My children, now 17 and 12, are still sleeping.  I love this quiet time in the morning, and do hope my face does not look too obvious when they come  bounding in to greet me.  There is something about having my daily cup of coffee in the silence, that serves as my morning meditation.  Sure, it would be better if I were really meditating, but at least I am being quiet. 

Summers are changing around here.  For the first time, my kids are both so busy with their collective group of friends, that I no longer have to be the entertainment director, but now I am just the chauffeur and financier. Yesterday, for the first time, I allowed my daughter to pal around the Ranchos with her buddies, and yes, there were some boys.  I thought back on all the  times I have seen large groups of kids walking the neighborhood, and silently judged, wondering where their parents were.  Well, now it is daughter out in a pack of kids.  I have learned that anything I have ever judged, has come to pass for me.

My son went up to the Tahoe with a bunch of his teenage buddies, and I am sure bikinis were involved, and she was trolling along in the suburbs.  The day struck me profoundly, as I really understood how fast it is all going.  I breathed a huge sigh of relief when they were both back home under my roof and under my energetic wings.  I was exhausted from wondering where each of them were all day, the constant cell phone check ins, did they use sunscreen, did they drink water, did they eat anything with a living enzyme?

Mothering is hard work, and at some point, you just hope that all that guidance turns into self directed action on their part.  Today, I just hope maybe they will stay home, but I doubt it.  It is summer, and it is time to "hang out."  This is what they do now instead of play. 

I think I will have time for one more cup of coffee before they wake up. 

There is that day, you know the one, when you hit that wall of frustration with your kids and you have to find a better way?  Today is that day.

I refuse to be outsmarted or manipulated by children anymore.  A war of creativity has been declared, let the games begin.  After all, I am older and wiser, am I not?  I have survived 24 years as a stand up comic, working seedy gigs, with shady people, I have managed to keep doing the thing I love, while I am still a stay at home mom.  That took some doing, why can’t I make my kids do what I want?  How can this be so challenging? It is a daily battle, and I know the outcome, and I will be red faced and frustrated as they shrug off their crazy mother.  So, how do I this differently?  Today, my 17 year old son, stood right and front of me and emptied the sand from his shoes onto my carpet.  Now I realize my carpet most likely has its own life cycle by now, but still, really, right in front of me?  It was like he just could not differentiate between the outdoors and my living room.  Then he asked for me to find him socks that match,  and I took great pleasure in saying, “I do not want to deprive you of a chance to be responsible.”  He grumbled as he walked away, and I felt much better for not yelling, “find it yourself, I am not the maid, are your arms broken?”  His once white socks take up a lot of space in my head.  It is mathematically impossible to have as many strays as we do here.  No, really, you have no idea how many unmatched socks he has.  Why couldn’t I be one of those really together moms who always buys the same socks, so there are never any mismatches? I will tell you why. For one, I could never remember where I bought the previous ones or what brand they were, he is lucky I remember to buy them at all.  All I know, is I am always hopeful when I bring home that little hygienic bag, stuffed with all those white as the driven snow socks.  So, when he asks ME to find him socks, I get to release a little resentment for all the socks I have ever seen scattered over the house,  when I refuse to help him.  Really, if he took even 1% of the time he spends watching motocross, or men eating gigantic portions of food, on YouTube, and matched his socks, that are currently overflowing out of his cubby, (you know those little spaces in closets for organizing) ha, what a joke that is; he would have enough socks to last until he was growing hair out of his ears.  So, today when he gets home, he will be vacuuming the entire house, before he does any surfing on YouTube.

As soon as he walks out the door in the morning, my 12 year old daughter wakes up to some screeching song on her cell phone that she begged me for.  I finally caved, under the pretense of at least I will know where she is after school.  This phone is now my enemy.  I wonder who she is talking to, and why?  She was texting while doing homework last night, and I told her to stop it.  She proudly told me she was “multi-tasking,” as though she was some student of the new age.  I cannot shelter her from everything, but I still want to.  I am not ready to have my baby splitting off from me, but she is.  Fake finger nails have become her latest obsession.  Am I a bad mom because I let her buy them with her own money?  I remember being 12 and making fake finger nails out of clay and paper, and holding my hands upside down in the bathtub while watching the droplets of water hang from the tips of my nails, making them look longer, sexier, better.  Yes, I have very clear memories of how much I wanted pretty nails, but my parents would not even allow me to wear nail polish at that age.  As she waved her pretty little hands (the ones that just yesterday had dimples in them),  in front of me this morning, clearly feeling  better about herself than if she were just herself, I felt sad but also  secretly coveted those nails.  I cannot contain or squash this budding young woman, but I absolutely most teach her how to be okay as is.  Is that possible?  Am I an idealist here?  I cringe thinking about her always wanting something outside of herself to make her happy. They all have little “boyfriends” at school, and I am sure it is harmless, but I fear for what is yet to come.  We argue a lot these days, and I am digging down deep to get creative.  When I feel myself pushed up against that familiar wall, and I want to get bigger than her with  my emotion, I will do my best to say, “I love you too much to fight with you.”

I have been driving my kids to school for nearly 13 years, and in less than two months that part of our lives will be over.  Our drive can either be the 6 minutes of shame drive, or one of love and listening.  I am committed to make it the latter.  It is all going so fast now, and I have flashbacks of all the parents who looked at me with envy when my kids were little while saying, “appreciate it, they grow so fast.”  Whoever those people were, they were right.  I feel like I want to appreciate, sculpt and be present for all the moments yet to come.  Have I taught them enough, did I tell them to dry between their toes, or the right way to floss, or to pray or meditate?

As I walked out of the house this morning, looking at the vitamins my son leaves behind every morning, the dirty white sock in the hall, the fake fingernails and all the paraphernalia that goes with them, all over my counter, the overweight pug that I implore my son to walk everyday, the clutter on the bulletin board from all the things they have accomplished, I get in my car on this sunny, spring morning, and vow to be more detached, pick my battles, realize I cannot control it all, but I can change my attitude, and just for today, I did.  I will give it a go tomorrow too!

Daily Cup of Christmas Tradition

Christmas comes faster every year.  It seems I have just put the last stray
ornament away, and then it is time to drag those boxes out all over again.  It
is with mixed emotion I do this, and I often question my resistance to the very
thing that should be so joyful.  I am by nature, a nonconformist, so the act of
doing what everyone else is doing goes against my grain.  My neighbors add a new
animated, brightly lit trinket every year, while I put one less up.  I asked my
kids, “what if every house that had lights, took that money and fed the hungry,
or provided fresh water for someone on the planet, instead of turning their
house into job security for the power company?”  I hate to be a kill joy, but
this is the way my brain works.

 We have had an artificial tree for about ten years now, and although I love
the smell of the fresh cut pine in my home, I am somewhat pained to see this
beautiful tree, now dying for the sake of decoration.  I have come to terms with
this ritual, by way of the same logic of gifting of flowers.  They are grown
just for this purpose, so it is not a  waste, and the joy they bring is
enormous, so I can justify it, but I have come to love my old fake tree that
most likely came from China.  It has become a part of the family, and waits in
the garage for its two weeks of glory every year.  My oldest son, Jon and I have
the yearly job of assembling the stand.  For the last three years it has been
really challenging as the holes where the screws go that brace it are all
stripped.  We now have figured out the basics, and can put it together swiftly,
but then we have to really tinker and Jimmy rig it to make it work.  Every year
he grumbles about how it is junk and we need a new one, and every year I swear
it will be the last time we use it.  This year I asked him to go get the tree
and have it in the house when I got home so we could assemble it after dinner. 
Last year before I put everything away, I wrote a note and tucked it in the
stand, contemplating  how many changes were going to take place in this next
year with him now driving, and I wondered where we would be as mother and son a
year from now?  I also told him where I put the star,  just in case I forgot or
something happened to me.  Sadly, this is the closest thing to a will that I
have attempted.  His dad used to hold him up to put the top on for the first
five years, then he used a really high chair, then just a chair, now he simply
reaches right to the top and crowns our tree with one swift movement.  When I
see this, it makes me cry because it is a visual fact that he is not my baby
anymore, and I am flooded with memories of his early magical Christmases, and
how he used to tell Santa to “surprise me,” instead of asking for anything.
This year the old, stripped, rickety metal tree holder was clearly not
functional anymore.  We sat for an hour, trying different ways to make it work. 
I, being my father’s daughter, and having been raised on a steady diet
determination and duct tape, went and retrieved this silver magic that I had
witnessed fix anything.  I tightly wrapped it around the trunk, or piece of
metal as it were, and then like a May pole stretched it down and firmly affixed
it to the bottom of the stand.  I did this all the way around, much like
tightening lug nuts on a wheel, and felt confident that our tree would remain
erect one more year.  Jon told me it looked “ghetto” which is one one of his new
favorite sayings.  I told him it was nothing a little tree skirt would not fix. 
Emma, my 11 year old was anxiously awaiting her tradition, which is to put the
first ornament on, but she had to wait until this ordeal was over with Jon and
I.  During this time she got creative without us and decorated a ficus tree in
the entry way, and it looks Sunset Magazine worthy. I swear she is related to
Martha Stewart.  For as much resistance I have, she has double the enthusiasm
for this whole decorating ritual. She gave her tree a theme, and oddly, it is
the one I have always wanted to create on the family tree.  I love the
opalescent and purple ornaments, and have had a vision of having an artsy tree
with coordinating colors that are soothing to the eye. However, the the children
will never allow this, so every year we have an assortment of lovely ornaments,
and the ones that they made in preschool, out of Popsicle sticks, with their
pictures inside, reindeer made out of corks and toothpicks, and some others that
honestly I do not even recognize as they sit in the bottom of the box like
dismembered parts of Santa’s workshop.  Every year I come close to throwing them
away, but I never do, and never will.  My kids will have to dispose of  them
when I am long gone, sorry kids.

 Both kids refuse to give up their old stockings.  Emma’s still says, “Baby’s
First Christmas”  and her name in glitter is peeling off, and Jon’s has a
baseball playing bear on his.  I bought beautiful matching stockings for all of
us many years ago, they would have none of it.  I love this about my children. 
Despite having an option for a bigger stocking, henceforth more goodies, they
will stand firm in their tradition.

 This year when we,  who am I kidding, me, takes Christmas down and puts it
away, I wonder if I will really throw away that stand, that  is now adorned with
duct tape, as though it were branded with my family crest?  The thought of
having a base that works perfectly next year,  and all that we  would have to do
is put the tree in without incident, makes me shudder. Despite the yearly
frustration, it is one guaranteed hour of quality time with my son.  It is just
he and I, working as a team on this pathetic stand, down on the carpet, with the
dogs in our faces trying to help, while Emma flits around the house like a sugar
plum fairy  in her bliss.  There are not many things that I get to do with my
now almost 17 year old son, and this has become a yearly tradition that I look
forward to.  Maybe next year, we will do it differently? He will be one month
shy of 18, and however we do it, I just hope it takes us at least an hour, and
involves some communication and negotiating skills.  Maybe I will buy a new one,
and loose a few parts, just so we can figure it out together?  Maybe I will even
let him play Paul Bunyan, and go cut one down, and together we drag it back to
my minivan like we have bagged a deer?  Yeah, maybe we should do that once?  If
we are going to get a real tree, we should be the ones to kill it, not get a
factory farmed one.  Oh here I go confusing my causes again.

 Happy holidays to all of you, and I hope you have something broken around
your house so you too get to spend some quality time with the family fixing it. 
By the way, you can get duct tape at the Dollar Store.  For me, that quality
time, has been the greatest gift of all.

The Sitting Horse

The dust was the first thing that caught my attention that warm August day. 
Through the veil, lit by the late afternoon sun, I saw him for the first time. 
The vaquero was trying to break him, and had him tied to a large pole in the
middle of the small training pen.  I had to pull over and watch, as this
beautiful black horse worked to preserve his independence under ropes and force.
  His body moved with  strength and grace, it was like watching an athlete do
ballet.  I made a mental note to check back on that horse one day, because
something was really special about him.

 The next time I went to visit, no one was around,  just this mysteriously,
beautiful horse.  Without hesitation, he came to greet me, although he did not
freely let me know him.  It was then I realized he was a stallion, and that
explained that energy that I could feel and see across the pasture.  I stood for
a long while, not attempting to touch him, only to let him smell me and feel my
intention.  I began to stop more frequently, and every time, we knew each other
more.

 Several weeks ago, I went there and saw the hired hands feeding the other
animals.  I motioned to them that I wanted to speak to them.  I was beginning to
fear that someone would report this crazy, horse stalker, and I would get in
some kind of trouble, so wanted their blessings regarding my new equine
visitation therapy.  The ranch manager said, “We know you, and so does the
horse, we see him come to you.”  I wanted to know more about him, and they told
me he came from Mexico, and they used him in the rodeos.  Well, I could see him
in that role, as he has so much chutzpa and spirit.  They told me I could come
and visit anytime and it was okay by them if I fed him an occasional carrot or
apple.

 Now, that I had their permission, I came more often, and he came to the
fence faster and faster.  I do not even know what the draw is, but it is real,
and it is strong.  I am  certain that  I am much softer and kind that what he is
used to,  and I am sure he has a curiosity about the red headed woman who comes
in the gold mini van.  Last night, I even went to see him in the dark, because I
needed to.   I wondered if he could see me, in the pitch black, but he was at
the fence, before I was.

 There is something about the simple act of visiting him that calms me, turns
chaos into order, and fear into strength.  When we are face to face, and I ask
him for nothing, other than his presence, it is a rare and perfect gift.  The
older I get the more I understand that old saying, “come sit for a spell.” 
Beauty, as I call him, gives me a reason to pause.  I just want to sit next to
him, while the cars speed by, and be grateful that I am sitting still, if only
for a moment.

 I think about the day I go there and he is gone and it makes me get a lump
in my throat.  Well, like all love affairs they come to an end, one way or
another.  But until our time is up, I will treasure every moment I get to sit
with him.
 
I had horses much of my life, but this has horse has me.

 Daily Cup of Moths


Animals come to me in groups at different times in my life, for different lessons.  This
summer is all about moths.  Sadly, I seem to have some kind of life cycle,
science project happening in my house right now.  I am invaded my these small,
gray moths, that I suspect came in through the pantry.  They just seem to
appear, and I find them floating in the dog water, where I promptly scoop them
out and put them outside to dry off.  I am doomed, because I cannot kill them,
so I am either a Buddhist or a neurotic.  I would rather they go somewhere else,
but I cannot just wipe them out of my home.  I did this dance for years with
sugar ants, and people would exclaim, “You have ants,” with a bit of fear in
their voice, and I would respond, “Yes, we do, please be careful not to step on
them.”  They have finally moved on, and for that I am most
grateful.

Yesterday when I went out into the garage, I heard this sound, that resembled a
rattlesnake.  I was hoping I would not have to negotiate that kind of encounter
before my first cup of coffee.  Upon further investigation, I realized it was a
huge moth that was stuck inside the light fixture.  I drug the ladder out, and
looked over the top, clearly seeing if it got in it could get out.   However,
the moth seemed to have missed this information, and just continued to
frantically beat its wings against the plastic, making a noise similar to the
one I remember as a kid when we would put cards in our bike spokes to make our
ride sound cool.  I guess it was like our first muffler? 

Well, I can not just walk away from this moth and let him get burned from the light
when I opened the garage door, or let him just flutter himself to death, so I
retrieved a ladder and a Phillips head screwdriver, and went to work freeing
this creature.  I felt like the rescue workers that rescued baby Jessica from
that well years ago.  I told him to just hang on a bit longer as my aging eyes
adjusted to the small slits on the screws, finally making contact with them, and
removing the cover, as the cover fell to the    floor, along with the moth. I
thought now I had surely killed him in an attempt to save him.  I stooped down
to pick this mammoth of a moth up and saw his wings were all tattered and nearly
translucent.  My heart sank, as I questioned what kind of a life he would
now have?  I cursed myself, thinking I had added to his suffering by freeing him,
and had interfered with  his life and karma.  I heard my parents’ voices telling
me, “Kat, you can’t save the world.”  I wondered why I could not just walk by
and let the moth be?   Why couldn’t I just tough love this guy? Is something
wrong with me, or right with me?  I understand that suffering is a part of life,
and this very moment living things all over the plane are suffering.  I hold
space for all of them and send out a vision of well being
everyday.

 I walked around to my front garden and thought I would just put him near the
honeysuckle vine.   I gently place him down, and to my amazement, he flew back
to my shoulder.  We repeated this three more times, and I began to have hope for
this little guy. Was he flying back to me because I looked like a light with my
red hair, or just because I was close, or because he felt safe?  Well, I will
never know the answer to that, but the fourth time I put him back, he flew again
with more speed and strength, and bypassed me, opting for the blue of the sky
instead.  I was amazed and so relieved as I really thought he was grounded, by
the way his wings looked.  If he had been a person with a serious medical
condition, a doctor might have told him he would never fly again or he was
fatal.  I am glad he did not know this, and despite all odds, took flight like a
champion.  That magic fairy dust that is on their wings is so powerful, and so
fragile, all at the same time.  We all have some of that on us, and sometimes it
gets worn off, and we get beat up, and some of us listen to others about what we
can and cannot do.  I for one, will always remember that moth, as he flew away
on a crisp, fall morning.  I know for me, I had done the right thing, and
thought, no I cannot save the world, just the things in front of
me.

Daily Cup of Contemplation

I have noticed that when it is time for me to
learn something new, things come in threes.  Things I had never heard of are now
a part of my everyday reality, just like that! One day I am in judgment about
someone else doing what I perceive to be silly or wrong, and the next thing you
know, I am doing that same thing.  This is especially true in parenting. Until
you have had and raised  your own kids, don’t frown upon the mother losing it in
the store.  It is so easy to look saintly when you don’t have kids in tow.  I
posted the other day to try to suspend judgment, as it is usually a way to stay
insulated from the unknown, or what we fear.  Now do I judge murder and violence
as a bad thing?  Yes, I certainly do, but I am referring more to our judgments
about behaviors and choices of others.  I am currently in a spiritual re
birthing process, and am letting go of many beliefs I have held fast to.  I
experience the discomfort of not knowing exactly where I fit, or if I even have
to.   I choose to believe that what a person needs to hold on to at that time in
their lives is exactly where they need to be. I for now, am open, so open it
scares me a bit, as there is no boundary to hold me.  My current mantra is, “I
only know one thing for sure, and that is that I don’t know anything, except
that I believe in everything and nothing.”  Far be it from me to tell YOU how to
believe or where you will go after you die.  If I had died and come back, well I
would then be on a soap box, but that is not my reality.  I have my own personal
beliefs, but my job is not to try to convince you to be just like me, it is my
job to honor what you need to do, that makes you inherently you. I think we are
a frightened lot, in that to stand alone in your beliefs without a trail of
people in front of or behind you, is most challenging.  I often visualize all
the man made religions split into two groups facing each other, and giving their
best sales pitch as to why they are the chosen ones, and everyone else is wrong.
This would be a long line, and the visual in and of itself always amuses me.  I
know for myself, what I perceive to be the energy that makes
the planet spin, gives the rose its fragrance, a baby its first smile, the light
in all creatures eyes when you catch and hold it, the way you feel when someone
tells you they love you and mean it, the oneness we feel in a disaster, the way
a sunset is never the same and most of all, the way it feels to be honest and
vulnerable with another person, is to ME, a power greater than
myself that I believe connects us all. That is all I really know, is that there
is a force so strong, magnificent and loving, that when I am open enough to
express it, I know I am tapped into something far greater than any man made
manufactured belief system.  It is, I am. Now is the time in my life when I
turn, like a lake, the bottom goes to the top, and all things that don’t serve
me are sorted out and removed.  I love these times, and I feel them coming, like
the scent before a rain.  I am also fully aware that there may be lots of rain,
thunder and lightning, but I also know what comes at the end.  To see a rainbow
is the greatest sign there is that the darkness has ended and the light has been
restored.  I am getting my umbrella and a lawn chair and making myself ready for
the show.

Daily Cup of Why?

I start my morning like I do most, checking my emails, deciding what is
important enough to read, or what I can tolerate emotionally.  My finger hovers
over the delete button, as I scroll through all my messages.  There are several
from environmental, humanitarian or animal rescue sites.  It is with trepidation
that I open and read most of these.  That moment of hesitation, before embarking
of taking in what will surely make me FEEL, is constant.  Do I just ignore all
the pleas for help from Haiti’s children, the flood victims American Humane’s
Second Chance Fund for abused animals, the rescue effort at the Gulf Coast,
stopping Japanese whaling,  the abused women of the world, the injustice of
child labor, and human trafficking and the list goes on and on.  So, with my
first cup of coffee, I sign petitions, that I can do, as well as share things I
believe need to be exposed on my sites, or  I can also click delete, and then go
read a motivational book, and not let this darkness affect me However, it is
almost with sadistic devotion that I force myself to read, learn and hopefully
make some small difference.  Does the knowing change anything, really?  It
matters for me, because once you become awake, it is hard to go back to sleep. 
I do wish I could pull life’s covers over my head and turn back over into a land
of unconscious slumber.  However you cannot heal what you do not know and the
earth and all her inhabitants need to be healed.  It is like watching a slow
death, between the air, oceans, soil, crops, climate and the horrific things we
perpetrate upon all living creatures. I was prompted to write after reading
success stories from the American Humane Society’s Second Chance Fund, for
animals that have been rescued from deplorable abusive situations. It is hard to
read and watch the videos, but I do. I focus on the success stories of the
animals that made it, and the wonderful lives they now live.  Millions of
animals and humans are made to suffer at the hands of others.  I go to a place
in my brain to try to understand how another could inflict such abuse on another
living creature, but come up empty handed every time.  I cock my head to one
side like a dog listening to new noise as I think, as though it will help me
find the answer, but it never does.  The only thing that come up is “Why?”  A
lack of love is all that makes sense. Surely someone who had been given adequate
love and respect could not inflict such pain on another creature, unless they
were sociopathic or otherwise mentally ill?  By extending others love, you are
making a difference, that is something we can all do.  By being compassionate
with ourselves first, we can then give it away.  Often the problem just seems so
huge, it feels like we digging a hole in the sand, and the hole fills in faster
than we can dig it.  I have had people tell me, “Kat, you cannot save the
world.”  Well, I know this to be true, but I also know the person or animal that
I choose to give love to, is changed in that same world.  Giving love really
starts with how you give it to yourself.  If you extend that which you have not
truly mastered, then what you are giving is not authentic love, but a way to
mask your own pain.  So, for today, I will change the world by loving myself
deeply, truly and passionately.  I will not speak an unkind word to my less than
perfect parts, I will embrace all my light, as well as the sharp edges.  I will
energize myself with that power that lifts me, and then I will go out into the
world and give it away. I invite you to do the same.  Or you can stay home and
read all the bad news, do nothing and see how that works for you?

Daily Cup of Impermanence

While my mother came home to my house to make her transition in January 2009,
I allowed my daughter to purchase two, white mice.  I can still hear her now,
“But Mommy, they only cost two dollars.”  I had vowed to not have anymore
animals in cages, but with all the time I was spending care taking my Mother, I
thought it would be a good thing for her to have something to nurture as well. I
lost my beloved dog of nearly 16 years three weeks before my Mom came to my
house so we were all very sad about that too.  So, Charlotte and Mariline, came
home to find their place in our home.  They were really sweet together,
Charlotte, the bigger and sweeter mouse was the one we played with the most,
because she was tamer,  would just close her eyes when you would stroke her
head, and was content to sit in your lap.  A few days after we got them, my Aunt
Peggy had come to stay with me while Mom got ready to make her transition.  She
stayed in my daughter’s room, along with the mice.  One morning I just happened
to get up very early, and there stood my Aunt with her pajama top held up,
cradling one of these mice.  She had gotten up to go to the bathroom and the
mouse had squeezed out of the cage, and our cat was right there, just seconds
away from a morning snack. Her face was frozen, and I knew she was scared to
death, as  she moved slowly towards me to deposit her find in my hands.  Had she
not awakened right then, it would have been a tragic ending and a tearful
morning. I think the mouse she saved was Mariline, but I cannot be sure, as we
had only had them a day or two.  She was for sure an angel that morning for that
mouse.  My Mom passed later that week on January 25, and I will never be the
same after helping her to the other side. She brought me into the world, and I
helped her out of this one, and it was a full and complete circle of love and
life.  All the family went home, we finished the last of the casseroles, and we
grieved and celebrated,  and grieved some more.


Life went on, as it always does and will,  and we grew more fond of these
mice, taking them out as often as we could.  Charlotte got very sick with cancer
about five months ago, and we took her to the vet to end her suffering.  The
entire staff was in tears as were we.  My poor daughter loved this little pet so
much, and there was nothing we could do.  We buried her on her little, pink
mouse bed, in the garden with a dozen other pets that have passed before her. 
Now only Mariline was left.  She was a bit wild, and ran in circles with grief
after her sister died. We now handled her more, and in time she mellowed and
turned into a completely different mouse.  We thought about getting a new one to
keep her company, but then there would always be one left, and sometimes they
don’t accept a new mouse,  so we decided to give her all the love we had as an
only child mouse.

 Six weeks ago,  my Aunt Peggy, the only child left in her family, passed away
on April 15th, and it was a bit of a shock.  I never thought I would lose her so
soon after my Mother. I got to say my goodbyes over the phone and promised her I
would stay in touch with her kids, as she told me over and over again while she
stayed her with me, that this was a great worry for her, to leave her kids
behind. She was troubled being the only one left in her her family of origin and
said, “I am an orphan now.”  She passed peacefully and I am now coming to terms
with her absence as well.

 The remaining mouse, Mariline became ill about a month ago, and off we went
to the vet yet again.  The two dollar mice are now worth two hundred dollars. 
People thought I was crazy taking mice to the vet, but they were a part of our
family and we loved them as much as the dogs and cats.  They didn’t really know
what was wrong with her but gave me some medication in hopes that it would help
her ears.  Well, her ears never got better, and after I started using this
medication, she seemed much worse in other ways too.  It may have just been a
coincidence, but she went downhill from there.  I have looked in on her every
morning for a month thinking she would be gone, but she crawled into my hand
like every other day.  In these last few weeks, I have held her in my lap while
I type, and have rubbed the side of her face with regularity, while she would
close her eyes, and bring her little paw up to her face in a sate of bliss. 
Everyday, we would repeat this ritual, she would chatter at me, and I knew she
was happy and felt safe.  The joy of being able to provide comfort to this tiny
creature was huge for me.  I knew it would not last, and warned myself about how
it was going to feel when she was gone, but I chose to continue the ritual.  I
knew that everyday I gave her love and comfort, I was giving  it to myself as
well. That is how love is, you cannot keep it from yourself, when you give it
away.  Today, I took her outside, it was nice, and I wanted her to feel the sun
for a bit, and get some fresh air.  I held her on my lap for a short time, while
I rubbed her back, feeling her little backbone, where there once was fat.  I
brought her cage out so she could be out in the backyard with me while I
watered.  My fear was that she would die alone, and I would come home and find
her, but it did not happen that way.  I saw her on her side in the cage and ran
over to scoop her up, she was leaving, and I wanted to hold her while she went. 
I cupped her in my hands,  just holding space for her, while she left.  She took
her last little breath and that was that.  The light was gone in her eyes, that
had been there just a second before.  And like my Mother, I did now did not
recognize this little creature, she was just a body, devoid of the spark that
gave her the personality and love she had.  I cried, and at the same time was
relieved for her. Her breathing had been labored for weeks, and I could not
believe she hung on so long.  I think she hung on, because she knew I would be
coming for her, everyday, like I had been for weeks, and hold her in my lap in
the little, blue blanket while I worked on the computer.

 So sixteen months later my dog, BJ, my Mother Ruth, Charlotte, Aunt Peggy and
Mariline are all gone.  Each loss invokes the memories of the loss before.  I
went back outside, to feel the sun, the cool water on my feet and listen to the
birds.  I had this rush of “never again, don’t do it ever again Kat,  Don’t put
yourself out there, protect yourself from the pain of loss, no more animals, no
more loves, it is the safer, saner way to be in this world.  The pain of losing
the things you love is jut not worth it.”  Just then a yellow finch came out of
nowhere and flew in a perfect circle above my head.  My Mother sent ten finches
to the tree outside my window the day after she passed.  I asked her if she
could swing it to let me know she made it to the other side okay before she
died, and I am quite certain they were her gift to me. I don’t have more than
one finch if any in my yard, and certainly not in the dead of winter.  The
finches came all week, until the side of my house looked like an aviary.  A year
to the date later, the finches came back to the same tree, and I smiled, knowing
full well, there was a magical power at work far bigger than I could ever
imagine.  I know with love comes loss,  you cannot have one without the other,
and I guess if I have to shed tears and feel the pain of losing the people and
things I love, truly it is a small price to pay for the gifts that love brings. 
We all have that spark, and I don’t know where it goes, but it does not die. 
Nothing is permanent but change, and with great love comes great great loss. 
Even if you spend your entire life with the person you love, you ultimately will
have to say goodbye.

Daily Cup of Passion

I am guessing if you have not read any previous blogs, you might be reading
this one.  This one came to me as I was walking back from putting a volleyball
in the car to return, go figure.

 After all the years of defending passion for the sake of passion, I am
finally understanding how destructive it can also be.  I have read and read
about how attachment to passion is to be curbed, and I thought the writer must
certainly be as exciting as dry toast, devoid of that fire that is so fun to be
burned by.  The fire, that amazing captivating, all encompassing ether of new
love and passion.  Maybe this is on my mind because it is nearly spring and I
feel like I am coming out of seasonal and emotional hibernation?  There is a new
energy, a shift, a feeling of wanting to run barefoot through a meadow, while
the man of my dreams chases me.  I imagine this will pass by June, but  for now,
I am drawing deep breaths, contemplating new adventures with a new attitude. 
Can a relationship exist without passion?  Can it last?  These are the questions
that will always be asked, they are timeless, just like passion.  Is it purely
chemical and will it always fade?  For me it looks differently now.  Passion is
now not just physical or chemical, it is soulful.  It is about being heard,
understood and maybe even affirmed.  Passion is great, but intimacy is better. 
Intimacy, can continue to grow, when the initial passion fades.  I think passion
is the force that pushes us towards each other, and intimacy is the glue that
keeps us there.  Intimacy can be created anytime two people exchange feelings,
and those feelings are honored.  These feelings do not even have to be agreed
on, just heard.  Anytime two people can come together in the spirit of mutual
respect to hear the other, there is an oppotunity to create an even deeper
connection.  This is a learned skill, and one that many people don’t have. They
are so filled with ego, defensiveness and fear, that they can not be an open
channel.  This is not their fault, they are just not capable.  My mistake has
been trying to change other people instead of making better decisions and
changing myself.

 This morning it came to me, that as long as I stay attached to the passion,
how it takes me away from ME, how it feels so good to be captivated and swept
away, then the passion is in control, and will continually have to be
replicated.  I hate reading about becoming disciplined about passion.  I have
taken offense I guess, because I need/needed the lesson.  Anytime we are
attached to something that has to be continually replaced, other than food water
and shelter, then we are indebted to that feeling. This is true of being
chemically altered in anyway, including that new passion that puts the sizzle in
our veins.  Believe me, no one hates having to look at this more than I, but it
is a part of my story that has to be healed.

At  Greek funerals they did not speak of achievements of the deceased, but of
their level of passion. This kind of passion is not to be confused with the kind
of passion that consumes us in the beginning of relationships.  I cannot live
without passion, for the people I love, the way the air feels in the spring, the
way the rain sounds right now on my roof, the way a baby smiles at you, the way
the sun shines through fall leaves, the way my first cup of coffee tastes, the
way I feel when I see an old couple walking and still holding hands.  I am
passionate about all of that, which is  not to be confused with that new crazy
love passion, that always seems to fade. We can all only hope that when our
biology regains its composure, and we land on our feet,  that intimacy replaces
that original fire. Although all fires go out eventually, except for the Olympic
torch, that what we have left, is a warm fireplace to sit around, while holding
hands, sharing our deepest fears and aspirations with the same person we
originally fell in love with.

My God, what is happening to me?  I feel like Danielle Steel, and I think
hear the theme to “Love Story” in my head.  I think I better go clean the garage
now.

Daily Cup of Projection

Today, there seems to be a lot of people around me, asking the questions. 
They are the questions that at some point in your life you must ask, if you are
on the path.  The answers to these questions, are in the mirror, and have just
been waiting for you.

 I have been divorced nearly nine years now.  I thought for sure, I would find
my next prince, and I would finish living the rest of my life with him in wedded
bliss. Well I guess Prince Charming fell off his horse on the way to my house,
because that has not happened.  There have been some loves, some I even thought
I would spend my life with, but  that did not come to pass.

 The one thing I have learned in my time alone, is how when there is another
person around, it sure is easy to toss you unresolved issues all over them, and
then somehow make it look like their fault.  I am  now developing the very
things that used to make me crazy with my ex-s.  When you are the only one that
uses the walk in closet, the “who’s side is cleaner” game, ceases to be fun. 
Now both sides are mine, and they are a mess.  I used to go nuts when my ex 
carelessly left his ATM slips around the car and house, while I proudly kept
track of mine, and would methodically check them off in my check book.  I barely
even take them from the ATM machine now.  I have a slight intention to deduct
them, but I don’t.  There is no longer someone to be better than now, only me,
doing what I do, exactly the way I want to.  Now, I see projection in the way I
relate to my kids.  I will often go into my son’s room and scold him for his
lack of organization, then go into mine and see that I have not unpacked my
suitcase since last summer, and there are books all over my floor, and clothes
hanging all over my inversion table, that I never use.  Not once, have either of
my children ever come into my room and told me it was a pig sty.  So, I am
trying to be mindful of not expecting from them, or anyone, that which I do not
do myself.

 If I feel like my kids are being lazy, I will go for a walk.  If I feel like
someone is not treating me properly, I will treat myself with respect by
speaking my truth.  I am a sensitive woman, and it has been used against me my
whole life.  Sensitivity is good right?  I have come to learn, that I can only
feel hurt about something, if I hold that belief within me somewhere.  I believe
the more I rid myself of things that pinch me emotionally, the less I will need
to use anyone else to relieve my own pain.  When the pain is too much for us to
accept and process, we often throw it to the ones we love the most, like a hot
potato that lands in the innocent hands of the people closest to us.  When I do
this to my kids, they know enough to say, “Mom, don’t project your stuff onto
us.”  I have taught them well, and although I am far from not doing this from
time to time, we are all at least on the same playing field here in my home.

 If I ever do marry again, I will bite my tongue about the many things that
used to drive me crazy.  It seems I used those experiences as some kind
measuring stick to make myself feel bigger and better. Anytime we are are
feeling superior or inferior, we are in some kind of fear.  I will still always
believe that I make coffee the best way, but even that, I will just have let go
of, and shut up and watch.  And if I am lucky, perhaps he will bring me a cup in
the morning, along with a kiss, while I am getting ready in my half of the
bathroom, that will no longer be perfect.  Sometimes I do not even put the lid
back on the toothpaste, because hey, I just don’t have to anymore.