it was election day and i was passing through the denver airport, walking from one end of the united airlines terminal to the other. i knew that later that night, i would be tuning in to the results of the midterm elections and would, undoubtedly, read a plethora of articles on my news app that would sadden me. the divisiveness is palpable, an uneven heartbeat in our country, a dis-ease that is rampant.
i passed a bank of telephones (the ones that you put coins in to make phone calls) and above each cubicle was a poster. i read each as i walked past. i was much further down the terminal when i turned around to go back. lincoln’s words captured my attention and i wanted to pass-it-on as the poster says. “a house divided…cannot stand.”
it made me wish for what should be simple things: dialogue. grace. equality. kindness. unity. and yes, civility. they are all there. in us.
at 93 these words were texted by my sweet momma on her iphone, about a week before she died three years ago. she was amazing. and damn strong. “whoa!” i think, re-reading this text, “you go, momma!”
“…more than i say…more than i speak…more than you realize…” like every mom she walked the thin line between not saying enough and saying too much. The Girl and The Boy are practiced at rolling their eyes at me and, i guess, i must have done the same to my momma. so there’s that moment you dig in and, ignoring every quivering fibre in your body, you do not say anything. you notice, you think, you know. but you remain quiet. for you also know that the lives you have gifted into this world are not yours to live; they are only yours to love, to hold closest to your heart, to support in every way you can, to lift up when they stumble or fall.
“don’t. underestimate me.” so true, momma didn’t want to be under-estimated. her spirit in the world accomplished bigger things than most professions can tout. her kindness was rippling, her curiosity abounding, and her fortitude…that sisu. you don’t want to be the retail/corporate/organization recipient of the “write-a-lettuh” vindication; momma was going to win. she “wasn’t born in ny for nothin” as i say. the day after the extra surgery she had just one day after her double-mastectomy a few months before this text, she sat on the edge of her hospital bed and called us “idiots” for not getting back on the road home. she was going to be “just fine” and she was more worried about us on the road than herself. that’s a mom for you. that’s my sweet momma.
beaky dug in. she was engaged and big in the world. and her sisu made her powerful. she was wise even in silence. she knew, even if i didn’t tell her. like moms everywhere, she was tuned in, in ways that made her ever-present. i always counted on that. i still do. she is on the edges of this earth, where the wind carries her to me.
i can only hope that one day my own children realize that – no matter what – i am right there. i know more than i say. i think more than i speak. i notice more than they realize. and never, ever, underestimate me. because as their momma, i will go to the ends of the earth for them. just like my mom.
we were in cedarburg and on our way out the door of one of our favorite shops there – leap of faith. i go way back with this shop; during the years that small boutiques sold cds they carried mine and i would, from time to time, play a live performance, hand in hand raising awareness about my music. the silver peace ring i wear at all times is from this shop. i have meandered many a time through this place, breathing a little easier as i peruse and read their cards, signs, gifts, positive messages all, open to all.
as we walked out, i spotted this small bowl of blue marbles and the words “take one”. a symbol for our planet. a prayer for peace. i didn’t need another invitation. the song lyrics accompanying this blue marble hummed in my head all the way home, even after wendy and i loudly sang “i believe the children are our future…”while striding down the sidewalk after hearing it in another shop.
our blue marble, our good earth, tiny in the vastness, might thrive. we might thrive. if not for us, then for the children. our children. they are our future.
this tree. gnarly and twisted and wrinkly. it looks a little halloween-esque at dusk and could be downright scary in the dark of night. it’s seen so much life, so many decades and its lifeblood travels throughout the healthy tree, bringing and sharing nutrients. home to insects and small creatures, it provides shade for the vegetation beneath it. it’s not just an old tree and it’s not the picture of what we think of when we think of a beautiful tree. but it is. beautiful. you just can’t judge a book by its cover. my sweet momma always said that.
momma would look in the mirror and talk about the wrinkles on her face and how “old” she looked. in her wheelchair she could appear to be meek, wrestling with difficulties and just an old woman. but that was so not so. she had seen much life. she was home to my dad, me and my sister and brother, our families, extended members as it fanned out the branches of our family tree, her friends. she provided warm words and kindnesses to all around her, strangers among them. she was beautiful. every last gorgeous wrinkle. you just can’t judge a book by its cover.
we had a black lab years ago, one of a few in our family history, when The Girl and The Boy were little. his name was hughie and he had at least 47 allergies. he was treated for many of these and we tried to address the auto-immune disease he had as well, but he lost most of the hair on his body. he looked gnarly and rough and wrinkled. as a lab with little hair, he looked scary to those who did not know him. he struggled and, even in his discomfort, was gentle and sweet, a learning for The Girl and The Boy, who were his and, despite his outward appearance, knew what was inside. he was not the picture of what we think of when we think of a beautiful dog. but he was. beautiful. you just can’t judge a book by its cover.
inside. beautiful. how hard is it to always remember that? you just can’t judge a book by its cover.
a legacy. todd bol has left a legacy in his wake. and i can’t imagine one that doesn’t touch imaginations and creativity and limitlessness more. todd built his initial little free library in 2009 in hudson, wisconsin, as a tribute to his mother, who was a teacher and a book-lover. his first little free library was a replica of a one-room schoolhouse, which he secured on a post and filled with books that he invited his neighbors to borrow. it caught on, as no one could have dreamed possible, and now these gems are across the united states and in more than 80 countries.
we read every day. together. we always have a book going and it is one of our greatest pleasures to read aloud to each other. there is something magical about it – sitting close under a blanket, experiencing the book at the same time, reacting to it, talking about it. sometimes a book is so engrossing it requires one of us to pull the other out of the book-world-reality that has consumed us. such is the power of reading.
if you walk around our neighborhood, even without walking on every single street, you will encounter these little libraries. there are five within just a few minutes, a few blocks of us. todd bol died at age 62 on october 18. but his legacy? he has left behind “more than 75,000 little free library stewards around the world dedicated to literacy and community.” an amazing – and ever-growing – gift to the world. thank you, todd bol.
and, speaking of legacy, happy would-be-68th birthday to my big brother wayne. no matter what plane of existence you now grace, you live on in each of us. i wish i could peapod or instacart or jet you gallons of coffee ice cream. i love you and miss you. always.
we knew before we really started planning that we would be married in jeans and boots. and anyone who knows us could tell you that we would definitely be wearing black tops, in david’s case – a shirt and jacket, in my case – a long tunic. it’s just us.
we went to the frye boot store in chicago long before our wedding day, combining a visit with The Boy with our errand. the girl-boots i tried on weren’t right…although i love all the high frye boots, we had a vision for these, the one item we each splurged on in our apparel for The Day. the boots needed to be totally dance-worthy, kind of worn-looking, lower-ankle boots. i ended up buying boy-boots; it helps when you have big feet, lol, because you can find boy-sizes that fit. we wore them inside the house dancing many times to break them in. but never put them on to go anywhere. we were saving them.
three years ago today, we donned our boots, our new ripped jeans and our black tops. we individually walked down the aisle to the front of the church and a new life commitment. The Girl, The Boy, 20, arnie and ptom stood in front with us and then we skipped back down the aisle, past pews filled with pieces of our hearts, to the ukulele band playing what a wonderful world. we drove our little baby scion to the historic beachhouse where we had a food truck, a dj playing music people danced to for hours and hours, hula hoops and crayons, wine and daisy cupcakes, spotted cow and quinoa tabouli, brownies and a bonfire on the beach. our family and friends – our community- brought us across the bridge from single to married; it was in a key of celebration, of support.
never did we once think that life would just be like that from there on out. for life is life and challenges arise. we are not exempt from that. but our community stands with us, silently reminding us that they were there, they witnessed the moment. their belief and our love forge together. it takes a village to be married. we are grateful for that village, for anyone who has nudged us to see Us.
and any time we forget that very important day, we pull our wedding boots out of the front of our closets, put them on and remember.
reverse threading 