Today, my husband and I share our tenth wedding anniversary.  For a couple of young folk, being married for a decade is a big deal.  Not only does it mean that we’ve made it longer than most marriages in our country, but with every passing year, we’re getting closer to having spent more time in our lives with each other than as a single.  Do I have any secrets to share?  Newfound wisdom?  The truth is that life holds all things before us.  It’s just up to us to see what we will see, discover the reality that we choose.

As I lay sleepy in bed this morning, my husband shared his own reflection of our ten years together (though we’ve been together eleven and a half) as he hurriedly put on his socks and shoes.  We’ve been through much, watched each other grow and change, never fought or yelled at one another and continue to grow in our respect and deep love for each other.  We are partners in our journey together, and we have a conscious choice as to whether or not we enjoy our time or make each other miserable.  Fortunately for us, we enjoy good times together, with or without the kids.  Yet we also respect each other’s space.  Sometimes a romantic evening is sitting in bed together reading our own books.  At our pace these days, being in the same room, quietly doing our own work while the children sleep, is bonding time for us!

Some say that their marriages dwindled after the children left the nest.  Suddenly couples find that they don’t have anything to talk about with each other, nothing in common.  While I can see how this might happen, here’s what I’m doing to prevent this breakdown — keeping my own interests and sharing them with my husband.  This doesn’t mean that he’s involved in my activities, knows or understands them completely.  He does, however, have an idea of what I’m doing.  I tell him what meetings I’m going to, which moms/dads I’m hanging out with.  I treasure the nights we share an evening beverage and just check in with one another, even if I’m not sure what to say because I can’t exactly communicate where I am; we’re just together, and for the moment, that’s where we need to be.

It would appear we have a pretty stereotypical marriage since I stay at home and he goes off to work all day.  However, he doesn’t expect me to be subordinate to him; even the thought makes me smile.  Definitely, we have a mutual respect and sharing of the load when it comes to caring for the children and the home.  We each do what we can, when we can, and hope for the best.

But that’s true for life, and what is marriage but the joining of two in life together?  As we dance along, we try not to tread on each other’s toes.  We don’t have to be clinging to each other the whole time, for we know that eventually we’ll come back together and find our rhythm again.  We may be awkward and clumsy at times, but as we get older, our dance will only get better.  I imagine us in our 90s doing a beautiful waltz.

Happy Anniversary.   xoxoxo

Co-ops seem to be a big thing these days.  By definition per the International Co-operative Alliance’s Statement on the Co-operative Identity, a cooperative is
 

“an autonomous association of persons united voluntarily to meet
their common economic, social, and cultural needs and aspirations
through a jointly-owned and democratically-controlled enterprise.
A cooperative may also be defined as a business owned and controlled
equally by the people who use its services or who work at it.”  (cited from wikipedia)

My husband and I belong to our local grocery co-op where we know we can get natural and organic foods.  I just joined a local preschool co-op, which is definitely not a “business”.  We are very much into working together with others to support common goals.  It works amongst smaller (even seemingly large) groups of people.  Our electric company is a co-op.

A cooperative seems to embody the principles of democracy.  It would seem like our society would be full of such enterprises, but it also seems like profit has gotten in the way.  Lest I sound too socialistic, I’m all for making money; the socialist in me, though, would have those with the most money making the biggest difference for the poor.  It’s a hard life we lead, those of us in “industrialized” nations.  Balance income, debt, wants, needs . . . listen to stories of those in other countries (heaven forbid it be just across town) who don’t have food for their children or themselves.

What do we need to do to truly align our values?  If we all believe in compassion, why don’t we practice it?  If we all want our way of life to continue, why don’t we make the adjustments to make it truly sustainable?

Because it’s hard.  That’s why. 

Oversimplified, think of altering your diet and exercise so you can lose weight.  It stinks.  I love my cake and ice cream, thank you very much, and I’m not happy about giving it up, even temporarily.  On the other hand, I don’t like being asked if I’m pregnant when I most definitely am not.  I’ll do this, making the changes necessary so I can have the desired results, and it makes the world of difference to have support along the way.  Soon enough, I’ll have my results and a renewed lifestyle that will hopefully have eliminated that which made my old way of life dissatisfying and unsustainable.  It gets easier as you go, right?

So I think about our health care, our energy crisis ($4/gallon is a crisis for our budget!), carbon footprints, education, etc., etc.  How could it all be different if we worked together a bit more?  What if we got off our rump and actually did some of the hard work that needs to be done?  It’s hard if you’re by yourself or if your group is small.  But eventually you reach a point when your voice has to be heard.

Hopefully your voice is speaking for what is truly good for all, that your cooperative spirit benefits us all in a compassionate way.  Hopefully we can join together and make a difference for the better.

That’s why one of my bumper stickers says “Think good thoughts.”  It’s a start.

(photo from everystockphoto.com by
takomabibelot)

This Friday post before Mother’s Day, I’m inclined to reflect on my
existence as a mother.

The commercial realm has
capitalized on the holiday. Beautiful flowers, cakes, chocolates,
clothes, jewelry, etc., etc., are everywhere, and I must admit, I’ve
thought twice about buying something impractical and not healthy.

But Mother’s Day originally came to be out of mothers’ love for their
children gone to war. It came from a cry for peace so that their
children wouldn’t have to be off fighting battles that were too great
for them alone and which pulled them away from their families. I’m sure
there are many now that cry for peace for such reasons.

I am blessed to have my family close, and my family extends beyond my
husband and children. We are fortunate to have a strong extended family. My aunts,
grandmothers, cousins, sisters-in-law, and friends are part of my
family, too. For them all, I am grateful. In this respect I feel very
young as a mother, feel very much my role as daughter. My grandmothers.
mothers and older friends embody a wisdom and beauty that only come
with age, time and experience.

As a mother myself, though, I can see how far I’ve come in my nine
years of this role. With each passing day, I learn something more –
mainly from my kids. Most days, I’m also given the opportunity to share
something with other mothers, and may this be my mother’s day gift to
you.

You are never alone.

All those before you and all those to come are with you, even during
your bad days, time-outs and moments when you wonder what you were thinking to have children.

All the flowers in the world and the shiniest jewelry will never match
the twinkle in your child’s eyes when they smile at you, their beautiful
mother,
 

Nor will they ever match the tearful, joyful pride in your own
mother’s eyes as she watches you and sees the mother you’ve become.

Rest on this your day.

Reflect on who you are at this point in your life,

And love deeply those you help make you the mother you are and the mother you are yet to be.

May you carry with you the blessings of the Mother, now and always.

Read the rest of this entry »

Several topics are taboo in our culture, and many revolve around undeniably feminine topics, like menstruation, birth and menopause.  If you are a woman, though, the chances are at least one of these topics confronts you every month.

For a young woman, there might be anxiety over the first menses, the roller coaster of puberty.  For a woman trying to conceive, every period feels like a miscarriage, a death.  For many, birth can be as exciting as their wedding (if not more so!).  For an older woman, I imagine that menopause brings a plethora of emotions that I won’t even pretend to understand.  Yet through all of this, no matter where we are personally, we’re not supposed to talk about it?  Are we to deny this grand force of nature?  Say it ain’t so.

It ain’t so.

Read Anita Diamont’s The Red Tent.  Women are supposed to band together, learn and share from and with each other.  None of us are alone.  That’s why you seek out at least a few friends to hold near and dear, women you can share your cycle with, perhaps even synchronize with.  You can share your hopes and dreams, your fears and angst . . . a box of chocolates.  (Visit the Birth On Labor Day website and listen to the experience of women sharing their stories in modern-day “red tents.”  Then look for events happening near you.)

For me, I feel my cycles these days in a way I never did before I had children.  I’ve been blessed with a rather predictable cylce, and like the moon, I can feel myself waxing and waning, can sense when the storm is coming.  While I don’t experience excruciating, debilitating cramps, I have the emotional upheaval of a hurricane or volcano.  The week before menses, I feel apologetic toward my family, like I should carry a sign around my neck that says, “Please don’t take what I say personally.”  It seems that I am incapable of controlling my anger, my emotions, though I must admit that sense I’ve brought more attention to it, I am more aware and can at least stop some of the venom from spewing forth.

At times like this, it’s best to love yourself first, give yourself the extra space you need, and go forth gently.  That seems to work best for me, anyway.  Hopefully you’ve already figured out your coping or celebratory mechanisms.  Hopefully you have others with whom to share them.  If you haven’t given it much thought, then do.  Our lives, our bodies, are full of little miracles, and I believe that everything happens for a reason.  So whether you think your body is perfect or flawed, efficient or defective, this is the body you were given for this life. 

May we treat ourselves well, inside and out.

While doing the dishes yesterday, I took the opportunity to listen to/watch Oprah’s latest A New Earth webcast.  Obviously I’m enamored with this book right now because it applies so much to my journey.  If you read it and think it’s bunk, it’s not for you right now.  Read it again in a few years.

The thing about Chapter 5 is the “pain body,” that emotional aspect of the ego that feeds on negativity.  Think Christmas and all the family feuds simmering until the first bubble surfaces and bursts, setting off the chain reaction until everyone’s boiling mad.  Think your child throwing a tantrum,  pushing all your buttons until you, too, are throwing your own tantrum or stifling it, building up for sometime soon.

I call it our ball of fire.  My kids have the brightest fire at times, and if I’m caught unaware, caught when I’m in my unconscious mode, mine is ignited, too.  Negativity spreads like wildfire around here.  But it doesn’t have to.

Often I can almost see the fire growing.  I can keep it contained to the affected being and send him/her to her own space until the cinders cool down.  It’s better for me to have one in her room smoldering than a whole house full of flames.  I get horrendous headaches, which was a huge signal for me.  I could feel the kids draining my energy when we were at odds.  Maybe I wanted to let go of my pain body, but one of my buttons could be pushed to manifest a headache.  It could go from bad to worse, or I could let go.  Often, I let go in tears.  As sad as it was, it helped the kids open their eyes to their own part in the drama.  Fortunately, this hasn’t happened in a while.

As Mr. Tolle suggests and we know, the only thing you can do – the only thing — is to be present and aware.  This means not taking it personally.  (We like The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz.)  This means realizing that this behavior is not who the person truly is.  My children are not little devils set on ruining my life.  They are beautiful beings who at some level have an issue (to say the least) to work through in this life, to let go of.  I can feed that issue, fuel the fire, or I can realize that I, too, am just working through this life, my lessons.  Together, we can Be with each other, offer space to each other.  We were brought together in this beautiful relationship for a reason.  This holds true for my 18 month-old to my 9 year-old.  I’m sure it holds true for my husband and myself.

Again, it’s just one of those simple lessons.  Just Be.  Just listen with Compassion, not your compassion.  Experience the moment like a breath.

Parenting simplifies itself once we bring awareness to it, a sense of non-attachment.  Each moment, though, we practice.  Each day, we experience a new aspect of our pain body, a new side of our ego, and, thus, a new opportunity to grow.  This is our spiritual practice.  This is our Purpose at the moment.  Our children are wonderful teachers.  When and if they have their own children, they may see us as teachers, too.

Never underestimate the power of a group of like-minded women.  The more
generations represented, the better.  The energy pulsates through the air.  Smiles are free, and eyes twinkle brilliantly, aided by abundant candlelight. 

In joy the gathering lingers a while longer.  Smiles come despite themselves, offering support, strength and energy which someone is sure to need.  Eyes glisten, perhaps from tears.  The gathering proceeds despite the rapids and even the falls that seem to take us to a higher level.

Keep your women friends near and dear.  Honor them regularly as only you will know how, for they will be with you through it all.

Who is in your gathering, your community?  When was the last time you felt carried away by overwhelming abundance of support and love in Spirit?

I’ve experienced it spiritually in our Time for J.O.Y. retreat, and I’ve experienced it in the birthing community at my Bradley ™ instructor training and at the CIMS Forum.  You feel almost overwhelmed by the energy that’s present.  Anything is possible.  The trick is when you return to the daily round.  How do you carry that awareness home?  How do you keep the potentiality wide open, the enthusiasm present?

Quite simply, we have to do just that.  Be aware.  Be present.  Be enthusiastic.  Just Be.  If we can do that, then we are at once One with the energy we experienced and the fuel for the possibilities to come.  In that state, we can be enthusiastic in our work, whether it is tending to the babe, assisting another in birth, writing a novel or cleaning the house.

Know your community and revisit often to remind yourself what really is and the power you have.

None of us can deny the fact that we come from a mother, at least a mother’s egg.  Some broaden their family by magnitudes and claim a mother country, while others open even more to say we’re all children of God (some even claim God as Mother).

Personally, I enjoy my relationship with my mom, though we don’t get to see each other often enough.  What’s more, I love learning about her history since it plays such a role in who I am, issues I have to work through — good and bad.  I love hearing about her mother and grandmother.  These women, too, are part of my being.

While I’d love to know more about my family history, I don’t have the time for genealogy.  What I do have are relatives from whom I can learn.  I loved my grandfathers’ stories that all shared a thread of hard work, simple pleasures, risky adventures and wise advice.  My grandmothers’ stories continue to relay a life of experience, how to make the best of what you have, caring for one’s self yet bestowing upon many others unconditional love.  I listen with fascination and wonder if I will have grandchildren someday attentively listening to my stories.  Will I have obstacles overcome with determination and skill?  Will I have adventure?  What lessons will I have to pass on if they are wise enough to ask and to learn through me?  Only time will tell.

We all have mothers to learn from, even if they’re not biological.  Maternal figures in our lives come in more ways than one.  We have much to learn from them even as we go our own ways, and then another generation awaits, looking to us.

When I stand in my utility room, I see not a curtain in the window but my great-aunt’s apron.  For some reason, it gives me strength and comfort the way the sun shines through the thin fabric made even more thread-bare from years of use.  My daughter knows it’s an apron, too.  Perhaps someday she will feel its strength and comfort, but probably not until she’s learned many stories and consciously tapped into the great maternal connection.

The healing qualities of water are probably innumerable.  A bath itself soothes the muscles and calms the spirit.  I don’t give myself enough baths, though we were excited to have a large tub in our house when we bought it three years ago.  There is one bath that I have taken here that I hope never to forget.

We were blessed to have a wonderful home birth for our fourth child, a baby girl.  Everything went like we had hoped it would — never underestimate the power of visualization . . . and it never hurts to be specific!  Our team of midwives worked swiftly and quietly, their headlamps cutting through the dark; I can’t imagine birthing with a better group of women.  No one can over-emphasize the importance of a good birth team.  Not only should you share your birth philosophy, you should respect and admire each other.  I think that’s an element not everyone knows about, but I digress . . .   We had a beautiful home birth followed by something almost as awesome.  The babe and I shared an herb bath.

The midwives prepared the herbs and drew the water.  They helped me into the tub, and after I got comfortable, they presented me my child.  We covered her with a towel, washcloth and hat, and I poured water over her to keep her warm.  It was quiet as mornings can be, except for the water moving with my motions or the soothing voices of the midwives.  I whispered to our new child.  I blessed her.  I wondered what secrets she knew.  I kissed her.  I loved her.  Then I held her close again against my breast.

The midwives joined me in the room, sitting around the tub like ladies in waiting, though our lady had arrived.  Now we could be still and enjoy.  I thanked them.  One midwife noted the sun — it’s light looked like hydrangeas as it was shaped by the glass blocks behind the curtain.  She had taken pictures for me of the baby’s first bath.  There were also candles lit, and time seemed to be still, too, for these precious moments.

We held a conversation, the midwives and I, about community and motherhood.  I can’t remember everything that was said, but I do remember that I was glad to share this time in my life with them.  I’ll happily tell my daughter how blessed she was from the beginning.  Our conversation grew quiet, and the water became cool.  I knew then that the bath was a part of the birth, too, cleansing and healing, brief and beautiful, momentary.

It would be easy to think I had dreamt it, but it happened, in all its quiet glory and grace.  I have pictures to prove it.

I remember reading Anne of Green Gables in grade school, relishing in wandering down whatever tangent Anne Shirley would guide me.  An introvert by nature, I admire Anne for her strength and ability to prevail through her consequences.  Though we are opposites in many ways, Anne and I share much in common.  Our imagination, love for literature and loyalty to friends are a few of the ties that bind me to Anne — especially her loyalty to friends.

I don’t pretend to offer an analysis for all the types of people there are and the relationships they can have, but from my experience, I’ve met some people who everyone they meet they love and call friends.  Some rather reserve their love for after a relationship has been tested.  Others of us meet people and quickly develop a kinship, a bond that is not easily broken, if ever.  These are the bosom friends, “an intimate friend, you know–a really kindred spirit to whom (you) can confide (your) inmost soul.”  Some of my friends have been elevated to this status, some hover near, and I suppose all the rest have the potential.

Undoubtedly it is our friendships that carry us through our journey when we can’t go any further or just need the encouragement.  They shine a light for us when we can’t see the way.  Most often, they hold a mirror to us, reflecting to us our innate beauty and vitality that we may be too broken to see for ourselves.  For true bosom friends, though, the mirrors you’re holding for each other become empty frames.  All that exists between you is what is real. Your soul is there to communicate with the other’s without any pretense or illusion.  You both are individually and together part of the Whole.

The only way to celebrate your friends whom you know are special is to tell them they are such.  Don’t put them on a pedestal; you wouldn’t want to be on one yourself.  Offer gratitude for their existence and the gifts they bring to your life.  Continue to be there for them as they are for you, no matter how near or far away they are.  And love, purely and simply.  Forever and ever.

(Happy birthday, Uta!)