Crazy, but I Get the Job Done*

After a semi-break from writing and blogging (mostly due to vacation and plain ol’ lack of time), I am ready to commence again.

I caught up on some client emails, which took about an hour, and the ligaments in my forearms now ache.

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Who am I to have been gifted with three totally random, unexpected, from-the-heart gifts within a 2 week span of time? One was the handmade cuff you see in my header image above, from the lovely BananaSaurus Rex website, sent to me by a curly-q’d beauty that I’ve met only a few times.

Who am I?

I am you.

You are me.

We belong together.

And each of you have inspired me to give. When money no longer lines a space in my wallet, I must be more creative. I must give of energy, time, words, and chocolate.

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Who I am?

Sometime who, by the sweet breath of the Universe, was called to serve women in labor. And thus, I anticipate 11 births before the year closes. Women who will birth in a bed, a tub, on a rug, on a stool, standing, dangling by the necks of their loved one, squatting, groaning, yelling, singing, releasing, breathing fire. Women who will meet Fear or the Divine or the Unknown, face to face, and greet in in their own way. Women whose bodies will relent and bend and stretch and open and melt to reveal the center of the Earth. Women who will “sing over the bones”.

And I will wait with them, pressed into their backs and shoulders and brows and hands, and say “Oh yes, that’s your Authentic Face. Why hello”.

And their bones will have fleshed out with the deep song they have sung.

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Who I am?

Poor and healthy. Intact of spirit and mind. Purveyor of ingenuity and student of resilience. Tribally surrounded and reverently alone. Reveling in the abundance of love and generosity when the layers of materialism are peeled back. Like the stripping of an onion, my tears have been shed in the process. But what is left is pieces, flavors, ingredients to spice and flower the red plate which sits before me. Full of dreams, I await the manifestation that must happen. Of course it must. It is waiting for me, fleshing its own bones out. And it’s waiting for you. And him. And her. All of us. But especially you and I.

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Who am I?

I am undefined, day to day.

I am mother in that moment and writer in this one. But wait, I am mother in writing too, aren’t I? Creator. Begetter. Wordsmith. Hopesmith. Freedomsmith. Chocolatesmith.

I am an imperfect lover.

I am 10 years old, twirling on the tire swing while the fireflies play hide and seek.

I am high strung and unable to compromise.

I park my kids in front of TV so that I can write. And I become mildly frustrated if they don’t sit and watch.

I am a summer-hibernator, staying indoors until our floors are sticky with juice, dirt, and jam.

I eat a healthy meal solely so that I can justify dessert.

I am a horrible bill payer (late notices are my reminders).

I am the spot in the dead center of the forest, where a golden straw of light makes it’s way to the leaf-covered floor.

I am the last quarter in hand of a 60 year old woman, a companion to the cigarette in the other, that she places in a slot machine. I may just be the one that brings her the jackpot. Or I could be the one that she laments over whiskey that evening.

I am a belly that rolls over itself when I bend down.

I love the look of a calligraphic “y”.

I pee faster than anyone I know. And folks have noticed this over and over.

I totally use a thesaurus.

I want to meet you. And share wine and subtle debauchery and agree not to sum each other up after one evening.

Sometimes I have answers. Other times, I just make them up and hope.

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Who am I?

I am a Mama with few rules in our house, one being “Be Kind”. Not “Nice”; I feel that connotes fakery. But kindness is of the heart, genuine and pure. Thus, when my girls are angry or frustrated, they indeed are not always “Nice”. Hey, neither am I! But when they are ready to apologize, or share, or help one another, they are Kind. “My religion is kindness” – H.H. Dalai Lama

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A trifecta of “Ben’s” for you. Love.

“Awake is the new sleep” – Ben Lee

*Lyric from “Philosophy” by Ben Folds:

“Steal my Kisses” – Ben Harper

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8 thoughts on “Crazy, but I Get the Job Done*

  1. What a delight to come and read so much “new” on your blog today. You are a beam of light and a true inspiration to this little aspiring-doula.

    Though I could comment a little something on all of these last few posts, because so much touched me in just the right spots… this is the one I have to say something about because it has an echo of some of the things rambling around in my own mind. Only a few minutes after writing my own list of “I AMs” I come here and get the joy of reading yours. So fun.

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