Lola graduates this week. She's a ball of cat scratch and dropped bowls, frustrated with her own body, the constant fighting between friends at school, and a blow off from one of her best friends. Ian is head down in trenches last weeks getting work done maybe I'll save for a car this summer. He can work for his grandparents, and for Mr. Curry at the moving company. Ever is two. Two is pure existence, pure moment to moment, the ultimate Buddha. As long as she has us, nothing else matters much to her, the world is endlessly fascinating. This weekend we took a break from talking and spent time together just being. Music played. The days here in our little town in Southern California have been ridiculously glorious, a My Little Pony of sparkles, rainbows, clear crystalline blue skies, sun hot enough to warm your muscles but not so hot as to sicken your gut, bright green trees and hills, a slight wind. We swam Friday, Mr. Curry barbecued, we stuffed our faces with hot dogs, hamburgers, chips, ice cold beer, soda, and watched an old Steve Martin/Goldie Hawn movie. Bed. Rise Saturday, walked the kids out to the train, stood in the longest line I've ever seen at our train station, Mr. Curry rode the train with the girls while Ian and I sat in silence. Home, nap, rise, pool, barbecue, movie, sleep. This depression is responding to my relentless exercise and diet regime ( work out four days a week, eat little sugar, no gluten but once a week, small breakfast, lunch, eat whatever I want for dinner, don't eat late ) alongside the yoga and Buddhist readings. In small increments I am accepting my emotions instead of having emotions about my emotions. I feel what I feel and fighting it was increasing the suffering. So I turn into it. I face it, let it envelop me. I wait and listen... do I need to cry? If I do, I go to the bathroom and stop fighting and cry, quietly, wipe my face, come outside. I feel brave. I think this is what adults do. Face it. Feel it. Move in the moment. Trying to move outside the moment was making me ill. I can only be where I am. I am sorry if you think I should not be angry. It is so unfortunate if you believe I should not be sad. If you feel I should be in gratitude for all I have, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint you. I am proud of myself. It is so hard to face what I'm thinking and feeling- I would rather look on the bright side. Instead, I will see things as they are. And in that place of where I really am and the life I"m actually living, I see the blue sky. I see Ever sillhouted against that layered blue beyond. I feel the sun on my legs and shoulders and face, the freckles climbing on top of one another to pop out. I hear the voices of my husband and children intermingling. I see the doves fighting over a grasshopper. I watch the shadows climbing across the living room as dinner plates sit unwashed. I hear the cars whooshing by our little home. I feel our dogs old, thick fur underneath my fingers. I taste the meat and pickle and beer and bone. I feel rage, and grief, and gratitude, and peace, and joy, and love. I am alive. It was a good weekend.
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