I dropped my youngest off last Sunday for his first,week-long overnight cub scouts camp.  I didn't cry.  I didn't ache.  I had a little twinge of worry as he hugged me several times assuredly, as though he felt I needed it more than I would let on.  The twinge was indefinable; did I worry because it might hit him later, the distance? Did I worry about the myriad of things that could go wrong - likely wouldn't but whispered quietly from some back corner of my consciousness?  I watched him as he set himself upon the task of arranging his tent, laying out his provisions; settling in.  We said our good-byes and left him to his preparations.  My husband asked, "are you worrying?" I said no and he replied, "great, because you aren't I am!" We chuckled then fell silent.  Each wanting to say, "he'll be fine" each knowing there is always the smallest shred of doubt.

Tonight a tan and confident (albeit exhausted)  boy approached me.  I grinned and spread my arms wide, he leaned against me and started into chatter.  There were no tears, no drama just artifacts of a week spent with boys his age and all that that implies.  I was beginning to think he'd grown away from his need for me when I realized that he'd reached for my hand several times as we went about the business of rounding up his possessions and checking out.  It wasn't just a casual off-hand catch and release, but rather he reached for me as he hasn't in ages and wrapped his fingers round my arm, and grasped my hands, parting my fingers with his own for a better grip.  I felt the maternal pull and ache of heartstrings and stopped to stare at my sandy haired youngest, tall and fit, dressed in khaki shorts and hiking boots, who wasn't letting his excitement run his words into a jumble.  I realized he'd grown from this experience, and yet, still longed for home, his comforts and his security.  I think a part of me had feared that he'd no longer need me.  Yes, it was silly.  But your children grow so fast and time does not wait for you to grow accustomed to their autonomy.  I was proud that he'd come away with so much maturity, and positivity from the experience, and relieved that his love for his mother, could still be found.

When I make your beds my darlings, this includes lover - even you, I am careful to to smooth your sheets just right so that not one wrinkle, not one twist one knot or some entangled sock can mar nor line nor scar one sacred inch of any, your visage.

I have stolen many sleepless hours - wee hour glances at each your angelic faces, and while lines of age may one day speak volumes of your history, I'll not mark you with a lazy air.

As we left early one morning, a month or so ago running late for a scouting event, there was an odd creature trying to make it's way across our busy road, a baby opossum. It looked so lost and helpless; white and pink , nocturnal eyes straining to see in the daylight. We couldn't stop and I felt a maternal loss, a kind of abandonment of the animal. We live on the side of town where birds of prey tend to congregate. It wouldn't survive those birds, if it survived any number of cars that travel our road. When we returned several hours later there wasn't a hint of what happened to it. I could only guess but in the end, nature takes care of the order of things.  Babies die everywhere, and while I could feel a distant sadness, in truth, we watch children die every day on the news with detachment in order that the wealthy remain wealthy, be it for oil, "health care" reform, or pure apathy, all the while it is the animal shelters, and the pet food companies, and the animal rights activist who get the air time.  How many mothers must watch their babies die before this boat we are all in together gets up-righted?

Wandering Randomness

Oh the madness and gladness of rain!  It is raw and damp/rainy.  The oven is on, slow-cooking a roast; I love the smell of garlic under layered spice (love herbs and spices) wafting through the rooms.  I have cleaned, ran errands, lamented my tight budget and blog hopped. I can't do the painting projects I'd planned so I've fiddled at little projects instead.  All is good.  The juices are flowing; I'm beginning to meet interesting people from all over (mainly the UK oddly enough) and feel like my horizons are expanding.  I knew it was coming again. 

It's a random, much needed kind of day.  I made myself finish the "must do" list before I settled at the laptop with a glass of wine (lately I've been into Malbec) and an appetizer of Buff Mozzarella, fresh basil (one of my top fave summer herbs) and Roma tomatoes.  I could survive quite nicely on this combo.  My husband and I are food snobs and have spent large quantities of cash on good restaurants, or, on indulging our food senses at home.  Somehow we are not big as houses, but then, money doesn't spend these days like it used to.

If we had our opportunity, he would likely open a book shop slash coffee/tea house.  I would find something to open right next door, or across the way so we could make google eyes at one another.  Maybe instead though, he'd open that bistro he's talked about too (I won't divulge his hook).  He's brilliant, if only he could see it.

Back to the rain: It brightened at one point, enough so I thought I would wander with my camera in hand, but it darkened before I could finish the thought of getting my shoes on.  Two nights ago, as I lowered the shade for bed, there was this incredible spiders web in the wires outside the window.  Between the screen the streetlamp, I could not capture the intricacy or the magnificence of the web, wet with rain.  Suffice it to say it was the most beautiful peace of artistry to think about before falling asleep.  I love to photograph, have I mentioned?

Yellow seems to be my theme color as of late.  I wonder what that means; is it laziness or unconcious meaning that makes one follow the same color?  I realized that I bought yellow pansies and gerber daisies, only after this week when drenched with rain interspersed with warm days and nights they've bloomed with madness.  Across our street are yellow flowers too, and creamy hydrangeas and I'm baffled.  I know I want blue and reds, but they haven't happened yet.  Just this yellow theme everywhere!  Maybe next weekend there will be a sale.  I miss my garden, but I've not been compelled to drive by it.  Lucky, it's out of the way too.  But, I'm pretty good at putting down, once I've decided I'm not carrying anymore.  I'd have made a good burro.  Perhaps in the next life. 

FATES! I love this time of year! 

I've got a little worry that's been plaguing my mind.  I can't leave it behind so I carry it along and try to pay attention. 

Thank you for following my wandering randomness.

An argument for creativity

I spent the entire day today sorting through items at my sisters house for McGee's shop.  I was at my sisters house before she was even awake and began dragging boxes down off a shelf in the garage.  I came across items stored there from a yard sale from some three years ago.  I found some treasures, items I truly thought had sold or I'd long forgotten.  By the time my sister woke up, I'd uncovered a decent sized collection of items that at one time, we thought we could not live without.  We washed and sorted and still didn't really put a dent in the amount of things left to go through.  Out of this kind of chaos, McGee has made a business.  With her wise wisdom and encouragement, we are letting go of items we once excitedly thought we had to have, and recovered things we were glad still remained.  Nothing vaguely monetary may come from it, but the simple act of doing, has sparked the creativity in both of us.

At the shop as we listed and priced items, we started to discuss our children and their creative minds.  And as I drove home, it occurred to me that we all start out with such creative drives, (fort houses and dress up and the various games we play) and I began to wonder why it is we stifle ourselves as a society by not encouraging the artistic forces in our children and each other?  My youngest has a desire to be a potter.  By the time he is in high school he may have abandoned the idea of "just getting through school" so he can become a potter, but for now, that is his goal.  We put so much emphasis on our children getting a "good education" when in reality, they are barely receiving the knowledge to get them through the day to day.  Much of what they learn is only partial truths, for what real knowledge will they need to become a worker bee?  If the world should fall to shit, how will they survive?  I would rather have my children be able to learn a craft or a trade and someday be able to support themselves in a way that makes them happy, not beholding to bosses, and die having done something that made them happy, rather than with regrets.  I've met many unhappy people with "real jobs" but those that I know who have followed their creative natures are happier by far. 

It has been almost a year since we vacationed in Manisota Key in Florida.  We stayed at a friends condo on the gulf and fell in love with the area.  It was the best vacation I've ever had, or we've had as a family and we will treasure the time there forever.  The people the beach the sea life, the shoreline.  We swam every night at sunset, and snorkeled for hours during the day watching fish, finding huge sand dollars, shells, sharks teeth.  We didn't want to leave and I'm glad we did more than contemplate going last year. 

The horrific oil spill that has ruined so much, will continue to ruin so much more.  Don't ever let an opportunity slip your fingers.  You may never get a chance to know what you are missing.

 

When I was little, my sister, we'll call her RH., was tasked with taking care of me.  She is eleven years older than I, so you can imagine that her life was on a different track as a teenager than that of her obnoxious younger sibling with a big mouth and an attitude to match it.  It was rare she would lose her cool, and the worse it ever got was when she mashed spaghetti in my face for making a stink about dinner when my parents were both at work.  I thought she was going to get it for sure when my Mum came home.  I learned that sometimes, parents side with the sibling who's had enough.  It's the singular memory I have of pushing her too far.  I deserved it, I'm sure it wasn't the only time, but clearly it was a lesson that remained with me.  She inherited the patience from my mother.  All of it. 

Summers were the best, as it usually meant an extended stay at the beach, my other sister and I, to give our parents a break.  RH and her best friend Suzie would rent a place for a couple of weeks each summer.  She'd come and get us in her VW bugl, the smell of hay filled seats, sitting in the front seat (I don't recall wearing a seat belt) flipping the 8-tracks (Carol King, James Taylor, Carly Simon, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Brown, Neil Young).   To this day, the smell of hay in the warm sun yanks me back to those memories like they were yesterday.  There, we had the freedom to run, swim, burn, be loud. Their friends were always good to us and would indulge us in tossing us into the water, standing with us as the tide buried our feet; with each wave as we "sunk" deeper into the sand, swimming.  At night, we'd crash, hot with sunburn, our bellies full of steamed clams wherever there was room, and I would fall asleep listening to their secret world of laughter, hushed conversation, guitars playing, the clink of beer bottles. 

As I got older, we became closer spending time shopping in unique shops, craft fairs, or just driving around looking at houses, peeking in windows, over garden fences.  I have learned much from sister.  She has a great easy style and her house is filled with treasures that so many others, including myself would miss. I'd watch her when I was little, apply make-up, put together outfits for dates, choose jewelry.  There are scents that evoke memories of my sisters closet, or her long blond hair.  The best part, is she doesn't even know she possesses these talents, making her one of the most genuine, people I know, and my best friend.


At the urging of my friend McGee, who is the second original influence from my early life, RH and I have begun revisiting an idea that we have talked about, but never explored.  While the world is a mess, and the economy is souring, some would say why bother.  I say, "Why not?"  It is the little indulgences that can often make someone happy.  It is the act of creativity that leads to creating.  Who knows what it may inspire in us?  Who knows how we may ricochet from this into the world? 

I started this blog two years ago, and when we moved I took it back up again.  The act of simply moving uncorked the need for expression, not only in words, but in the nooks and crannies of my dwelling.  And so, while I cannot say how successful if at all we'll be, I can say that it will bring me closer once again to my sister, who was such an influence on my life and to two people I'd drifted away from.

Everything in it's place

We have ants in the house.  Nearly everyone we talk to, has ants in their house.  They are slowly diminishing but not fast enough and yesterday I bought some organic spray for the kitchen.  The ant itself is a fascinating little, if not abhorrent creature.  They are a social species and some colonies number in the millions.  The millions! But just when I think I stand these "useless" insects any longer, I see a reminder that each of us has a reason for being left to our own purpose.

Yesterday, after being bit by the yard sale bug I found myself in a consignment shop.  I was certain I would find nothing to compare to my great scores of the day: a big old box fan in eggshell blue purchased from a lovely old man with a gold stud in one ear, a funky piece of fabric from a young girl helping her grandmother clear out some items, and some giveaways from a neighbor friend of my sister's.  But I was wrong.  I found a rocking chair with such great bones, I figured it would be uncomfortable and sat in it.  I figured wrong and was claimed.

I was never a huge fan of rocking chairs until yesterday.  I will try them out occasionally, but I'm not long impressed.  I did find a really great chippy pair at a friend's shop not too long ago and was sorely tempted.  I don't much regret the miss - it simply wasn't mean to be.  But this chair was different.  My first walk-away from it had me feeling I'd forgotten something important.  The second look revealed lifting laminate and that would have been the death knell except I sat in it.  The arms of the chair had been held, the rockers had been rocked and I was sold at first creak.  I've never sat in so comfortable a rocking chair.  I felt a lightness as I listened to every dry creak and knew it was mine as I imagined all the imagining one could do in a chair such as this.

What will happen when there is nothing left to see

The light plays through the closed bamboo blinds, blocking the heat.  I watch the patterns shift on the wall above the bed.  The sun as it slides into it's evening pocket has been brutal today, but the light play on the wall has enchanted me and I forgive.  The slide of day into dusk through the changing pattern is poetry.  I am alive to see this.  I am conscious that it even it exists.  And miles away killing oil is pumping into the ocean.  The greed machine grinds away.