remember that day in school when the teacher passed out timed tests and told you to have a pencil ready? she or he specifically said to “read all the instructions first and read through the test before you begin.” and then – silence.
you grabbed your pencil, chewed nervously on the eraser or the side of it, put your name at the top and started answering questions as fast as you could, skipping the instructions or reading through it.
you got to the last question and it read “go back to the beginning and put your name at the top of this page and only answer question 1” (or some other such verbiage nonsense like that.) dang.
there’s something to be said for reading instructions. patience, baby, patience.
i am writing this ahead of time…in anticipation of a so-much-looked-forward-to trip to the high mountains to spend time with The Girl and our new granddog lumi. when you read this, we will be almost home. and there are a few things i know for sure.
that i will -for sure- awake at night, as i often do, and i will relive the time we spent in those mountains. i will relish the time i will now have in my memory bank, the visions in my mind’s eye. i will cherish the bits and pieces i will have brought back for our special box. i will hold dear the photographs i will have taken.
when the moon wakes me, i will be endlessly grateful for any and all moments in the little town she calls home. i will run conversations and laughter through the middle-of-the-night quiet. i will catch a hint of the cool midnight colorado air on the breeze through the window. i will feel what it feels like to, once again, hug my beautiful daughter. and i will store it all away. so that in the night – any night – i can recall all of it.
when i think about long island, i miss the days that i could bike to the beach, climb the fence and watch the sun rise over the sound. these colors – the blue, green, aqua, yellow – dominated those mornings, both gentle and fierce, end of night, beginning of day.
i feel that if i were in outer space looking from far away at the earth…i would see the sun wrap its rays around the east side of the earth, a mix of blues and greens, melded into a blur with a rounded edge. it would be a kaleidoscope of color and feeling.
either way i hold this piece, vertically or horizontally, i see the sun. golden rising. off the east edge of the earth. or over the water. either way, a new day.
so, one of my least favorite things is calling customer service. of any company. insurance companies, airlines, stores, online retail, the cellphone company, and the worst-the cable company.
one day recently i literally called time warner cable to inquire about a less expensive plan. of course, the company has been acquired by spectrum, so i was talking to the spectrum folks. but, at the time, my bill still had “time warner cable” on it, so i figured that they were still somehow in the game.
i explained to the gal on the line what i was looking for, the reason for my call. this was misunderstood time after time, until i just blurted out “i want a cheaper plan!” she then proceeded to tell me that she would research that for me. holdholdholdholdholdholdhold……
she came back on the line to tell me -excitedly- that she was able to find a fabulous new spectrum plan for me and that i could sign up right away, over the phone. here’s the thing (the moment i was hit by the customer-taser): the new plan was $35 a month MORE than the one i already had and about which i was calling to negotiate. what?!?!?! i asked her if she understood what she had just told me. she (again, excitedly) said she did and that she could sign me up right away.
i told her i didn’t want to talk on the phone with her anymore. 45 minutes of wasted life. a taser would have been more honest.
i am a scavenger. i readily admit it. it’s not like you don’t know. you have read posts about my pieces of wood or sticks or rocks or feathers; i have even posted photographs of how these things decorate our home. but i am always looking…keeping an eye out for something else i can bring home. something that is natural. something that will remind me of time spent. something i really treasure. and every now and then, i will find a heart – that nature, in its infinite wisdom, has left behind. a gentle reminder that love is everywhere.
my sweet momma had this thing. and she passed it down to me. genetics are brutal! when she would get something new, she would saaaaaave it. for later. for good. for something special. no matter what. we would give her gifts (like a beautiful scarf or blouse) and she would wait to wear it. she would purchase a new pair of shoes and they would stay in the box, only for “good” wear. and…i have the gene. d jokes that every time i ever get anything new, he knows he must wait about six months (an exaggeration…well, maybe an exaggeration only sometimes) to see me wearing it. now, i don’t purchase things too often, so i understand my momma’s “thing”…you want to keep the item in tip-top shape, you want to treat it like it is ‘special’. but it’s a curse. my sister did not inherit this trait. she will buy something and wear it later the same day. i envy her nonchalance, that cavalier attitude of well-i-bought-it-and-i’m-gonna-wear-it-ness. oh, how i wish i could do that.
recently, though, i got this new tunic…up north at a little boutique in a little town. it was on sale – 50% off – and i pondered it for quite some time (ask ANY of my girlfriends about my fine purchasing-decision-making-skills.) d convinced me to get it…i mean it was $24. a total bargain. i….wait for it…wore it the next day! the very next day!! and many times since. it has already made it to the pack-it-for-an-evening-in-the-mountains-with-a-pair-of-skinny-jeans-and-boots list. i am wondering if, somehow, i have overcome my waiting-thing.
eh. i doubt it. i still haven’t worn the pair of heels in the box in the closet that i got on sale about six years ago. they are waiting for later. for something good. for something special.
the “arnson-goodbye” is infamous. it is an endless loop that strays as far away from “goodbye” as possible. on the phone, standing by the side of the car in the driveway, at the dorm room door, next to the apartment building in boston or a place in the high colorado mountains, the goodbye just goes on and on. the conversation ebbs and swells, the tide of “the leave” determined by how long it will be till “the next time.” i really can’t be blamed, so i hope my children are reading this. it has been passed down through generations; we are all dna-driven to have this longgggg goodbye, this aversion to actually DO-ing it: leaving.
yup. i truly do hate to say goodbye. i come by it honestly. so, now you get my thready-ness, yes?
the image is strikingly beautiful. two men tenderly holding their baby. shared fatherhood. for me, personally, as i have written about before , a hopeful vision of The Boy someday…
but the words “shared fatherhood” makes me also think of people who have been in the lives of my children. in addition to their father, there have been others in their lives who have had impact. i distinctly remember The Boy recalling the day my dad – his Pa – made him respectfully remove his hat at the table; no bones about it…lessons. and i remember the generous message he wrote for my dad’s funeral service. i know there is an unbreakable connection The Girl has to her Pa, the man she bought a sweatshirt (that he adored) which read “smart-ass university”. their paternal grandpa was a sweet sweet man as well, and i know there is take-away from their relationship with him. but when you sort out further – the concentric circles in their lives outside of family – that’s when i must also express gratitude for other people who shared in “fathering” them. their high school band directors, the marketing teacher, tennis and other coaches, private music instructors, talented men who cared deeply about them. even more, they were there for them. in past years i knew that i could count on them for support, for demonstrating what was good, for the love they showered on them.
we walk through life, sometimes unaware of the impact we are having on others. perhaps we need a moment or two to stop and think about all of those people who have contributed to our growth, who have shared in our lives, who have “mothered” or “fathered” us regardless of whether there was a biological connection or not.
father’s day – another day to recognize that we are, indeed, all one family. better together.
shared fatherhood II, mixed media on panel 25.25″ x 40.25″
reverse threading 