Lying in bed, in the afternoon, reading Janet Frame

at risk of copyright use infringement

Don't read if you're looking for inspiration

I cracked my eyes open this morning and wanted to close them. Wondered how and why and when. Felt the weight of everything and then some more. Heard the hum of Sophie in her room, the muted cartoon in the living room, the door click shut as The Husband left. Kept my face down in the pillow and said some kind of prayer in my head. Thought of the poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay about spring, a poem that I just read because it's April and April is Poetry Month and it's also the cruelest month, according to Eliot, but Millay tops him with this:

Spring
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death
But what does that signify?
Not only under the ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

Later, much later, after a blue sky day and army men planted all over the sidewalk, I read a few lines of Father Joe in the bathroom, in the late afternoon and Sophie was in her room and she'd had no seizures all week and I was thinking well, I was thinking, and when I left the bathroom and went to her room, there she lay, her head draped over the toy basket, her arms splayed out and eyes rotated toward the wet that came pooling from her mouth and it was all ready over so I picked her up or dragged her the few steps to her bed and lay down next to her and felt, almost, nothing.

I've been mulling

around for quite some time, now, and due to the absence of my sons last week and the concomitant sense of being freed from routine, in general, I just didn't have the capacity or desire to write it down. What's been mulling are my thoughts regarding the ever-increasing scandal/tragedy in the Catholic Church and my own relationship to it. If I told you that I think about it a lot of the time, you might think me neurotic or that old fly to shit thing -- I've gotten into "trouble" before airing my views about the Catholic Church and there is a part of me hesitant to stir the pot once again. But then I read a little more in the paper; I read other people's blogs; I read fancy essays that air on NPR; I listen to my Catholic friends and my non-Catholic friends. And I feel compelled to join in, to discuss what my own feelings are. I have drawn about as far away from the Catholic Church during the last year as I ever have been and that has next to nothing to do with the pedophile scandals and more to do with feeling uncomfortable espousing traditions that I don't believe in. I've struggled to reconcile my admiration for the artistic traditions of the church, for its great mystics, the art and music and charitable works that have come out of it with its male hierarchy, its repression of homosexuality, women and more modern mores. The ongoing obduracy and conflicts regarding the pedophilia scandals are, for me, the impetus to really make some sort of break.

I guess that I should emphasize that all of this has nothing to do with my own feelings about spirituality and everything to do with my spirituality. Being Catholic is an identity that I haven't nor do I wear lightly. I always felt particularly resistant to the evangelical designs of my college friends, comfortable that my own religious tradition stretched back beyond my Italian grandmother into the deepest recesses of my southern Italian heritage. And while my mother's roots were not Catholic, she converted before I was born and my two sisters and I were raised Catholic, went to church through high school, made our First Holy Communions and then were confirmed as Roman Catholics. The Catholic community in my neighborhood is a beautiful one, in many respects, and I count many very good friends as part of it. They were much of the reason why I chose to put my two boys into Catholic school, and while I landed up pulling them out a couple of years ago, it wasn't because of the Catholicism. I wanted to give my boys tradition, and since The Husband isn't particularly religious in one way or another having been raised in the dry traditions of German Lutheranism, it seemed only natural that I would raise them Catholic. What I've found, though, since I've removed them from parochial school is that I have less and less reason to take them to church each Sunday. Without the admonition of the monsignor who felt very strictly that one could only get parishioner status in tuition by going to church regularly, I've let many, many Sundays go by without any church attendance at all.

It's a relief to feel those traditional ties loosen, but it makes me feel strange, too. I wanted a place for my boys that was rich in tradition and reverence. I used to think that I would give them something to rebel against later. I appreciate the importance of ritual and worship, but as my boys have grown up, it's gotten harder to talk the talk when I don't believe it, at all. I can't revere the Pope as the infallible leader of the Church, no matter how good or gentle or intellectual a man he might be. I can't honor a church that judges homosexuals as sinners or deviants and that judges women as less able to perform its highest duties than men or that clings to ancient traditions whose original purpose was to mollify the ignorant. I can't ask my children to attend a church whose leaders enter into politics, even to fight healthcare reform because of its "pro-life" stand. I just can't. And I can't pick and choose anymore, either, cafeteria style.

As my faith increases, my attachment to Catholicism wanes. I feel relief in this but also sadness. I feel not a little unmoored. I'll search for ways to instill beauty and honor and faith into my children but it probably won't be through Catholicism.

That's probably all I need to say.

They're Home!

This is the Easter basket loot they brought home in an extra bag.

And here we are, happy, happy, happy (although a tiny bit bummed that Butler didn't beat Duke)

Day Eight

I'm off to the airport to pick up The Boys!

Check!

Earthquake!

O.K. Here's the glitch in my often unbridled love of southern California:

EARTHQUAKES.

I hate earthquakes, and yesterday's was very scary. I was talking to a friend in my dining room, and when he stood up to leave, I noticed the chandelier swinging a bit and asked him whether he'd hit it with his head. Simultaneously I heard the chink, chink, chink of pots and pans hitting each other and glanced into the kitchen to see them swinging gently together from the ceiling. All of this happened all at once, but I looked at my friend and we both said earthquake? because the sensation was so very different than the jolts and loud bangs that we'd experienced at other times. I stood up and said that I needed to go to Sophie's room and then I made my way down our little hallway and I'm not kidding when I tell you that it felt like I was in a little boat in the vast ocean such was the swaying. It felt like each step was a heavy plant and I had sea-legs, and when I sat down on Sophie's bed where she was peacefully drowsy, my friend followed me into the room and stood in the doorway. Only a minute or so had gone by but the mermaid was swaying gently from the ceiling as was the wooden butterfly. I glanced outside the window into the backyard and saw the boxing pad swinging wildly. I felt distinctly nauseous and had to put my hands on either side of me on the bed. D said it sure seems like a long one and then everything stopped and the mermaid continued to sway and we tried to laugh but were clearly unnerved.

The nausea lasted for another half hour or so, and my nerves were edgy and rattled. There's an exquisite sensitivity that one feels after an earthquake, but I'm not sure it's a good feeling.

Why, again do I live here?

My Boys and an Easter Poem

My father sent this to me this morning on his iPhone. Oliver is holding an Italian traditional Easter bread, and they're both dressed up for church with my parents. Beautiful, right? I miss them terribly.

Here's a wonderful Easter-like poem that I picked up off the Borzoi Reader sight:

Transport

The rose, for all its behavior,

is smaller than the lifelove it stands for,

only briefly brightening,

and even its odor

only a metaphor.

Or so we suppose

just as we suppose the savior

we employ or see next door

is only some hired man

gardening.

-- by Marie Ponsot

Happy Birthday Dad!

I think I've always been a "daddy's girl" and today is not only Easter but my gorgeous father's birthday. I wouldn't know where to begin to describe him or our relationship, but I love him deeply. He is wickedly funny, wise and steadfast and true.

Happy Birthday, Dad! I love you!

Day Six

My friend Shannon and I had planned on doing something special today, something where we really got away and perhaps even pampered ourselves. I had a babysitter all day, and that is what we did. We got away.

We went hiking in Charmlee Canyon, near Malibu. The park was beautiful, high on a bluff overlooking the Pacific, covered in golden grasses that were literally waving in the breeze. The Pacific lay glistening below us, the waves white and the water bluish-green. The sun was shining warmly in a clear sky but the air was cool. Shannon was reminded of Greece. I only had my phone with me, so my pictures aren't too good, but they do capture a bit of the wild beauty of the place.

wild lupine

a Malibu-style cairn that sat in the bottom of a very old cistern

We talked and talked and were quiet, listening to the wind blow through the grasses. We watched lizards, black and prehistoric run across our path. We passed a few people, but for the most part we felt alone.

When we looped back around to our car, we drove down out of the canyon and back on the Pacific Coast Highway. I always feel like listening to the Mamas and the Papas California Dreaming when I drive on the PCH such is its iconic beauty (and, I guess, my own dorkiness).

We pulled into Geoffrey's, an old, traditional restaurant that sits on the bluff in Malibu. Since it's LA, though, we didn't feel under dressed. I ordered a Bloody Mary and Shannon had a glass of red wine. We ate mushroom soup, salad and steamed mussels with french fries. We debated whether Ozzie Osbourne was sitting next to our table but decided that it was Alice Cooper. He didn't look good. 

Then we drove home up the PCH and I dropped Shannon off at home. 

It was a good day, a blessed day.

Day Five

That's it. I've had enough. I'm ready for The Boys to come home. Even though it has been about six full days, it feels like forever, and they won't be home until Monday. Their room has never looked so clean (there's untold amounts of crap in every corner and crevice in this room), and it sort of gives me the creeps.

THREE MORE DAYS!

I miss them.

CHECK

I woke up this morning, did the breakfast thing with Sophie and then had a conference call with my job while K came over and did a music therapy session with Sophie in her room. Sophie does love music therapy, and it's amazing what K can get from her during these sessions. Tentative dancing, some give and take and real response. A calming down or loosening up. Smiles.

old picture, but one of the best!

CHECK

Sophie and I went to Santa Monica for an appointment with our osteopath. Dr. Johnson has a remarkable, calm way about her and really worked on Sophie's back and head. I've written about it before, but osteopathy has been a remarkable healing method for all three of my children. I even moved out to California in the late 1990s so that Sophie could be treated regularly by a famous osteopath in San Diego. When the boys were born, they had their first visit to Dr. Frymann as well, at eight days old. I credit that newborn treatment and the subsequent well and sick baby check-ups throughout their lives for their knock on wood good health (no antibiotics, ever!) and dispositions (especially as babies). I always give advice to moms with newborns that before you go down the inevitable ear infection-antibiotic-eartube route, see an osteopath. I'm a little nuts about it, actually. If my damn insurance company would help me out, I'd visit the osteopath more often because Sophie is always so much better overall when we do.

CHECK

Sophie and I went to the beach in Ocean Park! It was a beautiful day on the coast -- blue sky and warm sun with a gentle breeze. We walked a bit, barefoot in the sand and then headed to our favorite Beach Shack Cafe and met a blogger friend -- YES!!! -- for lunch. I will keep her identity secret but we spent a few hours talking and talking and talking. She is a strong and beautiful woman and I just feel so blessed to know her.

CHECK

Headed home -- tired and missing the boys.

CHECK

Dedicated to all my friends in the autism world

Day Four

Woke up and Sophie was having a better morning although she is terribly tired. I ate oatmeal with her and then she lay back down in bed and I spent an inordinate amount of time on the computer and never went on the walk that I had pledged to go on.

CHECK.


The babysitter came and Sophie continued to sleep on for another couple of hours. I imagine that her body needs the rest after days and days of multiple seizures. Her life is so damn weird and we never, ever know what's going to happen. For all those who are tempted to say that we never know what's going to happen anyway, this is different.


CHECK.

I continued to spend time on the computer, futzing around until early afternoon when I met my good friend Audrey, whom I've known since we were in seventh and eighth grade (!) for lunch at one of my favorite spots, Buddha's Belly. Audrey, her husband and two little boys were visiting Los Angeles for their spring break and I was so excited and happy to see her. We have been friends for so long, and I enjoy her company so much that it was really the happiest I've felt in a long time. We are always silly when we're together and laugh about everything. We share the same dogged sense of humor and spent many, many hours together as young girls, laughing. Every time we meet we go over our memories of those days and crack ourselves up. Even though I don't see her all that much, when we are together it is exactly the same as it's always been.

Here we are at age sixteen and eighteen (I love to tease Audrey that she is quite a bit older than me). I'm that dark-haired one on the left, dressed as Bonnie for Halloween. I have no idea where I got that early eighties black suit that looks nothing like something Faye Dunaway as Bonnie might have worn. I cut out Clyde, my high school love,  because I wasn't sure whether he'd want his photo on my blog (even if he was awfully cute!).

CHECK.

Audrey and I spent the rest of the afternoon wandering in and out of stores and talking the entire time. She insisted on an ice-cream cone at 31 Flavors and I obliged. Audrey looks almost exactly the same as she did above, so a chocolate chip mint ice-cream cone is no big deal. Bonnie looks nothing like her gangsta self thirty years later, but she enjoyed a jamoca cone anyway.

CHECK.

We went back to our house and met her husband and beautiful boys, picked up Sophie and headed over to The Husband's place. We ate all his delicious food, laughed some more and when I hugged her good-bye, I almost felt like crying I love her so much.

CHECK

Be Like the Earth

Hilton Head Island, 2009

OBSTACLES 

can arise from good as well as bad circumstances,

BUT

they should never deter or overpower you.

Be like the EARTH which supports all living creatures indiscriminately, without distinguishing good from bad.

The earth is simply

THERE.

Your practice should be strengthened by the difficult situations you encounter, just as a bonfire in a strong wind is not blown out, but

BLAZES

even brighter.


-- Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche (from the article "In Transition" in the Winter 1991 issue of Tricycle Magazine)