Gratitude

I was asked to do a little reflection on gratitude today at my Unitarian Universalist church, and thought I'd share it here too.  Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

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One thing I appreciate beyond measure is the opportunity I’ve had to be a mother.  Partly because it’s been so much fun to spend my life with the particular kids that I got, but also for the more subtle joy of learning to be a parent, and all of that’s come with it.  I had imagined that certain things would be involved in parenting, and for the most part, they have – lots of basic care – feeding, clothing, and nurturing.  And a few things I didn’t anticipate, like all the driving, and the incredible volume of forms – endless places where my signature has marked that I’m okay with one thing or another. 

There’ve been so many forms that I wish I had just signed something once, at the very beginning, that says,

“I love my children more than you can imagine, and I hope with everything I’ve got that no harm will befall them, but I do trust the world, and I’m excited for them to go out into it.  I understand that there are risks: hearts will be broken, bodies will be damaged, they may enter a facility that has been used for processing nuts or gluten, and there may be swearing or mention of sex. They will suffer large and small disappointments; they’ll learn that people can be cruel to one another, and everyone isn’t interested in hearing another side, or using data to inform decisions, or striving to be patient and kind and reasonable.  They’ll learn that climate change is happening, and Anne Frank was murdered, they might not get on a good team for the zombie apocalypse, and someone else may get the corner piece of birthday cake with the big frosting flower; I understand that they may get an interior piece of cake with a disappointingly small volume of frosting.  But you have my blessing to take them into the world." 

I would even sign my note “godspeed”, because I love that phrase except for choking on the god part.
 
In the earliest part of their lives, I wanted to protect my kids from suffering, but now, I want them to go out and experience all that life hands out.  My wish is that they behave decently when they get dealt a bad hand, find something to celebrate anyway, and take comfort in good friendships.  I want them to behave well not because it gets them somewhere, but simply because it’s the right thing to do.   Because that, in my opinion, is the work of religious humans – to celebrate anyway, to care about other people, and to act well.  (Confession:  I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “religious” like that before, but I think we should try to claim that word back, and let it mean something good.)

But the part of parenting that I didn’t anticipate is the chance to love unconditionally.  I had sort of assumed that it would just come with the territory; that it was a feeling that wouldn’t waver, but it does.  I get tired, and irritable, and overwhelmed with the minutiae of our lives, and disappointed that things aren’t going the way I’d imagined. I’m not as patient or fun or organized or consistent in real life as I am in my dreams, and some evenings, the food groups aren’t all represented on the plate.

Several years ago, someone told me that we really only get one crack at unconditional love, and it’s as a child. I’ve thought about that for about a decade now, and I’ve realized that no, we get two chances:  as a child, if we’re lucky, we receive it, but as a parent, if we’re lucky, we can give it.  One of the greatest joys of my life so far has been the chance I’ve had to love my children well, even, or maybe especially, when it took a little effort.  I’m grateful for the chance to practice trying harder, and to bring that effort into the world outside of my house.  To behave patiently when I’m not feeling it, to try to see another side (even though my side is definitely right!), to work at forgiveness, and to try to bring compassion into challenging situations.  These are things I’m learning from my kids, and they’re making my life better.

Thanksgiving horoscopes

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Do you ever have that thing where you say you'll update your blog every day, and after about 5 days you kind of wear out?  Yeah, I know!  Because it turns out you can either have a life or write about it; there's not enough time for everything.  Anyway, Aries, I've been busy making the salt, which is mildly arduous.  (Rush home from work.  Turn on burner.  Take a nap.  Etc.)  This week, take many naps.  All of those children will be out of school in a few weeks, so rest up while you can.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Have you seen the video of "Occupy Walmart" that happened yesterday?  Don't watch, because it will make you seasick.  (Seriously, was the cameraman in sideplank on a teeter-tauter while s/he shot it?)  It's exactly like the sad footage of OWS except worse -- all the pepper spray without people who have convictions -- just some sorry individuals seeking deals on Blu-rays.  (I didn't even know what a blu-ray was until just now when I looked it up, and I learned that it's round.  It's one more round thing that people are willing to get capsicumed over.)  Taurus, this may be the first time that capsicum has been used as a verb.  Let's hope it doesn't stick.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Let's be straight here:  none of us were surprised, or even particularly disappointed when the so-called "super committee" failed.  But Gemini, keep being super in all that you do.  Don't let yet another word be claimed by those angry miserly repubs, creating cynicism where there once was hope.  Each time you do something super, shout it out!  "Hey, that was a super downward dog I just did!"  Or, "wow, I made a super risotto with chanterelles!"

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: I saw this robot standing by the side of the road on the outskirts of the village the other day.  It's sad to see how the 99 percenters in the robot world turn to cheap canned beer, while the one percent, like Curiousity, get to go to mars.  Cancer, even if you're a 99 percenter, see if you can upgrade the beer just a little bit this week.  What's the downside?

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): I think the flags should be at half mast to honor the brave occupiers who are getting the shit beat out of them by police officers who, if they stopped to consider it, should totally be on the side of the occupiers.  It's a sorry, sorry thing that the courageous and  peaceful protesters are getting brutalized for no apparent reason; meanwhile, the press is being barred from the scene.  We should be a nation in mourning, but instead, we're a nation that's fighting over $2 waffle makers at Walmart.  Try not to think too hard about that, my dear Leo people.  Stay in the moment, keep being courageous, and do what you can.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  There's been good news this week on the marriage equality front -- the Archie comic book is celebrating its first gay wedding.  Marriage between any two loving humans is finally legal in Riverdale.  The shocking thing here is that it didn't involve Jughead.  I know!  Didn't we always think Jughead was that guy, the really sweet funny one that you sort of had a crush on, but was absolutely never interested?  Yep, it's some new character named Kevin.  Congratulations to Kevin and Clay.  Maybe one day it will be safe for Bert and Ernie to come out.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): I heard a Seattle cop interviewed the other day about the dangerous threat of J-walking.  He said something like, "people buying, selling, and smoking marijuana pose way less risk to health and safety of our communities than Jay Walkers, so that's where we focus."  Good to know.  Libra, the point here is, focus on the real safety threats this week, and not the cliched things we're supposed to worry about.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Okay, do you Scorpios love Emily Bazelon as much as I do?  Because she's so freakin' smart and funny and knows right from wrong in a good way?  Yeah, I thought so.  My favorite thing she said this week is that her biggest take home from the [umpteenth] Republican debate is how photogenic Michelle Bachmann is.  Anyway, listen to Double X podcast and you'll always have some good cocktail chatter.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Do you ever feel like the burden is all on you -- for example, you signed up to do the meal announcements once, and now it's every frikkin' meal?  And you've got to gather the announcements, and then stand up and say them every single meal?  Even when you're just eating alone, or dining with one other person?  Yep.  That's just how it goes sometimes.  Sag, this week, be grateful that you have such an important role. 

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): It looks like another Mayan tablet has been discovered that confirms the end of the world happening next December.  Capricorn, live as if that were true, enjoying life to the fullest every day until then by looking on the bright side, apologizing well, and cooking good food.  Hopefully, that will just get you in practice for 2013 if it rolls around.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): The coolest competition ever is "Dance your PhD, where people present their doctoral research as an interpretive video.  I think my favorite is the one about smell-mediated response to relatedness of potential mates.  Aquarius, see if you can do the interpretive dance of your life this week.  If you create a video, I promise to post it here. 

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Have you ever been at a restaurant when someone gives you a nice little baggie of homemade salt crystals, and you're sort of pretending to be excited because you like the giver, but seriously, salt is cheap and plentiful and it's a little hard to be too thrilled about the gift of a tablesppon.  Anyway, you're sitting at the restaurant with this small baggie of white crystally powder when the waitress comes over and gives you a look like, "People, discretion please!"  Yeah, I hate that.  Anyway, speaking of cool white things, swans are in the valley right now.  Don't miss them!

The Great Salt March

Recipe for making salt

1.  Find a reference to it on the internet.  Get obsessed, the way you do.

2.  Mention it to your daughter, who gets obsessed, the way she does, and asks if it can be an outing for her 21st b-day.  Without discussing it, we're probably compelled for the same reasons:  making salt involves a trip to the beach; salt is full of taste, smell, and texture; it's used for eating.  And making it involves something transforming from a liquid to a solid, which, if I had to choose, is my favorite direction.

3.  Mention it to her little brother, R., who immediately says, "I'm in."  Undoubtedly for different reasons, because every few days he says, "wait, what is it that we're going to do again?  Oh, right, salt."  Or, "Wait, is that a normal 21st birthday thing that people do?"

4.  Go to Sports Authority to buy another cooler, because if you're going all the way to the salt water, you should get as much water as possible, right?

5.  Have that awkward conversation with the clerk where he tries to help you with your sporting needs, because they are, after all, The Authority.  On sports.  I don't need to spell it out for you, but imagine talking to a jock when your sport is evaporating water.  "You may want this," he says, pointing to a chair with all-terrain wheels and a Hawaiian floral cover.  "It may be tough to get the water from the beach to the car."  Decide not to buy another cooler after all.

6.  Invite The Amazing B. and her most excellent children over to make 22 pounds of chocolate cake.  Borrow a cooler from her.

7.  Round up the offspring, two coolers, and one bucket, and 11 pounds of cake.

8.  Drive to the beach.  On the way, tell the kids that I'm okay with assisted suicide, if it ever looks like the quality has been completely sucked out of my life. 

"So, Mom," says M., "how would we bring that up?"

"You might just ask if I'm still enjoying life, and if I want to keep going.  Don't be afraid to bring it up."

Spend the rest of the ride with R. saying, every few minutes, "So, are you enjoying this?  Did you want to keep going?"

9.  Get very hungry on the way.  Stop to eat eggplant sandwiches.

As we eat, M. says, "I have an amputation story."

"Hmm, I'm not so sure I want to hear it."
"It's really not bad, as far as amputation stories go."

"Ok then." I say reluctantly.

She tells about a woman who was just about to break up with her boyfriend because he was so arrogant, but before she could get around to it, he had a terrible accident and his legs were amputated.  "So now," she continues, "it's a terrible time to break up with him."

R. interrupts.  "Wait, I might need to know this someday.  How long do you have to wait to break up with someone who's legs get amputated?"

"Actually, it looks like it's turning out okay, because he isn't so arrogant without legs.  She doesn't need to break up with him after all."

"I don't think I got my question answered," comments R.

11.  Get back in the car and really drive to the beach this time.

12.  Notice that it's raining, extremely windy, and 35 degrees.

13.  Take a walk and snap pictures of M & R playing in yoga poses that look, when captured on film, like a stick-up in progress.

14.  Ferry buckets of water from the water to the parking lot, slowly filling up two coolers and a collapsible water jug. Get wet up to mid-thigh in the process.

15.  Answer questions from random passers-by, who say, "You know, you can just buy salt."

16.  Drive back to the ferry.  Stall on the steep ramp to the car deck because you're driving so slowly to avoid sloshing water all over, which is happening anyway, leaving a briny smell to the vehicle.  Make a few cars behind you back up and endure the kind condescension of the ferry worker, who is sure you haven't dealt with a stick shift before.

17.  Eat cake!

Oh, and then the rest:  cook at a 170 degrees for a few days.  Pictures to follow.

Finally legal

M. pretending to be a walrus at the beach yesterday, where we went to gather water to make salt.  

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Although I’m sure that no matter which babies had come into my life I would have made the best of it, I was lucky enough to birth two incredible people, the first being little M., who arrived exactly 21 years ago today. 

Before I had kids, I thought I was grown up, and I imagined myself teaching them things.  It turns out I had it completely wrong, and they’ve taught me more about life and love and forgiveness and just generally being decent than I even knew was out there.  The things I’ve taught them could be summed up in this list:

1. Try not to run out of toilet paper;
2. Never buy coffee from a drive-through box because it’s unclear where the barista goes to the bathroom, and the coffee usually has an odd flavor;
3. Put the heavy stuff on the part of the tray that’s closest to you;
4. Be good to your sibling because you may need his or her kidney some day;
5. Never scrimp on olive oil, and in general, don’t be a cheapskate with your things or your feelings or your good will.

What I’ve learned from my young people is immeasurable, and has changed my life from black and white to full color, which sounds like a cheesy Hallmark sentiment, but it’s absolutely true, and at the risk of embarrassing little M. on her birthday, I will tell this story about her.  

When she was about 13, I don’t even remember what she had done, but it was something annoying and minor, and I responded with a ridiculous and attacking lecture.  If what she had done was leave a big mess in a common area, I might have said something like, “Really?  Does it seem like I want to spend my tiny amount of free time picking up after you?”

And instead of getting defensive, she came over and gave me a hug, and said, “I’m sorry, Mom.  I’ll clean it up.”  Which totally took the wind out of my irritated little sails, because it was so obvious who was the bigger person and who was the snarly emotional midget.

I asked her about it the next day.  “How were you able to respond to such an attacking comment so non-defensively?  It would have been totally legitimate for you to defend yourself by explaining your side of the story.”

“Well, my side didn’t really matter then.  If something I’ve done has hurt someone I love, I don’t get to decide whether they should feel upset. They do, and that’s all that matters.  So, I didn’t feel sorry as if I’d done something wrong, I just felt sorry that you were upset, so it was pretty easy to apologize and really mean it.”

Anyway, that’s what that’s what it’s been like to have this particular person as a daughter.  She’s showed me what it looks like to try hard at everything, and to be kind and thoughtful and forgiving, and I hope that one day, I can be that sort of person too.

May the road rise up to meet you, M.  Happy Birthday.

Free Horoscopes!*

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): You courageous people can think about Harriet Tubman this week, that notable Aries who guided 300 slaves to freedom without losing a single one.  Lead just one slave to freedom this week, even if it's metaphorical.  Harriet was known to carry a gun, and if a slave was considering giving up, she'd say, "go on with us or die." You don't need to take it that far.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Lisa Nowak is Taurus of the week.  In case you've forgotten, she's the astronaut who donned a diaper and latex gloves, packed a bb gun, stole a car, and set off for Orlando to kidnap her bf's new gf.  She's not some pansy-ass, home-alone-on-the-computer stalker.  Lisa is a woman with guts and a plan.  If you're gonna be a stalker, really go for it.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Gemini, did you know that there are entire websites devoted to how to attracting you?  It's true. Judy Garland was one of you, and in honor of how quickly the earth is hurtling around these days, I thought' I'd share Judy's little known quote:

"What are we doing flying around in airplanes? The birds don't even go that high! You have to strap yourself in and HOPE...and there's no hope and NO OXYGEN! I have to make friends with the pilot, whereupon he tells me that his children are just as important to him as mine are...forget it! His life isn't NEARLY as important as my life is to me."

 Be safe in your travels, and keep that hopey changey stuff alive.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: The beautiful Cancer, Elizabeth Edwards, said “Resilience is accepting your new reality, even if it's less good than the one you had before. You can fight it, you can scream about what you've lost, or you can accept that and try to put together something that's good.” Assemble the pieces you've been handed into art, the way you usually do.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Diana Nyad is one amazing Leo who finds inner resources that most of us can't even see with a telescope (or an otiscope, for that mater). But more than that, she's just so gracious and humble. As you swim through the cold, exhausting, shark-infested waters of your life this week, dig deep, and slap on the oxygen mask when you need it.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Frequently, as part of my job, I drive down weird dead-end roads in sketchy rural areas, the kind where I often find myself thinking, if I had a body in the trunk to dispose of, this would be the spot.  The kind of road with plentiful signs saying keep out, beware of dog, beware of whacko with gun, I read the constitution, by god, and so on. When you get to the end of that road, park, and get out of the car, if the guy in the tee-shirt and suspenders staring at you from the porch calls off his big dog, well, that's as good as it's gonna get. Celebrate the calling off of the dogs, Virgo.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Yesterday, I was offered gifts from two different applicants: a cup of coffee at someone's house that I had to visit, and a small home-grown squash from a different person. I turned down the coffee, perhaps because I was kind of scared to go in the house with the giant Confederate flag stapled to the side. But the squash, well, it seemed like a gray area, and if someone drives to Renton with a homegrown butternut squash, it's kind of jerky to be all "sorry, that would be an ethics violation." Which is worse, and ethics violation, or a manners violation? So I accepted the squash, and put it on my head and tried to walk directly to my bosses office to confess. It fell off about 8 times, so it was a bit bruised when I arrived.

"I accepted this gift. Please add that to any investigations that are going on."

"Well, you can keep it as long as you either put it in a common area for all of us to enjoy, or donate it to charity."

"Does the top of my head count as a common area?"

He gave me that look, like "what exactly are you supposed to be doing right now?", so my squash and I left, not in a sulky way, but more in a, sure, I'll go back to my box and type, if that would make you happy sort of way.  But my point, Libra, is if you know of any charities that are looking for a small, slightly bruised butternut squash, about the size of two clenched fists, please let me know.  And, see if you can make the world the kind of place where ethics and manners violations match up better.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Did you know that Marie Curie was a Scorpio?  I know!  That doesn't surprise me at all.  Here's what she said:

"You cannot hope to build a better world without improving the individuals. To that end each of us must work for his own improvement, and at the same time share a general responsibility for all humanity, our particular duty being to aid those to whom we think we can be most useful."

That must be just the way Scorpios roll, because you guys are so freakin' cool.  Keep it up.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Tina Brown, a notable Sagittarius person, said, "Powerful women always interpret hostility as unrequited love.”  Now that's talent, Sag.  Turn it around, make whatever you get into something awesome.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  I feel the need to mention Iben Browning here, a Capricorn who boldy (but alas, inaccurately) predicted a giant earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri, where the huge earthquake occurred in 1699, the one that caused the Mississippi to run backwards.  Iben, well, he missed some key facts in his scientific research, and let belief obscure fact, but still.  Be bold, without the hubris.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): That other Aquarius, Christine Lagarde, has quietly and gracefully taken the helm of the IMF from the disgraced DSK, after his questionable liasion with the chambermaid.  I think Christine's going to change the world in a good way, and so are the rest of you Aquarii.  This is a good week for getting stuff done.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  You sensitive Pisces can be overwhelmed by the weight of the world, but luckily, you fishy people hang out in water, where everything seems a lot lighter, almost as if you were on Mercury without the melting wings problem.  Patty Hearst was a Pisces too, and besides all the other stuff, she is one creative human who cares deeply about all manner of things, and got us all thinking about Stockholm Syndrome.  Be light, play in water, don't let your wings melt, keep caring.  Oh, and don't forget to breathe. 

*Do people ever pay for horoscopes?

Lizard's Thicket

Has anyone eaten at the Lizard's Thicket?  Click that link and watch the slide show at the top,  at least until you get to the "Macaroni and cheese is a vegetable" sign.  If you have a few more seconds (which of course you do, you're here, right?), watch the "Country Cooking Makes You Good Looking" show on the left, becauase it's also pretty damned awesome.

I started out watching the clip of Rick Perry's slip up last night over and over, and noticed on the side bar that Michelle Bachmann will be hosting a Meet and Greet at Lizard's Thicket tonight, which made me curious, more as a biologist than a citizen.  What is the natural habitat of the Tea Partiers?  What do they eat, what do they look like?  Now I've spent way longer on the Thicket website than is healthy or normal.  I don't  have time to post anything else here because I have to go directly back back to watch more videos of kids eating vegetables.  Fried chicken is a vegetable too!  Ok, gotta go.

Homage to the lurky moon

I was trying to find something to write about this morning, so I visited E-bro to check my blood pressure and see what’s going on.

“Are you seriously going to update your blog every day?”

“Um, that’s the goal.”

“Were you drunk or something when you decided to do that?”

“No.  I just thought it would be good to put a lot of effort in.  But it turns out that I’m not really putting much effort into the writing part.  I’m just walking around panicking a lot, wishing I could think of something to write, and then slapping a post together at the end of the day.”

“Oh.  You could write about my new bandaids.  They’re pre-loaded with Neosporin. And you’ll like this:  one end is longer and tapers to a point for improved wrapping.  You can also talk about how I wore it in the shower, even though I know better, because there’s always that moment when you think, ‘oh, it will dry really fast’ but it never does. It just gets soggy and gross.”

“Um, okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”  My blood pressure turned out to be slightly high, maybe because we were in a little argument about whether people switch ears when they use the phone.  I’m of the opinion that people have two ears: their phone ear, and the other one, but E-bro got on the internet and found all kinds of information on earbidextrous people, which I still don’t think is a real thing.

As I walked back to my cubicle I noticed an odd high-pitched squeaking.  I thought I was possibly being followed by a stealthy squeaky person, because when I stopped to listen, the noise stopped.  This seemed like good news for the blog, but it turned out to just be my shoe. [By the way, I feel compelled to let you know that the “Q” key is really sticky because I spilled some of that apple glop I wrote about the other day on the keyboard, and although I have no regrets because that apple was so good, I won’t be using the word “squeaky” as much as I’d like.]

Just about then, I got paged to go to the Permit Center.  The man waiting for me wasn’t our typical customer, possibly because he was carrying a fair amount of luggage, and looked like maybe he lived outside.  When he first started to talk, his voice was extremely squeaky (there’s that Q again), exactly like my shoe but about 7 times louder, which was still very quiet.  For a burly guy in a wool coat, the voice was surprising, but after he used it for a few sentences, it sounded pretty good. Almost like he could be on the radio.   I’ve never talked to someone like that before, who starts out with a quiet skreaky (see how I avoided the Q?) mouse-like voice, and warms up into a rich baritone. It made me a little sad, because it seemed possible that years had gone by without him uttering a sound.  The first few words reminded me of the pump at the cemetery where my grandfather isn't buried, but should be.

“I’d like to get an environmental assessment done.  Do you have grants that could make that a reality?” All squeaky and high pitched.

“Uh, no.  We don’t offer grants. Really, though, you want to get an environmental assessment done?”

“Well, it was a dream of mine,” he said in a really nice voice, “but I guess it won’t be happening.”

He stood up and left, and I wasn’t really sure what just happened, but if I had to guess, I’d say he was homeless and came inside to get warmed up, because it didn’t make any sense.  In thirteen years, that's my first time meeting someone who's dream is to get the government involved with their property.  It would be like asking for colonoscopy grants  -- "It's a dream of mine to fast, and then drink a nasty liquid that will cause diarrhea, and then have a crew of strangers insert a small camera into my rectum.  Do you have grants for that?"  I wish I had kept him talking for a while, or maybe invited him to join N. and me for coffee when we went a few minutes later, because we talked about fishing, and I think he would have liked that. 

I know, you’re still wondering why you’re reading this, and I can’t answer that, but I will tell you why I’m writing.  I’m writing because I’m trying to savor the tiny things that happen each day that aren’t particularly noteworthy.  I’m trying to pay homage to that lurky second moon that surprises me each time, dancing around in it’s own random orbit.  It’s that second moon that creates the magic in my life, and it seems like a good idea to notice the moments as they tumble at me, one after the next.

Thanks for reading.