1 year & 7 months – Jul. 2012

Facebook gave me a gift this morning

Capturetimehop

This little sentimentality-creating feature helped me see the wound I’ve put into the story about my son and how I have loved him.  The post was made during the ten weeks in which I attempted to build a home from nothing for myself, my young boy, and my not-yet-born girl; away from their father, but near enough to give him access to their lives regularly.  Olympia, Washington was where we landed.  It was clean, charming, and all around me I could see the potential of this lovely city but I could not access hope within myself.


I have gone through the gamut of negative feelings upon numerous reflections over the experience of losing the family and life I tried to build.

I’ve made myself miserable, as though I alone was responsible for the grief I was experiencing.

When people have remarked on the strength it took to uproot my son, myself, and my damn-nearly-born child I have felt estranged.

I didn’t feel at the time that I had a choice.

I love life.
The choice seemed like one between life and a slow, terrible, death.

I have given my son, my daughter, and myself the experience and lessons of the strength we must have sometimes to remain in the light of loving to live.  And today, the often soft, social media realm has given me a remarkably helpful glimpse at myself while I was on that line – between living fully and surviving.  I loved my son.  I have loved him so fiercely since the moment I knew he was growing inside of me that I have made a bit of a chore of it.  My overly zealous desire for perfection-in-creation has taken far too much energy from my ability to fully express in this life.

In this time of a New Moon in Cancer, and the peak of summer’s liveliest expression on the Northern Hemisphere, I set an intention to cultivate the pleasures of home and the rich satisfaction to be found in slowing down my movements elsewhere.  The infinite blessings of the universe helped me today and reminded me: Love this child!  Love this child! Love myself! Love my family! Love life!

Love life, even when it doesn’t meet the expectations you set out for it!
Love life, even when your imaginations of it are grander than your abilities!
Love life, because there is no other reason for us to be here.

10 Months Old – Oct. 2011

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Is that not the most ridiculously cute little chub?  Why so sad looking Mr. Chub-a-lub?  Salamander was is VERY busy and as a scooting, traveling boy, he got into all of the things.  Some fun we enjoyed together was, splashing in water, pouring dried lentils into and out of things, patting the dogs’ haunches, and of course our daily walks.  You can’t tell here, but he has the biggest, face consuming smile which he employed often and also strategically, like in situations when he’d got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to (ie. splashing the dogs’ water bowl).  His favorite things to eat were sweet potatoes, oatmeal, and apples.

The miracle is not that I finished;

Quick Dream, Long Dream

As I sang songs to my kids last night my mind wandered. I’ve sung this succession of songs hundreds of times, so it was all too easy for me not to be mindful. I imagined a future for myself. I haven’t done that since just before I met their father – six years is a long time to go without dreams for oneself.

I was in a wood floor living room with light streaming in. I was home alone and I was playing guitar. My dreams have been here, all along. They are all feeling quite the bon vivants at the prospect of this long-hard road getting a little easier.

Lullaby routine: Skinamarink (Sharon, Lois & Bram)>Blackbird (The Beatles)>Hang Loose (Alabama Shakes) ❤

#10 Boobies

I started this new blog with some idea about it eventually being a real-professional-like web-resume for my writing / a practice ground for what I will learn as I learn what the heck DIY web design is all about.  I have not had much time to devote to that path, but here this little blog lives and sometimes, it feels kind of invisible.  I love it no less, but I, and the blog herself, want more viewers!  I don’t particularly want to be held to specific standards regarding frequency of entries published, but I do want readers when I publish!

I’ve been wondering if I can import the nearly 400 blog posts on Subterranean Fire to a separate section of this Shana Rose Up blog.  Or, do I have to import it as though it were always a part of SRU?

I used to be an office drone.  As I was a fairly standard, i.e. somewhat crappy employee, I spent more time than I like to admit writing and reading blogs while I was on the clock.  (Hey, what were they gonna do? Higher an “English Major” with the ability to intently focus on dull work for months at a time?)  I was more able to enter into internet relationships based on shared writing and emotion and interest when I spent 40+ hours a week surfing the web.  I think I spend something like 12 hours a week on the internet these days.  Perhaps when I’m satisfied that the habit of writing has been firmly entrenched into my daily life I will begin stepping back into the writing communities online (and hopefully that means publishing communities as well).  Until then…whine! Impatience! Love me!!

Holy crap! I just realized that I began this post with ENTIRELY different intentions than what the above two paragraphs indicate. (#3 on the list)  Holy kvetch factory!  Here’s something I wrote on my old, with 29 followers (for me that’s a bundle) blog, two years ago.

I’m happy to see that I’m still the same scared, courageous, crazy, sane, wild person I was a year ago.

Hinty McHinterstein

Oh, and I wrote this around the same time.

My First Pregnancy List

It’s funny.  I’ll wait, if you want to go read it.

So, what I’m saying is… are you getting all this?

Nearing Those Notorious Twos

Ah, the post therapy, sugar digestion, artsy introspective Wednesday night high.  Welcome, people.  Please, grab a low cushion and fashion yourself comfortably.  Can I get you a cup of Egyptian Licorice Organic Mint Tea? Lemon cake? No? That’s ok, we actually ran out of that yesterday.

Silly silly silliness, Salamander, his papa and I have entered into it – quite deftly, I think.  Seventeen months is a funny, silly, ridiculously wonderful age to be privy to.

I once chatted with a woman in a coffee shop.  She told me that every age both her kids had ever been was just the coolest.  She said, at 15 and 17 they were simply the coolest people she knew.  I believe it. Only a parent can appreciate how amazing it is that his or her offspring just spent twenty minutes publicly screaming like someone was pulling his fingernails slowly off with rusty pliers only to forget it within a minute because the desired Hot-Wheels was deposited in his aforementioned chubby little hands.  That was hilarious. I swear, I was having a difficult time containing my laughter as the cashier tried not to wearily stare at him and his trembling uvula.  I especially liked when a passing lady asked me “Who’s winning?”  I proudly announced that I had won.  I paid for the cars before I removed them from the packaging.  Booyah!

It’s a strange thing, being a rebellious parent.  On one hand, I’m aware that it will benefit my son if he can function politely in society.  If you’re driving down the road doing something illegal in your car, it’s better to be in a plain station wagon, let’s say, than it is to be in a car with a bumper sticker that says “F**k Authority.”  You know?  I’m just saying it’s good to have the option to be incognito, should one so choose.

If Salamander has been taught all the basic and decent social mores and he chooses to smite them on some kind of hellion mount, then, so be it.  However, if I do not teach him that it is considered appropriate to pay for objects before using them, or to refrain from standing on one’s chair and wildly throwing uneaten chicken salad all around him, then he won’t know what kind of world he is expected to live in and he will probably have a harder time getting to where he wants to go.  I know all of that, and yet, I also sometimes eat the candy bar now and pay for it later.  I am a definite rule breaker.  It’s a good thing his papa has more of a penchant for following the rules.

No naughty bumper stickers, kid.