Donuts, Doggies and Dreams

My lap is too small for him now. No more "one more push!" flying high in the swing. No more "five more minutes!" playing in the dirt. Now it's "do I have to?" mowing the lawn or "five more minutes!" on a video game. No more squatty chubby toddler legs running everywhere. No more little hand clutching mine everywhere. Now it's long slender legs who stomp upstairs or long fingers who haven't clutched mine in a long time. black pho-leather that always sent a chill when my thighs hit it wrapped in blankets, remote near by clutching my new baby who refused to sleep watching stupid show on repeat as my legs orchestrated a rhythm  forward backward like a clock don't break the pattern or else the baby will cry sitting in the same position so long that my knees would ache imagine a 28 year old with aching knees. Now, the chair can't hold two of us it's too slender the dirt holds no appeal because it's not electronic the swing c...

 I'm always startled to be remembered.   My name has changed (twice!).  My hair, clothes, glasses, husband, confidence, spirit... yet she knew me. Called me by my dead name but there was something that ignited memory for her.   It humbled me and was so odd. Because, truthfully, I feel invisible most of the time.   Like my stone thrown into the lake of life casts very little disturbance. But then a kid from 20 years ago remembers me and I realize maybe my impact is slightly larger than I know.  Was I able to lead you toward stories? Did I help you define dreams? Was I able to listen without judgement?  Is your writing better? Your creativity more pronounced? Are you able to look in a mirror and love yourself a little bit more?  If so, then maybe I'm not so invisible. Maybe what I do with my day is more important than I know. Maybe loving others really does leave a bigger impression than I know.  

 Like a monster stomping around the thunder shook me awake. Like a frenzied light show at a huge concert the lighting forced my eyes to open. I laid there, surrounded by heat, snoring, fur, listening and watching.  What words do I house in my vocabulary to describe the storm?  A funny game I play to become a better writer.  Isn't that what a writer is? Detailing for those who can't? Being attentive for the oblivious? Pausing life so we can see? So, I began to characterize what I was experiencing: old gossips passing a juicy story downwind.  the soft patter of children's feet outside my closed door. the rumble of the timpani during orchestra practice.  But it can't be described, can it?  Not really. That's what's so majestic about it. A thing that one cannot find words to adequately depict.  I failed as a writer, but as a human--I experienced and that's all of the success I need. 

Go, my child, and have an adventure. Wipe away the tears and anxiety, for something new awaits. I will miss you, of course I will. But I am also expectant of what lies ahead. I want to hear about sights that make you lose breath. About thoughts that make you stoic. About people who make you giddy. About events that make you cheer. About heartache that makes you better. About your life that is lived well. So don't worry about leaving me because my job is to strengthen you, prepare you, embolden you to do what the world insists you do. That's always been my job since I became "Mom". And as you carve out your place in the world I will be here, watching, cheering the loudest, loving you more than myself, wondering at the incredible human you have become. July 10, 2019

The neighbor's porch light illuminated the foggy curtains and cast light onto her cheeks--your cheeks--and I caught my breath at the pain and the memories.  The girl cried out during the night and there I was, rocking her back to sleep and missing you. I could not imagine how deeply I feel your absence...every day.  I wander by your favorite purple sweatshirt and inhale the scent that still lingers.  Out pops the toast, a little burnt, and I think how that was your preference.  I take pictures of my children and wish I could share them with you.  I look at my phone, your number, and just want to talk to you one more time.  And I dream about you, waking up with tears cascading down my face.  I miss you. And yet, life moves on.  I guess that's the way of it, huh? One life ends and we continue.  Life continues.  The ebb and flow of human existence.  And I look at her cheeks--your cheeks--and I know one day it will be me.  And then...

 Shed the skin of human and come with me. Adopting the life of a bird. Carefree, flying, free.   What do the cares of people mean to us? Watch as my clothes are erased and I stand as I was birthed. Watch as my arms evolve, sprouting feathers, my skin stretching to form gliders. Watch as my nose grows to a point, as my eyes become more predatory.  Watch as the fat and muscle of my legs slides away and leaves what is necessary.   Watch as my brain reorients itself into a survivor, losing human knowledge and replaced with bird instinct.  And now watch as I practice my first attempts at flight.  I fall; I stumble; I crash but then I fly!   I do it! Soaring over roofs, over human existence, over trees, barking dogs, screaming kids, burning dinners.   I just fly. If my bird beak could do it, I would smile and laugh, but that's my human brain speaking.   What I've known is gone.  It's no more.  And I'm falling, stu...

 I drove in the rain today. Not just spittle on the windshield but torrents.  Wipers on full blast and still doesn't help torrents. Can't see the perimeter of the lane torrents. Go a good 10 mph under torrents. It was majestic and a bit scary, but I guess all truly majestic things are scary. And I wondered at the amount of water but also how that rain, that drop, has been recycled for eons.  Found in a lake somewhere, pushed up to a cloud, to be released on my windshield--over and over and over again.  If we do life right, isn't that what we're supposed to do?   Recycle everything.  Broken hearts, Dreams, Failures, every experience.   We find it, push it around a bit and then release in some new format.   I am certainly not that 20 year old who was anxious, shy, close-minded, hypocritical.   I've had many broken hearts and many dashed dreams and many times of rebirth since then.  But I've been able to use all of it, a...