She always makes me smile...

My pet bird's name is Yoda. She is a Goffins Cockatoo and about eleven years old. I've had her two years now. She belonged to a dear friend's ex-husband. My friend brought me to his house to see her kids, and while I was there I saw Yoda in a cage in the corner of the family room.

Being a lifelong bird lover, I went over and started talking with Yoda, she sat perched close to me, listening intently, then put her head against the bars, inviting me to pet her. My heart melted on the spot and I was smitten. My friend said, "Don't look at her, she's ugly." And I suppose Yoda WAS ugly, for she'd bit off almost all her feathers and her grey skin revealed her boney little body, quite the pathetic sight. But I didn't care. I saw her sweet, bright little spirit which was anything but ugly to me.

It turned out that my friend's ex really didn't have as much time for Yoda anymore, with work , a new house, and a new girlfriend and children to raise. I told my friend... "If he ever considers parting with her, I'd love to take her." She mentioned it to him, he thought about it and wanted to meet me to see if Yoda liked me OUT of the cage. The rest is history.

Yoda came to live with me and has been a source of constant delight ever since. She slowly stopped biting at her chest feathers. In this photo you can see the feathers starting to grow in again!

She is full of personality, flirts with any men who come around like a little hussy, says "hello" when the phone rings and "good bye" when she sees us go for our car keys. She loves to dance and listen to music and charms everyone who comes over. She is almost always out of the cage, since I work from home.

She still bites off her long feathers, but is allowing most of the short ones to grow. She usually looks a little bit ratty, but hey, when I'm around the house, braless and hair up in a knot, I don't exactly look put together myself! When Yoda sees me go for my belly dancing scarf, with the dangling beads and coins that jingle, she gets excited. She always dances along. She loves nothing more than to sit on my arm or shoulder as I putter around the kitchen, or on my knee as I sit at the computer. She's quite willing to be handled and "preened". I surely don't do the job as good as another parrot would, but she seems to like it.


Clearly, to me, Yoda was well loved by her other family and gently handled, because she loves people so much. I really appreciate how hard it had to be to give her up, but am so glad she's part of my daily life.

My friend really did Yoda AND me a huge favor when she brought us together... with Yoda I play, laugh, sing, dance, giggle, squawk and get to be like a child again, every day. It's great.

Now you've met my little Yoyo...

The hand of God...

In blogging I sometimes speak of "the hand of God" present during certain chapters of life. Recently I heard someone dismiss this concept as "superstitious" thinking.

Surely it all comes down to how we understand "God". If we believe in a higher power, is it arrogant to think we can attempt to define it? (Can the created define the creator?) Yet hasn't each civilization attempted to do so? Raised Catholic, it's easiest for me to use Christian terminology in describing matters of faith. But maybe terminology doesn't matter, that God transcends language, time, place and religious verbiage.

When I was very little I talked to God. It was as if I was born knowing Him. I wasn't afraid, and it didn't feel the least big strange. I thought everyone shared this kind of familiarity, but I learned otherwise as I grew older. As my grasp of the world grew, as I gained more life experience, so did my understanding of the divine grow. I studied other religions and fine tuned my beliefs.

I've developed a very loving, gentle, forgiving concept of the divine power. He (or "She" if you prefer) is so much more to me than "creator". I feel like little girl, reaching for the hand of Someone much stronger, wiser, bigger than I am. It's a matter of trusting in that Someone, as I toddle along through life, to help me choose wisely and become the best I can be. That hand might let go now and then when I test my own strength, but it is always there to guide me. After all, spiritually I am a child, so much growing still to be done, so much maturing left to do. Steve calls me a "feral child"... and he's right that there is a wild, reckless, irreverent (artistic?) part of me. Like a child I can be very self-centered and frightened. It's reassuring to know there is a Love that is perfect, there for me always, and to know I am never alone. It sounds simplistic, but one verse sums it up best... "God is Love."

It saddens me to think there are darker views of "the hand of God ". And I've known many people, some Christians infact, who see a God as a punishing scorekeeper, one who bargains with the devil to test us, as in Job.

To me it's a conflict to imagine an indifferent God sitting before a chess board, furrowing his brow and recklessly sacrificing some of us as pawns, in a game of sport for purposes of divine amusement. We are each too precious to be pawns.
And I can't fathom seeing God as a puppeteer, directing every move, leaving us at the mercy of a mastermind's whims. We have freedom to go where we wish, do as we wish think what we wish.

So when I write about "the hand of God" I am referring to a powerful benevolence, a strength, a light and clarity that surpasses all others, a God who wants the very best for me and for all of us and remains involved in our ongoing creation.

Forty years since "The Big Snow"....

Chicagoans my age and older will very likely recall "The Big Snow" of 1967 that hit the city on the morning of January 26th. It holds the record as Chicago's worst snow storm. By noon on the 26th, an alarming eight inches had already come down. By 8:00 the next morning, a whopping twenty three inches had fallen! Gusty winds complicated the situation causing drifts six feet high in places.

Cars were left hopelessly stuck and abandoned. Store shelves were emptied as people came on foot to stock up. At least a dozen babies were born at home. (I wonder how many were conceived!) Workers were stranded, unable to get transportation home. Airports were closed. Expressways were impassable. In short, the city came to a grinding halt. It took four days for Chicago to dig itself out.

The picture below shows the Edens Expressway during the storm, something we're used to seeing with bumper-to-bumper traffic!

In 1967 I was a kid, twelve years old, and to see all the chaos surrounding the storm was more exciting than frightening. That fateful day I did not want to miss my drama class after school, so I trudged the mile to 59th and Kedzie. It took longer, but that only increased my sense of adventure. Class ended early, as most did not make it, as weather worsened. Back I walked, with ice caked around the tops of my boots.

My father had always insisted we carry a dime in our pockets, "in case of emergency", so we could call home for a ride. Even if I wanted a ride, no car could get through. Sidewalks, doorways, parked cars and streets were snowed over. I made my way by walking in trenches left by car tires in the street.

At home, as Mom made pots of steamy hot chocolate, Dad was shoveling out our house and every other house on the street. Men gathered to talk and assess the situation. A neighbor's garage had collapsed, caving in on both family cars. It was a mess.

Another neighbor had her car stranded a block away. A young man had been driving around in his big tow truck, looking for cars to tow. He offered to help this woman get out, but for a price, a BIG price. She refused. He got mad and tried to speed off. Instead his tires were spinning deep ruts in the snow as we all stood and watched. No one gave him the finger, and no one lifted a finger to help him. Maybe he deserved his humiliation. Eventually he got himself out. The next day we all went over and used our muscle to dig and push that woman's car back home. But it did surprise me back then, that someone would try to cash in and exploit the woman's situation. Today it doesn't surprise me. Tough times bring out the worst and the best in people.

As a kid the snow storm was great fun. No school! And there was a wonderland to explore outside. We had forts, snowball fights and snowmen everywhere. Our dog couldn't walk, she'd leap and sink, leap and sink. It never occurred to us that we should stay in and watch TV. Never, no, we had the chance of a lifetime to play in snow taller than we were.

I made a huge igloo in our yard, next to Mom's tomato patch. I never seemed to get cold. Hours would pass and I'd get hungry, or sleepy, but never cold. I remember crawling inside the igloo, feeling downright WARM, wanting to nap right there inside. I also remember polishing the walls with my glove, making the ice smooth, glistening and hard.

By Tuesday, roads were cleared and the city was back up and running. We went back to school. The city lost something like sixty million dollars in revenue in the storm, and sixty people had died. Now forty years later, we still remember "The Big Snow" of 1967. I enjoyed reminiscing with my father, who helped me recall some of the things I've written here.

Anyone else have memories of "The Big Snow"?

(Thanks to my sister, Sue, who sent me an email about The Big Snow, including the pictures I've posted here!)

The art and mystery of tai chi...

About a year ago, my sister, Sue, asked if I was interested in joining her in practicing tai chi every week with two of her friends. I'd never done tai chi before in my life, in fact I didn't really know what tai chi was. All I knew was that it was some kind of exercise or dance that was done in slow motion. But since it was winter and I knew I should be more active, I agreed to go with her.

Let me say here that I'm not the "gym" type... and the exercises I do enjoy are walking, swimming and belly dancing. I am not athletic and tend to be rather clumsy and bumbling. The idea of something disciplined like tai chi was completely new for me.

The weekly practices were held in Diane's basement. That first night Diane, Sue and Sharon patiently taught me the "tai chi walk"... a series of angled steps, short and long, forward and back. Then they added the first hand movement, "parting the wild horse's mane". I was clumsy and off balance as I tried the moves. They looked so easy! But they actually required a lot of concentration and control. By the end of our practice I felt energized, loose and limber, and completely relaxed. The morning after, I felt even better, with a spring in my step and a mental alertness I'd not felt in quite a long time. It was a little bit like that dewey-faced glow and inner radiance one feels after an erotic interlude. I was hooked! I've been going back ever since.

Tai Chi IS a martial art, and it uses many of the same slaps, punches, kicks and blocks. The difference is that it's done slowly, gently, with fluid low-impact motions. In tai chi, each movement flows into the next. The entire body is always in motion, with the movements performed gently and at uniform speed. Most of the movements are modeled after animals who are especially adept at defending themselves in the wild with wit, strategy and agility.

I wanted to master the routine we did each week, called "The 24 Forms". It can be done almost anywhere by almost anyone, no matter what age or physical condition. The health benefits are many. It takes five minutes to complete the entire routine. And it is said that it takes a lifetime to "master" it. In China, a "master" has attained at least thirty years of instruction in the discipline and art of tai chi.

(In thirty years I will be 82. Hmmmmmmm.... )

This month I began my formal tai chi training, given by Xiaoping Xu, MD, PhD with her accomplished, elderly mother, here in our Woodridge park district. Instruction is held in a wonderful room that overlooks our little Lake Harriet. In our class are men and women, of all ages and all levels of experience. Dr. Xu exudes grace and calmness as she softly guides us, move by move. She tells us that even if we do it wrong, it's still better than not doing it at all. And to watch HER do the "24 Forms" is like observing a spun cocoon of silk, threads slowly unfurling.

Could that one day be me?

Come what may, with my clumsy chunk of a body, I'll continue with tai chi because I enjoy it enormously and love how I feel after I've done it. Dr. Xu's mother, who speaks only a few words of English, smiles broadly when she sees me and taps her finger on my forehead, right between the eyes as she tells me "Heng Hao" which means "very good" in Chinese. I thank her... in my pitiful attempt at Chinese, saying "Shie shie" (pronounced see see) as I smile back. And each time she does it I wonder... what does it mean? All that tapping between the eyes! She doesn't do it to the others. Not sure, but really, it doesn't matter. Language barrier or not, I understand a smile...

Zai Jian! (That's goodbye!)

Self-expression, two people, two powerful forms...

Originally posted in my old blog on November 15, 2006...

My anticipation reached its peak this week... the day we finally went to the Chicago History Museum to see Ed Paschke's exhibit of paintings, grouped by decade on the second floor. A video ran in the first room of the gallery, haunting to watch. It was filmed by Art Beat just twelve hours before the artist would die in his sleep of heart failure on Thanksgiving Day in 2004. It portrayed a man who appeared healthy, vibrant, calm, animated, enthusiastic about his current project, appreciative of the chance to talk about it. No hint of what was to come. And yet, what a wonderful thought to consider he lived doing what he loved until the day he died... painting.

Our view of the paintings was perfect, the pieces were not crowded. There were other people there, but nothing that interfered with our liesurely pace in thoughtfully letting our eyes rest on each incredible canvas. I absorbed each one, like enjoying a fabulous meal, bite by heavenly bite.

On Wednesday I went with Monica to get the tattoo she's been planning for two years.

Personally, I have no tattoos and prefer my body au naturale! But... if someone wishes to use tattoos to express who they are, by all means go for it! Monica has several tattoos, but this one was to be the most elaborate and biographical. She asked my help in designing it about two years ago while she lived in Austin. After several revisions and brain storming with Monica, here's my final sketch.

The final design features Chicago's Sears Tower, the Adler Planetarium, the U of I bell tower (stylized) and the London Gherkin, among other symbolic elements.... with a rocket ship zooming off to its next destination.

The artist was Harlan Thompson, who did an amazing job! Monica chose him after searching for just the right one for the job.

After all the planning, this is the final result! She loves it!

I feel so blessed tonight...:::sigh:::.... grateful that my work allows me to be flexible enough to enjoy these times with my daughter. Who knows when we'll have time together again after she returns to London. Part of me goes with her now, wherever she goes... on that tattoo... as if we needed an outward expression of what already exists inside us.

Tuning the heart strings, two high notes....

Originally posted on 12/5/06...

Growing up, had you asked me, I'd not have listed "being a mother" as one of my top five aspirations in life. It would have been... if I knew then what I know now. And I thank God every day that I did have children. I didn't know how tightly these two daughters would wind themselves into my very heart strings. And I could never have guessed all the ways they'd come to pluck them.

The years have flown by... in a blink, a twinkle and a flinch, sparking every emotion under the sun. Now they are 27 and 23, one living in another state, the other living in another country. Yet... never have I felt closer to each of them, more connected to them.

Each is going through times of change, challenges known, outcomes unknown... and these things feel every bit my own.


Monica and Stephanie... I love you more than words could ever say.

Baccarat hearts, crashing waves, and an old friend...

Originally posted December 6, 2006, on my old blog....

Chicago has a fabulous lake front. Lake Michigan feels like an ocean, waves can reach two stories high or more! Up at the northeast corner of the city, I once had a friend named David who had an apartment that was bordered by the lake on three sides. Great place! And decorated to the nines. We'd met through work, both of us are interior designers. He was delightful, about ten years younger than I, full of color and dripping charm and personality. He loved good conversation and probing for secret treasures lurking hidden inside a person. We were an unlikely combination, he was gay and I was a married mother of two, but we enjoyed each other's company.

One night, David invited me over to his place "to talk". It was an hour's drive for me, but I was intriqued and more than willing, for times spent with David were full of adventure and surprises. It was a cool, crisp night, with high winds... winter was making a dramatic entrance.

At David's place I was enchanted to see a fire raging in his fireplace and candlelight all around. "Do you like Michael Feinstein's music?" he asked me. I didn't know it. So David put one of his albums on to play... "I would MARRY Michael Feinstein in a hearbeat!" he told me with a sigh. He patted his sofa (which had about two hundred pillows scattered across it!)... and urged me to sit beside him. So we leaned back and listened to the music. Love songs... sad songs...

David reached for a bowl of colored crystal hearts and held it on his lap. "Each Baccarat heart is for a lover who broke my heart." he told me, with misty eyes. One in particular he held longer than the others in his hand, almost reluctant to put it back in the bowl. I knew why I was there.... David was lonely.

We were like girlfriends... sharing secrets, confessing deep dark dreams seldom brought to light. He told me tales from childhood and sad stories of loves lost. He was a hopeless romantic, and I must admit I am too.

"I want to show you something!" he suddenly said with a big grin. He was so cute, looked a little like a young Tom Hanks. He took me by the hand and led me through the arched doorway into his bedroom. It had windows on two sides, a fireplace on the other... the same roaring fire faced the bed.

"I want you to experience something amazing." he said... "Lay down on the bed." He walked around opening all the windows and placed another log on the fire. All the lights were off except for the flickering firelight to illuminate the room.

"Close your eyes." he told me. The room was quickly becoming VERY cold and breezy, and the heat from the fireplace felt fabulous. We laid there side by side, faces toward the ceiling. He reached for my hand.... "Listen... " It took a moment for me to settle in and relax... so many sensations were fighting for attention... the cold air, the warmth of the fire, the scent of firewood burning, the comforting warmth of a friend's hand.... but then I heard it... outside the window.

Waves were crashing against the rocks, wind was blowing, and the roar of water rose three stories up to where we were. And listening to the water splashing, laying there with David's stories from that night fresh in my mind, I felt warmed from the inside out, no longer cold. Yes, it was an amazing magical experience.

About an hour passed as we laid there quietly, sometimes talking or giggling. It reminded me of childhood... sleepovers with girlfriends... nights of transparency and letting go of fears, and feeling music seep so deep inside that reality became another friend with us in the room .

A few years later, David and I drifted out of contact. It was just one of those things I suppose... but I'll remember him always. I'll remember his generousity, too.... the times he'd treat me to dinner, or say things like "let me see your new watch" and he'd tuck a folded twenty dollar bill under the face of it. (In those days ... early 90's... I was struggling financially and he loved to be Santa.) It gave him so much joy to do it. His thougthful gestures taught me about kindness in a world that seemed to grow more cruel by the day.

David, wherever you are, I wish you peace and happiness... and a bowl of Baccarat hearts that never overflows.