Possum Invasion

And now, for something completely different. . . Possums are planning to take over the earth!  Don't let their small size fool you.  They have been secretly gathering and are now bolding appearing where they haven't ventured before.  At night they creep in our back yard and look in our windows.  They have anger in their beady little eyes and are plotting revenge in retaliation for being our road kill for years.

Recently, they've even ventured in our front yard and waddled up our drive way.  I'm sure they were projecting a mental barrage against the humans living inside.  I could feel their evil thoughts.  Don't think they are not clever.  Just look at what they've been doing.

They've been hiding in cans to get inside our homes.

Possum Special Forces (PSF) have been busy training. 

These evil monster have even been disguising themselves as human babies.  Their evil knows no bounds.
Beware.  Do not take this lightly.  If we humans had been road kill for some master race of alien overlords, we would be plotting their overthrow.  Wouldn't we? 

Remain vigilant.  The PSF may be operating in your neighborhood.  It's only a matter of time before they rule us all.  If you're still not convinced, look at this.  This is their youth group, the members of the future PSF.

O, the horror, the horror.

Hallelujah Anniversary

Tomorrow is our 15th wedding anniversary.  I want to write about this occasion but I find it very difficult to put into words.  This morning as I wrestled with words, trying to pull the right ones from the verbal soup in my head, one of my favorite songs starts to play on the car radio, "Hallelujah" written by Leonard Cohen.

My head struggles to really understand this song.  It is more complex than it first seems.  . . "the baffled king composing, Hallelujah."  The baffled king is the fallible, King David.  It is also me.  David has always been my kind of hero.  As a young boy, he is the shepherd who fights Goliath and wins.  David is chosen by God.  Saul plots his death but the love of Jonathan, Saul's son, and the people warn David and he escapes with his life.  As an adult, David is a man that sends the husband of his lover who is pregnant with David's child into battle to be abandoned in the battlefield and killed.  David is larger than life.  So are his problems and triumphs.

David suffers the consequences of his sins.  He also remains blessed by God.  I think of my own life and relationships.  How I help and sometimes hinder others.  How they help and sometimes hinder me.  I hear this song this morning and it captures how I feel about our anniversary and our marriage.  How can I put that into words?  ". . . the baffled king composing Hallelujah."  What my head doesn't know and can not describe is known and understood by my heart.

The music rises and falls.  It dances in smooth graceful circles.  The sound is melancholy, repentent and yet heavy with poignant memories.   This morning the words of the song show me the sacred in the profane and the profanity within the sacred.  This morning it knows how I feel even when I do not. . . "from his lips a broken Hallelujah."

These last few years have been almost biblical.  I often feel more like Job than David but today, I am David.  I am conqueror.  I am victim.  I am sinner.  I am God's chosen.  All these things are true at once.

My thoughts and memories rise and fall with the music.  They reach a crescendo of feeling that spills into my day and eventually onto this page. . . "from my lips falls a broken Hallelujah."  These last 15 years have been quite a ride.  Our lives have not been dull.  Sometimes we stumble through life together and sometimes apart even though we remain side by side.  Marriage has shown me the heart of paradox.  It has broken me open in ways, I would never have anticipated.  I have shed tears because of it.  I have known the greatest joy because of it.  Life provides me with constant opportunities to decide how I will live out my commitment.  Each day, I say, "I do" again.

 Years ago, I saw this statute when the Vatican Art Exhibit toured North America.  If marble could breathe, this David would have.  If it could talk, what tales would it tell.  I stood before it that day filled with feeling and very few words.  Within the statutes presence, the museum goers spoke in hushed tones.  We were in the presence of something sacred, something that could not be captured in words or fully contained within marble.  Life, art, touched those who stopped to take it in.  I too have been touched and sculpted by this marriage of 15 years.  I say, I do again.  "Hallelujah, Hallelujah." 

Tribute to My Daughter

A week ago today, my daughter turned 13. I am very proud of the young lady she is becoming. Her sunny disposition and outlook is a constant blessing. She is so low maintenance that she doesn't always receive her fair share of attention. While she is aware of this fact, she doesn't seem to hold it against us.

Where I am cynical and sarcastic, she is almost always kind and forgiving. She has a wonderful ability to accept people as they are. She's become my moral compass, encouraging me to be better than I was before. She is a delightful human being.

Not long ago, it occurred to me that she possesses many of the character traits of my maternal grandmother. Gram tended to be a happy person. She didn't waste time bemoaning fate or the darker side of life. She rarely spoke ill of another. People were naturally drawn to her. She was a calm, happy presence. 

Sometimes, I expect too much from her, projecting my own "femaleness" on to her.  I try to fix what's wrong with me by expecting her to be better than I am.  This seems a rather common dynamic between mothers and daughters.  Sons are less complicated.  They seem to require more maternal involvement.  At least mine does.

I will be ever grateful to my first born for opening my life to the love between mother and child.  She has been a gift that keeps on giving.  As I sit here now, trying to find words that can give adequate tribute, I can't find them.  I realize that I can do a better job feeling gratitude for both my children.   Life gets busy, I feel tired and hurried.  I don't always honor my children as the gifts they truly are.  Sometimes, I fail to take the opportunities to actively guide and nurture them.  Sometimes, I'm locked inside my own head, distant and unavailable.  This I want to change.  I'm a good-enough mom but there is room for improvement.

Time to get back to a more regular practice of Just10.  We need to spend quality time with each other especially now.  The connections we have with each other will be what sustains us.  It really doesn't matter how much money we have or don't have.  What matters is how we experience each other.  The more positive, loving experiences we have together the stronger we'll be.

My simple plan is to make sure I spend 10 minutes with each family member and following the guidelines I created when I first hatched this idea.  I'm going to also add a simple practice that the cynic in me has long resisted.  Every day, I will begin it by thanking God for my children and husband.  In the evening during our dinner meal, we'll each share at least one thing we're grateful for that day.  I'm beginning to understand that what you focus on becomes your reality.  It's time to turn a kinder gaze on life, on my life.  My daughter has been lighting the way.  It's time to learn something from her.

My Creative Son

Today, I'm at the library with my number one son. On the way over he asked, "Can we have our ten minutes now?"
This question is usually followed by his asking, "What do you want to talk about?"
To which I reply, "I don't know, it's your dime."
Once we get this formulaic ritual out of the way, he begins talking about almost anything.

Today he said, "I think I get my writing skills from you. I'm a good writer, when I want to write. Sometimes I don't. At school, they mess up my creativity by making me stick to a plot."
To this I reply, "I know what you mean."
He then asked, Do you ever mistake a cat for a fox? I really want to see another fox so sometimes, when I'm looking, I think a cat is a fox for a second. It's not but I keep looking."

Sticking to a plot, an idea, a point isn't always an easy thing, especially when your mind floats from one topic to the next. My number one son, is one of a kind. Sticking to a plot or idea is hard for him unless it's important to him. For something important he is very focused. This is great if we both agree on what's important but we often see importance very differently.

Recently, he was having a lot of trouble at school. He'd been assigned several new assistants who just didn't mesh with his style. When I'd ask him what was wrong, he said, "They just don't respect me. They treat me like a special kid."
How do I tell him that he is a special kid but that being a special kid can't be an excuse? It seems a rather subtle distinction. It's not.

Number one son is not a typical functioning kid. He never has been. While only hours old, I knew that he was not like most other babies. When he looked at me, I could see it in his eyes. He'd be keenly aware of his surroundings for a while (about 20 minutes). After taking everything in, he would turn his gaze inward and shut down. The world was often too much for him. The noise, the sights, the smells were overwhelming.

He didn't talk until he was well past his 2nd birthday. I began to wonder if something was wrong with his hearing but I knew there wasn't. I wanted some explanation as to why he had yet to speak. When he did start talking, it was in full sentences. I think the first thing he ever said was, "Mom, when are we going to eat?" He'd ask that same question over and over, following me around the house from room to room. Without realizing it, I'd drift from room to room hoping to shake him. When he was three, I had to ask the pediatrician if his behavior was normal. The pediatrician seemed to have been waiting for my question. Soon we were meeting with a panel of experts who tested my son. The panel decided to go with Aspergers as a diagnosis. It opened more doors. A lot of his behavior's fit. A lot did not. He really was too unique to be so easily defined.

He still is impossible to define. He has some social blind spots. He has less emotional armor than many kids. According to the school, Asperger's no longer qualifies him to receive special ed. He is now granted special ed due to a diagnosis of bipolar disorder.

Labels can be hard to carry. I've tried to explain to him that some things will always be hard for him but that he has talents and gifts that are his alone. The world needs people like him, who think outside the box. Sometime, the "inside-the-box thinkers" need a fresh perspective. Most importantly, I've tried to teach him that while his diagnosis/label helps define him in some ways, it is not an excuse and it's not who he is. It's not a free pass to act less than honorably.

My clever-as-a-fox son sometimes tries to use his "specialness" as an excuse. Last time he was tested by the school psychologist, his IQ was a 140. I had to wonder if it might have been higher if his attention didn't wander so easily. He often matches his wits and cunning with those who are much less wily. When these are authority figures, it doesn't always go well for him. His life isn't easy.

I'm not as smart as he is but I understand him. We seem to have a supernatural connection. If I awake during the night unable to sleep, within minutes, he awakens and finds me. The other night we both had a nightmare at the same time.
Sometimes he says out loud what I've been thinking.

As I sit and write these words, I try to decide what to write next. Do I express my concern for this child who may be too attached to his mother to really connect with kids his own age? How do I help him fly on his own without leaving him feeling abandoned? My mind drifts back to our Just10 minutes this morning. Maybe I'm trying to force a plot upon his story. Maybe it is I who needs to learn to be more of a flexible thinker.

Sharing the Bittersweet Paradox

Lately, I've felt like I've been walking a tightrope between hope and despair.  Part of me wants to be strong for strength's sake.  Loved ones depend upon me.  I depend upon myself.  The weary part of me wants to give up.  It is drawn into a litany of "what ifs" and "I'm not good enough."  In the bottom of a well, I look up for signs of life above me.  I see nothing.

Thankfully, perceptions are not always accurate.  Feelings sometimes lie.  This morning, I opened up one of the many books I drag home from the library.  I'm a book glutton, always looking for more.  Yet, in my silly gluttony, words often jump off the page at just the right moment.  This seems less coincidence and more of a message sent just to me. 


This is what I read this morning in the book: The Exquisite Risk by Mark Nepo.

"One of the great difficulties in our human journey is our struggle to withstand and penetrate the nature of  [this] paradox.  So often, we fall to one side or the other, spending much of our energy either trying to avoid our suffering or being trapped in it.  When avoiding our suffering, we enter the colder realms of numbness and addiction.  When trapped within the labyrinth of our pain, we are subject to reenact the tensions of our suffering over and over.  In this struggle, not just to endure our suffering but to penetrate it, we can so easily slip from facing life and become actors in the drama of our bleeding, running from what pains us or constantly reliving it.  For sure, we all experience both the avoidance and the reliving, yet, when blessed,  we're able to drop below our pain and our avoidance of it, and briefly taste the joy at sorrow at once.  Moments like this give us a glimpse of the underlying freshness from which all feelings get their power.

It was Carl Jung who said, "Neurosis is the substitute for legitimate suffering"  What I think he means is that we tend to occupy ourselves with worrisome activities and preoccupations in order to divert ourselves from the necessary task of feeling what is ours alone to feel.  Rather than feel our loneliness, we run nakedly to strangers.  Rather than feel the brunt of being abandoned , we will construct excuse after excuse to reframe the relationship.  Rather than feel our sadness and disappointment, we will replay the event to ourselves and other like a film with no ending.  It is this cultivation of neurosis and all its scripts that feeds the drama of our bleeding"    (Nepo p. 34)

These words cut straight to my heart.  My heart understood what my mind had forgotten.  In that moment, I decided to sit quietly and wait for hope and despair to meet.  Restlessness left me.  Gone was the desire to run from my feelings.  My mind has expected to face unbearable pain.  The pain that filled the space was mine and mine alone.  It was bittersweet and tolerable.  One side pain, one side peace, satisfaction, hope; they existed side by side within.  I sat with the silence and then got up to start my day aware of this exquisite paradox that I am, that we all are.

Words have not come easily lately.  I wanted to write something upbeat, funny, inspiring, helpful.  Instead, I feel like an empty void.  It's hard to be funny when you're feeling sad.   I wanted to be rescued from my life.  I wanted to run from the cold hard reality of losing our home, of expecting not to have a job much longer, of not being to provide adequately for my family, from all the disappointments and aftershocks of misfortune. 

It is a heavy load to carry.  As much as I try to reframe my experience and wring some thing positive from it, there are times when circumstance warrants sadness.  As much as I try to soldier on, the truth is sometimes it's really hard.  Sometimes, I feel very sad about all that has happened and will happen.  Unfortunately, I have swung back and forth between denial and painful rumination.  It hasn't been helpful.

What seems to be most helpful is to simply admit it.  To sit with the feelings and let them tell me what they've come to say and then to honestly share them.  The sharing helps me make sense out of what seems senseless.  In between the feelings falling onto the page, a faint picture begins to emerge.    If I remain patient, honest and open, I begin to glimpse something wonderful hiding behind the sadness.  Together they make up the fabric of life, of my life.

A Month Without the Gods

 Yesterday, while reading, I stumbled across Japanese mythology's "month without the gods."  This phrase fascinated me and I wanted to learn more.

Here is what Wikipedia says:  "Kannazuki also Kaminazuki or Kaminashizuki) is a traditional name for the tenth month in the traditional Japanese calendar.
The name can be translated literally as "the month when there are no gods". In Shinto tradition it was said that the eight million gods of Japan left their shrines and congregated annually at Izumo Taisha. There the month was known as Kamiarizuki, "the month when the gods are present".

There is one god, Ebisu or Hiruko, who is the god of fishermen, good luck, workers and the health of children.   He is a happy fellow who was born disfigured or crippled due to his mother's transgressions during the marriage ritual.  Hiruko literally means "leech child".  He struggled to survive.  When he neared his third birthday and still couldn't stand, he was cast into the sea in a boat of reeds.  He was found ashore and well cared for by his new people.  Their care of him helped him survive many hardships.  He grew bones and was able to stand.  Although still crippled and slightly deaf, he was made the god, Ebisu on his third birthday.  Since he remained happy, he is called the mirthful god.  I love how he is happy even though rejected by his own mother.  I love how he misses the summons to leave earth because he is hard of hearing.  I love how he remains available during the "month without gods."

I've been trapped in my own "month without the gods."  I needed to be reminded that "gods/God still walks among us, just like one of us or maybe even "less than one of us."   I needed to be shown a way to triumph over my limitations and handicaps.  I needed to "grow bones" so that I can stand.  Thanks, Hiruko for limping into my day.

No Envy, No Fear

The inspiration fairies that live in my head have been on vacation.  Today, as I was searching for solace among the pretty things caught on the world wide web, I came across this song.  It spoke to me on a rainy, Monday.