Kris’s Kolumn

I wasn’t going to write about this but I can’t stop thinking about it. The killer whale who killed the woman in Orlando. The whole thing makes my heart sink.

First of all I am sorry the woman died.  I am sorry for her family and the people who knew and loved her and I admire her for following the passion in her heart.

I’ve never been a fan of zoos, even though I took my kids to them when they were little, because the likelihood of us going on a safari were slim to none.  Even then I could barely keep from sobbing when I saw once wild animals stalking around in pens and cages so we could look at them.

Wouldn’t a photo be good enough?  Wouldn’t it be better to watch a movie with wild animals?  What did their mothers think when the babies were taken away? Well, the questions never stopped for me during those visits while my son and daughter romped past the penguins and giraffes.

I can’t stand to see a bird in a cage.  Honest.  It makes me so sad that I have to turn away. Imagine having wings and not being able to fly.  It absolutely tears me apart.

There are dumbasses all over Florida who have snakes in cages in their living rooms.  What could they possibly be thinking? A few months ago one of those snakes killed a baby. I mean, duh?

I know we can learn things about animal behavior from studying them but I’m pretty sure killer whales would rather be in the middle of the ocean and not in a swimming pool in Orlando.  People who want to see dolphins and whales could just drive a few miles, stand at the end of the ocean, and watch them swimming past - free and wild.

Let the birds, snakes, and whales go free!

I wasn’t going to mention this - but, well, it’s too late now….and here comes a flock of wild, white, birds…..and I think they are thanking me!!!!

My mom is an only child but lucky for me my dad had two sisters.  My Aunt Barbara and Aunt Joan were two of my most wonderful childhood memories.  My Aunt Barbara, who has a very special place in my heart, was my childhood heroine. She died almost thirteen years ago but remains a huge presence in my life.

My Aunt Barbara had a wicked laugh, a wicked sense of humor, and she was very tall and beautiful. When I was a little girl I stayed with her one week each summer and she made me feel as if I was the most important person in the world.  She helped me grow a sense of self that has given my life swagger.

Once when we were pulling into a parking lot she parked in the middle of two spaces.  I turned to ask her why.  “Those sons-a-bitches won’t hit my car door if I park here, honey,” she said, laughing, as she swung her long legs out of the car.  People often mistook us for mother and daughter.  That always made my heart swell.

I have written a story about her that will be in a book of essays I will publish soon but it is impossible for me not to miss her every day of my life.

Last night as I sat around the dining room table with my Aunt Joan and Uncle Ken we talked a lot about Aunt Barbara and her, “What the hell”  attitude about life.  I remember going up to my Auntie Joan at Aunt Barbara’s funeral, sobbing in her arms, and telling her, “Now you have to be my favorite auntie.”

Auntie Joan is one of the kindest women I have ever known.  She could be a twin to her older sister but her personality is definitely a much toned-down version. That’s probably a good thing.  Two Auntie Barbara’s could be very dangerous.

Today I am swamped with memories. Family Christmas parties, picnics at the old farm, grandpa singing in the garage, empty brandy bottles on the table, cousins dancing arm and arm, and my two aunties - heads tipped back, laughing so hard they can barely keep standing.

I was a happy little girl and so loved. “We had so much fun,” Auntie Joan said last night. “And I miss her so much.”

I know Auntie Joan.  So do I.

But how lucky are we?  How damn lucky! I’m going out to park now in the middle of two spaces. Just try and stop me.

I am addicted to watching the Olympics-always have been, always will be. And it’s not because I’m jealous because I’m pre-Title 9 and I wasn’t allowed to do anything but play catch and skip around a gym in a blue, snap-on, one-piece gym suit.

To me every single one of the Olympians is remarkable….yes, even the curlers.  Have you tried it?  I have. Holy cow! I love the passion, the dedication, the years of sacrifice, the absolute beauty of perfection and how lovely every moment is when they are competiting.

When I was younger I wanted to be a figure skater. Peggy Flemming still dazzles me and as a journalist, flying over war-torn Bosnia, all I could think about was the Sarajevo Olympics. When I landed in a huge Air Force cargo plane in that city, bullets flying, people screaming….the contrast between that and the images I had lodged in my brain during the televised Olympics was a slap of reality that still stings.

But this week I am up every morning watching the coverage.  I fall asleep watching people fall down an icy hill or tumble sideways off a half-pipe.  And I think about passion.

I think about sacrifice and love and the ability to focus on a dream that is so real  it becomes food for the mind, body, heart, and soul.

And then I think about my work, my words, my passion and love which has also been a life-long  pursuit. I think about the hours, the rejections, the years of  fifteen hour days, the politics, the right places at the wrong time, the days I got up and started again when I was so exhausted and weary it was hard to breathe. I never gave up, never lost the passion and every day is still so exciting I can barely tear myself away to sleep.

My Olympics has always been this world of words and perhaps that is why I have such respect and admiration for the athletes I see every night.

Everyone needs that…a personal Olympics.   I am here to tell you it is absolutely amazing-win or fail.

Get going.  There’s new competition every morning!

I suppose it’s perfect that the first time I use my status as a senior citizen it looks as if the skin on my neck is going to start dragging on the floor. How did this happen?

I’ve been happily going along thinking that being 56 years-old is absolutely fine.  Yes, I have an AARP card.  No, I’m not that happy about it but the face doesn’t lie now does it?

So last week we decided to go see a funky play in a warehouse and when I buy the tickets on-line I see they have a senior discount.  Hummmm.  I clicked on it and discovered that at age 55, that would be last year for me, old farts can save five bucks.  Five bucks is five bucks, ya know, and as luck would have it they ended up having a great glass of wine for sale for three bucks so what a deal.

This senior status really doesn’t bother me.  But when I dragged myself into the shower that night and then looked in the mirror the truth of the senior discount hit me like a ton of bricks.  Holyshit!  My neck is getting longer!

Truth be told I’ve never been one to linger in front of mirrors.  It’s not because I don’t care what I look like, it’s because there’s usually something going on that’s more fun then me looking at myself, and I never want to miss anything.

The good thing about trying not to step on my own face is that I feel pretty damn good.  Of course my knees ache and I’m still trying to lose weight, and my hair needs to be dyed much sooner then it did two years ago, but beyond that I think young, thus I feel young.

And if I can save five bucks by embracing my age….well, bring it on!

The neck skin? Maybe I can start some kind of neck club or something. I’m not cutting the skin off or pulling it up with the help of a knife, but perhaps I’ll dig out all my scarves again.

I’ll look saucy when I’m in the lobby sipping wine when we go see the next play.

I just wish I knew where all that flesh came from. If someone is missing skin, give me a call.

It’s not what you think. These were real crabs.

Son Andrew, Mr. I Love Fishing More Than Life, was here a few weeks ago and talked us into buying a crab trap.  Someone like me needs a crab trap like she needs her menstrual cycles to start again.  But never one to shun an adventure, or to try something new, we bought a crab trap at the local fish bait place-that is a story in itself.  One thing at a time, Kris.

We bought some rotting, stinky crab bait-probably an old dinner I cooked once-put it in the little trap and eagerly waited. Unfortunately a horrific family emergency called both children, and then yours truly, back to Wisconsin before we caught anything.

But then, after I came back from Wisconsin, the crabs found us.

What to do?

Well, pretty soon a lovely trout found it’s way into the trap also.  It was starting to look like a uncooked platter in there but then like a bad marriage we decided to ignore it for a while to see if it would all get better. Another crab appeared.  Then the trout left. Andrew and his tough hands and steel gloves were nowhere to be found and there was no way in hell my partner or I were going to twist off one crab claw(or a dozen for that matter) so we could eat it. Icky!!!

Andrew laughed every day when we updated him on his damn crab trap. Take it out of the water, he suggested.  But the poor crab?  Finally, we walked to the dock like fish surgeons, wearing thick gloves and carrying barbecue tongs. I am here to tell you when crabs hang on to the sides of metal cages they ain’t letting go.

We screamed like girls for a while, took truns crab wrestling and finally pried open the side, said a pray to the lovely Mermaid who protects all things oceanic and walked with slumped shoulders back to the house.

Imagine our total relief the following morning when the trap was empty! Crabs-be-gone!

We left the rest of the rotting bait inside of the submerged trap to feed any poor hungry fishies.  As soon as that’s gone I’m going to turn the dang thing into a plant holder.

And that’s how you get rid of crabs!

It’s almost odd how thrilling a routine can be after you step out of it, not so willingly, and then can fall back into it. I’m so happy to be back in mine I’m having trouble sleeping because I am so excited to be back at it.

And at it means everything… you know…it’s called “this section of my life”.

Turn on the coffee.  Get TWO! morning newspapers.  Watch Meredith. Run up the steps to begin a long and absolutely wonderful writing day. Take a gym break. Eat dinner quite rapidly. Keep writing. Read while watching daily thirty minute allotment of stupid nightly television(unless it’s Nurse Jackie). Step outside on the front porch for meditation, thankfulness, sending hugs through universe to babes in Madison, Wisconsin. Shower. Read. Nite-nite.

I know that routines can also offer a lovely embrace when the trail has gotten suddenly steeper. When the routines start again and the trail hits an even path…well, that’s what I call lovely.

Today and for several weeks in a row I will take comfort in my schedule, my plan, the way my life is now slanted.

But I’m no fool…well, not all of the time. There are mountain trails everywhere and I could be called upon to hike at any given moment. In the meantime…I’m having a sweet affair with my routines.

There is snow outside the guest room at my mom and dad’s house this morning. It’s cold everywhere and I struggle every second to keep my personal furance hot. I’ve been here almost a week now, balancing on a tight wire as my children drive through the emotions they must embrace following the death of their father.

Those of you who know me, have met me, or have seen the huge surface area of my open mouth know that it is hard for me to keep that part of my body quiet.  This week, except when I am holding my children, giving them counsel, or unloading on my mother or sister, I am statue of quiet strength.

This is not my world.  It has not been for a long time.  The spaces inhabited by my children and my birth family are surely part of my hearts surface but this cold landscape has not been my true  home for many years.

These are solid days of work and worry. Days of heart tending,  deep breaths, outstretched hands. Nights of sweet whispers, fingertips dancing across lines of tears, a lovely quilt of hope and remembering. The sweet sounds of surrender when someone’s eyes can finally close.

And they are seconds, minutes, hours and days of forgiving.

Life for me has always been a glorious dance of light and laughter-even when it has been so dark I have stumbled for days on end. That is my gift today, tomorrow, and always for my children and also, for myself. For yes, I am hurting and sad also, even if you have not bothered to ask.

This is a life pause for tender hearts,  for surrender to necessary grief, and for all the glasses in this Wisconsin winter to be half full.

I am here.  Hands on hearts. Shoulders squared. Face in the wind.

I am their mother.

Twenty years ago today  I was pushing thirty-seven and in labor. I was also a whopping sixty-five pounds heavier.  The baby that was about to be torn from my womb ended up to be almost nine pounds and twenty-two and a half inches long. Unfortunately when I left the hospital a few days later, having been stitched up to my eyebrows, I was still sixty-five pounds heavier.

Today is obviously my daughter Rachel’s twentieth birthday.  I usually spend part of each of my kid’s birthdays remembering the day they were born and then closing my eyes and torpeoding through the years to this point.

This sums up Rachel: Hated to leave my womb.  Instantly beautiful.  Feisty. Loudest mouth every heard in the nursery.  Mama’s girl to this day. Ignored the shadow of her big brother. Feisty. Smart as a whip. Stubborn. Big mouth. Has to learn everything the hard way. Feisty. Will try anything.(This is a mixed blessing). Always understood my big lesson about finding joy in life. Feisty. Loves to push buttons.(She knows where ALL of mine are.) Huge, sweet, generous heart that grows a big larger every day. Deep thinker. Tall enough to reach for the stars. Feisty. Good at everything she sets her mind to accomplish. (Especially finding fun!) A true friend and more understanding and giving each year which is a joy of joys-even if she is so damn feisty. (I have no idea where she gets that from…!)

My daughter still calls me mommie and tells me almost on a daily basis how much she needs and loves me.  She can’t stand to hurt my feelings, asks me for all kinds of advice, trusts me like no one else, loves to spend time with me and actually listens to me.

Sometimes she makes me drop my head and sigh.  She’s only twenty after all.  Those of you who are mothers know the hardest part of this having babies thing is letting them be who they are and not who you want them to be.  We’ve had our rough patches but she remains one of the two greatest gifts I have every received.

She’s a woman now but to me there will always be a little girl inside of her, smiling, asking for another cookie, begging to sit in my lap, then wrapping her soft fingers through my hair as she kicks her feet back and forth and tells me she loves me.

Tomorrow is the last day of 2009. I always think every day is the beginning of everything-what with being a glass half-full kinda gal and all.  And even when I was much younger, okay, a lot younger, I never fancied big parties and cheap champagne.

I would always pick a moonlight hike, a snowshoe into the pines,  a great glass of wine by the fire, or a lively conversation with some caring hearts over a wild night of jumping off tables.  I do that all of the time anyway.

So just having had conversations with both kids, a good day of writing, a nice email chat with mom, a great visit with the back doctor, a sweet time at the gym, and a veggie burger to die for, and a few sips of a lovely glass of wine-I’d say I’m one lucky woman.

And during a time when people are making promises and resolutions and thinking deeply about things they should always think about, I wish for you this day, tomorrow, and every day the exact same things I wish and work for myself.

Passion.  Peace of mind.  A strong and pure heart.  The joy of laughter. Terrific friends. Love as often and with as many people who will have you. A full glass all of the time. Plenty of time to play.  Enough time alone.  Forgiveness-to give and receive. The ability to think clearly when you need it the most. An ache in your heart, the kind that keeps you breathless, when something or someone you have wished for materializes. The sweet sound of someone you have not seen in a while, and love very much, coming through the front foot. The wonderful feeling each night when your head hits the pillow that the day mattered and you mattered and you tried really hard. At least three good books stacked up within reach at all times. A song in your heart that never ends. A window that doesn’t lock so you can open it and smell fresh air whenever you need it. Vibrant health so you can move exactly how you want to-bend, jump, climb, soar, glide. Wind in your hair, sun in your face, the ability to take a chance.  A fearless heart that can barely fit through the door. And the all important sense to know when it’s time to take a break.

All of this is what I wish for you today, all of 2010, and forever.

Please go kick some of this life’s fine and lovely rear end(ass to some of us who are not offended by this cute word)!!!!

Somehow Santa bypassed me this year but I expect to see him next week when the kids show up.  That will be the best gift of the season. It was odd to spend Christmas day in such a quiet fashion, especially because I am usually the one who ends up laughing wildly, rolling in the snow, and staying up late to wash all the dishes.

So we took a walk to the beach in our shorts only to discover that the gates to the little park were locked. Sigh.  We bypassed the park, looked at all the holiday decorations on the BIG house by the water, and then came home to see if the wine was chilled enough to drink.  It was!

I have always wanted to spend most of a day watching Lifetime movies.  I picked a perfect day to do that.  In between phone calls to a variety of relatives and friends we watched about seven movies. They were all Christmas themed and pretty much the exact same movie.

A man or woman is lonely and has just lost a husband or wife to an early and tragic death.  They meet a man or woman who they instantly love but are afraid to fall into.  A child intervenes. The man or woman takes a bold step, Santa drops out of the sky, and everyone lives happily ever after.

Whew.  I am so glad I got that out of the way.  And yes I cried…several times.  But it could have been the wine, missing my kids, or the fact that I was bleary-eyed from watching television for ten hours.

This morning the sky is bright blue and cloudless. I kept my vow of not working on December 25th and let me tell you it was hard!!!!!   We did go to a little Christmas party Christmas Eve where we managed to run over the present we received.  That will be a blog of its own soon.

And this morning I discovered my son wore his red Wisconsin t-shirt to Christmas eve dinner at my parent’s house!  I sent him an email and told him he was a slob, that I still loved him, and to please send back the dress shirts I bought him.  He’s probably happy I was not there to rip the shirt off his back just before the ham was served.

So it’s back to normal today - which is hilarious considering the life I lead.

Who knows what will happen New Year’s Eve. And I’m guessing when my son gets off the plane next week he’ll be wearing ALL of the dress shirts at once.  He is so like his mother, who by the way, only wears t-shirts to the gym.