Lately all the news is about the upcoming primaries.
And the most recent bombings in Iraq.
Sometimes it is all I can do to say to myself, “These are not dark days, these are not dark days, these are not dark days.”

But today, on this drizzly, gray morning my children will be gifted with a concert in their cafeteria called The Circle of Light. More than a dozen luminous musicians will bring the traditions of Christmas and Hannukah and Kwanzaa and Ramadan and La Posada and Divali alive, through music, for our kids. Each year, it brings me to my knees. It is better than my humming mantra — “These are not dark days” — because it feels absolutely entirely true. And possible. And beautiful. And even, if you can believe it, easy. Easy to connect and comfort the whole world. Through words, music and school children. I mean, why not? 

So I was reminded of this piece Rita Dove wrote for the dedication of the Clinton library a few years ago. It’s better than my humming mantra, too. Give it a read:

This Life

(Read the rest here…)

Yesterday afternoon we’re driving home from violin lessons via the grocery store and the girls have got their riff running in the backseat. It’s almost like they’ve agreed on some sublime topic (“OK, let’s free associate about colors”), only they haven’t. It just unfolds.

Taller daughter: What does yellow have to do with orange and what does orange have to do with pink?
(Apropos of nothing. The sky was gray and the car in front of us was a dirty blue.)

Smaller daughter, barely pausing and certainly not asking for clarification: They’re all in a sunset. 
(Notice there’s no question mark at the end. Her voice doesn’t rise like the voices of my college students always do, wondering if they are anywhere in the neighborhood of right. Nope. She’s certain it’s a good answer. And her sister confirms it.)

Taller daughter: Good answer! 
(Delighted with the sunset idea, which is, afterall, as good as any. Because it’s clear that there wasn’t one singular satisfying thing she needed to hear — the whole topic was open for interpretation.)

And I’m up front just trying to catch up. 
If I’d been in on this, I’m sure I would’ve asked for clarification, dullard that I am — especially at 5pm in traffic.

I’m thinking I oughta remember this when I’m parenting and teaching and writing for kids. 
There’s not always one good answer or even one good question.
There’s not always context or linear thought. 
There’s not always a simple, straight-forward way of looking at things.
These are the days before yellow and orange and pink have become all black and white. 

(I may be a dullard, but I’m feeling grateful for color… )

And speaking of good deeds, 
the always delightful Jama Rattigan gave me an unexpected tip of the hat today!

Thanks, Jama!   

(Plus, she reminded me that it is most definately December now and it’s time to dust off the old cookie cutters and get baking. I love red hots and tend to make a lot of Rudolf cookies so I can use them as noses…)

You remember reading all about Robert’s Snow?
And checking out all the amazing illustrators who contributed to the cause?
Well, now’s your last chance to snag a snowflake!

(If you must know, I got outbid on the little gem I was yearning for in Auction 2 and, from the looks of Auction 3 so far, I think I may end up sans snowflake. But wahoo! Because that means that cancer’s right around the corner from being cured. Spit, spot.)

Sigh. Would that it could be so easy.
How come everything difficult has to be so, y’know, difficult?

You’d think that if enough well-intentioned folk threw themselves at anything — cancer or climate change, poverty or political ineptitude– all that was good and right would just rise to the top like cream. Wouldn’t you? Instead there are all these issues that seem just intractable, like this freakin’ war, or the drip drip drip of the polar ice cap, or the fact that my father-in-law keeps falling asleep in his chair because ten years with lymphoma‘s kind of whooped the guy. Y’know? It’s enough to make a gal a little morose.

Except that I’ve got two young hopefuls over here at my house and I’ve been telling them that the world is their oyster and I don’t want to be made a liar of. So, I’m giving myself a little lift today by thinking about just a few people making big and little differences so that the oyster we hand our kids is open and healthy and full of pearl. For example:

Jules and Eisha of Seven Impossible Things who threw a snowball in the face of Big Bully Cancer through their Blogging for a Cure effort.

Mary Lee and Franki at A Year in Reading who spend everyday teaching kids like yours and mine with love, consciousness and creativity. 

Poets like Mary Oliver and Naomi Shihab Nye and Robert Hass who help us to be mindful of the world and all its contents.

My friends and family who act out through their work, striving to educate about relationship violence through theater (Lynn), advocate for victims through the courts (Jeana), defend indigents from capital punishment (Jim), protect threatened species and their habitats (Pete), comfort the dying through hospice (Queen) and ensure a fair shot at justice for troubled youth (Deirdre), to name just a few. (And by the way, that last reference is to my aunt who’s testifying in front of the Senate Judiciary Committee tomorrow, which is kind of the big time, don’t you think?)

And let’s not forget the third graders at our school who donated more than a truck-load of blankets and kibble and bones to the Town Lake Animal Shelter and the first graders who are getting their voices in tune for their annual sing-along at the neighborhood assisted living center.

The thing is, I could go on and on and on and I’m starting to think maybe nothing’s intractable after all.

Who comes to your mind right off the bat, as a cream-rising-to-the-top make-the-world-a-better-placer?

I’m grateful for ’em…
 

So, lest you think that things are all loveliness and light over here at our house (I mean, I highly doubt you think that but just in case), I have an admission to make.

Yesterday, we found an Easter egg.
From last Easter.
In our living room.

It was still bright pink on the outside.

And on the inside… what? You didn’t think we’d just toss it without taking advantage of the biological science experiment that is our housekeeping? 

On the inside, a brown, sawdusty-like powder.
Not unlike a seriously thick season or two of, um, dust.
When in Rome? Sigh…

So then I got to thinking about what to write.
And believe me, I came up with plenty of self-deprecating possibilities.
I mean, c’mon. We have had a hard-boiled egg sitting just barely hidden in our living room for eight months and we didn’t notice?! Maybe I should just go ahead and write the notes of apology and explanation for my daughters’ future therapists’ files and be done with it.

Nah. I’m the queen of filling the half-empty cup with a little rose-colored denial. So somehow I’m ready to turn this Easter egg situation into a mi casa es su casa post. (I know, it takes a true talent to wander off point like this.)

But really, here’s how it works. I find an egg in my house and I figure ya’ll have the odd mess at your house, too. (Can you just let me carry on this way for awhile?) And then there are the less tangible messes, the moral and emotional messes, the mucked up communications and spilled compassion. In houses everywhere. 

We’re in it together, friends. Eggs and all.

At least that’s what Rudyard Kipling says. 

The Houses
1898 — A Song of the Domnions

(Read the rest here…)

I’m grateful for Poetry Friday. What about you?
 

Hey local yokels… 

Do you do the Bouldin Creek Studio Tour? 

Well, you oughta. 

It’s super fun and voyeuristic – you get to wander through everybody’s work space and see what paints they’ve got out on their palettes and whether they drink coffee, tea or gin and — plus — pick up some nifty prints and clothing and jewelry for holiday gifts or, ummm, yourself.

This year, I’ll be selling and signing books as part of the tour! Doesn’t some little toddler you know need A Sock is a Pocket for Christmas???  

I’ll be at Round Robin Studios, home of the gracious Shannon Lowry – master of letterpress and design.

Also joining us, Barbara Frisbie of Frisbie Design Concern – selling her stunning modernist miniature landscapes. 
 

Come visit – 1401 Garner Avenue, 78704 – anytime between 10am and 2pm this Saturday, December 1^st. 

And don’t miss all the other amazing artists, either. (Ramonster clothing, Baby Jane jewelry and more!!!)

(Today’s gratitude’s for all the artsy goodness of my ‘hood! )

Once a week, in each of my daughter’s classrooms, I lead a yoga practice.

It’s a routine that stretches back to when they were in preschool and it’s one of the things I really love about my life as a mom. 

Each year I ask their new teachers if they’d welcome this and each year I bite my nails with the worry that they’re going to say, “No. This is school, ma’am. We need to buck up and buckle down. Sharpen our pencils and  sit up straight. We can’t have people like you namastaying all hither and yon.” 

But that never happens. They always say, “Yes, that’d be terrific.”

So, this week, something even better has happened. My elder daughter’s class has to take ‘benchmark’ tests three days running. Benchmark tests are like practice tests for the test-tests. You know the ones. I could go on about them but, ahem, I won’t. Suffice it to say that the benchmark tests aren’t the better thing that has happened.

THIS is the better thing. 
The wise Ms. W asked if we could do yoga all three days this week. 

You got that?

All
Three 
Days

!!!!!!

She thought it might help the kids feel more focused and more relaxed. 

I could’ve kissed her.

This morning we had our first pre-test session. 
Desk-side triangle poses. 
A couple of tree poses. 
A lion’s breath or two. 

Every child in that classroom looked wider awake by the end of it all and I’m pretty sure not a one of them was thinking about their #2 pencils and scantron sheets. 

Added bonus? I got back to my desk all vibratey and ready to roll.

(And, in keeping with my new “end every post with gratitude” rule, I’d like to say that I’m so thankful for Ms. W and all you other teachers out there — giving our kids the messages that they need to negotiate life. Not tests. Life.)

Tonight I close seven days of gratitude with a final note. Or maybe not. 

Because, y’know, I’ve decided I really like doing this. 
It helps keep things in perspective, which for some reason I seem to need even though all evidence points to me being pretty much buried in bounty. 

Still, I can really turn things dark when I’m in the mood.  
Which is, umm, a little bit more than occasionally.

So, even though tonight’s the end of my 1st Annual This Week I Am Grateful celebration, I’ve decided to close my posts with a little gratitude from now on. Even when my posts are kinda complainy. Actually, especially then. 

But in the meantime, I want to wrap up this week by saying that I’m grateful for:

cold days and hot soup

brisk runs and bubble baths

Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music

Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins

long weekends

sewing machines and beads and glue

old dogs and fat cats

lazy mornings and early nights.

Oh, also, my husband’s reading a book about the dust bowl and I’m really grateful I’m not living during the dust bowl. Let’s kick this climate change business so we don’t find ourselves in the midst of another. OK?

I am grateful…

(To be continued…)

Last night, my husband and I hosted our 2nd Annual Day-After-Thanksgiving Grown-Up Game Night.

Grown-up just means that all the kids are off with sitters or grandparents, not that any of the games are particularly racy. Or that anyone has to act especially grown up. 

We set up tables in our living room, dining room, kids’ bedroom and, because it was too chilly to be on the back deck, the laundry room. (I’m hoping nobody really noticed that’s where they were sitting, what with the candles and baked brie and all.)

First, my husband fixed everyone swanky drinks in the kitchen and we all piled up plates of yummy tasties (’cause, y’know, we hadn’t eaten enough the day before…) and then we split up to play Scattergories and Taboo, Mexican Train Dominoes and Wise and Otherwise. 

We played two full rounds, switching tables after getting another swanky drink, and then the remaining crowd played a raucous game of Guesstures (which is basically charades) ’til the wee hours of the morning!  

So today, I’m grateful for card tables and candles and swanky drinks and friends who’ve got game.

I’m grateful that we’ve got the time and space and inclination to take time out of life to simply play.

I’m grateful for babysitters who are so much fun that kids think their night is going to be as special as our night. (I kinda think ours was hard to beat, but I’m not gonna tell them that…)

I’m grateful that Thanksgiving’s on a Thursday so that we got to wake up today having had a solid, full-on weekend of celebratory fun and it’s only Saturday morning!

I’m grateful that it’s raining and cold and that we have two days unrolling in front of us with not much to do.

I’m grateful that we didn’t go to the mall yesterday. And we’re not going today. Or tomorrow.

I’m grateful.

(To be continued…)

 We got in late last night after celebrating with 22 friends at two long tables. 
The food was decidely fine, the company even better. 

We did incorporate a little poetry, you’ll be pleased to know. My family has a tradition of these little ditties called Turkey Notes. They are a little limerick-ish, personalized and funny. There is one at every place, you read the one at your place aloud, and everyone guesses who it’s about. The kids really got into it this year — the writing and the guessing — and I think it was the one moment we were all present on the same page all night.

Here is the one that was written about me. I thought it was hilarious. And brilliant. That slant rhyme is masterful, don’t you think?

Turkey trotted 
Turkey kicked butt
Someday this turkey’s gonna win a Caldecott

(The trotting is reference to a five mile run that I do on Thanksgiving morning in downtown Austin. And my pace is not exactly butt-kickable, but I’m all for a little fantasy. Ditto, the Caldecott…)

So, lest you think I’m forgetting that this is meant to be a gratitude post (a la Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday), here goes:

(drum roll please…)

I am really grateful that an amazing group of poet bloggers has accepted my invitation (some may be calling it a dare behind my back) to write a Crown Sonnet together! 

You may remember my couple of posts about Crown Sonnets — here and here. Well, suffice it to say that I caught the bug a little bit. And I decided that this online community of word lovers was the door to knock on. Lucky me, the following folks said YES! (I’m soooo flattered. And grateful. Did I mention that part already?)

Sara Lewis Holmes, Kelly Fineman, Laurie Purdie Salas, TadMack from Finding Wonderland, cloudscome from a wrung sponge, and Tricia from The Miss Rumphius Effect. Is that some star power, or what?

We’re giving each poet a couple of weeks to freak out and then write their sonnet so you won’t be seeing the Crown anytime soon, but we promise to share it when it’s ready. 

In the meantime, I’ll wrap up with words from Rumi. This speaks to me of gratitude for sure…

The Guest House, by Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

(Read the rest here…)

I’m going off now to be grateful for whatever comes. To be continued…