Busha Full Of Grace

Gratitude

I heard somewhere recently that someone counts gratitudes instead of sheep when trying to sleep. I thought it was a great idea, until I tried it. While it's difficult for me to count sheeps because all I see is that wool spun and dyed, it is even more difficult to count gratitudes because that takes me deep into the caverns of my memory. I have so much, so many to be thankful for. Like my last post, it was a downer I know, sad expression of thoughts and feelings. But so many sent such kind thoughts both on here as comments and in my emails. Considering all of your ideas and thoughts soothed me. Allowed my wounds to rest under your Love Bandaids until they heal. Mom is in surgery as I write. I'll keep you posted.
The heartbeat of my home is thumping with family vibes. Camille is here and I am in heaven with her sleeping breath right behind me here on her cozy-floor-bed in my little gnome home apartment. Ike spent the night and snoozes on the sofa to be near Camille.

Last night we went to the German Christmas Market at Daley Plaza. I found out that weinersnitzel is far too rich for my taste. Now potato pancakes with applesauce and sour cream on the other hand, a delight to the palate and the digestive tract. Ike and Fiona loved (and scarfed) the weinersnitzel!


There was a vendor there from Germany with beautiful, fragrant beeswax candles and luminaries; as well as many other items like hand cream, toothpaste and....honey gummy bears. The woman offered us a sample and they were delicious. All through the rest of the evening Ike talked about wanting to go back for more. When we went back they were closed, but I told him that when he went to sleep to ask Santa to pleeease, when he heads for Germany first on Christmas Eve, pick him up some and put them in his stocking. (Yes, you got it! I snuck back and bought a little sack!) I even showed him on the business card I took where it said, "Germany". He was a little down-hearted about it...which is a very good thing. It will make the finding of them in his stocking so much more exciting! Delayed gratification builds character. :-)
This morning my house smells like baking as I prepare some goodies for tomorrow's celebration. It's cold out, but not cold enough for the rain to become snow. We had a good snow yesterday though. I'm finishing up some knitting and some wrapping too. Zak and Heather's gifts arrived with Camille and the wrapping is so lovely. Artistic. Appreciated more than they could possibly know. It's like receiving pieces of art/poetry to me.


Immediate gratification? The red wool socks on my feet.

Mama - A Change of Heart?

The very day I got larynxgitis was the day my mom went into the hospital in Sonoma. She will be transported to Marin General today for a second opinion, but her primary care physician recommends a pacemaker. Last week she fell in her bathroom and needed to alert the Lifeline connection she wears. They called me in Chicago. I had to call my ex husband to go over and help her because my brother lives and hour and a half away. I would have called one of my children, but everyone who lives nearby is afraid of her. Of her unkind...wrath...for lack of a more pleasant word. And it breaks my heart everyday. Because she hasn't spoken to me in over two years, and told my brother she never wanted to see me again.

I love my mom, as difficult as she is. I miss her. I wonder everyday if she misses me. Right before our falling out I was spending a lot of time with her: doing her bills, preparing her meds for the week each week, taking her shopping, sleeping there when she was sick and we didn't want her to be alone, just hanging out at her house knitting and watching television with her to keep her company. Oh I'm no saint...I grumbled too. I grumbled because with my mom there is no end to it.

Truly, no one's best is ever enough.
Sometimes she will tell you in rude and snippy comments, but usually she tells everyone else what you've done to piss her off. And there is no defense, only arguing. So over the years we have learned to just listen and then guide the conversation in another direction. And believe me, if you make even a slightest nod at the end of one of her sentences she folds her arms and purses her lips in anticipation of getting down and dirty in insulting conversation at another's expense. Thing is, no one ever agrees with her because what she thinks is so off base from reality.

If YOU met my mom in public or at a gathering you would think the world of her. She is very good at appearances. And she is lovely. At 85 she is gorgeous, well-dressed, always wearing a pleasant expression with upturned mouth. Her skin is like velvet, her jewelery tasteful, her hands aged but feather graceful. She loves babies and children. Children love her because she is genuine with them.  unconditional.  She is very generous (to a fault...but with such tangled string attached.) She still tries to help in the kitchen and is pretty knowledgable about politics and television gossip. She can be an engaging woman.

So, back to today...her doctor told my brother that she should probably reverse the DNR in her chart, because when placing a pacemaker the heart often stops for a brief period, but is easily zapped back into action. With a DNR, they couldn't zap. Suddenly this bit of news has jolted me back into the present. I don't care how nasty she can be. I want to be with her, but my life/work/focus is here in Chicago for the time being. Yet I also have to say distance is my protection right now. I cannot just hop in my car and head over; I have the time to think (procrastinate?) because truth be told, I am petrified of the woman. No one can lower my self respect as quickly as she. And even knowing this, cognitively, rationally, the woman disolves me into a blubbering pile of snotty tissues in the blink of an eye. I am a strong woman. A generally rational and compassionate human being. How does she work me like this?

 I've been contemplating, candle lighting and prayer saying for my mom. I think her power lies in the place that it is human nature to expect your mama to love you unalterably. To never send you off for years on end, hanging up on you, not answering your mail, ignoring happy and devastating milestones in your life...and telling others (at 83-84 years old, when she knows time is closing in) she never wants to see you again in her life. I am scared to death of the woman because two years have also served to heal me some. I'm afraid to go back to that place I know she will take me. The Land of Horrible Daughter.

I don't even know if this post makes any sense or really gets the facts across. I have basically written randomly. I didn't sit down at the computer with the intention of writing about mom and don't even know where the impulse came from. I was going to post my Christmas crafts. Everything, every thought these days leads me back to my life with my mom. So when thinking about my projects I remember she and I took many classes and did many craft projects together....

See?

I want to call her and say, "Mom, please don't die until I can get there and be with you again, ok?"

At 56, I want my mama. So young mamas who ready my blog...please remember how long a child's memory lasts, and do it right. Sure we all make mistakes, but go back and make sure there has been no mistaking your love.

Sending love to my mom, and praying I get one more chance.

Glorious Glory

I just awoke to the church bells of Saint Hedvigs this morning. they ring a medley at 7:50 to indicate the bells have awoken, and then at 8 am they begin the numbered hourly chimes...with one ring on the half hour. That one always confuses Ike. He pipes up with, "One o'clock, right?" It's a hard one to explain. But I love that he is learning to tell time by the tolling bells. in this world of digital-most-everything, in this world where his grandma won't buy him every cute watch he sees because she truly wants to allow him to live timeless for as long as he can, or at least until third grade when they begin to study time and measure. OK, I could possibly concede at age seven. Maybe a right of passage into conceptual thinking.

The season right before Christmas is a lovely one in their home. Ike was born on December 13th so we celebrate him as he prepares for the Baby jesus to be born. Daughter Brooke explained the archtypal birth so beautifully on her blog. (If I only could figure out how to link but not time now. I'll try later tonight when I get home! Come back?) Last Sunday was his birthday party. he had a very small party with friends, outdoor play, hot cocoa with birthday cake, a winter scene project I prepared for them, and just so much warmth of home, family and friends.

On their mantle sits the copper lantern Ike made in Kindergarten for the feast of Martinmas.
And it is absolute heaven to have Auntie Brookie's handmade love and ideas from Vancouver. She guided me through the preparation of this project over the phone. Little satchel made them in first grade at the Vancouver Waldorf School. Since Ike's party was younger, I did the cut outs for them to glue into their own window scenes.



And last, and most glorious glory! I have a crafty daughter now! Brooke and Satchel made this beautiful birthday crown for Ike and sent it to him so that they could be "with" him to celebrate. He wore it all day, and then onto rainforest cafe for dinner (under his outdoor hat!) It is so beautiful...
And he wore it as he stared at his birthday volcano...

Velveteen Rabbit Wisdom

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.

" "

(I can't believe I woke up with laryngitis. I have things to say. Carols to sing. A personal point of view, dammit!)

H.......ee      H.....I.....AaaaS !

Swifter Wet Jet

Sometimes a little change of scenery makes your whole perspective new. I have always been one to guffaw all the new things on the houshold cleaning market, especially if they were full of chemicals. But wet winter and dog paws in Chicago, with slush and salt pellets and mud coming in and out my front door have, I must admit, changed my point of view.

I'm talking about the Swifter mop. I love my wood floors here: the color of them, the feel under my bare feet, the just-perfect-not-too-much shine. But once the weather changed it became a sad mess, always looking dusty and smudged. It felt like, well, bleah. Never smooth and clean, as much as I swept and cloth dusted.

So yesterday while at Target, I bought a Swifter mop. And I'm in love.

It's 6:30 am, I'm getting ready for work, but I just found myself mopping the clean floor....again....the one I mopped last night before bed. And noticed I was doing it with a happy little smile on my face. Coffee cup in one hand and Swifter duster mop in the other. I should be in commercials. I could harumpf and put my fists on my aproned hips as Twyla tracks mud in....then spot my mop  and grab it all the while smiling at that naughty little munchkin....sip coffee....and sit down to knit while twinking fairies glitter above my floor.

Now I just need how to figure Murphys Oil Soap in the dispenser rather than Swifter juice. Any ideas?

Mike Conner, where are you when I need you?

Seasonal Things I'm Wondering About

1. Why do snowmen wear scarves and hats?

2. Why do people say, "It's cold as hell?"

3. Don't animal's feet get cold?

4. Do candle flames add any heat to a room?

5. In the bridge to the Christmas carol, "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year", why does it say "There'll be scary ghost stories..."? Does anyone tell ghost stories at Christmas?

Just asking.

And here's my favorite little piece of my Christmas tree this year. It is small. But I love it! Camille will be here in 12 days...for which I cannot wait.  Yay!

Doggie Park Party

Last night when I got home from work I took Twyla out walking as I always do. And since she had been in all day I took her, with her Kong toy, for a romp at the dog park. Not many folks were there at all (I mean, no wonder, it was dark. It wasn't late, but it was dark. But it's right on Damen so I felt safe); there was a woman who I've gotten to know a bit with a rescue dog very similar to Twyla; an older attorney who comes right from work and worries about his shined shoes every damned time (always fussing with his little dog to stay off his shoes); a young girl, I don't know her but she's been there several times when I've been there and she has a Jack Russel that absolutely runs circles around all the other dogs and just cracks me up. That was it. Until....this clearly gay couple come in with their standard poodles and a thermos (full of hot toddies and tiny paper cups, I was soon to find out). They poured themselves little cups then set it down on the bench, let their dogs off leash. And then, "C'mon ladies, it's party time. Don't worry if you're not dressed to kill, it's just us. Christmas cheer, Christmas cheer."

Oh my gawd! Only in the city! So we all had a little sip, nothing much, but the spontanaeity was so fun. It all lasted about 20 minutes at the most because it was very cold.  We toasted our dogs, the new snow, and chatted about the holidays, the weather, coats, dogs, hot drink recipes, and at the end...I raised my cup to offer a toast: to the attorney's shoes! I swear I did. I told him he needed to wear sneakers to the dog park, or very soon, snow boots. He really laughed. Thank God.

Oh how I wished I had had my camera with. I love holiday spirit. And spontaneous is even better. I'm pretty much game for everything! "Adventure" is my life's word right now. I suggested we sing Jingle Bells, but no one else would brave it. Party poopers.

Comfort and Joy

I cannot believe that this final week is upon me...the last week that I will be an integral part of Jahan's everyday. I have fallen in love for life. I will be his Busha forever. His parents are my dear friends now, and I do feel as if we are family.

But bottom line is, we're not, and when I get too much into my head I worry about how to navigate these waters. If I think about it too much I become some crazy stalking ex-nanny. So I just try not to think of factual details, not to think about it too much and just put my love out there as this little boy grows.

I think about him a lot lately. I watch him with soulful eyes, eyes trying to absorb every last nuance of him. I notice how comfortable he is with me. How he comes and rests his little arm on my knee in social situations, looking at me for encouragement. How he pleads, "Up!" and "Down" ad infinitum. How he looks at my ponytail falling down in front of my shoulder and grins and says, "Tickle.Tickle." How I know that if he is across the room seemingly involved in some toy and he randomly says, "Tickle. Tickle." into the air and to no one in particular, it means he's passed gas; and he looks at me and we laugh. How he pokes at my nose stud and says, "Pretty." The way he relaxes from the words I whisper that soothe him into sleep in the blink of an eye. Our bathtime/bedtime ritual that is perfect harmony. How I know that he hates to have his ears touched and he loves to have his head rubbed. All these little bits of Jahan that I will miss so much.

Our time together has been perfect, and we are seasonally, appropriately full of comfort and joy....we were meant to spend time together on this earth. It has been my honor to hold such an important role in his life.  Another realization that Time does fly by...

Alexander Yeeum Volz

Twenty five years ago today my second son was born. And I'll say it again. I'll say it ad nauseum: all 14.2 pounds of him. Nope. Not diabetic. Nope. Only eight days overdue. Nope. It was a C-section (although I labored until transition when my body pulled the reins on itself and told me this bad boy had to be cherry picked outta my belly.) He has held a big spot in this world ever since. He is an amazing one. Artistic beyond belief. He is a paradox. The most sensitive choleric I've ever known. He was an exhausting child...but so full of joy he lit the world. Playful, inquisitive, imaginative, enthusiastic. A kid lookin for trouble. Or not. But always finding it and bringing it home. His thousand watt smile is first to appear in my mind's eye when his name manifests. I love this man/boy so very much. I miss him tonight. Happy birthday Al Bill.