Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

Finn has changed his mind about what he'd like you to bring. He says he does not need the $50 Sodor Suspension Bridge anymore. What he really needs is a sled, a doll, a ball and a cookie. And he wrote the list himself - "sled" is particularly legible.

Hope you are reading, and have not left the North Pole yet.

Sincerely, Finn's Mom and Dad.



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Super Me

Exhausted, but super. That's me.

I am our primary breadwinner these days, with three clients to write grants for and a project to coordinate. I am taking a writing class. And I am beginning an acting project.

I am our primary parent these days, and I am doing more than I ever have. I make meals and clean up after them, do the laundry, clean the bathroom, care for our son and take him to school and read to him and spell with him and play with him.

I take out the trash and compost and recycling and I sweep the floors.

I build our fires. Two of them so far, the one tonight astonishingly good, if I say so myself.

I care for my husband, who is recovering nicely, but still needs me to pick things up off the floor and take off/put on his t.e.d. hose (such fun) and make most of his meals.

I have almost finished all of our Christmas shopping, online of course.

I have begun working on Christmas project-gifts and cards.

I have never, ever done this much for others in my entire life.

I remember, vaguely, that I used to spend time lying on the couch, reading.

I am not particularly resentful. Which is surprising, in a vague and quiet sort of way.

Activity breeds activity, it seems.





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What I Did Today (subtitle: Marriage)

I helped my husband out of bed, made coffee, made husband's oatmeal, made my son's peanut butter toast,
made my own oatmeal.

That's all the specific chronology I can recall. In no particular order, I also:

- emptied husband's pee bottle, 3 or 4 or 5 times (I think)
- watched husband walk to chair
- watched him walk back to bed
- put pillows under his legs for elevation
- took pillows out
- watched him do his physical therapy
- listened to too many stories to mention (including a really, really, really long one about one evil nurse who tore his bandages off, giving him blisters unnecessarily, and who was snarky and controlling - and she really was; I know because I had spoken with her on the phone the day before while figuring out discharge)
- got regularly sidetracked from all tasks by stories like the one above
- brought husband water, meds, pens, a sketchbook, his reacher, headphones, corn chips, soup & rice, an apple, a banana, orange juice & sparkling water
- just realized that he either didn't have dinner or else I forgot what it was
- made a cheese quesadilla for son for lunch, along with his cut-up apple
- listened to son spell many words
- made son soup for dinner
- made chocolate chip cookies, from scratch
- cleaned the kitchen two or three times
- kept the bathroom clean, a necessary task when one little boy pees on the toilet seat and one man does as well (when he's not using the bottle) because he can't easily reach said seat to lift
- took husband's TED hose off and then 2 hours later put them back on
- signed family up for netflix
- WORKED for an hour on grant-writing
- watched small pieces of at least 3 football games
- gave son a bath and washed his hair, never a jolly experience
- read a story about Thomas the Tank Engine, the title of which I cannot recall, in which the steamies fight with the diesels until Thomas has a dream where Lady tells him she gets along with Rusty, so he goes and finds friendly Mavis (a diesel) and together they get everyone working together again
- took a bath myself
- helped husband learn how to use new laptop for the first time, including figuring out how to work speakers for his viewing of The Daily Show and Colbert Report
- took out the garbage twice
- folded and put away a basket of laundry
- WORKED for 30 minutes or so on coordinating young playwrights program
- moved furniture around, bringing dining room side table into bedroom to make an extended bedside table big enough to hold water, light, magazines, books, sketchpads, meds, headphones, more sketchpads, lots of pens and pencils in three different cases, purell, and a lavendar eye pillow
- emailed some friends
- fell into Facebook
- wrote this post

And all through the day, I felt constantly shifting layers of mild to moderate irritation, tremendous thankfulness to have my husband home again, gratitude for the friends and family who took Finn on an outing for the afternoon, and another who brought unexpected, yummy food for dinner - and I was filled with pride in my husband for working so diligently on his recovery. For his commitment to get self-sufficient as soon as possible. My list of what I did is long, but his was harder - strengthening exercises to get a new hip working, figuring out how to reach and grasp and get what he needs without calling for help, doing whatever he could to care for himself.

I am married. We, my husband and I, are married. And this is what it looked like, and felt like, today.

Right before he was going to sleep, 45 minutes ago or so, we were talking and we both said, "It was a good day today!" And it was. We had time together alone, while Finn was out - and we sat in bed while he watched football and I wrote a piece of a grant.

Days like this are why I am married. And why I love it. I don't in any way wish this to be an everyday or usual occurence, as I know my husband does not wish to have major surgery on a regular basis. But when things like that occur, when need for help is at a higher level than normal days - it feels good. I felt, to paraphrase Thomas, like a really useful engine.

Love was muscular today.
Active.
Not romantic.
Real.





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Writing...

I just spent 90 minutes writing.

And I wrote for 2 hours on the train earlier today.

Not grant writing. Not even journal or blog or email writing.

Not to denigrate those forms, they have helped sustain me.

But I have not written like this, for this amount of time, real creative writing, in YEARS.

And even this isn't entirely new, it's an article / story I'm working on for the class I'm taking, a memoir kind of piece about the making of See Me Naked.

But the primary point of importance here is that I wrote today, for 3 and 1/2 hours. Alone. Uninterrupted. Something I have not done since late spring 2004.

Five years.

I am humbled and saddened by that realization. Although I would not trade away one moment of motherhood. And I actually miss my little family, right now, now that the writing is done and only solitary bed awaits.

But I need to, must, need to know this and remember it and not, not falter -

I am a writer.

I am a good writer.

I love writing.

If it took a solo trip to get me started again, fine.

If I need to take a train ride once a month, fine.

Ferries are cheap, too, and the one to Bremerton and back takes nearly two hours.

I just cannot wait anymore. I have to do this, and what I need is chunks of time away from the voices of husband and son.

I love being quiet. I just love it. I love my family, too, and I bet I'll love them even more when I get to have my writing time. My dreaming time. My life.



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Halloween... Hello Over There...

The veil between the worlds is thinnest today.

If I remember my shamanic training correctly, Samhain (pronounced Sow-when) is the Celtic New Year. And the veil between the worlds is thinnest. Today. Hence all the ghosties and ghoulies, and Dia de los Muertos altars, and things that go bump in the night.

It's our family, and friends, coming to say "Hello. How are you doing these days?"

So today I honor my loved ones on the other side - my brother Keith. I love you. I hope you're having a wonderful time. My friend Janine - I hope you're dancing all the time. Tommy, old friend and newest crossed - I smile when I think of you, without pain now and happy, I think. Ray. You too had an October death, like Keith. Janine. Tom. Aunts and uncles and cousins, we love you and we'll see you again, we trust. Phyllis. Mother-in-law. Your son has been talking about you lately. We hope you are living in love and ease.

And now I'd like to share with all of you, those reading alive ones and those who are reading over my shoulder and whispering around me, a little glimpse of the liveliest boy and his plans for Halloween... he had a fever last night, so we stayed home from his school halloween party... a bit sad, that, but we're going out for trick or treating this evening.

And he is going to be a giant pumpkin -

With:

2 boots going clomp clomp
1 pair of pants going wiggle wiggle
1 white shirt going shake shake
2 gloves going clap clap
1 tall black hat going nod nod
and
1 big scary pumpkin head going BOO! BOO!

He's had the big pumpkin part decided since late August (although said pumpkin is really like a big round shirt - I still have to figure out to deal with his desire to have it on his HEAD) - and then he learned this story in school last week and adapted his costume to the story...

We invite you all to walk a little ways with us tonight and today. Let us know how you are, and if there's anything you've learned over there that we should know. We are listening. We love you.

Wow, the wind is blowing the tree branches outside my office almost sideways. Everything is listing north. With sun glancing off all of them. It's gorgeous.




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Simple Pleasures

The wind is blowing ever so slightly out there, outside my window. A small airplane hums; I can hear it but not see it. I can hear the saw of our neighbor next door, working on something. All faint, these sounds, quiet and purposeful.

All shades of green and gold and brown, amber, yellow, burnt orange, lime, umber - all flick and swish and quiver in the wind. Massive trees and new young trees, against the best kind of Northwestern sky. Dove grey, pale blue, soft light.

New shelves adorn my office, thanks to my husband.

Wait - holy anachronism, Batman! A ginormous stretch limo, black with a pale pearly gray top, just drove past my idyllic view. Turned down Benefit Street. Wow. Who was in there? Why are they out in a stretch limo on a sleepy fall Sunday afternoon, in our quiet little neighborhood?

Well. Now. Where was I?

Too late, I'm off on a limo wonder. It's turning the other corner now, heading out of site. Did a neighbor get a new job as a driver? Coming to show his family his new gig? Did someone get rich and decide to celebrate in a really weird way?

Anyway. Maybe it's a good reminder of pleasures that are not so simple. That take way more gasoline than that crow who just swooped by. That smell differently than the fall bouquet I had so much fun making an hour or so ago (dark green shiny laurel, fading red tree branch, orange & green & yellow & red maple, bright golden wisteria curling on long brown twisty branches, a pale yellow sunflower, a bright gold sunflower, hydrangea turning deep wonderful maroon, and one lone cornflower blue hydrangea to remind me of summer).

And now there is a house to clean, laundry to fold, a bed to make up with fresh sheets. And a dinner to make for friends coming over. Fish and sausage and chicken on the grill, squash, brown rice sauteed with red and yellow and green peppers and the last of the basil and green beans.

It is our first fall here in Seattle since 2006. Three years.

I am in love with my home.



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A letter to President Obama regarding the Nobel Peace Prize

I just sent this letter. I decided to post it here as well.

Dear President Obama,

First of all, congratulations on this honor. I continue to be proud for supporting you and working for you and contributing to you.

I know little of the details of the overwhelming issues that you deal with on a daily basis, so I know that my opinion is just that - an opinion.

But I hope that you will consider some actions in light of receiving this Peace Prize.

I hope that you will resist the urge to send more troops to Afghanistan, and that you will bring home the troops already there (as well as those in Iraq).

I hope that you will continue to support peace here at home by insisting on a public option for health insurance.

I hope that you will hold the banks accountable for the bailout money they have received, and make sure their mistakes do not further indebt me and my son.

I hope that the joyous sense of hope we all had last November will be fulfilled in a country that is better for all of us who live here.

I do not envy you your job. I am grateful that you are leading our country. I hope that you continue to follow your conscience and not give too much of our dream away.

We are with you.

Humbly,

Maria Glanz



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Lavendar sky updates...

I was going to call this post Twilight updates, but now that word has become less than it used to be. Too specific. Sad, that.

Just a quick school update, for friends who've been sending prayers. The State of Washington and City of Seattle, in their infinite wisdom and let's-focus-on-kids-first strategies, have declined to offer my son a spot in their subsidized get-ready-for-kindergarten ECEAP program. The sweet little school right down the street. He can't go there. Because he is FIVE YEARS OLD and OLD ENOUGH FOR KINDERGARTEN.

I finally got to talk to the head of the Department of Early Learning for the City of Seattle, after three + weeks of waiting. He can't go, because it's a "performance standard" and a "mandate." It's "legally binding" - whatever it is, this un-named rule that says he can't go to this free program that's supposed to help kids get ready for school.

We could pay for him to go. $560 per month for 4 afternoons - 12 hours - per week. Which we cannot afford. We qualify hands-down for this program in terms of financial need, no doubt.

So - that is my update on that.

But there is good news. We go tomorrow to visit the Capitol Hill Co-op preschool, where a good friend goes with her son. She'll show us around. We'll see if we like it as much as I expect we will. And hopefully that is where Finn will go to school. Much less money, and I get to work there in the classroom once per week.

We'll have to drive quite a ways - the co-ops closer to us are all full.

There is one closer, where another friend goes, and they do have an opening one day per week - so somehow, someway, I hope that Finn will be settled at a school by next week.

No idea how this will play out in terms of my work life. Other than I have to go buy a laptop this week. So I can sit in coffee shops and the Capitol Hill Library and work on my grant-writing and my novel.

If you need any grants written, shoot me a message. And check out my new blog -

Adventures of a Would-Be Novelist: www.would-be-novelist.blogspot.com -

and send me messages if you notice I haven't posted anything in over a week.

I need some help with this nose and grindstone business, I think.



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Elizabeth Gilbert and Me

She's wrong. Elizabeth Gilbert. She's wrong about that child thing, right at the beginning of Eat Pray Love, that part about the mom not caring about colicky crying but just beaming all the time because she loves her baby so much.

I kind of hate when non-moms write about what they imagine to be true about motherhood.

It tends to be simplistic nonsense.

I loved my son, love my son, sometimes swooningly - but light does not flow from his pores, I did not and do not beam every moment I am awake in his presence. I hated being tired all the time. I still hate being tired all the time.

On a daily basis, I mourn the loss of my solitude. I resent my descent into cliche-dom - the narrowing of my circle to these walls and these two males, the softening destruction of my body as my last big sweaty exercise fades into distant memory, the clouded and narrow quagmire that used to be a clear spiritual path.

And here is this Lady, this Liz, who got PAID in ADVANCE to TRAVEL the world and WRITE a BOOK about it. Travel for a YEAR. And now Julia Roberts is going PLAY her in the movie of that book.

I HATE.

I HATE that THAT is NOT me.

This is one of the refrains of my ill life, the unhealthy river that flows through my dark side -

"How did SHE get MY life????"

Envy.

It knows no boundaries. It has become my companion, again. I stopped paying attention to my spiritual fitness, rounded a mountain, and there she was. Here she is. Envy. She looks like illness personified, but one of those grossly attractive illnesses - Sharon Stone in Casino kind of ill, right after the glory and heading into the descent. Eyes glassy but still focused, smelling like expensive perfume put on two days ago, clothes still expensive but crumpled. Envy.

She is my best self made grotesque.

And when I am fit, she is a good teacher.

What and Whom am I envying?

For they do have something I want - something I am blocking, somehow, by not pursuing or by denying, by lazing or by....

I Want To Write.

I Want You To Read This.

I Want This To Be My Job.

I Want This To Earn Me Money.

Lots Of Money. Enough to buy a home, food, good schooling for my son, and travel.

I Want This To Be My Daily Work.

I don't know how. Or in what way - romances, memoir, novel, essays. I don't know how.

So I'll just write. That I know how to do. Like this.

And Open the Door to Having THAT Life.

I Write For My Living.

I Write.

I Live.





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I need a little kids school...

For anyone who's been reading my Facebook posts, this will probably all be old news... but I thought I'd go ahead and post on here. In hopes of drawing it all together for myself, maybe. That's why we tell stories, I think. To organize our experiences for ourselves, primarily; to make sense of our lives.

I am having some monumental mom guilt at the moment, let's just get that out there right now. Why didn't I insist/push/just-do-it find a good pre-k program for Finn last spring when we got here?

I don't remember. I tried, I know. Three co-op preschools were full. One CDSA site had space, but we fell into a weird income hole and were too poor to get one subsidy and couldn't get another unless I went to a job-searching class 40 hours a week, which was senseless to me. I guess I got tired, and then it was April, and then it was Well, let's just wait.

And he was going to pre-K anyway, I thought. Then he had a growth spurt - emotionally, communication-wise - as I posted last time.

And truth be told, I started kindergarten when I was 4. I was "smart". I always took pride in that. And all the kids Finn was born with began kindergarten last week. I didn't want him left out. So we were off to kindergarten with high hopes.

Then he started wetting his pants, right after we visited his school for the open house. He's never done that. Ever. And it was constant. And then he went to school, and he started crying. Not for a little while - he cried for three days straight. He kept getting lost in the halls, his teacher said, because he didn't know how to stay in line with his class. He wouldn't let her leave his side at lunch.

She told me all this on the playground in the morning, when the kids were lining up to go in. She didn't email or call me. I didn't have much time to process the information. It's her first year teaching. She's very sweet. If he was ready, I wouldn't worry about experience on her part - but he's a guy who needs some special care, I think, some knowledge.

And truth be told, I don't think he's ready for the kindergarten that exists now. He told me, very clearly:

"I need a little kids school."

Maybe if we hadn't moved.

Maybe if he'd had one or two years of pre-school.

Maybe if dad and mom were different people (not sure how, just different somehow - the kind of people who don't move, maybe, and who make sure they own a house before they have a child, and who make sure that child goes to preschool...)

So now, the decision is what pre-K program?

The sweet, sweet, small one a mile away, with 4 staff members for 15 to 20 kids? The one where most kids with him will be 3 1/2 to 4 to start, then catch up to being 5 along with him? The one that meets Mondays through Thursdays from 1pm to 4pm?

How will I work at all if he goes to that one? Even my work, my freelance writing and coordinating and teaching work?

Or the school program that seems somehow less desirable - the site we're considering is further away, for one thing, but not tremendously. 9am to 3pm, 5 days a week - shorter days not an option. Where they nap from 12:30 to 2pm, no matter what. Finn hasn't napped in two years. He'd have to rest quietly on his mat during that time. He hated naptime when he had to endure it at his San Diego preschool. The school with an executive director who is reviled by folks I know, although the teachers at this site seem lovely.

A lot more freedom for me. A lot more hours for me. To work, write, whatever.

What do I do?



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New Trees

A Summer of such busy-ness draws to a close... much producing, some teaching, lovely weeks of family time in Ohio - including a big family "withunion" as my son named it, a baptism, Cedar Point fun, the Henry County Fair, and more food than I probably should have eaten...

and a Fall full of challenges peeks at me from around the cooling corner...

The view from my window is sunny at the moment, trees still green, front yard browned from a summer of some blasting heat here in Seattle. There's a new tree with two trunks growing up and obscuring the mailbox, coming out of an old stump that we took for dead.

I am feeling some creative stirrings that I hope will become a new tree, or two even.

My son starts kindergarten one week from today. After a spring of research and worry and conviction that we'd wait a year, wait 'til 6, for kindergarten, he went and had a big old growth spurt this summer - not just physically, of course, but more essentially emotionally and psychically. No more fear on the playground at the park, but rather quiet confidence. Interest in other kids and openness to playing with them. Full sentences to adults, "Please may I have that, Mommy?" - "No, I don't like that, Mommy." Processing complex thoughts and questions and possible solutions. And then, after witnessing all that, a call from Leschi Elementary, that he'd leapt off the waiting list and into their Montessori program - so, one week from today, we're going to give a go. See what happens. Hope for the best.

My husband looks ahead to a new hip sometime this fall. More on that later.

Me - I hope for a new laptop, so that I can write anywhere in the world again. I look at the UW Extension Writing Certificate Programs, and I think I might just dive into a year of Popular Fiction... two years ago, I was all set to take the year-long Non Fiction courses when the job and move to San Diego kicked that idea out of commission. And now I think I have another chance - but I'm less drawn to Non Fiction these days. I want to write a novel. One that sells a gazillion copies. And makes me lots and lots and lots of money. So I can buy a house and take care of my family.

It's nice to be clear on that.

And yes, I will apply for some jobs so that I can earn money while I work on that big dream. I'm having a little trouble motivating towards those shorter term steps, but I promise I'll settle down and get to it, tomorrow. And do some grant writing, too.

But now it's time for lunch. Reading a play this afternoon. Maybe one I'll act in this winter...

I'm growing a new tree, or two maybe, I think.



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The Good Polar - or, What Goes Down...

There is a bright side of being bipolar.

What goes down, must come up.

So sayeth my husband, and he should know.

Some thoughts he has had since the demise of his truck -

1. Get a scooter;

2. Be a one car family;

3. Buy a horse - Cut the dead truck down into a carriage - Voila.

Still not sure what our future holds, but at least we are laughing. And the sun is shining on a Seattle full of reds and pinks and purples and blues and yellows and fuchsias and oranges and greens of every shade - a late blooming spring that is so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes.

And the birch trees in Benefit Park have leaves that talk as the breezes blow through.

Benefit Park. Our neighborhood park. Good name, isn't it?

One thing weighs on my mind - I want to go to OHIO in August. With my husband and son. Please, universe, help that happen.








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Troubles...

My husband's truck just died. Kaput. Gone to blown-head-gasket-goodbye-engine-tow-me-home-and-shoot-me heaven. He just bought it in February, used of course, with snappy paper work that said it had a new (or rebuilt) engine put in in August 2008. Now it's dead - and his mechanic told him that the engine was just plain old. And the garage who did the work won't honor the warranty.

So, we have no truck for him and sure don't have money to buy another one.

And nothing is easy with my husband. Losing a truck - tough, but something some of us can handle. Him, not so much. Stress takes a bigger, harder toll. The whole world turns against him.

And it comes on top of ongoing stress and fear about his hip needing to be replaced, the dilemmas of what will he do for work & can he change careers, and the we-are-really-poor-it's-scary-feelings - and all that lays atop his lifelong struggles with other stuff.

And I look ahead to - what?

Being a one-car family? Trying to share the car, work on my projects, take care of Finn...

Or help my husband find another engine, get it put into the truck? Shop for a different truck? Try to convince him that people actually do buy from dealers who finance, and that might not be a terrible idea...

And Finn. What do I do about Finn and kindergarten? He got his school assignment today - not really the one we wanted. An okay one. But should he even go to kindergarten next year? or wait a year? Friends say wait, but THEIR kids are going to kindergarten (to fantastic schools, the ones they wanted). And I feel like a failure as a parent - I didn't get it together to get him into a pre-K program here, and now he faces heading into big-time school, 9am to 3pm every day, with no prep. Unless I have him wait, find a pre-K program for next year. That we'd have to pay for. And then he'd be the 6 year old in kindergarten.

And we have a big family reunion in Ohio this summer, that I feel we simply have to go to. I have to. I have to take Finn and we have to see my parents, my dad who is about to turn 87 and my mom who is 80. And all my extended family, cousins and aunts and uncles.

And my husband has already been worried about it - even though my folks offered to buy his ticket, they want him to come so badly - and now, with a dead truck, how am I ever going to convince him to go?

What should I do?

Thoughts, and prayers, welcome.




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Anniversary

So, my husband and I went away for our anniversary.

Five years ago, May 1, 2004, we were married at the Rainier Valley Cultural Center in Columbia City in Southeast Seattle. I was nearly 8 months pregnant and I wore a bright red dress and a haku lei, and Kenny had a long maile leaf lei, and our family and friends were all bedecked with leis, too. We got married on stage, the same stage where the youth theatre performances took place, the same stage I'll produce on again this summer. It was filled with flowers, beautifully decorated by our family and friends.

And we went to the coast for our honeymoon, to Port Angeles and La Push.

And now, five years later, we went on our first overnight away without Finn. He stayed with his beloved cousin Melissa, and we headed east.

I had envisioned a cabin in the woods, hot tub under the stars. We didn't have that. Cost intervened, and convenience, the desire to drive 90 minutes or less since we had just the one night. So we had what we had.

Shopping at North Bend, new shoes for me. On to Cle Elum, antique store browsing, a room at the Snowcap Lodge (the fancy name for the new Best Western there). We DID have an awesome room - a soaking tub IN THE ROOM, right in front of the television.

Oh, part of me feels so crass - part of me WANTS to be the woman who goes to the romantic cabin in the woods! But in truth, we soaked in the tub and watched Grey Gardens on HBO.

And went to eat at the Roslyn Cafe, and it was just fine.

What is it about anniversaries, birthdays, events like these, that make me desire, or expect, or think I should desire and expect and HAVE the super-human experience? The romance novel... what is that part of myself?

Our trip took place on Saturday and Sunday, May 2 and 3. On our actual anniversary, May 1, we stayed home. Kenny went and did something, Finn and I played. Kenny came home and we worked in the garden. He planted flowers. I planted vegetables. We ate chicken for dinner. We kinda watched something on tv and then went to bed. It was just a day.

It was just a good day. Easy. No expectations. Just life outside in the warm sun, planting and chatting. And come summer, we'll have flowers to enjoy and food to eat.

Sometimes the best moments are the easy ones.

And someday we'll have our cabin in the woods, no TV, hot tub under the stars. That time will come. For now, all is fine as it is.




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Tulips!

I'll let the pictures speak...

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A Break from Work...

Finn and I are headed to the Tulip Festival today, a Mom and Boy date.

I haven't posted in a long time, and that feels odd. I have wanted to, but have not been able to sit down and focus.

I've been working.

I got what I asked for in my last post. Life swung into gear.

Summer contracts over my desired amount. An interview on Monday for more grant-writing work. A voiceover audition. An acting audition coming up. And lots of good ideas flowing for my novel.

Now I have to do the work associated with those contracts. My old job, running the youth theatre. It feels good to stretch back into that.

And I have to keep showing up for my afterschool drama class, searching for ways to engage these kids without going crazy. I felt like such the mean, bad teacher yesterday. My classroom management skills, so good normally, are taxed and just not effective in this community classroom with 15, 16, 19 kids swooping in and out yelling and cartwheelling (literally) and mock-fighting and real-fighting. I need help. I need a plan, man. When we sit and do artwork - like making a collage, a puppet, a folder - we are okay. When we get up to do drama, all is LOST.

Any good ideas out there? Any cool puppet ideas? Other crafts?

And sometimes, I still get stuck in future worry. When and how will my husband get his new hip? What kind of work and income will I have after August? Will Finn be okay in kindergarten? What if he is not? What will we do?

And I can literally feel my shoulders rise towards my ears as my breaths get shorter and higher and I am panting with worry...

So - stop. Breathe deeply. Today, the road heads north. Tulips are waiting. It's easy. It's just today.




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Ask, and You Shall Receive

A bit of good news - a national funder saw fit to fund the Summer Arts Program I used to run here in Seattle, and it looks like I will get to run it. I will have paid work for the summer, doing something I know how to do (and do very well).

Thank You.

And I had a terrific Career Gals gathering last night, eating and talking with three wonderful women about life and work and how to balance it all.

And the sun is out in Seattle, praise be! A garden waits to be planted and a boy waits to play. So enough with this typing / computer business, I have to get outside! And grow my garden.

Ask - what do I want?

Growth. Prosperity. Abundance. Peace.

Specifically (it's very good to ask for specifics):

• A meeting with my cohort and forward movement on my plan to get onto Oprah's couch
• Contracts for $10,000 minimum for the summer
• Insurance for my husband, so he can get his new hip(s)
• At least one well-paid engagement to do SMN performance and TN workshop before the end of 2009
• Assistance from the universe - a coach, a cheerleader, an assistant, an agent or editor or manager who believes in me and helps me grow and shine!

I am hereby Open for receiving...

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The Working Poor, Blue Collar Artist Guide to Life (in Tough Times)

That's the title of my new book. Don't steal it.

Do Not Steal - stealing does not help, even in tough times.

Say Yes! to everything everyone offers.

Is taking food from a dumpster stealing? Nope. Taking anything thrown away by someone else is just fine.

And do accept, gracefully, everything anyone wants to give you.

Organic produce a friend got from the dumpster behind the really expensive natural foods store? YES!

Old furniture an acquaintance wants to get rid of? YES!

Free samples from every single vendor at the NW Womens' Show? YES!

Charity care from any doctor or hospital that will see you? YES!

In good times, these tactics may not be necessary - you may want to buy your own produce, not clutter your garage and bathroom with lots of stuff. You may actually have real health insurance.

But in tough times? That old chair might bring $5 at your summer garage sale. Or a lot more, if you dust it off, do a little research, and realize it's a collectible. Every free sample means one less trip to the drugstore, and a slightly bruised organic apple is just as tasty and nutritious as the ones still in the store.

And health care should be a right, not a privilege, in a country as wealthy as ours. So go take it. Stealing may be appropriate in this particular situation. Some would say that insurance companies and ridiculously laden bureacratic operations have stolen the ability of the working poor to access the care they need to stay alive. In this, the wealthiest country in the entire world. A country where hedge fund managers live in 30,000 square foot homes and find ways to dodge taxes. And politicians, even the good ones, talk and talk and talk and achieve next to nothing.

No one will change things for us, so we'd better do it for ourselves. So go ahead, storm the doctors' offices and hospitals and demand the care you need.

Sometimes it feels good to be ahead of the curve. We have been blue collar artists, and -consequently - among the working poor all of our lives. We know how to do this.

Maybe we will prosper. We will certainly survive.

- Inspired by news of 45,000 people cut from WA State's Basic Health. 45,000 poor people who, like us, will have no health insurance. Also inspired by the thrift and wisdom of friends.





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New Work! New Ideas! New Life!

Things feel good - energy crackling and ideas popping!

Found a cool website - http://www.dooce.com/ - about moms and women and life, and I have some good part-time work gigs afoot, AND -

I figured out what I want to do with my life!

I love these moments! When everything becomes clear and the surge begins...

and as all good ideas, it blossomed in conversation, in a restaurant, with a friend:

My pal Leslie and me, sittin' in Geraldine's Counter, in Columbia City, catching up after a couple of years apart. Talking about life, love, work, dreams, work, questions, self-doubt, self-questioning, reveling in our narcissism - who doesn't love that girfriend time?

And I said, somewhat abashed: "I've been thinking about reviving See Me Naked... like, for womens' conferences and stuff..."

And she almost jumped out of her seat. And said, "I want to do that with you! We can add a facilitation piece, a training piece, workshops, etc..."

And the old adage - two heads are better than one - is once again ringing true.

In less than 24 hours, we have a project management website cooking (to keep us on track), we've started work on a mission / vision statement, we have a short list of powerful women to call upon for advice & support when the time is right, and we have a powerful, identifiable indicator of success:

In 18 months, we will be sitting on Oprah's couch, talking about our work.

I'll be trying to not stare at Oprah's eyelashes, and Leslie will be comfortable out on the couch instead of in the background.

I just told Kenny, my husband, our plan, and his response:

"Everyone, please welcome.... Liz Lemonnnnnnnnnn!!!!!!!!!!!"

... in his spot-on impersonation of Tina Fey impersonating Oprah welcoming her character on 30 Rock.

Why not?

Why not.

Let the roadmap unfurl...




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Work. Breath. Voice. Death. Life. Poetry.

I was a vocal coach today. At Jack Straw productions, here in Seattle. For high school students, all from other countries, all learning English. They had written poems, in their classes, with a poet/teaching artist leading them. Poems about their homes.

Homes in Afghanistan. Russia. Vietnam. Romania. Iraq.

Poems about their lives. Uprooted lives, begun on one continent and now unfolding on another.

Poems about their friends. Dead friends. Friends, killed by bombs.

Poems about their homes, what they missed. The roses in their gardens. The stuffed animals in their rooms.

Poems about religion. Poems about bombs. Poems about their favorite foods.

And I got to stand next to them as they read, in the recording studio, and help them. Help them articulate, pace, communicate. Breathe. That was my job today. I am blessed, on days like this, to get to do this work. I am blessed.

My life has been so easy. So unbelievably, unmistakably EASY. Help me to always and forever know this, to remain in gratitude and humility. Easy.





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Poop is Funny

Some new writing, from my new piece about mom-hood:

Babies pee on you. Did you know that? Sometimes they even poop on you. Like, when you've been breast-feeding wearing nothing but a sarong and it's the first day your husband has gone back to work and you're totally alone with this baby and the postman knocks on the open screen door (which never, ever happens any other time) and you get up to try and answer it and your sarong falls off and you realize somehow you have poop on you. And you're naked, with a baby, and a postman knocking on an open door.

That's an experience from a while ago, for me. Today's experiences are more about child-created lightning (enjoying flicking the lights on & off & on & off & on & off & on & off until the dad or the mom come rushing in yelling about wasting energy) and long stories featuring the many residents of the tiny Island of Sodor. And yes, some experiences are still about poop. Poop is funny. No way around it. My son's favorite joke:

"I eat poop." Followed by:

"I eat wipes." And finishing up with:

"I eat napkins."

Funny comes in threes, he already has that down.

And you non-parents (and maybe some of you parents) would not think "I eat poop" a very funny joke, but you have not seen the shining, gleeful, devilish eyes of my son when he says it, and you have not heard the belly laughs that follow.

When you're four, poop is funny.




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I'm home, I'm home, I'm home, I'm home!

I feel like there is an 8 or 9 year old girl, skipping inside me, singing.



"I'm home, I'm home, I'm home, I'm home!"



I knew it would be good to be back, good for my family to come home to Seattle. Good to leave San Diego, which just wasn't right for us.



But I honestly had no idea I'd be so HAPPY to be back here. Back in Seattle, cold & wet & all.



Every moment, every omen has been rich with blessing. Our families and friends opened arms and homes and hearts to us. We landed at our mid-wife's home, and slept under skylights that looked up at the stars. And then, almost immediately, we found our home.



A beautiful little house, on south Beacon Hill, with a great big yard just waiting for our gardens. I sit, right now, in my office, my own tiny office at the front of the house, with two huge windows and one little port-hole that all look out on trees and sky - I feel like I'm in a little boat. Especially today, a rainy old day.

Other signs of homecoming: my husband going right back to work. Me getting calls for part-time, contract work, for vocal coaching and grant-writing and teaching. Finn playing with friends and family.

And now, after a few weeks here, our house becomes our home, with furniture coming in, gifts from friends and Goodwill treasures, boxes getting unpacked for the first time in nearly two years - boxes we never even managed to open in California.

And even deeper, richer signs of homecoming on another level - I have been writing.

I have been writing.

I have been writing, for myself, for reading aloud, for others to read, just beginning to stretch muscles that have been dormant and quiet for so long. I have a novel starting. I have a new performance piece. Wanna hear part of it? It's about mom-ing. I actually just posted it on Facebook, and realized it belongs in a piece. I'm gonna post it here, right after this one.

Two posts in one day. Makes up for three weeks away.







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Home...

We are home.

In our midwife's beautiful old wood house, in Columbia City, Seattle, Washington.

It's cold and clear out, and so so quiet.

We had dinner at Tutta Bella, we walked there and back.

Earlier, Finn said "My friends are coming here today." And I tried to tell him it might be a few days before he got to see his friends. Then, about 30 minutes later, we looked out our window and Kenny said, "There's Tiffy." And there she was, Finn's Tiffy who watched him and loved him from 6 months old until we moved south 16 months ago. Walking by with 3 little ones. We went out to say hi; Finn hid behind me, then retreated to the safety of the front porch where he jumped up and down as high as he could, grinning.

We have an invitation to her potluck Thursday night, and an invitation to my sister-in-law's birthday dinner, too.

And an appointment to look at a house tomorrow. Maybe our new home. We'll see.

For now, this is a fine first home, this old wooden house where Kenny landed when he first arrived in Seattle nearly 20 years ago, where Finn spent his first 6 months playing with Isabelle when I worked, where Finn and I retreated during his first week of life when my blood pressure was high and they wanted me in the hospital, but we came here instead.

This is a birthing house.

It is the birth of our new life in Seattle. Our home.

Thanks be to God and Goddess, Higher Powers, Great Spirits, and the Mothers of us All. Thank You for Home.





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I'm Going Home...

There is a beautiful moment at the end of a movie I have not seen in nearly 30 years, a movie I saw in my teens, and loved and loved and loved. For many reasons, not least of which was Tim Curry in a corset and fishnets.

I never dreamed that one day I would be waxing nostalgic about Rocky Horror Picture Show. Which I now cannot fully recall - except one of the last songs keeps running through my mind, where Frank'nfurter (god, it feels a little ridiculous to even type out that name) is crouched down after all the ruckus, all the debauchery, crooning "and now, I'm... going home...."

I don't know how to upload my voice here, so you are spared that layer of this post.

I'm going home.

I left my job today. My last day. The job I moved to Southern California for. A really Big Job.

Artistic Director of Playwrights Project.

I am not elated. I thought I might be, to be relieved of responsibility and stress and worry and hard long hard work. But I am actually, surprisingly, sad.

I am sad.

I thought, when coming, that I just might retire in this job. I had a vision of us living in Encinitas or some lovely place like that, me working a reasonable 30 or maybe 40 hours a week, my husband surfing and working and making art and thriving in the sun, my son growing up in the ocean...

That didn't happen. I worked so much more than a reasonable 30 to 40 hours a week. My husband did not thrive, but spiralled down further into his bipolar / ptsd mire and pulled himself back up and went down and came up again for air. We did not live in a lovely place, rather a drab small house on a street filled with rentals, a few blocks from a lovely neighborhood and another few blocks from a dangerous crime-ridden neighborhood, and we did not fall asleep to surf but instead to helicopters circling overhead more often than not.

But good things happened, too.

I introduced Edward Albee to a room full of exceptional people, in a home with a Picasso hanging on the wall. I met Marion Ross there, Mrs. Cunningham, and she held my hands and looked at me with tears in her eyes, moved by the work she had seen.

I produced 8 world premiere plays, all of them entertaining, two of them extraordinary. I worked with some wonderful theatre artists. I helped make a lot of theatre.

I listened to Teaching Artists process their dilemmas and questions, and sometimes I had answers or advice for them. Many of them wrote me notes, gave me cards, heartfelt cards, thanking me for my work and my support.

I sat at the table with the Board of Directors. They listened to me. They, too, wrote notes of thanks and sadness at my departure.

And my family and I went to some wonderful places. My son and I had many gorgeous dates - the Train Museum in Balboa Park, always bookended with a trolley ride through the park. Our after-school visits to the "animals" at Mission Trails - listening to the recorded animal sounds on the walk into the visitor center, climbing on the bronze sculptures of Coyote and Mountain Lion. Our family hikes through the oaks and grasslands of Mission Trails, and our journeys through the Cuyamacas to Julian and back. Our discovery of Imperial Beach with visiting friends, and our trip back to eat seafood on the pier. Our last ocean sunset, on Sunday, above Del Mar.

I am not elated tonight. I am sad. I guess some mourning is in order, both for the actualities of what life held here, and for the dreams and visions of what did not happen.

I thought I would be overcome with joy at the nearing journey home. I trust I will be, soon, when the final boxes are packed and taped and on the truck and we are in our first "mo-tail" on the road trip home, and when we find our new physical home and start to move in, and when I find the work I'm meant to do there.

But for now, I guess, it's okay to be sad.





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A New Year, A Bowl Full of Cherries

In 2009, my life will be like a bowl full of cherries!

Fresh and juicy, beautiful, succulent, sweet and tart, healthy, natural, nutritious and satisfying.

I will not be a singular fruit, but live in a lovely bowl with others and grow on a tree community filled with sweet beings like me.

This Is My Truth - It Will Be!

May You Make Manifest Your Dreams, Too!

How I Will Create This Reality ~

I will get all the nutrients I need: plenty of water and sun and clean air and love and care.

I will eat health-full, nourishing food.

I will move joyfully and thoroughly use and enjoy and revel in my body ~ I will grow strong and lean again, and still retain my juicy sweetness.

I will find and do work I truly enjoy. I will WRITE. I will ACT. I will be INSPIRED and I will INSPIRE others.

I will surprise myself.

I will live in happy, joyous and free sobriety.

I will love my husband and talk to him joyfully, I will enjoy his company and spend time with him alone.

I will play and teach and learn from and revel in Finn.

I will be clear and sane with money.

I will lean into my higher power and rejuvenate my spiritual life;

I will ask for help and open my arms to receive it.

I will place

myself

my self-care

my well-being

my sobriety and my health

FIRST.

ME

Center Stage

I will return to myself, nurture myself, and be the very best Me I can Be.

And in so doing, love the world, contribute as only I can, be of service as only I can.

I breathe this truth and set it in motion ~ it will be.

I love you all, and send you warm wishes of light and love and peace for the New Year of 2009. If you are reading this, Blessings light upon You.

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