graduation day

I finished my paper. Today my professor said, congratulations on your excellent paper.

I beamed. Because it really is excellent that I finished it. And it proves to me that despite how difficult I am, my people will step in and pull me to the finish line. My people. My excellent people.

Ramona, Brian, Dr. Robins, Bambi, Daniel. My people.

Ramona: you never really cared whether I was there or not. Dad is just as good as mom, thank you for knowing that.

Brian: you are no hero. there is no magic here. you don't rush in to save me. you make me find my own way every time. you aren't living this life for me. you weren't put on this earth to make my dreams come true. you fought me over every moment I took. and that's the way it should be. I'd pick you out of every man on earth.

Dr. Robins: you taught me about being a great teacher. You never lowered your expectations, but also never hated me for failing. You offered no praise and in turn, no blame. When I came back, we just started where I was. This is teaching.

Bambi: you hounded me over this paper even when I had no intention of writing it. I wrote it to please you. I wrote it so we could be friends without you badgering me all the time. God's Honest Truth.

Daniel: you called me a Proust reading thesis writing bad-ass. Talking is not the same as writing, but I always did my best work after a good long talk. Everyone deserves a friend as wise as you.

I'm not going to "walk", there will be no party. It just took me too long and I'm ready to move on. This is it. Welcome to my graduation. Congratulations on your excellent paper, Nova Bradfield.

landslide

Well, I've been afraid of changing, 'cause I've built my life around you.

I've heard Landslide by Fleetwood Mac so often I can't really hear it anymore, but somehow this morning, I heard it as if for the first time.

And I heard it in my head as Ramona and I watered the plants. And I heard it as we walked around the neighborhood. As we ate our peanut butter sandwiches. And when she exclaimed how much she loved her milk and her blankie as we got ready for nap the song broke open and soaked me with meaning.

Well, I've been afraid of changing, 'cause I've built my life around you.

Ramona's going to preschool in August. And I'm scared. I'm scared she's too young and I've chosen wrong for her. I'm afraid she's a baby and they won't let her be a baby. I'm scared she won't be a baby anymore. I'm afraid, I'm afraid, I'm afraid.

I'm afraid because I've built my life around you.

Want to hear the truth? The you is not my Ramona. The you is The Way I Know You To Be . The World As I Know It. My fear takes stupid twists and turns. It follows a logical line, until you see it's built of bull. The truth is that I've built my life around things being just as I know them to be.

You are nearing a change, just as I am. And we don't even have to let go, it will let go of us. The landslide will bring you down.
Good luck, My Friends. Woooosh.

quiet kingdom

Before bed, I quietly rocked Ramona. I stared at her. She stared at me. And then she pinched my t-shirt between her fingers, brought her hand to her mouth, and pretended to "eat" what she had plucked. And again and again. Her little mouth smacking, no smile. A serious endeavor, eating whatever off my shirt. Off my cheek. My shoulder.

I whisper quietly, mostly just move my lips, what are you doing? I am not incredulous, I just want to know. I get no response. But I see her small monkey face and she seems more baby than she has felt in months.

Perhaps she was a monkey, perhaps she was my monkey?

It's times like this, when I see all the past and the present mixed up. I see the moment, there, standing all alone. And it breaks my heart because it's beautiful. And it's slipped away. It's moved on to its next spot. And I really should just close my eyes and reopen them.

Since then I've turned that part of an e.e.cummings poem around in my head...I'll get it wrong maybe, but this is how I remember it....I do not know how you close and open, all I know is the blue of your eyes is deeper than all roses.....and I remember being a primate and sitting, relaxed in the shade, my sweet mysterious baby, miracle, eating fleas from my shaggy coat. And not thinking, not wondering, not weeping. A monkey mind.

notes from the room

I'm into Oprah right now. I've been watching her network and reading old O magazines my mom has laying around. I'm a mess, maybe.

I have spent two weeks at home taking care of Ramona. I have rules. I have to eat breakfast and lunch, not too much coffee. And I have to at least clean up lunch during naptime. Then I read until I fall asleep. This is what I can accomplish for myself. I can eat two meals and wash a few dishes. A quick wipe with a washcloth. And then I am free to read and sleep.

But the waking hours of Ramona. Holding her hand. Coaxing, coaxing her to play my games. Change a diaper. Read a book. This is easy. I can do the things that would never land on a list. I can smile. I can pet her sweetheart head. I can do these things.

Oprah says, "Nova, you need a place to work. A desk. A place to focus your dreams!" So this morning Brian drug up an old crappy desk from the garage. I wiped it clean. I opened my computer, laid out an old list. And I began to peek inside. Inside the inbox. The lists. The plans. my heart.

I do this while watching out a window. Watching them play with the hose. I want to run out there and push all this off. Fall into the pace of the day. Fill a sippy cup, fix a shoe strap, change wet diaper, put the babydoll nigh-night. I will myself to not give into the pull of the day. I will myself to face the blog, face the research paper. Face the inbox.

remembering the rapture

I was "taking a break" from blogging during the rapture. Remember a few weeks ago when everyone was making all those rapture jokes?

I'm not going to lie. I was totally freaked out. I have anxiety issues that are set aflame very easily. I can't hear something even remotely scary without making it ten times scarier in the horror show studio of my head.

From time to time Christianity brushes by me in the dark. The day of the rapture, I thought, this is it, I'm going to hell. And then I had this strange reassuring thought, well....god will be down there with me. He didn't bring me into this world to abandon me now.

And anyway, hell will be a just fine place to practice Buddhism.

how hard is it?

The month of May is not for me. As usual, I got buried in work, birthdays, weddings, showers, graduations, illnesses, and I just zombie-walked through the whole thing.

Until yesterday, when I noticed it was June. When I noticed that the school year was over, that the schedule that never slowed down, suddenly stopped. Without a lot of hoping and counting down the days, the school year ended.

We said goodbye to our babysitter of two years. I said goodbye to some dear fifth grade readers. I said goodbye to a newly made friend. I said goodbye until my heart crashed to the ground, and I pulled over the car to sob. I mostly cried for me, I think. Because I have failed so much.

I failed Proust, I failed at 30 day yoga, I failed everything I tried. How hard is it? Can I try again? Can I just stop trying?

I'm not sure how to end this one. All I know is that it's June and I feel like if I could bake myself a cake, and lure my heart out into the open, I would apologize. I would say, "sorry for making this all so much harder than it really needs to be."

this baby was a baby

When I taught first grade we read this little story every year, An Egg is an Egg by Nicki Weiss. It's a simple, repetitive story. Easy to read. But hard to read. Because, it's about change. This post is inspired by the writing of Nicki Weiss and by my little girl's birthday.

An egg is an egg until it hatches and then it is a chick.
Nothing stays the same
Everything can change.
My little girl is now two. One was easy. One felt like thank god she's one and sleeps through the night. Thank god that scary wonderful year is over. But two? Oh, two is different.
This baby was a baby until she grew
and now she is a girl.
How much longer is she a baby? Every morning I greet her, and she's new. Every afternoon, I reunite with a new lovely stranger. She grows in every second.
But you can always be a baby
You will always be my baby.
Two feels like please let me gather up your small hands in mine. Two feels like let's press every moment into a book before it leaves us forever. One felt like regaining my footing. Two has turned me into a weeping fool.
Some things stay the same
Some things never change.
I don't know that part yet. I don't know the part that doesn't change. I see you growing so fast and I see me trying not to miss a thing. I see me missing lots of things. But I love you. I love you, I love you.
Some things stay the same
Some things never change.

happy birthday, beautiful.