Blueberries

Our blueberries are ripening.  I remember when we bought the bushes 6 years ago, how tiny they were then.  Now one of them towers over me.  We had hoped to plant more as hedge when we had our own home, instead of raising them in pots on the deck.

Picking Blueberries, Asuterlitz, New york, 1957 by Mary Oliver

Once, in summer
in the blueberries,
I fell asleep, and woke
when a deer stumbled against me.

I guess
she was so busy with her own happiness
she had grown careless
and was just wandering along

listening
to the wind as she leaned down
to lip up the sweetness.
So, there we were

with nothing between us
but a few leaves, and wind’s
glossy voice
shouting instructions.

The deer
backed away finally
and flung up her white tail
and went floating off toward the trees -

but the moment she did that
was so wide and so deep
it has lasted to this day;
I have only to think of her -

the flower of her amazement
and the stalled breath of her curiosity,
and even the damp touch of her solicitude
before she took flight -

to be absent again from this world
and alive, again, in another
for thirty years
sleepy and amazed,

rising out of the rough weeds
listening and looking.
Beautiful girl,
where are you?

Shel Silverstein II

May the poems be
the little snail’s trail.
Everywhere I go,
every inch: quiet record
of the foot’s silver prayer.
                I lived once.
                Thank you.
                It was here.

- Areclis Girmay , Ars Poetica

We took a walk to the lake so he could try out the carp tackle he received for his birthday.  On the way back we met Shel Silverstein II trying to cross the sandy trail.  I lifted him up and moved him to a safe location atop an oak leaf in the direction he was headed.

Fifteen Rides Around the Sun

Dear Satchel,

Happy 15th ride around the sun!  You have now traveled eight billion seven hundred sixty million miles!  I feel the need to remind you of how far you've come because we are in the middle of a pandemic and have been sheltering in place for 77 days.  And I feel that it is especially important to shine a light on your boundless courage, strength and resilience. 

To do so I must honor the fact that the past year has been one of unimaginable loss.  Three months later we were amidst a 50 car pile up in ice and dense fog that we somehow (gratefully) made it through without a scratch.  Four months after that we are faced with a challenge of historic proportions. 

Despite this past year being, as you named it, "The Worst", you have remained calm and courageous throughout.  Your strength and resilience has been heroic.  Thank you for being you.

This past year you have made new friends, while at the same time nurturing your long time friendships.  This is a great gift.

In addition to keeping up with your traditional schooling, you teach yourself new skills by watching tutorials.  This is wise, because wisdom is not knowing all the answers, but rather asking the questions. As Einstein said, "Curiosity is more important than knowledge".  And you, my son, are so very good at remaining curious and creative. 

Your interests are expansive: fishing techniques, rebuilding, repurposing, recipes, music making.  I marvel at your creations...and your taste in music is superb.

Today is your birthday, and you are the greatest gift I've ever received.

Thank you, again and again, for picking me to be your mother.  Thank you for the reciprocal gift of unconditional love and for the many ways you show it. 

On this anniversary of your birth, may you know how deeply loved and admired you are.  I celebrate you!

 (for beautiful you are my world, my true)

Happy 15th ride around the sun, dear Satchel.
Thank you for being my son.

All my love,
Mama

(Posted at the time of your birth)

Dirt cake, as you requested.

Birthday wishes, the pandemic edition.

And Lorenzo sings his favorite song for his birthday!

Birthday flags and gifts upon the mantel.

Warp & Weft

"I believe in kindness. Also in mischief". - Mary Oliver



In this surreal and scary time, trying to weave a magical weft into the warp of minutia.  

The weft:  Taking him fishing, and building fairy houses for the kids to find.  Creating and hiding a geocache in a hollow trail marker tree.  Filling it with left over trinkets from his early birthday favors and his outgrown tiny treasures. 

 





























The warp: Scanning a 25 page job application (not joking) to mail on Monday.  Checking the A/C to be sure it works for summer, and reprogramming the thermostat for the warmer days. Turing on outdoor spigots, while turning off the water to the humidistat.  Mowing the lawn ( No, my son will not not help, so please stop telling me that he should help.  I pick my battles, and don't want to spend my days arguing with a 14 yo every day. )  Caring for the seedlings.  Leaving messages with the DOI for my accountant.  Completing important documents like emergency plan, will and advanced directive.  And three hours each morning to restore years of missing photos to the diary because these are precious memories from his childhood.  It takes approximately an hour to repair one month.  I'm trying to repair three months each morning.

Good Days & Bad Days Look Like

 

losing through you what seemed myself, I find
selves unimaginably mine; beyond
sorrow’s own joys and hoping’s very fears

yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:
yours is the darkness of my soul’s return
–you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars”

- E. E. Cummings

 

Good days look like waking at 5 and hitting the mat and finishing in time to notice the mountains awash in a pink glow of sunrise. Then quietly padding downstairs to medicate Morty, make my latte and knock out a few months of diary restoration before doing a job search.  Good days look like relief when each missing photo is restored to a diary entry, and long ago memories revisited and also gratitude for the friendships made in those early days of motherhood, and for the opportunities and for the abundance of gifts received from a simple diary.  Good days is the realization that it was like a mother uprising and the way we all put ourselves out there, connecting to each other and the people who inspired us and how we made good shit happen.  Good days look like staring at my seedlings which pings the gratitude button in my heart. Good days look like a neighbor messaging me the coordinates to a patch of wild mint that she found while I make a note of the places I've found garlic mustard to forage. Good days look like gratitude for the nearby farm, and the mini farm growing on my deck. Good days look like gratitude for the gift of friendship, the messages, the surprises that arrive in mail, and how well my friends know me and the many ways they make me feel loved. Good days look like my son's joy for gaming with friends, and my relief that he at least has that during this horrific pandemic. Good days look like making fairy houses in the forest for the neighborhood kids to find while my son fishes, and listening to the song of a nearby wood thrush. Good days look like the scents of the understory that transports me back to moments of childhood, playing in the woods. Good days look like a text from a friend that reads, "you are the sun and moon", to which I reply, "and all my stars" because edward is my most beloved of all my favorite poets.

Bad days look like waking from nightmares from ICU, and that moment when I noticed the whites of his eyes through a sliver of lid, and the knowing that nobody was home in there except the machines. Bad days look like the anxiety of knowing that I am only parent left and I must do everything possible to protect my child and myself. Bad days look like crying over lost insurance due to inefficient archaic systems that took 6 months to reach my account and now will have to wait 6 mos for open enrollment. Bad days look like the fear of taxes owed due to what appears as though it's increased income due to survivor annuity, but it's not extra income because he died and I still don't have any income. 

 

Jai Maa!

"Mother,
Formed from the depths beneath your heart."

- John O'Donohue (To Bless the Space Between Us)

It's my first mother's day without his father.  It's strange.  There is no other way to describe it.  I imagine it's strange for my in-laws too, having lost Sheila in March.

In celebration my son made me a pot of his homemade Ginger Tea.  A recipe he's saved since Kindergarten.  It was delicious.  We took a walk in the forest and saw a school of ginormous carp.  He's now determined to catch one.