Saving the birds

Winter is no time to be housebound.  Recently, I went to Kentucky to visit and offer some help to my mother, who was home recuperating from knee replacement surgery.  Since our phone topics were narrowing to increasingly mundane obsessions, it occurred to me that maybe I wanted to get home for a few days, to assess her well being, and to see whether she was yet channeling her inner Jack Torrance.  Shortly after I landed, mother nature, like Jackson Pollock, scattered ice across the state, bringing bluegrass life to a screeching halt.  And oh, mother nature, how she laughed her deep, sinister laugh, as my own mother invented tasks that had barely waited for my arrival, such as the much needed written inventory of years old food in the basement freezer.  As I scraped my fingernails down the inside of the living room window panes, I noticed that things outside weren't as still and quiet as I had thought them to be.  Everywhere, there were birds.  Robins and sparrows and the occasional cardinal covered the trees and blanketed the frozen lawn.  They flew in what might be described as frantic patterns, back and forth across my line of vision, swirling and diving and climbiing, in relentless repetition.  It was enough of a spectacle to make me forget the cross I thought I bore.  How, I wondered, do birds find food in this weather?  Where do they sleep?  What shelters them from so much falling sleet and ice?  As I stood and gazed, and pondered the challenge of survival for these fragile creatures, feeling my own relative burdens lighten, my mother quietly joined me at the window.  As though echoing my thoughts, she murmered, "I hope they make it."  In that moment, I knew that the next few days would be fine.  I would help in whatever way she needed.  There was no call for using her to-do list as a measure of her sanity.  I would return north, knowing that the little acts, whatever they were, would warm her winter, even if just a bit.  After a  pause, she added, "because I really don't want to be picking up dead robins tomorrow."

Nor any drop to drink.

Recently, in the greater Boston area, we had what some would call a water "crisis".  Other more reasonable people, or anyone born in a country with a name that is not the United States of America, might refer differently to the events.  They might, just by way of example, mention "that inconvenience" we experienced around Boston, with a dismissive waive of their hand. 

Somewhere, around one of the W towns (A is for apple, B is for Bunny, and if you live around Boston, W is for Wicked Rich), a water main broke.  Although I pored over those Richard Scarry books as a kid, with all those busy people who were actually busy bunnies, and pigs, in busy town, showing you the town's inner workings, I really can't tell you much about plumbing, or pipes.  I know they bring us clean water, and they take dirty water away.  I have vague notions about "from where" and "to where".  Reservoirs, I suppose, and sewage treatment plants, respectively.  (As a complete aside, why "sewage treatment plants"?  Why not sewage disposal plants, or sewage management facilities?  What are we treating the sewage for?   Depression?  "Doc, I'm feeling like crap..." ).  Bottom (no pun intended) line, something broke somewhere, and lo, the clean water would not come.  Some 20 Boston area towns had running water that we could not drink, unless we boiled it first, to kill off any bacteria that might swimming through the dirty water they were sending into our homes.  Kill or be killed.  It was Lord of the Flies time in New England. 

The first sign that we had lost our collective minds came through online email forums and social networking sites.  Everyone had questions.  How long to boil the water?  Could we run our dishwashers?  Our washing machines?  How could it be true that it was OK to shower, but handwashing must be chased with hand sanitizer?  What if we opened our eyes in the shower?  Or water got in our ears?  Could we water our lawns?  I don't suggest that the questions were silly.  Of course they weren't.  They were perfectly natural, and some were even welcomed by the rest of us who hadn't thought to ask them. 

You know that feeling, though, that you get on the first gorgeous day of spring, after a long, cold winter?  You head out for a walk, to soak in the sweet sunshine and to inhale the warm air.  Then, someone says, "wow!  listen to the birds!" ... and suddenly, listening to the birds is all it seems that you can do.  You hear their songs, and their trills, and you rejoice with them, that spring is here!  But you begin to notice that there are so very many of them.  And all of them are singing, at once, trying to drown one another out with their own happy songs.  Must they sing so loudly?  Where in the hell did so many birds suddenly come from?  And then you start running down the street, hands over ears, screaming "would someone SHUT THEM UP already?!"  Or maybe that's just me.

Anyway, that's how I felt as I continued to read the local news stories and the yahoo group and facebook posts.  Oh!  I thought to myself.  Thank goodness I am paying attention.  These questions make sense!  And I need to listen to them!  Steadily, however, the volume climbed.  More thirsty town folk added their chirps to the rising cacophony.  As neighbors competed to lay claim to the catastrophe, and to make their own suffering heard, they grew louder, and more insistent.  The tenor of the questions changed, and the charges began to fly.  Why weren't we notified sooner?  Why weren't we notified BETTER?  How long would this last?  Were they telling us the truth?  Why weren't we better prepared? 

The madness reached a crescendo. There were people in the water aisles of every grocery store, liquor store, and gas station convenience mart, emptying the shelves of all sizes of Aquafina and Poland Springs.  A woman climbed onto her shopping cart to reach the top shelves, and began tossing water over the heads of the thirsty crowd, to her own family members, who waited on the perimeter to receive the goods, like hyenas circling the lions.   I watched the news stories, and tried to bury my head beneath my blankets to avoid the screaming birds of prey, as Tim quietly and humanely boiled a pot of tap water on our Kitchen Aid gas stove. 

The schools let us know, by reverse 9-1-1 calls to our homes, that our children could bring 16 oz water bottles to school.  Thus began more flapping and squawking.  Who was the school to tell us how much water our child could or could not bring to school?  The listserves and the facebook pages went berserk.   "If I want my child to drink purified water, I'll send as much water as I damned well please, Mr. Superintendent.  I didn't trample Mrs. O'Malley in Aisle 9 just to be told I couldn't anoint my offspring with the spoils!  Oh, and you will have hand sanitizer available for the kids to use after washing their hands, won't you?"  I contemplated the frustration, and the bravado, as I tried to chip the plaster of dried toothpaste from my toothbrush.  As it turns out , pouring a stream of boiled water over your toothbrush doesn't get it quite as clean as, say, running it under the tap.  On the other hand, you don't end up with e coli in your mouth, so seen in that light, brushing or sanding your teeth with a miniature brick is really a very small price to pay. 

A few days later, the "all clear" sounded.  Pipes were flushed, ice trays emptied and refilled, and all was once again well in the slowly thawing upper east coast.  The birds settled into their nests, lovingly attended to their chicks, and whispered to one another, "well, that really wasn't so bad".  The next few days were spent applauding ourselves, and each other, for the strength and calm that allowed us to weather the storm.  We crowed about how we checked in on elderly neighbors, and clucked about how quickly and efficiently the problem was resolved.  As we ripped apart the packaging on our new toothbrushes, the news anchors turned their attention to the oil leak that is currently poisoning the already suffering gulf coast.  Now there's a water problem. 

Just Keep On Pushing On

Hi five readers!  Remember me?
I haven't given up on giving!  Or blogging!  But I have been traveling, and working.  A lot of both of those things.  And, so, my owl watching and blogging and parenting and other such hobbies have taken a bit of back seat.  Having experienced two kids' talent shows recently, I'll just say, "It ain't about how fast I get there, it ain't about what's waitin' on the other siii - iiii --iiide.  It's the cliiii - iiiii --iiiiimb". 
And, while you wait, if you'd like to know where you, too, can pass time singing karaoke Miley Cyrus, it's HERE.  No need to thank me. 

A marathon, not a sprint.

We all have "off days".  Yesterday was one of those, and I'll confess to thinking that maybe the world was already asking enough of me.  I was tired and feeling bounced around a lot by the numerous and competing forces in my life.  Finding another way to give yesterday felt like it was just going to take too much.  The best and most that I could muster was a smile for a stranger who looked down on his luck, and like he could use a smile, at the very least. 

We often hear the phrase "give what you can", and yesterday I felt like I did give what I could.  It still felt good to allow my mind to float toward giving on a day that was very "off", and it probably helped to keep me from sinking too far beneath the surface. 

Today is better.  I decided to get the giving off to an early start, and look for little ways throughout the day to build momentum again.  I'll write about those efforts in another post.  Today, this morning, I am writing merely to acknowledge that it doesn't need to be perfect, or even big.  It only needs to be genuine.

All the single Mommies.

Can I get a shout out for the single parents?   

There are a few single moms in my inner circle.  Not all of them knew that they'd be a member of that club.  A couple of them found themselves hurtled unexpectedly through the clubhouse doors, while others joined by choice, with their eyes wide open.  Regardless of how they got there, they all seem to be remarkably quick studies on the secret handshake. 

They are all super heros in my book, but even super heros lose the ability to fly sometimes.  The kryptonite for one particular single mom friend this week has been a herniated disk.  I'll bet one starts to see life dramatically differently from the vantage point of the floor.  Today I was a minor player in a symphony of women friends who rallied around this super single Mom and her ultra cool kid.  There's a lot of power and comfort in seeing how women will rush to and lift up a friend in need.  A stumbling block placed in front of one of us seems to generate enough energy to get us all up and over or around the hurdle together, while the momentum of support carries us fast and far.   

Now put your hands up.

Cleaning House

Hello internet!  I know.  You thought I was dead, given how yesterday I blogged about being dead, and all.  Surprise!  Even I thought I had died.  It turns out, though, that I'm not so dead. And now, I am wrestling with whether it is in poor taste to draw some analogy to yesterday having been Easter.  Never mind.  I already know that it is in poor taste.  What I'm really wondering just how tasteless it is.  I'm sure someone will let me know, one way or another.     

Moving right along, I think I'm starting to over-analyze this whole "gift" thing, and how one should define "gift". 

There are times that I want to do something for somebody, but start wondering whether I am cheating, somehow.  If you spend a little time doing someone a favor, is that a "gift"?  And, do the gifts need to be things you wouldn't have "given" but for the 29 Gifts project?  What if you give someone a birthday gift?  Does that count?  What if you give that someone a birthday gift every year?  Why should you get "29 Gifts" sort of credit for this year's birthday gift, that you would have given anyway?  What if you just keep choosing people in your family or immediate circle of friends as recipients?   Are the gifts supposed to be more like "random acts of kindness"?  If you get all pissed off at someone for something, and you can't let go of feeling pissed off about it, does that somehow negate the good that you are trying to create with the gift thing?  Does it make a difference if you decide not to make an issue of it?  What if you do make an issue of it?  Aren't you so glad you don't have to live with me?

I have been assessing, and reassessing, my goals, and asking myself what I hope to take from this exercise.  In my most self-critical moments, I wonder if I am looking for too much positive reinforcement, and making this too much about me (and how fabulous I am for being so thoughful and giving, what with the daily giving of gifts and telling the world about it... or at least the 5 people reading my blog).  And, when I read the 29 Gifts book, the author talks quite a bit about what she receives... the abundance that comes back to her, because she is giving.  I ask myself whether this turns "giving" into a more selfish act.  And, does it matter, if you are generating good feelings for others and injecting positive energy into the karmic universe at the same time?  Aren't you allowed to get something from the experience?  The purpose of giving in my mind is, at least in part, to learn to be conscious about your own state of gratitude, to be in that state more often, and to be outwardly focused (if you are using your energy to focus on others, there is less room left for dwelling on yourself).  But, when you do those things, isn't it also the goal to become a more spiritually fulfilled (and, by extension, happier) person?  Or is it really supposed to be completely altruistic?  Darn it.  I'm confusing myself. 

Today, I am working very hard on letting go of the perfection that I am trying to weave into the fabric of my giving project.  I am permitting myself to skim the instructions.  I want to focus less and worry less about whether I am doing it right, and spend more time thinking about giving genuinely, and generously.  Without any expectation of payback, karmic or otherwise. 

Today, I chose to give a gift that the recipients may never know that they received.  We have neighbors... The Invisibles (who are also friends ... and who we would have chosen as friends even if we had met them somewhere other than in the neighborhood).  The Invisibles took an opportunity to spend a few years abroad.  They do come home from time to time, but their house here in town remains vacant much of the year (and the alarm is on, and neighbors are watching, potential burgler).  I pass their home at least twice a day, and over the past few weeks I have been noticing the accumulation of bits of trash that has blown around and landed in their bushes.  Today, Rachel and I took a garbage bag to our neighbor's home, and we picked all the bits of candy bar wrappers, random papers, plastic bags, cigarette butts and other detritus of a semi-urban community.  We also took the time to pull some of the weeds from their garden.  

 In caring for their home just a bit, without regard to whether they will ever know, we practiced giving just for the sake of giving, and not for the credit that we accumulate or the "thanks" that we might receive.  I'm pretty sure that The Invisibles aren't reading this blog (I don't see them here, anyway).

Gift 9. The End.

Today, a woman and her husband were riding their bikes on a busy Cambridge street.  She took a very hard fall, right by my car.  I heard the crash.  I heard her scream, and cry.  She was bruised, and bloody.  I put her bike in my trunk and drove her home.  (her husband rode his bike to their house, and met us there). 

Then I rode my own bike 24 miles, to fulfill a winter time promise made to Rachel.

Then I came home and died.  Slowly.  The end.

Acting on impulse.

One of the "teachings" in the 29 Gifts project is that you are not supposed to plan out your gifts in advance.  The idea is that you learn to recognize and remain open to the opportunities for giving that present themselves to you.  So, I try hard not to lie in bed at night and start brainstorming about tomorrow's gift.  It is totally against my instincts to be so unprepared.  What if the whole day goes by, and I don't find that chance to give?  Will I have to start over?  Will I have failed?  Slowly, I am learning to let go of the need for control.  I am beginning to understand that it is acting in the moment, when you are ready to see what you could or should do, that is most rewarding. 

Learning to give, with an open heart, and without the expectation of anything in return, isn't always as easy as it seems it should be.  In theory, I think we all believe that we can give in this way, and that we do.  We write checks to charity, we help an older woman with her grocery bags, we step on the breaks to let someone else into traffic.  I do not dismiss these simple gifts -- they are very important, and these are the steps that we all take that affect the world around us in a very immediate way. 

But, there are some gifts that take more work.  Maybe we all encounter circumstances that make us want to avert our eyes, close our hearts, and walk away.  Getting involved sometimes means getting burned.  Getting involved sometimes means confronting our own ugly opinions, judgements, and assumptions about others.  When we look away from that Mom slapping her child in the grocery store, or avert our eyes from the dissheveled homeless man asking for some spare change, isn't there inevitably an internal struggle?  What is the right thing to do?  What will happen if I do it?  What will happen if I don't?  Am I a bad person for walking away?  For refusing to get involved?  I believe these are thoughts that we all process.  Or maybe I am projecting, but I will confess that I struggle with these thoughts.  And most often, I allow fear to drive my inaction.  It is so much easier to disengage.

Yesterday morning, Saturday, I received an email, asking something of me.  The email was from someone I met under very difficult circumstances,  in the context of my job.  This person continues to face some tremendous life struggles, not of his own making.  It is very difficult for me to confess, in such a public way, that my reaction was fear.  I was afraid that if I continue to engage with this person, I will be responsible for staying involved.  I was afraid that if I give of myself in this circumstance, I will put a lot of things on the line that I could lose -- my time, my trust, and in this case, depending on where things lead, maybe even my job.  And, I became resentful that this person was asking this of me, whether he recognized it or not.  I read the email, read it again more carefully, and decided to join my family outside on the first gorgeous Saturday of the season.  I tried to put the email out of my mind, because it wasn't fair for this person to encroach on my weekend time this way. 

My family was in the driveway, painting floor boards for the dinghy that will eventually stay on the sailboat.  There were enough cooks in that kitchen, so I unfolded my soccer mom chair in a sunny spot, and read a couple chapters in 29 Gifts.  It so happens that these chapters delved into the spiritual, and healing.  Stuff about re-channeling the energy flow in your body, and relinquishing attachments to "stuff".  The author wrote about her own instinct to avoid a man passed out on the sidewalk.  Blocks after passing him, in the rain, she realized she was supposed to help him.  And in doing so, she would help herself.  And so, she did. 

Somehow, even while absorbed in my own 29 Gifts experiment, I failed to connect the dots.  I was trying to learn about giving, and here was a request -- very directly asking me to give of myself.  In formulating the reply in my head where I explained why I wouldn't be able to help, why this request was just too much, why when I said I would be there, I didn't mean like that, I was erecting barriers in front of myself.  Was it entirely serendipitous that, within the next hour, I read about the need to open our hearts, and our hands, and to release our fears?  

Later in the day, I replied to the email.  I said yes, I wanted to help.  And  by the time I wrote it, I meant it.  Not because I thought it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted to do it.  Sometimes we doubt ourselves too much.  Sometimes, you can learn so much just by listening to that inner voice, telling you what you already know is right. 

Yesterday's gift was to slow down and say "yes" when my knee jerk reaction was to look away and keep walking.  I am less certain that this was a gift to the recipient than it was a gift to myself.  But it was exactly what I was supposed to do. 

The Village

About a year ago, our home life was ... not going great.  Tim works primarily from our home, and the kids wanted to be home instead of an afterschool program.  We thought that they were old enough to be home and "let Tim get his work done", and they are.  But we focused on whether the arrangement was going to work for Tim -- his work life is busy and a little unpredictable.  We focused less on whether this was going to be the best set up for the kids.  The arrangement didn't work -- for the kids, or for Tim.  They had afterschool activities they needed to attend, and he needed to plan his work day and meetings around being available for school pick ups and shuttling kids around in the afternoon.  Any travel or even afternoon meetings for him necessitated making sure I could be home from the office that day.  Tim and I were both working later and later into the evenings to make up for lost time, and the kids were pretty much fending for themselves.  The parade of McDonald's and Burger King containers through our home was horrifying.  And yes, they were home with a parent, but he wasn't really available for them.  He was on the phone and working, and frustrated by the constant interruptions.  We knew we needed to make a change. 

My kids are easy -- they are 10 and 13.  They are really good kids, who don't get into much trouble, get their homework done without too much nagging, and follow most of the very few household rules.  I do wish they'd clean up their rooms.  But, like all kids do, my kids need the companionship of a responsible, caring adult.  At least some of the time!  Oh, and real food for dinner.  This must be the most incredible bit of "duh" that I have ever written.  Child rearing 101.  We launched a search for the right someone.  How hard could it be?  We simply needed someone mature, kind, organized, responsible and smart to pick up our kids, come be with them after school, help with homework, deliver to guitar lessons and soccer practices, cook a healthy dinner, generally try to maintain sanity in our house, solve world peace and end hunger. 

If you've ever searched for child care, for children of any age, you can probably skip this paragraph, because you have been there/done that.  After you weed out the people who can't speak English, the women who want to bring their 1 and 2 year olds along with them, those who call with a million questions about hours and wages but forget to ask how old your children are, and the men (yes, because even though I completely recognize that it is unfair, paranoid, sexist and wrong, I'm not interested in, and very skeptical of, men who want to come into my house and care for my children), you start to get a bit worried... and tired ... Searching for trustworthy and high quality child care, even for children who are on the verge of no longer really being children, and who don't need "care" in the traditional sense of "child care",  can take more time out of every day than the hours you are trying to cover, and if you allow the worry and guilt to take their natural course, leaves you questioning every life choice you have ever made, until your husband finds you in bed, in a puddle of your own tears blathering your stream of consciousness anxiety about family values, that he can't quite follow, and contemplates whether he may need some help here.  But I digress.

From the start of our search, Tim suggested I reach out to our friends (because I didn't ask if I could write about them, I'll call them Harry and Sally), to ask if they had any suggestions or knew anyone.  Harry and Sally are both ultra successful professionals with very busy work lives and three very young children at home.  You know what that means, right?  An entire staff, in alternating shifts, is necessary to help them keep their home running smoothly.  Why not lean on friends who have been where you are, and steal their nanny?  OK, we didn't exactly "steal" Deirdre -- she had worked with Harry and Sally since their first child was born, and had been part of their family -- central to their family, really -- for 6 or 7 years.  But with the addition of the twins, and the hours to fill, and changing needs, it was apparent to Harry, Sally and Deirdre that, while she would remain forever connected to their family, she was looking for something different. 

That's when Deirdre became forever connected to our family.  Sometimes, until things are going well, you do not recognize how "not well" they were before.  You know that feeling when you are finally over the stomach flu, you are eating again and regaining your strength and saying "I never ever ever ever ever want to go through that again"?  Finding the exactly right person for your family dynamic, who loves your kids, and your cat, gets your sense of humor, forgives your chaos, and reminds you that your children need to go back to the orthodontist (and calls to make the appointment and takes them there), is JUST LIKE THAT!  There is absolutely no way to list all the things that Deirdre does for and with our family that we didn't even realize we desperately needed.  But, for all you Moms who have raced into the toy store 20 minutes before the birthday party, hoping and praying that they gift wrap and spending way too much money because you just don't have time, having someone (1) know that your child has a party to attend on the weekend, when that someone isn't even going to be working, (2) think about the fact that your child will need a gift to bring to the party, and (3) email you at work and offer to purchase a gift, and wrap it, days in advance ... well, it's like getting a spa massage, pedicure and hot fudge brownie sunday (with whipped cream) all at the same time.  Or, like having your husband do the dishes.  In other words, nirvana.  The kids love her, the cat loves her, and we love her too.  She thinks about us when she is not with us, she is in constant communication with us, and she anticipates needs we didn't even know we had. 

I try to be thoughtful and respectful and consistently grateful for how much Deirdre has brought to our family, and how she saved us from any further visits from the Department of Social Services.  I also try to make sure she knows that we appreciate her.  Some days and weeks are too hectic for me to stop and remember to say thank you.  For that matter, there are some weeks during which I don't even see Deirdre, because I work late or travel.  I sing Deirdre's praises to other working moms who ask about our child care arrangements, and you know what, I really like being with Deirdre.  It isn't always easy to have another person in your home, but Deirdre makes it easy, and she has become a friend.  Not just a facebook friend, either. 

Yesterday, Friday, was Day 7 in my 29 days of giving.  I brought Deirdre a gift certificate for a one hour massage at a spa in the town where she lives.  Everyone deserves to be pampered and taken care of.  I hope she finds an hour soon to completely relax, let go of her own stresses and worries, and just enjoy being indulged.  Thank you, Deirdre, for everything that you do.  We truly appreciate you.

Oh, and here is where I hope I get to do one more little favor for Deirdre.  We are not able to give her the hours that she needs, or the salary that she is worth.  She's looking for full time work.  Either full time for one family, or mornings to fill in the times when she isn't with us.    If you want to know more about Deirdre, get in touch with me.  We'd hate to lose her support, but we want her to be in an arrangement that works best for her.  And whether we help her find something or not, she's going to need to make a move.  So, we'd like to help her.  Also, if you know a Deirdre if and when we need to find someone to replace her (which I cannot imagine doing), also get in touch with me, please.  You'll probably find me in bed, in a full fledged panic attack about Deirdre leaving, and us raising super-sized kids with crooked teeth who attend other childrens' birthday parties bearing gifts of school supplies, hastily purchased at CVS, wrapped in last Sunday's comics.

Isaiah.

Two doors down from me lives the sweetest, cutest four year old boy.  Angelic, adorable, dimple-cheeked Isaiah is a smile factory.  Since we have only just managed to close the door on this past winter, I haven't seen much of Isaiah lately.  New Englad neighbors only really see each another between April and September.  Although I don't see him often, I've never seen Isaiah in meltdown mode or heard him whine.  I can't even really recall ever seeing him cry.  Isaiah is a perpetually cheerful, friendly, outgoing little boy, who greets everyone walking by, and lights up the neighborhood.  Once, he saw my garbage bag tear as I carried it to the bin, and without waiting for my reaction or any request for help, he bolted over and started collecting the trash from my driveway.  Did I mention that he is four? 

Today, I had one of "those" days at work.  I hit the ground running.  Literally.  Checked email on blackberry before rolling out of bed, and discovered that a few "issues" had brewed  in the four hours during which what seems to be the entire continent of Europe had been up and at it.  I answered emails from bed and the bus stop, participated in a conference call during my commute, and walked into my office to a ringing phone.   The day continued like that, with emails and phone calls pouring in, and nothing receiving my attention for more than a 15 minute stretch.  I'm not sure how many balls I let drop today, because I completely lost track of how many were in the air. 

On my walk home from the bus stop, I was tired, and maybe just a wee bit frazzled.  I'd run a gauntlet, and the bruises were starting to reveal themselves.  Then I encountered Isaiah, sitting on his front steps with his Mom, enjoying the first sunny day in a long while.  Isaiah gave me a huge smile, and a wave, and told me that soon, there would be lots of bees around, because the flowers are growing, and the bees "enjoy the pollen".  We talked springtime, butterflies, bike rides, and fertilizer, and mosquitoes, and bats!  I told Isaiah our loose plan to nail a bat house to the tree in our back yard, somewhere above the treehouse, to give the bats a home, and to help keep the mosquitoes at bay.   

Isaiah is very excited about the bat house, and asked to help put it up.  I promised I wouldn't do it without him.  And, he is excited about an excuse to climb up into our treehouse.  We talked for a bit about how cool and fun the treehouse is.  I told Isaiah that as long as he is with a grown up who is in charge and says it is OK, he can play in our treehouse anytime he'd like.  He doesn't even need to ask us.  Until tonight, I had forgotten just how easy it is to bring overwhelming happiness to a four year old child!  Isaiah is thrilled.  And Rachel, who spends the most time in the treehouse, decided quickly that it is OK for Isaiah to use the treehouse when he wants to.  As she sorted it out in her head, and processed it, we heard her say that if she wants to use it and he is there, they'll just share.  And take turns.  We were so pleased with how quickly she decided she was willing to share this space.  Later, she told me that she would like to do the 29 gifts, too. 

I can't even remember anymore why I felt so stressed when I rolled out of bed this morning.  Anyone else want to come climb a tree? 

Interview with the internet

I hear you asking... "OK Lori.   We underestimated you.  Again!  You obviously aren't going to abort this effort as quickly as you have abandoned so many other obsessions and bright ideas you've had.  So, tell us then.  What exactly is this 29 Gifts project all about, anyway?" 

And I will answer you with, "HEY!  Be nice!  We are all 'works in progress', after all."  The 29 Gifts project was started by a woman named Cami Walker.  Cami was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and, in her search for understanding and healing, Cami consulted with a South African medicine woman, who told her that she needed to give something away each day for 29 days.  Following that advice, Cami found that many things in her life changed dramatically.   She blogged about her experiences, wrote a book about her experiences, and, eventually, built a website around the idea.   You can visit that website to read a lot more about the project here:

http://www.29gifts.org/

Or, you can read a very little bit about the project here:  

GIVE A LITTLE EACH DAY. MAKE A BIG IMPACT.


Give one thing away each day for 29 days. Share your stories about how it impacts your life to focus on giving. Join the 29-Day Giving Challenge today. Why? Because to see our world change, we have to do something to change our world. Plus, the best way to attract abundance into your life is to be in a perpetual state of giving and gratitude. Be an important part of the global giving movement that inspires more generosity on our planet.


HOW IT WORKS:


Sign up and then give away 29 gifts in 29 days. Your 29 Gifts can be anything given to anyone... money, food, old sweaters, smiles, your time, kind words or thoughts. You can start your own personal 29-Day Giving Challenge at any time—there’s no official begin or end date. To complete the challenge, submit a story, post a piece of your original artwork, create a short film or write a song. Tell us about your favorite gives and the impact it made on your life to focus on giving.

Oh, and speaking of my obsessions, make sure to scroll to the bottom of this screen and see the owl picture of the day, OK??  How perfect is it that blogger had this gadget for me to add to my blog?? 

And now I hear you asking: "OK, the 29 gift thing sounds kind of funky and all new-agey, but cool.  What's the deal with 29 days?  Why not 30, or 31, or just say a month?"  RIGHT?  I'm so glad you asked that question.   Because I have no clue.  I asked the same question of the person who introduced me to the project.  He didn't know either.  Maybe the book, when I read it, will explain why 29 is such a big deal.  If you get there first, by all means, please enlighten me!   

I hear you asking, "Lori, tell me.  How did you hear about the 29 Gifts project?"  That's a great question.  Thank you for asking me!   My very good friend got involved, and started blogging about his experiences giving a gift each day for 29 days.  This particular friend is someone who already has so much generosity and love in his heart, that I was curious about any initiative that could move him to do even more for others than he already does.   Turns out, this one was particularly meaningful to him, because there are two very special people in his own life who, like Cami Walker, have multiple sclerosis.  Over the years, this friend has become very involved as a volunteer, then board member, then Chairman of the Board of the local chapter of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.  It is my guess that he spends at least as much time volunteering for that organization as he does doing anything else (and, with a career, a family, and a fixation on Notre Dame sports, he has lots to keep him busy).  I began following his blog.  One day I went to his blog to see what he'd been giving away lately, and read that one of his 29 gifts is a copy of Cami Walker's book, which he gave to me.  Or at least, I am told, "it's in the mail."  I was very moved and, as I often am by him anyway, very inspired.  So, I decided not to wait for the book, and to just get going. 

So today, Day 5 of my (first) 29 days, I'm writing a check to support the MS Society, because the Society and its cause are very important to my friend, and so it matters a lot to me, too.   And, I want him to know that he has kept the momentum of the project going by spreading it to at least one other person, and that I hope to do the same. 

I hear you asking, "Lori!  How are you ever going to think of 29 gifts to give in a row, and how will you find time to follow through?" and I will be glad to answer that.  I DON'T KNOW!  But it's awfully nice to spend time every day looking around, and wondering how you can help make the world just a little bit brighter for someone else today.  

Now you are asking me, "uh, shouldn't you be getting back to work?"  

Oh... Yeah.  Totally. 

"Kentucky girls, we have fire and ice in our blood. We can ride horses, be a debutante, throw left hooks, and drink with the boys, all the while making sweet tea, darlin'. And if we have an opinion, you know you're gonna hear it.” -- Ashley Judd

It is very hard to capture my mother in law in a blog post.  I first met Peggy over 20 years ago.  She was the first woman I'd ever met with such a long, slow, southern drawl.  That is saying something, given that I grew up in Kentucky.  Peggy, born in Parma, Missouri, raised in the small rural town of Cape Girardeau, Missouri, and a regular Sunday church worshiper in her adopted big city of Paducah, Kentucky, had never met a Jew before she met me.  We bonded immediately!  Peggy is smart, funny, warm and loving, and, if you sit and listen for awhile, you can learn an awful lot.  After raising two boys, she was really happy to have another girl in the crowd.  Not long after Tim and I got married, Peggy started referring to me as her "daughter Lori Ellen".  I still feel incredibly touched and honored, every time I hear it. 

Last December, Peggy turned 80.  In some ways, it hasn't been an easy 80 years.  In just the 20 years that I have known her, I have seen her face two types of aggressive cancer, brave chemo with incredible grace and strength, struggle with severe and now debilitating osteoporosis, and endure an array of other physical challenges.  I have watched Peggy grieve over the loss of her sister following an accident, and the loss of her grand nephew from neuroblastoma.  Over the past couple of years, Peggy has lost more than 8 inches in height, and her back is very bent.  She is in almost constant pain and discomfort.    It is so hard for us to witness, especially being so far away, the physical decline of this active, strong woman who taught anatomy and physiology, zoology and biology to nursing students for years, raised two amazing sons, enjoyed gardening, refinishing antiques, hiking, camping, boating, and traveling, and who can sit across the table from me in a Mexican cantina and match me margarita for margarita, as we salute (her version of a toast) everyone we've ever known and loved (and even some who we have neither known nor loved).  Yesterday, Tim spoke with his brother, who lives near Peggy in Colorado, and heard that she seems unsteady, unwell, and not very much like herself.   It sounds like she's feeling very poorly, and like maybe she's lost a bit of her incredible will. 

I've never been particularly good at communicating my care and concern and thoughts to my loved ones.  Frankly, I'm terrible about cards, gifts, and phone calls, and I am sort of lousy at letting others know that I am thinking about them, or just how important they are to me.  My gift today, Day 4 in the 29 Gifts endeavor, will not be any grand gesture.  It will be a simple card to Peggy from me and Tim and the kids -- letting her know in the most open way just how much we love her, and how incredible we think she is.  We will all write in it and sign it, and maybe the kids can add some artwork.  We hope you feel better soon, Peggy.  As you have said to me so many times, Illegitimi Noncarborundum. 

Tra La Laaa!!!!

Our family, on both sides, is dispersed.  This set up has its benefits.  For example, we rarely fight about negotiate over which house we will visit for which holiday.  But, there are downsides, too.  When we go on vacation, we must pay the neighbor kid to feed the cat.  And the kids.  Also, we get precious little opportunity to spend time, and develop relationships with, our six nieces and nephews - two in Kentucky, two in Washington, and two (soon to be three!) in Colorado.

Recently, my sister told us that her 7 year old is loving the Captain Underpants series by David Pilkey.  For those of you who do not have 7 year old sons, or who have been raising your 7 year old sons in a cave, Captain Underpants is a comic-book style potty humor-filled series about George and Harold, two 4th grade pranksters who hypnotize their principal into believing that he is a superhero named Captain Underpants, a caped crusader fighting for truth and justice, employing wedgie power, and wielding rubber doggie doo.   Also these books are controversial and occasionally banned by school librarians, for being irreverent and talking about toilets.  And butts.  If you do not enjoy laughing with your young kids, or if you live in Naugatuck, Connecticut, definitely do not read these books with your children.  (but still read them on your own, at night, under the covers, with a flashlight). 

I promised my sister I'd get our (over-read but sadly outgrown!) Captain Underpants books into the mail to Adrian, so that she he could enjoy the rest of the series.  As days flew by, I kept forgetting to look for them.  Then I carried them around in my work bag for a few days, and didn't find the time to get to the post office.  Today, off they go to Kentucky, just in time for April Fools day!  Look out, little sister.  These books have been known to influence kids to behave like pranksters and use bathroom words.  But, Adrian could probably teach Harold and George a thing or two.  I hope the next time Adrian models George and Harold's bad behavior, you think of his Aunt Lori, and say a small prayer of gratitude that I stay so far away.

p.s.  Isabella and Adrian, Professor Poopypants put your names into the name change-o chart, and from here on out, you two will be known as Chim-Chim Picklechunks and Stinky Picklechunks, respectively. 

Springing forward.

Its funny -- there must be something about March. Spring is in the air, families are gardening again, baby birds are hatching, and Lori's thoughts turn to ... blogging. It's been on my mind of late to give it another go, so I pulled Blogger up on my laptop, wondering if I could still find the old blog that I began on impulse (then abandoned just as quickly) so long ago. And, there it was... staring back at me from the screen, blinking quietly, whispering, "I was wondering whether and when you were going to show your fingers around here again". The second (and final!) post, was about one year ago, almost exactly to the date. There must be something about March... the short span of my brain's vitality between the slow thaw from the New England winter freeze, and the rapid rot from Boston's summer sun.

Today I will blog with a specific purpose. A very close friend has inspired me to give of myself. I try to give where I can, but this new effort is focused, and specific. It is in the spirit of a (hopefully) growing movement called 29 Gifts. You can read about here:

http://www.29gifts.org/

Yesterday began my 29 days. Last night I took my 13 year old son out to dinner. Just the two of us, to Legal Seafood. The boy loves him some lobster. We waited a very long time for our table, but passed the time roaming the mall that housed the restaurant. We fought the crowd at the hostess stand a couple of times to check on our status, and as time passed, he grew increasingly hungry and a felt bit ill, but insisted still that he preferred to wait rather than opt for a different choice.

We were relieved when we were at last led to our table, and we looked forward to the famous Legal Seafood clam chowder (which, incidentally, should probably be ILlegal, like other substances that feel so good but are so bad for you ... ). Unfortunately, service was slow. Even more unfortunately, halfway through his bowl of chowder, the son pulled a long, cream-covered hair from his mouth. Not his. Not mine. I don't need to detail it further. We were both a little upset.

I hated to raise it with the waitress, because she looked like she was having a hard night. She must have been around my age. She looked tired, and had been apologetic for the long wait and slow service. She seemed to be trying hard to make sure we had what we needed. Still. The hair. It needed to be addressed, despite protests from my son, who is generally mortified by the slightest bit of attention, and certainly not inclined to draw any attention to himself while out to dinner, with his mother, on a Saturday night. Still. Hair. In the chowder. Ew.

After numerous apologies from the waitress and a visit from the manager and an accommodation on our check, somehow my son was still talking to me and we managed to eat and truly enjoy the rest of our dinner.

My first of 29 gifts was a large tip for our server. Thirty percent, based on the check we would have received sans hair, not based on the actual check. It felt great to walk away knowing that she probably looked for her tip after we left, maybe expecting that we'd forgotten to tip based on what the check should have been, and maybe anticipating a poor tip anyway, based on the challenging experience we'd had. I hope I brought her a pleasant surprise, and maybe added some joy to an evening that looked like it was a difficult one for her.

I can't wait to see what today will bring. Thank you friend, for getting me involved, and for inspiring me with your own generosity. I can't wait to receive the book in the mail and read it (I read your blog, and I know that I'm on the receiving end of some of that generosity. I feel incredibly touched and honored). Today, my gift will be to try to spread the word, and the joy, of giving. That may not be the sort of "direct benefit" contemplated by the initiative. I'll know more, I suppose, when I read the book. In the meantime, it feels right, and good.

Maybe I'll manage to keep this blog alive, too. At least into April.