23 March 2013

Luscious retreat.

This is an invitation to check out my upcoming October retreat if you might be interested. I will not be harping about it here, I promise.
I'll probably mention it just a few more times.
Early bird pricing goes until May 15th.
I am about to do a bigger advertising push.
But you, YOU are my people. And if this calls to you, let me know. I'd be happy to answer any questions you have. For example, there is a fridge for meds. Dartmouth and Boston are both 2 hours away. There is a local hospital for bloodwork if needed.

20 March 2013

some kind of spring

all night it snowed. then it snowed all day.
tiny flakes that zipped down, straight and fast
big fluffy flakes that meandered
snow that came down hard and closed the space between my window and the apple tree
snow that blew sideways in cartoon spirals
snow that shhhhhhhhhhhed against the windows
snow that was silent
snow that piled up and fell off the trees, or got blown off in big white sheets
snow that stuck to the pine needles, the divots in the bark
snow that still weighs down the branches
snow that the plow truck pushes up against mountains of older snow, iced into place
snow that softened all the edges into curves
snow that holds long morning shadows like lattice

yesterday, every kind of snow...
but today? spring.

15 March 2013

time whooooshing

Where does the time go?
WHOOOOOOOSH the week is over.
Today each hour was just about a minute long, and feel like I HAVE SO MUCH LEFT TO DO

I know I am not alone in feeling this way-- awake hours are short, unfettered hours are rare, this is a bonus day for daycare because I was going to be away at a workshop but my wrenched knee modified my plan
well, even though one could argue that this is all bonus time, apparently it was bonus time with an AGENDA in all caps, and I did not/could not/am not fulfilling my own expectations.

PHEW. What a lot of pressure.

Della is growing so fast I feel dizzy with it. The grasping of me of time wishing things would slow down so I can remember how she looks and acts right this moment...this moment. This one. This one where she wakes in the middle of the night to announce that there are no horses in the house, but we do have a zebra, John, but there are no tigers.  Or that Vika pushed her in the mud. Or that she likes Shout on Fresh Beats.

I want to remember that she thinks the airplane was a skybus
that she says pider for spider, and ornage for orange, and tickle tickle little tar...
she says clappa hands instead of clap your hands (clappa hands, clappa knees, clappa floor, hot cross buns)
and that she shrugs, so expressively, raises one eyebrow, talks with so many "adult" gestures...
and that she is amazing.

I want to remember to breathe her in. To pay attention, and not just move from one logistical thang to the next.  Dinner, dishes, toothbrushing, bed. I don't want there to be serial battles of diapers and pjs and clothes for school and shoes and coat and then the day is over and we begin again with dinner, dishes, toothbrushing, bed.
I want to lie on the grass with her
this person who, I am beginning to realize, may never actually lie on the grass (too much stillness, too many bugs)
I want to lie on the grass with her and look at the sky, and make elephants out of clouds
and talk about John the zebra
and Vika and mud, and
have her tell me what she is thinking, whatever it is, because I feel so incredibly taken in by her voice, and seduced by the secret garden that is this child's imagination.
I just want more.

I hope we'll fly kites and play in the sand and laugh a lot
and not just spend the warmer months in transit or knee deep in logistics of laundry, making lunch and coordinating schedules.

I want ease, I want to allow it, make space for it, hold the space for it, honor ease the way I have historically worshipped "busy" and "productive".
Can you imagine anything more important than being here, truly Being Here Now?

I know this to be my truth, and yet I work in opposition.  I keep cultivating the busy, the rush, the intensity of overfilledness, overexpectation.
I wonder when will I give myself permission (and learn to sustain it) to be as I know I want to be?
More being.
More breathing.
More seeing elephants in the clouds.

12 March 2013

an open letter to the internet and the universe

Ah internet.
I sometimes hate you. I hate you when I accidentally stumble upon someone's tragedy, and it rips me deeply instantly viscerally and there is nothing I can do but offer love, and stand in the midst of the sadness/grief that erupts from me, and the panic that comes up too, the selfish panic that says that could be me.

I wish loss on no one.
No one should lose a baby, a child, a beloved. No one should have to wonder if each day is the last one. I feel as if there is such an inherent unfairness in that. Such torture. 

Ironically, I was going to write about my baby dreams, the ones where Bad Things happen. I was going to complain about it. Whine. Feel bad for myself publicly. I was going to ask the universe for those dreams to stop.

When here I am, the luckiest person in the whole world, having bad dreams.
Yes, bad, bad dreams where bad things happen.

But right now, someone across the world is living that.
And I am not.
So universe, I ask you, as the luckiest person in the world,
let me keep my luck
but send healing, however possible to that mother, that grief stricken heart, 
send compassion, love
bypass my powerlessness and do something good.

07 March 2013

there and back

Our first plane trip (OY), came and went and while nowhere near a complete disaster travel-wise, I confess it is *really hard* to travel with a little one.
The hardest part is actually embarrassing to admit. The hardest part is worrying about what everyone else is thinking.

Traveling with Della is just that: traveling with Della.
There are moments where she is happy. Moments when she is unhappy.  Moments.  Strings of moments.

But the issues come from worrying, and being aware of all of those other people trapped in the plane with you who are looking at your sweet baby as a (*insert any scary could go off at any moment inappropriate-to-mention bad thing here*), and all of a sudden, travel is HARD.

And stressful.

But. Here we are. There and back.
The there was intense and good and I am so very glad we took the time, right now, to go.
The coming back here was intense in that reentry is always challenging, loads of laundry, empty fridge, desperate cat, work piled up, emails overflowing, shoulds shouldding around (should should should).
Bone tired with my voice nearly gone with a new bug that has me coughing and snotty and headachy. But the coming back was also ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
complete with snowflakes.

I've had to just stop. Breathe.  Go through email. Prioritize. Launder. Shop. Settle. Blow nose. Let the fact that time passes too quickly be just that, a fact. A fact I cannot change. Whoosh and the day is over, the to do list still overflowing. And so it goes.  That is what tomorrows are for.