My little girl and a girl named Maddy Ross.

There are traits one wants to possess for himself but that feel out of reach and unattainable, forbidden fruit not worthy of my weakness. But still the longing is there. We want and we see a glimmer of what goodness we might offer ourselves and others if we but possessed these traits. But how easy it is to do little or nothing to get these traits. Easier to long and tell the painter who bloodies his mind and fingertips from the grief of trying that "I envy you," that "I wasn't born with your gift." "I can't even draw a stick figure." But in this accusation one belittles the painter's labor and mocks his interpretation of God's "gift" to him. It is treasured by him merely because he has loved it, nurtured, tended, been it's steady provider, woke up in the nights allowing it to sputter and hum, putting it's unsettling motifs to bed each night. The treasure was not neglected for personal reasons but for a parallel in stewardship the way a mother cares for her child. Not duty or glory bound just because it is what you do to a helpless treasure who can do nothing for itself.
Precocious Maddy Ross in "True Grit" found a season of necessity to seize a trait she needed. It became more than a want. A necessity for her to surround herself with those she deemed having "true grit" and found the elixir for herself in the process. How telling and insightful to witness one's journey lacking what was necessary to her and witnessing her leverage her way into learning how ugly and beautiful grit can be.
Discipline is what I seek. It is a trait that in times I have felt confident described me but for many moons this element like the tide that comes and goes has been absent. Today I crave it because I have need as an exemplar to my daughter. My kin needs a strong arm to lift her and help her learn to define her own qualities. Upon entering this world she ached and scratched at all those who wanted to help her. A deafening desire for independence is innate in her strong spirit. I see myself in her. My father said he knew of me instantly "Come hell or high water" I was bound and determined. Oh but woe, to channel that energy, to harness the tides is my yearning this year. To do so I realize she cannot be told what needs to be done. I must lead by example. And thus my gollums of comfort-consuming way to much sugar primarily packaged in the form of chocolate and sitting upon my laurels thanking my mighty start my metabolism is high are the basis' of needed change. I aim to curb my appetites and to exercise my body. And I hope in the process an unveiling will occur that I find my little girl and empower her to be a little woman.

500 words, less sugar and dancing with more little people

A new year hours away. It is a special day for me as it was 12 years ago I met my love and my antidote for all ills in the world. That's a fairly monumental occurrence. It surely doesn't happen every day. It is worth remembrance and worth a lingering kiss at midnight, much preferred if it accompanies a night of wild, carefree soul-stirring dance. Annually I attempt a hearty effort at locking in a babysitter and heading out the door in heels and a skirt suitable for spinning but boo on the real world it is becoming increasingly challenging to get away with paying a babysitter $15 an evening for five darlings--no matter how cherubic they are. A few dances we crashed were LDS singles dances. Once I even got permission. As an aside, why in heaven's name does the Mormon community cease to hold dances regularly for married folk. Now that it is legal and encouraged to ogle and adore your match you are expected to do it in the privacy of your own home. Well, maybe this woman likes to show her man off. Did you ever think of that? I get high as a kite twirling and getting a gently small of my back pull in for an exchange of love. Then you put on a rock and roll song, oh brother, it's over, something primal happens to this non-rated R watching Mormon lady. With each progressive guitar riff I lose the equivalent of another limb with my erratic movements while simultaneously filling up a reservoir inside. I leave the dance floor with a measure of patience, a lessened desire for finding joy in negativity and such a vigor for life. Day to day living fairly proper and conservative (who wishes she were a bra-burning hippy)-a girl needs to let loose sometimes. That, my friends is how I do it. Unabashedly.
Tonight I am listening to a horrible assortment of "classic tunes." This one is "I'm not the kind girl who gives up just like that..." while the blond minions run back and forth in scarves and Mr Potato Head pieces in their ears and mouths. Wew, one has owl slippers and a butterfly wing charading as a fan. Yes, yes, we know how to breed 'em. But perhaps there is a lesson to learn in this morocca enhanced elevator melody. Perhaps this girl outta go find her man and blast some real tunes and make her own dance! This discovery unveiled through a little writing is precisely the reason I've chosen to write this year for self improvement. The resolution is 500 words a day. Also less sugar. Don't get me started...ok, ok, you didn't but I started myself and I am gonna finish. That's what this year is all about. Finishing what I have started, folks. I have got a generous heap of talents bestowed upon me by the Almighty. Thus far, I am falling miserably short of my potential. Not in the mindset of self-loathing that was yesterday. "Today is 2012, keeping it all on shelve. " Didn't quite work as I hoped, err, a friend of mine balls up her goals into an achievable type mantra. Stole the idea. Anyway, what I mean is all these talents finding deep recesses of my being, settling in their molding and dusty crevasses I am putting them on the daily shelf where they are out in the open, ready or me to develop them a little at a time. There are a million things I could outline but we all know how easy it is to fizzle and wizzle with too lofty of aspirations. Keeping it simple. On my mind's back burner I know the other things I want to improve but those pearls shall be for the quiet of my heart.
I am approaching this year with ambition, hope and a feeling of steadiness. This week I have been working on a painting, it's coming along nicely. Hoping to grow my dance/art studio. Praying to be strong enough to eat less sugar this year. I can't do this one alone but I know doing it is not only for me but for the health of my whole family. Thankful to a soul sister who invited me to write each day along with her. Hoping the other things like a gentler temperment and kinder delivery will somehow be discovered along the way as I put emphasis on my self rather than the beloved others in my life.

Moses is 7 today!

Shiny, downy hair curls around his angled chin.

Distinct lips frown and smile to the extreme.

He's a guy curious about nature, about how things work, why they work, how things were made. He wonders how we know what color dinosaurs skin was, what the sun is made of.

His hypothesis as a toddler, "Glass, plastic and batteries."

He sticks up for his little sister when the older one tells her she has no fashion sense. He says it's not true and it doesn't matter. It's not important.

Fast like The Flash, he's got true grit.

His buddies are Monk the Monkey, Penguin and Phineas the baby brother. He feels a lot. the weight of the world, anger, stress, unfairness, meanness, irritation. He likes none of it. Crumbles when it is near. Champion of justice, love, brotherly kindness. Anti-Satan.

Free as a field of grass, wholesome as wheat. He's there when you need a hug.

He reminds me to keep wondering, loving, trying.

Happy Birthday my big seven year old, Moses.

I love you.

McCubbins beach

"Alaska has long been a magnet for dreamers and misfits, people who think the unsullied enormity of the Last Frontier will patch all the holes in their lives. The bush is an unforgiving place, however, that cares nothing for hope or longing."-Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild
I know what this place is about. My memory tendrils grip the silt sand and gravel like the Kenai bluff by the McCubbins, year by year the rocks slip, the sand swallows itself and peels itself into the sand and sea below. A plot of land erasing the acres to convince its inhabitants it never existed. Yet I can never forget the scoop and swell feeling of swinging back and forth over that bluff on a home shop welded swingset made by "Uncle Ken", the one who swore and told slightly off color jokes through his missing teeth. Washed and purified, the crisp summer coolness and powder of sunshine warms my legs beneath my cut off jeans. The swing arcs as a gateway-Me on the back of Dave Rindlisbacker's motorcycle, sand softer than pearls, set nets and the rotten stench of a distant whale carcass, Dave Carlson's beach mazes that I always cheated to get out of, the windy sound of "My Favorite Things" woven through my friends voices, roasted hot dogs with friends and crushes, downstream-sessions of dip-netting, cloudy waves that pummel me down, sandcastles with Clinton with noble feathers, turtle domes, inedible sweet peas. Ebbs and flows, my heart races and slows. One hundred steps down the bluff. How many have stepped this course before? A mental painting effervescent, invigorating, reminiscent of youth and freedom. Here now, wanting my children to sketch similar patterns . Creating a canvas from which lines of development flourish. But this fierceness that Chris McCandless uncovered holds me back. Winter after winter after winter of quartz ice, crystalline sucks the idealism from my soul, scraping ice off the window breathing air that shouldn't be breathed fills me with anger. Layers of wool socks, ski-suit and scarves form an overcoat of resistance making it far too easy to stay isolated.

A Little Night Music by Adrianna

Adrianna decided to sing us a song before she went to sleep. This is how it went...

"It's called roses everywhere you go, K um? And then it starts again. Where was I at I was at the pirate part. There was so much all of the pirates got all of our money and treasure and kept it forever the next found the gold. So they would find something different so they would find a treasure. They could not find it all so they rush and could not find it all. Like the sun blooming everywhere you go so we have the sun sing everywhere you want cause Jesus created it for you. So they had written a book that was very special the very special book that tells the future that tells everything they can find. Just one or two or three or five or six Just a little bit of sauce on the noodles cause the robbers stole all the decorations. Merry Christmas to one another. What should they do? They shout hurray. What are you doin for your Jesus Christ. We love our Father. Our Heavenly Father. We never ever forget his name. He's very nice we love him forever and ever and we know what our Savior loves us forever. So does everybody else we love our Savior Jesus Christ Hey!"

Shannon

"Wise one," so say the Irish. My name is gossamery tulle, the N's dancing like awkward, passionate lilacs on an overgrown trellis. It starts with a hush, jumps up and then nests. It smells like rosemary wafting from my neighbors yard. Silky, second hand costumes like plumes to hide in. Soft fabric swaddles a pink baby. My name is sure, patient and elegant.

S tepping on mosaic stones

H osted by the Joyce K Carver Soldotna Library

A peppery taste is in my mouth. I uproot

N asturtiums, binding them together to make a

N ecklace reminding me of my connections

O f quirky family with roadmap veins and trick fingers stored in boxes. Magic tricks

N ever far from my heart.

Lunch with Teachers.

Brimming with anticipation for what work Eli and I will bring to Alaska I chat with my new friend, Yvette about a State Trooper job. She shot hoops at the Native Shoot Out for the troopers with the "drunk goggles" on. She made 4/5 baskets. This job promising the allure of a cozy home with 3-4 bedrooms, a space for the music studio, an acre of land where the kids will collect fire weed, lupine and scratch 13 mosquito bites, get a wasp sting, yell at a moose eating the broccoli in our garden intoxicates me, displaces me from a goal of independence in creative employment and joy in each working day for Eli. At the round table Nina's head scarf and , hand-embroidered floor-length Russian Orthodox dress remind me of Kenai, of the bluff, the blue onion bulb towered church. The long haired, apostate who ran the place, reprimanded by the city police for stealing the funds charged by visitor tours. If you give a mouse a cookie style, that reminds me of the Russian teenagers at Soldotna Fred Meyer with their side sashes stuffing candy bar into their puffy side pockets. I reprimand my mind for such contrasting images as Nina speaks about the special ed child she assists at the school. Jack had lost his coke bottle thick glasses today. His computer talker device wasn't good enough to express his frustration. She gently imitates the stomping escalation that ensued. Like the dusting of snow outside causing light to reflect, Nina's constancy and gentility soothed his ruddy face and helped him retrace his steps. She cuts the vacuum seal on the smoked salmon her uncle had made. It smells of brown sugar and fish. Yvette spreads her spicy salmon spread onto a Ritz cracker. Another teacher had a Scottish cheese to contribute and proliferates from the French bakery around the block. Tasting the world on my tongue I think of the many years I have missed the rich, nourishing taste of salmon. The dark pink flakes separate in my mouth tasting like gold rush magenta. The special ed classroom warms of a slower pace-extra time and attention to the kids they teach. Jory, a fourth grader with learning disabilities and my guess of a rough home life sticks his head in the door. His speech sounds intermingled with ocean waves crashing, "Eww. It stinks in here! I am going out to recess...but I am NOT going to pick up the snow! I just wanted to tell you, I won a pizza last night." Yvette gave him a thumbs up and a smile as she was taking a phone call arranging pick up after school of her preschool age son. Her older daughter is expecting a baby any day now, her kids ages span 25 years. We talk about how all families work, of the unique treasures that expansive older children and younger children share. My daughter, older than my brother (her uncle) and my 15 year old sister her aunt, romp through the woods until they crushed a hornet's nest and paid a pretty price for such an oversight. One of my kids first, grand Alaskan adventures...a foreboding and realistic introduction to the unforgiving north that doesn't want friends. At this round table we partake of life. Nourished my what the land gives, in return, like Mica sloughing off a layer of resistance a melding of sisterly cement is felt. Conversation of what women speak of; menstruation pains, breastfeeding, children, husbands are lifeblood woven.

Lunch with Teachers

Pickled salmon wedged between my teeth

Savory crackers with dried fish

Yvette has five children, three raised, two still at home

She dances with the Native Elders, sons are learning to drum

Build the igloo, brush the snow

She kisses little Joe

Nina's dress handmade, fashioned of old world Russia

Knotted scarf on her nape

her eyes reflective

New husband, toddler child, teacher's aid

They know I can, there's hope for my little girl

She'll write of her 24 bee stings, her first fishing trip

Journal her first period, a mark of womanhood

But before she will cry at night

Worried she won't pass the third grade

Wounded Mrs. B doesn't like her thoughts

Attacked by labels she must find her strength

Women complete with culture

bound by common Alaska

Time to get my rear in gear.

My myriad of lofty visions are swirling in my mind's eye. Many things I'd like to be with the talents that are mine but most of them I am currently hiding under a bushel for a rainy day or whatever other cliche I can come up with to politely excuse my current state of lack of personal productivity. But the rumbling has begun, like the swewn ash from Mount Spur back in the second grade, it is time for me to sprinkle this land with all I've got. Under my belt I have a week of heading to the gym at 5:30 a.m with a new found friend. She's a swimmer, too , has six kids and a nerdy husband and swims faster than me. Here we are, back home in the great state of Alaska. My old stomping grounds have a haunting and daunting foreboding of winter, darkness and this crisp tension in the air can't be far as today was the first day of snow that stuck to the ground. This probed me to don my long underwear and three shirt layers this blustery day. Wimpy, Portland tires caused me to drive slow and steady like the old turtle to substitute today. Got there safe and sound.

I'd like to be an ambitious, poised, engaging, active,beautiful, alluring wife and mother with a few tricks up my sleeve in the direction of community writing, a more successful entrepreneur and helpful networker/helpmete for my musician studio recording husband and constantly seeking something fresh and new as an exemplar to my children and so that I might have an insightful, intelligent perspective and a great big hug and kiss with the cookies and milk when they get home from school. To get me back in the swing of what it means to be an Alaskan woman I am doing something bold and challenging. I am competing in the Mrs Alaska America pageant 2010. To be a Mrs. in Alaska means to have a few rough edges, a keen sense of what is miserable, daunting, lonely, dark and cold but for the Mrs that triumphs she finds a community of many Misses, a loving and supportive husband, joy in her bright blue eyed, blond children's faces, hope for a cruciferous garden this summer (please, not harvested by moose), the solace of the midnight sun, children swinging in a tree, the dream of our own home someday, memories fishing, the glacial rejuvination of the Kenai River and a family that is deep rooted in this great land. Like John Steinbeck this land is interwoven with my memories. I can oft not discern where the painted land begins and my etched memories end. This adventure solidifies I am home and Alaska is my home.

Puff the Magic Dragon

Mapquest said our car time would be one hour and forty minutes. Eighty something degrees in our greenhouse Toyota Previa with no air conditioning, lots of flapping wind- but the comfort of each kid with a water bottle, a care bear, Pippi Longstocking book, Monk the monkey and a num-num for those who required one (special blanket's name in the Milliman household). And away we go...first stop, the B's to drop Carolina off at J's birthday party. Bring your Littlest Pet Shop collection-there will be trading for those interested. A jubilant hug when the girls meet and not a look back. Next to Oregon City to meet the G's for A's birthday celebration. Oh how grand to be four and to know all the joy and celebration is in your honor! Loot bags bursting at the seams with tootsie rolls, cinnamon bears, lollipops, motorcycles and memories. Moses got to operate the remote control car, Adrianna did a lifelike chalk drawing of A's mom and herself (friends forever). Rainbow got hit in head with the pole used for demolishing the race car pinata. Moses was the first to win a prize. Phineas made friends with A's grandparents. When the fun had to end to go pick up Carolina they said, "That was sooo much fun!" We picked up Carolina and true to form she was more interested in getting to the next adventure with Pippi than detailing her every party move for me. But at least she was happy. Pirate music cd played and then the kids favorite tune came on, "Puff the Magic Dragon!" Sunny sang in her prettiest voice, Moses- his most earnest, Adrianna- working her memory power to its fullest capacity and Rainbow...repeating the words after hearing them and sounding so cute. Just like a sweet, old lady, hard of hearing but full of heart. The full sun shined through the glass illuminating her sprouting hair with a touch of gold amidst the whiteness. A day of content, happy, buoyed hearts, mostly peace amongst the siblings singing in what was closer to pure harmony than the Motab crew. My beautiful children so unaware that their blossoming souls were pulling at their mother's heartstrings so decidedly. This is what gratitude is.

a comment for a sweetheart?

Perhaps a certain little Sunny Carolina could use a comment or two on her blog...
http://squeakieswebsite.blogspot.com
If you can find it in your heart it would greatly delight the little girl:)
Thank you friends!

Phineas meets his best friends

It's not every day you are born and acquire 4 instant best friends, but that's the way the day rolled for our little guy. In the afternoon Clinton brought Carolina, Moses, Adrianna and Rainbow in to meet Phineas. A short parade of kids I missed walked single file with smiles and best behaviors and sudden coos of "Ahhhh, oh, he's so cute. Hi Fin-E-US!" Rainbow didn't see him right off. He's little and easy to miss. I scooped her up and hugged her and Eli brought Phineas over for her to see. She tilted her head to the right, what she does to magnify cuteness in the baby or animal forms. Everyone gave him soft kisses. Carolina held him dear, she seemed so mature and nurturing holding him. Moses was content and loved him right off. Adrianna was proud and pleased with the new addition. The nurse gave them all stickers indicating big brother and big sister status. She knew they were here from the happy sounds she heard coming down the hallway. The ride home showed our family's completion: 7 passenger Toyota Previa mini filled to capacity. Rainbow and Phineas next to each other, Rainbow ooed and awwed the whole ride home at the little baby next to her. Since coming home Rainbow likes to take moments to hold Phin, give me lots of kisses and motion for other's to "Come'ere" so she can show us the baby anbd how cute he is. Adrianna is helpful gathering diaper supplies and admires his new outfits. She loves the cute ones and is a fan of a stylish brother. Sunny holds him just like a grown up and Moses never tires of taking a turn holding him. He just discovered sometimes he can calm Phineas if he sucks on the side of his hand. Everyone loves it when he settles in calmness and takes a minute to show us his rich, dark, blue eyes and looks at us, his adoring fans.

Our little Phineas

Phineas Coltrane Milliman entered this world sunny side up resulting in a scrapper's bruise to prove it. Sturdy and strong he is our burliest little guy weighing 8 lbs and 6 ounces. Eli noticed he has Christenson characteristics. Ryan's hands and feet, facial expressions we could see like like Ryan and Katelin. His hair seems darker but most people look at it and say, "THAT's dark?" Perhaps your perspective changes when the color spectrum in your household ranges from white to mellow yellow. Never trusting my instincts I suspected labor initiation about 10 pm May 29th. I called the midwife on call, Becky thought it was too early. We called around to get someone to watch our sleeping kiddos as in my gut and knowing my track record for speedy deliveries we decided to veto the midwife's assumptions. Wishing and washing around as I tend to do I feared inconveniencing many and doubted that this was the real thing as I wasn't in any pain yet we went anyway. We called about three folks on our list and none were available. We called Clinton. He was out on the town with friends and reluctant...could it wait? Um, not really, so he came over and his life was ruined for the next 40 hours. We stopped at the gas station, drove to the hospital, 20 minutes about-no traffic at midnight and nonchalantly strolled up to the Maternity level. Felt like we were coming home, baby number five to be entering the world via Providence Portland Hospital. At the desk I felt like saying, "I'll have the regular..." Instead I told them I thought maybe I was in labor. Michelle was our first nurse. She checked my cervix, dilated to a 4 or 5. Phew, in my mind that solidified that this was active labor....I DID know what I was talking about! Now give me my epidural. Please. But then Becky Bruns, the midwife checked and since my contractions were so irregular she wasn't ready to allow an epidural. Boo, hiss! Instead, go walk stairs for a couple hours and come back to be checked. So up and down 6 flights I headed. Coach Eli suggested I do what he did for basketball drills-hop stairs. So I did and let me tell you this was sadly the hardest I had worked out in a long time. But, may I remind you, I had a purpose in mind for being at this location and that purpose was 1st to have and epidural and 2nd to have a baby. I was not going to be a fool sent home so hop I did and contract this uterus did. It worked like a charm. After an hour of exerting power from within things were getting mighty painful. Eli suggested we go back and tell them to check again...and this time around dilated to about a 7. So yes, they got this woman her epidural. Thank you body for cooperating and quickly accepting an iv and thank you anaesthetist for this modern miracle. The pain leading up to the epidural was getting mighty unbearable. I was quite relieved to have the pain subside. Becky was simultaneously delivering another baby and trying to time both appropriately. I decided to take a nap. And told Eli to do the same. So after a couple hours of sleeping Michelle and Becky came back and suggested maybe we have this baby. Awakening from my dreamy slumber my first impression was, "Nah, how about I sleep some more." Quickly realizing this wasn't going to be the option I had I said, "Ok." The expectation was this baby would melt out but it wasn't quite as smooth as that. It took about 20 minutes to persuade the guy as opposed to a few minutes, probably a result of the face up position. Not too shabby. Before he was born Eli had a spell feeling low sugar levels and of course the impending trauma and excitement developing before his very eyes. Becky suggested he drink some orange juice and automatically he was fine again. He helped catch the baby supporting as needed and soon our little guy entered this world. Dried him off and put him in my arms. I hadn't yet had a good look at his face, feeling winded and my pulse was very low even after getting extra oxygen I was sure I'd soon enough get my chance. My first thoughts about this little boy in my arms were interrupted by a quick baby pee on my abdomen. Well, he was here. Our littlest Milliman, our little son. 8 lbs 6 ounces, 21 inches long and healthy on all accounts born at 6:39 am May 30th and apparently encased in one of the healthiest and heaviest placenta's Becky had ever seen. Not too sure what that indicates but we'll take it. He latched to my breast easily, seemed a little fussy and congested the first day but we cut him the slack deserved. He'd been through a lot. Eli and I are peacefully happy to have another precious baby boy in our family. Eli nurturing and loving our little infants is the epitome of what I love him for. He is most tender to the vulnerable who need extra love and care. Eager to give of his heart and time to the little people in his life. The big people, too. At nights when I feel most exhausted with all of our babies and little Phineas Coltrane is finding this truth now, Daddy is always there with a song, a tight swaddle, a prickly kiss that makes tender baby skin red and lots of love and gentility and wonder bringing comfort and joy to a sad or worried heart. This week we are taking a weeks vacation from work and this week we have to just be a family and to rest and to get to know the new little spirit that has come into our lives feels like time standing still. Disconnect from all the travails and stresses that daily we must bog through are forgotten for a brief interval. How I wish it could continue but nonetheless thankful we have this small window. We love our little Phineas. You are beautiful and bring heaven near.

A rough night.

Rainbow caught the flu that Sunny had but gratefully it hasn't yet affected her with the throwing up portion. Last night she was feverish, sad and couldn't get comfortable. I tried my best to help her get a little rest but she had the hardest time settling in. Usually I am lamer than lame past 2:00 am and if Rainbow cries, sheesh...I let that girl cry. Often I sleep right through it. Eli with his ever churning mental gears who doesn't sleep well at night lets me and nestles his babies in and comforts when they need comfort. Last night I responded to her desperate plea and was thankful I had. Helpless little angel seemed so grateful for the little love I showed her. By 6:00 am her fever was a little better and I thought it was worth a try to put her in her crib. She fell asleep until about 1:00-after lunch. Still winded and not feeling so great but much better. Her fluffy chick hair and light pink wool sweater dress made her even more irresistible. I sure love her an awful lot.

Theatre is community.

Community theatre brings up mental images of "has beens" thinking they are "are's" Those (in my case) that snatched leading roles in that grand thing we call high school theatre and were bound for the stage college-ward and inevitably Broadway. And instead, somehow end up on a creaky, wooden floor in a a make-shift stage, an undercroft of St. Andrew's Episcopal Church. Tracing the pattern of what took me from such aspirations to the same hole were sort of similar to my route trying to get tho the place. Sure, I've been there 68 times before but surprise, surprise, I got a little turned around trying to find I-5 Northbound. After a saving grace call to Eli I made it to the show with ten minutes to spare. I'm meeting Clinton at The Bert Mann Theatre for the NorthEnd Players rendition of "Heaven Can Wait." On facebook last night's opening performance was all abuzz as the granddaughter of the original playwright was in attendance with the Oscar in hand. I get to make a "cameo" as a former NorthEnd player walking across the stage. Oh the glory. A feeling of homeostasis fills me as I am ushered backstage. Tape outlines on the prop table, a little white dog, Mitzi, greets me, friends faces illuminate to see me. I delight seeing them in suspenders, low-cut house wife dresses, netted hats. Many I don't know share positive energy with me, smiling and weaving in a rushed, soft shoe manner so as not to break the illusion of folks back stage. "How are the babies?" "Are they here tonight?" "When are you due?"
I smile thinking of the t-shirts Shannon Tappana and I swore we'd get around to making-"Drama is life, the rest is just details" we were so much more intelligent and classier because we snatched this ever so unoriginal quote from bonehead sports motif shirts with full knowledge of the irony. Or so we thought. That cave of a theatre at Sohi with its secret staircases, inner ceiling passages only trespassible by those Mission Impossible minded preferably wearing camouflage, carrying Snapple lids for Morse code communication once in the asbestos abyss. There's a magic having blinding lights shine upon you opening night and being unable to see the faces beneath but feeling their heavy presence. Maybe its what it feels like to be blind. A text in a softbound script. Your very own script. The more warped and notated it becomes the more legitimate its life. Warmth surrounds me when I think of the actors who opened their hearts with me. Together we learned who we were and how we fit together in this little old world. When I flubbed the line announcing the murderer the dazzling Delores Biggs announces her instead, you learn how to compensate, to keep dignity to the underlying message. An energy is shared, a family you become. Helping each other with make-up, using Cassie's hair powder for a definite age increaser was a good bet, suggesting costume options-vetoing the vinyl coat choice, laughing, backstage pranks. Attacked with the smell of rotting tuna from the heater chambers we retaliate as Women (hear us roar) snatching the boys clothing and replacing with women's undergarments. Developing camaraderie with folks you probably wouldn't have become friends with without the stage. Feeling an inkling of what it means to love vicariously through characters you nurture. Truth, whatever that is, is unveiled. It is some kind of visceral resonance that makes you feel a little more whole. Spinning in a blue velvet stage curtain you feel mischievous, royal and a seeker of life. The actor with a Jewish last name probably in his nineties whose credits mention New York City community theatre (where I imagine the competition was a little more fierce) is vibrant and delightful. Ms. Thompson is radiant in her bad girl role. The ingenue whose credits mentioned she was 18 (I would have sworn she was 40) was not your typical pretty face and evoked anything but innocence and youth nor did her immature acting but I was touched to read in the program of her other bit parts in plays and her delight in playing this role. "Her favorite thus far." That's what's so great about it. In community theatre, everybody gets a chance to be something they likely never get a chance to be in life or in stage. The journey she made probably meant the world to her. And the lead male-should have been cut and muscular since he was a boxer and in nothing but skin and shorts much of the show-instead had no tone, much excess and rocked back and forth on his feet incessantly. Enough to convince me he was battling The Rain Man's disease but just had a case of nerves. The messenger with his great, carrying theatrical voice and presence and the maid who was hauntingly similar to the last role I had seen her in are all up there together, mixing it all up to create something a little broken, sort of disjointed, sometimes stirring, timing ok and timing slow, energy vibrant but heart 100%.

Multnomah Park Cemetary

Man with hands in pockets. Plaid shirt tucked in.
Wife, neat brunette circles gravestone.
Solemn cemetery next to chaotic 82nd Avenue.
For whom do they nod their heads? A recent loss.
Dressed respectfully, just exited a chapel.
Outside the steel Woman simply walks,
gregariously, with jutting, angular hip bones like beckoning sirens.
Eighties style hair flagging attention by passerbys.
A dead-ringer for Alec Baldwin's girlfriend in Miami Blues.
Shirt with cut-off sleeves, the loose part tied in a slipknot revealing her thin curves.
Straight ahead she looks, confident.
Prostitute discerning nothing of middle class aunts deceased from breast cancer.
Business professional weighing nothing of the fear of force and disease.
My young family driving 35 miles per hour with Bruce Springsteen prophesying, "Don't know when this chance might come again. If we could get skin to skin"
They pass in moments, trailers of my thoughts. I stare, paralyzed by music and reality.
The weight causes visceral angst. I inhale, blink to clear the buzz and ask the kids,
"Should we get juice boxes for our picnic?"

A moment to smile about.

Our family went to Baja Fresh for dinner this evening. Walking to the entrance I was 5 steps ahead of the crew. I looked at them with Dad keeping them close. Wow. It just hit me. We have a big family. A big, cute family. Little blond bobkins smiling, giggling and being silly.

The zoo with my girls.

Dropped Eli off at the studio, called a couple friends to see if anyone could play and no one could...in route home I scanned the zoo exit. We haven't gone in months and that annual pass is wasting like a melting ice cream cone. I switched lanes and we went for it. No stroller, no shoes for Rainbow (good thing I am a strapping young lassie)thin jackets, chance of showers, no snacks-life shouldn't revolve around these things now should it?! The girls were pleased at this change of plans. Rainbow was enjoying the thrill of graduating to a big girl carseat-view of the fast cars and forward facing-wow, what a life- and would have been content driving into the sunset eternally but whatever, she trusted ole ma. Anna proudly presented the tickets like she was presenting a diploma. The mountain goat was in full view. We took the Northwest bridge trail, Anna had a great lickety-split pace in mind...once she's seen it, she'd seen it and would let me know (kindly of course). The fish were babies to Rainbow, frogs infants, miners cats...babies, chickens, sheep, pigs-you guessed it...babies all around. In the farm area the pigs were preoccupied gobbling hay. Rainbow lobbed her arms around the wooden fence and wouldn't let go watching those creatures the same way Fern adored Wilbur. Gentle Anna trying to keep her pace up tried to cajole Rainbow into hope for the future animals we would see. The present was good enough for her. Feeling somewhat like a kidnapper I peeled her little paws off the fence and we moved on. The results are in-unanimously, the warthogs are ugly (although still babies), Rainbow will make a wonderful goddess some day seeing the beauty in all creatures great and small. The highlight of the warm small African creature are was Adrianna taking the role of my mom, her name was Jasmine. And I, was the teenager despite the fact that she was the one on the phone (a.k.a. informative tour listening device)the most. An hour holding sweet little Color Streak in my arms and I was about finished. Intuitively, Adrianna said she was hungry for lunch and wanted to go home. On the trail towards the exit a zookeeper was feeding apples to the hippopotamus's! I've never seen more than their eyeballs poking out of the water but they came up front and center for those sweet treats. We saw their teeth (what an odd mouthful I must say, none of them seemed to match up like most animal teeth do) and one lugged its huge body out of the water after a wandering apple. Walking, walking all the way to the car. I asked Adrianna what she liked. She reported many wondrous things but was equally anticipating the lunch of mac and cheese at home (which she assured me she would help with).

I love Eli.

I love this man. Right now he's mixing or recording his album at 12:08 a.m. and I am sure, still going strong. It's anything but easy for all of us to dream and to hope this music will be heard and will lift people near and far. The dreaming, ok it is easy but the day to day give required, not so much. We have to do things that we don't like, things that others raise their eyebrows at. Conventionality and revolution don't go hand in hand. For a moment today I wanted all the strife to dissipate and at that moment Eli looked into my eyes with hope and love, radiating optimism into my heart. His sheepish smile caught when he was laughing makes me extra happy. I love him. I love him. And he's mine, all mine.

Baby.

Sheesh. Monday makes my insides scrambled eggs. My outsides aren't doing much better. Saturday I was "shopped" by an apartment hunter spy and as usual I failed miserably. The shopper noted "my ripped, stained sweatshirt" which I am still wearing today-pretty much out of spite. There is so space on the superiors side for apologies, excuses or retaliations but rest assured I have come up with a list for myself. Even if my excuses were valid which they are not they are pathetic because the bottom line is, I have never had a great shop, many horrendous shops and you know what? I won't change. They affect me. They make me cry and feel worthless but not enough to spark change. I am not the sort to be effectively charged by the coach who yells at his athletes to motivate them. No, I need to be coddled along, loved and sincerely cherished to get results. The apartment complex is full so naturally I feel no sense of urgency to make an insistent shopper who MUST have a tour despite the fact that I have nothing for her....lose points. She desperately wanted to use my bathroom but I told her one was not available-primarily because my personal bathroom was filthy, the trail from office to bathroom through my gross house-even worse. The kids had been sick that day. I threw up earlier in the day and would have called this woman to cancel yet I had not taken her phone number as I should have. So when I found she was shopping me I thanked my lucky twinkling stars I had that one bit of foresight. She asked me weird probes-she said she and her husband managed apartments and she hated it...trying to get me to open up about my contempt it seemed. Luckily, something inside me stopped me from agreeing. Most of my errors are ones I know I am no good at and ought correct but don't but a whopping 58% is nothing to brag about. Lady, Mr. Head Honchos, anyone who read my stupid shop...this is what I have to say. This woman does the best she can. She hates being paid dirt for babysitting, dealing with maintenance way beyond control and skinny budgets that don't allow remediation, she's anything but detail-oriented and that's a cryin' shame when it comes to this business, would rather be free to go to the park with my sweet angels who are growing faster than I can say, "green eggs and ham", she dreads that ringing phone, has nightmares about the mold creeping through the walls, panic attacks when somebody else's car is towed...But then again-I have these favelas all rented, have made progress with maintenance (Must say Eli has shocked and amazed me at his construction abilities when he has the time), some residents-the nice ones even call my supervisor saying we're awesome. No mention of that on a shop, huh. I know it's not the end of the world but it still stirs me up like a vitamina on a hot, Brazilian day.
So after that cheerful news I couldn't take another breath of my Apartment To Do List today. After the bank deposits, posting a note on a door, making vital emails the rest is waiting until tomorrow. After coming home from a dr appointment, where I even felt like the dr hated me (yes, I am aware the problems in my head run deep) and the bank Eli was setting Adrianna and Rainbow up with peanut butter and jelly. Anna wanted to be her own chef. I picked up, kissed Eli and he was on his way to the studio. Album release scheduled April 3rd, the pressure is on. The girls-so happy to see Momma. Rainbow donning brown shoes Moses and Anna both wore for the first time. After lunch she showed me what hot stuff she was tromping around in those things. Anna set up the doll house to play with me. I lasted for a little while. There was a ball, three clothing changes, a nighttime, a birthday party, a Prince Charming choosing his bride line-up style (he chose the prettiest, blond fluffy-haired one of course) And then imported the clean laundry basket folding clothes while still paying semi-attention to the game. Anna was on to me pretty quick but was quite understanding. Rainbow the little dreamer napped. We checked the mail, packed the junkmail in Adrianna's pack strapped to her back and played outside. I was Storm, she was Jean Gray. It was high pursuit interjected by a horrendous cough. I think she needs the doctor tomorrow. All the while playing outside Anna is luminous and imaginative, like the foam on the sea, bright and inviting. Carefree and full of life her ideas keep coming. Rainbow joins us and echos Adrianna's conversation, climbs up and down stairs, giggles at us when she climbs into a chair (how daring!). Outside is definitely Rainbow's new thing. When the kids get home we greet them off the bus. Rainbow calls, "Sunny!" (her universal call for all siblings) Sums them all up rather well, I admit. Moses doesn't get a breath in before telling me about the sort-of-moon-rock in his backpack, he played with Jaeden and Joshua today...Sunny's eyes are glued to a book. She sits on the grass reading. We'll talk later. The bright idea comes to go swimming. We find the suits, the fitness center card, towels, the stroller and we are off. Sunny day walk there but the pool is at capacity. No fear! We choose the playground instead. This proves to conventional for these wolves-Sunny leads the lion and mouse towards sawdust hills and wooded ivy in the back. Rainbow is enraptured by a dog. Five month old coyote-German shepherd mix named Lily who is friendly as a button (if buttons were friendly) She calls this dog "baby, baby, baby, baby...." Likely she yearned for "baby" 500+ times. Not even the kisses shocked her. She smiled, cooed and ogled as if it were her baby. We walked from the kids and their morphing game of Moses the prophet and his pals back and forth twenty times as this baby couldn't get enough of "baby." We saw geese in the sky, a small bird in the tree-all were "baby" . Runny noses, dirt, sawdust grit-they wore it well. Might as well have been diamond studdings and fine robes. These kids looked alive and loved by this good earth and its maker. We went home feeling a-ok about our places in the world. Thanks, kids for reminding your Momma things aren't so bad.

Adrianna and Rainbow