Sandy Hook

Sunday morning finds my little part of the world wrapped in rain and a tepid fogginess. The boys are unraveling yet another mess all over the floor, and I am about to unleash my full-on mom-tantrum. But then I turn on the t.v. and the computer only to find I cannot escape the news of Friday's event. We keep trying to make sense of it all, to understand the boy, to understand the mother, to understand the country. Too many words, no stone left unturned. I am sad and my heart goes out to all of those in mourning, but I don't know what they are going through. I can still hold on to my loved ones, and I wish beyond all wishes that they could too. So on this sad Sunday, I'll remember you and if you were here, I'd hug you, tell you I miss you and that I love you too. And if we learn anything from this at all, I hope it is that life is fragile. We cannot let it diminish our light; our hearts beat on, heavy now, but in the morning, brighter still. Hold on, hold tight.

Raising Sons...

I've never been the motherly type, but I've always wanted to raise a strong daughter, pass on some of my she-wisdom, if I may.

Now, here I am, in this space, with these two boys. I'm a little frightened and a little out of my element. Change of plans.

The lesson is still the same: A world where women and men don't have to be afraid of each other, where we teach each other it's wrong to hate and hurt anyone.

Yes, I would have taught her: Be careful b/c there are bad people out there, bad men who may hurt you, rape you and even kill you.

Now instead of preaching to the choir, I have to demand attention, ask for empathy, require understanding, have a conversation, turn the tables. It's important to me.

It's personal because it's as simple as: I don't want any of my sons to hurt any of your daughters.

I used to live in that world of Be Careful, but now this beast is changing skin, changing wheels, mutating, re-evaluating b/c my world is now, teaching:

Rape is wrong.

What Do You Think of Interracial Relationships?

Questions like these always...cut. I'm tired of defending who I am, or pretending that it doesn't hurt. I hear the whispers and I hear the jeers. I'm either pitied or thought of as "being too good." But really, I'm not. I'm not that strong and I'm not making a statement. I shiver in the cold, just like you. I bleed, if you cut me too. When I reach out in the darkness for help, I hope it's a kind hand that takes hold. I can't truly embrace my heritage b/c I'm always reminded that I've betrayed it. I'll never be accepted on the other side either b/c you're right, I'm not white. Guess what? The white man, he kicks me when I'm down too. And me, I like to kick myself too. I'm so bruised, I think I should rather embrace that other race--black & blue. I don't wear my armor anymore. The gauntlet is closing in; I've chosen my battles and I've even won a few but I'm afraid the war, it goes to you. I'm sure you won't remember me if I succeed, but if I fail, go ahead and pat yourselves on the back, and say what you've been wanting to say all along "I told you so". And if that was enough to make the pain go away, well, hell, I'd say you were right too.

I Love You, Fall

No matter how many times I try to deny it, every time the fall season begins--and it's not even quite here yet--it still leaves me breathless.

The wintertime has its quiet; the spring, its new beginnings; the summer, its lackadaisical determination; but the fall-time is still the only sexybeast that can quell my moodiness.

Slowly, then all at once in its full glory, it reassures me that life really is masterful. It reminds me of how truly intense the mind is and how deeply layered the heart can be.

What was once familiar, turned on its side, has infinite possibilities.

It sure has been a long year, but it's good to know the beginning of the end is upon us.

Yes, autumn is kind of like a firefall.

Humor Me

There's that one trait. That one trait that you know you must have in a partner. You may not know it yet. But you know, you'll recognize it when you see it. Yeah, that's the one. Humor. That's the trait for me.

People list a sense of humor as one of the top traits they want in a partner, but a lot of times they don't understand what humor is. It's not just being funny. Anyone can be funny or laugh at a joke. Nothing is more unfunny than someone who laughs for the sake of laughing, and especially at the expense of others. Just because a joke is a joke, doesn't necessarily make it funny, and you definitely shouldn't laugh if you don't get it. No, a sense of humor is much more complicated than just being funny.

There are so many other characteristics that you must first posses before you can have a good, solid sense of humor. Humility being the first and most important, but lets not forget about self-control, respect, foresight, relevance and of course, timing. I always judge how good an actor is by whether or not he or she has good comedic timing. Anyone can do drama, maybe not well, but anyone can do it. Why not? We're surrounded by drama every day. Comedy, laughter, and humor, that's something that you have to create, practice, hone and appreciate. Just think about it. How many people do you know who can tell a good joke? Not too many, I'll bet.

I'm not one to tell jokes myself. I have the most horrific comedic timing, and I more often than not, give it away before I finish it. So, I am envious when someone can tell a good joke. But, I take pride in knowing that I can relish in it, roll around in it, contemplate it and just plain laugh my buns off when I get it. Yeah, I find a good sense of humor very sexy, and even sexier is a smart man with a slick sense of humor. I mean, lets admit it, not all smart men can get a good joke, and even fewer can tell one.

Without a shadow of a doubt, if you can laugh at yourself, I'm already halfway yours. If you can make me laugh at myself...oh...we are in for so much trouble. It is very disarming, very humbling, and--once again--very, very sexy. A smile is the most beautiful thing to have, and laughter is the most contagious thing to spread.

You've Got Soul, But Do You Have a Soul Mate?

The notion of a "soul mate" intrigues me, but it distresses me more than anything, especially when I hear people mention it in correlation with romantic trysts and the ideology of being in love. It has plagued us throughout history, and popular culture is riddled with it. People throw the word around like loose change. I can't tell you how many times I've seen boys and girls, men and women, bravely put on their outer skin to go in search of their "soul mate." 

So, I'd like to strip it down and evaluate it by way of its definition.

Let's first look at the more popularly accepted definition of a "soul mate":

• a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner; 
• believed by some to be the person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity, similarity, love, sex, intimacy, sexuality, spirituality, or compatibility.

For me, the above definitions are flawed because it gives too much credit to sex and romance. More times than not, I have had friends express sadness upon the demise of their relationships with something to the effect of: "I'm so disappointed. I thought he or she was my soul mate."

If I were honest, my reply would have been: "Really, so he or she is no longer your soul mate because you're no longer sleeping together?" But rather, I comfort them with the more widely accepted, "Don't worry. So and so just wasn't right for you. Your soul mate is out there somewhere and you'll find him or her."

The romantic in me will always rise to the occasion in support of a heartbroken friend, but the realist in me wholeheartedly wants to shake them and say, "Stop being so melodramatic!" If we associate our lover with being our sole "soul mate," then of course we will be devastated and broken up after that relationship ends. How do you recover from that kind of fatal realization? But the truth of the matter is that boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives, they come and go. Some definitely will be soul mates, but most will just be lovers, and nothing more.

To understand who a soul mate is, and more importantly, to recognize it when we find it in someone, we have to stop romanticizing it. We don't sleep with everyone we love, so why would we only look for our soul mate in a lover?

When we finally take away the romantic shroud, we'll find that a soul mate should be defined as: 

• a person who strongly resembles another in attitudes or beliefs; 
• one of two persons compatible with each other in disposition, point of view, or sensitivity.

That being said, let me reiterate, in case you're still wondering. I believe in soul mates. I believe that we have many of them, many of whom we will never meet.

Do you really believe that there is only one person who understands you in this ENTIRE world? If that's true, then it is a very lonely and scary place.

Not only that, but life is linear. It has a beginning and an ending; along our journey we are ever-changing, morphing and moving forward to reach our true potential. Would only one person really understand us through it all? No, I believe that we have many soul mates and they show up when they are needed. To believe that there is only one, means that I will forsake all the others, and I can't accept that. My mind and my heart remains open.

Have I met any of mine? Definitely. They have been both male and female, a couple who have been lovers, and several who are true friends. I hope that I will find soul mates in my children as well. I have faith that I will meet many more, and I don't mourn for the ones I will never meet. It makes me happy to know that pieces of me remain undiscovered.

I cherish my soul mates NOT because I love them or have been loved by them but because there is a loyalty in recognizing a bit of ourselves in each other. In short, he or she gets me, and I get them. It's as simple as that. We do not put on any airs. However far he or she may travel, however long it may be--no matter how we may have parted, good or bad--I consider a soul mate a friend for life, someone who I will think of fondly at the end of it. 

Finding a soul mate, that is a kinship, and by definition that is a group of people, not just one or two.

Why Peter Rabbit Can't Get Into Mr. McGregor's Garden

I've been thinking about gardening again, or the fact that I don't but really, really wish I did. The sad reality is that I've a black thumb, and plants only come to me to die. I've many kills under my belt. Quite the assassin, really. But, you know, the compassionate kind. I care about you before I kill you. And, damn if I don't try my very best to love you as much as I can.

I suppose I want it so badly because it seems very therapeutic and fulfilling. I'm either surrounded by too much chaos or I'm dying from boredom. So, perhaps the nurturing effect of watching something as tiny as a seed grow into a full-grown plant may somehow reset the constant clashing of it all.

My neighbors (a young couple with a one-year-old baby boy), made haste and planted their garden in early spring and now it's overflowing with green growth. It's a modest garden, but I watched them work on it together, take care of it lovingly, and now are reaping the benefits. Oh, how I envy them, especially at dinner time when I really need an herb or a vegetable. That's when it mocks me from their backyard, waving its green limbs around like groupies at a concert.

While I know that being a gardener is one dream that will never come true, that won't stop me from traipsing on down to the store to buy packets of seeds, pots of plants, and bags of dirt in the springtime. (I've come to accept that even my deceased plants need new friends, so why not pay homage to those whom I've helped move on?) Hope springs eternal. Why stop the heart from doing what it does best?

One day I hope to have my own place with a beautifully lavish garden. Of course, that will have to come with a side of the very hot gardener because I sure won't be doing any of it. I mean, I hate working out in the hot sun. The humidity chokes me. The bugs are horrid. The leaves cut me like knives. There's so much dirt. Not to mention the worms and the insects. EEWW!!!

Ah, now I remember why I'm not a gardener. The grass is always greener when you don't have to roll around in it...

THE RUB: Rabbits are rampant around here, so it's been quite funny to watch my neighbors construct fences around their little gardens. They started out short and then got taller and taller and now it's almost shoulder-length. What? Are the rabbits around here flying vampire rabbits? Oh, Peter Rabbit, how I love of you so, but I do think you'll need to enlist the help of your more vibrant cousin, Bunnicula, the Vampire Rabbit, to get you into these gardens.