ISS non-sighting

We'd heard from a friend of a friend that the International Space Station might be visible tonight (during a four minute window), and so without really verifying it, D & I stood outside and stared up for a while, hoping that one of the little lights above us would be closer than a star and farther away than an airplane. But we got nothing for our time except slightly stiff necks and a couple of very cool comet sightings.

"I hope that wasn't the space station," I said about the first streak of light across the sky.

"That," D pointed out, "Was probably the size of a speck of dust."



I heard this today on All Things Considered from Daniel Schorr. And it makes me think that so much of what we worry about is trivial - just little specks of dust zipping across our vision - compared to what else is happening in the world.



Last night (actually early morning, around 3:30 or 4am), I had a dream about trying to save a very young child who had drowned. It's much more complicated than that--my dreams usually are--but after I'd spent a long time analyzing what the whole thing meant, and after I thought I'd figured it all out, I heard the news about Baghdad on the radio on the way in to work. After that, all I could think about was how the boy had had dusty brown skin, and had belonged to a small village full of people who were also dusty brown, and very poor.

The dark side of the dream was the death, of course, and my feeling of being responsible for it. But on the other side, later in the dream, the boy's spirit returned to speak through other small village children. We had buried his body, but we hadn't entirely lost him.

Afternoons at home

This change in schedule has been lovely. I'm home early in the afternoon, I see my husband every day during his lunch break, the girls and I have a chance to unwind and do their own thing for at least an hour or two before we venture out to run errands or go to the gym, if we even do that. The days are starting to have a rhythm to them, and I am a creature happy with habit. (I had oatmeal and an old-fashioned non-electric drip coffee for breakfast and a baked potato with melted cheese, bacon and Ranch dressing (!) every day for something like 3 months straight. This was probably 16 years ago, mind you, but still... during that time, I wrote tons. I think the routine freed me to be more creative.)

So I'm hopeful (let's say "cautiously optimistic") that with the longer afternoons, I can tackle the projects around the house I've been wanting to check off my to-do list for years. I've already started (and completed!) a few of them.

Happy happy happy,
joy joy koi.

I think I'll call this my "Feliz Fishies" poem.

The Day After

A good day.

Worked only 5 hours, took Mom to the airport, came home. The girls and I had a mellow afternoon, time in the park then to the gym for a run for me, then home again where R cooked dinner (re-heated left-overs) for us. Time playing outside, bed. An evening where I had ample opportunity to be vigilant and catch myself irritated when the girls themselves got testy - working hard to be the grown-up, the one that breaks the nighttime cycle of crankiness. Up from 3 hours of fitful sleeping to blog only, my last dream having been one of a veritable stranger calling to ask me when my birthday was, because she had a psychic there who wanted to know. In the dream, it was the 3rd such request in a day, and it was spooking me. Hmm. Could it really be the left-over vegetable mu shu, I wonder?

Indulgence

Happy Birthday to Me. :)

What a day of being spoiled! Actually, it started yesterday with the trip to Mendocino County and checking in to the Inn, where a lovely surprise present from a friend was waiting for me in my room. (Thanks, friend!!) We had dinner out, and woke up to fog and the Pacific - so kind and gentle in comparison to what is about to hit Louisiana.

After taking in a little of the beach near the wharf, we enjoyed a tour of the lighthouse, followed by a relaxed ride home along scenic Hwy. 1. (Am I sounding like a travelogue yet?) Then there were presents waiting for me when I got home, including a digital camera from Mom (look out! I'm part of the modern age, now!) and books and hugs and kisses from the kids. We all had a delicious sushi dinner out and chocolate cake for dessert. I tell you what. Such decadence.

Tomorrow it's back to reality - a full work week, and Mom goes home.

But it could be worse. I'm really feeling compassion for the residents of New Orleans right now. Two weeks from today, I was scheduled to fly there for an HP conference. Who knows whether that will still happen, and whether there will be anything left to see when we get there. Maybe we'll just become part of the cleanup operation.

We don't have TV, of course, but I'm reading how people are boarding up their homes and shops, while those same homes and shops may end up under 20 feet of water. And there's nothing that can be done to stop it. It's a little like the inevitable flu pandemic that will come, for which we are not prepared.

Aren't I cheerful for a birthday girl? I guess you could blame it on me crashing from the chocolate cake...

Weekend getaway...

D & I are packing to head north for an overnight stay on the coast. It promises to be a beautiful drive up. The sky is blue, the air is warm but not hot, and Grandma's here to take care of the kids. Whoo-hoo!

My sister wisely advised, "Just throw some things in a bag and get out the door!"

Oh, if only it were that easy. If only I could abandon my desire to fold all the clean laundry first...!

We'll be on the road soon, though. And I will post descriptions and pictures upon our return.

Made it

...to Friday. Once more. It's a relief that as inevitable as Mondays are, Fridays are just as likely to roll around again.

I'm grateful.

It's been nice having Mom here. Quite apart from my comments last night, which were more philosophical whines than complaints (honest!), it's been fun laughing with her over the kids and over how doggone silly we are as a family, in general. Without fail, one of us says something really ridiculous and out of left field 2-3 times every thirty minutes, so we spend a lot of time cracking up, and sometimes even have the lovely experience of giggling about a new joke before we've caught our breaths from giggling at the last one.

After the first day of school, R was describing the "time out" chair her teacher has in the classroom for kids to sit in when they're disrupting the class. Apparently, it stayed occupied (or at least warm) all day. D said that if *he* were the teacher (you, know, one of those "Well, if *I* were the teacher..." pronunciations we parents sometimes make), he'd put tacks on the chair and kids would learn very quickly not to do anything that would make them have to sit in it.

About five minutes later, when we'd already moved on to another topic of conversation, (and even another one after that), S. suddenly raised a finger in the air and declared, "And if the tacks had the pointy sides facing up, then the kids would REALLY not want to sit in the chair!"

Mom's thoughts on Blogs

So we tried again (not the first time) to explain to Mom over dinner what a blog is. We told her it's short for web-log. We told her it's an online journal. A web site where you write things down.

D. said, "You could have one, Mom. You could write down what happens to you, like 'Today the coyotes came down the hills closer to the house.'"

I said, "And other people could read it, if you wanted."

Mom said with (to my hypersensitive ears) Obvious Distaste, "Why would I want to do that?"

She said she'd heard of a newscaster in her part of the state that had a blog, and she didn't see why anyone would write personal stuff down that anyone out there could read.

I changed the subject rather than tell her again that I blog, or invite her again to read the blog. She has conveniently forgotten or not heard me talk about it more than once.

I sound so like a "But You Don't Understand Me" teenager, don't I?

This is a painful fact. My mom supports everything I do, because she's my mom. And I love her, and I know she loves me. But I am sad (and am watching myself be sad) that she may never "get" it - the poetry, the blog, why it's important to me.

Maybe that's part of every human being's experience - having an aspect of oneself that even those closest to one don't understand, can't touch, can't "get." It's probably just as well, for it may be a prime motivator in getting people to form connections with outsiders, with kith rather than kin.

I have this added dimension in my sense of separateness, of course: I wonder how much of the differences between Mom and me (especially when it comes to tastes and sensibilities) are because I was adopted. I like to think it makes no difference whatsoever, but maybe it does. I am blessed to know the good people to whom I am genetically related, and we do share a surprising number of interests and aptitudes. But with any excitement I feel about really connecting with them, I have a sense of guilt about feeling disconnected from my mother.

Again, that's just how it is. Right now. I'm admitting it, observing it, writing it down. For anyone out there to read.

School Starts

For our young "Waldorf-inspired" charter school, the first day of classes means a gathering of wide-eyed little ones in a circle of redwoods, with loving parents and other family and friends surrounding them, while the Executive Director introduces the Educational Director, who introduces the teachers and School Board President, who introduces the School Board. After the introductions, there is the repetitive singing of a simple song that has the words "journey" "sun" and "stars" in it, a group reading of some poetry about strength and the universe, and a story told by the First Grade Teacher about a little flower gnome.

Okay.

So here's where I have to jerk my writing to a stop and remind myself of Suzanne's words of wisdom regarding not putting unkind things in her blog.

Okay.

So, um.

Let's just say that a shorter flower gnome story might have been equally effective.

And that my mother, who had thought I was kidding when I said we would perhaps have to sing Kumbaya, agrees that I'm possibly too "mainstream" to qualify to have my kids at the school. I mean, I wear non-cotton garments, for example. And I don't always shop at Whole Foods.

(Mom also said it's the most cheerful group of parents she's ever seen, and she wants to know what else they're growing in the garden besides sunflowers...)

But the beauty of such a warm, loving, open community, is that they have a grasp on inclusiveness that is strong enough to allow for refined-sugar eating folks like us to participate in their vision of the future.

Thank God (or Mother Earth, or FSM or what have you) for that.

Because, really, the song was kinda nice.

Beach Day Take 2

**THIS REALLY TRULY HONESTLY HAD BEEN WRITTEN YESTERDAY, AND POSTED TO MY BLOG YESTERDAY.**

Really. Truly. Honestly. But unfortunately, I found to my dismay tonight that I'd posted it to my exercise blog (which is not public) instead of this blog. Horrors!!

At any rate, here it is duplicated with the really honest-to-goodness original post date+time.

**



Back to Stinson Beach today, the last day of Summer before SCHOOL starts. Mom & the kids & I had brunch at Hallie's Diner first, then headed out to the coast, not deciding until the last minute whether we'd go to Tomales or Stinson.

Once on the beach, we were under fog all day. But the air was fairly warm and the water tolerable. The girls and I had races up and down the wet sand, got our feet (and in some cases, knees and waist) wet in the Pacific, chased an aggressive gull away from our towels, and generally enjoyed ourselves. Mom watched and read a hardback mystery, walking for a while with us as well.

A stop at the Cheese Factory on the way home for lots of Brie, and then a trip to the grocery store, and the day was pretty much spent. As were we all, especially those of us who *didn't* nap during the drive inland.

Funny how the act of writing even a small blog entry more often than not now gets me awake, even if I'd been asleep, and inspires me to write more.

But I know the morning will feel early to the kids after a summer of sleeping until 8am, and I want to be awake enough to see them through it. So I'm hitting the proverbial hay.

Grandma's in Town

After work today, the girls & I went to Emeryville for a browsing session at Borders & lunch at the Market. This was literally next door to my last employer, III. I was so tempted to stop by and see if anyone was around from when I worked there, 7 years ago. But then I was afraid that I would see someone, but it would be someone who would remember me who I wouldn't remember, and I felt the sort of guilt-in-advance that so often keeps me from doing things. So I chickened out.

Hey. At least I'm consistent in my neurosis.

Then it was off to the airport to pick up Grandma, who is staying with us for a week. We got back around dinner-time and as a result didn't have dinner until much later, when we were all so hungry that everything was funny and the Table Silliness Factor was even higher than usual. I can't accurately describe it, but if you've ever seen me drunk (as some of you have), you can imagine that same goofiness also displayed by a 6 year old, a 10 year old, and Grandma, who is old enough for the senior fare with Southwest but young enough to giggle as uncontrollably as the rest of us.

We'll see if she can stand a whole week of "fun" with the clan, though...

New Backyard Fence

D completed the new fence for the back of the backyard, and it is gorgeous. It's amazing how it completely changes the feel of the whole yard.

He also moved about 3/4ths of a ton of rocks from the backyard to the front. I helped, but only very little, and tonight D is nearly a broken man. But the yard is looking amazing.

Hard to practice any kind of detachment when I'm feeling so attached to where I live now.

Time has slipped by and I'm late to bed, again. Out for now...

Saturday at the Beach with Writers

Today my colleagues and I in the PWG (Petaluma Writer's Group) had what I hope will be the only the first of many writers' retreats. There was coffee and chatting and writing and chatting and writing (and, for me, a short nap in the sun) and a walk on the beach, and more writing, and dinner out. I managed to get down a good section of a brand new short story (a ghost story, even!) before we had to wrap it up. Thanks to Julia for arranging the space, and to her parents for the loan of it.

I can't say why I feel compelled to write a ghost story right now, but there it is. It could be a need I have to give voice to some fear or another in my life. But I think even this, as with many ghost stories, is really a tale of letting go. And I'm working a lot on "letting go" lately.

I don't yet know the resolution of the story - or whether there will be a resolution. I don't know that all ghost stories need to be resolved. I think that often, the whole point is that there is some unfinished business, and that's why the ghost sticks around. But we'll see what comes of this particular yarn...

The End of a Long Week

Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster this 6-day work week is over. (And thanks to Suzanne, and M., for the FSM introduction.)

I resorted to letting the girls do computer games for an hour this afternoon while I napped, in between various cleaning projects around the house. I don't know that the nap it helped much, but it certainly didn't hurt.

Tomorrow, I go to the coast for a Writer's Retreat with the Writer's Group gals. I'm looking forward to it, although I regret, a little, not having a better plan for what I hope to write tomorrow (I had written the word "accomplish" but that sounds so driven...)

Hope springs eternal, however - especially after a full night's sleep. And tomorrow presents first chance in a week to sleep past 5:15am -whoo-hoo!

Counting Blessings

I was going to write down a list of blessings tonight, and when I started to bring them to mind, I realized I didn't have room for that kind of list.

So.

Blessings?

Almost everything.

If I pause long enough to think about it.

Heart Sutra

gate, gate gate, paragate, parasamgate, bodhi svaha

(roughly: gone, gone gone, gone beyond, gone beyond beyond, hail the goer.)

I'd read an English translation of this in the beginning of The Years of Rice and Salt, a book given to me by Clare for Christmas. I only (finally) started the novel at the beginning of the month, and within a week, on the Food for Families delivery, the Buddhist on my route (with whom I've had several wonderful conversations) spontaneously taught the Sanskrit version to me. He didn't know I'd just encountered the mantra for the first time. "Isn't that a coincidence?" he asked me, when I told him. "Not really," said I.

Compassion

Given time, I would verify the validity of the below quotes by trying to find more reliable sources for them than the Web. But (fellow scholars reading this forgive me!) whether or not they are exact and authentic is secondary to their message for the purpose of this blog entry.

"A human being is part of a whole, called by us the 'Universe,' a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest--a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty." (Albert Einstein)


"As human beings we all want to be happy and free from misery...we have learned that the key to happiness is inner peace. The greatest obstacles to inner peace are disturbing emotions such as anger, attachment, fear and suspicion, while love and compassion and a sense of universal responsibility are the sources of peace and happiness." (Dalai Lama)


I'm experiencing compassion in a new way. On a few occasionss recently, different friends have confided in me about some very difficult things that they're each going through. Where once I would have calculated my response at some level, would have had a knee-jerk reaction not to share their emotion but to second-guess my own behavior in response to them, where once I would have been analytical, or at the least, detached in my response to their bad news - I felt (what a verb - felt!) instead an almost immediate and instinctive sense of empathy. My heart went out to them. I cried without thinking, and only later wondered at the change in my behavior.

Maybe I'm starting to get it.

In the meantime, maybe I can practice some compassion on myself.

What I'm listening to

So I'm going to create a sidebar comment (only not tonight) for What I'm Reading & What I'm Listening To

I think it might make the tail wag the dog - might make me reach for new music, anyway - to have those things posted.

But for now, I'm putting it in this late-night, up-to-blog post.

What I'm Listening To: Rent

I saw the show in NY (thanks to half-off same-day tickets). All I knew about it was that it was supposed to be really good. And it was. (I'll have expand on that review tomorrow, though, given the late hour.)

I've got the double-set CD in the car. The girls like the music too, but I do have to turn the volume down in strategic places during the songs because the language is not always appropriate for a 6-year old or even a 10-year old....

Sunday night - or is it Monday?

Working on Sunday when you know you'll be working Monday-Friday too can throw a gal. However, I managed to have a weekend anyway. Actually, it kind of felt like 2 mini-weekends in a row.

We have 4 new sections of fencing up, and D will build the rest sometime in the next week. As it turns out, the neighbor behind us, Luis, is really a pretty nice guy. The pit bulls actually belong to his son and daughter, who are 20 and 16 respectively. I still wouldn't want to be alone in a yard with any of them (the dogs, that is) if they weren't chained up, and it's sad and disturbing. But Luis himself is a nice guy.

It reminds me that the most realistic villains in novels are not purely evil. I mean, here's a person who will work with you all day, sweating to building a nice fence, give you a beer or two, ask how your children are and listen when you answer. A man who loves his wife, a man who wants to grow a beautiful lemon tree, and have a neighborly bbq. He'd loan you a cup of sugar in a heartbeat, but at the same time, he has three big dogs in his backyard that are never allowed in the house and are left alone to fight amongst themselves in a cage all day and whine or bark well into the night. How do you reconcile those facts? Maybe the way they treat the dogs is a cultural thing. That's entirely possible. My father in law, growing up in a farm in Romania, only ever knew dogs as working farm animals. They were not allowed in his rural home in the 40s and 50s, and I think he still has a hard time understanding how people can have larger dogs in the house.

That's probably it. Or (since they don't, after all, live on a farm) maybe Luis' kids are just too lazy to take proper care of their dogs, or aren't around. And maybe Luis is too tired at the end of a hard day's work to deal with dogs that aren't, after all, his. I don't know. But the truth is probably more simple and less dramatic than my "one can smile and smile and be a villain" assumptions. Maybe I am just a tad too quick to make the people I meet into characters whose motivations I have to untangle...

Family Games

R has made a Harry Potter Monopoly game, complete with playing pieces and money. It's a fun version, and well done. There may be an official version out there somewhere, but I haven't researched it, and I don't really care - R's version is more charming than any mass-produced thing they could come up with.

Tonight we were going to have a family game night and play her game, as well as 3 others - one picked by each of the other 3 of us. But S picked first, and picked Simpson's Clue, and it took us over an hour to play that one game.

The highlight of the evening was when R finally made an accusation, and suggested - if I remember correctly - that Miss Scarlet (Lisa Simpson) had done it in the Bowl-o-Rama with the Poisoned Donut. It was only after she checked the cards in the envelope (which reveal the true crime) that she realized - DOH! - that she actually already had all 3 cards in her hand.

We all laughed until we couldn't breathe, including R. That's the kind of silliness that brings a family closer together. We've already started calling her Sherlock.

Saturday night, but I'm working at 6am tomorrow, so I'd best hit the hay. Drat. It would have been fun to stay up and watch a movie, or fold laundry, or both. (Don't chores at 10:30pm sound FUN?). But instead, I hear that nice big horizontal piece of furniture calling my name...

Friday night

If I stay up much longer, I'll be able to watch the Perseid Meteor Showers. Last night I went to bed too early to catch them, but this morning driving to work, I did see a "shooting star." Only one of the many advantages of working the 5-1 shift!

Sleeping until 6am or 7am tomorrow will be downright decadent.
I'm looking forward to it. And I'd better do it while I can, because the Comet Swift-Tuttle (whose debris gives us the Perseid showers) passes closer and closer each year, and will probably in fact collide with our earth.

Apparently, the calculations that went around in 1993 that this could happen in 2026 were off. Now it's thought the comment may not hit us for another thousand years or so. Just enough of me is paranoid that I worry that they're only saying the comet won't hit "soon" because it could affect the economy or even American voting patterns if they told us the truth about our mortality. But what do I know?