I love him - got some bad language here!

Empathy wins again!!

I don't know if you'll take time to watch this video, but it is a fascinating and scientific reason to value empathy as the trait that might rescue the human race from itself. Interestingly enough, towards the end he discusses how a stalled path towards global empathy leads to the very things we all complain about like narcissism and consumerism so watch the whole thing.

Cat vs. Jackass

FANTASTIC 12 Days of Christmas rendition.

Their friends shout so loud that the music is tough to hear, but the applause is so well deserved I can't help but smile anyway.  Solid gold baby!

Might as well sing about it...

Give me a Sign

I'm just fascinated by the news story of the very strange man who passed himself off as the sign language interpreter at Nelson Mandela's memorial service last week.  Turns out he's had all kinds of charges in his past besides just faking being a sign language interpreter.  He's been charged with murder, kidnapping, rape, breaking and entering... all kind of pretty scary stuff.  

Apparently he's claiming he was hallucinating during the service so that makes everything ok, right?

Still, there are two absolutely fantastic things to come out of his debacle.  The first is this gif:

And the second is this hilarious twitter account supposedly by the offender:

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A little holiday cheer

Where's Klaus?

I've been doing a lot of research lately on internet safety and kids and all the ways that things can go wrong electronically for our young generation and came across this hilarious PSA that I thought you'd find as inspiring as I do.  Poor Klausy.  The thing is, they are on to something.  When we were kids if you wanted to know about something like sex you had to go to the Encyclopedia Britannica which I can assure you was not very sexy reading.  So thank goodness kids can just use their phones for that sort of thing now.  Yeah.  Thank goodness.

If you google SEX on your kid's phone you'd be surprised what graphic imagery is thrown at you.  And also probably terrified.  But as much as I harp about it, and as much as my friends smile and nod at me while I go on and on about the dangers of letting 13 and 14 year olds try swimming with the sharks on 17 and up apps like Snapchat and Ask.fm and Reddit, very few of them actually change the restriction settings on their children's iPhones. I suspect they are all secretly pitying Olivia, but I'm asking, are we more afraid of upsetting our children by setting boundaries than we are of throwing them to the internet predators and bullies that show up at Klaus' house?    

I'm not crazy, I've seen GOOD kids make terrifyingly embarrassing mistakes online. I've seen honor students throw out language that would guarantee they won't get a job at the ice cream parlor next year and I've seen pictures that 14 year old children ought not to send to one another. They are positively swimming in overexposure to crude understandings of sexuality and language that can't help but damage the chances of intimacy they might hope to achieve with a spouse and they are seeing these things (and repeating them, trust me) because YOU AND I are paying for them with that unlimited data package. Let me be clear, dear, this is happening.

So, do what you want, but if you do want, I suggest going to the general settings on that fancy phone and enabling the restrictions with your secret passcode.  I'm not a huge fan of software that allows us to monitor every key stroke until a major breach of trust gives us reason to monitor every key stroke, so setting some electronic restrictions felt like a better option.  Do what you want, but DO SOMETHING to participate in this huge part of your child's life.  Hard to believe their little eyes are glued to that thing and nothing, nothing at all is ever going on when you ask right? My thinking is that if you set some boundaries,  either they will grow up understanding your role as protector or they'll find a million back door ways around those restrictions and boundaries. Maybe they can research how to bypass those in the Encyclopedia Britannica.  It's in the living room and, if you're bored enough, it's pretty good reading.

Crack yourself up

No talking

I don't feel like talking. BUT I do want you to know about this app I've mentioned before called "Gratitude Journal" - there are tons of them, but just pic one and let's commit to looking at our days through a lens of gratitude.  Even when I don't feel like talking, I can take a picture of what makes me recognize how fortunate I am and it posts to my calendar maybe for a day when I don't feel very fortunate.  Here's yesterday's 5 things:

Whoever thought of putting lizards in Polly Pocket clothes

Publix thought of Granola Bark (probably not that healthy but OH MY GOODNESS) 

and it has a raisin in it so it counts.

I have a husband who sends flowers just because

Olivia got to spend the day with other kids who like singing 

And THIS  fantastic ginkgo that everyone in Rome watches outside Living and Giving 

So all the studies say that keeping a gratitude journal will make us happier and I believe it. Join me?

If you were my kid...

Let me tell you what you DON'T want to be. You really don't even want to find yourself in the unfortunate position of being my kid. You know I desperately want to be the calm, cool with whatever drama mom that I imagine raises some future poet laureate or Nobel Prize winner, but you know I really don't ever hear about those moms in acceptance speeches.  Instead, if you're my kid you are saddled with an overactive, panicky adult who has incredibly vivid imagination. And who punishes accordingly whether the infractions are real or imaginary.

If you were my kid I'd be all up in your business. I'd know more than both of us wished to know about your bf's and your bff's and your lols.  I'd make sure you knew I knew too because at least we're gonna be transparent about how I've got my eye on you.  I'd know your friend's moms and their style of supervision. I'd make sure you got caught every time you tried something and if I didn't catch you it'd be because I was too tired to let you know I caught you. I might even pull that, "Is there anything you'd like to tell me" trick so that you'd think I knew what I didn't even know and spill it.  You and your friends would be awed by my omnipresence. Privacy would at times be a far off luxury.

You get that we are dealing with people with pretty much half developed brains? Worse yet, people with half developed brains who have access to all kinds of things and technology that can injure them both physically and emotionally. Things that can leave permanent scars.  And that's the reason that I am not above snooping, spying, bribing, threatening, and all manner of methods that the parenting magazines warned you of back when you had time to read those things and thought your still crawling child only had to fear electrical sockets and uncut hotdogs.  The thing is, mostly I'm attracted to this "all up in your business" parenting style out of an intense affection and desire to protect, not primarily a desire to control.  I'm also no fool - I do know that orchestrating every aspect of your child's life is not an effective long term parenting plan, that the endeavor itself is a great illusion. I wouldn't go so far as to do that.  I know ultimately the kids will have to choose protect themselves from difficult people and situations. But it's okay if I'd really love it if they came out on the other side of adolescence safe and sound, right?

I was visiting with my friend Helen today. She's already raised her kids and now has grandkids. We feel similarly about people who injure children and she's committed to offing anyone who dares to hurt her grandchildren.  She says she'd be fine spending the rest of her life in a cell so long as she had access to books.  I can get behind that. Just so we are clear, I happen to be a huge fan of vigilante justice and think it's a neglected and incredibly effective form of evening the universe out.  To make sure my children know that I am committed to protecting them, I've made sure to throw around phrases during the news like "if someone did that to you I'd light them on fire" and "if someone tried that with you I'd run over them with my car - and back again." I'm fairly certain my children are somewhat terrified of the intensity of my protective nature.

It makes sense, I guess, that there are days when I don't have many fans in my household.  That's totally cool with me. I did not enter parenthood to be anyone's bff although I'm charmed by a secret-telling session or a girls only shopping trip.  I have other goals as a parent that include raising a child who's capable and compassionate - but underlying that there's always nailing basic safety and, of course, hygiene.  We've pretty much got the hygiene licked which is great because that means I'm completely free to focus on things like researching AT&T's Smart Limits program for the iPhone and the latest sexual offender registry updates.

Talk soon...

Oh God no....

Monster Oarfish, 18 Feet Long, Called ‘Discovery of a Lifetime’

Party Expert

Well I've decided that there's nothing better than having one of your favorite singers come play in your living room and I know this is true now BECAUSE IT REALLY HAPPENED.  I wouldn't expect you to remember me mentioning having a house concert a few months ago, but Kenny and I had gone to hear Kate Campbell at my friend Tamara's house in the spring and I thought we could do this kind of party.  I am not a person who hosts parties. I won't even usually go to a party or shower or networking opportunity. Hell, I thought I'd finally arrived when I managed to get out of all holiday party obligations and it's not at all because I don't like you. I just don't feel comfortable and I like my pajamas and my book a whole lot. This has been going on a long time so when I told my sister we were doing this, in a very therapeutic voice she said, "First, let me tell you how proud I am of you for having a party."  I'm telling you this so that you know what a leap it is for me to commit to a house concert.  I did it, though, because Kate Campbell thrills everyone and this kind of party doesn't even require that any of my friends do anything other than sit in a newly renovated house and clap.  How hard can it be right?

All you have to do really is invite 50 or 60 great people:

and by friends I mean people like Tara who will come early and find and arrange wildflowers:

and like Mandi who will bring their artwork to make your house look perfect:

and friends like Stephanie will make sure you can serve drinks in the coolest way:

and Leighanne who'll call and tell you you're not fat so you won't freak out about what to wear.

And you've got to find a great caterer (Ray Harris) because he'll go along with your Sunday Supper theme:

and have Juan fry up some chicken in the yard:

You've got to marry a guy who will climb a few trees with you and string some lights while you sing "Kenny and Lori sittin' in a tree" ad nauseum:

And for extra oomph make a party favor:

So we did all of those things and most importantly, invited Kate, who brought her wit and warmth and sweet, sweet voice and all of those things made a perfect night.  If you grew up in the South, her music brings you home - like to your grandmother's house on a Sunday after church. You know, I don't even really think about heaven until Kate sings Sorrowfree and then I'm crying a little about shining rivers and forever and forgiveness.  It was an evening of belly laughing over roadside signs at vegetable stands and sadness over our lack of progress when it comes to civil rights. She sang about cars and blues and Jesus and funeral food and by the time it was over we had all committed to reading more poetry and dusting off our copies of To Kill a Mockingbird, but not one of us was ready for it to be over.  How many artists can do all that in an hour and a half?

I spent the next couple of days answering calls and texts about which album has which song on it and heard about a million times how peaceful and happy our evening was.  I'm leaving the lights up and the flowers are somehow still colorful so that it's not really over yet, but the fried chicken and biscuits are all gone.  I keep playing her live album Two Nights in Texas so that I can pretend she's still in the living room and it's pretty close to the real thing.

That's how you throw a party.

 

Logged out

You won't believe it, but I'm finally off Facebook.  It's been a month now so that's long enough to reconsider, but I'm committed. I'd been toying with the idea of abandoning the social network for a while and finally did a little personal experiment.  I'd been noticing for a few months that, even though I logged on frequently (when I say "frequently" you need to hear "with an astonishing and annoying regularity"), I wasn't seeing much new.  What I was seeing was a lot of nasty comments about how other people don't do parenting or politics the right way.  I saw lots of people trying to convince me they're happy in their lives and marriages. And lots of cat pictures. Once I noticed that trend of people pleading for acceptance and approval it was hard to UNnotice it if you know what I mean. The only thing that might have salvaged my participation was that the cats were sometimes kinda funny. My experiment involved just watching to see if I could find something original and engaging each day.

When I finally joined Facebook (and more than one person commented that the apocalypse must be at hand when they found me there) I felt I had joined this gleeful floating raft of happy well wishing old and new friends who all shared the same quirky sense of humor as me.  I imagined that we'd spend our time thinking of even more ways to bring a little laughter to our prospective days.  You know that is not at all how it turned out. It didn't take long in my experiment to see that shine was gone.

Instead, and I can't say exactly when, the platform became a way for some of my friends (who gasp! are not all really friends so much as people I kinda knew) to abuse one another politically, personally, religiously in the name of free speech. The many, many reposts of articles about parenting that weren't in the least bit supportive of young families, but instead offered up judgement and criticism all in the name of God made me wonder if I'd misunderstood our relationships.  I'm raising a wonderful child and even I felt like my parenting would be criticized from reading some of the reposted articles just swimming in double standards on Facebook.  You know sarcasm and dark humor have no better fan than me, but you can add to the list of things that I don't find at all funny racism, gay bashing and photoshopping of any political candidate.  Oh, and slut shaming.

The funny I found at first became obscured by the real venom that came behind it and while initially we all seemed to be on our best behavior, somehow I could no longer find much input that I could call positive or laughable or enlightening.  Worse, I wasn't seeing much original content - just reposts. More than once I arranged what I could see and what people can see about me. I've blocked and hidden and all of that, but I still couldn't find the excitement I'd found when I didn't know everyone quite so well.  I feel like a lot of these folks had opened their robes and flashed me so before I knew it, I was censoring what I was willing to share and I don't like worrying about what my "friends" will think so much.  Because I'm an empathetic person, I found myself constantly wondering about people after cringe-worthy, attention-seeking posts, "Lord, what is it you're asking from the world here? And is it possible to even get what you want from a bunch of not-really-friends? And am I supposed to give it by clicking the thumbs up button?"

And then I remembered that all I have to do is stop looking. Stop looking and all that negativity that sticks to an empath like me no longer carries any weight in my day.  I'd forgotten the option of leaving the party early.  I was worried, though, that I'd miss something if I left. When I answered the questions, "What would happen if I didn't see your toes-in-the-sand picture?" and, "What would happen if I didn't seek approval from people I hardly know with my own comments,  shares and pictures?"  The truth is, nothing would happen. Nothing at all except I might be able to breathe a little. So, I deactivated.

The thing is, it's not really a complaint I have about Facebook that caused me to end it.  I may even go back when I need a cat picture or when I want to see how someone's cousin's kid is doing in baseball.  The truth of Facebook is the same truth of ALL groups of people and that's where I've always had problems.  When you really get to know people, most of them you wish you didn't have to spend time with and the few you deeply care for turn up in lots of other ways.  The attention seeking ones that bug you at the office are the same ones waving flags of vague statements in your newsfeed that begin with "Some people really need to..." and the people posting pictures of their perfect vacations with their perfect spouses are still just right next door trying to forget the money problems and the affairs that everyone in town already knows about anyway. Knowing that all the softly focused selfies from women over 40 took about an hour to stage makes me sad.  Really, nothing is that different than it would be if I gathered all 652 friends and had a reunion with them.  And I wouldn't do that because it would be horrible - almost as horrible as checking in with them multiple times a day at stop lights and finding nothing of value. I don't even like parties.

For the first 10 days I thought I might be missing something important so I'd reactivate the account just to check but the same stomach knotting comments were there and not much else and that helped confirm my decision. So I'm free. I've been liberated from being desensitized by pictures of sunsets and half empty glasses of wine. I was kinda bored at first, but now I'm free to have real friendships with real people who want to speak the truth about their marriages and their children. I'm free from watching the same bad theology article reposted over and over by people I thought were smarter and free from wondering how getting enough "likes" translates into someone finally getting a kidney. Just as importantly, I'm free from exposing myself to an assessment of my worth by people who don't really know me.  I'm not telling you to do it.  I'm not condemning you for enjoying the party. I'm just telling you to email me or call me if something big happens.

Do whatever it takes

Parenting is hard. Do whatever it takes to be heard.

Did you see that?

I've tried before to tell you about this moment I had like 4 or 5 or I don't know even 8 years ago while I was driving, but it was such a powerful moment in my life that I've had a hard time finding words that fit it.  I was just toodling along on my way to do something probably very important in Atlanta (like look for a rug or a dress or something) and I saw this guy walking on the side of the road, you know kinda lifting his feet up over the weeds and rocks that inhabit the side of the road. He didn't look like what you'd call a tremendously successful individual what with the worn out clothes and the dollar general bag he was carrying. In fact, you'd probably describe this fella as more the "rode hard and put up wet sort" but whatever - I just wanted you to imagine him.  Coming towards him, also on foot was a woman who looked equally worn and weary. Her blond hair was growing out much darker and she was thin and her skin looked lined from years of smoking and hard living. Here's the good part and it happened pretty quickly:  when they noticed one another, they both stopped in their tracks and rushed towards each other and embraced like two people who had been rescued, like two people who'd been vitally important to one another at one time but had maybe been lost somehow for years.  It was a joyous reunion - kind of like when you run into someone you've survived a kidnapping with I'd imagine.  I mean, PURE RELIEF and unspeakable joy existed right there on the side of the road. It wasn't romantic, but it was like watching one of the most intimate expressions of love I have ever witnessed. The beauty that existed in their ugly, worn, clothes and demeanor, in their humanity, was stunning and I was grief stricken because in that same moment I realized that I had probably sped by a million instances to witness this sort of love and beauty but managed to be more distracted by their imperfections.  So it was a sad moment of realization, and at the same time one of the most lovely and cherished moments I can recall. I'm still afraid that I can't describe it well enough for you to connect with the impact of it. That moment changed my life - it opened my eyes to the importance of being receptive and to the possibility that sadness and happiness are not that far from one another.

I tell you this so that you might watch this short clip below about our phones and how all the distractions we put in place keep us from experiencing all the good and all the sad that makes us eventually happier people.  Now I'm not talking about the parenting part at the beginning of this clip, but it might still be worth watching that part and we can talk about that later, but bear with it.  Next time let's talk about whether we get in our own way when it comes to living the life we want.

Tip #1 for living the good life

Go for a walk in the morning. This is from yesterday's walk at Berry. I interrupted everyone's breakfast apparently. 

And all your dreams (or nightmares) came true...

I can't imagine anything worse than what's happening in this article:  There's a Clown Terrorizing a British Town - Connor Simpson - The Atlantic Wire

Oh Miley

I think Will Smith's family's reaction to Miley's VMA performance last night was about what we all feel.

Take my picture!

I have to say that at first I thought this project was cliche, but I was fascinated and a little weepy by the end. The photos are riveting.

Amen!!

Blah blah blah

It's hard for me to believe that my daughter is 13 this week. A lot of people jokingly say this is when it gets difficult and then there's a lot of people who jokingly say how difficult it is when they are little, but I think it's probably just that people like to joke about how difficult parenting is.  My night time terror about getting it right doesn't feel very funny.  Several folks have asked me to write about parenting but I hesitate to write too much to you about it because I don't know more than anyone else. Also, it would probably be a very short piece because I do happen to think if you want to be a good parent you should really just mostly focus on being a good person yourself.

My therapist says a big chunk of creating a capable and happy adult is communicating to your children that they are competent and loved.  Since she's seen a lot of screwed up people I am trusting her on this. I've been thinking about that a lot and I do think I can tell you a few things I've learned in the last few years that have maybe lent themselves to creating a pretty likable, competent kid who feels loved and, at least at 13, doesn't seek to injure the people around her. The next few years could go horribly wrong so I'm not writing this with any authority. Let's see if this is a good list:

First, Don't hit your kid.   I believe children need correction. And I have seen some kids I'd like to hit.  I also believe that striking someone usually means that we've run out of better, more evolved options.   It's unfortunate, but one of us has to be smarter than a 3 year old and must respond to frustration in an appropriate way - a way that you'd want your child to imitate later in his own moment of frustration.  I tried spanking once, but realized that in my case I was hitting my child out of the sort of fury that only an exhausted, nose wiping, frump mom can experience - honestly, not out of any motivation to correct and improve. I decided I can't strike my kid and then claim to want a peaceful existence with her.  The message is only that bigger people get to injure smaller people. I ended up resorting to straddling Olivia to immobilize her and get her attention. She always chose to get her revenge publicly when she'd run from me saying, "Don't sit on me mamaaaaaaa," but I can say that it worked.

Say "I don't know" more often than you planned.  It's scary to everyone to admit to your child that you don't know everything, but they need to understand the world is a VAST and curious place, larger than your hometown, larger than the opinions of their community and even larger than they imagine.  I try to communicate this by not making blanket statements about people also. Let them see you in pursuit of answers and don't limit their access and willingness to explore God's world by spouting platitudes and behaving like you know more than you really can know after only 40 odd years on the planet. This is a way of giving them the gift of WONDER.  And speaking of God...

Pursue Him or Her or something.  I didn't say act like your 4th grade memorizing of the books of the Bible means you are a theologian on Facebook. I'm telling you to let your kids watch you try to improve your spiritual knowledge and connections. Did you know there's whole chunks of the Bible that are left out? No matter where you fall spiritually, there's tons left to discover about a God big enough to present himself to a billion people in a billion different ways so don't put God in a box for them. And if you are going to quote any scripture, stick with "Love one another" for the first 10 years. I don't know even any adults who consistently live by that one so it's a good one to start with and you can build up to the others.

Unfortunately, it's time to be a good example. Again, the studies show that good parenting really just comes down to being a model of good, or healthy behavior.  So a lot of things will fall into place if you understand that your example is more effective than anything else. Focus on what YOU are doing that you'd like to see or what you could work on for their sakes if not for your own. They will follow your example in all manner of things - from your treatment of the people around you to your alcohol intake and to your willingness to grow and change - so stop giving prescriptions and start being the sort of person you'd like them to be.

Stop acting like the children are trying to kill you.  They may be, but the thing is, I don't know a kid who asked to be born so if you have a child it's likely because you chose to and you need to buck up and quit complaining about the weird hours and the carpool and the finances and find something to enjoy about your time together.  If you are an exasperated parent, the problem may lie in your attitude, not their existence.  No child deserves to feel like their life is an inconvenience to you.

Build a marriage. Or some long term relationship. Show them how to work on one, and if you have to, how to peacefully end one.

Consequence, not explosion.  I know you know I get pissed.  I am entitled to be angry over misbehavior and I'm entitled to express it, but I don't want to be the reason that there's more distance between us and explosions absolutely create distance. She may not act like it, but your kid doesn't want a negative distance between you either. So when they act like a fool, take a minute and be the person that doesn't behave impulsively. Sometimes it serves you better to respond with compassion during a meltdown anyway.  I can handle an honest disagreement over clothes or boys and my daughter needs to know the world won't end if we are at odds. Approaching things calmly doesn't mean that there won't be a consequence for bad behavior! Once Olivia's dishonesty meant that she had to do a week's worth of laundry and dishes - every time her hands were wet that week I wanted her to consider that she had some relational cleaning to do as well.  I don't need her to like me all the time. I need her to be in an honest, respectful relationship with me and if my own anger gets in the way of it, I need to consider the damage I have done too. Teach the power of apologies.

Tell them precisely what you like about them.  Consider that being new in the world is not an easy position to find yourself in and find some SPECIFIC things your kids are doing right to praise. I swear I want to set the next parent who shouts "Good JOB!" on fire so please for the love of God find something better to share. Take a second to say, "I never knew you could lasso" or "For a second there I thought I'd have to get the fire extinguisher, but you know you made this grilled cheese is just the way I like it." Even try, "It was such a joy to watch you try something new." You don't have to be effusive, but please be sincere.

Separate yourself already.  I know that some of you really do what the kids to grow up and live in the basement, but you know that's not really a good thing, right?  You are not your child. Their successes do not belong to you and make you a better person.  Besides, none of your lunch friends care what your little darling made on her social studies test last week so you are going to need to find something else to talk about. When you don't have a life outside of parenting, you inadvertently put pressure on your child to make your happiness their responsibility. Celebrate their good work. Be proud of them, but go show them you know how to try something new, how to make friends, how to pursue an interest and stop mooching off their wonderful lives.

Express gratitude to the people around you.  If you are a person who casts about for problems all day it's not likely you actively show your kids how to be grateful and studies show people who allow themselves to experience daily gratitude are happier.  If you are resentful that your children don't thank you enough for all you do for them, consider how often they hear you thank them or someone else. Maybe they just don't know it's the thing to do. Here's an app to try: Gratitude Journal.  Creating a mindset of this sort is a legacy and you'll live longer if you do it.

Stop rescuing.  I have a lean towards this, but I'm in recovery. If you have a flesh eating bacterial problem or if you get kidnapped, I will rescue you.  Absolutely. I will swoop in like an eagle, talons open and lift you up on the wings of safety.  I will not, however, rescue you from being in the 7th grade.  I get tired of people behaving like there's one perfect school, one perfect path, one line of work.  Adaptability and confidence are huge components of happiness and creating a child who can land on her feet in ANY school, who can look for purpose in a multitude of settings, means you've got a kid who will be much happier than a person who can only thrive in one "ideal" scenario. I can't tell you how much fun I had helping Olivia with school projects but by the time she made the solar system out of jingle bells it was time for me to back the hell off of her. If you express confidence that your child will be fine, they usually will, so as hard as it is, sit on your hands and watch them navigate their own path. You will be amazed.

Have some fun already.  Remember how you used to be fun? Surely I don't need to explain how to have fun to you. Fun doesn't have to be limited to photographable events like trips to Six Flags. For kids, fun is sometimes just attention. If you are on the lookout during the day for funny things to share at dinner (Kenny does this), suddenly everyone wants to sit a little longer around the table.  You used to be fun - I know that because someone had a kid with you - be that person again.

So there's lots more - Stop Shouting, Invest in Art Supplies, Insist on Music Lessons..but I think this is long enough.  I knew I shouldn't have tried to write all this down. Just remember in a few years when you see Olivia on the back of some motorcycle, all tatted up and shooting birds at me on her way to her exotic dancing job, that I told you things could still go horribly wrong. Talk soon...

That's it. We're getting a raccoon.

The Power of Music

I've had more than one conversation lately about how under-funded arts programs are.  Every life story has a musical soundtrack and it's created by people who spend countless hours in practice and education.  It's timely that I ran across this sweet short video today.

What are you gonna wear?

Olivia's switching schools from a small private setting to a large public setting this year so there's a lot of change going on with that.  She's eager to try all the things a large school can offer. She feels like she's in the real world now. So far she's done a volleyball clinic, her regular swim club on campus, tried out for show choir and this week she's at band camp. She is loving all the fun of meeting new people and being part of something that involves more than 20 kids.  We've never had to worry too much about dress codes and regulations. I get the impression that at the new school kids wear something other than what looks like pajamas on campus and that there's some attention to straps and appropriate lengths.  I'm trying to make sure we follow all the rules and she doesn't end up embarrassed by some oversight on my part.

I don't like to be at odds with my daughter.  I'll admit, we get along so well that I'm usually not prepared for some disagreement.  My lack of preparation usually means things are gonna escalate. It's because I don't have enough time to consider whether this is worth the battle. This morning Olivia bounced downstairs in her Rolling Stones t-shirt (the logo with the open mouth, tongue out) and some decent length shorts. I love the Stones and I love the logo, but since she cut the sleeves out of the shirt there's a little gapping that happens that concerned me.  If we were still at the beach, no problem, but a new school is not where I want to push the boundaries and if we are going to have an argument about what you're wearing, especially since I purchased it, I'm going to WIN the battle.  I'm not asking for a collared shirt buttoned up to the top, but I was thinking adding a tank top to the ensemble would prevent any skin showing under her arm area and I was thinking at 7:30 a.m. that I don't need to explain the laundry particulars about how a shirt stretches out by the end of the day and even her sports bra is gonna still leave some problems.  I was thinking how mortified she'd be if she were to be the one kid singled out for not following the dress code. Also, I was thinking that we've had this very same discussion about this very same shirt before. I was unhappy.

She was thinking it's hot. She was thinking maybe this time she could win the Last Word Contest.  I reminded her that I hate arguing and that I'd rather save that for the big stuff like lofty ideas instead of shirts.  I made some threats.  She made some smart comments. I told her to get her own damn breakfast out of the oven and went outside with the dog to cool off.  She was unhappy and muttering on her march back upstairs. Probably shot me a few birds while she grabbed her tank top. We both agreed to stop talking.

I acknowledge that I could have handled my part better. The storm passed, but I believe wholeheartedly in apologies so I made sure to apologize for losing my temper on our drive to camp. I assured her that no shirt was going to keep me from loving her.  We talked about some stuff on the news. Laughed about that 94 year old store owner who told the robber he could take all the Tootsie Rolls he wanted, but she wasn't opening the cash register.

So everything was all right. She was back to her polite, happy self when she got her saxophone and lunch out of the back seat and breezed right past a male student sporting a shirt that says I LOVE BOOBIES.  I'm sure he's dedicated to finding a breast cancer cure or something.  I just had to take a moment with my head on the steering wheel while I guffawed.

Welcome to the real world, baby.

And we're back

I learned a few years ago not to complain to people who aren't at the beach about having to leave the beach.  They are the least sympathetic crowd.  Really, there's no one who wants to hear you whine about how hard it was to leave the sand and sea after a few months.  That look on their faces is not at all sympathy. If you look closely, you'll be able to identify the secret loathing. I used to dread when other friends would explain to new people I met how we'd be gone ALL SUMMER because that's really no way to introduce yourself and because I never felt entitled to such a wonderful existence, just fortunate.

This is an atypical summer for us.  Olivia's at the age where she's becoming involved in lots of extracurricular activities so that meant cutting the beach time short this year (and maybe for a few more).  I have to remind myself that it's temporary.  When we first started (almost 10 years ago?) spending summers at the beach I imagined that we'd always do that.  And I also did that thing that humans do and caught up thinking that time away from the water was not valuable time.  It's this game of opposites all humans do. If one place is good, the other must be miserable. If one spouse is good, the ex must be horrible.  The truth, in my experience, is that I have 365 days a year and I'd like to enjoy most of them so it doesn't work, even just as a practical matter, to offhandedly accept that the other 42 weeks of the year must inherently be horrible if these 10 weeks are so wonderful. Talk about undermining your own happiness.

Saying goodbye to the sand and our friends is never easy. We just all pretend like it's not happening.  It was a good day to leave, though, because of the torrential downpour.  Normally Megan waves at the ferry and shouts M-M-MISSSSSS YOUUUUUU until we are out of sight, but that morning she couldn't make herself get out of bed for the ritual goodbye.  That's okay because the last goodbye with Kenny and Christopher caused her to sob and eat a half gallon of ice cream, crash in the bed and then take her spaghetti dinner into the bathroom and lock the door. This is a method for resolving grief that I fully endorse incidentally.

So we ripped the bandaid off, hugged our friends and shook the sand off for the 8 hour return drive home. The miracle that occurred in the car was that Olivia and I spent hours enjoying THE SAME MUSIC.  I know. We thought this would never happen, but there it was. 8 hours of togetherness and neither of us were miserable.  We are used to being together and it's not uncommon for us to enjoy some of the same music, but generally an agreeable ride involves me getting comfortable with lyrics that seem horribly disquieting coming from a 12 year old girl's mouth.  No parent wants to hear her daughter mindlessly singing, "When you're ready come and get it." Or even better, "I gotta have youuuuu..."  Ugh.  I should clarify that Olivia has a wide range of musical interests. She's just as likely to sing Johnny Cash as she is AC/DC. She can belt out a little Sheryl Crow and it doesn't keep her from learning all of the words to Macklemore's latest. Thank God she's always been skeptical of Miley Cyrus and all the other Disney princesses.  Still, it's not uncommon for me to spend the drive home frequently changing stations to find one song that we both can nod our heads to.

Anyway, I had loaded up on Kate Campbell music because SHE'S COMING TO SING AT MY HOUSE.  Let me say that again. OH MY GOD KATE CAMPBELL IS COMING TO SING IN MY HOUSE. She does house concerts and I'm beyond excited that she's got time in October to swing by and sing and visit with my friends (let me know if you wanna come).  I wanted to familiarize myself with more of her music and Olivia didn't object so we started listening together.  She loves different ones than I love, but we both sang a little and laughed a little and even cried a little at the same ones. We took a Kate break and after I ran into the restroom at a convenience store I returned to the car to find her shouting at an XM station, "GIVE ME SOME LYRICS THAT MEAN SOMETHING PEOPLE."  I'm not sure I've ever had a prouder moment.

And here we are. No sand, no salt water, no late nights, but still, lots to look forward to and lots to be happy about in Rome, GA. All of the pets in the house are chattering about our return and Kenny's beyond excited that the refrigerator is now miraculously full.  Keep you posted on the transition.

Well this is about the grossest thing I've ever heard

Found on the local newspaper site today was the following article detailing just about the most disgusting attempt at voyeurism I've ever heard of.  Since it's already in my head ruining my dinner I figure I will take you down with me.  Bleh. Here's the link:

Tulsa man arrested after woman spots him in septic tank beneath women's bathroom: SAND SPRINGS, Okla. (AP) — A Tulsa man has been arrested on a peeping Tom complaint after police discovered him inside a septic tank beneath a women's bathroom at a Sand Springs water park. Tulsa C...

Cuteness factor overload

If something happens to me

Since I've got all in the time in the world, check out this blog I found:  Lost Words In the Chamber. This blog is not making any sort of statement on capital punishment. It simply catalogs the last statements made by people on their way to be executed.  I KNOW it sounds ghastly, but if you're going to find sincere words, surely it's the last words of folks headed to their execution, right?  Think about it. How many people actually are of pretty clear mind and pretty good health are informed about the minute when they will die? Not many. In fact, other than suicide (and I'm not sure if that counts as clear thinking) most people don't have the opportunity to see it coming.  I can't imagine anyone asking me, "Any last words?" as the piano drops from the sky.  Nor can I imagine having the presence of mind to actually draft something at that point.  "Why yes, nurse, and I would like for you to gather an audience before I begin. Make sure to include the people who hate me most and the people who love me most."

I can honestly say that there's nothing else enviable about being executed. I read a bunch of their last words and they all had different ways of saying about what you'd imagine - they talked about love and gratitude and forgiveness and God. Some of them were pissed and I guess that sounds about right. It does make you wonder, though, if you knew the hour and moment and if you still had your health and mind, what would you impart to the people who came to watch? Assume now, that this audience includes those you've injured and those who love you. And probably a minister. I'm always instructing Kenny, "If something happens to me, make sure you tell Olivia/Christopher..." and it's not because I'm a fatalist. It's because we all have something you'd think you'd like to make sure people remember.

So I've started a rough draft.  Obviously, to Kenny I'd remind him how much I admire and adore him. I'd tell him how grateful I am for how he commits to his family and for his steady expression of love for me. I'd tell Christopher that our relationship is one of the shiniest treasures I have and that I am so proud of the man he's made himself into. I'd tell Olivia that she's the best I've ever seen and that being her mama was the biggest joy and most frightening undertaking of my life. I'd tell my parents and sister that my shortcomings are not their fault - the left handed scissors were never gonna work out. I'd tell them that I had hoped to be there to take care of them when they were old. I'd not mention anything about eating fruit or using sunscreen. I'd forget to mention all manner of helpful things, but I'd apologize to people that I didn't honor with attention and kindness. I'd tell my friends that they filled me up and that their swapping of secrets and laughs and pain were all an honor and a joy. I'd tell them that the times I didn't behave authentically were times when I just wanted to avoid being controversial because I wanted them to keep loving me. I'd tell them to remember that I wanted so much for people to think highly of me that I accepted a lot of take out boxes from servers even though I don't eat leftovers. I'd tell God that I looked for him and found him in both the ugly and the beautiful and that I really wanted my life to be a blessing. I'd extol compassion and gratitude as the most valuable of virtues and I'd beg forgiveness for the times I'd not remembered that.  If I started with a list of particular favorite memories, I'd probably never shut up.

Are you gonna do this too? The advantage is that, since we don't know the date of our demise, we can keep adding.  Probably when I go to sleep I'll think of a bunch of things I should have included, but that always happens and if I don't get it all said, I'll just have to let my life speak for itself.

Day 4

Day 4 of ALL BY MYSELF.

It's raining here so I was feeling a bit cagey yesterday. I decided to go off the island to see a movie, but when I arrived at the theater the movie I wanted to see was sold out. Since I'm here with all the time in the world I decided to go see another while I waited for the one I preferred.  If there's one experience that can make you feel anonymous, it's going to a movie by yourself. I kind of like having a meal alone sometimes or seeing a movie - I certainly wouldn't let being alone keep me from going to eat or see whatever I had in mind. But boy does it bother other people to see someone eating alone.

I used to eat regularly by myself while Olivia was at swim practice. I had a favorite place and I'd take a book maybe and order something I thought would warm me up, but I finally stopped this practice because the proprietor would loudly march me to my table belting out, "Dining alone AGAIN?" or something to that effect and it became clear that my solitary dining made him sad. I did at least say, "It doesn't bother ME, but it seems to upset YOU."  Also, every server in that place seemed to think that my table for one status meant that I wanted to visit with them individually so they'd stop by the table and come up with all manner of things to entertain me when all I really wanted was some soup and the chance to get a few chapters covered in my book.  I do have a few places where I am friends with the servers and those servers are friendly and welcoming every single time. They are also kind enough to leave me with my book when I open it. If you are also an introvert, you know how this goes.

This morning brought more rain so I'm again confined to house and porch. It's not like I couldn't brave getting wet, but what's better at the grocery store or the post office than my book?  Here's my spot for the afternoon:

Sure is quiet

So Olivia's off on a trip with the church youth group this week and that means I've got all the time in the world to write to you.  I KNOW. I usually hear people who anticipate a house with no kids talk about how great it's gonna be, but mostly all I'm experiencing is a whole lot of quiet. I don't mind quiet. I don't mind time with a book or eating alone. I don't even mind seeing movies by myself.  It's raining here so that's kind of nice too.

Yesterday I spent a lot of time online and when I have time I'll read just about anything - anything that's not just some person spewing nonsensical hatred all around and there's a lot of that, believe you me.  I do a lot of searching and lately I don't see that much worth sharing on the internet. There's only so many cat videos. I did see a funny dog one where the dog keeps closing the door on his owner so he doesn't have to take a bath. Not funny enough to share, but amusing. I spent a little time reading about North Korea. There's some shocking stuff. Then I found this hour long presentation by this kid in a Kansas church about the Bible in regard to homosexuality and since I love some gay people and I love Jesus and also I had an hour (I have LOTS of hours!) I watched it, and I have to tell you this nervous, courageous and faithful young man makes a very compelling, faith-based and intelligent argument for rejecting the traditional misreading of scripture in relation to homosexuality.  Here's the link to the article, the short highlight video and the full one: Matthew Vines Bible and Homosexuality Debate. At least it's a fuller argument than the one I usually have towards anti-gay talk, which is "Love one another."

Then I got wrapped up in those Dateline kind of programs where you don't know who the murderer is until the very end.  After that, I went outside, removed the spare key from the hiding spot because according to Dateline, anyone can come in and kill you while you sleep in your house, and went to bed to the sound of a whole lot of rain falling on my tin roof.

So in the two full days of being all by myself I've stripped all the beds, flipped the mattresses, done some laundry, eaten fish tacos, started and rejected two books, sat in the sun and called Kenny. I guess really that's not that different than my list of activities would be if Olivia were still here now that I think of it.    I better get on doing something fascinating, enviable and blogworthy before she returns.

A year is not very long

So next week marks a year since the death of my friend Brad. If I'm frank with you, I will tell you that I don't feel any better about it 360+ days later than I did the day his sister called to tell me he'd been found dead in North Dakota.  I know I'm the first person to tell you that the world keeps turning and I know that it's true, and that it's spinning brings relief after a while if you'll let it.  I'll let it work on me, but don't you think that all grieving people think that it's a betrayal to let the intensity of pain fade? Scars are duller than open wounds and four seasons is just not very long when it comes to healing.

Recently I read the phrase "resurrect by recitation" to describe that frantic task, the collecting of memories and evidence of existence that all those who grieve perform.  I spent the initial few weeks doing that. I dug out every scrap of paper and gift of handwriting that I could find and replayed his happy voice mail at least 200 times.  What I have amounts to 3 blue mercury glass candlesticks, one book (Swamplandia which really is a good read), a Tiffany ice bucket he thought for some reason that I must have, some pictures, a few cards and a student newspaper article which he authored.  It would all fit in the Tiffany blue box probably.

Collection complete, I told everyone who would listen all the best parts of my friend.  This year I thought a lot about what any of us might have done or said that would have bought a few more days at least with my funniest, smartest, friend, the one who read presidential biographies, took me to my first Gay Pride parade and imitated Thurston Howell III from Gilligan's Island in a swim shirt 3 sizes too small when we went sailing.  I unearthed memories from college, wrote emails to his nieces and sister about them, might have engaged in some criminal breaking and entering to understand the situation better and then played Tim Chaisson's tune "The Healing" on repeat in my car whenever the waves of grief hit me until I was all cried out.

Mostly, and very importantly, I spent a lot of time blaming. I blamed anyone - from all the people who injured my darling friend in even the slightest of ways to the one closest to him who caused him to feel abandoned and rejected after years of selfless support and encouragement. I blamed drugs and alcohol and the devil called Addiction.  I blamed a cultural intolerance for homosexuality. No person was spared from blame. I blamed myself for not being enough, for not seeing things clearly, for not being there when he needed to be rescued. My fury was a hot venom I spewed on anyone who could suffer through a conversation with a devastated, left behind person and I knew it.  But it felt good.  It felt better sometimes than getting better would have.

I know the way that I write sometimes sounds like I know more than other people about how to live well, but if you absorb nothing else, hear me when I say I have no better idea about how to move through loss than anyone else.  I'm willing though, to show you my despair (as Mary Oliver would say) in hopes that you could show me yours when you need to.  And maybe it will help somehow to do this together.

It's possible that my own despair had reached it's limits when I finally dreamed of my friend Brad. I'd spent days in an untethered sort of state with the phrase, "where are you where are you where are you" running through my mind and maybe my subconscious synapses finally decided to relieve me or maybe something more ethereal occurred - whatever the source, I'm grateful. The only way to describe my state on that night is to say that the weight of Brad's absence in my dream was an unbearable and writhing agony, an hours long wrestling with despair in the darkness. This heaviness of loss sat on my chest and my keening took all of my breath until he simply appeared in his red, cashmere sweater. Smiling, with no trace of the anxiety and discomfort he'd lived with all the years I'd known him, he opened his arms and held me as I wept.  He didn't speak, but his embrace warmed me with the assurance that he was near, safe, and finally at peace and that I would be okay soon enough.  I could still feel the warmth of his sweater when I awoke. I've seen a new day about 300 more times since that dream and I still hate that he's gone, but that assurance I felt was as real as my misery and as true as my friendship with him and since then I've had no other inclination but to sit and wait as many seasons as it takes for the healing.

Fire!

Well there's nothing quite like a fire alarm at 4 in the morning to get the blood flowing.  It was a false fire alarm, but the thing is that YOU DON'T KNOW THAT when it's blaring in your ear. I think I heroically jumped out of bed with a, "Wha??" and stumbled downstairs to see if Olivia was losing her mind since she couldn't hear me over the shrieking alarm. I guess they can't make those things go a little easier on a person.  I mean, the point is to alarm everyone.  Nothing but the best for us then.  I think when they were installed we thought it was a good idea to place them outside each bedroom - that way we can all be equally tortured.  The alarm panel was indicating we had a fire which is about the last thing you want to see in the woods on a bridgeless island because it will probably not be the sort of thing that gets described later as minor. When the alarm company called and said for me to verify a fire in the garage it meant I had to BRAVELY walk out in the dark to check on the supposed catastrophe. These are times when I miss Kenny. All the critters (foxes, raccoons, SNAKES FOR THE LOVE OF PETE, and now island rats the size of shovels) all roam around out there in the pre-dawn and I don't think I could have handled any more surprises, but I could at least hope that the air-horn decibel alarm had sent them running for the dunes. I'll admit that my senses were probably kind of wired, but Olivia (she was not going to be left behind) and I could neither smell nor see any fire or potential fire in the garage. It's a big responsibility to tell the dispatcher to hold off on sending the trucks, however.  I expected the explosion to ignite about the time I hung up because you know I'm lucky like that.  The dispatcher acted annoyed - as if I'd planned this attention seeking event and then cancelled just to ruin her shift.

Hearts pounding, Olivia and I got in my bed and huddled with our heads under the blankets so we could muffle the sound of the alarm in case it went off again.  With false alarms that sometimes happens.  After some restlessness she fell back into a deep breathing slumber while I sat there wide eyed and thought about how quickly you can go from peacefulness to panic, from assurance that the world is right to fearfulness that there's more you can't see coming. I think that's the kind of shift which is always accompanied by a phone call - what's the line, we're all "just one phone call from our knees"?  I've had those calls, ones with the word "tumor" or "accident" that send the world off kilter and even though the normal routines of my day will eventually lull me back into thinking I know how things work, there will always be another jarring, alarm, false or not, to stun me enough to remind me exactly how few guarantees there are for two girls hiding under the covers.

Ahhh China

Discovered yet another way China baffles me in these "Anti Pervert stockings" for young women. Via Gawker, "A photo that took China's Twitter-alike Sina Weibo by storm this week claims to show the country's latest fashion trend: "Super sexy, summertime anti-pervert full-leg-of-hair stockings, essential for all young girls going out.":

Found myself laughing at the silly Chinese and then discovered that our own beloved Serena Williams echoed the same ridiculous sort of sentiment when she criticized the Steubenville rape victim by saying she "shouldn't have put herself in that position." 

Perhaps a pair of ugly hair pants could dissuade young men from abusing a woman, especially an unconscious one, but since 60-70% of sexual assaults are planned, I think it isn't about the pants or the booze...

I'd articulate the very many disappointing ways that I've heard people discuss sexual assault, the very many ways that we end up blaming women for men's shameful behavior and the backwards slut shaming that makes my blood boil as a woman and as a parent, but I'm too busy putting my Serena poster in the garbage. 

Morning, June 11

Just about the only time I can set aside to write to you in the morning. Every morning works pretty much the same here. Wake up when my body tells me it's time and stumble downstairs.  I heat the water for tea and go around opening blinds to let the daylight in. By the time it's finished steeping I can grab my mug and head to the back porch.

I can hear frogs and what must be the 2013 invasion of cicadas, but I'm not going to investigate because they creep me out back here. Kenny says this is my porch. He has the front porch, but he doesn't care to dress it up with bottles and a brightly quilted bed like my pretty one.  He doesn't even have the little string lights on his porch.  Come to think of it, that's probably why people don't visit us on the front porch either.

This porch has been host to board games and charades with the kids and ice cream parties and painting supplies and a library of books and most importantly, wandering discussions of every world problem and personality disorder you can imagine. It's a great place to get out of the heat and and even better place to listen to the rain.  This porch goes with a glass of wine or a mug of tea just perfectly.  My presence here upsets my neighbors dogs sometimes so that's a negative, but we will all get used to each other by the end of the summer I think.  Given that we are in the forest here I think it's a magic porch because I've never seen a snake on it. It's important that you don't argue with me on that.

I'm making a plan back here for the day. My friend Megan is leaving for a while so that makes us all a little blue. We've done all the things we like to do together on this visit. When we make our list of things to do for the day she always adds "eat" to the list which I appreciate because I'm thinking that too.  We rode bikes, sat on the beach and weathered Tropical Storm Andrea. The wind blew a lot so she stomped around repeating, "I can't take it anymore!" and we all agreed we'd had enough of that. Yesterday we made a market run and she pushed the cart and picked out some cereal for Olivia.  I didn't say it was an adventure, exactly, but it worked for us.  I guess that means today's plan includes waving goodbye at the ferry because that's the way she likes it.  Better get moving then.

Megan in Lighthouse, 2012

 

The Relocation

I've been quiet, but for good reason.  The end of the school year, as any parent of a school aged child will tell you, is busier than the holiday season.  We frantically bustled through the end of the year obligations and finally found ourselves fitting in the last minute hair cuts and orthodontist appointment. I made a quick trip to see my dear friend Ginger in Nashville and then turned around the very next day and drove with Kenny and Olivia the necessary 500 miles to Bald Head Island, North Carolina where we live every summer until close to the start of school.  I used to be quiet about this relocation because I thought people really weren't happy for my charmed life, but the last year has taught me that my thinking was completely wrong.

I love this place. I love the beach enough to wonder why I spend more of my time away from water than near it every year. I love the lazy pace and the Spanish moss and I don't even care when sand is everywhere. It's a good day if we sleep til our bodies are ready to awaken and then survey our friends to see what the plan is. For Olivia, the plan usually involves meeting her friends on their bikes and pedaling off to some other adventure.  For me, it usually involves reading, walking, visiting, eating. Invariably the day ends with ice cream - sometimes homemade, sometimes in the form of these wonderfully made local ice cream sandwiches. What could be better?

I often feel this crisis between writing about life and actually going out and living it.  You know what I mean? If I am looking for things to write to you all the time, I feel like I'm missing the actual living of it.  BUT, on the other hand I think this wonderful life deserves a witness or recording of it, so if I can string a few sentences along and they are pretty good reading, maybe I should.  I can at least try to do a little balancing of both this summer.

Currently, we are smack dab in the middle of the year's first tropical storm, Andrea.  I've heard a lot of storms on this island. and even saw the Weather Channel van at the marina once, but the wind from last night's positively howled.  I woke several times in fear about a tree coming through the ceiling and then managed to slide back into sleep by reminding myself how many times the rain on this tin roof sang me safely to rest. I'm no fool about storms - I will get to safety (in the lighthouse?) if I need to, but a little wind and rain to wash the world clean feels good sometimes. It's sunny - and still windy - here this morning, but I hear more is coming this afternoon so my friend Janie says we should probably take the kids fishing early today.  I'll take some pictures for you.