Realisa

I found a new singer, Josh Pyke.

I have been quite enamored by Clare Bowditch, an Australian singer. I read an interview with her in a book called The Divided Heart. It is a collection of interviews with women who are both artists and mothers. Her insights into the balance and tug-o-war between the call to devote herself to her music and her children was a very familiar lamentation. I am not an artist, but I have a passion what I do. Being a physician is not comparable to the angst of an artist that lives with a creation dwelling inside their brain and inhabiting their heart. But, I understand the pull to be mother and healer. This new singer is also Australian….and I am again, enamored.

Over the course of a life, bonds are formed. The nature of human existence is to aggregate and form social structures. It was the horrifying thing about being stranded on a remote, postage stamp island. A tattered volleyball can never replace the organic presence of another living soul. Even pets cannot fill the space that is designed for human occupancy. We seek and desire connections. To be known and seen and recognized is the deepest most fundamental component.

Time passes and people, like grains of sand, can slip away, lost to the sea of multitudes. Time can wither and fade so much and the connections we once felt to others becomes brittle or threadbare or merely evaporates. How can one reconcile that loss? Moreover, why is it that out of the blue, like the toll of a distant bell, are we reminded of someone from long ago? How can a memory be so fresh and so palpable? It is as if they sit beside us and speak in that whispered voice, they laugh with abandon, their face is illuminated with joy and their scent pervades. Oh, to have a looking glass so as to scry into the life of one long ago lost and be assured that they are well, happy, content, healthy and bound to others in a fulfilling way. I want most of all to know that those I once loved are now loved by others, that they are connected and known. Did they find their niche like the verdant moss that thrives in the cracks and crags despite rocky soil or limited sun? I wish to know that those I still hold dear in my heart are well.

It is not a desire for reconnection but more like a roll call. I can quiet my heart just knowing that they are well and good in this world. It feels selfish and intrusive to bound into another’s world simply for reassurance. Faith is such that we trust the universe to provide.

For my whole life, I have always had a pet, with the exception of a failed attempt with a hamster in Letts Hall. Except for college, I have always had a cat. When I moved last August, I could not bring my “boyfriend” with me. Gumbo, a monster orange tabby, was a beast of a cat with a strong affinity for me but who was accustom to the predatory outdoor life. He could not adjust to “garden home” living, which means locked indoors. Personally, I think cats should be free range but rules are rules. So, boyfriend went back to his other home and I have lives sans cat.

Until yesterday.

Craig’s list is a wonderful thing. Free cats. No forms. No background checks and pledges of perpetual PETA membership. We now have 2 TINY kittens.

Dagney Taggert is the grey tabby and Caprica 6 is the tortoiseshell. We’re pretty certain they are both females, but, honestly, their “parts” and “bits” are very small and ambiguous. We have back-up names: Hank Riordan or Admiral Adama.

Google or Bing “natural consequences” and you hit a lengthy discourse on the appropriate application of “natural consequences” in parenting and teaching. If Johnny refuses to eat the dinner you cook, then Johnny will go hungry. If Mary refuses to study for the test or complete her homework, she may fail the class. It is difficult as a parent to avoid interfering with your child’s choices. They have to make their own decisions and learn their choices have impact. These are the training wheels that ramp up to adulthood. Drink and drive and risk D.U.I. Work, get paid and then spend your entire check on Jimmy Choo shoes or a lovely Louis Vuitton handbag and you risk eviction from your apartment. Allowing natural consequences to unfold is painful to watch, exasperating to endure, especially if the outcome is harsh and could have been avoided.Make stupi, bonehead choices a few times and most people learn from their poor choices. We are all rats in a Skinner box at some point.

Adulthood, nay maturity, means that you anticipate the natural consequences of your actions and choices and foresee that the likely and expected outcome is beneficial. If we project that the outcome is NOT as desired, we adjust our actions, trying to optimize outcome or minimize damage. Only a magical thinker who believes consequences are suspended by some fluke of nature can claim surprise. Who can be shocked that their power gets turned off if they don’t pay the utility bill?  Mean power plant!

But, humans have an stunning ability to live in a perpetual state of denial. Like everyone’s cantankerous Uncle Junior, who gripes over the potato salad at the family reunion, “I couldn’t believe it! I mean, can you believe I have lung cancer?!” What? There is a direct natural consequence from smoking tobacco! Whodathunk!

Life is not a Zen exercise. 1 + 1 = 2. Eat 5000 calories a day = get fat. Never brush teeth = get cavities. Fall asleep on the job = get fired. Fall asleep at the wheel = crash or worse. We may want someone else to take the burden and responsibility. We want the super, sneaky, hidden escape hatch that gets us off the hook. Let someone else take the hit. The simple truth is that if you get caught with dope in your pocket or someone else’s prescription medication in your purse…..it is your own damn fault. If you ignite bottle rockets and firecrackers after a long afternoon of drinking and BBQing, don’t be shocked when someone gets burned or injured. It is unfortunate. It could have been avoided. But is IS the natural consequences of things. So stop whining and take your lumps!

Henry Miller said,

“Develop interest in life as you see it; in people, things, literature and music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people.”

The world is a spectacular place. My world, albiet, this sweltering middle patch of north central Florida,is lovely. So many of the places I have lived geographically, have been stunning. The tidal marsh along the margins of Charleston harbor outpaces all other landscapes in my heart. To appreciate the beauty around us, we must pause. We must be still. Stillness does not require being stationary. Riding the train between Rome and Florence, the Tuscan countryside was amazing. Riding a bicycle along a nature trail allows one to see the birds and flora. Sometimes, walking on a treadmill in a hotel spa allows a mind to recall places or people that have passed through our lives leaving a remnant of their brillance. Like grains of sand through an hourglass, some beauty is fleeting and can never be regained. Such is the beauty of youth or the the freshness of a newborn baby, all pink and pudgy. There is beauty in movement, the grace of a dancer, the golfer teeing off, that sweet fall away jumper just outside the three point line, the impulsive cartwheel of a child racing across a playground.

Time and age somehow dampens or mutes the beauty. I know I certainly forget to be still. I forget to pause and listen. I endeavor each day to smell the meal I prepare for my nourishment. I want to feel. To feel is both a tactile experience as well as an emotive process. I want to feel my life. I want to breathe and sense the force of life pass in and out of this body. I want to move, occupying my space and expanding fully into myself. Time can be slowed. And beauty simply needs an invitation to return and take residence in my heart.

Driving to an appointment tonight, I got to thinking about comfort food and all its various permutations over the years. In college it was Popeye’s fried chicken and biscuits and Haagen Daaz ice cream. As teens, we ate Drake Cake’s Ring Dings. When I was pregnant with Cameron it was old fashioned spaghetti with meat made from the Betty Crocker cookbook recipe. We called it jail spaghetti because I was moonlighting at the jail. I ate alot of “white” foods when I was pregnant with Cameron: potatoes, rice, macaroni. With Evan it was Falafel King and lots of garlic. Growing up, my sisters and I made ALOT of chocolate chip cookies. ALOT is an understatement. We each have modified and adapted the “family” recipe to best suit our families. One sister make them spread in a jelly roll pan and uses butter. The other has taught her 15 year old son to make the batch sans nuts. I make my dough and freeze it in drops to be used later. I debated stopping for a pint of Ben&Jerry’s NY Super Fudge Chunk this evening. Odd, as I am not an ice cream eater. Instead, I ate my all time staple….cereal. Chex Corn cereal.

Today we ponder and give thanks for fathers. Fathering a child and being a father encompasses so much. To offer yourself so as to conceive a child and to do it mindfully and with love and intention is lovely and noble, but not all children are fortunate to be so well-planned and expected. To wait expectantly as your partner’s body changes, knowing that within her another separate and autonomous person lives, feels, thinks and will one day KNOW you. To watch as that child comes forth into this realm, fresh with life and finally unconnected from its mother’s life force. It has a force of its own. To shelter and shield and guard and nurture and guide a child is the hardest and most complicated part of parenting. A father has a particular place that is truly unique from a mother’s. Every child senses the place in their heart for MOTHER and for FATHER. They are unique and different. As a father, to watch a child evolve and grow, to watch them explore their world and eventually venture forth. Ultimately, to have your child leave the safety of the home and conquer their own road is a mark of success. When you get parenting right, your children leave and make their own lives.

I love my father. He was a cool daddy, larger than life to me when I was small. Each of his children desired him and wanted always to please and make him proud. His hope for his girls was that we be healthy and independent. Of this he was successful. We are each successful in our own individual ways and also each content with our paths. Having a strong and determined father set a wonderful example. Be strong. Be brave. Have faith that effort has its rewards. I am so much of who I am because of the man that is my father. For this I am truly and humble thankful.

Happy Father’s Day.

Whether you get a true glimpse of the innards Elvis Perkins in the NPR interview he did prior to the SXSW  music festival…or simply a glimpse of a genuine soul shining bright, his music blazes for all to see the love and sorrow and gratitude he has for his origins. How to take loss and grief and make it something hearty and tangible, worthy of being carried around in your breast pocket, close to your heart. I felt as if I could see this man thinking AND feeling through his music. I was casually looking through a magazine, listening, when the word PURVEYOR climbs off the page into my line of sight. He is a purveyor of something real, something true. I will add his voice to those in my head.

Realisa started as an effort to find a place to better express myself, a place to find my voice. Did I have anything relevant to say?have I said anything effective? It was easy to find the rant. I have a quick tongue for sarcasm and criticism. I can find the bleak perspective easily. I disliked these parts of my nature. I believe people can change; it is the beauty of free will. But in trying to be optimistic and positive and uplifting, am I being authentic?Is it wrong to filter or edit away the editorialization? I am lightening fast with the biting remark, but I know that the slash can cut. I hear the parent saying, “It you can’t say something nice, then don’t say anything at all.” So, I hold my tongue. I fold the rapid fire sarcasm back on itself and find the niceitudes. But….somedays…I feel like a Polly Anna.

I want to gore somethings I see.  I want to skewer the dumbass behavior. I want to tape a “kick me” sign on the back of that idiot fool. And somewhere in that lambasting I find salve. It calms the raging voice in my head. How does one tolerate the blockhead? This tendency IS also a part of me, part of my true self. It is part of my charm according to Mr. Feinberg.

Find the good. Be kind. Seek something….anything….affirming. Otherwise, learn to be silent, it nothing else.

I listened to this piece on NPR back in March about compliments. It was lovely and admirable. Speaking kind words is generous. In the audible words, those that hear can be lifted up. THINKING kind thoughts makes the internal landscape of my mind a healthier more loving place. Love cannot bloom in a dark, acidic, cramped place. It prefers fresh air, space to bloom, nurturing and proper nutrition. I want to be loving. When I can’t be….I will be silent. And this can explain the time lapses between my posts. I shall endeavor to find the positive and speak it in this space. If for no other reason than to clear our my own mind and the clutter that has acculmulated over these past many months.

Love abundantly. Be kind. Share.

Everyday, I forget to notice the magic in my world. I look at the coreopsis blooming at my front door and am pleased with their color and whimsy, but I overlook the sheer magical, almost supernatural abilities of plants. Life and all things living have that All Spark, that life force that perpetuates and thrums with energy. It is wonderous to look upon.

Today something even more spectacular and  magical happened. We had a serious hail storm. I was standing in my kitchen stirring a bubbling blueberry slurry, waiting for the proper time to add the astonishing amount of sugar when I heard, ting, ting, ting, tingtingting. And the rap, rap, rap, rap in a syncopated rhythm on the roof, the siding and the windows. It was lightening and thundering all around us and the rain was so fierce, it blotted out the road and stand of trees behind my house completely. The rain drove onto my back porch at a 45 degree angle and depositing hailstones the size of Concord grapes on the back door mat. Some of the hail looked like albino Willy Wonka Everlasting Gobstoppers. It was beautiful.

Magic does happen! Right before our eyes.