Donuts, Doggies and Dreams

 Her baby boy, son, was convicted of sex crimes. People pulled away in horror anytime they saw her. Whispered behind her back, "Do you know what he did?" People who claimed to love the sinner, stopped loving her. So, she hid.  Content to commune with her plants. Watering them every day, pruning, fertilizing, adding supports. It's how she raised her son.   Do what needed to be done to raise him so he would shine. And look what he did with that. She doesn't talk to anyone anymore. There is too much grief, shame, revulsion in herself. She is only visited by her son's children. They bring energy, laughter, a break from the mundane.   Grandchildren don't fault the grandmother for the mistakes of their father.  I was slow in learning about what my neighbor was going through. Once I knew, I played dumb.   Waving at each other as we watered our plants.  Discussing landscaping ideas and names of flowers. My daughter loved to play with her grandch...

Steaming teacups with painted dog faces. Early lonely mornings with soft light and quiet. Words that flow through emotion and experience and land perfectly on the page. Voice and lyrics swirling together in the beautiful cacophony of music. These are a few of my favorite things. The giveaway twinkle in his eye as he plays another prank. His thirst for knowledge and tazmanian devil spinning to another topic. His childish insistence on protecting me. Slurping his cereal every morning as he reads the comics and giggles. These are a few of my favorite things. Her leg stuck out, belly in, hands erect by her sides, chin up as she poses for any photos. Leaping and skipping to a new song that catches her attention. Selfless giving of possessions to anyone who needs a little lift. Wrapped in blankets, her wet hair dampening my shoulder, as we tell stories to each other. These are a few of my favorite things. His smile transforms his face as the light laughter passes his lips. The knives chop an...

Could this be my cathedral?  Sitting in the shade on a hot, sticky day, listening to weed trimmers and the pool pump? Watching my dog chase some mysterious foe? Feeling my breath and listening intently to my thoughts? Could this be my cathedral? Towering Redwoods and babbling brook, sunlight and leaves creating its own stained glass on the ground. Silence so deep that my thoughts could shout. Air so clean you felt purified after only two minutes.  What is a cathedral, after all, but a place set aside for the divine. Do I need majesty? Do I need sacredness? Do I need holy? Or do I need now?  Could this be my cathedral? Where I listen to the deepest parts of me?  Where I provide time and space to pray, know. Where the chirping birds provide all the music I need. Where I strip bare the pretension and hypocrisy from within, the girdle that holds everything in like it's "supposed" to.  Where I forget the ideal and the expectations of everyone else.  Where I rele...

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