Sweet Ginger....

She sits in her nest licking treats from my palm, quiet tears are running down my face

as we wait for the sedative to take effect.

 I am mourning the loss of my beautiful, vibrant girl.  

Empathic.

 Two beings inexplicably connected.  

Her spirit was still radiant.

 Yet the reality is her mind and body were shriveling.

 Lost most days in senility.

The pain of my GG passing seems almost unbearable tonight.

Yet, it will be borne.

Time will soften this pain…

until then I will weep and mourn with the understanding that we 

were blessed by her…more than words can express.

Reality.....

These last few weeks have been challenging. There were a few times in the last ten days that 

I wasn’t sure I was going to keep going on this new path.

I had no idea what classroom management would look like with sixty wild, funny, little nymphs. For some it is the first time they’ve ever set foot in an organized, school style setting and I am woefully lacking in experience. 

I think we are finally finding equilibrium.

This weekend I registered and began studying for my second round of state testing for my teacher certification. This test will cover math and science. Suddenly this Humanities-loving scholar gets to revisit algebra, geometry, ratios, and a whole bunch of science stuff I barely made it through thirty years ago.

Then I got a call on Thursday saying my last class for licensing was cancelled due to low enrollment. After many phone calls, and much scrambling, I applied for, was admitted to, registered for, and maneuvered my way around the online system at Santa Fe College to get into the class I needed. I have an assignment due on Sunday. I ordered the book that I need for this assignment tonight and hope that it comes before I

leave for Kansas City on Thursday.

Pete’s oldest and dearest friend’s daughter is getting married on Saturday in Kansas City and all I was thinking is “how am I going to fit it all in? Homework, test prep, my own curriculum to prepare, dogs to walk, travel….”

Tonight, as I finished a short assignment for my new class, I impulsively asked Pete to go for a walk. 

Lately that impulse has been negated by a waterfall of

 “things you still need to do”….but not tonight.

After our walk I rolled out my yoga mat for a short practice.

Then I sat on my meditation cushion. Still. Quiet.

The patio doors open. Crickets humming.

And my practice kicked in.

Reality…...

I have a roof over my head. The ability (and means) to go to school and work. A partner who can still make my heart flutter after a million years together. A daughter who is strong and brave, 

braver than I ever dreamed of being at twenty-two.

This path that I have been traversing for so long has enabled me to live from a 

place of gratitude for what I have and enables me to truly see it, even when 

I fall into a crevasse of self-pity. I just don’t stay too long these days.

I'm Not Sea-faring. I'm Not River-faring. I'm Not Pond-faring.

The man jokingly says as he hands me a release form, “Here, you have to sign this in case you die. This way no one can sue us.” My heart beats a little faster, I remind myself that we do the same thing for yoga classes. It’s just a formality. I sign the form and pile into the crowded van. A short drive and we are at the river bank. I was hoping for at least an hour drive to prolong the inevitable. The beach is filled with rafts and people in various states. Some are already in helmets, rafts are pushing off in small groups, and our group is milling around the boats while the guides begin to pass out life vests and paddles. We are instructed to put them on and cinch them tight. If it’s loose the scenario is that if you fall out of the boat and they try to pull you back into the boat,

 the vest will slide right over your head…..

I cinched it up so tight my ribs hurt.

We stand and listen to the safety tips:

If you fall out of the boat grab the line around the perimeter of the boat.

If you are floating too far from the boat keep your feet headed down stream 

so as not to bash your head on a rock.

If you find yourself under the boat, put your hands up and walk them to the edge 

until you can push the boat up and get out…..

at this point I’m looking around to see if anyone else is concerned.

 Nope, they look pretty calm.

On to the next rule:

If you find yourself under the boat and it’s not tipped over, do the same as above.

Wait? If I find myself UNDER a boat filled with people

I’m going to be so freaked out I will surely die.

My stomach is queasy from sheer terror now.

I lean over to Pete and say “I’m not sure I’m going with you.”

He pats me on the arm like I’m a fucking kid and says, “It will be fine.”

No, I don’t think it will be fine at all, but I keep quiet.

My mind is churning furiously and I notice that the other rafting company has given their patrons helmets. We don’t have helmets. What happens if I bash my head on a rock without a helmet?

Yeah, I don’t think this is a good idea at all.

I’m not sure if I was brave or I just didn’t want to be the only one to chicken out, but I stepped into the raft. I lodge my foot under the center flotation device as directed and I give Pete one final look as we push off to run the rapids of the Rio Grande…..and I’m sure you’ve already guessed that I had a great time.

Mother's Day is More Like Tim Burton Than Hallmark For Me

I wake hot and throw off the covers.

The sun is shining in through the window and I wonder what time it is.

My mind drifts to the approaching holiday. I’ve been pretty chill with Mother’s Day for the last few years, but this year, with all the emotional turmoil that has accompanied this move, 

I find my mother keeps floating to the surface.

I think we carry our moms deep within, like a disease waiting to blossom.

The last time we spoke was perhaps five years ago.

The caller ID says Betty Ball and I wonder why my grandma is calling.

I say hello and my mother’s voice is on the other end of the line.

It has been too many years to count since I have heard her voice,

but you don’t forget the sound of the mother.

She doesn’t ask how I am, how her granddaughter is, if I have cancer, if I’m happy, the plethora of things I would ask my daughter after a decade or more of not talking. She wants to talk about

 herself, about how I have wronged her,

about her terrible place in this world.

Another lost chance to mend this gaping wound.

 I hang up.

Lump in throat.

Willing myself not to lose my shit over her again.

It’s not her fault. It’s the disease. Insidiously pushing my mother out 

and replacing her with this person that I don’t know.

This weekend my heart aches for those of us who have mothers with mental illness, for those who are estranged, for those longing for a connection that will never be.

 Self pity is not a place that I like to visit for too long and I remind myself of all of the wondrous people that I can count on, and I think it’s time, time to shake this off and to love the people in front of me. Time to be happy exactly where I am, with exactly who I have in my life today. Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. But today, and today I have too many people to count that support and believe in me. 

So why give so much power to one?

Here I am in Albuquerque....

I chose to give up a life I loved to come to Albuquerque. It took me thirteen years to create the life I left behind. I’ve never stayed anywhere for thirteen years.

The wanderlust runs strong through my blood.

The gravity of what I’ve done, leaving so much behind, sometimes burbles up to the surface just as I’m beginning to drift to sleep…. and I weep.

I was attached to being the yoga teacher in town that everyone knew. I was attached to being a college professor, when the reality is adjuncts come and go.

However, for a girl who should have been pregnant by nineteen, for a woman who wasn’t bound for college, a woman who should be working at menial jobs,

a woman who would still be smoking a pack a day,

being a college professor meant I’d made it out.

I’m suffering, but I know that I have the means to stop this suffering.

I will practice being in the here and now, accepting the changes that I have chosen to make 

and to believe in my own inner guidance.

Albuquerque was a conscious choice that I, and my partner, made. Now I need to slow my roll (my favorite quote with my kindies of late) and find patience. To look for the small, beautiful moments that arise each day, because there is always a beautiful moment if your eyes are open.