Crawling in from underneath
As low in the horizon and as far south as it will ever be
Bringing warmth
And fulfillment
Bringing light
Like a candle in the sky
Winterlight.
Got my haircut. Working on a sassier style. Lord knows I love me some sass.
Bought 2 pairs of jeans, 3 sweaters, a top, and some unders--all a size smaller than the last time I went shopping. Did me a little sassy dance.
Called my bro and booked a lunch date. Hey bro! Lesdo lunch!
Called my mom. Oh hey, Mom! Wassup?
Made turkey tetrazzini which means--hallelujah--we are fresh out of Thanksgiving leftovers. We'd have turkey more often if it weren't for this yearly OD.
Washed the prolific amounts of dishes turkey tetrazzini requires. Love to cook. Loathe the dishes.
Ate it by myself because Mark had to work late. He took his first-ever cab ride in Utah after missing the van pool ride home. By 3 1/2 hours.
Watched NCIS. NCIS. Criminal Minds. Criminal Minds. Ace of Cakes. I've been a shameless, lazy, mind-numbed, obsessive TV junkie this week. Loved every minute.
Went to sleep-sleep. Then woke up-up for no good reason-reason and didn't go back-back until after two-two.
Only to wake up at 5:45 so I could take a friend to a medical procedure. Sucked down my coffee so I could allow extra time for rush-hour and be at her house by 7:30.
Spent the morning at the hospital. Truly glad to be able to help her out.
Dropped her safely back home and took donuts to Nicole's office. Note to self: do this more often.
Went to Silverfork Lodge with my brother and had a delightful lunch. It's always good to have some bro-time.
Checked my work email and tied up some loose ends. The PC101 column for May/June and an email to a manufacturer.
Checked Facebook status updates; inboxed my turkey tetrazzini recipe to Shelley; read today's Moxie Fab World post comments and smiled; caught up on some favorite blogs including Marta, Marty, Layle, Kim, Maren, Tina, Katie, and Teri; then decided to check in with you. I hope this isn't lame but sometimes I think it's interesting to take a 24-hour snapshot of life.
If you were to take 24-hour snapshot of your life, what would I see?
...is all I'll ever need.
He brings balance to my life,
Love to my heart,
and trust to the deepest parts of me.
He brings meaning to my experience,
Laughter to each day,
and breath to my joy.
He is passion.
He is perseverance.
He is strength.
He is the love of my life,
and I am grateful for every single day.
Photo by Lady Gooner via Flickr
I've stopped and started this post numerous times, not entirely sure what it is, exactly, that I have to say today.
There's much to process, but to pick the morsels that you might actually be interested in, ahh, therein lies the challenge.
Between the Moxie Fab World and Cath, etc., sometimes I just don't know how much more there really is to say. I mean, to be quite honest, as much as I enjoy it, I get really tired of hearing myself write sometimes.
But the other day I got an email from one of my readers, Jo, who said:
I was driving to Mass yesterday morning. I live in Michigan and it was quite a foggy morning. About a mile or two down the road, through a heavily treed area, you could just see a very light colored sun coming up. It almost looked like the moon, but it definitely was the sun, coming through and breaking up the fog. I immediately thought to myself...if I was Cath I would be doing some serious "creative writing" or poetry about this sunrise. You didn't even know that I was thinking about you and your talent...but I was!
These words touch me deeply. That she would think of me in that little bit of time when the sun broke through the trees sends me to that place inside myself where grace and tenderness live. That she would take the time to share this with me is a gesture that transcends all the ordinariness there is in the world. And even though she thought of me and how I might write this scene, she has captured it perfectly. I am there, seeing the sun break through the fog, sharing this early Sunday morning moment with Jo, a woman I have never met.
...and yet, I was in her sunrise.
I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is power in the blog. Power in the connections that we make as strangers who then become friends. Power in the knowledge that over the miles and through the air, we are a part of one another's lives despite the fact that we have never met and may, indeed, never meet.
This seems to be the theme to my week. As I celebrate the blogiversary of the Moxie Fab World, I have been reminded of the connections that I am making in that blogosphere, too. My heart is warm and full.
Thank you for listening. For coming back day after day as I struggle to make sense of it all. For allowing me into your world through your comments and emails. For indulging my seemingly growing need for cadence and rhythm in the words that I write.
Thank you for reading these words that attempt to express how lovely it is to know that I was in her sunrise.
Strewn about the yard, the leaves that sprouted in early spring, created shade at the height of summer, and transformed magically as autumn ripened, await their burial. Dust to dust, earth to earth, it is a ceremony as full of ritual as any in my life.
For is there any observance so pleasant as the gathering of the leaves...
on days when sunshine is in abundance...
...and there are happy, resilient flowers to keep you company as you toil?
When, out of breath, your body responding to the aerobic benefit of your work, you look above and see the forgotten silhouettes of the trees whose tending you now nurture, realizing this new cleanliness will provide the backdrop to the landscapes of the winter months to come?
There is a rhythm to this work that I cherish. There is a reverence for this transition that is sacred. There is a sensuousness that rises from deep inside as I sweep their crisp bodies into piles with my rake, scoop their fragrant forms into their plastic coffins, and wait as more sever their ties from their tree-homes in the twittering breeze.
For it is the ultimate signal that much is coming to an end. The superlative metamorphosis from life towards death. And yet, there is much beauty in the brisk clarity that is November, in the soft snowflakes of winter, in the sleep that will deliver us unto spring.
But for now we measure progress by swatches of green...
by depth of color...
...and by ratios of branch to leaf:
Knowing that we must participate fully in this work...
...in this solemn celebration
...of life, and death, and the connective seasons from which we are born.
Please bear with me. I'm just writing. Stream of consciousness style. Out on my back porch in the sunshine on this warm November afternoon.
Just feel like writing. Poring forth. Processing out loud. There's a cricket poring forth somewhere in the viburnum. He and I, we're in a rhythm.
Cars buzz by on the road out front, maybe it's moms taking their kids to and from this and that. I used to be one of those moms. I'll be one of those moms a little later when I pick Beccah up from the train tonight when she's finished with work.
Or, maybe they're people heading home after a long day at the office, or the store, or the school. Maybe.
I had the day off today and had high hopes of being productive. I've been cleaning out my office, getting old Cards by Cath cards ready to ship off to Operation Write Home. The rest I've been unable to part with. I am having the hardest time letting it go completely. The hardest time. I'm still not sure that I will. There are an awful lot of stinkin' cute cards up there, if I may say so myself.
But, you do this little thing on the way to something else, and then I got distracted and answered a few emails and before you know it I'm on Facebook and a bunch of blogs I follow and then I worked out, cooled down, showered. Thought about how g-r-e-a-t I felt afterwards. Checked the Moxie Fab World blog comments, answered a few more work emails, started playing Sudoku (I got my fastest time on a hard puzzle ever--7 minutes and 7 seconds), and before you know it it's lunchtime and Mark, who worked from home today--a rare event--is sticking his head in the doorway asking me if I want to go to lunch.
Heck ya and off we went, trying out the new deli at Pirate O's and feeling like we were whisked back to Moulton's in Amherst, NH feeling so pleased with ourselves that we found a little bit of quaint in our own backyard.
The sun so warm we could have taken a nap, but no, I had a quick blog post to write, and he had to get back to work, and still I didn't go up into the office because I'm checking out this and that online, and looking into the profile of this high school pal I'd friended weeks and weeks ago but never took the time to make real contact with and before you know it I'm thinking some ginger peach tea would be nice on the still sunny back porch and I may as well take my laptop with and before you know it I'm here rambling on and on to you and listening to the cricket at the same time. Multi-tasking at its best, I'm tellin' you what.
And yeah, I didn't get into my office, yet, and now here comes Mark, literally, here comes Mark out the back side door with a glass of red wine in his hands, and excuse me for a moment while I push the pause button to pay attention to this unexpected bit of joy in my day...
...and really, that's just the point, isn't it? There's productive and there are the bits of joy. I've enjoyed every small ounce of this day. No regrets whatsoever.
Come to think of it, I think I'll sit a bit longer in the sun. The office has waited this long. What's one more day?
By morning, it had already been a lovely day.
I woke to a cheerful daybreak, the moon floating high above the roof of the garage, smiling at us as the coffee was poured.
At Mark's departure, his daily dismissal at precisely 7:12, I fired up my laptop, checked my personal email, today's Moxie Fab World blog post, my work email, and Facebook, engaging myself in the calm, sweet solace of routine.
I proceeded to fix some glitches in the blog post, noodled around a little on Etsy, decided not to update my Facebook status because I didn't have anything particularly interesting to say, and answered a few work emails mostly involving change approvals for projects that will be appearing in an upcoming special issue.
It made for the beginnings of a perfectly regular day.
I made some oatmeal with a tablespoon of ground flax seed, sugar, and skim milk and waited patiently for some material to arrive in my work inbox, without which I could not begin.
At which point Beccah came downstairs, coiffed and spiffed, ready to take on the world--25 minutes early.
It was then that my morning began to shine.
For Beccah is a new girl now that she's single again. She broke up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years over three weeks ago, the official discussion in which both mutually and respectfully agreed that the relationship could never work has taken place, and she is moving on.
And by new girl, I mean empowered, in charge, focused, and happy.
As I drove her to the Trax train that will take her to the bus that will get her to class (breaking up with a boyfriend who also has a car changes everybody's lives), I suddenly felt so grateful.
Grateful that my Beccah is back.
Upon my return, I acknowledged my gratitude with a walk around the neighborhood--the crisp, electric air glowing in the morning light. Each step felt lighter than the last as I passed familiar houses and timeless landmarks. Strangers waved, dogs barked, and resting fields wished me well.
Perhaps they could sense my appreciation. Perhaps they could see the bouyant spirit that was born in me from the ride I gave my daughter that morning to the train. Perhaps they could feel the happiness that surely must have been beaming from my every extremity as I passed.
For I am grateful. There's nothing like watching your child make strong, solid decisions for herself, knowing that she is embracing what she needs to be truly happy.
As a parent, it just doesn't get a whole lot better than this.
And for that, I am truly grateful.
I am alone on my porch, watching the sun rise above the mountaintops, the light illuminating the view in front of me in gradual increments. It is chilly, but I am enveloped by my favorite quilted coat and the double-layered polar fleece blanket that my daughters made for me one Christmas long ago.
Knowing that these mornings are fleeting. It will soon be too cold, even for morning porch-sitting in bundles.
But today, I do not mind the crisp bite that numbs my nose, the shrill chill that slows my fingers as I type, nor the sinking cold that is penetrating my body through the chair.
For it is fall. And my 45 years of living tell me that it must be seized. Capture it before it strays.
So I am here. On the porch. With my coffee. Petting my dog as he comes up for an occasional love. He's checking to make sure I am still around, saying "hello" in the process, a ritual we have been perfecting for many years.
Walkers pass in pairs. Joggers lumber in the cold. Cars speed with abandon. Bicyclists sweep by in packs. Trucks pull trailers with empty loads.
It is a busy morning in my town.
Children play in the yard next door, their voices ringing through the trees, and a twinge of yearning for my own long-since children pulls at me deep inside. Motherhood is the most rooted tether I know.
I sense the shadow of geese in flight overhead. They chatter in the distance. I wonder how much longer they will stay.
And still, the sun's rays creep ever higher, intensifying the current palette, promising warmth as its aperture widens.
A sheltered calm takes residence as I breathe in the clean, biting air. I inhale deeply, its terse rawness resonating deep inside my lungs.
My thoughts turn to Beccah, whose heart needs mending, having broken up with her boyfriend of 2 1/2 years.
To my devoted husband and the constant gift he is to my life.
To a friend who has become a paraplegic in the five years since we were last in touch. I did not know. I wish I had known. I am so sad.
To my father-in-law, recovering from yet another surgery. Missing him. And her. Still so devastated that they moved so far away.
To my father, long gone. Knowing how much he would appreciate this day.
To the hike we will take later this afternoon. To the other we will take tomorrow. Dropping everything--the laundry, the errands, the cleaning --to embrace this ephemeral season.
When the sun breaks through the trees, solidifying this moment:
Commanding my awareness
In the glow of this magnetic autumn morn.
In you, this month of chilly mornings
I hope to find the calm that was not my September,
The soft warmth of my favorite sweaters,
The come-home smell of our spiced pumpkin candle,
And the quiet glow of geese in flight at sunset.
In you, this time of intense beauty,
As leaves turn gold and trees become silhouetted stems,
I hope to rejoice in your watercolor skies,
The loamy smells of summer's decay,
The acrid scent of burning leaves,
The crunchy sweetness of apple crisp,
And the steamy tint of ginger peach tea.
In you, October, I am pensive
As I wait for a quieter season.
There are books to be read, words to be written,
And music to be played.
In you, October, I feel a sense of sadness
As my side of the world tilts palpably towards winter,
Even though I know that I will find beauty
In its chill.
But before then, October,
May you pass slowly and linger long
Alowing me to savor your offerings
Gently,
Kindly,
October.
