What the Falcon Told me

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...

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

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.

Some Thoughts on Casey Anthony

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.

Wings

Something about the light.  The shades and shapes.  The subtle melding of hues.  The way in which each   bird took its form against the background, reminded me as to how we each use our words to create a picture.  One word building upon another.  An idea clearing into focus.  A story which now exists where there once was none.

Watching the small flock of birds feeding outside of my window, I allowed my mind to wander into both dark and light.  Color and shade.  Stillness and movement.  And I began to consider the movement.  The rest. The fluttering of wings.  The fluttering of wings.

And I began to consider how just as the fluttering of wings can compel another bird into movement, the words of another can invoke more words and more words and more words.  With my story building upon yours and your story building upon mine until the ideas become fluid.  Rippling words concentrically building outwards until there are new meanings to be found.  Unique ideas.  Fresh stories being created in the quiver of an original word.

Each one of us has a hopping-off point.  A point at which something, or more importantly, someone, inspires us.  Moves us.  Motivates us.

We then land in the space where we are more able to nurture our own ideas.  We take sustenance from the words of others, and then when things are done correctly, we use those words to ignite our own notions.

It is a process that allows us to stretch our own wings.  Our own thoughts take shape and we are inspired to fly!  The words come and we compose our own unique flight-patterns.  All built upon the feeling that we get when we read something that inspires the soul out of its momentary rest.

And sometimes, the results are just breathtaking.  Our wings spread further and farther than even we ever imagined that they could.

Our hearts open wide.

And the beating of our wings, of our heart, take on another rhythm which also includes the rhythm of the words that came before.  From someplace else.  From someone else.  And an even richer story is launched into flight.

So I continue to read.  I read books, many, many books.  I read your blogs, filled with your words of life and hope.  Yesterdays and somedays.  Tomorrows and right nows.  I study my surroundings.  I take in all that I can.  I listen.  Talk radio happens to be one of my favorite mediums.  I fall asleep listening to words and ideas, and I continue listening even as I slumber.  The voices become part of my dreams.  I study color and shape and movement.  Not only the obvious, but the subtleties behind what is initially notable.  And my own wings begin to flutter with all of the possibilities.

This last picture caused me to think about how we share so much of who we are when we write things down.  And whether we share our words through publications, books or blogs, we never know exactly when something that we have said, will resonate with someone else, and so on, and so on, and so on.  Words, your words, can be just the flutter that might inspire someone else's flight.  Never underestimate the power in that.

Flutter on.