What if

What if today I said no.
What if today when the alarm went off
I said, No. That's enough. I can't.

What if the chime of a text on my phone went ignored
or the ring on my phone went to silent.

What if today I can't.
What if today when I get up
I don't plough through, suck it up, take it one day at a time.

What if rather than listening to my brain, I listened to my soul
and found I needed me more than anyone else did.

What if today I was free.
What if today when the sun shone through the window
and the birds chirped, I rejoiced at the thought of a new day.

What if I could follow my truest desires,
wander in nature, lose my watch,
run barefoot in the sand, take a nap under a tree,
read a book in a hammock, journal my deepest thoughts.

What if.

Cooking Comfort

Forgive me. I know this isn't a food blog, but today I spent most of my day in the kitchen. I'm not sure why, but as I wrote up my grocery list this morning for my weekly Sunday trip to Publix, I got in the mood to meal plan for the week. I've done this before; I go in an out of phases depending on how busy I am at work and what's going on with the boys. I had been eyeing several recipes from various sources lately, and I guess I was up for an afternoon in the kitchen. Cooking is a labor of love for me, and sometimes when things are weighing heavy on my mind, or I feel beat down, cooking is a way to feel productive yet mindless. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying cooking doesn't take knowledge and expertise, it's just when you're in the kitchen, it's all about food and nothing else. It's an easy escape from thinking about other things, and the end result is quite rewarding... just say yum.

Here is a collection of some of the things I made today. My feet hurt and I'm a bit tired, but as you can see from the final photo below, my fridge is stocked, and this week's meals- lunches and dinners- will be a breeze because of all the work I did today. So. Worth. It.

This here is homemade chicken noodle soup. No written recipe, just what I remember from a day in the kitchen years ago with my Bubbie. (You can read about it here). Usually I make matzoh ball soup, which is really the same thing, minus the noodles (lokshen) and plus the matzoh balls. But my son recently started working at a deli, and he mentioned he ate chicken noodle soup after work yesterday. Quickly he followed with, "You haven't made chicken soup in a long time." Of course, at his request this was the first thing I made this afternoon. The stock cooked all afternoon, and then I pulled the chicken from the bone so as not to overcook it. I'm just now cooking the noodles to be added by serving as it's eaten. Reserving the chicken and noodles to be added as you eat the soup is the best way to keep both from getting soft and mushy like in canned soup. We will be enjoying this soup throughout the week. My son will probably be eating it as a snack after school. Hopefully he'll leave some for us!

There's nothing more enjoyable about putting a salad together than having all the veggies and ingredients prepped in advance. I've been on a Greek salad kick lately. For awhile I was making Caesar salads multiple times a week. I couldn't get enough of it. I think the switch to Greek happened at the All About Girls Summit when they served a delicious deconstructed Greek salad with fresh crispy romaine lettuce and all the ingredients you see below. My husband has been hooked on Ken's Greek Salad Dressing for well over a year now, and it will dress up these ingredients with grilled chicken (the one type of chicken I forgot to prep today) over romaine tomorrow evening before my husband and I run off to Deep Relaxation Yoga. Dinner will be a breeze and yoga will be truly relaxing, knowing we'll have plenty of time to enjoy this light meal before yoga instead of after.

Tuesday nights are always a challenge. My husband and my son go to Boy Scout meetings, and I have various commitments depending on which week of the month it is. A quarterly work meeting, my writing group, whatever it is we have resigned ourselves to rarely eating together on Tuesday nights. Occasionally however, like this week, I don't have anywhere I need to be after work. If I make a crockpot meal or prepare something ahead so it can cook quickly when I get home, we do have the chance to eat together as a family, even if it's quick. I came across a yummy looking recipe on FB recently- it was one of those video  recipes recorded in fast-time so you can watch it in about a minute. It's a chicken potato bake- all the ingredients were things my family likes so I'm giving it a shot. Cubed chicken, cubed potatoes, a mix of olive oil and seasonings, crumbled bacon, chopped scallions, and you can top with cheese and sour cream at the end, if you choose. I put the chicken, potatoes, and seasoning mix altogether in the Gladware on the right, cooked up the bacon and diced the scallions, and put each in a small container in the fridge. All I have to do to make it, is dump it all in a lasagna pan and bake! The bacon and scallions get sprinkled on top, and voila... dinner is served!

Of course in the midst of all my food prep for the week, I had to make dinner for tonight as well. We eat fairly healthy at home, and rarely eat any meat. We cut down a couple of years ago (though I was never a big meat eater anyway), and since then we really don't have much of a taste for it all that often. However, our son really enjoys steak and burgers, so every couple of weeks I try to mix something in, like meatballs, beef tacos, or  going out for a burger. Today I decided to make a quick stop at Winn Dixie on my way home from Publix. They are the Beef People, you know. They sell shaved steak by the pound, and it's perfect for making Philly cheesesteaks, a favorite in our house. I only make them a couple of times a year, and I decided why not tonight? Thinly sliced onions and mushrooms make the perfect steak, and I surprised my son with homemade curly fries on the side- another indulgence we rarely partake in at home. I love my spiral veggie slicer, a gift from my mother-in-law. I also made cucumber spirals for another Greek salad for my lunch box (not pictured).

I have one of those kids who even at 17-years-old, prefers to bring lunch to school than eat cafeteria food.  He will no longer carry a lunchbox (not cool for high school juniors I guess), but he will bring a Ziploc with lunch made by his mom. DO NOT judge me. I no longer do his laundry, clean up his room, or drive him to school.  This is the one mommy pleasure I have left, and a boy's gotta eat. After years and years of deli sandwiches and trying to mix it up, he finally got sick of Boar's Head. We've been experimenting with cold Asian noodle salads (he LOVES Asian food), and the last two weeks we did salads with chicken in them. After tasting a grilled chicken wrap from Chick-fil-a this weekend, he asked if we could try chicken wraps this week. I grilled up several chicken breasts marinaded in Teriyaki sauce and sliced them up, cut up cucumbers and red onions, and bough bag salad buy one get one and Publix today. I drizzled it with a little Asian citrus-ginger dressing and bam! I'll find out tomorrow whether it met his seal of approval, but if not, we can certainly experiment some more tomorrow with different combinations. I have a feeling he'll like it just fine.

I was very busy in the kitchen. I spent about 4 hours in total, maybe a little more. I stopped only to enjoy dinner with the boys, as they oohed and ahhed over the fresh curly fries and yummy cheesesteaks. I must admit, hearing them tell me how delicious my cooking is soothes my soul.

All prepped up and ready to go for the week.

Say

I have been in a strange headspace lately. Confusion has been creeping into my consciousness days and now weeks at a time. I have always loved the song Say, by John Mayer. For some reason it has always spoken to me, perhaps because it's about words and honesty. One day this week on the way to work, the only commute of the week I switched from listening to NPR to choosing shuffle on my iPod, Say popped up. Every ten seconds or so I turned the volume up more and more. It was a beautiful cool and sunny day- I had the sunroof open, and the music and lyrics, along with the warm sunshine, washed over me and released a big knot inside. I found myself in a deep and desperate cry. This is my first draft attempt at digging into the root of that cry and my connection to the song.

Say 
by John Mayer 

Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so-called problems 
Better put 'em in quotations

I earned a terminal degree,

terminal as in ending, as in dying?

I am caught between two worlds,

too much for one, 

not enough for the other.

Dying a slow death inside,

I'm searching for a life-line.

It can only come from within.

Say what you need to say

I don't know what I want anymore.

I don't know where to go next.

I don't know why I often feel the need to move.

Walk like a one-man army

Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you'd be better off instead
If you could only...

I strode across the stage,

donned with a satin sash, cap and gown.

They called me doctor, 

and the dean shook my hand.

Applause filled the arena, 

pride filled my parents' hearts.

Expectations rose

for them, for me.

Say what you need to say.

I thought it would be different.

I thought more doors would open.

I thought I would know what I wanted.

Have no fear for giving in

Have no fear for giving over
You'd better know that in the end
It's better to say too much 
Than never to say what you need to say again

Is it time to throw in the towel,

and find a new challenge?

I ask myself if I want to continue,

torn between intellect and emotion.

After so much time, so much money

can the accomplishment stand on its own

or do I have a responsibility to do more?

What does the universe want with me?

Even if your hands are shaking

And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open

Feelings of hurt and anger, confusion

have me wondering if I did the right thing.

I close my eyes and open my heart,

wait for answers to come to me.

Pressure has released and I cry

in cathartic desperation.

Am I hearing what I want to hear 

is honesty unshackling me?

Say what you need to say

I'm afraid it's all over and I don't mind.

I'm afraid I have changed my mind.
I'm afraid to say it out loud.

I'm afraid everyone will think I'm crazy.

Curly Top

There is no other aspect of my appearance more noticed by people than my hair- at least according to comments I get from friends, family, and strangers. My stylist tells me people pay her tons of money to get curls like mine, and my own sister who has beautiful thick hair, still talks about mine with envy. Girls at work make assumptions about my ethnicity and nationality, and my friends joke with me about how big my hair can get when the weather is not on my side...

"I bet you hate it. Everyone wants what they don't have, right?" Like I never heard that one before. "So do you wish you had straight hair?" There's no right way to respond to people who ask these questions and make such comments. I must hear them on average once a week. Even more if I have to the occasion to be around a whole bunch of people I never met before. Just the other night at yoga, I walked in after rushing home from work, changing clothes, and rushing out the door to get there. "Oh. My. Gosh. You have great hair."

The obvious answer to all of this is, "Ugh. I hate my hair. Yes, I wish it was straight." But the thing is, I don't hate it. And I don't wish it was straight. But if I responded with, "Thick curly hair is fabulous," they would either think I was lying or they would say I was a bitch. Let me rewind for you and tell you how the conversation usually goes...

"Oh my G-d! Your hair is gorgeous! Is it natural or is that a perm?" With an appreciative half smile and an internal eye roll, I answer, "It's natural." Sometimes I even provide an obligatory self-deprecating comment, because that's what I'm supposed to do. Right? "Do you think I would pay money to do this on purpose?" was my standard line for a long time. It was followed by a sheepish chuckle. Then, while I am halfway ignoring the oohs and ahs I'm thinking what the hell is wrong with me? Why isn't it okay for me to love what is arguably my best feature?

"Oh," they say with their adoring smiles and fondling fingers. "I would pay anything to have your hair." Then they help themselves to a handful. Sometimes that's enough to satisfy them, but sometimes it turns into 20 questions about what products I use and how I style it. Then they gasp and stare as I tell it to them simple: Good shampoo and conditioner every day, despite stylist and fashion magazines' advice not to, and a single styling product I love- Biolage Gelee. Finger it in, shake, and go. "That's it," I say. "Yep. I don't even own a hairdryer."

It's amazing, in the media, magazines, TV and the movies, everyone has flattened straight hair. Famous people once known for curly hair, some of Hollywood's most gorgeous curly tops (Julianna Margulies, Nicole Kidman, Deborah Messing) are blowing their hair straight. Meanwhile people all around me are telling me they wish they had hair like mine. Call me a bitch if you wish, but I'm shouting it out now from here to the highest mountain tops, "I love my wild curls." There. I said it.

My friends like to kid me about my hair, and it doesn't bother me one bit.
It's all in good fun, and there are days like this more often than I wish.

Actually, this is pretty much what I do- after washing it!

Haiku for Success

We shall not measure

Success of other people

By our own standards

Looking to Lovers Key

Our 2nd Annual Women's Writing retreat is less than three months away, and I am starting to get excited. I've been gathering ideas, scheduled a planning day with a colleague, and I've been looking back through my journal and photos from last year. I bought a new journal to take with me that weekend, and on the first page is where I set my intention for the two days of writing. On the following pages, I wrote thoughts and pieces of writing throughout the weekend. The entire experience was a catalyst for my writing during the summer and early fall.  Tonight I flipped through the pages, and about a third of the way through, there were two pages dated September 13th. In between was an undated page which was likely written that same day. I believe it was in response to a field trip I took with my college students down to Lovers Key Beach. I wrote down some words and phrases used by the student naturalist as we walked the beach. It appears I started to write a poem, so tonight in anticipation of the retreat down on Lovers Key, I decided to finish it.

Lovers Key

Not just for lovers of one another

a secluded piece of beautiful Southwest Florida

nestled estuaries, nurseries for sea creatures

safe haven for birds and beachgoers

Kayak through the mangroves

lick brackish splashes from your upper lip

Lovers of nature come here for respite

to relax, rejuvenate

rejoice in the wildlife and vegetation

Enjoy gulf breezes and blue skies

see an anhinga dive down in pursuit of lunch

the great blue heron soar above 

snowy white egrets tiptoe along the shore

and tiny boats sail out in the distance

Sit by the water's edge and sip on a cocktail

close your eyes and tilt your face up 

in praise of the sun's warmth and light

let the energy move you to create

sacred souls in writing communion

Photo from loverskeyadventures.com

Rise and Shine

   

 "Take off your pants," he whispered to me as I shuffled back to bed from the bathroom with my eyes barely open.
     "No," I responded curtly.
     "Why?"
     "Because I'm tired." He promised last night he'd let me sleep in today. I crawled back into bed and curled back up to my pillow, knowing any effort to get more sleep was likely futile at this point. But I committed. Eyes shut and quilt pulled over me up to my waist, I hoped there was another thirty minutes or so left before I was forced to get up. He believes a daily schedule should be just that, even on the weekends. Why disrupt your routine just for two days? He insisted it was an opportunity to get things done. I agree. And for me those things are catch up on much needed sleep, enjoy an extra cup of coffee, and remain in my pajamas until I had to take a shower and go somewhere. Sleeping late on the weekends is a working mom's luxury.
     I turned my back to him as a last ditch strategy of defense, as if it had ever worked before. He crept over, firmly pressed against my back, and spooned me. His legs, so much longer than mine, completely cradled my butt all the way down to my toes. Not a word is exchanged between us. There is no eye contact. My eyes remain closed. Gently he touches my earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, dragging his fingers away in a light caress. After repeating the gesture a couple of times he continues by dragging his finger all the way down to the nape of my neck and into the hairs pulled loose from a knot while I slept. He kissed my neck and pressed against me hard. The neck. He always gets me with a soft, warm ticklish kiss on the neck. And he knows it. With the second one, I can't help but awaken, and the third... Well the third melts me away and once again he wins.
     Rise and shine.

The Good Old Days

Sometimes working with teenagers is a thankless job. Often working with at-promise girls is a thankless job... especially when they think the only things you do are coordinate and administer testing, and act as a disciplinarian...

It was Friday morning, and I accompanied a dozen or so students on a field trip to see the play 12 Angry Men. It's difficult to enjoy a production when I am focused on where my students are and what they are up to. But their behavior was pretty on target, as they were likely feeling lucky to be out of class for the day. Midway through the show, the actors froze, and the lights went down. It was intermission which meant my students would capitalize on the chance to get up and move. Several of them made a mad dash for the restroom, and as we have a tight supervision policy, I quickly followed behind them. The girls' room was completely overcrowded with students elementary up through high school. Lines resembled concert or football game restroom lines, and I stationed myself outside the door to keep track of all my students. I watched the various students around the lobby, and fixed a gaze toward the front door to be sure none of my students got sneaky. Suddenly, from across the room I hear, "Dr. Kemp! Dr. Kemp!" Flying down the aisles toward the lobby came three students, obviously younger than mine. They flung themselves at me, hugging me. I looked down at their faces and noticed they were former students from my elementary school days. I asked them who they were there with, to which they were delighted to announce, "We're in middle school now!" We exchanged a few words and then they ran off.

When I returned to our seats with my current students, one of them said, "You should have seen how excited those kids were when they realized they saw you. They pointed at you and went running."

I told them those kids were my students at my last school,"At every other school I've worked, the kids actually liked me!" They laughed.

I miss those days.

My Quirky Little Family of Three

There's never really been a shortage of conversation in my home. My husband and I have a talking relationship. We discuss current events, our jobs, and all aspects of our child rearing. Years ago, I recall my best friend from high school telling me how cool she thought it was that Paul and I talk about stuff. She said she and her husband never had the kinds of conversations we did. I never thought much of it, because it's all I've ever known. As our son turned a year, we worried little about his ability to talk, and were more focused on him being able to hold his chubby little body up to walk. He was a late walker and an early talker, and he hasn't shut up since! I say this lovingly in acknowledgement of his gift for gab. And might I say, at seventeen he doesn't just talk to hear himself, he loves debate and philosophy.

Yesterday my husband, son, and I set out in the car to meet up with my brother-in-law, his fiancé, and the kids for the day. We had a good thirty minute car ride, and had I recorded our conversations, I'm curious what others would think. The topics got more intense from one to the next...

Our first exchange was a debate- them against me. I had made a statement about an idea I had in the shower that morning, and I wanted to jot it in my notebook. When I initially spoke the sentence, I realized it wasn't grammatically correct. However I stated it, it sounded like I was going to be writing in the shower. I giggled and corrected the statement aloud. Then, somehow I started talking about how I could be writing in the shower- in my head. One of the smart asses, can't remember which one, says, "Then it wouldn't be writing. It would be thinking." This sparked a healthy debate about whether a writer is actually writing, if they are not engaged in the act of putting the words on paper. We went through various verbs and scenarios such as a writer who uses a keyboard- "No," they said. "Then it's typing." I insisted they were wrong. A writer is anyone who creates a piece of writing, no matter how they engage in the task. They disagreed.

I asked them then, "How do you distinguish between the physical act of writing words with the act of creating a piece of writing?" They didn't seem to think there needed to be a distinction. We bounced around the words publish and create when I asked them how you would refer collectively to all kinds of people who write on keyboard, with a pen, spoken word poetry, etc. All of this had us in stitches, while they tried to trip me up as I danced around explanations of why I disagreed with them. "Obviously," I said, "You are not writing people." And we laughed some more. All we could agree on was that all of these people were creators. My son tried to argue they were publishers as well, but I disagreed arguing if the creation never makes it out of a person's mind, it's not published. They both insisted in that case, no writing had been done either. We laughed all the way into the next topic of conversation.

Graphic of Dyson Sphere- Credit: SentientDevelopments.com

Not sure why it was on his mind, but the conversation moved to my son asking us if we ever heard of Dyson sphere theory? You can read about it on your own, but in a nutshell it's the idea of creating a sphere around a planet's star to harness the energy for a civilization. Yes, my son reads this stuff for pleasure and curiosity. Neither my husband, nor I, had ever heard of a Dyson, other than the vacuum cleaner guy. Nope, wrong Dyson. This Dyson theorized if we searched for the existence of this type of structure, we might find evidence of advanced civilizations elsewhere in the galaxy. You guessed it. This all led to the discussion about whether we believed in alien life forms, and if so, whether or not we believed they had ever infiltrated our life here on Earth. Ideas were exchanged about the possibility of other life forms living here before humans ever evolved and possible explanation for structures and occurrences on Earth that are seemingly impossible to explain. Finally, as we got close to our destination, the Big Bang and G-d.

If you are easily offended by parents who believe in G-d, discussing with their children the possibility that G-d doesn't exist in the traditional form as taught in the major world religions, just move on. You'll want to stop here. Things got complex as we discussed our understanding of G-d as we were raised, and other ideas about how G-d may exist differently. We talked about aspects of Evolution and the Big Bang Theory. We tried to consider how different theories about human beings and other possible life forms could be explained and we agreed about a modern understanding of G-d. We talked about the commonly used phrase, "I'm a G-d-fearing man/woman," and why anyone would fear their G-d. We agreed G-d (no matter your religion or beliefs) wouldn't want people to fear G-d. By the time we reached our destination, my mind was blown. We covered more in the 30-40 minutes than many college philosophy classes cover in a session. And before we got out of the car, I asked both of them, "Do you think other families talk about stuff like this?" My son laughed and said, "No way." We looked at each other and laughed. Then we went and rode go-karts and played mini golf.

All in a day. I love my little quirky family of three.
 

The No Explanation, Excuse-less Apology

We begin trying to teach children at a very young age, to apologize when they have done something "wrong" or when they have hurt someone's feelings. Many people-parents, grandparents, teachers- force kids to apologize when they catch them in these dirty deeds.

"You march yourself over there and say you're sorry!"

"You better go tell him you're sorry."

"You owe her an apology."

And there is a lot to be said for teaching children empathy and helping them to understand how their actions affect other people. But I've often wondered about the methods we use to teach these lessons. Is it effective to force a child to apologize if he is not truly sorry for what he did or said? I have heard the argument that we're teaching them habits. Fake it till you make, so to speak. Eventually children will make it a habit. I am not so sure I agree with this mindset. It seems more like creating a habit of insincere apology. When the apology is empty, the child likely hasn't learned anything about another person's perspective, empathy, or what it means to apologize. She has simply learned, if I deliver what the grown-up expects as a response for unkind behavior, then said adult will leave me alone. Essentially, the adult is reinforcing insincere behavior.

Of course, we hope as children get older and become teenagers or young adults, they'll understand the connection between an apology and how the other person felt. However, as a person who has worked with youth and adolescents most of my adult life, I'm not so sure this is how it plays out. This type of apology is really self-serving; to get the adult off my back or to keep the other person from being angry at me or telling on me.  It's all about what will happen to me or how people will feel about me, not about how the other person felt.

As adults we do this too. We concoct explanation of why we did or said what we did. We do this out of preservation of the other person's feeling about us, not out of what it meant to them. We feel the need to give excuses and explanations for why things happen, when what we should do is just say we're sorry. If I really mean it, it's not about how I appear to the other person, it's simply about being sorry. I find myself really growing in this area, being mindful of a legitimate and sincere apology. I have a tendency to be a bit verbose. Even in my writing I can be overly detail oriented and over explanatory (hopefully I'm not doing that here!). Something that happened yesterday is what gave me the idea for this post.

I have been in casual contact with a professional friend and colleague recently. She had mentioned she wanted to talk to me, and needed my professional opinion about something. We made loose arrangements to talk and I failed to pick up the phone over several weeks. In the back of my mind I knew she was waiting to hear from me, as my schedule is less flexible than hers. I thought about it several times, and I never called her. Last night I sent her a text setting up time to talk with her at the end of the weekend. Then I thought, wow... it's been weeks since she asked me. Shame on me.

Some time ago, I might have gone on and on about how busy I had been, all the travel I had been doing for work, craziness when I returned, and not feeling well the past couple of days. Truth? I just didn't make it enough of a priority, and that's just a shitty thing to do to a friend and someone you respect. She didn't need an explanation or excuses, just an apology and a commitment to do what she needed me to do. Once we scheduled our call for Sunday, I simply said, "I'm sorry I didn't get back to you sooner about this." Period. No excuses. No long-winded explanation. It wasn't about me, it was about what she needed. I apologized and set my time to talk with her. It may have been a bigger deal to me than her, but I still felt horrible about it.

I think the apology is an important sentiment in relationships. Sometimes it's all we need to hear to feel better about a negative situation. But we all know what those insincere apologies are like too. The teenager who says, "Soooo-ree." Who wants to hear that? Or how about when your significant other ends an argument with. "Fine. I'm sorry." Empty words mean empty apologies. An apology can go a long way to repairing a mishap in a relationship, but it's as important to know how an apology feels as it is to have the habit of saying you're sorry. Let's teach people to process their thoughts and actions and help lead them to want to make an apology on their own, rather than just because we force them to. Then maybe they'll actually learn what it means to feel sorry.

Allergy Blues 2

I took the last verse of a poem I wrote last year on another blog, to start another one about the same feeling, during a different time of year. Authentic and pathetic, it is somewhat self-pitiful. But as crappy as I feel, it's a wonder I wrote at all.

I sit
with my Kleenex
longing for the desire
and the tolerance
to step outside
and enjoy
my Florida winter.

Crisp air and clear skies

the moon is bright and 

the stars visible.

It's a perfect night to walk

or to dine downtown.

Instead I sit inside

closed off from the world

with take out dinner

swollen eyes

and sinus pressure.

If only tomorrow my body

rebuilds 

heals itself 

feels better

so I can venture out.

Relaxing Goddess

This week has been all about yoga for me. It's funny, when I started this blog last month, writing was at the center of my world. Don't get me wrong, my writing is still of the utmost priority in my life. But I'm striking more of a balance these days and it feels great. I've started a book club with a bunch of friends, and we're reading our third book this month, and I've taken up yoga. I'm still new to the practice, but I love it already. The poses feel great for my body, and the mindful breathing does wonder for my soul. It's going to take some time for it all to feel familiar every time I go, but I'm learning and I always enjoy learning.

Tonight was a bit challenging, though not for the reasons one might assume. I have horrible allergies, and they have been particularly debilitating the past week or two. My eyes have been itchy and swollen (have't worn eye make-up for over a week now- yuck) and there's been lots of sneezing. At yoga tonight, we posed in a twist at the hips and abdomen, chest, and face down on a bolster. That was it, forget deep, mindful breathing. I was sucking air through my mouth and barely able to hold the pose. My nose clogged up, and instead of mindfully breathing, i was mindfully gasping! Then I got distracted because I wasn't feeling relaxed. In my head, I started replaying my day. Ugh, the point of yoga is to move from the day's focus on things outside your body, to focusing inward. I was having a tough time with this. I know I'll get better at it, but my stuffed up nose and labored breathing made it labor intensive.

Just when I thought I had lost the ability to recover, we shifted our pose. Brand new to me, I absolutely loved this pose. Called the relaxing goddess, it opened up my entire chest and my sinuses! I was able to take the cleanest breaths and relax my entire body into the matt. Instead of ending the class in shavasana, at suggestion of the instructor I remained in relaxing goddess- my new favorite pose. And I gotta admit, love the name. It's fitting, don't you think?

Found this photo online, it's pretty close to our version of the "relaxing goddess" pose.

We Make it Work

Sometimes when I am not feeling well and I have had a rough day or couple of days (or week), it's tough to focus my efforts on writing about love and keeping things positive. I've been going through some personal stuff over the past few days, and I guess the way to focus on the positive- the love in my life, is to be thankful of the caring and understanding husband I have. He always supports me by allowing me to feel what I feel. He doesn't try to fix things (usually) or appease me by telling me everything will be okay. He acknowledges how I feel and offers advice or feedback if he thinks he has something constrictive to say. Sometimes, he has a zinger. One that really allows me to send an FU to the world. Tonight, in this micro memoir, I recall a very intimate and special moment from about ten years ago.We went on an extended weekend getaway to Flagler Beach over spring break, in celebration of our 10th anniversary. The entire trip was unforgettable, but mostly because of this...

It was breezier than we expected for late spring, bordering on blustery. Our bed and breakfast was only a couple of blocks from the restaurant, so we enjoyed the walk along the beach. We held hands and walked closely, a sight for a romantic beachside photographer. It was a seaside building, likely a converted home, with a wraparound porch. The hostess escorted us through a dimly lit room with creaky wood floors, and out to the porch where our table had been reserved. There were drop vinyl panels with clear windows so diners could enjoy the view and the outside, with protection from the gradually cooling temperatures. It was quiet and intimate but not overly romantic. I don't remember at all what I ate that night, though I know it was delicious. My memory is more of the conversation than the food. We had experienced a healing day at the spa, where we released all of our tension, and it seemed all of our emotional junk. I was talking about how unhappy I was at work at the time. It had nothing to do with the kids or the faculty, but with bureaucracy and some others in the company. Matter-of-fact, with not a single reservation in his face or his tone, my husband said, ""Quit. If you are that unhappy, quit." I was shocked. I responded with all of the "buts" that come out after a statement like that. His reaction was, "No salary or job is worth you feeling like this. We'll make it work."  The following Monday I gave three months notice. I had no idea where I would land next. It was the only time in my life I ever quit a job without knowing exactly where I would go to next. It was scary and exhilarating all at once. But you know what? We made it work.

Brazen Love

Few rituals in my life are more replenishing and comforting as monthly Tuesday night dinners with my writing group. Five women eating sushi, talking about our work, our families, and writing. I value this group beyond belief. Indulge me if you will on a brief walk back in time...

In 2012, I was working on my dissertation study capturing the experiences of teachers who had attended the NWP Summer Institute at FGCU. After soliciting participants, I formed a couple of focus groups to meet for the study. As fellows of NWP and teachers with a common bond, I enjoyed my data collection with these participants immensely. One of them would later become a good friend who would reach out to me asking if I would like to put together a writing group with her. Helen and I immediately set out to find others we thought might be committed to scheduling devoted writing time in their lives. She was more successful than I, and we organized a brunch meet-up to which she invited three other women who were interested. In June 2013, a group of us met as a Writing Circle to discuss our intentions and our plans. The group was born, and by July we had given ourselves a name, Trail Brazen - a play on the words trailblazing and brazen, which we believed described us.

The group is special. At its inception, it was started to support each of the members in writing pursuits, but it has become so much more. We lift each other up, problem solve our individual and group challenges, celebrate good reading and good writing, and we write, write, write. We have evolved along the way- losing one member, gaining another. But I think they would all agree with me, that we give each other the confidence and the strength to continue writing in various formats and arenas, sticking ourselves out there on occasion and experiencing our way in this world through writing. We write collectively on a blog and started an annual retreat last year in May.

Tonight was our February dinner and something really cool happened. I read an article several months back about a book club exchanging books of poetry for a holiday gift exchange. We decided to do it as a New Years celebration instead, and for various reasons it got put off until this month. We each had to bring in a wrapped book of poetry, with a book marked poem that we picked out as a favorite. Then randomly, each person would pick one up, unwrap it, and read the poem aloud. It really was a wonderful exchange, but the cool part was how much we have begun to know each other as writers and readers- and as women. Natalie started with the book I brought, and Helen took the one Annmarie brought. Since Helen and Annmarie were sitting opposite each other, and Natalie and I were sitting opposite each other, we decided to complete the exchange that way, across the table. Turns out Natalie and I exchanged books of women poets and Helen and Annmarie exchanged Billy Collins collections. We picked similar books when shopping and the exchange just happened in this synchronous way. Strange how that all worked out. Then again, maybe not so strange after all. We're Trail Brazen, ya know.

Vision of Love

I have recently started to practice yoga. I've been trying several different classes at a yoga studio recommended by my friend. So far I've been to three different kinds of classes and I am scheduled to try another one later this week. Imagine my surprise when I was scheduling my classes for the week and my husband told me he would like to join me. Tonight he came with my to Relaxation yoga, and though we did not talk to each other, and barely even looked at one another throughout the entire class, there was something very special about sharing the time with him, alone but together. For the first time in my life I had a vision. When the yoga instructor set us up in a pose to open our chests around the heart area, I took a couple of deep breaths, and man did I ever feel the opening. It was an unbelievable feeling, and I had a vision. This poem is my way of trying to honor the experience.

Inhaling deeply and exhaling deliberately

I pull air into and flush air out of my lungs

Listening, I focus on the rhythm of my breath. 

In the midst of meditation

I feel him posing next to me

Relaxing, I focus on the rhythm of his breath.

My chest opens up

and my heart is warm with light.

Above me I see us, a younger us 

holding hands, running in circles, laughing.

Dressed in flowy whites

His pants are rolled up above his ankles

and I have flowers in my hair.

We are barefoot with the grass between our toes.

Golden sunlight shines 

showering a celestial glow over us

as we laugh and play like children

no worries, no cares beyond the moment.

Back here we are together, 

sharing an intimate moment of oneness, side by side.

Our hearts open and our inner souls rejoice above us.

Love- Going All In

I read an interesting article in the Style section of The New York Times online today. Titled, To Fall in Love with Anyone, Do This, it was a personal essay submitted to a Times weekly series about love. The author cited a full study by a couple of professors from SUNY Stony Brook who used a series of questions and tasks, in a laboratory setting to bring the two coupled participants closer together. It was a sort of, can we make these two people fall in love kind of experiment. A couple of the participants did get married six months later. And the author of the Times article did a little experiment of her own, trying the 36 question exchange with a man she knew casually at work but had one evening met up with in a bar. As she described, it was a bit off the cuff. They were talking about the experiment and how fascinated she was by it.

She said, "I've always wanted to try it."

He said, "Let's try it." So they did.

They did fall in love, and she's quick to admit the study wasn't completely responsible for their relationship. But it's still enough to make me wonder. If I wasn't already married to the love of my life, I might consider trying it myself. In short, the premise is the line of questioning and tasks gradually builds up a rather quick intimacy in a short period of time. Skip the small talk and get to the good stuff. And it assumes both participants are adults, and willing to submit to the possibility of closeness or love as a result.

It got me thinking. When people meet a life partner later in life, they don't seem to need as much time to know this person is "the one." Unlike people in my case, who grew up with their spouses taking their time, those who meet at marriage eligible-age have nothing holding them back. In fact, many of them are ready to go as soon as the right person enters their lives. I know several people who experienced this. Others around them, myself included, might have initially assumed things moved too quickly. How can they know so soon? Are they moving too fast? I've come to realize at a more mature age, with two people who are willing and participatory in building intimacy quickly (like sharing in the types of conversations initiated by the 36 questions), it may not take so long to know you're in love. And when you are at a stage in your life when you are willing to enter a committed relationship, there's no reason to wait.

So jumping in too soon, getting too close too fast, going all in from the get go... it doesn't seem like such a bad thing. If both people know what they want and they've found it in each other, why not? I'd be really curious to know if the questions on e-harmony and some of the other dating services, have taken into consideration the questions in this study. I'd love to hear another personal account of the experiment, with two totally random people. I'm married, so it's not happening. Any takers?

Love is a Rose

Love is a rose but you better not pick it

Only grows when it's on the vine

Handful of thorns and you'll know you've missed it
Lose your love when you say the word mine

These are lyrics from Linda Ronstadt's 1975 single Love is a Rose. Admittedly, I was only a couple of years old when the Prisoner in Disguise album hit the shelves. But I grew up listening to several of Ronstadt's greatest hits albums, courtesy of my parents who were big fans. This song is one of the ones that stuck with me. Like so many others you listen to throughout the years, for me this one was memorized with little consideration for what the lyrics were actually saying. As a kid, how would I have understood the heart of the matter anyway?

Tonight, I pulled up the lyrics to have a look. I knew most of them, but there were a few holes here and there in my memory. Though I had sung the words of the chorus (included above), I never gave them much thought. I got to thinking about a conversation I had years a go with my husband. He was complaining about a friend needing permission from his wife to do something- go somewhere with the guys. I distinctly remember our discussion of how grateful we were to not be that kind of couple. Sure, we check with each other to see if we have plans or obligations on the calendar we need to do as a couple or a family before making individual plans. But we do not ask, nor do we need to ask for permission from one another to do anything (except large purchases with family funds). I even got a laugh about his friend. I turned to my husband and asked him, "Does it ever bother you that you married such an independent person?"  His response was priceless.

"No way. That's by design." He winked at me and smiled.

I think Ronstadt was saying the same thing. Love grows when the people in the couple allow each other to be their own individuals. When you try to "own" someone, and keep her all to yourself, she can no longer grow. She needs to be planted in the soil and grounded in the earth to live. Once she is plucked and isolated in a vase, her days are numbered. She will eventually wilt and die. Love isn't about isolating a person and keeping her all to yourself, it's about nurturing her and helping her grow. When something or someone is as beautiful as a rose, her beauty should be shared with the world.

I am grateful my husband not only supports but encourages my independence. He allows my garden to bloom in full force, and he's expert at avoiding the thorns.

Photo retrieved from: https://grndoordesign.wordpress.com/tag/roses/

Simple Things I Love

I love when we're at a Mexican restaurant and my son won't eat the guacamole because he insists it can't be as good as mine.

I love when my son and my husband laugh at a joke between them that I think is stupid.

I love when my son crawls in the dog's bed to cuddle with her.

I love when my husband surprises me with little practical things, like a new ergonomic can opener for my hands that are developing arthritis.

I love when my husband is holding the leash, but my dog will only sit for me.

I love when my son says, "I have a song I want to play for you."

I love when someone posts an old family photo.

I love when my best friend calls to tell me I'm her best friend (she really did that the other night).

I love when my sister sends me silly little Valentine's Day presents like straws with hearts on them.

I love when my mom calls me "baby" in her high pitched cutesy voice.

I love when I can end my really exhausting week by thinking of special people I love and the things they do to make me feel grateful.

    These are the straws my sister sent me. ❤️

A Very Special Valentine

Valentine's Day is coming. A holiday (if you can even call it that) built up so masterfully by the greeting card industry, and the chocolate industry, and the floral industry, and the jewelry industry, is just another occasion causing mass commercialism and high pressure decisions with superficial implications about the degree to which one person loves another. I know I sound cynical. I am as guilty as the next girl of waiting with high hopes and fantastical dreams over the years, about what I would be surprised with by my husband on the Day of Love.  Sometimes I am  genuinely pleased, others I get the "I tell you I love you everyday, why do we need a holiday?" speech. Either way, it's all good. I have been with my husband for too many years to make any connections between the gift and his feelings. I'm not gonna lie. I love a surprise. But really, why do we give this holiday so much power? Let's face it. It is mostly girls and women. I hate even having to make such a statement, but the truth hurts sometimes. And in this case it hurts badly. Women, especially young women and girls, put so much stock into having a love interest or being a love interest- more on Valentine's Day than any other time. Why? Because Hallmark, Jason and Todd tell them to.  After all, Monday at work and school, everyone will want to know... "What did he (or she) get you?" 

I said something out loud to one of our students at school today, and it was one of those rare occasions I came up with some original genius. Like really, someone should be quoting me on a FB meme. I asked her, "You know who the best Valentine is?" She looked at me, already skeptical of what I was about to say, and shook her head no. "Yourself," I said. "No one in the world should love you more than you love yourself, and you can pick out the perfect gift because you know exactly what you want." She smiled at me, but I'm not sure she bought it. It's okay, because I did.

It's been a busy couple of weeks at work, and I had wanted to do a special project with the girls for Valentines Day. I wanted to help them participate in a practice of self-love. I wanted them to get the perfect Valentine- not from a boyfriend or girlfriend, but from themselves. I had planned to share this video with them, and have them write Valentines to themselves, but things were chaotic and time ran short. Instead, I'm sharing it with you. Watch the video, think about it, and try sending yourself a little love. You can even get adventurous and send it with some candy, or flowers, perhaps a piece of jewelry. Maybe you'd rather have a book or some music, tickets to a movie. Or you can just put it in an envelope with an upside down stamp in the corner and SWAK on the flap, and mail it from work to home. Trust me, writing it isn't so easy. I've been trying for days to write mine. But give it a try, and have a very Happy Valentine's Day. xxoo

The Next Day- Grease Fan Fiction

They slept peacefully wrapped up in the blankets and each other, blissfully unaware that reality awaited them at sunrise.  The carnival, their friends, singing and dancing, it was all a lot of fun. But the roller coaster ride would soon come to an end, and they would have to figure out a way to make this relationship work after graduation. They had so many things to work through, things to get past. Sure she was decked out in leather, lipstick and high heels, but that was all Frenchy. Could she maintain an exciting enough lifestyle to keep Danny interested? Would she wake up wondering if sleeping with him was a bad decision? The excitement of the day, and the heat between them... He promised he loved her, and she believed him. She knew her heart belonged to him as well. So what about him? Would he be good enough for her parents? Would he grow out of his bad boy persona, and love her even when the excitement wore off? They wanted to be together so badly, and spent the whole school year getting in their own way. They were through with misunderstandings and foolish pride. They agreed last night, they wanted to be together, and they would figure things out.

Sandy woke up to Danny leaning on his elbow with his head in his hand, staring at her. She smiled. "How long have you been staring at me sleep?" She was a little embarrassed.

"Not long. I just can't believe we're finally together. That you're here with me."

"No more games, no more misunderstandings. Agreed?" He smiled and nodded. Then he leaned into her ever so slowly and kissed her. And for another couple of hours they would remain in their bubble of bliss.

***

Graduation wasn't until 7pm, so the gang made a pact to meet up at the Frosty Palace at noon. Everyone was so excited that Danny and Sandy got back together, and Rizzo and Kenickie were on the mend as well. It seemed all was good in the group. Frenchy had picked up Sandy earlier and taken her home to shower and get dressed, so her mom wouldn't know she spent the night with Danny. Kenickie and Danny arrived first, and Rizzo moments later. They razzed Danny about his first night alone with Sandy, and he was all smiles. He just couldn't help himself. He was genuinely happy, maybe for the first time in his life.  "So now what?" Kenickie asked. He and Rizzo waited for a response, wondering if Danny and Sandy had even talked about anything beyond today.

"What do you mean, now what?"

Kenickie and Rizzo looked at each other. Rizzo reminded Danny, "Isn't Sandy going off to college in a couple of months? You do remember she's an honor student, right?" They could tell by the look on his face, the corners of his smile sinking down to a straight line, he hadn't given it much thought before now. "Ah, you got all summer. You'll figure it out."

"Yeah, we'll figure it out." He felt small inside. How could he be so foolish to think one day, one night, would change everything. Maybe because it did for him. Danny was finally able to admit to himself that he really loved Sandy. He wanted to be with her, and he hadn't thought about all the other stuff. He looked at his watch, and then the door. Sandy and Frenchy walked in and the others flagged them down from across the restaurant. Sandy looked beautiful. There was something different about her. She had shed the goody two shoes look, but hadn't adopted the sexpot look from the carnival either. She had managed to strike the perfect balance between the two. She was wearing blue petal pushers with a short sleeve button up blouse, with top button undone. Her hair, still wavy from yesterday's curls, was tied back in a ponytail with a blue scarf to match her petal pushers. French had done her make-up, but today instead of the bold red lipstick she wore pink lip gloss- totally kissable.

Sandy sat down next to Danny. With the smile of a school boy crush, Danny's  baby blue eyes sparkled when he looked at her. Everyone else was so tickled these two had finally came around to find each other. Danny suppressed the nerves he was feeling about the future conversation. They had plenty of time to talk, he told himself. For now, he just wanted to hang out with his friends and look forward to graduation.

***

After lunch and lots of laughter with their friends, Danny drove Sandy home. They were both like giddy school children, kissing every time they stopped at a red light. They talked about Rizzo and Kenickie and how nice it was they worked things out after all their drama this year. They giggled wondering if Frenchy and Sonny were finally going to take their relationship to the next level. Danny was happy in a way he never thought possible. He had been waiting for years to finish high school and get out of his house. His parents had so many of their own problems, they couldn't be bothered with him. His older sister moved out two years prior, and promised once he graduated, he could move in with her as long as he got a job. Danny never really thought about the future beyond getting out and away from his parents. He started to wonder if there would even be a place for him in Sandy's future. He wanted to wait to ask her, but he couldn't take it anymore. He tried to rehearse it in his head a couple of times before saying anything. But then without warning he just blurted it out, just like Kenickie.

"So now what?" It barely escaped his lips before he became self-conscious. He felt insecure and ill prepared for what might come out of the conversation. But it was too late.

"What do you mean, now what?" Take me home so I can get ready for graduation.

"I will. But that's not what I meant." Now she was confused.

"I mean, what about us? What happens to us now?" He remembered their promise to stop playing games and be honest with one another. Embarrassed or not, he needed to know what would happen. He and Sandy had spent so much time apart, he realized when Kenickie asked this afternoon, he didn't know what Sandy's plans were for after graduation. It had been weighing on his mind all afternoon. Would she be leaving him? "Are you gonna leave me? Are you going away?"

Sandy had also been lost in the excitement of their reconciliation and had forgotten all about her plans for college. She had several choices, and she knew Danny had none. "Going to college wouldn't mean leaving you. Even if I leave California, I wouldn't be leaving you." This was not going to go well. She could already tell.

"You got into USC, right? How about USC? Then we can still be together and you can go to college. I can get a job, we can get a place together..." He was practically begging. He had finally made the choices he needed to make to let Sandy back in his life. He didn't want to lose her again.

"Let's just get through graduation first. We'll talk about this later." They sat quietly until he pulled into her driveway. They looked seriously into each other's eyes. He touched her cheek and dragged his hand along the side of her face and under her chin. She kissed him.

"I love you Sandy." She smiled warmly.

"I love you too, Danny." And he drove off wondering when the conversation would continue.

Goodbye

My mom's cousin Jerry recently started connecting a bunch of family members on FB through photos and posts about his grandparents. As he is my mom's cousin, his grandparents Jacob and Mary, are also my mom's grandparents. Of course, this makes Jacob and Mary my great grandparents. Today, Jerry posted a huge family photo of what I think of as "my mom's side of the family" at my mom's sister's (or my aunt's) 60th birthday party. I love looking back at these family photos, but I was saddened today as I tracked from one side of the photo to the other, realizing how many of my relatives are no longer with us. I was particularly haunted by seeing my cousin Robert, who I wrote about recently in a post about losing a first love. Of all my cousins, he and his twin brother David, were the closest to my sister and me in age. They were like the big brothers we never had and I miss them both- David because he loves in Massachusetts, and Robert because he died almost 15 years ago. I remember the last time we spoke...

Robert had been living with cancer for a couple of years, and the last I had heard he was in remission. But I got a phone call from my mom one night. "Robert isn't doing so well." My mom's voice was shaky, like she was trying not to cry or already had been. I protested a bit asking about remission, but my mom insisted they never really called it remission. Either way he wasn't doing well. Prior to Robert, I had never lost anyone close to me, except grandparents. My paternal grandmother died when I was six so I barely even remember. My paternal grandfather died when I was in high school, but my dad was somewhat estranged from him so we weren't close at the time. More recently, my mom's father died just a few months before I got married, but cancer struck in his early eighties and his condition deteriorated quickly, leaving me with no opportunity for goodbye. Robert was different.

"I think you should call him." It chokes me up just recalling my mom's words.

"Call him? What am I supposed to say?" I was dumfounded. He lived in Massachusetts and we didn't talk on the phone regularly, so the whole idea felt awkward and scary. I couldn't imagine what I would say. My mom encouraged me, reminding me how much he needed the love of his family. I knew she was right, but I wasn't sure how I was going to do it. How would I talk to him without crying? What would I say? Was I supposed to say goodbye?

I wrote down his number and hung up with my mom. Then I paced back and forth and cried a little. I took a deep breath and thought about how much harder this would be for him than for me. I dialed the number.

"Hi Robert, it's Laurie." We exchanged small talk briefly and I was surprised at how "normal" he sounded. I wanted to believe my mom overreacted, that he wasn't really dying. And then the conversation stalled and went silent. I could feel my eyes welling up and the bottom of my throat felt like it was filling up to the top.

"I guess I just wanted to tell you that I love you and I'm thinking about you." He told me he loved me too. "I'm really sorry, I don't even know what to say. I don't want to say goodbye."And I don't remember how the conversation ended. I just remember him trying to make me feel comfortable. I think maybe he had come to terms with what was going to happen, more so than those around him. But I guess that's probably not unusual. I hung up the phone and cried and within a few days, my mom called and told me he passed.

I am so glad my mom insisted I make that call. Goodbyes are never easy but my cousin didn't leave the world without hearing me tell him I love him. And I got to hear his voice one more time.

This is my cousin Robert. He was always active, playing sports and fishing. 

Robert and his wife Phillipa. This was at my wedding.

Where Do Babies Come From?

For the second half of his kindergarten year and all of 1st grade,  my son attended the private school where I was the principal. I felt lucky we were able to share our morning and afternoon commute to and from school when we would have some of the most interesting one-to-one discussions. On the way home one day when he was in 1st grade, he called to me from the back seat, "Mommy, did you know people come from eggs?" 

Caught off guard a bit, I looked back at him through the rearview mirror furrowing my brow. Hmm... I wondered where this had come from, and worse yet, where it was going. He was too smart for me to skirt the issue, so I responded the only way that seemed appropriate. "Um, sort of. But not really. We don't hatch from eggs." He returned my look of befuddlement, waiting for an explanation. My husband and I decided early on, there would be no lying. No cutesy names for our body parts, no lies to avoid difficult conversations. Our son was very smart and just as inquisitive. He would always get the truth. "It is true, in a way, human beings come from eggs. But it's not what you think. Moms don't lay eggs, and babies don't hatch." I stopped with each piece of information, waiting for when he heard enough. Sometimes we explain too much out of our own discomfort when the basics are just enough to satisfy the curiosity of our little ones.  At this point he still wanted more.

"So what does happen?" he asked.

How could I simplify this? How could I give him just enough truth so he'd understand and know enough of what was appropriate for a boy his age. "Inside, mommies have eggs. And inside daddies there are sperm, which are little swimmy things that meet the eggs. When a sperm and an egg meet, they make a baby." I was already trying to formulate where I would go next. What could I possibly say to expound on this process without stepping beyond what I felt a 6-year-old needed to know? Holding my breath, I hoped this next piece would be enough. "That's why mommies and daddies sleep in the same bed." Ugh, I already wanted to take it back for fear of what he would ask next. I feared I had rounded a corner and couldn't turn back. I glanced at him again in the mirror, waiting for his response and trying to read his face. Then in true little boy fashion, he put his mommy out of her misery with a single word.

"Oh."

Thank You For This Day

Thank you for this day.

Few of Nature's weather combinations
are as glorious as cool crisp air and sunshine.

The blue sky is host to the earth's lantern
which burns gradually until nightfall
while the trees offer swaying praise.

A walk in the breeze brings a rosy flush
to the cheeks and the tips of the nose and earlobes;
a tickle to the scalp with winter's breathe.

Just before a chill has the chance to move in
the air becomes still and calm
letting the rays of the sun spread toasty warmth.

Birds are in flight and children are at play
people ride bicycles and walk their dogs
as there is no better celebration of the day's perfection.

And as the lantern starts to lower in the sky
and shadows indicate its fading to twilight
the street settles down and smell of dinner is in the air.

We enjoy the light of the lantern through the window
watching the birds and the swaying trees
as we say goodbye to this glorious day.

First Love Loss

I finished a book this weekend, just in time for Book Club on Monday. I'm not going to tell you the name of the book, as I may spoil some of it and I would hate to ruin a book for a reader. And I'm not going to write a book review either. I simply want to relate the connection to this post, because the story led me to a memory of my own. The novel had emotional highs and lows as all good books do. But ultimately, two of the characters found comfort and healing in each other, after they both experienced the untimely loss of their great loves. In the end, they come together in a new love.

When I was a young mother, about 29- years-old, one of my cousins died of cancer. He was young too, in his early thirties. Like my husband and me, he and his wife had been together since high school. She was head over heels for him, and even stuck it out through his brief restless period before he proposed. They had two children together, and the youngest was about the same age as my son when my cousin lost his battle. His death struck me hard. It was the first time someone in my life had died an untimely death. Of course losing a loved one is never easy, but as your grandparents age for instance, you're not necessarily taken by surprise when you get the news. It hurst, but it's one of those things you knew would eventually come. A cousin only a few years older than you dying of cancer leaves you awestricken. At least it did me.

I was fixated on this idea that his daughter was the same age as my son. All I could think about was how devastated my cousin's wife must have been. I thought it inconceivable to lose my husband so young, and to raise my three-year-old by myself. For him not to have a father. And she had two children. I wept at the thought. And while I grieved my own loss, I found myself increasingly obsessed with how my cousin's wife would survive without the love of her life. How in the world could she move on? Would she be alone for the rest of her life? These questions muddled my brain because I thought for sure she was heartbroken beyond repair, that she would never marry again. She couldn't ever love anyone like she did her first love. Looking back, I guess I was quite naive.

A couple of years later, not many, my mom got word through one of my cousins (a sibling of Robert, the one who passed) that his wife was getting remarried. I was floored, maybe even a little irritated. It seemed so soon. They were soulmates, high school sweethearts. (You think I was projecting?) Then I learned the details. She had been in a bereavement group since my cousin died, and that's where she met the man she was going to marry. I know it's none of my business, and I know I have no right to pass judgement, but hearing the details put me at ease. The man who she married had four kids of his own, and he had lost his wife and their mother a few years prior. Now we all kidded, they were going to be the Brady Bunch.

Later as I processed the whole situation, I realized what bothered me. The youngest of my cousin's children was so young, she would have no real memory of her father. My cousin. Of course her big brother would tell stories, of course her mom would assure her through photos how much he loved her. But her new husband would be the only daddy she would know, and that made me sad. Somehow knowing her new husband lost his wife, and the children their mother, made me relieved because I knew my cousin's memory would be honored. The same with the children's mother.

And as an adult, I can now understand how those who have lost their spouses must find great comfort in meeting someone who knows the feeling of such great loss. It seems as though there would be more effort to keep the memory of the deceased parent alive, because both families had similar experiences. I wonder if the love is the same kind of love, or if there is a mutual understanding that the love is a second love. Kind of like, I can't ever love someone the same way I loved my first husband/wife, but it's okay because it is that way for both of them. I hope to never find out.