Don’t you just love this picture? It sums up everything inside and outside during this week of lacy rain and rumble. It’s a capture by Tracey Clark, and it’s my way of announcing that three new Mother’s Plunge retreats have rolled in like a spot of spring on the calendar. San Francisco May 22, Seattle June 12, and Los Angeles June 26. read more

I seem to recall that Maezumi Roshi said something like, “People misunderstand Zen because it is so plain.” Maybe he didn’t say it. My memory doesn’t always serve me because memory doesn’t keep things plain and simple. Perhaps I remember it this way because it serves my purposes right now. That’s what memory usually does: whatever I want it to do.

Even if he didn’t say it quite like that, we can see right away that it is true. We can see how our effort to understand something makes it complicated, and therefore, more easily misunderstood. Why, how, what does it mean? Explain it, debate it, defend it, describe it! The search for meaning robs our life of meaning.

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We recognized in each other the secret sign of kindreds. – Momma Zen

Every day after mother’s day, I’ll still be here.

Order a signed copy of Momma Zen for all the new mothers, all the old mothers, all the ordinary worn-out mothers who have faded from view and tumbled from the top of the list.

Happy every day after mother’s day.

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Hot chocolate in the morning. Flowers in the window. Cheeks press three times and no strangers remain. Blowing kisses from Amsterdam.

Suffering from the peculiarly exhausting cocktail of jubilation, mileage, time change and things-to-do, I opened up the mail yesterday to find at long last the arrival of our his-and-her first edition Obama-Biden car magnets, the ones we anteed up for months ago in hopes of having the final word on the subject.

That’s OK. I think these two will stick around for awhile.

1. The washing machine broke over the weekend.
2. The spin cycle went all to hell and the dirty water won’t drain.
3. I hate it when it breaks altogether. I feel helpless and vulnerable.
4. On the flip side, I rarely appreciate how good life is when it works.
5. The laundromat is really quite a sane place.
6. On a weekday morning, it’s quiet, welcoming and warm.
7. Filled only by the rhythmic hum of its unspectacular duty.
8. The whole ordeal reminds me that if I want to fix anything I have to do it myself.
9. Wring it out by hand and hang it on a line.

With help from Jena for giving me a nudge, and to Amy for lending me her entire left brain.

Eight girls
Eight sleeping bags
Two pizzas
Chocolate cupcakes
Chocolate frosting
Chocolate chips
Chocolate ice cream
Ninety minute TV movie
Three brothers spawned from the belly of the beast
Writhing, giggling, shrieking, running, leaping, teasing, screaming, singing, sneaking
Sunrise

Party on this weekend, readers! Sleeping is for babies. (We wish.)

Yet another happy indicator that all my suffering is self-imposed.

Updated for yet another relocated link.

Please vote for my entry in the BlogHer ’08 Conference Tote Bag Tagline contest which is going on right now.

One night I was browsing as far away as I could get from lists of how to complicate my life, and I chanced upon the invitation to submit a tagline for the Conference tote bag. I couldn’t resist offering up my two cents in three simple little words. And good golly my submission made it into a list of seven finalists. You know how I feel about lists of seven things, so let’s just marshal our voting power and reduce it to one.

Go here and vote for my tagline, “What she said.” (You’ll need to register on the site if you haven’t already. But once there, you’ll find about a billion ways to make your day better.)

They’ve been crafty about moving this page around of late, and BlogHer itself was down for most of today, so apologies if the link doesn’t take you straight to the Vote! BlogHer ‘08 Tote Bag Tagline page.

Thank you from the bottom of my tote and the end of my list!

My last post generated a few curious and querulous comments each of which merits public response.

Shalet recognized that the “getting” was in the “forgetting” and how is that done? Moment after moment, we remember to forget. As my teacher vividly instructs, it’s like wearing out the sole of your shoe.

An anonymous reader protested that forgetting people is a disservice, and I wholeheartedly agree. We serve people not by forgetting them, but by forgetting ourselves. When our service is not selfless, it gives rise to such tragically amusing developments as this one. Good deeds undone because the outcome isn’t self-satisfying enough.

Mama Zen, that comically astute social observer, wondered what “Porn Dye” was, the nearly indecipherable writing that appears as the single item not crossed off the list in the *stolen* photo I used in the post. I can only guess that Porn Dye is what you see when you look too closely into things better left unseen.