Perspective

There seems to be a consensus that, for many people, 2011....well, it sucked in a lot of ways.  I started the year with great optimism, full of go-gettem' momentum, that was quickly squashed when I realized the new "super-producer" I hired in early January was actually a scheming con man.  That realization and subsequent fall-out had a the effect of sucking air out of a balloon (or my lungs) without the humor of a high-pitched helium tweaked voice.  By March, I found myself asking "Is it 2012 yet?".  Not a good sign.

The rest of this year slipped past us with highs and lows.  A new home, loss of a grandparent, discovery of new talents,  a little dab of viral meningitis.  It's the ebb and flow, right?  Life is not always going to be good and just because something seems bad at any given moment, doesn't mean it should be any other way.  I am chalking 2011 up to being what the Chargers might refer to as a "building year" as opposed to a winning year.  And is that ok?  I am starting to think so now that I am looking at it through my rear view mirror.

I find great irony in the fact that this new shiny year we are all reaching towards is 2012.  We are hanging our optimism on its branches like sparkling ornaments left over from the Christmas tree.  And I think we should. My senior year at the U of A, I took a pre-Colombian art history class that studied the ancient art of the central and south American civilizations.  It was in that class that I first learned of the Mayan calendar and its apparent expiration in the year 2012.  The professor shared that some in modern civilization have interpreted this as a prophecy signaling the end of time for us little human beings.  At the time, I was more concerned about which bar everyone was meeting up at that evening, but I do remember thinking "Whew, at least we have another 13 years to figure this one out." 

So now we are here.  2012, we are knocking on her door and she is about to let us come in.  I have to ask myself what I learned from 2011 before I can become friends with 2012.  I learned that misery loves company.  I learned that trust is not something you give out like someone passing out fliers to a rave.  But on the flip side, it's become clear that it is okay to be honest, and raw, and wrong.  I was reminded that time doesn't care about anyone, but gives of itself endlessly.  As I watched my first born son lay unconscious while a team of doctors explained he had a viral infection in his brain and spinal case, I watched time skitter back and forth from his birth to his funeral to him in the bed to him as a grown man.  I still feel anxious when I think about that night in the hospital.  In some ways, that night was a catalyst to the rest of my life.  I prayed.  I prayed for forgiveness, I prayed for help.  I thought of all of my mistakes.  And then I realized I was not alone.  That was 2011's gift to me.

This year gave me angels.  They have of course always been there, but I reconnected with a beautiful soul from my childhood who actually introduced me to them.  And they are the reason I am so excited about 2012.  We are living in scary human times.  Suffering, poverty, demolition of societal norms, climate change (though I really have to admit the summer-like winter we are having is just delightful), loss of faith, isolation.  I could go on, but we all know where this planet stands.  Like those who believe in the Mayan prophecy, some would argue that we are in the "end times".  But, maybe this isn't as dire as it all seems. 

Perhaps 2012 is the end of what we humans have created in terms of destruction of each other and the earth.  God can wipe the slate clean at will.  But he only has love and hope for us.  Maybe we will do it  to ourselves this year, blow up the whole damn thing.  Or maybe we will, intentionally or simply through circumstance, deconstruct the ugliness we have become.  Maybe 2012 is just a new soulful character who only wants to deal with  honesty.  For those whose existence depends on the detriment of others, you just might want to start looking for a new address on Mars.

I feel good about you, New Year.  2011, you taught me a lot.  Simplicity, I want you to be my new best friend.  Kindness, I hope you become my new next door neighbor.  Love, I hope you become the sun in my sky.  And dear, sweet angels...guide us all into a beautiful new era.  Out with the old and in with the new!!

Happy New Year everyone!!

For Caroline

How often do you do the right thing for the sole reason that it is the right thing to do?  Not because you will reap some sort of reward.  Not because someone is watching.  Not because you are hoping to put a little polish on your karma.  If there is no obvious benefit to you, do you look at "right" or "wrong" with indifference?  Beyond that, when wrong might benefit you more than right somewhere down the road, can you somehow justify that turn when staring at the crossroad?

These questions are steeped in philosophy, but I am facing them on a fundamental level with a little person who lives in my house.  We teach our children (and we were taught, ourselves) to treat others as we want to be treated, to make people feel good, to do the right thing.  Some humans seem to do this quite naturally and they usually possess their own gravitational pulls.  But for many people, it is not innate to give away what they love or prize for the benefit of another.  Over the past 6 years my husband and I have had this parenting gig, we have fallen into a pattern of bribery.  If you eat your food, you will get dessert.  If you are nice to your brother, you will get a star on your chart (and eventually a prize).  If you build it, they will come.  We are training them to provide conditional kindness and contribution.  And this is wrong.  Sometimes it feels like the only tool in my weak little toolbox, but it is not effective.  So I have begun to correct myself, and my husband, by saying "You give the toy back to him, because it belongs to him and it is the right thing to do".

Mike McQueary.  He witnessed a child being raped.  He told somebody "above him" and then he washed his hands.  At first glance, it would seem he did the right thing.  Until it is revealed that he has now climbed the ranks of one of the most prestigious collegiate sport teams to become a coach.  He likely passes through the locker room where he saw this atrocity with his own eyes on a daily basis.  Had he called the police that very instant and screamed "There is a 10 YEAR OLD boy being savagely attacked in front of me," would he have the coaching crown he has today?  That answer is a big fat no.  Would he be in protective custody today due to death threats as this travesty unfolds its seemingly endless wingspan?  No.  Would he have peace of mind that he stopped the "alleged" monster from going on to steal the innocence of more little boys in 2005 and 2008?  Yes.  He did not do the right thing.  Maybe it was fear.  Maybe it was the hope that by keeping his mouth shut he would become part of this elite group of indifferent untouchables.  Money, relative fame, football and an institution.  Or do the right thing.  We all know now which path he chose.

Veteran's Day.  If a person is in the service, he has handed his time with his family, sleeping in his own bed, living a "normal' life over to me and everyone else who enjoys the beautiful life we live in this country.  She has given her most prized possession away, and sometimes her life itself, for the benefit of others.  For the soldiers of our generation, they do it not because they have to but because they have chosen that path...and for that, every man of draftable age should be thankful.  In this giant grown-up sandbox, with no one watching, they have gifted us with our freedom.  What an amazing thing to do.

Today, someone I don't know all that well (though she does officiate fantastic weddings in the LA area), reached out to me.  From seemingly nowhere, she brought kind words and encouragement to me to pursue my dreams.  She didn't stand to get a medal or a prize or a pat on the back, she just did it because it was in her heart.  She could have let her thoughts just pass through without taking the time to write to me.  But she didn't.  She reminded me that we all have the ability to do the right thing, big and small, and doing so can't help but keep us all on the path to great things.

Lo

That Which Can Happen In 4 Years

Time keeps on slipping into the future.  Steve Miller really summed it up in that sentence.  Sand through the hourglass, clouds in the wind, the earth spinning on its axis.  Time's lack of interest in our desire for it to slow down or speed up is abundantly clear.  And so passes four years, in the blink of an eye and at the pace of sap sliding from a tree, all at once. 

In the last 4 years, I have watched my 2 year old turn into a 1st grader with certain deficits for which we are seeking guidance and help.  I feel my second son grow in my womb and emerge a firecracker of spunk and sweetness.  My beloved dog, Leo, loses his battle of kidney failure, and then we acquire 3 new dogs (one each year since he passed) who for the most part drive me nuts.  I metamorphosis from an insecure impostor to a confident businesswoman.  I see friendships built in the most dire of circumstances, that then crumble in calm waters.  And then new friendships are built again.  I hear hypocrisy from people I hold dear, and then learn to feel empathy for them and their lack of repentance, for I too once was too stubborn to admit my mistakes.  My faith in God has time to stagger and then flourish once again.

Over the weekend a very, very large tortoise heaved it's heavy body up my driveway.  I cannot imagine where it came from, how long he has been slowly but steadily running the race, or why it turned up my driveway from our relatively busy street.  It was so shocking and beautiful.  I carried it to my neighbor's house where the girls live who spotted the big guy while riding their bikes past our place.  They are sweet girls well-versed in caring for animals (they let their goats out of their pen and put the tortoise in so he could feel secure for a moment or two).  They have put signs up all over the neighborhood looking for his rightful owner, as any responsible person would do.  But I have found I cannot stop thinking about the tortoise.  Maybe he wasn't lost at all.  Maybe he was a gift from God sent to show me that time can appear to slow down if I stay present in the moment.  Sending my mind out on an exploratory expedition into the weeks and months to come causes me nothing but worry and stress.  Finding the peace and harmony in an experience, no matter how odd or difficult or fulfilling it might be, has given rise to my understanding that one cannot deny their emotions for the fear of being uncomfortable.  How would we know what "good" is if we had nothing to compare it too?

My dad died 4 years ago today.  He was 57.  As this anniversary hits and the lump in my throat seems to grab my vocal cords like a vice, I am ok with the fact that the emotions I feel today are stronger than the ones that came on the previous anniversaries.  He is really gone and he has already missed so much.  If I live to be 90 years old, I will have seen his face but for 30 years of my life.  And I do wonder for what period of time his face, and voice, and laugh will stay fresh in my mind.  After all, time remains an unbridled strength pulling us forward and away from each moment we live.

On my drive in to work today, I was deep in thought and staring at the tail of the semi truck in front of me.  I wasn't looking to left at the glassy ocean or the right at the peaceful lagoon, just straight ahead.  Then for one second I glanced at the car passing me in the next lane.  Its license plate read "Call Dan".  I wish I could, in the physical sense.  But I still can in the spiritual sense and again, I think it was a reminder sent to me that time doesn't have to take him away.  The paradigm that we can remain frozen in memory and progressive in life, is the gift of time. 

I miss him, we all miss him, and we will continue to move forward into our respective futures in his honor.  I love you, Dad.

Things That Baffle Me

I am going to indulge in some Seinfeldian observations for this post, the reason being that I find myself having an internal dialog that frequently starts with some variation of "What the hell...?"  As I look around in the world, I notice there is quite a girthy population of individuals who have a different set of tools with which they are working.  Some have sharp tools.  Others, well, not so much.  And these are the folks who fascinate me the most.  Here are some of my recent observations involving the dullest of butter knives in the silverware drawer:

The Burrito Chucker:  While driving behind a big monster-ish truck last week, I suddenly noticed a large projectile fly out of the driver-side window.  It was partially wrapped in paper and bounced its way to a splattery death.  It was a half-eaten burrito laying naked on the double yellow line.  First of all, it should be a crime to treat a burrito with such disrespect.  But beyond that, I am pretty sure tossing  your garbage out the window while  you are driving is actually a crime.  What is the thought process of that individual throwing the poor burrito?  The birds will eat it?  The street sweeper will suck it up?  No!  It's trash and no one wants yours...find a trashcan, Loser.

The Tray Abandoner:  This is the Burrito Chuckers snobby sister.  She is the one who orders food at a counter restaurant (i.e. McDonalds, Chipotle, Subway).  She eats her food, crumples her napkins, finishes her drink.  And then she bails.  And her tray of remnants sits there for everyone else to enjoy.  Invariably, some lowly employee has to come out and clean up after her.  Now if she were to leave a tip in exchange for someone else cleaning up after her, then I wouldn't have a problem with her.  But you know she never leaves a tip.  So my message to the tray abandoners of the world is unless it's your mama working behind the counter and she still likes to clean up after you...find a trashcan!

The Ignorer:  My new neighborhood is fun and friendly.  However, my last 2 neighborhoods were crawling with Ignorers.  These are the people you pass when taking a walk who would rather stare at the ground, the sky or anything than have to make eye contact with you as you share the sidewalk for 1/2 of a second.  And God forbid they actually have to acknowledge you when you say "Hello".  I have never let this put a damper on my willingness to say hi to people as I pass them.  But as I get older, I have found I really want them to reciprocate.  Give me another 20 years and I may be cruising the 'hood with a bullhorn.  Neighbors will know not to ignore me, lest they be followed by the crazy lady shouting "Hello?  I know you hear me!" behind them.

The Jungle Gym Smoker:  A few years back, while on a family vacation, I took my son to a park to play.  We were in a part of the country where smoking is still prevalent.  Still I was so dumbfounded when I climbed up the jungle gym with Luke only to find the grandmother/mother duo taking a smoke break next to the top of the slide their toddler was about to shoot down.  I wanted to tell the little guy "Go!  That is your escape hatch!  Hit the ground and keep running!".  But he just sat there taking in the trees, the sunshine and the toxic carcinogens from Gma and mama.  I used to smoke.  I'm not passing judgement.  But let's be honest, there aren't too many health benefits to smoking that I am aware of...and on the flip side I have seen some pretty crappy side effects (i.e. lung cancer, coughing up lung butter, smelling like an ashtray).   So, while it is one's choice to smoke (and God bless you if you haven't been able to stop), I'm pretty sure it is not what a child's growing body is craving.  Keep the smoke outside, but maybe just stay off the jungle gym.

So these are just a few of my favorite genres of people.  I have other groups I may touch on in a future post (i.e. Gunboat Grannies, Common Denominators:  people who fail to recognize themselves as the only constant in all of the problems in their lives, and Booty Shorts:  Knowing one's limits.)  Stay tuned!! ;)

Micah: "Damn it. I'm silly."

This was not a quote from Fay Dunaway or my flamboyant neighbor, Roger,  in West Hollywood.  No, this was a quote from my 3 year old son as he casually trotted out down the hall with an armful of stuffed animals.  It should also be noted that he was pantless.  And this is how he rolls:  direct and with varying degrees of nudity.  While I don't condone the mild curse words coming from his lisping, raspy little mouth, I do have to commend the good usage of the words.  Because, damn it, he really is silly.

I spend most Tuesdays and Thursdays with Micah.  He doesn't have preschool those days and so I take the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mommy on those two days.  There is no down time, no dull time, no let's-lay-down-and-take-a-nap time with Micah.  He hits the ground running at 6:00 am and shifts comfortably into 5th gear by 8:00 am.  In fact this morning after dropping Luke off for his last day of kindergarten, Micah sighs in the back seat and says "Man...I'm tired."  You and me both, kid.  It was 9:00 am.

We have joked that Micah is our little Prefontaine because he doesn't walk anywhere.  Throw a sweatband around his head and he's a dead ringer for 1970's icon with his wispy flowing hair, head cocked back and arms held tight to his solid little body as he strides around the yard, the beach, Target.  He is a sturdy little specimen.  But what makes him truly fun (and silly!) is the steady flow of awesome commentary on things that I have overlooked, either by accident or on purpose.  (And now I devolve into some bathroom talk, so look away if this ain't your cup o' tea.) I am in the kitchen this afternoon and Micah proudly proclaims "I gotta poop!"  Since he has only been potty trained for 2 months, I still give him the pumped up, go gettem' mommy cheer.  He returns to the top of the stairs a minute later in a move that is a combination of sliding into second base and Tom Cruise from Risky Business.  Again he is pantless.  "No poop.  Just peep."  I assure him that is okay and then he looks at me and with a bit of a suggestive smirk says "Mom, maybe you have to go peep?" in the same tone a waiter uses when asking if you've saved room for dessert.  "I'm good, Babe.  Go get your pants."  I appreciate his concern.

He scurries away again and it's a little bit too quiet upstairs.  A few more minutes go by and then I hear a large exclamation of intrigue and shock.  I rush upstairs assuming he has rubbed the Bengay on his face again.  But, no, this time he has done the deed.  And as he admires his work he says "Look at that!  How did that come out of my body?"  I think the same thing when I look at him and his brother.  "That's not even a fire bomb poop.  That's like a daddy poop!"  A fire bomb poop?  What is it with guys (of ALL ages) and their fascination with this inescapable part of existence?  Anyone with a household with more than one male knows what I am talking about.  More than two males and it becomes a new dialect of poop-related science that can apply to all non-poop related subjects.  (At least our hamster, Sunshine, is a girl.)  Nonetheless, the little guy made me laugh.

Tonight, as I snuggled Micah on the couch, I nuzzled his little soft cheek and told him I loved him.  I do this, in part, selfishly because I love his typical response.  "I love you all the time."  He crashed but a few minutes later before the sun even fell out of the sky.  He lives life in a very vibrant way...fast, sweaty, happy.  And even when he gets mad at me, usually for denying him yet another treat, he will say "Fine.  I'm not your mom anymore."  I just nod and agree with him, don't bother to try to explain that technically he has never been my mom.  Because even when he's angry, he is adorable.  Ultimately, he is a little fun bun.  My little short stack.  And he is silly, indeed.

The Mother Craft

While in college at the University of Arizona, I lived in an apartment complex my sophomore year that was one step away from being a dormitory and one step above being condemned.  But it was freedom.  I lived with three other girls and a rabbit named Merlin.  It was during this year of college that life began to ramp up - dating, partying, troubles.  Fun was on-call like an ER doctor.  Our apartment sat perched above the complex pool and we would spend hours sitting on our balcony watching our ever-expanding world play out before our eyes.  And at least once a day, we would watch overhead as the "Mother Craft" hovered slow and low over our apartment, looking much like the Mighty Eagle from Angry Birds.  This was a huge military transport plane flying training exercises over the Tucson desert en route to its nest at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base.  We would laugh hysterically, usually aided by some form of intoxication, saying that the Mother Craft was coming to take us home.  Those were some incredibly awesome days.

Nowadays, the term mother craft has a different meaning to me.  Many parts of being a mom come naturally to me.  Squeezing my kids, feeling their pains, not wanting them to fall off the ledge their little feet walk across.  They are little satellites of my heart, floating around in the world.  But there are aspects to motherhood that leave me searching for answers and wondering if I really do know best.  When to yell and when to simply laugh?  When to worry and when to dismiss?  When to take action and when to let the path unfold?  There is a constant monologue in my head, when I work, when I drive, when I lay down to sleep as to how I can do better by my kids.

As a mom of two sons, who will some day grow into husbands and fathers, my goals have become more clear as six years have flown by.  I want them to do well in school, but not because I necessarily care about their grades.  I want them to have friends, but not because I want them to be popular.  I want them to be strong, but not because they need to be the starting quarterback.  This mother wants all of those things for her children because she want them to truly know happiness.  Self confidence.  Camaraderie.  Empowerment.  When I take my last breath, I will not hope they have found the material and monetary spoils that earthly life offers.  My parting wish will be that they have found joy in their lives and run wild with it in their hearts. 

The craft of being a mother is intricate, complex and filled with emotion.  A close friend recently lost her first baby.  Another dear friend just gave birth to her second.  A best friend just came home from the hospital after her second child began having seizures just like his older brother.  A family friend just learned her daughter will attend Stanford on a full-ride.  With waves like these, how do we perfect this craft? 

I think the blurry word I see off in the distance is telling me this:  Instinct.

On My Nightstand.

Sitting next to me, on my nightstand, is a repulsive concoction. A half-full glass of lemonade, a half-empty glass of cheap red wine and a half-eaten bag of jellybeans I discovered hidden in the recesses of my bedroom closet. These were found in a bag with the package of plastic Easter eggs I never got around to filling (or obviously hiding...except from myself). At first they seemed like a little treasure, but after shoveling 50% of the bag in my mouth I am now left feeling a bit ill. And disgusted. And all my lazy ass can do is look at the lemonade or wine and try to figure out which would be less putrid in the washing down of the gelatinous blob in my gut. God forbid I have to make the trek to the kitchen to retrieve some water, which might actually improve the situation. Ugh. Not good.

I am thinking this is probably how the guy who rents the office down the hall from mine feels on a daily basis. He consumes large quantities of frozen hamburgers and then washes them down with Coke or tequila. It can make for some entertaining moments, but for the most part we all feel kind of nauseous just being party to that kind of habitual consumption. In a humorous twist he actually accused us gals of "stealing" some of those tasty burgers. And if I wasn't a vegetarian for the past 20 years, I just might have hamburgled those puppies.

Given my healthy gorging tonight, I actually appear to be in company with my work neighbor. There is always something special about packing in a few hundred calories of no-nutritional-value food just before going to sleep. Sweet dreams!

Green Parrots

There is that special time in the summer evening when the sun is still up,  dinner is over, maybe a movie is on for the kids and you get that really peaceful, easy feeling.  I'm there right now.  I just took a solo stroll with Odi, the 100 lb eunuch (German Shepard) who looks like he would eat your hand if he could, but would actually lick it and tell you in desperate little yelps that he loves you, wants to snuggle you, just really wants to be on your lap.  Together we clipped along looking at the variety of homes in our new neighborhood from Boo Radley's house next door to the $3 million monstrosity down the street.  And everything in between.  Some yards are meticulously manicured.  Some haven't been touched in years.  The only thing universal in this beautiful little nook of the world is the lush greenery.  The nesturcian flowers vining up fences, palms towering overhead, huge pines that have spent a century turning into giants.  I love Leucadia.

Passing each stranger on the street, I found it a challenge to be the first to say "Hello".  There is a friendliness here that suggests we all know that there are few places more special to live and we share our fortune by putting out the happy vibes.  I passed a young guy plucking bright oranges from a beautiful tree in his front yard, and he took a moment to say hi.  Not more than a minute later as I made a bend in our loop, I heard a loud, unfamiliar screeching sound from high up in the trees.  After ruling out the possibility of a rogue howler monkey, I stopped and waited to see if anything emerged.  Then, lo and behold, a flock of bright green parrots shot out of a tree, flapping twice as hard as most other birds.  I have never seen parrots in Encinitas, but then again, why wouldn't they want to live here?  It's got everything a parrot could want.

The rest of Odi's and my walk was pretty uneventful, but I made a point to say hello to the teenage boys sneaking a smoke while they "take the dog for a walk".  We passed the much-loathed lot where a greenhouse stood for 40 years and is now being turned into a 19 home subdivision (on top of toxic soil nonetheless) and then approached home.  As we passed the neighbors' house on the corner, perched in the nook of the large tree in their front driveway, was a picture album, dirty and worn looking.  I am assuming it fell out of someone's bag?  I can't think of too many reasons why a picture album would be sitting in the trunk of a tree out on the street in front of an elderly couple's home.  But on the front of the album in cursive letters was the word "Memories".

There are moments where I feel that I have peeled away the layers of stress and I leave myself available to the flowing tides of love and goodness.  In those special moments, when I am not trying to do too much or be something different than who I am, I feel close to God, to truth.  I also feel close to my dad.  He reaches me in moments of vulnerability and I am so grateful.  It will be 4 years this summer since I saw his face.  So in the moment that I turn that corner and see a random photo album with Memories sewn onto it, I feel it is a little gift to me from his perch in heaven.  It is his wish for me that I remember the memories made already and appreciate the good fortune I have now, like living in a place that makes me feel good.  Nothing else really matters.

I came home from my walk, did some sun salutations on the grass in my front yard as the sun fell into the ocean.  This was an incredible ending to a good day and I am thankful.

How is that for a sappy post...anyone barfing yet?  Hopefully, I will not lose one of my 3 followers!!  :)

xoxo Lo


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Future Memories

Alrighty, here we go!  One of my goals for 2011 was to become more technologically savvy.  So, Lo and Behold, here we are with my first blog post.  This comes just days after creating a Facebook business page for my insurance agency and updating my business website that has sat dormant for 3 years while I asked myself "Why doesn't anyone use my website??"  It feels good to enter the modern era of computer-based, ego-driven (I felt so popular when my FB friend number topped 200!!) information sharing.  Don't worry, I don't plan to go too political with my posts!

In actuality, I have no idea what this is going to be.  A way to share my thoughts with family and friends?  Yes.  A way to vent? No doubt.  A diary of sorts to keep track of important events and little details that I will likely forget as time rolls on?  Hopefully.  I am realizing that as kid #1 approaches the 6 year mark and kid #2 just passed the 3 year post, I haven't done a very thorough job of tracking the funny sayings, doings, or makings of the offspring.  And while I have saved enough lovey-dovey, sappy anniversary, birthday, just because cards to and from my husband to open up a Hallmark store, my memory gets cluttered with the heaps of new passages that are piled on each year.  To remember what it was like to be young, newly wed and BORED...oh my gosh, can anyone with kids remember what it felt like to be bored?!

Anyway, I figure this is a much more appropriate place to post my often inappropriate thoughts than Facebook.  There is nothing like throwing out a weird rant on FB and then realizing nobody had a thing to say.  Ya know people saw it, but then you start of over-analyze the fact that no one said anything and then question whether you should have posted it in the first place.  (My mother has informed me that I have posted "unnecessary" things on FB before).  So, here you have it!  An open pasture for the words to run wild! 

Once upon a time, I wanted to be a writer.  Instead, I became an insurance agent.  Not too far off, right?  Needless to say, I could use a creative outlet.  If you want to be mildly entertained and often grateful you are in your own shoes and not mine, feel free to tag along on my little journey.  We will see where it goes!!

xoxo Lo