My writing sanctuary

Right here. Engulfed in this huge round-y chair made perfect with down filled pillows.  Feet propped up on the matching ottoman.    This is where I write.

In the winter, a warm glowing fire.  The soft teal blankie on my lap and over my toes feels just like rabbit fur.  A hot mug of cocoa, coffee, or mulled wine.  Celtic instrumentals or classical music surrounds me.


In the summer, I open the window behind me, the breezes caress the back of my neck and shoulders...the soft movement of my tendrils so soothing.  A glass of red wine, the robins' evening song or perhaps ambient music....
...and the sounds of my family.... completes.
 I feel little vulnerability here, surrounded by my paintings, plants, our family's treasures.   I can settle myself, calm and open my mind....and let words flow.
The warmth emanating from the wood floors bathes the room. The ever-changing view out these windows nourishes my soul. Always.  Even on the gloomiest days there is so much beauty here.

"What do you do?"

This prompt is a bit wonky.  The full question is, "If you couldn't answer with your job, how would you answer the question, 'what do you do'?"  Are they asking me to describe my job without stating exactly what it is....or are they looking for a more esoteric answer?  Well...I'll go with the former.

I HELP....

       I see with my hands...touch with my soul...intent on easing pain...calming spirit and body...listening with ears and heart to both the quiet and to the words that may flow.  I offer my voice to advise and educate....I hold a space of safety and healing... I may not cure-there is no hubris here-but together we work on a journey to contentment in the moment, toward a life of wellness.

I CREATE...

What's in my heart...on my mind...behind my lips...is translated in color, texture, movement, layered depth, onto a pure white canvas waiting to receive the rush of energy or the delicate placing of emotion.  Accompanied by a brilliant sky, warmth, fresh air around me, earth beneath me...the ultimate artist's studio....house, techno, dubstep, electronica engulfing me and feeding my color dance.

 

I do lots of other shit, too.

A blogger I adore

I have not been active in the tit for tat of the blogosphere for along time now.  There are only 24 hours in a day and I just don't put the time into reading blogs much anymore.  There are a few exceptional ones that I appreciate reading.....but as far as the "you comment on my blog and I'll comment on yours" thing goes, I'm not playing that game anymore.  When a blog entry really resonates with me I may be inclined to reply with gratitude, my own input, or questions.  But that's rare anymore. 

I can list a lot of fantastic blogs from the past...but I'm not even sure if they are still around!  A lot of those folks are now Facebook friends, so I haven't really perused their blogs of late.  The question of the day is "A Blogger I Adore".  Well, I know a woman new to blogging-only two posts-but I do adore her.  She is my daughter's teacher, Ms. Drinen.  She has been Willa's teacher from 1st grade and will be her teacher every year through 8th grade, as is the way of a Waldorf school.  Even to this day I feel a little sadness when I drop Willa off at school in the morning.  I STILL wish I could just spend my day with her at home exploring the world like we used to when she was little....   But I could not feel more grateful and blessed that my little girl walks into Suzanne's classroom every day.  There couldn't be a more wonderful teacher and environment for Willa.  I have watched her creativity, intellect, empathy, confidence and sense of wonder just flourish under Ms. Drinen in that last 3 years.  We have all witnessed Suzanne's fruition with this dynamic class as well.  As much as I wish I could freeze time,  I can't wait to watch this symbiotic evolution for the next 5 years!!!

Suzanne's Blog: BLESSINGS AND GRATITUDE
 

Ms. Drinen recently gathered us together to let us know that she had  been diagnosed with colon cancer.  A shock to us all.  A classroom of tearful parents and such a brave young woman.  Here is this dynamic, vibrantly healthy, playin' outside in the Alaska backyard, she's a yoga instructor! type, 31 years old who gets cancer?  It's one of those "Now, just what the FUCK??!" things.  But Ms. Drinen... she's going to be just fine.  Caught it early.  Hasn't metastasized.  Cutting it right outta there-adios fucker. And she will be fine.  Remember that weird intuition I mentioned a post or two ago?  It's not fair.  There's people out there who don't do a damn thing to take care of themselves and live a full healthy life.  Let the child perverts get cancer, right?  ....Sigh.  In the words of my wise elder daughter, "Everything happens for a reason".   I know....it has to be friggin' cancer, right?! 

I hope Ms. Drinen, a blogger I adore(who is blogging her journey with cancer), can feel all the love flowing to her from Alaska to St. Louis were she is with her family and getting the best medicine available.  We're sending highest wishes for a safe succinct surgery and NO need for chemo.  Feh.  Come home soon, Suzanne.  There's hikin' and dancin' to be had!  Can't WAIT to read your, "What I Did Last Summer" report in 4th grade!!!

 

Circle of love

 

What makes me uncomfortable?

  I never been one to bitch about discomfort.  THIS chick is not one of those who thrives on comfy coziness.   Oh, don’t get me wrong…I adore my time on the couch wrapped in a blankie, cat on lap, sipping wine, chatting with my hunny, watching a good movie, reading, dinking on the internets…but ONLY when it is well earned.  Otherwise, it feels….lazy…..slovenly…kinda pathetic.  I get restless as hell.  My step-dad once said,”You have to have a few rainy days to REALLY appreciate a sunny one!”.  So, so true, in my case.  If life was hazy dazy lazy everyday I would fucking rip my hair out.  It’s like waiting for death to come.  That ain’t livin’, no MA’AM!  After a day of mothering, kneading  my client’s muscles, painting, weightlifting, running, doin’ errands, driving taxi, cooking dinner, and trying to at least keep things tidy, an evening of oozing into couch position, glass of red in hand, is EARRRRRRRRRNED!  And all the more sweet. 

 

NOT that I’m saying my busy day is “uncomfortable”.  I enjoy daily life.  I can take it!  I gave birth to a 10 pound butterball….24 hour labor, 4 pushing, no drugs….I can do ANY-FUCKING-THING, my dears!  But, if I have to point out my discomforts, here they are (Mostly social related stuff):

1.  Chatting with someone for the first time who equals my level of pitiable shyness or worse.  I can be retardedly shy and I HATES it!  Pair me with an outgoing interesting person and I’m ok.  But when I throw out those conversation icebreakers and they fall flat?  Uuuuugh, to DIE.

2.  Speak in front of a group of peole I don’t know well?  No, please.  I used to head team meetings back in the day and I ROCKED it!  But they were co-workers and friends.  A psychic once told me that according to my birth date, color of my mother’s socks, and hit song at the time, that it was my life’s purpose to speak publically for the edification and personal growth of others.  HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAA!        Aha.

3.  Oh, and, Bitch?  DON’T invade my personal space bubble.  You can get kinda close- WHOA!  NOT THAT FUCKING CLOSE!!!  Don’t be grabbing my arm, whispering into my ear, or stickin’ your face in mine. That makes me uncomfortable!  And the closer you are the more accurately I will know you!  So, if you are lovely person, I will know your intentions and appreciate that-but ya still need to back off soon.  Me no likey.  My husband says I have an uncanny ability to “read” a person and/or situation(And here is where I make up for yesterday’s missed prompt: What Are You Good At?)for what they are with laser sharp acuity.  Just by being in someone’s presence.  This is NOT judgment, mind you.  Not a catty sentencing at all.  It’s just this…knowing… a feeling deep down.  And in me ole’ age I have finally learned to LISTEN to and respect this gut feeling.  It has saved me a lot of wasted time and energy on people.  Sadly, my intuitions are often on the negative side.  Red flags and neck hairs raised.  Miles, the eternal optimist, says I see the worst in things at times.  Not true.  I consider myself a realist.  I try very hard to acknowledge the positives. But I HAVE learned to set that boundary of keeping that person at bay and protecting myself until I KNOW that they are in my life for a reason.   I am DONE taking in the toxic strays!  My hunny is the most forgiving, loyal and accepting person I know.  Almost to a fault because he gets hurt and so disappointed.  If only he could have a bit more of my 6^th sense…. and I his sanguinity…

Well, la de Da!

4.  Overstimulation is VERY uncomfortable to me.  The radio is on, the kids are asking me a question, my husband is talking about his day, I’m cooking dinner……….AAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!   Mama gets crabby.   And as much as I love parties and get-togethers, I often feel like I’ve been beamed to Japan when so many people are taking at once in a room.  Add music?  Fuggedabout it.  I literally can’t understand 85% of what is being said to me.  I always seek out a quiet place to re-charge my “battery” before diving back into the melee.

 

5.  Oh, and let’s not forget:  Monthly water retention + jeans = HELLS NO!!!!  Where are my yoga pants?!?!?

Attempting to write every day in May. HAAAAAAAAAhahahahaaaaa!

Pre-script:  So.....I'm a day late. 

I miss writing on a regular basis.  I really miss taking that block of uninterrupted time to just immerse myself in the laying down of words. ...LOVE to write.  When I'm feeling creatively stagnant, when my painting muse is MIA, writing always gets the juices going.   ....if only I had more time.  I've barely made time for getting down the basics of what goes on in my life,  let alone anything creative.  I'd like to make more of an effort.  Lately I've been looking at writing prompt blogs and have found some pretty good ones that I would like to run with.  Here's one and here's another.  I also have kind of half-assed started a "Beautiful Words" type of meme where I write something based on some of the words I find, you guessed it, beautiful.  I was chatting about all this with my RunnerGirl friend and she pointed me to a reader's blog who is doing a blog-a-day thing for May.  I'm going to jump on her blogwagon  and hang tenuously to the feed trough, if you will.  I need to temper leniency on this one with dedication.  I'm not joining the gang and posting widgets to the challenge and responding to peoples posts... I have no one to prove anything to but myself and we have WAY too much going on this month...Chaotic remodeling, my mom visiting, holiday, birthday, Parties, Dylan's graduation and leaving of the nest........   I want to dedicate a little solace time to quiet mediation and writing  this month.  I'm just glomming some decent prompts from this challenge and doing it my own effin' way.  No promises of anything daily....but here goes:

My life story in 250 X 2.5-ish words:

Earliest memory:  The smell of Certs…a triad of lights overhead…birth…a person of gold light who has comforted me in my dreams ever since. 
 
Uncomfortable pretty shoes push a plastic horsey around a limpid Texas pool. 

I wait for my Daddy to get home from work on the prickly grass of our New Jersey front lawn.  Eyes fixed on the blue above me because I was told he was riding a motorcycle today and was going to jump so high into the sky.  “Whatcha got there?” “Bread and butter”. 

Montessori and whistling, finally, I have what it takes to conquer this fear of that deafening… paralyzing… alarm bell in our Minnesota home.  I love my Irish setter, and my friend Nick, and rides in the car, my kite, Zoom, and was I on Romper Room?!?!?  

New Jersey again. Ridgewood…learning to find my way to kindergarten all by myself-such a big girl- and Miss Ola is the nicest lady in the world .  Imaginations SOAR, my neighbor friends and I visit many worlds as I dodge the first of many bullies to come.  She pulled me down the wooden stairs by my arm.  I dance with Neil Diamond on the landing…

Another new home.  The last one of my childhood.  A pool, my hair is long, my father unpredictable.  My love for running is born as Dinosaurs chase me in the back yard.  Late nights of loud music and arguments chase my dreams. He smashed my tape recorder on the kitchen floor and promised to ALWAYS be there.  A broken cactus, someone sleeping it off in the guestroom, “we’re getting a divorce”.  My cousin cries, I sigh.  My imaginary play reveals truths.  The scale tips back and forth…friends/my step-dad and his grandkids/outside/beloved pets/my tiny glass animals/grandmothers/ sunlight dappling my bedroom window screen/the green leaves shimmer along with cicadas/dreaming of mountains.  Back and forth… the bullies/the Spirit Breakers/the prison of my own brain/…my friend dies.  My family is not of my blood.

My New Hampshire dorm filled with excited and excepting students.  On their own for the first time. It gives me freedom and safety to emerge…… only to cocoon again when my friend is extinguished by a drunk driver and again when my step-father dies(I knew it before anyone answered my call.)

Things are no longer the same.  Off to another New Hampshire college.  Too much excess, too many stagnant “friends”.  I take control.  Body, mind and soul,

And Montana becomes my love.   “All my changes where there”.  I learn to go it solo.  My dog in tow.  The quiet on the hills and high peaks connecting my core to the earth where I dig  my toes into its softness in the spring.  I am growing up with my garden that I share with my soul mate although this reality remains locked unacknowledged deep in my heart.  For years.  I feel a love for his baby girl like I have never felt before.  And then they are gone.  I’m ready for more…

…So one quick yearlong stay in Seattle… and I miss my mountains.  I miss close friends.  I miss my evolution.  I was wrong.  This isn’t “more”.

Alaska.  Reunited with mountains, ocean, my best friend and his growing girl.  Endings and new beginnings and my heart is unlocked forever.  Free to love.  To help complete a broken family.  This child that bestowed the honor of mothering upon me…  This man who said “yes” when I proposed amongst glaciers.  Experiencing the quickening and growth in my own womb.  Together we have joined life, rescued life, created life, and learned to live life as fully as we can.  True friendships, meaningful fulfilling work, raising our young, hard play, continued personal evolution…. 

Us four.  Held in the heart of this mountain valley.

Photo by Mathew Crockett Photography

 

What the Massage Therapist Knows

Just a slight departure. I came across this poem on another Massage Therapist's blog and felt compelled to share. She must have a direct Psychic Network hotline to my mind because this is the embodiment of my ongoing experience as an LMT.

jasmine added to oil will disguise the smell of stinky feet

but it has changed the way she feels about jasmine.

mascara stains the cradle covers

not even bleach and borax take it out

next time she'll order navy blue

breasts don't stay perky after forty

they droop and slide to the side, except

store bought ones

you'll apologize for not shaving your legs

no need

you should see hers

standing on the edge of the futon

helps her gain leverage, the weight of her body

against yours

men tell jokes to break the silence

as opposed to women,

who tell secrets

they love it when she reaches under the sheet

all the way down the spine, and lifts

she knows that

sometimes she'll do it twice

just to hear them sigh, even though it exacerbates

her tendonitis

you put on heavy perfume to cover the fact

you didn't take a shower

the perfume is worse

you like looking at her bare feet through the face cradle

something about it makes you relax

feel safe

there are times you'd rather not listen

to new age music, sometimes

you just need quiet

when she leans into your sacrum it almost feels

like you grow two inches

doesn't it

flannel sheets are better

warm and cozy

like her room

her hug

you'll know right away if she's good or not

seventeen seconds, they say

that's all it takes

you talk a lot, laugh loudly, tell jokes

hoping she won't notice

that pesky erection

(*Thank GOD this is the only one I haven't experienced!!!*)

you hold your legs tightly together

she almost has to pry them apart to massage your thighs

it has nothing to do with modesty

you may have forgotten the past but

your body hasn't

she wishes she had a big spatula

so she didn't have to wake you up

to turn over

when she rubs your crooked old feet sometimes she cries, thinking of all those miles

behind you

the pregnant ones are hardest to work on

but then the baby talks to her

through her hands

god

you want her to press harder, there

under the scapula, so tight

like a frozen wing

your nose may stuff up from lying face down

or from of the sadness you feel

untouched for so long

it's best to rub toes from pinky to biggest or that song gets in her head,

we we we

all the way home

you're wondering if she heard you fart

no, but she smelled it

there is a difference between hurts

and hurts good

a big one

she rests her hands on your head, shoulders, hips, feet

to make you feel like one piece

connected again

you wish you didn't have to get up

could just sleep there a while, not knowing

she would've let you

you left that extra twenty on purpose

knowing the kid's tuition is due next week

thank you

there are days when she can't wait for you

to arrive so she can touch someone

anyone