about dessert, my sweet momma always said, “it’ll slide down and fill in the crevices!!!” yes, yes, the perfect way to feel fulfilled for a momma who had feeding-people as one of her love languages.
we try not to overeat. we try to make healthy choices. we try to maintain a good dietary balance of fruits and vegetables, lean meats, grains, nuts, blahblahblah. but, sometimes, we have had just a littletoomuch cheese and crackers for snacktime, a littletoomuch wine at happy hour, a littletoomuch chicken soup at dinner and we are inordinately – like thanksgiving’s troubled tale – stuffed.
we try to take a walk in these moments. try to work off the excess. try to believe we will make better decisions next time. yadayadayada.
and then, one of us remembers.
that in recent weeks – we succumbed to the talenti frozen nondairy sorbetto – and that it is sitting patiently awaiting us in our freezer – the one that occasionally forgets it’s a freezer and leaks water onto the floor. a little somethin’ sweet.
the food-guilt is not as powerful as the sorbetto-yearning here, i guess, so we succumb.
because a little coffee sorbetto will merely slide down and fill in the crevices.
there are heartstrings attached to this vw. mine. it’s been a part of my life since 1971, although it wasn’t specifically mine then. it became mine in 1976, when i “bought” it from my sweet poppo for a token amount of money. just to do the math for you – so you don’t have to (even if you don’t want to know) – that is 47 years ago. this little super beetle has been mine for 47 years.
and it still is.
now it resides in the one spot in our one car garage, next to the lawnmower and the solo stove, a little bit of potting soil and some spare clay pots, the wheelbarrow with the flat tire, under the eaves with the old screen door and the snow rake, the tricycle and the little red wagon, a couple of old webbed aluminum lawn chairs and two zero gravity lounges, just far enough away from the bikes suspended on j hooks, covered with a couple dropcloths, keeping the dust off.
i love it.
it has history, as most things dating back 47 years. it was purchased in germany brand new and my parents drove it all over europe. i was there the day we picked it up on the docks in ny after it was shipped to the states. i was there the day my parents fell in love with a giant painting of fjords listed for sale at a seafood restaurant and it wouldn’t fit in the bug so after dinner we waited while my dad drove home to get the other car. i was there when driving in snow, i slid directly into the curb and nothing happened. i was there when my sweet dog missi pooped in the backseat well. i was there adventuring, layer-caking jobs, buying cornflakes to survive, with the windows down blasting 1970s AM radio. i was there with my bug on the beaches, out east on the island, driving in the humid heat of florida, in wisconsin the day i went into labor with my baby girl. i was there on the re-homing drives from new york to florida, florida to wisconsin, state to state. through thick and thin it has been a constant. even if it’s in the garage. even not driving.
i suppose my dad would say to sell it. and i’ve thought about it. there is likely someone out there who would relish rebuilding the engine again, re-oiling its joints and changing out rubber stuff that needs changing. (personally, i sort of like the idea of that restoration project myself.) and then, the bug would be driven and gleeful.
but i don’t know. i mean, even director/producer ron howard drives an old cherished bug around california. so there are other people who “get it” – driving an old bug around here – or anywhere else one might live.
both my kids (and probably most people who know me) can attest to my threadiness. so no one would be surprised that this little bug is still in the garage. i am heartened by the fact that my neighbor has an old triumph in her garage, same sort of story. it’s nice not to be the only one…
we pushed it out of the garage to clean – a yearly (or so) event. checking for evidence of chippies homesteading, with a soft sponge and a microfiber cloth i gently washed it. and then i did a photo shoot as it smiled and mugged for the camera. it knows how much it’s loved.
my sweet poppo died three years before my sweet momma. when she died, the tilt that my world had already felt dove down into a deeper angle, the axis of the earth struggling to keep it in balance. the loss of both parents is profound, no matter your age.
it had been years since i had heard or seen a blue jay. they were common where i grew up, the screeches of jays in the woods or the trees surrounding our home. they have husky voices, always a little bit raspy. but they make me think of home.
i still remember the first day i saw one – after. it’s a few years ago now.
we were hiking on one of our favorite trails and suddenly i could hear them. they flew across the path and i stood still, reveling in the moment, taking it in. since that day, there have been more sightings and i have heard their birdcalls, even out our bedroom window from time to time.
since they are a common bird in wisconsin, i wonder how it is i missed them.
and i realize that sometimes the way home – the sound of a blue jay – is something we just don’t pay attention to, something that falls down on the list of priorities. until one day.
the day comes that all the really important stuff comes into focus. and we realize that we have – maybe – taken for granted the stuff that really is a part of who we are. we slough off paying attention to those things, those places, those people because we believe that there is plenty of time – later. or perhaps there are reasons we cannot grant grace to those things, those places, those people and we somewhat haughtily, in some selfish kind of righteous amnesia of our own actions, put them to the side, the corners of our hearts. or maybe we are just too busy and we have gotten lost, overwhelmed in our very real and partly contrived busy-ness.
any way you look at it, i am surprised i didn’t see the blue jays. until after.
now i hear them, see them, find their feathers in the usualness of our days. each time it is like a tiny nod to home, to all the moments of goodness, to the realness of unconditional love in the midst of the ridiculous hardness of life.
we wore pink. our daughter said we’d get bonus points and we love bonus points. so we wore pink. i had on pink converse high-top sneakers and sported a pink floral drawstring backpack. david had on a pink v-neck t-shirt.
and we went to see barbie, the movie.
there’s a lot of talk-talk about this movie. and, for once, i’m not going to enter the fray. instead, i’m just going to say we loved it. and, we’d like to see it again, revisit some of the one-liners and implicit (and explicit) comments on our society. our tickets were from our daughter so it was extra fun to exchange texts about it after-the-fact. mostly, there are some really defining moments in this movie. it is unexpectedly thought-provoking. and, if you haven’t already seen it, we would both absolutely recommend it.
as you already know, when i was young i wasn’t allowed to have a (cultural icon) barbie. in an excerpt from a previous post about barbie and my mother:
“when i was 38 i got a package from my sweet momma. of course, it was from poppo too but he was pretty much a follower on this one. i excitedly opened the big box and there was a note inside. it read something like, “surprise! it’s about time…thought you could have one of these now.” curious, i continued to rapidly unwrap. inside this simply wrapped gift (for my momma had to mail it to me across the country and everyone knows that those sticky bows get squished when you mail them) was —- wait for it —- a barbie doll with chandelier earrings in a huge party dress with pastel flowers glued onto it! now, that – blossom beauty barbie – sounds like an unusual gift at 38, but you have to know the back-story…
my momma would not let me have a barbie when i was growing up. ahead of her time, she felt that the barbie-body was somewhat unconscionably derisive for women and the feminist in her was railing against having her own little girl fall prey to that attitude. and so, she never let me get a barbie of my own. instead, she got me the doll penny brite, an adorable, flat-chested, bright-faced, modestly-dressed doll who just looked 1960s happy. a little later i got a skipper doll, who was barbie’s younger sister – clearly she hadn’t inherited the same physical genes barbie had. not being particularly well-endowed myself, in later years, i teased my mom that she had given me nothing to aspire to, but she just pursed her lips and tried not to laugh.
so this was a big deal – getting a barbie from my momma. it’s too perfect that it happened to be one of the tackiest barbies out there. but i received this from her when i had my own little girl and she probably guessed i was about to start buying her some barbies (so as not to be “the only one” in her group of little girlfriends without one, like me, still recovering from non-barbie-ptsd.) momma was quirky that way.“
but because of my little girl, i was finally able to immerse in barbie-world. so the movie was particularly poignant as a recovered non-barbie-r, errr, delayed-onset barbie-r. the set, the barbie-house, the barbie-car, the use of product messaging, the language … the pink – all the pink – was pretty splendidly on the mark. and the messages were loud and clear. “it is literally impossible to be a woman…” and “it is the best day ever. so was yesterday, and so is tomorrow, and every day from now until forever.” and “you can be anything.” not to mention the quotes about patriarchy and gender inequality and humanness and the digs at capitalism, the question of play, the differences and similarities between men and women. all conversation fodder. ahh, go see it.
and then there is this moment at the end of the movie, when barbie inventor ruth handler (played by rhea perlman) says to barbie, “we mothers stand still so our daughters can look back and see how far they have come.” this moment made me cry.
the passing of the baton. no matter if we are born in 1921, 1959, 1990…the baton gets passed on. and the pink. it took my momma 38 years, but she passed it on. in a curious coincidence, she was 38 when she birthed me. the baton had already been passed. holding still, ever-holding.
we hiked past the dogwood off-trail. the tiny berries were almost all gone and the stems were exposed. pink. i immediately thought of barbie. it was a direct-connect.
and it made me want to run home and put on the converse high-tops i had fished out of my beloved daughter’s closet.
in color psychology, barbie pantone pink is the confluence of femininity, fashion, and vibrancy. in the dictionary, vibrancy is the state of being full of energy and life.
pink. in my world, it reminds me of my beautiful girl and her brilliance in the world.
i’ll be wearing those pink high-tops a little extra this fall.
when i was in sunday school – decades ago – we sang a song with these lyrics: “love, love, love. that’s what it’s all about. cause god loves us, we love each other. mother, father, sister, brother. everybody sing and shout. cause that’s what it’s all about. it’s about love, love, love. it’s about love, love, love.”
and then, somewhere along the way, it seems that the rules changed. and suddenly, it wasn’t all about love. it – on the contrary – became about the parameters put on love. it became about who people identify as and who people love. it became about valuing only male-female love. it became about quashing people’s gender identification. it became about ancient, close-minded, patriarchal interpretations. it became about bigotry. and the sunday school song takes on a different meaning.
but we know that nothing immensely beautiful, nothing meaningful or of import has come from limitations. it is not the ostrich with its head in the sand who can feel the dawn of a new day on its face. it is not the people who do no true research, who do not ask questions, who do not ponder the possible; these same folks who, if they instead would have respectful consideration of others, could find that we all can be spokes-living-better-together.
one of the things i really loved about my sweet momma was her willingness – her desire – to learn new things. even in her nineties, she tried to stay current, to stay informed. if she didn’t understand something, she’d ask questions or she’d look it up. she stayed open, non-judgemental. she hoped for happiness, love, freedom, peace for everyone – despite their race, ethnicity, gender identity, religion, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status. she did not make broad sweeping statements dissing any group of people. she held onto her belief that everyone deserves “to thine own self be true”. i’m guessing she would agree with ruth bader ginsburg, “we will all profit from a more diverse, inclusive society, understanding, accommodating, even celebrating our differences, while pulling together for the common good.”
the day my beloved son came out to me, i rejoiced in his freedom. all i really wanted for him – that day and every day since – was to love and be loved by his partner, working together with mutual respect, loyalty, understanding, generosity, admiration, affection, support. it is the same for my beloved daughter in her love relationships. i merely birthed them and then, in the briefest time that flew by, they became adults, out in the world. and with them, they took the knowledge that they had freedom to be who they are, knowing – without a doubt – i love them.
i can’t imagine poking at a group of people – including, and particularly, an all-embracing LGBTQIA+ community of beautiful people. lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual: their individual and precious lives are not mine to live, nor mine to decide, nor mine to undermine.
we are the same. remember the sunday school song? or are there limitations to these lyrics? in what faith is love not love?
we purchased a new yard sign. half of the proceeds go to PRIDE.
we did not birth a baby together. until all these bunnies. our new-parent-juju is rising. together, we watch over them, noticing how they are growing, changing, their different puff-ball tails, their different markings. truth be told, we are not sure how many bunnies we actually have. we suspect that the number is rapidly increasing – as different sizes are showing up – all in the same day. so we are likely parenting multiples – twins, triplets and beyond.
my sweet momma used to tell me that when she discovered she was expecting – a decade after having my sister and brother – she wanted to have twins. she wanted me to be twins. she didn’t get all regretful or anything, but she just wanted me to know that she wanted me to have a sibling close to my age.
i wasn’t a twin. and my sister and brother grew, lightyears ahead of me, leaving home and marrying while i was just reaching double-digits. i, ever the little-sister, had special relationships with both of them and treasured time and sleepovers at their homes. but i can see the wisdom of my mom’s wish for twins. she called me their “dividend”.
and so i grew up – post-just-turning-double-digits – with older parents. they were already in their mid-fifties when i was a mid-teenager. and they were from a generation a little bit more old-fashioned. so, i s’pose i was a little bit more old-fashioned too.
they were already at the stage where suddenly they had a little bit more time to pay attention to the birds, the animals around our growing-up house, their garden. while i always appreciated their zeal, i didn’t stop in the zooming-around of a teenager to partake in much bird or wildlife watching or spend a lot of time in the gardens. after they moved to florida, in their last home together, they would sit for hours gazing out at the lake behind their home, watching for waterfowl, tiny lizards and traces of lurking alligators. witnesses of nature. it always brought them peace.
and now i get it.
last night we sat on the deck as the sun began to fall behind the horizon. the night air was cooler and the birds, chippies, squirrels, bunnies were busy. we marveled at the hummingbird flitting in to the feeder and we laughed at the antics of a gleeful dogdog, who was outsmarted every time by whichever bunbun was in the yard. we both sighed. the day was coming to an end and our yard-family was getting ready to tuck in.
the joys of dividends are numerous we see. old-fashioned goodness.
my sweet momma and my poppo – over in the next dimension – smiled knowing smiles and clapped their hands as they watched me, as they watched us.
“still, what i want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled— to cast aside the weight of facts
and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. i want to believe I am looking
into the white fire of a great mystery. i want to believe that the imperfections are nothing— that the light is everything—that it is more than the sum of each flawed blossom rising and falling. and i do.” (mary oliver – house of light)
truth be told, i am pretty easily dazzled.
diamonds on the lake, owl feathers on the trail, first fireflies, an unsolicited kiss from dogdog, the rising moon, constellations pinpricking the sky, tightly-wound buds, wide-open-blossom fragrance. catching my beloved’s eye, the gesture of hand to his heart, the ninth in harmony, the sinking sun through a forest of trees, birds gathering at 4am, sunrise, surprise texts from my grown children, squishy pillows, the first coffee, a bold red, a new thermal shirt, snowfall, the first glimpse of the mountains.
as everything changes – my body, my work, my impact, my voice – it is easier to float above the difficult when dazzled a dazzling number of times a day.
i don’t know who to credit with my easy-dazzability. i suspect it’s my sweet momma. she did not have a high bar for ecstatic. she cheered on the tiniest event, she buoyed even those she did not know. her gaze took it all in…it became fodder for extraordinary within the ordinary.
but, oh, the practice of being astounded, of having your breath taken away, of being startled by that which you’ve seen many times, of holding the horizon loosely like the reins of a horse – without restraint, your knees signaling “gallop”. full-fledged immersion in possibility, unabashed glee, awed.
when the lake glitters, it feels as if the day itself has reason to shimmer.
i realize now – already – and at long last – the shimmer – of light – is always there. no matter.
i grew fond of clotheslines when we were on washington island. four years ago – almost to this very day – we hung out our first freshly washed laundry. the machine at the littlehouse was one of those washer-dryer combos but it had a few issues with the drying part and we felt it was using too much energy. so we went to mann’s true value hardware and bought clothesline and clothespins and, using the metal poles already sunk in the ground, we strung up our dryer.
it seemed simpler. it was simpler. and time slowed down a little. you can’t rush laundry on a clothesline. the sun and the wind off the lake had to do their job. and we had no control over that. we just waited. every now and then we’d go check the clothes for dryness. and then we’d wait a little longer.
my sweet momma had a clothesline out back – the rotary kind. i wasn’t paying a lot of attention back then, but i did notice the fresh outdoor scent of the sheets when she hung them out.
so when the farm in iowa had a clothesline, both of us had a wistful moment. not to mention the rust made for a plethora of photographs. it’s chip and jojo at their best, or leanne ford, featuring vintage, repurposing the old, framing the rusty, the chipped, the peeling. it’s exquisite stuff. surely this very clothesline t-pole could make an appearance inside were it to be retired from clotheslining.
we have stepped away from washington island. it’s been three years now. covid did a job on performing arts centers everywhere and wiwi’s TPAC was no exception. our co-managing director positions were given to someone local, someone who lived on-island full-time, someone who was already part of the island’s very fabric, lowering overhead costs and fashioning it into what they needed post-pandemic.
to say i don’t miss it would be truly false. though it had some issues in growing, we were dedicated to symbiotically weaving together the organizations on-island and elevating the maturing pac for outsiders as well as insiders. we would initiate change slowly – and some change more quickly – and then wait – just like the clothesline.
and then, the sun and the wind off the lake would let us know how it was going. we’d shift a bit in the stiff breezes and seek shelter of shade in too much glare.
and we knew the clothes and ideas would eventually dry and all would be fresh and sparkling and we could take off the clothespins and bring them in, welcoming them – just like sheets fresh off the line.
sisu is alive and well at the milwaukee art museum. i was thrilled to see the scandinavian design installation. i was pretty sure it would all feel familiar. all my life, i have been surrounded by pieces from scandinavia, finland in particular.
in what is likely a sin-of-casualness, quite some time ago i placed the vintage marimekko dish towel into the kitchen drawer, wanting to use it, to see it more often than the rare times i open up the cedar chest. i took out other finnish linens as well, placing them in regular rotation. they are simpler, organic linens, raw in color. but the marimekko…it’s happiness in a towel.
so when we walked into the room with the brilliant marimekko maija isola’s unikko (poppy) design hanging as a giant banner of fabric, i was inordinately happy. gorgeous and bold, you could stand there for a long time and just soak it in, like sunshine on a bluebird day.
i have many finnish relatives. all delightful and spread about in finland and various other european countries, i haven’t had the pleasure of being in their company since i was eight and my grandmother took me to finland for ten weeks to experience the land of the midnight sun, the sauna and the lake of the northern cabin, the town named after her family – klamila. but, at eight, i wasn’t fascinated by bolts of fabric or designer glass. instead, i pretended there was a horse on the back porch and spent long hours on the porchrail, reins in hand, exploring the wilds of finland. it would do my heart good to meet this branch of family once again.
i knew my sweet momma and my grandmother were cheering as we slowly made our way through the installation. reading all the placards and admiring the simplicity of pieces of silver, of china, of exquisitely designed coffeepots, we had to, of course, veer off the scandinavian path and visit the diebenkorn and the rothko before we left.
the marimekko towel was the next one up in the drawer. i took it out and pondered the feasibility of using such a treasured item. and then i could hear my momma echo my grandmother’s words: of course you should. it’s your roots.
it doesn’t seem quite possible – this time has flown by.
but 10.
our cherished dogga is beginning to show signs of age…slowing down a bit, sleeping more, not always waiting at the door, but meeting us there as soon as he hears us walk in.
i guess aussies are typically with us for about twelve years, with some maybe as long as somewhere between 13 and 15. if we could vote, we’d vote for one of those, so long as he felt well in those years. because, like you, we know that the next two years will fly by as well. and that just makes us cringe.
the wander-women-thru-hiking-superstars-in-our-book once spoke about their plans for the future. they had downsized and sold off homes, sold off stuff, bought an rv named “biggie mama”, planted it in colorado springs and now travel all over thru-hiking, exploring and adventuring. they talked about their summers, the time of their biggest adventures. last year they were going to bike across the united states, but their plan got waylaid and they decided to set it aside when they felt unsafe on the roads which had no provisions for long-distance bicyclists. they said – not verbatim – that they wanted to use their summers wisely. if they – at around 60 and 65 – had another 20 good summers or so, then they wanted to use them in the happiest of ways, feeling centered and grounded in their plans.
another 20 good summers or so.
that made me stop.
and think.
it made me wonder about my sweet momma and whether she, in the last twenty years of her life, thought about the potential of those last twenty years. she moved on to the air around us at almost-94, so those last twenty years or so started in her 70s.
in her last years i saw momma often. and david met her on nine trips we made in her last eighteen months. they became fast friends. but what about before that? what about in all that time i lived in wisconsin and she lived in florida? i wonder now.
did she think about this tiny fact: because of distance and travel expense and busy schedules and all that life places in our actual and emotional way, that if i had only been able to see her once a year in her last twenty years, she would have only seen me twenty more times.
it’s a sobering thought.
very.
and it applies to all of us. even more so because we don’t have any guarantee about the number of years – or summers – we actually have.
and so, i’m thinking that living like our beloved dogdog: exuberantly happy to see us each time we re-enter the room, full of love and not-even-one grudge for anything we may have done, missing us when we are apart, a curiosity perspective willing to learn any new trick, anxious to be around us simply to be around us – without expectation, eager to go along anywhere we are going, truly unconditional – may be the best way to live ANY amount of time between now and the wind.
reverse threading 