The Idea of Staying

When your boss has lost his mind

when your husband seems to have joined him

when the smell of your kids hair at night as you tuck them in

isn't enough anymore

and yet

you stay


Women stay when men cannot

Some biological wiring?

Perhaps


Whatever it is

we women are good at it

we have perfected it

The idea expressed as art

The art of staying


As Moses stilled the Red Sea by lifting his arms

We women still the sea of restlessness the world provides

we come home each day

we absorb the cacophony of a thousand voices

our husbands and children have heard in that day

and somewhere

between baths and bedtime

we make an inward decision

to reflect a calm we do not feel


and after "Goodnight Moon" has been read

the locked door has been checked twice

and the last load of laundry is humming in the dryer

we sink into bed


searching with questioning toes for the seam at the bottom of our sheets

and as we turn over and surrender to sleep

one more day has passed its test

as have we
we stayed.

Now That I Know You Exist

Your presence in my life began much the way dreams do

a slow foggy half awake beckoning of the soul

it made the world seem calmer and more thrilling
all at the same time

that new found knowledge was like pulling a blanket up over my shoulders
on a cold winter night

The line of demarcation that had formerely defined me

no longer fell on such mundane lines

as day of birth
starting school
moving to a new house

or any of the other former measures
that had come before

the lines commmonly used to decide
when ones life takes a significant turn

now falls with great impact
on when I first knew about you

versus when I did not

that miraculous moment when I began to look at the world
through anothers set of eyes
peering out of me inwardly

your eyes

your thoughts

your viewpoint

as though it were mine

pudding proof that I had assimilated your world view in with my own

where it now rests on the puffed comfortable couch of my heart

beside my own unique thoughts and feelings

a space where I can have a running inner dialogue at any moment

an effortless free flowing stream of consciousness conversation

about anything at all

knowing all my thoughts are safe in your hands

the world may notice a new, crackling energy in me

or perhaps

a secret far away smile

as I wait patiently in a long line

seeming as though I have been transported far away.

It is true

I have

to that secret place inside of me where your spirit and mine

now reside

together

knowing you

has

changed my world.

I know love

because it defines you

and I
know
you.

Daydream From a Woman's Heart

Daydream From a Woman's Heart

In my most perfect daydream
my children would turn out exactly as I wrote the script
I would be beautiful
and thin!

my husband would be possessed of the singular ability to read my mind
(and like what he read)
my dog would behave
my cooking would be renown
my friends would adore me
my enemies would change their mind about me
my colloquialisms for life would be exquisite to all!

and finally..........
I would grow old and die

surrounded by
my loved ones both two and 4 legged...

screech...............

sound of record stopping!

How ABSOLUTELY boring!

How done already!

Instead....
I propose an alternate scenario for all us mothers and women out there who have hearts filled with dreams...

our children will abandon our script and we will be glad
(for how can they let go of the past in order to shape the future?)

We will suddenly realize that we already are beautiful in the minds eye of those who truly get us
what a relief

we can lay that beauty/thin/ thing down on the side of the road starting right now
a dog not behaving?
That is what makes blood to boil,
and laughter to bubble forth
and generates great stories to tell over dinner
keep it up pup!

More than likely our cooking is plenty renown - its just a matter of not serving it till after everyone is hungry - then make them wait 30 more minutes - its all about the perception!
as for our friends...

they already do adore us - that is why they are our friends
whereas our enemies never really knew us,
pity, really (for them)
and as for our colloquialisms shining in our clever use of superlatives...
the truth is it never was us at all.

Rather,
it has been life itself
all along

shining in its exquisiteness

our words are merely reflecting that glow,
thus decreeing every day a chance to shine
because it is all already there - waiting for us to show up.

As for dying, why think about it really?

Maybe I will die standing on top of a mountain I just climbed at the age of 100 just to see if I could.

Maybe I will die in bed
(I hope its in my sleep.)

Since none of us knows or can impact or plan for it in any way, why really care?

What we can plan, what we can impact,
is each day

right now.

We can love our children just as they are
and that goes for husbands too...

and friends be they of the two or 4 legged variety.

We can recognize that what nourishes best is anything that is real,
be it food,

words,

or glances...

and we can serve them up warmly and often.

Now that I think about it,

I like this plan.

I like this woman better.

I am going to go off the script of average and take the adventurous and unknown and embrace it with lifes arms wide open.

How about you?

Quotes I Love

When I hit a dry well in writing or when I come across something I love, I will post it making sure it is clear that it is a quote - not written by me but enjoyed by me.

Here is one:

Believe while others are doubting.
Plan while others are playing.
Study while others are sleeping.
Decide while others are delaying.
Prepare while others are daydreaming.
Begin while others are procrastinating.
Work while others are wishing.
Save while others are wasting.
Listen while others are talking.
Smile while others are frowning.
Commend while others are criticizing.
Persist while others are quitting.

-William Arthur Ward

Now if only I could actually do all of that...

WHO I WOULD BE

(If I Could Be Me...)


I would be a fairy princess
in a toddlers body

The undisputed champion
of the the 3rd grade spelling bee

If I could be me...


Adolescence would be my proving ground

popular,
thin,
smart

All the boys
would notice me

If I could be me...


Honor classes,
Prom,
Graduation,
marry high school sweetheart or
go to college

the right choice or the smart choice?
I would know this answer


If I could be me...


College or not,
marriage or not,
babies or not -
we all end up in the same place

Turning 30

Am I too fat,
too old,
too poor?

and who are all these people in my life?
and oh yes....

what about who I would be

If I could be me...


Life is so hectic I barely stop.

I am becoming,

a career woman,
a lover,
a mother.

A fixer,
divorced,
married,
single.

Living,
drowning,
in options.

Is this really who I would be?

If I could be me...

Unbelievable this ride of life

The choices.
the kids,
the men,
the self.

At night I sleep

and I am so far from who I would be

If I could be me...
Movie stars are now not "older" than me

and a couple of kids have called me Ma'am


The world seems to be getting younger

I am not.

But here is what I am getting,

more sure.
More graceful.
More forgiving.

There really is a rhythm and a flow to it all

And just as all who are young have to struggle?

I realize I do not.

Like a late Indian summer day,
I have an extra hour

To relax,
look,
reflect.

To smile.

To reach out gently to my time conscious self

and with no more effort than dipping a paddle steers a canoe,
realize...

I am in charge of what will be

I can be me.

Halfway Point Of My Journey

On Turning 50

I'm turning 50. That's half of a century! Can you imagine? For some reason I feel like this is a momentous accomplishment on my part. But when I look back I can see I have always been fascinated by the things we call "old".

I remember being ten... an awkward shy girl who read a lot and daydreamed her way through time. I came out of my introspective reveries one day long enough to notice my mother in a state of great excitement. Seems she had inherited a beautiful oak side board from her mother-in-law. After much laborious grunting on the part of two sweaty movers this wooden leviathan assumed a place of honor (in it's huge hulking way) in our dining room. It seemed to be quite the big deal that I of course, being ten, didn't grasp. So I asked, my radiantly happy mother "What's so great about it?"

My dear mother, oblivious to the naive density of her fledgling, exclaimed " Why this is 50 years old." This was said in the most reverential of tones while running her hands over the smooth patina of well rubbed and oiled wood. To that younger me it seemed like her version of MY excitement when I had found an arrowhead the summer before. With a shiver I had curled my fingers tightly, feeling the cold smooth center and rough edges of the arrowhead as it pressed its outline against my palm. I remembered standing there spellbound at the thought that some long ago person had shaped and used it as a tool, with their own two hands. Now, somehow, in the churning tempest that is the earth, the long buried arrowhead had found its way to me, to be held once again. I wondered about that long ago person. Lost to the shrouds of the past, but still having once existed, with no less validity than my own existence in that moment. The proof of this profound truth rested solidly in my closed fist. Recalling the solemn awe of that moment, I found myself running my hands over this beautiful wooden object my mother was so entranced with. Imitating and understanding her sense of reverence.

Over the years that have passed since that day, I have observed with interest the excitement that a 56 Chevy can elicit from a group of men. How far people will travel to view the architectural detail found in the splendor of the ruins of ancient Rome. Or how hard the normally unfazed New Yorker will fight to save an old building. Not to mention the highly esteemed culinary intricacies involved in the making of fine wines and gourmet cheeses. Recipes of which have been highly guarded and handed down for centuries. And then there are the treasures of nature, which cannot be hurried, diamonds, amber, silk and pearls. It has slowly seeped into my consciousness that all these things we collectively deem valuable, share one common element. That element is time.They take time.They improve with age.

In beauty, in substance, in value.

The woman of 50 is a defined woman. For better or worse she is no longer that fresh newborn malleable lump of clay that we all begin life as.The potential of youth has been bartered for the richness of life. As the moments tick on, her experiences, combined with her thoughts and feelings, have taken turns guiding, shaping and molding her. Life has focused her, much in the way a lens does a camera. Everything about her becomes more clear. Revealed in the shining light of time. Her joys her passions her loves and hardships, it's all there.

Her hands reveal what they have spent the years doing. Whether creating works of art or stroking the heads of babies. Working in an office, or close to the earth under a relentless sun, the hands speak of what they know.

Her feet too, say so much. Beautiful and well cared for, or gnarled by ill fitting shoes and long hours of standing. They bear silent testimony to having been shaped by the steps her own personal path has taken.

But the greatest story teller of a woman's life is in her face.
The joy, the sorrow, the contentment or lack of, on display for anyone who chooses to observe. Whispered in the gentle crinkles that frame eyes filled with frequent laughter. Or suggested in the soft wreath of smile lines that trace across luminous cheeks. Sometimes, the story is told in thinly drawn lips that have spent years pressed tightly in disapproval, judgment of others, the corrosive acid of bitterness doing its handiwork.

Regardless, its all there.

An exclusive story for each and every woman. We sculpt our own personal look by what we think, by what we feel, and by how we react to all that happens along our journey. How true then the saying that when we are born we have the face God gave us, and when were old we have the face we've earned. The woman who has lived for half of a century is possessed of a sage-ness that is strikingly observable to others. It as identifying as a fingerprint, as unique as a snowflake as solid as an arrowhead.

While a younger woman may dream of finding her "other half"? The woman of 50 is serene in the knowledge that she need seek no other half. Rather, she emanates the completeness she has attained with a beauty that is all its own. She is a survivor, she is wise and she is humorous. She has a story to tell, born out of a sophisticated wisdom that is now hers. She has an authenticity that cannot be faked, rushed or purchased, but rather, develops gently under the sculpting hand of time.

When a woman turns 50

she becomes.~

And So I Begin. Again,

My computer crashed and I lost most of what I had written.

For two days I wandered around hugging a pillow and feeling sick inside.

My computer nerd guy (ever compassionate those types huh?) merely said "if you wrote it once you can write it again"

well that rankled...I mean what am I? some kind of human back up disk?

my words are carefully chosen works of art

I love the line by Oscar Wilde, where he said

“This morning I took out a comma and this afternoon I put it back in again.”

writing happens in fits and spurts and is hard won

I cant believe I never made a back up of something I considered precious

so here I am

all my lost and (carefully crafted I might add) words are gone

all my favorite quotes and sayings. All my brilliant moments

gone

ok, maybe I am not a Michelangelo with words, but

It is like my words were road dust and I was put through an involuntary car wash

so I will start again

after all what does anyone do after a disaster?

they start anew

they build better

stronger

smarter

so AMEN to my expired hard drive

and HELLO to my new one

may I make you worthy of honesty and truth

Heaven knows there can always be more of it

so I begin again