no one has ever mistaken me for a helicopter parent. my attitude toward parenting, in fact, has sometimes been described as casual to the point of laissez-faire. but whatever it is, im doing…i’m growing more and more certain i’ve done it right.

so for all the parents who are worried about your precious little darlings in a mean old world – this is how it’s done.

1. The goal of every parent should be to put yourself out of a job. Repeat that after me, boys and girls…. YOUR GOAL IS TO PUT YOURSELF OUT OF A JOB. to this end, everything you do, every decision you make regarding your offspring should be made with the primary consideration – will this foster independence or will it foster dependence? Consider that by the time my son was four, he was capable of getting a simple breakfast together not only for himself but for his little sister. One Saturday morning, while lying in bed listening to the sweet sound of little feet running around the kitchen, my exhusband asked me if I didn’t feel guilty lying in bed while the kids were fixing themselves breakfast. “Well,” I said, after a moment’s consideration. “I suppose I could feel guilty about it. Or, when i get up, i could congratulate Jamie on being so capable he can not only feed himsefl, he can feed his baby sister, too. So instead of feeling guilty, I’m going to lie here and feel proud.” (Shut the husband right up.)

2. Keep the rules simple. I’ve only ever had two. 1 – You’re not allowed to do anything to hurt yourself and 2 – you’re not allowed to do anything that will hurt someone else or someone else’s property. If you think about it, these rules cover all contingencies. One of the psychologists my ex tried to get to say I was unsuitable parent actually congratulated me on what he characterized as “the simple elegance” of these rules.

3. Set high standards. Provide all the help and support needed, but do not ever do the work. I never help with homework beyond a few edits. As I explained to all my children, I did my time in grade school, high school and college. They let me out. I didn’t have to repeat any grades and I certainly didn’t intend to repeat them four times. When it was time to do homework, either the kids did it themselves,or they didn’t. If they didn’t, I allowed the teacher to set the consequences.

4. Speaking of consequences, make them count. As my oldest daughter once said, the wrath of God would be preferable to what could happen if I had to mete out the punishment. When Katie was in kindergarten, she decided to walk home from school one day with a little friend. When she didn’t get off the school bus as expected, her nanny pressed the panic button. When she and her little friend sauntered down the street, she was greeted by not just her nanny but also by me. Katie was grounded for two weeks. The other child’s mother actually called me to talk me out of the punishment but I stuck to my guns and little Katie sat inside for two glorious weeks watching the other kids play. But I NEVER had to ground her again.

5. Don’t pretend to be perfect. If you allow your children to see your limitations, they will be free to be less than perfect themselves. I don’t have perfect children – I just have amazing children. They’re no more perfect than I am. If you’re not room mommy material, say so. If field trips and bake sales and cub scouts are your thing, go for it. But if they’re not, don’t feel obligated. It’s far more important that your children understand that you are a person with needs, wishes, desires and limitations than that they think you’re infallible or even interested in the stuff they are. Trust me, they’ll figure out that you aren’t on their own soon enough.

Don’t get me wrong – it wasn’t easy to raise four children, mostly on my own. It got easier of course, after I dumped mister-ex (and yes, its MUCH easier to raise kids when you’re not saddled with a dysfunctional partner, but that’s a topic for another blog.) Right now, I’m going to pour myself a shot of Middleton’s and toast myself – and my wonderful, amazing kids.

and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.

suddenly winter feels like more than just a distant memory.

i walked the puppies yesterday morning in the middle of howling storm filled with hail and sleet and snow.

it’s too cold to walk barefoot any more inside,let alone outside.

i’ve been working hard on the Angel book. so far, i’ve been really pleased with the progress. i hope you do check out our blog, Gentle Reader – karen my co-author has really spruced it up and i’ve been adding posts daily.

at the same time, other stories are running rampant through my head and i’ve found myself keeping a couple files open “just in case.”

at the same time, i’ve been doing some deep work on myself – burrowing under and deeper, peeling away more and more of that which no longer serves.

it’s been painful at times, but mostly it feels good.

and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.

and my co-author, Karen Rider and i, on our blog…Eating…the Angel Way…for a gentle and loving approach to food and body image.

old friends we have

Come walk with me into my madness
Where dark and light and up and down
Mold and fold into each other
Where before and after have no meaning
And in and out are all the same.

Come peer with me into the pit
Where monsters squirm and demons dwell
And laugh and cry with me
While we poke at them with
Sticks and spears made out of words.

Delight with me where flesh is formless
Blow fire on the cinders of my soul
And kindle therein a conflagration
That some new Light might shine
Upon the world.

Come dance with me upon the precipice
Of what is real and what is not;
As defined by choices only we decide;
And diving, fall, until we reach that place
Where everything is nothing inside out.

April, 2010

and furthermore, the war will end. blessed be.

the assignment was to write about a character we observed from real life. i thought it was a fun exercise, mostly because it encouraged me to keep my eyes open for interesting characters. this is my response, based on two people i observed at the waldorf-astoria when Beloved and i stayed there earlier this month:

I notice them first because they’re both wearing orange. I’m wearing orange, too – a low-cut, empire-waisted pima-cotton coral number I picked up at Marshall’s on two-for-one clearance. When the pair of them push themselves onto the seats beside me, at the lobby bar of the Waldorf-Astoria, we look like a row of orange paint chips. In the city where everyone wears black, that can’t happen very often.
I sneak a glance at them out of the corner of my eye, trying to peg them for the kind of tourists they are. Honeymooners, wedding guests, reunion-goers like us? I hope they’re not as loud as the color of their shirts might imply.
The woman catches my eye but doesn’t hold my glance. She doesn’t want to talk to us, and I look a little harder. Her orange, a lighter version of my own, verges sweetly into peach. She doesn’t look old enough to need make-up, but she knows how to use it: her eyes are smudged sultry, not slutty. Her hands flutter with her purse, and she gives her order with a little trill that suggests she might be nervous.
In the seat next to mine, the man hardly notices me. His attention is focused on his companion. He gives his order to the bartender in a voice so low the bartender asks him to repeat it three times.
He looks – and smells – as if he’s just stepped out of the shower. The ghost of his after-shave wraps him in a pine-scented mist. His hair’s dark brown and neatly slicked back. It curls over the collar of his creamsicle-colored window-pane checked shirt. It’s a pretty shirt, in a loosely woven fabric that suggests some ruggedness despite the pastel color. Then I notice the tag. It’s sticking out of the collar, attached to one of those clear plastic things I sometimes miss myself. I recognize the red sticker, the block print. He got his shirt same place I got mine.
On the other side of him, the woman glances over her shoulder, fusses with her purse. “You ever stay here?” she asks.
“I like to come here and listen to the piano,” he answers as the bartender comes back with their drinks. He’s drinking beer, she’s got something frothy and orange in her martini glass. What’s with all the orange, I wonder. I think about tapping him on the shoulder, about offering to rip the tag off. I think about ripping the tag off without tapping him first. That would get him to notice me, I bet.
“I like to come here on first dates,” she says. “It’s a pretty place and I live right around the corner.”
So that explains it, I think. The fresh scrubbed looks, the brand-new shirt, and most especially the orange. It’s a second-chakra color. First dates are all about the second chakra. I decide to leave the tag alone.
“Maybe we got a match made in heaven here,” he says. He raises his glass and tips it toward hers. “Maybe this is our last.”
Color rises in her face, a flush that makes her glow. “To our last first date? I’ll drink to that,” she says.

three times in the last three days someone has approached me with questions regarding what to do when the dead make their presence known. one person reported not realizing the dead were dead, one (my stepdaughter, no less) reported knowing they were dead but not knowing what to do about them once she saw them. the third person was just “freaked out.”

so here’s what i do…having lived for years in a haunted house and having dealt with the dearly departed in various places i’ve either entered or stayed at.

first of all, most intelligent spirits respect boundaries. if you tell a spirit to stay away, or not to scare you, generally, in my experience, it will. when i was packing up my grandmother’s house, the presence of numerous family members was very clear to me, but after catching a few human-size shapes out of the corner of my eye standing uncomfortably close, i told them all they could follow me around and watch whatever i did, but to please not scare me. and they didn’t, even though i continued to be very aware of them in other ways.

in the same way, the ghost of the original owner of Pond House frequently used to make his presence known by methods that were downright theatrical at times. however, after making it clear that while none of us minds sharing the space, we do resent being intruded upon given that we all live here now, we have reached a state of mutual cooperation. the only times i’ve encountered steve the ghost recently is if someone inquires about him…and the results can still be quite spectacular at times. (like the time my friend susan mentioned him, and all of a sudden, a guitar that had been leaning on the back of a chair lifted up about five feet in the air and landed on its back about ten feet away.)

one thing i think it is absolutely critical not to do is to react with fear. fear is a very low-vibration energy, and when someone is beset by fear, it can attract energies of similarly low vibration. these energies are not always formerly human entities, and this is where i feel people can run into trouble with a “haunted” house.

in this case, calling in someone who specializes in cleansing properties and people of low-vibrational energies could be necessary. however, before one resorts to calling in an outsider, it can be very helpful to cleanse your property yourself with salt and a high-vibrational smudge such as sage, sweet grass or cedar. various indigenous cultures have their own methods and ceremonies and one can find many suggestions by doing a little research. if you’re confused by all the suggestions, remember that here in north america, the cultures of the indigenous peoples are acutely attuned to the energies of this particular part of the world, and so you might find inspiration among native american practices. on the other hand, if your lineage is asian or african or northern eurpean, among others, you may find that you resonate with the practices of your own ancestors. do what feels most natural to you.
however, i have found that generally a ritual cleansing, involving salt water, a white sage smudge, rocks or crystals and a firm and clear intention to fill a given space with love and light is sufficient to raise the energy so that lower-vibrational entities won’t remain. the key, in either case, is to remain strong in one’s own space, and to refuse to give in to fear. it can also be helpful, in truly disruptive situations, to take a look around at any situation in one’s life or in the lives of family members that might be fueling such energies.

and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be.