blue heron sighting

Something that I think is kind of special, lately, is that I've been seeing a lot of blue herons around here. Being a silly hippie as I certainly ascribe to be, I find it to be a sort of spiritual message of some sort, and liked this bit I found online that confirmed the specialness. I was very surprised the other day to see two great blues flying together; I think of them as solitary creatures and have never seen more than one, even when I lived in Olympia and they were as common as pigeons.

Local Indians, known for their healing rituals, revered the serene, elegant and powerful heron as a symbol of self-realization—the joy you experience when you discover your best self.

lake michigan, you save the midwest

what can i say? i love the lake, and so does diego...we go to the beach every chance we get. it's funny that i can remember going to the same beaches when i was not quite as small as Diego, but we do go to my old beaches. i remember being mad at my parents and running away to the lake, which was only a block away back then. now it's a car ride away, but in ten minutes we can be poking our toes through the sand and wading in the now tepid waters lapping our calves. the first few visits, the water was more like a liquid ice pack. freezing!! now it's nice, like a puddle of spring rain.
we run along the shoreline, picking up rocks, driftwood, tiny seashells. Diego stamps on any attempt at a sandcastle, mine or some other poor child, it makes no difference. his foot knows no distinction, no castle is safe from his wrath. we contemplate the water, the horizon a ribbon of blue, an inky smudge against the sky. planes, blimps, and boats enter our field of vision. flies bite our legs and we swat at the ones we catch in the act, or run back to the shore where the wind blows the buggers away. mostly, we laugh, splash, look and listen to the water. I love the comfort, the ever changing faces of the lake. where all is flat and the land has no obvious, dramatic features (prairies are lovely but sort of subtle) an oasis of blue water lapping the shore of the city is a saving grace, a blessing for it's inhabitants and a reason for chicago to have a real
2*+999966666+6

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place in the natural world.

the irony of the divine

Did I get born on opposite day? It's like everything I say with conviction will most likely get tested and ultimately shown to be yet another false assumption. I should know better. If I ever try to sound definitive about something here, just remind me that nothing is permanent. And certainly, when it comes to a certain wildebeest known as Diego! I was so victorious, so happy about Diego's adjustment to his Montessori classroom. I finally was feeling the pride of a parent whose child is comfortable, has his needs met and is able to participate in the world of children without event. I was patting myself on the back for his good week, and feeling like most other parents who pick their children up from school each day, receiving little comment from the teachers unless to say, "we had a really good day today, right Billy? See you tomorrow!"
Oh, no...not our little tiger. This Diego, a child whom I knowingly named something that can be looked up to mean "wild, untamed" is the very definition of his name. Like his mother and father before him, he flaunts convention, has disregard for rules, and is in constant violation of the laws of gravity (well that is mostly dad). So upon picking him up at school, the teachers form a huddle at the sight of my shadow in the door of the classroom. I can hear them, an electric crackle of static "Diego's mom is here. She's right there. Okay, someone, go talk to her." I am, at my child's tender age of two, already having flashbacks of my own parent-teacher conferences, shades of Stacy the discipline case flooding my mind as the teacher leads Diego to the door. "Mama came!" comes the bright and happy voice of my little troublemaker. Attached to his hand is his teacher, Ms. Ro. Diminutive in stature, she is magnificently endowed with a sense of peace, calm, and order. Her face is unflinchingly stern yet enormously kind . In her eyes I can see her quizzical but non-judgemental search for the reason's behind Diego's continued contribution to the uproar in his class. She expresses concern over his stuffy nose, asks not unkindly if he is not feeling well, how he is sleeping and eating at home. She tells me that Diego was throwing puzzles on the floor today. This behavior is challenging in the Montessori classroom, because the children are all at different types of play, and the teachers need to trust they can care for their work without being hovered over. Diego was asked to put a puzzle away before taking a new one, and he furiously hurled them both to the ground. Not surprised, but disappointed, I ask my small son if this is true. He seems to be upset, and says "A hug will make Mama feel better." At this, a singular act of love and trust, I drop to the floor to embrace him. He speaks with the voice of a little angel, even if he behaves more like a devil sometimes. Head spinning, we exit the school, my promises of talking about this behavior at home echoing in the halls as we wave goodbye to the sainted, patient teacher who is probably heaving a huge sigh of relief as I take my little wild, untamed child home to battle him down for his nap. Chalk it up to being the victim of Murphy's Law, the only constant that seems to pervade my very tapestry of life.

back to the boy

this blog has been spiraling out of focus, or at least, threatens to become overtaken by a raging mid-life crisis gone public. For the sake of everyone who comes here to see Diego and hear about his misadventures, not mine, I promise to devote some time to talking about the boy. And posting some recent pictures. Here is a start: said child is incredibly focused on putting his wild animal collection in all kinds of curous formations, some of which are so creative and artistic that I've considered putting together a photographic show if his most recent work. here are some examples of his amazing formations. enjoy!!
it's also worth mentioning here that Diego is really coming into his own at school, finally. Lucky for us all, mama snagged a job at a great Montessori School just across the park from our current outpost, Chantilly Lace. Here, for the first time in his tumultuous school career, he has participated willingly, eaten lunch and snack independently, and actually doesn't want to leave when I pick him up. Honarable mention to Miss Debbie and Jessica (former school teachers) aside, he has not expressed any remorse in switching to this new setting, and in this humble mama's opinion, this is by far the best match for our fiercely strong-willed boy. In a supportive and gentle environment with freedom of choice within clear limits, he is finally thriving and starting to respond to routine & structure, and display fixed concentration on his "work" at school. I asked Diego what he likes best about school, but he /is 51326.6659
9very busy trying to
help me with this posting.
got1ta go before the new +6keyboard gets broken--he
keeps say
ing "you're help2ing me".. 02

yi6kes.. you're a good helper, he says....
lol, another writer in the family. just what we all need.

well maybe the night knows

here i am trying to write something so lovely and expressive,
to make sense of my watching a moth
last night, late
beating it's wings in futility to reach the light inside a lamppost

so of course, like any good twenty-first century human, i turned to google for more
I wanted to understand the work of moths, of butterflies, and why it's so beautiful and mysterious.
what I learned was incredible, from caterpillar to chrysalis to moth.
singlemindedness, it seems is the hallmark of the stages of this amazing creature. first for eating, almost to the point of disgust, imagine eating your own skin as these creatures do.
having a garden, you would know the voracious appetite of a caterpillar.
having flowers, you would know the loveliness of a butterfly alight, sucking the nectar to produce the energy needed to fly, to beat the painted wings that scare away predators and attract a mate. the transformation of caterpillar to butterfly is classical, remarkable, and holy to a child. many caterpillar destinies were played out in a pail in my garage as a child, where I watched in tingling anticipation for the emergence of a butterfly. a miracle that can be witnessed every summer, a prayer alive on the wind. and finally, butterflies are only seeking what so many of us search for, the union to procreate, namely s-e-x. yep, those lovely creatures that seem to represent our very innocence and spark a childlike wonder in almost everyone with a pulse, are voracious, sex-crazed and on a desperate, pheromone induced hunt for copulation. of course, unlike us humans, they are doing it for true procreation, but is it really any different for us at the core, or are we all programmed to search for a mate, for that very purpose, though the various fictions of our lives might lead us to believe otherwise? nonetheless, i was curious enough to keep searching in that unique and modern way that only this generation can truly understand, taken over by the ease of answers beneath your pulsing fingertips.

so, I found something so lovely and simple that I couldn't help but feel humbled and awed by my longtime poet, Carl Sandburg. Why try to pin my experience on the hallowed wings of the moth when i can just read these luminous words...

A GOLDWING moth is between the scissors and the ink bottle on the desk.
Last night it flew hundreds of circles around a glass bulb and a flame wire.
The wings are a soft gold; it is the gold of illuminated initials
in manuscripts of the medieval monks.

ah, just forget it...
or read on. this is my take. after google research, after soul search. maybe it's a lame attempt that comes after years of inactivity, but it's a start.

a moth, last night
flickering around a lamp post
held aloft, thick wings
beating a pulse to reach light

diving midair, prostration
worship before a naked bulb
muscular wings, hairy bodies
flying toward a timeless musk

will she, will he
meet again in this lifetime
paths lit, floodlight
the scrawl on her back

wild beating, in vain
compass reading distracted
disoriented, confused by light
which is not the moon.

much, much better

amazing. dropping the pretense of being a mom desperate to lull a child to sleep has resulted in a total re-evaluation of everything that makes up the stuff of life, mine, my child's, the birds that wing above us in the park, the beautiful crisp blue sky that is a never ending picture of the perfect breath, the reflection of our innate goodness and our human toils that seek divine rewards. now with love coursing through my body and overflowing out through my hands as i massage my child to sleep with tenderness, rather than a sense of duty, he is simply slumbering as if he never napped before. i even coaxed him back after he woke prematurely, unhappily, and he succumbed to the gentle and love-directed soothing that i have often tried to embody but failed for the want of it. now, in the hour of hopelessness, all has been righted and i am set on a new balance of living in the present and being fully awake to the realities of life. lofty, not really. it's the nitty gritty, the business of being fully here.
all of the soul searching, all of the moves and men, all of the past and whatever i had hoped for the future, it's all here and it can all flow around and through the illusion of reality. all of the self-doubt, the worthlessness and pain, all has been self-inflicted. no amount of anyone sagely quoting aphorisms half realized would have landed me squarely in my body and waking up to the full meaning of all that i have been blessed with, and all that i can savor and relinquish my thirst to.
my only wish, if it were a perfect world, my dogs would not be panting at the door now with the fury of a thousand hounds. they are so desperate to love us. their eyes reflect the longing of the world to me, and it's both enviable and unbearable at once to give in to their unrelenting desire for more. it's all i can do to try and form these thoughts, to try and give these feelings some shape so when they fade, i will have more than a fuzzy memory of how to walk in the world with true feet.
and two little feet, ones that have been kicking at me since they were formed inside my belly, they will stand alongside me as i stumble through it all, i hope i can convey the feeling that courses through my body and the soul of the rocks beneath our feet as we continue the journey one step at a time.
and he cries out, in his sleep, to mama. and the one who can't separate my love for him from my own self responds to the end of this, another looong, peaceful nap.

ta da, dum...

and just like that, flat down to earth. but unlike before, i have the awareness that i need to carry and protect, like a flame in the wind, cupped and sheltered from the inevitable storms that will continue to rage.
amazing, so nothing is something and then again it's back to the same. yet, with a twist.
i only know i can't feel the same way about anything, yet the knee jerk responses are programmed deeply. i guess if the light goes out i just need to keep some matches on hand, till i get to the point of being able to light fire with fire.
okay, the poetics are getting cliched.
time for bed. been quite a day.
love to all, all are love.

naptime awakening

i don't know what the right method is; I've pored through books and listened to all my mommy friends, parents and neighbors, day care providers and super nannies offerings but none of them are there each day at 12;30 pm when i try to put my boy down. i often wonder if it's not his natural hour to rest, but this is the time of day care and the routine he needs to set his internal clock to, though it's nothing but the fiercest resistance to the whole set-up.

today was much the usual, in fact, when i sat down to write this post my hands were not on fire with the pulse of living as they are now. i can actually feel the aliveness, if you will, rushing out past the keys in a furious attempt to express the transformation that has come upon me.
i can feel my hands, i can hear the words of the lullabies, i can feel my son and his lovely doe skin that feels exactly the same as the day he entered this world and i first held him.

i feel it. i am so grateful to be alive to wake up to the internal struggle of the nap time battle. in a rush of flooding images i saw the last few years of my life, sped up on fast forward while i vainly attempted to comfort Diego to sleep. i realized how crazy and stressed I've been and what insane pressure I've felt and just unloaded it for one moment to actually feel myself rocking Diego and i felt my hands in every fiber of their aliveness. i realized how seldom in my life I've just enjoyed being where i am at that second. it's almost like i don't want to try to express this but i want to record and remember this feeling as it happened to me. i was just soothing him, but trying to really be there and suddenly i felt a heat throughout my arms and shooting out of each finger. i just really felt every bit of my body at once and then succumbed to just oozing the feeling of being there, soaking it up in waves washing over me and surrendering the control of everything to just be with it. and as i did that, he finally surrendered to the place i so desperately wanted him to go, dreamland.

this started yesterday with this crazy recollection i had of an experience I'd call mystic, a moment that slowed down and felt almost as a scene acted again and again and i remember feeling that I'd known my friends and self for centuries, which was then referred to in a book i was reading on the playground while sitting next to a still for the moment Diego. i started looking at everyone in my life as a sort of archetype and a player in a grand opera--or soap opera-- I'd call my life up til now. that's all. not that anything has changed, i can just feel my hands.

i looked at my feet and my feet were new, looked at my shoes and they were too. ---ray Charles

i looked at my hands and they looked new, looked at my feet and they did too. started to walk, i had a brand new walk, started to talk i had a brand new talk
started to sing i had a brand new song, and everyone was wondering what went wrong.---gospel song, variation sung by Ella Jenkins

it feels like that sort of thing, an out of the wilderness type moment where i just wake up, as i finally soothe my child, now really being comforted by fingers that feel every morsel of delight and shame at once, holding him and rocking him as a primal mother rather than Stacy, worn out old soul that sees her old hands in her new body that she hardly even knows or appreciates.

just feeling it all instead of flogging myself with it, for once. really embody the spirit, instead of reading the books or seeking the perfect place to open myself to something that is there all along. all the time I've wasted looking and looking in every corner of the globe, ironically, I've been dead to each moment. i only saw in flashes, when i wrote poetry for example or maybe while doing certain types of art. I've felt it in passing moments of being engrossed in my work, whether outside in the sun, or with children. I've felt it in the arms of a lover, but often that led to grasping at things that i thought would make this or that experience, lead me somewhere, anywhere, but here is where I've wanted to be all along. just wakening to the moment is heady and humbling at once.
the only reason i am writing the words is to hold on to the feeling and analyse it so i never forget. these electric threads connecting me like a mass of wires to the outer world, tethering me into an ancient but modern role in the world, aren't just trudging on the path with heavy pockets.
Christ, imagine never looking up to feel the warmth in the sun but always cursing the scorch of it's heat. I've been heaping up resentments and blames the way my mom collects clothes and my sister drinks coffee. i watch while drama unfolds before me, in my own family, in my extended relationships, and my searching. there it is, hotly smoking and mirrored world outside me, in Israel and Palestine, in Iraq and the USA, in Beijing and Tibet, in Obama and McCain. reflected and reflecting, like the moment of truth in Mexico with the energy of the ruins, and the push pull of the moment, in china again without self looking for self, which could happen over and over again. it could hit me over the head like carrie did big in the new sex and the city movie, with the flowers, the petals flying and her saying i knew you would do this to me. it's the drama of evermore over and i recognize it, i want to shout to carrie, i knew it, too. and the moment in ancient times that overlaps with the moment of now. we are my blood and i am theirs, and yours, Diego here now, too in the mix of it. i want to love every last one of the people connected to this child. if not for myself alone, for his sake the trials and dramas must come to a close.
i have known all along that there is more, but have been so busy looking that as they say here it is. i wanted to bring him in to my world so that it would never be empty. not having him in the world at all could have been my mistake. these aren't the best reasons to have a child. people should be seriously trained in the art of rearing children rather than being let loose to procreate like the wild things that we are. i know that he didn't ask to be here. i had no freaking clue it would get so limitless and so personal all at once. my god, every moment i've lost through the lens of looking for the next one or focusing on the one that just went by. having a child brought me to my senses, over and over again but even so i have stubbornly resisted and rubbed salt in many old wounds.

he's been a load to me, too. and he's felt that from within me, from the moment he was latched on to my uterine wall. now i need to guide him in this crazy world. sometimes it ain't pretty. i feel as i force him to comply with the rules of the day, like meal times or nap schedules. i feel the pressure from outside forces to do things with this child i would never want to force upon an enemy, yet i know so well why i and he both need the nap to continue. it's been awful struggling up til now. i wonder if i were more present, would he respond in kind. within just a few moments of my being really focused on every single sensation, of being there fully, allowed him to surrender in a true slumber that has been hell-worn to try and bring on by casting all the images of what should work. lack of feeling it, of stepping in to the role and doing it timelessly and gracefully, with gratitude for the chance at all, has been bitterly frustrating and hard won. I've been in a fog of unfeeling-ness. not even a word, but i don't care. my shift key isn't working in case anyone but me reads this stuff and notices that i never use the correct punctuation or capitalize things properly anymore. i apologize for the confusion.

now i am seeing the vast connections to the outer world both created and reflected, and falling into a place rather than worrying through it, and feeling the fiber of being rather than hoping to feel it or working toward it or feeling helpless in the face of it.
there are many cycles to be broken and changed. directions are shifting in the wind of the future, but nothing can be there before it arrives. or at least it sounds good to me. all i know is, i feel bone-through alive and lit with love rather than scorched down with the fear of every last blamed thing.
and my sweet, heaven-sent lesson of love and duty, blessed treasure of a boy as dear as the coursing blood in my fingertips, is finally sound asleep and dreaming.

of moves and men

S3500148, originally uploaded by slamell.

don't even think i don't know it's ironic that my blog is titled as much for myself as it is for Diego. i know perfectly that the truth is, it's all about me and how i am growing up, too. take coming home, for instance. never in a million years would i have expected to turn up at my parent's door, with my own child, still needing their help, love and support on such a physical and basic level. they have graciously accepted us into their already full lives, and freely given of their money, time, and sympathy for me in a deeply difficult time in my life. if anyone has been foolish, unwise or hasty, we've also been busy, picking up the pieces of a broken life to build a picture of family for my son.

as my wise old friend who still surprises me with his simple, clear-cut method of no bullshit, straight to the heart dissection of the matter sagely said after hearing from my reserves of guilt,

it's not about you or him anymore. that's over. when you have a kid, that's the new truth. time to grow up. what you do now is for that awesome kid of yours. and giving him family, having this time together, that's more important, that's all there is. there's nothing without that.

I've spent too much time trying to justify moving home and resisting being here. and the funny thing is, i say i don't like it here all the time because i don't like the material culture of this affluent suburb, the superficiality of the people, especially the women, and the influence or fear of that influence on my son. but, all i want to do is end my suffering and live in the present, both aware and in a state of joy. i want my son to be happy and healthy and for the most part he is. i am blessed with family who despite everything i say and do, and all i put them through, have proven to love me and believe in me above all others, and they do the best everyday with who and where they are on their own journey through this garden of earthly delights and horrors, the endless and omnipresent push-pull of life, ebullient, flowing, and never a dull moment. never.

the thing is, I've spent many years uprooting myself, moving around and trying to make a family of sorts. been too many moves where the direct line to why is drawn to a guy. i had a baby with a dude that i should have never even moved in with, let alone moved across state lines for. yet the journey was amazing, i touched lives with so many people i wouldn't even know otherwise. we wouldn't even have our baby if i hadn't have wanted to hurt someone, a guy that broke my heart. in an infantile rebounding leap, i slept with my ex-boyfriend's roommate and now we're forever bound. a wise choice, maybe not. a family, of sorts, well...ignoble intentions brought me here, to parenthood, with all of its lessons and journeys. it's not as simple as all that, i know. still, had i not been so eager to get back at a stupid man, i would never be charged with the burden and blessing of doing my damndest to raise a good one.

so i think that question should be put out of my heart for once and for all. I'm tired of feeling tightrope stretched between here and there, pulled back and forth like a transcontinental yo-yo. I'm doing the best i can, today and every day, for Diego. if both Diego's parents were able to do that, well, some things might have happened differently. i don't want to feel like I've done someone wrong. people can do things for their children that don't always make the most sense to every outside onlooker. i think giving Diego some stability, a family, maybe not perfect but nonetheless his own, is the best possible choice for now. there's no reason that life should be in one place, and nothing is ever permanent. Diego needs two loving parents and that he has, but only one of us has continually made the kind of daily, selfless sacrifices that parents need to make for their children.

if i come across as childish, spoiled, or just plain lucky, it's because i have one hell of a family. I've done loads of stuff that many people couldn't even dream up. my resume reads like a lonely planet smorgasbord. i think i landed at home for now 'cause i needed to. i can deal with that. yeah. this wanderer has made a stop. sure, it's in my little sister's old bedroom. okay, my folks eat fast food and i feel my own health decline just watching them. do we always agree or get along, hell no. it doesn't have to be earth shattering to live here. to tell the truth, right now, i don't even care. i just want to know that these feet are walking on the ground that they stand on and not feeling like they want to fly away. it's true, maybe i left some people i love along the way.

but maybe, just maybe, someone will make a move for me, for once. until then, I'm staying put and letting life happen

here and now.
right here, right now.

the good food blues

i feel like the quality of life has gone out the window since we left the farm and moved back to the 'burbs. on the surface, we're living better than ever: we have a beautiful home, a local swimming pool, an upscale child care facility. we're living with my folks in their fancy townhouse, with all the trappings of modern convenience. we've got a patio with a table outside, the umbrella opens with a remote. the can opener is battery operated and cuts the lid off without any cranking. the kitchen is a cook's dream, designed by my mom who is ironically not a chef. brand new wolf ceramic range, double oven, fill-pot at the range and a sink fit for the iron chef, a chopping island and counter-tops of granite, and about 13 different cutting boards to choose from. we've got an entire set of gleaming all-clad cookware that sits at the ready. seems as if we have everything we could possibly need, and since we're with family, they are footing the bill, too.
what's my beef with all this luxury, you may wonder...
well, when i worked on an organic farm i sure wasn't rich. we were living in a crappy area in germantown, philadelphia, because i couldn't afford anything better. i barely scraped by, and for the last few months of my time there, i couldn't even do that. i was alone with a small child all day every day and it wasn't always by choice, though i do love him dearly. my poverty was both material and spiritual. but one thing i had in spades was fresh, organic vegetables. they were coming out my ears. i didn't ever get the chance to use all of my farm share each week, and spent a lot of time trying to pawn off extra beets or kale greens on the neighbors. sometimes i felt the pressure of cooking everyday was too much, and we'd go out to eat at a local diner. but most of the time, i was doing something that i don't do here in museum-land very often. i was making my child delicious, nutritious meals from scratch using premium ingredients that couldn't get more local. i shopped by foot or bike, saving my fossil fuels for my work commute, at our local co-op where i purchased my grains, dairy, and of course, veggie booty for the boy. i made pancakes from a recipe, not a box. i didn't pop toaster waffles in; i mixed batter and spooned it into my waffle iron. i made fluffy german pancakes and morning muffins and cornbread. i made brown rice in bulk and froze small batches. i soaked my dry beans overnight and bubbled them on the stove to make homemade hummus and black bean burritos. i didn't care if the dishes soaked for a few days, i was happy to be making the kind of wholesome food that would fight off any negative bacteria breeding in the kitchen sink. i had a compost system for my food scraps. i worked in the sun everyday, and i taught kids about nature. i may have been overworked, underpaid, and a little depressed, but hell, we ate like royalty.
these days our morning starts with frozen waffles or pancakes from trader joe's. lunch might be a can of elmo soup, string cheese, a fistful of pretzels. dinner is typically of the frozen variety or brought by my hard-working father. the nights he comes home early he often stops on his way , buying burgers, fries, and hot dogs from a local fast food joint. this is how i grew up, although my mom did make us food more often in those days from scratch. we had a lot of skirt steak and spaghetti, rice-a-roni, and shake and bake, sugar cereals for breakfast. our house had a great selection of unhealthy after school snacks and was a favorite destination for those of my friends whose parents were more health-conscious than mine. oreo cookies, chips ahoy, and homemade brownies by my dad are still mentioned when i get together with the gals from the good old days.
so now i shop at the local farmers market when i can. i wait for my parents to go out to dinner with their friends, and then i take over the kitchen. it's not everyday gourmet around here, but at least we're not out on the street. and i dream of the day when i'll have the resources to have my own place, my own kitchen. and leave the dishes to rot while i throw some flour on the floor and make a batch of my dad's famous chocolate chip cookies--from scratch.

Birthday Epiphany

So, besides this being the best picture ever, it's also my newest aspiration. in these times of troubled economy, and renewed environmental concern, this is one home that requires no fossil fuels and needs no part of non-renewable resources. well, legs are non-renewable if pedaled right off a body...but other than that, this looks like a cozy, safe, and utterly recession-proof way to own a home in these rough times. hook up some solar panels, volunteer as a campground host, and enjoy your life rent free and in luxury for pennies. i think callaway and diego would dig it, too.