Veteran's Day Meditation

"A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things that men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of an old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil."

The Things They Carried, by Viet Nam Veteran and fellow Minnesotan Tim O'Brien

To her nephew, Dexter (in Iraq) eccentric Uncle Alan (retired Lt-Colonel) Don (just home from Afghanistan) and dearly departed Grandma Don (WWII): she places this paragraph in the space of your silences when asked about the battle.

Control Freak

The Matron genuinely regrets that this is not fiction.

This morning, she set her alarm for 6:15 to get up with the oldest, even though the night before she and her husband had agreed that HE would rise early and she would catch a few more zzzzz's.

Matron at 6:15: "Are you getting up?"

John: "Yes, remember?"

Instead of going back to sleep, she lay in bed listening to the patter and pull downstairs. Who was eating what for breakfast? Was the dog gate up so the yappy pair couldn't come upstairs and wake up Scarlett? Did Merrick find his robe or was he running around buck naked - cold?

Finally she gave in and got up for her own patter and pull, until she started fretting that nobody was standing on the corner just one minute before the school bus was scheduled to arrive. She scuttled downstairs.

John: "I'm not standing at the front door monitoring the time and bus. That's the bus rider's responsibility."

The oldest child did not miss the bus.

Scarlett: "Mom can I have some water with lemon?"

John: "Certainly. There's a pitcher in the fridge. Stand up and get it yourself.

Merrick: "Mom can I have some Lucky Chawms?"

John: "There is a box and bowl in front of you. Pour."

In one big epiphany in which the Universe picks up the Matron by the shoulders and gives her a real good shake, she suddenly understood why the chore list was so hard to implement. For the past six weeks, the children have been more or less successfully cleaning their own rooms, taking turns doing laundry, picking up dog poop and other mundane household chores.

That the Matron sometimes does for them. Or chains herself to the counter top so that she will NOT sweep the floor even though it is crunchy.

Because it is all about CONTROL. Hers. Over everything. She has so little control over the big stuff (death, children growing into who they really are rather than who she thinks they should be, how the husband operates, who the President is and whether or not she'll get the flu -- you know that endless list) that the little stuff takes on great import.

Excuse her while she goes and turns up the temperature on today's weather or learns to let go a little bit. . . . breathe. The moment is the only way to go but, man, it is hard to get there.

More on Her Success So Far

Last week, the Pioneer Press notified the Matron that HER blog would be featured in a big piece on Minnesota bloggers!

Go Matron!

So she spent FOUR hours last week picking for the nits and lice that could potentially get her in trouble if half of the metro area started to read.

It was with great anticipation that she purchased an early Saturday edition of the Pioneer Press, a paper to which she does not subscribe (there, snub). She rushed into the house, opened the pages, found the article . . . . only to see that she was not actually included, after all.

Edited out.

This somehow reminded her of the time her literary agent sent her not one but ALL of her 27 rejection letters (novel) from New York publishing houses in one big fun Special New Holiday package-- accompanied by an unsigned dictated condolence letter.

She still gets an annual Christmas card from this agent. Which she burns.

On the bright side?

She's down to 27 student essays and 49 research assignments to grade. She would rather be constructing a complex and creative blog post but, duty! Calling.

How many papers on abortion and capital punishment does the world actually need?

Crabby? Who -- not the intrepid Matron on a sunlit Monday afternoon, on a relatively balmy November day?

Just a little.

Sunday, Meditation

Consider how central fasting is to most religions.

Catholicism, Judaism, and Islam all include major periods of fasting. Hunger. Yearning.

The Matron swears Buddhism is all about how much you don't eat.

Why fast? Why abstain? Hungry -- really hungry, not just ten minutes past dinner -- and you're raw. Vulnerable. Different. Changed.

When was the last time you were hungry? Raw, vulnerable, awake?

This is how she chose to spend her day. It was amazing.

Actual Conversation

Stryker: "Mom, how much do you and Dad usually spend on Christmas?"

Matron: "Hmmm . . usually about $500 or $600. Maybe less this year."

Stryker: "Wow! That's terrific! I was worried there for awhile!"

The joy in his face gives the Matron slight pause.

Matron: "Stryker? That's not $500 or $600 per kid. That's for everything."

Beat of incorporation

Stryker: "That's still $166 to $200 per kid. Not bad."

Matron: "Everything includes neighbors, cousins, grandparents, friends and teachers. Everything is actually EVERYTHING."

Stryker: "Uh oh."

Matron (prepared to take the hit): "Spill it. What's the potential tally on your list?"

Stryker: "$487.63, plus shipping."

Matron: "Where did the magic of Santa go?!"

Stryker: "We're Buddhists, Mom. This holiday has always been pragmatism, commerce and negotiation."

Matron: "Please don't pick this very moment to tell me why you joined the debate team."

Stryker: "Because I plan to hone those skills in this very kitchen?"

Matron: "Okay, fellow Buddhists. Let's work on honing our loving kindness practice and worry about what we're going to get for the holiday we don't celebrate anyway, later."

Stryker: "I am a capitalist. The loving kindness thing will cost you."

And if she had an extra $487.63 laying around, she just might have written that check--while banging her head against the counter.

Current Matronly Causes for Concern

Cause for Concern Number One

Given the Matron's hysteria over Merrick's complete and utter lack of interest in all things Letter and Word, she dropped a few hysterical hints to Grandma Mary about Headsprout, a nifty online learn-to-read-tool. Of course, Grandma Mary -- being all things educational herself as a teacher for lo those many years -- immediately purchased said online program for Merrick, despite the fact that small villages in Africa could be sustained for the cost of Merrick's six-month edification.

Now, the Matron didn't give it much thought when Grandma Mary signed up Merrick using her own email and password as sign-in for the reluctant student.

Reluctant?

It took Merrick about ten seconds to smell the whiff of parental (okay make that maternal) desperation emitting from the internet.

Matron: "Merrick, don't you want to play that new fun game with the aliens?"

Merrick: "THE ONE THAT YOU'WE TWICKING ME INTO WEADING WITH!"

Matron: "You can play while you eat Halloween candy and both dogs can sit in your lap!"

Merrick: "What do you mean, PLAY? THIS IS WEADING."

And so on. . . . that child definitely has to board the bribing bandwagon!

This isn't even the cause for concern. Oh no. Turns out that Grandma Mary, who paid the handsome fee, is getting these regular updates from Headsrout.

"Dear Mary: We see that it's been six days since Merrick last logged in! We hope he comes back to prance with Alien Bob soon."

"Dear Mary: We're concerned that Merrick hasn't visited Headsprout in 10 days!"

"Dear Mary: We hope that Merrick finished level one in the 10 minutes he was logged in. The more time your child spends . . ."

You get the picture.

The best part? Grandma Mary emails each of these updates to the Matron, with no comment. Just the emails indicating that her dollar? Not well spent.

Matron: "Merrick OMIGOD. YOu can't watch TV until you do Headsprout. Grandma Mary is watching!"

Merrick: "Now she knows that I don't like weading even on the 'puter."

Cause for Concern Number Two

The Matron took a good long look at Scarlett's schedule and realized that between this child's current and upcoming shows -- Fezziwig's Feast, Sister Kenny's Children and the Miracle Worker reprised, here -- she just has NINE days without a show or rehearsal until April!

Scarlett: "MOM! What am I going to DO on April 1st!? Have you found any auditions for me! I am INCREDIBLY worried about April 1st! Are you checking the playlist HOURLY?! I don't want to miss my chance! Can you find any auditions for Broadway too -- I bet it is HUMANLY POSSIBLE to get onto Broadway at 11!"

Stage mothers. So pushy!

Cause for Concern Number Three

In case you didn't know, people actually eat these. People with tongues and taste buds.

Meditation

Here, a stunning poem that contains a little bit of joy and her dark side. Join the Matron in practicing radical kindness today, with our collective vulnerability in mind.

How many nights
have I lain in terror,
O Creator Spirit, maker of night and day,

only to walk out
the next morning over the frozen world,
hearing under the creaking snow
faint, peaceful breaths...
snake,
bear, earthworm, ant...

and above me
a wild crow crying 'yaw, yaw, yaw'
from a branch nothing cried from ever in my life.

Galway Kinnell

Here, contemplation and kindness. Below, joy.