The sea
Ocean
Water
is like Love
Can’t stay away from it
Want to experience it
To be near it
To be one with it
It rejuvenates and completes
Yet has the capacity to Destroy
And still we continue to seek it out
To go to it
and long for it
when it is not at our feet
All the time knowing it can drown us
In an instant
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
The moment I saw her I knew he would fall for her. She was just his type- quirky with a tad of edge, a splash of artist, and eyes so deep and beautiful you were unaware of time for a moment. They overrode the scars on her face.
Within two days of meeting her he professed his admiration for her. Not to her, but to me. It would be over two months before he would tell her.
My son is eleven years old. And this is the girl he adores. I work in their classroom so I am present in their lives daily.
Oh god I feel for him. I remember the boy I adored in 6th grade. He was in my class and a local model. Well I think he did a jeans print ad and a cheesy commercial for Hills Department Store.
He was going to be the first boy I kissed. I had it all planned out in my head. We would attend the Homecoming game together. At some point in the cool of the fall evening we would duck underneath the bleachers, look into each other’s eyes, and press our lips together in a non-klutzy fashion.
Well that never happened. He didn’t show the slightest interest in rendezvousing under the bleachers even though we were “going together”. Shortly after that he broke up with me. For a cheerleader. Ouch.
I remember longingly watching him at gym class while he jogged the perimeter of the gymnasium. His thin, white legs keeping the pace with the others. Why didn’t he like me anymore? What did I do to make him go away? I felt a pang in my heart and a jab to my pride.
But the crush and the pain eventually slithered away, making room for more crushes and more pain.
My son finally confessed his admiration for his crush during the class camping trip. Somewhere deep in the woods he bared his heart to her. She revealed although she really liked him, it was not in the way he liked her. Ouch.
I tried to console him. But in that moment he wanted to be left alone.
They are pretty good buddies. And there is a certain effortless cadence to their friendship. Later when he was ready to hear my advice I told him it might be better they are just friends, as then they won’t ever have to break up!
But I see the way he looks at her during recess while she sits on top of the picnic table reading her geek girl novel du jour. I can feel the longing. The quiet desperation of seeing something you want so badly and having no words to describe why and knowing you can’t have that very thing you so desire.
One day one of his other friends asked if he loved his crush. There was a pause. And when I saw the look on my son’s face I knew. This was not just a crush. This was his first love. Or the first girl he felt love for. I both celebrated and lamented this in my mind as I so carefully remained unreactive.
Here we go, son. This is the beginning of that arduous, til death, glorious, horrible, wonderfully amazing, despicable, tragic, magnificent journey. Hold on, but not too tight.
Filed under Observations
There are weeds in the garden
yet hair on the office chair
Dust on the piano
but not on the computer keyboard
Some things ignored, some completed
I hear your laughter here in the silence
and I am grateful
you are back nestled under my wing
I set you up to fly away
And when that day comes
know you will always have
a nest here to come back to
And when your heart broken in pieces
you will find solace without
violence
Carry self-acceptance
and love of self
Fly out into the world
without bitterness
or desperation
And color the palate of the sky
with your broken, beautiful wings
There are weeds in the garden
there will always be
Fly little bird
but not too far away
from me
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
Things I learned from my dad:
Folding the perforated paper on the dotted line, both ways, before ripping it out of the notebook. Invaluable still. Keeps me from wasting paper, cursing more, and making a ragged mess out of a should-be perfect piece of parchment.
Blowing into the edge of the stick side of the (carefully opened) popsicle bag before lifting the popsicle out of said crinkly sheath. Keeps the popsicle pristine and the little ice crystals from sticking to the bag. And red or orange or purple no. 5 from sticking to your hand, which also causes more cursing.
Having a spotless car. Dad drove me crazy with his meticulous top-to-bottom, left-to-right way of washing vehicles throughout the years. But there was never a spot on the El Camino, Datsun, Caprice Estate, Cressida, or ’87 Toyota Pickup when he was finished with them. I wish I could say my Prius is the same. I’m lazy and run it through the automatic. But if I did grab a hose and proper sponge, soap, and tire brush, that girl would look like an Amsterdam black diamond.
Singing in church. Dad wasn’t considered Johnny Cash but he was definitely not tone-deaf. His baritone timbre vibrated around a 2-3 pew radius and his timing impeccable. If I got off track during “It is Well” I could always count on him to steer me back. There was no big screen with a PowerPoint flow of lyrics to follow. It was old school hymnals and Dad could read music good enough to keep that mass of naked voices around us sounding like, well, a choir at church!
Pushing me to get out of my comfort zone. When I was a kid I wanted to be an actor. When I got into high school I wanted to be in the school play. When I told my dad I wanted to act he replied, “You can’t act.” I was crushed. He was usually my advocate. But because I was a shy girl and never liked to put myself out there I guess he thought it was a pipe dream. So I took that lack of faith and made it my goal to prove him wrong. I ended up not only being in the play, but being the female lead. And guess who was in that audience every single night of performance? And with a camcorder to boot.
I could go on and on about all the things Dad taught me. How to gas up and start a lawn mower. How to use an old bed sheet to rake leaves on and dispose of lawn waste. How to do a proper cannonball. How to play “Chopsticks” on the piano. And I could go on and on about all the things he tried to teach me that just did not compute. Using the weed-eater. Math beyond 4th grade. The proper way to pack a car trunk. How to dive.
I hope he knows how much his presence in my childhood and into mid-adulthood means to me. A lot of other kids weren’t and aren’t so fortunate. And I know I don’t tell him enough.
Thank you Dad for not only teaching me things but for being present along the way. You were there for me even when I did stupid stuff. You held my hand and let me know you did dumb things too and everything would be okay.
Happy Father’s Day, Dad. I love you.
Filed under Observations
That golden orb
lay down so eloquently
the bottom of it
pulled down by the sea
or perhaps the rotation
of the earth
that which we cannot see
And I shared a bench
with an old man
who did not speak
But I heard his heart
when his eyes were alight
no grief
We took in the moment
each of us our own thoughts
dreams hopes desires
beliefs
Sunset by the sea
I gave gratitude
for you and me
for spirit peace equality
A couple lay in each other’s arms
a family played joyfully
mother and son
daddy and baby
a circle of souls
waxing philosophically
three women late in their years
a wet-eared puppy
That golden orb
not a backdrop
but the focus of the moment
holding us all together
to bask in its enjoyment
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
Today I want to escape
to my grandfather’s yard
like when we were kids
encase myself in the oak vines
to cover these ills
chase the butterflies among
old rusted cars and wood piles
and junk yard treasures
free my mind
become that child again
who is always just under the surface
today I don’t want to be the adult
decisions to be made
mistakes to be rendered
ever binding pressure
today I want to hide
in my grandfather’s yard
and see the freckles on my cheeks
in the reflection of the tool shed window
and see not guilt not mistakes not hate
but what my grandfather saw in me
a happy innocent flying
soul
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
I left my heart here
to drown in the sorrowful ache
that a steady rain of your absence
soaks
Like a bloated sponge
unable to hold one more drop
yet it does
somehow
The heart is a willful thing
it lets go but doesn’t forget
the sound of the rain pelting
and the sheer joy of the moment it ceases
and the release of some part of that ache
Every time you come back
and we embrace.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
We parted days ago but it seems like years already I ride the bumpy white gravel trail near my home that reminds me of our solitary bike ride last week on the Panhandle You wanted to cross the no entry point I said no I wanted to take a photo of the military threat level sign you said don't be stupid We listened to Pink Floyd when we were teenagers saw them in concert after a truck bed ride down the streets of downtown Nashville high on rock n roll Now I listen to them and my heart sings cries We had one huge fight our entire sibling hood A letter sent to my house ended the feud and I made the call Now it seems unbelievable after all the laughs you gave me at the Cape Laughter I needed at the most crucial time of my life It was like we were ten fifteen twenty again Momma's brother is gone from this earth I cried with her in the bathroom of a seafood restaurant days after he passed We embraced by the sink and our hands smelled like that coconut soap there You don't love the beach like I do but it will always remind me of you Brothers and sisters always a time and place Take care of yourself so we can cry with laughter again.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
A sunrise
golden orbs of yellow
pushing back the night
but only a nudge
Mockingbirds calling
their songs of awakening
chitter chatter twill
To breathe in this morning
to hear it
to see it
is to receive all it brings
And knowing love is there
and here
from and within
We stand
and embrace the day.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
I remember the loneliest of Valentine’s Days. I was in high school and just been dumped by a boy I adored greatly. This was one of two boyfriends my mom ever liked, so she was a bit heartbroken too.
I must have trudged through that day with a scowl on my face, watching all the couples holding hands in the halls. I’m sure I made some cynical remarks to my poet friends (what other friends were there, really?) about the absurdity of Valentine’s Day. I probably talked about how all it did was make us single, busted hearted people feel more alone and gave everyone expectations not even the prettiest of couples could live up to. At least that’s what we imagined as we saw the two most popular kids, both gorgeous, both from well-off families, both athletic, and well liked by all the staff skipping down the hall like in a slow-mo coming-of-age rom-com montage.
Cue pantomime gagging.
So the school day ended and it became early evening. No date night for me. No phone call (from a dial-tone phone with a swirly cord). No flowers delivered. No love note. No pinch on the bum. No soft kiss on the lips.
My mom suggested I take a bath.
“Baths always make me feel better,” she said half-reassuringly and half cocky. She was the bath expert. At sixty-five years old I think she’s maybe taken two showers in her life. We even switched motels once on a family road trip because they didn’t have bath tubs. Or it could have been because the beds looked like they’d been slept in by a hobo. Anyway, the woman loves baths.
Since my mom had a walk-around-the-upstairs-naked-while-getting-ready mantra, it was no big deal for her to see me soaking in the tub in all my slight baby-fat nakedness. She made sure there were bubbles. She brought three floral-scented candles, placed them at the edge of the tub, and lit them. She brought my boom-box into the bathroom and together we picked out my Harry Connick Jr. CD. She gave me a knowing look and left me by myself to wallow in my lovelorn misery.
Oh, if only Harry Connick were here to serenade me in person. If only Keanu Reeves would knock on my door and ask to use the restroom. If that heartbreaker of a boyfriend would have stayed a little longer. But alas, none were meant to be.
As the suds saturated my soft, fair skin and my heart cried a little, I realized I was OK. I was still breathing. I was with the only person who truly knew me at the time– myself. I wasn’t in a horrible relationship. I wasn’t making compromises. I was encased in warm water, safe, listening to gorgeous melodies. And although my mom and I had it out a time or a thousand during my teenage years, that night she came to my rescue. She showed me a kind of love that is not as passing as the late winter wind.
I can only hope to be that safe harbor in my son’s life one day when his heart gets broken.
Filed under Yep I'm Becoming My Mother
Busted Flip Flops 