New

 How do you know when someone is just too angry, seething just beneath the surface from so many slights, woundings and cruelties unleashed on them by unthinking callous parents and schoolmates?  Is it unhealthy to fear you? To worry that the wrong word said at the wrong time will unleash that powerful torrent of hurt and there I stand, directly in the way of that firehose of hurt and anger? I already love you, am drawn in repeatedly to the well and depth of your sweet, tortured, fighting, beautiful self.  Is it an addiction? Am I afraid to turn away because of what would happen?  And, what would happen? Would that hurt still find its way back to me, like a strangling cloud blindly driven to inflict as much pain as it feels? Am I fooling myself and staying in part because I don't want to find out?  Does it matter that I feel emboldened to write here because I feel so sure that you won't read this words, despite knowing the path here.  It is always so hard to have a relationship in a vortex. I want to find a way out of the vortex but there is no clear path.  So fumbling blindly we go.  I've never been called out so cruelly--is it good for me? I'm fighting to have it be so even though part of me wants to run.  I can trace the lines of your hurt in the swords you wield and hurl and it helps me breathe, step away, and recall the wielder; a sweet, sad boy, fiercely fighting for his life.  Even as I write this I anticipate the next volley of fighting it will unleash.  

all the things

 Re-reading old posts inspired me to blab on here.  Life is moving.  Funk nights at Reveler, stalking the swing dancers on-line and dreaming of my next life where I am one.  Nights of sleep.  Let me say that again.  Nights of SLEEP.  New crushes--for better or worse.  Usually, for worse, but there's a tinge of fun aliveness there too.  Music music.  VB's come to life again, hopefully Breakfast Cabaret will soon return and rebirth.  Rumours of Blackfire reunion tour (that's enough to blast my endorphins through the roof).  

Kiddos these days: Leo, tiny sing-songy voice, handing me is half-eaten banana in the car "here's your ice-cream mama!", shouting through the house "MAMA I NEED YOU!!" "DADA I NEED YOU"  "ISABEL I NEED YOU!!" (the latter to keep him company while he poops).  Strict wardrobe of truck shirts, soft fleece pants, and dresses.  Favorite activities: train tracks, waterplay, rainplay, being nude.  and nursing.  Still nursing!  With gusto!  but now coyly waggles his eyebrows at me while suggesting it.  

Isabel is 5.  Lost her first tooth.  Worried for the world and every injustice, no matter how small.  Perfectionist who won't do her reading lesson because she's not good enough at it yet.  taught herself to count to 100 despite my best efforts to do so.  loves babies, animals, flowers, and her grey blanket (aka "greg").  inventor of all games, boss of all games.  enthusiastic harvester, pickler, and consumer of radishes.  Obsessed with the Edmund Fitzgerald, dancer to all music. lover of princess dresses.

Things that make feel alive right now: climbing (edging up on 5.11!), playing music-esp klezmer/balkan, doing massage, bike-riding, cooking, playing ultimate at twin oaks, dancing!, flirting.  which also makes me feel dead :(

naps, then and now

Last year, on February 24th, our good friend/temporary housemate/child-whisperer moved out and on to bigger adventures.  She had arrived into our home in early October, about a month before Leo was born.  This was pretty much a flat-out miracle.  Transitioning from one to two babies is a tricky business under any circumstance, and Noah and I were not exactly starting out on neutral ground.  

This amazing human was not only a great housemate, but also a good friend to both Noah and I and amazing with kids (I would often overhear her saying things to Isabel in the exact words and tone that I would have used).  Having 2 little babies can be super isolating, and she helped us all gracefully and easefully slide into 4-person family-hood.  She gave Isabel some much needed extra special time, hugs, and attention as she started her big-sister journey.  She gave us easy, casual social interactions; the kind that seem to vaporize when you can't get out of the house.  And when Noah went back to work, she filled in the many small gaps in the day.

The February departure was an interesting transition.  I was well aware of how much I was leaning on her; both for periodically taking one or the other kid for chunks of the day, but even more for the tiny spaces of filler time throughout the day that are truly life-saving.  Like reading to Isabel for 5 minutes while I finished breakfast.  Staying in the living room for a few minutes while I took shower.  And, most notably; hanging out with Isabel while I nursed Leo to sleep for his morning and afternoon naps.  

So now.  The first week post-departure I spent each nap time ping-ponging up and down the stairs between crying babies.  Settling Isabel into her high-chair with some lunch, I'd tell her I'd be back in a few minutes then race up to nurse Leo while silently begging him to fall asleep quickly and praying that Isabel didn't start screaming. 3 minutes later, she would start screaming, I'd race down to try and re-settle her, leaving HIM screaming upstairs, half asleep but rapidly waking up again.  And back.  And forth.  

Then I tried talking about it with Isabel.  She's a pretty reasonable kid.  I explained, "Ok, I just need 10 minutes to put Leo down and then we can have special Mama-Isabel time and do all of the fun big kid stuff.  Do you think you can just play quietly for a few minutes and then we'll have all the time to do big kid stuff?"  "Oh yes mama, I can do that".  

Literally 90 seconds later, she's screaming and crying at the door as though she's been abandoned on the street.  And then Leo's crying again.  And definitely not sleeping.  This continued for a week.  Then my mom came to visit, offering a brief reprieve.  The whole time she was here I was frantically brainstorming; Facebook advice basically boiled down to: give her a tv show to watch, or do a walking nap.  

Three days after my mom left, on Wednesday March 11th, Noah and I stayed up late reading about exponential growth curves and community spread.  By 2am we had decided to cancel his daddy-daughter trip to California, scheduled for March 12-18.  By Thursday, VCU had switched to remote work, indefinitely.  The pandemic was here.  So much misery, suffering, physical illness, mental illness and unrecoverable loss was on its way for so many people.   

And.  In my tiny, individual, selfish little world of trying to nap a baby while keeping a toddler happy every day.....it helped so much to have Noah working from home!  His remote-work schedule was flexible enough to accommodate a few 20 minute breaks sprinkled throughout the day, just enough to get those naps happening.  

And now, more than a year later, his office is starting to do in-person visits again; at least a few days a week he is back at the office.  When its time for Leo's nap, the three of us go up to Isabel's room to nurse and snuggle while reading a book.  Then Isabel cuddles down into her blankets to wait while I finish nursing Leo to sleep in his room.  After he's asleep, she and I have 15 minutes or so of special play time together, and then its time for her nap. 

Today it took Leo 40 minutes to get to sleep.  By the time I came back to Isabel's room she'd given up waiting and had just fallen asleep herself.  

Oh how times have changed.  

I am Tired

 We've had grandparents visiting for the past week and a half.  The very best kind of grandparents--kind, thoughtful, adventurous, and able to set limits with kids.  It is amazing having them here.  And.  I AM AN INTROVERT.  

I think I need to make a shirt that says this, or maybe just scream it out every hour.  

Its so wonderful to be around people who love my kids and care about us.  And it almost doesn't matter who they are, part of the impact on me of being around people all the time is a slow but steady drain on my mental/emotional reserves.  

My partner doesn't understand this and I find this to be uniquely enraging/crazy-making.  How do I make him understand.  Just HOW.  

Isabel is entering a new phase where her company is (at times! not at other times!) rejuvenating.  Tonight, after a day that pushed me too my limit and beyond, I sat wasted on the shores of the evening as my body squeezed me and my head ached and she requested an evening walk.

As the sun sank, I tucked her into a fuzzy cocoon of stroller blanket and we set off into the fresh, pungent evening.  She shared her thoughts ("I'm just really enjoying seeing everything"), running commentary ("There's a cat.  Someone's going to come up and just scoop it up and carry it."), and questions ("Who lives here?  What's the dada's name?").   She's even starting to propose her own answers ("I guess the next time they're outside playing I'll just have to stop and ask him")

When we got home, I  left the stroller on the sidewalk and carried her into the house wrapped in the blanket; she informed me that we would need to make sure it didn't rain in the next few minutes before bringing the stroller onto the porch.  

liminal space

This is a weird time.  We are coming out of the extreme monkish-cloistered-SAHM-in-a-Pandemic time; slowly, creakingly.  There are moments now when I feel completely supported.  A neighbor comes by in a pinch to hang with the kiddos for 30 minutes so I can regain my sanity and get a crock pot dinner started.  Grandparents and Noah take the kids for an outing and I am free to practice violin and cook dinner.  

We've even hired our first baby-sitter.  I refused to pay for childcare with Isabel; she was such an easy, sweet, mellow baby that it felt weird to pay people for enjoying her delightful company. And it worked fine; tons of people DID want to hang out with her.  Leo is equally delightful but he's also a house on fire and the first time this teenager called out "We're going for a walk!" I felt a rush of joy and freedom.  AHHH to not feel responsible for making my kid's company an easy, pleasant experience!

I am starting to glimpse moments where it DOES seem possible to accomplish all of the basic things without turning into a screaming volcano of stress (cook, clean, laundry, care lovingly for the kids) and even starting to glimpse moments where for a heartbeat, there is no immediate fire to put out, nothing screaming for attention (externally or internally) so that I may sit, quietly, looking out the window and let thoughts and feelings stream through me until they sift down to a tug in some direction.  

To be fair.  That last miracle just happened for the first time yesterday morning.   

But it gave me a bit of whiplash when just a few short hours later I found myself back in the eternal afternoon, following Leo around as he tirelessly poked through the neighbors bushes, my mind descending into that special numbing boredom and loneliness of watching an adorable kid alone for hours on end.  

It seems that: the more bored, disconnected, unsupported that I feel, the more I resort to the mind-numbing anti-nourishment self-care of FB scrolling and food (those chocolate coconut lumps from Elwood basically fuel my days).  And the more I am able to function like a human (clean the bathroom, talk to adults), the more I am able to make choices that truly feed me.  Like: writing, playing music, meditating or just staring into space instead of at a screen....

Really; just slowing down enough to exhale and CHOOSE my next action instead of letting my anxious chest yank me forward towards the nearest fire.

Bonus content: 

Me: "Isabel, are you chortling with delight?"

Isabel (pointing): "NO! I'm chortling with THAT light over THERE!"

wants

 My body aches from hiding pockets of anxiety in its every nook and cranny.  My heart explodes when my 3yo runs up to me and reports that

"Hayden" (new acquaintance from the playground) "hugged me and it made my heart beat".  

My heart breaks a little bit every damn time my 1.5 yo cries pitifully for Mama.  

All I want is to be alone, eat brownies, listen to Krishna Das at top volume, disappear into the absorbing ecstasy of playing irish fiddle tunes, putter in my garden.  

All I want is to cuddle my babies forever, even as they grow into not-babies.  

All I want is to start running and not stop, board a train for NYC and disappear into the bubbling masses.  

All I want is to see my babies' faces light up with sweet joy when they see me coming down the stairs.  

All I want is to aimlessly wander the aisles of Kroger or Lowes or Target. 

...and sit and watch the river

...and never talk to anyone again

...and talk and laugh all day with other insane moms about the extra special insanity of momness

...and just be me out in the world with my fiddle and my feet, free and wandering

...and step out of this body that seems to pinch and pull at every turn.

...and crawl into bed and never come out.

For a couple of weeks in early January, I would put Leo to bed around 7:30p,.  His room exits right into ours.  I would stand next to the bed for a moment, listening to Noah and Isabel downstairs.  And each day, more than anything I just wanted to crawl under the covers and close my eyes to world.  The first time I gave into the temptation, it was amazing.  And then it became irresistible.  After about a week of this, Noah got curious:  

"What is this part of your life where you just lie unmoving on the bed, staring into the dark?" he asked. 

The very best part my friend.  The very best part. 

Good Kids

I hate it when people tell me that I have good kids like its just a lucky fluke that happened.  (Which is also true. ) 

BUT/AND--I work my butt off every single day to support, guide, and inspire them to be their best. I read parenting books and watch videos and examine myself and invent games and acknowledge and empathize and work harder to see things from their perspective.  I set aside my frustrations and impatience again and again.  I take the time to answer every question as fully and honestly as I can.  I offer them structure and flexibility, and a safe container for tears and tantrums.  I look for ways for them to help out around the house so that they know that they are important members of our family.  I try and be flexible whenever possible, and set boundaries when I need to so that they will know that they may set their own boundaries.  I patiently explain again and agin, sitting in the fire of my fury, why it is important to be kind, to not hit, to help out, to clean up.

It may look effortless to the point of being invisible, but this is some serious, intense, DRAINING labor that I'm doing all day long (and often in the middle of the night).  

Yes, they are awesome.  And when you tell me they are good you are erasing all of the invisible work that I'm doing to help them be that way.  

(Faux ) Me Time

Kudos to Courtney Wyckoff for coining this phrase and also saving my and so many mama's lives.   Fuax me time is when I know how desperately I need to unplug, unwind, and tune in, but the depth of the need makes the usual ways to do that (sit quietly with tea, meditate, stretch, go for a walk, exercise, journal, play music, write) feel impossibly out of reach.  

Faux me time slips in quietly to fill up those empty spaces that pop up throughout the day and leave me feeling emptier than before.  It's not like I'm fooled.  Its not as if scrolling on Facebook has EVER left me feeling more fulfilled, or that I've never concluded a scroll sesh, shut the computer with satisfaction and moved on to more wholesome and fulfilling activities. 

In part, its the mom-thing of never knowing how much time I'll ACTUALLY have, and being so sick of being interrupted that it hardly feels worth it to bother starting anything.  But there's also the guilt. 

I happen to be very lucky, my partner takes the kiddos downstairs every morning from wake time (Leo: 6-7am, Isabel: 7-8am) until he starts work (usually 9:30).  So, nearly every morning, I have the absolute luxury of sleeping more, catching up on tasks, meditating, doing momma strong, riding the exercise bike.  As long as I stay sequestered in the bedroom, the sky's the limit.  Sometimes the kiddos revolt and start crying and begging for Mama (Leo) or park outside the door, toes peeking under (Isabel).  I usually relent because seriously!?!?  Who can resist toes.  

So all to say: I have NO EXCUSE for not starting each day feeling rested, recharged, ready to go.  BUT.  No.  Here's how it usually goes down.

1. Roll over and grab the computer, scroll FB, check email, read NYT, for as long as possible 

2. Meditate 15 minutes.  I've been working my way up from 5 minutes.  This is a very weird place to be since for about 15 years I meditated 2 hours daily.  But, Mom.  etc.  A friend recently told me that she always meditated during her sons first nap, and did tasks during the second nap.   I felt instant shame.  I think I've done productive and/or self-nurturing things during about 3% of my babies' total naptime.  

3. Do Momma Strong.  Minimum daily requirement.  When I slacked off, I was in so much pain that I felt resentful towards the baby for having to pick him up.  

4. Time permitting--usually at this point I've managed to FB scroll my way right up to 9:10--get on the exercise bike and watch parenting videos.  OK I'm a total geek but these are also life-saving and make me not hate my kids!!  Crucial!  I'm a part of this dorky parenting master class "Academy" thingy and there are weekly (recorded) calls with Julie King and Larry Cohen, two of my all time favorite parenting author/mentor Allstars.  

5.  Whoops, ran out of time! Time for a super quick shower!

Once they hear the shower running, there's usually a stampede to the bathroom where they wait next to the tub for Mama.  

And its off the races.  

I have so many feelings about this situation.  I feel deeply guilty that I get to have this gift of time every morning, and my partner doesn't.  He goes from kiddos straight to work, from work straight to kiddos and then we're both flat out on the couch at 8:30pm.  I know that this situation is doing some serious damage to his mental well being--the endless cycle, never getting a break, 15 hour days, no personal time.  I so want to be the gracious partner who offers to be on for a morning.  BUT I JUST CAN'T.  

The memory of what it felt like to be up every hour (sometimes for an hour) nursing a screaming, thrashing baby, and than follow that by being ON all day with the babies with no breaks and no outside support is too fresh.   

One day last summer, the kids and I were Facetiming with Noah's Mom.  As kid pandemonium reigned around me, she said "Wow, you  are so patient.  I never had that experience since I just had one kid".  I had to stop myself from saying "Actually, its not patience.  I'm just dead inside".  

So, as desperately as Noah needs more free time, I feel terrified of giving up my precious mornings.  And because I feel guilty about it, some sick part of my brain is screaming at me the whole time "Don't enjoy this time too much.  Don't be intentional with this time that you are stealing.  Just let it slip by, just faux me time your way through and then it won't be as unfair".  

Favorite Parts of the Day:

1. Surprise Mama-Isabel time in the morning.  We cuddled like bears, read, played "scream into your mouth", "boo", and "pull the string".  

2. Eating dinner with the babes (Thai Chicken Risotto with roasted green beans)

3. First Irish tune rehearsal with Paul. We definitely hit some good grooves, and Isabel floating through in her shark costume was also hilarious. 

4. Staying inside all day

Least favorite parts of the day:

1. Potential neighbor-teen babysitter backing out

2. Everyone having screaming meltdowns at lunch time. 

3. Leo waking up screaming and thrashing after napping for 30 minutes

4. Bleeding heavily and hormoning heavily all day long. 

5. Staying inside all day. 

Supper's On

Cooking: meal planning, grocery shopping, prepping...and, what would you call that last stage of turning chopped things, oil and heat into a meal...alchemy?  Magic?  Catharsis?  

These have been my salvation during this year of near complete self dissolution/annihilation.  Luckily, in our weird-but-functional family work hierarchy, it counts as being fully Labor Creditable.  

I have been on Leo's Eczema/Allergy diet since he was tested last May, so must make do without: dairy, wheat, eggs, nuts, sesame, soy, sweet potatoes and avocados.  People ask "What do you eat??" and "What do you miss the most?" and "Why don't you just wean?"

Well, I eat: all grains-mainly oats, rice, and millet.  All veg and fruits (except the Avos and Sweet Potatoes).  And, MEAT.  Way more than I ever have before, more than I'd like and I try hard to stick to organic because otherwise, gross.  Snacking easily is what I miss the most, but as someone who leans too heavily on food as an emotional crutch this is probably a good thing.  And no, I would never choose to trade my son's health and well-being for my transient indulgence of food cravings.  Also I love nursing.  

Logistically, menu planning and actual cooking are pretty vital since most of the usual go-to foods are off the table (cheese, bread, eggs, nuts).  But also, thank goodness, because being forced to really COOK, not just eat a cheese sandwich or fry some eggs has literally saved my hide many times over this year.  

On long, lonely, aggravating days, 10 tantrums deep by 12pm (I was going to say, not mine, but TBH things got pretty ugly around June-November....) it is so deeply satisfying to create (and finish one beautiful thing that is just for me.  Bonus points that it happens to benefit the rest of the fam and masquerades as a selfless act of service.  

I feel like a huge liar actually.  

It would be pretty easy to alternate 5 simple recipes that are quick and fairly healthy.  Instead I spend 30-120 minutes each week poring over cookbooks and the NYT cooking website, searching for new, fun, enticing recipes that will generate a week's worth creative joy.  

Grocery shopping is a different kind of indulgence, 60 minutes + driving time where no-one is asking me any questions, demanding that I get them anything, tugging at my clothes, or beating at my breast (my son is shameless in his requests for nursing).  

But THEN,  haha then,  I've thrown my hat over the fence.  The ingredients are sitting right there in the fridge, demanding to be used lest they rot or mold.  So no matter how tired, unmotivated, or emotionally drained I feel now I HAVE to carve out the time to cook.  It often begins with stolen chunks of time,  sneaking downstairs before anyone wakes up to measure out the dry ingredients or chopping the onion while Leo eats his lunch.  But at some point in the day, the rubber meets the road and its time to tune everyone out and get 'er done.  

There are the occasional strike-outs, but gratifyingly, though my kids snub their noses at most leftovers they will eat almost anything that has been freshly prepared.  Yesterday I sat down to mashed butter beans with sautéed garlic broccoli rabe, corn chips on the side.  Today, I served up my bowl of white rice with tomato-chickpea-spinach stew while the chaos continued to reign around me.  

Deep in the belly of the pandemic, when I had stopped doing massage, stopped playing music, stopped climbing, stopped chatting and laughing with other moms, stopped doing pretty much anything at all for myself, these tokens of love and creativity were secret love missives to my dormant self.  

Mommy Blogs

 I guess that's what this is now.  The last month or so (really, since stumbling upon the powerhouse Mama that is Glennon Doyle), I've been craving Mommy Blogs.  Not the ones with lunch box tips, creative craft pinterests, endless lists of product recommendations, and uplifting stories of familial love and gratitude.  

I need to read other Moms talking shit about their own stupid, insane, unbelievably hard/utterly mind-numbing/totally isolating (especially in pandemic blah blah blah) life.  I crave those belly laughs of recognition when the baby is caught playing in his own poop during the 5 minutes you took to take a shower, the validating descriptions of Olympic-level feats that happen unseen and unnoticed on the daily.  Like hauling a kicking, screaming toddler and his plastic grocery cart down the street while pushing the other one in the stroller.  Fitting the toddlers, the cart, and strider + helmet into the wagon while preventing the younger, allergic one from eating the older one's almonds, rescuing the spilled blueberries, and removing the small pinecone from his mouth. 

Yep, I'm looking for a very specific kind of Mommy blog.  I cling to some parenting ideals that often feel just stupid (no sugar, no screens, no punishment) and mostly don't  end up making my life any easier.  And I freaking love my kids, they are beyond brilliant, sweet, hilarious; they are probably my favorite people to hang out with.  

I want to read these blogs (where are they?!?!).  And, as it turns out, it looks like I need to write my own, as well.  

No plan Wednesday

A No Plan Morning....eek!!!   I did my best to surrender to the mind-numbing rhythm after a flurry of desperate, last minute texts to moms and neighbors yielded no fruit.  It helps knowing that busier and more scheduled days are just around the corner: grandparents visiting, playdates--just starting to be a Thing again--soccer, music class).  Such days nearly did me in mid-pandemic, when the delightful spaciousness of Everything Cancelled wore off but before the Alternative, Pandemic Approved plans kicked in.  

Sweet moments that don't happen on those scheduled days are the perk of weathering the stultifying feelings of boredom.  As I stared out the window, Isabel looked at me and said "Mama, what are you doing?"  Then answered her own question, "You're taking care of us".  

Exactly.  

The morning included:  showering (a major trust exercise!/Please don't report me to CPS), and coming out to find the 2 of them playing quietly together on the Living Room floor (whose kids are these??), pumping up the inflatable moose from Aunt Debbie (everyone took a turn), and a 3-block-parade to visit with a neighbor consisting of: massage table-on-a-wagon, Isabel on a strider, Leo pushing a plastic grocery cart.

Then lunch, nursing a very sleepy/sleeping Leo while microwaving Isabel's chicken nuggets.  I'm not quite the mom I thought I'd be, instead I'm so much more.  

baby time

people keep asking me if i like being pregnant.  its a weird question, basically asking if i fundamentally accept the changes happening to my body and mind.  why wouldn't i?  even though i miss my old, lithe, body and its ability to perform (rock climbing, biking, getting into whatever position seemed right, etc) i'm not going to actively resist the truth of this present physical form.  its also cool to have a little rumbly buddy rolling around down there, keeping me company.  The mood swings are formidable at times.  not that different from my usual highs and lows but perhaps more noticeable.  As well this weird, nostalgic permeating sadness washes over me at least a couple of times a week.  i imagine some part of me is nostalgically missing this part of my life, my last weeks as a free-form, autonomous being in the world.  many many changes to come.  

forks and lees

it is so head-trippingly, dizzyingly bizarre to be jolted out of my delightfully magical and deeply satisfying all-encompassing reality and thrust suddenly into the parallel universe of what could have would have been.  i would never trade an instance of this one and yet i can see the simultaneous shimmering beauty of what would have could have been.  and i'm so grateful that no matter where this crazy life path take me, or where i take myself, it is without fail:  deeply satisfying.  intensely challenging. filled with love and laughter and delight and fun and music and food and play.  physical edges. emotional edges.....just a beautiful and irreducible gift.

right now:  pistachio ice cream.  gourmet romantic dinners every night.  and breakfast and lunch.  peels of laughter and sweet faces and rough and tumble and that little cowlick that pops up on those delicate foot switches.  giant thunderstorms and endless bran and every day shocked that this is my life.  and yet and yet and yet.  to find out that in fact it was i that gave up and am giving it up and the confusion of that just won't fit with the beauty of here now bounty.  

these days.  long, full, verdant.

yesterday, waking up to the sweetest of sweetnesses.  then ungraciously tossed from the nest.  holy s#$% i have people again, able to flee and blast and kvetch.  back back, learning, appreciating my boss teacher.  failing at getting photographed.  watching a young mom work with tiny kids in tow, pondering.

on a lark because people to southside, revisiting my first home at earth folk.  sweet cozy kitchen, relatively pleasant meeting. then to....the new..... chatting, so close by just 8 blocks.  feeling the house start to wrap around me pleasantly.  definitely no ghosts.  sweet conversation, so easeful so that the words just tumble out of me.  trying to fight the feeling that i'm lying about trying, that i will and always will just be a devious manipulator.  "home" for now to beans and banana smoothie and bed and now up and again, and again, and again.

today

i love the experience of massaging someone and feeling my hands click into their fascia in that special, precisely perfect way.  i love being able to offer someone insight and options for self-care.  i love looking up at the clock and seeing that 22 minutes have magically disappeared.  i love the sigh of relief at being touched in that special way, where the body can just let go where they didn't even know it was holding.  

balkan beat box-fueled packing session today, ahhhh, moving.   so satisfying to stir everything up and re-invent.  

and i am so so so loving that amazing kid who meets me so gently at every rough edge, responding before i can even formulate the words and showing up with zest and vim at every turn.  

also.

re-engaging

life is so astounding surprising.  rich.  verdant.

i do not enjoy people judging me.  i do not enjoy people shutting me out.  i do not enjoy the feeling of not existing.

much, so much to be grateful for.

summer is creeping in slowly, the air growing heavy with damp.  its different living in virginia in the air conditioning.  florida never lacks AC, but this is my first stint  in VA with that luxury.

goals:  journaling more consistently.  exercising more consistently.  doing all the sucky and annoying things one has to do to make friends in a new city.  letting it all be good.

how do we change some aspect of ourselves? enlist others in seeing us in a new way?  quietly shift and assume others will follow suit?

enjoying this new phase of life slowly kaleidescoping into view.

i love this photo because it captures each of us so perfectly.

Mardi Gras Part I

Mardi Gras took me by surprise.  I'm not a party person, so i just assumed i'd lay low, practice my fiddle, sleep in.....mmmmmm.....

Thursday night, Muses; one of the Big parades that passes through the wealthy uptown neighborhoods.  There's a science to proper parading, involving the logistics of getting yourself through parade traffic to the parade start, and ensuring your transport home at the parade's end. I rode my bike to the parade's end on the glitzed out Canal Street and met up with John David. We took an interminable busride through the parade route traffic to the end of its abbreviated route, a mile from the parade's start.  The final mile was a treat, viewing floats, ogling dance troupes, riding on the mounting energy in the streets.  

Muses Naughty Floats

We made it to the meet up point for Bloco Seirea, the Brazilian drum and dance troupe that i'd been praticing with and began the 2 hour spree of final costume touches-face painting-whiskey to stay warm-dashes into winn dixie for /last minute supplies/pee breaks.  The winn dixie was teeming with feathered folks, sequined, shining in different colors and themed costumes.  It was like a colorful carnival caravan had exploded in the middle of your local grocery store.  

finally we got the word that it was time to fall in; we were the parade's caboose in front of the final float.  the drums kicked off and we launched into our choreography.  people screamed and cheered for us.  We were a cloud of blue, metallic shine, LED lights dancing through the streets.  our supply truck followed behind towing a flat bed truck with a beautifully decorated portapotty and coolers full of snacks and water.  we stumbled through the choreography, then grew more confident and soon we were one united block of drum and movement, ecstatically moving through the street.  For.  four.  HOURS!!!!! of solid dancing.  i took a couple of breaks, sitting on the flat bed and pretending i was a float rider, resting and eating clementines.  people smiled and waved at me, delighted at the quirkiness of riding on a portapotty float.  towards the end we got a block of free dance and the energy surged through me, of this amazing music, of the night, the people cheering us on, LIFE.  45 degrees warm we arrived, exhausted and ecstatic, at the end.  

Friday, rest day.  

Iris Float

Saturday--up early and with a plan and backpack full of supplies. biking through the quiet morning,wheels crunching on last nights beads.  bike locked at the parade's end (today:  Tucks).  a quiet and speedy busride, pre-parade, to uptown.  a bus stop stool seat as i ate my sandwich in sequined booty shorts.  Iris parade gathers, and I enjoyed being a spectator for 30 minutes cheering on the High School bands and ducking under the flying beads.  Then, heading to the parade-start for Tucks to linger with my fellow orange and blue clad dancers.  wandering to the nearby park, a staging ground for at least 10 different HS bands as they battled, breaking into their finest numbers, overlapping one another starting as one concluded.  confident, sassy girls whipping through choreography.  electric.  

High Schoolers on the March

parade kicks off; finding the motley crew of panoramblers, jazz/balkan/klezmer brass brand extraordinaire.  we kick off early in the parade, cutesy choreo in our small band of sass and sequins.  parading and prancing through the sunny day, warm.  relaxed, leisurely breaks on St. Charles.  shakin it.  a pleasant pace, people love us.  Tired and happy, we arrive back to Canal Street and the parade's finish. Seems like the right time to view an entire parade so i linger and cheer on the remaining paraders as they round the final bend; beleaguered High School marching bands, having marched 5 miles with their instruments and their pride.  accidentally catch a throw; giant rubber snake that i wind around my bike.  endless parade--another hour but i'm committed to seeing at least one of these giant spectacle parades despite my aching feet.  finally, chill sets in as evening comes on and i don my layers for the bike ride home, shining and happy.  must.  sleep.  

My fellow revelers at dawn

The Mudlark Theatre

Home; with a plan to sleep early and wake at dawn for Eris, the secret witches parade rumoured to end at The End of The World.   A live wire, I drift excitedly in an out of sleep for a few hours, and eventually awake promptly at 1am.  New outfit; layers and sparkles and flowers.  To the Mudlark Theatre, where folks are cuddled on the floor for the midnight nap time show.  Sweet Harp music and a live reading from Italo Calvino's Cosmicomics.  Around 4am, the mystically costumed creatures begin to gather in front of the theatre.  Grocery

sunrise bagpipes

 cart floats and a somber brass band fall in and we parade through the middle of the night mist and chill, down to the river, through the french quarter  where we briefly merge with the dregs of the middle of the night revelers, back to the river where we get briefly separated by a passing train, then reunite at the river front.  my group remains for the sunrise; as the orange breaks over the Mississippi, a bagpipe's keening wail floats out over the water.  home and joaquin cooks us shrimp and grits.  tired happy rest.  

post eris revelers at dawn

To be continued in next post....

Mardi Gras Part II

and...awake! Just hours later at 11am!  Rallying for Box of Wine, another secret pop up parade that steals the main uptown route briefly, in-between the giant official parades  i bike through town, weaving around tourists and skirting the parade route, spotting other secret revelers painted in gold en route, distinctly separate from the out-of-towners in their green/purple/gold hats and bead poundage weighing down their necks.  a brief biker gang, we separate again in uptown and i abandon my bike at john david's house, changing back into my sequins.  i call out to passing orange-blue bikers if they know the starting intersection for this mini-parade, and john david joins me for the stroll over through the sweetly calm and sunny afternoon.  crossing the parade route madness, I find my way over to the freaks and geeks artistic BOX OF WINE madness.  This parade paves the way for the superkrewe Bacchus by filling everyone's cup from their boxes of wine. Joyful and motely, we steal the route for a brief time with our antics and music.  People are surprised, delighted, reinvigorated for the final parade of the day on this 4 parade marathon.  

The zulu king grants a painted coconut to his fans

Monday, Lundi Gras.  a bag packed and a bike ride to the waterfront park for Zulu fest; bands, and so much soul food.  dancing by the riverboat, fried catfish, okra, peach cobblers. The Zulu King blesses his fans with the most coveted throw: gold painted coconuts.  i purchase my food (catfish poboy, okra and rice, peach cobbler), preparing for a good tuck in before the days adventures.  a towering black man in a track suit says "how you gonna eat all that food???  you'll have to roll down the street afterward!"  we chat about where we're from and his daughters.  after eating, I bike over to the marigny/bywater for the red bean parade;  a sweet and low key local scene.  Intensely creative bean based bead work outfits mingle with a mariachi band, the Treme Brass Band and  parade slowly along, stopping frequently for dance parties in the street.  

terrible shot of the flotilla before my phone died

I break off on esplanade, and head up to city park to catch the Slow Danger Brass Band flotilla parade. John David joins me and a kind boater invites us into his small watercraft. Climbing aboard he offers us brandy, a flag to wave, and endless stream of enthusiasm.  Floating down the Bayou St. John, brass band to one side, surrounded by pirate ships and fellow vessels ducking under bridges loaded with cheering dancing freaks and revelers.  At the final bridge, fireworks are lit and  a couple makes out heavily in the flotilla beside us.  

Mardi Gras Day! An early wake up call from our 9^th Ward neighborhood Mardi Gras Indians as they wander the streets shouting “Wake up!!! Its Mardi Gras day!!!” We are a houseful of electric excitement, everyone outfitting, joaquin making eggs and biscuits that we all try and choke down.   I head to the bywater to St. Anne's parade; beautiful costumed people filling the streets.  A stop at Audrey's for a second breakfast of beans and rice.  People wander, parade, linger.  Noah from Noah's arc/bar offers me a bloody mary and i accept.  Later, king cake vodka and sweet chat with middle aged man from buffalo.  I find the bloco seirea mini-groups and free-form samba with those pulsing drums down the street, through the quarter.  We take a break and i get my face painted by fellow Seiriean.  We break off for food, then head up to the Treme and chase the indians where they confronting each other with ritual dance in the streets.  Finally, walking back down to the quarter for Brazilian music and floating home through the endless revelry in the streets.  

part deux

Another noteworthy day yesterday.  i just love the pace of life around here--so friendly, relaxed, yet focussed on creative endeavors with a passion and tenacity that is inspiring.

yesterday began with a stop at the mask and costume sale at the St. Claude healing arts.  AMAZING and beautiful work; head pieces, masks, costumes.  mostly hand made by the vendors.  after drooling over it all for awhile i succeeded in extracting myself and biked over to Armstrong Park, the staging ground for Barkus,  the all dog Mardi Gras parade (the name is a play on the well-renowned Krewe of Bacchus).   \  there was a band, food for sale, and so many adorable dogs decked out in tutus, beads, little costumes; even some luck float-riders!  i wandered around taking pictures for my dog-loving friends. then headed into the garden district/downtown area.

Jackie O.

Twinsies!

the day was warm and sunny, pleasant for biking.  pretty soon though i got completely tied up in the downtown parade route--with parade route consolidation, there can be as many as 5 parades that run through the same area, one after the other.  i got trapped on the wrong side of the barricade.  paused for  a minute to check out a high school marching band playing and marching ultra-tight, and to see the baby dolls.  eventually i managed to get across the barricade and make my way over to the levee for the final samba practice.

everyone looked awesome for the dress rehearsal; bright turquoise, silver, gold, with fabulous headpieces and tassels hanging everywhere....we marched and danced through the streets followed by our 25 person strong drum corps and people came out of their houses to watch, whoop, cheer us on.  it was exhausting to keep that high energy dancing going but the people cheering gave me a notable energy boost.

after practice, i caught the bus back to the treme, and couldn't help stopping in at the yellow pocahantos mardi gras indian practice.  the energy in there is just so infections and hypnotizing.  i can't get enough.  then biking back to my neighborhood, there was another surprise mardi gras indian practice outside st. roch market!  they even had an enormous headdress with them.

the culture here is so complex, rich and unique.  people care for each other in very sweet ways; even strangers on the street.  there's a laid back attitude about time that can mean that things start anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour late.  Bars and venues frequently serve free or cheap food, so its hard to go hungry for very long.  AND, many streets aren't fully paved, many houses are still quietly molding or half torn down, healthy food can be hard to come by.  Crime is an issue (though not for me so far....)

But the joy and love that spills out of people is infectious and exhilarating.  i've never felt anything else quite like it, and i'm having pre-nostalgia for it already.