Thursday, May 15, 2008
She was right; there was one article on knitting, one on architecture, and a recipe for home-made chai. All suit me quite nicely, and it was a delightful respite to sit on a stool in the middle of the kitchen and read through random snippets I would otherwise never have found. It also got me thinking; gifts given are a mirror in which the recipient can better see how others perceive them.
Once I gave my mother a necklace depicting a dancing goddess. To me the goddess reflected my mother's indomitable spirit. I don't quite remember what I wrote in the accompanying note, but I do remember how surprised my mother was. She doesn't believe herself to be the person I see. Perhaps that is a family trait -- I think of myself as rather stodgy, but the articles I received reflected someone with wide interests, a zest for spice (literally), and a certain amount of creativity.
I like how you see me. Thank you.
Monday, May 12, 2008
My husband and I once drove across
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Months later I watched him sleep, stretched out on a lambskin on the living room floor, and I saw a conversation play out on his unconscious face. First a smile, then an intense look of concentration, and finally a silent laugh that spread to the ends of his fingers. I believe even now that he was talking to angels.
I think my sweet boy is a new soul. He's never been through the wringer. The responsibility of guiding him to adulthood, helping him find a road with maybe a few less bumps, is daunting. But having him in my life is such a blessing. As I once told my friends as we despaired, I have a daily reminder of all that is good in this world, no matter what darkness lurks at the edges of our reality. Thank you my sweet boy, for always showing me the light.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
After far too many years of pondering, I recently had two epiphanies, and I'm wondering which sounds right to you? And if I haven't gotten it, what's your answer?
A pear tastes like the first kiss with someone who makes your heart race. It starts soft, sweet, and tender, but before you pull away it catches, changes texture and becomes more assertive, perhaps messy, and requires two hands and a laugh as you look upward and stop for a moment to savor before you lean back in for more.
A pear tastes like dawn on a mountain top. You're not quite sure what to expect, and you look out and see glimpses of what's coming and you take a lightly perfumed breath inward. Then suddenly it's light and everywhere you turn there's something new and it's all lovely and you begin recognizing the shapes around you, and each one is delightful and familiar and yet somehow new.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Before & After
In my mind I have a long, long white wall, on which are hung many "Bad Mommy" plaques, one for each lapse in judgment or self-control or completely unavoidable incident which damages my children. I did not award myself the Bad Mommy yesterday, although one could argue that letting my girl play alone outside, unsupervised, was a bad choice.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
The mingle of people grows, each quietly intent on the individual business of waiting. Early in the year there are tentative glances, like at a high school dance, but the connections become stronger and after a few months there are hushed groupings: of neighbors, class parents, awkward strangers drawn into proximity by common experience. Still--through the light conversation that passes the time--eyes glance at windows or doors, expectant, hopeful.
And then the jarring shrillness of the bell, the old clapper style that beats relentlessly on a dome and seems to go on forever and as it echoes away we all sway backwards under the awesome wave of children that erupts from the school. The shrieking joy and pulsing energy seethes, rushing around parents who stand like stones at the edge of the sea, gulping the air as if we could somehow recover our own youth if we just breathe in their essence deeply enough.
Slowly we collect our children and their daily flotsam--papers, jackets, half-empty lunch boxes--and we trickle away, leaving the pavement unmarked except for the painted outlines of games we no longer know how to play.