Deciduous

I'm on the two month cusp of my third decade here on earth. On paper and in practicality, it's just another year, but because it's the end of an era, and the start of "true adulthood" as they say, I can't help but muse on my station. Contrary to most, I say assuredly as ever before: bring it on. I've always had an inkling that this specific time frame will yield amazing, positive fruition for this old soul. No more uncertainty and fluctuation that the teens and twenties challenged with, no more stress about superficial issues that once preoccupied and distracted me. Nothing but proof of progress, greater confidence and manifestation of all the hard work and perseverance that kept me going through all those years of wonder and upset (the only thing, at times), one way or another.

Why now as opposed to any point in the past, though? As I've been doggedly rushing towards this milestone, some of the miraculous journey was lost in the shuffle, I see that now. Is the very concept of "age" a help or a hinder, then? If we were never told of our age or that time passes in incremental notches towards a mysterious end point, would we have the same life experience, or would we ourselves even "age" the same? I don't think we would, but we as humans might need to play the game.

The first birthday is a big one, the start of hopefully many to come. Then there's the acquiring of walking, talking, reading and writing skills. Losing of baby teeth. The loss of innocense and blissful ignorance to harsh and necessary realities. All signs that we are growing up on schedule, as that's the goal. The sixteenth birthday is the next big one, then the eighteenth, then the twenty-first. Every one after that is a running joke about how close you are to being over the hill or on the other side of the hill, or one foot in the grave, basically. It's a blur, a blast and a torture in so many ways. All the while, we are chided to "act our age" or "grow up" if we aren't exhibiting ideal adjustment to all this change, all this rapid development. You wouldn't drag an infant along the ground, angry that they weren't striding along with you, but at a year, time to buck up and make it happen. Self/society imposed deadlines and all. We can't wait to be adults frequently as children, time ebbing along, but as adults we often rebel against the the shackles of responsibility when we get there at long last. We are never happy with what we have in the precious present, but so sad when we notice it has disappeared, further down the pike.

We live to move forward, pursuing a new plateau, languishing if we fail to. We don't actually know we're getting older, other than we tell ourselves we are, and compare our aging with others that are or have along side us. Without our calendar year strumming on, we have no evidence that indicates our maturation to date. We have memories, scars of every type and anecdotes, but nothing tangible.

It's a no wonder we all feel so cut-throat compelled to achieve and retrieve what we want in life. Youth and material obsession, the ever accelerating yearly traditions (Christmas is now Halloween, Thanksgiving and ACTUAL Christmas, so we are all but done with the year around October or sooner), and the subtle, subliminal reminders that we're getting older and are going to die someday...it's all tremendously pressuring.

Quantum physicists theorize that time is actually circular, not linear. That all historical and future events are happening simultaneously with our notion of here and now. As mind blowing as that thought is, I would be delighted to know it's so. To have the finish line stretched into infinity, or have it revealed as the starting line instead. To enjoy "time" in feeling and quality for it's own sake, as it's all happening in it's own way and scope, and will be regardless of your perception of it/role in it. If we had that certainty, we could stop for a moment, we could enjoy that moment. We might not ever attain what we want when we want it, but we might remember more of the details when it mattered most.

Like majestic, oxygenating trees, we garner annual rings of growth, whether we're conscious of it or not. From the ground up, it takes earned wisdom to know our value truly, to fully utilize the stature and strength we inherently posses but often forget we have to our detriment. In that respect, age is an important awareness. The most important. Unlike trees though, our rings are phantom (crows feet, laugh lines and gray hairs might count I 'spose), unless we use them to our full advantage and remember to revel in the space between each new one. Relax into the cycle and trust it will take you where you need to be, not the other way around. To absorb the landscape around you not constantly vie for richer soil, be you redwood or sapling or in between. I've finally learned that one, so on to the next branch. At a leisurely, seasonal pace, that is.

The SMD: De-Cycling

I've felt like a terrible mom for the past few weeks. Even if it's not my fault directly, I am in charge of helping my kid navigate the treacherous battlefield of school, through all the social, educational and pragmatic follies it provides. Logan has come home in a bad attitude funk for a few weeks now (no matter how I futilely try to ease the strain on my end), and it hurts my heart to see her in such a state. We've had many conversations on bullying, talked over negative choices versus positive conflict resolution, and she surely knows her place in all of it and how to avoid trouble. But being prepared in theory doesn't mean in practice it will work out. Us adults struggle with peaceably asserting ourselves, and these are six and seven year olds, for crying out loud. My daughter is feeling alone and bullied, and I want to snap my fingers and fix it. But I can't.

I remember my own versions of playground politics being as hectic and oppressive. Back then the "popular" kids would exclude anyone else from foursquare or tether ball, only sharing among themselves with hurtful scoffs at your request to join in. The odd derogatory remark or slur on my hygiene or my family, the occasional physical altercation. The upper classmen throwing their weight around and ignoring the lower levels or being mean for no other reason, than that they could. It cuts deeply, even as it was played off to the contrary, or in the worst case, turning into one of them myself to fight fire with fire. Which never gets anyone anywhere. The major difference is that all this was happening in fourth or fifth grade, not first grade. The times they are a changin', and how unrecognizable they've become.

Academically speaking, the year is going well. She's easily getting the hang of addition, writing her letters and sentences with increased ease, and reading better all the time. Many accolades on returned homework packets. I'm so very proud of her progress, and all the more jarred at the social backslide. Parent/teacher conference was today, and it was a welcome insight into her classroom time. She's ahead of the curve in many areas, so maybe that's the rub.

The biggest change for Logan has been that I'm not the Room Mom this year, not there (yet) on a weekly basis to back her up as I had been before. It's just a different ball game this time around. Without the weekly presence in her school experience, I guess she feels alone and adrift to battle it out on her own. Cutting apron strings is good, just not when the child feels abandoned by it. Schematics and scheduling shouldn't be a roadblock when a parent wants to be instrumental to the teacher and therefor the class, but these are difficult days. We're all doing our best, but it really sucks when signs point to it not being good enough.

After a particularly aggressive interaction with some older kids at the pool the other day, I asked Logan to please level with me. She tried to throw out an obnoxious, flippant response and avoid talking about it, but I just patiently waited. She finally collapsed into my lap, and let the flood gates open. She's been having trouble on the playground with a girl in her class, her molar teeth are coming in and making it difficult for her to chew food, she misses her Kinder-friends that were such a close knit group, now split among four different classes/recess cliques.

Of all the issues, the one in particular stood out. I smoothed her hair from her bleary eyes, and assured her that it's going to be ok. We talked about bullying yet again, and I reminded her of the tactic we'd seen a while back on one of her favorite Nick Jr. shows, Little Bill. Instead of engaging with a bully, whatever their verbal affront, you simply say, "So?" and carry on with your business. She had forgotten that simple yet effective technique, and was glad to be reminded of it, I saw it on her face. Sometimes all it takes is a gentle reiteration to help them feel equipped against the negative, but who knows if it will come out when she needs it. Those are the times a mom wants for the ability to magically appear and urge the kids into a kind resolution. If only the technology were at hand.

Bad examples at home, jealousy, insecurity and competition are the main reasons kids act out against one another, I've noticed with my own. When watching each other act a fool, it's easier to join the crazy train than to walk away and save yourself the potential disciplinary consequences, as you have to show no fear or vulnerability to be exploited later. In that sense, they all just want to fit in, to relate and to be secure even if it's by detrimental means. I think that's why Logan has gotten into this cycle, as heart wrenching as it is to realize. It's such an unfair, uphill battle. Especially for those that get taught ways to be a good citizen get pitted against those that don't. Nary the twain shall meet, without alot of bumps along the way.

Logan is a super smart go-getter (or a flat out bossy boots when she's allowed to get carried away), and has a penchant for entertaining others. She loves to help out, she wants everyone to get along and follow her down the path of fearless adventure. She's goofy, energetic and creative. All these traits will take her far in life, but the rite of passage that is the immediate need for acceptance, blocks her from seeing that. I've taken it upon myself to remove that big gnarly block, every chance I get.

At the close of our state of the union talk, I told her that empathy and her own attitude are the only things to get her past would-be bullies. After explaining that by putting yourself in the other kids' shoes and trying to be kind to their rough day/bad mood, she seemed to click a bit better with the advice after. "Don't worry about the stuff that happens between the learning so much," I said. "Lead by example and remember who you are and what our family does in those situations. Don't just turn into them to cut corners." She smiled at me, nodded her head and agreed. "Yeah, cuz it just goes 'round and 'round and 'round!" She replied.

I'll be doing everything I can to bridge this temporary gap in Logan-ness. Keeping things copacetic and structured at home, giving her praise for her good merit, keeping her in check when she tries to shirk her big girl responsibilities under the guise of being too tired/stressed to deal. We'll see if maybe she can implement those tactics more, and be happy to be her more often. I truly hope she can, as that's the only way any negative scenario is stopped. By taking the sting from the words/actions and affording a chance to fix it. Otherwise, we're all in the loop with no hope of getting out.

A Mark, A Yen, A Buck Or A Pound

We hunt it down, hoard it from others, dream it were endless, and when it isn't, make it stretch. We flaunt it, we use it, we abuse it, we pray for it. We save it, shift it, invest it, spend it. We debate over it, we hate it, we love it, we lose it, we know it's not the key to life, but it sure makes the journey to find said key, a smoother ride. We don't need it as we need the intangible air we breathe (not yet, but days are numbered)...but we DO need it for the food we eat, the roof over our heads and the learnin' in our brains, so that we might earn more than those who have no learnin'. Survival of the fittest and all that. It separates us, elevates us, chucks us into fits of anxiety, depression and elated relief at any given moment. Our culture, attention, stress levels, daily routines, economy and our very lives, all center around paper. Not metal, nor magic nor spirituality. Not love, not happiness. Paper.

There are two very polarized, heated, arguments about this illustrious parchment. Both based in stereo-typical-albeit true at times-nonsense. Those that have a sizable amount wish to keep it for themselves and let it trickle down as they see fit, or something to that effect. They demand the freedom to choose how to share it, or to share it at all. They made it, they speak for it. If they want 15 houses and 35 sports cars, that's their prerogative.

Those who have minimal amounts, wish to make more but they need start-up capital to do so, just to put food on the table while they fight/compete for their opportunity to make more. And those opportunities have dwindled desperately low. The less fortunate strain the lives of those who don't know strain otherwise.

The have and have-not arguments both have valid points, but it all just boils down to your fortune blueprint and how wisely you build around it. You had no control over this as you were born, but are held accountable (pun intended) for it constantly throughout life, one way or another. We all strive to attain the American Dream, but unless we have money, connections brought about by money, or fertile means to make/save, we're at the seemingly unsympathetic whims of those that do. The age old Land O'Plenty conundrum.

For the record, I believe that a decent human will work honestly and dutifully to better their finances given an unbiased chance. I also believe that those with money would share if it meant truly helping someone and not just pacifying laziness. The skills it takes to make a mountain of cash from a start up business is a close skill set to that of someone who has to make sub par wages take care of a six person family. Devotion to a cause, if you will.

It's borderline terrorism to admit to a stranger that you have no 9-5 job (or, heaven forbid, that you're winging it with no health insurance). Heads piteously tilt at your tragic lack of security/usefulness and a silent prayer is uttered for your wretched mortal soul. Or so it feels. Either that, or assumptions are made at outward appearance that you're a trust funder with no need for the rat race. Then you're regarded with an equal mixture of hatred and envy. You're not a hinder, but you're part of the hindersome wealthy that ignore those in need. A glint of you'll never know what I go through, you'll never care in their collective eyes.

You're a blight on society no matter where you fall. Not only does that hurt and offend, it works against anyone getting to a better plateau in spirit or monetary gain. Realizing in a short second or two that those around you will forever categorize you on such insignificant yet pragmatically vital detail is sour and bitter and sickening.

We're all people, regardless of jumbled/heralded fiscal follies. We all have hearts and feelings and passions and ideas. We aren't numbers or faceless crowds to be herded to and fro by the pluses or minuses on our bank statements. That argument doesn't hold up to creditors though, most wouldn't give a squirt of piss for your specific circumstances. Just be responsible for your debts and stop whining, would you? Even as we try, we're still shuffled into the masses of lazy good for nothings that don't have the crucial pioneering spirit, and will never be handed the tools to adapt one.

I've had both self accumulated chunks to live comfortably with, and also the crippling lack there-of. I can see both sides, even as I am in the ebb tide currently (and for years now). Waking up to no food in the fridge, no gas in the tank, and numerous bills staring back delinquent, is no way to wake up. All the merciless angst, all the pressure to pull your own weight. It's the opposite of thriving, it's suffocating and nerve racking.

When things were financially easier, life wasn't deeper or more fulfilling simply because I could go shopping...but it was a stronger sense of self that I provided for myself, and those I love with my own two hands. The world was a not so noisy, rarely as ravenous and far more forgiving. It's that contrast that wrangles me to the ground.

I'm an able bodied young person-relatively speaking-and for that reason, I'm not on unemployment, food stamps or Medicare/Medicaid, even on the days I could use it. And there's many of those days. There is nothing wrong with needing or asking for help, but many see it as weakness or thievery, so much that the stigma and general tone of it all is intense enough to thwart me. I would if I had to, but it hasn't come to that yet. There are those that abuse the system in every economic bracket, and it's a shame to see such needless negativity, it breeds more of the same. There is always a comeuppance for those individuals that have nothing to do with my opinion of them, so I leave it be and focus on myself and my family. I have to.

I haven't been gainfully employed for about six years. My daughter is my current and most important job, any money made outside the home would mostly be spent on child care so I could leave the home and earn it. And there's the rub. I don't delight in this.
It's been excruciating at times, not to know where the next meal will come from, and not feeling in control, as for many years prior I was.

In this time however, I did earn a black belt in the art of making 20 dollars last a week or two, a degree in making miracles happen by wishing and willing the ends to meet, and a PHD in staying as positive as possible. I fight back mentally with the thought that someday, I'll be stable and regain my personhood to myself, and in effect, society. Some day, this will all be a funny anecdote. That all this struggle is for good reason, if the pay off, literally and figuratively, is what I'm striving for it to be. The lessons learned are invaluable, even if I didn't pay a small fortune in exchange. Being the best person I can despite the occasional urge to go on a shrieking, wild-eyed, machete wielding rampage, out of frustration, exhaustion and degrading misconception, is my focus. Out of this blinding ire that what I desperately try to improve, with futile job hunts and internal mantra, hasn't panned out yet. My sense of security isn't what it used to be, but my life is by no means inconsequential because I'm broke. Quite the converse, actually. I try frequently to better myself and my situation, but I refuse to let money be the bottom line, as scoff inducing as that statement might be to some. It comes and goes.

At the risk of provoking more tail-chasing debate, I'll say this: We're all in this together. If I woke up tomorrow with millions, this feeling wouldn't magically erase with that paper. It has been etched into my soul in both the bad and good. Maybe that's the point. Maybe others need some etching of their own before they understand their respective opposite. Understanding leads to betterment of any situation, but that's a tall order. I know it's easy to say ideally what we might learn in practice to be otherwise, as I know how hard it is to work your ass off only to see the fruits absconded with. It always works out because I believe it will somehow, but there are those that lost their resolve long ago, or never had it. That doesn't make them less deserving of a person.

The most mutually revered beings in this divided climate are those who blend in regardless of background, regardless of education, regardless of brands on their back. They relate human to human and forget to keep count, give and take equally. They shape our lives with the uplifting message to exalt what's truly important. Quality of life by way of one another.

Ultimately, it'll be a compliment to share wealth I've secured for myself. It means that all the discipline it took to get me there paid off. I've arrived, I've battled and won. All the blood, sweat and tears it took, weren't in vain. I believed and I achieved. It means I'll be breathing easier, stepping lighter. I look forward to that day, but I'm intent on enjoying my humble journey no matter. I will look at it with that trademark leadership slant that Americans are conditioned to show from day one, and try to help. From the bottom of my soul, that's the truth. For no other reason than to be kind to those that need it. But for the grace of God/your own personal Deity, go us all to the other side of the spectrum.

"Money makes the world go around" was cleverly and satirically sung in Cabaret, and at top volume and in various inflections by us all, since we created this game. That may be so, but it takes all walks of life to push us past preconceived notions, drop our egos and choose to look toward the prosperous horizon, marching on together. Pick each other up when we stumble, appreciate that we're in a position to do so. Try to do better, believe in the worth of us outside our net worth. I would gladly pay those taxes.

Relationshifts

If my life currently was a Berenstain Bear book, the title would be "The Trouble with Twosomes" and the moral foreshadowing poem at the beginning would read:

One has a vulva, the other a penis
Men are from Mars, Women from Venus.
At times they love, at times they fight,
But it's time to move on, if there's more dark than light.

It begins all bright, sparkly attraction, trumpets of giddiness and butterflies of rampant hormones. It's gazing longingly at what you fantasize to be yours for hours, getting lost in the hope and beauty of it all. Feeling blissfully content with this new friend, this budding union.Then they actually DO become yours, and it starts mutating. Gray areas creep out of nowhere, ones that shade your daily life for good or bad. Even the most secure, independent woman becomes a bitchy cliche, going on about what isn't instead of relishing what is, over-sharing to friends and/or their mom. Usually both. Even the most emotionally evolved men, with sensitivity and intelligence in stock, turns sloppy and self-serving and crude and won't tell you what they're feeling.

An emotional precipice juts forth in every relationship, that divides or unites a couple. Either it breaks or makes the relational bond, helps you solidify the good, or exacerbates the bad. It happens right around the time the couple gets "serious", when there's discussion of a mutual future that both agree upon. This murky, all consuming gap grows deeper and wider with every passing disappointment, every truth not uttered. I speak in hetero terms personally, but I know the gay community has their version of masculine/feminine relationship battling to contend with. Person vs. Person in real terms. No one is safe.

What the hell is that, and how do we evolve past it?

Men head in linear motion towards a goal, whether it's the ol' mattress mambo or a wedding ring, they have an agenda that most won't tell you flat out, for fear of rejection. Most will give away clues as they go (usually post-coital or in hopes to get post-coital) as to what they're sticking around for. If men move closer in deed or promise, then it's a victory and there's no reason to question anything else. If it ain't broke, don't pretend to want to fix it.

Us ladies, on the other hand, meander a spastic serpentine that our emotions dictate on any given issue we come by. We let the little things slide, but there's a phantom tally in our hearts, that is often overlooked, but never forgotten for future reference. We test out if this suitor has the specifics we need to fulfill our own linear equations, even as we've already intuited the answers. Still, we need proof. We won't show our cards either, but we drop important clues (usually amidst a casual un-related conversation or as a disclaimer to eminent verbal smack down) to get the Intel that will support our ongoing research. As long as our alarm isn't tripped permanently or irrevocably, it's game on, no gaps. Until we know what we're working towards, we have fun and enjoy having a playmate. As soon as it's a potential family/forever/long term thing, the great divide begins. Fellas don't even know the damn fracture is there half the time, yet always manage to widen it by lack of regard for it. It's a big, messy-ass mess to choke a donkey, I tell you.

Until this present relationship, the longest gig as girlfriend (more accurately "that one chick I'm shagging and feigning interest in, fortnightly") was a consecutive couple of weeks spread out over a few months, all to heart bruising results. No live-in torrid romances, no frivolous shacking-up, just dodging thereof. I know myself better for it, but am now at a disadvantage with another. I'm in a relationship that's completely committed and full-time, and I have no template of coupledom to draw from at times like these. The customary I-do-it-this-way strategy is in constant readjustment, so I'm all pensive question marks more often than before it seems. The solitary nights of wonder are no more, yet the space to figure it out in my way, is less and less. How stinging that can be, especially when there's a kid involved, with all their built in emotional drainage, and pressuring need for sound structure. All of us are used to being the authority, and then we realize we never were.

In learning how to be the upgraded version of yourself under your loved ones scrutiny, and to have them be instantly affected by it, is what really causes those gnarly cracks. Doubt that we can redesign for the better, fear that we will lose ourselves and we wonder if the other is worth it. We fuss and fumble over distracting details, but when courage lacks, less valiant traits emerge. We'd been doing just fine without this other being to bounce off of. We hold each other ransom for it, the small insignificants turning into reasons for distance, as we need the breathing room to understand what we're doing. It's hard to keep track of what is truly important when you've never been in that moment before, with that person. Yes, men need to start the foreplay long before the bedroom, by doing housework and being counselor. Yes, women need to let go of their insecurities and stop comparing everything to something else in lieu of tactful honesty. There will always be those things, unless you decide not to try it out at all. I've earned my single badges, and I have something that gave me pause about being single.

If you wake up next to a man/woman that helps you be the best possible version of yourself, even as you define that version together anew each day, then it's worth it. Communicate to that degree, forgive with that at heart. Trust in all the pluses that brought you together, and remember that you're friends, among other more stressful headings. Talk to your friend and relay the message. If you can't do that, then call it good, but never malign the journey. It makes way for the next.

I don't know where my chasm will end up...either with a bridge built lovingly over it, or with me at the bottom, clawing my way to the sunlight, but that's where the shared experience differs from a singular one, this I have learned at least. I now have someone to throw me a rope if I need it, and we navigate the edges together. That's a good thing, no matter what shape it takes along the way.

The SMD: Fudge-ing It

Four years and counting, Logan has tested out ways to demonstrate her person-hood. I think she was doing it before age two, but there's no way to know for sure. Her favorite method is to be another person all together, ironically enough. Long after the movie/t.v. show dujour is turned off, she responds with, "I'm not Logan, mama" or "who's Logan?", and then an indication as to who she is at that moment is uttered, followed by instructions on how to interact. It's adorable the first hundred times, don't get me wrong.

If you fail to address her adequately, she makes it a point to correct you and provides a dissertation on why you have to call her by her REAL name (all while in character). Not just personalities from stories she watches though, she does animals of her own creation too. Her latest is a dog named Fudge Lewis-Benson. First and last name. He's a typical dog, crawling on all fours, eating only with his mouth and he is unable to stand on his "hind legs" for very long or with any sort of balance. She commits to it, even when my patience is tested to limits unknown.

Last Thursday as I meandered around the ol' Kinder classroom helping kids with their work, Logan crawled around the free-time rug responding to questions and situations, as our favorite quadruped. The other classmates took it not unlike myself, sort of amused but a little confused (a slogan I need to put on a t-shirt for such occasions), so they began to insist that she's LOGAN, so they could get a realistic exchange from her.
Fudge grew increasingly aggravated that they wouldn't accept he was/is Fudge, not just pretending for the moment like they implied. She doesn't want to be placated, she wants full endorsement, as I know too well. She finally called everyone to attention and advised that she be referred to as FUDGE, and that it really upsets her to be called Logan. The teacher and students agreed to her demands, and Logan resumed crawling about, an air of triumphant justice about her. You have to admire the PR.

Imagination is one of the purest, most powerful abilities we have. Everything we want to do, be or have, in finest detail, ready to go wherever we take it. I'll be damned if I'll take it away from Fudge, even if it can be a crippling double-edged sword when "real" falls devastatingly short from the fantasy as an adult. As it stands, Logan is retreating to a place she feels is safe and effective when her own sensibilities might be trampled on. I'm sure we'd all enjoy that luxury if we could. I would SO decline to do any number of unjust tasks, simply because a rascally ferret named Bugonia Parsons-McMurdy was running the show.

You have to ask yourself what's important...that she be "normal" or that she feel she can handle things in her own way. I choose the latter. She's quite pleasant as a dog, quite mild-mannered, quite a mover and shaker in 1968, as Fudge tells it. Don't ask me where she got that year, but it has provided quite a few laughs. Maybe that's why she does it, to diffuse situations with laughter by way of performance art. I can think of a million other things that could be worse.

So I guess I'll be talking to animals for as long as she needs to need me to, as Logan's a sweet treat in her own right for concocting it all.

Let's Play a Love Game

Philosophically speaking, all you need is love, right? It's the most powerful, abiding, forgiving, all encompassing force we know. We start wars over it, fight for it or because of it, drag ourselves through hell for it, long for it, hate it, seek it, reflect on it, work it out, leave it behind, change with it, for it, and to keep it. We're elevated by it, crushed by it, humbled by it, terrified of it, have addictions to it (and all close facsimiles), have ideas about it, have feelings on it, are consumed by it, chase it, run from it, deny it, accept it, need it, and want it. It can move mountains, build bridges, cut all ties, bind all ties, and belongs to everyone in all it's variations. If you couldn't tell, I've been pondering the concept of "love" lately, with fascinating, thought provoking results. After all, love changes a lot from day to day, in every sense.

Every religion has a version o' what it means, how one "should" navigate it to successful end. Every person has their version or take on it (and they're all different), every living thing responds to it. There are a myriad of kinds/flavors/types. You can be "in love" with someone/thing, but that doesn't necessarily mean romantic love. Yet, when it IS romantic, you're required to be "in love" or it won't work. You can apparently fall "out of love" and no longer want someone/thing, but it's never as easy or accepted as "falling in love".

You can have "platonic" love, regarding another as a sister/brother/friend, but as soon as one of the involved parties develops anything MORE than that, it rarely carries over to both (by the nature of platonic love), but in reverse, can work.
The way a mother or father loves their child is of the purest sort (if you choose it to be), but when dealing with a significant other/lover that gave you that child, the patient, unconditional air can/often disappears, and gives way to a negative manipulation of semantics and small stuff-which in turn negatively effects the little bundle of joy-and how they themselves will know love.

Every artist is inspired by love, interpreting their version of what it is, at length and in depth, from the beginning of recorded history, the beginning of time, even. Art is often the most deferred-to expression of love (or any emotion), for presumably, it's universal incitement of visual, audio, tactile or cerebral, in an instant. But every piece is totally different in it's take on it all. Every politician has a stance on how to best demonstrate love to society (therefore leveling out society), but none can fully agree or comply to work together to show it when it's most crucial to do so. Which, is everyday.
We "love those shoes" or "love that recipe", placing such a powerful term on such trivial things, yet rarely say thanks for those commonplace things (gratitude being so integral a part of love and keeping the flow of it), so why use such a definite, infinite term for these details? Yet we do daily, without a moments pause.

True love exists and it never dies, at least even the most diversified of human beings can agree on that. When our-cherished-and at times taken for granted-specific "true love" happens to pass on/die/leave this plane of existence however, we grieve for them and that loss can shove us into the opposite of love-or indifference, hate equals passion, behind all venom and bile-even if temporarily. That arguably selfish ritual of grief can hinder other important love relationships in our lives, or even dissolve them if it gets taken too far. How does that honor their memory of what you and your love shared? It doesn't, but we feel we must.

Love is the most consistent motivator (even the other supposed true motivators money/sex are only by-products to attain love in some way ultimately, if you think about it), and truly the wisest mentor. Whether we yield it's teachings or not. Love is what we stem from, what our collective DNA is derived as a species. How wondrous, how mysterious, how vital, how exciting it is.

For months now, I've been privy to a wide spectrum of this mighty L word. Almost every shade I've ever known-and some brand new ones-have passed through my heart in flourishing intervals, leaving reformed understandings, the irrelevance of old wounds, and bright, shiny, hope behind. All of the above mentioned, is just the tip-toppiest-tip of the ice berg when it comes to the visceral IS of love. It's just thought put to words, not a feeling. I'll be damned if we don't try to verbalize and practical-ize such a broad element in our lives though, and won't ever stop, nor should we ever, perhaps. Perhaps we are just tirelessly curious to understand this behemoth of time, attention and focus, wanting to have a structure or a rule book so that our lives can be what we want, without the trial and error. Loves' true resonance, meaning and application is so jumbled and complicated. We all make it this way, not the other way around. We are all in LOVE with love for better or worse.

All the escalating musings I've heard about the "end of the world", the economic backlash, all the natural disasters that are interpreted as doom to those who deserve it, has only ever made me wonder where the Love is in those lives. If one looks around and doesn't feel compelled to be positive about it all-putting trust in the higher powers, the earth/universe, our fellow man-then one really ought not use the term "love" in relating to anything. That seems to be the resounding conclusion.

There are SO many quotes from a great many humans/entities that I use as a yardstick to my personal ever shifting application of love, but one in particular stands out in these times in my life, and in the world. It comes from a source that to name, might shift focus from the relevance of the message. So I leave you with it anonymously, to do what you will. But however/whomever/whatever you DO love...just let go. Get out of your own way, and keep letting it grow. Then maybe it won't be such a tumultuous volley back and forth, and we all win, in that case.

"...Love is not something you can do or something you can contrive. Love is something that you allow to have its movement through you and around you...This is not something you are aware of, for you have attached your vision to such a limited meaning of what Love is that you are caught in its unreality. You think Love is one body caring for another body...Love is not something that you do. In a state of Love, the one fact you are constantly and utterly aware of is that Love is something you are! And you cannot "are" something."

The SMD: Green Eyed Visitor

When multiple kids are requesting your attention, it's hard to pay mind to your own offspring sometimes. Every day of classroom time drives that one home, and upon a recent week long visit by friends from my home town in Wyoming, it was literally driven to our home. Logan being an only child, she struggles with time sharing-well, sharing in general, but we're constantly working on it-and above all, attention sharing. God love her, she puts the lousy in jealousy.


I waited an hour prior to the airport pick-up to even let her know of their forth coming visit. It's a shame she even knows the general time of year that major holidays and gift giving occasions occur, because it's the same scenario of, "How long 'til it's time? Mama! How long? THAT LONG!?!? But so...like...an hour...?" for DAYS/WEEKS on end until it really IS time. Upon hearing we would have a long time friend of mine and her three kiddos for a week (whom were some of her first friends), she was literally bouncing with excitement. After the obligatory "be a good hostess, best behavior and remember you're my number one" pep talk, she dashed off, curls flailing behind her, to draw them all a welcome picture. Hours, we've spent, discussing a playmate/pet/brother or sister for her. When she gets the chance to have one, it's always eagerly received, especially now that this particular bout will be on her turf. That always helps ease the pain, you'd think. Our jam packed agenda of (long awaited no less) Legoland, Disneyland, Chuck E. Cheese and then also beach and library to boot, didn't help her resolve, I'll grant her that. She was still enjoying herself, despite needing her own space and meltdowns to that effect. Then reality sets in.

By the third day, all the pent up "PAY ATTENTION TO ME ONLY!!!" came rushing out, and it was really upsetting for us both. It started when I fudged on the house rules a little. I let the other two girls slide off the side of the couch, flopping onto a pillow below, as they thought it was hilarious. Bending the rules on occasion is worth why we have them, I believe, and Logan knows I do it for her as the situation demands. None the less, she watched with a look of utter what-the-hell-mom-you-don't-let-me-do-that glaring on her face for a few minutes. She was also appreciative and kinda happy that the other two girls were giggling and having fun, though. She took a few turns herself, and then suggested it be my turn. She stood at my side and waited as I drew out the sliding off portion (for dramatic effect, naturally), then as soon as I made contact with the pillow, I guess it all geyser-ed out. She simultaneously laughed in a forced, high volume crazy person laugh, knocked off my hat and gouged at my eyes. She connected a pretty deep scratch right under my eye, and instinctively I pushed her off my face. I was so shocked at her behavior, I said on wavering breath, "LOGAN! I can't believe you just did that! On purpose! You really hurt my eye. Get in your room until you can apologize and be a nice girl!" I know she didn't even comprehend what she was doing/did, her automatic tears and embarrassment related that. She bellowed loudly and streaked to her room. The other two kiddos were as dumb founded as I was, wide eyed and mouths slack, looking back and forth between us and then at me, in amazement.


Logan may not be the most adjusted kid when it comes to "sibling rivalry", but she is good at listening to me when her emotions surprise her, thankfully. It took her all of a minute to come back out, fully repenting and apologetic for what she did. I took the opportunity to tell her-and the other two girls-that it's A-OK for me, her mom (an in essence their mom, as they have to share 2x over what Logan does) to have friends, to show affection and to spend time with other people. She's my number one, and she gets me (give or take) 89% of the time. There's no reason to be jealous, no reason to think I don't love her. I'm allowed, as she is, to have fun no matter how out of place it seems with others in the mix. The three listened, and really understood, I think. From then on out, I was more conscious of her feelings and attention meter, as she was of mine and theirs. Maybe she realized that she does have it good, only having to compete with others rarely, not daily. It was not for nothing, so it was worth it. Worth it, even as I cursed under my breath with every absent minded brush against the puffy red abrasion. Eye wounds are no joke, even if given by a kindergartner. Good to know.


After they said goodbye, and we reflected on an enjoyable but tiring week, I asked Logan if she missed the brood we had just bonded with. "No." she said pointedly and firmly. I knew that was a lie, as she tries to be brave and ignore messy emotion at all costs, this one. Then later that night as we cleaned-up before bed time, she said as authentically and casually as I've ever heard her say anything, "I miss Dom and Kenzie and Kaitlyn." as she picked up her stuffed animals and collected crayons. I'm proud of her for admitting it, and for letting herself be realistic about those fun little thorns in her side. I miss them too, but can't say I do of the green-eyed monster that left with them. But I do know, that if he never made a cameo, I wouldn't be doing my job too well. So I'll deal, and do my best to look at her most often, if not all the time.

Drama Nerds Dressed Up

While watching from your couch, eating pizza and volleying comparative commentary via text to your mom, awards shows are fun. The glimpses of favorite personalities, the predictions, the glamorous crescendos of an industry that touches us, should be as much of an escape as the films they recognize. The two titans of industry cred collide each year, back to back. You have the unfettered, quirky Film Independent Spirit Awards, which air the night before the no-expense-spared Oscars.

The latter has 56 years of tradition over the Spirits, and you can tell by the nods to history-centric movies they tend to honor (deservedly but predictably, that is). I myself tend towards the Spirits in the arena of importance, not just for the sake of being "anti-establishment", or because they're the self-effacing underdog by the nature of guerrilla film making (both are good reasons but are sort of disappearing), but rather for the slightly more realistic view of what it all really is. A bunch of nut-ball creative types mingling, musing and high five-ing over good work, regardless of money involved on either end.

Back in the day the studios owned the actors (let alone the technical peeps) and the award shows were the only chance to see candid celebrity stuff. Now-a-days the lines are so blurred, it seems all too self-revelatory for many-if the blogs reflect accurate stance on the matter-but we still talk about it for days, still tune in.

The Oscars are the old-money cotillion, the Spirit Awards the impromptu drama club mixer. Both are worth spectating for their respective slant.

The Spirit Awards this year (incongruously "brought to you by Acura"), honored quite a few of the exact same films that Oscar did, which has been sort of puzzling. How exactly can we honor "indie" films while they're getting stroked by the money-worshiping establishment (boosting ticket sales/hype) and in fact said movies had million plus budgets, again? But they find a way, in providing an uncensored platform for exceptional strides in film, and it's a good ride, usually. This year seemed a smidge subdued due to the frosty, windy weather us Californians aren't used to but have endured lately, and the ceremony is held in a tent, so I can understand. There were some candid gems none the less: Paul Rudd grabbing a handful of Eva Mendes' boob while announcing nominees to a room of impartial drunken clamoring (and then Rosario Dawson returning the grope for the announcement of the winner to more impartial clamoring), Best Documentary winner Exit Through the Gift Shop acceptance speech (believing in dreams is always a prevalent, welcome message), and of course Joel McHale's awkward, endearing, ownership of his gig as host.


It took the evolution of IFC for most to be aware of this event outside the biz (myself included), it's not on a major network channel, not budgeted with excess zeros but that's the whole idea. I still maintain that it should be Pay-Per-View (around $20 with your own IFC/Spirit Awards t-shirt as gift-with purchase), a portion of the proceeds going to a promising indie film up-and-comer or production team or writer. I SO would pay for that, and many purists/enthusiasts would too, for it makes you a practical, legitimate part of the show (puts the 'I' in indie if you care to venture there) and keeps it corporate affiliation free. It was another year for melding the two ever oppositional forces behind movies-To Art or To Bank-closer than ever, and I have good leads on some otherwise under-exposed work worth checking out, so it served it's most redeeming purpose.


Then last nights Oscars, moved at a slightly forced, jaunty, trot with the youthful hosts and whirlwind-y fusion of "old" and "new" Hollywood. There has always been that element of old/new, so it's not that innovative, the Academy is so far rooted in tradition it fails to see the irony in it's attempts to be fresh every year. There's never going to be a "hip" rendition of orchestral swells and fancy designer formal wear once the red carpet has been trod upon. Ain't gonna happen, and no matter who they try to please, it won't please everyone so they need to stick to allowing winners-however obscure to the general public-their time to accept their props. My mom pointed that out, in one of the many texts of fury while we watched, and I agree. Is that not the whole point?


I appreciated most Mila Kunis, Cate Blanchett, Jenifer Lawrence and Gwyneth Paltrow (her look for the night not her rampant pretense) on the fashion front, they nailed the vibe without disappearing within the gowns. The tribute segment DID leave out Corey Haim and a few others unfairly, Anne Hathaway DID need to take it down a few notches with the, "See? I'm the lovable girl-next-door!" cutesy antics. James Franco WAS just plain over it about ten minutes in, but who can blame him? Homeboy is busy with academic ambitions, refreshingly. He's one of the most consistent "youngsters" around acting wise, let him be who he is and continue to produce noteworthy work. Next year go back to utilizing the "older" icons if it's that big of a deal.

I'll admit, I did tear-up at the finale. The adorable children's choir rendition of Somewhere Over the Rainbow was magical, proving that even as critical observations sprang forth from around the globe, so did a feeling that at the very center, hasn't ever really eluded Oscars/ watchers and all that entails: dreams came true and cultural history was made on this night, and that's worthy of acknowledgement and praise. Yeah it's a little long winded and not as pressing as other current events, but it always strikes a chord of aspirational gratitude and reminds us for a few hours that we're allowed to get lost in vivid colors, twirl about in the fanfare, and enjoy. Living vicariously or not.



I have a slew of movies/documentaries/careers to watch-don't I always-and a slew of opinions on what I have seen and heard, and I'm glad I witnessed it all. I was proud of those that won, relieved for the collective drudgery to be at an end until next year. I have a feeling the two awards shows will forever be tweaking the format and we will forever have our say. And somewhere along the line, for a few moments of a classic movie ballad, the theatre geek in us all will buy into it and sing along, unafraid of any backlash. That's the REAL reason to watch.

Dynamic Duo

I've been into the entertainment industry since I was old enough to watch things and remember them, so it's been about 24 years of observation, research and revelry. I had my first subscription to Entertainment Weekly at age eight, if that gives you an idea. My primary focus has always been movies, outside of love and fear, they are the great unifier. A visual medium of story telling that can reach anyone in their living room to provide safe escape when you most need it/want it is a beautiful thing. For that reason, I'm a walking catalog of actors, directors, and producers (composers and key-grips, even) keeping a vigilant eye on up and comers and those that break from the pack of (ENDLESS) remakes and dumbed-down rom-coms. It's my main hobby, if not an occupational investment in one of my great passions. If you are interested in something, learn everything you can, becoming an "expert" like those that are regarded as such on a grander pay scale. My fellow nerds know what I'm saying.

I've had hands on experience in making these 120 minute vacations, I know of what I type. I had a stint in development (re-writes to a would-be script), assisted in casting and story boarding. I was an extra for a year (and can be seen in the moving scenery of about 60 odd projects), had a featured few seconds of "B-ball kissing girl" glory in the indie horror movie Katie Bird, saw production in action and absorbed life on set for a good chunk of time. It was fascinating and infuriating. I'm a tough nut to crack when it comes to endorsement, most projects tend to rule themselves out in the first few minutes, simply by following footsteps to perpetuate money making instead of art expressing.


That said, I'll watch anything to the end and give it a fair shake. I can glean goodness from even the lackluster-est. I might want to choke my own self out based on the supposed acting, but the lighting design or costume design or soundtrack could rock, so enjoy that aspect. And when ALL of it fails to hit home, just bust out some Mystery Science Theatre 3000 commentary, and have my own personalized entertainment. I try to be an impartial observer, not just a film snob that references "classics" for comparison. Those folks tend to come off as the authority on your personal taste based on what was, something that's not only impossible, but offensive at times. I'll listen to a few critics in particular-we tend to agree, and I can call them when I hear of them usually-but for the most part, I'll give it a whirl and decide for myself. I encourage you all to do the same. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite-ahem-I have good leads for you.

Critics, audiences (or anyone else that doesn't get it), be damned, the following writer/directors are the Yin and Yang of groundbreaking cinematic adventure currently, weather they realize themselves, or get recognized as such. If you long for style, smart and sleek over the usual fare, and haven't absorbed these fellas work, let this aid in your quest for the almighty mind-altering, interesting film.

Christopher Nolan, ain't new to critical acclaim, or audience acceptance, deservedly so. He swiftly, gracefully paints masterpieces of tone, texture and triumph, in vibrant shades of seedy human conflict, occasionally and subtly gesturing at humor and culture to accent the dramatic portraiture unfolding before you. I've seen everything from the most intimate (his engrossing student film Following), to his most blockbuster-y (the Batman franchise, that he's done more artistic justice to than any preceding director), and regardless of funding or hype sustained (he deserves both), he arcs hefty plot line, jerks tears and pulls the occasional, genuine laugh while he amazes you visually, in a grounded, realistic, intelligent way. Memento, Insomniac, The Prestige. They all reek with envelope-pushing vision, and man it smells good. He challenges the norm out of his passion for a good story, totally at ease on the leading edge. It's a tricky place to be. The Academy snubbed him in the Best Director category this year, but I doubt he minds. Awards never live up to the real prize, a legacy of excellent film.

If Nolan paints larger than life pictures, Edgar Wright then, raps bright, flashy, staccato jams of buffoonery, bad-assery, and camaraderie, with a gasp-for-airs-worth of naked emotion or common place story line-but those few seconds are so sudden and genuine, you're moved-and grooving with it all is inevitable. Even the most modern movie go-er can relate to his work, in all their ADD (or ADHD if you care) fickleness. Wright acknowledges that and does it one better, as it seems to be the stem of so many pandering studio tricks, ones he pokes playfully at. I fell in love with Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz instantly. Then subsequently saw the brilliant episodic Spaced, and knew then that he really is a comedic genius, not a two-off gem that Hollywood borrowed from England. He fuses pop culture past and present so quickly and deftly into his own brand of hilarity, all you can do is keep up giddily. It's a word. Scott Pilgrim vs The World just graced my DVD player (yes, I'm tardy to the party again), and even though Simon Pegg was abscent in this chunk of fantastic, none of Edgars' signature edge was. He has yet to reach the household name status Nolan has touched on, but he is every bit as deserving. His comedy is inspired.

The two might be opposites in "genre" (so far), but they willfully bend any conventional categorizing, fusing them all together at times. Both know that you have to start with good writing and work your way out. Both are nerds themselves, they have specifics in mind and won't compromise their ideas. Whatever the feeling evoked, both oversee execution (in dialogue and visuals) so precise, you have to watch their films twice/rewind repeatedly to catch every bit of nuance. They both ask you to take their hand and sprint alongside them, as opposed to the throngs of so many others that grab your hand gruffly only to trot or stumble, because they're too lost in their own bull-honkey to cross the finish line to completion.

Our culture on the whole tends to love a good explosion, Black Eyed Peas song bumping in the background, the main character flashing charisma and one-liner flair, and that's all good too, as I said before. Ultimately though, that kind of redundant movie experience leaves you as quickly as it comes along, so what's the point, really? If we are to celebrate the industry as it encourages us to, let's do it in honor of those slinging integrity and innovation for your hard earned buck, I say.

Cheers to both respective super heroes of film rescuing us from certain boredom, defying the villainy of forgettable crap. I eagerly await the next epic battle, from both.

The Fleecing of the Fleeced

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The SMD: Light At Last

Us mamas work in reiteration like Van Gogh in toxic, edible paints. It's necessary for our craft but, boy howdy, is it monotonous. I've gone months with the same phrase of discipline on replay like a solo Mantra for Dummies seminar that I can't leave. "Clean your mess" and "Treat others with love and respect" aren't just life lessons and skills to hone, but daily, grating audio backdrops. You doubt they hear you, care or the longest shot, that they are retaining any knowledge you're dropping all over them. How sweet it is when you catch them connecting the dots in thought and/or practice.

Many firsts have happened this year for the Loganator and myself. First year of school (battling germs and influences of others), first time being a steady volunteer (love it for the kiddos, hate the politics), first time remaining in a place that we have no real support system (and succeeding at all with flying colors, if I might subtly toot me ol' horn). When the "firsts" occur, "indefinatelys" are sure to follow, and all the dogged coaching along the way. We trudge, soldier, and keep keepin' on.


I've recently become part of a twosome (refer to The SMD: My Own Betrayer for any backlog on how rare it is that I am legitimately), something that single children are none-too pleased about, especially if the single child has a single mama as her only touchstone. And vice versa.

It's been quite the awkward roller coaster at times...Logan's idea of men is slightly skewed and limited. From her dad not being in the picture to her Grand dad and uncles being around two to three times a year with minimal interaction in between, she tends to struggle with the masculine and where they fit, I've been both for her all her life.


We made our annual trek to Wyoming for the holidays this year (let me sum it up: COLD, family elation/drama, friend elation/drama, wonderful gifts, hellatious travel), and around the fourth or fifth day, my dad mentioned to me that Logan had been a lot cooler to him this trip. I queried for details, and he said in his gruff, comforting, blue-collar-stoic growl "just in general".


You don't have to be Freud to figure that one, but it warmed the very crevices of my heart to hear. Lo and behold, the living, breathing standard to which us ladies hold up all potential dudes to (with all the heart rending results) is giving me props on how my daughter (by-product of a major previous potential dude and I), relates to him. I know that consistently having a male individual around that's joyously plays with her, backs me up discipline wise and shows us love and affection openly has helped her realize all the broken record talks about trust and navigating relationships with men in her life, aren't just words. How awesome for her, and all three of us together. Well, four if you count dad. Seems wrong not to.

The other big one has been the petition for a pet. Logan is hell bent on getting a little white mouse or a chameleon, or a kitten or the holy grail: a puppy. Homegirl can't even put her dishes in the kitchen or clean up her Moon Sand (damn the Moon Sand!) without a good ten minute prodding. I intimated long ago that in order to have a pet, she needs to get her poop in a group and start showing-not telling-how she is responsible enough to take on another living creature and be it's soul benefactor. Before bed last week, she had a revelation (all her best ones come at that particular time, where mine are in the shower). "Mama...I think I'm going to be good. I'm going to help out and even make friends with Randy more." Randy is the plus-sized odd duck in class, one that Logan is hesitant to needlessly include in anything, so I know she's really thought about this if she's mentioning him. I responded that I'm proud of her decision, hope she'll see it through.


The next day she came home with a teal star (meaning she was awesome in class), and an ear-to-ear grin that came from not just the years of pep-talks on responsibility/good leadership finally making sense, but the fact that she was the captain in command of it all. It was one of the best moments at the bus stop to date. No pet yet, but she's getting there.


It's starting to feel like I'll be at Logan's graduation ceremony by the end of 2011, how fast it goes. Enjoying the journey is paramount. I know that this tunnel to decent, thriving adulthood we're sculpting together is dark, dreary and claustrophobic at times. Then that dawn breaks, and we can see our work ahead ain't so bad after all.