27 January 2016

doing the do

I am baking medicinal and procrastinating brownies.
Here to say: brownies help.
But they do not take the place of Doing the good Do.
Not necessarily work or play, but the thing that is good.

For me, maybe, 5 minutes of ab exercises (ha ha ha)
or
a cup of tea (YES)
and maybe a moment of writing (YES PLEASE)
and

see what I did there? off to write.
and then
celebrate with a brownie.
and tea.


23 January 2016

Start small. Continue.

Showing up here, just showing up, feels kind of radical. Like I am both returning home and striking out on a new adventure.

A new book is trying to push its way through me, and I am really excited, but also resisting the opportunities to write.

I do almost anything else.

I've been thinking a lot about procrastination of this kind, the kind that is under the guise of keeping us safe when really, it is keeping us from becoming more fully whole, more wholly full. More holyful. More.
And
while I watch this with compassion, this procrastination, I am also witnessing with the curiosity of what Can I do?

So, I took out a piece of paper and wrote a list.
Then I opened a word document and wrote the beginning of a beginning of an intro.

And I no longer have to face a blank anything. I need only continue.


11 January 2016

connecting

So there's this thing that happens in winter. I go inward, fast and deep. And I have to remind myself, over and over and over, to come up for air, reconnect with what is, be here now.
Today, the wind is blowing hard and the noises keep bringing me back to here and now in a way that is not synchronized with my natural rhythm and I am feeling jangly even while I am trying to embrace it. These past months I have become more and more sensitive to sensory input, feel flooded easily by a lot by noise and motion, which is pure insanity in a tiny house filled with a fabulous and interactive 5 year old and a puppy and a cat the puppy wants to bite.
So I am surfing the edges these days, trying to find the balance between enough and too much. Trying to learn to ask for what I need without apology.  Why is this so hard?
Why do I say Sorry so much? What if I just say, this is what is for me.
The Sorry expects it to be a bother for other folks. But what if it isn't? What if I am teaching them to be bothered by punctuating moments with Sorry?

Work is calling and I need to get back to it. But I wanted to stop in and connect, surfacing for a moment on my own, following my own rhythm. Pausing to look at the way the late sunlight lies across the snow.


06 January 2016

battle scars

So I don't know if I posted about this or not, but last winter when my belly suddenly was sticking out (I guess my summer-of-pilates expired rather abruptly), Della was telling people we were expecting a baby. Two (much younger than I am) friends were expecting at the time, so it was natural for her to be trying that on, but for me it was thorny painful horribleness as folks came up to me faces softened with the happy news, and I had to say No no no, this is just me. just me and my belly.

Now Della puts her hands on my belly and says, I wish your eggs weren't so old.

Me too, love.
me too.



23 December 2015

it is all of me, yes it is.

Remember me? Small, fuzzy, red, big hearted? Yes well.  Ah hem. I was missing for a long while and I know it. And I was missing this, this connection, this space.  I started to feel self conscious about what I was posting. Aware that bitching about anything felt stupid when my world has Della in it. Aware that new bosses and co workers may find this content offensive. But the truth is, this is me. This is the Me of the me. The underlayers. The soft underbelly. The truth. The backbeat. The back story. The inner story.  The tender bits and the flawed bits and the struggles and the cautious joy-- all true, all me, all mine.

So.

here I am. 

I know, I know, I may be speaking to crickets at this point. And that's ok too. I welcome a place to just be.

Since last I wrote, perimenopause threw me a 100day cycle, and perhaps my last (IRONIC) pee stick negative ever in the history of me. Since it was, of course, negative. And my heart, of course, broke.  And it is funny that no matter what, who, when, how, stats, no stats, history, truth, experience, I could still think that maybe a one in a bazilliion chance that... well.  Never mind. Fuck you perimenopause.

Since last I wrote, Della turned 5. She lost teeth. 2 before she turned 5. Her new ones are mostly in. She is astonishing, of course. I am humbled, of course. I am outgunned, of course.

Since last I wrote we adopted a dog, who bit me and was menacing toward me and scary and had to go back.

Since last I wrote we adopted a puppy. Also a rescue from a box by the side of the road in alabama, shipped up to vermont.....her name is Piper, and she is chewing something to bits behind me but I will not look because i promised myself this time to write.

Since last I wrote my work has settled into a really nice rhythm of too much in too little time but with good people and for pay and WOW I will take it thankyouverymuch.

Since last I wrote we have spent over 15k insulating and reroofing the house, because the only way to insulate was from the outside in.  And that went on credit cards and I feel stupid and now don't know how to unbury myself from this deep stupid hole. At least it is an insulated hole.

Since last I wrote I have made a million resolutions and ah has about what i want to be when I grow up when really, I am still figuring that out.  It is a coalescing cloud of yeses and I am waiting, needing to wait, to have them coalesce into actionable items.

Meanwhile, it is december, post solstice, and it is warm but i built a fire in the fireplace because it is also cold.  It is like happy sad.  yes, it is all possible, yes it is, all at once.

May you be well.  May we all be well. May I be back before too long, I've missed you. I've missed me. I feel like I am coming out of a deep tunnel of wherewasI?  oh yes. Here.  I was here.


09 August 2015

12 years ago

Today I've been all tender and raw. Heart achy and wistful. I've battled with Della, feeling powerless and ineffectual. A camperkid barfed after dinner , triggering my anxiety. And I was wondering why the hell everything was feeling so off, so hard, so acutely uncomfortable. Della went to campfire so I'm alone and not working in this moment. So I went outside, lay on the ground and looked at the clouds, the trees, the late evening sunlight filtering through. Birds and insects and sky and light and the smell of late summer and grass and dust and earth and suddenly I realized that this is the week that Jeff killed himself. It was this light this sky these sounds these smells that accompanied that early shock and grief. In fact, it was on a Sunday.  So hurrah for visceral memory. And hello tenderness. Of course you're here. And why does compassion feel understandable now and not available to my impatient self an hour ago?  Reasons give us permission to be where we are. The "because" that brings understanding switches impatience to love. I wish I could flip that switch more easily with myself and others when the Because remains less clear, or unknown or unknowable. But today, hello grief. Hello raw tenderness. Hello discomfort. Hello compassion. Hello impatience. Hello love.