~ : A N N I V E R S A R Y : ~

Our Three-Year Anniversary was this past weekend! Did a lot of celebrating. Eating out, cooking and Doug had some surprises up his sleeve. I woke up the morning of to this little note on the coffee maker. He'd already loaded it and all I had to do was press start. Doug got up early at 4AM just to write these two love letters - one from him and one from Bjorn. He also framed a couple of photos of the two of them for me to use in my studio. Aren't they sweet?We decided not to buy any gifts for each other this year. Instead we cooked and spent our pennies on a very fancy dinner out at Toni's Casa Napoli in Dunwoody. One of our favorite restaurants, it's been there for over 10 years and is cozy, the wait staff practically massage your shoulders before and after your meal...

On our way to the restaurant, Doug booked a surprise massage session for the both of us at The Atlanta School of Massage, also in Dunwoody. OH MY GOD, it was incredible. I had my therapist work on my neck, back, shoulders and jaw. Incredible. I feel like he actually did something and that the session was about actual healing rather than fluff and pampering. So Doug and I were quite relaxed and ready for our dinner. And I was able to open my jaw wider than in inch in months. Amazing! This place was so great. My therapist, MJ, was an instructor there and showed me muscle maps of the body, demonstrating which muscles needed work and showed me exercises I could do for myself to keep everything from getting tight. We will definitely go back there.

To top the weekend off, I made chocolate mousse for the first time in these cute green vintage depression glass goblets. We got a lovely set of them from a friend who collects them as a wedding gift three years ago. Making the mousse was easier than I had anticipated. It took maybe 20 minutes to prepare. Really good timing for me. I'm a neat freak when it comes to cooking and hate making messes. I spend more time cleaning up stages of prep than I do actual stirring! ANYway, it was delicious in the end.

I married Doug knowing that he had the skills to and was willing to develop more sills for making a marriage work. That reason alone has helped us get through all the listening, negotiating and hard work it takes to effectively communicate. He's just not afraid to work hard. His sense of adventure and fun has helped me retain my sense of humor in tough times and his gentleness has comforted me when I deeply needed to be nurtured. When I thank him for any of these gifts, his response is always, " It's part of my job description as the person who loves Anne."

To any single women reading this post - the mate meant for you is the one whose goodness and work ethic is worth rearranging your single life for.

~: P A P I L L O N S :~
Ever since we got Bjorn, our 5.5 lb. Papillon, we've taken him to Papillon Play Days. If ever there was a need to feel good, these play days would do the trick nicely. I've never really liked small dogs, never really liked dogs in general, until we got Bjorn. He's sweet-smelling, sweet-tempered, and can get dicey at times, which keeps things interesting. I love him. And so does my husband, who was just as surprised as I was to love such a small creature.

The first Pap play day was a blast. A real eye-opener. You sit down and chat with all the other pap owners and all of a sudden you're surrounded by more paps who find some kind of nook in your lap and settle in. They all have the same cheery attitude - all smiling. Half the dogs are playing tag with each other and the other half have found laps. It's a giant love-fest.

We went to our most recent Pap Play Day a couple of weekends ago. If you'd like to see all of the fun photos we took of Bjorn and his friends, I've posted them here. All you see once you're there are white tails that blur the landscape - wagging gracefully with happy expectation. And for a few hours, all that is good about this world is in your lap.

~: U T E R U S with W I T :~
Hey! I finished my womb! Here are a couple of shots of my creation. It pretty much speaks for itself. I'm not as angry as I was before - maybe the knitting helped? Many thanks to Knitty.com and to MK Carroll, the designer of this pattern. This has been great cathartic fun. Maybe I should knit a penis next.

~ :F E R T I L I T Y: ~
Here's something productive I can do in spite of fertility woes. I love to knit and feel I need to do some therapeutic work for the soul. I found this pattern for a womb on knitty.com. Wonderful site with great ideas, wit and charm. I think I want to make one for my OBGYN. The only handmade charm in that office are the crocheted stirrup covers to keep your feet warm. Time for something warmer and funnier, no!? I have almost completed my knitty womb and am very excited. I promise to post the finished product here when completed.

~ : S E X : ~
This is what sex looks like when you're trying to make a baby. ARRRRRRRGGGGG. Appealing, isn't it? You know what I absolutely hate? I hate it that it's easier to find a book on how to MAKE a baby than it is to find one on how to lose one. Makes me ill. ARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG. Not that I don't think that growling will make me more fertile, but making the noise, typing the letters and telling you how frustrated I am with my body helps. A little. Okay, a LOT. Doug and I are on our second cycle of Clomid and let me tell you, it's like being high. It'd be great if I liked being high, but since I'd rather be in control, it's infuriating. I think the most frustrating part is how ferociously it manipulates your hormones. One minute I'm crying tears of joy at the smallest thing and the next my life is coming to an end. It's THAT dramatic. I should probably stop right now and give my sweet husband a hug, because he's been incredible during this time.

Not having control over my own body - over the most elemental thing like being a woman and creating life makes me feel so powerless. Less than. O L D. I am not a person who fails. As an over-acheiving creative, it has been humiliating to fail. Heartbreaking to discover and redsicover failure every month. Hard to interpret the slightest odd sensation or upset stomache with hope. A little bit pregnant, maybe? The weird thing is, all the hope I lose at the end of my cycle, is rekindled again at the start of the next one.

But back to the raw stuff...
What's even more painful is to hear people say to a woman who has miscarried, "Well, at least you know you CAN get pregnant." ARRRRG. You stupid bitch. Don't you know that getting a baby, then losing a baby are two completely different things? Am I supposed to be satisfied or comforted by your blithe assessments? You think you've got it all figured out and fix it for me? Here's a big hint. YOU DON'T HAVE A FUCKING CLUE. Would you say to a father who lost a son, "Well, at least you HAD a child." No way! Would you say to a mother who lost a child, "Well, at least you HAD a child." Having and losing require different parts of yourself to fully process. And to appreciate. They are two entirely different places to be. And I think that LOSS deserves just as much pause, love, attention and reverent respect as ACHIEVEMENT does. I am going to go away and be angry for a while.

I am just weary of the ups and downs, though. All this pain just takes me away from my life. Takes me away from being present. To loving what I have. Taking care of my life. Feeling pleasure. Creating goodness. I spent one evening last month telling myself I didn't belong in this darkness. Not this darkness. It's not me and I don't wanna be there.

~: C O F F E E :~
This morning I woke up to a broken coffee maker. God help me. Doug has tried to fix it. I am going mad. U P D A T E: Doug fixed it!!! Woo hoo!!!! Life is good again.

~ : D R E A M I N G : ~
I had a wonderful dream last night. I woke up sunny. The night before, Doug and I watched an episode of Six Feet Under, where this Harley biker guy playing santa was killed on his bike while waving to children on the street. He smashed into an oncoming truck. Santa was late that year. It was sad.

But his funeral was fantastic. All his friends were there, dancing, singing, crying, remembering him. All were so unashamed to show love. They stayed up all night on Christmas Eve, partied hard. At one point, the widow and Nate have a conversation about death and loss and life. He asks her if she'd rather have a husband who was more careful. She replies no. If he had been the careful sort, he would have been a different person - not as fully living in the moment as he was. Even if his carefree attitude was the end of him, his life was lived as it was meant to be lived. A fully-lived life.

All I could think about was Tommy. His fully-lived-in life. Though brief, I have to respect how he chose to live his life. He was fearless, reckless, wickedly funny. And extremely generous. Though he created conflict in our family, I am still greatful for the things I've learned from him. He was just like one of those Harley bikers. Born to be wild. These days, I can't have an epiphany without thinking of what he'd say about it. I can't be really depressed without thinking of his depression. I think of him a lot.

So the dream I had was in response to all my thoughts about him. Doug and I were walking arm in arm sharing the same rhythm, walking towards Portfolio Center where I teach. We were walking to the song Born To Be Wild. And that song reminds me of Tommy. It was an essential part of his music collection. Along with The Allman Brothers, Santana, Elton John, Heart, Stevie Ray Vaughn. Any whiff of the 70's I get snaps me right back to him.

In my dream, before Doug and I got the school,
we were at a train station, embraced in a hug,
and I remarked how quiet it was -
how the whipping and violent wind was gone
and that everything was so peacful.

~ : I N N O C E N C E : ~
Aren't children wonderful? This little note was in our mailbox a few days ago. I am so tempted to call this guy. He's got guts, is resourceful. And honest. Can't beat that. The note on your right is one l wrote to my mother for punishing me. NO, not recently. A long time ago. I'll never forget how mad I was at her! And I STILL write nasty notes when I'm super angry. Ooo they feel so good!

~ : D O G S : ~

Many of you know that I am crazy sick over my dog, Bjorn. One thing you may not yet know about was his time in the service. A devoted soldier, civil servant and natural Bjorn leader, his portrait was done here in honor of the fine example he's set for dogs all across our great nation. This portrait is nothing less than awe inspiring.

Shown here to the right is a portrait of Bjorn's great, great, great, great, great, great, great Uncle Sven when he was a soldier. It's amazing how much Bjorn takes after Uncle Sven. The resemblance is uncanny. You could say that this noble dog trait runs in the family. I mean, just LOOK at him! Our breeder has done a fine job of documenting his royal lineage.

Bjorn's cousin Ruthie, my Mother's rat terrier, also deserves much praise. She is shown here in a portrait that was fashioned to look a great deal like the famous portrait of Catherine Parr, one of King Henry's many wives. Just LOOK at how STILL she is! You don't WANT to know how many treats it took to accomplish this stunningly graceful painting. At first glance, it looks like Ruthie's just folded her hands together. What you can't see, however, are the doggie treats she's storing in her right hand. We gave her handfuls after handfuls. After this portrait, Ruthie went to Curves (for dogs, of course) where her favorite machine is the treadmill (when there's a tiny pile of crunchy miniature pretzels waiting at the end of the machine).

I digress.....

But I believe Ruthie's finest portrait is here. Now you may think that you've seen this painting before as Queen Elizabeth's ermine portrait. You have. But that painting was created AFTER this one you see here of Ruthie's great, great, great, greatest of great Aunt Charlotte, who was the Queen's hairdresser at the time. Their bond was so strong, they'd sit together for many portraits, often switching places just to keep everyone guessing. This illustrates yet another uncanny resemblance, don't you think? At the time, Elizabeth and Charlotte were inseparable. It's unfortunate that we know so very little about their relationship. One might even call it scandalous that a Queen and a Royal dog would have such tight bonds. As Ruthie today often says, "Never come between a queen and her dog."

Lastly we come to my father's dog Alice Fae.Dalmations were bred by royals, working their spots off for their owners. Today, there are more dalmations kept as companion dogs alone. My father is completely in love with his Alice Fae. Did you know that he bought his last car (a red something) knowing how good she'd look inside of it? He did the same thing with a chocolate lab named Arthur, who looked great in a black nissan truck. Anyway - here's a fine picture of Alice in red, her best color.

It seems we have so much to learn from our dogs. Being a devoted "cat person", I never understood the bond between man and his dog until we got one for ourselves. Now that we do, I'm stunned and well, a little embarrassed, by my infatuation with Bjorn. There is still a strong and loving connection between me and my cats, Gunther and Olaf (which is an entirely different blog) and I am devoted to them. But the love I feel for Bjorn can only be described this way: "My dog is SOOO cute, just looking at him makes the back of my throat tickle, like when you've had too much cake icing."

~ : P A I N : ~

Does anyone but me have the urge to look back at very painful moments in your past - to dwell there for a while? I do. All the time. But it's not depressing. I find it thoughtful. FULL of thought.

I've always been a serious, quiet kind of person, unless I'm in the classroom where I can't keep my mouth shut. But generally, I'd rather listen to a Chopin nocturne than listen to dance music. Not that I dislike the latter. It's just that I find such beauty in all kinds of pain - whether I'm trying to emote the feeling, or to understand someone's pain. I find it fascinating. Somehow it makes me feel more real. More alive. Less alone.

I think Pain has a job. I had a friend tell me once that he thought Pain marked a path. I've heard someone else say, "One can only feel as much joy, as sadness has carved a space for." Okay. That hurt. I won't do that again. Or I'll do it differently. Use a different tool. We spend our lives making all kinds of decisions based on previous experiences (mistakes!?!).

It seems we spend so much of our time avoiding pain. When you're in it - because it's unpleasant, you're thinking FUCK this hurts and was the WRONG thing to do. But it's got a purpose, doesn't it? It motivates and moves you.

I had another conversation with a computer programmer who talked about how computers learn. Looks like they learn from mistakes, just like we do. Figures. We MADE them and use our own lives as a technological blueprint. It's all so linear. So basically, LIFE and CODE work the same way. We know when a computer works. When it doesn't work, well then you've got to dig to figure out what the problem is. That digging is frustrating, yes. It's called growth.

You don't learn anything from succeeding. You only learn when you fail. Failing is a necessary component of growth. So maybe I should be less hard on myself? Especially on other people. Wasn't Lincoln a loser before he became president?

I think I want to make friends with Pain. I wish that when I'm feeling the worst of pain, that I can be peaceful and accept it. Work with it. See it as another tool for progress. Reach out to others because of it, rather than removing myself and pushing it and other people with it away. Maybe pain isn't so bad.

I am wanting to live in a world that doesn't shrink from pain. I can't tell you how excited I was when I discovered HBO's Six Feet Under. FINALLY, there's artful substance out there that's not afraid to talk about the very painful reality of death. Loss. Grief. I mean - it's a HUGE thing that links all of us together! So it can't be all that bad, can it?

Have you ever tried to find the bereavement section in a bookstore? You have to look really hard. And it's pretty small, compared to all the happy stuff. Makes me furious. I remember trying to find a book about miscarriage. After finally finding the Death and Dying section, I found TWO books on miscarriage. Infuriating. I mean come ON. In the whole bookstore there were TWO!! Why don't people want to talk about that stuff? About pain? Are we that spineless? I think book stores should better reflect real proportions of the common human experience. We ALL die. Living in spite of pain can make you stronger. Provides depth of experience. Makes life more precious. Meaningful. REAL. If I EVER own a bookstore.......

Ahhhchhh. Nevermind.

I will sign off with two poems by Mark Strand. I think the first poem, "The Dress" illustrates how pain works and works FOR us. The second poem, "The Guardian", illustrates my desire to trust it.

---------------------------

The Dress
- M. Strand

Lie down on the bright hill
with the moon's hand on your cheek,
your flesh deep in the white folds of your dress,
and you will not hear the passionate mole
extending the length of his darkness,
or the owl arranging all of the night,
which is his wisdom, or the poem
filling your pillow with its blue feathers.
But if you step out of your dress and move into the shade,
the mole will find you, so will the owl, and so will the poem,
and you will fall into another darkness, one you will find
yourself making and remaking until it is perfect.

---------------------------

The Guardian
- M. Strand

The sun setting. The lawns of fire.
The lost day, the lost light.
Why do I love what fades?

You who left, who were leaving,
what dark rooms do you inhabit?
Guarding of my death,

preserve my absence. I am alive.

~ : H O M E : ~

Where is your favorite place in the world? Mine's at home. In this very spot, actually. I get up at 5:00 AM every morning JUST so I can sit in this chair. Getting up early gives me a false, ( I know, I STILL like it) sense of control over my day. I brew some coffee, nourish the dog and cats, microwave some oatmeal, add milk and sugar to my coffee ( which was dark enough for my brother to tell me it would peel the varnish off my car), grab either my knitting, dream interpretation dictionary, or the mac, and set myself down. Deeeeeep, deep down in that cozy chair.

I think this is the most spiritual part of my day. The second most spiritual part of my day is in the car. (But that's an entirely different post.) It's like charging my batteries for the day so I can move around and be mobile. It's not really day dreaming - rather morning dreaming.

Back to spirituality, I spend the red chair time gathering my thoughts about the day- it's a mental diary. Kind of. I look around my kitchen at all the things I've placed there. I melt looking at beautiful colors and what light does to them. What colors do to each other. I look at spaces and depth. I think about where the sun is and the arch it will draw with shadows over my house. And I sit in this chair to be grateful. To soak in TIME. Peace. I think about what I'll be teaching that day. What I'll be learning. I think about how lucky I am to get paid for doing what I love.

Hold on... time for a sip of coffee.So! Back to the red chair. See the window just behind my coffee mug? There's a little bunny den down there around the back of the house. Doug (my husband) found him there. I think it's Peter Rabbit. I'm sure of it.

And speaking of Doug - in he walks to the kitchen from upstairs with sheetmarks still on his cheeks. He kisses me good morning. Then he's off and ready for a run. Sometimes he get up first and makes the coffee, feeds the animals. Then Bjorn, our 5.5 lb Papillon dances around the house zooming in front of the cats, circling the floor until he turns into a blur. He stops, jumps up into my lap for a cuddle. Gunther, my oldest cat, snuggles in. Pretty soon we have ourselves a threesome.

And that, my dear friends, is how I prepare myself for the delightful task of soaking YOU in.

~ : S P E E C H L E S S : ~

I am so excited about starting a Blog.
I think this will be good - will encourage me
to journal consistently.

Ok, I'm nervous and I have no idea WHAT to say.

Oooftah.

I'll try again tomorrow.