the impossible

“Mom,” my son says to me, quietly, from the passenger side of the car.

I know what he means. We’re just passing someone outside, a man with a cardboard sign, asking for money. It’s cold, and fizzly-drizzly rain. I am tired. I am hungry. I slept about half my normal hours, the night before. I have a working weekend ahead of me.

“I don’t have any cash, Nels,” I tell him. He is quiet, we turn the corner – there is another man, with another sign. My son asks, “Can we get some?”

I ask him, now: “Well – do you want me to buy them a couple burgers?” and he says Yes. His eyes are bright and his spirit is calm.

I am so hungry my stomach cramps and I feel lightheaded. Even if I was to head straight home, I’ll still need to cook. I resign myself that our outing will take as long as it takes.

I pull into the drive through of a fast food restaurant; even the thought of a burger – I haven’t had a fast food burger in many years – causes my stomach to clench.  As if reading my mind my son says, “I know you’re hungry.” (I’ve said nothing to him.) Then he laughs, “You don’t eat fast food, mom!” Almost like he’s chiding. Like he’s teasing.

The drive-through is packed. Moving slowly (for fast food). As if on cue, comedy of errors, I realize my car engine temperature is millimeters away from THE DANGER ZONE. I curse, switch the ignition. Then in the next several minutes I have to turn the vehicle off, then on, as we inch forward. I raise the heat in the cab. The engine temperature falls to normal.

By the time we get two burger meals – fries and a Coke apiece – and pull into the street, and wheel around the corner back to the parking lot, one of the men my son had indicated, is gone. The other is huddled up under a sign asking for a ride to the HOSPITEL. We pull up, ask if he’d like a meal. He takes the food but tells us, “I cut my hand… I need a ride,” waving a napkin bright with blood. His eyes are a clear, watery blue. I tell him, “I hope someone finds you a ride.” He smiles and thanks us. A block later as I look back I can see him fishing around, the comfort of a hot meal on a cold night.

We drive through town, and my son sits up straight, our dinner groceries on his lap balanced alongside the cheerful white paper bag full of hot food. He holds an ice-cold Coke in his left hand. He asks me about the man, How can he get to the hospital? I say, “Someone else will help him.”

And I tell him what I was taught. “I was taught, you don’t have to help as much as someone asks, you have to help enough. Ask if you’ve done enough. Think about that man who wants a ride. If everyone who passed him helped him the little bit we just did, what would happen?”

“He’d be clean, and have warm clothes, and medicine, and food. Maybe a home,” my son says. I can see his mind working, as he pieces this together.

I am tired, and I am hungry, and I feel tender, and sad. My children are as compassionate as they were at age two. I am feeling overwhelmed with a love and a sorrow, like balancing on a riverbank.

My son asks me now, “Am I trying to be too generous?”

Then I tell him another thing I was taught. “I was told you can help as much as you want, after you’ve taken care of yourself and your family.” I tell him: “I have food for my children, so we can buy food for these men.”

It isn’t until Hoquiam, a couple blocks from my house, we find another man who might want a meal. I’ve seen him many times on the street – I don’t know if he’s friendly, or what. But I’m a hearty enough soul. I pull over and, after we get his attention – and he spies the bag my son holds out. I ask, “Want a burger?”

He is eyeing us, then: “What the hell,” he says cheerfully. He takes the food, and the pop, and thanks us. In the rearview mirror I see him dive into the bag.

My son puts his fingers through mine.

They’re cold, from the Coke.

paradise is you

The kids are out of school for Spring Break. Don’t think I even get how I’m supposed to be this schooling parent. In fact I think I have given up trying. I am often at a loss as to schedules. I don’t fit in with the culture. My kids had conferences last week and it seemed like for all the haranguing about standardized tests and attendance, the school staff and admins are lost and jumbled about it all. One of my children had a low (for the child, anyway) grade in a class. Now last week the child and Ralph tried to get to the bottom of it, and the teacher had a bunch of assignments incorrectly allocated. But here we’d confronted the child the night before – and the child had cried – over this mess. I don’t know if I’m supposed to not give much of a shit, or if I’m supposed to bust in there and straighten everyone out. And it’s hard to get too excited about something, grades and such, that seem entirely meaningless.

So anyway, school is whack and I am amazed they like the good parts – of which there are many, they’re called “other children” – enough to tolerate the rest. But they are enjoying themselves and this gives me immense pleasure. I know they appreciate that we support their rights to do what they want.

So I figure my job is to keep them in school clothes, and try my reasonable best to support them in their extracurricular activities and social lives, and feed them, and provide a safe, loving home for them to rest and recover in.

My son’s birthday is tomorrow – he turns eleven. I am hardly prepared – mentally, emotionally, or any other way, really. I sound a mess and maybe I am.

This afternoon I picked up my car from the shop. Gotta rob some rent to pay for that. But that said the kids and I were grinning like fools to have the car back.

And we were driving home and laughing with my mom, talking about our cat, trying frantically to bury a slimy mushroom on the floor. And I realize that with the little ones by my side, I’m really at my best somehow. I don’t know I’ll ever do much better. It’s like a really small, ignoble little victory in my heart, that I’m really okay with this.

merry go round broke down

My car went kaput today. At least we pulled over safely. We weren’t that far from home. I’d paid the bills, dropped off the mail, and fed myself.

I got the kids home and set them up with food. Ralph and a few generous friends hauled my car home.

FUUUUUuuuUUH

*slowly lowers head to desk, gently sobs tears into plastic fake woodgrain*

Here’s the thing though. The secret. Life is good. Life is good because I like myself. I like myself because I’m at peace with the dharma.

“It’s boring. But it’s part of my life.”


the air that I breathe & to love you

Caught In The Act

Caught In The Act

Caught In The Act

The sun is out and there’s something about the air; it’s still got a bit of chill especially as the evening falls but I find I’m feeling restless for the summer. We’re down to one car and we’d better fix a few things on that or we’ll be down to zero (sorry to talk about the cars again; it’s just where we live, family-of-four life without a car is no joke). I turn the engine over and the Mercedes belches out grey smoke and coughs for a while while it warms up. This car. The missing muffler and the screaming belt. I am serious. It’s funny. Sorry neighbors. I still love it, though.

It’s the sunshine and the car trouble so I say something out loud before I’ve thought it through, I don’t know if we’ll get a vacation this year, and I’m okay with it, just thinking of hot sand and doing nowt and just picturing the little pots of money moving them back and forth, more than enough to feed us and shelter us so no worries. But:

“It will be worth it,” my daughter says. “We’ll have sent a family to the unschooling conference.” That’s cool. It’s like as a parent you make these decisions as best you can, and you bet we made this decision as a family, informed consent, but it’s cool the kids aren’t backing down even while I’m teetering on feeling like an ass.

She continues: “They’ll have a wonderful time.”

I say, “We had sixteen families apply for our scholarship. They are all great applicants. Would you like daddy and I to make the final decision, or would you like to help?”

“Oh, I’d love to help!” Her response is immediate. We talk about it a bit. We share ideas about criteria for selection. I put the car in gear and we head out to take her to swim team. My son puts his hand on my arm and tells me he loves me.

***

Later, Ralph’s out of town, I walk in the falling shroud of darkness, wet and cold, I’m with the dog, off a little over a mile to pick up my daughter. In the backpack I’ve a couple rolls for her to eat, a big woolen hat and a coat. Hutch trots at my side, HAPPIER THAN ANYTHING EVER just to be along with me. Even after his massive weight loss he is still a big dog, and despite his obviously friendly, mild body language, sometimes people cross the street when they see him. In fact, walking at night alone as a lady, I don’t mind having a huge dog alongside. He is the gentlest creature ever though and I have no idea how much he’d protect me if I were accosted, that is unless my assailant was a giant hot dog.

Over the bridge and across the deep, dark river, which fills me with terror. I love the evenings, people hurrying home or perhaps off to parties or out of town. I’m alone but others are awake. I’m wrapped in a big scarf and my plastic jacket. My body feels good and my mind does as well. Every day as my last drink recedes from me, further away, I am profoundly aware of my gift of sobriety. I hate to talk about that so much too but, it’s on my mind and in my heart, often and daily. Every day I work with people and I see how many don’t keep a continuous sobriety, and heck those are the ones even trying to get help, “tip of the iceberg” doesn’t cut it. Every day I know less and less about Why for all of it. There’s nothing that sets me apart as being so fortunate but I am and so I don’t piss it away by being ungrateful or unconscious.

“If you don’t drink today, you’ll never drink again.” I heard this today. I tell my husband. He doesn’t quite understand. I explain it a little but it’s okay if people don’t understand. I understand.

My daughter is pleased to see us. She is out of the locker room at one minute past seven; she is on time. We both thank one another for being punctual. She bites the first roll and then tears off a chunk for the dog; he CLOPS it up and then CLOPS, CLOPS in gratitude or beseechment or both. We travel to the store by foot and buy two bananas to fulfill requirements for a loaf of banana bread; we have two quarters and the sum total is 49 cents and I’m pleased. Later Nels will eat the bananas without asking about them first, then he apologizes. For all his devilry he takes it very seriously when he makes a mistake or inconveniences others, probably too seriously. And so I’ll send Ralph to the store to get some more bananas tomorrow, so he can bake a quickbread for our daughter before she gets up.

change my stride / then i’ll fly

Noble Tiger

Things went my way today. I had energy again and got quite a bit of housework done. I experienced a happy, happy day free from constipation. (Yeah, readers? I didn’t fill you in on this whole ordeal, unless you follow me on Twitter. A side-effect of four days on medicine. I thought constipation was like this not-really-problem, instead of being one of those things that like, consume one’s entire thoughts and activities all day long. Fortunately for me, it was only a handful of hours of sheer Hell. I spent yesterday on the couch quietly sobbing while trying to be distracted by the delicious Danny Trejo’s turn in Machete.)

So back to today, I had a few errands to run, including fixing my car stereo, which had distressingly experienced total failure. Remember the fellow who installed my stereo, and gave me free basil a year ago? He helped me today. And he’s still up to his gardening BTW.

Roscoe's Automall Garden Center

So anyway, all fixed.

In commerce, I sold the Upcycled Newsboy Hat to a lovely mamacita in NY…

Innocent

and listed a Louise outfit (yes, from “Bob’s Burgers”. If you haven’t watched this show, why not?):

Green Dress & Pink Hat

While shopping at the Goodwill for funiture (bright orange chair, acquired) Nels found this pseudo-ruched rainbow shirt with a boatneck and silver star. He loved it lots, and I bought it for him for $3.

Nels + Rainbow/Pseudo-Ruched Star Shirt

Life is good, but it’s late and time for a hot bath and cold glass of water and snuggles.

obligatory drama quotient

Pre-Teen Girl Eats Crepe #LiG2012
Phee enjoys a crepe, and one last park playdate.

We are still debating why things went wrong this morning. My son Nels is convinced it’s because he expressed a desire to give up life in Hoquiam and live in Vancouver – and yes we told him downtown Vancouver is usually NOT full of awesome unschooling kiddos and 100% fun, but he still said, “I have a better life here, and I’m staying.” When things went tits-up a little bit later he really really did believe it was his wish that queered the deal. Poor little guy.

But I thought maybe it was my own hubris. I had taken pride in holding my shit together in a most active and action-packed vacation, the most intense six days I’ve had in some time. I had spent five days eating and resting and doing yoga and Recovery. I’d breathed-deep as much as possible and thought I was behaving like a pretty good wife and mother and human being (MOST of the time). And this morning I prayed for God’s will to be done in my life as I do every morning I remember, even though I was very tired and starting to get sick (some virus from some body). And I thought as the luggage cart nicely packed all our stuff into the car by a courteous and friendly hotel staffer (all the staff were wonderful), and our loving children happily said goodbye to the wonderful time they’d had, with no tears and only good cheer, so anyway I thought: “Wow, things worked out so well. I’m proud of myself and of my family.”

SO less than one half hour after I had this thought we ended up stranded in BFE Sad-Sack Vancouver with a broken-down Prius and a trunk stuffed full of six days worth of our life and, for me, by this time, the largest desire EVER to get home for a variety of reasons (and some anxiety about my friend’s car, as she’s not in a position to have drama either). After a few conversations with our friend and weighing a few options, we elected to tow the vehicle back to Grays Harbor and ride along. If you haven’t read my Twitterfeed (spoiler alert!), go ahead and estimate how much this cost, which was as practical as any alternative, but not cheap. Our friend wants to pay the bill for the car-towing but I think we should split it, given our family is the reason the car was so far afield and she’s gonna have to have it repaired anyway and that just suuuuucks.  I probably shouldn’t think about it too much until I’ve rested and healed.

I am very glad to be home. And I’m grateful to our friend who loaned us the car to save on gas, and have a vacation-car. And you know what, we didn’t save money but in a way the intent came true. The Prius got great gas milage on the back of that big tow truck, and the ride home was fun, even though I was so so tired by then, have I mentioned?

Speaking of. Friendship, that is. The conference is over and we are now home. The conference was for me and my children, a life-changer (perhaps for Ralph too – you’ll have to ask). Now as far as I know, I have thanked each friend who has helped us in getting to this event. My thanks is deep and sincere and I am still swimming in gratitude. But I want to tell you: if you have any affection for my children, know that you did a wonderful, wonderful thing by helping us. This morning Phoenix said, “I can’t thank you enough for getting us to this conference.”

So, thank you. Truly once-in-a-lifetime and truly fabulous.

And now? A hot bath and an attempt at rest, before this throat-tickle turns into something ghastly.

 

a funeral, sketchy tire shops

Tire Store Boy

I lie. The tire shop wasn’t sketchy. It was just a used tire shop, we’re bumped down from the days of Les Schwab and young handsome men running in slow motion out to the car.

I should say, our finances are, though. Sketchy. We’re scraping by to afford our little conference trip. And in the last couple days we’ve had to “emergency” surgery a cat, then “emergency” replace tires that were sprouting a crop of wire. I use the air dick quotes because, I guess it was all emergency stuff. If we didn’t surgery the cat she could have fallen gravely ill (and she was in pain), and if we didn’t fix the tires, we could have crashed on the road. So, damn, kind of non-negotiable expenses.

The kitty is fine. She’s all stitched up and hopped up on kitty drugs. I’m very grateful for her recovery. She is very dear to us.

Nels, a funeral for a bird. He voiced a lovely and earnest and powerful prayer before we buried her.

Bird, Elegy

In other news: cute husband, who has helped create cute daughter. They are dressed as nerds today, for some theme. It works.

Sexy Nerd-Spouse

Beauty/Hipster Glasses

I also gave blood (of course) and my daughter held my hand through it all. Later, Nels rode on the back of the bike and held the basket with my embroidery supplies, for the class I taught. It was fun stitching, and showing people how to do some simple things. One student was an eight year old girl and that was about a thousand percent awesome.

It was good stuff.

in other news

RPing
Ralph went to bed a bit early; the kids and I stayed up. Phoenix and Nels are both very popular. Here Phoenie chats with her peeps.

RPing
She is so incredibly sweet.

Nels Snaps A Shot
Nels takes a picture of me, while we’re out doing our thing today. I think I kind of look like I should be wearing a power suit with shoulder pads.

Nels & Kobai
I stopped by at Rosemary Cottage to get some pictures for my spiritual community’s website. Nels was new boot goofin a bit.

Practice
Dedication to the departed

You Know You're Doing Something Right
Yeah, look around my house and you see a LOT of this sort of thing. I figure we’ve got good energy in the house.

More Drawings
Phoenix draws so many creations a day I’ve long given up doing anything other than now and then commemorating a few by snapshot or what-have-you. The kids have been up to some crafting (hence the yarn, pipe cleaners) from kits their grandma Betty sent them.

Mr. Shit-n-Spray

“Adults do liquor, even toke. *EVERYBODY* does it!”

“Everybody who’s anybody!”*

Friday linkage!

Nigella Love-in-a-Mist by local Mickey Thurman. Love-in-a-mist was one of the first flowers Nels grew, years and years ago.

The Kindness of Strangers by Kate. Nothing earth-shattering. Except – actually, it kind of is. What a lovely piece.

Feminazi Propaganda: “Women’s Work” via Political Remix Video. Trigger warning for intense violence (often eroticized) rendered graphically against women. REGULARLY SEEN ON TELEVISION I might add (although this concerns the show “Supernatural”) – and here’s a longer analysis should you want one. Yeah. So, this kind of stuff is why I’ve had to stop watching shows I otherwise would have enjoyed or at least found consumable (“Law & Order”, thanks for keeping me from my daily D’Onofrio! You fucks.).

In wonderful news: Michelle Alison offers a great course. I want to take this pretty badly. I don’t have the scratch, because of recent purchases. I do promote Alison because she and her mentor Satter seem to know their shit, in a land of lots of weight and diet “experts” who sure don’t.

Reviewing highlights of an actresses celebrated career – and you know, this is uncannily like my experiences with alcohol and drug, back in school:
 

 
That actress playing the “young high school counselor” – where do I know her from? It’s something kind of tampon-ad ish.

“The World Is Full Of Bullies… So Conform! And Quick!” by Laura at Authentic Parenting:

“Children who have not been forced into acting or looking like something they’re not, who have had the freedom to explore their bodies and their minds, within the safety and unconditionality of their homes are not insecure. They may make different choices than the average kid, they may look differently, but they do it because they are true to themselves, not to fit in or fit out, so they are generally able to take the consequences. Yes, they may get negative reactions. But if they are not even safe to express themselves and find themselves at home, where do you suggest they will? In therapy when they are in their thirties?”

On-point.

Consumerism: I need to buy this… and tix to see this. Ralph wants me to buy him this (but seriously? I bought him some big fancy pedal this time last year. I think I’ll take a year off). Apparently Ralph is going to give me our tax return as my own “fun money”, I’ll try not to spend it all on makeup and my usual diversions.

Make: How-To: Plush Alien Facehugger Pillow Set via Instructables for a little girl. Perfect. PERFECT.

Make: hand stitched card at New House Project. I’ve enjoyed using a sewing machine to punch holes or stitch paper for quite some time. It dulls the needle, sure – but what fun!

OK: it’s time to separate us all into two discrete columns. Those who find this picture, as I do, completely disgusting. And those who through some sickness that is probably not their fault, find it mouth-watering. GO!

Tweet of the week. Hey, I can blow my own horn like no-one’s business.

And finally – enjoy our beaches!

Mr. Shit-n-Spray

*Note: please do not take my post tagline as any kind of prescriptive advice on how one should celebrate their weekend. But in the meantime: whoo-hooo it’s Friday!!!

las piedras rodando se encuentran

Nels Y Javier

Nels donde recibe un buen corte de pelo. Javier originally hails from Columbia and calls Nels “my little friend”, plus teaches me a bit of Spanish. He gets along with my son quite well, probably porque él ha criado a ocho niños and can handle Nels’… willfulness and lack of self-discipline.

At The Garage

Car work. Or rather, waiting on it.

Today: a visit to Lake Sylvia, for Phoenix and Grandma to scout out next week’s camping spot:

Ominous But Only Pictorially So

I Shall Say No More

Rescue

Phoenix found fishing line and a float in the water; heeding the posted signs citing this as dangerous for wildlife, she went through some effort to pull the mess out.

She’s that kind of person.