Seaweed Ballet

Beach ballerina, a photo by ImagesByClaire on Flickr.

I’m halfway through penance... and I couldn’t be more sorry!  My sin?  Years of unwittingly over-sharing on the Internet. I have until Easter Sunday to rectify the situation. In 2 days my Timeline will be published on facebook, visible to hundreds of “friends”, whether I’m ready or not. I doubt it will be of much interest to anyone, but the thought of so much exposure is unsettling.

There seem to be two camps: you either love Timeline or hate it.   I am of the latter.

I’ve resisted the change, partly because I haven’t had much time for social networking lately. Another reason- the most important- is that I was afraid of what I’d uncover sifting through posts dating back to 2007, the year I joined facebook. Call me clueless, but it never crossed my mind, at any point, that every single interaction on the site could readily be accessed well into the future. Nor did I realize, until I read this article about online privacy last fall, that my content is owned by facebook- not me, as I’d previously thought. I am very open by nature; sometimes I lack the foresight to protect myself from scrutiny.

Yesterday I took my children to see Mirror, Mirror. I didn’t particularly enjoy the film, which botched up the Snow White fairy tale, but aspects of it have lingered with me. I can’t forget the image of Julia Roberts’ character, staring at a younger (more acceptable) version of herself in the magical mirror. The vain queen was determined to see only what she wanted to see, ignoring the wrinkles and blemishes of time. Of course everyone has blind spots. Sometimes I wonder what mine are... and Timeline has given me a clue.

My facebook profile has reflected many aspects of myself. Trawling through nearly 5 years of posts, I’ve witnessed my most vulnerable self; at times I’d like to hug her, but at other moments I cringe. I’m struck by how much I’ve changed!

I am so grateful I can delete it all, but before that can happen, I must read each individual status report. As I relive the past, I experience emotional reactions, though it’s less intense this time around. I feel mortified as I recollect the days of being a quintessentially bored, lonely, perfectionistic housewife. Then there was the period after my husband moved out, when I was struggling with the demands of motherhood, in a foreign country to boot.  Newly single, after a decade of marriage, I found it difficult to redefine myself.  Most annoying of all, is how much I whined back then!  How many times can one woman complain about being tired?  It irritates me when people use social networking as an emotional crutch, as therapy, and yet I’m guilty of having done it in the past.

Aside from gripes I have with myself, there are other dramatic incidents which I’ve recalled, moving through my Timeline. People I’ve deleted or blocked (or vice versa), have left traces behind; the odd comment is still there, clearly visible, although the bond between us has long been broken. Ghosts litter my virtual space. I think of the harm I’ve caused, or the harm that has been done to me, and I’d like to make it all disappear forever. Memories fade, but the Internet is less forgiving.

Just when I want to put my head down, and shut the computer off to escape the past, I discover a forgotten clip. A short video, entitled “The Seaweed Ballet”, features 3 young children running along the Irish shore.

It’s a sunny day, and a hazy blue sky hangs above the water. My second son and his little sister are playing with their friend, shortly before he’s diagnosed with Cerebral Palsy. For now they are carefree, flying up and down the beach together, wielding long strips of seaweed in their pudgy hands. My friend and I pause, the impromptu dance having caught our attention. We marvel at our beautiful babies, so full of life. The waves provide a musical score, as they skip, twirl, and dodge between towels, kicking up sand in the wind. Soft laughter grows louder, until we mothers are helplessly cackling into the camera. My belly cramps, a pleasant ache. It is hard to say who is having the most fun.

“It’s like a seaweed ballet,” my friend says, although it resembles a war dance now. The little girl proves ruthless; her seaweed has become a whip. She giggles as she whacks her big brother repeatedly. The smallest boy joins in, his blonde curls tangled from saltwater and sun. The video ends and one is left to wonder: Will it end in tears, the way children’s games often do?

I don’t remember what happened next. It was just another day spent with the people I love, a moment in time which could easily have been forgotten. I’m glad it has been preserved though, and that I can share it with anyone I choose.

I suppose that’s the beauty of Timeline. We can highlight those special moments, and let the others go. After all, each of us has stories we’d like to hide, and others we’re happy to share. Somewhere between all the embarrassing incidents, the heartbreaking regrets, the laughter and triumphs, or even the inane, lies our humanity. It’s our stories that make us who we are.

In closing, here are some of my favorite non personal status reports, which will remain on my Timeline, as a reminder of how I’d like to move forwards:

November 2010
Fill your heart with the creative power to accept the past, decorate the present and transform the future...” Osho

January 2011
"Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." Dr. Seuss

September 2011
"Kiss slowly, laugh insanely, live truly, and and forgive quickly." Paulo Coelho is always full of wise words... 

New Year’s Day, Jan. 2012
"We spend January 1 walking through our lives, room by room, drawing up a list of work to be done, cracks to be patched. Maybe this year, to balance the list, we ought to walk through the rooms of our lives... not looking for flaws, but for potential." Ellen Goodman

March 2012
"To have a core self is to be the author of your own story." Deepak Chopra

Thank you for listening to mine. ♥

Robin

Scintilla Day 8: Simple Pleasures

What are your simplest pleasures? Go beyond description and into showing the experience of each indulgence.

Sunday is my favorite day of the week.  Where I live, most shops are closed and it's a day of rest.  People enjoy spending time with their families, having friends around for a meal, or taking walks when the weather is fine.  For me, it's a perfect day to enjoy simple pleasures such as:

Sun-kissed morning coffee

Pottering in my garden

A trip to Mannings Emporium

Eating local cheese

Chocolate & wine

Reflections & Family Time

Natural beauty

Hazy sun set

 

Mama's home-cooking: The Sunday Roast

 Snuggling with my cats

Reading & watching Mad Men

 * I'm participating in Scintilla, a fortnight of storytelling, with other writers mining the material of their lives.

Scintilla Day 7- Tribes

List the tribes you belong to: cultural, personal, literary, etc .

When I was younger, I read an article in Mothering Magazine about cultivating my own tribe.  I took this article to heart and set about forming one with other young mothers sharing my values.  The idea was that we would clean our houses together, cook meals, and tackle the mundane while our children played happily.  I learned how to bake wholemeal bread, with fresh yeast, from a mom I met at Le Leche League.  We exchanged recipes for making baby food- no way would we use jars!  Everything was new, and we were determined to do it right.

It seemed important to me, back then, to be validated.  I needed to seek the company of like minded people who understood my decisions to have water births at home, to breastfeed my babies beyond their first year, to use cloth diapers.  I grew long dreadlocks, wore flowing skirts I bought at French and English markets during my European travels.  I went through a phase of piercing ears, belly, nose.  I volunteered on organic farms in Ireland, which is how I first landed in my husband’s hometown.  

My travels brought me into contact with other seekers, artists, and people wanting to live a life less ordinary.  Today many of them are still part of my tribe.

I was only 22 years old during my first pregnancy, very much a baby myself.  Entering the tribe of motherhood was profound.  Some of my strongest bonds are within this community.  I have come to love my  friends’ children, and experience such joy watching them grow beside my own.

The demands of mothering have eased now that my children are older.  Sleepless nights are a distant memory of the past.  Now I have energy to pursue other interests.  I’ve recovered my love of dance, my love of writing.  

I continued to read voraciously through every move across the Atlantic, each birth, and even while my marriage broke down.  I have always belonged to the tribe of books.

Lately, I feel the pull of this literary tribe more strongly than ever.  The writers I’ve met through workshops, blogs and other social media have inspired me; in their company I feel understood.  Last summer a friend and fellow writer shared an insight.  She was attending a workshop on writing novels, and the facilitator pointed out that most writers grew up feeling like they didn’t belong.  Really?

It makes sense.  Writers have an uncanny ability to step outside a situation- even when they are inside of it.  The skill of observation is ever present.  Writers often intuit what others are thinking and feeling, possessing the ability to “read” people like books.  Being in a room full of writers is terribly disconcerting for me!  I have discovered myself being observed, while I observe others... There’s no way to hide in a situation like that!

I love this tribe though: the tribe of dreamers, visionaries, and those brave enough to walk off beat. I imagine the great Dr. Martin Luther King in this group, with his radical ideas about a world where we could all be equal, no matter what our connections, beliefs, or physical appearance might be.  

I imagine Jane Austen in this group too; a woman whose satire and wit still make people laugh two hundred years later.  Her social commentary and literary achievements are nothing to scoff at.  I often wonder how I would have fit into her society, had I been a woman living during that period.  

The tribe of free thinkers has never found life easy.  But I couldn’t live life any other way.


* I'm participating in Scintilla, a fortnight of storytelling, with other writers mining the material of their lives. There's still time to sign up for daily prompts if you'd like to join us!  

Scintilla Day 6- Faith

A photo by anne(♥)marie on Flickr.

Prompt: Talk about an experience with faith, your own or someone else's.

Even though she has every reason not to, my biological mother possesses rock solid faith. When I was a girl, she often brought me to daily mass, in addition to prayer group, and of course Sunday school. Somehow I was sent to a private Catholic school, despite our financial circumstances. Religion permeated the air we breathed.

Later, when my awareness grew, I was mystified. In college, I became downright perplexed. How could a woman like herself believe in a loving, benevolent, almighty Father? Her whole life has been nothing but struggle; she has survived a traumatic childhood, poverty, depression, encephalitis, and breast cancer. She has been in a nursing home since she was 44... forty-four! Do I need to say any more?

So one day I asked her. I’ll never forget our brief conversation.  I was 19 and had decided church wasn’t for me. For the first time I challenged her. “How do you know God exists?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “I see God every time you visit me.”

I swallowed. Was it that simple?

All these years later, I'm inclined to agree.  Knowing that I'll never fall- that someone will always catch me- is the sort of faith that sees me through my day to day life.  Yes, I sometimes say prayers- and send out wishes, intentions, or whatever you'd like to call them- to the universe.  But I also pick up the phone when I need help, assured that some earthly being will receive my call.

Faith and hope are inextricably connected. I experience them in a myriad of ways...

I have faith in the future when I look at my daughter’s unique hand print...

I have faith in love when I look into my soul mate’s starlit eyes...

I have faith in renewal, the cycles of life, each spring when my garden grows...

 I have faith in the mysterious unknown when I witness the sea and sky meet...

“Faith is a bird that feels dawn breaking
                           and sings while it is still dark.” Rabindranath Tagore


* I'm participating in Scintilla, a fortnight of storytelling, with other writers mining the material of their lives. There's still time to sign up for daily prompts if you'd like to join us! 

Scintilla Day 3: Memory & Song

Temple Bar @ Dublin, a photo by -BeNnO- on Flickr.

Prompt: Talk about a memory triggered by a particular song.

Whenever I hear “Ride On” by Christy Moore, I’m reminded of the night we met at The Temple Bar. It was your first time in Ireland, and we were both tourists in an anonymous city.  As you approached me, I recognized your smile, though you had changed.  Heavier now, and taller than I remembered, with lines beginning to appear; you'd become a fully grown man.  We were both aging well, I decided, but said nothing.

My glass was filled with gin, yours with red wine. Years slipped away with every drink, until we were stripped back to wild things unable to say no. The dizzy sensation of feeling young again- and free- was intoxicating. The pub was packed so we drew closer to hear one another. Your hand grazed mine, but I didn’t pull away. All the while, traditional musicians in the corner expressed emotions we could not.

I interrupted your story, saying, “This is a good song!” You nodded. Our conversation stopped. Even then, I was lost in the lyrics.

When you ride into the night, without a trace behind,
Run your claw along my gut, one last time.
I turn to face an empty space where you used to lie
And look for the spark that lights the night
through a teardrop in my eye...

The rest of our story is history.  That night is forever shrouded in mystery though.  Was it a gift, theft, or something in between?  A piece of myself has been missing ever since.

Ride on, see you, I could never go with you
No matter how I wanted to.


* A huge thank you to the three women who created Scintilla! Kim, Onyi, and Dominique are more than muses... they are bad ass goddesses!!!

A Paris Surprise

Has a stranger ever caught you off guard?  Have you ever been so absorbed in your own drama, having tuned out everything else, only to discover you’ve been watched the whole time?  That’s exactly what happened to me.

I don’t often bring my children to the city, but yesterday we enjoyed a rare day out together.  Since we live in a rural area, my children are used to living simply.  Materialism doesn’t factor large in their lives, and shopping isn’t something they do a lot of.  Our senses were bombarded as we wandered around, buying clothes and watching people pass by.  The shops were filled with red roses, heart shaped chocolates, and an assortment of gifts for Valentine’s Day.  Though some people scoff at the commercialism of the holiday, it's one of my favorites: a whole day set aside to honor LOVE!

As the day was coming to a close, we popped into one last store to buy a card.  It’s for someone special I plan to write about in an upcoming blog post.  I didn’t realize Willow Tree produced cards, as well as sculptures, so I was thrilled to find a perfect image:

This year has been full of blessings so far, and I’m filled with gratitude.

While I was still browsing, a teddy bear caught my daughter’s eye.  She asked if I’d get it for her.  By then I’d spent our money, and couldn’t justify buying anything else.  

“Please, Mommy?  He’s so soft...” she pleaded.  Her big hazel eyes were hopeful, but quickly filled with tears when I said no.

She wouldn’t let it go.  My daughter is one of the sweetest girls ever, but when she sets her mind to something, it’s hard to distract her.  I could see how much the toy appealed to her, and I felt terrible.  There are so many things I wish I could afford to give my kids; I’d like to provide them with experiences to enrich their lives, toys to stimulate their imaginations and help them develop, comfortable clothes which allow them to express themselves with color, and much more.  I do the best I can, but resources are especially limited since I’m a single parent.

As we were about to leave, my daughter started to cry.  She wasn’t whining or being obnoxious.  I put my bags down, as she buried her face in my coat, and quietly began to sob.

“I can see how disappointed you are, and I’m sorry I can’t buy it for you today.  Maybe we can come back another time now that we know the teddy is here,” I said softly.  I held her a moment longer, before taking her hand and moving towards the door.  

Just as we were about to step into the foyer of the Douglas Shopping Centre, the saleslady called out to us.  “Wait!”  I turned to see what was going on.

A man was at the back of the shop.  We had been the only customers, and I hadn’t noticed his entrance.  “Can I buy this for her?” he asked, holding up the teddy.  “She’s so beautiful, and I can’t bear to see a child cry.”  He spoke softly in a trans-Atlantic accent, similar to mine.  It was hard to place where he was from, but I suspect he was American too.  He looked like he could be related to us; his caramel complexion matched my own.  

I was momentarily speechless and unsure of what to do.  Would it be inappropriate to accept his offer?  What would you have done?  For some reason, I am more comfortable giving than receiving, though I’ve been working on this issue for quite some time.  

Recently I received a Daily Flame email, written by Lissa Rankin, MD, which particularly resonated with me.  She pointed out that allowing someone to give is actually a gift to both the receiver and the giver.  In her post, Lissa encouraged me to accept that the giver will only offer when he or she is in a position to do so.  She stressed the importance of trusting the other person, and acknowledging that it is the giver’s responsibility to set their own boundaries.  

That was an “ah ha” moment for me!  I’m afraid of receiving because I always worry that the exchange will be out of balance.  Since I’ve had poor boundaries in the past- and gave to others until I was drained (because I didn’t first look after my own needs)- I’m often concerned that other people will make the same mistake.  However, it’s arrogant of me to think I can gauge other people’s internal states, and quite frankly, it’s not my responsibility.

In light of this discovery, I decided to accept the gentleman's kind offer.  It took a moment before my daughter understood, but her tears quickly dried when he handed her the teddy.  She cuddled the soft toy, beaming.  Then something magical occurred: the saleslady lit up, my son’s smile grew larger, the man’s eyes began to twinkle, and I was inspired beyond words!  

“Aren’t you going to ask his name?” the saleslady asked my daughter, pointing to her benefactor.

“I’m called Paris.”  We all agreed it was a wonderful name, and that the teddy bear should share it.  Looking back now, I wish I had asked Paris where he was from, why he has made Ireland his home, and does he perform random acts of kindness regularly?  I wonder if he’s married or has children of his own.  An ordinary man gave us an extraordinary gift: he reached out unexpectedly and made one little girl extremely happy.


This morning my daughter woke up early and bounced out of bed.  She joyfully dressed her teddies before she left for school.  Check out Paris Jr.’s makeover!!  The braids and sparkly rainbow tiara are priceless... My daughter owns a matching nightdress, and I suspect these two will be inseparable for some time to come.

Driving home last night, I spoke to my children about the need to pass it on.  When we acknowledge the gifts we’re given, by expressing gratitude, they multiply.  In my deepest heart, I believe in abundance; love will fill every cell if we allow it to. My favorite quote of Rumi’s comes to mind:

 

“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”

I want to pass on this story to you so your Monday will be brighter, assured that simple gestures make lasting impressions.  What will you do today to pass on your light, and help someone else to shine?

Big hugs,
Robin

 

P.S.  Have a Happy Valentine’s Day!

 

*If you haven’t discovered Owning Pink yet, or followed @Lissarankin, better hop over to her website FAST! Prepare to be seriously, irrevocably inspired.

True Confessions- #Cultivate2012

True Confessions of a 50's Housewife, a photo by Theresa Thompson on Flickr.

 

What is your personal outlook for 2012? What do you hope to accomplish this year? What do you need to nurture in order to cultivate your intentions? Write, sketch, color, photograph, create a vision board — do what feels right. 2012 is yours for cultivation!

Damn it’s the last day of January and I’m still trying to figure out what my outlook for the year is! Bear with me...

#1) What do I hope to accomplish this year?

Grandiose Dreams:

• Write a bestselling book

• Sustain an epic romance, making the Titanic seem like tripe

• Meditate & practice yoga daily so tranquility oozes from my pores

• Approach Nirvana, but not before I:

• Earn lots of money

• Travel abroad

• Restore my house to its former glory

• Replace my car with something better

• Get noticed by Beto Perez at the Zumba Convention & become one of his star dancers

• Most importantly: stop time (and thereby the aging process, among other things)

Realistic Goals:

• Develop my blog and keep writing regularly

• Deepen my connection with my boyfriend, despite the epic distance between us

• Quit yelling at my kids. BREATHE and count 1-2-3... for the hundredth time!

• Trust inner wisdom and listen to my intuition

• Pay my bills

• Visit family and friends

• Reach the bottom of my laundry basket and remember to dust sometimes

• Pray my car doesn’t break down and keep paying AAA in the meantime

• Swim to Florida and somehow finagle a ticket into the annual Zumba Convention...

• Make it to school on time at least 1 out of 5 days a week

#2) What do I need to do to cultivate my intentions?

Honestly, Time is my biggest obstacle. I have a weird relationship with it. I often waste, mismanage, and undervalue Time. At other times I pay too much attention to it; I grasp, chase, and try to hold on to Time like an abandoned lover, unwilling to let go. There never seems to be enough.

If I could make peace with Time, or at least get better at making transitions between activities, I think I’d feel more satisfied. I’m becoming more organized, which should help.

I have the ability to achieve much of what I’d like to accomplish. The trick is to stay motivated and focused, since I can easily be distracted.

One thing I’d like to avoid is becoming uptight. I’d hate to lose my sense of humor or take myself too seriously. Sincerity is admirable, but I don’t want to forget my playful side. There is so much emphasis, especially in American society, on being successful or achieving stuff. I also want to enjoy life as I try to attain my goals. Maintaining a balanced state of mind is therefore essential as I move forwards into 2012!

This post was inspired by #Cultivate2012 from @sailorscorpio.