My sister was married this summer and we celebrated the new marriage with dancing and eating and happy chaos all about under our huge maple tree. The boys had built a dancefloor and strung lanterns through the lower branches. It was such a whirl of people and color and the culmination of a lot of effort. There. Just a breath in time. Laughing until we cried, wishing it would not end so soon and then it was over. Just like that. The trampled grass was covered by autumn leaves and now snow. I just watched the evening sun wink through the lanterns, still hanging there. A lot has changed since that August day. I went away and sailed for a bit, Autumn came while I was gone and winter was quite deeply installed before I got back. Kids are in school now, wedding cake long forgotten. My sister is thrillingly happy though. She lives in a little house and while her husband is off making war, she works at a cafe and takes care of herself, planning for a baby next fall. Life has it's ups and downs, it's flu-season and days at the beach. It's real. This is real life, in real time elapsing as I sit here typing. The seasons are tangible and change happens all the time.
My life sometimes has this hypnotic sameness that I hum along to until entranced. Sweet, slow mornings, padding around the house, helping out with the kitchen scene. Kids at the table crying over algebra exactly as I cried over algebra a decade ago. Church, errands, compulsively reading hour upon hour. I lull myself into thinking that I'm not really getting older, I'm just pausing; a very long pause.
This afternoon my youngest sister and I floundered through snow so deep that our feet had nothing to stand on. We sank through waist deep snow and then burst out onto the wind-whipped ice of Old Mission Harbor. Fresh shards of thin ice stood upright, sharp points all hari kari. The wind and sun will melt them down into small mountains of gloss. Away toward the thin line of open water stretched the vasts fields of new ice. We slid and tripped and crunched along, adrenaline bursting with the sick crack of the ice. It's not like I'd be dangerous. It was only an air pocket collapsing every now and then. Even so, we'd shriek and move faster across the sketchy parts. I love my life, these moments of incomparable simple beauty. Just when I feel the hum of sameness dominating...everything, then there is a walk like today when the simple everyday seems exquisite and unfathomable.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Thursday, February 28, 2008
LuLu; non-catholic saint of the rose-colored glasses
'Thank goodness love is blind,' my Mom would say while standing over the stove and stirring over some friend's family situation or romantic relationship in her mind. Chuckling, she would refrain from sharing what she meant. I badly wanted to tread the line of gossiping but she would rarely go there. It's taken me a little time to realize how soft to the tongue old proverbs and wives-tales can be. They speak through centuries from women standing over their own stoves, mildly contemplating their own situations.
I want to make a portrait of my family before Anna marries Michael and the family begins to expand. Just the ten of us. Simple. Well, maybe not so simple as I hoped. For starters, I'm not a practiced artist and the project grows before my eyes from a simple piece of canvas to this giant canvas monster with pencil teeth. Scary; not really. Daunting? Yes, it is that. Here's where the 'Love is blind' part comes into play. The harder I try to make the woman that is my mother look like the image that is to me 'Mom' and to herself 'Joyce', the more frustrated I become. I can get the curve of the arm and the eyes, ears, nose down but it just looks like a fairly two dimentional standard person to me. I want to draw my family and have everyone who sees the drawing see it through a sort of rose-colored lense of bias. My translation of reality is skewed by my chosen perception. We'll see how this drawing turns out in the end. I will predict it to be passable, but much cherished because of the same rose-colored glasses my parents wear. Banish the scary pencil-toothed monster, I'm off to puzzle my family onto paper.
I want to make a portrait of my family before Anna marries Michael and the family begins to expand. Just the ten of us. Simple. Well, maybe not so simple as I hoped. For starters, I'm not a practiced artist and the project grows before my eyes from a simple piece of canvas to this giant canvas monster with pencil teeth. Scary; not really. Daunting? Yes, it is that. Here's where the 'Love is blind' part comes into play. The harder I try to make the woman that is my mother look like the image that is to me 'Mom' and to herself 'Joyce', the more frustrated I become. I can get the curve of the arm and the eyes, ears, nose down but it just looks like a fairly two dimentional standard person to me. I want to draw my family and have everyone who sees the drawing see it through a sort of rose-colored lense of bias. My translation of reality is skewed by my chosen perception. We'll see how this drawing turns out in the end. I will predict it to be passable, but much cherished because of the same rose-colored glasses my parents wear. Banish the scary pencil-toothed monster, I'm off to puzzle my family onto paper.
Friday, February 22, 2008
A new nest
The paperwork was completed yesterday, buying us ownership of our new family home. My parents have been nervous and giddily excited; both side effects of going into eye-widening debt temporarily. As to the rest of us, we are just happy-eyed with thoughts of swimming in Lake Michigan, sailing as much as we like, inviting friends and family over. I am most ridiculous, thinking of how my children will sit in the secret reading room beneath the stair or climb into the tower while visiting their grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, strangers always welcome. Yeah... right. I don't even have have kids yet.
We will live just up from Old Mission Harbor, on the beautiful Old Mission Peninsula in the schoolhouse they built after holding school on a schooner for years. We will be giving up our barns and forest but the longview of my family growing old in this house is satisfying. There are huge windows and a promise of prevailing breezes in the summer from the harbor. There is space for twenty people. Great big maples surround the house. A patch of lavender stretches along the front. I'm very excited.
We will live just up from Old Mission Harbor, on the beautiful Old Mission Peninsula in the schoolhouse they built after holding school on a schooner for years. We will be giving up our barns and forest but the longview of my family growing old in this house is satisfying. There are huge windows and a promise of prevailing breezes in the summer from the harbor. There is space for twenty people. Great big maples surround the house. A patch of lavender stretches along the front. I'm very excited.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Plans for the Future
The snow swirled above and beyond the windshield of Oliver, our Volvo. With my eyes straining to follow the tracks and stay between the right snowdrifts, I drove home from a long night at work. The interior of my head has seemed like a cosmic blizzard blowing around. The plans of hiking the Pacific Crest Trail mix and mess with financial wrangling, our family moving, my sister getting married, and a gazillion seemingly pressing small concerns until just like my driving experience, the road is lost to view.
I am hungry for that day in late April when we slap our feet on that US-Mexican border and start walking north. The raw honesty of the outdoors has always seemed free from the trappings of the thousand false fronts we've made our world out of. Deserts, mountains, privation, exaltation, grizzlies, weariness, satisfaction, deep snow covered passes, days and moons and seasons; for all these things my heart jumps up in me and says 'Winter has been long enough! Give me my shoes and let me walk north with the seasons.'
April 16th Jacob (my 17 year old brother) and I will fly to San Diego and hopefully see the Pacific Ocean before beginning an epic northbound hike along the Pacific Crest Trail. I will hike until early July, when I return to Michigan for the glad preparations of my sister Touk's wedding. Jacob (or 'Jarrow') will continue on alone to complete the 2,800 mile trail.
"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view." ~Edward Abbey
I am hungry for that day in late April when we slap our feet on that US-Mexican border and start walking north. The raw honesty of the outdoors has always seemed free from the trappings of the thousand false fronts we've made our world out of. Deserts, mountains, privation, exaltation, grizzlies, weariness, satisfaction, deep snow covered passes, days and moons and seasons; for all these things my heart jumps up in me and says 'Winter has been long enough! Give me my shoes and let me walk north with the seasons.'
April 16th Jacob (my 17 year old brother) and I will fly to San Diego and hopefully see the Pacific Ocean before beginning an epic northbound hike along the Pacific Crest Trail. I will hike until early July, when I return to Michigan for the glad preparations of my sister Touk's wedding. Jacob (or 'Jarrow') will continue on alone to complete the 2,800 mile trail.
"May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view." ~Edward Abbey
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
a little tired
Wednesday, October 24th, 2007
Chesterton, Maryland
We are freshly docked after hauling back anchor and motoring up the Chester River all morning. Up on deck, the crew is preparing to put our smallboat Chausser in the water. Rain has been spitting down on them all day but somehow, the idea of independently messing around in a boat is appealing right now. I run up and help tail a gantl'n. We all work well together because that is how things have always been. The very design and fabric of our crew depends on our working as a unit. If it wasn't for this unity being ingrained in us I think this afternoon would be rather hellish. Short tempers, short fuses, short on love... No one is stretching far beyond the gripe of our miserable moment here. Everyone is wet and has been standing around doing menial little jobs in the rain. We all need kisses and the day to be done. For me, the day is always a little longer. Chin up. The sooner I make dinner, the sooner it will be off my mind and I can slip into thick soft sleep.
A small walk through the rain to Andy's, the local pub. I cozy into an old cracking vinyl couch and sip my hot cider while loading my scribbles for you to read. Whoever you are, there is good conversation here and a listening ear. I'm feeling lonesome for laughter and talk and will soon meander back to my drippy boat. Huzzah for life.
Chesterton, Maryland
We are freshly docked after hauling back anchor and motoring up the Chester River all morning. Up on deck, the crew is preparing to put our smallboat Chausser in the water. Rain has been spitting down on them all day but somehow, the idea of independently messing around in a boat is appealing right now. I run up and help tail a gantl'n. We all work well together because that is how things have always been. The very design and fabric of our crew depends on our working as a unit. If it wasn't for this unity being ingrained in us I think this afternoon would be rather hellish. Short tempers, short fuses, short on love... No one is stretching far beyond the gripe of our miserable moment here. Everyone is wet and has been standing around doing menial little jobs in the rain. We all need kisses and the day to be done. For me, the day is always a little longer. Chin up. The sooner I make dinner, the sooner it will be off my mind and I can slip into thick soft sleep.
A small walk through the rain to Andy's, the local pub. I cozy into an old cracking vinyl couch and sip my hot cider while loading my scribbles for you to read. Whoever you are, there is good conversation here and a listening ear. I'm feeling lonesome for laughter and talk and will soon meander back to my drippy boat. Huzzah for life.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
These joys of mine
Tuesday, October 23rd, 2007
Anchored outside of Annapolis, our morning has been rather full of slow yawns and shy stretching. After a rather crazy season of madcap sailing and whirlwind port stops, all of a sudden we have a loose schedule that allows for some meandering. Late breakfast today with no desperate need to haul anchor and get out of here; instead, the crew is chatting away about the cold we all have, about cheap rolling tobacco and the military boats that are skirting about us. Yesterday Meg came down the companionway, laughter all twinkling around her, shouting out how hilarious the boys were being. With piecrust on my hands, I stumbled up and there, down in the headrig were the laughingest group of sailors that I've seen in a long time. Kemper, Charlie, Freeman, Rhys; all were down there with their feet in the water, splashing and laughing like kids. I ran and got my camera, wanting to capture their happiness, to bottle it up in a photograph so I can uncork it later in life and breathe in the moment again. It seems like it's been a long time since we played on the boat and the childlike wonder and timelessness of the moment... all that I love were there in that moment. In retrospect, I should have jumped in there too, but for my pink skirt and the apple pie waiting for a topcrust, I probably would have. You know, I'm learning that there is joy and abandon not just in running around like a kid (or a hobo, a hiker, a ski-bum... an free spirited artist...) Part of the joy is in being who you are with all of the responsibilities intact; being who you are, thankful and in the moment, whether you are a goofy boy climbing trees or a woman with laundry to fold. Once again these thoughts of being, of is-ness. By the way, the apple pie was tremendous.
Anchored outside of Annapolis, our morning has been rather full of slow yawns and shy stretching. After a rather crazy season of madcap sailing and whirlwind port stops, all of a sudden we have a loose schedule that allows for some meandering. Late breakfast today with no desperate need to haul anchor and get out of here; instead, the crew is chatting away about the cold we all have, about cheap rolling tobacco and the military boats that are skirting about us. Yesterday Meg came down the companionway, laughter all twinkling around her, shouting out how hilarious the boys were being. With piecrust on my hands, I stumbled up and there, down in the headrig were the laughingest group of sailors that I've seen in a long time. Kemper, Charlie, Freeman, Rhys; all were down there with their feet in the water, splashing and laughing like kids. I ran and got my camera, wanting to capture their happiness, to bottle it up in a photograph so I can uncork it later in life and breathe in the moment again. It seems like it's been a long time since we played on the boat and the childlike wonder and timelessness of the moment... all that I love were there in that moment. In retrospect, I should have jumped in there too, but for my pink skirt and the apple pie waiting for a topcrust, I probably would have. You know, I'm learning that there is joy and abandon not just in running around like a kid (or a hobo, a hiker, a ski-bum... an free spirited artist...) Part of the joy is in being who you are with all of the responsibilities intact; being who you are, thankful and in the moment, whether you are a goofy boy climbing trees or a woman with laundry to fold. Once again these thoughts of being, of is-ness. By the way, the apple pie was tremendous.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Towards Cambridge
Thursday, October 17th 2007
Pride of Baltimore II
Baltimore, Maryland
Today we leave for Cambridge. We're not filled with the fluttery , wild imaginations of upcoming adventures for Cambridge is not a very long voyage, not particularly exotic. What is solid and good is to be sailing again. Sure, we brag up how great it will be to get into a town, to meet new people, to drink beers and sleep a whole night through. All that is great but it's not what we're here for. Miserable, tired and stretched to our capacities, we are yet brilliantly alive when sailing as we do. Maybe the crew of a boat serve merely as human cogs in the mechanisms of transportation, but there is satisfaction in being mind-numbingly immersed in the act of 'being' a cog. I think this is what is entrancing about watching people walk along the brickways here in Baltimore: I see only a cameo of their lives but in that moment do they so fill themselves exactly as they are with no added pretentionss or ego. If you try to go beyond that first brief impression of a person, they are found to be complicated and full of air pockets, which is to say that they are not full at all, but blown up with ego. I am the worst of all sometimes but when we sail, it blows all that away and I become simple and purely a sailor sailing, a cook cooking, a worshiper in the act of worship. All this babble is just trying to embroider and thicken a small, slippery thought that is hard to hold onto, namely the mindful and wholehearted immersion in the act of being. So, we will set out in a bit and leave Baltimore, bound for the Eastern Shore. We will grumble and gripe and feel tired and overworked but singing through our veins will be the simple joy of being as we do what we are here to do.
Pride of Baltimore II
Baltimore, Maryland
Today we leave for Cambridge. We're not filled with the fluttery , wild imaginations of upcoming adventures for Cambridge is not a very long voyage, not particularly exotic. What is solid and good is to be sailing again. Sure, we brag up how great it will be to get into a town, to meet new people, to drink beers and sleep a whole night through. All that is great but it's not what we're here for. Miserable, tired and stretched to our capacities, we are yet brilliantly alive when sailing as we do. Maybe the crew of a boat serve merely as human cogs in the mechanisms of transportation, but there is satisfaction in being mind-numbingly immersed in the act of 'being' a cog. I think this is what is entrancing about watching people walk along the brickways here in Baltimore: I see only a cameo of their lives but in that moment do they so fill themselves exactly as they are with no added pretentionss or ego. If you try to go beyond that first brief impression of a person, they are found to be complicated and full of air pockets, which is to say that they are not full at all, but blown up with ego. I am the worst of all sometimes but when we sail, it blows all that away and I become simple and purely a sailor sailing, a cook cooking, a worshiper in the act of worship. All this babble is just trying to embroider and thicken a small, slippery thought that is hard to hold onto, namely the mindful and wholehearted immersion in the act of being. So, we will set out in a bit and leave Baltimore, bound for the Eastern Shore. We will grumble and gripe and feel tired and overworked but singing through our veins will be the simple joy of being as we do what we are here to do.
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