Secundo’s been talking about lighthouses for a couple of months now. He tells a story of a little boat, lost at sea, in the dark. His eyes get big and round as moons, and his little mouth purses up like a gorgeous kiss and makes that cute “oooooo” shape when he says, “No moon, no ‘tars. All dark.” And then there’s the Light House. Which shines a light onto the dark water. And allows the boat to find its way home. All very meaningful to a two-year-old, no doubt.
So when Andy and I take off for the San Juan Islands this weekend, I’m pleasantly surprised to see lighthouses everywhere. On Friday we ride the ferry from Sidney to Anacortes and watch the harvest moon rise up out of the North Cascades. First a single mountain tip glows, then that fat old orange moon comes sailing up over snow-capped Baker, like a kid’s balloon. Somebody must be crying ‘cause they let go of the string. But where we are, it’s only awe and excitement: everybody runs for their cameras. Young and old alike gaze at nature’s beauty and feel the magic. How often do you exchange goofy grins with strangers on a boat?
Some moons are bigger than others. That was a big one. Maybe it didn’t help that I kept asking for more: more clarity, more consciousness. Problem was more confusion is what kept coming up. Challenges, things that aren’t easy to deal with. Andy asks if I expect him to support me. Yes (wouldn’t that be nice), and no (I’m growing up, finally!). Primo’s six year molars have at least another three months to go and they pain him until he cries most days. Secundo is sad every time he leaves me: more tears. And then there are my own tears and fears -- I have to keep the faith. Andy and I have a conversation about Angelina and Brad – what kind of parents are they? Andy figures the nanny does all the mothering in that family. I freak – my kids spend many of their days with caregivers and I’m being the best mother I can be. I consider packing it in – how will I become financially independent? (It’s in my best interest to do that as soon as possible, that’s advice from the BC Families in Transition Society (because I asked).)
Annie Lalla had a hard month too. That moon was drawing it out: pushing us to give it up. Ain’t nothing to hold onto. I want to be free. More than even that, I want my kids to be free.
“The storm abated,” writes Annie. “The sky, presently, is clear. The only thing I know is what I know NOW. Each NOW that presents itself is without any fear.”
On Saturday, on San Juan Island, I ran (westward I go free) and the story (my next novel, the one that’s going to become my meal ticket and turn me into a breadwinner) plopped itself right into my arms. The whole damn thing, just like that. And then Andy and I walked along the beach at Cattle Point while sea lions tore apart a small seal and seagulls caught the chunks that flew out of the water and Magic followed us over rocks and driftwood and tried to drink from the ocean. Then we went back to our cabin on Snug Harbour and made love. After that I read. We went out for dinner. On the drive home I cleaned my comb. And – hey -- I didn’t feel guilty. That’s a switch. That’s the switch.
“Mumma go away?” Secundo asked with his cheek against mine yesterday when we returned. “Stay Dada house.” Yes, darling. “Mumma here now. Go mumma’s house?” Yes, darling. He hasn’t started to ask why yet, but I answered it anyway. This is part of our life, I told them both then. Saying good bye and being apart will always be part of our life.
I hoofed it up the mountain this morning. OK, it’s only 800 feet high, but I can see the peak from my house and believe me, it’s as powerful as any mountain, specially how you can see the world from up there. I hadda go to Braefoot and drop off Primo’s lunch first and he kissed me good bye, right on the lips, without wiping it off. That’s when I know he means it. After that I ran and ran, and sat at the top for a while, and gave thanks.
Why do you do that, Andy asks? To plant seeds of gratitude. Why? He wants to know. Because sometimes there’s only the dark. No moon, no stars. Why no light, he asks? Why do you ask me these questions?
He pushes me, doesn’t let anything slide. Down the rabbit hole we go. At least he’s such good company down there. I’m interested, he said the first time he did it. At that my defensiveness quickly changed to ownership. Take for instance the rabbit hole at Cattle Point this weekend. I tell him I think Primo has challenges in his life that make it harder for him than some other kids. I see a happy, normal kid, Andy tells me. At the bottom of this hole, I see that I’ve been projecting my own “poor me complex” (which I’ve come by honestly, no doubt). And I want him to be free. I don’t want him to go through life with my baggage.
At the top of the mountain I feel all the love that’s in my heart. Thankful, I burst with it. My life is so good. Except for when it’s not. Hey, I can sing because I know how it feels to be free. And then, then I’m walking down the other side and another wave of grief slaps me sideways, and I fall down clutching my heart. Fuck, that hurts. And I’ve gotta act like it’s OK when I drop the boys off, when we say good bye -- again.
I’m looking for other people who are going through this. I don’t care if you live in Kalamazoo – I’d love to connect. It’s not easy.
It can be easy, says Andy, if you let it be. Oh, damn it, maybe I don’t want to let go of the pain. I stopped going to Bikram yoga because every frickin’ time I did the camel a whole lot of grief came pouring out of my heart and I’d spend the last half an hour of yoga licking the mingled tears and sweat off my skin. How much sadness is in me? I think I’ve accelerated the grieving process with all that hot yoga. I do know that it’s time to stop crying, at least in front of the children.
So I go climbing at the gym now, call people dude, and crank until I can’t even bend my fingers, much less hold onto anything. Now that’s letting go.
I will do anything – run, sit, pray, fuck, write, laugh – rather than go to that place of darkness. A friend of my friends in Canmore took a swan dive off Ha Ling on purpose. And she had a good life, so they all said, two kids among all the other stuff. Hey, I feel for Britney Spears. I am sad and it’s OK. I move us along. This is how it is now: it is good. That’s how God does it.
I’m not the only one. Andy’s grandfather reminded him of this after Andy found his wife in bed with another man. I know Steph is often lonely when the kids are with me. And I’ve had the majority of them so far. (70/30, now it’s 60/40). My friend and her partner have his kids with them 50% of the time. Sometimes when they leave she says he walks around with that sad look on his face. “But I don’t want it to be this glass half full thing when they’re not with us,” she says. I so agree. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And that’s probably because I think it’s hard. If I thought it was easy, would it be?
Yesterday Secundo fell asleep at 5:30. Any two-year-old who doesn’t nap will crash at supper. Nothing cuter than the big eyes going down to half mast, the plump cheeks falling into the mashed potatoes. We put him into his bed in the light of the lighthouse lamp we found at Friday Harbour. When Primo dropped the Mousetrap game in their room, his little bro stirred, so Primo sang him back to sleep in a warbling Vienna boy’s soprana with an open throat. “That puts him to sleep, Mom,” he said. No doubt.
Secundo woke up at 5:30 this morning. Me and the boys got out of bed and turned the lighthouse on and read books. Then we went to Tim Horton’s for breakfast, filled up the car with gas, and explored Willows Beach – all before 8 a.m. I hold nothing back. I give everything to them. There are no blocks that keep us apart.
So, little men. I set you free. Free from the chains that still hold me. See that lighthouse shining across the water. Clear sailing. I’ll be right here beside you, even when we’re not together. And remember that I believe every person can be -- should be -- free. Starting with me. And I actively work to make it so.
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish that I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish that I could break all the chains holding me
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
Say them loud, say them clear
For the whole wide world to hear
I wish I could share all the love that’s in my heart
And move all the blocks that keep us apart
And I wish you could know how it feels to be me
And to see and agree that every man should be free
I wish I could fly like a bird in the sky
How sweet it would be if I found I could fly
Well I’d soar to the sun and go down at the sea
And I’d sing cause I know how it feels to be free
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
And I wish I could say all the things that I wanna say
Say them loud, say them clear for the whole wide world to hear
Say them loud, say them clear for the whole wide world to hear
Lighthouse Family
So when Andy and I take off for the San Juan Islands this weekend, I’m pleasantly surprised to see lighthouses everywhere. On Friday we ride the ferry from Sidney to Anacortes and watch the harvest moon rise up out of the North Cascades. First a single mountain tip glows, then that fat old orange moon comes sailing up over snow-capped Baker, like a kid’s balloon. Somebody must be crying ‘cause they let go of the string. But where we are, it’s only awe and excitement: everybody runs for their cameras. Young and old alike gaze at nature’s beauty and feel the magic. How often do you exchange goofy grins with strangers on a boat?
Some moons are bigger than others. That was a big one. Maybe it didn’t help that I kept asking for more: more clarity, more consciousness. Problem was more confusion is what kept coming up. Challenges, things that aren’t easy to deal with. Andy asks if I expect him to support me. Yes (wouldn’t that be nice), and no (I’m growing up, finally!). Primo’s six year molars have at least another three months to go and they pain him until he cries most days. Secundo is sad every time he leaves me: more tears. And then there are my own tears and fears -- I have to keep the faith. Andy and I have a conversation about Angelina and Brad – what kind of parents are they? Andy figures the nanny does all the mothering in that family. I freak – my kids spend many of their days with caregivers and I’m being the best mother I can be. I consider packing it in – how will I become financially independent? (It’s in my best interest to do that as soon as possible, that’s advice from the BC Families in Transition Society (because I asked).)
Annie Lalla had a hard month too. That moon was drawing it out: pushing us to give it up. Ain’t nothing to hold onto. I want to be free. More than even that, I want my kids to be free.
“The storm abated,” writes Annie. “The sky, presently, is clear. The only thing I know is what I know NOW. Each NOW that presents itself is without any fear.”
On Saturday, on San Juan Island, I ran (westward I go free) and the story (my next novel, the one that’s going to become my meal ticket and turn me into a breadwinner) plopped itself right into my arms. The whole damn thing, just like that. And then Andy and I walked along the beach at Cattle Point while sea lions tore apart a small seal and seagulls caught the chunks that flew out of the water and Magic followed us over rocks and driftwood and tried to drink from the ocean. Then we went back to our cabin on Snug Harbour and made love. After that I read. We went out for dinner. On the drive home I cleaned my comb. And – hey -- I didn’t feel guilty. That’s a switch. That’s the switch.
“Mumma go away?” Secundo asked with his cheek against mine yesterday when we returned. “Stay Dada house.” Yes, darling. “Mumma here now. Go mumma’s house?” Yes, darling. He hasn’t started to ask why yet, but I answered it anyway. This is part of our life, I told them both then. Saying good bye and being apart will always be part of our life.
I hoofed it up the mountain this morning. OK, it’s only 800 feet high, but I can see the peak from my house and believe me, it’s as powerful as any mountain, specially how you can see the world from up there. I hadda go to Braefoot and drop off Primo’s lunch first and he kissed me good bye, right on the lips, without wiping it off. That’s when I know he means it. After that I ran and ran, and sat at the top for a while, and gave thanks.
Why do you do that, Andy asks? To plant seeds of gratitude. Why? He wants to know. Because sometimes there’s only the dark. No moon, no stars. Why no light, he asks? Why do you ask me these questions?
He pushes me, doesn’t let anything slide. Down the rabbit hole we go. At least he’s such good company down there. I’m interested, he said the first time he did it. At that my defensiveness quickly changed to ownership. Take for instance the rabbit hole at Cattle Point this weekend. I tell him I think Primo has challenges in his life that make it harder for him than some other kids. I see a happy, normal kid, Andy tells me. At the bottom of this hole, I see that I’ve been projecting my own “poor me complex” (which I’ve come by honestly, no doubt). And I want him to be free. I don’t want him to go through life with my baggage.
At the top of the mountain I feel all the love that’s in my heart. Thankful, I burst with it. My life is so good. Except for when it’s not. Hey, I can sing because I know how it feels to be free. And then, then I’m walking down the other side and another wave of grief slaps me sideways, and I fall down clutching my heart. Fuck, that hurts. And I’ve gotta act like it’s OK when I drop the boys off, when we say good bye -- again.
I’m looking for other people who are going through this. I don’t care if you live in Kalamazoo – I’d love to connect. It’s not easy.
It can be easy, says Andy, if you let it be. Oh, damn it, maybe I don’t want to let go of the pain. I stopped going to Bikram yoga because every frickin’ time I did the camel a whole lot of grief came pouring out of my heart and I’d spend the last half an hour of yoga licking the mingled tears and sweat off my skin. How much sadness is in me? I think I’ve accelerated the grieving process with all that hot yoga. I do know that it’s time to stop crying, at least in front of the children.
So I go climbing at the gym now, call people dude, and crank until I can’t even bend my fingers, much less hold onto anything. Now that’s letting go.
I will do anything – run, sit, pray, fuck, write, laugh – rather than go to that place of darkness. A friend of my friends in Canmore took a swan dive off Ha Ling on purpose. And she had a good life, so they all said, two kids among all the other stuff. Hey, I feel for Britney Spears. I am sad and it’s OK. I move us along. This is how it is now: it is good. That’s how God does it.
I’m not the only one. Andy’s grandfather reminded him of this after Andy found his wife in bed with another man. I know Steph is often lonely when the kids are with me. And I’ve had the majority of them so far. (70/30, now it’s 60/40). My friend and her partner have his kids with them 50% of the time. Sometimes when they leave she says he walks around with that sad look on his face. “But I don’t want it to be this glass half full thing when they’re not with us,” she says. I so agree. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And that’s probably because I think it’s hard. If I thought it was easy, would it be?
Yesterday Secundo fell asleep at 5:30. Any two-year-old who doesn’t nap will crash at supper. Nothing cuter than the big eyes going down to half mast, the plump cheeks falling into the mashed potatoes. We put him into his bed in the light of the lighthouse lamp we found at Friday Harbour. When Primo dropped the Mousetrap game in their room, his little bro stirred, so Primo sang him back to sleep in a warbling Vienna boy’s soprana with an open throat. “That puts him to sleep, Mom,” he said. No doubt.
Secundo woke up at 5:30 this morning. Me and the boys got out of bed and turned the lighthouse on and read books. Then we went to Tim Horton’s for breakfast, filled up the car with gas, and explored Willows Beach – all before 8 a.m. I hold nothing back. I give everything to them. There are no blocks that keep us apart.
So, little men. I set you free. Free from the chains that still hold me. See that lighthouse shining across the water. Clear sailing. I’ll be right here beside you, even when we’re not together. And remember that I believe every person can be -- should be -- free. Starting with me. And I actively work to make it so.
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish that I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish that I could break all the chains holding me
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
Say them loud, say them clear
For the whole wide world to hear
I wish I could share all the love that’s in my heart
And move all the blocks that keep us apart
And I wish you could know how it feels to be me
And to see and agree that every man should be free
I wish I could fly like a bird in the sky
How sweet it would be if I found I could fly
Well I’d soar to the sun and go down at the sea
And I’d sing cause I know how it feels to be free
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
And I wish I could say all the things that I wanna say
Say them loud, say them clear for the whole wide world to hear
Say them loud, say them clear for the whole wide world to hear
Lighthouse Family
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