Animal Wednesday: Introductions by Emily

It's me Emily Rabbit. Here I am being the guest blogger for kj again. This may be my last time unless she starts to pay me. I thought I would charge her $ 5 a week and she says it's not worth it. Hmmmpf! I told kj I think her blog is much more interesting since I've started writing on it for Animal Wednesdays but she thinks I am making that up. I need the money for jellybeans and a bathing suit for the summer. I want to get a polkadot two piece suit that will not come off when I go in the water and bob. If anyone wants to help me to get the $ 5 a week from kj, please help me because then I will keep writing every week. Otherwise, I might leave in a huff.

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Here are some animals I am introducing you to:

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This is King Jack. He laid an egg and became Queen Jackie just before Anonymous Bird went away but then she hasn't come back and so many people are sad because they really miss her and don't know why she hasn't come back since Jack became Jackie. When Jackie was Jack, he got loose outside and everybody feared the worse except he was finally rescued and then everybody was happy again. I don't know why Ms. Anon isn't blogging anymore but even I Emily, who is ususally very selfish and self absorbed, hopes she is alright and I miss her too.
Guess who drew this: Ms. lololo! Ever since she stopped telling me about bad things on jellybeans, I like her very much and she is always nice to animals, even rabbits who need alot of attention and might throw an occasional or frequent temper tantrum. Ms. lololo is a really good artist and she is a special friend of kj's. I wouldn't mind if she wants to be my friend too but I think she should send me money first.

This is Stella. I am thinking of starting a Stella fanclub which would also have a newsletter that would cost $12 a year. But I can only do it if Stella agrees to pay for postage but so far she says she won't. I did this for kj's dog Rosie when Rosie was alive but she was not reliable and I almost went to jail because people paid for the newsletter and then complained that they did not receive it, but it was not my fault that Rosie didn't mail it to them, even though I was in charge of the money, which I mostly spent for jellybeans.

I am not going to name this person, but I can tell you he thinks he is very smart because he can brush his teeth and he is cute. Twice I have asked him for money so I can buy candy but he just looks at me like he doesn't know what I am saying. I do not normally like little kids but I can tell he is going to get in trouble with me and that will be fun.
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Maybe I will be back next week but I might not if kj doesn't stop being so cheap. I don't think she appreciates the service I am providing. Hmmmpf!

The 'F' Word

Frequent and first time visitors alike know that this blog is nothing short of dignified, appropriate and, well, let's just say, classy. So on that basis it is my great honor to report and respond to the following sequence of events:
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First, on a recent Thursday Thirteen done by yours truly, I congratulated Renee http://circlingmyhead.blogspot.com/ for bringing respectability and consistency to the "F" word in Blogland.
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Then in a comment that followed, Baino http://bainosbanter.blogspot.com/ clarified that it was she, not Renee, who was the pioneer in this territory.
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Next, in another comment that followed, Renee suggested that Baino be crowned and and the official honor be bestowed upon her.
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Then our mutual friend Studio Lolo* agreed to lend her considerable artistic talents.
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Now then and therefore, I kj do hereby crown Baino for her extraordinary, frequent, creative and engaging use of the word fuck, returning it to its proper working class roots and desensitizing the proper prims among us to lighten up and enjoy the show.

And then, with an equal amount of awe and admiration, I kj also present this crown to Renee, who has earned it mightily by her word and deed ("What the F---?!)

And to anyone interested in my opinion: it's a good word. Really it is. It's clear, pointed, passionate, descriptive, breathtaking, phoenetically dramatic....okay, that's enough.
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Congratulations, you two. May you wear your crowns long and well.
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* Since Ms. Studio Lolo runs a family oriented blog also frequented by her clients, please leave any F-related comments and compliments for her here, in this non-family oriented, not frequented by her clients, blog . The management thanks you.

Easter

Baskets & Hats

I grew up Catholic. My mother is French Canadian—from Nova Scotia—and my father Italian American, the only Italian with red hair I’ve ever known.

Every Easter my mother took me shopping for a new dress, coat, shoes and hat. This was one of the few times I remember we shopped together, and an even rarer occasion that I came home thrilled with my little girl outfit. I can close my eyes right now and see my pale sky blue coat with beautiful buttons, my white Easter hat with a wide rim and a ribbon that hung down from the side, my black paten leather shoes that the nuns told me never to wear with a skirt so the boys wouldn’t see the reflection of my underpants.

On Easter morning my brother and I would find two huge baskets, each filled with a giant chocolate bunny with buck teeth, Cadbury and little Hersey foiled-wrapped eggs, jellybeans, marshmallow chicks, and usually one stuffed toy rabbit.

We went to church as a family back then. I look back now and am surprised that even though we went every Sunday to the same Mass, we rarely greeted anyone we actually knew. Ours was a large parish and I don’t remember hearing much about community. I think that’s just the way it was then.

Communion & Confession

I was thrilled to make my first communication. I chose my Aunt Aggie to be my Godmother and she was surprised by that. I felt the presence of God when I put my white dress and white veil and white shoes.

I remember being so proud when I could go to confession by myself, and I walked a half mile almost every Saturday to do that. The stuffy smell of the confessional was a sanctuary for me, and when the priest slide that little wooden window open, and I told him that I lied to my mother or smoked a cigarette or cheated on my social studies test, I went from sinner to saint. Afterwards I would linger in the church and visit the Stations of the Cross, sometimes but not always whispering the rosary all the way through.

Mass & Mystery

I love mass to this day. The tradition, the hymns, the holy water, taking communion, reading the gospel. But I have to work at it to find my place there. And sometimes I don’t agree with the sermons, with the emphasis on patriarchy and a judging shaking finger overhead telling me what’s right and wrong.

Sinners & Saints

I stopped being a practicing Catholic after I married my husband and a priest told us if we did not raise our children Catholic they would not be able to enter heaven, and if we dared to use birth control, we would not be able to get there either. I remember thinking about overpopulation in India at the time, and just not agreeing with him, not one bit.

When Jessica was born, I found a priest who allowed us to call her baptism a “celebration” and that satisfied my mother. Mostly. Back then she told me my departure from the Catholic Church was to spite her and I should remember that at her funeral. My mother doesn’t say anything like that any more, not in any way, but I struggled with her dogmatic insistences at the time.

Then, after my marriage fell apart and I began a loving relationship with a woman and not a man--I knew I could no longer belong to the Catholic Church. That’s still how it is, and I’m okay with that, but I’m also angry that the church does not and will not support and bless so many gay and lesbian Catholics throughout the world.

Ashrams & Chants

My friend Willa got into new age philosophy and took me to an Ashram where the head folks wore orange robes and had red dots on their heads. From the start the place felt spiritual: lit candles everywhere, incense that even today transports me to somewhere safe, and chanting. It was the chanting that did it. I would find myself in a meditative state, relaxed and content, and when someone said, “God dwells within you as you,” I understood it.

Today I still meditate though not often enough, and I still love chanting and drumming. I’m sorry to say I never felt that “inner dwelling” at mass the way I came to understand it at the Ashram.

Gods & Goddesses

I struggled with my Catholic faith on and off for years, and especially at Easter and Christmas. Then I read a book by Marion Zimmer Bradley called The Myths of Avalon. I read about the role of women and the Goddess and how the catholic hierarchy inaccurately revised their histories and mysticisms. The book is fiction, but I discovered a Goddess who took her place along side a God, and she has not left me since.

Fast Forward

So here I am on Easter weekend 2009. I don’t have a new Easter outfit, I don’t think I’ll have an Easter basket, and I won’t go to Mass. But God dwells within me as me. I know that to be true. In fact, that feels like the most important thing I’ll ever know.

Blessed Easter wishes to my Christian friends. Thanks yet again for the pleasure of your company.

P.S. Yup, that's me.

The Importance of Being Known

I can't remember when I wrote this poem, but it's a theme I think about. Congruence means being the same on the inside that you are on the outside, but being known requires not only that but also another person's willingness to "get" you, and then accept you.

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I'm blessed with a few people who really know who I am, who know I am emotionally brave, who know I cry too easily, who know I can be stubborn and who know I am total fun on vacation. It's easy to play a role to impress or protect, but these days I prefer to be myself. That's saying alot right there, but when I let myself be known to another person, and they return the favor, well, that's hitting the jackpot.

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I thought it was that chuckle when you lean back and laugh,
Your willingness to dare even when the forecast’s grim,
The details and years piling up until you are now your age,
And the plans that don’t materialize but still sometimes thrill.
To my surprise it’s so much less:
It’s being known.
To lose that
Is reason
Enough
To try
Not
To.

Thursday Thirteen: Good Grief!

I am having trouble downloading pictures to Blogger. I tell you this because I intended this post to be a Thursday Thirteen, which is long overdue. But since blogger refuses to budge, this will instead be a Friday Four, with extra commentary thrown in.
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1. Thank you all for the comments and emails I received about my post on grief. It's not likely any of us are going to live and die without experiencing it at some time. Myself, I know for me it's better that I feel than not feel. And better that I love than not love. End of story.

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2. This is the bumper sticker on the back of my car. As soon as I put it on, I thought to myself, "My daughter Jessica is going to say that is ridiculous." When I saw her a few weeks later, she looked at me and said, "Mom, that is ridiculous."

. 3. It's been one year since I started my work as a Psychotherapist in one of the poorest cities in America, my clients very poor adults and children both. Sometimes I look around to gauge whether I am safe or not, but mostly I find that I'm very comfortable in the neighborhoods I frequent. I see people mostly in their homes or their schools, and I've learned so much. I'm a counselor but not a therapist by training and experience, but I'm finding I'm pretty good at it. It helps to care and go from there.

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4. This is one of JB's watering cans. She starts with plain plastic cans and designs and decoupages each one. She does this in her Magic Cottage.

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5. I've now lost 42 pounds. When I lose another 15 or so, it'll be time for a new wardrobe and a new image. I want to be kj babe. Age has nothing to do with it.

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6. I find that I've become more sexual and more sensual as I get older. Anybody else want to talk about that?

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7. Stella no longer acts like a nervous abused dog. She is happy and healthy. Her life is joyful because of walks, cookies, and chicken. I wish it were that simple for me most of the time.

8. Where I live, black bears occasionally meander into our neighborhood and yards. The woman across the street was in her yard with her dog two summers ago, late at night, and saw a huge man in a fur coat standing 30 feet from her. Oooops--not a man! She knew enough to take small slow steps backwards until she could reach her front door. Fortunately her dog was on a leash. I don't live in a rural area, but I kind of like keeping an eye out for bears every once in a while.

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9. This is the house I grew up in and lived in until I got married at twenty-two. My father and grandfather built it themselves and my parents lived in it for 63 years, until my father died. My mother stayed another ten years until she fell in the front yard and broke her hip. She now lives ten minutes from me in a wonderful rest home and I like that.

10. I don't know why I am so partial to Renee and her blog, but in less than two months I'm crazy about this woman. She is a special human being and it's not just because of her courage. She has spunk and wit, leaves great comments, is kind to everyone, and is thoughtfully compassionate and insightful about all kinds of things. Plus she's passionate and she's singlehandedly made 'fuck' a respectable blog word!

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11. I've made some true-blue forever friends on the blogs. I would never have believed it possible. When I hear the terms "global economy" and "international community," I think of my blog friends from all over the world.

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12. I have started a second book but it's coming slowly. And I want to get back to the finished first draft of the book on career choice. I'm also back to writing poems that rhyme (it's about time. And a good sign. I think it's fine.) How come I work part time and seem to have so little time? I'll never understand that. When I was a single mother with a 50-plus hour a week job, I seemed to fit more in. Hmmmm.

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13. Well, I made it to Thursday Thirteen, even though there are only Friday Four photos. I'll end with the following advice: Ride the horse in the direction she's going.

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Love kj

Emily's Animal Wednesday: Meet the Family

It's me, Emily Rabbit. This is my favorite week because I eat all the candy I want. Usually I have my own and also eat kj's but this year she losing weight so maybe I will need to sneak into a daycare center and fill my bunny bag when no one is looking. But please, people, do not bite off the ears of any chocolate rabbits. It's just not right.
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Here are some of my family and friends. But not everyone. That Winnie-the-Pooh snuck into the picture and got honey all over my tail. I told my mother next time to say it's a private picture and to go away.
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My mother is second from the left beside chick-in-an-egg. My cousin Russell is last on the right, he is not really pink but around Easter it is a tradition to dress up or dye down. Russell is a straight A student and sometimes does my homework for me. I give him a few jellybeans and I let him come on vacation with me to Cape Coddy one time. kj didn't know he came too.
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My uncle Hoppy is the one with the straight up ears. He owns his own heating company. That is where I get the pellets I try to exchange for jellybeans. But no one really seems to appreciate the pellets, even if I color them or put kj's perfume on them.
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Nobody really likes chick-in-an-egg. For one thing, his mother dresses him very stupidly, as you can see. He can't move very well and he needs exercise. Plus you have to be careful he doesn't have an accident, and who wants to worry about that? I think he should decide to "break" out but he doesn't want to.
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If you celebrate Easter, kj wants me to say have a happy day to you. Maybe you might want to send jellybeans to rabbits-in-need. I would be happy to distribute them (mostly to myself) if you send a few pounds to me directly.
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So far people have been mostly nice to me about writing in kj's blog (no more mention of shellac from lololo). Ms. Bella is sending me jellybeans and someone else thinks I am either cute or funny. No one thinks I am sweet so far, but maybe one day I will try. I'm not sure when. Maybe not for a while.

Sincerely,

Emily R.

It's Just Grief...

"When sacred life is in your hands, it seems like it's always been there. But when it slips through your fingers, it's so easy to forget that it was ever there. And that absence becomes your life. The resigned life, the distracted life. The life in which you do not deserve happiness and love, and you were foolish to believe you did. You are too fat, to far behind the winners to catch up. And there are so many others like you, that you settle in, validated in your resignation."
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My friend Bill wrote this. He wrote it because he was this close to falling in love with a wonderful very cool and hip woman who may have been very close to falling in love with him, except she died two days after they acknowledged their feelings for one another.
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A few days ago I went to the doctor to check my cholesterol, since the diet I'm on is all about meat and cheese and nuts and eggs. He asked me how everything was going and I started crying. Right there sitting on the exam table. It snuck up on me, came out before I even knew it was going to. He asked was I sleeping?, am I lethargic?, how is my appetite? All okay, I told him. So what’s going on? he asked. It’s grief, I said, it's just grief. .
He looked at me kindly. Oh, he said, that takes time.
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Time is my treatment plan.
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Bill and I have talked about grief, more about his, less about mine. That is because I can hardly put words to mine: I didn't lose someone to death. The details don’t matter at this point and I can’t explain them anyway: essentially I lost a friend, but even using the word “friend” is oddly insufficient. Best friend, that’s closer, but still not full enough. In my mind we were "sames." The tradition of sames began in China centuries ago: two girls bonded in childhood, by familial tradition and agreement, committed to love one another and assure each other’s welfare until one of them died. That is how I felt about the two of us, how I still feel when I find it impossible to understand how the hell we landed where we could no longer right what was not right.

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I used to think of grief as your fiancée leaving you or your brother killed in a car accident, or from nowhere your child has a brain tumor. I’ve followed the look on Bill’s face and sometimes I see resigned confusion, as though he’s put his hand in a bag of golddust but it’s all slipped through his fingers by the time his hand reaches the rim. So close, his expression seems to say, so close I almost deserved it. Or did I? It's a good question: how would he know? What would have been if fate had not stepped in at the moment that destiny and possibility intersected, a deadly crash with no chance of resurrection?
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The look on Bill’s face is grief. Not always, because he has to live, afterall. Just like I do. But I know the look. I think grief gets harder as you age: you start to understand that you are dealing with not simply the loss of a person, but the loss of two.
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You lose somebody you love, cared about, and shared the littlest things: a special card, planning a vacation, talking past midnight, watching a sunset and thinking how much the other person might appreciate it too. But in a real way you also lose yourself—at least that part of yourself that allowed a certain tenderness, that hoped and danced with the anticipation of trying comfort on for size, wearing it like the sweater you’ll never give up, even when it frays and unravels.
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That’s what grief is. You hold on because you’ll lose some part of yourself if you let go. And you’re afraid you won’t have it again. And you hold on because you know those tender feelings may well remain in the present tense, live as long as you do, because they are and will stay a part of you. There is some beauty in that, I think, but you need time before grief brings healing, before you understand that love doesn't really go anywhere anyway.
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The risk of love is loss, and the price of loss is grief, but the pain of grief is only a shadow when compared with the pain of never risking love. Hilary Stanton Zunin
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I'd say that's about right. And I'm pretty sure Bill agrees.

Question for the Day

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Why don't trees touch the sky?
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(No trick question or riddle here: I was at a David Sedaris reading last night, and he asked this. It was the kind of question I hadn't ever thought of before, and I like those kinds of questions. That's all.)

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Oh, and while I'm at it, have a lovely day.

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Oh yes, one more thing, the word "lovely." Two of my favorite bloggers--Lolo and Renee-- claim they starting using this word when they started blogging. Except that Renee used it before if it had a letter F adjective in front of it. For some reason I think that is lovely. :)
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(Some days you just have to babble on)

Here He Is...

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In our family, levity trumps dignity. So here he is!

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A professor? A writer? Perhaps a scientist or a diplomat or maybe a baseball player, or a musician or an artist or cabinet maker. He might change the world on a grand scale by leading nations toward peace or in simple ways by loving his family and doing his share.

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His name is Drew Thomas C------ . He will be someone I adore and support, watch over and lend money to, and, I hope, inspire and walk beside--all of my life.
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The sky opens and a child appears.

Welcome Drew!

We'll teach you to laugh first thing.

Photo Debut Coming Soon*:

Drew Thomas

30 hours old

Son to Jess & Mike

Brother to Mr. Ryan

Grandson to Ms. kj

Sacred Addition the the wonderful world wide (www) Circle

*When ms kj can get back on her own computer and download her pictures,

and when ms. kj is not so pre-occupied...

meanwhile, love is in the air. MWAAH, TSUP. Can you feel it?

Good Work If You Can Get It

In challenging economic times, here are some job options for your consideration. You'll have to click on the image to enlarge it because Ms. Blogger is surrently giving me a difficult time. :)

Animal Wednesday: Emily Hairbags

I was driving kj's car and the hairbags went off because I slammed on the brakes after I saw the stop sign. It was not my fault because I had never driven before.
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A policeman told me to pull over and show him my license. I was afraid he would arrest me so instead I started crying, quietly at first but I built up to a loud and good boo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-ha-ha-boo-hoo. I panicked and told him my name was Emily Hairbags and that I was driving to the hospital to see my very very sick mother.
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He looked at me and said, "Ms. Hairbags, you were driving erotically."
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I stopped crying and asked him if he wanted a purple jellybean. He said no and told me to call someone to come and drive me home.
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I called kj and she came and complained about the ticket even though it was not my fault. If she had agreed to drive me to the candy store to begin with, I would not have had to drive her car.
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Moral of the story: Lie when the hairbags go off.

Reminder

This appeared on Jen Gray's blog today. (www.jengray.com) (Click to enlarge.) I hope she doesn't mind my sharing it, because it says alot about how I've been feeling.
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And just in case you're walking a similiar path, didn't know, or might have forgotten:

You are not the problem.

The problem is the problem.


Some things are just damn helpful to keep in mind...

The Tipping Point

An interesting thing happened yesterday. The interesting and wonderful Renee celebrated her 53rd birthday, and people from blogland reached out in droves and by the hundreds to wish her well.
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This event was fascinating to observe and be part of, and it reminded me of Malcolm Gladwell's book, The Tipping Point. It's about how epidemics begin and take hold. The whole concept is so fascinating that if you haven't read this book, and you enjoy seeing something in a whole new and unexpected way, I recommend it.
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Meanwhile, what a virtual birthday party! I love witnessing good things happening to good people. And Ms. Renee of Winnipeg is certainly in that category.
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Which brings me to another point. The number of wonderful people I have met blogging is remarkable. Not just virtual acquaintances, or internet friends, but real true relationships. And to that I say, on this rainy Sunday morning, yet again: thank you!

Renee

"My name is Renee and I am 52 years old. I am married to someone I love and I have three children and one granddaughter. I am a happy person. I have Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC), and I am not happy about that. I am Stage 4 and I am in the process of learning to live with birds circling my head. "
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Today is Renee's birthday. Her grit, guts, color and candor know no equal. It is my pleasure to join her family and friends to wish her a very happy birthday.
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Renee: you'll get some presents today. Here's one from me, with love:
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Oh body!
How did you manage
To step aside,
To transport me to a different universe
Where divine intention
Heals my cells and helps my fears?
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It's soaring sisterhood
across keyboard miles
leveling my fate,
carrying me past uncertainties
I don’t deserve but manage to don
With designer strength and magic words.
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In my old pajamas
My bones so deep,
Still they find me, allign me,
Send me words and pictures
And mile-wide hearts,
These friends who travel
Beyond the plains, to reach me here.
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Oh body!
When did I become so lovely
That in this place
I find community?
And how did I shed my form and frame,
To be recast the leading lady of honest words,
Love washing over me
Like summer rain?
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When did I become this beautiful?
So wild with grace,
So perfectly shaped and shapen:
I have become myself,
Full and true and open wide,
Comment boxes signed xoxo,
Alphabet 0rgasms punctuated
with blazing art.
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Oh body!
I’m walking here!
Don’t bother slowing down.
I am the oak Renee,
My branches extend from Japan to California
They bend and stretch and reach,
Offering rest and reminder
That the world is rich
Simply and fully
Because I am.
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Oh, and just so things don't get too serious, here's a cake especially for you, Renee:

The Zombie Chicken Award

"The blogger who receives this award believes in the Tao of the zombie chicken - excellence, grace and persistence in all situations, even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. These amazing bloggers regularly produce content so remarkable that their readers would brave a raving pack of zombie chickens just to be able to read their words."
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I found this award on Poet Mom's Blog and it is too good to pass by. So trumpets please: I hearby award this special recognition to:
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Renee on her birthday
Studio Lolo my good friend
Bella Sinclair for her virtual jellybeans (and non-virtual artwork)
Melissa for her simplicity
Debra Kay for her articulate guts
&
Mim because I love Ms. Em and Mim is a good egg
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This award may be issued to others in due time. Meanwhile, take it and use it if and when you wish.
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And to anyone inclined to promote ill will or ill winds, I say cluck you!

Animal Wednesday: Planting Time

I heard kj say it's spring and time to think about planting. I think I will be receiving 10 pounds of jellybeans from Japan (that woman is nice and so far she is my favorite because she likes me) and 25 pounds of jellys from California (I like Lololo too, but she is a killjoy about saying jellybeans have shellack on them).

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I don't know for sure if anybody is reliable so just in case I planted some myself. I never did this before so I don't know if I did it right but I followed that story of Jack and the Beanstock, so hopefully I will have all the jellies I need to stay happy.

If Stella or any squirrels or bears think about eating my jellybean plants, I will take matters into my own hands. So they better not. And kj better not either. It's not my fault she doesn't understand the importance of jellybeans. And she'd probably laugh more if she did.

Yours Truly,

Emily V. V. Rabbit

Who is not charging to be guest blogger yet but might in the future, depending on alot of things.

Time to Rhyme

It's been a while since I've let myself write poetry. My heart hasn't been in it. Tonight in my Monday night Big Yellow writing group, I decided it's about time. And not just poetry, but rhymes. I love rhyming, so that's what I wrote about in poem # 2.
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Poem # 1: Untitled
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If a heart breaks in pieces
Does it glue itself back together
Or does it take on a new shape
Like rising dough on a warm day?
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Poem # 2: Time to Rhyme
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I think it’s time
I returned to rhyme
Forget that I’m still bemoaning
The toss of my will
& the loss of the thrill
Still, it’s time to cool down the groaning.
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If John Donne can write
With a meter in sight
I can surely let loose and start playing
Let the words rock and roll
Far into my soul
And let it be my way of praying
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I’m told to remember
From June to September
That poems should never be dire.
They must dance the two step
Bounce with grace and adept
To nuance and rhythm and fire.
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I stopped for a while
My heart raced a far mile.
I lost all the fancy and fun
Of choosing the words
That together are heard
With a twinkle and wink of the sun.
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How does one become
So stuck and so glum
That silliness goes out of season?
Is living so tough
When the going gets rough
That a poet stops rhyme without reason?
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No, no, I'm willing to say
I won’t have it that way
Any longer, any deeper, any how--
I’m a fool starting fresh
Confused with the best
And I’ll start with the rhythm of now.

Mr. Ryan Forced to Buy Groceries for Family

(Smile. Have a good day, everyone.)

Mr Ryan's Weekend

Part 1: How to Enjoy a Flashlight in Broad Daylight:

(Note: If you are not a fully mature, well functioning adult, do not try this at home without adult supervision)

Coming Soon: Mr Ryan masters key rings, toilets, Bob the Builder videos, a tricycle, a red wooden wagon, grocery shopping, shooting air balls, eating spaghetti, operating tape decks, building blocks, hiding in corners, and snuggles and hugs.

Jessie

Isn't it obvious that anyone who could paint like this overflows with love and respect and talent? The artist is Jessie, and I've followed her blog since I started blogging almost three years ago. Jessie has found her spot in the world: she paints pet portraits and "sees" in ways that words cannot explain. You can visit her at http://www.straydogarts.com/ and see for yourself. And you can visit her blog at http://www.ravenn.blogspot.com/
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But what I really want to say is I met Jessie for coffee last night. In Minneapolis. For the first time we sat across from one another, nodded and laughed and understood eachother totally. She is a kindred soul, and I am privileged to know her. This is (another) example of the power and the capacity of blogging. I knew she was special to me from the beginning, but it took all of five seconds to have that confirmed, and more.
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I loved it too, Jessie! Until next time!

Animal Wednesday: Emily Learns a Lesson

Saint Patrick's Day

Okay, so it's not a shamrock. But I figure my friends and visitors have a large enough supply of imagination to start with the green and go from there.
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In honor of Saint Patrick's Day, here's a re-posting of my favorite riddle. If you don't get it, please read it again until you do, because I think it's very funny!

Question: What's green and lives outside?
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Answer: Patio Furniture

otherwise known as
Paddy O'Furniture

Word-Art

Saturday was the opening of the 4th semi-annual Word-Art show at the Gallery on the Green in Canton, CT. For the second time, I had the honor of working with my dear friend, Carla, http://anonyrrie.typepad.com/ in response to her painting, "On Ancient Wings." I only hope that my poem,"Wounded Bird," does rightful justice to Carla's mystical and magical talent.

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The show runs through April 12, with an evening of readings on Saturday, April 4 at 7:30.
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Wounded Bird
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Part 1
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A swallow can fly miles, From treetop to ocean cliff,
The wind's undertow buoyantly gliding her
To a resting place warm with possibility.

She is free, lifted higher by duty and family,
Not a thought outside of weather and wind, .
Acceptance and choice safely within her span.

But then, jolted in flight, her heart pumped deep
And she is transformed,
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The unknown and unfamiliar
In that very moment,
A broken wing reclaiming
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Something lost and ancient
Spiraling deep and desperate
Into the habitat of hidden.
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Some species heal their wings
In solitude, licking and lying
In a nest of thin twigs
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Healing from within
Until they can fly again,
To and from home.
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But other species do not heal
And they tuck that wing
Underneath themselves,

Landlocked and less,
The natural order
Injured inside and out.
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That species will push on
Practicing, praying, pretending
That wings are but a crutch;
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Meanwhile hoping that reverse gravity
May rocket them up and open them wide,
Heedfully whole to fly again.

Part 2 (My Side)
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I fly from necessity
Hovering over leafy trees and endless water,
Following an inestimable path from home
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Only to return again,
Where I’ll find my roots and rhythm
Deeply tucked in grainy sand.

I do not question why I do this--
This destiny of family and fate--
What I cannot fathom I will not change.

My twelve feather tail and meager wing span
Weigh in below two ounces,
Not enough for my survival

And yet I maneuver and endure,
I doggedly sing my song
And tuck my broken wing

Under my expanding and rapid chest
Until I know if
I might fly again.

If I should die here
Unable to lift myself beyond this place
I will fly anyway

Straight to this indomitable future
Where I will be an African River Martin
tending and fending

Reaching still and always,
Weightless in my belief
That I was born for just this moment.

Damn! I know there is a two line stanza that should be three. Blogger simply refused to let me correct it. So I bent, which is probably something I should do more often anyway... :)

Another Day at the Office

First she told me he hit her. Then she asked me if I would drive her back to her apartment so she could feed the cats, pile his bad ass belongings on the outside stairway, pick up her daughter's medicine. They had walked five miles and were staying with a friend until she was sure he was gone. She said this time there would be no more chances. His jealously had overflowed for two days and two nights and by the time he hit her, she knew he and they were not safe.

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Now this job I have is not your typical psychotherapist. For one thing I see most clients in their homes, not in my two chair office. For another thing, most of my clients do not have cars and in her case, sometimes not even a five dollar bill. I lent her twenty bucks to buy cat food and litter because her four cats had been alone in her apartment for four days already. It was lend her the money or call the ASPCA, because I couldn't stand the thought of the cats without food or litter.

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When she asked me to drive her back to the apartment I froze. "Therapist Gunned Down by Jealous Boyfriend"--that was the headline in my head and I was smart enough (this time) to heed it.

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"No," I said. I'll drive you if you call the police and they agree to meet us there. And if they go into the apartment with you to be sure you're safe. And if they stay until we leave."

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That's how I spent my first two hours this morning. Except I miscalculated one thing. I told her I would wait in the car. I was not comfortable helping her pack up. After all, I'm a counselor, not a street fighter. Besides, I knew my supervisor probably preferred I hadn't agreed to any of this. But here's what I miscalculated: both police officers went upstairs with her and I, helpless, nervous, hypervigilant me--sat alone in my all-too-familiar car wondering if he did show up if he would forego the police shields and aim right for little me sitting there all by myself. It was a tense few moments. It reminded me I am older than I used to be, more cautious, but maybe not fully level headed.

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I drove her back to her friend's apartment, strongly hoping and advising her to get a restraining order on Monday morning. I told her I won't see her at the apartment unless she does. I told her the police told me he was a bad dude. Turns out he had a half dozen more arrests than she knew about.

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She's wondering why she chose him in the first place and why she's chosen bad dudes more than once. That kind of wondering is good: better late than never.

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And I'm wondering if I'm a bit of a street fighter despite my intentions. I didn't have to drive her. I didn't have to wonder if this crazy guy might appear any minute and let me have it. And yet, this is what I'm freely doing. Don't get me wrong: I'm cautious. I am. But here I am too somewhere I might have been thirty years ago, still doing it my way and hoping for the best.

Animal Wednesday:Depressed? Try Jellybeans.

Once upon a time there was a sweet charming little rabbit named Emily.

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She became depressed because she lost her best friend and her good luck charm on the same day.

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So she comforted herself by eating two pounds of multi-colored jellybeans.

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She developed a stomach ache and had to miss school.

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Her mother took care of her and made her carrot soup.

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She stayed in bed and watched cartoons.

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The next day she felt a lot better.

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Now she eats jellybeans at the smallest hint of problems.

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Meanwhile, her friend kj turns to brown rice and counselors.

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Who do you think is smarter?

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Now really,

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No contest, right?

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Note: If someone by the name of LoLoLo tells you jellybeans have bad things on them, you should listen to me instead. Sincerely, Emily Rabbit.

Recognition Time

It's about time I recognized certain people for sprinkling my day with great adventures and beautiful creations. Please pass on this award however and whenever you'd like:
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Baino: you think you're not talented? Ha! Your enthusiasm for life and your wide assortment of interests teach and entertain me almost every day!
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Studio Lolo: I'm partial to you: your art, your talent, your kind heart, your friendship.
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ValGal: You are so special and your art is so uplifting, all I can say is I love you!
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Melissa: Oh those photos. Oh those children. Oh those stories.
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Miladysa: You are my friend (and fellow writer) across the ocean. I know the friend part for sure.
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CS: So many times when I wanted to sink, I've been lifted by your straight-forward determination. Not to mention your keen and intelligent eye.
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Chief (Kay): I am always honored when you read my stories. Thank you for your unwavering support.
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Marianne: I am new to your blog but your mandela's have captured my spirit!
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Debra Kay: Your gutsy no-nonsense wisdom amazes me. And has helped me out more than once.
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Mim: I'm in love with Ms. Em. I can't wait to buy her book. I like who you are.
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Sidney: you are a hero and a teacher to me. Your photos of the Philippines are developed with such love.
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HB: I learn so much from your words and poems and reaching out.
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Suki: You are courageous.
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Bella: Thank you for the reminders. that what your art and words do for me: reminds me to keep it simple.
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Carla: my friend, it is always a pleasure to visit your incredible artwork and to welcome your comments here.
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Soulbrush: You're new to me but I know you have energy and passion: two of my favorite characteristics.
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Bimbimbie: Fly little bird, fly!
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Hildegarde: I will never forget you.
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Wieneke: see above. I still plot how to meet.
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Maithai: Oh my God. Your caring and kindness for the human race is absolutely inspiring. I feel hopeful every time I visit your blog.
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Lavender: I saved you for last today. You're the first to pick up the nuances and offer comfort. Thanks, girl!
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More to come. For now, thanks for the memories. And for the fun!

Ten Things I've Done in my Life

Soulbrush has put forth an invitation, along with her special version of a bribe, to share ten things I've done in my young life. How to choose ten? I'm not sure, but here they are, in no particular order:

1. Given birth to and raised a wonderful, special, and uniquely witty daughter who is one fine human being

2. Been president and CEO of my own consulting firm

3. Elected "Personality Plus" in my high school class of 660 students

4. Married my best friend

5. Lived in Germany , in Oklahoma , in two different coastal communities, in a suburb outside of Boston, and now in a community of farms and colleges

6. Been arrested for breaking and entering

7. Written and published a book

8. Helped my father die

9. Met Lily Tomlin in a restaurant

10. Fallen deeply and madly in love

May I tag a few people to join in? You know who you are--how about it?!

An Observation: Politics & Poverty

I'm a practicing psychotherapist these days. And I have an observation.

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In my career I've been a counselor in one form or another. But for the last year I've been working with clients who do not own cars, who receive public assistance, who barely have furniture, and who don't seem to have much hope or motivation that much will change for themselves or their children. I've been working in an urban city in bankruptcy, therapist to give-or-take 15 clients: some adults with histories of incredible neglect and abuse, some teens honestly trying to figure out the role of sex and opportunity in their lives, some children with sad eyes who have been taken from their mothers and live day-to-day in foster care.

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Before I tell you my observation, I'd like to present my "credentials". I have an advanced degree in counseling, but I am also a small business owner who at one point employed nearly a hundred people in my own private human services firm. I've owned a restaurant, marketed a movie theatre, managed real estate, developed an artisan cooperative, published a book, served on several Board of Directors, and back in the day co-managed an Army Education Center. I've paid my high share of taxes and I've made plenty of wise and not-so-wise financial decisions.

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I've also moved from liberal to moderate politics, and I'm not very pleased with the sprawling huge budget my new President has just submitted.

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That's the back-story. Oh, one more thing: I rarely if ever use my blog for political purposes.

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So here is my observation. In the last month, something has changed with some of my adult clients. It has not been uncommon for their poverty to be discussed in relation to their depression, or low self esteem, or inability to make decisions or stabilize their lives. I ask them in one way or another to look beyond poverty--to imagine a different life where there is not the intrusion of and reliance on welfare agencies and there is the freedom and ability to take the kids to a restaurant or a movie once or twice a month.

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For the year that I've been at this job, I've kept asking my clients to look beyond. But we both knew there were no real prospects for jobs. The job market was dire. Here's my observation: The landscape is shifting. Changing. This week alone, three of my clients--three--mentioned working again. For the first time. One way or another they said if they could work they could start to do things differently.

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There's a ton of controversy about the U.S. President's plan to create public service jobs. It'll certainly add to record high deficits on top of already record-high deficits. And yet, I'm confident I help these three clients work again. I have this skill. And in my small caseload in my small corner of the world, if I can contribute to the return of work and dignity, three people and three families will then take care of themselves.

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So this is my observation: Hope. Somehow it's filtered down and reached three people who didn't have it three months ago. While the accountants mumble-jumble the management of more money with more zeros than I can ever relate to, how important is it that three adults in a caseload of ten adults--33%--will have the means to find their way back to work? And have started to think about it, to put words to it, to hope for it? Can show their children something different? Might be able to get off the government rolls altogether.

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Is it important enough to include in a balance sheet?

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And could it be contagious??

Animal Wednesday: Emily Easter Egg

First of all, don't blame me because this is not the best picture. I didn't draw it, I didn't take a camera shot of it, I didn't decide not to use a scanner. All I did was pose, and only for a second. I thought it would be good to get everyone in the mood for Easter, since my supply of jellybeans should be extra alot for Easter, since Easter is about the Easter bunny and I am a rabbit. If this makes sense to you, which it should, please consider donating to the Emily V. V. Rabbit Jellybean Fund. All proceeds go to the well-being and happiness of myself.

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Also, don't forget to only say nice things about me because if anyone is mean to me I may stop posing altogether.

The Little Things Part Two: # 9

I've posted most if not all of these pictures already, but my recent trip to my friends' cool house and the famous and infamous Baino's posting of her space have inspired me to share my digs again. I apologize that I am not including the messy mountains of clutter that also occupy # 9, but that will come another time.

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For now, here's a little walk through of my home:

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The first thing you should know is my house is mostly small. It's a seven room ranch on a third of an acre, punctuated with little rooms like this dining area. That said, it's a sweet comfy space. I love eating here, where I am surrounded by photos of JB, my Jessica and my son-in-law, their wedding, Mr. Ryan, and other favorite people.

Don't ask me to live in a house without books. I love books. Ancient and modern literature, cookbooks, atlases, poetry, coffee table art: anything that will hold my attention while I hold the book.

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Did I say the rooms are small? This is the tiny sitting area across from the kitchen. We've since added cushions for the 1950's chairs taken from my parents' cellar. Up until recently (that's another story) this is where I start my morning with coffee, an apple, nuts, and either yogurt of a whole wheat bagel with peanut butter. (Do you care what I have for breakfast? Smile.) And then one more cup of coffee while I read the morning paper, including my astrological forecast.

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The kitchen will one day get remodeled, two people fall on top of one another trying to cook, but all in all it's also sweet.

The guest bedroom: this is highlighted by JB's special (and expensive) wallpaper and my special (and dirt cheap) bureau. JB got to choose this wallpaper when we moved in a couple of years ago, and I got to bring this bureau home on one particularly lonely birthday many years ago. It was for sale in the front yard of a farmhouse on a back road. I offered $ 40 and it came home with me.

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Don't ask me why but the again-little hallway has a spiritual feel to it for me, and I like that. The stain glass window is covering a traditional window that overlooks our neighbor's house. Before the stain glass, there was no walking to the bathroom in your underwear. Now--I wear even less...

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Okay, Baino, you can see from my office that I am not particularly neat. I have a thing with papers. I can't seem to keep them organized. Every once in a while I dream that I have piles of papers on top of me and I am fighting to breathe. Still, I have an office-writing room of my own (see my laptop--that's where I blog), it has a printer and fax machine, as well as several bookcases, and I am usually happy as a clam in there.

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Please step outside to the back yard. JB and I have transformed this space from a starved plot of dirt to a sanctuary of sorts. We grill, we eat, we rock in the hammock, we read books on the patio, we garden, and putter, and sometimes I sit at the table and write my stories.

The back yard is also home to the hot tub, which turns out to be one of the best purchases ever made at # 9. We had some extra money when we sold our old house and moved here--enough that we bought a hot tub, installed it outside, and hoped the novelty wouldn't fade. It hasn't. The water temperature is 103 degrees F, perfect when it's minus 10 in the dead of winter. And looking up at the stars at midnight, while floating in steam, is one of my life's little treasures...

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His name is Robert Cardinal and he is a painter from Truro-Provincetown. We bought this on lay-a-way--$ 50 a month until it was paid for. It will be willed to my son-in-law, but for the long foreseeable future, the sky changes color with the sun and lighting. This is a lighthouse in Martha's Vineyard, by the way. (Val!)


And last--two favorites. Here's a side view of JB's Magic Cottage,

And here's the sweetest paws at # 9: Stella, who after 7 or 8 years of a challenging existence, has settled into her role of family dog with both grace and appreciation.

I might do this again. Anybody else interested in sharing where and how you live these days?

I for one would savor the tour...