Embarking on new adventures and finding our own old footprints

Embarking on new adventures and finding our own old footprints

Sometimes when we forge new paths, we find footprints we ourselves left decades earlier. Our family is moving back to Southern California from the serene and naturally beautiful Western edge of the mitten state. (Hold up your left hand.) I spent my childhood in Michigan, so I have a deep fondness for the lakes and the uniqueness of this state’s magnificent geography and sweet fun-loving people. I left LA 20 years ago when my eldest was less than 2, believing that I wanted to raise my kids in the values-orientation of the Midwest rather than the maniacal superficiality of the Hollywood State. To be true, my point of view was skewed by my own untamed lifestyle in the 80’s and 90’s, and it was impossible for me to imagine any healthy upbringing for my children...

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Forged Steel v. Evil Bones. En Guarde.

Forged Steel v. Evil Bones.                                                En Guarde.

We all have issues with bones. These bones are unique parts of us that are from our childhood or other [character-building] events, or simply because we were born with them. They’re dense as an oak. And they are part of our framework whether we want them or not.  Like my big feet, in some ways I’m stuck with them. My particular Evil Bone feeds ugly thoughts of fear and suspicion and negativity when I’m not looking. Suddenly I hear a voice of doubt in myself or in my husband or an expectation of someone else’s behavior… and I know it came from that ugly extra bone. The one that hardened when I was 12.  When my warped sense of love relationships with men, and the insecurity that wants me to feel control, was most likely solidified. HOWEVER Though these...

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The Tiers of Sin

The Tiers of Sin

One of the significant slivers of conditioning that I’ve had to wrestle as a shattered-and-redeemed woman, is many years of training that sin has tiers.  Sort of like a small, medium and double-triple-XL spectrum of sin measurement. Unfortunately when I learned the beautiful gift of confession, it was apparently attached to a commensurate punishment, which of course, meant my 12-year-old brain would simply pre-calculate the right level of sin to confess.  Easy.  Sorrowfully tell just enough to be believable but don’t tell the part about that really bad cuss word I test drove on the playground last week.  Sin had tiers. Yea, I didn’t get it. So, if my long dance with deception (fast forwarding now) was something closer to double-triple XXL, does that make...

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Vintage Reels, Clumsy Truth, Freedom

Vintage Reels, Clumsy Truth, Freedom

A new day. After several weeks of spinning activity, crazy fun and heartbreaking change, Jack and I are on our own with no activity. Perfect. Strategic Idea: a week of healthy consumption and no screens. Adventure. First: we dive into my office downstairs to explore some family history.  I teach Jack to thread a 50 year old 16mm projector. (He thinks he already knows.)  There’s nothing quite as nostalgic for me as the clicking of film through those gears. Yes, that’s me when I was your age. No that’s not Nana, Grandpa was filming the pretty girl dancing next to Nana. Jack tries to put the people in their proper locations on the family org chart.  Ours is particularly challenging. We pull out the 20 year old Sony camcorder and watch tapes of...

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Mom? Scandalous?

Mom? Scandalous?

Scandalous runs in my family.  It goes back for generations. In this fuzzy 1973 snapshot of a few well-mannered, if giddy, English family members, the layers of unheard of behavior would make your hair curl! The woman in the middle: my grandmother. Born in Santiago Chile in 1901, married an Englishman who worked for the BBC.  During WWII her husband would leave my grandmother and these two then-infants and return to England. Once the borders re-opened after VE Day, these three journeyed by steamship back to England to find that Dad had started another family.  But Granny was a devout converted Catholic (which was a bit daring in those days in England) and refused to grant him a divorce. Scandalous individuality. Granny endured, raising these two jokers on her...

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