Teletubbies and counting

The joy of a multi-layered life. After the bleakness of the last post, I was pondering what to write about. I started something on a work break earlier, didn't finish. Was standing in the living room a few moments ago, with a BRILLIANT idea - I came in to write it, but -

Finn thought differently.

He climbed up on my lap - I wouldn't say forcefully - more like with DETERMINATION.

And he said "I need play Teletuvvies. I need play Teletuvvies on the computer. I need play the TIGER."

So we did. We went to pbs.org and then to PBS kids and then to the Teletubbies and we played Guess the Animal shape, which is the game you get to when you click on the Tiger.

I forgot what I was going to write about. And that's okay. The present is enough, I think.

Because earlier, Finn counted. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10....

which he's done for a while.

Then he kept going - 13, 14, 15, etc - 20!

which he has also done, for a while.

THEN he continued - 21! 22! 23! 24! 25! 26! 27! 28! 29...

..... (big eyes, questioning me... I whisper "30")

FIRTY! FIRTY 1! FIRTY 2! FIRTY 3! FIRTY 4! FIRTY 5! FIRTY 6! FIRTY 7! FIRTY 8! FIRTY 9!

You get the idea. We went on to 40, then he kinda drifted away.

He is 4 years and 2 months old. And he has learned to count - and count, and count.

I was blown away. I don't know if it's exceptional or not, but it sure feels that way. A massive shift in understanding, the power of ten, the addition of a number in front of another number and how that unfolds and unfurls, pattern after pattern, into infinity

Amazing, don't you think? I do. I love him so much, and I just feel full of hope when I see him learn.



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Autumnal ramblings

Of a mental sort, at least.

It is the Autumnal Equinox. I got a voicemail this morning, from my dearest friend, wishing me a happy one. Wishing I could join her for a circle of women. I wish that, too.

Leaves will be getting wet, underfoot, soon, on Whidbey Island. I remember a Samhain with Tom Cowan, when Janine was still alive, a circle of wild power at the Marsh House. Is Joy still there, I wonder? Her cat died that night. Sassafras, I think. A cold, wet, windy night with a moon somehow peeking through, and the body of Sassafras quite, quite dead. And we buried her, together. Joy's white hair whipping around, her powerful old body digging into the earth.

I think that happened. Although I might have made it up.

I miss Janine. And Joy. Janine I know has passed on, and I know she's happy there, wherever she is, lighter than air, flying about on pale purple wings I imagine, tending the souls who are hurting, everywhere in the world.

It is the season of dying.

May not seem like it here, in the land of sun, but it is. What part of me will die this Autumn?

What part do I want to die? What part do I want to purge, shed, peel away?

There is so much weight on me. I feel heavier, in every way, than I have in a very, very, very long time. Psychically, painfully heavy. Oppressed, I would go so far to say. And I would like to shed THAT. I would like to shed the weight of regret, of dishonesty, of escapism, of addiction, of un-tended to pain. This is my call, my prayer, for this Autumn.

I intend to shed. I intend to jettison my flotsam. I intend to peel away, I intend to surrender, I intend to heal.

Finn sings behind me: "Down came the rain, and washed the spider out..."

Yes.

Yes.

Please.

Please,

Aho.







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Sunday at the Beach with Friends

That is where we are headed, today, to celebrate a friend's birthday. That is our PLAN, anyway.

We met them at the beach a few weeks ago, these friends, new friends we first met at a 4th of July party and liked, friends who are artists and teachers and workers for Obama, people right up our emotional alley. That over there to the left is a picture of our encampment. Sea Wall / Sand Castle designed and constructed by Ken, to save us all from the waxing surf.

Makin' friends - as I posted before, it's a process. It's why we miss home, Seattle, so much - all those people who know us, who have known us for years and years, who showed up to birthday parties and Solstice parties and who opened their doors to us on Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter and summer picnic gatherings.

We miss them. We miss YOU - since you're probably the ones reading this.

And now we are here, in the southern corner of the United States, and we're trying to make new friends.

And Kenny & I reverb back to adolescence, wondering Will They Like Us, Are We Weird, and sometimes (frequently) end up staying home with our heads under the covers. Which we can easily disguise as Playing Fort With Finn.

But today, I think, we are going to be brave. We're goin' to the party. Or at least we're gonna try.
Deep breath.

Wish us luck.






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Reprieve...

The job is not there, the one he was going away to do. My husband is staying here, at least for now.

He may travel north, to help another friend, soon - and I hope that he will, that he does, I hope this for him.

And I feel a little, tiny bit guilty. Because truth be told, I was silently screaming to the heavens:

"DO NOT LET HIM GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

I was afraid. Afraid of being the ONE, single parenting, and afraid on a superstitious level that something BAD might happen. That he might not come back.

I was afraid of a lifetime of single parenting. And I was afraid of losing him. And I was just plain afraid of the inconvenience and stress and all of that, of driving Finn to and from preschool and working and hiring babysitters and and and blah blah blah...

the hamster-circle of worry.

And now I don't have to. He's staying here, with us.

For a little while, anyway. Yeah, maybe he'll go up soon, to help Bret on the big paint job. And I'll be okay with it then. Really, I will. I promise. I won't scream silent prayers for divine interference, for adjustments in the cosmos that allow him to stay here. With us.

My husband. My bipolar bear.

He sits outside in the sun right now, talking to his friend. Sounding remarkably mature, calm, spiritually fit, loving.

Will he sound like that when he comes inside? I doubt it. Maybe he'll surprise me. But I seem to get the wounded, snarling side more often. I don't know why.

Have you ever felt that? Have you ever been that?

What side of me do I give him, I wonder...





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Single parenting... Survival... Holy crap.

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I have an active imagination. Ever since I was small, I have imagined terror and trouble, just to see what I would do...

8 years old, in church: "If TIGERS escape and come in here, in church, how will I escape? Could I climb up the altar? Could I then jump to the lights? Could I hang there until rescue came?"

Another scenario, albeit a similar one: "If a FLOOD came into church, how will I escape?" etc....

Sometimes even moral implications and consequences would enter my pondering:

"What will happen to my family? Will I save them? Will I even try? Or will I just scramble to my own safety?"

It would while the hours of mass away. Which was essential, considering I went to mass six days a week.

My penchant for bad fantasies has stayed with me all my life. I once read an interview with Mary Steenburgen, where she said she used to think she was insane, because she daydreamed about horrible things happening to her and her family. Then, when she was studying Meisner (an acting technique), she realized she was just an actor.

Lately, since I got married, my fantasies have primarily been about my husband leaving my life. Never, ever my son leaving my life - there I do not wander. Ever. Some places are unimaginable, even for bad fantasy time.

But my husband - he leaves a number of ways. Sometimes he dies. A pleasant, peaceful death, that's over before he or anyone knows it. Sometimes he just disappears. Sometimes I leave him.

No matter how he goes, the fantasy is pretty much the same - I grieve and grow wise through my grieving, maybe I even write a book about it, and I become a noble, wise, spunky single parent. I am Finn's friend, his mommy and his daddy. Somehow, inexplicably, I am 35 again. We explore the world, I make lots of money (somehow), I buy a little home for us (huh?), and eventually I meet my soulmate who becomes the best second dad for Finn that you could ever imagine - a sweet, calm, quiet, giving, smart, generous, patient, saintly kind-of-fellow, a guy who's a world away in temperament from my current bipolar bear.

and I drift off to sleep thinking - "Yeah. I will survive...hey, hey..." as Gloria Gaynor echoes in my head.

And now - NOW. Oh Good Lord, NOW - I am going to get to actually practice.

My husband is leaving.

Not for good, and not for bad. Actually - let me be clear with my language.

He is leaving FOR GOOD. He's leaving to go back to Seattle to work with old friends, and make a lot of money for us, his family, and regain a bit of his soul, hopefully. And then he is coming back here, to us, in San Diego. (note - I did not say "home." Since none of us are at all sure where that is.)

He is coming back. That's the plan. After a MONTH. FOUR WEEKS.

I work. I work full-time, at a job that will grow increasingly demanding over the next four weeks. There are many graces - we are an office of women, half of us mothers, and I am the boss of me. There is no one to hover or disapprove. I can bring Finn, I can leave early to get him from daycare, I can do many things -

and I have daycare, thankfully, at Finn's beloved preschool. I don't know if he'll love daycare as much as school, but it's in the same place - that has to count for something in his affections. I hope.

And I can ask for babysitting. I have one person I can ask. Maybe I'll find more.

It's just that I will be the ONE. I will be the ONE who drives him to school, goes to work, then picks him up from school; the ONE who takes him grocery shopping to the park and on errands and the ONE who makes his breakfast and dinner and the ONE who brushes his teeth and puts him to bed - I will be the ONE doing this, while at work I will be the ONE artistic directing the whole shebang.

I am terrified. I suspect that I will not be noble, or wise. I'm pretty certain that I will not wake up and find myself 35 again. I'm afraid of the new map of furrows that will arise on my already weary face. And I know, in my heart, that I may shriek more than I laugh.

Now, without being the ONE, I barely keep my head above water. I paddle along, breathing hard, until I fall into bed at night. How will I paddle for two?

My only consolation is that I will be alone, after Finn goes to sleep. I will not have my husband here to help (him helping me) - but I will also not have my husband here to help (me helping him). I'll be alone - and that may be a blessing. His troubles brew large, much of the time. He takes up a lot of psychic space, my bipolar bear.

So maybe the respite from his worries will compensate, a bit, for being Finn's ONE.

Or maybe I'll just die.

Mary Steenburgen would understand.

I Am Special

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Sorry, friends - time just flew.

Some gorgeous firsts this week - Finn's FIRST Homework!! We had to answer questions and print up family pictures for a book he's making at preschool.

A book called "I Am Special."

He is. And so are you. Think, for just one moment, of what makes you truly unique. What makes You, You.

I think it might just be the people who love you. And the light you shine on their lives.

We all have that. Now we all just need to remember it.

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