Quiet Happy Wonder

Two steps forward one step back.

For quite a few years I have been collecting drums. A doumbek first. Then a small djembe. And another. And some little used bongos. Mostly I was a collector. And I had been thinking about drums. And listening to drums. And thinking about rhythms. Learning.  In one form or another drums are played in every part of the world and throughout the entirety of history. We live in rhythm.  Our heartbeat the backdrop of everything we do. Our footsteps. The ocean waves.  Even the rhythmic pulsing music of distant stars.  All steady rhythms like the beat of the drum. (And I bet you tap your fingers and your feet.) 

I tap my drums. Still a little bit hesitant. Fingers striking the goat skin of my gorgeous new djembe.  The one I fell in love with.  Or the buffalo skin of my native frame drum.  The one that feels like me. I’m  not talented.  Not a performer.  More a receiver of the vibrations.  Just for me.  Not for an audience.  

This year in my year of learning I started attending groups. Drum circles. One, a beautiful group of people who I suspect are going to have a big impact on my life. I found a friend. A kindred spirit.  We are heading to an event together in another town this weekend.  A drumming road trip.  The other group is through a therapist who works in the same office as mine. Learning how rhythm affects our bodies and our emotions. And our brains. The leader is someone I like a lot. Who I think might become a friend or helper to me. 

I love both groups. The people and the experience.  The way  I find myself getting lost and focused at the same time when I drum. In fact, I am going to a Healthy Rhythms conference in September in Colorado. Learning how to lead a class. How to teach other people to use drums and rhythms to make their lives better.  Learning and teaching the benefits of drumming. Learning and teaching. To someday hopefully use in my own practice.  

The other night a photographer from the newspaper came to our group.  He asked good questions and he really listened to what we said. We convinced him to join in. He made me laugh with the way he combined different instruments to create something new. I smiled at the delight on his face when he use the thunder boomer. I told him he must be either ADD or gifted. Either way… My kind of person.   Yet another good night.  Smiling and filled up.  

All wonderful experiences and fulfilling experiences and healthy experiences and positive experiences and happy experiences. 

And then yesterday…… The article appeared in the paper. And I only saw one thing. 

Oh my God I’m so fat. 

The worst picture. The fattest picture. I didn’t see the beauty.  The peace.  The rhythm connecting me to the universe and to everyone whose heart has ever beat out a rhythm throughout time.  

I am part of something beautiful and healthy that I believe in and I love …. and I didn’t want anyone to see. 

Dammit.  

But.  Two steps forward and one step back is still… One step forward. Right?

Today I’ll share the news story on my Facebook.  With the picture.  I don’t know what everyone else will see.  

They should be seeing a girl who is happy and connected and blessed. 

And that is beautiful.

THE NIGHT BEFORE OPENING NIGHT

Tonight is almost perfect.  

Rehearsal was good.  

I was as good as I’m going to be.  

So.  

Before there is an audience.  

Before anyone has seen me on a stage. 

Before I bring down the house

Or stumble over my words 

Before the nervous stomach hits.  

Tonight is just good.  

Filled with potential and promise.  

Almost giddy expectation.  

Such a good feeling.  

Because I know my lines. 

Because they will laugh.  

Because I will stumble and still make it through.  

Because I am better than I expected I would be.  

Because I said yes.   

Because I showed up. 

Because I am brave.  

And tonight I revel in that.  

Dear Independent Poet

I want to be a writer.  What a trite sounding sentence that is.  

It is not new. I have always wanted to write. The first time I ever wrote as an adult was on an anonymous journaling app. And I think it helped me find a little bit of my voice. 

And now I am blogging. And words are slowly starting to fall into their right places on the page. 

No great masterpiece. No brilliant plot driving me on. No poems as good as yours. 

But a person or two have read my blog. And are encouraging me. Not that Writing is a new idea to me. Just that it has taken 49 years to work up the courage to just whisper the words… 

I want to be a writer. 

To even imagine a book. A real book. Though I don’t have any idea what it might be. Just a glimmer I’m catching in the corner of my eye. 

And I thought of you. Your words so much more elequent, sensual, raw, than mine. Dancing on your pages. While mine are clumsy and tend to trip and stumble. To lose their way (often before they find the page where I intended them to be.) 

I didn’t mean for this to be a poem or an addition to my catalog of blogs (what an ugly word…) but it seems to want to be just that. 

I see your poems and stories and books and think …. maybe ….. maybe it is not completely out of reach. 

Because I want to be a writer. 

I want to write. 

I want. 

I want. 

I will. 

Write. 

Alone for lunch.  An older journal.  Thank goodness.

I am doing better at being social. I am making a real effort. But sometimes, I still find myself alone for lunch. I joined this group too late. That’s usually part of the problem. They were a group. I am just trying to tag along. Catching the edges of conversations. Mexican food? Steak and shake? We’ll all go. 

But then plans change. A different place.  And I am part of them, but not really part of them. No one thinks to warn me of changed plans. I find them.  But seats are saved.  Not one seat for me.  So I leave. 

Driving in circles. Have to go to the bathroom but I don’t want to walk into the restaurant with the group that didn’t save a seat. No place to sit. No room to eat. Embarrassing to need to go in to pee. Driving  down the road considering dirty gas stations.  Eating drive-through food in my car. 

I believe I am doing better in so many ways. But this. This feeling right here is all-too-familiar.   And I desperately want to shake off. To break through. 

I am stepping in. I am saying hello. I am trying to start conversations even when it is out of my comfort zone. But I do not have a friend here. And I suck at Smalltalk. 

My drive-through food feels tastes salty. Silly tears. 

Let them go. It is a beautiful day. I have things to do. 

I’m going to go back and fucking pee.  

Old and Sassy 

A poem.  

Or a story.  

Or three little stories. 

Whatever…

Written 50 pounds ago. 

(Yes I measure time by pounds not hours) 

 

A couple of weeks ago it was a bright sunshiny day. I was cleaning out my car. So I was making trip after trip (after trip after trip)  from my car to my house. And along the path there were two places where I could see myself. My reflection in the window and also my shadow on the wall. And every time I passed them by I smiled. I thought my reflection aind my shadow looked fantastic. I had a bounce in my step I had music playing in my ear. I was humming and loving the balance. Feeling fantastic and feeling like I looked good. In my shadow my sweater swept behind me and my hair made a halo around my head. And the more I thought about it the sassier my walk got. My hips were swaying. And once I noticed in my reflection that my hips were swaying… I decided to put a little more effort into it. A bigger sway. More intentional. Look at my hips move. I am fierce and sexy!

At that moment I turned to go back to my car and… Ouch! I completely twisted my knee. Hard enough that I plopped myself down on the ground for just a minute. Now my knees have given me trouble off and on for years so it doesn’t come as a huge surprise. But it did kind of make me laugh. Here I am feeling so good and then… Boom. But it’s OK. I laughed it off. Not going to stop me

Just a couple of days later I went to go see my son in a parade. I was wearing Tom’s that  don’t give a lot of support to your feet. And I was late. Of course I was late! So I ran.  You heard me.  I ran.  And I was so very proud of myself. I ran fast and I ran a long way! I pushed. I smiled. Felt the wind in my hair. Honestly! I swear!  It was wonderful. And I made it to the end of the parade just in the nick of time. But I had forgotten about my tender knee. And boy oh boy that didn’t help. So it has been a little bit tender ever since. I hurt it feeling sexy. Then I hurt it feeling strong and confident.

This morning (well not actually THIS morning)  I was having sex with my husband. Still wearing my dress from the  night before. My hair messy and scattered on the pillow. For a minute we were side-by-side, bodies touching. And then he reached for my leg to slide it under him. So that he could roll over onto…. 

Fuck!! I screamed. Literally screamed out loud. My knee! He had twisted and pushed in just the right way to make it… Hurt. Badly. He felt horrible and tried to stop. I insisted that he not. Afterwards, I laid on my side and just rubbed my knee. Oh my goodness it hurt.

It still hurts. (Seriously.  It still hurts). I’m going to try a couple of tricks I know but I will definitely be asking my doctor about it the next time I see him.  Which won’t be too long.  Cause I’m old.  

Feeling sexy and sassy.

Feeling strong and confident 

Having frisky morning sex.  

Who knew feeling this good could be so dangerous! 

Yesterday I saw a dragon dancing ribbon- like through the sky.  Muted greens and blues swirling languidly and dissolving  into mist and coiling up into a golden rice bowl.  

Now you might have understood if I’d said I want to hold a dragon in a tiny precious bowl.  To own it. To possess it.  But oh no.  Not me.  I do not want to hold this dragon.  I want to be this dragon.  This beautiful creature that travels on the wind and the water.  This trickster magician who can transform into anything at all.  Grace and power held together with scales and fire – aloft and afloat on currents spiraling across and around and through and over and …. oh.  

 (I only told my son – who knows all about these sorts things – but he just rolled his eyes at me.) 

It is of course simply a symptom of the way that my brain works. (No!  Not a symptom!  A spectacular byproduct of my playful and meandering ADD brain!)  

You see… 

I want to be a poet. I want to be a burlesque feather fan dancer. I want to be a wise old man holding court under a tree on a mountain top.  

And now I want to be a dragon. 

And so I’ve decided that the lizard I’m getting tattooed on the back of my neck needs to have wings along with his leash.  (Fucking lizard). And I changed my password to dragon girl. Because if I put it on my skin and write it down every day … Then I think I can claim it into existence.  

Because I can be anything. 

No. I can be everything. 

Even a dragon…

 

I keep thinking about seasons. Seasons of our lives. And it is so clear to me that I am in a new season. 

Let me tell you about Christmas tree shopping. 

When I was young, I remember Christmas tree shopping with my family. I don’t know what their memories are, but I remember loving choosing a Christmas tree. 

So when I got married, it became a big deal for me. In the early days I would drag my husband and then young children from Christmas tree lot to Christmas tree lot. Usually on one of the coldest days of the year. I wanted to see every single tree. To make sure I was finding the best. We would go back to shops we had already been to to look again. 

Well in my little family… I was the only one who liked that. So eventually we reached a compromise. We chose a lot that we always liked. And every year we went there. And I would choose, with “help“ from my family, the best tree for our house. 

Over the years I have had to hold my ground to keep my real tree. I like things that are real. I don’t like things that are “fake.“ A long list of examples I could share. But I was putting my foot down on the tree. Have for years. But we just got new wood floors. And so I have been convinced, by the potential for water damage, to shop for an artificial tree.

And so today I am shopping. Please note the pronoun. My younger son is at one mall with his best friend. My older son is at the other mall, playing games in the arcade, with one of his best friends. My husband has driven to a different town to play pinball in an arcade he loves.

And so this year, I am choosing our Christmas tree. Without family. Without cold weather. Without hot chocolate. Without sticky sap or the smell of pine.

I think I’m OK, but seasons are surely changing.

And since I am alone, I am back to my old ways. I am on my fifth store. I am going to find us the perfect artificial Christmas tree. 

Title:  This Beautiful and soul crushing season of my life and I no I have not been taking my Ritalin and some things are worse than a percussion emergency.  Not a poem. A rant.   Meant to be read aloud.  

So I taught at a private school and always felt a little bit guilty about the privilege of it all and I that I had to turn away students who weren’t “smart enough” (even though I am a special education teacher by training and by passion) because that was part of my job and it broke broke broke my heart and it crushed my soul when so often mothers (and even more often grandmothers) would call and say “the public-school is terrible it’s awful he’s not learning we have to get him out we’ll do anything we’re desperate please let us come” and I had to say no no no so often and that made me leave I couldn’t stay.

So I decided to become a life coach and I’m taking classes and learning to be a life coach and I’m going to be a very good life coach- and then I decided to be a drummer and a drum therapist and I’m teaching drum classes and drum groups (In my purse I carry a small tambourine and shakers and rhythm sticks all the time in case there Is a percussion emergency because you never know when there there’ll  be a percussion emergency.) And then I realized I wanted to help people with attention deficit disorder and executive function delays so I flew to California for a conference to learn more — because well I can relate to people with ADD and I want to help people-  I really always want to help people.

And then I got a job at the museum – seriously at the museum! And  it’s a fabulous job and I will tell you all about it later because at my job I am in charge of volunteers and so now every minute of every day I am hunting down volunteers 

(I’ll give you my business card later seriously I will don’t think I won’t) 

and at night  I am thinking about my life coaching and thinking about my drumming  and thinking about my helping people with ADD but I’m always a little bit behind because I’m good at a lot of things but I am not always so good at juggling.

Oh wait!   I wanted to help the kids in district 150 that’s why I quit my job— and so I started being a substitute teacher and I had such great intentions and I was going to touch lives of children even if it was just for one day I was going to look into their eyes and I was going to speak to their spirits and I was going to tell them that they are beautiful and that they can grow up and do great things and that the whole wide world was waiting for them and it is big and beautiful and I was going to bring music and light …  but  I didn’t understand. No.  I didn’t understand how desperate it was. I didn’t understand how horrible it was. I didn’t understand how much it was going to break my heart. I didn’t understand I would be in buildings where the adults were screaming at the children all the time. I didn’t understand I would be in rooms with six-year-olds were hungry and who behaved so badly that I punish them by taking away their snack. Did you hear that? My frustration was so great that I took snacks away from hungry children because they were behaving so badly.  And I didn’t know what else to do! And I was in classrooms I didn’t have any books. Did you hear what I just said? Classrooms without any books. Not a reading book. Not a math book. Not a fun book on the shelf. Not a book!   (This is so much worse than a percussion emergency). But wait, it’s even worse. I’ve been in classrooms that didn’t have teachers. Classrooms that were so bad that no one would take the job of teacher. Where I was the seventh substitute teacher they had had and it was only October and no one was making lesson plans. No one was making lesson plans! And the children were threatening each other. And threatening me! Talking about killing people. Talking about screwing people. Six graders. Intimidating each other.  Intimidating me. And screw all of my stupid little tricks. My tambourine and my shakers and my clap clap clap call and response all went to hell. Went straight to hell! No one was interested in my cutsie fucking games.   

And at night I wanted to make plans for my drumming classes and I wanted to make plans for my life coaching and I wanted to make plans for helping people with ADD because as you can see I have ADD, but I couldn’t, because my brain was completely and totally filled with trying to figure out how to solve the enormous problem that is our schools and I don’t think I know how to do it and it breaks my heart it crushes my soul I don’t know what to do and so even though I did see some eyes. Some eyes that I think wanted to learn. Eyes I think want better. I really truly believe that. Even though I saw those eyes… I am stepping away. I am not equipped. My soul is not strong enough.

And so now I am going home at night from my job at my beautiful museum where I see art and wonder and beauty and order and quiet all day long.  And I go home.  And I drum.  I drum.  I drum to the beat of my breaking heart.  

“You will soon meet a life-long kindred spirit.”

So said my fortune cookie last Friday night.

And my heart leapt! Oh! In this season of searching for new connections …. I am so excited to meet my life-long kindred spirit!

But wait.

I am an introvert. Shy and anxious. Too often my nose in a book on my phone.

How will I meet her?

I will look up!
I will be brave!

But wait. My authentic thoughts sound silly to me when I say them out loud. But if I keep them inside …. how will my kindred spirit recognize me??

I will speak out.
I will risk people rolling their eyes.
It is ok if everyone else thinks I’m silly.
My kindred spirit will know me.
My kindred spirit will understand.

And then. The drum circle. Oh so nervous. Can I just show up? Not knowing anyone? Yes! I can. I have to show up for my life.  Now is (finally) the time to blossom.

At the end I stopped her. One of the leaders. Can you teach me a little bit please?

Yes. Respect the drum. Respect the animal and tree that sacrificed for your drum. (Line it up straight. Take off your jewelry.) Yes! I needed to know that.

I told her I needed to learn. That I teach about patterns that repeat in nature. Branches and spirals and meanders.

That I think of rhythm as the same. That our heartbeats match the rhythm of the drumbeats that humans have made through our time and all over the planet. Rhythms that the earth itself makes.

I FEEL it, I said (reaching out and grabbing her arm.) But I don’t KNOW it. And she grabbed my arm right back and said “yes you do know it!”

Ohhh! What a gift! Yes. I do!

I told her it was hard to be brave enough to say things like that. She said it was for her too. She said she is at an age in her life where she is trying to be brave. I said me too! I said I am trying to not be scared to share the thoughts in my head and my soul just because people will think I am silly.

And then she spoke magic words.

“I think you are my kindred spirit.”

No really! Those words!

Kindred spirit. Oh, Yes.

So I told her about the fortune cookie. And it gave us chills.

“I think I am here tonight so I can meet you.” (I didn’t say the words back. I am braver but not always completely brave.)

Later we made plans. Another drum event. Then coffee. When plans worked out easily she said “glorious!”

Oh my goodness. The universe is generous and generous and generous.

I have found a kindred spirit.

 

(And I am keeping my eyes and mind wide open… maybe there are more of us just waiting to be found….)

 

 

ROLLER COASTER PART ONE:  DOWN

I am so hungry.
Craving. Craving. Craving.
Hungry and not able to be filled up.
Not even picky. A food whore.

Late last night I ate a half of a jar of peanut butter. With a fucking spoon. Oreos. Pretzels. Then two flour tortillas. Microwaved. Doughy and plain. Just eating. Stuffing my face. Filling.

I think this is bigger. Hungry for more. Hungry for adventure. Hungry for change. Connection. Purpose. Danger. Hungry to be more awake and more alive. More. Hungry. Restless. hungry. Craving.

Expanding. Bloated. Needing to claw my way of my skin.

But until I can get some control, then i cannot be ready for the things that will truly fill me up. Things that might finally nourish me.

Fucking lizard brain.

I want more. And cookies are no longer going to satisfy.

 

ROLLER COASTER PART TWO:  UP AGAIN

Today I Danced Naked

I have not been dancing enough lately.
Health. Stress. Busyness.
But I am on vacation. Relaxing,
Bound and determined to not get stressed. To not feel judgement. To not strain myself in any way.
To know that I am cared for and loved.
To love myself.
Reading. Writing. Meditating. And listening to more music.

And this morning….
I was getting ready for my shower. And listening to Broadway show tunes…. And right there…. In the bathroom…. In front of the mirror…. NAKED….. I started dancing!!
Dancing naked. In front of a mirror. A huge smile on my face! Wide hips swaying the beat. Couldn’t see my feet thanks to my round belly. Breasts keeping their own Time.

 

Now there’s a girl at peace with herself. And her life. A lucky girl who knows she is blessed. Who knows that every cell in her body is magic. Who feels it in her soul. Who feels it in the rocking and swaying in the rolls of her her flesh.

And all that came bubbling to the surface.

And I danced.

Hungry craving

Dancing naked

Hungry dancing

Hungry

Dancing

REPEAT AND REPEAT AND REPEAT