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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