Meant To Do.

I've enjoyed a stillness and clarity of late that has eluded me in the mostly recent past.  I'm reaching for a way to describe it, but I'm not sure my wordsmything is refined enough to bring these buoyant emotions to the page... er...  to the screen.  

I heard this phrase last week - 

It doesn't matter what you do as long as you do what you were meant to do.

For a moment this is a consoling, peaceful thought. But panic sets in when you realize its up to you to sort out what you were meant to do.  

Meant to do? There is a mighty possibility for failure.  It could be all about how you make money, or who you become or where you live or go to school, or do with your time each day...  but I think it can be more resonant than that, and what I want to think of is this:

What I am meant to do is learn to be a complete version of me being made up of 10 parts Love. This would be a whole and complete me.  This is what I want to be meant to do. 

Right now I think maybe I have 6 parts love, 2 parts jealousy, 2 parts pride, and maybe 1 part something I can't even describe, and I realize that this would be 11 parts something - and that is certainly contributing to the challenge.  It doesn't matter what I do to do it, but I'm meant to learn 10 parts Love. I'm meant to be pure of heart....eventually.

Awake.

Awake.
Write.
Not yet.
Sleep.
Nope.
Write.
Scared.
Compelled.
On.
Shut down.
Sleep.
Nope.
Write.
Yes.
Here it comes.....
Edit later.
Sleep.

Semicolons

One of my passwords has become irrelevant.   I wonder if I should change it or keep it for memory's sake.  Memory's sake is an interesting sake.   Good sometimes for remembering lessons learned; bad sometimes for re-emoting through events that lost their value days and days ago.  I'll seriously consider a new password.

Relief is getting the tomato plants in before June 1st with cages to boot.

Teaching the last day of school to 9th graders on their way to high school is like sending loved ones off on a boat that you know is going to sink.  You can load it with plenty of life jackets and row boats, but some just won't make it.

I like it when google designs the letters to celebrate a holiday or a birthday.  I wonder if there is a entire team of computer wiz's who make their living designing those letters.  I wonder how much money they make... and if its worth it - designing the same 6 letters over and over.  (It's probably like teaching.  The subject stays the same, but the creativity lies in the new human beings that present themselves each time around.)  I wonder if they make more money than me.   I bet I could google it.

I have a graduate.  I have a child who will graduate from high school tomorrow.  I hope he feels more wise at 38 than I do.  18 and graduated from high school means now you are in charge of your own demise and your parents don't have to work so hard at ruining you.  It's blissful for everyone.  I'm in a static state of cliche the last few weeks.  I wonder if it will end in a few months or if it will just continue through to the first grandchild.  I watched some 10 year olds run home from school today and thought about how a few months ago I would have pined for the days when either I was running home from school, or when I had a house full of kids running home from school, but now (maybe because I'm old!) I realize that being a part of that moment is nothing more than seeing it, understanding it and enjoying it - which I can do - anytime.  I can as a 10 year old, a mother of a 10 year old, the neighbor of a 10 year old, the grandma or great grandma of a 10 year old.  We all live in the same days with each other.  God gives us so many chances to love every moment as we see them over and over.

I got to play the piano for Douglas and Jessie while they sang in class this last week.  It was a quintessential moment for me.  It was one of those slow motion, drink it all in, savor the moment, smell every last bloomin' rose, glance around steadily soaking it in, memorize the feel of the piano keys - moments.  Who I am and what I love is terribly evident in my children; for good or bad, and usually both at the same time. There they were singing their guts out.  My children are the prize.

Corinne is taller than me.  She is her daddy's child.  Maybe that's why I like her so much.

David is absent.  He is absent after school for hours.  He is being raised by this neighborhood on trampolines and with oreos and bike rides and sticks and bows and air soft guns and staring at the creek.  I miss him and love the neighborhood for keeping him out to play for so long.

Mark my words... this will be a landmark summer.  2012.
Congratulations to Douglas.  May the days behind illuminate with understanding for what had to be and what just plain old was. May the days ahead be just right and may you see them as such, always.

This post has two semicolons in it.  I have no idea if they are used correctly or much more about the rest of my punctuation.  I graduated from high school a long time ago.

musica

There is music that inspires instant tears.

Because of a memory.

Billy Joel's Lullaby

Because of an association.

Winter, Joshua Radin

Because of lyrics.

Beggar's Prayer, Emiliana Torrini

Because of the pure emotion.

Lux Arumque, Eric Whittaker

Malka Moma, Philip Koutev

This Years Love, David Gray

Slava V Vishnih Bogu, Rachmaninoff

This is the most magical and the most meaningful.

It's like I remember something I haven't been in yet.

Or is it empathy?

Are you so pushed around by emotion?

There's music for cleaning (Touch) and for dancing (Blue Savannah) and kissing (Every Breath You Take). There's music for staring (Gravity) and some for listening (Love, Unrequited Robs Me of Me Rest). There's music for driving (Alive and Kicking) and running (Impossible) and for eating (One Note Samba) .

There's music for flying (Just Like Heaven) and cooking (Ray Charles)  .

And probably some for dying. I hope there is music on this side when I go, and on the next.

I wonder if it will be the same song.

Thanks to 16 months of Losing.

Losing is being right but giving up.

I want to be kind more than right.

Losing is wanting without getting.

I want to be strong enough to want things I'll never have.

Losing is letting go.

I don't want to create the best tomorrow, I want to create the right one.

Losing is not being satisfied.

I want the freedom that comes without appetites to feed.

Losing is only wishing.

I want to wish for impossible stuff too.  It's fun.

Losing is not getting credit.

I want to serve and be forgotten.

Losing is not being loved back.

I want to love with every possibility of my heart and not with the limits of someone else's.

Losing is not being first.

I want to walk my own path.  

Losing is running out of time.

I want front row seats to every story - better yet, a supporting role.  But there isn't time.  And I want to die in agony that I didn't get to see them all.  

I want to be meek.

I want to lose more often.

I think God intends for us to desire things we will never have. 

Losing is living free of the conditions of winning.

I want to be a loser.

Lonely.

When I was 17, I was sat on a beach at Carmel Meadows and discovered my own company.  I came in a powerful state of self-pity.  I had made strong choices about with whom I would spend time and to whom I would give my affection.  I had an unreasonable standard and it left me alone.  I climbed down the thick stairs and took off my shoes to walk the edge of the water and found a place dry enough to sit.  I looked to my right and saw a bird made from the rocks.  He is a fat, cheerful bird with a straight, small beak and a dented eye.  His wings are folded back and he watches the water.  I was delighted by his company and couldn't help but stare at him and hope he was there for me.  I looked around for someone to show, but...  I was alone.  And it was ok.  I knew that I could make tough decisions because I had made them.  I knew what was important to me because I had protected it.  The choices left me alone with the bird - but eventually brought me the relationships I wanted most.  Soon I brought them to walk down the thick stairs and to take off their shoes and see the rocks.  And I kissed the boy and the little ones played in the waves and I was grateful for the company of the bird and knew certainly he was there for me.  Lonely fades then returns and sets us in motion.  Lonely reminds and remembers and brings us home.

Guess what? I did love it.

I loved Into The Woods.

I loved standing on the stage and talking with my whole body to push someone into MORE.

I loved thinking about the myriad of ways to hear every line.

My wishes have just been crushed.

Agreed.

Providence!

The path has strayed from you.

No more.

How can we ever know?

Makes the or mean more than he did before.

Wishes come true, not free.

.... home before dark.

I loved blocking the midnights

I loved making blood and toes and heels with my girls.

I loved wrapping that baby.

I loved listening to them sing.

I loved watching them dance.

I loved it when the cow died.

I loved making them run through the halls.

I loved it when they took care of each other.

Right? Right.

I loved that they trusted me. Mostly. I love that they mostly trusted me.

I miss them.

I miss their zany.

I miss their 'ah hahs'.

I miss the story.

I miss the energy.

I miss the edge.

Its nice to be safe in the trees again.

Its nice to sleep and to cook and to run and to clean and to eat with David.

It really is.

What a blessing to have amazing moments to miss.

Life is rich.

Next time I'm going to do better at loving what I will love while it is loving me.

I promise.

I promise.

Dumb.

I read a book last week about health in the last third of your life.

I’m left wondering whether or not I’m in the last third of my life.

I suppose if I die by the time I’m 60, then yes – the next twenty

years will be the last third of my life. But my plan is to live well into my 90’s

(and really, why not to 100? but after that seems excessive and kind

of braggy) and so I won’t be entering the last third of my life until

I’m 60 and so that means that right now I’m not even half way

finished. Thinking that I might learn again as much as I’ve learned

so far is all at once thrilling, exhausting, daunting and a mighty

relief. Because really I don’t feel like I know very many things.

Frank Lloyd Wright said “The trick is to grow up without growing old.” (I like so much of what Frank Lloyd Wright did – amazing architect and thinker. I really don’t admire the way he went about loving women.) How are they different?

Kipling’s IF resonates when I think about growing up.

He says you are grown up “if you…

… can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you;


If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,


But make allowance for their doubting too:


If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,


If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;


If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster


And treat those two impostors just the same."

It really is moderation isn’t it?

And moderation with the moderation too. Not

getting caught up, carried away, or drowning in any one thing –

but then, to be sure to experience getting caught up

and carried away – some way, some time.

Richard Dreyfuss said “part of me is still waiting to grow up,

to be an adult, and the other part knows there is no such thing.”

No such thing as a grown up? Someone who is all the way ….

finished? Yes, I agree. ING. It will always be ING.

Sometimes we grow out and sideways and in

circles and upside down even. I suppose it all counts.

I sure hope it does, cause it is hard work – the ING.

We must become a creature that wants to change

and does not fear it.

Every time I sit with my grandmother,

she pats my knee and rocks back and says “well,

everything is going to be just fine.” No matter the topic,

no matter the weight, she knows everything is going

to be just fine. How does she know that? Somewhere in all of

those years, she learned that we can’t own it and we can’t know it

and we can’t even mess it up.

We get to the end of the

movie and realize that it really did end just the way we

thought it would. It took unexpected turns and twists,

but the end was just what we thought it would be.

I’m quite convinced that part of the age game is coping with watching the people

around you age. Nothing makes me feel older than celebrating the

birthday of one of my children. Particularly the oldest and the

youngest. I have been known to pine for more children so that

I could feel younger. If I have an infant in my arms, somehow

I am also at the beginning. Why am I so afraid of being in the middle?

You know – I’d really love a crack at the beginning now that I know

what I know from the middle. But then my middle would be

different because I would change the beginning, and then maybe I wouldn't know what I know from the middle.

Within my social structure, I can find many age groups. Its invigorating and maddening. I spend a lot of time with kids

between 13 and 15, and then add my very own 14, 16 and 17 year olds, and I've got a world teeming with teenagers. They make me doubt my ability to reason. They make me question my every thought and I also

see life afresh and with hope and possibility. And they make me laugh.

Due to unique circumstances I also have a group of friends in their 20’s and early 30’s. This group makes me restless. This is the group that urges me to want to start over and try it again. But I know it would take about 8 tries to really get it right, so I think I’m happier just moving forward. Strangely, I pass around advice to this group. I want to stop. I just want to pat their knees and tell them that everything is going to be alright. They are doing things differently than me and sometimes I reel in jealousy. That’s pretty dumb. I have everything I wish and we don’t all wish the same wishes. But sometimes I wonder if someone else’s wishes would look good on me.

Yep – dumb.

We are dumb.

Born dumb, live dumb, die dumb.

Maybe the secret is to be ok with all the dumb. My dumb – your dumb – his…

And live anyway.

Jump anyway.

Fly anyway.

Cry anyway.

I’m not afraid. Not even of my very own dumb. Well, I’m trying at least. Maybe by the time I’m in my last third… or sixth…. or eighteenth, I won’t be afraid of anything dumb.

Out of the Woods

As Jessie and I observed this evening as we drove past, I haven't been in the school for four days in a row. Wild. I don't think that has happened since last summer. Its wonderful, invigorating, strange and depressing. Not too depressing.

It is always such an interesting transition to come down from a show. Every time I have slept in the last 4 days I have dreamt about the show, or the kids in the show. This morning I had my alarm set and every time it went off I eventually noticed that I was testing myself to see if I could mentally navigate the entire show without missing a scene. Each time the alarm went off, I started again at the beginning and tried to get through it before the snooze wore off. After 8 or 10 times of this I realized what was happening and begged the sleep god to let me rest without the show for a few minutes. This afternoon I got to take a nap - aaahhh - and when I started to wake up I realized I was hearing "I know things now" in my sleep and reblocking the scene. The other night I dreamt about a big fight that all of the kids were having. It goes on and on. So... I suppose it will really be over when I wake up Woodsless one morning.

I guess its not really that I miss the show specifically or the kids or the experience even, but more there is a space in my time, my mind, my heart dare I say, where the show used to be. And now there isn't anything there. What will I put there? How will I fill the void? I started reading a book about exercise and nutrition in the last few days and I guess part of me wants to fill it with that. Heaven knows it will take a monumental amount of emotional energy to find the will power to do some of the physical things I'd like to tackle. I finished the book this afternoon - right before and after dozing off for my nap - and my gut reaction to it was to eat strawberry shortcake for dinner and then 4 or 5 more pieces while I watched 2 1/2 movies before bed. I did walk the hill today. Semi-virtuous.

I'd like to be someone I'm not good at being. An organized and doting house wife and mother. Organized house wife, doting mother. I lack discipline. I'm happy to do the laundry once a week, and clean out a drawer quarterly. I garden every other year, and rotate food storage with about the same amount of frequency. I adore my children. I love having them around when I am doing what I want to do. They are always invited into my life. But I want to be invited into theirs. I want to watch carefully and see what they choose and then help with that. I want to do more than adore and love, -- I want to dote and smother. And I want to do 3.2 loads of laundry each day, make a hot dinner daily, zone clean one area of the house each week, work in the garden 3 hours a week and then 2 hours on Saturday. I want to exercise 45 minutes, 6 days a week, read uplifting books 30-90 minutes a day, clean out the desk and drawers, answer email, work on family history, eat only fruits and vegetables and whole grains found only at Whole Foods, and ....

But I'm afraid of being bored. I want to be good at being bored. It will take some practice. And then I won't be bored. I will be fulfilled. Right? Right. ?

So, this is what may fill the void. All of that stuff. All of the stuff I've pined for over the last 7 months. I finally get to do it.

I wish...

No, I don't wish. I want...

No, I don't want. I am. I will be.

Oh... to be different. To want what is now. What is here. What is mine.

I'm grateful. ......only grateful.

Teaching Tension

Scaffolding is terribly handy when hanging paper chains in a large room.

15 year olds are very smart, very dumb, very emotional, very confused, very devoted, very interesting, very simple, very tender, very flirtatious, very shy, very worried, very thick, very transparent, very energetic, very much alive.

Its really important to know the whole story.

One can stay fairly comfortable with heated seats and the sun roof open.

The difference between 38 degrees and 54 degrees is 16 and the world.

Three weeks is a lifetime away and its right around the corner. Into The Woods will be over and I will get all my time back and lose my identity all at once.

Friends are mostly made of memories.

Its better to wait for an answer than proceed without one.

Saturday was international fanny pack day. So sorry to my English friends. Delightful holiday.

You know you are busy when teeth brushing seems to be the highlight of one's free time. A shower is like a fantasy.

There's nothing that a coat of brown can't make better.

It's amazing when people want to help. It's even more amazing when they actually do.

Spring snow in the morning is fine if there is spring sun in the afternoon.

Have you tried the caramel cheesecake bites at Del Taco? Oh boy.

Rich knows. He just does. Thank heaven.

I have found that in directing Into The Woods with this group of kids, I have spent a lot of time teaching tension. What is it? How do you cope with it? How does the audience feel it? What do they do when they feel it? Why is it imperative to good story telling? What happens when it disappears? Who owns it? Kids spend the majority of their existence avoiding tension. We all do I guess. I'm asking them not only to endure it, but to create it. Some of them are getting really good at it. I hope it is good for them somehow. Its been good for me for sure.

Cleats instead of Biscotti

I usually write about feelings rather than events. Maybe I should try writing about events. But you know, the events in my life aren't that extraordinary. I suppose the feelings in my life aren't that extraordinary either, but they are certainly the part of my life that I don't understand - therefore more interesting.

There are a lot of kids in my life these days. A lot. I dream of having a job where I'm surrounded by grown ups. Lately I've wanted to have a job at a cafe in Salt Lake. Something to leave behind every time I drive home. Quirky co-workers that have entertaining problems - like being in love with their professor at school or trying to convince their brother to move here from Toronto, or deciding whether or not to get a cat or a tattoo. I would love to work at the coffee counter at the SL lib. That is a loaded statement. Why do I want these things? It seems like these are jobs for young people. Do I want to be young? Or experience a different life than I did when I was young? When I was 24 I had 2 kids and was pregnant with my third. I was teaching school at BHS and clipping coupons and hauling big wheels and trikes. And playing in fountains and reading story books. It was a great life. In a thousand ways more fulfilling than filling coffee cups and cutting biscotti. But still... I want to read some good books on a train on the way to work and have to walk at least 3 blocks to get to there, and eat out of a brown paper bag on the lawn for lunch. I want a boss that tells me what to do every hour and I don't want to be responsible for anyone's happiness. I'm probably not responsible for anyone's happiness now, but it feels like I am. Is this a midlife crisis?

I don't want to work in a clothing store or a bank. I don't want to be a bus driver or a parking attendant. I think it sounds fun to work in a hotel, but maybe that's just because I'd like to go on vacation. It also sounds really fun to be a farmer. I think I'd be ok with that for one season. Wouldn't it be fun to take a year and do a different job every month? I'd like to be the secretary in the music dept at the U for a month. I could work in a high rise for a month. What do they really do in high rises? I think I just want to ride the elevator.

Well, its late and tomorrow I'll go to work and teach kids about music. And I have to get there really early. And it will be dark. And I'll be so busy at lunch that I'll eat a protein bar. And I have rehearsal after school so by the time I get home it will be dark again. Guh.

I could be a ski lift operator for a month.

Corinne is currently sobbing because Rich is taking her big toe nail entirely off. It died weeks ago after she wore cleats that were too small to an indoor game. Who knew?

Gotta go....

Happy National Bubble Bath Day

2012 a year of celebration.

I'm not sure why I'm so set on celebrating this year. Maybe it's something to do with three consecutive months of celebrating this last fall and a particular walk up the hill and an emotional discovery that I am happiest when I have something to celebrate. And it doesn't have to be grand (but it could be - grand is good) it can just be a simple acknowledgment of something notable. Celebrating is gratitude in action isn't it? Birthday - grateful to be alive, so blow up balloons and eat cake. Independence day - grateful for independence, so send beautiful bombs to explode in the sky. Thanksgiving - grateful to be grateful, so eat. St. Patricks Day - grateful for the color green and a man named Ned (who has a heart the size of his head in his chest). This year I'm going to be more often grateful and act upon it by celebrating more. Maybe this is a resolution. I'm not sure. I shy away from that kind of pressure, worried that the right thing in January will be the wrong thing come July. A year is a long time isn't it? Well, at any rate - I'm going to celebrate this week. 3rd - Festival of Sleep, 4th Trivia Day, 5th National Bird Day, 6th Epiphany, 7th Nicolas Cage's birthday. (I was going to skip Nicolas Cage's birthday, but I really like Raising Arizona and Moonstruck so much that I thought I would show my gratitude by doing some celebrating.)

I'm hoping this celebrating will be a bit of a magic pill. I love music so much that I'm celebrating by teaching kids how to sing and how to appreciate it. I love feeling organized so much that I'm celebrating by cleaning out closets or the garage. I want to celebrate color by painting my bedroom. I'll celebrate breakfast by making it. I LOVE breakfast.

I really think one of the reasons I love Europe is that there have been so many people live in that place and love and make mistakes and walk and dance and think and die. The place itself is a celebration of lives lived. All of them all at once. I want to celebrate the planet and all of the incredible people who've lived on it by seeing all of it. And all of them. Is that reasonable?

It's 2:03 am. Off to a stellar start. I'm going to celebrate pillows by resting on some for a while. 4 of them. I really LOVE pillows.

Happy New Year.

2011 was a year for thinking. 2012 will be a year for celebrating.

National Trivia Day

A camel has three eyelids. One is transparent so he can see in a sandstorm.

The first TV dinners were created in 1953 when someone at Swanson overestimated the number of turkeys Americans would consume for Thanksgiving. Inspired by prepackaged airline food, Gary Thomson, a company representative, combined the leftover turkeys with dressing, peas and potatoes in aluminum trays and thus TV dinners were invented.

Babies are born without kneecaps.

Richard's - Phil Mickelson, who plays golf left-handed, is actually right handed. He learned to play golf by mirroring his father’s golf swing, and he has used left handed golf clubs ever since.

Jessica –1. In the olden times it was a common belief that a murder victim’s body would bleed when the murderer was present. They used this gruesome process in murder trials. 2. A butt is an old English unit of measurement. It indicates a large barrel – usually full of wine. So, a butt load of wine is an accurate term, and not as crass as you might think.

Douglas - Queen Amadala’s decoy’s name in Star Wars episode II, the Clone Wars, is Corde.

Corinne - Carry Fisher’s (Princess Leia) real life mom is Debbie Reynolds, who plays Kathy Seldon in Singin In The Rain.

David - In any given day, more fresh mangos are eaten than any other fruit.

It's pretty incredible to be in a family. Tonight at one point Douglas was singing Agony from Into The Woods, Corinne was playing Sousa something-or-other on her flute and Jessica was playing Flogging Mollies on the guitar. All at once. In their separate locations, but - woa.

Yesterday Corinne annihilated a pile of laundry that was at least the size of a large boulder. Douglas has done the dishes two nights in a row. Jessica is the best math tutor in the house - and the happiest. David doesn't ask for a song anymore when we tuck him in. And he's sleeping without the hall light on tonight.

Here's to my family -

"Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness blow the rest away."
~ Dinah Craik