Suffocating in domestic and corproate frustration...

Today, and this week in general, I've found myself acutely aware of my environment, my creativity and life in general. Poems seem to flow out of me, song lyrics vibrate through my body and touch me at the very core, dances are freely choreographed in my mind. This heightened awareness became crystal clear as I was riding along today and witnessed the fading sun accompanied by the clouds that one can only dream of laying upon and feeling their fluffiness. The sight of such beauty made tears form in my throat and my spirits soar. I thought of how the world is filled with so many variances of appreciation. Some fear sounding flighty at taking notice of the beauty of our Earth, some claim to appreciate God's gifts but really are just trying to fit in, and others take absolutely no notice. For those I feel most sorry.

While I welcome this state I find myself in this week I'm almost glad that the intensity of it isn't constant. It is so very difficult to live the life society has deemed appropriate for the working career mom and wife and also embrace the longing and need to get lost in my thoughts and creativity. It is grueling to focus on a presentation of statistics when they seem so trivial in light of a God given desire to create. It is depressing to wash, fold and put away laundry when all I really want to do is let Yanni's Reflections of Passion inspire movement with my daughter. The daily routine of drop offs and pick-ups are overshadowed by the impulse to explore that opening in the trees just off the road I travel each day. It's tiring - fighting the urges and desire to just be.

It is now 9:37 pm, long past the hour when my kids should be in bed and I too should be prepared for the day ahead. But, in reality, I know that the night is just beginning for my unconventional family. It will be past midnight when our house rests completely and "not a creature is stirring." What can I say? The wife and mother who resides here wants to do it all, many times in one day, and I pull my family along for the ride. So, while other kids are dreaming of bouncing on those clouds I so admired this afternoon, mine are about to embark on one of mommy's crazy adventures. Tonight we will hold hands and dance in a circle; our soundtrack will be "What a Beautiful World."

All about the skirt

I wore a skirt yesterday. That is not unusual, or even noteworthy, since I wear a skirt or dress almost everyday. I hate pants, shorts, skorts, capris, jeans, and everything else of that nature. I am highly thankful for those before me who had the courage to shed their skirts for the comfort and ease of pants, because it is certainly more convenient to chase a child up the playground at Chick-fil-a in something that doesn't give the world a peep show. But, for the most part, I find skirts and dresses to be so much more comfortable. Maybe it's the way I'm built or maybe it's all in my head, I couldn't say for sure.

There are two items of clothing that I find to be right there next to PJ's or your birthday suit when it comes to comfort - the wrap dress and the broomstick skirt. Yesterday, on a beautiful Southern Sunday afternoon I wore a white broomstick skirt. I love it. It is white and so elegantly beautiful (at least I think so). But, the thing is that as comfortable as I am in these skirts I always feel like I'm oddly on display. Like the whole world is saying "look at her, she is so wide and doesn't care about how she looks." Because, let's face it, as beautiful as they are, broomstick skirts don't really flatter any body shape over a size 6. But put me in the backyard with the grass between my toes and the feel of the soft fabric against my legs as the wind slightly picks up and I feel like a nature queen. It is then that I forget about how I may or may not look and just love my skirt :-)

As I was walking through the grass and watching the kids play I also realized that women who often wear said skirts have a different walk. Their gait is slow and laid back with their pelvic tilted slightly forward. It isn't the bouncy step of enthusiasm or the determined pace of a career woman - it's relaxed. And it's dictated by THE SKIRT! Without consciousness you walk sort of differently because that helps to not get tangled in that beautiful fabric. Strategic positioning of the feet and legs with each step ensures that you aren't going to step on the skirt or have it unattractively wrap around your legs. Now, one might say, you REALLY would rather deal with all this than throw on a simple pair of shorts?!? The answer is yes - all of this happens subconsciously and at least I can still breath in my free-flowing skirt that does not constrict any part of my torso.

Before I dressed for bed I asked my husband what he, and men and general, really thought of these skirts. There was a pregnant pause as he formed a suitable answer in his head. I know he doesn't like them, but it had been a few years since I asked. "I think of a hippy," he replied. Hmmm. Is that good or bad I pondered? I have always considered myself to be a bit of a "hippy," but I also know he generally doesn't find barefoot, long-haired, broomstick and flower wearing women to be instinctively attractive. So, in wearing my skirt am I being thrown into a whole genre of spirits with negative connotations by everyone I meet? Why the hell do I care?

Jesus! It's a skirt! How does my brain get off on these useless tangents? Wait, is it useless? Is this important information for one to ponder in the world in order for there to be peace among us?

I don't know... I just know I love my skirt because I can!

I want to turn the channel

Yes, I consider myself to be a fairly creative individual; forever seeking peace and inspiration and so forth. But I cannot escape the occasional funk, which is what I find myself in right now. In the series TrueBlood Tara's mom refers to alcohol as demon water (or something to that affect). Feelings of being overwhelmed are my own personal demon water. I wish I could bottle it up and pour it down the toilet - an exorcism of the negativity brewing inside of me.

I am keenly aware of all that I COULD do to be my own saving grace. Yoga, meditation, writing, dancing, reading a book, or practicing the art of doing absolutely nothing. But as I look around me at my toy-cluttered environment and the mountains of laundry or realize that I need to pay bills, return emails and phone calls and prepare for my son's birthday party my spirit literally shuts down. The off switch has been flipped. Instead of tackling any piece of the to-do list, and thus moving towards productivity I do NOTHING. Well, unless you call wallowing in self-pity SOMETHING.

*Sigh* I will stop with the melodramatics now. I guess I did turn the channel just by sitting down and hammering out the thoughts. I'm now settled in to the "Get your ass up and do something channel." Those of you who are reading my rambling thoughts, I love you for your dedication to listening and am eternally grateful for you handing me the remote. XOXOXO

Atta Girl!

I just had my 2nd quarter PIP review with my boss. In the world of NR, PIP stands for Partners in Performance. Call a spade a spade - it's an evaluation. I'm sure most people face this time of year with about as much excitement as a root canal. But I'm different, always a little on the nerdy side. I like PIP reviews. Let me explain.

I've worked at the News & Record for 9 years and worked for 13 managers during that time (it is suspect that I'm on track to hold a record for working for the most people in the shortest amount of time). I have to say I've taken a little bit of knowledge, sometimes just a nugget, from each of these leaders. (and in some instances I would use the term "leader" loosely) Wouldn't it be bliss if I could take all the good qualities and build the perfect boss? I suppose that is what I've tried to do as I've become a team leader myself, although I'm certain I've failed on many occasion. My inability to be detail-oriented or follow a schedule will forever haunt me and anyone in my wake - some things we will just never be good at. Face it, folks!

Anyway, I now look forward to PIPs because it is the one time my current boss is forced to engage in what motivates me... I'm talking feedback! Good ol' fashioned "you're doing great" or "you really could have done this better." Some people need money or prestige to stay focused and accomplish their goals. But nothing gets me more excited about a task or project than being reminded of my own potential. It may be childish, if not a touch narcissistic, but what can I say. After 9 years, letdowns, accomplishments and 13 leaders I've learned how I need to be led if I've learned anything.

So how was my PIP? It was good! In an industry and building that feels like it is on life support it was uplifting to talk through what I had accomplished the first six months of the year and all that there is left to do. I got my pat on the back and transcribed the message to be "you've done a good job at doing these things, now do these other 6 and you will finish the year with a bang!" Yeah, that isn't exactly what was said, but it's what I needed to hear. Perception = Realty!

Yikes! I'm an Adult

I prefer to live life with the spirit and amusement of a child. Over the years I've found that this mode of thinking makes life a lot less stressful and a heck of a lot of fun. Of course, my husband doesn't always agree with my philosophy - especially when I have moments of thinking it's perfectly okay to ditch all those adult-like responsibilities and play all day. But I've always been a believer of the saying "you are only as old as you feel." (or is it "act?") Either way - I vow to stay young at heart!!!

But this morning I was shockingly aware that I am an adult. Not old, just an adult. My 30 minute commute is my time of uninterrupted reflection that I don't wish to trade, and it was during this time that I had this adult-like feeling. This morning the first stop on my commute was dropping my 7-year-old daughter off at the Eastern Music Festival Kid's Camp. Perhaps it was the rain making me feel all dreamy and nostalgic, I don't know. But the first aha moment came when a song of yesteryear blared from my newly organized IPod (I spent much of the weekend redoing my songs and playlists). I hadn't heard this song in many years and was taken back to when my husband and I purchased the CD.

I was very pregnant with our daughter and it was a snowy night. Bundled up in my husband's over sized fleece pullover, I hoisted me and my belly into our truck. The kid in him loves to go 4-wheeling in the snow and I reluctantly tag along in most instances. The truck was only a couple of months old and it was complete with leather seats and seat warmers. Since birth I think I've always been a "hot-natured" creature and rarely find myself with a chill - but that all changed when I became pregnant and would find myself wrapped up in a blanket in the middle of August. On that cold, dark night that heated seat was a little slice of warm heaven to my cold bones. As the song played this morning I was taken back to that feeling of comfort; my loving husband singing beside me, my growing baby resting against my ribs, and being cradled by a warmed leather seat. Sadly, I think at that time in my life I did feel old. I'd become bogged down in the details of the day-to-day and forsaken my carefree spirit and zest for life.

Fast forward the purchase of a home, the birth of another child, the development of many blessed friendships, and a lot of soul searching and I am extremely glad life has come full circle. So I guess that one finds themselves in the body and mind of an adult when they are able to look back and see how much they've accomplished - both emotionally and tangibly.

My beautiful angel in the backseat didn't let these adult feelings end in with memory of her daddy's truck. As we pulled into the Guilford College campus little M's teeth began to chatter. Like me, this is her reaction to nervousness.

"Are you nervous, sweetie?"
"Yes!"
"Why?"
"What if all of the kids are mean?"

My heart sank and then soared in one breath. I felt for her having to venture into a strange room and approach faces and personalities unknown. Experience tells me that this will not get any easier for many, many more years to come. But my heart soars as I remember my own camp days. I too ventured to music camps at universities, although I was older and they were overnight camps. Those weeks of meeting new people, gaining exposure to new environments and new ways of thinking were nothing less than awe-inspiring. Like a kept animal breaking free from it's cage, I roamed the landscape and soaked in the creativity around me. I longed for that freedom to be permanent; I viewed future days spent on a college campus as my ticket to spiritual and cultural growth. Little M is too young to feel quite this way about her experience today, but it is a stepping stone; one of many experiences that will shape her curiosity and interests and the woman she will become. As I think about the roads she will travel I suppose the ones I've entered and exited are distinctly clear now that I am an adult woman. Ahhhh, what a long, strange trip it's been!

Exchanging ink and paper for keys and screens!

Today I found myself bedridden and had what I think people call free time! Musing around Facebook landed me on a friends blog (Alina, hope you don't mind my taking your lead) and I was inspired to use these few rare hours to create one of my own - make a public home for my random thoughts, poems, and meanderings. The added benefit is my friends will be saved from a few rambling emails when I'm in need of an audience for the antics of my wandering mind. I read once that an artist craves an audience and feedback for their work, so I suppose that is what I'm seeking.

For years I resisted the electronic written word and refused to abandon the satisfying feel of pen and paper. The impetus of the crisp pages of a journal or stationary and the act of matching stationary to the receiver are undeniably gratifying. But two kids, a career, sisters to love, a home to clean and hobbies to explore have taken their toll on my available time to savor writing moments. I've made peace with writing, musing and journaling electronically with the understanding that for now it is the only way to scratch the itch and free the words from my head. Perhaps, one day, I will be able to venture onto a porch overlooking a body of water in my retirement home that will welcome my children and their families. There I will ease into my chair with that crisp paper as my canvas and the pen as my brush - the tools of my creativity. I will write of my past, of my present and the beauty of the earth before me. I will send letters of love and encouragement to all those that enter my thoughts. Until that day, I will exercise my writing muscle with fingers to keys as I DANCE THROUGH LIFE.....

Janis Joplin Defines a Mommy

Some people’s memory cheats them and others, like me, remember so much that it sometimes seems to be a curse. I’ve often been teased that I can remember the day I was born. Seldom do I forget the details of an event, a place, a gathering – even down to what people were wearing and always what was said. But sometimes all the memories connect and help you define your life in some ways.

When I was 13 years old I developed a mad crush at my piano concert. His name was Travis and he was the older brother of one of the other students. He was 5 years older than me, in fact. I shared my love from afar with my mom and she admired my taste and opted to contribute to, rather than discourage, my interest. She decided we should visit the Italian restaurant where he worked. I was giddy.

We asked to be sat at his table when we arrived and spotted him in the back. I can’t say that I said a whole lot during his visits to our table, but my mom was always a good conversationalist and picked up the slack. When he began writing our order in his black ticket holder my mom noticed a picture glued to the back of his folder.

“Wow, you like Janis Joplin? I’m surprised you know her music,” my mom commented.

I don’t remember what else they said about the musical icon. What I do remember is that was the night I was introduced to the singer that would be present in so many memories for the rest of my life. On the way home mom explained to me who Janis was and how she was an icon of the sixties. She spared no details. She told me which songs were her most well known, that she played at the Monterey Pop Festival and Woodstock, that she was part of the Haight-Ashbury scene, her nickname was pearl, that her drink of choice was Southern Comfort and that she died of an overdose. She also took this opportunity to share a bit of pop culture history. It was then that I also learned about Jack Kourac and the beatniks and the beginning of the hippy generation.

Shortly after that night she bought me my first Janis Joplin CD, Pearl. I was in love. I stared at the picture of her on the cover and her feathers and boas and wanted to be that flamboyant. I longed to feel that sure of myself and my style. (Something that was not exactly embraced by my small town peers.) Pearl quickly became the soundtrack of my youth.

The lyrics to Me and Bobby McGee and Mercedes Benz could be found on every notebook I owned, complete with flower and peace sign graffiti. I would sing Me and Bobby McGee in my room night after night and perfect my sultry, drunken duet with Janis – convinced I sounded exactly like her.

As I became older and a teen of the 90’s I embraced my old soul and lived my life in a fashion I like to think of as “Janis-like, but with boundaries.” I broke away from the popular crowd of cheerleaders and honor roll students and found my way into the hearts of those who longed for the freedom I did. Freedom from our small town and freedom from judgment. I read the Janis Joplin biography written by her sister and did my senior term paper on the life of Janis Joplin. It was then that I understood my connection even more. We shared a longing to break free from the judgmental strains of small town suburbia and to express ourselves freely through clothes and music.

And then I met Angela. She was my living Janis. My soul sister and kindred spirit had arrived from Oklahoma to my English class. The day I saw her she wore a patchwork sweater and a pouch of crystals around her neck. And then I glanced at her notebook and saw Janis Joplin and Led Zepplin lyrics. I couldn’t talk to her fast enough.

At our first “sleepover” Angela and I stayed up until sunrise talking and reading from a book of questions. I had never felt so connected to anyone. Over time we shared our connection with Janis. For us to join together for a Janis song was an emotional experience and one that few understood. When we went our separate ways to college we would call each other and sing Janis over the phone together. And for many years we would sing together even after years of separation. We were reuniting with Janis just as we were each other.

Later, after the birth of my daughter, Janis became an outlet for me to remember when I was that young girl so full of hope and spirit. I would sing Me and Bobby McGee to my tiny infant and envision the day we would sing it together – hoping that she would find the same joy in the song as I had.

Six years and the birth of a son later I had that day. It was an early fall evening and I was feeling on the verge of frustration with the antics of my offspring. We were driving home from dance practice and I decided I needed to tune them out. (Obviously I’ve let go of mommy guilt issues). Anyway, that’s what I did – with Janis. Just as Angela and I had so many times, I was putting my soul into the songs. When I eased into “la da da la da” I paused. The kids were completely silent and my daughter was humming the tune quietly as she does when she’s memorizing the words to a song. At that moment an overwhelming feeling of connectedness came over me. In some small way I felt that I was still that girl full of hope and spirit – and even if I wasn’t I had children who were. When Me and Bobby McGee ended she asked me to play Mercedes-Benz three times. We sang it together soulfully in our driveway, in the living room and through all the nightly routines. I guess its funny what some of us determine to be life’s defining moments.

Seasons of the Heart

Reflections of the soul are found in the beauties of the earth

What is found in nature mirrors every aspect of our selves

As each leaf, cloud and ray of sun glimmers with uniqueness;
so do we

The seasons present the senses with new indulgences

Snow, color, sun, water, fire, rain, grass, flowers, dirt, wood, darkness

How is that different than the varying seasons of our heart and soul?

Emotions are our internal seasons, shorter lived and more fleeting than those of the Earth

I find myself melancholy and am reminded of the rich colors of fall

My heart is without wind or rain, but vibrant with the reds, browns and gold

Experiences that have made me whole remembered fondly

Today I am a ladybug of spring

Exploration invites me to move through life full of awareness

As my mind grows restless I take flight to what experience awaits my presence

Once there, meandering with awareness resumes

My flower is just ahead

Beckoning me to touch it, smell it, feel it… it exists to meet my desires

Winter has come too soon

Shadows cast over my soul creating a darkness from which I cannot escape

Pain falls upon my heart, the heat of my skin melts each snowflake upon landing

Motionless

The flutter of ladybug wings fall dormant

When the sun shines upon the darkness masking my heart

Its flaws are visible.

Cracks, chipping bark; but promise of budding beauty

Picture the open heart when the sun shines upon it and sprouts blooms from its branches

The heart is full and giving

Laughter rolls in as the incoming tides of joy in my soul

The love I’m capable of spreads its rays out from my fingertips

I wish to warm others with my smile

Cover them in a blanket of hope when their day is a storm caught ship

I am love, I am hope, I am joy, I am free

I am summer, I am winter, I am spring, I am fall.

Hiking Reflections

As we enter the wooded trail their sweaty, beefy fingers wrap loosely around my palm
Surrounding me with love like a warm ray of sun after the darkness of winter

I long to teach my children, secure at my side, the beauty of nature
And all it can provide

The silence of their voices and the rustle of their feet
Signifies they understand the greater purpose of mommy's afternoon treat

"Mommy! Look at the water," he cries
Indeed to our left is a lake so vast and so wide
Cradled by the majestic mountains sparkling with the twinkle of God's eye

Up ahead in the distance two masculine silhouettes appear
Should I feel fear or simply turn my ear?
I am in God's territory, nothing will harm me or my children here

As they pass us by my loving children say "hi" and I smile at their innocence
They don't yet know the world is a place full of fear

The One assures me of my journey's success when I hear the words of my child
Teaching her imaginary class of the great joys of a hiking trail and the treasures you can find

Steeper terrain up ahead, the test is upon me; will I pass or will I fail
Her feet loose their hold and she comes slipping down, I do not panic but instruct her to fall to the ground

My calmness eludes me as I steady the fall
Unrealized strength steadies us all
On that steep path of earth

We are in God's territory, nothing will harm me or my children here

"Mommy, that was close!" she observes.
"Sure was, but we made it without fail"

Little legs have grown tired and they plea for a ride
I pull the little one to my side and look towards the sky as a guide
The opening that will lead us off the trail
With promises of the playground that we'll quickly find there

My spirit is light and my heart is opened wide
Watching my children with pride
A lifetime of adventures await them and I hope to always be by their side