Motherless in Seattle

One cold evening in December in 1968, a woman named Sharon gave birth to me. She was young and vibrant and wanted me more than anything in the world.

On November 16th, 2008, at age 65, she let go of this world while I held her hand telling her that we loved her and that she could go home whenever she was ready.

I miss her terribly.

Things weren't always easy between my mother and me. We had our share of arguments (my journal is a testament to the details). But she was my only mother and I was her only daughter. We shared a bond which our petty differences couldn't destroy. And now, without my mother, I feel raw and exposed, confused and floundering. What I wouldn't give for one more chance to forgive and forget with a hug.

Life goes on but memories have their way of flitting into my heart and mind. And every now and then, an unexpected memory or thought will bring me to my knees and fill my whole being with tears of sorrow.

Oh my children, I cry out for your loss. Grammy is no longer alive. She is no longer alive! As my 7-year-old told his younger siblings: "Grammy won't say, 'oh, is that dollar from the tooth fairy' when we loose a tooth." No, Grammy won't ever do that ever again. Never. To my three-year-old: will you even be able to remember your Grammy's warm breath against your golden-red hair?

Being motherless. To be motherless means to be put into a new category. One of daughters without mothers. As if everyone else who has lost a mother can understand you without speaking a word, can read your mind by seeing into your heart. So, this is what it is like to be on the other side. I often wondered what it would feel like to be motherless and now that I am here I find it is just as difficult as before, only different. The subtleties are all slightly warped so that viewing anything is slightly blurred.

Without a mother, it is hard to find purpose in life. What is the point? As I watched my mother's eyes close for the last time and her breathing slowly decline, I asked myself why. Why do we get out of bed each day and struggle to survive?

All I know is that when my time comes, I want a loved one beside me holding my hand telling me that it is ok to go home, that they are going to be ok without me, that my job here is done and that I can let go. I want them to tell me that what I did in my life wasn't a waste and that my love for them meant something, that it changed them for the better. That is all I really want in life. What more could I even hope for?

My dear, dear mother. I miss you, I love you, I will never forget you.

California Dreaming

I grew up in the foothills of Northern California and have always had mixed feelings about the place. It is a small town and I grew up in a small house on 2 acres surrounded by oaks, manzanita, deer and silence. It had a way of making me feel claustrophobic at times.

We lived three miles out of town on a dirt road, surrounded by hundreds of crickets who'd chirp all night long. (I only noticed when city folk would mention how loud they were). We could walk all night if we wanted to, just by the light of a full moon and we spent our summers plunging into the satisfying waters of the Yuba River.

Yet, I often found myself dreaming of the long, flat, wide, straight streets of cities - the seemingly straightforward, uncomplicated, matter-of-fact, predetermined benefits of man-made environments. In my hometown, trees and mountains which at times gave me a sense of protection and warmth, at other times made me feel trapped and isolated. The natural, unkempt surroundings of the forest both filled my heart with delight and caused me frustration.

I am here again in my childhood home with my husband and children. We are visiting my mother and brother who still live here. As with each visit, I sit in the same rooms and walk along the same paths as I did as a child. I notice that the trees have grown and that many things have changed.

Yet, what surprises me the most is not the way things are different from when I was a child. What surprises me is the way in which my own childhood memories are slowly being reshaped through the eyes of my own children. The way I remember my days as a child slowly begins to interweave itself with the daily romps and giggles of my children. It is as if I am seeing my world from a brand new vantage point.

Isn't that me sitting in the sandbox under the swaying oak trees letting sand flow through my outstretched palms? Am I not the one collecting moss and branches to create miniature worlds of my own making?

I sit on the back deck, breathe in the dry, familiar air and watch my children dart back and forth across the front yard. I find myself reliving my past through their laughter and overwhelming joy. Magically I slowly forget those things which aggravated me as a child and instead realize that I am savoring the bits which brought me satisfaction and happiness. I know there are downsides to growing up out here in the countryside, yet I easily push them aside as I witness the utter joy on my children's faces as they dedicate themselves to nothing but pure, unadulterated play from morning until night.

Our world seems so simple here. We step back just far enough to see things with a clarity that I fail to grasp when at home (where we rarely take the breaks we so desperately need to let our soul dangle). At home there is always a long list of "duties" which ultimately encapsulates me even more than the tall oaks and wide mountains ever did (and, ironically, are traps of my own making).

Despite the solid sidewalks and expansive streets of our city, it is out here in the wilds of Northern California that I find myself able to breathe again. It is here that I let down my guard just long enough to realize that I haven't been longing for wide city streets at all. In fact, I have been in awe of how high the trees have grown and how tall the mountains seem to have become ever since we drove down that dirt road of my childhood .

Has It Come To This?

Has it come to this? Have my children finally stepped over to the dark side? The one where all I hear is English, English, English all day long?

My children still speak German with me and my husband. I can revel in that joy (thank goodness) but that is about where it ends. Outside of the Mama-Papa sphere, English has taken over my children like an annoying virus.

My oldest insists that knights only speak English and therefore feels it is important to speak English when he is being a knight (which is pretty much 24/7 these days). My husband responds with a clearly worded (German) defense about how the shows my son has watched or books that he has read about knights have been translated from German or French or Spanish (etc.) into English. HAH, isn't my husband a tricky guy? He argues that the true language of knights are not English and therefore my son is not being completely authentic.

Ok, let's stop here to accept the fact that my husband is completely tinkering with the mind of our 6 year old - all in the name of language preservation! What will my son say to himself later down the road when he reads about all of those English-speaking knights in the British Isles? Will he turn to my husband and say, "Papa, I have lost all respect. It is over. I will never trust you again. You lied to me when I was 6 and you will forever have to bear the pain of that lie." Or will he simply throw it into the pile with the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy (we have yet to add her to our repertoire of fantasy figures who will one day be dispelled) once he learns the truth about them?

Aside from the fact that my husband told a blatant lie to my son to encourage him to speak German, it still didn't work. My son doesn't buy into that kind of weak argument. He is 6 years old and wants proof. We do have ONE book in German about knights which could be used as some kind of proof but what's the point, the English books win out 100 to 1 every time.

My husband feels frustrated and deflated. Course, that is what he gets for trying to win a battle of wits with his own 6 year old son!

I, on the other hand, focus on that age-old method of encouragement: when I hear English spoken between the kids, I call out "Hey, what about German?" Or, "Wouldn't it be fun to also play together in German?" But what is the use? To obtain the desired effect, my kids first have to hear me (HAH, like that will ever happen) and then I have to capture their hearts with my loving appeal which is hard to accomplish since they are still in the "what will I get out of it" stage of life.

The truth is, this is where our best laid out plans go their own merry way and we can't really do much about it other than try to steer things in a general direction.

For example, I insist that they speak with me in German by simply not responding when they speak to me in English (which is extremely rare so I can still go about it in a humorous, fun way). And I still continue to speak German with them (although, I do have to admit that I mix in a good amount of English words when I don't know the German equivalent).

I also know that in the end it is about enjoying the ride.

My husband and I are on the next stage of the roller coaster ride... things aren't as bumpy as before but we are still reminded that we haven't made it back to the platform either. We gotta keep our hands on the rail but other than that, wow, isn't this fun!? Wheeee!

Your Children Are My Children

When the Dalai Lama spoke of fostering compassion at the Seeds of Compassion events in Seattle, he brought up a concept which we often speak of but rarely practice with consistency (myself included). It is a concept which most of us don't even know HOW to foster on a daily basis.

This concept is caring for other children as we care for our own.

When we care for our own children, we want the best for them, no matter how they are behaving. We want to foster kindness in our children and self-esteem. We want them to wake up each morning full of joyful anticipation and snuggle into bed at night overflowing with feelings of safety and comfort. When our children grow older and get into trouble at school or engage in activities which harm them, we still love them with all of our hearts and want nothing more than to help them find their way in life again.

The Dalai Lama asks whether we can learn to feel a similar level of care for children other than our own who come into in our lives. Could we learn to feel a similar sense of responsibility and love for the children in our neighborhood, our children's school buddies, the children of our family friends as we do our own children?

I can't imagine that the Dalai Lama would expect us to have exactly the same degree of attentiveness. The point isn't to exhaust ourselves by focusing on the needs of every child with which we come into contact. If it is possible, then fabulous!

From listening to the Dalai Lama, my understanding is that he believes that we DO have the capacity to experience this level of care for ALL children in our lives. And if we continually fostered this level of care and concern every day of our lives, our world would be filled with a far greater level of compassion on a global scale. Remember: he says that when we give others true compassion, we ultimately foster compassion in the world as a whole.

What I have been doing lately is giving a truly conscious effort to see the good and precious and sacred in every child that crosses my path. Sometimes it isn't easy but I think it is less because I don't feel compassion but that I simply don't have the same natural level of connection that I do with my own children. It takes making an actual effort.

Of course, there are some kids that just drive me up the wall. They grate on my nerves and sometimes even intimidate me. Finding compassion for them can take more concentrated effort! However, they too receive a compassionate attentiveness from me. In fact, what I found is that once I give the effort to truly see these children and foster a care for them, I often end up experiencing an even deeper sense of compassion. It is possible to see the reasons that make them act the way that they do, and how can we not be compassionate for that!

How does the Dalai Lama expect us to get to the point where we can experience this sense of universal compassion for children in our hearts? How do we find what he calls unbiased or unlimited compassion?

He encourages us to perform a kind of contemplate meditation: to give deep thought about what it means to feel compassion toward all children. He firmly believes that it IS possible for each and every one of us to reach this point of compassion. Isn't that an absolutely decadent concept? The richness of a world filled with compassion and the desire for mutual understanding.

All that having been said...

Tonight I'm working hard to experience that abundance of pure and natural compassion for (1) my 4-year-old son who just threw a fit because he couldn't play the Sendung mit der Maus online games because it is way past bedtime, (2) my 6-year-old son who was supposed to be getting ready for bed but instead came into the livingroom with some kind of messy goop all over his foot and cried out, "Hey, look at my new shoe! HAH!" and (3) my 3-year-old daughter who received a sticker for this evening's homeschooling work but in the last 5 minutes has changed her mind about which sticker she wants at least ten times (each time crumpling the current sticker in her hand).

Ahhhh, the joys of finding compassion for our own children. Maybe the Dalai Lama had it all backwards? Could it be that the true task is to learn to have as much compassion for our own children as our sweet, kind, perfect, lovely neighbor children? Hmmm, next time I have the chance I'll ask him.

Either way, I'm sure the Dalai Lama would say to me: "Compassion begins at home!"

Why Should I Speak It If You Don't?

My husband and I often speak English with one another. In fact, we speak English with one another most of the time. It comes naturally since that was the language we spoke when we met 16 years ago on the Emerald Isle of Ireland, in Mary Ryan's Hostel in Galway. Wow, 16 years!!

I didn't speak a word of German at the time and my future husband was in Ireland to speak English - so it all worked out well. Of course, he wasn't looking for a future American wife and I wasn't looking for a future German husband. We were there to meet the Irish! Not other foreigners!

Well, be it as it may, we fell in love and I ended up taking a leave of absence from my studies to spend two years in Germany with my future husband where we finally tied the knot and moved to Seattle, Washington.

While in Germany I spent grueling hours at the Volkshochschule followed by even more grueling hours at the university in Kiel learning German. Textwiedergabe - I remember that word clearly and it can still bring dread up my spine and fear into my heart. The ultimate of torture touted as "learning German." Ugh, I can still remember sitting there with my pencil poised for the moment of truth.

That coupled with trying to pronounce the letters ä, ö and ü while a kind-hearted teacher squishes your mouth into place was enough to make me want to fall to the floor and plead for mercy. "Try saying "eee" while rounding your lips like this," the teacher would say. "Ok, yea, I get it but now how do I remember all of that while trying to use that sound in the middle of a word which is in the middle of a sentence!?" would be my exasperated reply.

In any case, tonight my 6-year-old son heard my husband and I speaking English with one another and promptly said to us (in German), "Why are us kids supposed to speak German together while you two speak English with one another?" My husband and I looked at one another and and said (in German), "You are right! We should be speaking German. Ok, here is the deal, we'll speak German with one another from now on and you'll agree to speak more German with your siblings, ok?" Our son pursed his lips to think about the deal. He clearly smelled something rotten. And then I quickly added, "And you stop calling me Corey and just call me Mama from now on, ok?" Our son started to look at us with clear suspicion while my husband topped it off with, "And you will always call me Papa, ok?"

Well, let's just say that we all eventually shook on it and agreed to the terms. Whether my son has any idea of what he really agreed to will be seen soon enough. I think he would have agreed to anything just to get the heck away from his crazy, begging, pleading parents.

Is this what a bilingual family has come down to? Making language deals over the dinner table? Well, if it works it is worth it right? I guess I had better remember to speak German with my husband from now on! I mean, a deal IS a deal, right?

Stop Calling Me That!

My children have developed a bilingual habit which is starting to drive me crazy!

At the beginning, when my children first started speaking, they called me "Mama." I identified myself to them as Mama and so they followed suit. This all came very naturally and easily and I gave it very little thought.

Me=Mama and their father=Papa.

That was until I started noticing that my children were saying "Corey" much of the time. I noticed it most when they were speaking to one another (vs. speaking to me) and figured it was just a cute way for them to identify me by my given name. Little did I realize that it was going to start driving me crazy with frustration.

It wasn't until recently that I noticed that they were saying Corey when in conversation with one another in English. And that they were even calling out to me saying Corey rather than Mama! For example, if they were playing in the living room in English and wanted to get my attention, they'd call out, "Corey!" And if an English-speaking person was around with whom they were speaking, they would use the name Corey when talking about me to them!

Everyone we know thinks it is absolutely adorable. "How cute that they call you Corey!" they say.

And what about me? What do I think about it? It is making me want to sit those little bilinguals down and give them a long lesson in linguistics.

Instead, I started by asking them (calmly) why they call me Corey instead of Mama. They clearly identified the situation by stating matter-of-factly that when they speak English they say Corey and when they speak German they say Mama. "Mama is German, Corey is English," they tell me full of conviction. As if they were teaching me the translation of my name in each language!

After a while I started bugging them about it. "I wish you'd just call me Mama all of the time. I am still your Mama whether you are speaking English or German." They looked at me with a questionable look and said, "We'll think about it."

Ah, so, is that where things have progressed? They get to decide what they want to call me after a joint bilingual sibling consultation? Am I to have no say in the matter? I'm their Mama for goodness sakes!

As of today, they still call me Corey in English and Mama in German. They have not been convinced by my explanations and pleading in the least.

But little do they know that I have raised the stakes (or lowered my pride) and I now shamelessly complain to them in nothing less than a childish manner. "It makes me so sad when you call me Corey. Don't call me that anymore, ok? Just call me Mama all of the time!" I am delighted to say that I did stop short of bribery: "If you only call me Mama from now on I'll give you some candy!"

In the end, I realize that I have little say in the matter. My 6, 4 and 3 year olds are bilinguals destined to make language choices based on nothing but what makes most sense to them. That is their right to use language as they see fit, isn't it?

I can go blue in the face complaining, begging and insisting but I fear that when push comes to shove, I'll forever be half Mama and half Corey in the eyes of my little bilinguals. I guess there are worse things to worry about! At least they are still speaking German with me.

Seeds of Compassion, Day 1: Press Credentials

A few days ago I received an email from the Seeds of Compassion media coordinators that I had been approved for press credentials to attend some of the Seeds of Compassion events (an event lead by the Dalai Lama)! I am still reeling a bit from the news and definitely excited beyond description. I'm sure all of you seasoned reporters out there will take this with a grain of salt but for me this whole thing leaves me speechless! Me, press credentials? Yippeee!

I could go into the details of how I somehow missed out on the myriad of opportunities to get regular tickets and was left without any option of seeing the Dalai Lama... but it would take too long and let's stick to the point here: the Dalai Lama is in town and I have been granted press credentials to see him - wow, simply amazing!

Things will start this afternoon: picking up my press credentials downtown WITHOUT THE KIDS. Being that I am technically a stay-at-home mom on Thursdays and Fridays while my husband is at work, and being that the Seeds of Compassion media coordinators said that bringing the kids wouldn't be a good idea (gee, any other way I could show how inexperienced I am in these things) I started begging people to watch the kids last night at 9:39 pm.

In the end, our dear neighbor agreed to take care of my kids while I travel downtown to pick up my press credentials and participate in the press preview. I feel especially guilty since he is the only person in his whole family who won't get to attend any of the Dalai Lama events (he wasn't able to get a ticket). It seems almost unkind to ask him to watch the kids in such a situation. However, this is important! I am on a mission and must charge ahead (gosh, is that devoid of compassion or what!?)

As for the event itself, I HIGHLY doubt I will be able to ask any questions or even get very close to the Dalai Lama or others leading the events. Nevertheless, I ask myself, what WOULD I ask the Dalai Lama IF I could?

Would I come up with some profound question which would leave the other reporters nodding their heads in agreement and then asking themselves, "Who IS that inspirational press person over there?" "She is with WHICH publication? Multilingual Living Magazine? I will definitely have to learn more about her and that magazine! Maybe we can get her on board with our publication!" And they proceed to write down my name and the magazine's name and I'm feeling special and inspired and important and, dare I say, full of myself!

HAH! How I make myself laugh!

Ok, the reality is that if I could ask something I'd probably start with a few "Ummms" and "Errrs" and then fumble around with some kind of jumbled question which went nowhere and in the end the Dalai Lama would have to ask the person next to him "What EXACTLY was the question?" with a quizzical look on his face (yet a kind, compassionate smile). The other press people would look over at me (who was certainly beet red in the face with embarrassment) and ask themselves, "Who the heck let her in here!?" I'd look around, smile and then pretend that I was invisible (like my daughter when she wants to pretend like no one can see her, she wrinkles her forehead and just looks away in another direction until the attention on her has passed).

Actually, the first thought that comes to mind right now is to tell him is how much I have enjoyed that Christmas calendar which I purchased for myself and my family and a few of my friends (and which I have on my desk at work) with daily quotes from him. Gosh, is that pathetic or what!? Talk about extremely un-deep and un-profound!

Seriously, though, what would I ask him? What should I ask him?

What would YOU ask the Dalai Lama?
What thoughts would YOU share with him?
What would be on YOUR mind?

Tell me so that I can write them down (just in case)! You wouldn't want me turning beet red, now, would you?

The Dalai Lama is Coming to Town!

"True compassion is not just an emotional response,
but a firm commitment founded on reason."

The Dalai Lama

His Holiness the Dalai Lama is going to be in Seattle this month! He will be leading an event titled Seeds of Compassion: www.seedsofcompassion.org.

I find that the Dalai Lama's message is so important for families around the world raising children in more than one language and culture, primarily because we have such valuable knowledge, resources and experiences to contribute! Here are examples of two primary ones (from a myriad of others):

(1) Those of us who have come to feel a deep love for more than one language and culture understand the powerful force of global compassion. We cannot help but recognize that "the others" are also us; that cultural and linguistic divisions are artificial definitions created in our minds. The question is whether we continue to strive to maintain this appreciation for the differences in the world or slowly allow ourselves to resent anything that alters our status quo.

(2) Our children are truly the ambassadors of generations to come. What they learn from us today as we raise them will be their foundation for global compassion. Do we imbue our children with a love for the world? Do we honestly instill in them an appreciation for humanity no matter what a person's language, culture, skin color or standard of living is? We need to ask ourselves this question honestly and decide if we are helping to foster compassion in our children or further widening the divide. It isn't about what we say to them, it comes from our children witnessing how we treat others and the things we say about others.

Ultimately, compassion is about letting go of fears - fears of "the others" because they do things differently: they speak a different language, they act differently, they don't smile back when we smile, they dress strangely... even those who have done something mean to us. The moment we label others, we instantaneously create a divide between them and us. As many wise humans have said: the moment we label something as good, then something else receives a label as bad (vs not labeling something as either).

The fact that we create a label is not really the issue (creating a label is our natural human response to want to understand and define a person and situation). The issue is about how we ultimately react to the label we have created. Will we treat that person worse because they wear their hair differently? Will we gossip about them behind their back, saying how strange they are and how much we don't like them? Or will we recognize that yes, we have indeed created a label but that actually we aren't really sure of anything about that other person and even if we did, we should refrain from talking about them behind their back?

Is it possible to have compassion even for those who do things which we find offensive? Yes! It doesn't mean we condone what they do and it doesn't mean that we don't speak up and say that what they are doing is reprehensible to us. Having compassion for others is about understanding that they are doing the best they can in their current predicament and state of mind (yet we do so without feeling a sense of superiority and arrogance).

As the Dalai Lama says: we ALL want peace in our lives, we ALL want to be compassionate beings. Even those who are acting cruelly ultimately want to be compassionate and loving. For whatever reason, they are not able to find that way just yet. But if we can find compassion in our own hearts, then we can show them what it means to be compassionate no matter the circumstances and will be there when they reach out their hand in need. However, if we do so with a "better than thou" attitude, then we should actually be questioning our own motivations and our own relationship with compassion first before attempting to be an example for others.

I'm not sure whether I'll be able to see the Dalai Lama or not when he is in Seattle. If I can't, I will still revel in the joy that he will be nearby for 5 days.

Check out www.seedsofcompassion.org for more information about the Dalai Lama's time in Seattle.

L'amour à la (AOL) française

As many of you know, the "technology company" which I often referred to as my place of employment was none other than the glorious America Online (AOL). Our group was purchased by another technology company in August, so I no longer work for AOL. I have spent close to 10 years working for AOL, helping to create and test the many language databases which are developed for the T9 product (which many of you will find in your cell phones for text messaging!) . In fact, when I met with Tommi earlier in the year, he jokingly said that he wished we'd develop our T9 software to support bilingual entry for cell phones, so that he could message in both Finnish and English at the same time. I was delighted to inform him that we DO have a bilingual program in place. It is just a matter of the OEMs putting it on their phones. :-)

After a recent round of layoffs (2,000 people worldwide), the AOL France team decided to go out with style (we would expect no less from the French!). Check out this fabulous video from the AOL France team (lip-synched to French Eurovision 2007 song from the band Les Fatal Picards). And yes, if you think you are hearing a bunch of code-switching between French and English, you are right! This is a delightful example of fun, fun, fun code-switching! I wish we'd have thought to have done something as wild and crazy when AOL sold off our group to another company!

The password for the video is: aollover .

L'amour a la francaise from pyc on Vimeo.

The Compassionate Life

I was on vacation from the middle of August until the middle of September - ahhhh, vacation. The space and time to think again. To actually read a book and to breathe deep, deep breaths, those breaths which actually fill the bottoms of my lungs. The time to taste the subtle richness of a coffee, the smoothness of melt-in-your-mouth ice cream, laughter with family and friends, the scent of new landscapes, the sounds and sensations of different locations. Since we always take our vacation in big chunks of time (this was a "short" three-week vacation) we have the luxury of slowly getting used to this state of mind over the course of weeks.

It is almost always on vacation that I feel myself transforming back into what I like to call "myself." It is a slowing down, an embracing of the realities of where I happen to be standing at that moment and the ability to listen and understand it.

While on vacation I had decided to read two books which I had purchased in Seattle: "The Well-Adjusted Child-The Social Benefits of Homeschooling" by Rachel Gathercole and "Real Food-What to Eat and Why" by Nina Planck. I was NOT disappointed as I slowly made my way through each book. Both point toward something I had been longing for but was unable to grasp: getting back to basics. One book reminded me of the value of family and the bonds that form there each and every moment we are together. The other reminded me of the importance of food and the need to get back to the basic elements of it which means getting as far away from processed foods as possible. In my hectic life, I often forget the importance of home-cooked foods (be it cookies or dinner or a snack of carrots and hummus). I don't agree with everything that Nina writes in her book (I prefer to avoid meat more often than not) but all in all it was a good reminder to get back to foods that are real (we have even started purchasing raw milk from a local farmer and are drinking it as-is (no heating it first) and making some fabulous yogurt and kefir. I look forward to making some cheese!).

Then, a week into our vacation, while browsing through Bookshop Santa Cruz (yes, you guessed it, this book store is located in the heart of fabulous Santa Cruz, California - our vacation was visiting my family members who are spread out between northern and southern California) I spotted a book that Alice had reviewed for Multilingual Living Magazine titled, "Eat, Pray, Love-One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia" by Elizabeth Gilbert. On a whim I purchased it. In fact, my husband purchased it for me.

Husband: "You want to get that book?"
Me: "Well, I donno. Alice said it was good and here it is as a favorite pick by one of the book store's employees. It must be a good book."
Husband: "I think you should get it."
Me: "Yea, well, it is pretty expensive. I can just borrow it from the library when we get back."
Husband: "We're getting it for you." He takes it off the shelf and as he turned to go to the cash register, I beamed with an excited smile.

That night I started reading "Eat, Pray, Love" and my life started changing.

There is a part in the book where she spends time at an ashram in India. By the time I finished that part of the book, I was trembling. It is hard to explain why it impacted me as it did. Perhaps it was because by the time I got to that part of the book we were visiting my mother and brother in my childhood home (one which is filled with ambivalent memories thanks to the endless arguments of my parents as I was growing up) which always leaves me feeling a little exposed and raw.

Or perhaps because it resonated with the years I spent practicing Zen Buddhism, which included visits to Green Gulch and Tassajara Zen Centers. For anyone who has spent time at these two zen centers, they are the real deal: up before sunrise to meditate for hours, silent meals, working in the garden for much of the day, crashing onto your floor mat at the end of the day from sheer exhaustion. There ain't no way you can escape yourself at these places no matter how hard you try. I was 17 and 18 years old at the time and a wore a scarf on my head for over a year as a kind of "leave me the hell alone because I am trying to figure out who I am" gesture.

For whatever reason, there was a moment while reading the book that I suddenly experienced an overwhelming rush of compassion; compassion for myself, my family, for humanity as a whole - a level of compassion which I don't think I have experienced before. It was a total, complete and in some ways spiritual wash which came over me at that moment and I couldn't remember what it was like to NOT be completely compassionate in all ways, shapes and forms. It was a kind of embracing of the world and a love for everyone in it.

At that moment I felt it just taking over my every cell without any urging on my part. It reminded me of zen koans (which I read incessantly during my zen Buddhism phase of life): that kind of sudden realization which takes place in a different part of of our being than our mind - a whole body experience, if you will. Like the pure satisfaction we experience when musical notes resonate in perfect harmony. We know what we would like to hear (or what we don't like to hear) but it isn't until those notes resonate perfectly that we experience an absolute whole-body-and-mind fullness from the wash of the music.

I still have no idea what caused the perfect blend of words, thoughts, experiences, mistakes, hopes, dreams, tragedies in my life to cause this moment to happen but whatever it was, I was left feeling like I was viewing everything in life from a completely different vantage point than before. My struggles for different things and desires in life just melted away and I was left with a combination of humility, understanding, calmness, love, joy and gratitude.

I'm not sure how long this state of being will last. A few aggressive Seattle drivers, a nasty coworker, the hectic schedule of life could very easily knock me off my balance. But for now I am so honored to have this opportunity to experience this way of experiencing the world.

Let's put it this way: the other day when someone raced in front of me and cut me off in a big gas-guzzling SUV and then proceeded to flip me off (yes, even Seattle has those people), I found myself looking at that outstretched middle finger and feeling nothing but deep compassion for that person; compassion for what must be going on inside that person which would urge him to act that way. I actually understood exactly how caught up he must have been in his own world, where doing such things was his only way of making himself feel whole. Is that not something to feel compassionate about!?

There have been times recently when my husband expected me to react a certain way to something he or someone else said (based on how I usually react) and instead, when I didn't react the expected, pre-compassionate-me way, he gave me a big smile. Smiling back in return I said, "Remember, I told you! I have changed!"

Oh - and some fabulous music!

My favorite right now is Joe Purdy: www.joepurdy.com. You can listen to his songs on his website. My favorite albums of his are "Only 4 Seasons" (I love the song "Why You") and the other album "You Can Tell Georgia" (the song "Can't Get it Right Today" is great).

And another great band is Nickel Creek! My mother and brother introduced us to their music while we were visiting.

Library Junkie

I'm a full-on, complete, no-holds-barred library junkie! Just the smell of the place makes me swoon!

We have a shelf full of library books at home. Most are about homeschooling, a bunch are ones the kids picked out, some are learning to read books (in English, of course) and a few are novels that I've wanted to read. Then we have the whole row of DVDs: the entire first and second seasons of Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives, countless kids educational DVDs (and a few oddities like Rubadubbers' "High Noon in the Bathroom" where animated bath toys have a show-down - very educational indeed), a few political DVDs which my husband picked up and finally French and Spanish movies with subtitles - my favorites!

I think we have over 80 items checked out right now and another 50 on hold.

Today I went into the library to pick up two more books and I felt a little giddy the whole time - like when I was a kid and my birthday or Christmas had arrived and there were gifts with my name on them.

We have so many libraries in Seattle that we can choose the books we want online, then ask that they be delivered to the library closest to us. Fabulous! Who needs Amazon when we can order free books from the library, have them delivered and just pick them up on the way to get the kids from daycare.

Hallelujah - I love the library!

Oh - and my kids do too. :-)

Home Depot with Kids

Last night we went to Home Depot. The kids were dressed in their pajamas before we left – preparation for the drive back when I was hoping they’d fall asleep.

We arrived just before closing, at around 8:45 pm, and rushed around chatting in German about which flowers would do best in full sunlight. We headed into the store to pay, the 2-year old in the shopping cart seat and the two boys standing on each side for the ride.

When we reached the check out area, there were only two options, neither of which were optimal (at least as far as I was concerned):

(1) Self Checkout (with which I never have any luck because I always do something wrong, like move the items slightly and the whole system seems to go berserk - I usually end up having to call the clerk and feel humiliated),
(2) a long line at the other end of the store where everyone had a ton of items, each of which were big, bulky and of varied shapes and sizes.

We opted for the Self Checkout.

At first it all went ok... I scanned each flower, it beeped, registered the price, I placed each flower in the little plastic bag. Yes! I was in synch with the system. The system and I were one.

After around flower three, things started going bad. The system blurted out something about having too many items on the scale. Arghhh. I looked down and younger son was sitting on the scale! In German I said, "Ok, Christoph, get off the scale." He jumped down with an impatient glare.

I took a quick, sideways glance to my right and saw the slowly forming line of waiting customers. I felt my face becoming a bit flushed. "Focus, stay focused!" I told myself silently.

I scanned the next few flowers, and then again, a complaint from the machine. "For god's sake, why did we get so many flowers?" I complain under my breath! I looked over at the scale again, and oldest son was leaning on the scale. Pointing to the scale, I said in German, "Patrick, look, don't go anywhere near this thing here, ok? Just stand over there."

Unfortunately, "over there" was next to the ingeniously placed "wall-o-candy," a child’s paradise indeed!

A new round of frustration began, a full-force chattering away in German. "Mama, can we have these M&M's? Just one! We'll share them." I looked over at the enormous bag of candy and to save some immediate whining, I said, "Um, we'll see, let me finish here first."

To my right, the line of customers was getting longer. In the expanse of faces, none gave the impression of taking pity on me. They looked tired, impatient and saw me and my brood as making their life less than satisfactory. And to top it off, they probably couldn’t understand a word we were saying since it was all in German.

I started to scan the next flower and suddenly the Self Checkout man was standing at my cart. "Oh no, I thought, he is going to tell me to get my act together and hurry it up!" But instead he pointed out that youngest daughter was trying to stand up in her seat in the shopping cart and that I should have known to strap her in with the belt provided on the cart. "Oh right, I said." I strap her in. Bad-mother-humiliation moment, one million and one.

I look to my left and see that the boys are happily discussing in detail which candy they are going to get. Uh oh.

A few more flowers scanned, wonderful! But I notice that the little shopping bag is full. What should I do? Should I move the bag to the side and open a new one, or will the machine go crazy? Am I allowed to put the next flowers anywhere or will the machine complain? Oh gosh, I'm not sure what to do. “Think quickly, think quickly,” I tell myself.

I feel wild and crazy, so I put the flowers on the scale but OUTSIDE the bag. Whew, the system registers that the flowers have been placed on the scale. Ok, we are on our way!

Just as I'm finishing, young daughter notices that the boys are at the "wall-o-candy" and that she is missing out on a potential candy purchase. She starts complaining - loudly. The boys notice her and simply start bringing her candy, asking in German which she'd like to have. "Do you want this candy, Marie?" Patrick shows her a Starburst. "Or do you want this one, Marie?" Christoph shows her some kind of pink bubble gum. “Just one, Marie. You have to decide on one,” they tell her.

I take no notice. I can’t think about the coming raised voices of indignation when I tell them that we aren’t going to get any candy. I need to stay focused. All I need to do is to slide my credit card through the machine and sign the tablet.

It seems to take forever but with a sigh of relief, the transaction is completed. The machine and I are no longer dependent upon one another. I pack the remaining flowers into bags, tell the kids that we are leaving and quickly start pushing the cart in the direction of the big EXIT sign. I don’t look at the frustrated line of customers; I don’t stop to discuss the “wall-o-candy” options with the kids. I just start walking and make sure the boys are following.

"But Mama, we wanted candy!" Wails older son.
"Yea, you promised!" Adds younger son.
"Candy, candy, candy!" Yells youngest daughter.
Me: "Let's discuss it in the car, kids."

A heated discussion ensues but soon all kids are in their car seats, the car is in motion and once on the highway, the lull of the movement puts youngest to sleep and the boys glare at the back of my head the whole way home, albeit in a semi state of exhaustion since it is way past their bedtime.

"Tomorrow we can plant the flowers in the pots at the front of the house!" I remind them. "Just think about how much fun that will be."

Silence.

Once we are a few miles from Home Depot, I laugh to myself at the spectacle we must have been: A tired mom, three pajama-dressed children chatting away in German, an obsessive focus on the "wall-o-candy," a cart full of flowers, kids sitting and leaning on the scale and a line of angry customers tapping their feet and sighing under their breath. Just one crazy German-speaking family. Yep, we certainly have a way of unwittingly causing an odd disruption.

Then it dawns on me… if I thought purchasing the flowers with three kids was a challenge, planting the flowers will be even more fun: three kids, a bag of potting soil and one trowel. Oh yea, the planting is going to be nothing but fun, fun, fun! At least we won’t have to do it with a bunch of impatient, English-speaking onlookers.

Short It Is

Ah, it is so nice to have so much of my hair gone. Like starting over, beginning again. Kristin at the Caruh salon was fabulous! She asked me questions, listened to what I said I liked and didn't like, pulled out a book of photos and we decided together what would be a good style. Wow, I was really impressed. Of course, as expected, the scalp and hand massages were great. I think I really need some pampering. ;-)

Here are a couple of photos that I took a few minutes ago. They don't really do the haircut justice since the lighting is poor in our bathroom (by the way, check out that cool, retro tile we have in the shower/bath. Ackkk, I hate it! Was there when we bought the house).

The catch will be how the cut withstands my not doing ANYTHING fancy with it. I'm a wash and go kind of gal. Now that it is winter and too cold for that, I'm a wash at night, quick blow dry and sleep kind of gal which means I often wake up with one side flat against my head. Anyone have that problem as well? Any advice?