dream.

As I sat in the bleachers of the Del Mar Fairground with Krissy, the ride lights glowing in the infield and a Pacific breeze blowing just cold enough to raise the hair on our arms, I knew I had to write this post.  A 12 year old with dreams too many to fit into 5 lifetimes sat next to me as an inspiring artist serenaded me.  Martina McBride sings songs that speak to your inner self...The little lady who sang to a hairbrush in the bedroom mirror, wanted to run for president or fly to the moon, believed that she could, believed that she would...

During the concert, Martina said that all she ever wanted to do was sing.  Singing, besides margarita making, is the only talent she has she said.  I can only imagine what an uninterrupted dream feels like.  Dream it.  Work hard.  Achieve it.  Such a simple concept.  Such an impossible reality for most of us.

Growing up with a mother whose own journey led her to crave boundaries and boxes, consistency and predictability, created a lot of confusion...for both of us.  I wanted to dance, write, create, express...I wanted to feel the freedom that only releasing my creative beast could give me.  She wanted to cage the beast.  Not kill it.  It was OK for the beast to exist in the world as long as it was locked up and placed a decent distance away, so we could all stay safe.  My beast could not stay away, and instead of being trained in useful ways, it often roared in anger and created chaos in our home--Her home.  Her clean, careful, safe little home.

Trying to repress and behave while living with a wild, creative heart and mind made me feel guilty and bad and wrong, and I often acted bad and wrong and developed illnesses like eating disorders and smoking cigarettes or drinking too much.  Even when I was strong on the outside, or professional, or studious, I was sad and confused and uncertain on the inside.  Even now, I can't define myself and my gifts clearly because I didn't explore them fully through childhood and beyond...never believed in them completely.  Which  talents are good, acceptable, allowed?  Which gifts are unworthy, embarrassing, worthless?

When I danced, I felt it.  Freedom.  Belonging.  Love.  My story.  My self.  It was OK to show it.  Ok to live it.  OK to be it.  Spin and roll and leap and FEEL.  My real home, wherever the studio or stage was.

As I've aged, I've tried to allow the dreams to sneak past the prison bars.  They're tempered by time and experience now, but they're unashamed.  Somewhere between childhood and nine kids and brain cancer and now, I found the permission slip to let them run, and I signed it myself. 

More than anything in the world, I want my children to feel that wind of creative power blowing on their faces.  Feel that the world can't offer any obstacle they can't tackle.  Some will sing.  Some will write.  Some will heal.  Some will dance.  But I want them all to dream their dreams and believe in their possibility with passion and clarity and faith.

I want to be the runway, the flight path, not the prison bars.  Although, I fear all parents create suffocating cocoons to some extent.  Dream babies.  Dream.  Dance.  Fly.  Believe.  You deserve it, and you're worth it.

P.S.  Remember, it never hurts to learn how to make a margarita, too!  Sometimes, the road gets a little rough, and you'll just need a drink. 

smudged.

Today I smudged.  It wasn't the first time, but it was the first time in this home.  If you have no idea what I'm talking about, don't worry, I didn't even know the technical term for burning sage until a week or two ago.  Years ago, we traveled to Sedona, AZ, and being the shopper I am, I stopped at every roadside stand, suddenly infatuated with bears made from turquoise and worry stones and bunches of dried weed.  Of course, I had to ask about the weeds I was seeing everywhere, and it was explained to me that it was dried sage.  If you burn it in your home, it's supposed to clear negative energy and spirits from your home.  The negativity attaches to the smoke then wafts away as the smoke clears.  (Here's an article about smudging if you want the long version of the practice http://www.spiritdiscovery.com/smudge.shtml)

Coming back to San Diego with my sage bundles, I smudged the next 3 houses we lived in.  (The last house on Elk Grove, I should have smudged daily...times 10!!  Maybe my negligence explains all of our bad luck there!)

Hard to admit in some circles, but I watch Long Island Medium...often...I've even seen Theresa Caputo live at the Civic Theater.  Even though she says the same things over and over again, there's a piece of me that believes in her powers to summon "spirit" enough to keep watching.  And Theresa smudges...a lot.  I saw her smudging her house on a recent episode and immediately hopped onto the computer to order a new bundle of dried sage for our home. 

Dylan told us last week that he saw a red clad figure sleeping in our bed.  When he tried to wake it, it disappeared.  Other children have told us they have heard or seen strange activity in this house, too.  We know a former tenant passed away from scleroderma.  I'm not sure if she died in the home, but I wouldn't be surprised if the landlord failed to mention that part of the story to us.  And I wouldn't be surprised if she's still hanging around...Probably quite disturbed by a loud house full of 9 children!  I was definitely hoping the sage would help her move along with her eternity.

As a family, we have a lot of emotional and financial damage to repair in the aftermath of Nick's illness.  It's time for some new energy, some positivity, some cleansing and restarting on the "right foot." 

So I made our house smell like an old stone lodge today.  I prayed over that burning bundle.  I waved it over my head and body.  I waved it, scattering burning embers onto beds and carpets and many other things that are highly flammable, and I prayed about all the things I want to let go of.  I swept it back and forth over every bed as I thought about the family members who sleep there and how much they deserve to heal and to thrive.  I stuck it into closets and showers.  I even let the smoke fill my car for a moment as I smudged the garage.

Sage may or may not have a real power to cleanse, but the ritual was one I would like to repeat regularly!  My kids would prefer if I just pretended to light the sage from now on because they all think their rooms "Smell like butt!"  Just taking a few moments to focus on letting go of negativity in my life and letting in positive energy made me feel lighter, more optimistic.  I don't know why  I carry my hurts and worries for so much longer than anyone else would or should.  On too many days, my heart hurts, my brows furrow, and  my neck tangles into knots.  That's not helping any situation...not healing...not mending...and yet I can't let go.  Somehow, the physical waving around of this smoky stick while I considered releasing these long held burdens, facilitated that release...made my head and my heart open just enough to let some of my wounds and worries flutter out.

Every New Year's Eve, we perform a similar ritual when we write on little slips of paper what we would like to let go of from the previous year then burn the papers to ash and throw them away into the middle of the road at midnight.  For a little moment right there at 12:00, we feel invincible, untouchable, ready to take on the next year, our future, with strength and renewal.  There's no reason to limit renewal to only one night of the year.

Some of the kids swear they already feel better in our house.  Others are probably tweeting their friends about what a lunatic hippie mom they've been stuck with.  I'm going to stick with smudging.  I like being smudged.  It sounds dirty, but it feels clean...and new...and hopeful...