Can't Know It All

Claire came home yesterday slightly overwhelmed. 
She described one teacher as very intense.
"If you don't win, it's no fun!" he chanted, "Coming in second or third is not the same as coming in first!"

Whoa nelly! First day, remember?

Lunch turned out okay. Riding the bus too. We went for a you-made-it-through-the-first-day Italian ice when I picked her up, not hiding behind a tree,  at the bus stop.

Day Two:
I woke even earlier than yesterday. 4 am? 
The alarm was set, but my inner clock was on high alert. 
What if we oversleep, miss the bus?

"I feel more nervous than yesterday,"Claire said. Me too?
"I know, but you got through okay. You figured things out. You'll do the same today," I said. 
"But what if I make a mistake and get in trouble? What about...?"
"Honey, you are the least likely person I know to get in trouble. Everyone's new," I said, "The teachers must be open to questions, right? You can't know it all on the first try."
"And the schedule is so confusing, Mom. I mean, really."
"Ask a friend, Claire. When I was in school, I always asked friends who seemed to know what they were doing. And, Claire?"

“Yea, Mom?”

“Go easy on yourself. It’s just the first day.”

Encouraging my kid = encouraging myself. 

And No Fear

Yesterday Claire and I went to a quiet spot along the river to cool off. She was restless in anticipation of her trip to California. We needed to get out of the house.


"It feels like forever," she said.
"It feels like too fast,"I said.


We floated around, sliding over smooth rocks just below the surface. 





We left the house @ 6:45 this morning to get to Newark Airport with plenty of time to spare. Claire packed very light, I still have empty space in here, using her Grandmother Dorothy's well-traveled suitcase.

"That bag's been around, Claire. London, Paris, Copenhagen, Florence, Venice..."

"That sounds good," she said.

Miraculously, Lois, the woman at the check-in for un-accompanied minors allowed both Michael and I to take Claire to the gate. Usually, it's one parent only. 

I kept thinking, wasn't I just breast-feeding this kid?

Okay, so that's weird and Claire would be mortified, but now I'm sending her on a plane, solo, three thousand miles across the...

The lady's voice came over the loudspeaker, calling for boarding to begin. The crowd swelled. A quick hug and then Claire followed a man in a blue shirt who worked for the airlines down the ramp. She turned around twice, waved, then scurried behind him with Grandma Dorothy's bag in tow. 

I felt a sob come up but told myself, no. 

Michael and I stayed until the plane was out of sight, then walked away from the gate passing this Meditation Room which I almost ducked into for a quick breather, prayer, moment of silence.

I know this. 

We all gotta fly. 

And the thing is to keep on flying, 

coming home to rest and nest, then fly some more. 
The thing is to spread your wings. 
You don't need a plane for that.
But I have a feeling this will be the first of many trips to the airport with Claire. 
She's got the bug, an adventurous spirit.
And no fear. 


"It's kinda weird, Mom, but I don't feel nervous at all."
"Gosh, Claire, that sounds so wonderful. Can I have some of that?"

postscript: 


4:00 pm EST.


The eagle has landed...


yahoo!!!!

Crowing Away

This morning was the first annual Quiet Valley Rooster Run...


Tour the Quiet Valley Living Historical Farm property over hill and dale, past the farm ponds, pastures, apple orchards and historical buildings. Course has varying surfaces including grass, dirt, gravel and paved roads.


Claire and Michael took the dare. My niece, Reeve, and I were content to cheer from the shade of a large maple tree handing out cups of water to red-faced runners.


It was one of those steamy July mornings. 


It was a hard race. Over hill and dale was no joke. 












"At one spot there was a skinny path, Mom, we had to go in single file. Some lady fell in the mud," Claire said, gulping her water.
Michael said, "I could hear the rooster crowing as I was running through the woods."
"Was it the guy in the rooster suit?" I asked.
He'd come across the finish line, flapping his wings and crowing, in spite of having just run a 5K in a rooster suit.











"No, it was the real rooster, crowing away."

Believe It Or Not

Claire came home, 
went up to her room, 
and wrote a poem. 


Trust me, this is not a daily thing. Most days, she heads straight for the tv and the big green chair, hoping to catch a cooking show or if I'm out of the room, Housewives of Orange County. 


Why?she asks, when I say change the channel.
It's interesting, Mom, she tells me. Great characters.


My kid knows I'm a sucker for great characters.


But today, the notebook won out. 


She came into the kitchen.
"I wrote a poem,"she said, "Do you want to hear it?"
"Absolutely,"I said,"But I'm curious?"
"About?"
"Did you just decide to come home and write a poem, or had you been thinking about it?"
"I was thinking about another one while I was in school but it didn't turn out, so I wrote this."
"That's pretty neat. Okay, let's hear it."


War by Claire Collins


War is ugly
War is bad
It's starting to make
me very mad
I'm getting sick
of all the pain
I must stop the
tears from falling like
rain. We need to escape
all the guns and the bombs
All this hate, all those lies
No one lives, everyone dies
God, please cure
the bad and the mean.
This is war. Believe it or not.


On this Flag Day...


Remembering our service people far away from home and all people everywhere who are in the midst of the bad and the mean.

In The Long Light

Claire and I sat out in the yard, tossing the baseball backwards over our heads for Chewy, resting after a full afternoon of playing with Elizabeth, more weeding and mulching, and then a frenzy of let's rearrange the house. 


More restlessness?


Yes.


Claire had her 5th grade end of year celebration which means come September she'll move on to middle school which is probably why I came home and had to move more feelings so...


When Jesse came to get Elizabeth I enlisted her to help me move my writing table BACK upstairs into Dad's room/my old writing room and vacuumed and tossed things. Claire and I managed to muscle Dad's chair into her room (until he wants to claim it)...so it was a moving things, clearing the cobwebs, re-claiming space day.


And then, a sit in the long light.

Home Is A Really Good Place

We picked a sweet spot to set up camp on the old farm in Greentown. It was fine, cozy really, especially when Claire's fever spiked in the middle of the night and she began speaking in tongues and seeing things that weren't there.


Stumbling to the double-seater outhouse added to the tenting experience, while Chewy wandered off in search of the FIVE other dogs camping up there with family members. Hard to know what time that was...3 am? 4? 


Yesterday was rough. I can't recall being quite so tired. I took a sweaty nap most of the morning. Meaning I lay in the tent with my eyes closed, willing my body to rest. Occasionally the sound of Chewy barking at someone to throw the tennis ball brought me back to awareness. Finally I got up to check on my kid (excellent mothering, part one) and found her pale and green around the gills but fortunately being cared for by the twenty-seven other family members and friends (two of them nurses) who had come to camp in the fields. 


Later, I discovered her passed out in the tent. She'd gone to get her hat and was too tired to get up. She fell asleep where she landed; on the floor of the tent. (excellent mothering, part two.)


So, I never showed up here yesterday... 


We went to bed early last night...but not until Jesse got clocked in the head with a lacrosse ball. Not sure whether to laugh or cry, she did both. Someone handed her a cold beer to put on her head. She did that, then drank the beer...something she rarely does.


Claire was medicated, resting when the storm came in a fury of wind and rain. The tent flaps were open and tangled. There was some minor wrestling involving pegs and ties. A small puddle developed near our heads. I was speaking in tongues at that point. Michael pulled me close and said, no big deal. He was right.


Uncle Sam described the pond best: bracing. 

This weekend: 

Dad was there. 
my brothers and their families. 
Jesse and Elizabeth and John. 
Uncle Sam and Aunt Alden.
cousin Rebecca. 
kids. 
friends.
a fever 
a lacrosse ball
dogs. 
the pond.
snakes. 
mosquitoes. 
sun. 
rain. 
sun.

When everyone drove away this afternoon, we sat under the old pear tree. Everything was green and yellow sun and soft and still. 


I thought, now I could stay. But we came home. 


After one more plunge in the pond...

Home is a really good place. 

Away From The Pack

This bird is from last summer; beach towels on the line, sunshine. The good old days when Owen was free to sleep on the back porch and watch the birds stroll by. Owen did that all the time BC.


Before Chewy, the big-eared dog. 

Anyway, today is a wet, green day. I was having tea with Neeny when the lone turkey appeared in the yard. When I ran to get my camera, the bird retreated to the tangle of green forsythia. No shot.


My turkey peeps tend to travel in a crowd, pecking their way under the pines out my writing window, meandering across the yard. However lately, I've spotted a few loners. I've been wondering what's up with this loner thing until Claire cleared it up while we were driving to her after-school track program.


"Look, there's another turkey all by itself," I said.
"Well, maybe it just needed to get away from the pack," she said," maybe it's having a spiritual breakthrough and just needed some time alone."

Betty's Still Beautiful

This is Betty.


"She's gone around the track 92 times," Dad said.
"He's so nice," Betty said, leaning her head into his chest.
"Keep it coming," Dad said, laughing.


Claire and I followed her grandfather down the hall to see the drawing he'd done of a hummingbird in a recent art class. It hung, in a black frame on the wall, surrounded by other hummingbirds done by the residents of Mrs. Bush's Personal Care Home; an artist's gallery of hummingbirds.


On our stroll back, we saw Betty again.
"Come into my room for a minute, " she said, "I want to show you something."
We followed Betty into her room.
"Use your walker, Betty!" a woman said, passing by.
Betty left her walker at the door.


Betty picked up two pencil drawings of a shapely woman in a bathing suit.
"I did these when I was sixteen," she said.
"They're very good!" I said, "Claire's an artist, Betty. She'll have to bring her sketchbook next time to show you."
Claire blushed. She gets embarrassed whenever I say she's an artist.
"I like to draw, Mom." she says, "I just don't think I'm an artist yet."
"My hands shake too much now,"Betty said, laying her drawings back on the desk, "so I can't draw anymore."


Betty did not look sad. I felt a little sad.


"Here," Betty said, "This is what I used to look like."
She held up a photograph of an olive-skinned brunette, white teeth smiling at the camera.
"Stunning!" I said.
"I had so many boyfriends," she chuckled, "I finally had to kick them all to the curb. Too many."


In the car ride home, Claire and I chatted about our time.
"That Betty is really something," I said. "Gosh. She was so beautiful."
"Betty's still beautiful," Claire said.

Happy Mother's Day

breakfast in bed 


scrambled eggs
toast with peanut butter
oj
tea
raisins and walnuts
dogwood blossom in jar


freshly made warm chocolate chip cookies with walnuts


+ 


claire in one of mom's old shirts  


x 
















= a very happy mom

I Want A Cowgirl Hat

Spring cleaning is a four season project; sorting through, giving away, re-cycling, tossing. 


Occasionally, I find a treasure like Claire's Christmas letter to Santa, circa 2003? She dictated it to her Dad, then drew illustrations just in case...


Claire wants for Christmas please:


1. Mickey Mouse doll that's Mickey Mouse
2. Horse for Real Life.
3. The book, Red Riding Hood
4. Stuffed Green star
5. Pretty pillow for Claire's bed
6 Frosty the Snowman book
7. I want a cowgirl hat


She got everything on her wish list except for #2. 


I want a cowgirl hat.


Make a simple clear list about anything in your life.


Write. Draw.


Put it down in black and white.


or crayon?


see what happens.

Before They Come Into The World

Every morning, Claire and I take Chewy for a brisk morning walk down Truman Street before heading to the bus stop. We walk and talk, pausing to let him sniff the grass and leaves so he can find a place to do his business.


"I know he has to go," Claire said. 
She was smiling at me. 
Chewy was sniffing and circling.
"I have a sense about this." 
"I believe you," I said.
"Well, a dog looking for a place to poop is kinda like a kid looking for the right parents."
"You mean, before they come into the world?"
"Yeah, kinda like that," she said.

My Whole Life

Last spring, Claire's foot was a few inches shy of reaching the gas pedal on the John Deere which she desperately wanted to drive.


But it was a growing winter. Today the snow blade came off and Claire climbed on for a test run. Feet reach...Ta da!


Michael said, "Man, they sure do grow."
I said, "Yes, they do."
Claire shouted, "I am so excited! I've been waiting for this my whole life!"


What have you been waiting for your whole life?

Fresh Air Pep Rally

Monday was the PSSA pep-rally at Claire's school. Pennsylvania Standardized Something Assessment. This is freak-out time for school districts. Test scores mean everything so make sure your kid goes to bed early, has protein for breakfast, remembers everything that's been drilled into them for the past 6 months.


How about a massage? (for the teachers...)


"So, we had a PSSA test-taking pep rally, Mom. All the 5th graders were in room 300. It was easily over 200 people. And Mrs. Smith kept asking us to be quiet and respectful to the class representatives who were playing some kind of Jeopardy game. The rest of us were supposed to sit and watch. Quietly. For like an hour and a half."
" A pep rally? I said, "For the tests?!"
"It was a little weird."
"Why not go out and run around outside for an hour and a half? Why not get some fresh air, move your bodies?!! God, I hate it."
"Mom, don't get yourself upset. It was fine."
"It's absurd, Claire. The whole shooting match. Kids stuck inside all day, filling out the right circle, teachers stressed from day one over this test. How about a pep rally with running and jumping? How about a fresh air pep rally?"
"Mom, calm down. Really. Thankfully I was sitting next to Giana. At one point we looked at each other during the Jeopardy thing and whispered, this is kind of awkward, don't you think?"

Make A River

"Man, is it raining," I said, "The yard is one giant mud pie. Guys, we can't be throwing the ball to Chewy out there. He's tearing the whole thing up."
"Look at him, Mom," Claire said.


Throw me the ball.
Throw me the ball.
Throw me the darn tennis ball.


Please?


"I should just take him out to the river and let him run. Otherwise the boy is a cuckoo bird," I said, "But I don't feel like driving out there. I have work to do and would rather go out back..."
"Well. We could make a river," Claire said, "It wouldn't be that hard."

Like When You're Born

In the past week, three people I've known have died. One, a friend from childhood, after a long battle with cancer. Our friend, Vinny died last Friday from a massive heart attack while splitting wood in his backyard. We got the phone call on Saturday night, listening to Prairie Home Companion, curled up in front of the fire. Vinny? Splitting wood? A friend's sister died from a sudden illness. She was forty-six years old. A teacher, a firefighter, her son's scout troop leader, mom of a ten year old daughter. She'd been at the hairdresser commenting on how she wasn't feeling quite right. Two days later...


I know this is the natural order of things. This whole enchilada is impermanent. We come into the world, burn brightly, then leave. Apparently, the sooner one accepts this, the more joyful and peaceful a life they'll live. I have a thick skull. All this dying is making me nervous. I've got, more acutely than usual, that old when's the next shoe gonna drop syndrome. Does waking  up this morning to no heat in the house count? I'm watching my squeamish-ness, tallying the losses. This letting go process isn't once and done. It's again and again. Inhale, exhale.


I was talking to Claire about this domino of loss.


"One minute you're here, the next your gone," I said, "it's freaking me out."
"Well, it could be the other way around, Mom, like one minute you're gone, then here. Like when you're born?"


Bingo...


which brings me back to my two snow-covered chairs in the backyard post from the other day. Have A Conversation was all I could muster. But I think it's good advice; have a conversation with someone you love, or someone you've had difficulties with, or a stranger who could use some kindness...


have a conversation.

Like Paris?

Claire and I were at the bus stop. 
Temp, - 5? 
We're sitting in the car, engine off, no heat, talking. 
"Maybe we should take six months and go build wells for people in need," I said. 
This happens, especially in winter. This urge to go somewhere else, do something else, step out of this life and into another. I think, maybe that'll shift the restlessness inside me, make me feel better about the pipes freezing.
"Build wells?"Claire said.
Silvery breath swirled between us. 
"Like Paris?" she said.

Wooden Spoon Under Your Pillow

Last night Claire performed a snow day ritual before climbing into bed:


1. flush four ice cubes down the toilet
2. put your pj's on inside-out
3. sleep with a wooden spoon under your pillow


Voila! 


Snow day. 


What other tricks does my kid have up her sleeve?


Imagine the possibilities...

To More Life

                                                                   
It's Saturday.


Michael's at his office, working. Claire decided to go on an adventure with her grandfather so I dropped them off on Main Street to run errands. She gave me a crooked smile like what am I doing, and then whispered, "I have my phone, Mom," as she shut the door and followed her grandfather into an old-time drug store. 


I drove straight home, avoiding the Saturday crowds, not wanting to be in the mix of it all.


Earlier, we'd been talking about poetry. Not like we sit around having literary discussions over our oatmeal every morning but it came up and it was a good conversation. Who's Mary Oliver, Mom?and it got me thinking about poems I love; the ones you read over and over, never tiring of the words, always feeling nourished afterwards. 


Here's a sliver from the poem, My Dead Friends, by Marie Howe, one of my favorites...


I have begun,
when I'm weary and can't decide an answer to a bewildering 
question


to ask my dead friends for their opinion
and the answer is often immediate and clear.


Should I take the job? Move to the city? Should I try to conceive
a child
in my middle age?


They stand in unison shaking their heads and smiling-
whatever leads
to joy, they always answer,


to more life and less worry...

That Kind Of Day/Part Two

Yesterday was that kind of day. 


1.
Took Claire to the bus stop. Paula, college friend, comes for a visit. Chewy (rescue dog) and Paula meet. It turns out hunky-dory, in spite of my new dog nervousness.


2.
Paula and I meet Michael at his office to walk at the river. First time they've met. We walk. Blue sky, bare trees, leaves crunching underfoot, happy running puppy. Michael climbs on fallen tree jutting out from riverbank. Hear branch snap, turn to see him plunge six feet into cold, shallow water. One of those slow-mo moments. Michael pops up spewing water, face dripping blood, I'm okay, honey, I swear, I'm okay. I take undershirt off to give Michael something for his gushing eye. Paula says, she never could keep her clothes on. Run to get car, Michael strips down to his underwear, he and Paula get acquainted. Chewy sleeps on wet pile of clothes. Michael takes quick shower at home. Drop him off at emergency room.


3.
Paula hits the road. Pick up Claire at bus stop. Bad day at school. She lost special beads that belonged to her Aunt Pamela. Add interaction with not so friendly girls on bus. Quietly mention that Daddy is in the ER. Suggest we get him a helmet for Christmas. 


4.
Went to Claire's school to teach yoga to teachers. Had a hunch I might find her lost beads if I look in the classroom. Ask Steve, the janitor, for help. Find lost beads under teacher's desk. Feel like things are turning around. Hug Steve. Teach yoga class. Lots of deep breathing teachers on yoga mats as sun goes down.


5. 
Meanwhile, Teri picks Michael up at hospital. 
"What did she say when she saw you?" I ask him later.
" Oh my God!" he says.


6.
Home to stitched up husband who has veggies and shrimp prepped for his signature shrimp dish. 


Note to self: love a man who cooks. 


7.
6:00 pm. Let Chewy (new dog) meet Owen (old cat) at back door for a sniff. Part of our cat meets dog program. Chewy gets a little excited and chases Owen up a pine tree. Claire and I are crying.


8.
Claire has birthday party @ 6:30. Haven't bought gift yet. Michael climbs ladder to help cat. Cat climbs higher. Holding breath. Insist that Michael get down from there. Exhale when his feet touch the ground. Contemplate calling fire department. Decide against it.


9.
Take Claire to party. Chant, All is well and all is well and all manner of things shall be well, under my breath all the way home from party drop-off.  


10.
Owen is down from tree when I pull in driveway. Weep on front porch while he laps up bowl of contraband milk. Michael cooks. We eat in front of crackling fire. 


11.
In bed by 9:00. Chewy is sleeping. Owen slips in to bedroom and hops on my chest. I am forgiven for the butt-sniffing incident.


12.
Review the day. Mom would've said, just a rough patch.


All is well, and all is well and all manner of things shall be well.


(ps. Michael's new nickname: Rocky Balboa)