random firing of neurons...

so i dreamed that my rosetaina was not only alive but so heavy i couldn't pick her up...she was in the hospital as was her daddy played here by snoop dogg (wearing a teameffort service with a smile workshirt) both being treated my jonathan...who was also directing the latest music video of the air instrument bob marley cover band that kervens, peterson, franz and i formed on my first trip to haiti...the video had a free walking theme and the buttons on the camera he used to film the video were also used to manage the care of the patients in the hospital....and then my daddy kept getting in trouble with my mother for catering to the organic food requests of the hospital director who was a red headed murphy brown or chelsea lately...it seemed to change...and that is just the beginning...i really hope i get into psychoanalysis of dreams next semester :)

the bottom of the barrel

so i am still a little hit or miss working with stainless steel cookware - i was raised on cast iron and non-stick oddly enough - and last night i was scrubbing all the seasoning and yumminess that should have been on the chicken i cooked off the bottom of a skillet when i had a flashback to my first day in the feeding program at jubilee. i was with a team of wonderful southern women and we had made our way into the village with 5 gallon buckets of rice and bean sauce, and huge kivet filled with an assortment of plates bowls and spoons. there is a unique math to feeding programs, divide however much food you have as many ways as you want and it will always equal less than the number of mouths at the door. as such, we feed the youngest, the sickest, the ones with the orangest hair first. with the exception of a few, most of the kids do a pretty good job of putting themselves in this order, big brothers feeding younger siblings first or giving their food away to a sicker child all together. anyway, on this day, i was crowd control while the other women served the plates. even after careful counting we still came up several plates short. i had already told these children to come in, that we had food for them! so in desperation i went to the buckets wondering how we could have estimated so poorly. what i found there was oh. so. profound.
the scorched rice.
it had never occurred to these wonderful southern women, even in a dirty shed of a room filled with naked children sitting on the ground eating off dirty plates with their hands, to serve overcooked rice...and i don't mean this to disparage these ladies at all, of course to them what an insult that would be to anyone at their table!
but it gets better...not only are we talking about children who will get one meal a day (hopefully) but in haiti, like in many cultures where they eat a lot of rice, the scorched rice at the bottom of the pot is like licking the bowl, like the middle brownie, the best cut of the meat, the swirl off the ice cream cone...whatever you are into...its the best part. of course the ladies had no way of knowing this, but its the rice haitian kids would fight over in their own homes.

lately i feel like i have been scraping the bottom of the bucket in a lot of areas of my life. this moment at the sink reminded me of the lesson i learned watching kids devour burnt rice. it may feel like i've barely got anything left, and like what i have managed to scrape up is too ruined or embarrassing to offer. but beyond it being better than nothing...it might be just what someone is hoping for.

crawling is hard

last spring i met a girl who should have been learning to run. instead she could barely sit herself up, gravity dragging her slight frame towards the earth...her bones bearing the weight of an unknowable amount of pain. she wanted to be held all the time...and to leave her in a crib was an unbearably pitiful undertaking. but we knew to cradle her constantly would aid the weakness in her who would welcome the death that hovered around her...so we urged her ever so gently to move, to reach, to crawl...the first time i actually forced myself to walk away from the tiny pleadings that would have come forth as wailing from a different mouth...something extraordinary happened. i was called in to see what my baby "had done". i expected a mess by a healthier toddler in the house but instead i found my new little love making her way up the three stairs into the hall that lead to my room...she had crawled almost 50 feet already.

and do you know what i did?

i clapped, and went for my camera, and danced and celebrated.
but she didn't want pictures or applause, she wanted me to pick her up.
she had made all this effort to beg for what she needed and i stood there and clapped and snapped digital pictures. what a fool i was. how rejected and humiliated she must have felt in those precious moments that i took to honor the moment for myself or at least in MY way instead of for her only. i will never forget what it felt like to pick her up and sit holding her on those stairs. i will never look at that photo without some bittersweetness that it exists. i will also never forget what it felt like later to get on the floor and crawl every day so that she would crawl with me.

let me just say there is a reason we learn how to walk.

crawling is hard.

not just that, it is limiting. it keeps us low and vulnerable. exposed and defenseless. it is awkward and humbling. crawling is hard. it is all these things that motivate us to conquer the precarious idea of balancing on two legs and moving freely about the planet. walking may be scary but it is a change of pace and persective that crawling teaches us to value immensely.

during an exercise in authentic movement for class i found myself on the floor crawling. i haven't done that since before rosetaina died in july. the flood of tears and ache that always seem to be poised like a wave about to crash do just that, pressing my face to the wooden floor. it was here that i first imagined what it would feel like if someone had chosen to mark this moment with a picture instead of an embrace. it was here i finally embraced not just the diligence but the humility and desperation of her efforts that day.

and here that i embraced that of my own efforts of late.

i have let life knock me down and i can't seem to get back up. all i can really do is crawl.

and crawling is hard.