Sunday, December 14, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
It's a Girl
Jeff and I went in for an ultrasound a week ago and were so happy to learn that we're having a girl! Everything looks great! The baby was very active during the ultrasound. She moved her arms over her head, over her ears, crossed them over her chest, waved one of them. I, of course, still can't feel a thing, but it was fun to watch. Her little heart is beating perfectly, and the doctor said, "Well, the baby read the book; It's the perfect size and weight." (but if the baby only weighs 8 oz. it's amazing to me that I've gained 20 lbs. already!) So things look really good so far, and we're extremely excited!
It's a New Day!
Barack Obama is president elect and it's a NEW DAY! I couldn't be happier, more hopeful, and more relieved!
Dia de los Muertos
All Saint's Sunday is my favorite Sunday of the year. It seems a little weird I suppose, that I'd have such an affinity for a day that commemorates the dead. After all, Christianity is about resurrection. But for me, no rebirth is possible without the profound sense of agony that comes with the depth of loss. The Christian liturgical year begins with Advent, a time of preparation and anticipation. But for me, on a more personal level, the church year begins on All Saint's Sunday. This year, my church created a special altar where we could set photos of relatives whom we've lost to the sting of death. My mom had set framed photos of both sets of my grandparents there.
It was moving to see the entire community of saints, this incredible group of people who once lived this earthly life with purpose and now rest from their labors. But what was more moving to me, was when I walked by the pictures after taking communion. I paused at each set of grandparents. When I stood before the photo of my dad's parents on my parents' wedding day, I was entirely overcome with a flood of emotions which I still can't entirely articulate, not even two weeks later.
My dad's mom, Isabelle Mildred Bryant, died only two years after this photo was taken, so I never had the chance to meet her. But I've had the spiritual sense that I've always known her. It doesn't show up in this photo of a photo of her, but she was wearing a triple strand of pearls here. She looked so striking to me. with her stunning outfit. But it's her posture here that speaks to me. She's somehow so grounded, so strong even though she was plagued with arthritis for her entire adult life. Long ago my mom told me that had my grandmother had the chance to know me, she'd have adored me, and that I'd have felt the same way in return. So I've always felt like we were somehow kindred spirits. I've always felt her vicariously alive in me. Long ago, I decided that someday, if I were lucky enough to have a child, his or her name would include Isabelle or Bryant, and I wore my grandmother's triple strand of pearls on my wedding day in memory of her.
And so exists the mystery of faith, the life in the Dia de los Muertos.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Newfound Hope
I've never seen a more exciting political convention that this week's Democratic National Convention in Denver, Colorado. And the political process has never moved me more, nor made me feel more compelled to talk about it. What a week! Each night as I sat before the t.v. listening to speeches, I was literally moved to tears. Ted Kennedy in his weakened state of health began the week with an impassioned speech that highlighted America's need for renewal. Michelle Obama continued with a moving tribute to the personal life of Barack, highlighting his love of humanity. Hillary Clinton stood firmly on Obama's side with a brilliant speech that unified the Democratic party like I've never seen before. She stood with confidence after having lost the party's nomination, and with grace and strength and dignity, joined Obama's side with enthusiasm. She was the epitome of Woman, and spoke heroically! The following evening Bill Clinton delivered a "warm-up" speech for Joe Biden and delivered it as no other than Bill Clinton can. He, like Hillary, set his ego aside, and vigorously proclaimed his support of Barack Obama and encouraged all listeners to do the same.
And I thought I'd seen some of the best speeches I'd ever see in my lifetime. They were poised and eloquent, inspirational, and rousing. They were simply marvelous! But last night's speech was so incredible I'm still trying to process the genius of it. When I watched Barack Obama deliver his nominee acceptance speech, I was transported into a place of profound personal and spiritual growth! Imagine how it would feel to have a president who could teach you something and make you feel empowered. Imagine a president who speaks with dignity about and to people with whom he profoundly disagrees. Imagine a president who is undeniably intellectual and captivatingly down-to-earth, both without affect. Imagine a president with genuine values and courage to hope. Imagine a president who is a lover of humanity! This is the image I saw and heard last night. And I felt like a new person today because of it!
As Jeff and I were reflecting this evening about the speech last night (which brought us both to tears!) Jeff noted that this week was like martial arts sparring with the Republicans. He explained that in sparring, you give little jabs with one hand to trick the opponent into thinking more jabs are coming, that that's all there is, but then you deliver the big blow with the other, unexpected hand. He said he thought this week's speeches were something like the one-tw0 punch, only the one-two before the punch were so powerful that when the actual punch came, it was crushing! And as is understandable, the Republican response has been minimal at best. Even Pat Buchanan said it was the best convention speech in history.
I'd grown so frustrated and disinterested in the American political process. I'd grown so tired of hearing lies and phony folksy vocal inflections to cover up unethical decisions. I'd grown so devastated by the image my friends in other countries have of my country. It's been a wearying eight years of disappointment and loss of faith in my government and sadly in people. How awful it's felt to lose hope. How physically sickening to writhe in sheer anger at the fact that the country of my being represents nothing I stand for and everything I loathe!
And then the last four nights fluttered in like butterflies and lit into my world a sense of resurrection! It's that renewal that Ted Kennedy spoke about. It's palpable and enormous!
And it makes me think about how important it is to stay firmly grounded in your deepest values and firmest beliefs. I makes me understand anew what it means to have faith in that which cannot yet be seen.
I'm basking in the light of an incredible man, a national treasure, and praying that the 38 million others who watched him speak last night were as moved as I was, and left with as much hope. This is a day of new beginnings!
And I thought I'd seen some of the best speeches I'd ever see in my lifetime. They were poised and eloquent, inspirational, and rousing. They were simply marvelous! But last night's speech was so incredible I'm still trying to process the genius of it. When I watched Barack Obama deliver his nominee acceptance speech, I was transported into a place of profound personal and spiritual growth! Imagine how it would feel to have a president who could teach you something and make you feel empowered. Imagine a president who speaks with dignity about and to people with whom he profoundly disagrees. Imagine a president who is undeniably intellectual and captivatingly down-to-earth, both without affect. Imagine a president with genuine values and courage to hope. Imagine a president who is a lover of humanity! This is the image I saw and heard last night. And I felt like a new person today because of it!
As Jeff and I were reflecting this evening about the speech last night (which brought us both to tears!) Jeff noted that this week was like martial arts sparring with the Republicans. He explained that in sparring, you give little jabs with one hand to trick the opponent into thinking more jabs are coming, that that's all there is, but then you deliver the big blow with the other, unexpected hand. He said he thought this week's speeches were something like the one-tw0 punch, only the one-two before the punch were so powerful that when the actual punch came, it was crushing! And as is understandable, the Republican response has been minimal at best. Even Pat Buchanan said it was the best convention speech in history.
I'd grown so frustrated and disinterested in the American political process. I'd grown so tired of hearing lies and phony folksy vocal inflections to cover up unethical decisions. I'd grown so devastated by the image my friends in other countries have of my country. It's been a wearying eight years of disappointment and loss of faith in my government and sadly in people. How awful it's felt to lose hope. How physically sickening to writhe in sheer anger at the fact that the country of my being represents nothing I stand for and everything I loathe!
And then the last four nights fluttered in like butterflies and lit into my world a sense of resurrection! It's that renewal that Ted Kennedy spoke about. It's palpable and enormous!
And it makes me think about how important it is to stay firmly grounded in your deepest values and firmest beliefs. I makes me understand anew what it means to have faith in that which cannot yet be seen.
I'm basking in the light of an incredible man, a national treasure, and praying that the 38 million others who watched him speak last night were as moved as I was, and left with as much hope. This is a day of new beginnings!
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Sex and the City
A powerful female ethos set the tone before the film even began to roll. Women everywhere...and of all ages. Some came in same-age groups, others in mixed-age groups, but groups...women came out in droves of groups. I came with a group too. It wasn't necessarily my group, but one into which I was invited for the evening. Before the movie, we had met at the lounge right across from the theater. It's a modern courtyard expanse and the chicest spot in town, and wouldn't you know it...filled with groups of women going to the same sold-out showing of Sex And the City.
Inside, I immediately noticed a definite age-related dress code. The twenty-somethings arrived in full Carrie Bradshaw attire of super-short dresses, chunky necklaces and high-heeled shoes and perky bodies. Their hair was stylishly cut and coiffed. The thirty-somethings and over came clad in a more laid-back jeans and glitzy top garb, possibly with a heeled-shoe, but certainly not as high as the twenty-somethings and carried quite a bit more weight. Their hair was also well cut, but showed slightly less energy had been exerted in glamming it up for the evening. People from different groups would seek out volunteers from other groups to take their pictures on multiple cameras, and then immediately scroll through their digital memory to examine the shot and remark about it. This was clearly a night to remember. It was sort of the Harry Potter release party equivalent for women. A woman from one group had brought a bundle of tissues and indiscriminately handed them out exerting "We know we're all criers; anyone need Kleenex?" In seconds her handful had been entirely distributed to thankful anticipators. (I think there may have been a sum total of five men in the entire theater. Sucks to be them. Or not.)
I sat there in my wide-legged linen pants, fitted tee and flat Easy-Spirit sandals, with neither readied camera nor anticipatory Kleenex, wedged between my forty-something friend on the fringe of her group and a twenty-something stranger on the fringe of hers feeling remarkably tweenerish, when the lights dimmed.
The theater was abuzz with excited high-pitched voices of such mass and volume that when the screen projected the usual "Please silence your cell phones and refrain from talking" message, I immediately thought out loud, "Ya, good luck with that."
As we watched the movie, the collective viewing experience began. An interactive 2.5 hours of entertainment ensued as individual women from the audience would take turns loudly flinging advice to the characters on the screen as they maneuvered through the ups and downs of the plot... and then the rest of us would join in, either in unison or with affirmative background laughter.
So there we were. Uniquely different. Completely together, empathizing with the archetypal characters on the screen who represented our individual life experiences and our collective womanhood. We laughed, we cried, we shouted, we ahhhed.
The ending scene focused on four friends around a table together, which gave me pause to reflect on my dearest friends, and how important they are to me, how important collective participation in a common group identity is to us all. Come what may in our relationships to the world, our work, our families, we must laud the presence of our most profound gift, our womanfriends! I drove home in a spirit of gratitude.
Inside, I immediately noticed a definite age-related dress code. The twenty-somethings arrived in full Carrie Bradshaw attire of super-short dresses, chunky necklaces and high-heeled shoes and perky bodies. Their hair was stylishly cut and coiffed. The thirty-somethings and over came clad in a more laid-back jeans and glitzy top garb, possibly with a heeled-shoe, but certainly not as high as the twenty-somethings and carried quite a bit more weight. Their hair was also well cut, but showed slightly less energy had been exerted in glamming it up for the evening. People from different groups would seek out volunteers from other groups to take their pictures on multiple cameras, and then immediately scroll through their digital memory to examine the shot and remark about it. This was clearly a night to remember. It was sort of the Harry Potter release party equivalent for women. A woman from one group had brought a bundle of tissues and indiscriminately handed them out exerting "We know we're all criers; anyone need Kleenex?" In seconds her handful had been entirely distributed to thankful anticipators. (I think there may have been a sum total of five men in the entire theater. Sucks to be them. Or not.)
I sat there in my wide-legged linen pants, fitted tee and flat Easy-Spirit sandals, with neither readied camera nor anticipatory Kleenex, wedged between my forty-something friend on the fringe of her group and a twenty-something stranger on the fringe of hers feeling remarkably tweenerish, when the lights dimmed.
The theater was abuzz with excited high-pitched voices of such mass and volume that when the screen projected the usual "Please silence your cell phones and refrain from talking" message, I immediately thought out loud, "Ya, good luck with that."
As we watched the movie, the collective viewing experience began. An interactive 2.5 hours of entertainment ensued as individual women from the audience would take turns loudly flinging advice to the characters on the screen as they maneuvered through the ups and downs of the plot... and then the rest of us would join in, either in unison or with affirmative background laughter.
So there we were. Uniquely different. Completely together, empathizing with the archetypal characters on the screen who represented our individual life experiences and our collective womanhood. We laughed, we cried, we shouted, we ahhhed.
The ending scene focused on four friends around a table together, which gave me pause to reflect on my dearest friends, and how important they are to me, how important collective participation in a common group identity is to us all. Come what may in our relationships to the world, our work, our families, we must laud the presence of our most profound gift, our womanfriends! I drove home in a spirit of gratitude.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Resurrecting this blog
Yesterday was Mother's Day. I cooked lunch to honor my mom, mother-in-law and husband's grandmother on the occasion. After we ate, the mothers around the table opened presents: a potted succulent blend for Jeff's grandmother, Jimmy Carter's book about his mother and a book of photos from our trip to the Grand Canyon for Jeff's mom, and a matching Carter book and DVD of our trip for my mom. Then there was one more small gift my brother, husband and I gave to my mom...we gave her a card that said, "This card entitles you to the next family work day to repot your orchids." It's a small token of appreciation, but when Mom opened the card, she shouted "YES!" with this gleeful smile on her face.
Mom's orchids have been around about as long as I have. Growing up, we had them in a plant stand in the back yard. They numbered 12-15 plants and there was a waterfall they sat around, that flowed under our little red Japanese bridge into the fish pond. The trickle of the water resounded gently through the back patio, and the orchids always sat like a picture there in that open-faced greenhouse. Every year when the orchid spikes would bloom, Mom would make us matching Easter corsages to wear with our matching hand-sewn Easter dresses. We'd attach them to our dresses with pearl-headed pins and wear them to church with pride. I've always loved the backdrop of those orchid plants like I love the backdrop of the childhood my mother gave to me.
The orchid plants moved from house to house, journeying with us all these years, like a family member. But they've outgrown their pots again and need more room to grow. Together we'll mother them to expand their roots so their blooms can flourish, like my mom has always done for me.
Mom's orchids have been around about as long as I have. Growing up, we had them in a plant stand in the back yard. They numbered 12-15 plants and there was a waterfall they sat around, that flowed under our little red Japanese bridge into the fish pond. The trickle of the water resounded gently through the back patio, and the orchids always sat like a picture there in that open-faced greenhouse. Every year when the orchid spikes would bloom, Mom would make us matching Easter corsages to wear with our matching hand-sewn Easter dresses. We'd attach them to our dresses with pearl-headed pins and wear them to church with pride. I've always loved the backdrop of those orchid plants like I love the backdrop of the childhood my mother gave to me.
The orchid plants moved from house to house, journeying with us all these years, like a family member. But they've outgrown their pots again and need more room to grow. Together we'll mother them to expand their roots so their blooms can flourish, like my mom has always done for me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)