bring your own light

I watched this show about the Emperor penguins of Antarctica recently and it got me all choked up. Freaking penguins. The males babysit the egg for months in the harshest conditions while the female hunts for food. I immediately connected to the penguins. I've been the papa penguin and the mama penguin, simultaneously. I feel like I've stepped up for the team with warmth and comfort. I've definitely left the team in search of nourishment. If these penguins can adapt to the harshest elements and employ cooperative behaviors in order to cope, so can we. Right? Love survives. Light brings love. I know what I'd do for my family. I'm proud of my love for them. Despite the feeling that my heart has been played, ignored, burned and broken, I still love. My trouble is, I love the one I'm with. When someone leaves me, I move on, to love the next bird, who cannot fly, but will recognize me by sight and smell and sound and touch and taste.

That's what I know. That's what I saw.

I can completely empathize with the mama penguin who comes home with a mouth full of squid, barely escaping the darkness, to find papa didn't survive the winter. Just as I was thinking the thought, the damn penguin show shows me what happens to the orphaned babies and extra mamas and papas. Sigh. They adopt. They find a new mate. Survival, baby! Gotta live. Gotta hope. Gotta nurture. Gotta survive. Gotta love. Gotta be.

If I know anything about darkness, it's this.

The only way out is through.

and 

You have to bring your own light. 

How Beautiful, Emperor Penguins

I was raised by ELLE magazine

How does a young girl learn to take care of herself and survive in a house with no mother, two older, stubborn brothers and an old school father? By reading magazines. That's how. When I was about 10, my father thoughtfully subscribed to ELLE magazine for me. I can tell you this, ELLE is not for ten year old girls; I never complained though, I was excited it wasn't some teeny-bopper rag mag full of pictures that I'd get bored with in a day. I didn't understand half the shit I was reading in ELLE, but I managed to figure it out. Just when I'd finish an issue, the next one would come. I never did HW because of ELLE, ever.  I scoured every issue from cover to cover well into my teenage years. The fashion, I skipped mostly. I wanted to know more about the make-up, the hair, the skin care, the articles. I learned about Sanskrit ruins and how to take care of your self from head to toe, all from ELLE magazine.  


Even if ELLE didn't come into my life, I never liked HW, but I loved to read. I read magazines and a lot of the books that my father had read except for scary ones like 'Helter Skelter.' My father is an avid reader and hoards an extensive collection of books. We always had a home-made, cedar library to hold them in. It wasn't rare for us to be left alone in the tween years and one day I climbed the sturdy cedar shelf to see what that big RED book was all about and why was it was turned backward so the spine didn't show and that was my first introduction to sex... THE JOY OF SEX, in full color, bigger than an altas book. The center of the book was a shocker to say the least. I blushed and gasped all the way through that sucker and quickly put it away and turned back to ELLE for the rest of the day. I remember feeling, I am a woman now that I know that. I felt different when my dad came home. No one noticed and believe it or not, I only revisited it maybe two more times my whole life since (he still has it). I feel like I was raised by ELLE with a sprinkling of Oprah, and a heaping of Leo Buscaglia, of course.

It wasn't until I had children of my own, and I had to take care of a very depressed spouse that I learned ELLE had taught me much of what I needed to know to take care of myself which led me to be a good mom, friend and wife. G-d knows I never had an adult family member to lead by example. I craved a female companion and found it in ELLE. Now I have three companions who adore me and think I can do no wrong. I'll keep my super hero status as long as possible. 

Life is too short to live in the gray for any length of time. I've had enough gray. I've been there long enough. I want all the colors. I want all the pieces that I desire and deserve. 


Thanks ELLE for showing me what was possible...

hopeLESS

 Jack Johnson, Banana Pancakes

My youngest daughter still comes in the bed at night. I can't tell her, but I will be devastated when she stops her nightly snugglefest. She ventures over, tranquil and cool (her tiny feet are always cold and she nuzzles them in my side for warmth). This little before dawn traveler is always a little chatty. When she was three, we'd chat. Mommy, you hewre. Yes, sweetpea. Mommy, I love you. Lots of big squeezes and forehead and/or cheek kisses ensue. Last night was particularly smushy. You know what mimi, you da best mommy evah. I try not to talk back anymore, but sly child that she is, she knows just what to say and I forget my silence. Mimi, you want me to scratch youwr back. Being pure kitten myself, I couldn't resist. Truth be told, I love having all three of my sweetpeas in the bed. We cozy up. Left, right and center. Everyone purrs. My brood of kit, kitten, kitty and kittycat.

secrets...s...sh....sha....sham....shame

I'm not quite sure why, but if you have a secret, it is safe with me. Maybe it's because I'm the least judgmental person you can call a friend. Maybe it's because I give good advice. Maybe it's because I had a secret of my own. Maybe it's the timing of when it happens and I just so happened to be nearby when you felt the need to spill the beans. But, if there's one thing I know for sure, I know EVERYONES' secrets. And I don't tell a soul. It's pretty fascinating too. So much better than television. Big screen movie worthy, real life stories, that I have the pleasure and privilege, and in some cases, the horror, of experiencing second hand. Having an affair? Tell me. I will let you drip all the juicy details of it and not once looked horrified or disgusted. Secretly hate your child? Tell me. I'll tell you it's you you hate and will give you straightforward advice without criticism. Tell me you're a childhood sexual abuse survivor and I'll try to fix you with my love.