Struggle for Good? Good Struggle?

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled. For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers.”
M. Scott Peck

 

I am currently reading The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck and am coming to terms with some facets of my personality I have never really acknowedged before. I believe I have a "giving-up neurosis." When I try to understand "why" I am stumped. I had a very supportive and loving family. I had a mother who was my best friend and was there for me, almost to her own exclusion. I did not doubt that I was securely loved. So, what might my "traumatic injury" be?

Then I started thinking about the moves. The sheer number of times I moved and left friends, sitters, teachers, neighbors, etc. Could it be that by moving on over ten times throughout my childhood caused me to have a problem with letting go? I'm sure it's possible. To a child, is a move where everything past is gone, never to be seen again, any different than a death?

Then I think about how I parent my child who has a personality like my own: Liam. He is overwhelming in his need for constant engagement. I am firm with him and forced to say things to him that a parent hopes to never have to say to their child. Things like, "Son, I am doing my own thing, you do your own thing and no, I do not want to hear about it." or "Please, for the love of all that is good and holy, please, please, please stop talking and go away." It's just too much.

When I think of how I was treated, it's not ever badly, but there was certainly a desperate need for escape on my mother's part at times. She would "conveniently" need to do laundry on the other end of the house and spirit quietly away while I was otherwise engaged. I'm sure she, like me, prayed that an engaging show would come on TV. Anything for a break.

Could that have had an impact? Maybe, the key is not to know WHY the problem exists, but to just know that it does. Maybe the thing on which I need to work is the letting go. I cannot tenaciously hold fast to everything or I will drown...like a hot air balloon, trying desperately to float, some baggage must be released.

And so I conclude with another Peck quote....one that seems to wrap it all up nicely with a bow...

“We must be willing to fail and to appreciate the truth that often "Life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived."”

Of Wood-Stock

I was asked to write about this by a fellow blogging friend, so I will. It's always been one of my guilty pleasures, to shock people with my "Conceived at Woodstock" credential. In some crowds, it buys me instant coolness. In other crowds, I have to quickly back pedal and tell that other side of the story.

My parents lived in Chappaqua, NY. They were both from decently well-off families. They asked their parents if they could go to this concert they saw advertised in the back of LIFE magazine. They sent away for tickets. They were 18, just young-uns. My mom attended Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, my dad, Middlebury in Vermont. They had been high school prom dates and sweethearts. It was the summer of love, 1969, and they were no exception.

Unlike some of the hippies who headed up to New York for the big gig, my parents were Boy Scout prepared. They had coolers, a tent, firewood, Swiss Army knives, an axe, food for armies...basically supplies up the wazoo. They even had bathing suits so they could be the only ones depicted in bathing suits in that ever-famous nude-mud-orgy bathing hole picture that is on the cover of at least one Woodstock coffee table book. Somewhere, in that picture is a rather tall leggy fellow (6'5") and his adorable Polly Pocket girlfriend (5'3"). They kind of stand out.

A couple of years back, they gave me their original Woodstock program for a Christmas gift. Sadly, their tickets (which of course never got ripped or punched) got misplaced over the years. I do actually remember seeing them. I also think I remember seeing some sort of a parking pass, which of course also became moot. Wish we had all that memorabilia now, though.

They stories they remember are chaotic and have come to me through the years like colorful snapshots. The two I remember best were when they had cooked up their steaks on their portable grills, how the hippies gathered zombie-like at their "campsite" to try and get handouts and when an errant zombie hippie wandered into their tent while they were having a real "sumer of love" moment. Let's just say, "Get out hippie guy! There's a baby to be conceived here!" I will remain eternally grateful for that tent my parents packed and took with them that offered them (however incomplete) shelter and privacy. Without it, I might not be here.

How To Derail Your Work Day...From An Expert...

Is there a world record for procrastination? How about dorkiness? Quirkiness? Nature loving? Pretty sure not, but I would be up there among the finalists...there is, however, a world record for "largest oak leaf" which I have just SHATTERED. Sorry little Plebon boy...I blew the doors off your record.

Carrots or Candy Bars?

Today I learned a new categorization. I think a friend of a friend made it up, but I'm sure all my myriad readers will inform me if this is not the case and this is indeed a social maxim I have missed. Anyhow, apparently women can be categorized quite simply as carrot sticks or candy bars. Carrot sticks are wholesome, good for you, healthy choices. Candy bars are sinful, tasty, ephemeral and bad for you. If you are a man and you categorize women like this, shame on you....but, do tell me where I stand on your continum. If you are woman, ask your man. Am I a carrot stick or a candy bar? Turns out I am carrot cake...interesting...

Lovely Innocence

Most of our deepest family conversations happen as we are bopping along on country roads in the Volvo...for example, yesterday I found out that my daughter wants to kiss a boy in her class! Gulp. This conversation was no exception.

Liam: "There is a boy in school who says that two boys cannot get married."

Elena: (piping right up indignantly) "You KNOW they can, Liam. What about Doug and Kyle? Or even T and A who are geting married soon?"

Liam: "Hmmmmmm..."

Me: "Maybe that boy comes from a family who does not believe that two men should marry each other. Not every body believes it is right. Like your Grammy Gill does not believe it is right. Her religion says it is not right."

Elena: (incredulous and getting feisty) "WHAT???!?!! What if when I grow up I want to marry a girl?"

Me: "Well, then you would be doing what you want and believe and not what others or Grammy Gill want or believe. That's what you have to do with love, follow your heart and your beliefs."

Tuning In to Tune Out

When you never watch TV, or rarely do...What happens?

When we moved to the Mountain, I decided to subtly encourage less TV watching as a family by discontinuing all live TV. We still have Netflix available for those long rainy weekends or parenting FAIL moments, but for the most part we live without TV. This means, for me, I live without the opiate of the masses. Without the distraction of a good plot or a steamy character interaction. There are pros and cons.

On the positive side, I am never lulled into inactivity by wanting to catch the end of a show, a movie or  just by the droning box. My kids choose to play outside much, much more than they used to. I get outside and hike much, much more than I used to. I read and find other diversions that are almost as distraction, without as much soul sucking.

On the negative side, however, I find my mind to be overactive. I seem to build stories and create long tales in my head. Thoughts are creative and sometimes my own created thoughts are killing me. It would be nice to plug into a TV show or two and just tune out. I miss the tuning in to tune out.

The ways I tune out as of late are far less socially acceptable than a person watching a TV program. When I was little, if my dad was watching a game or a show, we would be shushed, or told, "You make a better door, than a window" if we passed in between him and the screen. When you are lost in thought, daydreaming or texting on your phone, just try and hold up a hand to shush someone. See how that goes over.

So yeah, I am becoming far more addicted to my iPhone. Really, who needs to proudly say they have no TV if they are constantly staring into the tinier screen of their iPhone?

The New Mid-Life Crisis

The new mid-life crisis is not about money. It's not about acquisition of a new Ferrari or an extravagant vacation. Lord, wouldn't that be simple. Would that we could go back to the vapidness of the 80's. I wish a fur coat or a yacht would solve these crises. So, what ARE they about? As a 42-year-old woman, I feel I can speak to this because I have found myself in the middle of one for the past few years. The new mid-life crisis is still about wealth, but it's about personal wealth, personal value and self-worth.

Maybe the old mid-life crisis and the new mid-life crisis were both about self-worth, it's just that one generation was easily appeased by throwing a Porsche at it? I don't know. What I do know is that a lot of my peers and I are experiencing similar feelings of restlessness, wanderlust and a feeling like "something is missing." What do we have to figure out? What is it we need? Our answers do not fall in the material world. I have seen mission trips, religion, new jobs, starting new businesses, outreach programs, and other "solutions" abound.

I, myself, have been searching to fill my restlessness with many things: numerous projects, church, a new job, quitting my stable job, relationships, writing, hiking... I am seeking to understand what the restlessness is saying and to quiet it. I want it to shut up. God and being in nature are the closest I have come to being able to silence its needy voice. What do you need? What do I need to do? I am trying to just be...live in the moment and batten down the hatches until I again can attain a feeling of serenity and calm. I'm getting closer. The less I seek, the more I seem to find. It's really very ironic.

I do wonder though, if our stereotypical 80's mid-lifers rode around in their Ferraris with a bad taste in their mouths thinking, "I thought this was going to help..." At least I my Band Aids aren't costing me $100,000!

I Get It...Life's Not Fair

If it's not one thing, it's another.

It's a Constant Battle of Wills

Once, a long time ago, I led a group of people at church in the "Alpha" program. This program was for Episcoplalian churches to host small dinners and for church members to invite their questioning friends to come and ask their questions. I, with another gentleman, ran a small discussion group. I remember one night in particular we discussed the issue of control. How we always want to believe we have control over our lives, but how we are so much better off when we give God the reins.

The example I brought as an analogy to teach this group is still one I think of when I am trying to remember to let God lead. It requires some knowledge of antiquated computer systems. Back in the day, there used to be a computer help desk in Toronto that would assist us in our remote NYC office by tapping into our computer. The technology (called PC Anywhere) was one of the first remote access computer softwares. In order to enable someone to use it on your machine you had to do three things:
1) Ask for help
2) Open the connection and let the help desk have access to your mouse and keyboard
3) NOT touch your own mouse or keyboard and trust their ability to fix the problem
If you held onto the mouse while they were also trying to drive, you would be stuck in a deadlock. No one would be helping. If you let go of the mouse and let them drive, their (much more complete knowledge) could quickly solve the problem. It was hard to continue to remember to not touch the keyboard or mouse....it was hard to remember that you were not the one driving, but if you could, you would realize you were in safe and capable hands and the problem was on its way to being solved.

Just this weekend, my mom told me of a sermon at her church where the minister said, "Goodness! I am so glad God is in charge or I would be worried and freaked out all the time." When I find myself worried and freaked out, I look down to see that the reins are in my own hands or that I am grabbing the mouse...I toss them up gleefully and ask God's help in my giving it all over to Him.

Yesterday, I realized I was again trying to convolute everything...trying to corral matters and events to go a certain way like an errant sheepdog. I went hiking and through walking and praying gave it all over AGAIN relinquishing control. Within two hours, I had two calls for job interviews...the first in quite some time.

Tis Merely a Flesh Wound...

Lately life has been handing out a lot of lemons...I feel like every time I start to buoy up, I get chopped off at the knees...truncated. I have numerous times remembered The Black Knight from Monty Python. I am trying to maintain a sense of humor about things. In case you live under a rock, here is the scene:

My positive attitude and buoyancy has had about all it can take at this point. I am laid low. I thought about taking a personal inventory of 2012, but felt that was really dwelling in the negative. Per my mother's advice, I toss out prayers at the situation constantly. By my own advice, I am hiking the hell out of myself. And the advice continues to pour in, for which I am grateful. If I felt I were fighting this battle with no one in my corner, it would be next to impossible.

Anyhow, I promise, Kiki with the sarcasm and ridiculous observations should be back soon. Just as soon as I find a way out of this here quicksand.

Why I Should NEVER Worry About Alone Time

Never, Ever, Ever...

Make a video - it's fun, easy and free!
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Alone vs. Lonely

Have I written about this before? I'm sure I have. It's such a pervasive theme in my life. As I age and get oh so much wiser, I try to remind myself of the distinction between being lonely and being alone. In my mind, being lonely is feeling the absence of people, whereas being alone is just being in the absence of people. Being lonely involves feeling left out, being alone involves no relation to others, just to oneself. My brain sometimes fritzes and confuses the two, however.

When I was five years old, my parents both had the stomach flu and were down for the count. I was left to my own devices. I was an imaginative and creative child who did ok playing on my own sometimes, but liked to be around people. My parents' absence was poignantly felt. I am told I went into their room and told them "I feel forgetted." I would say for me loneliness is always an echo of that feeling - feeling forgetted. I HATE feeling forgetting. It makes me desperate and insecure. It brings out my controlling side. It is my greatest adult struggle...to not worry about "being forgetted" by people. To just be. To not control. To live in the moment.

Sometimes, when I am presented with "alone time" it feels like a wonderful gift. I am a mother of two small children. There is not much I get to do alone...EVER. I relish vacuuming and mowing the lawn for the silence of the white noise it provides. When alone time comes I usually am thrilled to spend it reading, writing, sitting in quiet or catching up on housework without being followed by two tiny homewreckers. It's all good.

On Saturday night, it was not good. I'm not sure why. I think my brain got confused and thought I was being forgetted and not just being gifted some much needed space from the world. Or, perhaps after years of freaking out over being left in the dust, I am just programmed to panic when faced with a Saturday night alone? Saturday night is just such a BIG night...you're supposed to have something BIG to do.

It all started with a tornado warning and some hefty storms rolling in. We live on a mountain and my children are deathly afraid of storms. They asked to go stay off mountain at Grammy and Grampy's house. I obliged, not wanting to listen to constant fretting, weather reports and upset all night. When I found out they would be leaving, I attempted to find something BIG to do. Despite valiant efforts, I could scare up nothing to do. Not a thing. Not a friend. Not a person was around to play.

Although this made me feel incredibly lonely and restless for a while, I then looked inside and tried to see why it was making me feel this way? I decided to sit home alone with the insecurity and loneliness. And do you know what? As soon as I made the choice to sit with the feelings, the loneliness turned from loneliness into a welcome feeling of peaceful aloneness.

Maybe there is one more facet to the difference between feeling lonely and alone....lonely feels out of your control, being alone feels like a choice. A healthy choice. A peaceful choice...even on a Saturday night.

I Would Never Be a Member of Any Club that Would Have Me As a Member...

Read that title in your best W.C. Fields voice while twiddling your cigar because it sounds a whole lot more authentic that way. I often struggle with this W.C. Fields quote. Although I believe it was delivered EXTREMELY facetiously, there is some real truth behind this statement. I live in fear of that truth. Let me explain.

I have always had a pretty healthy self-esteem, but do have my really insecure moments. Don't we all?. As a woman, I have the lovely gift of PMS once a month for a reliable monthly emotional housekeeping...a dose of humility and disenchantment. During this time, I am the closest to pessimist that I ever get. It's often during this time I find myself attempting to answer the hard questions. This month's quandary was one with which I have struggled many times over, each time coming to different conculsions and spurring additional questions.

The dilemma is this. I am attracted to the people I have to chase. I like people who are stingy with showing their love for me. I always preferred the friends who were interpersonally challenging...alternately pissing me off and hurting me, as much as there for me. The fallow periods in my friendships made the times together that much more exciting and elating. I have preferred love relationships of a similar ilk. If a friend or lover is one who thinks I am their world, I run screaming...I turn into a shrew, eventually being so mean and discontented, I frighten them away. My intention must be TO frighten them away. It's all I can figure.

Many a potential partner has come into my life and taken up the goal of sowing stability and consistency in my life. Thinking I need it desperately, they think infusing constancy will be their ticket to success...Little do they know, though I may respond favorably at first, I will only like it for about six months. Unless, they are emotionally unavailable, mysterious or otherwise provide a psychological enigma for to solve, I will not be able to handle the stability. I will become so bored. I will create drama out of stability...a very unhealthy kind of relationship pattern. I LIKE the seismographic ups and downs.

So, back to my opening statement. I live in fear of W.C. Fields' statement about never being a member of any club that would have me as a member. Why? Because I sometimes forget all of the above truths about myself. That I love the ups and downs. That I like people who are more unavailable. That I enjoy people who are "projects" and provide me with intellectual fodder. I forget all that...especially certain times of the month, and I worry that I am just a broken little girl who only wants to be with people who treat her like she is less than special. I worry (on my worst days) that I am ill equipped to accept love...it's like donning a wet, cold bathing suit...incredibly uncomfortable and impossibly hard to get in to. I worry that I would never be a member of any club that would have me as a member...even a club of two.

This month, I added another theory to why I might prefer these types of people. Maybe it's so much simpler than I ever thought. Maybe it's the old adage opposites attract. I am a confident, extroverted, oversharer. Maybe my "opposites" are always going to be a bit insecure, a bit introverted, a bit closed? Maybe it's as simple as liking that which I am not? Maybe? Gosh I hope so, because someday I would like to find a club I can join, feel good about, and thrive in.

Struggling with My Addiction

Today, I left my phone at home. I am trying to remain more focused on work and in the moment. My phone is getting in the way of this. It seems a lot of the time I am not looking at a sunset and just seeing a sunset. I am looking at a sunset and seeing an opportunity to take a picture of a phenomenal sunset and share it and receive praise and kudos on it. As I confessed in the past, I am praise junkie. The instantly gratifying world of my iPhone and its highly connected communities feeds way too much into this need for attention. I don't even seem to have the self-discipline to NOT be able to look at it. So. I left it at home.

On the ride in, I stared at the USB plug hanging from the lighter hole in the car and came up with a pretty funny country song. A song about a longing naked dongle feeling empty and wishing it could plug into something...anything...Hey, I said it was funny, not quality.

A moment ago, I went and visited my phone via the iCloud "locate your phone" app. Yup, it's still there, at my home, right where I left. I imaing it cold and shivering. Pining away for my touch as well. Because that is how addicts are, obsessed with their drug of choice. I am going to leave it home whenever possible.Electrical impulses are ruling my life, my moods and my time.  I need to foster this letting go. (she says, from the keys of her laptop computer)

Reimagining the Past

For all of you children born in the 70's and growing up in the 80's and 90's, who remember junior high and high school without cell phones (and I am not counting here the cellular telephones that were as big as a suitcase and sat in your car between the front seats), here is a fun mind stretching exercise. Try to re-imagine events from your junior high and high school years with today's technology.

I tried this this morning while I was waking up. I wonder what would have happened if... Just try it....

Then, imagine some of your current relationships unplugged. How does it change them? I think a plugged in relationship is a neurotic relationship. Too many answers are expected. Too much "togetherness" is experienced, even though actual "togetherness" is probably lessened. In this world of constant noise and stimulation, do we really need our relationships to be one of the things blinging at us and demanding our attention?

And let's discuss for a moment the Mars/Venus equation in light of texting. How does a man EVER get to go into his cave a woman is constantly able to text at him there? What kind of electronic boundaries should exist in relationships? What kind of texting addictions are being born out of the constant need for attention? What cancerous perversions are cropping up?

Maybe I long for the simpler days. The days like when I was in my summer after ninth grade. A boy signed my yearbook. He wrote, "It was great getting to know you and we should go out this summer." He might have been being nice. I liked him. Maybe he would have asked me out. In the old days, it was more daunting to ask a girl out since you had to call her house and maybe catch a parent on the line. He never called.

But, after a little while, I forgot about him. I bumped into him once that summer. We had an awkward, blushy hello outside the movie theater. There was no personal phone number I could give him on which to reach me. I didn't have to feel the pain of no texting from him, or be on Facebook to see all the fun he had that summer with out me. I could continue to have my life. That was the beautiful thing about life before being plugged into everybody else. We lived our own lives. We knew what we wanted. We didn't have to text ten people to figure out what we wanted to do, we just decided what we were doing.

With a Little Shizzazz...

There is never any question in my mind that God exists. OK, well, sometimes I forget that I believe, but I always know I am in His care. Just this week, I had a chance to chuckle at how His plan is so intricate and yet perfectly simple at the same time. Well really there is nothing intricate, it's all simple. It's the not knowing in our heads...the creative thoughts born out of confusion, trying to make sense of it all, that complicates it. Sometimes, however, a moment comes along that is just so beautifully simple. All intricacy is suddenly distilled into one drop of simplicity.

So, now that I have built up your expectations. I will tell you about the moment.

This week, I was sweeping the deck. Liam thought it looked like fun. Huck Finn style, he begged me to take over. I was generous enough to share the joyful job of dancing around the deck with the broom, fighting large tree detritus with him. He took over just as joyfully. His sister, always a skeptic, ever the realist, looked on with disdain.

Often, the complexity of the diametric opposite personalities of my children is something with which my brain perseverates. I can really hung up on it...struggling to figure out why one was given ALL the optimism and the other ALL the pessimism. One ALL the extroversion, the other ALL the introversion. One is food motivated and struggles with weight, one has to be encouraged to eat and is a beanpole. And the list goes on and on this way. It's challenging, it's like they each require different parenting. And yet, they have only me most of the time. But I digress...

So, here is Liam sweeping the porch as if he were swordfighting or at play. And here is Elena, getting more and more annoyed at his glee. Until she cannot stand it.

Elena: "Liam, you know NO ONE likes to sweep. It's not something people enjoy. It's a chore. It's stupid."

Liam: "I'm making it fun...I'm adding a little shizzazz into it to make it fun."

I love that he doesn't really pay any mind to his sister's wheedling. I love that he makes his own fun. I love that he makes up a word for his own fun. But, I also love that she sets him straight. She's always there to make sure he knows what the world expects of him. That he might not want to pick his nose in public, or wear his "lambie" pajama pants that are two sizes too small out to church, or eat with his fingers.

I love his shizzazz and I love her thoughtful and pedantic way with him. She wants to protect him against the side of him that is too quirky to be appreciated by most of this world. I believe this is God's beautiful plan. Although I sometimes wish they were more alike and there was some degree of moderation in their personalities, He sent them to be foil characters for each other. No sense in fighting it. It just is what it is.

The promise of a day

Like thick full clouds

That overfill the morning valley.

With the dawn's light warmth,

Dissipate,

Disappear,

Giving way

To what will be.

Our Shadow Sides

"One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious."

Oh Jung! I never knew you. In some ways, I am glad. In other ways, I suppose it was a necessary step that I come to know you. Let me begin at the beginning so as to not lose anyone along the way...

Once upon a time, there was girl. This girl understood a lot about herself. She worked on digging the dirt out of her subconscious "nails" and attempted to figure out what her darkest and least desirable traits were. She stumbled blindly along this path for years...she read books. She saw therapists. She took prescripted drugs. She flippantly jested with friends about her shortcomings and foibles. She was aware of what was lurking there, or that something was lurking there at least.

Then one day, she was reading a book by M. Scott Peck and she read of the Jungian concept of our shadow self: our denied subconcious, our darkness, our struggle.As he put it, those of us who are the most in touch with our shadow selves are the most good and those of us who are the least in touch with our shadow selves, the most evil. This intriqued me, I researched more.

From Wikipedia:
"The shadow personifies everything that the subject refuses to acknowledge about himself" and represents "a tight passage, a narrow door, whose painful constriction no one is spared who goes down to the deep well".[17] If and when 'an individual makes an attempt to see his shadow, he becomes aware of (and often ashamed of) those qualities and impulses he denies in himself but can plainly see in others — such things as egotism, mental laziness, and sloppiness; unreal fantasies, schemes, and plots; carelessness and cowardice; inordinate love of money and possessions — ...[a] painful and lengthy work of self-education".[18]

And from John Elder:

"The Shadow describes the part of the psyche that an individual would rather not acknowledge. It contains the denied parts of the self. Since the self contains these aspects, they surface in one way or another. Bringing Shadow material into consciousness drains its dark power, and can even recover valuable resources from it. The greatest power, however, comes from having accepted your shadow parts and integrated them as components of your Self."

I also was not aware of the fact that Jung was the one I had to thank for the concept of "projection." By projecting those darknesses from our shadow selves onto others (who are displaying similar, if not the same, negative characteristics) we are able to chide and to some extent release a bit of our own dark side. Terrific.

The range of what we think and do

is limited by what we fail to notice.

And because we fail to notice

that we fail to notice

there is little we can do

to change

until we notice

how failing to notice

shapes our thoughts and deeds.

-R.D. Laing

This leaves me feeling grim. That I have more muck and mire to wade through before reaching an enlightened state is not news to me, but every time I am reintroduced to this concept, I am disturbed by it. Sigh....Oh Jung...why couldn't you have been a bit more of an optimist?

Favorite Kindergarten Memories

Awkward kindergarten misspellings...although, the rest of this said "I like to cum home because I get to see my mommy"

 When I am 100, I will wear a plaid shirt. (Because Liam has a real thing for color. He wants ALL colors ALL the time. Rainbows are his favorite and red must always reside next to black).

 Favorite Movie? Cars Fre (Cars Three).

"Liam, why are there little people hanging out on your letters?"



Liam: "Because I was making them into something real. When I make the letters into something, writing is easier for me."



The teacher did not suggest this. My little creator!

Another creation...finally, Liam got the hang of representational drawing...and all of a sudden was drawing complex cityscapes.

Speaking of "Little Creator" - LEAST favorite kindergarten memory....Lady MacBeth blood bathroom courtesy of one Liam Gill:

 

But, in the end it's all worth it.

Sculpey Phases



These are NOT my Sculpey desserts, however, they could have been...apparently, when faced with tiny blocks of brightly colored clay and a penchant for tiny dessert creation, there are some major themes in the outcomes. Strawberries on top, chocolate swirls, cakes cut in half...seriously could have been a plate of my little Sculpey baked goods, not a Google image search.

In my family I am known for many things. I am the oldest of three girls. I am also the dorkiest, most extroverted and quirkiest of three girls. I was an art major at Skidmore College where I remember a teacher of one of my printmaking courses defining art as the "sustaining of a creative idea over time until it has lost all its creativity" (or some such, I am paraphrasing after 20+ years, please forgive the dotty mind). So, I am either a REAL artist or...anyhow...I digress. In my family, I am also famous for my Sculpey phases.

The first Sculpey phase was of course a time of creative expression with Sculpey polymer clay. Let's not focus on the fact that the only creative output was tiny food (as if I were bedecking a dollhouse bakery in cakes and cookies), no, let's not focus on that tiny detail. Let's instead choose to focus on the process. The process is something that is repeatable and has nothing to do with the medium at all. My life has been a daisy chain of these phases of new and exciting explorations, of which Sculpey was merely one.

2011 was the year of the Shrinky Dink. Shrinky Dink charms, Shrinky Dink ornaments, Shrinky Dink geocaching medallions, even a paid gig making Shrinky Dink realistic bird necklaces for a wildlife refuge. Unfortunately, this phase passed before the reorder came in from the refuge and now I sit procrastinating taking out the Shrinky Dink set...oh, and it is a set mind you! When I am in the throes of a "phase" there is no end to number of tools, supplies and craft carriers I need to cart my phase around with my everywhere!

2012 ushered in the phase of the terrarium. It started when my friend said she had been wanting to make mini-terrariums for some time and encouraged me to check them out on Pinterest. First tiny mosses and forest plants were found and a few glass jelly jars scrubbed out to house them. They were adorable! Tiny little magical worlds that captured the imaginations of me and my children. Something to do when I wasn't working at my new business working from home. I was hooked.

Next I found myself at every Goodwill in the tristate area, combing the glassware sections for the perfect terrarium containers, at local hikes hunting new tiny sprouts, and at the nearby garden shops rounding out the terrariums with some store bought plants. Succulents, palms, angelwing plants...Antique jars, boxes of mason jars, apothecary jars. Anyone who has known me in the last six months, has probably received a terrarium I made, or made one with me.

Yesterday, I walked by the terrarium "center" on the front stoop and realized I hadn't made one in a month. And another Sculpey phase passes...I wonder what is next?

Yes Virginia, Er Liam, I Do Believe...

'

So, Liam hops into the car after his after school program and a long freaking day at school. He, the opposite of 50% of this family, gets more and more keyed up by expending energy with people all day long and getting tired. In fact, the more tired he gets, the more impossible it is to get him to a) make sense and b) shut up...a lovely combo at bed time, but I digress. This is not about his personality or sleep issues, nor mine, this is about something he said to me right as he hopped into the car after day care. Right, back to that...

"Mom, not everybody believes in Santa, right?" Says Liam, innocently probing his inveterate honest mother.

After thanking the baby Jesus for letting him ask me in such a way that there was an easy truthful answer, I slowly proceed, "Yes Liam. Not everybody believes in Santa..." Then, I wait...knowing he's tired and talkative, he will fill in the blanks without me saying a thing...I am just hoping he doesn't go there. You know where. To that no-man's land of white lies all parents dread. Yes, there is a Santa. Yes, I believe in him. I start panicking that he will indeed go there, so I head him off at the pass, "Do you believe in Santa guy?" (did I mention Elena was also in the vehicle?)

"YES!" They shout, the relief palpable in their voices.

Phew, I breathe a silent sigh of relief and head down a gleeful path with them, "Yes, you will find kiddos that in this world there are believers like us and skeptics. Do you know what a skeptic is?" They both shake their heads. I explain, "A skeptic is a doubter. One who has trouble believing. It's ok though, the world needs both believers and doubters. The doubters are the ones who question everything. They perform tests and do experiments and research. They search far and wide for answers. Sometimes they find they believers were right to have believed all along and sometimes they find the believers were not, but either way, they ask the questions, and that's ok. But, here, in this family, we are and have always been BELIEVERS, haven't we?"

"YES!!" They again are in complete agreement and completely happy to have their Santa intact and their beliefs safe and sound once again.

Happy Holidays.

Who Am I?

Last week, I went to a new psychiatrist. I had been going to my old one for eight years and never wanted to leave him, but he was seeing me for free and that arrangement wasn't really working out for him anymore. He always told me I was one of his "investments in the future." In other words, by working to help people, even if they couldn't pay, he was ensure the future success of our world. (Well, that was how I chose to interpret it. I suppose, it could have also been seen as a his investment plan...someday in the future, when he called in his debts, I would owe him a substantial amount of money...but, I digress.) This isn't about the old experience, but instead about the new.

My new shrink decided within a short period of time that I was bipolar. He's not the first to give me this moniker, so it was not as shocking as it probably could have been, but it was still a bit of shock. I know that I am a person with a lot of energy. Heck, I have to hike straight uphill every day for a couple of miles to be able to sit at my desk job all day. I might even characterize my personality as "bipolar manic" when I am excited about something or somebody. When I am engaged, watch out! And this new doctor engaged me making the likelihood that he would see me as completely insane all the more destined. We ended up having a two and a half hour session. We talked about his life and mine. We shared stories and theories. It was an enjoyable time for him and for me.

At the end of the meeting, a couple of doctorly truths were determined and stated:
1) You are bipolar, but I don't know how you have managed to survive and thrive so incredibly all your life...I don't know how you have been able to "pull yourself back from the brink" (he meant from the brink of an extreme bipolar manic flight or psychosis.)
2) No changes are going to be made to your medication because the regimine you are on obviously seems to work.

This all left me reeling.

In response, I had many questions that formed in the primordial soup of my brain over the next few days:
1) Why tell a person that they are diseased, if you cannot figure out how they have managed to avoid all the negative aspects of that disease?
2) If a person has been able to thrive and not suffer due to their disease, are they diseased?
3) Since I am on medication for depression, is that what has kept me from the "brink" or is it something else? God?
4) If nothing is changed in my "treatment" and nothing is changed by this meeting, other than the label I affix to myself, how and why does it change me at all?

It shouldn't. I am who I have always been. Hiking my mania/high-energy/busy-ness away and grounding and centering myself so I can live in a world with people who are not like me. No one is like me anyway, so why should I care?
(This post is dedicated to all the left siders everywhere living outside of the bell curve)

Grandmommy's Guest Book

Sometime back, I posted about Grandmommy's button box and how it used to entertain me for hours as a child. Equally entertaining to the adult me is her guest book (well, at this point really guest books since she has filled more than one). On the front hall table, which is a very traditional front hall table, there sits a very traditional, red guest leather guest book. The pages are onion skin thin and gold on the edges, and the book is completed filled, cover-to-cover with notes, quotes and well wishes from guest to my grandparents' houses over their lifetime.

Tonight, over my cousin's birthday, we got a little show and tell of some of the more exciting entries. Jim Lovell, who was the astronaut Tom Hanks played in Apollo 13, and others I can't seem to remember offhand. Tonight, the show and tell, was a note that was in the back of the guest book. I am posting a picture of the note and then below is the text transcribed in case you can't read it. It was from a friend of my parents' and a boyfriend of my aunt who wrote a letter for my grandfather so he could go down under the bridge in Paris and buy some weed. It was a letter "vouching" for his "coolness." It sets my imagination ablaze to imagine the conversations leading up to the writing of this letter and to wonder if the letter used...without further introduction:



This is XXXX X XXXX (my grandfather's name changed to protect the innocent). He'd like to get some dope off you (grass or hash only).

If you aren't paranoid about being approached by a straight looking, middle-aged guy trying to buy dope, you're a fool. But, he is your average IBM executive trying, and succeeding in bridging the generation gap.

This will be his first time, so give him at least a half an ounce of grass or two grams of hash. Just think if we can get all these guys turned on what a better place this would be.

Thanks alot (yes, he uses the dreaded ALOT). If you're ever in Boston, come out to Tufts University and look me up.

Peace,
XXXX XXXXXX

Strange Conditions...

Recently, while I was getting my haircut, I heard a very funny story regarding a condition caused by iPods. Do you remember when you were a kiddo and had bouts of swimmer's ear all summer long? Well, it's making a rigorous comeback throughout the land. Apparently people of all ages, especially in cities where donning of headphones before one leaves their house is key to survival, are getting swimmer's ear from not fully drying their ear canals after their morning shower and before inserting their rubbery ear buds. Doctors are seeing swimmer's ear crop up EVERYWHERE, at all times of year, with alarming prevalence. A new disease for adults. A very modern disease. A very hip one.

And then there's my texting wrist. Oddly, when I had my BlackBerry devices for years, I had NO wrist pain, but the slightly slender Droid Pro has sent my wrist into a tizzy. Goodgle "Droid" and "wrist pain" and you will see how popular this pain is. It's carpal tunnel syndrome attacking the masses. No longer just reserved for those with jobs requiring repetitive strain, we now have hobbies and methods of communication that cause repetitive strain. This isn't even considering the strain texting causes on relationships...

There have to be a myriad of other of these modern diseases that I have yet to hear about...Facebook depression? Xbox seizures? TV vision? Who can come up with some? How else is our modern technology harming us?

Happy Birthday to Me

It occurs to me that I am a special sort of bird. This thought occurs to me many times a day, but here, on my 41st birthday, it's again prevalent in my thoughts. Here's why...I am a person who usually throws my own birthday party. I don't plan it absurdly in advance, but at least weeks, and I usually throw it for a group of friends, family and family friends on the weekend closest to May 14th. Now maybe this isn't odd-bird behavior, but it's what I've always done. Perhaps it's because I want to make sure that the venue, food and company are exactly what I desire, or maybe it's because I am a control freak. Who knows? I just know that I almost always throw myself a party. This year, however, was an exception.

I'm not sure why, but I just didn't feel like celebrating. And, before you start supposing it's that the ripe old-bat age of 41 has got me down, think again. I have always believed birthdays are just a day to celebrate me and haven't really been hung up on the actual age since probably my 21st. Personally, I am only one day older than I was yesterday, when I would have called myself 40, so I am pretty sure it's not the trauma of turning 41.

And before you imagine me depressed and forlorn, sad and lonely, let me dash that imagine from your mind as well. Although I'm not feeling quite as upbeat and positive as usual, I am certainly not down in the dumps. I am just sort of low key. It's like I just eradicated any expectations for my birthday and then have been just sauntering through the day.

There's a part of myself that keeps checking in with myself to see if I am ok (those of you who are not as weirdly out of touch with your emotions, will not understand this statement, but those like me who need to literally "check in" with themselves to see what they are feeling, will totally get it), and my self seems to continue to say, "I am fine, just chilling, just calm. I am fine with spending the day with my kiddos doing family stuff. I'm ok with making my own birthday cupcakes. I'm even ok with cooking my own birthday dinner and doing loads of laundry and cleaning house on the auspicious occasion."

I wonder if this is what it's like to grow up completely? But then, one tiny little thought entered my brain and it's what drove me to write this blog. What if the only person who really wants to celebrate me IS me? What kind of a thought would that be? Depressing? Scary? Realistic? And, then I started to get kind of glum. Don't other people have friends who would be sure that they were not alone on their birthday night? Don't most people's friends throw them a party for their birthdays? Do mine not just becuase I always have done it myself?

But, my sisters both offered to come down and create a party around me. I declined.
A friend invited me over to have s'mores around her fire. I decided I would rather be home.

So, I sit here on the night before it (thankfully) is no longer my birthday and ponder, and being the ebullient optimist, I come to this conclusion:

I am an odd bird. I have always thrown my own parties with lots of friends of all walks and generations around me. Because I didn't do that this year, I am alone. No one is worried about me or concerned, because they know me. They all probably suspect I am having a wonderful dinner with friends, am being taken out, or am being treated like a queen. I would assume that as well. I'm the type to be out having a ball on my birthday. Oh well.

Happy birthday to me.

It's a Virtual Dinner Party

I was just thinking about Facebook yesterday: why I love it so, why it suits my personality and how I use it. I came to the conclusion that it's like a big online party where all the conversations that are being had are visible at the same time, all my friend groups, from all walks of life are there and I can ask any question and get a response at almost any time of day.

This weekend I saw a movie and they previewed another movie while I was there. I decided I REALLY want to see it. I immediately thought about posting it on Facebook..."Anyone see this yet?" On Facebook, the responses would most likely be many within minutes. If I wanted to efficiently accomplish this same goal at a party, I would have to wait until a weekend day when I was invited to a party, wait until the subject comes up in conversation, and then repeat this process and infinitum until I had found at least one person who had seen the movie. Wait. Wait. Wait. Anyone who knows me knows this is not a strength of mind, that thing called patience.

Facebook is a world of online gratification that is absolutely perfect for a praise junkie like me. I love to show and tell about my life. It can be a bit much, this passion I have for reporting on the details of my life, and Facebook it turns out, is a oversharer's paradise. I photograph pictures of my food (hey, I grew up in an Italian family who orbited around their next meals) and people "like" them or post about them. Some even tell me how crazy I am for always posting pictures of my food (like I don't know this).

Facebook is an outlet for my overzealous self-centeredness. But, ironically, it has helped me to be less self-centered and more self-confident in my offline life. People exposing their idiosyncratic thoughts, passions and quirks online has helped me immensely to deal with a host of inner wackiness. It's also a great place to try out jokes and stories. If you post something and it gets fifteen likes and a bunch of comments, maybe it's something that has been beta-tested and can be pulled through the looking glass and into real life.

Local Streets

When I was in high school, we had a talent show. One of the kid bands that performed was "Local Streets." I remember having no clue that that was a reference to the signs, as you are driving on the highway through the Bronx...instead of saying "bypass" and "business district," the signs that lead you off locally say "Local Streets" above them. Anyhow, this blog is not about bands, high school, or even New York City, it's about local streets.

Ever since I have started using GPS on my trips, I can stray. I am no longer prisoner to highways and easy routes. I can meander and get as lost as I want. I can explore and find little neighborhoods and town parks. I can feed my curiosity for finding out what an area is REALLY like. You probably suspect and maybe, if you travel a lot, know how similar the beltways, byways and suburbs of all US cities look from a fast moving car.

In a related post, I can also get myself into a completely dangerous neighborhood without having a clue beyond hearing gunshots and seeing women working the corners. There are both benefits and drawbacks to exploring the local color.

The Religion of Peeps

Or...false idols? Which is it? Peeps. They come out at Easter. Their advent, tortuous during Lenten restraint and fasting, eventually hails the coming of our Lord. Their bright, neon colors herald Easter morning...in uniform, marshmallowy lines, they patiently await the risen Christ. Alleluia.

Pretty over the top, no? Not to Liam. Liam, who does inherit his mother's tendency toward the obsessive, was completely and utterly locked onto the concept of Peeps on Easter morning. We even had a little altercation which ended in a packet of Peeps finding themselves dramatically at the bottom of the trash can. Liam could not escape his muse. Not fewer than a hundred times, he spoke of his love...Singing, muttering, and conversing of nothing but the small marshmallow birds for HOURS.

My favorite of all his lines was after I tried to insert a lesson between his courtly love songs. I tried to tell him that the Easter Bunny, like Santa, comes to help us celebrate. In this case, he helps us celebrate Jesus rising from the dead. Liam, wove this beautifully into his dramatic fawning. "Peeps are the greatest ever! They are the best at helping us remember Jesus!"

Clever boy. Peeps for Jesus. Way to find a loophole.

Wishful Thinking

Frederick Buechner, one of my all-time favorite religious writers, once changed my life with a little book called Wishful Thinking.

Today, this quote spoke to me...It reminded me of my gnawing hole theory from some time ago.

"Part of the inner world of everyone is this sense of emptiness, unease, incompleteness, and I believe that this in itself is a word from God, that this is the sound that God’s voice makes in a world that has explained him away. In such a world, I suspect that maybe God speaks to us most clearly through his silence, his absence, so that we know him best through our missing him."
— Frederick Buechner (Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons)

But, what I like about Buechner's quote is his absence makes the heart grow fonder supposition. This is not to say, "chuck God and all He is and you will find him." But, it is to say that there is a place in all of us that is empty and seeking. This drain hole, whirlpooling down, sucking into it all with which we would hope to fill it. Nothing fills it and it is precisely this that allows it to be filled so completely by God. Better contentment comes for having felt the panic and unease of that "gnawing hole" and its gnawing hold on us.

"Whether you call on him or don't call on him, God will be present with you."
— Frederick Buechner

Pivoting

This is my favorite week in the Christian calendar -- Holy Week. It holds on each side of it contrasts and marks our transition from death to rising, darkness to light, sin to grace. I love the wholesomeness of this week. You even get the bonus of a Passover seder supper thrown in in the middle quite often. It's like a round meal.

And of the entire week the precise pivot point that is my favorite is the Easter Vigil service. This is the moment when we await the moment of transition. The service is rich with symbolism. The lights are off, the altar is unseen, then, after the lessons are read, we celebrate the resurrection. Lights are flipped on, the music changes from solemn to ebulient. We walk away, basking in new life.

Matthew 28:1-10
Jesus Is Alive

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the tomb. And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, approached, rolled back the stone, and sat upon it.

His appearance was like lightning and his clothing was white as snow. The guards were shaken with fear of him and became like dead men. Then the angel said to the women in reply, "Do not be afraid! I know that you are seeking Jesus the crucified.

He is not here, for he has been raised just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay.

Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him.' Behold, I have told you." Then they went away quickly from the tomb, fearful yet overjoyed, and ran to announce this to his disciples.

And behold, Jesus met them on their way and greeted them. They approached, embraced his feet, and did him homage.

Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid. Go tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me."

I CANNOT WAIT!