Holding Still

colorful skies

Today when I got home from work I set the hound free ASAP, (Al's in NY, Chauncey was alone and shut inside all day). I realized it was TOTALLY freezing outside and that the two or so days of 40 degree weather were a fluke, so we ran into the warm and welcoming house of Chauncey's gal pal, Sammy. We visited with Sammy's owner, one of my favorite older gentlemen who, coincidentally, wrote one of our recommendation letters for the adoption. We had some tea and cookies, then headed home.

Light on the answering machine. Three messages. Telemarketer, our Social Worker, and Alex. Social Worker? Says she has "good news." I know what this means. Or do I? Maybe she got the paperwork from the CIS before we did (that's what happened the first time). But she added -- "I don't think you'll want to wait the weekend to hear the news, so here's my cell phone number."

By now I am all fluttery inside, and cursing the fact that Alex is NOT HOME. I write her cell phone number down twice, once on a small and flimsy receipt. I realize that I would need to write many things down so I found a bigger piece of paper for the event. This was going to be an event. I probably wouldn't reach her -- Mercury is retrograde, after all.

Despite the threat of Mercury, I call after I sit myself down with a pen and paper. She answers on the second ring with a knowing, "Hellooo?!"

"It's Erin, what's the news?"

"You have a referral for two brothers. The oldest is 3 years and 3 months, the younger is 2 years and 4 months."

TWO BOYS!!!

I needed to call Alex before anyone else, of course. I called the cell. One ring, then nothing. I did this about 10 times, no exaggeration. "Here is where Mercury will have its way with me," I thought. I'm not going to stop until I get a ring and an answer of some sort. Finally, I get one ring, long silence, then the message telling me to leave a message. "Papa C, call me as soon as you get this."

Meanwhile I try to eat supper and play with the dog without jumping out of my skin. Chauncey realizes something is up and takes every toy out of his toy bowl, realizing I finally have as much energy as he has.

Phone rings, it's Alex. "What's up?"

He obviously didn't notice the "Papa C" prelude to my message, so I have to think fast.

"You're a Daddy!"

Strange, primeval sounds are emitted -- half-way between a shout and a shriek. Alex is not much of a shrieker, so I am little alarmed. But I soldier on and tell him all about the boys, as much as I know. Meanwhile, he tries to cross the street without getting hit by a bus, the method by which he is sure he will meet his end, as he has told me on numerous occasions.

We say how much we love one another, how we can't wait until tomorrow when we can see one another. He says how relieved he is that the boys have one another. Finally, I cry.

Mom and Dad, of couse, are not home, nor are they answering their cell phone. Eventually I reach one of my friends, and I can further exhale the breath that is expanding within me. More friends are called, I reach Mom and Dad, and I am totally exhausted.

That is where you find me now. I find the whole thing too large to fully comprehend, not to mention to describe. Below are some pictures I took at sunset before I had tea with my neighbor, before I got the news. When I was driving home, the tips of all of the bare trees were tinged with the most ethereal pink I had ever seen. I grabbed the camera for my "walk" with Chauncey and snapped a bunch of pictures from my neighbor's field. They will never capture the aching beauty I saw -- pictures of skies seldom do. The painful beauty I saw seems to match the way I feel inside about the boys. The colors of that late February sunset describe better than I can the simultaneous joy and sadness of this whole experience.

christmas is over

So I undecorated our Christmas tree the other day. Yeah, I know, it's late February. We don't get evergreens for Christmas, mostly because we have always lived in small spaces, and making room for a tree is difficult. Instead we decorate our ficus tree. We had a Norfolk pine tree in a pot that we would decorate, too, but a friend is babysitting it for us until we get larger digs. Unless it dies. Which it sounds like it is on its way towards. This friend very kindly got us another, smaller Norfolk because of the impending death of the former pine tree.

I know that this may sound lame, but I felt like I had accomplished something when I removed the ornaments and the lights. I didn't have the heart to do it in January. January needs a boost around here, so the lights and ornaments stayed. The naked ficus looks like a regular old plant again, it has a more spring-like air, and we are ready to move on to March and said spring.

In other news, my attempts to meditate have been pretty good. I've been a little lazy and have been doing it lying down, rather than sitting up. I've got to work on that. I'm more alert when I'm upright. Though I'm more relaxed and meditative lying down. The work is bringing that relaxation to my body as it sits up.

Quilting is going much better than I thought. I'm working on a Picasso quilt that will be a wall hanging. Picasso did a bunch of sketches promoting the peace movement -- spanning several years, I believe. One of them stuck with me. The colors and imagery are simple, but manage to accomplish the complicated expression of peace, brotherhood, all that stuff we hope for every day. I decided I would like to try to recreate it with fabric, so I could look at it whenever I wanted. I'm using similar colors, but I'm using patterned fabric, too, not just flat colors. the applique is going more smoothly than I thought, so I'm pleased so far. I'm not going to post pictures yet. I'll wait until it's closer to finished and also post Picasso's drawing, so you can see the inspiration.

In adoption news, we are still awaiting updated paperwork from the USCIS. Since we decided to adopt siblings, we needed to ask the CIS to "reopen" our case, which meant we had to pay them more money and get an updated homestudy. Our social worker did her part in record time, the office sent it off for us as soon as they got it, which was January 24th. So we've been waiting about 3 weeks or so. The last time we awaited CIS approval it only took 12 days, so I'm a bit bummed. It seems impossible to check on the status of our case, because we don't have a case number, the money was sent as a money order, so it won't show up as a check being cashed from my account, and there doesn't seem to be a way to reach a person when you call the toll-free number. We're left with the unknowing waiting that is the hallmark of the adoption process. Since Mercury is retrograde, I don't expect to hear anything until after the first week in March, which makes it more bearable. I know, sounds ridiculous, but anything that makes waiting easier is good.

It has been around 40 degrees the last two days -- it feels positively balmy! I could actually smell the earth when I went outside. Thanks to the sinus surgery, my sense of smell is back. I can't tell you how wonderful that is, unless you've experienced it yourself. Smell affects so much in one's life. How your food tastes, being able to smell your loved one's hair when you hug him, figuring out if your dog needs a bath (not yet), realizing that you're burning the pancakes -- the list goes on and on. This may sound weird, but I cannot wait to experience Ethiopia's smells. Like most places, I'm sure there will be the good, the bad and the ugly, but will all be a part of the experience of being where our children come from, and that means the world to me. And smell has so much impact on one's memory.

Speaking of my nose, it's healing pretty well, but unfortunately I have an infection that seems to have gone into my right (cursed) ear. My ENT was pretty bummed, as was I, especially since I had been feeling good until last Friday. Then I started feeling tired and headachy, and well, infected. He confirmed this by probing my proboscis with that crazy scope thing he sticks up my nose (lovely, I know), and did a culture. We changed antibiotics, and I am saline-rinsing my nose like it's the latest craze. It helps a lot. Part of the problem was that I started work last week, and I went from cleaning my nose 6 times a day to only 3 times a day. It's tough doing it at work, since I was teaching/touring with kids, and never seem to sit still for very long. Not to mention sneaking around with my salt water and the bulbous rubber irrigator.

The doctor got tough with me, told me I needed to take more time off and attend to the sinuses. I worked Tuesday, took today and tomorrow off, and will work Friday. Then another 3 days to rinse and rest, and hopefully things will look better. I feel better, that's for sure. I don't want to gross you out with too many details, but the scabbing inside my nose is pretty irritating. Itchy and scratchy. Please send positive vibes to my nose. Now that it can smell, I think it will pick up on them more easily.

My eating has been good, too, btw. I have not bought any cookies or muffins in over a week. Bought a bag of tangerines and apples, too, to satisfy my sweet tooth. I did allow myself a smidge of super dark chocolate, but only a smidge. Speaking of which, OMG, have you ever tried Gr@@n and Bl@ck's organic dark chocolate? Try the Hazelnut and currant bar, it is everything that is right in the world.

haiku -- spicy fibs

This week's haiku prompt is pretty cool, and one I've never seen before. It's based on the Fibonacci series. The syllables must be 1/1/2/3/5/8. Go and see some other haiku fibs over here.

White
dove
centered
on my quilt.
What would Picasso
say about my attempts to fly?

Cold
nose,
fuzzy
boy we love.
Stares up in suspense
at your head -- JUMPS! Hat in dog's mouth.

Door
slides
open.
I smell spring.
February's end
feels more like April's beginning.

"extreme" navel-gazing

I've had a lot of trouble keeping control of my emotions lately. That sentence itself is likely the problem. Reining in my anger, excitement, or even joy, doesn't work. I don't think it's what one should try to do, anyway. When I was in high school, and then in college, I imagined that being artistic meant I had to feel extremes of emotion. That's what the stereotype says, anyway. Maybe I've gotten something from my extremes -- some good break-up stories. However, it is not something that I can sustain. I realize now that I am high-strung and burn out quickly. I need more than kindling -- I require a fallen oak tree, or maybe even a redwood. Something that will burn more steadily.

I've intuitively known this, on some level, for a while now. The first conversation I remember having about it, or at least the first time in my life I remember thinking about it, was during college. I was told on more than one occasion that I needed to have more opinions, that I needed to speak up more and be more "extreme." I think I may present to the general public a more serene facade than I actually feel. Little did these people realize the sturm and drang raging in my self-conscious little soul! I was already thinking about Buddhism at that point, though I don't remember how I discovered it. I defended my way at the time as being like Buddha's "middle way," towards neither extreme. I didn't fully understand it then, and I certainly was not on that path. I'm only now beginning to realize what it means for me on a day-to-day basis.

On a practical level, it means that I want to accomplish some tasks. I would like to finish at least two quilts by the end of March. It's doable, though it will be a push. I want to meditate once a day for at least 20 minutes at a stretch. I want to substitute sweet, bready products with fruit and veggies. The first task is one that I wish to do because I know once we have kids, the quilting will go on a very long hiatus. The second is an activity I want to have established now, before our lives change. The third is practical, healthy, and really quite necessary for me of the chronic auto-immune "gift." I just feel better when I eat better. Not really earth-shattering news, but easier than it sounds.

The middle one, meditation, is the one that I am finding the hardest to accomplish. Thinking about it makes me happy. Like when you think about exercising, and then you feel like you just went for a jog. Once I sit, and start to count my breaths, or concentrate on something, like a vase of flowers or other lovely thing, it makes sense and I say, "Yes! This is it! Why don't I do this more often?"

I was just reading an article on meditation. In it, an Indian yogi describes four benefits of meditation. The first one is a lessening of suffering, both physical and emotional. The next is translated as transcendent knowledge, but he describes it in a way I recognize -- as a flash of clarity or wisdom. Like lightening. A moment of brightness that disappears instantaneously. But you always remember it and its impact. The last two benefits are extraordinary powers (which I don't even attempt to think I could master), and the last is realization of the highest truth (see previous parenthetical aside).

The first two are benefits I would appreciate and imagine I could achieve. The transcendent knowledge one I find especially motivating, because I have had tiny, ephemeral insights or flashes of light. I'd guess everyone has, at one time or another. Some of mine have been more supernatural-feeling than others, but they are the things that give me faith that I might be heading in the right direction. It reminds me of a toast my uncle gave at our wedding. He was describing experiencing love, quoting someone else, I forget who. But he said it was like getting a "glimpse of God." If you feel uncomfortable with the word "God," feel free to substitute with something more appropriate for you. No matter how you put it, these glimpses are short and sweet. And they always seem to occur when you least expect it. Maybe when you're making sandwiches for your kids, or feeling the sun warm you on a cold day.

Last week, I sat and meditated for about 20 minutes or so. I was taught by a Zen monk to bow afterwards, with my hands in a prayer position. If you are in a zendo with other sitters, you are acknowledging them and their Buddha natures, the Buddha him/herself, and even the cushion which supported you while you were sitting. There is a lot of bowing with Zen practice. Anyway, I was sitting on my cushion on my bed, I had been staring at my comforter the whole time (in Zen practice you sit with your eyes open, to be more "present."). I decided I was done, put my hands together, and bowed -- to my comforter, I guess. The feeling I experienced as I bowed was one of unexpected contentment and warmth. It was goodness and love and appreciation, and I didn't even know I was feeling any of those things.

It came just like that, and then it was gone. But the memory of that feeling fed me all day. The fact that I can access it still makes me realize how important the experience was. Tomorrow I will sit when I awaken. I'll give myself 15 minutes, because I don't want to push it. The chance that I will feel as good as I did last week is very slim. In fact, I might feel worse afterwards.

I just know that before long, when we are referred two children, my mind will be racing around like my neighbor's Jack Russell, growling and wagging its tail maniacally. When a family of four becomes a reality, there won't be time for my navel-gazing. I'll have to make better use of the time I have, and I'll have to be present in much more extreme circumstances.

Before I go, I also want to thank Joybucket for turning me onto the writer Anne Lamott. I couldn't get Traveling Mercies, so I read Plan B -- Further Thoughts on Faith. I can't recommend her more. She is an irreverent and funny spiritual person who helps you realize you are not a bad person for being human. She is painfully aware of her own humanity, and everyone else's, which makes for some beautiful writing. And she has got me thinking, and that's not such a bad thing.

Friday poem

Talking to Grief

Ah, Grief, I should not treat you
like a homeless dog
who comes to the back door
for a crust, for a meatless bone.
I should trust you.

I should coax you
into the house and give you
your own corner,
a worn mat to lie on,
your own water dish.

You think I don't know you've been living
under my porch.
You long for your real place to be readied
before winter comes. You need
your name,
your collar and tag. You need
the right to warn off intruders,
to consider
my house your own
and me your person
and yourself
my own dog.

Denise Levertov

Chinese dancer

Female Dancer, Western Han dynasty (206 B.C.–A.D. 9), 2nd century B.C.
China
Earthenware with slip and pigments; H. 21 in. (53.3 cm)
Metropolitan Museum of Art

This is one of my favorite pieces at the MMA. I'm afraid it doesn't translate as well over the web as it does in person, but that is one of the hard things about looking at art (especially sculpture) in reproduction. She is an elegant figure, and though she is small, she is comprised of large, simple shapes which somehow combine to create a graceful pose. She is a dancer, and would have been one of many other figures placed in the tomb of a person most likely of high social standing and wealth. Not unlike the ancient Egyptians, ancient Chinese funerary customs centered on the belief and hope for an afterlife where one would need the same things one needed during life. Items could include attendants, entertainers, pets, and ceremonial vessels for food and drink. This person obviously wanted his afterlife to include a retinue of dancers like this one to entertain him in the afterlife.

This figure is made of clay, like many of the objects would be, although there could be items made of bronze and jade, too.

When I look at images of people "moving," like this dancer would be, I usually ask kids to try to imitate the pose. What's especially interesting about this dancer is her dress, with the long, wide sleeves. You could turn it into a movement experience by dressing your child (and you!) in a sheet or large cloak and trying to dance like the dancer in the sculpture.

For older children, trying to draw the figure by focusing on the large shapes within it is a fun exercise. You can also look at artworks of other dancers from other cultures and compare, or watch an actual dance. Watching a traditional Chinese dance routine would be the ultimate, I'd guess.

Gung hai fat choi! And a special New Year's greeting to those born in the year of the pig/boar. I always thought my brother was a pig, but it turns out he is a dog, since he was born in early January of 1971. He may still think he is a pig.

I hope everyone celebrating CNY has a great time together with their families and friends, hopefully eating loads of yummy food.

Mercury, you mischievous planet, you!

Mercury is SO retrograde! I have been trying all evening (well, just earlier tonight and right now) to upload photos, to no avail. I have a shirt for V-day I made a few years ago I wanted to show you, and it would work with the theme "heart" for Get Your Craft On. You may have to wait, I am so sorry.

Back to Mercury. I am not an astrologer, just an astrology fan, but I do always make it my business to know when the planet Mercury is retrograde. It impacts so much of daily life, being aware helps me not to expect too much. This time, Mercury is retrograde from February 13 - March 7th, give or take 3-5 days on either end.

When Mercury is retrograde, its orbit appears to reverse in space. It isn't really, it just appears to be. Why, I dont' really understand, but I do know that when it happens (every 3 months or so, and lasts for @3weeks), all sorts of things associated with the planet Mercury go haywire. Any form of communication (phone, computer, conversation), travel, and electrical devices. Your computer will start behaving badly. If you schedule something during this time, don't expect it to start on time. Expect misunderstandings and miscommunications. Your car might not start. As an example, we had a couple school buses break down over two days, canceling one field trip and delaying the return of another school group. The computers at work had difficulty reading a query, requiring us to reschedule a big mailing we had scheduled.

In my experience, it isn't ever anything terrible, just very inconvenient. You usually end up having to do things more than once, or things take longer than they should.

There are good things associated with Mercury being retrograde, however. If you are traveling somewhere you've been before, that will probably work out well. If you work on a project started in the past, that's a good bet, too. Basically going back to something started in the past has a good chance of being successful. Another example is from an acquaintance of mine. This past weekend, out of the blue, a guy from her high school years called her up to say hi and reconnect. This would be a good time to revisit an old relationship, it could be really successful (we'll see how it works out...)

So that's my version of Mercury Retrograde 101. If you're interested in a good generic on-line and free horoscope, I like astrologyzone.com. Not bad for a generic monthly reading. Not as good as a reading done specifically for you, but it talks about things like Mercury retrograde, and it's fun.

I will try to upload the photos again. Probably to no avail. Remember, back up your computer, check your gas gauge, double-check your emails, and call an old friend! Pick up that novel you started a few years ago, too, it might become rejuvenated...

Horace Pippin

If you haven't already, check out cloudscome at a wrung sponge. She is a school librarian who's compiled a vast list of great books for kids. She is also an adoptive mom with 2 AA children. Many of the books feature characters of African descent. This week she highlights a few books in honor of Chinese New Year. There are folktales, arts and cooking books, and stories about kids in China.

One of the reasons why I'm mentioning her, besides that I think she is a great resource, is that she has inspired me to feature visual art/artists here and talk about ways to look at art with your kids. It's my love, so I figure, why not? I'll try to include simple projects when I think of them, too. Looking at art with kids is a wonderful way to spend time together, to get talking about not only what the picture/sculpture looks like, but how it might sound, how the people/animals in the image might be feeling, how that apple might taste, if it's warm or cold. Three years old is a great time to start looking at art with kids, to discuss colors, shapes, numbers of things, emotions, you name it. As the child matures, your conversations about the art will, too.

I've also found that it helps to sit a child(ren) in front of a piece of art, and then not say anything for at least 30 seconds. Just look. Encourage them to look up and down, left and right, or walk around it, if it's a sculpture. When the wait time is up, if you feel moved, start asking questions. The simplest question "what do you see?" is a great way to begin. It will move naturally into a discussion directed by your child, facilitated by you. And you probably won't be surprised that they will notice things that you don't, which always makes me, the teacher, so very happy. If you're able to go to an art museum, great! If not, looking at books or other forms of reproduction is good, too.

Today, in honor of Black History Month, and the fact that it's almost his birthday, I'm going to start with Horace Pippin. Pippin was born February 22, 1888. He was a self-taught African-American artist who fought in WWI, where he was injured and received a French Croix de Guerre. His right arm was severely crippled from the injury (he was right-handed), but he would prop up and guide his arm in order to oil paint and to do burnt wood panels. Pippin painted about war and social injustice, as well as doing some wonderful interiors, history scenes and biblical works. In the late 30's he was represented by a gallery in PA, and became more widely known. Pippin died in 1946. I found this saying of his about fighting in WWI: "I did not care what or where I went at. I asked God to help me, and he did so. And that is the way I came through that terrible and Hellish place. For the whole entire battlfield was hell, so it was no place for any human being to be."- Horace Pippin.

Top: Horace Pippin, Self portrait, 1944, Metropolitan Museum of Art (MMA)

Lower left: John Brown Going to his Hanging, 1942, PA Academy of the Fine Arts, Phil.

Right: Holy Mountain III, 1945, The Hirshorn Museum

Bottom: Victorian Interior, 1940's, MMA

Project ideas:

Depending on how old your child is, a simple drawing of your own living room interior would be a fun project, or a self-portrait. If your child hasn't acquired the fine motor skills yet with which to draw specific objects, you can cut objects out of a catalog for your child (lamps, tables, flowers) and she can glue them onto paper in her own composition.

Another idea is to look at Holy Mountain III and notice that animals are existing side by side that are not usually seen together -- the lion and the lamb, e.g. It might be fun to think of two other animals that might not be seen together peacefully -- maybe a cat and a mouse? This could be a drawing, collage, or just a list you make up together.

Obviously, if you come up with your own project idea, run with it!

Luck

.

Luck
Langston Hughes

Sometimes a crumb falls
From the tables of joy,
Sometimes a bone
Is flung.
To some people
Love is given,
To others
Only heaven.

I hadn't read any Langston Hughes in a while, until I found this poem in a college address given by Billy Collins. Collins said he wished he had written it.

I had written a longer post including a random memory about Langston Hughes' poetry, but then I lost it due to some computer and human (me) malfunctioning. Suffice it to say that I caught the flu and am in the slow-witted recovery phase where I have to do things at least twice in order to accomplish the simplest tasks.

Right now Beckmann is at the laundromat, braving the bitter cold so that we can wear clean underwear again. He is a great, great husband.

* the image above is by Romare Bearden, from 1969. It's called The Woodshed and is a collage made from cut and pasted paper, cloth and pencil on Masonite. It measures @40x50" and lives at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

My Painted House, my Friendly Chicken, and Me

I was at the library a few weeks ago, looking for children's books about Ethiopia, when I found My Painted House, My Friendly Chicken, and Me. The book is written by Maya Angelou and the photos are by Margaret Courtney-Clarke. It doesn't take place in Ethiopia, but in a Ndebele village in South Africa.

The first thing that struck me were the deeply saturated colors of the photographs. They feature many images of the painted houses in which the Ndebele people live, which are wonderful. The text is likewise joyfully colored, varying in size and sometimes font depending on what the character is saying. Sometimes I found the text a little hard to follow, because it goes from one page to the next and then back again, changing colors and lines. But it made me slow down and study the pictures more, so that is a good thing. If a child is just learning to read, it may be a challenge for them to follow the words in the typical way.

The main character is Thandi, a little girl from this Ndebele village. Thandi introduces herself to us, tells us about her village, her family, school and of course, her chicken. It is a great way for kids to learn about a culture that is different from their own, while at the same time noticing the things we have in common -- perhaps, for example, a pesky younger sibling.

I'm going to use it in one of my classes, though I still need to figure out for which lesson and how to tie it into an art project. Thandi's father built her a little house of her own which is painted. Maybe we could glue small pieces of wood together to form a house and then paint it with our own images when the glue is set.

I'll let you know if I do it, and I'll try to include pictures.