i went back. we had passed this on the street while taking a walk. when it registered a moment or two after we passed it, i had to go back. out of context, it made me laugh aloud. i showed it to jen and she and i both decided on a 3 year old. i mean, it’s a FREE 3 year old!!!!
now….everyone knows THAT’S just not true. i think wryly about the lifestyle difference between people i know who have never had children and people i know who have had 2-4 olds (who grow up into snack-devouring-soccer-playing-music-lesson-taking 8 year olds who grow up into gatorade-guzzling-granola-bar-munching-tennis-playing-nike-sneaker-loving-makeup-wearing-hair-dying teenagers who grow up into university-tuition-paying-care-package-receiving-ramen-noodle-eating-dorm-room-paraphernalia-moving-apartment-sharing-car-driving college students who grow up into….. )
the air coming through the windows this morning felt cool. almost chilly. it has been a long while since the last time i could say that of a morning here. we have had a very hot, very humid summer…not my favorite combination. but today. it was different. and it made me feel immediately homesick. that happens every fall for me. maybe it’s a melancholy recognition of the passing of time, years zooming by. maybe it’s the season-change-thing…we know grey days are lurking right around the corner. either way, i feel homesick.
it’s a time when i miss long island the most, recall my growing-up years, pine for the autumn at millneck manor and long deserted-beach walks at crab meadow. a time when my sweet momma and poppo are really present for me in their absence, if that makes sense. i yearn to talk to them. a time when The Girl and The Boy seem oh-so-grown-up now, steeped in their own adult-lives, having adventures and being a dynamic part of this world, far away, without the benefit of hearing ‘good night moon’ every night. i know that every evening they roll their eyes at my goodnight texts to them, but i figure that someday they will understand. homesick.
yesterday was my father-in-law’s 85th birthday. we called columbus and sang ‘happy birthday’ to him. my momma and daddy did that every year for me and i try to carry on the tradition with the people i love. he laughed and told us he had gotten back from dinner at texas roadhouse and was listening to an old record. he listens to old records a lot. i suspect, because he is the man he is, that he gets homesick. i can tell by his eyes that he would totally understand me if i told him how i felt.
so today, if you are spending time together with someone, memorize it. if you are lucky enough to spend time with your momma or your daddy, please hug them. if you are one of the fortunate parents who have their children nearby, hold on just a little tighter and look into their faces when you say goodnight. relish it.
when i saw aly a few weeks ago she was holding her sweet baby boy landon in her arms and she told me that every night he goes to sleep with this album playing. ian joked that landon doesn’t make it much past the first three pieces, so maybe they should start it in the middle so they would be able to hear more of it. either way, hearing snippets or the whole hour of lullabies, i am touched that this little boy is gently going off to sleep with this music playing him into dreams.
i recorded this album after many others. i had already recorded six original cds, three christmas albums, two retro 60s/70s albums, two hymn albums and several singles by this point. but many of the shops stocking my albums and listeners who had purchased albums asked me about a lullaby album. it was with the picture in my heart of rocking (or walking) my own children to sleep that i researched lullabies, wrote a couple original pieces and spent time in the studio at yamaha artist services in nyc recording this.
some of my most precious memories are of My Girl or My Boy drifting off to sleep as i sat in the rocking chair in the nursery watching the seasons change out the window. i would read goodnight moon and sing quietly to them. then i would tiptoe out of the room, careful to avoid the spots in the old wood floor that would creak under my steps.
and so, it is an amazing thing knowing that there are moms and dads out there in the world, rocking tenderly or softly slipping out of their nursery with my album AND GOODNIGHT playing their cherished baby into sweet sleep.
download the album AND GOODNIGHT on iTUNES or CDBaby for your nursery iPOD
one summer, (almost) every single day, i took The Girl and The Boy to the beach. not the beaches on lake michigan, for the water there is way too cold, but a beach that is inland in our town and is man-made. that was the summer-of-the-best-tan and the summer i loved packing and re-packing our beach bag, a small cooler with drinks and snacks and buckets and plasticware and shovels for building castles in the sand.
they were littler then and it was easy to keep them happy on the beach. when The Boy was reeeally little, he, like his dad, did not the feeling of sand in his toes. he preferred to stay on the blanket or the beach towel. but at this time in his life – the-summer-of-the-beach – he loved it. he played in the sand and the water as much as every child there, including his big sister and me.
looking at this morsel SANDCASTLE WITH ME from the painting SPOONS AND SANDCASTLES makes me want to go back. go back and do it again. repeat that summer. play in the water more. have more icepops from the refreshment stand. stay late until the sun was almost directly on the horizon. and make more sandcastles.
recently, while perusing facebook (which i actually don’t do all that often) i came across a post by My Boy. he had made homemade ravioli for dinner. wait! what?? homemade ravioli??? now, this requires making pasta from scratch as well as stuffing it with a delicious tuscan sausage mix. just sayin! this is the same person who, long ago now, used to be able to live on honey buns and swedish fish. he has amazed me time and again with his creative cooking and the photographs he has sent of yummy meals. one day he grilled shrimp out on his deck for dan and me and d. just as thoughtful as the birthday he made me mac and cheese after a long evening i had spent volunteering, but, i have to admit, much tastier.
the first time My Girl made us dinner we had gnocchi and an excellent sausage sauce. i hadn’t had gnocchi in years – since i had it with the hot chics in montana – and her recipe immediately made it onto our ‘what-should-we-have-for-dinner’ list of possibilities.
these are the same two human beings who would ask, ” what’s for dinner?” now i find myself asking them. funny how cooking creativity blossoms in each next generation.
opportunities. to drink in life. they happen every day. sometimes we scoop them up, with the scooping-zeal of a small child building a sand castle. sometimes we choose to sleep through.
this chicken nugget was inspired by a late-late-night-laying-on-the-rocks-by-the-lake viewing a meteor shower. it was one of those moments we chose.
i remember one freezing cold wisconsin winter evening. i was driving My Girl to an oboe lesson in town. in a crazy-fun moment we opened the sunroof, put on our sunglasses and played loud summer music. we laughed and it was indelibly etched into my memory bank. it could be cold or it could be a faux-summer drink-in-life. another day we drove across the state, donned southern accents and strode around an eau claire, wisconsin country music festival, pretending to be from “naaaaashville” but here in wisconsin because we had “kin” who lived here. the accents and pretending stuck with us all day and the memory still makes me giggle.
there was the time that i had to rent a vehicle while mine was being repaired. the only thing available was a big (and i mean big!) pickup truck with a extra-long bed lined with rubber. My Boy was little at the time and he (an avid car/truck fan at the time) couldn’t get over how big the pickup was and remarked that the bed was so big you could sleep in it. that night, unbeknownst to him, i carried out extra comforters and sleeping bags, pillows and flashlights and pulled the pickup further up the driveway. when it was time for sleep and he was saying goodnight, i asked him where he was going. he replied, “upstairs. to bed.” laughing, i led him outside to where i had set up our camp, in the bed of that rented pickup under the stars and dewy night sky.
sometimes you just have to say a loud affirming YES to opportunity. scoop it up. my goal is to do that even more. less sleep. more scooping.
we drove through the plains, through the flint hills, through rolling prairie, through mountain passes, hills dotted with sagebrush, desert adorned with red rock formations. we drove past working cattle farms, deer and antelope in the wild, horse ranches with fencing that went on forever. we stopped in little towns high in elevation, two-building towns in the middle of mountain roads, towns with fancy boutiques and eateries, towns with little shops with names like ‘heart and sleeve’. we met people who were little-town-leery-of-newcomers, people who embraced us, people just doing their job, people going out of the way doing their job. we saw the wonder of a clear mountain night sky, streams dropping thousands of feet off red rock, arches that had invited themselves into a formation, blue-blues juxtaposed with green-greens and very-burnt-siennas, the grey and white of rocky mountains. we felt the heat of the desert sun, the cool of a mountain river, the pouring-down rain of a passing colorado storm, the peace of high-elevation night air. we sipped coffee in bed in a sweet southwest adobe house, lots of water on every trail, wine on the balcony overlooking the mountains and gin and tonics on the porch overlooking the town. we shared time, laughter, dinners, lunches, even breakfasts, stories, Lumi-dog, tears, adventures and car rides with The Girl. we spent moments with people important to her and people we met along the way who are now our friends, generous people, kind people. we collected stones in the river, sandstone in the desert, brochures and new colloquial expressions, the cherished sound of The Girl laughing, hugs and what it feels like to once again hold my daughter, goofy moments, sunburned noses, recipes, ideas and cardboard starbucks espresso cups we’ll use later to walk around the ‘hood with wine. we loved the moment a way-younger-guy-with-great-dreadlocks passed us holding hands and walking on the sidewalk in a little high valley town and said, “you guys are cute.”
and every one of these things…all of this…inspired me.
so now i have photos and memories, receipts, rocks and prayer flags, matching braided leather bracelets and a shirt from the town where The Girl snowboard-instructs…all pieces of what will now be reminders. reminders of every single thing that inspired me, inspires me, will inspire me.
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″
june 1 – the first day of pride month. according to the library of congress: “the commemorative month is meant to recognize the sweeping impact that LGBT individuals, advocates and allies have on history in the U.S. and around the globe.”
as we head into this month of celebrations and parades, symposia and concerts, i am achingly hopeful for our world and our attitudes and acceptance of each other as we are.
i want my children to be in a world that is limitless, that looks for the best in each other, that allows them, and everyone else, to be in a reciprocated relationship that speaks to them, to their soul, regardless of gender. (or race or economic status or or or…) so when you ask them why they are in the relationship, they would each respond, “it’s the way he/she moves me.”
today is The Girl’s birthday. kirsten turns 28 today and i can hardly believe it. where does the time go? i am wishing i could spend time with her today (well, like every day)… make her dinner or a decadent gluten-free cake, have a glass of wine with her. what i would really love to do is take a walk with her. in her world. like most moms, sharing space and time with my children is precious; taking a walk outside, breathing in air and talking together is something yearn-worthy.
the best part about visiting The Girl and The Boy is that then – and really only then – i can picture their lives…the place they live, their home, where they buy their groceries, the roads they travel, what they see when they look out their windows, the way the air feels, the angle of the sun, their favorite places to hang out or places that have been in stories they have told me or pictures they have sent. it’s all vital for me.
The Girl lives in stunning surroundings. her mountains are massive and grand and the terrain is white with snow or green green with leaves of aspens and needles of pines. she walks in beauty. she sees it. she recognizes it.
today my wish for her is to find that every day of her life. no matter where she is or what her surroundings. she doesn’t just walk in beauty. she is beauty.
reverse threading 