Wrap your head with this material...

 We went to St. Louis. While in St. Louis, we stayed at a variety of family and friends' houses but set up our primary base at Rob's parents' house. One night when we were going to stay at our friend's house, I told the kids to pack overnight bags.  Upon arrival one kid goes, "Did you grab my bag?"  And I was like, what the hell? No. Why didn't you get your bag? Why would you think I should grab your bag? You are plenty old enough to both pack and carry a plastic bag of clothes?  And then the other kid goes, "Oh, I didn't pack a bag." WHAT?! "I didn't have any clean clothes so I just didn't pack one." "But...toothbrush and also YOUR CLEAN CLOTHES THAT I TOLD YOU ABOUT WERE IN A LAUNDRY BASKET FOLDED AT YOUR STUPIDLY PRIVILEGED FEET!"  Okay, that's not exactly what I said. But I thought something like it.  One of the idiot-genius offspring of mine in the previous story also once arrived to the hot springs weari

Do you sometimes forget to kick ass? Like it's supposed to be riding a bike and you're supposed to just get on there and ride around like it's nothing but you--unlike everyone else in the adage, who say it's-like-riding-a-bike--have somehow forgotten how the bike works and are scared now? Ahem, me neither. We moved and I hadn't done that in a lot, a lot of years. The last time I did it, I made friends instantly and am still friends with a fair number of those people. It was also before I got married and before I had kids. Bizarrely, I still feel like fundamentally the same person. I still light up about snow and just about die of excitement about a powder day. I jam out to music and dance too vigorously at red lights. I haven't stopped playing board games and liking puzzles. An aside: the Spanish word for puzzles, "rumpecabezas," means broken head. Like, the idea was hard and my head broke. Spanish is so awesome. For comparison, the German concept peo

There’s a rhythm to the seasons that I’ve gotten used to over the years. When I crest a mountain trail in late September, the leaves are just a smidge past their prime, the brush is burnt orange and desiccating and my hair is the dried grass, my eyes the crisp of a blue autumn sky. I am in-step with this life’s rhythm.  Having moved, further away, to a lower altitude, I miss the timing by a quarter of a step. Fifteen or 20 days off, I am left nostalgic for other falls when I crested the same hill I have for 8 or 10 or 15 years. Missing the familiar way it caught my eye and inspired my heart. Yet it weighed me down too. I couldn’t keep doing the same things over and over again. So I moved on. Reminded myself of my gypsy-soul and how I’ve always yearned to keep my feet moving, keep living new places, breathing new scents, seeing new wildlife, drinking in new vistas. Stagnating so long in one beautiful place, I have forgotten the fearlessness of new places, the exhilaration of chasing al

 Gavin got his adenoids out today. When the wooo-whoo meds hit, I was like, "Gavin, you're going to tell me all your secrets now," as a joke. He had that misty, dazed look and goes, "I'm gonna tell you my deepest darkest secret." He pauses for dramatic effect and then whispers, "I like turtles."

Sometimes when I want to read, I can't. I fill with distaste and disdain for each book I pick up, because none of it is Maya Angelou, or Toni Morrison, or the literary meal I need to sate my soul's craving for meaning and a cosmic guide for that moment in life. The problem with the book I’m reading isn’t the story. It’s the problem of my living. The rote nature of it. The sentences– simple declaratives, the tasks –things that get struck from a list, done and redone. Remember? See it? Done. Life. Life is not merely written down like any other list of things not to be forgotten, but witnessed so never forgotten  even after memory failed to hit record,  because a day was witnessed at its onset is the answer. It’s the lack of feeling mornings, not the story of what happened. The lack of witnessing. Mornings, that time of awakening at t he birth of the world watch an egret’s legs in water, slender limbs glistening beneath a cool tide pool surface barely moved in the stillness of a d

Rob was talking about how a presenter at a conference he was at hadn't seen him until she was mid-slide. She interrupted her presentation and said, "Hi Rob. You still look young even with the gray hair." The kids picked up the rope and Gavin argued, "Mom looks way younger than Dad." Magnus whispered, "she has more wrinkles though." "That's cuz she smiles  more, no offense Dad." I've always known I'd have great laugh lines because I smile a lot. And now I do.

Rumi said to treat each morning like a new arrival to ourselves as if we are a guest house . A day may bring darkness that sweeps us of our furniture and destroys parts but doing so makes room for another guest. Another morning.  I wonder if we treated this life like a Meow Wolf exhibit imbued with fervent curiosity, would that work just as well? Here wonders expand us and allow our minds to be at once separate yet converging on a moment of experience.  You are here.  I will die.  We are here.  We will cry.  Not denying the fear of death/misfortune/endings but not avoiding either.  Enthusiasm and curiosity, a drive to see and touch and feel the bright colors drives forward. It all compels you too. Forward from room to room. Open the sky.  Treat each moment like an experience that has a place and allow it to expand us, to be curious about it. Where does regret live in my body? Does it have weight or zip? Tendrils or a forcefield? How does it vibrate my body to bits or shake me to feel h