flowers! all over the house, left over from my birthday, valentine's day. birds! i hear them now, for sure, in the mornings. and it's light out and yes, i know that we will get pummelled at least once before this winter is over, but for now, today, the air is sweet. holiday! tomorrow, we sleep. as late as we please, and then amble around nyc for a while, and enjoy some visitors in the evening. and then, do it all over again for one.whole.week! yay.
i had this little baby, and my past was all a blur; i had my idea of what it was like, being a girl. being in the midst of a family of boys, and parents who treated me like an only child.
i had this little baby whose name i chose one night in front of a fire lit in a hearth in a beautiful inn, historic and restored. way more expensive than we could afford. but the waiters treated me so kindly. i was so young, and so full up with that baby. and maybe even they, more than i, knew that it was an odd confluence of events that led someone like me, at that age, to be that pregnant and dining in such luxury.
i think i just gave off the air of different. i did not belong there.
but then that baby. and i immediately, irrevocably, unarguably belonged everywhere.
everywhere that baby went, or would go, i would be there.
she made me, that baby. she made me into me.
today, we leave the house to run an errand. i say: where do you want to go? she knows i mean: we can go anywhere you want.
so we go to the thrift. together. we walk around separately, and when we find each other in the aisles again, i have two wooden bowls and a record for tim, for my valentine to him.
she has found a sweatshirt donated by one of our boys. and we laugh so hard about this, feeling something just right about finding it and recognizing it as his, both of us.
then, at the counter i see there on the shelves a set of japanese dolls that were mine, when i was little. if they are not exactly mine, they are the exact ones i had, with the set of small wigs that are used for different ceremonies. the box is broken on the back, and callie asks if i can remember if my set had a broken box. i can't.
so we buy (back) these things.
and we don't talk all that much. we're just together.
and i'm all of a sudden pretty sure that we will always be ok.
hi. i've been taking a series of photos of things around the house. i'm very fond of this black & white peel-apart film; i have two different cameras loaded with it. one of them has some shutter issues, so i can only shoot in bright light, but it focuses beautifully up close. the other only focuses at a far distance, so i've been using that for a little series i've been taking on my drive to and from work. i stop at the pumphouse at the lakes that i drive around to get to the office, and scramble up the berm to shoot.
it makes me feel that i'm tending to myself, this stopping to take a picture on the way to work. sort of convincing myself that i won't lose my inspiration and creativity as a result of buckling down and getting a job.
may be silly, but it's just the little personal reassurance i need right now.
hope you're enjoying your saturday. ours is 100 percent lazy, and i'm not taking that for granted. off for a nap before a fun party tonight.
i stood at the counter at the camera shop, in front of my friend, (a boy half my age: he's keeping up. i just got older, so did he...) and confessed what i find it hard to say to those who know and love me so much more than he ever will: i want to be an artist. i want to be better; a better photographer, a fuller person.
i stood at the counter at home, shredding chicken from the roasting pan with my bare hands, and all of a sudden my cats were my best friends. i considered making them give me a foot rub before they were given a small dish of scraps.
i've been doing a lot of sunday cooking this monday: the aforementioned roast chickens, the stock on the stove, the triple-batch of tomatoes roasting in the oven. i am ready for the week: for tomorrow, i go to work.
today, however, i was too sick to rally. and yet, rally i did. for there were three sick children and an un-well husband. so i found myself at the doctors first thing in the morning. then at the camera shop (film, above!!!), then the grocery, back home, sixteen bags unpacked. dinner begun, hugs and medicine distributed.
i am the mother.
today i looked in the mirror at myself on one of the trips back down the staircase, and had a thought: the girls will not so very far in the future tell someone they love that "my mother used to...." or "my mother had this..." or "my mother would always say..."
fill in the blanks.
who knows how they will fill in the blanks?
so the best i can do is my best, and be me, and hope that those spaces that i leave for them to decide about, to process and let fester or grow, nurture or quench, will somehow leave them feeling loved, and loving me.
i've been having the craziest dreams, lately. some of this may have something to do with the nyquil i've been popping, but that only accounts for the last two nights. it's been a while now since i've been falling hard and fast asleep, and waking up with my body near paralyzed, and my head still in the realm of night.
this morning, early, an alarm went off in another room. it woke me out of a dream and i said out loud to anna and tim: "i'm at a flea market across from the farm."
i knew exactly what i meant.
and yet, i still made my way downstairs as i do every morning, hair sticking out all directions and feet slipped into old ballet flats. i start the kettle, and feed the cats, and turn off the front light, and bring in the milk, and rouse some girls.
and while i'm dropping no less than four black tea bags into the teapot, i'm still thinking about the words in my dream that i was speaking to a boy i knew so long ago, standing in the middle of a house my husband and i used to rent in the summer.