Long Night

I want to write tonight, but I am so f&cking tired. No good reason, except maybe the rain, and not getting to bed early enough and having kids wake up too early. Oh, and being stuck at home with two sick kids, the kind of sick that you really owe it to the world to keep to yourself because it's just annoying. Happily, not pukey, but ouchey and fevery and therefore cranky and clingy. And did I mention stuck inside.

This is not a recipe for good mothering.

Or good wife-ing either. Especially when marriage partner is tired and cranky and stressed, in at least equal degree to me. Our home wasn't so pleasant today.

If I were going to write tonight, I would write a bit about injustice and how we feel it so keenly and meet it out so freely. I am pissed at my husband for not (insert long list of unsaid hopes and expectations here) but have held an angry grudge all day for him not reading my mind, for him not giving into his own tired and cranky and stressed, for him not curing our children. I think that's probably some low-grade marital injustice. And both of us were too tired to rise above and so just glared and snarked until work mercifully gave us some space.

I would say that my deep thoughts about injustice were sparked in part by the book, The Help, which I just finished this weekend. A book that is lingering in the way good books do. I would write about how sure I am I would be the wrong character in that book, and would be an injusticer and how maybe I'm hoping it's true that we're all injusticers one way or another, and maybe we need to practice more grace or something since the injustice-making just seems inevitable.

It would have been so inspiring. If only Nate wasn't waking up because his whole self is so unhappy.

If only I had ... well, whatever it is that would keep me from being cranky about this too.

A Blog-Off

My friend Rory is a writer. Maybe even a Writer. He has been known to write things that get me thinking, and we've been known to think in similar directions from time to time. Rory's a LOT older than I am, so I like to think of him as wise. Older and wiser.

But sometimes he's so dumb.

Yesterday he wrote a piece about how the future doesn't really exist and how thinking about what doesn't exist makes people unhappy and ... well, there was more. You should read it here. I mean, he is probably a Writer, even if he's wrong, and I know all my readers love a good Writer so if nothing else, it's a good bit of writing.

And if I'm honest, maybe not altogether wrong. But to be clear, definitely not right either.

So of course, I commented. As if I can ever not say something. And he replied, because of course, it's not like he can not say something back.  He's like that - it's why I like him. Anyway, he says in his reply to me that he thinks that the opposite of what I said was probably true. In case you missed it, that translates from Writerese into Wrongo Bucko in regular English. He ended his email with, "I think the Buddhists thought would be that both are meaningless" (trans: The Buddhists are with me on this). I replied, very wisely I thought, "Buddhists are morons."

The high road is over-rated.

But as I am wont to do, I have been thinking about this for a few hours now, and it occurs to me that I think he and the Buddhists might be mistaken, for reals.

His post was pointing to the suffering that is brought by our desires, our wants, by living in What Lies Ahead instead of in What Is.  So far so good. However, they (he?) go (goes?) further to say that What Lies Ahead does not actually exist and that "dwelling on what doesn't exist is a stupid idea".

Now I'm a tad Jesus-y. And Jesus was a here and now kind of guy, no way around that. Don't worry about tomorrow, he said. Doesn't today have enough trouble of its own? But he also said, I am preparing a place for you (i.e. it's not ready yet: it will be ready in the Future). In fact, he talked about the future a lot - Matthew 25 comes to mind.  It was the promise of a future that made sense of his passion for the Now, for the kingdom of heaven on earth part. And in some kind of kooky time warp, the future was in fact already past, in that it was the Creator's great love that Came Before we did that made What Will Be - a future reconciliation with Them - the reason to be okay Now. Yikes. I may have sprained my brain.

Anyway, I wonder if the buddhist future-doesn't-exist-now-is-all-there-is is a privelege of okayness. Were there a lot of buddhist slaves in America? Are there a lot of buddhists in the Sudan? Because if your Now is suffering, the discipline of living in it and a derisive no-thank-you to What Will Be seems like cruelty. When our Right Now is kind of kick-ass, then maybe it's just greedy to hope for better still and so choosing to forego future thinking is more appealing?  I don't know.

But I do know that a conversation like this always leaves me surprised by my real fondness for that wiley Jesus.  I like a guy who could live in the crosshairs of Now and Then and find a way to make both necessary while acknowledging that neither mattered very much, except for the part where they're both crucial. A paradox. The collision of two opposites. I still feel at home here.

So probably Buddhists aren't morons. Probably Rory isn't Buddhist. Certainly he's not a moron.

But he is a Writer, so it's on friend. It's a Blog-Off.

I Need A Better Friend

Are you cutting yourself some slack? Are you letting yourself be good at things you're good at, even if parenting doesn't seem like one of those things this month? If you were your best friend, what would you say to you?  - www.askmoxie.org

So a person knows they probably need an intervention when reading the above quote makes said person burst into tears. I'm not entirely clear on what kind of intervention would be helpful, but my weepiness certainly points to the need for something.


I was with a gathering of women this morning, women I know 7-out-of-10 well. All mothers, all of our children there. I forgot to wear a bra. I don't know, it just happened. But it took a low-grade not-my-best day and magnified it into I Should Probably Quit For The Good Of All. My children played happily with all the other well-parented children of remember-to-wear-bra-mothers and I wondered if they might be better off with them on a longer term basis.


Almost-Friend E asked if I was working yet, and I confessed that sometimes I wondered if I should, but mostly I just wanted to figure out how to be a good mother first. She laughed because moms laugh at these things and I almost burst into tears because as I said it, I realized it was true - I'm really tired of sucking at what I do all day. She assured me that she only hears what a great mom I am and I agreed that my Awesome-Momness is actually pretty amazing. Probably top 10 good. But my bad parenting? Oh. My. Lord. It is awful. And it might be killing me.


I guess it comes as no surprise then, that I might have been a bit fragile when I found the above quote on my favourite mom-site this afternoon. It will be nice when the crying stops.  Cause my best-friend-me is saying to my crying-at-the-computer-me, I have no fucking clue. I guess I can't get past the part about "letting yourself be good at things you're good at, even if parenting doesn't seem like one of those things". It's not like I'm not letting myself - it's more that there really isn't anything else I'm doing one way or the other. I mean, what else do I do? If I go to church, I'm still parenting. If I go shopping, I'm still parenting. I guess in the moments I get alone and go for coffee, I'm pretty good at drinking it. But you know, there's limited pleasure for me in being good at beverage management. And I guess I trip across the bit where if I were to work, it would just be defined as the time when I'm Not Parenting. If I had work that was meaningful to me and that I enjoyed, perhaps that would be okay, but since work has almost always only been an exercise in People Hating, it's hard to imagine the exchange being worthwhile.


To be clear, I am not needing to hear that I'm really, truly, a good parent. If you read this blog, you already know that deep in my heart, I know I'm a Good Parent. It's just that deep in my heart I know that I'm also a Really Bad Parent and I'm kind of tired of it. I'd take hints on how to numb the Feeling Bad part I guess...

I'm a Junkie

It's probably good to know your weaknesses. That way you're not surprised when other people point them out and you can even prepare witty comebacks for the jabs people are certain to throw your way when faced with said weakness.

I may not have the healthiest worldview. I'm working on the comeback...

I do however, have some great weaknesses. Fear of jinxing, of course. That way too healthy self-esteem I've mentioned before. Scott probably keeps a list somewhere so I could fill this in a bit if you find it lacking. The point is, for the most part, I like my weaknesses. And I think I know the one I like the most: I'm a Belonging Junkie. I just love Belonging. I love it so much that I spend most of my days trying to build groups that I can belong to. Or, to which I can belong I guess.

Anyway, I realized the extent to which I'm addicted when the cancellation of the block party nearly undid me this afternoon. So sad was I at the prospect of not Belonging to my neighbourhood that I still hosted a Block Coffee in my (very small) livingroom, just to get a hit.

Now because I'm also a Universalist, in public I call this a weakness of mine, but am of course secretly convinced that it is in fact, a Human Weakness.  Happily, neighbours are happy to oblige. While the collection that arrived for block coffee was mostly of the young parent variety, one couple with children in college came in. Mr. Neighbour placed a box of cookies on the table and said they'd only come by to say hello and thank me for organizing things but that they couldn't stay. Mrs. Neighbour stood beside-behind her husband and nodded - they could not possibly stay.

But of course they could! I insisted, just one cup of coffee. Just a quick chat with our new neighbours they hadn't met before. Just a minute longer.  And stay they did. They edged closer to the grown-up table, even pulled up a chair. Eventually Mr. Neighbour even had a cup of coffee. Mrs. Neighbour didn't, but did chat with a couple of the others and compared soccer mom stories.

I said to Scott tonight, when it was all said and done, that they just needed to know they belonged. They were exactly who was supposed to be there because it wasn't a Mommy Coffee or a Jesus Coffee or a Cool Kid Coffee. It was a Block Coffee and they are the Block. This was the group they Belong To, just like me.

Just like me. I organize block parties every year just to have that feeling that I Belong with these people, that we are the In-Crowd in our town. I go to church and I Belong. I invite friends to coffee so that I Belong. I probably got married and had kids in an ultimate act of Belonging-Making.

And maybe I hope that the Secret Goodness of my Secret Weakness is that I sometimes make sure other people know They Belong Too.

Does that make me a dealer?

Put a Civil Tongue in Your Mouth

I am confused by people who say the good parts out loud.  People who always say how much they admire their husbands, or who talk about their children's successes. People who love their jobs, or like their family's Christmas traditions. These people make me nervous. Not because I don't like pyjamas on Christmas Eve or because my children do not shine (they do!), but because of course, I'm a bit Greek-Chinese. If you act all positive, you're just daring the Force to prove you wrong. Or stupid.

Now is not the time to point out how this is in direct conflict with everything I believe about the world, the Creator, to say nothing of Scott and my recent Anniversa-Ganza Facebook Love-In.  I have never pretended to be consistent.

This resistance to cheerleading enthusiasm for life has its cousin in a squinty cynicism.  This is why I mock these guys and love these guys.

I won't lie - I like the laughs I get for saying the cynical parts. No quicker giggle-getter than confessing to use of the word mother-effer while parenting. They laugh, but they worry. They worry that I'm ruining my kids. They worry that I'm depressed. I like to think they worry that I might be right.

This would be where two recent posts collide: Not Me meets I'm A Universalist. I share this world of mine with friends who's kids get cancer, with friends who are lonely even though they're married and "have it all", with friends who got shitty parents and with friends who chose poorly and seem to be paying more for that bad choice than the rest of us do for ours.  I know that Life Is Hard, even if it is not, Right This Minute, hard for me. And because I'm a Universalist, I'm pretty sure that if it isn't yet, it's going to be hard for you too.

The people who only talk about how Great It All Is make me nervous because I just don't believe it is. I mean, I know it's Good. All is Well. That's a for sure.  But it isn't Great! Amazing! Wonderful! Because even if my world is all of those things Right This Minute, it sure as shit isn't for all the people I love and what kind of ass celebrates their own Fantastic! while their friends are pushing through Sucks?

But while swearing is good for a chuckle at the moms' bible study, it fails me because it makes light of the pain that I think is True here. And that's why I'm glad for the wiser men and women who write and think and share my world view, using better language.

In my recipe box, I have at the back about a dozen recipe cards with quotes that were really important to me about nine years ago.  Some are things I think that I didn't want to forget I thought ("make decisions that affirm and confirm the presence and participation of God in my life" - that's good huh?); some are things friends and family have said ("You can either spend your energy making a decision or you can spend it living in the decision you make" - Thanks Dad!); others are gleaned from books and TV.  In the garden this morning, my wandering mind tripped across the phrase "the insufficiency of all attainable" and knew it wasn't my own brilliance.  Sure enough, there in the back of the recipe box, I found the quote and almost wept with the familiar comfort of it. Nine years later and it still moves me in its Truth. It is true, happy people, that life has lots of great and amazing and wonderful and fantastic. But never enough.  That others know that too takes the edge of the loneliness.

Karl Rahner, quoted in Ronald Rolheiser's Against an Infinite Horizon:

In the torment of the insufficiency of everything attainable we come to understand that here, in this life, all symphonies remain unfinished.

Motherf-cker.

Nope

Well, it turns out the whole, Life Is Also So Great thing was a bit ... short-lived. I think it might be Pre-PreMenstrual Syndrome. Like all that optimism should be my warning that I have 48 hours to secure my children, stow the valuables and phone a cleaning lady.

Suffice to say, it has been a bit dark around here.

I like knowing though, that the darkness isn't all real. I know it's partly real - I really am bothered by the lack of order in my home, the lack of structure in my days, the lack of energy in my little body.  Real bothers. However the degree of apathy, lethargy and sullenness is about 18 degrees higher than required. I think probably some calcium and evening primrose oil would cure me. I'm just too annoyed and cheap to go find some.

The less real part, that part is comforting. Because knowing it isn't real makes it easier to believe that it isn't permanent either. I think it is one of the pleasures of my 30s actually, realizing that none of this is permanent. Or maybe one of the lessons of parenthood? I don't know - do either of my not-childrened but 30'd readers know of which I speak? To know that all that sucks is not for the ages, and that all that rocks is but tender grass... well, that is one perk of not having elastic skin.

Objects in the Mirror Are Further Away Than They Appear

I don't like my period. I realize evolved, self-loving women embrace the rhythms of their body, celebrating each moon and delighting in the marvel that is Woman. I am neither evolved, nor self-loving. In this regard.

Unfortunately, I don't like ingesting hormones or installing plastics and/or metals in my insides either, so each month I get to Live Fully In The Natural Wonder of Woman. As any 7th grader can tell you, this means experiencing skin changes, mood changes and comfort changes.

For the last 24, 25 years, I have focused pretty exclusively on the Change To Bad: my bad skin, my bad mood and my massive discomfort. But this month, an epiphany - there may be a Change To Good. Or at least to the Not That Bad.

It started on Friday night, watching the football game.  A BC Lions receiver fell onto signage and injured his throat. There was much writhing and serious trainer faces and grimmer player faces while the play-by-play crew tried to diagnose which terrible injury had felled this man. And I wept, for the fear he felt, for his wife and mother watching, for his children... for the fear they all must be feeling, watching helpless as his pain was televised for our entertainment.

On Sunday night, Scott and I went to the PNE as part of our Anniversa-Ganza. We walked the fairway and smelled the donuts and ... well, ate the donuts.  We watched some highschoolers perform in a drumline, and I teared up. We shared a donair wrapped in red- and white-checked paper, and I teared up. We people-watched in the concert venue, and I smiled that warm Hallmark Television Special smile, thinking the best of this sea of humanity. We clapped and danced to Spirit of the West and I beamed my goodwill to the entire planet. All Was Well. So, So, Well.

As I drove to Park Royal this morning on a quick errand with Nate and found myself generously letting people in, and being extra courteous to all the mall grandmothers, I realized that my Good Will To All was probably a bit bigger than reality required. I thought back on my weekend and realized the whole world with its terrifying injuries and deep-fried goodness was probably not nearly as terrifying as I had experienced, nor were all those PNE-goers as awesome as I thought. As I checked my mirrors to change lanes and saw the warning about things being closer than they look, it occurred to me that this week things were actually further away than they looked. And suddenly I was a bit more evolved and self-loving.

If once every four weeks or so, I get to live in the World, Amplified Version and experience the Good as just a little bit better, then I think I'm okay with having to experience the Not So Good a little bit worse.

I'll let you know if the evolution lasts.

I'm a Universalist

I seem to be in what I am choosing to call a Post Holiday Funk.  A bit of a bleak outlook, a leaning to loneliness and worst-casing mixed with a hint of self-doubt. My working brain reminds me that I have just spent three days home alone with our two small children after 10 days of sharing the parenting gig with my very capable husband. To say nothing of the distance from laundry, morning glory and crayoned carpets. My addled brain is sure that it was only a holiday from the Truth and that in fact, life is inevitably yucky.

Yesterday, in a fit of self-care, I invited over all the neighbourhood moms for coffee and child-mixing. Being an extrovert, people are generally a cure for what ails me most days.  Grown-up, humour-getting, full-sentence using people, to be clear.  Of the eight or so moms on the list, two were free for this last minute hootenhanny and we spent more than two hours just being together while the small people played with the hose and the dirt and the wheeled things and generally entertained each other.  It was so nice.

Except for the part where I kept thinking about the eight that weren't there. Sure, three were working, two had previously arranged playdates,  one declined wanting to spend one of her last newborn-free mornings preparing the house and her own self for her third child, one may or may not still get email at the address I chose and one ... well, I haven't seen her since we got back, so maybe they're away? Certainly, Working Brain understands that they weren't available. Sadly, Addled Brain is pretty sure they were lying.

So of course, being so Wisely Self-Aware, I quickly realized that I think they are lying because there are very few things that would keep me from a coffee invitation with other people - work, rest, not getting the invitation? nope. I would be there because I *so* need these getting-togethers to keep it together. And if I wouldn't miss it, then of course they wouldn't miss it either. Unless they hated me. Hated me more than they hated being disconnected from other mothers of small children.  And that would be a lot of hate.

Perhaps the flaw in this thinking is obvious to you? Because apparently it was about 10 hours un-obvious to me. It is possible, nay, probable, that they are not just like me. That on Wednesday morning, they didn't in fact need coffee and friends as deeply as I did.  Oh and this isn't what I mean.  Hmm, what am I trying to say? That it required almost other-wordly conciousness for me to remember that other people's lives are not in fact, about Me.

Ludicrous.  Just straight up ludicrous. I am not sure what the cure is for this particular disability, but I'll be spending some time thinking about it. Because I'm pretty sure I'd be a tiny bit less bleak if I could remember this a bit more quickly next time.

Not Me

A friend has to wait three months to find out if her child has relapsed.  Another is waiting for a test to see if it's cancer this time. A Writing Friend just wrote about her experience with major depression.

Of course, I am writhing and waiting and hoping and praying along with them in their living this life they're living. But a not-too-secret part of me is just thankful that yet again, it's Not Me.

I had dinner with a long-time-ago friend and we spent the evening catching up on the almost 20 years that have elapsed.  As he talked about what I thought were some less than ideal moments, I said in my most empathetic voice, "Ugh. Life is just hard sometimes huh?"  And he looked at me with genuine confusion on his face and said, "No.  No, not really.  People say that and I never know what they mean."  Now, while I was tempted to let him know all the things that were wrong with his life, I realized that probably he wouldn't find that helpful.  But it did leave me wondering how a person can live in this world, even just semi-conciously, and not know that Life Is Hard.

And this is what I find hard, living next to people who's lives are hard Right Now: it is not if, just when and how the Hard Things will come.  But the trick to good living is somehow balancing that truth against the other truth that Life Is Good.  Because I think that peace (and maybe Jesus if you live that way) is probably hiding out at that intersection.  If we can find a way to hang out at the corner of Hard and Good, maybe we do some good living there.

I am always tempted to walk down Hard Street to see if I can see what Hard Thing is coming my way. Some are easy to guess: probably people I love will die in the years ahead; chances are my children will struggle and get hurt; I doubt I've had my last Marriage Argument #42.  But of course, the walk is wasted because those things will happen on their own terms, at their own time.

But for now, today, it is still Not Me. For which I am deeply thankful.  Because when the time comes, I want to be able to remember Good has also been True.

Thank You Katie

I feel at home again.  Oh, and I wish you'd send me a long email soon.

New! Improved

All I wanted was an email subscription form. Now I'm yellow. Ish.

Change is hard.

Maybe a sister with some design talent and lots of time on her hands will tell me how to make it familiar again?

TMI

A blogger I read posted today about measures she is taking to protect the identities of her family, as well as shield the more pertinent details of her life (ie place of residence, favourite restaurants, local haunts) from any kooks out there who might be a bit more interested than they ought to be.

I hate it when people I admire do things that I have decided to pretend ought not to be done.

Protecting my privacy is not in my nature. I have very few thoughts that I don't share with someone. In fact, I'd be surprised to find out I have any unsaid thoughts. To write a few down and make them available to the world seems hardly dangerous: a person could probably figure out my life-story and PIN code if they eavesdropped on me waiting in line for the bathroom. I post photos of my children here and on facebook with their names and it wouldn't take Stephen Hawking to deduce their full names and birthdates with a little back and forth and checking of the archives. They'll have me to blame when they apply to university and find out they're already there in the person of a 54 year-old russian spy.

Probably being cavalier about this isn't wise. I did search my name in all its variations and it does not link to my blog at all. I also searched all four of our first names and our hometown and again, no link to the blog. Since the kids' birthdays are only on the blog and their names are on FB but not with middle names, I've decided to call us safe.

I realize I'm probably lying to myself, and to my future credit-declined children, I apologize.

To everyone else, should I be more worried about confessing to being a judgmental meany and a terrible wife so publicly? I could go back to blogging holiday highlights....

Yucky Mean Self

It will surprise few of you to read that I think fairly highly of myself. I am smart, witty, easy on the eyes, well-weighted, and of course, now a Writer. I am not without flaws, but most often leave a favourable impression. I know all these great things are true because were they not, how could I possibly have collected so many oddly wonderful people as friends? Yes, I am as they say, Confident.

One of the great things about me though, actually, my Very Favourite Thing About Me, is that I know myself well and have great insight into me. When I misstep, it takes hardly a moment for me to discern what precipitated the unfortunate error and to make whatever corrections are required to return to my otherwise Right Way.

As such, I end up with posts like Friday's where I explore a deep flaw like being a tad Judgy, and arrive at some Truth about it that reassures You, Faithful Reader that I am Aware and Working On It. Successfully.

You can imagine then, that when the Blog Looking Glass fails, it is a bit... upsetting.

I was innocently listening to CBC's radio program Asunder this morning, when the show's host Rachel Cave referenced John Gottman's thinking about marriage wreckers and then played him talking about two in particular, Contempt and Stonewalling. When you hear a person describe how a particular trait is an almost sure-fire guarantee of divorce, and then hear that person go on to describe exactly how you argue with your spouse, it can be, well... upsetting.

I have conceded for a long time, perhaps since the beginning of time, that I am argumentative. I like a good (word) fight, love a protracted debate, thrill at a verbal joust well thrown. I have further conceded that I may sometimes win said contests by drowning my opponent in eloquence rather than convincing him (or her) to join me on my Raft of Rightness. And as my married friends will know, marriage provides no shortage of opportunities to hone these skills, particularly if a person has chosen a spouse who is also perhaps just a tad argumentative himself.

Having read much on marriage, including John Gottman, I have been fairly comfortable believing that the quantity of conflict in our marriage was well within the norm, and that if we continued to practice not only conflicting, but also resolving in front of our children, all would be well. Or at least Well-ish.

It was devastating then, to realize quite suddenly that the quality of our conflict was in fact of the dangerous sort. Or more accurately, that the quality of my style of conflict was of the dangerous sort.

I am still unsure what to do next. I will probably browse through Dr. Gottman's site to see if he offers any Cures In A Quote that I can use. I am a bit assured to see that it follows on the theme begun in Friday's post: I like it when God is so leading and clear about what my soul needs and where the Spirit is busy in my world.

But mostly I'm a bit shaken in my Confidence, in my assuredness that I'm OK. It may be that my Yucky Mean Self is not just a funny line in a Esteem-Affirming Self-Assessment Blog.

A Fine Line

Of the many good writers I read, one is Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project (referred to me by Katie many, many moons ago). Her most recent newsletter linked to a post about her hope to be less judgmental.

So, yesterday I'm sitting on the lawn at the West Van Rec Centre with friend Kate, surrounded by our bounty of unusually bright and attractive children. I turned to her and said, "I know I am a bad person because I have have thoughts like these and always say them outloud. I have to stop. But do you see that woman over there..." Kate interrupted and said, "I knew who you were going to point to as soon as you started talking," and we laughed and laughed because of course we are terrible people and the woman was our ideal target: awkwardly dressed but carrying herself in such a way that said, I dare you. And so we dared.

You can understand then, why Gretchen's post would be so appealing. Even I know that hilarious as my quick evaluations are, they probably aren't kind and might actually even be Wrong. Like, sin-Wrong. The difficulty has been that the act of judging and sharing said judgments is such pleasure, so often. How could I deny myself? Perhaps Gretchen and readers would have some ideas.

Of course, it is firstly gratifying to know that others share your disability and perhaps even have a more severe form of it. But then, it is sadly mortifying to discover that that initial evaluation is actually only proof of the severity of one's own disability. So all the more desperate was I to find the cure. And here, bulleted because my children sound all-too-awake, are the first thoughts I will be trying on as I begin considering rehabilitation:

• Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. -Plato
• Practice Acceptance.
• Knowing right from wrong is different than being right about everything.
• Is it true? Is it helpful? Is it good?
• If I'm not the solution, there is no problem.
• They are who they need to be.

Some offered as a solution trying to think of reasons to explain why the judgee might be doing something I consider judgment-worthy: "She's wearing all that spandex because all her other clothes were lost in a terrible housefire last night." However, when I think that way, I find it only entrenches in me a feeling of superiority that is as ugly as the judgment to begin with. Which made me realize that it's not so much the judgmentalism that bothers me, as the Yucky Mean Spirit in which it is made.

And so my next project will be figuring out a cure for Yucky Mean Spirit.

Lord. This may not go well.

I'm a Writer!

I found a new blog I love. Well, more like a new writer I love who has a blog. In fact, this has been a year of good-writing-finding, and has been part of my own re-wondering about writing. I so enjoyed the first post I read that I commented. And the writer commented back! And said, "You must be a writer too." And this of course sounds ridiculous, written as it is in the blog in which I write, but it was the very first time that I have every been called a writer and I've agreed. The last 48 hours, I've been pulling out the memory of the moment and checking in to see if I indeed still feel like a Writer. And I do!

The difficulty of course, is that I don't actually write. Or Write. Not with any consistency in regularity, content or quality. But oh, how I want to.

We are sneaking into Back To School season, my favourite time of the year, and I'm allowing myself to wonder if I'll be adding some writing to our new schedule for fall. Just wondering...