And She Answers

 

How lucky I am!

Long Time Sun

may the long time sun shine upon you
all love surround you
and the pure light within you
guide your way on

A Long Road Trip

Wow. I got no mojo flowing. The mayhem maker has us all chasing our tails as we await what will be. Cryptic enough for you?

It is hard to love people who don't love themselves. That sounds so obvious. Stupid platitude. But in practice, to love someone bent on their own destruction or even just too sick to see they are courting death, is an exhausting thing. Sometimes you want to stop loving them.You want to let them go. Sometimes you wish it was over. Sometimes you feel guilty for entertaining that thought.

I love my brothers. We are each so different. But when I feel small and vulnerable and overwhelmed, I can fall back into a time when it was we three sitting in the back of an old car listening to the radio and singing along with each other. The middle child so very earnest. The baby so affable, sweet, and beloved. And me the big sister bossing and trying to make sense of the chaos. We were together. We were not alone in the world.

This song reminds me of them just because we sang it out loud together on one of our many long road trips.





And for the one who needs it, some truth as I see it and a little hope:

A Trip to Hulda's Garden

Ugh. Not so pretty "new" interface for the bloggists Blogger.What fresh hell? Must everything be "updated"? I am having a lot of trouble with change right now and this just looks like more bad news.

Guess I should just jump in dear reader and start where I am. On a blank page.

Beautiful time of year here in old PDX. Posie published a great list of things to do when you are in Stumptown. So go check that.

Photo by moi

Made a lovely visit to the Hulda Klager Lilac Garden with my own glorious mother and my beautiful baby boy. The gardens are open every year for a couple of weeks before Mother's Day to celebrate Hulda's legacy. When I discovered that Hulda lost everything in the floods of 1948 and had to start again at age 83, I was inspired to face my own neglected garden.

10 years ago, in a fit of rage, someone I loved took an axe to my own 100 year old lilacs in the backyard. They were at least 18 feet tall and 20 feet wide-a veritable lilac perfumed forest. I suspect they were just one more thing he could be jealous about.

My dear neighbor Hazel, who was born in the house next door, told me the lilacs had bloomed that prolifically all of her long life. My house is now at least 123 years old and the lilacs were here for most of that time. I have mourned them each spring and avoided my backyard (site of the massacre) for too long.

 My mother bought a beautiful Sarah Sands lilac, hybridized by Hulda, as a gift for me. So, I'm putting on my gauntlets and heading out to do battle with a forest of blackberry and residual heartache. Wish me luck.

For Mother's Day I painted my fingers. Early in the morning, before the temperatures climbed into the very un-Portland-like high 80's, we walked over to the Cartopia food carts on Hawthorne and ate crepes in the sunshine. It was a perfect day.

I think that you are aware my dear reader of how deeply grateful I am to have been gifted the mother I have. To share two beautiful, sun-filled days with both my mother and my son in a single week was so lovely. I do hope your Mother's Day was just as sublime.

Today's highlight, in addition to planting peppermint, pineapple mint, and CHOCOLATE mint (who knew?!) was a kind comment left by one of my longtime blog-crushes Janelle from Ngorobob House: Life From the Hill. You, my dear reader Red Tara, can imagine my fan-girl excitement! She had posted to her blog this morning after a bit of a break. Reading her post made my morning, so I stopped by hers to let her know.

Since the day I gave up monkey muffins, I have relied on writers who deliver the goods for my morning indulgence ( huge latte with honey and a google reader chaser). Janelle's blog is a favorite treat.

Another eagerly anticipated blog is Tania Kindersley's, Backward in High Heels. Like me, Tanya adores horses. She recently brought her red mare home to the far north  of Scotland. I have been planning to write about her experience with a commenter who suggested that readers were bored with her new found passion for the red mare. That she was too single-minded in her posts.

I tried to leave the following comment on her post:

Tania I wish I had commented on yesterday's post. All day my mind was humming with sympathetic joy for you and the red mare and the pony and the pigeon. I don't have an eloquent way to express it, but this coup de foudre has been what finally grabbed my attention and made me a daily reader after a long time of just occasionally visiting.

I am fascinated by people's passions. Especially those of women, as we have for so long been told to keep quiet about personal delight lest we call too much attention to ourselves.

I, too, have loved a horse and part of the joy of these posts has been the stirring of my own sweet memories. But greater than that has been the (admittedly voyeuristic) pleasure of following along as you throw caution to the wind and ecstatically follow your heart's desire. We should all be so brave and so lucky.

Thank you for such tremendous pleasure and for the honesty of your work on the blog which has come to feel like a delicious present I get to unwrap each day.I am so grateful.

For some reason I couldn't leave the post but I wanted to put it someplace to remind myself that what we love, what we are moved by, is the fuel of life. I feel so bogged down in the 'shoulds', the 'what-ifs', and sometimes even, oh the shame of it!, the 'what will they think of its?' that I need reminders and fuel.

To the women and men who write about their lives and passions and everydays I can only say thank you. And, I love you.

That's all for tonight. I'll figure out this new blogger trip another day.

I am working away on some new projects. If I can tear myself away from reclaiming my land, I'll be back to fill you in on the details.

Daddy's Got a Gun

I left the comment below on Mrs. G's blog, but I wanted to put it here to remember. It fits in with a certain theme I'm vibing on. The comment was left in response to Mrs. G's request for thoughts on this video (which she said was sweeping the web and I had not yet seen-6 million viewers?):



So, Dad is quite angry. And he has a gun. And obviously, he is a parenting teenager newb. As the daughter of an angry man, I can tell you that public rants and humiliation do not forge strong parent/child bonds, healthy relationships,compliance with daddy's wishes, or respect.

We are seeing one angry dad's response to his child's teenage angst. Teenagers do that. They diss their parents. They feel "put out" by the demands their parents make. The are embarrassed and even disdainful of their parents. They can frequently be over-the-top asshats, cruel, thoughtless, and pissy mean.

This is normal human development. Normal = Not a shooting offense. Fear has no place in parent/child relationships. It is destructive to that which is most essential-trust. And, if handled correctly, (I liked to use long words about individuation and developing synaptic connections i.e. "your brain don't work so hot right now because you have a lot of synaptic connections to forge.") teenage asshatment can be talking points that enhance a teenager's sense of self and self-worth, which helps them develop connection and empathy, which makes aging parental ass-wiping highly probable (one among many of the highly desirable traits we hope to see in our offspring).

I don't advocate being a doormat for a kid, but I do believe we must show our children respect before we can demand it from them. Like all tough skills, becoming a tolerable human is a learned behavior. Takes trial and error and a very committed team routing for you to actually master the complex feat of growing up.

I have 2 beautiful adult children who at times did equally stupid, insensitive things (just as I, too, did when young-probably still do as we save all our best bullshit for those we love and trust. Sorry Mama.). I believe that they have learned how to be remarkable adult people through loving, honest, SAFE, (no cigarettes, anger, guns -heaven help us!) and respectful interactions with adults they could count on to establish boundaries and listen as often as they talked to teenagers.

I feel bad for this family. Where do you go to talk things out when the level of aggression is raised to such heights? And how can a cornered kid make a graceful retreat or attempt rapprochement when they are not shown how to handle disappointing behaviors which, let's face it parents, our kids receive from us as well.

So, that was my comment on the video. It makes me sad to think 6 million people think this is ok parenting. I call shenanigans. This dude is an amateur who could benefit from some education. I can only hope he was arrested for deploying hollow-point bullets in a residential neighborhood and that his arrest taught his daughter a little bit about how not to handle her disappointment and anger.

Oh Girl

Ah dear Sinéad Marie Bernadette O'Connor,

Universal Mother. I have loved you long time. We had our babies around the same time. I danced my beautiful son around our dark living room to the Lion and the Cobra when he couldn't sleep. I felt you there with us, your magic so real.

I see you tweeting sweet darling girl. I want to reply, to remind you that you wrote the anthem (the one I sang and played over and over to my daughter hoping to immunize her from the dangers of a self-immolating desire):

I never wanna be no man's woman
I only wanna be my own woman
I haven't traveled this far to become
no man's woman

Now, I know for all of us (especially you, me, and my girl) that doesn't mean we don't like blokes. We are more than we seem, like all women. We are glorious. We must remember.

Granny's Cookies

It's my birthday! So far so good. Start as you mean to go forward, so I took a long shower. Washed all the worries I am not carrying forward away. Now I am all shiny and new and ready for adventure.

Just before it struck midnight (and became MY BIRTHDAY!!!) I was making three batches of Granny Kelly's cookie dough. My mother's mother-Granny Kelly- must have learned the recipe from her mama. All my life, every Christmas my family gathers and we make Granny's cookies. We roll them out. Pick out our favorite cookie cutters (I am partial to the scotty dog and the bunny). Cut them out. Bake them. Sneak a few while they are warm. And when they have cooled, we whip up some butter cream frosting (never royal icing) and tint it whatever colors we want. Cover the table with waxed paper. Put out every sort of sprinkle, colored icing sugar, silver dragees, cinnamon red hots, bowls of frosting and get down to business. It can take hours. The youngest decorators sometime lose interest and wander off only to be drawn back to the table because it is covered in delicious sweet stuff.

Tomorrow after school my nieces will come and we will start the process. Then their parents, my little brother and sister-in-law, will show up, followed by my daughter and her sweetheart.  My son will be working but he will be home in time to eat many a cookie. And a birthday party of my favorite sort will ensue.

Down in Reno my littlest brother and his family will be making Granny's cookies this weekend too. I suspect my mother, who is spending the winter warming up in her desert home, will make a batch to give to holiday visitors.

We will all be together in spirit,gathered around the kitchen table, feeling lucky, remembering our Granny and Poppa and all the love that flows through us generation after generation.

Granny's Cookies

from the kitchen of Florence Kelly to the kitchen of her daughter and grandchildren, and now her great grandchildren

1 Cup Shortening
4 Cups Flour
1/2 t Salt
2 Eggs beaten
1 Cup Sugar
1/4 Cup Milk
1 t Vanilla
1 t Baking Soda

Sift flour and salt together. Cut in shortening (I use my cuisinart sometimes, sometimes a fork or pastry cutter). In a separate bowl combine the eggs, sugar, milk, vanilla, and baking soda. Add in flour/shortening mixture until just combined. Don't beat up the dough. Cover and chill overnight in the fridge. When it is time to bake, preheat your oven to 400 degrees F. Roll the dough out on a lightly floured surface to about 1/4 inch thickness and cut out with cookie cutters befitting the holiday (I make them sometimes for Valentine's Day and Keenan's Day too!).  Bake until golden, about 8 minutes. Cool on wire racks.

When cookies are cooled (after you've had pizza and salad and sung a round of happy birthday to me) frost and decorate. We make the frosting with varying amounts of butter, powdered sugar, milk or cream, vanilla, and a pinch of salt. Use a recipe you love and don't make it too thin because that is just mean.

As I will be making these later today (after I sleep) I don't have a picture to show you. Wait! I think I have an example from my son's birthday party 2 years ago. He decided he would rather have Granny's cookies than a birthday cake. Let me look.........





There they are. His auntie made a portrait of him being grumpy. His cousins have always called him "deeda". He isn't always grumpy. You can see we are very fond of sprinkles.

The Pleasures of Home

Beatrice Wood the Mama of Dada

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am so grateful to be spending Thanksgiving with both of my children. My kids are so cool. Funny, wise, loving. They are my favorite people. I love them so. The rest of our family is spread out over the west this week and we alone are home in Portland. A quiet day, a feast, laughter. How lucky we are.

Also, to my dear reader Red Tara a million thanks for coming to my rescue armed with pledge, windex,paper towels,elbow grease, and a vacuum to get me over my fear of tackling big things. Before you arrived I saw landmines everywhere and could not find a place to begin. I was overwhelmed. I can not believe we did it. In one day everything shifted and I feel at home again. Thank you so very much.

Beatrice Woods lived an extraordinary life- one she claimed was fueled by young men and chocolate. This quote has always encouraged me when I fret over decisions and failure, "My life is full of mistakes. They're like pebbles that make a good road." She loved her home and studio in Ojai living there for the last 50 of her extraordinarily rich 105 years. By example, she taught me to romance my own creative life into being. I feel like anything is possible. Wow.  I just wrote that. I believe it too.

Happy Thanksgiving to you.

11.11.11 Today She Would Be Four

Photo of Maddie by her mama Heather Spohr

Today is Madeline Alice Spohr's 4th Birthday. Every day Heather and Mike have to navigate the treacherous waters of grief because their glorious girl with the golden curls is not with them. A birthday must be so very hard.

I have written a bit about Maddie and something of what I have learned from her brief and shining life. I love her parents. They are courageous, funny, honest, loving people. Together they created Friends of Maddie  to honor the life of their firstborn. You can visit Maddie's site  to learn about how you can team up with Maddie's people to make the world better for premature babies and their parents.

This year in honor of Maddie's birthday Mike recorded a song, "You are the One".  Heather sings backup and Madeline's little sister Annabel was in attendance in the recording studio to cheer her parents on. Buy a copy! It's a wonderful song written by Mike. 100% of the profits from sale of "You Are the One"on iTunes/Amazon will go to Friends of Maddie to continue Madeline's legacy as a brilliant light in the lives of so many. For the links and more information please visit The Spohr's Are Multiplying.

Mike wrote to Maddie (on the occasion of her 4th Birthday),  "So tomorrow I will try not to be sad. Instead I will focus on celebrating the day you brought color into my life. And while 11/11/11 won’t be as joyous as I had imagined when you were alive, there will be joy. Because it will be a day about you."

For everyone celebrating Maddie it is a day about a delightful little girl, a lovely family, unimaginable loss, and the exquisite joy of the day her parents met their beloved child. I will never forget her. Not ever.

I Remember Her

 Maddie's Portrait by her Mother Heather Spohr

Today I am honoring the big, bright, too brief life of the lovely  Madeline Alice Spohr? I am thinking of her Mama and Daddy. Two years. They should not have to be without their darling girl. No one should suffer so. And yet, every day, everywhere we do suffer such unimaginable loss.

I look at life differently. I look closely. I wish things were different for all of Madeline's loved ones. I know it never gets better. I rememeber Maddie every day. She is indeed with the stars.

Spring Me

 

Source

Dear reader I wait with bated breath.  'With bated breath, and whispring humblenesse.'  Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice i. iii. 125

This week I notice that the sky holds light longer. Just fully dark now after 6. We have had sunny days and less rain than one could expect.  I crave bright sun, a warm, soft wind, and the smell of lilacs in my garden.The problem with January is that it's hard to hope that spring will come. So much grey. Then comes the month of sunshine that is an Oregon February. Really! Still cold, sometimes snow, sometimes rain. But sunshine. And the blossoms peeking out to inquire "is it time?"

My best beloved, my beautiful child born 23 years ago this month came home with me on a late February day of bright sun and warmth. February always gives me the best gifts. The gifts I dare to hope for in winter.

A Third Birthday

Madeline Alice Spohr, the girl with the golden curls, would be three years old  today. Heather and Mike's sweet, firstborn child- I will never forget her.

Heather wrote a beautiful post about preparing a memorial for her Aunt Kathy who passed away this summer. Her aunt traveled the world and when she was in a particularly exquisite place she liked to imagine her beloved people, those who were no longer alive, in that very place. She would imagine their joy in being there. While she was visiting New Zealand she felt Maddie close and wrote to Heather about what Maddie would have seen and loved.

This must be an excruciating week for Maddie's family. When I saw the pictures Heather took of Maddie and her little sister Annabel visiting the same beach on different occasions I lost it. The picture of Maddie looking out into the sunshine, her tiny arm resting on the fence, her windblown curls, it's breathtaking and heart breaking and I am reminded of the great love and strength her parents live daily. Their grace, honesty, and simple humanity are so very moving. I believe they are deeply inspiring people. Maddie's folks would make her proud.

Madeline's yummy little sister Annabel and her sidekick Rigby have made a series of wonderful films during the short time Annie has been "in the industry". They are a high profile Hollywood duo-think Affleck and Damon with serious acting chops and unparalleled comedic timing. They will make you laugh out loud. They will make you want Heather Spohr to be your very own mama. You will know that it would be big time fun to share a dream come true with a daddy like Mike.

In honor of Maddie's third birthday the Spohr's are making a special DVD of The Adventures of Annie and Rigby available to benefit the Friends of Maddie the non-profit organization founded to honor their daughter. Friends of Maddie is making a difference for premature babies and their families. It's a little present for her big sister from Annabel. Actually, it's a gift to the entire universe!

You too can be a friend of the glorious girl with the golden curls your own fine self. Celebrate a brief and bright and shining life. Help NICU families through some scary times. Step up. Be there. Let Annie be your guide. From litle things (and tiny people) great things come-LOVE.

One Year Gone

I don't know how Heather and Mike have survived this first year without their daughter Madeline. I think it remains a mystery to them as well. How can such a devastating loss not kill you? Throughout this most difficult year they have written about their grief with grace and honesty. Thankfully, there has been great joy for them too with the birth of Maddie's little sister Annabel. But their pain will always remain unfathomable to anyone outside of Maddie's family. As Heather has written, it is the daughter who should be present when the mother breathes her last. Never the other way round.

Despite the worst of all possible losses the Spohr's continue to create a beautiful legacy for Maddie while making a difference for babies and their families. I admire them endlessly and wish them peace and so much love.

To learn more about the girl with the beautiful curls, the famous Madeline Alice Spohr and her equally remarkable parents please visit Heather's blog The Spohr's Are Multiplying and the Friends of Maddie website.

I will always remember your darling girl Heather and Mike. Always.

Off to a Groovy Start!

Well done Oregon!

We kicked off a new decade by insisting on tax fairness. Every once in a while my fellows in the pnw surprise me with votes for justice (for example, our death with dignity vote, which was challenged and re- affirmed by Oregonians).

Again, well done you! This vote was much needed by yours truly as an affirmation of social sanity after the Supreme Court sold our democracy to the highest bidder earlier in the month (it's been a long drawn out sale-now complete. I hope the buyer doesn't notice the holes in the roof!).

I would also like to thank my Oregon peeps for the whole vote by mail deal. No dangling or pregnant chads, no corruptible Diebold machines (hackable in 4 minutes flat!). Simple is good my friends.

When my baby was younger we would make a big deal of trips to the polls. The first few rounds of vote by mail I insisted he walk the 12 blocks to elections headquarters with me. But now, it has become such a simple ritual-whoever is driving, walking, running, biking past drops our secure ballots off-saving a stamp and celebrating the fact that at least for this day, in this unique place, we are free to vote our conscience with a black or blue ink pen and a secrecy envelope and a signature.

So far, January has been more pluses than minuses. Most happily Heather & Mike welcomed Maddie's healthy and gorgeous baby sister Annabel Violet. I cried. Mama and baby are well. Life insists.

I, somehow ( I think via sfgirlbybay), discovered John&Fish's Flickr photostream:



I wonder if birds in Taiwan are indeed more colorful than in Oregon? Perhaps I am not paying close-enough attention. These photos are worth a look for the diversity of the beautiful,winged creatures so exquisitely captured by camera.

I finally have my own Rosehip Crocheted-edge Pillow Case from Beata! It's the one on top in this photo:


You can grab one for your own cozy, tiny bed from her etsy shop.

Baby brother and familia are safe in their new digs in Mexico and obnoxious father has returned safely from escorting them south to prepare for his first landing upon European soil. Peace be with all of you in the EU.

My beautiful mother enjoys the warmth of a winter sun in her secret, sunny lair. I miss her but enjoy imagining her basking in those Vitamin D rich rays.

Assorted nieces are insisting I watch Glee with them. How lovely is that! To have assorted nieces and to have them like you enough to plan movie night with you! So sweet.

My delightful son with the wicked dry sense of humor cut down the neighbor's invading bamboo forest for me and used it to create a privacy screen so that I can romp around deshabille in privacy (where are my accents?).

My daughter of choice, the glorious Alexandrea, has found her own cozy, warm, and love-filled nest. I am so very happy for her to be so well situated after so long a search for a home of her own.

Additionally, I have creative commissions to work on and a quick trip to market in Seattle next week to look forward to.

Supa Dupa so far is the verdict.

Madeline Alice Spohr should be two today

Photo of Madeline from her mother Heather Spohr's blog The Sphor's Are Multiplying. Once again, I'm hoping Heather and Mike wont mind that I borrowed a picture of their Maddie.

Today is Maddie's second birthday. She was born early at 29 weeks. She survived and thrived for 514 days. I can only try to imagine the sadness of a birthday celebration missing such an enchanting birthday girl. In her honor, as her birthday gift consider donating to Friends of Maddie and The March of Dimes on the March for Maddie page. You can see pictures of her teams marching all over the country last spring on the March for Maddie Flickr group.

Mike, Maddie's Daddy and Heather, her Mama have channeled their grief into acts of such generosity - supporting NICU families, leading the March for Babies in their community, speaking in Washington D.C. and so many other places. They have miraculously, honestly, and with great beauty shared the process of grieving their glorious daughter with their readers. So, I love them and wish them well and want to offer support for their mission to continue Maddie's legacy of love.

Oh Poor Me...

Hello Dear Reader Red Tara. Long time no typing. I did go to Reno for the big pizza and wine fest and retirement shindig. See proof above. The pictures are a bit wonky because I was jumping on the beds of our Circus Circus West Tower 7th floor 2 queens room with my three nieces. We were all wearing our princess dresses, cowboy boots, and tiaras. You should have been there!

Boy howdy...circus circus...I could write forever about why I am not a casino kind of girl. Cheap rooms and limited space at PTJ's are my excuses for the location. Serious good times were had without a step into a "casino". Casinos, dear reader, are where poor people go to spend their very last quarters so that they can drink free, watery rum and cokes or 7-n-7's.

Reno deserves discussion. I judged it harshly based on a devotion to the Comedy Central show Reno 911. It is actually gorgeous and retro-funky. Many of the houses are constructed of beautiful red brick and shaped uniquely. My favorite looked just like a hobbit house with a little divided front door and a wild, curly black roof. Alas, no picture. I had to be physically restrained from jumping out of the truck to offer the hobbits all my gold rings for their beautiful wee little house in Reno, Nevada. Happily, my people recognize that I am not a hobbit and that Nevada and I are just getting to know each other. We shall have to see.

Nevertheless, Reno is amazing. You are practically swimming in Lake Tahoe or skiing -whatever blows your skirt up and weather depending. It suns and rains and snows and blows and blazes all in the span of an hour. The astounding mountain ranges that surround you actually take your mind off the Donner Party those same mountains so successfully trapped. For this distraction by their sublime beauty I am eternally grateful as I tend to obsess unpleasantly about those poor starving souls when in the neighborhood of the Sierra Nevadas. And, as we are speaking of starving, significantly, Reno has two In-N-Out Burger joints. There are zero In-N-Out burger joints in Oregon. Have you ever been? I do not eat fast food. I do eat double doubles animal style.



Anyway, today I was just going to whine a bit about poor me waking up Monday morning stone deaf in my right ear. Perhaps I would type a bit about how this might be the way I am forever and what that means to a woman who loves music. Even the sound of my son's beautiful voice is different. And I am panic-stricken and such. Meh.

Before driving by blogger, I stopped in to check on Maddie's mama and daddy. 514 days. It broke my heart all over again. So, nothing profound here. Except my otolaryngologistically determined Profound deaf-ness. And being half-deaf, well it sucks, but not as much as being all deaf. No where near as much as Maddie and her loved ones having only 514 days.

So, upon reflection, I feel a bit silly whining about being somewhere around 17,094 days old with a profoundly deaf right ear. So what. I'll cry about it later. In the privacy of my closet. Or, perhaps publicly if anyone else asks me what they can do, because that is so sweet and how the feck do you not cry when you have to tell some sweet person who wants to help you that there is nothing they can do. Heather and Mike must be out of their minds with that particular grief too.

I have noticed one interesting symptom that I will share with you in the fine tradition of digression that I must observe. I have developed what I refer to as Natasha syndrome. So named because in the episode Attack of the 5 Foot Ten Woman (hey I'm 5 Foot Ten too!) of Sex and the City where Carrie is feeling inferior to Big's new hot big wife, she regains the upper hand reading a thank you note written by Natasha wherein she of the Five Feet Ten uses"their" when she should use"there". Carrie reads this note with the incorrect spelling over the phone to Samantha or Miranda or the wasp one and says "she's a big idiot" or some such.

Yeah, I'm lame. I watched the entire series in one cosmo-fueled funk spent in my jammies with the dogs looking on sympathetically. I am Natasha and their is nothing sadder than half-deaf peoples who have lost there ability to use their and there appropriately. It makes plain my disability. I suppose I should mention, though it pains me to do so, that my doctors do not agree that this symptom can be attributed to my new deafness. Another reason I look upon most physicians as quacks -they tend to disagree with me on so many fundamental and obvious things. But, as part of my healing therapy, I fully embrace my diagnosis of Natasha syndrome. Their. I have confessed my shame.

But fear not intrepid one, I promise I have love stories to tell about so many things.

A quick list in case I forget:

1. My Beloved Son in college.

He will not thank me about the picture here. First day of school pictures are a tradition. I should probably ask..but hey, I've done it before. And just you hold up little Miss tidy driveway, back off about the recycling bins! It was garbage day!!!I seem to remember a 40 foot pile of bark dust that lived in front of your house for like TWO years! Plus, my neighborhood is gentrifying at an astonishing rate. I have to do my part to defend the urban farm vibe.

Wait, I am too sensitive. You don't judge me. This is why we are pals of the first order. Nevermind.

As my devoted imaginary friends across the globe who have traveled the distance with me from ingenue to world weary homeowner of now going on 22 years will observe...the stairs, they are still a problem. What I wouldn't barter for some fancy new stairs, a screen door without tears, and an un-leaky roof! Scandalous!

But this young man...he makes every day a special day by just him being him (holla Mr. Rogers!). Sometimes the quickest glimpse of him makes it hard for me to breathe and then I can't see very well because I weep liberally at his pure exquisiteness. I have never gotten over the profound joy of his arriving. He is here! And, HE IS IN COLLEGE! Oh! and I love Posy even more for this post. Oh heavens! the LOVE! Thank goodness he is a patient and fine old soul.

2. An amazing 4 days away alone with my glorious Mother in Rockaway and all over the flat-out crazy beautiful Oregon Coast where we hiked through bogs, under and over huge root balls of fallen giants, up tall mountains, and deep into primordial forest to visit the largely unvisited oldest/largest western red cedar pictured below with said glorious mama (don't tell her I put her picture in my blog. She is very modest. But I mean really, the woman is a Goddess).


Aren't they beautiful...I told you true red tara. And all the while we were in sunshine and green it drubbed down rain upon my little Portland town. How curious was that?



3. My obnoxious father's big hootenanny half way between his San Diego house and my Portland house at babiest brother Patrick's in Reno. A ball was had by all. When said obnoxious father wasn't busy making out with strange chicks he'd just met at his party (That's how we roll), he was head pizza chef. Here he is passing on the family pizza making legacy to the youngest of the many princesses present(most of us were still in formal dress). Kneading the dough is tough work for princesses.


Daddy is in charge of thick crust "Gutbustium" style, whilst his ex-wife, my mama with the good sense makes wicked nummmy New York style. The pizza of my youth - and I can make them both!

Ah! and here be the 2 and only brothers of mine checking out John-John's recent engine swap. We traveled south to the soiree in his beloved VW Hank- not to be confused with his Loretta who is a fire engine red hottie like his wife sfj. I was proud to claim passage on Hank's inaugural road trip. J-J had just completed a multi-year long vanagon engine to subaru engine conversion BY HIMSELF!!! I think he had some huge posse of geeks on a message board or whatever it is the cool kids communicate over these days serving as advisors. That boy (I suppose he is a man to almost everyone else having just turned 45 yesterday. But not to his big sister!) gots the skilz. Babiest brother ptj (seen here climbing into the engine compartment in hysterical joy) is beyond impressed...expect conversion of his vanagon someday soon. The boys so loved my old school VW Bus (white over turquoise named OttO) that they have garages full of VW Vans. I can take credit for everything being the eldest.


4. Summer left me all loved up with bee stung lips and a smile and I am so grateful for it.

Ah Honeysuckle!

Riches and Gratitude-Remembering Maddie

Photo of Madeline Alice Spohr by her Mother Heather Spohr originally posted at The Spohrs Are Multiplying

I had to do something scary today. I was driving to an appointment for further diagnostics of the mammogram I had Monday. The results could change my life. I've actually faced the experience before. The outcome then was complicated, but ultimately, I was fine. Today I was frightened. My mind ran away to worst case scenarios and bad statistics. I was a little frazzled. Could not seem to get it together. I felt utterly alone.

I was stopped at a red light with my window down (95 degrees and my old truck doesn't have a/c) and I could hear a muffled bounce of song in the silver suv next to me. Preoccupied as I was with my worries, I was accelerating away before I realized it was Beyonce's "All The Single Ladies".

Maddie loved that song. Heather wrote about it and posted a video of Maddie's own version on her blog The Spohr's Are Multiplying here.

Friend, I tell you, what a glorious child-such light. And today, big grown-up me, facing the spooky appointment, was rescued and reminded of how rich and lovely life is by the merest whisper of a song bringing to me the memory of Maddie singing and dancing. All that sweetness and joy! And in that moment I found calm.

There are worse things to face in this life than spooky diagnostics. Mike and Heather face the unimaginable daily. I just had to see some doctors. I often think about the fact that Maddie and her parents had just 17 months. Oh and how well they lived them! What an embarrassment of riches, this time I have had. And I am grateful.

Thank you Maddie.

Beautiful Child

I am not a twitterer, nor do I read many "Mommy Blogs", but somehow I found the sad news about Madeline Alice Spohr. I can't describe the unrelenting sadness brought about by news of her death. It lingers with me days later as I worry for her family and think about the services held in her honor tomorrow.

I did not know her or her parents. I hope they won't mind me writing about them and their precious daughter (or borrowing a picture). Their names are Heather and Mike Spohr. They are beloved by their community, "real life" and Internet alike. Maddie's mother has been blogging about her family's life since her daughter's premature birth. Maddie must have possessed a tenacious spirit. She was born 11 weeks early and was not expected to survive, but she did survive to go home, to grow and make friends, to have swimming lessons, and watch softball games with her mama.

There is a beautifful entry on Heather's blog The Spohrs Are Multiplying. Heather takes her daughter to a softball game. The picture above of Maddie clapping is from this post. She writes,

"I went back to that park today, where I spent all those hours practicing, playing, and watching softball. My old high school had a game, and Maddie and I watched the girls play. I remembered the pressure, the agony I put my young body through, and the HOURS of practice. And I remembered the chants, the camaraderie, the thrill of victory. And then I looked at Maddie, watching the Big Girls play…and I realized I’ll be spending a lot more time at parks just like this one."

Oh my. Such are the dreams of parents. We expect the future because we must. How else can we possibly survive the exquisite, poignant reality of life. It ends, sometimes so soon.

I often worry that in some way I held a part of myself back from that overwhelming love for my child because I was afraid, because I knew how essential his life was to my own. Kind and wise people, like my own mother, tell me that is a natural response to parenthood. How can one meager heart be a vessel for such great love?

There is a vast network of parents of premature babies who share their love and challenges and hopes and sadness online. Their courage, strength, and love are beautiful. Many of Maddie's friends will join her parents tomorrow to say goodbye. There are links to support the family and to support the March of Dimes in Maddie's honor here and here.

Intellectually, I know too many babies die each day. Emotionally, I can't bear that truth. Like most people, when I think about such loss, I just want to hold my own child. I feel foolish for letting a day pass without appreciating the great joy of being his mother. I breathe a sigh of relief that I can put my arms around him. Even at 21 he indulges me sensing that I need the comfort.

As I thought about Maddie and her parents I was thinking about the words Mother and Parent - both as much verb as noun. We are changed by our children. We can become something great because we have the chance to mother, to parent. Where does that go if your child goes? And, is my grief for one child really grief for all life lost too soon? Tears for the great beauty of the young, the new, the precious, all that potential, all those dreams parents dream, all our time so brief.

I wish. I wish and I hope there is comfort for Maddie's people. There are no words that do justice, that properly say how sorry I am for the loss of their beautiful child. For the heartbreak of any parent what can be said that isn't a platitude? I am so very sorry. I will remember Madeline Alice Spohr.

I was here...

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