on a monday {sunday scribblings}

I am a bit under the weather and don't really feel in the mood for a trip to the past and my earliest memory. However, inspired by Alexandra's post, I have decided to share this today.

When my parents divorced when I was a freshmen in college, I went to therapy. And I stayed in therapy throughout my four years of college. When my therapist asked me to talk about my earliest memories involving my parents, a not-so-delightful memory came to mind immediately. I greatly appreciate that there are people who come to this page who know my parents, and I won't share all the details here out of respect. At the same time, this is about my journey, not about blame. After a conversation over the weekend, I have realized that I have moved through more of my feelings about my parents' divorce and relationship than I thought. I also honor that this is my memory. The other people there would remember this differently. This is how it goes; this is what memory is.

I am three or four and we are sitting at the kitchen table. We always sat in the same seats. My father across from me, my mother to my right. Always the same. When Matthew was born, he sat to my left. We never changed this seating arrangement, ever, the entire time they were together. On this afternoon, after the meal begins, there is an argument about asparagus not being clean. I remember watching them like a tennis match. The yelling. The plate of asparagus ends up getting thrown over my head smashed against the wall behind me. (No one was physically hurt.) My father storms out of the room, the garage door opens, and I hear the car backing into the driveway. My mother cries. She and I pack a suitcase. I remember her saying, "go get seven pairs of underwear." We head toward South Carolina to my grandparents house. About 30 miles down the road, the car begins to make noise and we turn around and go back home. I am sure there is more to the memory, and there are pieces I have chosen not to share. But this is it. A quick understanding by a young child watching the argument develop back and forth. This is how it is to be. An understanding.

This is one piece of an early memory. Other pieces include:

My father reading to me at night. As I get a little older, we begin to take turns reading chapters from The Little House on the Prairie series. I remember the night I tried to use phonics to sound out mosquito.

My mother teaching me to bake chocolate chip cookies. During one of these afternoons, she receives a phone call and I stand on my "kitchen stool" and proceed to eat quite a bit of cookie dough. She doesn't get mad, just laughed.

I remember them each holding this big, red, plastic apple as we would work on me turning my head to look at things because my left eye did not turn to the left. I honor the way they both supported me when they realized my left eye was not "normal." The way they took me to wonderful doctors and never invited me to feel differently, in fact they insisted I was not different. (I wrote more about this here.)

I honor the memories surrounding school and the way they both taught me that reading and writing and thinking outside the box were all important tools to my growth. I have memories about these ideas from the time I started preschool at three.

When I was in therapy, I learned that I had been given a beautiful gift. My memory was that overall, my childhood was a good one. Even though my parents' marriage had its challenges and they would eventually go through an ugly divorce, I knew I was loved. A blessing in the midst of a bit of hell.

Now, I navigate the waters of an adult relationship with my parents. After challenges and miscommunication and hurt feelings on all sides, I am able to separate my relationship with each of them and honor that we all do the best we can.

My father was always "larger than life" to me. When my grandmother died last year, after my mother called to tell me, the first person I called was my father. I just wanted to hear my daddy's voice. And even though she was my mother's mother and they hadn't particularly liked one another, my father cried with me on the phone. Throughout my journey across the country to the funeral and the few days I was there, he checked in with me to see that I was okay. I glimpsed a side of him I hadn't really known. He had lost his father and the grandmother he was close to when he was younger than I am now, and his brother died of cancer in 2002. He knew this journey of grief. I just never knew he would be the one to give me support during those initial days of shock and deep pain. Writing here has given me a new dimension to my relationship with my father that has been an unexpected gift. He is able to see a side of me that I didn't share with many people over these last (almost) thirty years.

My mother and I can have some incredible conversations that have given me insight into her journey. In the last year, I have had this somewhat obvious realization that as children, we were once all attached to our mothers. Literally. This has given me some space to realize why mother-child relationships can have so many layers. She was my age when I was born. This blows my mind a bit. And I recognize that she had hopes and dreams for herself that probably did not involve my brother and me. Just as I am on a journey that does not currently include children, she was once looking at life just like I do now. I am blessed to have moments when my mother and I can talk and she gets it.

As I navigate the waters of an adult relationship with my parents, I am reminded that I am blessed. All the memories, twists and turns on my path, have brought me here to this moment. Something wonderful is afoot in my life. A change that I cannot quite articulate yet. I would not be here without all that I have seen, heard, lived. This is where I am meant to be. So I invite a letting go of any guilt from all sides. Take a breath. And live in your life. We are all in the place we are meant to be. We just have to recognize that.

Link to other bloggers earliest memories here.

a few little odds and ends

In the comments from my last post, Sky wrote, "letting go of your need to control judgments can sometimes free you in significant ways." Oh my this is huge. Yes. This is it. I keep reading this aloud so it will sink into me. Really sink in. Thank you. The control piece is a big part of my journey. I don't want someone not to like me; I just want them to know I am doing the best I can even if they don't like what I am doing. But I have to own the parts that are about me, and let go of the parts that are about them. I am going to continue to let this one twirl around in my mind and reflect on the issue of control in my life.

This morning, my grandfather fell and broke his hip. Shit. All I can say about this is shit. He has been without my grandmother for a little over a year and has been adjusting to being alone and this happens. And I can only imagine how alone he feels. He fell in the garage. In his neighborhood in South Carolina, most people have a carport so the garage does not have a door. He had his keys in his hand and kept setting off the car alarm panic button; turning it off, then on again, and so on. Some young man he has never met, living three streets over, kept hearing it. He decided to jump in the car and investigate. And he found my dear grandpa in pain on the floor of the garage. Bless his soul from the hair on his head to his toes. Thank you sir, whomever you are. (Gramps has surgery in the morning. Hopefully all will go well and he will be home in a few weeks, self-sufficient again. But life is unpredictable. I take a breath and do what I can from here. And I also admit that somehow this brings up my sadness about missing my grandmother and how she is supposed to be here. Silly...maybe even selfish. But true.)

I was on the phone with a dear friend this morning and my husband motioned me to come outside. In our little sideyard a foxglove is blooming! Last summer, a friend gave me some "extra" plants from her garden. And now a foxglove is blooming. This is amazing. I was just telling Letha that I love foxgloves. Hee, hee. Now I have one. Wondrous.

And I am off to Portland this afternoon for a girls night with some friends. I cannot wait. The blessing of laughter and poetry reading and good food and silliness in the midst of all of it.

Finally, I would like to "borrow" an idea from Michelle. I spill of myself here quite a bit and sometimes wonder, "do these people who stop by have anything they wish they knew about me?" Do questions come to mind as you visit my corner of the world? If so, leave them in the comments and I will answer them when I get back from my quick trip down to Portland. From the serious to the truly silly...I will answer them.

quiet, sleepy thoughts

oh i am sleepy this morning. another quiet, self-reflective friday. a little melancholy mixed with happiness mixed with not enough sleep because of excitement that turns into a little reflecting pool.

i cannot believe i will be 30 next wednesday. in my day-to-day life i do not usually talk about my birthday; i don't tell people about it. and to be honest, my birthdays have never been all that super special. not that they have been awful...just not all that exciting (though my parents did throw me a decadent 14th birthday party - a surprise with 6 friends from school. though one friend, of course, told me about it; i always acted like i did not know. it was delightfully fun and at a club my parents belonged to so we had to dress up and all that fun stuff. kind of wish for one of those parties again. the surprise feels so good...like you thought no one really understood that all you ever want is a little party just for you. but then they do). but something about coming to this space and writing from my heart invites me to talk about it. i mean, i am turning 30. i know i am "young" but 30 is that age that seemed so very old 15 years ago. 30. i am excited as i have this image of waving good-bye to my twenties. bye bye crazy decade, bye bye. i am ready to own my body, my skin, my truth, the knowledge within me, and i feel like my thirties will bring me more of that (as will the decades after that of course). yet i cannot believe i will be 30. i also cannot believe that this will be the second birthday where my grandmother will not call to ask the magic question, "do you feel older today?"

i am wrestling with something. the idea that when you need to move away from something in your life, for reasons that are personal, and you want to act with integrity, there are sometimes things that you do not share. you do not want to hurt another person if you do not have to. who wants to hurt another person? you understand that the decision is about you, and even though it may affect others, it is a decision you need to make for yourself. yet, the other person/people will not understand. this is the way of it, right? the cycle of human communication and relationship. i am referring to a specific instance and just a pattern in my life all at the same time.

as i approach this new decade and the idea that i want to live in my life, really live in it, i am trying to become "the observer of myself." watching what i do and examining it. trying to let go of self-judgement and seeing it all for what it is. and what it is, is me. a person with feelings, emotions, a heart, a soul. a person doing the best i can. a person trying to notice the patterns and learn from them. and one pattern is that i can give of myself so much that i forget who i am. i can get sucked into a relationship, a job, a friendship where i am a support system for someone and that person sees me as a support system and thinks "liz is so strong" and doesn't see that i need support too. i do not believe this is an intentional response, it just happens. and i think sometimes the other person feels like "oh good! someone to help me with my challenges, someone to listen, someone to care about what i think and need and want."

i respect that people have these needs because i have these needs as well. but i am not strong enough to hold it all up. to listen and brainstorm but not hear, "how are you?" to drop everything when i am needed but not have anyone to talk to in my moments of need. to give all of my good ideas away (well, this one made me laugh out loud. there are always more good ideas, but hopefully you understand what i mean). and because of this pattern, when i feel like the pattern is starting again, when people hurts my feelings and i try to tell them in a gentle way to help them see it and not invite defensiveness, but people brush me off for whatever reason, i begin to back away. i know this pattern because i know myself.

see, the thing is, i am the one who lets this pattern happen. it is me. and i realize that i can't always back away. i need to try to set the boundaries. step up to that challenge even though it can be hard. i need to sit in the quiet i always invite others to sit in, and really listen to my heart and what it needs and wants. i need to realize that the reaction another has is about that person; my reaction is about me. and i also need to realize that not every relationship that develops this pattern has to say in this pattern.

i struggle with figuring out how to tell someone how i am feeling because my experience has been that people do not want to know. they take it through their filters and make it whatever they want. the defensiveness and confusion sets in, even if what you have to share is small and is your truth. it is interesting. i wish we could let our open hearts guide us without bruising one another. i wish we could listen to other people's needs and hear them for what they are. i wish i could do some things over again.

but all i can do is face the next chapter with my open heart and do the best i can. because really, that is what we all try to do.

reading poetry in the bathtub and an author i adore {poetry thursday}

For me, when I read a poem aloud, I find a rhythm as I let the words twirl in the air around me. This can be a powerful experience as waves of new understanding often happen. When I first started reading poetry regularly a few months ago, I had a poetry reading in the bathtub. I was moved to even write a poem about it (not a great poem, but it captured the experience). Now, I know Lynn does not like the idea of reading poetry in the bathtub because she might get a book of poetry wet (she takes special care of her poetry books, which I appreciate), but I say go for it!
 
I decided to have another reading in the bathtub this evening. I spent time with Kathleen Norris as I read a few poems from her collection Little Girls in Church. This book has been on my shelf for a few years now next to several other books by Norris, yet I had only opened it once or twice. Reading it tonight, I discovered the poem All Saints, All Souls that was written in memory of William Stafford. At first glance I thought, "oh this is interesting...in Stafford's memory." But then, in the second stanza, their relationship of teacher/student/friend became apparent. And this line punched me a bit in the gut: "But you kept me on your radar, Bill—Kneel down, you said, explore for the poem." Then I cried my way through the rest. I have cried my way through it several times now. I want to live inside this poem, this memory, this relationship for just a few minutes. And through this poem I can.
 
In finding the link to the poem, I discovered this incredible project. Had I read this poem when I first purchased this book, I would not have made the connection because I did not even know who William Stafford was a few months ago. And now I feel like I have known him my entire life. How I love this journey into poetry.

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I discovered Norris my senior year in college when I read The Cloister Walk in a philosophy class called Education of the Spirit. This book is one of my favorites...ever. My copy has beendog-earedd and has passages underlined and notes throughout. If you have not read it, put it on your library list. The same year I took this class, Norris spoke at St. Mary's College, and because St. Mary's is right across the street from my alma mater, I headed over there to hear her (something tells me we probably got extra credit). She was so darn cool. She spoke about this small book, and I regret to this day that I was too shy to stick around and have her sign my copy. She also received an honorary degree from ND during my graduation ceremony. My college graduation day was a tough one for me because I didn't have a lot of friends who attended my school and the ones I was closest with had graduated the previous year, so I actually sat by myself. Having Kathleen Norris up on that stage just reminded me that I really wasn't alone. And tonight, as I read her words again, and discovered her poem about William Stafford, I took a breath and remembered this once again.

Other Kathleen Norris links:
Another poem.
Norris in a conversation about CS Lewis's The Screwtape Letters (scroll down to #5) that occurred on NPR.
An interview with Norris.

me from a to z {self portrait challenge}

(this photo was taken by lynn at a booth at the university district street fair earlier this month.)

accent: not so much (in my opinion). i just sound like everybody else (except when i say button or mitten...comes out like budden and midden. not sure why).

booze: why would you not? a full-bodied red wine will do the trick. but i also never turn down frozen, fruity concoctions. my favorite way to drink them is in a cabana on a beach in maui. and martinis are never a bad idea. oh and sangria...you get my point.

dog/cat: yes, one golden retriever named millie.

essential electronics: my laptop, my phone, my dvd player (which of course means that i must include my gigantic tv), and my new heat gun that i use to dry things when i am in art land.

favorite perfume: i love anything that has a hint of lily of the valley. i am also drawn to scents that invoke thoughts gypsies and bizzarres and twirling and magic carpet...i know these scents when i find them (philosophy used to make one called soulmates. loved it. still looking for a replacement.)

gold/silver: silver...and, well, i never turn down platinum.

hometown: south bend, indiana

insomnia: not too often, but when i do it is the worst. sometimes i have bad dreams that seem quite real and i just get up because going back to sleep is too scary.

job title: yoga teacher/freelance editor

kid(s): (see dog/cat)

living arrangements: a little house in the pacific northwest that i share with my dear husband and millie.

most admirable trait: my open heart and fierce loyalty.

number of sex partners: hmm....just enough.

overnight hospital stays: i think there has just been the one about 30 years ago now.

phobias: i do not love bats. but if faced with spending the night with a bat or a shark, i would choose a bat. i do not love deep water and i do not love it when it is pitch black around me. i guess i have a phobia of things being out of my control.

quote: "god bless america"

religion: i appreciate ritual in my life and i believe there is a power, an energy greater than me. i believe i touch at the bottom of the hem of the skirt of this energy when i experience moments of grace.

siblings: one. my baby brother matthew.

time you usually wake: 7:30 a.m.

unusual talent: i can tap dance.

x-rays: too many. lots of bouts of bronchitis and pneamonia as a child. and these darn teeth. and my knee dislocations always brought about a few moments in the x-ray room.

yummy foods: grilled cheese and tomato soup. this is the food that comforts me most of all (well, and yellow cake with chocolate frosting...that isn't too bad either). and summer is coming so this means many a caprese salad (slices of mozzarella and tomatoes with basil and a balsamic vinegar and olive oil drizzle)...yummy indeed.

zodiac: i am a gemini (just like my jonny...so really, there are four people and a dog in this house...very interesting).

thanks to KP for this meme.

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updated in 2011: Self-Portrait Challenge (SPC) was a website that encouraged people to take and share self-portraits. I am sad to report that it no longer has an active website, so I have removed links that appeared in the posts connected to my participation in this project.

mrs. lewis {sunday scribblings}

i was going to write about the time my father took me to see out of africa. i was in fourth grade, and now know that i probably didn't understand many subtleties in that movie. but watching that movie with my head on my dad's shoulder, i fell in love with robert redford. the way his blond hair fell across the forehead of his wise face. his voice and the rhythm in which he said his lines. the way the skin creased around his eyes when he would laugh. while watching that movie i also learned the valuable lesson that if robert redford plays the male lead, the movie may not turn out as you want. this is code for: he might die. and when he did, i didn't quite understand. i leaned over and whispered to my dad, "but he is alive isn't he?" he shook his head no. and i cried and cried. the first big love of my life breaking my heart. all in about two hours.

i was going to write a story about a 13 year old falling in love for the first time. she would be sitting cross-legged on a blanket under a tree in the backyard of her family's home, her hair in a long braid down her back. and she would be in the arms of mr. darcy as she turned page after page of the book on her lap. mr. darcy, could there ever be such a man as her mr. darcy?

but during this brainstorming, i talked with my father, and he told me that eleanor had passed away last week. she was the woman who took care of me during the first few years of my life. i remember her dog peaches and the cookies she would make and that the table in her kitchen was a booth. i remember that there were sometimes other kids in the house to play with. i remember that her husband bob had a huge cookie jar collection. and i remember love. i always felt love at eleanor's house. i think she understood me in ways i didn't even realize.

i was blessed to have the love of my parents during those first years, but also the love of two other women: eleanor and my grandmother. and as I think about this idea of first love, my mind has turned to the idea of someone who taught me about love and acceptance: mrs. lewis.

mrs. lewis was my pre-school teacher, and i loved her with the fierce determination of a three year old wanting to mirror her every move and the sound of her laughter and the calm of her presence. she taught me to love the sound of someone's voice reading aloud, and in turn, to love reading books aloud when i could read. she taught me the importance of sharing and how to always tell the truth. but most of all, she accepted me in a moment that could have been full of shame. and for this, i will always hold her deeply in my heart.

as a child, i was terrified of the dark. i always slept with a bright night light and my bedroom door open. my pre-school class was at a play or maybe even a marionette show and the theatre was pitch black. mrs. lewis had me on her lap because she knew how scared i was of darkness like this and how any hint at an "evil character" would cause me distress. and in the midst of my anxiety, i did the unthinkable. the thing that i hadn't done all school year. the thing i watched another student do every day during naptime while i would wait and then think, "why does he do that every single day? i would never do that." but i did. i wet my pants. and even worse, i wet my pants while sitting on her lap.

she just scooped me right up and took me to the bathroom where she cleaned up both of us. i don't remember the logistics of all of that, i just remember that as i cried and cried worried she was going to be mad or not like me anymore or not let me come back to school, she soothed me in a way that let me know that she was not angry. how this happens when we are afraid sometimes. how i was not going to be in trouble and that no, my parents would not be angry either. she helped me know that it was okay. i was going to be fine. and she was fine too.

no one but my parents and mrs. lewis knew what happened. how she kept it from the other students i do not know. i am sure i was quite a story in some ways, but she never invited me to feel any shame. she never brought it up again. even now, to this day, she welcomes me into her classroom with a huge hug and introduces me to her students. i try to visit her every now and then. and when i do, i am always reminded that love is when you invite a person to become even more than they already are through encouragement and acceptance. love does not invite shame.

happy birthday my love

Today is Jonny's birthday. We have spent the day eating (Red Robin) and doing a little shopping and talking and trying to prevent him from getting too upset that his new iPod isn't working (we might have to take it back...ugh) and eating some more (sushi at Blue C) and yet again (ice cream cake from baskin robbins) and now watching a movie (Wings of Desire).

Here is the little creation I made for Jonny. I scanned it so it doesn't quite come across like it appears in real life...but here it is...(the words say: she granted him one wish and he opened his eyes and he lived in his life)

I am working with these little winged girls and some words and stories. More to come.

Thank you for all of your kind words about my day yesterday. I am so grateful for every single comment and email and virtual hugs and healing energy you sent my way. How blessed I am...today is better...as I said to a friend: the quiet sadness is still there but a little softer today.

quiet thoughts

it feels quiet today. one of those mornings when i had the thought, "oh, i will call grandma and tell her that." then almost immediately the mind and heart realize together with a punch in the gut that i cannot. i hate this. i don't hate much, but i hate that moment when i realize. the tears tap on the back of my eyeballs as the rain drips outside the sliding glass door. my nose congestion begins in anticipation of tears that do not fall. a pile of books seems to sit on my chest and as i take a breath they slide off but then stack up again as i exhale.

the thought that prompted this was my excitement about my new sewing machine. i am excited and overwhelmed by this new beast that sits on my dining room table (an early birthday gift from jon's parents - i am blessed). the last time i set up thread and bobbins and needles in a sewing machine was almost 20 years ago when i as in 4-H for a summer. i am sure i will figure it out this weekend, but my heart wishes my mom or jon's mom or my grandma or my great-grandma would knock on the door, right now, and say "hi honey, i am here to help you. let's make something." i just wanted to call my grandma and say, "wish you were here." indeed.

the seesaw of excitement to quiet feelings. back and forth. this is how it is.

i am excited to have had some creative energy surging through me. but i am not so sure i like anything i have created. though i try to own the fact that the only way i will find my way is to play and paint and glue and try new things.

i have ideas flowing, but i don't feel capable. i. know. i. am. yes, i know i am. but that doesn't mean that i know it in every moment. all the books i will write and the creations i will paint and glue and sew together and the booth i will have at the fremont sunday market full of all of my creations and the yoga workshops i will give and the and the and the....when will it all begin? when will it jump from my heart into the world?

it is a rainy day. the kind of day when i want to just go shopping and find something wondrous. i need a dress for two weddings i have this summer. i wish i had someone i could call right now and say, "want to go shopping for a new dress...then have tea...then sit in the poetry section at barnes and noble and take turns reading poems out loud?" i wish you were here so we could do that. wish you were here.

the sewsaw of the mind and heart.

since you aren't here today, i am going to curl up and watch the movie chocolat, then read a few pages of may sarton's journal, then maybe turn up the indigo girls really, really loud and put more paint to a canvas. anything to balance the seesaw just a bit.