Babylonian Theory of Evolution

This one is about my theory of evolution.

(expletives have not been redacted...smooch!)

I have no idea when it happened, but I can tell you the moment I realized it. I was standing in the toilet aisle of a big box home improvement store, trying really hard to decide whether or not to buy the American Standard model, with the 5 year warranty, antibacterial glaze, and the ability to flush a record 154 sheets of toilet paper at one time, or the Kholer Well-Worth model, which, while not as flashy as the American Standard, brought with it the esteem of the Kohler name, and looked like it would match my bathtub and sink fairly well. I was standing in the aisle, kind of biting my lip, shifting from foot to foot, trying like hell to pick out a toilet, and I was hit with the freight train of a thought that went something like, "holy crap, THIS is what it feels like to be a grown-up."

Keep in mind that the trip to the big box home improvement store was just the last portion of a string of events over a 36-hour time frame that made my head spin. On Friday of this particular weekend, I woke up ready to do some business on my day off, and so I went to the bank, and rolled over my 401k into an IRA. I went to see Mom and Grammy for lunch, since I had the day off, and I got my teeth cleaned. Later that day, I made a mortgage payment. It was not a Chico’s kind of day—I still haven’t had one of those, yet, but it was pretty freaking grown up.

That night, I went out with my friend Jax, and had 1.5 adult drinks—1.5…meaning I left half a drink still in my glass. Can you say “self-control”? Granted, we were at Pat O’Brien’s, by the Alamo, and they have HUGE glasses, but seriously...1.5 drinks. Then we went to some townie bar on the north side of town, to see some people Jax went to high school with, which we shut down, and where I didn’t actually drink anything but water. I was home and in bed by 2:30 am...on a Friday night, like a reasonable single girl in her late twenties. (I knew this was how they did things, because I had been watching all the right t.v. shows.) No big deal, right? I was in bed at a reasonable Friday night bed time. I had hydrated after drinking, and had been super adult and productive all day, and can I just say that the dentist told me I had no cavities? I should have been totally fine, the next morning.

Wrong. I woke up Saturday morning with a hangover that was secretly really A HANGOVER—light sensitive headache, scratchy eyes, general instability in the gastrointestinal region, and I was pretty sure my cat had forgotten to use his box, and used my mouth, instead. If my friend Ryan had called me that morning, and asked me to tell him what the reading was on my Wrath of God Index, I probably would have told him it was somewhere in the 22.5-25.0 range, on a10 point scale. I wanted to die, just so I could not feel hung-over, anymore. I cursed the name of Pat O’Brien, and wished terrible things to happen to whoever invented and perpetuated the Hurricane as a cocktail to be served in HUGE FUCKING PORTIONS. I wanted a shower and a big cup of coffee. I wanted to feel like a grown-up, again. After all, I had spent the whole last day acting like one. And then I realized how many grown-ups DO wake up all hung-over and ill-feeling, and that is a normal day for them. I was immediately sad and weepy about this, which was also a symptom of the hangover.

This hangover was vengeful—granted I have a somewhat limited experience with them...no, seriously. There was no cause for the violence of it. None at all. And it was during that limnal moment between being hung-over and finally feeling slightly ok, while I was standing in the toilet aisle at home depot that I realized that there was no going back. Not ever.

There had been a Change. And even if I sold my house, gave away my cat, killed off my plants, and ran off to some do a silent retreat and contemplated to whom I would give all my worldly possessions, the real change, the change that was in my head and my heart was there to stay.

I don’t think it’s any big coincidence that Jesus didn’t start His ministry until He was thirty. For me, I didn’t start putting all the pieces of who I was together until right around my thirtieth birthday, give or take a few months on either side. Here’s why I think this is true.

And let me say here, much of this is VERY general. I was parented very well,and very intentionally. I was not a perfect kid. We did not have a perfect family, but we had a good life together, and still do...but still, here's the other hand...

For a huge portion of my life, I was lead to believe that I was preparing myself for The Future, rather than living a fully integrated life and being alive. I went to public school for thirteen years (counting kindergarten), and then went to college for that all-important Bachelor’s Degree. During my growing up years, I also attended Sunday School, summer camp, vacation Bible school, mission trips, seminars on why nice girls don’t have sex until they are married, weekend workshops for super smart kids who would all end up in law school or MBA programs, and all the other shit people my parents’ age thought they needed to do for their kids to grow up and have a chance at a vibrant and vital life. I knew I was alive, but I don’t think I understood anything about what that really meant. I mean, I had homework that was due, tomorrow…and that dude in my health class made me feel all lit up on the inside…and sometimes, I didn’t know why I felt all alone in the middle of a room full of people, and thought that must mean there was SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME. And then, there was God, all around me, but I had no idea how to get to the middle of where or what God was.

You know what all I learned? Not too fucking much, but some of it had value. For instance, I learned that it’s better to sit at the table with the quiet kids, because the loud kids will eventually start throwing dinner rolls, and then everyone at that table gets into trouble. I learned that if I sat in the back, left-corner of the room, and took notes, I could be almost invisible, and no teachers would habitually call on me, and I wouldn’t be made fun of all the time for being smart. I learned to plan four or five moves ahead, so I could become invisible, if I needed or wanted to.

I think the worst thing I learned was that Life is Something that Starts Happening on the day you have all your shit together, but not until. I learned that Life was Something you prepared for, and executed, like a dive or a driving test. At no point do I remember anyone really telling me, in no uncertain terms, with their own actions and words that Life was Something that was Happening NOW. The only model I had for that kind of edginess was Jesus. When I found myself in Babylon, and realized that, I was thankful for Jesus and mad as hell at pretty much the whole rest of everyone that I knew. Nobody told me that this final was going to be cumulative. This shit was not in the syllabus. This was not fucking fun. At all. And it was going to be like this until I died. And of course, that kind of made me want to go stick my head in the oven, and do some deep breathing.

In my family, because my father was chronically ill from the time I was 10 until he died when I was 18, we lived from doctor’s visit to doctor’s visit, and how things were going at home was directly tied to his health, most of the time. I knew that things were good because someone told me they were. I knew that things were bad because people stopped talking, and their faces got hard, and a blanket of disease would settle over the house. I didn’t know that everyone, everywhere, in every family has something like this. I didn’t learn that, certainly at least wasn’t able to process that until I got to Babylon, and started hearing pieces of what I thought was a story that only belonged to me come tumbling out of other people’s mouths.

Standing in the big box store that day, when I was 28 years old, buying my first-ever toilet to go in my first-ever house, I started to realize what would crystallize inside of me over the next three years…I was a grown up, not because of all the things that I was doing, because I’d been doing grown up things, had had to do them, since I was 17. No one needed to tell me this, and I didn’t need to go down to the license bureau and have a new i.d. made. As I was looking at the toilets, thinking about how spending more than $150 at any one time felt like a major purchase, and how I wished I had paid more attention to toilet installation on mission trips so I wouldn’t have to pay for someone to come install mine for me, I understood that picking up the mantle of who I was, of who I believed God made me to be was about just that…ME picking up the mantle, not having it handed to me when the time was just right by my fairy godparents or an angel or someone else who really loved me and thought that I was ready. I knew I was ready, or at least as ready as I was going to be, and then…shock of all shocks, I realized, like a little kid learning to ride a bike, who realizes she is RIDING HER BIKE ALL BY HERSELF BECAUSE DADDY LET GO!! YAY!! And HOLY SHIT!!, that I had been doing this for a long time, ready or not.

Predictably, I fell right of the bike, at that most excellent and good moment, and scraped myself up pretty good. Babylon giveth, and Babylon sure the hell taketh away. But I knew, undeniably that I had crossed the Rubicon, at some point, and I was here, actively engaged in my life, and aware of that in a strange and different way than I had understood that, before. I remember standing there, having this thought blaze through my bewildered consumer responses, “So this is what being a grown-up feels like…” It felt like realizing I’d been wearing some strange new piece of clothing for months, and had just figured out that the thing I had tied around my waist was actually supposed to be wound around my head.

It would take me the better part of three years to figure out how to get the thing moved around, and situated correctly. And there are still days when I’m not sure how the fuck I’m supposed to wear it, or even if I should put it on before I leave the house. On days like that, I pray a lot. And sometimes, I stay home with the cat, and we watch “The Last Waltz” with the second commentary on (because Levon Helm is amazing and his voice reminds me of the collected wisdom of parts of my Southern childhood), and as soon as I hear Neil Young start the harmonica solo just before beginning “Helpless”, I know that tomorrow will be a better day. Learning to live in Babylon, to be a grown-up here, to try and walk beside Jesus…it’s a day by day reconciliation of the little girl in the drive way and the grown woman in the toilet aisle. It’s evolution on the most basic spiritual level, and just like my vestigial tail took hundreds of thousands of years to lose, learning how to walk upright into the Kingdom will take a long, long time.

scatter brain...

i think i'm going to have to start writing everything down...and keeping a notebook tied around my neck, so i don't lose my notes. i seriously underestimated the back-to-school madness. i'm pretty excited about being back with seventh graders, and teaching them theology, episcopal-style. i'm more than pretty excited...i've been waiting all summer to get back in the classroom. nothing feels better than being with them, and talking about how big God is. it's the best part of my whole job, right now...the part, besides taking communion to my old ladies, that feels like it's real, and holy, and active, and IMPORTANT.

one of my little old guy's cheese is totally slipping off the cracker. schizophrenia apparently gets worse as you age, and my little friend is really struggling to maintain his grip on what's real and what's not. there's a whole long sad story about this little old guy. his family is pretty well checked out, so the church (and by the church, somehow, that ends up meaning me...woo hoo...) ends up having to do a lot of heavy lifting for this little guy. i'm afraid some of the heavy lifting to be done soon is going to look like transitioning him out of his home, and into a group home or facility. and holy crap...that hurts my heart to think about. but i don't know that there's a lot that can be done to avoid it. i'd rather have him mad at me than to have to deal with him being dead, in his house, because of something that could have been prevented. shit, you guys...sometimes, i just wish for easy answers.

the oldest nephew started "kinneygardens" yesterday, at saint gwegorwy the gweat. how is he almost six?? geeze oh man...time does march on.

camp was amazing. camp is always amazing, and it's the place i always think of whenever anyone says the word, "home".

ken burns' civil war documentary was even better than i remembered it being as a kid, watching it with my dad. shelby foote's voice reminds me of my pops, and i loved that. the wwII documentary should start arriving in a couple of days. that guy makes some great films. i think i've got "baseball" and "the brooklyn bridge" slated for viewing in november. YAY. also, mad props to cory will, who sent me "no direction home"...which i can't stop watching. i still want to marry levon helm, circa 1974.

mil besos,
rmg

summermusic 2011

here's the music i've been listening to since june 21st... if you want a cd, i'll even mail you one. be advised, as per usual, the list is in alphabetical order. i think it makes a really good mix.

happy listening

ashokan farewell--nashville chamber orchestra, featuring paul gambill
at my most beautiful--rem
barton hollow--civil wars
chief--patti griffin
damn, sam--ryan adams
free fallin--tom petty
gimme shelter--the rolling stones
gin and juice--the gourds (if you've never heard this cover, you are MISSING OUT. additionally, this will be the song that plays during the credits portion of any movie about my life that is ever made. )
God willing and the creek don't rise--ray lamontagne and the pariah dogs
great high mountain--ralph stanley
helpless--neil young, the band, joni mitchell
hurricane--the band of heathens (cover of an old john anderson single...SO GOOD)
i'm sensitive--jewel (yeah, yeah, i know...i don't want to hear your whining...)
if i had wings--matraca berg
it'll all work out--tom petty
jonas and ezekial--indigo girls
levon--elton john
little green--alicia wiley (cover of a joni mitchell classic)
live forever--billy joe shaver
looking for a good time--david nail
mona lisas and mad hatters--indigo girls (live track, SO GOOD)
mr. bake-0--adam sandler (sometimes, revisiting joke songs from
mr. whoever you are-- tim mcgraw (i know...i know...i secretly love tim mcgraw...)
my father's gun--elton john (on my list of top twenty favorite songs, ever ever ever)
orange juice blues--the band
slow motion--third eye blind
wild world --marc cohn (cover of cat steven's classic)
your song-- elton john (there's a lot of the reg on this mix list...go figure)

mil besos,
rmg

On How Things Are: Babylonian Monday

I have become painfully aware in the last few years of how hard it is to be a grown up. Additionally, I understand that about seventy-five percent of the people I know and love are grown ups, in the realest and truest sense. They take care of their business, they think about what comes out of their mouths before they speak, they care for each other (and for me) when things get hard or crazy, they show up, they help out, they get it. The other twenty-five percent are either actual children (and therefore are not obligated to act like grown ups...even though some of them do...) or people who act like children.

I understand that being a real grown up is not always fun or easy. In fact, there are days when it really sucks to be a real grown up. However, the alternative is...well, it's not pretty.

This what I mean when I say "be a real grown up"... and I admit that I fail daily at one or several of these...but I try...

1) Be appropriate. If you're about to say something you think would embarrass your grandmother or someone else's grandmother, DON'T SAY IT. This also applies to Facebook. if you aren't sure what embarrasses someone's grandmother theses days, i can give you phone numbers for several grandmothers, including my own. please call them and screen yourself ASAP. Also, don't air dirty laundry, family feuds, divorce proceedings, or other melt-downs...you know that saying about turds in the punchbowl? Yeah, it's SOCIAL MEDIA, not your best friend's kitchen, your therapist's couch, or the confessional at church. THINK BEFORE YOU POST.

2) Pay attention and know your depth. If you have no idea about debt-limit, carbon footprints, the legal length for a keeper redfish, the migratory patterns of the swallows of Capistrano, etc., do not go read the wikipedia page on said topic and try and launch yourself as an authority on said topic. it's ok. not everyone can know everything. Be proud of your specialty. If you don't have one, be ok with that, or try to formulate one. Just be advised: reading the entire John Grisham canon does not give you license to practice law, or even to know what the hell is actually going on in a court case. This is the same situation as a cat having kittens in an oven...those kitties are not ( and never will be) muffins. Also, you can get a world class education with a library card. Just saying...

3) Say thank you as much as possible, to people, to plants, to pets, to God, to the universe. Even the smallest amount of gratitude, over the simplest of things goes A LONG WAY. Also, when someone says "thank you" to you, have the good grace to say "you're welcome", and not some dumb remark like "no problem" or "no worries". Acknowledge that the person is thanking you, whether you feel you went out of your way or not to help them out, do for them, refill their tea glass, etc. Same goes for smiling. Smile a lot. Return smiles.

4) If you say you're a Christian, or proclaim to be a person of any faith, have the good sense to act like it. Read your Bible (or whatever holy book applies to you and your method of knowing God) , and get in touch with Jesus (or appropriate incarnation of the Infinite) . Turn off your tv, and radio, and put down the newspaper. Go outside and see the creation God put in motion, and for the love of little green apples STOP BEING MEAN. You know that whole part about giving someone your coat if they ask for your shirt, or walking two miles instead of just one? I'm pretty sure Jesus REALLY SUPER EXTRA MEANT THAT. And all that stuff about poor people and orphans and strangers in strange lands? Yeah, he meant that part, too. It's super easy to talk about ideas and theories and dogma and doctrine from our clean houses and quiet lives. It's easy to forget that even the people (especially the people) who don't look, think, vote, act, pray or believe like we do are, in fact, still God's precious and incredible children. Stop smacking people around with your version of the Bible, and start asking God to help you love them like Jesus does. This is not easy. you will cry and be uncomfortable, a lot. Keep breathing. Keep praying. the Kingdom of God is between us. All of us.

5) However it works for you, be physically present. This may mean that you have to buy a plane ticket you can't afford, or sleep on a sofa bed that makes you understand what purgatory REALLY is, or go for thirty six hours without any sleep, at all. You will attend weddings, funerals, baptisms, graduations, etc. You will give presents that you won't receive thank you notes for (and yes, that's bad...), relations will exhibit terrible manners, some of the people you go to see will not behave well while you're there, and you will probably end up spending more money/getting less sleep than you bargained for. SHOW UP ANYWAY. There is no substitute, digitally or otherwise, that is better than YOU. If you can't show up, offer lots of encouragement via other outlets. but still...nothing is better than YOU in the flesh. And you'll be glad you went. Scrolling through your text message log is nothing compared to sharing a good/bad/funny/hilarious/ridiculous/shenanigans.

6) Work like hell to make things different than they are, better than they are, even though you know that you're just a cog in the wheel. Throwing up your hands and quitting because things are hopeless, feel bad, look ugly, or make you want to throw up...little kids do that...two year-olds do it really, really well. We are not two. WE ARE NOT TWO. We do what God, or the Universe asks us to do, answer the call that resonates in the deepest parts of ourselves, and give up the whine of "this shit is not fair", because as real grown ups, we've come to understand that "fair" is only something that happens in the city park, and has a lot to do with cotton candy and pony poo. Still, we work. We live in hope. When you see a wall go up, tear it down, even if you have to use your bare hands, and even if you see the work crew coming behind you to repair what you've just torn down. if you want things in life/world/etc to be different, stop expecting anyone else to make it different/right. The universe owes you nothing. God gave you breath, bone, and blood. That's enough for a major arts and crafts project. Do something major and magnificent, even if it's a little thing.

7) Don't ever believe, not for a single minute, that you are ever really alone, even when you feel like you are. God is there...even if you don't believe...God comes peeking into our lives in the most wonderful and joyfully sneaky ways. The loneliness we feel at the bottom of ourselves is part of the human condition, and a result of the fall. Deal with it. It's a universal. And it won't be right until we get to whatever happens after this life is over. No marriage, no babies, no lovers, no medicine, no retreat will fix that. Keep saying your prayers, loving your people, planting gardens, anyway. The loneliness is as heavy as you let it be, is as light as the burden you allow God or your peeps to help you carry. Deal with it. Get right with it. Know that it's not an eternal situation, and stop expecting it to be different.

8) Do not take yourself too seriously, but don't take yourself too lightly, either. Do the work it takes to arrive at a balance. It's hard. you'll readjust a lot. Sometimes, you will be very uncomfortable. Deal. It's good for you.

9) Pray when you wake up. Pray when you go to sleep. Pray during your day. Prayer looks like a lot of things to a lot of people. Find what your way looks like, and be fearless about the practice. Even if you aren't a church person, or don't know if you believe in God, or just what, it's good to pray...it gets you out of your head and encourages you to be engaged in the world in a different way. I think praying is a hallmark of adulthood.

10) Know your own story. Own your own story. Tell your story when it's time to share it. Know when not to tell your story. Your story is a holy thing. Treat it that way.

i think i have some work to do...

mil besos,
rmg

a confession from the midst of Babylon...

here's some stuff you might not know...

i love to talk on the phone...for hours...usually about nothing of great import. i have talked a full phone battery all the way down on one conversation, at least.

i sing, at the top of my lungs, in the shower. and i do smash-ups of my favorite songs, and there are occasionally dance moves involved.

i talk to my cat. i know he understands me. the only form of communication i've figured out from his end that is no-hair balls means "yes", and an abundance of hair balls means "NO".

the bulk of my netflix que are documentaries.

i really prefer the british-english spelling of most words.

i hate it when people call me "rach". i also hate how "rach" looks. seriously. hate it. but it's been going on for almost 33 years, so i've made a decision to just pretend it doesn't make me want to scream and throw things when people address me as such.

i compulsively sing harmonies in the car. i can't stop, and lately, don't even realize i'm doing it. this may or may not be a cool thing, depending on if you are in the car with me.

when i'm upset or irritated, and able to finally vent about it, i usually take ten to fifteen minutes to actually get to the part about what's upsetting me. there's a warm up lap, and then some sideways stuff, and then the real issue presents. it's weird. but it's how i do shit. knowing is half the battle, right?

i refuse to buy DVD's that do not include at least one commentary track.

the mix i made for winter 2010-2011 is one of the best music mixes i've ever made.

i will turn 33 on a business trip to new york. i hope like hell the meeting goes well, and i can convince someone in the publishing world to buy my idea, and help me be a real writer.

i will probably always vote democrat. people who know me know this...some of them agree, some of them disagree, and we all just kind of keep our mouths shut, and try to love each other, in spite of, and sometimes because of, our voting records.

i hate the fact that i'm installing cable this week...i've lived without it for ten years, but don't feel like it's reasonable to ask the renter to deal with my particular hang up...so...cable...eww. i'd like to tell you i don't plan on watching it...but i hate lying.

i can't walk into walgreens or half-price books without dropping forty dollars. i should just hand it to them at the door.

i really hate my new shampoo. but i bought it, and i'm going to use it until it's all gone. this is much like the time i though lemon flavored toothpaste was a good idea. i gagged my way through that tube, and i will wash/condition my way through these bottles. i never should have caved to the price point comparison, and totally cheaped out on my hair product...which is just something i need to get right with...because it's just hair. except that it's MY HAIR, and i like it to smell like flowers and feel soft and pretty. BUT IT'S JUST HAIR. i know, i know, i know. i still hate this shampoo, you guys.

i get to see bob dylan in six days. i will probably cry. i will probably dance like a fool. i will laugh, and close my eyes, and i won't care if it rains, because i've already planned out three outfits for weather contingencies.

i've been mentally reciting psalm 121 for the last three days.

i've realized that the cavalry is not coming. i am the cavalry. now, where in the eff is my horse?

i've played guitar almost every night for a month, just for myself. i love playing, again. i also drag out the autoharp, on occasion. i think i might even be ready to try and write a new song. two a year seems a little like a dry spell...surely, there is something else that needs to be sung...it's been nice to toughen my fingers up, to play, to sing, to feel like i'm making something that is unique in time and space, even if God and the cat are the only things that hear me.

all things shall be well. all things shall be well. all things shall be well. and all manner of things shall be well.

mil besos,
rmg

dry spell

You guys...it's so hot, here. But I'm so grateful to be here, grateful to be able to set the same number of plates at the dinner table as last week, I don't care that all the beautiful thunderheads that build every afternoon are a bunch of liars. Grammy had a major health scare last week, and we spent almost a week holding our collective breaths until Nurse Stacey figured the whole mess out, and things began to resolve. The doctor was so excited, he gave my mother a bear-hug.

Here's the real thing I learned, though. Even if this blog post were about telling you that Grammy had died, I'd still be grateful. God shows up, always. Even when you're not sure you want God to show up, and especially when you don't know what you want God to look like. We rise up singing. We are just visiting this life. We are pilgrims on a journey, and this life is part of the journey, but to imagine that this life is the totality...well, that just feels plain silly. At least today, that feels plain silly.

I think it's time to get out the poster paints, shuck the clothes, turn up Ritchie Havens covering The Beatles, and dance like a lunatic in my backyard...because I can't help it. I was praying a couple of months ago...really more just being quiet, and trying to listen. I remembered reading over and over "when you seek me with all your heart, you will find me..." and thinking that there came a profound point after my unconditional surrender when I realized I literally COULD NOT STOP seeing God's hand prints all over pretty much everything, and how that changed pretty much everything. So, in this dry dry dry summer, I find myself being grateful, all over again, and praying for rain, knowing that God is growing something gorgeous and delightful, in the mean time, just out of my sight. I'll know it when I see it. And when I see it, I'll know it.

mil besos,
rmg

coming up for air

it's been a weird couple of weeks.

for those of you keeping score at home, and who've been reading with any regularity, i can tell you the following information...

*nothing is ever as simple as you think it should be.

*it sucks to hear "i don't like you like that" at the ripe and wise age of 32 as much as it did to hear it at 12 or 20. but, we are intrepid...we carry on. and all things are just as they should be.

*arthritis is no joke. and it will show up in your knees when you least expect it.

*high fiber changes lives, not like how Jesus changes lives, but still...it's a big change. look into it.

*sometimes, you just have to have cnn.

*when boogey men are killed or done away with, people do strange and weird things.

*all things shall be well. all things shall be well. all things shall be well. and all manner of things shall be well.

*"fresh cut flowers" is the new candle scent from bath and body works. it's incredible. go buy one. hell! you can even buy two, and send me one in the mail.

*never put off that phone call, or that email, or that text message. ever.

*there is no medicine better than the love and laughter of my baby brother, except for Jesus...duh.

that's all.

mil besos,
rmg

the heart of the matter

you guys...you know those days when you wake up, and you know exactly where you are? yeah, this is not that day, at all. and i don't mean i woke up in some strange bed, or anything. i mean metaphorically, i don't know exactly where i am, in this one little facet of my life. shit, you guys...i can't believe i'm even saying this out loud, again...i'm reasonably sure i'm in the friendzone with this dude who i really don't want to be in the friendzone with.

i seriously do not want to be in the friendzone with this guy. we'll call him "the turk", as in the "young turk", but we'll omit the young part, because it makes me feel less old. i have to tell you, he came from out of nowhere, from left field, from the furthest part of my periphery, like a bolt of strange lightening. and i have no idea what to do about any of that. i like talking to him, and i seem to talk to him a lot, pretty much every day. i catch myself wondering what he would think about things, what he would see if he looked at the same thing i was looking at. i haven't wondered that about a guy in a long time. and that makes me excited, nervous, giggly, and nauseated...all at the same time.

i feel like this situation is reaching critical mass, you guys. like i'm going to have to say something, or things are going to slide into the friendzone, permanently. i always end up there...because i am so effing friendly. but i can't go there with him. i don't want to be his friend, although i think we are good friends. sometimes, i hate this part of being a grown up, of living here, of refusing to deal with extraneous bullshit, because, Lord knows, we have a gracious plenty to deal with in just regular life. and yes, there are a thousand reasons to just walk by this, to avoid the conversation, to go gently into the good night of platonic male-female friendship. but i have enough male friends. i have my dudes, my brothers, genetic and otherwise. and i have enough other shit going on in my real life...i could slide right by this little blip on the radar screen, and avoid it, all together. there is enough going on that no one, least of all myself, would blame me for not having the conversation, not saying the words, not telling the whole truth, as i know it.

and then, there's the fact that it would be long distance, for a while. complication after complication after complication...a laundry list of caveats...a litany of risks...and those stupid, nagging little snatches of dreams that wake me up in the morning, leaving my head full of cobwebs and bunny trails for the whole rest of the day.

it's a huge risk to tell your secrets to other people. sometimes, the payoff is an emotional glass of champagne, and other times, it's a bottle of bourbon in a weeping bath. at the end of the day, i suppose i have to go back to the mantra of Lenten discipline: confession is good for the soul. and i know that even though there is a Good Friday for every single little life inside all the lives we live, there is always Always ALWAYS an Easter Sunday. and that makes this, at least a little bit, kind of joyful.

and so, if you're reading this, whoever you are...people i love, people i know, people who i have never heard of and will likely never meet, strange interweb people out for a virtual stroll...light me a candle, say me a prayer. i say thankee, big-big.

mil besos,
rmg

so much to say, but not really...

i feel like i could write a blog post the length of "war and peace". but...every time i sit down to actually write, i can't figure out how to say a single thing.

my brain is very full, at the moment. not all in a bad way, just very full. very.full.

mil besos,
rmg

...in the strangest of places...

i don't have cable. shocker, right? the choice isn't really about being socially aware, etc. it's mostly about being cheap. cable/interweb is about $80 a month, and frankly, when you live in a one-income household, $80 can be a lot of money. consequently, when i do watch tv, it's usually pbs. i also have a terrible habit of watching movies over and over again. the other night, this actually paid off.

i was sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor, in some strange yoga pose, stretching my way through the end credits of "drop dead gorgeous" when this catchy little tune started playing. i must have rewound the dvd thirty times in a row, just to hear this song...not even the whole song, but the line that said, "why does this love always have to come to words?"

i mean, that's probably one of the most profound questions/statements i've ever heard, about anything. think about it...how many times do you find yourself motivated to speech or action out of love? i think we'd all be suprised to find out that we are motivated, activated, and empowered by love more often than any of us would like to admit. granted, that love can often be colored by less-than-honorable intentions...but when love is the primary motivator, incredible things can happen.

i've been re-reading "a brief history of time" by stephen hawking. aside from making me feel slightly learning impaired, this book makes me believe in a G-d that is so big, i almost lose my breath thinking about it. i don't think there's any way to view the space/time continuum, general reltivity, the awesome structure and fuction of dark matter, and the idea of the universe in constant motion without being open to the idea of a higher intelligence behind it.

i'm talking about a G-d that is bigger than any book, idea, word, savior, dogma, battle, war, manifesto, etc. i'm talking about a big G-d...REAL BIG. i'm talking about a G-d who loves out loud, who never lets the love be silent. i'm talking about a G-d so moved by love that the very sound of that love, the exhalation of that word/thought/state/feeling/emotion/action can still be heard from the deepest, furthest, darkest, and most mysterious places in the universe.

i'm talking about a macro love that designs the universe and organizes it in such incredibly small and minute detail that even super-computers can't count all the decimal places. i'm talking about a micro-love that changes our little lives, our businesses, our homes, our families, and our broken and wasted hearts. (and yes, that's a love i understand in the incarnation of G-d in Jesus)...i'm talking about a love that cannot be silent, that screams and hollers and sings at the top of it's lungs for right relationship.

i'm talking about a love that lays down beside us, in the quiet and dark of night, and brushes the hair back from our face, flips the pillow to the cool side, and holds us until we can sleep, again. i'm talking about a love that is compelled to be spoken, whether it's a whisper or a shriek.

"why does this love always have to come to words?"

if it's not out loud, how to do we know what love sounds like?

mil besos,

rmg

flashcards

i gave a talk this weekend, at a retreat. i talked about how G-d talks to me, about how it's almost always in flashcard form, a word or two starkly inked into the material of my heart and my head in something far more indelible, but as recognizeable as sharpie marker. i love sharpie markers, you guys. seriously. i always have one in my purse, and one on my desk. always black. there is nothing more satisfying than writing with a sharpie marker...it's permanent, it's big, it's bold, it means business, even if it's a love letter or a smiley face. sharpie markers are ON PURPOSE. you never accidentally write with a sharpie. so it is with my flashcards from G-d. the flashcards in the deck i've been made privy to say some of these words: *faithful*obedient*encourage*intentional*fully present*window*...and a weird one that's a phrase...*you'll know it when you see it*. and you guys...i have been seeing some things...good things...hopeful things...hard things...and every where, every place i rest my eyes, or my head, or my heart, it's all so full of love and grace and mercy, i can't believe i was ever blind to this. it's never going to be easy, living into this broken and dying world. it will always be a struggle to make peace with the breach between the already and the not-yet of the kingdom of G-d. nothing in this life will be easy, even the things that look or feel easy aren't really...and that's just the beauty and the blessing of it. i think i understand a part of what all those ridiculous bumper stickers and posters from college said about the journey being the destination. and i want to sharpie that all over everything. mil besos, rmg

mix tapes from babylon

i find myself spending more and more time just being grateful, and not for anything specific, these days. i mean, there is specificity to my gratitude, but it's also just an overwhelming feeling i carry with the through my days, not unlike the anxiety and angst that i carried through my late twenties and into being thirty. the difference is that the gratitude is a pleasure to bear. and i find that as i get deeper and deeper into my gratitude, what comes out of that is encouragement. even on days when i cry all the way home (and yes, there are still those days), or days when i am utterly convinced that this is all there is, and it's never going to be enough (and yes, there are still those days), i've started forcing myself to examine all the bits of the day, and find that there is ALWAYS something to be thankful for, ALWAYS someone to encourage ( not berate, or coach, but just love on and tell them how fabulous they are), ALWAYS a Good Friday, followed by an Easter morning. i am amazed at the bounty i find when i am willing to open my eyes. and you know, the more i get in tune with gratitude, encouragement, believing in the truth of the triumph of love, i am reminded that not everyone lives like this. some of the people closest to me seem to be succumbing more and more to negativity, victimhood, believing that we are each on our own in this world. it's hard to be around those people, hard to know how to talk to them, how to hold them, how to share with them. there comes a point at which, after being scolded for my percieved naivete and reminded over and over again that optimists are insane and frankly kind of silly, i just shut up and make the faces people want me to make, responding mostly with non-committal verbalizations. i am the horse that refuses to drink at the rank well, no matter how hard i'm beaten. i'd rather take a thousand lashes than cave in and lose the ability to find G-d in all the strange and hard places, to find gratitude in the tears, and be able to shout encouragement through a mouth full of blood. i'm done with pointing fingers. i'd rather just hold someone's hand, and listen to their story. i'm over correcting people when they get facts wrong, or tell outright lies. i'd rather just listen to why they are angry, and tell them how much i love them, and remind them of all the wonderful, true things about themselves. i'd rather light a candle than lay in my bed, terrified of what might be under my bed. and i'd rather run through the gates of the kingdom of G-d, with my head on fire and my mouth full of praise than go limping through life with nothing but complaints about what i don't have. that dosen't make me better than anyone, or worse than anyone. that just makes me...me. this is what works for me. it's about radical acceptance, careful engagement, and resting in the confidence that there is a G-d who loves all of us more than we can ask or imagine. i refuse to sit in babylon and complain that my songs have been taken from me, my praise can't be heard in this foreign place. i am singing at the top of my lungs. mil besos, rmg

...you guys, i wish i had learned this sh*t along the way...

...how to deal with the loss of about two extra hours of sleep, last night, because i insisted on staying up and watching a movie i had already seen like 40,000 times.

...how to find a really good, really reliable, really affordable person to cut my hair. i seriously have not had a hair cut in a whole calendar year. yikes. AND i'm going gray...which is not all bad, because it kind of feels legit. also, i'm hoping i can go gray like emmylou harris in "the last waltz", and not end up with a streak here and a streak there. if it comes to that, i will definitely stop the attempt to age gracefully, and start being a bottle brunette.

...how to be a bitchy junior high girl. i was fortunate enough to spend the better part of last weekend with a whole herd of the sweet ones, with a few of the sour ones thrown in for good measure. i kept my hands off their throats, and my thumbs out of their eyesockets. and when i met the sour girls' mothers, i understood everything. G-d bless and keep the sweet ones...and G-d bless the sour ones, too.

...how to be in two places at once. that one would be amazing, on several levels, and for several reasons.

...how to not sweat the small stuff. i mean, who really knows how to do this one? maybe tyler durden...

...how to avoid ever going to university hospital for anything, ever ever ever effing ever, again. ever. for any reason. unless it's to pick up my prize money, which will have to be at least two comma's worth of money (that's over a million) to make it worth the sheer hell and torment of being at that facility.

...how to not feel like a terrible person for reinforcing good and normal boundaries at work and at home.

...how to explain to people i love and adore that it's not always about them, that sometimes, in fact, it is about me.

...how to do grown-up relationships when all the feelings i am feeling make me feel like i am fifteen. and how did i miss the part where i was supposed to learn to do this in high school and college? was graduating in three years REALLY that important?

...how to have balls in all the areas of my life, and not just the areas that are easy for me to express myself assertively.

sounds like a reasonable list to ponder for Lent, while i'm giving up sodas, eating out, and doing at least one hour of yoga a day. right? right.

also, i'd like to make an order for rain, and less oak pollen. thanks.

mil besos,
rmg

if i were a betting woman...

...i'd have probably lost a lot of money, by this point in the game.

you know, people kind of amaze me, sometimes, and not always in the best ways. i think there are moments when it's hard for me to cut people slack. it's not that i mind cutting people slack, it's that i mind cutting them slack over things that are their own faults. i don't like paying for other people's mistakes, or greed, or lack of foresight, or lack of respect for themselves. it pisses me off. it's hard to give slack with a full and loving heart, when you are confronted with poor behaviour, bad instructions, etc. but i know that i need grace and mercy because of my own blindness, my own bad behaviour, my mumbled and garbled instructions, my stuff, my head, my heart, blah blah blah. and so i cut slack, and sometimes i have to ask for some to be cut for me. and i have hard conversations. i do this because i need for it to be done for me, from time to time. this is what it means to live in community. this is what Jesus asks us to do, and what He does for us every. single. day. it also means that i have the right to say no, to walk away, to love unhealthy people from a healthy distance. i'm done living in the mess and the drama and the angst, at least as much as i can distance myself from those things. there is an element of mess, drama, and angst that is just part and parcel of living in a broken and dying world...but we can determine, most of the time, the levels at which mess, drama, and angst get to swing us around by the tail...thank G-d...

some of the things i find myself repeating over and over again in my head are the following mantras: big picture; i live here; don't just live intentionally--live deeply; own your own life; it's happening around you, not to you--big difference; i live in this body, but i am not this body; G-d is not fickle; i am on a need-to-know basis with G-d...and there is apparently a whole laundry list of shit i am not supposed to know, right now...

when the mantras don't work, i usually cry and turn the radio up louder and sign along until i can't sing anymore, or i arrive at my back door. and last night, when none of those things worked, i sketched with my charcoal pencils from san francisco for two solid hours. i felt better. i have felt better. i will feel better. this is not a phase. this is just a readjustment.

i live HERE, in my real life, and sometimes that means that i am lonlier than i would like to be. i don't have all the answers...not because i don't want to know them, but because there is no way i can ever think of all the right questions to ask. i do know some things, and i know a lot about the things that i do know. and i know i don't want to go back to being afraid that i was crazy; to believing that i am a bumbler; to believe that my selfworth is in anyway related to the fan- or hate-mail i'm getting; that who i am, at the very center of myself is not in any way related to buzz about me, in any sphere of operations. i came to play, and i brought my best game. and in all honesty, i've worked really hard to get this good, and i know that i am still an amateur, at best. but i'm effing here...i live HERE, into all the corners and weird parts of my life. it's not really mine, anyway. i gave it to Jesus a long time ago. and every day, i just want to have the integrity to live it that way, not in a way that's about me or my ego or what i think i need to be happy in this life. i'm not even guaranteed my next breath. i am totally and completely replaceable. what i have to give is what has been given to me...it's not of my own doing or my own making. i don't know how to say that any differently, and it just sounds so trite and bumper-stickery that i kind of want to barf, just looking at it...

it's funny...the last nine months have been so full and lifechanging, but nothing really has happened. i just woke up one day, and everything was the same, but it was all different, too. and the last two days have been very difficult, out of the blue, in very suprising ways. i've found myself just feeling very irritated and have had to remind myself not to be reactive. you know those moments when the words bubble just behind your lips, and you remember to clip them off before they come flying out? ...thank G-d for those moments. and then there are those moments when you say something, and you try to say it in the best way possible, and it comes out sounding like shit anyway? i mean, those are G-d's moments, too...but they are difficult and heavy.

i just want to be responsible for my own self. i want to own all the things about me, even the things that i actively try to change and do different every single day. in the end, they are mine to own, to own up to, to live up to or try and live down. it's not a shocker to me to look out on my classroom and have to fully acknowledge that i am the only adult in the room. it's another kind of feeling altogether to look out on the room of my life and realize that there are some people who will never act their age, never wield the wisdom they have accrued, never think of other people first, never put on someone else's shoes or see things from another person's point of view...and that feeling is mostly one of sadness. because we are all missing out, when that happens. all of us. and that is worth being a little bothered about.

additionally, it's cold as balls. it's been a weird start to 2011, and i'm hoping that february can convince me not to run for the hills, and hunker down until the weird passes. i can't really do that, anyway. i live here.

if i were going to have a crush, i'd have the perfect playlist for creating sheepish smiles and thoughtful car rides...and today, that needs to feel like an accomplishment, on multiple levels.

mil besos,
rmg

mil besos,
rmg

wintermusic 2011

so, every season, i make a new playlist. i date it, sort it, file it alphabetically, and listen to it over and over. sometimes, i send people i know and love cd's with the seasonal mixes burned onto them...let me know if you want one.

here's the latest one for winter 2011. these are songs that speak to me, that salve my soul...or save it. these are songs that i laugh and cry to, that i meditate to, that i hear G-d singing along with me in the car. there are explosive harmonies, explicit feelings, and some deep and profound thoughts. there also might be some fart jokes, too. there are covers, and covers of covers; there are brand new songs and songs that were written before my grandparents were born.

you'll know it when you hear it...

happy listening.

across the universe--the beatles
all that i want--the weepies
all the old showstoppers--the new pornographers
am i born to die--tim eriksen
angel of the morning--the pretenders
bird on a wire--johnny cash
birds without wings--david gray
cast no shadow--oasis
diamonds on the soles of her shoes (remastered)--paul simon
a dream is a wish your heart makes--michelle shocked
f**k you--cee lo green
falling slowly (live)--the swell season
forever is tomorrow is today--david gray
gimme shelter--the rolling stones
hard times--eastmountainsouth
heart of gold--korby lenker
helpless--neil young with the band/joni mitchell (last waltz)
hold on--sarah mclachlan
into the mystic--van morrison
jesus was a crossmaker--the hollies
long black veil--the band
long time traveller--the wailin jennies
lover's cross--jake newton
maybe i'm amazed--mark cohn
my father's gun--elton john
one man guy--rufus wainwright
only living boy in new york--mark cohn
racing in the street--bruce sprinsteen and the e street band
revolution--the beatles
sam in any language-- i nine
smokey mountain taxi--adam carroll
something in the air--thunderclap newman
stay with me--the faces
we can work it out--the beatles
the weight--the band (music from big pink)

mil besos,
rmg

...well...that was...different...

sometimes, the strangest events all converge in life, and create these moments that sort of conspire to make me laugh and cry and marvel at the life G-d gives me. friends and neighbours...this year is setting up to be one for the record books, if for no other reason than totally bizarre beginnings.

tuesday morning arrived the way most mornings during cedar season do...sticky eyes, lots of throat clearning, some light coughing, making the bed over the lazy cat that gives me daggers when i get up before a time he considers reasonable, crushing the snooze button as many times as possible before going out into the day, and doing my work. but this tuesday was different. see, when i woke up, there was already a text message on my phone from this guy, who we will refer to as "mr. wow". instead of that drop in the stomach that pressages all good crushes (and some of the bad ones), or that giggly giddy girly feeling i've recently gotten back in touch with, when i saw that i had the message on my phone, i just wanted to throw the phone across the room and have it shatter into a thousand pieces. kind of an extreme reation, right? that's what i thought, too.

so i went on a date with mr. wow on sunday night. we'd known each other for a while, but hadn't seen each other in five years, or so. (**as an aside...the devil incarnate must run the codes at eharmony, because this is the second ghost of crushes past that this stupid website has set me up with, and the second time it was so wrong that i almost called dr. neil clark warren and told him exactly what i thought about his twenty-nine dimentions of compatibility. my ass, sir. MY ASS.**) i think we all know my proclivity for giving people one extra chance to act right. i mean, it's the kind of grace and mercy i know i have to have in my day to day...why not extend it, too...right? except this time, it was just a perfect storm.

i'm not hateful and catty enough to write down all the things that made me want to throw my phone across the room, or tell you about all the red flags and WARNING signals that started wailing at top volume. i'm just going to tell you that i spent an hour with therapy mary, sometimes crying so hard that i couldn't talk, trying to explain that the only things i could feel after less than 48 hours of hanging out twice with mr. wow were anxious and overwhelmed. i literally felt like someone had taken a sharpie and written those words on my body, over and over. the upshot is that the last two years of working my nuts off in therapy are paying huge dividends. instead of spending the day sobbing at my desk (ok, so i cried...like twice, but got my shit together, and for the record, one of my favorite old ladies died tuesday morning, too), having explosive stomach issues, or vomiting like a total nutbar, i did a lot of actual work and was able to find words to use to talk about what i was feeling.

**insert cameron crowe movie reference here*
now, i know we all have to get right with our own awesomeness. i also know we all have to get right with people loving us, even when they love us in ways that are hard to look at, accept, understand, or appreciate. we don't get to dictate what that looks like. i get that. i understand that. this is not that, at all. mr. wow is going to make someone a fantastic lloyd dobbler-esque boyfriend, one day. but i am not diane court. and i don't want to date lloyd dobbler. it's not that i don't think mr. wow is a nice guy, or sweet, or any of those other things. but i was real clear...at about hour five...that things were moving in a very different direction for me. and rather than string someone along, or convince myself that i was wrong, i cut my losses and did what i felt like was the kindest thing to do, and just made it clear that i had gone as far as i was willing to go.
**end of cameron crowe movie reference**

see, i have really spent the last six months doing a lot of talking to G-d. and i've tried to listen a lot, too. i have been going out on (for me) lots of dates. not a single dude has gotten past date number two, and some of the dudes haven't even made it to date one. not all of that has been left up to me...just so you don't think i'm eating men instead of breakfast tacos, these days. i was all frustrated and sitting in the floor, trying to do yoga poses, a couple of weeks before christmas. and in the midst of stretching and thinking and praying and listening, this still, small, gentle voice whispered in my heart, "little girl...you will know it when you see it." and my eyes have been wide open, ever since. and i have been utterly unafraid to act, because i know i am where i am supposed to be, doing what i am supposed to be doing. and this feels awesome.

mil besos,
rmg

retrospective

i was one of those people who went to so see "eat, pray, love" in the theatres, and cried through the whole thing. no, i didn't read the book. but, i probably will...it's on the list of books to buy during my next buying spree at half-price books. ryan and i talked about the movie, as did jackie and i, before i saw it. i knew parts of it were going to be smug. i knew parts of it were going to be trite. i knew parts of it were going to be sweet enough to give me a cavity. but i pluncked down my shekels, and watched it.

i watched it after i woke up from that weird dream i told you about, the one with the guy in the hare krisna robes. i'm serious when i tell you that i started crying during the credits. i am embarassed to admit that. i think the whole world is comfortable with me being a crier, except for me. i hate crying. HATE IT. i don't care that it's a normal response, or that crying actually releases endorphins and chemicals that make you feel better. i don't care that my eyes turn a totally different and kind of awesome color after i've cried. i don't even care that i usually feel better after a good cry. i also feel better after i throw up, when i'm sick. and i hate to throw up worse than i hate to cry. also, i almost always cry when i throw up. double hate.

so, there i was, sitting in a theatre, surrounded by other crying assholes, there with boyfriends (most of whom were probably there under protest, hoping that by going to such a femme movie, they would get a little something-something in return), husbands, sisters, mothers, significant others, etc. the overwhelming majority of the audience were female. and the sniffing noises started about five minutes into the picture.

let me be honest...this movie was pretty smug, on lots of levels. if i were being paid to write a book on self-discovery, i'd probably be pretty pleased with myself, as well. but you guys, there was something so familiar about the story, so reassuring about the questions this woman was asking herself and the universe, so encouraging to see her pray, even though she wasn't sure what to pray for, or to.

tangent:

i read a ton of my old blog posts last week. what a head trip...and some of the comments were hilarious. some of them really irritated me, too. i came across this one comment, on a post i wrote in 2005, from an anonymous poster. they asked me how it felt to be a martyr turned philosopher. that seriously pissed me off. and i'm not sure why. part of it felt true, at the time. part of it still feels true, today. but it hurt my feelings, too. a martyr is not something i've ever wanted or aspired to be, not for anything. and i was seriously offended that someone would imagine that what i was writing was anywhere on par with philosophy. this is just some dumb blog, written by a girl trying to figure out what this life looks like, how it feels, all the way out to the edges. and it's an honest expression of my angst, my excitement, my worldview, my theology and cosmology, my memories, my justifications, my experience. it seemed like a cheap shot. it still seems like a cheap shot. i don't like what that person said. and i certainly don't like how what they said effected me. in the final analysis, i don't consider myself a martyr, and i certainly don't pretend to be a philosopher. i'm a student of this life, nothing more.

back on track:
after the movie was over (talk about a totally predictable ending...wtf?), i cried some more in the car. there was a point in the movie, where the main character talks about words, what words describe things, people, etc. this discussion occurs around a dinner table, with beautiful people eating beautiful food, talking about which word most accurately describes themselves, the cities they know and love, etc. i thought and thought and thought about that. i love words. i love what you can do with words. i love the right words at the right times about the right things. there is nothing better than saying exactly what you want to say about something. nothing.

i spent the rest of the night trying to figure out what word describes me best. we each have a collection of words that would describe us down to the molecules in our bodies. some of the words are nice. no doubt, a few of them aren't too nice, though. but what word describes you, encapsulates the essence of who you are? can you really boil it down to one thing? i turned that over and over and over in my head. for days. weeks. months. last week, my word hit me.

distiller. i distill. that's what i do. all i had to do to find it was go back through and read my blogs, my journals, old letters, notes i make in the margins of books, reflect on conversations, write a couple of new songs, retune all the instruments in the house, clean out the cat-box, and get the hell over my own martyrdom/philosophic b.s. to do it. once i gave myself the right word, so many things made so much more sense. distilling takes a long time. distilling is about extracting the most potent and essential parts of something, so that the resulting substance can be shared and distributed and consumed. distilling is an art and a science. it can be deadly, too. it's a big responsibility, and you have to be fully invested in every step along the way, otherwise everything can be ruined, and no product is produced. there are no insignificant steps. nothing is wasted. i love that.

distiller.

mil besos,
rmg

just hear those sleigh bells...

Well, as the words to my favorite secular holiday song go, "And so this is Christmas…and what have you done?"

Are you ready? Are you freaking out? Are you whining?

When I go visit my brother and his family, the older nephew and I get to go out on our own, and do our thing. Our thing consists of going to the "train store", which to normal people is just a regular big-box toy store, with a scary giraffe as the mascot. I'm sure you know the one I'm talking about. Anyway, the five year old nephew could care less about the other toys in the store…he only has eyes for trains, especially blue ones that are named after certain doubting Disciples. He is obsessed. He's had to be escorted out of the store, several times, by his parents…literally kicking and screaming. This kid LOVES, LURVES, LUUUUHUUUUHUVES, trains. He is, hands down, the easiest person in my family for whom to buy gifts.

I remember the first time we went to the train store, on our own, to pick out a new train. My brother pulled me aside and told me to call him if things got ugly. I looked at him like he'd gone crazy…and just nodded my head, remembering that small children are highly volatile and toys to kids are like chum in the water to sharks. I started to feel like I might not want to do this thing, after all. But I had promised. And I refuse to break promises, especially not to small children who look like me.

The nephew actually gave me directions to the store, from his backseat. As I pulled in, parked, and turned off the car, I turned around to look at the blue-eyed cherub. "Bilbo, we are going to go shop for a new train, buddy. I want you to remember something. We are going to share at the play table. And when it's time to leave, we are not going to whine or freak out. Ok? Now, what are we going to remember? " "We are gonna sare at the pway table. And we ah NOT going to whine or fweak out." And so, we got out of the car, and ventured into the gaping maw of the toy store. I felt like I might throw up.

Thirty minutes later, we came out of the store, all smiles, with our new "twain", and no tears. I was amazed. I felt like I must be the kid-whisperer, or something. As the nephew exclaimed over his present in the back seat, telling the new twain about all the other twain fwiends back da the house, I realized something. I was not magic. No, the success of the trip had to do with factors that were beyond my child-charming (bribery). We prepared ourselves for the trip. We knew what we were going to get. We were realistic about what the trip might look like. We hoped for the best, and were willing to be surprised by success.

That's nothing like what Christmas and present buying is like for most of us. At all. We do a lot of freaking out. We do a lot of whining. We forget to be realistic about our expectations for giving and receiving. And sometimes, on our not-so-great days, we have to be lead kicking and screaming away from the experience that should be nothing short of awesome. We are not willing to be surprised, and failure is an excuse for another glass of egg-nog or a bloody Mary.

The nephew and I have made several subsequent visits back to the twain store. There have been no fweak outs, no whining, no kicking and scweaming. There have been good conversations in the car, many questions asked and answered, and the bond between us grows stronger and stronger. I wonder what it would look like if you and I applied the principles of the twain store to Christmas, to time with our families, to giving and receiving gifts? I bet Christmas would be less whiny and freaky for all of us.

My prayer is that you and your families and your friends share a marvelous Advent and Christmas season, without whining or freak –outs, without fights over the train table, and with the full and incredible knowledge that a very small person, born very long ago, loves you, saves you, is coming back for you, and thinks you are the most wonderful gift in the world.

Mistletoe Kisses, and Candy Cane Wishes...

mil besos,

rmg

eureka...

i was driving to the old lady high rise, like i do every other wednesday, to take them the HoCo, thinking about the rant i posted this morning, and convincing myself not to pull it down. i self-edit a lot, publically and privately. the things i don't say about how i'm feeling or what i'm thinking might suprise you, sometimes. then again, when i think about the handful of people who actually read this mess, i realize that none of this really ever suprises you. in fact, there are one or two of you who probably know what i'm going to write about before i actually write it. scary, but true.

anyway, on my way to the HoCo, i realized that the antsy feeling, this feeling of not knowing what the deuce is happening, all the angst and the "what does it all mean" boils down to one thing. i've never been anywhere for this long, in my entire adult life. and it scares the shit out of me. four years...a whole presidential term...four years is substantive. four years is not accidental or incidental. four years is a chunk of serious time. i've never done this before. and while it's nice to feel settled...it's also scary to feel this way. there are so many things i still want to do and see and experience. there are days when i worry that being in one place too long will numb me, will lull me into submission and complacency, will quiet the fire inside my head and heart. and the biggest question of all...when will the bottom fall out, the wheels come off, the shit hit the fan? i'm not saying that the worst always happens, i'm just saying that the pattern in my life is such that i have a hard time with relaxing into the salad days, the days of grace...and i know that is something i will struggle with, trusting G-d in the midst of the good days, not holding so tightly to the good of the now that i squeeze the life right out of it.

it was hard to maintain composure in the car today, on my way to see the old gals. i really just wanted to go back to my office, shut the door, and cry. seriously you guys, i know some of this is stage of life stuff, but the other part of it is hormones. pure and simple. i used to think i was going crazy, and then i started charting my moods, crying jags, etc. it all equated to...you guessed it...the flight of the cardinal. it's hard to argue with the red ink on the calendar. and it's hard to deal with between ten and seven days a month of being pretty sure that the whole world hates you and is conspiring to undo everything in your entire life. and that's why i went on anti-depressants for six months two years ago. the meds did the trick. the sharp edges were gone, i didn't cry on the way home from work, or on the way to work, or at my desk, or in the shower, or at stupid commercials, or at cheesey movies, or over really cute little fat kids in chapel. but i didn't really laugh out loud at silly things, either. after about four months, the absence of the sharp edges started to bother me. so, with the agreement of my therapist, i stopped taking them. i knew that i would have to be careful about that segment of the month when things shift, for me. but the sharp edges were important for me to feel. and they feel pretty sharp, right now. i know this will pass, and in four or five days, i'll feel markedly better. i just hate when life things collide with body things, because sometimes, it's hard to know what's incidental and what needs to be addressed.

there are days when i feel like 32 is much older than i would like to be, right now. there are also days when 32 feels very young and inexperienced. there are days when it feels really heavy to be this age, and not have a family established. i can practically hear my eggs getting older. and it's all well and good for people to tell you not to worry, that G-d has a plan, that the more you think about something, the less you trust G-d to do the work, etc. and that's fine. but this is my life. this is my day to day. and sometimes, that sound of those eggs aging is the loudest sound in the universe. now, go ahead and judge me inside your head. i know, i know, i know. this is something i am dealing with in my prayer life and in my time with my therapist. and now, the whole world knows, or at least the interwebs do.

i was in love with a self-confessed trainwreck of a guy for five years. that's a long time, too. and no matter what i tried to be, or do, or sing, or say, i would never add up to what he wanted. and so, on a no-name day in the middle of the summer, i stopped trying. i stopped dead in my tracks, dug my heels in, and willed myself to just lay down on the floor of my deepest self, and just stopped. i realized, a month ago, when i was driving through falfurrias, on my 32nd birthday, that i didn't love him any more, at least not like i had done. i was finished with that part. i couldn't tell you, in the corresponding tears that fell for about twenty minutes, whether i was crying from relief or sadness. i supposed in the final analysis why we cry isn't nearly as important as what we cry over. it all amounts to the same thing, i suppose.

remember when you were losing your baby teeth, how you would feel around with your tongue to see if the new tooth was growing in yet, or how close it was to being at gum level? i keep doing that emotionally, checking that spot where he used to live, to see if anything is new there.i think i finally learned that you can't out-tomato ketchup. i thought getting out from under that feeling would be freeing, and it has been. but G-d, sometimes life comes knocking, and the absolute wrong song comes on, and i have to look into the void, and scream out that i'm not afraid of it.

mil besos,
rmg

have mercy...

ragweed is making me a lunatic. between the ragweed and the hormone swing that comes once a month, this week is about to kill me. seriously. i've cried four times this week, twice over the same scene in a movie. and yesterday, i came home from work early to dose myself with benedryl and tried to sleep off this allergy attack. i think i was about 45% effective.

i feel like someone transfused a bag of molasses into my bloodstream...all slow and draggy. it's miserable. i know i need to be eating better and working out like i did over the summer. i gained back ten of the thirty five i had dropped...not happy, not happy about that at all. i feel stuck, guys. i mean, i hope that i'm not. but i feel that way. like i'm at a dead-end, and can't for the life of me figure out how to turn around, or back out, or climb over the wall. if i felt better, i'd probably make up some bullshit about how i really feel like this is a great moment in my life, in my development as a grown up, blah blah blah. really, what i really want, is just to be bailed out, swooped up, and rescued. i hate how absolutely true and naked that last statement feels and looks.

it's a really super whiney kind of wednesday. and i am wallowing in the whine, ya'll.

did you know that the average person needs between 10 and 12 personal interactions a day to feel connected to the world around them? it's true. now go give someone a hug.

mil besos,
rmg