August 27: Tuxedo Cat Love

I don't think I've ever written about my cat, Mittens. I had a dream about her last night. I think it's because we have Naomi (aka Baby Nay Nay) now and I constantly tell Aria that life is better with a tuxedo cat in the house. She loves to hear my childhood stories with Mittens.

Mittens was the quintessential Sylvester cat with white puss and paws and black everything else. I got her when I was 3 or 4 in my Uncle Ray's barn. I can still remember picking her up for the first time. She felt like love.

She lived until I was 19. She was a constant source of comfort in an otherwise tumultuous childhood home.

My parents were still married when I got Mittens. We lived in a farm house back then. Every Saturday I'd wake up when there were still colored bars on the TV to await the start of cartoons. I held Mittens in my lap and insisted she watch with me. I have tiny scars on my wrists from my persistence in holding her with me for hours on end in an upright position. 

I remember my parents telling us they were getting divorced. I was 5. I didn't know anyone who had divorced parents. I was ground zero for divorce in my world. I remember asking what that was, and my mom explaining that we'd be moving. I remember getting excited about change - about where we'd live and what it'd be like. I also remember my dad was very sad, and I could not understand why. I didn't realize he wasn't coming, too.

My mom, sister and I moved to a little apartment in McGregor mid-divorce while things transitioned. Our bedroom was only big enough to host a twin bed, so my sister and I would rotated between the bed and a sleeping bag on the floor. We had a babysitter now (I hadn't had a babysitter before) who made fried egg sandwiches (which I hated). 

We no longer had my dad. Visceral memories of running into his arms at full throttle when he got home from work, all handsome and respectable in his National Guard uniform. Being twirled around or having a piggy back ride or just snuggled in his arms while he watched football. Hiding his cigarettes so he'd live forever. Crawling into bed with him and feeling more special than all the words I know could convey as he hugged me. Being a daddy's girl in every sense. 

Once you don't live with someone, you can have snippets of joy with them. But it's not the same. It was never the same again. All that warmth and open-hearted trust (my safety in loving, in essence), left once we moved out. It shattered some things within me.

The apartment memories are haunted with this loss for me. But Mittens was there. And had kittens there. So I had plenty of things to hold and love. Tiny little fluffs of fur to patch up my wounds.

My mom married Oliver, the minister, a few months later. We moved to Cedar Falls for him to complete seminary (he switched from the UCC to the Methodist church). We lived in a tiny one bedroom shack (it was not really a house) next to Oliver's parents' home. We walked to school (I was in 1st grade) every day. There was a boy who chased me on the playground to see my underwear. 

I cried. A lot. But felt like I had to hide my tears and so learned how to be secretive. How to cry on a schedule. As though sadness were an emotion we could turn on and off like a water tap. As though it was something to be ashamed of feeling. 

We moved six months later to Pomeroy, where Oliver was assigned to 3 churches. I was mid-way through 1st grade. We stayed in Pomeroy until I was 15. There are a world of memories there, both good and bad. Mittens had dozens of kittens in that home. Because she was my cat, I got to name the kittens. They brought me boundless joy every single time. 

She slept with me. If I sat down, she found her way to my lap and purred up a storm. She had this beautiful habit of finding me when I was silently sobbing (remember - I had shame in sorrow and grieved alone). She'd nestle in my lap and let me bury my head in her fur to muffle any sound I might make. She was a nurturer to me, and that was in low supply during my youth. I guess if the Darling children had a nanny who was a dog in Peter Pan, I had a cat nanny in my own life's script.

We moved to Belle Plaine when I was 15. Mittens came along. Belle Plaine was all about my high school years. I think I was far more interested in boys and friends than cats then. I followed the pattern of the teenage girl without a father figure looking externally for love and acceptance. For worth. From this vantage point, I sure wish I'd continue to allow that cat to nurture me. It would have saved some heartache and poor choices.

I left for Cornell College with eyes facing forward. I wanted wings. Great big fly-above-the-clouds wings that would carry me far, far away. I wasn't worried about leaving my kitty. I'd had her forever, and maybe that caused me to take her for granted. Maybe those forward-facing eyes were more worried about scanning the horizon for next boy I'd love rather than looking back and allowing remembrances of love in any form from a scarred past. 

My mom had Mittens put to sleep during my freshman year at Cornell. I wasn't told, and didn't know until I came home for a visit and couldn't find her. 

I can remember the first time I looked upon Mittens in a barn. I cannot for all the world remember the last time I saw her. 

Air Supply - All Out of Love

I spun this song time and again on my record player, crying over missing my dad. I can feel Mittens in my arms when I hear it. She was such a blessing to me.

August 26: Everything and Nothing

Today was deep thoughts on what it means to truly love, little thoughts on canning versus jarring tomatoes, and everything in-between. 

Mazzy Star - Fade Into You

August 24: Quilts

I am a thinker. I can take a subject like relationships and twist them round and round like a Rubik's cube...that sometimes comes out jumbled and needs to be tossed aside.

Today, I was thinking about our lives and how many others we touch in the span of a lifetime. 

The majority of the people in our world are optional. We have a limited time in our youth and then we can leave home and childhood behind. College is 4 years. We can change jobs. Heck, you can even vary where you buy groceries if you don't want the check-out clerk to judge your wine and frozen pizza purchases.

Our family....it's permanent. Even if you leave your childhood home and never look back. Your family has a hold on you in ways no one else ever will. They teach us our value. They affirm we are worth loving. They grace us with invincibility or fragility from others perceptions and judgments of us. They create our foundation. 

I see people carry out painful stories from their childhoods again and again through adulthood. It's powerful what we are told and shown from the womb forward. It's itnerlaced into our daily bread living even when we aren't aware of its power over us.

Interlacing made me think about quilts. How my life is such a patchwork quilt. We have all these little snippets that are the sum of our experiences.

Some are stunning, and truly we'd be blessed if we had a tangible reminder of them. Others make us grieve again and again whenever we bring them to the present via memory.

Hiding under an old bush and staring up at Orion wishing I could be elsewhere. That one moment in the Shenandoah mountains when the sun broke over the ridge and I felt God. Walking onto the stage at King Chapel at Cornell and singing to receive a scholarship (and nailing it!). The vivid red roses in my wedding bouquet and feeling more beautiful than I knew was possible as an entire chapel filled with loved ones turned to greet me with love. A hug that felt like a home every time I stepped into it. Holding Aria in my arms for the first time. Saying goodbye to my grandpa in hospice. 

A million fragments of bliss and beauty and sorrow. My life is snippets. Tiny patches in a glorious quilt.

Coldplay - The Scientist

August 21: Empathy

Watched Divergent with Ms. A. She had tears of rage streaming down her cheeks at various points. I think she'd wrap the world in a protective barrier if she could. 

She feels things so deeply. It's stunning to witness.

Iron & Wine - Naked As We Came

August 20: Tall Girl

Aria started 5th grade today. I was remembering my own 5th grade experience. It was the first year I was taller than my teacher. 

Aria thrives on being the tallest in her class. I used to hate it. I hunched my shoulders, refused heels well into my 20s, and felt huge rather than elegant in my height. 

When people meet Aria, the first thing they comment upon is her height. She's 10 years old and 5'5". I always add, "and she loves playing piano" or "and she has a cat named Pixie she adopted" or "and she's also really into art." to their "You are SO tall" declaration!

We can't choose our height, and so it's just an attribute, not something special that we've accomplished. It's not different than telling a girl she's pretty versus that she's great at math. We want to validate that which we value most and want to build within another. 

I love for Aria to be validated in things she chooses. I wish I could have told my little 5th grade self some of the tremendous traits I possessed but didn't have championed. 

I wonder if I would have stood taller for it.

Colbie Caillat - Try

August 19: 3 B's

Today was filled with 3 B's:

Berries:

Butterflies:

Bliss (I know this looks like a giant gnome but it was a bliss-filled garden that just happened to have a giant gnome):

Thought we'd end it with some blissful music, too!

Van Morrison - Brown Eyed Girl

August 18: A + B = C

Aria and I were having one of those rambling talks that might start with a mundane topic and then scampers into something frivolous only to become deep and insightful. She’s a great conversationalist.

This weekend we were talking about teens in general, and in particular burgeoning hormones in teens. That led to discussions of relationships and marriage. For many kids, marriage is probably a foregone conclusion in many ways. They have married parents. Maybe with step-parents, but most people are partnered. Or are looking to be partnered. Our society is geared toward partnerships. We celebrate romance. We glamorize it even. We don’t view “single” as a desired end state. It is unfinished. Messy.

In Aria’s world, it’s been just her and me since she was 4, when I got divorced. And even before that, her dad traveled for a living so it’s been us forever. Men are not a foregone conclusion to her. In fact, due to struggles in that arena, men seem rather messy to her. Unnecessary to happiness. We’re happy all alone, after all. She sees no reason to change that.

Which led in our discussion to parthenogenesis.

If you haven’t geeked out on this particular form of science, parthenogenesis happens when an unfertilized egg can produce offspring. Or in essence, no mate is required to have babies. The word literally means “virgin creation” in Greek.

Komodo dragons have been known to reproduce in this way. New Mexico’s whiptail can do it also. Sharks. Even honey bees.

Aria is rather fiercely proud of her independence. In fact, if I had a concern for her, it’s that she needs more safe men in her world to teach her the value of male role models, of potential partners, that there are good guys out there. In many ways, her love of her world and having no desire to change it is a compliment. A victory. A confirmation to me that I’m doing well with her. We are complete as is.

But I’d be lying if I told you I don’t worry about it sometimes. I’d love to provide a sketch of what’s possible for her. (And for me.).

Back to parthenogenesis. I would have expected Aria to be a champion of parthenogenesis. It affirms everything she knows about independent, strong women to be able to have a baby all alone. Nary even a sperm donor in site. Completely alone.

Nope. Aria was saying how we people need each other. That whether you believe in God or simply evolution of our species, we were built to be together. It’s required to have both a male and female to reproduce. And didn’t I think nature was trying to tell us something? “Don’t swim upstream, mom. Just float. We need each other, like it or not.”

It sounds really basic. I mean, we all know A + B = C. We learn it when we are young. For me, it was in 5^th grade when the boys were escorted from the room and the girls learned about menstruation, about how body parts fit together to create babies, about s-e-x. We entered the classroom as girls and exited “in the know.” It was a big deal.

What it’s taken a lifetime for me to learn (and I continue to evolve through this learning) is that we need each other. As independent and self-sufficient as we are, we ultimately need each other if we are to survive as a species.

Simple and profound at once. 

Rusted Root - Send Me On My Way

August 16: Bright Eyes

I took this photo of my pixie bobcat yesterday, and this song came into my head. Particularly, "Turn around, bright eyes....". 

If you have never had your heart broken, jumped into a car and wailed while singing along to this song...you haven't really lived. Or perhaps you are just younger than me. Keep this one in your back pocket for when you need a good cry. 

PS - do not, under any circumstance, watch the video for this song. I mean it. It'll ruin it for you.

Bonnie Tyler - Total Eclipse of the Heart

August 15: Smells and Sounds of Autumn

There is a gorgeous rain pattering down outside my window. The air is cool and damp. The skies are stormy grays and blues. The squirrels are scampering for nuts from the Whomping Walnut (my monster tree in the backyard that is more weapon than shade-provider). 

I have urges to put the grill away for the season and whip up a hearty stew.

Feels like autumn has come today. I'm praying we get a gorgeous Indian Summer to prove me wrong. I'm not ready for barren trees, dark evenings and the return to the indoors. 

I like Rachael on rainy days. Hope you do also.

Rachael Yamagata - Be Be Your Love

August 14: Back to School Shopping

I took Aria out to buy her back to school supplies tonight. Loose leaf paper, folders, #2 pencils, glue sticks. The works. 

I stopped into a local department store to buy her a new outfit and shoes to wear for her first day.

You would have thought I'd told her we were going to visit a Nigerian village infected with ebola. 

She is SO not a shopper.

She is also wearing my shoe size now. Which is handy since the shoes she picked out cost so much. I'm banking on hand-me-downs from her once she outgrows them. All the employees thought she was 13 due to her height. I want to place a sign on her, "I'm 10. Be gentle with me." 

Luckily she's still too little to leverage the fact that everything thinks she's older. She just corrects them and proudly is named time and again the tallest 10 year-old alive.

Time is such a slippery concept. I have been in meetings that have been scheduled for an hour but felt that they took an eternity. I have whole years of my life without any solid or worthwhile memories to treasure. I have shared a kiss that lasted only moments but lingered timelessly in my heart.

My daughter is entering 5th grade. Her last in elementary school. I blinked and she went from Kindergarten to 5th. I have a plethora of memories and a blink of an eye.

I'm a proud mama toting #2 pencils and size 10 shoes.

Black Crowes - Thorn In My Pride

August 13: Perspective

Today brought me from a difficult morning (emotionally) to an evening filled with reminders of my abundant blessings. I took Aria and a few friends to the pool after work. There is nothing like the joy of 10 year-olds frolicking to remind you of how truly wonderful the world can be.

I am forever learning more from Aria than I could ever impart to her.

The Cars - Let's Go

August 12: Goodbye Robin

Goodbye Robin Williams.

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

Here captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Buffalo Springfield - For What It's Worth

August 11: Only

We spent our weekend in McGregor with my family. My sister has 4 children, and for Aria it provides such rich life experiences. 

Most of us grew up with siblings. I never experienced a world as an "only." I had an older sister until I was 5, so I was the younger sister. Once my parents divorced and both re-married, I had three new siblings. My sister remained with me and I inherited a step-brother who was less than 2, and thus I became a middle child. When I was 13, my sister moved to my dad's, and I stayed behind at my mom's. I then became the oldest sibling in the house. But I've never been an only.

Growing up with siblings, you know what it is to have a built-in playmate, whether or not you wanted one. Aria has learned the fine art of playing by herself. When she was little, this involved lining up Littlest Pet Shop toys and giving them each character traits. She could do imaginative play for hours. Today it means picking up a book and reading it from cover to cover. She is superb at being alone. Her creativity astounds me. I remember craving alone time. Feeling it was a privilege / foreign concept to be left alone. It's her normal. We have to seek out other children in her world. 

I learned to share. Everything. I learned that there wasn't much sacred. If you built an amazing Lincoln Log set-up, odds were good someone else was going to come along and change it up, or just destroy it for kicks and giggles. Aria has an entire room of Playmobil set up to perfection. There are cobwebs on some parts of it, because if she doesn't move it around, it doesn't get moved. 

More kids equals more expenses. A parent has to think twice in a Starbucks drive-through if there are 4 kids in the car and each wants a beverage. With just Aria, it's easy to get her something also. She doesn't know what it is to not have something because money has to stretch. Now, we certainly have a budget and our lifestyle reflects the limits of that budget. But I've never been in a restaurant and not ordered her dessert because I couldn't swing the expense. In my childhood, I remember what a rare treat eating in a restaurant was, and I also remember ordering less expensive items on the menu very intentionally because it was necessary. I remember getting gifts on birthdays and Christmas, and the long dry spells in-between. I remember wearing hand-me-downs. 

Aria could never relate to that. If she gets a used clothing item, it's because I've been shopping on Ebay again. If we don't order something at a restaurant, it's by choice. I try to make gifts special, but in truth she often gets little this and that purchases because I adore gifting and adore her, and it just results in "thought of you" presents from chocolates to a pack of Pokemon cards. It's mostly feast in her world with famine being a concept. We have bounty. Abundance comes to mind. 

Undivided attention from a parent? I cannot recall special moments with my mom growing up. Her taking time with just me to make me feel special. Or with my dad for that matter. If we'd be there to visit, it was always with my sister and step-sister along. In Aria's world, she is my sun, and I revolve around her. She doesn't know what it is to want for affection, time, intentional focus. She also is in many ways older than other kids her age, because her behavior modeling and conversational skills come from sharing her life with me, versus siblings.

When there is sibling conflict, I can relate to every angle of it. After all, I've been the youngest, the middle child and the oldest. I intrinsically get it. Aria finds bickering to be insane. Why not just play. Physical fighting? Unheard of. Jaw dropping stuff. I mean, seriously. Am I going to whack her to get a toy out of her hand? She has no concept. Conflicts of any nature can be harder for her as a result. She hasn't logged time on the battlefield. She also can be the voice of reason within a storm, though.

We read all the negatives that come from being an only. I see so many positives for her. 

Do you know this Gaelic blessing?

May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face;
the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,
may God hold you in the palm of His hand.

I wish it for Aria so very often. She's my one and only.

Abbey Road - Here Comes The Sun

August 8: Quiet Heart

No words tonight. But this song may speak to you.

Jose Gonzalez - Heartbeats

August 7: Dog Days

After an incredible dry spell, my garden is singing in the rain. Glorious to witness the Earth greening up again after becoming scorched.

Florence + the Machine - Dog Days Are Over

August 5: Tori

I adore Tori Amos. Adore adore adore her.

Her lyrics resound with me. If I had an internal tuning fork, she strikes it at perfect pitch. She makes me feel. She has written so many songs that make me wish I'd written them. She plays the piano like it's an extension of herself. She inspires. She is unabashedly herself and it's glorious.

Tonight I was singing this one in the kitchen. At top volume. Aria came in and danced around me in a tribal pattern while banging on an empty cake pan. It was one of those non-traditional moments that have become our tradition. 

Tori Amos - Take to the Sky

August 4: Re-Framing

I have been working from home for several weeks. My normal sitter has been on vacation. I have loved being home. It's one of my very favorite career perks.

Tomorrow I head back to my company's building for the first time in ages. I call work "the box." I don't care for boxes in general. I prefer the outdoors. Less structure. Down with rules. That kind of thing. 

My attitude is not the best over heading back to a confined space where I need to behave for long stretches of time.

Aria asked me if I had to go to the "box office" tomorrow.

Game changer.

I'm going to dress to the 9s. Wear fantastic heels. Pretend I'm attending a Broadway show. Perhaps one with Hugh Jackman in it. I'm going to sip coffee and pretend it's champagne.

Mama's heading to the box office.

I love how turning a phrase on its side can change an attitude.

Prince - U Got The Look

August 3: Lake Jefferson on Tap

Lately, my drinking water from the tap has tasted like a lake. I have two beverages of choice in life: coffee and water. Both require water which I generally get from my tap. It’s been a challenge to hydrate myself lately. I want to avoid the water, both for the taste and the memories it brings unbidden.

Lake water will always bring me back to southern Minnesota – Lake Jefferson. Every summer when I was young, my step-father’s family would rent rustic cabins on the lake. Oliver (my step-father), had vacationed there with his family since he was a kid. It was our only true vacation in youth. I did not appreciate it at the time.

The cabins were without air conditioning or restrooms. There were toilets in a separate outbuilding and two standalone shower stalls. The water smelled like it came directly from the lake. You had to wear flip flops even in the shower. It was guaranteed that a bevy of mosquitos and spiders would join you in both the bathroom and shower. I was always afraid to shampoo my hair – I wanted to keep my eyes open at all times. I’d shake out my towel before drying off. Inevitably something would crawl into it while I showered.

The lake was filled with bullheads and sunfish. There were a few fishing boats. We would go out at least once a day to catch fish. The rest of the time we spent trying to balance while standing on inner tubes on the lake, fishing from the dock, and reading books. As I got older, my older cousins and I would share coming of age tales.

Every night, one of the families was in charge of cooking the meal for everyone. We’d have at least one big fish fry during the stay. We’d all do various activities throughout the day, but gather together at dinner to share stories and big fish tales.

We’d go with Oliver’s parents, his sister and brother (and their spouses / children). As I type this, I feel like it should have been fun for me. We were incredibly poor when I was young, so having a vacation of any kind should have been a treat. There were other kids to play with. There was a lake to frolic in. I enjoyed fishing. I have always loved a boat ride. Bird watching. Picking wild flowers.

There were grandparents there – and family of any sort was rare after my parent’s divorced. We moved across the state and left my dad, all remaining grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, et al, behind. I became an island at 6.

Oliver’s parents were always kind to me. They inherited me when I was just a little first grader and we moved from McGregor to Cedar Falls. We stayed in a tiny home next to theirs while my step-father finished Methodist seminary. We were there six months before being assigned churches in Pomeroy. They had ice cream treats in their freezer for us, made us fritters (a fried type of pancake) with drizzles of brown sugar and syrup on top, and always had a hug. Grandpa wore those old school striped overalls every single day. Grandma always had a warm smile. They were good to me. Very good.

I guess sometimes even a parent can stand in the shadow of their child’s darkness. I did not have a good relationship with my step-father. I suspect the Lake Jefferson trips were so awful emotionally because it meant investing in Oliver’s family (and my heart never could open to them). It would have been an act of trust. Anything associated with Oliver was not allotted trust. Even tiny hearts can create constructs to protect themselves from pain.

Today, I’m going out to buy gallons of water to tide me over until our water treatment plant can correct whatever issue is occurring. I miss drinking water and coffee without feeling haunted by such sad memories. 

Fleetwood Mac - Never Going Back Again

August 2: Balloons

Aria and I attended the National Balloon Classic in Indianola last night. It is a visual feast.

The event starts with three large balloons offering rides. You sit in lawn chairs, watching the balloons inflating, the passengers board baskets larger than you imagined were possible, and the balloons drift away with the wind. A local band plays blues rock. The kids jump on bouncies. There is food on sticks. You are experiencing Americana.

Then over the swell of the hill comes balloon after balloon. Individually owned balloons (some sponsored by businesses) with the small baskets you expect. The sky becomes unbearably, romantically painted in floating balloons. You regret not bringing a camera. You curse your iPhone for not having a better zoom. You snap photo after photo trying to capture a feeling that doesn't translate to a phone app.

Oooohhhhhhs, aaaaahhhhhs. Craned necks. Hands covering eyes to block out the sun. Joy.

The balloons begin descending as the sun joins them.

One final balloon straggles through. The stark beauty of one balloon is not lost on you. The crowd cheers! The pilot waves. 

Silence. A time to refresh drinks and test out another item served on a stick. A child goes missing. Is found two picnic blankets over playing with another child her age.

The next round of entertainment begins. A special balloon, Peg Leg Pete, is inflated. The kids rush to meet Pete.

After an hour or so, the sun has set. It's time for night glow. 

It's like Tangled, that moment in the boat with the lanterns lilting up. Only the balloons don't lift off. I'll be honest. I was disappointed. The balloons were lovely but I imagined floating lanterns. These lanterns were grounded.

Aria and I attended the balloon classic in 2007. She was only 3. My ex-husband had purchased a sunrise balloon ride for the three of us for my birthday. I had just moved to Des Moines. We were mid-divorce. It was an odd present. It felt romantic? But combined with a three-year old in tow? And me SO not a morning person? And him divorcing me and myself grateful for that? A mixed message gift.

We had to arrive at the field by 5:30 a.m. It's over 45 minutes from my home to the field. I brought Aria in her pajamas. We watched the balloons inflating along with the 10 other passengers taking the flight. I lamented not having a coffee.

We took off about 6:30. Balloon rides are surprisingly uneventful. The lift-off is a little bumpy. The floating is simply that - floating. The basket was large enough that it just glides. You look out at the land. You fly an hour or three, depending on your pilot's whims and where you intend to land. Little bump on landing. Hope the cow in the field where you landed in friendly. A road crew in a van comes to get you and bring you back to your car.

For a 30-something, this is beauty (if too early). For a three year-old? Not so much. No toys. Needing to be held the entire time despite being in the 150th percentile in height and weight. Trying to keep her quiet so that the other 10 passengers paying great money didn't need to be bothered. Snide sideways looks whenever she squawks. The fire thingy that makes the balloon lift? Seriously hot and also dangerous for little ones (and mamas with long hair). Not to mention, when you are experiencing something you want to share, you know how you look at the person you are with? You connect? Yeah. I wasn't going to do that with my ex. 

It was a stressful, stressful, ride.

There are many moments and experiences that I have had in life that I wish I could had a do-over. This would be one of them. I would love to experience the beauty of a balloon ride without all the accompanying feelings mine had.

Some day. Maybe. It's not high on my list. 

In the meantime, watching the balloons from the comfort of a lawn chair was a perfect way to spend a Friday evening. And Aria, now age 10, agreed.

Paul Simon - Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard

August 1: Balsamic Moon

I was re-reading my natal chart analysis today. I have had several done - the first by a friend's grandpa while I was still in high school. This most recent one was from astrocenter.com.  

Have you ever done a natal chart? If you know your time and place of birth, charting the planets and studying their effect on your personality is rather interesting. I've never seen one that was not accurate (and incredibly insightful).

This excerpt beckoned me today:
"Born in the three days prior to the New Moon's appearance, Andrea is said to be of the " Balsamic Moon " type. This soli-lunar configuration gives her a spiritualistic character closely attached to generous humanitarian ideals. She is sometimes sorely tried to limit herself to the narrow scope of individual ambition. Indeed, she aims for a humanitarian ideal which would include the outcasts and the unfortunate: she fervently hopes the meek will inherit the Earth."

I had never heard the term "balsamic moon" before. Whenever I'm termed a bleeding heart or feel the need to adopt a child (or ten) from Central America, I'm going to reference the balsamic moon. 

U2 - Wild Honey