misplaced mama

I’m not into the news. I don’t watch it or read it or listen to it, really, unless the man of the house has on NPR or something. I try to be involved and interested and retain the information but more than likely I am sticking my fingers in my ears: I’m not listening. And since I’ve had kids, it’s just not a part of my daily life, they don’t need the soundtrack of their lives to be media hype and the death count in the middle east. My mother , a news addict, always asks me when she comes to visit and finds herself media-less, don’t you want to know what’s going on in the world? No. No. I don’t. I know what’s going on, in my world, in my little world. I know this sounds so totally irresponsible and quite selfish. But I guess I don’t know what information overload will do for me or my world. I just try to send out as much love as possible. It’s all I can do, all I have time for.

But somehow I caught wind of something that happened recently. Someone trying to blow up a plane or something like that. And then someone wanting to blow up another plane. Now why in the hell would someone want to do that? I know. I guess if I listened to the news it would make more sense to me, but no, never, it can never make sense to me.

Brainwashed?

No, they have nothing worth living for and they might as well go out in a bang, the wise man in my house tells me.

Really?

I think so. Nothing to live for and dying while killing makes you larger than life.

Nothing to live for?

I’d suppose not, nothing, nothing that is real.

Dr. Sir (s) who wants to blow up planes (and Ladies, as well, if you are out there)

Why? Please explain to me why you’d want to blow up a huge vessel to smithereens and spray blood and guts and bones of people of all ages and backgrounds all over the clouds? Without using any reason like God Told You To because that just doesn’t make a bit of sense to me and if so, if that is your reason, what exactly did god say and what did the voice sound like and are you sure it just wasn’t all in your head? And if it was someone else who told you to do this, why? And who the hell are they?

Can I ask you some other things, besides why?

Like.

Have you never looked outside and notice the speckles on a Starling and realize that this creature is in your tree and eating the little peanut butter covered pinecone dipped in seeds you made and hung and think, well, that’s something to live for. That bird is beautiful and it needs some seeds to sustain itself through the winter and I can give it to them and that there in that moment alone is reason to live.

Have you never had peppermint ice cream rolled in crushed up Trader Joe’s candy cane Jo-Jo’s and then covered in hot fudge?

Have you never seen a beautiful girl in red knit leg warmers sitting under a willow tree reading a book with sunglasses while the sun streams across her face on a cool autumn day?

Have you never looked out at the sea and saw something jump up out of the water and just knew that everything was perfect and worthy of love and life?

Have you never seen a baby‘s nostrils flare when they are red hot screaming mad wanting something and that Will just alone makes you realize how perfectly powerful we all are and how each an every one of us deserves a voice and reason to stay alive?

Have you never had a hot oil massage with lavender and cedarwood oil by my friend Amy?

Have you never made love all night long and ate hot cakes drizzled in syrup in bed the next morning with a cup of creamy dark coffee and then made love all after noon and then ate fruit in bed and then napped and then made love again and again until you have worn layers of your skin away?

Have you never walked by a perfect stranger, different in every way than you and caught a spark in their eye that caught a spark in your eye and knew in the eye of your heart that there was nothing really separating you from them?

Have you ever thought it would be wonderful to watch your daughter walk down an aisle with the person they love, or even listen to her read their first sentence or take their first step or take their first breath?

Have you never had a garden? Planted seeds of corn and lettuce and red beets and kale and watched them go from sprout to food to cooked in your plate?

Have you never heard a rhythm or a melody so good, that it gets so deep into your bones you are sure it was the song you were born to, the song of your soul, the song that you will rest forever inside?

Have you never taken a long walk with a friend and not said a word the whole time and yet with each step you heard eachother’s story and just knew how in the silence the friendship grew?

Have you never soaked in hot springs high up on a mountain side?

Have you never curled up next to your mother and let her tell you about the day you were born?

Have you never felt that God is Love and that Love is Life Force, eternal and flowing?

Have you never danced all night long to Kruder and Dorfmeister with a crowd of other people and then stumbled out of the club hot and sweaty looking for the best damn falafel that the streets had to offer?

Have you never met someone you makes you feel not so alone?

Have you ever watched a baby slide out of a woman, freshly covered in womb juice, eyes barely open, mouth searching for food, hands waving, revealing the Original Face, the same face we all come here wearing?

Have you never seen a really fucking good movie and just felt such great thanks for people who take the time to make them?

Have you never read Dr. Suess?

Dear sir, if you haven’t done any of these things, felt them, or something like them, I am sure you have your own list of things that makes life beautiful and perfect to you. I am sure you have somewhere inside you a place where you have a seed of hope and understanding that the world doesn’t need more hate, it needs only your love. Yes your love. Your love can heal. Isn’t that alone something to live for? Something to stop you from taking bombs on planes and instead wear your heart out on your sleeve and know that your heart, indeed, is powerful, is God, is where all the peace in the world resides. I know I must sound like a niave little girl. But that’s because I am. And so are you in a boy form. And because I know you are just a child at heart, lost and confused, I can say this with the utmost sincerity that I can. I love you. Now, please, love yourself. No more bombs on planes. Because someday I’d like to take my kids to far-off lands without our lived shattering into the friendly skies.

Bless you, and everyone else out there who looks away from the perfect sparkle in a child’s eye and seeks death over life, who wants to destroy this perfect Heaven we call Earth. Love, The mother in me.

(I FOUND MY FLIP!!!) So excited about this fact and not only did i find it we actually have batteries.

This is their new most favorite song. Olivia Newton John version is what rocks them out the most.

Here is the Three Sisters Sound version:

And another one. Mia throws me under the bus at the end with my bribing.

This past full moon was huge, in sight and greeted me every morning when I woke up. It’s reflection made the bay water look glass-like, endless.

When it was perfectly complete and abundant, or maybe it was the day before, I wrapped up little Echo baby and me in Grandma Carrie’s homestead quilt. She gets me up earlier than the sun every morning and our ritual is wrap up and watch the sun rise. But this morning the Moon wasn’t budging. And so we sat out on the balcony with the moon.

I felt anxious. Not sure why or what but thinking about the day with a dreaded belonging. I was not living my Truth in that moment. The big bad world had attacked my heart with a longing for peace and abundance. The moon glowing like a disco pearl ball in the sky. Abundance. The moon had it. How can I find this today? This season. How can it live in my bones and in the marrow of my children? This isn’t a year to debate hand carved wooden gnome houses and wool stuffed Waldorf dolls versus a plastic pink horse named Sorroco my oldest lusts after. Who cares at this point? No. This year was about making magic go deeper than that, deeper than the things. My kids have all they need, they always will. The attract and manifest and create with the best of them. But I needed some magic. It was me who was lacking. Abundance. I need to know we all have an abundance. You and Me. All of us. So let it be, I say. I look into her eyes, dark as Middle Earth, sparkling along with the moonshine. So what it’ll be, I ask her. Duicy Eggie. Echo wan duicy eggie.

And then half a moon cycle later. Here we are. Standing at the corner of Holly and Railroad. All the kids, all the parents. The banners made with glitter, the hand sown silk flags garnered from Barter Fair, crayon colored signs on old cardboard. PEACE. LOVE. GIVE THANKS. BE LIGHT. HAPPY DAY. Instruments in hands. And we march on.

Passing through the busy Saturday afternoon downtown singing songs of Love and Holiday Cheer. Shaking tambourines and banging drums and playing horns. People in shops and restaurants stick there heads out doors or look up from their plate of field greens and balsamic vinaigrette and crusty roll and smile. It’s a Love Parade! A Love Parade. The kids are in charge. They spread it thick. The whole damn city feels us I think. How can they not. Totally unorganized and suck your breath in beautiful all in one.

We sing off tune. But something silent in us is louder than loud and in perfect pitch. The kids bang, walk taller, put a skip in their march. Invite people passing by to join the Love. Come with us, they shout.

We end at the park. The one down the street form The Mission and Agape Center. People without homes and food hang out here. We all gather around my man who had set up table while we were marching, smack in the middle of the park, five gallons of Veggie Chili in a 2 pots, a hot jug of chamomile tea, a bowl of bread, a basket of tangerines. A sign that reads: FREE CHILI!!!!!

The kids hold it up, offering food to everyone who passes us. Want some FREE CHILI!!!! Some take it, some don’t. Some ask if we have any smokes. Nope, only chili, bread and food stuff. Sorry. Next time. We’ll remember the smokes.

And there it was. Perfect Abundance. My kids know it, they feel it in their cellular makeup. An abundance of Love, and abundance of food, and an abundance of community. Here we all came with smiles on and love in our hearts on a freezing cold day in December and marched through town and gave away food to people who might need it. There is enough. There is always enough.

I am touched to live here. Earth and this little corner of the US. To be surrounded with friends and kids who felt this request I sent out last week, on a whim, got excited about it, showed up with beauty in their arms and light in their hearts and Abundance. The Love Parade and Free Soup in the Park has only just begun. Next: Spring then summer, then Autumn, then Winter again. It was the best gift we gave ourselves and the kids. Everyone.

Have your own Love Parade and Free Soup day. Pass it on. And on. And on. There is more than enough. We are more than enough. Plant the seed. The kids have plenty of water.

Bless! Good food! Warmth! Music always! Laughing children! Hearts that speak forever!

Thank you to my loves, my hearts, my tribe: William, Mia, Sula, Echo, Keri, Aaron, Stella, Billy, Nicole, Alala, Stacks, Anu, Rachel, Tula, Quinn, Marcus, Selah, Yma, Yma’s grandma, Holly, Leo, Amanda, Oakley, Brian, Chrystine, Rowan, Oso, Finn, Isla. And Brooke and her family who inspired me to get the soup on (I think I got everyone!) And to all the people out there who are willing to receive with open hearts. Thank you. May your path be light.

Lately I have been just showing up here. Not knowing. Leaning on photos to tell my story or release creative ether. A few words here and there. And it’s really working for me. Saying less right now, being more Here, or there, that place called Life.

We got in a wicked fight the other night. Money. Of course. If it wasn’t for money or time [lack of it] we’d be batting eyes all day long, rolling shoulders and grabbing our guts in laughter. We don’t fight because we disagree on how to spend it or how to make it, we fight because the lack of it is pure stress, hard as steel stress. I remember writing a post years ago about how thankful I was that my man wasn’t a work-a-holic. What a laugh that was. We were making oodles of money in an economy that was false [Arizona Ex-urb development] and gross and lucrative while it lasted. Now he is under the catagory: work-afucking-holic. Not by choice, but by force. Food is expensive. So is rent. So is schooling for our kids. So are bills. Gas. Toilet paper. Dried herbs for remedies, fish oils, supplements. This is our life, as simple as it is, and it’s simple, believe me, but it costs us money to live it. And here we are fighting over what we lack. Not because we are mad at eachother, not because we don’t value the each other’s worth and time. Not because I don’t feel his calloused hands or see the dark circles under his eyes. Because I am lacking him, he gone so many hours in a day, days in a week and even though he’s always gone we always come up short. And so in times of stress we tend to turn against, instead of coming towards eachother. And in the hush of night I am slamming doors and seething poison from my mouth. And why? I don’t know because in the end I know what is real. Real is that I live in luxury compared to 90% of the world. I have food and shelter. Books. Electricity. Water. Health. That’s more than many mothers can say about their lives. And so in the last sentence of …you don’t know how hard i work… i stop. Stop. Kiss me, I say. Because we are blessed. And he turns to me and he says, and you are one of my great blessings. and we kiss. Because money can burn under fire and the ashes will disappear in the wind but love, love can save the world. {ps. universe, money helps. not knocking it or anything, open to it’s flow in my life for sure}

I wonder if these are the last days of nursing. I hope so and I hope not. Ready to move one. So not ready. I can only stop and pay attention each time she latches on and pulls me down to her and I sit in the savory flash of moment in time while she is still my baby, my littlest one. It goes so quickly, doesn’t it? Mothers out there who are guiding sassy teens are probably looking back at babyhood wondering how their big kid’s hands ever fit so perfectly tucked in their cleavage or how their babies whole body could fit right across their belly. I am choked up by the gift of this, i try not to be attached, but my heart melts like ice in sun, dripping, dripping.

Mostly they throw sparkly pirite at eachother or rip clumps of hair off the other’s little head. Mostly I hear them at the table whispering “stupid rose, stupid rose, stupid rose” over and over again and the other screaming MAAAAMAAAAA. or one of them whispering, “stupid pearl, stupid pearl, stupid pearl” over and over and then the other one, MAAAAAAAAMAAAAAA. My life is an endless cascade of trying to hold space while two very close sisters work out their fucking karma. One of them has huge energy. The other’s is less large, just as intense. The two of them together, an air sign and a fire sign. My head hurts people. I am sick of it. I threaten duct tape and banishment to the basement. I kid you not. I’m only human and for the most part I was An Only. I was number 7 but I was the after-note. Years and years later my parents had me after everyone else pretty much left the house and there was nobody to fight {or play} with Is this normal? The fighting? I didn’t tandum nurse these two to hear endless fighting and to be a barrier between a 4 year old and a flying geode. I thought the gazing in eachothers eyes while they both sucked me dry would foster the most heavenly sisterhood. Lesson learned: do not do something because you hope to see results later on.
But then. Then, I walk into the room thinking, why are they so quiet and I expect to see molasses smeared all over the windows and instead I get this. Sisterhood on the flip. She was just sitting there kissing her head.

coming here not know. leaving knowing more love.

thank you Jeanette. the mama creatrix who twisted my arm. five years ago next month.

you should blog! she said.

no way. i told her.

you should! she insisted.

i’m a writer, not a blogger!

next thing i know she has it up and named and oh-so-pretty. so i thank her for that shove

and i thank her for fixing this cavewoman’s blog. i was so ready to allow all that to ride the cyber-wind

and be part of the pixelette ether, the akasha records of the inter-worlds.

but one click from her and it’s fixed.

all back.

all better.

but this also was an indicator for me to finally start the move over to me the domain I have had for almost 2 years…. misplacedmama.com

so i’ll be here for a bit, slowly moving my junk over into that trunk space.

much love and warm light all. mb.

I have somehow comletely deleted the writing on my blog trying to make it look pretty with a photo of two ravens.

Let’s talk about non attachment.

I have a domain www.misplacedmama.com which I have had for over a year. But I have no idea how to use it. It’s a wordpress thing. Apparently I am meant to start it now. Does anyone know this technology? If my words have touched you in any way over the years and you’d like to help a luddite lady keep a blog, then let me know. Thanks! Until then, my love is with you.

mb.

i don’t think i have even noticed that it rained for thirteen straight days. the only reason i even know there is possibility in that fact is because on the radio someone mentioned it. it’s not been rainy to me. instead it’s been an extention of my skin, my hair, my breath, my blood. the falling down of the wetness, the nothingingness of water, the space it holds, the empty form and the isolation of each drop, this is not seperate from my own life, my practice. now. these weeks. this time of year which is always the pause before the exhalation. in april, though, this stuff has well worn out it’s welcome. but now, now it’s glorious weather. slow sunday with gray reflection of the sea in my living room, morning fires and hot coffee and NPR. then bundling everyone up and heading down to the waterline and walking it on the bike path until we find a good place for a puffy fried doughnuts.

each step is the whole. inspiration.

loving the blue shoes living at the base of their very own trees. or are they the trees shoes? maybe the belong to eachother.

more. more what? the only thing i can think of that i can be more of is Love. BE MORE LOVE. yes. that would be the message to me.

and once i was more love i got more love who knows how much i love a yellow leafed tree against a concrete wall in the back alley of my friends new analog photography studio? who put that there for me? be love. get love. and a little yellow leaf to tuck into our treasure bag.

oodles and oodels of O’s. metal. shiny. pretty. waiting to be used again. (tip. grab one of these things, secure it to your ceiling, slip some hooks on the things (what are those called not the rim but the…..?) and hang your pots and pans from it.

in my family we call this the facciabrutt which translates into something like grumpy face. grumpy or not shes herself on Fire. it’s brilliant. she is not happy to be 1. wearing her friend stella’s purple puffy coat. and 2. walking. she’s a bit of a lady of leisure; why walk when you can ride. not easy born unto hiking and walking fanatics.

the misty view of the ferry that brings you to Alaska. this ferry is run Alaska style. you hop on. car or not. bring your sleeping bags. kick off your shoes. makes friends. camp in the lounge with everyone else. share your frenchpress with new friends. watch northern lights. stop off at hotsprings. at night we see it all lit up from our bed, waiting to be all cleaned up for the next voyage. we are broke. but i do hope we can all hop on here and head to The Last Frontier someday soon.

the sky. your colors are gods dreams. your movement is his lover dancing. thank you. thank you beautiful world.