Category Archives: musing

beach bird

It’s been such an intense day. I’m sitting here now, watching the shore darken from our hotel window. It’s got a wall to wall ocean view. Bu and the baby are walking out on the beach. She can’t get enough of it. She and I just returned from her second visit. Bu has adorable photos from the window of our room.

We drove in today about 2:00 pm, and immediately she wanted to walk to the edge of the lot to see the “osh.” She was giddy- more than I’d expected. She’s so little I didn’t know how much she’d grok ocean-being.

After we settled, we suited up and walked down to the beach to play in the high tide and video her reaction. We got a little snippet on our Fuji snapshot camera that takes short videos.

She was blissed way out. She loved sitting in the sand and waiting for the surf to wash over us and splash. When a big wave soaked us and she choked for a moment, she shook it off like a pro.

I sat there, butt in sand and hairy soft legs covered in salt, holding her around the waist as she squealed and splashed and giggled. I thought, “This is the best moment of my life.” I’m tearing now recalling it. The ocean gets me like that- I’ve only been to the Atlantic four (no- five. Maine, chilly on the Summer Solstice, always gets forgotten) times before this trip, but I feel a deep peace and belonging at the beach. Is that a human thing or just me? I dream of living on an island. Mom loved the beach like this too. She lived on Nag’s Head a while. We took her ashes to Cape Hatteras.

Sharing the ocean with my tiny girl, her honey curls with salty drops damp against my cheek, my chest shaking with her wild laughter- it was perfect in a soul-quieting, beautifully poetic way.

Bu was at our side with the camera, but the moment was like my very own. It’s a gift he gave me to let me hold her like that and be washed together in the tide. Tides… I love being here where I can see them and feel the rhythm of them surround me ankle deep while I walk along, drinking in the sound of it.

Molly has taken to asking to hold the moon. She points and yells “Moon: Hold?” and cups her hands. It turns me inside out. She does that with TV and books, too, (begging to hold the kitten or baby or Curious George) but the moon? She’s amazing.

I don’t know when I can actually post. The WiFi server’s down in the hotel. We are sharing a room now with the bridal couple. How shitty is that for them? If I’d have had to bunk with us pre-wedding, I’d probably have cancelled and scheduled a tubal ligation for the next morning:)

Bu and I are rocking the skillz, though. We’re discussing parenting more, being a better team. It’s a really difficult time for the three of us, but it’s punctuated with amazing faery like bursts of sweet toddler energy that balance the equation.

liberal, ftw! (or: let’s see which i can abuse more- the hyphen or the parenthesis)

Did y’all see this on Salon? It’s a great article about the leftifying of America and is full of excellent information that makes me feel positive and proud of my bleedy heart: Relax, Liberals, You’ve Already Won.

I also discovered, or was involved in co-discovery with, Lynn Alexander’s The Essential Industry. Lynn has a fascinating and smart blog she runs from Pittsburgh, my own Pet Big City. (I am sooo urban and hip because I lived in a gigantic city of wild burghiness for a whole ten months. Did you know?) Lynn has an insightful post about health care and the pure, unmitigated bullshit that is mandatory purchased health insurance.

I’m really enamored with the concept of her blog, i.e. that creative human enterprises are the only true essential industry. I love that the home of said blog is the steel-and-smoke-stained-stone scape of Pittsburgh. I love this, and (I’m reading so many incredible blogs based out of there) the idea that there is this change of the guard happening between evil, polluting, capitalist, eat-everything-in-it’s-path industry and hand-made/fair-trade/sustainable goods.  It  has obviously not reached the tipping point yet but  you can kinda feel the energy rising, y’know?

Somewhere while I was drinking in Lynn’s blog with my coffee this morning, I saw an allusion to the sort of apologetic or closeted stance liberals sometimes take. (Gak- can’t find it now.) But that along with the Salon article sort of buoyed my spirits. I felt like churning out a trillion liberal slogan teeshirts and wearing them everywhere or getting a tattoo on my forehead of a peace sign with a rainbow triangle and a pentagram and a venus symbol with a fist:)

I also Publicly Apologize for the terrific injustice I have done to you by forgetting to show link love to Thomai of MetaHara. Check out her video montage of her production projects- below- and read her journal.

this is my mantra for today

I am not the most obsessive-compulsive, it’s-never-good-enough person on this little spinney planet: I am not too picky to ever be happy.

I just have difficulty conceiving of details and small steps. However much I think I’m not, I am a primo, typical Aries in this way. I am teachable and mutable and still am growing. My faults are not inherent flaws; they are challenges and obstacles. There are many small worries, not One Giant Horrible Thing I’ve Fucked Up. Many of them simply need quiet and gentle attention and to be gifted with little bits of time.

Ganesha help me to rise to the challenges I create for myself, to learn from each perceived problem.

There is a need to remind myself stuff like:

  • there may be no perfect template on wordpressdotcom that fits my style exactly. It is OK to slowly learn the coding and it can be just pretty cool in the mean time. Aesthetic crap is not important enough to raise my blood pressure.
  • being cranky and resentful means I am a tired and utterly normal mommy, and does not mean I should file for freaking divorce.
  • whether or not to shave my legs for the beach trip is not a life changing decision. I am not on some Is She Feminist Enough? reality show where women with Ph.D.’s and hemp menstrual pads will vote me off the island if I decide to shave my legs. Likewise, it’s highly unlikely that a sorority of tanned blonde bikini people will gang up on me and kick sand at me if I show up in my normal mammal state at Daytona Beach. I won’t ruin the wedding because the bride’s mom will be so busy tsk tsk ing at the photographer’s wife’s hairy pale legs that she’ll miss the kiss. Won’t happen.
  • if I want to be a work at home mom, I have to WORK AT HOME. It is not a sin to use a babysitter (‘specially loving family babysitter) if I’m not at the day job. Two year olds zOMG need to be attached to mommies, and this makes for me not working. Someday working on my creative stuff will seriously pay off, but I have to invest intention, attention, time, and effort now. This is not neglect of my baby. This. IS. NOT. Neglect. Of. My. Baby.

OK. Thank you for holding my hand, tiny therapist priestesses who live in teh web.

strange skinny

This week an old lover popped up on MySpace. *Snort* The word “lover” sounds so serious. I’m not the type to have had “lovers”. I mostly have just hooked up with nice enough partners or been a wife or wife-type figure. So, I usually call this dude a booty call in conversational Daisyspeak, or an ex-boyfriend if I want to appear to have been a decorous and virtuous girl who would refrain from odd, unattached, recurrent sex with interesting gypsie-like people. Or, here, I think I called him a satyr when I blurbed our brief hotness during all the sex posts.

So. I was surprised to see that he’s gained a lot of weight. He was boney-angular-I-cut-myself-on-his-hipbones skinny when we had our brief groove thing. Now he’s pretty chunky. I was really surprised, because his skinny body seemed very much part of my concept of who he was. Somehow that his body was trim and light, all cat-like and martial artsy, was part of the power I saw him as possessing. His willowy body was proof that he owned his body more than I owned mine- and fundamentally it seemed that his compact, thin body was superior to my loose softness. (It’s weird to compare body size with a male- I have never been so conscious about the weight disparity in spite of being with other skinnier guys. You know that thing where a woman will complain her guy is prettier than she is? It was like that maybe…)

It spurred a lot of thought about who I was then, and how I’ve grown like a star going supernova since then. My body is the same weight and size as it was then- with the new gift of an even softer belly with silver stretch marks. I am so much more in my body, though. I have an increasing sense of unity with it, a knowing that “I am it” rather than “I am in it.” I imagined having a partner with that sinewy taut body and thought how different it would be now, that it wouldn’t intimidate me. Of course, I am still unsatisfied with carrying more weight than I feel is comfortable. I sense that in a different way- as a health and spiritual goal more than some sort of flaw in my beauty or person. The whole musing was an examination of the relationship between weight and sexual power. I have decided that I’d love to feel an ever-increasing connection with my body’s motion. Need more workouts, more dancing, more sex. That’s what it’s about- moving the body, honing muscle and finding its harmony with bone and balance. The power we exude is in our confident motion, not in some pose in the mirror.

(It was a pleasant little stock-taking. Very nice to arrive at an idea that I’ve improved myself since that time when I was a mess of a girl. It wasn’t even so long ago. I reflected being with Bu most of the intervening years, how my energy with him is infinitely more me than it had been with the satyr. I thought about mom dying, and how that was an instantly, powerfully sobering experience. It was dizzying and nauseating to be flung so quickly into ones own future. It started a profound change deep within me that motherhood has completed. I wish this old gypsie friend well… he has also lost his mother and gotten married.)

commercialism, laziness, and not so much with the weaning

We’ve ordered a Little Mermaid cake. The Bird is obsessed with Her Fishy-taled-ness lately. I’m cranky. There’s a thread on my local mommy board about how many of the mamas shun licensed characters and TV. It brought up some icky feelings. Loving the concept of monitoring all that your kids are exposed to and keeping their childhood as innocent as humanly possible. (Also am very sick of fast-forwarding through the scary bits and feeling guilt for letting her watch videos that are too mature for her. And in less coherent moments of annoyance, raging at Disney for being such a twisted bunch of scary fucks in the first place.)

However: I’m absolutely too exhausted from thinking about every little thing. Also pretty sure that a Disney-inclusive childhood did not ruin me. She has massive mermaid squee and it’s hard to ban anything that makes the munchkin that freaking happy. (The video came in a load of hand-me-downs and she was enchanted from the moment she saw the box. A fishy! A princess! A princess who is fishlike! zOMG!)

Is it just laziness that makes me resent the feeling that doing things in accordance with my parenting intuition is a constant uphill battle against everyone and everything in our environment? It’s not a real big deal to me, this Disney Princess thingy- I suggested the cake theme. It’s just swimming ’round there in my brain, being examined. I’m just sick to death of feeling like I have good ideas but not doing anything about them because it’s easier to flow. Swim with the school. Snerk. I just wonder what it means that I take the easy way so often… I’m pretty sure it means

I am very, very tired
and have to cut myself some slack from the uber-granola ideals I have.

To address that, Bu has suggested that I leave the house a few nights at bedtime to let him take over. Maybe I can sneak back in and she’ll stay in bed with him. The weaning trend has reversed, and I’ve had to nurse her to sleep and through the days too. Then, of course, all through the nights. As tomorrow is the birthday, I think Friday night will be a better time to start the experiment. It also happens that a bunch of girls are going to see Sex and the City and have drinks that night, so the timing is good.

The Ariel thing isn’t all fraught with commercial anxieties, anyway. I read the Hans Christian Anderson story when I was young and I love it, so there’s some sentimentality watching her love the story too. Maybe I’ll get her the real version when she’s older and I’ll feel better. I had thought of making my own illustration and having a non-Disney mermaid cake, but- again- exhausted.

badd: blog against disablism day

Synchronicity swirling around me again, I am having the Week of Addressing Disabilities. My supervisor recruited me to speak about the clinic at a middle school for a diversity workshop they held yesterday. I decided to integrate some talk about myself too, and it worked beautifully. I was able to start with my arm and then use that to talk about visible versus invisible disabilities, and then segued into what we do at the clinic. [Sorry, but I gotta leave some vagueness about work intact for Secret Identity Purposes to protect my beloved work place from being associated with a Radical and Highly Controversial Blogger and Purveyor of Subversive Ideas. *snort* Read: Mommyblogger with delusions of awesomeness who is so undersexed she thinks lists of hot chick crushes is somehow revolutionary;)]

I had dreaded the speaking part, but it was groovy. The kids had insightful, intelligent questions and there were a handful of kids with special needs throughout the day and that plus me equaled a successful discussion of various abilities and disorders that pretty much completely avoided “other-ness” language.

So, I survived my uneasiness with public speaking, which is not terrible, really. Just butterflies and a dry mouth. Then this morning I sat down with my cup of coffee at my neglected computer to read my poor ignored feed reader and saw that my beautiful Soul Sistah Lexie had written a BADD post. Having a bit of extra time this morning, I decided to write a post. Which, it now seems, has been quite overtaken by its own introduction. So quickly, let me repost, again, my sexy self portrait that was my own personal One Armed Sexy Witch Mama coming out party.

Only, wow. I do not have one arm. I completely negate my right arm all the freaking time! I have two arms, and two hands even. Meh… is it just shorthand? Because I could spend all day explaining myself into circles. Seven fingers, one long arm, one short.

And without further rambling, I give you my actual post:

Here is the state of my consciousness regarding my birth defect about a year ago:

It was seriously, asskickingly empowering to create and post this piece. I love that it ended up so sexy. It really was only revealing skin to show my arm off better but yeah. Owning my own image and really synthesizing my arm with its strange look and the sexual side of me was kind of huge. I’ve always had “sexual being” and “mutant arm chick” as wholly different selves in my brain, until that self portrait. In fact, I think mutant arm self had its very own tightly guarded box that was separate from everything, actually. You can see the entire original post here.

So forgive the indulgent reposting of the portrait, but I offer it in celebration of BADD and badass mutant hot people everywhere.

april, rain(n)

it’s nearly the end of april
rain keeps calling: dig deep,
go within, and rediscover
that serpent coiled and sleeping
too soundly, a knot
at the base of my spine.

it’s got me on a kick
painting in binary code
blasting tori, screaming
all off key and laughing

(the names of our daughters
are pins in a map
to find this:

who are we now?

motherswomen)

where is my sex, in
banshee wails and curtains
of rain and the temperature
in wild flux?
cocooning in quilts that
smell of the dog and
baby’s bath and
our last sweat?

is it there, bled out of me
with the moon and just too tired?
or leaking out slowly with
a mother’s tears and milk?

are you there, still, in the painting of red and blue? these colors

you used to show me in tantric visions
when i was a gateway and
atheist lips called me goddess
while strong hands washed my feet

snakes used to writhe so hard they stung and bit
and now their slumber is a lullaby
of heartbeats and exhausted sighs
did we lull it to sleep
with our familiarity?

have i known you too long?
(and now you’ve seen inside me)
and emptied of secrets
and wearied of shared worries
can we find the madness
that pulled us in to it?

can we spark and spin
and wake the snakes wound
tight in sleep inside us?
can some art or artifice reimagine
and rework the passion
and heat that slumbers?

can i build new secrets
to draw you back
and shimmer again like
a careless thing still
smoking and glowing
in the shadows?

can you cry out
and wake it and can i
let go what sent the thing to
sleep and just watch

the fires rise again and twist?

More Kundalini musing…still blogging for RAINN, still chasing my tail, still writing poems about snakes and moons. (Morrison… Doors… Blake…) I invoked William Blake in ritual when we were calling our ancestors. Seemed strange to never have thought of calling to him in circle. Wonder what his mystic Christian soul thought of this, a funky witch in fake ivy and nose ring invoking his presence all uninvited?

________________

This post is a celebration of the Sexography project in support of RAINN– the Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network. RAINN provides information, education, outreach and other services. Among its programs, created and operates the National Sexual Assault Hotline at 1.800.656.HOPE. Please consider a donation to RAINN. If you donate, please mention the Daisybones blog and note “GBBMC:08″ in the “donation in honor of” section (in addition to anyone you want to honor, including yourself.) This will allow project-related donations to be tracked, and every donation sent from my blog will be (to me) regarded as honoring my mother and all others who were kept silent. Thank you.