the quiet and not-so-quiet moments of comforting. your child. your friend. your partner. when they see the storm coming and you are there. when the storm is raging around them and you are there. when the eye of the storm gives false pause and you are there. when the tides pull back and regain momentum and you are there. when the storm has finally passed, the debris is fierce and you are there. when the rebuilding starts and you are there. the storm – physical or emotional – does not have to be endured alone.
now, my sweet momma was pretty directive at times. she knew what she wanted and was pretty specific about it. even from the seat in her wheelchair in later days she would direct traffic or let you know exactly where she wanted to go and if you were doing it right. then there was the electric wheelchair. she got to be in charge.
it took scaling a mountain and zooming off into outer space and back to make all the arrangements that would eventually deliver an electric wheelchair to her assisted living facility. but all of that fades in the memory of her phone call. she had been practicing and practicing, trying to grasp how to make the chair go forward or turn or go backward without running into things or people. we kept telling her, “you got this!” her confidence was thin and i know she felt like she would never really be able to master that chair. until that day.
she called to say that she had gone down to breakfast. in her chair. alone. and when she got there, a woman at her table told her about how there had been an author there, sharing her newly published book, reading, autographing; it had all been quite exciting, she told my momma. my sweet momma looked at her, i’m sure smiling broadly and sitting up as straight as she could in her electric wheelchair and said, “that was me!”
never underestimate a granny gps. there’s so much possibility.
The Boy is sometimes very wise. there is this moment from years ago i carry with me, a moment in the kitchen. i was particularly upset and had been for some time. it was a time of darkness for me. my son looked at me and said (words to the effect), “mom. you are going round and round in a circle. every time you get close to the top you get pulled back down into the circle. you need to be a ray.”
as a math person, the circle and ray analogies are good ones. i can visualize these. the circle, the cycle. and a ray makes sense. starting at one point and going ever-outward. never returning to the very initial point again.
as a sun person, the ray is also good. it brings beautiful images of streaming sun through the clouds, of warmth and light. a ray always brings light; it gives light. it is light.
good words, my beautiful son. yes, indeed. be a ray. shine.
lumi is our granddog. she is our only grand-anything so far, so she, like all first grand-anythings, holds an esteemed place in our hearts. kirsten and becky adopted her the end of last summer and, in many ways, they are learning what it is like to have a toddler. well, kind of. happily, The Girl sends me photos and videos of lumi-girl, the “powderhound” (as she says). she is an amazing little dog, literally chasing their snowboards down gigantic mountains, zigging and zagging behind them. she hikes long distances uphill with them as well, as they splitboard up seeking height and good snow. many of the videos are of lumi at night, mushing into the blankets, curled up next to them, sleeping, snoring, in funny positions. she goes everywhere with them. they worry about her, accommodate her needs, love her desperately. lumi roots their little family.
and what better way to root a family, but in love. in steady, holding-fast, unconditional adoration.
my sweet momma used to love to walk in the rain. matter of fact, she adored it. my poppo? not so much. but my momma would revel in it; she said it made her hair curly, which, for her, was a good thing.
we have gotten caught in the rain numerous times while out hiking. soft, gentle rain or even downpours. on the trail it just adds to the fun. the rain also makes MY hair curly, much to my chagrin. but d loves it that way….he must also love rag mops. (now, as an aside, i googled “rag mop” to make sure you would understand which kind of mop i was talking about and found this great old song. listen if you have time.)
there must be a time you were standing in the rain and everything slowed down, even the raindrops. it all became slow motion and life was about that very second, breathing in sweet-rain-dewy-air.
this morsel of a painting SLOW MOTION RAIN, soft and somewhat abstract, reminds me of those moments. slow motion rain is a little piece of EARTH INTERRUPTED IV.
heidi, in moments of stress or joy, always asks, “what’s the learning?” a good question to lead with, to sort with, a question that helps things make sense.
this Flawed cartoon, the picture of a teaching moment. good grief, there are so many! teaching moments. learning moments. every single day.
we sit for hours, plotting, scheduling, designing products, writing, working out technology quirks (or not.) somewhere in the middle of 8-10 hours, we will look at each other, glazed. “coffee!” we chorus. we move into the kitchen, maybe outside if it is warm and if that spot on the deck where we lean against the house is sunny. (it’s only april – it could still snow, so the outdoor furniture is not yet in place.) just a little moving around helps and then we are back working.
but at the end of the day – that’s a different story. we are tired, but we have to move. we have to walk. anywhere. around the hood, along the lake, out in the county in the woods. it’s amazing how much more energy i have after hiking a few miles. moving begets moving.
i’m thinking that’s true in many ways. learning begets learning. opening our minds begets, yes, more opening of our minds. faith begets faith. working out begets more working out. it’s the starting that makes it all happen. don’t wait. move.
it was the first. the very first butterfly of this season. we both stopped to watch it as it freely flitted around the path in front of us. it felt like another harbinger of spring; maybe it’s really here. a few minutes later we stopped and sat for a few minutes. we didn’t talk; we just listened to the woods. the rest was soft and rejuvenating. the quiet was punctuated by birds and chipmunks. even a raccoon came out to wander. we got back up, ready for more hiking.
i distinctly remember a day i sat in the front yard. it was summer and, just like chicken marsala in this chicken nugget, there was a butterfly that came to light on my hand. it circled around and came back, landing on my knee, my foot. it felt like a message to me, a reinforcement to quietly sit in the sun.
this world is full of chaos and confusion, deadlines and worries. looking at the furrows lining people’s brows, it is obvious that we don’t take enough time to just rest, just sit, just soak in new energy, just let butterflies lead the way. good things will come.
when i see images of mountains these days, i naturally think about kirsten and becky. The Girl is living the out-in-the-high-mountains life and the photographs she sends me are nothing short of stunning. i love every moment i spend out there, so i can appreciate wholeheartedly her finding her “place”.
when i was little, we used to go to the mountains in upstate new york. my sweet momma and poppo would rent a cabin in a state park and we would travel up there; they would always allow me to take a friend – most of the years this was susan. i was the youngest by FAR (haha! are you reading this, seester?) so i was the only one left in the house. i was always thrilled to have my siblings’ families with us as well. my nieces and nephew were adorable. plus heather was the perfect foil on the mountainside beaches (and long island beaches as well); as a toddler she flirted with every cute boy around every time i took her there. she was with me a lot as a little girl; i took her everywhere in my little vw bug, especially in the summer. nothing like a little girl who would seemingly deliberately throw the frisbee onto the next blanket where a cute boy was sitting and listening to his transistor radio. what a fun way to meet ‘people’. wink!
later in life, my parents rented condos in the mountains of tennessee and the whole family joined them there. sunsets behind the big deck of the clubhouse, shrimp boils in the field, frisbee and hiking. those are treasured memories.
this image MOUNTAIN IN YELLOW SKY reminds me of every good mountain memory. its warmth, its simplicity. both appeal to me. the really funny thing is that this is just a mere morsel of one of david’s paintings. the painting TOGETHER ON THE BEACH is where i found this and extracted it to create a whole new image. when i asked david where i could find this canvas in the studio the other day, he told me he had painted over it. what?! what was he thinking?! fortunately, i still have the image i took of it and have created a canvas art print of that painting and a close-up of it as well.
MOUNTAIN IN YELLOW SKY…just a little piece of TOGETHER ON THE BEACH. both simple. both dreamy. both beautiful.
there is a dog biscuit on the floor in the laundry room in the basement. i was about to put laundry in the washer when i saw it. “hmmm…” i thought. “what is a dog biscuit doing down here?” i wondered. our courageous dog has never ever been in the basement. he dislikes stairs. he is an aussie and, well, if you know any aussies, you know that they have interesting….issues. one of his, apparently, is that he doesn’t do tight stairwells. so, knowing this, i am aware that dogdog did not bring a dog biscuit to the basement. (not to mention the fact that had he had a dog biscuit in his mouth he would have consumed it.)
so. the mystery. i can only assume that one of the mice we seem to have accommodated this winter carried this downstairs for a later snack. when i picture a mouse carrying a milkbone i’m amazed by its tenacity – it had to be under tremendous stress with its milkbone-burden. and…where did it get its milkbone from? we have a tray with dogdog’s “cookies” in the kitchen; i shudder to think of a mouse sitting there evaluating which cookie to steal. and…furthermore…there are no mouse…ummm….poopies (as i call them) anywhere nearby. what to think….
by looking at the tiny bites off of dogdog’s cookie in the basement, i think that mice will go to great lengths for a snack. i guess.
reverse threading 