V's Version

Play that funky music, white boy! Pk is celebrating the completion of cleaning his room with a bit of Wild Cherry disco.

It is so difficult to remain patient in the face of pressure to coerce / shame / insist that Pk clean his room. I truly believe that self-motivated habits are more empowering, a better experience overall and ultimately the best path to long lasting life lessons learned. (Not that it was easy to see how chaotic it had become. I said more than once that I was not comfortable being in his room.)

Yeah - sure - I could pull rank and say "Clean it - because I said so." I wouldn't like that. He wouldn't like that. It would be reason to chaffe and rail and for what? A construct of power? No way.

So this morning, he said, "Mama? When I am done doing my laundry - would you be willing to help me clean my room?" I said (without fanfare), "Sure."

I sat in his room and kept the music flowing, offered ideas on how to organize and break down the overwhelming task of "cleaning" and generally encouraged him to keep going. He is proud and happy. Dani is relieved. I (battling the headache) kind of want a nap.


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Labels: attachment parenting communicating children lesbian family non violent unconditional love reward, cancer writing positive poetry family nonviolent communication NVC

I went to Women Care today. That is where there are support groups and referrals and advocacy and a whole rack of free hats for women with cancer and their families. Bless them. They helped me so much back when I was very ill.

Today was a treat. There was a writing workshop for women with cancer where I met sisters in the struggle and our facilitator, Ana Hays. She gave us writing prompts like "The curious thing about life is..." and "Inside of me..." and she suggested that we write about a special friend. She gave us a list of 129 words and asked us to choose ten to make a story. She shared her poetry to use as a springboard for our own.

Below are the first drafts of what I came up with in the short time we had together. I had a very good time and was still able to meet with Pk to pick out fabric for the Halloween costume that Dani promises to sew AND help Dani get ready for her flight to London. Life is good.

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Inside of me -
What do I see?
Swirling pumping blood through veins of purple hue?
It's true.
We are made of the same stuff as the ocean and stars,
butterflies and mars.

Inside of me is more than the salt water stuff though -
More than you will ever know
because not even I
understand my insides
Although I try.

Inside of me is a yearning
for enlightenment -
A chance for learning
How to get it right.
Hearing a friend with an open heart -
Now that's an art
worth practicing.

Inside of me are 10,00 stories -
Each of them interest me
But it's the point of view of loved ones
I want to see.
I want to truly understand what makes my family click
I want to connect and stick
and harmonize.
I want to empathize.
Learn with passion -
Listen with compassion.
It takes action.

Inside of me is cancer.
And I don't have the answer
of what comes next.
But 5 years in -
I have a context.
I know what to expect.
And that's better than most
who host
This insidious visitor
who resides
inside of me.

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OK. So the prompt is to write a story or a dialog or a memory about "your special friend" and I bristle at the thought. Aren't ALL of my friends special? Aren't all of the people who are not my friends special? Isn't everyone special in their own ways?

Rather than choosing one particular friend - a task (given the number of friends that I am blessed with) that would take the entire writing time and seems daunting - I think that I would rather write about someone who- maybe - wasn't a special friend at all. Someone who - maybe - wouldn't even like me. Let's see how that goes.

"The name on this card doesn't match your license."

"Oh. Yeah. Well - it's actually my wife's card - technically - but I have permission to use it. I could use another card if you want."

"Your "wife"?"

"Yes. Danielle. See right here? 'Danielle Hope' on the card? - - Haven't you ever seen partners use each other's debit cards?"

"That's different. They were married."

"I see. Well - are you married?"

"Yes - but gays can't get married. - Can they?"

"Umm. Well - it's complicated. But the love is the same."

"That's not love. It's sick."

"Actually - I am kind of sick. I have cancer and I start chemo when my partner gets back from London next week. I don't know what I would do without her. She's my anchor."

"My mother had cancer."

"It's hard."

"Yeah."

"It's important to have love ones around during the fight."

"I was there at the hospital every day with her. I brought my Dad. At the end she got smaller and smaller."

"Mmm. Was it difficult to watch?"

"Not for me. I mean I took that hospice training class so I knew what to expect. But my father had a tough time. He really loved her."

"I'm sure he did. - I'm glad she had you there. - And I am glad that I have my wife and son by my side. You see - there is no paper that makes us a family. We just are one."

"Hmmm. Do you want your receipt in the bag?"

"Nah. I'll just put it in my purse. Thanks. Take care - OK?"

"Yeah. you too."
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The bold words are the ones I chose from the list of 129 prompt words:

It was nearly midnight. Flirting throughout the movie had been fun but it had it's limits. those halcyon days of slipping into a bathroom stall for a quickie evaporated with the comforts of a warm pillowtop bed and a door to close.

How could it be that we were the only ones on the elevator? The cineplex was packed with people but there we were - the only two people staring at he ligh changing from 4 to 3 to 2.

Clunk.

The elevator came to a halt. Turning to Dani with surprise, I caught the glint in her eye.

"Now's my chance!" she said gleefully and took my face in her wide, warm hands. The kiss rippled through my body as the hands moved down across my back and over my skirt.

Her voice contained mock accusation.

"You're not wearing any panties," she murmured into my ear.

"I was wondering when you would notice."

She used her lips to caress my neck as she reached under my skirt to cup the flesh of my thigh. I unzipped the front of my thin black jacket to expose my new scarlet lace bra where she nestled her head all cozy and adoring.

My heart beat faster under her longing.

What if there were cameras in here? What if we were stuck in here all night?

Nuzzling the top of her head and running my fingers through her spikey hair, I smiled at the thought.

"I hope it takes a while for the repair person to get here," I whispered.

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The curious thing about life is how it is all works together. The interconnectedness of plants and the sun, the sun and gas, gas and breath, breath and words, words and stories.

Often that song comes to me in snippets of sound:

"Why have we come to earth?
Do you remember?
why have we taken birth?
why have we come?
To love, serve and remember.
To love serve and remember to love."

I remember so clearly the vision I had about my purpose in life - YEARS before I ever heard the song, there was the dream me in the forest with the crystal clarity of a mandate:


The curious thing is how to do that - how to infuse my life with these simple tasks. What does it mean to love? Whom should I nurture? What shall I create?

My curiosity is evident in the way I question the words I speak - the way I question education and systems and learning and political candidates.

The curious thing is that I have so little time on this earth to do so much. I wish I didn't have to sleep. Or - rather - that there could be a swarm snuggly me for Dani and Parker adn then another stay-up-all-night artist who could work into the wee hours just before dawn.

I want to BE love. I want to find the balance between nurturing myself and nurturing others. I want to create something worth keeping.

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What matters then?

The fiberous connections between a parent and child. The intertwined vines between lovers and friends.

What matters then?

The moment when connection is broken and there is the shocking disharmony of separation.

What matters then?

The rickety fragile bridge that spans the divide.

What matters then?

The love and courage and humility it takes to walk across that bridge.

What matters then?

The hope that the bridge will not fail and that the connection is worth making.

What matters then?

That wings will sprout and flying is possible even if the bridge fails.

What matters then?

Faith.
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Labels: cancer writing positive poetry family nonviolent communication NVC