Post Secret

I never considered myself much of a voyeur, but I found myself sucked into the secrets. The whole post secret project fascinates me: part confessional, part art project, these anthologies are literally a collection of secrets anonymously sent in on homemade postcards from people all over. They are every kind of secret, some funny, some cute, some terribly sad, some mean or scary. They tell the story you always wanted to know. And reading through them, I can't help but look at every passing stranger and wonder about their secrets. Is that person a secret santa or a serial killer?

What makes a good secret? What are the things that people don't say and why? How many secrets do you accumulate in one day, in one year? How do they shape who you become. Audrey Lorde says: "Silence has never brought us anything of worth". Do you think that's true? Check out the secrets online at http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

A different Christmas

My unofficial staycation began with 3 snow days, one of which was a miraculous, unheard of snowless snow day. As a midwesterner born in IA and raised in WI, I am used to the idea that it has to snow so much that you can't open your door for school to close. Here apparently if someone even whispers that it might snow, no matter if it's only for 10 minutes, that is enough to get out of school. While I am kind of amazed, I am definitely not complaining. I despise snow, cold, and anything winter related and would prefer to stay at home whenever stuff like that happens. The only white Christmas that interests me is a musical involving Bing Crosby.

Needless to say it was not my Christmas wish to be besieged by snow. After a trip to the grocery store and the liquor store, Mz. Blu and I settled in the living room to do some painting, enjoy a bowl of mojitos and watch out the window disgustedly as our neighbors literally skied down the sidewalk or donned snow shoes to walk the few blocks to the grocery store. I mean come on...it was barely 4 inches. Somehow in the midst of all the insanity, I did manage to get off my unplowed street and to the airport. I spent a week in AZ with my mom and grandma.

My parents have been divorced since I was a baby, and my dad is not really big into holidays, so I have made a habit of being with my mom during Christmas. I spent most of my Christmas times in IA with my grandma, my mom, and my aunt. We would attend midnight mass at the church I was baptized in, then come home and stuff the turkey. This was a time to drink sherry and eat fudge, to hang out and tell stories. This is when I learned how to cook (which is good because it eventually became my job to make the family meals). I always kind of loved our traditions. On Christmas mornings we would do a gift exchange, then my uncle, aunt, and three cousins would come over for dinner. Some years they would go to my aunt's house leaving dinner a much smaller and intimate affair. Either way, the core members of my Christmas were always the women of my family. Shortly after I was born my mom, my godmother, and my grandmother put together an annual party that would take place after Christmas and before the new year. It was a multi-generational party where we would get together with our girlfriends and have a nice brunch with my godmother's famous homemade sticky buns and fruit slush, and my grandma's rum cake and applesauce cake.

I remember the few Christmases I did spend abroad (one clubbing and feeding elephants in Thailand, one eating Chinese food in Spain)even though I was definitely down for the adventure, I missed being home. I missed the familiar routine of friends and family. But I guess this too is a part of growing up, adapting to new circumstances. Traditions are only actions repeated over time, and breaking them doesn't necessarily mean losing the meaning of time spent with family.

Now that my mom is in AZ and my grandma spends her winters there, we don't have white Christmases or big family dinners. We attended midnight mass at my mom's church and had Wassle (spike cider with cranberry juice and angostina bitters). Instead of turkey, mom made a standing rib roast and instead of the annual, we hosted a brunch with some of my grandma's friends. It was smaller, but fun and evidence that there are more important things than doing everything the exact same way. It makes me wonder what it will be like when I have my own family. What traditions will form the foundation of my children's memories and what will it mean to them?

Spiritual Homework: 21 Days of no complaining

So here is the challenge: Go 21 days without complaining. If you do slip up, gently forgive yourself and begin again at day 1. Today is my 5th Day 1. I did make it to Day 2 earlier last week, but then I had a school in service on diversity.

SO here is what I learned: sometimes complaining is fun, also complaining is a huge part of the culture at my school. If you ask any of my co-workers, they would quickly tell you that they love their job, yet they gripe about it constantly. This has been difficult, because the more they complain, the more I remember all the things there are to complain about. What helps? Being happy. If I am in a good mood, even when irritating things happen I seem to navigate better. Also, I've amended the no complaining to no complaining out loud. I am trying to do better inside my head as well, but that is a lot of mind training and I'm not quite there yet. Living in the bitch free zone is a lot like going through sugar detox, painful, and a brutal eye opener to an addiction I never knew I had.

Why am I doing this? To see if I can....to see if it changes the quality of my life. Everyone says they want to be happy, but I'm beginning to think that's not entirely true. It's easy to be happy when nothing is bugging you, when you don't have to do lice checks, or lots of data entry...but what if you could find a way to make even the most tedious or irritating parts of your day fun or at least less painful. What if, you replaced the complaint with a compliment or a suggestion, or even just a thank you to the universe for something good that happened? I don't know, maybe everything would be the same...but I'd like to find out. Yes, I know this is a far departure from my normal comfortable role as sarcastic observer, but the definition of insanity if doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I'm ready for my different results.

K & B: The Wedding

Here is a little known fact about me: I kind of love weddings. Okay, I really love weddings.There is always cake and dancing and good people watching and if you're lucky there might even be an open bar. Last weekend, right before I moved, I flew to Palm Springs for the wedding of my friend K. K and I went to grad school together. I am always a little surprised that people who knew me during grad school actually want to talk to me (I was a bit of a dragon), but none the less we were always cool and I learned a lot from K about leadership and staying positive in the face of irritation.

So I took Friday off and flew into the sun. I love Seattle. It is my home and I live here on purpose, but it was so lush to see the sun again and be able to go outside without protective rain gear. K picked me up from the airport where I was whisked to the nearest pharmacy to replace the Robitussin TSA would have confiscated, then we had lunch and mimosas and got full mani and pedicures while I met a whole lot of K's cousins, and sisters. K has a big family and I had never met any of them, so it was really cool to see where she comes from. Everyone was really nice and politely ignored the fact that I spewing out phlem wads of death. Then Cookie showed up, another fabulous friend from grad school. Turned out, she was just recovering from pneumonia, so we shared a room and coughed together.

Friday evening we had burgers with the bride, which I guess is become a family tradition as K's dad owns an international chain of burger joints. The next day Cookie and I lounged by the pool eating cough drops and clearing our sinuses while we caught up with another grad school buddy and her friend. The wedding was in the afternoon and held in a Catholic church where K's uncle is a priest. There were tons of people in and out of the wedding. K had like 8 bridesmaids who all wore navy blue silk that actually looked good on all of them, plus there were flower girls and ring bearers and as K's folks are divorced, so they walked in seperately. Side note: K's mom's gown was a TO DIE FOR gorgeous gold beaded work of art! I digress K was stunningly beautiful in the traditional princess white, with her hair upswept in curls, and her guns totally tight from pre-bridal bootcamp.

As she walked towards her B,and half the women in the audience broke out the kleenex, I couldn't help glancing up at her parents and thinking not all happy endings look the same. 27 years later, neither of my parents have their fairy tale ending. And yet we all keep trying. K & B looked so happy that I couldn't help but believe that forever can be a kept promise, a true adventure in love and partnership. Sometime I get stick on the idea of forever. I mean, how can I envision my forever with someone, when I've never actually seen a long term functional relationship in my own immediate family? Having had this entire lifetime to get to know know my parents, I am actually kind of confused as to how they got together in the first place. I am long since over the childhood days of wishing that they would be together so we could be a TV family. No, for divorced people,my parents have a highly functional relationship in which raising me took precedence over any issues they might have with each other.But I do wish they had gotten their second chances. And as I watched K & B take their vows I wondered if I'll even get my even a first chance at the whole permanent love thing. I didn't wonder too long though, there was cake and champagne to be had.

After a quick stop to down more medicine, the grad school crew and I took a shuttle to reception which was something out of a movie, valet parking, red carpet, hordourves circulating on silver trays, and 2 fabulous and fully stocked open bars. After a multi-course sit down candle lit meal (for 250 people...served on gorgeous dishes ringed with fresh orchid blooms)beginning with lobster bisque and ending in a plate of wedding cake, raspberry creme brule, and sorbet, the party really began. The reception was set at an indoor outdoor venue dotted with palm trees and wrapped around a lagoon that shimmered in the night. There was a bonfire with a s'mores making station, a hot chocolate bar, a fabulous band, and a photo booth....photo booth and an open bar, what an excellent combination!It was a great night. I caught the bouquet and as K had 3 professional camera crews filming, I am sure it is on Utube somewhere. K & B, thanks for letting me share in your moment. It was a beautiful wedding and good reminder that my hope doesn't have to be contained in politics.

Moving

After 3 weeks of living in the squirrel infested attic of a friend's house, and mourning the loss of what I thought was my dream job, I moved into the apartment I've lived in for the last 2 years and accepted the crappy job that sucked my soul for about the same amount of time. It was an ill-conceived plan in many ways, my move to Seattle. I had just turned down a lucrative, but probably really boring job at ASU, when I was rejected from my top two dream jobs, after having been shortlisted for both. I was in limbo, not wanting to stay in Arizona, but running low on cash and not really finding a lot of jobs. So I decided against all rational thought to move back to Seattle with no job, very little money, and no real place to live. I made it work though, with the help of a very supportive community of friends.

I found a small apartment that has been my home. I loved being close to the lake and to the cafe before it closed down. I didn't always love my neighbors, especially the crazy ones, but it is amazing the things you get can get used to.

In August I started my new job. I also began the process of looking for a new place to live. With my constant stream of visitors and the addition of my unexpected roomate, I just didn't have enough space. Plus I had developed a huge aversion to the 358...hands down the bus preferred by the transient,incontinent, and mentally ill. Finally after months of trolling craigslist and schlepping from one nightmare apartment to the next, I found a place. Though the timing was insane, what with the wedding of my friend taking place in California, and the fact that I had been sick all week, I still managed (again with lots of help) to move on Sunday.

I love my new place. It's much bigger than my old place, and well laid out. Mz. Blu finally has a legitimate space of her own as well, and I don't have to save my quarters up to do laundry anymore. It's light, the floors are hardwood, and my neighbor doesn't seem to be crazy. It's also much closer to school.

While I am really happy, I also feel a strange unexpected anxiety. I still wake up to my vision board in the morning. And it's easy to see that I've come a long way towards manifesting my vision. In some ways it feel like it's taken forever, in others I feel astounded by how quickly my life has changed. I am so used to having to fight for everything that when it's easy, I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop. How do I change my consciousness? I don't want to always expect life to give me shit. At CSL they always ask you "How good can you stand it?" I always kind of thought it was a stupid question. I mean who doesn't want to be happy? Who wouldn't appreciate some extra blessings here and there? But then I am reminded of the Matrix. There is that part where the computer is explaining how they had tried to create an a matrix full of peace and bliss, but it didn't work because the humans kept trying to wake up. It's like they couldn't accept that something so good could be true. I don't want to be like that. So I guess for now, I'll just stand in gratitude for all the wonderful things coming my way.

Faculty Slam

Yesterday was the faculty Poetry Slam. What poem do you slam in front of Elementary school kids? I wasn't sure, so I wrote a new piece. There is this book called The Rainbow Fish. I first came across it in Japan. It's about this fish with all these cool sparkly rainbow scales...but all the other fish are jealous, so in the end, the fish gives away its scales so that everyone can have one. I was livid when I read it. I mean clearly the idea is that sharing yourself is beneficial to the community, but I was sickened by the thought that you would have to give up who you are, simply to make others feel better about themselves. My friends tease me and think it's ridiculous that I would be so irritated about some kids book, but it just makes me crazy. Every time I think about how many kids out there are reading that book and absorbing it into their psyche I want to punch something really hard. But that would be really stupid, so instead I funneled my irritation into the creation of this poem. It's called: The Other Rainbow Fish ©

Once there was a beautiful rainbow fish,
She was a fabulous diva with lots of glitz
She had rainbow scales and bright purple fins
And giant eyes as shiny as gems
Half her tail was turquoise
And the other half chartreuse
With stripes and polka dots done in puce
She was the flashiest, most colorful, delightful fish
As she swam by all her colors went
Swish, swish, swish

But the other fish were haters,
Every time she swished their was
They had nothing but negative things to say
“you’re too flashy, you’re too glitzy”
“what’s with all the swish, swish, swish.
You can only be one color in our school of fish.”
Some fish would giggle
Others pointed their fins and railed
“Who ever heard of a fish with a striped and spotted tail.”
“You’re too different, you’re too strange.
All those colors are insane
There’s like totally no way
You can play in our fish games.”

So the poor rainbow fish
Was lonely indeed
With no fish to play with
She hid in the reeds
She tried to rub off her rainbow scales
And wrapped brown seaweed around her fabulous tail
But when she began to swim
They recognize her,
by her bright purple fins
They said “Oh no! It’s that tacky rainbow fish again,
Can’t you understand that we’ll never be your friends?”

Well, she had tried to hide,
And she felt bad that she had tried!
Who were those other fish to be so nasty and snide?
She was who she was
Anything less would be a lie
That’s when she decided to have some pride

She ripped off the seaweed
She shined up her scales
And did a quadruple swish
With her fabulous tail

And once she had escaped
Those plain jane hater fish
She realized there were other parts
Of the ocean she had missed.
And thus began the great journey
Of Miss rainbow fish.

She traveled here and there
And everywhere
And lots of other fish stopped to stare
At her great beauty
At her rainbow scales
At the swish, swish, swish
Of her fancy tail
And they loved her,
ADORED her
Because she was who she was
And she gave them the courage
To be themselves
Just because…

And when occasionally she came across a fish
Who didn’t want to be her friend
It didn’t bug her so much
Because she had learned by then
That the haters were just scared
And trying to blend
Instead of taking a chance and believing in
Their greatness
Their beauty
Their truth
Their light
Their hope
Their spirits
Their strength
Their might
That whatever kind of fish you were,
It was just fine
And for the rainbow fish
It felt absolutely divine.
She was free!
Finally free!
To be exactly who
she’s supposed to be.

The Poetree

Next week is Literature Week at my school, so in preparation, the children have been writing amazing poetry....I mean absolutely fabulous. It has really inspired me. In our hallway hangs a magically creation called the Poetree where works from all grade, staff, parents, and faculty are displayed. I put up a few haiku. Lately I have not been writing that much poetry and it has been ages since I last slammed. I don't know, I guess it's like to being able to rub your stomach and pat your head at the same time, though I am usually proficient in multi-tasking, I find it hard to paint and write. I tend to do one or the other, and lately it's been painting. But I do miss the slam, and oddly enough I will be slamming on Monday at our all school assembly. Don't know what I'm going to read yet. Most of my poems are a little above the comprehension level or Kindergartners (at least I hope so :)), but here is a practice poem I wrote: inspired by the jar that lives by the copier.



The Poison Candy corn of Death


It sits
and lurks, and
calls my name, til
I must gorge and feel
ashamed, cause no amount
of pistachio nuts will rev me
up the same. I want sugar shaped
like traffic cones, so sweet I feel
it in my bones. Then I get jittery
and freak out, I twitch and pulse and
scream and shout, yes we all know what
its about, the candy corn of death. Oh but
how I love the autumn frosting on my tongue
that tells me halloween has come, and
poisoned me with the need to fill my belly
with the super sweet eat.
I love the candy corn of death

Missing Shoshana

There are some things you just know. I was born understanding that my life is a journey.I don't always understand the journey or know why I have to go where I have to go, but I have had several salient moments of absolutely knowing that I was en route to somewhere I had to go. Like Japan for example: After 8 years of studying Spanish, I announced to my friends and family that I was moving to Japan. It was crazy, illogical, and not at all what I rationally thought I might want to do, but I also knew there was something there for me. I felt like I was supposed to go. So I went, and though it was hard, it was amazing and it really helped to shape who I am now. I had a similar experience before grad school. After 3 near death experiences in Thailand, I had a messenger tell me to go to SIT. I didn't want to go back to school. I never want to go back to school. SIT was definitely akin to the Jonah story. If I hadn't finally given in and gone, I felt like some natural disaster would have befallen me and forced me to relocate to VT. Sometimes the Universe has a lesson and you don't get to opt out.

So when Shoshana first told me about the dreams she kept having about going to DC, I knew, almost before she did, that she would have to go. But I hoped she would stay. I hoped selfishly, for all the wrong reasons, that things would miraculously work out, and things did work out...but in favor of her going.

She left a few weeks ago, and though we've talked several times a week, often for hours at time, I feel her absence. I have tons of friends, but each person has their special place and I don't think I realized how much I counted on Shoshana to be there for me...if only to share a meal, or bitch about the rampant passive aggressiveness of Northwesterns.

Shoshana, I miss you so much. I'm so glad that you have this opportunity and that are doing what you have to do. I'm thrilled about all the amazing things that are happening for and to you, but it really sucks to be the one left behind.

Funny, in saying that I realize that why this is so hard. I leave. I am the leaver, not the one left behind. When am I ever in on place long enough to be left behind? Almost never, but even in this bittersweet moment, I feel even more at home than before. Everything is falling into place for me as well, and I am comforted with the knowledge that I am exactly where I should be. Your sister in the journey....

The Quatum Leap of Letting Go

Mz. Blu has been a strange, but welcome presence in my life for the last two years. She is my friend, my roomate, and occasionally my big sister. One of her favorite hobbies, in addition to kicking people with wooden shoes and watching bootleg movies on-line is torturing guys she used to date. There is almost nothing, short of a banana milkshake, that brings joy to her faster than the prospect of watching an ex suffer. I used to think this practice was cruel and a waste of time, but I am beginning to realize I was wrong. Why, you ask? Because Mz. Blu gets over it. I mean it. Though her methods are sometimes drastic, she is able to move forward, and actually process her feelings, and most importantly she can let it go. She is practically floating for how baggage free she is, in that respect.

I on the other hand, hold onto shit with the GI Joe death grip. Even when I think I am letting go, or I spend time repeating in my head that I am letting go, I realize that this can't be what's happening because if I were truly letting go, certain things wouldn't bug me so damn much. So I had a bit of regression this weekend. I was mopey and moody and in general a miserable person to be around, but instead of letting me wallow, which is what I had hoped to do, Mz. Blue took me out for some Pies and Pints, and a couple of Washington apples (the drink, not the fruit).

Mostly she just laughed at me, and we talked about the Big Round Headed Loser, and my favorite illegal immigrant, and all the other not so recent exes that stay super glued to my subconscious in order to pop up in random dreams where I am trying to find them or trying to avoid them or just simply walking with them. I had one such dream a few nights ago, where I was being deported and packing my bags and running away, but then I had to go get my daughter, whose name I didn't know and who I had never met because apparently she lived with the Big Round Headed Loser. Dreams are so weird, but they helped me to realize that even though I changed my number, I erased all his pictures, and I avoid any location he might possibly be, I haven't really let it go.

Now here is why. I am a notoriously picky, closet romantic. I like to see the best in people, but if the best isn't working for me, I am quick to get rid of them. I don't treat guys like friends, because I get so attached to my friends that they can get away with way more than the people I date could. Well the difference is that with my last two boyfriends, I really fell hard. We became friends and I began treating them as such which means making allowance for all their many imperfections, but how much is too much? I'm still working that out, but at a certain point, even though I was still in love and still wanted to try, I hit my limit and I broke it off. But it was really weird and complicated because I was still so in love. Now, I'm not in love, but I feel like I never quite put myself back together all the way. So I went home and I cried and then Mz. Blu gave me some safety goggles and let me break all the bottles in the recycling bin, then we got dressed up and I put on my blue hair and we went out dancing where she promptly ran into the Big Round Headed Loser's new girl friend. To my credit, I kept on dancing (with the help of four WA apples and a seriously kick ass DJ), but the whole time I was thinking this sucks. How can he just get over it, and move on and manifest something new. But then I realized, it doesn't matter what he's doing. He's on his path and I'm on mine, but I just couldn't help having this moment of "if you really loved me, you could've tried harder to make it work. Do you love her enough to try or does she just let you get away with all your bullshit?"

So fast forward to the next day, when I was in a bad way from 5 or 6 too many apples, my favorite hair dresser called to see if I wanted to carpool to CSL, so I went and the topic was all about quantum leaps. According to Wikipedia "In physics, a quantum leap or quantum jump is a change of an electron from one energy state to another within an atom. It is discontinuous; the electron jumps from one energy level to another instantaneously." Being hungover and listening to science was a challenge, but I think I really got something out of it. If I'm the electron, even though I've only ever been one thing, something can happen and I can make a jump, I can change the pattern. This is all about the mental equivalent. Today I may not know how to let go. It just may be one of those genes I missed out on, but if I allow myself to meditate, not on the process, but on the actual outcome I can make the leap. I know if I focus on the process I will probably end up burning down my apartment from trying to burn symbols of what was, but if I can focus on what it is I want to get out of letting go, maybe I can make that leap.

So here is what I want. I want to be free. I want to be able to think about the past without dwelling on it or second guessing my decisions. I want to move into the future without the burden of all this overwhelming luggage I keep with me. I want to just let it go, so that the next person that comes in my life actually has a chance to just be that person...so that I'm not super-imposing all their bullshit onto my perfectly fresh start. I'm off to take a leap.


What

A New America

Barack Obama has been elected the 44th president of the United States, the first black man to ever be president, the first president to ever make me cry. I am so proud to be an American right now. I am so proud to, for the first time, glimpse an "America as good as its promise". I want to explain what makes this election different. We all know that Barack Obama is a black man in a world where black men (and women) haven't been afforded the rights, privileges, or opportunities that are said to come with our citizenship. But this is only one facet of what makes this moment so incredible. Yes, he is a black man, but truly he is also an amazing, brilliant, daring human being who has given so selflessly of his time and talents to the purpose of healing this broken nation. I (and I know I'm not alone) have been without hope for this country for so long, that it was a foreign feeling, a strange awakening that took place when I first read Dreams From my Father, almost two years ago. And even while I kind of hoped, I never really believed. I wanted to believe. I wanted to with every fiber of my being, but this country has been so miserable for so long. You don't have to watch Eyes on the Prize to be reminded of the injustices people of color have suffered and continue to suffer on a daily basis. In my case I can simply look at my life, listen to the stories of my family and friends, remember my own stories. I don't say this expecting pity. I refuse to be a victim. I just want you to understand the constructs of my consciousness, the experience of America that has led me to a point where I could feel so desperate...the weight of my country's ills, disparaging my spirit on a daily basis. Without night, would day be as bright?

I want to explain how it feels to witness the realization, the culmination of multiple lifetimes of struggle, but I just don't have the words. All I can say is that today everything changes. Today I am able to believe, to see the proof that what I've hoped for, for so long, can...is transforming into something more tangible than hope,that my hope and the hopes of so many Americans is now a reality. I now have a president of whom I can be proud. But more than that I feel amazed to finally be a part of an America of which I can be proud. My country is actually my country. And now it is time to work. Now is the time to give, to serve, to reconstruct this new America....now is the time to do what we can to expand beyond hope into creating a better reality. I promise you, I will do my part. Thank you Barack Obama. Thank you Michelle, and all of those who have helped to make today possible.

Waiting with baited breath...

Good luck! I voted...so I guess all we can do now is wait.

Dia de los Muertos

Here are some of my Dia de los Muertos Paintings. A few will be shown at the Phinney Ridge Neighborhood Center this Friday at 7:00pm.





Lately I have been obsessed with Day of the Dead. November, just after Thanksgiving, marks the 8th anniversary of the death of one of my best friends. She was a month shy of 21 when she passed away in a car crash while driving back to school after the holidays. I was living in Spain and that time, but I remember hearing the news and just falling apart. I was lucky enough to make it back in time for the funeral, but it was miserable. A few weeks ago while visiting Wisconsin, I stopped by her grave. Over the years the monument to her has grown from a small patch of grass in a cemetery near where we went to high school, to a large engraved headstone with two color photos of her. There are always flowers no matter what season and it shows that I am not her only visitor. She was a beautiful person, and even all these years later, something inside breaks to think about her...but the alternative is worse.

What happens when you die? I don't know if heaven or hell exist outside of our day to day worlds. I like to think that spirits are energy and as such are neither created or destroyed, but simple transformed into whatever form they need to take on in order to move on. When I think of the people I've lost: Robin, Sue, Bobbie Jo, Papa, Papi Howl, Non, Papa Thorp, Martha, and so many others, I give thanks that at least they live on in my head. I can still remember the sound of Robin's voice, Sue's laugh...

So this year, for my first year as a Spanish teacher, I decided to celebrate Day of the Dead with my kids. I was worried about how it might go, especially knowing that some of them had recently lost grandparents. What I discovered is that the kids, like me, want to remember. Even though most of my students are only in the fourth or fifth grade, they have quite a bit of experience with death, mostly in the form of Hamsters (one of my kids has had 17 Hamsters pass away under his care....please don't buy him anymore!)and grandparents. They all have their ritual though. Some like to bury pets in the yard, others like to celebrate by having a special dinner or just lighting a candle.

Together we visited an ofrenda at a nearby school and watched a short movie about Dia de los Muertos which is celebrated on November 1 and 2 each year, when the veil between the living and dead realms is said to be more fluid. Families visit the graveyard, setting up alters with ofrendas...or offerings. It's a Mexican holiday greatly influenced by Aztec and also Catholic traditons. Alters often have four levels, representing the four seasons, the four directions, the four stages of life, and the four elements.The alters are decorated in bright colors with papel picado (tissue paper cut in beautiful patterns), pictures of the deceased and things they liked to do or foods they enjoyed. Marigold are said to light the way for the spirits. Some people make sugar skulls or pan de muerto (bread of the dead- a sweet egg bread made with anise). The whole point is to spend time with your family and friends, both living and dead.

Warrior-A Kid Rock Propaganda Film

A few years ago I visited the lovely country of Thailand. It was a harrowing trip jam packed with three near death experiences, a very un-traditional Christmas eve at a club in Bangkok, and a lot of shopping. While there, since I was there a whole month, I went to the movies. Before the flick, in addition to the normal previews, there was a moment where we were all asked to stand for the for the National Anthem. Though it was different and unexpected, I didn't think too much of it until a friend of mine whispered into my ear that if you didn't stand you could be taken to jail. Intense huh?

Well, I never really followed up to find out if that's true or not, but it was one of those many cultural differences I filed away as something that would never happen in the States. Flash forward to last weekend. After the conference, I met up with one of my favorite people on earth, my Dad. We decided to catch a movie and arrived ridiculously early. Really that just meant there was more time to eat popcorn. While we waited there was a movie quiz stuff interspersed with some seemingly innocuous pre-trailer commercials, one of which was a music video from Kid Rock. Well actually it was a little more than a music video, really it was a National Guard propaganda film masquerading as a music video.

So there is Kid Rock: cue the sexy baseline and the electric guitar. And in roll the US tanks across a dusty middle eastern country. Lyrics begin with: "Now don't tell me whose wrong or right when liberty starts slipping away... And if you ain't gonna fight, get out of the way. 'Cause freedom makes us free when you're breathing red white and blue. I'm giving all of myself, how 'bout you? And they call me warrior. They call me Loyalty. They call me ready to provide the need, the help, wherever you need me to be. I'm an American Warrior. Huh! I'm an American Warrior, Citizen Solidier...." And it goes on, all of this is interspersed with images of the National guard blowing up buildings, rescuing a soccer ball from being squashed by a tank, building a damn, racing cars, and I don't know, whatever glamorous patriot crap you might happen to be doing in the National Guard. I had a moment akin to slack jawed amazement. No we don't live in a country where if you sit during the national anthem, you are sent to jail, but apparently we do live in a country that says you aren't a patriot unless you agree with government and immediately enlist in the National Guard.

I mean let's not question whose wrong or right when liberty is at stake, let's just get out the machine guns and blow up some foreigners. Sometimes I feel such a deep shame to call this my country. Oh land of the free, where we are free to be bigoted and ignorant, where we are free to promote mindless propaganda that some poor misguided innocent might end up buying into...but let's talk about the reality....how many soldier have died in this bullshit war? How many innocent Iraqis have died in this bullshit war? So let's talk about patriotism. In one country you could go to jail for not standing for the national anthem, in this country you could die for actually buying into the propaganda of what is now considered patriotism. I implore you to think again. One of our few remaining liberties is our freedom to disagree, our freedom to call bullshit out for what it is, and to create our own working definitions of patriotism. Perhaps more than freedom, we have a responsibility...a duty, as real Americans to not take on blind faith that what our government is doing is right or something to be agreed to without question.

Soy una maestra...scary huh?

Friday was my first teacher's in-service day. I used to love in-service days when I was a kid because it meant there was no school...well now I am a teacher, and there actually is school. Such is my life. If it's true that what you resist you become, then my entire career is the fruit of karmic retribution. I loved school, until about the third grade, then I was just over it. Despite going to college and even eventually (under duress) graduate school, I would still put going to school on par with cleaning the bathroom...a necessary evil, but nowhere near as fun as sex, liquor, and salsa dancing and certainly not something I want to get stuck doing for the rest of my life.

I digress. Now, I am a teacher. When people ask me what I do for a living that is the answer I give (the whole writing and art thing are central to how I think about myself, but lets face it, teaching is the money making thing I do). I spend a great deal of time lesson planning or actually being in the classroom, and yet sometimes I have to admit, this all feels like some big practical joke. I mean it at least made some kind of sense when I was an English teacher. I know English. And when you are in countries where English isn't the #1 language, even if you didn't graduate high school, you can still claim some kind of expertise by being a native speaker.

I do speak Spanish. My Spanish is much better than my Japanese. I communicate and people understand me. I can even tell jokes. It's true, I did spend close to 10 years studying Spanish, including one and half years spent living in Spain and Chile respectively. But when I was learning how to order a mojito and the most colorful way to tell someone to go fuck themselves, I wasn't really thinking about how I would teach these particularly important phrases to others....which is actually good, because I can't really teach any of that to my fourth and fifth graders. Sometimes I feel like a big phony. I'm doing my best, but there is so much I don't know. I still mess up the gender of things. I mean why is table feminine and pencil masculine? It all seems kind of arbitrary.

And then there is the whole Spanish teacher thing. All the Spanish teacher I had were really kind of strange people. There was the one that called herself "La Bruja" (the witch) and screamed "Ingles es kaka" every time she caught us using English. I had Spanish teachers who made us wear costumes or squirted us with water bottles. I always kind of thought that you had to be kind of crazy to be a Spanish teacher, or at least very dramatic (melodramatic).

This weekend the other Spanish teacher at my school (we'll call her Sra. C because she comes from Colombia-el pais, no la universidad) and I attended the WAFLT/ COFLT conference in Vancouver, Wa. WAFLT stands for Washington Association of Foreign Language Teachers. COFLT is the Oregon acronymn. Sra. C and I spent a lovely 5 hours on the train getting to know each other....no sarcasm implied. Yes, the train ride was freakishly long, but she is just super cool. I am so glad we got to kick it. Once there, we spent 2 days in session after session all about how to teach a language.

Stupid joke repeated throughout the conference: What do you call someone who speaks 2 languages : Bilingual. What do you call someone who speaks 3 languages? trilingual. What do call someone who speaks one language? American.

When I survived my demo lesson and my all Spanish interview last year and actually got this job, I thought "Hey, maybe I can do this after all." I mean I still had some insecurities, but then I got into the classroom and realized that while I might not be the Goddess of Spanish, I certainly know more than a fourth grader. Moreover I remembered how much I like teaching....being at school is way more fun when you're not the student.

At the conference I learned a lot. I have a whole list of new activities, dances, songs, and games I want to try out. In that sense it was great. I also got to meet a lot of other teachers.


Top 5 things Spanish teachers like:
Speaking in Spanish (even when they speak with Oregon accents)
colorful scarves
coffee
making their students do embarrassing dances
sombreros

Many of the teachers I met have been teaching longer than I've been alive (literally). While it was cool to pick their brains, it was also totally intimidating. Also, the majority of the seminars were all in Spanish. There was one put on by two amazing ladies from the UW all about dichos (expressions) in Castillano...the Spanish of Spain, vs. the Spanish of Mexico. This was really interesting, but out of the 20 or so examples the put up, I only knew two. How is that possible? I still have so much to learn. If this is really what I'm going to do as a job, I know it is my responsibility to get more information, but God knows I really don't want to go back to school. :(

My temporary solution is Mexico. Yup, I am applying for a grant and headed to Mexico this summer for an advanced course in Spanish and Spanish teaching pedagogy. If I have to go to school, at least it should be somewhere hot.

Weekend with the Ladies and Henry

Last weekend Shoshana, Coco, Mz. Blu, Greta, and set off for some rest and chillaxation at Greta's grandma's house in Snoqualmie.I don't know what I enjoy more, leaving the city and feeling the excitement of escaping my everyday life, or coming back to city and getting to sleep in my own bed. Greta's grandma is lovely lady and owner of a very comical white french bulldog named Henry. I am not much for animals. Contrary to popular belief, I never had any really negative animal experiences, other than living with Jupiter, the cat from hell, getting thrown from a horse twice and getting pissed on by a rabbit sometime during Kindergarten. I just never had a pet, so animals, to me are kind of like other people's children, not my responsibility, and something that should refrain from licking or jumping on me. Henry in definitely a jumper, but there is still something really endearing about him.Mz. Blu, adores small dogs, so she spent her entire weekend alternating between playing with Henry and trying to get him to jump on me (thank for that).

But that aside, it was really awesome to just hang out. Coco couldn't join us until Saturday, so the rest of us had a leisurely dinner at Yanni's, a fabulous Greek place not too far from my house. Then we drove to Snoqualmie and made it in time to see the second showing of the debates. I worked on some painting and we all just drank tea and chatted. The next day Greta and I were the first up so we ran some errands and ended up taking a moment to get some pedicures. By the time we got back the other women were awake and Coco had arrived, so after a nice brunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup, we broke out the canvasses and started to paint.

Like me, most of my friends were discouraged from painting. I remember one of the art teachers I had when I lived in Colorado made some sarcastic comment about drawing just not being one of my gifts. Well, like most of the teachers at that school, she was wrong. Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong about me lacking perspective...but she was wrong in that she had no right to assume that she could measure my potential aptitude. Thankfully I ignored her. As we sat around the table there were lots of "What should I paint?" and "I can't do this, I suck at art". And then eventually everyone just shut up and sat down and produced some fabulous paintings. It felt good to be a part of the process of watching my friends change their beliefs about themselves. Maybe they still don't think they are fabulous artists, but they lost some of their fear of trying. I think that's what it's all about. These wonderful people come into my life. They each have their gifts or special things about them and part of our friendship becomes nurturing that light in one another.

God I think this church is really turning me into a sap. The long and short of it is that the weekend was fabulous. It was a great chance to rest and renew and to reconnect with some very special people in my life. Thanks Greta for being a fabulous hostess.

A Part of Something Greater...

Since Shoshana first introduced me to the Center for Spiritual Living, I knew it was something special, but I was hesitant to get involved. Though I felt really moved the first time I attended a service, I also felt a little uncomfortable, like it was just a little too "woo woo" for a sarcastic God questioner like myself. Still, I couldn't help but go back. I liked the music and the message was always so on-point. Then one Sunday I happened to be there for a prayer service. The prayer services take place about once a month. Instead of there being a little meditation, some singing, and a sermon, everything is combined into one continuous prayer. We don't just talk about praying or leave a silent space to fill in with your own prayer, we pray together, out loud and it is very powerful to put the theory into practice. I can't really describe it properly, but the feeling is one of complete connection to God and to everyone and everything around you. The service was both inspiring and transformative in a way that made it impossible for me to ignore. I knew then that I had found what I had been missing, so I signed up to take Beyond Limits, the first in a series of spiritual foundation courses.

During the past 2 months, I have spent 3 hours every Monday night studying the science of the mind. In addition to learning about the history of the church, there was also ample opportunity to read about the philosophy and beliefs of religious science and to ask questions. For the first few hours, we had class in a large group, then we split up into small groups.

In the beginning the small group was very challenging for me. I am by no means a shy person, but I am a very private person (as private as you can be when you have a blog :) ) and my relationship with God is probably one of the things I am least likely to talk about to a stranger. Naturally I was very uncomfortable.In the big group there seemed to be a little more anonymity. You only had to speak if you felt moved to do so, and there were so many other people who had plenty to say and seemed to feel no hesitation at sharing (in depth) their whole spiritual histories. But in the small group there was nowhere to hide.

I really got a lot out of the readings though, and gradually as I began to meet people and speak with them individually I began to feel more comfortable sharing and asking questions. Moreover I began to make connections with the people in my small group. I think there is something about praying with and praying for someone that bonds you. My class ended last week, and yesterday I attended the 3 hour membership class and became an official member of CSL.

So what does that mean? It means that now I have responsibilities. I am invited to contribute to the community, not just financially, but by volunteering my time and gifts. I am also invited to avail myself of more in depth classes that will help develop my spirituality. I have to admit, once I was in class and we were reading through the commitments and our value statements, there was nothing I disagreed with, but I still felt the vestiges of my previous panic because I was basically throwing away my right to anonymity. I am now a part of the community in an official capacity.

During the first week of my Beyond Limits class we had an assignment to bless everyone that we ran across during our day. I tried this...though admittedly by the middle of the day I kind of forgot to keep it going...but one thing I noticed was that it is impossible to bless someone that you are ignoring or trying to keep at a distance. I don't know if it's because I don't know how to bless someone without looking at them and that eye contact becomes a catalyst for them to want to connect with me or if simply acknowledging someone on a spiritual level automatically creates a connection. I guess that's what joining CSL has been like. I tried to keep my distance, but I couldn't do both. I either had to accept that I had been called to be a fully integrated part of this community that has fed and renewed my soul or I had to let it go. I made my choice and I know it is a departure from my upbringing, but the best choice for me in my here and now.

More Pics

My first show...

More pics

The Emerald City.


Oban Festival in Japan (the woman to the left of me is Shoshana...I didn't do that on purpose, but it turned out perfect).

A real artist?

I spent a great deal of the spring and the beginning of summer joyfully immersed in painting and writing. I wrote poems and pulled out unfinished projects and started a series of paintings that read like a journal of my time in Seattle. They are happy explosions of texture, color, gloss and glitter. And it was wonderful to spend my time creating, but then I stopped. It didn't happen on purpose, but after spending a season on the mike slamming and the completion of my first art show, I was kind of done being public with my art. Moreover I was traveling locally and chillaxing of my very awesome staycation.

Now, in September, almost two months into my new job, I am working on balance. I am making time for yoga and taekwondo, classes at the Center for Spiritual living, and of course work, but it has been hard to find a spare moment between catching up with friends and sleeping enough to get through my days. Just now I am coming back into balance again and while I still haven't figured out my writing schedule, I have started painting.

I'm currently working on a series for Dia de los Muertos...ironicly inspired by my teaching (I am obsessed with how to make sugar skulls).Though my first show was amazing...for me anyway... I was a little bummed about not selling anything. I wondered if I could still be considered a "real artist", which I pretty much decided I could because there are plenty of "real artists" that never sell anything. But then, last week, very randomly, I sold my first two painting, The Old Man Fish which is a long orange and yellow coy on a teal background with a face like an old man and Strange Fruits a fanciful self portrait of me as a butterfly stretching forth from a golden cocoon hung from a tree (named after song, to for once give the name a positive connotation).

But going back to being an artist, this is all still really new for me. I have so many new titles now. More than just my job transition, I feel like my whole life is transitioning. I feel like I am at choice, which means that my life if beginning to really reflect what I really want as opposed to that feeling of obligation or irritation at all the things I think I have to do. I am choosing to teach, to write, to paint, and to live inside the joy of these choices and it feels awesome. Below are some of the photos from my first show.

First Day of School

I never feel ready,
but I am.
It seems like everything
will always be new
but newness fades,
gives way to familiarity
both comforting and
stifling
and here we are again
the reoccurring
dream
of
a
dream
of
a
dream
like two mirrors
facing one another
an infinity
of repetition
until....
nothing
new happens.

Okay so that was a pretty crappy impromptu poem...forgive me, I haven't been slamming and I have written any poetry since the beginning of summer so I am out of practice. I'm also tired, but a good tired. Today was the first day of school technically. There wasn't class, but at 3:00pm all the students and their families came to visit their classrooms. I was astounded to be able to see the actual hallway walls, which I haven't seen in weeks. The hallway has been a living storage closet of emergency preparedness supplies, text books, mystery furniture and broken file cabinets. And then miraculously it all went somewhere...and the classrooms and offices that just yesterday looked like poorly organized garage sales came together, clean, shiny, and with the inviting glow cast by new smart boards, new classroom computers and books, books, and more books. I love the beginning of school, when everything feels manageable. I'm ready, ahead in my planning even after creating my design for the year and finishing my monthly syllabus.

It was awesome to see the kids again. Some I know and some are new. The ones I know seem very excited to have me as a teacher. I keep wondering if they'll feel the same when they find out how hard I'm going to work them. :) I met a whole bunch of parents and lost two name tags before I gave up on trying to identify myself. Then there was an all school picnic. My school has the best potlucks. I picked the worst time to go on a sugar detox. Saying no to all those brownies, cakes, Popsicles, and I don't even know what else really sucked, but the day was good. Tomorrow is the real first day...my first class with the fourth grade as a Spanish teacher. I feel like I should buy a sombrero. All the Spanish teachers I had before college were kind of odd. There was one who nicknamed herself la bruja (the witch). She wore witches hats (not just on Halloween) and she kept a spray bottle that she would use to squirt kids who got caught speaking English. "Ingles es kaka!" she would scream. It was very disconcerting. I don't want to be all crazy, but I do want to be different....cool, the teacher that gets them interested and teaches them well.

Quitting

I officially quit the job that sucked my soul yesterday. Even though I haven't set foot near my office since June and I've been working at my very awesome new job for almost a whole month, I didn't really have complete closure. I'm glad I waited to quit. I certainly enjoyed my bus pass all summer and as it turns out I will get to enjoy my insurance through the month of September. As I walked onto campus, I felt really awkward about the whole thing, like they would be pissed at me for not giving them more than two weeks notice or like I might have to defend or explain my decision. I was ready to say everything I haven't said, but in truth we all know why I'm leaving. I'm not really the one to keep it all hidden inside. In the end however, it was nothing like that anyway.

My boss who has made my working life somewhat miserable at times, greeted me with a smile. Then, as he invited me to sit down he asked "Well, will you be returning to us this year?" To which I said no. He asked me if I had found something else and I told him about my new position and then he effusive told me how happy hee was for me. He wished me the best. I gave him my keys and my bus pass and I was out.

It was weird, very anticlimatic, but in a good way. I am trying to think of the last time I quit something. I quit the cello in the fifth grade. I quit the guitar after my friend passed away. I quit UPS to move to Japan. But most of the hard stuff, school and whatnot, I've stuck with. And even that crappy job, I held onto it like I had no options for the longest time, when it was really making me miserable. How do you know when to quit? And then how do you do so without feeling like a failure. I feel like I failed at my crappy job. I wished I could have taken it and made it work, but then another part of me really doesn't care if I failed or not, but is just relieved that I escaped. But now I am wondering what is the next thing I'll quit and how it will impact me. Enough for now, it is a beautiful day and I have to go to tae kwon do.

History in the Making: Wishing I Were in Denver

Today I wished I were in Denver for the first time since the National Convention began. Mostly I have been both amused and swamped with the goings on of my new job. I've been so busy, I haven't had too much of a chance to even watch the convention. And today was no different. I left 4 hours later than my contracted hours and had to haul ass to Tae Kwon Do where I received my new belt. Ms. P reminded me that there is only one belt left before I try for my first black belt. It was an awesome moment and then to celebrate, I took myself out to dinner and watched Barack Obama graciously accept the democratic nomination on this the 45th anniversary of King's I have a dream speech. Watching Obama speak, I realized the difference between a dream and a vision. Dreams can fade, but when you focus your consciousness on bringing a vision to life, it has no choice but to manifest.

His speech was like every other speech he has given, charismatic, hopeful and a reiteration of the democratic party platform which seeks to end the war, end our dependency on foreign oil, green up the nation while improving health care, schools, and the economy. But adding to the brilliance of such a historic moment was the way that Barack talked about America. He didn't talk about a nameless, faceless, amorphous America, but rather gave voice to the experiences of so many of us that he has met and reach out to along this journey. He told our stories. He told our truths and reclaimed patriotism for all Americans not just pledge saying "God-fearing" fundamentalist republicans. I felt so proud to watch him do his thing. And though I recognize the responsibility we all have to really ensure that his presidency is a productive one, I am excited to be a part of the redefinition of this country. I am thrilled that even though we are far from perfect, this country, my country, has experienced enough of a culture shift to nominate (and hopefully elect) Barack Obama for president. This is HUGE.

Meanwhile today at work was a day of unexpected explosions. I love being new. Newness brings with it the freedom of not having to take sides, the freedom to ask the questions everyone else is to afraid to ask, and the freedom to view emotionally volatile situations with the lack of personal investment of an outsider. Today after several meetings, and a lot of playing hide and seek with the emergency preparedness supplies (which are in boxes all over the school), an emergency meeting was called. Teachers were furious because the administration made a decision regarding recess without discussing it with them. It was all very fascinating, especially after a kumbaya day of diversity and faculty/staff bonding to see everything go to shit over something so arbitrary. People were literally in tears and I was glad to be new enough to be able to claim neutrality. You just never know what kind of minefields you're walking through until the explosions begin.

As we sat around in a circle in the fourth grade classroom, each person talking about the issues, I realized that regardless of whatever decision was made, somebody was getting screwed. I can barely imagine being my principal, imagine being Barack. Imagine the challenge he faces in unifying a nation and leading us into a hopefully better stage of our history. If my head of school can't come up with a solution to satisfy and meet the needs of 30 teachers and staff how can Barack be expected to come up with a plan that will accommodate the personal wants and needs of entire country of totally and completely different people. I wish him luck and pray for the best.

To have loved and lost...navigating forgiveness

In my life I can practically count the minutes that I have felt friendless, there have been so few. I have been blessed with such a beautiful community of people, some whom I have known and will know for years and others whom I have known for a finite time or experience and who disappear, sometimes to reappear at a later date, or sometimes to be gone from me forever. My friends don't come with labels that tell me who will be who. We just figure these things out as we go. I have been wrong about people before. There are some people I now consider my close friends, who I never thought I'd see again or that we'd be able to maintain a sustainable connection, as well as those who have been like family to me only to leave my life for one reason or another. Those are the friends I grieve for,the one I wish I didn't have to lose, but don't always know how to re-connect with.

Jem was one such friend. All throughout grad school she was my rock, my sister, my best friend, closer to me than anyone, the person who knew all my secrets, a person whose secrets I knew and kept (keep) and who was alternately nicknamed my twin or my wife. We were so close I sometimes knew what she was thinking. I would pick up the phone before it rang knowing it was her. And then we each went out separate ways. I went to the middle of nowhere New York state to complete my practicum and she ended up in Nepal.

We were both miserable in our way. I had chosen a journey that led me to a wintry small town with only about 15 people under 30 but over 21. I became depressed and lonely and spent a lot of time processing my intense reaction to grad school. There were days were I felt mentally ill or insane with the strength of my emotions.Even though I managed to build a small community of unconventional friends there, I missed the intimacy Jem and I shared. I missed having a best friend who got my stupid jokes and didn't have to ask me why I was crying. She was someone who simply knew me. And at that time in my life I desperately needed to be known and taken on my own terms. It can be really tiring breaking in new friends.

Meanwhile she had her own experiences which I won't disclose, as they are not my story to tell. When she returned from her adventures, she was physically and mentally depleted and very ill. She asked all of her friends for some time and space and that we not contact her until she felt ready. I waited a full six months before finally breaking down and sending her a birthday card. I didn't really expect a reply, but I got one and she seemed even worse than before. Shortly there after she chose to end our friendship. There were a lot of reasons, which out of respect for both of our privacy, I won't get into, but the end result was me feeling totally blindsided and abandoned by someone I had trusted and loved more than anyone.

I didn't see her for a year and when I did, it was a total accident. I didn't even know what to say to her. She acted like nothing had happened. We were both present for the graduation of some mutual friends and even as she sought me out, she never mentioned what had passed between us and I was still too hurt to do much more than tactfully keep my mouth shut. I had wanted to yell at her, to cuss her out for having the audacity to just walk back into my life and try to be the friend she had long since stopped being. I'm not that great with ambiguity and knowing that I wouldn't cause a scene that might spoil someone else's moment she deliberately kept near me, yet never really gave me the closure I had been craving. Since then, more than a year and a half has passed and I found out today that she is now married.

My first reaction was to be surprised...okay jaw droppingly stunned (you just kind of have to know her to understand how unexpected this is). Then after getting a little more context, I couldn't help but laugh because he sounds absolutely perfect for her. And then I felt happy to know that she is happy again and healthy and well. My only twinge of sadness came from not being able to be a part of her good. I guess when you really love someone, even when the shit doesn't work out or you can't be a part of that person's world anymore, there is some part of you that always wishes them well. Is this forgiveness? Well if anything I think I might have finally forgiven myself for failing as a friend (I know I didn't actually fail, it just felt that way for a very long time). Why is it always so much easier to forgive other people (even people who really burnt you) than it is to accept that you are less than perfect and might need to forgive yourself?

I've had all these weird processing moments lately, including a dream about the big round headed loser (and I'm not saying that out of malice, it's just how I've come to think of him) in which we saw each other again and he seemed really happy to see me, but we never actually spoke. Shoshana says that is my sub-conscious saying I forgive him and that while I can recognize that some part of me still loves him,I am blessed because I am free from the need to go down that road again. We've had closure (and make-closure, and re-break-up closure and damn how much more of that do I really need when we've both already kind of moved on?) So here's to moving on! But with friends it is so much more complicated than with boyfriends. I'm totally comfortable saying I forgive the big round headed loser, but I don't ever want to see him again.

Today I realized I do want to see Jem again. I probably won't. I certainly have enough going on with school starting in less than a week and all the other happenings in my life without adding any ex-friend drama to the mix, but I do irrationally wish we could be friends again. I know even if were able to talk through the last two and a half years it would never be the same, it could never be the same. The question is could I ever even trust her again after such an abrupt and shitty end to such a special and intense friendship?

What makes you trust someone? How do you know they won't screw you over? Why is it easier for me to trust women than men when I have been way more brutally and emotionally scarred by women than men? These are the things going through my mind on this beautiful windy day. As I make new friends and re-connect with old friends and do this whole sporadic dating thing, I am trying to be authentic about who I am. with that comes a certain amount of vulnerability. I want to be open and not hold onto past hurt, but I feel a bit of trepidation. One definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing and expecting different results. So how can I be as open and sincere and willing to love and be loved as I have been in the past and not get my heart broken? How can I be this new person that I am evolving into and still be true to who I have always been? I am working on this. I don't have any definite answers other than knowing that I don't regret a moment of my friendships and (even more surprisingly) of my past romantic relationships. They happened, parts were amazing, parts sucked, and then they ended, but it was worth it. They say scar tissue is the strongest tissue in the body...maybe you have to be exposed to pain to get strong enough to really love and be loved sustainably.

Escapism at it's blood-suckingest

During grad school, I often felt klaustraphobic between the massive amounts of homework, the group work, class, my two jobs, and the responsibilities included in starting up two on-campus organizations. I was stretched thin and living in a dorm with walls so thin I could hear my classmates' snores surrounding me.I never felt alone and sometimes all I wanted was to escape. Having no car and living in Vermont during winter and even worse "mud season" meant escape was often a physical impossibility. So I had to use my mind.

I have always loved reading, but when you have to read a minimum of 50 pages of textbooks a night, trying to follow a complicated novel is out of the question. I found a much needed relief in young adult fiction. The books were just juicy enough to want to read them and just easy enough to be able to do so quickly without really interfering with school work. I became hooked on Tamora Pierce, working my way through the Lioness Quartet and on to the Immortal Series and of course Keladry's books.

Trickster's Choice and Trickster's Queen became my favorite. I also read all the Harry Potters, all the Charlie Bones, and re-read all my favorite Madeline L'Engle books from A wrinkle in Time to A House Like a Lotus. Though I have a lot more time now than I did then, I still love young adult novels. It's a guilty pleasure which has become kind of about research as well because I would really like to finish the one I started writing several years ago. I digress.

My latest series, which I purchased at the Vegas Airport, is Twilight by Stephanie Meyers. There are four books, the first of which is soon to be a movie, and I love them all. I am not really that into Vampires. In fact that is why I didn't read this book sooner. I kept picking it up...it's been prominantly displayed everywhere... and I kept thinking, this is going to be totally predictable. The main character is a white girl named Bella who is wimpy and bad at sports, and so not the type of heroine I like to see in my books...but I am happy to say I mis-judged her. She has hidden depths and hidden talents and so does the book. It's not what I thought it would be. In fact I liked the first book so much I bought and read all four and it was well worth it. There are legends and shapeshifters, but somehow Meyers manages to avoid the whole fluffy unicorn fantasy land trap and writes from such a down to earth, small town perspective that you can really get into the characters.

My last three recomendations come from my trip to Powells in Portland. I LOVE POWELLS even if I do get lost there and spend way too much money everytime. While losing myself in the stacks I came across Magic Lessons, by Justine Larbalestier, another dark series about three teenage magicians. Set both in New York and Australia, the books chronicle a strange story of how their magic unfolds and could possibly lead to madness. This was also un-predictable and much creepier than I origiannly suspected, but worth the read.

If you want something a little more real and can take a little sadness, Looking for Alaska, by John Green was absolutely brilliant, poignant,and very well written. I won't spoil the plot. And last but not least, my favorite book of the summer, with the exception of Breaking Dawn, the last book of the Twilight series, was by Carolyn Mackler. It's called The Earth, My Butt, and Other Big Round Things and the fat girl does not get skinny....and I love it! (I also read her second book Vegan Virgin Valentine...totally great as well) Happy readings.

Red Stripe...the road to danger belt

Today I tested for my red stripe belt in Tae Kwon Do. It took me several months to get my blue belt, so I was kind of surprised to feel ready after just two months to try for my next belt, but I did and Mrs. P confirmed this. As summer is traditionally a time of lighter populations in both the kids and the adults classes, we had a combined test. I came in feeling good...a huge difference from my last two tests...and I left feeling good (also a difference).

I felt proud, not just of myself for representing my knowledge of the techniques well (or at least with minial mistakes), but I also felt proud of the other people in my school. As the second highest ranked person testing today, I had a long wait before it was my turn and as I watched everyone from the white belts through the blue stripes, I could see the improvements. I could see my own journey as a martial artist reflected. As a white belt, I felt so awkward in my own body. Every stance and every block, and even most of the kicks and punches felt totally foreign whereas now, while I still have challenges like trying not over rotate my turning side kicks and making sure my wheel kicks are level, I feel balanced and strong. I feel confident that if it were absolutely necesary I could thorougly kick someone's ass...and that is a great feeling. Assuming I did as well and I think I did (I'll findout on Monday), I will soon begin preparing for my next belt...red belt, which is the danger belt because it is the last belt before the first black belt...and that close to black belt you should be pretty dangerous.

This part of my journey is all about refining the basics, sharpening all my techniques and perfecting my self control. We all had a good lesson in self control today when one person kicked another below the belt. This was shortly after another person kicked the other during a no-contact display of one steps. They were both higher ranks and should've had better self control, but that not withstanding, it was still a good test.

Meanwhile, I spent this week settling into my new job. I think I am done with my back from Vegas funk because I am actually excited for the school year to begin. I like my new co-workers. And now that I am mostly over my aversion to having to be some place at a set time everyday, I am enjoying my new job. Everyday is different. In addition to teaching, I also support the Admissions team (which is only a one person team), the Academic team, and the main office assistant, so I have a variety of different things to do. What TKD reminds me is that while not everything I have to do is intuitive right now, with time I'll get better. I can already see that I will be well suited to this position. I guess it's just all about patience and consistency.

The Labyrinth

Call it a post-Vegas hang over, a back-to-work funk, whatever it is I have been cranky and out of sort since coming back...which is funny because I was actually kind of relieved to come back. There are only so many shows and so much ringing one can stand. But regardless I have been kind off balance and the one thing that seems to ground me and put me back on track recently is going to the Center for Spiritual Living...so me and Shoshana and surprisingly Mz Blu went, but I still didn't feel right.

Sunday was one of those days I just wanted to go home and be a troll, but I had promised Taus, my favorite tae kwon do ninja, that I would accompany her to a full moon meditation and blessing for leos. She said there would be a labyrinth. Well, I grew up in the 80s so I immediately pictured a mansion with a huge hedge maze...something David Bowie would feel comfortable riding a unicorn through. I was a bit disappointed at first when we rolled up to this lady's house where there was no possibility of anything so grandiose. The second thing I noticed is that Taus and I were the youngest women at the gathering by a decade or two (easily more than that). It was like coffee hour after the 8:00am service at the Episcopal church, lots of chatty old white people. My irritation increased as I had to answer for the fifth time "No I don't work at the Hospital, I'm a teacher," and so on and so on. Chit chat can be so tedious at times.

But as we worked our way to the back yard, I took a deep breath and tried to ease away from my negativity. The yard was fenced in and on the left side was the labyrinth, a circular growth or low furrowed plants that made a path switching back and forth around hairpin turns to the center which was filled with stones, shells, and trinkets. It wasn't what I had pictured, but it was nice and as we sat down in a circle I automatically began to center. One of the women had brought some singing bowls that were wrapped in yellow carrying cases like tiny jimbes. The singing bowls look kind of like the tops of cake plates only they have long handles and you hold them so the open side is up. They are played with a stick, but not like a drum or a gong, you simply roll the stick around the edge and it begins to resonate, not unlike a tuning fork. The lady had brought 3 different bowls and they each played a different tune. It was very soothing.

I found myself kind of fascinated by the coven of older women. I say coven, but they weren't witches or anything, just very unconventional in their spiritual believes. The discussion revolved around meditation and astrology and lots of stuff I am mostly topics I think of as new age. The singing bowls were so neat. The lady who brought them explained that singing bowls come from the Buddhist tradition. They are usually made out of some kind of special alloy, until not too long ago when someone figured out that crystal could re-produce the same sounds and that as a living organism the sound from this particular kind of bowl could evolve. She showed us the inside of one bowl and described how at some point when the crystal was still growing and forming, it had broken, but that it had healed itself. On the bottom there was beautiful strange pattern of discoloration that marked the scars. She says that one patch of regrowth is what causes that particular bowl to have such a warm tone. It struck me as poignant, the idea that scar tissue could make you stronger and richer.



We settled down to the task at hand...the labyrinth. Another lady began to talk about the tradition of labyrinth and I realized that it reminded me very much of how CSL teaches prayer.

There are three steps we've been working on for spiritual treatments: Recognition, Unification, Realization, Thanksgiving, and Release. In the first stage you recognize God, then you acknowledge that you are one with God, a part of the whole universe, then the realization is that thing you are praying for, be it good health or joy or whatever is already your reality, so then you say thanks and send that out into the universe. It's a very different way to pray after years of getting on my knees and begging forgiveness for my sins and asking permission to be blessed. This isn't a negotiation. I don't feel like I have to cheapen myself by playing let's make a deal.."I'll be a better person if you just heal my Grandma, please God". It's more like..."There is a God, I am a part of that God, as a part of God there is no joy that is denied me....I know my grandma is healthy whole and healed, this is my word and the word of God. That's Great and so I am very thankful for this truth. I
release it into the universe knowing that all is well." That's a a very simplified way to put it, but you get the idea.

Well, with labyrinth, the idea is that the center is love. As you make your way towards it you hold a trinket in your hand and say your prayer, then you release it into the love (the universe) and go out the same way you came in, all the while giving thanks. I picked a beautiful blue stone that looked like a jelly bean. One of the ladies blessed me with rose oil and some of the other ladies played the singing bowls. I was the first into the labyrinth and as I walked the narrow path between the green under bush, slowly and with a lit candle in one hand and my stone in the other, I thought a prayer for grace. I realize that lately I have been pretty crappy at embracing change...even the good changes...and there have been many, mostly good changes as of late. So I left my fear, my defensiveness, and my anger with a candle and my stone in the center of the labyrinth. And as I came out, I felt so much lighter, and so much more human. We sat in silence, the soft grass beneath our feet, the lightening foreboding but distant in the sky and held a space for hope, joy and community.

Afterwards there was a lovely potluck and an indoor meditation the preceded the blessing of the leos. There were quite a few of us and at the end everyone sang Happy B-Day. It was a beautiful present despite my original reluctance to see it as such. Thanks for putting up with my stank attitude Taus. Much love.