heaven

what if there is no
real
separation between

heaven
and
here

me and you
snow and sun
light and dark
good and bad
them and us

what if it is as if
we are looking
very closely
at an impressionist
painting

and rather than a whole
we
see
individual dots
of color
smudges
contained within
something more

i suppose it's not wrong
to see
life
in
just
that way

just a way
one way
to see it

experience it

maybe knowing that
it is simply
one way
of
a
million
ways

would give us
freedom to

see
allow
enjoy
rejoice in
invite
accept

other ways
of
seeing
life

maybe that would be

heaven
.

my sister's house

i'm at my sister's house.

minnesota today
is beautiful.

snow falling in tiny fast falling wisps
that make you squint when you're
treading your way to the car.

i'm reminded of the joys
and challenges of
the kind of cold that makes
your nose hairs curl
and demands that
tootsies be well warmed
against
a fire
covered in thick wool socks
after the desperate relief of the
warmth
inside.

my sister's house.
is lovely.

always a pot of tea on the stove
josh groban melting hearts on
the cd player.
the tree silent with
warm glistening joy.
and Maggie
holding a pair of thieved
socks in her mouth
wagging her brown stump
with joy overflowing.

the giggle of ten year old
siblings
vying for attention
or the mastery of the
most recent gameboy acquisition.

my sister's house.
a perfect blend of
pottery barn and garage sale
treasures
seamlessly inviting
class and cozy.

The fire ablaze
battling the constant
chilled air
trying to slip from the insistent
minnesota december.

slippers
tea
fire
tree
dog
family

love.

my sister's house.

So do you.

i don't have kids.

for much of my adult life, i have worked in settings in which i didn' t
interact much with children. People that behave like children?
Well, that's another blog for another day :)

i do, however, remember being a child.
quite clearly in fact.

i was talking today with some co-workers about memories of school.
junior high. high school. college.

we were in a consensus that we didn't have many memories
of actually learning,
being engaged by learning in our secondary education environments.
I'm sure this isn't true for everyone,
but it is true for me.

What I do remember is Mrs. Malinowsky.
She took just a moment in my third grade day
to let me know it was ok that I'd asked her if she was pregnant
(she was, phew!) when I was horrified with embarrassment.

I remember Mrs. Yost, who told my fourth grade class
that my mom had died. She showed up at the funeral.

I remember Mr. Mapes, my 6th grade science teacher who gracefully handled
a class of nutty 12 year olds while dissecting frogs. Even when Steven bounced the
eyes like tiny super balls.

I remember my 11th grade Sociology teacher, who jumped up onto a chair
and belly laughed to make his point
to the horror and silent admiration of his students.

I remember Mrs. Schallerer.
She returned a paper I had written with
a comment that made me know that
she believed in me.
And she was proud.

I don't remember much in the way of subject content.
As important as the area of a parallelogram is.....

It is the people who impacted my life

that
I
remember.

Those are the moments that
Shaped me.
Gave me.
Taught me.
Saved me.

When one doesn't have kids, the news about the education system
often falls through the auditory sifter.

funding.
teaching shortages.
no money for programs.
cutting of arts and music programs.

as i recall, it was much like background noise.
must be important
or it wouldn't be on the news.
but it's probably more important to someone else.

For the past almost three years I have been teaching.
It started as a "something to do" job while i waited for other
opportunities to arise.
funny how life works.
Since then I have decided that I enjoy it
(so much better than working with govt employees. go figure).
and now.
it's
important
to
me.

Making a difference in the lives of people.
people who are growing and learning
about life.

defining themselves
and others
learning
how to
be
in the
world.

yes,
they need to learn how to diagram a sentence (wait, do they?),
add fractions with unlike denominators (again..)
what the chart of elements look like,
blah blah blah.

I do that.
some of it anyway.

But what I really teach, and what I long to teach
is how to do life.
How to be ok in this crazy, insecure, fast-lane, road-rage, consumer oriented, gossip laden world.

Even in a perfect world, teaching a 13 year old how to feel good about themselves
is no easy feat.
But it could be the most important thing I will ever do.
For them.
For me.
For you.

Teaching a child about joy, and kindness, and patience
makes
a
difference
in
our
world.


Do I succeed ? every day?
Well, I want to say yes, but the truth is..... probably not.

But I hope that I show these kids how
to
be
human.

A flawed, honest, kind, giving, curious human.

And I hope that
when I make them laugh
or challenge them
or demand kindness
or smile and sincerely want to know who they are
that
I
inspire them
to
be
the
same.

I don't have kids.
But then again
I do.

So
do
you.

my story

i decorated my tree today

decorating my tree is kind of a sacred occasion to me

i wait for the perfect day.
not too close to christmas, not too far away.
too close to christmas.... well, one gets ripped off of delicious christmassyishessness
too far..... crunchy needles and far too much vacumming

anyway.
today was the perfect day.
december 9th.
I found it.
good height.
nice roundness (christmas trees should be a little on the chubby side)
no gaping holes.
slender easy to manage trunk.

she's a keeper.

so into her cocoon of white plastic netting she went and off to her last home she was carriaged.
eric says she was being driven to her death throes.
he's not very festive when it comes to christmas trees.
scrooge.

i love the ritual surrounding the tree.
honestly, it's a good thing that eric doesn't have
much investment in the tree,
because i think i'd hurt him if he tried to introduce gold garland to
the mix.

ho ho ho

it had begun.
Johnny Mathis on the cd player,
giant tupperware ready to be opened
fire ablaze
all i was missing was the spiced cider on the stove
and cookies in the oven.
there are years i have done that too, but... well.... i wasn't
channelling martha this year. It's ok.
It well regardless.

I keep my ornaments in a giant, pepto gree tupperware.
inside, the ornaments are separated a by a cardboard grid.
there they were.
waiting for me.
blinking awake after a longgggg nap.

Some people adorn their trees with
green
red
blue
silver
balls they bought at walgreens.
i don't have those.

my ornaments tell a story.

the first one i took out was a paper mache one
my mom made before i was born.
she was young and creative and too poor to go to walgreens.
i think it was supposed to look like a ball,
but it was really just a wad of newspaper paper mached in blue
with gold specs

it's the most beautiful ornament ever made.

when i stood on the step stool and put it
near the top, i thought of her
i smiled and cried
all at the same time.
remembering
all
of
her.

there are the ones i made out of sugarless cookie dough
of my dogs
and random things that make me smile when i see them

there's the one that looks like a tennis ball and reminds me
of my dad before.
before.

there are the ones of ruby feathered cardinals
that remind of when i sat on a chair
my socked feet not quite reaching the floor
eating cereal on winter break
looking out the window of
grandma's kitchen

there are the ones that are old
and have a greyish green patina.
they belonged to my dad's
ex girlfriend from a million years ago
but i can't bear to give them back
because in years that were sad and mom-less
she gave me warmth and love and made me feel safe
at christmas time
so i keep them.

i don't think she'd mind.

my christmas tree tells my story
if only to me

tonite i sit here in the quiet
a fire
the white lights
and i have a sense of
home

sitting so close to
my

story.

Come see.

'll tell it to you.

wonder bread

out there
among the what not
the many whos
surrounded by the world
i cannot see with
my everyday eyes

wondering what you're
thinking
and
if
you
think about me

If you wonder at all.

Or if you are different than i am
somehow
and the questions don't intersect
with the banal
mundane
everyday

bagels and coffee
newspaper on the front porch
traffic jam
damn that long red light
like
they
do
for
me.

As I sit behind the car idling
on the highway
blinkers on
stuck in the lane
with red blue silver black whizzing past
as I am stagnant in a moment

I think of you

where you must be
what your same moment might hold

maybe painting
wonder bread with chunky and grape
following a toddling child
scolding an adolescent for too much computer time
the toilet paper is out
we need milk
where's my phone....

do thoughts of me

intersect

?

Illusion

suddenly humbled.
no,
that's not honest.

reminded and humbled.

patterns created when i was 10. 13. 15. 19. 25.
continue.

motivated by a need for acknowledgement. a desire to be wanted. needed.
adored.

humbled again.
i feel foolish when i look at my angst from the view of an outsider.
how silly.
foolish.
childish I can be.
Why don't I already know that I am worthy of the love and care of others?
Why is it an unfillable hole?
Someone tells me
shows me
reminds me that i am loved
and
into
the
bottomless
hole
it
goes.

Oh, at first, It feels good.
Ahhhhhhhhh.
Like the hole squeezes together just past the opening.
It's filled.
Feels warm and knowing and good.

But in moments
hours
days
months.

The hunger is there again.

Humbled when I look at myself.
How I long to fill others.
Because I love them.
Because I want to show them how I want to be loved.
Because I hurt.
Weep quietly in a silent isolated place inside myself.
Sometimes even when joy abounds
outside the walls of my body.
Weep
at the emptiness that I
really
do
know is a lie.

I am projecting the fact that I don't love myself the way
I want to be loved.
Humbled.
Awed.
Can I love myself
and
fill the unfillable hole
so that I am no longer driven to create situations
to prompt others to fill it?

But I do love them. So much.
I do love me.
Someone
Something
Sometime
painted my canvas with colors
dull and lonely.
Colors that tell a story of not good enough.
Colors that bleed through the bold beauty of red
and gold, sea blue and sunshine orange
that I have created in my life.
to create spots of not so pretty
that surprise me
when they
become more clear than is comfortable for me


Humbled.
Questions.
Not answers.
Knowing.
that there is no need to find them.
But to know.

Despite the intensity of the illusion.
An illusion it is.

recycle

there are people
shadows of heartfelt memories
of people
spaces uninhabited
in my heart
but felt.
still.

my heart longs for people it has loved.
it hurts to think that i am not
anymore.

is that possible?

Why is it feasable for my heart to allow relationships to alter ?
evolve
change
grow
find a new place or definition.

yet for them
it is not.

my heart longs for
their eyes. their voices.
their intentions. their families. their values.
their songs. their views. their laughter. their magic.

i miss them.
i miss many.
i have been priveledged to have experienced.
so blessed.

i wonder if they even know that their
absence in my life is felt
noticed
pained.

not everyone feels as i do.
once a relationship fails to fit in the box we purchased it in
it is released
discarded
recycled
regifted.

not how I feel.

feeling this way.
is lonely.

yet
maybe
having
known
them
at
all
is
the
gift
.

new friend

in my life
i trust
that
the ongoing
gift.
the waterfall
of
friends
will continue.
drop.
by.
drop.

i trust
that
life
will honor
myrequest
for the next person
who will
open
my
eyes
and
bring joy
to my mind.

More colors
to the palate
of my experience.

thank you for being
a reminder.
and a new drop
of
color.

Sunday Morning

Lazy waking
eyes slowly peeling open
to the persistant mews of
the smallest cat

Gentle movements
of my happy
groggy
husband

The sound of the shower
his whistled tune
glorious alarm

The sound of coffee
beginning to brew
against the
canvas of morning silence

click click click
the dogs nails
saucer eyes asking
for
food

Slow rituals
a lazy brook
contentedly meandering
around
glistening
boulders

Clinking of spoons against
coffee cups
and the
beginnings of
a slow
starting
day.

belief

what's the difference
between what i believed then
and what
i believe now?



believe seems such a weird
and odd
word to me now.

BELIEVE.

What is that anyway?

To state that something
is
TRUE

even though there is no way to know?



I've heard it said
that's what
faith is.



I feel like an ogre
in that I have a problem with the term.

but i do.

Maybe belief and faith
are not the same thing
at all.



Believing may be accepting as true something

something
that
cannot be
or has not
been proven.



Belief in....



A needed savior of the world
Aliens
Joseph Smith and his seer stone
That God wants women to wear burkahs

and the list

goes

on.

So, what has changed for me?
I no longer cling to a belief,
or a doctrine
or specific covenant

but have faith
that
there is something.

and that when i strive to know it
and live from a place of
love
and
responsibility
that

I participate in
God
in
this
moment.

afar

saying goodbye is difficult for me.
even when it is clear to
every
clear
minded
person
that goodbye is the right course of action.

i often get commended for keeping in touch with people I have known.
i am quite good at it.
If I do say so myself.

but what they don't know
is that
there is
a
girl that lives within me
that fears
letting go
and being left behind by those i have been loved by.

sounds silly
i know. im working on it.

i reach out to people i have loved

recently
long ago

because
when i love someone
i never don't.
love.
them.
in.
some.
way.

a hard concept for some to imagine.

yet, it seems within the
joys of possibility
that
a love
can take many forms. and can shift. or change. or learn to be. something new.

a lover
a friend
a husband
a confidant
an occasional but real connection.

it has taken me quite awhile to see that
there are people who don't see it this way

at all.
when a relationship alters, it is gone. for good.

rest
in
peace.

well, i have made best friends and kept them
because my affinity for them
has an iron grip.

i wouldn't change it
for the world.

but there are hazzards in the practice.
and i have to be reminded
that there are some
people that i have loved
that i
would be wise to
love from
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
afar.

friends.

i have amazing friends.
i really do. if i have done something outstanding in this lifetime, it is to have made
incredible friends.
some of them i see often.
some rarely.
but i cherish each and every one.

i had lunch with an old friend today.
i haven't seen this person in almost 2 years.
yet, when we sat down, the distance melted into nothing
and we were right back where we always are when we get together.
it's like the rest of the world is
happening in a morph where i can see it
but it just doesn't matter
because i am enfolded in joyous contentment

sharing secrets
encouraging eachother
affirming truths
laughing together.

it was good.

I have seen many of my dear friends of late
and i am so grateful

reminded of
what i love
about
them.

If I have done one thing for which I am very proud
It is to have made these friends.

A
treasure
more
valued
than
gold.

crap i tell ya.

looking glass
looking glass

why do i feel shame
so often
when i look your way?

where did i read somewhere
long ago
that there is a list
of ways to be
when gazed upon?

The Book of You

Chapter One through never ending....

smooth skin
clear like a babies
always
aging must not show
narrow lines
hide
round
curves
for they will offend

When was I taught that the lines
my experience on this planet have written
on my eyes
are wrong?

Where did I accept that my soft
round
belly and behind
are
a sign
of failure

Why was did I learn that
there is always something
that is not ok
with
me
?

How has it taken me
forty glorious years
to realize that
this
is
all

CRAP.

:)

thanks

i am so grateful
for every moment that i realize that
there is something for me to

learn

i am grateful for the wisdom of those who have come
before me
since me
for those who have the courage to speak

wisdom

no matter it's source.

Buddha
Jesus
Aunt Jane
Crazy Ned on the corner
Father Patric
Bishop Jones
Mother Theresa
your 3 year old child
a whisper of love during a still moment alone


the wisdom that lives in

life

that lives
in

it
them
you
me

i am grateful for every moment
that a corner of
darkness is illuminated
by

a word
a thought
a deed
a song
a choice
a gift
a seemingly meaningless act

I am grateful that every second is rich with abundant love

if
I
am
willing
to
see.

Chicago is....

i'm in Chicago
my home away from home

i love it here.
honestly.

even when the air feels like warm sticky soup

like
it
does
today

i love it.

i love the bricks carefully stacked one upon another in the year 1928
the artist having had no idea
that a million years later
i would take such comfort in his creation

of a home
a temple
a building
a place

where generations of loves and questions and anger and growth and failure and births and deaths have been housed

whether in oak park
or ukranian village
or boys town
or uptown
or lakeview
or wrigleyville
or wicker park
or korea town
or evanston

I'm home

and my heart sings

to the man standing at the end of the on ramp at Fullerton and the Dan Ryan.
to the crazy lady painting with black and grey and white in the cafe while she argues with invisible combatants at Borders in Uptown.
to the 30 something yuppie mom with her $300 stroller in Lincoln Park oblivious to any lifestyle but her own.
to the drunk Cubs fans staggering down Clark Street after a game elated by a win, or a loss.

I love passing the place I lived in Ravenswood for what feels like a million years
and
I love seeing the church where I found God and the place where I lost him and the place where I found her again
and
I love knowing I am within minutes of the best thai food anywhere on the planet
and
I love passing under the El and having to suspend conversation because the roar of metal on metal takes precedence to any thought I might be sharing
and
I love watching the tattooed doe eyed girl with a pink mohawk and safety pinned thigh highs saunter down Belmont with her friends

and
and
and
and

Chicago.

My
kind
of
town.

Annoyed

Each day we encounter situations which wrankle our egos.

Damn that driver.
Boss annoys the crap out of me.
Why does my mother have to say exactly what will push my buttons?

And
on
and on
and on.

What if, these situations were presented to us specifically to help us become?
Become exactly who we know we can be, but generally haven't been.

WHAT IF?????

The person you know you can be.
Think to the moments you have given yourself a hard time.
You judge yourself because you're not....
the person you can be.

That feeling of who you know you can be at your best
is
a
gift
from
Life.

It's your map.

Know that every moment that bugs you, or annoys you, or pisses you off is an opportunity.

To become. Who. Your highest self. Knows. You. Can. Be.

So next time your boss bugs you. Your kid annoys you. your spouse makes you crazy.

Say thank you.

And grow.

Freedom

it's father's day again.
every year
it seems
i
understand more
that
fathers
are

just

people

too.

I wonder if everyone thought their father's were Gods.

Some might think that holding a man
on a pedestal
is a sign

of love of adoration of admiration.

But
is
it
fair?

Knowing that the men...
the people
who have been my fathers
are simply
men.
flawed.
real.
learning.
growing.
trying.

Frees me from feeling not good enough.

This fathers day Dad
I
give
you
freedom
from
unrealistic
expectation.

and
I love you for exactly who you are.