RED

There is a small group of die-hard, star-hungry, space fanatics who have been following the Mars lander expedition. I may be wrong, but it seems we must be a relatively tiny group because there has been so little press on the whole thing... even though the Phoenix's mission is unlike anything every done on Mars before.

I'm not sure Andy and I qualify as space fanatics, but we do have a vested interest in this particular trip. One of our creative brain children has to do with Mars in the future, and so we are very interested to see what more we can learn about the planet and its history.

The latest news (which is very exciting) is the lander may have discovered ice, which means the hoped-for plan to drill for ice cores on the surface and to test the frozen water for organic materials and gases may be a go.

This could change everything we know about Mars. Which is huge. Yet, NASA has still struggled to capture the nation's interest; our collective consciousness seems to be focused on much more pressing issues like gas prices, grocery bills, and natural diasters. All more than understandable.

But a tiny little part of me still hopes for something immense and exciting - proof of water, the possibility of life, the chance of a reimagined history. Every now and then I check in to see how things are going... see what we've found out.

I find it equally comforting, humbling, and inpsiring to think about what an amazingly immense and complex universe we live in - how vast and miraculous it is. Mysterious... beautiful... and evolving. I can't wait to see what we discover next.

Anywhere Could Be Here

As I was trying to get Ari set up with Mickey Mouse Clubhouse this morning, I caught a brief bit of coverage on CNN of the crane collapse in NYC. I didn't want to impede the viewing of Ariana's favorite TV show, so I went into the kitchen to see if I could get more info on NPR.

Unfortunately, no information was available at that moment, so I spent much of my day watching Ari and wondering if everyone was okay.

Most of our friends in New York live in Park Slope, but we do have a few folks in Manhattan. (Although I'm so unaware of the city's geography and such that I am not sure who would have been nearby and who far away.)

It seems unfortunate for a city that has experienced such collective traume and sorrow already. With China, Myanmar, Oklahoma, Florida, Iowa and more... things seems to be in a heavy state of shift and unpredictability lately that are leaving many injured or dead.

Sometimes it's easy to get caught up in the thinking that it will happen to someone else, or it will happen somewhere else... that such things do not occur where you are. But all it takes is one bad storm with sirens blaring as you rush to the basement with baby and doggy in tow... waiting for the all clear as the trees whirl outside and the sky darkens. The sky turns pink and the world quiets down, and you realize: this could be it. It could happen here.

It helps me to remember we are ultimately all one community, all one people interconnected and woven together despite geographic, cultural, or philosophical differences. I think I sometimes get down on myself because I don't reach out to every person (or every group of people) who have been hurt or are suffering in the wake of crisis.

But in the end, the simple act of reaching out a hand to one person in their time of need can be enough to change the course of a lifetime. And each small act sends out ripples that affect the rest of the web in which we are all bound.

Kindness has an impact.
Courage can lead to change.
Charity, and love, and communication may open someone's world.
And you never know how far those actions will carry.

May those of you who live in NY stay safe, and may those who were affected by today's events find peace.

Too too often lately...

I am hearing:

Mama... pee pee!

Ari's diapers are not fitting well enough. I thought she was in Luv's size 5 but apparently we need to move to Huggies size 6.

This is such a silly thing. But I always feel bad when I hear her little voice calling out... a mixture of confusion and panic and amusement.

I really hope we can potty train soon. I hope she is ready soon.

Ambling Amiably

Today was a beautiful, sunny day with a light, cool breeze; not too humid, not too dry. The trees looked particularly green and happy, the scent of clover danced through the air, and the sky was bright, ocean-colored blue with light dollops of puffy cloud scattered around.

It was an absolute pleasure to be outside, walking to class, and I was struck by the simple happiness a little stroll can bring. Especially on a gorgeous, refreshing, early summer day in Southern Illinois.

Things to do once EPSY 545 ends...

Clean the bathroom
Clean the kitchen
Change the towels
Change the sheets on the bed
Put away laundry
Go shopping
Finish fence in backyard
Paint garage
Clean out planters in back yard
Replant redbud trees
Get ivy off of fence
Replace screen on back door
Prepare for T.A.L.L. workshop
Buy books for second summer class
RELAX
Return clothes and other baby items to my friend Noelle up in Chicago
Send thank-you card to Andy's Aunt and Uncle
Mail Lily's (very very late) b-day gift
Figure out logistics for ASCA conference in Atlanta
Go see doc in prep for surgery
Go to gym
Write two papers due for EPSY 545 (sigh)
Have fun
Try to figure out if there's a way to see Brent while he's back in the States before he heads out for Dralion in Australia
Get baby clothes up to Lydia
Potty train Ari (we hope)
Figure out how we're handling childcare once the fall semester starts
Take Basic Skills and Counselor Endorsement tests
Study for comps and NCE (ugh)
Figure out if I need Praxis as well
Do paint touch ups on outside of house
Start painting downstairs
Get plumber to come and finish upstairs bathroom
Work on downstairs bathroom

Uke

I ordered a ukulele! Yup... a ukulele. I've been thinking about getting one for a long time... ever since I was in The Neo-Futurists and feeling frustrated by how big my guitar was (I have very tiny hands). I was thinking it would be nice to have something smaller and more portable.

My friend Chloe began learning to play and incorporated it into a bunch of plays. And I worried about "copying" her so I thought... Well, I'll just wait and get one later. Then Molly had one. Then I think Kristie was getting interested in them. And I thought... Well, I don't want to just jump on the ukulele bandwagon. What will people think?

Let me tell you, it's not important what people think. Certainly not in that kind of situation and maybe, ultimately, not ever.

So I ordered my ukulele. It will be my after EPSY 545 treat. And if I like the silly little one I bought as a starter, I can pass it on to Ari and upgrade to something a little bit nicer and a little bit more "serious." Here is what it looks like:



Maybe Chloe, Molly, Kristie, Ari, and I can form a little ukulele band.

And we won't care what anyone thinks.

Oh oh... the thing I know in my heart to be true because I do not always plan my time appropriately:

I am not going to get enough sleep tonight.

Argh... the class won!

So I forgot to blog last night. Just completely forgot in the midst of doing assignments for the summer class I'm taking right now.

It's a very intense course, and I'm not sure I was really ready to take it given all that happened at the end of the semester and all that is coming up this summer. But it's been a great learning experience, and I feel it's revealed certain things to me about myself that merit change and growth.

So although I'm sad I've started losing track of things like laundry and blogging and shopping and keeping in touch with folks... I'm very grateful for the ways in which it will improve me professionally and personally.

But I will be glad when it's over, and even happier when I've turned in my final two papers.

IWLSR5

Andy and I have gotten totally sucked in by the latest round of survivalist-themed shows on the History Channel and Discovery. Tonight on Man vs. Wild we learned how to estimate how much more daylight you have by using your outspread hand.

You can hold the palm of your hand perpendicular to the ground, and align your pinky with the horizon. With your fingers naturally spread (i.e., your hand is stiff, but you're not trying to stretch your fingers out as wide as they can go), you count up from your pinky until you hit the sun. Each finger is 15 min. So... if your pinky is at the horizon and the sun is roughly where your middle finger is, you've got about 30 more minutes of daylight left.

Here are 10 more things I want to learn how to do in the next 5 years:

1. How to can/preserve food.
2. How to find fresh water or purify water I can find that might be too dirty to drink.
3. How to find/forage food without picking something poisonous.
4. How to construct a shelter in a wooded area.
5. How to build a fire from scratch.
6. How to navigate without a compass.
7. How to clean a fish.
8. How to to stay as safe as possible in a tornado, hurricane, flood, earthquake, fire, or electrical storm (indoors, outdoors, in a car, etc.).
9. How to shoot a gun - well.
10. How to use grey water and other green techniques to be as off-grid as possible (should we decide to go that route).

I'm not sure what's going to happen in the coming years. I have no idea if Andy's and my sense of worry is unfounded... but I don't think it's a bad idea to prepare no matter what. If anything, the skills we pick up will be useful and empowering, and the more "green" we can live, the better our impact on the environment and our imprint upon the land.

(instead of a bad haiku)

For the past four days, I've been trying to get out a poem about the rescue workers in China who were lost in mudslides. But it just won't come.

It reminds me of the firefighters who worked the Twin Towers on 9/11. Or those who fought to save one another as they watched the water rise in New Orleans.

We see so many examples of compassion and sacrifice throughout religious and spiritual teachings, but it can be so much more significant and affecting to see such acts within the realm of human experience. I feel blessed by such tremendous acts of courage and reminded of the incredible strength and generosity people are capable of in times requiring heroes.

One of the funniest things Ari has said since she began talking:

I see poop balls, Mama.

Inheritance

What is the legacy left to you by your family? What are the messages and values they passed down to you? Family dinners, tv shows, walks and trips and vacations, jokes and anecdotes, personal stories of triumph and tribulation... were there secret messages? Overt instructions? Did they emphasize hatred, acceptance, or fear?

I've been thinking a lot lately about what my family (its many members on both sides through multiple generations) comminicated to me about who to trust and who to avoid... who to love and who to dismiss... who to honor... what assumptions to make... how to think of myself... how to define other.

We all receive messages - some overt and some covert. Secret missives, clear coaching, winks or nods or soapbox speeches laden with heavy and charged words. And then we go out into the world and begin to pave our individual path with its own tangents and complexities and twinings; we decide which lessons to ignore and which to embrace, which to pass on and which to ensure goes no further. It's an incredible responsibility, and something worth being mindful of.

What did your family teach you? What endures? What persists despite your efforts at eradication? What has been truly left behind?

SHS via TMBG

On my walk to class today, I was listening to music on my iPod, and "Dead" by They Might Be Giants came on. I suppose it's maybe an odd song to be made happy by, but it reminded me of high school and all my friends during that time.

We've all since moved to different places, and I am not as close to all of them as I had been then. But recalling how it felt to finally feel like I had found my tribe... to feel accepted and loved and connected to a group of people who seemed similar in important ways - and different in ways that simply made them more interesting - was truly wonderful. I found my niche, I began to like myself, I was able to trust them and be vulnerable. It was the first time I felt I really had friends... the kind of friends you read about or see in movies.

I often think back on that time and miss the simplicity of those years. Although they were much more filled with drama and confusion - with heightened emotion and events that felt like all or nothing - there was something much less complex about being a teenager surrounded by a group of people I believed I would always be close to than to be a mother and adult who is so much more aware of how confused she really is, and how difficult that type of intimacy is to maintain in later stages of life.

I still have best friends, but they are different now. And our friendship is defined in different ways. We are close in other ways and stay connected through phone calls and emails - never being able to see one another each day or even talk to each other each day. And I miss them terribly.

I guess, in writing about it, I feel a bit sad to be in such a different place in my life now. Some days I think I tire of being an adult. Perhaps you feel that some days too. And now, my "bestest" best friend is my husband - which is lucky and wonderful - but I know we both feel disconnected at times from the people who helped to shape us into who we are now... those instrumental, life-changing friendships that are indelibly etched upon our bodies, minds, and spirits.

And so, today, as I heard Flood start up, I was transported to golf courses at night, evenings spent on car hoods watching shooting stars, lunchtimes spent along a brick wall in sunshine, weekends of music and long hours of talking, dances and shows and trips on buses and airplanes... and the happy thoughts of my friends made me smile, hugely.

Fellowship, Local and Global

We finally made it back to church today after having missed it for 2 weeks post-surgery. It was wonderful to be back and, as always, gave me a great sense of grounding, connection, and peace - which, to my mind, is the best of what any kind of religious or spiritual pursuit can offer.

In sharing our joy and sorrows, Bill asked us to remember those in China and Myanmar... which reminded me of a story I heard on NPR a few days ago. Essentially, someone involved in aid efforts for Myanmar was talking about how much more money and attention China is receiving, despite a much higher casualty and death toll in Myanmar.

And in the wake of hearing that story, I have noticed a marked decrease in the amount of coverage given to Mynmar right now. I hear about how the government is refusing aid and how relief efforts are going to corrupt and powerful entities rather than those who truly need them. But there have been very few reports with regard to the latest numbers of those affected, nor as many stories involving individuals - which, as some readers have pointed out, often provides a powerful way of processing and understanding such a large-scale tragedy.

In contrast, I've heard something about China reported every morning and afternoon, as well as coverage on CNN and local news sources. I believe one reason may be, given the reponse to aid by the Myanmar government, frustrations over a perceived lack of appreciation, cooperation, or acknowledgment of assistance provided have led to lessened coverage and perhaps fewer people being able to gather information or collect/record stories. I also wonder if those responsible for determing what is news might be deciding somehow that a nation that does not want help does not merit as much coverage? And, of course, it must also be noted that the issue may lie in the resources I regularly access to get my news. Maybe I'm just not using the best sources.

Whatever the reason(s), it is something I notice every day and it connects to some of the concepts and constructs currently being covered in my first course this summer semester: Cross-Cultural Factors in Counseling (particularly with regard to concepts of culture, identity, and bias).

I hope aid is accepted soon, particularly because - from what has been reported thus far - it sounds as if those in need are receiving very little and that people have had to rely on grassroots efforts and civilian-led cooperation and support that surely provides some relief but could not possibly be enough to address the many life-threatening results that still exist following the cyclone.

I pray for the continued safety of the survivors, for the peaceful transition of those who were lost, and that those who are wounded or hang in the balance may heal and gain strength in the coming days.

Beyond Rationalization

What ultimately connects us?
How are we joined beyond
exterior/superficial/outside ways?
Cells and blood and water;
molecules, atoms, and quarks...
something more ethereal and
difficult to express?

If divinity exists in each of us...
if humanity is something we all share,
regardless of isms or appearances
(or even values/thoughts/beliefs),
how can divisions escalate to points
of horror - of cruelty - of inhumanity?

Beyond hurting, beyond religion,
beyond culture, beyond differences of
skin and body, gender and orientation,
age and ability, family and affiliations...
we share a label standing above all others -
stretching across the landscape of being
to encompass each and every other:
Human. Simply human.
each and every of us all.

Ugh

This is the first time, though I'm sure it won't be the final time, I am experiencing a severe lack of creativity. I feel pretty sapped... and have been staring at the screen for about 40 minutes with no idea what to write. Or rather, no good ideas.

I'm not sure to what I should attribute this dearth of ingenuity. Could be a lack of consistent sleep at the moment, or a too-late night of reading with no time for vegging out or relaxing after a long day of terrible two-ness and being stuck at the house nearly all day.

Whatever the reason, I must honored my frayed and muddled head and acknowledge my inability to think of anything valuable to say at present.

May you sleep well, dream well, wake well, live well, and be at peace.

Flahes of Happy

I saw a little hummingbird the other day. For some reason, it was hovering around the fern on our porch... seeminly searching for something yummy to eat and patiently zipping around the fronds, hoping to happen upon something tasty.

Our feeder was emtpy, and so the sugary nectar I normally provide for them was nowhere to be found, and the hummingbird was soon off - zooming away to a new house in search of food. We've since replenished the little glass feeder that hangs above our phlox, but I fear I was too late and that our house has now been designated a no-food zone by the local hummingbirds - a place to be avoided, despite it enticing red flowers and many colorful plants.

A few days later, a cardinal landed on one of our bistro chairs, peering into the window quickly and with an air of importance before taking off like a bottle rocket to head somewhere else.

Meanwhile, our little license plate birdhouse has become a successful sanctuary for small wren who likes to alternate between the birdhouse and the top of the fence on sunny days - looking busy and cheerful while constantly surveying the landscape for potential predators or small children who might make things a bit too loud and frantic.

Such small little things, who pass through each day with a celerity and brusqueness as to suggest complete indifference to the inhabitants around them. They are momentary and transient, yet still leave an impression upon me. Much like the fat squirrel who likes to munch grass at the end of our driveway or the elusive rabbit who sometimes lingers in our frontyard.

8 months

In our household, we've all been following the news regarding the earthquake in China and subsequent rescue efforts. Each day seems to bring new stories of tragedy and ever-higher numbers of those thought missing or confirmed dead.

I heard a report this afternoon that made me cry. A 34 year-old woman was rescued after being trapped for 50 hours. She is 8 months pregnant. Her rescue is somewhat miraculous, but what caught me was thinking about two women in my life who are due in June - at a very similar point in their pregnancies - my sister, Lydia, and my friend, Noelle.

Each of these women is very important to me, and I couldn't help but think what it might be like if they had been similarly trapped and thought lost. It brought home how heartbreaking this story was... and, although it had a positive ending, how many more will suffer different fates and how many survivors will be affected by the aftermath of this event.

I'm not sure what is ulatimately more productive when we process these major natural disasters and large-scale events affecting thousands of people. I think the stories of hope and salvation within the midst of so much sadness are wonderful and necessary, but I also can't help to think that, for every person saved, there are so many more who will not be.

I don't know if that's defeatist or pessimistic or unproductive. I know perspective and the way we look at and focus on things is very important... and I certainly don't want to minimize or make light of happy and successful efforts.

But I do think there is danger in forgetting about the immense level of suffering brought about when disasters happen. And, perhaps most importantly, to use each difficulty as a way of moving forward, improving our local, national, and global strategies, and redefining the ways in which we respond to crisis. We've had a lot of crises already this year... and there are likely more to come.

So how do we respond? What preventative measures are being taken? And, on a very personal level, what steps will I take to try to create positive change and a useful response? Perhaps it's to establish a more sustainable way of living and to share our successes and failures so that we can evolve within a larger community. Maybe it's to create a safe space and ensure it's large enough to take in others if needed... to feel we food we can share, shelter to offer, and can do so without hesitation.

We shall see. I think Andy and I are in the midst of a transformation of sorts, one that is connected to a larger spiritual purpose and a sense of meaning in our lives. In the meantime, I am very grateful today that my two mommies-to-be are safe and healthy... and I deeply pray for the safety and peace of those abroad.

Three Things You Don't Really Want to Hear Following Surgery for a Detached Retina

#1
Of course, it's unlikely you'll get back to 20/20. But at least we caught it in time to prevent total loss.

I suppose this one should not have suprised me so much. I mean... before my follow up appointment with the surgeon, I was convinced I was going to be severely visually impaired in my right eye. So really, I shouldn't complain that my sight cannot be perfect again with corrective lenses. After all, I'm so nearsighted, some optometrists were amazed I could get to 20/20 with contacts.

But... it was a bit of a blow. Emotionally I suppose. I think to hear again that I was not out of the woods, that my life could still be very strongly impacted by this event, that I might not be able to see any better than I do one week post-surgery - it took me by surprise.

That said, I am still eternally grateful they caught the detached retina in time to prevent damage to the macula, that they were able to fit me in with a surgeon who is one of the best retina specialists in the area, that my friend Becky was able to drive me up and let me crash at her family's house... and they were so sweet and took such good care of me, and that my eye has healed as well as it has. I can see so much more now than I could just a few days ago... and if they can get me close to 20/20, then I will hopefully be able to still drive. I have no idea what the rules are where that's concerned.

#2
It looks like you've got a frayed suture.

Ah ha! So that's why it feels like something is jabbing into my eye... because IT IS!!! Truly, the bad news was more that they could not fit me in to see a surgeon on staff until tomorrow afternoon - which means 24 more hours of jabby, stabby, twingy, stingy, itchy pain. Ugh.

The bright side? See the last paragraph of #1. I should not complain.

#3
Hospital OPS $13,520.61
Insurance Adjustment $0.00
Amount Owed by Patient $13,520.61

I think this one probably took the cake today. We got the bill for the surgery; luckily, I was able to speak to someone in billing who said no claim had been sent to the insurance company yet and that, based on what type we have (thank you AllKids), we aren't likely to owe anything.

(Of course, based on our past insurance insanity, I kept records of the time, the name of the person I spoke to, and the gist of the conversation. You can never be too careful!)

As in many instances in the past where large hospital bills have arrived in the mail, I cannot help but wonder and worry after all those without insurance. There are undoubtedly people out there who find themselves in the exact same situation I was in (you need emergency surgery in the next few hours or you will go blind), and they know doing what they must for their health will result in bankruptcy, hardship, and/or severe distress for their families.

That's no kind of choice.

2012 and beyond...

Today held an alarming number of stories about natural disasters across the United States and in other countries. Wildfires in Florida, a sinkhole in Washington, D.C., tornadoes in Missouri and Oklahoma, an earthquake in China, volcano activity, and - of course - the cyclone in Myanmar.

I'm not sure where you sit on the whole greenhouse/2012/sea level rise thing. Andy and I tend to be a little worried about it and spend a lot of time debating whether or not we wish to make safety from natural disasters, potential pole shifts, and/or a crash in the economy a priority when plotting our next steps.

Although I don't fully buy into the prophecies of Nostradamus, Edgar Cayce, and the like... it is somewhat higher than coincidental those two men and the Mayan calendar all put the world falling apart around the same time. I suppose I buy into it enough to be vaguely concerned and to begin to think about things like paring down on my possessions, living a more sustainable lifestyle, and wanting to build or buy a green home of some kind in a relatively safe area.

Be it driven by external concerns or an internal call to a more peaceful and simple life, Andy and I both have noticed a pull and shift toward a new type of living. I see it as a blend of spiritual needs and practical considerations... something seeking to balance the ascetic qualities of monasticism, the theories of detachment so prevalent in Buddhist philosophy, the social action and humanist commitment of Unitarian Universalism, and the social interest of Adler.

It all seems to coalesce and make sense on some days. I would love to know where the end is, which I think is one of the greatest lessons I've yet to learn: process before content, means rather than end, the journey above the destination.

And so, it is not so important to know where I will end up as it is to know how I want to get there. To ensure authenticity and compassion en route. To follow dreams and strive toward improvement and seek out positive change in the best way I know how.

Some days, the fear and sadness feels a bit more prevelant, but most of the time I simply wish I could do more to help those affected by these many disasters... and I pray the whisperings of darkness to come are simply the anxious worries of mistaken sayers seeking to make sense of the complexity and confusion that may inevitably arise as we move through life.

Five things I love about being a mother:

1. There is nothing - truly nothing - like being hugged by Ari. The way she says "Mama" melts my heart, and I feel an immense sense of peace when I hold her in my arms as she snuggles into me.
2. I love feeling connected to all the other mothers in my life... our shared experience unites us in a tribe of sorts - and it seems to bind us through common events, emotions, hopes, and concerns.
3. Being a mother has helped me have more understanding of and empathy for my mother... for which I am very grateful. I think it's an incredible gift and quite an opportunity for learning and growth.
4. You know how moms just know things? They have eyes in the back of their heads or are psychic or just seems to have this uncanncy, ridiculously honed sixth sense that allows them to be superbrains when it comes to either predicting or accurately reading the behavior of their children. You know what I mean? Well... I have that when it comes to Ari. I know when she's going to spill, I know what she wants to eat before she asks for it... I can tell when she's in the next room doing something naughty. It's freaky at times, but also very, very cool. Kind of like having a super power.
5. My daughter is simply amazing. I respect her tremendously, even though she's only two at this point, and I can't wait to see the many changes to come as she transforms throughout her life. She is a beautiful, fiery, intense, courageous, charismatic, smart and funny ball of energy who requires me to change and evolve to keep up. She challenges me and inspires me to improve myself daily.

Husband and Wife

My little sister, Lydia, got married today. It was a beautiful, small wedding at her mother's house... a garden wedding in the back yard with perfect weather and lots of family.

Given the informality of aspects of the wedding, no one said a toast for the bride and groom. I almost offered to do one, but felt a little uncomfortable and a bit shy.

If I had done one, I would have talked about how amazing it was to see Lydia on her wedding day - a radiant bride soon to be a new mother - and to think back on the small little girl I potty trained with Hershey's kisses. She's become a stunning, grounded, insightful, intelligent, and passionate young woman who has found a gentle, loving, kind, funny, dedicated, and generous young man with whom to share her life.

I am so happy for both of them and so grateful to have been able to experience their union on this day.

A (Perhaps) Allegory for a Cloudy Day

Once upon a time there was a little tiger with spots instead of stripes. A lot of animals mistook him for a cheetah... seeing as how he had spots. But his eyes were tiger eyes; his feet were tiger feet. His dreams were tiger dreams, and his family was a tiger family.

When he went out, he noticed how the other tigers looked at him sideways and always seemed to be conferring behind paws-on-mouths - a hasty, whispering buzz that sounded like rain far away. He tried not to let it bother him, but sometimes he felt very sad. And sometimes he felt very angry. And most of the time, he just felt very alone.

One day, as he was playing by himself near a lightening-cracked tree, he saw a giraffe with a short neck approach. She looked a bit like a spotted gazelle with very long legs... but the tiger knew she was a giraffe by her scent and by her eyes: deep brown and gentle with fringy-lace-lashes.

"Hello," said the giraffe.

"Hi," said the tiger.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Waiting, I guess," he replied.

"Waiting for what?"

"I'm not sure. Something new."

At that, the giraffe smiled and tilted her head to the side. She had been told not to play with tigers, but she felt there was something different about this tiger. She liked his spots, and she liked the shy way he looked down at his paws.

"I was going to go get a drink down by the river," she said. "Would you like to come with me?"

The tiger looked back at his village for a second... aware of what the others would say if he told them he'd gone walking with a short-necked giraffe; but he was feeling tired of trying to fit in and be something other than what he wanted to be. So he said yes, and off they went.

A spotted tiger and short-necked giraffe, each accepting the other for who s/he wished to be.

Grumpy

Here's what I'm thinking about today. I am grumpy. I am feeling small and petty. Angry. Tired. Sore. Fed up.

Now... some of this may be attributed to my still-healing, still very dilated, still predominantly unworking right eye and the resultant scabbing, tearing, aching, itching, and throbbing one is likely to feel after emergency eye surgery.

However, truthfully, just as much - if not more - has to do with my own insecurities and human imperfection. My own fears, worries, and lack of impenetrable self-love.

Mind you, I've met very few people who actually possess impenetrable self-love... but when you do come across those folks (even those who, while not impenetrable, have it in such large supply they look well-stocked and somewhat impervious) - WOWIE! They can really knock your socks off. Especially when they're nice people to boot.

No... today I am just left thinking about my own frailty and how this comes into contact with my daily ins and outs, ups and downs.

I feel small today. I'm really not sure how else to put it. I have lost a sense of larger connection and am very aware of my own negative emotions and tiredness... my sense of giving up and feeling exhausted and somewhat outdone by life at the moment.

I don't consider this pretty. I don't consider it particularly inspiring. But I trust it's not totally unfamiliar to some of you. And I hope that, in being honest, I can provide us the space to heave a collective sigh of relief and have it be okay that we are less than perfect today. One might even say ugly.

Sometimes it's nice to know you can stand in the middle of a collective stare, naked and honest, and know it's okay to be less, to be a work in progress, rather than feeling like a stubby troll who must stand in the corner and wait for the world around it to notice and take pity.

If we really are to accept one another, I suppose, it should be with eyes open. With acknowledgement of underbellies and skeletons and mistakes. Maybe there's strength in the knowing... or in the openness and willingness to be imperfect.

Maybe it's just personally helpful, today, to imagine a group of fellow works in progress being able to embrace the ugly, grumpy, stubby troll that is sometimes me... and to know it's ultimately okay.

Where are you looking? (What do you see?)

The number of dead in Myanmar has reached 100,000... and I fear it won't stop there, especially given the difficulty aid organizations are having getting into the country, the lack of available food and clean water, and the number of survivors left without shelter.

Of course, this is not the only devastating event going on in the world. It just happens to be where our national attention is pointed at the moment. I often wonder what it would be like to have access to more information about the good and bad going on in the world.

Would it provide an even more balanced perspective? Would it reinforce the theory that power is in larger part recognition... that we give strength to things by noticing them, naming them, spending time and energy on them? Or would it overwhelm us? Leave us feeling powerless and impotent in the wake of so much sorrow?

I think it's useful, at times, to remember how amazingly beautiful and generous people are capable of being. To notice and take in the many acts of kindness taking place each day, to feel gratitude for instances of honesty, dignity, and care. I suppose, to me, it provides a bit of balance and helps me stay positive, rather than getting pulled down into despair. (Despair, for me, equals paralysis... which ultimately does very little to help anyone.)

One such tiny story was reported today. It involves a very expensive violin, a very panicked musician, and a very honest cab driver. You can read all the details from multiple news sources, but here is the quick version:

A famous violinist left a $4M violin (on loan from someone else) in a cab. The cab driver, Mohamed Khalil, returned it, and the musician played a free concert for a bunch of cab drivers in the parking lot of an airport in way of saying thank you, which seemed to be a big hit with the cabbies. Khalil also received a medal from the Mayor, a cash reward from the musician, and free concert tickets to Carnegie Hall for himself and his family.

I've read some comments online from people who feel it's a silly thing to make such a big deal about... that it's a waste of time to honor someone for doing what he or she should do in the first place.

I lean toward feeling maybe it's something we should do more of in our lives. Why not celebrate acts of kindness? Why not recognize people for being truthful? Why should we hesitate to show gratitude toward those who show the very best of themselves and, in so doing, show us the very best of what is possible in all of us?

Update:JOY/Update:SORROW

Today merits two updates... one a joy, one a sorrow. One personal, one global.

JOY
Update number one has to do with my surgery... I saw the surgeon today, and he said there is no retinal fold, rather the dark area I am seeing is the gas bubble, which should decrease in size over time. He said all looks good, and he expects everything to heal pretty well over the next 3-4 weeks. I see him again at the end of May and, assuming no more work is needed on the right eye, we'll schedule an appointment for the left eye, which he thinks can probably be done in the office. All very good news.

As I told my loved ones, I won't feel 100% relaxed until it's all over and done with, because I have heard from many people that multiple surgeries are often necessary. But it was quite relieving to hear all looks good and that he expects the recovery process to go well.

SORROW
Perhaps you've been following the story already, but the death toll in Myanmar is now up to at least 22,000, with over 40,000 people still missing. This is the greatest impact a natural disaster has had in Southeast Asia since the tsunami in 2004.

In an effort to be proactive (and to tilt at some windmills - see yesterday's post), here is information for providing aid to the region, should you feel so inclined:

http://www.google.com/myanmarcyclone/

Impossibility

The story that caught my ear this morning on NPR was about the cyclone that hit Myanmar on Saturday. The death toll is expected to reach at least 10,000, and there are thousands of people with no homes, no place to go, and in danger of getting sick (or worse) due to contaminated drinking water.

Sometimes you'll hear people remark that things could always be worse... that there are always people who are worse off than you are - the logic being that you should therefore count your blessings and stop your grousing about your own discomfort or sorrow.

I prefer to reframe it a bit: There are always people out there who could use some prayers (blessings, good thoughts, good energy) as much or more than you can. There are always people in need of help, compassion, love, and good will - whatever spirit you are able to give them.

There really is so much suffering in the world, it is sometimes staggering to take in. And when a disaster like this occurs, it's overwhelming to realize how many individual lives will be forever changed by one crisis.

I see "elimination of all suffering" as an impossible task. Which does not mean is should not be attempted - quite the opposite. I think it's very important. Important to ruminate and meditate upon, important to discuss with one another and make part of a larger social discussion and collective consciousness, important to attempt throughout our lives in whatever way we can.

Sometimes impossible tasks are necessary. Cervantes called it tilting at windmills, the Buddhists call it enlightenment, and UUs have woven it into their seven principles, seeing it as inherently connected to broader human goals serving as a promise to all people.

To me, faith, belief, hope, and love are all tied to impossibility. They are all celebrations of finding possibility where none seemed to exist... particularly in the midst of suffering.

Totally random idea I had today for what to write on my eye patch, should I end up needing one:

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Reframing the Unfortunate

I read Andy's post from yesterday, which made me tear up because it was so beautifully written and perfect, and sounded just like him. He's amazing.

To catch everyone up post-surgery (and muddle through some resulting ruminations):

I am home today, having spent the night at Becky's parents' house, and having had a follow-up visit with my eye doctor at the Marion Eye Center. A few facts for anyone who likes to have them:

• Apparently having a detached retina is a pretty darn serious condition. If they don't catch it in time, it can lead to blindness. And, as with any surgery, there's no guarantee they can fix the problem and make it like new again.
• I went into the surgery with very little information as to the procedure itself, possible risks involved, or what to expect upon waking.
• I left Marion Eye Center to come home around 4:30, got into the car with Becky to head to St. Joseph Hospital in Kirkwood, MO a bit after 5pm, and got prepped for surgery around 7pm. Then we waited. Becky has a lovely picture of me with my eyes taped shut and the word "YES" written above my right eye. If we can figure out how to get it from her phone to this blog, I'll eventually share it with you.
• I entered the actual surgery around 9:30, finished around midnight, and left the hospital to go back to the Tadlock's (where I stayed the night) around a 12:45am.

So here is the bad news. Apparently, the retina in my other eye is nearly detached as well. So they want to operate on it too, but they want to wait until the right eye has healed to do it. They've said about 4 weeks from now, but if there is a problem with my right eye (which, as of right now, there is), then they'll probably just do it anyway and I'll do my best with little to no vision in either eye... and pray everything heals up over time.

I'm not yet sure what this means with regard to my summer classes, my ASCA conference trip, my hope to help the Neo-Futurists with Coyote Ugly choreography, or other random summery-type vacation plans.

Here's what I do know: I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I would rather lose: my sight or my hearing. I always went with hearing. For a number of reasons. I'm an observer... sight is how I take in my world and make sense of it. It's how I process and the main means through which I gather information. If I lost my hearing, I figured I'd miss music and talking and sounds, etc. - but I could still interact with my world. I could learn ASL and work with hearing impaired clients or work in a school for non-hearing students. Loss of eyesight kind of means loss of the ability to be a counselor, to my mind, because you lose the ability to take in one of the fundamental pieces of information you need when working with clients: nonverbals. It's what we're noticing when we look for incongruencies or want to see the physical impact of a certain topic. I don't know how I would do the job without sight.

Also... to be totally honest... I am prideful about my eyes. Not in an overtly "sinful" way (if you go for such terminology... which I don't... I guess I see it more as ego or attachment), but it's the one part of my body I've always liked... been proud of and really considered special. So, the irony of all this is not lost on me.

But here's what else I know: This seems to be a gift... an opportunity of sorts, because I realized a few things during the several hours between finding out I was in danger of going blind in one eye to finding out I was in danger of going blind in both.

I have always been able-bodied. My whole life, I've been pretty disease-free and relatively healthy. I had no knowledge of what it was like to have a disability, often felt I didn't know what to say or how to act when I met people who did (which is not very helpful as a counselor, btw), and had no idea what it was like to walk into a room and have everyone staring-but-not-trying-to-stare-too-hard because you have a huge patch with tons of tape over your eye with your glasses smooshed over everything and precariously resting on your nose.

It's an incredible opportunity to broaden my understanding of and empathy for one of the many ways our human experiences can vary. If I do get better and can work in a school setting, I will be even more ready and able to help special needs students or children, even parents, with disabilities. I'll have a better sense of what they or their family members are going through, and I'll feel more comfortable talking about it because it no longer feels completely foreign to me.

If I do lose my sight in one or both eyes, or end up severely visually impaired (which, I'm obviously hoping I do not, but the realist in me does not want to be caught totally off guard by bad news), then I can go back and earn my Ph.D. or use my skills to write books geared toward school counselors to use as bibliotherapy, or pursue the ministry, or a whole host of other things. And maybe some of those paths will not ultimately be open to me, and maybe others I've not even thought of will.

For whatever reason, my whole family (e.g., mother, fathers, brother, sister, cousins, etc.) all believe that nothing happens without a reason and everything has purpose. All those folks might give the power behind such things a different name, or label, but the overriding idea is that God (be it the you-God, an other-God, or something that is simply more powerful and more knowing than the "little-I" you) does not give you anything you cannot handle. Nor do things come without a greater lesson, opportunity, or purpose. I do believe that.

So, despite still feeling pretty scared right now, and somewhat disoriented both mentally and physically, I also feel there is a reason. Though I might not see it right now, I will in time. Perhaps more metaphorically than literally... but we shall see. (Ha! There's another one. Hard to get away from that pun potential!) Despite this sorrow, I look for - and believe in - the possibility of joy.

Outside Eye

Hello all. This is Andy, Genevra's husband. She asked me to write her blog entry tonight as she's currently sitting in a hospital bed in St. Louis awaiting emergency surgery on her eye.

It's been a day.

The first alarm was rung this morning when Genevra called me frantically from downstairs. When you have children, this happens often, but it always feels like you're running in quicksand to get to the emergency. Today's first emergency: Ariana's ear. It was swollen, red and pointing almost sideways. There she was, naked in the bath, smiling carelessly, her mop of a hairdo finally wet and revealing her giganimous ear. "Look at it," Genevra remarked, sproinging it down gently. "Is it broken? Can ears break?"

After a lengthy game of charades during which we tried to ascertain what happened to Ari, we're pretty sure she told us that something bit her. I'm thinking spider, maybe? Genevra's thinking brown recluse. This is motherhood.

We called the doctor and not long after I saw Genevra off to work this morning Ari was in his office being examined. He's not sure what happened but an insect bite isn't out of the question. He prescribed a topical and oral antibiotic and Ari and I then ran off and had a great day together tooling around the mall, playing on 75-cent mall rides and eating lunch at the food court. (She was thrilled to be drinking a non-watered down bottle of orange juice and was so very careful with it--as if to prove she was a big enough girl to handle it and would love to do it again sometime.)

The middle of the day went like most do. I put Ari down for her nap and got to work on my writing.

Genevra called at 3-something from her eye doctor appointment. She had been seeing some ghosting that troubled her, I think on Wednesday. After she discovered that her contacts were not the cause of the problem on Thursday, she made an appointment for today.

Come to find out she has a detached retina. This is serious and if left unchecked can lead to blindness in a matter of days (and we're already at three days and counting,) so her eye doctor recommended surgery at once in order to "save the eye." The nearest chap who fixes up eyes is in St. Louis, which is 2 1/2 hours away.

I'm at home because someone needed to put Ari to sleep, because I'm a father now and I have to make decisions like this, and because Genevra's friend Becky (the kind of friend who shows up on moving day) was able to put down everything and drive her to the hospital.

The procedure she's having is called a scleral buckling.

You really can't tell from reading all of Genevra's posts that her life has been difficult lately. The sorrow that I'm sharing with you today isn't just about Genevra's brush with blindness, it's that this brush with blindness has punctuated several months of stressful work, school, family and health problems that have left us shaking our heads and wondering which god she's offended.

Please, if you believe in such things, if you're inclined to do such things, put her in your thoughts, prayers, blessings. She believes in the power of prayer. And I guess when I'm really honest with myself, so do I. I just don't like to admit it.

Genevra, honey, I love you. I'm with you.

Poem for May

The air feels heavy...
slightly dewey; and
the sky is puffy-faced -
white, sticky and sickly
like an overstuffed,
sugar-laden child.

Where is my sunshine?
My solid, reassuring
warm air scented with
sweet flowers? Where
is my answer, my sureness,
my salvation?

Expectation is always
dangerous; sort of like
a squatting imp with fat
cheeks and hairy legs,
waiting to yank the floor
away so you fall, hitting hard.

You were supposed to
rescue me, May: A soft landing
and new promise, gently drifting
like festival music across
my face, whispering triumph.

The imp smirks,
gets ready to pull...