Exquisite Meadowgrass Corpse

Written by nine people between the ages of 11 and 55, in blue and black ink on one side of a ripped out page of a composition book, while sitting in lawn chairs under the yellow and white striped tent, being entertained by the Chimney Choir, which wasn't a choir at all.

Transcribed here by me in nine different colors.  Remember, in an Exquisite Corpse, the writer can only see, and therefore respond to, the line right before his/hers, as the paper is repeatedly folded over as it passes from person to person.

NB:  All spelling, line breaks, punctuation, and capitalization have been retained from the original.

"Am I really going to desicrate
this grave forever? Of course
I am."

I smiled as I lifted the shovel and
lowered it sharply on the grave

The body of the innocent fell
sharply into the freshly dug grave

Innocence was murdered.  Without a care.

In one shake of a storm

A lonely crow burst through the clouds

Exploding into feathers and
dust, black as the darkest night

that flew into the air

Like a bird dropping on a
windshield.

the future and the past

I taught my 10-year-old son how to text last week. I figured it was "time". It took him about 2.3 seconds to learn, of course. By the time he had played with the new phone (it's not his, it's the home phone) for about 10 minutes, he had installed a photo of BB as wallpaper, and entered three contacts (Kaiden, Mom, Dad).

Yesterday evening, John and I were in the kitchen, grinding spices and julienning onions respectively. Red Lentil Dhal was on the menu. I knew Grant wouldn't eat it, so I offered him the choice of grilled cheese sandwiches or cheese and crackers (which we would all have with our soup).

Suddenly, my phone chimed. I read the message, and sat down to reply. For the next 10 minutes or so, Grant and I had a conversation via text messaging, even though we were in the same house! I'd see him sitting on the couch, cross-legged, the phone in his hands and a look of concentration on his face. A few minutes later, I'd wash my hands, sit in the kitchen chair, and start tapping the keyboard. It was like having our own private conversation in our little house!

What follows is a transcription of the text conversation between Grant and me. It may not seem as hilarious to you as it does to me, but here it is anyway for your entertainment:

hellom mom may i have grild chease for dinner?
p.s. cani also have cereal with them

GriLled cheese aok!
dubliner or cheddar?

1 whole cheder, 1/2 dubliner.what about cereal? can i have cereal to?

Ok but only if u try 3bites of soup. please??? and if also if u use the correct version of the word *to*
check your last msg to me.

Which version of the word*to*? I will try 1 bite of soup. If I like it, I will have 2 more. then I will have cereal.

No deal. sorry. :) at the end u should have the word *too* as in *also*.
love u!

OK! Love you too! 'Bye.

:)


After dinner, I found him on the floor, writing a pencil-and-paper message to his brother. In runes.

overwhelmed by goodness

The past week or two has been jam-packed with amazing experiences. I marvel sometimes at how so many good things can happen in such a short time! Life has found me smiling more often than not these days....

A simple yet thrilling four-hour rafting trip down the Arkansas River returned my lost sense of strength and bravery. The next day, I wandered alone around Valley View Hot Springs until I found the pool where John and I sat nearly 14 years ago on the day before he proposed.

A week ago Friday, I had an amazing "love from strangers" day.... I held drawings of me and my mom in my hand, sketched by a woman who had seen our pictures on the blog. I received a bracelet with the word "HOPE" on it from another radiation patient. Later that afternoon, I met a woman in King Soopers who said, "I made your skirt."

Last Sunday night I hiked half-way up the Sand Dunes with two friends under the light of the full moon.

Yesterday, I took the time to teach my boys how to make scrambled eggs and french toast, instead of just doing it for them. Cooking is so much more than just food.

This evening, I danced barefoot on green grass in the pouring rain to the sound of Quetzal.... some cuban-latin-funk-fun.

Each one of these events would be worthy of its own blog post. Filled with details and photos and lessons learned. The problem is, I never seem to have enough time to reflect and write about them, because each and every day is filled with something special and magical. And I can't seem to choose which event is most worthy of a story. And I don't have time to write them all! I really shouldn't complain about this abundance, of course, but it's getting frustrating that I never seem to sit down long enough to actually record and reflect.

What to blame it on?

Facebook? That's an easy scapegoat.

The end-of-school-year/beginning-of-summer/middle-of-radiation madness? Perhaps.

Mostly, though, it's this strange feeling that if I can't share it all, then I shouldn't share any.
This needs to stop.....

....... Oh yeah, did I tell you about the purple penstemon and prolific peas? Or about how I swam 12 laps and did a back dive at the pool today? Or about the pleasantly slow speed of life on my new pink cruiser? Or about the fact that I have completed 23 out of 30 days of radiation?

it's all about the process

Too often, I don't think I give myself enough credit for my creativity. I see it so readily in others, perhaps because I tend to surround myself with so many talented and creative people.

Here, though, is an example of what I can do (with a little help from my friends and family) when I put my mind to it. It's taken roughly two years, but the tile mosaic in my bathroom is FINISHED!

The shell angel(above) is a tribute to my mother, who, I believe, really did see angels once.



The sun was the first design to go in (of course!). Followed shortly by the volcano that Bennett helped to create.





Thanks to Sara, who assisted me with this lupine. But mostly she helped me get over my self-doubt and sluggish mentality. To the right of the lupine, you will see pieces from my mother's broken hotplate from Alaska, with Mt. McKinley in the center.






Into this blue-green montage went the pieces of a small bowl I broke. It was one of my husband's favorites, a piece of Russian Gardner porcelain passed down from his parents. I still feel horrible about it. (Advice: never, ever, get a stone kitchen floor! Everything breaks instantly when it hits.) Also some cool polished glass found in the creek bed behind our park.



"Mad-Eye Moody", named by Grant who assisted with this design, is made from some pieces I bought last summer from a local guy. I wish I knew his name so I could give him credit. He makes tiles and magnets and jewelry and barrettes from plastic he finds in the streets and paints with fingernail polish. Is that cool or what? If you look closely, he has a wand in his hand.
And the moon, of course.





Finally, in the corner, a trilobite and fish fossil, surrounded by some leftover tiles given to me by Chris Alvarez. They gave me the inspiration I needed to finally finish it off.






So now it's finished!





Well... almost. I still need to decide whether to use white or gray grout. Then I need to grout it. Then I need to clean up after myself. Then we need to get a shower curtain (clear, of course). Then perhaps, we'll actually be able to shower in it! Could take another year or so. Don't hold your breath.

best. concert. ever.

Michael Franti and Spearhead played a matinee at The Fillmore for families today.

Cherine Anderson borrowed my sons' friend's hat for a song. She fucking rocked.

Word was that if you had the craziest hat, you might be chosen to go backstage. Or something. Anyway, here's Elise and me. I decided to go bald with a pink tiara. (thanks, Olwyn!)

After the show, Michael Franti kissed me. Then he asked me for my name, and the names of my children. He bent down and pulled two yellow picks out of his pocket and placed them into Grant and Bennett's hands. He chatted with them for awhile about music. Then he hugged and kissed me again, looked me in the eye, and said, "Shine on." A secular blessing that felt rather holy.

There's more I could write, but what else is there to say, really, after "Michael Franti kissed me"? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Here's what I wrote about them back in September, if you want more.......

our daily rumi

The beneficent and marvelous Kat Tudor came over to my house today for a private yoga lesson. How this came about, and what happened during our first session, is another one of those serendipitious occurrences that make me sometimes believe the universe is not chaotic, but rather ordered and purposeful.

First, I participated in a human chanting Yogic Spiral with Kat, and then interviewed her for Colorado Culture Cast. Must see!

A few days later, a friend sent me a magazine article about the benefits of a private yoga instructor to help heal from breast cancer.

Later that night, in a pile of scattered papers, I found a postcard of Kat's that l had picked up at the Spiral event. It said she was now offering private yoga lessons. Hmmmmmm.........

The area under the right armpit where I had 11 lymph nodes removed is still painful. Whenever I reach for something with my right hand, everything stretches and pulls uncomfortably. My first round of chemo made me feel sick beyond belief for several days. My spirit was temporarily crushed. I knew I needed to do something for both my body and my soul.

I found it today.

After I was relaxed and breathing and had done this amazing opening the heart pose that made me feel both vulnerable and powerful, Kat asked me for my birthday. I told her. She picked up this book, opened to a page, paused a moment, and then said, "Oh, this one. I guess I'll just have to read it then."

January 11
Backpain

Muhammad went to visit a sick friend.
Such kindness brings more kindness,
and there is no knowing the proliferation from there.

The man was about to die.
Muhammad put his face close and kissed him.

His friend began to revive.
Muhammad's visit re-created him.
He began to feel grateful for an illness
that brought such light.

And also for the backpain
that wakes him in the night.

No need to snore away like a buffalo
when this wonder is walking the world.

There are values in pain that are difficult
to see without the presence of a guest.

Don't complain about autumn.
Walk with grief like a good friend.
Listen to what he says.

Sometimes the cold and dark of a cave
give the opening we most want.

-Rumi

It was just so wickedly eerie and I shed tears of amazement and I think we were both just blown away by the power and perfection of it. I think I have a new favorite poet. Say goodbye to Our Daily Rilke.

feelin' bluevy

These first two weeks of October have passed by in economic crisis and bullshit politics. But they have also passed by in perfection. The Aspens and Cottonwoods have turned yellow and pink. My friends just got married in a uniquely symbolic ceremony at Mt. Princeton Hot Springs. The weather is such that you get to put on funky tights in the morning, then take them off and put on a tank top at noon. I chanted in a giant human yogic spiral and made a rock spiral sculpture with the Spiral Scouts. Halloween costumes are in the planning! We have all settled into our school routines. I have been volunteering in the boys' classrooms once a week, and am remembering what I loved so much about teaching children.

For the past few weeks, I have been living in a blissful denial. A sort of post-surgical-pre-chemical limbo. Now, on Columbus Day, I am about to set out and explore a new world.

In about an hour, I will have a needle placed into the port on my left side, and Adriamycin and Cytoxan will begin dripping into my body. Healing poisons. In about three days, I may (or may not) feel like shit. In about seven days (because of risk of infection), I will not be able to go contradancing (see next post below!) In about three weeks (just in time for Halloween!) I will lose my hair.

It is both a terrifying and a liberating feeling, this idea of losing one's hair. Here's how I chose to deal with it.

First, the cut:











Then the color:

















Finally:




My friend's daughter, aged 12, asked me yesterday, "So why did you dye your hair blue?"

"Well, I'm going to be losing it in a few weeks, so...."

(Interrupting) "You just figured what the heck right?!"

You got it, girl!

moving meditation

I've been trying to meditate lately........to no avail. Sitting quietly and peacefully is attainable, but it's my mind that can't sit still.

Contradancing, I believe, achieves the same effect: an inner calm, an outer joy, a mindful mindlessness. There comes a moment in the dance when you are so focused that you become lost, and all attachment to rational thought ceases. Linear history dissolves into timelessness, and smiling faces abound. It is as close as I have ever come to the divine. (Well.... except for maybe that Dead show in Eugene about 20 years ago!)

There are many different definitions and descriptions of contradancing, but this one is by far my favorite:
"A contra dance is like an amusement park ride we make for ourselves." --Unknown
I like this one as well:
"Contra dance is a form of dance that thrusts a different person of the opposite sex into your arms every 30 seconds."

Here we are in Denver last Friday night.



And here's a short clip that truly captures the diversity of dancers and the spirit of fun. I dare you to NOT be smiling at the end of the next two minutes:



I sometimes believe that if the whole world would contradance, we just might have a shot at world peace.

Find a dance in your neck of the woods