same as it ever was, same as it ever was

Mom,

Another year inches towards mother’s day, and you know what? I feel ready. Ok, maybe not ready, but settled in. You have been gone now for 12 years. As of Monday, we will have known that fact for 6 years. I don’t know if it was because 2010 was the year of loss (your mom, my dad) but I think I finally get it.

Everyone dies. I am not alone in my grief. I am not unique or special in this way AT ALL.

Some of my most strong memories were as a kid, ’round about the age I got social—maybe 4th grade or so—you used to tell me I was such a drama queen (oh if you only knew). You used to tell me I made such a big production out of the smallest things. I thought I was the only one who had endured my pain: my very specific hurts and heartaches. You know what mom? I WAS the only one. And also, you were right. It did not make me any more special or give me any more reason to be given attention. What I never learned, until recently I guess, is that like Michael Stipe says “everybody hurts, sometimes.” No no no, I’m not alone.

I am sorry you aren’t around to see me finally learn what you tried to impart all those years ago. But don’t worry, I still attribute you for these lessons. I always will. I love you, and miss you more than I can possibly say.

betwixt & between

[deep breath]

*s  t  r  e  t  c  h*

You know that space—the one between right and wrong, between asleep and awake?

Well today I pray the Lord will not “my soul to keep”
but  keep me there, in that space.
Confusing, fuzzy, marked with only hints and allegations of
knowing. KNOWING. “knowing” … knowing?

My friends Elissa and Gretchen call this space betwixt & between,
Liminality. I love these friends—oh, ooo, ooo, ooo.
That feeling, YES, lets stay there for a while shall we?
I don’t want to open my eyes yet.

This morning there are new birds in the yard who are singing a song I’ve not heard yet this year.
The tulips are pressing their way above ground.
The cast of characters in my dreams had some wisdom to impart and I am trying like hell to hang on to their hand as I walk towards today.
Sweetie teeters ever towards another year older
and wiser, and more beautifuler. Yes, beautifuler.

Yes, I agree world, today is new, different, forever changed.
But it is so for these reasons, these things I will dwell on.
Call me an ostrich if you must, but I am happy here
betwixt & between.

whats so holy about this week?

Holy week, 2011.

Started with two days off, in a row. 15 minutes of StarTrib fame and then settling into song with my people at the Porch, my faith home from which I have been miss-connected this holy season.

Monday, a connection to a former love from a former life. Funny thing that—remembering, looking back. I have come SO far since those days. Oh, the early 20s—knowing too much and nothing—cocky and headstrong, hiding behind sharp ultimatums that never actualize.

Tuesday: a burst of energy. Wednesday: why don’t Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday in Holy Week get fancy names and titles? I digress.

Thursday brings a dirty heart along with its dirty feet. Wish I could find a heart washing joint, mines full of a lifes worth of muck and ache. Facebook offers images and stories of foot washing; am I the only one with this stinky bloody thing? I just keep on, keepin’ on, smiling at the sweeties, scanning the room, go one more time ’round the restaurant floor, picking up the half sucked goldfish crackers. I can smell the dirty feet down there, but who can smell my dirty heart?

Friday is called Good. Blood, sweat and tears good. Jesus is dead and truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit good. And so it is. You see, Monday gives way to Friday; a history lesson of which time and witness are the necessary tools for examination.

Time because what used to be a week of waiting by the corded clunky yellow ding-a-ling-a-ling ring, has now reduced itself to 20 minutes and a healthy dose of who does this ass think I am that he can waste MY time? And witness—I’ve got one and her name is Goose, wind, ruach elohim, breath. (She also goes by Colleen, Amy, Gareth and Karen.) Oh my beloved Karen, who sees me for who I was and who I am, and knows that both are ok—actually they are whole, holy and broken.

Today they tell me God is dead. Its Saturday and while Jesus descended to the dead, so too shall I. Monday, Nick, you-know-who (who-shall-not-be-named), failing grades, angels, demons, dreams yet not fulfilled, heights and depths you are on notice. YOU will not have the last word.

Tomorrow is Easter.

the best granola in the universe (also known as breakfast crack)

Just so you know, this recipe is not mine entirely. It comes from my nutrition super smarty pants and BFF Colleen. Anywho, so here is MY version of her granola. I do tend to futz with it a lot, so feel free to embellish and make it YOUR granola recipe.

Maple Flax granola
¼ C flax seeds
3 C organic rolled oats
3 C Organic Millet Puffs
(or you could go with just 6 cups of oats)
2 C roughly chopped organic almonds
1 C raw (green) pumpkin seeds
½ C raw sunflower seeds
¾ C coconut oil
½ C pure maple syrup
¼ C honey
2 C organic dried fruit mix to taste – I use dried blues and cherries. You could also use raisins, golden raisins, dried cranberries, chopped apricots, mangoes.

if desired: ¼ C crystallized ginger, finely chopped
1 C raw shredded coconut

Preheat oven to 350 degrees
In a large bowl (seriously, it needs to be big) stir flax seeds together with oats, almonds, pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, and oil. Then stir in the maple syrup and honey.

Spread mixture evenly in 2 large shallow baking pans (1 inch deep). You may want to line the pan with parchment. Currently I put mine in a 2″ deep roasting pan, it works as well too, but you need to do some stirring mid-baking.

Bake in upper and lower thirds of oven, stirring and switching position of pans halfway through baking, until golden brown, about 30 minutes total.

In the last 5 minutes of baking I stir in the fruit and coconut. For the love of yummy granola do not bake these fragile bits longer. Burnt fruit sucks and ruins this granola bliss.

Cool completely on parchment paper on your counter.

Viola’! Crack.

Seriously, I love the granola so much I would totally marry it if I could.

a moon, a mom and springing forward

Tonight the moon will be super, tomorrow my mom would have turned 66. Spring has come, another season on the horizon, marking time. All of this—and my body is screaming, feeling something that I keep typing and deleting and typing and deleting (and so on).

I am having a day where words fail, then flood, then fail again. In order to just get them out (they are dragging their tin cup along my heart cage) I will just let them loose. Like the wise Yusuf (formerly Cat) sings

Oh I can’t keep it in,
I can’t keep it in, I’ve gotta let it out.

I miss you mom. I need you. Right here (taptaptap) on the sofa beside me. Count my freckles, stroke my hair. Tell me how much you love me and remind me that I matter.

I miss you dad. I don’t want to do all this now. Questions questions questions, and no one here to answer—or at least tell me what I hoped I would always hear from you, but never did. Why didn’t you put down on paper when you left what you wanted your legacy to be? You left and I am faced with the same damn truth as when you were here—and it hurts.

Full moon with your light so bright, your pull so fierce—can’t you leave me alone … please? No? Well, capitol F Fuck.

Then Lord hear my prayer and come Holy Spirit come. Drag my heart along through whatever and wherever it needs to go. Give me courage to be weak, give me patience to be kind. Send your angels and pray that I might see their feathers upon approach.