self-acceptance {a meditation}

Tomorrow, some of us will begin a two month daily reflection meditation. (To read more about this, see this post and this post.) The following meditation can be used on its own or as a starting point for the daily reflection meditation.

For this meditation, you need to have a mirror near you. However, you can choose not to use a mirror and instead imagine a mirror in your mind and imagine your reflection.

There is no time limit for this meditation. If you listen to the audio post, you can continue past the end of the audio and sit with this meditation for as long as you like.

*******

Finding a comfortable way to sit, begin to come into your body. Close your eyes.

Take a moment to find your center.
Let you next inhalation begin there.

As you breathe, begin to reflect on the word acceptance.
What comes to mind?
An image? An idea? A feeling?

When you are ready, bring your mind to the idea of self-acceptance.

With your next inhalation, begin to invite self-acceptance into your center.
As you exhale, let this self-acceptance settle over you like a blanket.

When you are ready, open your eyes and look in the mirror in front of you.
Continue to breathe from your center, connecting with the self-acceptance that resides there, that is a part of you.

Notice where your mind travels.
Breathe your way into the feelings.
Try to let go of any judgment that arises.
When you are ready, let the mind rest in the center of the body, in this place of self-acceptance.

Namaste.

********

If you have questions, would like to share your experience, or have suggestions, please send me an email. Blessings to you on your journey.

four things

1) Seeing friends you have known for 15 years, spending time with them, laughing together over breakfast, walking down memory lane is quite a treat. (And retiring at the end of the day into a romantic cabin with your husband who listens to it all and holds your hand ain't so bad either.)

2) Seeing two people in love, and watching them get married, is a very nice way to spend a Friday afternoon.

3) Teton National Park is one of the prettiest spots in all the country (at least that I have seen). And Jackson Lake Lodge has one of the best spots in all the world to have a meal (I think there are probably other spots that are gorgeous out there but this one is up toward the top of the list and you should go there if you are ever in that neck of the woods). You can sit at a table right by a huge window and look out at Jackson Lake with the Tetons behind it. They are right there. And there is only nature between you and them. Have another drink of wine and take a breath and look again. Heaven.

4) I have always been able to say, "oh no, I don't have back pain, I do yoga." Until today. Around 2:00 a.m. this morning, I woke up in excrutiating pain. And it didn't stop when I took some Advil, when I woke up again, after I ate breakfast, on the trip to the airport, on the first plane ride when I was basically in tears from pain, while in airport #2 (though my mind was momentarily distracted by a nice dish of frozen yogurt), while finishing the first book, while on plane ride #2, while reading the first 80 pages of book #2, while waiting for our luggage, while waiting in the emergency room, while being told I had to put on a hospital robe (the second time tears began), while explaining to the doctor that standing seems to be the best option and reduces the pain by a tiny bit, while explaining the pain is up there on the 1-10 scale and that I haven't been in labor so I don't know if it is that bad, while being diagnosed with sciatica, while holding in the tears when the doctor left the room because this yoga teacher knows this diagnosis is not a good one, while waiting for special pills, while riding in the car home (finally), while eating thai food, while trying to finish work before going to bed. Nope. Pain. Now I "get" back pain. Whenever a student comes to me in the future to explain back pain, I will be able to nod and say, "oh how I know that."

What 4 things have you been up to while I have been gone?

eat, drink, and be merry (or in this case, married)

Later today, Jon and I are headed to Jackson, Wyoming for the wedding of one of my boarding school friends. In college, I spent a summer there with this friend and three others; it is gorgeous country. Jon has never been, and I can't wait to introduce him to it all.

While I am gone, please enjoy these two poems by Li-Young Lee (I have been smitten with his words since I "discovered" the poem "Persimmons" last week. The first is called "Eating Together" and falls into the realm of the PT food prompt; the second is a tender poem called "The Gift."

Head on over to Poetry Thursday to link to more poems.
Also, look at Swirly's new site for 52 Figments.
And, check out Melba's new contest to support an incredible charity.

as a meditation {self portrait challenge} and another invitation

self portrait as a meditation

(for self portrait challenge)



Last Friday, I wrote about taking self portraits and how this exercise has invited me to look at myself physically. I also wrote about being inspired by Elizabeth Gilbert’s article in the August issue of Yoga Journal. She describes a time in her life when she had a daily practice of looking in the mirror at herself to find the beauty. Her beauty. Even though this invites various emotions inside my head and heart, I am going to begin this practice. A daily reflection meditation.

My practice will begin August 1st and continue for at least two months. I know me, and I know how hard it is for me to stick with something that might be a challenge, so I am committing to this today. I am going to check in about it here, each Wednesday, during these two months. And I hope a couple of you will gently hold me accountable as needed.

Over the last few days, some of you have expressed an interest in joining me in this practice. I appreciate that each person may have varying levels of interest, but I feel the need to put this out in the universe:

Will you commit to two months of this reflection meditation with me?

Here are some things to think about if you decide to say yes:

Find a place in your house where you can be alone, just you and a mirror.
Find a time just for you. Let family know you will need a few minutes to yourself.
Turn the ringer off the phone/move it to another room/choose a room without a phone; commit to letting go of the outside world during this time.
You might want to use a small notebook or journal to write down a reflection after you finish the meditation.
There is no time limit or expectation. Some of us may start at 30 seconds, others at 5 minutes; let your heart guide you to figure out what works for you.

I will continue to post ideas and encouragement during the next two months. I want to balance the idea of the importance of community through this experience while honoring the deeply personal practice of this meditation. I believe the community already exists in blog world and participating in something like this, and blogging about it if you like, will only make this community stronger. At this point, I am not going to create a list of participants. However, if you want to, you could email me, and let me know you are joining the meditation. I appreciate that some people may choose not to blog about this but would still like to let me know they will participate, and I would love to be able to check in with you throughout the experience.

Next Monday, I will post an audio guided meditation that you could use to get you started with this practice. I will also post the text of the meditation in case you would prefer to read it to yourself.

I hope some of you will come along on the journey.
Namaste.

senses journey {a meditation}

An invitation to spend a little time away from it all...

a check in...and another adventure with rebecca louise paulson {sunday scribblings}

Checking in...
I just want to thank you all for the unexpected gift that your comments to Friday's post gave me. Thank you.
I have been twirling some ideas around in my mind about this reflection meditation and will post some ideas on Tuesday. Stay tuned.

Sunday Scribblings...
This is another story about the little girl who has been living inside my head for the last few weeks. If you missed the first one, you can find it here.

*******

Rebecca Louise Paulson sat on a stool at a long brown table, the tip of her paint brush poised over the space that separated the turquoise and red paint. She closed her eyes.

It was Tuesday afternoon, right after lunch, and Tuesday afternoon, right after lunch, found Rebecca in art class. At the beginning of class, Mr. Van Dyke had handed out National Geographic magazines and invited the students to find a photograph of an animal that they wanted to paint. Rebecca couldn’t believe her luck. Last night’s adventure had taken her and her brother to the jungles along the Amazon River. Rebecca had spent time with the most gorgeous butterfly named Tatiana. Rebecca didn’t ever want to forget the shades of blue that adorned Tatiana’s wings. Now was her chance to paint them.

She had smiled at Mr. Van Dyke as she took the magazine and had spent a few moments looking through it. She was the first to walk over to the paints and squirt colors onto her palette. She used the deep navy to paint the outline of Tatiana’s wings. Then she swirled cobalt blue and turquoise together until she blended the perfect shade for the inner upper section of the wings. She continued to swirl the blues, getting lighter and lighter toward the body of the butterfly.
But it was the moment she reached for the red paint to mix with white to make pink so she could outline the proboscis that she suddenly remembered her brother had handed her a red rock at the end of last night’s dream.

Her fist clenched as she closed her eyes to remember exactly where they had been standing when she had wrapped her fingers around that rock. In her mind, she unclenched her fist and looked at the rock.

Yes. Red.

She had to write this down in her notebook.

Rebecca pushed away from the table and walked up to Mr. Van Dyke. “Please may I use the bathroom?”

“Of course, just hang your smock up on one of the hooks please.”

Rebecca began to unbutton her father’s old navy and white pinstriped oxford that she wore over her Tuesday-means-fern-green jumper. She hung up the shirt as she passed by the hooks right inside the door of the art room.

After walking through the doorway, she took a quick left and walked over to her pumpkin orange backpack. She took it down from the hook, the same one she always used, the fifth hook from the left, and quickly unzipped it, reaching inside for her small pink spiral notebook. Snapping open the front pocket, she grabbed a #2 pencil and next to her previous note, “next to huge fern at bend in river near Tatiana’s house,” she wrote, “red rock. color of bricks on our house. size of a nickel.” Then she reached in to the bottom of her pack, into the super secret compartment, to reassure herself that the handkerchief and its sacred contents were in the right place. Sighing, she tucked everything back into the right pockets and stood up. Deciding she wanted a drink of water, she walked further down the hall and turned right toward the nearest drinking fountain, took two gulps of water, and began to walk back toward the art room, stopping to look at the bulletin board outside the second grade classroom. That class had made self portraits this week, and every time she walked by them, she liked to look at the third one from the right in the second row.

She ambled back to the art room, but before she walked back into the room, she turned to toward the backpack hooks to make sure all looked fine.

Anyone looking out in the hallway at that moment would have seen a little girl wearing a fern green jumper over a white oxford, red knee socks, black mary janes, with her long brown hair in two braided pigtails and her mouth wide open.

Rebecca Louise Paulson’s pumpkin orange backpack was no longer on the hook where she had left it four minutes ago.

She took a moment to consider her options. Then she whipped her body around and headed to the library.

Mrs. Harrison, the librarian, was reading to Mrs. B’s second graders. They were seated in the reading circle area that was between the biographies and the nature books. Rebecca peeked out from behind the biography shelf until Mrs. Harrison looked up to show the second grade class the illustration on the page she was reading.

Mrs. Harrison took one look at Rebecca and paused, then, handing the book to Mrs. B., said, “Mrs. B. will you pick up from here?” The other teacher nodded.

Taking Rebecca by the hand, Mrs. Harrison led her to her desk, sat Rebecca in a chair next to the desk and asked her what was wrong.

“My backpack. It’s been stolen!” Rebecca whispered. “I went to get a drink, it was there when I left, but when I went back to art class, it was gone.”

Mrs. Harrison looked at Rebecca and said, “This is quite serious my dear. I am going to walk down to Principal McFee’s office and discuss this at once. We should waste no time. However, you must head back to art before Mr. Van Dyke suspects something. Come back here during the passing period and I will update you.”

Rebecca nodded. “Thank you,” she said as she stood up.

“Off you go.”

After she pushed open the library door and walked into the hallway, she turned left and walked with her head down, counting the tiles on the floor. She turned left again and entered the art room’s hallway. Counting 14 more tiles, she looked up to see how many to go until the art room door but came to an immediate halt.

Standing at the hooks outside the door of Mr. Van Dyke’s classroom was a sixth grade boy.

And he was hanging Rebecca Louise Paulson’s backpack on the fifth hook from the left.

Rebecca smiled to herself. Two nights ago that jaguar had explained to Rebecca and her brother that perfecting their ability to stalk prey would come in handy. She couldn’t wait to tell her brother that jaguar had been right.

an invitation...to really look

Taking self portraits of myself has become part of my routine over the last few months. To pose for the camera, to pose just for me, to look at myself. After taking lots of pictures (except in March when I took just one a day), I look at them and often hear that inner voice who just wants to let me know that I am not pretty. Eventually, I find the one photo that I can share with, well the world, but also the photo I can agree on, with myself, to stare at whenever I come to this page.

My journey has been about the work inside. Unpacking the baggage, looking at it to see if there is something to learn, if there are reasons amidst some of the shit. Looking at the moments I am triggered and why, looking at the patterns, and so on, but also to recognize the beauty that is there, that is part of my life. The beauty of the world around me, of the people in my life, of the path I am on, and the beauty inside me. But throughout this, there is this piece of beauty on the outside. The other stuff seems like the hard stuff. But this outside piece, accepting my physical looks, this is a big part of the baggage as well. I have just been so focused on the inner stuff because it is easier, on some level, than…well, than looking at the outside…of me.

As I mentioned on Tuesday’s post, on Monday, when I took this week’s self portraits, I felt something shift as I looked at my face on the computer screen in front of me. There have been moments of this over the past few months, a whisper of self-acceptance. There has been an awakening and a determination to get over my negative body image and “face beauty” issues. But it then it goes back to a whisper, and most of the time, I just forget to listen for it.

In the August issue of Yoga Journal, Elizabeth Gilbert (the author of the "much talked about in blog world" book Eat, Pray, Love – a book I really want to read) writes about finding her own beauty. After realizing she was wrapped up in being self-critical of her looks to the extent it was consuming her, she asked a yogi friend of hers what she should do. The woman recommended she spend time, every day, looking in the mirror until she recognized her own beauty.

A piece of my negative physical image is about my body: Not being thin enough, always being “my biggest friend,” not being able to find clothes sometimes, having clerks give me "that look" when I walk in certain stores. But another piece is wanting to feel pretty. Wanting to be one of the pretty ones. Wanting to see my face as pretty. As Gilbert says, “A person’s face is, you might say, the spokesperson for the soul.” Yes. And I want people to see my soul, but first they see my face. The face that often has multiple chins. The face that looks tired and is gathering wrinkles each day.

As I read about Gilbert’s experience, I began to wonder if I could have a daily meditation where I sit across from myself, all alone, in the quiet, and look at my own face. I could start with one minute…or maybe 30 seconds. And work my way up to a few minutes. Each day. Until I recognize me.

The idea is that you have to accept the shell that carries your soul, before you can let go. Let go of the desire to be the pretty one, of the ego involved, of the past that might hold you a bit too tight. Let go to be free of the way your body image weighs you down when you are trying to fly.

Do you want to join me? We could start with 5 seconds, 45 seconds, 2 minutes. We could do this together. A daily meditation of reflection. A daily meditation to recognize the beauty.

random thoughts on my mind...

Right now, the man who is doing some sort of work on the house across the street (and has been for a while now) is stretched out, prone, on their roof soaking in the sun. It cracks me up. I wonder if the retirees who live in the house, who are always looking out the window, are thinking "where'd he go?" Because I am camped out at the dining room table (I am often on the couch instead...my back likes the couch better than a chair when I am using my laptop but because I have to use a mouse for this current project and because I am working 12-16 hours days on said laptop I have to be able to see out the window and this room has the best light), I can chuckle out loud at a man sunning himself on a roof across the street.

This week, I have been listening to Deb Talan's CD "a bird flies out" over and over and over. If you are on a journey...

to find yourself

through grief or sadness

of awakening

looking for love

realizing you have wings

...well, my friends, this is the CD for you. You should buy it/download it right now (and when you do, you should come back and tell me all about it). If you already own it, go turn it on. Right now. These songs have filled me up this week. Filled me up. I keep listening to Talan's sweet voice with headphones on and I just sing along. Out loud as though I am in concert with her (my husband is so patient with me and my little quirks). I feel like her lyrics have just stopped right in front of me, peeked inside my soul, and given me the gift I needed this week.

When I work for this many hours, and late into the night, I dream in Word. Literally. Last night I was trying to figure out how to fit myself (as in me, the person, me) inside a bullet point in a document in Word. I think I need to sit in a dark room with an eyepillow over my eyes and just a quiet CD of chanting playing in the background. For about five hours.

I keep thinking of that poem "Persimmons" I posted the link to for Poetry Thursday. That poem is incredible. Even if you aren't "into" poetry...or you don't like long poems...take a moment to read it out loud. It might change your life (those last lines...his father's words...they will haunt me forever).

Storypeople. Some of you noticed the Brian Andreas prints behind me in my self-portraits this week. I am a bit of a collector (we have a lot more than these four...you don't even want to know how many). Right after my parents separated in 1995, my mother and I found Andreas' work in a little shop in Berea, KY. I had also just discovered Sark's books. The combination of these two amazing, creative, soulful artists changed my life. With Storypeople, I have found that there are stories that speak to me at different times in my life. I have given some prints away when it seems that they have spent enough time with me, and someone else needs them. (But the sculptures, well, the sculptures I don't give away but I have loaned one with that same idea in mind.) If ever you stop by for a visit, one activity I would love to do is sit down with some Storypeople books and read the stories out loud. Oh yes. That is one of my most favorite things to do. You take a couple of books, I take a couple, we share the ones that invite us to laugh out loud, nod in agreement, sigh, tear up a bit, the ones that speak to our souls. We can drink tea or wine and have cookies and cheese. Until then though, you could go to the website and let me know which stories you love. (And if you want to know some of my favorites email me.)

Oh and an update on my brother the rock star. He is living in Portland doing the rock star thing. His pet project Daytime Volume (he is also the drummer in the band) has just been signed to a label in Portland. They will be playing at the CMJ Music Marathon in NYC in October. Very cool. But before then, you can hear them in Portland next month! Check out their myspace page.

it's all about the layers around here {poetry thursday}

happy poetry thursday to all!

i didn't have time to bring my pen to paper and write my own words this week (too busy editing the words of others), but i did venture out into the web to find some poems that got my mind turning a bit.

for my post at PT today, i talked about layers. i feel like poetry is all about the layers of our lives, but i think this is because poetry is really about the journey that is life. this is why poetry has plopped itself down into the middle of my world. and why my response was simply "you are welcome to stay" when i realized it wasn't going to leave.

as i read this poem, "Persimmons" by Li-Young Lee, the words wrapped around me like a blanket and i settled into the poet's memories as he peeled them back, layer by layer. i admit to letting the tears just fall as i read the last lines again this evening. not that it is sad so much as gorgeous. it is as though the lines have reached inside of me. inside of my heart. i breathe them in.

i love poetry.

and then i visited "True Love" by Sharon Olds. over the last few months, she keeps stopping by for tea. and how lucky am i to read her words when she does. this poem speaks to a piece of the reality of married sex. how it is to feel so very comfortable with another person. to be yourself with this person. to love one another. but to also venture down the hallway to the bathroom in the middle of the night together after you have made love...

and finally...i discovered a delightful podcast about sex, weddings, and wrestling at poetryfoundation.org. click over to this page and scroll down to the May 24, 2006 edition. sit back with your tea, or wine, or coffee, or ice cream....and enjoy.

as a reflection of hope {self portrait challenge}

This is how I want to be.
For you.
For me.
A reflection of hope.

Yesterday, a dear friend and I were talking about the idea of why we come to these online journals open for all the world to see and then we write our stories. And for both of us, one real reason is that by coming to this page and writing the truth of our lives, we hope that someone out there reading might realize they are not alone.

This has such power for me.



But sometimes I forget that this means I am not alone too.

Last night, I had one of those "fuck. my grandmother is totally dead and i can never talk to her again for real. this just sucks so much. i hate it. i am so pissed at her for dying like that. and i am pissed at the universe that this is what life hands us. and that it will keep handing it to me whenever it wants" moments. Triggered by one little line in a Kenny Rogers' song I was listening to at midnight as I worked away on this huge editing project that has been keeping me glued to my laptop for 12 or more hours a day lately. The line, "If I close my eyes, it doesn't hurt quite so bad. 'Cause tonight I just lost the best friend I ever had." If only I would have paused to take a drink of tea during the next song, "on a warm summer's eve, on a train..." well, you know the rest.

And in that moment...the house quiet...the darkness caved in for a moment. So alone.

A little while later, I stopped my work and downloaded the self portraits I had taken earlier.

I saw this woman's reflection. A spark of something in her eye. A peaceful look on her face. She seems wise. As though she lives on her path and walks in her life. As though she knows.



As I soaked in these images, Deb Talen's words, ones I had been listening to on repeat for a while before Kenny dropped by, echoed in my head "you are a phoenix with your feathers still a little wet...the ashes just look pretty on your eyes...dry your wings in the sun, you have only begun to understand."

Yes. Yes. Yes.

Hope...

I am beginning to understand. I am finding my way. And I am not alone. Even in the loneliest darkness, I have me.



(Little does Thea realize that she actually inspired this post for another reason. On Sunday night, I took another break from editing world, and I dipped into the archives of her blog and found this post which prompted me to buy Deb Talen's CD on iTunes. Thank you friend. Thank you.)

create peace {a meditation}

I invite you to join me in this meditation to create peace today.

(This is dedicated to the reader who visits me every now and then who lives in the city of Haifa in Israel. I see you come across my sitemeter, and I send you blessings.)

all that stuff, all that baggage {sunday scribblings}

I have caught a glimpse of her at different moments of my life. I think it began when I was about three or so; I would be walking and suddenly she would be there. I remember seeing her skipping down a sidewalk, arms waving in the air as she sang to a song in her head. On another day, when I was about five or so, she was sitting up in a tree with a little lunchbox balancing next to her and she was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I must have been about nine the first time I saw her with more than just that lunchbox. She was carrying a huge tote bag that seemed to be filled with lots of stuff and was much bigger than her little shoulders could hold. She still smiled and waved though.

A few years later, I came across her in the middle of a rainstorm. She didn’t have on a raincoat and stood on a street corner shivering. She was wearing a backpack and carrying that tote. Before I could ask her if she needed any help, she hopped on a bus and was off once again.

For a while, I kept looking for her, hoping she was fine and that maybe the bus had taken her someplace that felt like home. And one day my question was answered. There she was, standing on the shores of a lake, smiling. She was wearing the backpack still and carrying the tote bag. And she had a little suitcase next to her. But she looked happy and content.

About 10 years ago, I remember seeing her in the middle of an airport. She had a trunk, two suitcases, a backpack, and a basket on her head. She was carrying at least six of those tote bags and a huge purse. I just stood there watching her pull it all through the terminal. “How were they ever going to let her get on that plane?” ran through my head over and over for weeks after that. At the time, I didn’t even think about how odd it was that she didn’t use one of those carts or ask someone to help her.

A few years ago, she was sitting on the trunk with four suitcases, about eight tote bags, and two backpacks surrounding her, her face buried in her hands. The little lunchbox was tumbled over to one side. My heart ached for her, but I was too shy to comfort her. I wish I could have told her that it would be okay and that if she wanted, she could just get up and leave it all there, taking only what she needed. Taking only what she wanted to bring along to that next minute, day, year, lifetime. I wish I could have told her that she could just walk away from it all.

About a year later, I thought I saw her out of the corner of my eye getting ready to climb up on a merry-go-round. But by the time I turned my head, she was gone.

And last year, well, last year was different. I stumbled across her in the middle of a spring day. She was sitting on a rock along the sea. All she had with her was the little lunchbox and her backpack. She was clutching them both to her and sobbing. Not wanting to disturb her, even though I knew I might actually be able to talk to her this time, I tiptoed away quietly.

Well, lately, we have been running into each other quite a bit. Sometimes she just waves as she sits amidst wildflowers watching hummingbirds zoom over her head. Other days, over her shoulder she carries a curly willow branch with a bandana tied around the end. “Must be full of the important things,” I think to myself when I see that indigo blue bandana. There are some days when she has that backpack again and a suitcase or two at her side. And when I catch her eye, she just looks at me and shrugs her shoulders with a “doing the best I can” look on her face. Then she wheels the suitcases away.

It’s kind of nice knowing she is out there somewhere figuring it all out as she goes.
(to read about more baggage, click over to sunday scribblings)

another secret love

It all started in June of 2001, on my birthday to be exact. Well, it might have started before then, when I saw Bridget Jones’s Diary earlier that year, but I didn’t really meet him until June of 2001.
Mr. Darcy.
Over a week, I spent six glorious hours with him. And I ate up every minute. From his brooding, egotistical moments to his white, wet shirt to his professions of love. Yes. Yummy. I fell in love with him.
At the time, I was convinced I had fallen in love with Colin Firth. I mean, how could you not? And soon after finishing all six hours of BBC’s Pride and Prejudice, there was a nice, large photo of Mr. Firth in a magazine I was reading. So, his beautiful face became a fixture on my fridge. Yes. He became my secret boyfriend. Well, I often referred to him as such, so I guess he really became my not-so-secret boyfriend.

Though at some point, with no discussion, we began to grow apart.

But then, June of 2006 arrived. The new version of Pride & Prejudice appeared in the mailbox via netflix. I had been adamant that I was not going to watch it. Ever. I mean there was only one Mr. Darcy for me. But after reading some positive reviews over the months (especially by fellow bloggers), I agreed (with myself) to give it a try. However, I was going to watch it and work at the same time. I didn’t plan to really pay much attention to it. Even though I had loved Matthew Macfadyen on MI-5, my mind was already made up before I watched it.

But then something unbelievable happened. I realized I wasn’t in love with Colin Firth. No. Actually, I am quite in love with Mr. Darcy. He had me from the very first moment once again. My heart went pitter patter as he looked at Elizabeth, as he confessed his love with such arrogance. Yes. He is such a stubborn, proud, rude, brooding man. And I love him.
I watched the movie again before sending it back. And to be honest, I think I could probably watch it every week. Though, not sure my heart could handle it.
After this, I caught Bridget Jones’s Diary on TV and relished in the way Mark Darcy is Mr. Darcy (even though Bridget is not so much Elizabeth). Don't get me wrong, I adore her in this movie.
As that movie ended, I added the second Bridget Jones movie to my netflix queue (though I hadn’t really planned to see it either. Didn’t love book number two like I loved the first book, and I didn’t really want to deal with Bridget and her drama. But Mr. Darcy had me under his spell). I did laugh during it and had a smile on my face every single time Mark Darcy walked onto the screen even though his face was often frowning.
Then, during the last week in June, I curled up on the couch and I watched the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice again. In one day.

Oh yes. Mr. Darcy. I love you.

Now, I have decided that I must read the book. I know some say it is thick, and I can hear Meg Ryan's character in You've Got Mail talking about getting lost in the language, but I am going to give it a try. Of course, I have to buy the book first.

By the way, Mr. Darcy probably wouldn’t have come in to my life if it hadn’t been for my husband. We had been dating for about six weeks when my 25th birthday came along. And he gave me BBC’s Pride and Prejudice. Little did he know that even though we made out at the end of every single episode of that mini-series, and I was deeply falling in love with him, I was falling in love with Mr. Darcy.

Don't worry, I know which one of them is my true love.

a little laughter...but also grief (again) {poetry thursday}

Reading the posts of Poetry Thursday participants last week...well...my heart felt so full. The community, the sharing, the discussion, the words, the poems, the introductions to favorite poets...all of this. Yes. Thank you. I am doing a little happy dance as I think about how much this project has grown in the last few months. A happy dance.

This week, I am sharing the poem I was working on last week. (It is still a bit in progress, and I welcome gentle suggestions via email if any spring to mind.)

A vacation interrupted

Last Tuesday,
with the temperature at 92 degrees,
I began to stick to myself.
Thoughts of rainbow sherbet,
icy raspberry, orange, and lime,
sent me on a holiday from
the hell of the living room.
As I snuck away,
I did not anticipate a memory
ripping off the bandage
I use to hold my heart together,
when at noon the next day,
I lifted the plastic lid, inhaled,
and traveled to the humidity
of another kitchen.

A teaspoon scooping
rainbow sherbert, she watched
as I pressed two scoops
into the little pink bowl with
scalloped edges, then she said,
“Are you going to eat all that?”
Later, after a commercial
break, with Gramps and I
sucked into a story about
teenage mothers on 20/20,
she would sneak to the kitchen
for seconds. The suction
of the shutting freezer door
became the invitation
to echo her words.

Lacking manners and
sneaking up from behind,
the eager claws of grief
clutched at my center
when her laughter
rang out inside my head.
Untangling, I opened
the cupboard, reached for
a small purple glass,
took out a teaspoon
from the drawer, and
began to scoop up
the ribbons of color,
pressing each spoonful
closer together.

*********

Inspired by The Writer's Almanac link I posted last week, my husband has invited me to share a new evening ritual with him. We sit together on the couch and listen to Garrison Keillor's daily post. A nightly date with my husband and poetry. What more could a girl want really?

Click on over to Poetry Thursday to share in the joys of poetry. Happy reading!

some of my favorite things in all the world (this week)

earlier this week, in one of the comment discussions that takes place at sprigs, i mentioned that i just might makes a list of my favorite things in all the world. well, here it is (at least for this week).

watching lynn’s hamster, tater, eat. tater is so cute as she stuffs her cheeks. and watching her little paws hold a raisin, well, I haven’t seen anything that cute in a long time.

entourage. this. show. cracks. me. up. sunday night i caught up on the last several episodes. kevin dillon makes me laugh. out. loud. love it.

the way my husband does his best to keep the sky from falling onto my head on days when it threatens to do so.

this poem by david whyte. erica introduced me to david whyte a few months ago on her blog. and i have been looking for a book of his poems ever since. over the weekend, in a little bookstore on bainbridge island, i found one. and i have been reading this poem before i go to sleep this week.

the movie the constant gardener. i know it has been out for a while, so i am just getting on board here. if you haven't seen it yet, i hope you will. it may not uplift you but it invites you to think. the acting is incredible. kind of want to be rachel weisz this week.

my dear friend melissa. she has known me for 15 years, and she is still my friend. our friendship becomes deeper every year, every day and this is a blessing. her sense of humor invites me to giggle and laugh and guffaw at times. we encourage one another to live in our lives authentically, even when this seems impossible. and i appreciate the way she holds me in her heart even though we are miles apart.

do you know the book bitter with baggage seeks same? well, i don’t own it, and part of the reason is because i love to rediscover it in bookstores and gift shops and open it and stand there reading it until tears of laughter roll down my face. not kidding. and in trying to explain this to lynn, i discovered that there IS A WEBSITE. please click on over to it, right now, and click to “extracts.” then come back here and tell me which one made you laugh out loud. (oh and if it is not your thing, no worries. surprised the hell out of me when I stood there laughing in urban outfitters a few years ago. i am more of a touchy-feely person as you might have known. but this book, well, it cracks me up.)

dancing. i have sucked jonny into dancing to marc broussard’s song “home” as millie watches us wondering what is happening.

the movie you’ve got mail. if you feel a bit bruised or overwhelmed (like I do this afternoon), and you need to catch your breath, watch this movie (you should own it so you can do this whenever you need it). escape to the lighthearted world this little movie gives you and enjoy the soundtrack. delightful. and now that i have seen pride and prejudice so many times lately (see the next one on this list), i enjoy all the references to this book (that i need to read, i know i do!) and the ways the characters parallel elizabeth and mr. darcy. you should know that i have seen you’ve got mail so many times that i can recite the lines along with the actors. and i still crack up at all the same jokes. every time. i love this movie. and today, i relate to meg ryan’s character kathleen even more than usual as she is trying to find her place in the world. she says, “i lead a small life, valuable but small. and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? so much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around?” yes. this is a feeling i know.

mr. darcy. yes. the mr. darcy. he is one of my favorite things in all the world this week and every week. and this summer, we have spent quite a bit of time together. this is a bit of a teaser because i plan to tell you all about this in another post soon.

a website i came across today. if you haven’t already done so, go find out where the hell matt is. watch the video; you will be glad you did.

the song Virginia woolf by the indigo girls. yes, i am still listening to it over and over. so much so that when i am listening to an iTunes playlist that includes it, i expect to hear the opening bars of virginia woolf when it finishes, even though james taylor insists on singing instead. this song heals my heart a tiny bit more every single time i hear it.

and one thing that is my least favorite this week: when people invite you to take on emotional guilt. hate that.

me as...{self portrait challenge}

Me as a happy apple.
Yes.
A happy apple.

Earlier this year, self portrait tuesday's challenge was "all of me," and in one post that month, I shared that my left eye has Duanes Retraction Syndrome. I also shared that my parents taught me to turn my head using a fisher price red apple. I haven't really spoken much about my eye over the years, but writing this and sharing my story here has invited me to think about it a bit more. And to think about the red apple and how it may have saved me in some ways.

On Saturday, Jon and I spent the day with Lynn and her husband. That evening, we had dinner at their home. And when I walked in to Lynn's kitchen, what did I spy?

I spied the red apple. The Happy Apple.
Serendipity.

It seems that Lynn bought the Happy Apple when she worked in an antique store. And it decorates her kitchen now.

So she let me borrow it for a bit, to rekindle my relationship with it. When you pick it up, it makes a delightful sound, kind of like chimes, kind of like a music box. I had forgotten this. But as I have listened over these last few days, my memories have begun to twirl around in my head. And I have created the Happy Apple Dance. A little yoga meets belly dancing meets ballet.
I love the way your life can go in a certain direction sometimes, and then one little shift in the path intersects your journey with someone else's. It is pure delight.

see other self portrait challenge participants here

finding space around your heart {a meditation}

I invite you to take a few minutes for yourself, for your body, for your mind, for your soul.

my love {sunday scribblings}

For a long time, I have been having a love affair. And when I visit him, I have the opportunity to stay at some of my favorite hotels. Places where my comfort is a priority. Places where the soaps bear his likeness, where chocolates adorn my pillow at night, where he wakes me up every morning with his voice on the other end of the phone. Sometimes at the end of the day, I retire to a hotel that evokes the great lodges of the national parks of the west. Other visits, I am dropped off right inside a futuristic building of sorts that has a restaurant where my love and I sometimes eat breakfast together. And on one visit, my bedroom looked right onto a savannah complete with giraffes that would visit me, standing about 20 feet away. My love always thinks of every tiny detail.

When the town car he has sent for me, pulls right in front of these hotels, my anticipation usually fills up my body in such a way that I feel like a five year old on Christmas morning. So many adventures ahead of me. I am always greeted by a bellman ready to take care of my every need. However, my favorite moment is when I walk into the lobby of these hotels. I am transported to another place, another time, another world. And every time there is this little part of me that thinks, "I am home." When the host or hostess gives me the key to my room, I want to twirl around because I know all that awaits me. But first, I stand in the middle of the lobby and take a breath. Breathing in everything. Remembering it all since my last visit, noticing new details. Yes. And knowing as I stand there that it has only just begun. After this moment, I quickly take off toward my room.

As I walk down the halls, I notice funny little hidden images of my sweet. When you come here to visit, you have to keep your eyes open for these little things that can add joy to the seemingly mundane moments. Every time, when I find my room, I seem to be pleasantly delighted to see that he put me right where I wanted to be. Then the moment of truth. I use the key, open the door, close my eyes, step in, take a breath, and open. Home. Yes. Home. This will be my home during my stay with my darling. I walk directly to the balcony. On some visits, he has put me in a special room where I can see the nightly fireworks display that always seems in honor of our affection (though, I must admit I know he sets them off even when I am not here. I am learning to share him with the others who vie for his attention).

After the bellman comes, I quickly unpack. One of my favorite things about the hotels I stay in when I spend time with my love is that there is always enough drawer space. Critical really for a several day stay. Then I change into something more appropriate for the atmosphere, fix my hair a bit, dab on a little make-up, and set off to find my love.

Oh. And my husband comes along too, because he has to take the pictures of the two of us together. Me and The Mouse.

(to read other hotel experiences, click on over to sunday scribblings)

grief and patience {poetry thursday}

grief. over the last year and a half, this has become a theme of my life. the deep, wide, gut-wrenching reality that grief invites. and one of the ways i am healing (also known as "holding it all together except when i am not and am instead knocked over only to realize i am not alone on this path") is reading poetry (and writing a little as well).

one of the poets who has spoken to me in the midst of this journey into poetry as i travel through grief is marge piercy. earlier this year, i checked out her book Colors Passing Through Us. in this collection, she has a few poems that whisper about her experience of her mother's death. this line, from "The day my mother died" stopped me right where i was and i recall sucking in my breath as i read it out loud:

That day opened like any
ordinary can of tomatoes.

so much said in these words. with this line, she evokes a kinship with people who have lost someone. yes, an ordinary day. that suddenly becomes something else entirely.

visit this page from The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor to read the all of "The day my mother died." (OH! and please note, this page loads in an odd way. the top of the page is basically gray and blank, but don't dispair, just scroll down to find the poem.) if you click on "Listen" under the date on this page, you can also hear Keillor read this poem (just keep listening, he does read it, but it is toward the end). as jon and i listened to this tonight, i turned to him and said, "i kind of want to curl up inside his voice and take a nap." i love listening to him read. and now that i know you can hear him read all these poems he posts at this site, i am going to try to listen to one a day.

i will visit this week's Poetry Thursday prompt at some point in the future. just not in this post. i am learning the valuable lesson that even though you want to finish a poem, it might want to sit a bit longer and unveil itself to you over time. so the poem i planned to share is doing that right now. we are both learning patience.

good friends, good food, good music, and fun (and the smallest seahorses you ever did see)

the fun i have had since last you heard from me:

i drove to portland listening to my ipod through my car stereo...and i was in concert and getting my groove on the entire time. i saw mt. st. helen's appear out of nowhere. every other drive down to portland it has been cloudy, so this was my first time seeing her as i did. she may be shorter than she once was, but she is gorgeous.

my reason for the quick weekend trip was to spend time with kelly before she moves to san francisco. she took me to fabric depot, and i will never hear the word cute again without thinking of her. i am still laughing at the two of us and our love of fabric. even when we said we weren't going to say cute again, we did. over and over. stay tuned for my creations. (when my mom was here, we made a purse and an apron. now i have to try to make things all by myself. i have gorgeous fabric though; as a result, you might not notice imperfections that my appear in my first few solo attempts.)

kelly and i went to see the indigo girls. yes. (i actually saw them in concert in college, but their music holds a new world inside me now.) the last song before the encore was Virginia Woolf. i am going to devote an entire post to that song soon. it simply is where i am in my life. and where i have been. and where i am going. in the best of ways. and the last song was Galileo. if you do not know this song, go check it out. Right Now. i will be here waiting...

on sunday, kelly and i visited with alexandra. and talked and talked and ate a little and talked some more. i love alexandra's house and the colors of her walls and her sense of humor and how she inspires me to write. an afternoon with her is a good afternoon indeed.

today, lynn and loveshack (no, i don't call him that...but that is his name in blog world) came for the afternoon. poetry was discussed (of course); lynn is teaching me so much. it is fun! (picture me doing a little happy dance about all that i am learning!) and while i was putting out way too much food, loveshack and my jon had some discussions "outside" in the way men do as lynn did some HTML housekeeping with my blog. so, we ate good food and laughed and then we went to the zoo because i had to show lynn the baby seahorses jon and i discovered last week. okay, the adults are about the size of a quarter, so imagine the newly born babies. basically a piece of dust. they are incredible.

and now i am working some more. but soon i will be making new creations with my hands, my brain, and a little machine that sews. can't wait!

i feel good. connecting. singing. eating. laughing. i feel content and a bit lighter.
how are you?