what does not kill you

I see a lot of bad things happen to people. It always astounds me to see how different individuals react to enormous changes in their lives.

Once in a while someone tells me that he thinks he is lucky–for whatever reason, for whatever new perspective, new discovery, unnoticed detail. In every single instance, I have to agree. Yes, these people truly are lucky. They are lucky, because they have great strength, for one thing. But more than that, they are lucky because they are still able to grow.

If we live full lives, tragedies of different sorts are bound to come to all of us more than once. The degree of hardship is relative… some people endure immense suffering, sometimes nearly unimaginable. There are some things that really do destroy a spirit. Even then, though, there are those who survive, even thrive.

How can we be compassionate without any sense of the range of joy in life? Resilience, I believe, is compassion.

thank you for shopping at…

The red and white bull’s eye has its aesthetic appeal, you’ve got to admit–even if it is exploited ad nauseum. But still, it catches my attention, directing it in so many levels, taking me sometimes back to more innocent days of going to Howard Johnson’s for all-you-can-eat clam strip night, then heading over to shop there.. and also at Casey’s Sporting Goods, where we used to pick up a box of shotgun shells. But this is starting to sound like one of those “when I was your age” type discussions I occasionally have with my kids, the kind that embarrasses even me at the notion that I say such things. I think I even suggested that three miles is not so far to walk to school…

Somehow, strange things so often seem to happen in this life. This evening involved no farce, no odd encounters with people I have not seen in a long time, no discoveries of criminal records among those accompanying me.. Nonetheless, Target tonight was quite the adventure, my friends. Yes, yes, it was. And glad to say, also, I managed to embarrass my kids.

Sometimes I wonder.. now, I know it is every good parent’s duty to embarrass his or her child. I nearly always do a fine job of it. I find myself laughing, while their young faces stare at me blankly. Another pun. They ask me to roll up the windows when I sing in the car! My daughter even cried when she found out about my little foray into the world of karaoke. Do your children tease you?

Well, I suppose most kids do suffer the anguish of being seen with an unruly parent. What seemed to bother them tonight involved something like a free arcade, right there in the toy department. It’s true! Kids can press buttons to watch expensive toys work. It reminds me of something I sort of remember at Lake of the Ozarks in the 1970s (all right, all right: YES, I am from Missouri, for heaven’s sake), but back then, I fear the animals were not plushy stuffed, but real, and not the least bit happy or free-range. But back to the point, I am really sure that I am not the first adult curious enough to go hit all those buttons! So I did.

But you may be wondering why I was even in the toy department. Well, my kids are older now, more interested in nail polish, art supplies, and electronics than My Little Ponies. Or so I thought! Recently I have seen my girls with ponies, and with Barbie! And to believe that just a few short months ago, my younger daughter and her mischievous little friend were tearing the heads off the dolls and leaving them on neighbors’ door steps (ringing the doorbell and running, too). Sort of like the cat who keeps bringing you dead birds and other creatures… But no more. No, my daughters both have rediscovered toys, so I find myself wandering into those long-forsaken aisles again myself.

Things have changed. For one thing, there is a Barbie who has a webcam in her chest. Seriously. This particular rendition of Barbie disturbs me for reasons completely unrelated to the difficulty I envision dressing her. Or paying for her: she is expensive! This week, though, you can find her on sale at Target for $45.99, if you are interested in this sort of high-tech invasive Barbie experience. (She even has a screen in her back!)

But if you are not interested in spying, there are plenty of other choices. Ken goes Parisian in a shiny grey suit with a hot pink sequined tie and black shirt beneath. Go Ken! He is a man equally up to the fashion trends set by his hip girlfriend: he even has highlights in his hair now. He really has to: Barbie herself takes up a full half aisle.

Moving beyond Barbie, I liked a big cat face keyboard.. thought of buying it for my younger son, but then thought better of it. It is so easy to think of his developmental level in childlike ways that totally ignore that he really is not three and not interested in toys that meow. Except cats.

A monster toy in a plexiglass cage roars and does flips when you push the button. That was impressive. A set of Disney princess dolls sing their signature songs.. Being the purist that I am, I went for Snow White: “Whistle While You Work”. Such a cheerful number.

But the pièce de résistance tonight was… (and again I admit my classical tastes, friends): Mickey Mouse.

But this was not just any Mickey: it was a dancing and singing Mickey, and he is a thoroughly modern Mickey! Two buttons indicated the choices, undoubtedly limited to us window shoppers. I went for the “Moonwalk” selection, and pressed the button. Mickey introduces himself: “Go Mickey, Go Mickey. It’s your birthday, it’s your birthday…” And yes, he does moonwalk. I was laughing so hard that my girls would not let me press the “Latin” button, but I am sure it was equally entertaining. And oh: it is! Just look!

With tears running down my face, I took a quick look in the Princess Mirror just to make sure there were no more mascara smudges after all this. My girls told me that they can’t take me anywhere, but the mirror begs to differ (said I was the most beautiful of all).

At this point, everyone was ready to leave. One quick stop to buy that strange stuff they call yogurt (is it really?–it doesn’t taste like yogurt!)…. We paid for our Barbies, our yogurt, our dental floss, our box of kleenex, and we were on our way.

It was a good evening, and the dark sky greeted us in the parking lot, a crescent moon peeking out from behind the clouds just as we arrived at the car.

And this, everyone, is my life: kid-oriented to a great extent, even now, ’tis true (and it is true to the point that I often feel as a friend reminded me of the words of the great Martin Mull: “Having a family is like having a bowling alley installed in your head”). I find myself speechless at times, not because I have nothing to say, but because I forgot it.

Or is it perhaps that I wish guiltily for spontaneity?… for freedom, for my former quick recall of books and the most recent movies, of music of many genres, many things I used to see live? Yes, sometimes I yearn for these things again… Ah, to read, without falling asleep! To respond wittily! quickly! Ah yes… it comes back to me in moments. But sometimes, I am happy enough to settle in with giggles and watch Legally Blonde just one more time, to consider that the path to world peace may well begin in solving the problem of teenage boredom in the basement….

superhero

I, too, can be a superhero.

I have not yet figured out what my hidden powers are, but nonetheless, I have taken the first step toward becoming all that I can be. I am registering for the Halloween Superhero 5K.

You may ask yourself why. I have asked myself the same question, indeed, particularly following the visits to the orthopedist and physical therapist.

It all started when I had the fine idea to begin the Couch-2-5K program back in May. I started running, and it was great… for a while. My knee started protesting the regime by July, though, and I had to stop for a while. I am back–new and improved, now with stronger quads!–and still slow, but still determined. As I am in most things.

The idea of running with superpowers seems crazy enough to motivate me. Maybe these powers will protect me, make me faster. I have been advised–er.. begged–not to wear a cape, and I probably will not (you know, airplanes). But a mask is not such a bad idea. The thought occurred to me to dig through the dress-up/costume box in the basement–I once made a lovely alligator costume, but it weighed enough that my then-four year old could not walk while wearing it. Probably not a good choice for a race. Not the robot (mobility issues, very itchy). Maybe the bee costume.

Super Bee? Hmm… Evokes Mopar chic (I once had a Barracuda, after all), memories of Winnie the Pooh, and hence honey (for sweetness). It has a little sting, a little buzz. I kind of like it.

Bumblebees, after all, are not the fastest of bugs, so perhaps speed will not be expected.. Going from flower to flower? Yes. That sounds about right. Super Bee it is.

But then, I wonder again why I am doing this… It is foolish in some ways–I have never been a great runner, and now, with the knee?

Well… there is something in all of this that appeals to me: the feeling that if I can do this, I can do anything. The feeling that yes, I really can do this, and feel great–as I do almost every time I run (and I missed it when I could not). And yes–I can even laugh about it.

lions and peonies

In the No play The Stone Bridge (Shakkyo), a Japanese Buddhist priest travels to a sacred mountain in China, where he sees magical lions playing among the peonies. The lions are said to teach their cubs to be brave by throwing them over a precipice and forcing them to climb back up. The motif of lions and peonies appears often in tattoos, textile designs, and other Japanese art forms because the theme suggests courage as well as wealth and good luck.

(from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts description of Mother and Cub)

I wandered over to the museum today, making my way through new arriving students who seemed to be going off for dinner and goodbyes to their families. It was after five o’clock; the “moving parking only” signs had just ended. I slid my car into the parking place, slipped out of the car and down the sidewalk.

Not a crowded day at the MFA–hurricane, vacation, students–speculated the docent. But the Japanese woodblock prints were still there, and I stood there contemplating them for a long time, wondering at the color, the fine lines, the detailed tattoos, and so many intricately covered with lions and peonies.

If there is anything I know well, it is peonies. They cover the screen in my bedroom, and I dream about them more than must be quite healthy. Not sure why–they simply charm me with their abundant fragrance and informal elegance. But if they also signify wealth and good luck, I am happy to have them near me..

But what of the lions? The courageous lions?

I think a lot about courage at times, wonder what it really is. Does it really matter? Sometimes it seems there should be some reward in an act that is deemed courageous, but at other times, I think the name of courage comes in doing what we think is right, no matter the outcome. Fight fight, keep on keep on… it sometimes feels this way, dialing those numbers, waiting politely and calling again. And again. Is it courageous to be a pain in the ass? Is it courageous to be the one who shines the light, shouts, makes someone squirm, makes someone angry? Is it courageous to keep doing this day after day?

Sure, sure it is, and plenty of people do it, struggle to do it, and still end up with a smile. Like the No play from the print (and the print is viewable here, cubs go tumbling down the cliff and climb back up again. Courage.. “Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker”…

These lions and peonies go hand in hand, then. We do get back up, dust ourselves off, and still play at this, still grateful for life, still grateful for the beauty and pleasures we find within it.

So, this lovely evening, as I walked out onto the steps of the MFA, I considered this, looking at the dove grey sky tinged with pink, the symmetrical fountains and baby heads placed out on the lawn, the falling day, the barometric anticipation, the green way. It is a summer evening, still summer, a long day spent pushing and talking, it seems, and now all is quiet.

The giant oaks will lose even more of their acorns tomorrow when the hurricane winds come through, but now a drum beats, welcoming students to the Museum School, and I walk down the path, the lamps, the joggers and the bicycles. I walk, find my car and head onto Storrow, passing the traffic of Cambridge and heading–I drive fast, know where I am going–by the Charles faster faster, toward Fresh Pond with nary a stop… It is like a grand prix, and I look in the rear-view window at the light on the buildings, my bike in the back of the car, and I think how lucky I really am, all these days. A ten dollar bill in my purse, a warm evening, driving toward my girls, and yes… we did get somewhere today.

It is a good day, a day when all things start as September starts, as school starts, as we find the courage we need to face the days, and the luck we have to enjoy them.

community 6

No community building today. None whatsoever, as far as I can tell.. So instead, I write of the adventure.

It was a hike, a hike in the state forest near us, and my son insisted. How do you deny a teenager who requests a hike with Mom? Exactly.

So, he knew the trail–he said–and we headed off onto the path nestled near some farms (yes, farms) on the north side of town. I know the area, love this bucolic respite from the world, and after a little wander through high grass of the tick-inhabiting sort, we found ourselves climbing a hill into the woods. So glorious, so wonderful, and after a few spats about how we might tackle the mess in his room, we talked and wandered. Happy wanderers. It was fantastic.

We made our way around, still climbing in the humid air so wonderful.. A field popped up, a pond. And suddenly we were no longer on the trail, but in someone’s yard basically–someone’s field, complete with a tent and folding chairs, and a rusted-out trailer with an old plastic Santa sans head on top. And a box freezer, an outhouse. It was the country, and we had wandered in from another planet not, as a pickup barreled down the road toward us.

We were trespassing, it seemed, so we made our way back to the path and tried to figure it out. My son had claimed to know the way, but as it turned out, he lied, and we were lost. We wandered in the direction that made sense as the thunder started. Yes, a few harsh words said in fear–it had poured earlier in the day, and the sky was lowering. Yes, we kept going, and at a certain point started laughing: a donkey, two sheep and two goats ran up to the fence of their pen as we came round the corner, and we could see the street. Was it the street we wanted? No worries: we would get to it, and then find out. Trespassing again, we ran through the front yard of a house, into the driveway, and then to the street. Our car was parked just there, and a raindrop splashed onto my forehead.

We drove away, laughing as the rain let loose. Thunder, lightning bolts flashing, and buckets of water pouring from the sky. I only got wet as I tried to use the ATM.

Ice cream is a necessity after these sorts of adventures, after all. Rare adventures, I suspect, to wander through the woods and fields with a boy who wants badly to grow up.

adventure 33

Today I find myself running from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other–my needs versus those of others. I know that much of the time, I tend to others before myself. So why do I always feel so selfish?

I examine this, consider what I can and will do in the next month to balance life better. I know it is possible, if only in the momentary adventures, and in an overall restructuring of life. I have thought seriously about what I can and cannot do. In the end, I know where I need the help.. Oh my gosh! I need help cleaning my house! I need a carpenter! I need just the practical day-to-day stuff TAKEN care of. I want to sell all the size 5T cute girls’ clothing. In short, I want some order, some help, and in all that, some calm and some time.

I want a babysitter once in a while. Want to have time to cultivate the friendships that will make my entire family’s life whole.

I have worked on this for a long time–come a long way, too. But ultimately, some changes are necessary to make all this happen. And those changes are underway.

Oh my gosh! This reads like a self-help book! I never meant the month to be this way, but ultimately I realize that I am not likely to climb Everest before the end of the month, or to battle pirates, or even to run for public office. But I have dreamed here, and set things in motion.

So, my adventure for today is to announce the next month. For June, my goals are around building community. By this, I mean becoming a more involved part of the worlds I already inhabit happily, and a part of communities I want to spend more time cultivating. More than that, I want to create community where none exists now.

So this is it. A knock on the door is a fine first step.

adventure 32

I took the day off work today. I did this primarily because I wanted to see a friend. Spending time with a friend is always a good use of vacation time.

The month began with me as a dreamer. It ends with a doer. I told my friend that I am going to run a 5K in August. Somehow, I have the idea in my head that this will shock my friends and acquaintances. Typically, I keep these sorts of goals in my own mind without sharing them, afraid perhaps of failure. This time I have told a few people, then a few more. I wait for the dropped jaws, but so far the notion only shocks me. It has been years since I have tried for something like this, and now I find myself absolutely craving it, along with everything else. I want to be that runner, dancer, singer, writer, woman I was meant to be. And I am.

So, I told my friend about the 5K.

“How often do you go out running, then?”

“Oh, every other day. Then I bike, too.”

“When?”

“Before work–I go out everyday.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“GREAT!!!”

And it does. It has made such an enormous difference. Not so much the exercise–or maybe that is part of it. But it is the freedom. The feeling that I can take off and ride, fly around the streets. And run, too! I have not pictured myself doing these things in so long. I was perfectly content to hike and ride occasionally, walk through the streets for hours. This is all still fun, but now I want excitement. I want to be strong and climbing things, swimming more–and farther. The way I used to, and even more.

When I lived in Boulder, I biked on hills that I never realized I could climb. Everyone else did, so it seemed like nothing.. as did biking on icy days, snowy days, rainy days. Sometimes.. well, usually!.. it is a matter of what we tell ourselves we can do. I have lived a life in fear, assuming that this is all I can manage, all I can do. And I have been so sadly underestimating the possibilities, despite my insistence that the possibilities are endless. Did I really believe that? I did, somewhere deep down. But at long last, I believe I have reached the point that I really believe it again.

Thank you, all of you who have inspired me.

adventure 31

Red fingernails.

What sort of woman has red fingernails?

I do, after a trip to the nail salon. They are artificial–I admit this, because my nails looked awful before–and they are still not terribly long. But blazing bright red. They even look a little fake. But kind of pretty. I never go to nail salons–could count the number of times I have indulged this way on one hand.

I like the idea of heading out on my bicycle with red fingernails. Today I did take the new longer route–maybe seven miles–but tomorrow I’ll ride to the track for my morning run. I’ll clock in my twenty-five minutes, and leave in some state of euphoric accomplishment. It may well be that the small effort is enough to trigger a runner’s high in me at this point, but it may be simply that I am happy in general. And I have the red fingernails to prove it.

I imagine that Ann Richards had red fingernails. Or pink. Or whatever goddamn color she felt like.

When I was little, I ordered a book from the Scholastic Book Club called (yes, it was the 70s, hence the allowable stereotyping) Gypsy Girl’s New Red Shoes. I still love the fearless joy that the the girl in the book displayed when she dances in her new shoes. They are magic! But then, almost anything can be magic.

So fearless joy it shall be. I have the day off tomorrow, and I am expecting company. My birthday is near now, and I have magical red fingernails.

adventure 30

Is it possible I reached #30? It is, because I started a few days in advance–a warm-up to adventure I remember now, back in April. So much seems so long ago now.

Today I looked back at the early entries. In reading, it seems I am still the same–a dreamer at heart with a real life to manage. But strangely, the real life is quite different now.

Among my contemplations: I have tried in the past to be the PTO mom, volunteered in my kids’ schools. I have gone to meetings in town, tried to participate in the process to some extent. When I go to the concerts on our town common, I see many people I know. And still, after all this time, I find myself somehow on the periphery of anything I could call community. I have wondered why, and then was struck by a few things, things I never thought applied directly to me.

One is the fear that seems pervasive in the town where I live. My house is on the south side. My kids’ school is on the north side. But whether north or south, there is a great divide that seems to affect everything, including the areas of town where people from one section feel comfortable visiting–or even driving through. The divide may start with a few resentments directed toward the communities of immigrants that sprout here, often developing deep, deep roots, with or without the desired documentation. But a few vocal resentments against one group may also give validation to all sorts of more silent fear–of anyone who is different, whatever different may mean.

So, as I have tried over the past several years to live to my beliefs, I find myself turning into some sort of liberal social-worky type advocate who does things like remark to the principal that the reason that the kids’ parents do not show up at a meeting at 6pm include such ideas as 1) they are still working, 2) they never understood the letter home for various reasons, including perhaps the fact that they do not speak English, 3) they do not have transportation to get to the meeting, 4) they are afraid of feeling rejected and judged. Again.

Now, I believed all these things for a long time, but as I have lived the life, living in an interesting non-suburban in the suburbs type neighborhood, single welfare mom (yes, the most humbling and necessary action I once had to take–so perhaps I am lucky), fighting for the various educations and services that kids with disabilities need– and then realizing that adults fight even harder…

I do not like to feel that my kids miss out because they are made outsiders in all ways–not fitting in with kids who really are in our economic bracket, but then not fitting in with the kids whose parents might have more similar backgrounds to those of my ex-husband and me. The operative prefix there is “ex”. Used to be. Used to be married. Used to live on the “nice” street. Used to not know about “special needs”. Well, that was then. This is now. So much is not so different, but just more apparent. That is a start.

In the end, the biggest problem in my own life is not the community, or anything else. The biggest problem is me.

For years I have passed for “nice” just about everywhere I go. It is easy for me to do this, because I like people. I really do, and I walk into so many different situations–have always done this–that I feel comfortable almost everywhere. It is the best thing about a life of drastically changing circumstances and living in all sorts of different places: never fearing “the other side”…

But at the same time, I suffer for this to some extent: I have interests that do not fit into neat categories, abhor certain things that moms are supposed to do, lament things that women are not able to say, or do, or be–at least not without harsh judgment. In all of this, I feel so strongly about wanting to see beyond boundaries that I seem never truly to belong to one group… People laugh and share experiences from the past, and I listen, but I cannot feel it–never went through so many of those rites of passage that seem to bind people together. It seems my life has been a series of interesting events… It has been a life of adventure from the start, a life of searching for truth.

Is it a necessity to fit neatly in? Perhaps. It has made me wonder, though.

I am not the only person who cannot be neatly categorized–really, can any of us? And for all the wonderful diversity I encounter on a simple bike ride, I wish so often for more pleasant co-existence. Can it happen here? I am not so sure. And this leads to other thoughts, including the idea of leaving.

But honestly. Have I done my part? I know that my niceness may grant me access at times, but far too often, I also do not state my mind because I fear rocking the boat that is already tossing on turbulent waters… And why? What is it that I fear by speaking out?

Is this still an adventure? You’d better believe it. Is it a matter of living here and living better, fighting for that? Or is it better to look outward, find better examples, better places to fit in? In the end, I am sure it is some of both. I love my job for the opportunities I have to meet people from so many backgrounds, to talk to them and hear their stories. There is something in that, some voices waiting to be heard. So many common threads.

I consider these things, and then think of what now, what more.

The answer lies in the stories… My story, yes. But the stories that weave together into a greater whole. My future is in those stories, and the stories of telling.

adventure 29

Heat. I love this, the feeling of summer, the sweat rolling down my neck as I write.

This morning, I was about to turn my bike back toward home–a right turn–when I realized that there was a rare break in traffic to cross the street. I went on, through the hills and the shade and around ponds. I needed a longer ride.. it may become my regular ride, so I’ll need a new longer ride. I need the thrill of it.

I will find it. Life sometimes gets in the way of adventures, or so we think. I found that spark in life, and life is here. For the last few days, I have been contemplating the end of the adventurous month. I think of this somewhat sadly, but then realize that this has only been a beginning. My next adventure is to think of what June 30 might show me–something I want. The adventures have made me dream. Now I want to focus on specific dreams… wonder how much closer I can bring myself to them if I only let myself.

Summer seems a perfect time for this sort of expansion. It is like fireworks, like jumping into the cold water for the first time in a year, like shedding layers and letting things show.

The intensity of the heat reminds me of this, and I bask in it like a Siamese cat. Purr.