Big Things

This post was going to be about my New Year's resolutions, but then I remembered that in 2010 a psychic told me that 2011 would be "My Year." She said that "Big Things" were coming my way, and that I would have a stellar twelve months to look forward to. So instead of talking about what I plan to do in the year to come, I want to look back at 2011. . .

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I visited my amazing mother, who I miss so very much, in Idaho.

I saw my adored sister and sweet and treasured childhood friend in Missouri.

I saw my beautiful cousin marry the love of her life in Colorado.

I stood at the edge of the ocean in Prince Edward Island and climbed mountains in Vermont.

I saw Broadway shows and ate New York cheesecake at midnight in Times Square with two of the most wonderful and dear women I know.

I met new friends, grew closer to old ones, and dreamed of those who have passed on.

I laughed at birthday celebrations and wept at funerals and held the hands of those working through grief and pain.

I lost my last grandparent, my cherished and beloved grandmother.

I became an aunt again (A niece!).

I gathered with my soul sisters to share our dreams and turn the wheel of the year together.

I celebrated ten years of motherhood and cried thinking about how fast it all went.

I had some of my work published in a new book as well as in a couple of my favorite literary journals.

I mended a rift with an old, dear friend, and sent quiet blessings and love to those no longer in my life.

I had food on my table in abundance and clothes on my back.

I had a warm house to share with my brilliant and handsome husband of fourteen years and the family we created together.

Big Things? No, but I'd say that overall 2011 was filled with love, good fortune, and, most of all, good people.

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My wish for you this new year. . .

I wish you an abundance of love, a surplus of happiness, and a bounty of peace. May the Spirit (however it is shown to you) shine on you and in you and bring you a thousand blessings.

May 2012 bring you Peace, Love, Light, and Joy.

The Conch

For a friend who is having a hard time loving her body today ....

Sometimes we are like conch shells. We see only our bumps and sharp edges, the rough surface. We feel these "imperfections" and think of ourselves as weak, ugly, wrong. Unlovable.

But if you pick up a conch and look at, hold it in your hand and really study it, you'll notice that it has a lovely symmetry and a beauty unique among the other shells of the sea.

It has been tossed and churned in rough seas yet remains strong and resilient.

Inside the conch there is a perfect satin-smooth pink sheen that will whisper the secrets of the ocean into your ear.

You are beautiful. xoxo

What's in a Name?

When I was pregnant with my second child I would wander the cemetery looking for baby names. My husband and I already had a boy's name picked out, but a girl's name still eluded us. So I would wander up to the unkempt and lonely cemetery a few blocks from our house. It was always empty, and I liked that I could stand in front of the graves of long dead women and pronounce their names aloud without being observed. I felt like I was actually chewing on the words, tasting them in big, noisy gulps.

Pearl- I liked this one, and I came back to it often. It felt smooth and concise and rolled easily between gums and teeth and cheek. Yet it was also a bit cold, and I ultimately spit it out.

Sabrah had an edge to it, but I liked it. It felt strong, and I pictured a long legged wild-child of a girl fighting with me at every turn. I tossed it out like an apple with a bruise on its shoulder.

Llewlla simple had too many L's for its own good.

Addie was sweet but lacked any crunch, so that was set aside, too.

Finally we settled on a name that I never saw on any grave and that we thought was simple and lovely and perfect: August Rose.

Then we had a boy.

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We wander that cemetery as a family now. We do simple grave rubbings, pick black raspberries from along the fence, and just sit and watch the clouds roll by. My children are not afraid of those who rest there, and we almost feel as if this is "our" cemetery now.

My kids, too, have become interested in the unusual names that can be found on the crumbling gravestones. My daughter always brings a notebook with her on our visits and has lists and lists of names carefully copied from the stones or grave rubbings. What was it like, we think, to walk around wearing Eleazar, Waterman, or Oneida as a name? Did the name feel heavy like their layers of Victorian clothing? Or did it fit as comfortably and easily as one of today's common names (Jennifer, Hayden, Hunter)?

Some of the most intriguing names keep us talking long after we've returned home and brushed the fall leaves off of our coats and had our tea or hot cider . . .

Wealthy Payne--Was this a hope her parents set on her shoulders at birth? Or was she the little gift that made them feel like rich and and lucky parents?

Silence Babcock-- Did her parents truly prize this virtue? Did she end up being a quiet child, or did she rebel against her name and become raving and loud, shouting to the heavens?

Azubah Carpenter--Was this an ancient name from the bible? Or a family name from a time long before his birth?

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Halloween is coming up, and like many people I will take this time to think of those who have passed on from my life. Because of distance I cannot visit my father's grave or the graves of my grandparents or my friends. Instead I will gather the children, and we will walk to our little cemetery and honor, in our way, those who rest there. We will stand in front of the graves and say the names of the dead out loud releasing them into the air like ether.

Birthday

She was between houses.

One was sold and the other not yet ready to occupy. But she had friends and family who opened their arms to her and her husband as she waited for their first born to arrive.

During a routine visit to the obstetrician she announced that her baby would enter the world on Monday October 15, 1973.

"No, you have plenty of time, and I have a golf game," said the doctor.

But she was wise and words are powerful, and Sunday her water broke.

She labored with no food or drink and confined to a bed.

Early Monday morning they separated husband and wife, and she gave birth to a baby daughter that did not cry.

Her husband brought her roses and a box of candy so large that she shared her sweet gift with the nurses.

More than a week later she left the hospital with her Monday's child in her arms and her love by her side.

They stayed, for a time, with her mother. She needed mothering herself, and the house was not yet ready.

When it was time to go the three of them moved to their house near Pike's Peak. The mountain watched as the little family made the bare bones of the new house a home.

Kindergarten 1978

Angel Mine

My new baby boy.

One year.

Two years

Three Years.

Four Years.

Five years.

Six Years.

Seven Years.

Happy birthday my Angel Boy.

Stillness

I'm hunkering down.

I hide in the house and avoid the phone. I shuffle the kids into the car and drive somewhere far for the day in order to avoid any familiar faces. I walk around the village but only along quiet paths or at odd hours, so that I won't be disturbed by small talk.

I don't want to see anyone.

I live in a small town and have many friends, and soon others will notice this avoidance and wonder.

I don't have any good reason for my behavior. I'm not depressed. In fact, I feel very peaceful and content in a way I haven't ever felt before. I'm a very social person by nature, and I usually need to be surrounded by people to feel uplifted, whole, and complete. But lately I need my space and my solitude.

No storm is coming, but there is a scent on the wind that tells me to stay in, keep my loved ones close, and be silent.

True silence is the rest of the mind; it is to the spirit what sleep is to the body, nourishment and refreshment. ~William Penn