My Nest

It's been awhile since I posted last. Lots has happened in the interim. And I do mean A LOT. Hard things. Good things. Sad things. Exciting things. Things are changing. Things are beginning. Things are dying. Things are being birthed.

And I'm making my nest. In some ways I am making one for the first time in my life. The image of a "nest" has been with me for almost exactly a year now. It has come to represent everything that I need and want in my life. It is a personal nest and it is one that I alone can build for myself. Each twig is something I have picked for myself because I know that it is something that I want and need to form my nest. The purpose of my nest is to support, shelter and nurture myself. And my babies. For me that nest needs to provide:

• Health
• Security
• Safety
• Wholeness
• Sustenance
• A place to grow things
• Peace
• Creativity
• Sacred space

The interesting thing about a "personal nest," as I have dubbed these nests we build for ourselves (and our children) is that when we make a list of what we need and want in that nest, there can not be another human being's name on that list. If so, it isn't a strong nest.

Anything that is part of my personal nest being strong and supportive that means someone else has to behave a certain way or make me feel a certain way is just not going to work. If someone else is a piece of the foundation of my personal nest, the entire nest is compromised. I can not truly be authentic. My security and safety becomes linked to a certain person behaving a certain way, doing certain things, making me feel certain ways, etc. and therefore I have to do x, y and z to keep that part of my nest intact.

I think we DO, however, build "relationship nests" with other people. We co-create these relationship nests in a way that works for both people in the relationship. The error I have made in the past, over and over, was neglecting to build a "personal nest," first and foremost, and instead trying to make a "relationship nest" INTO my personal nest. And that is the fastest way for a relationship nest to fall apart. And when it does, if I did not have my own personal nest intact, I am nestless.

I don't know how to co-create relationship nests well. I am learning. But right now, in this season of my life, my focus is on creating my own PERSONAL NEST, first and foremost. And I'm doing it. Slowly but surely. Day by day. And it's incredible. The twigs and moss and other elements that I know I need and want in my nest are showing up in my path. I literally just have to bend and pick them up.

About a year ago I went to an "Art for Healing" class in Bakersfield. We made a collage in the class. The task was simple: collage what you want to manifest in your life. I didn't have a plan when I started going through magazines looking for things that caught my eye. I just started cutting. And before long what I had in front of me was something incredible: My Nest. I had collaged my personal nest. The nest I wanted but did not yet have. Here's the finished collage:

A year later I am stunned and delighted to see that I am creating my own little nest that has everything in that collage, either intact or in process. I am on my way to taking care of myself and my "chicks," as my friend, Wendy, would say. I am in the process of finding a "community." There are red chinese lanterns, a studio in my dining room, candles, a backyard that I am excited to create into sacred space, photos everywhere and even a truly "magic occupancy" of my new nest.

The way I got here is not how I would have planned it. There has been and is so much heartache on the road that I traveled to get here. I wish I could heal the hearts of those I've hurt. But I KNOW, with everything in me, that the only thing for me to do right now is to be 100%, unequivocally, unhesitatingly honest and authentic. That means I say I'm sorry to those I've hurt. It means I tell the truth about my feelings. It means I say what I want and need. It means I take responsibility for my own happiness and healing. It means I follow my heart today, tomorrow and every day from now on.

I'm excited. I feel peace like I never have. I have no idea what the future holds. I am not afraid.

AND

I'm lonely sometimes. I wonder how I got here. If there was another way. I mourn the losses of what was. I feel remorse for the pain I've caused others. I wonder why I couldn't have gotten HERE another way.

AND

I am here now. I don't have to do, be, feel, believe or think anything. There is no relationship nest that I must keep intact in order to feel taken care of, provided for, safe and secure. I had no idea how much of my almost constant anxiety was connected to my lack of a personal nest. I didn't know I could feel so much peace. So much hope. I didn't REALLY understand Julian of Norwich's "All will be well, and all manner of things will be well" until now. I get it. I do. I have never felt so "well."

I have no clue what tomorrow will bring. I don't even know what I will do with the rest of today. I know it will involve reading, eating healthy food, relaxing (I already ran today), writing a little, watching a movie perhaps, watering the grass, sitting outdoors with a glass of wine once it cools off, chatting with friends on the phone, and continuing to, little by little make my little nest more and more of a "home." And that's enough.

  

Beads and String

A couple weeks ago I got a phone call from one of my sisters telling me to hurry over to my grandparents' house ("NOW!") because it looked like he had only hours, perhaps just minutes, left to live. That afternoon and evening we sat around my grandfather's bed, crying, laughing, praying, reading Bible passages, telling stories, whispering our goodbyes into ears we weren't sure could hear, hugging and kissing the unconscious form we had been held so lovingly by for all our lives.

His breathing improved instead of getting worse as the night wore on. Eventually most of us decided we needed to go home and get some rest, since it looked like he could carry on in the state he was in for many more hours, or even days.

When I came back the next morning, he was still breathing, and continued to do so all that day. There were several moments where we thought the end was near, but mostly we sat in the room that had always been "Pop Pop's puzzle room," talking about anything and everything. I ended up spending the night that night and falling asleep for a few hours in my grandparents' bed, in Pop Pop's place next to my grandmother. We were shakened awake by the hospice nurse, who said we needed to go to the puzzle room right away. He had gone quickly and suddenly.

But all during that last day while we sat around talking and holding vigil, I kept my hands busy. I brought some elastic string and some purple beads with me and I threaded the beads onto the string, one by one, as the hours ticked by. I'd brought them thinking it would be something to keep my hands busy, since sitting still in one place can sometimes be hard for me. What I didn't realize is that what started as a way to pass the time became something incredibly sacred.

Though I can't remember what we talked about that day, and the sight of his thin, pale face as he lay there in the middle of the room, all of us in chairs around him, is beginning to fade already, I still have the bracelets I made that day. Each bead was threaded in those last precious minutes with him. Each bracelet represents the almost holiness of the room in which one of the men I loved most breathed, in and out, in and out, in and out, during those last minutes and hours.

"Like a rosary," my friend said, when I told her about it on the phone today. Yes, I guess it's a bit like that. All I know is that those bracelets are more sacred than almost anything I own. The cost of the materials was under $5 but those simple purple bands are now priceless.

Yesterday I was going through some emotional pain, but I also had several friends on my mind, all of whom are also suffering pain of different kinds that I feel helpless to ease. And then I remembered the bracelets I made while keeping vigil beside Pop Pop's bed. I pulled my string and beads out again with an idea.

For hours I sat on my bed stringing bright pink beads on elastic string, one by one, and with each bead that I added, I said something either aloud or in my head. Prayers of a sort, at times. Expressions of love. Each bracelet represented a person, and it took a good five to ten minutes to string each one, so I was able to say many, many things to and for each person that I had in mind.

At first I "prayed" one bracelet for the several friends whose pain I am so aware of. Then I kept going and made more for others in my life. Things I see in them. What I hope for them. How sorry I am for hurting them. Thanking them for being in my life.

The sentiments that came to mind or out of my mouth as I threaded the elastic through each and every bead were things like:

"You are so strong and I want so much for you to feel that strength."
"I am so sorry; I was doing what I thought best but now I see that I hurt you so much."
"I hope you can have the courage to take the next step in your journey, no matter what others think."
"I love your sensitivity and cuddly little girl ways."
"I'm sorry I have made you feel that you are too much."
"I want to mirror you to yourself so you can see how gorgeous you are."
"I want you to walk your journey, even if it's away from me."
"You love so fiercely."
"I don't know where I'd be without your friendship."
"I want for you to have a 'nest' of your own making."
"I wish you could see my 'I'm sorry' in my eyes."
"I love you so much."
"When I imagine you acting and living without fear, I weep, because you have NO IDEA how bright you shine."

Those are just a few of the things I "prayed," for lack of a better term. Tears poured down my cheeks through most of the minutes I spent doing this. And then as I tied the end of each finished bracelet to itself to form the bracelet, I said, "I tie myself to you. I love you. I will always love you. I will never stop loving you."

The exercise of doing this was one of the most moving experiences I've had in a long time. The words that came out were words that said what I have thought and felt about these dear ones, but in many cases, never verbalized. I was also startled to find that some of the feelings I had toward those I was praying to/for had never even come to the surface of my consciousness until then. I was saddened that, though I try so hard to mirror those I love to themselves, that they might see what I see and feel what I feel as I experience them, I have not said MOST of the things to them that I found myself saying to their bracelets.

Today I've worn the bracelets and have felt a funny closeness to each one of those people for whom I made a bracelet. The things I said to them are things that, in many cases, I am going to find an opportunity to tell these dear ones, as soon as I can. Though I stopped praying to "God" years ago, I have for awhile now told friends and family that I "hold them in my thoughts," and I do. Often I imagine pulling them into an embrace. Some say they can "feel" that, even from far away. All I know is that it feels like loving them. Making these bracelets in the way I did felt not just like an embrace of them, but like an intimate conversation with them and their spirits, and it felt so good and so right.

A Flower Fairy Party




We finally had Rachel's friend party this past weekend! The theme was Flower Fairies and everyone had so much fun.

 


  The beautiful flower fairy that Rachel is holding was hand-created by my friend, Pat.



 






James is really good at face-painting.

  



Some of his handiwork!





The cake was handmade by our friend, Sarah Waters

 


Rachel and Daddy







First step in the Fairy Garden project was for each child to pick a bowl (James had cut a hole in the bottom of each one) and to fill it with potting soil. Then each child got to pick from several different types of flowers and place them wherever they wanted to. Then they added things like moss, glass half-marbles, seashells, coral, spools, sticks, small circular mirrors to look like little "pools," and even cut fairy clothes out of fabric in case the fairies might need new dresses.

   


Rachel's grandma helping her tie string to some stick to make a fairy clothesline!





One of the finished fairy gardens!

 


Another one!

 



And another...

 

tiny little details!




Even Andrew got into it. He is sure the boy fairies will prefer his garden.

 



Another beautiful fairy garden by one of the girls...

 

We had such a great time. If you would like to create fairy garden like the ones we made, all you need are the following materials:

-Large plastic bowls or pots. Be sure that there is a hole/slit in the bottom for water to drain out.

-A pan or dish for the bowl to sit in. I bought these bowls and matching dishes for $1 each at WalMart.

-Potting soil

-Several diferent types of flowers or other plants. Even cactus would be fun.

-Moss (fake or real), pebbles, sticks, half-marbles, shells and other fun additions can be purchased at the craft store or even found in your yard or park.

Have fun! :)

Extravagant Love

Yesterday was my grandfather's funeral and memorial service. Here is what I said about my Pop Pop at the memorial service (or rather, what I sobbed):

Pop Pop loved me in a way I can only describe as extravagant.  The dictionary defines extravagant as "excessive, beyond what is reasonable, spending too much." Pop Pop not only gave extravagant gifts, but he loved extravagantly, in a no-holds-barred, joyful and fierce sort of way. And he loved me that way, as he often reminded me, from the moment he laid eyes on me. He didn't just tell me he loved me, although he did a lot of that, as well! He couldn't get enough of me and he let me see and know that. He allowed his love for me to shine out of his eyes. Often when he told me he loved me, his eyes would fill with tears that he didn't even try to hide. He loved me with every bit of himself and he made sure I knew it.

Years ago I was watching Oprah and an author came on the show. I don't remember everything she said but one thing stood out. She said, "it changes a child if, whenever she walks in a room, someone's eyes light up when they see her." I remember thinking when I heard that, "That's Pop Pop." He adored me and I was always sure about that. I think when a child grows up held in a love like that, she is altered. 

Being held securely in Pop Pop's love is what made me sure that love can be unconditional. It taught my heart to love fiercely, totally, and extravagantly. It taught me that you can never love another person too much.

That Pop Pop loves me is something I'm more sure about than almost anything in the world. The last time I visited with him the last thing he said to me as I was about to leave was something he's said a hundred times at least. He said it with the same look on his face that he always has when he says it ... a look of absolute adoration filling his whole face.

"You know I love you ..." he said, his eyes damp.

And then I said what I have said back to him a hundred times.

"Yes, Pop Pop, I know that more than I know almost anything else. I'm more sure of that than just about anything in my whole life."

And though his spirit is no longer in the body whose lap I sat on, whose hand I held, whose eyes I saw love in for my entire life, I am just as sure of his love now as I ever was.

"I do not approve. I am not resigned."

A poem, "Dirge Without Music," that my sister, Whitney, showed me today, that says my heart about my Pop Pop's death:

"I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.


Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains,—but the best is lost.


The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,—

They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.


Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

-Edna St. Vincent Millay 1892–1950



The same thought, expressed in 5-year-old language by my son, Andrew, this afternoon, in protest against Pop Pop's heart/spirit no longer being present in the body we have known and loved:

"Mama,
They can just fix his body
And put his heart back in."

I love you, Pop Pop

Pop Pop and I at my wedding...

Pop Pop holding my son, Andrew as a newborn...

Pop Pop on the left being a good sport and wearing a lei for my party when I was little girl.

My butt. :) This is a pair of panties my grandparents brought back from Hawaii for me when I was an infant!

My first daughter, Emily, visiting with Pop Pop



James showing Baby Rachel, my second daughter, to Pop Pop



Pop Pop holding my oldest, Emily, in the hospital, shortly after she was born.

Pop Pop visiting with Baby Raychie, my second daughter...

My grandparents and I when I was baby...

My beloved "Pop Pop" died yesterday morning at home. It was such a privilege to spend most of the last two days and nights of his life with him as he slowly but surely passed out of his body and into what comes next. Feeling a lot of mixed emotions but overwhelmingly grateful I could be right there with him, that he is out of pain and that I learned to love and what it feels like to be loved from this incredible man. He isn't in his body. But his spirit hasn't moved or changed a bit. He is is right here. I love you, Pop Pop. Thank you for loving me so perfectly, unconditionally and extravagantly. No one has ever loved me the way you do, and I don't think anyone else ever will. I am so grateful to have you in my life.

Happy Valentine's Day!

"There are four questions of value in life:

What is sacred?

Of what is the spirit made?

What is worth living for?

And what is worth dying for?

The answer to each is the same.

Only Love."



An old Valentine's Day pic from (omg!) 5 years ago...still my favorite!



Sadness and Silliness

What a strange season this is.

There are hard things happening. My precious grandfather's health is declining and it is such a heart-rending thing to watch. Some days I feel strong and then other days the tears sneak up on me when I least expect them. Today it was while I was on the treadmill. I ran while I sobbed.

But at the same time there are beautiful things happening. My nephew, Jack, will be born in just over a month, and we are all so excited to meet him. Three of my four sisters and I spent a sisters weekend in Napa this last weekend and had a good time.

In the middle of my sadness this morning about my grandfather, my sister, Whitney, sent me some wonderful photos from this last weekend in Napa that made me giggle out loud. I don't have any doubt that my grandfather would have had a huge smile on his face if he could have watched and listened to our sister silliness.

This evening I am struck by the fact that what is good, happy and fun weighs just as much as grief, pain and sadness. That I can feel "both/and," and that what really matters is the heart-to-heart connection with those I am sharing this life with that exists in, around and through both the sadness and the silliness.

One Decade

I'm standing on a threshhold.

My big girl just turned ten. TEN. omg.

Tomorrow my baby boy starts kindergarten.

Today is not just Emily's birthday, but it's also marks a decade of parenting.

This decade has been both the best and the hardest decade of my entire life.

Emily asked me yesterday if I liked being a kid better, or being an adult. I said, "Being an adult, for SURE."

What a decade. I started being a Mama ten years ago, at 24. Today I can hardly believe I'm 34 and I have a TEN-YEAR-OLD. It's cliche for a reason: "It's HAS gone by so fast."

Today is also a marker of ten years of parenting "itty bitties." I've been mothering my less-than-school-age kids for a decade and tomorrow when I take my baby to kindergarten, I will go home to an empty house.

I'm not sad, though. I am excited. I WILL cry tomorrow when I close the car door and look back at the empty car seats. But I will be just as proud as I am weepy.

I'm proud of my kids. I'm proud of who they are. I love their spirits. I love the people that they are. I love that they are smart, kind, silly, strong, loving, stubborn as hell...and so much more. I'm proud to send these people out into the world. I'm so very proud to be their Mama. I love them so much.

And I'm proud of myself, too.

You Are Safe

The last few days I have been staying at my parents' condo in Pacific Grove, near Monterey, CA. My husband, kids and I came up here on Monday in two cars, we had a great time together until Wednesday and then they went on home. And I stayed here. Alone. We'd planned it for awhile now. Three days. Two nights. In fact, I'm still sitting here for a couple more hours before I drive home.

If you know me personally you know that last year at this time, I was living in my own apartment, spending days and nights alone, every other week. I should be used to being alone.

And yet I was what you might call "totally freaking out" Wednesday as I got my husband and kids ready to go home without me. It was a combination of not feeling comfortable driving in this area (I am incredibly directionally-impaired and don't have a navigational system or internet on my phone) but I was also worried about...I don't know exactly. Intruders. Getting lost. Some of the fear was just irrational. Nameless. It was just THERE.

But I put them all in the car and waved good-bye. I slept alone, ate alone, watched movies alone, read some, wrote some, sewed some, and even drove down to the Monterey Bay alone. I had a good map but sometimes maps confuse me more, so I....well, I figured it out. I got myself from the condo down to the ocean alone. And back again. I even parked the car on a downhill, which is something I usually avoid if at all possible.

When I got to the Bay I walked to a little area with a bench, overlooking the water. I watched the waves crash. I watched seagulls scavenging for food. I listened to people walking on the bike path behind me. I took a couple photos. And I listened.

The last couple days I have been intentionally "open," wanting to receive/hear what my heart is saying. Sometimes regular life is too loud, too fast and too full to really hear. I have had a sense of anticipation since I planned these days alone; I have felt that I have been here for a reason.

So I sat there last evening on that bench overlooking the Pacific, a cold wind whipping through my sweater and hair, and I listened. Or tried to. First the anxiety came as I realized that no one knew where I was.

"No one I know knows exactly where I am."
"What if someone walks up behind me and grabs my purse? My wallet and keys are in there."
"What if the car doesn't start when I get back to it?"

Irrational anxiety clouded my head and made my stomach churn.

And then my next thought interrupted the anxiety almost as if a voice spoke it.

"You are safe."

And everything shifted in that moment. If somehow I lost my purse, or even the cell phone in my hand, or if I got lost, or if...whatever happened...I would be o.k. I. Am. Safe.

Friendly, happy voices walking by on the path behind me reminded me that the world is full of good people. They reminded me of the DOZENS of people who love me enough to drop everything and come to my rescue if I were in danger. But even the people riding by on bikes seemed friendly. They would loan me a cell phone to call for help if I needed it.

With new eyes I looked around. Even the waves seemed friendly...the same water that might have washed up on the shore of New Zealand where some of my dear friends live. Everything around me suddenly felt "familiar." I felt a part of the grass at my feet, the salty air I was breathing in, the waves crashing on the rocks below where I was sitting. I felt comforted.

Even if the unthinkable happens. Even if everyone I love was swept away. Even if the apocalypse happened.

I am safe.

Today I've been watching movies and relaxing before I head back home. But I've also been stitching something with a needle and thread, my favorite way to sew. It's a little square of pretty quilted Durham rose fabric and layered on top is a cream poplin and a row of rhinestone trim. On the cream poplin I stitched in pink,  "You are safe." I cut the square the right size to put on a tiny canvas which I will hang on the wall at home. Maybe in my room. Or my studio. Not sure yet.

But when I look at it I will be reminded of these days I took for myself. How I did what I was afraid to do, no matter how silly that might sound to someone else. How I pushed through all sorts of fears to sit by the sea. Something so simple but that felt so scary and hard for me until I did it. And how my real self whispered to me what I can now carry back with me into my "real life."

You are safe.

Festivities!

Some photos from our little family birthday party for Rachel...

A Boy of Four

Dear Andrew,

Today my "baby" is turning four. I can hardly believe it! It's a little bitter-sweet that you're not a baby anymore but you are turning into such a wonderful little boy and I'm so proud to be your mama.

Thinking about the last four years, there are so many wonderful memories with you in it. You're my sweetheart, the love of my life and my little man. I love your big, brown eyes. I love your mischievous smile. I love the way you tell me you love me constantly and sing "Hey, I'll be gone today, but I'll be back around the way...it seems like everywhere I go, the more I see, the less I know...but I know one thing...that I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you" and dance around like a crazy person. I love your crazy break-dancing we don't know how you learned. I love the way you look when you are asleep. I love to watch you drawing, digging in the dirt and torturing your sisters. I love the way you hold my hand when we walk someplace. I love your sweet kisses. I love your chubby hugs.

I adore you, Drewbie.

Here are just a few memories from the last few years of birthdays....

This one is just hours before you were in my arms for the first time. You were huge!

Brand-New you with my daddy, Pee-Paw, who delivered you...

You turning ONE and trying cake for the first time...

You turning TWO...

Also turning TWO...getting your fire engine. You were just a LITTLE bit excited!

My big THREE-year-old...

And now...you're FOUR.

Mama loves you so much, sweetie. I'm the luckiest Mama in the world. I'm looking forward to spending this next year with my little man.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy...

Love,

Mama