Another school year is ending and the kids are counting down and so am I. 

I have come to love our summer’s at home on the farm together. Nothing special goes on, we are mostly bored but I now consider boredom a privilege. As parents, there is something very significant with this time of year. For my family it often takes on a reflective tone and sometimes it takes on an inquisitive tone, as in where did that year go? 

They got older, hopefully wiser and definitely taller. What else? 

Our kids are picked up at the bottom of the lane by the school bus and I consider this a privilege as well. I don’t miss driving the kids to school each morning when we lived in the city. Leaving each morning 60 minutes early to get all of them at different schools on time including myself to work. 

We are on our third year on the farm and every morning so far I have watched my three monkeys walk down the lane together to wait for their ride to school. 

My windows may be old and even falling apart but I still see magic out of them.

Like clockwork, every morning I stare out these old farm windows and I still find the image of them walking together... magical. 

Some mornings I even cry. 

A good type of cry. 

Than I anticipate their safe return each day and stare out the windows somemore. Some days I am so excited to see them that it is similar to that feeling that a child creates waiting for that special present. 

And of course, some days not. 

Than it starts all over again.

I’m on my moon time, winding down on my menstruation cycle and I can feel myself coming down with it. I pull in and close up verbally as is my way. Quiet in my garden. 

I was raised by women who spoke openly, candidly and with pride about their menstruation cycles and all the other glorious to curious women things we are graced with. Growing up in a household predominated by men, I also witnessed them in turn speak openly and with respect for a women’s moon time. 

As young girls, we were celebrated with ceremony, gifts and a feast in our honor when we entered the circle into womanhood. In turn, I have initiated many ceremonies for young women and I am honored to have done so. In my family unit, this was my norm, it still is of course but I understood at a very young age that outside my doorstep, life offered me another “norm” that compelled my curiosity. 

I observed my young preteen girlfriends come into their womanhood with shame, confusion and embarrassment. These emotions were unfamiliar to me as a young girl surrounding the first blood. I can easily recall upon that wonder and more so the sadness I felt. I took it upon myself to initiate mock ceremonies for them in our backyards, repeating by whisper whatever it was I could remember. 

We were kids yet I still stand to believe that no matter how awkward our actions, our intent were the same and therefore making these memories some of my most powerful thoughts. I wanted them to feel beautiful and special for becoming a woman, just as I was made to feel. I rewrapped gifts for them by picking over things from my bedroom, used clothes, music tapes, books etc. It mattered not what they received but that they received for what they gave. While having no contact with these women for nearly 30 years, I have never forgotten them. 

Connected forever. 

As women, we all remember our first blood story. 

So it is natural I suppose that today in my own household predominated by men again that they as well will learn this way. For my young sons, mom’s moon time is natural, gross and yuck has not been taught. 

“This is my blood that has given you life.” 

For my hubby however this teaching was a new learning for him in our very early years as a couple, he has come along way. He was not so much a gross and yuck fellow but more of a don’t talk about it fellow. I have met many like him and many more women just the same. 

To each his own but I still marvel with wonder why. Many men in my life find the whole women thing “disgusting” and while I love them dearly, I am left to wonder how they figured they came to be in this world with out that “disgust”. I have also met one too many women who identify it as the “curse” all the way through to the end into menopause. 

Yes, there are pains, physically, mentally and spiritually and they are all very real and we identify these matters as an inconvenience and unnecessary.  As a result, we created some powerful new drugs to remove it, rid it and eliminate it like a useless weed. A wide held perspective by many men and women. 

“Pop a pill and make it go away.” 

In my monthly pain, I allow myself to run with it, I make room for it and ask others to do the same. If it inconveniences you, than so it be. I run with the moon and use this as my visual cue in the sky. I am fully aware of my body and energy by each moon phase naturally purifying itself. 

What is most fascinating is how women who are emotionally connected will come to moon together. Women’s menstruation and ovulation rhythms will synchronize. Myth or fact I care not to debate. What I know to be true is that the closet women in my life all flow at the same time and they don’t live anywhere near me but I am connected into them as they are into me. 

Renew and embrace your relations with your feminine spirit. Empower and encourage our young women to take their stand once again with two feet flat on the ground and embrace the gifts they have to share. Let them know of their beauty. Be willing to talk about it and share the stories of your moon time. There is no shame in it. Talk to our young men and let them know that a women’s moon time is respected and there is no disgrace in it. Just maybe…even if a little…this can open a new dialogue and way of thinking…just maybe. 

It is time.

So “they” say everyone has a twin somewhere perhaps you met yours. I am not sure who “they” are and my quick net search returned some interesting possibilities. There are a few theories offered including the supernatural explanation that if you ever meet your identical self or Doppleganger, you shall die. 

I am not that interested in any of the proposed theories, not now anyway. I am most interested in whom I have recently met and how this has made me feel. 

Over the weekend, I ran into this woman again for the third time in the last 4 weeks. The first time I met her was at a community event and she was serving coffee in the hall. From the second I saw her, I could not take my eyes off of her. 

She looks identical to my mother who has been dead for almost two decades. Not just in a kinda or sorta type of way but in an unbelievable resemblance type of way. 

My first reaction was shock and than was stunned how overwhelmed emotionally I felt. I fought back my tears the whole time sitting there. I approached her later in the day as I was leaving asking if she might be related to my mom, her family or the alike. 

She said she never heard of her before. So I left it there. 

Shortly after this encounter, I passed her again at another event in which I was just leaving from. I smiled at her in passing, she smiled back to be polite but I knew she did not remember me. Finally, this weekend she ended up sitting directly across from me at another function. 

I finally approached her with my story this time. She believes that there is a reason for our meeting and that one day we will figure it out. I like that thought. 

Each time I got up and passed her …I touched her, squeezed her arm, her shoulder and she squeezed me back. We talked in the bathroom for at least an hour and the similarities between these two women are stunning. From age, birthdates, number of children and careers. 

What am I to make of that? 

I told her at some point in the conversation, that I still missed my mom. She said, “I know, I can tell.” 

I hope I see her again and while this is true, I am of the thought today anyway that it may in fact only to be near “her” again. 

I wonder what “they” would say about that!

Have you ever been on your way going somewhere and think to yourself, yes, yes this is where I should be going… right over there. Then the whole time you are going there and actually manage to get there, you’re smitten with yourself for deciding to go there in the first place. Than while there you’re so happy to be there that nowhere else matters anymore because you’re just so happy to be there. 

Than somewhere in the space of I am so happy to be here, you think well what about over there, maybe I should go over there and not here. 

So you start to wonder. 

You wonder so much that you actually go over there. Than it starts all over again. Yes, yes, you think…this is where I should be going, over there not over here. 

You feel smitten with yourself too while going over there because it is not here. 

Than you get there and start to wonder what was the big deal of over here anyway. Now where? Doubt comes in from everywhere, you don’t know anymore about here or there. You slowly come to see that over here isn’t as exciting as you remember. Than you start to miss over there. 

Than it dawns on you, that you have been over here before and that is why you went over there in the first place. 

Than you miss back over there so much you can’t stop wondering about over there. Yes, yes you think…this is where I should be going, back to over there, not here. 

So you go back to over there. 

There that is better. 

Sometimes, you just gotta go over there so you can appreciate why here is so great to begin with. 

Great reminders.

So where am I going?

Back over there. 

I am going back to filling my cookie jars…so there!

I went to the zoo with a group of elementary school kids and not ounce of my fiber or my heart and head wanted to go but I went anyway! My name is on the volunteer list at the local school. While that is true, so are the other 29 woman in my village, so I can’t take much credit for that now can I? I am the new kid on the block out here so this means I get the “fun” requests until I put my time in and earn my dues. 

The request for my attendance came by phone late at night only hours before the big event. I could smell the desperation through the phone line before I even said hello. The second I realized it was Mrs. R, our local wonder mom who does it all and makes the rest of us mom’s look wickedly lazy, I thought “great, what does she want?" 

There are certain times I am just not up for someone else’s desperation real or imagined and this was one of them. I mean am I supposed to wake up every day, anticipate the world ending including school field trips. Am I supposed to be ready for the delusional desperation held by someone else let alone my own? What crises am I willing to jump into on a moments notice? Was this really one of them? 

These days, I am sore, grumpy and officially exhausted like every other fricken farmer in the world. “Hug your farmer!” That was cute a lifetime ago when I read it on a jacket button at an outdoor country fest full of expensive beer but not so much anymore now that I became one. 

So this is how I chose to hear the phone call from Mrs. R with my new farmer mind frame. “Sorry for calling so late Mrs. C but we are stuck. Mrs. A and Mrs. B can’t make the zoo field trip, their busy in the fields.”  Geez, so am I Mrs. R, did we not just talk about this yesterday at the post office, were you not listening to me? Of course, I did not say this and like her pretend that that particular exchange never happened. 

Socialably expected behavior, manners and compliance at its best. 

I really wanted to say a few things to Mrs. R finally yet reserved the truth but for when I wondered, probably never I concluded. Truth be, I didn’t find Mrs. R’s request all that polite, she knew darn well I had no time to offer but as a New Kid on the block I realize I am to tip toe around these elephants in the room. 

It dawned on me in the midst of the desperation show, that if I didn’t attend the outing, no one would be going to the zoo! Oh, a blessing in disguise perhaps? 

Should I have said it anyway? What if I did tell her my thoughts? What would the other 28 Mothers think? Would I be kicked out of the Mom groups? I quickly gathered that I might never see another Avon or Tupperware gathering again if I did. In addition to this, my kid’s birthday invitations and attendees might magically decline. Moreover, who would rave foolishly over my spinach quiche tarts at the next community picnic? 

The dilemma is hysterical. 

This is what I wanted to say; 

“NO, I DON’T FEEL LIKE GOING TO THE ZOO AND SPENDING A DAY WITH A GROUP OF SCREAMING KIDS, I GOT MY OWN SCREAMING KIDS, LIKE I SAID YESTERDAY TO YOU WHICH YOU WERE OBVIOUSLY NOT LISTENING TO AND WHY I NEED TO TELL YOU AGAIN, WE ARE BUSY WITH  FIELD WORK RIGHT NOW AND BESIDES THAT MRS. R, …ZOO’ S ARE STUPID ANYWAY AND SO WAS THAT STUPID CIRCUS OUTING YOU ORGANIZED LAST SUMMER! 

Alas I said nothing, I just kept nodding. 

“Yes, yes, sure, sure, no problem…no worries and no you did not wake me Mrs. R…see you tomorrow at 7:30 am for the 3.5 hour bus ride in…and yes Mrs. R…your so right, it is going to be fun…yes, you to Mrs. R…get a goods nights rest, you will need it as well…” 

I proceeded to bitch at myself for the next two hours about anything and everything, decided to take up a bought of insomnia for extra pleasure, ate a bucket of cheese, gained five pounds and cleaned the families toothbrushes at 3 in the morning. I than tried to lie down to what was rest of the night but had to do so on the hard floor to assist my back pain from all the fieldwork. I can’t even claim I slept that night or that a next day happened for me, it was more like a “later on” or “a little later” sensation. 

So a little later on, I dumped 3 cups of coffee in the system and pretended that I was provided a new perspective on the day that now held a sun in the sky. With a 4^th cup of coffee, off I went, drove into town for 40 minutes and don’t remember a thing about it. 

The perkiest group of kids I have ever seen greeted me. As I investigated my new little friends, I prayed their attitude was contagious to help carve out a new attitude of my own from my current shity one. 

By three farmer’s field down the highway, I felt a little better but that was not held onto for long. For fun, my friends started a sing along but decided to start with 99 Bottles on the Wall, it was kinda cute for 2 bottles only. 

“#$% **, &&^% (*^. &^$@, $$, %#@”! 

“Please tell me Little Janice did not hear me swear!”  

Please, $#%&*, **&^%, ^%%$#@, ^%$#@ oh please! 

When and the world did it become Pop anyway? Everyone knows it is Beer, it is 99 Bottles of Beer on the wall! “Whimpy kids these days”… I felt like bursting the truth on them! 

Self-talk begins at speed lightening.. 

“Shut up Mrs. C, shut up Mrs. C” 

Close call. 

I said nothing again and sang along hoping this would help pass the next 30 minutes. After a few more rounds of sing along, I attempted to inhale through my nostrils the coffee fumes out of my coffee mug in a desperation act all of my own.  Besides, I had to, it was the only way I could keep my mind off the fact that I might have pissed my pants. Note to self; do not drink a pot of coffee before a 4-hour trip with NO breaks. Next note to self, bus drivers are smart, our driver had no mug in the mug holder. 

We made it to the zoo 3 hours later and I don’t remember a thing about this drive either. Screams and clapping filled the tin bus without permission. I managed to scream the loudest after I saw a public bathroom sign. 

Our teacher stood at the front of the bus for our attention. I sat up and panicked, as not all good habits ever die. 

Oh poor Mrs. C, not so tough anymore. 

Our teacher opens, “who has not been to the zoo before?” 

I think to self… 

Pointless question. 

Boring. 

C’mon, throw me something a little deeper teach or else I am going to pass out with boredom. 

So I look around to see who may actually answer this nuisance of a question. Now what kid in North America has never been to a zoo? Well, I am glad I looked up when I did. 

One brave kid raised his hand and that was Little Johnny. 

Oh the shock and horror busted about on the bus like dominoes. I saw Little Johnny’s seat buddy actually move over a few inches from him in fear he might catch the “never been to the zoo” virus, good thinking on his part! 

Our teacher looked mighty impressed with herself and the episode she created. “See this is why we are going to the zoo, everyone needs to visit a zoo? 

Really….we do? 

Why? 

What does that mean? 

Is this your opinion? 

Or is this actual school policy? 

Does Little Johnny know that we all came here to the zoo just for him? 

Did you talk to his parents? 

What, what…well what is it…why, must little Johnny go to a zoo… 

BUT… 

What if he never did? 

What if he was never exposed to caged in wild animals? 

I suddenly forgot I had to pee and glared out the window with this new wonder. 

What if? What if little Johnny never experienced a zoo? 

From that moment on, I decided my survival tactic of the day was to employ a little participant observation technique with Little Johnny. I figured I might be on to something, like a classic field expedition of some sort, you know a real ethnological study like Chagnon and the Yanomamo. Oh the wonder and the marvel over took me. I would write about it, sell books and tell the world of my new findings. Oh the glory and the fame to follow had me daydreaming of what I would wear…but wait… how could I fit in all those cocktail parties with all the fieldwork. 

“46 bottles of pop of the wall, 46 bottles of pop, take one down and pass it around, 45 bottles of pop on the wall…45 bottles of pop…” 

Back to reality I come… 

Our teacher was still standing at the front of the bus still looking way too important and hammering out the rules. It was too much, in fact it became too much at rule 16, I couldn’t even remember rule 1, 6 or 9. I was hoping my seat buddy Little Suzy was paying attention. I looked at her with desperation. Nope, she stopped listening to. I decide to use her as a scapegoat anyway if I get in trouble later on. 

For whatever reason, I had this insane desire to cartwheel down the middle of the bus aisle naked as the Teacher was talking, just to monkey her up but I couldn’t because my back was sore. 

We exited the bus, orderly, quietly, safely and politely. Just to be sure, I didn’t breath either for good measure in case this might have been rule 13. 

The first stop was the bathroom than the Coffee Bamboo Hut for a $6.00 coffee refill and than did a mad panic run to meet my group. I knew I was a bit late and messed up the Teach’s schedule by 6 minutes. 

Third stop was the Polar Bears! 

Huh? 

It may have been my imagination but I swear I saw blue cement paint chips under its paws or it could have been the natural blue snow ice chips as it was so hard to tell though the glare of the glass surroundings. 

I began to bite my tongue. 

Next visit was the exotic birds! 

Huh? 

I have never seen the Toucan flying about wildly in my neck of the woods naturally, how about you Johnny?  I read the scripted blurb for all my friends; you know the one that sits right under Respect the Animals blurb. 

“The Tucan is native to...” 

I follow this with, "do you know what “native to” means Little Johnny? It means that this is not his natural home and ….and ….and….” 

I bit my tongue a little more and concluded that my own blood does not taste that bad after all with a coffee chaser. I than prayed the caffeine would kick me in to an altered state of unconsciousness. With no luck, I continued to shadow Little Johnny for the rest day, slid in my remarks out of teacher range, hoping I could still get to him while he was natural, free, and untainted. 

Run Yanomamo, run. 

I sure learned a lot from my little friends that day. I particularly enjoyed little Franks display to the 500-pound Tiger named Lilly. Lilly paced back and forth in her cement home enclosed with three weed like trees surrounded by more glass in a 4 x 4 frame. Little Franky stuck out his tongue and said, “come and get me, come and get me, you chicken.” 

“ooooohhhhh Little Franky, your so brave and so smart” 

The exhibit we observed the longest that day was the giraffes. For some strange reason they were eating the roof on the wood huts in their cages, you know naturally doing what giraffes do. We also observed every possible bathroom and water fountain we could find on our $4.00 maps, you know naturally doing what kids do. 

We zipped so fast through the artificial forests and plastic jungles that it was over just like that. Little Johnny never got to see the Panda Bears in the glass house or the Gorilla family next door who have been an icon at the zoo for over 20 years. 

The bus finally arrived and our driver looked much too happy. I wonder what the heck she did for four glorious hours all alone? I took a deep inhale through my nose as I passed her for evidence of alcohol or hopefully coffee. 

Here we go and I start us off… “99 bottles of Beer on the wall, 99….” 

A dart flew in my back, I zipped around quickly to inspect the source and I began to search out that darn Little Franky! It was the teacher, sitting at the front, heard me singing with “disrespectful words” and threw a look at me. You know one of those death looks? I finally peed my pants out of fear, oh those dam habits. Do they practice that teacher look in school anyway? Is there an actual class for that? 

I sat quietly and finally shut up and passed out dreaming of Ninio the “Gay Elephant” in Poland. I snored like a lion according to Little Jenny 6 rows in front of me. I felt obliged to explain to the town kid, “well Little Jenny, me and Mr. C were in the fields till 4:00 am trying to beat the rain the night before and I sure am tired…I bet Mr. C is snoring like a den of lions just as we speak!  Oh that silly Mr. C…he cracks me up!” She giggled so I hugged her and craved the naivety. 

Three farmer fields away from home, I screamed again until the Queen stood at the front of her throne. More rules and hug time! No hug for me, I got called out. “Mrs. C, can you just wait for me and Mrs. R, we would like a few minutes with you before you go?” 

I gasped and than prayed the caffeine intake would take me down and that I would die right in the moment. Oh poor Mrs. C, not so tough anymore. 

The Queen and her important sidekick walked towards me. 

This is how I chose to hear the next few minutes of “talk” with the Queen in my new farmer mind frame. 

“Mrs. C, we are grossly disappointed in you. You made us late all day long. The kids never got to see the Gorilla’s or the Panda’s, in fact Mrs. C, we never got to any of the exhibits we came here for…you should feel horrible. We waited all day long for you and you messed up our entire day. You are a great let down and a bad mom and rotten human being.” 

I reply. 

“Yes…your so right Teach…but Little Suzy had some bathroom issues and I was trying to be helpful, please accept my most sincere apology. I feel horrible. How can I make it up?” 

Oh poor Mrs. C, not so tough anymore. 

Run Little Johnny…run.

I love this time of year. Actually, that is not true, spring is not my favorite season but this one has been a long anticipated welcome from my side of the earth. We just endured possibly one of the coldest winters of our life times, at least in mine that I can recall.

Springtime brings a new breath of wishful feelings filled with hope. We see this all around us, in the early blooms, sunshine and birds. Such delight to the weary wintered soul don’t you think. There is a newfound optimism reaching out my way that I can literally see. How wonderful it is to know that there is not one darn thing you can do today to piss me off. What a great feeling, light on my feet, giddy and in love. 

Holy crap I can hear the birds chirping out my window.

A sea of artists over the centuries have given us much to gander about this time of year all wrapped up in their creations, Frost, Shakespeare and according to one search engine even Jethro Tull. While I can only digest small snippets on the google search engine of this level of delirium, it is true.

Yet I cannot find in all the google possibilities any creations reflecting the other side of spring. Bummer. So I will create my own for the next searching fool and perhaps they will find this blog.

There is another side to spring, there is a dirty side, a horrific side that we never discuss, like it or not all you Kumbaya folks in Gaia Land but this to is true.

In one simple stroll of the farm site earlier today I was astounded to the disaster that lie upon the earth left behind from the winter strain. What filth, what trash and holy crap what litter. Where and the world did this come from?

I swear last fall my yard, ditches and fields were tidy before we tucked them away for a winter rest. There is the typical dog mounds of shit scattered all over the yard. My dogs went missing this winter so I found myself gazing a bit at these piles. The last “something” of them, that was a bit creepy I admit.

Yet there is a strange and unexplainable pile of things that I cannot for the life of me figure out how they got there and why we didn’t miss any of them. Why didn’t I miss my slipper, the other one that is or the skidoo helmet? I plan to dry all the “lost” homework sheets I found and don’t care how late they are, the kids will have to complete them anyway. My tea pot and Tupperware lids, I recall sort of wondering but would have never thought outside buried in the snow. Who does?

Collectively the garbage and litter tells our story but not all of it because the ditches are open to who ever uses this secondary highway. Now there is telling story and a few dirty secrets. I know for the most part, who drives out this way and it is not many. I found a pair of boots, a pink sweater, a lampshade and a couple dozen of beer bottles and a classic condom wrapper! I might bring them down to the store and announce it all as lost and found items from my yard.

Springtime horror and its dirty little secrets are visible for all to see.

I found an old love note of mine on the earth the other day. It somehow managed to keep itself frozen in time over the long winter season. It appeared out of nowhere as I strolled about in the yard, like as if it waited there all season for me.

The ink is faded out but some of it managed to hang on. It doesn’t matter anyway, I know what it said. It is as poignant today as the day it was delivered to me. Powerful little treasure of a find I must say.

We are a love note family, I am sure that sounds strange because it feels just as strange to announce it. We scribe love notes to each other almost daily. I send them in the kid’s lunch kits or hide them in their pockets, under pillows and even their shoes. Just wherever they may find themselves in a moment of the day, in routine and in life they may uncover a note of love from mom, unexpectedly. 

There simple little thoughts but always given from the heart.

They reciprocate them back to their siblings and us just as often and hide them all the same. I cannot describe how many times that I have scoured my suitcases while alone in some hotel oceans away from them searching with full knowledge that a love note awaits me. It is Always enough to carry me through until the next lonely moment comes my way.

Hubby and I make our kids deliver our love notes to each other regularly. They really have to work at it to, as we can be miles apart from each other while working on the farm sites. We have concluded this was the purpose of their existence which is to deliver our love notes and be our maids. Okay well this is what Number 2 asked me once, “what am I your maid?”

Oh the funny in that is too easy to blog on!

I remember the love note I found the other day however. I remember the day, the moment, the reason and the release it gave me while reading it last summer. It made me cry.

Sometimes we deliver notes via the “maids” with a stretch of tape on it to seal it tight, I have even put staples on them. There are some things a Mom and Dad say between each other that we don’t want the kids to read, ever!

I kept all my love notes, letters and cards from my kids, friends, loves and lovers of the past and now. My treasure, my life and my story.

I hope one day, if so fortunate, as an old lady, swinging in my chair that I can reflect back on this treasure box with a sense of fulfillment to some degree with all that love, heartache and heartbreak that is and will come and go. I wish myself and you fulfilled lessons of the heart, go gentle as they say.

I don’t know what I will do with this box to be honest or what will come of it. I did however tuck my new or is it old found love note in my winter barn jacket that now hangs on its hook for next season. I hope I come upon it again next winter with the same wonder and gratefulness as I did the other day.

It is a telling story this love treasure box of mine or so I hope. Like a message in a bottle, I hope it to reveal a story worthy of wonder of the finder, or so I aspire it to be. I don’t know if I wish for my one day grown children to wonder upon it, not yet anyway.

That type of wonder might end them up in a few therapy sessions all of their own some day! 

Go gentle with a heart so it be yours or one of an others and perhaps even be careful what you read!