"In today’s sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun."

--Elizabeth Alexander, from her Inaugural poem, "Praise Song for the Day"

As I sat, rapt, during Obama's stirring Inaugural address, I couldn't help but notice the way the light hit the American flag pin on his lapel. Every once in a while, the sun would shoot off the metal in radiant beams, like something from a comic book or maybe religious iconography. Today's sharp sparkle, embodied. The promise of a shimmering new beginning. The restoration of glimmer to our shared stars and stripes.

"On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light."

We will not build a peaceful world by following a negative path. It is not enough to say we must not wage war. It is necessary to love peace and sacrifice for it. We must concentrate not merely on the negative expulsion of war but the positive affirmation of peace. We must see that peace represents a sweeter music, a cosmic melody, that is far superior to the dischords of war. Somehow, we must transform the dynamics of the world power struggle from the negative nuclear arms race, which no one can win, to a positive contest to harness humanity's creative genius for the purpose of making peace and prosperity a reality for all the nations of the world. In short, we must shift the arms race into a peace race. If we have a will- and determination- to mount such a peace offensive, we will unlock hitherto tightly sealed doors of hope and transform our imminent cosmic elegy into a psalm of creative fulfillment.

--Martin Luther King, Jr.

Earlier this week, when I saw news that Random House announced more job cuts, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Today, I learned that my editor's job was among the ones eliminated.

Anika Streitfeld was the editor of my dreams. We met at Book Expo America several years ago; she was working for MacAdam/Cage at the time (where she edited, among other amazing books, two of my favorite novels: The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffinegger and Sleep Toward Heaven by Amanda Eyre Ward). I had written a blurb for one of her books, and introduced myself when I saw her at the MacAdam/Cage booth. We hit it off and kept in touch; both of us spoke about how much we would like to work together some day. When I finished a draft of Self Storage, I noticed in Publishers Lunch that Anika was moving to Ballantine; I asked my agent if she could send Self Storage there. Anika ended up acquiring my novel as her first at her new publishing house (Ballantine is under the Random House umbrella). It was such a joy to work with her--she gave me thorough, thoughtful, deeply intelligent notes that helped the book grow, and helped me grow as a writer. I loved how she understood my vision for the book; our work together felt like a true collaboration.

I had been on pins and needles waiting to hear her response to my latest novel, Pears, after I turned in a draft last September. I know I shared some of my angst on the blog--I may have mentioned how I had been worried that she hated the book and just wasn't sure how to tell me yet (ah, the neuroses of a writer!) It turns out she was just extra busy with deadlines, plus dealing with the vagaries of early pregnancy. When she did call with her feedback, I was in the middle of a workshop during the December Antioch MFA residency and couldn't answer the phone. During a break, I told my students that the call had been from my editor, who I had been waiting to hear from for a few months. They encouraged me to listen to the voice mail in front of them, which I did--my heart pounding, not knowing what to expect. Whether it was good news or bad, I figured, it would be helpful to share it with the students--a way to give them a window in life as a published author. Happily, the news was good--Anika called the book "wonderful" on the message and said she looked forward to sharing her ideas for revision. It was so cool to share the moment with my students, who were very excited and supportive.

Anika and I didn't actually have a chance to speak until after the holidays, since our schedules were both so bonkers. Over the last couple of weeks, though, we finally started discussing revision strategies. As always, her notes were incredibly helpful, and while I felt a bit daunted by the amount of work ahead of me, I was also inspired and definitely excited by the opportunity to work with her to get the book where we both wanted it to be. I am sad now that I won't get to share that process with her, but I am grateful for her suggestions, grateful that the novel will be imprinted by her touch even though from this point on, I'll be working with another editor (who I will connect with soon.)

Anika assured me that she'll be okay--the layoff is actually good timing for her, since she'll be able to spend some real time with her two year old before the new baby arrives. I am eager to keep in touch with her, to share book recommendations and writerly inspirations and stories about our lives.

Thank you, Anika, for all that you have given me. I am a lucky, lucky writer indeed to have had the chance to work with you.

Some events on the horizon...

--I will be on a fiction panel at the Celebration of Inland Authors at the Feldheym Library in San Bernardino at 1pm on Saturday, January 24th (I believe I'll also be reading that day, but am not sure when. I'll update when I find out.)

--I am going to introduce literary agent Betsy Amster at UCR Writers Week on Wednesday, February 4th at 11am. You can check out the full Writers Week schedule here

--I (and I'm super excited about this) will be part of the Rhapsodomancy Reading Series on Sunday, February 8th at 7pm at the Good Luck Bar in LA, a groovy little venue that looks like something out of a 1960s-era Peter Seller's movie. I'll be reading with Paul Lisicky, Carine Topal, and Lynn Thompson. This series is curated by the fabulous Wendy Ortiz.

--If you are a Johnston Center/College alum or supporter and will be at the Johnston Renewal over President's Day weekend at the University of Redlands, I will be co-teaching a class on Renewal through Fiction: Becoming 'The Other' with novelist Jo-Ann Mapson Saturday, February 14th at 1pm. It will be so wonderful to see old friends and get a dose of that great Johnston energy!

I drove down to Oceanside today to have dinner with my parents and go to my mom's latest art opening (yay mom!) At some point along that route, I always lose the signal for NPR--a frustrating experience, since it usually seems to happen right in the middle of This American Life or Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me--but today I remembered I had a book on CD in the stereo (thanks to a wonderful student/friend who gave me a huge stack of them): From Fear to Fearlessness by Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun. The audio book explores how using the Buddhist teachings and practice of lovingkindness can open our hearts and help us face the painful parts of our lives, parts of our lives that make us contract with fear.

Pema Chodron's voice washed over me as I drove past casino billboards and mountain-goat-like orange groves planted on the sides of terraced hills. I hadn't realized how much I needed to hear her words. Life has been good, more than good, but lately I've found myself grappling with a lot of sadness in the wake of my divorce being finalized. Mainly sadness about feeling estranged from the larger circle that had encompassed my marriage, the circle that tightened around Matt after I left (and that I know is still open to me, but in a changed and complicated way.) As Pema Chodron led her audience through the practice of maitri, extending lovingkindness (or, as she sometimes sweetly called it, "friendliness") first to oneself, then to those one is grateful for, then to those one is neutral to, then to those one has issues with, then to all beings, I felt myself melt. I hadn't realized that I had been feeling sorry for myself, and I could feel myself let that go as I wished happiness to all the people in that circle that has sustained me and is now sustaining Matt. And of course I wished happiness to Matt in the process, too. I hadn't been wishing anyone ill before, but to actively wish happiness felt incredibly healing.

Just as Pema Chodron said something about opening the heart, I looked up and saw a heart forming in the sky; the plane creating it was too far away to see--it looked as if the white heart was writing itself onto the blue. I felt my breath catch in my chest, then deepen, at its beauty, its perfect timing. As I continued to drive, I watched the heart change, dissipate, eventually dissolve--it, along with Pema Chodron, reminded me that change is the only constant in life, that we need to continually let go of how we think things should be in order to embrace the shifting reality of what truly is. Our own human hearts beat for such a short time before they dissolve into nothingness--it makes no sense to waste time contracting them in fear or resentment or bitterness. Open them, open them, even when (especially when) it hurts.

May all beings enjoy happiness.

Last year, my amazing friend, Masha Hamilton traveled to Afghanistan and wrote a blistering piece for Salon.com on the epidemic of kidnapping there. She recently heard from a brave young Afghan woman, Meena Yousufzai, who went to Kandahar to talk to some of the schoolgirls who had been burned by acid by men who oppose education for girls and woman. Masha asked if I could get Meena's voice out--it desperately needs to be heard.

Dear Ms. Masha:

I found Kandahar to be very quiet and isolated. According to people many middle class
families have left the province to live in Kabul or emigrate back to Pakistan and Iran.

A lot of the people I met were mainly complaining about unemployment and poverty. There were only a few restaurants and hotels in the whole city. According to the natives the only well paid jobs are with the foreign NGOs and many think it is a big risk to take.

I was staying in a dormitory along with eight other absolutely adorable girls from Uruzgan and Helmand who were studying to be midwives. Surprisingly all of these girls were Persian speaking Shia citizens of their provinces where they make a very tiny minority. While asking them about the conditions in their home provinces they told me that in Uruzgan Persian speaking people have their won communities, where government has more power and Taliban are not very powerful. The also told me that Pashtuns do not let their daughters to go to school or work that is the reason why majority of the doctors, nurses and teaches are Persian speaking Shias although, in these provinces Pashtuns make the majority. According to the girls they do not even wear a burqa in Helmand and Uruzgan while they are inside their own communities. Nafisa from Helmand told me that her mother runs a special class in her house for the girls who have dropped out of school. The home school is supported by the government so her mother is paid about three and a half thousand Afghani (almost 60 USD) a month. This is a very good income in Helmand. She told me that because the government sometime helps the course students with some wheat and cooking oil, even some very conservative families let their daughters and wives to attend the class. (From this you can see how severe the poverty really is).

I was shocked when Sohila and I were stopped to enter a restaurant because we did not have a male relative with us (absolutely like Taliban rules).on the streets you can only see a few women after 12:00 at noon. Almost every woman wears a burqa and sacks to cover their feet. People over all but women especially looked so much scared of the Taliban. They were almost paranoid about it. They thought that Taliban follow each and every of them and can hurt them and their families anytime.

Unlike Kabul I did not see many signs of the central government (like our national flag, Posters of the President and etc..). The only photos even in the government owned vehicles I noticed were of the late King, Zaher Shah, and Kandahar’s former governor Gul Agha Sherzoi, who seemed to be very popular. Surprisingly, a majority of the police in Kandahar were Persian speaking (looked to me more from Parwan and Panjshair) with little familiarity to Pashto language and Pashtun culture. While asking why that would be from a Taxi driver and a friend their reply was that the government does not trust Kandaharis because they can be sympathetic to Taliban.

I met eleven out of the thirteen girls (the media was wrong about fifteen or sixteen) from the acid attack and their families. All of them had great hatred for Taliban but meanwhile had no faith in their own central government. Asking some Shias about their religious freedom in Kandahar, they were very happy that they were being somewhat treated equally by the central government.

Just a very interesting story, one of the men named Naim who had sprayed acid on the girls was not caught by the police but his own mother called the police after watching the news and told them about her suspicions about his son’s involvement in the attack. Naim was tortured and killed in Police custody.

Wearing a burqa was a very interesting experience. It was the first time I ever wore a burqa for that long. Just after getting out of the airport , my friend Sohila, who was already wearing a burqa, asked me to wear mine. I did wear mine but I pulled up the front part meaning my face was not covered. The plan was for Mr. Ted to go with a car that our contact from Human Rights commission sent. And for us was to go in a taxi, whose drivers was a family friend to Sohila. We said good bye but suddenly my instincts told me not to trust the driver of the car. Wearing my burqa but not covering my face I ran to stop the car and go in the same car with Mr. Ted. Behind me Sohila was getting mad and shouting “You are not supposed to be running with a burqa on and without covering your face”. But I did.

Of course wearing a burqa was uncomfortable but it was easy to deal with. The hardest part for me was that I had to wear a burqa because of fear of the Taliban and men’s injustice in our societies. I was wearing a burqa not because I wanted to but because I had to. Finally I decided that I would not cover my face. And I would deal with whatever might happen. It was not really like Taliban will beat you or something they do not have that much power. But people would stare at you and gave you bad looks. Of course my friend Sohila did not let me do it all the time but whenever she was not there I did it. Once after dropping Sohila home. I got myself a Pepsi and asked the driver to go through Bazar. I uncovered my burqa, relaxed and drunk my Pepsi. Nothing really happened but made me feel much better. During the nights I slept in a room with four other girls. Till late we all would be chatting. These girls were of ages 16 to 18 and some married and two already mothers. In the first night they were shy and quite but the other nights we made really good friends. I asked them about different things in their provinces especially women rights. I was so mad when almost all of them thought it is fine for men to beat their wives and sisters. And the best thing for a Muslims woman is to keep quiet and have patience. I talked a lot to them about women in Islam. They looked so thirsty for information. I told them that If it is fine for Prophet (PBUH) to divorce his wife why not for us, who are nothing but ordinary followers of him. If in the Quran it says that Nekah is Sunnah (Actions Prophet (PBUH) has done and Divorce is Farz (Muslim’s duty if husband and wife are not happy). Then who are we to do the opposite. While talking to them I felt that I would for sure work for women rights all through Afghanistan but especially in Pashtun areas. These girls told me that they are still very lucky to be born as Persian speaking. What would they do if they were Pashtun women? They girls absolutely loved the freedom we have in Kabul. It was just great for them. They had a feeling that they can not do anything. others need to change things for them. For example Nafisa from Helmad told me that “I can not wait for Americans to take out every woman’s burqa in Helmand and Kandahar”. I told her it is only us, Afghan women, who can and who will do this. It taught me something. I wear my Islamic hejab and if Allah willing I will always but I hope every Afghan women would be able to follow their religion based on their own version and personal believes, They will do it because they want to not because they have to.

Over all I found Kandaharis to be one of the biggest victims of Taliban. They are very much in need of help. They are poor, illiterate and very easy targets for Taliban to use.

Meena Yousufzai YES ‘08
January 4th , 2009

I am grateful to have this sobering window into the current Afghan female experience, which we don't hear about often enough in the media. If you feel moved to help, the Afghan Women's Mission is a wonderful organization providing health, education and other needed programs. And if you are inspired by Masha's work (which always features a beautiful blending of art and social responsibility), please consider taking one of her writing workshops; she will help you be brave in your own creative work.

Happy 2009! I hope everyone had a peaceful, delicious holiday season.

Since my blogging chops are rusty right now, I think I'm just going to post my Free Will Astrology horoscope (Rob Brezny is eerily accurate almost every week):

Aries (March 21-April 19)
It's a great privilege to live in a free country. You're fortunate if you have the opportunity to pursue your dreams without having to ward off government interference or corporate brainwashing or religious fanaticism. But that's only partly useful if you have not yet won the most important struggle for liberation, which is the freedom from your own unconscious habits and conditioned responses. Becoming an independent agent who's not an unwitting slave to his or her past is one of the most heroic feats a human being can accomplish. And you, Aries, will have more mojo to do that in 2009 than you've had in a long time.

Wishing all of you the mojo to access new levels of creative freedom this year! And wishing for the world the hope and change that we have been promised--let's do whatever we can to bring it into being.

Just wanted to say that things will likely be pretty quiet around here for a while--my daughter and I are packing to move to a new house (hit me up if you need my new address) and I'm gearing up to teach at the 10 day Antioch MFA residency.

I still haven't heard from my editor re. my novel Pears, and am continuing to feel very nervous about it, continuing to feel as if I turned it in too soon. I will let you know if I hear anything. I completely trust my editor's judgment, though, and know whatever feedback she gives me will help the book grow stronger, whether it ends up on her list--which of course I hope for, since I love working with her--or not. The Lincoln book has (re)taught me that a manuscript can have life beyond rejection. But I'm getting ahead of myself! I look forward to jumping fully into the revision process in my new house, where I'll have fruit trees right outside the office door.

I wish everyone a peaceful and fruitful December!

On the eve of Thanksgiving, I am grateful to have found two wise posts about gratitude in today's uncertain world. One by my wise and amazing friend, Laraine Herring, which explores why writing matters even as publishers are closing their doors, and one by Michael Morford in the San Francisco Chronicle titled Change and Gratitude: How the hell can you be thankful in a time of fear and meltdown?

These words of Laraine's really spoke to me:

Write directly into the heart of the moment when reading changed you. Writing matters. Stories matter. You have a gift and a desire to tell a story. Rather than be fearful of what you might not be able to accomplish, instead be grateful for the gifts of language. Don't let the fear of the distribution (or not) of those stories get in the way of the telling. Your burdens will become greater by remaining silent. Perhaps especially in economic times like these.

Write what you were given to write and let the rest go.

These words by Michael Morford also resonated:

Maybe this Thanksgiving, it's all we can do to be grateful for, well, for change itself. Any kind of change. Because change is still required. Change is still the universal law. Without it, everything stops. Without it, we die. Change is the only thing we really know for sure. It's the only thing that actually makes any sense, even when it doesn't.

It is the grand rule: "Change and be grateful." Even here. Even now.

Yes. I am so grateful for words that can reach into my heart and make it pound harder. I am so grateful to people with whom I can share words and thoughts and moments and love. I am so grateful to be alive on this planet, which continues to be so beautiful and abundant even in these lean and confusing times. And yes, I am grateful for change, in all its terrifying, exhilarating glory.

May everyone have a gorgeous and delicious Thanksgiving!

If you found your way here via my National Novel Writing Month pep talk, welcome! I hope your month of novel writing has been a fruitful one indeed. My experiences with NaNoWriMo have been so crucial to my life as a writer--both liberating and affirming. NaNoWriMo got me back into my own writing flow a few years ago, during a time when I was feeling completely frozen by expectation (mostly my own, but also what I perceived to be external expectation, as well). I found that when I churned out words that quickly, there was no time to worry about whether what I was writing was perfect and beautiful; it shut my inner editor right down. Giving yourself permission to make a big old mess on the page is incredibly freeing. I hope you're giving yourself that permission and having lots of fun with the process!

For those who aren't taking part in NaNoWriMo, here is my pep talk that went out to all the intrepid November novelists today:

Dear NaNoWriMo writer,

The metaphor of writing-as-birth is not a new one—perhaps it may even be a bit overused—but I can’t help but think about it this month. It doesn’t matter if you’re a woman or a man; you’re pregnant with a novel—congratulations!

Of course, one month is a pretty short gestation period, but hey, that’s all the time rabbits need, and NaNo certainly requires a “no time to say hello, goodbye” White Rabbit breakneck pace.

I remember how amazing it was when I was pregnant with my kids—each day, my body had transformed into something new. This month, you have transformed, too, moving from aspiring writer to novelist, from someone who has wanted to write to someone who actually is doing the hard, juicy work of getting words onto the page. You have learned new things about the creative process, about the depths of your imagination, about the themes and images central to your subconscious life. And even if you are way behind on your word count, even if you’ve only written the first scene of your novel, you have taken a profound leap. You are a writer now. How awesome is that?!

If your experience is anything my like NaNo experiences have been, this has been a time of exhilaration and frustration, inspiration and despair (and, hopefully, big slices of pumpkin pie!) A journey from that first thrill of conception, through moments when the story feels heavy and unwieldy, to times when it kicks inside you and fills you with awe. And now the end, your due-date, is in sight—at least as far as the calendar is concerned. Now you’re not just pregnant—you’re in labor.

In fact, you’re probably at what midwives call the transition stage—the point where the contractions are coming fast and furious, and you’re almost ready to start pushing your book baby, whole, out into the world. Some people get a rush of energy of at this stage, a super human surge that propels them through the birth—a mad flurry of words, a tumbling of scenes that seem to write themselves toward their own climax. Other people, when they get to this stage, suddenly feel as if they’re going to die. As if they can’t go on. As if they don’t know why they ever wanted to have a baby/sign up for NaNoWriMo in the first place. If you can breathe through this transitional period, if you can find a way to quiet those nagging critical voices and keep moving forward, your story will ultimately find its way into the bright oxygenated air (even if it’s long after November 30th.)

See if you can use this final stretch of time to stretch yourself creatively, to try something new and playful with language, to let your characters surprise you, to let yourself surprise yourself. Never let yourself forget what a profound thing you’re doing. As Margaret Atwood says “A word after a word/after a word is power.” You have that creative force inside you. You are poised to give birth to a whole new world.

Congratulations again!
Gayle Brandeis

You can read a portion of "Raising a Ruckus with CODEPINK: Women for Peace", the speech I recently gave in Toronto, at CODEPINK's online magazine, PinkTank.

It's always such a treat for me to visit book clubs (such as the lovely one pictured that I visited in Claremont last Friday.) I love connecting with such passionate readers; they always come up with the most wonderful, thoughtful questions and help me see my work in fresh ways. One woman at the book club on Friday wisely commented upon how Self Storage couldn't have been set in today's post-election world; the fear and intolerance that were such hallmarks of the post-9/11 Bush era wouldn't have the same resonance in a story set after Obama's win. I hadn't thought about this before, and am so grateful that Self Storage now represents only a small, dark sliver of American history.

I am also so grateful to see how the word YES has exploded since then. In 2002, YES was not so easy to come by; when my main character Flan found the word inside a box in a storage auction and decided to go in search of her own source of YES, it felt like an almost radical act. The world at the time was so full of NO. As I wrote the novel, I had no idea that in a few years, millions of people would be chanting YES WE CAN and working together to say YES to the future. Such a beautiful and joyous affirmation. The host of the book club even baked a YES cake, the letters shaped with Hershey's kisses, so we had a chance to literally embody the word.

I am visiting another book club next week; I am eager to hear their questions and see how they'll open my eyes anew.

GOOD Magazine (a great newish progressive journal exploring arts and culture and the environment) recently launched a book blog; I was delighted to find this post linking Barack Obama to Walt Whitman. It closes with these lines:

At Grant Park, Obama was evidence that, as Whitman wrote in the preface to his epic “Leaves of Grass,” “The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.” Obama absorbs Whitman, we absorb Obama, and “the United States themselves are essentially the greatest poem.”

There is mention of Abraham Lincoln, who was Whitman's contemporary, earlier in the post, as well. It's fun that I've written novels inspired by both Whitman and Lincoln, and now they've found nexus in our new President!

What a day for new beginnings! As we launch into this new era for our country, we have some fresh starts in our own household, as well: my daughter just enrolled in a new school, which hopefully will prove to be a better fit for her for the time being, and my contract for my first YA novel just arrived! I was offered the deal in June, but didn't want to say anything publicly until I saw the actual contract. Now it is here and I can say with confidence that My Life with the Lincolns will be published by Henry Holt, Spring, 2010.

My Life with the Lincolns tells the story of Mina Edelman, a 12 year old girl in 1966 Chicago who believes her family is the Lincoln family reincarnated and it's her job to save them from their fate. It's set during the Chicago Freedom Movement, when she and her father get involved in Martin Luther King Jr.'s campaign to work for housing equality. I love knowing the book will be published during an Obama presidency--so much of the book is about community organizing in Chicago, which of course is such an important part of Obama's own history (be it in a different era). Plus I know Obama feels such a deep connection to Lincoln, himself. My biggest, wildest fantasy is an Obama blurb for the book, but I think the President might be a bit too busy to offer one. :)

All the happiness of this day of course is tempered by the passing of Prop 8. How heartbreaking that on a day of such celebration, a day of breaking barriers and stepping forward as a country, our state decides to take a step back toward inequality. This is proof that we can't just relax now that Obama has won; there is still so much work that needs to be done. I have faith that the American people are up for the task and will ultimately work together to ensure equal rights for all, but it's going to take time and energy and commitment. Obama's campaign proved that we have that--may we continue to band together and use it well!

YES! YES! YES! YES!

So wonderful to wake up today to a new world, to find out that the dream of last night is actually real. Here are the stirring newspaper headlines people woke up to around the country and around the world.

And be sure to check out this wise and beautiful open letter to Obama by Alice Walker

I have never been so proud or happy to be an American. Yes We Can, Yes We Did, Yes We Will!

ETA: I realized I didn't share anything about my election night experience. Michael and I went to Nancy and Jenn's house for an election night dinner party; the group decided to turn on Comedy Central to see what Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert had to say about the election proceedings, and a minute or so later, Jon Stewart got all teary and declared Obama president. We couldn't believe it--it was just after 8pm; the polls in CA had just closed. When had the decision ever been made so early? We all looked at each other to say "What?" "Could this be true?" "It is live", "That's real emotion in his voice," so we switched over to MSNBC and learned that yes, it was indeed true. Obama had won. We were all in complete delighted shock; it took a moment for the reality to sink in. I'm still reeling with joy.

As I nervously, hopefully await the election results, I find myself thinking about community. I have felt it in different powerful ways in the last couple of weeks, and as someone who tends to be a bit of a hermit, I am reminded of how important it is to get out of my own cave and connect with others.

I felt community in so many ways when I was in Toronto--just being with my sister and her family was such beautiful communing in itself. My sister and I created our own community as we were growing up (both metaphorically and literally--we invented a little land called "Purcell" in the side yard of our apartment building, complete with its own laws and language and customs) and being with her always feels like coming home, no matter where we are. I loved being able to visit some of her favorite places (including the sweetest little tea house you can imagine, where we drank lavender mint tea and ate an assortment of fall delicacies, our sweets all centered around pomegranate, fig and persimmon.)

I found another powerful sense of community at the Motherhood Movement Embedded conference--connecting with mothers who are doing important work around the world to promote peace and justice was very inspiring indeed. And after my speech, my sister and I raced back to the city so we could be part of Night of Dread, one of the most amazing communal experiences I've ever experienced. Night of Dread is organized by Clay and Paper Theater (the link is a few years old, but will give you the gist of the night), and is an artful, fun, moving way to face and exorcise fears as a community. It begins with a huge procession with giant puppets and drumming and people dressed in black and white wending through the streets of Toronto before landing at Dufferin Grove Park, where there is a wonderful, kinetic series of performances and experiences, from fire dancers to fado music to a ritual burning of fears (written out on pizza boxes painted white and planted into the ground with stakes--fears ranging from millipedes to Sarah Palin.) My daughter, who joined me on the journey, and my niece Mollie were both "death dancers" (I actually found a picture of them online in this slide show; they're in the 7th picture, where you see three figures with white and black masks and white robes (Hannah's the one on the left and Mollie is in the center.) At one point in the evening, the death dancers invite the crowd to dance with death, and later they come out with platters ringed with marigolds and full of the "bread of the dead" (cooked in cool community ovens in the park) which they wordlessly invite people to partake in. Such a powerful evening, full of wild imagery, cathartic chanting and overall awe-inspiring spectacle. I hope I'll have a chance to experience it again (but I hope to see my sister and her family again much much sooner than that!)

Since I've been back home, I've experienced other beautiful instances of community--a gorgeous Samhain ritual at my friends Nancy and Jenn's house, during which we each honored a loss from the past year by making altars and meditating on what we had learned from that loss, and what lessons we'll bring forward with us into the future. I made an altar for my wedding ring; it was very emotional and healing to be able to honor the years I spent with Matt and think about how to take the lessons I've learned from my marriage and divorce forward. The ritual culminated in Nancy and Jenn's legal wedding--a profound celebration!

Our Inspire Hope 4: Rock and Shimmy the Vote this Sunday was celebratory in itself--Nancy and I pulled the show together so quickly, but it ended up being a wonderful mix of poetry, music, dance and storytelling, with a great engaged audience. I'm so thankful for the community of artists who were able to jump in at the last minute to share their talents and inspire us all to use our voices at the polls.

And speaking of polls, my boyfriend Michael and I decided to vote a day early yesterday. We had to wait for three hours at the voters registry office, but it was well worth it. I was deeply moved to see hundreds of people waiting patiently, happily to vote. Most of the voters there were people of color; we overhead several people talk about how they hadn't voted in 15 or 20 years. I got teary several times as we waited and the enormity of this election crashed over me. Seeing people come together to bring change and hope to our country is a beautiful thing indeed. May all our hope prove to be fruitful. My fingers will be crossed for the next few hours!

Two things to do Sunday, November 2nd:

--If you're in the Riverside area, come to Back to the Grind at 3575 University Avenue from 5-8pm for Inspire Hope 4: Rock and Shimmy the Vote, an evening of poetry, music and bellydance. We'll be inspiring people to get to the polls, and raising money for the local homeless shelter. Hope you can join us!

--If you have a tv, please tune in to PBS at 10pm to see my brother's documentary, Dissonance and Harmony: Arabic Music Goes West, part of PBS's new series, America at a Crossroads. Jon spent many years (and much heart and belly ache) making this film, which traces the journeys of five Arabic musicians in their home countries, and as they travel to the US to collaborate with Western musicians. I had the pleasure of seeing the musicians perform in LA, and am very excited to see the documentary, which I know will inspire great cross-cultural dialogue and understanding.

I'm very honored to be mentioned in Katie Granju's article celebrating Hip Mama's Ariel Gore. It's fun to think of myself as a "momoir" writer, even though I rarely write about my kids any more--it feels different, more like a violation, to crack open our lives now that they're teenagers. This time period is certainly full of material, though--maybe one day in the future, they'll be comfortable with me looking back to this time on the page (assuming we survive it!) I am so grateful for Ariel Gore and Katie Granju and all the other writer mamas who supported one another as we worked to give our parenting experience a voice.

I hope to write about my trip to Toronto soon; in the meanwhile, here's a little essay I wrote about Sarah Palin and my own brief experience as Annie Oakley: Sarah, Put Down Your Gun.

Just in case you haven't seen this yet:
My daughter isn't a fan of Amy Poehler (she doesn't like the fact that she's married to Will Arnett, who Hannah wants all to herself) but even she was impressed by Ms. Pohler's fierce pregnant rapping!

It's been so gratifying to see Republicans speak out against the McCain/Palin campaign and the hate-mongering turn the GOP has taken. I especially love these quotes:

From former Reagan speechwriter Peggy Noonan:

In the past two weeks [Palin] has spent her time throwing out tinny lines to crowds she doesn't, really, understand. This is not a leader, this is a follower, and she follows what she imagines is the base, which is in fact a vast and broken-hearted thing whose pain she cannot, actually, imagine. She could reinspire and reinspirit; she chooses merely to excite. She doesn't seem to understand the implications of her own thoughts.

No news conferences? Interviews now only with friendly journalists? You can't be president or vice president and govern in that style, as a sequestered figure. This has been Mr. Bush's style the past few years, and see where it got us. You must address America in its entirety, not as a sliver or a series of slivers but as a full and whole entity, a great nation trying to hold together. When you don't, when you play only to your little piece, you contribute to its fracturing.

In the end the Palin candidacy is a symptom and expression of a new vulgarization in American politics. It's no good, not for conservatism and not for the country. And yes, it is a mark against John McCain, against his judgment and idealism.

From Colin Powell (I'd love to quote his entire Meet the Press interview, but this is the quote that has stayed with me the most. It is clear that he feels the need to atone for his part in the ramp up to war):

I'm also troubled by, not what Sen. McCain says, but what members of the party say, and it is permitted to be said such things as: "Well, you know that Mr. Obama is a Muslim." Well, the correct answer is: he is not a Muslim. He's a Christian. He's always been a Christian. But the really right answer is: What if he is? Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country? The answer is: No, that's not America. Is there something wrong with some 7-year-old Muslim-American kid believing he or she can be president?

And from someone I'm more than a little fond of, my wonderful just-turned-89-year-old father, Buzz Brandeis (while he has never been a Republican and comes from a long line of proud Democrats--his dad was a Democratic precinct captain who once ran for Congress--he is a former admirer of John McCain). He wrote this letter to the editor at the North County Times:

We will soon have a new president. The promises, rhetoric and slogans of the campaign will quickly be forgotten. But the character and temperament of our new president will remain constant as he assumes office.

As I recall, "compassionate conservative" was not heard after George W. Bush became president. We listened to his campaign rhetoric, but we failed to understand his character. Eight years later, we suffer from the mistake we made in electing him.

We must not make a mistake this time. We, the voters have the profound responsibility of making sure the right man and his vice-president have those intrinsic qualities that define their strength of character and temperament.

Once again, during the last debate, McCain's anger and temper were so close to the surface ready to explode, a serious character flaw which would dominate the decisions he would make, including going to war. And that flaw is not counter-balanced by Sarah Palin.

That is why I will vote for Obama and Biden who have the inner qualities of strength of character, emotional intelligence and wisdom to lead our country during the very difficult challenges which lie ahead.

As I write this, the screen is swimming in front of my eyes and my head is pounding, but I'm so glad to be in my house, in my purple velvet desk chair, able to put my fingers on these clacking keys. I was in the hospital Tuesday-Friday--not how I intended to spend my week, but life always has a way of surprising us.

I can't remember whether I've mentioned this on my blog before, but every few months (sometimes longer, sometimes shorter), I have intense vomiting episodes. They start off as a subtle pain on the left side of my belly, and quickly grow into doubled-over pain that comes and goes intermittently, like labor. After a couple of hours of this (along with full body sweats and tremors and the deep desire--every time--to take a hot bath, even though it doesn't help), I'll start to throw up, and it doesn't stop until I go to a doctor's office/urgent care for a shot of Phenergan (it used to be a shot of Compazine until I had a crazy distonic reaction to it that made my lower jaw shoot to the side and get stuck there). No one quite knows what causes this vomiting--it may be my Acute Intermittent Porphyria. It may be abdominal migraines. It may be Cyclical Vomiting Syndrome. It's been happening for 12 or 13 years, but no one's been able to pin down the cause. Whatever it is, though, this time felt different. The pain was more violent--it seriously felt like someone was trying to saw me in half--and the vomiting didn't stop, even after two shots of Phenergan. The urgent care doctor wanted to send me by ambulance to the ER, but my sweet boyfriend Michael drove me instead (you know a guy is built of good stuff when he is willing to clean out your barf bowl.) In the ER, they gave me a dose of morphine for the pain (man, I can see why people get hooked on that stuff) and did an abdominal CAT scan that showed a possible obstruction, so they admitted me to the hospital, where I had a few days of tests and IVs before they let me go, still not knowing what causes this; the obstruction and "bowel thickening" they saw somehow disappeared after the attack was over, and the only thing that showed up on other tests was the fact that I'm anemic. I'm feeling completely wiped out now, but much better than I was, and very grateful to be home and able to eat again. I have to take a few more tests as an outpatient (including swallowing a pill-like camera that will take pictures of every inch of my digestive tract--I'm a bit nervous about swallowing the thing, but think it's a super cool technology. My sister said it's like the Magic School Bus!)

My time in the hospital was boring and uncomfortable--for much of it, I was too zonked to read--but there were moments of grace. Visits from friends and my parents (and of course my lovely boyfriend) helped so much. So did the sweetness of my roommate, who was recovering from a mastectomy. On the day that I was allowed to eat again, my breakfast tray never arrived. "Would you like some fruit?" she asked from behind her curtain. Of course she couldn't have known how important fruit is to me, but it felt like a profound blessing. For her, recovering from something so much more severe than myself, to be so generous and thoughtful, moved me tremendously. I got an email from her today and learned that she has put me on several prayer lists. In return, I ask that you please send good energy to Lee for a swift and full recovery (and to my student Gloria, who is just beginning her journey with breast cancer, as well.)

One thing that blew my mind was the fact that my gastroenterologist studied with the gastroenterologists in Chicago who treated me when I was ill as a teenager with what at the time was diagnosed as Crohn's disease. I haven't quite processed what this means to me fully yet, but it did help highlight an important contrast for me: when I was sick as a teenager, the illness became the center of my life. It was my source of identity, my source of purpose. I let it define me. Being "the sick girl" made me special, kept me safe. I no longer have that relationship with illness. I see myself as a healthy person. Illness, when it comes now, is just a blip, an inconvenience--it's no longer who I am. I am very grateful to have made that shift.

Of course I also want to look at what illness can mean. I think stomach issues come up sometimes when I literally can't stomach something, and of course there is much in the world I can't stomach right now. I just have to remind my body it doesn't have to take on the weight of the world. In the hospital, my friends gave me a card that says "Things to do today: inhale, exhale, inhale, ahhh." "These are your instructions," said Nancy, and I'm trying to follow them. I have so much work to catch up on, but my students and administrators are all being patient and understanding. There will be time to get up to speed on work, on my mountain of email--for now, I keep reminding myself to rest and be gentle with myself, to breathe in, breathe out, to try to let go of all the lingering tension in my body. Even writing this blog post is taking up more energy than I probably should be expending at the moment.

I hope I will be up to traveling to Toronto this Thursday. I'm supposed to represent CODEPINK at the Mothering Movement Embedded Conference next weekend and want to be able to give my presentation the oomph it deserves (plus I want to be able to take full advantage of the time with my sister, who lives in Toronto.) I'll keep you posted, and hope that everyone reading this is staying healthy and happy during these trying times. Toward that end, I am going to lie down and close my eyes. Inhale, exhale, inhale, ahhh...

I saw this comic strip in the paper yesterday, and could relate in a couple of ways--like Mr. Drabble, I always used to kiss my manuscripts before I sent them out into the world as a little good luck bon voyage send off (not so easy to do nowadays when most of my submissions are electronic!) Also, like Mr. Drabble, I am thinking of a bunch of changes I'd like to make in my novel now that I've sent it off to my editor, but I know that we can discuss and work on those things after she's read this draft. I am feeling very nervous as I wait for her feedback!

It's fun to see the little rituals and superstitions that different writers I know have around the submission process--mailing them on a certain, significant day, using a special pen or carefully chosen stamps, saying a little prayer before pushing "send", etc. We do whatever we can to give ourselves the bravery we need to share our work with the world--otherwise, it can be so easy to feel too vulnerable and naked to move forward.

In times of crisis, it is understandable that people tend to reach toward ritual and superstition and prayer, as well. I have mentioned before that the number 47 has become meaningful to me, that it keeps popping up everywhere in my life for years; at first I was worried it was some sort of sign that I would die at 47, but I later took it to be a sign instead that I was on the right path. In this period of personal and national stress, 47 has become a strange little security blanket. I am always so glad when it appears (just about every time I drive, I seem to end up behind a license plate with 47 somewhere on its metal face, and it reassures me, somehow, that I'm where I'm supposed to be.) It's so silly, but I guess we need to turn toward the things that give us comfort, however random they may be.

I finally decided to do some research about the number 47 and learned that there is actually a 47 society that posits that 47 is the "quintessential random number of the universe." The society started as an inside joke at Pomona College, but has attracted many 47-sighters along the way. I joined their listserve and have been amazed to see how many people have a deep relationship with the number and see it everywhere, too (and not just because a Pomona College alum was able to inject a 47 into almost every Star Trek episode when he worked there as a writer and producer!) Part of me is excited to know that I have somehow tapped into this weird collective experience, but I admit another part of me is a bit sad to know that 47 is not just my special number alone.

I hope that everyone who is experiencing unrest right now has their own little source of comfort, even if it's just a number that pops up now and again like a small beam of light. I hope that in a time of such collective unease, we as a culture will figure out how to support each other, how to work collectively toward a more sustainable future, rather than retreat into our own compact balls of misery. It scares me to see the mob (almost lynch mob) anger that is rising up at the McCain and Palin rallies--the shouts of "Kill Him!" and "Off with his head!" and "Terrorist!" that are being directed at Obama. It scares me that people right now want to lash out instead of finding constructive ways to work together. I worry that a McCain presidency would perpetuate and deepen the Us vs. Them mentality that has become so prevalent in our country in the last 8 years. I can only hope an Obama presidency will heal some of these rifts (even though I can see the fury being hurled in his direction). As silly as it is, it gives me hope to know that Obama is 47 years old. That has to mean something, doesn't it? ;)

We just launched our Give Peace a Vote Campaign at CODEPINK. Here is the text of the alert I wrote earlier this week:

The election is exactly four weeks away. Where is the national conversation about peace? With the economic crisis and the media’s attention on bulls and pitbulls and pigs and lipstick, Iraq has been pushed off into the shadows. It’s up to us to pull it back into the spotlight!

We saw how Congress bowed to the demands of Wall Street, turning a deaf ear to the needs of the people. And while the nation was focused on the bailout, Congress quietly passed a $615 billion defense spending bill! We can’t let this happen again, not when so much is at stake. Let’s use these last four weeks of the election cycle to bring the issues of Iraq and peace back to the forefront. Let’s get out into our communities and build the people power we will need to bring the troops home and prevent future military disaster in Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iran.

Click here to pledge to be a Voter for Peace and for the next four weeks, engage with your community to spread the message of peace. Talk to your friends and neighbors and attend political events, community events and debate parties with our petition and ask people to commit to peace. Not just with their vote, but beyond November 4th.

We’ve made pledging for peace fun! You can win great prizes, including a trip to DC in January to be with us in action during the Inauguration, and watch your influence spread across the map as you inspire more people to pledge to vote for peace.

Together, we can build the team we will need to keep the pressure on through the next administration, no matter who ends up at the helm. As we saw last week, Congress caves all too easily to the call of Wall Street and the White House, pouring money into bailouts and defense that could have been put toward education and health care and renewable energy. Let’s remind them that Peace needs to be at the top of their agenda.

I hope you'll join me in pledging to vote for peace!

My beautiful friend Laraine Herring gave me permission to share part of her recent email, which made me feel I could take a deep breath for the first time in a long while:

There is a lot going on now. This has all been coming for a very long time. It’s the election, sure, but it’s the economic collapse — which has been on a collision course for years. It’s the environment. It’s too many people. Too much consumption. It’s the helplessness of realizing our economy has been built only on consumption, and if we try to live responsibly & simply, our economic system as we know it cannot survive. These are necessary collapses. America is coming undone and that’s going to put everyone on edge. I have had so many students (young ones too) extremely ill — strokes, cancers, etc) this semester — very odd — a visceral, body response perhaps to what is happening in the world? The suffering that has been hidden is coming into the light — the inequities of the way we’ve been living is pushing up from inside the earth and forcing us to look at what we’ve done to each other & to our planet. This has been coming a very long time. I don’t know if that makes me more confident that Barack will be elected because we so desperately need a leader to take us to the next level of collective consciousness, or if it makes me more confident that McCain will be elected because we are still not yet ready to release the things that are keeping us in this cycle. All I can tell you is that whatever happens, the key for working through it is taking care of yourself — not in a selfish way, but in a very profound spiritual way. It is a time for shedding and releasing. A time for going deep within ourselves & see how we have contributed to this unsustainability & to see what we can do — and it begins within. Getting simpler, living simpler, noticing small beauties, and above all else, doing the work we were put here to do without regard for outcome.

I really believe that alignment through these upcoming trials is going to come through walking an authentic path moment to moment. If you let yourself go too far in the future, it will be too easy to spin out of control. It’s a very edgy time. It’s very scary when belief systems fall away. That’s what’s happening. People’s beliefs on marriage, love, race, etc — they’re imploding pretty much all at once. Charles Johnson has an interesting piece in this month’s Shambhala Sun on an Obama presidency & the illusion of race in America. Even the belief in the American economy. Dead. And it’s OK — things fall apart so they can be put back together. Nationally, we’re seeing that we had no control over things to begin with — another illusion shattered. It’s scary. Keep letting go. Stand naked & shimmering in your beautiful self. That’s where you’ll find freedom (& all of us will). Keep yourself healthy. Maintain a practice of some kind. And, to paraphrase the Tao, when a house falls on your head, be yourself.

Wise words, indeed.

I have been trying to look through a lens of love instead of a lens of fear, to open, not contract, my heart, but it's not always easy when so many things in my life feel uncertain. I love this picture of my son looking through a heart-shaped tube. Arin turned 18 on Sunday; I have an adult kid--how crazy is that?! I am so proud of him--he really is someone who lives life fully, who makes the most out of every single moment; he's smart and funny and strong and kind and just an all around wonderful person. And he gets to vote next month, which makes me so excited--another yes for Obama! In the meanwhile, I keep reminding myself to both let go and cherish, let go and cherish, and try to be myself even when a house lands squarely on my head.