Skip to main content

I like to

water my garden.  Something simple and clean and earthy about water falling on leaves and the spattering sound the droplets make as life hits root.  Something wonderful about wet concrete butting up against dry, thirsty grass.  Something good about the cool evening hour and the sound of settling silence when the wind stops blowing and the birds nestle in. Peaceful.

There are little bugs on some of the plants.  I won't pretend they don't gross me out, but most I ignore.  They're just going about, like I am, fussing and fixing and getting ready for another day to close.  Some I don't ignore, particularly the kind that eat my stretching plants.  Those get squished beneath an uncaring shoe (or in between some pliers, but only if Eric's doing the pruning).  Cleansing.

I could draw a thousand lines between life and my garden, simple parables about growing and stretching, weeding and pruning, squashing the bad bugs and letting others go, making room.  But I don't have to.  You get them too.  The basics of living and letting live, of sowing and reaping, of seasons and change.  Intrinsic.

Outside the night is creeping in, a gray shadow falling in behind the sinking sun.  Mountains to the west hide the falling rays, instead a brilliant spray of rosy clouds and faltering blue fade out before the darkness takes hold.  I know the stars are shining there, even though I can't see them, and later they'll poke through like diamond eyes upon a resting world.  Today will fold its weary wings and turn into tomorrow.  Renewed.


Popular posts from this blog

Dear Carly,

I assume that one day you will come to me wanting to know who you are, where you came from, where your other family is and why they gave you to us.  I offer you little bits of information already, but certainly not crumbs enough to satisfy the appetite.  Perhaps it won't matter to you.  I am assuming a lot, already, about how adoption will impact your life.

People often wonder why adoptive parents are hurt when their children seek out biological roots.  I have the answer, and it's very simple.  Adoption - at its core - makes us question the legality, authority, voracity, and validity of parenthood.  For most adoptive parents, first you must come to terms with an issue that strikes at the foundations of mortality: fertility.  From birth, most of us are driven to form families.  First we are nestlings, nurtured and weened and eventually taught to fly.  Then we are nest-builders, filling our lives with the stuff necessary to drive life forward.  Knowledge, safety, money, a sturdy …

On being away from home and turning sixteen: a letter to my son

Dear Josh,

I missed your sixteenth birthday.  I'm sure you recall - or maybe it wasn't so bad because you spent the whole day with your friend watching movies.  Godzilla and Guardians of the Galaxy, you've said.  It's no surprise to me that Godzilla was your favorite of the two.  That atomic green monster holds a special place in your heart.

It was very difficult for me to be away from you when you crossed this threshold in your life.  I remember turning sixteen, being sixteen, and wondering when I would feel like I was actually sixteen.  When I was sixteen, I went and found my first job, I started driving myself around, and I pretty much felt like I was in the wrong skin.  I'm only now, at 37, beginning to feel in the right skin.  Or at least comfortable with the skin I'm in.  But you - well, you don't seem to have a problem being you.  I can't explain how very happy that makes me feel, how very reassured.  Because it can be really hard not to like you…

Hello? Is it me you're looking for?

You know when you see someone again and it's been, like, forever, and you're not really even sure that you're getting their name right and you wonder WHAT on EARTH they've done to their hair/face/body/children and you can't quite find the right words to fill the gap between time and space?
My second year of teaching is just beginning - and isn't that a wonder?  Last year...let's just say, we all survived.  Last year involved:
- Commuting home (2 hours, one way) almost every weekend - The kids and I here (in Espanola, where I teach) while Eric stayed in Edgewood - Putting our (still for sale) house on the market - Two semesters of Master's classes (what was I thinking??? on the up side, I only have 1 semester left and I am DONE.  D. O. N. E.) - Saturday's spent in professional development - My first ever "work trip" to San Diego 
And this year:
- Josh is a Senior (whuuuut!) - Carly started 5th grade - We all live here in Espanola (double WH…