Walt's World

It’s my first time in the land of Disney. Paul has a techie convention here, and I came for the ride. It’s warm and friendly. Also very difficult to leave without a car which is exorbitant to rent. It reminds me a bit of the movie The Truman Show.

The resorts and 'kingdoms' are islands of construction in an ocean of swamp and impenetrable tropical forest, home to wild storks, egrets and the like, even an alligator (!) who patrols a liminal drainage ditch, I mean pond.

Inside, welcome to stone bridges made of painted concrete blocks and housekeeping staff in alleged Mexican aprons (this resort’s theme is the Southwest) made of embroidered Mickey Mouse logos.

It’s lovely here, yet I feel stifled. Why? This is Walt’s creation: a land where his imagination became three-dimensional.

Aren’t we each of us ever living in the world built by our own imaginations?

I want to make mine truly my own, with all the mistakes and pitfalls that entails. Someone else’s idea of safe haven may charm me for a while, but after a while I feel that charm presents a greater danger than any I could face on my own.

In its utter safety, I can take no meaningful risks, without which there is no fear, but also no possibility of brilliance and beauty.

And that possibility is what feeds me. Walt rolled his dice, and he both won and lost, if you know his story. I want to roll mine too.

For Daughters

Living with my mother as she descended into Alzheimer's, I got to know her as a little girl. My tyranical, commanding mother developed a jig in her walk and an easy laugh on her lips. We danced in supermarkets and elevators. We spent an occasional quiet afternoon with crayons and watercolors. Was I going out without combing my hair? She never noticed.

I treasure the gift of those years. I also weep over never having met woman to woman. By the time I was ready, she was already receding.

But I wonder: would I have ever been ready if she had not receded? At the time, I met for lunch with a friend my age whom I had not seen in years. We talked about my mother and her illness and the sadness of it all. But when I said,

'You know, it's also kind of liberating that she no longer has any idea what I do,'

my friend gasped and put her hand up to her mouth, as if we were teens, about to get caught smoking. She understood.

Did my mother in fading let in the sunlight I needed to grow as tall as she? Is there another way for this to happen?

Are there any women out there who have had a face-to-face encounter with their mothers that has resulted in the same kind of liberation? I’d like to think there are. If you’re among them, tell me. If not, tell me how you find your sunlight.

Onward

The following came to me in light sleep between dreams last night, verbatim. May it speak to you as it did to me:

There are times in life when we are shattered not to pieces but to dust. And even as we fear the wind will come and scatter us, we rise from this dust, not as a phoenix from its ashes, again and again a phoenix, but as something completely new from what we were before, with the added knowledge that we can survive the fire.

Lessons on innocence

Betty is my first puppy. We've been living together for ten months now, and I am honestly startled by how much I love her.

The greatest novelty has been living in the presence of happy innocence. I lived with my beloved cat Emma for 13 years (until she died) and while Emma was deep, intuitive and at times comforting, I never saw her as innocent in the way I see Betty. My cousin Dana, who has lived with cats her whole life, says, 'That's right, they seem to be judging us.'

I don’t think about this as cats vs. dogs. It’s the individual animals. Betty makes me laugh out loud when I'm tense, she helps me get over myself when I’m too deep in my own head, and she ever reminds me of the joy of being directly in touch with body and emotion. Anyone who's ever seen a small dog find a great big stick to carry home knows what I'm talking about.

I realize in writing this that her innocence has evoked mine, and made me literally enjoy my self more. I’m encouraged to be as gentle with my own mistakes as I am with hers – redirecting, corrective, but never punitive.

What have you learned from the animals in your life? What has their neighboring or intimate presence brought?

p.s. I also live with an old dog named Daisy. I'll tell you about that 'love child' another time, soon. By the way, they're both Clumber Spaniels.