Loving - and being loved - are the most collaborative things we can ever do. The thing I want to know on my death bed, with utter certainty, is that I collaborated my heart out.
I love hearing the birds Twittering outside my window. They never restrict themselves to 140 characters.
I didn't have a period of adulthood without children. They arrived together in a joyful rush of sleep deprivation and responsibility. So my daydreams of luxury weren't about cruises or cars or jewelry, but rather, about having an hour each morning to drink my coffee, stare out the window, and meditate. Now that it's a reality, I'm finding it's every bit the luxury I dreamed it was.
Several months ago I received a personal email from a long-ago friend who is now a protestant minister. Apparently he had (finally?) learned that I am gay, and felt compelled to express to me his concerns about my choice and therefore, my soul. I was a little surprised that he felt so compelled to impose his opinions on me that way, but chose to use it as an opportunity to write the "what I would say to a minister if he out-of-the-blue decided to preach to me about my queerness" blog.
One of my favorite books is Art & Fear by David Bales and Ted Orland. I’ve found it to be an excellent reflection on the artist’s challenge.
Tonight she is in a cornflower blue t-shirt, hot pink shorts and snow boots, riding around the field on her baby-blue bicycle with a ribbon blowing behind her, trying to outrun the dogs. I want to fix her in my memory this way forever.
If you wrap yourself in a shawl, and pull on fuzzy warm socks, and find a comfy place to sit outside far away from manmade things; if you don't see any person or say anything for a very long time, and the only sounds you hear are the sounds you usually miss, then gradually you remember that crazy, wonderful, inexplicable things are possible and are probably happening right now.
I am simply weary of people using sacred texts to justify cruelty, bigotry, and small-mindedness. I know that a lot of people feel the same way, so this video from the VLOG Brothers, tackling religion, marriage, and gay marriage, delights me.
My earliest religious teaching - from my mom and dad - emphasized the importance of taking the Bible as a whole, because understood in pieces it lost context. This continued through my teen years, when Father Larkin was adamant
Picture if you will: 50 mph winds, sheets of freezing rain, 400 feet of treacherous driveway all downhill. Garbage night with 2 full bins. One adult already damaged from last week's fall on the ice . . . Enter Marlaine and Aubrey in the trunk of my car, wearing snowsuits, Aubrey in a bike helmet, on her knees, holding the trunk open, Marlaine on her keester, riding backwards, dragging the bins behind us. We are nothing if not resourceful. Aubrey can't wait for next Monday.
One of my friends in Canada just told me it's National Margarita Day. So I wondered, "Which Nation?" Then I realized that was the stupidest question in the world. I mean, who cares? If it's National Margarita Day anywhere at all, that's good enough.
When my granddaughter, Aubrey, was asked what she wanted to do for her birthday, she said she wanted to stay in a "beautiful hotel" in Chicago for the weekend with me and a girlfriend. School is still out for the holidays, so we decided to go this weekend before New Years Eve. We did the usual Chicago things - the Museum of Science and Industry, Yolk for Breakfast, and Giordano's for dinner.
But the most magical part of Aubrey's birthday adventure was exploring every ballroom in the Palmer House, late last night, the girls in PJs, while crews set up for the next day's new years eve parties. Hushed but busy, party favors arranged on tables, almost-10-year-old girls dancing to their own music on every ballroom dance floor. I hope that memory accompanies them to every glamorous party they attend for the rest of their lives.