I am not in love with this New Year. I think Ben has a point about even-numbered years. I know I mentioned Tsunami dying, though I don't think "dead" defines it, because we very well may be able to fix and sell her. Since she went down, my parents stepped in and helped me get another car, a little gold, 2-door Saturn I named Gobi. Very happy about Gobi at first, but she's turning out to be a pain. Bad oil leak, bleeding oil out like crazy, which is now resolved, after a fair amount of stress and unexpected social drama. Turns out that trusting people is shaky ground, and sometimes you just have to let go rather than put up with a bunch of shit.

About the time the oil leak was getting really bad, my radiator started to lose fluid on a daily basis, to now where I am feeding her water and coolant regularly, but not finding any definitive leaks. Also, since the mechanic fixed the oil leak, my car is sporatically resisting my requests that it starts up by sputtering and shutting off, or refusing to run smoothly until I rev the engine for a few moments. I do not like this land of unknown cars and their multiplying issues. I only want a car that I can rely on.

In addition to my car issues, Chris' car is in sad shape and in need of several hundred dollars of work, at least.

Then, our water got shut off for a few days, and when it was turned back on suddenly the pipe in the meter box was broken on our side, which means that my landlord should have been responsible for it. Thankfully the guys from the city just went ahead and fixed it. As soon as it got turned back on my toilet tank wouldn't stop filling and started overflowing onto the bathroom floor. My neighbor had to come in and change out the guts of the toilet to get it to stop. Right after this we found that my kitchen has lost its water pressure and now takes FOREVER to fill. The day after that, my washer caught whatever the toilet had, and is now out of commission because it's lost its rinse and spin cycles, and won't stop filling. When the tub overflowed, we just saw the water racing across the floor, at least an inch deep. I ran through the kitchen, all "Oh shit!" and grabbed both our robes and blocked off its flow while Chris worked on getting the water to stop. It took at least 10 towels, both huge robes, and the mop to get the water cleaned up. I was, I'll say, a little proud of my quick action with the robes, though, because otherwise the water would have leaked into our pantry, kitchen, the kids' bedroom, and the intake for the air conditioner. So now we need a new washer.

Then, on Friday, just to top it off, I come home from having breakfast with Isabel and Abram at Isabel's school, expecting to spend the day with Abram because he had to stay home sick, and find that Chris is here, in his pajama pants, doing something on the laptop. The same guy who walked out 2.5 hours before in his work boots and rain gear, what are you doing home? He looks at me and tells me that he got fired. Gives me a few reasons that really don't make a lot of sense, considering they all have a lot more to do with other people who are not suffering any consequences, and also with Chris just wanting to make sure that things are being done in the safest, most up-to-standard ways possible. I think it comes down to that the owner of the company has always had a skewed perspective of Chris when it comes to him as a member of an effective, high-quality team. I think he was judged unfairly, and under-appreciated. But it is what it is, and now what? This is where we are, and on that note, I really can't say a lot, not until things start to take more shape. I will say I am glad that work, for now, cannot be used as an excuse for Chris not to show up for the other 3 of us.

I will also say that regardless, I plan on starting school very soon.

I am not ready to go back to work tomorrow. I have been reading entirely too much Young Adult Fiction. I have not been very creative altogether, but my imagination has been active, and I have been very busy putting out fires and Keeping It Together.

Isabel has been a real pleasure lately. She's very playful and innocent and interesting and compassionate and well-spoken and curious and loving. Both of them are clowns, and they still fight too much. We're working with all of it, and I really like what I see for the most part. When I deal with their challenging points, I remind myself that they are 4 and 6 and this too shall come to pass, and I just have to stay consistent and patient and loving and firm and consistent and focused and did I mention consistent.

I have been sitting at my desk fingerspelling collection strategies and different things that are pinned up on my desk or showing in my different windows. My fingers are clumsy. My whole body feels rather wasted and worn out and hungry for energy and health. Altogether, I am not feeling my strongest or most graceful. I'd like to spend 6 hours straight with a team of masseuses, and then I want a team of servants to cook and clean for me, so I can just fuck off and do whatever strikes me.

I miss being a stay-at-home mom. Funny, huh?

I'm going to go nurse my marriage with a small dose of Mario Kart.

Night, folks.

I should be asleep by now, but I was messing around on youtube on my phone and ran across this awesome video. I love how this guy is just an average guy, but I get so much feeling from is signing and body language, like he's really in tune with the song.

I love the imagery effect of sign language.


This makes me want to go on a youtube tangent, but I need rest. Chris is out of town for the week, which makes for long days for Mama.
I'm learning how to knit, so a lot of my spare time is spent winding and knotting beautiful dark turquoise yarn into some sort of something. Mistakes all over the place, but hey! I'm learning. Maybe it'll count for something at some point somehow.
New car, new car with issues. Not fun. Certain people were right about used cars being a waste; too bad I can't afford a massive monthly bill for car payment and insurance. Ah, someday. Someday I too will feel the burden of the American Dream. For now I'm too busy feeding oil and antifreeze into my car like a newborn baby needs breastmilk.



and oh, how about this oh so adorable kid in some sign language class. Man, he's fun to watch. There's such a fluidity to these things, and... I don't know. I guess when you sign you kind of lay it all out there without knowing you are, and that's part of what I love about it. It's kind of like raw refinement. Yes.



And I love this song, so how can I not post this, even if he is trying just a little too hard?

Once upon a time, I frequently examined and celebrated the simple things in my life that made me happy. A lot of the time they were things like shoelaces with stars on them, and grilled cheese sandwiches, or masking tape. Maybe things haven't changed all that much. :)

It's been a long time since I've made a list like this.

I suppose this comes up for me because yesterday was the anniversary of Mom's death, and maybe it's morbid that I keep that as a day to remember, but... I don't know. Just as we all commemorate annually the day we entered the world, I think that the day people leave the world is important to remember. It's... it's been for me the day my mom died, and as I was typing that, I realized, no... It's the day she was set free.

I've been walking around for a few weeks now, knowing that I am sad about Mom's death, knowing that it hurts in an indescribable, but not overwhelming way. Sometimes it doesn't hurt at all. I've been walking around for a few weeks wondering, almost 10 years after she's left us, what do I do with my grief? Where do I put it, how do I use it, what is it good for? Maybe I believe that the grief will never be gone completely, and that's why I approach it that way.

Last night, after a day spent sort of in a fog, I started really thinking about Mom. It'd come from some stream of conscious, surprise surprise, about my body and my youth, and all the things that I will never be, paths I will never walk, ways that I continue to cheat myself. Out of the blue comes Mom, saying, Morgan, I love you. My death is worth something because I gave you life. If nothing else I was your mother and I brought you into this world, and I need you to honor me. I need you to appreciate what you have been given, including the very basis of who you are, and I need you to honor me by honoring yourself. I removed myself from you and your life so that you could live on unaffected by all of the things that I suffered, all the things I could not stop suffering. I wanted you to live a life of light and love and curiosity. I did not want you to hurt, and I've always wanted you to be happy as who you are. Do not take yourself for granted.

And yes, it's all in my head... but I've been reading a lot about how God is within us all the time, around us, all the time... and if that is the case, wouldn't it be true that God could speak to me of simple, healing, loving, fruitful truths in my own thoughts if I just allow myself to flow with it?

Would he not whisper to me things that give me strength? Things that make me realize what I've always known but never seen?

It's so simple, this shift in perspective, how it all can come together in a way that... might inspire. Might alleviate some of the heartbreak.

So. Somehow that all feeds into what am I grateful for, what in my life brings me joy?

Isabel and Abram, Isabel and Abram, Isabel and Abram. I love it when they call me "the best", and when Isabel is quiet and serious, and when she whispers secrets in my ear with my hair all around her face. I love it when Abram wiggles and bounces his shoulders and arms in his funny fashion, and when he gets on the floor and spins and acts like a baby breakdancer. I love how he will, without speaking, pull me in firmly, wrap his arms around me in a tight hug, and kiss my cheek, then run off like there was nothing to it. I love watching them sleep, and I love falling asleep next to them on their beds. I like it when we sing together in the car, and how Isabel is starting to sign random things to me. I love how Abram is with his blankies, and how he's named them and given them all personalities. I love that they love their family, and I love how I can have philosophical, spiritual, existential conversations with Isabel. I enjoy Abram's fascination with zombies, and Isabel's interest in technology and art. I love being myself with them, and seeing myself in them, and spending quiet time in their company. I love watching them in the sun, and seeing how they grow, and constantly being surprised by their everchanging, everthesame personalities.

That list could go on and on.

I also love thunderstorms, and driving with the window down and my hair flapping across my face in the breeze. I love collecting random bits and pieces and learning new ways to work with my hands. I love old southern dudes on the phone who call me "Honey" or "Darlin'". I love broiled salmon, and japanese steakhouse fried rice. Barbecued ribs, mashed potatoes. I love etsy and all of its finery, and being inspired by other creative people. I love dogs and how simple things are when you interact with them. I love confident cats. I love a challenging call, convincing someone that I will go to bat for them, and proving that I produce positive results. I like making eye contact with people I enjoy, actively listening to them, smiling together and sharing time with each other. I love inspirational quotes and people who cut right through me without my having to explain myself. I love the people who have hung in there with me on this rollercoaster and don't let themselves be swept away by my drama. I love feeling anonymous and elusive, but accessible and approachable. I love sitting on my back porch with the christmas lights on and my feet resting on the table while I smoke and stare at the trees. I love studying new things, and nothing really beats a great book. I love laying in bed all day with a good book and getting lost in it, and I love the way I can get swept away into worlds with different people, different scenery, different stories than my own, and feel connected. I love sleeping deeply and the way my feet feel at the foot of the bed with the covers barely over them. I love hot showers and washing my hair twice and the way it feels to rub moisturizer into my face and neck. I love a good ponytail and smelling nice. Jeans will never be beat, and I love the way flipflops and jeans feel when I wear them together in the hot summer months. I love the ocean.. everything about it. The cleansing feeling you get when you sit and watch the rhythmic coming and going of the surf. The dry sand beneath my feet. The wet sand between my toes and on the tops of my feet. Rolling up my pants to walk in the shallows and getting them wet anyway. Getting into the car with sand on my feet and driving barefoot. The way your hair gets all stringy from salt water and wind. The way palm trees sway in the wind but still seem so strong. The birds that skitter across the wet sand, their bellies reflected in the remaining moisture. The roughness of the rocks and the feeling that comes when you climb them and sit somewhere near the top. The shells, wondering about their colors and shapes. Watching my kids run back and forth as they chase things, squealing as they run away from an incoming wave, making sandcastles and getting dirty with abandon. I love hiking in the woods when everything is quiet, the feast for your eyes. I love my father... How tall he is, how very thoughtful and loving he can be with me. How he is honest about his own status in The Human Condition, and how he loves his students. I love our conversations and knowing him as more than just a father, seeing him as a flawed and magical man who has worked very hard to be a good person. I love Cathy and how, as we both grow older, I feel protective of her. How apparent her love for me is now, and how we can laugh together and spend hours just talking to each other. I love how she supports my independence and believes in who I am. I love that she has always worked to be strong and not give up if a challenge stands in her way. I love the love both of them have for the world around us, and how spirituality is simply a deeply ingrained part of who they are and everything about how they interact with the world around them. I love being in their home, where I grew up, and looking at their things. The sense of familiarity, like even now I could walk through there blindfolded and know my way. I love being there when it is quiet and I can just lay back on the couch and soak in the sounds of Home. I love color and bright patterns and art that explodes with soul. I love spontaneous hugs and unexpected gifts, given and received. I love up front conversation, and feeling like I can support someone else. I love feeling hopeful and motivated and in control, and I love doing forward bends and laying with my forehead on the floor, letting things wash over me. I love music, and musical artists who have lyrics that pull me. I love crying because a song or dance really moved me. I love short fingernails and putting clear nail polish on mine. I love beautiful stones and interesting earrings, and great fashionable, comfortable sweaters and jackets. I love canoeing and riding a bike and feeling like I'm freewheeling out in the world with nothing to worry about but the current moment of exploration.

There is so much to be grateful for, so much to love, and I find myself spending much too much time focusing on the things that bother me. There are things that bother all of us, but that doesn't mean we have to make them the center of our universe. I am on a mission to bring my focus back to the things that really matter, and to feel my own life force coursing through my veins again. If you got this far, thanks for listening. :) I love you dearly, too.

M.

The days pretty much roll one into another with a velocity that amazes me. Where is my life going, is how I feel, which is amusing I guess, considering I'm really not very old. I suppose the increasing numbers signify some loss of opportunity, chances that I could have taken. Oh, the dwindling of youth!
Basically, I need to work on my outlook and... I don't know, shake it all up? Yeah. Okay.

Today's a hard one. I'm all conflicted. It hurts. I've accepted it. There is a void, but grief generally isn't a part of my day-to-day life. What am I supposed to do with these moments, then, when the memories start flooding in, and the gap between then and now gets larger, and somehow all those precious moments seem as though they could fit in the palm of my hand.
Can it really have been 9 years since the last time I saw my sister? 14 since Mom?

Alright... Enough.
I love you, Mom, but I think you already knew that.

Today's bird, Lenore, the Eastern Screech-Owl:

Also, let me officially introduce the Brown Pelican, Jim Hubert:

And Jenny Brown, the Desperate House Sparrow who likes to get around:

So my favourite things about the last few days have been working with Kim on house stuff and drawing the birds. My friend Sara and I have been having a lot of fun naming the birds, which leads to stories that justify the names.

The red-bellied woodpecker's name is Peter James Michaels. The thing I wrote for him, revised, is: as his red denotes, this guy is a member of a devout Catholic flock. His given name is Peter James Michaels, but we call him PJM for short. Most recently he's seen wearing stripes, falling into troubling ways with his passion for breaking and entering.


Today I also did a royal tern, better known as Alfonzo, a former member of the Latin Kings.


My favourite today, though, was the black-and-white warbler that Sara chose for me to draw. It was a challenge picking out a name for the warbler. Initially, before I even drew him, Sara wanted him to be "Marley", but once I was done, we agreed that it had to change. We spent the last 30 minutes or so of my shift having a good time trying to figure out the right name, and coming up with a wild story as to why all the different names we discussed were correct.

Born Luigi Constantino, this bird grew up in a typical flock of Italian birds. His father died when he was very young in a terrible window mishap. After this, Luigi's mother took to spending long desolate days, alone in her nest, and Luigi fell in with the wrong crowd, a flock of birds best known as The Gaggle Gang. The leader of The Gagglers was Old Mother Crow, a throwback to the old times who took Luigi under her wing, so to speak. They grew very close, and the old crow used Luigi as a means to monitor the activity of the rest of her flock and their crimes. One such crime was against a pair of chipmunks, torturing them to locate their nut stash. Chatter got around the forest that the chipmunks had been harassed, and the local headhunter, Bob Falcon, decided to take matters into his own talons and bring down Old Mother Crow and the notorious Gagglers. One day he cornered Luigi and threatened to pluck his feathers out one by one with his sharp beak. Luigi, being a warbler, was already inclined to a loose tongue, and gave up the location of Old Mother Crow's nest. To protect him, Luigi was placed in the Warbler Protection Program. He dyed more of his feathers white, and decided to pass himself off as a female of his kind, thinking no one would ever be able to find him that way. These days he's best known round the forest as Amy Manchester, and at nights he masquerades as Daizi Twotone, local songstress.