193/365 - The last of 2012

I close this year with a grateful heart and new intentions in mind...

"For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice.
And to make an end is to make a beginning." ~T.S. Eliot

192/365 - Humbled

I am a hypocrite.  After writing passionately about the dissension witnessed in light of Friday's shooting, I posted an article on Facebook about gun control.  Not long after, a lovely man I know from church posted one about violence not being a gun problem.

You should know that he is one of the gentlest, most compassionate souls I've ever known.  There was once a time I likened him to my dad away from home.  If I didn't know him better, I might judge him for his politics, and I'm ashamed to admit that.  I haven't seen him for a long time, but I know if I ran into him tomorrow, his face would light up with a smile, and he'd give me a big hug.  He'd  probably say he misses me, that he prays for me, and I would be grateful for his thoughtfulness.

I am so sad and frustrated right now, mostly at myself.  I continue to engage in the politics I despise.  I post articles and comments on Facebook and write this blog in hopes of communicating how I feel - others do the same - but this is not communication.  This is many, many one-sided conversations.  It's no wonder I'm disillusioned.  I want to talk to people, I want to find ways to get along, to bring more peace into this world.  Don't you?

Over Thanksgiving, I had a rather engaging discussion recently with my dad and my cousin, and it was one of the most meaningful and refreshing conversations about politics and religion I've had in a long time.  Now, if differences in politics and religion aren't enough to drive a wedge between people, especially family, I don't know what is...  It wasn't easy, but it was real, in-person communication.  We disagreed on many things, but we voiced our opinions respectfully, we chose our words carefully, checked our tone, witnessed each others' body language, we listened, reflected, conceded, challenged, and in many cases, we still disagreed.  And then, when it was time to move on with our day, we smiled and gave each other a hug and said, "I love you."  And then we ate some pie.

Facebook doesn't make room for that - except for humble pie - there's plenty of room for that.

191/365 - Violent Blame

We are divided in our united cry of anguish.  How can this violence be stopped?  Clearly legislation must be changed.  No, it has nothing to do with the 2nd Amendment; it's a mental health issue.  How can God let this happen?  We're a culture fixated with violent movies and video games.  It's a result of divorce and absentee parents.  It's bullying in school.  It's autism.

It's your fault, not mine.

We can't even honor the fallen without taking a position on what heroism means or defend our duty to vote or uphold the right to bear arms.  We argue our righteous positions until, at best, we ultimately agree to disagree.  In the end, we merely pretend that contempt is a benevolent response, but nothing is gained, no understanding is reached, no grief is assuaged.

Perhaps contempt is the evil that most needs to be exposed in light of this tragedy.  Perhaps the very violence we rebuke is perpetuated by every angry word spoken, every hateful diatribe written, every finger pointed in blame, every self-serving act justified, every injustice upheld, every atrocity unforgiven.  My soul mourns for the lives shattered by this tragedy, but my heart breaks even more at the hatred and contempt cultivated in its aftermath.

“The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy, instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it.  Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth.  Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate.  Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars.  Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”  ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

190/365 - Love is...

.....Joy!
made clear through Spotify and new speakers.

189/365 - Episode Goal: Have a baby

There is a reason we have medication for pain.  That's because it hurts.

When my dear friend asked me to be her coach for the birth of her first baby, I was flattered and honored and accepted on the spot.  I'd had three kids, including twins, after all....how hard could it be?  Later, when she told me she wanted to do it au naturale, I was a little more skeptical about my experience.

My first daughter was born under the calm, reasonable conditions of an epidural.  My second pregnancy was twins, and I didn't have a choice - Midwives wouldn't take me, and every OB I called asked, "When would you like to schedule your C-section?"  I settled for the doctor that required a mandatory epidural and birth in the operating room, just in case.  Sadly, the anesthesiologist was a little busy when I finally asked for said epidural.  I made it through transition and was in the operating room ready to push when he kindly showed up to administer a spinal - the only option at that point.  According to procedure, I had to have either an epidural or a spinal in the event an emergency C-section was necessary for baby #1 or baby #2.  Let me tell ya, there's nothing like straddling a gurney, your body wracked with the worst pain ever imaginable, and being asked to hold still while someone puts a needle in your back.  Strangely, since then I've often thought I might like to have another baby without drugs, just because I had been so close to doing it naturally before.

After going through it with J last week, though, I can honestly say I no longer need that experience.  The pain I witnessed in my good friend during her labor was unbearable.  Much harder for her, I'm sure, but it was enough to make me recommend the pain meds to every expectant mother from that point forward.

But I probably won't.  And here's why...

J's willingness to endure the pain of childbirth allowed for some incredibly amazing experiences to occur, not the least of which was the immeasurable counter moment of joy when J finally held her baby to her chest for the very first time.  The change in J was not unlike the dramatic change I witnessed when my grandmother died - the body has a way of releasing life that transcends understanding unless you see it first-hand.

What was truly transformative, though, are two key moments during J's labor, when her pain was clearly the gateway to something more powerful...

The first was when J was in the jacuzzi tub, trying unsuccessfully to relieve the contractions she felt so strongly in her back.  J's friend, Mary, and I were on either side of her, holding her arms and coaxing her through each wave of pain.  The nurse had gone out to find a stool or towels or something - I don't remember now - but that might have been the first time we were alone with J since active labor had begun.  Mary and I began praying for J, and all of a sudden, it was so clear that J, through her pain, was being given an opportunity to let go of her past life and all the times she had been told she wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough, wasn't capable of handling what life dished out.  Through her strength, she was entering into a new destiny being written for her, a sacred passage into a life of freedom to be who she was called to be - not because of the pain itself, but because she was willing to endure it.

And then, after another hour or more of that pain, she didn't have the strength to endure it anymore.  She thought she was ready to push, but she was still at 8 cm, and the doctor suspected the baby was posterior.  J just wanted the baby out, didn't want anyone to touch her, and she started crying every time another contraction came on...

This time, we asked J to pray with us, to articulate her trust in God's strength now that hers was gone.  I remember lying down on the floor next to her afterward, in between contractions, and we revisited the "episode goal" cheerfully identified by her and her nurses 16 hours earlier.  It was, very simply, "Have a baby."  J was wimpering and asking for help to just get the baby out.  I checked with the nurse to see if there was anything else we could try...  She reluctantly suggested that meds might her help body relax enough to be ready for the baby to come.

So, I asked her, "Jess, what's more important?  To have this baby, or to have this baby without pain meds?"  That's when she willingly surrendered, and we called for the anesthesiologist.  Half an hour later, J gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, without the assistance of any pain medication.  Darn those anesthesiologists who don't get there in time!

Sometimes, we're expected to endure pain to demonstrate how strong we are.  Other times, we're asked to surrender our strength and our will to a power greater than ours, even if in the end, we still get exactly what we were striving so hard to achieve all on our own.  Life happens when we learn when to stay strong and when it's time to surrender.

188/365 - Childbirth, in six words

Interminable pain surrenders to infinite love.

187/365 - Legacy

“I always tell them that I do not care about the rating, only that they try their hardest and get the most out of the experience.” ~Bill Thomas

Funny, I've been saying this exact same thing about competitions to my own students for years, but I never realized that I should have been crediting Bill Thomas, my grade-school, junior high, and high school band director.  Until today.

I started playing flute in 5th grade and was Mr. Thomas' student for eight of the twelve years he was the band director at Minster Local Schools.  He was, by far, my favorite teacher.  OK, I confess I had a crush on him in grade school - all the flute players did - but my naive admiration eventually grew into a truly collegial relationship, if not by the time I graduated from high school, then certainly during college when I came home to assist with some of his classes and a few summer band camps.  Shortly after I finished my music education degree, Mr. Thomas even called to offer me a job - this was just after he had moved from Minster to take a position with a larger band program in the Cincinnati area.  I was just about to start my graduate degree, though, with very different plans for my life.  Honored though I was, I graciously declined.  I'm sad to say we lost touch after that...  Can it possibly be over fifteen years since we last spoke?

Today, reviewing applications for the U-M School of Music, Theatre & Dance, I saw the name "Bill Thomas" on the resume of a music applicant from Ohio.  I wondered if it could possibly be the Bill Thomas who had sparked my own musical development so long ago...  I looked up the girl's high school online, and when I found a biography that mentioned his tenure in Minster, I knew that it was indeed the same Mr. Thomas!  His name showed up in quite a few posts about the school's band program, but when I went to look for his contact information, I couldn't figure out why he wasn't included on the school's directory.

That's when I found the article about Mr. Thomas' retirement earlier this year and the quote I posted above.  I tearfully read about his thirty years of teaching and the incredible legacy he created for his students and colleagues.  It's humbling to consider that I, too, am part of Mr. Thomas' legacy and that I have the privilege of passing along some of the wisdom he once bestowed on me.

Well, Mr. Thomas, I always try my hardest and continue to get the most out of every experience, with heartfelt thanks to you!

186/365 - This just in!

Study shows that nine out of ten surveys prove there are statistics to confirm whatever you want to believe is true.

185/365 - Gypsy Pond Music

Outside my office window I can see the 2012 installation of Gypsy Pond Music at the U-M School of Music, Theatre & Dance.  Many will question, "Is this really music?"  You could argue this is just a grown up version of every boy's throwing-rocks-at-frogs contest, but as I watch people get drawn to the shore to pull on the buoys or lob a rock at the brass gong in the center of the pond, I realize that this installation is doing what many artists strive to do all the time: it fosters awareness and inspires artistic curiosity; it invites the "audience" to invest some of their own energy in the creative process; and for those who risk participating, it provokes them to persist until they can "hear the music."

I'll up Professor Rush's challenge and double-dog-dare you to check it out yourself.

184/365 - Pampering

"Treat yourself and make me happy."  This was my beau's response when I discovered the pedicure fund he had stashed in my purse just prior to my departure for a four-day recruiting trip to California.

That, right there, belongs to its very own "love is..." statement.

Given the callused and scraggly state of my toes and feet and my recent musings about whether I could justify a pedicure as a travel expense, I gratefully obliged my beau's thoughtful, generous offer.  Even before my plane had landed - thanks to the in-flight wi-fi indulgence {I <3 Boingo} - I earmarked a cute little spa less than a block from my hotel.  I managed to get in tonight for an eco-friendly "Soul" mani/pedi, complete with a fresh fruit and whole leaf green tea soak, lemon cucumber bamboo salt scrub, Alaskan mineral mud mask, hot paraffin treatment, and foot and hand massage with lotion mixed with green tea, lemongrass, ginger and mandarin.  Oh yes, and vegan, DBP, Toluene and Formaldehyde free nail polish.

In case you might not be able to tell, I'm in Southern California.  There were whole blueberries floating in my foot soak, and I left with star flowers painted on each ring fingernail.

Now, I might normally think that such extravagances are silly and unnecessary, but as I was being doted on by these two genuinely caring, earthy women tonight, I realized that there was once a time, maybe centuries ago, when women regularly practiced this kind of tender, meticulous, ritual of beautification simply as an expression of love and kindness for one another.  

When I was on bedrest with my twins, as if my protruding hulk of a belly wasn't enough of a restriction for doing my own, a woman I knew treated me to a pedicure - "treated," as in, she sat on my living room floor and painstakingly trimmed my toenails and filed the dead skin off my feet, massaged my feet with oil, and painted my toenails.  It was an incredibly intimate and vulnerable experience.  That we usually have to pay for such "services" means we lose out on the opportunity, not just to receive, but also to give such care to one another.

Because as my beau graciously demonstrates, giving can make us just as happy.

183/365 - Becoming disorderly

Several people I know have lost loved ones recently.  Just this morning, I received the sad news that the woman who ran the mom's group I was in when my kids were babies, passed away suddenly yesterday.  She was only in her fifties.

As I pause and remember Nancy, feeling what is certainly only a tiny sliver of the loss that her family and closest friends must be enduring, I reflect on the fragility of life and the mystery that lies beyond.  I imagine that many who knew her will take comfort in the belief that she is in heaven, that she "is in a better place," although it must be bittersweet comfort for those who lost their mother, coach, grandmother, wife, friend.

I understand why so many of us hold the belief that another form of life follows death. because the notion of ceasing to exist altogether is far too unsettling a concept to consider.  The hard truth is that none of us really knows, even the staunchest believers among us, until it's our turn.

Not long ago, I came across this image, which offers a unique perspective about death:

I realize these sentiments fly in the face of traditional theology, making them difficult for some people to entertain.  I, for one, love the concept of my essence being transferred into the energy that continues to exist in the universe - especially the notion of becoming less orderly when I die, since so much about life seems to be an attempt to keep it all together.  Our vitality and the connections we have to others are so much more meaningful than the little everyday details that we work so hard to keep alive.

Nancy, as many people will attest, lived her life with extravagant vitality, and her compassion for others was expressed in her efforts to serve the outcast and needy in her community.  Her presence, in its orderly form, will no doubt be missed and long remembered by those who knew and loved her.

"One can create mildly. One can live at a low flame. We're afraid to look foolish, to feel extravagantly, or make a mistake or risk unneccessary pain-but given something like death, what does it matter if one looks foolish now and then or tries too hard or cares too deeply." ~Diane Ackerman

182/365 - Propaganda for President

People like to choose sides.  Choosing sides gives us an opportunity to justify our own often myopic perspective of the way things are, how things should be done, who's right and who's wrong.  There is no better example of this than in politics, and never more true than in a presidential election year.

According to the Washington Post, 90% of us identify with one of the two major political parties. With each party's supporters and ideals, we also get the other side's opposition:

Even if these sentiments fall on the far end of each political spectrum, they do a great job of representing one party's contempt for the other.  And fueled by contempt, oh how the righteous indignation does fly!

One of my family members recently urged me to watch 2016: Obama's America, saying "If you care at all about the future of our country; if care at all about your children, you will make it a point to watch this movie prior to the election."  I took the admonishment seriously and have researched the film.  I may yet watch it, but I will do so with skepticism - not so much because of the commentator's political assertions, but because it is so very clearly propaganda.  Living in a university town that leans liberal, I am exposed to vehement anti-Romney propaganda all the time.  A good many of my Facebook friends post political ads and status updates daily now, and with friends and family standing staunchly in both camps, I witness propaganda-bombs launched left and right.  Sadly, this is the only political meme I've seen so far that I believe is true...

  

Several of my friends have admitted to "unfriending" people because those "friends" posted political commentary contrary their own.  So deeply rooted is their contempt that a relationship with someone on the other side, let alone the opportunity to entertain a different perspective, isn't even a possibility.

Despite what some might consider a pollyannic persuasion to bridge the gap between divided people, I still believe in the value of discourse.  Of course, it's ironic that I lost my best friend several years ago to irreconcilable differences over yet another contentious topic - religion, but back when she and I were still friends, we used to have some very engaging political discussions.  We would go round and round and round again, and after several hours of hashing through a particular issue, we would often realize that at the root of each of our arguments was actually the very same ideal.  We just didn't agree on the best way to articulate it or to achieve it.

Of the many idealistic hopes that I may have for this country, fostering a more constructive dialogue between our two political parties and their followers is perhaps at the top of my list.  One of my favorite shows used to be The West Wing (all political persuasions aside).  One of the most memorable episodes was when - at the unexpected opportunity to sway the Supreme Court toward a more moderate, even liberal majority with the appointment of not one, but two Justices - President Bartlett chose to appoint one notoriously liberal judge and one steadfastly conservative judge.  His justification for the decision was that debate is healthier and that we, as a people, are more likely to find common ground when we are compelled to consider vastly different responses to a particular issue.

Common ground is only possible though, if we are willing to hear and consider the other side.  If our initiative is to converse and not to condemn.  If we take the time to check, not just our facts, but our political egos before entering the arena of debate.  Otherwise, we'll just keep voting for propaganda and politics - and against principles and people.

181/365 - Timeless Tales

After reading the series of books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, my kids and I have embarked on the "Little House" tales once again.  This past weekend, we rented the first season of the TV series from the local library, and I was just as eager to revisit the show - a childhood favorite - as my kids were to start it.

Tonight, as we watched the second episode, Laura Ingalls presented the perfect teachable moment for my daughter Lucy: Laura, along with her sister Mary, was expected to go to school for the first time.  Laura was anxious about her inability to read, much like my six-year old towhead who just started first grade.  The best part was when Laura was practicing her new spelling words, she recited the exact same words that were on Lucy's spelling list last week.  I could see Lucy, with a slight smile on her pretty face, sounding out the letters right along with Laura.  And then I wept through Laura's recitation to her class about how much she loved her ma.  Not that I'm even close to being as even-tempered and reverent and willing to give up my indulgent new clothes for my girls like Caroline Ingalls, aka super mom of the 19th century who threshes her own wheat by hand with a smile on her face and barely a bead of sweat on her brow.

Even though the TV version of "Little House" offers a slightly faded reality after a few decades of life lived, I'm still a sucker for good wholesome drama - especially ones that tug the heartstrings and impart timeless wisdom about relationships, family values, faith, and love.  I hope Laura Ingalls Wilder will help my children understand - and remind me - that “the real things haven't changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong."  Wise words indeed.

180/365 - Serenade

Oh, how a song can expose the most secret searchings of the soul.  It lays in wait until the very moment the soul itself weeps of fatigue, when the usual demon chasing and solitude induced mornings after a good eight hours of sleep and a few sun salutations still don't chase the clouds away.  The song and the soul meet in the moment of surrender, when you admit that what you wanted was merely another of life's illusions and that your reality is an illusion to those who can't hear your soul sing.

179/365 - Beauty is not just skin, er...frosting deep.

It seems the going rage for cakes these days is fondant....extravagant, brightly colored creations that far elude my skill level.  I did give some thought to trying it out this past weekend, but I figured I wouldn't want to run the risk of reneging on my promise to bring a cake to the baby shower for my friend Jessi.  Besides, I'm not all that fond of how fondant tastes.  {hee hee}

Choosing what I was going to do turned out to be an elaborate process in and of itself.  I spent far too many hours looking at YouTube videos on cake decorating techniques online these past few days.  There are entire blogs devoted to cake decorating.  I had no idea.

I ultimately decided to focus on the cake itself, because inner decadent goodness will forgive any outside flaws as far as I'm concerned.  I chose homemade dark chocolate cake...four layers separated by chocolate raspberry ganache.  True confession: the raspberries were thrown in after failed attempts to smooth out my lumpy ganache.  At least now the lumps have some purpose, and besides, how can you go wrong with Ghiradelli chocolate, raspberries and heavy whipping cream?

The cake baking/layering process took up a good portion of my day yesterday.  I thought I would be frosting this cake late into the night, but thanks to some expert videos I found and a facebook poll determining the merits of ruffles vs. roses, the outside turned out to be a piece of cake.  (Ba dum, chhhhhh!)

Seriously, folks, I know I impressed a lot of people, but the frosting was the easy part:

I, for one, can't wait to see how it tastes...

178/365 - Navel gazer no longer

A birthday present to my newly single and somewhat thinner self several years ago, my belly button piercing was a whimsical symbol of my newfound personal freedom.  It also became a touchstone for my personal fitness, though even with a regular ab workout and low-carb diet, I've always been self-conscious about displaying it in public.  Still, I liked having it as a reminder of my youthful, some might say "willful" spirit.

This past weekend, I was asked to remove all of my jewelry, belly button ring included, for a fairly routine medical procedure.  Standing in the changing room after the exam, I had the opportunity to take a good long look at myself in the mirror without any adornments.  No belly button ring.  No Victoria's Secret push-up bra.  No flattering black pants.  Not even a flattering hospital gown.  Normally I would have preferred to get blood drawn over seeing myself naked in a full-length mirror under fluorescent lights, but this time, for whatever reason, I gave myself permission to take a fair and honest look.  And, strangely, I wasn't inclined to criticize.

I saw, in that reflection, a strong body that has borne and nursed my three beautiful children...a body that comes alive dancing and practicing yoga and that communicates love with passion and great expression...a body that has quite elegantly weathered, I humbly say, all that life has thrown my way.  I even looked forgivingly, maybe for the first time, at the soft belly that was no longer trying to belong to a younger, more carefree version of myself.  I liked what I saw, even as I admitted it was far from society's ideal physical form.  I wondered for a moment if it was just a skinny mirror, and then my next thought was, "I am now closer to forty than I am to thirty-nine." 

Rumor has it that everything goes to pot after forty.  I've decided I'm not going to buy into that.  I think most people just freak out about getting older and dying, and they either give up and quicken that process or they fight like the devil trying to defy the inevitable.  Personally, I'd rather glide through my life and however much may be left of it, accepting each stage as gracefully as I possibly can.  I would imagine that forgiveness contributes greatly to graceful ways, no matter what stage of life you're in.  That and an abundance of skinny mirrors.  And less time gazing at one's own navel, adorned or not.

177/365 - Love is....

....listening.

....hearing.

....holding on after the hug is held.

....staying.

....out of your comfort zone.

....better than playing it safe.

....safer when you're willing to grow.

...it just is.

176/365 - Meds required

I said, "Pfffft" three times to three separate people yesterday - in writing at least twice.  Perhaps my brain really is addled, or maybe it's just been clogged with entirely too much from the Data Warehouse.  I'm not sure I trust my P's and Q's, or my PS Query for that matter.  At this point, I'm guessing pretty much Anything Goes....and goes rather, well, through hell and high water.  I'm wondering, Is there a prescription for that?

175/365 - Career Musician

Some people are naturally gifted musicians.  I'm not one of them.  I do consider myself a professional, but I'm far from one of the best players getting work out there.  I established my fairly successful, albeit modest career as a classical musician with a great amount of passion and good old fashioned hard work.

It took a lot of years of frustration and self-criticism to sort out that performing just isn't my forte, but in the process, I've come to acknowledge the countless opportunities I had to develop other skills and natural-born talents that I do possess as an arts administrator and teacher.  As I've said before, taking even a small part in enabling a young person to follow her dreams is so much more fulfilling than it ever was pursuing my own - which bears the question of whether being a professional flutist was ever a dream of mine in the first place...

When I was recently invited to audition for a permanent position in one of the area's regional orchestras, I found myself asking myself that question yet again.  As a primarily free-lance musician, the idea of a regular gig playing with many of my colleagues was really appealing.  But I confess I also had the same thought I always have when I've auditioned for every other orchestra job since college: "Maybe I'll finally prove that I can do this."  Not exactly "dream" language, now is it?  But I pulled out the audition excerpts and spent several days whittling away at the notes anyway, and the age-old joy-sucking anxiety and self-doubt came right out with them.  I said to my beau, "I hate playing these excerpts...I hated playing them 20 years ago, and I hate playing them now."

In my job as an admissions counselor for some of the next generation of professional musicians, I frequently tell prospective students who are uncertain about pursuing a career in music, "If you can follow what you're passionate about and figure out what you're good at in the process, you'll find your way to a successful career."  If I take an honest look at that journey, I seem to have done just that.  I really don't need that regular gig to call myself a professional musician.  I already am, and I go to work nearly every day loving every aspect of what I do.  I'd call that success.  You might even say I'm already living my dream, and I'd be inclined to agree.

174/365 - Renewed commitment

My head and heart have been very full lately, which is not too surprising given my lack of writing over the last two-plus weeks.  A couple people asked me recently, "Why do you write?"  My usual response has been something along the lines of, "It really helps me process things."  That's definitely true, but I suppose, in some cases, I also think I have something to say that's worth reading.  Whether it's sorting out a personal conundrum or responding to an issue of greater importance to the world, I seem to be better able to sort out my thoughts and feelings when I put them into written form.  It's high time I get back at it, too, if not for my year-long resolution than for my own good.

Even though I haven't been writing, I have been contemplating a great many topics I might like to write about.  There is, of course, the ongoing political discourse that has infiltrated my daily Facebook and news feeds, fodder I can't ignore much longer.  I've also been revisiting some writing I once did about religion as I have been digging into some great spiritual discussions with my beau and some other friends.  And then there's the recent phenomenon surrounding Fifty Shades of Grey, but I suppose if I want to write about it, I'll have to break down and read it.  That I haven't yet is less of a comment on my sex life than an indication of my taste in literature, but to each his or her own - in the bedroom or the bookstore.

Some juicy topics to explore, that's for sure!  As of today, I'm renewing my daily commitment to write, and I simply ask you - followers, friends, family, the unknown expanse of the Internet - to serve as my witness.  If I'm really ambitious, I may still make it to 365 by the end of the year.

173/365 - Friendship

"The best mirror is an old friend." ~ George Herbert

She may be celebrating a change-two-numbers-birthday this week, but she is far from old.  She did, however, hold up a mirror for me yesterday so that I could take a really good look at myself.  Even though I didn't particularly like what I saw, she allowed me to look upon that reflection without judgment of her own.  This is the mark of a true friend.

172/365 - Dreaming

I had a dream that my dad took me to visit a spiritual master.  When I first saw him, he looked just like a surfer dude – sun-kissed curly hair, tan, muscular, with a shark-tooth necklace around his neck.  He was sitting on the floor of a hazy, dimly lit room, with red plush cushions scattered everywhere.   It gave me the impression of an ancient Egyptian harem.  For some reason, I knew there was a view of the beach through the heavily curtained glass behind him.  While I looked around the room, I saw that, when I wasn’t looking directly at him, the surfer dude turned into the spitting image of the Dalai Lama.  I looked back at him, and he was the surfer dude again.  I looked away and then back at him, and he kept turning from surfer dude to Dalai Lama to surfer dude – just like one of those reflective cartoon cards that has two different pictures, and the picture you see depends on how you hold the card.

My dad was in the background, but he never actually spoke to the spiritual master.  I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to speak or even why I was there.  And then, in the blink of an eye, the surfer dude version of the spiritual master was right next to me.  He never touched me or spoke, but he pointed to a bracelet I was wearing, which had a broken piece I hadn’t noticed was there.  When I touched that broken part, I was able to pull out several additional links of chain that were hidden in the bracelet.  I looked up in amazement and saw the surfer dude smile.  I looked back to the bracelet and pulled on the next link, and it revealed even more hidden links.  I went to the next piece and pulled that part in anticipation of finding even more links of chain, but then the whole necklace fell apart in my hands.

I looked back to the surfer dude with a question on my lips, but when I met his eyes, I sensed a sudden shift in his intentions.  This man was not just a spiritual master, he was also an intense romantic lover, with designs on pursuing me.  I was taken aback and didn’t understand what was happening.  I looked around the room for my dad, but he was no longer there.  I backed away, confused and conflicted.  I told the spiritual master-turned-lover I had to leave.  He wanted to know when I was coming back.  I somehow knew, in that moment, that something was coming, something that would sweep over the earth and take me away from him forever if I wasn’t with him when it came.  In my mind’s eye, I saw a flash of light and a surge of energy that swept across the whole ocean and over the city on the coast, just like in Armageddon.

Suddenly, I found myself in a cheap hotel room with my dad and my daughter, an 8-year old girl who I knew was mine but didn’t really belong to me.  They already knew about the impending destruction and were frantic to find a safe place where they could be protected from the destructive surge.  I was desperate to go with them, to protect them and run far away from the danger, but I was even more panicked at the thought of not making it back to the beach in time to be reunited with my surfer dude spiritual master Dalai Lama lover.

There was a whirlwind of activity after that, running and screaming and general pandemonium best captured in nightmares and apocalyptic movies.  I lost track of my dad and daughter, and I didn’t know whether they were safe or lost forever.  I found myself on a bicycle on a path back to the beach, riding furiously against the wind and blowing sand, the sky growing darker and more ominous.  Just as I rounded the fence to enter the beach, it started pouring rain and waves crashed mercilessly on the shore beyond.  I threw the bike to the ground and set off at a run, already soaked to the skin by the rain and sea.  I knew I was seconds from being reunited with my spiritual master lover, and my only thought was, “I’m wearing a white T-shirt, I don't want him to see me like this!”

And that’s when I woke up.

171/365 - Comfort Zone

It's really important to get out of your comfort zone every now and then.  Getting out of your comfort zone gives you an opportunity to grow.  I definitely had a growing opportunity this past week when I auditioned for my first musical since my now nine year old was a toddler.

As I prepared for my audition, I decided to seek out some lessons from a voice teacher, a colleague I've known since grad school.  I wanted to make sure I didn't make a fool of myself, i.e. singing by myself in public = out of my comfort zone.  Dancing and acting rarely make me nervous, but even though I know I can sing, my voice often does very odd things completely beyond my control when anxiety and adrenaline are in the mix.  Which is most of the time when I have to sing by myself in public.  Hence the comfort zoning issues.

It's not that I have a bad voice, I just don't usually have the confidence to back it up.  It's remotely possible this might have something to do with the stories my family likes to tell about me "honking" when I tried to sing as a toddler.  I didn't care - I loved to sing anyway.  I have recollections of asking to sing a solo in the children's choir at church and after offering my very first audition, the choir director graciously declined.  I just sang a little louder than anybody else after that.  I also remember listening to Madonna songs on the radio in junior high school, recording them to cassette tape so I could sing them over and over again until I had all the words memorized.  I'm sure my family was grateful I was holed up in my room for most of that time, with my green shag carpet and rainbow striped comforter and matching curtains for sound proofing.

Despite beginning my college music studies with this dismal vocal background, which included the inability to sing an octave - just ask my freshman year aural skills teacher - I somehow managed to finally learn how to sing.  I took several semesters of ear training courses and eventually joined the women's glee club, and what do you know?  I earned two music degrees and could actually hold a tune singing the alma mater at graduation!  A year or so later, I even braved the mic at a Halloween karaoke party, making my debut with the famous 70's love song, "If."  It may have been one of the dorkiest moments of all time, but it was one of my dad's favorites songs, so I knew the tune and could sing every word by heart.

Even with my brave one night karaoke stand, I never did let go of my anxiety when it came to singing in public.  Trust me, I've had plenty of bad audition experiences to prove it.  I've come away from most auditions bawling in embarrassment at the sounds that came out of my mouth, even those times when I remembered the words.  Truthfully, I had pretty much made up my mind not to audition for this show, mainly because I was really only interested in one role, and even though it's got a kick-ass dance part, the character also has a solo song.  I wasn't sure I was up for that.

And then I heard some lyrics listening to another song that changed my mind: "You gotta go after the things you want while you're still in your prime."

Now, I don't really feel like my prime is in danger of slipping away, nor do I need to land a singing role in a show to prove it, but it did feel like an omen to give it a shot.  I've gotten pretty darn confident in myself these last few years...  Maybe, with a little gumption and some proper coaching, I could for once and for all, put to rest the notion that, "I can dance, but I'm not really that much of a singer."  So, I worked my butt off this past week getting my songs ready for the audition.  I even had so much fun singing with my new voice teacher that I may just continue taking lessons.  By the time my audition came around, I knew I would be far from the strongest singer, but I really believed I might be good enough to get the part.

The cast list went up tonight, and....

I didn't get the part.  I'm not even going to be embarrassed to say I thought that I would.  I felt so great about my audition - dancing, acting, and singing - and I came away feeling like I delivered everything I was capable of giving.  Sure, I'm disappointed not to get the role I wanted, but it's really OK.  The elation I felt when I walked out of that theatre after my audition means so much more to me than any part I could have been offered in the show.  Doing the audition was exactly what I was supposed to do.  I got out of my comfort zone.  I grew!  I did something at the prime age of 39 that I've never done before.  I actually had fun singing by myself in public.  And I don't even think I embarrassed myself doing it.  I am a professional musician after all.

Now, where's my karaoke backing track?

170/365 - Song & Dance

I somehow managed to forget how all-consuming it can be to choreograph a show.  When I'm not in rehearsal, songs are constantly running through my head, and the squirrel cage of my brain is chasing around lyrics and melodies looking for inspiration.  I spend spare moments checking out YouTube videos for ideas.  OK, let's be honest here...I don't just look for ideas, in some cases, I lift actual choreography from other productions.  Broadway choreography isn't always the best stuff I find either.  I landed on a video last week from a random high school production in Kansas that's pure gold.

I currently have half of the numbers set on the cast, and I think they're all in pretty good shape.  I teach the remaining four over the course of the next week.  Oy!  I have sketches for all of these songs, but the actual choreography is far from concrete.  Even with quite a few YouTube videos at the ready, I still have plenty of work to do.

And work it is.  Some people think that doing theatre is all about having fun.  Well, yes, there is some amount of joy we get, especially during the performances.  I see the younger cast members enjoying the social aspects of their involvement in ways I appreciated when I was their age.  For me, at this stage in life, it's more about investing in a creative process that brings joy and maybe even a bit of truth to others.  I remember my boss, who works closely with the Musical Theatre program at UM, quoting the chair of the Department: "This field is all about people and culture."  It's about holding a mirror up to our fellow human beings and saying, "This is who we are."  It's not just singing and dancing.  Well, sometimes it is, and I'll be the first to admit that breaking out in song and dance is downright gratuitous in some shows.  But for the most part, it's about telling stories.  That's what we do.  In musicals and art and movies and songs and modern dance and novels and blogs.  We tell important stories about life and love that need to be told and heard and seen over and over again.  It's what makes us human.

And for my very small part in that, I'm grateful there's YouTube.

169/365 - Double life

I'm a little out of sorts today.  I can pinpoint at least half a dozen things contributing to that feeling, but I think I'm most stressed about my kids coming home tonight.  They were away for a week at camp and spent the weekend at their dad's house.  I miss them desperately and am eager to see them, but it's always a little chaotic when we make that transition after such a long period away from each other.

Sometimes I feel like I'm living a double life.  I guess I am, really.  When the kids are with their dad, I enjoy my time with my beau and invest in all sorts of creative endeavors on my own time, without much obligation to home.  It's possible some of my girlfriends are envious of this so-called freedom and regular break from motherhood.  I live a very fulfilling life apart from my kids, that's true, but when my kids are gone, there's a very tangible absence of their presence that I can't reconcile with my happiness.  And yet I still believe that living a joyful and fulfilled life, albeit a challenging one, is one of the best possible examples I can offer them as their mother.  Reminding myself of that makes me feel a lot more grounded than all the laundry and cleaning I've been doing to get ready for their return - when I haven't been dancing around the kitchen like a fool to prepare for the rehearsal I have this afternoon.  

Even with my house and head and choreography in order, I'll probably still be a little out of sorts until my kids and I are together tonight.  What I look forward to most is snuggling up on the couch, everyone in pajamas, reading a book, letting the chaos of the day fall away, feeling their warm little bodies next to mine, grateful that my lovelies are with me again...  

Is it bedtime yet?

168/365 - Choreography

I'm not exactly sure how I got snookered into choreographing a large-scale musical again.  I enjoyed many years with the Ann Arbor Civic Theatre, choreographing for half a dozen musicals and performing in that many more over the course of a decade.  I recently took a few years off from the stage and enjoyed a respite from community theatre.  I used to say I had enough drama in my own life to do another show, which is true.  During my break from A2CT, I learned how to salsa dance, took on a full-time job and spent much of my time raising my kids and generally finding my way in the world.

I got lured back to A2CT with the promise of a choreographing just a couple numbers in a production of Much Ado About Nothing last winter, and I had great fun working on the show.  When I was asked to choreograph for Anything Goes, Cole Porter's music and the accompanying style of choreography seduced me to the task.  Now that rehearsals are underway, though, I'm realizing what I got myself into...

As of tonight, I have two numbers down.  Here's a rough cut of one of the smaller character numbers, with the caveat that it's supposed to be super cheesy (and it is):

Only six more numbers to go.

167/365 - Birthday love

Today is my beau's birthday.  I confess I've started and restarted this post umpteen times now, not really sure what I want to say.  Part of me wants to shout from the rooftops - modern day version is, of course, posting on the internet - to let the world know how both-feet-on-ground in love I am with him!  I'm guessing most people probably know that already, though.  I could certainly extol his many virtues...his generous spirit, compassion for others, gentle manner, thoughtfulness, faithfulness, etc., but he already knows how much I appreciate all those things about him - at least I'm pretty sure he does.  I tell him almost every day what a blessing he is to me.  What more can I say today to celebrate his life and love that hasn't already been said?  Maybe it's gift enough to share my life with him on this day, as I hope to do on every other.

Happy birthday, M.  I love you more than I could ever promise.

166/365 - Still smiling

There are times when it feels as if God is smiling down on me more some days than others. Yesterday was one of those days.  At least that’s how I felt when the predictions for darn near perfect weather were coming true the morning of my 4th-annual summer BBQ.  This year’s party promised a live band, dance floor, two tents, 20 pounds of homemade BBQ pulled pork, 250 water balloons, and a large number of enthusiastic guests.  Not your everyday backyard BBQ.  I don’t even own a grill.

I have to admit I questioned the notion of God’s smile when a pipe from my well burst a mere 3 hours before the party was scheduled to start.  I called my landlord in what might be termed "a panic."  After listening to the situation, he said it was not likely he could fix the problem in time and suggested I cancel the party.  Yes, definitely cause for panic.  Canceling the party was not an option as I far as I was concerned, even if it meant asking people to trek to the neighbor’s house to pee.  Well, the ladies at least…the guys would have probably been relegated to the field out back.

I pleaded with my landlord to at least try.  While I waited for him to arrive, my beau, after expertly stopping the flow of water gushing madly into the basement, ran to the hardware store to get a head start on salvaging the remote possibility of offering running water and flush toilets for our guests.  Before he left, I regrettably shared my “God smiling” sense with him.  My beau’s response?  “You may find he’s still smiling when all is said and done.”

Wise words indeed.

Well, my beau was right as usual, and the party ended up being a raging success!  My landlord was able to come up with a temporary solution to reroute the water from the well to the well pump, with plenty of time to spare me a shower in my own bathroom before the guests arrived.  The weather, even with a 5-minute mini-sprinkle mid-evening, was darn near perfect.  The band, one I’ve loved for years, played some of my favorite salsa tunes, and even the non-dancers commented on how much they enjoyed the music.  I danced and visited with friends way more than I expected, mainly because my beau graciously worked tirelessly to restock food and supplies and keep the kids entertained.  Countless guests said that it was one of the best parties they’d ever attended.  As if that wasn’t enough, after everyone left, my beau and my lovely neighbor – the one willing to offer her toilet to my guests and her shower to me - stayed to do the bulk of the clean-up while I settled my babes to sleep.

Now that all is said and done, I most certainly do feel as if God is still smiling at me.  But it’s not because things ended up coming together or even that it was such a great party.  I can look back and see that “God’s smile” is in the joy I felt in the warm (but not too hot) sun on my face, not in the sunshine itself.  I think it’s also in the peace my beau offered in the midst of a stressful moment and again in the gratitude I felt when the crisis, mild though it really was, was averted.  Most of all, I felt God smile on the relationships I share with so many wonderful and interesting people.  May I be so bold to call it love?  I imagine that nothing makes God smile so much as when we love each other.  That and when a rip roaring good time is had by all.

165/365 - More than a little night music

I went on vacation and fell off the blog wagon last week. My words were given over to Sondheim melodies, so my beau and I learned to speak pannukakku instead. Midnight rendezvous with Haagen Dazs on the Battlestar Galactica often led to lazy coffee on noonish mornings, and there was really no time to write on the bobsled loop of the outer limits trail...clearly no place for a laptop at Peterson's fish market or Maggie's Spa either. The monks and their jam might've made a nice story, but all of my articulate thoughts seem to have floated away over the nostalgia of Silver Falls. I can assure you it was summertime well spent, and the living was most certainly easy.

164/365 - Up North

Today, I begin my journey up north. "Up North," as Michiganders like to say, can mean anywhere from an hour or so north to a cabin on one of Michigan's many lakes or all the way to the Mackinac Bridge. In this case, it's a 10-hour drive to almost the northern most point of the Upper Peninsula - Yooper Territory.

Da Yoopers seem to have an ease going about their lives.  When I was in the U.P. last year, I quickly fell into the much less hurried pace that I witnessed from those around me - except that one time I discovered I was going the wrong way down a one-way street, but that's all part of navigating a new place, eh?

I'm sure my ease in the U.P., while a product of the area, also came from a week without kids, staying away from home and all the work that goes with it, and devoting an entire week solely to my life as a professional musician.  I'm playing the same opera festival again this summer.  I can already imagine...plenty of time to practice, late night rehearsals, even later night gatherings with colleagues, sleeping in, spending most of my days relaxing, running, and exploring the beautiful U.P.  These visions take my mind off having to spend 10+ hours in the car by myself.

Truthfully, I'm not all that worried about the drive.  It's rare that I have long periods of uninterrupted time, so this will give me the opportunity to listen in all sorts of meaningful ways.  Plus, my beau will be joining me in a couple of days.  My beau is from the U.P., so he has a very intimate experience with Yooper Territory.  He would say this is why he lives so far away from there now.  Personally, I think his presence will be a perfect addition to my repeat yooper experience.  Dontcha ya think, eh?

163/365 - Lakeside cafe

For the past three days, I've had the pleasure of enjoying my morning coffee lakeside at my parents' cottage.  I always underestimate the peace I feel here.  I know it's more than just a break from work and the chaos of my usual routine.  The incredible hospitality extended by my family and the joy my children experience here certainly contributes to the welcome sojourn.  But I also think it's just easier for the stillness to penetrate my soul when I'm near water.  Water, vital for all known forms of life, seems to nourish the contemplative one too.

162/365 - Wicked Joy

One of the best things about being a parent is witnessing your own joy through the eyes of your child.

161/365 - Proof from the Fairy Queen

Dearest Sophie,

   It has been a wonderful privilege entrusting our fairies to your care.  You are a wise and courageous girl.  I can assure you that many people will question your beliefs, but you must remember that what you believe is never as important as your behavior.  As for the boy who wants you to prove that fairies are real...  Sometimes, a question is the best answer.  Perhaps you might ask this young boy how he might prove to the fairies that he is real?

    The Fairy Queen

160/365 - Lament of an older sibling

It doesn't matter how much it cost or how long she had it before it got broken.  When she found the bell with the giraffe's head missing, she cried.  She cried, not just for the irreparable trinket, but also for the panda bears at the zoo and a torn fan from Chuck E. Cheese.  She even cried for an iPod she hadn't yet been given.  She cried because she shared and asked nicely, and it didn't make a difference.  Her bell still got broken.  Mainly she cried because it just really sucks to have a little brother and sister sometimes.

159/365 - Music to my ears

"There is something very intimate about hearing the voice of someone you love over the phone, when you're not able to be together...especially late at night, when it's dark, and you're alone."

~Ira Glass, Reinventing Radio, Ann Arbor Summer Festival, June 23, 2012

With all due respect to Skype and the ability to see my loved ones' faces, I gotta say I'm with Ira on this one.

158/365 - Forgiveness

Forgiveness is a willingness to let go of the pain, anger, frustration, and resentment we are entitled to feel.

157/365 - Fight, flight, or love

Human beings are biologically designed to react. Fight or flight is our base response, but as evolved human beings, we understand that the purpose of life is not merely our own individual survival. When we acknowledge that someone else's needs or wants are just as important as our own, our survival becomes a response to love.

156/365 - Mission Accomplished

The night of the clothing purge, I thought my simple request for advice about a new bathing suit simply got out of hand.  Looking back now, though, I realize that particular opportunity was more likely the "Mission Go!" sign in a long-held sinister plot to infiltrate my closet, clearly a black bag job.

Several months ago, my very dear friend, aka secret agent Sha'niqua, took it upon herself to hijack my wardrobe.  Sha'niqua is admittedly much younger and has a much more "current" fashion profile.  I've been asking her advice about clothes for a long time.  Apparently I didn't listen...

For years, the usual suspects in my closet consisted of the following:

1. extremely high-end designer hand-me downs from my beloved and generous and highly fashionable Aunt Carol (Enemy No. 1) 
2. quality pieces from martini-induced direct sales clothing parties (Allied Forces)
3. acquisitions from clothing exchanges with girlfriends, aka Naked Lady Parties (Double Agents to be sure, but I can assure you there were no naked women involved)
4. occasional bargains from Target picked up while on a toilet paper run (moles, window dressing, black ops, etc.)

OK, enough with the spy references and back to the mission...

The first to go that fateful night of the clothing purge were 99% of the outfits from my aunt.  No matter how much I protested about the cost and quality of whichever piece of clothing Sha'niqua targeted for the giveaway pile, she insisted that age and age-appropriate styles absolutely have to line up.  I love my Aunt Carol and her fashion sense, but I finally succumbed, and into the bag they went.  I still miss the 80's-inspired powder blue suit with zippers that I gave up that night.

Other losses during the purge were things that were "too big" or "weren't fit for even wearing around the house."  After Sha'niqua finished raiding my closet, she even went through my socks and underwear drawer.  One after another, Sha'niqua would hold up pairs of granny panties with the sincerest look of pity on her face.  I now own only one lonely pair of granny panties, simply because they happened be in the dirty laundry that night.

When it was over, we stuffed six large trash bags full of clothing earmarked for Goodwill.  Sha'niqua gave me clear instructions for future shopping, which included specific panty styles recommended from Victoria's Secret and adding more vibrant colors to my wardrobe.  Partly because black is a staple of the musician's wardrobe and partly because it's flattering and goes with anything, I have a lot of black clothes.  I wouldn't let Sha'niqua give away any of these, but I promised I would add more color to my wardrobe's palette.

So, when I went shopping with my sister on a whim recently, I had the option to buy some wonderful linen pants, either in a khaki color or a bright coral.  I confess I had the briefest but incredibly vibrant flashback to the time in elementary school when I wore these new bright yellow pants my mom had bought me to go with a cute rainbow patterned shirt.  I'll give you a hint on the decade: all day, the kids in my class kept signing, "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles.

It took a true leap of faith to go for the coral option, but I absolutely love them now!  I'm of course wearing them with black and NO granny panties.

155/365 - Marching orders

Cats, plants, housework, exercise, creativity, and sleep, you gotta take your place behind kids, work, bills, groceries, and laundry.  Don't worry, I'll get back to you another day.

154/365 - Lakeside hammock

This, my friends...

...is a piece of perfection.

153/365 - To post or not to post...

....is not really the question.  What matters is whether I can finish my day knowing some part of it was devoted to creative expression.  Yesterday, my spirit came alive in ways that dance has inspired every since I was a little girl.  I'm not sure I can even put that feeling into words, but if you come dance with me, you'll know what I'm trying to say.

152/365 - Six-year old funnies

Mom says to Boy: "Could you please close the front door, and watch out for the cat."  

{Boy closes the front door.} 

Mom: "Did you let the cat out onto the porch?"  

{Boy opens the door and finds the cat wedged between the front door and the porch door.}

Boy: "Wow, that's one skinny guy!"

~~~~~~~

{Mom snuggles up next to Girl for bedtime prayers.}

Girl: "Where's my heart?"

{Mom puts her hand over Girl's heart.}

Girl: "I feel it....I love you."

Mom: "I love you too, sweetie."

Girls: "What are these, you know, circle things?"

Mom: "Your nipples?"

Girl: "Yep, that's a good name for them."

151/365 - Courage to live

It's easy to live your life according to someone else's rules, especially when those rules convince you to put aside what you believe.  It takes much more courage to live your life according to your own convictions, especially when those beliefs break someone else's rules.

150/365 - "Come si dice...?"

I spent a month in Rome playing for an opera festival the summer between my undergraduate degree and the start of my graduate studies.  I won't tell you how long ago that was.  The festival wasn't much to write home about, but I couldn't really complain - I was in Rome for a whole month!

Strolling through the piazzas with their elaborate fountains and open-air markets, cafes and shops, extraordinary art, architecture, history and gelaterias everywhere I turned, I quickly fell in love with the culture and cuisine of Rome.  Imagine gelato that puts Häagen-Dazs to shame, enforced afternoon siestas (the locals yelled at me through my window when I tried to practice my flute), candlelit dinners on cheerful red checked tablecloths, delectable spaghetti alla carbonara, red wine served at every meal, melone con prosciutto, more gelato.

After a week or so venturing out on my own, I managed to befriend a couple of Italian women associated with the festival.  They were kind enough to show me some of the less touristy restaurants and sites and even managed to teach me to "parlare italiano un po'."  I loved how the soft Italian words rolled off my Midwestern tongue, and I vowed to continue studying the language when I returned home.

Toward the end of my month-long stay in Italy, when I realized I could no longer fit into my pants, I found myself in a small shop trying on clothes.  I was surprised to find that I was able to hold my own with the shop's very patient sales mistress, "per due o tre minuti" at least.  Of course, it's not that hard to decipher "maggiore" when hand gestures are involved.  Spoken like a true Italian, I suppose.

I did keep my promise to learn Italian.  After two semesters of intense study back in the States, I became proficient enough in the language that I was even dreaming in Italian.  I also maintained some correspondence with one of the women I had met in Rome, her writing to me in English and me to her in Italian.  It's hard to believe that I was once that comfortable with Italian, because I can hardly remember any of it now.  When I try to retrive the vocabulary and verb conjugation, it all seems to get jumbled up with musical terms and the Spanish I learned in high school.

It's no mystery that if you don't use a language you lose it.  But I am also learning that for anything to be functional and valuable in my life, be it meditation or writing or making music, I absolutely must invest in it regularly.  After all, what can be gained without faithful dedication to the art of living and living well?  Except a few extra pounds, that is.

149/365 - Sweeney Todd

You can probably count me among the dead when this show closes on Sunday.

148/365 - Spirituality vs. Humanity

I fancy myself a philosopher, a spiritually-minded person devoted to contemplative practices and higher consciousness.  My children regularly remind me I am very much a fallible human being.  Both make me so stinkin' happy to be alive!

147/365 - Morning Reflections

Thank you for this day
For the luxury of life
And the mystery that unfolds
When I open my eyes to see.

146/365 - Understanding

"God and love are two of the most misunderstood words in the human lexicon."  The quote goes something like that, but I can't seem to find the source.  No matter, the concept isn't exactly novel, though it is critical to understanding the struggle we as human beings have in seeking both.

There are many wise and passionate souls who have written countless books in order to tease out the meaning and significance of each of these incredibly complex entities.  I humbly include myself among those who have made such attempts, but the deeper I come to know both, the more I realize that such concepts cannot be known or completely understood with mere words.

Yet we still try.

Without entertaining the meaning or existence of God or the expression of love, I would venture to say that neither can be fully experienced outside the intimacy of relationship.  And to believe in either, we must first believe in something greater than fulfilling our selfish individual desires.  Yet to believe in something greater than ourselves, we must first know and understand who we are as individuals and what we desire from life.

Perhaps it's not God or love that are misunderstood so much as we misunderstand ourselves.

145/365 - Backblaze

This is my first time backing up my hard disk in about 4 years.  I found an online backup service that works continuously to backup everything on my computer to an online unlimited storage space for only $5/month.  My initial backup is in progress - one of the benefits is that it runs in the background so your work at the computer is not disrupted.  One of the downsides is that it could take up to 30 days to complete the initial backup.  I wonder if that has anything to do with their 15 day free trial?

144/365 - Nourishment

The view outside my kitchen window is glorious... 

The smell of dinner cooking inside, divine.

143/365 - Dancing

A man and a woman meet on the dance floor.  They exchange pleasantries and assume the partnership of a familiar embrace.  Provoked by the rhythm of their connection, they respond to the vibrations and begin the dance.  Trust and mutual understanding inspire his steps, the rise of melody fuels her expression. Together, they are abandoned souls dancing to the sweet song of desire long after there is silence.

142/365 - Cast on 4...

...K2, yfwd knit to end on every row until you have 100 stitches, then k1, k2tog, yfwd, k2tog, knit to end till 4 stitches then cast off.

It's not exactly the path to freedom, but it should give me an opportunity to sit in one place long enough to find it again.

141/365 - Freedom

I've been in a funk lately, evidenced by the serious decline in yoga, meditation, writing, dancing, music, and patience toward my children.  I know I'll get back on my square eventually.  This rare quiet morning alone is offering me the perfect opportunity to sit on my patio, admire things that grow and bloom, chirp and chatter, shine, warm, and sustain life, meditate, pray.  While quiet contemplation usually offers a measure of peace to chase away the anxiety and frustration over things I can't control, I still feel old demons lying in wait to rob me of that peace and the freedom to enjoy my life as it is.

Today, we are supposed to remember those who risk and give their lives to bring us peace, to keep us free.  Though their sacrifice is great and honor deserved, I realize how often I squander that freedom and peace with my own personal oppression.  This reminded me of something I wrote about freedom several years ago...

After searching through my files and Emails, I came across all sorts of things I've written about freedom, who I am, what I believe.  I never did find the piece I was looking for, but I found exactly what I needed to be free.

140/365 - Itchy scratchy

Every so often, my kids' school sends home a slip of paper notifying parents of any contagious diseases that have befallen their classmates....strep throat, pink eye, there was even a report of scabies this year...but nothing makes my skin crawl more than a report of head lice.

Sophie got lice when she was in preschool, and those little buggers were kind enough to set up shop on my head too.  Between her thick locks and my long tresses, I went darn near crazy trying to rid our heads and house of that nasty infestation.  I still frantically check scalps at the slightest scratching and get a little panic-stricken at the possibility that head lice might strike our household again.

When we got the dreaded head lice report in Lucy's backpack earlier this week, I did the obligatory scalp check on each of the kids and watched closely to see if they were scratching behind their ears or the nape of their necks.  Of course, that made me hypersensitive to any itchy scratchy sensations on my scalp too.  I've already decided, if we do have to face this again, that Quinn is just going to get his shaved to reduce the sheer number of heads that need nit picking.

Last night, I dreamed that a strand of hair the size of a willow branch fell off my head, and there about about fifty giant nits clinging to it.  God grant me strength - and a mighty nit comb - if that's an omen.

139/365 - The Kindergarten Biome

Do you remember studying biomes in kindergarten?  Me neither.  It makes me wonder what we even did before high school biology.  And Google.

Lucy chose the owl for her biome project.  The great and all-powerful Google informed us that the owl is of the "Birds of Prey" biome.  Additional research offered further details about the prey - furry little animals like mice, rats, squirrels, rabbits, even skunks.  There was only the slightest protest at the thought that the little bunnies playing leapfrog in our backyard might be an owl's dinner later tonight.  In fact, my prissy little girly girl was fascinated at the pictures we found of owls chomping on various furry critters, namely this old curmudgeon who seems to have forgotten was he was doing mid-bite.

Quinn, during all this time, grew continually frustrated trying to draw a deer and insisting that it was prey for cougars in the forest.  In Ann Arbor?  Perhaps that's not such a stretch...

http://www.annarbor.com/news/u-m-police-possible-cougar-spotted-on-north-campus/

138/365 - How many days are in a year?

Not 376.  It must've been the scallops talking.

137/376 - Even better at home

Folks, now THIS is Real Seafood.  And Co.

136/365 - Dancing girls

Do you see how happy these girls are?  They were just about to go on-stage for their dance recital.  It's entirely possible they were just geeked about getting to wear makeup and sparkly clothes, but I would have to say their enthusiasm was also apparent in the smiles they sported during their performance, which was outstanding!

What you don't see is the smile still on my face, which I wear mostly because I'm proud of my dancing girls.  But it's also because I get to share the love of dancing with my girls.

135/365 - Looking up

I had grand plans for this evening.  I accomplished a couple things I intended, but then I simply sat back with a glass of wine and gazed up at the big old walnut tree in my back yard.  It's good just be still every now and then.

My only entertainment was the birdsong, with an undertone of chirping crickets and occasionally and airplane buzzing overhead.  Eventually, a feisty squirrel bravely ventured within a few feet of me and scampered up the tree.

Do you see him?  Do you see how peaceful it is?

Me too.

134/365 - Writing in thought Thursday

Creative Expression = Visioning meetings at work, the theatre, and in the garden

133/365 - Writing in motion Wednesday

Creative expression = Dancing

133/365 - No Hanky Panky!

My son has been getting into trouble recently for "inappropriate touching" at school.  After chatting with him about his behavior, we settled on some positive reinforcement for exhibiting a little more self control: he earns a sticker for every day that he keeps his hands to himself and his pants up with his classmates, i.e. no hanky panky.  (Geesh, you'd think I've got a pubescent 15 year old on my hands!)  Anyway, five successful days in a row of no hanky panky earns him a date wherever he wants to go with just Mom.  A little Oedipal, I realize, but he picked the reward.

Today, as I walked up to the playground after school, my little man came running to announce that "except for kissing Evelyn, it was a "Good No Hanky Panky Day!!!" {pause for consideration}  OK, I see the loop-hole: we never actually addressed kissing in the original agreement.  It does seem the other rules were followed in this case, so I would say another sticker was earned for his chart.

Tonight, as I snuggled up next to my boy in his bed for prayers, I remembered our earlier conversation, so I fished for some more details: "So, tell me a little more about you kissing Evelyn..."  Without skipping a beat, he replied, "It was an accident!  I just leaned over, and she was there, and I accidentally kissed her."  I couldn't help but giggle at the thought of him bumbling into an unintentional kiss, which got us both laughing.  Oh dear, is this really happening already???

The giggles eventually subsided, and I said, "Look, Dude, if you're going to kiss a girl, then own up to it.  None of this accidental kissing business, OK?"  He agreed with an "I love you, Mom," so I began our ritual bedtime prayers: "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to kiss..."

After that, I couldn't even remember the words to the Our Father, we were both laughing so hard.

132/365 - Happy Birthday Lucy & Quinn!

To my Lucy-Lu, full of ladylike charm and an equal measure of sass, you are indeed my cherished bringer of light.  I should have named you Joy.

To my Quinn, my boy, barreling through life with "I love you" and "I forgot," your spectrum of Love has become my reality of Happiness and Grace.

And Peace is never more palpable than when you dream.

131/365 - Glory and grit

This beautiful iris is one of the perennials from my grandmother's garden that now have a home in my own.  They first traveled to my mom's garden and then to my old house, where I felt Grandma Jo's presence so clearly when I first began digging in the dirt.  They followed me to my new home several years ago, and I think of Grandma Jo every time these unique flowers bloom in my garden each spring.

This is the pile of thistles I cleared from the back garden near the fence today.  I have visions of growing a children's garden around the little playhouse that's on the left.  In the distance, the thistles left standing mock my progress.  On the other side of the playhouse next to the garage, you can't see there's a thousand more thistles laughing at my futile attempts to eradicate their presence from my children's future garden.

From this point forward, I may need to arm myself with a weed wacker, lifetime supply of Round-Up, and Grandma Jo's no-nonsense when it comes to growing Glory.