Listening

This is a multiple-choice test. Pick the best response to these scenarios:

1) Two women are having lunch. One says to the other, "I feel like I'm in a whole different world than my friends. They're talking about the thread count of their sheets and the best place to buy quality towels. I get my sheets and towels on sale at Fred Meyer!"

A) Fred Meyer? I get my sheets and towels at Bi-Mart!

B) At least you get new sheets and towels, you should see MINE!

C) Tell me more about feeling like you're in a whole different world.



2) Two friends are having coffee. One says to the other, "I'm really worried about my son. He's not acting like himself. He's angry, sullen, I wonder if he's using drugs."

A) That reminds me of my friend whose son was on drugs and he....

B) At least your son is in college. My son is...

C) Tell me more about what's going on.



3) Two friends are on the phone. One says to the other, "I'm losing it. I can't remember anything, I'm not sleeping well, my heart is racing all the time, I feel like I can't even breathe."

A) Me, too! Let me tell you all about the symptoms I'm having, they're much worse than yours!

B) At least you're rich.

C) Tell me more.


How'd you do?

The Christmas Card

I have a dear friend named Laurie. Actually, I have more than one dear friend named Laurie, so, for this post, let's call her Laurie G. I love Laurie G. and everything about Laurie G. Laurie G. is pee-your-pants-funny, and not enough can be made of someone that makes you pee your pants laughing. Laurie G. is a homemaker to the nth degree, she puts me to shame in all regards.

She, however, does not, and never has, sent out Christmas cards.

I know this about her, and in fact, admire it. I recently dreamed that she had me over to her home, and she pulled me into the hall to show me 135 beautifully "wrapped" Christmas cards. Each and every card was inserted into one of those drawstring fabric bag thingies like this:

Though she never said it, I knew that not one of the 135 beautifully bagged cards, was for me. I wasn't asking to be named in her will, but out of 135 people, I didn't make the list? I was hurt. I was crushed, actually.

I woke up the next morning and e-mailed Laurie G., told her about the dream, and that I couldn't stop being pissed and hurt by her slight. She laughed (of course) and wanted me to probe deeper into the dream. Of course, the dream has nothing to do with Laurie G., but parts of myself that I slight, that I do not "gift."

I've let her know in the weeks following the dream, that I'm still a little pissed. Really, 135 people and I'm not ONE?

Last night I saw Laurie G. and she handed me this:

I about peed my pants, and then I opened it and found this:

(It says: Every day is Christmas when I'm with you!

All love,

Laurie)

I'm feeling much better.

Dragging

For some reason, I'd never heard this Zen proverb until just a few days ago. Now, naturally, I'm obsessed with it. That kind of defeats the whole purpose, as obsession comes from attachment, and to let go and not be dragged, one must free oneself from attachment.

One thing I spend a lot of time doing, but not a lot of time writing about, is transporting my mother-in-law to and from the doctor. I sit in with her during her appointments, and for the most part, keep track of what's what.

We go to the same clinic over and over and we're not the only ones. Three floors of waiting rooms are filled with mostly the geriatric crowd. What seems to be happening, is they are spending the time they have left on this planet, in search of a cure that will stop them from dying.

Eckhart Tolle says, "The secret to life is to die before you die." Just another way of saying we, eventually, are forced to let go, to "die," and the sooner the better. We all know the feeling, the anxiety, the futility of holding on - of being "dragged," because the fear of letting go is so powerful.

Terry Whitaker, The Truth Teller, and I, have been talking a lot about how to go about that - how to die before you die. We think it starts with self-awareness. I believe that unless we have someone(s) that serve as "grit" in our life, to brush up against us, challenge us, really refine our own understandings of ourselves, then it's very difficult to die before you die. This, of course, is no fun at all, and would explain why most of us avoid it all costs.

Let go.

Or, be dragged.

Please join me over at Hopeful Parents. Thank you!

Eventiently

As I said, I've been laboring over 1% problems such as pillow choices, trying to bring some new color and life into my house. I believe that everything has energy/qi. The qi in my house needed to move. We are a couple of over-fifty-somethings and a couple of late teenagers. Our house needed to reflect a different era of our life.

Down went all the school-age art.

Down went all the family portraits.

Down went all the pastel colors.

Out went to tired, dirty, cheap and wrong-to-begin-with, carpet.

Slowly, slowly, and I mean slowly, we've been re-shaping it. The paint took months to choose, the carpet, even longer. This whole process has moved much slower than I would prefer, yet at the same time, I have felt it's moved along at just the right pace. I am one to act in haste, repent at leisure. One to measure once, cut twice. Hang a picture just eyeballing it, then have three or four holes behind the picture because I wouldn't take 2 minutes to measure.

A word Wil uses all the time, and it makes me smile each time, is "eventiently." He means eventually, but he never pronounces it that way. "I'll do it, eventiently," he'll say. Today he told me that his friend, Lauren, was going to bring him an ice water from Starbucks when she went to get herself a white chocolate mocha. "But you know Lauren," he said, "she might forget. Eventiently she'll remember."

"Eventiently" has been the theme around here.

One thing that did not take any time at all to decide upon, was the plan to commission our friend, Candace, to do a painting for us. Candace has the perfect pairing of degrees: art and theology. Her art is infused with prayer, with love, and indeed, miracles. Things "show up" when she paints - surprising even herself. We knew that whatever she ended up with, would be just perfect for us, and it is.

My photography "skills" don't do this work-of-art justice. You probably can't see the faint Hail Mary written in there, nor the Buddhist temple, nor the Buddha, the Lady of Guadalupe, a Chinese symbol, the Holy Family, the blue angel with white wings, the glowing Mary and more. Believe me, they are there. 

Eventiently, more will be revealed.

Eventiently, more is always revealed.

Chop that Wood, Carry Water

)

I've written, or tried to write, rather, several blog posts lately, then deleted them. Just not coming together. I'm better suited to go to Cost Plus World Market on a frequent basis, and spend my energies debating on pillows for the living room.

I'm in a place where I am very content chopping wood and carrying water. The mundane, repetitive, "brainless" tasks of the day, fill me up. It's nice spending hours in quiet with time to let my mind wander, better yet, be still.

My Lenten goal to give up worrying has not been 100% successful, but if I worry even 20% less than I had been, then I will consider that a step in the right direction. I read recently (sorry, can't remember where) that worry is an act of defiance. It's a loss of faith.

Did you know that a recent study shows 21% of all Americans believe faith is unimportant? I find that statistic shocking and depressing. I understand all the valid reasons to be fed up with organized religion, but to have nothing at all to believe in? No faith, and thus, in my opinion, no hope? Wow.

I just learned WIL OF GOD is being considered for an award given to a book that either illuminates, progresses, or redirects thought. I am deeply honored. It's funny, because just as I was deleting yet another post because I didn't have the oomph to hit the same points I feel like I make all the time,  notification of my book's consideration, popped in my inbox. Say it with me, there are no accidents.

So, I guess if I can in any way illuminate, progress, or redirect your thoughts on faith, then I will get my ass out of Cost Plus and back in the writing chair.

Spread the Word to End the WORDS

Years and years ago when we were in the brainstorming and dreaming big phase of creating a program for Wil when he entered high school, we said we'd love to see the day he could go on the same 3-day spiritual retreat Woohoo had so greatly benefited from. It seemed like a long shot. At that point he'd never slept away from home except for Grandma's. What, when and where would he eat? When and where would he sleep? When and where would he ___________, _____________, and ____________? It was mind boggling to think about, yet, we continued to hold that up as a dream to one day realize.

Fast forward to this year. Wil is in a program that is in its third year of operation. The kids he started out with are now juniors - the year the school typically takes kids on the 3-day retreat. The decision was made to take all of the kids in his program on the same retreat, rather than splitting them up throughout the year. It made the most sense to the program to have them all be gone at the same time, and the staff could be made more available to assist if they were all together.

Word caught on that this group would be attending, and spaces quickly filled amongst the "typicals." They knew it would be a unique, once-in-a-lifetime experience. Staff and student helpers were enlisted. I had e-mail exchanges, one-on-one meetings and phone calls for months prior to the retreat. All the what-and-whens were addressed, down to the very last detail. I couldn't have dreamed of better "customer service." I could and would go on and on, but the details of the retreat are to be kept secret and sacred, as to make the experience special for each new group attending. I will leave you with the the simple fact that if I'd made a list of everything he wanted and needed, then padded the list times 10, it wouldn't have come close to how perfect blessed it was.

One of the very best things about the retreat, was the under-statement of the fact that this was the first one of its kind. Before, during and after, it was not a "thing." 60 juniors went on a retreat, and several of them just happened to have learning differences. It gave me great hope that there is a dawning of a new day. My dream is that one day it will be as politically incorrect and unimaginable to point out which percent of a group is "special," as it is to point out which percent is gay, of any particular race, or any other marginalizing distinction.

Tomorrow is the national Spread-the-Word-to-End-the-Word Day. Let's grab hands, sing "Kumbaya," and pledge to end all words that are disparaging, hurtful, hateful, and create division.

All Shall Be Well

“All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Julian of Norwich (ca. 1342–ca. 1416), in her Showings.
I've been giving a lot of thought and time during prayer, on what I want to do during this upcoming Lenten season. At Mass on Sunday I was seated next to a friend, someone I've known a long time, but not as well as I'd like. The homily was based on the readings of the Gospel, my favorite verse being Matthew 6:34: "So do not worry about tomorrow: tomorrow will take care of itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."When we were getting ready to leave the church I turned to my friend and asked, "So, what are you thinking about giving up for Lent?" She answered, "Well, after that, I'm thinking I should give up worry!""That's exactly what I was thinking," I said. We made a pact right then and there to do it together, to turn it all over for 40 days, agreeing that if we missed it, we could pick it right back up after Easter."Don't borrow trouble" is a favorite expression of mine and one I'm quick to offer others, when so clearly that is exactly what they're doing. It's almost as though we believe we are jinxing ourselves without expression of every possible way things could go sideways. And while I believe in the futility of "borrowing trouble," I'm prone to do it myself, mostly out of habit.They say it takes 21 days to break a habit. I've got 40+. I not only have enough time to break a habit, I've got time to spare.Breaking from the habit of worry is really a practice of mindfulness, being in the moment, and only in the moment, actively and attentively. When worry begins to creep in, I am going to chant the mantra, "All shall be well."I cannot imagine that I'll be excited to wake up Easter morning and commence with a full day of worrying, to make up for lost time.All shall be well.

Cam Lasley

I would like to take this opportunity to introduce you to an amazing man, Cam Lasley. He's a hip hop artist, who has a difference - not a disability. "Isn't everyone else different too?" he asks.

Aren't we?

You'll want to read the interview with him in TRUE, The Missing Link in Hip Hop and Fashion.

Ghostbelly

I had the privilege of meeting Elizabeth ("Lisa") Heineman the summer of 2010, when we both attended Hope Edelman's memoir writing class at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival. Lisa is a professor at the University of Iowa, and an incredible writer as well as a learned scholar in the areas of gender, women's and sexuality studies. She shared her story with our writing group: the devastating loss of her stillborn son, and subsequent healing from the experience.

It is my bias that what makes many memoirs hard to read, is the lack of healing, the lack of transformation, the lack of insight and growth. Lisa's book, Ghostbelly, does not suffer from that, her process is complete and all on the page. Ghostbelly is Lisa's story of her home birth that ends tragically. How Lisa and her partner, Glenn, actively grieve their profound loss, is what made this book gripping. Lisa and Glenn make arrangements with the mortician, to bring their son, Thor, home for overnight stays, before he is buried. This may sound morbid and hard to read. I will admit that this book pushed me out of my comfort zone in many regards, but that is also one of the many things I loved most about it.

Lisa is refreshingly open about her non-traditional, "unorthodox" life. I, having a very traditional life and playing very traditional roles, appreciated being more intimately connected to someone so different from me, yet with all the most important things in common.

There is something going on in my community of friends and fellow parishioners - we're in a dying season. It feels as though not a week goes by that death does not touch someone I know. Lisa's memoir was helpful in that regard - helpful to to be reminded just how personal grief is, how deep, how differently it can be felt and experienced, processed and transformed. I have more compassion having read the book, for the vastness of grief.

To be able to write such a beautiful and personal account of something so horrific, is a trick not many writers can pull off. Lisa Heineman does.





*Ghostbelly is available through the publisher, The Feminist Press, as well as other places. 

Advance Praise for GHOSTBELLY: 

 “Ghostbelly is by far the most beautifully written and intimate account of something a lot of us have 

gone through, which is the death of an unborn child. It's an incredible and moving book, and I'm so 

thankful for it.” 

—Jane Pratt, founding editor of xoJane and Sassy 

“Ghostbelly illuminates the complex emotional landscape of stillbirth—putting into frank and poetic 

words the unspeakable experience of simultaneously grieving and mothering a baby who has died. 

Groundbreaking for its exploration of the unexpected benefits of reclaiming traditional rituals around 

birth and death, Ghostbelly brilliantly demonstrates the value in determining what holds meaning 

for you, and then unapologetically going for it, no matter what others might think.”  

—Deborah L. Davis, author of Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of Your 

Baby 

Ghostbelly contains some of the most powerful and heart-wrenching sentences about mourning the loss 

of a baby I have ever read.  —Perry-Lynn Moffitt, author of A Silent Sorrow: Pregnancy Loss 

“This is a book about birth and death seen with a smart, sensitive, well-trained eye.” —Barbara Katz 

Rothman, author of In Labor and Laboring On 

“Lisa Heineman's Ghostbelly is a poignant, haunting work. Lisa does not ask for permission, and in her 

unapologetic honesty—that sometimes becomes audacity—we find courage and freedom.” —Jen 

Silverman, playwright and winner of 2013 Yale Drama Series 

ELIZABETH HEINEMAN is a professor of history and of gender, women’s, and sexuality studies at the 

University of Iowa. Her other books include Before Porn was Legal, Sexual Violence in Conflict Zones, and 

What Difference Does a Husband Make? She lives in Iowa City, Iowa. 

The Dollar Menu

Wil was on a frozen yogurt kick that went on for years. I don't even want to add up all the money we spent on his habit. At one point we were going daily, and nine times out of ten he'd bring along a friend, and I'd pay for the friend, too. And let us not forget, Wil would get two bowls, and I was forced to get one, too. So. A costly, but ultimately "productive" era that put some much needed weight on Wil, and introduced us to many new people and tightened the bonds between the friends we already had.

It should be made known that during this period we got to know the owner of our favorite yogurt spot, and when my book came out, he agreed to sell it at the store, giving me all the proceeds. The employees kept a Carrie Link envelope behind the counter, and they accepted cash and checks, so often I came in to pay for yogurt, and was given a stack of money. Not a bad gig.

But, as with all his phases, they end as suddenly as they begin, and offer no warning or explanation. They are just over. Now, instead of frozen yogurt, and instead of daily, he occasionally wants to go to the dive drive-in, home of the famous Kelly and the "Hope you feel better" milkshake. They have a huge board on the wall offering their flavors of milkshakes, and you can mix-and-match to your heart's content. Rootbeer/creamsicle/Oreo is a favorite. Large. I can now get him to also order a small, plain and dry burger, too, and if we do this anytime after 4:00 PM, it totally counts as dinner.

Like with the yogurt, Wil prefers we take a friend when we go. I guess he's bored to death of me. That, or he just really likes his friends. Let's go with that. Because there is often an inordinate amount of texting on his end, verging on coercion, I always offer to treat the guest. "Get whatever you want - anything at all - it's on me," I say. What I've noticed, is the guests fall into one of two categories: 1) They try to order as inexpensively/little as possible, or 2) They go whole hog.

The "cheap" friends order one little tiny cheeseburger and keep it at that. The whole-hoggers get the "basket" deals, and substitute the drink for a shake, then upgrade the shake from a small to at least a medium. When I say, "Get whatever you want," they actually order what they want.

There is no question I'm from the former group, whenever I'm being taken out by someone, I scan the menu for the cheapest thing on there, and order that. I wouldn't dream of "taking advantage" and getting what I actually want, let alone "upgrading" it in any way. The other morning in meditation I had the dawning realization that I have globalized that mentality. The Universe "says" to me/you/us every moment of every day, "What do you want?" and I, historically, order off the dollar menu.

I have committed to believing and internalizing that the Universe is at the least, as "generous" as I am, and certainly has more in store for me than a burger basket with a shake upgrade.

Strengths

Please join me over at Hopeful Parents. Thanks!

Let's Fight

Just in case you don't "read Wil" fluently, my birthday card says, "I love you so much I cry in the inside of my heart and love talking and fighting with you - you are a rock star - love Wil."

Wil's favorite word is, "No." He answers no before he's finished hearing the question. He loves to "fight" just for the fun of fighting. Often, when he is extra contrary, I say, "Let's fight." To which he laughs.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone. I hope you all have someone you love to talk to and fight with in your life.

Love.

Valentines

Wil loves Valentine's Day. He loves love. He loves to tell people he loves them. He even loves to write out valentines, despite his general distaste for writing. This year his list was ambitious: teachers, ALL the kids in his program, and favorite friends from school. Nearly 50 valentines.

We broke the task into bite-sized pieces, deciding he'd do 5 a day for 10 days. That was all well and good but when I'd pull out all the stuff, he'd add more people to his list. He also decided to write a (short) personal message to each person, and put some thought into the matter. To one of his teachers (teaching a group of special ed students for the very first time), "I like your teaching and your abilities."

I've been back to the store for more valentines but I think we'll run out of both cards and time. If you don't make it on The List, don't you worry. He loves you.

And Twice on Sundays

For the last three Sundays in a row, Wil has gone to church not once, but twice. The last two weeks he was able to ride his new bike up there, lock it up all by himself, be amongst the first to arrive, and set about greeting each and every person that walked in the door. He'd sit with a pre-arranged family for the first service (aka his 8:30 family) and then mosey on over to coffee and donuts. About the time that was breaking up, he'd head back over to the church and repeat the whole process. Greet. Sit with his 10:30 family, and back over for more donuts, then ride on home. This killed four hours of an otherwise very long day, and we were all quite happy with the arrangement.

Today Wil had both his 8:30 and 10:30 families all picked out, but a little thing called freezing rain attempted to thwart him.

He could not be thwarted.

We donned our snow boots and tentatively walked through the crunchy layer of ice covering the several inches of snow accumulation. It almost unnerved him, but he trudged ever forward. The usually packed service was quite thin, but the faithful few were there. Unfortunately, his 8:30 family got iced out and he got stuck sitting with us.

Coffee and donuts was cancelled and so we trudged back home, assuring him if he really wanted to go back for the 10:30 service, one of us would get him there. He felt quite certain his 10:30 family would be able to arrive safely, and so back he went. Not only were they there, but several other families of choice were there, making the efforts well worth it indeed.

And aren't any efforts to do what we love, worth it?

Eventful

So, I finally have something to tell you of interest, actually, several. Let's start with the fact that I was blessed by the weather gods and avoided storms on both ends, and had a glorious vacation in Philly with my friend, Terry. We did nothing, nothing and more nothing. Woke up the next day and repeated it. After sitting in our jammies and robes until noon, walking, coming back and having lunch, showering about 2:00, it was nearly time for Beer O'Clock. "You don't really need to mountain bike or ski, or something like that to have fun, do you?" STM asked. I marvel that after 28 years of being together, he still marvels at that essential fact about me.

Terry, aka The Truth Teller, helped me uncover a few things that are irksome to me. She didn't help me uncover the fact that they were irksome - I was well aware of that -  she helped me uncover why, and what I could do to make them less so. Likewise, she helped me see the role my choices played in the irksome-ness. In the end, it all comes down to choices and attitude, doesn't it? Why is that so hard to "get?"

When I got home I got to pick up my NEW CAR! I think that one should get a new/different car every 17 years, whether they need to or not. I had grown very attached to my car, Virginia. She took Woohoo to preschool and she took Woohoo to college. Now Woohoo is buying her from me. I had that feeling you get when you're pregnant with your second child, and you wonder how in the world you'll ever love another child as much as you do your first, but then two seconds after the baby is born you figure it out: Love expands. You grow a new heart. There is no scarcity to your capacity to love.

Silly to compare a car to a child, but Virginia had come to feel like an important member of the family. She was a constant through years of change and uncertainty. She is an outward expression of everything I hold dear: efficient, faithful, dependable, reliable, low-maintenance, modest, steady as a rock.

Let me just say this about my not-yet-named new card - cars have come a long way in 17 years! I don't quite know what to do with all the bells and whistles! Having Pandora in the car feels like I've died and gone to heaven! Seat warmers? Ahhhhh... Dual-controlled heating/cooling? Brilliant!

So, yes, I walked out with my same car, only newer, and told the gal, "I'll see you in 17 years!" Why mess with success?

Finally, Wil is doing the Polar Plunge on Saturday - a Special Olympics event. If you feel so inclined, any donation would be greatly appreciated. Thank you to all of you that have already generously supported Wil!   Wil's Polar Plunge Webpage.

Taking a little "blogcation" until such a time as I:

1) Have something interesting to tell you
2) Return from Philly, where I already am in mind and spirit

Don't get me wrong, in fact, get this right, I am dancing with joy that my life is "boring" and lacking in "material" at the time. That has always been the goal.

Check, check.

Feel Better

Wil has been sick, but true to form, he has not missed a minute of school. It is his MO to come down with a bug on a Friday afternoon, and be rarin' to go by Monday morning. This past weekend he was extra puny, but of course, Monday was a holiday, so his record remained in tact: perfect attendance. On Saturday he napped most the day, so I knew he was super sick. By Sunday he perked up enough to take a shower and put on clean pajamas before going back to bed. By Monday his appetite was back and he had me running to his favorite hamburger and milkshake dive, and getting him food to go.

"Where's Wil?" asked Kelly, our favorite gal there.

"He's sick," I said, "so I'm getting it to go."

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, "tell him I hope he feels better!"

"I will," I promised.

I then ordered from a guy at the cash register, that we have only seen a time or two. "Two plain and dry hamburgers, and a large shake with rootbeer and orange creamsicle, please," I said.

"I know who this is for," he said.

"At least this time he's not also adding the Reese's peanut butter cups to the mix!" I commented.

No wonder Wil is well-known there, not only is he engaging and friendly to all that work there, his orders are unique.

I then took my seat on the bench reserved for those waiting for their to go orders, and watched the mad flurry behind the counter that I've never seen before, as we always eat there. It was a choreographed dance, the likes of which I've never seen before.

I saw Kelly making the shake, then put it in the fridge to wait while the burgers were made to order. When they were done several minutes later, she reached back in the fridge, handed me the shake and the bag with the burgers. Again she repeated, "Tell Wil I hope he feels better."

I grabbed the stuff, said goodbye, but didn't take a good look until I got in the car and was looking for a cup holder for the shake. That's when I saw it, "Hope you feel better." Just four little words, but repeated three times by a virtual stranger. That's just the thing, "strangers" are just friends Wil hasn't met yet. I honestly can't take him anywhere where he isn't recognized and known, if he's been there at least once before.

And you know what? Right after that shake made with love and good will? He felt a lot better.

The Rosie Project

If you want to read a book for the sheer JOY of reading, look no further than The Rosie Project. Two friends told me about it, and I'll admit, I was hesitant. "It's about a guy with Asperger's that wants to find a wife," they said, "and it's funny." Not sure I was going to find that subject matter "funny," but they assured me, I'd LOVE, LOVE, LOVE the book, and they were right on the money.

Wil, unfortunately for him, was sick as a dog on Saturday. Fortunately for me, and thus, fortunately for you, that freed me up to do nothing but read, read, read. I started it Saturday afternoon and had read 3/4 of it by the time I went to bed (early). And I am a slow reader. I simply got my nose in it and couldn't/wouldn't/didn't get it out, so delighted I was by everything about it.

I don't want to tell you too much about it, I  don't want to spoil your own joy in discovering it. The author, Australian writer Graeme Simsion, originally wrote it as a screenplay, and it's been optioned by Sony to become a movie. It would make a wonderful movie, but don't wait for that, hop over to your nearest independent bookstore, and buy a copy. I promise you'll want to own it so you can pass it all around and then have it returned lovingly to your bookshelf where you keep all your favorite books!

Join me over at Hopeful Parents today. Thank you!