My Mom

In the last few years, my Mom has no longer been just a mother to me, but a role model for love and how to love. I've been able to witness, as an adult, the sacrifices she would have made for my brother and I 30 some years ago, when she had two children in diapers, with her own mother with Alzheimer's often living with us.

It's a profound example of love to see her give up so much of her routine and life's pleasures, for the constant care of my ailing father. They've created, in many ways, their own language of love and routine of sustenance in these fading years. Her true delights of gardening and socializing on the back burner as she cares for the love of her life. The vulnerable call of, "Hon," coming from the Game Room, beckoning for water, or a cup of fruit, or letting her know about his last bowel movement.

I've thought a lot in the last few years about the similarities between motherhood and being a caretaker in one's final years. There's a lot of conversations about poop. And food schedules. And sleep schedules. No longer the complexities of every hobby and adventure. Now, the adventure is a shuffle on a walker from one end of the house to the other and back.

It's been a beautiful thing, the last few months, to welcome Audrey Louise into our lives. To see my Mom have a new life and set of adventures to focus her thoughts on, outside of caretaking. It delights me to call her up and not only hear about which doctor came to visit today - but also that Carter and Lisanna brought Audrey over. And my Dad's emotional reaction. (And his determined mindset that they are going to have another, soon, and it will be a boy.)

It's the cycle of life. To welcome a new generation and my Mom's first biological grandchild, while my Dad lives out his last days, weeks and months. A beautiful blessing to witness and participate in.

My Jog

(Composed in my head while jogging and walking around Lake Union last night.)

My buds blow bass in my ear,
Tickling my drums,
Tinny tunes help my body,
Find the rhythm.

They say women don’t sweat,
We glow,
Bullshit.

We have glands,
Producing salty beads,
Cooling our strong curves.
Soaking each layer of wicking-wear.

Cleansing us.

Feet hit pavement.
Shocks find their way through joints,
We push forward.

Dancing in inertia.
Perpetuation.

i have... (my predicate poem)

cheesy carbohydrates
gray corduroy
public art
urban mindset
playful tendencies
cozy mornings
sparkling wine
communal adventures
implanted incisors
realistic optimism
loving logic
comfortable shoes

Some walk through these hallways with familiar nods,
Gestures rooted in expectation,
But she shines through walls,
and beyond closed doors,
Her openness a welcome invitation.

If she ever invites you for dinner.
Say yes.
She may cook for you.
She may offer you a glass of wine,
Just don't make plans after.

Take time.

Be her guest.
In her home.
Let traditions unfold.
Be ready to discuss:
Life, death, love, friendship, hobbies, art, passions,
Your own life philosophy.

Be ready to tell your story.
But truly listen to hers.

She's a little motherly.
Very friendly.
Beyond another acquaintance.
She fully embraces,
The people in her life.
She radiates warmth.
She speaks truth.
She is not afraid.

When I grow up, I want to be like her.
Even an inkling in the general direction of the love and hospitality she embodies.
But the beauty of it is,
I don't have to wait.
I can be her friend now.
Be in her life.
There's little I know for certain,
But her presence in my life is no mistake.

I used to dig my arms deeply into the dirt.
Stretching out, curling my fingers, twisting my arms.
It was dark. Cold. Slow. Damp. Difficult.
I spread myself thickly.
Grasping and growing.
Creeping. Crawling.
Snarling. Gnarling.
I knew nothing beyond this existence.
I survived.

One day, strong hands released me.
I was leveraged out of the life I knew,
They reached and pulled and cut me back.
They lifted me up.

On that day I was unearthed.

I was surrounded by light and laughter and friends.
They took me to a party where everyone ate and drank and laughed more.
They took care of me.
Wrapped me up in bright colors.
I go to parades and parties and festivals.

They’ve adorned me.
They’ve adored me.
I include.
I live.
As art.

Happy May Day!

In May of 2004 (wow... 6 years ago!) I went out with a couple roommates, Lauren and Mel, on a simple little adventure.  At the time, we all lived together in a big house on Queen Anne.  So, being May 1st, we decided to go buy some flowers and pass them out to strangers along Queen Anne Ave.

We loved the experience, and did it again the following year. 

Though we haven't quite made it an annual tradition, when I saw May 1st fell on a Saturday this year, Mel and I committed to passing out flowers again this year.  Jenny joined us this year.

Mel and I took the streetcar to the market.  It was her first time riding it.



We went to the market and decided to buy tulips.  We found a vendor where you got 30 (beautiful) tulips for about $20. 



We each bought a bouquet.







We left the market and headed towards Westlake Park.  Obviously, a Saturday downtown had many more people than upper Queen Anne had several years before.  We proceeded to hand out flowers to strangers.  A simple, "Happy May day!" 



A few people reacted in a confused manor.  There are some who turned us down.  But for the most part, people smiled and said thank you.  And that was that.

Yesterday was a busy day at Westlake Park.  There were some very aggressive and judgemental evangelicals, some anti-war protesters, a marijuana-legalization march, and people were gathering for an immigration rally. 

On a busy day like this, it was refreshing to be out there with no agenda, other than to make people smile.   To wake someone up, for just a brief moment, from their routine.  To give freely, without expectation.

TEDx Seattle - Beginning to process...

I was excited to be part of the audience at Friday's TEDx Seattle talks at the Pacific Science Center.  I feel like I have lots of thoughts and ideas to process.  My initial ones being how I process.

Keep in mind that these talks were brought to us, in part, by the Master of Communication in Digital Media program at the University of Washington.  And so, inherently, there was an element of attachment to digital media.  And anyone who knows me knows that I engage in digital media.  I've been blogging, in some capacity for years.  I am an active Facebook user.  I have Twitter.  I manage several Facebook pages and profiles and a couple groups.  I text.  I read about trends on the topic and was more than familiar with references throughout the day to things like chatroulette and, of course, icanhascheezburger.

On Friday I brought my purse.  Inside my purse, besides the usual contents, I tucked my moleskine and a pen.

When I showed up, I immediately noticed laptops, ipads, iphones, droids - if you could connect to the internet, tweet or liveblog - it was there.  And it was out.  And audience members engaged with their glowing devices for the entire day.

The entire day.

There were some absolutely amazing speakers on stage.  And, as an occasional person who speaks or reads in public, I know how the energy and level of engagement of an audience is so important.  You feed off of that energy.  I couldn't help but find myself distracted by the tapping of keys all around me.  The light from the screens.

My friend Amanda sat next to me.  She does not have a smart phone.  She also took notes the old fashioned way - with a pen and paper.  I took notes.  I wrote at least one thing during each talk.  Something, that I hope, will help trigger my thoughts as I continue to process the amazing things going on around me.  In Seattle.  In this world.

But I couldn't help but wonder how differently those around me were processing the event.  With the constant tweets and Facebook updates and liveblogging?  I participate, actively in these media, but I also think there's a time and a place to put it down.  To disengage from the distractions of our devices and engage in person.  Human to human.  Eye contact.  In real life.

I wrote about this subject in December.  It's a subject I bring up frequently.  I think it's an important thing to process this cultural shift we are all experiencing.  Various topics around information and technology  were brought up today.  Are we living in a culture of too much information?  Do those who ignore the latest technology get left behind?  The technology divide - the lack of access to information on a global level - were hot topics of the day.

I just know this:  when I'm talking to, let's say, my Mom on the phone, and I decide to, oh, I dunno, go over to my computer to check my email.... She knows.  She can tell I'm doing something other than talking to her.  I know I can't really do these two things at once.  I can't carry on a (quality) conversation with her and check email at the same time.

Can I have her on the phone and have a half-assed conversation?  Sure.  Can I be talking to her and type a few words in an email?  Sure.  But I'm not talking about the quantifiable multi-tasking I can do.  I'm talking about the quality of the human interactions I have.

When I was sitting there, I was looking each speaker in the eye.  (I'm sure they couldn't see me, due to lighting, but I'm still sure they still had a sense of their audience.)  I was hanging on every word.  From 9:00 am to 4:00 pm, I listened.  Intently.  I focused and reflected and felt.  I allowed myself that time to take it all in.  To be present in the words that were being shared.

I'm sure there was a level of conversation happening around me that I missed.  Quotes being tweeted.  Hashtags and retweets and links and photos being shared in real time.  But I felt like my attention was exactly where I needed it to be.

#tedxsea