Picking up the pieces
strown items on the floor
from a basket hurled in solitary anger
where did this come from?
pent up frustration about this stage of life
everyone’s therapist
where’s mine?
he was a baby cooing
gazing into my eyes
a boy playing trains and Legos
look mom!
a teenager on the cusp of manhood
finding his way
now I am the baby
mewing for attention.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
The teenagers are here.
Our house was always the one the kids came to. How many breakfasts of waffles did I make? How many trips to the park did we take? How many Nerf wars battled in these rooms and outside the pale, wooden perimeter? Years and years later, I still find those blue, spongy bullets tucked in corners and hiding among domestic tumbleweeds.
The sleepovers and and get-togethers are less frequent in these late teenage years, but they do happen. Last night my son had friends over. They whooped over video games and a backyard fire pit. This morning they drove themselves to get donuts and we shared laughs in my small, crowded kitchen. I love being a part of their conversations, which normally include musical interests and the mundaneness of high school. I also know to slink away to give them space, as much as is possible in a modest, one-level condo.
But I love the closeness. I wouldn’t have it any other way. There are too many distractions for us to not enjoy the closeness. Everyday I go out on my lanai to watch birds. He doesn’t join me in this. It’s not his thing. But he invites me to walk dogs with him on occasion. We snicker about interesting neighbors. Sometimes we don’t say anything at all.
It’s not easy to catch time with him. If I have just five minutes I am grateful. But there’s never really enough time. I love his company so damn much.
Filed under Observations
On a beach walk I saw a sailboat in the distance on the gulf of Mexico. From the shore it loomed nearer, although not in a morose way. It was big and sturdy and coasted easily on the calm, December water. Its sail was brown like dry earth, with writing I could not make out. All alone out there, no other boats crowding it as they usually do on a sunny, Saturday afternoon.
The boat made me think about people in my life. How some are just a long view away. Some are gliding along the shore, some so far away you can barely feel their presence. Others are lapping at the shoreline, either in happy rest or wanton attention. Some do not cast their nets. Some are long gone, or shipwrecked at the bottom of the sea.
There are the boats I try to hail and bring to me, to sit and take comfort in. Those I do not want to sail away. But sometimes they do, or will. And this brings a terror in me I cannot cultivate. It will end the peaceful stature I’ve tried so hard to bring forth and maintain.
Living in the present moment and letting things be as they may is not always simple. The past tries to spin me into its tormenting monsoon. Sometimes I want to moor the hailed boat on my shore and anchor it there forever. But the more I try, the more the boat wants to cast away to sail other blue waters.
If I let it go, will it come back?
If so, will it be solo or bring along a fleet of its own?
. . . . .
A sailboat glided along the distant shoreline
its stately stature coasting on blue December waters
The sail the color of dry earth with writing I could not make out
It appeared as so many people have
Some as that sailboat, just a long view away
Others so far away, their presence barely felt
And more, lapping at the shore line
In happy rest
Or wanton attention
Some do not cast their nets
Others are long gone
or shipwrecked at the bottom of the sea
I hail those which envelope comfort
and pray they stay
But some boats sail away
as they are meant to do
And I try not to think of this as a torrent of
sadness and regret
or fight to anchor them forever
For the more I struggle, the farther they sail
along other blue waters.
Filed under Observations, Sunday Night Sonnet
One death at a time
For I can’t bare more
And they say you are at peace
And this may be so
But watching the breath leave your body was gut wrenching
You are surrounded by rainbows
And there are more songs I cannot listen to
Lingering too long on your exit is a death sentence for presence
Fuel for suffering
All the days of your life cherished
All the days in your absence regretted
Let us grieve not in solidarity
But space in between
Just one death at a time
Filed under Cherry Pearl, Sunday Night Sonnet
cool north wind
wisps gently around the brick corner
welcoming autumn’s first dance into the air
and on cotton-covered skin
the red swing beckons for gliding conversation
amid a back yard of years of soil tilled by hand
now a green landscape which to run and gather memories along the edge of blue grey horizon
this is how I remember the beginning of the season at their house
before their driveway goodbye waves floated solely into the chasms of my memories
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
Written in the midst of the Covid-19 stay-at-home order, April 2020.
This place a kind of ghost town
like the emptiness of your heart
from the isolation
and absence of embrace
Desolate sidewalks
chairs stacked away
and the pastry cases bare
We walked these streets when you were little
and twice while he was alive
You rode the carousel but I
never saw him ride
I like the quiet
this solace to
myself
So I have a space to linger
where there was
But you are always better
than solace.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
I should have been writing them down all these years.
Starting as a parent volunteer, moving into assistant teaching, then co-lead teaching while preparing to receive my certification in Upper Elementary Montessori education in a classroom of sometimes dozens of 4th through 6th graders, I have witnessed some humorous stuff.
This one instance comes to mind first. We’re all sitting in morning circle, on the beautiful but worn Moroccan-style rug, all of us cross legged and sleepy-eyed after the long and desperately needed winter holiday break. Everyone is taking turns sharing about their vacations. One child in particular, a body-shy preteen railing against the imminent course of womanhood, starts to bawl as she tells us that her beloved guinea pig died the day after Christmas. Horrified and empathetic, we all sit in awkward silence as she wipes her pouring tears with the sleeve of her pink and black K-Pop hoodie. Seconds which seem like minutes pass. Some are looking down at the rug avoiding eye contact. Others are looking at each other like deer in headlights.
All of a sudden he breaks the silence. Our self-professed “Ginger” kid who claims to be stupid but is really intelligent, witty, and popular with everyone. He’s also the cause of at least two wrinkles on my face and some inevitable strands of grey in my hair.
Expressionless yet with a firm voice he blurts out, “One time my hamster exploded.”
The uncomfortable silence is almost immediately replaced by laugh-out-loud laughter and oh-my-goodness-are-you-for-real chit chat. Even the girl in despair is laughing now, her wet cheeks raising up into a rare smile.
Turns out the hamster survived after the explosion but later died of complications. Or something like that. I didn’t catch the entire story as I was relieved and amazed at how this one statement changed the entire classroom’s mood within seconds. It was like that scene in Steel Magnolias when Sally Field’s character M’Lynn is breaking down after her daughter’s funeral asking “Why Why Why did this have to happen?” and “I just want to hit something!” and no one seems to know what to say. Then the delicate disposition is bashed when Olympia Dukakis grabs Shirley McClain, pushes her toward M’Lynn and says, “Here, hit this!” Just like in the classroom that morning, the mood is quickly shifted from that of somber and intense, to sheer hilariousness and consolation.
Then there was the time when one of our more sheltered, extremely religious students openly told me during our small 6th grade reading group that he’d found out about the-birds-and-the-bees from YouTube. “My parents did THAT?” he exclaimed in horror. He then looked at me up and down. “You and the other teachers do THAT!” he said with raised eyebrows. I told him for the love of god please don’t picture me in that way and if you have questions go ask your parents. But, thanks for the heads up!
I was glad he found trust in me to even reveal this probable pent-up secret. When he eventually moved on to middle school in the building next door, he called out to me whenever I was near, telling me he missed upper elementary and our little virtuous environment.
I wish I could remember more of the hilarious stories and phrases that were coughed out over time. I know there are so many. But weeks, then months, now over a year has passed since I’ve been in the classroom. And like my own life memories, those are just as foggy.
I wonder if my students remember those instances (or some of the lessons we toiled through). Perhaps if not right now, then one day.
Yeah, I have a feeling they just might.
Filed under Observations
Yesterday was one of the best days of my life. And most of what occurred had not been planned.
It was a gorgeous Florida winter day– one of those days that feel like heaven. Not a drop of humidity, or searing sun rays, or biting cold. The gently warm sun mixed with cobalt blue skies and fresh cool breezes kept the skin wanting more and the eyes closing in pleasure. A long bike ride was the only thing I’d planned because I knew the weather was going to be heavenly and I had no work or appointments scheduled. Just me and my bike and the trail. But right before I left I had a strong instinct to message a former coworker to meet along my trail ride for a coffee at my favorite local coffee shop. He immediately responded that he was excited to meet up with me. This coworker was an integral part of my sanity during our Covid-related lay off and unemployment benefit fiasco.
I pumped the bicycle peddles hard so I could make my route before meeting my friend. There were other bikers on the path, sometimes in my way (I wanted to soar instead of putz). Even the bugs had no time to fly away from my racing speed (there were some caught in my hair, some on my sunscreen-covered lips). I breathed deep and let my frustration flow away with the breezes. As soon as I entered my favorite park, with its many windy trails underneath the hammocks of oaks and cypress, I felt the emanating presence of god. I have never been a religious person. But I let god, as I’ve come to know this feeling of love and light and peace and gratitude, wash over me and flow outward.
I couldn’t stop looking at the tops of the trees, or inhaling the scent of orange-blossom. I even turned my headphone volume lower to hear the birds singing and chirping in the late morning.
My meet-up went well. It was so nice to see my friend after so many weeks. We sat under a pagoda, sipping our coffee concoctions and swapping stories of our latest accomplishments, work drama (his, not mine), and relished that we were both free from our old job that although had its many teachable and fun moments, a sheer relief to be unbridled by the stress and consumption of it all.
On the ride back I went through the park again, and stopped at the butterfly garden. There were yellow and orange butterflies flitting about, big bumblebees visiting each blossom that hadn’t been there just two weeks ago.
When I arrived back to my neighborhood I stopped at a neighbor’s house, as my son was doing some light yard work there as a side job. We talked about school and friends and the future week’s plans as he gathered pine needles and dusty mulch and I draped my arms over the chest-high fence. We made a date to run errands later and get dinner out.
Teenagers can be a moody, emotional mess at times. And you might not know which you’re gonna get. Today he was in a wonderfully light and playful mood, devoid of the usual school stress and pulsating exhaustion. He drove us to Home Depot, where I’d planned on purchasing a screen for our back slider, so I can let the breezes in without the critters and insects. He rolled the large platform cart along the aisles and I playfully asked if I could ride it as he pushed. I felt playful, too. We finally found the particular screen door (it was the last one left) and he questioned why we needed a cart so large for this light door and that he could just carry it, no problem. I was grateful he was there with me as these types of errands always seem to stress me.
We had dinner out together in between our errands. The conversation never lulled, there was no iPhone in sight, and he opened up to me without prodding or hesitation. We sat there fully present, chatting and laughing and eating like so many parents of teenagers don’t always get to do. Fully present. That’s what I’ll tell him to do next time there is a lull in conversation with his girlfriend. Sometimes you don’t have much to say. And that’s ok. Just being present is what is needed. In that moment, at that table, there were no distractions. I felt heard and appreciated and not an embarrassment as us moms can sometimes be to our teenagers. Just living and breathing we are dorks.
Our last errand before home was yet another home-improvement store, this time to buy an anti-squirrel bird feeder and seed, so I can invite more birdsong onto my lanai and into my life. Once again it was playful and helpful and not at all the chore I thought it would be.
When we arrived home he brought in the screen and promised to help me install it tomorrow. I don’t know how I’ll cope when he one day flies the nest. It’s too daunting to imagine. How pointless. We have today, whether planned or spontaneous.
Filed under Observations
In a dream I saw them
as clear as light
All the flowers of my childhood
The greens and golds
I walked past at midnight
Wispy dandelion seeds swept along cedar
by youthful breath
Clover necklaces
with knots in their stems
Distinct as the flowers of my adulthood
White and exotic and some
bearing fruit
Others only peeking long after
sun gone to slumber
Reds and yellows and umber
Some I cannot name
yet some the same
As those in the garden of
spirit’s infancy.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
My eyes cannot view the sea from here
but its brackish scent wafts through
with the course of spring wind
It reminds me of times spent in its warm, emerald waters
and the passage of time
So fleeting time, in its uncharted path
ever shifting like the wild spring currents
If I could go back again
however I cannot
Here I sit in calmness
breathe what the breeze brings
And know we will again
someday.
Filed under Sunday Night Sonnet
Busted Flip Flops 