I love you, Mom - P.S. we need more paper towels!

I'm restless. I don't want to slow down, so I attack each drawer and closet angrily, throwing out 4 garbage bags full of long-forgotten 'treasures.' Then I see it in a pile of important papers - a note from Kari, written in about her 10 year old hand. I love you, Mom - P.S. we need more paper towels. Perfect - I lift it out of the pile and use it to mark my place in "The Friday Night Knitting Club." I use unique notes and photographs and cards and receipts for bookmarks, makes it interesting and fun when I pick an old book up and see that I ate salmon salad and creme brulee at the country club back in 2003. This note is stunningly perfect, combining familial love with responsibilities. She loves me AND I need to buy more paper towels. And so it goes. I baked chocolate chip cookies today, can't sit still, threw out some old potholders and icky knives. I'm cold, ironic with it so hot outside. At least I think it's hot outside - I haven't been out all day. But the air conditioner's on, so that must be why my hands are so cold. The rest of me isn't cold. Then I think my thyroid's acting up, then I think I should just relax and quit worrying about my health so much. I'm fine. It's all fine, this current shift that's leaving me exhausted and irritable. I'm just not happy. It's like I'm waiting for this huge change to come, and I know when it DOES, it will be really fast, so I want to be prepared, only I don't know HOW I'm supposed to prepare, and for someone with my personality, that does create a conundrum.

So what do you do with this time? I don't know - read, cook, clean, go for walks, hug the cat. Beyond that? Kari's coming home tomorrow, gosh, it's been SO long. I miss her so much. Just to have some female energy in the house again will be a godsend. Maggie's party is tomorrow, so that will be fun to have some girl time. She's making some fabulous food, but then, she always does. This will be the 5th party I've been invited to in the past 2 weeks, the first one I'll actually be GOING to. Why? I don't know - I just can't muster up the strength to get my butt out of the house and smile. Steve's Aunt Ruth called with her sympathies over Mom, and I couldn't get Steve on the phone fast enough. I could tell she sounded disappointed that I didn't talk to her longer, but I just couldn't. You understand, don't you? It's all just too difficult sometimes, making small talk, pulling myself up out of this deep spot that my emotions are hidden in right now, to put together articulate thoughts. Too much too much. So I protect myself, stay indoors, or outdoors, picking up sticks from the tree we chopped down, planning what flowers to plant along the back fence. I don't know anymore, much about anything. I'm seeing clients, finishing up my current nutrition class, seeing some friends, but mostly? I'm just hanging out, trying to relax, calm down, hug my brain gently and tell it everything will be okay. Sometimes it believes me, and sometimes it doesn't. It just depends, sort of like everything else these days.

more tears?

Frog is number 38 in the Medicine Card Book, and it says this about him:

"Frog teaches us to honor our tears, for they cleanse the soul. If you were to look at where you are today, would you use any of the following words to describe your condition: tired, overloaded, harried, frustrated, guilty, itchy, nervous, at a loss, empty, or weakened? I so, take a break and allow yourself to bathe in the waters of Frog medicine. This could mean a long, relaxing bath, disconnecting the phone, yelling 'stop,' or taking in deep, cleansing breaths. The key thought is to find a way to rid yourself of distractions and to replace the mud with clear energy. Then replenish your parched spirit, body, and mind. Call to Frog and find peace in the joy of taking time to give to yourself. A part of this giving is cleansing yourself of any person, place, or thing that does not contribute to your new state of serenity and replenishment.

At times, all of life's activities can be overwhelming, and everyone occasionally needs a break. Contrary Frog can signal one of these moments, but can also portend a time of feeling waterlogged. In feeling waterlogged, you may be dealing with too many emotions or feelings. This is to say that 'the world is too much with you,' or that you have immersed yourself in one idea or activity to the exclusion of all other facets of your life. If this is the case, a break from routine is suggested. Hop to other lily pads or visit other ponds for a while."

Well, I guess that says it all. Let's see, tears? Yup - got those. Tired, overloaded, at a loss, empty, weakened? Yup - got those. Taking care of myself? Uh - not so much that. Cleansing myself of people that don't contribute to my serenity? Working on that one, but it's tough. Overwhelmed and waterlogged? Need a break? Too many emotions or feelings? Immersed myself in one idea? Guilty as charged. So there you go, Mom - I got it - you sending Frog to hop and rustle against my reflection so I can get some help right now. I'm trying to take care of Dad, and of my sisters, of my kids and Steve, then I stop a moment and look at myself and think, 'what have I done to take care of myself, what have I done to work with this grieving process?' and I realize the answer is ... not much. So that stops today. I'm taking some time each morning for Mom Time, so just sit and be with her, and her energy, and her memories, and see what comes up. I'm going to honor her, and our time together, and our time to come, and just see what happens. I'm going to stop running so fast, and see what happens when I stand still for a while. I admit - I'm a little nervous - I like movement - fast movement usually - but I'm willing to do this, in the spirit of being open and always looking for expansion and suppleness in my life. Wish me luck!

cleansing

Bill and I stayed overnight with Dad. I still can't get to sleep very well, so I open the basement window to let some cool air in. Then I hear it - a rustly quiet thumping noise. I don't think much about it, then hear it again in a few minutes - thuh, it sounds like. It sounds like it's coming from the egress window. I turn on the light. I can't see anything, reflected against the window. I shut off the light - now I can't see anything. It's 11:40PM - I go back upstairs - Dad's reading the end of "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress," one of 7 of my favorite all-time books I've brought up for him to read. He gives me a flashlight and I go outside, and shine it down the window well. Okay, I'm a little nervous - you just never know what you'll find - bunny, robber, but there it is, looking right into the window, a little green frog (oh, with yellow spots and a big mouth - Mom's favorite joke!). I sit on the ledge and carefully bend over, with a portable broom and scoop and scoop the little guy into the scoopy thing. I lift him out and place him gently back away from the edge. He takes two hops... BACK into the window well. He must think the well is the lake and the window the water. So I sit back at the edge of the well and repeat the process, then carefully walk him down to the bay's edge and let him go. He just sits there, looking up at me calmly. I go back to bed, and as I lie there, I think, 'this happened TWICE - it must have meaning,' then I think of the Medicine Cards, and how frog means cleansing, and I think I will look that up when I get back to Fargo to see why Frog has hopped into my life at this time. I'm sure it means something, as everything seems to, these days.

I'm anxious to get back to Fargo, to see if we can calm down a little. Steve called this morning, missing us. Maybe everybody's feeling this strangeness these days, as if something has shifted, and nothing will ever be the same again.

South Dakota

We're here. I must say, the middle part of South Dakota looks awfully like the middle part of North Dakota, but once you hit 90, after Wall Drug, wow. It's so hilly. I don't mean to sound silly (or rhyme), but I haven't been here in 15 years, and I can't remember any part of that trip except Methusala, the 135 year old tortoise at Reptile World (she's still there!). Yesterday was a strange day - almost 100 degrees (that's not the strange part), but driving around and feeling SO exhausted and yes, queasy again. I keep wondering what's wrong with me, then I think maybe nothing's wrong with me, I just haven't slowed down a single iota since Mom died, and my body's probably just protesting a little. I don't blame them (yes, I call my body "them," as there are several distinct parts that talk and work together, so it's a multiple relationship). I'll try to rest and be a little more mindful when I get home later this week.

We went to Watiki Water Park the night we came here, and I've noticed an interesting phenomenon. When I'm surrounded with a lot of people, especially when they're laughing and having a great time, I get overcome with sadness over Mom, missing her. I've noticed this before, but had to sit with a towel in front of my face so I could cry quietly and not feel too stupid. It's getting better, really it is, but when I look in the mirror, especially in the morning, I look kind of like hell. I've got dark circles under my eyes, and my eyes look smaller. I'm not just saying this - Bill mentioned it, and he just doesn't lie, little enlightened being that he is. Sigh. Enough of that. What I want to say is that the trees are beautiful and clean and the mountains are steep and I love to look over the edge and admire the scenery (when I'm not driving). People are friendly, and we're meeting people from all over the country. People love to talk and connect, and I love that about life. I love reading Harry Potter to Bill, and wrestling with he and Steve, I love laughing about speaking Pig Latin and not understanding what anyone's saying because we've made up a new language, I love holding hands with Bill and Steve and walking, sharing this life with these two amazing men.

There are 6 family members who are my heart, my blood and my center - Mom and Dad, Steve, Kari, Erik and Bill. I have something planned, but the basis is these 6. I'll keep working on it, and share when I've figured it out. The sky is cloudy (maybe that will lower the temp? Please?), and we are heading to breakfast, then off to our day. I'm still wearing my white Converse tennies, and my Chicos blue jean capris, and Dad's hat that he gave me. It's all stained, but it's Dad's, so it was on my head most of yesterday, and will probably be there today, as well. On with vacation - I'll try to write as soon as I can.

death and rebirth

This appears to be a summer of death. No, this isn't a depressing entry, but a rather beautiful one. Mom's dying wasn't unexpected, it was beautiful, and I've written about all of the amazing things that have come out of it. Mostly the closeness that I have with three of my sisters that I've never felt before, or the incredible outpouring of love that I continue to feel from friends and family.

But an interesting thing has been happening lately, and it goes so far beyond ordinary synchronicity that I must note it here. First I noticed that I am becoming obsessed with pearls lately. I go onto the Mikkimoto website to find "Pearls in Motion" necklace like Marietta has so we can be twins. Then I find a strand of pearls that I want to buy matching sets for Kari and I for Christmas, and on and on. Then Melissa tells me that I will meet someone named Lucine - when we look up the meaning of the name, and you got it - pearl. Then I think of Randy Pausch, and how I respect and admire him. I'm writing a column next week about all of the people who inspire me. He was on the list. I went to his website to see if he was still alive. As of a couple days ago, he was. He died this morning. No coincidence.

It's as if I'm IN this current of Oneness, and I'm never out of it. Everything is flowing easily and together. I call Marietta while she's on her cell phone with Peggy, who later calls me while I'm on the other line with my other sister Nancy, while Marietta then calls Dad, who's sitting right next to me. On and on. Like the ribbons on a Maypole these currents of thought and love twine around all of us, connecting us, reminding us that we are never alone - that we are connected to each other, we are a part of each, we belong to each other. And all of this? Beautiful, simple and beautiful.

I'm floating on a slow river, laying on a raft with one hand in the water. I don't care where I'm going, I'm not pushing anything, or looking beyond the next week or so. I'm getting a lot of "things" done, but I'm not planning much of anything. Sure, I may still be quieter, more distant and withdrawn, but I am different, and that's a really good thing. Mom? I miss her with every ounce of my being. I see here everywhere here at Dad's, in the roadrunner needlepoint picture I pass on my way to the laundry room, in her handwriting on the notebook of presents received, on the embossed stationery we are using to write thank-yous to everyone for the memorials. I sigh. I'm not crying so much. I know she's dead. I know she's gone from this physical plane, but this transition is easier than I supposed it would be. I don't think my health is too affected. Probably more so from the past year that I was driving back and forth, all of those nights in the hospital, all the worrying and pre-grieving. To be here? It's actually fresh, clear, clean, pristine, even, and the view is panoramic. There aren't any other people here, where I am, but that's okay - I'm not alone.

a little better

I'm feeling a little better today. I can't tell you why, other than I slept kind of deeper than I have since the end of May, and that's GOT to be a good thing. I was still upset about the whole "now I'm close to Dad" thing with this other person, but smart, best friend Missy Pooh shed some really good light on it for me. She said that people sometimes don't know what to do with someone who's dying, so they run away. But afterwards they do what they can to make up for it, whether that's taking care of the living person, or whatever. I understand that - I still don't know where this person was for the past 16 years. Mom wasn't dying that whole time. Oh well - I guess it's not for me to figure out - it's not my business. It's their's. I kept thinking of the story of the prodigal son all day, and how I felt like the eldest, staying, doing all the work, while the youngest took his inheritance, squandered it, then came back, and the dad got excited and embraced him. Now, wouldn't I want Dad to do that for me, if I had walked away from him? Sure I would. So what's the difference? I'll have to think about it - I wish it wasn't so hard sometimes ot do the right thing. Sometimes I just want to be a bitch.

I kept hearing the song "All For the Best" from Godspell today, as well. I didn't think about it until I paid attention to what I was singing. Here are the lyrics that kept running through my head:

Some men are born to live at ease, doing what they please,
Richer than the bees are in honey
Never growing old, never feeling cold
Pulling pots of gold from thin air
The best in every town, best at shaking down
Best at making mountains of money
They can't take it with them, but what do they care?
They get the center of the meat, cushions on the seat
Houses on the street where it's sunny..
Summers at the sea, winters warm and free
All of this and we get the rest...
But who is the land for? The sun and the sand for?
You guessed! It's all for the best...

Don't forget that when you go to Heaven you'll be
blessed...
You guessed! It's all for the best.

You must never be distressed
Yes, it's all for the....
All your wrongs will be redressed
Yes, it's all for the....
Someone's got to be oppressed!

Yes, it's all for the best!!!

So I'm feeling like others are rich, taking it all, and I'm oppressed? But when I get to heaven I'll be blessed, and all my wrongs will be redressed, and yes, it's funny if you've heard that line, "someone's got to be oppressed!" really it is, go listen to it, it's like a vaudeville show, making fun of everything, because after all, it really is just one big game, isn't it? A big party? A big play where everyone's just acting out their parts? First I'm rich, then I'm poor, then I'm happy, then sad, then angry - one life after the next, always different, always shuffled around. It's just that it feels really up close right now, and it's harder sometimes to step back and detach from the drama, but right in this very moment, at 6:26PM, I'm feeling pretty centered and okay, so that's a real blessing, it really is. It makes me think that I will actually make it through this current storm that I'm walking through, not able to see my feet in front of me, or the road before me, holding my hands over my eyes so they won't get stung by the flying sand. I'll make it, I know I will...

distant

My sister called - we compared notes. I've changed - she says her family says she has, too. I asked Steve if I'd changed. "Yeah," he said, "You're more distant and withdrawn." "I am?" I asked. I didn't think I was. I wonder if it's permanent, these feelings, or if it's necessary. I almost have to withdraw, distance myself from others - they weren't there, they don't understand how I feel, even if they had parents who've died - they aren't me.

Well, no one else IS me, but you know what I mean. How do I feel? Oh, a little angry - someone who ignored Mom for most of the past 5 years is now all about being with Dad, and that hurts me - it's disrespectful to Mom. I'm still protective of her. I don't even care if you didn't like Mom - respect her and cherish her and honor her. That's all I ask - I don't think it's too much, is it? Unconditional love? Maybe I'll have to unconditionally love this certain person (it's hard to do the right thing sometimes).

I sure wish I could sleep. I cleaned out Bill's toy room today - filled two garbage bags full of junk. Where does all this stuff come from, and why is there so much more, and why can't I just shovel the whole lot of garbage in my house into a dumpster? Why do I think everything is so precious, so needing to be kept? I'm tired of things, too much stuff. Too much. Do I seem distant to you? I'm right here, but I'm quieter, more reserved. I don't like to joke or laugh all the time. I notice that. But I'm still fun, really, I am - I think. I don't know what I am right now - feeling full, but not having eaten all day. Tired, but having slept a little bit last night, sad, but nothing really to feel sad about, restless, not knowing why. And distant? Sure, probably I am, withdrawn, too. I think I'll lie low for the rest of the summer, see how I feel in the fall. Maybe lie low then, too. Who knows for sure? It depends on how I'm feeling. I don't think I'll be like this for the rest of my life, just until it stops hurting so much to miss Mom.

black duck

Billy by the guest cabin (before the fireflies came out!)

Billy and Uncle Jerr on the 6 wheeler - hang on, boys!

We started out at Summerhill Farms - wild rice soup and pie. Then up to Bemidji Woolen Mills. How many more mittens and hats can one family buy? Well, a few more, it appears. Then on to Uncle Jerr's and Aunt Helen's house at Blackduck. Uncle Jerr is my dad's younger brother, the only living blood Dad has. I love Uncle Jerr - he looks like Dad, and even sounds like him. They built a cabin near the original site of the cabin that Dad went to for most of his life, right at the edge of the wilderness. Helen had cooked an amazing tarragon chicken, and we ate it all up. Billy Boy was his usual charming self, we laughed a lot, we went out for a boat ride, then Jerr let Bill ride behind him on the 6-wheeler to our guest cabin. We came back at 10 so Billy could do the Trust Walk on the path to their home (he made it!), then we turned off all the lights at our cabin to watch the fireflies. Gosh, I love fireflies almost more than anything else on earth (besides fingernail moons) - they're pure, unadulterated magic to me. We tried to catch one to put in a jar, but it was comical watching Bill and me out on the lawn - it's lit, grab it! It's dark, where did it go? There it is - grab it. It's dark, where did it go? Over there... on and on. We gave up. Then we heard the loon - another lovely sound. We went to bed with the almost full moon shining through the window. And no sounds. No noise. No highway in our backyard, no light pollution, just... quiet. I loved it - my soul felt so peaceful.

I was fine until we entered Fargo again, then I started feeling heavy, and tears sprang to my eyes. Why? No reason in particular, but I thought it was interesting that I hadn't cried about Mom for almost two days, until we got back home. Maybe I need to leave more often? Maybe I shouldn't leave for a while? It's interesting, anyway, but I'm glad we got out for a little trip, seeing as there are only a few more weeks of summer left. Sigh.

Mr. President...

the strange dreams continue. Last night I was friends with the President, only it wasn't George W. - it was a younger, dark-haired man. He was very kind, and we just liked hanging out together. This isn't the first strange dream over the past weeks. I can't even remember any of the others - they fade with the morning sun. I still can't sleep - Billy got up at 7 this morning and wanted to stay up. I wore my cute blue and green dress for two days in a row. Even I'M starting to worry a little. I sat and needlepointed for three hours, couldn't seem to get going today. I DID make the rhubarb crunch to bring to Uncle Jerr's tomorrow, but I feel like I'm swimming underwater, and I can't come up for air.

I went to the street fair, but in the midst of the people I suddenly felt all alone, lonely, even. Is that silly? I thought, "None of these people knew my mom - none of them know she's gone," then I started crying (again). Thank goodness I was wearing my sunglasses - you can't see my eyes. I'm fine, really, I am - it just feels like a strong pair of hands is holding me down, and I know that's the description of depression, but I'm not depressed, really, I'm not. I've got a lot of energy, but I just want my mom here. I want her with Dad - I know he misses her, and I try not to take on his stuff, too, but it's hard sometimes when I'm so empathetic and I love them both so much. How to navigate it all? One breath at a time, one thought at a time. Now it's okay, now I'm sad. I still miss her. I say it out loud, and Bill says sagely, "Don't think about her." Well. I hadn't thought of that before - maybe I'll try it.

What could that dream possibly mean, if anything? That I have dreams of grandeur? That I think I'm cool enough to be friends with the President? Maybe it's just a dream? I liked it, I won't lie, I like being friends with powerful people, if only in my dreams. In the meantime, I pick my way carefully over this current terrain. It feels like I could fall off the side of the mountain if I don't watch what I'm doing, so I try to stay as conscious as possible, and try to remember to breathe.

The Death Diet

Take one mom, well, take MY mom, away, then look at a plate of food and try to eat. Try to think about food, try to put the fork to your mouth, try to chew. Then try to swallow. Then try the whole darn thing over again. And again. Try to calm your stomach and intestines down to a normal routine, try to care about eating, or sleeping. Try not to run away from your grief.

I lay in Kari's bed, needlepointing one of the pictures Mom had given me when she couldn't see to do the work anymore. Steve came in, all happy and peppy, trying to cheer me up. He kept at me, teasing, until I rubbed his shoulder gently and asked him if he was okay, if there was anything he needed. He said no, then asked me if I was okay. He just sat there, seriously (which is sort of rare for him), until I started crying. I thought I was okay. I told him I needed him to gentle with me for a year. He asked if I was serious, and I said yes. He said, "You can't outrun grief," and I said I was in pretty good shape, so I'd probably be able to run for quite a while. Washing the car, mailing the packages, grocery shopping, cleaning and organizing, never stopping, my brain zooming along into the early hours of the morning, shutting off for a few blessed moments until it turns on again. I can hear my head buzzing.

Then I realize when I'm stressed out I organize my outside world, as if that somehow will calm and organize my insides. It doesn't, really, but it sure makes the outside world a little neater. I'm keeping up with my deadlines and obligations, responsibilities and duties - Bill got his absessed tooth pulled this afternoon, with me holding his hand and telling him to belly breathe. I'm baking sausage, peppers and penne pasta for dinner (Bill's favorite) and baking rhubarb crunch to take to Uncle Jerr's on Saturday. We're going to Chitra and Ajit's barbecue tomorrow night, and hopefully Carolyn's party tonight. Am I running? Maybe, or maybe I just want to be doing things. Okay, I'm probably running, because when I stop to just sit, I start thinking about things. I may call the funeral home to see about grief counseling, or call Tom or Mary Holtey - I know they know what's what. I probably need some help dealing with the trauma of the last year.

But it IS interesting to note that that 10 pounds of stress weight that I slowly put on last year has instantly vanished in the last 6 weeks, along with my appetite. Oh, don't worry - I'm eating all fresh vegetables and fruit, and lots of water, but that's about it. I just can't handle anything more right now. Maybe I'll start worrying if I lost another 5 pounds. The Death Diet, sheesh. I certainly wouldn't recommend it to anyone.

queasy

for the past three days. I'm thinking it's the new probiotics I'm taking, but John says he's sick, and there are odd bugs going around, so I get worried, then I think, "I have to trust. I just HAVE to. What other options are there?" I can worry, then get stressed then make everything harder, and what can anyone do about anything right now, anyway? It seems the only thing to do is lay low, get lots of rest, eat lightly and gently, take care of yourself. The queasiness? I feel a great separating right now, from those who have chosen the path of light, and those who choose otherwise. What's not the path of light? I don't know, but I sure as heck don't want to be on THAT ship when it sails! Imagine lifting up high off the ground - how do you feel? Surreal, dreamy, a little confused, queasy. Everything's getting swirled around, inside your head and inside the ground. Why? Maybe realigning everything to accommodate this new direction we're moving in.

I told Mags it's like having cold bath water. When you first put hot water into the tub, it feels uncomfortable because now part is hot and part is cold. You have to swirl the water around to get everything uniform. Same thing in our bodies as these new awarenesses keep coming to us. The pattern appears to be "I'm normal." Then "I feel funny." Then "I feel really great." Then back to just normal, then on to funny as the new stuff comes. And on and on. So what we might need to do is look at our pattern of how we go through things. Then when we feel a certain way, we can know that "Oh, THIS is where I am right now, then I'm going to be at this next place," and so on, so we get some sense of comfort from the unknown. Everyone goes through stuff differently, so it doesn't make much sense to say what I personally go through, as it probably won't make sense to you. I can only understand my unique process, and where am I right now? I think this stuff with Mom catapulted me up through a lot of levels, because I'm not reacting in quite the same ways to my life as I used to - I'm more neutral, less controlling (could it be?) of what's unfolding, trusting. That's the key word always - trust. When I feel funny somehow, whether it's a stab in my back, or a queasy stomach, or a heavy headache, I feel the worry think about creeping in, then I say to myself, "Is there anything I can do about this situation?" Sometimes there IS - I'm taking a B complex to replenish my body after the continued stresses of the past 6 weeks, I took zinc and some Oscillo tonight in case I DO have a bug. I'm going to bed early. Beyond those simple basic things of listening to my body, I realize that if I don't trust the process, it's going to be a VERY long and bumpy ride, and I'm just not up to that right now. So I'm letting someone else drive for a while, and I'm going to rest a little bit. It's a lot easier when you surrender to the All and let your beautiful life unfold itself instead of pushing it all the time. I only tend to mess things up when I do it that way.

Off to read some Harry Potter - I just KNOW Snape's still a good guy...

lost

I'm waiting for Mom to come home. She's gone somewhere, maybe lost, but she's out there - she's just not back yet. I'm waiting, holding my breath. My intestines are cramping, my stomach hurts, I still can't sleep. I think I'm waiting for her to come back home, I'm waiting to hear her voice again, I'm waiting to see her so I can hug her, stroke her arm, tell her I love her, and I'm happy she's not lost anymore. I'm waiting...

Well, that sucks, doesn't it? How stupid am I? I was THERE when she died, I was there when they lowered her urn into the ground, I've still got the sack of her ashes in my purse. Is this what they call denial? The realizations come gently, slightly, like sharp pricks with a knife, stabbing me just a little so that I jump, remember that she's gone and I'll never see her again. Then I cry. Like in church, singing the doxology, or with Dad yesterday, for no reason other than to say, "I miss Mom, Dad," and to see him wiping his eyes. Again. Again and again.

I'm assuming it will be like this for some time, gradual, unrelenting, bare. I'm tired, I'm lost, I don't want to pick up my life yet, write that article, write my column, book my clients, get Bill's absessed tooth pulled, on and on. I just want to curl up and listen to music and stare, and think about Mom, to just breathe her into me. I don't want to run away. I know she's gone, and it's all right, really it is - I'm doing better than I thought I would. It's just this pernicious stabbing that surprises me. It's powerful, and when it comes, I let it take me over, like letting the wave wash over me, I don't fight it, because I know it will be gone in time. Until it comes again. Then I'll be waiting for it, this realization, these feelings, this love for my mother. God, I love her. I miss her. I sort of feel lost without her. But it will be okay, it's okay right now. It's just different, that's all. And it hurts, right there behind my ribs, pulsing out in waves that ebb and flow, but never stopping. I'm drifting, a little lost right now...

I love people

It's a strange feeling, walking into Mom and Dad's church this morning. The last time was for the funeral last Tuesday. I've been pretty good about everything, but Dad started talking about Mom yesterday, and those last weeks, and my stomach started hurting again. Maybe I'm just pushing it all away right now, waiting for the chance to really just be with it all. I don't know.

As I looked around at everyone in the church, I was filled with this deep love in my heart, and it seemed to stretch out to my whole body, until I felt like a big love, uhm blob. I don't know what to call that feeling I had, but I felt tender, and so loved and included and grateful to be alive. We went downstairs afterwards and talked with everyone for almost 45 minutes. Dad's like a rock star, I tell you. I think how my priorities have shifted these past three years, from being totally driven to do my work and get it out to the world - they all need me! To relaxing and chilling out enough to trust that whoever needs my work will get it, and the rest of the time I can actually live my life. That's included spending the time just to be with friends and family - parties and barbecues and lunches and movies and trips to the park and picnics and bike rides and coffees. It's all so good, I can't even tell you. Connected and a part of, and loving every minute of it.

Has this past month changed me? Unequivocally, yes, in every aspect of my being. I feel like a great pole that has been pushed deep into the ground. Not so that I'm stuck, but so that I'm sturdy and strong and straight up. I can't get knocked over or pulled up. I'm here, deeply, and surrounded by a gaggle of people who love me, and whom I love, dearly. Even my casual friends. I'm hugging everyone, even strangers!

I can't believe what a great time I had at my 30th high school reunion. Everyone was hugging and laughing and telling me they loved me - Lynell calling me honey? Wow - I was overwhelmed. I couldn't quite understand it all, but I laughed my butt off with Rick, remembering our infamous double date (WE didn't date, but were with others). All the basketball girls surrounded Dad, who came with me last night to say hi (rock star status, I'm telling ya), and sharing memories. Perry Lee? Oh my gosh, the most popular boy in high school, telling me that our pool parties made his whole junior high a great experience. Chuck? With a cane, with MS, but still with bright eyes, telling me he was so thankful we could talk and hug. Amazing. And my grade school friend that used to punch my arm all the time? He was there, too, and we were so happy to talk again, after 30 years. Again and again. The pictures, the memories - some good, some not so good, but all precious. I didn't especially like high school (no one did, my dad explained), but I love these people. I love people! And it just keeps getting better.

I leave for back for Fargo tomorrow, after a dentist appointment (yay), then I can start my summer. I wouldn't have traded these past 5 weeks for love nor money, but I would be lying if I didn't say that my soul is tired, and I look forward to figuring out what my new normal is going to be.

I love my mommy (Bill does, too)

Sigh.

I can't sleep

still, and I'm wondering when it will calm down, when I can start my life again. I have nightmares almost every night. Not about Mom, just about bad things happening all around me. Sometimes I wake up, sometimes I don't. Some of my sisters are having them, as well. I got up at 5:30, and now notice that I have dark circles under my eyes, where there were none before. The big thunderstorm traveled right over us, but it was surprisingly comforting to hear the big crashes and rolls, see the sky light up white. I feel lost, I can't get my sea legs yet, or my land legs, wherever I am right now. I don't know. I head back to Bismarck tomorrow, and it all feels like one LONG dream.

Steve said I do a better job of running the house and taking care of Bill, but I know that I just love doing it, that's all. It's not that anyone's better, it's a matter of desire, I think. And what do I desire right now? Calmness, predictability, stability. I desire not to miss my mom every second. It's still inconceivable that I'll go for the whole second half of my life without hearing her voice, without having her in my life. I just don't get how I'll be able to do that. Maybe I need counseling or a support group. Maybe I just need my friends. Rock best friend Melissa is bringing over lasagna later today - gosh, I've missed her. I'm overwhelmed with the e-mails and cards from friends. I never realized how important losing your mother is. But now I do. And I'm grateful to you all, to everyone out there, whether you've lost your mom or not - it's so good to feel loved and supported and understood. My ex's sister even e-mailed to offer her best wishes and to thank me for going to HER mom's funeral. I told her, "I wouldn't have missed it for the world." I loved Leora, my ex's mom, like she was my own mom. She was kind, and generous, and so loving. Sigh. I love moms, as John Strand says.

So I start my day at 10:11AM, still in my pajamas, wondering how in the world I'm going to muster the energy to get dressed.

three things I know

We bury Mom today. The funeral's at 2PM. It's already sprinkling, the sky a dark gray. I woke up and said, "This is the day of my mom's funeral." I took a shower and said, "I'm showering for my mom's funeral." And on. I wonder if it will be like this for the rest of the day? Maybe the rest of my life? Ruthie checked us out at Target yesterday, and I told her my mom had died. Why did I tell a checkout clerk this? I have no idea. I just want everyone to know. She said her mom died in 2002, and her best advice to me was to take it one hour at a time, and to understand the grief will probably never totally go away. As I walked away, she said, "Remember, one hour at a time." Amazing.

There are three things I know from being here with Mom and Dad this past month:

1: the number of stoplights between their house and the hospital (7)
2: how to open bathroom doors without touching anything (pushing the handicapped button with my butt), and how to press the elevator keys (with the antenna of my cell phone)
3: that I have exactly one month's worth of clothes, if I don't repeat an outfit twice

I leave for Fargo tomorrow, but my soul is here, at Mom and Dad's house. It feels like home now, the trees across the road, the turtles on their log, the fake "deer" in the field (it's a stand, but Mom always called it her fake deer because it kinda looked like one - kinda), Rolling Cappucino, breakfasts on the deck. How can I go back to Fargo and start again, pick up like it's all fine? It IS all fine, don't get me wrong, it's perfect, actually, but there's just something, something. As I sit here, I realize I am waiting for something, and there's a hole in the air. All I can hear and feel is silence, and I realize I'm waiting for my mom. I'm waiting for Mom. I guess I'll be waiting for a long time, huh?

I don't know if it's better or worse to love someone so much. Your hearts become intertwined, but then it hurts so damn much when they go. I've decided it's still better to love someone with everything you've got, just totally throw your arms out, arch your back, and jump off that cliff. You may be smashed to smithereens when you hit the bottom, but god, what a ride.

poor little puppy

I was trying to get dressed to start the day. I stood in front of the bed, and something inside of me broke. I lay down with my face in my pillow and started sobbing, full out loud wails of missing Mom. After a few minutes, Bill came in quietly and lay down next to me, putting an arm around me, and putting his head next to mine. We sat like that for a minute.

"It's all right," I told Bill. "It's perfectly natural. It's good to let things out instead of holding them in." I sniffed.

"I know, Mom," he said. "But I thought I heard a dog in pain, so I was coming to check it out."

"A dog WAS in pain," I answered. He laughed. Poor little puppy daughter.

Mom's eulogy

Do not mistake Marietta Ekberg for an ordinary person. Do not think she as just a mother, or a wife, or a daughter, or a friend. Do not assume she was just a therapist, or a writer, or an inspiration to all who had the privilege of knowing her. It's true, she WAS all of these things, but it was the WAY she lived all of these parts that made her so extraordinary.

She was a mother who rocked her children, who held them and told them always that she loved them. She was a loving and devoted wife for over 63 years - she knew her husband's soul, and carried it with her, and will continue to carry it with her on her next adventure.

She was a loved only child, who knew from a very young age what was important to her - having a large family and loving them all. Mom was one of the most generous people I have ever known, and her kindness has inspired me in countless ways. From giving an elderly woman a ride in a blizzard, to later bringing her bread and checking in on her for years, to funding college for young people who might otherwise not have afforded to go, to setting up a fun fund for church members, to sending flowers and cards on friends' birthdays and anniversaries.

Her steadfast dedication to connecting with others and creating a better world are among her crowning achievements, in my opinion. Her positive attitude has been an inspiration in my life, as well. When I was well planted in grade school, she enrolled at NDSU and commuted to become North Dakota's first certified family therapist, no small feat with four children still at home. And even through her health challenges, she kept her sense of humor, joking with nurses and doctors. Last summer when she left the hospital, there was a group of nurses that all stopped by to say good-bye. Her favorite emergency room doctor called us after he'd heard that she had died, and told us how much she'd meant to him. That's how loved she is. She always said thank you for everyone's help, and was ready with her sweet smile. The day before she died, I told her I loved her as I was walking out the door, and she blew two kisses to me. Unbelievable. If I stop to think about it, I'm sure she touched hundreds of thousands of lives through her work, her friends, her writing, and community service.

There are those who are born and live simple lives, there are those who live smaller lives, and then there is Marietta Meyer Ekberg. She lived a good life, she lived a full lie, and I know she can hear me right now when I say, "Good job, Mom. You did it."

We will miss you so much, but I will especially miss calling you and hearing your voice. I will miss asking for your advice, I will miss hearing your stories (even if I've heard them before), I will miss you asking me if you can have one of my French fries, I will miss touching your soft skin and hugging you. But in this incredible territory of love, I know that we are always together. Death doesn't even begin to touch that. We know that you are still with us. And YOU know how deeply you are loved. I love you, Mom. Kiss Kiss.

good-bye, sweet mommy

At 12:40PM this afternoon, I had the gentle honor of stroking Mom's head while she breathed her last breath and started on her next grand adventure. It was surprisingly beautiful and sweet and gentle, and I'm so glad I was there with her. I know she knew I was there, even if she couldn't speak. What an honor. What a woman. She will be so sorely missed by all.

Her funeral is Tuesday here in Bismarck, at 2PM at our family church. I feel tired, like today has been a month, but my family is around me, and we are here with Dad for the weekend. Everyone else is taking a nice break at the lakes, but me? I want to be quiet, and be here, with Dad.

Good-bye, sweet mommy - happy trails to you, until we meet again.

again and again

Mom is lying on her back, her mouth open. Her stomach pulls with each breath. Her skin is gray around her mouth, and filmed with sweat. Her arms and legs are swollen to twice their normal size, dotted with purple and red. Her forearms feel like ice as I touch them with my gloved hand.

"Hi Mommy," I say, she mmmmmms and smiles a little. I know she knows I'm here.

She lifts her left hand to her mouth slowly, as if eating an imaginary popsicle. I get the white styrofoam cup full of ice chips and find the smallest one, scoop it into the white plastic spoon and lift it to her mouth. I touch her right shoulder with my other hand and lightly brush the spoon to her lips. She opens her mouth. "Do you want an ice chip?" I ask. She chews the chip and opens her mouth again. "Do you want another ice chip?" I ask. Again and again. And again. And again. 20 or 30 ice chips. So thirsty and yet so full of fluid, just in the wrong places.

Her gown is sticking to her right elbow where they couldn't get an IV in. I run the water until it is warm and soak a washcloth, then wring it out. I gently pull away a flap of her gown until it sticks, then lay the washcloth over the spot until the gown comes away a little. Again and again. Until the gown pulls free from her loose skin. Dad lifts up the gown and gently blows the spot dry. There.

I caress her head as I love to do, and tell her how much I love her. Dad says, "Your baby Susie is here," but Mom can't hear him because she's coughing. It's almost time.

today

They returned Mom's oxygen equipment yesterday. That was the first time I've cried in almost 3 days. Oh, and when Laurie called to tell me she was thinking of me (thanks, Laurie!). I cannot believe the outpouring of love and support I've received - letters, phone calls, e-mails, hugs. I know it's not just for me - it's for everyone who's ever lost (or is losing) a dear parent. I say it's like this horrible club that you didn't know was out there, but that you're grateful for. I'm grateful for all of you - thank you.

I leave at noon, and what I want to say is that I'm traveling to Bismarck for an event that has a known ending - Mom dying. I'm leaving my husband and son and will not be with them for a while, and that makes me sad. Usually I leave Fargo for a happy event - to see Mom and Dad. But this trip, it appears, to be doubly edged with toughness. There is no sunny side. That is difficult for me. I cried into Steve's arm last night as I articulated this feeling, and he said, "We'll still love you. You think if you leave us here, we won't love you anymore when you get back." I don't know how he had this thought, but it isn't true. Then I wonder if that's how HE feels, but I can't think about that kind of mirror logic right now. I can't even remember if Erik's detached garage opens with a key or a door opener. I forgot to pick up the groceries on Sunday, and had to drive back (sheepishly) with my plastic numbered cards to get them. The ice cream was a little melted.

I'm streamlining my thoughts, as I fall asleep gently last night, I remember that I want to take a copy of "The Prophet" and "Gift from the Sea" to read to Mom, then the thoughts start marching, and it's midnight before my brain finally slows down enough to shift into alpha state. It's almost over, I tell Bill. "How much longer is this home stretch?" he asks me. Well, two weeks from today I will be home again, no matter what, so that's something. I got the information that Mom would die before the next full moon, and I thought that was in the next few days, but no, the next full moon isn't until July 18th. Well that's a DUH piece of information if I've ever heard it! But it brings up an interesting point. Everything turns, everything changes, everything keeps walking slowly and steadily on, even if we want it to go faster or stop. We can't do anything about that linear time thing but watch it progress. Watch the leaves come out, green up, turn brown and brittle, drop to the ground. Over and over again. That's just the backdrop to the rest of life, and we decide what comes in front of all of that. Whom do we spend time with, what makes us laugh, what and whom do we love, how do we spend our moments? I don't want ANY regrets. I want to keep living consciously, taking responsibility for this precious life.

I don't regret one single thing with my mom, except for that one time I bitched about how hard I worked that one Christmas that we all went down there, two years ago, and I did all the cooking and cleaning so everyone could have a good time. I have martyr tendencies. But after Mom said three separate times how perfect a time it was, and I bitched that I had gotten too tired, I stopped, and told her, "Mom, I am rewriting what I've said these past times. It WAS a perfect holiday - I had a perfect time, and it was so great to be there with you and Dad and my family. I wouldn't have changed a single thing." So maybe I don't regret my words about that Christmas after all. Maybe it's never too late to rewrite history, OR your feelings or words. Am I at peace? Well, yes, but then I conjure up Mom's face in my head and I can see her, laughing, and I start to cry, just a little bit. God, I'm going to miss her. But peaceful? Sure, yeah, I'll get there. Spiritually I'm at peace; physically? I'm working on it...

I Will Not Lie

It's nice being home. I can breathe deeper, I can sleep almost all the way through the night, I've even taken my three bags of stuff to the Boy's Ranch. I feel productive. It's almost like I need to touch everything in the house to bring my energy to it again, to wipe down the sinks, load the dishwasher, cook a meal and wash the dishes, fold the laundry. But a part of me stays in Bismarck, pulled, wondering when I should go. Dad says Mom isn't talking much, says that her hands and feet are cold. I'll leave tomorrow noon to go back, packing for two weeks should I need to stay that long.

How do I feel right now? Tired. I feel tired almost all the time, so I'm listening to my body and being gentle with it, eating when I'm able, resting as often as possible, just enjoying cuddling Bill or Steve, enjoying my short time with them. I know all of this is transitory, so I'm focusing on staying in the present moment, we're all here ... NOW, and that's a very good thing, as Martha Stewart would say. A very good thing. But I will not lie - it sure is nice to be home. There's no place like it. I cook rhubarb crunch and risotto-style barley to take back to my sisters and dad, then I head west 194 miles to the hospital, my other home.

Home for a minute

and then I go back. When? I don't know - that's the question. Mom's still alert, and I want to hold her hand while she's still alert, but is that selfish? I can hold her hand when she's unconscious, just to be with her. I know she'll know I'm there. She asked when I was coming back, and I told her two days. It's now been 24 hours, and my mind is back in Bismarck. My sisters tell me not to come back yet, that there are enough people there, that they want to keep things calm, and I think, I'm the most calm one, I'm the one who keeps focused and quiet. I know, I know, you may think I talk a lot, and am a little loud, and mostly I am, I guess, but not so much right now. Now I feel like being more quiet than talking, as if it's a great effort to talk. Besides, what do we REALLY have to say that's so important?

Sean Murphy from Taos told me a story when I was down there last. He said his friend went to his dad and told him about the benefits of meditating. "It will calm your mind." "But my mind's already calm," the dad answered. The son didn't know what to say back to him - he'd never met anyone with a calm mind. But I feel it right now - that still, quiet space. It came upon me last night when I lay in bed, right after reading the first chapter of the last Harry Potter book to Bill, and before he'd fallen asleep. It was a sweet, pervasive feeling of wholeness of being, just because. I liked it. A lot. I like where I am, but it's interesting to note that I tried to watch a DVD this afternoon, and none of the players worked. So I put on a CD, and THAT didn't work. I think it's me. I hope it's not permanent, or we'll have to replace all of our electronics. So now I go walk a bit before Bill comes back from his friend's house. He needed to play with his friends - a week of Mom would drive any kid mad. Bill and Steve will stay back, while I venture westward to be with Mom and Dad. Half of my summer will be gone, but I wouldn't have changed a single thing. I love my parents.

yin yang

For every sadness in my heart, there is a joy. For every difficulty there is a gift. I see one thing, then I think of its opposite, so I write my yin yang.

Mom is dying - I get to see all of my sisters
Dad is sad - we get to show him how much we love and support him
My sister left for vacation - I can see how some of my actions may hurt others, and am more aware of that
Jordan's situation - he'll finally get some good help
My fears - I am braver about some things, and scared of other things - education is a good thing
My fears are FRE - the most ferocious super bug that Mom has, and we have been around for the past two weeks - I almost fainted upon hearing the news - there are some things that we simply have NO control over, so we must trust (I have issues)
The drunk softball players screaming outside our hotel door at 12:30AM - I am NOT afraid of 20 drunk men - I opened the door and loudly asked them to keep it down, reminding them how late it was (Steve was shocked I was so brave, and was getting ready to "rescue me" - "You would've needed to rescue THEM," I told him this morning)
I feel SO ripped inside out - I am totally stripped down to my soul bare bones, and it's nice and clean and new
Mom is dying - she will always be with me

Our Last Conversation:
Mom: "How long do you think we've loved each other?"
Me: "I don't know. Forever. What do you think?"
Mom shrugs.
Me: "Do you think we've said everything we need to say?"
Mom: "Never."
Me: "I love you so much, Mom."
Mom: "I...LOVE...YOU!!!" Smile. "It's nice to have you here."
Me: "There's no place else I would rather be. I'll just sit and hold your hand."
Mom nods, closes her eyes, and smiles.

Mom Haiku

There is this space, Here!
Where my hand fits perfectly
Over her beating heart.

gifts

There are so many. Will I be able to name them all? It will be an ongoing list, but here are a few.
1. Collecting Russian Olive branches to bring up to the hospital - and their unbelievable smell - I'll always remember
2. Seeing all of my sister and Dad gathered around Mom, holding hands and singing - and Mom singing with us
3. Understanding a little more about the gift of quiet presence
4. Learning to breathe through the pain - and walking through to that crystal clear other side of peace
5. Walking with my sisters, firming up our triceps
6. Shutting my mouth when I want to bitch about something - just let it go - it doesn't matter
7. Being there 100% for my dad, just sitting by him, supporting him
8. Sitting for an hour with Mom this morning, one hand on her heart, the other holding her hand, and whispering "I love you, Mom" with her every breath
9. Making sack lunches for Dad and eating them with him at the hospital
10. Not being ashamed to cry anywhere, in front of anyone - it's beautiful
11. Holding my 8 year old and telling him how happy I am that he was born
12. Thanking Mom for the gifts she's given me
13. Walking through the woods with Nancy and coming to a break, with the sun beam shining right in front of us
14. Laughing through it all
15. Crying through it all
16. Being grateful for every single moment my heart is beating and I'm with my family

There will be more, but that is what I'm thinking about today. There is NEVER pain without gifts, it's just up to us to find the gifts, be aware of them, and allow them into our lives and consciousness. It is NOT all pain, or only pain. There is heart gripping beauty in every moment. It is all very real. And all a dream.

It's almost time

Dear Mom - you are so brave, and so strong. Your body has been incredible for your whole life, birthing five daughters, working, carrying everyone. But I know you're tired. Enough. It's all right to go on to your next adventure. We're right here, surrounding you. We'll be all right, and we'll take care of Dad. It's almost time to go - we know that, and I think you know that. And it's all right. It really is. Just know how much I love you, and thank you for everything you've done for me. I am so much who I am because of you. Your generosity, your unconditional love, your tenacity, your loyalty, your intelligence and goofy sense of humor. All from you, Mom.

Yes, I will miss hearing your voice. Yes, I will miss hugging you. But this is not all there is, far from it. And in that other place, we'll always be together. I know we will. But for now? Well, we'll be separated by that thin curtain, but it's not so thick - I can feel you even now, I can hear you in my head. Your voice is sweet and clear and strong. And that's real. I know it. Rest now, Mom - it's been a long journey, a grand adventure, but now it's time for your next one. We're staying behind, but we'll be along by and by, as well. Then we'll be together again.

so beautiful

Mom is so beautiful, lying there with her eyes closed. She mostly has a sweet slight smile on her face. Her face is almost unlined, and there shines from her almost a tangible light. I'm happy when I'm sitting next to her. There's a different energy around her, for some reason. The only time I really cry is when I see Dad with her. The way he looks at her, touches her face, murmurs. It almost does ya in, you know? But other than that, it is peaceful. We cut Russian Olive branches from the trees across the way, in the forest where I walk every day, and they are in a big vase by her bed. The whole room smells like summer by the river.

Everything seems clearer, brighter, deeper, if that makes sense. I don't feel like I'm in a dream anymore, but that I'm absolutely, stunningly here. I like how I feel. Bill took pictures of Dad, Nance, Mary and me last night, and I look different. I don't know what else to say but that. Something has changed inside of me, expanded. And it's so beautiful. Just like Mom.

Not enough time

I don't know if I'll be able to keep up, as Mom lifts up and out more and more, so I will write this morning and take it one moment at a time. Dad called us this morning to come in, so a friend of the family's watched Bill, who's here with me, due to some family issues back in Fargo. When it rains, it certainly pours. I will never forget this June. Ever. But it's all right. It's more than all right - it's just perfect. I believe that whatever happens is supposed to happen, from Bill's absessed tooth, to Erik's coughing up blood, to Jordan's difficulties, to Mom. Even if it's all happening at the same time - that's life at its messiest. Nobody ever said it was a straight line. Now we're in the difficult and intricate tango sequence of our lives. Careful not to slip up - you don't want to fall flat on your butt. That would be okay, as well, I guess.

I know that Mom understands us, but is too tired to talk, so I keep telling her I love her, and that she is loved, and keep stroking her face. She liked it when I ran a warm washcloth over her closed eyes. She smiled and nodded. I'm so glad I can be here with her and Dad. There is no other place to be. I miss Steve and Fargo, but they will be there when I am done with this. Everything will be there, but later, after I am through here. For right now, I'm just present, totally breathing into each moment, watching Mom's peaceful face as she lies in bed, breathing. Just breathing. She's alive right now.

pretty songbird

I had a dream last night. I owned a pretty songbird, with bright blue and red feathers. She nuzzled her beak against my face and I loved her. But one day she was lying down in her cage, and couldn't sit up. I held her to me, kept her by my side, but she kept shrinking, until she was only a quarter of an inch long, see-through, curled up, with black eyes and beating heart. She slid along the ground and I yelled at everyone to watch out for her, to not squish her, but they kept on with their business, not listening to me. She slid along to the drain and slipped down. I cried, and tried to get to her. But she was gone. Then out of the drain came two geckos - one blue and one red. They were shiny and lithe and they slithered around the grass trying to get acquainted. I wanted to catch them, but they weren't my pretty songbird. She was gone.

minnow

Mom can't talk anymore. She doesn't respond when we touch her. I used to think we had our words forever. We're surrounded with words, with conversations, from senseless texting and chatting about things that just don't matter, to the background buzz of the radio or tv. None of that matters now. I'm tired of talking.

Bill went fishing this morning and put the hook lightly into the minnow, so that we saw the bobber gently gliding across the water for 5 minutes, 10 minutes. The minnow was still alive. He decided that it was better to let him go, so I gently took him off the hook, and handed him to Bill, as he wanted to be the one to save his life. Only the minnow, in desperation, flopped in between the slats of the dock and landed on the floating black thing under the dock. We tried to save him by pushing him with a knife, but by the time we were done, he had died. I turned away from Bill so he didn't see me cry. He could've lived, there was no reason for him to die.

I feel better

I saw my sister, and I gave her a long hug. I feel better.

Be kind

I have been urged to be kinder, I have been urged not to be judgmental, I have been urged to be understanding. I have replied that I am being far kinder than I feel right now, and have not said nearly 1/10th of what is in my head, and I AM understanding. But there are some things that are just plain RIGHT and other things that are just plain WRONG. This is what I know: I know it is RIGHT to be here taking care of Mom and Dad, dropping everything to help as much as possible. I know it is WRONG to cut Mom and Dad out of your life, keeping secrets, withholding. I know it is WRONG to plan a vacation in 6 days, when Mom clearly only has a few days to live.

"Everybody has to make their own decisions, Susie."
"Yes, that's true. Everyone has their own issues, and will have to live with their consequences, but if this affects Mom, I will say the hard stuff. It's NOT okay, and if I'm the only one that has the guts to say that, then so be it. I'll say it."

Families stay - they are by your side when you are sick, especially when you are dying. It's not okay to stay away, coughing and saying you don't feel well, or you get sick if you stay up all night at the hospital, or your back hurts when you sit in the hospital chair for too long, or you're too busy with your kids. THAT IS NOT OKAY. It just isn't. And if anyone think I'm being unkind, well, then tough. Seriously, tough s**t.

Hey, aren't spiritual people supposed to go around with smiles on their faces, always gentle and yielding? Yes, but there are times when it is right to speak up, to say what's right. But aren't there several versions of "right?" Who am I to say what's right? Why would you deny your dying mother the right to see a picture of something kept from her? Why would you leave town when you know your mother will die any day? I acknowledge that we all have our priorities, and we all make our own decisions, but I don't want to delay the funeral for someone. I've chosen to stay at home for the last year, just to stay close in case Mom and Dad needed me. And they DID. I've been to Bismarck over 20 times in the past year. And I wanted to. Why? Because I'm kind. Are my sisters kind? I love them all, I do, but I will defend and take care of Mom first and foremost, and if that means saying some harsh things, then trust me, they'll be said. Mama didn't raise no fool. And for me to speak with that bad of grammar, you have to know I mean it!

Yes, these are tough, emotional, tough times, yes, we are all stressed out, yes, it's important to be gentle and understanding. Yes yes yes. I understand, I do. Believe me, I understand everything. That's the tough part sometimes. I can't be unconscious and just stick my head in the sand - I know too much. So I choose to speak, and for me, that's the most important thing. Maybe I'm wrong - who knows? I'm doing the best I know how.

just wondering

Mom has a fever today - up to 101 in her ear, which is 103 in her mouth, I think. She couldn't talk, and just lay there. I got scared, and it took two hours to get her some Tylenol. I'm just wondering what all of this is for - what are we doing? How is she living? She can't see, hear, speak, eat, move - she just lays there. Or is it "lies there?" One is active, that you DO, and another thing is for inanimate objects that you DO TO them. So I guess it doesn't really matter which verb I use, does it? They are doing some work to find out what caused her fever, possibly an infection due to her aspirating her food and drink into her lungs, and I ask again, what are we doing? I rinse the white washcloth in cool water and lay it back on her head, and tell her how brave she is, how she's my hero, and she snorts at me, and I tell her I'm serious, and once again, the tears come to my eyes. I'm pretty good about it, usually, really I am, until I go out into the hall while they do a chest x-ray, and I'm all alone with her, wondering if I'm taking good enough care of her, wondering what she wants when her hand starts patting the bedsheet, looking for something. "Do you want a kleenex? Your sucky thing?" She only always shrugs - what can she say? She slaps her hand gently on the side of the bed and sighs a little. She's frustrated, I know, and I want to help her, but the best I can do is just keep telling her, "I'm here, Mom, I'm here."

I bought a notebook and am doing some writing. That seems to help. A lot. I'm a writer, so writing is what I can do, to capture all of these myriad thoughts onto the page so they can be a little ordered. To keep some kind of a record of these times, of these hours and days. For what? I have no idea. For me, I guess. People tell me how sad it must be, and I think, it's not sad if you remain in the present moment, realizing that this is Mom RIGHT NOW, not her yesterday, or last year, or 10 years ago, or 30 years ago, RIGHT NOW, and this is her, and that is that. I sigh as I type, I don't know why, but I'm feeling tired, so I think I'll go rest for a while. Dad's up at the hospital now. It's almost 8PM - I'm ready for bed...

what day is it?

I thought I'd posted for today already. I couldn't sleep last night, my head full to bursting with the excess thoughts that crowd in and race. I'm used to that energy, that anxiety energy that seems to multiply with the stress. I practice my deep breathing but it doesn't help, so I take one of my new "Calms" homeopathic pills that I got at Earth Pantry, and pick up my book, "Water for Elephants." I brought along 5 books to read, and I'm halfway through this second one, reading while sitting with Mom. I heard Dad at 4AM, so got up to see how he was doing. He said he couldn't sleep, and as I leaned against the wall hearing him talk about what he thought had happened to cause the fluid in Mom's lungs I could feel my heart rate start to pick up, so I took deep breaths, and told Dad I had to go back to bed. He did, too. By the time I awoke at 8AM, he was STILL asleep. I cooked him breakfast, then we both went to the hospital to wait for Mom's procedure to get her stomach feeding tube put in. She was worried about it, so we said we'd both be there with her.

We sat until noon, when they finally came and took her, then waited until 2PM when they finally started the procedure. Dad left to go home to nap at 3 and I stayed until 6, so I could make the chicken stir fry with brown rice that I had promised Dad. I won't lie to you - I'm tired, I'm overwhelmed, I'm stressed out, my body is approaching maximum overdrive, and there's no rest in sight. Nancy's waiting for test results down in Colorado, Peggy's in London, Mary's in Greece, and Judy's at her house. I don't know what to do. I miss Steve and Billy so badly. I call three times a day to keep up with their schedules - how was climbing camp, how was fishing, how was dinner, do you miss me? Maggie called today to check in - god bless my friends. I didn't get outside once today, but wanted to walk and do tai chi, but ended up just holding Mom's hand and rubbing her sore back. I want to be here, I do, but I'm tired, and I don't know how Dad is able to keep up this pace. He wants to be at the hospital as much as possible to keep up on everything that's happening, but I just want to be here, cooking. I want Steve and BIll to drive up here so I can be with them, so I can pretend I have a normal life, and this is normal summer, and we're doing summer things. But instead I'm missing family vacations and memories, and I'm totally and perfectly split in two - wanting to be here, and yet wanting to be home. But I stay, because this time is precious, and invaluable, and will never be again. I know that. I wonder if my sister feels the same way? Perhaps not, but then, I shouldn't be thinking about why anybody else is doing or not doing things, should I? No - I should just concentrate on my life, and on helping Mom and Dad, because that is the most important thing in the world right now, in my world of prioritizing. I will never regret these times, or any of my decisions. I'm just glad I can help. It's the least I can do, after all they've done for me.

Mom and Margaret - Day 2

I couldn't find the three girls anywhere. We assumed the worst. But when I checked with the ICU hostess, she said Margaret was still alive! I couldn't believe it. Then I saw Joan, the eldest girl, and she said that miraculously the perforation in her mom's uhm, I forgot which body part, liver? had spontaneously closed, and she had stabilized. When she saw her, she was actually even sitting up in a chair, still a little confused, but going to pull through.

Then Joan looked at me and asked how MY mom was doing. I wish she could have the same sort of miracle, but we'll take what we can get. They pulled her blocked feeding tube out of her nose, and she ate a little soup and a popsicle last night, oh, and water. She was so thirsty. But they told her this morning that she couldn't eat, so there we go again - what to do? Luckily Mom agreed to having the procedure to get the stomach feeding tube put in, so that buys us a little time.

Here is what I want to say: I'm lonely. Every day feels like a week. I'm worried about Dad - his eyes are so baggy and red, and sometimes he just sits quietly, staring at the wall. But I can hear him thinking. After all, I'm his daughter. He wants to DO something. He wants an action plan. He's a leader, and no one really seems to know what's going on, or is in control. That bugs him, I think. So I hold it together for Mom and Dad, and it's easy, really. I go to my Happy Place, and I'm peaceful, and lightly funny, and optimistically realistic (is that an oxymoron?). But then I went to the Mom's dentist today to get my temporary crown glued back in, and they asked about her. I started crying. I told them to change the subject, so they did. Then someone else asked about Mom, and I started crying again. It would be sort of comically funny, in a tragic sort of way, if it wasn't so intense and surreal.

I'm home now, inexplicably tired, but not wanting to rest. I want to BE with someone. I miss Steve and Bill, and it seems like they're doing swimmingly without me, but Steve's got a headache, and I think he's a bit bugged that I'm calling 3 or 4 times a day, just to see if "Bill's okay." Really, I just want them to tell me they love me and miss me, and their lives just aren't whole unless I'm there. I want them to tell me they want me to cook the roasted vegetables for them, they want me to walk Spikey with them, they want me to cuddle.

But they don't. Well, yes, they do, but it's just not the same. I don't want to talk, really, but I don't want to be alone. I'm cooking for Dad, being their rock (that's what they're calling me - Rock or Rocky), running errands, figuring out plans, keeping family updated, but that's all too much. It's like, let me breathe and see what it's like. It's like I'm living in this parallel life that's running side by side with the rest of the world, but I'm separated from them. I can look over at everyone else, but I'm alone. That's how it feels, and I love people so much that it hurts to feel this way, but I suppose it's just the time, and the circumstances. But that's today, anyway. It's beautiful here, so I may go out for a little walk to see if the goose eggs have hatched yet.

Mom and Margaret - Day 1

I went back to the hospital at 11, having tucked Bill and Steve safely in bed. I met Janelle in the lobby.
"Susie? Susie Ekberg?"
I didn't recognize her - it has been over 30 years. She was 11 then.
Janelle - the daughter of my high school basketball coach. I babysat for the three girls.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
Her mom, Margaret, had fallen three weeks ago, and suffered head injury. When they ran tests, they found problems with her kidneys and liver. When they went in, they cut her bile duct and didn't know it. Bile poisoned her throughout the night. When they went back in, they couldn't find the cut, so they just sewed her back up again. Her kidneys were failing, and they were all just waiting. Margaret was a school teacher - on basketball trips we would help her correct papers and cut out construction letters and pictures. She had dyed white blonde hair and dark glasses. When I saw the girls yesterday afternoon at 1:30, I handed them a sympathy card, told them how much I cared about them, and left to sit with Mom. By 3 they were all gone. They never came back. Margaret probably died. 64 years old.

How odd to be so happy to see these sweet girls after 30 years, but how sad. What a coincidence? I think not. I don't know why we met again, but it means something, I know it does.

I went for a walk last night, after sitting with Mom for 8 hours and not eating. Steve called - their cable was out, and Tiger was on the 18th, needed to make an eagle to win, par to tie with Mediate. I'd been following the tournament on Mom's hospital TV, and actually cared. I turned right around and started running for the house so I could keep them updated. I made it just in time to watch Westwood line up for the putt (he missed), then gave Steve the blow-by-blow report on Tiger's amazing putt to tie. Then I felt the thudding in my chest - my heart rate wasn't too high, but after I hung up and went into the basement to rest, it went up to over 100 and wouldn't back down, thudding and racing and beating irregularly. Is this new? No, but it scared me a little, like my body was betraying me. Then I thought about what was going on. Bill had cried and screamed for 5 straight hours on Saturday with a molar that was coming out, my hormones are uh, a little off-balance, I ate 1000 calorie Father's Day brunch, then hadn't eaten for 8 hours, and on. Time to slow down, take better care of myself. Dad, too. I'm staying home today to make spinach broccoli soup for us, re-sod the dry patches on the lawn, and go grocery shopping. Oh, and go to the dentist to have my temporary crown glued back in.

Mom has a feeding tube. She doesn't want any more treatments. She can't get out of bed. There's more fluid in her lungs. We don't know what's going on, or what to do, so we keep meeting with the doctors and getting reports. And we talk - people call, family calls, we talk to each other, I keep clearing my throat. Not that I don't like to talk, but I find myself seeking solace in the great trees on the other side of the road. The goose eggs are still on the little island, and the turtles are coming out to sun on the log. That's what makes my heart calm down, that's what calms the ice that is flowing through my veins, the ice of anxiety that I'm trying to make friends with, because I can't panic now, now when everyone needs me, but it's hard, sometimes, because I just want something to be different than what it is now, but it's not. So I stay. And I cook soup. And I'll watch for Margaret's funeral announcement, and I may go. I DID bring my black dress.

63 years but probably that's all

Mom and Dad celebrated their 63rd wedding anniversary on Tuesday. They talked about the wedding, and laughed about Grandpa just getting released from the hospital for heart problems, and telling Grandma to just "walk over him" if he fell over during the ceremony. Dad remembers how he felt when Mom walked out, ready to leave for the honeymoon. She's wearing this beautiful gray suit on, and Dad had the best smile on his face. He couldn't believe how happy he felt. I've got a picture of that time. "You're a beautiful woman, Marietta," Dad says, gently brushing the hair off her face.

Mom can't eat anymore, so they're putting in a feeding tube. Her lungs are full of fluid and bits of food. She's losing weight. She can't walk or hardly sit up anymore. I'm going up to Bismarck indefinitely, to help Dad with Mom, and to help Mom die. Two of my sisters are out of the country, one's down in Colorado, and one doesn't seem able to help in any way, so I realize it's not only the logical thing to do, but the right thing. Am I sad to be leaving Bill and Steve and my home? Yes, but this is the summer for driving, and for doing important things, so this is the important thing I'm doing. I'll keep up with my blog and HPR columns, and really, we don't know how much longer it's going to be.

It's pretty powerful, this dying stuff. It certainly isn't for sissies. I look at my mom still keeping her sense of humor through it all. Nurses ask her how she's doing, and she smiles and says, "I'm doing all right!" and I think, "How can you SAY that?" but it's not my story to tell, it's Mom's, and I admit it gets progressively sadder if I stop to really think about it, so I'm choosing NOT to think about the sad part of it, but rather think of her life on a continuum. It just keeps changing. There isn't one time that's necessarily BETTER than another, it's all just dots on a line that keep moving. And Mom's right HERE right now. And I'm here right now, and we're together. When I left she told me how much it meant to have me there with her, helping. I started crying. It comes on me at strange times, this crying. I'll be fine, then John Strand tells me how glad he was that he got to meet my mom, and I start again. Crying really hard that time, actually. And crying's fine, too, but I seem to be most helpful to Mom and Dad when I'm able to stay in that calm, clear state that is loving and attentive and present. I'm grateful to be where I am, spiritually AND physically. God bless you all.

thoughts

It happens, not infrequently, that my mind drifts to thoughts of the purpose of life. It starts broad, like to have a job, or to do things, then, not finding a satisfactory answers, swoops closer and closer until it lands on more specifics, like, having children, having nice things, but it's never right. I ultimately end up at the same place - realizing that the absolute only point of living and of life is to be with each other. It's not that I'm macabre or pessimistic or depressed, it's my truth. And it's not sad, it just is.

The drive to Bismarck was interesting. Lots of rain until right before Jamestown, when the sky became stunningly clear and blue. Ah, I thought, a clear shot to Bismarck. Then I overheard a man saying they were expecting some fierce weather. I got into my car and headed west. I saw a line of white clouds on the horizon, and thought they were just, well, clouds. As I got closer, the sky beneath the white clouds became darker, darker, until the solid block was a deep deep gray. Uh oh. The odd thing was that there was a slip of sky beneath the gray that was just lighter clouds, as if it was a huge box held over our heads. I could see lightning on either side of the road. Yup - you know I just LOVE lightning, especially when I'm in a metal car, but darn it, I started taking deep belly breaths, and drove on. As I passed directly under the system, I could feel the car rattling with the thunder, then the rain hit with such ferocity and determination that all of us cars had to slow down to 20 mph as we couldn't see past our windshields. But the line was brief, maybe 5 minutes, and as I looked at it in my rearview mirror, I was struck at how symbolic that storm is for how I'm feeling right now in my life.

Sometimes there are storms, sometimes it's clear for days on end, and sometimes it's soggy for weeks. When we're in one place, the storms seem to find US, but when we're on the move, as we are wont to do, WE encounter the storms, who are moving also, but we're faster, so we can see them coming, can plan a touch, but then are forced to just keep going, knowing that the best way is THROUGH.

Mom can't speak very well, getting out of breath fast. Her hair was all pushed forward in the back, so I smoothed it back, then kept petting her head. She used to do that to me when I was little, when she was putting me to bed. It made me feel calm. She wasn't hungry, but needed to eat, so Dad helped her figure it out, but she had to take these monster pills, and had a hard time. I moved down to her legs and rubbed them, up to her knees, and down to her ankles.

It doesn't look good. I know I've said that before, but Dad said they can't get the water out from around her heart, and if that's the case, well, she's about done. Mom said she wants to change the poem for the back of the memorial service program, and I said that's fine. She wants "Happy Trails," which is perfect as that's what she used to sing to me every night before I fell asleep. It goes something like this:

"Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.

Happy trails to you,
Until we meet again.
Happy trails to you,
Keep smilin' until then.

Who cares about the clouds when we'ere together?
Just sing a song, and bring the sunny weather.

Happy trails to you,
Til we meet again."

P.S. I have to Leave

Dad called - Mom's in the hospital with fluid around her heart, and right now they can't stabilize her. I'm leaving in an hour, so probably won't be able to post for a few days. I'll try to, though. Please send prayers to sweet Mom.

Symptoms

Fatigue, weight gain, hair loss. Although these are mild, I notice them, and when a friend said she has the same symptoms, and thinks her thyroid is out of whack, I'm encouraged again to never underestimate the power of energy shifts and integrations. Are these more energy symptoms? You tell me. I wonder sometimes - is just EVERYTHING an energy symptom? Crabbiness, restlessness, joint aches, stomach cramps, headaches, blurry vision? At what time do you think, "should I go get this checked?" Usually about the time that the symptom STOPS. It's a crap shoot - really, it is. And this is not for sissies. It requires a HUGE amount of blind trust and faith in things unseen, just like the Bible verse: "Faith is the evidence of things unseen." Yes, yes, it is.

So I'm just sitting there yesterday, minding my own business, and whoa - hard cramp in my lower right abdomen. It hurt! My mind races - slight weight gain, abdominal cramping - Kim had that around Christmas, and they found a huge benign tumor. Puh-lease, Susie - CALM DOWN! How long have you been going through these changes? 3 years? Isn't it about time that you relaxed? Well, sometimes I can, and sometimes it's hard. But maybe THIS time it really IS something wrong. Best friend Maggie laughs at me (in a loving way) when I call her and say, "So, tell me I don't have ovarian cancer." Or whatever ailment, take your pick -it changes daily or weekly. I wonder what this worrying does to the energy of my body, if we can affect our health by our thoughts, so I counter these worries with loving, affirmative messages to my body, like "Yes, you're a GOOD body, you're so healthy and strong, just look at you!" sort of like you'd talk to a good dog, or 5 year old. Sigh.

What's left, then, at the end of the day when you're alone with your thoughts and your body? Usually I go over my options, and they run like this: if I DO want to get checked out, I have to make an appointment, and it's going to take time and cost money. If they recommend drugs or surgery, I'm not going to do those, anyway, so why go in the first place? Just to get a "diagnosis" of what they say is "wrong?" Trust that whatever is happening, it is a temporary, but necessary part of whatever transformation piece is happening right now? Wait and see - if it doesn't get better, then look at it again? That worked for the flu that I got a month ago. Man, I felt like crap, but only really badly for 2 days, and even then I could still get around. It worried Mom, got her angry, even, but I told her I wouldn't get the tamiflu anyway - it caused seizures in Japanese children. I'm quite certain she tsked at me, but that's her right - she's my mom. But I DID tell her that I'm not stupid about my health. I love myself, my body and my life, and if I really get worried, I'll certainly go get checked out. So I gave it until the next morning, and lo and behold (whatever that means), I felt a lot better. See? Just give it a day or two and most likely you'll be just fine.

So, there are the symptoms. I wonder sometimes if we should even think about our bodies and our health in terms of symptoms. Does it really serve any purpose? It's sort of like saying, "Well, now the bedroom is dusty" when the workmen destroy the bathroom wall. Well, le duh! So maybe bodily observations aren't that helpful, and only serve to scare us or make us hyper-sensitive to the process. Maybe for the next week I'll look at everything on a continuum - I'm in this part of the process, so now I'm feeling this, then tomorrow I'll be in another place, so I'll be feeling THIS. Something like that. How am I feeling RIGHT NOW? That's always a great question to ask. Thich Naht Hanh recommends that question - "in this present moment, is everything okay?" The answer will almost always be yes, so then you're okay. The sun is shining beautifully, and I'm about to go change into my workout clothes, turn on my iPod and go for a long walk. Then grocery shopping (I didn't have the ingredients for the chicken pad thai last night so we made homemade pizza with red peppers, mozzarella cheese and lamb), but I'll make it tonight, I promise. After that? Who knows? Bill and I finished all 6 of the Star Wars movies for one of our summer goals, and I finished reading "Pride and Prejudice" and am halfway through the Colin Firth movie (Colin Firth - dreamy). It feels good to have goals, and to cross them off when you reach them, but always remembering to leave enough room open to possibilities and greater outcomes than you can imagine. I think that's important.

So while I'm considering my political future, I'm also being soft and open to other possibilities that may come up, because in the end, I don't know, I don't know, I just don't know. And that's okay.

Day Two- German Potato Salad and Roasted Lamb

Okay, this was kind of silly, because we were invited to Deb's house party for dinner, but I made it anyway, just to munch on during the day. I used the small red potatoes, and just scrubbed them to keep the vitamins in the skin. I fried up 4 slices of natural bacon (no nitrites or nitrates, and low sodium), then crumbled them. I cooked a whole sliced-up red onion in some of the remaining bacon grease (I know, but seriously, can you blame me? It's just a touch...), then added the onions and bacon to the cooked potatoes, along with 3 tablespoons of cider vinegar and some cut up italian parsley. Served warm? MMMMMMM. Okay, we could substitute the whole bacon/bacon fat thing, but overall, yummy! The lamb was almost the last of Myrene's, and was a shoulder roast. Not my favorite cut, but I actually ended up putting it in a crockpot with some red wine, and it was moist, tender, and really really good (a little later night snack).

I don't have enough recipes for a whole week, just three more days, so that will have to do for now, plus I want to speak of other things (imagine that!). But we'll keep the recipe thing going because I promised. It has not stopped raining for oh, 40 days and nights? Oh no, that was Noah, but sort of the same. Last night Bill and I went outside during one of the downpours and filled up all the water containers, then he rinsed his hair under the downspout (I told him rainwater makes his hair soft), then he put out 6 big plastic glasses. This morning they are almost full. Did you hear that rain last night? We saw some baby earthworms wriggling around, confused with the soggy earth, and I wonder if it's true that our bodies store Vitamin D for 28 days? If so, then we've got some wiggle room; otherwise I might have to drag out my light box if this keeps up. I'm amazingly not depressed yet, but feeling buoyant and optimistic about everything. Life is sweet and gentle and peaceful. Why? I have no idea.

I spend some time every morning just to breathe and smile, to pray for those I love and send them healing and light, to think about what I want in my life and ask to be in alignment with my Highest Good, and just sit with my hands over my heart and really feel what it's like to be totally in my body. I'm starting to miss speaking and teaching. I still speak, but not as much as I used to (maybe that's a good thing). I'm considering moving into the political arena, but need to ask some people for guidance. I know I'd do a good job, and there are so many things I'm passionate about, that I think I can help bring about much-needed change. What do you think? Politics? Good idea or bad? I'd want to help with education, and nutrition in the schools, and recess, and recycling and landfills, and health initiatives, and and and!

So we face the last day of Bill's invention camp. He loved it, and we get to go see his fabulous inventions later today. For me? I meet with Phil to overhaul my website, bringing in a ton of new, changing features, things that are in line with my goals and vision for my life and the world. A walk? You bet - I'm training for the 3 Day Cancer Walk in September - 60 miles in 3 days! I need to raise $2200, so wish me luck. I haven't even started fundraising - too busy wondering how I'll be able to walk 60 miles in 3 days! But I know I can... goal for the day? Get an outline for the last part of Dad's book. Stay tuned. It's almost done. Well, the first part - then comes the editing.

Day One - Lentil Soup and "yes, no, maybe so"

Lentil Soup, Caramelized Onions with Asparagus and Warm Whole Wheat Bread

Billy and his "Yes, No, Maybe So" Creation

Bill's caught the culinary bug (there are worse diseases), and, upon seeing me take out my stack of recipes, got out a pencil and paper and wrote the recipe for his newest creation, "Yes, No, Maybe So." Why is it called that? He explained to us last night.

"Is it unhealthy? Yes, because it's got Cream of Mushroom Soup in it. Is it unhealthy? No, because it's got broccoli and whole wheat pasta in it. Is it overall a healthy meal? Maybe so." What a guy - he was so proud - we all tried some, and took pictures. I love my son - he's fabulous.

I put 3 cups rinsed lentils on to simmer in the morning in 12 cups filtered water. At 2PM I came home from a fabulous lunch with Shirley and added a cup each of cut up onions, carrots and celery. At 4PM I added 1 1/2 cups cut up tomatoes, some molasses, red wine, wine vinegar and pepper. Voila. Lentil soup.

Then I put olive oil in a skillet and caramelized a cup of cut up onions. In another saucepan I steamed a pound of cut up asparagus. When the onions were done, I added 2 teaspoons of dijon mustard, a teaspoon of fresh cut up thyme and some fresh pepper. I tossed the asparagus in and mixed it all up.

We already had the fresh whole wheat organic bread, so I just heated that up, and served it with some butter.

As you can see - it's all so beautiful! Today I'm making Hot German Potato Salad and organic lamb shoulder with a side salad.

Why all the food entries? I don't know - maybe it's the rainy weather, maybe I just need a change of pace, maybe it's because I've surrendered eating sweets for the summer and I'm feeling more energetic. Maybe this is just what interests me right now. I don't know - I'm just going with it.

A Week of Good Cooking

We're all excited. We even found a recipe for Chicken Pad Thai that we're going to try. But tomorrow we make lentil soup, followed by Indonesian Rice Salad and Hot German Potato Salad, then asparagus with carmelized onions. We'll make something, then take a picture of it and report on how it turned out. Why lentil soup first? Because we're COLD to the bone! We made a fire tonight, and huddled under a blankey watching Star Wars "Attack of the Clones." It's the second movie - we've already watched 4,5,6, and 1, so we just have 3 left to complete one of our summer goals.

How am I feeling these days? Really happy, peaceful, even, lovingly detached from most of my self-inflicted burdens. I'm not worried about anything, but feeling really excited about everything that is unfolding and will be unfolding, and there's no rush, no worries. I love my work with my sweet clients, I love my writing, I love being with my friends and spending time chilling with my husband and child, but most of all I'm just loving BEING. It's all SO good. Stay tuned for the first installment of "a week of good cooking" tomorrow.

Enjoy the rain! There are SO many songs we've been singing, like "Singing in the Rain," "It's Raining it's Pouring (the old man is snoring)," "Laughter in the Rain," oh, I'm sure we'll think of more. But now off to look up recipes on www.topsecretrecipes.com - Bill wants to check it out. Until tomorrow, here's to simple bliss.

Something's Brewing

Here are my boys at Brewer Lake yesterday. It was an absolutely GORGEOUS day out. Perfect, really - a slight breeze, warm sun. We packed our cooler full of ham sandwiches, apples and grapes, grabbed the fishing poles and worms freshly dug from our back yard, then piled into Gitana, our RV (Gitana means female gypsy). We used to go to Brewer Lake all the time when the older kids were younger. Steve took Jordan fishing there every weekend. I don't remember it being that crowded, but we're going to try camping there some weekend. We brought the squirt guns (as you can see from the photo - Billy usually toted all three, and we got soaked), and I realize how much I miss just being outside. If it's not for the gardening or walking, I'm usually inside, writing or trying to get organized. But yesterday? Ah - yesterday was heaven.

Steve is getting information on buying a farm south of Jamestown. I told him, "We're not getting any younger, honey. Let's just do it!" (whatever "it" is). Don't you think? I'm tired of just waiting, of waiting to see what the market does, waiting to see how the housing market will change, waiting to see if we'll move out of this house. Waiting... for 9 years we've sat, waiting, and I'm done waiting. I'm shifting into DOING (whatever "doing" means), if that makes sense. And part of the doing was to drive around North Dakota in our sweet little RV, exploring and making memories with our sweet youngest son, Bill. Don't let the expression on his face fool you - he's an absolute angel!