. Tho quiet and joy are usually not associated in our thinking- this is what we experienced that wonderful morning.

(This note accompanies the first pictures taken after I emerged.) Heather's first minutes with us. She was a little upset at first.

So that she would have something familiar after all the struggle of being born- we put her right back into body temperature water."

*There are beautiful black & white photos in the album, including a few from the first few months. It's a treasure. Somewhere, I have another album with the same photos, but with my father's writing and account. I can't find it... maybe next year I can share that one.

please continue to hold

I'm trying to pay my (late) health insurance bill by phone. I've been on hold for an hour and a half. Muzak, muzak, muzak, automated voice reminding me that all of their representatives are still (still!) assisting other callers and asking me to please continue (continue!) to hold, muzak, muzak, muzak...

Maybe I should have known better than to call on a Monday morning? Maybe. But here I sit, kink in my neck and left elbow. I even tried going to the bathroom, thinking that surely someone would be ready to assist me at that very moment. It usually works. Yesterday, I just knew that my sweetie would call if I got in the shower. I was right.

I need to leave for work...

I'm on hold in a lot of areas of my life right now. I wish I had more control over the world. Ha!

I really do have to leave for work. More to come...

remember september

I knew that September was coming. It always does, and I'm always glad- until this day actually arrives. September signals the end of summer, the none-too-soon blessing of cooler weather, the month of my favorite local festivals...

But this morning a friend called before I'd dragged myself out of bed, and when we said goodbye, I looked at the date as I closed my phone. "Oh. It's September." The tears came immediately, and I didn't even have the decency to be surprised at them.

Today I'll wander around the Fourth Street Festival. I adore this festival, everything about it. Everything but the fact that eight years ago, I was also enjoying Fourth Street, not knowing that my dear sweet friend had just killed himself in his father's winter studio in a Chicago suburb. Today is the anniversary of his death, and it's still harder than I want it to be.

September is an emotionally loaded month for me. Anniversaries of suicide and rape. Festivals. Birthdays. My 31st birthday is a week from tomorrow. My sister's birthday is three days later, and is also the anniversary of the rape. Thirteen years. September is a roller coaster. My brother's birthday. Several friends'. Lotus Festival. Highs and lows, in messy rows.

There's a sweet, sad song that my father taught my sister and me. Remember September, before she said goodbye~ she showed the youngest robins the way they ought to fly~ around the mountain's shoulders, she spread a gypsy shawl~ and sent a breeze among the trees to sing about the fall...

the value of discomfort

I've been getting Lisa Hammond's e-mail newsletter for a pretty long time. (She's the founder of Femail Creations.) She shares some pretty great stuff sometimes, and in her last newsletter she mentioned a free teleconference thing this coming Monday~ it'll be a conversation between her and another woman named Ann Tardy, who is the founder of Life Moxie. (The number is 605-772-3500 and the passcode is 436877113#. It's at 6:00 PST/9:00 EST.)

So I looked at the Life Moxie website and signed up for their newsletter, as well. The first thing that popped up in my inbox was a "9 Strategies Cheat Sheet" and one of the strategies is to Be Uncomfortable. That one caught my attention more than the other eight.

The quest for comfort and safety has been my Holy Grail. I don't even know if that's a correct sentence, but I think y'all know what I mean. I spent years holed up in solitude, creating my own blobby version of comfort, and now I'm finding that what I needed then is rarely what I need now. And these Moxie folks are telling me to be uncomfortable on purpose!

It was Wednesday when I got the e-mail. There was a writing sampler that night, which I really wanted to go to, until it was actually time to go. And thank goodness for those instructions! I walked out the door with the intention of Being Uncomfortable, and the class was as wonderful as ever. I wrote some good stuff, a few lines of which had everyone laughing audibly, and I was only uncomfortable a little bit of the time. (The real class starts this coming Wednesday, and I'm SO GLAD.)

The next morning, my alarm went off at 5:00. I had been invited to a BNI meeting, and the group meets at 7:00, so I goed for the gusto; not only being uncomfortable, but also living (for that one day, at least) by another Moxie strategy: getting up early. Yes, it smacks of redundancy (getting up early = uncomfortable), but there we are. I was so nervous about that meeting, and had found reasons not to go the two weeks before. This time I went because I didn't want to. And of course, I was glad that I did. I know that networking and meeting people face-to-face is my best friend when it comes to finding clients...

So, I'm making a commitment to discomfort- the good kind of discomfort. I'm curious about others' experiences with this kind of thing... do share!

sing me a lullabye

For anyone who suffers from phases of horrible sleep, you know that I'm not exaggerating when I say that it SUCKS. It does. After several nights of not being able to fall asleep or stay asleep, you get to the point where you're basically just too tired to sleep. That's where I seem to be. Dragging through the day, quasi-wide-awake in bed, but too much of a zombie if I try to get out of bed and actually do something.

I picked up a friend this evening for a writing date, and started to cry as soon as she got into my car and asked me how I was. I whined and boohooed about how tired I am and how much I'm a failure and how stupid everything is and how I sabotage myself and it's all my fault blah blah blah. She flung her hands toward the sky, palms up, and insisted that I wasn't a failure at all, that I hadn't ruined anything, that I didn't have to have all the answers right this minute... and that things would look different if I could just get some sleep. Just what I would tell a dear friend who was in my same situation. So wise!

How blessed it would be if my exhaustion were to blame for all of the dings in my person. It's certainly to blame for the giant bags under my eyes. (If I had any money, I could keep it in my eye bags!) Right now I'm stalling. I'm so tired, but I'm computing instead of brushing my teeth. Because I'm afraid to go to bed! I hate just scootching around not sleeping. It's less fun than ingrown toenails. It's less fun than cleaning out the back of the bottom of the refrigerator. It's less fun than having to share your popcorn. It's EVEN less fun than having a spider fall on your head in the shower... which actually happened to me the other day.

But now, for my sake and yours, I'm going to brush and floss, remove the mascara that did nothing to help me look alive, wash my feet in the sink, and hang out in the dark. Long-distance lullabyes and sleeping spells are more than welcome!

my hero, and stuff

One of the things my four-year-old charge especially loves to do for large chunks of time is COLORING. She just loves to color. (I do, too.) Today she announced that crayons are made of wax. Then she asked what kind of wax... she didn't miss a beat, and concisely answered her own question before I had a chance. "Well, not ear wax!"

This little conversation reminded me of the video that I thought I'd seen on Mister Rogers years ago. I could have sworn that he showed a visit to a crayon factory on Picture Picture, but I only found a Sesame Street version on YouTube. In any case, I did find some very wonderful clips about Mister Rogers. Oh, he was something else. Do take a few minutes and watch this one, where he speaks to the senate and saves the funding for CPB. He's just magic.

I saw the darlings of Found Magazine twice last summer, once in Alexandria, VA (along with Frank Warren from Post Secret!) and once in Portland, OR. So dang fun. Davy Rothbart is the magazine's founder, and he's also done quite a few stories for This American Life~ which have been compiled onto two CDs, which I bought. His interview with Mister Rogers is one of the best things I've ever heard EVER. (It's Act 1 in the Neighbors episode.)

I played it in the car for my dad, and it made him almost cry probably four times! It's that good. He actually says things like, "What a fine young man!" And he's pretty much a saint, but also profoundly and endearingly human.

So, yeah. That's all, I guess. Enjoy!

Oooh, but wait. That thing about ear wax. Until very recently, she thought that it was ear wacks- that it was the plural of ear wack. Other favorite mispronunciations include:

barbecube
pecause
renember
candy cap (as in, "you can't park there! that's a candy cap spot!")
pink tails (the hair-do, pig tails)
tummy egg (for tummy ache... it's tempting to let her say this for the rest of her life)

Good night for real now. I'm trying (for the bazillionth time) to institute a new schedule for myself. Tonight, I definitely failed. Ho hum.

inspiration from the uninspired

The uninspired? That's me at the moment. Isn't it funny how one day we can feel all fruity and special, and then the next day our whole selves can suddenly morph into blobs of questions and furrowed brows and negative balances?

Oh, it's funny, alright! It's hilarious.

So, there's a pink chair over there. Someone put it out by the dumpster in my apartment complex, which made me wish at least a couple of things. Things like that people wouldn't put pink chairs in the garbage. Things like me having a workshop and some knowledge of furniture repair.

I really do wish those things. I've outgrown this little apartment, and most anything can make me long for more space. A new yard, so that I can have my dog back. More yard than that, so I can try out my dreams of being a small-scale goat and chicken and food farmer... you know, with the chicks and the eggs and the milk and cheese and soap and potatoes and tomatoes and all of that. A workshop (and a cool old truck) so that I can rescue things like the sad old chair. An uncarpeted room for at-home yoga practice. A pool, so I don't have to adhere to the public pool's hours of operation...

And then there's the whole piece of the equation called money. Of which I have less than none. It has happened, and I'm trying to be all zen or SARK about it. Trying very hard to trust that things will flow, that I'll always have what I really need... or at least the gumption to rustle it up!

Here, I like this:

Jump into the middle of things, get your hands dirty, fall flat on your face, and then reach for the stars~ (Joan L. Curcio)

please leave a message at the..... bwaaaahahahahaha!

My first official ad for my business will be all over town within a few days. (I'm pretty nervous.) This morning, I decided that it was time to change my outgoing message on my answering machine, from a howdy-do! one to a more businessy one.

First of all, my answering machine is punchy, so I had to get out the manual to re-learn the proper button-pushing sequence, and then I had to stand on a chair, leaning my face over the machine, which is mounted on the wall, because otherwise it sounds like I'm standing across the room and talking into a fan.

So. There I am, perched above the machine, and I'm messing up, every time. And my messages sound like this...

"Thanks for calling The Happy House, sorry I can't take your call.... (long pause) ppppphhhbbbbbbbbbbttttttt! *click*"

"You've reached The Happy House, at 555... um... HAH! *click*"

"Hi! (long pause) pppppppphhhhhbbbbbttttttt! *click*"

And finally I had to get down off the chair and make some delicious pasta salad and try again later. It's ok now. I may do it over yet again, but at least I'm not honking with mirth in the middle of any sentences. Bonus of this, too:


After all the to-do, I was thinking about the implausible amount of fun I've had with phone messages over the years. When my best friend lived with me, we did one of those "when I say blah blah, you say blah! blah blah! BLAH! blah blah! BLAH!" things like cool rappers do at concerts, only not as cool, and creatively using our names, and OF COURSE messing up and laughing hysterically a thousand times, until it stopped being funny and we just wanted to be done, already.

Another time, I was Beulah Witch from Kukla, Fran, and Ollie. I (Beulah)was the secretary for myself (Anna) and informed callers that I wasn't home right now because I had to go to the hairdresser and get an estimate. Some people loved Beulah. Some did not.

And then there was the blinding bolt of inspiration that was delivered one day as I funneled bird seed into gallon jugs in the back room of Wild Birds Unlimited, where I worked (Certified Backyard Birdfeeding Specialist right here!) ten years ago. Perhaps my favorite outgoing message ever:

"Hi, this is Anna, at 555-5555. Please leave your height, weight, hair color, and sign of the zodiac, and I'll call you back as soon as I figure out who you are."

My mother howled every time she called. The first line of all her messages had to do with the extreme funniness of my very serious voice and very goofy request. Most people didn't actually do as they were asked, but once someone DID... and I never called her back! Because I couldn't figure out who she was!

a boat for what ails you

My best friend and I went on a little canoe outing ths weekend, an evening adventure on still waters. I love boats, and it seems outrageous that I hadn't been canoeing in so long. (I learned to canoe many years ago at Challengers Day Camp. My number one favorite thing at camp was the horses. Number two was the canoe trips. And number three was making sassafras tea from actual baby sassafras tree roots.)

The water was so calm Sunday evening, and the air was light and cool. A group of friendly strangers gathered, trying on life jackets and standing around quietly, holding their heavy green plastic paddles like staffs, waiting to be told what to do.

When everyone was set, we started clambering into our chosen canoes, and although I thought that I knew exactly what I was doing, my body told me to chill out and pay attention... I pretty much only like to sit in the back, but this time I had to give up and let someone else steer. (There's something to ponder a bit more...) My kinked out neck was still complaining, and I wanted to be sure that we'd make it back to shore without too much trouble if my neck threw a giant tantrum in the middle of the lake. And I discovered that the other big benefit to sitting in front is the really great photos that can be captured!

Once we were gliding over the water, I felt right at home. The ripples on the surface of the lake, the sounds of bugs and frogs and birds, the changing colors and patterns in the darkening sky, the bats swooping silently overhead~ everything was just nice. A few times, I did think that a bat was going to have sonar failure and run into my paddle, but they can correct their angle of swoop with impressive speed and accuracy. It took everything in me to not start singing the Count's bat batty batty bat song from Sesame Street, but I decided that the rest of the boaters probably wouldn't have loved being subjected to it as much as I love singing it.

Here's something else that came up during this little excursion: I don't think of myself as a competitive person. But then, at random moments, I realize that I'm being completely competitive! I want to be the first boat under the bridge! The first ones to greet the gaggle of geese on the far bank! This has been happening more and more. I need to win the board game and to be the only person in town to have a business like mine, and blah blah honk. What's it all about, I wonder? Fodder for a future post, perhaps...

In any case, I think that there will be more water-top adventures in the near future. And I recommend it to really everyone! Ah, boats, such a good idea...

meow

I miss my cat. (That's him over there.)

Jasper was the cat who renewed my faith in the potential goodness of the feline race. I loved cats once, many years ago, until I became convinced at the age of 14 that my black cat, Cricket, was possessed. He was under my bed, playing with a tiny mouse. I pushed a book at him in an attempt to distract him long enough that I could save the mouse, and he looked right at me and PUSHED IT BACK.

In the years that followed, many experiences proved to me that cats were not nice. I was afraid of them, and just plain didn't like them. There was the cat where I often house-sat, the old-lady one who sat on my lap wanting me to pet her... until she was suddenly and inexplicably so done with the petting that she would jump up and hiss at me with her claws all sticking out and then run off to feel royally victimized and plan her next ambush.

Then there was the declawed Garfield look-alike. Huge and fat and orange and cranky. He lived with some people I babysat for. When the adults of the house were around, he would honey-double around my feet and pretend to be a lump of love, simple and benign. But when they left, OH, look out. He was the Gigantic Clawless Hallway Prowler, Protector of Babies and Empty Rooms. One night I cowered by the baby's doorway after putting him to bed, paralyzed with fear. The cat stood in the Very Narrow Hallway, growling and totally ready to pounce. In a moment of brilliance, I backed up and grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and then dashed past the beast with the towel held up between us. He yowled in anger and tried to leap at me and scratch me with his non-existent claws. He was too fat to leap very high, and I ran past him and down the stairs and planted myself next to the monitor, praying feverishly that the baby wouldn't wake up...

Fast-forward to Jasper. I didn't really mean to get a cat. I meant to get a dog. For my dog. I was feeling badly about the time that she spent alone while I was in classes, so I did in fact get her a dog. But it went sour, as the new dog proved to be extremely neurotic and pushy and extremely good at getting out of the yard and extremely prone to stealing things from neighbors' yards. Like juicy bits of garbage, and inserts from inline skates. She went to live with a nice couple on a hundred-acre cattle farm, where she could run and run and catch varmints and eat them and then run some more.

And then a friend, who happens to be the president of all cat lovers, mentioned that a really special kitty had appeared at her house, and that he needed a home. I went to visit him. He wasn't scary. He came to live with us. And he was so completely wonderful. He loved my dog passionately, and would grab her giant head with both arms and shove his little face into her ears while she looked at me in resignation with big, patient eyes.

When I sold my house last year, I looked for people to take my sweet pets. Jasper had been going on outdoor adventures for a few months, simply because I was tired of fighting with him about it and because he was happier that way. (I know, maybe you think I'm a bit of a blasphemer right now, on two counts.) Well, the worst did happen, and one day Jasper had plumb disappeared. Maybe he knew I was leaving. Maybe not. But I have missed him ever since.

Lately, I've been having to talk myself out of getting another cat on at least a weekly basis. My apartment is so tiny, and I can't afford the extra monthly fee, but OH THE PANGS. I really just want my Jasper back. Next year, I plan to move into a bigger place again, and will get my sweetie pie dog back from my sweetie pie friends who have been taking such good care of her. And we'll find another angel kitty to be our friend... Until then, I'll ride the waves of missing and meouching and practice that good old patience thing.

One

Starting something new always feels a bit scary, but then there's the sparkle, the excitement and possibility that makes us jump in, in spite if our fears. (Not in spite of ourselves, oh no. Just in spite of the fear.)

I'm a cautious jumper. I nose around and hem and haw and think and think and think. And THEN. Then I get tired of all that, and I stick a toe in. And eventually, a wave comes along and I'm just swept into the current. It takes a while, but it's good. Here I am.

I figure a proper introduction is in order.

As the column to your left will tell you, I'm Anna~ a 30-year-old someone, dabbling along, trying to shape a sweet life. This can mean different things on different days... (Today it means, in large part, trying to be productive without making myself squawk out in pain. I think I may have danced too crazily this weekend, and my neck was very kinked and ouchy when I woke up this morning.)

What else can I tell you? I have a tiny little apartment, which I squeezed nestily into after selling my much larger house last year so that I could travel for a few months and have some much-needed adventures. I have a wonderful family~ both parents are remarried to astonishingly wonderful people. I have a 26-year-old sister and a two-year-old nephew and a 13-year-old brother. I have a sweetheart with a very sweet heart, and my circle of friends is wider and richer than ever before. I'm lucky and grateful.

I got my degree a few years back in Human Development and Family Studies, mostly because I'm passionate about parenting and early childhood. I adore pregnant mamas and new families and babies, and have considered becoming a doula over the years. Being on call, though, I'm not sure that would agree with me!

I've been nannying for quite some time and currently have a four-and-a-half-year-old and a seventeen-month-old, sisters. They are so much work and so much fun, and YES, it's because I get to go home at the end of the day that I sound so happy and patient with them in the grocery store! (Someone recently made a comment after hearing me in the store with the girls... I could tell that she was being hard on herself, saying "I never sound like that with my kids in the bulk section!" and I said, "That's because I'm the nanny and I get to go home at the end of the day!" She was so relieved. Ha!)

I've always loved to create, but I've only recently started to experiment with saying OUT LOUD that I am a writer and a photographer. It feels good. :) It's such fun to play with different materials... as long as I can curb my perfectionism and let go of my redonkulous concerns about wasting things! Squishing the inner critic is a constant project...

In the midst of what already feels like a full life, I'm in the process of starting a business called The Happy House. (Oh boy!) It's the biggest and newest and scariest thing of the moment, and I really want to make it fly. I've found during these years of working in people's homes, that I really enjoy caring for the spaces themselves. I love to clean and organize other people's stuff! And I love to design and decorate spaces. So that's the idea... (Another oh boy! For effect!)

Signing off, feeling fresh and ouchy and hopeful for a magical disappearance of this wonky neck pain come morning~