Don't forget, I've moved! Come see me at love.

I've moved! I'm over here, now: love.

PHASED OUT

Four years ago I was all about being fully caffeinated. Started a blog and an e-mail address and went big with it. It was perfect for that phase of my life, and as is the nature of phases, they pass. About the same time I  also "accidently" found a website that sold love. T-shirts. Unfortunately, it looks like they no longer do. The quotes they e-mail you are a must, however.

Anyway.

love. was the next thing I decided to go big with, and happily, I don't believe that's a phase.

Couple of years ago my fully caffeinated e-mail address just stopped working. Kaput. Last week Blogger stopped letting me post on my Fully Caffeinated blog. Kaput. Nothing if not tenacious, I found a way to post using an old draft and changing the date, but let's face it, that is going to get old in a hurry and besides, there aren't that many drafts left. I can take a hint when Mary gives me one, and she is giving me one.

Time for a new blog, so ladies and gentleman, I invite you to join me here, at love. Please change your blog rolls, favorites, bookmarks, etc. so you won't miss a single word. That would be a shame.

We'll talk about Mary. We'll talk about Flicka. We'll talk about Rojo. We'll talk about Woohoo. We'll talk about all the things that won't go kaput, and are not phases - the stuff of love.

* Photo from http://everydayuncommon.files.wordpress.com

WATER BOY


Been trying to get Rojo into a body of water for almost fourteen years. This summer he decided to be Water Boy. We've been coming to the same community pool every summer for his whole life, a place with a "big" pool and a "wading" pool (1 1/2 feet deep at its deepest point). He's never wanted anything to do with it. Any. Thing.

But not this year. This year he's all about being king of the wading pool.

He likes having the whole thing to himself as he can kick and sing to his heart's content, but he really prefers it when it fills up with 2-5 year-olds. Without exception he goes up each child and gives his spiel: "Hi, my name is Rojo, what's your name?" The child supplies their name and Rojo instantly creates a nickname. Cooper becomes Coop. Daniel becomes Danny. Elaina becomes Lainie.

"Hi, (insert nickname), how old are you?"

"I am thirteen but I will be fourteen on July 14th, my golden birthday."

We're very excited around here for the golden birthday.

And for our golden boy, who has discovered the freedom of water.



* Have been having all kinds of fits posting on Fully Caffeinated. Am thinking it's time to re-name/relocate the blog. Stay tuned for a new address.

Happy 4th of July, Everyone!

love.

SUMMIT


The five of us (four humans and Flicka) climbed to the top of this today, Black Butte. Truth be told we drove halfway up, and climbed the rest. Truth be told it took us nearly two hours. Truth be told there was a lot of complaining and "I can't do this..." But. We. Did.

We climbed a mountain, or more accurately, a butte, but we climbed it.

We climbed it.

View from mid-way up - the Three Sisters.

View from the top.

View on the way down.

Success.

* Top photo from www.biocrawler.com

WHY DO I DOUBT?

I had a check to deposit and Rojo likes to use the ATM, so off we went.

He punches in my PIN.

He punches in  a series of Yeses, Nos, and finally we come to the amount to deposit. I am holding the check, he hasn't laid eyes on it.

"Put in $72.36," I say.

He stalls.

"7-2-3-6," I repeat.

He doesn't move.

"What's wrong?" I finally ask.

"I'm going to put in $72.35," he says.

I start to argue, not wanting to enter the wrong number and mess everything up, but get the urge, instead, to re-examine the check.

Don't you know it, the check was for $72.35.

YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT??


Rojo looked at the weather forecast on the Weather Channel (something he does several times a day) and declared, "Summer worked! It scared the rain away!"

We have had rain.

And rain.

And rain.

And rain.

Cold and grey rain, not summer showers. The weather men have been calling this Junuary.

I am a born and bred western Oregonian and can take a LOT of rain, but what we've had has been biblical.

But now summer has "worked" and we are enjoying perfect weather here in the Pacific Northwest.

Rojo and I are outside all day every day, for the most part, and we're tweaking his ADHD meds so they wear off by noon, making him hungry. It's working. He's eating like a horse, but wants only junk food. We're forever in negotiation about that. "You can have __________, after you have ___________. I want you to have real food. I want you to gain weight!"

Finally, after about the 25th round of You-Can-Have he said, "Be nice to my weight! Do not hurt my weight's feelings!"

Not enough can be made of the fact that he gets he is not his weight. He is Rojo. His weight is what it is. He doesn't want me to hurt his weight's feelings.

And neither do I.

And I saw the river

over which every soul must pass

to reach the kingdom of heaven

and the name of that river was suffering: -

and I saw the boat

which carries souls across the river

and the name of that boat was

love.

- Saint John of the Cross

* Photo from www.thegreatescape.org

PERSONAL




When I began memoir writing four years ago, I had one thing holding me back: how do we write about those we know and/or love, without hurting them? Even if what we write is kind and true? Is it fair? Is it our story to tell? All the places where our lives overlap, how much is ours?

Anne Lamott says she writes several concentric circles away from the core of her life - she does not write about the most intimate and personal details. One may argue that after reading her writing you can't believe it gets several shades more nitty gritty than that, but apparently it does.

Other writers have argued that the more personal, the more universal (and I agree), and that the truth is the important thing - freeing it. The thing is, what's personal to me affects more than just me - even my thoughts are not solely mine, and the truth? Whose truth?

A big reason I decided to pull Unstrung was that while I felt it would help a lot of people, I felt it would hurt at least two, and as Hope Edelman says, "Sometimes the professional gain is not worth the personal cost."

I just finished reading one of the books on my summer reading list: The Journal Keeper. To me, it is one of the best examples of a deeply personal story, that keeps it about the author. While there are things I'm sure her husband would rather not be in print for all eternity, she maintains his dignity at all times - when they have problems, it's her perception, reaction, evolution that is at the crux of the writing.

As a writer this book helped answer a big question that has been holding me back for four years, and as a woman this book helped answer about a million other things that float through my brain at any given time. For a deep, satisfying, provocative, pleasant, want-to-read-all-over-again book, this is it.

NO SHOW


So, I went to the reunion, and Someone I Once Knew was not there. This reunion is for the school where I used to teach before Woohoo was born, and is held every year, and each time I've gone, SIOK has been there. Not this time. I'm flooded with relief and guilt - just sure she somehow found my blog, read it, and didn't come because of that. Another side of me says,  "Make no assumptions." Then there is the side clamoring, "No accidents." I feel guilty for sharing our personal story on the Internet, yet the tugging emotion is that maybe it was helpful in the overall scheme of things, regardless of whether she read it or not.

I don't know.

What I do know is the 20 or so of us that were there, ranging in ages from 47 (love being the youngest at something) to a good 77, sat around a long table and gave our reports for the year. Many told of their grandchildren, how old they are now, what line of work their kids are in, who has graduated and who has gotten married. The easy stuff, and believe me, the stuff I was eager to hear.

Wasn't until one of the people seated at the far end with me had her turn and shared that her six-year-old granddaughter only had two more treatments for leukemia, that things went from Level 1 to Level 10 in a hurry.

I shared that we had gotten a retired guide dog for our son with special needs, and that most of my life was consumed with the caring, planning, advocating and recovering for and from his needs. Turns out the man sitting right next to me (that I didn't know - he left before I came to the school), started his career in special ed. He used to work at one of the local hospitals training doctors to be more compassionate and humane in dealing with parents getting diagnoses for their kids. Straight to heaven.

I talked to the woman whose granddaughter was at the end of a two-year ordeal for cancer, and learned that her grandson (younger brother) was showing signs of autism. The grandmother (retired teacher) could see the red flags but her daughter was understandably overwhelmed with the needs of her daughter, and was not quite there yet. The grandmother asked me a bunch of questions to which I reluctantly said yes, yes, yes. How do you tell someone that yes, it sounds as though their grandson has autism and as soon as their daughter is out of the woods, they can join that club, too?

There is suffering: First Noble Truth.

What people say when their turn comes up to report on their year is not all there is to the story.

I believe, now, that SIWK and as some of the commenters pointed out, I would find many things we have in common as parents, as women, as fellow sufferers, if we moved our egos and pain bodies out of the way and let the understory emerge.

Be kind whenever possible.

It is always possible.

Tenzin Gyatso

14th Dalai Lama of Tibet

Dear Someone I Once Knew,

I will see you tomorrow at the reunion, and I will remember how we were pregnant with our daughters at the exact same time, and then two years later, our sons.

In those early years we tried to get together with the girls, but by the time the boys came into the story, we were on such divergent paths that it was hard then, impossible now.

Tomorrow we will hug, you will say how great it is to see me, how you think of me all the time. But you will not ask about my kids. You will tell me all about yours - the daughter too smart for her age, skipping a grade and no longer my daughter's peer. I have heard that story, but you will tell me again, how advanced she is and how school is just not challenging for her.

I will recall my years of teaching Talented and Gifted and pull out some dusty compassion for what I know to be a difficult row to hoe, too, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will tell me about your son, also brilliant and a gifted athlete, a year ahead of my son in school, although only a month older. He is darling. Popular. Keeps you busy, busy, busy running him to all his friend's houses and his sporting events, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will tell me about all the places your family will go on vacation this year, all the fun things you like to do, the activities you enjoy, the way your kids are natural travelers and how great it is that summer is finally here so you can all spend more time together, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will tell me how you cannot believe in four short years you will be an empty nester, how you and your husband are looking forward to an early retirement and trips abroad, the likes of which I cannot imagine.

You will not say, "So how are your kids?" I know it's not because you are callous. I know it's not because you don't care. I know it's not because you are selfish. I know it's because you don't think about how every word out of your mouth is fresh salt in my old wounds. I know you don't know how it is you, and only you, that has this effect on me - we were doing this together, and I broke the pact, by having kids with differences.

It's not your fault. You know your world and I know mine, and we have both met many comrades in our respective worlds, friends that get us through, friends with less history, friends that didn't break old pacts but made new ones: to imagine.


* Photo from www.obit-mag.com

LOST


Dreamt last night I was in a road race (in a Honda Element) with the most unlikely co-pilot (someone I can loosely define as a friend). Within a few miles of the road race I took the wrong turn and was hopelessly lost.

Poof - gone was the co-pilot, gone were the road signs, gone was every sort of navigational help. I was actually driving in and through buildings I was so lost.

Pretty sure the dream has something to do with how I'm feeling about summer vacation, which starts at noon today for Rojo - Woohoo has been out over a week.

I don't have a road map. I don't have a co-pilot. I don't have a lot of road signs showing me the way through to September.

That's what I fear, but the reality is I do have a road map - a calendar with plenty of things to break up the three months. I do have a co-pilot, several, actually, STM, Flicka, Above and Beyond, babysitters, aides, friends, relatives. And I do have the road map: love.

TOP 10 BOOKS ON MY SUMMER READING LIST

UNBIND

Under every moment of anger is an enormity of sadness,
 and under that a sea of compassion.     - Stephen Levine

The Greek word for forgiveness means to unbind.

Un-bind.

Be not bound.

Amen.

* Photo from www.chinesesymbolsmeaning.com

FORGIVENESS


First AbFab Geek recommended I read it, then my friend Toeless sent me the book, so I finally sat down one day and started it. I'll be honest with you, the subject of Rwandan genocide was one I was happy to avoid, but Toeless and AbFab both said I would love it, both said it would be life changing, and both have my best interest at heart, so I trusted them and dove in. I barely came up for air.

The book is amazing for many reasons, but what struck me the most was Immaculee's ability to forgive. I am telling you, if you are struggling to forgive someone, this book will help put it all in perspective. If she is able to truly forgive and find peace, there is hope for the rest of us.

Immaculee has two other books which I just picked up and can't wait to start reading, and the third one is all about Mary.

Say no more.

GRANDSONS


My dad died just a few weeks before Rojo was born, and nine years before Kunga came along, and yet there it no denying his role, his presence, his spirit when you get these two "brothers" together.

Kunga has been dreaming about my dad lately, waking up and saying he misses him. He spontaneously told both Woohoo and me this, too.

"I miss my granddad," he said.

"Do you remember him?" I asked.

"Yes. I remember him."

"Tell me about him," I pressed.

"I didn't know him, he died before I was born, but I remember him," he clarified.

And there isn't a doubt in my mind that he does. Nine years together on some other plane is hard to forget.

Rojo, who had to be told by a newly five-year-old that his shoes were on the wrong feet, said one profound thing after another this weekend as we spent our time in my father's old house - indeed, the house in which he died.

STM simply asked, "Hey, Rojo, what time is it?"

"You'd know if you had harmony in your soul," he said.

After playing with a ball in the back yard, Woohoo said, "Rojo, where did the ball go?"

"I affected your energy and now you can't find it."

My dad was a piece of work, but after fourteen years only the fond memories come to mind now when I think of him - there's been time to heal. The "brothers" only know the funny stories, and there were plenty. They have a divine connection to a man that is their grandfather, a man that affected their energy.

A man whose soul has finally found harmony.

Amen.

MANIC SCREAMING

We should make all spiritual talk

Simple today:

God is trying to sell you something,

But you don't want to buy.

That is what your suffering is:

Your fantastic haggling,

Your manic screaming over the price!

From the book I Heard God Laughing, Poems of Hope and Joy

Renderings of Hafiz by Daniel Ladinsky

THE MAGIC BENCH


Wrote recently about playground miracles. Am almost embarrassed to tell you this, but they just keep happening, and happening, and happening. Feeling like it's being revealed to me why Rojo is so insistent that he, Flicka and I go to the park every night: we have work to do.

Rojo performs his magic on the play structure, delighting the 4-8 year-old set, and Flicka makes it possible for me to meet people I would not otherwise meet.

Other day Rojo and I couldn't find any other kids to play with at Park #1, so we walked down to Park #2. There was a mom and her daughter swinging on the only two swings. Rojo and I took the teeter-totter. Pretty soon the little girl left the swing and came over to us. That turned into her teetering her 7-year-old self with Rojo's tottering nearly 14-year-old self, and me trying to balance the two out, with some degree of success.

Off the teeter-totter and on to tag, the mom and I were left to talk. She started asking about Flicka, and next thing I knew I was telling her all about how we got her. That story has a couple of versions, the just-the-facts one, that's not bad, really, and the woo-woo one complete with every no accident detail. I went for version #2.

"That's what happens when you put it out into the universe, the universe rises up to enfold you" she said.

I knew I'd found a friend.

We talked for two hours, don't you know it, New Friend has a child with special needs. We eventually moved back to Park #1 when my friend, Above and Beyond called to say she'd brought the ice cream "truck" down there. I introduced New Friend to Above and Beyond, and after I left, they did more talking and sharing of resources.

The other day I was at Park #1 and I noticed something going on with each of the kids that were chasing him in a rollicking game of hot lava monster. All these years I've been bringing him to the park thinking he was the only one with special needs, and just assuming everyone else was neuro-typical.

Can't believe this far into the game I still don't have the Make No Assumptions thing figured out.

One thing I have  figured out is that Rojo, Flicka and I will continue to go down there and play, as long as there is a bench to sit on.

And to listen.


* Photo from: terraformearth.files.wordpress.com

FOR GOOD

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you..."

From the song "For Good" from the musical, "Wicked"


I do know I believe that's true.

Been thinking so much lately about friends, and without exception, they've all changed me for good, and for good.

Eavesdropped today on two elderly women talking about hearing aides. "Well, Sue just had so many problems with hers, I don't know, I don't think I'll get one," said the one with a freshly coiffed grey bob.

"Oh, that's ridiculous," said the one with impossibly red hair. "What kind of problems? What do you mean problems? She's probably just not using it right! You know you have to get it in just the right place in your ear or it doesn't work."

"Oh, I don't know," said Grey Bob, "Maybe if I get to a place where I really need one, I'll do it."

"You ARE at that place," said Impossibly Red.

I instantly vowed to be Impossibly Red, and not Grey Bob someday. Maybe even starting tomorrow.

A tricky thing, though, honesty. Not much good unless it's coming from a place of love and requested. I've tried to force it down other's throats. I've tried it at the top of my lungs. I've tried it with righteous indignation. Doesn't work.

What is our sacred contract with each other, to hold space? To listen? To observe? Just to love? To call BS on? To declare, "You ARE at that place?" What's the role of a friend? Does it depend on the friend? Probably.

Consider yourself warned, however, if you ask me what I think, I'm likely to tell you.