Feels like Chinese; it ain't easy

I came here to check my blog. I don't know why, it's been months. It is a barren landscape and I am alien to it any more. The same is true with writing, which is always my first nature. I am here to dump my brain, find my pace again and feel the release only writing for myself will energize in me (which is to say, if I was you, I'd just skip to the nearest Deep Thought entry).

Life has been rich these past few weeks; that is a kind way of saying I'm getting my arse handed to me. I don't even know what to bring to this page, except to say that I must make a post soon or I might completely forget who I am altogether.

The girls are always a delight. I say that from my heart, because my mind wants to edit that sentence completely. One of the most fun conversations I've had recently was with my sister's friend. Nancy mentioned we both have kids the exact same ages, so in essence we were living the same life. When I asked him how that was working out for him, he said everything was perfect. I laughed; I told him me too. I continued about how awesome the mornings were. He said dinner was pretty great at his house also. I said the kids were such blessings. He said we should become friends on Facebook so I could see how fantastic their life was. I laughed; he laughed - the whole conversation was completely obscene and made perfect sense.

That's what my world has become. Social media posts help me mark the passage of time. I'm up at 5:30 everyday to keep some form of the shape I've come to love so much. I'm meditating so I don't have a heart attack while I'm running to keep in shape - sometimes I try to squeeze the meditation in while I'm walking at the beginning of my run because by 5:45, I already feel behind. I'm dropping off kiddos all to quickly to the assuming eyes of daycare teachers. I'm neurotically thinking about what I have to get done for work while I'm sitting in meetings. I'm eating at my desk and running home late. I'm playing phone tag with all sorts of friends. I'm wishing my two kids would go to sleep on time so I could pay the bills. I'm in bed by 10. Forget about talking to my hubby.

This is it. I'm not trying to complain, this is just the flow of my days (I'm not going to even get into the issue of lice or pneumonia that asserted itself last Monday at the end of a 3-day weekend for D).

While I'm in the mix of it, I find myself thinking, someday I will forget how overwhelming all of this feels. Then I look around and think, does everyone else feel the same way or am I completely incapable of running my life?

It's not all bad and I don't want to bemoan my whole experience. I just don't want to forget this moment in my life for some sick sadistic reason. I guess I want to remember the bad with the good.

So what makes me smile right now? Puppies. We stop a lot of dog owners these days mid-walk to get some canine love. Miss A has started to call out for me as "Amy". It cracks me up and I love her attempts to garner my attention any way she can. She's a mastermind and she could give a crap about anyone's agenda. She'll let you know it too. If she's not yelling, she has some scheming smile that might indicate she's taking over the world in 2016. She also has a lion's share of empathy so if anyone in the room starts crying, she's in.

Miss M is a good big sis - that's what they all ask. There was an incident with a fork to a skull tonight, but those two hug it out more than an Entourage episode. M weathers the trials a 2 year old can deliver (much better than her mom at times). She's curious about everything and wants to talk/cuddle/hold my hand. She pointed out the planets to me today on a poster and comes up with all sorts of new questions about the world at large. When she's not doing that, she sings - either really solid versions of songs she hears repeated or she makes up some pretty random stuff as well (something today about a cat dolphin). Both ways, I love every bit of it.

Golf with D the other night was pretty great. I felt like an undercover agent in a balanced lifestyle. I drank too many beers and woke up to an unforgiving Monday morning. Nothing to report about the game itself. Such is my plight. Maybe one of these days I can get back to my own deep thoughts about it all.

Deep Thoughts, Chapter 8

Mom, someone took a bite out of the apple.
Yes you're right, someone did. 
Actually it's just designed that way.
Yep. It's designed to make the apple seem more interesting. 

Mom, what is this?
It's my blue tooth. 
No. It should be your black tooth.

I love you to the moon and back. 
Mom, that's too far. I don't want to go that far.


Do you want to get married when you grow up?
No.
What do you want to be when you grow up?
A big girl. A big, big girl.
What will you do when you're a big girl?
Carry Amelia.
And what else?
That's it: carry Amelia.

I think vultures are eating my breakfast.
Mom, real vultures don't come inside.

For the Birds

In this house, we have birds around all the time. We have feeders outside our windows and across the street there is a regular duck show that happens two times daily. It's actually pretty cool. Just this afternoon, I watched one fat duck sitting in the middle of a snowy road while his entourage watched another little duck swimming through the snow of someone's front yard. They add their own level of entertainment. 

We have a huge evergreen in our front yard that houses about a million birds that fly back and forth to the feeder hanging 5 feet away from the tree. From our kitchen, we watch them sitting on the edge of the branches waiting for their turn. There's a good 10-15 at a time. 


I never really cared about birds too much. Not that I hated them, just that I didn't notice them. Now I catch myself gazing up at the groups huddled closely on telephone wires or noticing ducks looping around in the air looking for a place to land. 

Our neighbors had a love bird visiting for a week. I know, one?! Apparently if they don't have partner they connect with their people. In any case, we stopped by one night and got to meet Luna. The neighbors were going out of town for the weekend and let us check in on the bird. I have to say, she's the coolest bird I've ever meet. I found myself so lightened after hanging out with her.

She landed on my phone when I was trying to take a picture

I Will Wait

Mumford & Sons

I've started to practice meditation. It's not much of a practice but it has provided some space and I think that space has helped my heart to breathe again. It also calms me when I'm in a frantic race to deliver my own style of perfection.

...

I made it to a hot music yoga class at Kindness Yoga this morning. It was the first time I had a chance to take a class from owner Patrick Harrington, and his dharma for the class spoke novels to me. Walking in I thought about how I cried at the last yoga class I went to a few weeks ago. I was in such a different mood this morning, with the mounds of snow and crisp blue sky directing the tone of my drive. Getting there on time and setting up to get lost in the snow-drenched branches just outside the windows seemed like a win already.

When class started Patrick began describing how his heart lead him in to a situation his mind was not ready to accept. His whole class followed suite with the concept of listening to your heart, letting it serve to provide the answers while realizing the mind provides logic. While the mind justifies, the heart knows. He invited students to commit to changing: to stretching ourselves and growing stronger; to listening to our hearts; to start today.

I've forgotten my heart. It's sad but true and that's all I kept hearing during practice. I've shoved its voice somewhere deep and shackled it down so that my head could direct my way. That's what adults do, right?

It was a tough pill to swallow this morning. It makes complete sense with how I've been living my life lately. It resonates with how crazed I feel to connect with others and at the same time, how seemingly overwhelmed I am most days at the thought of opening up to new friends.

My poor heart rarely drives my quest for answers. Sometimes it has served me well but for the most part, I'm too practical to let my heart lead. It hurt to realize this morning. I cried a lot in class again today. And I  apologized to my heart over and over.

....
This was taken yesterday with miss M. It's a sculpture called "Stretch".
It was so soft to touch and she kissed the lips multiple times.
I've been craving an entry about my new year, the last of my 30s. I missed it for my birthday and couldn't commit to more than posting for my dad. Still it's been there, as writing always is, in the back of my mind.

What do I need this year: more kindness, more ease, more flexibility? Should I focusing on listening and really being present for others? Should I pursue the ability to speak my mind, even if it's with a shaky voice or a tone that is unpleasant? I need all of these things and more.

Now I know what I really needed this whole time was to reconnect to my heart; to commit to listening softly and with ease to what it has to tell me; to recognize it is so very important to "me" and that it does not exist outside of me in my kids (as so many times it feels like it does). I need to move my focus 12 inches down. I need to be gentle with myself so my heart can tell me the answers - no matter how much it may scare me. It has waited so long for me to be willing to listen. Let our partnership begin again.

I love you too


Last week was a tough one. At the end of a long week, I found myself watching a 103 temp unnervingly as I tried to cool miss m down. We lay in my bed together. I was trying to think of stories or things I could tell her to take her mind off of being sick.  I too was getting sick. At one point I said, "I love you" and she looked at me and said, " I love you too" with a soft easy tone that struck me right between the eyes. I started to cry and couldn't stop/didn't want to. It reminded me of my dad. I think it was a culmination of the tone, the speed, the utter belief in the statement, like "yeah, I love you too...you know that." M thought I was going to throw up. I assured her it was not the case. When I caught my tears again, I told her she reminded me of Grandpa Cornish. I told her even though I was crying it made me happy.

I felt like a little piece of him came for a brief visit, to remind me how acceptance and love truly feel.

...

A co-worker lost her dad two weeks ago. She is rambling though that dark landscape of new death. We caught up today briefly and she's the only person I mentioned my dad's birthday to. She asked me how that made me feel and I said happy; it's one of the "anniversary" days I prefer to celebrate. She asked me what I loved about my dad and for some reason I didn't get to answer (I think we gravitated back to her dad). Still, for a moment, I want to remember just a few things I love and miss:
- he was the smartest man I knew
- his big broad nose, how mushy it could be
- his in-toned "OK" pause he would take while explaining something he found intellectually stimulating, when he wanted to check and see if someone was following his train of thought in the conversation (sometimes this was annoying too)
- the way he would look over his glasses at things
- watching him do a puzzle
- looking through pictures now I realize he always had an open chest (rather than rolling his shoulders forward and hiding his heart)
- a wonderful smile and a laugh
- how it felt to hug him
- the comfort I felt in his presence
- his humor
- his kind heart
- his blue eyes
- his Thunderbirds ( I think of them quite often and love to see them on the road)
- the way he would look at me and make me feel like he was really looking at me and taking in where I was in my day or my life and no matter where that was, he would tell me he loved me

I miss my dad often, I always will. I do love moments that inspire memories of him. There are many moments and a few people who inspire my joy and hopefulness in this life. My dad is certainly high on the list.

Deep Thoughts, Chapter 7


Shit...ake mushroom.
Mom, we don't say shiitake mushroom. It's not nice.
Actually shiitake mushroom is okay to say. But sometimes when I say it, it means something else, which isn't so nice.

 Let's have ice cream for lunch. (said cousin H)
We don't do ice cream for lunch. As long as we've known each other, have I ever given you ice cream for lunch?
Mom, we could try it.

Mom, you see my eyes? There's no tears in them. I'm not crying.

I'm wheel swallowing.
What's "wheel swallowing"?
Wheel Swallowing. (with circular lip movement)
Yeah I get that. What is it?
W-H-E-E-L  S-W-A-L-L-O-W-I-N-G.
Gotcha. What is it?
Say it with me; "Wheel."
Wheel.
"Swallowing."
Swallowing.
Wheel Swallowing.
mmm kkkkk.

 Woken up one morning to this: Mom, can I ask you something? How do lion's fly?
My Answer: They put on little helmets and climb in a plane and turn on the ignition...
D's Answer at the breakfast table the following morning: I don't think lion's fly.

Deep Thoughts, Chapter 6


How about you buy rainbow cheerios?
They're called Fruit Loops.
How about you buy Fruit Loops? They're yummy and they remind me of rainbows.

If I knew you guys would have eaten eggs, we could have had breakfast for dinner.
Then we could have had lunch for lunch.

Can you make me an english muffin just like A's? With the peanut butter and jelly?
With the peanut butter? You sure? You don't usually like that; but it's good isn't it?
Yes it is good. I like that. Can you make me one more? But can you make it without the peanut butter... and the jelly? And can you put butter on it?
That's what I thought.

The Scholarship

We met tonight, four years since my dad's death. It was more light, a moment I had been wanting to come to. Still there are days when I can't believe he's gone, or I wish I could hear his thoughts or look in to those eyes. The weight of his death has become familiar, though I'm still not happy to know it.

I was watching a movie last night, The Stories We Tell. It's Sarah Polley's attempt to unravel the truths behind the many lenses a story takes on when told by all the people affected. It's been on my watch list for a while and having time alone this week has made it the perfect choice. The story itself is heartbreaking and alive in so many ways. The documentary is okay but there is a moment at the end where she shoots each of the storytellers sitting with the reality of her mother's death. And in each face I recognized a familiarity: a silent knowing and a wordless pause that gives way to pain behind the eyes and deep-throated breaths followed by the stagnance only death can encompass.

We met tonight and there was little talk about the sadness behind the reason. The weather was rainy and fall was in the air. The place had a nice pub feel thought the 80's music was not setting the mood I anticipated. It was impossible not to be light with the music in the background. In fact we were quite funny about the whole thing. The only thing denying my perfect experience were the fruit flies. Still we sat talking about life and joking about things, as we always do, as we always will. Drinks in hand and wit flashing from our tongues.

Towards the end of the night a I decided to be brave and suggest my silly thought that came to mind on my way over in the car. It's versed in good tidings to a stranger and not really something my dad would do, though he probably bought his share of drinks in his day and would like the lightness of it. Nancy called it "the scholarship" and I thought it suiting for a nickname though not as intense or serious as that and possibly falling short of a true tribute a group of girls would want to send their loving father.

This idea is light in nature. It's about pushing a little positive in to some one's day, while breathing life in to the memory of our dad. For a moment, RAC's spirit could be at the bar while some lucky soul enjoyed a gin and tonic on his dime. My first attempt to describe this to the bartender was uncomfortable at best. That's why I prefer to write. I've got it down now: "With the cash we're giving you, we're remembering our father. Please tell the first person who orders a gin and tonic that Dick Cornish bought them a drink."

I left the bar soon after; I had to get home to the kids. On my way home I imagined years from now, when one day we might fall privy to the person at the bar getting the drink. I thought it might be fun to experience that moment. Nancy texted soon after I got home saying they met the guy who ordered the drink. She said it was a really cool experience. I have yet to hear the story but I like to think the world, for one more day, felt my dad's energy.