April 2007 Archives
Today I am the Fool in the Tarot deck: I am blithely stepping off the edge of a cliff, confident (or perhaps just hopeful) that the next step will appear, or that the fall will turn out to be good for me anyway. I am entering a new phase, striking out on a new path, beginning an adventure into the unknown. I am letting go of expectations, staying open, and trying, oh yes I am trying, to trust that the Universe has my best interests in mind, even if I can't always see that from where I'm standing.
Stay tuned, it's going to be a really interesting week.
Today I am sliding back and forth between grief and excitement like a blob of colored oil in a container full of water. Grief at the closing of one door, and at the leaving behind of familiar (even if uncomfortable) things, and excitement at the opening of a new door, one I didn't know was even there until just recently. Grief at the loss of the known and settled; excitement at the risk of trying out new possibilities, new ways of being.
And just like the oil in the water, this emotional seesawing is not a neat, defined process; as the bulk of my feelings swing one way, bits of emotion break off and take awhile to rejoin the rest, so that I'm either feeling a lot of excitement with little bubbles of grief mixed in here and there, or a lot of grief sprinkled with blurps of excitement. It's weird, and not particularly comfortable, but I know that in the end it's normal, and it'll calm down eventually.
Cryptic? Why yes. But I hope to be a bunch less cryptic here soon. Stay tuned.
Today I am proud. Proud because I did it, the day before yesterday I actually pushed myself to put paint to canvas! And I was actually much more pleased with both the process and the outcome than I thought I would be. The flow was there; the Muse did not desert me. If anything I dallied too long in the pleasure of pushing paint, and overworked it a bit--but at least I did manage to stop before completely muddying the whole thing. Here's a not-very-accurate picture of the result (it's really hard to take pictures of these paintings--they are so textural and detailed in their color mixing, and I don't have a good background or good professional lighting. But enough apologizing).
Tonight it is raining. I am sitting here on the couch in a quiet house (Josh is out), the kids finally both in bed, feeling tired, yet grounded (possibly because I just ate a huge plate of Josh-made enchiladas and if that isn't enough to put anybody into a satisfied stupor, I don't know what is). The kitty is purring next to me, the rain is tippity-tapping on the roof, and I am strongly considering going to bed with a book in the next 10 minutes or so.
The high point of today was discovering some new music just by surfing around the "if you like that, you'll like this" recommendations on Amazon, and deciding "what the heck, I'm just going to buy them all." There's just something about finding new (to me) music that makes me really happy. That and getting an awkward conversation that I've been dreading for months out of the way, and realizing that it was really not that big a deal. And that’s enough of the cryptic for now. Time for the stripped down basics of comfort activities: book and bed.
Today I am hopeful. The stuck place that I've been lately (creatively, emotionally, logistically) is showing signs of just maybe possibly easing. It's not that I've been afraid of the stuck place (after years of practice, I have at least learned how to cope with the fear of stopping and stillness). No, by now I know that being stuck (or having to lie fallow, as we talk about in my writer's group) is a natural, normal part of life and has many valuable lessons to teach those who can be patient and pay attention without judgement. But still--it's uncomfortable. I try to keep the faith, to be patient and keep repeating my mantra of "this too shall pass";, but I don't deal especially well with uncertainty over the long term. Self-doubt and anxiety start nibbling away at the edges of my "om"; and sleep deprivation puts me right over the edge into self-induced PMS (regardless of the time of month).
But that's not my point! My point here is that I thiiiiiiiiink that maybe the end of this particular stuck period is in sight. If nothing else, the hopefulness itself seems to be a trail marker towards optimism rather than gloom, so I feel like I'm heading in the right direction now. Things seem to be shifting, at least a little bit. Here's a few random examples: I finally posted the huge backlog of digipix that have been sitting around on my computer to our family photos page; I started a mixed CD (with the tentative title "Soothing Songs for a Mid-Life Crisis"); and perhaps most exciting: today I bought myself a blank canvas. I haven't painted in approximately 2 years or so (no, I don't count frosting a SpongeBob cake, though there were some similarities. And now that I mention it, I finally did post the pictures if you'd like to see my masterpiece *cough* Lara *cough*), but for some reason I've recently recovered the itch to start again. So last weekend we cleaned up the garage (it had been disassembled for our Black Turkey holiday party and never put back together again) and I put my easel and paint supplies back in their proper accessible places, and today, I bought a canvas. I'm almost there!
Now admittedly, some of these small green shoots of creativity and hopefulness are no doubt being brought on by the near-total writer's block I've been experiencing the last month or so, but that's ok. I don't mind trying to coax the Muse back with other shiny bits (or bread and circuses). The blogging is a start, even if I can't quite get "snappy" again yet. And maybe these little shoots will spread to some of the other stuck places as well. We shall see. I'm trying to stay with the hopeful here.
Stuck lately. No blogging (or writing, or painting, or anything else creative). The couch and a book have been more attractive these days than just about anything else that usually fills up my creative space. And that's all I'll say about that except to say that I hope this too shall pass.
So Passover ended today, and before it completely evaporates from my fickle and cluttered memory, I want to jot down a few remembrances from this year's version--not so much because I think all 5 of you will find them so fascinating, but more so that my future self can come back and look at it later (and compare to other years).
Passover started last Monday, and this year I actually spent some time thinking about Passover before it got here. The Friday and Saturday before Passover I spent a big chunk of time updating our haggadah for the first time in 2 or 3 years, which felt good (even if it did make the whole thing longer, which for some people is a problem). Then on Sunday, we actually spent some time cleaning the house and clearing out the chametz (which, in a household that includes two small children, means removing more than half the contents of the kitchen). My stubbornness about not wasting food triumphed over Josh's Virgo purge urge though, and rather than tossing or donating all those boxes of cereal and crackers, we merely bagged it all up and shut it away in a cabinet, thereby ritually disowning it. But still, it was a lot more than we'd done for the last few years, and I felt observant in spirit if not to the letter of the law.
Sunday evening before Passover we had a short, kid-friendly seder at Sunday School, which Eli seemed engaged with and Isaac didn't interrupt too rudely. The best part was the little bag full of toys representing various plagues that each kid got--it really kept their attention. (Though I have to say I still feel a little weird about making plagues into toys, as though famine and disease were something light and frivolous.) Overall it was a good dress rehearsal for the week to come.
Monday evening we had a small first-night seder with just us and my aunt and uncle. We took the revised haggadah for a test spin and it performed pretty nicely (although I couldn't resist having an editor's pencil by my side as we went through it). Both Eli and Isaac were fairly patient with the whole thing (we actually put Isaac to bed before the second half) and I think we were able to pay attention to most of what we were doing, so that the evening was a nice mix of thoughtful observance and comfortingly familiar ritual (along with a splash of toddler wrangling). Eli got to light the candles, ask the 4 questions (he won't be doing that much longer…I figure he's got about 3 more years at best before Isaac gets that job) and find the Afikomen; but most excitingly, he actually took his turn reading from the haggadah as we went around the table (he was really excited about it, actually, and did a great job with a lot of the frankly quite difficult, adult-oriented words). Isaac liked when we sang, and enjoyed dipping karpas into the salt water, but that was about it, I think. We used the nice china and had a yummy dinner (chopped liver and matzah ball soup and chicken and salad and a surprisingly tasty almond-orange sponge cake) and lots of wine (although I didn't make it through more than the equivalent of 2 or 3 glasses total).
Then came the hard part: a week full of feeding kids without bread, toaster pastries, goldfish crackers, cheerios, etc. We ate a lot of hot dogs and yogurt and cheese and eggs (and yes, we cheated and let them have corn dogs and Z bars) and gave them matzah in their lunches. We did decide that rice and beans and corn were on our own personal approved list, so we were able to have popcorn and Pirate Booty too (whew). Surprisingly, it worked out ok--but tonight when we finally were able to give them macaroni and cheese again, there was much rejoicing.
But one seder wasn't enough, of course--we had to have the big raucous family seder on Saturday (which actually turned out to be a far smaller and less raucous seder than we'd originally thought, since my brother's family didn't come down). In addition to my parents and aunt/uncle/cousin, we had invited another family to come (someone who Josh and I met at Torah study, and her husband, baby, mom and stepdad), and having new faces and new energy there turned out to be a wonderful addition to the evening. We liked them, they liked us, and soon we were all chatting like old friends over matzah ball soup and Dayenu Torte. (Have I ever mentioned my mom’s famous Dayenu Torte on here before? No? Well, let me digress for a moment and explain: “dayenu” is both a traditional song and concept used in the haggadah, and loosely translated it means “it would have been enough”, as in “if God had only brought us out of Egypt and not parted the Red Sea for us, dayenu.” But in this context it means “if this incredibly delicious dessert was only made out of coconut macaroons and ice cream, dayenu. But 3 flavors of Haagen-Dazs, *plus* chocolate fudge and crushed Heath Bars? Ohhhh there really aren’t enough ways to say thank you for that.”)
Truth be told we had the most wonderful feast—and if it had only been the fabulously delicious matzah ball soup and Dayenu Torte, well, dayenu. But we also had my famous deviled eggs with lox, gefilte fish, chicken matzah casserole (this is way more delicious than it sounds), fresh asparagus, a “bitter herb” salad with garlic lemon dressing, and 2 kinds of charoset, all served on the fancy china and happily devoured by all 12 of us packed cheek to cheek around our improvised dining table. And did I mention the 4 glasses of wine you’re ritually required to have? Yeah. Anyway, the kids dipped in and out of the whole event this time, but were generally in agreeable moods, and we were able to get through most of the haggadah without too much distraction, kvetching or silliness. It was a lovely evening, and I say that in the most straightforward Midwestern-ish way, without even a whiff of postmodern snarkiness. Good food, good people, good thoughtful discussion and reflection on life’s important issues…you really can’t ask for much more than that.
