Brick feature wall

We double-crossed our fingers in the car so she might get the single bed and not have to share a bunk. She determined it was not a good thing to pray for, but crossing fingers was o.k.  She got the bed, the smallest closet and the brick feature wall which is part of the prize.  Breakfast together tomorrow, then we take the scenic route home via the Sandhill trail in Nebraska.

The dorm room

Is set up.

My daughter drew

The drawn slip of paper

Netted her the single raised bed,

The desk without shelves,

The smallest closet.

Hers

Has the brick feature wall

For the room.

Preparing to go

Ah lethargy.  The daughter is printing pictures on photo paper.  My beloved reads baseball scores.  The cat sleeps on the dining room table.  Me?  I am writing this... dressed and showered and packed. Ready, yet not quite ready, really... not quite ready... to go.

The cat

Lounges

On the dining room table,

A place he is never allowed,

Well,

Almost never.

We have not agreed

What time we will leave,

Each of us

In various stages

Of readiness.

Even the turtle

Has barely made it

Out of his log house.

Kindergarten Wall

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A3w5SsgPuCM 

Here it is.

It is difficult to know

What to write today.

Less than 24 hours now.

The cat is sound asleep

On her hair supplies

In the middle

Of the living room floor.

The daughter

Is out to breakfast

With friends.

Yesterday she listened

To John McCutcheon

The Kindergarten Wall

Over and over

At home,

In the car.

We sang the chorus together

On our way

To pick up one last thing

From Marshall’s.

Less than 24 hours now.

The cat is now asleep

Next to the bins

Which will go under her bed.

I get the car

In the name of paying attention to the particulars, I have now put a hold on our mail and stopped the newspaper.  Today is the therapist, negotiations, vegetables and maps.  I get the car!

First off today

Was the rehearsal

Of how I am doing

With the leaving,

With the individuating,

With the connecting

In different ways.

Now comes the negotiation

Of who gets the car,

Then the haircut,

The vegetable pick-up,

And the trip

To Triple A

For maps of Iowa

Nebraska

And Colorado.

I get the car.

Conveniently free

Last night I made arrangements with the cat and turtle person down the block.  This morning I drink coffee and write.  I notice the growing pile in the living room.  I tend to the tattoo on my left foot.  My beloved and daughter still sleep, upstairs. 

This week the mornings

Are conveniently free

So I can sit

Write

Drink more coffee

Than I really need.  

This week I notice

The buds on the lily

Are goners,

But still the full flowers

Hold their own.

The living room

Begins to fill

With dorm room

Paraphernalia;

The cat sleeps

On her pile of shoes,

Head propped on a heel

Just so.

Stopover

Four days.  As of now, we pack the rental van on Thursday afternoon, leave Friday morning.  Two clients for me this week.  One session of my own.  Therapy is a good thing for everyone.

We are

A few days

From leaving.

She plans a stopover

To see friends,

Now in Iowa City,

Along the way.

When we say

This may mean leaving

A day earlier

She says

No

No

No

Her mind is set

On leaving Friday.

Practice

The daughter is having breakfast downtown in Logan Square.  We are having breakfast here at home.  I carefully clean my tattoo, apply the thin layer of recommended lotion, pour another cup of coffee.

We practice Sunday morning

Without her.

She left for breakfast

Downtown.

We slept in.

Now we contemplate

One more cup of coffee,

Consider next Sunday

In Colorado,

But first

More comings and goings.

For now we practice

Sunday morning

Without her.

Oh Bother

It was a good workshop.  I reconnected with people I have not seen for awhile.  I met some new ones.  I learned the difference between mindfulness and grounding.  I came away with at least six more things to read and research.  Then came the question at the end.

What are two things

You’ll apply from this workshop

When you return to work

On Monday?

I got stuck:

On the two things,

On returning to work,

Stuck even

On Monday.

Other than these

Minor things

I recognized

It had the bones

Of a good question.

Other people in the room

Dutifully answered.

Me

I sat stuck on

Two things:

I had only one

Or possibly ten or twenty;

On returning to work:

My work never stops

Really;

On Monday:

Most often a day of rest

For me.

Other than these

Minor things,

It was a good question.

Like so many times before,

My answer did not fit

The question’s specifics.

So often I find this:

My answers quickly move

Beyond the specific question.

Oh Bother

To quote Winnie the Pooh.

Oh Bother.

Flash floods

The flash floods must be somewhere else.  Maybe I will find them on the way to the workshop I will attend today.  Just to be sure, I plan to drive the high roads.  

At 4 AM

The warning signal

On the phone

Announced flash floods

Until 8:30 AM.

In the sun

Of 7:45

The only sign

Of excess water

Hangs on the windows,

The cold inside

Pairs with the humidity

Outside.

They dance together.

We can see little else

Through the glass

Just the possibility

Of flash floods

For the next minutes,

The sun through rivulets

Running down the pane.

Confessions

True confessions.

I have hidden

Behind Mary Oliver;

To the side

Of Barbara Brown Taylor;

In the wake

Of so many women

(forget the men, for now)

(sorry, men)

(apology flows through

My Minnesota veins)

I have clung

To the hem of particular garments

When in truth

They are clothes

I could never wear.

I have even walked

In certain shoes,

They pinched my toes

Threw me off balance,

When really

I have always craved

Comfortable shoes.

I own six pair

Of the same

Comfortable shoes,

Different colors,

In the closet,

As well as pink plaid flats

For fun.

I carry a lapis wallet

For that pop of color.

It matches nothing

I own.

Lilies

Feeling nostalgic and hopeful and still glad to have another week watching the coming and going before the drive to Colorado.

Next to the gold tassel,

The graduation gown

Folded neatly

On the front table,

The glass vase holds

The stem of lilies:

Two white flowers

On their way out;

Two bloomed overnight,

Fragrant;

Two buds still                                

On that same stem,

Their future

Remains unknown.

Baby’s breath pillows

The entire arrangement.

Baby’s breath always

Looks the same

Fresh or dry

Like the pictures

on the family room wall,

Moments captured

In time.

Still

The lilies hold life

Not captured

But released

Into time.

Pop of color

Yes, I bought it.  I now have a pop of color for every outfit.

She is good

At what she does:

The resale shop lady.

My daughter finds a wallet

In an unlikely

Shade of blue,

It has a spot for everything

And then some

But

It is a color

That matches nothing

I own.

She is good

At what she does:

The resale shop lady.

There’s something about

A pop of color

She says

It brightens up

Any outfit.

Oh, you’re good

I say

You’re good.

So many ways

I see your Facebook posts, Elizabeth Molitors and Laurie Vanderlei.  Flank steak and matching roommate pillows.  I can't compete.  IKEA makes me dizzy.  Deviled eggs and potato salad are more my speed. Macaroni and cheese later this week.

So many ways

To launch a child:

Pack a van

Cook a favorite meal

Shop IKEA

Look at all the possibilities,

Dizzying

“For-real” dizzying

For this mom.

Dad gets

The next IKEA trip.

Me

I have made deviled eggs

Potato salad

Beets with feta cheese

For dinner.

So many more meals

To come.

Macaroni and cheese

Comes next.

So many ways

To launch a young woman

Cook a meal

Sit in the living room

Watch the comings

And goings

So many ways.

One step at a time

Yep.  Soon she goes.  Every conversation feels deep and meaningful. Time is going faster than I remember. It's the kairos and chronos time distinction.  We are solidly in kairos now.

One step at a time

Even though we all

Would rather leap

To the ending

Or at least the middle.

One step at a time

To learn

What must be learned,

Incorporate it

Into all the steps

Made before,

All the steps

Yet to come.

One step at a time

Even this time

When so much is crammed

Into every moment,

Even more important

To recognize each step

As it comes.

Font

There are several ways to send your last child away to college.  This week we decide on the font for our matching tattoos.

Today or tomorrow

We choose the font

For the tattoo.

Nothing script-y

Nothing scroll-y

Something that will look good

On 18

And 59 year old skin

Alike.

Location has yet

To be determined.

I figure

We have all week.

The tattoo guy

Says it won’t take

Much time.

Of course time

Is relative.

The Countdown

I have determined to pay attention to every possible minute.  The daughter is upstairs getting ready to go kayaking with her boyfriend's family.  Next Saturday, to my beloved's horror, she and I will get matching tattoos.  Who knows what will happen this week of all weeks, and next week of all weeks.  Then the drive.  The countdown continues.

The countdown continues.

Counting

May be the most human thing

We do:

Days

Hours

Minutes

The number of times

We said

Or even thought

I love you;

The number

Of joint pedicures;

The trading back and forth

Of whose choice

To pick where lunch

Will be consumed

No, after you,

No

After You.

The winning

The losing

The realization that nothing

Is ever really lost

In the whole scheme

Of things.

The countdown continues.

The Days

The Hours

Even

The Minutes.

The Lasts, The Firsts, The In-Betweens

My daughter's friends are trickling off to college.  We begin the drive in exactly two weeks.  A two day road trip each way.  Lots of firsts and lasts and in-betweens.

We are moving

Through “The Lasts”

Only of course

They are also

“The Firsts”

And even

“The In-Betweens”

Last night

My daughter

My beloved

Spent a night on the town.

I stayed home

Watched TV

Home improvement shows

And

Criminal Minds.

I opened the doors

To the backyard,

Listened to

Night noises.

This morning I got up

Before the creatures of the night

My daughter

My beloved.

I opened the doors,

Listened to blue jays,

Pondered the two

Sound asleep

Upstairs.

Whether this is part of

The Lasts

The Firsts

Or even

The In-Betweens

Remains

To be experienced.

Bottom

I remember saying to my therapist: Oh, I can't be depressed... I have anxiety, He said It's possible to have both.  hmm.

With Robin Williams throwing the spotlight once again on depression and suicide, and the whole world commenting on whether he died from an illness like cancer, or didn't choose to stay alive, or some subset of the spectrum... I think about last winter, in particular.  Remember last winter, the winter that wouldn't end?  I do.  While I cannot say my bottom was like Robin's, or like the bottom of any number of people I know, I have had a taste of what it's like.  And I know no one's bottom compares to someone else's bottom.

The bottom I hit

Last winter

Was nothing like

The bottoms I witness

In so many

Still

It was low enough

Even almost

Subterranean

Or maybe

Under water

Where the phosphorescent fish

Live

Only blinking

Sometimes.

The bottom I hit was

No

Not like so many bottoms

I have witnessed

But still low enough

To know

I prefer not to live there

And will do anything

I can

To emerge to the place

Where light

Is more a constant thing

Not only occasionally

Blinking.

Battle

I see this as cramming one more thing into an already tight, emotional, schedule.  He sees a celebration worth the time and effort.  This may not be the battle in which to invest my energy.  Sometimes... it is important... to go with the flow.

This may not be

A battle worth winning.

After all… some aren’t.

First leg

Yep, she's leaving soon.  All the pieces are being accumulated at home.  Will they fit in the car or do we need to rent a van?  We will accompany her to Colorado.  We will not be the same on the return trip.  But first comes the trip west.

As I contemplate

The trip to Colorado

Two weeks hence

I consider the changes

Facing me

On the return drive

Back through the fields

Of Nebraska,

Of Iowa,

Then back

To the western suburbs

Of Illinois.

I contemplate the changes

I will find.

But first,

First comes the trip

From the western suburbs

Through Iowa,

Then Nebraska,

And finally Colorado,

That first leg

Of the journey.

News

It's funny.  This could apply to any number of things.  Today it applies to the news that Robin Williams committed suicide.  It's not so funny.  We are a people who forget such things as soon as the cold news melts.  It does seem as though there is a teaching/learning moment here re: depression/addiction/suicide. A teaching/learning moment which lasts until it melts.  

Once more the flurry

Of news beyond news until

This still cold news melts.

Waiting for sun

We are all creatures of habit.  The cat knows the spots the sun usually hangs out.  So he waits.

The cat sits in the spot

Next to the front window,

The spot the sun would shine

If today was sunny.

He slits his eyes

Hoping

Hoping for sun,

His paws curled under.

It is time

For the morning nap

In the sun.

He sleeps

While he waits.

Cloud-covered daylight

Will have to be enough

This morning.

Nothing more needs to be said

More elderberries

Worth noting.

Journal entry, August 9, 1854

"To Boston. 'Walden' published. Elder-berries. Waxwork yellowing."

                                                                Henry David Thoreau

Exactly

One hundred sixty years ago

Walden

Came on the scene.

A man of few words:

Henry David Thoreau.

A man

After my heart.

My elderberries

Have long since

Gone to the birds.

His elderberries

Were worth noting,

Next to Walden

And of course

A trip to Boston.

Frog

Amazing the things we do when we finally feel settled.

Over the last few weeks

I have settled in

To where I am.

By this I mean

I am content

To live

Where I live,

Even to move some backyard

Lawn sculpture

To the front patch,

The place we meant to plant

Perennials.

Perhaps next year.

This year

Today

I will move the frog

Created from old tractor parts

To the front patch.

The frog is our version

Of

The lawn gnome

The mirror ball

Mother Mary on the half shell.

Today

I will move the frog

To the front.

NPR

Back to driving and NPR.

Links in the chain.

I am back to driving.

I realize I only listen to NPR

When I drive.

When I was being driven

By my beloved

We talked.

When I was being driven

By my daughter

Music prevailed.

Links in the chain.

Now that I can drive again,

I am more connected

To the world at large

Through NPR.

I know.

I could have listened

At home

But at home silence

And the birds

Ran the day.

I had more respite

This summer

Than ever before.

And now,

It seems it’s time

For driving

And NPR

Once again.

Links in the chain.

Hobby

Sometimes even an interview is involved, during which I discover Not this one, either.  What an odd hobby. Still I wonder whether the right thing is out there somewhere, or in here somewhere.  It seems the jobs I apply for now are getting closer.  It seems the conversations I am having are getting closer... to something.  Still.  What an odd hobby.

My hobby these days

Is applying for jobs I

Surely will not get.

Connections

I am sitting here under the soft blue blanket.  I consider what connections I may make today, knowing full well there will be many unplanned encounters.  Today has already brought delightful conversations with the phlebotomist, the pharmacist, a barista, and even the cat.  I consider what connections I may plan today, never knowing exactly what the outcome will be.  It remains to be experienced... all of it.

It’s all about connections:

The ones we choose to make;

The ones that catch us unawares;

The ones that trip us up

In front of Starbucks;

The ones that wait

For the dead of night

Only to come to light

In the soft silver gray

Of dawn.

Connections that grow

With sunlight,

Grow when watered;

Connections

With no known meaning

In this time and place,

Only to offer their possibility

So much later.

And sometimes

Never at all.

Biggest difficulty

I had a series of dreams last night.  Interspersed were periods of wakefulness during which I worried about how I would drink my coffee this morning.  Yes, really.  I awakened to find the Sunday story from inwardoutward.org.  A reflection on the broken pieces.  Somehow just what I needed to hear.

The biggest difficulty

This morning

Is a lack of milk or cream

For my coffee.

So I eat yogurt

In tandem

With sips of coffee.

Now I will go to church

To hear about                    

The feeding of the five thousand,

The twelve baskets

Of broken pieces

Left over.

Eight acres

This is for the Vicar of Bolingbrook http://www.vicarofbolingbrook.net/the-suburban-life-for-me/  Thank you, Heidi.  Have a splendid time exploring and experiencing things on your sabbatical.  Goat cheese is not my thing, but I am particularly attached to my backyard, and a particular pair of blue jays who returned this year.  Thank you for reminders of what is important.

Years ago

We bought eight acres

Mostly hill

With a babbling stream

8 acres in Wisconsin.

We would build

Or camp there.

We have seen the land

Maybe three times.

It is just outside

Of Patch Grove,

Down the road

From Boscobel,

Site of the top security prison.

Last year I found

A first cousin, once removed.

She lives in Albuquerque,

Summers on a farm

In southwest Wisconsin

Near that eight acres

In Boscobel.

We should meet there

She said

We should meet

Perhaps in Boscobel

At the A&W.

48 hours

Whatever will you do? they ask me.  No problem here.

It’s me and the cat

The turtle and the blue jays

Two cars in the driveway

At least 48 hours to do

Whatever the heck I want

The gift of time alone

Silence if I wish or

Whatever music beckons

An ear

A possible haircut

My tastes are simple

Me and the cat

The turtle and the blue jays

Two cars

48 hours.