At the End

As the dream dissolved,

My heart opened

and two birds flew

Into the blue

and endless sky ...


Freedom!

Lucky Girl

I am so lucky!

Born into small, trans-continental family
loving & dedicated mother,
spiritually-finding father,

(divorced, yes, it's OK)

To have been
Surrounded by Conscious people
To have known
Dear Mr. Sydney Banks
to have stumbled into arms of dedicated & loving husband
also spiritually-finding
who helps to guide me beyond ego
To have birthed two beautiful girls
Who fill the room with their whole-hearted Being

To live in an era of awakened Souls
Surrounded by wise and dedicated colleagues

To be healthy!
To live in California!
Trees on our street
turning toward their annual Splendor

To enjoy the blessings of
running water,
walking to school,
green parks,
central heat,
plenty to eat

But the miracle of all miracles
Is that there are times when I do not feel ...
& cannot remember

Gratitude

at all!

(Someone whack me with a Nerf bat, please!)

What can you feel grateful for?

Consider this poem your whack.

(& you're welcome.)

Angelic Visit

Our troupe (the Traveling Mills-Naim Circus) ended up, somewhat serendipitously, at Coit Tower in San Francisco yesterday. I say "serendipitously" because the way it goes in San Francisco now is that you basically end up visiting whatever area is around the parking spot that you find.

So we ended up on the shoulder of Telegraph Hill & trooped up, as Troupes (& Troops) do. The place was mobbed, which was surprising to me. I mean, Coit Tower is nice, but somewhat quaint as far as local attractions go ... & then I realized, (I had heard rumors of) that we were on one of the highest hills in San Francisco for Fleet Week. Huzzah!

So the kids and I (Barukh was on a phone call just down the hill) watched as three or four fighter planes zipped around the Bay, trailing pinkish, blue and white vapors and doing somersaults, complicated aerial formations and even making vapor shapes like a pink and blue heart with an arrow shot through.

This was followed by some rather large planes performing less complicated maneuvers and then there was a lengthy pause, as we all waited expectantly for the actual Blue Angels--slated to appear at 3.

Well, the Blue Angels came in with a bang, flying quite low and nearly taking out the tower. One came in so low that small children started to cry from the deafening roar, and as the plane pulled up, heading toward the stratosphere, I noticed a small bird struggling to stay aloft in its wake. The bird seemed to have lost all sense of direction, and fluttered about miserably, heading this way and then that, and I worried for its delicate internal mechanisms which seemed to have suffered a terrible shock.

The now famous parrots of Telegraph Hill also appeared disturbed by the commotion and the Tsunami-sized sound waves rolling over the Hill. They fluttered up and down in a flock, seemingly unsure where to be. (Please see "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill," if you have not done so already.) All the birds in the City, I thought, needed tiny little bird ear plugs for this event. Then I spent some time wondering if birds do indeed have ears. (I'm sure they must, to hear each other singing!)

The Blue Angels performed a few tricks and within less than ten minutes it seemed, they were done. The crowd was crestfallen, but accepted their collective fate, and started trickling off down the Hill.

As our Troupe descended the formidable stairs winding down toward North Beach, I felt sure that the reason the Blue Angel show was truncated was because the Navy pilots and their on-the-ground handlers got word that the sensitive birds around Coit Tower were distressed by the displays, and so shut down the whole operation right away.

On a more serious note, my understanding of Fleet Week is that it is sort of a testosterone-driven display of U.S. military might and skill, etc. I mused that the vapor heart was interesting in the midst of all that. And is that a maneuver that Navy pilots might use in the skies of Afghanistan and elsewhere? Creating smoky hearts and peace signs? Hmmmm. Not an entirely bad idea, really, if you think about it. On the other hand, possibly a perfectly horrible idea at this juncture.

The fog was rolling in over the city with all its gray and gusty might, but seemed to leave a pocket of sunshine for us to grab some pretty authentic Italian white bean soup, pasta, and antipasto in the lively neighborhood around Columbus Ave. We then snaked our way over to Portrero Hill for a latte and hot chocolate at Farley's (no whipped cream at Farley's mind you. This place is not frivolous.) I used to hang out at Farley's when I lived on Portrero Hill, and was single and wild, (etc.) Now I was at table with husband and two small children who have become a part of me like new appendages. Amazing! From one to four. How did that happen?

The views of downtown are lovely and sparkly from the Hill. We made a mess at the corner bookstore and then cleaned it up, and our Troupe packed it all in to the very suburban Subaru, having had our fill of the "big, gigantic" City (Alia's description) and sped home to Palo Alto, tired and satisfied.

Pats & Hugs

If we could only treat each other,
us Grown Ups,
As we treat our own beloved, miraculous children

With Love & great affection
Pats & hugs
Heaps of praise

Understanding that we encourage the fragile seed
of Belief in Self and ...
Affirm their very Being

Remember? Remember?
You and I ran
naked through the house,
Screaming with joy
Madly in love
You did not even know I was a girl,
or I, that you were a boy

What happened to us,

my dear, dear Lost Love?

We began to collect ideas

& Now,

I don't like my idea of your idea

No more hugs & kisses for you!

The Job

I am coming to learn

(oh, it has taken such a long time! I forget my lessons everyday! I leave my school books out in the rain ... )

I am slowly coming to learn

That my Job

is simply to Love these people

(which people, you ask? All these freaking people, I shout, all of them!)

It is no easy task!

But it is easier,
so very, very much easier,

than anything else.

Last Sand Castle

My older daughter, Alia, began Kindergarten today! (She now insists that we call her "Ali," actually.) So Ali went to Kindergarten.

That was exciting and everything. We walked to school. We took lots of pictures. I shed a tear, being touched. And then went and drank a lot of coffee (no decaf around, for some reason) with all the other crying parents on the school blacktop. I left the school quite wired, and a bit puffy eyed.

It's been a big day. Ali loved her class and teacher and new friends. But I think I may remember yesterday, somehow, more.

Yesterday was a special day. Ali and I sent my husband and newly-three toddler home and stayed behind in Santa Cruz. We cleaned up our "beach cottage" and went for lunch at Gayle's Bakery in Capitola. Gayle's is quite famous in these parts, for baking and such, and Capitola Village is a little beach-side hamlet straight out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. We walked into the Village along the Soquel River, along the quaint vacation rentals, and run-down beach shacks with their grassy patios and decomposing patio furniture along the water.

We got to the beach and built a sand castle amidst the "seaweed fleas" (Ali's name) that were buzzing around at water's edge. Without the right tools, the castle was very, very round and very organic looking. Free range, let's say. The flies loved it, and moved in right away.

I had told Alia that the day was a Celebrating Day. And she had said, "But there's no cake or balloons or anything about celebrating!"

And I said, "You know, celebrating can just be doing something a little different, like having a special lunch together, or cooking something special, or going out to look at the moon. Or spending special time together."

We both got a little sun burned at the beach, 'cause we had no beach stuff or sunscreen. And as the day grew warmer in the afternoon, I knew we were supposed to hit the highway soon ... to get Ali home and into bed and "ready" for her big day at school.

But I let go of time, for the time, being, and we walked all through the Village, and Ali bought a Minnie Mouse clock at a second hand store, to "wake her up" for school (no alarm, though). And we meandered, and wondered, and held hands, and then, finally, reluctantly, got in the car, and drove home.

I don't always see the charm in Capitola Village. It sometimes just looks like a tourist trap to me. But it's interesting what happens when we put our Celebration glasses on.

And first-day-of-school is something special, for sure. But so is every moment with our children, with each other, that we declare to be special.

I know school means a schedule now, and some milestones to achieve.

And, somehow, the free ranging thinking and feeling of summer, seems more important to me on this day. The Me and My Girl moments, that nourish us both ... in ways that are impossible to measure.

Yesterday

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so ... in my face!

Yesterday, everything I had was not enough. Everything I am "supposed to do" was nothing I wanted to do. I did not want to be a mother, a wife, a daughter, an "Executive Director." It was not clear to me that Life itself in any form would be enough. There was fatigue, sadness, anxiety. Where was the connection with my children? I was going through the motions. Doubt. Guilt. Morbidity.

And, in the midst of it all, I could see, like the slightest glimmer of light reaching through the cracks at the edge of a dark door ... I could see that it was all just Fine. Terrible thoughts, dreadful thoughts, run-away-to-Mexico thoughts. All Fine.

When the kids went to bed, I watched "Step Brothers" with my husband. Nothing to do, nowhere to run to ... No thoughts to even "get rid of."

And when I woke up this morning, the world was beautiful again, because my head was beautiful again.

And actually, the World, "Reality," was as it always had been.

And simply welcomed me Home, again.

You are safe, Darling! You just had a bad dream.