shifting the flow to wordpress.ORG

shifting the flow to wordpress.ORG.

flow mojo

Things are picking up speed here.  I know it doesn’t seem so, since I’ve literally fallen off the radar for three weeks.  But not without lots going on behind the scenes.  (Above and beyond sick toddlers, power-dousing snowstorms, and the race to revise my ten years in the making novel before the AWP conference this April).  

A month ago I was bursting at the seams with excitement about a new writing/blog venture- one that would help kick up my sparkle mojo while also offering it out to others. 

Then, my savvy and kind-hearted friend (and former life coach) Dolly Garlo suggested I find a way to monetize my creative efforts vs. giving it away as I’ve so freely done in the past.

Which sent me in a researching frenzy on all things blogs and technologies.  What I learned is this:

1.  Marketing hasn’t changed much over the years. …

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A few words on form…

A few words on form….

Get out of your box (or at least enjoy being in it)

Get out of your box (or at least enjoy being in it).

Bring on the light

Bring on the light.

Can Your Hear Me Now?—Unplug the Gadgets, Tune Into the Self

Can Your Hear Me Now?—Unplug the Gadgets, Tune Into the Self.

looking up…….

Toss and Catch

Look at the way she hangs in the sky above him,

a buoyant point tossed and suspended atop the sturdy

upward stretch of his torso, a small rain of sea

trickling from her wet baby body and polka-dotted swimsuit.

Her joy is unmistakable. The concentration of her father

as he waits to catch her before she hits the water—palpable,

though you can barely make out his face.   Waist deep

in a muddy sea, his reflection is a blur on the surface.

Also missing from this picture is my own salt-

stung heart,  am best left behind

the lens to capture these fragments and cling to them

like a life raft, later print, frame and arrange them to

remind me that happiness does, in fact, have its place in our life together.

What you focus on will grow itself into perspective, they say.

Like how, behind them, the day is a striking, clear blue, save

a few clouds that mottle the sky.  See how a bird flies towards them?

But then what do you make of the pier, or rather, what’s left of it, how it

spikes out of the water in the distance?  And the horizon line—

even the horizon line is slightly crooked. I did not shoot

the image that came later, the one where his grip

on her slips.  Where she goes under, swallows the sea,

baptized into the reality that every moment of joy

has its counterpoint.  She cried some, but soon enough,

our girl is airborne again, and though her small hands

don’t quite let go of his wrists, she lets herself be thrown,

be caught,  continues to love the shimmering throttle

as she tumbles through air, gravity repeatedly pulling her back

towards his arms, which stay open and ready, wait to catch her

and everything in her life that goes with it, which, despite my perpetual bent

towards longing and loneliness, I learn, will always include me.

sixty-five degrees…

not just the angle of my head tilted down but the actual temperature here in key west today. Which might seem fine for most though it’s twenty lower than the norm, maybe even more if you factor in humidity.  the sort of weather that makes your pets want to sleep on your lap, makes your loved ones curl into afternoon blankets and dream in deep long sleep.

me, i was up at five, mind firing this way and that, wondering about salvaging half-gone bananas in the kitchen, fruit flies hovering their crazy figure eights, if changing doctors this late in the game was unwise or if I might be giving up too soon on my dream of birthing in the Sea, if the folks over at Healthy Start thought I was nuts yet happy and hopeful to know they are arranging for me to talk to “someone.”

And now Seava is awake, and I’ve already gone in and tried to nurse her back to sleep but she’s ready to be up just when I’ve carved out this little moment for myself to write.   To write.   It’s what makes me feel human, this writing, any writing these days.  Even a list helps, a grocery list of ingredients and gifts to buy for the holiday and things i need to do or people to call and yet even if nothing gets crossed off, that’s fine, because I’ve written, it gives my day some shape, with words to boot.

Ah, but the crying has stopped.   Perhaps a bad dream, or a belly-ache.

It’s cold out there.   In twenty minutes I’ll bundle myself up and walk to where I teach dance for a fundraiser for a friend who’s daughter decided this life was just too tough.  There’s a bit of a hole in my heart for her, and for her granddaughter who I taught this summer, watched her light up with movement and one day even wear a special glove to honor Michael Jackson.

I don’t understand our Karmic paths, why we choose such difficult roads.  Last night I spoke with an astrologer, a gift from a friend.  He spoke about relationships, and my own karmic path, how certain aspects of my sign were in certain houses, how this lifetime would be about learning how to be on earth through relationships.  I’m much more invested than most, he said, reflecting on my intensity, my honesty, my quest for authenticity.   “that’s just how you are wired.”

I wish it were that easy, to see the wiring and follow it accordingly.  Apparently I can, if i figure out how to pick the right relationships (and they are all “right” he said), and learn how much responsibility i am to take within them.   this sense of karmic wounding and searching for fairness.  that true transformation lies in my own difficult family karma, particularly my childhood one.

but do i have the courage to go deep, to look at the family stuff that for so long i’ve intellectualized and “accepted” as fact but without ever really feeling it?  critical, he said, so that i can collect freedom in my state of mind, and shift out of that feeling that something is always missing.   “your children,” he said “are going to be amazing teachers for you.”

yes.  i sense this.  in every moment that i try to be there for them, both in the physical and spiritual world, i know that in some ways it heals me too.  stresses me a bit, but heals too.  i want so much to give them a sense that they are unconditionally loved.  that i will always be present for them, that i will SHOW UP when they need me.  that they are perfect and enough, just as they are.   and to be able to do this for myself?  that is the hardest work of all.  sixty five degrees.  looking down, deep into the abyss of my young self, feeling the chill of winters i have long chosen to forget.

Seava says “eye” and points to her own, then mine.   I wonder if she knows how much she will see through that one little eye, and that, when both are wide open and paying attention, the world will disclose itself to her.  I hope her heart is strong, that her karmic path is filled with more ease and grace than my own has been so far.  I think of the aforementioned granddaughter and my heart cries out for her.   May angels and guides be upon her, and carry her forward from her four-year old life and on.   May all of our karmic paths guide us towards more light, more joy, more of that sense that we do, in fact, belong here.

blue through and through…

The cursor blinks and blinks on the page, like eyes that open and shut, waiting for something to change or appear or disappear.  I’m looking for words, wondering where my words have gone.  Oh, sure, if I lift the six piles of laundry there’ll be a few, and maybe some under the half eaten grapes and playing cards scattered on the floor, Jack of Spades’ face half chewed through.  Moustache stuck to my girl’s chin, her devilish grin growing as she stomps around the house with nothing but a dirty t-shirt (from one of the piles) draped over her head like a swami.  I want to ask her to tell my fortune, what our future holds.  I am stuck between knowing I ought to be present for what IS and wanting to push fast forward on this life, hoping that what’s ahead will offer more comfort, more ease, more grace. If I were brave enough I’d tell you that my words have gone into a deep state of arrest.  Too little time, too few moments of all-out joy.  WHy would I document the hollow and heavy blueness I feel?

I know a wise woman who used to say “you gotta go through it to get to it.”  Ironically, her nickname is MOMS.  It’s a weird place, this blah, mehh, shoulder-shrugging, uninspired place.   A crossroads between utter loneliness and chosen social hibernation.  The feeling that I have nothing to offer, that I am- gasp- boring.  How do you go through that?  And what will be on the other side?  What exactly will I be getting to?

Rob assures me that it’s just hormones.  And the toll of being so ill with the first trimester (now second) nausea hitting me hard.  ANd not getting any sleep.  And caring for a little one that is “ON” almost all day long.  I can only hope he’s right.   I think there could be nothing sadder than not caring much about anything.

I know I need to change my inner vibe.   I know I need to take better self care.  Carve out more time for me to do the things that give me lift.  Even if just a few times a week.

I suspect that’s why there’s not a lot of books out there on parenting with a baby and a toddler.  Who has the time to be an attentive parent AND write the nitty gritty truth of how it is?  Few, I suspect.   Though a little creativity goes a long way…. the babysitting trade I do with a friend allows me this precious time now to write, Seava gone to play with her 8 year old pal for the next two hours.

A friend told me before Seava came that I would get a lot of parenting advice, but the best she had to offer was this:  you will never feel like a good enough parent, and that once you accept that and get over it, everyone will be much better off.   Part of my blueness, I think.  I once believed I gave up Catholic guilt for New Year’s long long ago, but it seems guilt is a daily part of my regime.  Take, for example, this week’s earlier outing.  Riding the bike to do errands and then meet a friend, Seava decides to have a full-out fit while in her seat, wiggling and wobbling all over.  “Stop” I say firmly.  More wiggling, with deeper intensity and whines (oh dear god, help me with the whining).  “Cut the shit,” I say, half annoyed, half worried I’d dump the bike with us both on it. A driver in his car, with his windows rolled down, hollers out “Do you really talk to your child like that?” and then to the passenger in his car “DId you hear her?”.  Instant Shame.   I must be the most terrible mother in the universe.   ANd probably even more so when I share a sip of my cafe mocha and a little nibble of my brownie with her at the coffee shop where we meet my friend, and then saunter on to do the parenting radio show where I tout the importance of making wise choices with food for you and your family.

Sometimes I really do think I suck at all this.  It used to be when I didn’t enjoy something or I wasn’t especially happy or good at it, I’d give my notice and move on to the next thing.   HA!  Forget it.   Talk about a test in commitment and consistency.  No wonder so many parents are so tired.

I know I sound like IM the one whining now, which is why, even if I do have some time, I don’t write.  My own mother taught me “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  But MOMS might be better onto something.  If you stuff all that stuff down, it doesn’t go away.  It gets bigger and more unruly and then starts rearing it’s ugly monster head with thoughts like “you suck” and “people don’t like you anymore” and “your life as you knew it is over.”

If you let all the heavy shit hit the page, then maybe you can find the words that are underneath, words that, yes, might be blue, but think of all the colors of blue there are in teh world, all the things that are blue and just maybe you could shift from that sort of blue that keeps you huddled up inside yourself and fly into that blue blue sky.  Just maybe you’ll trust that, yes, hormones are a powerful thing, and they are coursing though you at speeds you can’t keep track of, and one day, they’ll level out, or disappear, and the cursor will be blinking it’s squinty little eye, and you’ll arrive at the page again, with words that speak of wonder and love and excitement of what’s to come.

but the truth is this…

it is 4:55 and i’ve been up since 2:30, Seava wanting to nurse because i’ve certainly established the idea that i’m an all night snack bar and if i say no there’s hell to pay and then my cat started crying because he had to pee and the poor guy is 14 and the last thing i want is for him to die of a bladder infection because we’re too lazy to open the door for him so now i’m up, out of bed, which i layed in for an hour trying to be still, in the middle of my babe and boyfriend, listening to them both breathe and wondering if i’d ever feel right again about snuggling up into rob’s arms like he was the great protector, my knight in shimmering armour now that i’m a mother and supposed to be a protector too.

there’s another baby inside of me, weighing in at 4 paperclips and sometimes i swear i can feel her moving, swimming about in there but it’s probably just gas because i haven’t really pooped in what seems like weeks, which is probably one of the reasons i am so nauseas and why i can’t sleep.  i know i should say it’s a her because i’ll feel really stupid if it’s a him when we find out at month 5 with the gestational tests and ultrasound up in miami, but something has me feeling like it’s another girl.

maybe it’s because i’m surrounded by girl energy all day long with Seava, and my intuition has taken a deep sleep and im just going on what i’m being infused with.  pink dresses with hibiscus on them, bloomers, lime green mary janes that squeak when she walks.  and that’s nothing about her personality, which is almost all girl, save the strong swagger and force with which she thrusts herself upon you during any phsyical contact.

so im here, on the couch now, just having polished off a half a row of saltines and a reeds ginger brew, just having googled cures for nausea to see if im missing anything and 10 weeks pregnant because i’ve forgetton everything about what it’s like to be pregnant.  i’m not as eager to discover it this time around, since i have a wee one alredy that needs my care, focus, attention.  i worry that i won’t have enough energy to give them both when the new babe arrives, that i won’t love her as much as i do Seava, but then i laugh at the thought of love and energy being finite and let myself relax.  a little, at least.  which is why it’s five in the morning and im still not sleeping.

but, yes, i am tired, and in a way i never imagined tired to be.   i have seen my life as i knew it dissolve into essentially something entirely different and i am trying to shift my perspective that it is not a bad thing, just different.  to eliminate my suffering of missing what once was, which was total freedom and creative opportunity at any willing moment, i must let it all go and be present with what is.  and in the same breath, figure a way not to totally lose my self in the process.  prioritze.  the next two or three years will be about prioritizing.  my “free” time will have to include things that nurture my soul.  yoga, absolutely.  and then, one creative art form.  AG! to ahve to pick is devestating.

but i suspect my best bet is writing.  it’s what im best at, what one can do at five twelve in the morning without waking up the household.  something to look back on and ponder.

i think the ginger brew is kicking in.  or the crackers.  nausea lightening.  sleep calling.

if anyone has any stories, advice, anecdotes about being pregnant with a toddler already in tote, i’d love to hear all about it.  there’s not a lot out thee on this subject that i can tell so far.  pregnancy, check.  raising a toddler, check.   the panic one feels while raising a toddler and knowing another is on the way?  ?????????????????

ah, to laugh in spite of it all. and know it’s yet another gift.

tiny heartbeat…

heard last week, at an early 8 weeks, the earliest ever detected by my very surprised and happy doctor.

and a joke, as told by my friend Connie:  “what do you call people who use the rythm method?”…..”parents!”

planned or unplanned, baby seabean #2 is on the way, and we are slowly wrapping our head and hearts around the idea.  and despite the “reality” of what it means to have another child, in many ways, it seems quite perfect.

planned by a force much greater than us all.

 

gearing up to go again…

KONK AM radio

It’s 5:30 on a Sunday and because my sweetie and little one are indulging in a major power nap,  I’ve actually and finally had a snippet of time to myself.  I just finished creating a new supplemental blog called the peep show for the talk radio show I’m about to launch next Monday geared towards island-style parenting on KONK AM… 1680 on your dial if you’re local, www.konkam.com if you’re not.  (Tune in on October 5th at 3 p.m…… to “the peep show”)!

The good folks over at the station asked me to come on board some months ago and while enthused about the prospect of it, the idea was more than overwhelming.  I don’t know how other folks fare out there when it comes to adjusting to being a parent, but it’s taken me a good whole year to get the hang of it and let’s just say, while it does have it’s magic moments, it’s still the toughest job I’ll ever love.

What I think I can attribute most of my challenges to is not the wee one who just turned one, who truly is the apple of my eye, but the fact that TIME is just so dang limited these days.   Meaning:  when do I get to indulge the calling of my creative muse?

The very reason I stopped blogging was so that I could be more present, pay better attention to the wee one tugging at my leg.   But the truth is, I MISS that little bit of writing I did, and it’s high time I try at it again.

So, here we go, with a new set of intentions.  I will keep being a mamma in the making, learning how to best be the best mamma i can be….hopefully while making and sharing some cool things with you along the process.

Ok, Ok, so it’s a little less on the artistic edge of things and a bit more on the creative home-maker realm, but you gotta start somewhere, right?  And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last year is that if you’re going to keep your SELF intact, it’s to learn how to integrate as best you can.

Banana bread recipes, how to make a mobile with found objects and what inspires a children’s story, here we come.

(And for those of you new to my meanderings, let me introduce you to my new muse:)

cat food. it's not just for breakfast anymore.

so long…

last night i had this dream:  i was on a ferry, a historic ferry, headed out of the key west bight.  i’m not sure where we went, but it included a lot of chaos, and falling into the water for a while, where pods of thousands of giant manatees swam around me at high speeds. somehow, i made it back to the boat.  upon returning to the key west bight, i sat up on the highest level and could see dolphins, hundreds of them, following the boat.  i got off the boat into a crowd at the terminal, and saw this fellow i presumably knew, quite happy, because he got a job on a new boat, “discovery,”  and had he known i was interested in going out on the water, i could have avoided the masses and gone on the “discovery” for free.  the owners of “discovery” where good people, he said.  in fact, they just gave him the day off, and paid him, too, so he could rest.  and, he said, the dolphins always follow them.

so if this seem like a strange segue, perhaps it is.  but i think there’s something to that dream about freedom, discovery, flow, love and consciousness wrapped up in it….. which has me thinking about how i’ve been using my “free” time lately, what works, what doesn’t seem to be, and what new things i might try to create better flow.

next week marks the year anniversary of this blog, which i started as a joural of sorts for seava, and a way to dialogue with her while pregnant as well as a way to explore questions & discover answers.  but, as with all things and their beginnings, there must be endings, too.

i’ve been struggling to balance out the various parts of myself, feeling really dis-integrated.  i have held out, hoping for flow, and pushed onward, motored by fumes.  i love and care for our high-energy, power-napping (maximum one hour, usual fifteen minutes) babe all day.  the house is often mostly clean, the laundry done and put away. i more often than not make three nice meals a day, tend to our pets, and take a walk each day.

my yoga mat is in the corner collecting dust, i have two unfinished books that have been “almost done” for longer than i care to admit, three new children’s books underway, dance clothes that are packed away, choreography that i made up and have since forgotten for a dance film, and so many photographs on my computer that it is in jeaporady of crashing.

the worst of it is, when i get on the computer to blog, i inevitably veer off course, looking at other people’s blogs or finding cool new possibilities for creative projects.  in my old life, these thigns would be perfectly acceptable for me.  no problem to skip meals and stay up til two or three in the morning.  no problem to daydream about a surf trip to indonesia, spawned by happening upon some travel blog.  no problem to try clay-bodied doll-making or painting with beeswax or creating acrylic transfers atop my images on canvas.  everything, i find, is possible.

but…another thing i have found is this:  all in due time.  so, to save myself the invariable stress of wanting to do it all in a time where it just ISN’t possible, i am letting it all go.    well, not it all.  just the internet part.  i’m taking a break from the cyber world for a while, and will relish in the little things without thinking at all about how i will document those little moments for later.  i will simply live it, and give what i have to what is right in front of my face:  my girl, my partner, my pets, my friends.  living things, right here, right now, that deserve me (and i deserve) more than all the exploring in this virtual world will ever offer.

so until later………………………………..  be well.  love often.  laugh much.  xo

what it must mean when people say they grow fast…

finally, it rains. i rise in the dark to let the cats in, move

last night’s laundry into the dryer, change sheets

where the babe has soaked herself.  her body an ‘x’

at the center where we sleep, where she sleeps

now, the lull of rain a lullaby, a sweet wet kiss

on dry dry land.  last week, fires everywhere,

buildings burned to the ground.  plants limp

in their pots though i try to remember to water them

each day. the last of our three cats comes to the door,

his old body damp with rain.  he purrs at my feet

while i rub him dry, then trots to his dish like he’s done for

fourteen years of mornings.  before i can bend to fill them, it

stops. the rain, i mean, it stops. gray goes azure, palm fronds still

on their trees, patter on the tin roof slowing and then silent, gurgle

and yawn of a babe in the other room, stretching her solid body

from ‘x’ to ‘i,’ then calling out for me to help her rise.

mystery meal mondays…

mystery as in, i have no idea what it’s going to be, but it has to be something different than the five things i tend to make over and over (and over).  coming from a gal who’s former idea of a meal consisted of carrots, hummus and some crackers (ingested while working at the computer or riding a bike to and fro various projects), this whole make a new meal every week is quite the task.  and it’s helped me feel a little more creative, artful, in my day to day life.  so far, i’ve kept my vigil (aside from last week, with a visit from auntie ricci and a meal out at the local cuban joint).

but sometimes, im so darn tired i can hardly think of making toast, never mind a whole new meal.  trying to get out of cooking one night last week, i said to rob, “do you want licci’s reftovers?”  he wittily responded that the leftovers were cuban, not chinese.

tonight, there are no reftovers to offer.  and my head is a groggy, foggy bog.  what, dear readers, should i make? what are your standard five things that seem to get you through the week?

all is song & dance…

seava & i had the great pleasure of going to see the keys chorale yesterday, featuring some of my most favorite dancers on the planet.  the key west contemporary dance company graced the stage while the chorale sang bernstein’s chichester psalms.  utterly gorgeous.

the chorale rounded it up with a medley by everyone’s favorite musical, west side story.  i can’t believe i knew almost all the songs but had never seen it.  rob surprised us with the cd today.  i suspect we’ll be creating our own musical, right here at home.. meantime, here’s a little treat, straight from the source….something’s coming.

wear a blue scarf tomorrow for women & peace in Afghanistan…

this just in, from my very amazing aunt Theresa deLangis, working in Kabul with UNIFEM… and is currently the “story of the week” on the Ministry of  Foreign Affairs’ website (mfa.gov.af).…

Dear Friends and Colleagues,

We invite you to show your support to the women of Afghanistan on March 8th, International Women’s Day.

On March 8th, Afghan women, wearing sky blue scarves, will come out of their homes to pray for peace with justice in Afghanistan. In what promises to be the largest Afghan women-led peace action in the country’s history, the women will stand united together to demonstrate Afghan women’s call to participate as equal partners in building peace with justice in Afghanistan.

In Afghanistan, something as simple as coming out of your home can be deadly dangerous if you are a woman.  Many women human rights advocates of this country receive death threats for the work they do on behalf of women. Some, tragically, have been assassinated.

Yet, more than 15,000 women are expected to come out on March 8th—including in Kandahar, where girls were recently attacked with acid on their way to school. In making history, this is the first women-led peace action in Afghanistan, uniting women under a common vision of the future.

UNIFEM Afghanistan has been honored to support the Praying for Peace grassroots action. We now invite you to do the same.

Please show the women of Afghanistan your support on March 8th, International Women’s Day:

–          Wear a BLUE SCARF on March 8th, and encourage your friends to do the same.
–          Send photos of your friends and yourself wearing blue scarves to p4pwithjustice@gmail.com for posting to the P4P blogsite and Facebook page.
–          Visit the Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/p.php?i=622940639&k=36CX63Q53Z3M51DFVJ56W4 to leave your message of support.
–          Read the P4P blog at http://www.peacewithjustice4Afghanistan.blogspot.com for more information about the life of women in Afghanistan.

On behalf UNIFEM-Afghanistan, thank you for your support and Happy International Women’s Day!

buddah baby & some really great artsy blog sites

this is my greatest meditation practice these days.  this little being helps me stay present, awake, aware, and provides me with the biggest mirror into all my stuff, joyful and otherwise.  mostly we dance and sing show tunes that we make up as we go.  other times i wonder how im going to get through the day im so darn tired and sorta crabby. this girl is no sitting quiet meditation.  she likes to be up and at it (and i’ve got muscles to prove it…without getting on my yoga matt at all!). though i can happily say, she’s sitting up on her own now, only toppling over occasionally.  and self-entertaining a bit more, too.  which, i hope, will allow for me to blog a bit more in WORDS and pictures. i’ve been really missing the writing part of my life, and the art-making, too…

which brings me to some very cool blog sites i found recently, thanks to an article in mothering magazine.  for artsy mammas out there, there’s wonderful and inspiring blogs by amanda blake soule, sally shim, amy karol, stephanie congdon barnes, & eren san pedro. dig through their sites and you’ll find a few more that you may love.  i found shutter sisters and artsy crafty babe, and i’m sure with a little more reading, i’ll find plenty more.    dig in, and get inspired!

what some stale crackers can lead to…

here birdy birdy…

windblown…

to the compass rose…

further along…

lamp posts from a time gone by?…

peculiar pelican…

but perfect & pretty, too…

moonphase: 66% …

oh, moon, how you move us…

a visit from auntie ricci…

out about town

sailor in training (learning to tie knots)

at sea with seava & auntie ricci

what’s your flavor?

what do you mean i can't have any yet?

come back soon, auntie ricci, & we'll have a cone together!