when he came over for dinner a few days ago he asked when we were going to take down the holiday decorations. “sheesh!” i said. “it’s barely over!”
truth of the matter is that i love the light and spirit of the holiday decorations. the intermingling of the everyday with the celebration of divine. even so, we will – soon – take down the Christmas tree, all the little trees, the ornaments. we may leave a few crystals up for a while. and, definitely, the happy lights stay. there is nothing wrong with keeping light and real-life intermingled.
pine branches on the trail always get my attention. there are sections of our trail that just have a glorious scent. those spots instantly take me back to a favorite hike in the colorado mountains – where we hike through a pine forest alongside a brook that meanders down the mountain. funny how scents do that.
it’s like any time there is the slightest bit of salt in the air i am back at the beach where i processed most of my teenage years, back in the sand where i walked winter, spring, summer, fall.
the rolling-around of the new year prompts much memory-exploring. i can’t help but think of holidays past, of decades of new years turning, of resolutions and wishes, of sadnesses and hopes for new, times of tucking away the holiday and times of leaving it all up longer than ever.
for right now, the snowy pine needles nudged me to keep it all up. for a few more days. intermingled. to stretch the magic it creates a little bit longer.
when i was younger – a teenager – i used to sit in the tree outside my window and write. shy – at first – of using the word “poetry” to describe what I was writing, my sweet momma suggested the word “reflections”. so back then i adopted that word for a bit. i consider now how much time in my life i have spent writing reflections, writing lyrics, writing poetry…how much time i have spent – even figuratively – in that tree.
for obvious reasons – the gift of the early days of a new year – i am gazing back on the year we just exited, reflecting on the river we traveled. it’s why i keep a pencil-written calendar – i want to remember. all of it. the tough moments and the moments that seemed divine, the hilarious moments and the times I couldn’t stop crying. all of it.
as i look back on all the spindly memories i can muster, i wonder about the year’s journey. was i compassionate enough? was i courageous enough? was i stalwart enough? was i stubborn enough? was i flexible enough? was i unconditional? did i keep my mouth shut at the right times? did i speak up at the right times? did i shout at the right times? did i choose wisely – based on knowledge and truth and values? did i comfort? did i stand in love, act from love, embrace love – enough?
it’s snowing as i write this – under a delicious quilt looking out the window. if i turn my head just right, the happy lights are reflected in the six-pane window. if i cock my head to the side, i can source the mind-bank of reminiscing, albeit a bit helter-skelter and most definitely incomplete. if i close my eyes i can hear the silence of the morning; i can intend quiet. i can wade in the river.
i suppose that in the rearview mirror of our lives, we all have much to ponder. we each take up a tiny bit of space here and it matters. we flaw and we flounder and we – sometimes – maybe not as much as we would wish – sometimes we flourish.
i think that as i take spindly-sapling steps into this new year i am hoping to reveal as much as possible in the reflection in the river. it’s time to look that reflection in the eye. it’s time to be the same we are. it’s time to change.
if i wish to be a strong oak, resilient and leafy, then i must live as a strong oak, resilient and leafy. or an aspen. or a maple. or a lodgepole pine. or a willow. no matter.
grounded, supporting other life forms, part of a bigger picture – a bigger ecosystem – mindful that we are simply a grove of humans in a giant universe. perhaps we all need be mindful of what we are reflecting back. we are rooted together – with branches that reach for each other, for spirit. interconnected, we share this earth. we share responsibility. we share the mirror.
my eyes struggle to make the reflection clear. but rivers are like that. they are never entirely static. they keep moving. and things are a bit blurry.
i cannot help it. memories swoosh around me constantly. and these days are no different. in fact, they deliver memories much like santa scooooching down the chimney – sans fanfare or warning. the memories arrive, sometimes with a kerplunk.
i suppose that it is simply a part of me to be wistful. and…the days are darker, the sun is shorter, it is colder and the holidays began to arrive in rapid succession.
i prepare myself for this – i know that time has flown on and that everything is different. yet…there is this piece of me that yearns to go back…to be overwhelmed with all that was going on when my children were little – the time of year that was fraught with choir and band rehearsals prepping, the time of year when it was hard to find alone-time to shop for surprises, the time of year when the children were counting down to school vacation, the time of year when end-of-year business records were lurking on lists-of-things-to-do, when you wrapped presents – that had been hidden in closets and the attic – around the the table in the wee hours, the time of year when you just really wanted to make cookies and fudge and sip hot cocoa around the fire with your children, reading christmas books, watching holiday movies. dreamy.
and then, there’s the further-back…the days in my growing-up neighborhood – along with our neighbors and friends outside caroling. luminaria, my dad making spiked eggnog and my mom fussing with cooking, the grandparents lingering on our old slipcovered couch, nieces and my nephew tiny and enchanted with it all.
it all seemed so innocent back then. and easy.
it’s not as easy now – as i watch families sort through all the gala preparations and the calendar of when who-visits-whom. there is much to do and, seemingly, not as much time to do it all. it makes me wish for a really big close-proximity-family with whom to share it all, all together, everyone from every side.
we prepare for our own christmas. i’ve been thinking and brainstorming and researching and googling and making lists for weeks now. we’ve been out browsing and shopping, we’ve had a moment or two indulging in a treat while out. we’ve encountered wonderful, joyous shopowners and salesclerks and a few not-so-wonderful nor joyous folks. we’ve tried hard to bring light to each person.
very happily, the boys will be coming and we are excited. but we will miss our girl and her husband. so many of us will have a facetime christmas and, though i am grateful for that technological ability, my heart – as always – yearns for in-person. so much bittersweet-ness. but…i am reminded by my own words earlier this week…“even if…enough”. it’s a good time for me to practice the enoughs.
i wonder – if it were possible – what it would be like to live back then and now simultaneously…kind of like walking from one room – the right now – into the next room – where my children were tiny ecstatic toddlers – into the next room – where i was a teenager surrounded by my island family – into the next room – where i was little and watched for rudolph’s red nose out my window.
i guess the gift of not being able to do that is the same as the hard part of not being able to do that – it is the wistfulness of it all. i guess wistful IS the gift. that thing that reminds you – just like in the movie about time to really, really live the day. “I just try to live every day as if I’ve deliberately come back to this one day, to enjoy it, as if it was the full final day of my extraordinary, ordinary life.”
*****
…and, by the way…just in case you misunderstood – in this climate rife with words like great and back – misused and twisted…as you are reading the words “go back in time”…i want to be perfectly clear…even in a post about these holidays…it’ s not THAT kind of going back. this is a post about love and respect for each other. it’s a post about time spent together and mutual generosity of spirit. it’s a post about decency. goodness. it’s a post about unity. together. it’s not that OTHER kind of going back. because we aren’t. going back.
the big chalkboard wall was in the basement for decades. and for decades it was signed and scribbled on by my children and their friends-through-the-years. there have been moments – in more recent years – the empty nest years – when i would hit the cement floor at the bottom of the steps, flip on the spotlights and stare at the colored-chalk names scrawled on the wall. lots of history there.
before i took the eraser to this wall, before i washed it off, before i realized the colored chalk didn’t really erase or wash off nomatterwhat, before i prepped it for paint, i took many photographs. once again, my thready heart is challenged – but photographs help.
my girl chalked this design in one of the corners – during the skateboard/dickies/vans era. the memory flood is fast and furious and i stood – touching the chalkboard and its names and illustrations – for some time before wiping it and readying it for a fresh coat. in the end, we put together new shelving for that spot adjacent to david’s studio and now it houses inspiring books of artists and musings…easy access for him, for both of us.
as i’ve written, there are many more of these woven threads in our home to unravel, to gently place aside, to memorize. but – inasmuch as it is a challenge, it is also a gift. because so many things are things we no longer notice, things to which we pay little attention. and right now…right now, we are paying rapt attention to each detail.
we are each telling stories of thethingsinthebox or ontheshelf or tuckedaway or rightthereinfrontofus. some of it makes me a little bit sad – no, i guess it’s more wistful than sad. some of it makes me try to think backbackback to the days backbackback. some of it makes me wish i could revisit those days, live them again, relish them in real time, or maybe live them a little slower or a little differently. and some of it just gives me a little standstill, like a tiny caesura – all part of the diapause, i suppose – one caesura after another.
we keep going. my curiosity is piqued as we open closets and bins, page through children’s books finding scraps of crayoned notes or pictures. i store it all inside, knowing that – even though i will likely forget some of it – it is all there – layers of memories and moments.
and the chalked diamonds will forever remain on the wall of the basement. because they were there, they are there. and they are part of it.
the glow of the setting sun teased through the grasses out front. autumn is rising.
my old hiking boots are waiting by the back door. soon – and very soon – it will be time to change out of our hiking sandals and back to these boots, worn from many, many miles of trails. we need to replace them. the podiatrist informed us we should purchase new ones every six months or so if we are wearing our boots regularly. since we are artists, this is not quite possible. and so, these circa 2016 boots have graced our feet for the last eight years of hikes. every bit of worn leather, every creak, has a story to tell. someday it will be a tad bit hard to retire them. they have served us well.
today is the first day of school here. i am completely out of sync with these touchstones of time. the trip to target – with school supplies galore – helped place me in time. but with grown children and no direct connection to the school system, we had to look up the district calendar.
a certain wistfulness comes on the breeze with the return of the fall sun. it happens every year. it’s hard to identify, but it is palpable.
i wonder if it is a kind of homesickness – for growing-up times back on long island and for my own days with a backpack – stuffed with textbooks, spirals and new pencils – slung over my shoulder.
i wonder if it is a kind of nostalgia – a yearning – for the times when my children were little, when they picked out new backpacks and pencil cases, gathered their wide-ruled notebooks and glue sticks, colored highlighters and crayons, those days when packing lunches and snacks and waiting for the bus were the defining times of the day.
i wonder if it is the bank of memories i carry – taking my children to college, unpacking into dorm rooms, apartments, toting stuff back and forth, my heart holding dearly to the threads of their childhood while, at the same time, supporting their gossamer winging wings, watching their contrails.
i wonder if it is a kind of longing – a pining for things undone to be done, for things not accomplished to be accomplished, for summer dreams to extend beyond the setting summer sun.
autumn rises and i feel invigorated. these are new times. there is new possibility. i have no idea what is coming but this rising autumnal sun is full of golden light.
golden. light. and my old boots are waiting by the back door.
“the sun shines not on us, but in us.” (john muir)
we watched the band on the lakefront at the harbor. the sky began to pastel itself into evening. the water reflected masts and the outline of the docks. at these slips i am gently transported back to northport harbor – days long ago – evenings filled with the clanking of rigs and seagulls seeking yet one more morsel. those were innocent nights and i couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else back then.
seagulls fly over our house fairly often since we live so close to the lake. their screeches fling me back in time just like the sun setting over the harbor. a lifelong sea-level girl who also adores the high mountains, i do love the water. we are fortunate to feel the presence of lake michigan – right…there. it’s not long island sound or the atlantic ocean, but it’s big water and we are aware of it, year-round.
we took a long walk along our lakefront the other day. the farmer’s market was bustling. there was a bridal party having a photo shoot in the breezes by the boats. six tiny children clustered around a cake singing happy birthday. food trucks were tempting and people wandered with big bundles of flowers. we turned from our harborfront and came back south – hugging the lake. few people, less hustle and bustle. we stood – with uninterrupted views of this really big lake – marveling at how beautiful it was and how fortunate we were to be able to walk along it at any time.
the guitarists sang and played songs from a variety of genres. they were terrific and the night was just-the-right-shade-of-cool. we sang along and i wanted to get up and dance in the grass a time or two. harbor thoughts floated as the sun set. we pasteled closer to darkness settling in and got ready to leave.
and the threshold of night – on the western sky – greeted us as we turned to go, boldly exclamation-pointing the evening.
i have determined that life would be infinitely easier were i to have new house closets – the kind you see on hgtv – all walkinable and organized – with shelf units and hanging storage of different heights – light and airy – indeed, in many episodes, quite beautiful.
that’s not us.
we don’t have those.
and so, my clothes are smushed into my oldhousecloset. and that means that i really barely know what’s in there.
i can definitely tell you that 1977 has a moment in there. the 1980s have a nod or two. the 1990s have a real presence, as do the early 2000s. many of my coolest clothes – from what i can remember of them – are from these eras. and then, hanging off the end of the hangery part of the hanger are other hangers. these are the things from somewhere in this century. on the outside of the hangers hanging on the hanger are the 2020s. this is the stuff i wear most of the time.
but recently i had to dive into the restofit. and in there i found a really great olive green blazer. now, this cotton relatively unstructured blazer was from circa 1998 and had patch pockets. i am not a fan of patch pockets. but i am a fan of olive green and i needed a crop jacket for a jumpsuit (circa 2018) i was going to wear to a very special event. so – at risk of many other hangers coming with the hanger that the olive green blazer was on – i pulled out the jacket and tried it on. i still don’t like patch pockets, but it was the right style and the right color for the jumpsuit.
scissors and a thread-pulling safety pin made the old jacket a new jacket – cropped with a fringed hem. the same kind of thing i was pondering purchasing from poshmark for a prolonged period of time.
now i’m wondering what else is in there that might be repurposed. and i know i need to clean this closet out. that way i might have an idea of things i could wear, things i forgot about, things i’ve “outgrown”, things i might actually need.
the thing that gets me – the instant i start pulling hangers out – is the wash of memories that come with all of it. it is nearly impossible to give away a top i will never wear that my sweet poppo specifically picked out for me or his old blue-jean jacket. and that skirt! i remember buying it at target with my girl when she was little! it is ridiculously hard to throw out a worn-out big shirt i wore on more than one flatbed, playing and singing. and what about those chico traveler-fabric capris?? they never wrinkle no matter what you do to them – even stuffing them in an overstuffed closet!! it is silly-excruciating to put-in-a-pile a denim jacket i’ve had since the day i purchased my yamaha c5 for my studio. it is mildly depressing to pull out all the concert attire and set it aside. that top with sequins!! those long black blazers!! those jeans that were featured on the album covers!! it is heart-tugging to take out the patchwork shirt i wore with my it’s-the-real-thing-coca-cola-pants. i am lost – lost – in a vortex of memories. and i haven’t even started trying it all on.
i need a whole ‘nother closet. one for the stuff that actually fits.
yes. remembering dates can be both. on one hand, you can suddenly recall that something absolutely splendid happened on this very date – that it was life-altering, that it was the beginning of a new journey, a divergent path in the woods. on the other hand, you can suddenly recall that something absolutely dreadful happened on this very date – and it slams into you and holds you down for a moment or two while you catch your breath, gulping air, grasping at remembering you are no longer in that very moment on that very day.
today is one of those remembering dates.
but today is the first kind.
eleven years ago today – in baggage claim of o’hare airport – in a pair of jeans, a black sweater and some boots (an outfit pondered over for days) – i stood, holding a single daisy, waiting to finally meet this person i had been communicating with for about six months every single day.
and that moment – on that day – in that place – with that outfit on – was about to change my life.
you can’t always pinpoint those moments, exactlyyy. you know that something – some set of circumstances or events combined to change you – but you don’t always know the moment when something in-real-life enters your life and nothing will ever be the same.
it wasn’t like stars exploding or fireworks. no bells rang in my head. i didn’t faint or have palpitations. i was not weak-kneed. i wasn’t wowed or wooed or walloped. i did not whoop in overwhelming wonder.
i laughed. we hugged. and we skipped. and i felt like i had come home.
the universe had somehow – in some kismet-ish sort of way – sorted through the billions of people on this good earth – and had connected me to a person who would give me equal shares of blissful moments and infuriating moments, the person who would be my favorite person, the person who would be my favorite pain-in-the-ass, the person who would make me think and feel and cry and snort, the person who would be my rock in a never-ending river complete with gentle pools of lazy and boulder-laden whitewater rapids, the person whose kiss on the top of my head nearly breaks my heart open.
there was no mosh pit. but you could not underestimate the thrill in the audience.
freddie mercury was not there. but you could not underestimate the support of the audience.
it was not the 70s or even the 80s. but you could not underestimate the throwback zeal amping up the audience.
we were gifted tickets to a queen tribute band concert. one vision of queen with marc martel was a blast. we were surrounded by – and i truly mean surrounded by – about 2400 people in our own age bracket. now, there may have been a few here and there, scattered throughout the theatre, who were younger (or maybe older), but – for the most part – this was a 60s-something event.
and everyone sang along. now, being a dedicated john denver/carole king/james taylor/england dan & john ford coley/loggins & messina/dan fogelberg et al fan, i have to say i did not know all the lyrics to all the songs. but there are some that are just indelible – they will forever stay in your mind, ready to be excavated at any moment – more easily than last week’s memories.
there were grousers, of course. the woman behind us kept grumbling because the guy in front of us stood up to dance along. but his joy was palpable and everyone was on their feet at some point. plus, he was a great dancer.
marc martel was phenomenal – you cannot deny his talent for lifting up the songs of queen. mostly, you cannot deny that he was having a great time. it does a heart good seeing someone having that much fun.
and my favorite moment – the encore during which – of course – they played we are the champions. everyone stood, everyone danced, everyone sang along.
and then – the words that lingered over all of us and snuck into the balcony and box seats and twirled around in fog machine fog and reverberating glee – “for we are the champions – of the world“.
it’s not a bad thing – this tribute thing.
it occurs to me that, although clearly a tribute to the original band, it is also a tribute to our earlier years, life a few decades ago. the visceral memories of time gone by brought back to the moment.
buymeacoffee is a tip-jar website where you may choose to help support the continuing creating of artists whose work touches you in little or big ways. ♡
amaryllis makes me think of my sweet momma. the color pink makes me think of my daughter.
on the windowsill of the bathroom there are two small bottles. one is estee lauder’s ‘pleasures’ and the other is a tiny daisy-capped bottle of marc jacob’s daisy perfume. two scents that remind me of those same two beloved people.
because i am thready (some may say overlyyy thready) i surround myself – intentionally and unintentionally – with tokens of remembrance – some actual, some merely floating in my heart – filaments that connect me to people – and make me think of people – whether they are nearby or far away or on another plane of existence entirely. threads. woven in.
this bulb – a gift – requires no attention whatsoever. you just place it anywhere and it will take care of itself. no water needed. it contains all the water and nutrients it needs to flower. it has stored carbohydrates so it is self-sustaining and can bloom without any care.
i am thinking that between the plethora of mcdonalds fries i ate in my teenage years on bike hikes, the wavy lays and cape cod chips in later years (and even recent later years!!), ever-reassuring mashed potatoes and the daily morning breakfast david makes each day that includes yummy potatoes, i have plenty – plenty!!! – of stored carbohydrates. one would then extrapolate that i would be self-sustaining and would bloom without care. but, the flora world has it all over us on this one. i do not have the advantage of the waxed amaryllis bulb. water, nutrients and care are necessary.
the pink-waxed amaryllis is just starting to get closer to blooming, a flower stalk straight and tall from the center of the bulb, the bud tightly wound. i visit with it each day, marveling at it.
and i think of dearest jen every time i look at it.
reverse threading 