Slow March Across the Sky

I try to wrap
the sweep of you -

sweet morning
whisps of white -

with words
but give up for
your almost imperceptible
march across the
sky is not

something I want
to miss and as
my words fail I am
thankfully reminded of
the freedom that

comes from
moving slower

than ever
imagined possible.

Stained With Life

Running seems to be a theme for me these days.  Not getting on my running clothes and mapping out a route kind of running, rather perhaps the truest kind of running: running to get somewhere.  Fast. 

My gracious friend gave me tickets to go the Shakespeare Theatre this past Monday to see a tribute poetry reading in honor of Emily Dickinson's birthday.  I was meeting another friend there and I was the possessor of the tickets.  So I ran (I will spare you the details of why but it did involve these things in no particular order: a baby, a toddler and getting myself dressed.)  Oddly, I do not mind these runs these days.  I guess I am in the mindset of efficiency and running certainly is that.  I love the cold air on my cheeks and the boost that comes from slight exercise.  I have to also confess that, although I love my one mile radius of these days, it is energizing to push myself outside of this bubble no matter the effort needed.  After my run, I rested on the metro (I imagine I will always hold public transportation very dear in my heart; thank you NYC.)  And stepping off the escalator at Capitol South, I felt like a kid visiting Washington D.C. for the first time in awe of the majestic buildings so thoughtfully designed with quotes and statues everywhere you turn.

My friend (who has twin babies at home) and I found our seats in the small, woody theatre and settled in and once again I felt like a child of wonder.  It was as if I had never been to the theatre before; I guess this appreciation and awe are the gifts of deprivation. 

Instead of trying to understand every word and stanza and analysis of the tribute, I allowed myself to be immersed in the words and the experience and the passion of the poets and writers.  Instead of chiding myself for not knowing more about Dickinson, I allowed myself to swim in her language.  I am not sure if this was growth or exhaustion, but it doesn't matter.  It was lovely to be free of trying and to just allow.  And again, these things that we strive towards for years sneak up on us in the most unusual of circumstances; not on the yoga mat or in the church (although the may happen there too), but running through the streets or sitting in an old theatre. 

The moderator of the event mentioned a new book of Emily Dickinson's poetry - all facsimiles of her original writing on the backs of lists and receipts and recipes.  She called these scraps "stained with life."  And oh, how I love language.  And the stains of my own life. 

Collect Love

Loud cries. 
Startled waking. 
Little body.
Big soul.
Our feelings matched:
tired and helpless. 

My deepest fears
shine brightest
in the dark night distilled -
fear of judgment
and fear of my exhausted self. 

And what to do?
Fear of judgment; easy:
silence (ironically, here I am
talking to you.)

Fear of self - oh, wow.
Here we are.
Again.

Here is what I am trying:
a hybrid of two phrases -
"Collect yourself" (a common
one in our house these days) and
"love yourself" (what I know as
the golden key) =
"Collect Love."

Collect Love in the
sticky, icky moments when
turning against myself seems so easy.

Yes - here - in the messiness
the love that I can collect for myself
like coins on the bottom of Ganges River
is the most potent of all.

Cookie Happy

I have always liked the idea of being a baker.  Well, maybe not a baker, but someone who bakes.  Who knows how to bake.  Who enjoys baking.  And not from a box (that, I have been doing for years.)

It seemed so, I don't know, wholesome.  The simple ingredients; the smell of the house; the warm kitchen; the gift of a delectable treat that you know someone spent time making.  I often found myself looking on with awe to others who found joy in baking and I thought that maybe if I stood close enough their joy would rub off on me.  But, lo and behold, it doesn't seem to happen that way.  Yes - their joy was contagious, but their joy for baking, not so much.

And then a couple of Mondays ago, while doing my weekly planning (yes, this actually keeps me stay sane) I had an idea to give myself jobs for each day of the week - one having to do with maintaining the household and one having to do with, well, not the household.  These jobs would be non-negotiables each week and they would just enter into my weekly planning.  You see for me it is important for me to have jobs when I don't have a "job."  It gives me purpose and a sense of accomplishment all of which contribute to my overall happiness.  I was having fun with this list (who doesn't love a good list!): Monday - High Priority Clean and Yoga; Tuesday - Grocery shop and blog . . . you see how the list goes.  And then I got to Friday and I wrote BAKE.  And that's all that I needed - to sneak up behind myself and make it an expectation that I would bake. 

Well, I broke my own rule and baked on a Tuesday night.  The girls were in bed (I decided I could only do "box" baking with them at this stage in their lives and, lets not kid ourselves, at this stage in my life of becoming a joyful baker!) and Matt was working late.  I had done myself the fortuitous favor of printing the recipe and getting all of the ingredients together mid-day (a fun activity to do with an 8 month old) so there was no escaping myself; no turning back.  I turned on the radio and began.  And do you know what??  I had fun!  It was a relief to follow someone else's instructions at the end of the day and to have the kitchen to myself.  I listened to the news and baked into my own new joy!

And then it got even better!  Matt got home from work and had a warm cookie.  He was so happy!  The next day, we brought cookies to Francesca's teachers.  They were so happy!  On Friday, we brought cookies to friends who just had a new baby.  Happiness for all!  And the very next day we brought the last of the cookies to a playdate with twins.  Happiness quadrupled! 

And I realized that this is perhaps why people love baking so much.  Not just for the process, but the joy of giving it all away.