Make good decisions

May we all listen to our own wise words.

Of the five events

Scheduled for today

I may do two,

If I can be truly present

For two.

If not

It’s down to one.

My schedule

Is no longer color-coded.

I learn to make

Good decisions.

I remember the parent advice

I gave to my children

As they headed out the door

Make good decisions

I would say

I will

They would say.

Make good decisions

I tell myself.

Good advice

I think.

Popcorn

I remember when my son was three and he played with a piece of gold string longer than with any of his other toys. It was his kite, his trap, and any number of other things. I am reminded of him while I watch the kitten with her singular piece of popcorn.

The kitten, with joy

Plays with one piece of popcorn

For at least an hour

Forgiveness

I received a gift last week. It was a gift which I received along with my own baggage of how another important person had not given me the same gift, in exactly the same way. I woke up this morning realizing I 1) had not received the first gift fully, and 2) No one gives things in exactly the same way as another. Another lesson in forgiveness.

I wake up and realize

I have now forgiven you

For something

You never said

You never even

Implied.

It was the small child in me

Who was rarely noticed,

Rarely praised,

Who interpreted things

In a twisted way.

Sure

You might have said things better

But now I hear the tone,

A clear tone

Almost

A silver bell.

I look at the mountains,

Out the window,

My shoulders relax,

The bell sounds,

And it is simply

Gone.

Gold string

I remember a Christmas, long ago now, me, a single mom with a three year old boy: blonde and beautiful with wonder. His favorite gift that year came off of a present...a piece of gold string. He ran through the house, the string behind him: My "tite" My "tite"  Later the string became part of an intricate series of traps. Gold string. Who knew?

Gold string:

I remember the small boy

Running…it’s my kite!

Roller Derby

I almost didn't post this.  But hey, here it is.  I think we are, all of us, several people.  The idea is to get everyone together, on one team.

I am peopled by bitches

With short Roller Derby names:

Gert

Flo

Pru

Ang

They demand to be called

By their shortened names

So they will be named out loud

More often,

Held and cherished

And part of me.

Gert is my Depression:

The black dog with her red spiked collar.

Flo:

She Who Must be Indulged

She will take some time

To love

But love her I will.

Pru:

The Small One Who Must be Heard

She has been waiting for years

With bows in her hair.

Ang is my Anxiety:

The pit bull:

She goes for the jugular

With even imagined threat

So I may lay even lower.

I am peopled by bitches

With Roller Derby names.

They are part of my team.

There is no “I”

In team.

There is only we,

All of us together

A pack of bitches.

We demand

To be recognized.

Counting moments

These days I am considering my life as a child, remembering in my bones, remembering in my sinews.  As I watch blue jays in the back yard, I remember my first or second blue jay, a wonder of a bird.  There are wonders still to be unpacked from my past.  I return to counting my age in days.

I return to counting my age

The way every small child does.

I am

Fifty-nine and a third

Plus two days.

Each moment counts,

Doncha know,

Each moment counts.

I count mine.

Some mornings I wake up as a child

I believe all of us live with a small child inside of us.  Sometimes she wakes up and demands attention.

Some mornings I wake up

As a child

Surreptitiously

Seek approval,

Perhaps a pat

On the head,

Or simple reassurance

That everything

Will be fine.

This child wears

Black patent leather shoes

Frilly white anklets

A lavender checked dress

With smocking,

She has her hair cut

Pixie style.

She is three.

Some mornings I wake up

The child wakes with me

Simply

Demands attention.

Bright pink

Amazing to me what brings back memories.  Sometimes it's just a particular color.

Bee balm

Bright pink as the color

Of my favorite summer dress

Age 6.

I wore it

To the San Diego Zoo.

I remember the tigers

The California cousins

My bright pink dress

Just like the bee balm blooming

Next to the backyard fountain

With two children

Holding an umbrella.

The backyard fountain,

Now a planter

With marigolds and celosia,

Even amaranthus

And next to it,

Blooming,

Bright pink bee balm

The exact same color

As my favorite summer dress

Age 6.

Footprints

I told this story at least twice this week, possibly more.  I have always admired the clarity of my son*s response.  That piece of newsprint was taped to the side of the refrigerator for years.  I don*t want to do this anymore.  This week I let go of two or three things, one of them was large.  Or at least it felt large.  Next week I need to clean off my feet, find fresh socks and shoes, and wait for the next thing to come along.  

The preschool exercise

Was to dip feet

In black paint,

Then walk across

A long strip of newsprint.

The teacher wrote

What the child said

Afterward

In a thought balloon

Next to the footprints.

It*s wet

This is fun

My feet felt squishy

The teacher was faithful

To their words.

My son

Age three

Arrived home

With his long strip of newsprint,

Footprints black and even.

The thought balloon read:

I don*t want to do this anymore.

Cloud of Information

I have to laugh.  Even as I write this, I know this blog is adding to the massive Cloud of Information.  Somehow this does not bother me.  So...what does it matter that someone might find out how many steps I take in a day, or whether my sleep was light or heavy?  Still... I am the child of the father who always overpaid his taxes, in part so he would be left alone.  I am the child of the father who sought to protect anything and everything.  This Memorial Day I am the child of the father who fought in World War II, who was injured in France, the only one left alive when his truck was bombed.  I am the child of the father who never talked about such things.

So many things

To pay attention to.

We have devices

Which almost mean

We do not

Have to pay attention to anything

Ourselves.

The devices will do it

For us

Just as long as there is Wi-Fi.

The devices will chronicle

Every atom of sleep

Deep or catnap;

Every step we take

Running

Or walking;

And oh so many

Other things.

There is an application

For everything, almost.

The apps will register it all

In the Cloud of Information.

I am the child of my father.

I just purchased

A pedometer.

It will count my daily steps

As I work up

To ten thousand.

It will not be registered

Anywhere

But in my head.

I leave my sleep

To fend for itself.

I am the child of my father.

The Cloud of Information

Knows enough about me

Already.