Zen. Don't Even Think About It.

I saw this on a bumper sticker today.

My friend Ken used to have this on his fridge:

your karma ran over my dogma...

Just love her...

There is a chapter early on the The Road Less Travelled by M. Scott Peck where Peck is counseling a friend who says that he has fallen out of love with his wife... they've been married a long time and the friend just doesn't feel that feeling anymore. Peck advises him that love is action and also feels that the friend is letting himself off too easy. Peck says, "Don't feel it, do it. Just love her. Just do it." Peck says that doing is what produces the feeling - love the one you're with. Love him.

That opened up a lot of doors to me when I read it 20 years ago. The idea that I could act instead of feel or do instead of react -- it was empowering.

I was on my walk the other day and I thought that same thought about myself. What if I didn't wait to outgrow the things I dislike about my appearance, or about aging. What if I didn't hope that they'd go away but instead just loved her - all of her. It felt so silly to delve into new age affirmations while walking about, but I thought the same passage in that book could apply to my relationship with myself, my love for me and my acceptance of myself. Instead of bemoaning that I used to be cuter or younger or thinner, what if I just loved myself?

Halloween Poem by Emery

Emery wrote this for the newsletter at school:

I come back home
When the darkness
Is churning
I think I see
The doorknob
turning.
Out comes a
Nocturne,
Whose face
Unknown.
All that
Is left
Of me,
Is a pile
Of bone.
By Emery Arementrout

Periodontal Dis-ease

A Dentist's Night'mare'
Originally uploaded by :: R(c) Photography ::

So, I am trying very hard to keep all of my teeth. In my family, we all have deep pockets; and I'm not referring to our generous natures... No, in my lineage the word pockets is always referring to that space around the roots of our teeth which shouldn't be there - that space that dentists and periodontists call Gingivitis.

To ward off its effects and to keep my own teeth for as long as I'm able I go to exhausting and terrifying lengths. First, I go to the periodontist every 3 months for a deep cleaning. Those always involve gas, numbing (read: shots in le mouth), and an hour's worth of scraping and torture. My periodontist's hygienist actually sharpens her tools many times over as she works on my plaque.

Then, every so often, as I did yesterday, I get a DEEP cleaning. This involves total numbing (not just partial) and the shots are in the worst part of my mouth - like the roof of my mouth. But yesterday, the lower jaw would not get numb - no matter how many shots she gave me.

I also floss, stimulate, brush, and use all sorts of instruments designated for home dental care to ward off the formation of these hard and calcified spots under my gums which really, really want to grow on the roots of my teeth.

All this is to say: I do a lot of work on my teeth. A lot.

Meanwhile there's Doug.

My husband brushes once a day. He rarely flosses, he has sweet breath (except for how much he loves raw onions) and he may make it to the dentist once a year. Sometimes he skips a year. But when he goes? When he does go to the dentist, guess what they say! "Doug, just perfect, as always!" No pockets, no gingivitis, no periodontal disease.

If that's not unfair, I don't know what is.

Cartoon History of the Universe

Cartoon History of the Universe
Originally uploaded by Michael Vance1

Emery's favorite book

Reinvention

I was just talking with some friends about how I reinvented myself when I left Texas and moved to Ohio for graduate school. Looking back on it I realized that although I had been a fairly unconventional Texan when I lived in the Lone Star State, once I left the constraints of its borders I became a walking example to Ohioans of all that a Texan is. I became someone who always wore make-up, always wore an 'outfit' (so much so that people often asked me where I was going, sure that I couldn't have arrived at my final destination when I was clearly so overdressed for where we were and what we were doing). I was a girl who always had her hair done - and done big (the higher the hair, the closer to God), favoring a high ponytail accessorized with a bow. I relished my Texas accent, used the phrase 'fixin' to' as often as possible and stuck a "y'all" in whenever appropriate.

I extolled the virtues of the Texas landscape, her people, her cultural institutions and culinary gifts - missed the Texas Two-Step and Country music; even though I'd been a fan of none of these things while growing up...

The opportunity to be a stranger in a strange land offered up the chance to be a curiosity and I loved it. I got to shed the things I'd carried around with me that I didn't like and take on new characteristics that were off-limits to me when I might run into someone I'd known since the third grade. On the Ohio University campus I was never going to run into someone who'd known me my entire life -- no one was going to say, "Wow, what happened to you?" It was a freedom that is lost to me now. Now I'm part of a community: at church, school and work. That's why it is so important to do it while you're young - and I hope my boys do that too. They should go away to college, to the East Coast or the Mid-West. Maybe when I retire we could run away again, Doug and me. Maybe we'll find that freedom again. Sometimes you wanna go where nobody knows your name...

"Doug is just like Poppa. He even has Poppa's sweet little smile..." That's what I thought to myself early this morning. I thought about the most important men in my life and they have shared some really startling qualities, given that they're all from parts rural - either in Texas or Iowa. Poppa grew up in Paris, Texas on a farm growing cotton and sorghum. That sorghum was used to make syrup (and TJ Blackburn syrup is still made in Jefferson, Texas; that was one of his cousins, I believe). Daddy grew up in Temple, Texas and my grandaddy coached football and was a school teacher. Both my poppa and my daddy read poetry. My poppa was an artist and a poet himself. He had a beautiful singing voice and sang on the radio in Dallas with his brother and two other men in a quartet. My father could quote all the great poets and knew all of Shakespeare's sonnets. He sang beautifully and loved opera. How do men who grow up in Paris and Temple love these things? We never listened to country music in my home growing up in San Antonio. We listened to classical music and opera. We listened to Perry Como. But we never listened to country music. I don't remember either of my parents ever reading a trash novel. The book I can picture in our bookcase at home is Jude the Obscure.

Doug grew up on a farm in southwest Iowa. He loved poetry and playwrights and is gentle and sweet like my poppa. Doug is the first person in his family to go to college, and then he went on to graduate school, where I met him. I don't know why it never occurred to me before, how much like my poppa he is, his sweetness and his gentleness. I am sure I went looking for that. Children react to Doug just exactly like they did to my poppa - like moths to flame.

why is everyone a whisperer?

Is it just me or is there too much whispering going on? Why is it just because you say you whisper to a horse, dog, ghost, child, mentally disturbed person somehow you are the great communicator? I have always been more of a yeller myself.

Fatter Somewhere

funhouse mirror self-portrait
Originally uploaded by craftivista

I grew up in San Antonio and I am fatter there than I am anywhere else. I am a little fatter in Austin, where I went to college, than I am in other places, but I pull it off better than I do in San Antonio. I am always very fat in my mother's house. I am fatter in Seattle than I am on the Eastside (where I currently reside). I am thinner downstairs in my own house than I am upstairs. I am always thinner in church than I am out in the world. Feeling forgiven makes me feel thinner.

I have accepted that it will always be so: being fatter some places and thinner others. I have understood that my perception makes my reality and alters it according to my mood and my circumstance. I am not an objectivist. I like Ayn Rand, but I don't subscribe to her theories, at least not where my belly is concerned. My upper arms vary minute by minute, mirror to mirror. I can gain 200 pounds in the span of an hour. I can acquire a pound per mile as I travel from one part of the country to another. Memories and insecurities add fat as surely as the lack of them slim me down to my true size.

I take my clothes off in the middle of the day to check their size. Not that it matters. The 4s or 8s or 6s don't matter. the P after the 8 makes me feel no better or a little better depending on my mood. Everything is judged by what is better a 4 regular or an 8 petite... Everything is that kind of trade off. I see what I want to see. I see what I can't bear to see.

At the dentist office I ask him to turn up the Nitrous because I'm not feeling it. I feel drunk when he says, "are you sure? You're pretty small." I say, I'm not paying extra for that, right? I wonder why he tries to flatter me, what his agenda might be. He's tricking me. They're laughing at me behind my back, he and the hygenist, that's what I think.

Sometimes I go into the bathroom and do what I need to do without ever catching my reflection in the mirror. Sometimes I can't stop staring.

Post Your Secret

This is incredible:
http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Ugly, ugly, ugly

Jon Gosselin
Originally uploaded by argo21

Ok, I can't figure this out. Why would one woman (much less three or four) show even a passing interest in this loser?

For one thing he's as ugly as homemade sin. Those puffy eyes and that squashy face. Ugh. He's soft. He's got a fat neck and a weak chin.

For another he has a brood of kids and a lot of baggage. He'd better be makin' a lot of money because he is going to be paying a fortune in child support. He's going to have to keep drumming up the drama just to keep the payola flowing in to support all these kids and exes.

Just gross.

The point is mute

Moot is what he meant but mute is what he said. Moot: meaning debatable - like a moot court, not important, or just academic -- it doesn't mean soundless...

I can't tell you how often I hear someone say, "irregardless" which, of course, isn't a word. They really mean irrespective or regardless.

But, when people say, "the point is mute" I either want to laugh or scream.

Don't look... but stay right there

My children are ridiculously modest. They can't have anyone be in the bathroom with them, no looking while they get dressed - all that. But they've been that way since each was about 2 1/2. So, it's difficult with a small, boy child not to help at all in the bathroom. I mean if you care anything about the walls and floor of your bathroom.

So Wilbur wants me to go with him to the bathroom, but he doesn't want me to come in, and, in fact, he locks the door as if I might want to terrorize him by popping my head in mid-stream. But he also does not want me to go away. What he wants is for me to stand outside the bathroom door and wait. What he says is, "Don't look. But stay right here."

It struck me this morning that this is a metaphor for parenting. As my children grow up they say that to me in many different ways and sometimes it's hard to hear. The 'don't look' part feels like, 'don't meddle, don't be in my life.' I have to remind myself of the 'stay right here' part that comes after.

Cuckoo Puffs

Cocoa Puffs Combos
Originally uploaded by danajohnhill

Wilbur has asked me for this cereal, insisting that it's called Coo-Coo Puffs. I tried to say that the bird says he's cuckoo for cocoa puffs but he gets very frustrated with me and says, "No, it's COO COO FOR CO-CO PUFFS!"

Seattle Pride

Our church marched in the Gay Pride parade yesterday - Doug stayed home with the boys and I marched. It was a beautiful Seattle day and it was a great parade. We waved and blew kisses and tried to show the gay community that there are churches where they are welcomed and wanted.

That was the cap to a wonderful weekend. We saw The Tempest on Friday night with our friend Bradley Goodwill as Alonzo. We stayed out until almost 2 AM that night. We had taken Leigh and Alex with us and they took us out to Via Tribunali after the show. Matt, in town for Catch Me If You Can at the 5th Avenue, met us also. Matt brought the musical director for Catch Me (his friend John) and we all had a marvelous time.

I hope that Leigh and Alex think it's fun to meet these people - these friends of ours. I hope we don't make them uncomfortable. Sometimes I wonder about that. We have all these friends who are theater people and I hope they find it fun and not tiresome to hang out with us.

Saturday the boys went to the Doyle's for brothers' day - an annual event now with them. Brian and Brandi Doyle are lots of fun and their kids and Wilbur are bosom buddies. So, I dropped them off at noon. We spent a little time alone, just the two of us, and then we went by a graduation reception for a boy who has done some sitting for us. Then we went back to the Doyle's for dinner and to pick up the boys. Wilbur cried his eyes out when we left - a total melt down. "I don't want to go-oh-oh-oh!!"

Yesterday was the pride parade. I feel like thank god it's Monday, because I am exhausted.

I got posted on Hey Rude!

Check out my friend Helene's site about rude behavior in New York City! You'll see that they posted one of my submissions:

http://www.heyrude.com/2009/06/who-are-these-people-clean-up-after.html

City-sponsored meetings for gays trigger showdown over privacy vs. public records

City%2Dsponsored%20meetings%20for%20gays%20trigger%20showdown%20over%20privacy%20vs%2E%20public%20records

Shared via AddThis

This is why I'm marching in the Pride Parade here in Seattle on June 28th. Not b/c I care about private vs. public records, but because a guy like this is out there spending all his spare time making sure no one is getting ahead of him in his race of rats.

Sage about Age

Wrinkled Elegance
Originally uploaded by Athary

I think this is what's hard about aging: the -ing. It continues and it's ongoing. It's in process. It's not done.

I look in the mirror and I don't like a change I see. I realize the inevitability of the new wrinkle or the sag or just the alteration in the nature of my skin. Then I come to acceptance - of that, the way it is that day. But then I realize that I am not frozen in time and it's not going to stay 'this good'. That's what happens. I have never aspired to look like I'm in my Early 40s. But now, given that I'm almost in my mid-40s and then I'll be in my late 40s and then my early 50s (and the beat goes on), hanging on to the early 40s look sounds good.

100 dollar words

Yesterday Emery was upstairs trying to watch a program 'On Demand' and he was struggling with the remote. I heard him grunt and get mad and I asked what was up. He said, "It's this remote! I can't get the infernal thing to work!"

This morning Wilbur is watching his requisite Backyardigans before school (it seems like they watch a lot of TV)... It's the Viking Voyage episode. Wilbur called out, "It's a whirlpool!" and Emery said, "It's more like a maelstrom. A maelstrom is even more powerful."

Happy Birthday Son

Today my oldest boy is 10 years old. I can't believe it. How can I describe how much joy this child has brought into our lives? We call him our good luck charm because it seems that after he was born, everything fell into place.

It is certainly a journey that I couldn't imagine before I had him, and it's a journey that is so different today than when he was a baby. I used to see families with their children in the 'tween years and think that wouldn't be as fun as when they were babies. But it's much more enjoyable as they get older - the struggles grow, too. Not being able to protect my son, seeing his friends' influence outweigh ours, realizing that there is nothing I can do to make him a popular kid or the leader among his peers (that they have something to say about that), is not easy. It was certainly much easier to dress him in something adorable and ask him to smile.

Now, he has awkward moments and goofy moments. He is silly in that funny way boys have as they figure out how to tell a joke and then practice being un-enthused (oh. cool. -- I hear that a lot); they do that thing where they act like they are nonplussed and unimpressed. There are moments when I want to be able to punish him the way I used to and still punish Wilbur, sitting on the steps and taking a time out. But by the age of 9 and certainly now that he's 10, that just doesn't cut it anymore. The consequences require thoughtful consideration for every infraction, and every infraction can't warrant punishment. If I punished him every time he rolled his eyes at me there would be no 'time in' -- it would all be time out. So, I choose my battles and focus on the heinous deeds; a particularly nasty tone, complete refusals and uncompleted but required tasks (homework). And I try to stay the one he wants to talk to about hurt feelings and disappointments. Someone told me once that with boys you should be doing something alongside them to open up a conversation about feelings and needs - and she was absolutely right. If I'm not looking at him, he'll open up and tell me about the hard time someone is giving him, his first crush on a girl way out of his league (two years older, a 6th grader!), and how he wants to be part of a tougher crowd of boys at school but he's not quite making it.

It's not really something I could imagine 10 years ago as I labored for 36 hours without so much as a Tylenol, asking for street drugs or a sledgehammer. And truthfully, it's better that we don't really know what we're getting ourselves into, what we'll feel, how we'll struggle. You wouldn't have the energy for that journey at the start of the trip, and you'd set yourself up to fail. The only way to do it is the way we have to do it, a day at a time.