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.