In which our heroine rocks

Okay, I am tooting my own horn because I feel good. For over three weeks I have written my morning pages, without missing a day. Sure some of it is me dumping my neuroses on paper but it's better than it just rolling around in my head. This morning I woke after having the most amazing dream; it dripped with rich symbolism and it made me cry with joy at what it showed me about myself. The dream became my morning pages because I don't want to lose it. Ever.

Monday I had a tiny e-article due through this agency I signed up with and I thought I had it half written, stored safely on my computer or on their website. Double no. Instead of panicking, or at least not completely, I got on the stick, did the research and wrote it fresh. Then I received notice that they approved it. No rewrite, no nothing, just approved. Wow. I went to the assignment section and picked another three articles to write.

Yesterday I completed all the work I could do on the database for Greg & Janet, a day early. Today, I wrote and submitted two of those articles I picked up on Monday. They aren't due until March 1st. Who is this efficient person I've become? Seriously it's amazing. I bounced around the house with more joy.

Later while sitting on the couch suddenly in a tiny window pane, level with the floor, was a red tailed hawk settling on a branch. This is the second time while here that I have gotten to see one of these incredible creatures from above. Hawks, specifically red tails, have been showing up consistently, pointedly since March, after I left Dayton. It seems like I should pay attention to what this might mean.

When I was much younger I identified with cats, in many ways I still do. There is a certain understanding with them, a kinship almost. Though a partner, unintentionally on their part, I began an attachment, an resonance with bears, particularly black bears. It seems to fit on many levels.

I just did a search about the meaning of red tailed hawk and the first page I clicked just reeked with meaning, even referencing my dream, goals I have been working towards. The lesson for this totem: "Discover dormant abilities". The red feathers that distinguish them until they reach sufficient maturation. Red was a key color in a piece of my dream this morning. This page talks about kundalini, the unfurling of the energies. Again this references my dream.

Before seeing the hawk, I was so happy from the dream, from delivering work ahead of schedule, for writing two articles in the morning that I felt like I was expanding, soaring. The changes I have been experiencing, the awakenings I have been having are so tremendous. Never in a million years would I have thought that I would be made aware of a bird of prey, that something that flies would speak to me, but it seems like that something has shifted. It seems to fit because as BC pointed said:

"moving from thinking you can do something to knowing you can do something is huge - i am proud of you for taking these steps to make your dream reality"

I am almost at the point that I can say aloud that I am proud of, oh hell I can say it. I am proud of the work I've done; moving from a dream to really practice my chosen craft, something I have wanted forever is do breathtaking

It all feels so complete and full, and yet there is still tomorrow.

It lives in the body

For the last few days I had flits of thoughts of happy, butterflies and puppy dog tails, posts but today has kicked all of that out. Truly I have been having some wonderful days, even yesterday but then it hit. Despite feeling really good, despite knowing it was anniversary time, I thought I would escaped unscathed. Oh that damn hubris.

Friday was the one year anniversary of declaring my last relationship over, soon it will be one year since I got in my car and drove out of Dayton with plans only vaguely in place. It has been an amazing journey so far as some of you might know if you've been reading this blog all that time. It's true I did not talk about the problems in the last relationship and I promised that I would not air the contents of what happened. I have, for better or worse, kept that vow I made to myself. There are times I have wanted to spill the vessel of stories, of my truths but I knew there was no way to do that without letting loose something that would then be beyond my control.

Today I crashed, felt this crushing sense of ennui. I have done nothing, sans a load of laundry that still needs to folded. It was a day of random computer games, a bit of clearing out an email box and barely eating. After about 8 hours of this that I realized somewhere in the crevices of my gray matter the truth of the calendar leaked out, leaving lead coursing though my limbs. Deluding myself with how happy I feel so much of the time, I forgot that the body remembers; the body does not need a datebook, it just remembers that a year ago I was in deep grief with a whisper of hope. A year ago I had finally done enough self examination, a few brief but meaningful doses of what could be, that it was time to leave, to move forward. This has happened before, this unconscious act, akin to muscle memory. But I presumed given that I am in such more centered place I could escape such triggers. Again, hubris.

I am humbled to know that I am still earth bound, bound by conventions of human nature, that anniversaries ache no matter how much one thinks they have grieved. So rather than be hammering on myself for what I did not accomplish today I will try to give myself the graciousness I extend to someone in this space.

In which our heroine regains her balance

BC came up on Thursday about noon. In a horrible imitation of all the sappy movies ever shown on L*fetime Telev*sion, I actually came running out the front door to greet her. Yes, I know, it's sickening but after all the craziness of the day before, and three weeks apart, well I was happy to see her.

Even though she had to work, we went to grab some food at the Gilded Otter, and before she settled down to her computer she gave me my first gift - chocolates. And not just any chocolate, but locally made in Cleveland and a hand picked by her assortment which meant half a pound of it was dark chocolate covered caramels. Dinner was a simple trip into town to a Thai restaurant. When we came home, I made a fire and she gathered up blankets for us to lie on. Then she presented me with the rest of my gifts. First was a tiny packet of those infamous candy hearts, so cute. Then a small box that contained a beautiful necklace, a sterling silver mezuzah pendant. This is one of the most touching gifts I have ever received. Following this were three pairs of lacy thongs by one my favorite brands, Felina. Finally an absolutely gorgeous bra and underwear by Chantelle, an new favorite of mine, in a very dark blue and a very graceful lace pattern. The rest of the evening went as one might imagine given a fire, a quiet house alone in the country after three weeks apart.

The next day we met Greg for lunch at the Main Street Bistro, which was so good we thought we might go there for breakfast before she left on Sunday morning. Soon she was back at work. Upon my experience and Greg's recommendation I returned, this time with her to the Northern Spy where we had a very good dinner.

Saturday I took her for my intensive one mile walk which climbs 200 feet in that time. It was good to see that she felt it, which encouraged me that I am not a total wimp. We decided to wander around town and see what there was to gaze upon. We wandered in an independent bookstore, which taught us more about each other; a runner shop, where she found some nice accessories; a hippy shop where we found earrings for me and a great tye dye for The Kid. Finally in the end we wandered into Water Street Market where we had a fun looking a number of shops. We were both heavily tempted by the hand hammered singing bowls from the Himalayan Shop. Finally we were entranced by the many artists at Eden, at least that's what I think the name is. I want to go back, often because there is so much to look at. Again here we learned more about each other's tastes. In particular we were both charmed and enamored by Sticks work. Also there was Elliott Metal Art that was compelling to both of us. There was a lot of great jewelry, and of course I looked at most of it but one artist was unique and grabbed the attention of both of us, in the end I left with a ring by Christophe Poly that I am very happy with. After much indecision and the randomness of the universe we would up at an amazing place in town for dinner. Since it was Valentine's weekend they had a special dessert on the menu - two red velvet cupcakes served on a platter slathered with ganache. What a lovely and unique couple dessert.

On Sunday after breakfast at the Bistro (this place is truly awesome) BC left and I crashed, fairly literally. I took a huge nap, went to sleep at a reasonable hour, and on Monday I felt so drained, low energy. Upon reflection there was so much going on that I needed to recover from. Except for a five minute conversation with the snow plow guy I had not talked face to face with anyone from Friday afternoon until she arrived so I suspect I was a bit on overload. Also our time together was amazing, close, easy, romantic and I felt totally open. Usually after time together I have been traveling to other people, never having a lot of silence, this time there was nothing but me. I have not mastered this transition yet, it is still new. Rather than berate myself for not doing more, I did what I was moved to, gave myself the grace of finding my way again.

Today, I was much more on target and despite another set back with the car (the emergency brake would not release, ending my plans to work at Sunny's) I regrouped quickly, felt back in my pace. I am still learning so much about myself through this time. At this point I am my third week of doing my morning pages as part of my work with The Artist's Way and I keep digging around, finding interesting things that are living in my brain. Sometimes it feels like doing therapy with myself and it blows my mind. There are mornings I wander around after finishing my three journal pages saying Wow a lot. It's good. I'm good. Life is good. BC and I are good.

In which our heroine lose her mind and finds an answer

It has been a crazy day, really. I woke with total joy as BC was driving today to come see me; to visit this little paradise I have been inhabiting. Yesterday I was so productive that I was very ready for her to be here. So ready on so many levels: it's been three weeks since I have seen her; I miss looking into her eyes and feeling her soft skin; the peaceable silence we have when each of us are working; and yes I have missed the more private moments of loud, passionate, sex.

The weather was not cooperating, not in the least, with a big storm system shutting down major roads and airports. After leaving later than expected, striving mightily on a major highway that was down to one lane, she wisely decided to stop trying to barrel through. Based on our phone call I had thought she was going to turn around and at the first chance pull off to a motel to sit the storm out until morning. While flipping channels I stopped on that channel that only geeks watch by the hour, you know the one, where I learned that they had shut down part of 80 East because of a huge car pile up in Pennsylvania. My mind began racing, now I was grateful that she had left so much later than planned or she could have been in that crash. Foolishly I stayed glued to the channel longer than I should have, plus I started checking weather reports on the web randomly covering all the miles between here and there.

Time passed without me noticing until suddenly I did. It had been well over an hour since our call and I had not heard from her. Thoughts began just at the edges of my mind, dropping tiny "what ifs" into my consciousness. Later I tried calling and did not reach her. The clock continued to move until the thoughts got louder, began taunting me with the possibility of terrible things, that just as I was finding myself at the precipice of a happy healthy relationship, it would be ripped away from me. Yes I realized I was being dramatic but I also know that I function better if I plan out the worst to try to picture how I will get past it.

The truth is after almost three hours and no response to my calls full on paranoia set in. My googling skills failed me as I searched madly for a way to locate accident information on highways. I searched for hospitals in the area and actually called two to see if she had been taken there after running her cute but winter incompetent car off the road. Did I mention I was aware I had run amok? I wondered who would know to contact me if something did in fact happen; would I be allowed back in the house, could I collect something meaningful to me that was hers to hold tight forever. I tried to distract myself with games on the computer, aimlessly internet shop, and tried talking myself out of this crazyville I had thrown myself into.

When the phone rang with her distinct ring tone I felt almost like I would crumple onto the floor. I don't think I realized how brittle with tension my body had become. In the end she wound up driving all the way back home, she was tired, pissed, sad and hungry. She did not even think I would be worried, probably because she was feeling so thwarted and frustrated. My response was less than grateful; I felt like one of those mothers who's child finally gets home and while hugging them, crying with joy is screaming that if they do that again she will kill them.

In reflecting on all of this it became clear why people rush into relationships, why they move in immediately, wed impetuously. The 'what if' is the pit in our belly, the insecurity of loss, of being forgotten, or being replaced. We want to know we have a place, we want that place recognized, both in the private realm (family and friends) and the larger circle (work, neighborhood, church of choice). We want our relationship to be acknowledged, we don't want to be left behind, we want to belong to someone; so we bond, sometimes bond badly, too soon, without enough thought which leads us to do it again and again. We need to find the strength in ourselves, the strength that tells us we are important on our own, that we will rise above loss, before we bond again, so that perhaps we can choose with greater wisdom, so we don't rush a relationship as to allow it to bloom as nature meant, not as a forced bloom shining out of season, out of rhythm.

I will not force this relationship into one, short and lovely flower that cannot take root and grow. When I feel panicked about the future, I will think about how lovely it is when a plant takes roots, when it spreads and grows with the right care. It becomes an integral part of the landscape, offers a home to critters, and is beautiful in its own right just because it there.

Fly Away Home

Ladybug ladybug
Fly away home
Your house is fire
And your children are all gone

I am safe and fine but I learned that the house I owned in Northampton is gone. Not through fire but through demolition. A friend wrote to tell me that it is totally different, set further back from the road, turned ninety degrees. The news blew me away, left me feeling shaky, like the ground had moved underneath me and now there is less of it there. It is like a further unlinking, disconnection from my past, marking how much has changed in my life since I left there on September 10, 2001.

It wasn't my idea to buy a house, it was M's (an ex), it was her parents' gift of money that was the down payment that put us in the market. I knew it was a mistake, that getting deeper in with her was not a good idea. The house was not particularly cute, the only appealing place was the back porch - that back porch was a haven for me throughout the time I lived there. When the inside with it's semi-done renovation annoyed me, when the lack of gracious architectural details galled me, when I was angry, when I was sad, when I was peaceful - there was the back porch warm like a blanket, snug like a slipper molded to your foot with it's view of woods, a giant oak tree, my porch held me.

When I realized I was leaving is when I realized how attached I was to this place, my first true home. Not because I bought it, not because I remortgaged it on my own after M and I split (I ended things just about one year from when we purchased it) but partly because it was the longest I had lived anywhere in my entire life. 18 Winslow Avenue was my home for nine years. It's hard to remember but I think the next longest I lived at one address was four, maybe five years. I have moved over thirty times but here was this ugly duckling that I made into a cozy nest and I didn't realize it until I needed to leave it. In the last few months I lived there Chris and I worked round the clock to fix it up; finally I had wood trim in my living room, my new countertop in the kitchen, the sweet wood brackets to the wide gaping doorway to soften the look and so the chi would flow better.

Before I knew I was leaving, I finally had the front garden the way I had pictured, immature but on it's way. Tears streamed down my face as I picked lettuce knowing I would not be there to do it next season. Every day for three weeks once the decision to move was made I cried. It took all my energy not to deck the realtor I thought was amazing when she told me I had to change things.

Now it's gone. My first thought when I heard was about sheet rocking the living room. January 1994 Chris and I were adding quarter inch sheet rock to the measly, dented, ripped wall that existed underneath the 70's wood paneling I had finally ripped off after attempting to paint over at least twice. It was the early days of our relationship and I was terribly happy, still feeling burdened by having a house I could not afford but glad I was able to make it nicer nonetheless. In a fit of giggly romance I grabbed a bottle of red nail polish and wrote our initials with a heart on the old wall - it was a silly thing that would never be seen. And now that wall, the symbol of my past is a pile of rubble.

Each summer when I pass through I visit my neighbor, the one right next door. I cannot imagine what it will feel like to be there and the little, nondescript white house that held no charm but that I nurtured into a home filled with my own kind of magic, made into a place where people felt welcome, that often could not hold all the laughter that was created there will be gone. There will be a hole in the ground that only I can see, that will make only me weep with knowledge that I have moved on.

In which our heroine enjoys solitutde

I've been alone in this house for a week, and what an awesome week it's been. No seriously, I am loving being alone a lot, a lot. Joe left last Thursday morning, that night I built my first fire. Sure I use a half of a started brick but it still takes attention to make these things work. Every night I have lit the stove, some night going easier than others but I love it.

On Friday I started doing the morning pages from The Artist Within book and already I have made some good insights, venting, it's just been good practice. I never did get around to the artist date, and today I finally finished reading the first week chapter but I did do three of the exercises from the Workbook. I call the week a success.

Later on Friday I picked Greg and Janet so all of us could visit with Alex and Allyson Gray, where we also got a personal tour of CoSM their amazing project, community hub in process. After a lovely visit we drove to High Falls to have a fabulous dinner at Northern Spy, a restaurant that Greg thinks I should introduce to BC. We stayed up way too late chatting, given that we had an early morning hike scheduled with Matt and Chris LaBarca. I confess that I was hesitant about the walk given the forecasted single digit temperatures. Given my commitment to not be defined but presumed limitations I headed out with the boys (Janet decided on quiet time). I am so glad I went, even though I haven't looked at the photos I took yet. The cold was not so bad and I was proud of myself for not giving into my negative voice.

We swung by so Greg and Janet could pack up before we all headed to the Egg's Nest for a hearty brunch. While we were still at the house I had a moment of panic because I was enjoying the company and knew I would soon be alone. Instead of giving into fear of solitude, of feeling lonely I decided to be in the moment - another common mantra of these last nine or ten months. It turned out I loved it, and have cherished every moment alone since.

In addition to writing every morning, I have gone for a walk, one with a significant incline every morning, except yesterday because I headed out early for a day with Sunny. Once I return I often do push ups or weights or stretch a bit. This morning I toyed with not going, instead I changed my route to a more challenging one. During the walk back (down hill how I love you) I realized that I had not truly answered one of the exercised from the work book so I pushed myself so that when I returned home I amended what I had written. Once back at the driveway I was smiling, feeling good, glad I pushed myself to head out. I have been eating extremely well since being here as well.

I am loving finding my own rhythm and feel incredibly blessed to have this time in this lovely place (I will post photos soon) to dig into myself deeper, to make friends with myself. Instant messaging earlier today with BC, she wrote "I love you" and I realized that I was close to being able to say that to myself. This is amazing. It feels so tentative, moreso than with a lover or close friend. It is terrifying and exciting to think I might say that to myself and really mean it, without a codicil of 800 pages of except for, only when etc. Peace within is something that cannot be overestimated but is hard to achieve.

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.