Sacred Space: Temenos

Great Demo Begins

2008-02-03T12:56:00.000-08:00

Today is starts.

After months - even years of bemoaning my bathroom and making excuses that I'm too busy with other people's demolitions and designs--- today I took rubber mallet in hand and took charge.

In minutes, the world's ugliest bathroom is now the world's most busted up bathroom. The baseboards are off revealing mold that would choke a hazmat team, the oversized mirrors are down (who thought THAT was a good idea???) and the ceramic tile that has almost cost me life and limb (someone put the wrong tile in the bath -very dangerous!) is coming off too.

It feels great.

Next, I'll call the plumber and get the water secured and the burgandy marble of a tub and shower will be history.

Keep posted...I'll post the steps of the demo here as I can. With several other projects in line, it will be fun to comment on my own. Here's to a great project.

New album

2007-12-23T09:17:00.001-08:00

Just got the new album from one of my favorite groups, Carbon Leaf (www.carbonleaf.com).
This album is good - though I'm still crushing on their first two. Still, I love the lyrics and the sounds that this band offers. It's the kind of music that I can crank on high while the top of my car is open (yeah, even when it is cold and rainy outside - the music is that good.) My favorite on this album -- "Under the Wire". A great mix of well written words and unbeatable music:

"I need to feel the breeze
Of new day's dawn
I need to be released
From the cold steel rail I'm on
Shake the love for a woman
Brake the emotioin overdrive
Take the train to oblivion
At the crossing of our lives"

I was also introduced this week to Jeff Buckley, another great musician. Mournful and full of angst, this is a great album to put on when I'm really mellow. I think he was only 27 when he died and his music has a lot of intensity to it.

I've been a bad blogger of late but I don't care. I've written volumes in my journal most of it is unrecognizable to anyone except myself. A writing friend of mine told me to write lists and it has worked great for me. So I have pages of lists, scraps of ideas for stories, ideas for work. Whatever "process" works for others - i don't know - but I work best in short, crystal phrases that help me stay on track with projects.

I started thinking today about the past year and the things I thought I might take with me into the new year. Here's a partial list - maybe I'll think more as I transition from 07 - 08:

1 - The creative life is worth working for - no matter what. Even the most difficult day is better than a day in corporate. One can always escape into color, texture, words or music.

2 - On that note, find time to marinate in other's creative jucies. A few weeks ago on a particularly bleary Sunday afternoon, I took a drive to the Frank Lloyd Wright museum in Bartlesville and spent the day with angles, lines and rhythm and emerged refreshed and comforted. I am becoming a firm believer in just how important art is to all of us and how it is important to make time for it. Nothing speaks to me like color and rhythm and texture - nothing lets me know that there is indeed a great Artistic Mind out there just waiting for us to connect with it.

3 - Nothing is better in the morning than a great cup of coffee.

4 - Find the now. I've stopped making goals and started closing my eyes during good - -and difficult - moments. I've started trying to find the way to stop a moment - at least in my mind - so that I can remember the texture, the sounds, the feel of the moment. Experience it, feel whatever emotion is there and then let it go. If this is what some people call "letting go" or "forgiveness" then great, whatever. All I know is that when I do that, life's curves seem more bearable. And it makes for great memories because I can remember the curve of my daughter's smile, the color of my son's eyes, the hue of the sun through my morning window.

5 - Great shoes - especially red shoes - can make any day better.

OK, there are 5 great lessons from 07. I'll find some more and post later.

Redeeming my Sunday Afternoons

2007-09-09T12:52:00.000-07:00

As my usual Sunday routine, I purchased my New York Times. Yes, I had to explain to the pimply faced kid at the checkout that it really WAS $5 and that yes, it really WAS worth every penny.

This week is exceptional because this is the week that the new season's movies are detailed in the Time Entertainment section. It's been a long, rainy, horrible movie season for me. I cannot remember the last time I walked out of not only one but two movies that I paid full price to see. That happened this year with "No Reservations" and uhm, I can't remember the other one's name. Always disappointing to see even mediocre actors trapped in lifeless plots and dull dialogue.

So it is with great relief I read about upcoming films. Here's a list of what I'm going to head out to see...

"The Brave One" starring Jodie Foster. I love Foster because she selects gritty difficult roles and plays them with aplumb. Although lovely in character and face, she goes beyond the shallow roles and finds complex characters that we love even though we are faced with their dark sides. Her new movie is being compared a lot to what brought her to the forefront "Taxi Driver" and I'll be standing first in line when this one premieres.

Robert Redford has directed his first feature in seven years with "Lions for Lambs". Redford's movies are always beautiful. Each frame looks like a portrait, carefully drawn by an artist. And they have another quality that is lacking often in most movies - characters that we can care about and a storyline that can succeed without animation or wild special effects. Even though he has Tom Cruise in this one, I'll go see it -- Meryl Streep's presence will surely balance the younger actors arrogance and cardboard character acting. (Streep is also in "Rendition" paired with Alan Arkin and you can bet I'll be there for that. Streep is Hollywood's diva - no one gets her characters more spot on, no one can make you hate or love so much. In my opinion, she has no match with her ability to transform on the screen into whomever she wants us to believe she is.)

Joaquin Phoenix fans can celebrate that he's returning to big screen in "We Own the Night" by director James Gray who also directed "The Yards" in 200. I'm not a big Gray fan, but Phoenix has the ability to play difficult characters with depth and charm. I'm in for this one in a big way.

I'm always hesitant to recommend a Billy Bob Thornton flick. Although I love this twisted guy, his pictures often leave me disappointed. He might have a winner with upcomoing "Mr. Woodcock" simply because Susan Sarandon has agreed to play it. Sarandon is my all around heroine simply because she's over 40, looks great, plays great parts and oh yeah, she's married to that Tim guy. Seriously, she's the best actress in Hollywood - -no matter what age you look in - and I'll go to anything she is in. She's smart, funny and can play characters that are tortured and twisted and still, we love them. Anybody can play beauty queens and make us love them, Sarandon plays menopausal forty-somethings and we all cheer.

And hooray, hooray! John Cusack is back in a film that I won't be afraid to see alone. He has selected a couple of duds (Must Love Dogs) and then that thriller thing that I couldn't see without my kids in tow or I'd have nightmares for weeks. This time, Cusack is in "Grace is Gone" a political treatise about the Iraq war. I'm skeptical about the theme - Hollywood seems to oversimplify difficult political ideas into shlock, but Cusack is a man that I love to watch. He has the ability to play main guy charm but often offers up characters that surprise and delight us, as he did in "Grifters" all those years ago. This one I can't wait to see.

I will, of course, go to see "Elizabeth: The Golden Age" if nothing else for the beautiful wardrobes. I also adore Cate Blanchett and thinks she often gets short shrift for her acting. She has an amazing tranquil beauty that both startles and illuminates the screen...I love her for the fact that she goes way, way beyond that and offers up characters that make us think and feel for.

Finally, I'm always up for a great cop flick and there are at least two that I will not miss:

"American Gangster" with Denzel (is there a better looking man on the planet??) and Russell Crowe (OK, maybe him.) And even though their good looks would get me into the theater, their acting ability - particularly Crowe's -- would even get me to splurge on popcorn and coke for a matinee. And yeah, anything with Ridley Scott and Brian Grazer in the credits has me hooked.

"Hunting Party" with Terrence Howard and Richard Gere should also offer up good acting chemistry along with good storytelling. Although this is less a cop flick than a comedy, I'm eager to see what these two can do. I have loved Howard in every film I've seen him in...he has that hang dog look that can make you swoon, make you believe he'll make good this time.

A word about my all time fave - Pacino. I will go see "Cruising" because of films like "Scent of a Woman" and a million others where I get to see him cinematic genius erupt. I think part of the fun of watching Pacino is to see when he will explode and where he goes with the blasst. But of late, I've been disappointed with his choices on films...they seem to mimic his ability of past successes and I hope this film will be better. No one loves Pacino more than me - no one, and no one wants to see him do what he does best - make us care about the underdog, the rebel or the fighter.

Looks like Sunday afternoons will be more than cleaning out closets.

Lost Garden

2007-08-31T07:50:00.000-07:00

Each morning, I trudge out to my garden, garbage can in tow. I usually am mumbling something under my breath and am disgusted. But by the time I hit the edge of the pond, the late summer sun is warming my shoulder and I look up and I am soothed.

The truth is, I've been a very poor gardener of late. My enthusiasm for gardening was quenched late last year after months of drought-like conditions that left my garden parched and stale. "I'll fix in in the fall" I told myself -- and anyone else that asked me about it, but I was being a fickle lover. I knew that my love affair with my garden was waning, I just didn't know what to do about it.

But with spring, love returned and I began to have visions of my garden again. Yes, there was lots of reclamation to do, yes the paths were twisted and ugly, yes the perennials needed thinning. A few days of rain became weeks and then over a month of what we in the midwest call a "gully washer". For days, I'd watch my garden safely from my inside and I'd wonder, "how had we come to this?" Where was the love that had propelled me from my work and into the garden immediately upon coming home? Where was the love that had captured my vision during the day so that I could hardly wait to return home.

Like all loves, it withered and died with neglect. And so I stood inside my house, watching the rain pour, feeling the grief of a love lost.

If you're lucky, real love gives way from the loosey goosey feelings and what emerges in its place is a kind of hard committment, the kind that says, "I've worked too damn hard for this thing, I'm not letting it go.." And so each morning I trudge out with my garden shoes and garbage bags and I begin to reclaim my garden.

It is a type of prayer, really, to crouch and see one's mistakes. To see how the places where I planted sunny perennials should have been reserved for shade loving hostas. It is a form of meditation to reach out and pull the parched shrub and lay it in the trash, knowing that it was once beautiful and perfect. And that what can go in its place can be beautitful, too, if only in the right time.

I give myself permission to cry at times for the plans I had...the plans that were good but not great. I see that now, how the garden's curves can be so much more and that it took my first, sophomoric attempts to get to the place where a sturdier beauty can become real. I only wish I could say my enthusiasm was better. It is not. I dread those early morning walks to the edge of my sad little garden and I sigh as take my place, crouching among the dead stalks, determined to make this lovely once again.

Short Stories

2007-08-01T07:56:00.000-07:00

I've always been intrigued by the short story and author's ability to write so much with so little. I think the short story is all about economy and finding the perfect word. A few weeks ago, I despaired at not being able to attend a workshop that I had set my heart on attending. It was in CA and I had hoped to take in a day of sailing while there, but the gods conspired and voila - I am in T-town instead.

So I did what any self-respecting girl does - I went shoe shopping, caught a matinee and then found a book. I picked up "Inventing the Abbots" by Sue Miller and have been mezmerized ever since. Here is a passage that brought me up short when I read it:

"....For a moment, as she walked silently across the kitchen, she worried about leaving the house, about what seemed like an abandonment of Greg, of them all. But she had no power anymore -- had never had the power, although at one time she thought she did -- to stave off ruin, to guard her son against his share of pain. And for herself, right now, she wanted Joe. She wanted, just as Greg did, the illusion of wholeness, or repair, the broken parts fitting..."

P 125, "Leaving Home".

This is the kind of writing that cut right through my academic "let's figure out the short story.." obsession and took me right where good writing takes any reader - quick to the emotions with a salute to the structure. I don't feel manipulated when I read this passage because the story is so well crafted that I am there with the character completely. This kind of writing hits poignancy bypassing sentimentalism.

The shoes were OK, too.

Kathie Griffin: Why we love her

2007-07-28T22:37:00.000-07:00

After strategically securing tickets to her sold out Tulsa venue, I successfully arrived at the Brady Theater intent upon seeing Kathie Griffin. When I visit the Brady - and other "landmark" locations in T-town, I am again reminded that the arts are still not a priority for our town and therefore all the talk in the world about downtown revitalization are just that -- talk - and until we treat our performers with the respect they deserve, I doubt we'll garnish the attention we think our town deserves. Despite the bawdy crowd (no security anywhere) , the lack of air conditioning (July in OK is never cool and a packed hall can get rather stuffy) and challenges with sound system (she had to stop twice because of audio blowback), Griffin performed her pointed and withering comedy with the kind of finesse that one expects from even an "A"-list celebrity.

I think the reason Griffin appeals to such a large variety of people is because she successfully unveils American pop culture and lays it bare. Even iconic celebrity fixtures (Oprah, Barabara Walters) are held up, scrutinized and made oh so human so we can do what we are suppose to do to pop cultures (or any other golden calf that we may have): make fun of them and see them for the farce that they are.

While I may not always agree with her politics, I am completely in sync with her ability to take shots at the entitlement, cultish behaviour of pop stars to which we continue to bow. And while I enjoy the ability to see through the smoke and mirror of American celebrity-dom, I wonder why we have the need to deitize our celebrities and then watch them fall when they have feet of clay.

I probably over think it, as I do most things. What is true is that A,B,C or D - whatever list she is on, Kathie Griffin is on mine. Thanks for having the guts to take aim, fire and shoot.

Really bad movie makes squillions

2007-07-23T19:43:00.000-07:00

After a too busy weekend, I agreed to go with my son and a friend to "Chuck and Larry". I figured, "What could it hurt?" And I'm a huge fan of Kevin James (even before the sitcom). And Adam Sandler's career has always intrigued me, although I can't say I'm a fan. More of a bemused interest, I think.

What I want to say to the creators of such shlock? First, don't misuse great comic talent - -and there are several veteran stand-ups in the movie - to pander to your sterotypes. I think the movie is so pooly edited that I almost thought I'd hear the director say, "cut!" during one of the way-too-long scenes. And while I can go with most forms of low-brow humor (thank you, Mr. Sandler) I found myself literally squirming with the ridiculous -- and predictable - gags that this fare offered. What most offended me was the cliche ways in which it presented different lifestyles and how badly it represented them.

And amazingly, it scored big at the box office - #1 this weekend.

Tonight, I'm watching TNT and new premiers...I'll try to post tomorrow on those.

Wednesday - and I'm not sailing

2007-07-18T06:42:00.000-07:00

I had good intentions. I even marked on my dateook, "sailing - take picnic lunch". But that memo was soon struck with a bold sharpie when meetings and deadlines took over. Over that sentiment is now, "meet with R at project, 5 PM".

As I dashed out of my house this morning - running late to meeting - I looked at my still water drenched garden and sighed. Such good intentions.

I soldiered on during the week, though. Even if I couldn't nurture myself with gardening and sailing, I could read about them. That's what well-intentioned people do when they are too busy to do the things they really want to do. Some read about relationships with their kids, some read about goals they should set. As I sat in my new coffee house haunt (where I had set intentions to write every day for 45 minutes before I started my day -- this is my first time), I lugged my "Fundamentals of Sailing". Whenever people asked about my weekend I would say (probably too loudly), "I WENT SAILING" to really impress people with how much time I had to do things like that.

I re-set the goal to go sailing. And therein lies the problem. Sailing - and gardening - -and other healing organic enterprises - cannot be neatly relagated to a calendar, squeezed between "take cleaning" and "pick up dog food". It is the meandering that counts, that really makes them do their magic. You bend over, you start weeding and three hours later you emerge with a dirty hands and a smile on your face.

My sailing instructor insists that sailing will add ten years to your life. He told us the story about a guy who had started sailing after a bad heart attack. Things looked pretty grim for him and doctors had little hope he'd really heal. After six months of sailing, he had lost weight and his life was returning.

I bet he wouldn't put off the picnic lunch for the meeting with R.

What I learned sailing

2007-07-14T18:52:00.000-07:00

This post was to have pictures to accompany it, however, I lost my disposable camera about five minutes after I boarded the practice sail, so word pictures will have to suffice.

I have a friend who insists that some people are called to water because of theiry fiery intensity...that the water serves as a way to balance them. I think they may be right because this was my fourth of fifth time to be on a sail boat and the same feeling that I had from the very start was with me today - I simply cannot imagine anything more peaceful than sailing. It is a sport that is both ancient and modern, difficult and simple, challenging and relaxing.

I learned today that sail boats aren't so much pushed through the water as pulled (it's a math word problem, check with a physics instructor). I learned that a small craft is more difficult to sail than a much larger one - and you'll work your crew harder on a smaller craft than a large one (think of the life parallels with that one!). I learned that steering a boat is counter-intuitive...again, much like life at times.

But the most exciting thing I learned was that there are a ton of sailing terms that I've used all my life but had no idea they came from sailing but one in particular that was significant to me. I learned that "telltale signs" comes from telltales, which are small indicators that are positioned on the sail to indicate wind direction. They literally tell a sailor how to position their sails for optimum sailing.

I asked my instructor what he thought were the most important things one needed to do before launching a boat and he replied, "make sure there is plenty of beer in the cooler, make sure you have sunscreen and make sure you have plenty of gas in the engine to get you back when your sails luff."

Tomorrow is the test for certification and then, on to the next level of compentence.

2007-07-09T21:11:00.000-07:00

Quick: how do you destroy a centuries old artifact using a couple of things from around the house?

Answer? You strap on stilettos and smack your gum.

According to the New York Times, the Odeon of Herodes Atticus is being worn away by women in six inch heels and guests that chew gum - and leave it at the ancient amphitheater.

"This monument is very tired, " says Alexander Mandis, the chief archaeologist overseeing the Odeon. "Poking it with six inch heels and scrubing the marble to remove dried gum makes it ache more." During a recent renovation, over 60 pounds of gum was pried off seats and aisles.

More than half of the Odeon's 250,000 annual visitors are women and since stiletto heels are strengthened by a metal rod, their heels and metal tips transmit more pressure per square inch than a 6,000-pound elephant, architects and archaeologists say.

In spite of a ban on smoking, painting, chewing gum or nailing elaborate props in the theater -- sixteen restrictions in all - Greece's glitterati continue to turn up at benefit concerts draped with sparkling jewels, flowing silk gowns and stilettos clicking against the Odeon's fragile floors.

This reminds me about a story I heard about WWII. During the war, the ammunition arriving at an army base continued to show up pocked and damaged. Allies were sure that someone was sabotaging the effort and spent much time investigating. What they discovered was surprising - the bullets were being "ambushed" by the factory workers who failed to wash their hands after eating peanuts on their breaks. The salt from their hands was transferred to the bullets during manufacturing and the salt created pock marks during the shipment from US to Allies base, rendering the bullets unuseable.

Some profound meaning exists here - something like small efforts create great results or something like that. For me, I think the significance is understanding why my feet hurt so bad when I wear heels. More pressure on my pinky toe than a 6,000 pound elephant? Who knew?

(Source: Sunday, July 8 New York Times, Vol CLVI, page 9).

2007-07-08T13:06:00.000-07:00

After weeks of making lists and journaling - and actually doing some writing - I have returned. This is less of a post and more of a "blog-gasm" with a lot of stuff that I've been thinking about all rolled into one (probably incoherent) post. Just some notes from out and about in T-town this weekend...

First, if you're in the mood for great food, check out "A" Bar and Kitchen (sorry, no web site that I could find). It is located at the corner of 34th and Peoria and is now open on
Sundays. It is a perfect place to take a sunday newspaper (I took the NY Times) and relax. I had been wanting to stop there for weeks but usually was in my post-yoga workout clothes. Today, I went anyway and the wait staff was friendly and attentive but not in a hovering kind of way.

Here's what I liked:

1 - wait staff that was attentive but let me read my paper and journal in peace. I didn't even notice when my coffee (in a great, heavy, "real-coffee- drinker's- mug" was refilled).

2 - fresh flowers were brought to my table after I sat down. Hey, a girl loves flowers anytime. I think having flowers and a great meal brought to me is something that I could get use to.

3 - Small thing but a big deal to me - the cream for my coffee was in its own decanter - none of that "peel off and dump" stuff. Great coffee deserves great creamery and a great presentation. This is where I was completely hooked. Any place that takes time with small details like this probably goes the extra mile with my entree.

4 - More on the "small is big" category: special butter for my homemade rolls, fire burning in the dining room and lots of light for my table for reading. Even though busy street is right outside, I felt like I was in my own private dining room.

Can't wait to go back. The waiter told me that every Thurs, Fri, and Sat night there is live music. Worth the trip (construction still on-going) in every way.

Movies this week

I have this theory that the modern day movie house is to our society what the camp fire was to anicent civilisation: a place to hear stories, be moved by them and maybe even changed by them. It is where the village comes together to find out about itself and what its values are and where it may be going.

If my little theory is true, then I remain pessimistic about the summer's movie fare. Since the onslought of the "summer blockbuster" it seems that essentials for good movies such as character development and storylines tend to take a back seat to the explosions and chiseled features of big stars. My answer: find any movie that Pixar is doing and go see it.

I have no idea who is running Pixar but I maintain that the most creative movies come from this little workshop. Maybe because it is animation, the creators of "Finding Nemo", "Toy Story" and now "Ratatoulee" (sp???) have to find more than big names to tell their stories. They have to have a story arc and not just a great set of abs to make the point come home. Thank goodness.

I liked "Ratatoulee" because of the story: Who hasn't stood at the outside of a circle (in this case, a french kitchen) and wanted to gain entrance? Who hasn't doubted their gifts or been unappreciated for them? Who hasn't felt called to something outside their known world and wondered, "what if I could..."

I couldn't get past one main story line problem, though. Rats in a kitchen - no matter if they cleaned up well - didn't work for me. The animation is so good that even pretend rats in a pretend kitchen gave me the heebie jeebies. When your imagination is stretched by animation, that's darn good animation. Couldn't quite make the leap but the ride was worth it.

Less good, "License to Wed". What happened to Robin Williams and the films like "Fisher King" and "Dead Poets Society"? I use to rely on him to really transport me to deep proverbial truths and now what I get from him is comic schlock. Yeah, he's funny and makes me laugh - mostly from uncomfortable, political humor but I hope he'll return to more substantial roles that make me do what I go to the movies to do: think and be challenged.

I know, I know. It's summer and all we're suppose to want out of movies is entertainment. For some of us, being changed and challenged by art is entertainment.

Quote of the day

2007-06-16T08:47:00.000-07:00

I just rec'd my newest copy of "Writer's Digest" and I've been inhaling it. Here's the gem that keeps me going - not only in writing but in so many life adventures..

"There are going to be moments of deep, deep doubts, and you have to have faith that your initial idea was good and just muddle through." (Ann Brashares)

Sailing

2007-06-09T02:15:00.000-07:00

It's done! After waiting for the rainy spring to pass, I have finally mustered the courage to take my first official sailing class. This past week, I booked a 2-day sailing class held on a local lake. So in July, I'll be on the lake - and in the classroom - taking my first strokes in the art of sailing.

Sailing is on my list of "to do items before I leave earth". So is hot air ballooning, sky diving, finishing my novel. Somehow, sky diving seems less intimidating than the novel.

I became interested in sailing when I traveled to Mexico awhile back and had a chance to take a day cruise. Ever since then, I've been reading about it and thinking about how I'd like to learn more about it.

Bandit

2007-05-31T18:57:00.000-07:00

Rituals are like prayers: they are things we do that keep us grounded and in place. I have a series of them, especially in the mornings, as mornings and I are not always on good terms. I shuffle to my kitchen, try to eat, do yoga and then go through my bank accounts online.

I have major issue with numbers. I have a friend, named Jim, whose neurons in his head run back and forth over numbers, gemoetry, physics like a superhighway. My number neurons are more like a dead end round in the deep south: the further you go with it the more lost you become.

This last Tuesday, I went through my morning ritual and quickly caught my breath. My account showed that I was overdrawn over $4,000. Moreover, it seems that I had purchased a couple of first class flights to Ohio, bought a boat load of flowers -- all while I was working in my yard on a rainy memorial day weekend.

I have heard a lot about identity theft but, like so many, think "it can never happen to me". But as I stared at the bright red text of my online bank statement, I realized that I had been ambushed by a cyber bandit.

I had so many questions. The first are obvious ones..."how could it happen?" "Who could have let it?" "How do I fix it.." After awhile, they gave way to ridiculous questions such as, "Who sends 3 bouquets of flowers all in one day?" I started making up stories about some sad guy who really needed to get a date and was so desperate he hacked into my (almost) empty bank account to try to impress his lover.

The girl at the bank was sympathetic but I was such a mess that I didn't give her much time to apologize. My main question was - and remains -- how could someone take money from my bank account that wasn't even there? What, when I have to get a signed affadavit just to cash a check at my drive in, what with the girl in the glass cage not even speaking English.

I couldn't shake the feeling of violation. I walked around the rest of the day with my shoulders hunched looking around corners, wondering if i could spot my bandit. But everyone looked very normal - if not concerned -- as I peered nervously around.

My questions remain and my concerns are now greater than before. It seems that traditional muggings are passe - now, intelligent cyber thiefs can scam us while we stand outside in the rain, digging holes in our yard and never knowing for a minute what kind of danger we are in.

Letting go

2007-05-27T18:48:00.000-07:00

I have my checklist almost complete.

All day marathon of "Law and Order". Check.
Comedy station on my XM radio. "Check
Lots of dirt to spread around my (very wet) garden. Check.
Newest bestseller by Ann Lamott. Check.

I will need all of these tomorrow and the days following because around 5 PM I put our youngest child, E, on a plane that will take her to London. She'll be gone for 11 days.

It is hard being 17 and totally terrific. What with all the great grades, the constant athletic achievements, there is a lot of pressure. Also, it's tough to continue hating your mother, which is the first job of all teeange girls. I know. I did it, too. We all do it because deep down we're terrified that we'll become just like her. And most of the time we're so busy fighting that we do exactly that, become like someone we don't want to be. Who was it that said, "What you resist, persists?"

I've been trying to figure out something to say to her, write to her, lie to her and let her know that I won't be doubled over with grief over letting her get on a plane and fly halfway across the world - without even her dad with her.

I know I'm suppose to be in this generation that has all these enlightened views about parenting. I have a friend who is like Lorelei on "Gilmore Girls" and she and her daughter have coffee and talk all the time. I really hate her, sometimes, when she chirps about shopping and all that.

E and I tried shopping together. But I do all the wrong things. I do stupid things like pointing out stuff that will look great on her. I compliment her on her hair. I ask her opinion on shoes that I want to wear. She looks at me with those great, steady eyes and (not so) patiently will say, "Yes, mother.." just like I use to say to her when I dragged her through shopping malls and she pointed out stuff for me to look at. I was too busy, too often, trying to get home, get the dinner started, trying to "do" all those things moms do.

Funny, I just didn't see the moment when the roles would reverse.

I have one friend who has kindly said, "they have to hate you, otherwise it hurts too bad for them to leave you" She's had three daughters so she should know. Now she spends vacations with her daughter and grandkids and thinks it marvelous. So maybe that is in the future for us.

Tomorrow will be just another step for her to take and one that I cannot take with her, at least not in the same direction. She is going and I'm staying. She has a passport not only to another country but to another phase of her life, one that she has been headed all this time. And while I can be present, I cannot really be with her for that is the call of adulthood, to do it on your own steam.

I am, on every level, so deeply proud of her. She's a completey together kid. Often after she speaks in fluent spanish or solves some math problem that would stump NASA, her dad and I will look at each other and wonder how this force came from us. We kind of dumbly made our way into parenthood and we've been ambling around, making things up as we go.

Kind of cool to see that our missteps have taken at least someone in the right direction.

Rain and Roses

2007-05-27T07:51:00.000-07:00

In spite of my best intentions, my garden sits in a bog, weedy and overgrown. I had high hopes for a Memorial Day Weekend weeding blitz, but alas, this morning there is more and more rain coming my way. Even though I tried to scare off the bad spirits by insisting that a dump truck load of dirt be delivered in the driving rain (the truck couldn't even get the dirt to my garden. Deep rifts of sod and dirt stretch across my yard where the driver attempted to fulfill my request) there is little hope that my garden goal will be accomplished.

Seeing that my plans were squashed, Dan wisely packed me up last night and drove me to the Tulsa Rose Garden. Most years, I'm knee deep in my own gardening projects and I miss the display of roses -- usually arriving a couple of weeks too late or too early to see the real beauty of this Tulsa masterpiece. Not this time. This year, I was right on schedule to see "Gizmos" and "Gidgets" and "Dolly Parton" and "Casablanca" all strutting their stuff and in full bloom. At one juncture I stopped in front of "Sheila's Perfume", it's large blooms bigger than my hand. I plunged my nose into its heady fragrance and I was undone.

The colors, architecture and fragrance of this garden can lift the dreariest of spirits. Go and see for yourself - but take your umbrella.

http://www.tulsamountains.com/gallery1/html/rose_garden_i.html

Garden re-do

2007-05-24T04:22:00.001-07:00

I finally mustered the courage, after weeks of rain, to scour the damage of my garden. Last summer's drought coupled with this year's rain has made my garden something of a mess. Add the fact that major repairs were needed anyway to replace old pathways and you have a tangled web of crabgrass, leggy roses and out of control herbs.

It is sad, really, to think of all the work that has been done - and still needs doing - as I wonder amidst the broken twigs of my garden. I see the corner where I removed the roses that were suffocating under blackspot. I see the miscalculations everywhere: too big shrubs here, too little ones there. Why did I think Nandina would work besides the butterfly bush in that small spot? What prompted me to plant mint so near the borders of my perennials? Why did I think that pathway should go left instead of right?

It's enough to make one give up gardening for good.

Instead, I spent a good part of yesterday re-drawing the lines of the garden -- a new garden that I'll spend time re-creating this summer. Work begins this weekend with a load of topsoil that is scheduled to arrive later today. I won't get to it until later in the holiday weekend but just knowing that it's coming gives me hope.

Rebuilding is a daunting task and one that forces tough questions: 1) Why did the original plan go wrong? 2) do I rebuild? 3) and if so, then how? How to make it better?
How not to repeat the same mistakes? What have I learned from the work from before?

Not surprisingly, many of these questions go to the fundamental questions of structure which give life to the garden. Structure gives direction, calms the chaos and defines the garden. Get the structure wrong and you've got weedy paths and tangled vines. Not to mention unnecessary maintainance.

This is where the basics of art, design and color must have their place. It's where you strip back all the "fluff" and lay bare what is -- accept it and decide if you can live with it. As with life, acceptance is a big part of gardening: Can I change it? If not, can I live with it?

These are the thorny questions that make gardening so essential to living a good life. These are the questions that I find solace in, even in the midst of crumbling paths and falling fences.

Moving forward

2007-04-29T12:49:00.000-07:00

A few months back, I renamed this blog, "Sacred Space" because I discovered the powerful force of creativity, namely gardening, in my life. I felt that my blog, along with gardening and a newly emerging creative life, were giving me back a life that I had forgotten I had.

Since that time, enormous changes have taken place. Yes, many have been life changes, including my kids leaving home. However, there is something about setting an idea "out there" and watching what the divine spirits do with a small, wobbly step of faith.

That simple renaming has given birth to a new life for me in so many ways. I am now the owner of a design studio where I can work amidst creative people all day, creating and thinking and then doing it again. Writing continues to be a huge part of my life, in fact, you can begin reading my monthly column at my new site where I will write on creating nurturing interior and exterior spaces. The first installment of a workshop was this past week and you can see a photo essay of that concept which will grow and change into other experiences.

I have also been journaling and writing on a book which sets the pathway for positive change and how to do it without say, losing every ounce of your mind. I first had the idea when working with volunteer opportunities and asked the question, "how do we change and why is it so hard?". Questions like that never lead to easy, neat answers and voila - I was initiated in my own life changing Q & A.

This all to say, though I haven't been writing here in this blog, I have been furiously writing and creating in other areas. And I'm wondering if this blog may have served its purpose -- that is being the ship that sailed me to this point, a new juncture of the journey? Either way, I'll keep it and may revisit it from time to time. So much of the change journey is painful and personal and frankly, these have been better posts for a quiet journal that has a lock and key on it. Maybe with a little editing they can emerge as helpful and interesting down the road.

To the creative life!

Only in Oklahoma

2007-03-26T18:44:00.000-07:00

Backing out of the crowded post office parking lot a large truck barged in and completely blocked my exit. Oklahoma is a big truck state and so, at first, I didn't think too much about it. But as I waited there, stuck in my parking spot, I noticed that this was no ordinary truck. It towered over me with its bright red exterior with the words "DODGE 4x4, CUMMINGS Ram 2500 TURBO DIESEL" in big block letters.

As I was held hostage by this mammoth thing, I had time to think. I had mainly two thoughts: Thought #1: "Who needs a truck this big?" and #2: "What kind of person drives such a thing?".

I watched the door open up and then a small, skinny guy dressed in blue jeans, t-shirt jumped from the doorway onto the pavement. He stood about 5'4" as he stretched to get a package from the seat of his truck. As he made his way into the post offic, I caught the site of the back of his t-shirt which read, (and I promise I'm not making this up), "Testical Festival 06".

I laughed all the way through the rest of the day and in fact, shared my story with one of my friends. He looked at me with all seriousness and said, "Don't you know what that is?"

I confessed that I did not.

As it turns out, this festival is quite the event, held annually in Stillwater where folks come from miles around to the regional "calf fry". And yeah, they are frying up more than a few legs and thighs.

I have lived in many parts of the country, each with their own regional flair. And truthfully, I could have continued living in many of these cities -- New Jersey, Kansas City, Columbus. But I made a conscious effort and made my home back here in OK where I was born and raised. I could have lived anywhere and I chose here.

Still, days like this, I often wonder why.

I disavow any knowledge

2007-03-21T20:00:00.000-07:00

I better get this out there before my brother does. This is me when I was about 12. It says more than a million words, so I'll just let it go.

This in the hands of my kids could be deadly.

Catching up

2007-03-20T04:02:00.000-07:00

I've been a fickle blogger of late - only writing bits and pieces as I felt like it or as the mood hit. It's not that I've not been writing -- it's just that I've not been blogging. I think I said once before in this blog that sometimes it is not that you don't have anything to say, it's that you have too much.

We took our daughter to tour her very first campus visit. Again I underestimated the emotional whallop this would take on me. Like her dad, Ellen is a great student who leans towards disciplines such as science and math. As we toured the bio chem department Ellen and Dan were completely engrossed and acted as if they understood all the five-syllable words that the professor was telling them. As for myself, I got that same twitchy, nervous feeling that I often had in my chem labs in college. Give me an essay exam any day over numbers or chemical strings.

There are moments as a parent that you get caught up short, that you realize that your job is nearing completion and that while you know you have had some influence in your kid's life, you also know that they are who they are by some ingenious mix of DNA and divine hand. And you marvel at that thought, at how this person can be so much a part of you and yet so much their own person. As I watched Ellen begin her own journey towards her new life I was struck with just how much she has it together and I had to wonder, "how the heck did that happen?"

I called an old friend this past week who also has kids leaving for college. She was the one who gave me some good advice once. When we were getting ready for Ellen to be born, I worried that I could not love another kid as much as I did our first. I asked her, "can you love two kids the same?" And she said, "Of course not. You love them differently." At the time I don't think I understood what she was saying. Now, 18 plus years later, I think I am beginning to understand.

Going to State

2007-03-04T08:25:00.000-08:00

This post will reek of "mom'isms", I'm afraid. I am just so proud, I could pop.

I could be proud that her team won and is headed to State Playoffs. I could be proud that she played through some difficult pain in her shoulder, but you had to look carefully to know it, if you noticed it at all.

But what I'm most proud is how she handles herself both on and off the field. She plays to win but not at all costs. She cares about her team and she plays unselfishly. And when confronted with players from other teams that may lack maturity, she plays her own game and refuses to be embroiled in showmanship or talking smack.

She continues to be a good student with numerous awards but again, it isn't what SHE DOES that makes me so proud. It is who she is and who she is becoming.

Go get 'em Rams!

Regionals

2007-02-25T17:19:00.000-08:00

Occassionally, I am able to see my kid's somewhat objectively and, though I love them to death, I try not boast too much.

Today is not one of those days.

Saturday, my daughter's bball team dominated a well known team and took away the Regional Championship, a feat not done in a decade. I am more than proud of her and her teammates, not only for the score but more importantly how they handled themselves on the court. Even when they had the trophy, they waited until they were in the locker room before the hooting and hollering really started. And, they kept their cool even when the other team threw a few intentionals their way late in the game.

Some of the teammates have played together for over eight years and the synchronicity of their playing time together is a big advantage.

Next report: Area on Thursday against another tough team.

Sunday Movie

2007-02-19T12:10:00.000-08:00

Some friends and I went to see "The Queen" at the cinema yesterday. It was not my kind of movie . I am always a bit suspicious of anything considered "historical" when the history in question is less than 20 years old.

Still, the royal family intrigues most of us and for my generation, the death of Princess Diana is much like the death of JFK for my parent's generation in that we all remember what we were doing when we heard the news. (For myself, I was tucking kids into bed and watching a remake of another movie, Cape Fear, when the reports came in.)

I believe there are much more important themes that underlie the death of Diana, which for all accounts and purposes is the death, if not symbolically, of the monarchy itself (a fact made real by an ingenious scene in the movie. See if you can find it). I don't pretend to understand the enigmatic charm that Diana had over us but I do believe that she was the one last chance my generation had to believe in romance and fairy tales. And believe we did. We believed with our whole hearts. We cut our hair to look like her, we wore ridiculous bows on our dresses to be like her and we dreamed of having her life.

What I like about the movie is that it avoided cartoon-ish images of the royal family and a particularly generous profile of Tony Blair is given throughout the film. The character in the film that is least likeable - and least understandable - is Prince Philip (played by the best evil man working in Hollywood, James Cromwell). We don't understand Prince Phillip's rage or bitterness, but a quick study of history helps. Who amongst us would like to marry a queen only to be given a dumpy old castle and not the kingship itself?

At any rate, I cannot recommend the movie on the merits of acting nor on storyline. The few moments when the film really starts to gel for me are edited quickly for another montage of flowers and bows and that smile that haunted us all.

From every angle...

2007-02-15T20:15:00.000-08:00

Last weekend, we drove to OSU to visit Nathan and he showed us his latest projects. It is impossible to view anything your child does with any objectivity and so I won't even try. Here's some pics of his brilliance.

While his father can fully appreciate the complexity of the math/physics/geometry entailed, I had but one question: "Where's the kitchen?"

Download

2007-02-09T21:56:00.000-08:00

I've been putting off blogging. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I have so much. It's hard to know where to start, really.

I've been working on a new project that has been taking a lot of my time. I hope to share more about it soon.... it is very exciting and I'm working hard on it. For now, that's about all I can say.

Last weekend I saw, "Notes on a Scandal" and was bewitched by the deliciously evil Judi Dench. Her performance held me despite a storyline that failed. I've put her on my "Most Want to Meet List".

Basketball season is now in full swing and so a lot of my free time is invested watching my amazing daughter do her thing on the court. This topic has kept me busy writing in my personal journal because I just want to capture every moment of this time...soon she'll be packed away at college like her brother - a thought that immediately shakes tears from me.

And, I continue to fall onto the couch to watch reruns of my newest viewing addiction, "Scrubs". I absolutely love this show...I get completely absorbed by its lunatic poignancy. My favorite character is probably "Jordan" who is played by the the director's wife. Whatever - the alchemy of the script and actors is for me, first rate and a lot of fun.

Birthday with Brian

2007-01-26T21:36:00.000-08:00

Today I turned 43 and so, luckily, the Brian Regan (www.brianregan.com) concert was tonight - -postponed from a couple of weeks ago because of the great ice storm.

The concert was held at the "historic" brady theater. Let me say something about this. Oklahoma became a state in 1906, therefore Tulsa is about 100 or so years old. 100 years, in the life of the cosmos, is not necessarily old. Yet, the "historic" brady theater sits in relative abandon. It does, in fact, make Roman catacombs look somewhat contemporary. The site could be one of Tulsa's most unique and artsy destinations, once it gets heating and hot water, which it did not have on Friday night

Despite being huddled under my husband's jacket, I could not stop laughing at this performer whose ability to handle hecklers--along with passing of distant freight train - hit every mark. I have seen many comics who cannot deal with interruptions in their act but Brian's best moments came at times when he ad libbed getting off stage and handling a freight train's whistle that happened mid-way through his act.

Another impressive component of Regan's act -- I heard nary a curse word nor one reference to any body part. It's not that the crowd was old ladies, either. I was probably one of the oldest there with many looking to be about my kid's ages. Brian takes ordinary life and spins it, twists it and makes it hilarious.

I have watched Regan a lot, have a couple of his CD's and seen him perform on Comedy Central. Still, most of what I saw on Friday was new material to me. Clearly he continues to work on his act in spite of 25 years of stand-up experience. This is refreshing in a performer where many in his league often re-hash old bits time and time again.

Regan can make even turning 43 a fun night.

Why I Volunteer

2007-01-26T07:46:00.000-08:00

I found this article on a Fox 23 online site this morning. It is interesting that this article ran a day after another article ran in my little town which described a nasty town official meeting this past week. The issue on the table was whether or not my town would allow an addiction treatment facility to be built within city limits. Sadly, it was voted down because of comments such as "how can I keep my kids safe if these "crazy" people are running around?" The reality is, in Oklahoma (as in many states and communities) addictions of many kinds are rampant. And, other studies suggest that chemical addictions (including alcohol) are inevitably related to domestic and child abuse.

The reality is that people with addictions are just like you and me. I had a friend of mine once say, "I don't think I've ever known anyone with a drug problem." And I said, "Sure you have, you just don't know it." The stereotypical "drunk falling down" or "crazy meth head" around town are just hollywood inventions. I hope that someday, Oklahoma will arise to the fact that our state is in dire need of treatment programs and resources to assist those who are struggling so desperately.

Once a week I invest time with a local facility where I teach nurturing parenting to families who are making the courageous steps to put their families back together. I haven't written much about this experience yet. The experience humbles me in ways that I cannot put into words because of the persistence and bravery of those that are working through unbelievable circumstances to have healthier families. While I hope that I, along with trained therapists and counselors, do provide some resources for those in the class, the class participants teach me every week with their courage. I hope I can write more about these experiences at some time.

Here's the article from local news web site:

OKLAHOMA CITY (AP) - A study suggests that bad childhood experiences, from neglect and abuse to domestic violence in the home, contribute to Oklahomans' overall poor health. Anne Roberts, executive director of the Oklahoma Institute for Child Advocacy, says findings of the Adverse Childhood Experience Study represent a "ticking timebomb" for the quality of Oklahomans' future health. Roberts says if the state doesn't intervene on behalf of abused children, chronic health issues will only escalate. Oklahoma ranks Number 1 in the nation in deaths due to heart disease. And the state recorded more than 24,500 domestic violence cases to law enforcement agencies in 2004. In 2005, there were more than 13,300 cases of child abuse and neglect in Oklahoma

Today's reading

2007-01-22T11:35:00.000-08:00

With our unexpected "winter break" I have been reading many books. Too many, perhaps. Is that even possible?

I picked up "Reading Like a Writer" by Francine Prose and am finding it helpful beyond, well, words. Here's a great reason why:

'A novelist friend compares the rules of grammar, punctuation, and usage to a sort of old-fashioned etiquette. He says that writing is a bit like inviting someone to your house. The writer is host, the read hte guest, and you, the writer, follow the etiquette because you want your readers to be more comfortable, especially if you're plannign to serve them something they might not be expecting.' (p. 43).

Movies

2007-01-21T18:14:00.000-08:00

I saw two movies this weekend. The first one, "Little Miss Sunshine" on DVD and the other, "The Last King of Scotland" at the box office.

I was drawn to "..sunshine" because of Toni Collette who is a great character actress. I've loved her in every movie she's done and I admire the fact that she plays varying roles and those roles are generally complex characters, not always beautiful. I love her transparency and the fact that when I'm watching her I see the character, not Ms. Collette. Other actresses should be so talented. What I liked about this movie is the transformation of a fragmented family into something more whole.

"..Scotland" was such an intense movie, I left the box office shuddering and soothed myself in a nearby bookstore. Something about a bookstore on a rainy Sunday afternoon can be soothing, I think. "..Scotland" is a film based upon true events which is what makes the movie so frightening. I was drawn to the film because I had once met a man, a doctor, whose family had fled Uganda under Amin's reign of terror.

The rumors mills regarding the performance of Forrest Whitaker are absolutely true. His take on "Amin" makes a frightening character at least understandable if not likeable and the movie does what a good historical movie can do - -it allows the viewer to see the clash of the historic components. It is characters such as Amin (and Hitler and so many other leaders) that encourage me to believe that each of us live on a bubble that wobbles between evil and good and that a set of decisions can propel us down a path of either. I think movies such as this are valuable when done well, and this one is done well.

Day 5 of the Ice Age

2007-01-16T13:58:00.000-08:00

It continues to be icy with dangerous road conditions. Today, I ventured forth to meet with my accountant -- that story later. For now, I'll rage against the stupidity of drivers. The ones that forget that more than half of the road (my half, thank you) is still covered in slick ice and who drive fast -- clocking speeds that rival Nascar races. Do they forget the danger of passing me in my "lane", honking and flipping me off? Do they think that one small fish-tail won't take us both out? Do they think that the crags in the road that I'm forced to drive on is going to suddenly melt under my tires so that there is no danger to them? Why are they so angry that I'm going a mere 45 mph on Tulsa's death road (HWY 169) while they top out at 70 plus?

Oh, I get it. They want to be the first to hit the ditch about a mile up the road. First to the auto repair. First to the chiropractor or hospital. First to be a thoughtless pig.

People are crabby because of the cancellations I guess. Five days of watching TV and ridiculous shows like the "Golden Globes" will do that. One cancellation I couldn't get out of: the annual meeting with the Tax Guy. (Strike up the scary music...)

Meeting with the Tax Guy is a lot like being held up -- only it's legal and no gun is required - except the gun that if you don't pay you lose your house, your wages, your job. It's a friendly fleecing, I guess. You make money? You pay.

Still, I can't complain about paying taxes. I really cannot. No one in my neighborhood had their car explode from a car bomb this week. And my drinking water is safe, more or less. The roads in my city are full of potholes but they will be fixed eventually. And no one has arrested me or any members of my family for saying demeaning things about the government. The fact that we can talk about the "worst dressed list" from the Golden Globes Ceremony and act like it means something is a tribute to the fact that we live in America, where our royalty waltz down a red carpet, accept commendations from their peers while a senseless war wages on in a country far away.

God, I love this country. I love that I can pay taxes because there have been days in my life when I stood in the FREE LUNCH line at my school and was laughed at by kids whose parents' income - and their paying taxes -- made that possible. I love that I can volunteer at a local organization, giving my time and energy to people not unlike me and that my tax dollars -- in part -- make that organization and its services possible. I love that I can rant against a school system that is fallible in most every way but still remains one of the best ways to educate worldwide.

Still its sobering to look at a year in pictures, painted in the language of numbers and neat columns. The Tax Man looked at me after I recovered from the anxiety attack that came from the "Pay here.." column...and said, "What does success look like to you?"

His question didn't surprise me. It's one I've been asking myself a lot lately. I looked at him, square in the eyes, and said, "The problem with success is that the definition keeps changing." He must have read some book on talking to clients because he acted like he might actually care about me past the W-2's and all. I told him that the greatest moments of joy for me this past year were when I saw my son graduate, my daughter hit a 3-pointer, laughing with my husband on our anniversary. And I found the courage to answer his next question which was, "What would you do if you could do anything?"

And to that, I felt my stomach quiver and my strength slip. Do I tell him that my most satisfying moment this year came from the weekly class I teach at the Parent Child Center? Or that the moment when I danced in my office is when I got my first letter from an editor, telling me the submission was all wrong but to keep trying. To me, these were really important moments, moments that were made from that place deep inside that says, "This is what you were really made to do."

In many countries, following a dream takes a backseat to surviving the daily war lords and their brutality. In many countries paying the bills means working years with nothing remotely looking like "minimum wage" or health care. In many countires, studying a painting or reading a book isn't lawless, just non-existant.

It's imperfect, sure. But it's my country and it's worth paying for. Who do I make this payable to...?

Ice and wind in Redneckville

2007-01-14T10:46:00.000-08:00

You know it's bad weather when the OSU-Nebraska basketball game is postponed.

And indeed it is bad weather. Here in T-town, we are now bracing ourselves for the third wave of ice and sleet. For those that may live in other parts of the country and only see ice in their mixed drinks or refrigerators, this may sound like a typo. Ice? Falling from the sky?

What makes this really amazing is that a day before the first wave of ice and sleet (yes, there is a difference in the two) we had temperatures of 66 degrees. I barely used a coat while on deliveries. This is why I believe here in the midwest we believe in the stories of the bible, like Noah and that big boat thing -- we understand that weather conditions of biblical proportions can happen suddenly, cancelling important things such as school, churches and when it it gets really bad -- collegiate basketball games.

I'm pretty steamed that my date with comedian Brian Regan was postponed because of all this weather. (OK, it wasn't exactly a date - -2400 other people would have probably been there AND my husband who was suppose to go with me celebrating that 21 years of marriage thing...) So I have hunkered down and done what most obsessive compulsive types do when there is nothing that they can do -- started cleaning out closets, surfing the web and of course, watching endless hours of my favorite TV shows. (And a few of my not so favorite).

Dan and I did tromp out to the local home/garden store in the midst of the calamity. I claimed I needed to get laundry detergent (washing clothes becomes a bigger priority when you're stuck at home for endless days) when I really was looking for exterior lights for patio. A project that seemed remote and unimportant began to haunt me with an urgency so intense, I found myself surfing the web at odd hours of the night looking through images of lights, chandeliers, lamps.

The mind works strangely when the fear of being house-bound takes hold. I started noticing every stain on the carpet, every dust bunny in the house and have started a cleaning campaign that will no doubt entail the need for a new Dyson vacuum cleaner and a truckload of cleaning supplies.

Getting back to work will be a relief for all of us.

Addicted

2007-01-12T17:41:00.000-08:00

It began simply as most addictions do. Late at night, I was bored and while everyone was asleep I indulged. Before too many nights, I started planning my day around when I'd get a hit and soon I was scouring the day for times when I could fuel the fire.

Like many people, I thought I wouldn't fall so easily. I use to laugh at others who told me about their battles and I would laugh self-righteously at them. Now I know better.

Weekend like this one -- with cold, icy weather only makes me want more, more, more...

So this weekend I'll be camped out on the sofa, scarfing down leftovers and watching all the seasonal reruns of "scrubs" I can find.

I love J.D but Dr. Cox is my favorite. And Jordan! I love that character. I love the silliness and the mythical and literary references and I can get lost in my cable stations reruns.

Almost more than Law and Order but maybe not quite....

On my bookshelf

2006-12-29T14:11:00.000-08:00

This New Year's I have a stack of books that I'm enjoying:

"Thirst" (poems by Mary Oliver)
"Traveling Mercies" (Anne Lamott)
"Keeping Faith" (Jodi Picoult)
"The Bourne Ultimatum" (Robert Ludlum)
"Moby Dick" (Herman Melville)

As long as I have books to read, it is a good year.

Christmas Eve walk in my garden

2006-12-24T14:40:00.000-08:00

I take a subscription to "Fine Gardening" which is the best periodical on the market for gardeners. I like it because it gives more than just glossy photos of gardens, it also gives a map of what makes up a great garden along with expert tips. Additionally, the articles transcend more than the usual garden "how-to's" even giving advice on creating what I call "sacred space".

Still, my favorite magazine arrives about the time I feel sucker-punched by my garden and this past week was no exception. Gardening is like parenting, wimps need not apply and I have been feely particularly grumpy regarding my garden of late. This past year was harsh because of the lack of rain fall and I have determined that I will add nothing to my garden this year until I have sufficient water that can sustain the life that I try to keep going.

I ignored the publication for several days, excusing myself because I was busy with holidays and such. But I was really angry at my garden for many reasons. First I was angry that it didn't look like the gardens in the magazines. My husband's reply didn't help. "What, you think I'd be mad at you because you don't look like the girls in Vogue?" I stomped outside to think about it some more.

I was mad at my garden mostly because of the tremendous disappointment it had become. After months and years of watering and care, this past year it looked weedy and untamed and I had given up in late June, cursing the moles and the bugs and the bermuda worse than ever before.

As I browsed the gardening magazine I came across a really terrific article that may help save me: "6 Essential garden elements" and as I read the article, I remembered that this is why it's good to have expert opinions to guide you -- when you are most discouraged is the time for someone who's been there before to help you along. Here are the Six Essentials:

1 - Shelters: structures such as arbors, pergolas, gazebos.
2 - Ornamentation: decorative embellishments such as sculptures, found objects or arranged beach stones.
3 - Pathways: areas used for passage that direct the visitor and influence the experience
4 - Water: features such as ponds, streams, fountains or birdbaths used to stimulate the senses
5 - Gates: garden entry points or portals that indicate a beginning and end.
6 - Borders: physical boundaries - such as fences, walls or hedges that divide spaces.

What is exciting about these components is that they can be on a table top or an acre of space. Gardens can be wherever they need to be and I'm a believer that there needs to be more.

Valerie Easton, author of "A Pattern Garden" also wrote in this article that a "garden is a metaphore for change" which is why I enjoy walking my garden at all seasons. Seasons are a benchmark for change and there is no better way to find that personally or organically than in a garden.

My Parenting Top 10 List

2006-12-18T08:16:00.000-08:00

(Author's note: This kind of list is only undertaken by the very brave or the very stupid or by those who have been up all night working deadlines and feeling a little fuzzy-headed due to too much caffeine and too much chocolate. There are no "parenting experts" and those that claim to be experts in the field of parenting have probably never had a colicky baby or a rebellious teenager. Nonetheless, I believe that all parents have a responsibility to share what they do know with the idea that better parents make a better world. With the idea that parenting is more mystery than fact, more art than science, I reserve the right to change my list as new "opportunities" present themselves.")

My Parent Top 10 - December, 2006

1 - Say "yes" as much as possible. Saying yes does not mean no limits. You can say, "Yes, you can have a cookie AFTER you eat your dinner." or "Yes, you can play with your friend AFTER you clean your room."

2 - Hold on loosely but don't let go. Sure, it's a rock song, but it really works in most relationships especially parenting. The goal of parenting is to make dependent people independent in every way: socially, financially, spiritually, emotionally. I like to think of parenting like a sledding slope. The first 5 years you are getting the gear out to do the gig. The next 5 years is the trek up the mountain, the next 5 is the trek down where it is all about just guiding and enjoying the ride and recovering from any wipe outs. The next 5 years is sharing the excitement over a cup of cocoa.

3 - Know the difference in covenant and contract. A covenant is an agreement based upon one person whereas a contract is an agreement based upon two people. Parenting is a covenant in the sense that love is there for children at no cost, expense or effort on their part. My children cannot earn my love, it is mine to give. There are things in the relationship, though, that need contractual agreements, not necessarily in the legal sense but in the agreement sense. "When you finish your homework, we'll go to the movie." and the like.

4 - My children are not "mine". I'm grateful I was a part of the process of creating my children but they are not mine. I do not own them and in fact, the role I have is to provide them the opportunity for them to be the "boss of themselves". They are a gift that I have been allowed to share for about 18 years.

5 - My children are not to carry on my dreams. - I want my kids to have their own dreams, not be burdened with unmet dreams of my life. That means that when they are on the playing field of life -- either metaphorically or physcially - my role is to cheer on my kid and their team. My kids are not there to struggle under my past no matter how glorious or pathetic.

6 - Speak truth into theier lives whenever possible - Parenting is like a great "reveal" where you can literally speak what can be into their lives whenever possible. Sometimes it may sound like a fiction story when you day, "I know you can accomplish _____ goal!" And sometimes it may be the impossible dream. The goal of dreaming is to create a new reality that can be accomplished simply by seeing possibilities over obstacles, the good in the bad, the possible in the impossible.

7 - Be a screw up - I believe that kids need guidance, not perfection. In fact, I believe the role of parenting is to create completion not perfection. Parenting, by divine design, is as much about parents formation as it is the kids. This humble approach to parenting is transformative in that parents will learn as much about themselves and the world through the process of good parenting as the kids will.

8 - Companion to #7 - Say "I'm sorry" quickly - I have no problem saying "I blew it!" to my kids when appropriate and the sad fact is, I blow it everyday. I don't have all the answers on any subject which is good because what my kids need to know is that I care and that I can listen and that together we can face the day.

9 - Have a partner - Whether married or not, parents need support. I am grateful for my husband of 21 years who is gifted in ways that I cannot ever be. There are days when I call and say, "Your kid needs you today." which is a way to say, "you're gifted in this area -- I am not." Especially as our kids have grown up I have been amazed at how my husband can untangle a knot with our kids. And there are times when my style of parenting is best suited to a given situation. This is not a competition but a team goal.

10 - Pray a lot - I believe that kids are part of a divine design with a creator that knows everything they need before they ever take a first breath. In fact that is my prayer in the murky days of parenting, "YOU know what they need, help them in spite of me."

This is a good time to say "you're the best" to a couple of people who make my world shine, my kids, Nathan (18) and Ellen (16) who are better people most days than I'll ever be. Thank you for the gifts you give me this season and everyday. Why God gave you to me is the testimony that He has a terrific sense of humor and endless grace.

Quote for the day

2006-12-13T08:06:00.000-08:00

"There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds."
---Tennyson

This week's movie

2006-12-10T17:01:00.000-08:00

This weekend I saw, "Blood Diamond" and would recommend it first for the storyline and second for the acting. I generally am less attracted to films with big name stars because generally the story line is sub-par. This time, though, it is good story meets good acting, a welcome change of pace for holiday movies.

I've tried hard to not like Leo but he has won me over with the diversity of his movie roles and the ability he has to make likeable the most wayward of characters. In this way, he reminds me a good deal of early Pacino and DeNiro. I admire his ability to make the progression from child actor to actor well, a feat that is not easily accomplished.

I am also a big Jennifer Connelly fan because I love any actress that seems more concerned about her acting than her hair and appearance.

But the really good news about this movie is how it puts vapid american consumerism on display right smack dab in the middle of the season of excess with its story of global conflict and some of the underbelly of the diamond trade. After watching this movie and reading about the diamond trade, I think most will be like me, hesitant to wear anything resembling diamonds.

Google "blood diamond" and check out more about this with the movie's official web site.

Who's in? Who's out? And who's keeping score?

2006-12-06T12:51:00.000-08:00

I have a friend who recently converted to Judaism upon marrying her husband. She isn't jewish by lineage. Her mother is Catholic, she doesn't know her dad.

She was sharing with me recently that she had been told, by a conservative jewish woman, that she wasn't "really jewish" because she was not born into the faith. My friend told me all the details, most of which just hurt my head and most of which seem infinately trivial as most religious disputes tend to be. This allegation, of course, broke my friends heart and mine. While I am not jewish, I know all too well the stings of religious elitism.
The jewish faith holds no patent on this.

While business and social circles have well defined codes of conduct and long lists of "Who's Who" I find those much easier to stomach than the often subjective religious mandates. Most of the time, business, academia and social elitists can point to talking points printed on expensive papers on the entrance exams to their individual realms. However, there seems to be nothing so insidious as religious elitism which is often based on obscure and trivial points that when pressed hold nothing more than tradition vamping as doctrine. I often find that those most committed to their ideals are also least likely to be able to define them -- or defend them.

When faced with the cutting remarks of those whose arrogance supercedes their manners I like to remember these facts:

2/3 of what we call the bible was written by murderers (Moses, David, Paul)
Those who began "the christian movement" were yahoos living in caves, not cathedrals
God has used prostitutes, accountants, lawyers, even donkeys to achieve a purpose. Who, in God's name (literally) do you think YOU are?

Most of the characters in the christian bible are nothing more than deeply flawed individuals who, in spite of themselves, often found their faith through a bumbling series of accidents. While I have no illusions about the Abrahams, or the Paul's I find that their inclusive in a community of believers both deeply disturbing and deeply reassuring.

"The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty" - Anne LaMott
"I'll strive for excellence and leave perfection to God" -- Michael J. Fox

As I've said before in this blog, there are a very few things that I would take a sword for. Here is one of them: There is a God and I am not Him. And two, I'll let him decide who's on his list.

Season of Giving

2006-11-30T17:26:00.000-08:00

We are officially snowed in, perhaps for several days. It's the kind of snow that makes for great holiday cards - all swirls and mounds and ice. Beautiful but deadly - I'm staying in until I can see the street again.

So today was a snowy day to hang out with daughter, talk about ACT scores and college visits. There was plenty of time to make decadent chocolate cookies, drag out the christmas decorations and watch "Gilmore Girls" until our eyes fell out of our heads. I have a major caffeine buzz, my head hurts with thinking so hard (she's way smarter than me) and my sides ache from laughing. A perfect day.

I spent the last few days collecting gifts for some area children. This kind of activity both inspires me and disgusts me. I'm inspired because of the spirit and resiliency of children who are surviving amazing situations. It disgusts me that so many of us give so terribly.

There is something wrong with our culture which can spend more on electronic gadgets for their music than they can for children without parents. I'm especially touched by those who profess some sort of faith but show up with used clothing and broken toys which no one would want. Sometimes I think this season of giving is more about cleaning out closets and salving our conscious than about giving to others. The sentiment seems to be, "Jesus loves you, now here's a torn t-shirt to wear. I was just going to throw it out anyway."

Giving is the quality that forces us to look out ourselves and see what we trust, what we value and who we are. And sometimes, what I see when I look closely is how much I have to learn about giving. I hope this upcoming year I can learn how to really give.

Thanksgiving at Philbrook

2006-11-22T13:13:00.000-08:00

My daughter had a school assignment to view the "Studios of Paris: Willaim Boughuereau and his American Students" collection. After gulping down hot cocoa and spiced doughnuts (gotta love QuikTrip) we made our way there.

Art museums are great places to go during holidays because they are generally not as crowded and those that are there are generally more serious about art. So you can get lots of attention and lots of detail that would go missed in larger crowds.

My favorite piece is not one of Boughuereau's but one of his contemporaries, Robert Henri. My favorite piece in this collection is "The Model" which is Henri at his crossroads -- not yet giving up his traditional roots but not yet embracing impressionism. In fact, this portrait is a study of both the art world in flux as well as Henri. "The Model" has what appears to be two mirrors and yet neither capture her face, which we cannot see as she is turned from the viewer. The mood of this piece is somber, reflective, as if we've come up on the subject with her unaware. This piece drew me in and I stood there unaware myself of how close I had come to the artwork when a stuffy museum staff brisquely walked up to me and said, "Excuse me, we ask that you not get any closer to the piece than 12 inches."

It is times like this that I have an arsenal of witty comebacks but whenever my kids are in tote I try to be civil. How can one not get close to art of that magnitude and not want to touch it? My daughter, watching me closely waited until the staff member took her leave to say under breath in a sing-song voice, "You got in trouble...you got in trouble...you got in trouble.."

European Romanticism seems to be very in vogue these days -- from art collections to furniture to other influences. I heard recently that we generally embrace art that we feel fills a void in our lives -- for example, the chic modern style is generally embraced by those who may feel their lives are cluttered and boisterous. I'm not sure what this says about the current vogue with all its emphasis on old world charm and heaviness. Hmmmm.

I am still reading "Writing for Story.." and loving it, will reread a couple of times over thanksgiving break. Also, finished a writing deadline this week that will, no doubt, continue to fill my rejection box. It's the thrill of just getting something done that I work for. I am learning a lot about publishing and submissions and the art of not taking rejection personally.

I saw several books in the museum bookstore that I hope to find and read.

Books I'm reading

2006-11-19T12:06:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I find books and sometimes books find me.

The latter is the case with two that found me this past week, both given to me by friends. I love it when someone gives me a book, it's the best present I could ever get!

"Writing for Story" by Jon Frankin is a book I cannot put down and I suspect it will keep me busy for awhile. It is a book that puts some flesh on the ethereal idea of what writing is really - lots and lots of work. It is the first book that I've read about writing that offers clear, concise idea on structure and how to get into writing. I plan to read it this week and follow its ideas.

"The Holy Man" by Susan Trott is a parable that challenges ideas on leadership and relationships. I am also reading it and re-reading it.

I hope more books like these find their way to me.

Thank ye

2006-11-17T13:40:00.000-08:00

Running into the store this morning to get some milk, I quickly realized that the thanksgiving season is now fully in swing which means that the rest of the holiday season is cranking up too. I'm a bit of a scrooge about almost every holiday. It comes from my "warped, cranky and bitter" disposition, according to one of my favorite comic friends. And she's right, in a way. There seems to be a lot of energy wrapped up in the holiday season, trying to be cheerful and thoughtful. I can usually manage at least a dowdy good will by christmas eve with some effort and lots of chocolate.

So I thought I'd try to write something that was thankful in spirit while also trying to give some nod to the reality of the season. So here goes. I have no idea how it will end up, which is a lot like most of my holidays. Sometimes the best of times are those things not planned.

I'm thankful for the bills that I pay because it means somebody, somewhere trusts me to pay them. While I may question their confidence in me, at least they are thinking about me and thinking that I really can do it. That's encouraging and ennobles me to keep working every day. I hate disappointing people, even those that I don't know.

I'm thankful for the backed up sink in my kitchen and the refrigerator that hasn't worked right for six months. I know people who don't own a home and having one, with all its responsibilities, is truly a gift.

I'm thankful for the quiet mornings that are left after the busy-ness of raising school age children. It means that my children are happily employed in the business of their lives and that they are doing exactly what they were raised to do, which is, to make their own messes and figure out the stuff that life teaches.

I'm thankful for my marriage of 21 years. I now know more about the inner workings of college football and basketball and the sacredness of ESPN. I am grateful for the familar presence of Dan, his quiet grace and his ever present refusal to let me be anything less than who I am. I am also grateful for the pile of books that I read while the score is being kept during all those game and the cat that persists to sit on my lap between my eyes and my book. Someday, I may not be able to see the small print -- or the cat for that matter. I'm grateful that I had a childhood that had a lot of books around for reading has been my personal paradise.

I am grateful for art of all kinds -- the music that I play everyday, the books that I can get for free at the library, the artwork that moves me when I visit the museum. Art is a necessity and there was a time in my life I had forgotten that. Without art, life is just a jumble of numbers and deadlines, making no sense, having no spirit or soul.

I am grateful for all my friends: the comics, the writers, the jesus-freaks, the doubters, the movers and shakers, the encouragers, the believers. I'm thankful for their rugged persistence in being my friend, for their kindness, and for their honesty even when I may not want to hear it. I am grateful that I have been given so many in which to learn about and from. I love laughing over food with them after a long day's work, of watching them on their individual "stages" where they perform in whatever it is they do. I'm honored to have been invited into their lives and to offer whatever I can.

I am grateful for the grief of this year's sadness. This year has been a year when so much has been lost and though the passing of good friends has left me stunned with understanding the brevity and preciousness of life, I am blessed to have known some truly great people. In fact, the question I am learning to ask is not so much as to why they are gone but why exactly was I given such a grace to know them and how can I be a reminder of what they have given me?

I'm grateful for hot earl grey tea on cold mornings after excercising. I'm grateful for coffee with lots of cream. I'm grateful for the smirk on my daughter's face, for the brief moments when she still lets me hug her, for my son's text messages. I'm grateful for deep feelings -- both elation and pain for it means that I am alive and able to experience life in all its many forms. I'm grateful for the chance to start over and the opportunity to try something new. I'm grateful for failure because it lets me know that I'm human and that striving for perfection is something best left to God. I'm grateful for victory because it teaches me about myself, but not as much as failure does.

I'm grateful for the breath of a new day and for this life filled with joys and disappointments for in these things I truly have experienced God.

Three recommendations

2006-11-13T13:01:00.000-08:00

I have been working on a "This year's best" of sights/sounds around T-town that are worth seeing and/or doing. Haven't made much progress, but here's a few suggestions on what's happening now..

First of all, if you haven't seen "Stranger than Fiction" make it a point to do so. I loved this fable of transformation and awakening. I loved everything about it -- I loved the actors (hey, can you see the "Sonic" guys in this flick?"), I especially loved the story and the imagery was amazing. The reason I loved this film is because you leave the theater thinking. It asks great questions such as "what story are you IN?" but it doesn't leave you with a headache from hitting you over the head with its messages. Participatory and entertaining it now ranks as one of my "top 10 best movies of all time" for me personally.

Best book I've read so far this year: "Squirrel Inc" by Stephen Denning. Again, a fable about the transformative power of various storytelling ideas.

Best cuppaccino: QuikTrip's Peppermint Cappuccino (all of .79 cents). Beats the big chains hands down. And where else can you get a chocolate chip muffin the size of your car?

Here are some other "Tulsa Best"...

Best burger in town: On Wednesday's, McNellie's (1st street) has $3 burger night. A real burger that is as big as your face with choice of fries -- either sweet potato or regular. Burger even has tomato, lettuce and condiments. Amazing value. And the bartenders make you laugh. They laugh at me because I am the only one at the bar sucking down an unsweetened iced tea (not the Long Island kind).

Best place to see a movie: AMC 20 (promenade) on Sunday afternoon - hardly anybody is there - I've watched a ton of movies by myself, like my own private screening room. I laugh, I cry, I throw popcorn at the screen.

Best Italian Food: Andolini's Pizza (Owasso). Great atmosphere, great prizes and it's authentic. I go every weekend and yeah, it doesn't hurt that my kid waits on me when she's working there.

Working on more "bests" for end of year, posted later.

The Journey

2006-11-06T19:18:00.000-08:00

Tonight, our old dog breathed her last. I knew it was coming, I had watched her hobble around all day, putting off calling the vet. I even made a list of those I should call - old and new friends who had known her. Of course, I wouldn't call for them, I would call for me.

Princess was 16 plus years, a sheltie and just a great dog. She loved the kids and they loved her and for Ellen and Nathan, they hardly know life without her.

I wish I were a delicate crier. I know many friends of mine who cry politely and neatly, almost beautifully. Not me. Even though I tried to comfort myself with the idea that she had a long, very happy canine life there was still this pinch in my heart where grief tends to collect and as I watched Princess take her last struggling breaths, that grief spilled out and I cried big, awkward sobs.

I came home and reached for the only thing that I know can speak to a broken heart - -poetry. The poem that seems most helpful is nothing at all about a dog or dying but it is a great poem and I'm grateful for people like Mary Oliver.

http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/m_r/oliver/online_poems.htm

Download

2006-11-01T10:19:00.000-08:00

Today is November 1, time for National Novel Writing Month (www.nanowrimo.org). I, along with about a million other writers, will be hunched over laptops, strung out on various coffee drinks working to make 50,000 words in one month a reality. Last year was my frist year to do it and it was so rewarding to see that I could actually write a novel -- albeit a very bad novel -- in only one month.

But all novels begin badly, that is, they begin as first drafts and as Ann Lemott says in "Bird by Bird", very bad first drafts (and I'm quoting her loosely here).
The tough part about writing is not the writing. It's the rewriting. That's where you have to go deep, sacrfice precious ideas and concepts and find out that the novel really writes itself through your pen (or computer)and this thing you think is "yours" is really something else entirely. Scary stuff.

I plan to rewrite the very bad novel I wrote last year. Nanowrimo helps make writing a little more like a group effort because you know others are working on it too.

Here are snippets of what else is going on...

1 - Spent a day with my alma mater, advisory board meeting which was a thinly veiled disguise to spend time with Nathan, who, after eating the biggest sirloin steak in Payne County decided that college life is OK, after all. We went to Wal-Mart where we actually witnessed (and I'm not making this up) two OSU football players in the health and beauty aisle selecting body care. The irony of this scene is just too much and of course, I could not keep my mouth shut. These guys are big enough to make up at least two of me and I'm razzing them about their hygiene? I must be stupid. They were so very nice, so great to meet and so very tall and big. They looked like those inflatable floats in the Macy's parade coming down the shampoo aisle. When I shook their hands I had to reach up and I'm almost six feet tall.

After Wal- Mart, where I actually found a Jim Gaffigan CD (the absolute funniest comic working today) and a Natasha Bendingfield CD. Is it too trendy to say I have listened to that great song, "Unwritten" about a squillion times? Great lyrics, great energy, just a great talent. She tops my current playlist. Well, to be honest she IS my playlist. I just like to use the word "playlist" because my kids do and I like to think that I'm as cool as they are.

Best part about the day - just getting to hang out with Nathan and see how great he's doing. Sometimes you stand back and see your kids and think, "what God smiled on me to give me such a great kid?" and then I think, "and how haven't I messed it up yet?"

2 - Volunteer work - I will blog on this more later. Last year I made two big decisions: to get involved in meaningful volunteer work and to write. Both decisions have altered my life in big ways.

I saw the news yesterday about a mother in a local town whose trial is ongoing. Seems this mother thought her four year old should stand with 5 pound weights above his head for oh, about an hour. She failed to feed him and when DHS picked him up he was dehydrated, malnourished as well as covered in bruises (over 50 on his small, hungry body).

I cannot fathom what has gone so wrong that we are abusing our children in such deeply damaging ways. So each week I teach a class to parents at a local agency where every brain cell in my head gets a work out in trying to communicate to others the importance of doing the job of parenting better. I say this with every ounce of compassion I can muster -- parenting is the hardest job in the world and doing it well is something none of us are really any good at. We are all, it seems, selfish pricks who want to either make small little idols to ourselves to run around on sports fields where we can tell our friends "there goes my kid...and therefore ME." OR we are so horribly abusive that we do shameful things to our children as in the case above.

There just has to be more that a civilized society can do to teach teach people how to love their children in ways that don't perpetuate the cycle of abuse that continues to be the #1 way children in America die -- at the hands of their own caretakers.

It is difficult to imagine that we have more pet adoption centers than we do shelters for children.

I don't know what that answer is. I do know what it is like to be so exhausted as a parent as to know it is better to walk out of the room than to pick my own child up. I do know what it is like to look into the eyes of a teenager and think, "who are YOU and what have you done with that cute little middle school kid that use to inhabit your body?" I do know that being a parent is 100 times harder than any job I've ever tried to do, any test I've ever had to take, any project I've ever tried to finish.

I'm grateful for the work of the Tulsa Parent Child Center (www.parentchildcenter.org). whose sole purpose is to stop child abuse. We have a long way to go.

Garage Detail

2006-10-25T13:07:00.000-07:00

The day dawned crisp and cool as fall made its presence known. In the distance, we could hear the band warming up on the football field for what will be the first of many contests this year. And though we have spent many weekends at such contests, this will be the first year we don't attend.

Nor will we be driving early to basketball games now that our daughter drives herself.

Which leaves a lot of time for cleaning up the garage.

What is a garage, really? 21 years of married stuff that accumulates until it either bursts into flames, thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint or it just slowly begins decaying thanks to greasy rags and buckets of old paint.

But really, a garage is the remains of old projects, worn out phases of childhood and reminders of bits of life that have passed on.

This is what I thought as I stood off to the side of the garage watching my husband remove things from piles that I had painstakingly accumulated over a series of hours. Forget that I had told him six months ago that such piles would be made. Forget that I had pleaded with him and all the other creatures living in our house to find what they wanted and take it away. Forget that I had told him earlier in the week, "this Saturday is THE DAY!" so that he would perhaps take a stroll around the stuff that he calls "his".

As he stood bent over the pile he emerged with something. He held it up. "Why would you throw this away?" he asked angrily as he thrusts the "thing" up.

I looked at him with concern. In his hand he held a ten inch piece of old garden hose with two clothes hangers bent woven through the center. Not only did I not know what it was, I was certain that there was absolutely no function for such a thing.

I was at a loss for words. "I thought it was broken?" I hoped my question would reveal that I had every intention for thought and care. It did not have the desired affect.

Engineers don't get angry. They get quiet. Really, really, really quiet because their brains are working so fast on things to say and ways to passively derail you that they cannot move their mouths and talk at the same time.

I, on the other hand, have a different problem. My brain is usually not working on much at all when my mouth flies into action.

I then added, "What's a stupid thing like that doing in the garage anyway?"

Steely quiet followed with a look from my husband that I believe is reserved for those times when words cannot be formed to say how stupid I am. The kind of quiet that lets me know that the next few hours will be spent with me alone, forming piles of discarded skates and bicycles while my husband will be watching the college football games on TV.

Finally he spoke, very quietly and very slowly, which again is a sign of my lack of intelligence.
"THIS," he said pointedly, "is how I tie up the trees in the yard."

You would think that 21 years of marriage had taught me when to cut my losses and realize that nothing I said past a certain point could save me. But I am a sucker for lost causes and so I said (which made perfect sense to me at the time) , "But honey, we don't HAVE any trees in the yard."

I gasped at my own stupidity. In my attempt to get the garage clean and have this scintillating conversation I had forgotten of the care and time Dan had put into the trees on our property that had, for awhile, flourished under his prodding and care. I remembered the early summer days when he awakened to haul out the three garden hoses and hook them carefully together so that the trees would get water.

How could he have known about the weather this past summer. The summer that will no doubt go down into history as the "drought of 06"?

How could I have forgotten that even though engineers don't say much, they think a lot. And Dan had been thinking about trees and kids and jobs and other lost things.

I tried to make amends but he was inconsolable. He took the bent metal and rubber creation and laid it carefully on the work bench, piled high from clutter that had not had time to be neatly arranged.

To Do List

2006-10-22T05:56:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling rather cocky as my weekend "to do" list is narrowing. After weeks of having weekends that were anything but restful, I had a couple of days to catch up on some projects.

I'm most excited that on the one year anniversary of Nanowrimo (www.nanowrimo.org) I have not two working projects - one fiction, one non-fiction and this weekend I have been working on the proposal that I hope to have in some sort of finished place by end of year.

Speaking of finished projects, my friend Jordan Rosendfeld has a book coming out and a new article published.
http://pacificsun.com/story_archives/bridge.html

$3 burgers and David Sedaris

2006-10-19T15:28:00.000-07:00

Imagine this: 2400 people, sitting in the dark, watching a guy read from his books for 2 hours. Most performers would have to throw in some kind of body moves or move around the stage in interesting way to keep the show going. Not Sedaris. He can hold an audience spell bound with stories of Japan, Christmas in other countries and shopping with his sister.

I went with a friend of mine who is much more well traveled than I. She and her husband lived in Japan for a few months and she even speaks a little Japanese. She told me this over $3 burgers at a local pub where I had my very first beer. (I don't drink but I totally caved into peer pressure when the bartender said, "why'd you come into an Irish pub if you don't drink?" So I asked for a suggestion and he gave me "Fromboise beer" which has a raspberry blend to it. It was really good -- for beer -- and the best part is that I was able to stay sitting in an upright position on my bar stool, a feat that requires a lot of skill I discovered.

It says a lot about my strict religious upbringing to understand that I arrived at the age of 43, have conceived two children (now teenagers) and just now have had one whole beer. It will no doubt be my very last.

"Wow," I said to my friend as we finished our meal . "There must be a lot of people here going to the show."

"No, " the bartender interjected. "It's $3 burger night."

At the show, Sedaris was signing books to a crowd of people so I walked (ran, actually, trying not to attract too much attention) to get in line where I assumed the posture of an educated, literary observer along with the rest of the Tulsans who were in the same line. Having never really been around literary types too much, I'm always intimidated by them. I read 4 books a week and probably can hold my own when discussing the classics but something about that crowd just kind of freaks me out.

I had brought one of my books of Sedaris ( I have given away probably 100 of his books to friends, etc.) and I carefully took it out of my handbag so that I could have him sign it. The closer I got to him the more I began hero-worshipping so that by the time I was actually in front of him, I said something ridiculous like, "ohmygodmrsedaris, I love you sooooomuch, ihaveallyourbooks and.." I went on for a bit while he looked at me, somewhat fearfully, and said, "what's your name?" Since I couldn't speak, I held out the card the usher gave to me with my name on it. He smiled, stated my name and then said, "that's a good name for a writer", then signed my book and looked at my friend for her book to sign.

My friend was much more composed than I. Perhaps her time spent in Japan gave her a certain reserve that I was clearly lacking. She smiled, gave him her book and they struck up an instant rapport while I stood aimlessly by watching her Sedaris talk for a bit in Japanese, no doubt about me, while I stood limply at the side of the table.

Baby Boy and College

2006-10-18T10:42:00.000-07:00

The call came, as I knew it would, almost to the minute in which I expected it. My son, a new freshman, called late Sunday just to say "hi". Uh huh.

As any parent will tell you, whenever a teenager that is living on your dime calls to "chat" about "nothing in particular" this is indeed cause for alarm. You see, kids don't call you when they bang up the car and are standing at the police station. They have friends for such emergency. Friends that help them get their game plan together before they call their parents.

Kids call parents to "chat" only when there is some major life change happening.

So I, of course, begin with the litany of questions. That is what mom's do. They nag, they ask innane questions and they, most of all, repeat themselves as they try to think what to say during the conversation.

ME: "Are you OK?"

SON: "I don' t know."

ME: "Are you bleeding?"

SON: "Not really."

ME: "What's her name?"

SON: Silence. Sigh. "I can't talk about it." Sigh. Sniff.

ME: "Where are you?"

SON: "Alone."

To my credit, I kept my eye on the road, my cell phone plastered to my head and though I considered pulling the car off Hwy 169 and making a deadbolt to Stillwater and right into rescue mode, I held firm. Sure, I had trouble seeing the road what with all the rain and my tears, but I kept going.

ME: "What are you going to do?"

SON: "I don't know. Maybe go work out. Do some homework." Now THIS was cause for alarm. A depressed, love sick teeanger doing homework? Where did this kid come from? I certainly hadn't taught him such stability. I generally cannot make it through a week without some kind of mental breakdown that commands a steady diet of coffee, chocolate, bad movies or reading Faust.

SON: "I'm not sure college is for me."

Now this is where many parents lose it. On one hand, we know what to say. We know to say something like, "Oh, you'll get through it. It's not so bad..." and do some sort of motivational speech where your kids see the value in sustaining the belief that a college education will somehow keep them off welfare and out of trouble. But, the parent in all of us -- especially if you're a mom -- cries out, "YES! I know! You must come home! Your room is all ready, clean and I'm making a great pot roast!"

I was silent as I pondered my options.

ME: "What do you think you should do?"

SON: "I don't know."

ME: "If you did know what to do, what would it be?"

SON: Silence. More sighs. "Just keep going?" This was said with such dread, with such sadness that I again, fought the wheel.

My urge to pontificate was so great at this point, I could see the climax of my arguments, I could see me bucking up his sagging spirit and us having a regular 7th Heaven moment. And I admit, I was tempted.

Stupid things went through my head. Things like "this hurts me more than you" made a pass through, as did "wish I knew what to do". Where do this colorless phrases come from and why do they make their way to the front of our lobes when we have nothing to comfort those we love?

Instead, I just sat there, listening to his sobs as I drove through the rain.

2006-10-09T21:49:00.000-07:00

This is me and comedian, author Barry Friedman, who presented at our club's workshop.

2006-10-09T21:42:00.000-07:00

Here's Barry and Gaines, after the show, trying to figure out their cell phones. This is usually what men do when I'm around and they don't want to answer all my questions.

2006-10-09T21:40:00.000-07:00

My friend, Gaines, who MC's at the comedy club. He's telling me a joke that is probably not funny.

Business/Comedy Workshop

2006-10-09T21:19:00.000-07:00

Here are some pics of a recent workshop that my speaking group put together with the talents of Barry Friedman, comedian, author, radio host and now, my friend.

It was a simple idea -- bring in somebody who knows humor and have him teach us how to use it effectively in business and other situations.

I had a blast. What I loved about the event was the way that Friedman could read the group and respond to the needs of the group and keep everything moving. I also loved the fact that in that room, at least three major religious groups were represented (christian, catholic, jewish..) and the comedians in the room outnumbered the pastors 2 to 1. There were insurance salesmen, advertisers, retirees, volunteers, real estate agents and students.

And we all laughed together. And I believe that when people from varied backgrounds can learn to laugh together, we can learn to do a lot more together, too.

Thoughts on this week's news

2006-10-06T13:16:00.000-07:00

I remember Sunday dinners at my grandmothers where my grandfather would bounce around the news of the week. He was a union leader, so by definition a democrat who raised his family on the work ethic of Oklahoma Democrats. I remember these loud, boistrous discussions as I was completely caught up in the New Republicans that I had heard on campus. Reaganomics were just then becoming a part of our nation's political landscape and while I understood little of what I thought I knew, I did know this: I would never be a democrat.

Fast foward now, 40-something years later. That earlier prediction may or may not hold true. I wonder what discussions me and my grandfather would have after this week's news about yet another political sex scandal in Washington. I've only known a couple of great men in my life - neither of which were in politics - and I'm beginning to wonder if any of the human race can last in a system that seems to spit out evil, contempteous people like our political system seems to do. Can man (or woman) really handle power of any kind? It's a good question and one that I'm asking a lot these days. It seems were all so very bad at handling responsibility and power. The more we have, the worst we seem to be at it.

I'm embittered by Foley's comments about being an alcholic and being abused. "So what?" I want to shout. Like who hasn't been? While I'm sympathetic for Foley's childhood, I'm disgusted at the idea that what happens to a person in their childhood is now suppose to be the reason we forgive them their transgressions. "Ah, it's OK you want to be a pedophile, after all, you had a tough childhood. " Gimme a break. Wanda Sykes said it best on the Leno show this week: "After a few margaritas, do I go look up my local girl scout and say, 'hey, baby, mama wants a thin mint?"

I know many, many people who come from similar backgrounds and they are not out hitting on kids for sex. Sure, they may have their demons but that's what being a grown-up is about: dealing with the hand that is dealt you, maybe even rising above it.

But it takes character to go beyond where we are and who we can become and what gets men and women elected in our country is not character but money and media, neither of which can salve the ruins of a tortured soul.

Jonah

2006-10-02T14:31:00.000-07:00

After a busy working weekend, I took a break to see a movie. On the drive there, I caught up with my acquaintance Ellen Kushner on her radio show, "Sound and Spirit". It was a reflection on "Jonah" and the show and Ellen's comments, along with the music she selected, resonated deeply with me. Her comments on the ancient story of Jonah and Yom Kippur hit deep chords within me, making me think and mull over so much.

Here's a link for you to review:
http://www.wgbh.org/pages/pri/spirit/thisweek.html

I met Ellen at Tulsa Nimrod Conference last year where she was a guest speaker. She's written many books. What I remember about meeting her is that she took time to answer my questions and seemed happy to do so.

Stuff I learned MC-ing

2006-09-25T12:44:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, a friend of mine asked me to MC at a local comedy club. If you know me, you know I love good comedy. I'm fascinated by what makes us laugh and what makes us think. I think comics are the social satirists of our day and they can make us laugh at ourselves, at our world and at each other. I think when you can laugh at something, you aren't as afraid of it. At least that is true for me.

I learned more in those three shows than years of speaking and hours of classes could have taught me. I'm grateful for the experience. Though I doubt I'll ever make a living in a comedy club, it was a wonderful way to push past some fears. When you're done learning, you're really done living.

Here's what I learned:

a - MC-ing is a lot harder than it looks.
b - Comics are the best teachers and most are more than happy to help in knowing what to do.
c - MC's are not suppose to be funny, they are suppose to keep the show moving and highlight the performers. The show is not about MC's it is about the performers, the real comics who make their living making others laugh. (Luckily, I was so afraid, I didn't have this problem. I wanted to get off that stage about as quickly as possible).
d - Practice the names of the performers many times so you don't forget it mid-sentence (yeah, I did that. Sorry Brian!)
e - Make sure you say the performers name at the end of the intro, not at first (yeah, I did that, too).
f - Dress credibly.
g - be willing to laugh at yourself (did this A LOT!!!)
h - be open for critique.
i - Respect the crowd
j - Respect the comics
k - College Football, in this town, still rules. I was proud of the owner who refused to cancel a show because football fans wanted to watch big screen.
l - mostly, I learned how much I have to learn.

Thanks Sam, Gaines, Brian, Marc, Robert very much for the chance to learn.

I Remember You

2006-09-18T08:25:00.000-07:00

Too many of my generation grew up fatherless. Too many of us have those memories of holidays and special events being just another reminder that our families were wracked, torn apart, broken.

But a few of us got lucky. We found someone that stepped into an empty hole left by somone else and while they did not seek to fill the void, they make it less hollow, less empty.

Today, that emptiness echoes loudly with memories of you.

Today, I search through the images and words that have taken root because of your example, your patience, your dogged determination to be a teacher that lives what they teach.

I remember the kindness that says, "you'll do better next time." I remember the persistence to let me fall down again and again and not "fix" it for me. I remember the willingness to let me struggle with my fledgling faith so that it can truly be my very own. As I watch my own kids embrace their own questions, I realize for the first time how much grace, how much love this act took for you. I'm learning it is far easier to tell someone what to think than to teach them how to.

Once, I told you "thank you" and you accepted this with simple gratitude and a commission. Keep going, keep asking, keep looking.

Today, I promise you, I will.

Faith and Doubt

2006-09-11T20:30:00.000-07:00

A spectacular discussion regarding faith and doubt is a www.pbs.org. Here is an excerpt from one of the many interviewed that resonates with me:

"From the first moment I looked into that horror on Sept. 11, into that fireball, into that explosion of horror, I knew it. I knew it before anything was said about those who did it or why. I recognized an old companion. I recognized religion. Look, I am a priest for over 30 years. Religion is my life, it's my vocation, it's my existence. I'd give my life for it; I hope to have the courage. Therefore, I know it.
And I know, and recognized that day, that the same force, energy, sense, instinct, whatever, passion -- because religion can be a passion -- the same passion that motivates religious people to do great things is the same one that that day brought all that destruction. When they said that the people who did it did it in the name of God, I wasn't the slightest bit surprised. It only confirmed what I knew. I recognized it.
I recognized this thirst, this demand for the absolute. Because if you don't hang on to the unchanging, to the absolute, to that which cannot disappear, you might disappear. I recognized that this thirst for the never-ending, the permanent, the wonders of all things, this intolerance or fear of diversity, that which is different -- these are characteristics of religion. And I knew that that force could take you to do great things. But I knew that there was no greater and more destructive force on the surface of this earth than the religious passion. "

---- Monsignor Lorenzo Albacete is a professor of theology at St. Joseph's Seminary in New York, and formerly served as associate professor of theology at the John Paul II Institute for Studies in Marriage.

Making errors part of the gig

2006-09-10T20:16:00.000-07:00

Sometime you hear a comment and you know when you hear it that it has the potential to change your mind -- if not your life.

I recently heard such a comment that has been banging around in my head. I've been turning it over, looking at it from all angles as if I'm observing the underside of an embroidered panel.

It was stated by son's High School Band Teacher whose job is to get 300 plus high school students marching in rhythm and in formation. When he asked about how Nathan was doing at college I asked him some questions about his job. I was just being nice, really, and not at all expecting this kernel of wisdom to descend upon me and mess up my thinking for several days.

My question was this, "How do you keep the kids from making mistakes?"

And his answers was this little nugget. "I don't. The idea is to make mistakes a part of the performance."

I'm sure when he said it I just smiled and shrugged and acted like nothing much happened. But inside, my mind was trying to grasp the simple brilliance of this thought. So I did what I usually do when I have nothing intelligent to say. I asked another question.

"What do you mean?" I said.

To which he responded, "as long as you focus on the mistake, the mistake will hold the performance captive. "

Statements like this should be preoceeded by a warning such as, "WARNING. THE NEXT THOUGHT WILL KEEP YOU UP AT NIGHT AND CAUSE YOU TO RETHINK YOU'RE ENTIRE LEADERSHIP PARADIGM." Or at least come with a sominex so one could get some sleep.

Maybe I've been thinking about this so much because I've been studying the holiday of Yom Kippur and once again, I am jealous of my jewish friends. Sure christian have christmas and jewish people have hannukah. But I think Yom Kippur is the real prize in the holiday sweepstakes. You get something better than presents...you get a real chance at redemption.

Yom Kippur is a holiday which can be translated "Day of Atonement". It is a reflection of the atoning that Moses and the people of Israel did after that fit he threw coming down the mountain. (I have too much in common with Mo to be too hard on him. Sure he had some anger management issues. But you gotta respect a guy who takes on that leadership gig. I sure do. )

Yom Kippur isn't celebrated like Columbus Day or Labor Day. There are no picnics (in fact you fast for 72 hours) and there are no big sales gimmicks at the mall (in fact, you can't do any work at all, not even shopping which is now considered to rival some olympic sports). It's a day to reflect about the stupid stuff you said to your family and the mean tricks you played on your friends at the office. And it's encouraged that you make some amends (like say, "I'm an idiot, I was wrong.") and then make your amends to God. The idea being that first you make your peace with others and then God makes his peace with you.

I like this idea a lot. I think, though, that the jewish holiday may be a little too short for me. It would probably take me much longer to make amends for all the wrong that I've done in a year than just 72 hours. But at least it would be a start and I could get through at least half the stupid stuff I did, say thru at least March or April. And maybe, if I made that start, I could get through the rest of the year with some encouragement.

It's kind of like Yom Kippur is the equivalent of making errors a part of the design. Like somehow the fact remains that no matter how devoted we may be to others (or to God) we're going to make a mess of things and need a day (or two, or three or more) to make things right.

I'm going to keep thinking about this and then I think I'll try Yom Kippur for myself this year.

Agassi's Legacy and the quote for the day

2006-09-03T13:56:00.000-07:00

"The scoreboard said I lost today," he said. "But what the scoreboard doesn't say is what it is I've found."

Stuff I'm learning

2006-09-01T07:59:00.000-07:00

1 - There's a big difference between Success and Celebrity. Celebrity is defined by others. Success is defined by me. And it's OK to change the definition from time to time.

2 - The real test of a garden is how good it looks in August. Any garden can look great in April or May.

3 - The real test of health is how good you look at 40 and beyond. Anybody can look great at 21.

4 - There is a big difference between seeing something and really observing it.

5 - Interpretation comes after seeing/observing.

6 - People who talk on cell phones while with other humans present are rude.

7 - Life is more about the questions we ask than about the answers we seek.

8 - Chocolate is good anytime, anywhere and in any quantity.

9 - Being with people you love requires little more than simply being present.

10 - Being present takes a lot of practice.

Cell Phone Relief

2006-08-24T10:25:00.000-07:00

I misplaced my cell phone a few days ago. I was talking to my brother and then the next thing I knew, I couldn't find my cell phone. I'm sure that some may see this as some reference to an unconscious desire to rid myself of my brother, but actually, no. The desire is not unconscious at all.

I'm trying to understand the panic that I felt at losing this gadget of plastic and metal. I'm trying to make sense of the absolute terror I felt when I realized that I could no longer make a phone call without my roster of names, which was, of course, on the lost phone. Most of all, I can't figure out who was more lost -- it or me -- when I was not in its possession.

My first step was to notify all who knew me -- and some that did not -- that my cell phone had been misplaced. This was met with benign neglect from many (who clearly have never lost their cell phone) and with anxiety surpassing mine (by those who have). I think the next support group should be for those who because of financial insolvency or text-message challenges find themselves not able to use a cell phone.

The next step was to look and look again (and again, and again) for the thing. I f the height of insanity is doing what you've always done and expecting different results, then commit me, because I looked through the same car, the same purse, the same building 764 times. In the process, I discovered candy bars that I had hidden from myself, old coins and ancient grocery lists - but no phone.

Which encouraged me to think - -logically of course -- that the rice-grain size of most cell phones is a direct attempt from wireless companies to help us lose more of these devices -- and ourselves in the process.

After four hours of being without my phone, it became clear to me that I would not be able to last the rest of the week without it and I was beginning to worry if I could last the rest of the day. I took out a map of town, noting where all the wireless phone stores were located. This was a thinly veiled attempt to calm my nerves and reassure myself that when I needed to, I could get another one. Like a drunk scoping out bars, I was plotting my next binge with war-time precision.

After several calls from my friends (on my land line, asking me to please, please stop calling them looking for my phone) I decided that there was nothing else I could do - -I had to replace it. Think of the calls I was missing, the text messages from my son who was probably frantic that I hadn't called him back, not to mention the many lunch dates from my friends that I was being left out of because of the lack of communication. My world had stopped turning and I was delirous, panic-ridden with a feverish anxiety that resembled, well, my usual emotional state.

The firs store I visited was clean, calm and staffed by children who I believe were less than 14 years old. Their thumbs worked incessantly over the keyboards of cell phones, simultaneously working their keyboards at their work stations and while they did this, they made lattes with their toes. It was like watching a magic shoe with electronic gadgets.

The thing about the generation of techno-wizards that we've raised is that they cannot comprehend a life without the technology that they have all around them. Thus, they look at me -- and those in my generation -- with a certain mild displeasure. In their infantile state, they cannot fathom being old, panicky and in need of connection. As I stood there trying to explain my predicament - that all I needed was a simple phone, his eyes took on that look that some doctors get when they realize that their patient is without hope and there is nothing that can be done except speak in soothing, calm tones.

The pimply faced kid behind the counter showed me to a couple of models, spoke in some dialect that I can only describe as "digital-eze" and as I squinted at the "specs" of the models, all I could make out is that I was not getting out of there for under $175.

More, if I wanted anything with -- what did he call it? "ridiculously easy features". I've worked easier calculus problems.

I did what most people do when confronted with a body of knowledge that they know nothing about. I smiled knowingly and repeated, "ridiculously easy, you say? Where again is that portal that attaches to the thingy-ma-jig that lets the electricity - -you know---the stuff in the wall -- charge my battery?"

He sneered, politely, in that way that communicates in no uncertain terms, "you are clearly a dinosaur who has come from the past to annoy me."

I decided upon a model that could fit easily in the palm of my hand while I use it to check email, call my mother and find Greenwich Mean Time for most all of the other countries in which I will never visit. As I drew out my checkbook to pay, the droid behind the counter gasped.

"Hey, let me see that" he exclaimed coming from around the counter to my side. "Is that a REAL checkbook? With REAL paper. Isn't that quaint -- I've HEARD of these from my grandmother but never really seen one. WOW. AMAZING. RIDICULOUS."

4 adults, 2 freshman and a dorm room

2006-08-17T16:55:00.000-07:00

I'm reading David Sedaris tonight because Sedaris makes me laugh and I'm in need of a great laugh.

I'm grateful and sad and excited and worried and a whole slew of 90 other emotions after leaving Nathan at school where in his dorm room he and his roommate are surrounded by more electronics than is really appropriate. It wasn't easy to be quiet while I remembered lugging my electric portable typewriter up flights of stairs as I watched him network his computer with stereo, TV and his roommate's desktop. I was a good mom, though, and I instead tried to organize his closet and was told, "Mom, don't touch my stuff."

This is what we spend 18 years getting them ready to do: to look us square in the eye and tell us "hands off". Standing there in that small room, trying to make some good use of myself and failing miserably I realized that my purpose now is to do just that. That's a realization that is both reassuring and sobering.

As the day wore on, I watched him break away from his dad and me as we walked around campus. This was a good sign, I thought, after pensive days where I he lapsed into silence as he finished cleaning his room, saying good-bye to high school friends and packing for the big move. Today I saw him walk alone out in front of us -- and not with us as he had been doing all day-- and I knew it was time.

So we walked him back to his dorm room, just moments after this picture was snapped. After the move-in, after the last minute dash to office supply and after the final stop to get his books for the semester he was ready to begin life on his own. I want to remember so many things from the day and there are so many to think about. I' ll savor them a few days, rolling them around in my heart awhile. Maybe some insight will emerge, maybe not. Maybe some days are best observed from a bit of a distance and letting someone else find meaning.

Friday Nights in T-town

2006-08-12T07:59:00.000-07:00

My favorite night of the week is Friday night. Friday's use to signal the end of the "work week". I don't find that to true and I'm not sure it ever was. And work is such a wierd term..is working in the yard work or not? Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't. I guess work is a concept as much as a timeclock.

I like Friday's because there is Friday night stand up. Now on Comedy Central there is a new show, "Live at Gotham" which features new and irreverent comics. My favorite comics are Brian Reagan, Alan Ferrara, Daniel Tosh, Maria Bamford.

I like to say I've been listening to stand up all my life because growing up "fundy", I heard 3 stand ups a week in the form of sermons. They just weren't very funny most of the time.

My brothers and I had would sit in the back of the church and make fun of whomever was up at the pulpit. So we were teenage hecklers in a sense. We'd time the prayers with a watch that we got from T.G. and Y (the discount store before Wal-Mart that smelled like moth balls and bleach) and we always knew when a certain suit would get up, we'd be in for a "napper" which is what my brothers called those prayers that went on for decades. Prayers in our church were more like announcements really, where we'd find out who had gall bladder surgery, who had ingrown toenails, and who had "left this earth for their heavely portal." To this day, I have no idea what a heavenly portal is.

What I liked was the euphamisms used during prayers that denoted the code words for something really terrible happening that we couldn't really talk about but everyone knew about. Prayers for "family peace" usually meant someone was fooling around again and "unfortunate financial changes" probably meant someone had lost it all in Vegas. The really big deals were usually lumped under, "this difficult time.." which meant either a pending lawsuit or a sex scandal. My brothers would keep a tally, kind of like in poker over a series of weeks to see what our church's score was.

Another favorite way to pass the time in church was the rewriting of the church songs. I mean, you have to do something while you sing all stanzas of "Just as I Am". There are 8 stanzas that I know about however some of my friends from church camp who came from more traditional churches threw in a couple of other verses. I assume they were more committed in their walk with the Lord than we were and perhaps their heavenly portals gleamed more brightly.

My brother, Russell was like the Wierd Al Yankovic of church songs. Our hymnal was a huge blue book with shape notes. We had shape notes beause we had no instruments. And the really wierd part was that even though we had no women leading anything, most of all all learned alto parts by listening to Ms. Brittany (or someone like her -- everyone church has one) who sang much better -- and on key -- than whatever guy was leading. Russell would take whatever song we had and make it something funny...."Willing the Cross I'd Bear", became "Willy, the Cross-Eyed Bear" and "Peace, peace, sweet peace" became, "Peas, peas, sweet peas". He'd belt it out and the rest of us would just try to keep from laughing which always would get us a smack from someone. And it would never be Russell who'd catch it, it would be me (I was the oldest, therefore responsible for everything) or one of the younger ones who couldn't duck as fast. We rarely made it through a service without some bruising or a concussion.

And we'd continue to make fun of church later. Over grandmother's roast beef, my brothers and uncles would sometimes imitate the voices of the speakers and they'd contort their faces in that way that dubiously pious people do when they know they are being watched.

One of my favorite comedic scenes is an old "Mr. Bean" skit where he goes into church and tries to listen to the sermon and take part in the singing. It is spot on and reassures me that I'm not the only one whose church experiences gave them more than bible bowl memories.

To me, good stand up is like this -- taking the mundane and sometimes abusive parts of life and looking at it, making it bearing and even asking, "why is it like this?" and "how could it be different?" What's interesting about good stand up is that it is unlike any other kind of theater or art: if the piano player is terrible, you still clap. If the singer is out of tune, you still applaud. But if the comic is off his or her mark, then no one laughs out of being polite. You either are good or you're not and if you are it's magic.

Miranda and Me

2006-08-11T10:40:00.000-07:00

The summer hubby was laid off, we would take some time in the mornings after the kids went to school to walk a couple of miles together. Up until that point I had been active in kickboxing, progressing all the way to a brown belt. But with the change in plans, I opted to find less taxing - and less expensive -- forms of exercise.

It wasn't much of a sacrifice, really. I was always the last one in line to finish the runs, prompting sneers from those who also finished the jumping jacks and could always do more crunches than me. They were the same ones that didn't cry when they they got hit in the face or when they broke a nail.

Dan went back to work in the fall and by then it was too cold to walk without, y'know, running, so I began searching for other forms of exercise. One day, while sipping my earl gray tea in front of CNN, I stumbled upon a public station that had a program, called "Classic Stretch". (www.classicstretch.com)

Having given up kickboxing and now a retired walker, I thought the movements demonstrated seemed easy enough to start my day. Mornings have never been particularly good times for me. I once read that most heart attacks happen in the mornings when we awaken and that reason is enough for me to sleep until noon. The slow, rhythmic stretching seemed simple, easy and well, kind of like taking a nap.

What also attracted me to the program was the instructor herself, Miranda Esmonde-White. She was noticeably "un-hip"...she didn't have several other exercies wanna-be's circled around her in matching suits. She even stumbled a couple of times, like maybe she, too was struggling with the morning thing. And she didn't say cheerful things like "get your burn on!" or other such rot. She talked, instead about her daughter, about her make-up, about the wind or the ocean. Once, while in a stretch I saw her get confused and she just looked at the camera and laughed. This winsome quality stole my heart completely because I often get confused and laugh in public, usually when I'm out with my 16 year old daughter who when this happens, has been known to leave me at stores and not return my phone calls.

Now it's true I don't exercise in front of an ocean or garden like Miranda (she's usually positioned in front of some Mexian Riviera resort with lush tropics or mayan gardens) , unless you count my still-undone bridge and pond project outdoors or my failing indoor herb garden. But she did use other things that I had -- a step, the back of a chair, even my floor.

She looked surprisingly unmade up, even a little dishelveled, like maybe she too stumbled out of bed bleary eyed and was late to work after reading InStyle magazine until 2 a.m.

So I gave it a try, laughing a bit at the ease of the movements. Surely this could not be doing that much for my body.

That was about a year and 2 dress sizes ago. My chronic back pain is not gone and when it does flare up, I just do this hamstring stretch that Miranda teaches (she maintains that back pain is more about tight hammy's and gluts) I have no idea what science is in the stretching all I know is that for me, it works. It both refreshes and relaxes me. I have purchased two of her DVD's and use them faithfully when I'm on the road. I simply will not start a day without her. I often find the movements prayer-like, meditative. They do, in a sense, restore my soul daily.

I have added a 30 minute power yoga to the regime recently. And while I enjoy the intensity of yoga, the stretching continues to be a way for me to ground myself to start my day.

7 days and counting

2006-08-10T09:44:00.000-07:00

Thomas Moore, in his book "Dark Nights of the Soul", defines "sacrifice" means "to make sacred". When you make a sacrifice, according to Moore, you don't just give something up, you acknowledge a realm greater than yourself.

I read this during early morning hours before my kids were awake. It seemed a nice sentiment, something I should tuck away and remind my students in the nurturing parenting class to remember.

As I finish preparing for my next class, my son walked into my office, sighing and skulking in the way he has acquired these last few days.

"Have you had breakfast?" he asks. I am suddenly brought to full attention. know this is a set up.

"Yes" I say, and my eyes dart to the clock. It reads 11:43 am. I have had breakfast hours ago.

"What did you have?" he asked. At this question, my pocketbook started to rumble. It knows it will soon be empty. In fact, just the mere approach of my son causes my wallet to begin rising from my purse.

People often ask me about how I learned to be such a good negotiator in my sales career. The answer stands before me, sulking, in an Aeropostle T-Shirt.

"I had waffles. " I replied. I watched him. His recent string of performances are better than most and I see a lot of acting. Between the sales calls that I do ("my husband won't let me buy that...) and the movies that I watch, I say I estimate I see more bad acting in a week than a Hollywood casting agent.

"I have had waffles for 4 days straight." He hangs his head lower, his eyes take on that glazed look that comes from too many Krispy Kreme donuts or methamphetimines which I think are the same thing.

"I'm dying for cereal." he moans, grabbing his stomach. I've seen less misery on Jerry Lewis telethons.

"We don't have cereal?" I asked while silencing my ever-ringing cell phone. "I thought we had some Special K".

With this question, I get the same look I get when I've asked, "Is a field goal in football worth 2 or 6 points?" It clearly says in ways that only a teenager can communicate that they now understand that their parents is truly not of this world. They are, in fact, orphans who must endure living with mere humans while on this planet.

"I don't consider Special K a cereal." he sniffed.

"Hmmmm, I do." I silence d my phone again, kicked my purse further under my desk. Something about his sad shape, his hanging head I began to feel compassion. "I can make some tuna fish sandwiches." I replied brightly.

With another heavy sigh, a roll of his head, he shufflled off.

I wondered if in 7 days, when Nathan is tucked away in some college dorm and eating until his arteries pop open if I will regret this conversation.

In the past few weeks, he has turned 18 and now he announces his schedule to his father and I. We will be sitting innocently at the dinner table and he will turn with the chicken still in his mouth and say, "My friends and I are going to the drive-in and we won't be home until, oh say, 3 a.m."

His father will stare into his plate, looking dazed and confused which is the signal that says, "He's your son, deal with him." I've seen Dan stand between fighting refs at a basketball game. I've seen him duck a punch from a wild coach. But around his son lately he begins to get fidgeting and nervous like a kid on a first date. When he's not staring into space, he is working on the blueprints for what the upstairs will look like once next week is here.

I don't blame him. I and my friends, those of which I've served on committees, watched countless band, soccer performances walk around town these days without our kids in tow looking like we've survived a bad molar implant or watched too many episodes of "Survivor".

"I just don't know him anymore. " my friend recently said over salads at Wendy's. "He's like he's turning into this person I never knew. His room is a mess. He never is home. He spends all his time with friends and just this past week quit his job so he could have more time to himself before he starts the next phase of his life."

I thought she was talking about her husband, but it was her son, who is also destined for his new collge next week, in which she was referring.

"Do you know where your wallet is?" I asked her, whispering.

She teared up. "Haven't seen it for weeks".

I remembered recently a scene out of my life when Dan and I were driving to New Jersey to start our new life with new jobs. I remembered his mother standing in the driveway and tearing up. This was uncharacteristic for her and she apolgized profusely. After all, she survived the depression on a farm in Oklahoma and greeted every morning with a "Good Morning" that would ring off the walls and make the most cynical morning person (me) look forward to another day in OK. When she cried at this emotional moment, I was touched and thought, "It must be so hard to say good-bye to your son."

I wonder now if she was indeed sad at our departure. Maybe she was gleefully remembered the $20 bucks that was still in her wallet that didn't make it into Dan's hand. And Dan's dad? Where was he during this family moment?

I think he was knocking out the walls between his kids rooms.

Prayers for a dying garden

2006-08-06T12:26:00.000-07:00

With a week of over 100 degrees, my garden is resembling more a stack of straw than the beautiful picture of color that I had hoped. As I walked my garden today, the struggling bermuda (finally, something that can conquer it!) crunches under my feet like broken glass. My ponds are gooey messes of algae and floating bugs. My rose bushes have thorns and not much else. And I resign myself to another fall of digging, mulching, re-design. Who was it that said that any garden can be beautiful in spring -- it's in August where the real gardening shows. The heat reveals all the shortcuts I've taken with mulching, it reveals where I haven't dug deep enough, it shows off my mistakes letting me know that when dealing with nature, I'm much more of a novice than I might have believed in spring.

The fact is my garden is in need of updating. The oldest parts of my garden are about 5 years old this year and they are showing the signs of needed life transfusion: composting, mulching, adding organics to the soil

I spend early morning hours just trying to keep things watered,though, with little thought of remedying some of the more glaring mistakes until cooler weather returns. At this point, I'm just in survival mode reminding myself as I go that I must, I just must get some water sources out in the far back so the bulky hoses that I use won't totally destroy the shrubs that break under their weight. My mother gave me a wonderful gift this weekend -- 2 seeping hoses 75 feet each and I received this gift like a starving person might receive food. It is just what is needed.

It is so hot in my garden that simply sitting out and reading a book (one of my all-time favorite activities) works up a sweat. Evidently, just holding my head up is an exercise that is "over-doing" it in the Oklahoma August heat.
So each morning before 6 a.m. I head out in shorts and t-shirt and begin weeding. I think I've commented on weeding before and I'll say it again -- there is a satisfying element of weeding when I just yield to it. It's not as if I arise and say, "WOW! I get to go pull weeds in my garden until my cuticles are bleeding pulps!" I go more out of guilt and a sense of responsibility -- I was there for my garden when it was pretty, so why shouldn't I be there for it now? Sometimes I feel like a very fickle suitor. So I pour buckets of water that I collect from dripping hoses onto the fading shrubs, offering it like a prayer.

Once I'm in the garden, and the soaker hoses are doing their work, there is a meditative quality to weeding. I have heard it said that tending one's garden is tending one's soul and maybe this is true. There is a satisfying sense of having accomplished something when I review the row of clean garden patch, despite the dirt embedded in my fingernails, despite the branches that cling to my clothing. And it is amazing that during this sweaty work, knotty problems that I didn't even know I was working on begin to find resolutions. Ideas spring to mind as I lift pull on the bermuda and lift it out of the soil, popping it out like a zipper on my fat cousin's dress.

I'm sure there are those that find recluse and sanctuary in churches and other structures. Admittedly, the cool rooms of my church are enjoyable after an hour in the garden. Despite the blowtorch heat, divine spirits still emerge and nurture me as I traipse through the reamins of the garden this year. Call it peace, or enlightenment or connection -- and it is all these things -- I find solace in the garden despites it broiled leaves and toasted buds.

Transplant

2006-07-16T19:45:00.000-07:00

This weekend, we celebrated Nathan's 18th birthday. He decided he wanted one last big bash to celebrate this important milestone and be with some high school friends. For some it may be the last time they are together as they head out to their after high school plans.

I can plan a great party. I've done so many times over the years. We've done jugglers, we've done Elmo, we've done trucks. Once I had a storyteller, Brio train and a clown all at the same party.

But this year, it was all his doing. He laid out what he wanted to do and we told him that we'd accomodate his wishes as much as possible. As parents we decided when our kids were young that we would not have a party each year -- only on the "transition" years -- 1 year (of course, we had to do that), 6 years, 12 years and now 18. The rest of the time we had dinner together with family and just spent time together. I think in doing so, the "big" years have become more special and meaningful to all of us.

The guest list was originally 30, then 40 and then 45 and above. I suggested -- OK, I really TOLD HIM -- to send out invites and to call everyone to make sure that he'd have a good head count. The guest list grew. And grew. And grew.

I began to be concerned about parking, food, what would happen when the Oklahoma weather refused to cooperate. In fact on the day of the party, it started with a quick rain and then the sun stretched forth and baked the earth for the rest of the day. I knew that this was the kind of weather voo-doo that creates wild summer storms. I wondered, "What do you do with 50 wet dripping teeangers in the middle of a freak Oklahoma hail storm? "

We rented a large tent, ordered massive quantities of pizza, cupcakes. Add the necessary ingredients of loud music, outdoor movies and voila - a perfect teen party. At least as far as my son was concerned.

I stood around as he was both commander and officiator of this event. I put the cupcakes on the table as he instructed. I set the tables up as he recommended. I tried to warn him about the stereo -- not getting it too close to the water misters but was told to mind my own business (in a nice way, but that was essentially the message). When the water mister burst from the water hose and sprayed friends, him and the stereo I did the near impossible: I didn't say "like I said.." Chalk one up for mom.

I watched him as his friends kept coming and watched his natural grace with them. I found myself watching him as if I was seeing him for the first time. My son, now an adult according to law, was making this transition with ease, poise and calmness. Much more than I could say for myself.

I blinked past tears almost the entire night although I kept them hidden behind the camera that I used to take pictures. I tried to make myself useful by offering drinks or food. After about the millioneth time I asked the group, "Anybody need any food?" Nathan gently said, "I think we're good Mom." I shuffled off to put away the trash.

I worried about the heat, I worried about the yard and how I just knew it wasn't a pretty as I had hoped it would be. I worried about everything which kept my mind off the thing that was really bugging me - -that this would be the last party I'd probably ever help Nathan plan. Sure he'll come home for birthdays but this is the last one we'll do like this.

As the party kicked into full gear, I walked around my garden and started making mental notes of the shrubs that needed to be transplanted in the fall. My once "sunny" garden is now almost entirely shaded by a large birch tree and so my roses need to be completely cut back, scooped up and potted elsewhere. I had been working on a new design earlier in the week and had decided that with the heat and the dust I'd be better off waiting until early fall to do much more. As I walked around the garden's perimeter I saw a shrub that had grown too large for its original planting. It was cramping the other plants around it and it was showing signs of stress for it needed more room to stretch out and grow. I had planted this shrub several years ago when I was not sure at all what I was doing and had put it in a small row near some roses. As I looked at it again, I knew that it would thrive somewhere else much better. I almost wondered how I thought it would fit in the space I had it, although I remembered when I planted it how small and fragile it looked.

I had no idea how big it would get.

I had no idea how strong it would grow.

And as I stooped to take a closer look the tears that I had been holding back sprang forth.

Creating Sacred Space OR a day with dusty files

2006-07-09T11:41:00.000-07:00

I've spent the better part of 2 days rummaging through some old files in my office. I realize that most people don't associate a summer vacation with cleaning out old files. Most people spend time at the beach or the lake. I envy that in some respects. I don't like lake water and there are few beaches near Tulsa, OK. So cleaning out an old file cabinet is about as good as it gets for me.

The process can be spiritual. It can be violent. It can be cleansing. It can be freeing. And it can be all these things at once, I think.

Spiritual in that there is a universal concept that I neither can understand or explain. It is simply this: before one's life can move forward there must be some letting go of things so that new things can come. Some might call this forgiveness. Some might call this releasing. Some might call this trash. Whatever it is, it is the first step in creating something sacred.

The process requires simple tools. First about an hour of time. This will allow you to settle into the process, review what all you want to purge and keep. And deciding if you are really ready for the process. Letting things out of your life requires a certain courage, a certain welcoming of the necessary grief that will no doubt come your way.

Next, something to drink. I'm an iced tea girl but I have some friends (I like to call them the "Mid-life Crazies") who have confided to me that their drink of choice might be a bit stronger. I'll leave them to explain. They may have bigger messes than me or maybe they are more honest than I am.

Next, I'd recommend some music. Music is the pathway to the soul for most of us so whether it is Mick Jagger, Enya or Los Lonely Boys, you gotta have something to let you know that you are not alone in this big job. My music is "adult alternative" which sounds like something I should hide but it's an eclectic mix of rock, blues and new age. I find this heady mixture soothing was I toss old emails into the can.

A rugged honesty would be the next accessory. Ya gotta be ready to toss. Ya gotta be real with yourself and say, "have I even LOOKED at this file in the last 6 years?" If you haven't, it's probably not going to be missed. But letting go is hard (whether it's with old files or old relationships) so go easy on yourself. Start three piles: Keeper file, Giveaway File, Re-label file, and the "i'm not sure I"m ready to let go" pile. One note of caution: If you find yourself with every pile empty except the last, seek therapy. Or maybe get something stronger to drink.

I find that at certain times in life there is more than just the usual cleaning out that is required. Sometimes it is more of a "reordering" that is needed. I found this to be true this year. Let's just say that I recently took a stress test and when completed, I was inducted into the Stress Hall of Fame. I was also given the name of a noted cardiologist and asked to carry Bayer Asprin with me "just in case". So this year, my annual cleaning out required some tossing of old stuff. In fact, I cleaned out an entire drawer that is now devoted to some new hobbies that are becoming more and more the stuff of my life: gardening, writing, speaking. "This is how", I thought while throwing out old pictures of people I don't even recognize any more, "a life changes." I renamed a drawer, I made new files with new names and I said a prayer over what I had thrown away. "Thank you" I said to the pile, for being in my life and now for letting me go."

It's wierd how we get so attached to stuff. Old manuals for old cell phones that kicked a long time ago. Leftover memories of relationships that were good learning but terrible on the self-esteem. Dreams and ideas that were instrumental in so many parts of my life but who served their purpose in just letting me dream them. They were never to see the light of day.

I find that letting this stuff go -- determing what I'm going to be about for the next year (and what I'm not) -- creates a sense of centeredness that I know is necessary. Clutter is more than just about things I'm not using, it's about things that are taking up space and energy and time that can better be used somewhere else.

Another important tool: a sharp pencil, sticky-notes and fresh files. Here again is a needed luxury, the simple task of saying that whatever goes in a new file is worthy of some respect. So I live lavishly and invest the .02 cents required to set up my files in a way that when I look into the drawer I can actually read the file tab. I don't write over them, I don't label over them. It's wild, I know. Decadent even.

I am practical if not pragmatic. I don't use pen on any of my files. I use pencil. Which says a lot about trust and flexibility I think. Nothing lasts forever, not even the good stuff.

One of my Mid-Life Crazies said to me recently, "All that time on the soccer field with Seth and for what? He's not even playing soccer in college? What was that ALL ABOUT, anyway?" She shook her head and I could tell the tears were near the surface. And so she recently threw out all the old schedules, the old phone lists, all the soccer paraphanalia that had dotted her son's landscapre over the past few years.

I had no answer to her question because it's one that I ask, too. What is all this STUFF about? Is about a more full life? Is the answer to life's journey more accomplishment? More awards? More things for the brag wall? Does more coming and going really make us better or does it just make us tired? These are deep questions and they require more than a glass of iced tea for resolution.

Nestled in one of my files is a file marked "Nathan". And yeah, in it are some precious memories that I will hold onto. A ticket stub from a movie we went to. A napkin from a banquet where he played his trumpet. A picture of he and his dad. Memories are meant to ground us in something that was good and wonderful while we let go of those things that need to grow in new ways. It is never easy, it never simple. It is always necessary.

MidSummer's Day Dream

2006-07-03T07:19:00.000-07:00

I walked my garden this morning, watering to offset the July heat. I have been ruminating on what changes I will make in the garden for fall. There is a long list.

It seems that any garden can look great in Spring. Spring is a time when everything in the garden is new and if it isn't new, it's just awakening so that things like slugs and bermuda grass and weeds haven't yet made their presence known.

July is a whole different matter. July shows you all the mis-steps, the shortcuts, the design goobers that you made but thought you outsmarted. July is when you see the real problems and when you have to make some big changes, at least in theory.

For the biggest challenge about July is that you really can't do much about the garden save plan for cooler weather, start hammering away at some hardscape (which is an effort in hard labor with the Oklahoma clay now in brick form).

In July, only really committed gardeners are showing up much at the garden center. Most annuals have already been planted for the year and the only thing left at my garden centers are some surly counter help and wilting trees that probably will find the trash heap come Labor Day.

I walked my garden this morning and noticed that I have planned better than before on the mulching. Although my roses aren't blooming anymore, at least their stalks and leaves seem nourished. And my shrubs are looking fuller, healthier and filling in more.

The biggeset thing my garden needs now is structure. I need to put in some heavy pathways and for this, I'm relenting and calling in the big guns. I'm either going to purchase my own tiller or hire the work done. My last pathway that I created looked great for about a year but I see now where having an expert do the work could save me a ton of time in maintainance and in planning. My battle with the bermuda continues to rage. When I asked a landscaper what he does about such issues he just looked at me and said, "What can you do about bermuda? You just have to stay on top of it everyday."

Which is what a garden is really. A constant maintaince, a constant source of meditation (for some) or a routine task that some find bothersome. I'd be lying if I said that weeding was a source of bliss and joy for me everyday but I do find that at times it can be rewarding, especially after a hard summer rain when the weeds peel off the earth in a satisfying way. Somedays it is rewarding to simply say, "look what I got done today" and show a clear path free of bermuda, dandelions and weeds.

Later today, I'm heading over to OKC Bricktown where I plan to see friends, sleep late, have a massage and tour some gardens. In short, time for rest.

It's official: I'm a REAL writer

2006-06-21T12:56:00.000-07:00

I have the evidence right here. A bona-fide, authentic rejection letter.

It's not the first by any means but something about this one makes it seem more real to me. I guess that the first few rejection letters that I received were more like practice. The work I submitted, though important to me, was more like going on a blind date: I kind of threw myself out there with little expectation that much would come of it.

And not much did. One publication, no money just the buzz of seeing my name in print. Even if it was misseplled.

This entry was for an essay contest that I really worked on. I labored on the rewrite for several weeks and it is like I was bleeding on the page. There is a lot of me in this essay and I sent it out in its white envelope with a prayer and then I promptly forgot about it.

Again, that reminder about a blind date. "Oh nothing will come of it. "

The difference is that with writing something always comes of it, even if it is a rejection slip. It's like a blind date calling you back and saying, "Not only did I have a rotten time, I never want to see you again."

Kinda like that, I guess.

This rejection letter is a whole page and while I do appreciate the editor's attempt to be kind and even though the letter is on a real paper instead of a notecard or even worse, a postcard (which brings to mind that the editor has already embarked for ports of calls in which I'll never be invited) this letter is officially now my FIRST OFFICIAL REJECTION as a writer.

How will I celebrate?

I could rewrite the essay. I could call the editor and say, "thanks for the initiation". Or I could write some more, which is what a real writer would do.

I've said this to some in the writing field and now I'm ashamed. I said once to an editor that I figured rejection would come easy to me, after all, I've been in sales for 14 years, what could a little rejection be to me, a hardened sales veteran?

I'm surprised that she didn't wallop me good right then, right there. She must have known that I'd get my due, that this day would come when this letter would both brighten and darken my day and I'd know what all writer's come to know: it ain't rejection unless you throw your heart over the bar and it means something to you.

2006-05-28T10:43:00.000-07:00

A sacred garden is one that can renew your spirit and calm your soul. This is true of the OKC Myriad Gardens which were a comfort to me as I visited my mother while she is in the hospital. While at the hospital, I noticed that this concept of "healing gardens" is one that is as ancient as it is necessary. At the hospital there is a beautiful "healing garden" that I visited and will visit again later this week. I will post pics from that visit then. I believe that there is a reason that every ancient religious practice has many key moments which happen in gardens. I believe that they are a place where the spiritual and the earthly combine giving those who visit them a refreshing and soothing place to laugh, weep and celebrate all of life's moments.

2006-05-28T10:39:00.000-07:00

A trip to OKC which included a stop at the Botanical Garden in OKC. The exterior gardens are filled with wildlife, like this turtle who is enjoying the warm (very warm!) sun.

2006-05-28T10:37:00.000-07:00

I'd like to write here that this is a pic from my back yard. But, it is from the entry of the OK Myriad Gardens as are many of the following pictures.

2006-05-28T10:36:00.000-07:00

My brother, Jon, trying to look tough, while hubby Dan trying not to hurl from the height. This is from the "Crystal Bridge" from the Myriad OK Botanical gardens conservatory. It is 224 feet long, 70 feet wide and a jungle paradise. It is made of seventeen tricord trusses which form the frame and 3,208 panes of Exolite acrylic which form the shell. These crystal clear, double-walled panes insulate the Conservatory's coolers to ensure a healthy and stable growing environment. They also protect the plants from the harsh winter climate while greatly reducing heating costs. This entire bridge where Jon and Dan are standing is actually suspended over a large pond, so these guys are not just towering over me and the jungle, they are also suspended over a large lake as well. Which is why Dan looks a little pekid.

2006-05-28T10:32:00.000-07:00

There is is a joke here, and I have missed it, yet again. Whenever my brother is present (far right) there are always lots of jokes and laughter. Every family has one - crazy ole uncle Jon we call him. Even Dan is laughing which is a major accomplishment! Grinning even. WOW!

2006-05-28T10:31:00.000-07:00

So much of what makes a garden meaningful is the use of components, such as these rocks with bamboo. Some people think rocks have souls. Maybe so. I think they add a sense of solidarity, of permanence to a space.

2006-05-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

OCK Botanical gardens. I always learn a lot by observing gardens, such as the juxtaposition of wild colors - like deep oranges and yellows. I also like the movement of this garden.

2006-05-28T10:28:00.000-07:00

My daughter, flower child of the new millienium.

Notes to a new father

2006-05-19T06:28:00.000-07:00

I was at the library yesterday returning some books. In the line in front of me a nicely dressed young man leaned over to the librarian and said softly, "Can you point me to the parenting section?"

She observed him closely as I did. In concert, we noticed his spic and span appearance, the neatly coiffed shoes, the clean fingernails.

He continued, "My wife and I just had a new baby and I want to do this right." He said it like he was answering our mutal stares, trying to explain what he was looking for and why.

I gather that she and I stared at him for very different reasons. I don't know how many requests she receives in a day for parenting information from a man who dresses like an attorney. Maybe she gets lots and I'm assuming. But my gut tells me that she probably gets more request for the current month's edition of ESPN news than for parenting research from men in his age bracket.

Still, I think we both admired him. I admired his willingness ask some good questions. After all, most parents probably don't take the time to evaluate if there is a better way to parent than what they personally experienced. I admired that he had awakened to the fact that there are different ways to parent and nuture a growing human being, a fact that most parents never seem to get around to figuring out. Somehow between putting together the swing set and filling out college applications, some of the important stuff gets pushed aside.

Admittedly, I stared at him because I wanted to blurt out, "What you need to know about parenting will never be in any book."

But parenting -- like age - has softened my over active blurt out responses and so I just watched as he busily went about his search.

As I write this, my oldest child is crashed on the sofa after a week-long party-fest called "Senior Week" in which he has been pomped and circumstanced in more ways than I care to know. He has stayed up all night partying with friends. He has walked down the graduation aisle while even his younger sister teared up. He's taken his last high school test and he's slowly saying good-bye to what up until now have been "life-long" friends.

And as he has made this important trek, his father and I have made one with him. For most of his life we've been slowly but surely coming to this point where we transition from hands on parenting to becoming parenting observers. It's a simple analogy: parenting is a lot like playing sports. In the beginning days, parenting is most like coaching 2 year olds in soccer: You do most of the work and hope the little guys get the general idea. The next stage is like playing one on one basketball: this stage of parenting is when kids are in the game and you're just trying to handle their defensive moves. By the late teenage years, it's more like the down hill slalom or lugers: the objective is to just trying to hold on as you speed towards what is (hopefully) a pre-determined finish line.

Admittedly, my husband and I have been watching these past few weeks in a dazed haze of recognition that, once again, our lives will be irrevocably altered by this person that has been visiting our lives for the past 18 years.

What I would say to that young father who is eagerly reading thick, glossy books at the library is simple. "Get yourself out of the way and get over doing it "right" and you just might have one of the best human experiences imagineable.

I often wonder if there was some inter-galactic discussion, some divine angel meeting- of- the minds at the start of creation when God looked out upon man and woman and wondered aloud, "How can I give them something of lasting power? How can I give them something that will touch their lives forever, changing them and giving them hope in a future and the promise of something greater than themselves?"

And at that point, I imagine that some other divine voice said softly, "Give them a piece of themselves that they have to nurture and hold and raise up. That way, their hearts will be pierced and broken and they will learn to love, to have hope and most of all to let go."

And the first angel must have said, "Hmmm. Is that such a good idea? Won't they mess it up? Maybe it would be OK if provide them some kind of instruction manual, like '7 steps to raising perfect human beings'?"

And the second angel responded, laughing softly again, "No, I think it's better if they think they are in control. Let them think that they have to come up with the answers and let them discover the ways to do that."

The first angel no doubt protested. "They'll screw it up! They'll be all focused on themselves and their careers and how to pay the bills. They'll worry about all the wrong things like where to live and what car to drive and they'll miss out on the most important things, like the reading fairy tales in the dark or walking through puddles with your shoes on."

And the second angel said, wisely, "Yeah, they will. And they'll mourn for that in ways that are indescribeable and in that sadness and grief, they'll discover something priceless. They'll discover that they are flawed human beings and that in being flawed they must give -- and expect -- grace for themselves first, so they can give it to their kids."

I remember the day my son came home from the hospital as a newborn. Maybe it was the drugs or the hormones coursing through my veins but I remember watching him as he slept and thinking, "I have absolutely no idea what to do next." I remember calling the hospital after a sleepness night and asking the nurse what to do to help my sleepless, screaming son. In my sleep-deprived state, I remembered that the discharge nurse had told me to "call anytime" and I was stupid enough to take her at her word.

I called that feverish morning, desperate for sleep and worried into a frenzy. I called that hospital like I was calling in on a warranty for a broken dishwasher:

"I just took this baby home...and I've been trying to get him to sleep and he keeps crying and crying."

I remember hearing a long pause from the nurse. Maybe she was waiting for more from me. Maybe she "muted" the button and was laughing herself to death. I hope that she was remembering her first week at home with a newborn.

At any rate she listened to me and gave me some ideas. I harriedly wrote down the instructions so I wouldn't forget and and then followed her suggestions to the letter: I removed his hat, booties and long-sleeved jumper so that he could try to sleep in the 100-degree August heat in our small, unairconditioned apartment. He quickly relaxed and fell asleep and I marveled at the miracle of human science. And I remembered thinking, "If I can't figure out THAT, what kind of mother will I be?" and I cried myself to sleep knowing that my child's life was doomed.

Perhaps it is in our ignorance that we have our greatest breakthroughs. For it was in those sleepless, fearful nights that I prayed to the Parenting God: "OK, I get it. I have no idea what I'm doing here, but maybe you do. After all, you created this creature, so maybe you have some ideas on how to do this?" And so, my parenting philosophy began taking form with the idea much like a rental car ageement. My initial hope was that I could offer him back to the Universe in much the same way in which I received him, with as few knocks and dents in him as possible. I know it may sound crass to compare one's child to a 4-door sedan, but such was my emotional maturity at the time.

What I want to say to that young father is that no book, no magazine article, no TV talk show, no friend or mentor can ever prepare you for the experience of seeing your own little creation thumb their nose at you, reject your values, laugh at your experiences and then create a card for you that says, "Mom you're the most amazing person in the world." Nothing can prepare you for the day when you see your kid take his first step into a school building knowing that this is a dress rehearsal for that day when he walks into his own life and out of yours.

What I want to say to that young father is that nothing can prepare you for that joy of seeing your kid push through a tough class at ashool or to do the right thing when the odds are stacked against him. There is no more reassurance that the world is in good hands than when you see your kid reach out to a kid that no one else will talk to in the lunch line, knowing that you probably wouldn't have been so charitable. There are no words that bring more comfort than to hear him yell from the kitchen, "Mom, I'm home." after you waited up all night for him to do so.

What I want to say that young father is that there is no exhaustion like laboring through nights of fevers, of girlfriend break-ups and get-back-togethers. There is no disappointment like seeing the crestfallen look in his eyes when he doesn't make the team or get the job or when the girl doesn't call back.

What I'd say to that young man is to be prepared. Some day, you'll act like a raving lunatic on the soccer or basketball field when your kid makes a winning shot and you'll cry your own deep tears when he doesn't. I'd tell that new dad that you'll spend hours planning a ski vacation that your kid will spend sitting near the TV most of the time, complaining about the XBox being "lame" or comment that the HBO lacks visual acuity.

As I thought all these things, I watched the librarian point this young father in the right direction and I watched him fairly leap towards the set of books in which she directed. It was all I could to keep myself from saying, "Just experience it. Love them. Lead them and then, let them go."

May's Celebrations

2006-05-10T05:00:00.000-07:00

Whew! May is only a week or so old and already my datebook looks like it's been assaulted by the Pen Brigade. There is not a white spot on it.

Mostly, this month is about celebrating Nathan and his graduation. However, squeezed between the spaces there are two family birthday (Ellen and Dan), Ellen turns 16, and oh yeah, gotta finish out the year end for work.

One of the big monthly milestones was passed this weekend at the Band Banquet. Actually, I was pleased that I wasn't a blubbering idiot during the event, since there is the requisite slideshow where the seniors are highlighted with baby pics, etc. Seeing kids that have had cupucakes at our house when they were in mid-high all dressed up in suits can really tug at the heart.

Another milestone this week: Ellen's first real "do" which she requested as part of her birthday month. Now dubbed the "fox with the purple locks" she has set her mark as the first female in our family with purple hair extensions. I take a long-view of the whole hair deal: at this stage of the game, if hair becomes a big issue between parents then you're in for a world of hurt. It's a small scene on the stage of life and one that I'd rather keep short and sweet.

As for the garden, we're at a standstill with all projects. The drought of 06 has stepped aside to make way for daily thunderstorms. Water is standing in my back yard -- and not just in the ponds. A quick walk out to the garden is a spongey hike that leaves me muddy and eager for warmer days.

The garden, though, looks amazing this year. My garden is now about 5 years old -- the time when a garden can start coming into its own. It's also the time when some of my original plantings are aging and may need to be replaced in the fall. Because of the uncertain weather, I'm holding off on all plantings until fall and working mainly on hardscapes, weeding and other maintainance.

2006-05-10T04:58:00.000-07:00

Nathan and his granddad, trying to figure out how to tie his tie. I, of course, help by taking a pic.

2006-05-10T04:57:00.000-07:00

Nathan and his "Smiley" a tradition for the graduating band students. Each student gets a hand painted ceramic statue done by their parents. I don't know which was more difficult -- raising a son or painting that little statue.

2006-05-10T04:55:00.000-07:00

Ellen and Nathan at Nathan's band banquet this weekend.

Name change

2006-05-01T14:32:00.000-07:00

I made the choice to change the name of my blog because it now serves a different function.

Now this serves as more of a "verbal sketch book" -- most of the thoughts here are fragments or threads that join with others in teaching classes, essays and speeches.

I selected the name "Temenos" because it is the Greek name for a sacred enclosure. This name typifies how I feel when I create in my garden which inevitably leads to some seed of thought that ends up here.

There are many reasons for this change some of which I will try to express in upcoming blogs.

It's raining rain

2006-04-30T13:04:00.000-07:00

I surrendered completely to the garden this weekend. After weeks of near-drought conditions we finally got a good soaking rain that deeply nourished the garden. I took this opportunity to really weed, clean up and till.

There generally are two kinds of outdoor work in a garden -- gardening and yard work. Mention things such as weeding and tilling to most gardening enthusiasts and they begin to look nervous and itchy. The mere thought of this kind of work makes a lot of people really uncomfortable.

And for good reason. It certainly is more fun to drive to a local gardening store, throw down a mastercard and fill one's trunk with color. And at the gardeing store, I often see people doing just that -- as if gardening is just one more obsessive stop on the long lists of to dos. Just one more way to overachieve and spend, spend, spend.

I am learning that the simple tasks of weeding can be as spiritual exercise as any. In fact, I will admit to more than my fair share of praying while in the hunched over position. There's something earthy and real about being up to one's elbows in mud, on the knees that gets one real close to that sense of surrender that I think most of us talk about when we talk about the Divine. Though I'm not Jewish, I have learned from orthodox Jewish friends that one's posture during praying is as much a part of bending one's mind and heart as it is anything. So perhaps gardening is a kinesthetic way for me to connect to that spirit that forces my heart open and allows me to weep along with the sky.

After several hours, I stepped back to observe my progress which reminds me that I still veer off into those paths of competition. I looked at my crooked little garden path that was filled with weeds and seeding perennials just a few hours before and notice that I can now see the small stones again. The line from the pond to the pergola is now open again and I breathe a little easier. Maybe it's the work that's done -- or maybe the prayers -- or maybe both.

In the front yard a whole new idea came to me as I reviewed it. Without realizing it, I observed that I had planted a lot of white and yellow in the front. Upon this notice, I realized that some of the plants that had been placed in the center of the border were out of sync with the overall design. I decided, with the ground soft from rain, this was a good time to remove the crowded and weedy liriope that has been in the garden from the previous owners.

This was a messy job with a ton of debris that came from the garden. I was grateful to find, though, that down about three inches in the muck, there were some wonderful earthworms that have been taking good care of the soil. Less work for me!

Now I have a gaping hole in what was once a weedy, awkward space. Sometimes its OK to just let things sit for a bit until an idea emerges on how to fill it. I may not plant much until fall, anyway, until I'm sure there is more rain coming. No sense in planting pretty young things and watching them roast all summer.

And this week, I'll continue working around the new ponds and hopefully finish the bridge next weekend, when the sun is out a bit more.

I'm rereading "The Sanctuary Garden" by the creators of the Cortesia Sanctuary Garden in Oregon and it's a great way to round out the weekend of work.

2006-04-26T09:53:00.000-07:00

Hollyhocks from last year, blooming amidst roses. The best part of perennial gardening is that fall brings a harvest of perennials to place in other garden beds. Most of my perennials seed themselves so it saves money, time and you have lots to work with for drifts.

2006-04-26T09:51:00.000-07:00

This is the garden I created last year. It is towards the back of the existing garden. I hope to build a cottage near this garden. It features Stella D'ora lillies, heritage roses, spirea and some evergreens, none of which are too evident in this pic.

2006-04-26T09:49:00.000-07:00

The hummingbird garden that my daughter created. The honeysuckle smells amazing.

2006-04-26T09:48:00.000-07:00

My garden this morning, after a big April rain. To the right, "New Dawn" is beginning to unfold. I have no idea what kind of climber is on the right, but it looks better this year than it is has for a long time.

2006-04-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

Newly dug beds around the pond. The unfinished bridge is to the right.

Table for Two

2006-04-26T09:04:00.000-07:00

After weeks of no rain, my fair town was treated to the equivalent of six inches of rainfall. Trouble was it came in a mere twenty minutes, causing all kinds of havoc with tornadoes, electricity outages and tree limbs thrown askew.

This clearly causes problems for the Channel 8 news guy, who must interrupt programming every nanosecond to show me some colorful new whiz-bang map which is suppose to reassure me that he is watching the storm and that all is well.

Such things do not reassure me. While I squint at my TV, hearing loud booms overhead and seeing water seeping in through what I thought was a safe, dry living room, I can't help but wonder how a neon colored map with swirling dots is suppose to make me feel safe. I am impressed, though, with the splash of colors and often find myself wondering who is responsible for selecting the electric blue for thunderstorms and electric pink for hail storms. Is this some decision made over newsroom lunches? Who gets to vote? Does the office manager get to decide if yellow is too soothing or that green may infer safety? Such are my questions while the downfall continues outside my newly installed storm doors.

Secretly, I'm thrilled for the rain. I had tried to start preparing a new garden over the weekend but the dry, rocky soil chipped my new shovel. I grinned sheepishly at my husband who had warned me that the ground was too dry. "Just loosening it up" I said to him, sanding down the corner of my newly chipped shovel. Do engineers have some entitlement clause in their birth certificates which makes them ALWAYS right?

Rainfall means that the ground may actually be workable. So today, I ventured forth into the soggy sod and began the transformation that will, with lots of muscle and sweat, be the garden around my ponds and bridge. Since I've been hanging around my friends who are Jungian therapists I find myself wondering what they'll think of my little project. I can hear our phone discussion with them asking questions like, "What is REALLY going on here? Are you working out some demon? Do you feel stuck in your current life in some way? Are you in some transformation mode?"

I will deny anything of the sort. I will respond, saying I am just sick and tired of looking out my bedroom window and seeing bare ponds and bermuda threatening to take over my pergola and roses.

"You're in such denial" they'll say.

Maybe so. I'm not at all sure how working muddy soil can be both comforting and exciting. I don't really understand how a morning clipping rose buds can net me more satisfaction than two weeks of work. It is uncanny how seeing my gardens from last year prospering urges me forward, slicing through the weeds and bermuda, turning the soil, my back aching. It's not what most people call fun.

But I'm not most people and for me this is ten-times more fun than a Nordic Track or running aimlessly around a stadium track. Why? I have no idea. Just chalk it up to the forces of earth, rain, seeds, sunlight.

What I do know is that I'm cheap labor for the robin couple that lives in my garden. As I wrestle with the heavy, water -laden sod I see them out of the corner of my eye, perched on the pergola waiting for me to finish and leave so they can have their way with the grubs and worms that will emerge from the newly dug beds.

In between shovelfulls I wonder what they are saying in their bird-speak. I wonder if it is like me and Dan, waiting at Outback Steakhouse, watching the staff moving around aimlessly, while we are waiting, waiting, waiting for our table.

Does the female robin ask nervously, "Do you think she knows that we're here? Did you put our name in? Are we on the list?"

And when he doesn't repond does she continue, "Should I check on the kids? They were in the nest OK when we left, but..."

"Relax, I did all that" he says to her trying to soothe her ruffled feathers. "The kids are fine. They were sleeping when I looked in on them."

"It looks like there is a table over there, are we the next in line?" she continues to look around nervously. "Maybe if I go over there and remind her.."

"Wait just a minute" he interjects. "I"m not going to have you going over there..she's got a shovel, for God's sake. You swoop in too low, you're going to be bait for that older kids fishing trip this weekend."

I continue to slice the ground, turn the soil, groan, sit back and rest. Then I do it all over again. The robins continue to watch me, hopping around all the while. When I look at them they quickly turn the other direction as if to say, "hey, we're not in any hurry, just take your time."

I finish the first turning, sweat running down my brow in spite of the cooler temperatures from the rain. This work is much harder than it appears in the garden books. In the books, there is a diagram that has this neat rectangle spot where the ground is evenly turned. There are no stones that have come out of the ground sitting beside the tilled ground. There are no broken shovels that have been ruined in the process. There are no stick people in the diagram that have mud up to their knees or disapproving stick-people husbands watching from inside the pergola.

I rinse off the shovel, brew some coffee, work in other parts of the yard. The minute I leave, I see the robins claim the soil, digging for dinner for the kids.

2006-04-20T13:39:00.000-07:00

This is my amazing family...From L to R, "Granddad", Ellen, Dan and Nathan. This was on Easter Sunday and I thought it was a great pic of all of them.

Bridge over stagnant water, 2

2006-04-16T12:47:00.000-07:00

This weekend, the focus continued to be on the pond. Dan and I have decided that our date nights are really excuses for us to work until dusk in the garden. It's an interesting thing to be a part of, like we read each other's minds and we work outside, doing the dance of spring where we clean out ponds, start new beds, clean out old. It's these rhythms, both unspoken and unrehearsed that bind me to a place and a time.

And to people. My kids and Dan.

The ponds are now leveled, filled with water, clean and ready for me to start the tilling of the soil around the bed. I don't know how much actual planting I'll do until fall. I have found that the garden books are right, take the time to amend the soil and the results will be exceptional.

Patient is a virtue, it's true, but it's not a lot of fun. I find myself sitting at the table indoors, peering outside, visually placing the plants in their spots. It's mezmerizing. I am aching to see the color. To see it finished.

And that is just the point. Gardening is not about quick fixes, giant leaps and monumental shifts. I find that tending the garden is daily, mindfully, slowly. And that constant attention, that almost meditative stance with the rhythms of the seasons are what bring a satisfaction that I have never known until I began gardening.

Today, I raked leaves from under the roses that are beginning to bloom. Wild Spice has already made her first appearance along with a few other rugosa roses. The day lillies are greening up and already the blue salvia is brilliant and blue. The weave of the plants came from the last four years of mindfully tending the spots, of walking daily through the space and wondering and thinking and dreaming.

It is this common task of mindfully walking, pausing to stare at a patch of bermuda and wonder, "What can that be?" that begins the process that may take years to manifest.

The next few weeks will be what I call the "non-sexy" stuff: tilling, amending, digging, sweating. It's the hard work -- the foundational work -- that no garden can exist without. It is not a process that can be rushed. There is a loose plan and I yet I know it will shift and change as I ponder the plants and the overall design that is taking place.

I cannot help but draw parallels from this process. The similarity of a life well lived that is thoughtfully, artfully tended. A life where changes are made simply: "Today I will start here" and "Tomorrow I can do this ir that. "

It sounds simple and yet I find it takes an uncommon focus and patience, neither of which I'm much good at.

Bridge over stagnant water

2006-04-14T18:22:00.000-07:00

My bridge is coming together. Today, Dan and I put the supporting planks around the posts and amazingly, it looks like a bridge.

I have spent considerable time standing out in my garden, just looking, trying to see where the path will go. The most obvious path is often the least interesting. Straight paths are easy to visualize but they lack imagination, drama and that elusive design element, tension.

Sometimes, I see a path with curves and sometimes I see one with turns. Sometimes I see a path with stairs at the end, leading to the pergola and other times I see an evergreen hedge with stepping stones crossing between.

There are infinite possibilities. Connecting disparate elements such as pond, pergola, house and outer garden, is a complicated matter and wonderfully exciting.

So far, I've penciled in a "white garden" for immediately beyond the patio and I know that parts of the path will be stone and lumber, in a repeating rhythm.

Rhythm, tension, drama. Twists, turns and crooked little paths.

All parts of my garden. All parts of my life.

Saturday Chores

2006-04-08T13:50:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about building a bridge in my garden. And I agree with Ann Lamott who says that in writing, like life, you start where you are. And so, despite awkward angles and the lack of expertise, I have my posts firming in some god-forsaken miry substance called "Quikcrete". This is a lot like some frostings I've made for cakes..the longer it is exposed to air, the cruster it becomes, finally becoming something so dense and thick that I believe it is what scientists refer to when they talk about black holes.

I know my husband will arrive home and sigh the sigh that only an engineer -- one who is obsessed with nuisances such as measuring correctly and leveling, can sigh. He will shake his head and smile his wry smile which translates into, "I am so not going to fix that railing when it busts under your weight."

Still, I am pressing forward with the task. I have been thinking about it for too long and Easter Weekend seems to be the perfect weekend for building such as a project -- a bridge that connects things, which I imagine what Easter is suppose to be about really.

Which brings me to my favorite tradition...reading David Sedaris' essay on Easter in his book "Me Talk Pretty One Day". I have requested the CD version just so I can listen to him read it himself and I know that I'll do what I do everytime I hear it - convulse in laughter at his poetic and righteous discussion about how difficult it is -- nearly crazy, realy -- to try to make sense out of this confusion of a holiday.

I can't imagine having Easter and not being in or around a garden. Today, I started the weekly chores that will dominate my free time for the spring and summer: Mowing for at least 30 minutes at day, cleaning out the beds, removing all the leftover leaves and twigs from the previous season. I always feel like I'm covering with a shroud when I close up the black bag with all of last year's waste.

No aromatherapy, no sensation can rivel what it feels like to mow. The scent of fresh grass mix with the acrid scent of a mower, the beauty of a freshly cut lawn when the seasons flowers nod in approval. There is something absurdly pleasing about seeing the grass cut beneath the mower. This is truly a "type A's" gig - seeing something get done right before your eyes! If ever I have a day where I feel nothing is accomplished, I hop on the mower and presto! I can sense that I've made progess somewhere.

Thomas Moore's book "The Soul's Religion" is my constant companion these days and I agree wholeheartedly with the author that there is no more spiritual exercise than the tending of one's garden. I cannot imagine how to tend one's soul without one. No temple, church can bring me closer to the sense of some Great Spirit than being in my garden, gently -- or not so gently -- creating a sacred space.

My awkward bridge, the paths that are jumbly-crumbly, the constant need for nurture and reflection are all components that speak to my heart in ways that bypass my simple, foggy mind. Moving dirt, wrestling with a lumpy rock is more prayerful at times than anything I've ever done in any church. It's sweaty, gritty, windy and exhausting. I love it.

2006-04-08T13:49:00.000-07:00

Bridges in Tulsa County.

Rainy Thursday in the Garden

2006-04-06T10:28:00.000-07:00

I awakened this morning to rain, rain and more rain. The wisteria is now in full bloom over the pergola, I'll take pics later and post. Is there anything more magnificent than wisteria after a spring rain? I think not.

I've been pondering some things I've been observing. I'm saddened by some recent posts from a former church friend (former church, former friend) regarding church and such truck.

Having grown up in a fundamentalist system, I look back on that time much like a prisoner from WWII shared about his experience when he returned to the prison in which he lived for several years. He said that the bars were weaker than he thought they would be, and the space - -though small -- seemed infantile and silly, like it couldn't hold him at all. Why had he ever been so afraid of this place?

The reason is is that fear is the real enemy, not really people, or ideas or systems. As I read the postings (and yeah, I'm too big a chicken to post ON their sites, so I'll just comment here).

I recently made a list of what I believe my personal theology is. I didn't take this lightly as I do believe I am a good student of scripture -- both bible and other ancient texts -- and I do and have done some research in these areas. There is never an end to learning and there are always new truths that emerge as we are ready for them and can accept them, so I don't think any of us can say "ta dah, I'm DONE". I may post what I believe my personal theology is in a later post -- I'm still ruminating on a couple of the items. You'll be disappointed, it's not long and it's not profound.

I have decided that I want to be a part of a community of believer that defines itself by what IT DOES BELIEVE and not what it DOES NOT BELIEVE. I want to be a part of a community that defines itself by WHAT IT IS, not by what it is NOT.

I also will comment here on what I believe is the real culprit of believers being what we are called to be in any society -- and that is the ridiculous arguments, like those being pursued by some of my congregation, at the risk of so many other important issues.

For example, I know that in a recent headline story, a member of this church killed her husband. Isn't that something we should be discussing? Does anybody care?

And, as I've shared before, this is National Child Abuse Month? And I live in Oklahoma, one of the most tragic of all states -- more abuse takes place here than in many other states -- a child is reportedly abused every 38 minutes. Shouldn't be be talking about that?

Or what about the issue that every leader of every religious movement talks a great deal about -- poverty. Shouldn't we be discussing that?

Or is that just fodder for celebrities?

I think not. I think that these issues are the very reason that so many of us get bogged down in petty arguments over music, worship style and rot such as that. It's that if we ever put down our battle gear and looked around we'd have to realize just how irrelevant we are to a society in need of care and nurturing.

We'd then have to evaluate ourselves, get really deep and dirty, and figure out what we believe about these things. And these are not easy to decide. Not easy 1 -2 -3 answers and not easy to reveal to ourselves about what we REALLY REALLY believe.

It's almost like we rely on these other simpleton issues to serve as a shield, to keep us out of the discussions and solutions that could be so impactful to a world in need.

Which is exactly the point I think. If we ever got really serious about God and faith, we'd have to peer deep down in our cavernous souls and come up with some real arguments for ourselves and what we think we believe.

But most of us aren't willing to do that. While greater issues continue to war at the core of our society, we are content in discussing pianos and church buildings.

May God have mercy on all of us. We are, above all, the most to be pitied.

Parenting, Prom and Promise

2006-04-02T08:47:00.000-07:00

I'm a bit woozy from an all day Saturday blitz as my kids did that cultural rite of passage - The Prom.

I say "The Prom" (capital "t" and capital "p") because it is really that -- a major event in a kid's life where they don grown up, easter egg colored clothes and stay out all out night, eat a lot of food and hang out with friends in ways that I probably don't even want to know about.

You'd think that a society as advanced as we like to think we are could come up with a better way to mark a kid's passage into adulthood than corsages and late night breakfasts.

But, as a society, we're pretty pathetic in the parenting department.

April is National Child Abuse Month and parenting is heavy on my mind. Mainly because my own kids are showing the fruit of our own parenting experiement and because I've recently made a commitment to assist others in their parenting.

A disclaimer here is in order. I don't believe that I'm a "great" parent, nor do I believe I have all the answers. Most days, I have barely enough. And that, I think, is the point. Most of us do the best we can with a few tools that we have lying around the house.

I think parenting is hard stuff. It is much more complex of a relationship than finding a mate or living with another person. The reason that it is so hard is that you simply must get yourself out of the equation to be any good at it.

I feel strongly that my kids have their own experiences with their lives and so I struggle to find that tenuous balance between guidance and control. By the time a kid is a teenager, it is more like guiding a luge down a mountain than taking a sled up a slope -- you really are just holding on the edges, hoping the direction you are going will get you-- and them -- to the point where they need to be.

And so, because I believe that, I'm less apt to try to impress my kids -- or their friends, or more importantly, their friends' parents -- with elaborate plans for these rites of passages. I let my kids pick out their own clothes, something that they've been doing well for a number of years. I offer some suggestions ("Do you want to get your hair cut?") or ("Do you think those shoes will be comfortable?") but beyond that, it really is "their gig". It's their party, not mine. I had mine a few years ago and the results, while not stellar, are the ones I have.

I want them to have their own. I want them to look back and say, "God, that tie was terrible, how could my mom let me out of the house with that on???" because really that is the point -- they are at the age where they can make their own choices in these matters and so far, picking out ties are the least of my worries.

I'm much more concerned with the relationship that we're building from here on out. I want them to come home occasionally and bring me stories of their lives -- lives which I will increasingly have less and less a role -- and tell me how they are handling things. I figure I'll still be trying to get my own life right and since that ties up a lot of my focus, I'll go easy on the advice column.

I think these years are fertile opportunities for them to make a lot of stupid mistakes in an environment that allows them to recover. Bad ties, bad haircuts -- even bad relationships with others -- are, at this stage of the game, not fatal. They could, even, be the impetus for changes for better, when they are embraced in that way.

As a parent, I'm not that great at grace. I noticed this yesterday while I was in my garden. A tree that I had planted was not performing as I thought it should. I use the word "performing" because that's what it was suppose to do -- give lucious red buds so that it could be the center of attention that I just knew it could be, right there next to the lovely green.

But my red bud looked gangly, with long limbs that appeared bare. I had decided that it was dead and needed removing. I trudged out to it and after inspecting it carefully, saw no more buds on the upper branches. I picked up the shovel and sliced it into the ground.

But at the bottom of the plant, I saw this one, small, tiny bud, reaching with all its might to the sky. The one evidence of life, the only evidence that I could see.

And so I had a dilemma. Do I keep the tree there, hoping it can pull through? Or do I trash it to the heap and plant a newer plant, one that is already bearing fruit?

As parent, there's only one solution. You put down the spade. You trim back the limbs so the plant can put its energy into healthy growth, you water, water, water.

And you pray. You pray a lot.

I don't have a lot of pics from last night. I was involved with getting their corsages (they were late from soccer games). I made sure they ate, their dress and shirts were somewhat pressed. I didn't hover over them at the hair salon -- although I did pay for their services.

I saw the invitations from other parents -- the elaborate plans that some went to for their "kids prom night". And honestly, I felt more than a little inadequate that I didn't do more. The familiar tapes of "what will other parent's think of me??" still echoes in my head sometime.

But I'm learning to understand that in 20 years, when my kids casually see their prom pics behind the pics of their wedding, their kids first birthday and all that, I want them to see one thing: that it was their night, their idea, their journey.

After we got them off - and I felt again that ache that accompanies most everything we do these days -- my husband had the good sense to pack me up and take me somewhere to eat. He is a simple man and figures that most all the pain in my heart can be eased with a full stomach, something that I think is true for him. I did notice that he sat with his back to the TV, which had all the details of the Final Four. I loved him for that, that he was more interested in me for awhile than the coaches and the players in the tournament.

We talked about the night - and more importantly - of the days to come as our son gradutes from high school, starts his college years and our daughter starts her final days of High School.
We talked about the time we'll have when we're not carting them around to tournaments, band camps and friends houses. We talked about the house and the repairs we want to do, the ideas for the garden.

We avoided talking about what was uppermost in our minds, the question that every parent asks, "Did we do enough?" "Will they be OK?" "Will they make it 'out there' alone?"

The answers, I think, would be "Yes and No. We did too much of some things and not near enough of others. They will be OK, but they will hurt and cry and love and laugh. And most importantly, "yeah, they'll be fine. They'll find their way. They'll blame us for stuff and celebrate us for other stuff. They'll realize when they bring their own newborn home just how puzzling, wierd and completely overwhelming being a parent can be."

But for now, their minds are on themselves, their next gig with their friends, their boyfriend and what they'll wear to school.

Which is how it should be.