Nelly and Her Zoo

Recently we spent Thanksgiving at my great aunt Nelly's in Sarasota, Florida. We often head to her home for a holiday, either Christmas or Thanksgiving. We thoroughly enjoy our visits, and they are never dull! Nelly is the childlike princess of her saintly sister, my grandmother. They grew up together in North Africa in Algeria. Nelly's daddy was gone at age two and her maman at 14. They were raised by their grandmother. 

During the war Nelly fell in love with a dancing and drinking soldier who matched her fun flair for life.Then one sad day the gossip came back that he was a cad with a family back home. Her wings and heart, broken for a time, were comforted by the kindest man around -- a daddy soldier named Bob. He scooped up the wounded bird and flew her to the US of A where they started their own family and had a lovely daughter. Eventually they ended up in Florida. Daddy Bob is now in heaven, surely looking over his child, princess bride. I say child, not solely because of a marked age difference, but much more because of Nelly's charm and character. For me she embodies Christ's words:

"Unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven." 

At one point Nelly and Bob crossed back over the pond. There was a nice inheritance for each of the girls. Her saintly sister promptly handed over her inheritance to her husband who wisely invested in long term plans and properties. Nelly, on the other hand, had another plan. After all, this was Paris!! She hit the boutiques on the Champs Elysee, and once fully decked out in Dior and Chanel headed over to Maxim's for champagne and an unending French feast! I love this story....call it unwise or frivolous, if you will, but had Nelly met a tragic end on this fine day, she would have had a smile on her face, a full belly, and a Chanel handbag on her wrist. How many of us can say that?

Alas, no tragic demise was to come, thank goodness, and today Nelly is going strong at 90 years of age. She is an artist who paints, makes jewelry with gems and creations from shells. She loves animals, probably more than most, but likes to eat them too, just another one of Nelly's sweet dichotomies. She currently has a dog, Bijou (jewelry) and a cat (Jolie, pretty). Of course because every princess needs beautiful jewelry. 

The pets have varied over the years. There were the usual dogs, and then the more unusual like  a lizard. There was also Sweetie, the cockatoo, and by all rights Nelly's second husband. The lizard met his sad demise one day, as his favorite lounging place was Bob's shirt pocket -- he found himself drowned in a soapy swirling enemy (the washing machine). I cannot be sure, but I think there may have been a burial service for the little guy. Sweetie the cockatoo was a typical second husband, jealous and demanding of our great aunt Nelly. If he felt his space invaded, he would swoop down and attack another man's head, namely my grandfather, . He had the reign of the home and liked it that way. Cooking during this time took on a special skillset of being able to quickly get a cover on the pot of ratatouille before there were any unseemly added ingredients.

Now Bijou is the one, never fully potty trained despite everyone's best efforts. Nelly does not want to hurt a grasshopper or a dog. We tried to explain that the kennel was not punishment, but training. Nelly likened his kennel to waterboarding and was convinced he held a grudge for days to come. This is Nelly's heart, kind and welcoming, and her childlike innocence, though not always based in logic, is based in something pure. 

Nelly is not a religious person. We once talked about God. She quickly said, "I don't believe in God, for me God is in nature. Do you think a man with a big white beard lives in the clouds?" I respond, "No Nelly, I see God as intelligent mind with the ability to create. I see God as love, omnipotent, and omnipresent, and yes he indeed reveals himself in his creation." I think we understood each other and it was good.

Several times Nelly has come with us to midnight mass. I look over and see her shiny brown eyes, standing out against her silvery hair. She is singing with joy, sometimes half words, and reciting the liturgy where she can follow along. She looks so pure and free and childlike. She inspires me.

So you may think that the title Nelly's Zoo has to do with the many animals and their stories, but in fact, no. I have taken this title from a recent conversation with Nelly's daughter over Thanksgiving. She said, "I told my mom to get rid of the zoo before you all came". And at this time I learned that not only had Nelly adopted her surrogate granddaughter Gabby, who has always lived next door, but also the boyfriend, and the gay friend of the couple. All of these teenagers had been kicked out of their houses for one reason or another. We knew about Gabby before coming to Florida, and put two and two together when the boyfriend was aimlessly hanging around. But I have to admit, the gay friend was a surprise. But this is Nelly -- she cannot see people she knows on the street, even if the rest of us are concerned for her well being.

We came home from church while we were there and Nelly asked, "Did they talk about the refugees? Because they should we should let them in. They have no place to go". This is her welcoming, childlike spirit -- not wanting to see others suffer, wanting every animal, lost teenager, and war-torn family to have food and a home.

Calvin walks out of our room, and just as we catch eyes we notice Bijou doing his pee-pee on the white silk stained couch, now a brownish yellow spotted mess. We look at each other after many mops and sighs and efforts and just throw up our hands and laugh, and laugh and laugh. We are bent over, belly laughing. Our inner child has been tickled, and in that moment we have forgotten our logical, responsible selves, and that is the beauty of Nelly's zoo.

P and Me

P is a nickname I have  in writing for Pierson. P is sweet and still, simple and humble.

A few years ago we were on a trip in Paris taking the bus. I looked over at P and filled with love for him I said, "tu es mon Cheri amour?" ("Are you my darling love?"). He looked at me sweetly and replied, "no just Pierson" -- and that is P.

Most of the time he is Pierson, my larger that life lion, with a zest for life. He has a sunshine smile that will light up a room. He is proud and strong. He loves beauty, flowers, colors and trees. He also loves Pokemon and video games. He is fearless and will speak his mind whether asked or not. This is my Pierson, in all his uniqueness, that I admire and celebrate and wonder where it all comes from.

Then there are the other sides of Pierson...the more complex, difficult sides -- the sides that push all my  buttons, and drive me to my wits end. And here I find the mirror. I want to take up my sword of righteousness and my shield of life's experiences. I am ready for battle, but he quickly pulls out his steel sword of will and shield of the energy of a thousand soldiers, and the struggle begins.

This is the blessing and the curse of a child that has so much of me. I can feel it, I can see so clearly -- the struggle, the reasoning, the difficulty. I want to say it does not have to be so. You do not have to be perfect or go it alone. Let your strong fire melt your pride, and know that correction and guidance are not criticisms to hurt you. Rather, they are pearls of wisdom, a gift to be kept and strung together to one day be of profit, something of value. 

The empathy comes easy, like a free flowing river. I understand so fully. I await with open arms and know no words are needed. They will only make things worse. I give him his time and space, and when he feels ready he will come back with his six year old reason, trying to understand and make sense of the ocean of emotions that have over swept him and carry him away. 

The battle subsides. I am drained and humbled. He does not seem so affected -- he is humming or drawing, and there he is P. 

I ponder on the dynamic, and am reminded of my own inability to master my emotions and feel softened. How can I expect his six year old being to possibly master his? The truth of the mirror has done it's work for today. I want to start over, I want it to be easy, to be perfect. But that is not me, and that is not P.

Perfect – to be or not to be – that is the question

"Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in heaven is perfect." (Matt. 5: 48)

Woah, that is quite a commandment!

So this past Sunday was the Messiah with orchestra at our church, and I had a solo. Of course I wanted it to be perfect. Dress rehearsal was pretty darn close. Sometimes that almost makes the task harder – now there is the added pressure of measuring up to your own good work. At least if the dress rehearsal is mediocre then you know you can shoot higher -- nothing to re-prove, only to gain. I guess the performance went fairly well, but not perfect. I think the dress rehearsal was closer to perfect. Certainly from a technical standpoint the performance had maybe a little prettier, fuller tone.

 

I feel afterwards a bowl of mixed emotions. It's done, phew. The tone was pretty for the most part, but there was that one glitch in the legato, and the last G was not there, not supported. I rushed into it after the pianissimo high note, forgot to take time to reground and get a good breath and the G fell flat and kind of splatted out. Not everyone noticed, but I did.

I received many compliments. One person even said "that was outta the park", which feels nice. But inside I knew it was just not quite. I am sure the other trained singers noticed too. In my head I hear another soprano thinking, “I could have done that better, I should have had the solo!” And so the torment goes. Which brings me to my voice, singing, and the spiritual path for me which accompanies it.

It is a deep can of worms, maybe because it has been my life's passion and work. And life is full of a lot. I started singing because I loved it. From a young girl I remember watching Shirley Temple movies and thinking I want to do that. I remember singing along to Dolly Parton in the back seat of my parents’ car. I remember summer vacations, being coined a mermaid by my uncle when I would sing while sitting on the big rocks in the Mediterranean while he and my cousins fished, or belting at the top of my lungs over the encouraging hum of the Boston Whaler on Lake Huron.

In my teens it was all about Barbara Streisand and music theater, and eventually I came to studying and classical operatic singing. When I was young there was a freedom in singing. It was from the heart and with joy. Then I went to school and studied seriously for a long time. I still study. Suddenly there are so very many requirements, and at times the heart and joy seem far away. A breath that was free and natural is suddenly stilted and nervous, wanting a little too hard to be perfect.

And this is the strange irony of life and breath and singing. In Yoga they say that breath is the key which leads one to Prana, our life force, the creative energy. In singing they say the breath is everything.  Maybe this is why I have always felt a certain connection between singing and spirit. There seems to be this mysterious balance, that when all the variables are lined up just right something magical occurs in the sound and in the feeling one experiences to produce it.  There is a certain control that has been mastered and in that control one experiences total freedom, but it also requires letting go. However, one element not quite right, and there will be a consequence. This can be too much thinking, knowing, not enough letting go, or too much letting go, not enough thought and care.

Maybe the idea of chiaroscuro sums it up. This is what a well-balanced beautiful tone should have: darkness and lightness, so much so you cannot determine if the voice is forward, bright, and shimmery, or warm velvety and comforting. It’s both simultaneously. The perfect sound contains both lightness and darkness...hmmm

This brings me back to perfection, and the fleeting moments when we truly experience perfection, and then all the rest of life. I have encountered this feeling of perfection at times in deep prayer and meditation too when the mind and body are calm and focused. I am completely free from to-do lists and neuroses, I am in communion, I am perfect with Him. I am basked in a shimmery transcendent light.

Then I go to get my six-year-old at the bus stop. “P, wait till the bus passes, stop". He care-freely is weaving in and out of the street as the roar of the bus engine rings in my ears. I repeat frantically as he continues to ignore. When we get home I order him to sit down, he ignores me again to go get the pencil for his homework. I then raise my voice and tell him to "SIT DOWN". He begins to cry. I have hurt his feelings; all he wants to do is get his pencil. I feel bad. "It's not about the pencil", I say, "Do you know what it is about?" 

I feel so far from perfect, just like my botched G. I have been impatient and unkind. I am so far from the Father and his perfection. But maybe even in this "darkness" there is a perfection? Maybe it is like chiaroscuro, that there is a perfection in this moment, a certain beauty in these very real, very human moments, because after all He is sovereign. Maybe it is not only about being truly perfect, but this intertwining that is life, this aiming and missing and sometimes hitting.

I see His perfection in the shimmer of the way fall light reflects in the Autumn tree leaves, or the way the sun sets and sparkles on the water.  I sense and feel that transcendent Perfection that is always available yet sometimes so hard to find.  When we try too hard it will slip through our fingers. If we don't try or seek at all how can we hope? It is like balancing on a fine spider’s web. It is trying your hardest to understand, to know, to learn, and then gently releasing.

Maybe this command is not about always being perfect, but rather recognizing His perfection, both in the light and in the dark -- that we are indeed perfect, even as the Father, because we are right where He would have us be, right now.

Sacred Dance

So here goes nothing.

About ten years ago it was suggested to me to write....

I do not actually consider myself a procrastinator, but maybe that is an issue to examine for another day. Oh, yes, occasionally I go through phases of writing my dreams, or a journal entry here and there, but in more recent years the urge has actually become strong. Sometimes I feel an inspired voice in my head, ready to write, but then time goes by, busy with all the activities of a middle-aged house wife with two children. There is singing and yoga, shopping, laundry and a daily spiritual practice. Which is usually what the voice in my head wants to talk about, think about, discuss, understand and share.

Today the crux of my meditation and prayer session is the idea of action/reaction. Is there such a thing as having it all? Or does one truly have to give something up to gain something greater? This question has come to the forefront of my mind recently as I decided to give up alcohol in order to be more holy. Okay, I realize that sounds really presumptuous, but when I think about it deeply this is the truth. No, I do not think drinking alcohol is morally wrong and me not drinking it does not make me any holier than you if you enjoy a glass of Cabernet at the end of your day.

I am not an alcoholic, not even a heavy drinker. I am probably what most would consider a moderate drinker, perhaps two drinks, at very most two and a half, on a given night once a week, or on a date night -- maybe a little more often during vacation, or over holidays, maybe less during busy life. Drinking has never caused problems with my relationships or work.  I did go through a short period of heavy drinking in my early twenties when I worked at a restaurant as a waitress. I did not enjoy the work, and this was the culture of work and after work practice. Thankfully this was relatively short lived period. And yet, I find this recent decision has shifted a great deal.

In Yogic philosophy, it is important not to create conflict of mind. I found that drinking alcohol, even moderately, did create some conflict in my mind. As a practicing Christian, obviously the idea of giving up something in order to gain something greater is paramount.

Then Jesus said to His disciples, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. "For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. "For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what will a man give in exchange for his soul?" (Matt. 16: 24 - 26)

 And this is where I found myself today, at the cross. More on that later.

So the other night was my husband Calvin's work Christmas party. Our babysitter was an half an hour late. As a nursing mom I was hungry as usual, and even more so not having had a snack in order to better profit from all the good food I knew would be at the party. However, unlike past years, something in me felt calmer. I was not looking forward to my holiday cocktail to take the edge off of a stressful season. I knew that was no longer the case. In the car on the way over I looked over at Calvin -- it was okay that we were late, that I was hungry, that I decided no longer to drink. I felt a sense of peace in that moment. Something in me had shifted and it was nice.

At the party we had our hors d'oeuvres and dinner and deserts. And then something happened -- those around me began to get their second glass of wine or after-dinner scotches, people were dancing and being merry, and I began to think to myself 'well, there really is no harm in having a little drink. It is fun, festive, lightens the  mood, and makes one merry'. There it was, temptation -- subtle and justifying, never something that bangs you over the head, but rather creeps in harmlessly and begins a small tug. But then I just let it go.

A slow song came on and Calvin and I got up and danced. I was not a little bit merry and detached floating in my mind from a cocktail. I was there, fully there, just like that moment in the car, but more so now because we were wrapped in each others arms slowly swaying. It was sweet, beautiful and perfect, and felt filled with meaning.

During that little moment of temptation to go back to an old way of doing things, I thought about my "persona" --  a fun loving girl who loves getting dressed up and being fun at a party. Yes, maybe I am shedding that skin to a more calm peaceful person who does not need to rush to get there, but can just be where I am and content for a moment, that can lead to the most beautiful moment of the evening. Yes, I gave up something small, a little aid in being light-hearted and festive, but I gained a sense of peace and presence worth so much more.

Perhaps I have died to a little bit of hot pink and sparkles, but what has been born is a pool of colors with depth and subtlety, that shift and change -- and their beauty is never-ending.

'Mad Mommy'

I am mad at my 6-month-old. That's right mad, mad, mad! Why you ask? Oh ho, I will tell you why. Last night he nursed all night, or at least it felt like all night. I am fine with our usual routine -- I nurse him to sleep between 7 and 8, he sleeps for a while, wakes up once in the middle of the night, and I quickly nurse him back to sleep. Then his usual stirring begin around 4:30-6:30, and by 6:30-7 he is usually ready to be up, until his first morning nap an hour or two later.

So this morning around 5:45 or so, I said " I can't take it. Calvin you have to take him for a while". Calvin is up at 5:30 to pray and read, philosophically examine the questions of life and death, and ponder on how to apply them to this crazy world we live in. But not this morning. This morning he will take care of baby number two until it is time for P to get ready for kindergarten.  He will then take P to the bus stop with baby in tow.

At about five to 8 Calvin comes back in the bedroom and sheepishly says with an air of guilt, "I need to leave for work soon, shall I reheat your coffee?" I am feeling a good bit better now, after a few hours of sound solo sleep. I mumble a "yes please" and proceed to have a coffee and muffin in bed. I say good bye to Calvin, wishing him a good day at work, and I take the baby downstairs to do a few chores around the house. I have stripped P's food-stained sheets and gathered an enormous amount of laundry for a mere three days since the last loads.

Then it happens, the baby starts to complain. Well, yes, after all it is just about time for the morning nap. I stop what I am doing to pick him up and set up for our morning nap routine.

We go in the sitting room -- pillow, blanket, burp cloth, water, prayer beads, spiritual journal, and second coffee all in place. I get on the couch, nursing position ready and go.  As planned baby Soren begins to fade. After a little too long caught up in FB articles, I pick up my beads ready to begin my daily practice of meditation, prayer, reading and writing while baby sleeps soundly in my lap.

Then it happens. Lo and behold, not even a third of the way into my routine and his little blue eyes pop open and he gives me that infectious smile and coo. 'Oh, no you don't', I think. I am not done, barely started in fact. Yes, I spent a few minutes too long on FB, but still that was a cat nap and you will not be rested. Sure enough he was not. I put him in his saucer and thought, 'Well at least I will finish the laundry', but no sooner was he fussing again. Well ok, let's try round two. All set up, he nurses a little then looks at me. You are just messing around I think....well let's go to the park. After all it is a most beautiful day, the fresh air will do us both good, and surely you will sleep in your stroller. So I put him on his tummy and go upstairs to change. When I return he is starting to complain. 'I know I know, you are tired, you need your nap, and oh, I smell you have a dirty diaper'. Well, at least that is justified complaining. I pick him up and put him in his pack-and-play to change him. And then IT happens. He looks at me, that little being, and he does it again. He did what our Savior does, he turned everything upside down and in turn made the world right.

It went like this, I gave him my fingers and he grasped his chubby hands around them, I pull a little and he uses every strength in his body to pull him self up to a sitting position. This is his latest favorite task. Once he has arrived seated with all his strength and some of my help, he beams a huge open-mouthed smile. It is pure unadulterated joy, and in that moment I am changed. No longer am I wondering how I will possibly accomplish Christmas shopping and packing for a big trip when doing a load of laundry is a challenge. Instead, I am swept up into his world -- a world where sitting up, even with help, is worthy of pure joy.

And then it grows. I feel immense gratitude and love for a husband who loves me and this little being so much that he is willing to sacrifice his morning for us. When he comes into our room to hand Soren off, his heart is also open, because this little being has opened it with his presence and joy.

I am not mad, I actually feel a little sad, melancholic. Psychiatrists say that anger is a secondary emotion, usually covering up sadness. Maybe I am sad because I see my own selfishness, lack of generosity,and impatience, in this perfect Joy. I am humbled and brought to the truth of what matters and what does not. This little guy wants to be held a little more today, and that's okay. A little less of my list will be checked off and that is okay too.

As I open the car door arriving at the park, he is sound a sleep, so peaceful and serene. I take a nice walk, enjoying the gloriousness of nature. I have time to do yoga, meditate and pray, and we head home, both content. Isn't it funny how when you let go, the things you wanted to do seem to fall in your lap, and sometimes when you try so hard to make them happen, they seem further and further away?

Soren, you are indeed a blessing beyond measure. Thank you for bringing me back to truth and love, for showing me that even sitting up, with help, is worthy of pure joy.