The Safety in Vulnerability

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I've been reading Dare to Lead. In Brené Brown's book, she talks about the courage to be vulnerable and how it benefits your life and your ability to be a good leader. She explains how being vulnerable allows for feelings of safety and connection. Vulnerability builds integrity and integrity builds trust; trust solidifies relationships and strengthens connections.

It's caused me to think about my own vulnerability. In my last blog, back in February, I was barely hanging on. I was lost in my own anxiety, confusion and panic about feeling like a total failure. I realize, looking back on it, the last several years have been about being vulnerable and about tearing down my walls of isolation. These last five years have been about trusting that I was doing something that was not just in the best interest of others, but also an opportunity for me to grow and learn. This time in my life has been about accepting my failures and my joys of taking on parenting, and it has been about learning to be vulnerable, imperfect, and honest about my struggles. It's also been about realizing that good parenting is about truly putting aside my own need to be 'safe', in order to meet the needs of my children who depend on me - all while trying to figure out how to take care of myself in the process.

I've spent a lot of the last few years crying. Railing against having to trust when it was so damn scary to do so. Railing against having to tear down the walls I spent 42 years building.

I can't say my heart was in a casket, but I was TERRIBLY careful of how much I loved and how close I really allowed myself get to someone. It was easier with friends. Candace clearly taught me about unconditional love, but it was easy with her. With her I had no walls and it was the safest I have ever felt with someone. That connection was not so easy with others. I had another female friend at the time, I thought we were best friends - but in truth, I never really t her. I felt like everything I did around her was 'fine' but the feedback I often got was, "I wish you were just a little different. I wish you'd do XX more and then I'd feel safe around you." No matter how much I tried to please her, I was never able to achieve the coveted status of, "Ok, you've done enough. I can love you now." I've had relationships where my partner had a list of items about me that if I'd change, he would love me more. Again, I never reached the "Ok, you've met my standards, I can openly love you now without requirements." What I have recognized as I have aged, is that those people and those situations came because I didn't feel like I was good enough just the way I was. I chose people who reiterated to me that if I would just change a few pieces of myself, gosh, I'd be lovable after all. Those people in my life made it easy to keep my heart walled off because their hearts were walled off and they mirrored back to me the 'smartness' of being protected.

I could have chosen to stay walled off and been a disconnected parent. I could have opted to not care and put myself first. But for me, being what I personally define as a 'good' parent, meant I had to tear down my walls. It meant I had to be vulnerable. It meant I had to dare to come away from the detritus of my shattered walls, to move forward with who and how I love, and to not scoop up the dust to rebuild my fortifications.

In my life now, I keep only friends that are not, at their base, angry. I don't mean I don't have friends who get angry - I do. They get angry about politics, about our current disastrous administration. They get angry about situations in their past and present where they had no voice - both men and women, and I applaud their courage in speaking up now. I have friends who are fiercely angry and put that anger toward making change in this world for themselves and for others. What I mean is that I don't have people in my life who rage because they drop a pizza on the floor and scream so loudly and so violently, their dog cowers in the entryway begging me to take her home with me as I slip out of their house. In my life now, I have people around me in various stages of their own wall-removal projects. And I love them for it.

I recognize that being vulnerable and being someone who dares to love, means more than just being upbeat or 'nice'. I'm not nice, in fact, I once had a guy I dated tell me so. Thinking back, I wish I had asked him what he meant by that. I don't strive to be nice. I strive to be loving, honest, and live a life of integrity. I don't think those qualities generally make a person nice.

Being vulnerable is hard work. It means knowing I will, at times, be hurt by people I trust. It means having to live my life in integrity. It means looking at why I get angry and being honest with it, instead of letting anger control me. Yes, I have anger inside. It is a part of myself that I work on all the time. My goal isn't to tame it, as anger can be a good motivator, but to recognize it so it doesn't tear me down or apart. I'm working on not using angry self-talk. I spend more time loving myself and less time worrying about being perfect.

I always thought being vulnerable wasn't worth it. The world wasn't safe enough to be who I am. It was full of heartbreak and I was going to be safe from that. But now I know that the world has all those difficult situations, but I'd rather walk the world with an open heart, than a hard one.

peace my friends,

MaryKate

The Last Jedi and Letting Go

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I want to talk about why I loved The Last Jedi. I don't want to put spoilers in the first few sentences, because I think spoilers are unkind and selfish. So instead of talking plot points right off, I am going to say that I spent the whole movie mourning Carrie Fisher. Her loss impacted me so much more when I watched her on the screen. She was a true hero in real life as well as the Star Wars series - a bright, powerful woman who never gave up. Even in the movie, when she passes the torch to the next generation, she never stops being a hero. Losing her in both the real world and in a galaxy far, far, away crushed me. As a woman, I ache that we have lost such a role model. But as a writer, and having read a few articles about how other people interpret the movie, I know in The Last Jedi, it is exactly how it had to be.

I've been reading and watching a lot of Joseph Campbell lately and rewatching the 80s tv show with Bill Moyers - The Power of Myth. I love this series because I love the story of the Hero's Journey. I love the awakening of the hero and the journey to that awakening. And yes, I think a hero, like Rey and Leia in Star Wars, can be a female. I think what makes The Last Jedi so powerful, is that it is the true culmination of what happens to heroes. So often we end the hero's journey with the intrepid hero triumphantly returning to the village and dispensing wisdom, then either going off on another adventure (Indiana Jones, Katniss Everdeen) or writing down the story and going away (Bilbo Baggins), but most often the story just 'ends' with the victory and maturity of the hero being the end of the story (Gilgamesh).

However, the true resolution of the Hero's journey, is with the realization that the old generation of heroes must give way to the newer generation of heroes (Bilbo giving the ring to Frodo). Luke is given one last chance to save the resistance, by NOT training Rey to be a hero (as Yoda trained him). After she leaves, his Jedi master, Yoda, comes and with a lightening bolt burns down the 'tree of life'. The Master sets fire to the sacred tree of the Jedi and puts the past to ashes. Yoda enlightens Luke even as he burns down the old order. Yoda laughs through the fire and says about the sacred Jedi texts, "Wisdom they held, but that library contained nothing that the girl Rey does not already possess." And that is what happens, when the tree is set on fire (of course Rey has run off with the sacred books, but Luke doesn't know that). The past is burned away. Luke's way wasn't going to save the universe. He tried and he failed. He failed as a mentor with Ben Solo, and he failed himself when his shame caused him to run away. It seems to me, Luke's real hero's journey was never about him saving the galaxy, the real hero's journey was letting go of a way of being that wasn't working. Luke embraces change and his redemption comes when he offers his own life (Jesus) to save his community and allow 'hope' time to escape. Luke and Leia both learned from their pasts, and were ready to set aside the old ways that weren't working. The Resistance is all but wiped out. They all fit into the Millennium Falcon. When everyone turns to Leia to ask her what to do, she nods to Po and basically says to ask him.

The Last Jedi isn't a happy, warm, fuzzy movie. It is as much a tribute to the past, as it is burning away the old canon. It destroys our clinging to the original three movies (I'm not even addressing the ridiculous second trilogy of movies); this movie forges a whole new story - like a good hero's tale should do. The old hero should die - after contemplating both his or her success and failures. That is what makes Star Wars so beautiful. It doesn't stop with the happy-ever-after scene of Luke and Han and Leia getting awards and everything being perfect. It stays with the story. It unflinchingly reaches beyond what we know and touches the great Mystery. Or, as they say in Star Wars, it embraces the Force.

I loved that about this movie. I loved that Luke is broken and angry. I love that he has turned his back on the Force - haven't we all at some point in our lives? Haven't we all said, "ENOUGH! You ask too much!" Or, "Why???" In our own ways, we all struggle with what we hold sacred.

I remember when my mom passed away. She left behind a whole house full of collections that meant something to her and were sacred to her; the menu from the hospital on the day I was born, costume jewelry she loved,  a thousand little things. Those items, some of them were sacred to me as well and I kept them, as my sister kept some sacred to her. But many of them my sister and I sold or gave away. There is no reason to hold on to something that was sacred to someone else when it is not sacred to you. Giving those items it to someone who can find a new joy in them brought my sister and I great joy. In the end, I realized the sacred part was inside myself... not in the things or places or people around me.

That is why I loved this movie. The sacred canon it destroyed was balanced with the sacred it handed down in a new form to the next generation. It's beautiful and it's powerful. I can understand why some people didn't like this movie... who wants to see a hero die? Who wants to see a hero fail?  Except struggle is eternal. Light isn't mean to win over darkness; it can't. Learning to navigate between the light and the dark, between the male and female, between the duality of humanity and spirituality - those are the dualities we navigate every single day. But there is more to life than duality, as Joseph Campbell says, "People say that what we're all seeking the meaning of life. I don't think that's what we're really seeking. I think that what we're seeking is an experience of being alive, so that our life experiences on the purely physical plane will have resonances with our own innermost being and reality, so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive." In other words, we all seek the experience of feeling the 'Force' in our own lives. I think that is what this movie says - it says the Force must be open to all - not to a select few that hold that knowledge so tightly they smother the light.

I can see that some people want a victory. They want the Jedi to beat the Sith. They want the light to win once and for all. They hold so tightly onto Luke and the old Star Wars characters and movies, they end up strangling the story. They don't want anything to change. They fear what is next. It is... well, a lot like our current political situation. So many in office right now hold on tightly to the past, instead of stepping aside and making room for change. Our government isn't working right now, but so many politicians and people are afraid of change that we are literally strangling our own story of democracy.

I know, in my life, the greatest experiences come from letting go of being angry and stuck in the past, and moving forward with joy and happiness. I can't change the past, but I can let go of what didn't work and allow myself to welcome change. Even when that change is hard, most often, that change is enlightening and empowering. And that is the true message of the hero's journey. Embrace what is unknown, and it will change your life. Maybe that is what I am doing now, embracing change and embracing those around me that support that change. That is certainly what The Last Jedi did.

As one of my favorite songs in Wicked says,

Who can say if I've been
Changed for the better?
I do believe I have been
Changed for the better

(Glinda)
And because I knew you...

(Elphaba)
Because I knew you...

(Both)Because I knew you...

I have been changed for good...

Love and Joy,

MaryKate

The Power of Voice

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Today marks five years since Candace passed away. I remember that day so clearly, standing next to her and talking to her for a few moments, even though she was in a deep morphine coma. I remember how it felt to see her in her bed in the living room with her family around her and the hospice nurse. Then, leaving with the kids to have breakfast in Sunbury and while eating, getting the phone call that she had passed. Telling the kids, then taking the kids on a drive to look at Holiday decorations because they weren't quite ready to go home.

My grief this year is less, but my anxiety is probably more; I suppose there is always a balance. Today I listened to all the voicemail messages from her I saved - I have four of them. When I hear her voice she is still here. Right next to me. Is it weird I saved her voice? I've kept it on my phone for over five years now. I can feel her presence when I listen to those voicemails, I feel her near me.

It's funny how powerful the voice is. Playing the recording, I'm right back with her. Sitting in the living room, hanging out. Sitting in the hot tub, laughing. But it is so real. So much more real than even a photo. Last weekend, her daughter, my sister, and I took the snow train to Leavenworth. Madi and I sang our hearts out. Candace couldn't keep a note on tune for anything. But she sang with wild abandon. She had fake microphones in her van so she and I could pretend to be pop stars and sing along with the radio. As painful as it was to listen to her sing, it was replaced with the sheer joy she had when laughing along with the music. It's lovely that Madi has such a nice voice. Maybe, just maybe, Madi somehow got that from me.

So much change has happened since she passed, and so much change is still coming. One child is off to college soon and one child will be starting high school next year.  I try to stay with my head above the water and love the journey. I never expected this journey. Never expected any of this. But I remember five years ago when I kissed her forehead as she passed and told her I would take care of them and how much I loved her. And it would be okay. I knew it then and I know it now. It will be okay.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss her. This summer, we were at Disney. Madi was handing Grant some lip balm. For a brief moment, Madi looked so much like her I gasped, same hands, same mischievous grin, same vocal tone. The two went off to ride a ride and I sat and had some coffee and basked in the energy of her. I knew she was enjoying Disney as much as I and the kids were. And, I cried.

This isn't a long tome to her, I've written so many of those. But this is a tribute to her voice and the power I feel when I hear it. And so, today, I thought I would share it. I apologize it is so clunky, but there is no other way to upload the file here :(.

Love you too, friend. Love you, too.

https://vocaroo.com/i/s0vgjKO1mWdw

Love to you all,

MaryKate

Finding Fabulous at Fifty

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I turn 50 at 11:47pm tonight. I thought somehow I'd feel different. But I don't. I still got up this morning, had breakfast (they forgot my bacon!) and went to work. I had lovely presents on my car from a friend, and presents at school from friends and from my sister. Oh and I got a 'join us' card from AARP. Am I old enough for AARP?????

My life is really good right now. I'm just riding the wave of two teenagers who can't decide on much and keep shifting around what and who they want to be. I'm learning to just smile and let it go, even when it hurts my feelings, stabs at my heart, or when I get attached to something that is gone the next day. Pretty typical life with kids. I wonder sometimes, how my mom and dad did it. How anyone does it... I mean, how do any of us survive parenting?

I realize, however, that something has changed in me - my tolerance for being around people who are unhealthy. My tolerance for misery and melancholy. We all go through struggles. I have gone through crying myself to sleep every night for months. But in terms of having people in my life that are chronically negative, or tear down the things that bring me joy - I'm not able to navigate it anymore. I can deal with depression and I can hold someone's space through trauma. But when it is pretty much a chronic state, when I find I start to feel bad about who I am because of someone else's unhappiness... well, I realize I need to step away.  I'm not sure if that is a good thing or not a good thing. Does it mean I have lost my patience? Or that I have lost my compassion? Or that I am a bad friend for walking away? I honestly don't know.

What I do know is that I still love fiercely. And I am still kind. And I will have your back at the drop of a hat if you need me. But I'm far from perfect. After all, my cup says "almost" perfect (thanks, Rachel!)

The next half of my life is going to be focused on being happy. On finding my joy. On being with people who bring me joy - I couldn't even begin to list them all here. Today, two friends from my past showed up on facebook! How wonderful! It's a joy that people I love and have loved for a long time are still in my life, showing up, being present and sharing their sorrows and their excitement about their adventures. Maybe I'm finally realizing at fifty, no one is going to make me happy. I can share my happiness with others, but I have to make my own joy. This next part of my journey I am going to pursue finding those qualities - even if finding those qualities in my life means great change and moving out of what makes me comfortable. I'm going to pursue connection and community, and I get excited even contemplating what that means.

Don't misunderstand, I don't actually know what pursuing love, pursuing happiness, pursuing joy and pursuing connection is going to look like or what it is going to mean, but I am excited to see where my newfound determination leads. 

Maybe the biggest gift I am giving myself this year, is that I am going to stop pursuing perfection. And I am going to stop pursuing the search for all the answers and feeling like I have to be in control to feel safe. Because sometimes, I think maybe I am asking the wrong questions anyhow. And maybe, just maybe, this year I'll learn to be a little kinder to myself. I'll learn my own value and maybe, I'll start to listen when people I love tell me my value... maybe I'll believe them - instead of doubting them and their honesty.

Thank you all for loving me. For being kind. For being patient while I move into who I am all the while continuing to stumble while I learn. We of the Meyer line live a long time. So I'm looking forward to at least another 45 years of life on this planet <3.

Peace and love this holiday season,

MaryKate

Four Years, Three Souls, Two Stories, One Coat of Many Colors

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I've been ruminating lately on the essence of story. I don't mean the awesome novel or great poem, but our story, or to be more specific, my story. The intricacies of the story I tell myself and the story I tell about myself to others. I've been thinking about how the existentialist in me makes meaning in this world and how I create meaning in my life. I have been examining my 49 years of weaving and the coat of stories I wear around my shoulders.

To me, story is how I connect with others. It is the thread that weaves and hums itself into and out of the events that shape my life. How do the colors change when I bring in a new shared thread? What is the story I tell myself when someone I love abruptly disappears and their part of the weave goes silent? How do I learn to weave my story alone, when once, two threads danced and a shared pattern together in my personal technicolor dreamcoat?

Tomorrow will be the four year anniversary of losing one of the most important threads in my weaving. I see my coat now, and it doesn't glow quite as brightly. It feels like one of the threads that always seemed to tie the colors together, is gone.

The disappearance of that thread has changed my weave. New, beautiful threads have come into my life. Threads that are weaving joy, sorrow, responsibility, love... some threads shine all the brighter and are so important to me, I listen to them as they hum with color. The hum of the universe.

I run my finger over the thread tracing her pattern beginning to end, feeling the weft and weave. I listen to the old voice messages on my phone that still hum with her sound. With how she vibrated in the world. And I know I have this small hole in my weave. I've lost part of the words to my story. I catch moments of her in my other threads. In a smile, a crinkled nose, a series of words, or a photograph by my bed. But I can't figure out how to rewrite my story to lessen how much I miss hers. How is it that the dreamcoat I wear, feels heavier without her thread? Shouldn't its absence make the coat feel lighter?

I wrap myself in my story. I curl up at night with my coat. In my dreams, I see the entirety of my weave and I realize how beautiful my coat is, how fortunate I am to have so few frayed ends, and so few silent threads. I can only tell my story. I am the one writing it - no one else. I am the one who runs her fingers over the strands grateful for the ones still humming. Grateful for the bright, beautiful thread that reflects my soul and the souls of those who are part of my weaving. Even the ones that are only present in my coat for a brief moment, who for reasons I may never understand, go silent.

I'm getting better at tying off those threads. The ones left hanging without an answer. Tying them and tucking them up into the weave so that they don't get caught and unravel the work. Stories are meant to have conflict, weaves aren't always smooth, but the beauty comes in the working through the conflict, and the eventual softening of the rough spots in a weave.

But there are some threads, like her thread, that even though they are tied up and tucked neatly into the weave, I can't stop teasing them with my fingers. I don't think there is a day that goes by that I don't in some way revisit that part of my story. It is integral to how I relate to the world. And even when threads have been smoothed over and tucked away, even when there is some resolution to their silence, even though I am so aware and so blessed for the time they were part of mine, I miss their active presence in my story now.

Maybe one day I will write my story differently, so that the ache of that missing thread isn't as acute.

One thing I know is that my story, and our story, is worth telling.  I need that part of our shared weave and even when this time of year comes around and I find myself running my fingers over the rough spot, I still treasure that tucked up thread. And even as my coat grows with each telling, grows with new threads and grows with time, maybe the beauty and value of story is in the telling. I can't imagine that there will come a day when that part of my story, that adventure, that beautiful part of my coat, won't bring me joy and wrap me in the softest warmth - and won't make for a great retelling.

Yogatta be kidding me...

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I went to Yin yoga tonight with my good friend Barb. She has told me over and over what a great experience it is. The last time I tried yoga, I couldn't walk for two days... so saying this was going to be a great experience is like telling myself to try sushi again. No, really, THIS time I will like it.

But I don't like sushi. And I can try it a hundred times more, and I am not going to like sushi... but with an open mind and heart, I drove to the yoga studio.

I met her in the parking lot. Yin yoga was going to be 'good for me'. It wasn't going to push me to a place of feeling uncomfortable. It was going to slowly get my body moving in ways it hasn't moved for a while (or I don't know, maybe ever). I walked in and was greeted by the instructor. He was a very kind man - older than me, curly hair, calming in his very nature. Unlike my last yoga experience, I could tell from the moment I walked in the studio, I was in a good place. He showed me around the building, had me take off my shoes (I wore tennis shoes... you know... noobie mistake) and my friend and I went into the studio. There was no talking and I set out my yoga mat (which I bought and have not used ONE single time in 5 years... well I used it that one time I said I would NEVER try yoga again... so I used it *one* time... but this mat still has that new mat smell) and I stretched out a bit.

The yoga studio was hot. Not stifling hot, but sitting on my yoga mat I felt myself getting warm. The instructor walked in right on time and we started doing some stretch poses. So far, it felt nice. Arms up, breathe in, meet hands above the head, breathe out, bring down the arms to heart chakra. Repeat. I could do this. My mind quieted. Then, the first real pose. Bend the right leg and sit on it, keep the left leg out straight, put the bolster behind your back and lean back.

I could not do it. I could not come close to doing it. I got so angry at my body, I felt so much shame. Everyone was going to look at me. Everyone was laughing and obviously staring at me in the mirror. And WHY WAS I DOING THIS AGAIN??? The instructor, seeing me struggle, came over to help, but I was awash in so much shame it only made things worse. Tears slipped down my cheeks, every part of this hurt. My body was in full revolt and I turned my head and looked at the door. We were fifteen minutes into the hour class. I kept trying to stop the tears escaping down my face. They mixed with the sweat, I told myself at least no one would know I was crying like an idiot. I looked at the door again. I could leave. I could get up and just leave. But I kept hearing the instructor say, "Breathe. Remember to breathe. More important than any pose, more important than any desire you may have right now, the most important thing you can do is breathe."

So I kept taking in deep breaths. And in a moment of silence I remembered something one of my great teachers, Ted Andrews, told me. He said to me once, "MaryKate, don't ever fear tears, you cry when you are closest to spirit."

And I knew I wasn't alone. It didn't matter what one other person in that room thought. Even though I knew no one was laughing at me, I had to move through every moment of shame I have felt in this body. Every fear of being humiliated that I've struggled with (which is why I don't go and sing karaoke), every thought that 'if I just hadn't let myself get so fat, I wouldn't be having these problems right now' and other thoughts that are actually too embarrassing to write here. But they all came flooding at me a million miles a second. From the depth of my own struggle I heard the instructor say, "Gently switch sides and let's hold that pose with the other leg under you."

My leg wasn't under me. It was flailed to the left of me and looked like my knee was broken and my leg needed surgery. But I stopped eyeing the door. I kept breathing. I let every moment of shame and fear pour out of me and I let that room hold it. I let it go. I kept breathing. I kept crying. But the tears no longer felt like humiliation - they felt like release. I realized how much shame and embarrassment I have held in my body for so long, I realized how unkind I have been to myself. How I have punished myself for not being beautiful, for not even allowing myself to think I was attractive. How long I have blamed my body for failing me. And the tears fell and I moved on to the next pose. 

The rest of the hour passed uneventfully. Occasionally, I felt shame rise to the surface, but this time it was met with compassion. Compassion for allowing myself to believe such negative thoughts about who I am, and worse, for letting others in my life reinforce those ideas. Over and over during yoga tonight I just let it all go. I reminded myself that I am worthy of so much more than I believed in the past. And while the rest of the hour wasn't easy, I just kept breathing and releasing.

When the hour was over, my friend asked me how it went. I was still so emotional... so on the edge of everything tumbling out. I told her it was good...  and that it was confronting. She smiled and seemed to understand.

I walked up to the front desk and the instructor was there. He asked me how it went, and I said, again, it was confronting. He smiled and talked about how it can be hard the first time trying yoga and I nodded unable to really respond. He kept talking and I sort of heard what he said, but there was a man sitting next to the front desk with the bluest eyes I have ever seen... and I have really blue eyes. And he just sat there and smiled at me. It was the warmest, kindest smile I think I have ever seen. His eyes never wavered. He just smiled and looked at me, into me I suppose. I felt so... 'okay'. I felt like there was a message in his eyes. He didn't say a word to me, he just held my space and honored where I was without ever saying anything. He hadn't been in the class, I'm sure he was waiting for the next class to begin. Honestly? At this point I'm not even sure there was really someone sitting there. 

As I walked out of the building, I said to my friend, "So, Thursday night?" She laughed and reminded me I am going to the Peter Gabriel/Sting concert. I smiled and we agreed to either go again on Saturday or next week. But I knew I would be back - because much like sushi, I may not like it in its raw form, but I have learned that there are types of sushi I can eat that I do enjoy. And tonight, as frustrated and embarrassed as I felt, I knew that the only way to change my experience with myself and with yoga was to push through it and go back.

So, here's to not giving up. To going back. To pushing past the past and breathing into the future.

Peace,

MaryKate

To control or not to control... that isn't even the question! (could someone tell me the question - that'd be great)

140

I am terrible at letting go; I struggle at being still, listening, and not trying to control a situation. I went to my favorite site and did a reading for myself from Joanna Powell Colbert's Gaian Tarot, her cards and website are simply amazing. This is what I received:

http://www.gaiantarot.com/online-tarot-reading/

My favorite line? You are no longer in charge of your life. Really? Because the Universe has made that abundantly clear.

This week, on the spur of the moment, I came to visit my dad in Ohio. My Aunt is living in an assisted care apartment in Mansfield, and I very much wanted to go and see her. I had a few other plans for this trip as well, but not ONE of those plans worked out. Instead, when I let go of all I hoped for and dreamed about, time opened up to see wonderful friends from college and my family. I've had to let go and accept that from the moment I got on the plane in Seattle (after a two hour delay which caused me to miss my initial connecting flight to Toledo by 15 minutes) nothing has gone as I tried to force it to go. I found none of the answers I hoped for, mostly felt out of touch, and as the card says, "turned upside down".

I keep reading this:

I'm reminded that my value isn't determined by how someone treats me. How someone treats me is a reflection on how that person treats him/herself. It is the same for me. How do I treat others? Do I show the kindest, highest form of myself, or do I show the controlling, anxious, demanding part of who I am? Do I treat others with respect and love, or do I treat them with indifference and don't consider their needs?

Which leads to the question: How do I treat myself? Am I kind to me? Do I love me? Do I trust me? Do I believe I live the best life I know how to live? Do I love in the best way I know how to love?

Anxiety has caused a lot of upheaval in my life. For the first time, I am actually acknowledging it and learning new ways to deal with it instead of reacting from a place of control and fear. It isn't easy and I stumble a great deal... but I'm getting better and that is an accomplishment.

I don't know that I will ever reach the moment when I don't react at all, is that even human? I hope in the next year I will better reach the moment when I stop trying to control others in order to feel safe and secure, and instead find those qualities within my own heart. I hope in the next year I will love others better because I love myself better. I am reminded that those people in my life that are kind and respectful toward me are the ones I want to be around. Those people are the ones I love and want to embrace, and curl up with, and eat popcorn with, and spend my time with - because they are the ones that show me how to embrace myself, curl up with myself, and be kind, loving, and respectful of myself.

Here's to an amazing 2016 - for all of us. May it be full of adventure, letting go of control, discovering happiness, and welcoming the unexpected joy and delight that life has to offer!

<3
MaryKate

Dancing with Kali...

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Last year around my birthday, I wrote a blog about the Weighing of the Heart. I weighed out my heart last year and felt like I had a good grip on who I was and where I was going. This year, I feel like my life and my world is more about Kali than Ma'at.

This year, situations in my life feel different. At 48, I feel conflicted in a conflicted world. While I treasure my family and my job, I treasure the people in my life and am filled with gratitude that I am loved and that I have this great capacity *to* love, even when situations are complicated, I still find myself more anxious this year. More edgy. More perplexed by a world that is filled with so much hate and xenophobia. At times, I feel more anxiety than I know how to manage. I feel overwhelmed, the illusion that I have some control is dispelled and I feel like a failure on so many levels - as a parent, as a daughter, a friend, even some days as a teacher and partner.

My dad just spent the week with me. We talked a lot about the world and life and mythology. I told him the story of Kali and how, to me, it feels like Kali is dancing in the world. She is the dark goddess. The goddess of destruction:

Kali is the fearful and ferocious form of the mother goddess. She assumed the form of a powerful goddess and became popular with the composition of the Devi Mahatmya, a text of the 5th - 6th century AD. Here she is depicted as having born from the brow of Goddess Durga during one of her battles with the evil forces. As the legend goes, in the battle, Kali was so much involved in the killing spree that she got carried away and began destroying everything in sight. To stop her, Lord Shiva threw himself under her feet. Shocked at this sight, Kali stuck out her tongue in astonishment, and put an end to her homicidal rampage.

Hence the common image of Kali shows her in her mêlée mood, standing with one foot on Shiva's chest, with her enormous tongue stuck out.

When Kali dances in the world, there is great chaos. She is the goddess of time, and she represents the destruction of ignorance. One of the beautiful things about Kali is that when you face Kali as she dances around you, she can remove your fears and bring you peace. Lately, I feel that by facing my fears I will, eventually, find some peace. 

At the same time, I watch Kali dance on a scale bigger than just *my* life. I see American political candidates extol the virtues of xenophobia. I watch other American political candidates surge in the polls spouting their violent rhetoric against planned parenthood and migrants. I watch fear turn so many into the mob in The Crucible. I watch innocent men and women being detained or worse shot, in single shootings or mass shootings, and I forget to breathe. Because Kali dances and she is drunk on blood.

But the beautiful part of the Kali story, is that her consort, the equally powerful god Shiva, knows what he must do to stop her. Shiva throws himself under her feet. Knowing only one thing can stop destruction and chaos, only one thing can end the violence - love. Kali, realizing she is dancing on the one she loves, stops. Now, perhaps, love isn't the best word, she puts out her tongue because she is embarrassed, and she feels remorse for her actions. But in a way, all those ideas come together in my mind. This idea I feel deep in my heart that love is the answer and that we, as a nation and as a world of people who must learn to live together, must have a recognition that destructive anger only brings more destruction. There are some that agree. Some countries that aren't giving in to fear, some political leaders showing kindness, not cruelty and I have hope.

I've found kindred minds reading Humans of New York  (I think you might need a facebook page to follow this link) for the last few months. Recently, the page has been featuring the stories of Syrian refugees struggling to survive. There are over 16million followers of this page. This morning I cried reading the feed. I don't know if the actual story will show up when you click on the link, but it is beautiful so far - the story of Aya. And so very deeply sad. I want so much for the story to have a happy ending. You can pick any of the refugee stories to read, it is not so much the story that is important - it's the comments after each refugee's story. The thousands and thousands of positive comments people leave.

These stories remind me of Kali, that even in her destruction, there is hope. And I have hope. So do most of the people that follow this page. They see that refugees aren't savages, they are humans. Humans running from war and tragedy. And I see how we, as a nation, or at least 16 million of us, also want to believe in hope. In kindness. In love. It doesn't matter if their faith differers from mine or yours... They are human beings who are just trying to live good lives free from war and terror.

And I guess, like my last post, for me it comes back to love. I believe in love. I believe in goodness. I believe in humanity. We are all a little broken. We are all a bit wounded, but deep inside, we were created to live and love. Even as Kali dances around the world, in the end, just like in the mythology, it will be love that saves us.

Peace and love to you all this holiday season,

MaryKate

On hockey, terrorism and love

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Tonight I went to a hockey game. I took a co-worker and his daughter. We sat in the suite. I have done this with many of my friends probably close to two hundred times over the last five years.

While we were watching the game, I had this moment. I looked in the arena and I thought, If a terrorist came into this arena right now, what would I do? How would I be safe? He couldn't get in through the door from the outside it's locked with a pass code, but he could easily jump in from the front and shoot us all quickly. There really isn't anywhere to hide. I would be unable to protect myself.

I sat in that seat stunned by my own thoughts. I couldn't believe I had let that entire scenario play through my mind. And it had fully played through my mind. People screaming, chaos, panic, bloodshed. Had I given in to fear? Was this how it was going to be for me from now on? Looking for a zealot in every dark corner?

Today, I got an email from a student's mother. She had taken her child on vacation this week as a way to 'ease her child into Europe with a wonderful first trip to Paris' was how she put it. They are, at the very moment I write this, still in Paris mostly on lockdown hoping to fly home tomorrow. I had been praying for their safety and had written an email to my student's mom on Friday without really expecting a reply. I couldn't believe how relieved I was to read that both of them were safe and okay - shaken, but okay. And that's how I felt - shaken, but okay.

Today, I also had to unfollow a friend on facebook for posting that 'if nuclear weapons worked in Japan they would work even better in the Middle East'. The post hurt too much. It made me too sad to even look at in my feed. It was so much hate. So much anger. So much fanaticism to deal with fanatics. And even though it made me sad to do it, because I care about the person and I acknowledge his own frustrations and sadness, I hit the unfollow button. Even at the car shop today, after spending two hours laughing and joking and talking about life with the guy behind the counter, as I was finally checking out, he started to tell me what HE would do with THOSE people in Paris.

I looked at him, smiled kindly and gently but firmly said, "Sir, I am not the person you want to have this conversation with."

And he said back to me, "But you know there are a billion of 'em, right?"

And I said, "Less than 1% are radical, but sir, really, you do not want to have this conversation with me." And he uncomfortably backed off.

Tonight, at the hockey game, for a moment I almost cried. I realized if *I* - a person of almost perpetual positivity - could sit in a stadium and contemplate terrorism, it's no wonder the world is afraid. It's no wonder we are all edgy and scared and feeling tremendously alone. 

When I got home. I put on the fire, made myself a cup of Bengal Spice tea and started to write this blog. I realized I don't want to be and won't be that person. I won't be that woman that looks in every movie theater, and hockey arena, and taxi cab, and plane seat for the bad guy. For the evil extremist that wants to kill me. I am not going to let fear win. 

Because over the last few days I have been thinking about love. About the people I love, the family I love, the child I love, the children I love, the sister and father and students and life I love and I am not going to let fear win.

I wish you all peace. And love. And I hope you can use love to find your own way through the hate and the fear and the rage and the helplessness. If possible, I hope you can find your own peace and your own reasons not to give up on love, on humanity, on peace, and on kindness. And while you process and find your own way, I'm going to try my best to be one of the caring people Mr. Rogers spoke so eloquently about:

Peace, love and light,

MaryKate

HSP or 'Why Haunted Houses are No Good Very Bad Places' for me

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When I was in the 8th grade, my dad took me, my sister, and her friends to a haunted house. I have no idea what possessed me to go along with this, but I think my sister really wanted to go and being the 'older sister' I figured I could 'handle' it. He parked the car, left us to our own devices and said he'd be back in an hour. I felt anxious, but thought it would all be good fun.

My whole life I've jumped at loud noises and been uncomfortable in dark, windowless, tight spaces. We paid our money and waited in line. The music coming from the house blasted rock concert loud. I found myself feeling disoriented. As we waited in line, haunted house actors dressed in costume jumped out at us - usually causing me to scream. My entire life I have hated being startled.  By the time we got near the door, my heart pushed against my rib cage. My sister and her friends were giggling and talking. I was the 'older' one - my sister used to call me "Miss Maturity". (I wish I could record for you the singsong way she'd say Miss Maturity. I'm pretty sure it wasn't a compliment.) But in my family, I felt like I had to be strong; I had to be 'in control' so I ignored the warning signs that going inside that haunted house was a no good, very bad idea.

We finally got to the front door. Once inside, we were plunged into complete darkness. That's when the strobe lights started. The music blared as someone jumped out of the darkness and reached for my face. The flashing lights and makeup distorted the figure and I screamed. From there, it only got worse. I started crying. Deep, ugly tears of absolute panic. Halfway through the the haunted house I curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing and going through the first (and only) full-on panic attack I have ever had in my life. The only thing I remember after curling up on the floor was some guy finding me, getting me up, and leading me out the back door into the cold night air. I remember his disgusted look, as if I had somehow ruined his evening. Maybe he was angry that I held up the traffic through the house because of my fetal floor position. I don't know. The moment I felt the night air on my face, the noise seemed to lessen. I vaguely remember the beam of his flashlight and being led to the area where my sister and her friends would eventually exit, then watching him walk away. Somehow I made it home, but I have no solid memory of the night past being led out of the building by flashlight and blaming myself that my emotional state had upset another person.

I found this article today while researching anxiety for a health class with one of my students. It's not the first article I've read on the topic, but I thought presented good ideas:

Highly sensitive people: a condition rarely understood

Clicking on the photo of me will take you to a simple test to see if you are a Highly Sensitive Person

This photo of me at 20 months and 4 days old shows me reaching out and offering my dad a flower. I was a giving, loving, and joyful child. I believe, even as this age, I had some symptoms of HSP. As I aged, I remember crying. A lot. Struggling with loud noises, feeling overwhelmed with information, not knowing how to navigate complicated emotional situations were almost daily experiences. Kids teased me for crying all the time, and I learned to hate myself for being emotional. I remember how humiliated I felt because I cried when David Banner's wife died on The Hulk tv show and he walked away down the road, alone. He must have been so sad - and I felt every bit of it.

In fact, I still cry over books, tv shows, movies, commercials, music and love letters. And I struggle not to feel humiliated every time. Once, while watching a tv show with someone I love, I couldn't stop myself from crying. The person with me said, "Are you crying???" and I felt like a failure for not being able to hide it better and for being too emotional. I moved past feeling ashamed and I said to her, "It's not kind to make fun of someone for crying. It makes the other person feel bad. You may not understand why someone else is crying, but that doesn't make the other person a bad person for expressing how she is feeling." I probably could have handled it better, but at least I said something instead of holding it inside.

My whole life I've hated feeling sensitive and I've struggled to navigate my own intensity. I'm not sure I ever swam in the shallow end of the emotional swimming pool. I've spent most of my life trying to keep my head up in the deep end. The problem with being an emotional person in this society is that being emotional is not really considered 'okay' - especially in most relationships. I can't count how many times I've been told to just relax, calm down, stop over reacting, don't be so emotional about things... I had one partner tell me these sort of words, while patting my leg like a dog who needed training. The only worse time was when a guy patted me on the head and told me to just stop crying, it's all going to be okay.

Having researched HSP lately, I better understand my deep struggle making decisions - especially decisions involving people. Having to chose one person over another, having to make hard choices about what people are good to have in my life and what people are negative and toxic I find extremely difficult. I can see that toxic people are bad - people who yell, who rage, who drink too much or complain all the time. People who have no empathy, who have no idea how to be kind. People who use me for information or for... well... other things. I have a difficult time knowing when that is happening. Not too long ago, I found the term "beck and call girl" and realized that term described me within many of my relationships. In the past, I have dropped everything for someone else's life, even when it meant incredible discomfort and complications in my own. I worry all the time I will disappoint someone or hurt someone, and often I put the needs of others before my own health and happiness.

I also think HSP is part of the reason in my life I've struggled with food. First, I have a strong sense of taste. The sensory input of the taste of the food fills my whole body when I take my first bite of a meal. But that isn't the only issue. Food also numbs other sensory input and I am sure in my life I have often used food as a way to put space between me and overwhelming emotional input. I've felt tremendously stressed lately, and I've used food to escape feeling flooded by frustration and other emotions. Knowing more about HSP has helped me get back on track and better handle feeling emotionally flooded.

Lately, I find myself taking time to hang out in my bedroom more. I even close my bedroom door, something I have seldom done before. Owning that I am feeling flooded and taking care of my needs to (as I call it) 'defrag my hard drive' has helped me more than food ever has. I've taken up coloring and doing some meditation. Both have helped me focus my stress and anxiety in a more productive way. It's a process; getting healthy always is. In the past, I never would have admitted I have sensory issues. It would have made me seem imperfect and broken.

I'm neither. I'm just an emotional person in a world that doesn't always welcome emotional people. My goal at this point in my life is to worry less about how others react to me and instead, focus on not being so hard on myself when I feel emotional. Being emotional and sensitive isn't a fault, it's a blessing. In time, I hope to actually believe that.

Peace,

MaryKate

The Minutiae of Grief (or 'Rational' vs 'Emotional')

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A few days ago, I got an email from an ex. It was a canned 'I'd like to be connected' email generated from a popular website. The email had a photo and some current information. Our relationship didn't end well and when I got the email, I felt the lid I had welded shut on that time in my life blown off; frustration and aggravation flooded my heart. All those memories of feeling dismissed and helpless were almost as raw as the day everything ended in a whirlwind of confusion and dismay.

Then, at three am this morning, I logged into my yahoo account. I couldn't sleep and for some reason I got a nudge to go and look at the account I hadn't logged into for over a year. Apparently, yahoo mail has a new feature where you can search old yahoo instant messenger messages. I searched for candyxxxhoo, Candace's old yahoo account. And there they all were! Every single message we had shared since 2009 when she created her account (after I begged her to get one). We IM'd almost daily, up until a few days before she passed and was too sick to type. It was beautiful reading through some of our old messages. I didn't read through them all, there were over 2,000 conversations; the ones I did read through gave me an accounting of many of our sorrows and joys. The most recent messages, before we were no longer able to chat, were about the house I had recently purchased and how she couldn't wait to come and visit me - both of us knowing that wasn't going to happen.

Finally, in my English 12 class this week, we have been reading the Herbert Mason version of Gilgamesh; one of my all-time favorite mythic tales. We were at the part where (spoiler) Enkidu dies. I read the passage* about grief out loud to my class. I got teary eyed at the end of the passage. My students looked at me with compassion and kindness. It was a moment of me being terribly genuine and vulnerable and my students responding with understanding and compassion. It was... amazing.

It's that time of year where the Autumn Equinox hovers around the corner; it's not too surprising this week has been about connecting with grief. I struggle with the emotional side of grief. Rationally, when my relationship ended and when my best friend passed away, I knew I had to pick myself up because hey... life goes on. After a while of rationally processing the situation I put away being 'hurt' and moved on with my life. I had my daughter to take care of and after all, relationships sometimes end, right? I started dating again, and in time found someone with whom I hope to share my life. I am grateful for having love in my life and for these present moments of happiness and joy. I look at my daughter and every single day see glimpses of Candace's face looking back at me. Certain funny faces she makes are faces her mom made. I don't even think she knows that, but each time I see her face squish up 'just so' my heart skips a little and I feel the ache of loss.

I guess I didn't realize that you can be happy in your life yet still have moments when you grieve something from the past that you didn't even know you were still grieving. The relationship I spoke of earlier wasn't the best of relationships - it wasn't all that healthy. It was, however, important to me. I loved, deeply. It ended abruptly and I felt left behind, dazed, and wounded. It feels like the end of a relationship isn't that different emotionally than having someone you love, die; it is an end to a connection, the 'price' of love.

I realized this week that it is okay to grieve. It is okay to say to myself that even though I am in a place of joy, I can still have tender spots in my heart that are painful when poked.  I realized, that makes me normal - it doesn't make me a failure for not 'being over it by now'. The rational part of me had been whispering that I *really* should have moved on with these issues; I felt stupid for still feeling hurt about events that happened in the past in a relationship where there won't be resolution or answers. I felt broken for being vulnerable and still caring. For a while, I even felt I should stop missing Candace.

However, the heart is not ruled by a rational timeline; the heart has its own timeline. And the heart, or more accurately my heart, doesn't want to be punished for loving by being denied the time it wants and needs to grieve the loss it feels. It's on its own timeline and that doesn't make me weak or broken. It makes me human.

I guess the rational part of me is just going to have to be okay with being imperfect. Turns out, I'm just fine with being human.

Peace,
MaryKate


*Here is the Gilgamesh piece on grief:

All that is left to one who grieves
Is convalescence. No change of heart or spiritual
Conversion, for the heart has changed
And the soul has been converted
To a thing that sees
How much it costs to lose a friend it loved.
It has grown past conversion to a world
Few enter without tasting loss
In which one spends a long time waiting
For something to move one to proceed.
It is that inner atmosphere that has
An unfamiliar gravity or none at all
Where words are flung out in the air but stay
Motionless without an answer,
Hovering about one’s lips
Or arguing back to haunt
The memory with what one failed to say,
Until one learns the acceptance of the silence
Amidst the new debris
Or turns again to grief
As the only source of privacy,
Alone with someone loved.
It could go for years and years,
And has, for centuries,
For being human holds a special grief
Of privacy within the universe
That yearns and waits to be untouched
By someone who can take away
The memory of death.

Bikini Babe?

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I've just come inside from trimming the rosemary bush next to my front door. I also tried to use the same hedge trimmer to trim the weeds around my fence - you know, the wrong tool for the job.

And I did this yard trimming... in my bikini top and shorts.

And my biggest concern was the short battery life on my little trimmer and how I don't have a rake to rake up the rosemary.

My neighbor came home on his bike - his name is Gary. He's a university professor who teaches early middle eastern literature. I enjoy our chats. We talked for a while about how I need a REAL weed trimmer and not some hedge trimmer that isn't designed for what I tried to force it to do. Gary and his wife have the most beautiful yard. They never say anything to me about how mine is, um, lacking in tidiness. We get along really well and it is one of the reasons I like where I live.

I do have pink flamingos in the front yard though, so there's that.

Yet, there I stood in my front yard in a bikini and not once did I think - OMG I'm in a bikini, he can't see me in a bikini I'm sooooo fat. Honestly, I'm a size 18 on a good day.

I didn't care. I've been wearing my bikini on the back porch to sunbathe and mow my back yard, but haven't ventured out into the front yard yet. I mean CARS drove by while I worked in the front yard. And I was in a bikini. And you know... I didn't really think about it. I just worked on my lawn.

I've come a long way from the fat girl ashamed of herself and her body. I know there are some larger women who are so angry and think things like,  "Screw you all if you don't like how I look." But that's not me. I'm not an angry person by nature. There are no demands on anyone - you don't have to like how I look in a bikini or you can like how I look in a bikini. That isn't really my issue anymore. Would I wear this to a public pool? I don't know, maybe. I don't particularly want to attract attention, nor do I want to avoid it. I kind of just want to weed my front yard and get some sun.

Here is a pic. Not a great pic because I have been working in my yard. But an unedited pic none-the-less.

I'm still a long way from being happy with how much I weigh - but no longer because I hate my body. More because there are so many things I want to do and my weight prevents me from doing them. So I keep on the journey. I've been stuck at the same weight for four months now. At least I haven't put more weight on and even though my weight hasn't changed my body has. So I don't get upset, I keep taking care of myself and eating well (or trying to) and exercising (more of that this summer for sure). 

I am done with having people in my life who spend their time telling me all my faults and how if I would just do 'this': lose weight, talk more, talk less, be more friendly, be less friendly, be more spiritual, be less spiritual, write more, write less, sing more, sing less, don't think so much, tell better stories, be more grateful, be more kind, be nice, be less messy, be more respectful, be less demanding, be less serious, be less self-absorbed and solipsistic (I actually had to look that word up when my ex called me that - thus the 'ex')... the list goes on and on. But always with the idea that if I would just follow these helpful suggestions, I would be more desirable. I'm done letting criticism push me down - it makes the work of being happy in my own skin so much harder. 

Criticism is the wrong tool for the job. Criticism, void of compassion, is empty and destructive. 

I don't need anyone to tell me how to be. I'm not perfect, however,  I'm desirable just the way I am.

I'm done having people in my life that reflect back to me my own critical nature. Lately, I'm spending time with people who are kind to me and at the same time honest when I ask for input. I have some events going on in my life that have made me nervous and anxious. And these people around me that appreciate and respect me say things to build my spirit, not tear it down. These people have changed me. They've helped me realize it's time for me to be kinder to myself. If that means wearing a bikini even though I am NOT the typical size of a woman that wears a bikini simply because I want to, so be it - they love me and cheer me on, because that's what people that care and respect you do.

I love who I am and how I am in this world. I love that I see the world as a beautiful place, even when the people here do some ugly things. I love how I treasure every moment I have here.

I love how I see the best in people - even when they don't see the best in themselves; it's high time I do the same for myself.

peace and love,

MaryKate

A letter home

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Dear Candace,

I'm curled up in a blanket outside. The birds are chirping and my coffee is almost drinkable. Yesterday, in preparation for Mother's Day, M. planted a bunch of flowers. She insisted we go to look at plants, then picked out a beautiful snapdragon, potted it and put it on the kitchen table. Her love of plants mirrors your own.

Remember that time you came to visit and the plant in my living room was screaming at you that it was dying and you saved it? You were always so in touch with the green world. She's not always as patient as you were with the whispers of the grass and trees and flowers... but in time, I suspect she will hear it more clearly. I signed her up for an organic gardening class next year. It's what you would have done. I don't hear the earthy world as clearly as you did, I've always been more in touch with the watery one. She for sure gets her love of the earth more from you than from me. She doesn't really even like to swim.

She went to her first prom last night. She looked so much like you. It caught my breath a couple of times. She's got your stubbornness, humor, kindness... can you believe she will be 15 next weekend? How did that happen? Only a short time and she will be off to college.

I have the photo of the two of you above my bed. I remember how unhappy she was that day because you took her out of school to get the pics taken and that you didn't care because you knew it was important. You were in the middle of one of the rounds of chemo, but you looked stunning. Probably because you never took a bad photograph!  It's a beautiful photo and it captures the connection perfectly. I have one of your whole family in my office. I look at it every day.

I often find myself remembering what you taught me about friendship. Until I met you, I didn't really understand what it took to be a true friend. You showed me rather than told me - through your actions, your laughter, your anger, your honesty and your kindness - more about unconditional love than anyone I had met. Your spirit showed my spirit its value. I sometimes wonder if you were preparing me to be a better person simply by being with you. You used to say I was the most spiritual woman you knew, that even when I could so easily take the low road, I took the high road. I wish I could say that was true, but friendship sometimes makes it easier to not see another's flaws. If anything though, being friends with you helped me shine all the brighter.

But of all the gifts you left to me, all the life lessons, the memories of swimming at midnight down at the lake, the rehashing of relationships until 4am, teaching me how to be more aware of people, how to weed out the people who were mean or unkind to me... the best gift you gave me was trusting me to raise your daughter.

And in case I didn't thank you enough - not just for all you did for me, but all you did for your family, and for everyone who ever asked anything of you... Thank you.

And thank you for thinking... no... for knowing in your heart I would be a good mother for your daughter. I never thought I would be a mother and when that happened, especially because of how it happened, it simultaneously shattered my heart, and then completely filled it.

I think of you every single day and have a million questions about guys, and life and choices and love and what the heck am I doing? You know... the questions you always helped me find answers for - especially when I started spinning in my head about what to do. You listened, you told me your thoughts and you called me on my crap when I needed it.

I just wanted you to know, even though I believe you already do, she is doing well. I am doing well. We are doing well. And if I am half the mom you were on Mother's Day today... then it is because you were my role model and my best friend.

Miss you,

MK

Because you can never predict love...

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All day long I've wanted one thing. To go to sleep. Went to bed at 9:30. Couldn't shake the feeling I was forgetting something. Finally remembered I needed to put a warm pack on Yannah 's incredibly swollen face. She's sleeping at the foot of my bed, so I got up, warmed a washcloth and prepared for drama.

Instead, as I placed the wash cloth on her face and gently talked to her, she just looked at me. Three times I reheated the washcloth and three times she let me press it against the hard, swollen lump just behind her eye. She never resisted, never whined, just looked so sad and sick. But even feeling incredibly hurt, she still was patient with me and didn't doubt me. She still let me do what I needed to do. And I got teary- eyed.

Because she isn't demonstrative. She isn't overly affectionate. Sometimes I'm pretty sure she isn't even that thrilled to see me, truth is, she kinda likes guys :). But at the end of it all, she knows me. And I know she's hurting. And I know I love her, and she'll get through this just like she did last time. And I know she knows her pack.

But beyond her, I realized tonight my daughter and I couldn't have a better third family member- she's patient, tolerant and other than some chewing issues? The most unassuming member of this clan. And I know now, that while I'm sad she never became a guide dog, I can't imagine my life anymore without her.

I think I can finally sleep.

Peace,
Marykate

That Gingerbread Man that smelled so sweet...

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Tonight the traditional Gingerbread-cookie-making ritual begins. I'll make the dough, tomorrow we'll bake them and ice them. My daughter and I have been making these cookies every single year since her birth. I do not think we missed *one* year. Sometimes I would experiment with different recipes... and sometimes I'd be exhausted and buy the pre-made dough, but for 12 years, I flew to Ohio to make cookies and to spend part of the holidays with Candace and her family. Wow. I think I even made cookies two years ago when she passed away. A tradition is a tradition.

Last year was my first year with M out here, living with me. My cookies weren't very good. I made them with gluten free flour and a lot of stress. This year, I am making them from scratch - using real butter, real flour and almost no stress. How things change in a year.

How things change in 14 years.

I think my favorite year was when she was about eight. Her brother was just a toddler. Candace had her house decorated - she had even scavenged a live tree because she knew how much I loved them. I told Candace not to tell the kids what day I was coming. I got to the airport, rented a car, stopped briefly at Kroger, and pulled in the driveway laden with gifts from home and ingredients for gingerbread cookies. The moment I parked the car, the dogs started barking inside the house. Candace had left the back door unlocked knowing I would be coming. I walked in and called out, "Ho! Ho! Ho!"

Little M came running in from the other room screaming, "MK!MK!MK!" and gave me the biggest hug ever - I think she had tears in her eyes she was so excited. Her little brother came toddling in behind her and hugged my leg. I could barely set my luggage down and hobble into the kitchen.

There is something to be said for tradition. For ritual. It is the time of year for it. And while tradition can be something that holds people back, it can also be the foundation from which we build our lives. Making gingerbreadmen is a tradition I will follow every year I have my daughter with me, and even into the future when she goes on to college and then someday shares the holiday not just with me but with her own version of family. The smell and taste of gingerbread will always be something that grounds me and reminds me of blessings I have in my life.

Speaking of tradition, I'm watching 'White Christmas' with Bing Crosby and my favorite Irving Berlin song just came on:

Traditions can be amazing blessings - if you feel so inclined, share some of your blessings and traditions with me, I'd love to hear about them!

Many blessings to you all this holiday season - so many it is difficult to count! May your own traditions warm your heart and ground you as you prepare to enter the new year with all the joy and resolutions to come!

Peace,

MaryKate