In the early dark light

Sitting here watching the light change, darkening early with the storm of snow drifting in heavier once again, I am enjoying knowing that I am alone, completely right now. It is a lovely combination, no reason to leave this house right now, except perhaps to walk the tenth of a mile to the mailbox, so I can just sit, and zone out, contemplate, watch tv, read, nap, work, or pet the cat. It is a sweet freedom for which I am grateful.

It is a unique confluence of opportunities that has put me here, where I can ponder, reflect and check my center after a delightful, sometimes challenging long visit with BC. We had eight weeks together, doing various holidays where we recreated old traditions and began to carve out new ones together - testing the waters of what a family together might look like. We even had the opportunity to experience a family vacation by going to Disney World, under the guise of BC running the marathonroller coasters for the first time defying my decades old stance of I don't like them, don't do them, have no interest. It turns out they are fun and I rode them like they were nothing. Few screams of alarm leapt out of my mouth, but essentially I just simply enjoyed the sensations. I also challenge my identity of "I don't like amusement parks." It is true they are never going to be my first choice but I can learn how to loosen up and enjoy the moment, especially when with BC and TK.

Since leaving last Tuesday morning it has been a world wind of traveling about. I discovered that I can make the eight hour drive from Cleveland Heights to Brooklyn in one day and not be totally drained. Yeah me! In Brooklyn I stayed with Greg and Janet, working with them on the new database and other business things. We went to see The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. It's been at least a century since I was there! The movie was a visual delight and there was some interesting twists through the psych of various players. As someone who did not really track Heath Ledger's career or death I did not find the interesting device that was created by his absence distracting or hard to sit with, I found it compelling.

Friday I drove to New Paltz to pick up Hrana on the way to 9 Mountain for the DNE Visioning Weekend in Plainfield MA. First we did some shopping at Trader J*e's, stopped for dinner at Paul and Elizabeth's in Northampton, and then hit Dance Spree. I reached 9 Mountain about 12:30am. The weekend was full, fun, loving, and interesting. Getting to spend time with folks that I usually only see once a year was such a delight, it's hard to express how much it satiates my soul to see them. Sunday, after dark I drove to Sunny's so I could accompanying her for an 8:30am appt for an out patient procedure in Manhattan, which took a good portion of the day (she's fine by the way). Wednesday I drove up to New Paltz to arrive at this lovely place and began to settle in for the next month.

Of course true to form my schedule is fuller than I originally had envisioned. Tomorrow I pick up Greg and Janet to visit Alex and Allyson Gray's property in New Hamburg. The weekend after next I will return to Western MA for the DNE budget meeting. A few days after that BC will visit which will be nice after so much time apart.

In the meantime I need to learn how to create a new layout in FileMaker, follow up on a few web based writing opportunities, do my own writing work (I finally bought The Artist's Way after thinking about it for a decade), knit, read, continue to train for my hike and my health, stay in touch with friends, make weekly visits to Sunny for work, etc etc!

While writing this the light has lightened, darkened back up, and is now brighter. The windows to the right of where I sit have a more glow like quality visible as the sun is veiled by thinner clouds and begins to shift downward. Perhaps in the next few hours I will build my first fire, as in the first time I will do this completely by myself, there is no one but myself to lean on. I am loving my approach of just trying things, dropping away the walls that have phrases like, "I might fail," "I can't," "I don't know how," "I'm too scared to try," etched into them. There will be times I will stumble, by blocked by those walls, but it is just temporary, I have the ability to find a way around or through them. This is my mantra.

Now to the southwest there are patches of blue and sunlit clouds.

Looking through the glass

The rise and fall of days are often measured by the small things. Separating folded laundry: mine, BC's, and The Kid's; days when The Kid is here, often sweet, often too loud, and a lot of fun; days when she is not, grateful for the adult time, relishing the quiet, and missing her; BC and I cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, the rhythm set with ease, few words needed and it gets done quickly.

During this long stay with BC, I find myself stunned at how much I can feel sad at The Kid's departures, how much her stories about life at her other mom's home can pull at me which leaves me wondering about how much it must stab at BC. At other moments I count the days or even hours before the house goes still again. On Christmas Eve were at Uncle J's house with all his kids and an assortment of other guests. The Kid got hurt playing with one of her cousins, twisted her ankle in an odd way - her cousin fell on her (they were playing horse and rider). The next morning, after opening presents (how fun is that to do with a kid who thinks everything they get is awesome!), BC decided she should be looked at by a professional. Calling the other mom, the three go off to the ER, which is how it should be. It was odd to be left at home, presents unwrapped, no one here, and knowing that The Kid would not come home since noon was when she would do her second Christmas at her other home. Luckily there were no breaks, she came back with a boot and crutches (a totally cool thing to the almost 9 year old). It felt odd not to continue to take care of her, to not be able to check the swelling. But the time alone with BC was just as precious. This conflux of emotions is my daily bread now.

Tonight I heard the car struggling up our snowy drive (BC has a tiny car and probably should have taken my work horse) and I moved to the back door in the kitchen. Turning on the outside lights I waited as they unloaded themselves in the garage. Looking out the sliding doors I noticed night sky, the light falling snow caught in the bright lights, and the snow drifts on the deck obscuring the bench, covering the green plastic Adirondack chairs and found myself smiling. This is not exactly the life I pictured for myself - living in essentially a suburb, waiting for my partner and child to come in from the cold, being happy to see them even though I am sick. And yet this may exactly where I belong, where I feel at home. These are my thoughts in the few moments between the car pulling into the garage and walking to the door to greet them, where I swept The Kid into my arms and swung her around. Just because.

Running into 2010

Like Britn*y Spear*, "Oops I did it again," by pushing the wrong button on the treadmill. And once again I did not cancel out the setting. Once again I did 1.5 miles in 30 minutes this way. Here I will treat to you some of my mutterings (forgoing all the times I said "fuck!" during this event:

I can't believe I am doing this again. Why?

BC asked the other day if I felt like I could do anything now that I had done that walk/run thing the other day. Thinking long and hard, my answer was no. I was still too stunned that I had done it, too focused on how much I wanted to cry the whole time I was on the tread, too unclear on what it all meant.

So why am I doing this again, seriously? I don't like it, I am not enjoying it. My knee and ankle are hurting.

Come on there has to be a reason, besides being stubborn.

Ow (knee really hurt for a moment there).

Okay, so why are you doing this?
I don't know.
You must have some idea.
Because I don't want to be defined by fear.

Damn this sucks.

At least I am not using the hand holds this time, and I am not hunching over the during the walk segments.

I like doing things that are hard, that are good for me. Like leaving bad relationships, like taking a risk on this one. There is no way to know the future, all we have is right now. The only thing we can control is how we act, whether we grow. We can influence and hope to intervene others' behaviors and actions but it is only ourselves that we have any governance over.

There is no way I can do 45 minutes, okay I will try for a mile.

I want to stop but I have to make a real attempt.

If I keep doing this I am going to need a sports bra (said as I held my breasts during a run segment, and oh hell how did they get this large???)

Again why am I doing this?
Because I need to learn how to leave the ground, and yes I am referring to more than physically. I need to push myself past the "I can'ts".

I have to not be limited by the things I can do well. You can't become good at new things without starting out doing them badly. Practice is how you get better. I have to be willing to suck, to do things badly, to face that I don't know things.

This hurts.

I still don't know why am doing this.

Okay fine I will a mile and a half, I think I can do that. I just can't do 45 minutes of this. My knee still hurts.

At least I didn't feel like crying the whole time.

Running out on 2009

To say that 2009 was a big year could be interpreted as an understatement. For the last couple of weeks I have been thinking about where I was a year ago and how much has changed, how different my life is in a year's time. Last year in late autumn, early winter I was miserable, deeply unhappy, feeling helpless. Now I feel like I have taken my life more in hand. That is not to say that all is perfect - nirvana is a goal, it's a process not an actual state, at least for me right now.

Yesterday I decided to squeeze in some time on the treadmill because like nirvana, working towards better health, greater discipline, and more meditation is my process. BC had mentioned that when time is short for a workout that if I did hill work it would kind of count double, with that I mind I set the machine for "mountain climb" and thirty minutes, where normally I usually do an hour or more.

A few minutes into the work out I discovered I pushed the wrong button and hit "interval" instead. Turns out that means that every minute and a half the speed jumps up 2 miles per hour for thirty seconds. What does that mean? It means one has to run. However I have steadfastly maintained that I.Do.Not.Run.Period. So what did I do? I who am for the first time ever partnered with a competitive runner? I who am reading my second Runner's World cover to cover to understand her obsession, to learn tips that she might not have seen? I ran. God help me, I ran. Every minute and a half, holding onto the hand holds for dear life, feeling panicked and breathing hard, I ran for thirty endless seconds.

I was grateful that I had closed to door as I muttered "fuck" more than once during those thirty second intervals and The Kid was in the next room. Why didn't I stop, why didn't I restart the program? I don't know but I just felt like I had started something and I had to finish, had to see what happened. I could say that about a lot of the last year - trying to give my all, working towards change, doing scary things. But why running? Why this day? Why confront my mortal enemy? A day later I still don't know. I spent most of the time dreading the next running piece, my knee started aching earlier than usual, my shin spoke sharply to me, and I felt like crying, especially when the tread rotated faster. It felt like a deep well of sad or hurt, or something being poked at, it felt scary. And yet I finished the session.

When it was over my chest ached as if I had cried, or maybe like I was holding back tears. Standing still, holding my face in my hands, my breathing a bit ragged and still feeling totally bewildered, I noticed this tiny seed of pride that despite the pain, fear, my stance of "I am not a runner, I will not run" that I managed to push myself this tiny bit into the discomfort, into this strange land.

BC was happy and proud when I said "I ran." My response? "You actually like doing this?" She insisted I ice my knee, so I gave into the caring response, again not my usual thing. The shower felt good. I dressed for our New Year's Eve gathering and came downstairs, grimacing a bit on the stairs to finish laying out the food. We didn't talk about it again, I didn't tell anyone what I had done. In fact I mostly lost track of it but when I remembered my thought was "why did I do that", and "I have no intention of doing that again." But is that true? Mostly I think it is because seriously I'm not sure which was worse the physical discomfort or the emotional. On the other hand how does one go backwards from confronting a fear, a hard limit that suddenly has the smallest bit of flex? I don't have an answer and since today is a rest day in my training I also do not have to face it. Not today. Maybe not tomorrow or even next month but on the other hand even if I never run again something is changed forever. It is hard to define it or even describe it, something about doing something that is completely counter to how you define yourself, to what you think is possible for you to do, it moves something deeply internal. The shift is tiny, but like the butterfly effect, you never know how a small movement or gesture will reshape the future into something different than would have never been without it.

Horse and Buggy, sort of

The Kid is a creative whirlwind many times.

She love, loves, LOVES dinosaurs.

Here is tonight's creation.




Using scraps of cardboard, ribbon, paint and a glue gun she has turned the fearsome T-Rex into the equivalent of Mr. Ed.

She is just too cute.

A Trip to the See-lon

Living in Western Massachusetts and the Bay Area of California, even staying in Westchester County NY, I have gone to places to get my hair cut, styled even on occasion. These shops could honestly and rightly be called "salons", "hair places", even a "spa" or two. However yesterday I had a whole different experience. You know the place in "the neighborhood" where your grandmother spent the better part of Saturday morning, like thirty years ago? Well I'm here to say those places still exist.

Sure there are salons out here where BC lives but I am on a budget. There is a nice looking one just about two blocks away - convenient I agree but a tad pricey. For BC this place is too "frou-frou", she tried and felt all the extra attention was wasted on her. She likes to get in, get out. Given all that I decided to go where she gets her lovely salt and pepper, er, can't say locks - she wears it quite short, um hair cut. I had plenty of warning from BC about this establishment. "It's where all the blue-hairs go." "I might be the youngest client they have." Um, okay.

Upon arrival I was enthusiastically greeted and welcomed by Nancy who apparently runs the place. Her hair was teased about 3 to 4 inches high and colored, well I'm not quite sure how to described other than distinctly unnaturally blond. On the counter was a small menorah with bright silver candles. As she moved there were delicate sounds her jewelry clanking together while she warned me that she was trouble, with a wink. The gentleman who would cut my hair was finishing up with a client, who if I based his talent on her I would have ran out screaming. Her hair was a large mousy brown bubble of rolled, teased, and sprayed within an inch of it's life of something that might have once been hair.

Another woman graciously showed me where coats where hung and even took it from me to place my red with black woven ribbon in vaguely tribal designs coat to spend time with the muted tones of the "blue hairs'" respectable, understated winter apparel. I was offered coffee, which imagining extremely weak Maxw*ll House that had been sitting far too long, I politely declined.

Soon I was in his chair with wet hair that had been shampooed with enough soap to wash Cousin Itt. As we were discussing what I wanted, the client who had just left his chair waved to him saying, "I feel like a whole new woman!". Under his breath but loud enough for me to hear he said "Ugly hair style" and I could swear he shuddered. Politely I responded with "Well it is perhaps a bit dated, but it seems to make her happy." Charbel, (yes that's his name) is fifty if he's a day and he's probably closer to sixty, wore slacks and a tailored shirt which had the first two buttons under allowing just a few wisps of his chest hair to make themselves known. On on arm he wore two serious gold bracelets. He spoke with an accent that was hard to discern but given everything I am thinking possible middle-eastern Jewish background.

As I was readying to leave he came over to take another look at my hair (which seems to be a promising cut by the way) and noticed I had some hairs on my face. As he brought the towel to me to gently brush away the trimmings I simply closed my eyes. "Ah, good you trust me," he said, and with that gave me a peck on my cheek, wishing me happy holidays. At the counter I was delighted that this good cut and amusing experience on cost $31 plus tip! Truly a bargain.

I giggled all the way to my car.

It's starting to look like family life

The weekend of Thankgiving, the Christmas decorations went up and despite warning that included I have "lots of stuff" and my seeing a lot of boxes for the seasons in the basement, it turns out that there really isn't that much. Plus I like them. Double plus, the dining room has all my menorahs on display. As BC would say, "Balance."

Last Sunday we took The Kid to her riding lesson. While she rode we drank of coffee behind the plexiglass watching her talking about everything and occasionally one of us commenting on her form. After that we went off to procure chocolate making supplies, reviving an old tradition of BC's. I went off to the library to search for a few books on Chanukah to read to The Kid. As I was skimming book after book, a young girl, maybe 10-12 years old came up to me, handed me a book saying it was a favorite of hers. It was one of three I came home with and it was the first one I read to her, all of cuddled up in her bed.

Monday The Kid was sick, staying home from school, poor thing. In the evening she felt a bit better so we did some chocolate making in the kitchen. Molded chocolates, chocolate covered raisins, pretzels, and peanuts as well as a handful of dipped apricots. Once again we piled into her bed and read another Chanukah tale. Tuesday she stayed home from school as well but we still had company for dinner, an old friend of BC's who is very sweet and is passionate about her art. Nice. That night she was too sick to do any reading, poor baby. Wednesday she went to her other mother's house for the next five days.

By Friday it seemed like BC might have succumbed to whatever it was that The Kid had, but it was shorted lived, thank goodness. It was the first night of Chanukah and based on BC's response to one of the stories, we moved the largest menorah into the dining room window so it could be seen from the street and lit it for the first time together.

Saturday morning we left fairly early to drive to Middlefield because BC's niece, who is in fifth grade, was playing her first basketball game. Ever! So sweet. Middlefield is a large Amish community, which became clear as we passed a number of horse and buggies that day. I had no idea I would have fun at the game but I did. As some of you may know I am not a big sports person but there I was shouting (okay not really loud, especially compared to BC who could have easily been mistaken as a coach with all her directions to the players, but loud for me) and cheering. It was a bit of nail bitter as they were tied for awhile but ultimately our team won 16-14.

On the way back I noticed a sign talking about alpacas, but I didn't catch where the place was or even what exactly it was. We were about to make a turn when BC caught a sign saying "Alpacas and Gifts 1 mile". Sweetheart that she is we made a little detour and discovered a sweet shop with four very cute, friendly alpacas out front. If only could remember how to get photos off my phone! The four females were in back and much shier but one was this incredible chestnut brown color with the longest lashes ever. Fields of Grace Alpacas is a sweet little shop and the owner Patti Zebrowski was friendly and informative. Those guys were so cute. We bought yarn for someone on my LBGT knit list who just found out she needs to start chemo next week. Plus I bought some of Lincoln's fleece that had been processed and will make something for BC using it. Really cool to have an image of him while I knit with his material.

Last night with a tiny bit of assistance from me BC started baking her holiday cookies. The kitchen smelled delightful with pistachio and orange biscotti wafting through. We invited our friend Deb over for a veggie dinner I whipped up, we hung for a long time talking, nibbling on the broken biscotti, drinking coffee on a chilly early winter night. Tonight she made almond/orange scented pizzelle as well as chocolate ones. We have a long list of people to give/ship cookies and chocolates to so these kitchen activities will continue over the next week and a half.

As I review all this, time with The Kid, taking turns cooking dinner, going to the middle of nowhere to watch a niece do sports, baking for the holidays, planning for a Chanukah gathering on Tuesday I keep looking on from outside myself thinking, "Wow, this looks like a family." Or "Huh, how did I get here (music cue here) where I never thought I'd be." But more often I think "I could get used to all of this."

Dreams Remind Us

Dreams reminds us of things we have forgotten, often good things about ourselves, they remind us of our fears, they remind us of our freedoms.

A few weeks ago I dreamt I was back in Dayton, packing up things I had left behind. There were other pieces of the dream that were interesting but not relevant and involve others, so they won't be mentioned here. Among the things I was gathering were my tools but to my surprise I found that I had more than I thought. My ex had left me her tools. In my waking state I realized that this meant I had gathered more tools for my next steps, that I had learned something that would help sustain me in the future.

On Sunday night I had another similar dream. This was in the midst of a challenging time, as my faithful readers might recall, I had been having a hard time and though I was not specific in my posts, yes it involved my ex. There was a box, about 3 feet high, narrow, made of wood or a related substance and it was dirty (boxes again!). I decided to clean it of it's layers of grime and became curious as to what was inside. There was a tool box which when I investigated a bit more had a second layer with still more tools. Also in the box were two sewing machines, one much older and one a bit more modern, both appeared to be in working order. I was excited by these discoveries.

Tools, sewing machines - the ability to fix, create, remodel, redesign all in this box, that I was cleaning, returning it's sheen. All in me.

Another dream that same sleep was outwardly less reassuring. My ex was saying things to me, like a disembodied voice. (Perhaps this device was from rereading the fourth Harry Potter.) I no longer remember all the things she said but it was not positive. The statement I still recall was something about how didn't I wish I had found my voice earlier. Well of course I do but I am grateful that I have found it, that I found my strength to leave, to discover the bigger truths about her, about us, about me. What I know is I left when I was able, that in some way we do things at the right time for us, for our development, to satisfy some larger plans of fate and goddesses. This dream reminded me not to regret the months I debated, that I tried to save us, that I pondered and feared the "what-ifs".

My dreams are helpful, even when they make me sad, when they scare, or maybe especially when they do those things. The happy dreams are perhaps what gives us rest, the comforts us to give us sustenance of another sort for the nights our subconscious work us all night long.

Caught in the wave

It's happened again, feeling knocked out by grief, a sense of wanting to state the truth and have it really heard. The tide of sadness is just coming in and in and in, my own tears mixing with the salty waters of hurt; I feel I could just float away in it.

I know it will pass, the tide will change, I will feel joy; maybe even later today. But I also know that it will come back again, and again. That is the way of hurts, they get smaller, less intense but they never go completely away. They also form the texture of who we are, how we live. If we examine the scars, feel the bumps, the smoothness, the ache below when we press into it just so, if we pay attention to all of that we can learn from those things that hurts us, we can learn to treat people better, and maybe if we are very lucky, very attentive we can learn to be kinder to ourselves as well.

The mind is a playground

for healing.

First I want to thank the people who have reached out to me after yesterday's post. It means the world to me.

I had very interesting dreams that I think connect to where I was and where I want to be. They are fuzzy but I want to at least touch on some the images and themes.

• At Sunny and Lindsay's house. There were appliance mishaps. Ones that were supposed fixed but had not been fixed properly. There was leaking water (emotions, tears, etc) and some other random messes I think. The appliances involved were mostly the washer (cleaning, renewing) and the refrigerator (food, nurturance).
  

• Something about moving. There were boxes needing to be moved, emptied. A number of boxes turned out to be empty. Trying to decide if they needed to be kept, who needed them, etc. A corner shaped piece of furniture I was looking for was put in the basement by the others. At first I was a little dismayed because it's not where I would have put it. Reminded them that the shape did not mean it had to going exactly into a corner necessarily,one could be more creative. Decided it was okay there, at least for now, it could always be moved later.

• Upstairs, maybe in the same house in the living room. A lot of free space, airy. I put on music, Nenah Cherry. Sunny came in and I was telling her how great this tune and artist were, I keep turning it up. We both started dancing. Music blended into another artist/tune that was equally good. A guy came in, or maybe it was just that he spoke to me through a door or window - he noticed my dancing was just a bit off, asking how my ankle was. It was only then that I realized that yes indeed I did have this small thing affecting my movement. Rather than stop however I found new ways to move, doing more things on the floor. Somewhere in this sequence Hrana, someone I knew in high school and have reconnected with over the years through Dance New England - growing closer especially the last few months, was also in that bright, spacious living room dancing with Sunny and I.

I woke remembering these bits and pieces, feeling like my subconscious had done a lot of work, that I was trying to allow myself some grace in my pain and my ability to move forward. Empty boxes being the shell of things I had already worked on, the frames I had been using to contain things. Interestingly shaped furniture and my sense that there is more than one way to fit things into our lives. Allowing that some things need to stay buried (in the basement) longer, or maybe it's okay to let them just sit. Dancing, one of my great loves for the freedom, the creativity, the sensuality and the joy it gives me, it feeds those aspects, in a space that is uncluttered, well lit, with other aspects of myself, representations of family and friends. I also woke feeling a little more at ease, more settled inside. So though I was still tired, another part of me was well rested.

Just when you though it was safe

...to go back in the water, or to relax, or to believe for a moment that you could not be triggered. Again. I realize this sort of thing happens but seriously I thought some of this was over. But once again I got reminded how long things, people who have hurt you take to process and get over.

It was one of those moments where you think all is well and one crack in the surface and it's like falling into a bottomless pit of emotion. You sit there with feelings that hard to name, hard to experience; tears are forming but not falling; dinner that tasted lovely now makes you feel queasy.

"What will you do differently" she asks out of the blue. "Do? About what?"
"About not getting in that situation again." My first thought about how to avoid the problems of the last relationship and at least one other is, I will stay with you because you are safe, honest and love me well. But I do not say that because that is not about me changing; what got me into some binds is my nature - to be nice, to give second, third and fourth chances, to want to believe that people are good, that love does not lead one down a blind alley with no escape. So my answer is "I don't know", because I have no idea how to act outside of my nature even when I have enough examples that show I should be more cautious, more hidden, less open. Even though I thought perhaps I would actually cry when in the car as we drove home in the dark, I did not. Instead I did what I often do, I shut it down and out. Moved away from the gaping maw of hurt that threatened to turn me inside out, exposing every wounded part of me to the open air. If I had given in, all those wounds, some decades old would engulf me. That is always the fear and it is an old protection, one I should probably find a way to give up. I keep trying to do that, but in the end the cover comes out and the feelings, the release gets tapped down.

Maybe later, in the dark dark night it will come out. Or not.

I {heart} eBa*

In prepping for my departure from Dayton I decluttered, parted ways with a lot of my belongings which I no longer needed the material to remember the spirit of my adventures. Apparently the universe decided I needed more of a lesson of release when the box of my bound Cook's Illustration fell apart and my collection was disappeared. If anyone has obsessively read my blog for the last four years knows that this is my bible. I love love love this magazine; I would occasionally grab one of the bound years and reread it, finding again all the charm again, reminded of tips and recipes I could use.

Since that time I have looked on eBay from time to time and sighed over my lost loves, frowning over prices. The other day I hit an amazing offering nine volumes (994-2002) plus the five year index with an opening price of $40 - unheard of I tell you! I kept checking back, watching it creep up slowly. Then on Sunday I randomly checked again, there was 44 minutes left and it was up to $66. Oh hells bells, I thought, just go for it. So I did. In the end I got the lot for $92 including shipping. I am beside myself with joy. They will be here in less than 10 days.

Of course now I see a lot of 15! The opening bid is $99. Yes I am watching it because if it goes for a good price I could recoup my original winning bid and something towards this set. Yes I am crazy. Crazy but happy.

Discovering more things to love

Today I combine walking with errands again and did 5 miles; I feel it, really I do. One of the benefits of doing this combination plan is I learn more about the neighborhood, how things places connect - I am fairly visual and this is helping.

I have been charmed by neighborhoods and street names that bring to mind other places I have lived: Brooklyn, Oakwood, Cedar, Meadowbrook, South Park, Brooklyn Heights, Berkeley, Oakland, and probably others I cannot recall right now.

It amazes me how Jewish this area is - a grocery store, synagogues galore, education centers, restaurants. Given how non-religious I am it surprises me how happy this makes me. I don't think I could count how many such places I passed on my walk today. It could be that it has been eons since I lived somewhere where there was such a neighborhood or area. There is something about not feeling so alone in my tribal identity I suppose. A way I stand out less, fit in a bit more maybe.

The Shaker Lakes paths are lovely and one passes all sorts of folks walking, running, pushing strollers, walking dogs.

I want to explore the West Side Market some more. BC and I went on one of my other visits and it is amazing as well as a tad overwhelming!

We will hopefully make it to the museum soon as they have a Gauguin exhibit currently that I would love to see.

Among the other things I love more and more - BC's beautiful salt and pepper hair; The Kid's singing voice; sitting in the kitchen in the mornings reading; stretching in the "tread room" (it's where the tread machine lives); effortlessly cleaning up the kitchen together; waking up and snuggling; lots of things. It's feeling more and more like it could be home.

I made it!

Today is the 30th day of daily posting on my blog. As with the other years (2006-2008) I finished and found it a really good experience to stretch my brain, to have some discipline around my writing. Also as in some previous years it helped me to work on other things in a better way. This year I started and finished two small knitting projects, finally started to update my stash page on Ravelry after ignoring it for about six months.

In addition I began my walking regime to gear up for a hiking trip to Utah in May. It had felt like a major accomplishment to walk 15 miles in total during October but I got more focused and set some goals this month.Today I walked 4.3 miles, most of the way I had about 10 pounds in my backpack (first things to drop at the dry cleaners, then groceries). This is the first time I have carried anything, plus the route had hills. It was cold out, even had light hail on the way home; I am sore but really thrilled with myself. I calculated my work for the month and realized I have walked just a hair over 50 miles this month. Once I discovered this I was a bit flabbergasted actually. I had no idea I was doing that much, or that I could.

Now of course the trick is to figure out how to ride this momentum. I am sure I will figure it out.

Drilling the Internet sometimes gets you oil!

Someone asked about finding books on reincarnation for children so I put on my Google Queen {tm} hat (perhaps I should make it a crown) and went to work. Initially I came up dry, a crushing blow to my title, but as I kept at it I found it! Samsara Dog, written by a Buddhist and published originally in Australia.

Even after I sent off the email with my discovery, I kept digging around for fun. And fun was had! Even more appropos given The Kid being in my sphere, I found a delightful database. Database of Award Winning Children's Literature, which is searchable by a number of criteria which makes it even more fun than just randomly cruising about, which I will probably do as well. This is the sort of find that will make me happy for days. Days! I tell you. I have already discovered that I want to check out the Judy Moody books.

Ah, the joy of books. The glee of having more of an excuse to borrow children's books from the library. The magic of having a child to share these literary finds with.

Smells like childhood

Visiting a site to help bloggers get inspired I received a prompt for what smell reminds you of childhood. My instant thought was not of baking cookies, a roast bubbling in oven, or of christmas trees. No my first thought was of the scent that waft from the door and vents as you pass a laundry mat. That smell is oddly reassuring even today. I have no specific memories of laundry mats though I suppose we went to them frequently in my early childhood. Honestly I have recollections of laundry at all until much later, far after that scent was a way to my happy place.

After we moved to the Cobble Hill section of Brooklyn when I was about nine I remember walking north up Henry Street once a week to attend my piano lessons with Benjamin Taberski in a prewar apartment building in Brooklyn Heights. Not far from my home I passed a laundry mat near Long Island College where I would breath in the magic scent of warmed air, residue of soap and fabric softener. The times I bike up hill to the Heights I would barely catch a whiff and missed the heated perfume of electricity and chemicals.

In today's world I don't pass such places often but not too long ago I did and immediately a smile grew on my face as the aroma made it's way up my nostrils and warm diaphanous happy memories with no visuals of my childhood filled my heart.

Unknown Friends

This age of email groups, Facebook, Ravelry, Kaboodle, Goodreads, Twitter (yes I am on all of these but use them in the most basic of ways) means that we are connected to people in new ways that are hard to define. I never knew how people felt connected to celebrities that they tracked, without actual exchange of thoughts, experiences and anything resembling conversation. Yes I thought it a tragedy when Princess Diana died but it did not hold any resonance for me personally. Yet, there are people I have never spoken to on the phone, or seen their smile who I consider my friends. Some of them I hold in my heart as close friends because of what we have shared of ourselves over the ethernet.

I have been fortunate to meet many of my online friends from a group I have been a part of since about 1995 or 1996. Some people have left the list and I miss them still, even though a few of them it's literally been at least five years since I was last in contact. Many of us have lost a parent, sibling or grandparent. A number of years ago we lost a member and even though we knew she was ill we always held out hope that one day a liver transplant would rescue her. It did not. Her death blew me away even though she and I were not close, and did not have any off list conversations that I can remember. One of her children went to live with another member of the list. That's the kind of list it is. We have had a neonatal death that devastated us all. A quilt was made by a number of us. A member in another country lost her son in a terrible car accident. Her grace, her wounding, and survival has taught us valuable lessons.

Yesterday we lost another member, in another country, Susan of Israel. Most of us had no idea how sick she was and as we exchange information it appears that she was never clearly diagnosed. What we do know is that, in an odd twist of reality, she too was waiting for a liver transplant. She leaves behind her partner and their twin children who are twelve years old. I read a number of messages, feeling a bit numb with a thin veneer of sadness shining through. Another member of this list wrote the loveliest note which finally washed away the numbness and tears leaked out. When Sunny was diagnosed with breast cancer four years ago I wrote Susan asking if I could impose on her partner, an oncologist to review the biopsy results and suggested treatment. We corresponded off list on and off over the years and held a great deal of admiration for each other. This time I do feel like I have lost a friend, a hard to define type of friendship but there is an empty space in my sphere now.

The way we lack words to express all the different forms of love, it seems like our language is sorely missing ways to describe all the types, degrees of friendships. There are people on the above social media formats that seems to collect "friends" with their numbers of connections 500, 750, or over 1000. There is no way to truly or deeply know that many people. Sometimes we feel like we express ourselves a great deal over this media but tone, touch, movement are all missing and with that lost there is often a connection missing. However this does not mean we do not bond with some of these people deeply and meaningfully. I would be less than I am today if I had not connected with some of these people on the internet.

Susan, you will be missed. Your passing has left a hole in our hearts.

Giving thanks for so much

Our kitchen table this morning before all the cooking began. BC knows I really like fresh flowers so she picked these up when we shopped yesterday for today's feast.


Last night I set up three prep areas for four of the dishes I would be making. Here is an example of one of the areas.
It was a day of trying new recipes. Below is a shot of the Sweet Potato Biscuits from Cooks Country. If I had paid better attention the bottoms would not have gotten a bit charred and the would have been perfect; still they were quite tasty.








Today I made my first roast pork loin, another recipe from Cooks Country and I have to say it was really tasty. The sauce recipe seemed a bit odd but was really good and proved a lovely counter point for the meat.

Along with this I made mashed potatoes, roasted brussel sprouts with pecans, and apple crisp. The Kid brought home a small apple pie she made at her other mom's house when she came up this morning.

It was lovely cooking at a non-hurried pace, with BC helping, keeping the dishes from building up, chatting with me, and setting up my external music drive so I could have tunes while I zoomed around the kitchen.

When we sat down to eat I asked that we each share something we are grateful for this thanksgiving. It is hard to say strongly enough how grateful I am for my friends and family. This year I learned how much love and support I truly have; it blows me away. This time last my life was so different. Eight months ago I had no idea where I would be on so many planes. I love all the roads I have traveled during this gypsy nomad phase. While I keep waiting for the shoe to drop, the reality is things with BC are so deeply wonderful and mostly so easy. Having The Kid in my world is also a blessing, even or perhaps especially when it's challenging. I am grateful for how much I have learned, how much I continuing to open myself to, how much more I feel.


*For those keeping track, I did not overeat and I did hit the treadmill for 3.4 miles before cooking for 5 hours. Up to 10 miles for the week so far. I am even tentatively wondering what my next goal will be once I return from Utah and I will be making a to do list this weekend with dates of completion preplanned.

Goals are a good thing, who knew?

People who know me, know I'm not into setting long range goals; they know I like instant gratification. I rarely know what I will be doing next week, let alone months from now. The 5-year plan thing? I don't get it.

Back in maybe September Greg mentioned a hiking trip to Southwest Utah to help bring attention to an area that is currently not protected. He wanted to invite writers, artists who would spread the word. I decided, silently, that I should do this, but I said nothing aloud. Pondering this for awhile, I realized that he did not outright ask me to come, probably thinking I was not up for such a trip. You know what? He was right but I knew that didn't have to be the case. Sure I'm overweight, sure I haven't ever done a hiking trip, and I am certainly out of shape but all of that could be changed.

It started almost unintentionally by doing that first hike in October up to Bonticou Crag, followed two weeks later by a hike around Mohonk House. The following week I walked 3 miles twice with BC. Without trying I walked about 15 miles that month. During that second walk BC and I were talking about getting sneakers, she regularly needs new pairs with her training.

"They need to be replaced about every 500 miles."
I scoffed, responding "Well that should mean a pair will last me forever."
"If you walk 10 miles a week that would mean once a year."
"Ha, that will happen."

Color me humbled. The next week I did 8 miles. BC suggested that the next week I shoot for 10 miles, she knew I wanted to do this Utah trip. Hm, I guess I could do that. At least I thought I could work towards it. I ended that week with 11.5 miles. Dang! Who knew I could do? Who knew walking could actually be hard? The next week I walked 12 miles. My average rate is 3 miles an hour.

Monday BC and I went out, she ran, I walked. It was sweet having her loop back and walk with me showing me this new leg of the Shaker Lakes trails that are just a few blocks from the house. 3.6 started this week. The next day I combined a trip to the library with my walking goal, extending the return trip to make the trek 3 miles.

The plan to keep upping my mileage and be able to do 5-6 miles as a regular route and than start adding a light backpack until I can carry about 20 pounds on the walk to be able to really be part of the team in early May when I am in Utah. Having this as something to work towards helps.

Also as I have learned many times over (but never well enough for it to stick) is that it helps if I am working on more than one thing to structure myself, to shape my time. Participating in National Blog Posting Month at the same time works for me. But one thing I had not counted on helping is having a partner who also works out. This is something I have never had, not one who I could work out with, someone who's support is very mutual. It is so nice. Surprisingly all this seems to be working for me, I'm eating better, way less sugar, in touch with my feelings, started and finished two quick knit projects this month as well. Now the trick is to keep it up, keep setting small goals - tasks I can tackle in small chunk, larger goals over time.

This means that tomorrow, between prepping and cooking for our Thanksgiving meal, I will hit the treadmill upstairs for a couple of miles. Tomorrow I will hug BC when comes home after running her 5-mile Turkey Trot because I'm proud of her, because she inspires me. Tomorrow I will blog. Tomorrow I will not overeat, remembering that I can eat whenever I am hungry. Tomorrow I will knit on a project, working towards completing it soon.

Mostly I wrote this entry because sometime ago when I was complaining I didn't have any ideas and she thought I should write about all of this. She was proud of me for doing these things, because she - even with her much larger achievements, thought this was a big deal. On one hand I agree, on another I think these are small things, not particularly worthy of much note however they are important steps on my journey.

Knowing Love and Regret

Since tomorrow starts the school holiday for The Kid, we had an extra family movie night that just wrapped up. Earlier today I went in search of The Wizard of Oz at the nearby library but all their copies were already out. The librarian suggested checking out the movies in the children's section and we discussed what I knew had been seen to try to figure out another decent choice. I found The Last Unicorn, which I had never heard of but had been a favorite of the librarian as a child (evidently she was an young as I thought!).

The first excellent thing about this dvd was no previews, it went straight to playing the movie. What a concept. I almost wept with joy. Another excellent thing, the songs do not rhyme, the lyrics are complex and real, not hokey. Yes the unicorn turns into a beautiful woman but unlike Ariel, she does not give up her identity and hang up her horn. The Kid purports to not like scary and while there are some tense moments (on a kid scale), and the red bull imagery is far from friendly, she took it in stride.

On the verge of reuniting with her kind the unicorn reflects how she is now different from the rest of her species because she now know regret and love. It is interesting that the two are interlaced, it is also a great message, even to an almost nine year old who has now experienced divorce. She and I talked about how all experiences change us and also it is part of what makes each one of us special. While I know BC is happier divorced, there is a flip side because of the changes for her daughter. Though it was a hard decision for me to leave my last relationship there is the acknowledgment of the love that was there and the sense of regret that it did not go in the direction I had hoped.

Is to know love to also know regret? I suppose it is because love and growth always means there is a path we did not chose, because love doesn't stay the same, growth means sometimes we need to say good bye to people, places, patterns that protected us in the past but no longer serve us. Usually I say I don't "do" regret or guilt, largely that is true. But there are some things I do regret in the immediacy of something I did, or while processing something larger that I blindsided myself with; however I do not stew in regret. If something I did or experience produced regret I try to learn from; if love went wrong, I also try to learn something more about how my heart, soul and brain work to see how I can improve. So does the unicorn truly regret permanently, do we? I would like to think that we know regret but we do not live there.