my gypsy heart

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i feel that this is the beginning of something wonderful...

33 and 3

this is reality. this is 6pm on a saturday evening just before dinner is served. this is the kitchen door that slams. this is the back step, the concrete slab that soaks up sun and burns our barefeet. this is the heat, the need, the comfort we find. this is us.

i am noticing more.

i am noticing that i speak in exclamations, type in laughter, add smiling faces unnecessarily. i am noticing that i seek out the sunshine, the bouncing light, the hidden hearts. these are the things i notice when i go searching. these are the eyes that look out upon the world. as if i'm trying to convince myself of something. trying to fool myself with smiles and exclamations and pretty pretty things.

these are simply things i want. i want to gather beauty around me. i want to be surrounded by love. but i am noticing that these very same eyes change when looking inward. they are dark and puffy and real. i am not sunshine. i don't need to be convinced of anything, i simply feel. and that is exactly as it should be. i dont' need to hide, i find comfort in the light and the dark.

i am noticing that we are rattling the bars of our cage.

you are like me. your own fury, your own sound, your own voice sometimes scares you. we experience this push pull in life. this is us. these relationships that pull like taffy, stretched so thin that you just can't believe there's any more slack. then it folds upon itself and wraps itself around you with sticky arms of love.

giving is like sharing

i am lucky to be witness to a flowing current of positivity. it swirls around and sometimes laps at my feet. i like how it feels. it feels like love. like the world is just a little bit smaller, safer, and that we are a little bit stronger in it. making a mark or a difference each in our own little big way.

positivity begets positivity.

sometimes when i'm at the redlight at anderson lane and burnet road, i see the same man. he has no name but his skin is thick and tan and his hair is bushy and he carries a million signs. he uses them all, while standing at the corner, he does his best rendition of bob dylan's subterrean homesick blues. somedays he is there just for me. somedays the words he chose to write on the cardboard he holds are the exact words i needed to hear. they are random. they are not "need a beer" or "i want a taco" like the man who stands on south lamar and manchaca. this man's signs are stories, they are jokes, they are "it's ok to smile." today when his blue blue eyes fixed themselves on me, i rolled down my window and smiled at him. his sign taught me what i want river to learn the most, "giving is like sharing." so, thank you mr. man. for giving me those words today. i heard you. and i'll pass them on.

and so i'm on a new mission. i read about this idea of writing love letters to your city first through jen lemen at shutter sisters, she spoke of a Hope Revolution! and that little seed got planted in my mind during the dark days of february... and i see it more and more now. popping up through flickr, through blogging, through random conversations, it's blooming like flowers...and it lures me in. inspiring friends like Hay and Kristin have recently relit my fire. passing on the positivity in the best way i know how. this Hope Revolution is exactly what i'm talking about. it's like guerrilla poetry.

so these photos, these notes of hope will be hidden or placed strategically, tucked away in books, on mirrors, in tip jars, and tacked to trees around austin. knowing that they will find the person who needs them most.







"these days you might feel a shaft of light
make its way across your face
and when you do
you'll know how it was meant to be
see the signs and know their meaning

you'll know how it was meant to be
hear the signs and
know they're speaking to you."
~ 10,000 Maniacs

underwater world

i put on his goggles and jump in with my eyes open. breathing out my bubbles i sink to the bottom and lay there surrounded by all that blue blue green. i'm the only one there on the bottom of the pool. i watch the legs prance, the bubbles, the underwater grins, the fluid joy that moves in slow motion. fathers play with sons, and i see their games with barefeet dancing. i see the splash of cannon balls, the carbonation bubbling to the surface.

i rise with my head back, with my eyes to the light just like a kid. remembering the warmth and how the sun breaks through the surface. with my breath i remember freedom, i remember the extreme beauty of water and how extraordinary i feel in it. always a kid. i come up laughing and dive down again like a dolphin. i am invisible and pure, at home in this muted and muffled underwater world.

it's where my laugh bounces off the water like droplets and splashes into his eyes. it's where he sees me. the real me, and my laughter becomes contagious. it's where i am happiest. not necessarily this pool. this city pool. but all the neighborhood pools of my childhood. the spring fed pools, the skinny dipped pools of my youth. all the pools that were hopped into with only moonlight and smiles on summer skin. not necessarily this pool, this city pool. but all the pools of my future. the backyard pools with blades of grass clinging to our heels... floating like mermaid tails. all flowing hair and shimmering scales.

pie fixes everything

there's this woman in austin named Colleen. she runs a small catering and food delivery for city folk. wonderful quiches, soups, baked goods depending on season. i signed up for her menu and email newsletter when we shared a space at a local craft fair and i tasted her yummy recipes back in the fall.

every week now for over six months, i think of her as she pops in with an emailing of the latest menus. even though i seldom if never use her service i can't help but keep her newsletter around. for every week there's a reminder from her in my inbox that states "Pie Fixes Everything" and it causes me to smile even on really crummy days.

i love that.
because i believe it.
pie does fix everything.

well, not pie particularly. but most definitely ice cream. and usually a side of cake if it's around. or cookies. or even a handful of chocolate chips. really, whatever i have on hand will do just fine.

but all these sweets and my ingestion of them leads me to wonder why. why the sweet tooth? is it really from grammy? her making each of us three grandkids our very own pie during visits? one apple, one cherry, one blueberry. and cutting it into six gigantic slices? really, the sweet cravings passed on through my dad's blood? and how old was i when i came to learn of this? watching wide-eyed as he spooned maple syrup into his mouth straight from a glass bowl. i shrieked to myself, "you're allowed to do that?!" the man eats ice cream for lunch for christ's sake. ice cream.

nectar of the gods.
these sweets.

i'm learning that other things fix everything too.
honesty. communication. openness.
sunshine. music. dancing.

and recently: hula hooping.
serious. this could be my sweet tooth cap.

i think i need to pull in the reins a bit with the sugar and my need for it. the need to fill that pit, that void, that whatever it is that's missing in my life that i fill with instant gratification. i was confessing to a friend the other day that sometimes i feel like i'm just gonna explode. like there must be something wrong with me, physically or emotionally, that i need to consume so many sweets. she replied, "please don't explode! there'd be ice cream everywhere!"

so, hula hooping it is.
who's game?

photo love

it's a good day when you hear news of someone liking a photograph you took. constructive criticism is helpful, but photo love is even better. so, it was a good day for me, while in a swarm of mosquitos and unsettled feelings of overwhelm as my son slept placidly in the cabin up the hill in New Hampshire, that i received an email from sheri over at mamazine. turns out they like me!

check out the photo love shared through the Mama Focus contest and you can see the photo of mine (camerashymomma) that was recognized. yay! second runner up!

my photo was originally used in this post (which was its own different sort of feeling of overwhelm.) the whole process now strikes me as very funny. not funny ha ha, but ironic i guess that something that came from such pain could be seen as such creativity and later provide me with such a gift of beauty!

life is cyclical that way.
it humbles me and inspires me at the very same time.

so, thank you for the photo love and congratulations to all those winning mamas who participated with Mamazine and the Mama Focus Contest!

yer so bad

the first few chords of guitar resonate. "is this tom petty?" river asks from the backseat. "yeah, but this is his old band that's new again...mudcrutch. it's good stuff, huh?" there's a shared silence between us. "yup" he replies out the window.

life happens in moments like these. and until i wrap my mind around that concept i will forever be floored by life simply happening. i always wonder if we are really truly living. and moments like this are my reminder that it zings and swirls around me, simultaneously crushing and reviving me.

life happens in the space between red lights, while changing lanes when a voice from the backseat says, "i'm so sad momma. i miss my cousins. i miss silas. i was so mad, i didn't want to get on that plane and fly home." the blinker blinks and my eyes glance back at his image in the rearview mirror. and i register that life is happening. here and now.

life happens in our sleep, in a groggy 1am conversation as he rolls towards me in the dark. "put your arm around me momma. i'm not big, i'm just little." life happens in the sweetness of slumber. and i hope that it goes deep into the cracks of his dreams, into the depths of his subconscious. maybe it will pool a reservoir of sweetness that he can pull from when life turns sour.

life happens before my eyes and ears. it slips down the drain with the dish water. when he is overtired and overstimulated and over it all. when he doesn't get his way and he stomps and screams til his face turns red. life happens in this breath, in this lack of breath, when he scolds me: "you are bad, momma! i want a different momma. you are not a good momma! i want a momma like sarah." life happens with words that stab you in the moment. as a mother you remove the knife from your heart, wipe the blood on the thigh of your jeans, and continue loading the dishwasher.

this is life. it is moment by moment. it is the love, the frustration, the breaking point of relationships. the damage, the repair, and the continuance. life is life unconditional. and as i sit with my head in my hands watching the prisms dance across my kitchen floor, i can't help but think that mothers are the strongest species on earth.

oh soul,
you worry too much.
you have seen your own strength.
you have seen your own beauty.
you have seen your golden wings.
of anything less,
why do you worry?
you are in truth
the soul, of the soul, of the soul.
- jalal ad-din rumi