Four Angels Momma (most days)

Views From the Buena Vista

2012-01-29T16:31:00.000-08:00

The beginning of our week started out like this. Threatening clouds, wild waves, and just enough pounding rain to keep me inside with the shades raised high and a stack of books close to my side yet my eyes remained mostly trained on the horizon, my mind thick with thoughts. I enjoy the sun, but I live for these dramatic days on the Pacific shoreline in which nature puts on the most spectacular of displays. There is something about the turmoil on the outside matching the turmoil on the inside that creates a feeling of symbiosis deep within my soul. I am drawn down into thought. Thoughts about where I have been, thoughts about where I am now, and thoughts about where I will someday be. The notary came by, last week, to have Mark and I sign paper after paper after paper as we are refinancing our beach home for a much better rate than we were able to lock into almost four years ago. The words "in thirty years" flowed easily from the notary's mouth and stopped me cold in my thoughts as my hand systematically signed and signed and signed and signed and dated. In thirty years I will be eighty years old. 80 years old. My four Angel Daughters will be as old, or older than I am right now at this moment in time. My nieces will be in their late thirties and early forties. My parents will, most likely, be gone. Long gone. And my brother, he will still be only 41 years old...Has he had the chance to meet one of our heros, the larger than life Clarence Clemons, yet? Dear God, I hope so.

Rainy days cause these kinds of thoughts to bubble up to the surface of my being. The thoughts simmer there, oftentimes for days, bringing with them feelings of nostalgia, regret, hope, and renewal.

And as I take my old girl, my dog, Becca, outside, something in the water to the left of the bluff catches my attention and I am momentarily caught off-guard. I hold my breath so as not to lose sight. The surface of the water breaks with circular swirls of tiny bubbles. Breath. Air. Life. And then a fin...

And as I look down, she appears, gliding lazily along on currents. My breathing somehow syncs along with her graceful dance along the water. Under, above, under, above, like my moods when the rain comes and then leaves.

That evening, the sun returned just in time for sundown, the water smooth as glass. It is 80 degrees outside here today. The only clouds in the sky are wisps of cotton against the most beautiful of blues. I am here, back to today, back to thirty one years away from my 80th year, back to life as it is. I like it here. How to make the next thirty years slow down to a pace which does not feel like here and then gone? That is the question that lays heavy on my heart.

Because We All Matter

2012-01-18T22:26:00.000-08:00

I am sitting here seething suddenly, trying to keep the lid from exploding off of the top of the pot that has been simmering steadily inside of my mind for the past week or so. There is a family that I have come to care deeply about who is facing something that no family should ever have to face and I have been trying to collect the words, the right words, to write about their situation. This is a married couple who has been together for twenty-two years. This couple met in 1990 and immediately knew that they were meant to be together. As a bi-national couple(one from the US and one from France), they made things work by juggling what they could to keep themselves together. They adopted four beautiful children, now ages 6 (twin boys whose eyes twinkle), 8 (a sparkly little angel girl) and 11(a handsome, growing young man). In so many ways, I have grown to admire this wonderful family. They represent so much about what is right with this country. They are cohesive, innovative, filled with love and mischief and joy. They are a family so much like my own.(Although in their forties, they are crazy enough to still talk about adopting another child which might possibly put me over the edge!) Yet herein lies the difference, instead of their names being Mark and Deb, their names are Mark and Fred, and although their marriage is legally recognized by the state that they were married in, it is NOT recognized as a legal marriage by the federal government, nor is it protected by something called The Defense of Marriage Act(DOMA, signed into law by President Bill Clinton in 1996) which would allow Fred to stay in this country only if this were a heterosexual married couple. So, as with too many laws in this country, one law has been negated by the other creating an uphill battle where there should be none. Mark and Fred and their children are now waiting to find out what the result of their request to stay together as a family in this country will be. We are talking about five American citizens and their husband/father. This is insane. The possibility that they could be torn apart as a family is insane. But, as I ask myself whenever I am faced with a decision to act or to not act on something that might be extremely difficult to battle, here is the question that Mark and Fred must answer right now; Is this the hill you would be willing to die on? And as they forge ahead into the battle to keep their family together, there is only one resounding answer...Keep fighting the good fight, my strong and brave friends.

*Borrowed from Mark's Blog, Our Simple Lives:) Aren't they Gorgeous???

You can read more about this family's battle here on Mark's blog http://www.oursimplelives.com/ and on CNN. And for some touching perspectives, read here, http://psychdocnyc.com/, and here, http://37paddington.blogspot.com/2012/01/stop-deportations.html and on the January 12th post here, http://www.ragdollinnewyork.com/. If you feel at all compelled by this story and the many others that are just like Mark and Fred's story, feel free to express your outrage to these individuals:

Senator Robert P. Casey, Jr.

393 Russell Senate Office Building

Washington, D.C. 20510

P: 202-224-6324

Toll Free: 866-802-2833

Fax: 202-228-0604

Secretary Janet Napolitano

Department of Homeland Security

U.S. Department of Homeland Security

Washington, D.C. 20528

202-282-8000

This family deserves the same rights as any other family who celebrate anniversaries, are raising children(or cats or dogs or birds or llamas, etc.), who drive in carpools, pay taxes, do mounds and mounds of laundry, clean up after sick babies and honor one another through marriage in sickness and in health!

I have now contained my anger, but the lid will not be placed back on this pot. Oh no, it won't...

United we Stand

2012-01-15T21:34:00.000-08:00

Why is it that whenever my family has the choice of where to go for dinner, they usually choose a place where it is okay to play with the food?

A place, where the chef throws food at us and we ask for more???

And while I am pondering the important questions in life, why is it that Angel Daughter Number Three and Angel Daughter Number Four always seem to be in cahoots with one another? I swear they are planning to take over the world someday and they are just practicing on me.

And while I am at it, why is Joshua clapping for AD2's birthday but mysteriously staring off into the distance? Hmmmm.

I might not have most of the answers, nor would I ever claim to, but there is one thing that I am absolutely sure of...

I adore these people more than I ever thought it could be possible to adore anyone. We are such a mish-mash of varying personalities with different likes and dislikes, and a mixture of thoughts and opinions about everything. Yet even when they are being irreverent, or goofy, or using me as the butt of their sisterly "inside" jokes, my heart just bursts at the seems knowing that they are all mine, and I, am all theirs...

I am one very, very lucky momma.

Taking Flight-Happy 22nd Birthday

2012-01-08T15:53:00.000-08:00

*Self portrait by Angel Daughter Number Two

Angel Daughter Number Two celebrated her twenty-second birthday yesterday. She has always been my free-spirited child, twinkle in her eye and a purpose in her step. I spent many years chasing after this child(exhausting at times!), trying to make sure that she wasn't running too fast for her own good. If my other three Angel Daughters were standing below the tree staring up at it, I knew that this one was already at the top trying to go higher before I even looked. Not always a good thing for a mother's heart! But with all of the excitement came adventure and jubilant laughter and sweet moments, very sweet moments, and as I prepare to go out to dinner with my entire family to celebrate this child, I am filled with nothing but love and gratitude. Gratitude for my husband, gratitude for the qualities that he imbued upon AD2, qualities that I imparted, gratitude that our girl is growing up healthy and creative and strong enough to take on her own dreams at such a young age. Gratitude that God trusted us enough to parent all of our beautiful daughters.

Happy, happy Birthday, AD2. I love you more than I could ever express in words. You are simply amazing.

Below is a link to the online layout(the hardcopy is even better) and a video that AD2 made to commemorate her latest fashion spread in Palm Springs Life magazine. It is an eight page layout(!) filled with absolutely gorgeous photos that she shot a couple of months ago. Her vision is what makes the models and the clothing take on a life of their own. She has the eye of someone who is well beyond her twenty-two years. I am so happy for her. Watching her take flight has been both an honor and a privilege. I am one very proud momma.

Thank you for supporting my girl. She definitely appreciates it, too. Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5MZUhXgEP0&feature=youtu.be

http://www.palmspringslife.com/Palm-Springs-Life/January-2012/Spring-into-Color/

Come Walk With Me

2011-12-30T21:05:00.000-08:00

Each day, I am treated to several ever changing views of the San Clemente Pier but mostly from a couple of nautical miles away from my front yard. The view is spectacular. Yesterday, I had the sudden urge to change perspectives(a possible sign of things to come?) so I called Mark and invited him to take a stroll with me down on the pier. The sun was still fairly high in the sky when we arrived and the well worn, sea-beaten wooden slats below our feet were pulsating with the vibrations of life being lived. It felt so good to be out in the open air.

It felt good to be among a random group of people in which everyone seemed calm. No set agenda, no pressure to maneuver beyond the ultimate speed of light and sound, only some moments spent doing nothing more than taking in a day that was much too beautiful to miss. Lord knows how much I have craved this pace. December took its toll on me. It always does. Repetitive music everywhere makes it very difficult to focus on anything other than jumpy rhythms and musical arrangements on speed. For me, it is all overstimulation to the max. To a body that is chronically riddled with pain, it is far too much to metabolize. I spent a good portion of the month hibernating and staving off situational depression. There are times when it is all too much and the very best thing that I can do is to be honest with myself and hide...

But yesterday was about reconnecting with the world in a more peaceful and tolerable way. It was about taking on a reasonable pace. It was about absorbing a different kind of energy. It was about quieting the hermit-crab inside of my body(I am a Cancer baby, born in July when the world seems to be at its most relaxed) while sticking my head out of my shell to peek around and signal that it is really okay to come out.

And what better place to free myself from my self-imposed hibernation than the place that has become more home to me than anyplace else I have ever known in my entire life. A place in which animal, fish, bird, and human can coexist most peacefully in unison with one another because we are all living by the rhythm of the sea. A place that has beckoned to me from as far back as I can remember, only I could not make out the exact name of it until recently. A place that will soon become our permanent home because I never want to be far away from here. Yes, I am New York city born and raised and if you listen carefully and are very good with picking up dialects, you will quickly realize that I am a transplant.

But sometimes, the soul can lead you on a long and somewhat winding journey to your home. And when you finally arrive there, you just know it. You just know it.

May the coming year bring you closer to home and if you are already there, may it bring you even closer to your home.

Happy, Happy

2011-12-24T17:32:00.000-08:00

As the sun sets on this gorgeous California day, I can somehow feel the buzz of anticipation that so many Christian children(and adults who were once children) around the world must be feeling right now. Santa, reindeers, bright lights and cookies, but nothing more important than the day that many people believe that Jesus Christ was born. I have to believe that if I were Christian, to me, this would be the most important reason for celebration and contemplation of all. And in that, there is a quiet amongst the chaos, a peacefulness beyond the stressed-out crowds, and a spirituality well above the glitz.

To my Christian friends, may you basque in the light that is radiated from the love that you feel from your family, your friends and your God. I wish for you moments of quiet introspection. I wish for you moments of deep gratitude as there is almost nothing that feels as good as being grateful for the lives that we have.

To my Jewish friends, may you bathe in the warmth of the Menorah lights as you rekindle old memories and build new ones with those who you love.

And to those who share in any beliefs other than Christianity or Judaism, I wish you the blessing that we are all much more alike than we are different. So much more alike...

Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas Eve, and a very happy and healthy New Year to all.

With so much love,
Deb(Four Angels Momma-most days)

The Homes Have Eyes

2011-12-08T17:02:00.000-08:00

Somewhere in Mission Viejo, CA

There are just too many ways to make fun of this garish display of excess in action. There is even music being blasted out of loud speakers to accompany the display. I must say that if I lived anywhere in the nearby vicinity of this home, no jury would convict me for what I might do come December 30th, so thank goodness I do not. It is kind of cool to look at once or twice and it definitely proves who has the biggest one on the block, but still, in some ways all I can do is stare at it and think about what the people who live inside of this house must be really feeling.(Sorry, balebusta, darling, about the psych reference;) Just had to.) Mark and I went out to dinner with Angel Daughters Three and Four last night, and afterwards, they insisted on driving us past this well-lit home. Somehow, I am positive that almost every neighborhood in America must have a home or several similar to this one, but witnessing this up close and personal really made me think about this time of the year and the amount of excess that takes place in the face of all of the inner-sadness and longing that so many individuals are experiencing right now. A happy veneer in the face of spending far more money than people should be spending at a time of year when the weather is colder, the days are shorter so that daylight and vitamin D are in scarce supply, and we are expected to walk around humming happy little tunes about a fat man, jingling bells and other assorted merriments over sung by way too many covers. Should I just say bah-humbug and get it over with now?

What I guess I am really trying to say is this. I get it. For several weeks now, I have been coping with increased physical pain which becomes increased emotional pain which then becomes a longing for what I have lost. And then, I look around at everything all wrapped up in its bright, shiny packaging to wonder why I am feeling so blue. Why there seems to be an underlying tone of sadness in so many of the people who I come across on a daily basis, and even in the blogs that I read.

San Clemente Pier

In many ways, this photo that I took several months ago, more accurately depicts the inner turmoil that is churned up during these winter months than the overabundance of colored lights and catchy tunes playing round and round wherever we go. It can be absolutely dizzying. Some of it might be caused by the forced cheer that we are supposed to pretend is real even if we aren't really feeling it, but what I truly believe is that this time of year causes a deep longing for those whom we miss. The people who we love who are no longer here to share life alongside of us. The memories of people we have loved and lost. It's very difficult, especially if some of the people who you loved the most are no longer around. And there are so many reminders. So many reminders. For me, this year at Chanukah will mark the fourth year since I last spent time with my brother while he was alive. The last time that I felt his chin resting on the top of my head as he embraced me in one of his big bear hugs. The last time that we laughed out loud together. The last time that we sat back and watched as our six daughters played together like a room full of miracles. I will never forget the last gift that I gave him, Steve Martin's biography, Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life. I wonder if he even had the chance to read it before he died. I loved to make him laugh.

Heaven

For everyone else who might be struggling with the pain of loss during this time of the year;

I send you peace. And love. Lots and lots of love.

And I pray that for every moment of grief that you might feel, you also feel a moment of gratitude for all that you still do have. For the people who you can still hug, for the time that you can still spend, for the laughter that you can still share. For every memory, I hope that you will be able to create a new one with the people who are still here. The people who love on you, the people who encourage you, the people who support you, the people who lift you up. It is so important to remember that if we put too much focus on what we have lost, we also lose sight of what is standing squarely right in front of us.

So tonight, go take a ride in the car with some people that you love. See if you can find the most ostentatious house in the neighborhood and when you do, go ahead and send me a picture of yourself standing right in front of it.(We can have a contest to see whose is bigger!) I promise to post it here. Because you are a part of my now, as I hope that I am a part of yours. And this is how it should be. If we cannot make one another smile, then what the heck else is there?

All is Well

2011-11-30T19:45:00.000-08:00

Have I told you all how much I appreciate your friendship and your kindness and all of the love that you share with me? Sitting here with a cat on my lap(fighting for the attention of my hands as I try to type sentences that make sense!) and a dog at my feet, I am inundated with a feeling of gratitude not only for those who physically surround me, but also for those who surround me from faraway places. I cannot tell you how many difficult days you have helped me to tackle. I am a very, very lucky girl.

We spent the week up in the gorgeous mountains of Lake Arrowhead. When our Angel Daughters were little, Mark and I decided to purchase a second home up there because we had grown up with snowy winters and wanted our girls to experience a bit of the white stuff. This home has been a part of our family for fourteen years(so many wonderful memories) yet for the past two years, Mark and I had not been up there at all. Dance competitions, work schedules and just life in general dominated our weekends and driving the almost two hours made it very difficult. We used to go up for every Thanksgiving. My best friend since junior high school who now lives in Las Vegas would meet us up there with her three children and we would share the holiday as one big family. Well, as the children got older, other obligations disrupted our tradition. Two of her children got married and went on to have babies.(whom I absolutely adore!) They needed to remain closer to home so that they could split the holidays with in-laws, etc. Last year I felt like I needed to be out of town for the holiday so we took the girls up to San Francisco for the week. We had a lovely time, but some of the girls(you know who you are) complained that I was not making the traditional turkey dinner on Thanksgiving and that preparing it on another day was not the same thing! So up the mountain we went with two new boyfriends, one very old boyfriend(Is seven years a long time for a twenty one year old to be in a relationship?) and a sweet girlfriend whose family was going to be tied up with her brother's hockey tournaments all weekend. Mark took everyone skiing/snowboarding, we ate, we shopped, we laughed, but most of all, we had a really wonderful time. The higher altitude did take its toll on my body but that was a small price to pay to spend Thanksgiving in the mountains with my husband and our girls. I have stories to share but those will come later.

I hope that everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving filled with love, good food and lots of laughter. I just wanted everyone to know that I am still here, fighting the good fight, living contently in spite of. Battling the pain while soaking in every single joyful moment possible, trying my best not to give in to the focus that the aches can sometimes overshadow. I am here. Once again, thank you for visiting, for checking in on me, for your kind words and your sweet emails, for caring. I only hope that you know that I feel the same way about you that you do about me. It truly is my pleasure. I plan on visiting, catching up and saying hello in the next couple of days. Until then, just know that you are on my mind and in my heart, always.

Here For Now

2011-11-16T17:16:00.000-08:00

Angel Daughter Number One as Peter Pan at Disneyland on Halloween

A little fun because sometimes my mind gets so busy working overtime that I need to find some peace amongst the chaos just to quiet it down. Nothing in particular other than life continuing on whether I feel well physically, or not, and for the past month the status quo has been well into the or not category. I hate to focus on my physical pain and most of the time, I am able to push through it to a place in which it becomes nothing more than a dull ache, a nuisance lingering remotely in the recesses of my mind, a gremlin in my brain. But sometimes, it is very, very hard to live a life in constant physical pain. And no matter how much I rest, how much strong(almost frighteningly strong) pain medication that I have on board, or how hard I try to push my mind back into a positive place, I begin to feel beat down, beat up, beat period. I have been here before, and I accept that I will be here again. The weather has been funky with heat and then rain and then cold and then heat, again. This is Southern California after all, and although we do not have the changes in seasons that other parts of the country experience, we do get weather. This time of year is notorious for some pretty extreme changes. So here I exist. Until something nudges my physical body into a better place and suddenly I stop to realize that an hour has gone by without any mind distracting, mind numbing pain. And then another, and then if I am lucky enough, a decent reprieve so that I can take a decent full-body breath.

Tonight, as I was scrolling through photos, some that I took, some that I (a-hem) borrowed from my daughter's Facebook pages and some that they texted to me, I began feeling the joy that can only come from loving so hard that the smiles make your face hurt and that is the kind of pain that I know that we can all use more of. Please indulge me as I remind myself that these are the most important reasons that I keep on truckin' along when I might feel as if I am running on empty.

For Halloween, Angel Daughter Number Four and her darling friend, Daisy, dressed up as Harjuku girls. They were absolutely adorable. The blow-up pirate ship in the background was on our front lawn at our main home on the ranch.(as opposed to our smaller homes on the beach and in the mountains) The girls are seventeen years old but they wanted to go out trick-or-treating anyway. Heck, I wanted to go out trick-or-treating! When they dressed up, they kind of looked like they were around fourteen which is fine with me:) I only wish that I could keep them that way for a while.

I love this picture of Angel Daughter Number One and Angel Daughter Number Three. They got up very early in the morning because they wanted to visit the Tim Burton Nightmare Before Halloween exhibit at the LACMA in Los Angeles on the very last day that it was going to be there. I love it when my daughters make plans to just get together in different combinations. It reminds me that they do feel connected even when outside of the whole family as a unit. I have been feeling very disconnected from that type of bond lately because my only brother is gone and I am no longer a part of his children's lives.(for now) I truly am very blessed to have the family that Mark and I have created together but aside from them, I am pretty alone in the world now. Yesterday my doctor reminded me that this is the time of the year when people tend to focus on losses and that it really is not quite as jolly as all of the retailers would like for us to believe that it is. That resonated deeply with me.

I love this picture, too. I borrowed it from one of my daughter's Facebook pages. Angel Daughter Number Two and Angel Daughter Number Four found out that a very popular band that they love(Mumford and Sons) was playing at a local store without publicity and for free. They were not sure if it was a rumor so they decided to meet there anyway along with around fifty other lucky people. The band showed up. My girls were in the front row only a head-shake away from the lead singers sweat.(very cool and big yuck at them same time) Sometimes life can really shine upon us when we take a chance to follow a lead that others might not bother to.

Angel Daughter Number Two and Luis, her new marmalade cat, a self-portrait. She rescued him and now he rescues her from loneliness and a cold lap.

AD3 arrived home from work, one evening, looking content and happy. The glow was back. There is nothing more in the world that I could wish for her. I love the way the shadow from her eyelashes gently kisses her cheek. She spent around three weeks shaking the mud out of her wings, but she is learning to take flight once again. I suppose that is what being nineteen is all about.

AD1 is my woman-child at twenty four years old. Listening to her talk about her own plans, ideals and goals for the future really makes this momma proud. I do not really spend too much time worrying about this one anymore. She has proven that her wings work really well. I am proud of her beyond compare and I just know that life holds wonderful stuff for her. Watch for her Ask.com commercial coming out soon! This one will be on national television so I will let you all know when it comes out. This way we will all be able to be proud of her at once;)

My baby and her baby, Micah. This child was born under a cheerful star. She is filled with warmth and joy and compassion. She came into this world with a twinkle in her eye and a dance in her step.

When people talk to me about nurture vs. nature, I must admit that I used to believe that the emphasis was on nurture but when I look at my own children, I can see that who they were as babies and as children is a lot like who they are now as young women. Mark and I are the very same parents with the same values and ideals who are raising four female children in mostly the same way.(I say "mostly" because each child has different needs, strengths and weaknesses.) Yet our girls are all unique, all special and all different. Some things just are as they are, inherently.

I will try my very best not to draw back into my cocoon of chronic pain. There are times when I end up here and do not even remember the onset. I try to pinpoint an event or a day when I overdid it, or even something emotionally overloading that burst like an infected cyst into the rest of my body. I only know that my soul feels broken open and that my body feels beat by the pain, right now, and I want it to stop. I need for it to stop. But in the in-between, I will hold myself accountable by doing things as if the pain has subsided. I will continue to cut myself some slack(fighting with oneself is mostly futile) but I will remind myself that in spite of it all, I have a pretty darn amazing life and that unlike my brother, I am still here to care for the people I care for and to love on the people(and pets) who I love. When I breathe into that thought, it momentarily soothes my soul enough to get me into the next minute, and then the next one, and then the next one...Until I know that there will be better days ahead. I just have to hang tight for a bit.

With love to all,
Debbie

Tough Love

2011-11-04T14:24:00.000-07:00

Each one of us holds facets of our personalities which can sometimes seem directly oppositional. For this reason, I am going to clarify that I am a gentle soul who is married to a gentle man and we are raising/have raised gentle children. One of our dogs is a Rottweiler, Doberman, Pit-Bull who weighs in at over 110 pounds but who is a well-trained ambassador for large dogs and would sooner lick you to death than to harm you. One of my greatest teachers is His Holiness The Dalai Lama whom we took our four Angel Daughters to see when he was in Orange County on a speaking engagement, several years back. We did not expect that they would recall the content of his words, so much as the incredible aura that emanated from this gentle human being. I felt that it was important for our children to observe goodness in one of its purest forms. And yet all of those things being said, my daughters know that if danger arises, I am the first one to confront it. Yes, my husband would be on it as well, but he tends to hang back while I spring into action like a rabid dog if someone even looks like they are a threat to one of my family members. My spirit was brought into this world by a man whose spirit asks no questions.

Recently, Mark and I decided that it was time for another layer of home/self protection. This was not something that I was at all comfortable with when our girls were much younger but, quite honestly, I believe that the world has become a much more dangerous place in the past decade. Whereas an alarm system and a dog used to provide enough protection to ease my worries enough so that I could sleep well at night, I have watched as things have become more and more precarious and the criminals have become bolder, more vicious and crimes much more violent. I sleep with wasp spray next to my bed. Plain old wasp spray, and seriously people, if you do nothing else to protect yourself from "the bad guys", go out and buy yourself and those you love a can of wasp spray or two. Wasp spray shoots up to twenty feet and disperses when it hits its target. It also causes serious pain to whomever is standing on the other end of the room. This will give you an opportunity to scream and run. Anyway, along with everything else that we do to be proactive in life, we decided that it was time to learn how to handle and if need ever be, shoot a gun. Mark has been practicing at the gun range for several weeks now and so, he decided to set up a private lesson for the girls and I. It was not my first time shooting. My dad, being a lifetime gun owner, made my brother and I go with him to the shooting range so that he could educate us on gun safety, etc. He believes, as both Mark and I do, that the only people who should own guns are those who know how seriously and responsibly they should be taken. Yesterday, our four daughters and I took a two hour gun safety lesson for women while Mark did some target practice. Now here is the other truth about guns...Not only are they meant to be taken seriously, but,

they can also be a lot of fun to shoot.(once you get past the intimidation factor) Angel Daughter Number Four was the first one to volunteer to do everything! That child has moxie! After an hour in the classroom, our lovely instructors brought us into the shooting range. We started out shooting with a small rifle. Not bad for her very first shot!

We all had our own reactions to our first shots, but the look on Angel Daughter Number Two's face is priceless.

She wasn't a bad shot either. Interestingly enough, she is the only one in our family who is right handed and left-eye dominant. She always has to be different:)

Angel Daughter Number Three who is our most cautious and reserved child really took to handling the guns immediately. She was the one who we thought might be the most hesitant about it but not at all. She cannot wait to go back for more target practice with her dad tomorrow! They already set up a father/daughter date. I think it's cute.

Mark came in to check up on all of his girls when we were practicing with the rifle. We let him take a few shots and he reminded me of The Terminator;) He loved it because normally, they do not allow "rapid fire" meaning more than one shot at a time, but since we were in a lesson, they allowed us to walk toward the target while taking five shots in quick succession. It was sort of like what you see in the movies. Between each shot, we had to reload the barrel while walking forward and keeping aim. Quite a bit to remember!

Obviously, it was a lot of fun.

Angel Daughter Number One knocked the plywood off of the holder. She meant to do that.

Okay, she didn't mean to do that.

I was at a bit of a disadvantage since I had a dangling target, but I managed to hit it! You can see how tense my body was but once the gun went off, I had the same reaction as the rest of my family did. Lots of laughter at myself and the recoil on this very small rifle.

I adore these people.

Next we moved onto .22 caliber pistols. My dad says that these are just "toy" guns, but let me say that shooting them felt pretty serious to me. Mark was so proud of us. Our instructors told him that they have never had a class that picked up so quickly on safety and did exactly what we were told in order to insure that safety came first. I told him that that was all those years of my Jewish mothering showing itself in our children. I knew it would pay off someday.

AD3 preferred something called "The Weaver Stance". It's more like what you see in the movies, one leg in front of the other and then arms bent a bit.(Charlie's Angels) She was in-between breaths when Mark took this picture. We were taught to control our breathing so that the trigger is released at the correct moment. She picked up on that right away. I wonder if there is a Zen guide for gun handling.

AD4 chose "The Isosceles Stance" which is exactly what it sounds like. You hold your body like an isosceles triangle. This is the most common position that people use when shooting a gun.

This is what I call the "never come between a momma and her cubs stance"; seriously. Although now the cubs will be able to protect themselves if need be which makes me feel a little bit better about having my children out in this crazy world that we seem to be leaving them. Sigh...

And because I did not want to make this post all about this...

yet sadly in so many ways, it is, here is a bit of the catalyst. Very sadly, I do not know too many individuals who have not been the victims of crime in one form or another. On October 15th, AD3's car was parked and locked in our gated driveway down at our beach home. Sometime between midnight and seven AM, someone climbed over the locked gate, smashed her car window and stole her laptop computer which was buried under mounds of her clothing, etc.(She is a college student who works two jobs and so, she practically lives out of her car!) The computer was not at all visible from the outside, but the thief probably figured that it was worth a quick shot that there might be something of value inside of the vehicle. Pretty brazen. I guess he hit the jackpot that night. The officer who came out to take the report told us that they call it a "surf and smash" on this block.(beach reference?) He was a bit surprised that this individual had the chutzpah to jump the gate and smash the window, though. There are always cars parked up and down the street that are much more accessible. After taking the report, the officer sent out somebody from the Crime Scene Investigation unit so that they could dust the car for fingerprints. This is not something that most police departments bother to do because they do not usually recover the stolen property or catch the criminals, BUT, apparently our police department has had a very good success rate in this area and so they do dust for fingerprints.

The guy from CSI let us know that he discovered some decent prints on the vehicle and that the investigator who would be handling our case would run the prints through the system to see if a name came up that matched them.

Since both Mark and our daughter opened the door of the vehicle without thinking about it, the CSI investigator took Mark's prints just in case they were the ones that came up. He told us to call in a couple of weeks to find out if a name came up when the prints were submitted and we would let them know if the name matched that of anybody we already know so that we could dismiss them as a suspect. The CSI investigator also let us know that although this type of theft seems "low-level", these thieves begin by walking up and down the streets looking for unlocked vehicles. They then become bolder and begin smashing windows to steal a vehicle's contents. After that, they begin stealing cars. Next, they break into homes while people are out. From there, things become much, much scarier. In the past month, there have been two break-ins on our block(our house is on a very long road) in which someone has been home. Sleeping. One person noticed their purse missing the next day, the other was a single woman sleeping on her couch. She awoke to see the criminal walking around in the shadows and remained still, scared to death, and quiet until he left. Thank God he left without harming her. Thank God. After much discussion, Mark and I decided that it was time for us to take advantage of our second amendment right to bear arms. It really did not take us a long way to get there. Nobody will ever be harmed by anyone in this family unless they decide to make the very, very poor decision of entering our home uninvited. We have taken the necessary precautions to safeguard ourselves and those who we know and love(or even don't love) from accidently being shot because believe me, I am just as concerned, if not more so, about the possibility of hurting someone "by accident". But please believe this very gentle soul when I say that if someone enters my home uninvited and expects to walk back out again on two legs, that simply will not happen.

Now go out, buy yourself some wasp spray, and keep it in an accessible spot.

More Wings

2011-10-26T19:55:00.000-07:00

The title of this article made me chuckle when I first read it because she is only twenty-one years old. 21. Still one of my babies... And yet to me, the title implies that somehow, there have been years upon years upon years culminating in The Biggest Shoot of Your Life!!! In my mind, I hear a booming voice announcing those words as if the person being written about is 35, or 42, or 67 and everything has led up to this single moment. But the truth is, her career in photography is only just beginning and if she continues to focus her energies in the right places, she is going to be very big in the field of photography and this shoot, which she both completely orchestrated and shot over the course of a very, very long day, will be one of more than she will be able to count. Angel Daughter Number Two is my photographic creative genius. Upon graduating high school a few years ago, she began college and quickly realized that the academic route was not right for her. With the help of my father(her Pop-Pop), we found a college that was a much better fit for her, moved her up to The Art Center in Pasadena, CA, and there she remained for a year and a half. This year, she decided that she was finished. She felt that she had gleaned all that she could from The Art Center and decided to go out on her own without finishing school. Mark and I were not at all comfortable with her choice, but AD2 and her grandfather presented us with all of the reasons why she was ready and we finally gave in(kicking and screaming). It has been a very rough start for her, I am not going to lie, but suddenly things seem to be piecing together for her. This article is appearing on newsstands right now in the largest digital photography magazine in the nation, Digital PhotoPro. It is in their November 2011 issue and if you care to take a look at it, it is also available online, here. In the photos above, AD2 is the one with the camera;) On the right page, she is the one squatting down with her back to the camera taking the photograph of the model. Her longtime boyfriend, Joshua, is standing right next to her and his dog, Dakota, is modeling with the pretty lady. I told AD2 that next time, I want a picture of her face in the article! She is beautiful enough to be a model herself, but I am glad that she is not one. It is a tough industry.

Here is page two of the article. I hope that you are not offended by scantly clad women because she does shoot a lot of them. It's all about fashion and sometimes that means skimpy clothes which is kind of ironic.

The layout above shows the final photos from the article but there are more words about AD2 on page 124! You can read those if you click over.

I feel so blessed to know that my Angel Daughters are following their dreams and making them come true at such young ages. Angel Daughter Number One is still getting lots of attention for her Groupon commercial(and auditioning, and auditioning, and auditioning while working, working, working!) and now AD2 is being recognized for her own work in the arts. She was just asked to shoot an eight page spring fashion pictorial for a very prestigious magazine and she is SO excited! It will be shooting very, very soon but won't come out until January 2012, so we will all just have to wait. I get the feeling this child is about to start flying high, but as her mom, I will always remind her to remain grounded and to enjoy the view while she is finding her wings. There are so many dimensions to life. Keeping things in balance can be a challenge while floating with the air currents, but soaring with our feet planted firmly on the ground is the only way to stay sane and happy. By the way, if you happen to pick up a copy of Digital PhotoPro magazine and you would like an autograph of the up and coming photographer who is being featured on pages 86-90, I think I can hook you up;)

These are my girls. I am so in love with each one of them.

Wings

2011-10-22T21:41:00.000-07:00

And here she is. Wings outstretched, open to what is, voluminously open to what will someday be.
Confident, alive, beautiful, undisguised, sincere, witty, effervescent. Life personified.

I caught her playing with the wispy wings on her Homecoming dress and for me, that was better than any possible posed moment of perfection that I could possibly have captured. I am good at waiting.(with four children, I have to be) And snapping the shutter, click. Click, click. Click! I take in the moments, but without the camera, the moments become lost in a menagerie of hours, days and then years blending together to create a montage of moments lost. Colors blended. So I do the best that I can to bring them into focus and then collect them in a more lasting place.

This way I will never forget. And neither will they.

Because truly, this is what is real. The posed photos are nice to have, but to me, they often come up short. A little blank. Well, posed. There is more, so much more. There is an entire history to be pieced together and how will they ever remember if the moments become lost in a vague set of arranged smiles. Admittedly, the candid pictures are more difficult to capture. Sometimes they come out with eyes closed or mouths grimaced or faces scrunched in unnatural looking contortions but if you wait, and take so many pictures that your children finally laugh about how many times you release the shutter on your camera, you will eventually capture the truth of the moment.

Angel Daughter Number Four is a very good sport. I suppose that being the fourth child in a fairly large family teaches you to develop patience and endurance and so, she has. She is even-tempered, kind-hearted and well-loved by many. In this photo, she was waiting for her friend to get off the phone so that they could go get something to eat before the dance.

Then she looked up at her dad. So much love flows between the two of them. It is one of the sweetest things that I have ever witnessed.

And then she turned her gaze back up at me. And the sunlight caught in her eyes. And my mother's heart skipped a beat. And I told her not to move while I lifted my camera to capture a single moment in time. Click. Click, click. Click, click. A split-second of connection forever secured in my soul and now, forever imprinted immortally for us to always remember.

Dance your heart out tonight, AD4. I love you, my child.

Sunrise, Moonset

2011-10-12T22:23:00.000-07:00

6:15 this morning. That cold, familiar nose begins nudging gently at my outstretched hand(not Mark's) and I climb out of bed to let Becca outside so that we can both quickly retreat back into our beds, back into the warmth, back into the restful worlds of our dreams. But just as I expect that I will barely have to open my eyes before snuggling securely back underneath the soft weight of my down comforter, I am startled into a sudden hyper-awareness by the mirrored beauty of the full moon as it reflects upon the water. I gasp out loud and the noise sounds as if it has come from someone else. I consider keeping this moment of absolute sudden beauty to myself but my desire to share what I am witnessing gets the better of me and, as usual in moments like these, I reach for my camera to preserve. I think about the idea that a moment does not become any less holy just because my second or third thought is to snap a few photographs of it and the next sound I hear is a soft, repetitive click, click, click. I am now more inside of the moment than I was before and as I turn from the side of the horizon in which the moon was beginning to set, I am once again struck by that feeling of awe.

For behind me, over the San Clemente pier, the sun is slowly beginning its lazy ascent into the sky taking its time as if to gaze at the moon. On one side, the moon finishing its glorious light show and on the other, the sun ushering in a brand new day. Oh, the possibilities. Oh, the colors!

Becca runs past me back into the house but I am no longer in a rush to close my eyes so I stand outside and watch as it happens all around me. Moon, earth, and sun. Everything feels as if it is perfectly aligned.

And as the colors begin to blend into one another, I take one more look at my world as it appears right at this moment at 6-something in the morning and I wonder to myself if I will ever be able to readjust my circadian rhythm to become a morning person. No, I decide. If four babies within six years was not permanently able to change it for me, then there is probably a very small possibility of it ever occurring in this lifetime and that is okay. For there are wonders that happen on both sides of the day and more than likely, by witnessing one, the chance of being awake to witness the other is fairly unlikely.

As I make my way back to my bed, I stop to cradle Becca's sweet face in my hands and I kiss her firmly on the snout. She looks at me as if the sun and the moon rise around me and I realize that to her at least, they do. I have witnessed more than one incredibly magical moment this morning.

Suspension and The Days of Awe

2011-10-06T16:12:00.000-07:00

This photo was taken on Monday.

It is a sensation much like what it must feel like to be floating, these days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It is a strange feeling and yet, not totally unexpected. It is a feeling of being suspended in time. It is the sensation of waiting, expectantly, for things to pass and although I do not really believe that God has an enormous book in the sky in which he actually transcribes names for another year, metaphorically, the idea strikes me in my soul. On Rosh Hashanah, the rabbi spoke of The Book of Life. He spoke of the three "lists" which it is said that God keeps, one for the righteous whose names are automatically transcribed into The Book for another year. These are the ones who have done only good without any transgression, the very few and far between. I imagine this list to be quite short in my mind's eye. The second list is for the wicked. This list consists of individuals who have done so much harm to their fellow man that they are immediately removed from The Book of Life. This is the list that I do wish existed. The third book is for the intermediate. This is where I know that I belong. This is the list that contains the names of those of us who try to live our lives in good and honest ways but who do, inadvertently, sometimes miss the mark. This is the list which contains the names of those of us who are doing our best to learn, to grow and to improve, year after year and, by God's will, will be inscribed into The Book for another year. This is the list of suspension in time. During the days in between Rosh Hashanah(The New Year) and Yom Kippur(The Day of Atonement), it is our responsibility to evaluate our own behavior, to make amends with anyone we have hurt and to ask for forgiveness from others and from God. These are days of repentance and prayer. On Saturday, Jewish people all over the world will observe Yom Kippur. This is the holiest day of the year for us. It is the day when it is said that we are closest to God and to the quintessence of our own souls. This is the day on which we pray that God will accept our prayers for forgiveness and inscribe us in The Book of Life for another year. This is the day that we admit out loud and to ourselves that we are less than perfect but that we will try harder in the year to come. And although Yom Kippur is a very somber day, it is also sufficed with joy because it is the day that we come together as a community to pray for God's forgiveness. Even Jews who do not typically practice or attend synagogue will attend on Yom Kippur. Why not hedge your bets?

The week down here in beautiful San Clemente, CA began with a mixture of sunshine and clouds.

This photo was taken on Tuesday.

But slowly, the skies became darker and the clouds became heavier until something very unusual happened.

This photo was taken yesterday.

We got a significant October rain storm. Now for those of you that live in other parts of the country and even other parts of the world, rain is not an unusual event, but for us, it just does not rain in Southern California as the song says. This unexpected storm added to my feeling of being suspended in time. It gave me time to think and to pray and to read meaningful literature. It gave me time to consider and after it was over, I felt another sensation...The sensation of being cleansed.

May I take this opportunity to ask forgiveness of anyone whom I may have hurt over the course of the past year. May I find forgiveness in my heart for those who have hurt me, either intentionally or inadvertently, and may I find a way to leave this hurt behind. But most of all, may God inscribe you, your family members and friends into The Book of Life for another good year. All of you.

Amen.

With many blessings and so much love,
Debbie-Four Angels Momma

May You be Inscribed in The Book of Life 5772

2011-09-28T19:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, even the cat feels like he can just stick his tongue out at me. I mean, just like everyone else, he loves and adores me but hey, I am Momma and if he's having a bad day, I guess I should be, too.

When done correctly, I have found that the moniker "Mother" is synonymous with the words safety, security and comfort. My husband wants to be able to fix things when a problem arises. He is definitely the strong and silent type in a lot of ways so with five women surrounding him(and sometimes all at once!), he has to take in a lot of excess chit-chat which probably often hurts his brain. I can sympathize with that because sometimes it even hurts my brain. But women, not all but many, like to talk things through. We like to discuss different angles. We like to explore various solutions. We enjoy the interaction and oftentimes, that is what it takes for us to arrive at a resolution. Men, not so much. So here I stand. Unlike my husband, I know that I cannot really just fix anything and move on. Long after he is off the topic with one or more of our Angel Daughters, I am still trying to maneuver them into a positive direction that will both make them feel better and produce superlative results. Neither way is absolutely right or wrong, it just is. I am not, however, a magician. A goddess, maybe, but...Well that is not what I am writing about right now so I will just move along. Just take my word for it, it will make me feel special. The goddess part, anyway.

I have spent a good portion of today dousing fires and wiping tears from my daughters cheeks. And a few minutes ago at exactly 6:39 PM, the sun, which never really shone itself down here on the edge of the Pacific ocean today, went down for the last time on the Jewish year of 5771. For Jews all over the world, another year has just passed and ten days of awe will now be observed. Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year which begins as a celebration and then culminates after ten days with the observance of Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is a somber, serious day because it is a time of self-reflection and atonement. It is a day when we ask God to forgive our transgressions and to guide us into being better people next year.(simply put) The time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is known as "the days of awe". These days are used for self-evaluation, reflection and prayer. On Rosh Hashanah, we ask that God inscribe us into the Book of Life for another year. On Yom Kippur, it is sealed. I suppose that the cloudy day today was appropriate for the misty moods which I encountered but during these next ten days, I am going to focus on growth and redemption and healing for all of us and when I say "all of us" I mean myself, my family and all of my wonderful friends, both Jewish and otherwise. The new year is a time for transition and transformation, much like the season of autumn, so what better time to contemplate the things that we can do better, for others, for ourselves and for the world. The September mist which blanketed much of the Southern California coast today reminded me that my daughters pains and concerns and fears are very, very real and that it is their father's job to protect them and to try to fix what ails them. But it is my job, as their momma, to walk them gently but firmly back into the light, allowing them the time and consideration that they might need to get there. A perfect combination. A band-aide and a time to allow for healing.

I will write more about these "days of awe" throughout the next ten days and if you have any questions, please feel free to ask me. I know this might all seem a bit mystic and confusing to someone who is not Jewish, but trust me, it's really not. Tomorrow, Mark, myself and our four Angel Daughters will spend part of our day in synagogue celebrating the New Year. We will pray, we will sing, and we will hear the blast of the shofar as we welcome in the New Year of 5772. I look forward to this outward expression of gratitude to God before turning inward to evaluate myself. L'shana tova(which means "for a good year" in Hebrew) to all of my Jewish readers and friends. To everyone else, I wish you good health, happiness and so much love because we can never receive enough in the way of blessings from those who care about us.

With so much love,
Debbie

What the Falcon Told me

2011-09-26T00:19:00.000-07:00

While watching this very majestic Falcon land on our patio chair this afternoon, its visit brought with it a moment of complete clarity. As we sat, eye to eye, beast to beast, this winged creature relayed a message so pure that it almost startled me into believing that this bird had spoken out loud. "No matter what else is going on in our lives at any given moment, it is still our complete responsibility to soar in spite of it all." In spite of it all.

Soar, my friends, my children, and even myself. If you think you cannot do it; soar. If someone has hurt you and you just do not feel like you will ever be able to do it again; soar. And if someone has done something that has made you feel puny, sad, lonely, small, insignificant, blue, crushed, incapable, unable, less than, ugly, fat, unheard, stupid, fill-in-your own blanks here; then soar anyway. Never give anyone the power to clip your glorious wings. You were placed here to soar in spite of what life might bring on. Fly high, dear hearts, fly high...

Is it Safe to Come Out Yet?

2011-09-19T20:21:00.000-07:00

It has been one week and one day since my Angel Daughter was forced to face the heart-clenching reality of finding out what it feels like to have loved and then lost. This was not something that she was at all prepared for and it caused her world to come crashing down around her swiftly and intensely. Most of us know what this feels like and it is not something that we would wish on anyone else. Sadly, it is something that most of us must go through at least one time or another and oftentimes, even more than once. It is especially difficult when it happens after an almost three year relationship in which almost everyday was spent together, college classes were attended congruently, promises were made, futures were discussed, and family became family. For the past week, I have observed as my daughter slid into the easy company of her number one defender and protector...Me. She has always been the tentative one. A bit different than our other three, she does not allow people in easily. She is content with just a few close friends, and she does not like change. She has surprisingly handled all of this a bit better than I thought she would which is good. Very, very good.

Yet I know that she is #1-Leaning on hope.

And #2-Going through the normal stages of grief. Which can change from one emotion to the next over the course of a single moment.

And #3-Leaning on hope.

She is tentatively popping her head out from underneath my protective wing in order to bathe, eat, go to work, go to school and to hang out with her younger sister. I am watching her very, very closely. I am very glad that she is talking to me about how she is feeling. I am trying my best to help her to process through all of the emotions. I am losing a lot of sleep over all of this because #1-I am worried about her.
And #2-She wants to be close to me when she is not doing one of the things that I listed above.

And even though I know that she will get through this in time(We all somehow, do), I wish that it could be easier on her. I wish that she could know, really know, that most of the time first loves do not become forever loves. I wish that she could understand that there really is more than one person in this world that she could be happy with. I wish that, like when she was little, I could put a pretty band-aide on it and make it feel all better.

She is in the process of talking to him right now and I just know that the result will not be what she is hoping for, but it might just end up being exactly what she needs in the long run. And at least he has been a gentleman about this. There was no cheating involved. He is communicating with her when she asks him to. He thanked both Mark and I for being so supportive of him over the past three years. And he is admitting that, yes, he does still care about and love her, but that he doesn't believe that they have common goals and that it would be much, much harder to break things off at a later time.

How do you mend a broken heart?

And Sometimes the Waves Will Block the Sun

2011-09-15T20:16:00.000-07:00

It has been a rough couple of weeks and sometimes it feels as though coming up for a deep breath is something that might just never, ever happen. Amongst a rise in blood pressure(at a regular monthly check with my pain doctor) which was precipitated by a seemingly never-ending conversation with my mother and her husband that stressed me out in a way that is not at all healthy and finding out that my best friend's father whom I have known for thirty-seven years passed away that morning, I became even more focused on the numbers flickering frantically at me from the monitor. That caused the numbers to increase even higher which prompted my doctor to inform me earnestly that if she made me sit there for another ten minutes so that she could take it for a third time, it would more than likely rise even higher at which point she would be forced to send me to the ER just to be on the safe side. Considering how much I dislike the ER, coupled with the fact that I have not had a problem with high blood pressure in the past, I hightailed it out of there. When I reached the safety of my car, I promptly called my general doctor to schedule a long overdue physical for next week and then, I called my husband and cried. I am not a crier by nature, but the toll that all of this had taken on my body caused a flood of tears to rush to the surface and before I even knew it, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I am a very strong woman living inside of a body that I feel has failed me over the past ten or so years. Each day, I wake up in pain following night after night of terribly disruptive sleep which is another reason that my blood pressure might have been high. Pain causes elevations in blood pressure, but chronic pain can cause a constant elevation in blood pressure. This scares the hell out of me. My brother had high blood pressure for most of his adult life and although he was being treated for it, his heart eventually failed. His heart failed. Rationally speaking, I know that my brother and I have/had very different bodies and since both of our parents are still alive, there is a very good chance that I will be here for a very long time, as well. But still. I get scared sometimes. And when things are extra hard, I absorb too much emotion from other people which really causes my heart to physically ache. My mother is a master of bringing me to the edge of my own sanity with her constant guilt-tripping and it just breaks my heart. First I become devilishly angry with her, and then my heart just throbs because it should not be this way. She thinks that she and her husband should be my responsibility. I have watched them behave in ridiculously financially irresponsible ways for over thirty years and now, they have reached near-bottom, yet it is not their fault. Never their fault. And even though Mark and I have given them $1500.00 in the past couple of months, it is never enough. It can never be enough. So the waves in my soul rise up with pain and anger and it can take days for them to calm down enough to show the sun again. But I know that the sun is there and I will always bring myself back to a place in which I can calm the waves. It just takes time and the older that I get, the harder it is to bring my body back into a state of balance after one of these incidents. I see the lessons that I am meant to be learning in all of this, but how can I totally ever walk away from my own mother? Especially when I am all that she has left at this point in her life. After all of the tests that we must experience during this lifetime, why can't there be an answer key that we can refer to, just to make sure that we are coming up with the correct answers after each test is complete? I want, so badly, to do this right.

More importantly, one of my Angel Daughters is going through some very difficult heartache of her own right now and since my heart is spiritually connected to each one of my children's hearts, my soul has been so heavy with her sadness, only this is a sadness that I would gladly carry for any one of my children at any point in time. We have been taking it one day at a time and I know that she will make it through to the other side of all of this, but to watch her going through this has been heart-wrenching. To observe one of my typically happy daughters experiencing this depth of anguish is almost beyond any other pain that I have ever had to endure. The other night, I watched her rock back and forth on my bathroom floor as she expressed to me the amount of pain that she was feeling. And although I could completely relate to the level of loss that she was coping with, there was so little that I could do to comfort her except to allow her to sink down into the treacherous waves of her own deeply wounded soul while acting as a lifeline if she needed it. She is such a sensitive spirit and her pain has been so palpable. But I have put everything else on hold for the moment in order to focus upon being her mother and in doing so, she has expressed to me that I am the only one who has been able to make her feel better. Thank you, dear God, for endowing me with enough maternal instinct to be able to soothe my child's tender soul.

Of course there have been sunny moments in the midst of all of this. There always are. They are what sustain me. There are just times when we must allow ourselves to exist in the middle of it all in order to prove to ourselves that we indeed, can. None of this will kill my mother, or me, or my daughter. It will just prove to those of us who are capable of understanding that there are lessons in all of it. It will teach us to learn from the difficulty and the anguish and then to move forward on to the next lesson. If there was not difficulty or pain in life, then how would we really know what it means to feel unbridled joy?

Time to get back to my sweet girl.

Why I Love My iPhone

2011-09-05T17:10:00.000-07:00

After uploading 672 seemingly innocuous photos from my iPhone onto my computer yesterday, and weeding through a lot of recent memories, it occurred to me that modern technology really does provide an amazing way to capture and share moments that definitely otherwise would have been lost. You see, I like to amuse my family by transmitting pictures in real time to them over the phone. It could be something bizarre, funny, touching, or even just a photo of a tee-shirt that I am thinking about purchasing for one of the girls. But all of it is saved courtesy of my iPhone for a time when I am looking for something mindless to do and I decide to load it all onto my computer. That is when I realize that I am very thankful that I did not take the time to delete anything from my phone while sitting there waiting umpteen minutes for the doctor to see me, and I read that super fantastic article about the importance of tooth flossing in a two month old magazine instead. And while I will spare you the informative details of all that I have learned from a picked-over magazine in the doctor's office waiting room, here are some moments collected over the past couple of months courtesy of my iPhone.

Above is a picture of Angel Daughter Number Four and our wonderful dog Micah. Regardless of what color this little angel colors her hair at any given moment, her classic beauty shines right through. Micah is our 110 pound rescue pup who was definitely "bred" for size and strength, but by the grace of God, turned out to be nothing more than 110 pounds of slobbering love. We are so grateful to the individuals who rescued Micah, his momma, and his two brothers and three sisters from inside of a shed where they were abandoned, emaciated, and alone. Momma dog was nursing her babies even though she had absolutely no access to food or water for who knows how long. The "owners" moved to Hawaii and decided to call animal control several days after they arrived there to let them know that they had abandoned some dogs on their property when they took off. Minor afterthought. Micah, his momma, and his brothers and sisters were almost missed because they were locked inside of a shed. Thank God that the officers heard some whimpering from the shed before they left with two other dogs that were found on the property. We got Micah when he was a few months old and rather small.(except for his enormous paws) He was so pathetic at the time that we allowed him to snuggle up in bed with us for the first few weeks so that he would feel more secure. Now he believes that he is a lap dog. Truly. Our vet somewhat jokingly called him a "Drug Lord's Dream" when we had him tested for breed. He is one half Rottweiler, one quarter Doberman and one quarter Pit Bull, but really, he is all pussy-cat. It is amazing what love can do.

Here is my buddy, Becca. I have mentioned before how important this old girl is to me. She is strength, guts and loyalty. Next month, on my oldest Angel Niece's birthday, she will turn 13. So will my niece, and God knows how much I would love to see her. We fought hard but lost our battle for visitation in court. One of the saddest stories of my life but in my heart, not the way that the story will end. On October 21st, Becca and I will share some goodies in celebration of the birthdays of two very special 13 year old girls, one whose gift I will be able to give on that day and another that I will pack away for someday...

Only in Southern California can you walk out of the grocery store and find a stark white Bentley with blush pink ornaments on both hood, trunk and hub caps.(Although there must be a fancier word than"hub cap" when it comes to a Bentley.) These cars cost anywhere from $225,000 and up! That is a quarter of a million dollars for a car. A CAR!

Personally, I was more impressed with the pink emblems than the car itself. This was one of those, "send a photo to my girls in real time" moments which I am now sharing with you. You're welcome.

*Ghost kitty!

Sorry if I scared you...Halloween is coming and I LOVE Halloween!

Kissy face with Angel Daughter Number Two. How I love this girl...How I love them all.

This one was taken specifically for Angel Daughter Number Three. She loves it when I send her pictures of Rex and often texts me requesting them from work. He sometimes likes to snuggle his way underneath the pillows on Mark's side of the bed. He thinks we can't see him. *Refer back to photo above.

Uh-oh!

For those of you with small children(Mark) who you might or might not have trouble bringing into fancy stores like Target, I am here to tell you that it only gets worse.

Oy Vey.

But then it gets better once they hit the age of about 24 or so. You see. I am here to bring you hope.

Another photo moment is when I find things like this. First, they take my breath away, and then, I take them as signs of what they so obviously are to me; hellos from my beloved, deceased brother. I have been constantly reminded over the course of the past three years that my brother is still very much here with us. Unbelievably supernatural signs that line up in a way that cannot be explained in any other way. As a teenager, my brother was a huge KISS fan. His room was decked out in posters that I happened to find somewhat creepy but KISS was a guy's band and my brother was pure guy. This record album was one of my brother's all time favorites. I mean, if I close my eyes, I can hear it blaring loudly from his twelve year old room his voice belting out, "I wanna rock n role all night and party everyday!", his fist rhythmically pounding out the beat. Around his birthday, we were in a thrift store that sold a little bit of everything. Up against the wall in a small corner, I spotted this album sitting by itself. I reminded myself to capture the moments as they come because sometimes, they become an ethereal mixture of reality and dream in my mind and then I begin to wonder. Doubt. But with something concrete to look at, I cannot doubt. And so, a picture...

One of my favorites is this last one. My two guys, Micah and Mark, standing out on the edge of the bluff together, our strength and our protectors. As far as I am concerned there are not five luckier women on the earth than my four Angels and I because we have this man to call our own. Husband and father. Chief of our tribe, love of my life with his trusty dog by his side.

And this is why I believe that the iPhone is really a fancy camera that happens to make phone calls, as well.

Bottle in the Sea

2011-09-03T00:07:00.001-07:00

When even the seasoned surfers stand on the shoreline observing in awe, you know that Southern California is being inundated with some phenomenal waves. The sets have been coming in fast and furious for the past several days and the Surf Advisory is supposed to go on until at least Sunday evening. Seems that a major storm in New Zealand which is 6508 miles or 5655 nautical miles off of the coast of California is wreaking havoc on the Pacific by my home.

It has been absolutely stunning to behold in a hypnotic sort of way as it is very difficult to take your eyes off of the huge cresting waves, which come one after the other after the other. There were a good number of surfers out there yesterday around sunset, but today, the water was mostly empty and the warnings have been stern, serious and obviously off-putting for even the strongest of swimmers.

I will post more pictures soon. The idea of a storm taking place 6508 miles away and then finding its way to our coast is a very interesting concept to grasp. I have been thinking a lot about putting a note with my address information into a bottle tomorrow, and then casting it off from the end of the pier and out into the waters. I am fascinated thinking about where it might go, how far it might go and if the person who finds it would be kind enough to write back to me. I suppose that is truly one way to find out. I will put the letter together tomorrow, empty out or drink:) the contents of a wine bottle, cork it back up and throw it off of our pier which I am sure is not legal, but since Mark and I clean up the beaches when we are walking during our days, I think I will be forgiven.(Besides, I am very short and Mark can cover me as I make my quick throw;) What an interesting way to send something out into the Universe to see what ultimately comes together in the end. Just wondering about where my bottle might end up makes me smile a little bit.

So tomorrow, I will venture down to the beach with my bottle and I will wish it a Bon Voyage. I will say a small prayer that my bottle ends up in the hands of someone, someplace who needs a lift from the Universe and then send out a little prayer that I receive a note telling me where my traveling bottle landed! I am excited about this. It should be fun regardless of what happens.

Have a lovely Labor Day weekend doing whatever makes you feel good. You really do deserve some time to just be. There is a great sense of renewal in giving ourselves permission to just enjoy who we are, who we love and what makes us an authentic, unique human being with so many fantastic qualities. You all lift me up in a way that is very hard to describe. I cherish all of you. Sometimes, our little notes back and forth are like messages in a bottle which we are both lucky enough to find, and sometimes, lucky enough to receive a comment to one of our own. I picture my words going out to you like words tucked inside of a bottle which need to be opened in order for them to matter, really, really matter. We are an interesting breed, we human beings...Very interesting indeed.

What are your thoughts on the bottle idea?

Hugs,
Deb

One of The Greatest Moments in History

2011-08-28T16:26:00.000-07:00

It was sunset on August 26th. A blazing blush-colored hue emanated from sea to sky, painting the horizon in a supernatural light. I breathed in the moment, smelling the salient sea air, tasting the sharp, salty breeze on my tongue, listening to the distant call of the seagulls as they sailed gracefully like angels on the wind. I thought about my friends and family back east bracing for a mega-storm and whispered silent prayers for mercy out into the Universe. From my mouth to God's Ears.... From my heart to God's Heart....

Turning around, I glanced through the screen door and noticed my youngest Angel Daughter sitting on the bed in her room doing whatever it is that 17 year olds do on a quiet Friday evening when all of their friends are "busy". I wondered if she just had a need to feel anchored to home, her restless spirit usually so quick to wander from here. Feeling the consummate pull of 18 looming just around the corner, 17 year olds tend to have an unconventional "push me, pull me" attitude about home, wanting to go, but needing everything to stay just as it should be, even though....

At seventeen I learned the truth...

So I called to her, this child of mine. I told her that she was missing one of the greatest moments in history! I told her to put down her phone and to come outside. "Hurry, hurry!" I called. "You are missing it!" Slowly, she diverted her eyes from the various screens flickering below her and looked up at me with those eyes. "Come", I said, and with a typical 17 year old swagger, she made her way out the screen door. I did not have to tell her to look because it was all around her. Cotton-candy colored clouds mirrored back onto themselves by the ocean sparkling below.

She didn't say anything at first. She just pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and snapped a quick picture of the horizon. "Beautiful, Momma", she said. "Yes honey, yes it is. Yes, you are."

We locked eyes like only one can do with someone who knows them on a level so intimately that they can almost read each other's feelings. I stood beside her, my breath slowly taking on the rhythm of hers. We stood there for a while, just staring, just taking it all into our hearts. And it went through my mind, this is one of the greatest moments in history.

The Stuff That Makes it Worth the Effort

2011-08-22T23:31:00.000-07:00

Going back in time around thirty seven years years, I met this little Italian girl with big brown eyes and a dangerously contagious laugh. Being a little Jewish girl who absolutely loved to laugh, we giggled our way into a friendship which has spanned boyfriends(most better forgotten), stubborn tiffs, husbands, 3000 miles and children.(seven to be exact, several foster kids, two son-in-laws to date, and three beautiful grandbabies-hers, but she shares) We grew up together and now, God willing, we will continue to grow old together We might not share ethnicity or DNA or even the same home state(she is now in Nevada), but we do share a history and to me, that is what it really takes to be a family. These people are my family.

Last weekend, they came out to California to visit the happiest place on earth. They also came to introduce us to baby Kasen who also happens to be a cousin of baby Scarletts! You might remember Scarlett from a few posts back. She is the precious baby who came to see us a few weeks ago. I have been in baby heaven all summer thanks to Donna's beautiful daughters. First Scarlett, and then Kasen and his big sister whom we adore, Aubri. We love babies!

AD4 fell hard and fast for baby Kasen and he was just as smitten with her. Kasen is an extremely happy little boy with gorgeous brown eyes and a contagious belly-laugh.(seems like genetics are definitely at work here) It was both beautiful and bittersweet to watch the relationship that was forming between my youngest Angel Daughter and my oldest friend's sweet grandson. It brought to mind "the circle of life" and all of that weepy, nostalgic stuff but when we get together, there is mostly only laughter.

And since laughter is what gets us through it all, Lord knows that none of us take ourselves too seriously!

Over the past couple of years, AD3 and AD4 have grown to have not only a sibling relationship, but a lovely friendship, as well. There have been times over the years when I feared that these two might not have found their way to a common ground. They are the closest in age of my four Angel Daughters as they were born only twenty-two months apart and there are times when their chronological ages are only one year apart. AD3 was less than two years old when AD4 was born. I think that was very hard on her. She was still just a baby and suddenly, an even smaller and needier baby entered our family. Their personalities are quite different which complicated things even more. AD3 is more reserved, cautious and refined. She likes to feel familiar with her surroundings before she feels totally comfortable in expressing who she is. AD4 is gregarious, outgoing and quite bold. Whereas AD3 might tentatively enter a situation testing the waters until she takes in the mood of the room, AD4 will bebop right in with a big smile on her face and an extended hand. In high school, AD3 followed both AD1, who was an actor in the Theatre department and AD2, who was a cheerleader. She could not seem to immediately find a place for herself. Enter outgoing sister number four who she had to drive to school everyday. The equation just became more complicated. But now, their relationship is best described as it appears in the photo right above. They laugh together. They have a lot of inside jokes that I am not privy to...Hmpph! They introduce each other to different music and they meet each other for lunch. They are best friends.

As parents, we want our children to appreciate one another in the same ways that we appreciate each and every one of our own babies. We want them to not only love each other, but also, to like each other. Unfortunately, that is not always the way that things work out. Sometimes we just have to allow things to evolve on their own. Yes, we must nurture what is already there and set a great example, but personalities, birth order, and preferences all come into play in the development of a relationship. Our children are really no different than the rest of the world. They cannot be forced to like each other. These two beauties are an example of how things can transition naturally from a familial relationship into a true and lasting friendship. I am so proud of them, so proud of all four of my girls. In spite of their differences, or maybe in light of them, there is a bond between these girls which transcends the bond of similar DNA. What I have learned, as their momma and as the sister of only one brother who is now gone, is that the love between siblings is usually a given. It is the like part that must be cultivated in a relationship that is separate from the parents. It might be a tough one for parents to let go of, but when it happens on its own, it is definitely something that is worth the effort.

This is Donna's oldest daughter and Kasen and Aubri's momma. The beautiful little blonde haired, blue-eyed impish angel is Aubri, Kasen's big sister, Scarlett's big-girl cousin. Aubri looks a lot like her daddy.

Kasen(I had to get one with the boo-hoo face), is mommy all the way. How does that happen? I guess it happens in the same way that personalities are determined. Plain old genetics and a bit of nature versus nurture thrown in for good measure. As I watched Aubri going through the "that baby can do anything and make everyone laugh, why can't I?" stage, I thought about how difficult it can be for siblings to determine their places in the world. We all have combinations of qualities that make us extraordinary and unique, however, it is usually what somebody else has that we seem to focus upon. Part of our job as parents is doing our very best to try not to compare our children's differences. They spend enough time doing this themselves and they do not need us to shine a bright light upon them. Rather than comparing, it is best for us to bolster the diverse attributes and to enjoy and embrace the differences.

Growing up, people often mistook Donna and I for sisters. We were even asked if we were twins on occasion! The truth is that we sometimes argued like sisters but, we always came back to each other. Always. We embraced our differences and enjoyed our similarities. Aubri is learning how to be a sister now. She is also learning that family can also be chosen and that, is a beautiful lesson.

I love the way that Aubri wrapped her sweet little arms around our necks. To feel that precious hand resting on my neck, was to feel unconditional, uninhibited love and in some ways, it reminded me as to why thirty-seven years of friendship has absolutely been worth the effort that it can sometimes take to make a friendship last. All relationships take effort and work and even blood, sweat and sometimes, tears. But to have someone who is still hanging around after knowing me for thirty-seven years, from teenage hormones to peri-menopause, that is definitely what makes it all worth the effort. And if we make it for another thirty-seven plus years, OY VEY, are we going to be cranky with each other!

I wish that for my girls. I wish that for Donna and Keith's children and grandchildren. And I wish that for you.

*As an aside to this post, if you look at this picture carefully(or not so carefully as Jacob pointed out), it almost appears as if Donna's arm which is wrapped around Aubri is attached to Keith and that Keith's baby hand is resting on Mark's neck. We all found this very, very funny(except for maybe, Keith, who is just a tiny bit self-conscious about his baby-hands) which is yet another reason why this friendship works so well. We try not to make fun of Keith's baby-hands, but sometimes it's just hard not to...

I Like to Watch

2011-08-15T23:31:00.000-07:00

Watching someone surf who really knows how to maneuver themselves around the waves, is like watching a dancer upon the water. The rhythm of the waves matched with the synchronized movements of the human body can create a beautiful, exciting tango between man and sea.

The other day, we had some great waves which brought the serious surfers out in larger numbers than usual, but this guy really caught my eye.

He was confident and fearless. He rode with the movement of the waves instead of trying to fight them.

His intensity reminded me that being here, in this moment; as a part of this moment, is what can make us clearer and more successful in all of our endeavors. There are so many things that can knock us off course causing us to break the rhythm, taking us away from the original moment.

The beat of life can change in an instant, distracting us from what is here and now, forcing us to stumble, to lose balance, to fall. But if we remain intent on the moment, even with all of the challenges that are trying to break us, we can dance on any wave that comes our way.

And we can make it look good...

It just takes some practice, persistence and a deep desire to stay on course even when the waves of life are determined to bring us down.

I thought about this moment when I was on the phone with my mother yesterday and she was doing her best to sweep me up into the frenzy which is her life. She knows that there are some things that I will not discuss with her even to the point that I will be forced to end the phone call if she brings them up. I have made this very clear. My husband has made this very clear, but still, my mother and her husband cannot seem to help themselves. Yesterday, I was having a quiet day with Mark and while I was preparing dinner, I decided to make an obligatory call to my mother. Things are not good for her, but so much of it is her and her husband's fault that I can only offer practical support and not much else. Still, they try very hard to suck me into their drama, to hurt me, to bring me down into a whirlpool of sadness and then anger.

I am working on(and have been for a very, very long time) remaining on the waves, above the water. Remaining steadfast in my moments without getting caught in the undertow of the lives of those who surround me. It's definitely not an easy task. There are so many times when I stumble and get knocked down, way, way down. But I am getting better at keeping the beat with a much greater ease. And that is simply all I can do...All we can do when other folks try to sweep us up into their drama, do a little bit better at deflecting it with each experience. As my dear friend Kathleen Botsford has reminded me, my mother is one of my greatest teachers.

So hang ten...

What is that other expression? If it's not one thing, it's your mother...

With so much love to all of you,
Deb

Moments of Grace

2011-08-04T18:26:00.000-07:00

5 am this morning and I feel the nudge of a cold, moist nose prodding against my hand which is dangling weightlessly off of the bed. I am in a deep sleep but I feel myself slowly rising up from underneath my dreams as if soaring towards the surface of some deep body of water. I open my eyes to see the face of my twelve and a half year old dog, Becca, grey around her chocolate brown eyes, constant companion, strictest confidant. This is one of the very few faces in the world that can get me to do just about anything regardless of how deeply I am sleeping or how intensely sore my body aches. Very barely clothed, I follow Becca to the sliding glass door in our bedroom and pull it open. I look out on the enormous body of water which covers the horizon before me. I scootch down onto my heels just in case there is the chance of a low-flying helicopter catching sight of me at this barely lit breaking of dawn.(as if there is any possibility of that) Becca searches for the perfect spot as I try to bring my weary eyes into focus. I remind myself as to how incredibly lucky I am to live here, on the Pacific ocean, and in my mind I send out several prayers of profound gratitude. The first one naturally goes to God. How solacing it is to believe, with all of my being, that Adonai is always close, in all of the details, in me. The second prayer goes out for my husband. Keep him safe in all of his travels throughout the day. Keep him safe, dear God. Keep him safe. The third, to my four daughters. Thank you for choosing me to be your mother. I am here, I am here, I am forever here... I look up into the sky. In my line of vision, there is the Century Agave plant that I first wrote about back in April. Bright yellow flowers bursting against the early breaking dawn.

And busily buzzing around those blossoms is a tiny wisp of a bird, a Hummingbird who has made this possibly one hundred year old plant, its home. Her color almost equal to that of the flowers, I know this must be a female as male Hummingbirds have ruby-red throats and pointed tail feathers. Females have a more rounded shape to their tail feathers. She zips along from flower to flower, sipping the sweet nectar. At first, I watch in complete amazement. I have seen countless numbers of Hummingbirds throughout my lifetime, but my fascination with them never dulls.

I think to myself that I wish I had my camera and then I remember that it is sitting right next to my bed.(It is usually only an arms length away) I scurry over to pick it up hoping that the Hummingbird will still be there when I return.

And she is. Like an angel bird foreshadowing the harbinger of a beautiful day to come, she flits from flower to flower making me almost happy to be awake at 5 am in the morning. I put down my camera and watch her for several minutes longer. I want to dream about Hummingbirds when I crawl back under the covers again.

Becca trots back over to me and I kneel down to scratch behind her ears and kiss her stinky head. To me, she is so beautiful. I give her a "cookie" which she takes back to her bed to eat. I settle back into the warmth and security of my bed. When I look down at her again, she is contently snuggled back into her bed, breathing deeply, almost softly snoring already. I sink slowly back down in to the realm of dreams, my breathing in perfect sync with the rhythm of this morning.

When I rise up again many hours later, the sky is cerulean blue and the flowers on the Agave plant are now a bright Crayola yellow. Becca dances in front of me to let me know that it is time to get out of bed for the day! I reach down to scratch her on the head, but she inches away from me coaxing me out of my bed. I laugh as I follow her to the back door. We walk out the the edge of the bluff but instead of looking down to the water, I immediately am drawn upwards. To the top of the Century Agave plant, to the buzzing of a Hummingbird's wings, to the sky, to the sun, to God.

May you take notice of enough details in your day to remind you that there is always a reason to say thank you. Sometimes, you might have to search for it a little harder than other times, but it is there. It is always there...

The Writing Muscle

2011-08-04T00:03:00.001-07:00

I want to write. I have so many things running round my mind, but have not yet been able to put them to paper. Tomorrow. I will be writing tomorrow. And by letting you know this I am not only holding myself to it, but I am making a commitment to you, as well. I never like to let my friends down so by putting this out there, I will do what I said that I am going to do. Write... Because the writing muscle needs to be challenged regularly, too

And Mark, I just wanted to thank you for pointing out my Angel Daughter error from my last post. I am so glad that you said something! I get the girls mixed up by name, all of the time! Now I guess that I am starting to mix them up by number! No wonder they find dear old mom so amusing! Great observation, Mark! Now I know that you are definitely paying attention, friend!

Happy dreams, all!

The Dog Days of Summer-Saying Good-bye to Another July

2011-07-26T22:56:00.000-07:00

Really, the dog days of summer are said to be between the dates of July 3 and August 11, but that is only if I decide to be precise about things. Which, I most usually am not. A little literary license keeps things much more interesting. During ancient times, it was believed that the constellation Sirius(the dog) was brightest in the sky during these dates, therefore joining with the sun in heating up the earth, hence the dog days. But since we have all been experiencing some extremely steamy days recently, I decided to describe this most recent set of memories as our dog days of summer. And since the photo above is of our very majestic dog, Micah, watching attentively over the shoreline below our home, for me, these are the dog days of summer.

Our family is quite big on hugging. Yes, we are all huggers. If you meet one of us for the first time, chances are you are going to receive a hug because that is the way that we roll. I certainly did not grow up in a family of huggers, but it was something that came naturally to me as I ventured out into the world on my own. It feels good to hug. It feel good to be hugged. Embracing another person allows us to connect on a level that waving and saying hello or good-bye cannot achieve. Lord knows the world can be a cold and lonely place these days, so I say HUG AWAY and if I am ever lucky enough to meet you, feel free to give me a hug. I am absolutely positive that there is a study out there somewhere that proves that hugging can increase your life span by seven years.(I just made that up but somehow I am sure that it is true!) I recently decided that capturing photographs of people hugging is a very good and sneaky way to discern their heartfelt feelings for one another.

Look at the body language, look at these faces.(Look at my expensive and coveted Mexican Cokes being hijacked by my children!)

Witnessing how they hug on one another makes this momma's heart swell.

Even when they are posing for me, the genuine love that they feel for each other shines through the camera lens.

Mark is so lucky to have four daughters who dote on him more and more with each passing year. They are so lucky to have a father who loves them so dearly. I am lucky to have them all. Ah, this family we have created is all I really need in this world. Well, I would not complain about also having an entire fridge filled with ice-cold Mexican Coca-Cola bottles, but maybe I ask for too much.

With summertime comes three birthdays, Angel Daughter Number One(thank you, Mark! I cannot tell you how often I confuse my children by name, let alone, number) turned twenty-four. And I turned...Well, we have already discussed that. Tomorrow would have been my little brother's forty-fifth birthday. 45. He will be forever young in our hearts and in our minds. He was forty-one when he died. I will definitely blast a few Springsteen songs for him just to see if I can still feel him close. It would make me very happy to think that Rob might be partying with Clarence somewhere. The Big Man, The Master of disaster, The Minister of Soul, The King of the World...The spirit of the E-Street Band. Clarence Clemons' passing a couple of weeks ago, also broke our hearts. So thinking that my brother and Clarence might be tripping the light fantastic creates a huge lump in my throat. My brother was a huge Springsteen fan and so are we. It is a part of our history. A part of who we were. A part of who I now am and will always be. Always...

Summertime also brings with it the beautiful House Finches who always seem to nest in the same places every year. How is it that they know to return to a place that has been secure for them in the past. In some other homes, the front door would be an extremely precarious spot to build a nest. In our home, the nest rests securely between our wreath and the glass on our door. AD1 is bravely climbing the later for her vertically challenged momma to see if she is able to spot any eggs in the nest. Each year I place a sign outside saying that there are nesting birds on our door. I duct tape the door shut and nobody is allowed to open it. The sign tells visitors to come to our side door and most people do listen. The thought of that makes me almost as misty as the Finches who return every year to raise their babies. Human Beings can be painfully kind.

This summer, we also got to meet sweet Scarlett. Scarlett is the granddaughter of my oldest friend, Donna, who I have known since we were twelve. Donna's Daughter, Jessica, and her adorable husband stopped by on their way to San Diego so that we could finally meet their gorgeous baby.

We all attended their wedding, last year. Scarlett is what is known as a "honeymoon baby". What a fantastic souvenir Jessica and Brock returned home with! They make such adorable parents.

Angel Daughter Number Four decided that pink would be the color of the summer. Maybe not the entire summer because her hair is now blonde, but much of July. Not exactly sure what colors are left for her to try but I am sure that she will come up with something. I cannot complain. AD4 is such a wonderful, responsible, and very mature-for-a-seventeen year old child(Believe me, after having made it through "17" three times before, I could not ask for more). Her loving and compassionate nature make this momma proud down to the very core.

A little bit more Scarlett.

The Fourth of July was a fun day around beach central. Our home is fairly close to Camp Pendleton which makes our area very proud of the young men and women who choose to serve our country. Encountering these wonderful individuals on a regular basis makes me very proud to be an American. Mark and I make it a policy to thank each and every individual who we come across wearing a uniform throughout the course of our days. It never ceases to bring a smile of pride to their faces and a bit of a bounce to their steps.

On the eve of the Fourth, we sit on our patio and watch the firework show that is put on off of the San Clemente pier. If the wind is blowing, we get quite a bit of smoke. This year was not as bad as some years have been.

Angel Daughter Number Three and her boyfriend, Jacob, invited a couple of their friends to join us for the weekend. We made a fire and they made s'mores while the fireworks exploded in the distance. Not a better seat in the house.

This was one of my favorite parts of the evening. Fireworks cascaded down from the pier and lit up the water in such a fantastic display. Look at all of the folks down in the water! Not sure that I would be brave enough to watch the show from their vantage point, but it must have been quite a perspective.

The next day, I spotted the boys doing what kids seem to do no matter where they are, fiddling with their phones. Not exactly sure what we did before the invention of cellphone!

The dog days of summer also brought us together for a little shopping. Can you guess which Angel Daughters these are? I know that one is pretty easy to discern.

I have heard that the next week will bring back milder temperatures here in Southern California. I hope that wherever you are, the same will be true for you. I prefer cool ocean breezes to being able to fry an egg on the sidewalk!

Since I began this with one of our dogs, I will wrap up the month of July with two of our cats. Yes, they have enormous ears and yes, their coats are different from that of a domestic cat. They are Cornish Rexes and in many ways, they are much more dog-like that cat.

Being that we are only going on to the end of July, it seems as though there is a lot more summer left to enjoy(depending on where you live). According to astrological folklore, there are even two more weeks left to the dog days of summer(just hopefully not the extreme heat). I wish for you celebrations and fireworks, and if not fireworks, then definitely shooting stars. I wish you sun-filled days that never seem to end, but blend down into the night. I wish you bird nests and s'mores and babies, if you are lucky enough to be able to find one that you can hold for a while. I wish you family who you like spending time with, friends who are family if you do not, and maybe a Mexican Coke or two. But most of all, I wish you hugs. Lots and lots of hugs. Because in my mind, there is nothing quite as validating, quite as life-affirming, quite as energizing as an honestly gifted and well-received hug to remind us of how truly important we are in the lives of one another.

So much love.

L'Chaim-To Life

2011-07-18T23:37:00.000-07:00

A little more celebration because what is life if we do not celebrate the joy. The accomplishments. The love.

I don't really drink alcohol. On both sides of my husband's family, alcoholism is an enormous problem and definitely hereditary. As for my side, Jewish families generally do not drink very much. A little wine, especially on the holidays(What is Passover without the Manischewitz?), but for the most part it isn't really commonplace in a Jewish home to see a lot of drinking. So, I did not grow up around alcohol and my husband did. We both learned from our environments and when we moved to California from New York and New Jersey twenty-six years ago, we decided that alcohol was something that we could and would live without. We made a conscious decision to separate ourselves from drinking. My husband knew that he had a serious predisposition toward over-indulging because of his family history. I knew that in order to really support him, I would have to follow his lead and give up something that never really mattered to me anyway. And together, we raised our children in an alcohol-free environment. Now you might wonder what, if any effect, this might have had on our own children's decisions to drink or not drink. My answer is this. Our two older daughters who are both over the age of twenty-one do enjoy alcohol. But, they do understand their own family history because we spoke openly and freely about it from the time that they could comprehend. All of our girls understand the concept of moderation and over-consumption and I pray that nurture trumps half of their nature and that they never, ever, ever become physically or emotionally dependent upon any substance that lurches them out of their own sensibility and control. I hope that we have provided a strong enough example of what it is like to grow up in a household with very clear-minded parents and that they will do the very same for their own children. But enough of my aside and back to a bit of celebration...

Angel Daughter Number Three and I went out to spend an afternoon together the other day and ended up in a cozy, little cheese/wine place down near the beach. The wine menu was gigantic and extensive, as was the selection of lovely cheeses. Acoustic versions of The Kinks and Jewel songs serenaded us through the speakers and we bounced a bit in our seats. We decided to share a three cheese sampling which had the most delicious cow-milk cheeses served with a fresh sliced baguette. And then, something enticed me into ordering a glass of sparkling wine. I felt a bit naughty as I never order wine, but even more never during the day. I half expected the server to ask me for my ID;) I do not even love wine and I sometimes even have an allergic reaction to it but it was a couple of days after my 49th birthday and I felt like toasting in my new year. To sparkling beginnings. To Life. A very, very good life.

Both AD3 and I ordered Mexican Cokes in glass bottles(Mexican Cokes are still made with pure-cane sugar and not high fructose corn syrup) which we poured over ice. I allowed her to have a couple of sips of my Prosecco which only has about an 11% alcohol content, even though she is still just nineteen years old(BAD mom! Bad, bad mom-slapping hand, hard). Funny thing is that when I was her age, I had been legally allowed to drink for a year because the legal age was eighteen at the time. My birth year was the last one that could legally drink at the age of eighteen. Seems to me that almost everything has changed so that kids end up doing everything at younger and younger ages these days, but they have to be older to drink. I cannot figure out the logic. Anyway, I marveled at how lovely and mature my third Angel Daughter has become over the course of the past couple of years. She and I went through a bit of a rough patch when she was in high school and it scared the bejeebers out of me. I could not seem to do anything right. Don't get me wrong, I completely understood and had experienced this phase with my two older daughters who went before AD3 to some extent or the other, but for some reason, this one just hit me by surprise. It was a rough wave that we had to ride out, but ride it out we did and I must say that our relationship is even better than I had ever hoped it could be. She is funny and responsible and very respectful to her daddy and I. She makes good choices and works extremely hard. She is sensitive and loving and affectionate. Not to mention that she is also very pretty...

Even though I am a week past my birthday, I might just have a little more celebrating left in me. I deserve it. I really do. It has been a tough year. Actually, it has been a tough bunch of years but I am getting through it. At the end of this week, we go back to court(AGAIN!) because my nieces mother is now trying her best to sue us for her excessive attorney's fees. I suppose he led her to believe that she could collect from us when all was said and done so she just ran up the bill but the judge cannot seem to find any law that says that aunts have to pay if they lose a visitation case. What makes it even more ridiculous is that the judge ruled that I did everything with good intentions and a loving heart. In his judgement, he complimented me and said that he knew that I did what I did out of love for the children and that I am a very good person and parent. He did not have to put any of that on the record, but I guess he wanted everyone to know that his personal opinion about me was a good one. So, even though I know that these are all just lessons in this big classroom called life, it wounds my soul every time we have to go back into that courtroom. Nine days from today, my beloved brother would have turned forty-five. I miss him like the dickens and I have faced the reality that it will never get easier, only harder. There is other stuff going on with my mother. She seems to think that Mark and I are her retirement policy and her husband asked me for "figures" as to how much we would be able to hand them every month from now until??? And I wonder why I have been feeling somewhat depressed lately even though I am not a depressive person. It truly never ends. So why not sit back and enjoy a glass of sparkling Italian wine with my amazing daughter on a crystal blue summer day? Why not indulge in the little things that make us feel extraordinary? Why not go to a cheese and wine bar at three o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon and by golly(;) order a glass of wine? Why the hell not. L'Chaim. To Life. Because life is so much sweeter when we remember to celebrate in spite of the pain...

Not Quite Half a Century

2011-07-14T14:26:00.000-07:00

Birthdays have always been a time of deep, spiritual reflection for me. A time to take stock and to contemplate the year that has passed. A time to focus on my own personal growth. A time to celebrate the good and to let go of the bad. A time to bring into focus how I can become a better human being in the coming year. And yet, I have always had a very difficult time with my birthdays. It might have begun when I turned 18 and my dad inadvertently allowed the entire day to pass without so much as a phone call. That was a tumultuous time for me and my brother as my father had finally made the final break from my mother by officially moving out of our family home which left me to deal with a very bitter and angry woman who took a good portion of her resentment out on me. In some ways, I felt left behind and although the 49 year old me has long forgiven that difficult period in my life, birthdays can bring back flashes of the sadness that I experienced at that time. A bit silly, I know, and I certainly have rationally worked through all of the emotions that came with being forgotten by my dad, but still, a small part of that 18 year old girl still lives inside of me and she likes to nudge me by reminding me that I might not have mattered all that much. To my dad's defense, he still insists that I change the date of my birthday every year which I fully accept responsibility for AND he does not always recall the date of his own birthday or age, deferring to me when he needs the answer to that very confusing puzzle. Fast forward 25 years from my 18th year, and my beloved grandmother who treated me more like a daughter than a granddaughter passed away on the morning of my 43rd birthday. She was extremely ill for the entire week before my birthday and we knew that her transition was close at hand. Having my grandma die on my birthday made her passing even more painfully poignant because I spent a lot of time caring for her, especially during her last six months while she suffered immeasurably, and because I loved her so much. I do admit that I felt and still feel, that the date of her death had some spiritual significance for me which I still contemplate from time to time, especially when July looms closer each year. So while many people look forward to celebrating their birthdays, I have a very visceral response to mine. If I spend some time preparing for the date in my mind, things go a lot smoother, but if I allow the date to sneak up on me without a fair amount of spiritual and emotional preparation, I can end up in a bit of a funk. This is sort of a "chicken or the egg" dilemma for me because I'm not quite sure yet if my "funk" begins with my deep-seated sadness or if my sadness comes from some birthdays being somewhat traumatic for me. Ultimately, my wish is that I have many, many more birthdays left to contemplate all of this because I hope to be here for a very, very long time. And the truth is that most of my birthdays are quite lovely. My daughters make me the most heartfelt birthday cards that you can imagine.(I still require that they make me cards and not buy them from the store.) Mark is thoughtful and loving and always arranges for our daughters to spend some time with us showering me with love and affection. I love nothing more than having all of our girls around and the older that they get, the more difficult it becomes, so being together doing something fun is always a treat for me.

This year, I found a little wish kit that I decided would make a nice way of releasing the year that has passed and beginning my 49th year on this earth. The kit contained sheets of tissue paper, matches, a small pencil and a little base on which to place the paper scrolls as you burn them. The idea is that everyone writes something on a sheet of the paper and then rolls it into a scroll. The scroll is then set aflame with one of the matches and as it catches fire, the paper is supposed to rise up into the air taking the wishes or sentiments along with it. Angel Daughter Number One and Angel Daughter Number Two were both busy with work on my actual birthday(And yes, AD1 did work The British Academy of Film and Television Arts gala hosting the Prince and Princess on Saturday!!! More about that next time!), so they did not come down to the beach with us to set our wishes into the sky, but AD3, Jacob and AD4 did. They were getting ready to head off to an Angel game which is why my girls have on their Angel's tee-shirts(quite appropriate). Jacob just wasn't in the spirit! Now I know what his wardrobe is in desperate need of.

Mark took turns lighting the scrolls on fire for us.

But instead of heading up into the sky, the flaming scrolls headed down to the ground which is why AD4 and Jacob are looking down instead of up!

When we were all finished, AD4 noticed that her scroll had not only landed on the ground, but it settled into the shape of a perfect heart. I did not ask her what she wished for(wishes are private), but she was so excited about the final result. Maybe, when I am singing her to sleep one night in the darkness of her 17 year old room where some secrets are still okay for a momma's ears, I will ask her what she wished for. Knowing my girl with the sunny disposition, it was something that might make a mother's heart swell. Looking at the beautiful smile on AD3's face, I have a feeling that her wish would have the very same effect. Such sweet girls.

So cute!

The waves crashed along the rocks as we performed our little ceremony. It was such a gorgeous day.

You never know what you are going to see down on our beaches and my birthday was no exception. This beautiful bride was swept off of her feet and carried barefoot by her groom so that they could take some photos by the sea. I love the cross-section of the ordinary and the extraordinary. This is one of the many reasons that I constantly carry my camera with me. It allows me to notice and to share tiny moments that would typically be missed throughout a day. My children think I am a bit obsessive when it comes to stopping to take pictures, but I discover the most incredible things through my lens. It is like having another set of eyes. Oftentimes, going through the photos I have taken is like a treasure hunt for me and I am fascinated by what I find.

On Sunday, Angel Daughter Number One and Angel Daughter Number Two came down to spend the day with the rest of us. Each year, there is an arts and crafts fair that is called The Sawdust Festival which is set up for about two months in the summertime. I have taken the girls to it since they were babies because it is a nice way to check out some of the local artisans while spending a beautiful day outdoors(plus they really took good naps after being outdoors). This year, I gravitated toward a wonderful vendor named Michele Taylor.

Her colorful ceramic trinkets and her mixed-media pieces drew me in and I was captivated by her work. The little pieces above representing mostly religious and spiritual icons are quite unusual. She also adds them to her mixed-media creations adding a beautiful dimension and texture to her work. I purchased several small pieces that I have not had the time to photograph yet, but I will do so soon so that you can see them. I love artwork that makes me feel closer to God, and Michelle's work evoked that emotion in me.

Above is a picture of Michelle. On her desk were elements that she was using to create new pieces. I really enjoy seeing how an artist works. Michelle's desk might look a bit messy, but it was a beautiful mess!

I really liked the way that these shawls caught the sunlight at that time of the day.

My littlest Angel Daughter trying to pull me along as I stop to take yet another photograph.

The Sawdust Festival is located in a lush canyon in Laguna Beach. This gives it a very magical feel.

After the festival we went out to a restaurant called Mozambique. The South African setting really made it feel as if we were visiting another country! Known for their Peri-Peri spice, the food was deliciously seasoned and delivered quite a kick!

My loves.

One of my favorite parts of the evening was when the waitress asked with a very serious look on her face, if all of these girls were ours. When we said yes, she told me that I did not look old enough to have daughters this old! I must admit that it still makes me smile when people say that. I certainly feel like their momma. I guess that no matter how old we all get, they will always be my little ducklings.

I am still reflecting back upon the year which has passed. It was a difficult year filled with some very tough losses, but I am looking forward to this year being a more peaceful year filled with quiet moments by the sea. I am still searching. Searching for who I am now that I am a momma of almost fully grown daughters. Searching for who I am as a now only child whose parents are aging seemingly faster than I am. Searching for what I will do next. I do know that one thing is for sure. In spite of the obstacles that are placed in my path, life is good. Very, very good. And I will continue to fight for love, something that I have always believed is worth any cost. After all, without love, what is there?

Thank you so much for all of the lovely birthday wishes. You encircle me with a feeling of encouragement, love and support. For that, I am eternally grateful.

In Celebration of Growing Wiser

2011-07-09T14:59:00.000-07:00

I have changed as a momma over the course of the years. Angel Daughter Number One truly blazed the trail for my other three Angel Daughters but in doing so, she missed out on things like pink hair and double(okay, maybe triple in one ear) piercings. When AD1 was a teenager, I only allowed her to dye her hair with "natural colors", none of which are ever seen in a rainbow. But now that I have raised three more teenage daughters and I have gotten to Angel Daughter Number Four who is seventeen going on eighteen, I have learned a thing or two about parenting and choosing battles and hair dyed in any color that one can imagine. And you know what?

As long as she sticks to her curfew, is polite and courteous to everyone she meets, does well in school and keeps her sunny demeanor, if she would like to dye her hair pink, so be it. I have learned one thing as a momma. Hair grows out, but the effort, time, love, and sweat that goes into raising an excellent human being, never, ever does.

In celebration of my 49th birthday, I would love it if you would share some yummy chocolate cake with me!

*photo courtesy of Samir Hussein

And one of my daughters, may or may not be working with the couple above today during their visit to Southern California. Shhhhhh! It is a very top-secret gala and I promised I wouldn't mention any names. So I'm not...

Some Thoughts on Casey Anthony

2011-07-05T22:28:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking a whole lot about motherhood today. A whole lot. I have been thinking about maternal instinct, about where it resides within our souls and if, indeed, there has been some sort of a disconnect over the course of the past several decades between what a mother should feel toward her own offspring and the selfish need to separate herself from them very shortly after they are expelled from her very body. This is not to say that all or even most mothers suffer this disengagement from their own children but still, now being on the very tail-end of raising my own four daughters I have witnessed enough of it to call it a frightening trend as I see it. And for the sake of argument and my own expert experience(I have a culmination of 81 plus years of practice as a mother), I am only discussing women here, as we are the vessels from which our children come forth, we are the ones whose bodies come equipped with the unique abilities to both birth and nourish our babies, and we are the ones who are supposed to protect our children with the force of a mother bear or even the instinctual anger of a mother bird whose young have been threatened. Yet there is so much to the contradiction as to how we, as mothers, are internally programed to behave. There is situation after situation after sad, unbelievable situation which leads me to believe that the predisposed instinct for a mother to guard her children with the strength of 1000 men, is somehow being mutated out. Yes, mutated out. And the more that I witness mothers placing their own needs before the needs of their young children, the more that I watch as babies are left behind so that mothers can fulfill their own desires, the more that I hear story after story about abuse, neglect and even murder, the more that I feel this inherent need to stand up for those whose voices can so easily be ignored or silenced. Permanently silenced.

A couple of weeks ago, I sat and watched as this momma bird first taught her fledgling how to find food and then, how to eat without assistance. Every year, we have several nests around our homes that we watch with great excitement. The mother and father birds methodically build a nest tiny stick, by tiny stick finishing with the soft hair from our dogs that they somehow find from around our yard. The momma birds lay several eggs on which they roost as the father birds stay close by and chase any predatory birds from going near the nest. This is obviously all about instinct and survival as Finches are not really known for their intellect and rationality. But we have observed as they have chased a bird that is four to five times the size of them away from the vicinity of their nest equipped with nothing but pure guts and instinct. It is quite a sight to see. Each night, after the eggs have hatched and the mothers return from foraging for food, they return to the sweet chirps of their hungry babies which they seem to feed with love and care. It is after that stage of development that the mothers then bring the babies to the sources of food and teach them how to eat on their own.

Down at our beach home, we keep a feeder outside of our door and the birds have come to count on it as a regular food source. As I observed this mother and her baby sitting on the top of the pole, the momma would also try to get her baby to follow her to the feeder. After a while, the baby decided that it was much easier for its mother to feed it directly and so, the momma gave in.

She did not fly away from her baby. She did not push her off of the pole for some hungry predator to consume. She did not even seem to mind having to feed her growing baby.

She just instinctually, gently, and from my very human perspective, lovingly placed tiny morsels of food into the babies mouth.

When I looked at these pictures the other day, I had a completely different post in mind. I was touched by the patient instinct of this mother bird. I felt a sort of alliance with her. This series of photos reminded me of what it is like to be a mother, of how at every stage of my children's development, I had the inherent desire to nurture, to nourish and to protect them from any harm that the world might try to perpetrate upon them. This mother birds tenderness with her fledgling reminded me that I would always feel a sense of tenderness toward my own daughters.

After watching so much of the news coverage about Casey Anthony today, I was stunned, absolutely stunned by the idea that not only could a mother allow 31 days to pass without reporting the fact that her two year old daughter was missing, but also shocked and disgusted that there are 12 people down in Florida who could ignore this very basic, very non-disputable fact. And although I do not usually use this blog to discuss my own sentiments about the conditions in this world, this one hit far too close to home for me to ignore. You see, on the day that I had my first child 24 years ago, I became a parent first. When I looked into the eyes of my newborn babies, we became connected for life. For life. No sooner could 31 seconds pass if one of my daughters went missing or was out of my sight than I would be frantic and absolutely panic-stricken with fear. I would grab anyone who could help me by the collar and beg them to find my child, no questions asked, no tales spun. I have heard enough about how we "all grieve differently". I have heard enough about Casey's accusations of abuse. I have heard enough about "fantasy forensics". Have we truly thrown all common sense out with the evolution of so much me, me, me?

I am both disturbed and proud to admit that I can relate more strongly to a backyard Finch, than I can to a 25 year old mother, her defense team, and 12 jurors down in Florida. My heart aches for a baby whom I never knew. A baby whose grave was a watery swamp. A baby whose body was picked away at by bugs and hungry animals. A baby who knew too well, the juxtaposition of love and sheer hate. A baby whose own mother spent 31 days dancing on her grave and now, gets to do so again.

My Birthday Girl

2011-06-28T15:10:00.000-07:00

And here she is...The one who began the trend of baby girls falling softly from heaven and into my soul. The one who schooled me on how to be a momma through the toughest fight of my life to birth her from within my swollen body, and then taught me how much I would crave to keep my babies close for the rest of my life. The one who made me a mother. And she is beautiful, this one. From the day she was born, her spirit seemed to contain a quiet wisdom which shone with an inner light that made her different from other children. She loved to entertain but it wasn't in a showy, look at me sort of way. It was in a way that drew you out of your own space and your own inner-thoughts and brought you into hers. It was meant to soothe and create joy. She empathized with everyone around her and through that empathy she seemed to have the desire to create a magical world for you. Magical.

She has a voice like an angel, this one. For many years, she assisted the cantor at our synagogue in singing and chanting liturgy before the congregation at Friday night services and on the High Holy holidays. Listening to her allowed me to rise above and as close to God as anything I could ever imagine, allowing me to float on the melody of her voice. She must have been kissed by 10,000 angels before she was born.

She holds a certain grace about her. She carries herself confidently but without any false pride. She knows who she is and what she is capable of. She leaves behind in a room, a wisp of a feeling that she has been there, but somehow the space seems brighter than before. Maybe it is her beautiful smile.

This is my girl. My Angel Daughter Number One. My first child. When she was little, I used to ask her why, out of all of the mommies in the world, did she choose me. And her answer was always the same. "Because you were the only one who was laughing, Momma." Maybe that is because I knew exactly how much joy having you as my daughter would bring into my life, sweet girl.

Happy 24th birthday, AD1. May life fold out before you in a way that brings you more laughter than tears, more joy than pain and more love than your heart can contain. You make your momma proud, so proud. Thank you for being my child.

A few photos from our Birthday celebration

AD1 and her lovely college and beyond roommate

AD3 and Jacob(Notice that he is behaving!)

My Angel Daughters

Greetings From the Funny Farm

2011-06-22T18:20:00.000-07:00

When I watch my youngest child dance, I can see glimpses of her inner-most spirit. This began when she was a tiny, little munchkin carefully following the choreography of her three older sisters as they created routines to entertain their dad and I(and anyone else who would sit long enough to watch). Angel Daughter Number Four would move her body in the way that a painter uses a paintbrush or a writer uses words, with each movement expressing an emotion. I sensed then what I am absolutely sure of now. AD4 was born to dance. Space is her canvas and she uses it to express her reason for being, the music drawing her out of the confines of her physical body.

Last weekend was AD4's final dance recital for the season. Her team did very well this year, coming in 12th at the World competition down in Florida. This was their first time competing at this worldwide event and we were all very proud of the results. In the routine, the girls portrayed string puppets wearing masks which set them apart from the other teams competing. AD4 is the "puppet-master" in the center of the group, and although she is small in stature, she makes up for it with stage presence. It is difficult to take your eyes off of her when she dances.

In the photo above, she is hugging her coach and thanking her on behalf of all of the students at the school that she attends. Her coach relies heavily on her enthusiasm, great work ethic and positive attitude as a motivator for all of her teammates. Of course being number four out of four daughters has taught her, quite well, on how to be a fantastic cheerleader for the people that she cares about. Our girls have always been encouraged to support one another in all of their endeavors.

Angel Daughter Number One had to work on the day of AD4's recital, but she has been there for so many of her performances and competitions always cheering and "WHOO-HOO-ing" from the stands. They love each other so much.

My dad and his wife came out for the recital and afterwards, we went out for dinner. AD2 and AD3 brought their boyfriends which always makes it even more difficult for me to take a group photograph! I am constantly having to check for silly faces before I release the shutter on my camera(check out Jacob on the very end of the table), but with my father there, even more trouble ensues. Observe Angel Daughter Number Four's right hand which is resting in her lap. Check out the sweet smile she has on her face. Lovely, yes? Notice the piece of bread that she is innocently holding in her hand...

I detect trouble...

Suddenly the Italian bread begins to grow wings, mysteriously launching from AD4's fingers into the direction of her beloved grandfather, Pop Pop.

Things I love about this photo:

1. Mark's hand resting on AD4's shoulder. Wedding ring which connects us for almost 26 years in view.

2. Flying Italian bread.

3. Jacob is still posing at the end of the table.

4. Just another day in the Four Angels Momma familia. Oy.

Angel Daughter Number Three finally realizes that her boyfriend is adding personality to the "happy family" moment that I am trying to capture.

She pulls his hands away from his face as Angel Daughter Number Two realizes that I am still trying to get everyone to let me take a nice family photo.

I give up when the bread lands in my father's lap. I swear that it was not me who taught them to treat old people this way.

I will tell you that AD4 will be paid back for this in the very near future. Pop Pop never forgets...

And because the hostess innocently asked my father if we were celebrating any special events when she was bringing us to our table, Rita received a very unexpected surprise!

A lovely, rambunctious version of Happy Birthday complete with fellow restaurant patrons accompanying.

The thing that made it even more "unexpected" is that Rita's birthday is in December. Thank goodness, she:

1. is very used to my father's antics.

2. has a good sense of humor!

We will be heading out to Palm Springs to visit with my dad for Father's Day and to celebrate Angel Daughter Number One's twenty-fourth birthday(Can I possibly have a child who is that old?) this weekend. We are hoping that all four of our girls will be able to make it out there to visit with their grandparents. Angel Daughter Number Two scheduled a photo shoot for this weekend but is trying to shuffle things around so that she can meet us. Angel Daughter Number One is shooting another Groupon commercial on Friday. She will be playing a "cameo" part in this one, but they called her to ask her to come in for the role. They said that she was not right for the main part in this one, but that they definitely wanted to include her in the spot. They also told her that this will lead to more work in the future. We are so excited for her! I will definitely post the commercial when it is completed.

In case you might have missed Angel Daughter Number One's first commercial, here it is again:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vgk1YfInZoM&feature=player_embedded

My internet was sporadic for a few days so I will be catching up with everyone very soon. I missed you!

Life is mostly good but isn't that what we can really hope for?

Blue

2011-06-13T18:45:00.000-07:00

Momma Agave plant reaches her stalk high up into the moonlit sky. She began to flower a couple of weeks back and I keep an eye on her with an almost incorrigible curiosity. It is as if I should look away, I will somehow miss something. Something I might never witness again. As I wrote about several weeks back, these particular plants only flower once every one hundred years or so. I am awed to be present during this part of the plant's life-cycle because of the infrequency with which it occurs. It truly is something to witness as these plants remain quietly dormant for most of their lives and then suddenly, as the silent timing of nature takes hold and a stalk reaches gracefully upwards into the sky, the Agave plant is transformed into something much more ethereal.

There was something about the way in which the moon colored the sky, two nights ago, a cerulean blue, celestial and other-worldly. Looking up, I traced the lines of the giant stem with my eyes, noticing the way in which each branch, each bud, each flower, stretched mightily for the heavens.

And then I found myself doing the same, fingers clenched together over my head ascending skyward toward the Divine. What is it that seems to draw our souls upward with a longing that is difficult to describe? And yet, I believe that you know what I mean as I write this...

*Thank you for your kindness, your prayers, your energy, before, during and after Friday's court hearing. Turns out, that there is no clear-cut law(actually none that either attorney could find) stating that someone who is not a parent seeking custody or visitation with a child(or children) is responsible to pay attorney's fees to the individual who is being sued, win or lose. That being said, our case is so unusual that the judge does not want to leave room open for an appeal which could take up tens of thousands more in dollars and two more years in court. Also, judges do not like to be overturned on appeal. So, the ordeal continues. Both attorneys must submit briefs stating their arguments and cite laws that will show that it is, or is not, legally necessary for me to pay my niece's mother's attorney's fees. We will then head back to court in July to proceed from there. From where we are standing now, it does not look as if she has a shot at receiving a penny from us, which is good because we have already suffered and lost too much. And she is nowhere near being a "poor widow". She received an enormous worker's comp settlement after suing my brother's employer. He was not on the job when he died. It is a wacky world we live in.

Untangled

2011-06-10T12:18:00.000-07:00

Walking down the beach a couple of days ago, Mark and I came upon the remnants of this giant tree which, after spending countless years being battered and tossed around in the immeasurable grasps of the ocean, was carried back to the shore in yet another form. Recognizable as to what it once was, but transformed in remarkable ways, this tree, now driftwood, must have spent years, even decades, rumbling around in the tumbling waves being shaped and transformed and smoothed and sharpened into what it is now. As we approached this giant relic upon the beach, I was enthralled by its stoic presence. I imagined it as it must have been, a graceful, strong tree rooted deeply in the ground someplace, green leaves swaying with the wind, branches turned up toward the sun, thriving for year upon year. And then, I marveled at what it now is. A solid piece of driftwood with trunk and branches and roots, stuck solidly in the sand on this beach in San Clemente.

We are like this, shaped by love and pain, longing and letting go, hope and regret. We are often swept along in the emotions of life trying our hardest to stand firmly rooted in our deepest beliefs, knowing what is right and what is wrong, what is just and what is not. And yet, we change, we transform, and eventually, we even release, allowing the tides of life to pull us along while remaining some of who we once were, but constantly being reshaped, and smoothed and sharpened into who we now are.

Today we go back to court to so that the judge can rule on the monetary issues pertaining to the case I was forced to bring forth for visitation with my young nieces. It has been over three years since my beloved brother died, two years since we filed our first motion for visitation and two weeks since we were told by the judge that although he would do things differently if it were up to him, the court could not find the mother of the children "unfit" and for that reason, and that reason alone, the state could not step in and force visitation on a parent who did not want to allow it. 14th amendment rights and all that... When everything is said and done, I will write more about the decision and my thoughts about The Grandparent's Law(which includes siblings of the deceased), but for now I will only say that with the case that our attorney presented, there was absolutely NO way we could have won this thing. We were led down a path in which only one result could have occurred according to the judge so now we must just tie up some loose ends and proceed with the next step in this process.

Over the course of the past three years since my brother's death, life became much more complicated than it should have been. I found out a whole lot about who my family is(my husband, our four daughters, my father and his wife) and who would be willing to tangle the very tender strings of my heart into tight little knots, not caring whether or not they choked the very life out of me in the process causing me to end up in the same place that my beloved brother is. And. I. Mean. That. Sincerely. I discovered that there are people whom I considered "family" because my mother and my brother brought them into my life, individuals whom I cared for, defended against one another, entertained in my home, gave specific honors to at my children's Bat-Mitzvahs. I let them in and I allowed them to be a part of my children's lives. But, we cannot look back. And once again, we have been reshaped by the experiences of life.

And as I begin to untangle the roots of my heart, I will keep this giant tree in mind. I will remain steadfast in my beliefs and I will stand behind my decisions. Life isn't only about remaining rooted deeply in one place. It is about accepting the changes, transforming through the pain. And sometimes, it is about untangling the mess that life can wrap around our souls.

*If you could say a silent prayer or send some positive energy our way as we head into court this afternoon, I would greatly appreciate it. The thought of having to pay her attorney a dime, would prove that there is NO justice in family court and we have already lost too much.

And The Final Sun Goes Down on May...

2011-06-03T21:05:00.000-07:00

There is something about living right on the beach that makes it so much harder to ignore the moments. Busy, messy, beautiful life still goes on, but somehow the moments take on a greater meaning, each one with a more singular effect. Maybe it is the constant soundtrack of the sea sounds rising, sometimes softly, sometimes more emphatically in the background of whatever else is happening, that brings the attention back into the moment. Maybe it is the smell of the sea air, or the balmy breeze, or the chime of the train bell as it chugs gently below our bluff. It could be the way in which the sunlight reflects off of the water(sometimes causing an unexpected tear of unforeseen emotion), or how the color of the sky is a constantly changing hue, or that the clouds might be there one moment and then not be there in the next. But then, it could be because this place, this small plot of land overlooking the ocean, this coastal jewel, this piece of heaven on earth, is the closest place to home that my soul has ever really known. Ever known...And yet whatever it is, these moments, these encapsulates of time, these finite pixels of never-ending grandiosity, cause the breath to stop, cause the moments to freeze, cause the attention to be drawn elsewhere. And whatever was seemingly so important and crucial before, becomes engulfed back into the moment like the sun being drawn slowly down from its highest heights to where it can no longer be seen. Back down into the horizon. Back down. Back down...

Soar high into the month of June, my sweet friends.

They Were Never Ours...

2011-05-28T21:55:00.000-07:00

I have been trying to put this to paper for two days now. Because things do not always turn out the way that we want them to, or the way that they should. Maybe writing this down will make it all too real for me, too concrete, too finished. The wounds are still so raw and the scars which seemingly healed over during the past three years following my brother's sudden death are once again open and oozing with pain, betrayal and regret. Yet, I must. In order to begin the grieving process while allowing myself to freely let go, I must. And although I know that this is not the end of the story, this is where the story must pause for now...

We spent the better part of this past week in court finally pleading our case as to why we should be allowed to continue visitation with my two young nieces despite the fact that their mother has been a hateful, vindictive, bitter woman for the past three years(much longer if I am forced to really admit the truth to myself). I, myself, spent two days on the stand proving that I had a contiguous, ongoing relationship with my nieces. My loving husband testified with tears in his eyes. Our oldest Angel Daughter testified in a compassionate, articulate and graceful way. It was grueling and more than emotionally exhausting. There is a law on the books known as "The Grandparent's Law". It includes aunts and uncles, so we were covered under the law. However, there is a lot of murkiness as to how and when this law will be upheld and enforced by the court, meaning that there is a lot of interpretation and a lot of subjectiveness to the wording of this law. It came down to this. We chose not to play dirty pool and to go after Mother's "fitness" as a parent.("fitness" meaning that she feeds, clothes and shelters the children) The law states, as I understand it, that if a parent is "fit" then that parent is given "special weight" as to the decisions which that parent makes for his or her children. I did not want to rip my niece's mother down. I did not want to take her children away from her. I did not want to cause unnecessary pain. I only wanted to be able to continue the loving relationship that I have had with my brother's daughters for the past 12 and 8 years, respectively. We presented our case from a place of love and concern. Mother presented her case from a place of ugliness and hatred. And the judge, whom I feel was both fair, and wanted to give my request the weight which it deserved allowed the case to go on for three days, at which point, he chose to stop the proceedings because he realized where things were going anyway. He began by spending some time speaking about what a good parent and person I am, and how he was sure that my intentions were coming from the right place. He went on to say some lovely things about me, stating that he could see that my husband and I have raised some wonderful children. AD1's testimony was a shining example of that. I am so proud of her and how she handled herself on the stand even though I know that there were a thousand places that she would have rather have been that day. I will never forget how loving and supportive she was throughout the entire proceeding and in the painful hours that followed while the very sad reality of what we all lost set in. However, the end result was that the judge could not rule in our favor because Mother was not proven to be an unfit parent. He stated that even if it was in the best interest of the children to have visitation with us, the state does not like to step into a parent's domain unless the parent is seen as unfit, and in this case, she is not. The idea that Mother is using her own anger to pollute her own babies does not have any bearing upon her fitness as a parent. What we discovered on Thursday afternoon, is that the scope of this law is extremely narrow and that emotionally scarring your children by filling them with your own bitterness and teaching them to lie, is not considered unfit behavior. Truthfully, the way the law is written, there was very little way we could have "won" this in the end. But, as I have stated here before, I could not have walked away from my nieces without letting them know that I was not the one who gave up without a good fight. Not only did we lose on Thursday, but they lost so much more. An aunt and uncle who adore them, four cousins who think they are the greatest, and the history of their deceased father who could have been kept alive through us.

My oldest niece, who is twelve and a half, is already beginning to forget things about her life before her daddy died. She even forgot some of the details about things she has done with her cousins during the past three years. The little one, who is now eight, remembers even less. My heart breaks as to the legacy which my beloved brother left behind for his girls. I made him a promise that I cannot fulfill at this point in time and that eats away at my very soul, but there is the future. There are years to come when these children will be out from underneath the unnatural, tyrannic control and hopefully, they will return and when they do, I will tell them first, how much I have always loved them and then I will tell them all about their father...

He Soars With Angels

2011-05-18T20:21:00.000-07:00

Our boy finally gave in to his soul's need to be freed from the restraints of his earthly body.

Jack Riley Williamson passed away this morning at 10:10 am in the arms of his loving mommy. I can see him flying freely amongst the wonders of the universe, amongst all who were waiting for his arrival, amongst God's laughter.

He was something extraordinary. There are only a couple of handfuls of true angels on earth at any given time. One of them left us today.

I will never stop missing him.

Never...

This video shows how much Jack loved to fly. Be forewarned if you are at work, it will make you cry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B__ZNBSI_jA

Soar, little man, soar...

Introducing Angel Daughter Number One in her First Commercial

2011-05-11T18:11:00.000-07:00

To answer your question, no, they are not always angels. They are individuals, young women, who have their own moods, their own motivations and their own meltdowns. But they are my angels and there are no four other daughters that I would have been more blessed or luckier to have had. Each one is kind-hearted, compassionate, compelling, funny, smart and beautiful in ways which so often complements the other. And each one was born with a creative spirit which awes me to the core. How I love these girls... How I love watching them as they soar...

Please indulge me as I introduce my Angel Daughter Number One in her first commercial as a spokesperson. She is joining the ranks of Timothy Hutton and Elizabeth Hurley as a representative for this company! The video has had over 12,500 hits in less than twenty four hours. Fly, baby, fly...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vgk1YfInZoM&feature=player_embedded

It Would Have to be During my Century, Yes? YES! or How the Agave Plant Made me Cry

2011-04-28T19:28:00.000-07:00

When I cannot write for a while, not only do I miss you, but I feel as if I am leaving you wondering. I begin to experience "Blogger's guilt" a term that I just aptly came up with to describe the loyalty which I have come to feel towards my readers, including the ones whom I have become friends with, the ones who pop in only infrequently, and even the anonymous readers who have never left any comments.(I would love it if you would de-lurk for a moment just to say hello, but if not, that is okay too unless you are my long-lost aunt;)) There has been a lot of minutiae going on lately, both large and small, and whenever I sit down to write, it seems that something commands my attention and I am whisked away from my laptop in a whirlwind of sudden commotion. This past week has been Passover for our family and while preparing our Seder for twelve or so people last week, our ceiling sprung a leak meaning NO water for most of the day until nearly the time when our Seder was supposed to begin, at which point my dear husband tore out a portion of our kitchen ceiling locating the leak and completing a good portion of the work for the plumber who then stood in my kitchen and quoted me $468.00 while I stared at him as if he had a third eye knowing that I was in serious need of a hot shower before our guests came. His final remark, "Well, dinner smells good, anyway." Would you like me to pack you a Tupperware along with the $468.00 that you are about to rip me off for too??? How about you pay me for the time I spent solving the issues you are having with your pre-teen children, hmmmm? On the same day, my constant companion, our dog Becca, lost complete use of her hind legs and had to be brought to the Vet for X-rays only to find out what we had suspected all along. A portion of her spine is no longer viable and she will never regain the use of her hind legs. And even though we have known this has been coming on for quite some time(She is 12 and 1/2 years old), it is a very bitter pill for me to swallow. Everything else is healthy about her and so, from now on anytime she needs to move around, be it changing positions or going outside to the bathroom, one of us must completely support her rear legs by roping a towel underneath her belly and letting her lead with her front legs. Believe me, I am not complaining because she is still around and she is still my best bud, but it just hurts my heart to watch her lose her mobility. We are researching different options that will make it a bit easier for me to help her move around. I know that they make "wheelchairs" for dogs, but unfortunately, that would not be a practical solution for our old girl. So, I do my best to anticipate her needs and she does her best to communicate them. We have been together for so long that we communicate telepathically. And then there was the miserable realization that I have been manipulated by someone whom I had already washed my hands of, years ago, but who managed to do it again with me as a willing volunteer this time. If I told you who it was, you would not believe me(and it might break your heart, too), so let's just chalk this one up to my extremely soft heart and move along. No regrets because I can never regret anything I do out of love and empathy. Never...

But none of that is what I came here to write about today. It just explains a bit about why I have been slightly distracted lately. It also helps to explain my Blogger's guilt.(You never call, you never write...) Here is what I really wanted to share with you. Leave it to nature to put things into amazingly clear perspective. As you know, for the past several years, we have resided more than half of the time in our beach house. And on the corner of our lot overlooking the Pacific, there has always been a rather large cluster of prickly plants which our gardener labeled as Agave plants. They resemble Aloe plants but the tips of their leaves contain very sharp, thorn-like edges that really hurt if you happen to brush by them by mistake. This plant is also extremely prolific in that it produces "pups" or baby Agave plants on the paths all around it. Instinctively, we began removing the pups because the mother plant is so extremely large that we did not want to have our yard overtaken by the little pricklers. A couple of weeks ago, a giant, very phallic, asparagus-like stalk seemed to sprout from the center of this plant overnight. It seemed to go from invisible to ten feet tall before we even noticed that it was there. When my husband began to refer to it as "the penis plant"(yes, leave it to a guy;)), we decided that we not only needed to photograph it, but that we needed to research what the heck was going on with our Momma Agave plant. And so, I began the Google search. Turns out, there are several subspecies of Agave plants many of which make lovely ornamental additions to a western yard. This one, however, not so much.

What I discovered about our prickly Momma plant and her pups is that she is an Americana Agave, also known as the Century Agave. The leaves, if broken open, release a highly toxic, highly allergic type of substance which will burn skin upon contact. This is not a rash to be messed with as it will blister and can last up to a month before healing. We did not know this when removing the pups from the pathways. The other thing, and this is really the point of my story, is that there is a reason that this plant is called the Century Agave. That asparagus-looking thing in the center which none of our neighbors have ever seen before, will eventually flower and put on an amazing show for us. BUT, after the stalk dies off, it will take the Mother plant with it and in its place will be left a huge mess that is nearly impossible to remove once dead. It is recommended that once the flowers on the stalk begin to die off, the stalk, which is very thick and very coarse, be sawed off and removed. That will hopefully preserve the life of the Momma Agave plant. The interesting thing, of course, will be the removal of the stalk without having anyone come in physical contact with the inner goo. Therein lies the fun. One must wear protective clothing and protective goggles in order to safely handle this type of plant and even then, who knows? Now, this is the part that fascinates me beyond comprehension. The Century Agave only flowers once a century. That is once every 100 years or so. Remarkable. Truly remarkable. And when I stare out at this Agave plant, I cannot help but basque in the wonder that someone, 100 years ago or more, pulled that baby out of the desert and planted it right here on our bluff. Not knowing that in 100 years, we would be sitting here looking at the very same plant as it puts on a spectacular show. 100 years. Who knew?

Nature certainly has a way of putting a spin on how infinitely small we really are in comparison to so much of what is around us. And as I gaze at the Momma Agave and her maturing pups, I cannot help but relate to her in so many ways. I mean, here I am, and here are my babies ages 17, 19, 21 and almost 24. When someone meets their children or their children's children in 100 years or so, will they somehow sense the spirit of who I once was and how those individuals made their way into this world?

Above is a picture of our yard which was taken on February 24, 2011, only eight short weeks ago. See the Mother Agave plant in the background of the picture? No stalk visible at all. Now the stalk reaches way up into the sky like Jack's Beanstalk in the children's story. Only this one took 100 years to reach its glory up toward the heavens. And soon enough, it will be gone. Which is why the daily stuff does not matter so much to me anymore.

Love to you.

If I Leave Here Tomorrow

2011-04-14T20:32:00.000-07:00

Since living a good portion of my life down by the ocean now, I notice things which might have just passed me by in the past. My world has expanded to include things such as tidal patterns, wave heights and seabirds. Especially seabirds. I watch as they return each year. These giant, graceful angels of the sky weighing as much as eight pounds with wingspans of over seven feet. I watch as they quietly make their way past my window, silently taking count of their flock sizes and then reporting back to my husband when we speak on the phone each afternoon. On the day that I took these photos, there were more than sixty. In groupings of two and seven and twelve, they drifted by majestically on the balmy breezes flapping their wings only occasionally, but mostly, floating.

They floated, and I thought to myself that that must be how angels move, demanding very little effort, yet with such a purposeful presence which only something of that magnitude and importance can truly behold. And the sky was cerulean blue surrounding them with the most beautiful backdrop on which to come home. I wonder. What was the space in my mind which is now reserved for seabirds, something that was so totally off of my own radar, what was it filled with before? In the clearing, what cobwebs resided there before I could see them? Count them? Notice them?

And the angels, of which I have not yet concretely had the pleasure of seeing before, what is standing in their spot at this particular point in my life? Knowing that I feel them, like the seabirds who were always there but not within my own personal realm, I accept their presence yet even squinting my hardest, it is difficult for me to imagine what they might look like.

Yet then, I suddenly have a moment of recall. Brave, little Jack at my beach house making me promise that he could come back again next year because he loved it there so much. And I remembered that not all angels fly or float or soar. Sometimes if we are very, very lucky, they appear into our lives without our even noticing who they are. Suddenly, we are counting their numbers and recognizing their faces, looking into their eyes and kissing their cheeks. Sometimes, their lives breeze by ours without our even knowing how it might have happened. And almost effortlessly, like a seabird floating along on a breeze, we are forever welcoming them home. Because where we are now, we can never possibly be in the future without forever searching for them, praying for them, recognizing them, without ever again, forgetting to welcome them home.

These are Better Days

2011-04-07T22:52:00.000-07:00

Glorious. To sit with my youngest Angel daughter on a Wednesday afternoon sharing a hot pot of Strawberry/Kiwi tea, our laughter softly rising in the puffs of wispy steam as we savor the simple abundance. How can one mother be blessed with so much?

As the tea seeps languidly before us, we breathe in the fragrance of the day. This moment, so incredibly perfect in time, imprints itself upon all of my senses and I am happy. There is a freshness on the subtle breezes of springtime which, when mixed with the aroma from the steaming pot of tea, are intoxicating.

We agree that we adore tea sandwiches and currant scones with clotted cream and homemade raspberry preserves and flowers which you can eat if you choose to, placed delicately upon your plate. I watch my child enjoy.

There is such simple beauty in all of it. It makes me feel as if I could cry.

She asks me if we can do this once a month, a standing tea date between mother and daughter. Delightedly, I reply YES.(And I think that I must do the same with my other three girls. Yes, we must try.)

She lifts my camera from its place on the table and takes a picture of the view from where she sits. The world through her eyes at that moment is lush, green and perfect.

We stop by the petting zoo to feed the Lamas carrots. This is the same zoo that I used to take all four of my Angel Daughters to when they were little and I dressed them all alike. I am whisked back for a precious moment.

AD4 kisses me good-bye and heads off to dance practice but the day has taken hold of me in such a way that I am not quite ready to leave, so I go for a walk.

San Juan Capistrano is one of the oldest towns in California. 220 years ago, it was home to the Indians and has evolved many times since then. Walking around this little town is like experiencing history firsthand and I never tire of being here.

Each Wednesday afternoon, there is a Farmer's Market which hosts locally grown vegetables, fruits, flowers, locally made dressings and other delicious goodies. There is a charming older gentleman there who sells Italian sauces, cookies, olive oils and handmade pastas. He stops me in my tracks. "Signora, Bella!" he calls out to me. "You like-a the Italian food?" "Of course!" I reply and he begins giving me a little lesson on the meaning of Italian words. He flirts, I giggle. I walk away with two cannolis to be shared with my honey later on.

Walking through the market, I spent some time admiring the gorgeous array of flowers.

I selected some intoxicatingly fragrant Star-Gazer Lilies and took the long way back to my car.

I lingered around The Mission which was built in 1776. I thought about the class trips that I accompanied my daughters on to learn about its history so many blue skies ago.

The church was completed in 1797 and the wall that you can see exposed in this photo was partially destroyed by an earthquake in 1812. There are several ghost stories surrounding the tumbling of the wall which are told until this day. Some of my daughters have a love/hate relationship with those stories. Others, are more intrigued by them. I am a bit of both.

As I arrived back at my car, I noticed this license plate on the vehicle that was parked in front of me. I thought about the "old" west, the "new" west and everything that came during the years in between. I thought about relationships, where they began and where they are now. I thought about how lovely it was to spend an afternoon with my youngest Angel Daughter and then to spend some time walking around a town that I have been to so many times, yet I still love it so much. How can one woman be so lucky?

I gathered the Star-Gazers wrapped tightly in newspaper and placed them on the front seat of my car hoping that their fragrance would float in my direction. I turned on the radio and set it to E-Street Radio so that I could listen to some of Springsteen's poetry sung in a raw, soulful voice that I never, ever tire of. And I drove home content, so very content. It made me feel as if I could cry. And I just might have.

Glorious.

Tools and Treasures

2011-04-01T21:02:00.000-07:00

I watched this little boy as he contemplated the waves with calm anticipation, yesterday afternoon. I know that in some parts of the country children are pulling out their snow jackets and sleds hopeful for a possible snow day, but here in balmy California it is somewhere around eighty-plus degrees with springtime blue skies and the soft fragrances of summer on the breezes. It was the kind of day that makes you think about flip-flops, ice-cold Coca-Cola and filmy cotton tops. The beaches were uncrowded with small pockets of people doing what folks do when there is nothing more important to do than heading down to the ocean to appreciate the warmth of it all. Most people do not brave the water quite yet for it is still downright chilly with winter's recent departure. But there are the surfers and the paddleboarders and the occasional crazy people who believe it when they say, "Come on in, the water's just fine!" I prefer to observe.

And so, as I watched this little boy head down towards the water all snug in his wetsuit and flippers, board firmly tethered to his wrist by a cord, I thought about his momma. I thought about what we do to equip our children as they head out into life without our regular supervision. I considered the tools with which we supply them. Wings, flippers, our hearts, tangibly intangible things that can help them to fly or to float, depending upon the conditions.

And there he went, this little boy of ten or eleven years old, fear snuggly zipped into his wetsuit, contained in a place which would only allow his brave to seep out. I watched as he evaluated the height of the waves coming toward him.

I watched as he allowed them to roll by, raising one flipper at a time in his efforts to venture out into the deep. I pictured him doing this at the age of two or three, holding tightly onto the hand of his father or mother, tucking away all of the confidence, security and love which was being passed down to him from one to the other. The tools. The treasures.

And then the moment came when it was sink or swim. Board held firmly in his hands, he dove into the waves, head-on. No looking back for his parents, he had all of the tools that he needed for this challenge.

He made it past one cresting wave after another, heading out and away from the shoreline. For a long time, I watched him. There are no lifeguards on the beach at this time of the year. Only a few other thinly spread out surfers unable to hear if there were any worried cries from the shore coming from someone who no longer swims in the ocean. But as I raised my hand to shield the sun from shining too brightly in my eyes, this little boy's confidence took hold of my nerves and I once again, became nothing more than just a mere observer witnessing a moment in this little guy's journey, and mine.

I thought about my four Angel Daughters, ages 17, 19, 21 and 23 and how with each step along the way, Mark and I have made sure to provide them each with anything we might anticipate that they might need to fly or float on their journeys. I considered the relatively short amount of time that we have as children to absorb everything we need in order to zip away the fears we must conquer and survive as young people. I contemplated my job as a mother and what I might have forgotten to add to my own daughter's tool chests.

But as I kept my eye on this boy, I realized that whatever I have given my girls up until now, is enough. For I have watched each one of them as they dodged the waves of life so far, and I know that they have a very strong foundation. I know that it is safe for me to stand back a bit and observe as they each take flight because they have the tools to remain afloat. The tools and the treasures.

As this little boy continued his search for the perfect wave, I began my walk back down the beach again. I knew that there was somebody watching out for him at this point and in my silent prayers, I hoped that there would always be other people watching out for my girls when I am not around. Because as parents, we do that. Keep our eye on other people's children. Even when it seems as if they have all of the tools that they need for themselves. Partially to make sure, but mostly, to reassure ourselves.

Because we All Need to be Reminded

2011-03-28T22:48:00.000-07:00

Walking down the beach today, these words suddenly came to me in the flash of a momentary notion and I thought,

with the way that the world is right now

I am not the only one who needs to hear this.

So I picked up the nearest stick and I wrote you a message because I knew that the thought would pass through my mind, nearly unnoticed, with the thousands(tens of thousands?) of other words that would flit through my mind by the end of the day.

You are, you know.

What is Real

2011-03-21T21:06:00.000-07:00

I walked into the beautiful lobby of The Montage Hotel (One of my favorite places on earth!) with a feeling of great anticipation. I could sense that the person who was waiting for me was standing very near. As I turned my head toward her our eyes linked in instant recognition and our entire bodies lit up in bright smiles. We headed for one another, arms wide open, and landed in an embrace which felt both entirely comfortable and very familiar. Nothing unusual about two good friends meeting up for lunch, but this was different. Kathy and I had never met in the physical before. Since about 2007, we have been encouraging, supporting and caring deeply about one another over the Internet. Kathy lives in Chicago and I live in California. Blogs and emails have been our main lines of communication. In other words, as Kathy so aptly put it a few months ago, we are pen-pals. Albeit, the modern, electronic version of pen-pals, but pen-pals, nonetheless. And although this form of communication has gone on for ages (I still remember my pen-pal from Butte, Montana who was given to me as a child by my school), people are always surprised to find out that friendships, real friendships can grow out of meeting someone online. And yet, why not? We meet people in all kinds of unusual situations, so why not electronically. I believe that we are drawn to those we are drawn to for a reason. I also believe that our souls can recognize those who are meant to be a part of our lives long before we consciously see it with our own eyes. There is a knowing. There is a glimmer. There is the feeling of "Where have you been?" Trusting in my beliefs, I have developed many online friendships that are no less real than any of my "real life" friendships. And although I understand and watch for the inherent dangers of making an online connection, I also trust that I will recognize a problem far before the meeting stage. I have spent enough time lecturing my own daughters about this to know. I am also cynical and savvy enough to not be fully aware of all of the dangers in the world. That being said(mostly for my daughters and my fathers sake), I knew that Kathy was someone whom I was meant to meet. When the opportunity arose, I was very happy.

And so, there we were. Two women who had never met before, chatting and laughing and being quiet with one another as we asked each other question after question and listened intently to one another's answers. We did not even look at our menus until about two hours after we sat down knowing that it wasn't about the food, but the friendship. At one point, I noticed a man who was sitting at another table with a woman who had her head down and dark sunglasses on her face. He kept looking over at me and because he looked so familiar, I had to peruse my mental rolodex. It took a few minutes for me to realize that the couple was one who used to be on The Housewives of Orange County and that the reason the gentleman kept looking over at me was because he wanted to be recognized. Of course, the irony was a little lost on Kathleen because she doesn't watch any of those shows(good for her!), but being that many of these people are my neighbors, and my kids know their kids, I sometimes do. And even though my Angel Daughter Number Two worked with this Housewife's daughter for a while, I would not feel at all comfortable walking up to her and introducing myself. She seems far too removed from reality. I found it interesting how some "characters" who expose their lives on a reality show seem less real to me than someone whom I have, up until that point, only met online. Life is funny.

Kathy and I talked for hours. We made a friend. A seagull kept landing on the roof next to our table and although I know I am "not supposed to", I kept pitching french fries his way. As someone who has rescued more than one seagull suffering from malnutrition in the winter/spring months, I have no problems sharing my food with them. Kathy not only put up with my feeding of the seagull but also shared with me some stories about the results of her generosity with little critters. We laughed, loudly. The staff kept coming outside to our table to see if we needed anything else. Kathy asked them if we were being too loud. They said of course not! We shared a dessert and chatted some more. I recognized Kathy's daughter and her sweet friend walking up the path down below us and she came up to say hello. What a sweetheart! I adored her right away. I really enjoyed meeting her! I asked her if she would take some photos for us and she agreed wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, the skies were a bit overcast that day but she took some wonderful pictures for us. It was especially cute when she told us to do some silly poses which made us all laugh. Suddenly, Kathy and I were acting like two teenage girls who were enjoying the day with each other.

This is actually my favorite picture of us. When Kathy's beautiful daughter told us to do something silly, we both put our fingers up in the same pose! Since it was getting late and neither one of us wanted to say good-bye, we decided to check out the little stationary/perfume shop which is outside of the hotel. It was fun because Kathy had not yet discovered it and so we got to enjoy it together. We each purchased some wonderful journaling materiel as well as a little book called, This is Water, by David Foster Wallace. As we said good-bye, we embraced tightly and I knew that we would see each other again in the future. Who knows, maybe next time in Chicago?

When I got home that evening, Mark smiled as I chattered on about my day and how much I enjoyed spending it with Kathy. You see, as I have become more and more affected by my chronic illness, I stay home a lot(out of necessity, but still), friends of many years have slowly dropped away not knowing how to be in a relationship with the new me(who is still me, by the way), and I have not been able to create any new friendships because of my lack of energy and my need to put as much of it as I can into my four daughters and my beloved husband. But I think that in my renewed enthusiasm, Mark recognized more than a glimmer of "the old me" and it made him very happy to see me so happy. It made me happy too, to know that she is still in here. And although I am realistic to know that I cannot go out for days at a time, visiting with friends, chatting for hours, etc., I do know that I still get great enjoyment out of making that kind of a connection.

That night, Kathy texted me to ask if I had read the little book that we both bought. Her reaction to it was , "Wow". I told her that I would read it in the morning, but then, I could not resist. I sat down and read it that night. It was about living consciously and in the moment. It was about learning and changing and accepting, even amongst the struggles. It was about living a compassionate life. I went to sleep so grateful to Kathy and to my husband and to the angels, God, and a friend who "introduced" us to one another. And I said a prayer of thanks to whoever invented the Internet(um, Al Gore, of course) because without the Internet, Kathy and I would most likely have never met. And I would never have met all of the wonderful individuals who so graciously read my words and leave me such beautiful, kind comments which lead me to their wonderful blogs from which I gather so much. So very much. Do not ever doubt that we are all friends, real friends. Our blogs are like the backyard fences of yesterday or the pen-pal notes before the Internet. They allow us to create amazing connections where there might never have been one possible. I love that.

Thank you, Kathy, my sweet pen-pal, for our wonderful day. And I meant it when I said you are beautiful.

Because Our Hearts Ache, We Search For the Silly

2011-03-18T21:12:00.000-07:00

There is a throbbing sensation propelling itself wildly into all of the nerve endings in my body. Pain messages firing haphazardly, ricocheting off of my every cell and I tell myself to disregard them, there is no inherent danger. Some of it is chronic illness rearing its painful head, and some of it is the psychic pain that I have not been able to shake since Friday. All is not right with the world. It never is. Which is why it is so incredibly human to search for that "rightness" within ourselves.

I was told, many years ago on a trip to Sedona, Arizona with my family, that I absorb pain. If there is someone standing across the street from me and they are in physical or emotional distress, I will somehow zero in on them. When this happens, I try to take a moment to access the situation, but this has never been my first instinct. My first instinct is to react. To respond. To rescue. I do this often and sometimes to my own detriment. God did not provide me with the necessary body-type to carry people out of burning buildings, but he did give me the spirit to react as if I could. One of the many examples of "We make plans. God laughs." And yet, I have to believe that somehow, I am as I am meant to be.

So, my body is resonating with the pain of those who live over five thousand miles and an ocean away. I am looking for ways in which to escape from the pain. Their pain, my own pain. My body's pain. And so I began randomly scrolling through recent photos that I have taken with my cellphone. Merely a distraction, I know, but a necessary one, at that.

I came across these photos of my youngest Angel Daughter, AD4, with our Parolette, Cody, and I was struck by the old "people and their pets often resemble each other" theory. Momentarily, I was lifted out of the striking pain and transported to a place of tender amusement. How I love my children.

And how they try to ignore me when I am doting upon them.

Because if there is one way to find your way out of yourself, spend some time observing a teenager equipped with a cell phone and a laptop computer trying to ignore their parents admiration.

Or a six inch bird,

which shares the same feather-color and lack of enthusiasm for the parents amusement as said teenager.

And see who gives in first.

Life on the Edge/Dangerous Beauty

2011-03-14T17:45:00.000-07:00

*San Clemente, CA during the Tsunami Advisory that was issued here.

The earth seems angry, very angry. I say the earth, but it might just as well be God, Adonai, Buddha, YHWH, Jesus Christ, or any number of the Hindu Deities. The rage is expressed in mind-numbing rattles and surging walls of water rushing five hundred miles an hour toward panic-stricken people. Clinging to tree branches which race by in a moment of pure instinct-motivated survival. Praying even if for the first time in an entire life. Gasping for air. Grabbing for the surface. Moving toward the light.

My heart aches in a rhythm which can only be described as that of the rolling waves which thunder below my window. I live on the edge of what is known as the Pacific Ring of Fire. 80-90 percent of the world's earthquakes occur within this area. This is a fact. And as a Californian, I have lived with the knowledge of this fact since my husband and I packed up everything we owned in a Dodge cube-van, and trekked out to California twenty-six years ago next September, to begin our life together. To plant our own roots. To raise our own family. To flourish. And yet, living in an area of such natural beauty also brings with it the immanent possibility of destruction. Living on the edge of the Pacific ocean commands respect for that which is treacherously beautiful. Dangerously beautiful. I have a very healthy respect for the strength and capability of nature. I no longer go deep into the ocean, knowing that I am no longer a strong swimmer and am of no match for that which can lull me into a sense of hypnotic, false complacency. We have an "understanding", the ocean and I. I admit that I am no match for the things which can pull me down and eat me underneath the dark, rolling waves, and the ocean allows me to wade semi-predictably upon the shoreline, honoring its power and dangerous beauty. Fairly simple equation, yes? Until the ocean becomes unpredictable because of an earthquake. Because of impending anger? Because sometimes people do not believe it when they notice that the water is surging back, uncharacteristically, and they decide to stay anyway?

And yet, here I am living on the edge of that which is angry, beautiful and often, unpredictable. But I will not leave. I will not leave for many of the same reasons that the people of Japan who resided in those dangerously beautiful seaside towns did not leave. I trust.

I trust that all of the natural wonders that were created on this Pacific Rim were placed here not to repel man, but to draw us near. I trust that whatever statement nature, the earth, God, Krishna, etc. is making, it is not meant to make us run away, but to draw us in closer...To one another.

And so, as I sit admiring the unbridled, picturesque beauty of the Pacific ocean and its shorelines, I will focus on the trust and send a prayer for healing out into the world. I will pray for those who live in Japan as they face this uphill struggle to piece their lives back together. I will pray for the souls of those who were lost to this natural tragedy. And I will pray that the world will come together to help the Japanese people remember that they are not alone. That we are all connected, if even by oceans, in our humanity.

Because to focus on the anger would give power to that which can destroy. But to focus on the trust, the compassion, the humanity...In that, there is always renewal.

Peace
.
.
.
Refuah Shlema
.
.
.
Namaste

The Memory-Keeper

2011-03-09T23:30:00.000-08:00

*I am having trouble with the margins on this post. I will try again tomorrow to fix the issue. It is possible that the problem is with Blogger because I haven't seen this happen before. Thanks for your

patience!

I came across a well-worn Ziploc bag filled with memories a couple of moons ago, and the interesting thing about it is that they were not my memories, but the memories of my beloved grandmother. The memories of someone who passed away six years ago. The memories of those who have come before and yet, still linger around me like a distant, slowly dissipating perfume, quietly awakened on the wisp of an unexpected breeze. A stack of love letters written by my very smitten grandfather as he wooed his future wife until she just had to say yes. He often addressed her as "Kid" in those early writings. Funny. Newspaper clippings, yellowed with decades and decades of time, paper as delicate as butterfly wings. Wisps of almost nothing, and yet, oh so much. An amethyst rock lifted from some national park by my grandparents as they vacationed with friends. I used to pick up this fine specimen with my tiny hands when I was a small child visiting my grandparents house in the Bronx, marveling at its incredible beauty while often begging to take it home. My grandmother did not give it to me until much, much later in my life when the memories became more important than the object which held them.

There were other things my grandmother gave me. Photos, trinkets, table clothes and a very lovely diamond ring that she wanted me to have while she was still alive to watch me enjoy it. She wanted to make sure that these things, these treasured memories and valued objects, would end up in the right hands.(Or on the right hand, as the diamond ring is so lovingly worn!) My grandmother impacted my life in a way that is difficult to describe yet, so easy to recall. She was a strong woman with an incredibly hearty laugh. She loved to laugh, especially at the inadvertent(sometimes, inappropriate) jokes my father would make to entertain and amuse her. Her friends used to tell me that I have her easy laugh and I love that, even now. I am proud of it. Very, very proud of it. She adored my dad and was so apparently proud of him. No matter how old she got, she was still like a Mother Bear to him. In her eyes, he was perfect. My grandma was extremely intelligent and kept up on all of the current events. She had an opinion! Oh boy, did she have an opinion, but she was kind-hearted, generous and loyal to a fault. She loved my husband, fiercely. She introduced him as her grandson, never, ever her grandson-in-law. I would sometimes have to explain to people that I was her granddaughter and that he was my husband, but none of that mattered to her. Mark was her grandson. There were times when I thought that she doted much more lovingly on my husband than she did upon me, but that was always okay with me. He loved her, too.

My grandmother spent most of her life in the Bronx, New York until my dad and I agreed that she could not live that far away, anymore. We were her only family and it was becoming increasingly harder for my dad to fly back and forth between coasts when she needed someone to advocate for her health. It was then that we decided to move her out to CA. I cannot say that she was happy about it, at first. She had her friends, her life, her entire history on the east coast. But, the people who cared about her most in the world lived an entire country away from her, and so, somewhat reluctantly, she agreed to change coasts. At first, she would not admit how much she enjoyed living out here, comparing everything to its counterpart in NY. But slowly, she began to admit how much she really enjoyed being close to her son, her granddaughter and her grandsons(My brother, too) and all of her great-granddaughters. For the last twelve or so years of her life, she lived only several minutes away from me. I became much more than her granddaughter. I honestly think she almost believed that I was more like a daughter to her. And as she became more dependent upon the care of others, Mark and I and my dad(He lives a couple of hours away from us), would tend to her in ways that only loving, caring, compassionate family members would do.

And when the end of her life so sadly came, Mark, my father, his wife and I, all sat down together and lovingly discussed the options and allowed her to slip away with as much dignity, compassion and love as we could gift to her. When we decided that her transition from this world to whatever lies beyond was immanent, I allowed my dad to leave the hospital, and I crawled into bed with her and gently told her that she had done good. That her life was one well-lived and that she would be missed terribly, but that it was okay for her to close her eyes and fly. At 91 years of age, she deserved not to be in pain anymore. We let her go and she let go...

So now, I am the memory-keeper. I lovingly share my grandmother's memories, stories, trinkets, photos, and eventually, the diamond that I wear on my right hand, with my own children and God willing, someday my future grandchildren and great-grandchildren. When the time comes for me to release the objects which tell so many parts of the story, I will pass them openly and willingly on to my own daughters and grandchildren. By then the stories will be so much a part of who I am, that they will fill every single cell within my body, like the DNA that we all share. Like the love that we all share. Because in the end, that is all that really matters.

I Kissed a Girl and I Liked it; Well, Sort of~

2011-03-01T19:21:00.000-08:00

When we first met up with Jen, Jack, Kate and Gretchen, they were exhausted, overwhelmed and covered in Disney pixie-dust. They had spent the day shlepping around Disneyland, Moo-Moos and all, and as wonderful as that can be, it is tiring beyond measure. Jack snuggled into each one of us as he dreamed peacefully about flying, about all of the stuff that nine year old boys dream of after a busy day at Disneyland. When he woke up momentarily, he crawled sleepily into my lap, looked at me with his big, gorgeous brown eyes, and took the Moo-Moo that he was holding and wrapped its fuzzy legs around my neck. Before I received a hug from my boy, I received one from his loyal, somewhat stinky, but oh-so-well loved friend. I melted into a puddle of mush. Jack is not that much shorter than I am, but he fit perfectly into my lap. We sat heart to heart as Jack sunk back into blissful slumber, clinging to my neck the entire time. I kissed the top of his precious head more times than I can count, knowing that I would not have as much of an opportunity to do so once he arose from his sleep. Jack is, after all, a nine and a half year old boy. He smelled like sweetness and boy-sweat and angel, all in one. An intoxicating nectar which captured my senses on a level that I can hardly describe(especially being the momma of only daughters). I sat for a few minutes taking it all in. This boy, our boy, who I hadn't seen since he was under a year old, felt like one of my own. Somehow, the embrace lined our hearts up perfectly. I could feel the unbridled energy of this little boys heart connecting with the rhythm of my own and it was good. I could feel our hearts connecting as if to say, "Ah, there you are." Jen always said that she felt as if Jack and I were kindred spirits. When the food showed up at our table, I refused to let go of Jack's sleepy body so my beloved husband cut my food up and fed me careful bites over Jack's fuzzy head. Jen also took turns placing bites of chicken gently into my mouth while Angel Daughter Number Four bonded quickly with sweet little Kate. Kate, Jack's sister, is six and does not really like to have her picture taken, but I snuck in some cute ones with her permission, later on. The restaurant was noisy and full of other people, but the love at our table was affirming and intimate. After a while, a long while, I asked my husband if he would like to hold Jack. We passed him gently as he continued to sleep, a mixture of Disney-fatigue and strong pain medications. I watched Mark cradle this precious boy as they fell into one another. The look on my husband's face described the bittersweet feelings in his heart. So sweet.

Jack woke up when Jen and Gretchen were collecting their luggage from the hotel and he asked me if he could ride home in our car. He sat in the back seat with AD4 wearing his Mickey Mouse Pirate ears, chatting, asking lots of questions and cuddling. When AC/DC came on the radio(My husband loves rock music!), Jack asked if we could turn it up. He tapped his hand on his knee to the pounding rhythm of the music and watched out the window until he spotted a Carl's Jr. sign in the distance. I asked him if he wanted to stop and he said YES! He could have asked for the moon and we would have found a way to lasso it for him.

We set everyone up in our beach house and left them to rest the day off.

The next day when we got back to the house, Jen was taking pictures of Jack in the perfect sunset. Angel Daughter Number One and Angel Daughter Number Four hopped in for a few shots. We told Jack to give AD4 a kiss on the cheek. After a bit of coaxing and cajoling, Jack gave in reluctently.

Since we were on a role, we asked Jack to give AD1 a kiss so that she wouldn't feel left out. He started to get the hang of it very, very quickly! Soon, he was giving out kisses without making the face. He is such a trooper!

Well, sort of. Here is how Jen was really able to convince Jack to kiss on the girls. She used something a bit more tangible in the mind of a nine and a half year old boy, crafty mom. Bribery! When Jen began to renegotiate the terms after the kisses were already deposited, Jack started to get very upset. Somehow, the forty dollar price started to come down as Jen reminded Jack about some of his outstanding debts. His displeasure only lasted a few minutes and then, Jack was back to being his happy, smiley self again although I wasn't quite sure why. After all, he had been duped into kissing not only one girl, but two!!!

It was then that I noticed the two men with their heads together, my dear husband looking a bit satisfied with himself and Jack, holding his handmade, duct-tape(guys and their duct tape!) wallet in his hand. When I asked Jack what Uncle Mark had given him, he sheepishly withdrew a $100.00 bill(Dad, you would be very proud.) from inside of his wallet. Mark, understanding Jack's anguish over having negotiated a price for some photos and kisses, immediately pulled Jack aside, told him to share the money with his sister, and slipped a $100.00 bill into Jack's hand.(Sorry, Jen) But there could be no price too large to satisfy the heart of this precious little man. He is a unique old soul in a young, failing body who landed upon this earth to teach us all so very much. Quite honestly, I think he would have kissed the girls cheeks without being bribed, but don't tell any of his friends that. We will just leave it as an understanding between two men, and a $100.00 bill tucked safely into a duct-tape wallet. That is their story and they're sticking to it.

*More information on how to follow Jack in the post below.

Cancer Sucks Which is Why I am Choosing to be Crude This Time

2011-02-27T23:03:00.000-08:00

I am here. And I must share a bit about where I have been for the past several days and why it has been so difficult for me to come up with words and why my heart is constantly breaking into a billion, trillion pieces but how those shattered pieces are still very much alive and living in the people who now own them.

This is Jack. For those of you who might have missed my previous posts about this angel boy or for those of you whom I have more recently come to know, Jack is a nine and a half year old boy who has been living with cancer, neuroblastoma, for far too many years of his life. For those of you who took Jack into your own hearts at first sight, thank you. Your thoughts and prayers and encouragement for Jack's mothers have helped to hold them up when all they wanted to do was melt into a puddle on the ground beneath their own feet. First diagnosed at age three and then again, at age eight, Jack has fought a battle that most of us will never have to endure in an entire lifetime.(God willing.) Whenever I say that I am fighting the good fight, this amazing young angel shows up in my mind's eye and gives me the power to fight even harder. For HE has truly fought and continues to fight, The Good Fight. He has done so with bravery and resilience and more courage than I could ever begin to even claim to have. He has done so with a love for life that far too many healthy individuals take for granted even on their best days. He has done so with a heart so huge that it humbles me to know that it can still fit within his tiny, cancer ravaged body.

We have known Jack since well before he was born. His mommy has been a part of our lives for so many years. She was a teacher in the school that my daughters attended. Angel Daughter Number One who is now twenty-three, was in her fifth grade class, and Angel Daughter Number Two was lucky enough to have her as a teacher in both third and fifth grades. She is now twenty-one. We requested and insisted on Jen all three times. She and I became friends, which was not so easy at first because Jen, Jack's mommy, is a very private person. She didn't want to cross that parent-teacher "boundary". But, over time, she could not resist just letting me in bit by bit(I knew I would win her over, chocolate helped) and by the time she was ready to move from California to Georgia so that she could afford to stay home with Jack full-time, we had become close friends. Thank goodness for the Internet! We were able to remain close friends from a distance and stay updated on each other's lives. When Jack was first diagnosed with cancer, we wept and cursed and then cheered him on from across the country.

Last week, Jen brought Jack and Kate(her sweet six and a half year old) out to California. And although we did not have nearly enough time together, I understand that Jack's days are precious and that there was a huge amount that they wanted to pack into a four day trip. Thankfully, we were able to see them for two of those days.

These photos were taken the first night that we met up with Jack, Kate, Jen and Gretchen(Jen's sweet partner). Jack was very groggy from some of the new pain meds that he was on, but when he woke up, he asked if he could ride in our car on the drive down to our beach house. We were overjoyed! Jack has a herd of stuffed cows that accompany him everywhere. Jen sent me one when Jack was three. He calls them all "Moo-Moo". Angel Daughter Number Four is holding my Moo-Moo(who insisted on coming to visit with Jack and the herd!), Jack is holding his. It was a wonderful, bittersweet, sobering, but never to be forgotten, reunion.

I am so tired. I am punch-drunk on love. I am emotionally spent. And I am grateful, so gosh-darn grateful to have been able to share these precious moments with this boy, our boy. Your boy. I can guarantee you, part of your heart will be his, too. He is that incredibly special.

There will definitely be another "Jack" post to follow very soon, more pictures to share. In the meantime, feel free to stop by Jack's website and when you do, please leave a note of encouragement, prayer, love, support, or even just a hello for this beautiful family. They need all of the kindness that they can get right now, but also, you will find out what it is like to be truly touched by an angel. The earthly kind. For underneath all of the sadness, there is grace. So much grace. http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/campjack

With so much love,
Debbie

The Usefulness of Silence

2011-02-19T15:50:00.000-08:00

For some reason, I have not had the words to write, lately. From a somewhat practical perspective, I think it has a lot to do with the fact that the third anniversary of my beloved brother's death was this week and I always feel quiet when I am faced with the sadness. I miss him terribly.

But there have been sunnier moments such as the one above in which Rex climbed the screen and we decided to pose for a picture together. My furbabies always make me smile. We understand each other. And the relationship is all about love.(Well, for me anyway. Theirs might also have something to do with lots of food, warmth and THEN love.)

The wind is blowing down here at the beach. The rain is beginning to pelt against the windows and my dear husband is reading the newspaper beside me. I am content.

And to you I am sending so much love and light. Even when I am quiet. Especially when I am quiet.

Sugar and Spice

2011-02-08T19:56:00.000-08:00

Angel Daughter Number Four. My youngest. My baby.

To me, it is as if she was sprinkled with pixie dust and an extra dose of joy when she was born. Sent on her way to join her three older sisters for good measure. Bound and determined to become a part of our family, her daddy's contribution to the spark of this beautiful soul spent seventy two hours patiently in search of the other half of her DNA. You can hear her daddy describing her determination to the delivery room nurses(with a lot of pride in his little swimmers) in the video following her birth. She picked up on this recently while watching the video of her birth and with a look of absolute astonishment on her face, she turned to her father and I and proclaimed, "YOU HAD SEX FOR SEVENTY TWO HOURS WHEN YOU MADE ME???" By the time we were able to stop ourselves from laughing, legend had been born. And yet the truth is that our littlest Angel Daughter was not exactly planned. At least the timing was not ours, because we knew that we wanted to have a fourth child, just not right then. And obviously, since we were doing very little to prevent the possible conception of a baby, this little person was no mistake! Only a wonderful surprise. Not a birthday of hers goes by without my thanking God for her wonderful soul's persistence, determination, and strength. She is absolute proof that sometimes the greatest things in our lives are those which happen on their own time and not the time in which we believe is best. AD4 is the perfect argument for this.

On February 9, 1994, AD4 made her entrance into the world. She was quiet at first. So quiet, in fact, that the doctors went to extra lengths to make her cry.(I hope they didn't pinch her!) I think she was just taking it all in. For the first two years of her life, she was known as "the Great Observer" in our family because she intently absorbed everything that was going on around her. She didn't walk until about fourteen months, but from that day forward, I swear she danced through her days.

Now, at age 17, she is all wide-eyes and black hair with sassy blue bangs.

She is mile long eyelashes and freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. I used to tell her that the freckles were spots from where the sun kissed her cheeks. She is dimples and rose-colored lips.

She is focus and intensity and compassion. She is rhythm and movement and passion. She is wise beyond her now, seventeen years, most likely a result of the years she spent observing the way in which everyone else moved throughout the world. She is kindness and creativity. She is friendship and deep loyalty, fiercely devoted to those whom she cares about. She is all that is good about teenagers.

I love this sweet person with an intensity that I could only fathom after having brought four incredible daughters into this increasingly difficult world. And yet, because of AD4 and because of Angel Daughters Numbers One, Two and Three, I know that goodness can prevail. I know this because there is so much of it in all four of my daughters.

Happy, happy Birthday, Sunshine. I pray that your heart doesn't get broken too many times. I hope that when you break someone else's heart, you will remember how it feels and that you will go easier on them in the knowing. I know that you will have arguments with your best friends and that you will cry many tears over them. I hope that you will also find a way to patch things back up. You will find yourself sighing about how quickly time seems to pass. You will lose people you love, but you will find a way to keep them close, anyway. So please. Take too many pictures(even of people who don't like to stand still or who complain that you are clicking too many). Laugh too much and too enthusiastically. Hug long and try not to be the first to let go. Dance as if the world is your stage. Cheer for the ones you care about so that everyone else turns around to see who the crazy person is. Love as if your heart has never been broken. And never, ever give up. You have to face the same person in the mirror every single day of your life. Be happy, my sweet child. And most importantly, be grateful.

I love you, my seventeen year old Angel girl.

Rushing in

2011-01-31T16:02:00.000-08:00

Somehow the birds seem to sense when there is a storm forming on the horizon. Their flight patterns change from smooth and flowing to erratic and haphazard. They seem to whirl around in a vortex of confusion, riding solely on the currents of the incoming onslaught. They stretch their wings as wide as possible. They prepare.

The skies and seas change from grey to silver to a bluish, pearly, sterling. I watch as all of this plays out before me. I see the fury. I see the beauty. And there is value in all of it. In all of it.

Yesterday, as I remained safely ensconced inside of our home, I observed as the sky darkened rapidly over the pier. I thought about change. I thought about transformation. I thought about how the storm would rush in whether I wanted it to or not. I thought about how life presents us with options and choices and paths to be taken, oceans to navigate, puzzles to unpuzzle. But nothing is easy. Nothing is easy. I felt my own resistance curling, squeezing deeply within the core of my belly. Fear? Aversion?(The stomach flu?) What is it that truly holds us back. I wonder. I wonder. I struggle.

But like the birds, who eventually find their way out of the funnel of the storm, I breathe in, I let go, I spread my wings out further and farther than the discomfort seems to allow. And I speak prayers of healing, of forgiveness, and of strength; out loud. I allow them to get caught up in the whirlwind of the oncoming storm. I squeeze my eyes shut. I wait for the answers. And I know which is stronger.

Submerged Rocks

2011-01-20T14:35:00.000-08:00

I don't know what it is about the month of January that begins in a familiar darkness for me, but then very slowly moves my spirit into a lighter, more transformational place. I am not sure at what point the dissension initially occurs, the moment at which the downward spiral takes its initial turn causing me to unknowingly burrow down deep, receding into what feels a bit like depression.(if I was a depressive type of person, which characteristically, I am not) But it is something that I have come to acknowledge over the past eight years or so, ever since I spent six weeks during a particularly rainy January/February, sitting with my ninety year old grandmother in the hospital, watching her slowly whither away while not being able to give in to her wishes for me to "put a pillow over her head" so that she did not have to withstand anymore. She was ready to leave, her ninety years on this earth filled with mostly productivity and fullness, and I was waiting it out by her side, saying farewell but not knowing when the end would come. She and I were very close. In many ways, she looked upon me more as a daughter than as a granddaughter. I share her hearty laugh. I share her generosity and her love of the written word. I share her sense of humor and her sense of loyalty, her sense of duty to those we love. And so, I shared in her responsibility, taking care of four young daughters who required my full-time attention while giving my grandma the rest. We moved her out to a facility near where my father lives(two and a half hours away, much too far for him to drive on a regular basis) after we understood that she would need full-time care, and slowly, the time slipped away from her. It began with the sad fact that she no longer remembered my two youngest daughters, and then, she stopped reading, stopped eating and slept for much of the day. She was putting the proverbial "pillow" over her own head, wishing herself into no longer. The entire process took six months, beginning in that early January and then finally releasing her on my birthday in July of that same year. There is no irony lost on me when it comes to the fact that she made her final transition on my birthday morning that summer. She and I had several interesting conversations in the week leading up to her death and I knew that where I was dropping her off on this side of life, her own mother would be picking her up on the other side. I found it all, quite humbling.

The January after my grandma passed, my mother had knee-replacement surgery. She behaved much like a spoiled child and gave me weeks of aggravation. Let's just say that when she threw her food tray across the room because the doctor decided it was time to cut off her morphine supply, I decided that it was time for me to spend less time sitting with her in the hospital. Good decision...

And then, three years ago on February 17, 2008, my younger brother died. I won't delve into the details about that here as I have written about them many other times on this blog, but his death raised the bar to an entirely new level.

So while I began this by saying that I am not entirely sure as to why January tends to begin in a fairly dark place for me, by backtracking a bit, I admitted myself into a moment of absolute clarity. By allowing myself to retrieve some of the more difficult pieces that I like to forget, I transitioned myself into a space of clearer understanding and even, compassion. Compassion for myself. Understanding. Transformation. Allowance.

Yesterday, I took a long walk on the beach. Not a search for sea glass or sunsets, but a search for answers and understanding. Each year, I try to come up with a word that will help to direct me and keep me focused for the year. I do not remember what that word was for 2008. That was the year that I lost my brother and I think that as a self-protective measure, the word left my consciousness. In 2009, the word was patience. Lord knows I needed a good dose of patience for all of the nonsense that was only just beginning! In 2010, because there are no rules to any of this(except for the ones that I make up for myself), the only appropriate word that rang throughout my mind was once again, patience, and I went with it. Yesterday, as I walked on the beach at a pace much quicker than my usual beach walk, the word floated into my consciousness. Transform. I rolled the word around inside of my mind for a bit. Transformation. I thought about what it means and how it pertained to who I am now. I considered the somewhat negative connotation to the word. Change. But more about the positive. Metamorphosis. And then I thought about the things which we submerge in spaces that we think will somehow protect us. All of the stuff that we bury in those dark places, only to have them haunt us in ways that we have tried to hide from. We minimize their importance, the strong influence of which they have upon our lives.

And yet, if we search a little harder and a bit deeper, we might actually find our way back up into the light, just by taking the time to acknowledge the darkness. Just as submerged rocks can prove to be a serious danger when we are unaware of their presence, when we try to cover up the events in our lives which affect us so profoundly, they can only become dangerous obstacles to the evolution of our souls. Of who we are and who we are meant to become.

The sun is shining brightly today. It is warm, about eighty degrees and I can hear a bird calling in the distance. I have allowed myself to spend some time in the darkness, thinking, exploring, contemplating and just being. It is now time for me to climb back into the light, step by step, moment by moment, breath by breath. This is a choice that I am making, this climb, this transformation. We all hope to transform ourselves but most of us also fight change. I am giving up that fight.

Do you have a word for 2011?

Tides Change

2011-01-11T15:58:00.000-08:00

I am thinking back about a year ago. I am thinking about where I was almost exactly a year ago to this day, and where I have been over the course of the past three hundred eighty some odd days which have carried me to where I am now. I have been wrapped inside of the thoughts both consciously and inadvertently, sometimes surprising myself with sobering contemplation and at other times, stopping to whisk back to a thought that seemed to whisper in and out without notice. Cogitating and ruminating...And missing the heck out of those two wonderful children.

A year ago, on January 4, 2010, our attorney went before the Court to obtain a trial date for which we would plead our case as paternal aunt and uncle of my two young nieces to attain visitation. I wrestled with this idea for the better part of two years but when my brother's wife, my sister-in-law, told me that she was going to keep my nieces from me and my family without any semblance of sanity, my thoughts became action. It was necessary and loving and fiercely loyal on my part. It was cruel and calculated and filled with hate for my SIL to keep the girls from us and us from them. The lack of reasons we were given, strongly enforced the importance of doing everything within our power to remain positive, caring figures in these children's lives. We couldn't, nor wouldn't, give up on them. They had already lost far too much. And so, at the start of 2010, our fight to stay in our nieces lives began.

In April of 2010, we went to the courthouse fully expecting to go through a trial. Sadly, my SIL's attorney barraged us with irrelevant and unnecessary requests for personal information(that of which we always provided), canceled court dates, and did everything he could in order to postpone the date, time and time again. My SIL was VERY insistent that she did not want a court order. Her attorney made us an offer while we were sitting in the courthouse cafeteria while awaiting our trial time, and after some back and forth, we came to an "agreement"(for lack of a better word) that was neither binding nor court ordered. We reluctantly settled because we were told that we could go back to plan A if at any time, things were not going well. Things did not go well. Tomorrow(1/11/11), our attorney will stand before the Court once again, requesting a date for trial. Another year gone by, only five visits with the children in 2010, and more stress and money to be expended. But here is the thing. Whereas last year, I was feeling wrung out by this whole situation, I now find myself approaching what is to come, with a new found resilience and strength that wasn't as apparent before. My center is calmer, I am clear about what I must do, and this is not the first thing that I think about when I wake up in the morning, and the last prayer on my heart at bedtime. Like the pains of childbirth, I can cognitively remember the deep-seated physical anxiety that I felt at this time last year, but, like the pains of labor, the memory is no longer causing any physical discomfort. I know what it feels like, I know that it was worth the effort, and hopefully, like labor, my efforts will be well worth the expenditure of pain.

I have come to a place in time at which I can consciously evaluate the growth and transformation which has taken place over the course of a year. And instead of constantly bombarding myself with self-depreciating scare tactics and unnecessary angst, I feel change in the way that I am responding to something that is greatly disconcerting. I feel as if I have come a long way in accepting what is, even if "what is" is extremely unsettling. I am not expecting to go through this trial without experiencing some anxiety or difficulty or pain. But I am pleased with the knowing that I will be able to handle those feelings in a different way. A clearer way. A way that will not put as much undue stress and strain on my mind and on my body.

Have Faith

Moons Change

Tides Change

Times Change

We Change

*Post-Script-The Court assigned a date for something called a "Mandatory Settlement Conference" which is over seven weeks away. If we do not come to a settlement on that date, then a date for trial will be assigned at that time(another six-eight weeks past that date). I am allowing myself to "feel" this for the next several hours and then no more. No more.