My Boys

C's kids are my boys. I didn't give birth to them, but through circumstance and their sheer awesomeness I have grown so attached that my heart couldn't possibly grow any bigger to accommodate more love. Except that it does. Every day. They break my heart with their sweetness and sometimes they just plain break my heart.

The frustrating thing about being a stepmother, a member of the "tribal village" or a "vital parental figure" to a child not of your womb is that you get the full-body joy and pain of raising children - NOW with added boundaries! An already difficult road is made muddy, sometimes.

Being a mother myself, and having the shoe on the other foot with a former lover and his wife, I'm very sensitive to this. I don't want to be called a stepmother because of my own sensitivity to the back-end of that word. I am lucky in the fact that C and I share our perspective on this and our view on the collaborative aspect of his children and my child vs. the weight of responsibility is very similar. We are letting this family grow in the way that is right for us.

But.

(There is always a but.)

When things go awry (or things go awry in the other house that makes up the world of your family) you are stuck with biting your tongue till it bleeds, as LOM so rightly put it, ages and ages ago. And that is tough. You have to live with the decisions that are made, but aside from discussions with your partner half of the equation, you cannot control the outcome.

I was thinking about this frustration and my diplomatically expressed opinions about these precious souls for whom I feel so deeply, and it made me think: Perhaps this will be good preparation for surrendering to the helplessness of loving these children when they are adolescents and adults.

To learn to love fierce and well without control or agenda. That must be valuable! Oh, the difficult and varied avalanche of gifts the road less taken heaps upon your soul.

Woman Chased by Ghosts: Film at 11.

Oh, you silly ghosties. Why can't you leave me be? You make me slightly miserable and you weigh down everything I love with your ecto-plasm of emotional importance. I know that I've got baggage, but that doesn't mean that you need to pursue me with such gusto.

Yes, there are photo albums in the basement and detritus of whole lives lived before me. There are shoes that belonged to smaller boys and highchairs that heard laughter of a happy family that is not together in quite the same way anymore.

There are Christmas cards and plastic Easter eggs with petrified candy inside and Halloween decorations littered in closets and on shelves with dust of years. There are nude paintings and pastel drawings and intimate family portraits of my partner drawn by another woman's hand. But, ghosties, look at the DUST! There are layers of it. That was so long ago. So, why do you have to lay your cold hand on my heart?

All that detritus created everything I love - as it is today. It is not coming to destroy it. No matter what you try to whisper in your lying voice. I reject the weight of you and your sticky fingers, ghosties. You are not real. You are not real. You are not real.

Unconditional

The world is a crazy, mixed-up place, I thought to myself when I saw that the package sitting on my front porch from Bed, Bath and Bexpensive was addressed to my ex, G, with my address on it. Weird. I also thought: a) I never gave him my new address and b) I bet he and his fiancee are registered at the triple B, c) oh, f*ck, now I'm going to have to figure out a way to send this back to him which is going to be a most royal pain in the ass and d) I hope that this is not a prelude to a deluge of random kitchen shite that I'm going to have to traffic cross country.

So, how did this happen? Well, this little lady right here (umm, that would be me) has quite a paper trail of addresses littered cross the country through previous and current stints of mail forwarding. And, the G in question at one time in the past was part of my addiction to new addresses. Apparently, the UPS computer system is smart enough to link my paper trail to our previously joined addresses but not smart enough to realize that G is most definitely not living with me and my lover in Louisville. Totally bizarre, but true.

Anyway, I called the G in question to let him know that he may want to let the UPS computer in on our breakup. After clearing up the mixing-up, I asked after his wedding preparations. It turns out, that poor guy is suffering from a lack of unconditional love.

You see, G is an observant Jew now. And, apparently that impedes his family's ability to get behind his decision to marry a lovely observant Jewess and have a lovely observant family. Poor schmuck, ditched the shiksa and still can't catch a break.

I offered my support and hopes for his happiness with his new wife. Personally, I feel so thankful and blessed by life and my tribe, that I can't help but think that the universe, or if you prefer - G-d - has good things in store for him and this lovely young woman he has found. He said, "You wouldn't think that my ex-wife would be the most supportive person of this marriage in my family past and present, but you are." Which was nice to hear, but mostly saddened me for everyone involved. Most especially, G and his fiancee who simply want to celebrate this beginning!

It got me thinking about the nature of love. And, it made me wonder about myself and the things that I insist on seeing negatively instead of for the light that lives inside them. We all have those things inside ourselves, I suppose. Those things that feed on our insecurities or presuppositions. We can't control the other people in our lives, but I guess, what I took away from my conversation with G is that I want to be a force of light for the people I love. A force of accepting, positive, joyful light.

Because this crazy mixed-up world can always do with more love. Pure and delightful.

A Break in the Weather

My winter blues have been deep and wide this year, so the recent thaw has been a balm for my soul. I had actually gotten a bit worried that the blues were more than winter blues, wondering if my theory that a good, warm day would blow them away would be true. We had that good, warm day on Saturday and I felt my spirit come alive.

Yesterday afternoon, C and I chiseled six coats of paint off the front of the front door revealing orangey lacquered wood. We're going to sand it, maybe stain it. What a difference it makes to the front of the house!

It was the first project we've taken on together since the house became somewhere we both make a home. It was symbolic. It was beautiful.

....It called my attention to every dust bunny and corner of clutter.

A wise woman of the theatre, Ms. H once said to a group of us seeking her counsel: "Don't should on yourself, dear." She was in her 90's. She knew what was what.

So, after spending part of last night getting myself wrapped around the flagpole of "should," I decided to celebrate the beginning with something more productive. This morning, I centered my spirit and hung the Tibetan prayer flags across the porch, following C's instruction to not make them "too even."

The sun was rising, the sky was clear and the breeze was fresh.
It was an auspicious beginning to a Monday.

Stories I Stole

Stories I Stole is the name of one of my favorite books. It is by Wendell Steavenson. She is so cool. I would like to be her, except that I couldn't possibly be that cool. I mean, just look at her cool first name. If I had a cool name like that, I bet I'd be cooler. But, I'm not.

I bought my copy of the book in Perth, Western Australia (a cool town) from a cool bookstore called Bookstop. It was cool.

The book came to mind because the following story is stolen from H, age 7. It is also way cooler than I could ever be.

The Magic Sea

Once upon a time Long ago there was a slave and his wife. Every day they had to go to the sea and get two buckets of water, now they had to do this five times a day. So One day on the fivth time the slave was out geting water and he said "I wish I was prince" and then he saw a big splash, next thing he knew he was sitting in a thrown at the Palace he was surprised, amazed. "wow" he mummbled. the next day he said "Bring me a Boat. Let me sail alone" so he sailed alone at sea then he said "i want to be king" next he saw a big splash then the next thing he knew he was sitting at the throne at the palace he was surprised amazed "wow" he said once more he set out to sea but he had gotten so greedy this time he said I wish I had a palace made out of gold. When he returned home his palace was made out of gold. The next day again he set out to sea but this time he said "I wish I had all the gold in the world" then in a booming voice, the sea said, "you have grown too greedy. I will turn you back into the slave you use to be." He saw a big splash then the next thing he knew he was back in his hut with his wife. His wife said, "where were you?" "When I was going to the sea I said, 'I wish I was prince' all I saw was a big splash of water then I was prince. I don't know what happened?" His wife fell silent. "There's a legend that says one day a man would find the magic sea. I guess you found it." "Yes," he said. From then on they were never ever dissapointed.

Passing Beauty By

I have been sad since returning from my grandfather's funeral. The open casket caught my heart unawares. The tears streaming down my father's face spun me round. The grief surrounding me became my grief. The tide swept me, and the quantity of wine and single malt scotch I consumed did nothing to center my spirit.

And, then I discovered this article by Gene Weingarten. It rightfully won the Pulitzer Prize.

"If we can't take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?"

What unexpected beauty do we miss every day?
Here is Joshua Bell in the "right frame" playing and talking about Chaconne by Bach:



How much beauty have I rushed past today? Yesterday?
How often do I forget that we are blessed?

Coincidentally, I went to see Brett Dennen play last night, here in Louisville. He filled the room with grace and joy. It was beautiful.