Everything, Nothing, and I'm a Middle Child

Can you tell, of late, that I'm lacking a bit of direction, deep thought ... or, you know, much of anything interesting to say? Okay, okay, that's assuming I ever had any of that in the first place.

Our family is changing. I imagine I'm not the only one who senses that. Instead of my mother being connected to us and up-to-date on all of our lives, we are trying to do that all ourselves. It certainly isn't that our mother stood in the way, but she was the only one doing that much work to stay in touch with all of us, I think. Not to say that we were all shabby about - Nathan set up these blogs, Rae is great at writing letters and sending little gifts, Mendon would call. We all made efforts, but now, well now we just simply all do a lot more legwork. It is as if our very lives depended upon it. At least, that's how I feel. I feel as if, even for one minute, I become disconnected from one of my siblings or my father, that something awful will happen.

Shortly after my father headed home on Friday morning, I went out for something in the same direction that he had gone, and I had horrible visions of finding his car on the highway. I tried to wait patiently for his phone call to tell me he had returned home safely.

I sometimes think about one of us dying, or even being told about some serious illness we'll have to deal with, and how that would effect our family right now. I cringe.

I saw greeting cards for "grandparents day" - hello greeting card holiday! - except, I didn't think "how phony", I thought, wow, if I really wanted to wound my father, I'd send him one of those, 'cause, wow, doesn't that hurt? Boo. Yuck.

On the bright side, I'm looking into joining a motherless daughters support group at a hospice here in town. At this point, it sort of feels like another chore, but I suspect it may be just what I need. I know my mother would recommend it to me.

Blargh.

By the way, Papa, Liam now runs to the door with his big bubble makers and says, "bubbles? bubbles? out? out?" And he'll randomly say, "Goon-dah. Goon-dah" (his version of "Goompah)

Posted by at 5:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I think I better get this out.

I'm feeling snarky, amongst other things.

To add to the list of my wonderful life at the moment, today I found MOLD growing behind our bed - and lots of it. What else to do but attack it? So I did, taking dirty laundry down to the basement to wash ... to find water, puddled, on the carpeted floor.

Rah! Rant! Rant! Rant! I could go on, get pissy, and probably make some people not like me very much, so I'll stop there.

Last night I had another dream about being an artist, getting asked to participate in a film festival in India for my work (which included a red clay & ruby nautilus that also somehow involved film). I told my mother, "maybe I could actually make a career of this" and she sighed, replying, "that's what I've been trying to tell you."

Posted by at 6:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I'm just not one of them.

Maybe I over think things. Maybe it's the migraines. But all this mothering stuff, even if I can do it well, doesn't come naturally to me. Even if it appears so. Even if you think I am because I stay at home, or nurse or whatever. It doesn't come naturally.

I see other mothers make decisions to just keep having children, or get up at all hours of the night for long periods of time, or whatever, and I just think, "nope. I don't have it in me."

[Editor's note: this is where my mother would chime in: "Mara, you are comparing your insides to other people's outsides."]

I know. In fact, one of the 'outsides' I am comparing myself is to my mother. Four?! Four children?! Dear lord in the heavens above, how does anyone ever manage that?! I... I ... I'm speechless.

Frankly, it's a little amazing to me that anyone EVER decides to have even a second child. In fact, I am in awe that humanity continues to exist and that one generation simply didn't say, umm, heck no! Thanks, but no thanks!

So, if you ask me how motherhood is treating me, and I stumble? This is what's running through my head (simultaneously with a "what's an acceptable response?").

Posted by at 6:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Our cell phone rang shortly after 2 a.m. I thought it was on the nightstand, so Mark wiped his hands over it and knocked my glass of water over, soaking his clothes. It turned out it was in my sweatshirt.

We called Mendon back, and he told us my mother was dead. We got dressed and ready to head over to my parents' home. I called Mendon again and told him to wait for us. We were there by 2:30.

Mendon and Kristen were the ones who had been on the night shift that night with my mother. I like to think that it was my mother's last gift to Mendon. It was hard for me not being there at night with her, but somehow, knowing Mendon was with her, made it okay for me.

My father was sitting next to my mother. He had checked that her heart had indeed stopped. It just came to me, but I stood over her body, whispering, "Ya Baha-ul-Abha" in her ear. It was heart-wrenching to realize that she was gone. Really, really gone. And yet, in that moment, in that little itty bitty moment, I felt joy for her.

We got a large bowl, filled it with warm water and rose water.

I read a prayer for the departed.

Some time in there a Hospice nurse came in. Apparently, she was rather amazed and impressed by the way we were all functioning. Not much for her to do, actually.

Rachael, Mendon, Nathan, Kristen, Papa and I washed her body as Aunt Cindy read the Tablet of Ahmad. Mark held Liam.

We each said our last good-byes to our dear mother (and wife and mother-in-law and grannie nannie).

We then dressed her in her silk gown, laid her in her shroud, each of us taking up needles with beautiful jewel-toned silk thread and stitched up the shroud. We inserted roses that had sat at the threshold of the Shrine of Baha'u'llah in Haifa. My sister embroidered my mother's initials, S C D, onto the shroud.

The funeral home came not too long after and took her body away.

There was nothing left to do. We sat. It sucked.

We went back to bed.

I will cherish that memory for the rest of my life.

Posted by at 4:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

The other day, my brother Nathan asked me about how I felt regarding our mother's death, whether I was a wreck or felt okay and was wondering when "the other shoe would drop". I told him I did feel okay, and that I fully expected the other shoe to drop, repeatedly, throughout my life.

I had a shoe drop today. I was going over to a friend's house, who turned out not to be there, and trying to think about how I felt about my mother dying so that when she asked me how I was doing I could talk about it a little. Because, truth be told, I feel so much that it's hard to sort through it all and make heads or tails of it.

As I was sitting in the car, looking at a wallet size photo of my mother with Liam, with the gear shift under my hand, I realized that it was my mother who taught me how to drive stick shift. It wasn't far before I was sobbing. I got myself to my friend's mother's house - she happens to live down the street from me and is also a hospice nurse, walked in and said, "I need someone to say 'I know'." Not everyone does, of course. In fact, many people simply don't. And hey, bully for you. But sometimes, I just need someone who does know.

Well, we all need our distractions. Here's one for you:

Posted by at 10:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

If you happened to miss my mother's funeral, then you missed the best eulogy ever. Fortunately, my sister posted it on her blog so that I could share it with you.

My father's response is pretty wonderful, too.

Thank you, Rae. It really is perfect.

Posted by at 4:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

What do you do?

What do you do when death has come to your door, knocked, and then run away? What do you do when it returns, but this time, it stays, waiting for you to answer?

What do you do when you've made the arrangements, cleaned out the closets, filed the papers and had those discussions, and that was the first time. And now it's the second time. And there's no energy to be creative or interesting or witty or organized.

Is there anything to do? Or do you simply, for the first time in life, sit down and enjoy the shared silence?

Or do you just go to the wedding? :-)

Yesterday, at Mercy and Nevin's wedding. Little Liam the Lima Bean (as referred to by Grannie Nannie) even got to dance with the bride!

Posted by at 12:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

One thing about this parenthood thing - at least at this stage - is all the moments I spend just staring at Liam. In wonderment. As I struggle to take care of him on my own, his constant occupation is to become independent of me. Obviously, right now, it is all small and incremental, but it is true nevertheless.

On a side note, as he finishes nursing, he holds the last sip in his cheeks like a chipmunk for a few seconds before he swallows. It's so cute.

Posted by at 4:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I'm realizing that one of the most surreal aspects about being a parent is that I (we) have named this unnamed being. We have put our preference upon him already. It feels ... unnatural, like in some way I'm sullying his being. It suddenly seems so bizarre to me that we give names to our children at birth. I mean, it isn't exactly necessary - he's got no clue that "Liam" refers to him right now*.

I think this is actually is a small aspect of something much larger - I wonder at every action, comment, etc. as to how that may shape who he becomes in the future. Are we scarring him already? Are we dooming his reality by doing - or not doing - X? Are we setting him on the right course by modelling some action - or not? Oh my goodness. I suppose I best get used to this new reality of mine....

*Don't get me wrong, I like his name. And, as a matter of fact, I like my own name, so either my parents got it right, I grew into it, or both.

Posted by at 6:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

It's one of those days. Just out of sorts. I guess the feeling has sort of been gnawing at me for a while. I'm not used to instability in my life. Now my life is nothing but.

I just finished a novel that, at the end, turned out to be about betrayal and deception. I think it's sort of highlighted my upside-down feeling.

On the upside, we did find out Mark could be eligible for up to $39,000 in federal loans each year for med school. Don't add that up. It'll make you sick, but it does make the idea of living and med school a little easier to wrap my head around.

For those of you fearing we might leave the US again, think of it this way: it means we'll be in the US for at least the next two decades. One for med school, the next (at least) for paying it off.

Posted by at 9:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

My mother and I are attempting to sort through the house - particularly her nooks and crannies (spare bedroom, her dresser, top of the china cabinet, the craft corner in the basement, you get the idea).

When my youngest brother came along, my father built an amazing bed for him with loads of storage built into it. It has a full chest of drawers under it, and if you remove the mattress, there's a secret door for more storage (whole boxes fit in it).

Well, I discovered some of my stuff still in that secret compartment the other day - stuff from high school, college, my year of service, etc. Amongst the 'treasure', I found a letter from the BIC-Geneva. Mark did his year of service there, and I had applied - basically as his replacement. Without knowng what their response was, I assumed I wasn't accepted and headed down to Guadeloupe. For years now, Mark and I told the story that I could have met him then, if only I'd read the letter (of acceptance).

Well, turns out I didn't get accepted at the BIC. At least now I can let go of any guilt about not reading the letter and responding to a possible invitation to serve sooner - so much for our story.

I've found other evidence of me slightly twisting my memories - often making them sadder than they were. It's freeing to find my 'correct' memories, though crushing to know why I'm finding them at all.

Posted by at 7:56 PM | Permalink

Tomorrow evening I leave the Baha'i World Centre, and with it Israel.

I had no idea it would be such a beautiful experience. I want you to understand there is no sarcasm in this statement. It may have a little to do with the fact that I'm in the second trimester of my pregnancy now, but that's okay, I'll ride this happy, ethereal, at-peace wave.

My last visits with friends, co-workers, and above all, the sacred places I have had the immense privilege to enjoy endlessly for the past 3 years. All of this, in such a condensed, concentrated form brings me indescribable joy. I thought I would be sad to leave, but how could I be when I am receiving confirmation after confirmation of all this love in the world that surrounds me? Furthermore, I am going home to be with family; family that I miss immensely. I hope that I can bring a little bit of this love with me to them.

On Thursday, we met with the Universal House of Justice. That's right. Me, Mark, and the Universal House of Justice. In its council chambers. (this is like meeting the Pope for some - it is the supreme governing institution of the Baha'i Faith) Now that experience is beyond indescribable - this body thanking us for our services - so I will simply have to leave it at that for you.

And go to my last visit to Bahji, which houses both the Shrine of Baha'u'llah and His Mansion - both of which I get the ineffable pleasure of visiting this afternoon.

Posted by at 10:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Several of my friends have remarked that my frankness about my mother's terminal illness is somewhat incomprehensible - especially for those who have never lost a parent.

First of all, it is beyond describing. It is excrutiatingly difficult and painful. I want my mother to live.

That said, there are guiding lights for me.

1. The Baha'i Faith, first and foremost. This past year, struggling with her cancer, has taught me what true reliance on God is. It ain't easy, that's for sure, but it has allowed me to let go of the control I so strongly craved and was desolate without. I think this is a large part of the struggle over losing a loved one.

2. Prayer. I see so much new meaning in prayer now. Turns of phrases such as "Make Thy beauty to be my food", which I always understood to be a request for detachment from things on this realm - now I read it as a request for my mother when she moves on to the next world. Not that either interpretation is invalid, but it is a new understanding of the possibilities of the power of the prayer.

3. Mimi. My grandmother, my mother's mother, passed away when I was one. She has had such a large influence on my life that I believe I can genuinely say that I do not think I would be where I am today, who I am today, without the relationship I have had with her - which has obviously not been the typical relationship considering she passed away 30 years ago. My connection to her is so strong, and through this I know that my own children will know their grandmother in the same fashion in the event that she isn't on this plane of existence to pamper them as grandparents do. This is not the end for me.

4. Finally, my mother. Her own frankness - having lost her mother in a similar fashion - has helped me go through the process that I have gone through. It highlights how much I rely on my mother, and also how much she means to me. Whenever she dies - be it tomorrow or 20 years from now - she will be missed by many more than just me for her wisdom, generosity, kindess and strong will, among other things.

That said, if you're still up for a long read, my mother is hosting an amazing dialogue over on her blog that highlights what a wonderful family we have. I suggest you have a peak - both at her entry and all the comments from my aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws and "out-laws" :-)

Posted by at 7:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

"In all matter, take your spouse into consideration. Always try to see things through the eyes of the other."

This is the advice my mother gave us at our wedding shower. I recently looked over the 3 x 5 card notes from that day, and realized that this is the one I forget most frequently. It's the one I have the most trouble with.

I was chatting with my sister-in-law Kristen the other day and had another one of those moments. She and I were discussing my mother's somewhat imminent passing and some of what Kristen and Mendon are going through as a result. Kristen expressed concern that Mendon would expect her to "be there for him" - a solid rock in his time of need. She, validly, pointed out that she'd be grieving as well. Which is when it dawned on me that I expected the exact same thing of Mark, even though he will, in all probability, be grieving as well. D'oh.

So, in advance, I'm asking all of you (who are not related to me) to be there for us*. And thank you, Kristen, for helping me realize this important need.

*If you don't know what to do, I have learned the overwhelming importance of food at such times. So, if you're in the area, bring us food.

Posted by at 6:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

When my mother told me that her cancer was back I was at work. I took it rather matter-of-factly, and moved on. Now is preparation time. Looking back, I know this routine. It's the third time in as many years that Mark and I have been through this drill. Parent ill, get plane tickets, arrange flat, pack bags, get on flight ... then fall apart. Last year, when my mother made a similar phone call, people were literally walking in our door for Mark's birthday party. I broke down, then pulled myself together and held the (small) party. In a way, it helped me put the emotions on pause.

This time though, I have some of my own health concerns to deal with first before I can fly. I really, really don't want to have to use one of those vomit bags during take-off, for instance. Unfortunately, this means I may have a whole month of "emotions on pause" before I can leave. And the cracks are already beginning to show.

Last night I couldn't sleep, kept up by unseemly thoughts about my family. I dreamt, in one night, that Mendon had fingers blown off in an explosion, Kristen ran through a glass door, and Rachael and I were trapped in a tiny room w/ an open outside window from which scary things were about to descend. Other family members were involved, but I no longer remember what their roles were....

How do I let myself feel - without falling apart? I have to get our flat ready in a "I'm never coming back" way, same with my job.

Maman, I am glad you told me in my 13th week and not my 6th. Even if I hadn't lost the baby, those weeks of severe nausea and vomitting would have been unimaginably more hellish.

Posted by at 1:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

I'm not a big fan of ambiguity. I am a horrible recipient of surprises. I am a planner and a controller.

Well, I'm tired of the ambiguity. I'm sure my mother is, as well as the rest of my family. Could someone just tell us she's not going to die this year - or the next, or the next? Or that she will die?

Then I could be in control again, planning my life accordingly.

Life can be so irritating sometimes.

Posted by at 4:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I'm serious. This isn't going to be pretty, so you can skip this if you wish. Ironically, my mother tangentially hits on the issue in her most recent blog entry herself. Sorta' makes it look like this brought it up, but actually it didn't. I am hoping this is safe - Kristen made a comment that I'm hoping makes it okay, 'cause she's sort of at the center of it. And Kristen, please know I love and admire you.

So here goes. I hope I'm fairly concise.

1. My mother has pancreatic cancer (not the confession). As she states in her most recent entry, she has a 1 in 33 chance of living another 5 years (she's already almost made it 1 year, woohoo!). Now she is fairly healthy and we are thrilled to have her this way. But it has brought up certain issues for me. For example, ways in which I have been less than the perfect daughter.

2. Okay, the ways in which I have been less than perfect are too numerous to count, I am sure, but let me tell you a story. Shortly after my mother's surgery, one of my acquaintances came by to drop off flowers and tell my mother she was a 'crunchy mama' and that she'd learned all her own 'crunchy mamaness' from her. She also happened to be showing off her child and 8 month pregnant belly. I was spitting nails and wanted nothing more than to shove her off our front steps and dump her flowers on her head (I'm really not exaggerating).

Wow, you're saying, Mara I had no idea you were a psycopath. Well, I think I've gotten to the root of it. And it's my imperfections. First, let's address the kids. My mother has no grandchildren, and a few of us got mighty sad about that when my mother was diagnosed. We also didn't get to know her mother because she died of cancer at a young age, too. I was going to be different. My kids would know their grandma (and she will be a rocking grandma). So this news really really really hurt. Hence this 8 month pregnant belly making me venomous. Go take your happiness elsewhere. Cause I was J-E-A-L-O-U-S, duh, and hurt that I couldn't change the situation for me and my mother.

Now let's get to the "crunchiness" of my mother. Growing up, we were indeed 'crunchy' (can you tell I don't like the term?). We grew our own fruit and veggies. My mother made a lot of our clothes, sold her homebaked bread, and cut our hair. I didn't realize, until university (I kid you not), that not every mother baked her own pies. I was so stunned I had to go ask my mother as to the truthfulness of my friends' claims. (think about this, I was at least 19) Of course, she didn't have much choice. We was po'. Not that I felt it. I loved my childhood and I loved fresh baked bread and sweet peas off the vine. I knew we didn't have a lot of money, but that didn't particularly seem to affect my happiness (heck, it felt pretty abundant).

However. When it came to me learning from my mother, well, out comes my huge painful zit-like imperfection. I was neither patient nor determined. I was a snotty brat. I practically threw tantrums when she tried to teach me how to sew. Granted, I loved helping in the kitchen and frequently did. I can make a pie, for heaven's sake. But my craft skills are ... limited. And it's something that I occasionally reflect upon and regret. [as for that girl learning everything she knows from my mother - I still think that's total malarky. what, was my mother privately tutoring her?!]

Yes, Kristen, this is where you come in. You are a craft rock star. {goodness, and nearly a freaking decade younger than me, too} When you do stuff like THIS, not to mention this, a part of my heart breaks thinking, "she's the crafty daughter my mother didn't get". [yes, Rae, I know you haven't fallen down on the job like I have. I'm not trying to take you down with me.]

I know this is the life I've chosen, but these and little comments (like my mother saying, "Mara hasn't taken to gardening the way I was hoping") sear into me with pain. And I do NOT want to feel like throwing you, Kristen, down the steps - now or in the future (I don't, by the way). And I don't want to keep it bottled up - 'cause even if my mother dies in a year or five, my relationship with Mendon & Kristen hopefully will continue for years to come. I just wish I was more like you.

Did I just hurt a bazillion people I love and make everything worse? Is the obvious answer just for me to 'get crafty'? Am I just looking for yet another validation of my mother's love for me?

Posted by at 12:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

I am deeply convinced that if I'd never read Kafka I would not have been up half the night freaked out about having seen a cockroach, and dreaming about them the other half.

I could have packed my bags and left right then.

Posted by at 1:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Craving prosciutto in Israel.

(or, one better, Iberico jamon...mmm. I actually have a friend in Spain who had this prescribed to her!)

Sigh.

Posted by at 1:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

You know that human tic-tac-toe game that's used for icebreakers? Someone fills in odd details of all the participants' lives (or makes obscure things up), and then everyone has to go talk to everyone else and find out who fits each description. That one.

Well, usually I would use "has three birth certificates". It was very effective at starting conversations.

And here, at the age of 30, I find out I've been lying. Shoot. No, I have F-O-U-R. My mother just sent me one I'd never seen or knew existed! I always thought my Falkland Island birth certificate was the letter from the governor. It's cool 'cause it doesn't admit my dad is my dad; at the end of the letter it simply states, in parentheses: (husband: Dustin Dale Dornbrook). I always thought that was funny. But on this birth certificate, which looks much more official, not only does it say he's my father (twice!), it states his profession (as opposed to his rank). It also asks for my name, and then in parentheses: (if any). Heheheh. I think that's funny, too. On top of that, all of my other birth certificates are from 1976, which in my utter uncoolness, I also thought was kind of cool because I was born in 1975. Yet here again - this one is dated 30 December.

Sigh. I'm glad to have it, don't get me wrong, but it did burst a few (very small) bubbles.

Posted by Nate at 4:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I'm pretty sure making your grandmother cry is right up there with, say, gluttony. Or avarice.

Anyway, it sure felt that way. I can understand the attraction to losing contact with your family. It's easier to make threatening life decisions because you have no idea how they impact the people who love and care about you more than anything in the world.

Ouch.

It does put some things into perspective for me. Not that I'll discuss those perspectives. But it was good for me.

Posted by Nate at 9:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

It started with my parents. I'm not sure how, but parents, this is a plea for an explanation. Growing up, our parents would whistle to one another to find each other in public places. As we got older, we responded to it - and eventually learned it - ourselves. One high note, one low note. A simple combination to be heard easily.

Go ahead. Laugh. Guffaw.

But it has been truly helpful. As my parents and siblings will tell you, now, in the comments section. Hint, hint.

Posted by at 10:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

About a week into our trip here in Edinburgh, Nathan took us to Falkland Palace. It's about an hour north of Edinburgh and used to be the capital of Scotland. Which is pretty cool to me.

Okay, so we paid a slightly irrational amount of money to see the palace for a brief visit, but I know my attention span and 40 minutes was really about all I would have spent in there anyway. We saw the whole palace (not including the 'unofficial' tour Nathan would have been happy to initiate, ahem), got information from guides-in-costume and then spent a very enjoyable time in the gardens, which were open after the palace closed. The guides even knew how the Falkland Islands got their name, which was pretty cool for me. I admit it, the entire intrigue of the place has to do with the fact that I was born in the Falklands, but it was special for me and I appreciate that no one made fun of me for finding it special when clearly it's a bit flimsy.

Afterward we went to dinner at a homey place in the village of Falkland, which made very yummy veggies and desserts (yeah, the mains were, well, err - passable).

I also met a young man at the devotional we went to the other night who grew up in the Falklands. I'd met his parents a few months ago while they were on pilgrimage in Haifa. Coolio!

Oh, the name. I figure some of you might want to know: so, one of the kings wanted one of his friends to be more important, so he made him the Earl of Falkland (or maybe duke, but I think it was earl). Anyway, it meant nothing, but it was a title. Now this Earl of Falkland (meaning 'hunting land') was in charge of the seas at the time, so when the islands were 'discovered', either he named them after himself or someone else did or whatever. Oh, and it wasn't his palace. So there you go, unrelated, except for the king part - he would occasionally live at the palace.

Posted by at 6:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

I am deeply conflicted about not being in Haifa right now. We just happened to go on vacation 2 weeks before the first rocket attack in Haifa, and then due to a brief trip to the hospital for Mark (he is fine, it wasn't serious and it is all resolved - let's leave it at that) we extended our stay (the doctors wanted to be sure). Now that it has 'gone up a notch', as Ron Burgundy would say, we have now further extended our stay.

Not that I'm not enjoying Edinburgh; I love Edinburgh. (erg, I had this all eloquently in my mind last night...sigh) In any case, a part of me wishes I was in Haifa, while another part is relieved that I am not. However, the part of me that is relieved feels a bit ashamed, considering what all of my friends are going through back in Haifa.

Posted by at 2:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Recently, as many of you know, Mark and I have been through some tough times - getting our butts kicked, so to speak. We had mold in our flat, had to move, both of us got quite sick [not to mention other stressors affecting our lives at the moment] - and we are just now getting to the point of spending time recovering.

As low as the lows got, the people who surrounded us with love, support - championning our cause, dinner, packing, cleaning, moving, unpacking, cleaning some more, laughs - showed us the peaks of capacity for humans to love and care for each other.

I have thanked many - those who kept us sane in the midst of insanity - but in case I missed you, please know how much you mean to us, from the bottom of our hearts [Sjona, I'm not going there... :-) ]

We are humbled by your friendship. Thank you.

Posted by at 11:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I've realized something.

Apparently, French-speakers (and I suspect others are the same), write poems for their mothers twice in their life time: at Mother's Day or on their deathbed (nice guys, real nice).

I just had an urge to post a poem, in French, for my mother. They were all ... sort of depressing.

I'll just post this brief excerpt from one of the better ones, written by 'Patrick':

Si tu savais...
Tout ce que tu m'inspires
Tous ces beaux sourires
Quel bel ange tu fais.

Posted by at 6:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

Today, Saturday, my father is graduating from Lakeland Community College, receiving his associate's of applied science in Respiratory Therapy. Last week, he was awarded Lakeland's Outstanding Student in Respiratory Therapy award.

This was not totally unexpected from our father, considering his study habits :-)

However, what was unexpected was my mother's pancreatic cancer. 6 months ago today, I was sitting in a hospital room watching - hoping my mother was recovering from surgery. Relieved that they'd even operated. So my father has done the last 1/4 of his degree in the shadow of this beast. Now, that makes his accomplishments outstanding. And we know the award ain't no pity award, he worked his arse off for it and deserves every inch of that plaque. Without cancer, we would have been surprised if my dad hadn't gotten these accomplishments. Now, for me, it's another small miracle of life that my father hung in there.

To make it extra, extra special, my mother works at the aforementioned College. They are giving her the honor of awarding my father his diploma! Now if that isn't a Lifetime Special just waiting to happen, what is?

Ah yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow is Mother's Day in the States. Maman, I hope life is sweet for you tomorrow as you look over your life and what you have accomplished thus far. You inspire us to do great things - today is a little bit of the proof of that. You've taught us to do great things. You've encouraged us to be great people. Everything good we have and do and give in life, that's you. This may be one of my most special Mother's Days, as I have learned so much about you - and me - this past year. Living up to my potential, that is how I celebrate you - every day of my life.

Another Mother's Day with you here to hear my "thank you". That's good enough for me.

Posted by at 5:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I don't do so well with failure. If I think failure looms I tend to shrink from doing the task at all.

Case in point: driver's license.

In the States, at least at the time, it was typical to get one's driver's license when one turned 16. So, shortly after turning 16, I dutifully took the driver's education course at high school. Wisely, the instructor took us out to practice during the school day - when most people are safely out of harms way at work or school. The first time I got to practice in that class was literaly my first time behind the wheel (I think the others in the class really feared for their life). I remember taking a left turn not quite sharply enough. I started going into a yard instead of the street. When I realized it, I panicked and instead of hitting the brakes, I gunned it!! Fortunately, the driving instructor had a break on his side and saved the house in front of us. He just had me reverse and drive away - I always wondered about their lawn. Shouldn't I have paid for re-seeding it? The instructor didn't seem to think so.

Anyway, it was almost two full years before I got around to getting my license. I saw so many friends flunk that test - repeatedly. And I just couldn't handle it. I remember one day trying to get up the courage to make an appointment to take the test. I had to decide whether I'd take it first thing in the morning before going to school, or taking it after school. My dear sister recommended I take it after school so that I "wouldn't be depressed all day". We laugh now, but I just didn't make the appointment for like another 6 months or so. I think I see failure as a sign of weakness or inability.

I remember planning my oral exams for my master's degree. Two weeks prior to the exams for which I had been preparing for two years, they told me I had to switch one of my areas of specialty. Two years...two weeks. I asked how on earth that could be possible?!?! The response was, "well, if you flunk that area, you'll just take it again later." So, wait, let me get this straight, fo the first 22 years of my education, flunking is the most shameful and bad thing a student can do, and then after that it's normal? I chose another area and crammed (17th century drama? yeah, I read all those books in ENGLISH - shameful, but true. Fortunately, I had also done my undergraduate thesis on that era). Turned out I flunked in every area except that one, I think. Drr. But, get this, I survived. Not sure I remember too much of that stuff anymore, but I did survive. [side note: I do remember what I wore to the exams though...]

In any case, I tend to shrink from possible failure. Events, programs, opportunities, challenges - passed for fear of failure.

All this to say that I have taken on a project in which failure is nearly constant, success is in no way secured and I have absolutely no choice but to plod on. Well, I suppose I do, as always, but this time I refuse to le that be an option.

I have worked hard on building my relationship with God. Cancer in the family has, in its silver lining way, been an amazing opportunity for me to work on that and understand just how hard reliance on God can be and how useless (and stress-inducing) it is for me to try to live my life without relying on God. Now, apparently, I'm supposed to apply what I've learned. Aw, shoot. Didn't we just talk about this whole failure thing?

Oh! One final note: seeing as how I don't have a whole lot of experience at sustained failure, if anyone has suggestions on how to remain positive during my continued attempts I would happy accept them!!!

Posted by at 2:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Baha'i Blog, which I also have a link to over at the sidebar has an excellent summary with an accompanying map that is very helpful and informative about the worsening plight of Baha'is in Iran.

This most recent news, that the Iranian government has ordered the identification and monitoring of all Baha'is, was first released here.

And if you are afraid that I am simply overreacting, here is the perspective of someone who is not a Baha'i: The Times.

I admit, my life may not be the cheeriest at the moment, but I am allowed to have a life and that is much more than I can say for the more than 300,000 Baha'is currently living in Iran. The information contained in the links above is much better than anything I could say. And the conveyance of information is the power we have.

Posted by at 10:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (1)

Mark likes to check out the latest and greatest on various blogs such as Gizmodo, Engadget, MocoLoco, Grassroots Modern and others of that ilk. Yeah, so I'm lazy about the links, so shoot me.

These blogs are great fun, don't get me wrong. But one of them ('them' being the trend-informer blogs) - treehugger.com - had links to stuff, that, well, was simply absurd. Absa-freaking-surd. I tell you. There was an 'organic' clothes line that, for one, I find frustrating because apparently, everyone who is a treehugger is also a holdover from the heyday of Nirvana and the grunge gang. But furthermore their prices made me think that they were a hoax. Seriously. Their tee-shirts were $40! They had a pair of men's jeans for $159. Yeah. $159. If these treehuggers are all the grunge-lovers, where are they working - what eco-friendly place of course - is paying them enough that they can afford $159 jeans?! Are they wearing them to work?

Another site, also linked from treehugger, had a dining room table (and a whopping 4 chairs) listed for, I kid you not, $3,800. Ehn? (made of P-I-N-E?!) Tell me it's a hoax. 'Cause if not, well, I guess these are the folks wearing $159 jeans to work.

B.S. This is such a load of B.S. It's become nothing more than a meaningless label to show off to your friends. "See, I can afford to save the earth." Puke.

Posted by at 10:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

You know that level of sub-consciousness that is experienced as a person is first beginning to wake up? I also have them when I get up in the middle of the night and try to hang on to sleepiness for the brief moments that it takes me to use the toilet, wash my hands and return to bed.

Do you experience that? Do you know what I'm talking about?

You know, it's where I have all my amazing ideas for inventions and movie story lines. It's when I have peaks of utter rage at the world over ... um, not sure. I think this morning it had to do with the rain. Which is odd, when you consider just how much I love the rain.

Posted by at 3:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

This is a photo of the Shrine of the Bab that my mother took while she was here last winter. It had just rained - I hope you can see the rainbow! In fact, if you really look closely, there are actually two rainbows.

[yes folks, I changed my template just to bring you this photo!]

Posted by at 12:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

The other night, we were over at the Ishikawas. Mark was enjoying various board games and I hung out and watched a movie [The Castle - absolutely hysterical]. We brought spinach lasagna with us as a contribution to dinner. Apparently, Amelia had been seriously craving lasagna, so she was pretty enthusiastic about the lasagna, as were others. It made me feel pretty good. And then I said the magic words, "it's my mother's recipe".

It's the little things. Months back, my mother told us to get any 'end of life' issues out of the way now, while everyone is still feeling well and healthy. At the time, I thought, "I don't have any unresolved issues and secrets." I couldn't think of anything. What I am realizing is that there are things that I want my mother to know. I want her to know what I will remember about her, what she has meant to me and done for me. One of my friends, whose mother has passed away, was talking about how he can't always remember her before the cancer. I feel like by telling my mother what I will remember, and asking her what she wants me to remember, maybe I can hold on to these memories differently.

Problem is, now that I've thought of this, so much triggers something that I feel I should tell her. Like the lasagna. It's her recipe, and every single time I make it, no matter where she got the recipe herself, I will think of her - as I do now. It's the same with knitting, which then extends into every form of artwork I dabble in, as she is my creative source. She taught me not just how to knit, but the value of art and participating in art.

My problem isn't where to start. It's that it has no end. Maman, I can tell you what I will remember, but I will continuously have amendments. And so I keep putting it off, until I 'have the time to sit down and really reflect', which of course is the danger.

I guess this is my start, and now you know I'm thinking about it.

Posted by at 12:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

My friend, Selvi, compiled these three quotes to read at our friends' wedding last week.

When I heard it, other than the tears streaming down my face - I don't think I've ever been so moved by Baha'u'llah's Writings before - I thought, "gee, I wish I'd had this to read at Mendon and Kristen's wedding!

So, here it is now. The first is from 'Abdu'l-Baha and the second two are from Baha'u'llah:

Praise be to God, those two faithful birds have sought shelter in one nest.

Wherefore, wed Thou in the heaven of Thy mercy these two birds of the nest of Thy love, and make them the means of attracting perpetual grace…

Hear Me, ye mortal birds! In the Rose Garden of changeless splendor a Flower hath begun to bloom, compared to which every other flower is but a thorn, and before the brightness of Whose glory the very essence of beauty must pale and wither. Arise, therefore, and, with the whole enthusiasm of your hearts, with all the eagerness of your souls, the full fervor of your will, and the concentrated efforts of your entire being, strive to attain the paradise of His presence, and endeavor to inhale the fragrance of the incorruptible Flower, to breathe the sweet savors of holiness, and to obtain a portion of this perfume of celestial glory. Whoso followeth this counsel will break his chains asunder, will taste the abandonment of enraptured love, will attain unto his heart's desire, and will surrender his soul into the hands of his Beloved. Bursting through his cage, he will, even as the bird of the spirit, wing his flight to his holy and everlasting nest.

Oh, and this last one really reminded me of the medieval French lit. that I studied in grad school. It made me miss it, too. I really do enjoy medieval literature. In fact, if I was going to get a PhD in French, that's what I'd do. I just can't figure out why I should do that. Also, my perspectives and thoughts on medieval lit. didn't seem to be much appreciated by my professors - that was a bit of a turn off, I must say - though they did say I was a natural at the old French language. To me, medieval French lit. is best consumed while, and the equivalent of, wearing a warm fuzzy sweater under a warm fuzzy blanket and drinking a yummy cup of hot tea.

Wow, talk about a tangent I did not expect to take.

Posted by at 4:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Clue # 547 About How Mara Is Coping

My mother is trying very hard not to die of cancer. That's blunt, but it's reality and we all know it. Now, I'll let you in on a little secret: the next person to offer me the oh-so-not-soothing words of "it's God's will" ... well, I'll let you imagine the consequences. It won't be pretty. Please, think about this comment. You are telling me, essentially, to lay back and not only accept, but expect, my mother to die. In the near future. Ahahaha - no arguing - you are. Yes, you are. If that is how I understand what you are saying, that is what you are conveying, so if you don't want to convey that, choose different words. CHOOSE - DIFFERENT - WORDS. Got it? I know you mean well, but God did not give my mother cancer. It happened. Yes, she has cancer. Is God responsible? No. Hello?!

Thank you and have a nice day. Oh, and if you're interested in discussing something other than my mother's state of well-being, I am available for meals.

[Sorry, I know it was my first day back in the office and things will gradually normalize, but I just wanted to get that off my chest. I do appreciate all of the love and support everyone has offered and continues to offer me. If you want to see a much better example of an "I'm-back-thanks-for-all-the-support-blog", check out Nathan's blog].

Posted by at 12:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Simple Gifts

Today, Monday, 14 November 2005 is my mother's birthday. It is exactly one week since her surgery. This is already a milestone.

Before the surgery, she told me she was looking forward to this year's birthday like no other. Well, she will probably spend it as she has spent no other. Simply a ride home from the hospital and go to bed. Her bed. We might sing to her, but as one of her get well cards said - that may simply add to her suffering! And unless you know how to light candles in applesauce, we'll probably skip that tradition, too.

Here's me signing off for today to carry out my birthday gift - I got my maman to pick up from the hospital!!

Posted by at 3:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I like my pharmacist. He makes me smile. I like having a pharmacist. To me it is a great sign of me belonging. When he pauses to talk to me, letting the other people wait until he finishes, it makes me so happy - to me it's like a big neon sign above me: this girl belongs here!

He recognizes me, knowing what I am coming in for before I even get in the shop. He has taught me practically all the Hebrew I know. He tells me about the lectures on the Baha'i Faith that he attends at the university here. Recently, when the Kitab-i-Aqdas was translated into Hebrew by the Chair for Baha'i Studies at Hebrew University in Jerusalem, he proudly pulled out his copy to show me how beautiful it was, to explain why he appreciated the language so much, how well done the translation was....

And tonight, after promising me a 3 month supply of my medications by tomorrow evening (just in case), he told me he had a famous Jewish prayer that was excellent for healing (apparently they've done studies on how effective this prayer is!). So he is going to translate it for me and give it to me tomorrow.

I think that is so kind. All the other things I know he could do for anyone, just good business. This, to me, is going beyond that. I mean, I could probably just Google it. But why would I?

You know, I don't even know his name.

Posted by at 10:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

A TCK is a "third culture kid" - both children and adults.

If you grew up spending time in more than one country or culture, you may just want to find out more about how your quirks and how you never really fit in anywhere is similar to all the other kids around the world who did the same.

I'm reading a book: Third Culture Kids, and I can think of a number of my family and friends who would be able to relate to this. Whether you actually lived in a country different from the one your parents called "home" or you were simply raised differently enough to feel like you lived in a foreign country, this book is worth the read.

This is, in essence, our future. The world is only getting smaller, and with Australians marrying Nigerians, Bolivians marrying Americans, Iranians marrying Japanese, etc. more and more children are going to find themselves in this situation of "so, which culture is mine?"

What's wonderful is what the book has said, at least so far: that these kids can find a sense of belonging by viewing themselves as people who can help make change happen. As a future parent, it's wonderful guidance on how to help shape my children's identity. Even if they don't relate to the society around them as 'the norm', if they understand that their 'place' is to be different, then they can be comfortable in many places.

[Warning: Easier said than done.]

So, yes, Char and Danio, I think you should find a copy of this book and read it. :-)

Posted by at 7:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Beware: this is very stream-of-consciousness stuff.

You know, Capricorns are supposed to be known for ambition.

And I think I have it, certainly to some degree or in some areas.

But I was wondering: is my struggle with confidence intertwined with what I/society define as ambitious?

I don't think I've considered my definition of ambition much. When I think of ambition - as related to women, because I am one - I think of women dressed in business suits in high-powered jobs, making executive decisions or women "in the field" saving the world en masse or a woman in some research lab, biochemical for instance, making discoveries which will also save the masses.

I guess, in large part, these are my heavily media-driven concepts.

But I don't exactly fit into any of those categories:

1. Me in a business suit? Well, maybe, but I prefer to be Assistant X, than Director X [and I live for my jeans]. I suppose this harkens back to my fear of failure: I don't want to have to take the blame when it all falls apart (wow, how awful is that?). I imagine my parents will have something to say about that one.

2. Me out saving the world? No, I've learned I'm not exactly comfortable with the nitty-gritty side of social work (Kristen, I really admire your strength). I have more faith in humanity than I used to, but that stuff sort of kills it for me - I really struggle to keep a positive outlook when I get that close.

3. Research: I love it. But academia is not exactly calling me at the moment. Anyone know of a job where I can run around researching stuff for people all day? I love being given a puzzle and working and working and working, with whatever resources I can find, until I at last achieve it. It has to be attainable, if it's too convoluted I'll just walk away, but if I know there's a solution, and it's worth my time, I love research.

And yet, I would be totally untruthful to you if I denied wanting to be one of those women.

And do you notice that none of those three examples includes her children in the definition? Hmm. Definitely gotta' rethink that one, too, 'cause I know I value motherhood, crave motherhood and all-around respect motherhood. On the other hand, I do want to do things as well. I want to contribute to society in some other way, too. I know women who, when they no longer have little kids depending on them, go through a major identity crisis. There must be some balance, right?

Help me out here, folks.

Posted by at 10:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (18)

A few months ago, something slowly began to dawn on me. At the beginning of my migraine - at the very beginning - I would recognize that in about 2-8 hours I would be getting a migraine.

And then I'd panic. Now, I did not only panic because I was going to get a migraine. I would panic if I could not find someone to distract me. For example, if Mark wasn't home, I would call him to see how soon he'd be home; and I'd be irritated if it was going to be a while. Now, why would you want to rush how when your spouse was about to get a migraine anyway? Well, I wanted him there to distract me because I have had several experiences where this worked. I wouldn't get a migraine if the distraction was thorough enough.

And that's when it struck me. Whoa. This is what I used to do for my roommate when she was getting over bulimia. Her body's trained reaction to stress or anxiety was to vomit. In order to overcome this trait, she needed some help de-training her body, so we would distract her (sometimes successfully) until the feeling passed. Do you get this?

I've trained my body to give me an "out". I take myself out of commission for several hours - immediate sleep and certainly no going back to work that day. Granted, this is the simplified version. I didn't exactly plan this.

I know I can have great power over my body when I want to. I remember talking myself into being sick when I was younger. My mother was aware of this and would say, "you convinced yourself you're sick, now convince yourself you aren't". And I would. Once I 'froze' my period for a day because I wanted to go to the river to swim with everyone else, after which it started back up (I was young).

So, putting this all together, I decided it was time to do something about this. I knew I needed help if I was going to achieve results. Knowing the problem is one thing, having the tools to create the solution is another. So I turned to our wonderful therapist and presented her with my theory and she has very encouraginly assisted me to take a bit of a closer look at some of my neuroses (okay, quirks?).

We started with what are some of the common situations that I think "cause" migraines. Well, work was an easy place to start because at the time we were sadly understaffed and it was very stressful to me. So understaffed that I literally had no assistance. None. There was no one in the office and there was no one off-site. I had a migraine every single day that week. And frankly, I was surprised because I thought I had it under control. Of course, by the time someone arrived in the office they had 25 extremely urgent documents to translate. I guess that sort of got to me. I hated that I couldn't get completed work to people in a timely manner. That is for certain. With this very concrete example, we were able to ascertain that I'm a special kind of control freak. (heeheehee) I don't have to do the work myself (I love delegating!), but it's the stuff I have absolutely no control over that freaks me out.

Come to think of it, ever since I was a child, that's what I've worried about. What if someone breaks into our house? What if someone tries to kidnap/kill us, etc. And I didn't stop worrying about those types of things as I got older - heck, I still do that sometimes. Oh, those pesky "what ifs".

So, taking a closer look - why do I worry about stuff I can't control? Fear of failure and/or rejection.

I have so many episodes where I experienced one or both that they are too numerous to count. I'm sure you do, too, but the thing with me, I guess, is that it doesn't just roll off my back. No, it's more like a tick that nestles in my ear. (do you know how to get those ticks out? it involves lighted matches - I assure you it is no fun at all)

So we're working on that - and I am working on courage and confidence, the only way to counter my fears of failure and rejection. Oh, by the way, no need to reassure me that you love me just the way I am. I know. Really. It's the people who have rejected me I'm much more worried about.

As I started to think about courage and confidence, I realized something. I realized the part that reliance on God plays in my ability to be confident. And then I realized how meager that current reliance is, due in large part to my inability to connect to God in a personal way. Do I love God? Do I feel God's love for me? Can I state proofs of God's love for me? What is such a proof? My first thought was: well, my family is whole, fairly good health, no major tragedies in my personal life, basic needs provided for ... and then I realized that was all wrong. I mean, how selfish is that? And if I don't have all that stuff God doesn't love me? A few examples: Baha'u'llah, the Bab, Jesus, Muhammad, Moses - and their families who supported them. I'm pretty sure God loved them - a lot. And they suffered - a lot. Okay, so physical comfort is not a good measure. (please, don't try to convince me otherwise)

So, I'm trying to work on seeing God's influence in my life and signs of His love for me.

I asked Mark the other day what proof he saw of God's love for him. I think he was sort of surprised - it just seemed so obvious to him: "that I breath". Wow. Cool. Now if only I could get to a place that that is evidence enough for me to rely on God and live my life with a bit less anxiety.

This is, therefore, my question to you, my dear readers (yeah, that includes YOU!):
In your opinion, what are signs of God's love for you? Can you see God's influence in your life? Do you rely upon God? How? How often? You can email me, too.

p.s. I've already talked about this with my mother - she recognizes that a fear of failure/rejection runs in the family a bit, so please, I'd like to hear from people other than my family as well!! Of course, comments from family members (and others) about dealing with fears of rejection/failure are more than welcome, too. Thanks!!

Posted by at 1:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Must I know the details of your sex life?

Must anyone?

What is with these discussions? Isn't this rather adolescent?

But published in magazines?

I was reading an article recently and at some point it simply devolved into all the different variations on who sleeps with who and why, including personal interviews.

Uh, wha?

Okay, if you're being abused, that's one thing. But, well, this wasn't discussing abuse per se.

Posted by at 6:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I love my family. When I have migraines I usually have some pretty far out dreams (drug side effect, I imagine). They are not usually good, and lately I've had some really nasty ones. Last night, I went to bed drugged up due to a migraine.

But last night I had some dreams that were SOO good I just have to share.

First dream. Member of family I dreamt about: Eric (sister's husband). Now, Rae & Eric got married two years ago. See any connection? Well, I left the country shortly thereafter, so this isn't a dude I know very well. Anyway, kinda' irrelevant I guess.

In this dream, Eric and I were out in the woods with a group of people. There was a castle - or at least some sort of cool stone structure out there. We had read, as a group, several novels. One of them was called Hex and it was about this group that would get together and this guy would hex someone. Well, so there were two groups of people in the woods with us. One had only just arrived to work at the organization where we worked and were getting trained, Eric included. The other, myself included, had been there for a while. When the new group was finished in the stone shelter - which had included eating - they just left, or some of them did. Eric stayed. My group was still there, and were irritated that the new group had not yet learned that at this organization, you clean up after yourself. Everyone in the group started bickering. Eric arose to the occasion, called to us to leave everything, temporarily, and come outside to do a unity builder. I was a bit reticent, but followed, figuring that since we were related it made a statement if we stuck together. He took us outside and asked us to form a really tight circle - one guy freaked out thinking we were going to repeat the whole hex thing. Somehow I knew what Eric was going to do and managed to convince the guy otherwise. I don't remember everything Eric said, but I know it was good. One of the things he said, repeatedly, was "Your thought is your reality". I was thoroughly impressed with Eric's skills.

I tried to remember what he said so I could share it, but well, then I had another excellent dream. I guess it got a bit clouded.

In my second dream, my dream included: Kristen (brother's fiancee), my mother's voice, and a 6-year-old Mendon (brother engaged to Kristen).

I don't remember how the second one started, but what I do remember is that I would talk on the phone with Kristen. Pretty normal, as again, Mendon & Kristen started dating around the time I left the country, so long-distance has been our relationship so far.

Well, Kristen was in a play. She was in a kitchen doing a number of things. She had created a part where she would be on the phone with me. As we talked, I realized what she'd done - and that, in fact, I was just backstage - and I just swelled with pride. I was so overwhelmingly honored that Kristen had included me in this. Then I realized I had to sit backstage and be quiet the rest of the play, but that was cool. Then something else happened during the play that was totally awesome and unexpected - sorry, I don't remember what - and I knew it would be okay for me to come out and join the clapping and cheering crowd. As I did, I was sitting in a great, cozy, very old, lecture hall - next to someone who was loudly planning all of the sights they wanted to see on this trip they were on. I tried to ignore her. Then it changed a bit, and it was a great dark hall in a castle maybe? full of beautifully carved ornate darkwood, lit by orangish-lightgiving lamps that were just as beautiful. I was sitting in a chair (with others), and off to the left was a family going to bed on lavendar mattresses.

[sidenote: as a child, my sister and I shared a room in the attic - sometimes, as a parent came up the stairs to put us to bed, they would chant something (i.e. "fee fi fo fum, here I come", etc.)]

Then we heard it - she was coming [my mother]! "One a pop, two a pop, three a pop, four! [something about colors] bubble gum!" We thrilled with excitement, and then realized we should join in. So we did - getting louder each time. Suddenly, a little boy appeared running up the gorgeous dark brown hardwood stairs. I was in the seat [college-style desk] nearest to the top of the stairs. As he ran up, I realized it was my younger brother - at about age 6.

[another sidenote: Now my brother, who is currently 20, when he was a little boy, was one of the most adorable little kids I have - in real life - ever met. He and I are very close and always have been. As a toddler, he called me "little mommy" because I spent so much time caring for him