We are all so connected. Last night there was a big noisy scary thunderstorm while we sat at the dinner table. A brilliant flash of lightening electrified the room and thunder cracked gehind me, terrified and startled me and I screamed. As I screamed, I saw Liam's face change, his terror, and then his scream, mirroring mt own. Ruth and Chris calmed him quickly, but for a moment my fear of the storm entered him and I feel really guilty about this. I will work hard to be more careful how I react when I am frightened - around children, maybe around people period.

I am feeling happy tonight for no particular reason. So much is wrong in the larger world. But Chris made mushrooms and cherry tomatos on the grill, and perfect rice and a tart white dipping sauce for dinner and Liam is learning the signs and words ro "There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly..." and Bob is coming home this weekend for the summer Friday morning...and I am just happy in this moment

Memorial Day weekend is over. This is the first Memorial Day in the last several that I haven't watched the national ceremony and concert - I am sad though for all the families still losing sons and daughters in war, and thankful to our military, past and present - especially Bob's Dad who served in World War Two, Korea, and Viet Nam. Thank you Dubby. Bob came home for the weekend and is back in Corpus until Friday. He joined a gym yesterday, with a membership that allows me to be his guest every time he goes. We used the tread mills together yesterday and that was good, though I think Ruth is right that the eliptical machine is better for my knee. I am deeply sad about the leaking oil in the Gulf of Mexico, hoping to get some of my feelings about that into poetry - also concernes about affairs in the Koreas and Israel.

My blog seems very Jewish lately and that is odd to me because I don't think of myself too frequently in terms of my religious orientation - spiritual practices yes, but not so much their origin and tradition - but here I am just home from a chanting service (really lovely) by visiting rabbi Sheva Gold and having thoroughly enjoyed a hafdallah (end of Sabbath) service on the deck with Ruth Chris and Liam before dinner. I do apprecialte my traditions obviously. i wrote a poem today though that kind of ecplains why thinking of my orientation and beliefs is less important to me than to many people. As I wrote before, I won't be putting many poems here now that I have the poetry blog, but this sems important to explain me and religion.



Proof Futile



Futile to require proof

of God, Heaven, Hell,

Sufficient to access strength

deeper than my own.

Sufficient to find guidance,

peace in spiritual practice.

Sufficient to draw wisdom

from my dear beloved dead.

Sufficient to believe my own

influence will outlast breath.



Victoria Hendricks May 22, 2010

Midweek, almost. It is thunderstorm season - trees and grass very green, dinner on the deck , which only wants sanding and staining, most nights now, unless of course, storm comes at dinnertime. Tonight during dinner a pair of neighbors Chris recently made friends with walked by with their pet duck (yes you read that right) in a bright green wheel barrow. Of course that caused a good interruption replete with conversation laughter and much quacking on the part of duck - not as much quacking from Liam as I would have expected. On the "small world" side of things, the woman in this couple was the administrator who helped Ruth through logistics a few years back when she started teaching at the community college. She, though closer to my age, grew up on this street and, like Ruth, moved back from the suburbs to her childhood home. Her parents died before she came back, however.

It is a Jewish holiday, Succoth, on which we celebrate having received the Ten Commandments and, oddly, have a tradition of eating rich dairy dessert. Chris served cheesecake, yum. We talked about the Ten Commandments after supper on the deck, named them and discussed which seem the most difficult to follow. We settled on idolatry (not in the literal sense but in the sense of worshiping (overvaluing) things of the world rather than the divine and not bearing false witness in the sense of avoiding giving an intentionally false or partial impression . I like it that our Jewish spiritual practices seem to be casually woven into our lives together these days - not nearly as thick a thread as in an Orthodox home, but present and treasured and just part of life. This feels good to me now and makes me happy that Liam has never known it otherwise.

It was a treat to take K.K. to the symphony last night - strong performance of Mahler's First Symphony -so emotionally wild and varied. The discount seats Bob got us must have been cancellations, right down in the the third row where we could see the faces and movements of the musicians and conductor beautifully. K.K. especially loves watching the elegant young concert mistress, whose reminds me of some of the equally elegant performing artists she knows in her dance world. Also, just to document, Ruth and Chris bought the last of the wood for the deck yesterday and laid most of it. They lost light before they got it all screwed down and there is angling to do on the far corner to make the deck a more pleasing shape - also sanding and staining, but they are really knocking it out. Bob is here, mostly recovered from his exhasuting week and he and I are about ready to don our orangewear and go off to the season's last home baseball games before tournament play begins. The Lonhorns have done so well we are pretty much guaranteed there will be a regional tournament here right after school gets out - always fun for us.

It's a rainy, thundery night, not really a scary storm but one that has me wanting to be up reading poetry blogs and writing rather than sleeping as I should be. I'm loving finding the world of amateur poets all over the world who use the Internet as a forum for meeting and mutual encouragement. This makes me happy. In my middle of the night weary happy dreamy mood, I was struck by the quote I found on one blog.

"For every fact there is an infinity of hypotheses." —Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I'm posting it tonight in memory of both of my parents, Mama who reminded me never to trust anyone who was too sure there was only one right way and Daddy, with mind and soul of physicist, who saw the world as infinitely complex and beautiful.

Another Friday night - Pot roast Chris cooked perfectly for our shabat dinner. Liam amazes me by learning the prayers already - just a word here and a gesture ther, but learning them, valuing the specialness of our set apart Friday night meal. I especially love the way he copies us when we bring the light of the newly lit candles to our eyes in a traditional gesture. Sometimes he draws the light to his ears, but clearly he does whathe believes we are doing with a beatific smile. Innocence and wisdom really do seem to come full circle. My meditation tonight is settling around a poem sent to me by Bob's sweet brother and our fellow spiritual seeker, Bill.


Explorations

”We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, remembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.”
-T.S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

I'm surprised I haven't written here since Monday. Sometimes time does fly away. It has been a hard week somehow, though a good week with Ruth and Chris and Liam. We had supper at an actual table on the almost finished deck tonight - with napkins and everything. A friend shared a wonderful quote with me today .


"When I use my power in service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether or not I am afraid."
-Audre Lourde

Bob's fourth grade team took all the classes to San Antonio today for a major field trip - Alamo, IMAX theatre, and Museum of Texas Cultures with the cool Back Forty living history exhibit. It sounds like the Back Forty was the best part of the field trip. The kids didn't behave great and the wait at the IMAX was long and difficult. Bob is tired, but satisfied with having given the kids an exciting and educational experience.

I actually used a table saw tonight! I never thought I'd do that. I helped Ruth with the steps for the deck. They look so good. her design is awesome. We also discovered strawberry plants in a corner of the garden, actually producing! I gave up on those plants years ago and had forgotten about them, but our colder winter seems to have triggered production. The berries are tiny still, but definitely strawberries. I even ate one.

I've had a good day, quiet, very loved and loving feeling. Chris cooked special dinner for us mothers - Ruth's favorite "pink chicken" which I may like as much as she does. I'm so happy Ruth did get to be a mother after the years of infertility and Mira's death. I'd appreciate liam anyway, not to mention plain adore him, but I remember how sad Mother's Day was two years ago just after Mira died and I am so glad that sadness is an undercurrent now, not dominant. I'll always miss getting to hold and know and love that little girl, and I know her parents will too, and it is easier to accept her absence in Liam's presence, at least for me.

I wish Joanna and Tracy and the kids could have come over but life is crazy busy for them and they sent love. We've never been huge on celebrating holidays on the day, and when Joanna took me to the Salt lake City Olympics we agreed that was my Mothers' Day present for ever and ever - a good one.

I've been thinking about mothering - mostly my own. It was such a joy mostly (except in the early teens when I didn't handle individuation so well). Nothing in my life has brought more delight and more unexpected rewards. I wish I had done many things differently, more gently, more respectfully to the people the girls were. I wish I had been more accepting of illnesses, less anxious about health and just plain less anxious. I wish I had made it more clear how delighted I was by successes, of which they both had many. I wish I could have made Kerry's dying hurt them less - but that wish I think is not one I blame myself around. Losing a parent just does hurt. Mostly I'm just thankful for the privilege of being their mother.

Today was a good day - time alone with Liam and some fun little projects like making a bank for him out of an oat meal carton collaged with pictures from travel and other magazines my college roommate Jean and I saved thirty years ago. We had the walls of our room all done in travel collages back then - her idea. Liam's little bank is fun, and secured with Mudge Podge, truly a magic product. This is one of those instances when having saved things did create great joy. One of the pictures we used on the bank is a very sixties dated cute sceen of red headed children cooking - complete with chef's hat - so perfect for strawberry blond Liam who loves helping his gourmet Daddy in the kitchen.

Tonight is the run up for Mother's Day. Part of me hates Hallmark holidays because they make so many people so sad - in this case mostly people who have lost their mothers or children to death or estrangement and women who have been unable to have children. I also enjoy Mother's Day because it is great for childlike crafts and expressions of love. Liam let me draw all the way around his body to make a Liam poster for Ruth - "Liam loves Mama!" and we stuck hearts all over it. It's fun to have a chance to be that freely playful and child-like.

One of my small writing groups prompts this week was to write about what our mothers did right. That was a brilliant prompt for me. Thank you Judy. My mother did so much right, and also made some painful mistakes. True of me as a mother too, I know. It felt good for this poem to just write about the good stuff, not to try to find a balance or paint the whole woman. This is a poem I will post both here and on the new poetry blog because it is both about my life and a poem.

Jo

My mother was a hot tamale,
world by the tail, first generation,
fast train out of Tiny Texas,
got rid of her Czech accent
kept her recipes, songs, family
loyalty, worked her way through
college in the middle of Depression
with the best job on campus,
loved hard, played great jazz piano,
sewed magic clothes that made me
feel like a perfect princess, got me
books, books, books, Listened to
my stories every afternoon after school,
told me her stories, told the truth as
she understood it, talked straight
about work, sex and money,
knew that life is hard and good.
taught me to use my gifts in gratitude.
and to question people who were too sure.
made a new career for herself in her fifties
aught classrooms of women how to take
care of themselves in the work world,
knew how to say she was sorry.
.

Victoria Hendricks
May 2010

I decided that, since I'm reponding to more poetry prompts lately and plain writing a lot of poetry, it's time to separate poetry out from my regular blogging. I'll still stick a few poems in here, favorites or poems that I think especially reflect my current life or my essence, but mostly, if you're looking for poetry to to http://victoria-andnowpoems.blogspot.com/.

Tonight was Shabat service at the J, intimate and sweet. It is so precious to see this small community love Liam, and him thriving in it's midst. I'm ready for the peace of Shabat - busy week.

Bob and I have been married twenty one years tonight. It feels weird. i remember the day I turned twenty one, and it felt like I'd lived a whole life ub to that point. It was almost twenty years after that I married Bob, a whole lifetime again, and now another twenty one years have passed and it doesn't seem like a minute. Yet the girls wer little then and now they are grown and mothers. I still do the same work and still feel very much teh same, hopefully a little wiser, easier on myself and others. Bob still is my love, and in this I am so fortunate. These poems are for you sweetie.

Love Poem

Thank you
for loving me
when I am least
lovable, for patience,
tenderness, hope
when I feel hopeless.
For loving me,
Thank you.


Bob Hendricks

Bob Hendricks loves me.
That feels like a miracle.
We haven't been easy,
me and my girls, bereaved,
volatile, skeptical, set in our ways.
He married me, adopted them
taught us about season tickets.
to make reservations and shop
for deals on dream vacations.
He loves Beethoven, Rembrandt,
Faulkner, Melville, Rodin ,Cezanne.
He sings "Take Me Out to the Ball
Game" with his arm around my waist
every seventh inning stretch and knows
the rules and strategies of every sport.
He'd rather share Yellowstone, Big Bend,
the Grand Canyon with grand children
than experience more parks without them.
He pulls me outdoors to see the full moon
rise when the toads call in the neighborhood.
Chess genius, he grew bored of the game
because winning was too easy. No ego about
his math mind, his quickness, his knowledge.
He always has a dog he loves with little boy heart.
His totems are red wolf, golden eagle.
He meets God in wildness, great art.
He struggled to find work that
mattered, satisfied, big mind
and bigger ideals, desire to help.
Teaching fourth grade isn't perfect,
but it suits more than marketing.
He loves learning about almost anything,
fights overeating, especially chocolate,
rises early, craves information, respects his
parents, his brothers, reminds me strangers
starving in Africa are just as human as
grandchildren asleep on out own sofa,
is afraid of heights, spiders, hurting me.
It feels like a miracle.
Bob Hendricks loves me.

And now I lay me down to sleep...I remember lying in my childhood bed under the pink ribbed bed spread with that prayer in my head. I pray the Lord my soul to keep As an adult I pray I've lived mindfully and kindly from my soul today, used it to inform my actions and words, and for the wisdom to do that even better tomorrow. And if I die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take. That part hasn't changed much. Maybe I'm less literal in my expectations of eternity, but I definitely offer myself to the infinite, to something bigger than myself. So now I lay me down to sleep.

Poetry prompt of the day was "delight" which was fun to play with.

Delight lights

Delight lights
unexpected.
I can plan for
satisfaction,
enjoyment,
interest,
education,
but not delight.
Butterfly
delight
lights when
she will,
defies
prediction.

Monday night came fast with Bob here. It was both a hard weekend and a good weekend. I feel pretty wiped out tonight, which worries me a little since the work week will be intense. SO many people I see are struggling big time, and I also just have scheduled a lot of appointments. I'm tired in mind and body, but tomorrow is a new day.

The stress of applying for teaching jobs in the local area and caring, really caring, both of us now, that Bob gets one, is hard. Details and forms are hard, and putting your heart and soul down on paper saying essentially Choose me! Choose me! I empathize with Bob and with anybody who is job hunting. I helped him cut words in his very well done piece about how and why his elementary teaching experience is relevant to high school math jobs. I admire the patience with which he is attacking this job hunt. It will really be fine if he stays in Corpus, either at Menger or in a high school math job, but we've decided coming home is preferred. It is hard to care and not care at the same time about whether a change happens, to just give it to the universe and still work to make it more possible. I think the job search kept the atmosphere a little heavy - still, like a muggy June day.

But not every minute. Friday night after dinner when the whole house group plus K.K. all ended up dancing (imagine marching, swaying, clapping and a bit of polka) in the kitchen! And Saturday afternoon Bob, K.K. and I attended a superb Broadway revue done by her mentors Danny and Rocker and danced in by many of her dance world friends. She'll be in the next revue, in December, instead of in the Nut Cracker. She is moving her focus away from ballet (and the point work that aggravates her injury to jazz, Broadway and hip hop, will still take some ballet in the community school, but not the super intense classes. This feels like a loss in a way, so much time and discipline at the academy, but ballet is such a specialized dance form and she has been finding more joy as well as less pain in other forms. Last weekend she helped Danny and Rocker lead a public dance event at a local arts festival, jazz style and hip hop, and I could really see the joy there. Everything is changing it seems like, for all of us in big and little ways.

Liam ate his soup with his spoon at the table tonight and sat through dinner, actually longer than any of us adults. He is a gem, a joy, a human who crawls up on my bed to give me kisses and TALKS (his mom estimates at least 40 working words in his vocabulary) What I noticed tonight is that whenever I speak to him by name he meets my eyes, looks at me talking to him, knows I'm wanting him and wants to respond. He is such a PERSON and I love him so. Last week Ruth mentioned how it is possible still that Liam (or any kid his age) could show up autistic around three - how we could lose this person who knows and loves us and lets us know he loves us and looks in our eyes - lose him not to death but to some kind of neurological screw up that would leave us someone else, mysterious, probably hurting and over stimulated, in his body. How freaky. We can't know it won't happen, though it probably won't. There is so much that could go wrong, always. One more reason to focus on each moment.

And this moment I should go to bed.

With the poetry prompts, we're back to our own little group and Judy's prompt for today was to do something with a recipy, poetry, and memory. We don't have a garden this year, but Bob and I had the salad I wrote about, as close as you can without the gardxen for lunch. Writing about it in memory made me happy.

Sunshine Salad

Warm afternoon in May,
pour iced lemonade into
the glass with blue ducks .
Go out into the garden, hopeful,
find three firm red tomatoes,
just barely past orange, sun warm,
palm sized and the first two cucumbers
of the spring, green and prickly. Pick
each vegetable with careful hands and
thankful heart. Arrange in basket,
preferably your grandmother's garden
basket, Carry into the kitchen, wash
each vegetable carefully. Peel cucumbers.
Slice each vegetable carefully on cutting
board, remember to cut away from yourself.
Arrange slices in see through salad bowl,
glass or crystal, sprinkle with lime juice,
black pepper, a tiny bit of kosher salt.
Eat with someone you love, in bowls
you find beautiful, with lemonade,
at the table, before the sun's warmth
leaves the vegetables you grew.

This is my Grandma Anna's summer love food. I've made it from so many gardens, as the little girl, the young mother, the family elder with grand children. It always tastes of love to me, and connection. My Grandma never had much money, always took pride in feeding us well on a little, always tried for pretty presentation. Bob likes the salad better with mayonnaise added and I usually do it that way now, but I still prefer it with just the lime juice as I learned to eat it as a girl.

It's the last day of the poetry challenge and that feels good. I've written every day, a poem every day. I have posted some here, not all. I like some better than others. My mind has gone in directions I wouldn't have planned and I like that. The last challenge is "letting go" and that was an easy one to write.

Not Ready

I try to imagine locking my office
for the last time, giving Melissa the key,
bringing home the statues and crystals.

I try to imagine no appointments,
no emergency phone calls, no moments
when a client suddenly feels worthy.

I try to imagine myself retired,
unstructured days, No role as therapist,
no familiar structure, no new client stories.

I try to imagine retiring and I can't.
I am far from ready to let go of the most
successful role I have created for myself.

The poetry prompt for today was "Suddenly..." and my response just bubbled up uncalled from what seems like another life and my most profound experience of a sudden shift.

Suddenly

Unexplained pain,
shortness of breath,
misdiagnosis, surgery,
biopsy, cancer diagnosis,
death sentence, tears,
telling the girls,
hope, determination,
despeate sex, terror,
radiation, chemo,
playing with the girls,
work, life, hope, meals,
increasing pain, rage,
sense of doom, despair,
hospitalization, hopelessness,

Then, suddenly peace,
mysterious peace,
before you told your
daughters goodbye,
before our last kiss,
before your last breath,
blessed, mysterious peace.

Posetry prompt today was "end of the line". I actually really liked the poem and memories it brought to me. I feel affectionate tonight toward my awkward, tall eleven year old self. I'm not nearly as tall proportionally as an adult woman as I was as a child. Other kids caught up in height somewhere in high school. I feel like some of my relative comfort in my body comes from having learned not to hate myself for being always tallest - some time AFTER fifth grade.

End of the Line

Second to fifth grade.
we marched to lunch
in lines, shortest first.
Second grade I glowed
proud to be last in line.
By fifth grade I hunched
embarrassed to be last.
A girl was not supposed
to be tallest, last in line.

Today wasn't a hard work day. I even had the luxury of a long talk with Joanna, full of memories and a strong sense of connection. I feel tired tonight though, I think just because the day started early. The poetry prompt is hope or hopelessness.

Choice

Hope is a choice.
Hopelessness too,
a decision. Either
I believe I can use
whatever happens
to me for good
and live in hope,
or I believe my
well-being depends
on circumstances
and I despair .
Hopelessness
is a choice.
So is hope.

I could write and write about today except I can't because I have to go to bed so I can get up tomorrow and be fresh for work - frustrating. I hate feeling like time is limited. But today was a great day, playing with Andrea and liam, watching them come to know each other better, hug, practice sharing toys - a sweet day I need to let end.

Today's poetry prompt was to write a poem based on a song, and I feel uninspired. Writing off of someone else's work is hard for me. I complained about the task at supper and Ruth reminded me that I could put a personal slant on a song that I feel says it's message well already - so I'll keep it simple and write from Kate Wolf's Give Yourself to Love

Reminder

I give myself to love
for love is what I'm after.
Sometimes I forget when
tears drown out the laughter.
I give myself to love
for love is what I'm after.

Victoria Hendricks - April 25, 2010

I am actually thankful for the prompt this weekend. I feel the waves of suffering and anxiety around me and feel shaky - but the reminder is in the song, just keep giving myself to love.

Sabbath quiet in the house. I need it. My work week has been challenging, lots of hard stories and great human courage and determination to change and thrive. I am getting my spring clothes out and winter clothes away, loving color TOday I wore a yellow skirt with ruffles and a green top and a gauzy yellow shawl that was a gift from Paris. Color changes are fun for me when the seasons change. Poetry challenge today was to write an exhausted poem and I just couldn't do it. Exhausted is a feeling that scares me and one I hardly ever claim - weary yes, and I am
tonight, but not exhausted. I wrote about inexaustible source of spirit energy because that is what I need to focus on.

Inexhaustible


I know some resources are finite,
oil, money, metal, can be used up,
unrenewable, gone for ever, forgotten.
I know species can become extinct,
Gene pool exhausted, last elder dead.
Energy though, I neede to believe, is
infinite, inexhaustible, available always,
constant source. I breathe in, breath out,
and strength, hope, possibility take root
in mysterious source. Spirit is inexhaustib

I have more energy tonight. Today's poetry prompt was fun - to write according to somebody. I picked Liam. Of course this is how I imagine he sees part of his world.

According to Liam

It is never too late for a bike ride.
Dogs are for kissing, wrestling.
Chocolate is worth dancing for.
Outside is better than inside but
you need hat and shoes to go out.
Laughter is contagious.
Cousins are for tickling.
Moma's room is full of treasures.
Ducks say quack, Lions rrrrrrr
Peacocks scream hayup hayup.
Please gets you what you want.
Words work better than screaming.
Daddy makes yummy noodles.
Mama lights the Shabbat candles.
You gather the light to your ears.
Daddy never lets you fall.
Mama helps when you hurt.
Love is abundant, infinite.
Smiles come easy. Life is good.


omebody. I picked Liam. Of course this is how I imagine he sees part of his world.

Tired tonight. I think travel caught up with me. I have morethoughts than energy to put them into words. The poetry prompt was to write about looking ahead and/or looking back and at least I got a couple of ideas before I ran out of steam.

Path

Look forward,
I see muself
alter with
eachstep I choss.
If I don't change
direction, I get
where I was headed.



Perspective

Look ahead,
I see myself progressing.
Look back
I see myself emerging
Look within
I see my naked soul.
Head in stars
feet in the river
I receive power
beyond self,
from above,
from beow.
to accept and
change what I see
when I look
forward, back, within.

I wish it weren't past bedtime wiht an early work day tomorrow. So much I want to write. Let it suffice for now that I am at great peace with the comfort and love in my life - so sweet to wake with Bob this morning, have him arrange to take me to the bus station, be picked up by Ruth and Liam upon arrival and to have liam delightedly sign "turtle" after seeing the turtles on my shawl, to come home then to the house smelling of Chris' pot roast, to take Liam for a short walk while his parents leveled two more beams on the new deck. I just feel amazingly blessed. This is the stuff that counts.

To Walk the Beach at Dusk

I do not ask for more than
to walk the beach at dusk,
between primrose dunes
and periwinkle sky,
to breath salt breeze, and
take time to sort the confusion
of terns Caspian, Forsters,
Least, Common, Royal.
To walk the beach at dusk,
hand in hand, is joy enough.

Victoria Hendricks
April 18 2010

Pleasant rainy Thursday.I love the sound of raindrops on the office skylight. T
The poetry prompt today was "deadlines", probably because it was tax day, and once again, I couldn't make myself approach the prompt in a straight line.

Lines

Lines of the dead
lead back to source,
beginning, passion,
decision, action
love, ego, hope despair.
Lines of living pull
dead forward to
bless or doom
lines of unborn souls.

Live Lines

Dead lines,
Just marks on paper
How can they stir
my heart? Art.

Today was ordinary, a good busy work day, not much to report. I did notice that the weather was soft and mild, not hot at all yet, really pleasant. It has been a sweet spring, and we still have bluebonnets, not all burned up like hte last couple of drought springs. Today's prompt for a poem was "Island" and I got a little nuts with it.

We

No I Land
not isolate.
Connected,
We all land,
in the soup
we brew.
Sustaining
or toxic,
it is up to
all of us,
not just me,
not just you.

Victoria Hendricks
April 14, 1010

Busy busy two days. I've been taking Liam on lots of stroller rides while his parents build our new front deck, which is going great. Yesterday we cruised by the elementary school his Mama and Auntie attended, which he will probably attend. We got there just as the kindergarten was let out. The kindergarteners looked huge compared to Liam, but also tiny. We stopped by our neighborhood park on that walk too and happened on a play group of adoptive families, moms and kids. Many were international families including one Mom with two daughters, the two year old newly arrived from China, smiling an engaging "Hi!" and then shifting into Chinese. Her speech confused Liam, who is just beginning to really understand English. I was intrigued that the group of moms included a Muslim woman in full burka and an Orthodox Jewish woman (I know because she was talking about Passover) wo covered her hair.Also, one of the moms talked about adopting from the agency with which my bith mother had the bad experience which led her to private adoption and me to my home.

This weekend has been so busy (I hate that word) that it is hard to write about. Bob went to the teacher job fairs for his first and second choice districts, had great letters of recommendation, really glowing and well deserved, got some hopeful communication from principals, but no interview yet - maybe after TAKS testing.

Ruth and I peaked into an estate sale on the corner of our street - I had known the woman only very slightly, but it shook me to walk through and see the sold sign on her sewing machine, her shoes in their boxes and clothes in the closet, glasses in the kitchen, holiday decorations I used to see in her lawn every year - all the props of an ordinary life up for sale to the next taker. It makes me feel very mortal, hence my take on the poem for today prompt about the last something.

Last Poem

Melancholy tonight,
just thinking, we never
know, which will be
your last poem, or mine.

Mostly the weekend was good - baseball games which Texas won, symphony concert with K.K., walks with Liam, work on the deck. A fun side note is that Danny went to the middle school band test day to see which instrument he matches and he is going to play the TUBA!!!!

Today's prompt was to write a self portrait in poem. I did two.

I

I am as I have akways been,
one who jumps at sudden noises,
colors in crayon and word,
runs out to catch the moonrise,
likes fresh air, lemons, ginger
champions underdogs, stays
quiet until challenged, fierce
under threat, tenacious,
takes refuge in dawn, dusk,
mist, lives between worlds,
loves hard, grieves quietly,
picks up pebbles, feathers,
hopes as much as I fear.

Miscalled

People look at my long faded hair,
my shawls and bare legs and they
label me aging hippie. Wrong.

Aging, technically, yes, of course.
Every year is a year I've lived.
Sometimes my knees ache. .
I know I am past midpoint,
focus on legacy not future.
but aging isn't an important
part of my self image.

Not a hippie ever, good girl who
saved sex for husbands and never
dropped acid, studied hard, cleaned
up after demonstrations, was
embarrassed by drunks and pot heads.


But I am myself, a woman who likes shawls,
whose husband finds long hair sexy, who
has left leaning politics. Myself, still emerging.

Today's poetry prompt is to write about a tool. It's odd that there were only two candidates for subject matter in my mind, even though the growing deck is busy with power and wood working tools of all kinds and the kitchen is well stocked with cullinary tools. I've used so many tools for writing - from pencil to computer. The pencil was a candidate for the poem. But the tool of my heart seems to be one I use less often these days.

Needle and Thread

I keep my grandmother's needles,
safely in the powder puff she
stored in the sewing machine drawer.
I keep my mother's needles
stuck in fat red tomato cushions
I played with while she hemmed.

I cried when I discovered that
time had weakened my grandmother's
thread, my mother's thread.
Careful colors saved on Kleenex
cardboard, wooden spools, paper spools,
I finally threw away. They could not hold.

My grandmother, my mother, taught me
to use needle and thread before I read well
or could make my letters. Needle and thread,
tools of creation, restoration, artistic expression
connect me back and forward. My granddaughter
sews ribbons on pointe shoes with my needle.

Victoria Hendricks
April 8, 2010
I

Until

Until I die,
Let me live.
learn, build,
grow, serve,
laugh, dance,
challenge,
read, write,
love, cry,
dream, hope,
Let me live
until I die.

Victoria Hendricks,
April 8, 201

Somebody (who actually uses the name "Somebody" posted a huge number of comments on old entries, as well as new entries to my blog this morning. They posted in a foreign alphabet so I have no idea what they said. I took my blog off all search engines - which makes me sad because I have enjoyed knowing people can find my blog, as I have benefitted from finding the blogs of others. I'm also screening comments before they post for right now. That has nothing to do with any of you who read my blog regularly, or innocent newcomers, just about the strangeness this morning. Now I need to go back and remove all the comments in case something heinous is being said in another language. At least they stopped.

Today's poetry promt was "TMI" - the jargon for "too much information", a cliche that makes me see red - hence the flow of "case against" poetry. The world is lonely enough for way too many people without further isolating ourselves by worrying over whether we are sharing "too much information."


First Case Against TMI

Hard enough to negotiate boundaries
without cute initials, sophisticated
cowardly excuse to cover up
You bore me. I don't care. I feel
uncomfortable with your pain.
It hits to close to home. I want
my denial back,. Don't trouble
me with your truth. I don't care.
If I overstep, put foot in mouth,
frighten or disgust you tell me.
Don't hide behind the shield of TMI.
Hard enough to negotiate boundaries
without the artifice of cute initials.
Second Case Against TMI

TMI TMI Too much information.
How can that be when we
hide in air conditioned cars,
converse in mannered sound bites
at market Excuse me. Policy is...
Have a nice one. Let me verify...
How can there be too much information
when we save face, keep ourselves and
each other at arm's length, avoid unsolicited
advice, eye contact, incidental touch,
How can there be too much information
when we teach a generation to us hand
sanitizer and consider every stranger danger.
TLI TLI I cry, too little information. Too little
connection. We live and die in isolation.

Third Case Against TMI

How can I learn to love you
if I have to make you up?
We leave out most of the
story, others just fill in
and friendships skim the
surface, unreal, unrealized.
I want your information.
I want you to want mine.

Victoria Hendricks, April 5, 2010

Easter day - not my holiday but Joanna's and the children's. I love the transformational message of Easter and also the family's traditions, Easter egg hunt and Joanna's lime pie. Joanna and the children went to mass, and both Andrea and K.K. looked precious in Easter dresses. K.K. looks way too much like a young lady though. Liam and Andrea are making friends, learning to play together, to share toys (some difficulty for Andrea to share her favorite wagon in her own house, but eventually she let Liam ride back and forth between pushers for a while. Liam loved getting to see Danny's turtle, both in and out of the water. It was a good family day. I am thankful for my good family.

The poetry prompt for today is history, which is a challenge for me, harder than the other prompts.

Letters

Forty years of letters,
carefully penned in color
coordinated inks on stationary,
chosen for mood, for fun,
typed on Mama's portable typewriter
corrected with correction tape,
correction fluid, carbon copied,
blogged on the computer, saved
in flash drives, blog records.
Forty years of history of me.

Forty years of letters,
Themes are constant, attention
to detail, compulsive need to
connect, to know and be known,
joy in the every day, willingness
to admit when I am wrong, hope,
an interest in gardens, moon rises,
appreciation for those who love me,
need to be loved, fierce love,
Forty years of history of me.

Victoria Sullivan Hendricks

Today was a great day with Bob and Liam. We walked at Town Lake and saw all kinds of boats on the water, including a new to us take on Polynesian surf boards. The rider stands on a wide board and paddles along with an oar. i think I'd like to rent one and try. it was a great joy to walk on the mild morning and plain fun to see the huge variety of dogs being walked. There was even an animal rescue station where joggers could borrow a canine jogging buddy, complete with harness. At the end of the walk we sat on a bench for about half an hour while Liam ate cheese and commented on birds, ducks (yes I know ducks are birds but in one year old speak ducks say quack and birds say tweet). Bob introduced Liam to the wonderful Pete Seeger song (at least he's the first one I heard sing it) about "I had a (animal that makes noise) and I fed my (animal that makes noise) under yonder tree) It's perfect for Liam right now because he is entranced with animal noises and quite a good imitator. Speaking of metaphoric animals, the Texas Longhorn baseball team swept rival Oklahoma this afternoon - three wins in one weekend.

On a more thoughtful Passover note, I realized that my desire to free myself from the need to be in the center and make everything work for everyone, is full of hametz - all puffed up with ego. I am really committed to letting that go - hard though.

Another Passover thought is that the only difference between sin and mitzvah (good deed) sometimes is procrastination. That is so true. The right thing isn't the right thing too late (or even too early). I plan to work on timing - also hard.


Today's poetry prompt is "partly"

Some enter cold water by parts,
toes, thighs, belly, finally face.
Not me. Not partly. Not possible.
I rest warm on the bank, fully clothed
or strip naked, breathe deep, plunge in,

Victoria Hendricks,
4-3-2010

Sweet sweet Friday. Because it is Good Friday Bob didn't teach and came in town midday. I also had fewer clients than usual so we had time to hang out, eat lunch at our memory lane and decisious food favorite, Trudy's near campus. We even went onto campus so Bob could get a transcript for his application for teaching positions closer to home, and it is funny how accurate the phrase "memory lane" is. I have very specific memories, fore every few square yards in the area around my old dorm, the tower, and the buildings where most of my classes were, and also the stories of the memories my parents have of campus. Bob and I talked at my office later - always a pleasant interval, walked a mild evening at McKinney Falls. Lovely day.

Poertry prompt was "Water"

Mirror

Deep well,
pure water.

Fresh water.
Clear mirror.

Holy water.
Perfect truth.

Tonight's entry will be a composite - a mixture not a compound. Different streams of thought inform my desire to write tonight.

First, April 1 is the anniversary of our terrible middle of the night house fire of fire of 1985. For those who don't know, the heater exploded when I was alone, sleeping in the house withmy two little girls while kerry worked the night shift at the post office. I woke to firs alarm, walls of flame, searing heat, terrifying roar, and the sickening truth that I could not get through the flames to Joanna, my second grader. I stood in the hall a moment, knowing I could not save her, that she could be dying that very instant, and that all I could do was save four year old Ruth and myself. I've never felt such horror, or such relief as I felt a few minutes later, outside the house when Joanna appeared, having gotten out her window on her own. That night I learned that stuff is only stuff, that trouble from which all family members walk away isn't real trouble, and that anything can blow up at any moment. The heater had been safety checked the previous week. Every April first I'm thankful we survived that night and also remind myself to take no sunrise for granted.

Second, we had another miniseder and I asked myself what way of being I would most like to free myself from this year. It's a hard one for me - the need to be in the center of relationships that matter to me, to make sure everyone is alright with everyone else, to keep peace and try to make everything right for everyone all the time. The truth is I can't do that, and just stress myself out trying. The other truth is the people in my inner circle are wise and healthy enough that they don't need me to mediate so much. I disrespect them when I try so hard. It will be a hard habit for me to change, but a truly liberating change to the extent that I can succeed.

Third, April marks a poem a day challenge and a web site my writing group uses posts a prompt each day. Today's was "lonely" and here is my poem - which surprised me. I don't know quite where in be it bubbled up from - feels very young. That's one thing I like about challenges. They get me writing poems I wouldn't write otherwise.

Yearning

I want you to want me
as much as I want you.
I need you to need me
as much as I need you.
Show me you love me
as much as I love you.
I promise to trust you
and stop asking for more.

Victoria Hendricks
April 1, 2010

We had a mini Seder tonight, just Ruth and Chris and Liam and I - very sweet and right for us this year. We talked about the overwhelm involved in trying to heal all the brokenness in the world and about transperency in our personal lives. That is a big goal for me at this time in my life - authenticity. I shared a poem I wrote in Palm Springs.

Before

Warsaw, Burundi, Rwanda, Darfur
Men bought concert tickets,
Boys led cows down mountains.

Jews, Tutsi, Hutu, Christians
Women planted beans, taught children
Girls arranged white flowers.

Armenia, Berlin, Palestine,
Children learned songs, shared sweets.
Lovers flirted, carressed, climaxed.

Mothers saved letters, told stories,
Fathers led praters, planned futures,
Families blessed babies, buried elders.

Until glass shattered, machetes flashed,
priests murdered parishoners,
neighbors, neighbors, principals, students.

Before genocide, people simply lived.

Second day of Passover, Ruth and I walked under the huge full moon. Actually she biked slowly and I walked. It is so good to have time to be with her in the ordinary course of events. I miss the years Joanna worked for me and I saw her on a regular basis. She is so busy with her family, we talk, but I miss the dailiness, the incidental contact. It would be hard for me to live across country from adult children the way I lived from my parents. I've been reading the letters I wrote them during those years though and every detail is there, a rich commentary on our lives. Still, it's nice to brush up against each other without really trying, to just BE in each other's lives.

Passover begins tonight. Ruth and Chris and liam and I cleared the last of the hametz (puffed up food, symbolic of ego and pride) out of the pantry and fridge earlier today. Tonight as the doves coo and the beautiful bereezy spring day winds down, I think about spiritual hametz, the stubborn self-importance that clings and sticks in the corners of my essence and which I persist in examining and trying to purge each year at Passover. I really believe that my personal freedom, freedom both to enjoy life and to do good works is impaired by extra spiritual hametz, so the clearing is important, but difficult. Real is better than perfect, in this as in everything else. Perfect isn't going to happen.

Hametz

No matter how many
springs I sweep out crumbs
of puffed up self importance
I still want to be seen as special,
need to be needed, want to
control choices and outcomes
that are not my own, yearn for
safety, wish life were fair.
No matter how many years
I sweep out crumbs, crumbs remain.
That is why, come spring, I take
broom in hand and sweep again.

Victoria Hendricks, March 27, 2010

I recently learned the definition of an alarming set of initials "WIFM". It means "What's in it for me?" I am not completely niave. I know peopld including myself do have natural survival impulses and self interest - but oin my mind most of what civilizing us is about - definitely what my spirituall path is about, is getting away from "What's in it for me?" to "What is best for the whole?" The idea that self interest would be considered acceptable enough to be given it's own set of intials and normalized as a motivator that it is OK to play to makes me very sad. I think I see some of that in response to the recent health care bill. I see people thinking about it more in individual and less in collective terms, some of those who are happy about it as well as some of those who are against it. I know I can't get away from self interest completely. I do care more if Liam and Andrea starve than if faceless babies in Africa starve, as they do, every minute. I don't expect to get away from that level of self interest. I think it is probably hard wired for survival when circumstances are life and death. But the application and normilazation of self interest to the point of catch phrases in situations that aren't life and death is deeply disturbing to me.

Today has been one of those magic days that seem to have 48 productive hours - Tuth and I worked hard and successfully in the yard and garden. We went to lowes and bought a yellow jasmine, and met Ruth's and Joanna's preschool teacher there, a woman we have been friendly but not close with for years - pleasant to let her see Liam at about the age Ruth was when she first knew her. Liam was charming as usual. I'm also making great progress going through and organizing old letters. I really have had a sweet life so far, so many moments catalogued through the years of births, worries, loss, accomplishment, meals, gardens, tears, laughter. Life is hard, yes, and life is good. Tonight the good rings louder.

Freedom - Personal definition, March 6, 2010


Freedom is neither
rebellion or compliance.
Freedom rests on
foundation of mindfuless.
Freedom is bounded
by ethics, values, empathy.
Freedom is enacted
through choice, determines
what I do, think, say,
not how others respond.
Freedom requires that
I hold my own mirror
Freedom accepts paradox,
individuality and interdependence.
Freedom take for granted
is dangerous, world wrecking.
Freedom wasted, unemployed,
is dangerous, world rotting.
Freedom, employed in conscience
can save us all.


Victoria Hendricks - March 25, 2010

Liam is an English speaker now - just amazes me, this little guy who was just a cuddle of an armful a year ago, the barest beginning of a person, understnads so much of what we say now, and talks back to us. The sweetest new feat of receptive language is his entusiastic response to "Liam, can you dance?" He does a darling jig - also spins and claps and gives five when asked. He, and all my other grand children, make me even more concerned about the state of our country in terms of polarization and ugly comments and death threats, thrown bricks, cut phone lines, in response to health care legislation. I personally have great hopes for health care improvement, but that isn't the issue that disturbs me. People can have doubts, disagree, argue, protest - but the violence, the hateful feeling, freaks me out. This isn't the climate I want for my dancing boy and his laughing cousin.

Spring storm tonight, thunder and lightening and rain soft at first then hard falling. We've had a number of drought years, but not this spring. it's lovely so far, still blossom time but increasingly green. The leaves on Danny's maple are beginning to unfurl and the babies' apple trees are leafing out a little. Ruth and liam fell on the bike today because of a badly behaved dog. They are both unhurt and the good news is that the bicycle baby seat and helmet stayed properly secured. Liam stayed on the bike when it fell, as did Ruth. She just had to get up and right the bike with crying Liam on it and ride home. The unfortunate thing was that the woman whose dog ran at them causing the accident did not stop to check if Ruth was OK or offer help. I wish people in general behaved better - could be trusted to behave better.

It was a good quiet Tuesday - a calmer than usual work day. I still feel behind with my life, but a little less so. It's good to feel some progress. It is blossom time in Austin still - white blooming trees, redbuds, now the purple trees and wild flowers, including a fresh profusion of blue bonnets. I'm so glad Bob and I took the trouble and time to learn most of the common hill country wild flowers. It's fun to see them come up each year, no struggle to identify old friends.

I'm enjoying seeing that my blog has more followers these days. Those of you I don't know, welcome (and of course welcome too to those I know and love). I'd enjoy it if those of you who I don't know would introduce yourselves in comments - nice to get to know you. I also hope people will refrain from using the comment feature to promote any goods or services for sale. I will delete comments that don't make sense to me, or feel like advertising. Comments about your feelings about the ideas and events in the blog are very much welcome. It feels good to throw the pebbles of my thoughts, ideas, poems into the water of the virtual pond and watch the ripples.

Ruth and I pulled all the beggars' tick out of the back yard today, which is a very good thing early in spring because it means no burrs later, especially in the fur of the dogs and the feet of the babies. I feel disoriented, like time is passing too fast, even faster than usual. I can't say I'm especially busy or have any reason for this feeling. Bob is back at school safely, had a decent first day teaching after spring break, though the kids talked too much during the afternoon. I didn't accomplish half, even a quarter what I hoped, but we did get a sweet walk in with Liam and Duffy and pulled up the beggars' tick and talked about future house changes. Still, I wish I were more efficient.

I hope readers will check for back posts later this week. I'm chasing my tail. So much I want to write and so much time spent enjoying family I haven't been witting to write it. Bob has gone back to Corpus now, spring break over. Ruth had her birthday today. It is truly odd that I clearly remember the feel of her in my arms, brand new, exactly where I sat on the couch to nurse her the first night we spent at home together, and now her son is one and she is designing deck additions and teaching college classes and altogether wonderfully grown up.

Spring kissed Austin while I was gone. I saw my first blooming redbud this morning, and a few more fruit trees blooming. Most trees are still bare. I love watching spring start. I will also always remember that Mira died during red buyd time. And I still will always love red bud time. One of the hard things about getting older is that every time of year is associated with a loss now, as well as with births and other joys. There are just so many more memories to make so many more associations.

Not very inspired tonight but happy to have had a functional first day back. I am deeply refreshed by my week off, even if still a little sleep deprived. it's funny to feel the freshness underneath the surface fatigue. Today actually was a very good work day. Ruth and Chris bought Liam a bike trailer at an REI rummage sale - an amazing bargain. It also can be used as a wagon to cary baby and groceries when pushed by a walker. Tonight RUth and Chris took Liam up to the store in it to get a few items and I walked part way with them, walking Duffy on the leash. I turned back with Duffy in order to talk to Bob and get to bed at a reasonable hour, which I will now do. It was a fun walk though. The trailer is easy to push,especially considering its size.

I'm safely home. Just need a bath and at least a little sleep before a long work day tomorrow. What a vacation I had. More poetry written then will start showing up here over the next few days. For now, time to rest.

I'm writing this on the way home on the train, just two and a half hours out of San Antonio and hugs from Ruth, Chris and Liam. I'm glad they were willing to come for me since I didn't get a room. It's tough to spend two nights in the chair car, not so tough to spend one. I'm in the club car now because I can plug the lap top in here, and I'm a little taken aback by all the loud people, drinking, complaining about smoke breaks not coming often enough and about the train running out of beer. I have circled back to my "princess" theme - feeling out of place with people who are drinking and noisy, who use bad grammar and cuss and it just doesn't feel comfortable, so I'm closing off my computer now and going back to my chair. This has been a wonderful trip, but the bemoaning about the dirth of beer is hard to listen to. I'm so glad I have the life I have. Life is hard and life is good and I know I get more than my share of the good.

I loved the Museum of the Desert,with its miniature trains, humming birds and butterflies, foxes, cheetahs, eagles. Ann and I took a hike into the pale dry hills up to the San Andreas fault, locus of so many earth quakes, so much damage, but beautifully calm today. It is still winter in the desert, with just the barest burst of spring, a leaf here, a yellow bud there. We did not see the chuckwalla, a fat little lizard who expands his chunky body to fit into whatever crevice someone is trying to pry him out of. I wanted to see a chuckwalla. Maybe next time. We did see a long blue black lizard with more tail than body and a bunch of short striped lizards, active across the rock. I learned that the small dunes which form at the sides of larger living dunes are called shadows. Maybe there's a poem in there - shadow dunes. And then there is desert varnish, the special glow which forms on rocks at the scars where the forces of nature crack them open. And we saw the road runner, fast across the sand.

I woke up happy, physiologically happy, just free and good and bouncing on the balls of my feet the day we explored the museum of the desert. It felt so good, that rare happy feeling that isn't attitude or choice, but just comes and fills body and soul with a state of well being. it would be great to feel that more often, but I don't think it's something I can control. like the blues, it comes when it comes. It's the attitudes, the self talk, the beliefs, the choices I can control and that's enough, though it is great when the spontaneous happiness comes.

I find it extraordinary to be one of a group of writing women with whom I have almost daily contact. We encourage each other to write and deepen our friendships. We challenge each other to grow as writers and as humans and are tender with each other in hard times. Once every year or so we meet face to face, for focus, inspiration, and connection. This year our gathering was both especially personally sweet and particularly helpful to me as a writer

. I had come up with a theme for a possible chap book, a collection of poems. I wanted to write them "deep and dark," The theme made sense to me, but I didn't quite understand it. It's not that my writing was shallow, but I wasn't quite writing about what I really wanted to write about - at least not enough of the time. The first day of our workshop, Judy taught us a technique for mapping ideas and themes and as I sketched and wrote words I made a map of what I really want to write about. When the world can never be the same again, either because of catastrophe or because of revelation, what do we humans do? How do some of is find fresh starts in desperate circumstances, and how is it that some of us never find new ways to thrive? It's not so much that I have answers to these questions as that the questions define territory that fascinates me, territory I want to explore in poems and by the way I live.

Why does this seem so important? I think because I do believe the Cabalists that every word, deed, choice each of us makes moves the world one step closer to or one step farther from the day on which we will all be able to sit under our fig trees and no one will be afraid, or one step closer to destruction of life on earth, And it is impossible to know which act, however tiny, will push the balance either way,

I strongly recommend Tracy Kidder's newest book The Strength of What Remains, the extraordinary story, amazingly told, of Gratias Deo, a farm boy and medical student from Burundi who survived and is thriving and doing important work in his life today. Ambushed by a genocidal attack at his medical school, he fled physically on bleeding feet, in the very shadow of the machetes and the percussion of gunshot, near starvation, in terror, not caring emotionally whether he lived or died.. He believed with good reason that most of his family was dead. He fled from a medical school where tutsi (his ethnic group) were murdered before his eyes, and was able to survive with help from unexpected acquaintance and strangers, to escape from war torn Burundi, Rwanda, Burundi again, and finally to survive penniless and without English in New York City. He was able to eventually thrive again. This is the strongest story of the personal impact of genocide I've read in a long time - maybe since The Diary of Ann Frank. More than that, it is the strongest story I've ever read about the ability of an admittedly remarkable individual to break the bonds of post traumatic stress syndrome, even in the most extreme circumstances. The profession of psychology didn't help him at all, but he followed his story enough times with witnessing and found a way, through Paul Farmer's Partners in Health, to convert the energy of his suffering into service for people suffering direly. That process of healing is available to all of us who suffer trauma, no matter how extreme. Eli Weisel is another example in my pantheon, of one who made a similar journey from terror, rage, helplessness, to service. Deo believes it is not possible to make the promise "Never Again" which Jews and Rwandans made after being victims of genocide as long as structural violence exists in the world, as long as some groups live in hopelessness of poverty - where life is cheap, and others have so much. I believe him, though I don't know the answer.

I have a poem on the topic though


Questionable Thirst

We, plump and privileged
claim we thirst for justice,
truth, righteousness,
knowledge, hope, peace.

Given the prevalence of
poverty, persecution, war,
intolerance, starvation, deceit,
We tolerate thirst damn well.

I arrived in Palm Springs Sunday, only a little sleep deprived, and relished my long quiet day in a hotel room, mostly napped and read and just treasured the quiet. First I explored the little city and marveled at the care of the landscaping and the presence of petunias as big as saucers - reminded me of my own Southern California yard, all the petunias Mama and i planted over the years there, and the pride she took in their huge blooms. Palm Springs streets were very quiet on a Sunday morning, a little busier by noon. It's a funny town, set up for tourists with money I think. So many banks, restaurants, car dealerships heavy on Lexus and Mercedes. And yet there are poor people in Palm Springs. When I shopped in the drug store I noticed several signs proclaiming "Rite Aid does not condone solicitation of money from our patrons." Sure enough, as I left the store a woman about my age asked me if I could spare any change. I gave her two dollars, because I would rather be taken advantage of than leave a need unmet. then I walked past a store devoted to rip off designer sunglasses. We humans are so odd in the way we think about resources - what we need, want, how we'll spend for an apparent bargain. ,

I bought dates at a candy shop and remembered Daddy stopping for dates every time we went through a palm desert oasis. They tasted as good last week as they did in my childhood. The sweet stickiness, even the hardness of the oval seed took me back to the best moments of Texas to California and back again road trips before car air conditioning..

Sunday, before my room was ready, I explored the little Plam Springs history museum and learned that the Agoura Caliente Indians long capitalized on the presence of the oasis and settled near it. The white man who first bought land from them with intention of building a home the oasis was a desperate father. He hoped the dry desert weather would prevent his third and last son's death from tuberculosis. The boy died anyway the springs suffered from drought, and the parents died without any pay off from their investment. One of the dead boy's surviving sisters (and the Indians who had retained ownership to alternating squares in the checkerboard of land purchased) got rich off the desperate father's investment. I sure got to enjoy the elegance which grew out of the original risk taken and many investment and development choices made since.At the museum I saw man pictures of the movie stars of my parents' generation playing at Palm Springs. my favorite was Shirley Temple, who had her sixth birthday party there, but there were also pictures of Rock Hudson, Elizabeth Taylor, Doris Day, and of course, Bob Hope. We could actually see his huge, mushroom like party house up on the hill overlooking the resort where we stayed. This seems like a city designed for pleasure. I especially understand the pleasure people from cold parts of the country get coming here in winter. There was no color on the fields I traveled to get to Palm Springs - winter prevailed, but not once we entered the resort. I enjoyed walking around without my coat for the first time in way too long,

I love train travel for so many reasons - not only because, against all realistic statistical reassurance, I'm scared of falling out of the sky in an airplane - not of dying, but of the horror of the fall. It doesn't make sense but it's there, that fear.

But there is more to my love of train travel than fear of flying..Sunday morning early I stirred in my sleep and opened my eyes to a scarlet moon set, full and fat falling beneath the western horizon. I cherish riding contained within a little traveling microcosm of human life. As the train moves through deserts, mountains, cities, the Great Salton Sea, and wind mill farms, I wander the cars, or sit quietly typing in the lounge car and watch people and overhear their conversations.. A sleekly dressed, elegant lady in her eighties regales a scruffy self proclaimed recovering compulsive gambler with tales of train routes, accomodation and service past. She remembers elegance of train travel in the forties and fifies (nineteen, of course) but still enjoys traveling by Amtrak. Later, as we watch a flaming sunset from the lounge car, the recovering gambler recites by heart a truly moving poem he wrote about the loss of his loss of his marriage and family, a poem in which he claims his responsibility but doesn't attack himself. He says his healing comes form his God, and I hear that kind of spiritual connection in his poem. Back in my chair car, I hear a three way conversation between three Americans of Hispanic heritage talk about their lives. The lawyer from El Paso, the charismatic, opinionated lady, who strives to stay as feisty as her ninety six year old mother, and the quieter widowed lady who is making this trip to try to decide trying to decide whether to remarry.chat together as we see the Texas Mexico border through the train. They talk about growing up poor on frijoles and rice, how it's too bad the train has to serve "baby" food because grin goes can't handle spice. One woman shares, in a matter of fact voice, that her father was shot by accident because he was mistaken for an illegal immigrant. They talk about the price of giant jumping balloons commonly rented for birthday parties (tinka tinkas - never seen one, but they sound like fun). The charismatic lady picked grapes with the migrant farmers to pay for ballet lessens when she was thirteen, talks about it like it was a lark, and is grateful she was able to learn the lessons she coveted. Their conversation floats back and forth between Spanish and English, seamless, and glad I get at least some phrases of the Spanish.

I share lunch (community seating in the dining car) with a young man from a wealthy Brazilian family who loves to explore the United States by train. he tells me about the Amazon River, with it's alligators, the monkeys in the rain forest, how odd brown flat west Texas looks, how the Amazon is so big that when it flows into the sea you can see from space, the brown brackish water entering the blue salt sea. He says he got a good education in Brazil because his family has money, but that poor kids don't get many chances. Argentina he says is worse than Brazil, more dangerous, and so is Peru. He asks at least thirty questions about Native Americans in the UInited States, how the white settlers treated them, how they live now. I could anser at least a few. He repeats several times that Portuguese simply killed everyone they found when they settled Brazil, so there is no indigenous influence. There are flukey settlements in Brazil though, like a large city called America which was settled by Confederates after the southern loss of the Civil War. I learn so much on trains.

Bob drove me to San Antonio right after the symphony to put me on the train. I worried about him, just getting over a major infection, maybe pneumonia, but he insisted and seemed fine. At least he got to nap at the hotel where we stayed ( free on those magic Marriott reward points) I'd been so busy with work trying to get out of town that I had barely packed - kept calling Bob throughout the work day to get him to add things I didn't want to travel without - especially my soft gray night dress(from Ruth)_ and my jewel town chenille blanket (from Marie) food for the train, I hadn't managed to buy food in advance so we found a 24 hour Wall mart, which I still don't love but am no longer boycotting, and bought fun snacks. I felt so loved - even opened my bag later and found that Ruth had slipped in two favorites, freeze dried okra and garlic puffs. Yum.! Stumbling onto the train at 5:00 in the morning drastically sleep deprived, I was sorely disappointed that the last sleeper compartment had just been sold ( I was counting on getting one at the last minute at a discount. Poor Bob had to put up with my moment of spoiled princess dismay. It really is goofy that I feel like I won't be OK traveling "regular" and that special somehow is what I am supposed to have and won't be OK without. Turns out my chair car adventure was just fine, delightful even, and I even slept well. This princess complex is something I really could live without, and I know it's my responsibility to get to the point that I do.

Symphonic Send off

I am going to Palm Springs to meet with my writing group, Skywriters. I am going even though I'm tired and overwhelmed at work and not sure if spending the money for travel is wise right now. because I love these women, many of whom have had hard years. I skipped the retreat last year because Liam and Andrea had both just been born and I felt too vulnerable about their newness to leave. I still believer I made the right choice for me, but I know I was missed and I'm a little less connected to my sisters in writing because I made that choice to stay home. Also, one Sky sister, Dolly, who was there last year in Florida, died last spring. I don't think I ever let her know how much I respected her life and her poetry. So I'm going this year, whether it's a smart decision or not.

I'm going by train because my sweet Bob, who understands me and the depths of my anxiety about making arrangements and buying tickets, and who accepts but does not understand my aversion to plane travel, made all the arrangements to go by train. He also sent me off in glory and on a high. He took Friday off from teaching and drove to Austin to take me to the symphony - and what a symphony, and then to drive me to San Antonio and put me on the early morning train. The symphony started with Rachmaninoff's Vocalise Op 34 No 14 and then the same composer's Piano Concerto No 3 in D Minor with Barbara Nissman in regal scarlet silk as soloist. WOW!! My mother loved and p[ayed Rachmaninoff, and played his music well, but this performance just soared. I don't see how a person can make an instrument sing like that. I struggled so hard just to get the notes right (even half speed) in much simpler pieces. Brilliant musical performance seems at least as "paranormal" to me as any sixth sense intuition,

I feel tired and disorganized. I know I'm working too much and my room is messy and I'm having trouble finishing tasks I start, even tasks I love. Got to breathe here. I think the mistake I've been making is scheduling appointments too early in the morning, especially after days I work late. There just isn't enough time between, and the self discipline to put edges around my availability is shakier lately. I repeat, got to remember to come up for air here.

Purim is the Jewish holiday of the moment and it is a holiday that fits my mood, a reminder of humilty and not to take ourselves too seriously. Purim is about balance I think - taking curageous action but knowing it won't always be effective,
being able to relax, laugh, have fun anyway.

On the bright side, Ruth and Chris have been baking hamen tashen for Purim and passing out baskets to neighbors and friends. The little triangular pastries stuffed with various preserves and fruits are tasty and fun, garnering smiles.My favorites are apricot and lemon curd.

I sit wiggly and excited,
hop up and press nose to
plate glass as snow falls.
I sit again, check email,
crane neck toward window,
track flurry of descending
white better than words
on screen, rush down stairs
coatless to catch flakes
on tongue, watch them
stick, flake by flake,
to leaves, blades of grass.
Those unfortunates which
land on pavement vanish.
I climb stairs laughing.
Sit again. Glad I didn't sit
through rare Texas snow day.

Terrible feeling in town tonight. A disgruntled (crazy?) man burned down his house not far from here and then flew a plane into the IRS office building we often drive by - protesting taxes suicidally. My first client was distressed by having driven by the flaming exploded glass office building. There were two people injures, on unaccounted for (hopefully didn't go to work or had stepped out? Only the perpetrator is known dead. It strikes me freaky. On the bus tonight I wondered how much anger the people riding with me were carrying. How much hurt. How much potential to do harm. So important to keep on doing the next right thing.

Happy birthday Andrea! Thing one and thing two are both one now. It's been a fast year full of change. I sleep in a different room, have a totally different wardrobe thanks to Ruth's generous closet, live with three people I love during the work week rather than alone. Joanna and her family live in Ruth's house. Liam and Andrea walk and talk. Bob still teaches at Menger, but he hopes to change that next school year. Only my work really seems to stay the same, and that by its very nature is never really the same from day to day.

I'm enjoying the Winter Olympics, fondly remember going to the Salt Lake City Olympics with Joanna. I'm so glad she encouraged that adventure.

Olympic Memories

I've watched the Olympic Games, winter and summer
since I was a child, watched with delight and awe
feats of physical strength, speed, grace, persistence.
The passing of the torch, generation to generation,
nation to nation, hand to hand, flame to flame
brings tears, hope, determination even on television.

I did not cry when I stood in the snow in Salt lake City
beside my pregnant daughter and watched the torch
change hands so near that my face felt its heat.
Inspiration, magic, are cheap at any price. Our trip to
the Winter Olympics months after terrorist atttacks
is a choice I'm glad we had foolish courage to make.

It's not unusual for me to hear people talk about Valentine's Day as a "Hallmark holiday", kind of silly and trumped up to get people to buy cards and flowers and build up expectations. As a therapist I've dont lots of post Valentine's day first aid over the years. And yet, I enjoy having a holiday dedicated to all flavors of love and sweetnes.

This Valentine's Day weekend was just perfect, sweet and tender and full of connection with the people I'm closest to. Bob arrived yesterday with arms full of roses, peach and yellow just like at our wedding. Bob really is the holiday go to person in our marriage, learned it from his mother. When he and I married Ruth was seven and Joanna was ten (or something like that) and he made a point of creating holiday traditions with and for them. For Valentines he gave them big baloons each year (and he still does, and the grand children too - and all appreciate and cherish this tradition). It was fun going with him to the store last night to choose the balloons, making paper valentines to affix to the strings, and delivering a backseat full to Joanna's house this morning. Everyone was thrilled, and I even got to take an excited Andrea for a stroller ride with her two brothers walking along and talking, beforfe winter blew in again.

I just feel tremendous sweetness, and it is good to feel that.

I sometimes think about mortality and how I have fewer years left than I've lived. All of that is true. But also true is that I'm thankful I'm no longer thirteen. K.K. is delightful and full of promise, but being thirteen, even beautiful and talented, is hard - managing the world of boys, auditions, assignments, injuries, trying to be responsible and still have fun, is hard. I remember how it felt, all churned up and insecure. I just went in and kissed her, sound asleep on the couch with Duffy curled in her arms and whispered "Hang in there kid. It get's better." And it truly does.

Liam's birthday was great fun - lunch at Phil's for the only hamburgers I actually like (and Liam seems to too) and his very first ice cream - lots of hilarity and picture taking and a sweet warmth inside the restaurant on a day rainy and just above freezing outside. I kept thinking that Liam will be as different next year from how he is today as he is today from how he was on the day of his birth. It has been a year of so much change. I wonder what changes will come in the next year.

A year ago Liam was still unborn, nestled inside Ruth, C section scheduled, me nervous. He was a mystery, an unknown, and I hoped so for his safe arrival. I worried about Ruth and C section recovery. I so much wanted Ruth and Chris to have a beginning of parenthood that was especially sweet. They had tried and hoped so long, and suffered the death of Mira, and a year ago tonight they were rigth at the edge of having a son to hold and come to know. Well he's here now, a year later, walking, talking, tickling, laughing, climbing into the dishwaser, putting away toys and pulling them out, obsessed with mop dust pan lawnmower and other household tools, cheese-loving, pea hating, funny, cuddly, scared of the smoke alarm, dog loving, blue eyed,amazing. I never dreamed a year ago that I'd get to live with Liam in the house, a full family member, a joy which exceeds not only expectations but imagination. Probably the happiest years of my life were the years when my own girls were little - that special bubble time of being so focused on a developing new person. I love it just as much as grand mother as I did as mother.

I'm still thinking about mortality and change - how fast and without warning life can shift or end. I really do think I've been more afraid of suddenness than of ending. Those who know me well know that I have trouble with transitions, even simple ones like getting out of the house and into the car, so it's not really surpriseing that being overtaken by change scares me more than loss does. Loss I know I can accept. Somehow I do feel more peace about the possibility of sudden death since lois died on Saturday. The change in me really doesn't make sense, just a new level of acceptance.

Out of the Blue

On a cloudless day
twin towers crumbled,
biopsy screamed malignant,
heart stopped, earth opened.
We cannot count on warnings.

Crazy weather day, wild temperature swings, pouring rain, sunny, then pouring again, and now cold and windy. The trees, bare and brittle, are swaying and dancing in the night and the music of wind chimes enlivens the darkness. I'm happy with myself tonight, mostly about having made some significant progress with family letters and other memorabilia - finally easier to make decisions and have a system for pulling things together that works better than before.

I've had a thoughtful day, though also joyous with uproarious Liam laughter. I think I'm at a new place about death. I've felt for a long time that I could accept death on certain terms (that the older generations died first, that I had some warning, time to say good bye, no sudden death). Of course death sets her own terms and we don't get to choose. My friend Lois died suddenly yesterday and the words that her husband and son have written about their experience of her unexpected death - the pain and shock and yet their ability to be there for each other and do what they needed to do, somehow strengthened me. It's like when we had our house fire and I managed in the terror of the flaming night to do what I needed to to get sleeping three year old Ruth out safely. I had been terrified I would freak and freeze if faced with fire in the night, but I didn't. I've been equally terrified of sudden death, my own or someone else's close - not the death but the suddenness. I seem released from that fear tonight, and very thankful to Lois' family for sharing their experience. We never know who we touch and help, even in our darkest hours.

I just learned that a woman I've known for years through an on line community died suddenly last night (or maybe earlier today?). I don't know what happened. I know she was on line yesterday playing Farmville. I know she had heart surgery in the past, but if she was ill this winter, I didn't know it. I really didn't know her well - liked, respected, enjoyed her - knew bits and pieces of her life story as she knew bits and pieces of mine. I know she leaves a husband, son, grandchildren who she loved intensely and spoke of with great warmth. I know they have to be in shocked grief right now and I don't know them at all, not enough that my comfort would be significant.

Another member of the same onlind community died last spring.

We're in our late fifties and sixties now, my contemporaries and I. There will be more deaths and they will come closer together. All I can do is be as good to everyone as I can and work harder on family pictures and stories so I will leave less undone that only I can do if I'm next to die. And anyway, it's good to get the stories shared. Tomorrow will be a day that allows me time for that kind of project. Tonight I think I'll take a bath, remember my friend, try to let her death soak in. Denial is so wierd. I don't even want to go out into the living room and tell Ruth and Chris she died, because I don't want it to be true and telling people anything always makes it seem more real.

We have a new dog at the house, Duffy, a rescued Lahsa mix who is totally sweet with Liam, even sleeps in his bed already. So much is good - sustaining friendships and family, the presence of support when I feel vulnerable, work I love and believe has value and that I do well, baby kisses. This is just one of those periods when the fragility and difficulty of life seem more striking than the sweetness. Usually for me it's the other way around. Life is hard AND life is good, which ever side of the and feels more real in the moment.

Wednesday Prayer

World needs day
I stop midweek
contemplate
what the world
needs from me
angle my footprint
renew my effort
to contribute.

Sleep does wonders, as does the kindness of Ruth and Chris, Liams smiles and a lighter work day. I feel much better tonight and Bob also seems less tired. I think yesterday was just one of those low points - an incident pof the blues. i feel more hopeful today, not discouraged, like good change is possible and that there is so muchg good even without change.

Hard week. Bob is too tired working and I'm dragging at work too. I feel discouraged - need to find some way to cheer myself up.

Winter is the season of my birth and philosophically if not always practically my favorite season. Writing prompt from Ann triggered a poem cycle that pleases me right now because it captures honestly what winter means to me now,especially givenBob's recent health crisis and my dear sister in law Heidi's remarkable well being despite a crightening diagnosis.

Winter Fear

Flu, falls, suicidal despair,
pneumonia, hypothermia,
ski accident, spin out on
black ice. Some people don't
make it though to spring.
Death hoots through winter trees.
Reminds me, spring will not
come for everyone.

2
Winter Truth

Winter tells core truth.
No flowers obscure rot.
Flaws meet my eye.
remind my conscience
change is optimal.


3
Winter Stories

Short days encourage stories
as we sit around warm table
sharing soup and warm cornbread.
Time to remember and honor
gardens past guilt free.
Can't plant yet. Can bask
in recounting memories.

4.

Winter Hope

After longest night,
light begins to return,
creeps in minutes sooner
each cold dusk.
Reminds me life force
gathers unseen beneath
chilling ice. Roots hold
energy after leaf fall,
protect and build hope
for one more cycle
of blossom, leaf and fruit.
Joy and fresh strength
regroup through out the
darkest night of soul.

Sweet sweet Sabbath - enriched by relief that Joanna's house closed, making everybody's money situation more viable. The Sabbath dinner question tradition moved into it's second week, to my delight. We asked a number (and I love it that K.K. participates thoughtfully and honestly). Introspective exercises with multiple generations participating are about as good as it gets for me. I';; kust share three questions and my own answers, and hope again some of you will respond with your own answers.

What is the root cause of most of your fears? - that I will be unable to provide safety and wise counsel to people I love in situations in which it is within possibility for me to do so - or - at deeper core, failing those I love.

If heaven could look like the home of someone you know, whose would it be - My Grandma Anna and Grandpa Rudolph's house as I remember it from childhood, with peach preserves perfuming the kitchen, the scrap box in the pantry full of bright quilt squares, and the screened in back porch resonating with the singing voices of a loving family.

If you could be any farm animal, what would you be - the sheep dog, tending protecting, herding the brood, and getting some pats and cuddles of approval along the way.

I just haven't been blogging - stressed about details that really shouldn't be such a big deal in face of Bob's recent health crisis. He is doing fine teaching this week, has an appointment with the Corpus cardiologist tomorrow which should give us some more answers about his future health status. I know I'm not clear on whether or how much the recent incident with the blood clots will affect our future life together - especially travel. I want to believe everything is still like it was, and I don't know what's true.

My answers to last week's Sabbath questions

What favor would I ask God for myself personally? -mindfulness, the ability to stay in and behave appropriately in every moment.

What would my wish be for all the souls of the world? - empathy, that each would know it was no less or more important than any other, that the well being of each depends on the well being of all.

When have I felt spiritually repressed? -at times, in religious services and elsewhere, when I have wanted to sing out, to sway, to dance, and everyone around me has been proper and quiet and contained.

Thanks for sharing your answers in comments Mary. I hope others will too. And I bet we get another set of questions tomorrow night.

Sometimes at Night

Sometimes at night when I put myself to sleep
between soft green sheets, beneath wedding quilt
my grandmother made from my childhood dresses,
I remember that I am one phone away call from terror.

Sometimes at night when I put myself to sleep
in my book-lined nest, clean, safe, fed on blueberries,
I cry for women lying awake in refugee camps,
war zones, hospital rooms, hovels, hospices.

Sometimes at night when I put myself to sleep,
expecting to wake to work I love, family that loves me,
bead work to finish, letters to write, books just opened,
I remember to cherish each of my very finite, blessings.
Victoria hendricks, September 2, 2008

It's been a long short odd hard sweet week - passsed without seeming to. Here we are at Shabbat again, the dishes washed, K.K. asleep on the couch between dance classes, Ruth and Chris and Liam in their rooms, Bob and I under quilts, both typing away. He seems well, and I feel less scared about his going back to Corpus and being alone - believing the Coumadin is working and he will be fine. He hasn't seen his class since before winter break, so Tuesday morning will be odd. I'm glad he has a four day work week going back.

Ruth started a newq tradition at dinner tonight - sharing our answers to questions from a book of "big questions". Pur three questions tonight, and I was thrilled K.K> participated in sharing answers, were
If you could ask God for one favor for yourself what would you ask for?
If you could ask for one change for all the souls of the world what would you ask?
What was a time when you felt spiritually repressed?
I'll share answers tomorrow. Now Bob is about to turn off the light.

Ordinary, sweet ordinary weekend. My most extraordinary accomplishment is the thorough purging of my closet - major trip to thrift store tomorrow. Bob watched a lot of football and, while watching, used my Dad's old hand held slide viewer to look at slides from earlier phases of his life - lots of pruning - but many kept and stories shared. It's funny having married closer to forty than twenty, two whole decades of each other's adult lives we missed.

It took us a while to get discharge and prescriptions, but the trip back was fine and it's good to be home with Ruth and Chris and Liam. Bob even got to read Liam a bedtime story. It's 21 out - cold for these parts. I'm glad to be in..Thanks for all the love, prayers and good wishes.

For those who want updates, all is still well - one more day away from the threat of sudden death. I'm very thankful. I think it will still take a whiole for me to really get how close a call this was. Bob is doing well now. Brushing his teeth as I write the last post of the day. Modern medicine is something I don't always credit for what it is worth. I think part of me is still mad it didn't save kerry. But it has saved Bob and I am thankful, thankful, thankful.

I'm beginning to have feelings tonight - even this afternoon - tremendous tenderness toward Bob and relief I didn't lose him this time (at least haven't yet and probably won't), Also tremendous tenderness toward others I love. I was so without feeling yesterday when crisis was greater. One of the writing prompts this week is "hollow feeling" and I've come up with two very different poems.

Hollowed

Crisis hollows me out,
leaves no room for feeling.
I do not inhabit my body,
merely control it, hollow robot
able to do the essential.
Feeling is irrelevant in crisis.


Hallowed

Empty, open, hollow,
Ready reed receives
holy peace, holy flow.

Hospitals are interesting. I think we are more courteous to each other in hospitals because everyone is aware that other people eating in the cafeteria or buying a tooth brush or looking for a car are probably dealing with the challenge of the illness of a friend or loved one. I have been treated really kindly and have felt similar kindness toward others negotiating the hosiptal halls and shops. Another thing I've noticed in this particular hospital is that someone has very carefully chosen the paperbacks in the book shop - only one or two of any given title by a variety of popular authors inseveral genres. there are a number I would enjoy reading. As one who falls back on a book in times of stress - the crutch to get through the darkest nights sometimes, the person who did this selecting is truly a hero. I hope I can remember that people outside hospitals are facing challenges to and treat them as gently.

This week sure didn't begin the way I expected. Bob had an undetected blood clot in hisw leg which went to his lungs which caused an abnormal heart rythm (AFIB). Apparently blood clots in lungs are a common cause of sudden death, so this is a near miss situation we've just gone through - hopefully fine from here on out. I'm writing more about all of this - as is Ruth, on the family blog http://thregeneration.blogspot.com/. I think I'm avoiding writing talking too much about Bob's illness to keep from being scared, hence the poem I wrote last night.

Far Less to Say

I have far less say about Bob's illness
than seems reasonable or right.
I don't want to talk about it.
I just want it to go away.
No more to say

Bob's gone back to Corpus and I'm thinking maybe this is the last new year that will begin with his return to teach in another city. His desire to come home is strong and I'm beginning to get excited, hopeful - don't want to break our hearts if no jobs are available - but he does have reason to hope. So much has changed in the last year. I don't think the change rate will slow in the next few months - still feels like I have a rocket by the tail and am holding on with difficulty - but enjoying the view.

New Year's Day 2010. It seems like a breath ago that we were moving from the 1900's to the 2000's - All the concern about some kind of computer bug that would mess up all the infrastructure and that didn't happen =- Y2K I think they called it. subjectively, time does pass faster and faster as I get older and the current perceived rate is a bit freaky.

At this moment, Bob's clothes are in the drier fopr him to take back to Corpus when he heads back to work on Monday. Chris and Ruth and Bob and I have spent a thoughtful evening discussing the old year and the new year, our hopes and dreams and fears for ourselves and our families. It's been a really good winter break and I have so much more to write than I have focus to write tonight - so, a poem about endings and beginnings and a promise to myself to write here regularly again whether I feel like it or not.

Comfort

Old idea, regeneration.
Pheonix rises from ashes.
Serpent swallows tail.
Wheel of life, cycle
of seasos, circle of
birth and death.
Each beginning requires
the preceeding ending.
Old like the velveteen
rabbit, source of comfort.