Riding Life

I woke after having a dream where a huge, curling wave was heading for the beach. Someone said, "The ferry we're getting on has to go through that." Oh.


It is the proverbial calm before the storm.
The air, eerily still. Nothing moving.

The trees stand, at ease, in the yard.  Zen-like?

We've had some big trees come down over the summer. Our un-cluttered yard will likely be littered with branches tomorrow. We might lose power. I hope not. We need bread; Michael will have to make the trip. I can only imagine the lines. No love lost between me and the supermarket.


I'm thinking about trees. How they root, grow towards the light, become home for cardinals and squirrels. Leaves fall, branches break. They grow old, die. Someone chainsaws them down, green shoots rise out of stumps. Root again. That kind of thing. 


Trees are not braced for anything. 


Claire slept at a friend's last night.

"Maybe you should get me before lunch," she said, "You know, with the storm coming. I'd like to be home." 

I'll do that.
Go get my girl.

Bring in hanging plants, tuck chairs in shed.

Secure anything else that could fly through the air.

Batten down the hatches. 

That's what I've been thinking about with Hurricane Irene barreling up the coast. It's good to be prepared, as best you can; bread, water, candles, wills. But even when there is no storm...


I am braced for the next thing, the shoe dropping.


Riding life, 


rather than bracing for the next hit, feels way better. 


I'm tired of fight or flight, my twitchy, familiar pal.


Even if there's no hurricane in your life today, stand. 


Like a tree?

Whatever it is, ride it out.


       be safe...

Breathing Again

In the past few weeks we've had severe storms that have, in the span of five minutes, swooped in and toppled large trees in our yard . 


One minute, sky clear, then suddenly a quick darkening and heavy air, followed by rain and gail force winds. The last storm ripped through a narrow swatch of land, downing trees and outing the power in our neighborhood. Not a mile away, the sun was shining, everything untouched. 


We lived with the mess for a good ten days, unable to find the time to devote to cutting and clearing the broken trees. It was a big project...


But Saturday morning, Michael was up and moving, chainsaw in hand; we began the work. It couldn't have been hotter but the effort was worth it. 


Two truck loads later in Big Blue, 


and the yard was breathing again. 


"It feels so good to have that done," I said last night.
"It had to be done," Michael said.
"But it feels like more than trees were cleaned up. It feels like blocks were removed. I just feel a whole lot better. I can breathe."


All to say that sometimes the best thing to do, when we don't know what to do, is to tackle what's right in front of us. Sweep the kitchen floor, throw in a load of wash, make the bed, walk the dog, or lift heavy pieces of trees, load in big blue truck, and haul away.


When in doubt, make space.