5 Years or Some Ridiculous Amount of Months

It has been awhile since I visited here, tonight I was prompted to come to say hello to my (almost) 5 year old boys. 5 years ago on the date I went into Huntington Hospital for a fairly uneventful and much held off c-section that brought our two people here. 5 years ago we all irrevocably changed in the minutes of 1117 and 118 p.m. when our small people were pulled into the world. 5 years .... how, how could that have happened 5 years ago?



I sit now alone in our temporary home in our newly found place called Home and my heart twists a bit because they are down with their daddy, finishing touches on the Old Home to make it ready for a new family. We spent 5 days together there to revisit, reconnect, reaffirm and celebrate what we are, where we have been with them. I laid with them in their once-ago room on an air mattress and we talked ourselves to sleep. We woke to the same light that bathed them so many of the photos in our archives, light I know, light I love.

I sit feeling a little bereft that I am not there with them but work duty calls me and I must be here. And they, they are with their Grampa and Gramma, enjoying the feel of once familiar rhythms before they change once again, back in they chrysalis of their Old Place but ready to test the boundaries of their new one. The things they say; about the infant phase being a blink and that they woke up one day and their babies were in college and that they didn't really know when it happened, those conversations you overheard when you were younger? They are all right. There will never be enough time with our littles but you can only realize that when they are not making shrill demands that skitter into your addled brain looking for a place to land.

The last 5 years have altered everything; our wants and needs, our goals and focus, our dreams. They have strengthened and weakened bonds, they have broken bonds. I have felt joy, guilt, completed, undone, unraveled, ashamed, free, bound, afraid and then fearlessly able. I have never felt more myself and more questioning of what that Self actually is, what she is to be, become.

I know some things now though. I know I was meant to be their Mama. They chose me, they chose to come to me and Tim because they are our People and we need them. We need them like air, like manna, like beer.

We are their parents because we are the only ones that could do this. Respond to their cries and then their questions; hold their limbs, fragile still but forming into the bones that will carry them, carry them far and wide, carry them well.

I am not always graceful or kind, I am no template for a Mother. I am brusque and sometimes too honest, I can be short and never focus correctly when instructed on Lego placement or Batman's attributes. But they trust me enough to ask me about everything, anything: where we come from, where we go, why food grows and every night it is my turn to do bedtime I hear this

 "Mama, I love you this this this this this this this...... MUCH!!!!!!! .... two tanks of love just exploded all over YOU!!!!" And I feel it, in my core. I feel it in my heart. I feel it in my Soul.

Because I was meant to be YOUR Mama, my boys. And your Mama loves you more than anything, no tank could contain it, no world, no Universe. Happy 5th Birthday.



  xo, your mama.

An appendectomy and Adieu

Our 17th anniversary started with a sponge bath. A very thorough sponge bath. Not a sexy role playing thing, it was a bath of necessity.

As I helped Tim wash away 2 days of hospital funk, scrubbed his hair, his scruff, I thought "So this is what they mean about sickness and health". I told him that thought.

We've been together a long time, almost half of our lives. We're weathered together, our skin, our souls. We've come through.


I had his ring on my necklace for two days, he gave it to me pre-op, a quick exchange before they took him up for an emergent appendectomy. It is a major minor surgery, usually quick if not painless. But still my heart hit my throat when I saw him on the gurney, spoke with the surgeon, watched them wheel him away, sat in the stuffy waiting room.


I signed onto the caring for others almost the same year we came together. I've been doing both for a very long time now. I can say when the two intersect, it may not be my strong point. It is one thing to care for a stranger for 45 minutes and then walk away. Quite another when it is someone you love, when that someone is your spouse.

He is on the mend. A bit of a surly and anxious patient but home and on the mend. He walks strighter by the half hour, things seem to be righting, the surgeon was pleased with the simplicity of a sometimes complex surgery. The boys welcomed him home, all shouts and questions, happy that their daddy only lost something inside his tummy.


We've postponed our leaving all with well wishes and little issue, folks sending healing thoughts and prayers, friends bringing funny gag gifts that even made the surgeon laugh.

(That's a ceramic Lassie. She has a new appendix for Tim in her mouth. Clever sweet friends)

Weathering another storm, this one quick and hard, waking to a New Year's Eve day hard, bright and hot. All clear.


I wish I could tell you about how Tim saved me this night 17 years ago but the details are a little compromising. He was there though...kissed me, bundled me up and took me home, let me use his toothbrush...the first of maybe what is a 1000 times now. We've not been apart since. Distance at times, struggle at times but the relationship? Right there.

That night when I used his toothbrush I was, ah, seeing things. I was in his bathroom brushing my teeth when I glanced into the mirror and there I was, about 89 years old; not Me young but Me old, so old. And that's when I knew. I was right where I was meant to be. A big thing to realize at 19 but unavoidable in a way.

I don't know if we'll make it to that vision in the mirror together, wizened old ones. But the last 2 days, the last 17 years actually, well, they are just proof that I would like to.

Happy anniversary, MCD. Glad you are okay.
Good night, 2011. Hello, 2012.
All the lighter for the loss of an appendix.

Inked

Bones knit themselves in the most beautiful of ways. When you fracture a bone it is apart, the strongest part of your body. It repairs the damage first by laying a new structure, a filigree really. Over time that delicate web fills itself in and becomes what is called a callus. The callus is never really the bone it was before, it is never as elegant, never as joined. But that callus marks that spot, where that bone fractured, bears the mark until the bone is dust again. I think sometimes that human souls are the same. Human souls can fracture but they heal…by building a network…and filling it in with a callus. Forever marked but whole in a new way.

I spent a weekend with some fantastically beautiful women and finished it by building a new structure on my body. I took some time for myself and ended up coming home marked forever in a way I feel completely comfortable with. There was a moment when I went breathless, sitting in that chair in that parlor, feeling the deep stinging pull of the needles and the question formed in my mind… What does this mean to me? But then I let it go because it is what it is.

I did yoga in a room that gazed out over what has been called a meatgrinder sea. On this day it was not, it was flat and yet not. The wind would sail across it and smooth it and push it and ripple it and then throw it but a gentle throw, nothing like I know. Nothing like my sea. I was in a room with women I had come to adore in 24 hours and shared what I find to be a most scared experience, the practice of yoga. There is something that happens when you breath in unison, you become a tribe.

I think humans souls knit themselves like fractures…possibly if they are lucky, possibly if they are strong, possibly if… but no, that is wrong. We live and breathe and so we heal and that is really the only possibility. It is what it is.



One of the amazing things about the human body is its complexity and its ferocity when it is in need of healing. My fascination with this process makes me what I am, it is why I do what I do. But forever I will turn to breathing in unison and chanting a mantra in a safe space as my healing choice for the soul. When you chant you lose all boundary of Self because if you didn't, well, you would just feel ridiculous. Those moments shared, chanting with women I love sealed a conviction I have long held true, one I find hard to articulate as maybe all truths are.

And so I went on that Monday to a man named Lee and asked him to put that seal on me, where I can see it. In a way it felt like the most fitting healing despite infliction. And now home again, I glance down and I am happy for the moments that led to this. And ready for the next moments.



When the Universe speaks and if you want to listen, you just do. And then you smile, rub some ointment on your healing wrists and go along.

RIP Steve. From the Eye of a Little.

Do you let your children play with your iPhone? We do.

It is a great babysitter. Well, not babysitter. But, it is great, you know? They, with their facile minds, just get the iPhone. It was made for them, for their small swiping fingers and lateral thinking. For the last year my small ones, the ones I swore would never have their own cell phones until 35, have usurped, explored, played. I know Steve Jobs; the man maker genius, is gone. But oh god, what he left us.

Mace has fingers that fly. I am constantly amazed by his ability to process the way the iPhone works. He inherently 'gets' it and I barely keep up when he is teaching me just how to beat the next level of Angry Birds. But he also loves the camera. I would like to think we have encased our precious little babies (read:iPhones) in steel so we regularly turn them over for their exploration.

Mace takes pictures. 100s. When I tap Camera Roll I am simultaneously dismayed and amazed. I love his eye. Follows some of the pictures I found today on my Roll, eye by Mace, processing by Mama.






Thanks, Steve. For giving (much more) facile minds a way to express themselves. Your Stanford speech resonates in me in more way than one.

*** Used the Cameramatic app to 'enhance' Mason's photos/ which is even more evidence of the lasting impact of Jobs/ that y'all know what that means.

An Open Letter to the Father of my Children

Hey there, pardner.

I apologize in advance as I am feeling kinda' sentimental today. Also, I didn't get you anything for Father's Day so I want to make it up to you...


Your Birthday 2011

So, a few years ago you became a dad. Let's make that capital DAD, and it has been more than a few years. Four, to be exact. And you came into it with twins so therefore it was with guns blazing. From Day 1 you have done 50% and sometimes more. 2 years ago you became a Stay At Home and there has yet to be a moment that I have had doubt.

You do it differently than I, this parenting thing. You do not yell as much but you also do not cook as much. You take them to the park for three hours while my limit is 60 minutes. You teach them about tools and wood and outside stuff. You eschew routine but get them to school on time when I cannot. You hold them gently when they need and they turn to you at least 50% of the time if not more.

You have always been my equal in parenting but no one else can be their Dad. You were meant for them and they for you. You teach them daily what it is to be male, to be a good man and they learn by your very example. They learn to be kind and quiet, withholding judgement and anger. They learn to lead by example and be strong in a different way than they might learn from another man. And I know these lessons will serve them well as they walk into life, they will become men that hold deep respect for their lives, their wives and their world. And you teach them that.


Boys June 2008


All my boys 2008


I had no idea what kind of father you would be, you the young guy that would never hold the babies I thrust at you to help you 'practice'. You told me once you did not feel comfortable because they were not yours. And yet, the day they handed you a 4 pound child you just did it, myconium dipe and all. And have never stopped. You can kiss any booboo, wipe any butt explosion and do bedtime and storytime better than the rest. And now I can watch you hold your nieces, look these new babies in the eye and show all that you have become in the last 4 years in those moments.

You are better than me, you are more than I could ever ask for, you are beautiful in your ways, in your unique and perfect ways. The only thing I would wish for you is this; remember you are important. You are their Father but also more than just that. You deserve time for Yourself, time on your bike flowing with your trails, time in your shop making your beauty, time to be You. Tim, not just dad. You have the job down, boy, and you will never ever be laid off, I promise. Remember your promise to me, 21 days on your bike. Remember that you are loved no matter what.

And last but certainly not least, remember that I know these things every day not just today.


Boys June 2011


All my boys 2011

I love you, MCD. You hold more than just my heart now. You hold theirs.

[En]raptured

Yeah, yeah. Could not resist. It's just that I did wonder a little, you know?
But rather than go down the line of commenting on the latest failed prediction of the end of the world as we know it, I thought I would put up a few pictures that I have been, well, raptured by lately.

Flowers, what is it about the things that just make me feel 'beauty' as it should be? I love the full blown roses just as much the wild nasturium and the tiny blooms from an herb. They are just all good.




"Tell me what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

Mary Oliver




It is a good question even when not cast in the light of doomsday predictions. I think I mentioned I am taking Mondo Beyondo again. I need a catalyst, something to remind me that dreaming is okay, that asking the Universe to help us is okay.

I will be posting Mondo stuff over at my 'other' site, if only to be able to track this process a little easier. Feel free to drop in anytime and maybe join in if you feel like it is time to find out just what it is you dream about. If you click the link over on the sidebar it will take you to registration, week 0 just ended and week 1 begins Monday so there is time to hop in (I think :)

Homage to Vintage

Saturday I visited a Quilt Show at one of our local libraries. It was small and earnest and featured many vintage quilts that came from family of the quilting circle. Each had a little tag telling the story of the quilt if it was known. And each one drew me in, close, closer to study the lines of its life.

There is something so special, so spectacular to me in those long lines of stitches. Up close, closer, you can feel the work and the hands that did the work. It is hard to imagine the patience, the ability to see the completion of the project in the quilter. Some of the pieces were so intricate, some of the stories behind the quilts so lovely and meaningful.



There is something about handwork that draws me close, closer. I wish for that ability, that patience. The women and men who made these pieces likely had busy lives, full of the work of home and hearth and maybe more work outside of the home. But they still found that place, of creation and necessity and because of it, these beautiful peces of artwork embrace and warm people, passing down and down to be held and used and loved.


They hold such energy. They hold such life for me. That quiet walk through the tiny quilt show was the inspiration and reminder that I needed. That there is value in this handwork, there is life.


And so I thought I would share it with you to call you too to that which inspires you. Be it stitch and cloth or fiber and stick, eye and viewfinder or soil and sprout, today I celebrate knowing that making creates Life.


My favorite quilt was the Wedding Ring, in part because of the story told on its little descriptive card. Made by a husband and wife after their wedding, pieced and quilted in quiet on a farm in the cold of winter. It is like staring at a fairytale to me.


Incidentally, making a Wedding Ring quilt was on my Mondo Beyondo list. I think I may have found my muse.

365 :: One Third

The day I started 365 I had some apprehension. I wondered where I would find the time to take and upload and process and post a picture. I wondered if I would quit.



It seems like it was a blink ago but counting the days by number shows you that one third of 2011 has passed by and there is something magical about having captured one moment from each of those days.

I made it to Day 100 before I missed a day. And the only day I missed was 101. Both days were a milestone. 100 becuase it just sounds awesome. 101 because I made myself shrug off the miss and I will always remember on that day we hiked with all 4 of the newest generation and we laughed and the family was together in the way I dream that we might be in 2012 or 2013 if we are lucky.

The powerful pull of images keeps me coming back to my camera, happy to play and crete and sometimes capture a moment that I can feel awfully proud about. This one because he is snapping the shirt buttons and because I did not cry to see him so grown.


365 :: 123

The slideshow is there so that in 120 more days I can find this post and realize it really was just a blink ago.

Gone and Back

My parents were away for a week or so, North to see their other children. They take the trip as often as they can and I always find it occurs at just the right time. I will not lie, living in a multi-generational home has its up and down trajectories. There is a lot of compromise and sometimes misunderstandings or miscommunication. There is also a lot of extra love and support and hands so I tend to just shrug and try to get on with stuff even when it is hard.

But I have to admit I do love the weeks when we are on our own, the immediacy of the little family we are apparent and present daily. We do not do things differently but there is a different feel to it. A subtle difference in the rhythm of the household. And so we embrace those days, juggle responsibilities of work and home a little bit more and walk around naked a lot. Uh, that last one is a lie. I never walk around naked, ever. Not even when I am alone. Just not my thing.

The other side is that just when Tim and I start to feel the strain of doing this family thing on our own, when we have passed them off to each other and soothed one too many bumps and freak outs, just when it starts to get old ... well, the P's come home. And then there is that blissful morning when Tim and I snuggle in bed until 8 because the boys are in Omi and Opa's room having brekky and watching a show or reading a book and our world is still for a few moments.

This time they came home with my baby sister in tow along with her stellar man. A long weekend was in order as she had yet to meet her new niece. It prompted a weekend of family gathering, tracking down the Kogi bbq truck for mind blowing food, an impromptu museum tour of the nearby BMW car collection

Then the farmer's market and too much food at dinner. Family time.



It was a loud and fun and funny weekend and the rain did not dampen anything. Instead it allowed her to bake with my big boys and snuggle long hours with sweet sweet Havana.

Em and Michael each had a chance to the bedtime routine with the boys which is crazy but a must-have experience right now due to hilarious bedtime yarns and shadow puppet play.

These days reminds me that yes, it can be tough at times to juggle the sheer amount of people we number as a family. There is always some form of chaos and a little tension here and there. Old roles are always easy to fall into but it seems to happen less and less as we all realize that we can be grown ups.



These are the times when I realize that this is it. That there is no other bliss to seek. Goals are nice, ideas are grand and dreams are necessary. But where there is LOVE, so so much love, then you found it. Unconditional love given with as little conditions as possible ... well, then you are really living.

It is no wonder the heart of my dreams to move North is to land us closer to the units that have broken off and fled Southern California. Because as they head North, they take large parts of my heart with them and I am not sure I can resolve to stay that way for too much longer.

Especially not with a new Northern niece and nephew on the way. More on that later ...


And you, Memmers? I love you and cannot wait to see what the next year brings you. Basitas form your big sister.

A Finished Quilt

Last week I picked up a patient that lives in the old historical home section of our town. The home is all beautiful old moulding and detailed finishing and as I walked back to his bedroom I peeked (as I always do) through doorways and around corners. The first spare bedroom held a high bed covered in a huge wedding ring quilt, crisp and colorful in the window light. Another room held more quilts and he himself was covered by a crocheted granny square blanket, the pattern one of black borders with bright centers. It made me happy to be there despite the fact that I was there to see a sick person.

Last week I also finished my first real quilt. In the past I have dabbled, a small child quilt here, some blocks that never came to be a quilt top there. But this one was special. I started it in Tahoe, alone in a quiet condo sewing away at the blocks that became a top that became a sandwich and finally ran in long lines through my little machine .... and became a quilt.


There is something so very satisfying about seeing it. It is big, enough to cover their queen bed. It is a little wonky and when I washed it, it shrunk quite a bit more than I realized.

It is simply pieced and simply quilted. I was nervous as I ran it through the machine, the long lines of stitching wavering at times, my arms wrestling and tired by the end.

I pieced the binding and watched some new favorite shows as I hand sewed the back. And then at last I laid it on their bed and waiting for some window light to capture the end result.


But the best part was the way my boys received it. Aware that it was made for them, looking at the littlest detail because there are wheels and stop lights involved. Hiding and peeking and jumping and pulling on it until I was laughing harder than they.





I asked the wife of my patient about the quilt. It was a gift to them 37 years ago. Someone pieced and stitched it together for them and it followed them through their long lives, cherished and as beautiful as the day it was given.

That is why I make things. To find a way to express a moment made timeless, to place love, to give it a feel and a location. To remember that we are designed to create, that it fills more than just the maker.

And now that I have unlocked this newest way to make, somewhat secure int he knowledge that I can actually quilt a queen size on my little cheap machine, well, it feels like the sky is the limit.
Now, back to those 400 or so 3.5 inch squares I have been trying to transform.

Happy making, friends, however it is that you do so in your days.

Long Weekend of LOVE

Last year I actually pulled off 7 days about things that I LOVE. This time around I am aiming for the long weekend (little stomach virus messing around with our innards and other distractions being what they are).

Thought I would start off with a set of things, my Thing 1 and Thing 2 (Cat in the Hat has been Mace's book of choice for over a week now).

They had a Vday party at school today and we sent them all decked out, shirts and valentines and hair combed into place (gasp).

They are total hams when it comes to camera time but I think I like that. Also I have noted Owen is the hugger and Mace is usually the huggee, with the occasional stranglehold result.

I plan on sharing the homemade Valentine's tomorrow, easy peasy and fun to make.

Then we'll just have to keep finding things to LOVE for a few more days. One thing I know is that we do NOT love the stomach virus. (Yuck).

Shift :: Perspective

I think I have made the resurgence of love for photography abundantly clear round these parts. I am still finding great joy in picking up the 'real' camera on a daily basis because I love what it does to my mind and its eye.


The interesting thing about this month past was the way taking a picture a day changed my perspective about living in general. I find photos such a conduit into the seeing of the day, looking through the lens has a way of literally reframing the hours and there is so much power and joy in it.


But. Because there is always a but, right? (Which makes me immediately think about Mace and his absolute obsession with potty matters and pee and poo. He was instructed recently by my Mom to go into the bathroom if he aboslutely must say things about pee and poo because the bathroom is for potty matters, and oh the relish with which he goes into the bathroom now ... but I digress)...

So the but of the matter is the equipment because people that love taking photos also really love the stuff that takes the photos. Right now we have a fixed 24mm 1.4 lens which rocks the world in all ways a really nice fixed wide angle lens can, but (there it is again), I have looked through that lens for many many a day. I broke our 50mm last year and the 24 is the only thing we have for the Canon DSLR body. I took it upon myself to look into other lovely lenses from Canon because who doesn't like to dream. In my lookings I found a few reviews on the 100 mm macro 2.8 L series lens. Oh, macro. Oh, pretty pretty L series. Oh, Samy's camera Pasadena that will rent a 2K lens for 20 bucks for the weekend.



We picked it up on Friday and I spent more time photographing flowers than I have in a long time.

What a huge perspective shift. With the 24 mm we get up in the faces of every subject, sometimes mere inches. With the 100 mm I have to stand across the room if not the house to frame out a person shot.


The macro. Oh, swoon, the macro.

It is an awesome and totally impractical lens. it weighs a hefty bit and the barrel it terribly conspicuous. But (I really should head off to the bathroom myself) the speed and the clarity and the macro, did I mention the macro yet?

It was a good lesson in shifting. In letting the lens speak to me and force me back, out of the picture, far enough away to catch moments that might fade because of the intrusion of a google-y eyed wide angle lens. If I had the cash, I would drop it right here, on this lens, weight and length be damned.

But, (heehee) we do not. Next to join is the nifty 50, and this beautiful baby will head back into the rental bins at Samy's, tucked back into its shelf until the next time the mood strikes to pull back and focus forward.



And as a little PSA, always remember to look into your local photo shop and find out if they have rentals. It is such an awesome way to play with equipment that is out of daily reach due to outrageously high price tags.

I made up a Flickr set here for the 100 mm weekend if you'd like to see more. Happy shooting, folks.