Oklahoma: Tornadoes

Today I am thinking of children.
And parents.
And a myriad of horrific things,
but mostly of parents and children.
I'm thinking of the morning line of cars,
dropping kids off
with brown-bag lunches and backpacks--
and maybe a raincoat or umbrella--
the casual morning "Love you",
the kiss blown to their backs
as they run to catch up with a friend.
I am thinking of
this everyday goodbye,
and the inevitable mind-shift
toward errands and work and deadlines,
toward laundry and groceries and dinner
toward walking the dog,
and wondering how much can be done
before circling back at 3
for pickup and games and lessons,
gymnastics and dance class
and soccer practice.

But at three,
there were shrieking sirens
and freight-train winds
and no time to think
(except of the children,
and where they were;
except of the scary sound
of wind and the horizontal rain,
and the scream of metal
and smell of gas and fire..)
no time to think
of anything but shelter, of dropping down,
and wondering if this would be the end.

And after, after...
too much time to think
of frightened children
clamped together against a wall,
watching their world
sucked skyward in a fountain
of disassembled lifetimes..
exploding without warning,
and ending
for parent and child
with (for memory's sake)
just that last and everyday goodbye.

Two little words

I will admit that I am probably not Miss Manners' favorite person. I tend to let things slide. I will have a great time at a party--and, although I always thank my host/hostess on my departure, I very seldom remember to write and mail a note the next day. Likewise, gifts. I am good at on the spot gratitude, but even being a writer (of sorts) doesn't guarantee that I will dash off the all-important note later. I am most definitely not the poster child for etiquette.

I am mortified by this character failing--particularly when I am brought to my knees by thank-yous I have received. I don't think there is anything that melts my heart more than a little voice on the phone saying "Thank you for my wings, Nana!" --or the same sentiment accompanied by a picture in the mail.   Just the mental picture of Audrey wearing her butterfly wings (found in a toyshop in Kingsport, Tennessee) and crouching in the box I sent them in, ready to emerge from her 'cocoon' in all her splendor...well, if that doesn't put a smile on your face, I feel sorry for you. Likewise, the image of Claire, stomping around the house in her new blue rain boots, practicing for puddles...another sweet "thank you, Nana!"

But, while these predictable Nana-moments touch my heart, there are the unpredictable ones that arrive out of the blue and absolutely knock my socks off: the former student (and I mean DECADES in the past) who wrote after seeing me named poet laureate--and said she was now a lawyer, and had given up the music she had pursued in high school (she was in the orchestra)--but when she saw that I had kept up with my writing (I had been her chemistry teacher) had decided that she could do the same with something that gave her pleasure: her music. Thank you.

Or, even more astounding, a friend of mine who wrote to say he'd gone back to school--at least in part due to my taking a chance late in life (over 14 years ago, now!) and changing careers. Me? An inspiration? Come now. But there was his message in my inbox yesterday, and now, permanently in my heart. Thank you.

I am one person, and one could never say that I was ever in any kind of powerful position. I lived my life, did things that were expected of me, and never asked why (though I have been known for the occasional "What the hell..why not?") I am ordinary.

And yet, and yet...now and then, out of the thousands of ordinary contacts and conversations, somebody else finds an extraordinary moment: something that snags their attention, something they act upon that makes a difference to them. It happens all the time, I am sure, for everyone. It's what makes us social beings, what helps us grow. Most times, those moments go unacknowledged. Most times, we just accept the contributions that those around us make to our own evolution. Most times, we continue on our way, richer for the experience, but unaccountably silent, when it might mean so much to someone else to hear the what and how and why. The 'thank you'.

But, sometimes, people say it. And that can make you think again about your place in everyone else's world, and perhaps prompt a few 'thank you's of your own.

(Oh, and there's a little coda to this: today, when I was re-filling the fountain and sorting through pots to re-pot my yuccas and my ginger plant, and thinking about where I could park my car so I could retrieve the 25-lb bag of potting soil from the trunk...a couple walked by with their daughter, and the woman asked if this (gesturing at my front walk and pots and bench) was mine. I said yes, and she proceeded to tell me how much they all looked forward to walking by  my house because of the flowers and the shrubs and the color..and didn't I have poetry out there once? And they really loved that, and read what people had posted and didn't I think that people really needed poetry? And this was about the poetry I had posted over a year ago! 

Which goes to show again that people you don't even know can sometimes be affected by the little things you do..whether it's planting flowers or putting a clothesline out with poetry on it...)

Two weeks..

It is already two weeks into May--and two weeks since my final Poetry Month post. In the past two weeks, I have witnessed my garden springing to life--counting excitedly the perennials that saw fit to return (despite the name, perennials do not ALWAYS come back in my experience) and planting (hopefully) this year's crop of geraniums and parsley and basil and lavender and mint and thyme. (There's one spot in one pot where lavender stubbornly refuses to take hold, no matter how many times I plant it..)

I've wandered the mulched aisles of nurseries and garden centers and found (and alas, purchased) a variegated ginger plant that I've coveted since I saw a pair, exploding from urns flanking the door of the Craft Shop in Williamsburg. Forget the facts that, first, according to the proprietor, it cannot tolerate afternoon sun, and second, that I don't have a pot large enough to contain it and give it room to grow. I love it and may be moving it around the patio all summer in its yet-to-be-purchased pot. Perhaps a pot on roller-skates. It IS a big plant. But beautiful.

I have also had my beloved fountain dismantled, cleaned and repaired. The first time I started it this year, it immediately exhibited a previously undetected leak. I might as well have poured the water directly from the filling jug onto the brick pavement. Although it took the guy three times the time he'd promised me, we are now back to full-burble. The birds are happy, as am I.

Against my brick wall facing the street, all my large pots are sporting new growth. Last fall's pansies have resurrected, and, even though they are looking a little leggy and will soon need to be replaced, color is color. And my pinks are aggressively pink this year, and threaten to obliterate the centrally-placed junipers in their pots. Never saying die, I also replanted my wall-hung Wooly Pockets from last year. Last year's inaugural plantings withered and died in the blistering afternoon sun, and were replaced with fake plants. This year, I planted trailing sedums, with a few petunias for color. If the sedums don't survive, next year I may have to plant cacti...it's that hot on that wall.

Emerging from the garden, I traveled with JC to his old hometown: Rogersville, Tennessee--to visit relatives and touch base with some old friends of his from high school. We then continued on to Asheville, NC, and the Grove Park Inn and the Biltmore Estate, to play tourist for a while.

And now, we are back. Not to normal (never that!) but back to the Folger and the new tour format, back to doctor's appointments and dinner parties (JC's first last night, for some generous guinea-pig neighbors, with him doing all the cooking!) and maybe, if the weather can finally make up its mind, storing winter clothing and unearthing summer from our closets. Before you know it, we will be traveling again to Shepherdstown and Chautauqua...but those are grist for a future mill.

It is good to be back.