Jun6

It’s All That

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D-day.

In my lifetime, the only meaning this really held for me was Blitzen von Normandy. It was her birthday.

I will never – no matter what happens in my life – miss anything the way I miss Blitzen.

From the day I picked her up and said “Do you want to come home and be my puppy?” and she reached up and licked my chin, to the day the vet ran the IV to end her suffering, and she reached up and licked my chin and forever closed her eyes, she was a perfect creature.

They say that there’s only one best dog in the world, and every kid owns it, but she was truly it. I’m not talking about a good dog or a smart dog. Blitz was a perfect German shepherd. (Except she was afraid of the garden hose, and well, thunderstorms too, but that’s another story.)

But that’s not why she’ll be the only thing I will ever grieve. It’s because I will never again care about another thing.

I don’t have a favorite sweater or a piece of sentimental jewelry or an album of photos I couldn’t live without. Although I inherited lots of stuff from my mom and dad and a few things of my grandmother’s, none of it holds any meaning. It’s true there are things that remind me of people I’ve known or experiences I’ve had, but their value is not intrinsic. The memories are not of the house or of the old car, or even the big table we all gathered around. All of those things have come and gone, but the memories are and will always be mine, and I’m thankful for that.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate having nice things. I do. I enjoy them while they’re here. It’s just that I learned over the years that to attach yourself to something, no matter what it is, is to invite sadness. It seems like any time I start to value a particular thing, that’s when it breaks, or gets lost or stained, or shrinks in the dryer. These little annoyances remind me that I’ve done it again. I put value into something that doesn’t matter.

So I will make an effort to value the true in life: this moment in time, the love I share, the service I provide, the art I express, the laughter we create together. The rest of it just collects dust and will be one more thing that has to be packed the next time I move.

May20

Genesis

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“A subject for a great poet would be God’s boredom after the seventh day of creation.” ~ Nietzsche

big bang

First there was here
And then there was there
Now here is this
That then is where

It was just an idea
Whose time was right
Long enough in the dark
Let there be light

Now this cannot be with that
There must be below
Here must be above
And it was so

There will be bounty
Here will be vast
All things will be plenty
And it was cast

Balance was needed
Hence the sun
As well stars and moon
And it was done

Spirit must go
To be on land and sea
Living in this place
Let it so be

Love burst forth
Men and women to share
In All that Is
Born was the pair

Intelligence is
Wisdom will be
Available to all
And it grew on a tree

We as sad children
Acted out on our fears
Did sorrow discover
And shed our first tears

Alas, said the Lord
Look what I’ve done
Life and death forever
It has begun

Then without pride
Or judgment or shame
He rested at last
And turned on the game

Apr2
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From my window I can see a pond.

I guess it’s not really a pond. It’s a bioswale where the runoff from the rain fills the retention basin until it can slowly seep into the ground. But, when the water is up, and there are ducks paddling, it’s a pond. It’s surrounded on three sides by a small forest and the little hill around it is high enough to serve for sledding in the snow.

There’s a hawk that circles over the woods occasionally; some doves nest nearby; a swarm of sparrows visits regularly; and every now and then a blue heron tries his luck. Mostly though, gaggles of Canada geese visit to graze the green grass on the slope and float on what water is there. I watch them grazing, a few keeping their heads up on guard while the others eat. Then in turn the others will stand watch until everyone has his fill.

The past few days a single goose has been here by herself. I say “her” because she’s a little slighter in size than most of the geese I see. She grazes alone. She swims alone. She tucks her legs under her and rests alone. A dog-walker came a little close, and she rose up and waddled a few steps, spread her wings in a flurry and settled back down. The puppy proved disinterested and wandered on.

So I wonder about this lone goose. Certainly, she would be safer among her relatives.  Might she be injured? But no, she has flown to the water and landed and swam, so clearly if she wanted, she could leave.  Has the flock left her?  Do geese do that? Abandon one of their own? But again, a gaggle passes over and she doesn’t even honk at them.  She has the grass she needs for grazing, the pond – should she need to move away from danger – and at the rim of the berm, she rests.

Brave goose.

She passes the time in serene surroundings.

Such is the way with wild animals. In uncomplicated nature, they are fulfilled in each moment. Once basic needs are met, they are at ease – creatures with no struggle, no schedule, no worry, no regret. Compelled at times to action, but moving freely, living their lives to the utmost of their natural ability.

And as the last light of day skims the treetops and sets the edge of the hill softly aglow, she lingers, content.

“…therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. ”

Matthew 6:25-34

On Her Own

Mar24

All Fired Up

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porcelin

The heat is unbearable.

I always thought it was smart to bring a jacket. Now I’m stuck in three layers of clothing, sitting next to a rather large individual in a fairly small seat on the train.

Why, in God’s name, would they set the thermostat so high when it’s such a beautiful day? Looking around however, I’m the only one noticing the heat. Is it just me?

Oh, I get it.

It is just me.

Dammit.

My sister warned me about this. Out of nowhere, you become a kiln. A sensation starts small in the core of your body and ignites every cell on its move outward. Suddenly, what was comfortable is now suffocating and stifling. There’s an incredible urge to start unbuttoning everything. This is a public place though. I can’t exactly strip down. Oh dear God, will I actually immolate? Probably not. So here I am suffering the fires of transformation in golden silence.

It’s a test, I know.

Just as soft clay is fired to harden it to ceramic, the experience of my childhood, my youth, and my adulthood is being forged into the fullness of being a mature woman.

In a kiln, the higher the temperature, the finer the porcelain becomes. The imperfections are eliminated, the fine lines of paint are made permanent, and the colors become enameled. The result is a visibly delicate, but incredibly strong piece of china capable of withstanding daily use while maintaining its beauty.

And that is how it is with women. We reach a point where experience has done its job to teach us all the things we need to know… to be durable, to be practical and yet to display our gifts in a way that highlights the best qualities of our feminine assets.

We know who we are.

The doubts are burned off. The fear turns to ashes, and anxiety is just smoke rising and wafting away. With confidence and clarity we move into the new territory of being ourselves. Not a daughter anymore. Not a wife anymore. Not a mommy anymore. We become the women we knew our grandmothers to be: calm, assured, optimistic and ever faithful, tender yet strong, with the perspective to gauge the passing days over the lengthy years.

So as the intensity of this moment subsides, I’ll not wish it away. I will remember that in these brief minutes of internal combustion lies the serenity of my future.

Jan15

A Wild Wish

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In all my wildest imagination, I could never have dreamed of this.

Every day I witness an amazing thing. Just beyond a pane of glass nature displays its glory for me to behold.

When I decided to move and was looking for a new place, I had a few essentials on my list – location, location, and location. It never crossed my mind that I would live in the sky, but here I am. Soaring.

There is a pair of red-tail hawks that nest in the woods out back. They chase the pigeons from the parapet of the buildings. From penthouse height, it’s entertaining to watch them. The pigeons rest in the sunlight until a hawk lands nearby, and instinct forces them to take flight. The whole flock makes a huge circle over the area and returns to roost.  Again and again, a hawk disturbs their landing. They are forced to maneuver around the two buildings to find a secure perch, but the other hawk always awaits. No rest for the near-weary birds.

And then the hunt begins. The predators have tired their prey. Now is the time to strike.

As the pigeons flee, they approach my window en masse.   At the last second before running head long into the wall, they climb to attempt a landing on the roof. The hawk, in high-speed pursuit, flies within a few yards of me. Just the glass separates us. I can see all the detail of his breast and wings… every feather, every muscle, his eyes focused and beaming. Uncontrolled, my mouth drops open in utter amazement and appreciation, and a wish I never made comes true.