What I know to be untrue

October 19th, 2009    -    30 Comments

You’ll hear from me first thing Monday.

We’re in your neighborhood working and we’d like to give you a free estimate.
It’s all your fault.
No child will be left behind.
Drinking in moderation is good for you.
The kids are asleep.
It’s educational.
When it’s gone, it’s gone.
Only this once, I promise.
I’ll eat the leftovers.
I can’t live without you.
You forced my hand.
I understand.
I can’t take it a minute longer.
Guaranteed to keep the weight off.
I had no choice.
The world will never be the same.
Regulation destroys innovation.
We’re fighting for their freedom.
That’s why Canadians come here.
We will never sell your email address.
Limited time only.
We know you have a choice of carriers, and we thank you for choosing to fly with us.
I never go on Facebook.

Oh! And another one: I’m finished.

What about you? What do you know to be untrue?

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The mother you never knew you had

October 18th, 2009    -    3 Comments

Bring me that mother.
The one who fills up a pot
turns the flame up to hot
dials the phone for a long talk
and lets it boil over again.
It’s okay.

Bring me the one who wakes from a snore
plants his feet on the floor
grabs mismatched socks from a drawer
darts out the front door
running fast, late and stressed out again.
It’s okay.

Bring me the one who lives by herself
a chipped cup on a shelf
unaware of her wealth
power reach magic health
until she smiles at a stranger again.
It’s okay.

Bring me the one who sniffs change on the breeze
covers a sneeze
lets the air freeze
and knows the bloom will unfurl once again.
It’s okay. It’s always okay.

Bring me that mother who isn’t a mother.
Not the kind you think she would be.
Man, woman, mother or not.
It’s okay.
There’s no other mother to be.

Bring me that one.

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The bigger the hat the smaller the horse

October 16th, 2009    -    22 Comments


And other recollected wisdom from the day heaven kissed earth. These two thousand words are from the hand and heart of Tracey.

And just because, leave your name in a comment, plus a way to reach you by email, and I’ll draw for a gift subscription to my literary patron, the Shambhala Sun magazine. Winner drawn next Friday, Oct. 23, rain or shine.

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Seriously, who writes this stuff?

October 14th, 2009    -    9 Comments


Dusting off old pages while I work out from under stacks of deadlines.

I come from what now seems like the Mesozoic era in office technologies. The world’s first word processor had just emerged from the primordial ooze, so big and noisy that it required its own room and mammal-like operator, the telephone was the only phone, text was the squiggly lines in the newspaper, mail, thank god, came only once a day and was read only once a week and the work day was just the day. We had these pink pads all over the place to record messages and they were labeled “While You Were Out.”

Perhaps they are still used. How would I know? I’ve been out. But if you take a look at them they are so charmingly archaic. Even the label, “While You Were Out” is so gentile, so mild mannered as opposed to “Where the Hell Were You” which is the attitude I presume message etiquette to consist of these days.

It has little boxes to annotate the nature of the missed event. “Came To See You” says one. I realize this still happens – mostly, salespeople cold calling. But can you imagine a time when a connection was still a connection? People met by meeting, and not in a meeting, which is not where anyone actually meets at all, since my husband tells me that, while I was out, meetings have come to consist of people sitting around a table, each hammering stone-faced into their laptops.

While I’m Out, I hope that you will Come To See Me, because I Will Call Again with these Messages which I hope time has not rendered obsolete, or for that matter, Urgent, but just a wink of pink for you to record the While.

Your trust fund has gone up.
Dinner at my place?
This will make you happy.
You won.
Good news!
You won’t believe this.
Just wanted to say hello.
Happy Halloween
What did you do all day?
Take the rest of the day off.
We’ll be in your neighborhood next week.
This is what you’d look like without $22,800 worth of makeup.

The Parent’s Little List of Letting Go*

October 13th, 2009    -    9 Comments



A seasonal refrain sung to the tune of a deep exhalation.

Baby is born.
Baby sleeps through the night.
Baby bites.
Baby crawls.
Baby turns 1.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby pees in potty.
Baby throws binkies in trash.
Baby starts kindergarten.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby’s first drop-off.
Baby’s first text.
Baby loses first tooth.
Baby’s first career plan.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby’s first true love.
Baby’s last Barbie.
Baby’s first head lice.
Baby’s second true love.
Baby’s first first-place.
Baby stops sleeping through the night.
Baby says, “Mom, I like your deodorant. Can you get me some?”

Baby is always right on schedule.

*Not so little. Never ever gone.

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Desert oasis

October 8th, 2009    -    5 Comments

After the thrill chill of Minnesota, awaiting a winter bloom at the Mother’s Winter Plunge, Sat., January 16, Franciscan Renewal Center, Scottsdale, Arizona. More details and registration coming next week.

Holy clothesline

October 7th, 2009    -    8 Comments


An early start on an easy load!

(Taking pre-orders before it’s even dry.)

It’s your mother calling

October 6th, 2009    -    9 Comments

All wisdom is a matter of call and response.

The sun comes up, your eyelids flutter.

The bell rings, you answer.
Work appears, you do it.
Mail arrives, you open.
Sadness fills, you cry.
A stranger nears, you smile.
A crack opens, you fall.
Hunger rises, you eat.
Quiet descends, you quiet.

All struggle is resistance to response.

That’s why I will always respond.
Announcing June 12 in Seattle.

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funny pages

October 5th, 2009    -    3 Comments


11 Reasons to Drink Water – and thirst isn’t one of them.
5 Ways to Age Naturally – trust me, there’s only one way. Age.
101 Ways to Say I Love You – and “I love you” isn’t one of them.
13 Tips to Doing Less – first, don’t read the story.
8 Reasons Why You Can’t Pay Attention – I only counted one before I lost attention.

How to get wet

October 1st, 2009    -    11 Comments

Today I stuffed the envelopes and mailed the welcome letter for those attending next week’s Minnesota Plunge at Assisi Heights. It took half the day but it filled me with quiet wonder and glee. The Plunge will be marvelous, I’m certain now. It has shaped itself into a circle, as life always does, replicating my visit to the original Assisi 15 years ago.

Truly, every place is holy, and every place is home.

I’m ready to plan more Plunges in the places you live. But here’s the thing: there’s only one of me. If you are one of those who has asked me to come to your town, now I’m asking you to help me. I need the eyes in your head and your feet on the ground to locate the right venue for our group. I’ve written some short, snappy guidelines on how to spy the right spot. If you’d like to put things in motion for me, just shoot me an email at kmiller(at)turningwords(dot)com or leave me a comment with a way to connect. I’ll send you my one page instructions on “How to Get Wet: Having a Mother’s Plunge Where You Live.”

Cities on my to-do list are Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Chicago, Kansas City, Dallas, Washington DC and anywhere in New York, New Jersey and New England. If you can help with any of those, or one of your own, I would love to hear from you.

Let’s make it rain.

The big Q, the big A

September 29th, 2009    -    1 Comment

How is your daughter? How is your husband? How are your in-laws? How is your job? How is your boss? How is your dog, your fish, your garden, your laundry, your dishes, your life?

How do you answer?

It’s easy to think that Buddhist practice is about the big questions. Birth and death, cause and effect, form and emptiness, delusion and enlightenment, attachment and non-attachment, and whether a dog has Buddha nature or not. I just hope you’re not actually thinking about any of that stuff.

My Zen practice is koan practice, and every time I meet with my teacher in dokusan, or face-to-face interview, I present my understanding, so to speak, of the inscrutable koan I’m working on at the time. I recite the koan and its verse, which by this time I’m pretty well convinced that I’ve nailed.

After we talk a bit about how far along I am, the state of my spiritual genius, he’ll wrap up the interview with what sounds like a simple social courtesy:

How’s your family?

Read the rest and leave a comment on “The Laundry Line”
my blog at Shambhala SunSpace

The Big Answer: The winner of the giveaway of the Feeleez Empathy Game is C who blogs at Once. Thanks to all who answered.

When the last bluebird sings

September 28th, 2009    -    8 Comments


I’ve been watching it for some time now, anticipating the end and knowing what it would mean.

When I left my lonely life of accomplishment behind, when I first moved with my husband to this house, to my stark empty-handedness, I called my mother soon after. She had raised three independent daughters, three whiz kids, and I had never said the words that tumbled from my blubbering lips:

I need you.

She came to visit, but before then she sent me a houseplant. It was the kind of plant sold at grocery stores and florists, just a pot of common ivy and indistinguishable indoor greenery. For decoration, it had a slender spike stuck into it with a bluebird on the end of it. I’ve had it since then, all 12 years, in one spot and then rotated to another. I treated it like a talisman, and then a memorial, thinking to myself:

This is my mother.

About a year ago it started to fade. The ivy yellowed and dropped off. The other stalks shrunk. Little remains but the spike with the bird on top. It seems to have bugs now, or some kind of blight. I know it’s time, and so I moved it to the patio. As part of every morning service at the Zen Center we chant this line, and so I chant it now:

The four elements return to their nature as a child to its mother.

It’s time to let the old girl go, to let it all come to rest. My mother is telling me to go, to take flight, to sing my own song. A few weeks ago I heard myself say, as if reading my own heart, “I don’t want to write about parenting any more. Motherhood is about so much more than the kids.” Yes, it’s true the kids are part of it, I said, pounding my chest, but my life and work have moved to a larger purview now. Like what, you might ask, if I haven’t lost you in this pile already. And so I tell you:

The laundry.

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Barefoot and pregnant with meaning

September 24th, 2009    -    5 Comments

Going to sit a three-day sesshin on this anniversary of September anniversaries.

Details to follow.


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