in the last few days, one of my friends became a first-time-grandmother. those of us who were aware of her daughter’s giving-birth-countdown would text her asking for any news or updates, as excited as if it were our own story. sunday morning she texted to say that indeed a little baby girl had been born in the pre-sun hours of the day. her daughter, a friend of my own daughter’s since kindergarten, was now a mom and all was perfect in the world.
i saw this painting-in-process as i walked down the steps into david’s basement studio. the new mother, sitting cross-legged, gazing intently at her new baby made my heart skip a beat. i recognized the look, the tilt of her head, the gentle but secure way she was holding her baby. it took me back – immediately – to my first moments holding kirsten or craig, those nothing-short-of-miraculous minutes when time stood still and everything was perfect in the world.
i cannot imagine the power of this painting when it is completed. it’s already intoxicatingly striking. it brings back every memory. it reminds me of what is most important. the delicious feeling of holding a tiny baby, the dreams that soar in your head, the bond of love. times when everything is perfect in the world.
it wasn’t exactly a blizzard, but it was a great snowstorm. it makes me wonder what would have happened if i had wished for something else….
every weekend My Girl drives back and forth across the high mountains. she is a head coach for a snowboard team in aspen and instructs in telluride, so this four-and-a-half-hour-each-way-she’s-driving-where-there-are-no-guardrails-worry-zone for me is a necessity in her life. i check the weather and implore her to stay in touch as she goes. this last week, both of these towns and pretty much every town in-between had “winter storm warning” and THIS posted:
not exactly words that warm a momma’s heart. but kirsten knows i am worried and, probably rolling her eyes, generously lets me know how things are as she goes. she has good snow angels and i count on them.
i always say things like, “someday you’ll understand” to kirsten and craig, but i know that right now my mom-worrying might just be a burden to them. i’m grateful they humor me, and i do know that someday they’ll understand.
when we were driving across the country in really bad weather, wendy had the ability to locate us and we were both really relieved for this. checking in every so often, had something happened, at least she knew where-in-the-world we last were. a good snow angel. both The Girl and The Boy can locate me at any time too. this is not an uncommon device used by families and i know that every mom has eternal gratitude for such a thing.
we took a walk in the freshly fallen snow. It was very cold out and the wind was blowing, causing drifts across sidewalks and the waves to slam against the rocks on the lakefront. i was glad not to be driving and my mind wandered back in time to other snowstorms….ones where my children bundled up and ran out to build snowforts and snowmen, ones where i was the one on the road and my sweet momma was the one worrying. snowstorms when i went outside and played in the snow laughing with beloved old friends.
it had been kind of a long while since i’ve made a snow angel. we got back from our walk downtown and were in front of our house. i took david’s hand and we fell backwards into the snow. i drew in my breath at the cold and laughed, my arms the wings of a snow angel.
i was drawn to them in the charming boutique in ridgway, colorado. flying wish papers were intriguing and whimsical. “write it. light it. watch it fly.” it touted on the cover of the pack of wish papers. captivating. i thought of how many times i have blown kisses or wishes to someone. this was a vessel for me to do the same in a magical moment or two. they were a little pricey, but what price do you put on wishes and hopes….or on the experience of sharing those with others?
we flying-wish-papered with My Girl, each of us dedicating kitchen-table-together-time to writing our wish or wishes on the magical tissue, then wrinkling it into a ball and rolling it into a tube. we placed it on the wish platform and lit it. it was true glee to watch it burn, lift off the platform and fly, bringing our wishes and hopes into the universe. sweet. we’ve since flying-wish-papered with wendy aka ben aka saul and also jen and brad. each time it’s a gesture i won’t forget. simple and yet powerful.
this painting morsel – BLOWING WISHES – reminds me of those flying-wish-paper times, reminds me of all the times i have blown wishes across my hand. a beautiful morsel from the full YOGA SERIES painting GREET THE DAY, it offers a post-holiday-end-of-the-year breath…to stop, greet the new day, the new year with hopes and dreams and flying wishes.
we walked past macy’s in downtown chicago and i noticed a digital billboard as it transitioned into its next message. “the best present? being present.” i couldn’t agree more. as trite as that message may be, it is a truth that spans the ages, spans time, spans generations. if there is one consistent thing i talk about, it is moments. moments i’ve noticed. moments i’ve memorized. moments i’ve written down. always – moments i’ve spent being present. whether present for someone else or present in the universe for myself, it matters not. it is the act of showing up….all-in….that makes all the difference.
the beloved moments on facetime with my daughter, son and his boyfriend. the moments spent laughing on a phone call with friends or family. the moments watching a dear one open a present or two. the moments walking outside under a cold dark sky of stars. the moments in the dark room alit only with twinkling lights. the moments snuggled under a blanket. the moments cooking or eating together. the moments singing carols at the top of your lungs. the moments sharing stories. the moments making music. moments where distraction would make you would miss it.
in this time of full-tiltedness…heading into the new year, i hope that you are gathering moments like this in your heart. they are the best presents.
she sent us a video of her snowboarding with friends. it was a crazy-good-full-tilt-snow-flying amazing video of them on a magnificently majestic mountain. my heart literally sang watching it; you could feel the rush, the joy! and then….there was this spoken line…at the end…My Girl, breathless from an outstanding run, with a laugh said, “my legs are tired; my heart is happy!” this is how she lives.
i could stop writing right here, because that really says it all. as we go full-tilt at these holidays, full-tilt at the end of this year, full-tilt toward a new year, full-tilt toward our goals and dreams and wishes, we believe that giving our all – and then some – brings us ever closer to that elusive place of “getting there.”
but at the bottom of that powder-run there were no medals; there was no bonus, no ribbon or gold watch. there was something more precious. and kirsten knew it. there was the moment of running it, of sharing it, of living it. the absolute euphoria that comes with just doing the best you can, and putting your body and soul into it, capturing the moments you soar.
may this holiday season – and really, all your days – bring you those moments. at the bottom of the slope, on christmas eve when you are in a dark room with a lighted tree, on a day you gather with family and friends and look around grabbing a few seconds to store away for later, on a facetime with those most beloved to you, when you’ve put away the last dish or driven the last couple hundred miles, when you have gone full-tilt, i know you will be a little tired. but it is my hope your heart will be happy.
“…i love to watch the lights shine on my baby’s face…”
the place this song came from. motherhood. the full-body-overwhelming-love-feeling for me of holding my babies those first christmases. seeing the lights from the tree play on their faces was magic-on-earth. i suddenly understood my sweet momma and her joy having us there at christmas, surrounded by her babies (forever her babies, regardless of age.) this is a story-song. i’ll say little else about it. you’ll understand when you listen to the lyrics.
we spent a wonderful day thanksgiving friday in boston with craig and dan. taking trains here and there, we had brunch at the greatest little dietary-restrictions-aware-diner called the friendly toast, walked through a magnificently decorated copley place, had drinks together and went bowling, a tradition that has been established now for a few years. it would have been hard not to feel the holiday spirit; carols were playing and everything was decorated…and we were together.
copley place had enormous decorations. i mean eNORmous. everywhere you looked there were oversized ornaments and lights. now, normally i might find that gauche; in this case it was stunning. they really made you take notice. i wanted to sing carols and skip through the mall.
i keep carols on pretty much non-stop in this season. in the house they play on a boombox booming out of my studio. we drive with them on in the car. i sing in the shower. i make up new words to old standards and sing LALALALALA really loudly when i can’t think of the lyrics. joy joy joy! big joy!
thank you to copley place for the reminder that THE JOY of the season – those moments we are together – is enormous. it is oversized. it is stunning. take notice.
a couple of weeks ago i ran into a couple i hadn’t seen in many years. they asked me about my children and how they were; i excitedly rambled on about them for several minutes, explaining where they were living – 20 hours west and 20 hours east – and what they were doing in life. then they asked me how i was. i said, “you can always gauge a mom’s happiness by how recently she last got to see her grown children.” i was fortunate enough to see my daughter in november AND my son in november, so i was happy-happy-happy. time spent with them. a wondrous thing.
i was perched on one edge and My Girl on another, a ways down the side of the canyon. we yelled back and forth, listening to the echo, ultimately dissolving into laughter. the beauty. the joy. the echo. the laughing. a wondrous thing.
it was not his best bowling day; the planets clearly were out of alignment for My Boy, who pretty much rocks at bowling and many other sports, but he goofed around and cartooned and had us all laughing. so much fun on that lane. a wondrous thing.
we stood around the piano and sang in my studio, wendy’s voice next to my own. suddenly, that thing-that-happens-when-two-people-who-are-related-sing-together happened. my sweet niece’s voice and mine had the same timbre and it took my breath away. i had to stop for a moment to take it in. a wondrous thing.
from the moment we walked into their house, my girlfriend-since-elementary-school and i laughed. we told stories, reminisced, struggled to remember details, poured a little wine, shared some more. our husbands sipped lemon drop martinis and we talked non-stop. i wanted to stay longer, talk more, remember more. so much of my growing-up-history was standing next to me, hugging me as we left. a wondrous thing.
we don’t really leave the kitchen table when we are there. we sit on high stools and the chatter starts as soon as we arrive. our dear friends jen and brad and the two of us have potluck dinners on many friday nights; each couple has leftovers from the week and no one has to worry about cooking. we just heat up our leftovers and plate them and talk, wine glasses (or a beer in brad’s case) in hand. conversations about our children, our work, politics, travel, ukuleles, npr…the spectrum is wide and we relish the time that flies by; six hours later we glance at the clock pointing to post-midnight. a wondrous thing.
as glorious as the high mountains, ocean-front waves, flowers birthing out of winter, exquisite melodies, the first sip of coffee in the morning, a magical snowfall, texts with heart emojis, a hand holding yours, finding an old note in your child’s little-kid handwriting, black and white pictures of your parents in young days, shooting stars and sunrises…the list of wondrous things we can see around us is endless…limitless…boundless…
and moments shared? also endless…limitless…boundless…
there is something magically sweet about a snowman. you know, without a doubt, that it won’t last forever, but it makes you smile every time you see one.
weeks ago when it had snowed packing-snow-to-just-cover-the-grass, the little boy a couple doors down went outside and built this snowman. his silly grin made me stop the car and back up; i had to take a picture of him, preserve him for gloomy days, days of no snow, days when it’s dark at 4:30.
little-kid relationship with snow is good wisdom to remember. embrace every chance to be in the moment. cherish the snow falling, the feeling of flakes gently landing on your face. treasure the slow-down of time, the chance to be with each other. be mindful that the time is fleeting; it won’t last forever. in this busy time, i think i will try to take every opportunity to build a snowman.
peace signs. the word peace. ornaments of peace. our home is punctuated with these. i believe it is possible – peace. but then, for truly big things, i believe in that which i cannot see.
the days older that i get, the more i see the simplest things are the things that bring me peace: the moment in the car with my beloved daughter, driving and laughing in the high desert or standing on a red rock precipice overlooking a canyon, tears in my eyes. the moment my beloved son let me link arms walking through the city or his hugging me -one more time- right before the train, yes…tears in my eyes. being -anywhere- with my beloved husband. all the stuff of deep soul warmth. the stuff of good tears.
i have found that peace doesn’t have to be complicated. it is simply there. in the very tightest concentric circle around me. if i can be at peace, perhaps i can do my part, i can ripple that outward. and maybe, eventually, with all our ripples, peace and earth will truly combine to be PEACE ON EARTH.
reverse threading 