This face, almost makes it all worth it.

This face, almost makes it all worth it.

I’ve talked about it before; I’ve shared the good, the bad and the ugly in blog posts and on Facebook, but the reality is that we generally put our best Facebook forward. We put our sparkly stories out there, our flattering photos, the “status” updates that tell everyone that we are “blessed,” more fortunate, more attractive, happier… better. I’ve had plenty of those– all honest, but rarely complete pictures of what’s happening. No matter what we want to believe, those Facebook statuses just aren’t always true. Let’s face it, most people don’t want to tune in to see you cry, pout, behave badly, or admit defeat. The ones who do, are those “friends,” not the ones you really count on, not the friends who know your real status.

I’m just returning from my oldest son, Middle Man’s graduation from college, and admittedly, my emotions are all over the place. I want to write that it was amazing; I’d like to say that the years and months of waiting for this day were all I imagined they’d be; that’s what I’d like to post on Facebook, and say to my friends and family.  But, it wouldn’t be entirely true.

Instead, this is the truest status I could muster this morning:

One more College Graduate in the family! So proud of (Middle Man) and his friends. It was a wonderful graduation celebration, though my Nikon broke just before things started. Thank goodness his friends posted some pictures, and I had my iPhone! (Middle Man) is a graduate of Claremont McKenna College, and with not too much effort, he’s moved out of his dorm, and on his way. After a fun dinner in LA last night (with my boy, his good friend T and T’s uncle), I’m headed home today. How overly optimistic of me, to bring my bathing suit to southern CA… hot as hell, and no time for laying around!

A bit evasive, right? It’s all true, but as I typed I realized that I wasn’t sure what to write… without glossing over the truths. Not quite the status I thought I’d write. The truth is, these past four days were a mixed bag– a mixed bag of: excitement, pride, disappointment, unmet expectations, laughs, angry words, hurt feelings, fun, enthusiasm, disappointments, thrills, and more… all sandwiched between lots of love. Whatever else, the love was there.  However, it was certainly a mixed bag. And key to that story is the word expectations. Looking back over those four days, nearly every difficult moment was wrapped in met or unmet expectations.

Graduation expectations were easier... when they were little.

Graduation expectations were easier… when they were little.

In the twenty-four+ years that I’ve been a parent, I’ve certainly had enough experience with expectations; one might think I’d have them in check– but I don’t, and I didn’t. A very important person in my life is fond of reminding me that: “we are entitled to our labor, but not the fruits of our labor.” Stop and think about that for a moment. That line ran through my head over and over this morning, as I showered, packed my bag, and got ready to leave for the airport.

We are entitled to our labor, but not the fruits of our labor.

Though infuriating, how true that statement is! We are entitled to put ourselves out in whatever way we choose. We can try to plan fun dinners; we can drive our kids all over the place, helping them tie up loose ends; we can help their friends get to airports and shipping centers; we can try to get to know their friends and the people who are important to them… hoping to connect, and share experiences; we can buy lunches, and dinners and treats along the way. We can help pack, and help carry; we can advise and support; we are free to knock ourselves out. But, and here’s where I struggle: we are not entitled to the fruits of that labor. We are not entitled to thank yous, or graciousness; we are not entitled to humility in return, or emotions we’d like to see expressed. It’s ok to hope for it, but expecting it, waiting for it, feeling entitled to it… only leads to that mixed bag, at best, and disappointment at worst.

There are not photos with our boy in his cap and gown... but we managed to get one family shot!

There are not photos with our boy in his cap and gown… but we managed to get one family shot!

As a mother, I would like to be better able to let things go, to not have expectations, to allow things to organically unfold, and just enjoy them– but that’s not really how I’m wired, as a mother or a person. I’ve worked hard at it; I believe I’m much further along than I once was. But, it’s still a battle some days… and during times of heightened emotional events, let’s say: a college graduation, that challenge is even harder. My son’s graduation this past weekend was an epic challenge for me to maintain my balance and manage my own stuff.  Smart Guy was challenged too; as a couple– as parents, we had to deal with things not being what we’d hoped they’d be. At a time when I would generally post happy photos and excited Facebook updates, for friends and family to follow along… I had little to say. Things being what they are, my camera broke as we took our seats for graduation! I can’t begin to express the helpless frustration I felt, sitting there in the tent, wishing to photograph the moments unfolding around me. After taking 200 photos of my nephew’s graduation, a few weeks ago, there I was with only a cell phone to click, on my son’s big day.  But then, the two events were very different.

Two weeks ago, I posted countless happy updates on Facebook. My nephew was so excited to have me there, so grateful that I’d made the trip and that I wanted to share in his big day. He thanked me over and over for helping him move out of his apartment, for coming, for buying his meals… he was full of emotions, and he shared them freely. There were lots of hugs, and special moments. And sent me one of the most thoughtful letters I’ve ever gotten, thanking me again.  My son, is much less effusive person.  I know that about him, and so the sensible thing would have been to step back and re-frame my expectations. However, in the weeks leading up to graduation, there had been lovely phone calls and texts from him, filled with excitement. I’d been to that other graduation and I was still floating on that high. I wasn’t getting it… that things were different, and I needed to change my approach, drop my expectations. In fairness, and for the sake of transparency, I brought some of this on myself.

I didn’t realize that broken eye glasses and empty contact boxes would require lots of driving around, desperately trying to get new ones (without a prescription) with someone who was frustrated, tired, stressed and later in pain– when new contacts only scratched his eye, and made fun even harder to enjoy. I didn’t realize that the heat would suck me dry (literally and figuratively), and that his needs would challenge my ability to stay centered. I didn’t realize that I would feel jealous at times of his friends and girlfriend, and his divided attention. I didn’t realize how sad I would feel, when others were better able to help him, and make him feel better, even as I soaked in the reality that others love and enjoy him, and that makes me happy.  I thought we’d have some time alone, when I could tell him how proud I am, how excited I was, how happy I was to be there.  That didn’t happen.

The honest status would read:

Feeling tired, and sore. Feeling jealous– and stupid for feeling that. Happy and excited for my boy, but losing my grip.

Another might read:

Progress! I didn’t say things like “hey, you were partying all week that’s why you have so much to do,” or “you should have dealt with this before we got here,” or “hey, we are all here for you; make more time for us.”

Who would want to read that? Passive-aggressive at best, and annoyed at worst– I kept reminding myself that he is a very different personality than me, and I had expectations clouding my experience.

I wanted to hug him; I wanted to reassure him that it would all be ok– we’d figure it out. He wanted me to step back, and not get in the way. He wanted to sleep, but knew he couldn’t. He wanted to spend time with his friends and girlfriend, but we (his parents and siblings) were there wanting a piece of the pie. I wanted to have some time alone with him, but this wasn’t the time– even though he’d asked me to stay a day, just to have that. I wanted to be helpful, but mostly I felt in the way. I wanted to kiss him on the cheek and say good morning that last day, but he was frustrated by other situations and read other things in my efforts… and bit my head off.  I wanted to turn things around, but my feelings were hurt, and he couldn’t hear me, in that moment. I didn’t respond well, and went for a long walk– leaving him to work things out his own way.

As I walked around his campus, the place where he’s grown up, and away from me… I felt such a rush of so many things. I ran into some of his friends, and they hugged me and talked about their plans. I congratulated them, and wished them well. I tried not to look as withered as I felt. I walked across campus, around the dorms, alone and took in the other families moving their kids out– some looking as stressed as me, others laughing and having fun. I remembered coming the first year, and later to get Gracie and visit my boy. I thought about how he would be leaving, and I would likely never take this walk around campus again. I cried.  I smiled at people. I caught my breath. I cried some more. I beat myself up, in my head… and then I tried reminding myself that disappointment is hard to swallow. I’m not the epic failure I was feeling like, as a mother, or a person.

The real status would read:

Walking around alone, feeling sad and frustrated. Wish things had gone differently. Wish I could fix this. I can’t.

Months ago, when I was booking our trip and my son asked me stay an extra day– “I may need your help moving… and we can spend some time together,” that last part is all I really heard. My expectations started building then, without my even realizing it, and as plans changed– friends had needs, other plans were made, and I slipped from his radar– I found myself hustling to keep up.  The changes came pretty late in the game, and Smart Guy and I hardly had time to notice, let alone adjust. My emotions got the better of me, and try as I did, I found myself hurt and trying to find a new solid ground.

There’s progress to post: the status might read:

Kept my shit together. Didn’t yell, or snap, or say things I really regret. There’s progress.

But, I can’t post that things were fantastic, or that this big event that we, as a family– as parents– have looked forward to for so long, went quite the way we had imagined. More than Smart Guy, who is much better at letting these disappointments go, or letting his expectations shift (or, better yet… not building them to begin with!), I wallow in it. Again, progress: I did a lot less of that. While he was Smart enough to hold his tongue, he felt many of the same things, and we tried to reassure ourselves that this will pass. He was my litmus test, reassuring me that things really were challenging, and I wasn’t as sensitive as I felt I was. He was also there to say… we need to move through this, let it go.

Just like the broken camera, and blurry photos... you can't do it over

Just like the broken camera, and blurry photos… you can’t do it over

I kept trying to find new ground, but as I travel home, I mostly feel tired and a little shell-shocked.  That was not what I expected; that was not how I wanted to behave; that was not how I wanted him to behave… wait! I want a do over.  They are rare folks– do overs, and they almost never exist for those sacred moments, those really important events that only happen once. Accepting that is my new challenge. That was graduation day, and it wasn’t what you hoped for. Accept it and move on.

Our last night, I drove his girlfriend to LAX, and then drove my boy and one of his good friends, T, (from a pack of 9 guys, who met the first week freshman year, and were tight the entire 4 years) to LA, where they will leave from, for one more road trip. Initially, yet another last minute let down: we had agreed I’d drive to LAX and he and I would spend an evening in LA, alone.  Don’t get me wrong, of all of my boy’s college friends, T is one of my favorites. He’s a particularly sweet kid, who I enjoy enormously! (In fact, it was with him that day, that I shared some of the more reflective, and thoughtful moments… waiting in line for a coffee, and driving to LA).  However, when the plans had changed last minute, again, I had accepted them, with the expectation and understanding that Middle Man and I would spend some time alone, at dinner. As that was evaporating, it just felt like one more bitter pill to choke on swallow.

In the end, T’s uncle B joined us, and it ended up bringing an unexpected chance to turn things around a little. He’s a talent agent, and true LA person…  via New York– New York, I get– Honest, blunt, wry, funny. We instantly got each other, and I felt comfortable sharing talking and letting some things go.  We laughed at the silliness of some expectations. He reassured me that I’m not totally out there, but that I could still work on some of what I had hoped for, and how that got in my way.  We agreed that kids grow up, and maybe they look back and realize that they too could have done some things more thoughtfully, more mindfully; that a big moment like college graduation is for your parents too, and concessions on both sides should be made. We had a great dinner; I had a drink (I had to drive, so only one… but what sweet elixir!); we played some fun card games at his place… and I went back to my hotel feeling a little better.

What a future these guys have!

What a future these guys have!

Right now, I’m still feeling the sting of disappointment, of missed moments, and mixed signals. I’m working on moving forward. I’m remembering some of the truly lovely moments of the weekend and working on letting go of the ones that hurt or disappointed. Watching my son with his group of friends, all of them excited and so supportive of each other. How rare and special, that nine boys would meet the first week of school, and be there for each other to the end. I’m remembering the look on my son’s face, when he looks at the woman he loves. It makes me smile, just knowing that someone else loves him as much as we do, and that he feels that good around her. In the next short months, this same boy that I love so much will move far, far away. He will be in Australia for a year, and I don’t want him to leave– for us to say goodbye, with old expectations and disappointment sitting in the way of good things that could be there instead. I have to move on, and not expect… not expect anything. Not feel entitled to any particular fruits.

I also can “check” my labor. I can get better at saying no, when I don’t feel my efforts are appreciated. My kids are all, for the most part, adults now. It’s not my job to put my needs and desires aside for theirs… any more. We’re all adults now, and the tango is a lonely dance for one.  If I’m asked to stay an extra day, to spend time with someone, and suddenly, I’m stuck on my own… I can say:  that doesn’t work for me.  While it would have been hard to say: Hey, I’m not doing any extra driving; I’m tired. I’m not spending my last half a day schlepping around by myself, and then driving you; I feel disrespected and dismissed– I could have.  In the big picture, I’m happy to help, when and if I can… but we all have to check our expectations eventually, not just Mom.

Things aren’t likely to change; we have to change– I have to change. Facebook seduces us to post what we want things to look like, what we hope for. We most often post the happy things that happen, the times when we choke up, not the moments that choke us.  The Grass is Always Greener on Facebook; it’s up to us, to keep it real.

My status could read a lot of things right now. An honest one would read:

“Meaningful four days at my son’s graduation from college– filled with big transitions, some truly wonderful moments and some fairly disappointing ones as well. Still proud of my son, still happy for his future and his successes, and planning to check my expectations at the gate… when I get off this plane.”

unknown jpeg, internet

unknown jpeg, internet

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If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and then leave a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  Check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

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Posted on May 19, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 48 Comments

friday-fictioneersThanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her amazing commitment to Friday Fictioneers each week.  Visit her blog, Addicted to Purple, to join the fun and/or read the other stories. Fictioneers are encouraged to write a 100 word story, with a beginning, middle and end. Thank you to Sandra Crook, for this week’s photo.  I love Janet Webb’s thoughtful new clip art of the “the Rules.”

I try to read most of the stories each week, and apologize if I’ve missed yours. This week I’ll be gone for my son’s graduation from college, and may have trouble getting on-line, to read. I am grateful to everyone who stops by Tales From the Motherland; I always welcome constructive feedback.

Big thank you to Alicia Jamtas, who noticed that I posted my story on my blog yesterday, but did not it to InLinkz! Arrgh! I do this far too often. Thanks Alicia!

sheep-and-car-1

(100 words)

“Honey, what’s the matter.”

“Nothing, Mom.” Jenny stared at her bedroom wall.

“Maybe I can help?”

Her mother reached over and stroked her hair.

“I’m so tired of trying to fit in at school–“

Her tears came quickly.

“The other girls are thin and pretty, and know how to talk to boys. I’m boring– nobody really wants to talk about photography!”

“You’re smart, pretty, and talented. That doesn’t feel like enough now, but it will in a few short years; trust me.”

“That seems really far off, Mom. Right now it feels like I’m always going against the flow.”

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If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and then leave a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  Check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Any ads at the bottom of this page are not endorsed by Tales From the Motherland.

 

 

Posted on May 14, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 48 Comments

This is a monumental few weeks for us. My nephew graduated from college last week; my daughter returned from Israel yesterday, and will be home for three months; our oldest son is graduating from college this weekend, and then moving overseas for a year, and in a few weeks our youngest will graduate from high school, along with our much loved, German son (AKA: German exchange student). One will return to Germany, and our son will study abroad.
I will be heeding my own advice, as hard as it is. This summer, Little Man and I are “carving out sacred time,” by taking a trip to Scandinavia… he is a lover of Vikings, and we get to visit our Danish daughter (AKA: Danish exchange student 2011/2013). I will be making time for my nephew and my daughter, as they get ready for bigger adventures. I’ll be doing all of this, while trying to maintain my “bubble,” my own space. It is a pivotal time in our lives! At the end of this summer, our nest will indeed be empty!
So, I’m reposting this. It seemed timely.

Dawn Quyle Landau's avatarTALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

So your child is graduating from High School? Mazel! Congratulations! Bravo! Way to go: parent and graduate! Graduation from High School is a big deal. It really is. But it’s taken me a few rounds to really appreciate that.

image: washingtonpost.com image: washingtonpost.com

I remember when my first two kids graduated from high school, and Smart Guy and I were told by extended family members that high school graduation “wasn’t really that big of a deal.” It wasn’t something that cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents fly in for, or really even celebrate.  There were no cards, no gifts sent. At first I was disappointed, but eventually I accepted that idea, and figured maybe it was just an immediate family only thing— something you celebrate at home, with friends who also have kids graduating, or who have spent a lot of time with you and your kids. At the time, that made sense.

My Mom lived…

View original post 1,582 more words

Posted on May 12, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 6 Comments

Warning: Severe sarcasm zone. Snarky tones abound. Enter at your own risk, and take most statements with a bag grain of salt.

I have three children. My daughter, Principessa, is 24; my son, Middle Man, is 22, and the baby of the family, Little Man, is 17 and a half. I love all three of my children very much. Any mother would tell you that they love their children equally; there are no favorites. However, when we’re honest, we might confide that there are things we like especially about one child or another.

Don't let this innocent face fool you...

Don’t let this innocent face fool you…

For instance, my daughter really cares about people. She gets them; she studies them. Principessa’s a real life and world traveler.  She’s passionate about experiencing it all, and she gets out there and does it. She’s adventurous and has lived in the Middle East for much of the last four years. She follows her heart, and is gutsy and sharp. Her ability to understand emotions, informs her intellect, and she generally weighs issues for emotional as well as intellectual content. I love that about her.

That's an alpha smile...

That’s an alpha smile…

Middle Man is great at working out details; he’s very practical. He is not overly emotional, but he cares about doing the right thing. He has become increasingly good at not carrying issues around with him, something I admire. The older I get, the more I appreciate and respect his ability to see through the details and emotions, and  accept things the way they are. He’s smart, charismatic and finishing college next week.  He rarely holds grudges, and is light years ahead of me in letting go of stuff.  I love that about him.

Herein lies the problem...

Herein lies the problem…

Little Man is a very sensitive kid. Some of it, undoubtedly, comes from being the youngest, but he was born tender-hearted. He was a joyful young child, and unusually thoughtful as he got older.  He cares about how other people feel, and considers that when making choices. He’s very intelligent, but not in the obvious ways that his older brother and sister demonstrate.  His is a quiet intellect. Just the same, when I’m trying to work something out– be it technology or an interpersonal issue– he often surprises me with his well-rounded perspective. I love that about Little Man.

Due to their two-year age-gap, Principessa and Middle Man spent many years living at home together as siblings and were very close when they were little, while Little Man (4-6 years younger) has been alone at home, with his dad and I, for all of high school, and most of middle school. Although he and Principessa are much more alike than either of his siblings are to one another, overall, Little Man is very different from his older siblings. Middle Man is a strong blending of his father and I, while  Principessa is a lot more like me, than her father.  Little Man is distinctly his own person. He is different from his father, and only resembles me in small ways. We put the same ingredients in the bowl, but clearly got three very different cakes!

Who knew that this bump would cause so much trouble?!

Who knew that this bump would cause so much trouble?!

Frankly, if you look at the expressions on those two little faces, you can almost see the trepidation, days before Little Man arrived (10 days late, in 95º weather, weighing nearly 9 pounds! Just sayin’… if anyone has a right to kvetch…)

As is so often the case with siblings, over the years Principessa and Middle Man have become convinced that I “spoil” their little brother. Again, they have not lived at home with him for a long time now, but when they are visiting, or call home, they frequently feel compelled to let me know that things are not done the way they think they should be… Translation:  it seems I am not raising their brother to their standards. Further, they maintain that the parenting I do with Little Man is a pale resemblance to the hardships they endured parenting I used on them.

They see an endless stream of injustices, reams of “that’s not fair,” in the way we treat LM, versus how we treated them… And let’s be clear, these accusations are most often launched at me, their mother… not their Dad. It is Mom who “lets Little Man get away with so much more!” It’s me who “doesn’t hold him accountable,” who “enables him,” who treats him “like a baby.” Of course, according to them, I “didn’t do any of these things for” them! In fact, listening to my two older kids, you would think that while their little brother has a mother who spoils him; that he lives in the lap of motherly luxury, they were raised by wolves!

One wolf… a she-wolf… with fangs and little empathy for pups… who barely provided sustenance… and nipped and bit at them all the time… on the tundra… in the dark… in the cold… and dark, did I mention dark?

Apparently my making dinner for their little brother is something I didn’t really do for them. This is strange to me, because I recall cooking thousands of gluten-free (Principessa is GF) and vegetarian (only Middle Man) meals, over the years. It’s hard to remember, now, why I made that effort… since Little Man doesn’t eat either, and his older brother and sister were alone in the wild. Nor do they recall that I’ve always, always, believed in the family meal. We eat together every night, unless we absolutely can’t.

Way back when their dad was training, I would pack home-cooked dinners and take my wee pups to the hospital cafeteria, so they could eat with their dad. We have always eaten our dinners together… But then, I’m old, maybe I’ve forgotten the harsh realities they survived.

The fact that I prepare a meal and sit down with their “little” brother, and can’t always talk on the phone, when they call me at dinnertime (from far-flung time zones and college dorms),  is a horse of another color! “Mom, this is important! Little Man doesn’t need you to feed him. He isn’t a baby.”

As if I’m actually putting the food in his mouth! Because, you know, that’s how we wolf bitches role. We chew it and feed it to our pups… from our mouths. Wild like.  Grrr.

While I recall driving both of them to countless sport practices, friends’ houses, parties, dances, school, etc, apparently my doing it for their brother is coddling. “He has his license! Why do you have to take him?”

“Mom, he can make his own dinner,” I hear when I mention that I’m tired.  Well, yes, yes he can. However, I don’t recall his siblings telling me to kick back and put my feet up, when they were in high school. And while I’m damned for feeding him, I’m doubly damned for not making sure he eats more nutritiously. Of course, when they were his age, they were very conscientious about fruits and vegetable intake and balancing carbs with proteins.  They never ate donuts or junk. They always asked for more salad and passed on burgers/fries/etc.

Oh wait… that’s right; how would I know? I didn’t feed them.

Apparently, I also allow him to watch “too much TV” and “play too many video games.” There are “all kinds of studies,” they tell me, about video game playing and violence. None of that was true, when they were playing Sims or the clearly less problematic first editions, of the very same games he plays now. I also let him stay up much later than they were ever allowed, despite the fact that I don’t remember either of them having a bedtime, as seniors in high school.

It comes down to this: the discrepancies between how I mother their little brother and how I mothered them, clearly have nothing to do with the fact that they have both finally grown up, and see the value in eating well, watching less TV/video games, walking to locations versus getting rides, family dinners, and numerous other things that I would have said/done for them, if I’d been mothering them. It has nothing to do with their changing perspective. It’s all about the fact that suddenly, a few years ago, I decided to be a good mother to my youngest–

because I love him more.

After years of hardship that my older two survived… years in the wilderness… after having been raised by wolves themselves– they see things very differently. Hopefully their brother will make it on his own, when he goes out into the world!  Howwwwl!

Do your kids get along? Are they best friends, or do they nip and yip at each other? Does birth order play a role in how they see things? Are you spoiling your youngest too?

Like seriously? Really? As if I didn’t sweat buckets for the other two as well! Really?

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you who are mothers in some capacity!  

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If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and leave a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  Check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Any ads at the bottom of this page are not endorsed by Tales From the Motherland.

 

Posted on May 9, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 29 Comments

 

friday-fictioneersThanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for her amazing commitment to Friday Fictioneers each week.  Visit her blog, Addicted to Purple, to join the fun and/or read the other stories. Fictioneers are encouraged to write a 100 word story, with a beginning, middle and end. Thank you to B. W. Beacham, for this week’s photo.  I love Janet Webb’s thoughtful new clip art of the “the Rules.”

I try to read most of the stories each week, and apologize if I’ve missed yours. I’ve been traveling for family happenings and have not been as able to keep all the balls in the air. I am grateful to everyone who stops by Tales From the Motherland; I always welcome constructive feedback.

© B.W. Beacham

© B.W. Beacham

(97 Words)

“The sea gives us food and sustains us, but it is not our friend.”

Isamu’s gaze was calm, as he held his daughter’s small hand.

“Your mother loved the sea…”

Aiko stood near the waves and laughed as the sand buried her feet.

“Did Okaasan love the sea more than us, Chichi?”

“Your mother loved you most of all, sweet girl.”

“Then why did she choose the sea?”

Aiko’s curious eyes searched her father’s sad face.

“The sea is not our friend. It is greedy and hungry… the sea chose your mother, she did not choose it.”

In remembrance of the estimated 18,000 people who lost their lives in the March 11, 2011 Japan earthquake and tsunami–  יכול הזכרון שלהם להיות ברכה   May their memory be a blessing. This year was the third anniversary.

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If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and leave a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  Check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

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Posted on May 8, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 75 Comments

 

When I chose the name Tales From the Motherland, two years before I ever started blogging, I did so because I’d begun to realize that my entire life is informed and influenced by having raised my children. My role as mother has spread tentacles into nearly every aspect of life.  Though there are plenty of things I do without my children, especially as they get older and are off living their own lives, they are rarely far from my thoughts. How I see things, what I do with my time, what excites/angers/appeals to/worries/thrills/ me, generally does so as I rapidly process it through my mother filters. Oh, Principessa would love this… Middle Man would love to try that… Little Man would be so excited to see this… Thoughts like these run through my mind virtually every day. If you follow this blog, you know that this is the topic I write about most: my kids, or being their mother.

A lot of my thoughts and emotions, over the past six years in particular, have revolved around aging as a mother. My two oldest kids have left and gone to college. My daughter has been out of college for two years, and has been living in Israel; while my middle son graduates from college in two weeks. He spent half of this past year in China and then Taiwan– my chicks tend to fly far from the nest. I’m happy to see them do it; I’m proud of their accomplishments. It isn’t always easy, and I certainly miss them, but mostly I am excited to watch them spread their wings and discover the world. I love to share that with them.

Over  this past weekend, and through to the first weekend in June, I will experience some of the highest highs and the biggest emotional dips, as a mother– as my daughter returns home for a while, on Mother’s Day; my middle son graduates from college in less than two weeks, and my youngest graduates from high school in a month.  These events will all herald big changes in my world. These are exciting times, but I also understand that there will be a lot of bittersweet to swallow.

These are not the only big events coming our way. In addition, there are some changes that involve not only my own children, but a few that I love as my own. I truly believe in the African saying: It takes a village, to raise a child. My children have been very fortunate to have a village of good friends, teachers, and close family ties, there to support them through their lives. I have been blessed to be a part of other villages, outside my immediate/nuclear family. I have wonderful in-laws, siblings with nieces and nephews, and close friends– who have often been like family. One of the most important villages I live in, is with my brother’s children. Over the years, they have become like my second family.

Circa 2000 in Florida. We have always been close!

Circa 2000 in Florida. We have always been close!

Many years ago, when my brother and his wife divorced, I quietly vowed to make sure that their three kids would not grow up without us, even though they were in Florida and we were in Chicago… then Michigan… and for the past 14 years, Washington State. We have never lived in close proximity, and I knew it would very easy to slip from each other’s focus. My father was killed when I was ten, and we lost close ties to his family, for many years. The reasons are complex, but the end result for me was years of longing and wishing to connect. For many years now, they have been extremely important in my life, but it took many years to really reconnect. Early on, I became deeply committed to not allowing that to happen between me, and my two nephews and niece in Florida.

We have always made it a priority to visit them in Florida; it’s much harder for them to visit us. Then, several years when they were quite young, my nephews would come out to WA and stay with us for 10 weeks each summer. I would fly to Florida, pick them up at the airport and then fly home with them– never leaving the airport, it was the ultimate turn and burn. They would leave the West Palm Beach area– with its palm trees, beaches and miles of concrete, and come to the land of ferns, mountains, ocean, recycling and sledding in summer. The two worlds could not be more different, and the adjustments were not without some tribulations, on both sides. They were picky eaters; I was a stern disciplinarian at mealtime. Their world was entirely different from ours, and they debated things with their cousins (my kids) and us, just as we debated with them. But they were plucky and excited to explore, and we loved them. Despite the challenges, the kids grew up knowing that we were always here for them, and I felt deeply connected to them, and their wellbeing. We have long joked that they are my other babies, and in fact my children often felt like they were an integral part of our family. When we planned vacations, my kids would often question why their cousins were not going with us.

There were other challenges. I have not been close to their father; our relationship has often been mired in conflict, or bursts of reconciliation– the kids caught in the middle. I have been very fortunate that my sister-in-law never let the divorce impact our ties. She has always included my husband and I in their lives, and we have made sure we see them at least once a year, more often when they were younger. My brother and I may always be searching for rapprochement, but his children will always have a home in my arms.

As the boys got older, their summer visits (sadly) came to an end. They had summer jobs, girlfriends–other things to do. My niece has never spent the summer here, alone, the age gap just big enough that it has become a trick to make it work. It is a source of enormous regret for me. My older kids were gone, by the time she was getting old enough to come on her own– gone are the days when I can manage a turn and burn, and her mother has not been comfortable sending her on her own. Adding to the challenge, is the fact that my youngest son and she would not have the same things in common as the older cousins did. I see her each year when I visit Florida, and I stay in touch with email and FB, but it’s been different, and I wish we could change that.  (Summer visit 2010)

I’m lucky that I share a close relationship with all of my nieces and nephews (9 in all: 6 nephews and 3 nieces). I’ve worked hard at it, but I’m lucky because our families have nurtured that. Knowing that we would always be geographically far apart (our job choices having taken us far from our home in New England, and my brother’s kids always have lived in Florida), it has required extra effort, but has been well worth it.

The college Grad, at USF

The college Grad, at USF

This past weekend, my oldest nephew graduated from college at USF (Univ.of Southern FL) in Tampa, FL. He is the first person to graduate from college– in his family, on his mother’s side, or amongst his immediate family. It did not come easily for him; he worked harder than many. He had very limited funds, challenging barriers, and it was not something that came easily for him, academically; and yet, this past weekend, he graduated from college with a solid 3.0 GPA.  He faced all of the challenges and prevailed. As his aunt, as his “other mother, “ I could not have been prouder, as I watched him, along with his girlfriend of 5 years, take his place in the auditorium. In the huge stadium, I watched from far up in the bleachers as he searched for us in the audience, his face lighting up when he found us. We waved our hands enthusiastically, and I burst into tears, for one of a dozen times over the weekend. I sat side by side with my sister (his other aunt, on his dad’s side), his proud mother, his sister (my niece), his Tia and Abuela (on his mother’s side). We all cheered when he and Erika walked across that impressive stage (side by side) and took their diplomas. We waved when he looked up at us, degree in hand, and beamed back at us. I cried again. It was an amazing culmination of years of effort, sweat and, yes… tears. It takes a village!

After graduation, Erika’s parents graciously hosted us all for a wonderful night of dinner and celebrating. It was truly a village affair, as we toasted the Grads and shared our pride and happiness. The day after graduation, my sister and I let Scott show us all of the places that mean something to him. We toured his campus, seeing all of the places studied and learned. It was one of the most beautiful campuses I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of them! We took lots of pictures of him and us with him; we laughed and played; we celebrated his accomplishment, and watched him glow in our pride.  He took us to see where he worked at the Tampa City Planning offices, showed us around the old Cuban area of Ybor City (a post in itself!), and drove us all over Tampa, to show us all the sites.

My sister and I spent a long day, alongside his mother, and family, and then another alone with him for day 2, cleaning his apartment. We helped him organize his things into piles to donate, throw away or keep, as he and I talked about the issues of letting go, moving on, what’s important. We forged through piles of yucky college-age messes, and I tried to convince myself that my shower never looked that foul in college. Mostly, I reassured him that he is not foolish for having bought half a dozen football cups, all of which must go now; or cute USF items; piles of baseball caps; furniture that he couldn’t recupe his losses for; or endless bottles/packages/ piles of things he never really used, but he and his roommates thought they needed.

Our last night, he told us that he wanted to take us to a fun place on the beach. We learned this week that nothing is close by in Tampa; people drive for ages to do things! But drive we did, and we had the most wonderful dinner on St. Pete’s beach in St. Petersburg, FL. We ate with our feet in the sand, as we watched the sun set. As he’d promised, the sand was the silkiest, “baby powder” sand I’d ever felt, and the night air was the perfect cool, after a long day of work. We gazed at constellations and talked about what will come next for him, and I felt my emotions well up over and over…

Our last day, the house cleared away (mostly) and 30 minutes to enjoy the pool!

Our last day, the house cleared away (mostly) and 30 minutes to enjoy the pool!

Countless times over these past four days, I was moved to tears. Tears of joy, tears of pride, tears of gratitude and love– tears as I watched this wonderful young man, who I have loved since he was born, pack up and get ready to move onto the next enormous phase of his life. My nephew, having fought tooth and nail to get his college degree is packing up and heading to grad school in the fall– in all likelihood, only five hours from where I live! He is still waiting to hear from one school in California, but is it increasingly likely that he’ll be in Washington State. He has traveled very little, and until now his most of his world has been anchored to his hometown of West Palm Beach. This is a huge step for him!  If you had told me just three years ago that he would be doing this, I might have wondered about your sources… but today, my money is squarely on him. His passion, his drive, and sheer mojo led him to a coveted internship with the Tampa City Commissioner this past year, which included major contributions to future city planning, meetings with Disney executives, and an open invitation to return when he’s done. He’ll study city planning in grad school and is on fire even as he faces his fears and prepares to turn his world upside down.

This next month will be powerful deluge of emotionally charged events. In less than 6 days I get to greet my girl at the airport and know that she is here for a while. We can take our time, and not feel the pressure of another goodbye. Then, four days later we’ll join her younger brother and celebrate his successful completion of college, before he goes overseas for a year. Then, one more graduation to round out a monumental spring of celebrations, as we watch our youngest along with our German exchange student (who is now another family member) get their high school diplomas, and start this next journey. My heart is bursting! I feel a mother’s love for each of them; I feel a mother’s pride.  Of course, I boast; I brag. But isn’t that what comes of a mother’s love? They may not all be my children by birth, I know my role; but, if it takes a village, I love where I live!

What’s your village look like? Are you a parent, and do you have children that are yours not by blood, but sweat and love? Tell me what’s important to you.

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If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and leave a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  Check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

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Posted on May 6, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 43 Comments

friday-fictioneers-rulesWelcome to Friday Fictioneers! Each Wednesday, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields leads our merry band in creativity. This week’s photo prompt was provided by Renee Heath. To read other stories in this week’s series or to join in, check out details on Rochelle’s blog site: Addicted to Purple.  As always, I welcome honest, considerate or constructive feedback. Please leave a comment, and tell me what you think.

Note:  I saw this photo and had a visceral response, that took me by surprise. It’s a picture of melted wax; what could be so stirring? Both of my sons are graduating in the next few weeks: one from high school and one from college. But, my older son will be moving far away for a while, and I am keenly aware that my time as his mom– when he still relies on me for comfort, advice, help– is waning. My youngest will go abroad for a few months, but he is still keenly anchored to home. He’ll be back. Not so with his brother. My boy, my older boy, has challenged me in so many ways over the years, but in just as many ways, I have grown from those challenges. I love my children in a way that makes me catch my breath sometimes– in a way that makes me see a photo of melted wax, and think about watching one more of my babies fly.

© Renee Heath

© Renee Heath

(99 Words)

We ran the shower for hours. Steam became luke-warm, but I was afraid to turn the faucet off. Your little body was wracked with barking coughs– sounding like a seal.  I held you, hoping to absorb some of your misery. The candle burned down, as I sat with you through the night.

Years have passed; your struggles have changed– life’s challenges, lessons in love– have replaced the long nights when I sat up and was your mommy.

As you graduate and fly away, I look at that old melted wax and see something more, where others see a mess.

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If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and leave a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  Check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Any ads at the bottom of this page are not endorsed by Tales From the Motherland.

Posted on April 30, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 83 Comments

My first post about Belize focused on the amazing things happening from a boat, from the land, above. However, this trip was all about the water, and what was under the water was beyond amazing! Part II of our trip to Belize.

The rest of the gang was either certified already, or took a "resort dive."

The rest of the gang was either certified already, or took a “resort dive.”

When I was a kid, I watched every episode of The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau (hit link to read about why he mattered). I was madly in love with his beautiful world, and wanted to be him, when I grew up… not be like him, but be him. When we are children, magic still seems possible, and if I could have twitched my nose, I would have been on the Calypso in a blink. I was drawn to the ocean from the time I could walk. Many of my earliest memories are beside the sea. But Jacques Cousteau made that world so much more beautiful, exciting and alluring. I wanted to go below the surface and see what he filmed each week; I wanted to ride the waves and explore. However, forty-five years have passed since I first dreamed of that life, and I still have not learned to dive. Each time I set out to do it, something blocks my path. Ear problems, asthma, and on our recent trip– when I finally thought I would do a “resort dive” (a quick training, and then a brief open water dive, with instructors), I had my accident, and all hope of diving that week, disappeared. Poof! But the magic did not vanish.

Showing off a conch shell... that I couldn't keep.

Showing off a conch shell… that I couldn’t keep.

I’ve never been diving, but I’ve been very fortunate to have enjoyed many magical experiences in the sea. I’ve been to the Great Barrier Reef (GBR) twice, and both times snorkeled. When I was at the GBR in college, nearly 30 years ago, there was much less loss of reef and reef-life than there is today. It was beautiful! But I was a poor college student, who had scrimped and saved for that trip, and was living and mooching off the kindness of Australians. My snorkeling experiences were mostly closer to shore, and not as far out on the reef as I would have liked. When I returned many years later, kids in tow, there were so many tourist boats; the water was crowded, and the reef was showing the stress of this industry. That said, it was still beautiful! I’ve been to Hawaii numerous times and snorkeled there, but I’ve never been down deep… where the fish really live.  However,  even without diving, Belize really upped the ante for all future water adventures.

We spent our days and nights on a fantastic catamaran; every day was a water day! Belize offered an amazing opportunity to imagine what it must be like to explore the depths, even though I never got any deeper than I could hold my breath.  Though my ribs prevented me from going deep, my cohorts were able to dive down and swim through a short cave/bridge, on the reef! Watching each of them do it was fantastic! Most of the reef around Belize is protected. It is the 2nd largest barrier reef, outside the GBR, and the people of Belize take its health and protection very seriously! There were “police” everywhere– their small boats coming up to make sure you had a permit to be there, that you weren’t taking anything you shouldn’t, that you were careful with the coral, and that the turtles, rays, and other magnificent creatures were not teased or stressed. The animals that live there are unafraid of humans, and just as curious to check out us, as we were to check out them!

One night we did a “night snorkel.” This involved heading out from Caye Caulker at twilight, by small boat. I’d already broken my ribs by then, so the bouncing boat was not fun. We anchored near the reef, and the guides waited until we could see at least 3 stars in the sky. Then, we all slipped into the water, high-powered flash lights in hand, and our guides took us on a magical trip that I will never forget! We did not bring our underwater camera, as we hadn’t used it in the dark and worried we’d have trouble holding that and a flash light. We did bring our Go-Pro, and got some fun videos. The creatures that come out at night tend to be that much more amazing because of bioluminescence.

“the biochemical emission of light by living organisms such as fireflies and deep-sea fishes.  • the light emitted in such a way.”

Check out these amazing colors! Upper left-hand corner

Check out these amazing colors! Upper left-hand corner

Many of the creatures of the sea glow, shimmer, flash colorful lights, at night, because of bioluminescence, and it’s sheer magic to witness! We saw three separate octopuses, one of them hunting a bright yellow fish! He pursued the fish, our group in awe and squealing inside our masks (cover your mouth and yell “Oh my god! Look at that! Guys! Guys! Look at this!” and you may have a sense of what we sounded like). The octopus finally spread his entire body across a rock, flashed blue, green, then blue again in a glowing blue-light brilliance, and ate the fish. It was stunning!  A small squid swam amongst us, spots on its body blinking many colors– you might swear you had seen a UFO, underwater! Then, it turned its entire body toward us and shot a stream of dark ink! (More mask/snorkel screaming!)

If you can imagine all of this, imagine it as seen with the aid of our super, high-powered flash lights. The water was black without them, as our guides memorably demonstrated, by having us all shut them off. I had never been so far from shore (it would be a monumental swim back, if need be), at night, in pitch dark. It was scary and thrilling and beautiful, all at once! Our flashlights sent off beams of light, illuminating outcroppings of giant Elk coral, or coral cliffs. The fish came out to see what was happening, and came closer out of curiosity. Spiny lobsters, their eyes glowing red, crawled along the bottom, and giant rays swam by– appearing like ghosts into our beams. One came right between our exchange student, David and friend Shayne, and David was out of there in a flash! I’m not sure who was more shocked: the ray or David. The video shows a ray suddenly appear, right in front of the lens, and David’s legs madly swimming away!

(In this video, you can see one of the rays, swimming by us. Then, you can hear me yelling that one is right under us!)

By day we explored the Hol Chan Marine Preserve, where turtles and rays watched us, as closely as we watched them. Highly protected and guarded, the marine life there was not fearful of us, and came up to watch us as we snorkeled along.  There were thousands of conch shells covering the bottom of the preserve.  They’ve been left there for hundreds of years, by fishermen, marine life, and guides– who use the conch to bring sea turtles, nurse sharks and rays, in closer. The nurse sharks are not threatening, and though it took me a while to believe it, we ended up swimming amongst them numerous times. Sea turtles swam alongside us, and while we were not suppose to pet them, they often would come so close that you had to touch them, to give them space. Endless varieties of fish swam up to our masks… watching us, and darting away again.

While we were living on a boat, and the underwater world was always around us, it was particularly spectacular to don a mask each day and feel free to see these things whenever we wanted. It was not a case of needing to go find the fish, but merely a matter of slipping into the water to watch. It never got old! We swam when we woke up, we swam before bed. We bathed in the sea, we floated there. We watched it, when we weren’t in it. I’m not sure I’ve ever been any place that was more beautiful, and that made me feel so enchanted. I may not have gotten to dive, but for one week the Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau was at my fingertips, and I loved every single moment. The creatures that live on and around the Belizean reef made our week extra special. It was an honor to share their world, and the things we saw only made me want to go deeper, see more… get my certification!

If this sounds like a dream vacation you might want to take too, contact Belize Sailing Vacations, and make your own memories. It was Un-Belizeable!

P1010112

If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and consider leaving a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  If you enjoy this blog, check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks!

Any ads at the bottom of this page are not endorsed by Tales From the Motherland. I am just not willing to pay extra to have them not appear there.

Posted on April 28, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 32 Comments

Friday Fictioneers: Música Para Llorar Por (Music to Grieve By)

Posted on April 24, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau

friday-fictioneersWelcome to Friday Fictioneers! Each Wednesday, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields chooses a photo prompt, provided by participants of FF. This week’s photo comes from the talented Björn Rudberg. To read other stories in this week’s series or to join in, check out details on Rochelle’s blog site: Addicted to Purple.  Check out notes, at the end of this piece.  As always, I welcome honest, considerate or constructive feedback. Please leave a comment, and tell me what you think.

© Björn Rudberg

© Björn Rudberg

(100 words)

As Gabriella and Don José sat in the dark café, the sad notes from the guitar and mandolin filled the room. Gabriella reached for her father’s gnarled hands.

“Sé que lo amaba, padre.” I know that you loved him, father.

Don José closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. He held the yellow rose in his hand, and smiled benignly at her.

“Yes my love, his words filled my soul. You carry his name, mi amor.” His eyes brimmed with tears. “The world has lost some magic, m’hija.”

For hours, the musicians played on– honoring the life of Gabo.

 

Note:  I knew when I saw this photo, where I wanted to go with this week’s prompt– but it took me a while to dig into the story. There’s been a lot on my plate, to say the least. This past week, the world lost a great writer, a brilliant mind, the father of magical realism. Gabriel García Márquez was considered by many, to the be the greatest Spanish writer of all time. I believe he was one of the greatest writers of any language or genre! Love in the Time of Cholera and One Hundred Years of Solitude changed my life, as a young college student. Gabo, as he was affectionately called by many, opened the door to the spectacular world of writers like: Isabelle Allende, Salman Rushdie, Toni Morrison, Alice Hoffman, Mark Helprin, Carlos Fuentes… While he was 87 years old; he had lived a long and richly full life; I felt a deep sense of sadness at the news of his passing. This photo, with its dark lighting and sensual imagery, immediately made me think of latin guitar music… and Gabriel García Márquez.

For more on Gabriel García Márquez, read this. Eloquently written by Salman Rushdie, another writer I have loved.:  http://www.nytimes.com/2014/04/21/books/review/gabriel-garcia-marquezs-work-was-rooted-in-the-real.html?_r=0

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If you enjoyed this post, please hit like and consider leaving a comment; I love to hear what readers have to say.  If you enjoy this blog, check out Tales From the Motherland’s Facebook page (my goal is 400 likes this year), and Twitter, where I struggle to keep it brief.

© 2014 Please note, that all content and images on this site are copyrighted to Dawn Quyle Landau and Tales From the Motherland, unless specifically noted otherwise. If you want to share my work, please give proper credit. Plagiarism sucks.

Any ads at the bottom of this page are not endorsed by Tales From the Motherland. I am just not willing to pay extra to have them not appear there.

Posted in Aging, Awareness, Blogging, Death, Fiction, Flash fiction, Friday Fictioneers, Honest observations on many things, Life, Music, Musings, My world, Tales From the Motherland, Writing | 55 Comments

Note: I’ve been having trouble posting photos to my blog for weeks. I’ve been working on the problem, and think I’ve solved it, but it kept me from posting all week. Our recent trip to Belize demands photos! This is part one of what will be a few posts on my trip to Belize, in Central America, and will be about all the amazing things we did and beautiful things we saw.  When I first wrote this, I was on the plane, headed home, overcome with memories of our time there. At the time, I had decided to not share the fact that I’d been injured on the trip, or any details about the event. However, after sustaining burns last week, that added insult to injury, I posted about it after all.

Honestly, I have mixed feelings about having shared that part of the story. As I’ve said, I write because I breathe; I can’t not write. As a writer, I’ve never been good with filters. I write what I think, I write what I feel. That sometimes leaves me and my life open to 0thers’ interpretations… for better or worse. The better: all the kind, supportive, caring words of healing and genuine kindness from this blogging/writing community that I love being a part of. Funny jokes (per my request) and simple kindnesses– it’s meant a lot; thank you!  The rest of this post, was written two weeks ago.  Now when you read this, you know that on day 2 I was injured. That said, it was such a spectacular journey, that it has to be shared!

Our home for the week

Our home for the week

There are times, when the miracles of daily life strike me as the magic that they truly are. Sitting on a plane, returning from a vacation that surpassed anything I’d imagined or hoped for, before leaving, it amazes me that I am able to travel from one incredible point to another, in the matter of hours. A trip that once would have taken months– by ship, train and no doubt horse and wagon– is now covered in the course of a 12-hour day. Gazing out the window, I feel like a child, learning for the first time, that life is so much bigger than my own yard. It is so easy to forget just how awesome this world we live in is! We take for granted that we can talk to people around the world, by simply pushing some numbers. We forget that it’s a stunning feat that we board a cylinder of metal and technology and cross the planet. Today, as I travel home from a 10-day vacation in Belize, the wonder of that strikes me deeply.

Cave tubing... INCREDIBLE!

Cave tubing… INCREDIBLE!

It’s nothing short of incredible that barely 24 hours ago: I was swimming in the indescribably turquoise waters of the western Caribbean, just off the coast of Central America. Our first day in Belize, we hiked through the jungle, to go tubing on a crystal clear river and through miles of caves– the only place in the world where you can go cave tubing. It was one of the many highlights of the week– thrilling! For the other eight days we were snorkeling daily, and I saw giant Eagle Rays glide past me– like phantoms in deep blue. Nurse sharks rushed to eat scraps, as we swam amongst them. Sea turtles came up to get a closer look at us, as we watched fish of endless colors and patterns, dart in and out of the spectacular reef. Just yesterday we were exploring Maya ruins, in a jungle– where exotic plants, birds and creatures competed for our attention– entirely different from the lush forest of my home.

Back in the fall, when we first discussed chartering a catamaran and taking a 10-day vacation in Belize for spring break, I thought it sounded wonderful, but I really didn’t put much more thought into it, outside of participating in planning and booking things, and counting down the days ‘til we would go. I didn’t read about Belize; I didn’t research the things we would see and do. There was so much going on in our day-to-day world that it just became another thing that had to be organized and carried out. Don’t get me wrong; I was looking forward to it, but I realize now that I really had no clue just how amazing this trip would be. Frankly, I was mostly worried about getting sea sick, and whether the eight of us (two families, each with 2 teenage boys) would all get along.

I didn’t bother to read up on Maya culture; I didn’t look up anything about the reef that surrounds Belize– 2nd only to the Great Barrier Reef in size and bio-diversity; I didn’t check out the history or culture of the country. In other words: was in no way prepared to be completely and totally blown away! As I fly home, having spent these 10 days being jolted out of my laissez-faire attitude, on an minute by minute basis, I’m not sure if it is better that I went with no expectations, or whether I could have taken it all in even more thoroughly. There is something to be said for the free-falling I so love to do. I can’t help but believe that magic is much more possible when you don’t plan each step, when you don’t know what’s waiting for you.

Capt. Dave(Note: Dave was always dressed in his neat Captain’s clothes. I took this photo, after he’d gone diving to fix our anchor. I just love his hat and personality here!)

The boat we chartered, The Infinity, with Belize Sailing Vacations, came with a Captain, Cook and a Naturalist. The naturalist was there for the first half of the trip, to guide us through the underwater preserves and reef life. They were three strangers who we climbed on board with, entirely unsure about what we could expect, and who we felt very bonded to within the course of that week. We expected Captain Dave to keep us safe, to show us a world that he knows and loves, to help us make daily decisions regarding the things we would do, and to guide us through the adventure. We didn’t know that he would also provide some of the best music imaginable, on a day-to-day basis. Or, that he would suggest ideas that would elevate an already fantastic journey to an even more amazing level. We didn’t know that we would come to trust him completely, like him enormously, and be sad to say goodbye when we finally pulled back into port.

Can I show you my conch sketches?

Can I show you my conch sketches?

S (our cook) worked daily to anticipate our needs and make things go smoothly and well for us. She worked tirelessly to keep the clutter and mess that eight people can generate, organized and neat; she made fresh meals and snacks, and anticipated our looks that said “oh, a rum punch would be nice now,” or “maybe I’ll take a swim,” or even “a nap would be good right about now.” She was there offering that drink, or a pillow, or just her infectious smile. She was young, but a sweet heart who made us all feel welcome. Like a magic fairy, our kid (ok, the adults too) would drop a wet towel, or leave an empty glass, and magically, it was all folded and put away, cleaned up. As an art student (almost done with college) she joined us for a morning of sketching as well. Re-entry will be hard!

AllyAlly, our Naturalist, was a cat of entirely different stripes!  She shook us all out of our comfort zones and took things up a few notches, from the minute we boarded. Brown beyond brown, from having lived in this sun-water-and-island-world, for more than 15 years now, the transplanted Canadian made us laugh constantly. Impressive dread locks, a patchwork of tattoos that represents a colorful life by any standards, a song for anything that came up, and an endless knowledge of the marine life around us– Ally is one of the most intriguing people I’ve ever met. Everywhere we went, the locals called out and chatted with her in Creole or island dialect. When we arrived at her home, on Caye (pronounced Key) Caulker, she blew three sharp whistle-calls and her two dogs came charging up from the beach, and leapt into her arms. When we went snorkeling, giant rays that she had named, came when she beckoned and allowed her to carry them along, or stroke their giant bodies. She shared her fierce love of and desire to protect the natural world she has adopted, with us, and we followed along– smitten; she spoke to the creatures and people with a singsong joy and we all watched in awe.

Our first sunset

Our first sunset

I have seen starry nights that make the universe seem endless; I am fortunate to live in a place with enormous, stunning night skies. But, now I know: there is nothing like the stars from the deck of a boat, rocking on an endless, inky sea. To look up and see both the Big Dipper and the Southern Cross, reminds you that you are far from home. There is nothing quite like waking up and jumping into that same sea by early morning light, and feeling fresh and awake, ready for another adventure. Short of a long day hiking, the tired that you feel after swimming and sailing all day is a tired that you feel to the core. Climbing into your bunk and falling asleep to the sound of water against the hull, is soothing on an entirely different level from anything I’ve ever experienced– and probably accounts for the multiple trips to the tiny bathroom each night.

There are so many things that might not have worked out, with eight personalities, eight expectations, eight preferences… but we laughed hard and joyfully every day. We enjoyed each other far more than I would have guessed might be possible, and as we head home, I feel certain that we have forged memories that will bind us in ways that can only happen when you step outside your comfort zone. Incredibly, four teenage boys, who are very different from one another, found fun in each outing. They supported each other through personal challenges, encouraged each other to stretch and explore new things. They fished together; they snorkeled together; they slept on a tiny uninhabited island together, and they showed patience and good humor throughout. It was a giant bonus to watch them take on each day together and make it work.

Little Man, snorkeling– and my very favorite photo!

Little Man, snorkeling– and my very favorite photo!

Little Man, who has long been afraid of deep water and dark places, faced his fears in ways that made me proud every day we were there. He snorkeled; he jumped into water where we knew there were nurse sharks, rays, and other challenges. He took a diving lesson and tried diving. He faced all of those fears in one fell-swoop by going on a night snorkel that was incredible, but creepy by all standards! We each had a high-powered flashlight, but aside from that, the night was incredibly black, once we dropped from the small motorboat that took us out, into the dark, choppy waters. The creatures beneath the surface lit up and darted in and out of the coral, as we explored. An octopus changed from blue to green and milky white as it chased and caught a fish, no more than 3 feet in front of us. Spiny lobsters watched us with their glowing red eyes. A squid lit up like an eerie space ship– speckled in strange lights, and then turned and shot a stream of dark ink at us, warning us to stay away.

We live in a world where it is possible to get on a plane and leave all that is familiar, to discover an entirely new piece of this glorious planet. I don’t take for granted, for a single moment, that I am fortunate to be able to do that. Beyond the finance and the logistics, there is also the wonder and magic. It is rare and wonderful when I’m able to divest from the logic that makes the extraordinary, the incredible, the magical, seem anything less than that. Right now, I choose to surrender. That I can climb aboard an airplane and fly across the globe, to explore a place that I might only have seen on TV, or read about in books, and that a few hours later I can look out this tiny window and see Nebraska, as a series of lines and shapes below me, and go to sleep in my own bed tonight… is northing short of miraculous.   (Next post: adventures under the water)

If you’re interested in taking an amazing family vacation, check out Belize Sailing Vacations. 

Paradise in diamonds

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Posted on April 22, 2014 by Dawn Quyle Landau | 40 Comments