When Jada Pinkett-Smith was asked why she let her daughter Willow shave her head, this is what she said: "This subject is old but I have never answered it in its entirety. And even with this post it will remain incomplete. The question why I would LET Willow cut her hair. First the LET must be challenged. This is a world where women, girls are constantly reminded that they don't belong to themselves; that their bodies are not their own, nor their power, or self determination. I made a promise to endow my little girl with the power to always know that her body, spirit, and her mind are HER domain. Willow cut her hair because her beauty, her value, her worth is not measured by the length of her hair. It's also a statement that claims that even little girls have the RIGHT to own themselves and should not be a slave to even their mother's deepest insecurities, hopes, and desires. Even little girls should not be a slave to the preconceived ideas of what a culture believes a little girl should be. More to come. Another day."

When I was pregnant with my first child, my mother in law said something beautiful. Actually, I think she was paraphrasing something her Grandmother had taught her? Its written on a card she sent when she heard the good news, which is saved in a box upstairs somewhere. Basically: the more children you have, the more you come to understand your heart is capable of infinite expansion. Its the loveliest thing she's ever said to me.

We have to come to grips with the fact that our time on earth is limited. That is the hardest part--mortality. After that, it is slightly easier but no less relentlessly true that we have to choose what we will do. And in so choosing, will also be choosing what we won't do. Where we will and won't be.

I heard of an old woman who spent her entire 80-something years on the Outer Banks of N.C. She never left Hatteras Island. Hatteras is a fragile and fierce spit of sand staring down the Atlantic ocean and only about two miles wide. She lived her whole life there. We could say that is sad, thinking of everything she missed inland. But there is also something extremely beautiful about her life, to me. She is of that place wholly, as much as the oysters, sea oats, local accent, and salt. The people of Hatteras were so isolated for so long, to this very day they carry an Old English lilt in their speech, from their ancestors the Pilgrims who landed there and never left. Much like the isolated folks of Appalachia who arrived from the Highlands of Scotland, found solace in the mountains, and never left. They also retain local quirks of language, though the accent is lost from what is was, even since I was a child. I can clearly hear these regions as distinct from each other and from the accent of central NC.

Its cool to be of a place. But the world is huge. There is so much to see. Every time I've gone out into the world, my heart has expanded in a thrilling happy way. I've met and loved new people, heard new accents, discovered new foods and wonders from the geologic to the mystic. But always with a longing for home. Only to return home to discover a new longing for the wider world, a heart expanded in both joy and longing.

When I was pregnant with my first child my sister in law gave me a copy of "Operating Instructions" by Anne Lamott. Its a journal of Lamott's first year as a mother in which she learns she's "basically fucked" because she loves her son so much. She comes to understand she is now eternally vulnerable to the pain of unimaginable loss.

Its not just babies that expand our hearts. And its not just land we leave, when we roam. I'm ticking all of this around, wondering if my husband's work will ever lead us further afield. Its so hard to think of leaving. Its so sad to think of never going. But the truth is, life is for breaking our hearts open wider and wider so we can love more and more. Even though more and more always twins with less and less. We can't make life hurt less, but we can figure out how to enjoy it more.

"RELISH!" Bradbury said.

My daughter walked into my room yesterday and I started to cry. Then I kind of laughed while crying at the same time. Was it Dolly Parten in Steel Magnolias who said, "Laughter through tears is the best emotion"?

Some years ago my thyroid freaked out. Actually, I never felt freaky. A run of the mill blood test during a checkup showed I was running high. Alarmingly high. So high the clinicians couldn't figure out why I had no symptoms. But thyroid issues run through the women in my family, I'm always tested, and no one was terribly shocked to hear mine was off. Though my sister, to her credit, made me repeat it three or four times. "High, they said your numbers were high?" Let's just say, I don't exactly look hyperthyroid...

So I trotted over to the fanciest hospital in this state, redid all the tests, confirmed my hyperthyroid diagnosis, and got a treatment plan. Through all of this I was sort of stoic, I guess. Let's just say I was stoic and graceful and taking it in stride. I've had friends with much worse diagnoses lately. The doctor told me they would have to remove my thyroid and put me on thyroxin. Right. I hardly blinked. She said they could do surgery. I was there when they wheeled my sister out of that surgery. Uh, no thanks. "Or," she said, "we can destroy your gland with radiation, there won't be any damage to the rest of your body, and that's that." I said, without blinking, I'd have the radiation. The doctor was pleased. I made the correct choice.

She went on to explain how it would go, the steps, what happens, etc, "then you go home and you can't touch or be near anyone for about three days." Hold the fucking phone. What do you mean three days? I can't touch my children for THREE DAYS? Right there, I burst into tears--the whole shabang with sobbing and snot and hiccuping. The doctor, who is as cold a bitch as I've ever met in my life, was totally flummoxed by my tears.

Sometimes I think what I do isn't all that important or challenging these days. Then I get a little cold with the tiniest little fever and have to spend the briefest few days laying bed. My husband absolutely picks up my slack. He's pure gold. The kitchen is kept clean and food is lovingly prepared and served. But I'm unable to do my job. What I do. I'm unable to be there for my kids. And my daughter walks into the room and I burst into tears. At the same time I begin to laugh. Because I love my children so much. And I am so lucky.

As for that bitch-three-days-doctor and her diagnosis, it turns out I only had something called thyroiditis. It resolved spontaneously. I never had to have any kind of surgery, radiation, or otherwise.

I'm on the mend, y'all. Thanks for the well wishes! :o)

Joe Heller

True story, Word of Honor:
Joseph Heller, an important and funny writer
now dead,
and I were at a party given by a billionaire
on Shelter Island.

I said, "Joe, how does it make you feel
to know that our host only yesterday
may have made more money
than your novel 'Catch-22'
has earned in its entire history?"
And Joe said, "I've got something he can never have."
And I said, "What on earth could that be, Joe?"
And Joe said, "The knowledge that I've got enough."
Not bad! Rest in peace!

--Kurt Vonnegut

The New Yorker, May 16th, 2005

Big Daddy Lion has been in bed for an unprecedented two days, with a virus and hives. He'll be in bed this coming day, Thanksgiving, as well. Though I think he's turned the corner. I've been awake most of this night and I haven't heard much coughing coming from our bedroom. Which I presume means he is actually sleeping. And people, SLEEP is the key, the light, the way. Right up there with food. Sleep...why am I awake at 4 a.m.?

It looks like we will have modified celebration this year. For the first time in ...ever?... we don't have any guests coming nor travel plans. We're invited out to the country for a bonfire with old dear friends in the evening. I'll take the children out and that will be soul celebration. Later, maybe another day when the Lion is able, we shall feast on food. Before that, a feast of naps! And everywhere, gratitude.

Thank you, God, for this bounty, for life shelter food love and grace.

It hit me at 3 a.m. that homeschooled children get to sleep, on average, at least an hour longer than their schooled peers everyday. Often two hours longer, judging the sleep of children in this house and figuring most middle schoolers average bed time at 9 and wake by 7. I'm guessing stress at home may be about half of the stress encountered by school kids? That is a wild guess, based on personal school experience and observation of kids at home. Life is generally a lot less stressful at home...as long as Mom gets the sleep she needs... Anyhow, sleep and lack of stress probably have a lot to do with the academic advantage homeschooled kids enjoy.

Here is an interesting resource. Homeschooling: The Pros And Cons

 What I keep noticing lately is the long strange whole impossible length of them these days.