in an understatement of understatements, the words “not bad” on the sticker on the railing at this bryce canyon overlook made me laugh aloud.
for this was grandeur, indeed.
the expansive country in front of us – here at our very first overlook – rainbow point, the highest elevation of the stops.
the national park brochure describes it as poetry in stone and i would agree. it is a dynamic place, ever-changing, engaging beyond the pale. you cannot help your heart soaring, your pulse racing. it is every word and no words.
we were thrilled. to be there. to be there all together. to experience this inspiring place.
the brochure promised mesmerizing. the canyon land did not fall short.
“whatever a house is to the heart and body of man-refuge, comfort, luxury-surely it is as much or more to the spirit.” (mary oliver)
we’ll travel a bit soon. a trip that’s been semi-planned – and postponed – for some time. even before setting out, we know it will be great fun, adventuring with friends, moseying the country with them. there is a sweetness to anticipation.
and it’s funny. every time i get close to going away – anywhere – i have a distinct appreciation for our own home. there is something that rises up for me before a trip – a reminder of how really dear home is to me – our old house, our backyard, this amazing lake just a bit to our east, our dogga, our life here. we take walks in the days before leaving and mother earth does her very best at impressing us – a showcase of unparalleled beauty, a display of what’s-right-here.
and it’s no different this time.
even the unexpected worn-gasket-water-pipe-union spewing water into our basement cannot change this feeling. even d’s all-day wet vac duty, carpet that was soaked, stuff that needed to be moved out of the way, the unplanned cost of an expert plumber – even all that didn’t dim this appreciation of home.
we have traveled a lot together and i have become aware of how true it is that you carry home with you. we’ve taken home – together – overseas and all over our nation. this trip will be just the same – a great exploring – while holding home between us.
we are excited to go, to be fed by new places and new experiences, fodder for our muses, our spirits expanding with the time away.
and, at the same time, here i am – smitten by our own home, my spirit filled before we even leave.
much the way we are drawn to the mountains, we are drawn to big water. more and more. both.
and more and more – each and every day – we are amazed. even by its ordinary. big and little ways.
diamonds have ridden the waves of lake michigan for all time. yet, each day further on the timeline of this life, they become more beautiful, more intense, sparklier.
the lyrics brought tears to both of our faces as we listened. susan had sent us a song, “you were beautiful then but you’re way more beautiful now.” (beautiful now – james maddock )
yes. yes, this is true. i have seen photographs of him younger. he looked a lot like david cassidy – that longer, feathered back hair, those eyes, that smile. he was – in every good use of the word (feminine or masculine) – beautiful. i didn’t know him back then. just like he didn’t know me in my midriff-hiphugger-bellbottom-wearing days. those days – well – those are the olden days.
but now is different. i look at his face and his eyes, his long hair peppered with grey – this man now – and i know – just like the song – he is way more beautiful now.
and so, for a bit, i wonder why the diamonds on the lake are more beautiful and why the sky is bluer and why the early morning air is breathtaking and why this man – sharing life with me for eleven years – is more beautiful now than he was then.
and i know that every single thing is.
it is impossible to hold onto the gossamer threads of these moments now. they fly by and next week i will feel like this week was eons ago. we are trying to hold them as we drift by in this sometimes-lazy-sometimes-raging river. they slip out of our hands, like trying to hold onto the river itself.
and everything – every single thing – has its own sparkle.
and we try to see that each day. we try to remember our very fragile place on the soil of this earth. we try to grok beauty in the simplest things and in the hardest things.
mostly, though, we can see it in each other and it reminds us. however beautiful he was before, he is way more beautiful now.
“from sleep i fall to waking” and morning – like time, in the way it keeps going and going – graces everything with shiny, shimmering glitter.
i scoured the streets of san francisco looking for it. i had somehow lost the peace pendant my daughter gifted me – it fell off from around my neck and, as we moseyed away from the san fran moma and shopped, i suddenly realized it was gone. i immediately backtracked my steps, even knowing it was not likely i would find it. we all walked with our eyes peeled to the city streets.
as i stepped up onto a curb while crossing a busy street, i saw it. there, in the gutter of the road, lay the pewter peace sign and its chain. i felt a surge of relief finding it, for I truly do treasure the gifts my children have given me and, of course, you know how thready i am.
years ago, the kiddos made a shopping trip to target. together they picked out a tall bamboo vessel with golden and deep red-dyed dried reeds and gave it to me – a gift. it has – since then – continued to have a place in our home. now it stands in the bedroom, between the red and white gingham-checked recliner wing-chair and the jewelry armoire i purchased on marketplace, right in front of the window. in the morning, the sun streams in and sets the reeds aglow. and i think of my beloved children every single time.
i suppose i could be less thready, a tad bit less sentimental. it’s not likely, though.
i could take you on a walk through our house and yard. the stories would not be about the value of objects we have displayed or the name-brand of things we own. the stories would be narratives, tales of experiences we’ve had, of times with others, of things we’ve been gifted, of workarounds, of love delivered in a plant, a candle, a wine holder, hearts, peace signs, a rag-rugged love sculpture, a quilt, of history in a branch, an old table, a window frame, vintage suitcases.
when littlebabyscion had trouble last week – and we had a conversation – me and littlebabyscion – i asked it to hang around longer. and i fully expected it to listen, because i have basically personified that little vehicle since i purchased it. friends from all over wrote to ask how littlebabyscion was, because, well, they know. yeah, less thready is not likely.
this morning was intensely beautiful. with the sun starting to pour in the open windows and all the fans off for the moment – so no white noise – we could hear the birds, the gurgling pond, the airplane flying above. we sipped coffee and dogdog laid on the foot of the bed. there was nothing you could have done to have made it any better. feet tucked under the blankets – for it was still a little cool in the early morning – we were silent.
i memorized it and tucked it away.
that way, another day – when it’s cloudy outside or inside – i could pull it all back and remember, i could let that moment wrap around me once again.
dogga adores watermelon. he also adores blueberries and carrots. he’s a big fan of any kind of chip, cracker or cheese. really, any dog-safe morsel of people food – except bananas – are in his taste-treat wheelhouse. he finds us easy to convince – those eyes of his – complete amber eye-to-eye contact.
back in the day, when i lived in florida, you could find watermelon at many rural corners, much like boiled peanut stands – a pick-up truck with a bed filled with watermelons fresh off the vine for buyers to choose from. i remember breaking open melons, sticky sweet, a tiny bit cooler than the air temperature. these last few days here in wisconsin remind me of those hot summer days down south, with nights that don’t cool down and humidity lingering so much in the air you can see it. chilled watermelon helps.
in the olden days (as my poppo used to refer back) watermelons had seeds. lots of them. you’d stand out back on the patio or on the deck spitting pits over the railing – contests of whose would gain the most ground. now, we are lucky – seedless watermelons have changed life, like seedless mandarins. no more contests over the deck rail, but so much easier to eat. ahh, the end of the folksy tradition of the watermelon-seed-spit. probably not a big loss.
dogga will accept any treat he is offered. he clearly trusts that we will keep his well-being and his people-food tastes in mind, so when i cut up the watermelon the other day into bite-sized pieces, he was right there, by my side, waiting. it’s his summer too.
but time doesn’t stand still. we simply cannot believe that it is labor day weekend already. the summer flew by. and soon, a bit later on, we will be barreling through fall. it’ll be time for apple-picking and pumpkins, jeans and boots and vests. part of me yearns for that – autumn – my favorite time of year.
but watermelon is plentiful right now, and, so, our moments will include dabbing our napkins on our watermelon-slice-sticky faces in the middle of these hot summer days, these days of intense heat.
dogga doesn’t seem to have yearnings for later-on. somehow he knows that any time at all is too precious to waste. his wisdom is in his absolute presence. whether it is watermelon time or apple time or cranberry time or blueberry time…it doesn’t matter. he is just there – appreciating all the wanna-bites of the season.
so in the middle of winter – when it’s frigid outside and we humans are wishing for a little warmth while dogga is relishing the piles of snow – we may summon up these days in the sun. hopefully, even in our baselayers, wool socks and down coats, we might taste the summer we – hopefully – memorized. we might close our eyes and remember the sweetness of cold watermelon.
or, because this world is what it is and we are fortunate beyond belief to be able to purchase produce from nations and places far and wide, we may buy a watermelon – in the cold of winter – from the grocery store. we’ll take out the big carving knife and the cutting board and slice it into triangles, with great anticipation. and we’ll take a bite of the top of the triangle, easily the best bite of all melon bites.
and we’ll be back – standing in the hot sun, with sticky hands. because watermelon has that power. even without seeds.
technology – stuff – is like that. and we are surrounded by old technology and old stuff. now, don’t get me wrong. i’m not complaining. it’s just a fact. besides, i heard kamala loud and clear when she said, “don’t complain. dooo something about it!!”
and so, i do the workaround. it’s a bit like the electric shuffle, a mix-up of the hustle and the bump, maybe a little macarena-ish. it’s not a pretty mash, but it moves and shakes and gets it done.
a little over a week ago my laptop died. there is a grey folder with a question mark flashing when i turn it on. this is not good news for a macbook from 2008 – the year my girl graduated high school – and i immediately shut it down, in the hope that the next time i turn it on all will be well and it – personifying it, of course – will have forgotten its troubles and will simply get back to work.
in truth, i haven’t tried that yet.
i’m not anxious or excited about the outcome. well, to be fair, i am anxious, just not excited. i – listing heavily to optimistic – am hoping against hope that it will turn on and remember everything that would otherwise be lost. anxious. yes.
and so, in the meanwhile, i am typing on a mini ipad and trying to find creative ways to do what it is we do. so a little redundancy will have to work.
we have classic stuff.
our three vehicles (littlebabyscion, big red and my vw superbeetle) add up to 97 years old. my iphone is a 6, from the dark ages of 2016. this ipad is a mini2, only five years old but way past retiring. our tv is a non-smart late teen. it is as it is. and we totally make the best of it. not complaining, nope, nope.
i just know – in the middle of these workarounds – that there are those of you out there who get it. i wonder what it would be like to never have to figure things out, to never have to make it work, to never have to stand where you are and just be grateful and not wanting of more.
when i wash my hair today and tip the bottle, slapping the bottom of it over and over to get the last vestiges of shampoo out, i will think of my sweet momma and – apparently – kamala’s as well.
i’m thinking beaky and shyamala are visiting together on some other plane, maybe having sweet tea and, though they know we have plenty to complain about, watching us all dooo something – the best we can. and that, my dear friends, is classic.
we drove home with the heat blasting and the windows open. all 263 miles.
we drove slower than usual – cruise control on – smiling at everyone who passed us as we toodled along in the right lane.
we stopped every hour.
each time, we raised the hood, set a timer, stretched our legs. we readied the old beach towel and the funnel, got out the big jug of coolant and waited till it was safe to open the radiator cap.
and littlebabyscion – with whom i had had a few conversations prior to getting on the road – hung in there.
each time we opened the radiator cap to reveal that the coolant level had not changed. the red coolant light – which had intermittently flashed at us numerous times on the way up north – causing great distress – never flashed at us on the the way home.
when we got off the interstate for the last eleven miles or so, i turned off the heat. and LBS dutifully and safely got us home. no flashing lights on the dashboard. no drop in the level of coolant in the radiator.
so it’s all a bit of a mystery – this curious and first-time problem – the flashing light, the seriously depleted coolant on our way up. i have a few theories and, frankly, i’m hoping they are correct, that our brilliant mechanic will concur. that would mean that nothing is really horribly wrong with LBS. and that would mean we can continue our journey together. 276,000 miles and beyond.
we – david and i – were seriously serious about staying in the calm-zone as we dealt with this car issue while on a little time away and, mostly, while driving home. though i, initially, was pretty upset about the potential problem that this could represent, my conversations with LBS were fervent and d and i were determined to stay in the zen-zone all the way home. taking the over-the-phone advice of our mechanic, knowing that our dear friends were not-too-far behind us and that 20 was waiting at home with dinner and ready to help in any way were all sources of infinite reassurance. that kind of support gives one confidence to keep going, to not immerse in worry, to just trust it all.
it’s been a long, long time since i have driven on an interstate with the windows wide open. it’s a noisy place. and yet, the kwik-trip, the fox river park, the giant truck stop all provided us with quieter places to stop, places to wait it out, places to be celebratory each time we opened LBS’ radiator cap and then packed it all back up and drove on for the next hour.
this was an in-the-lull lesson for us. any moments of upset were not helpful. instead, staying focused on the things we could do, the help we had been offered, the steadiness of this little xb – these all gave us the ability to stay in the moment and not lose the lull.
i’m not positive we would have passed the lull-test alone. we are infinitely grateful to have not felt alone. that is the power of community for each of us – this abundance of support. when we wouldn’t have normally asked for help, it was there anyway. we just need to remember it’s right there. for the little things and the big things.
i just scrolled past a winnie the pooh meme. “what day is it?” asked pooh. “it’s today,” squeaked piglet. “my favorite day,” said pooh.
we went back.
we bushwhacked through the overgrown woodsy area to make our way under the big fallen branch and onto the beach. “our special beach” we called it. we couldn’t wait to get there – to this spot of sand and pebbled shoreline that rarely had any visitors.
we emerged from under the big fallen branch and stepped onto the sandy overlook to see a beach full of people, full of jetskis and motorized rafts, boats anchored in the water, waverunners zooming in and out of the new jettied cove.
wow.
we stood for a moment, taking it all in.
for this was the place we went to for quiet. this was the place we searched for hagstones. this was the place we sat on big pieces of wild driftwood, watching the waves come in, the waves retreat. the place to reflect, sort, breathe.
we stood for a few more moments, trying to grok it, decide what to do.
we took a walk on the shore where the waves meet the sand. it was clear a lot of work had been done on this beach. and we had to agree that it was truly beautiful, even in its changed state. we walked south and then back north. and we found that – all along – there was a parking lot that led to the beach. all along there was an easier way in. all along there was access. go figure.
as we walked south, with the waves lapping our feet – in the exquisite way that feels on a soft sandy beach – we remembered the other days we had spent there. beautiful, peaceful days. we talked about how grateful we were for those days.
and then we walked north.
we took the road past the marina and stepped onto the boardwalk. we hadn’t ever gone this way before.
the boardwalk wound its way past all the slips, around the yacht club, past the charters. on a most gorgeous day we delighted in this new place to stroll. the sting of the busy-ness of the beach faded and we planned on returning to “our beach” later – maybe a late evening, maybe in september. in the meanwhile, this stroll was the loveliest thing.
“what day is it?” i asked david, a little lost in time having been under the weather for over a week and just starting to feel better.
i inherited two pairs of big binoculars from my sweet poppo. at the time i probably never-woulda-thought that i’d be studying birds with them. but…you know what they say!
and here we are – with these powerful binoculars always at the ready, on the table in the sunroom, so that we can grab them and watch the crows in the nest or the finches at the grape jelly or the hummers at the feeder or search for the origin of the beautiful birdcall. we have a tiny pair as well, to take with us on trails, though we would be waaay better served with the good ones. it’s amazing how up-close-and-personal they get us.
and then there’s the merlin app. what an extraordinary tool that is! you record birdcalls and it instantly identifies the bird for you! utterly amazing, we are grateful to cornell lab of ornithology for this. we have used this app innumerable times, always relishing the quick id it gives us. because we don’t always commit it all to memory – ahem! – we rely on the (non-judgmental) app to tell us again and again. so cool!
i think about what my momma and poppo would have done with the merlin app on their iphone. they would have had a field day! they spent hours watching the birds back home, on long island, and in florida – where they looked out on a lake. i wish they could have played with it. they missed its development by just a smidge.
but every time we grab the binoculars or open the app to record a birdsong, clean the birdbath or fill the feeders, i know. they – momma, poppo, columbus – are aware and are nodding at each other, smiles on their faces, maybe even laughing a little or rolling their eyes at our earlier-in-life bird-watch-disregard.
reverse threading 