Roll your eyes. Analogy time. I'm a young girl, in my canoe on the river of life. I find an excellent partner to paddle along with me, and though we skirmish a bit deciding who will steer, we settle into a rhythm before long. Of course we hit the rapids, and they look very frightening indeed right before we run a narrow, rocky, steep section. Class five sometimes. A couple of capsizing episodes, but we get back in and paddle like mad. We make the calm, glassy, deep part and lie back, resting our arms and catching our breath. The sun beats down and we get a little crispy, so we don't mind the cliffs that block the sun even if they mean more rapids. We have helmets by now, with our acquired respect for rocks that jut up in the most inopportune spots.
One day I look around the canoe for a particular thing, only to find so much stuff. We have filled our little boat with so much stuff. It's a wonder we can float at all. It's a wonder we can find the things we really need, like paddles. But lightening our load can be tricky. Stuff that seems burdensome to me might my partner's important something. And vice versa. But we do shed some stuff, and gain a little room to maneuver.
For a short while (maybe years, yes?) I thought I needed to give steering advice to every canoe within shouting distance. They needed the benefit of my expertise, right? And I clearly had it figured out. Clearly. What to do in a rainstorm, a pirate attack, a dark night in the tricky part. But, blessedly, I learned a couple of things. Late, maybe, but still...
People like to run the river their own way. Not everyone huddles under overlying branches in the lightening storm. Some people get out and swim for fun! And sure enough, they are able to get back in. Oh, there are some constants that apply to everyone. We are all moving, all carried by the years, by the advancing currents that lead us to old age and beyond, if we are so blessed. We can tie our little boat to moments by our sheer will to remember. But we will continue our journey no matter how much we want to look back to the way it used to be. And if we look back too much, we might miss that beautiful sunset over the Oak Tree ahead. Or the first star barely visible in that soft blue velvet sky. It can be tempting to want a map that shows every feature that lies ahead. But I also have learned that looking down at a map, or a cell phone, or a book, or a computer keeps me from soaking in the scenery around me.
Happy paddling everyone. See you at the seashore.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Milestones
Our Kathryn Rose, youngest daughter, graduated from college last weekend. It is one of those occasions, like a wedding, when I know I should only feel happiness for the blessing. But there is something about these milestones that emphasizes and exaggerates the passing of time. And that is always sobering, even in the midst of the gratitude.
We say, "seems like yesterday", "I remember when", "where did the time go" and other cliches that have become overused purely through their truth. A dear friend told me on Saturday that he had a very clear vision of Katie running around the bleachers of Josh's basketball games at about ten years of age. Then here she is, a grown woman...and the intervening years were but a blur.
I can call up memories of Katie from any time in her life. The snapshots in my memory are often the ones from ordinary days, not the big occasions. I hold those pictures in my mind and page through them, lingering on the ones that seem so clear that I remember the smells and sounds of the day as well. Her sweaty little face peering up at me, her eyes dancing in hopes that she can convince me to say yes. I think I did, way too often. The way she waited for her brother and sister to do whatever they were involved in by playing something that involved moving around. The way she bragged about her siblings to her friends. The way she danced. Even from the time she was little, she danced outside herself with freedom and abandon. She spent so much time dancing, it is very appropriate that she should have her degree in dance.
I am so happy that she graduated. I am so proud that she is an accomplished, generous young woman. I don't wish any of the years back, nor would I turn back the clock if I could. But I do look back with nostalgia at the time when three children made joyful noise and general mess in our home. When glitter stuck to the floor and little tiny pieces of paper cut outs went through the laundry in pants pockets. When the sound of a basketball bouncing somewhere nearby was the white noise of our home. When the days were filled with lessons and games and concerts and dances. They were very good days. I guess that is the reason I miss them so much.
But enough looking back. When Katie was little, she was always ready to go anywhere, any time. "Let's go!" was most likely her first sentence. Looking forward, I wish her the very same passion that filled her childhood. Go Katie!
We say, "seems like yesterday", "I remember when", "where did the time go" and other cliches that have become overused purely through their truth. A dear friend told me on Saturday that he had a very clear vision of Katie running around the bleachers of Josh's basketball games at about ten years of age. Then here she is, a grown woman...and the intervening years were but a blur.
I can call up memories of Katie from any time in her life. The snapshots in my memory are often the ones from ordinary days, not the big occasions. I hold those pictures in my mind and page through them, lingering on the ones that seem so clear that I remember the smells and sounds of the day as well. Her sweaty little face peering up at me, her eyes dancing in hopes that she can convince me to say yes. I think I did, way too often. The way she waited for her brother and sister to do whatever they were involved in by playing something that involved moving around. The way she bragged about her siblings to her friends. The way she danced. Even from the time she was little, she danced outside herself with freedom and abandon. She spent so much time dancing, it is very appropriate that she should have her degree in dance.
I am so happy that she graduated. I am so proud that she is an accomplished, generous young woman. I don't wish any of the years back, nor would I turn back the clock if I could. But I do look back with nostalgia at the time when three children made joyful noise and general mess in our home. When glitter stuck to the floor and little tiny pieces of paper cut outs went through the laundry in pants pockets. When the sound of a basketball bouncing somewhere nearby was the white noise of our home. When the days were filled with lessons and games and concerts and dances. They were very good days. I guess that is the reason I miss them so much.
But enough looking back. When Katie was little, she was always ready to go anywhere, any time. "Let's go!" was most likely her first sentence. Looking forward, I wish her the very same passion that filled her childhood. Go Katie!
Friday, April 27, 2012
The Vast Eternal
This morning a friend of mine shared this link on his facebook page. I thought, how nice...a chant. I'll just listen a second and see if I like it. Instead of listening a second, I was transported. Suddenly, the sheer numbers of those seeking the face of God rose up before me. The different pronunciation of hallelujah seemed like a lens that zoomed out from my chair in my house in my neighborhood in my country, and showed me a picture of pilgrims on their journey of faith in places and times I have never seen. Whatever their language or tradition, whatever their doctrine or understanding of their place in the universe, devout people everywhere are seeking to live their lives as best they can. It might mean an orange monk's robe. Or a priest's collar or rabbi's Yarmulke. But it also means a fireman's, or soldier's, or policeman's hat. It means the dusty boots of the conservationist, the exhausted arms of a mother at midnight rocking her newborn. It means the aid workers in war torn villages, the food delivery drivers in places wracked by famine, the medical teams in the ER. Sometimes the devout are so busy giving urgent care, there is little time or energy for hallelujahs. Let those of us who have the luxury of time lend our voices. To a good cause, to the positive experience of others who encounter us. To the hallelujah.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Lightening Our Load
My husband, Bob, and I were looking around at things not too long ago and asked ourselves what possessions we aren't using that might have a second life elsewhere. So he listed his beloved Indian Chief motorcycle on ebay. He just isn't riding it. I listed my cool Lemond road bike on Craig's List because I get neck trouble when I ride it.
That got me thinking about other things I carry with me that need to find a second life elsewhere. So here is my next posting on Craig's List:
One worry wart. Well used but still in good condition. Can be applied to children of any age and used without concern that it will run out. No expiration date or age limit for either the worrier or the worry-ee. Free to the first person who will pick it up.
One ego. Somewhat battered around the edges but still able to put on a good show of righteous indignation. Particularly useful in an election year. Will pay for someone to take it.
I hope they go fast on Craig's list. Just think of the extra room I'll have for enlightenment!
That got me thinking about other things I carry with me that need to find a second life elsewhere. So here is my next posting on Craig's List:
One worry wart. Well used but still in good condition. Can be applied to children of any age and used without concern that it will run out. No expiration date or age limit for either the worrier or the worry-ee. Free to the first person who will pick it up.
One ego. Somewhat battered around the edges but still able to put on a good show of righteous indignation. Particularly useful in an election year. Will pay for someone to take it.
I hope they go fast on Craig's list. Just think of the extra room I'll have for enlightenment!
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Reminders
Children are the best reality check. We adults sometimes think we have this body of knowledge from having lived through so many things that makes us better equipped to understand life. But every now and then I see a child zero in on the basic, elemental things. Like a sense of wonder at the beauty of the earth. Like the need to touch the ones we love...holding hands, hugging, just touching. Like the pure joy of moving through space with the bodies we were given.
I hear the echoes of the child in the voices of adults who see the season's first lightning bug, or notice that the rose bush has burst into bloom. I used to roll my eyes at talk about our 'inner child'. It sounded contrived to me; like psycho babble. But somehow, writing for children makes me recognize the truth in the phrase. It's not that we become children again, because that very body of knowledge I mentioned earlier is a barrier to re-entry. Instead, it is being open to the incredible world that surrounds us, being mindful of the pure imagination it took to think of all creatures, great and small. And that most complex of all creatures, our fellow humans. An intentional shift away from dwelling on the trumped up worries of modern life can bless us again with joy in the simple gifts. A childlike joy. Not childish. But childlike. Because kids get the important stuff.
I hear the echoes of the child in the voices of adults who see the season's first lightning bug, or notice that the rose bush has burst into bloom. I used to roll my eyes at talk about our 'inner child'. It sounded contrived to me; like psycho babble. But somehow, writing for children makes me recognize the truth in the phrase. It's not that we become children again, because that very body of knowledge I mentioned earlier is a barrier to re-entry. Instead, it is being open to the incredible world that surrounds us, being mindful of the pure imagination it took to think of all creatures, great and small. And that most complex of all creatures, our fellow humans. An intentional shift away from dwelling on the trumped up worries of modern life can bless us again with joy in the simple gifts. A childlike joy. Not childish. But childlike. Because kids get the important stuff.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Floating, floating
Floating down softly
In the corner of my eye
Like the lilting feather
In Forrest Gump.
Just a bit of insight
Just a small, small bit of white
That makes the world
A softer, safer place.
Sometimes the lightening bolt
Of epiphany is too much.
I'm not ready.
So the still, small voice
That echoes through all time
Sends just that one thing
That one message of hope
Of love, of everlasting grace.
Then, one day, I see them all
Lying at my feet like feathers
Softening the path
Quieting the footsteps of effort
Just easing the way
All because I am not alone
I know,
because I did not send them.
In the corner of my eye
Like the lilting feather
In Forrest Gump.
Just a bit of insight
Just a small, small bit of white
That makes the world
A softer, safer place.
Sometimes the lightening bolt
Of epiphany is too much.
I'm not ready.
So the still, small voice
That echoes through all time
Sends just that one thing
That one message of hope
Of love, of everlasting grace.
Then, one day, I see them all
Lying at my feet like feathers
Softening the path
Quieting the footsteps of effort
Just easing the way
All because I am not alone
I know,
because I did not send them.
Monday, January 16, 2012
That empty nest
Our nest has been empty for a while now. Our youngest is twenty six. You would think I'd have it down by now; the way to be myself with no little ones left at home. And most of the time I do. My husband, Bob, and I have lots of things we do to enjoy life. We built a cabin in New Mexico. We have great friends both there and in Austin. We have our grown kids nearby in Austin. And my folks live in Sun City. So it's not really loneliness that makes me stand in the center of my nest and realize how much I miss the little feathers that used to line it so perfectly, making it such a comfortable place to live.
Since the youngest left home I have been writing a lot, mostly projects for children, and that fact got me to asking myself: why do I write for children instead of adults? Do I write for children because I loved being a child, or because I loved being a mom? Do I write for children because I remember so vividly what it was like to be five and fifteen? Or because when my children were those ages, and all the other ages they have been, my favorite thing was watching them become the people they are today? I don't know. I just know that calling up the memories of either time in my life is like taking pictures out of an album. Holding them in my hand and noticing anew the background or other details. Remembering the smells, the sounds, the way life felt on a day when the camera lens caught a big smile or a giant tear.
I don't really idealize the past, because I do remember the giant tear days very well. I guess I just want to make sure that in the busy, shifting, variable present I don't forget the days that got me to this one. This day is a gift, no doubt. And those days were as well. I want to remember to send thank you notes.
Since the youngest left home I have been writing a lot, mostly projects for children, and that fact got me to asking myself: why do I write for children instead of adults? Do I write for children because I loved being a child, or because I loved being a mom? Do I write for children because I remember so vividly what it was like to be five and fifteen? Or because when my children were those ages, and all the other ages they have been, my favorite thing was watching them become the people they are today? I don't know. I just know that calling up the memories of either time in my life is like taking pictures out of an album. Holding them in my hand and noticing anew the background or other details. Remembering the smells, the sounds, the way life felt on a day when the camera lens caught a big smile or a giant tear.
I don't really idealize the past, because I do remember the giant tear days very well. I guess I just want to make sure that in the busy, shifting, variable present I don't forget the days that got me to this one. This day is a gift, no doubt. And those days were as well. I want to remember to send thank you notes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)