Friends: Several days ago, Reverend Greg from UUSMC asked if I would be interested in participating in today's service.  He explained that last year, to celebrate the life and work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr, he wrote him a letter of several things he wanted to say to him, if he could.  His ask: did I want to write to him too, and share it with the congregation?

Yes, I did want to participate, and answered him promptly.  "I do but don't have the faintest idea what I will say."  As quickly as I hit send, I started thinking about my upcoming adoption; interestingly, only a few minutes later, I received a response from Reverend Greg suggesting perhaps I could write about my new daughter.  My response to him, again immediately and off the cuff, became the basis of what I shared today.

--------

Reverend King,

I write to you with tremendous joy in my heart, but also relentless fear. This cacophony of feelings is related to the news that I have been chosen to adopt an infant.  The quarter sheet of paper provided held only basic information; included information, however, was that my impending child is an African American baby girl.

I wasn’t surprised to be matched with someone who is African American.  You see, Reverend King, upon announcing my pending adoption, I have been asked, with annoying regularity, “what sort of child” I wanted to mother.  I quickly learned that’s code for “what color will they be?”

The agency forms had neatly laid out boxes.  Race, it asked, with random bubbles carefully crafted next to my choices.  I didn’t much care for the question, so I snuffed out the answers and simply wrote - Race: Human.

The state of Pennsylvania asked questions too, though more thoughtfully crafted, about transracial adoptions. I interpreted these sets of questions as checkpoints to ensure I wasn’t planning to “white wash” my child.  I wondered: could I truly provide the environment a child of another race truly deserved, one of openness, real diversity, and love?  I could, I thought, and soon an official letter approved me to adopt “a child of any gender or race.” It felt like victory!

Why then, do I mention this? Because despite my propensity to dismiss such trivial questions during the approval process, I was wholly unprepared for this new surge of fear about raising: 1. A child who is black 2. A confident, strong daughter, and 3. A black daughter --- all three things separate but interrelated.  I’m reminded time and again that world has moved forward in many ways since your life was taken, but not nearly forward enough. I wonder now: 

• How do I help my daughter trust police without ignoring Tamir Rice?   Tatyana Hargrove? Sandra Bland?
• How do I teach her to be safe when young girls are harassed because they simply have female bodies, without requiring her to take ownership of someone else's actions?    
• How will I be sensitive to what lies ahead of her, on account of her body, female and brown, without teaching her to fear or feel ashamed of who she is?  
• How on earth could the magnitude of that responsibility be something I haven't thought about every second of every day that I have known my daughter will be born brown-skinned, in Trump's America?

These are big questions with unclear answers.  I could sit in fear (and I have), but I have  also chosen to remember your legacy, Reverend King; I am committed to studying with fervor and respect.  I will read your letters, sermons, and speeches.  I will follow your guidance, and match your passion, to fight injustice, because as you said “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”  If I am to mother a child of color, it becomes my responsibility to remember your life and your work.    It is only through action like yours that we will transform our country.

Thank you for being an example of who I want, no, who I need to be.

With love and peace,

Manisha

2017 Burn Down - and Happy New Year

Last year, a new tradition was born.  The last couple of days of the year, I started thinking about what was the most amazing parts of the year were, and what pain led me to it.  I let the things that no longer serve me, the heartache, the obliteration of The Things I Thought Might Be all burn into ash.  When it completed, the ash reminded me not to forget, and the new blaze reminded me how much fire was left inside me and my life.  I used it to launch a pretty fantastic 2017.

2016 was, unequivocally, most difficult year of my life, and yet 2017 has brought me the most transition.  It seems to have set me up for some of what life might look like.

Relationships ended and started (or rekindled briefly, then ended again) in 2017.  Those (re)starts are always wonderfully energetic, and as we all know, the goodbye parts are never fun; each of them taught me, however, a lot about who I am and what I'm here to do.  The destruction influenced (award-winning) art, especially Chaos.  It's not just Chaos in the environment we should talk about it - but it's that that we seal our unsightly or outlandish thoughts and hearts up and away.  Someone, an outsider or ourselves, pick a "place" where that goes, and we package it up neatly in a little boundary, were we expect it to stay for always.  That series, however, reminded me how much these things never have to stay there.  A broken relationship did that for me, and I'm so sorry for the pain it caused everyone, but couldn't be more thankful it's part of my story now.  The things I learned from relationships this year, and not just romantic ones, brought me several other works that I'm infinitely proud of: Negative Space, Un-Broken, Consciousness, and a series I haven't spoken much of yet ---- Falling From Grace.

A notable part of 2017 - my people are here, and safe.  That isn't lost on me, and it's not a mere platitude.  KittyKat is here, well and alive, and friends, what a blessing that is.  2017 reminded me not to take people for granted.  We have had the additions of HoeBaby3, and HoeBaby2 and HoeBaby3 continue to grow into independent, loving, funny little humans who challenge me (and their parents for sure) to be better everyday. My parents age, but gracefully, and I've become keenly aware of how we change as we grow older.  How grateful I am to have them and their support, regardless of how we fight or fuss.  How grateful I am, that as far as I can tell, my daughter will know and love all three of them, and remember them fondly.

The most exciting parts of 2017 are the ways my community and family has expanded this year, or the ways I'm planning for it very soon. What a blessing I found at the UU community.  I'm thrilled to be there, and find people who push me to think critically about justice, truth, and meaning.

Of course, as we know, there is the expansion of my personal household family!  I started forming it nearly 13 years ago when I brought Haylie home, but I took the first tangible steps to become a parent to a human this year.  After years of thought, false starts, and sudden stops, this is a real thing I'm doing.  Me.  A parent.  With an impending baby to come.  It's insane, and fantastic.  It's important to note, however, that process to apply and be approved taught me some amazing lessons about forgiving ourselves and our people.  As other things this year did, the process humbled me.  At each turn, I found that every person in my life, even acquaintances, colleagues, or near-strangers, want to help.  Pictures taken, letters written, countless edits given for draft upon draft, bags of gently used clothes or toys dropped off for our use, artwork that is just what I want for the nursery bought.  What an amazing community I have.  Thank you, dearly, from the bottom of my heart.

I'll burn down a lot of things this year, but literally none of what I love best about 2017 could have been without it.  I took steps this year to make my life be what I want because, as it turns out, you can't wait for other people to give it to you.  Not a lover, even the ones you thought would be forever, not a best friend, not your employer, not your art teacher.  If you want it, you make it so.  I know how much help and love I have, and without it, I couldn't be here; but it all started with my our own first steps I finally chose to take.

Burn down the heartache, the wish that things could be different.  Turn the love you still have for something that hurts you tragically into Nothing usable (but let is stay visible, like ash).  Burn down what seems like dead weight.  Burn down what the world asked you to be, but you hate.  Let that fire rage, friends, hot and vivid, and then take peace and comfort in how gently the embers glow when it's all over.  Let the red hot stirrings of what could be guide you in 2018.

Thank you for being part of my wonderful year.  I love each and every one of you.

I wish you love, peace, strength, joy, and, if i'm honest, heartache that will heal you sometime later - all for 2018.

And now, I have a fire to tend to.

2016 Burndown - and Happy New Year

I'm not much of a resolution-er.  I think we can change our lives moment by moment no matter what the calendar says.  I think most people who know me probably understand how that works for me.

Even without resolutions, I still take the time every year to reflect on what a total transformation 365 days can have on life. I've had a couple of major transformations in merely a year, but I think 2016 is the biggest.  There are so very many reasons, but it started out like this:

On January 1, I woke up and I thought I knew what the Rest of My Life was going to look like.  32 days later, everything I thought I knew burned down around me as I watched the Rest of My Life walk out of the front door.  It was tempting to stand still and burn with it; Ani DeFranco reminded me, instead, that I could "dare to rise up from the ash."

2016 was hard for a lot of reasons, the Rest of My Life not withstanding.  Transitions in family, in professional identity, in self identity, in relationships with friends old and new, in relationship with myself - all this contributed to what made the weight of 2016 nearly crush me.  All the details are not important unless you were there; if you were there, we need not continuously remind ourselves.

The significance and impact of this year is as profound as it was challenging, though.  In multi-dimensional ways, I have been the beneficiary of heartache.  I was battered and bruised, even broken sometimes, but I healed better, stronger, braver.  Everything is on the upswing now, but it wouldn't be without the brush fire that cleared my path.

To honor the brush fire, to truly make peace with what this adversity brought me, I've spent the morning thinking about what parts of 2016 need burning.  What is still in my way?  What must I let go of?  What can I transform into ash?  What must I hold onto?

In 45 minutes, I'll go off grid for most of the rest of this day, to build a fire in a new back yard.  I'll burn the heartache, the anger, the bitter, the ugly.  I'll burn the missteps at work, the unhealthy expectations, the disappointments.  I'll burn down what felt like rejection, what was rejection, what felt like rejection, but actually wasn't.  When that is all gone,  when I've let go of claiming all that hurt me, or haunts me, I'll reach into the remnants of that fire, and pull back a piece of wood with life still left.  That piece of wood is everything wonderful about my life, everything I couldn't have or be if not for this year.

It's the reality of friends who stayed nearby even when I needed to go it alone.
It's three 1,000 year friends I found on a river in canoes.
It's the bond of friendship with someone who found me broken, but let me mend myself.
It's the potential of an incredible love and family I'm building with someone I never expected to find.
It's the space to grow into new opportunities in the industry and the community.
It's the fuel for the things that will come in 2017 that I can't possibly anticipate.

Tomorrow, I'll start a new fire with that piece of wood, and some part of that new fire will become the next fire, and the next, etcetera and so on.

It's a nod to the cyclical nature of life.  It's an acceptance that when life burns down, it's not a loss but clarity.  It's a reminder that the best things that happen in life can only happen when you've made space for them.

Be a phoenix, my friends, and rise up from the ash.

Happy New Year, and many blessings in 2017.

Shakedown dreams walking in broad daylight

Three hun-dred six-ty fix de-gress

Burning down the house

It was once upon a place sometimes I listen to  myself

Gonna come in first place

People on their way to work baby

What did you expect

Gonna burst into flame

-Talking Heads

Nani's and Michael's toast

As I did for Sara's and Jeff's wedding, I'm publishing the written version of my toast from the wedding.  Per usual, the version I delivered was slightly altered and adlibbed, so that I could be in the moment instead of my head.

As I said on Saturday night, I love, adore, and treasure you both, Michael and Nina.

Be well and tremendous love,

Nish 

Good evening, everyone.  For those who don’t know me, I’m Manisha, Nina’s oldest sister.  Except, Nina is not what typically I call her.  I call her Naniben.  Nani - baby.  Ben - sister.  Naniben. Baby sister.

 

Tonight, I see her sitting there, a grown person who just married her best friend a couple of hours ago, a strong, smart, sassy, gorgeous woman, but even still, the fact remains, she’ll always be my baby sister.  

 

Nina and I have a solid sisterhood, and very close friendship.  We have always confided in each other and asked for advice.  So, I knew something in Nina’s world had shifted very shortly after she came home from her first break in college.  She had a long distance suitor at the time, but all of her stories revolved strangely around this boy from Long Island, a charming, funny, bookworm with the surname: Mogavero.  Sara and I teased our 18 year old sister about her “boyfriend Michael.”  “My best friend,” she would quickly correct.  Sara and I would glance at each other as if to say “yeah right, just a friend.” 

 

Except now, all these years later, it’s clear to me that in those moments, all three of us were all right.  Michael is her best friend, yes, but never “just a friend.”  As I’ve watched these two come into their own, I see a steady partnership has emerged - a strong, responsible, and steadfast partnership.

 

You know what else  I see when I watch them, though?  I see a funny, solid, fulfilling friendship. Michael and Nina live for adventure, and know how to find, make, and have fun.  They are playful together, often affectionally and gently teasing the other.  They make each other laugh all the time.  They listen, and take each other’s concerns seriously.  Every chance they have, they find things to do together  - and most importantly, they enjoy each other while they do it - kayaking, spearfishing, traveling.  As any pair of good friends should, the two of them continuously remember, explore, and identify with the things that made them even like each other in the first place.   

 

To Nina - Nani, I love, adore and treasure you.  I look up to you as much as I look out for you, and I am so happy to see you married to your best friend.

 

To Michael - Brother, I love, adore and treasure you.  If I could have designed a partner for Nina, it would have been you.  

 

To both of them - Michael and Nina, love, adore and treasure each other.  Protect each other from the world, but protect your friendship above all us.

 

So now, if everyone could please raise their glasses, a toast - to Nina and Michael.  May you remain fabulous friends forever.  Congratulations.

 

 

C'est fini

If you're friends with me on facebook, you haven't escaped knowing that, over the last year, I've worked on an ocean themed ceramic set to be displayed at Nani's and Michael's wedding.  The wedding came and all twelve pieces made it unscathed!  :)  The set up turned out phenomenonly. 

A thirteenth last minute item, a write up about the project and me (written by me), was printed and framed to be displayed with the pieces.

For anyone who is interested in that writing:

​The dusty, messy, unmanageable earth has an unlimited capacity to fascinate me.  In my life, I’ve felt perpetually compelled to touch muck: silt at the bottom of a pond, broken shells mixed into wet sand on the shoreline, or mud that forms in the divots of front yards after summer rain.  It’s not surprising then, that my love affair with ceramics is unrelenting.

 

​I returned to the studio about eighteen months ago; six months into my return, Michael and Nina were engaged.  Shortly after their engagement was announced, they asked me to incorporate my work into their wedding reception.   At the time of the request, Michael and Nina had few specifications, and any time I asked them for guidance, they assured me: “We trust your vision.  Do it how you see it, and it will be exactly what we want.”

 

        How’s that for pressure? 

 

​After considering the options, I set out to design a new series for them that would encompass a celebration of the love affair these two have with each other and life; a love affair, it seems, that is not unlike mine with the earth. In preparation, I spent several months thinking about the two of them, and not about the series.  What do I know about them?  What do they love about each other?  How do they live their lives?  After searching, I realized the answer was always the same; they adore adventure.  

 

​Their newest adventure before the engagement was a recent relocation to Miami, and the most consistent part of their lives after that move was a tremendous amount of time spent on the water.  It seemed my baby sister and Her Love found peace kayaking, sailing, spearfishing, and snorkeling; the two were clearly drawn to the ocean.  

 

​Therefore, this series came into existence as a nod to their seafaring; it is twelve structures depicting a coral reef, complete with the fish that swim through them.  The vagueness of form is intentional, a gentle acknowledgment of the ocean rather than a realistic replica of their Miami sea.   As we celebrate the beginning of Michael’s and Nina’s new life, their willingness to take risks, and their ability to move through the world on their own terms, I invite you to explore these pieces as you wish; please find the wonders of the ocean as they emerge from the muck.

 

​Michael and Nina, I thank you for trusting me with this project.  Congratulations, and may the Gods and Goddesses of the sea always bless you.

 

With tremendous love,

Manisha

Congrats, Nina and Michael!

My best girl

I had no idea when I brought this little 8 lb furball home just how drastically my life would change.  A brindle baby girl, a puppy my boyfriend finally conceded to, reminding me often "you're the one who wanted her."  I did.  I did want her.  But I had no idea why.  Now humbled, grateful, and wiser---I can see all the reasons so clearly.

We bonded fast.  I spend hours training her.  Not just in puppy class, but all the time.  For treats, for food, for anything, we trained.  And we walked.  And we drove.  And when I was overwhelmed with love for her, I'd ask "who's my best girl?"  With her head cocked to the side, she knew the answer was her.

I'd never had a pup before.  I didn't know if I was doing it right, so I read about crate training and alpha status.  I'm grateful my sweet girl was patient with me learning how to raise her.  I messed up a lot.

But she and I had, and still have, this sort of intuition.  I could teach her things like "excise me", or "people [upstairs] first".  She learned that upstairs and downstairs are directions, not places.  She can tell her left paw from her right.  She decided cookies were magic.  

She got sick a few months after we brought her home and I didn't know what I was supposed to do.  So I laid on the hard wood floor next to her and listened to her whimper.  She must have known to be grateful, even though she didn't have to be.

Then a couple years later, she had knee surgery.  We moved into the basement together.  We slept in a pile.  My boyfriend didn't seem to worry about it, but for a few weeks I stayed with her.  Then we rehabbed that knee and she learned "put your foot down."  Why?  Because I needed her to walk.

She returned the favors.  Broken. Battered.  Relationship in shambles with no one to really talk to about it, she stayed with me, night after night, as I slept far away on another floor.  Her daddy upstairs, but she stayed always with me.  

When we finally broke up, so many years later, she joined me upstairs, a privelege she wasn't allowed to have before.  And she's slept with me almost every night since July 2, 2011 when he moved out.  

Straight away, she slept at my side.  On me.  Touching me.  I think she was trying to say "it's ok mommy; I'm still here."  When I didn't want to get out of bed for so many months, she just sort of patiently waited. When someone else joined in the bed, she slept in between us.  For awhile I thought she couldn't decide, but I think now I know she wanted to be sure I was safe.  She knows a lot if I'd just listen.

And now it's my turn again, to remain steadfast and strong, as her body gets weaker and she grows old.  So I reach over to scratch her hips at night and she rolls as far as she can muster energy for, so I can get to her chest.  She grows impatient with waiting, and walking, and camping, and driving....and with all things except sleeping next to me in bed.  So I have to remember that intuition, that bond, and rely on what's she's telling me about what she can do today --- or not do.

And why does it matter today?  I'm not sure, except I was struck with love and madness and appreciation for this brindle old girl who has captivated my heart.  I started thinking that someday she'll be gone from me, and I'll have to be strong and steadfast one last time.  I'll have to hold her paws and whisper in her ears . I know I'll find the power to do it when it has to be done.  But tonight as I listen to her breathing rhythmically next to me, I wonder how I could ever do that.

And so for tonight, she just lays here and I wrap around her and remind her "you're my best girl."

#100happydays volume 3

As I've settled in to wrap up the 100 happy days series, I've been looking back at the last 34 days; I noticed a really important trend had occurred, and without planning it, I found myself thinking, saying and texting "I got a piece of myself back." And so it seems a fitting way to end this exercise---ending with a little more me than I started with. 

I should explain, of course, what getting a piece of me even means. It's all manner of things, and it happened with all manner of people. First and foremost, it means I went back to my past to resolve something unsettled. A Facebook conversation with a young woman I knew in another life, reconciling a confusing evening and establishing some new connections. A short afternoon with an old friend, someone with whom I always felt a tad shy and awkward. After both casual but important interactions, I felt like all these unsaid or uncertain things were closed. There was nothing more to fret about. There was no more reasons to feel guilty. There was nothing to be shy about. The healing, it appears, was  already finished.

Secondly, I took time to reconnect with people I haven't talked to in years. Some of them I have seen, but we didn't have an opportunity to really catch up about life. Karen, SA, cwcaldon, jbrown, Arthur...all different people I deeply care about but lost.  They became lost out of circumstance, out of fear, or out of life events. The revitalized relationships secured a sense of self, of belonging, even after so many years of feeling alone.

But this exercise wasn't only 34 days, and so I must look to 66 before it - and when I do, I'm reminded of a sweet little indigo girls lyric "don't forget where you come from, baby, 'cause there's truth in it."

Ah, yes.  Truth.  This whole experience considering happy things became, for me, about the truth.  It became about my truths, my realities that I've ignored for so long, and the beauty in little moments that are my building blocks of joy.  

And so, it turns out, I'm not anymore me than I was before, even if it feels that way.  The truth is, I've always been here; I just needed to make time to see it, to enjoy it, and to take it back.

I don't do very many things consistently.  I struggle with getting into habits because I can't seem to keep myself focused on the task.  Maybe it's because I hate convention, especially self imposed convention.  Except as I conclude this I series, I realize this was an exception to my consistent inconsistency.  Without fail,  I found something, I photographed it, and I posted.  When I string it altogether, not just in some of it, but in all of it, I find that maybe I could keep doing it because everything I've ever wanted is already in front of me; the parts I thought I was missing were simply waiting for me to find them. That, my friends, is what makes something a proper happy day.

Cheers!