Inner Mayhem

Finding the time

2008-04-24T09:21:00.001-07:00

When I told my husband I planned to pursue Stringbeans, his first question was "When?" As in, how are you going to fit that in between volunteering at the kids' school, writing, pitching articles, volunteering for PanCan, taking care of the kids and the dog, doing laundry, picking up groceries, managing our household plus our house on Whidbey Island, running to appointments, etc., etc., etc.?

I'll admit, I'm already pretty short on time. Luckily, my business partner is a mom just like me, so she faces the same constraints. Our kids are friends, so we end up holding meetings at the bus stop (morning and afternoon), while walking the dogs, or on the treadmill at the gym. I'll call her with a question from the grocery store (yes, I'm one of those obnoxious people chatting while I'm in the dairy aisle). She knows she can call me with an idea bright and early because my kids have woken me up anyway.

We're working it out. And my husband knows that it's his turn to pick up some of the slack. The laundry is piling up, but that's ok.

Vacation!

2008-04-24T09:14:00.000-07:00

We just got back from a week in sunny Florida. I'm glad we got to soak up a little vitamin D because when we returned to Seattle we were welcomed by snow. Yes, snow in April. How I love the Northwest!

In any case, while in the sunshine state I managed to sneak in a little bit of Stringbeans business and drove to Miami to attend Material World. My aim was to source a fabric supplier who would be willing to work with a startup business. I spent the first hour wandering in a daze. It seems that with every step I take in this business I realize how little I know! Once I got over the shell-shock, though, I was able to gather a few business cards and I actually attended a couple of workshops. Next steps - hire a patternmaker and a sewing contractor. But that's a post for another day.

Growing a business: Stringbeans

2008-03-14T16:01:00.000-07:00

Because I don't have nearly enough on my plate, I've decided to start a business. I'm launching a line of children's pants that are designed specifically for kids who are long and lean - skinny, like my two sons!

I don't know much about running a business. And I don't know anything about running a clothing company. But I do know that I'm sick of running from store to store with my measuring tape trying (in vain) to find pants that will fit my kids around the waist without being 3 inches too short. Call me crazy, but I'm not going to make my kids wear pants that look like capris, especially in Seattle where it's cold and wet 11 months of the year!

So my partner and I have been measuring kids and tinkering with size charts and picking out fabrics and researching contract sewers...and that's just the beginning. I'm starting to wonder what I've gotten myself into! But when I start to panic I just take deep breath and remind myself that most great things don't bloom overnight. What I need to do is plant the seed, add some water, let the sun shine down, and let it this business grow.

Of course, I can already see that this is going to cut into my writing time, just when I'm starting to find some minor success. I'm trying to be disciplined about how I spend my days. I think I'll have to say no to some social engagements. But I'm not willing to give up either endeavor. Does it count if I write about business?

Rattling Cages for Pancreatic Cancer

2008-03-14T15:46:00.000-07:00

I just returned from a trip to Washington, D.C., where I joined 220 other citizen lobbyists to hit up Congress for research funding for Pancreatic Cancer. It was a powerful couple of days.

The first day was spent in training. I thought I knew a lot about Pancreatic Cancer - it's fast, it's deadly, it's hard to detect - but seeing the actual numbers and learning about the funding inequities was really eye opening.

Pancreatic Cancer is the fourth leading cause of cancer deaths in the United States (after lung, breast, and colon) and yet it receives the least amount of funding per patient of all major cancers. On the flip side, it has the highest mortality rate of all cancers, with only 5% surviving 5 years - 75% of patients diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer die within the first year. No real progress has been made in treating Pancreatic Cancer in 30 years.

The second day was spent meeting with my Representatives and Senators on Capitol Hill. My group was lucky to secure meetings with our actual representatives as well as their very well-informed staff. I have to admit I was expecting a "Here's your hat, what's your hurry?" type of response, but we were met with smart, probing questions and some very positive feedback. A nice surprise. What we were asking for - $170 million in funding for Pancreatic Cancer plus an increase of 9.5% for the NCI - is a lot of money. But considering funding levels for this kind of cancer are where breast cancer funding levels were in 1950, it's time to take some action. We have a lot of catching up to do.

The real treat, if I can even call it that, was spending time with other people who have been affected by Pancreatic Cancer. It was heartbreaking to hear the stories of people who have (like me) lost someone they loved, but inspiring to look into the fighting eyes of survivors. It was like we all spoke the same language, and when someone said "I understand," I knew they meant it.

So hats off to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network for putting on an Advocacy Day that may make a huge difference in thousands of lives. And hats off to Washington State's politicians - I have a new appreciation for the work they're doing.

Obsession

2008-01-24T15:39:00.000-08:00

My little one is obsessed with puppies these days. He pretends he's a puppy. He only chooses dog books at the library. He talks incessantly about whether he should be a dog breeder or a trainer when he grows up. His favorite place to go is not the the playground, but the dog park. He's thinking maybe he could have his own dog park when he's a breeder/trainer.

I was somewhat prepared for this, because my oldest son spent his preschool years memorizing the names of NASCAR drivers, learning who the sponsors were for each car (Mommy? What's Budweiser?), and matching the cars to their numbers on the racetrack I drew for him on brown craft paper.

I have to admit, the puppy obsession is more up my alley than NASCAR. I can appreciate oohing and aahing over the pictures of sweet little Spaniels and hounds in the books. I am more than happy to play "vet" with the stuffed animals that crowd my little guy's bed. And when he wants to wear his plush puppy costume out to the store, I don't argue. He'll soon outgrow this phase - too soon, I fear - and the next obsession is sure to be less innocent, less sweet.

In the meantime, it's puppy love.

So long, Tree Top Toys

2008-01-17T10:39:00.000-08:00

My local toy store, Tree Top Toys, is closing its doors. The owners are retiring and moving to Costa Rica, so they've got happy days ahead. But I'm sad about the closure, for a few reasons.

First, for purely selfish reasons. I hate going to Toys R Us or Target to buy toys. There's too much (crappy plastic) stuff, they're too far away so I have to face traffic, and if for some reason I have my children with me we all get overwhelmed. It's not fun. Tree Top was right around the corner, had a nice selection of good quality toys for all ages and best of all they gift wrapped! For free!

Second, it's just more evidence of the larger trend of small independent businesses facing extinction. This is a real concern for me, as my husband owns an independent bike shop and it's his salary that puts food on our table, and the tables of his employees. When you spend your money there you aren't lining the pockets of big-time CEOs and corporate shareholders, you're supporting families in your neighborhood.

The experience is just not the same when you have to drive to the mall to shop. I like buying from my neighbors. I like running into people I know at the local bookstore or neighborhood pet supply shop. I like that I can conduct almost all of my business within a 3-mile radius. It's good for the community, it's good for the economy, it's good for the environment and it's good for me.

So next time you drive past a little local independent business on your way to Target or Wal-Mart, think about stopping in. It's something small you can do to keep your community strong.

Sunny day at the dog park

2008-01-16T10:40:00.000-08:00

I've been telling my brother and his girlfriend (newcomers to the Pacific Northwest) that just when you can't take another day of rain, the sun comes out and you're reminded how beautiful this corner of the country can be. You go out, and soak it up, and then you're ready to face another 3 months of gray skies and drizzle.

Sunday was that day. We woke up to dazzling sun and clear blue skies. I love that the mountains are more clear in the winter than in the summer, that you can see forever on these days. I swear the whole neighborhood was stepping out into the fresh air, blinking in the light as if we'd all been woken from a long sleep.

My family was no different. I talked the boys (including my husband) into skipping their Cub Scout meeting so we could take Beckett to the dog park. She's just six months old, so this would be her first dog park experience. After all those rainy days, Beckett needed to run as much as we did.

We ventured to Magnuson Park's off-leash area. I had no idea there was so much to it! There were big play areas covered with gravel, long paths, fenced areas just for small dogs, and best of all: a wide swath of lakefront for canine swimmers. Beckett thought she had died and gone to heaven. She kept looking up at me, as if to say "Really? I can run and play too?"

The boys were completely enamored as well. They were thrilled by all the different dogs, and kept pointing out their favorites. They were partial to the little ones - Yorkies, pugs (there were so many! who knew that pugs were so popular?) and a trio of beagles. I was interested in the way Beckett seemed to seek out other Golden Retrievers. Did she somehow know that they were related?

All in all it was an amazing day. By the time we got back to the car, Beckett was exhausted and filthy, as any happy dog ought to be on a sunny day. We couldn't coax her to jump into the car; instead she decided to lie down on pavement and take a little nap right there in the parking lot. A dog's life!

New year, new....

2008-01-16T10:32:00.000-08:00

So, I'm a little late with the whole resolution thing. Maybe that should be my first resolution: Stop procrastinating!

Seriously, though, I am back. I have resolved to write more and spend less time thinking about writing, reading about writing, or otherwise finding ways to avoid putting words on paper.

To that end, I'm trying to narrow my focus from life and all its events to those things that are most central to my life right now: my kids, and (of course) my dog. No shortage of material there! The rhythm of my days has so much to do with the small people and animals in my life, it seems only natural to write about them. I promise to keep the poop stories to a minimum.

A holiday frenzy, or, afrenzy

2007-12-04T16:59:00.000-08:00

That's me - all afrenzy. Every year I swear I'm going to be way ahead of the game. I'm going to be one of those people who mails out holiday cards the day after Thanksgiving, and doesn't even bother joining the throngs at the mall on Black Friday because all my gifts have already been purchased, wrapped and shipped.

Of course, it hasn't happened yet. And I'm guessing it's not going to happen any time soon.

To complicate the already insanely complicated holiday season, my son's birthday is on the 22nd of December. Whenever I mention that tidbit, people invariably say "Poor kid!" Poor kid? Trust me, if having a birthday close to Christmas is the biggest problem he faces in life, he'll have a pretty great life.

And anyway, the person who really suffers for cramming a birthday and Christmas into the same week is me. Once I emerge from my Thanksgiving hangover it hits me: Oh shit! I have to plan a birthday party. And I have to pick a date when his friends will still be in town, mostly. I have to send cupcakes to school before Christmas break. I have to balance the holiday crazies with the attention a kid really ought to get on his birthday. Inevitably, I overcompensate by trying to throw a party at the funnest (is that even a word?) venue I can think of. Don't even get me started on holiday travel.

It stresses me out every year. And yet...and yet I insist on putting it all off until the last minute. I know I ought to simplify. So this year I'm trying to make things just a little bit easier on all of us. Out-of-state relatives will all get gifts purchased online - less wrapping for me, no standing in line at the post office. Holiday cards are coming from Costco this year, and the photo is not what I'd call stellar but it's real. The tree, on the other hand, is not real, but I won't be sweeping up pine needles all month. And my poor put-upon December birthday boy will be having a good old fashioned sleepover.

Ahhh. I'm relaxing already. I might just make it to 2008 after all.

My sweetie

2007-11-27T11:25:00.000-08:00

Ours is not an unusual story. I met my husband while we were in college. I was 19, he was 22. We were friends for a long time before we started dating. When our relationship changed to one of a more romantic nature, it seemed like the natural path to follow.

Now I’m 37, my husband 40. In the intervening years we’ve moved across the country, started a business, created a home, had children, and watched our parents die. We’ve made and lost friends. We’ve traveled. We’ve laughed at each other’s jokes (alas, still the same ones all these nearly 20 years) and cried at each other’s heartaches. And still, it feels like the natural path to follow.

We’re starting to see our friends’ marriages run into trouble, which makes me wonder what our secret is. It helps that when my mom met him, she pulled me aside and whispered, "He's a keeper!" It helps that we are truly each other’s best friend, which sustains us when we’re not feeling all that romantic (read: up all night with a newborn baby). And it helps that we respect each other. Maybe more than anything, it helps that he’s still willing to rub my feet while we watch television.

But honestly, I think the secret is no secret at all. We’ve just continued to grow together, while giving one another room to grow alone. When I met my husband, I was still a girl. I was still finding my way in the world and he was there to hold my hand, or to let me take off in my own direction. He watched me become a woman and I watched him grow into a man. When my husband started his business, I was there to anchor us while he took the leap. Now that I’m exploring a writing career, my husband makes sure the bills are paid and puts the kids to bed while I’m hammering out an article that’s on deadline.

In the past few years we’ve taken the occasional separate vacation – my husband skiing with college buddies, me to Las Vegas with girlfriends. We always call to say goodnight, and ask “Are you having fun?” The answer is always the same: “Yes, but everything is more fun with you.” And it’s true.

I don’t know where our path will lead us. I just know that with my husband by my side, it’s the natural path to follow.

Holiday Cheerlessness

2007-11-20T16:44:00.000-08:00

I finally realized I'm one of those people who has a hard time with the holidays. It's not just the craziness of the season - though that doesn't help - it's all the sad reminders. My mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just days after her 63rd birthday and a week before Halloween. We took pictures on Halloween night that show her looking fragile and scared. That Thanksgiving, she could barely eat. None of us were feeling particularly thankful, much less hungry, but we managed to pull together a feast anyway.

Christmas was another story. By then, my mom had lost her hair and was wearing a wig. She'd also lost quite a bit of weight. My brother surprised my mom by flying in from DC to spend the holidays with her. He hadn't seen her since her diagnosis, and you can tell by the look on his face in the photos that his worries had been wearing him down. The fear that it would be her last Christmas weighed on all of us. But with two little boys in the house, we were forced to be at least a little bit merry.

Besides the sad memories, I find myself grieving the loss of my mom all over again every time a holiday rolls around. At Thanksgiving I try in vain to remember what brand of bread crumbs she always said were best for stuffing. I pull out the Christmas music and find the Muppets Christmas album that we listened to year after year. My kids listen to it now and that damn John Denver never fails to bring me to tears. It's like the holidays make the loss fresh again. Raw.

So, how do I pull myself out of this holiday slump? So far, I've relied on the two D's that have gotten me through most of my hard times: Distraction and Denial. I pretend the holidays don't exist until the very last minute. I avert my eyes when I walk past all the red and green at the mall and I avoid the turkey section of the grocery store. I stay busy with whatever will keep my mind off the holidays past and present.

I'm not sure the D's are the healthiest route, however. It's occurred to me that maybe the best way to deal the sea of sadness that washes in at this time of year is just to hang on and let it in. Find ways to use my grief to honor my mom. Dig out her Thanksgiving recipes and sing along to the Muppet Christmas album. This year, I might even look at pictures of my mom's last Christmas, and think about all the things we really were thankful for.

Pinto pony

2007-09-27T08:52:00.000-07:00

Here's a sure sign I'm getting old. I pulled onto the highway yesterday behind a Ford Pinto that was painted British racing green, with a black stripe running down the center. It also had "classic car" license plates. Classic?

According to Wikipedia, my go-to resource when my 8-year-old has questions, the Pinto was introduced in 1971. That's a year after I was born. So if that Pinto was a "classic" what does that make me? (And don't say vintage. I'm not ready for that.)

Cutest. Puppy. Ever.

2007-09-26T13:26:00.000-07:00

You've got to admit it. She's just darn cute.

Too bad she's also a serious chewing machine! She's going through beef tendons (ICK)by the case.

Still, there's nothing like a sweet, soft puppy to make you forgive tooth marks on the cabinets.

Puppy Love, Redux

2007-09-11T14:10:00.000-07:00

Well, it's happened. We finally got a puppy. Her name is Beckett and she's an 8-week-old Golden Retriever. She is so sweet, so cute, so...

I might as well be honest, she's hell on wheels. It's like having a toddler with sharp teeth running around the house. Luckily, like a toddler, she goes all out and then passes out for an hour so I have a chance to sweep up the wreckage.

Since I swore I would train this dog, that we would do everything "right" so that she'd be a well-mannered dog, I'm in a bit of a panic. I've read the books, spent hours online, and still this pup is a handful. The kids won't come down off the ceiling because she uses them as chew toys.

At least she's somewhat housetrained - I can count the number of potty accidents on one hand, with a few fingers left over. And she'll sleep in her crate at night. The rest of it, I suspect, is just normal puppy energy run amok. I'd forgotten how much attention a toddler needs - especially a toddler with razor-sharp incisors.

But she is awfully cute. I'll post the photos to prove it soon.

Vacation photos

2007-08-01T16:15:00.000-07:00

Just a few photos from our trip to Wyoming.

Puppy (and Kitty) Love

2007-08-01T15:59:00.000-07:00

Jeanne is blogging about animals this week:
http://www.assertivepatient.com/2007/08/cancer-dog.html

This is a subject close to my heart, for a few reasons. First, my mom. She loved animals, but was extremely allergic, so she could never have pets. When she got pancreatic cancer, she used to come over to my house to cuddle with my cat, TK. She said TK was a "healing cat" and that she always made her feel better. Maybe it was the warmth of the cat on her poor battered body, or maybe it was just the comfort that comes from something furry purring in your lap.

When my mom died, TK started following me around, meowing at me. She's never been one of those dog-like cats, the kind that wants to be with people all the time. TK has always been content to be on her own. Not anymore. These days, I can expect TK to climb into bed with me in the morning, determined to snuggle under the covers with me. Whenever I sit still for more than 5 minutes, TK is there, ready to jump up on my lap. Maybe my mom was right. Maybe TK really is a healing cat. I have to admit, whenever I'm feeling down she makes me feel better too.

Another reason I have been thinking about the power of animals is that we're considering getting a puppy. My youngest son will be off to Kindergarten in a month, and I have to admit I'm afraid the house will be too quiet. It's not like we're lacking in energy around here with two little boys, but I think the time is right to add a puppy to the mix.

Winners and Losers

2007-08-01T15:45:00.000-07:00

My husband was reading the newspaper the other day when he suddenly threw down the sports section in disgust. "Every other article in this section is about cheating, or drugs, or fraud," he said. "What's the point?"

He's right. It seems like the 'win at any cost' attitude of professional sports is taking its toll. These days, it's hard to tell what is real and what is illusion in sports. When I go see the Mariners play, am I watching the results of natural ability and hard work, or am I seeing a bunch of guys hopped up on goofballs?

I wonder what all of this is teaching kids about sports. We've had some struggles at our house. We're trying to teach our kids to be "good sports," about the importance of being part of a team, and that everyone has a contribution to make, even if he or she is not the best athlete on the team.

My older son has spent the summer on swim team. It's his first year, and he's been swimming a little bit faster each week. I thought he was doing well, that he understood he was really only competing with himself, until last week's championship meet. He was seeded with other swimmers that had similar times, so each heat was really close. In race after race, my son touched the wall last. He was devastated.

I tried to explain that his times were better than they'd ever been, but he was still upset that he didn't win a ribbon. He's come to expect a red or a blue ribbon at each swim meet. I understand that disappointment, but I wonder how to help him use that feeling in a positive way - to work a little harder.

My son is only 8; I don't think I need to worry about steroid use just yet. But I hope that I can teach him that winning at any cost isn't really winning at all.

Trip Report

2007-07-16T13:38:00.000-07:00

As usual, I'm way behind. Behind on household stuff. Behind on my paying work. And behind on this, which was supposed to be a place for me to pile up my thoughts. Instead, they are piling up in my brain. As I may have mentioned, my brain is short on space these days, so it's time to empty out the drawers and dust the corners.

Our trip to Wyoming was a big success. We spent 3 days driving from Seattle to Jackson, 5 days in Jackson, then another 3 driving home (including 2 days at Yellowstone). My little monkeys were better than expected in the car, thanks to the occasional well-timed DVD, some books on tape, and a fresh collection of books from the library.

One highlight of this trip was seeing my kids take risks. Not the dangerous kind, mind you, but stretching themselves beyond their usual (narrow) comfort zones. We went whitewater rafting, and Jack actually sat right up in front of the boat with me, gleefully taking the drenching we got with every rapid. We went horseback riding, and they put Timothy right up on his own horse. He looked like a natural, sitting back in the saddle like a real cowboy.

I think it's easier to take risks like that when you're away from home. You're already away from your ordinary life. The expectations are different - if you have any at all.

In many ways this trip felt like the vacations we took when I was a kid. I remember riding from Virginia to Indiana (where my aunt had a house on Lake Michigan) in the back of our station wagon. My three brothers rode in the back seat; I got to share the "way back" with the dog and the suitcases. I could curl up back there with a book and before I knew it we'd be at our destination.

I'm encouraged to keep traveling with my kids, to keep giving them chances to stretch and grow.

That said, we had a lot of togetherness. It's good to be home where I can duck into my office and be alone for a bit!

On the road

2007-06-29T08:04:00.000-07:00

When Steve and I moved from Washington, D.C. to Seattle, we made a road trip out of it. We spent a whole month meandering about the country, camping and staying with friends. That was 14 years, a wedding, two kids, and many jobs ago, and it's been about that long since we've taken a road trip. Scratch that - we did drive to Colorado when Jack was not yet 2, but all I remember from that journey was trying to find clean places to change Jack's diaper. (Clean? Diapers? I know.)

So now we're on the road again, with both kids. Our ultimate destination is Jackson, Wyoming, but we're taking some time to meander through Idaho and Montana. It's strange to me that in the 14 years I've lived in Seattle I've never been to these neighboring states.

My plan, on this trip, was to read and write while Steve drove. So much for plans! Mostly I've been looking out the window, watching the world go by.

Today we're in Missoula. Yesterday we took the boys to Silverwood theme park in north Idaho, and discovered a wonderful state park, Farragut. Next, we'll head toward Yellowstone. I've got a brand new camera that I've been playing with, so I'll post some pictures later.

Time to get back on the road. More later.

Happy days

2007-06-12T14:21:00.000-07:00

The Assertive Cancer Patient is joining forces with other bloggers to write about health and happiness. Since I always have more than two cents worth of an opinion about, well, everything, I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon.

I’ve always thought that if I got a terminal diagnosis – a year, six months to live – I’d want to get busy living. I’d quit my job, cash in my savings and go off to see the world. I’d make a list of all the things I had always wanted to do and I would go off and do them, checking items off the list one by one. I figured if I was going to die, I might as well die happy.

Now I see things a little differently. And I think perhaps I had the wrong idea about what happiness is.

My mother died almost a year ago of pancreatic cancer. We knew from the time she was diagnosed that her days were going to be limited, though we hoped she’d have a year or more.

As it was she lived 8 months. During that time she had some low days, no doubt. But she also had some of the purest happy moments I’ve ever witnessed. It was the happiness you see in the eyes of a child, like she was looking at the world with a renewed sense of wonder.

She did take a few trips. One to Michigan to see her brother, one to Virginia to visit her lifelong friends, and another to Mexico with me just because. But she didn’t pack up her suitcase to go globetrotting. To my mom, eking the most out of whatever time she had left meant staying right at home, with the people who meant the most to her.

My mom found joy in working in her garden, watching the birds, and laughing at her grandchildren. She found joy reading, eating lunch out on her deck, or beating me at Scrabble. The same things she loved before she was diagnosed brought happiness afterward. Maybe even (dare I say it?) more.

When we went to Mexico, I spent our last day sitting on the beach alone. At the time, I wrote this:

I spent the morning on the beach, looking for treasures and watching sand sift through my fingers. I realized that this is it – this is what we have: sand. And just like sand, life falls through our fingers, no matter how hard we clench our fists. I have to learn to enjoy feeling it as it goes by.

It’s a little bit like the Buddhist concept of mindfulness. I wonder how many happy moments I’ve let slip by without even feeling them? I’m trying not to do that anymore.

I have learned that happiness isn’t necessarily found in big grand adventures. It’s more likely to show up in the little moments. The pieces of every day that make up a life.

Cancer stole a lot from us. There’s no getting around that. And I’m not one of those people who will say that it’s a “gift.” But I do know that now that I’ve had to think about life and death and health and happiness, the important things have been brought into sharper focus.

Here's what others are saying about health and happiness:
Cancer Bloggers Join Forces Again: Health and Happiness

Health and Happiness

Jar of Rocks

Afloat

2007-05-16T09:59:00.000-07:00

One of the challenges of being a parent, for me, is always being "on." Even when I manage a weekend getaway with my husband or with friends, a part of me is still with my kids. My cell phone is never off, and I call to check in frequently.

It's hard to truly disconnect.

That's one reason I really treasure my annual kayaking trip in the San Juan Islands. I go with a group of smart, funny women (all moms, like me) and a gem of a guide, Sharmon. We camp on an uninhabited island, and spend 3 days hiking, paddling, and replenshing our souls. Cell phone service is spotty, at best. My family knows they won't be getting updates from me, and their stories and questions will have to wait until I'm back on terra firma.

When we launch our boats at the start of the trip, I feel like I can leave my life on shore. There is something elemental about being afloat, surrounded by a bigger world. And kayaks are the perfect vessel. I am not on the water, I'm in it. I am of it.

June approaches - just a little over a month and I'll be dipping my paddle into the cool water. I like knowing that I'll be reaching my destination under my own power, and that's the only way I'll get home again. It reminds me that I can do anything I set out to do. Especially when I'm in the company of strong women.

The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea.
~Isak Dinesen

Grief

2007-05-11T16:20:00.000-07:00

So, here’s the thing about grief. It turns out that it’s not the kind of thing that flips on, like a switch, and runs its course until you’re done with it. You don’t hunker down in a dark room with a box of Kleenex until you can cry no more, then emerge when you’re ready to move on. It turns out that grief becomes a part of you, that you wear it – though grief is not like a coat you can shed.

My mom died last June. Strangely, and though neither she nor I wanted it to end up this way, this has become one of the most important things about me. She would be so mad to know that I’m still so focused on this, but there it is.

Her health was my full-time job for nearly a year – it consumed me. I read everything I could find about pancreatic cancer, chemotherapy, biological therapies, clinical trials. I cooked, in vain, trying to find things she could eat, trying to give her strength. I called daily to tell her jokes and bash Bush, knowing that even though I couldn’t fix the cancer, I could at least put a smile on her face. For eight months I went through the motions in my own life while my mind and my heart were with my mom.

It was a lot. More than a person should have to deal with, but people do it, all the time. I thought about joining a support group, getting therapy, getting medicated. The medication helped a little, the therapy not so much.

What helped the most was getting outside. I found a place near my mom’s home on Whidbey Island called Earth Sanctuary. How can I describe this place? It is part nature preserve, part spiritual sculpture garden. It has hiking trails and prayer wheels, ponds and stone circles. Sometimes I took my mom there to just sit and meditate. Once I took my brother – I knew he needed to cry, and the Earth Sanctuary is a good place to release whatever is stuck inside. But mostly I just went there alone. I got in the habit of stopping there on my way to or from my mom’s house, to quell the fear and anxiety. An hour in those woods quieted my mind like nothing else could. I would leave with a feeling of strength, knowing that I could keep going.

And then she died. We knew she was going to die. It wasn’t a surprise, since she’d chosen to end treatment. She wasn’t scared. She was at her home, which was overflowing with friends and family. Her garden was, as she would say, “a riot of color.” She ate peas that she had planted in the spring. She nibbled chocolate from the insanely good candy store in Langley. She watched the birds – hundreds of them- that visited her garden daily, as if to see her off. And she slept, more and more, until she didn’t wake up at all. It was, people tell me, a “good” death.

It’s been nearly a year. To say that I miss my mom doesn’t even begin to touch what I’m feeling. I am bereft. I carry my grief with me, and it’s so strong sometimes that I wonder why people can’t smell it on me.

At other times, I forget, and it lurks beneath the surface, only to seep out, as if through my pores, at unexpected moments. I will be driving my son to school or washing the dishes when it starts to rise up inside me, tears leaking from my eyes. I’ll be suddenly short of breath, unable to speak. Sometimes it is so heavy that I am amazed that I can stand upright. Now I know what people mean when they say they’re paralyzed with some emotion.

I don’t really know how to do this grieving thing. There’s no instruction manual – no preparation, like Lamaze classes, though a death changes your life as much as a birth does. I am doing the only thing I know how to do: I’m living each day, as I promised my mom I would, with joy where I can find it. When the sadness rises up, I give myself to it. And when it’s more than I can bear, I go outside. Not to escape the grief, but to be in it, in peace.

At my mom’s memorial service, I gave out a poem by Wendell Berry called “The Peace of Wild Things.”

When despair for the world grows in me
And I wake in the night at the least sound
In fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
Who do not tax their lives with forethought
Of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
Waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

That’s what I’m trying to do. When I’m overcome, I try to remember to rest in the grace of the world. I go to the Earth Sanctuary and I walk the labyrinth and I sit in the dolmen. I try to share my grief with the earth (as hokey and new-agey as that sounds), because it’s really too much for one person. I suppose religious people might “let go and let God,” or Allah or whoever. But for me a walk in the woods is as close to God as I’ve gotten.

I don’t know if I will always feel this way. I know that this experience has changed me, shaped me. I hope that at some point it won’t be so raw, that the tears won’t be so quick. But when the tears do come, at least I’ll know where to go.

A little potty talk

2007-05-11T14:10:00.000-07:00

I thought my potty training days were over once my two sons were out of diapers. Boy, was I wrong.

I don’t know if I missed it on the first go-round, or what, but I find myself having to re-train my kids, this time in “potty manners.” As the only female in the house, it’s an uphill battle. Close the door. Flush. Close the lid. Raise the seat. No, raise it, then put it down and close the lid when you’re done. And don’t forget to flush. And wash your hands. Did you wash your hands?

My kids are now 5 and 8. It has been years since I changed a diaper. But I’m thinking of going back to my tried & true tricks of encouragement to get my boys to work on their aim. Cheerios as targets in the toilet, perhaps. A treat for remembering to put the lid down. Maybe a quarter every time they manage to use the bathroom without spraying the walls.

I have brothers. I thought I was prepared for this. But it still annoys me when I go into their bathroom and sit on a wet (ick!!) seat. So I’m back to potty training.

Dirt

2007-05-11T14:06:00.000-07:00

I wrote this piece for a nonfiction writing class I took at UW, taught by Jeanne Sather.
****

I can trace the story of my life through the dirt.

From the swampy rich soil of my childhood home in Virginia to the red earth of Kenya to the clay that comprises my backyard now, dirt provides clues to where I’ve been and where I am now.

When I was younger, it was the dirt that clung to my hiking boots that told the stories. Those boots picked up ancient dirt all over Europe and carried me across the United States.

These days my hiking boots collect dust, while the dirt I sweep off the floors of my home that offers a look at what’s going on in my life.

I swept up sawdust and wiped away bicycle grease when my husband was building his bike shop. And there’s no telling how much drywall dust has clogged my vacuum as we’ve remodeled our house over the past 10 years.

When my two little boys were toddlers, I’d find Cheerios and crushed Goldfish crackers scattered across the floor or tucked into couch cushions. Later it was petrified nuggets of Play-Doh and evidence of abandoned art projects.

I can still judge the success of a day at school by how much sandbox sand gets tracked in to the house. When my sons come home clean, I worry.

Until this year I could count on finding little pods of soft white fur strewn around the house. Now my little dog Daisy is shedding up in Dog Heaven, leaving it for someone else to find.

These days I’m more likely to come across pebbles from my 5-year-old’s rock collection or muddy soccer cleat prints embedded with bits of grass. The sheer volume of dirt seems to have increased exponentially now that my kids are old enough to travel as a pack with the rest of the neighborhood boys. I just shake my head as dozens of muddy feet file in at a time.

I can’t even begin to imagine what sort of dirt and detritus will find its way into my house in the coming years. If only reading my dustpan were more like reading tea leaves, providing insight into the future instead of evidence of where we’ve been.

Something I love

2007-05-11T14:01:00.000-07:00

This poem says so perfectly how I feel about the ones I love - my boys, my Steve, my friends and family.

95 Poems (92)
ee cummings

 i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)

                                    i fear

no fate(for you are my fate, my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world, my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

My inner mayhem

2007-05-11T13:39:00.000-07:00

My desk, counters, dresser, and pretty much every other horizontal surface in my house are all covered with notes and errata. I find quotes I like, come up with a story idea, or just have a random thought that I don't want to lose. I write them down on a scrap of paper, and there they sit until they're swept into the recycling bin or flipped over so I can scrawl down a phone number.

My hope is that this blog will be a vessel to contain all those random ideas and pieces of me in one place. Where I can come back to those thoughts without having to dig through the garbage bin. I have no idea whether there will be much worth reading, but I will share what's going on in my brain, and in my life.