I didn't have the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER, and that's okay.

Around the holidays, the chimes of gratitude and cheer ring from every Facebook status or tweet, to every holiday card and department store sale sign. From all the Christmas movies, commercials, and sappy songs, I think we all know what Christmas is supposed to look like: we snuggle on the couch with loved ones, the glow of twinkling tree lights on our faces, drinking hot chocolate next to a fire, snow gently falling outside frosted windows while children sleep peacefully, dreaming of sugar plums. If that was your Christmas, congratulations! Do you have a secret or was it just luck? No, really, email me... If your Christmas was a little south of perfect though, it's normal to feel let-down. In fact, the expectation to have warm fuzzy feelings around the holidays is so high, the smallest setback can feel like a defeat, and that little bit of disappointment or doubt could make anyone feel like the Grinch among a sea of spastically-happy Whos. This year, I found myself sympathizing with the little green guy, I know what he's saying about the noise, noise, NOISE, NOISE....and I'll raise you a mess, mess, mess, MESS. Anyway, here's what went down this Christmas at the Nakai house, and most importantly, what I learned.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house....the kids were still not in bed, they even kept up the mouse!!

At first, I had both boys in bed at 7:30...wooo! new record! I should have known it was too good to be true. The five year old woke up and couldn't go back to sleep because he was too excited, which wouldn't be so bad, except  he kept waking up his younger brother, who I realized had a little bit of a fever and runny nose from a cold. Santa was pretty cranky having to deliver the presents after 10pm. He likes to go to bed early at our house.

The next morning, I woke up feeling groggy. I knew almost immediately that it wasn't just from lack of sleep. I had caught the cold (t'is the season for giving...) This put a damper on my plans to cook a nice big dinner and bake yummy treats all day (instead my husband ran out to Boston Market...thanks hun!). The kids were in a sugar-high frenzy for most of the day, followed by the inevitable crash, and with Skylar and I both sick, it made for some short fuses. Some of it is a blur. There were definitely tears, and yelling, a frustrating attempt to watch a movie, and that fake fireplace screen playing in a loop. All the while, every time I looked at my computer it seemed like everyone else was having, "THE BEST CHRISTMAS EVER!"

By the end of the day I felt like Ebeneezer Scrooge, or Charlie Brown before Linus makes that speech and he figures out the true meaning of Christmas. (Where is a 5 cent psychiatry booth when you need one?) Good grief.

With so much pressure to have a HAPPY holiday and a MERRY Christmas, it's no wonder that we can feel a little sad when our Christmas doesn't quite live up to that picture perfect vision. It's also not hard to see why so many people get depressed around the holidays. I don't want to diminish anyone's Joy, I'm so glad so many people had a wonderful holiday filled with family, that you got something amazing for Christmas, that you got engaged, that you had a baby, or that you just feel so blessed. That's wonderful! I mean that in the least sarcastic way possible, really, GO YOU! That didn't happen for me this Christmas, and that's okay. I still feel grateful and blessed, just not in that magical tingly way I thought I would.

This year I experienced on a tiny scale, what it might be like for those who have to face pain or hardship during a season where everyone else is joyful, where you're supposed to be joyful too. As well meaning as it is, all that talk about togetherness can make those without family or who are grieving a loved one, feel the void even deeper. All the photos of holiday feasts and beautifully wrapped presents, can make those who can't afford a big meal or fancy presents feel lacking. I thought of those people often yesterday, and that's a different kind of blessing, a new lesson in empathy and compassion, which, once you strip away all the sugar and tinsel, is really what it's all about, right?

I don't want to compare myself to someone who has faced real hardship, I really am so, so grateful for my beautiful family, a roof over my head, and food in my belly. The kids got plenty of gifts, and though we didn't have extended family with us this year, they are all alive and well. Really, what do I have to feel sad about? But that's just the thing, however you are feeling is okay. You're not alone, and most likely, it could be a lot worse. There can be a lesson, and even beauty, in sadness as well as in joy, and whether it's Christmas or just Wednesday, tomorrow is another day.

A Bah Humbug to you all, and a Very Flawed New Year

Love, Laurel, Koichi, Miles, and Skylar

Children's books that don't drive Mom crazy: Jamberry

It's no surprise that we are book people here. Before I became a mom, I thought that reading with my kids was all cuddling and Dr. Seuss ryhmes. Little did I know that I would be reading, "Elmo's Birthday Surprise" NINE times in a row. I love reading, I love that my kids love reading with me, but one thing I've learned about children's books: there is an elite group of books among the million that actually entertain the parents (or at least don't drive us crazy), and stand up to the multiple read test. These books are the ones that stand the test of time, and what every children's book should aspire to be.

Jamberry
Story and Illustration by Bruce Degen
harperCollins, 1983 (this book is as old as I am!)


We first discovered this book at the library and it quickly became part of our regular rotation. We now own TWO copies, one in large hardcover and the other as a small board book.

This is a wonderful book with imaginative illustrations, and bouncy verse. These days, the majority of picture books tend to be in prose, partly because publishers discourage and are often not interested in "rhyming" books. The logic goes, unless you are Dr. Seuss or Maurice Sendak, then "do NOT try this at home". It's not so much that it's difficult to write a book in rhyme, but it is certainly a challenge to write one well.

I love a good rhyming book, and so do my kids, so when I find one it's like a precious gem. Rhyming gives it that "sing-song" quality that lends to many reads, and it also helps the kids (and me) to remember it. My oldest can actually recite some pages by memory.

Here is one of my favorite passages:

"Rumble and ramble
In blackberry bramble
Billions of berries
For blackberry jamble"

I mean, have you ever heard alliteration this b-eautiful? and "jamble" how deliciously cute.

This book is also all about FUN. There are no heavy handed moral lessons at the end, no counting or alphabet letters. Just an exciting romp through the woods to pick berries with a boy and a bear.

It's funny, creative, and cute. The illustrations will never get boring either. Look closely at the pages and you'll find some juicy details: marshmallow reeds, trees made out of toast, and jelly-roll flowers, to name just a few.
                     
It probably helps that this book evokes memories of berry picking out in the woods on the Fourth of July when I was a kid, but even if you didn't have such a rustic childhood I think you'll still enjoy this delightful read.


What are some of your favorite picture books? I'll be posting more reviews from time to time, feel free to make a request! 

I don't believe in curses, I don't believe in curses....

I do feel a bit guilty about not posting, on the other hand, November is when I am huddled up in my Writing cave for NaNoWriMo, and any other writing done during that time feels like words taken away from my novel!

I've been thinking about making a post, but it's been hard to actually sit down and do it. So, in the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I'm giving myself a time limit, a word goal, and I'll just sit down and write!

Can I just say that I'm a little freaked out by this month? I purposely don't schedule things in November, I try to plan as little as possible to leave plenty of time to write. This year, I am working on a project that I'm really excited about. It's a story that I started last year but I've been outlining and doing more research hoping to put together a more coherent draft. Despite the fact that this is my fifth year doing Nanowrimo, I have never felt so much resistance, not just from myself; my own doubts, fears, struggles with procrastination; but the circumstances around me. It sometimes feels like there are some sinister forces at work, conspiring to keep me from winning!

To illustrate, here is my NaNoWriMo week by week recap:

Week 1

Ahead on my word count, I decided to play outside in the leaves with the boys. While raking, Miles accidentally whacks his brother with the sharp end of the rake!

ER for four hours- Stitches :(

Week 2

Both kids got food poisoning.

DO NOT eat at the Chinese and Thai food place in Ringwood...just no.

be grateful I have no pictures for this one.

Week 3

Skylar never fully recovered from the food poisoning and as a result ended up in the hospital AGAIN, this time for Ileus, or bowel obstruction/paralysis. We were admitted this time and spent two nights in the children's hospital.

Except for the first day when he was on the IV, and wasn't allowed to eat or drink, he had a pretty good time. I couldn't get him to leave the playroom after we were discharged and had to bribe him with some of the free cookies in the family lounge. (If only the adult hospitals had free cookies and play rooms!)

Now this is the really freaking part, before we took Skylar to the hospital for the second time, I wrote a scene that took place in a children's hospital! Thanks for the immersion experience, Universe, I definitely got some good material, but next time I'll just use my imagination!

In all of this though, I kept writing, and surprisingly only fell behind a few times. I am on track now to sail right through week four and claim my victory on the 30th. The way things are going though, I can only imagine what this next week will bring. There are already ominous reports about the weather. Send out your prayers for us for a safe drive to and from PA to visit my family over Thanksgiving, choking on a turkey bone, burning my hand on a pie plate, and any and all hazards you can think of! Don't worry, I am bringing an extra roll of bubble wrap for the kids.

Happy Thanksgiving.

We eventually got to play in the leaves!

The Joy of Giving

For the last two years in NJ, Halloween has been officially cancelled. Last year, Super Storm Sandy struck and ruined it. The year before that we had a freak snow storm that froze all the trees, causing them to fall or break off branches on top of roofs or power lines. Everyone was told to stay home while the streets were unsafe.

While it's fun to see the kids all dressed up in their costumes for Halloween, I'm less enthused about that big bag of candy I'm going to have to hide and ration out so that my kids don't end up in a sugar induced comma/craze.

Last year, after the storm, all the towns kept pushing back the day for trick-or-treating, so that it was almost impossible to keep up and be sure. It was well into the first week of November already when I happened to be at my friends house with the kids, and we saw some other children with costumes on going around the neighborhood. We borrowed some dress up stuff, got the kids ready, and spontaneously joined in the fun. The kids were so excited, no surprise. What did surprise me though, was how excited the adults were to give out candy!

Many of them had huge bowls full of candy since all of the confusion with the storm. Sure, they probably don't want all that candy sitting around their house, but they seemed equally excited to see all the children dressed up, to be apart of the tradition and making all these kids happy.

So many people commented how they missed Halloween the year before, some didn't know it was trick-or-treat day and were pleasantly surprised to answer the door to batman and strawberry shortcake. They seemed so happy and grateful, giving away their candy, the smiling children their reward.

I don't know, I guess it's kind of obvious, but I never thought of it before until I saw it from the other side. We all live vicariously through our children, take joy in their happiness and experiences. This year, we get to go trick-or-treating ON Halloween, and I feel like I'm doing it for the benefit of my neighbors as much as my kids.

Happy Halloween, stay safe everyone!

Left-Brain Push-ups

It's that time again!

November is right around the corner, and part of my lack of blog updates lately has been because I've thrown myself full force into the outlining process as prep for NanoWriMo. It's been an interesting learning experience. I've never done an outline before. I mean, I remember doing them in middle and high school English class, but that's about it. Once I wasn't required to do them, I never did. I never had any problems with this before. I always much preferred to jump in and write, get messy, and then clean it up later. For a ten page paper, a short story, or poem, this method works great and served me well through four years of college. It took me four years of NanoWriMo, however, to realize that this same strategy wouldn't work for writing a novel. Don't get me wrong, a first-draft, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants method is lots of fun (at least for me) and there is a place for it. It helps me work though problems, figure out important plot points, and get to know my characters in a way that is liberating, without my inner editor or critic running the shots. At the end of the month though, I would look back at my 50,000 + words with a deep despair, as the thought of trying to edit was overwhelming. It felt like trying to turn a finger painting into a Michelangelo. I finally realized that if I wanted to actually COMPLETE a novel, and not just a first draft, I would need to put a more serious plan in place. With the help of some good books that helped to dispel some misconceptions and also give me a guide to work from, I decided that this year, I would finally do an outline.

There's a reason that outlining doesn't come naturally to me, I am primarily a right brain thinker. The right side is usually associated with creativity, abstraction, and emotion, while the left brain deals in more logical, sequential, and linear thought. Though I've always known that I favored my right side, I recently took a test that confirmed it down to the percentage. Not only that, it broke down all of the specific functions and highlighted my strengths and weaknesses.

The more I get to know myself, the more I am able to figure out the things that are blocking me, which gives me a road map to the solution. Though some people tend to favor a certain side of their brain, there are actually things you can do to strengthen your less functioning parts. The brain is like a muscle, and the more you exercise, the more those synapses fall into place.

So I've been doing left brain push-ups. Making and checking off lists, organizing notes (color-coding helps for right brained people since color is processed in the right hemisphere), and turning off my automatic spell-check--I actually have to manually go back to a misspelled word and write it out again, try and figure out the real spelling without getting a list of options or an automatic change...try it, it's tougher than it sounds! (unless of course you are a spelling champ...you lucky left brainers!)

My husband started running last week. He was never a runner, but in just a little over a week he's running at least 2 miles every night! I don't know if my progress has been that extraordinary, but it sure seemed like running a mile at first. The more I do it though, the easier it gets, the more miles I can go.  Now, with less than two weeks to go before the official start of Nanowrimo, I am actually..dare I say it...enjoying the outlining process and am looking forward to reaping the rewards of my hard work in November.

Tell me when it hurts

Face down on the table, I heard the massage therapist say, "Tell me if the pressure is okay, let me know if it hurts". I didn't make a sound. I never do. Even as I grit my teeth on particularly tender muscles.

Two weeks ago I injured my neck. I was playing outside with the kids doing handstands and somersaults, and woke up the next morning unable to move. My whole neck and back was in spasm. I literally have never been in so much pain (and I gave birth to two babies with no meds!) I won't even mention the emotional trauma of realizing I'm now officially too old to do somersaults. I went to the hospital, was given some pain medication, and went back home to bed. Thankfully, my husband and his family rallied to help out with the kids. Then, the very next day, I went out apple picking with the family since we had planned it weeks ago. Still in pain, though at least I could move around, still on meds. The next day, we looked at a few houses with our Realtor. Monday and Tuesday I did some laundry, took the boys to the library and Tae Kwon Do class and patted myself on the back for not having to take any pain meds for two days.

By Tuesday evening I was in tears. I felt worse than I did the day after I was at the hospital. So I popped some pain pills, got back into bed, and this time, stayed there. I thought I was the kind of person who knew how to take care of myself. I thought I understood how to ask for help. I always give advice to other people to take it easy and take care of themselves first. It doesn't take a genius to see that I probably have not been taking my own advice for some time now, and that this was just one big wake up call. I could have stayed in bed the whole weekend even though it meant changing our plans, thoroughly healed, and been ready to go on Monday. Instead, I ended up dragging the misery out for almost another full week!

Why don't we speak up when it hurts?

Maybe we think we deserve the pain

Maybe we think the pain is a necessary means to an end

We think we'll be seen as weak

Our ego thinks we should be strong enough to push through

We don't want to be a burden

We think we'll be judged

We want to do it on our own, because of pride, because we don't trust others, or because we are ashamed.

Why don't we tell anyone when it hurts?

Why don't we tell ourselves?

Why Moms are Like Jupiter

Earth vs. Jupiter

Last night at dinner, Baba (what my kids call my father-in-law) was talking about the moon. He told us what the full moon in September was called in Japan, and mentioned that there had been no clouds in the sky all day, so we would be able to see it very clearly.

Miles got excited about the outer space topic, so before bed we found a cool space documentary to watch.

Side note: Isn't technology amazing? It often gets a bad wrap I think. We hear about the over use of technology, addiction to video games or our smart phones, a disconnection with our bodies and the earth...but really, how amazing is it that when you have a question or inspiration about something, you can instantly find a resource to feed it. It seems to me, like most "things", technology isn't the problem, it's whether we use it for good (discovery channel) or evil (*cough* real housewives *cough, cough*). 

Anyway, the program counted down the 10 most cataclysmic disasters in the Universe. The basic premise was that the relative calm and order to our present solar system actually comes on the heals of billions of years of Armageddon like disasters, instability, and violence. Planets crashed into each other, switched orbits, some were flung from the solar system, and others were bombarded with asteroids for a million years.

If I were a science person, I might geek out about the technical aspects, the mathematics, or the evidence that lead to these discoveries. But alas, I am a writer, so those things are lost on me. Instead, I make everything into a metaphor:

One of the things I found fascinating was the Comet Shoemaker–Levy 9 collision with Jupiter. Basically, it was a comet that broke apart and the pieces collided with Jupiter in succession, creating 21 Earth size scars in its atmosphere. While the scientists explained the event and its significance, they said that Jupiter probably actually protects other planets, especially Earth, from these kinds of impacts. It's so large and its gravitational field so huge, that it draws comets and asteroids to itself, and maybe away from Earth.

Hubble Telescope image of temporary craters 

So there I was, with my kids curled up in my lap, imagining that I was Jupiter; deflecting all the hurt, disappointment, and dangers away from my little Earths. Of course, there are always some that get through, but hopefully, the big magnetic field of self-esteem, courage, and love that we try to cloak them with, is enough to burn up any intruder in the atmosphere before it does too much damage.

Then again, sometimes it takes a little intrusion, a metaphoric "big bang" if you will, to get to the place of perfect planetary orbit.

Either way, we'll always be standing by, a watchful giant, willing to take the biggest blow.

Full Circle

Despite my silence here on the blog, the last couple of months have been quite eventful. 

Since the last time I wrote, we spent a week away on vacation at summer camp

outside the cabin at camp shehaqua, Koichi, Sky, me, Miles, and Mimi (my mom)

moved out of our apartment and back to my in-law's place

This was the second truck load...what a long week...

and Miles started Tae Kwon Do lessons...

His class is too cute, and the instructor was impressed that Noni is trying to teach him Korean!

With my computer also being out of commission for a few weeks, it made for an unintentional, though welcome, break. 

So here we are, settled back at my in-laws, the place where I first lived when I came to NJ, where Koichi and I lived during our first years of marriage, and where we brought Miles home after he was born.

It's a transition, which in general is my least favorite place to be, that strange middle ground of uncertainty. We don't know how long we'll be here as we are hoping to buy our own house within the next year. For the time being though, we're comfortable, and looking forward to spending some more time with Noni and Baba (grandma and grandpa), and taking advantage of their big backyard! (no more playing in the gravel drive way)

Certain things haven't changed: the company of course, the hum of the airplanes (the house is right next to Teterboro airport), we occupy the same two rooms and bathroom upstairs that we did four years ago.

In the last four years that we've been gone, however, the house itself has transformed in many ways. There are new solar panels on the roof, a new kitchen and dining room floor, and the whole basement is now an entertainment/play room. There is cable for the first time here since...ever? (HBO and Showtime, too!), and a nice shiny grill on the freshly painted back porch. 

The biggest change though, is us. We've welcomed our second son, Skylar, who is now 2. Miles is almost 5. Bertrand, the family dog, who used to just burst with energy, now has trouble keeping up with the boys, though he's still amazingly patient (thanks Bert, and sorry!). 

For my part, I'm more grateful. I'm grateful to have a place like this to fall back on, for an extra set of hands to help with the kids, and for the close bond my kids will always have with their Noni and Baba.  

Three generation living is not for the faint of heart, but I certainly appreciate the benefits much more the second time around. 

The big 30

I had thought that I would be making a big post centered around my 30th Birthday, after all it's a landmark one. I wrote up a couple drafts of ideas (30 reasons I'm glad that I'm 30!). But, I was wholly uninspired, and for some reason it felt disingenuous, like I was forcing it. So, I let the day slip by. I glided in and out of it without much fanfare.

I am happy to be 30. I think more and more, I am learning to be happy with wherever I am, and so my age doesn't define it one way or another. There are lots of things to be proud of that I have accomplished. The fact that I'm alive, and haven't screwed up my life in any major way is a victory. Seriously though, I have a beautiful family, wonderful friends, a life that I am truly passionate about, creativity that I cultivate, faith that I deepen. It's good to look back and celebrate, to be grateful. It's also good to look ahead.

The things I aspire to now at thirty, are very different than a decade ago. At 20, it was marriage, a family, a career, places I wanted to travel, things I wanted to do. Today, I do no so much aspire to events, possessions, or even accomplishments. I want the intangibles: wisdom, peace, grace, dignity; and of course, literary whit. Basically...

I want to be Maya Angelou when I grow up:

"Ain't that work?"

Illustration from Tom Sawyer
The Mark Twain House, Hartford

“What do you call work?”

“Why, ain’t that work?”

Tom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:

“Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. All I know, is, it suits Tom Sawyer.”

Do you remember that scene in "Tom Sawyer", where Tom convinces all the neighborhood boys to whitewash the fence?

Despite the fact that it doesn't have anything to do with the rest of the plot, and there are plenty of more exciting scenes in this adventure, it's one of the most memorable.

Of course it has all the great skill of Twain as a writer and a satirist, and it perfectly illustrates Tom's clever but mischievous character, but I think we love it most, because it's a trick. We laugh at how Tom convinces his friends that whitewashing the fence is a great game, when of course we know it's work. They are being played, and we laugh at how Tom brilliantly executes the con, leaning back in the shade, admiring his work, children begging and offering gifts to have the next turn.

I have found myself running cons, "Okay! time to clean up the toys! who can do it faster? on your mark..."

Whistle while you work, a spoonful of sugar, and all that nonsense.

My two year old is always eager to help me sweep, he gets out his own little broom and dust pan, and I've randomly found my older one arranging pillows on the couch. It's true, kids love games, and when they are young, they don't know the difference between work and play. Everything is play. Especially in that stage where they want to copy everything you do. So when does it become work? and how do they learn?

Unfortunately, probably much sooner than we would like, and most likely they learn it from us; from every time we groan at having to do the dishes, every sigh at taking out the trash, every whine about folding laundry. It's no secret that we are the model, the eyes through which our children learn how to see the world.

It's good psychology, chores need to get done, children like to play, make the chores into a game! We trick them.

But...

maybe we're the ones being tricked. After all, how wonderful would it be to feel excited about putting away the toys; how lovely to play a game, how pleasant to live in the moment and enjoy your "work".

Tom may have played a trick on the other children, but the children still had fun, and the fence got painted. Everyone wins.

I'm trying an experiment, maybe it's not enough to "trick" my kids into doing their chores. Maybe I need to trick myself too. Stop the complaining, especially in those moments when you think they are not listening because that's always when they are. Maybe, if I pretend long enough, I can recapture some of that play for myself.

Just don't tell my kids it's work! Maybe it will take them a little longer to be tricked, when I'm the one who needs to learn.

"Tom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He had discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it – namely, that in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and wise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have comprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do, and that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do."

If you don't have your copy of Tom Sawyer handy and need a refresher, or just a little nostalgia, you can read the full scene here:  http://www.pbs.org/marktwain/learnmore/writings_tom.html

"You Have to Laugh or You'll Cry": Ep. 3

It's been awhile (surprisingly!) Since I've had one of these worthy to share. There was a food coloring incident a few weeks ago but I didn't get very good pictures. So, when Miles opened a container of left-over spaghetti, I just grabbed my camera and waited. Deliciously horrifying and hilarious. My boys never disappoint.

Meet Captain Noodle Head and his sidekick, Skylar Spaghetti!

(Pasta boy?, Noodle Nose, The Fantastic Fettuccine...)

Mama Mia!

You would think the hardest part was getting the spaghetti out of the hair...but no, it was the pasta on the floor that got all smushed up into a gooey paste. It's been awhile since I mopped the floor anyway. 

At least there was no sauce. (Marvelous Marinara!)

Ode to Being Lame

As I sang along to, "I can't make you love me" on the radio in my car, I thought about how this was the new "oldies" music, and how when my kids are grown they will think everything I like is totally lame (including the phrase, "totally lame"). I'm turning 30 in less than two months, and it actually feels really good. I feel like I'm just starting to get to know the real me, and the more I age, the less I tend to worry about what other people think. The less I tolerate toxic people or situations in my life. The less I get dragged down by drama. Perhaps it's the fate of all parents to be lame, but not because they've given up or let themselves go. Maybe they just know about the things that really matter and they are paving the way for their children, setting the example. It's okay to be lame, it's good, it's wonderful, come join me! I love you no matter what.

Ode to Being Lame

Here's to mom jeans and sappy love songs,
To staying in on a Friday night
To watching flowers bloom in my garden
To saving $1 on milk
To library books
To walks with the dog
To finally cleaning out the garage

To a beat up pair of sneakers that never give me blisters
To a new recipe for dinner, made with whatever is left in the fridge

Oh, to escape the shackles of trendy!
To kick off high-heeled shoes!
To happy, with what I have!
To comfortable, in my skin!

Oh, to lose the race!

To lie down!

To make mistakes and be forgiven!
To sing and dance and not care who is watching!

To wrinkles from smiling
To sun on my face
To speak, what I feel
To hear, my own voice

To say, "I love you" without fear,
"Goodbye" without guilt

Down with IN

and should

and better 

and can't

and no

and someday

Here’s to being on the outs,

to Love

to Give
to Choose

to Yes

to Now

and 

Why not?

Unroll the mat

The other morning I came out to find my yoga mat rolled out on the kitchen floor. No doubt my four year old had gotten it out for some game or experiment. As I waited for my coffee to brew, I stretched out into downward dog. It felt good, though my muscles were tight and my arms a bit wobbly. I've been neglecting my yoga practice. For several weeks now I've been feeling the effects on my body, knowing that I should start again, knowing how much a regular practice helps me not only physically but mentally and spiritually. So why did it take this long to get back there?

Sometimes the hardest part is unrolling the mat.

I've been having writer's block lately too, as evidenced by the length between now and my last post. There are lots of methods and tips out there, but again, the hardest part is opening the notebook or turning on the computer. The first word on a blank page is rarely as scary as the idea of it. I've come to accept that there is no cure, only choices. Even if I write one sentence, because I made the choice to begin, that choice gives me power, and it's one sentence more than when I started! It's not always chronological steps (1, 2, 3), but a series of firsts, over and over.

Unroll the mat, write the first word, take the first step.

Then, do it again tomorrow.

"Un"-American?

I've been thinking about the things that separate us. Religions, races, nationalities, borders, genders, generations, languages, parties...

Lately everytime I turn on the news I become angry. There are any number of things to be angry about in the world; war, poverty, hunger, injustice...but it's something even deeper than that, something that hits at the core of my being.

Everytime I hear a politician using the word "American" to describe themselves, me, someone else, my stomach starts to churn. It's not just the disingenuous, patronizing, cliche, that my Nationality has become something that people can redefine, evaluate, and be used as leverage in some political game to the point that it has lost all meaning.

Borders, countries, classes of people. They don't exist. We  made them  up, and we give them meaning like it matters. So I don't consider myself an "American", not in the way it's being used, the way it's been high-jacked. I know how fortunate I am to be born in this country, I am grateful for the opportunities I've been given. I am proud of who I am. But "American" is not who I am. It does not define my worth, or lack of worth. It does not tell you if I am a good person, or a kind person, or a generous person, or a mean person, or a spoiled person, or a privileged,  poor, hungry, or glutinous. It is. Like my hair is brown, my skin is light. It's my home. It's sometimes beautiful, sometimes ugly. It is not who I am.

I am not one country, one space, or one people.

I am not just a citizen of the United States, I am a citizen of the world, and so are you. I am you. I am we.

There is no "other", no "them", only us.

Art Therapy

Today I felt defeated before I even began.

I've been tired lately. Not just mom-with-two-kids tired. My MIND has been tired. I haven't had the motivation to do anything, and with my physical state of regular-mom-tired, it pushed me into a state only once removed from "walking zombie". 

I felt like I had been in a fog that I just couldn't see the end of. Everywhere I turned, all I could see were things that discouraged me; dirty dishes in the sink, a carpet that needed to be vacuumed, a to-do-list that never gets crossed off, my writing notebook waiting to be opened. I actually sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor for a few minutes, feeling like I couldn't take another step, couldn't look at anything else.

My toddler came over and gave me a hug. :::oh!:: That gave me just enough motivation to make some coffee, which lifted my spirits, and my energy level a bit.

As I sat at the table trying to suck up every last drop of caffeine, my older son dumped out the art box all over the floor. I just watched, and let it roll off, I didn't care. The place was already a mess. I had given up. He took out some little foam cut-out pieces, found some paper and asked me to find the glue. 

I threw back the last sip and sat down to do some crafts, helping my toddler who wanted to play too. It was so cute watching them stick little moons and stars onto the paper, while naming the colors and shapes out loud.  I thought about how great it would be to have a "craft room" in our new house. A room where it didn't matter if you colored on the walls or dripped paint on the floor; where all their masterpieces could be on permanent display. Somehow, it was just what I needed. It flipped a switch, and just like that the fog was gone.

I still haven't had breakfast yet...but I feel like I can tackle the day now. The dishes in the sink don't feel so daunting, and I feel inspired to tackle that to-do-list. Maybe we'll break out the paints later, or I might even take the kids to Barnes and Noble (something my 4 year old has been begging me to do for weeks!). 

Who would have thought that some glue and foam shapes could make all the difference. The cute boys helped too...

Here's to the little things. They are actually the big things. :)

Fiction Friday: Chapter One, Part 3

Prologue

Chapter One, Part One

Chapter One, Part Two

Chapter One, Part Three

Skander managed to avoid Imogene the rest of the day, but it wasn’t easy. Everywhere he looked she seemed to hover. He would hear her voice in the hall and quickly duck around the corner. Somehow she managed to be in every one of his classes, and even when she was looking away, it was as if he could feel her eyes, searing, knowing, watching. He thought his display during first period would have done the trick, but she was persistent...or stupid.

At lunch, he settled into his favorite spot. A picnic table under a tall spruce tree. It dropped little seedling pods that exploded on the ground and the table. One fell on his shoulder as he rummaged through his bag to find the apple he had stashed that morning. He could easily take something from the cafeteria, but he didn't want to risk that Imogene might see him. He couldn't explain why she made him nervous, after all, she should be the one afraid of him, everyone else was.

A blue bird flew down from a branch and landed in front of him on the table. He watched it jerk its head from side to side and bounce up and down on nimble claws. He thought of his wooden bird and tried to record the blue bird’s movements in his mind so that he could recall it later. The bird flew off again, and as he watched it go, he saw Imogene making a beeline to the table, her keychains bouncing with each sure-footed stride.Time to go. He grabbed his backpack and swung himself over the fence. No more shadow games today, he thought. It was only about an hour before he usually gave up and went home early anyway.

Back on main street, the morning fog had rolled down from the mountains as if the clouds had just given up and decided to take a nap right there in town. He breathed in humid air and started his ascent. Back at the spruce tree, perched precariously on a high limb, Imogene watched. Her eyes, sharp and focused, as Skander made his way through the faux cobblestone streets to where the pavement became gravel, then, gravel became dirt. A cloud of dust and fog trailed behind as he climbed. Higher, up the road that only lead to one place. The yellow Victorian at the top of the hill seemed to tremble as he opened the door and stepped inside.

Author's notes: This is the last official Friday of Camp NaNoWriMo, but I will try to keep the Fiction Friday thing going as much as I can. It's been good for me to have this weekly deadline, and even though I didn't get as far as I wanted to, it's still more than I had before I started! Thanks to anyone who has been reading, thanks for hanging in there with me through this little experiment. I'll get back to doing more regular (non-fiction!) posts next week. Have a great weekend. 

Fiction Friday: Chapter One Continued

Prologue

Chapter One: Part One

Chapter One Continued

A girl with dirty blond hair woven in tight ringlets, and clear blue eyes, stood in the doorway. She wore baggy jeans with holes in them, and a ”Blink 182” t-shirt. Her eyes darted around the room as if looking for something. Plastic key chains hanging from the zippers on her back pack clanked together as she turned to face Miss Farrow.


“Hi” she said in a sweet, high pitched voice, “I’m Imogene, I just moved here...well, really I’ve been here for awhile, but this is my first day of school.” She giggled. Miss Farrow nodded, but before she could speak Imogene continued, “Thanks so much for having me, I’ll just find my own seat...sorry to disturb you...”

She stared straight at Skander and flashed her white teeth. He scowled as she made her way down the aisle. Twenty students arched their necks to watch as she took one of the three empty seats next to him. Imogene ignored her wide-eyed, open-mouthed classmates, as she lifted her backpack up onto the desk. The keychains banged against the metal, she hummed as she sorted through her books and papers.

Skander noticed patches of fabric shrewdly sewn onto the bag displaying words like, “cool”, and “girl power”, and other words that looked like bands he had never heard of.

“I hope you don’t mind” she said, “this spot seemed cozy.” she giggled again, which made Skander cringe. This would not do. The rest of the class was still staring at them, even Miss Farrow seemed transfixed. As much as he hated the idea of sharing his personal space, being the center of attention was worse. He grunted in reply and turned his attention back to the carving.

There was a unified sigh of relief as everyone turned back towards the front of the room. Miss Farrow snapped out of her comma, “welcome Imogene, glad to have you”. Imogene nodded, still smiling.

Skander bent low over the desk, portioning off his space and shielding the view of the intruder to his left. He looked down at his work with a frown. The new girl’s entrance had caused his hand to slip and now there was a line straight across where the bird’s eye should be. Maybe if he made a few adjustments he could make it look like a feather...

“That’s beautiful!” Imogene had leaned over to whisper. Skander was jerked out of his thoughts again, and grasped his knife with white knuckles. He tried his best “shut-up-and-leave-me-alone” glare, but she just beamed back at him as if there was a force field blocking all obvious social cues. The girl was seriously dense.

With one efficient swipe, Skander slashed his knife across the top of his forehead, severing about three inches of black tresses. He let the hair fall to the ground as he watched her blink, the corners of her mouth slowly dropped. Satisfied, he turned back towards his desk and breathed in the dry, earthy, musk of oak.

Author's Note: I don't know if anyone is actually reading this, if so, Thank you, and... I'm sorry! I really wanted to have more up today...I have a great ending to this chapter...at least in my head...but it's not up to the level that I feel comfortable posting yet. This is a work in progress for me. The fact that I'm posting things at all is a huge step. I used to never let anyone read anything I wrote until it was finished. Until it was PERFECT. but you know what? That's how you end up being an author of a book that no one ever reads. One thing I love about NanoWriMo is that it lets you turn off the "editing" brain and just write. That has been totally freeing for me. But now, inviting the editor back in is a tricky process. I love shaping and molding the rough edges into something beautiful, I even like searching for the perfect word and going "ah ha!" after taking out a comma. But my editor brain is like a mouse...if you give him a cookie...well, you know the story. All of a sudden he starts second guessing everything, and the thoughts creep in, "this isn't good enough", "What was I thinking?", "everyone is going to hate it!" (He's a bit melodramatic). The "Pantser" in me (that's "fly by the seat of your pants" as we call it), that I learned to trust in NanoWriMo, is learning to give over control to the editor...but I keep her around for when mr. editor starts to get too carried away. She reminds me of what it's all about, the sheer joy of telling a story. 

p.s. I know this makes me sound like I have multiple personality disorder, but if you know many writers or are one yourself...it probably doesn't seem all that strange.

Fiction Friday: Chapter One (part one)

Prologue

Chapter One

15 years later...


Skander Malvado sat at the wobbly cafe table outside of “Aunt Edda’s Bakery”, stacking creamer cups into a tower and jabbing toothpicks on the top and sides. A white stream trickled onto the table from the crude miniature fountain. The girl at the next table, a blond that he recognized from school, glanced at the river of cream on the ground and followed it to the tip of Skandar’s black combat boots before quickly averting her gaze. Skander rolled his eyes and let the tiniest of smiles flash across his face. She looked at her watch and gathered her things together. He heard the bells from a block away, signaling the start of school. She could make it if she ran.

Skander watched for a few minutes, then knocked over the tower of creamer and got up without paying, leaving a half eaten sandwich and ten empty creamers in a puddle of white. The waitress scrambled to her feet, but didn't object to him skipping out on the check. She mopped up the mess and hurried to get out of his way, almost tripping over the chair as he stalked past.

He strode down the cobblestone on main street at a casual pace. They were the kind of stone that were made to look old, but were clearly very new with their perfectly rounded edges and shining finish. that’s the way most of the town was. He walked past mailboxes, houses, lawns, all glinting in the sun, showing off their brand new price tags. He often thought how strange it was for a street. a house, a town, to be the same age or younger than he was. When the town rebuilt after the storm, they had tried to replicate the old styles, but with all new materials and modern finishes, it looked more like a disneyland version rather than a restoration.

Fifteen years. It was as if every inch he grew, another brick was added. They had grown up together, he and Shadow Lakes. He could almost match his breath to the swaying of the freshly planted trees. The tops of which were barely taller than he was. That, and the fact that his mother was probably the most powerful person in town, it wasn’t surprising he felt above it all.

By the time he reached the school, the courtyard was empty and all of the hallways quiet. The principal was talking to a janitor as he rounded the corner to his first period class. Mr. Hardy was poised at the sound of footsteps, and got halfway through the word “hallpass” before seeing who it was. He quickly turned back toward the janitor and away from any possible eye contact. Skander never even slowed his step.

There was a brief moment of recognition when he opened the door to Miss farrow’s class, but not more than a second or two before she resumed her speech and the rest of the class turned its gaze back to the front of the room.

At his desk in the back right corner, he pulled out a pocket knife, and continued with the work of carving away an intricate pattern into the wood. All the other desks were those new metal ones, he wasn't even sure where they had found a wooden desk or why it was here, it was probably the only thing in the school, besides the teachers, that was older than he was. He welcomed the distraction though, it had been the only thing keeping him sane for the past few months. In fact, he wasn't sure what he would do once there was no room left for carving. He tried not to think about it.

Most students would be thrilled to not have to worry about tests or grades, but they didn't realize how incredibly boring it was.

Skander looked up from his work for a moment, brushing the saw dust and flecks away. Miss Farrow was giving a lesson about some war, or president, or country. Once he had perfected the art of “tuning out”, it was hard to tune back in again even if he wanted to. anyway, there was a map on the wall that she was gesturing to. No one payed any attention to him as he whittled away at his masterpiece, not even when the entire class got up to do a demonstration. Everyone knew he was just there for show. He had participated some when he was younger, but it didn't take long to learn that it didn't make a difference. For a while he read books while everyone else engaged in the lesson, but now even that didn't interest him.

He focused in on the design. Long, slender vines twisted around the desk, forming a frame at the edge, and circling in towards the center. The design showed off different shades of brown, as the lighter layers of wood were uncovered.

He pressed the tip of the knife into the center and maneuvered it around on the outline he had made. The first cuts were always the hardest. You couldn't just jab it in, you had to use small, quick movements. It had to be little by little, and precise, in order to get the smooth curves and edges. It took a long time to get to that final image from the first slice. It could be a tedious process. Luckily though, time was something he had to spare, and he enjoyed watching the pictures unfold slowly. Some of the designs were planned, others he just made up as he went along. He could remember the days he was feeling anxious or moody, and those that seemed to flow by with a more tolerable air. He recognized his own moods in the lines of his work, jagged and forced, or smooth and effortless. The middle of the desk showed an outline of a bird with long splayed feathers. This was one of the designs he had planned, labored over even. He had mixed emotions about starting it. There was a sense of satisfaction and anticipation, but also disappointment, as he knew it signaled the beginning of the end.

A few strands of black hair fell over his eyes as he bent over the carving. He wondered if he should cut it. It was annoying to keep pushing it out of his face. He hated when things got in his way. He was just starting on the bird when he felt someone approaching.

Miss Farrow slid a paper onto the corner of his desk, careful not to disturb his work. He glanced at it for a moment. A completely blank test paper except for his name and a large red letter A. He blew another strand of hair out of his face and watched as the paper picked up the draft and fell to the floor.

Back to work. He had almost finished the beak when the door swung open and made him look up again inspite of himself.

Author's log: This is less than half of what I wanted to have posted today! I had this grand plan of writing all day yesterday, but then Miles cut his hand on a piece of glass and I had to keep him home from school while I took him to the doctor (he's fine by the way). I got some good writing in this morning, but man was it a scramble! It serves me right for procrastinating. I'm glad I was at least able to have something though. Here's hoping I can learn from my mistakes and be a little more conscientious of my deadline for next week! Chapter one continued next time where you will find out who comes through the door...dun dun DUN! If I get ambitious I may do a mid-week post to get myself back on track, but Friday is the hard deadline. Have a great weekend everyone. What do you think of Skander? 

Fiction Friday!: Prologue

Prologue

The storm was one of the biggest the town had ever seen. Rain came down in sheets for days, so that even a week after the initial winds had torn the town apart, it was still impossible to come back because of the flooding. The hurricane swept through like a leaf blower on a house of cards. Thunder could be heard from towns far away. Some said they could see the lightning as far as Sunshine County.

The day the rain finally stopped, the people of the town cautiously made their way back to see what was left of their homes. It was like pulling back the curtain of time, the first settlers discovering a new land not yet inhabited, a town that did not yet exist. Except instead of possibility, these pilgrims saw only loss. As they stumbled through the rubble, entire houses were lifted off their foundations. Pipes stuck up from the ground like some strange stem without a blossom. Not one memento, not even a broken chair or a shattered picture frame could be salvaged. It was as if the houses had been swept up into the sky, still intact, and plopped down somewhere else.

The only thing left standing, was the house at the top of the hill. As onlookers grieved and cried in the places that their own houses once stood, slowly they shifted their gaze upward, in amazement and dread, to the otherwise ordinary looking two story Victorian. Not only was it standing, it looked as if the hurricane had deliberately tip-toed around it. Every shutter, every windowpane, was precisely the way it had been, polished and perfect. Even the flowers in the window boxes remained vibrant and rigid against the storm. The house seemed to gleam, as if having just cooled off in a summer shower instead of the worst storm in the history of Shadow Lakes. The people shuddered at the pristine gables.

The rebuild was slow. Some people started over from scratch. Others cut their losses and headed off to a new town, one that wasn't haunted by the ghosts of loss. Meanwhile, the house at the top of the hill cast a looming shadow on the devastated town. It sneered at their efforts and malevolently mocked them with it’s perfectly sculpted bushes. It is not hard to see how all of the rumors began-- cursed, haunted, terrible secrets cloaked behind it’s mysterious walls.

Despite this, the people were resilient, and the town returned to a semblance of it’s former glory. After a while, things settled into normalcy. Lives went on, and over the years they began to forget the destruction of that day, or at least keep it as a memory in the distant past. For after things go well for so long, you start to believe that they will stay that way.



Author Notes: NaNoWriMo-ing in April is hard! I don't know if it's because I'm used to gloomy November, the rain and cold making it perfectly suited to being hold up inside with my computer/pen and paper, or if it's because I'm trying to edit a previous work instead of write a new one. Perhaps it's a little of both. Already, I am nowhere near on track for my word goal...I have barely even been counting. My new goal is to at least keep my promise to post a section here every Friday, I'm shooting for one chapter a week. 

Happy April everyone, it's going to be busy!!

Just Keep Running

I've been trying to come up with a metaphor for the way I've been feeling lately. All I can think of is trying to hop a moving train.

Sometimes my hand is mere inches away from the bar. Sometimes I'm behind, one stumble away from watching the train speed off without me. Sometimes I get my hand on the bar, but I can never quite get my foot on the step, never quite pull myself up.

Just keep running.

Is it just me, or has this year been going by at lightning speed? I can't believe it's already almost April.

While the frenzied pace is a little out of my comfort zone (one of my favorite animals is the turtle..hello?), I also see that there are many possibilities on the horizon, and that the running won't last forever.

House hunting is exhausting, and exciting, and scary, and amazing. Thinking about things like settling down, growing roots, redecorating a kitchen...it's all very grown-up, all very symbolic of our need to be "on the right track". But what if it's wrong? what if I pick a beautiful house but then I hate the neighborhood? What if I compromise on the house to be in a good school district and end up with a money pit? What if I regret being far away from family and friends? What if my son is devastated and miserable being taken out of the school he loves?

and What if it's great.

Like most SAHMs, any parent really, I watch a lot of kid's movies. Tangled was on heavy rotation for awhile, and there is one part at the end where the heroine is about to realize her dream. The conversation goes like this:

Rapunzel: I've been looking out of a window for eighteen years, dreaming about what it might feel like when those lights rise in the sky. What if it's not everything I dreamed it would be?
Flynn Rider: It will be.
Rapunzel: And what if it is? What do I do then?
Flynn Rider: Well, That's the good part I guess. You get to go find a new dream

Just keep running.

Thanks Flynn

Addiction?

I just signed up for this:

http://campnanowrimo.org/sign_in

I know I'm crazy! I just can't resist a good camp theme...so cute.

I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to do this with everything that's going on, but my word goal is only half of that in November (25K) so maybe it will only be half as crazy??

Anyway, it's just for fun, I'm going to use it as an experiment here on the blog as I rewrite/edit one of my earlier drafts. I'll call it: Fiction Friday! (I love me some alliteration) So I'll post a portion of the story for you every Friday in April.

Here's a teaser to get  you by until then, think book jacket:

As the sullen boy who lives in the mysterious house on the hill, and the youngest son of a notoriously villainous family, Skander Malvado has been feared all his life. This is fine by him. Until, the quirky, sickeningly happy, Imogene attempts to befriend him. Together, they unlock secrets that could shake the whole town, and leave him questioning his very identity.

Stay tuned :)

What do people who aren't writers do for fun? 

You have to laugh or you'll cry: Episode 2

I told you this would be an on going series!

My husband recently had a funny incident at the grocery store. He did all the shopping, came home, and realized he forgot to load the groceries in the car! oh no!! So he rushes back to the store but the cart is gone. He explained everything to one of the security people and they said to take his receipt, go shop for everything and he could get it for free.

So he loads up the cart again, following the receipt exactly. But at the register, the person comes back and says, "Sorry, the manager says you can't have it for free."

So he just pays for everything again.

As he goes out to the car, he opens up the back, and that's when he sees...THE GROCERIES! They were there the whole time!

So now we have double of everything. Haha.

Why am I telling you this story? Besides the fact that it's pretty funny, it explains why I am glad we had two whole bags of sugar in my pantry...because one of them ended up like this:

notice the random recyclables and crayon on the cabinet

sittin in the sugar

I may be sending mixed messages by taking pictures!

 In other news, my husband and I just got approved for a mortgage...so perhaps before too long the kids will be able to destroy a house that we OWN! Oh Joy :)

Collaborations: Camomile

My husband is a fantastic 3D artist, and sometimes I write poems for his pictures :)

Positive Procrastination- How I Write a Book

I have a notebook separated by nine different tabs. Each one is a different writing project...and I'm working on them all at once! Some are long (a young adult novel...okay, a few), some are short (poems), and some are in-between (picture books or magazine articles).

I know, I'm crazy, you don't have to tell me.

When I was an avid journal writer in middle and high school, I at one point had up to five journals at a time. (Let's see if I can remember them: Poetry, Fiction, Songs, Dreams, Everyday/journal!) For some reason it comforts me to sort things out that way. My brain likes the physical compartments.

I had been struggling with my writing process. I am a self-proclaimed procrastinator, and no matter how inspired I feel in the beginning, it's always been difficult for me to consistently sit down and write on a regular basis, especially on those days when you just aren't "feeling it". Consequently, I have left many projects unfinished. This used to be a huge stumbling block for me, it still is to a certain degree...those voices don't completely disappear  you just learn to ignore them better! I have always felt guilty about leaving something half finished and then berate myself for not having any follow-through. I have tried to remind myself that this is not productive, and not all things are meant to be finished anyway. Sometimes they are just for learning, a stepping stone to the next thing. Regardless, I've tried will-power and motivation, and charts, and all kinds of things, in order to turn those sketches and outlines into a finished product. Recently, I came across an article that helped things fall into place:


Positive Procrastination Not An Oxymoron

The basic gist is that you can use your procrastination tendencies to actually be productive. Here's a quote by Dr. Piers Steel from the article, “My best trick is to play my projects off against each other, procrastinating on one by working on another.”

You know those times when you feel completely inspired and the ideas just flow, then, all of a sudden you have five pages? We all love that feeling, we live for that feeling! But it's usually fleeting. Finally, I've found a way to leverage my inspiration!

If I am not excited at the moment about one project, I have a whole notebook full of others that I can choose from. Chances are I can find at least one to be excited about, and even if I only make a few notes or do a bit of research, it's still better than nothing.

It's not perfect, and it's certainly not for everyone, but that's where I'm at right now. It has it's draw backs, one being that it takes a lot longer to get to the finish line than if I were working on just one thing from start to finish. It may sound chaotic and crazy, for me though, it actually feels freeing. I still get those thoughts in the back of my head though, that fear that NONE of them will ever be finished! That I'm not working hard enough; that I should just push myself (even though i know that doesn't work for me). I try to think of myself as the tortoise, but my ego gets impatient. Sometimes the sheer size of the notebook is daunting.

It's wider than the apple!

But mostly, I feel comfy and safe with all of my ideas in a big, organized (color-coded) notebook. Just think, when I'm finished, I'll have a dozen things ready for print all at once! Then, I can sit back and take it easy for awhile...or not...chances are there will always be at least one project left unfinished, otherwise what do I procrastinate with?

What are your tricks, methods, and tips for getting inspired and getting things done?

Drum Roll Please!

My husband has been working furiously on this new album, and somehow along the way it became OUR album. Haha, I don't know how I get talked into these things...actually I do. :) Anyway, it's been an interesting experience. Recording an album together has been enlightening. I can see why a lot of relationships between band members don't last! It's certainly not for the faint of heart.

A few things I've learned:

First, recording is completely ego-busting. Have you ever heard your voice on a recording and thought, "wow, is that really what I sound like?!" It's bursting the bubble between how we hear ourselves and what other people hear. Listening to your own voice from outside of yourself is strange and unsettling.

Second, It's also easy to see why so many artists are perfectionists. It's not easy to be vulnerable, to be a lone, naked voice, to hear all of the imperfections, the "pitchy" notes, the breaths, and the parts that just don't work. It's even harder when someone else points them out to you (especially if it's your husband!) When you put out a finished product, you want it to be the very best possible representation of you. Even if no one else notices, you will hear all of those small imperfections and it will drive you crazy!

Third, I'm so proud of my husband and all of the hard work he put into making this album. He spent long nights in our makeshift "minivan recording studio", sometimes in the freezing cold! And even more hours editing, mixing, and learning how to put it all together. Even though I complained much of the way about the last minute requests to, "just record this one part!" when I was tired and really felt like doing anything but that, I'm really glad I did.

I remember going to see a Christian artist perform once when I was younger. She brought her two little boys on-stage to introduce her and had her husband playing percussion in the band. I remember thinking, "that's how I want to do it." In my experience with music and performing I've come to realize that I have very little interest in going the traditional route in terms of playing in clubs and bars, trying to sign deals, and especially the soul-sucking monster, Fame. I'm happy to be able to make music and do what I love, but on my own terms, in my own way, without sacrificing the things that are most important to me.

Here is Koichi's message, along with the links to check out the album:

"I finished my album- "Foundation Day. " This compilation took 10 years in the making. It is my offering to the world, free of charge, no strings attached. I recorded most of it in my minivan late at night.

I would like to thank my wife, my fam, my fan, and my friends. And of course my parents and the Heavenly Parent up above, all around, and inside each and every one of us. It will be on Spotify soon (remastered), but for now it can be listened to on Sound Cloud:
https://soundcloud.com/koichi-donovan-nakai/sets/foundation-day

The album can be pirated here (just don't tell anyone):
http://peaceaquarium.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Peace_Aquarium-Foundation_Day.zip

Thank you all, have a happy Foundation Day!"
Enjoy!

The Healing Circle

This is a piece I wrote for a recent issue of UC Lifestyle Magazine. You can get yourself a copy or subscribe here! 

The Healing Circle

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”

― Rumi

The florescent lights hummed in tune with the soft meditative music in the background, as I said a silent prayer to my Native American ancestors, both known and nameless. We sat facing each other, our chairs lined up in a circle. It was a small group, a pastor, a young college graduate, moms, dads, professionals, all from various divergent paths. This was not a meeting or social gathering. We came together that evening with the intention of having our voices heard, and through that process, to open a gateway for healing.

I came across the idea by chance, a random blog post about healing circles that coincided with my own longing to address issues I was dealing with in my own life. As I researched more and spoke with others about creating something for the community, I was met with such enthusiasm, that I realized there was really a collective yearning for this kind of emotional healing. Though we all experience pain at different times in our lives and in different ways, we are surprisingly similar in the way we tend to deal with it. Often, our need to "just be okay" supersedes our willingness to deal with our pain, and so it gets buried before we've had a chance to properly heal. We may go months or even years without looking at our wounds, only to have them burst open at the next crisis or road block that life sends our way.

The healing circle, comes from the Native American tradition of "Talking Circles", which were used by many tribes as a means of dialoguing about difficult issues and even making major decisions. The circle is a sacred symbol to the Native Americans. They observed the circle present in all of nature; in the planets, the movement of the sun and moon, and the passing of the seasons. The circle symbolizes that no one voice is more important than another. On the contrary, each person brings their own truth to the circle and makes the circle complete by their presence, adding to the truth of the whole. The circle provides a sacred and supportive space for open communication.

In modern times, the talking circle has been utilized as an effective tool in twelve step programs and support groups, in anything from diabetes to drug addiction. Circles can be geared towards a specific group--a women’s circle or teen circle--or address a particular concern or topic. It can be done in a church, at home, or out in nature. Part of the beauty of the circle is that you don’t need to be an expert. Anyone can do it. All you need is the desire and a few basic instructions.

What you’ll need:

A Circle Keeper: The circle keeper is the person who leads the circle. Their role is not to be a leader in the sense that they dominate the discussion, but merely to facilitate the process and to make sure all of the rules are followed.

3-12 people: it works best with a smaller group since there is more time for each person to share. I would suggest no more than 20.

Talking piece: the talking piece is an object of significance used to facilitate the communication in the circle. Only the person who is holding the talking piece may speak. The Native Americans used a talking stick, engraved or adorned with items of spiritual significance. For our NJ group, we used a holy candle.

The Rules

Rules for speaking:

Only the person who holds the talking piece may speak.

Speak from your own perspective, not as a representative of a larger group or another person

Be honest

Try to be concise out of respect for others' sharing.

Rules for listening:

Support the person who is speaking

Do not try to respond to their sharing, a smile, or nod is an acceptable response

Listen with sincerity and compassion

Confidentiality, “whatever happens in the circle, stays in the circle”

It is okay to disagree, no name calling or attacking. This is not a debate. There is no need to come to a solution or even a consensus.

The Process:

Pray: for God to be present in our speaking and listening. To open our hearts to hear God's lessons through the sharing of others, to be an avenue for God's love in our sharing and listening. To begin a process of healing.

Passes: (each question is one pass around the circle, if someone does not want to the answer question, they simply pass the talking piece to the next person)

Examples of possible questions:

1. The first pass is simply to get the energy and communication flowing. Start with something simple like sharing a positive aspect of your day. If members of the group do not know each other, short introductions would be appropriate.

2. How has (specific issue) affected me?

3. What lessons have I learned?

4. What is left unsaid?

5. Open discussion/Reflection (if time allows. You may decide as a group in the beginning if you want to have an open discussion at the end, or you may find that you don’t need it. This is up to the discretion of the circle keeper and the other participants according to the spirit of the room and the time.)

End with a symbolic offering to God. For our circle, we placed the holy candle that we had used as the talking piece, in the middle of the circle and said a prayer to offer all of our sharing up to God.

One thing that I have learned about healing, is that it can only happen if we let ourselves open the wound. We must dig deep and pull out all of the anger and resentment, the grief and the sorrow. We must acknowledge it and give it a name. We must not be afraid to feel it, because once we do, then we can start to do something about it. When we release the pain it opens up a space for healing, and eventually, peace.