Exhaustion would be too mild an adjective to describe my gardening-weary body, but my beautiful raised beds are now filled with plants and seeds and promise. It was a perfect day, overcast, threatening rain but offering a gentle sprinkle instead. I didn't try to plant as much variety this year but instead added lots of zinnias, sunflowers, gladiolas and cosmos to the beds, which should provide a dashing counterpoint to my abundant veggies. Summer is rapping at my bedroom door...only two weeks remaining before school is out and an equal measure of days before my eldest departs for two months...the bittersweet taste of summer. I always medicate anticipated heartache with reading and in good form, I am piling books on every available surface, anticipating three warm months of gorge reading. The list includes: The Wonder of Boys by Michael Gurian On Dialogue, by David Bohm Seven Life Lessons of Chaos, by Briggs and Peat Education and the Significance of Life, by Krishnamurti A fe
The day begins: 5:15 AM- no joke- 5:15 AM. Bodhi likes to round off mealtimes with a little cupboard clean up... Then a trip into the back yard to begin gardening...well sort of... Then there was the creation of his promised crown and cape in honor of a much celebrated poop in the POTTY!! Of course no day is complete without some train play... a bit of light reading... and a chat between friends... Finally at 7:15 we put ourlittle super hero to bed. And those are just a few of the highlights, is there a better way to spend a day? I don't think so.
Owen is growing up. Changing. Evolving. And I am still playing with fairies and singing rhymes beneath a wide blue sky. There has been tension. Shane pointed this out to me and suggested I become interested in the things he's interested in. I scoffed, Pokemon/Bakugan/Comic Books/Video Games (all the things that he gets to do in Illinois), how can I muster interest in those. Then we found a dead phone. Now you might not initially expect a dead phone to provide common ground, but never underestimate the value of castoff electronics. I handed him a screw driver and asked if he wanted to take it apart. He did. He became ecstatic. LOOOOOOK at this mom, this is how it works, and this and this and this. He explored it for two days and I was genuinely excited and interested too. The magic of a common interest. Now I have to give up the "Brush your teeth/eat your breakfast/comb your hair/make your bed" mama diatribe and allow my son the space to create the man he is
One night four Rabbinum were visited by an angel who awakened them and carried them to the Seventh Vault of the Seventh Heaven. There they beheld the sacred Wheel of Ezekiel. Somewhere in the descent from Paradise, to Earth, one Rabbi, having seen such splendor, lost his mind and wandered frothing and foaming until the end of his days. The second Rabbi was extremely cynical, "Oh I just dreamed Ezekiel’s Wheel, nothing really happened". The third Rabbi, carried on and on about what he had seen, for he was totally obsessed. He lectured and would not stop with how it was all constructed and what it all meant . . . . The forth Rabbi, who was a poet, took a paper in hand and a reed and sat near the window writing song after song praising the evening dove, his daughter in her cradle, and all the stars in the sky. And he lived his life better than befor e. (Estes, 1992, p. 32)
Happy Birthday my beautiful brother!!! I remember well the day you were born and the moment I held your tiny body in my arms. I felt a sort of wonder and celebration, paralleled only by the birth of my own two sons. Your being here gave birth to me, you became a life raft in the stormy sea of childhood and loving you brought me safely to shore with an open heart. I am so grateful! May your year shine with hope and laughter.
My Daddy went home...and I cried like a baby...no worse, I cried like a grown woman who felt like an eight year old, saying good-bye to her papa and crying like a baby... My ole' man still has an eye for the motorcycles and pretty ladies. He still thinks the sound of a woman walking in high heels, is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. He still loves shiny red automobiles and motorcycles and dreams of riding across country, with a horizon spreading wide before him and wind making music along the way. He dreams of flying and of the sea. And although he no longer moves with the strapping assurance of my younger papa leaping over broomstick/jump ropes with startling agility, nor lifts me high onto broad shoulders, he is and will always be a giant to me. His slightly too large, decidedly crooked, false teeth affect a visage that resembles my dad but not exactly. His wit and dunder headed wisdom, relayed through humorous anecdotes peppered with seasoned sailor talk, never