one of my wishes is that those dark trees,
So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,
Were not, as ’twere, the merest mask of gloom,
But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

I should not be withheld but that some day
Into their vastness I should steal away,
Fearless of ever finding open land,
Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I do not see why I should e’er turn back,
Or those should not set forth upon my track
To overtake me, who should miss me here
And long to know if still I held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him they knew—
Only more sure of all I thought was true.

--Robert Frost--

there is a lot going on right now. this month of july is jam-packed, not least of which is my fulltime job--now encompassing approximately 2 1/2 fulltime positions which we can't fill right now--and moving. it could be--and often is--overwhelming. throw in a half marathon, a trip to seattle to see the yankees and mariners with The Papa, another weekend trip to seattle for bridesmaid dress shopping with my other 1/3s (both of them, YAY!!), dodgeball, softball, and the miscellaneous mundane tasks making up my days, and i can see it flying by before it's even begun. i'm pleasing as many people as possible, and i know that at least one other person will be furious with me, but it can't be helped. i have to protect myself as well.

and yet none of that is now bothering me. my SIL gave me the best gift tonight, a free pass to take the time with my other 1/3s, an ear, a comrade to laugh with and bemoan the state of our house. and in doing so i found a way to ease her mind a little, cleaning the rooms that were unbearable for her. work today was wonderful. so productive, so fun, so full of sweet wonderful people who i truly love working with. dodgeball was awesome, despite the jammed finger and horrific bruise on my leg. and i mended a fence with one of my other 1/3s, a necessary phone call and extension of my hand.

so now my mind, so often full of everything else, drains tonight and i can only see my writing. i wonder what has happened to it, what i can do to get it back. my novel is almost 1/2 way done and yet all i can do is reread what i have, over and over. the short stories, poems, essays--all ceased. the words that flowed from my fingers have dried up and i'm left searching for my own self. it is only clear to me now that i will, at some point, need to seek the woods above and find what i thought was true bolstered up, strengthened, resting on pylons secured in the sand watching the waves move in and out endlessly, dependable.

in the meantime i will anchor my days with the SIL and Bro, the Mother of sainthood, the Papa, the friends, the work, the next challenge, and the next adventure. i can only believe in the power of words and i can only believe that they will come back. they always do. and i always come back a little more sure of that which i thought was true.

this is where i lay my hat
this is where they know my name
this is where they show me that a man's not so alone
maybe i'm already home
sometimes you got to go back
maybe i'm already home
sometimes you don't know why

-marc cohn-

it has been quite a month. a week ago yesterday we got notice that our house is no longer going to be our house. our second such notice in 8 months. we staggered. we bounced. and we rallied. now, a week and a day later, they have an offer in on a house and we are packing. in the midst of it all, we have all worked full weeks and taken care of animals and somewhere in there, slept a little.

tonight we found ourselves sitting in our living room with glasses of good wine, plates of delicious healthy food, and three happy animals strewn about the place in various states of sleep. last night was my night to cook, this was the SIL's creation and it was fantastic! the SIL raises her glass--a toast to me, my optimism this week and my faith in their ability to find us a home--and then we raise a toast to the Bro, who pulled himself together spectacularly and in the space of 8 days has become a homeowner (well, halfway there)--and then he and I raise a toast to her, for her forward thinking, never-give-a-inch, keep moving ahead way of handling the obstacles thrown at us. she reminds us that while she may keep us moving forward, it is only because the Bro and I bolster her up on either side. we are a triangle of sorts. a family. i think we all take turns moving forward in situations like this, and we are all good at keeping each other upright. and i am proud of us, not me but us. i am especially proud of them. they had every right to panic. there's internship, overtime, two dogs, a wedding in a few months, and then just day to day life. and yet they didn't. they formulated a plan A, and then a plan B, C, D, E, and probably F, and we all went from there.

the night they got home from their camping trip, after i called them to let them know The News, the SIL came downstairs and, in the course of many conversation topics, told me about their plans for a house. we're going to buy. i had kind of thought that might happen, and so with the help of the Other 1/3 in Seattle, had started looking for places for me and ChuckNorrisCat. it's ok, i thought, it's probably time for them to live by themselves. they ARE geting married, after all. i really was okay with it. not thrilled, but ok. so, we're buying. ok. we found this great place, it's got a full bedroom upstairs with an office space, big living room and kitchen, nice little guest room. it sounds perfect for them and i smile at her. and the basement is perfect for you and ChuckNorrisCat. plenty of space, lots of light. we think you'll be happy there. i look at her and she smiles. three musketeers, Ames. we're in this together. ok? i nod. yeah...sounds great.

so i guess, in between houses, with boxes and packing tape coming out our ears, i am already home.

thanks, guys. love you too.

she's lying on a bed, in some crowded room
she's trying to sleep,
there's not much else to do
the faces change around her
they speak to her sometimes
she's getting used to being left behind

when we find her,
we'll belong to her
we won't see her first smile, we won't hear her first word
but ours will be the first heart she holds in her hands
she can keep them beside her in her very own room

-lucy kaplansky, "this is home"-

every day there are kids legally freed for adoption. hundreds, literally hundreds of them, freed every day, across our country.

you know, i fear that i feel this too deeply. too much. and so i try not to, actively work at it, especially at work, where taking each hurt on my own skin would do no good. which means that each night at home, i feel them a little more. but these kids, man, these kids. they scoop out my heart and guts, and i would lay down a path of stone for them to walk across if i could. i would give them back their parents, the ones they love so dearly, only better and stable. i would give each of them a home that is safe and full of light, the kind that i got, where the lamps shone on the rainy days and the sun came through the skylight on gentle mornings, where people cared about where i was and what i was doing and who i was.

i am tired tonight. tired and a little roller-coastery, riding the days and changes and ideas that come with each new morning. i am tired enough to know that i should call it a night and turn off my light, snuggle my cat and listen for the rain to wash it all away so i can start over tomorrow.

but for as tired as i am, i know that our kids are exhausted. you can see it on their faces, the older ones who are already so far removed from innocence, the younger ones who are just putting one foot in front of the other, the littlest ones who don't know why they struggle. there was a boy in my office today, a big guy, older than most, who sat in his worker's corner and cried. 'probably no placement', my coworker whispered in my ear, and i wanted to go hug him. i wanted to tell him it would be ok. but i can't guarantee that. and the last thing these people need are more promises that don't come to pass.

budget cuts are upon us. 80% of our budget goes to services for our families and kids. how much more can we take from them? when will they get the best of what we can offer, as a state and a country, instead of the worst? and how much longer can we work on a shoestring, pulling through day to day? we will go as far as possible. and then a little farther, and we will do it willingly, with a smile, because if we don't then really who will?

in spite of all this i am choosing to go to sleep with hope tonight. i believe that our budget will turn around. i believe that more and more good people decide to open their homes, or their hearts, or their schedules, for our kids. i do indeed believe that we can continue to do more good than harm.

but all of those are on a grand scale. mostly i hope that the kid i saw today has a bed under him and a roof over him and a quiet corner where he can sit tonight.

so where do we go from here? we go from ignoring these problems, societally speaking, to putting them front and center. how? clothing drives. partnership programs for kids in care with people in the community, especially for high schoolers. play groups for younger kids in care. increased weekend and weeknight respite for foster care providers. alternative schooling options. summer camp vouchers. traveling options to visit colleges. vacation opportunities. health education geared toward kids in care; not health care, that is top notch, but health education--especially nutritional. pet therapy programs. a movement needs to start, a small current of demand and curiosity from the community surrounding our kids without ever seeing them, there has to be an opening of eyes. am i asking for too much? no. am i missing the powerful programs already in place? no. but it is not enough. it will never be enough, not until every kid has a place, a home, and a heart to hold on to.

santa fe
are you there
do you swear you won't forget me
if i found you
would you let me come and stay?
i ain't getting any younger
and before my dying day
i want space
not just air
let em laugh in my face
i don't care
save a place
i'll be there
in santa fe

-jack kelly, newsies-

she wonders if that little twinge she feels when she enters a theater will ever fade. it is her own choice and it was a part of herself she didn't always like. she didn't like how sarcastic she was, how inept she felt, how lost she became. and yet...there is a shadow backstage, a pocket of humanity where a little piece of her old self is kept.

there were days when she would walk on air, giddy with the knowledge of creation at their fingertips, thrilled with her place in that world when none existed in the world outside those walls. she loved knowing that things were in their place backstage, loved knowing that there was an ebb and flow in each night, a tugging of time towards the same motion, and loved knowing that no two shows would ever be entirely the same. she loved existing in the boundaries without limitations. she loved being trusted. looking back she realizes it was a trust based on absolute blind faith, there was no reason for them to trust her, to hand her the props list and set check list and say 'go to', no reason for them to set her free. yet they did.

there was a freedom in this world out of space and time, freedom in knowing that she wasn't judged for being fat or clumsy, not judged for being inexperienced, that she didn't lose chances to improve or succeed. there was a freedom in being with people who were older and wiser, people who had been where she was and opened their home away from home to her.

and now, today, 7 years later, there is a freedom in walking into any theater anywhere in the world and feeling her heart settle just a little, feel her shoulders straighten and her fingers itch for the flashlight and the wrench and the cool cement blocks of the backstage walls. there is a freedom in the ability to find a home anywhere she goes. they gave that to her.

there is a freedom in knowing there are people back in her hometown, those innumerable wonderful people, who remember who she was then, and who would welcome her back if she wanted.

there is a freedom in knowing that what she is doing now isn't the only thing she can do. and that it is not the only work which she loves immensely. that, then, is her secret joy. she does not dare to hope anymore that she will land upon her feet. she knows she will. they gave that to her also.

does she miss it? some days so much her belly aches and twists. some days she cannot believe she gave that life up, some days she can smell the face powder and fresh wood sets and musty seats, some days she can hear the music and the laughter of the chorus. some days she can see the faces set solemnly in wonder backstage before the first cue.

and some days not so much at all. there are days when she doesn't think about it but to look fondly upon the posters on her wall--only three, first show, last show, and favorite show--and there are days when she shakes her head in quiet disbelief that that world was ever her chosen world. the headaches! the stresses!! the overwhelming mass of faces staring back at her every night at rehearsal!!! the struggle for perfection, never quite achieved!!!! and yet. if there had been no theater, she would not be herself today.

her mentor, a tall broad shouldered man with a killer laugh and a long ponytail, used to remind her, and everyone else, to do 'great good work with great good fun'. a silent mantra, a promise she makes to herself daily, a struggle that she cherishes.

so she puts a small square of those years in her back pocket, carries a piece in her purse, wears the smallest sweetest memories in a locket around her neck, and never forgets to remember that there were days, once upon a time, where magic happened, right in front of her eyes.