Beach, Music, and Home

Rachel and I drove to Virginia for her biannual Sandbridge Hammered Dulcimer Week. For those outside the HD world, this is the place where a very particular people dispel their excessive enthusiasm for the instrument by playing together 33.2 hours a day times 5.

This is also the place where my red-headed child drags me out of bed in the early mornings for walks on the beach so she can obsessively search for sea glass, interesting shells and half-dead or dead creatures that she carefully carries back to the water hoping to save.

She occasionally makes it back to our room just before supper and plays a song for me on her back up hammered dulcimer in our room. (Because she hauled TWO hds to Virginia and she is not tired of making music).

After one late night jam, she returns to our room, gets ready for bed and in her southern voice says, “I’m gonna spread out like a MAAN. And crack open a BEER.” Then she takes a swig of her “beer” (Coke), swishes it in her mouth and gets choked.

It is a good week. But a long one away from home.

HOME

HOME

HOME

HOME

HOME.

The place where they DON’T water your plants when you are gone.

Incompatible

Awakened by your quaking and shaking,

I give you a sleepy, irritated kick.

The bed instantly stills.

I drift beside your warmth.

A false peace —

residual giggles vibrate our bed

and disrupt my sleep again

and again.

Finally, I sit up

“I’m going to pee and when I come back, you had better be done with this nonsense.”

Which triggers another round of bed shaking.

How inconvenient that you dream in Dr. Seuss, rhymes and all, when I am least interested in laughing.

Don’t know much and learning

I turned 50 this year. My body is tired. I grieve for the could-have-beens, the should-have-beens. I am disappointed by what I’ve learned about people I loved and respected.

But the exhaustion, grief and disappointment are invitations that I’ve been accepting again and again.

To attend a new party, to gather a new people, to do what brings me joy though it may appear illogical or a waste to others.

And I am learning how much I did not understand about myself and my place in the world. I am learning that I love learning new things and new people. I love learning what I didn’t know before.

I am learning ….

how necessary good counseling is to mental health

new insights into my life partner

how to play with my young adult kids

how important it is to spend time with friends who like and respect me

what resurrection really means

that I really do need to read and write and walk every day

that I am not weak because I have an autoimmune disorder and I don’t need to apologize or hide for my choices related to that condition

that I am smart and capable of making good decisions in hard circumstances

And I love recording what brings me life on my little blog. No one needs to read it but me. I am enough.

So I turned 50 this year, and I feel so thankful for this body that has carried so much, I am thankful for the grief that propels me to write a different story and I am thankful for the disappointment that forces me to build more life-giving relationships.

Thirty Years

Doing all the things

Settled in the couch corner with my laptop and working through my to-do list — schedule Rachel’s orthodontist appointment, research a new Spanish curriculum for the girls, order the next violin book for —

“Mama, I just want to snuggle,” Prairie says, plopping down next to me and curling close. She chats about her hair, aerial silks, the dog, her sinus headache…

Back to my list — I search for mattresses which the boys will need for college next month —

“Mama, can you rub my shoulder right here. It hurts.” I move my computer from my lap and turn to dig my fingers deep into Lincoln’s muscle.

Next on my list — pay the credit card —

Rachel settles beside me without a word, waiting for me to look at her. I glance up, knowing I will see her smile, the one that says “I want you to pay attention to me but I don’t want to ask you to pay attention to me.” Her back is conveniently located within my hand’s reach. Just in case I should feel like giving her a scratch.

Soon after, I run up the stairs to change clothes. I have 5 minutes to get ready for a 3 o’clock meeting in town. “Mama,” says Sidney, catching me midway up the stairs, “I have a video to show you. I think it will make you smile.”

I think about my to-do list. I should start every day’s list with “Focused, in-the-moment, attention to each child.”

Lest I forget … while they do need me to be a responsible adult who pays the bills, schedules their dental needs, plan for their education … they need hugs, an attentive ear, massaging fingers, an interested eye, and a scratching hand more. They need all the things that say “Love.”

Or maybe my to-do list can be squashed to one word — mothering.