I'm sitting in my wonderful local public library, alternating between trying to write, watching the incredible, visionary groundbreaking work of Tommy Caldwell and Kevin Jorgeson as they top out of the Dawn Wall in Yosemite, and appreciation the screams of delight from the toddler set hearing "If You Give a Moose a Muffin" for the first time.
There are times to write, and then there are times to sit at the table, feel the precious January sunlight stream across the honey wood table and splash on your face, and just marvel at a what a wonderful thing it is to be alive. To find joy and glee in the ordinary, and to be inspired and awed by feats of daring and endurance, all in the same millisecond.
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
A friend shared these with me today. As firefighters and medics, we don't talk much about the incredible emotional burden some of our calls take, or the PTSD that haunts some of our brothers and sisters. This photographer/ artist so beautifully captures a moment in time, albeit some very difficult ones. This brought me tears. Purging, cathartic, healthy tears.
Warning: Some of these are very graphic and may be disturbing.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
A note: this here blackbird blog is a symbol of my individuality and belief in personal freedom. Wait, that's my snakeskin jacket…
In all seriousness, on several levels as a family we've been through some very trying events lately, and as part of that, this blog was brought under review and close scrutiny. I have felt stalked, personally attacked, and censored, while at the same time having a monumental learning moment and realizing that the internet really is open source and that I don't want to cause anyone-- ANYONE-- distress or harm. Apparently, that's what one of my posts did. I apologize, as that was never my intent. This blog is my sounding board, my writing practice, and my open-to-the-world (in more ways that I had previously realized) forum where I try putting some of the small stuff, which is really the big stuff, into words and phrases that are relatable and occasionally entertaining-- all with admittedly varied success. I'm not going to stop writing, in fact, I hope to be writing more in the near future (read: AFTER kid soccer season). Writing is my creative passion and a source of meditation and expression, and I hope I can share things with the world that make people feel better, or at the very least not alone. If these words have meaning and affect anyone, I hope it's to change the world for the better, to access the humanity, compassion, and empathy that I firmly believe runs deep in most everyone.
To that end, I will be more careful. I write MY experience, what is true and perceived by me, and I'd be a fool to expect that my purview of the world is anyone else's. If anyone actually still reads this dusty old thing, please take it as such. This isn't fiction, it's not a legal document, it's not absolute fact-- it's my life, my perceptions, my dreams, my struggles, and my observations. No one else's. I tried to get Anne Lamott to help out, but she was busy.
So, to the 5 or 6 people that actually read this (hi, mom and dad!), I want to do better. I won't stop writing about my journey, but I will more carefully consider how I bring others into my compulsive over-sharing. I'll close with a quote from Ms. Lamott. Welcome to my sandcastle.
“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander. We build this place with the sand of memories; these castles are our memories and inventiveness made tangible. So part of us believes that when the tide starts coming in, we won't really have lost anything, because actually only a symbol of it was there in the sand. Another part of us thinks we'll figure out a way to divert the ocean. This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won't wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.”
In all seriousness, on several levels as a family we've been through some very trying events lately, and as part of that, this blog was brought under review and close scrutiny. I have felt stalked, personally attacked, and censored, while at the same time having a monumental learning moment and realizing that the internet really is open source and that I don't want to cause anyone-- ANYONE-- distress or harm. Apparently, that's what one of my posts did. I apologize, as that was never my intent. This blog is my sounding board, my writing practice, and my open-to-the-world (in more ways that I had previously realized) forum where I try putting some of the small stuff, which is really the big stuff, into words and phrases that are relatable and occasionally entertaining-- all with admittedly varied success. I'm not going to stop writing, in fact, I hope to be writing more in the near future (read: AFTER kid soccer season). Writing is my creative passion and a source of meditation and expression, and I hope I can share things with the world that make people feel better, or at the very least not alone. If these words have meaning and affect anyone, I hope it's to change the world for the better, to access the humanity, compassion, and empathy that I firmly believe runs deep in most everyone.
To that end, I will be more careful. I write MY experience, what is true and perceived by me, and I'd be a fool to expect that my purview of the world is anyone else's. If anyone actually still reads this dusty old thing, please take it as such. This isn't fiction, it's not a legal document, it's not absolute fact-- it's my life, my perceptions, my dreams, my struggles, and my observations. No one else's. I tried to get Anne Lamott to help out, but she was busy.
So, to the 5 or 6 people that actually read this (hi, mom and dad!), I want to do better. I won't stop writing about my journey, but I will more carefully consider how I bring others into my compulsive over-sharing. I'll close with a quote from Ms. Lamott. Welcome to my sandcastle.
“You are lucky to be one of those people who wishes to build sand castles with words, who is willing to create a place where your imagination can wander. We build this place with the sand of memories; these castles are our memories and inventiveness made tangible. So part of us believes that when the tide starts coming in, we won't really have lost anything, because actually only a symbol of it was there in the sand. Another part of us thinks we'll figure out a way to divert the ocean. This is what separates artists from ordinary people: the belief, deep in our hearts, that if we build our castles well enough, somehow the ocean won't wash them away. I think this is a wonderful kind of person to be.”
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Here it is, the cusp of summer. Brimming with hope, promise, change, release. There is a fullness to this time of year akin to the heavy sweetness of the ripest peach, or of a hot summer night with the cleansing of thunder brewing in the distance.
As school ends, we prepare to say good bye to the kids for the summer. This is always such a difficult, bittersweet time for Matt and I. For 10 months, we are a whirlwind, a gentle chaos, a frenzy of life, activity, love, family. Sometimes it's a sweet sail on calm waters, other times, it's surfing and just trying to ride the wave. It all builds every year to a peak, to celebrations, transition, feeling our solid groove as a family.
And then, a goodbye. We send our children off into the arms and homes of their other parents, and we do so with love, grace, and blessings for a bright and wonderful summer. There will be tears after-- there always are when we return to the profound, radical silence that descends for summer break-- but we send them off with big smiles, grateful hearts, and genuine appreciation for the variety of life and experiences that their lives hold. I am grateful to the fierce love and dedication of our exes-- our co-parents-- and their partners, and all the beautify and joy they share in their lives as well. Our resilient, big-hearted, wonderful kids- they are a special breed in this world, these children of divorce. They have challenges I never even dreamed of (or were my nightmares) as a child, but opportunities for growth and empathy, compassion and strength, that are borne out of their circumstances. I'm in awe of our kids.
Summer, I love you! I look forward to that time reconnecting with my husband. I look forward to the incredible changes we're about to make as we embark on moving to a home we buy together. I look forward to the radical wild freedom of Northwest summer adventures, dusty trails, river breezes, and the smell of glaciers and thick cedar forests. To sun, thunder, rain, waves. I look forward to nights spent exploring Portland by bike, music in new places, found tastes and sensory travels in our back yard.
But already, I look forward to knowing that at the end of summer, once again, the din returns. The chaos flows back in sweet like honey, abrupt, wild, wonderful. I can't wait to see who my children have become over the summer, and revel in their adventures and growth. I am excited to watch us come back together, knit the next chapter, and hold the space for each other as we grow and learn.
I cherish the beautiful balance of my life, ever continually learning, appreciating, becoming,
As school ends, we prepare to say good bye to the kids for the summer. This is always such a difficult, bittersweet time for Matt and I. For 10 months, we are a whirlwind, a gentle chaos, a frenzy of life, activity, love, family. Sometimes it's a sweet sail on calm waters, other times, it's surfing and just trying to ride the wave. It all builds every year to a peak, to celebrations, transition, feeling our solid groove as a family.
And then, a goodbye. We send our children off into the arms and homes of their other parents, and we do so with love, grace, and blessings for a bright and wonderful summer. There will be tears after-- there always are when we return to the profound, radical silence that descends for summer break-- but we send them off with big smiles, grateful hearts, and genuine appreciation for the variety of life and experiences that their lives hold. I am grateful to the fierce love and dedication of our exes-- our co-parents-- and their partners, and all the beautify and joy they share in their lives as well. Our resilient, big-hearted, wonderful kids- they are a special breed in this world, these children of divorce. They have challenges I never even dreamed of (or were my nightmares) as a child, but opportunities for growth and empathy, compassion and strength, that are borne out of their circumstances. I'm in awe of our kids.
Summer, I love you! I look forward to that time reconnecting with my husband. I look forward to the incredible changes we're about to make as we embark on moving to a home we buy together. I look forward to the radical wild freedom of Northwest summer adventures, dusty trails, river breezes, and the smell of glaciers and thick cedar forests. To sun, thunder, rain, waves. I look forward to nights spent exploring Portland by bike, music in new places, found tastes and sensory travels in our back yard.
But already, I look forward to knowing that at the end of summer, once again, the din returns. The chaos flows back in sweet like honey, abrupt, wild, wonderful. I can't wait to see who my children have become over the summer, and revel in their adventures and growth. I am excited to watch us come back together, knit the next chapter, and hold the space for each other as we grow and learn.
I cherish the beautiful balance of my life, ever continually learning, appreciating, becoming,
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