Moving Day

You'll never believe it. I'm moving again! Don't have a cow, I'm not moving my home. I am moving this blog. Blogger and I have found we must part. It seemed at one point that this very page had been eaten by the internet as I couldn't even locate it! Dirty tricks, I tell you. The new address is http://pixiecampbell.typepad.com/pink_coyote/, so please visit and try to bear with me just a tad longer as I get my banner up and content organized! Lubbins, as Nina would say. P

Reformatting

Time to reformat the hard drive. Could take a couple of days...I hope to bear the withdrawals. Me love you long time.

Figuring It Out

Today I'm devouring Gaia's Garden, a book I began last year about permaculture, polyculture, and plant guilds. It is shedding new light on environmental sustainability at the homesite. Even those with teeny yards can get in on the fun of habitat building and food growing! Toby Hemenway's writing is inspiring, thoughtful and very easy to follow. He goes as far to explain why our culture is obsessed with neat, orderly, water-gobbling, useless, grass lawns. A bit of psychology for the gardener-I love it. He makes many compelling arguments against all-native landscapes and for companion plants who take the burden out of small-scale vegetable and food growing. What a fun and enlightening read. A visit from this amazing seeker-woman made the holiday weekend so much sweeter. Thanks for dropping by the hacienda, M and J! And thanks for sharing Jack's hot nuts with us. The planting season is upon us in the fertile mesopotamic valley-I'm drawing diagrams, figuring out how to get the birds, bees, snakes, lizards, good bugs, nutrients and fertility moving in this soil with no added chemicals or pesticides. I'm excited about the long growing season here and about harvesting food and flowers in a matter of a couple of months!

Oh, M'Darlins

Valentino Numero Uno. Dessert. Thanks to the Incredible Jen. This is the man of all my dreams come true. A Halloween teethed self-portrait keeps me smiling and the mice away. I love a man who can multi-task.

Dancing Authentic

I think about and use the word "authentic" a lot. Lately, words that I have used unconsciously are coming to life within my cells in a new and strange way. "Authentic" used to feel like it meant to create my own self from my dreams, wishes and desires. I am feeling now that those dreams, wishes and desires are usually connected to an aspect that is not especially me, perhaps inspired by what someone else is doing with her life, or what may be striking my ultimate fancy in the moment. Today, "authentic" feels like it comes from my bones. When we are infants, we learn to adjust. We read our parents' moods, fears and emotions. We develop a strategy for survival that often betrays our authenticity. We may protect mommy's feelings, stuff our own emotions if our parents' don't like them (especially the angries, saddies), and hide our curiosities, thereby controlling ourselves in order to please mommy and daddy and be "good". These coping strategies are essential to our survival, even moreso in homes where skins are thin and pathology is thick. For me, a first born child, I took pleasing my parent's very seriously. I see that not every child cares to please their parents as much. And I do believe that I learned to betray my authentic self then and do still. Here are my Do's and Don'ts for Authenticity today: Do: Remember the truth of where my struggles originate, this is my roadmap to healing Take off all masks Get angry, emotional, frustrated, sad without caring who sees Make mistakes Fill myself up with what my soul wants Listen to the kind voices inside Write for hours Say Ouch when it hurts Find safe people who want to see the real me Recognize the shadow's impulses See that what I received is easy to give See that what I didn't receive is impossible to give without conscious awareness Have an ugly cry when I need to Remember that strange or out of proportion reactions are childhood talking Don't: Avoid feelings Stuff feelings in "Let go" until I'm absolutely ready Stop feeling until I'm complete Hide from others Defend behavior Overprotect the opening heart Shame Steal for my shadow Take myself out of my feelings when the fear comes Perform for love, approval or affection

Fertilizer

There is a strong motivating force working on my heels to keep me moving forward into the unknown. I know that potential lies there, awaiting my arrival. I am no longer in the beginning of this growth cycle, but somewhere in the middle. I will soon find a bountiful treasure, as I've been picking up threads leading to it for some time now. It can only lead me to more pitfalls, then more treasure. I don't mind that some truths are being withheld from me, I think they may scare me off of my path anyway. I'm exhausted from thinking, working, feeling all of the messages my body has for me. But I can't stop working. Thought for the day: Chickenshit makes mighty good fertilizer. Reading: The Drama of the Gifted Child, Alice Miller Mary Jane's Ideabook Cookbook Lifebook: For the Farmgirl in All of Us, Mary Jane Butters The House at Pooh Corner "Pooh tried to think of something he would say, but the more he thought, the more he felt that there is no real answer to "Ho-ho!" said by a Heffalump in the sort of voice this Heffalump was going to say it in. "I shan't say anything," said Pooh at last. "I shall just hum to myself, as if I was waiting for something."

Strawberries in Winter

Miles and I drove out to a family farm ten miles up the road (a piece) this afternoon to buy some sweet navel oranges and see if, by chance, they might be harvesting any other surprise goodies this time of year. We were overjoyed to find ninety-nine cent avocados grown on the property that made better guacamole than those I remember from last summer! I bought a giant bagful. There were tomatoes, strawberries, grapefruit, kumquats and honey to be had.

I heard a woman complaining in line that she was visiting from Michigan and that they hardly get fresh grown produce, and most certainly not in the winter. Cha-ching! I counted that blessing immediately. Living in the fertile San Joaquin Valley of California where I was raised means access to even more fresh food than I've been used to since I moved away 17 years ago. I'll need to keep a catalog of blessings so that when the 110 degree global warming July arrives, I'll be able to stave off the inner moanings that will scream, "WHY did I move back here!?"

We came home to unusually sunny and warm weather and ate our booty on the new back porch of the House that Dad Built. You can see that Miles loves strawberries. He missed them last summer because strawberries are apparently a scary, possible allergen that we were told to avoid until he reached a year old. He's home free now.

Missing all of my regular stops and looking forward to getting back in the swing when the dust settles here.

New Neighbors

Sweet.

Fairy Tale

This entry is for Diane who is the person who fowarded this poem to me. I wanted a record of it here so I can laugh regularly at it and be reminded of her dry wit and voice, which is what rang out when I read it.

Once upon a time in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle.

The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said: " Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so."

That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sauteed frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled and thought to herself I don't fuckin think so.

Fixated

I took these on Friday while the morning sun was shining bright in the guest room. Miles plays with this toy endlessly, sometimes color coordinating the shapes to the pegs and other times not. Off and on, on and off the wooden pieces come. It was great for him at about one year old when he was still finding the dexterity in his fingers. I've had to gorilla glue two of the pegs in as you can see because the toy gets so much use. Many toys that he has are very noisy or do not really stimulate his brain's wiring function.

I like this one, among others, because he is building, counting, creating, sorting, organizing, and deconstructing all to his own liking. Maukilo has some great building sets that we can't wait to get him when he's older.

I am currently exploring Zero To Three, an organization that educates the public and professionals about what babies and toddlers really need (and deserve) in the first years of life. They do address the childcare controversy, and I am not exactly certain where they stand, but I'll find out and report back. I am certain that they have found a nicer way to explain that it is detrimental to place a child with rotating caregivers or daycare that has not been found to fully meet each individual child's ever-changing needs than I have here.

As one reader here put it, we live in a regressive feminist climate. I have been turning this over in my mind since her comment was left and I am putting together in my mind that there may be a collective wound to the western female unconscious in which we feel a drive to have children, but then leave them to the care of others. My head is heating up, which tells me I may be crossing boundaries again. While I never intend to judge a mother's sacrafices nor creative choices, I want to ask my readers to softly, vulnerably, please take another look at this issue.

I know that individual moms have vastly varying needs and economic situations. I do very much respect our differences. I am a liberal. Not some Laura Bush robot who pours bourbon at ten and denies her dreams and authentic self. I don't know what it is like to be a single mom, or to live at or below the poverty level. I can't imagine raising a child on my own. I'm not equipped with the coping mechanisms to do it gracefully at all, I promise.

It is not my job to teach anyone or declare that individuals are wrong in their parenting. I've not said that here before, and this seems like a good time to put it out there. My impetus for bringing attention to this matter again and again is because I am continuing to see babies and children whose attachment and development are being sacraficed to the perceived needs of the parent. This confuses me deeply.

Previously I have reacted to this common phenomenon by sounding judgemental and angry. Today, I want to be curious. I want to know more. I want to look at my own earlier in life drives to fill a more masculine role and work, work, work fifty hours a week for someone who never respected all of me-but only the part that functions like a slave for the company. I want to look at how, thirteen years into that, I couldn't do it anymore. I want to look at the shift I made into self-employed businessperson, then to stay at home mom, and what that transition felt like. At times throughout this journey something has caused me to feel wholly inadequate because I'm not "Bringing Home a Paycheck" anymore and can't as long as I want to be my son's guide.

I want to look at how that value of BHAP has trumped almost every other drive in me, how I fight myself in order to make staying home during his early years my highest priority. I want to look at how I define my

self-worth. Before Miles, the sky was the limit, I could play on a male-oriented corporate field or not, my choice. I previously only defined myself by the K's, and that felt really validating.

Now that I am a parent, I do not get to be my partner's equal in the same way I was accustomed to being. I feel so vulnerable. I feel...unentitled to spend without asking or explaining and that gives me a pain. But I also had a child with the intention of making sure that he is safe and secure enough in his identity before he faces the world on a regular basis without me. I know I am blessed to have this choice. If I hadn't been interested in doing that, I wouldn't have brought him here. Truth be told, it took me eight years from "Hmm, I wonder if I might want to have kids?" until I gave birth. I TOILED.

I want to give him what I didn't get as a child: Full working knowledge that he is adored, cherished, more important than anything else in the world-even my bullshit identity hang ups, that I will do anything to procure his safety, his spirit, his divine right to existence. I do not want him to have to guard or defend his heart from lack of trust, and then unlearn that as an adult to be authentic. As I see it, he didn't ask to be born. It is my job to make his life as safe as possible, and to go there: into my shadow and face whatever it is that might prevent me from doing my job as his protector and guide. My love for him is not enough on its own. I owe him dedication. I need to ask myself again and often, what does that look like for me?

I also want to look at my rigid thinking, not always known for serving me well. Am I holding myself to such a standard that it will harm me, Miles or our family system? To answer that off the cuff, I would say that I am willing to make big mistakes (note that I could not previously allow this as I am a staunch perfectionist) with my son. I feel empowered with the knowledge that I can correct any pain I cause him, especially if I catch it early. I know that I will cause him pain. This brings me anxiety, but I know that I can make up for my mistakes and keep his heart safe.

If I don't allow myself to make mistakes, (a perception) then when I do make them, I suspect I will go into denial about it (too painful too acknowledge when you are a perfectionist) and then I won't correct them with him and the damage will remain unhealed. This I cannot have. I did not become a parent to leave these things to chance.

I am stumbling in the dark at times, and it can be lonely here. I am healing my caged heart, breaking down the defensive walls and finding my truth and hopefully my humble, messy, acceptable, humanity. Parenthood pushes me to open: open when it hurts, open when I think I can't open any more, and then open still wider. This persistent healing and opening cycle is my very favorite of all of the gifts of motherhood, second only to the cheeks often featured in this little corner of the universe.

Owls Galore

This is a pastel I created when I was in the second grade. I love that one is a bit cross-eyed, it gives the piece a kind of Lucy and Ethel feel. I found it when I was packing last night and wanted to post it up in honor of Keri and her Momo. To your sacred pursuit of consciousness and the bright rays that illuminate it! May the truth deep inside you come up shining tomorrow and every day.

Clowning Glory + Creating

I have got a major ham on my hands. The lenscase did not leave his mouth for twenty minutes as he jumped about on the bed like a bucking pony wearing a bit and reins. This is the most fun part about parenting. I'm amazed that I get to watch a little baby turn into a BOY in front of my eyes as he discovers his sense of humor, fits puzzles together, has serious temperamental moments about things he decides he does and doesn't like, and exhibits the ability to climb on and off of a trikeybike thingy like someone out of The Wild Bunch. Fun. Unfathomable fun. He is becoming every minute of the day. I am nightowling it here again. I just can't seem to go to sleep at a decent hour lately. I've been journalling as if I'm going for a world record and my eyes are hot in my head under my glasses. I've done little this year save for packing and talking about packing. My creative cycle is coming back around. It's pecking at the pet door while I sleep, flashing colors across my eyelids fear-and-loathing-like and threatening to do something if I don't start expressing on a surface. Creativity is so fickle, like the best and worst lovers I've ever had. So pushy! It is only slightly satisfied with a colorful sketch, a bit more full when I fill page after page, running the ink out of pens, elated when I spread out all of the art supplies and magazine cuttings, and over the moon for elaborate plans detailing my next big idea. During this dengue of a full moon holiday, a day without some form of creation is worse than not eating all day. It has a mind of its own. I had cold cereal for dinner if that tells you anything.

Great Love

"Great love-the kind that illumines and transforms us-always includes a keen awareness of limitation as well. Though love may inspire us to expand and develop in new ways, we can never be all things to the one we love, or someone other than who we are. Yet once accepted, limitation also helps us develop essential qualities, such as patience, determination, compassion and humor. When love comes down to earth-bringing to light those dark corners we would prefer to ignore, encompassing all the different parts of who we are-it gains depth and power." --John Welwood

I would add: get lovin and make mistakes while you're at it.

More Birds

Owl is a lonely critter. Where does he belong but in solitary? Symbolically, he opens the door to the unconscious, stimulates lucid dreaming, and points to the shadows where secrets and wisdom are hiding.

What I like best about owl is that he reminds us that the light of the sun is ever alive in the dark of the night. I like to think we are all connected by our little inner sparks.

What quiet truths are owl's eyes illuminating for you?

Penguin

Did you know that a male Emperor penguin holds the newly laid egg on its foot to prevent it from freezing to the ice? He holds it there for two months until it hatches, protecting it with his feathers! He won't even eat until the hatchling is safe and mother takes over. I could bet that our papa penguin would do it for Miles. I may have to toss him a few bowls of mac n cheese from time to time, but the man is committed. We are so like the penguins, B has got the endurance and I've got the supercharged nurturing, boo boo kissing, cure all power for what ails the babe. Today that would be crowding dogs drooling up in his grill, too much walking practice and wooden food that tastes of splinters. Remedied by hysterical bouts of laughter at flatulance sounds, wearing my camera lenscover on his face half the day and quinoa and coconut macaroons. It is still freezing here, so outdoors is off limits for my blood. I ran out to the store tonite in eleven degree weather. There is a pile of bowl-shaped ice on the grass, a result of having to dump out pet water turned solid every morning and refill it. Our lucky animals get to sleep inside, one under the covers even. Moving day is upon us, yet we sat on the couch watching the first season of Angel, a Christmas present from my brother, and ignoring mountains of random items that are beginning to form just about everywhere. One more night of penguin love won't hurt.

Waking Up

The hour is striking so close above me, so clear and sharp, that all my senses ring with it. I feel it now: there's a power in me to grasp and give shape to my world. I know that nothing has ever been real without my beholding it. All becoming has needed me. My looking ripens things and they come toward me, to meet and be met. Rilke

Warm Inside

Most of the snow has melted from two weeks ago, but word is that we will be seeing some flurries this weekend. It's hard not to be able to spend lots of time outside with Miles, we both suffer cabin fever. But it's especially nice to curl up warm and cozy and read books and snuggle with the little imp. I love this book by Karma Wilson and Jane Chapman because it includes animals not often in kids books, a bouncy yet satisfying rhythm for a toddler, features yummy food mentions, (this always has the ability to stir something wonderful in my core, as in the teacakes eaten in Narnia and golden lembas of Middle Earth) great illustrations, and friendship. I'm reading for me, too: The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls Celebrating Silence, Sri Sri Ravi Shankar Money, A Memoir: Women, Emotions and Cash, Liz Perle I made vegetable pie again, except this time I added in a can of corn chowder from Trader Joes and I stir fried the veggies instead of boiling. Mmmm. Even better. Can't live without tea. Can't live without this face lighting up my life every day, from the lion roars in the morning to the monkey calls in his highchair.

True Love and What to Do

“What you feel only matters to you. It’s what you do to the people you say you love. That’s what matters. That’s the only thing that counts.” --Stephen (Tom Wilkinson), The Last Kiss More now than ever.

Bring Bring

For a few years I have been devouring up books about archetype and personality disorders. I am beginning to believe from my experience of life thus far, that we "bring" our stuff to everything we do and each conversation we have. I don't like to think of it as if I am not an individual of my own making, but I think it kind of is. If we try to undo or change something about ourselves in our lifetimes, I think it may be because we learned it (probably at a very, very young age) and it has become a part of us. This, in it's negative state, feels a bit parasitical. I find that I want to pick off certain qualities about myself that are deeply ingrained, like an elusive late summer chigger in my sock that is so difficult to locate and so irritating. Personality disorders (as defined by the DSM) are pretty serious, but in their descriptions are lots of little features, which someone may possess as a trait, without having an actual disorder. I find it enlightening to know what causes these features to come forward in a person. Childhood experiences seem to form such a huge basis for how we interpret what happens to us and how we cope. I have an alcoholic parent and grandparents, (so common, of course), so much of my healing deals with looking at the borderline personality. This is strictly my opinion, but I would have to wager that a very large portion of alcoholics are borderlines or have those traits. (They can go from loving to scary pretty quickly, causing a child to be anxious while waiting for the parent's mood to shift. Those who are impulsive spenders, reckless with money or sex, overeat, abuse substances, ruminate about other's words and actions, self mutilate, rage on friends, family or strangers, engage in feeling really guilty, shameful or self-loathing may also fall into this classification. There is much much more to it that this, but this is what stands out for me.) This is a lot of unraveling to do in one lifetime. Back to what we bring to our experiences(stay focused!): I have avoided saying certain things to my son because I have a negative association about them. "Ssshhhh" is one such thing we don't say around here. I perceive it as rude and as shutting down anothers feelings and words. If he has something to say, I want to hear it-no matter how it might hurt my ears. Iwant to comfort him without shutting down his process. If you are a fan of Harvey Karp, then you know that Ssshhh is one of his famous 5 S's to create The Happiest Baby on the Block. I know Harvey's onto something. All of our friends think he is brilliant-and if you see the babies respond to his S's, melting like magical little malted milk balls in his hand-a stranger's hand!-you would believe him, too. But I still don't dig that Ssssshhhhing word. A friend recently pointed out how I'm bringing that negative association to the experience, so of course it's going to feel wrong and weird to me. How I love this friend! I'm still not going to Ssshh, but talking about how I came to believe what ssshhhing would result in was enlightening and I needed that! Here are some of my favorite reads on the subject of psyche, personality, archetype: She - Robert Johnson (and also He and We) Four Archetypes - C.G. Jung The Moon and The Virgin - Nor Hall The Heroine's Journey - Maureen Murdock (a major goodie) Women Who Run With the Wolves - Clarissa Pinkola Estes Understanding the Borderline Mother - Christine Ann Lawson In the last decade I have turned to these more times than I can count. There is a pattern here, in these selections, that myth and fairy tale are used to describe experiences and personality tendencies. I read because I want to stop bringing that earlier mentioned "stuff" to how I interpret the world. I want to feel that inner spark within me helping me be more courageous, more in love with the truth. I admit, I want to feel whole.

Blasphemia?

A friend of ours recieved this book for Christmas, rather ironically!, and he and B stood discussing it in the kitchen on Monday evening. The girls bustled around the table serving black eyed peas, greens and cheese grits (our New Year's Day tradition) and I eavesdropped from the dining room, sipping my chardonnay and being a total chick who eavesdrops. I generally stay out of discussions about God and religion, but with an atheistic husband, I tune in and see if I can learn something new. The topic seemed to be about organized religion as child abuse, something I've never thought about. I'm from California! Eternal damnation is not discussed in the grocery lines as I imagine it might be elsewhere. And though I come from a line of quasi-baptisty-types, I've never actually been threatened with going to hell, even for the worst of my misdemeanors. So the idea is that when little children learn about Hell and how you can get in there and not get out, and how very, very hot it surely is, it can be very frightening for them. I reckon they might envision the judgy "Hangman God" as Elizabeth Gilbert describes Him, sitting up on an ornate throne beyond the gates personally deciding the fate of naughty little children and slashing the heads off of thieves and such. I'd never thought about it, but this sounds really fucking nightmarish! I've never thought about what a child must think when they are threatened with eternal damnation. Hmm. Another weird thing that I didn't know was that atheists or those who question religion (i don't think he meant spirituality, mind you) cannot be elected to public office. Is this true?? Maggie, I know you will be able to enlighten me here. (Please note that I would have linked Maggie, but I keep getting redirected to some weird page with a dog and a scanty Santa on it.) I'm on fire with the topics these days, but I'm just itching to see what you readers think. Could organized religion be considered child abuse? Go!

New Year Tortoise Journey

I went to an amazing gathering on Saturday because a friend called out for help. So often there is struggle, yet we don't ask for help. I want to honor everyone who bravely reaches out for reassurance and offer encouragement to those who still experience their challenges alone. May we all find our sacred circles this year! While I sat in this circle of deep-feeling women, so in touch with their sorrow, anger, shame + immense joy, triumph, and gratitude, I felt very blessed to have this in my life. I sit with women on a really regular basis and it saves my life almost every time. I am surrounded by women well versed in sacred ceremony, feminine ritual and healing. How in the world did I get here? I suppose it isn't a mystery at all, but it does seem a lifetime away from my life in the city six years ago. In our circles, we do a round of sharing first (after ritual smudging & prayers), which used to be really difficult for me. Being vulnerable has been a problem for me until the last few years. The mistress of ceremonies had built a fire outside and in the new year tradition, we all brought along something to burn up and let go of. I actually brought four things! One woman wore a snakeskin printed shirt and pants over her black leggings and top and when she spoke of what she would be letting go (her grown children as well as the shame of many past events) she peeled off the garments and tossed them on the altar. So cool. One of the aspects of gathering in sacred ceremony that I like best is journey work. Shamanic healers use journeys to travel to other realms of consciousness to bring back tools and wisdom for the tribe. We typically use it to locate help and then, in sharing about them, give that information to those sitting with us to ponder as well. Helping oneself evolve is also, to me, of great help to the near and dear ones to us. As I see it, everyone benefits on this path of growth and healing. Journey work is not always easy for me. My mind gets in my way, so I'm often nudging it off the path to try to be more open to the vision. Sometimes the process whizzes along like a dream, others limp along until a spark ignites and I can get to work. In this particular journey, I met a guide whom I have never travelled with before, the giant tortoise. I think of turtle medicine to be about slowing down, so I was dazzled when I rode this giant reptile as he plodded along steadily, without being slow at all. His giant, elephant like feet clomped and I splayed over his shell, admiring the colors and striations as the events of my life passed along beside us on the blue and sandy evening landscape. I was in no hurry to get anything done, a huge lesson in patience that I need in this realm bigtime. I experienced some other unfamiliar sensations that don't happen often for me, also, with shapeshifting. My neck began to scale over as I lay my cheek on the shell, and I felt his medicine come into my body. We conversed about meditation and how reconnecting each day, each hour-to be exact, with my intention is what I must do in order to see that intention manifest. He also offered me some pink jasper for earthly assistance. I have this thing about clutching rocks, which the turtley friend in my unconscious was obviously privy to. Tortoise medicine is a reminder that we will succeed in time over the burdens and changes occuring in life. They also tell us that we never face anything that we can't handle. They point to primal senses, rhythms and using skills appropriately. They ask us to focus on life's essential needs when we feel overwhelmed or hectic. When the drumming callback arrived, I was still dialoguing squawkily with Mr. Tortoise. As I scurried up the rabbit hole and back to consciousness, I heard a horse whinny. The house mistress had put her beloved Sundance down on Wednesday, and I do believe he was galloping across the valley of my journey as I returned to her living room. Wishing each of you all of the tools required for you to see the magic waiting for you in 2007.

"Every time that I think of you I smile for a while That's the one thing you always do You always smile, smile, smile." --Dan Zanes

More Moments

photo d. marshall, 2006.

"Dwelling in the present moment.

I know it is a wonderful moment.

-Thich Nhat Hanh

House of Rody

One of Miles gifts this year is Rody, a low and bouncy horse-like guy who is something like the beginner's version of the old fave, Hippity Hop (Here is something comparable because I couldn't find a freaking hippity hop anywhere!!). It is a great size for him, all of 15 months old and a bit short in the leg department, but the package shows kids who are quite lanky and looking to be about 2-3 years. M's dismount is a bit rough but getting better already. He loves to grab the ears and bounce around like a madman, squealing and shrieking to my ears' delight. Rody is going to be great indoor play since outside is now cloudy and freezing ass cold!

Crumby Cmas

These were snapped cmas morning before we got started on prezzies. Miles has just fed himself a muffin in front of the cozy fire. This look is hysterical, we burst out laughing when it loaded in-all crumby and quizzical.

Cmas was fun and low key, just what we wanted around here. A few, thoughtful presents, dinner with twentyish great friends, a tired boy ready for sleep at evening's end.

Lovely as lovely can be.

Let the Holiday Madness Begin

MLC swings "crazy crayons" over candy colored paper from this magnificent duo. MLC and his buddy, Uncle Rob.

In no time at all, the holiday has fallen upon us like a great, abominable himalayan yeti who tosses us from one friend's home to another-as we drive, laugh and imbibe our share of cheer. Presents have been raining down in our house, replacing tired toys and activities. Excited squeals and questioning oohs fill our ears.

Before we know it, the New Year will be here and all will seem fresh and ready for creating.

Happy Holidays to you all!

Remote Perspective

I've talked with friends quite a bit in the past year about keeping up in the bloggie world. Some complaints are that posting takes too much time, others wonder if there is anything unique to express in this medium anymore, others still have discovered major issues related to values rising up within them. The question seems to be, Is Blogging Really Worth My Energy and Time?

What we get out of blogging is likely to be what keeps us tapping away nights, spilling the beans on ourselves, sharing our favorites lists and posting encouraging comments on our buddies' sites.

One aspect of blogging that stands the curious hairs up on my neck is how we perceive other bloggers.

When I'm really enjoying someone's writings, I think it is because I'm appreciating them, but also, it is because they are mirroring something in me that I like-and perhaps want to experience or emphasize more in myself. Maybe this is where the notion of a support community comes from. We all like to be acknowledged that we are not alone. We comment to lift one another, and this feels so good. I think which blogs we tune into say volumes about who we are, perhaps more than about the blogger herself. Hmm.

Pink Coyote is not always fun, uplifting or inspiring. I do not often have artsy events to send you to or crafty people to introduce you to. I'm not very cool. I don't know very much about new, good books and movies. I'll bet it can even be a bit of a downer to come here sometimes. I use my blog to work through my junk, get your feedback, problem solve my life, and share the joy of my son with the world. I seldom prepare my writings ahead of time, editing myself and trying to get it perfect. This blog is usually about process, not content or results.

This is so because I am who I am. I do try to be fearless here, which could be perceived as reckless or unsympathetic, I suppose. I am certain about many things, which could come off as arrogant or pushy. I am self-reflective, which could be read as narcissistic and obsessive. I've got a furry bee in my bonnet about having clean fights and relationships with loved ones. This is because I am somewhat new to the idea. The material here will resonate with you or it will not.

I'm going to list a few things below that I think you need to know about me in order to decide if you will keep coming here. I don't want to mislead anyone (else)!

*I think you will like to come here if you like to look at your own shit. If you don't, you probably won't have much fun here, because I'm always pointing my shit and your shit out. If you want to change your ingrained ways of thinking and acting, especially to avoid damaging your kids (and mates)-we're going to get along great. If one wants flowery smoke blown up one's ass about how old dogs can't learn new tricks, one might want to find another blog to visit. ( I say that with a great and floral love).

*I think you will enjoy this blog if you make an effort to put your children's needs ahead of your own. We are on the same page if you sold your expensive house to have a baby and take some time off (not three months, but like, several years) and enjoy this time you'll never get back.

*If you are a single parent and you like what I have to say, but have to work, there is lots to talk about, but that isn't always clear on this blog. Let's talk about alternatives to daycare , a bonfire topic in my heart.

*I'm no expert. But I have a lot of big opinions. I am also curious about other ways of thinking and doing stuff. I love dialogue and loathe lurking. Speak up! You are not going to hurt my feelings. Tell me if you think I'm full of it.

*I am not even close to a perfect mom, artist or person. Blogs sometimes can be illusive that way-I know I'm not bloody perfect, but you may not know or think that based on what I show and tell you. If you could see the hairy cheerios under my diswasher (oh yeah, my kid eats 'em), or know that I sometimes feel bored and antsy hanging out with a fourteen month old all the days of the week, you might think differently about me. Because I'm obsessive compulsive and it shows in my writing, you might never guess who keeps company with dustbunnies around here.

*We, as readers, do not know what state a blogger is in when she posts or comments. I think some of us write our blogs just after a meditation and a massage, when our chakras are happily spinning and all the world is in bloom. Or at least that is how some of us come off. I come here and write in order to find grace and clarity. Readers have no idea what it took for me to get to that pretty place.

*If one likes things stated in a politically correct way, this will not be one's favorite stop. I know it isn't cool to say moms should stay home and be a baby's first, best and most interested teacher. But this is what I think parenthood should look like, with very few exceptions. This may alienate many readers, as one woman pointed out in my last post. I can live with this. I truly mean no harm to anyone's ego. I don't think a reader will like to hear what I have to say anyway if she has no intention of looking at the possible repercussions of handing her job over to someone else.

*Sometimes I post while I am in a big, nasty shadow. I know others who do this, too. I think that if we can assume anything about a blogger, it is that she has good days and bad. She has graceful days and slippy banana-peel days. Assuming a blogger shares your values is a dangerous enterprise, investing yourself emotionally in that assumption is unwise, methinks. Yikes. I personally, am in a radical healing process righty right now. That is bound to come through here looking good, bad and ugly.

Some of you remind me of and validate what I stand for. Some of you give me a buzzy, inspired feeling because you are spectacular poets and crafters. Some of you blow flowery smoke my way. Some of you are working that deep pain, turning it over and over, bravely showing up each day for it, and I greatly admire the underbelly shares. Until you are emptied and complete, I will be your witness. Here is a good place to thank you for being my mirror and witness, and sharing the nougaty centers of you.

I use this blog to help me look at the unsettling ephemera I see within me and around me. I believe deep within that only goldmining produces gold. A genuinely blessed life seldom falls from the sky. Sifting through rubble takes a hell of a lot more courage than avoiding it; I think cultivating this particular brand of courage can set a person up for feeling whole. I don't really give a rats about looking pretty while I do it.

Call

"In our rush to feminism and fair play for women (which I, myself, still advocate) and financial solvency, the critical role of mothering has been relegated, and children are now raised by rotating caregivers rather than mothers and fathers. It’s against our design, and it doesn’t work. Our children are becoming insecurely attached and unattached en masse, which has dire consequences on their forming personality. I wonder if all the politically chauvinistic and patriotic Americans would pay attention if they understood that daycare is undermining our advantage. Our citizens are becoming less than mediocre on average. That will be our legacy." Dr. Faye Snyder, PsyD, Founder of the Causal Theory. (Post Script: I am getting some passionate feedback about this quote. I think it is being received as rather politically incorrect, and understandably so. Dr. Faye's voice can be a bit harsh sounding, but I don't mind. I would rather be on red-alert about dangers to children than just hope they'll turn out okay. She doesn't pussyfoot around like some parent-protecting therapists and I love her for that. She's all about the kids, as it should be. Join in with your two cents! This is the most fun I've had in months.)

Catching the Moon

This is Miles with his hand in the dog food bowl. He heads over that way each morning before I have a chance to pick it up and move it into the canine garage-lounge. This morning he was so into it that I just let him play in the bowl until he tired of it. His sleeper was covered in kibble dust in the end. I tried uploading the picture with his hand moving toward his mouth, but it won't load up. You can bet he did [that] a few times, at least....

He's been cranky all day, leaving me feeling like I want to throw myself off the Lake of the Woods bridge a few times. Won't eat, won't nap. Just cries and reaches for me all day long.

He is out for a walk with Daddy now and I miss him like crazy.

Went shopping at the local nursery today and found some yummy gifts to round out my holiday givins. Had to stuff my pockets full of cheerios to keep you-know-who decent inside the nursery building. On the drive home, we listened to one of his favorite cds and he bounced along happily. Short lived, but I was glad to have a few happy minutes in the car. It has a great version of Dylan's New Morning on it.

Hoarding Moments

Two Monkeys: Miles and Hank. Notice that Hank has a yogurt lid in his mouth. Fetching matters most, above all. Tonite I was uploading some new pictures, mostly of Miles. When I photograph him, I take 40-80 shots at a time, knowing that most will not be keepers. When I look at them full size, even if they are no good, I can hardly bear to delete them. I have this thing about moments-I hoard them. Deleting even a poor picture is something like a sin, because it showcases a moment and if I delete it, I am deleting the evidence that it happened forever... Totally O.C., I know. I try to keep only the best or most useful things in my life, but I struggle with letting go. I feel a sense of loss, then grief, when I lose details about something or someone I loved or cherished. For me, being an artist has meant creating within a moment. A specific energy is circulating, and I am capturing and documenting it when I write, paint or sculpt. Evidence that I am able to harness and color moments makes me feel grateful. I have a strong ethic of gratitude, not always a bad thing, unless you're me. Not writing, not taking pictures, or not documenting my life is decidedly ungrateful, unappreciative, not drinking in the moment, not recording the magic, living WRONG. I have kept dozens of journals in my adult life. When I read them, I can see who I am clearly. I can see that I am a good person, the same person, on my path. Apparently, I forget a lot. Creating and documenting reminds and shows me that I deserve to be living. That I have earned it. My lovely creations prove that, right? I am worthy? (Wounded underbelly exposed). This entry is dedicated to Monica Mardou who believes that everyone but she has it all figured out.

Winter Sparks

The winter can be so very dry here, which means static electricity zaps the daylights out of us regularly. Miles hair has just been rubbed all over the microfiber couch, which cracked me up as it stood waving in the air above his head. Our hands are so dry and raw, but this has helped. Doing dishes and felting are not helping matters, plus I grated my thumb something awful making zest for an orange yogurt cake. A right mess over here. We decorated our little tree last night and contemplated what the holiday means to us. Neither B nor I are religious, so the intended message of Christmas doesn't apply in our household. However, it's as a good time as any to create a ceremony of giving and receiving to say thank you and I love you to those people we adore. I love the ritual of making gifts and wrapping packages, writing dear friends names and addresses on the envelopes. I love making the lists. I love the ambient lights, spicy eggnog, cinnamony and evergreen smells and dressing up. I love thinking about Miles under the tree on Christmas morning. What breakfast will we have? I would like to do the same thing every year. Crepes? Pancakes? Facon? Muffins? How will we tell him about Santa or the Spirit of Santa? I'm looking forward to knitting my boys up closely around me, getting cozy under a blanket together, and holding the moments for as long as I can. Soon, the excitement of the new year and its fresh possibilities will take over. Until then, I plan to soak up this scrumptious holiday energy!

Crafting & Catching Up

I've not posted in too long! This week found me crafting up a storm to participate in a little local holiday street fair with some of my mountaingirl tribe, peddling our fused glass and felted wares. I had little time for anything else! Creating during the holidays is especially satisfying to me-making gifts for loved ones isn't something I make a point to do every year, so I'm really HAPPY to be doing it this year! Squishing the hot, soapy water into the smelly sheeps wool and listening to Christmas music-bliss, I tell you.

I want to point you to one of my favorite mamas on the web who interviewed me for her monthly "Mom to Mom" piece this month. Wendy has another post which demands attention from any readers who believe that the choice of co-sleeping should be left up to parents. There is a NY hospital detailed that makes its patients sign an agreement committing them not to co-sleep with their infants and toddlers. It is so disgustingly out of line for any establishment to refuse care to parents who choose to co-sleep. As if it is some kind of crime or secret guilty pleasure to sleep with one's baby! Egad. Please follow Wendy's link to voice your opinion on this matter. As much as I'd like to pretend my choices aren't often in danger, they are. Honestly, what is next?

If you love to laugh your ass off, listen to this. Oh my good heavens, I almost peed a million times. I had to listen twice. If you are a fan of The Office, go NOW.

Witnessing You

I want to remember vividly how you cried out when I picked you up to carry you inside on this particular morning. You seemed to say that the winter sun is never so warm in the morning as it is today! I had to pee and needed to warm my cold coffee and I was finished picking the deck's splintered wood from your crawling knickers that I pull on over your sleeper each morning so your knees won't soil. Every tinkle of the windchime caught your attention, each flap of the pirate flag standing in the corner of the yard on its side from your party nearly two months gone grabbed your eyes. Cats figure-eighted in and out between us yeowing and leaving us draped in long, tabbied hairs.

I want to remember that we left the yard that morning to come inside to get warm and huddle together over oatmeal that smells strangely of bacon. I want to remember the nights that have passed since then, the ones where you cried all night-or most of it-alternately pushing and pulling me toward and from with frustrated grrrrs of teething and sleeplessness.

The business of having babies is not a simple one. I am here purely because of my needling desire to witness your life as only I can. I crank at how lack of sleep interferes with that process, of how my own proneness to grieving the passing present moment tortures me. Built up, these two factions find me tippytoeing on a tightrope of feeling lost in a jungle of wire hangers and madly in love all at the same time. I owe you an apology for thinking I would never feel lost once you got here.

Babies don't cure our empty, gaping holes and short fuses. But you, my son, make this life sweeter than my feeble imagination could have dreamed it to be.

Giving Thanks

The Stormy Goddess, 2006. Riding back from my parent's home tonite with B and Miles, I looked at the teeny fingernail Scorpio moon with admiration. B said something about loving the sight of the full circle in darkness around it. "Like most of it is in a shadow", I said quietly. I felt a great wonder and appreciation for the solar system, the universe, the vastness of all life which hangs in perfect balance at all times-even when it seems like things are grossly off -kilter. I do believe this in my core, that all life exists in perfect balance at all times. It can look so contrasted at times-my small life seems graceful and beautiful, full and expectant. The greater world can seem scary and dark, full of suffering and lack. I cling to my belief that is reflected in the moon's cycle, it always comes to fullness and then circles back around. Perfection. I'm grateful for all that is, in my small life here on this big, round, gritty, watery, rock.

Adoring Moo Neigh

Miles has been roaring like a lion, which I think must be his favorite animal, for a couple of months. This is how we wake up in the mornings: With a deep and joyous "RAAARRRRR". He loves to watch programs about animals and look at pictures of them until his eyes grow tired. We make all of the sounds for each animal-including made up sounds for animals like ostriches, rhinos and giraffes because I have no idea what they say. Many times a day when I catch Miles and his Daddy playing, I will hear B say "You're so cool, man." I think to myself-what a difference it is to say this to your kid over the standard "I love you", which we say a billion times a day, too. While certainly possessing merit, LOVE lacks active appreciation: as if it exists in the river of my heart as opposed to the playground. After the events that happened with the flaky, using family member earlier this season, I started thinking about how LOVE can be wonderful-but it makes no guarantees about healthiness. It can exist and say nothing about adoration, trust, respect, inspiration, or wonder. I find that I have love for some people down in my heart, but that I can't be in relationship with them. Humans sometimes do the strangest things in the name of love. Similar with god. I'll bet this isn't the first time I've ever pondered LOVE, the wordfeeling. Because I'm bringing up a little boy, I want him to know and see that I hold him more special than just with LOVE. I see his brilliance and I want him to know that he inspires me, changes me, motivates me, helps me be better than I was before him. What must it feel like to be a little child and hear your adoring parent say with full emotion, "YOU are so COOL!" ? Miles will know.

Tractor Pull

My dad has long been saying that he has a tractor set aside for Miles. Do you know of any little boy who's Grandpa says things like this? This is the nature of my silly family. This is his first ride, which he enjoyed so much. A few minutes after I snapped this picture, they operated the bucket on the front, a big thrill for my little farmboy. Tomorrow we are off to stay a night with Mile's Gangie while Grandpa is off hunting for elk in Colorado. We are taking a play day, a welcome contrast to our usual trips north. Lately it seems like we've been all work: on the new house. We should be moving shortly after the Thanksgiving holiday. This makes four times in 14 months. I can tell you that it will be the last for a while. Packing up boxes and thinning out "stuff" is a task I'm mostly happy to do. A new home always holds the promise of a new beginning: clean new walls without nail holes, new rooms mean new ways to set up my space and make it work for me. Since before Miles was born, I haven't felt organized or like life outside of him really works. I'm excited to set my desk up in a fresh way with all of my books and tools nearby, store all of my dishes in one cabinet instead of having half of them in storage, create a real room for Miles where ALL of his things can be in one place instead of scattered in several places. And so much more. Then I want to sit back, curl up with a glass of this and watch the third season of this show over and over and laugh my freaking ass off. You have not really laughed until you have seen Tobias' grafted hair transplants...

Inniespeak

"When you are on a journey, it is certainly helpful to know where you are going or at least the general direction in which you are moving, but don't forget: The only thing that is ultimately real about your journey is the step that you are taking at this moment. That's all there ever is." Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now.

The inner purpose is always revealing itself in new light for me. Sometimes I feel very far away from myself, like a disjointed tangent inside a storybook. I will pick up an old journal from time to time and I'm always amazed at how me I was then, and still am. The things I cherished yesterday were the same as they are today. The things I struggle with are archetypal grooves etched into my soul just for me to triumph over, repeating rhythmically like a piece of music.

The step I'm taking right at this moment is to notice how my outer journey changes, but my inner journey is the most important one and that it is static within my shiny core.

What step are you taking right at this moment? That's all there ever is...

Good Thong Underwear Does Help

Funny how its almost Christmas and the sun still blazes in California. It is literally bleaching my dear Lilkat. These weeks have been busy and tiring-zooming down the hill to run task force for the house that is being built for us, racing back up with a sleeping babe in the car to get him tucked in before too late. It isn't all bad, being in the car. We sing along to the songs of the day, some provided by friends while others are seasoned classics. Miles loves Chet Baker, The Sundays, Morcheeba and some Chris Isaak. Desperate moments still call for endless repeats of the Itsy Bitsy Spider or the Boa Constrictor song. Eclectic taste in music, the apple not being far from the...you know. Spiders, snakes, apples...where am I going with this? The season, thus far has been flavored with rich, deep, love and friendship, and also some sorrow. Melancholy seems never to stray from my porch for very long; an old comfortable pair of slippers I shuffle around in from time to time. I don't like to be one of those positive thinkers just for positive thinkings sake. Nor do I enjoy being a Negative Nellie (a term coined by an old boyfriend), loitering around in unsolved problems. So I suppose the way I go about those slippers is to wear 'em when I feel I must, then set them back outside my door until I need them again. Feelings are so mysterious, but I don't reckon they have to be. A friend has helped me to see a feeling as something I can feel, then step outside of and get to the work of figuring out how to see and solve what caused it. Today I am feeling detached. I don't have the energy to get strangled up in someone's net, because I know that I will thrash there for days and I simply don't want to spend my time doing it. I guess I could say that the relationship can't benefit from my typical approach. Can detaching be okay? Is there a time for it? I used to think everything must be faced, head-on: no exceptions, no apologies-just get in there and feel eveything and process til done. I'm questioning that right now. I'm wanting to move out of being mired in stuff that isn't mine. Tell me what you would do. I've bought new, comfortable (no, really) thong underwear. That does seem to be helping matters. I also think these slippers would help immensely.

Shroom Fever

I am up drinking chamomile tea late at night and waiting for the antihistimine to kick in...I made the yummiest mushroom potpies tonite, but alas, I am having an allergic reaction to one of the exotic varieties my darling husband brought home. Between Enoki and Italian Brown there lies a culprit. I went to sleep very quickly about an hour after dinner and awoke scratching at hives all over my underarms and trunk. The recipe called for "field mushrooms", so as B was perusing the aisles at the market on Friday after work, he followed instructions to pick up two-and-a-quarter lbs of shrooms. I was excited to try the new flavors, but the Italian Browns seemed a bit stinky and musty, so I only chopped a couple of them and saved the rest for drying. I don't think I have a penicillin allergy, but truth be told I don't even know if I've ever had a shot of P! Eeeeee. Anyone up?

Gather

I love getting together with friends, but having a baby hinders that plan a bit: especially when bedtime really begins to become a matter of importance. Last night I snuck out to celebrate my friend Diane's 50th birthday party at her warm and cozy ranch house in the country. Thirteen sassy broads arrived bearing casseroles and bottles of wine to usher in the cronehood of one very wise woman. One of her presents was the above pictured bareroot tree with handwritten birthday wishes attached to the branches. Birthdays are a big deal in my community and family, which translates to a calendar near full at all times. This time of year is like the Lent of pot lucks around here. My sisterfriends and I are queens of the Pot Luck on the mountain. I used to think of pot lucks as kind of weird and yukky, probably residual trauma from my aunt Shelly's soggy, lukewarm broccoli/cheddar/rice disaster present at every family gathering of my childhood. When I moved here six years ago, I kind of snickered at the idea of pot lucking. I'm a major convert now due to the incredible flavors that appear at our local gatherings. For my recent nine year wedding anniversary my mom presented us with a handmade piece of pottery with "The Campbells" calligraphied on the side. I am totally pro now and the pack has accepted me as one of their own. I whipped up this super simple yummy dish for last night's soiree: 8 Frozen Vegetable/Green Chile tamales thawed and diced up 2 cans creamed corn (stay with me) a giant wad of shredded cheese including pepper jack, cheddar and monterey a bit of crumbled cornbread from whole foods a few ounces of vegetable broth (to keep it from drying out) Mix it all up and spread it into a 13x9er and bake for 30 minutes at (you guessed it) 350. It makes a Tamale Pie-like thingy that was quite the tasty, fall comfort food. My Stephanie gave me the recipe and it did not call for the last two ingredients, I just threw those in because I thought it could use some muscle. I think it would have been fine without, but if you dig cornmealyness, do it. Domesticity is truly setting in.

Sweet and Savory

Barn as seen from Marshall hideaway on dusty road, 2006. To know me, you need to know this: I love a challenge. I may groan and complain about new ways of being and thinking, but I truly love the process of growth. Evolving as a human, and knowing that I can do it right up until I die, excites me tremendously. Today above-mentioned friend showed me a birthday card that her daughter gave to her. It read, "To change we must survive, to survive we must change." It rolls around in my mind like a caramel dipped apple in chopped peanuts, resounding a sweet and savory truth. My story is not unlike many others. I come from a family of deep wounds spanning back as many impoverished generations as we can count. While healing those wounds and breaking the mold are the most important thing to me, they aren't to other people in my family. I've had to learn to seperate from them and let them go, loving them only from afar. It is so painful, as I'm sure you can relate, to witness patterns repeating in loved ones. It has been difficult to step away knowing that I can't endorse such behavior, because to do so results in that enabling thingy. Love doesn't mean we help those who don't help themselves. I'm learning. I'm pulling out of a slumpy mood. This season has brought heartbreak and then enlightenment, and now I'm ready to have fun, get crafty and take Christmas pictures! I remember my friend Maggie saying years ago that she liked to listen to Christmas music any time of the year because it just makes her happy. I couldn't agree more and have not packed my cds away for the past two holidays. I've been bumpin' Ella's Swingin Christmas in my momcar for weeks! Coping/grieving and living zestily on my own terms provides a contrast I'm sure you can relate to. We are so similar, you and I.

Babe the Blue Boy

M enjoys his peenie after a bath with Dad. I'm apparently too busy for blogging. But I have lots to write about. Perhaps another day. Peace out.

DH and Behavior

I call this my tribute to DH Lawrence. The fall is a very busy but exciting time around here. As the past month's posts have shown, a slew of celebrations take place in September, and now that we've rolled over into another moon, it is time to celebrate some more. Today B and I honored our nine year wedding anniversary. He gave me an amazing gift of nine white packets, each containing the seeds of a different type of tree. I love these natural, thoughtful gestures. One year he glued and painted a series of little wooden shapes and a hinged box to look like a camera and hid one hundred dollars inside to put toward a new camera. Swoony stuff. If I began to count my blessings, I might never make it to bed, where my infant is sure to need me soon. Suffice to say, I am grateful for my husband's creativity and sentimental spirit-I feel totally loved and taken care of by him. You can't ask for more than that in a partner. I'm continuing to take the parenting series I've mentioned here before. We are raising Miles in something called the Causal Theory, which is grounded in the idea that all children are born perfect and good and blank (no bad seeds) and is bound and woven tightly with Attachment Theory. (We believe that personalities are made, not inherited.) I've taken the series (aptly called the Miracle Child series) in the summer and I'm retaking it now. The more I study it, the more convinced I am that we are indeed a very wounded culture. This theory maintains that our personalities are not inborn, but created by the nurturing (or lack of) that our primary caregiver provides (whoever baby spends his daytime with is considered "mommy"). This makes it rather controversial because naturally, we do not really want to be responsible for our childrens' really bad behavior or incompetencies. What I love most about this theory is that by not defaulting to genetics as the explanation for our behaviors, there are endless possibilities for correcting and healing. In my family unit, my brother and I learned the same lessons mostly, but we internalized and responded to them in nearly opposite ways. I rebelled at my mother's controlling and unsafe model by exploding out into the world, being overly independent and guarded and choosing partners that would let me act out my rage out on them again and again, never healing, of course. My brother rebelled by shutting down and internalizing his hurts which resulted in crippling physical illness and an inability to sustain himself well into his adult life. Though far more complicated than I've described here, we are both working hard to heal and not to scapegoat our wounds on others. This, for me, means Mr. Miles Lighthorse! We believe that unhealed rage toward the caregiver that let us down will leak out all over our life until we find a way to give it back to its rightful owner. **If one can't give it back to the source, then giving it to a skilled and nurturing therapist is the next best thing. I feel like a brand new sparkling angelic creature after doing ragework.** Another valuable nugget I've held onto is that of conscious override. By becoming more self aware, I can see myself doing things like overreacting, checking out, vegging on the web, raging at the wrong person, escaping into a glass of wine, engaging in obsessive, pissy fits of cleaning when I'm stressed, being "helpful" (a disguise for being controlling and/or judgemental), and depending on my spouse to fill me up when I feel empty. With practice, (and a dash of much needed humility) the bell goes off a little louder each time I catch myself in one of these acts. It helps me say "Wait a minute!, I think this is my childhood talking here!" and I can get clear about what is really going on and self-correct. It feels like I am at yet another "beginning" which is always a fresh and inspiring place to explore. After well over a decade of sifting through the rubble of my family's life and history, reading a library's worth of self-help books, going on retreats, using positive thinking affirmations, calling on *god* to help, beating myself up, going to various forms of therapy, journalling, bodywork, coaching, ditching unfulfilling partners and work, and more more more, the pieces are really clicking into place for me. I would have to say that none of the above worked for me well enough until I identified the exact source of my wounds, stopped protecting my parents and denying what was really eating at me way down there. I believe our culture loves to repress, honor our parents no matter what and try to positive-think our way out of our pain. Ha! And if that doesn't sound bitchy and controversial enough, I have more: I side with the minority that ADD, ADHD, RAD and the epidemic medication of our children is all about weak parents and an inability to hear them tell us that they are really mad (and rightfully so) about us sticking them in daycare. Eeegadzooks, don't get me started. Soon, the Causal Theory will be available to everyone at the new and improved, almost finished website. Right now, the dedicated woman who developed it has nurtured it only in the Los Angeles area. You can hear her radio show here three days a week. I want to thank Dr. Faye and her team at The Institute for Professional Parenting for shining light in the darkest places and for bravely paving the way for the rest of us... At the end of the day, I am all alone with myself. Until I can sit here in complete comfort in my own skin, this ongoing pursuit of self awareness and reflection must continue. Some days are a bit more intense than others! Thank you for coming here and sharing in my journey....

One Going on Two

"To love is to discover and complete one's self in someone other than oneself."--Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

One thing will always fascinate me about babies: how fast they grow into big people! My baby is one year old today and just look at the difference. Every day he is saying something new, making a new sound with his drool and pressed-together lips, moving across the room in a new way, and exploring his world a little differently than yesterday.

When Miles was born a year ago, I went into labor at about 4 in the morning. The neighbor's dog was barking incessantly at the fence and when I awoke to grumble, I discovered I was having some crampy feelings, kind of like PMS back pain. B and I laid in bed whispering and wondering if it was real, this being 4 days before the dude's due date. Indeed, it was to be the big day, so we made our way excitedly out the door and to the midwife's house. She had to kick her poor husband out of bed to make a birthing room for us! (We love you Brenda and Mike!)

I got in the bathtub and lounged around eating popsicles and eating ice until about 9 ish when I threw up my chocolate peanut butter ice cream from the previous night and labor kicked into high gear. I remember looking at the clock at 9:22 am and then not doing a lot of conscious "thinking" until about an hour before the delivery. I went into a state that, in hindsight, reminds me of what a mother elk must feel like when giving birth: huge, bellowy, and shifting around a lot. I moaned my way through the contractions in a low and primitive way. I do remember being on all fours on the bed and feeling a pretty intense contraction when I heard a big PLOP like a giant water balloon just fell out of me and burst. The bag of water had broken. The midwife must've come in about then and been surprised because all of a sudden, I was handed some liquid chorophyll to drink and told that Miles would be with us soon!

The pushing bit was strange, I had exhausted myself getting through the contractions and didn't have much energy left. Miles crowned and hung out on my perineum for about 40 minutes. I think I finally gasped that I couldn't do it (we'd been warned by our hypnobirthing coach that we'd have a baby in minutes once this is declared) and asked Brandon to sit behind me. When the next wave came through I bore down and we sat up rather forcefully together and out the little man came! He got a quick swab with a towel from the midwife and was placed on my belly.

Touching him for the first time was one of the most mystical and satisfying things I've ever experienced. The placenta delivered less than 10 minutes later and wet, silky Miles anxiously clamoured up to nurse like a pro. (I was grateful that he knew what he was doing) We three collapsed in a heap for a few hours as if in a blissful, technicolor dream.

About our birthing experience, I can say it was a dream come true. There isn't one thing I would change about how Miles experienced his first moments in this realm. I consider myself so very, very blessed.

Happy Birthday, Miles Lighthorse, my heart's delight. We love you so much.

Trampoline

Miles and Chloe, friends forever. This has been a crazy, fun and also backbreaking week. I began with a bang having to pack those few things most meaningful to me, including Miles, the three dogs and two cats and drive up to my parents rancho to escape the raging forest fire seven miles south of our home. In the end, the smoke made it look much closer than it was, but as our dear firefighting friend said to me, "that isn't very far away". Indeed. A strange thing when you have about an hour to grab the hard drive which contains all of our precious photos, the wedding album, a few clothing items, the laptop, camera and other miscellaneous stuff one thinks she might need to protect. Nature's little test for me this week. Our little blaze is the largest burning fire in the nation and declared a national disaster at over a hundred thousand acres. A nesting feeling is coming over me, I want to organize the house and make soup in my big cast iron dutch oven. I love this time of year. I can't wait to take Miles to the pumpkin patch. I received some yummy mail goodies for my birthday, which is so surprising and makes me feel well-loved. I've spoken with a dear and lovely friend and connected like never before. I made glass art for the first time (pictures coming soon). I picked apples in my yard. I helped my illin' brother clean his apartment. I watched a movie with my honey. I hosted a yard sale on the windiest day of the year in my driveway. I witnessed my mom's 5 year sobriety birthday. I ate chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream. I kissed the cold, pink cheeks of the sweetest boy in town. "Love comforteth like sunshine after rain." -- William Shakespeare

Blessed

My weekend was especially fun-crammed full of this beautiful creature and the man I adore. My existence is blessed in so many ways. Here are some of them: *I am surrounded by amazing souls, I'm convinced I have landed the best friends and family possible in the world, and there are so many! I know how lucky I am. *I know what I LOVE to do and why I do it *and I have finally found a name for it. Wishcraft and Pathfinder have made their way to the garage sale bins after a decade and two return trips to college... *huge sigh of relief* !! *I am engulfed in inspiration wherever I turn: aforementioned peeps, nature, yummy foods, sweet pets, divine synchronicity, spirit seekers and critical thinkers, creative tools, color....I never have to look far for my fire to be ignited. *Each year brings amazing triumphs over obstacles, hope for true balance, weeding out of unneeded things, and strangely, simplification of almost every aspect of life. *I can still fit into my high school cheerleading uniform. :) HA HA! *I am finding it easier to laugh at myself. Thank heavens for this one. How are you blessed this fine fall day?

Celebrate

Nevermind the barley and pea soup in the low right corner...Mommy and Babe read Dad's sweet card. I am thirty-five on Saturday and we are outta here for a long weekend of lounging in a mineral hot spring on the porch of a hut near the ocean. I can't imagine anything better! A little yoga in a yurt, a bit of live jazz with dinner, a hike to the crest above the cottage; come Monday, I'll be a brand new gal. Maybe I'll feel like I'm twenty-five... Ha! Have a great weekend, daughters of Zeus...

Happy Birthday Dad

Today is my Dad's birthday and I wanted to honor him here and share him with you. Here are some things you should know about him to love him: He is extremely silly. He takes himself too seriously sometimes and has to pause and laugh at himself. He sometimes talks so fast that we say his mouth can't keep up with his brain. He talks to strangers. He is jolly. He sits each morning before work with his socks in his hands staring into space-we call this the "Sock Trance". He loves to walk all over the mountains. He appears easygoing, but he also has a nervous energy about him, ants in his pants-I have this too. He never cries. When he gets super excited, he can't stop coughing. He used to be a daredevil in his younger day: riding bucking horses and driving really fast. He is a self made man: owns his own business and works very hard, indulging in few luxuries. He talks to slot machines. He loves his homeland of Oklahoma and would like to live there again someday. He has a deep appreciation of the way things were in simpler times. He loves me and our family so much.

Wellness Part One

Venus flytraps, Huntington Garden, 2006. I laid Miles down for a nap and came downstairs, scooped out some mint and chip, dumped a bunch of milk on top, grabbed my notebook and ran into the office. I had to kick a tiny maraca out of the way in order to sit down at my desk, stepping on a cheerio once I did. My office is a small junk antique table in a half sized bedroom (*right*) that used to contain the baby's crib. We have since moved it upstairs in our room (since he actually has to use it occasionally now), replacing the co-sleeper that he grew out of, and now I share this space with his bookshelf, dresser and supplies. I am thrilled to have a door between me and the rest of the herd! Sheesh. Work. It is a thing I love to do. I am just beginning to reinvent what I do. Miles will be a year old in a couple of weeks and I'm anxious to simplify my work life so that my time with him is extraordinary, but that I also set aside 12 or so hours a week to pursue my enterprise. This leads me to my next thought: I am surrounded extraordinary women eager to share their stories and skills of wellness of some kind. You are bodyworkers, feng shui-ers, health food store owners, therapists, shamanic healers, writers of motherhood and the human experience, artists with immense hearts, 12 step sponsors, yoga teachers, coaches, home organizers, nature enthusiasts, ecopsychologists, herbalists, sex therapists, child advocates, vegetarians, energy healers, retreat facilitators and so many more. You amaze me! I want to talk about what this category of wellness represents for us. Why do we have such a strong drive to be WELL and want wellness for others? Who are we? What do we have in common and how do we talk about the incredible gifts that we have to offer with each other? What holds us back and what thrusts us forward? Spill!

Certainty

The Goddesses of VICTORY, Aug 2006. Been a very long day. Do you know that it is after 10 pm and I have not brushed my teeth all day. Gross, huh? It began with the phone ringing off the hook and my baby's nap schedule thrown off by the extreme faldaral. Then I decided as soon as B got home that NOW was my time to seize the moment and reorganize the entire garage. I know of two preggies having boys and so I packed boxes overflowing with clothes and maternity clothes, etc to send to them, as I have been meaning to do this for months now. I am loving a few things right now: *ruffled bummie knickers from agent provocateur: oooh la la to the max. *not so sexy but very supportive and neato keen providence clogs-the best. *hobo international handbags. *fat tire beer. *fitting into my prepreg clothes, all but a few pairs of skinny jeans. *annie's shells n cheese. *thai herbs, the northern blend from mango grove with cinnamon bark and kaffir lime. *licorice mint tea with messages from god on the paper tag. *mrs. meyer's geranium scented dishsoap *sparkly dishscrubbers from whole foods *longtime friends *strollin with my babe past the stellar's perch and bigwhitedog house *badger medicine "Badger's certainty is a source of strength." Jamie Sams May you be certain in all you are...

Tooth Fairy

I wonder if he gets this frownie forehead from yours truly? He didn't get that light hair from me.... We are all aflutter here at Campbell Cottage because our eleven month, 6 day old boy is finally cutting his first tooth. Break out the champagne! Many months of on-again-off-again drooling, cranking and gnawing everything in sight has paid off. He has been foaming little bubbles today in honor of the long-awaited pearlie. In other news, I am having a lusty affair over at Typepad-creating a little business card for the writing work that I've been cultivating. I do so wish I'd taken that graphic arts class at community college so many years ago. My experience trying to make a banner in Illustrator last night was a comedy of errors, to say the least. I'll post the link up here as soon as its shined up a bit more. In other other news, our house in the Central Valley is nearing completion. We'll be packing it up once again and giving it another go. Fall is my very favorite time of year here in the mountains-the apples will be ready in another couple of weeks, the sunflowers are all so tall and polleny, the nesting birds are gathering twigs and yarns for their snuggly winter roosts. It goes without saying that I will dearly miss this place when I'm gone. Tonite there is an amazing full corn moon shining overhead. She promises abundance. I want to send up a little Happy Birthday to my dear Maya, my Virgo sister, whom we lost early this year. And I want to offer up a wee prayer of fertility for my handful of girlfriends who are trying to fill their wombs up with babies and are met with challenges and loss. May this season be one of inner wealth.

Goldmine

"Loving parents should want to find out what they are unconsiously doing to their children. If they simply avoid the subject and instead point to their parental love, then they are not really concerned about their children's well-being, but rather are painstakingly trying to keep a clear conscience. This effort, which they have been making ever since they were little, prevents them from letting their love for their children unfold freely and from learning something from this love."--Alice Miller, For Your Own Good. There seems to be a fair amount of inauthentic parenting happening today. I am discouraged by parents who don't want to hear their children's stories, pains, and even rage. However, I am heartened that there are abundant resources to point people to the path to themselves. The movement toward our inner goldmines is a valuable one, as individuals and as a collective. What is does your essence look like? What are your coping mechanisms? How do you shine your light? Adults have the ability to look deeply into their well, and see who they really are. What can change? What do you think cannot be changed? What would you look like if you could find the sparkles and dark spots your parents gave you and find more of you outside of them? How can we re-nourish our inner voices, nurture that divine essence and draw it forward?

Pow Wow

Sarah Jane prepares the tipi for sacred ceremony, August 2006. "Womankind is half of the human world, but most importantly, women are the peaceful ones, and in this new era, it is the peaceful ones who will bring ultimate harmony." --Ed McGaa, (Eagle Man), Sioux Medicine Man.

The Messenger

Crows are thought to be messengers, tribal members, tricksters, and speakers. Miles is all of these: bringing elements of deep, primitive love to me from the other side of the cosmos. He is my mirror and my challenge, my creation and my gift to you. May you see in him a twinkling glimpse of what I can see.

"...but it was my intuition, my sense of myself and my child, and my love that made me a good mother." --Mallika Chopra, 100 Promises to My Baby

Wired

From about four months to four years of age, children are wiring in competency. Through exploring their environment, they learn the valuable lesson of cause and effect, er, the natural consequences of their actions. Miles knows that when he presses the big red plastic button, a cow sound comes out or that dog hair is a tasty treat. The more difficult experiences for a parent to patiently observe are the teetering falls, bumps to the head, and frustration that is created when he is trying hard to figure something out but it isn't happening. When a baby is interrupted from doing something that a parent deems unsafe (or inconvenient?), he wires in that mommy must know that he isn't capable of doing that particular thing right. When mommy or daddy regularly pull baby back off of activities for whatever reason, he understands that what he wants to do isn't what he should be doing. His body begins to try to work for someone else's mind-no easy feat. (Have you ever tried to tailor your actions in order to get a favorable response from someone?) This is a sensitive lesson that has caused us to put away everything that is unsafe for Miles so that we don't have to pull him away from anything at all. We want him to feel competent at everything he tries and accomplishes. There is a very wise woman who I will soon link to who has said that if you are afraid that your hardwood floors could be dangerous for your little one, MOVE. As an adult, the person who was controlled or hovered about often has a fragmented way of going about tasks. Moving from A to B proves most difficult. Now, what did I come into the office for?

Just the Way You Are

"Can't you see that you are very special just the way you are?" --The Tree, The Enchanted Tree. No need to change a thing today...

Bare It

Sitting in an incredible nature made sacred space dubbed "The Wigwam" today with my mountain women, we spoke of those who can't be reached: who build impenetrable walls of protection around to guard from the new hurts and cover the old wounds. My wise friend Stevie said that it comes down to baring our souls. I felt that it forms a wonderful question, but perhaps only if you can answer yes. Thank you today for he or she who holds our hearts patiently in their hands while we perform this most human of vulnerabilities. Can you bare your soul?

Sandman, Where Are You?

Pixie at Swirly's fanciful, perfect wedding, Aug 5 2006. Ahhh, life at the Campbell Cottage is always interesting and almost always changing in some way. As Miles grows into a bigger boy each day, new challenges surface and old issues are forgotten. We no longer dread every car ride like we did six months ago. Now we dread naptime when he is so sleepy but can't surrender to the sandman. Which is what is happening today. We have not been the scheduling kind of parents up until now, but we are finding that Miles is underrested and is telling us in ways only a baby can that we need to support him by enforcing new ideas. The last two days of reading his earliest nap cues and ushering him upstairs for a sweet ritual resulted in hour and a half long naps. It was so easy! Trying to get him to bed last night, however, was another story. He protested in every way possible, all the while rubbing his eyes and yawning. Making happy energetic faces one moment, and glazed zombie ones the next. Singing, rocking, nursing, laying down with him, cozying him with his silkie blankie and bunny simply did not welcome rest. Today's nap window is slipping away, and I don't care. My job is to be flexible, his emotional rock, and remain kind and calm. It is tempting to hand him to the neighbor and run screaming down the lane with my hands above my head at times. Instead, we're sharing cheese crackers with Blue Girlie and watching her roll gratefully on her back all over the floor. And telling you all about it.

Butter Boy

Miles has proven to love almond butter, and the celery stick is perfect for his tender molars. He teaches me so much about pure joy each day. Yesterday was a bit traumatic for us-more for me. On my way to leave Miles with his beloved Gangie at the baby superstore, he cried and cried until he was snuffle-snorting sadly. Sometimes he just doesn't like being in the car for long periods. Then as I was snapping him into his shopping cart cushiony thingy, I caught a bit of his tender underarm flesh in it, pinching him. More crying, poor thing. At that point, I cancelled my doctor's appointment-I've waited three and a half years to have my sprained ankle x-rayed, it can wait another week... A new toy, a scrumptious tortellini lunch with loved ones, and a 3D ultrasound moving picture show of Miles new cousin (who is due on Halloween) rounded out the afternoon, taking the edge off of the unforgiving beginning. Colorful plastic, four kinds of cheese and new life have a way of making everything seem okay. I woke up with a horrible headache this morning. I'm certain it is born of thinking too much. Today I want to slow that down. The season is changing here, the August light shifting and becoming softer-my favorite time of year-my New Year. Sending warm hugs to D who is sad today and C who will be so happy tomorrow.

Nothing Must Be Done

Little man plays with his balls. Today my mantra is simple: "Nothing must be done." It's not easy, but it is simple. What say you?

Moonlight Beach in Crooked Hats

"Yet in our human relations we are outraged when the supreme moments, the moments of flowering, must be waited for...and then cannot last. "--May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude Every moment with a child is a first that will never be experienced again. How sad!, that we must pay attention to each twinkling, without distraction, to his each and every whim in order to savor the juice of a fruit that ripens to perfectness every day and then from the beginning the very next day again: however subtly changed. How, I ask, can one have time for meaningless undertakings when this is the highest priority, that which takes precedence over all else? To miss these ripe moments are a sin against the self, as how dare we eschew our holiest creation?

Three Degrees of Leo

Gangie and Miles, April 2006. It's my mom's birthday today and I want to wish her a happy day full of laughs and the feeling of being adored. She may not like this picture, but I chose it because it seems to convey how joyful she is about Miles. They have quite an affinity for each other. Mom was in the delivery room (the bedroom) when Miles emerged and was a great source of strength for me as I gave birth to him. I like this horoscope for her because it emphasizes her creativity, and love of family. Happy Day, Mom! (That is my dad reaching in with his rocky road.) The 20 lightening fires are still burning, outside smells of smoke and pine trees. My delicious forest of Los Padres has lost over 1000 acres at present. None are out of control, as the wind is mellow from last night's humidity. Our neighbor Jeannie came tapping yesterday, "Yoo hoooo! Pixie?", to deliver over five different kinds of lettuces and a large bunch of basil from her organic garden. Living next to a culinary arts graduate certainly has its perks. I love that a relative stranger will reach out with such ease, to share abundance. On a grander scale, it reminds me of the hope that in a world oft wafting with confusion, kindness will find her way adeptly through the dark. I'm reading more these days, in an effort to be still. Revisiting a thoughtful old favorite and trying something savory and new. Being still is refueling for me, as all fire needs a gust of help now and then.

Ring of Fire

The wildfire season has begun on time this year, with above rager starting yesterday and still proceeding at the moment. I believe the wind keeps shifting and sending it back and forth over the San Emidgio range, east then west then back again. The copters and planes carrying water from Pyramid Lake and Piru have been buzzing overhead since daybreak. Quick shout out to the fire department! We don't have cable television here and are remote enough not to pick up any local channels, so I am out of the loop as to what percentage it is or isn't contained. Living in a remote mountain community brings a person closer to her environment in many senses. Whether being snowed in or flamed out, excitement prevails here. I am picking up lots of writing work these past weeks, and I'm enjoying it immensely. There has been a windfall of people requesting fresh biographies, copy for websites, articles for e-zines all blowing in at once. If you are interested in hiring a wee and wordy fairy to weave your story, email me at campbellhq@earthlink.net and I shall send you my info sheet. Beware my spam snapper. Meantime, working on visual art has swung out for a moment, as the pendulum that is my creative life flows like ocean waves. I have two 24 x 24 canvases prepped and one coated on the studio table, lonely but patient. I saw an advertisement for a new Barbara Scher book (Wishcraft) for people who are pulled in multiple directions. She claims that one needn't choose a single direction...Barb affirms once again. The bits of light coming in are nineteen-seventies-sunset-colored: pink and orange and gold- though it is only noonish here in south central California. Fire is scary and threatening, yet also cleansing and purifying. But I wouldn't be sad if it started pouring rain.

Sea Monster

"We would be warm below the storm in our little hide-a-way beneath the waves. Resting our head on the sea bed in an octopus’s garden near a cave. We would sing and dance around because we know we can’t be found." --Octupus' Garden, The Beatles

Where would you rather be today?

Slow Spin

MLC and Maui Mommy, June 2006. "The wheel keeps on turning and turning and turning and... nothing's disturbing the way it goes around." ---Edie Brickell. I know, I'm a cheeseball for continuing to listen to albums I had in college. But I love the Edie! Paul Simon has great taste in women. Indeed, the planet has a way of keepin' on without any concern about my wanting it to slow the hell down. I'm turning it over, my inner workings like a compost heap getting hot and buggy. All that comes in gets recycled and with hope, I learn something in the process. This week's big whoop is about natural consequences. When I fall down, I feel the cold sting of the concrete right up on my cheek, solid and unforgiving as it is. I like to fall, and I do it quite a bit. When I am allowed to make my own choices, gravity and other natural laws are quick to greet me. Bear with the Mighty Queen of Metaphors a moment: In childrearing and other pursuits deemed to require careful nurturing and protection, we might safeguard with protective gear, insurance, helmets or cautioning words. It is known that we cannot wholly protect our loved ones from what results from bad manners, poor judgement, lacking hygiene, daredevil impulses. Beyond a wish to ensure physical safety often lies the desire to protect our dears from what others might think. But what can also be noted is that when we parent ourselves or others from fear, we deprive them or ourselves of curiosity and inevitably the opportunity to succeed or fail on their own. What I mean is, by allowing the natural course of things, say, people to make choices without giving unsolicited advice, warnings, suggestions or fear based requests, we give them the gift of learning whether they would make the same choice again, a remarkable tool for learning that cannot be underestimated. I catch myself giving such words out for free and have a strong desire to STOP doing this. I have been warned by well meaning friends that I flirt with flames at times. Call it the daredevil implulses or a blatant disregard for authority figures. I want to pursue my own learning and lessons- my own way, even if it means getting burned. Because there is nothing that exfoliates the dead cells quite like a cement facial, ya'll.

Bounty

Busy week! Lots going on at the camp here. I'm helping a dear friend and coach put together her bio for her website and what a good time I'm having. I love extracting someone's gifts and putting them to words so as to acknowledge her in a bright light. What a treat for me! It's like giving presents, that kind of feeling. I'm paying attention to little details like Miles milky breath, the tearing cherry skin between my molars and the sweet scent of the new lavender. The natural world in my yard and around its perimeter is full of beautiful surprises. The previous owners planted many things that die out in winter's cold-tall and hovering cosmos, little teeny purple pansies and columbine are appearing out of nowhere in the beds. The stellar jays are losing their feathers all over the place. And the mountain is being spared the heatwave felt up and down the state. I sit in many circles of women, lucky gal am I. Yesterday I sat in my most endearing circle of all. In a place of complete trust, respect and sisterhood, one can only reach for her highest self. Sacredness abounds, fruit falls on the ground, all around. Look out, Geissel, I'm feelin snarky. "The greatest mistake you can make in life is to be continually fearing you will make one." --Elbert Hubbard.

Praise Cookies

"Without attention, the human sense of wonder and the holy will stir occasionally, but to become a steady flame it must be tended."--Huston Smith, The World's Religions. Wouldn't it be wonderful if there were a god of cookies? Surely if there were, she would be a goddess! Or more probable, a child. A cookie is really so much better than the stodgy scone, the conservative muffin, less-than-portable cake- Because of its shape, you can hold it with one hand and address important business with the other, if you want to. My favorite cookie is no secret: Uncle Eddies Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip. When you find one you really love, lift it skyward and praise the Holy Cookie Creator Worthy of Otherworldy Status (and capitalization).

Airline Miles

(I have been trying to put this up for almost a week and eBlogger is giving me trouble! I may be up to my limit in photo storage, so as I work this issue out, I will not be able to post some of the photos I've been wanting to share here. Here is the flickr page where you can see some pics from our trip.) Our first family vacation is behind us and summer has just begun! Miles travelled like a little champion, so excited about every detail: noticing new people on the trolley from the remote parking lot to the departing flight, jumping up and down and squealing on the plane ride from LAX to Honolulu, flirting with the flight attendants, patting the plastic window on the short flight to Kaluhui. All fears of ear pressure were dismissed-whatever it is that causes newbies to feel that discomfort (still-developing ear parts?) was not present for Miles. Sitting around in paradise is not something we do every year. The escape was truly the nicest thing we could have done for ourselves in this year of a new baby, a new home and an impending move to another new home in the year ahead. I got a Thai massage at Honua spa (and a heavenly outdoor shower) the day before we left. If you've never tried Thai massage, it is different, but I found it really quite effective at opening those crunchy, closed parts-especially in the hips and shoulders. The therapists use their feet a lot. Loved it! But you know how at the tail end of a big adventure the yearning to be home comes pecking at the window? Perhaps it is thinking of the long day of travel before me, the slapdash packing which is so unlike the meticulous, orderly suitcase I arrived with, or racing down to the beach on the last evening to get one more glimpse of the palm trees that stretch out toward the water and up toward the lazy sky...i don't know what invites that feeling in...it feels like sand cemented between the toes that only two-handed scrubbing can unglue. Heading back to a different world always finds me melancholyish. Home a few days now, one suitcase still sits on the bedroom floor. I'm living out of it, partly, not wanting to pack my adventurespirit away until our next jaunt. I've been steering clear of the internet to extend the essence of my vacation a little longer, it has been nice, but I do feel like I've got a lot of catching up to do! It is good to be here, on my pine-sweet scented mountain where green pollen covered the cars, a mouse met his tragic end on a stepping stone, the cherries turned bright red, the sun set just a little bit earlier, and all of the roses bloomed in our absence. I picked up I Sit Listening to the Wind at the spa on my day of shameless indulgence. The format is a bit unconventional, but the sentiments resonate strongly for me. Give it a peek if you are feeling at home in your quiet place within. I'm heavy-headed, as allergies or some such sinus issue plagues me. I must retire, but will make my sleepy way back here soon.

aloha

My little menahuni. I've missed you! We are on vacation on an island in the Pacific: all around us tropical flowers abound and fruit hanging low on trees ready to be devoured. We are staying in a plantation house in Hana, HI-paradise on earth. Besides my forested mainland home, I've never witnessed such lush beauty . Our vacation is more than half over and I can already feel the grief creeping in. Miles is so at home here. As always, the medicine jumps forward on trips far away from the familiar. That may be why I love to travel so much. The learning is accelerated without the shortsighted thinking I experience at home. Some things that I need intimate time with can really seep in. A few items are digesting here. A few mantras seem to be repeating: You can either be right or you can be free. If one must defend a thing, perhaps there is more work to be done. More comfort levels to be scaled. Doing nothing (wu wei) can be a very productive act. Geckos in a drinking vessel must go. Now I'm cracking myself up and getting totally off track. I'll have to finish this post later! HA HA! There are turquoise Venus pools to throw myself into from great heights and Pele's mountains to be climbed. Aloha!

more katie

"Underlying belief: My life should have a purpose. Is it true? Yes. Can I absolutely know that it's true? No. How do I react when I think the thought? I feel fear, because I don't know what my purpose is, and I think I should know. I feel stress in my chest and head. I may snap at my husband and children, and this eventually takes me to the refrigerator and the television in my bedroom, often for hours or days, I feel as if I'm wasting my life. I think that what I actually do is unimportant and that I need to do something big. This is stressful and confusing. When I believe this thought, I feel great internal pressure to complete my purpose before I die. Since I can't know when that is, I think that I have to quickly accomplish this purpose (which I don't have a clue about). I feel a sense of stupidity and failure, and this leaves me depressed. Who would I be without the belief that my life should have a purpose? I have no way of knowing. I know I'm more peaceful without it, less crazed. I would settle for that! Without the fear and stress around this thought, maybe I'd be freed and energized enough to be happy just doing the thing in front of me. The turnaround: My life should not have a purpose. That would mean that what I've lived has always been enough, and I just haven't recognized it. Maybe my life shouldn't have a purpose other than what it is. That feels odd, but somehow it rings truer. Could it be that my life as it's already lived is the purpose? That seems a lot less stressful." from Loving What Is, Byron Katie. It's no secret that I am a big ole Katie fan. She appears here frequently. She's my ZenMasterGuruFlash. Because I can find myself caught up in a hairy tangle of complicated beliefs that unconsciously infiltrate my processes like a yeasty parasite, her work resonates with me. Part of my problem is hardwiring from the early years. Part is that I am sometimes lazy about looking at me and my stuff. When I feel the whacking ker-whacka of a life lesson, I'm oft taken aback at how I could have been living this way for so long without seeing the screeching monolith before me. Her method goes beyond seeking a truth. She's so simplistic in the way that she presents her argument: DON'T ARGUE WITH REALITY. Every time I bust myself doing it, I have to laugh. Katie is known as the Woman Who Made Friends With the Wind, as she lives in Barstow where the wind is merciless and shoots grains of sand through your eyeballs. She is quoted as saying "How do I know that the wind should blow? It's blowing!" She's a woman that deeply touches my little type-A heart.

the littlest dog

Dodger dog, that is. Though I don't pay attention to baseball anymore, I still have so many favorite memories of the 1970's team that boasted Steve Garvey on first base and Dusty Baker on third. Or was Baker in centerfield? Well, maybe I'm lacking some details in this rusty memory of mine. Fernando was pitching in the best year of all. I was in 5th grade. I am certain that my mom used to jump up and down on our corduroy sofa and yell "Go, baby, go!" and "All the way home!!", when we watched the games on TV. I loved sitting in the stands and singing Take Me Back to the Ballgame and eating as much of the footlong that I could manage. My cousins and I would crash in the back of the car on the long ride home, each toting a miniature wooden bat or a small, blue plastic batting helmet that might later be worn by someone's cat, or a giant foam hand with an upraised index finger. When I met B's grandmother Lois, affectionately known as Grammalo, she showed me a photo that she had taken of him at J.J. Newbury's in Glendora wearing only a diaper and the L.A. ballcap. She is 76 years young today, getting ready to celebrate by travelling to Alaska, one of the few places she hasn't yet seen. Happy Birthday, Grammalo! You are such an inspiration to us.

hiatus

detail of watercolor & oil pastel, 2003.

i am taking a wee blogging breakie this week in order get a bit more organized around here. my environment and to-do lists are getting out of control! in the meantime i want to introduce you to my friend, jen who is a professional organizer and single-handedly helped me through our move away from the big mountain last year. we sold our house quickly and easily because of her expert organizing skills. thank you, sister!! we are gearing up to vacation in lovely hana, maui in a couple of weeks and i'm putting those crazy lists together as well. this will be miles first airplane ride and our first time away for such a long time. send me baby travel tips if you've got some good ones. i promise to be back and more attentive than ever- shortly. go look in the mirror and say-"you rock!", cause ya do. serious mischief will befall you if you don't...

lovelovelove pixie

favorite things

mlc on our buddha deck wearing his new hat that nearly fits me. M is my most favorite squeezable thing of ALL. mlc & me in the park at the lilac festival, 2006. Do you love to read oprah's list of favorite things? I'm inspired to create my own here: gina g pottery -found gina at the lilac fest up here-her imperfect, earthy mugs & bowls are my favorite home art of the summer. B says the chunky vase on my table feels like it has "hip dimples" when you pick it up-so gloriously feminine. the kind of potter that makes me want to drop everything and buy a wheel and kiln.... tangerine soda -because i'm a sugar addict and these guys don't add any which makes me feel validated in rotting my teeth and body chemistry on occasion. bralessness -letcha freak flag fly and your boobs, too. white sage -or salvia ape, as it was nicknamed when i worked in the native seed biz. so sacred to fill the house with purifying smoke-did it late last night in order to infiltrate my dreams. fortune cookies -"be true and trust each other and all will be well"-the perfect answer to a burning question i had this week.... big calm -ooh this old album is so mellowy good with that sultry voice. mommy baby yoga -this is turning out to be a great dvd habit-M loves it and i get to stretch those pinching parts in my flying trapezius. coconut almond body souffle -a major splurge with a gift certificate from B at the day spa. this stuff is heroine for the senses. laura mercier does not mess around. ginger peach tea -and look at the crazy new line they have that appeals to all of my lusty packaging desires. anasazi pot beans and cornbread - boutique beans. heirlooms, yo. look like something off of the mythological pilgrim/indian dinner table. yummmmyyyy!!! with a piece of kombu seaweed thrown in while cooking. I have been cooking like a crazy person-last week mushroom pot pies, this week yellow curried squash with cilantro and cashews. What's in your pot? As lovely leonie loves to say.

questions

tee pee at sarah jane's, 2006. I am running across some of the best questions. It is no surprise that most of them come from women in the coaching profession. I'm all about coaching, I think it is one of the most useful tools of our time. I have a local personal coach that I still call on from time to time, who helped me traverse some major life transition icebergs a few years ago and I can't tell you how her listening skills and resources impacted my life. To me, coaching is one of those magic wands that when waved, knit your best ideas about what you want to do together with the essence of who you are to help get you on the path you want to be on, one that authentically honors YOU. Something about this time we live in has a vast number of us wanting to "be on our true path". Ever thought about why that is? Laura Berman Fortgang was recently featured on a Loudenclear podcast, and though I am not necessarily looking for a New Life Direction, some things she said prompted me to read through a couple of chapters of Now What? 90 Days to a New Life Direction. This led to curling up with my journal, putting a babe on the boob and writing down (with the clever use of a pillow and a dog's back) some answers to the following LBF questions: What do people come to me for? (Hiding in these answers is sometimes the essence of who we are, unless we hire ourselves to people to do things we don't like, in which case we might need to examine our boundaries.) What have people said I should be? (Again, because your aunt said you should be a botanist doesn't mean you should run out and be one, but LBF encourages the reader to look for the WHO inside this-like is it your sense of wonder about the natural world that led your aunt to say that? What does that say about who you are? Does it provide clues that can guide you to a more authentic expression of yourself in work or just life in general? *She writes about goldmining not for the title or the "package" but for who you get to be when you are doing these things* I found this really helpful. List the things you do or past jobs (the title) on one side, then list the essence of those things on the other. Here are a couple of mine: *massage therapist: encourages health, well being, balance and insight into the body in others. *artist: create with color, create beauty for visual enjoyment, create a connection between people. Who was I in the past that I liked? Disliked? *I like who I am in excitable situations, I sometimes get really courageous and wise. In the birth of Miles, I did not think even for a moment that I should have gone to a hospital and received painkillers or interventions. I liked who I was when I grieved my miscarriage-I was vulnerable, yet strong and very willing to find the light at the end of the tunnel. *I didn't like who I was when I worked in a thankless job as a manufacturing administrator. It felt like I was always seeking an authoritative male's approval and though it made me feel secure during that time, I don't like that I consciously participated in the business for as long as I did. Doing these exercises gave me a tremendous sense of my own essence, as I think I tend to look at those things I choose to do as self serving. It also reminded me that what I do has meaning to me, and that is just simply affirming. Just for fun, tell me who you were in the past that you liked. We often don't see our true selves clearly enough. I want to see you! Peaceout.

sacred

"In the absence of the sacred-nothing is sacred-everything is for sale."-- Oren Lyons, Onondaga Chief I'm on a low tumble cycle...thinking...reading...processing...going outside...haven't been here much...but still here. What is sacred to you? What would you do to keep that thing in it's most honored integrity?

these ten years

This is a tribute to the man i call home. Ten years ago this day, we travelled to the water for our first date. We drove up PCH toward El Matador beach with his surfboard bungeed down in the back of his blue truck. I had all of my things packed for a move sitting in a corner of a warehouse at work and had no beach towel, so we stopped at a roadside market where I bought a hot pink towel that has followed us to each house we've lived in until I retired it this last move.We twice passed the sign on Malibu Highway that reads "27 Miles of Scenic Beauty". Whenever we refer to this anniversary we call it some variation of the 27 Miles of Scenic Beauty Date. A date so important in our history. B set off on foot for the waves a little while after we staked our claim in the sand. As he walked away from me, I felt giddy and giggly to myself about possibly kissing him at the end of the day. As he reached the shoreline, he promptly stepped into a hole and fell straight down-I think he cut himself on a rock. He was so embarrassed and I was laughing like crazy. I am that loathed person who can't hold in laughter at a topple. After a long day, he drove me to my girlfriend's house where I was sleeping temporarily. I had to lean in and give him a peck on the cheek. I had no idea how this was going to work if he was going to be so fracken* shy. It did work. It is working. Ten years later we are still laughing when the other falls-then we gently and carefully pick the other up and hold each other so close, so tight, with such safety and respect, and most of all, trust. We know that we are so lucky to have each other-to have outshined our own expectations-not of each other, but of ourselves. And now we have this beautiful baby boy to show for our hard work: our labor of true love and our gift to each other. We are home.

now

mother's day lunch, 2006. "If you then become excessively focused on the goal, perhaps because you are seeking happiness, fulfillment, or a more complete sense of self in it, the NOW is no longer honoured. It becomes reduced to a mere stepping stone to the futrue, with no intrinsic value. Your life's journey is no longer an adventure, just an obsessive need to arrive, to attain, to 'make it'." --Eckhart Tolle, The Power of Now

as good as it gets

what if everything i have right now is all i will ever have? what if this is the best i will ever feel? what if the formal education i have now is the most i will ever get? what if my destiny is sitting right in front of me, so obvious i can't see it? what if no letters ever follow my name to indicate my qualifications, credibility? what if i am already who i am supposed to be? what if i am missing the point by mistaking yearning for ambition?

the weekend lives on

my goofy ass husband wearing miles hat. always the sunday morning comedian.

first time EVER touching a tree. how wonderful is that?

willie the weekend warrior.

steve & me.

These are photos taken this weekend: i am still feeling so full because of a brilliant and sunny hike with good friends.

I'm going to copycat my favorite mama, Wendy, and direct you to Christina's journal to read her scrumptious-i'm-so-glad-she-articulated-this paragraph about the memory. I am thinking all about being in the moment this week. Grief has a way of making me forget things, too. Like Funday. Some people don't forget and for this I am so very grateful. I'll do better this month. Lovin: *Tazo Mate Tropic *Pot Beans-so earthy smelling all day *Apple-raisin-cinnamon empanadas *Mango Cilantro Salsa *Mangoes and more Mangoes *Mail Candy from the Sweetest Sweet *Bach Flower Remedies in White Chestnut and Vine *My goal to STOP sentence chopping people! *Coconut ice cream

*My hysterical husband and his wacky band. *YOU.

Go have some fun, eh?

phoenix magic

grammalo and miles at an outdoor cafe. the leg goes right into the foot, we say. a cankle of sorts. daddy and boy. my friend jen said this to me in an email- *thank you, jen*.

"I know there isn't much I can say.... I do recall at one point in my life that many deaths of people I knew brought me to this thought: Somehow life arises from a persons death. It seems like when we are struck by the death of a loved one, friend, or even an aquaintance, an unsudden appreciation of them arises out of nowhere and you think, thank you God for bringing this person into my life. All the gems of their life, which is now a part of yours whether you experience it with them or not, come to light. They, like you, are all a part of this big picture, a grand one. Then you realize your encounter, no matter how brief, is a blessing."

life does arise from a person's death. conversations about how short life is begin to take place again, extra effort is taken to get to those destinations we always wanted to get to, a fearlessness sets in. the glittery life dust gets stirred up, and i take notice. i squeeze my loved ones closer, knit my little family closer together, and count my many blessings. living in a constant state of this kind of awareness is rare.

i want to thank my dear, colorful friend maya, one more time here, for shining her bright light on our lives. for being a beacon of smiles and happiness always. we loved her so much.

squeeze your lovers tight today.

spt-introduce yourself

self portrait tuesday is one of those things i began for fun and now i'm addicted. maybe i'm addicted to my own image. or addicted to picking it apart. or something. they've revamped their site and it is tres user friendly now. even i can figure it out. but now its called "self portrait challenge".

so that is me in a dressing room. i'm also addicted to clothes. any new variation on the jean or t-shirt and i'm on it. a real glamour girl.

ok, a few things you may not know about me...

*i'm a mom and i'm crazy about my seven month old baby boy. i take attachment parenting to the edge: he sleeps in the bed with us, i breastfeed all day and all night, he can be found on my body 90% of the time. i love it. i don't relate with moms who have to take their kid to daycare and then put them in a crib to sleep at night. i'd be lying if i didn't say that i think my way is better. oh, and i'm a know-it-all. my mother called me this for years and it's really true.

*my first real job was in the clothing business, a manufacturer that only had an opening for a receptionist. i answered phones until they let me have the assistant design position. oversized tees with matching stirrup leggings were all the rage...i stayed in the biz for ten years, long enough to see those leggings burn, and work for a couple of really awesome companies.

*i love bluegrass music. my grandpap's influence. i pretty much only like the stuff he likes. but i like lots of other music as well. just ask the string of boys i dated before i married B. all musicians. i'm nuts that way.

*i'm allergic to the sun. break out in blisters all over my hands and arms. i should probably live somewhere that is not california, but it is home.

*i pour milk over my ice cream. just like my dad. gross out if you have to, but i think its yummy. little icy bits form and swim around in the milky goodness before i slurp em up.

*my verbal skills are no better than my writing skills. so if we ever speak on the phone, this is the best you can hope for.

*i love animals. i also don't eat them. (except i did have clam chowder in santa monica weeks ago. i did ask B if he thought clams had feelings or if they feel pain. he didn't know, so i went for it. shame it wasn't worth it.) animals, their presence and behaviors make up a significant part of my spiritual life.

that is SO plenty about me. its all i can take, really. i'll post pictures of miles next which is why you come here. i'm onto you.

perking up a bit around here. glad of it.

and still it got worse

you are a goddess to me

forever

trapesing up in a patent

leather corset

cocktail in hand

studded party girl

at the front of the stage

my tears are on parade

i miss you already

jolly nymph

star of vinyl dreams

and gothic chopstick hairdos

the maniacal things you said

make me laugh even

when i'm crying for you

big spirited virgo sister

not a heavy heart ever

forever

my friend

rest in pure joy, maya. your life will always be a precious gift to us.

another one of those days

my mood is the opposite of this lovely arrangement of tarts. not a good day to post, but bugger it! i'm going to do it anyway and make no apologies. i'm grumpy as hell. my baby won't sleep, he's nursing every hour and i'm becoming one of those little narcoleptic dachsunds featured on the discovery channel that crash on their faces when they are offered a treat by their trainer. the strain is more than they can bear... sleeplessness is the least of my worries. miles has a rash all over his chest and back-one day it appears to improve, the next day it is red and spreading. i took him to the pediatrician yesterday (i'm not fond of most western doctors in my area, so we only go in dire situations, opting for herbalists and the like), and this guy tells me to give my seven month old adult benadryl in some juice or ice cream. wtf?? my child is lucky to get rice cereal at his age. he will most certainly not be eating ice cream. or juice! what a complete waste of my time and money. seems we also didn't add miles to brandon's insurance policy in time (precious HMO) and so i had to actually pay out of pocket for this stellar advice. wonderful. i'm projecting all over the place. i'm sensitive to things people say to me, barking at B left and right, eating too much sugar and just generally feeling out of balance. i want to cut my hair and for some stupid reason, i'm scared to. i just cut it on friday and i love it, but i want to hack off more. what is this about? tonite i was in the glider with miles, far beyond his bedtime, trying to get him to sleep, and this whopper cacophany of coyote sounds kicked up. i stepped out onto the porch as my own three dogs gathered round my feet, struggling to get out the door. i listened quietly. i'm pretty sure what i heard was the voice of one celebrating coyote. one wild dog's song bouncing off the canyon walls, sounding like a pack of twenty... that dratted trickster always lets me know when i'm lost in the details. time to step back and see the big picture again.... i have received four emails where the typist pointed out to me that she accidentally made a "freudian slip": one wrote "sos" instead of "xox", one typed "margarita beads" instead of "mardi gras beads", another wrote "you have every idea" instead of "you have no idea"...and all of them TOLD me about their slips. this is just in the last two days. i told B everything felt a bit haywire and he said with concern, "is pluto in retrograde or something?" i'm looking forward to a quiet, relaxing weekend. what're you doing for peace and balance lately?

mining

i spoke with a friend in distress this morning. she was feeling rather bleakish. when we got off the phone i remembered my pickaxe. i lost a pregnancy well over three years ago, and in my grief and recovery, i used my pickaxe to help me chip away anything that got in the way of healing. to me at that time, healing was the sparkling ruby embedded in the dark cave wall. i was determined to get there. along the way i found obstacles in my path, most which i had put there myself. the boulders, thorny brambles of confusion, and wayward dead branches were present either to protect me or to remind me of a wound i wanted to hang onto. chop, chop. the axe belonged to my cherished grandpa, and my dad gave it to me a couple of years before the miscarriage. i had used it many times to dig out the granitey hillside we lived on. it was the perfect tool. i would need the help of my wise ancestors to get me to a place of quiet. underneath the rage, disappointment, and heartbreaking sorrow lay the chunky ruby. it held the promise that things would get better. that i would understand what all of this meant in time. that i would be a mom, someday, somehow. so this friend. she's so brave. she shows up on my phone line some mornings dressed for battle. faced with terrible disappointments and loneliness that could leave a person numb forever, she yearns to stay clear, present and accountable to her feelings. i love her so much, for being so bold and courageous, when she could opt to open up an historic hissy fit and take loads of prozac instead. i thank you friend, for showing up and letting me help you. i honor the incredible vulnerability in you. thank you for trusting me, it is the true gift.

i'm sorry, but my child is so f**king adorable i could scream.

time to go to work....*smile*

maya my love

maya is my very dear friend. she is thirty years old and not feeling well - liver cancer. PLEASE send her a focused wish for a miraculous recovery...she needs it. i'm sorry you've had to look at my nosehairs since tuesday. thanks, mom, for bringing this to my attention.

spt

so this is what a couple grand in braces looks like after 17 years....should've gone for the nose hair trimmer, it would have been cheaper. gramma is visiting from coeur d'alene this week-i'm sneaking this post in. much to tell, much to share. until next time, go check out this. the tortured lettuce and beer glass alien is worth the visit... lovin ya.

loose ends

the little buddha has been missing from my blog lately. my computer officially hates me...i've been organizing photos for what seems like forever. i will get back on the good foot and make sure miles gets enough face time here. he is changing so quickly. now that he is six months+, he is becoming so independent. he wants to sit and play with his toys or lie on the couch while we are near. he doesn't like to be held quite as much anymore. he is developing opinions. this is scary. he is starting to give indications of what it is he wants and this is really fun. he started saying mamamamamama two days ago, but i don't think he is referring to me. seems like he uses this word to let us know that he wants nurturing. that pesky first tooth is STILL making its way in, so he gets whiny about the pain. poor little guy. he is teaching me so much about budgeting my time. i told B last night that i have always been a bit of a lollygagger, procrastinator, busyworker (read: decluttering before i can get to the real work)...since m sleeps so little, his naps mean get into the studio and get busy. i love that he is my teacher.

this is a piece i started in december. i didn't know it would be a dedication to the nine of us when i began. there are also nine coyotes buried within...my girls. all facing our tricksters and shadows and lights and stories while helping each other along. this one's for you!

the business of painting is becoming a frenzy. i have a goal to complete 24 by june, and i have varnished three so far. yikes! i do believe it can happen. i'm really enjoying my process-i feel really fearless when i face the canvas, a new thing for me. i'm just workin.

when i went back to school a few years ago, in the end to get my degree in fine art, i was of the belief that my work could not be validated without a degree, proving that i had some training in composition, color theory, et al. and i thought that i would also teach (you know, to fall back on) because i had no idea what i would do once i got the damn degree.

i met with my friend maggie in december, who does this amazing healing work that involves muscle testing your truths...i know! crazy, huh? well, i offered to be a guinea pig as my two other dears watched-the statement i gave was "without my degree i cannot do the work i am meant to do". she asked me how true the statement was on a scale of 1-10 with ten being really true. i think my answer was eight... so she worked quickly to reverse this belief, did a little clearing and then asked me again. i truly felt, not because i had changed my mind about the thing, but i truly felt like this wasn't true anymore.

just like me, i went on and forgot about it. until yesterday. i realized that the plaguing, heavy, dark, sinking, burdensome feeling of needing to rush back to school to finish the monster under the bed was not there. in fact, i had not thought about it since.....WAIT A MINUTE!!? since december???? wtf?

so i'm turning this over, you see. just one of the many little colored threads in my consiousness.

this week i am working with:

*Bear-for strength, major unearthing in order to tune into that psychic glitter that helps me express myself. *Dolomite-for eliminating confusion-getting clear.

LOVING the processes of these lovelies:

teesha moore, jenny vorwaller, and tara finlay. they are all amazing. go see!

sending you a hunk of earthy red modeling clay to press your unique thumbprint into, leaving your magic mark on the world, because i am waiting to see what you've got, i know it will be jsut marvelous...

judgement

i am officially declaring it my deep medicine in life. all of my teachers, chosen and unchosen, are showing me this potential poison. i am at the point where i can feel it physically rising up in me. sometimes the results are positive and sometimes negative. i know it is connected to being a sponge for material. i am an observer-i notice everything. the minute details do not usually slip past me. next step, i immediately form an opinion (note narcissism): i love it, i hate it, its mediocre, its the best ever, i have mixed feelings. operating like a feeling-meter, i am trying to make sense and meaning of the stimulus i come into contact with. this seems at this moment, a boring as hell thing to think about, but when i am stung sharply by my inner meter, it comes forward in my consciousness and i then yearn to keep that tool more in check. case in point: i have a teacher that i respect. i have lately been surprised by some of her teachings, they seem contradictory to what our object is. i come away from work with her with my kneejerk reaction of "that work made me feel uncomfortable" or "i think her choice of words were inappropriate to the work we do". if i stopped there, i suppose i should worry. but what i am glad of, i see now, is that i see myself trying to stay open to the real meaning of my experience. that bit that makes me uncomfortable or perks up my antennae is what the work is really about for me. not just the cozy stuff that makes me feel light inside. sometimes that stinks. i want it to be so much easier. *sigh* i seek to be clear on my inner workins. that takes effort. my reactions to *whatever* speak clearly of my baggage, my unresolved matters. i just hate it sometimes! i want it to be your problem...that would make the conversation in my inner living room so much more simple. on the sunnier side of me, my studio is so satisfying today. with B's help and her table and files, i am fracken organized! here are the jewels i can't live without today: #the song such great heights on an eternal loop-mommies (or anyone interested in naps), get thee to iron and wine-the perfect lullaby. #new soap. #ripe mango for breakfast. shared with blue girlie. #this old friend. #this artist. #the amazing Steve, and her thoughtful wisdom, who does not have a blog! but hopefully soon... my mentor and taos hermana, jennifer louden, is so good at doing these scrumptious closures to her newsletters, so i do feel a bit feeble doing it myself, but i think its worth it. if you don't subscribe to her self- care minder, treat yourself, its free! she's a riot. plus her retreats are insanely worth the money. i send you clean running water into a turquoise glass that reflects its communicative light up into your weary eyes when drank and purifies your cells one by one....

grounded

it is late and dark here and i should really be in bed. i feel sort of giddy, not in an anxious way, but in that "i feel wonderful, but i can't really articulate why" sort of way. i am aching all over from overnursing a clingy, teething baby and bending over signs that i painted for my friend's store that is having its grand opening tomorrow. so tired, but exhilarated. my senses are dancing around to this ancient echo in my bones. something about this evening has the most magical quality. like a mad banshee on fermented turnips, i'm devouring this company's cedar incense (the sweetgrass is great, too) and white sage and wild mint tea. oh my goodness, if you are transported at the whiff of brambly, california hillsides or real campfires, go quickly. i think drinking the tea and burning the incense in my studio tonite is what lit that spark at the seat of my soul and has me up late ready to howl at the moon... makes me never want to go to sleep again... like when misty dawn fritchey and me got new blue school shoes and loved them so much that we kept them on when we went to bed. dynakids, they were called...her grandmother would have had a fit had she known. this fine night i send you much needed rest, the kind that sends your little hairlike roots travelling deep into the earth, pushing your way softly toward your own fertile center where the magic is sparking without you even knowing it...

UNUSUAL

it is unusual

i put this out for you because you

came tapping at the window weeks ago

you finished a whole one

then, like that faker,

the sun

you disappeared a week ago

and i have not seen you since.

where did you go, needle-beaked

red-headed emerald friend?

was it something i said?

spt:water mama

okay, so this isn't exactly a "self" portrait, nor super creative. but its all i've got for the moment. i'm so grateful for all you've said in the last post. it wasn't meant to be a "tell me how you love me" post, but it feels like that! i like to reassess my web identity once in a while-get a range of views of how my words are perceived. many of you said that you come here for inspiration-one of those concepts i still wrestle with from time to time. i think i get it now. my mind goes into a bubble sometimes and i grow foggy. your words help me squeegee the glass. thank you! water water water. i think we've received over four inches of rain in the past 24 hours. what a gift from the sky. though i am anxious to get outside and tromp around in the sagebrush with a babe strapped to my body, i am so so happy that the mighty pines are getting a much-needed drink. winter has been a bit wimpy thus far and the dreaded bark beetle strikes when moisture is low, killing many of our sacred friends. elementally speaking, water is feminine energy, emotions flowing, creations beginning. i see earthworms on the driveway-i yearn for them to stay on the earth! hurry back before the sun comes out and bakes you to a noodley crunch! earthworms teach us of casting off in order to create fertile soil. if we work over the old thouroughly, we are free to move on to the new. today i am holding in my body. the stress of a couple of unresolved issues linger in my trapezius. i know that when i make the phone calls, file the paperworks, finish going through the channels of operations, i will be free to create new energy. until i do, i think i'll just help the earthworms get back to the soil....

spring

springtime cupcake on my worktable. i had planned an entirely different entry for today, but i am not going to post it. it can wait. instead i'm going to ask a question. why do you come here, to my little corner nook? what do you hope might be waiting for you?

Funday II

this was a cool funday find: cherry flavored flashing light rose ring. so rave. a gums. this is my fabulous friend, diane. she is opening her very own health food store, called The Tree, THIS WEEK. WOO HOO! watching her dream come true is such a gift. diane is one of those people who is right there at your elbow with her sleeves rolled up and cheering you on when you are making one of your dreams come true. she is fearless, daring and beautiful. she will be slinging organic yams and biodegradeable diapers on tuesday. i'm so proud to be diane's friend.

Funday Report

This Funday was so worth making the effort for. I was about to bail out because, of course, it rained this morning, but I wanted to be clever enough to pull it off rain or shine. I will post the rest of the photos at Flickr by Monday just for kicks These starshines are so on top of it-check out their fun reports at their homeblogs: Wendy Nina Amy

It really goes without saying, but Funday is freaking fun. Do the Campbells look ready for bigtime fun, or what? Our first stop was at the Lone Juniper Alpaca Ranch, at what seemed like the top of the world. The incredible hostess, Penny educated us on the whathaveyous of llamas and alpacas, while we browsed the soft and furries in the shop. We went outside as the fog was lifting and she was able to call the alpacas near to us. Alpacas are so cute! FUN! If you have half a day and live in southern California... Next stop was the Coffee Cantina for caffeine and snacks. Pictured here are dear, fun friends Gina, Stevie and Chloe. This picture is taking up valuable real estate here, but I had to include it because the F word is so prominent. I am dedicated to finding the word in print every Funday. Chatterpillar was where we found the wacky squishy thing that became M's hat below. Look at the wild eye on the guy who puts the M in Muse.

This day has been so much fun that I am falling asleep on the keys. More on fun by weekend's close, including a bit on a dear friend who is making a dream come true as we speak...

Thanks to you who participated - you are true sports with great senses of humor and playfulness! Over.

FUNDAY instructions

in february i declared the last day of the month Funday. mostly because i was bored to death and needed to get out of the wintery, cabin-fevered mini-house. the reason i want to keep it going is because though i (we) have a generally fun day to day life, when i plan fun things ahead of time, i take care to make a whole day of doing things i've wanted to do but have not yet. i'm very excited about getting miles out tomorrow and doing fun stuff. at some point i have to rename the day because "Funday" just sounds queer. HERE'S WHAT YOU DO: email me at campbellhq@earthlink.net with the link to your Funday postings (include photos, writing, artwork, whatever you did that was pure fun) and i will link back to your site in the body of my post at the end of the day on friday, march 31st. i will accept links from early friday through monday april 3rd. after that, you'll have to wait until next month to be linked, but do still have fun even if you don't post about it!!! here are some things to consider: *animal parks *jumping in those inflatable castles and such *putting on colorful clothes and taking silly photos of yourself *eating crazy food (think flowerheads) *visiting local attractions *listening to your favorite upbeat tunes *picnicking *video arcades *run thru sprinklers *throw glitter into the air and let it fall on you *gather neighborhood kids and play ball *walk a friend's dog or take their kids out to play (please) *slide down the kiddie slide and swing on their swings my dusty soul needs this day much more than i thought! good luck!

BLUE

girlie. how could i pass up the opportunity to share a picture of my big girl? blue has been with us for six years. we were at the silverlake dog park with hank one day just before i launched the napcake pajama company when we saw her. i was already working from home and hank needed a friend (so he would leave me the hell alone). her owner was actually her rescuer (a woman who makes a career out of busting dogs out of the pound)and was seeking a home for her. blue had been hit by a car and had a horrible kennel cough. someone had taken her to the south central l.a. pound after the accident and because of her sweet nature, they kept her there a couple of days extra in the hopes that someone would pick her. she was delivered by her kind captor that week and here she stays. blue is a blue merle australian shepherd mixed with we don't know what. she likes to kiss forever. her breath smells a bit like a river bottom, but we kiss her still. she loves sweets, especially ice cream and cookies. she likes to sleep on the couch at night, but comes to get in bed with us in the mornings. she sits sleepily on the saltillo tile floor each morning and poots a few times. they are so dainty, i try not to let her know i'm giggling at her. a few years ago, she was bitten by a rattlesnake on the nose while we were hiking through the wildflowers off of 138. we thought we might lose her, but she pulled through. what a scare! she is our matriarch and is so protective of miles. blue is the week's theme at one of my favorite sites: mama says om. today i honor my Blue Girlie.

bats and eagles

miles is sitting in his morning entertainment saucer that turns him into a busy little guy at his workstation. i just heard myself saying to him, as i refilled my coffee cup, "just a few more minutes, little guy, mommy's still plugging into her power source." i had to laugh at myself for several reasons. he is so very busy chewing on a rubber star that i doubt he heard a word i said. also because when i get online in the morning and check the blogs of my powerwomen, i recharge on your wisdoms, inklings and our space-agey "connection". thank you for your nuggets of gold. the world feels right this morning. night before last i had a very strange dream. in the dark basement of a newly purchased haunted house, a bat flew repeatedly into my head. i flailed my arms once in a while to move it along on its way. i wasn't creeped out by its leathery wings and screechy sounds. i've actually touched a bat before so the sensation was familiar. (we get bats in the house here on the mountain). bats are all about change, initiation, a new way of seeing things or being. but most fun and noteworthy, it reflects an increased opportunity with greater numbers of people. i am intrigued and can't wait to see how this will manifest. when wild things attack me in any way, dream or other, i feel they are really trying hard to get me to notice their message or medicine. so in last night's dream, a dozen bald eagles circled over me and kept dive bombing as if they would scoop me up in their giant talons and carry me off! i had to scurry for cover. bald eagles indicate all sorts of heavy stuff-but most significant to me right now is their message of psychic ability (white head) and lofty connection to the heavens. i have experienced an increase in my connection to my primitive self (root chakra/baby birth), but i feel SO grounded and earth mama that i haven't been feeling that opening at the crown of my head that keeps me connected to spirit. it doesn't really surprise me that my unconscious messages are coming to me in dreams now, considering how my attention is on other matters during my wake time. *sigh* with a new baby, there is simply not time for everything to be the same as it once was. a mentor of mine likes to remind me that i am connected, just not in the way i expect to be. when i remember that, it brings me comfort. being a creature of habit, it takes another person to hold up the mirror and show me that indeed, my truth is showing through. in order for me to "see" the reality around me, i want to remember to use all of the lenses available to me. not just the ones that have become most comfy over the years.... asked with humor: is there anyone out there who is as nuts about animal medicine as i am?

spt: marie

marie, 2005. this is a side of me that most do not see. i have this wig, okay. and every once in a while, i have an unforeseen need to use it. this day last year was a friend's 50th birthday in which we all dressed as old ladies and held a surprise party for her. yay, pam! dig that coral lipstick, baby. i call my alter marie lattrell and she is a bit of a yenta. she was conceived for my aunt's 50th birthday a few years ago and marie roasted auntie over the fire springer-style. yay, sandee! so there you have it. crazy me. and you thought i was all about business...

grandpas and stuff

this man will determine my day today. my dear grandpa may have another surgery today. he is 80 years old and is seen here holding miles when miles was about 3 weeks old. grandpa is diabetic, blind, has prostate cancer and never ceases to crack me up. he is one of the funniest people i know. i think his crazy sense of humor is what has gotten him by in life. i know he is a bit frightened, but he is surrounded by many family members, and that makes a big difference to him. please send my grandpa courageous thoughts today as he faces this difficult task. he used to sing bill's songs over and over when i'd visit. they are emblazoned on my brain because of him. he is one unique individual. this weekend was nice. the campbells stayed inside mostly, except to take a neat walk around the neighborhood with miles in daddy's baby backpack. we sorted through boxes in the garage-hello, giant garage sale to come-watched about 10 episodes of season four alias(which is about to officially jump the shark), made dinner plans for the week (i'm really getting into this planning thing-how did i live without it for so long?!), read from some inspiring books, took baths with miles, made roaring fires, and generally relaxed. oh! and the neato-est thing was that i ordered the quickstart guide to illustrator, bought my domain name and hosting service and am that much closer to creating my own website. i know that to most of the civilized world, designing her own website is a cinch. i've hid under the covers of my husband's dreamweaver skills for too long. i'm going to do it on my own now, so i can be a big girl. thanks to all of you who have sent me tips or suggestions! especially amy, who was right on about hostradius. tomorrow is a rather special spt and don't forget that Funday is coming up on friday! start thinking about all the fun things you will do... and check back here for instructiones on how to get your Funday report seen.

working

mileses bum, 5 months. last night i drew up the plan for my website. i prepped five canvases to be worked on next week, part of our new schedule that allows B and i to squeeze in some much needed creative time. last night i remembered how difficult it is for me to seperate myself from miles. even when i'm just a room away, i have a hard time saying "bye bye" to him. it isn't because B or anyone else can't take care of him well, i am just very attached to him. it felt really euphoric to be working. some of my supplies are still on their way here, but i managed to work with what i had. i've got this new rhythm to my painting that is familiar and heady. since the first two pieces of this style that i've done, i feel really in my groove with the work. i'm quite excited to start gathering my resources and lauch the site. my feeble brain is swimming with new ideas and colors, swirling with that hyper energy that comes when something exciting is about to be born. these women are helping me stay focused and present this week-penny, christina, keri and katrina. check 'em out, they're sure to lift and inspire you as they did me. i want to share my favorite new brunch recipe for vegetable pie with you. so easy and yummy. i served it (to myself) with a couple of sharp cheese sticks and some kiwi. or brie would be good, too. mmmm! kind of like a last bit of springy-winter comfort food: PIXIE'S VEG OUT PIE thaw 2 frozen pie crusts soften chopped onion, garlic and mushrooms in a skillet, low heat boil diced potatoes, yams, carrots, parsnip, turnip for a couple of minutes, reduce the heat, then simmer til still a teeny bit firm, not quite soup-soft. throw in some snapped green beans and squash during the last five minutes. drain the boiled veggies and dump it all into a bowl and toss with nutmeg, salt, pepper, dry parsley and any herbs you have on hand that will work. put the first pie crust round into a round cast iron skillet, filler up and then cover with the other pie crust round. pinch it all up martha stewart-like, make a little star by jabbing the center with a knife a few times and bake on 350 for about 40 minutes. if the top gets too brown too fast, cover it for the early part and uncover it near the end. it reheats better the next day even. don't you love food like that? so yum. slice just like a fruit pie and eat. then have some ice cream after that. then later on that evening, have an uncle eddie's cookie and some milk....

ponder ponder

my first son, hank. we sometimes call him gary. i'm good at pondering overthinking turning the idea this way and that today's notion is no different nibbling away in my brain as i reheat vegetable pie for a real friend ticking tocking quietly as i lie on the fluffy grey flannel in bed with my baby overdue for his nap squiggling around like a snake in a too small basket curling up like corkscrew smoke wondering why, why i wonder why that thing got to be this way and knowing that under all of the wiggling, squiggling, nibbling, quibbling and curling going on in there nothing can make it something it isn't.

FOUNDATION

this week's theme at Mama Says Om is foundation. jung says that "the foundation of human nature is instinct". this is freshly true for me. having a baby taps a person into that rushing vein of primeval instinct. in the literal sense, yes, i have become hyper-aware of people, their energy, their ability to drive a car, etc. but i've also tuned into my inner antennae. since giving birth, i feel more...hmmm, goddessy. i use the image above because a) i'm obsessed with coyote and her medicine, and b)she's behind a chainlink fence here and that is just...weird...wrong. she paced and circled like a lunatic that day. her instincts are stripped like this. she's fighting so hard to stay connected to them. i must concur with jung. to be complete, i must also describe my triangle of groundedness: three things keep me sane in the world. B: the man who holds my heart gently in his hand and walks my journey with me. Creating: where my focus becomes sharp, igniting the lamp at the seat of my soul and putting me directly in touch with my unconscious realm. And Spirit: that mysterious, universal, smoky mirror that drops breadcrumbs on my moonlit path and reminds me that i am but a teeny speck in a vast cosmos of connected moments. thanks, mamas.

spt: attached

ooooh, jinkies, this is up close and personal. i took it while i was walking and had no idea if any of the photos would turn out. i was looking for willow, who had snuck round the back of the house to munch in the dirt. cat poo? i hope not.

when i uploaded the shots, i noticed my attached ear lobes, a funny little bone of contention since i learned the difference between free and attached lobes in biology sophomore year. i have a little not-so-secret crush on jack from lost, but have to make the disclaimer that "i could never love a man with attached lobes". i'm a freelobe lover, you could say. just my silly little thing.

another thing i do, and i'm doing it here, is furrow my brow. like, all the time. i think it is because i have burned out my optical nerves and have to squint to see everything, even with correctionals. my dad also does it. it indicates when he's thinking. me too, maybe.

there is a weird feeling comes over me on self portrait tuesday. i call on myself to notice things about ME, but it makes me a teensy bit uncomfortable. my zen thinking hero, byron katie, says that when you feel that little nudge of discomfort in your gut it indicates an inner struggle against what is. reality is sometimes difficult for me to accept. even something little like my subtle yellowy skintone from pregnancy hormones. i forget about things like that and then when brought to my attention, i think "hey! eeewww." or "is that a freaking blackhead in my ear?!" god forbid.

mercury

very superstitious. retrograde. the past week has been full of strange blunders. i'm beginning to wonder what planets collided! check out my bad luck string: *Tuesday: I discovered my checking account had been hijacked by someone in Vegas posing as my husband! Am waiting for bank to reverse charges of $2300 made in two days. *Thursday: Opened the diswasher and watched as five pieces of my tile countertop broke off and shattered on the floor, grout and all. *Saturday: Being quiet while baby and husband sleep in, I reach quickly for the ringing phone and pull down cool blue mexican beer bottle I couldn't bear to throw out night before. It crashes to the floor and blue glass shards shoot under baby's crib and dresser in nearby nursery. *Monday: Again with the dishwasher issues. While running, the offspout located on my kitchen sink sprays about two gallons of water on the countertop just missing my digital camera and laptop. what is happening??!! i need to remember not to burn any candles until this passes.

lost and alone

rainbowhawk, 2006. i'm not lost. nor am i alone. but i liked what the character sayid said to charlie in one of the later first season episodes of hit series"lost": "You're not alone, Charlie. Don't pretend to be." it reminded me of the phenomenon that scared humans create. it sounds silly out of context, but what i want to address is how easy it is to form a habit, a story about ourselves: that no one understands us, that our plight is so much different from that of others, that we are so used to being on our own-it can become a justification for isolating or not calling on others for help, OR losing trust in those who love us. if i weren't guilty of it myself, i wouldn't see it in anyone else, i suppose. it can be quite comfy (in a masochistic way?) to go into a cave to sort out my stuff. in my own cave, i would be lying if i said i also wasn't prone to sulking a bit about being there by my lonesome. but at what point does the behavior become dangerous? surely it can threaten our relationships? i know the answer for me-tell me, what is true for you, m'dears?

HUNGER

Birth

Nurture

Protect

Feed

Mama Says Om has a weekly theme, check it out...

getting started

little popeye, march 2006.) today i'm thinking about getting started. my studio is freezing cold, but mostly put away. it is time to continue with my twenty two paintings due in june. due to me, of course. it is a goal i set upon returning from the solvang retreat. "belong" and "paradox" await varnish and can be moved on down the line once sealed. yesterday, i lay on the floor as miles had his "tummy time" and snipped inspiring color combinations and palette ideas from spring catalogs and today i'm ready to work. just waiting for my little man to wind down and take a nap, then i will sprint out and get set up. being a mom and being an artist is possible. being an attachment parenting mom and being an artist is possible. i am relearning how to budget my time. instead of having hours with my journal and sketchbook to outline, work and rework ideas before i put brush to surface, i now leave them open-faced and as i run by with miles in arms, jotting down little thoughts or concepts that will be there when i am ready to go. it works rather well. i think about the work i want to do while i'm nursing, feeding, holding, changing, singing, and bathing the little man. sometimes i see my life like an 8mm film. it is all moving before me, i am fully present in whatever it is i'm doing, but i'm brewing things (art, meals, lovey dovey activities) underneath. my hands are constantly busy with my little acorn, so i've had to learn to find a way to do the work despite their availability. what special tool have you developed in order to adapt to your life? doodle while on the phone? record your ideas into a tape recorder while driving? journal as soon as you wake up? what creative goal do you intend to reach by summertime?

spt: wink

here we are at self-portrait tuesday again already! i often find myself scrambling to pull it together before days end...i'm weeks behind on a hair color on account of foul weather, and am in major need of Eyebrow Maintenence. my skin feels like a dried fish and looks like it, too. i think deconstructing is what spt is about for me. i see my flaws and then say, ahh fuck it. therapy, you know.

today the snow is melting and i'm getting organized. after moving to this cottage and literally throwing our things into the nearest cabinets and closets, i now am sorting through clothes and kitchen items in an attempt to slim down our possessions. the phrase, "we have so much shit!" has echoed through pur home for almost two weeks now. embarrasingly, i can be a bit of a packrat. every couple of years i have a giant garage sale and donation day just to be able to see what we've got and no longer need.

oy. consumers we are. i try to have a rule that each time something new comes in, two things must go out. shame i don't remember this while cruising the aisles at target...

look at her stuff before you decide you need to stop shopping, too...sheesh. my kinda jewels.

polar

brando looking rather clark kentish at the daily planet on franklin ave-our old stompin' grounds. polar opposite light to my dark steady as a ship high as an airplane guitar madman heroic daddy brilliant firestarter curious child laughing maniac giggling clown gentle hands creative genius pancake master water god sun worshipper gleaming freckled eye mysterious and deep compassionate and kind man of all my dreams come true happy birthday to you

snow day

oh my lovely little snow bear, how i adore you today and every day! The campbells are taking a snow day today. In the meantime, I give you this:

"The answers you get depend on the questions you ask." --Thomas Kuhn

fear vs. faith

I am thinking about what some of you said two posts ago about fear of failure and of not amounting to anything. In my life, I am always seeking meaning. When I believe there is no meaning to my life, I am truly in a spiritual crisis. and I've been there a few times, but I'm always willing to make the changes necessary in order to get back on track . In the creative community that is my spiritual home, many of us have moved beyond a general fear of complete failure, but like the viper that fear is, it does rear its ugly head now and again. What I think is important, SO important to this process is having the community. Like souls are here to remind us that we can accomplish our goals, and not to be afraid. The dark, buried, secret fears are the ones that can hurt us the most. I talk to my intimates about "unchecked" fear or other unconscious itches being the most dangerous. In a creative community, we artists are quite passionate. We are prone to taking things personally, making mountains out of molehills and sometimes needing to go "underground" to sort out our stuff. I think that this aspect has the potential to make us such whole beings. Denying our shadow aspects mean we are stuck in the mystifying land of unawares. And while we live there, we are not living our own lives. Who is? Being a creative person, an artist, if you will, holds all the meaning i need in my life. to me, it means that I am willing to go there. My medicine woman teacher, Bear Who Dances With the Sky says that a shaman goes to other realms of consciousness to seek wisdom and healing to bring back to the tribe. An artist does the same thing in my opinion. We go into ourselves to bring forth a meaningful life and, with some of our work we hope to bring a sparkle of hope to others wanting to have the same. The main reason for not letting fear rule us is that we cannot afford to get stuck. Fear is like a giant fallen tree across our path. Artists find a way to climb, scurry, heave ourselves over in order to keep moving toward the new idea. Introspection is paramount for getting over such hurdles. I love what Carolyn Myss says about fear in Anatomy of the Spirit:

"Negative acts and negative thoughts originate in fear"..."Faith in anything, be it positive or negative, produces results. Putting faith in fear generates destructive results, beginning with the disintegration of our ability to relate confidently to the world."

What would you do differently if you were absolutely sure that your fears could manifest themselves? That by allowing them to be anything more than fleeting thoughts or fuel, you could be bringing the worst possible scenario to our doorstep. How would you feel if you believed that you are responsible for failing only because you dared to allow it as a possibility? How would you change the way you approach your fears? Thinking this makes me want to examine my fears even more, to deconstruct them, and take away their power. One of my biggest fears is missing details. I want to pay attention MORE, to hear MORE, to absorb every drop of significance in order to use it in my tapestry. Tell me, what do you think?

spt: warrior

sparkle shoes, 2005. it is apparent and true that we want to talk about our fears. and why shouldn't we? talking about them may help us unmask them, paving a path for true vision. i believe that when we push something down, treat it like something unworthy of our attention because it is bad, untidy, or complicated we are denying ourselves a rich opportunity to first- gaze inward thoughtfully, and second-diffuse what could become (?your fear magnified?). thing is, it doesn't feel good to see these parts of ourselves. and we don't like feeling the resulting guilt because then we might begin a cycle of self-loathing. we know where that gets us. on a bus headed straight for dark thoughts about ourselves, unworthiness, negative thinking patterns. might the fear manifest the exact action or result you wish to avoid? declare to face yourself in the mirror, on this self-portrait tuesday. take that thought, that fear or worry and see it for what it is: just a thought. thoughts can be changed. spt is so important to me because i see it as an invitation to accept what i see, and learn to work with just who i am, right now. you who've set your dreams on too high a shelf, who are afraid of failing, might it be that seeing your dream evolve or change is the frightening thing? that what you thought you originally wanted has shapeshifted into something different or less grandiose? less fancy? less impressively titled? what opening can be created if you allow your fear to be the thing that shapeshifts. can it shift into power? who would you be if you could use your fear as fuel? remember that fear exists to protect you-but once that job is done, it lingers like an unwanted guest, a tripwire, a cancer. today i am not afraid. i am not afraid of boredom, of loneliness, of doing my job poorly, of letting this day slip by without looking in the mirror and saying, "what is the real truth?". i can face it. and so can you. good luck, warriors.

just a question

"The more we repress our feelings, the stronger they become."-Yu Shu Lien (Michelle Yeoh), Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Are you pushing something down, shoving it aside, sweeping it under the rug, denying it, lying about it, shaming yourself for it, burying it with the dead spiders from the windowsill, taking it out with the trash, manipulating it into something it isn't- something more comfortable, something maybe no one will know about, keeping it secret, washing it down the drain, pretending it's nothing, holding it in, letting it build, planting it deep? Could it become a wild monster capable of unplanned devastation? Tell me. Get it out. Post as anonymous if you want to. You are not alone.

my life as a pack mule

mi vida del burro...

packing it up today for our second move to interim housing. as a young adult i never imagined that i would live in fifteen different homes between the age of 19-34...moving is one of those things that is just a part of life for me. i'm a busybody and i like the fresh, clean slate that a new living space provides.

i want to slow this down now that we have miles. change is so less easy to bear as a child.

going back to my mountain means going back to my tribe. those people in that community which money cannot buy. you know who you are.

all of my art supplies and books are packed. the baby is sleeping now, giving me an unexpected opportunity to breathe deeply and feel the sparks igniting in my tired bones.

this morning the roosters cock-a-doodled and the crop dusters zoomed softly over. no more waking in the night to the sounds of carrot trucks humming at four am and every dog in the neighborhood barking. instead, the sweet interruption of sleep will be of wild dogs and owls hoo-hooing. i look forward to waking up to squirrels scolding one another (as if someone came dragging in late the night before and is now getting his cold acorn pushed in front of him).

a new environment can be just what one needs to spark some much needed creativity. tell me what your environment looks like. what one or two things are staples in your creative space? what can you advise, that i may not already have tried, in order to settle in more quickly and comfortably?

funday report

As promised. A trip to the ice cream cafe that has served the fertile valley for almost a hundred years: Dewars. It was baby Miles first trip and he immediately picked up the scent of whole fat dairy and hand turned marshmallow creme. The lights at Chuck E. Cheese were too rainbowneurotic to ignore. My child and I were equally thrilled by the prospect of skee ball where we, unsurprisingly, totally ruled.

The Chocolate Covered Banana of Ill Repute.

Uncle Godfather and Miles in front of a portrait of Diego Rivera at the local art museum, where a doctor's private collection of Mexican and South American pieces currently hang.

You said it.

Hold onto your canzones because the last day of every month is now officially known as Funday. I'll remind you ahead of time and you can post your photographic evidence at your own blog. Think of it as our communal little way of being accountable for having some yuks, realtime. Stay tuned for instructions...

spt

i like to fisheye (as best i can with this compact camera) my forehead when i sp. maybe i think my brain looks bigger. my hair is nesty and i likely have not showered in a couple of days. miles is teething and slobbering all over my shoulder, so sometimes i wear one of his bibs around my pencilneck and throw it over my shoulder like a cape. on this day, i felt like a dorky superhero and took to flinging the bib over my back and sticking my arms straight out in front of me like superman and zooming about. i have a freckle on my nose that i got when i sunburned really badly at lake havasu. my nose crusted over when the blister went down and when it eventually peeled off, this nice big melanomic freckle was left as a reminder of how drinking cocktails and sunbathing in the desert don't mix.

fun

bulb setting fun with the canon powershot A510

this is the last day of february, and also, self portrait tuesday, which i usually remember on wednesday. so in the spirit of all of this-i am declaring today a day of FUN. i will post my portrait in a little while and later tonite or tomorrow i will post my list of fun things i have done. i am now hereby accountable to say it out loud: i'm doing something fun today. especially because yesterday was such a day of hellish winds and rain, leaky windows and sand in my eyes. curses! won't you join me?

in the sacred quiet

miles loves to drape his silky bunny across his head and then peek out. we are closing on our mountain house in the next few days. this morning i got the familiar feeling of dreading change come over. believe me, i do not want to stay where we are now. but it is interesting to observe what shifts in my comfort zone when i set out to change something big. the step beyond complaining. i relax, the complaining/frustration slows. then comes the jump into the change. cold feet! i have difficulty not knowing what the future holds (now where did i put my crystal ball..?) and then the change comes true and i adjust my feelings gradually. a positive move is exciting, possibilities stir... life is smaller here, but so much more full. i have heard the messages brought to me by this experience and they will help me in my quest for meaning. i love locking the puzzle pieces together and moving on to the next phase of things. today: colors are brighter the air is sweeter. lingering is not on the books. except for in this moment.

hey... brother

To my dearest (okay, only) brother Donnie, Deej, Deeter, Booger Lee. He who is Uncle Godfather and Keeper of the Stories and of the Birds. Today is my brother's twenty ninth birthday. Yep, he's single. When we were kids we would scissor off the legs of my mother's pantyhose, put wadded up socks in the toe of them and beat each other about the bodies for fun. I love you, you plunger waivin' ninja. XO

little miracles

miracles come in many forms. what does your miracle look like?

overlapping

The Real Work It may be that when we no longer know what to do We have come to our real work. And that when we no longer know which way to go We have come to our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings. -Wendell Berry

I stole this quote straight off of dear Swirly's site today because I truly believe it deserves repeating. I burst right into tears upon reading it because it is another one of those days, you know the ones, when I feel stripped of my physical and emotional reserves and unable to perform in the manner required of me.

I sometimes feel like being at the end of my rope is something that happens too frequently to me. If I'm at the end today, how could I bear much more? And then some days pass and I know that I could take more, because I did take more.

Having a baby and all that goes with can be difficult at times. No one tells you that the first time your baby gets really sick, you will be tested in many ways you may not have been able to foresee.

I know we'll make it through. There will be sleep again. And my shoulders and back will find their proper alignment again. And the sun will shine and we can go back to making merry.

But sometimes, when I'm right in the middle of it all, I'm not even looking for the end, I'm just trying to find a branch to cling to, before the river sweeps me down with it. Just in this moment, these are my feelings-that a wide and rushing river threatens to yank me from my safe shoreline. For a moment, I teeter, I feel the fear urgently tug. I know I'll feel differently tomorrow. Strength will return, emotional reserves will replenish.

This is just how I feel right now.

creating for balance

lilcat, 2006. hello my dears, what are you creating today? how, if possible, will your action bring balance to your day? what wants to be born? what energy are you drawing on?

any minute now

miles will awaken, the shiny, spoked wheel will begin turning again. but at this moment, frozen in a feeling or a few, of being loved and understood, of feeling valuable and wise and a wee bit high though still wearing my glasses and tuesday's hair and needing to apply natural deoderant that seldom works anyway. outside the temperature has dropped, but the sun is still shining, my baby's got a cough, and the most creative thing i have done all day is make a shop list in my head from the art supply catalog in my hand and reheat my coffee two or three times. i want to beam out possibilities of still*ness and lingering lovedust and an urgent suggestion to go to maya and read her incredible words, soak up as many as you can....

quicklove

i am a slave today, so a photo is the best i can give.....xoxo, offering you peace.....

good valentymes

loverboys on the farm, feb 2006.

it simply does not get any better than this.

more on fear and labels

The incredible B taking Michelle surfing for the first time. Pismo, 2005. wow! this territory is far too rich to stop now. in the last post, wendy replied and posted a link to the book art and fear, which i highly recommend for any of you who are really struggling with fear in lieu of getting to the act of creating. many inspired and caffeinated conversations with the amazing musician B this weekend, gets me thinking more about keri's "your life is yourart" motto. i think i finally get it. cut to saturday morning breakfast: early, fat blueberries bobbing in pancake batter, laughing, music, fake sausage, happy overmedium perfect eggs-the perfect moment. i've just finished reading the gift of the bit of pam houston that swirly sent, so i'm breathing in the concept of stringing moments in a line. two hours later yield a dogfight and a torn ear, a muddy pantleg, a gypsy riff, a patio table family brainstorm and an aha! about the wise fool, an explosive poo (miles, not me!), giggling, a gnat in the butter, a dadism, and more giggling. flashback to houston's words from the chapter entitled defining success:

"...language: poems and scripts, the way every minute of my life that matters translates itself into the words that I write, the way writing sanctifies the best times and makes the dark times possible to bear. I am writing every moment i am living."

or painting, or collaging, or whatever. to be an artist is to be an inspired individual. we take our moments, as varied as they are, and set to weaving them and then the resulting piece, even just a blog entry or journal sketch that no one will ever see, is the sanctification of that string of moments. so you see, if we call ourself author or painter, it really doesn't matter. the label is just the part that tells us how we have chosen to make our living, how we'd like to be known for our work or selling it. and making a living takes time, but it cannot claim all of the room in our consciousness. there must be room for dogfights and explosive poo and perfect eggs. these moments and experiences, those we choose to create and those we don't, inspire our true work in life, as ARTISTS: people who feed the world back, in our translated version, what we experience. it does not matter what we call ourselves. without us, the world gets dusty and forgetful! focusing on the work, say, if you want to write a book, because that outward manifestation will make you really proud, that is work. but it cannot happen without the ongoing circle of sketching and talking and savoring flavors and changing diapers. all we do is connected to the outward manifestation, the work. i leave you today without a title, a label, a word that cannot possibly encompasse your range of interests and passions. think of what you have to exclude in order to bear the title. i encourage you to acknowledge everything that you do, to let it inform your journal, your sketchbook and lead you to your next brilliant "string of moments". and then tell me all about it!!! i'm so grateful for this community!

more dragons to slay

mommy and baby miles. photo katrina martin davenport, 2006. miles slept for 6 hours straight last night. i have not had that much sleep in four and a half months. when he did wake up to eat, i couldn't go back to sleep. i got up to pump excess milk at three am. and found my mind full of the chorus of weepies songs repeating and my ADD in full swing. i am thinking about fearlessness since yesterday's post. some of my sisters in this covey of artistes speak of fear often. as do i. all of the ruling queens have been speaking of it for ages. we have to visit with new fears, old fears, others' fears so often in this life. one of the questions i am asking myself many times per day is "who would i be without this fear?" and then, "who could i be without this fear?" and also "can i think of one stress free reason to keep this fear?" my inspiration for asking these questions is straight from the woman who made friends with the wind, byron katie. while you may not resonate with katie's method, one cannot deny how powerful her questions can be. i find her to be a helpful friend when i am trying to change someone or hold someone else accountable for what i need to give to myself. check her out if you are in a place like this. so i've taken her idea and applied it to fear. and today i feel like a matador. i don't feel that my own artwork is affected by fear, i do not suffer the blank canvas deer-in-the-headlights syndrome. where fear cripples me is in my ability to be a visionary on my own behalf. i linger without goals, because, what if i say i'm going to do something and i don't? there is nothing worse than that, right?? and we've been there before. that uncomfortable land of "i thought i wanted to be a writer, but now i want to paint...", etc. i see my intergrity crumbling as i make these fanciful promises to myself and don't follow through. are there any other creative people out there who go through this besides me? i want to commit to slaying fear in its tracks. before it makes me judge myself for changing my heart. before it finds me idle, right where it wants me, with few goals and a paralyzed sense of artistic value, playing small to avoid getting hurt.... tell me about your fear!!

in the dark

an email from feisty entitled "craptastic" made my day. i love new words born out of a shitty experience! makes it all worthwhile somehow...okay, not really... i want to quick thank all of you who have emailed me with advice about my website. it has been inspiring and hopeful to hear of so many options, many i had no idea existed! merci, merci. once we are settled in the new house situation, i will begin the transition, but i'll hang out here until the new journal is totally in place. so don't go anywhere! i was thinking about my dear [lover] swirly today and how BIG she dreams. so much bigger than i do. i thought, okay, i'm going to be swirly for a day. what shall i think about? what shall i do? and my next thought was, well, i might as well go for the gold and be oprah [swirly's icon] too. what shall i do? what myriad ideas and thresholdless doors fell open before me! the business of "inspiration" is sometimes mystifying to me. though i am inspired by words and doins every day, i had not really thought of myself as an inspiring force in the world. perhaps because at times i loom in my own muckishness, i have not created enough room in my consciousness to think of how i inspire others or how i would want to. so i'm thinkin on it, you see. and stuff is coming up. like, maybe i would like to inspire others to meet me in the dark. why then? because some are afraid of the dark? because i was once afraid of the dark? why do i think others would benefit from meeting me, a smallish pixie, in the dark? perhaps it is my quest to inspire others to be fearless, as i would like to be. when i overcome fears, i am holy in my superpower for the moment. i am that much more free, free to create my meaningful experience. when i am not afraid of myself, my thoughts, my power, i can be a force of good in the world like swirly and oprah are. i can. me. hey! a smallish pixie. in the dark. you and me. and the magic flashlight.

decidedly unpink

today i feel crappy. coldish, headachey and wanting to disappear from paper mail and anyone who wants something from me, first of all SBC who can *&%$ off. i feel totally worn out and as if my body is trying to tell me that these last weeks of barely taking my vitamins and eating like shit (read frozen everything) are paying off. nothing will fit today. i can't even get the fucking dropper lid off the the rescue remedy if that tells you how icky i feel! poor, poor me! pity me, i tell you! last night as i lie awake thinking of all of the fabulous things i wanted to post today instead of sleeping (while i can, an unwise choice at best) a brilliant blank canvas shone in front of me. i had dozens of ideas for filling it. now i have only whining complaints and my original photo that wouldn't bloody load. garden fairy #2 it is. that's what i got. plus a few new links to your right. if you don't know these girls, you should. they will rock your world when posts like this make you head for the ben and jerry's. *lackluster sigh* i'll be back to my pixieish self very soon. but today i am crapmistress. bear with me, ya'll. (***note to pookie-how can i get a hold of you???? i got your mail and your post about wondertemp's wedding-so cool! email me at campbellhq@earthlink.net )

unconscious magic

many of you may not know why i associate myself with the coyote. "pesky vermin!" you may exclaim, if you live anyplace where you have to share space with her. coyotes eat neighborhood pets and generally represent a scavenging nature that many find unpalatable. sometimes they appear mangy and hungry and well, who wants to see themselves in that mirror? here is what i have learned from coyote: she stands on a stage of constant paradox, contradicting herself by standing on both sides of the fence at all times. coyote "looks for ways to do things that will not involve the use of her own skill"-this couldn't be more true. i love to shortcut. this means that i have an ever-present bruise on my knee from hitting the coffee table each time i go around it. emotionally, i do take the long route to sort out issues with others, perhaps in order to be thorough, but i want the fast and hard road when it comes to inner housekeeping. now i know why my bookshelves are littered with self help books... just when i think i've got the magic answer to my issue at hand, i am surprised by what really comes forward into my consciousness-that it is the opposite thinking that is really true. in my life at the present moment, i have enlisted coyote to be my patron saint of adaptation. i wanted to come here and just be here and not feel the pinching twist of discomfort in my gut at being fenced in. i even created a painting that was to be titled "adaptability". i committed to going with the flow and rolling wth the punches and all of those ridiculous cliches that go completely against my intuition. i looked the painting yesterday and snapped. wait a minute! the coyote in the painting is not adapting at all. there was no sense of inertia. she is....is she? it is clear she is loping away from something. i think on this: it is typical, no, GOSPEL to say that i never know what my work is about until it speaks to me much later, after it is finished. and this agreement suits me. i paint. then i listen. soon the scritch scratch of meaning comes to my door. this coyote is moving out of something fixed and toward something more....more open just beyond the edge of the canvas. this coyote is locked into nothing.

tagged

jen n swirly, solvang 2005.

Without further hesitation and as a tribute to three naughty taggers, I give you my silly list: Four jobs I’ve had:

Production Manager for Lip Service Clothing, home of the "drive-thru" vinyl club pant

Inseam measurer at tuxedo rental shop

Creator/operator of the Napcake Pajama company

Bidding estimator at a California native seed company

Four Movies I could watch over and over:

Chocolat

Sabrina

The Big Lebowski

I Heart Huckabees

Four Places I’ve Lived:

Los Feliz, CA (east hollywood)

Bakersfield, California

Tarzana, CA

Pine Mountain, CA

Four TV Shows I Love:

Alias

Six Feet Under

Arrested Development

The Chris Isaak Show

Four Places I’ve Vacationed:

Portland, Maine

Edinburgh, Scotland

Big Sur, California

Caddo, Oklahoma

Four of my Favorite Dishes:

Tofurky sausage and spinach lasagna by Stevie

Spinich artichoke dip and tortilla chips

Hot vegetable tamales at La Costa

Stuffed bell peppers made by this woman

Four sites I visit daily:

Secret Agent Josephine

Keri Smith

Swirly Girl

Papaya Maya

Four Places I’d rather be right now:

Sitting on Pfeiffer State Beach with my girls and collecting driftwood

Wandering Ferguson’s Fragrant Garden in St. Paul, OR sniffing the peanut butter bush

Sitting on my old deck in Pine Mountain looking at a sea of pine trees that smell of butterscotch

Gathered round the firepit in Pineridge making stuffed mushrooms in the dutch oven and listening to the B play gypsy guitar

workboots

on the farm, 2006.

thanks to another marathon inspirational chat with my dear friend swirly this morning, i feel rather clear on my vision for the short term. my baby is four months old today and surprisingly forgiving of my obsession with creating art and having my head in art supplies.

swirly and i spoke of how the subtle tension of planning small projects begs her to BURST into her bigness, which of course she is destined for. we can literally feel in our bones when our ideas go click! and everything we are doing makes sense. i am having one of these moments today, and it is so exciting to shift from one phase to the obvious next. i thrive on forward motion, and often it is not until i have been going a bit stale that i feel the sparkle light up and know it is time to put one foot in front of the other again.

i look up at miles about every thirty seconds and he seems to say "This had better be important, you." over my shoulder he watches baby einstein (now we both know how to count to ten in german and japanese...) and we sing together as i work, fleshing out ideas and planning my next few pieces of artwork. don't panic, this boy is on my body much more often than i may make it sound.

still languishing in post-retreat bliss, i can now feel myself transitioning into action. my goal is to finish twenty-two paintings by end of june and have my website fully functional. stay tuned, world. i'm strappin' on my boots...

the l.o.w. down

perfectly squeezeable, 2005.

the campbells are relocating again. yep. the gypsy life had a timeline and now it is time to caravan our asses into a real living space once again. no, the house on the property is not built. no, i will not expand on that. suffice to say that our new home is in a little mountain cranny called, Lake of the Woods. is that the cutest sounding town or what??? it is not far from pine mountain, so our same woods are near. but the treacherous and oft icy road to the big mountain will not have to be traversed with above babe in tow.

we are beginning a new phase in the same adventure-project: are you my home? we essentially just hooked a u-turn and now we will see what this location will inspire us to.

i am going to throw a request out to the universe today: i intend to leave this safe and cozy blog behind and create a real website again by spring. except, i don't know how the heck to do it. if anyone has a suggestion for me about creating a sweet and simple site where i can have my journal and show my artwork, feel free to give a shout out.

"I release others to experience whatever is meaningful to them, and I am free to create that which is meaningful to me." --Louise Hay

be well.

storytelling

two superheroes, solvang 2005.

once there was a girl with a big interesting story. one day, while the girl was out picking flowers in the woods, a big scary wolf approached her. instead of eating the girl, the wolf asked to hear her story.

she began to tell it and it got very, very long, and very, very complicated. the wolf grew bored and began sniffing around for something to eat.

the girl felt nervous, but she continued with the very long story. then she grew bored. with each word, her eyelids grew heavy and her foot began to tap. even the wolf's hunger could not distract her from how very bored she was with the very long story.

she stopped telling the very long story, because she was not even sure she believed it anymore and besides, telling it was no fun either. the girl and the wolf went out for latte and scones. they lived happily ever after.

the end.

direction

sitting in the unknown makes me feel a wee bit uncomfortable wondering where my ground is beneath my feet checking to make certain it really is there noticing my blind spots and how i often get caught off guard believing i have something to do with where i'm at.

when your lover goes to londontown

miles and daddy. december, 2005. san francisco, ca. Do: 1. Have dinner with two or more girlfriends who know your heart. 2. Talk on the phone with Swirly. 3. Make thick and rough oatmeal with extra brown sugar for brekkies. 4. Wander the antique mall with baby riding in front facing body pack. 5. Buy old discarded english wood-cut number blocks. 6. Shower when possible. 7. Raise the window shades. 8. Eat massive amounts of mexican food and Uncle Eddies cookies. Do Not: 1. Listen to John Coltrane's Blue Train. 2. Wage war with anyone. 3. Attempt to operate a motorized vehicle with a fussy man-cub on board. 4. Visit sad, unnecessary places in the mind. 5. Limit your reading to, "Go, Dog, Go." 6. Forget to take a shower or brush teeth. 7. Let your well meaning brother talk you into watching ten episodes of Battlestar Galactica.

in it