What you do

You show up with a smile and a brave face.  You withhold judgement on dustbunnies and mildew.  You tirelessly pack up every little book, piece of paper, trinket and memento; helping to purge when you can.  You laugh hardily with them as you discover the hidden "gigantic orgasm" book- discovered luckily by you when her mother is not in earshot.  You pack and tape and lift and haul.  You sweep and vacuum and dust and scrub.  You marvel at how quickly it all goes into the truck.  

Then... you start to say good-bye.  Tears flow into sobs as you kiss her baby good-bye.  Whose birth you attended.  Who will not remember you next time.  You try to be brave and say things like, "I know this is the right choice for you".  You both admit you're not good at keeping up with e-mail but will try.  You are grateful to have had each other during this time- of weddings and babies and transitions and examinations and failures and resounding successes.  

And you walk to your car- eyes heavy, needing a nap to wipe clean your teary eyes.  And you know that the next time you meet you will be changed.  Perhaps a little less innocent, perhaps a little more confident, perhaps more than a little exhausted.  Maybe there will be more births.  But your heart is aching for missing her... still in her apartment for a few more hours.  The moving truck packed- neither of us ready for her to go.

Unplugged

I found one of our long-lost alarm clocks this morning.  Not that I was looking.  But there it was in the bottom of a "much miscellaneous" bag in our basement.  Our alarm clocks have been in hiding since the move last month and I can't say that I've missed them.  It's part of the luxury of having this time off- not having to glance furtively at the clock and curse at the passage of hours.  Not having to rush off, jump out of bed before the sleep has lifted.  But there it was...

Our life without the alarm clock has gone on much the same, thanks to Silas's unwavering circadian rhythm.  6:15am- pretty much every morning.  Except one day last week that it was 4:30... and I misjudged the amount of light coming into our room and I relented ("Mommy Up.  Daddy Up.  Breakfast?"), wandered downstairs, discovered the real time and marched us back up into bed with a sippy cup of milk in tow.

It's not the alarm itself I mind- it's my obsessive need to check it several times before relaxing into sleep.  It's my habit of checking it as I wake up in the middle of the night to count the hours or minutes until rising time.  It's my life that demands I leave the warm bed and my family to run into the world before my body is ready to get up and go.  It's the sweet feeling of relaxing, blissfully unaware of the passage of time.  

So, for now, I think I will keep it unplugged and out of sight.  Continue to let go of the daily grind.  Keep the bedroom a place a little more separate from the rest of the world.  Allowing the filtered sunlight and my two year old to bring me into the next day rather than talk of tragedies, economies, sports scores and weather reports.  A little less driven for today, a little less plugged in, a little more connected.

Dr. Who?

Here I am... Sunday, hovering on the edge of gaining two coveted letters after my name. And for all the pomp and circumstance, I struggled to muster up much of a reaction. Lame, I know. It was certainly not the groundswell of emotion that I brought to other accomplishments in my life. Perhaps it was that past graduations have also marked the transition of major friendships, the passage of time, a big step. This one caught me off guard... maybe it was taking a year off from school, graduating with a class that I did not spend years of my life with, or my understanding that I still have so far to go. In any case- while I might not have fully felt the immense pride one is supposed to feel at these events, I did have a hell of a time with my family and friends- enjoying the warmth and the wine. I appreciate their presence and continued love and support. Sustenance along the journey as I move forward.

I think some of my lack of excitement stems from my inability to believe I really deserve it. Not that I didn't work my ass off to get to this day. But I was studying ACLS (life support) algorithms today and having a healthy sense of skepticism about my abilities to do what is next.

So, I guess I return to the books, continue to study and maintain guarded optimism that I will rise to the challenges ahead. With grace, abundant humility and a healthy dose of laughter.

Zooming

Be Not Afraid of Growing Slowly

Be Only Afraid of Standing Still

We go so fast from here

Running circles around our ragged selves

Racing to that theoretical finish line

Forgetting that the reward is here, Now.

We honk when others go slowly

Are reminded to go fast by fellow travelers

Don't stop to breathe in the supermarket aisle

Pushing ahead, back out to the rushing.

We frantically move to get dinner on the table  

Only to gulp it down with swigs of wine

Desperate to slow down, calm down, sit down

On our tips toes, hurrying back to clean up again.

Then a quiet call goes out

A two year old, "Mommy, sit."

Toes tapping, on the cusp of getting up

"Mommy, sit"- we linger together.

The People in Your Neighborhood...

Settling into our new house, stretching our legs, painting walls, building shelves, spreading seeds and mulch, planting bulbs- putting down roots of every kind to put us into our place has been wonderful.  Even more so has been settling into our new neighborhood- and feeling like for the first time I'm living in a place with neighbors- a place that neighbors continue to act, well, neighborly.  

I spent our first morning in the house, emptying the basement of much water (think Mickey Mouse in the Sorcerer's Apprentice) with a flimsy half-gallon bucket.  A man my grandfather's age pulled up along the street and asked if he didn't mean to intrude but wanted to offer any help he could be.  Being the strong, independent and non-trusting modern woman I immediately yet graciously refused.  We exchanged names and the next afternoon his wife walked over to make introductions and give me the "run-down" of the area.  Since then I've received brownies, end of the driveway conversations, introductions to other neighbors, the inside scoop on wild-grown raspberries at the end of our street, ,offers of rhubarb and perennial cuttings... And the same man I mentioned before brought over his wheelbarrow when he saw I was using buckets to spread 3 yards of mulch.  And I thought- where have I been?  Why was it that in my last homes, I barely recognized my neighbors let alone know them, their kids and their garden tools?  

I have to say, it doesn't come naturally.  In my former life, I spent a long time studying my shoes as I walked from place to place.  In the pre-iPod world, I loved my now prehistoric Walkman.  Or I walked fast, looking into the distanced, jaw squared, determined, important strides.  Too busy to slow down, connect even for a moment.  It was a way to retreat.  Now it seems we're plugged in, tuned in, inhabiting our own pods... walking, driving, living independently.  Separately.  And where are we really?  

Several years ago, I made myself stop watching my footsteps and instead started greeting the world.  Saying "Hello" and "How are you?" and meaning it.  Making eye contact.  Listening to kids playing and vendors talking and lost people's delusions and  buses screeching by.  I started noticing faces, expressions... and all those people who could not or would not meet my smile. 

This evening as I was walking with friends back from a local creemee joint, one of my neighbors was coming home.  I caught him as he was getting out of his car with a gym bag in one hand and his tie loosened.  I had noticed him and his family several times and had waved while our cars passed.  It would have been so easy to just wave and walk, keep on keepin' on... But I paused, extended my hand and an introduction- pointed out Jeff and Silas who were ahead.  I listened to his family introductions and we made plans to get our kids together.  Almost effortless- it was as easy as merely continuing my walk.  A new neighbor.  Maybe a new friend.

As we were packing up the garage at our old apartment, a man walked up our driveway... Someone I had never seen before.  He was getting signatures for a petition.  We chatted for awhile and it finally came up that he lived directly across the street.  I had watched him work on his car, mow his lawn, shovel his driveway for two years.  Two years- and for the first time we were standing face-to-face... and I had no idea who he was.  How many neighbors do we have that are just like that?  It was a terrible, empty feeling.  I'm glad I am now living amidst neighbors who take time to see each other, stop for each other, visit with each other.  Teach me to do the same.

Acknowledgment

I'm a known perfectionist.  I've been that way since I was a young child.  I grew up "knowing" there was a right way (usually mine) and a wrong way (all the other ways).  I have held myself to high standards, worked hard and tried to not drive myself (and everyone around me) totally crazy in the process.  

I am also fiercely competitive- I want to be known as the best.  I want people to believe I have natural talent and I don't stress myself out agonizing about every little thing.  I want recognition.  But I want to be recognized for those things I don't work hard at- or aren't things I should really compete for... I want to be the most creative cook, the best dancer in aerobics class, the most aligned yoga student- and I want people to know it.  I want to win at Scrabble, have a prize-winning flower garden,  be known as a creatively chic.  I am not any of those things... and why the inherent pleasure of engaging in all of those things sometimes isn't enough, I'm not sure.

But here's the thing... the one thing I've worked for since I was an adolescent, the career that I identified as my chosen path when I wrote a fourth grade essay on "Being Grown Up",  the endless pursuit of this degree since my first day as an undergraduate, the worry that I would never get it, the studying, the test-taking, the interviews... Somehow, now that I am days from graduating, I could care less.  I don't want to make a big deal out of it.  I told my family not to come.  I offended my in-laws by not telling them until now when graduation would take place.  I feel shy and somewhat uncomfortable about the whole thing.  I have sacrificed, grown, changed, cried, raged throughout this process.  I have relied on all of my support people along the way- marveled at my incredible opportunity, been thankful for this privilege, endured sleepless nights, endless criticism, thrived under pressure.  And now I've jumped through all of the hoops and can't quite see why everyone is making a big fuss.  Me- who craves the attention, the recognition... would rather not participate in graduation, forced herself to have announcements made, wishes her family would not take time off from work, spend money on travel, sacrifice their free time.

Seriously- what's my problem?  I'm not sure whether it is that I am uncomfortable with the attention, what the initials after my name says or doesn't say about me, or the knowledge that I have a long row still to hoe.  No matter the reason, more I'm bothered that I can't seem to muster up an ounce of pride and enthusiasm for this accomplishment.  And what does that say about me?  I still feel privileged and proud for the work I will be able to do but not so much for the rite of passage- the moment to pause to appreciate- a time to reflect and be recognized.

Or maybe it's that over the course of this post (as over the course of this period of time in school)- some things have put a different spin on my life.  So- I'll end this muse here, with my energetic toddler in my lap, with his crazy bed-head... enthusiastically demanding my attention to his garbage truck and ladybug book.

acknowledgment |akˈnälijmənt| (alsoacknowledgement)noun

1 acceptance of the truth or existence of something.

2 the action of expressing or displaying gratitude or appreciation for something .• the action of showing that one has noticed someone or something.  

3 (usu. acknowledgments) an author's or publisher's statement of indebtedness to others, typically one printed at the beginning of a book.

Here is my new sexy little thing.  I know, not exactly conventional sexy.  Until now.  I've never been a "Lawn Ranger" but I think I may have been converted.  Having never had a lawn of our own before, we never needed such things as a lawn mower (or a wheelbarrow, a step-ladder, raspberry canes).  So while I generally don't get worked up an excited about power tools... I fell in love with this human-powered tool.  It makes me want to go out and mow.  Again.  And again.

It is light, it is quiet, it is relaxing.  Mowing has become a walking meditation.  Instead of ploughing through, you walk over.  You still get the lovely smell of freshly cut grass- now unadulterated by gas fumes and a rumbling motor.  I'm in love- I'm in love and proselytizing.  If you mow your lawn... convert.  It's inexpensive, doesn't require an outside energy source and there's not much to fix.  No pain in the ass pull-starter, no scaring your dog, no rattling your bones, no turning pebbles and sticks into mortars.  This is a beautiful thing.  In the land of lawn tractors that have their own canopy, headlight and beverage holder I'm loving my less-is-mower.  In the age of "carbon footprints", rising fuel prices and noise pollution I'm loving my little piece of quiet.

Has spring hatched?

This evening, the owner of one of our favorite off the beaten path restaurants, perched next to our table and puzzled, "So what do you think?  Was last week our summer?  Are we going through spring or fall?"

There we were, nestled in together after a hopeful day filled with raised beds and flower sales and compost and I was stunned.  This overcast, gray, windy evening did strike me as much closer to November than May.  Either way, my birks were pushing the boundaries of pedal comfort.

So what?  So what that it's chilly?  So what that for several brief moments this week it snowed.  Hard.  So what that my hands are eager for dirt while the plants are reticent?

My "so what"... is "So, what if it were true?"  What if we were on the midst of plunging back into December, frost-laden grass and frozen breath?  What if instead of new spinach greens and strawberries we were heading back towards cabbage and butternut squash?  What if instead of shedding we were bundling?  What if we were welcoming darkness instead of light?

What if what we know about the next thing coming was tipped ass end up?  Could we cope? What if our assumptions about the future were 180 degrees off?  Then what?  Acceptance or denial, this day is our today.  That's really all we know.  Really, that's all we have.  Everything else is counting chicks.

That said: Bring on the sun, the flowers, linen skirts and beach towels!