Rituals of Return

Too often, I remind myself of Lewis Carroll's breathless White Rabbit who, with an impossibly large pocket watch, runs from one event to the next as he informs everyone of how very important and late he is. The finish line, although worthy, is always distant, and the work of getting there on time is never quite done.

So my life hurtles on until from the shadows along the edges of the hustle and bustle I start to notice a quiet voice that calls me to soothe my blistered soul in a ritual of return.

I never know what will trigger it, but, when it comes, it's call woos me like no other. A Siren's song. Maybe. Slow. Steady.

Obedient, I go. Wiser, I return. Home tastes sweeter. Today seems more dear.

The question, I suppose, is do we really find peace in the past or do we simply shipwreck the spirit against the jagged rocks of personal history?

Quote of the Day

"The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing." 

~Albert Einstein

Quote of the Day

"Have compassion for everyone you meet, even if they don't want it. What appears bad manners, an ill temper or cynicism is always a sign of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen. You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone." Miller Williams

Snea-kee, Charlie, Snea-kee

Here is a link to the original Charlie the Unicorn.

Who are you?

Do we see ourselves the way others see us? I am startled sometimes at the softer, fuller face that stares back at me from photos. I don't remember when the laugh lines became laugh furrows, or how the weight that I seem to lose 50 pounds at a time (or not at all) always manages to come back...and then some.

"Who gave this strange woman permission to pose as me?," I ask.

I have an unreasonable urge to destroy photos so no one can see. And, then I realize, this is what people see every day. No one else is surprised. Just me.

So, I look closer at the familiar stranger. Those eyes. Not quite blue. Not quite green. If they are, indeed, a window to the soul, they show only a smudged shadow of my devotion and the smallest hint of my despair.

The smile. It still has that crooked quirk that forever stops me from claiming symmetry. My chin is rounder, and my neck has more folds than I think are humanly possible. A crop of white hairs sprout with the tenacity of dandelions at my temples and at the crown of my head.

It is me. And, I wonder, can I be gentle with who I really am?

Safety Belt

So, here is a writing exercise: Remember a photo that means something to you. Describe what is happening in the photo in present tense. Who is in the photo? What is just outside the reach of the camera's lens? What are you thinking? What might the other person be thinking?

"How can this be my baby?" I ask myself.

Jayna is sitting in the drivers' seat of my green Mazda 626. Her hands are resting responsibly at 10 o'clock and 2 o'clock on the wheel. The seatbelt harness fits neatly over her shoulder and buckles her safely in place. She is wearing a black knit cap trimmed with bands of red and gray. Her long patchwork skirt is a crazy mismatch of color that reminds me that this flower child of mine has missed her decade by more than 30 years.

It is Easter. We are in the deserted Shaw's parking lot in North Beverly. And, she is practicing her driving skills. Newly turned sixteen, she is eager to learn the rules of the road. We have spent the afternoon in the empty lot working on the fine details of parallel parking, anti-lock brakes, and any other driving exercise I can dream up.

I am so proud and so petrified when I think that she will soon be officially on the road and a little bit farther from the safety of home.

We have stopped the lessons to talk for a while. The keys still hang in the ignition.

It has been several years since she told me, in that lurching way that adolescent girls break free from their mothers, that she wasn't sure she loved me anymore. At the time, it felt like she broke up with me, and I sobbed myself to sleep. In the months and years since then, we have made a new relationship. It is a wary sort of truce, but it is growing into something better.

This afternoon though, it is hard to remember ever being anything but close.

I step out of the car and lean in through the window to take her picture. Her smile is that of a girl well on her way to becoming a woman.

I wonder if I can really let her go. Maybe, just maybe, I think, I can hold onto her a while longer. Then I remember what small freedoms mean to the growth of the soul.

How bad can it be? She already has the keys, and I did teach her to wear a seatbelt.

Upside Down

Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, your world seems to be upside down. And, you wonder, will the downside ever be up again?