Back From the Shadows

I'm not shy about how I feel. I take after my mother in that sense--we have the inability to hide our feelings. Despite the weight of feeling I am usually pretty good at keeping my head up and not losing sight of the silver lining. But everybody has their breaking point, and mine was last week. Matt and I still haven't closed on our house--we're dealing with a seller who lives out of state and just completely goes off the grid for weeks at a time. He rarely makes contact, never returns messages, and his word means nothing. We've been told so many times that we're going to close on a certain date and he never comes through, never comes to town when he says he will. Last week he claimed he had a mild stroke and not even his realtor believes him. The constant let down has been hard, especially when I'm trying to register my son for kindergarten. I've learned how the actions of a single person creates a ripple affect that touches many. And the buyers for my house backed out because they couldn't get approved for a loan, so it's back on the market and I am left alone with the task of all the cleaning and mowing and getting it ready to show all the while caring for two kids and a dog who seem to cherish mess. And divorce is hard. I've been stoic and positive through it all, especially for the kids, but I never imagined how difficult it would be to see my kids smiling in photo after photo with another woman. I know I should be grateful that Derek's significant other is good to them, but it's hard to hear your 3 year old daughter talk about her constantly and unfiltered and wonder why Katie doesn't come over to my house. Phoenix probably doesn't remember the fact that she had been in my home and I cooked dinner for her and her then boyfriend. Hard to picture this woman walking around town with my kids and thinking how others must think she's their mom. And I know it's selfish and one-sided and I know Derek and I are in better places. I wouldn't change that, but I can't help but think this girl just waltzes in and feels pride and adoration for my kids when she had nothing to do with how they got to be such great kids. I'm there for the hardest times, for all the highs and lows. I'm sure every mother can attest to the fact that it isn't easy and there is little appreciation for all your sacrifice. Appreciation is even harder to come by when your kids talk about another woman. But the fact is that's my reality now, as it is for a lot of other mothers. And the truth is there isn't anything in this world that will change the fact that I am their mom and there is nothing that will break the bond we share. So I'm done with this weight and I will trust the truth in our hearts. My kids are loved and that circle of love is just growing larger. My house will find the right buyers. Matt and I will close on a house when the time is right and start fleshing out the dreams that have been building in our minds. And all the while the sun will rise and the dew on the grass will burn off and the owls continue to hoot. Stars and meteor showers and water. Just yesterday I heard two separate people say "there's just something about the water". It's time to be still and breathe.

The Animals - House of the Rising Sun (Official Music Video)

While Fisher had soccer practice in the rain last night, Phoenix and I sat in the car and watched youtube videos of old classics like this one. I would have never guessed the guys behind this song dressed in such dapper suits, with those hair cuts and gentile movements. Completely restrained. Classy!

Hello Stranger

My son Fisher has always had a big, kind heart. Ever since he could talk he was the kid in the stroller that would say hello to everyone we passed on our walks. He did this completely of his own accord, and sometimes the people he'd greet would not return any words. It always broke my heart, especially when he'd ask why that certain so-and-so didn't say hello back. I always told him that not everyone is used to saying hello to people they pass on the streets, that not everyone is as open and talkative, and that he should never let that keep him from being the friendly kid he is. Most of the time though people would respond to his greetings. You could see the warm surprise register on their faces. He must have noticed this too--must have seen how just a simple hello from his beautiful little sunny face brightened the world that much more--because he's 5 now and still doing it. There was one day during this long cold winter when I picked him up from school and we were driving home on our regular route through downtown and happened to be stopped at a stop light when he rolled his window down. "Hi!" he shouted to a woman standing on the corner bus stop. She didn't say anything back but she gave a shocked smile. She was weighed down with bags, worn out from what must have been a long day of work, and staring blankly at the sidewalk. And here's this little kid hailing from the back seat of a car. "You know what, Fisher," I told him--"that woman might have been having a long stressful day, maybe she wasn't feeling great, and your hello made her feel better. She'll go home now and carry your voice with her and when she reflects on her day she'll remember your kindness. It's the simple little things that can go a long way." I imagine she has told people about it--this little boy who rolled down his window and said hello to her. We see her most days when I drive him home from school now, and every time we do the same magic happens--he rolls his window down and shouts hello and she comes out of her blank reverie and smiles like it's the first time anyone has taken the time to notice her all day long. This has been going on for months. I think she looks for our car now in anticipation of their sweet little exchange, and now her responding hello's are just as bold and enthusiastic. It's a small act, but to give recognition to another human being is a grand thing. Just to pause for a beat to smile and say hello to a stranger, just to get out of our own heads for even a second to notice someone--it is enough to make the world that much better.

A Poem on a Tuesday

I came across this poem a few weeks ago and the simplicity struck me. It made me long to just sit in a place of beauty for a good long while and think of nothing but what is present, to do nothing but open my senses to the moment. Fill up on the energy there. It's titled Lychees and was written by Meena Alexander:

Terrace deep as the sky.
Stone bench where I sit and read,

I wandered by myself
Into the heart of the mountains of Yoshino.

In one hand a book, in the other, a bag made of newsprint—
No weather-beaten bones here

Just lychees bought in the market,
Thirty rupees per kilogram.

Stalks mottled red tied up with string,
Flesh the color of pigeon wings—

Sweet simmering.
Sunlight bruises air

Pine trees blacken.
Where shall I go?

The Dhauladhar peaks
Are covered in snow.

Happy Mother's Day

My mother is a worrier. I'm 36 years old and she's still concerned about my safety and well-being as if I lived under her roof. As if nothing has changed. As if I'm not grown up with kids of my own. It's a great relief, that kind of care. A great relief to know that there is one person out there on whom you can rely on to be a constant source of comfort. Any age, any issue--that kind of love is secure. I'm 36 years old and I still find myself reverting to that childlike phenomenon of feeling safe in that love. It's the safety of tears. When I was young and hurt I'd go to her and cry. Now I'm grown and when I hurt she's the first person I call. I can vent and cry and question and be. My mother is a worrier, which means she is a great reliever, comforter, I-got-your-back-and-why-can't-everyone-get-along person. Interesting how closely the word worrier resembles warrior. That's what our mothers are, really. Happy Mother's Day to all you warriors out there--and to mine. I love you!

Life's Too Short

"Life's too short to..." It's a statement many of us use, myself included. But I'm thinking I'll start using these lines instead: Life's too delicate. Too beautiful. Too winded. Too intricate. Too rich to waste. Time is relative. As a mother of young kids I hear the old "enjoy it now because they grow up in the blink of an eye" phrase quite often. And maybe someday I'll say that too. But for now I am in it. And since I stay at home with them there are some pretty long days. I read this about aging and memory in the book Super Brain: "Every time you complain 'My memory is going,' you reinforce that message in your brain.... Once you stop paying attention and give up on learning new things, you give memory no encouragement. A simple axiom holds: whatever you pay attention to grows." I think of this axiom whenever I hear the statement about kids growing up fast, and it's true for "life's too short" as well. If you believe that, it will be so. You're essentially speeding up time by thinking that it flies by. Last evening the kids and I were playing outside and I made them bracelets from dandelion stems. Then they ran through the grass picking dandelions (one of their favorite "flowers"), and Fisher told me he could run as far as 100 moons. It was simply beautiful.

To Witness

There's this robin edging closer and closer, studying me with its seedy eyes, head cocked to the side. This air belongs to spring. Trees belong to birds. I'm just a witness here. Somewhere, the mountains happen. Pelicans migrate. Tadpoles do their tadpole thing. If ever you're feeling self-important go out to the woods and stand, stunned. Don't forget how small you are, even born of stars. This world is full of people who only look out for themselves, people who strive with the single-minded aim of getting their own without thinking of what it costs others. But that selfishness costs--it pollutes not only the air and the earth, but our minds and ability to trust. There's nothing lonelier than not being able to trust. But that's exactly what happens in a world gone corporate. I remember reading once how scientists had genetically modified butterflies in an attempt to study their genes, one day giving them the ability to adorn their wings with advertisements and slogans. Must everything become staked and named? What of witness?

Hold Your Head Up

Here's a thoughtful line I heard in a movie recently: you spend your childhood hearing you can grow up to be anything in life and your adulthood hearing 'that's life'. As if to age is to turn you to stone, to keep you from changing and from shaping the world as you see fit. Why would we ever give up the ability to progress, to dream? I think it goes something like this--you know last week when I talked about the frustration with closing on the house, how Matt and I were waiting for something to happen and in the meantime keeping our heads down and just forging ahead? It's that kind of looking down that keeps us down. Think of how often that happens, think of how many times people are unhappy with their lot and just keep their head down and go with it, hoping things will eventually change. Ever sit on a bench in a busy place and watch people pass? It just struck me now how most of the time the adults walk by with their heads down, focused on a singular thing, while the kids that pass keep their gaze fluid. They look up, they look around. I can't help but think it is the difference of believing in possibility. What if we still believed that anything is possible? Back to the house--things are finally coming together. The day after I posted about it last week we got a call from our realtor and were told that the sellers were finally coming around and were going to do what was necessary in order to close. We're looking at next week for the house to be ours. I don't believe the timing of that news was mere coincidence...