Gertrude Stein Said It Best!

A ROSE

IS A ROSE

IS A ROSE

IS A ROSE

 On this, the first day of fall, I never expected another rose.  What good fortune this is!

Taking a Sad Song and Making it Better

So my brother calls me this morning, right at the moment that I am crying because my husband and I have just opened an anniversary card from our middle child and it was so so beautiful and she lives so far away.

We have this conversation, my brother and me. I tell him that I am having great difficulty handling the emotions associated with letting go of my adult children.

I tell him – and he agrees – that it’s really ironic that I am having this problem, considering the fact that I was so intent on getting away from my own family as a young woman.

And without missing a beat, he says he thinks that there is a ying and yang here, that is, the emotions that drove me to leave my past behind, are related to the emotions that I am experiencing now.

He has known me all my life of course. He reminds me that as a child I had what we call the “aroo tummin?” (are you coming?) complex, shorthand for me not ever wanting to separate from my mother. This separation anxiety was so severe that at age 12, when I went to stay with my cousin one summer, I wet my bed. I think I remember coming home to my Mom earlier than I was supposed to.

I remember a conversation with her afterwards that went something like this: “Mom, if I can’t leave you now then how am I going to get married someday?” My mom, smiling, responded by saying, “Well, I guess we’ll all just have to come with you, in a caravan of cars!”

My brother (who is older than me by almost two years) noted that when I turned seventeen I wanted nothing more than to escape the family. I needed to go as far away as possible in order to become the person I was going to be. I spent years living in California and a variety of other places.

And then, boom, at 29 or 30 I made another switch, this time deciding I wanted to have my own family. My husband and I came back to live only an hour from my folks. I folded my emotions into my three kids, and enjoyed close relationships with my parents and siblings and other members of my family. Through all the kids' growing up years, I didn't give much thought to the fact that like me, my three offspring were going to have to separate in order to live their own independent and productive lives. My mother would express this irony with one of her favorite phraises: "What goes around comes around."

So here I am today, with the kids grown, reliving the same emotions that I felt as a child, terrified of the separation, worrying and anxious that I’ll never accept the fact that children grow up and move away. The empty nest remains the empty nest, until you as a parent fill your life with new activities and meaningful relationships.

And of course you continue to love your children. And of course you have relationships with each of them. But you don’t put yourself through misery every time you think about how wonderful it was to have your kids as they grew up. You listen to your husband ask “Aren’t you glad your children are happy and productive people?” and "Can't you enjoy all the wonderful memories you have of them?"

Just then the tears bubble up and that’s precisely the moment my brother calls to ask me about this hotel in Rome and after I answer him, he asks how I am and instead of lying and saying I’m fine, I tell him the truth: that I am having trouble adjusting to my role as the mother of adult children. He tells me that yes it’s an objectively difficult problem, and then he offers his wisdom, that some of the impulses and emotions I feel today are intricately tied up in with the way I felt as a child growing up. He adds: “Your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness.”

I thank him and say that I am afraid if I write about this issue, I am going to make myself depressed and he says “No, I think just the opposite is going to happen.” He says he thinks that I need to deal with this problem and writing about it in a clear way might be exactly the right cure.

I’m not sure about that, but then again, as soon as I hung up the phone, I ran to my computer and wrote down what you see here.

To be continued… 

Don't Miss This Powerful Book!!

I used to be a writer. I used to think it mattered what images I saw in my head. I used to spend considerable time finding just the right words to capture those images on paper. I used to stare off into space, seeing the faces of my characters in what felt like a movie strip. I could see how they walked, and laughed. I could see the color and texture of their hair and the lines in their faces.

I used to care what these characters thought, how they felt and acted, and what motivated them to do what they do. I used to sit for hours joyfully creating whole worlds that my characters and I would inhabit.  I loved babbling away on paper. It made me very very happy to write.

So what happened ? How is it that I can hardly bring myself to the keyboard anymore.  Where has my inspiration gone? Why have the cinema strips gone dark?

My husband says I let rejection slips sap my creative spirit. He may be right. Today I received another rejection on my second novel. The agent I had sent it to spoke of the pleasure that she had reading my opening chapters. But as she wasn’t "passionate about the voice or the plot, " she was going to pass. I think I have received the exact letter from a dozen other agents, just in the last couple of months.

If you are not careful or you don’t have a Teflon personality, those rejections can poison your spirit.

Try as I might, I’ve let the rejection letters seep like toxic water, deep into my heart. They have helped to ruin my love of writing.  They have convinced me that writing fiction is a total waste of time, because I’m never going to have anyone to publish or read it. If I want it published, I have to do it myself. I have to spend the money to publish it and then find the energy to carry the books to bookstores and signings. I have to scramble to get reviewers who will take my writing seriously. I have to stand up to the constant feeling that I am not a “real” writer because my fiction has not been recognized by the major literary marketplace.

No matter that my first novel (a mother/daughter story called Dreaming Maples) was very well received. No matter that the novel was nominated for a Pushcart prize. That doesn’t matter.

I could be sitting here now with tears brimming. I could be crying over the fact that what I used to love doing, what used to feed my soul, all that creative energy, has fizzled away.

But last week I met this dynamic woman -– Suzi Banks Baum -- who writes 1,000 word a day. She happily publishes on her blog. She doesn’t talk about rejections. She is too busy writing and bringing together a bunch of other women who write about motherhood and art and the creative force.  In the words of one of these women, Suzi has “pulled us all into her powerful orbit" where she holds the women in a circle of creativity. Recently Suzi served as editor for a collection of women's writing in a book called An Anthology of Babes. The book features the writings and visual art of 36 women who combine mothering with their art. This is a book you should buy and read from cover to cover. It’s electrifying to feel the energy and passion these writers and artists have.

This book, and Suzi, and the collection of writers she has assembled, have had a profound effect on me. For the first time in months, I am excited to start writing again. Once again, I am getting inspired to see my filmstrip rolling.

So if you need a jumpstart on your writing, buy this book. And if you like to read inspiring essays, buy this book. It's well worth supporting this dynamic group of women  artists. 

There's one other reason to buy the book: part of the proceeds from book sales help to support two organizations that provide vital services to women in Berkshire County. 

A Magical Morning with Thich Nhat Hanh

Anyone who has read his amazing books knows that spiritual leader Thich Nhat Hanh has a profound ability to make us feel deep appreciation for the moments we live.

He reminds us over and over again that being happy doesn't involve waiting for some future event to arrive, or in acquiring some object or satisfying some desire. Thai -- the name he uses -- shows us that joy is right here in this very moment we take our next breath. Happiness lies in the ability to be mindful of all of the joy and mystery of life. One of his many quotes is this one:

"Breathing in, I calm my body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. This is the present moment, this is a wonderful moment."

Indeed, every moment of life is a miracle.

On Sunday, I had the good fortune (along with about 1500 other people) to spend the morning with Thich Nhat Hanh, who was in retreat at the Blue Cliff monastery in Pine Bush, N.Y. I have always loved Thich Nhat Hanh's books and messages, but I wasn't sure what to expect of him as a speaker. I was astonished at Thai's ability to make so many of us in the huge crowd smile. He reminded us that we can be in contact with joy simply by taking the time to focus on the in-and-out of breathing and so many other of life's mysteries.

Many of us who crowded into the monastery on Sunday to hear the humble 87-year old Vietnamese monk speak were smiling during the entire presentation.

He has the remarkable capability of communicating profoundly moving ideas in simple words and images.  While acknowledging that life inevitably involves suffering and loss, he makes us see that peace and joy lie in appreciating (being mindful of) so many of life's everyday activities.

At the end of his talk, Thai invited all of us to take a mindful walk. I was sitting with friends in a tent outside the monastery hall, which was packed and overflowing. But it turns out that our tent seats were ideal. As Thai proceeded to lead the mindful walking, he headed directly toward us, and came so close that we fell right in step only a few feet behind him. While the skies were threatening rain, and the rumbling of thunder filled the air, we made our way around the Blue Cliff's beautiful grounds.

And then, Thai stopped, and sat down, and prepared to give a blessing.

My friend Christine, who once before encountered the monk at another retreat (she passed him on a walk and he handed her a Bodhi leaf), sat very close to the spiritual leader. (She is the blonde woman in the photo.) But no matter how close you were to the spiritual leader on Sunday, you felt the power and magic of his message and the peace and joy that fills his life and the lives of all who are fortunate enough to hear his message.

The Quintessence of the Rose of Sharon

right here

in a flower.

the power

of a color

tender lavender

petals

All year we wait for

our beloved blooms to arrive.

Now they are here

outside the window

now

the Rose of Sharon

how 

do eye take them

in the lavender

 there is a 

red star that explodes

in five 

in every

direction and frames

 the fuzzy

stamen inside.

don't look past the flower.
trace it

In the blink of your

eye,

you will see

in the dictionary that the

stamen

is

"the fundamental element or                                             quintessence of a thing."

How do we possibly

absorb 

the quintessence

of flowerness

Close your eyes

try to picture it 

snap a photo
to capture

Try to make it last

in the camera of the 

mind's eye

but it
only

lasts

as long
as you

 stare some more.

Poem Written in Candle Light

By Claudia Ricci

I dip the candle in ink.

I dip the ink in fire.

I fire a long thin feather.

I watch the yellow flame.

It flickers.  It flies.  It webs and 
it waxes and wicks.

It says spider. 

It says spider.

It says write her 

story exactly

right

right

here

HEAR

It says 
do KNOT
stay there
terrified
holding on to
the webbing 

Inside the net.
LET HER STORY 

emerge like a glittering diamond

A gem

Let the light of it fill the room.

Let the light of it fill the sky.

Let it shine the moon,

Let it dawn.

Inside you.

Lay lines.  Lay lines.

In wax as red as

Blood flowing

Down onto the page,

Stay present stay present

No tenses needed

I pick up the candle

my fingers shaking

the flame

melting the wax in my hand.

It drips a line of red wax on my page.

It dances

red on white

congealing

exactly like this line of words

appears

Here HEAR

The gem emerges in the

soft light of the candle

I keep writing writing.

I grow frightened by the red wax.

By the power of the words

Right here WRITE HEAR

The wax

congeals.

The diamond is glowing

on the page 

Her story

More.

Baptising My Baby

By Claudia Ricci

What was this? What creature?

I wasn't sure, but wait,
Mary said, very clearly,
that I gave birth to her,
that I am her mother,
but how can this possibly be?
I AM MUCH TOO OLD FOR THIS
My children are long grown,
into fine adults, the three
SO WHO IS THIS BABY
AND WHAT IS SHE DEMANDING OF ME?

At first, I think
I must be going out of my mind.
This baby is a figment
a fragment,
and these are the thoughts of a truly crazy person,
I am not thinking straight, I even spelled
crazy
craisy, crasy, craisy,
it wasn't until my husband pointed this
out now
I am shouting, I want out,
I want no part of this damned
child, the creature who seems to
want to
eat me alive starting with my heart.

But wait.
I jostle her,
her tiny butt,
I rock her I cradle her head
against the bare skin of my chest
Up against my saggy breasts.
Mary says
She wants only one 
only one thing from your
heart to your heart she
want you to start to
LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE
her
from you
to you

I breathe in and hold my breath
and close my eyes and shudder
and Mary keeps speaking:
This child is you your baby your body
you 
and all things feminine in the youniverse
This is the daughter of your soul
and you must comfort her forever
The more you push her away the more
frantic she will be.
So love her no matter what.

So I caress and cradle
her head
and whisper to her me, I will never
ever push you away, do you
hear me? You are welcome here
as long as you want to stay
I will not run away.

These words soothe her rubbery limbs
she goes limp as I sit in the rocker
stroking her to sleep. Very quietly
I get up from the chair and carry
her into my bedroom and set her down.
I pile pillows all around her,
and tiptoe out of the room,
as it is time for me to go running.

I tie my bright blue running shoes
and head out the door when
I hear shrieking
I cringe
I hear Mary's words again:
She doesn't trust you,
she knows full well 
you were lying 
all along
you were planning your escape.

What can I do but return to
the bedroom and pick her up
and start all over to soothe her
to tell her how deeply I love her
How I never ever planned to
abandon her.

To show her my commitment
I strap her into the front of my
blue running bra and head out.
I ignore her fingernails
digging into my chest
her skinny feet
kicking at my ribs,
I never even flinch
when I feel her warm pee
soaking my shorts.
We slowly climb the first hill.
up and down the second hill
me panting,
me my
heart
pumping she
keeps her face buried in my chest

Until finally we are
back in the yard
to the pond where,
he smiles at me
I see myself in the mirrored surface
of the water.

As Mary said, she wants
Only love love love love
my love and my infinite
acceptance
from me.
To see, she said, that you 
will keep loving me
no matter what no
matter if it feels hard
I must feel deep deep regard


With her
against my chest
her tiny skull in my cupped hand
I lean back I
do the back stroke
We are
clinging so tightly to each
me
we are one we love the water,
and then it occurs to
me, that if she is my baby me
then I must have a suitable name
ME LOVING ME ME ME ME
this is
as Mary
says this is the opportunity of a lifetime

I close my eyes and gaze right into
the water or me calls out the name, \
a version of my own middle name I shout
JEANNA (pronounced GEE-NA.)
over and over and over
Jeanna Jeanna Jeanna Jeanna Jeanna
A fine name Mary whispers
And now it is time
to finish.
Finish? Mary, Mary,what do you mean?
Finish what? Mary remains silent.
I watch the fish wiggling through the cool green water.
I listen to the warm wind speaking
JEANNA JEANNA
Out of nowhere comes the word.
Baptism.
Of course.
Mary speaks
I will help christen you your child 
you two into one you
Kneeling at the edge of the water
I cup my hands and
lift
let the pond water dribble
over my forehead. I say a Hail Mary.
A feeling of pure joy comes over me

I feel my chest my heart beating
one two one two one two
an endless march and Mary
when I am looking up
she is smiling. Now the surface of the pond
is striped
in rays of sunlight
I wrap myself in a towel.
I walk back to the house
Thinking how happy I am
I am that I am
JEANNA.