I remember…

…when I first learned how to read. I was sitting on a bench by the door in my kindergarten classroom. It was warm outside—fall or spring, I’m not sure which. The door to the playground was open because it may or may not have been recess time, and the sunlight streamed in. My feet couldn’t reach the floor, so they were swinging—no doubt with a little help from me, the constant fidgeter.

I had a Dick and Jane book open on my lap. It was the green book, and Dick, Jane, and Spot were running across the cover, but I could be making up the color and picture from books I’ve seen since that day.

But that moment, I remember it like it was yesterday. There was a bit of chaos in the classroom as children came and went through the open door. The teacher was standing there coordinating the chaos. But I was focused on the book. It was as if suddenly, the work I had been doing to learn the letters and decipher written language suddenly all came together and there they were—words on the page! Meaning in the squiggles. I could read! Spot and Dick and Jane, they were playing and having fun right here inside my book. The puzzle had been solved. Suddenly, the rest of my life opened up before me like the book on my lap.

These Days

These days, I don’t always know whether I am coming or going—a feeling that is, no doubt, a result of having my schedule ripped away and cast to the wind. It’s a disorienting feeling—the pieces don’t fit together as seamlessly as they once did. The pieces of daily life feel loose and rattly, like a few screws need to be tightened in order to set the world back on its right trajectory. I am doing my best to stay grounded.

These days, I look for reassurance and grounding in the little things—tangible evidence that I have completed a task, continued to move forward, that I am surviving (though maybe not thriving) in a challenging world. Colorful dishes full of leftovers in the fridge indicate that I made dinner last night, that it wasn’t just a dream. And they provide information on what I made so I don’t have a repeat performance tonight. I never used to rely on the visual because I always had a plan. Now, it seems, most of the things I do are on a wing and a prayer. Everything seems to be holding together so far….

These days, pandemic life has created a certain degree of turmoil through which I stumble without feeling. My awareness, once fairly acute, fails me on a daily basis. I am forgetful and unfocused as I attempt to remain on track to check items off my to-do list.

These days, I cannot make it through without a daily check list. I complete one item, and I move on to the next. Check—done! Next? I would not remember all I have to do if I didn’t write it down when I think of it. Am I suffering from the effects of age or the pandemic? Write it down, cross it off. I move down the list with a robotic accuracy, writing and crossing off, lest anything be forgotten.

These days have been difficult. We don’t have the consistency of the schedule we have followed for years and years without interruption. My work-life is built around the school year—the same schedule I’ve followed since I was five or maybe younger—but this year, it is different. We are creatures of habit and routine and orderliness. Our schedules have been ripped from us—along with our plans, our projects, our dreams, etc.—and held in suspension just a little too high for us to grasp. When we are finally able to regain all that we have lost, we know life will no longer be the same.

These days are hard, but they will pass. One day, this will all be a distant memory, and our grandchildren will look at us with fascination as we tell them about the COVID pandemic of 2020. In the meantime, I am trying hard to tap into my patience, my persistence, and a little bit of resilience. These are the tools that are going to be most useful in getting through these days.

Photo by Jared Murray on Unsplash

Simplicity

Recently, I was on a social media site, and I saw a picture of a pinecone in a tiny pot sprouting itty bitty pine trees. This picture was astonishing to me, both in its cuteness, and in its simplicity. The idea that I could take something as generally disregarded as a pinecone, put it in some dirt, and watch it grow captured my attention.

Not long after seeing this picture—on one of only a smattering of gorgeous spring days we’ve experienced—I stepped out for a walk during lunch. Rather than walking toward the road, I chose to walk to the back of our building. I had only a couple minutes to enjoy the warmth and the sunshine, and the grassy yard was calling to me. The ground under the pine trees was littered with beautiful, perfect pinecones. I’m going to try to grow one! I thought to myself, so I picked one up and brought it inside.

One of my students immediately discounted my idea to grow it. “It’s so dry,” she commented. “I can’t imagine anything growing out of that.” But then again, that is the miracle of a seed, isn’t it? That an object so small and dry and seemingly worthless can sprout life and become something as majestic as a tree.

Maybe my little pinecone will grow a seedling, and maybe it won’t. But I’m going to give it a try. I’m feeling a need for simplicity and growth in my life.

And if this pinecone does grow, maybe it really would be just a little bit of a miracle.

Blink

Over the years, we have hit milestones with the regularity of the thump of a flat tire. Thump… thump… thump…. At first, it’s kind of reassuring to know that your child is hitting all the important milestones. But recently, it seems the car is speeding up and the milestones thump by faster and faster—at an alarming rate of speed, really. And this week, my daughter completed—and submitted—her first college application. Breathe.

These monumental occasions always give me pause and compel me to take a quick (or leisurely) inventory of the years that have come and gone. This most recent milestone hints at the small amount of time I have before she is off and testing her wings.

The early years of single parenthood are still vividly etched in my memory. I spent the days looking in the rearview mirror, counting heads in the backseat of the car. As the one parent of three very small children—all under five—I was always afraid that in my sleep-deprived state, I would leave one behind. Maybe one slipped by me somehow, and was still hiding in a store in the mall. Perhaps someone went to use the potty and was in the bathroom finishing up, or worse, didn’t get in the car and was standing in the driveway in a puddle of tears wondering why I left without him/her. In those early years, that fear never fully dissipated.

I blinked and we were in a new house in a new neighborhood with new friends and a new school. Little hands reached for mine with regularity. A hand to hold; a hand to help; a hand to lead the way. Those were days of constant attention and discovery and learning. There were toys and games and books and building and dancing and crafts. LOTS of crafts.

And then I blinked.

And the day came when they were all in school, mornings first and then full days. The school bus rumbled up the hill in the morning and swallowed them up. I would watch as the bus drove off up the road and out of sight before I ran home to switch to “adult” mode and be on my way to work. In the early days, I was home from work for 3:15, always needing to beat the bus to meet the kids so they were supervised and transported to the activity of the day. Always rushing so I wouldn’t be late.

Until I blinked.

The kids were able to ride the bus to their activities. My work hours increased, and an after school sitter took on some of my role. Extra keys were made and cell phones purchased and the kids further shaped their identities as they took their first tentative steps toward independence.

I blinked again, and now they are nearly through high school. They will be out on their own soon, with jobs and lives that take them all in different directions. That doesn’t mean my job is done. A mother’s work is never done, is it?

Just don’t blink.

Mother Image

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I sit in my car listening to NPR, staring out across the lake. A group of water-fowl float in a line in the middle of the lake, lazily drifting across the surface. The story on the news is focused on discussion of the opening ceremonies of the Olympics, the troubles in Rio, and the profound separation of the haves and the have-nots in that city.

It is peaceful and quiet at the camp. The campers left for home earlier in the day, and only the staff remains, finishing up their Friday staff meeting. Every now and then, a burst of deep male crowd voice breaks the silence. First, a cheer—a group of young men voicing the same words loudly and in unison—bursts from the meeting hall up the hill. A little while later, laughter. And still later, applause.

The voices are deep and grown up, and can’t possibly include my youngest child. But then again, they can. He has grown and changed—and continues to do so—on a nearly daily basis over the last year or so. The image that I have of him in my head doesn’t match the reality of who he is and who he is becoming. He is part of this group. He fits in.

Somehow, my mother-image of my children is not keeping up with their growth and their approaching adulthood. My image is mired in memories and the experiences of raising them from their earliest days through the years up to the present. Every moment blends together to create the image that I hold of them—always younger than they truly are unless they are standing right in front of me.

Some people might say my mother-image needs adjusting, but I think it is fine just the way it is. At least for now.

Blog party

Today, I am partying with Jacqueline and the blogging community at: https://acookingpotandtwistedtales.com/2016/07/31/where-are-you-its-happening-this-way-party-time/  Come on over and check out all the great blogs!

Necessities

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In the living room, my son is trying to convince my daughter that some colleges don’t provide toilet paper. I’m not completely sure, but she doesn’t seem to be buying his story.

He and I had this discussion while she was in the shower. It started like this: he decided it would be good to add paper towels to his college packing list. That naturally devolved to the need to bring toilet paper, as well.

“I think you’ll find the school will provide that,” I stated, amused at the ludicrous thought that such a necessity would be overlooked.

“I hear some colleges don’t provide it,” he pushed the issue, spinning this new story as he spoke.

“Really?” I asked, recognizing he was going to make up something. “Like what school doesn’t?”

He threw out the name of an institution that one of his friends will be attending. Since his friend recently returned from his orientation, he would know first-hand if the school didn’t provide such a thing. It was a plausible story, but my son was joking, and I knew it.

“Can you imagine paying all that money for college and having to provide your own toilet paper?” I snickered. “That would just be ridiculous!”

Not to mention how that might work in a shared dormitory bathroom….

Yes, we have some crazy conversations in our house. And yes, I end up thinking about things I most likely would not otherwise consider. Sometimes, that would be a good thing.

Online Journaling Workshop!

This is a journaling workshop run by my amazing friend, Kate. I can’t wait to take part in this workshop. Check it out!

Kate Johnson, Heartwork

Soul ReclamationComing up on June 3,4 &5  (or download to do when you wish)– I’m excited to be offering a guided journaling workshop!

This is about reclaiming parts of ourselves, long misplaced, buried, forgotten.
This is about inviting ourselves to feel more whole.
This is about mindfulness and presence, awareness, and forgiveness and shame-release.
This is about letting go, even a little, of our fierce grip on some of what keeps us from being able to move forward into who we are becoming.

DETAILS
** 5 guided journaling exercises posted on a private page on my website over the course of 3 days.
** Each exercise could take as little as 10-minutes
** “ Journaling“ could mean writing or not, art or not, but something “external”, not inside your head, usually works best.
** Participate in real time or download for later.
** A totally optional private, temporary, Facebook group…

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this moment: pronouns and plane seats

I am sharing this thoughtful post by my blogging friend Laura at Riddle from the Middle. Thoughts on listening to others as they navigate their way through the world.

Riddle from the Middle

There are times when I’m listening to people in this great big world of ours, and I can’t help but notice how careful we’ve all gotten.  How the explosive nature of the general public has pushed some people into the shadows and forced others to tread oh-so-gently when meeting someone new.

Hearing folks hold back, hush up, or dance around an issue isn’t just annoying anymore.

I’ve found it’s almost painful listening to someone walking on eggshells.

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Brunch Party

My friend Jacqueline is holding a blogging brunch party today. Check it out and join us:

http://acookingpotandtwistedtales.com/2016/03/19/brunch-party-time-live-link-its-a-party