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Your stories grow taller and taller with each theatrical telling. You stand in exuberant neediness in the center of the circle. We laugh, we bend in laughter, but we aren't always sure why.

Everyone in moderation.

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Happy New Year~

My only resolution is a goal extended: to be intentional. And you?

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They gave a young mom a success label that was far too heavy to hold. Years went by, each with a growing weight of brokenness.

I clearly remember the sweet smile of the daughter she killed.

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I reconnected with a former colleague and friend whom I hadn't spoken to in about 5 years. We worked together in 2 different jobs in 2 very different industries. There was a young woman we knew- she much better than I- who graduated from a program which employed us. This young mom went through easily, learning what needed to be learned and experiencing a great deal of success in the process. She was a poster child. A success story.

Yesterday I learned that 10 years after I knew her, she poisoned and killed her 2 children and tried to kill herself.

Sick. Sorrow. Sadness. Oh, my.

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Your burgeoning interest in photography is a beautiful thing, and your slide show warmed the wintry barn. It documented only the happiest parts of us.

You're close enough to fit, but different enough that you can't.

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Thanks for reminding me that I blog, Nance. Not sure what happened.

Over the past week I've spent some time with my family- my bigger family. There was a lot of goodness and fun in those moments.

Family members, like no one else, have the power and ability to inflict doubt and pain. It's a power that should be harnessed for good, not evil.

I know I'm not alone when I recount my mother raising us to the repeating mantra: If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. Does that bring up an internal struggle for you? Are we teaching the Punks to subdue their thoughts and opinions or are we teaching them to be thoughtful and kind when communicating?

What do you think? And how've you been?

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When you were so small you laughed with my dad on the porch of your first house. You pointed, eyes on him. Erupting in laughter each time he responded. It's not a bee, it's a hook.

36x365x126 and Last Night

You endlessly do for the ones that you hold. Searching for ways to strengthen and deepen and magnify that connection. I hope they can see what you offer and respect what you want most.

I do.

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Last night Aidan and I attended our local Chamber Singers event. It was too late for the younger 2, and it's become a tradition for A and I to go. I love to watch him watch, and it is beautiful stuff. This video was from a different performance last winter, but you'll get a feel for what we saw and heard:



Capathia Jenkins also performed with the high schoolers last night. She was wonderful and what I loved watching most was the way she was connecting with the kids in the Chamber Singers. And the smile that energized the entire place.

Daniel Strange (2001 graduate) also performed, accompanying some of the songs and playing a captivating instrumental version of We Three Kings with other former graduates Adam Frederick and Andy Robbins. These guys come back to do this concert every year. I'm not sure if they've played every show since they left, but I believe they've been there for the past several years.

It's inspiring to see so many people- young kids (the Boy Sings of Maine also performed- youngest members being 8), older kids, younger adults, and uh, more seasoned adults, who are so driven by their passions. So much a part of the community. So talented and so dedicated to sharing their talent and spreading inspiration.

It was lovely.

Pictures- OPK

I took some pictures of other peoples kids today. A few came out pretty cute:













Cute kids.

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I rode my big wheel down your practically vertical driveway. A precisely parked car prevented me from plunging down into the ravine. Ouch.

You were hard on your kids. Now, you display photos with genuine pride.

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Today is my father's birthday. I wrote about him already, and my rules are that I only do one x365 per person. I could write about my dad for x365. I wrote about him at GNMParents today, too.

He would have been 78. Wow. 78. The age grandfathers should be. The age dads should be. He should be grumpy and irritable and impatient and a big pain in the butt to deal with. He should be telling stories and making me laugh and making me cry.

My Lucy has my humor, which comes to me from both of my parents. Or maybe my mom appreciates my humor the way she appreciated his. In any case Lucy like to say things like:

Your dad died, right Mom? (giggle)
Papa's dad died too, right Mom? (giggle, giggle)
You're gonna die really soon, right Mom? (GIGGLE, giggle, giggle)
Aidan's gonna die before me! (Guffaw)

It's not freaky to me, although it is to many. She's been lucky- we've been lucky these last 4 1/2 years. She has no concept of death. This is part of figuring it out.

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You called my son "Little Bird" the day he was born. At 9' 11", "Big Bird" might have been more apropos. Did you think that then?

Your huge Italian name made you seem even more petite.

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I love and hate this time of year. I look forward to celebrating Christmas with my family while still dreading the travel and lists and many obligations that blanket us.

This is neither unique nor particularly interesting.

9 years ago this month I was expecting Aidan. I remember sitting on our couch, watching an MTV special about John Denver. Tears were pouring down my face and Rob was trying hard not to laugh at me.

We laughed a lot. We talked a lot. We walked a lot. Our anticipation simmered just below the surface. It was a quiet holiday. It was the only holiday I can remember not traveling.

And you? What's on your mind?

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I imagine your loneliness as you talk of your computer and the games within as though they were your family. Never smiling, never extending beyond your reach to even learn my name. It's Megin, not Heidi.

Recipe: Fresh Cranberry Relish

Several years ago a friend brought this cranberry relish to our friend Thanksgiving party. Ah, the days of sweat lodges and bonfires. Anyway... this recipe has become a must have at Turkey day. It is a breeze and it pops the beige food the day is known for. I dream of this relish with a piece of turkey and a bit of mashed potatoes.

No cooking- no peeling- it takes 5 minutes to make:

2 Granny Smith Apples (4 if they are the small ones)
2 Navel Oranges
1 Bag Cranberries (4 Cups)
2 Cups Sugar
1 1/2 Cups Crushed Pineapples - NOT drained

Core the apples and cut into pieces that will fit in your food processor (leave the peels on).
Cut the orange into pieces that will fit into your processor and check for seeds - leave the rind on. 
Process the apples, oranges, and cranberries until no large pieces remain.  Transfer to a large
bowl and mix in the sugar and the pineapple.  Chopped nuts can be added if desired. 

Refrigerate for at least 2 hours for best flavor. 

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Did you really worry that your new puppy loved me more than you? Did it really make you nervous?

Man, I fell hard for that tiny ball of silky softness. I think he loves me best.

Another Meme

I did a 6 random things meme a couple weeks back. Then dear Chris Brogan was tagged by Dominick Evans to do a 5 things meme.

And then Jon Swanson twisted it up a little and I liked that idea.

So, you know the "rules" right? Someone tags me, I write and link back to them. At the end I tag you and you link back to me, and at the end of the day we know more about each other then we did when we started.

So here's a 5 moments (or memories of moments) that I love meme:

1. I timed it right and the wave has me and I have it and there is a moment of wonder. I wonder if I'll get spit onto the shore with a mouth full of sand and blood somewhere. Then I feel the sand beneath my knees and I know it was just good. I love that moment.

2. The boys watch their wave and I watch them. They turn at the right moment and dive into it and just before the water takes them there is shining determination and anticipation in their eyes. I love that moment.

3. I wake in a quiet house, the night dark, the clock early, the quilt right, the warmth of a leg against mine, and hours to go before I must rise. I love that moment.

4. Mayhem surrounds, and I sit with the warm weight of a nursing baby in the crook of me. I look down at rouged cheeks against my skin, long lashed eyes softly closed, mouth just slackened with an occasional leftover swallow. I love that moment.

5. I sit to write and the words come together in just the right way to convey my meaning. I love that moment.

And because a meme is like a game of idea tag, as Jon describes, I take this moment to tag:

Catnip- because she's signed on for nablopomo and I think twisting up this meme might provide good fodder for her.

Mrs. Chicken- because she's my hero and her words inspire me.

Nancy- (not sure if you want a link) because I like to witness how her mind works.

Kat- because I really like to read all of the things she chooses to share.

Ron- because he has fascinating stories and it's been too long since I've read one.

Matt- because he just found me on facebook and seems to be neglecting his blog.

Bonus: Steve because he needs to get that blog started.

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You speak with acute passion. With longing. With understanding. With adulation. With discernment. From a place where changing the world is a reality, and yet still a possibility.

Your large hands will catch so many more.

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The world is all a twitter with hope and expectation and full possibility. These are trying and very frightening times and so many of us are resting the substantial weight of that possibility in one man's hands. It's a burden. If, in fact, it takes a village to raise a child (Rob hates when I use this- but Hillary didn't coin it- it's older than that- it's about family and extending community- so deal with it,), then it takes more than a city, more than a state more than a region to save the world.

But it's happening. People are saving the world. Lots of people.

Geoffrey Canada is doing it at the Harlem Children's Zone.

Dan Pederson and Susan Buffet are doing it at Educare.

Dr. T. Berry Brazelton and all of the people at the Touchpoints Center are doing it.

These are a few of those people who have surrounded themselves with people who propel their ideas.

These people have long arms and monumental vision. They know that "investing in our children" is not a political buzz phrase. It is all of the hope and all of the possibility to start our kids lives with opportunity. They will grow up with opportunities to influence those who need influencing, to negotiate with those who need negotiating, to love those who need loving, to reduce what needs reducing and expand what needs expanding and most importantly, follow in the steps of dedicated people, like the ones mentioned above, to inspire those who need inspiration.

That opportunity, that hope, that possibility will assuredly change this world.

It will.

Who- who inspires you?

I'll leave you with this:

A SMALL ARMY OF LOVE

Heard the news yesterday,
And today, mothers cried.
Our children by tens of thousands
Have died.
And for what?

What will stop this madness?
The eternal sadness
Of small little caskets
Filled with dreams never had.
Are we mad?

We need a small army of love.
And no thanks:
We don’t need any rifles,
No guns, and no tanks.
Just love, and help from above.

Our army will be small,
Diverse, and unique.
Little soldiers in braids,
And some with sneakered feet.
All marching for peace,
And an end to the war,
That has claimed little soldiers
As they open their doors
And romp in playgrounds.
Can we stand anymore?

We need a small army of Love.
Start today.
Sentries on guard,
Keeping danger away.
While our young go to school
And play on our streets,
A small army of us
Standing guard while they sleep.
Can it be done?

And the love of our army
Will always sustain us.
When others disdain us with laughs,
ridicule,
Our love keeps us fighting.
Yeah, we’re fighting fools.

So I know what’s been whispered
and what some said aloud.
“Those fools with their pipe dreams,
Their heads in the clouds.”

But when you love all the children,
There’s nothing to do,
But start a small army of Love,
Me and You.

by: Geoffrey Canada

Watch this-

I went to a symposium yesterday and had the privilege of listening to this man speak. It changed me- more to come-

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I expect that there are many who don't care for you. Wry and sarcastic, direct and sharp edged.

But it's working for us and he's responding to you and I expect we're lucky to have you.

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In a kindergarten coatroom we accepted each others dare.

In 5th grade we passed notes and maybe held hands.

In high school your parents hosted a party which possibly prevented peril.

Memories of smiles and uncertainty.

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So, how do you feel about purple? I've never done a banner before but this is my all-time favorite photo and memory of my punks.

I'm trying to get back into the daily writing but... ain't happening so easily. Thanks for coming back, anyway. If you'd like you can use the subscription options in the sidebar. Don't worry about the submitting your email- you won't get spammed.

Dear President Elect Obama:

Dear President Obama,

Hello, my name is Aidan Hatch. I am 8 years old and I wrote this letter to congratulate you in winning the presidential race.

I'd like to tell you that the war is really bothering me because lots of people have died since it started. This makes me feel scared, upset, sad, and angry all at the same time.

I think you can negotiate with the government of Iraq to fix the problem! After that hopefully there will be peace.

Thank you for reading my letter!

From,
Aidan Hatch

P.S. I don't mean to be selfish, but it would mean a lot to me to have a signed photograph of you. My mom said she would get me a special frame for it. Thank you!

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You kept hundreds of girlie magazines side by side on a low bookshelf. I imagine they were chronologically arranged. You must have really liked the articles a lot.

Your decidedly young children passed the display often.

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I've born witness to more examples of racism since Wednesday morning than I have in many years combined. It's so very sad that this blatant stupidity passes down from generation to generation and that people are open and willing to accept this ignorance as our reality.

Gross.

Witnesses

Well, of course I am going to write about the election. I'm a follower like that.

I brought my kids into the gym today after school. We went right up to the "H" line and proceeded to the voting booth. It was quiet, with only a few of the many booths in use. We went to a far corner where I could squat down and explain the ballot and show the kids how to fill it out. Then we walked to the machine and submitted my vote.

I felt the tingle beneath my eyes and was more than a little surprised. I stopped and looked down at the kids and just felt it. Then I signed some petitions regarding things like health-care, a new town park, and same sex marriage.

And then we bought nut-free goodies at the bake sale.

By the time I reached the car my fallen tears had left paths on my face and my eldest, mouth full of cupcake, looked up at me in bewilderment.

I tried to explain that I felt privileged, and fearful, and lucky, and more than just a little hopeful. That I felt the possibility of change. That I believe that our next President might literally change the world, and I was ever so pleased that they stood beside me as I cast my vote.

I'm not rich and I'm not poor and it's not about taxes for me. It's about possibilities.

Then we figured out that in 10 years he'll be voting. In 11 years his brother will, and in 14 their sister.

I started to say, "I know you 3 might not realize how important that moment in the gym was..." But my eldest interrupted with, "Oh, I know it's important. I'm just not crying about it."

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You coached boy's soccer at school. Before- I was one of a few who played with them. Then- I was supposed to switch to skirt and stick. But I made your team.

Happy eyes. Easy smile.

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Of this, I remember boys being mad that they were displaced from the team. I remember shaking as I dressed in a silent empty locker room and having to go into the boy's locker room for the pre-game team meeting. (Oh, I remember the smell.) I remember part relief part disappointment when we faced another team with another girl. Part pride part fear at being the only one.

I remember this kind man's easy and generous ways- his crows feet and almost the sound of his laugh.