Revisions: poems celebrating (?) our return from our cruise, yard work, and my 65th birthday (upcoming)

Coming Home

First, there is the mail,
a sea serpent of mail 
that slithered through the slot,
oozed across the foyer and
down the stairs
seeking the depths
where dwells the unspeakable
catalog.

The voicemail next:
importunate, insistent
robotic cheer--
politics, prescriptions,
sales, reminders
of missed opportunities
and appointments
preying on the guilty
conscience.

Last, the list
assembled on the plane:
the flotsam and jetsam 
generated by departure,
postponed calls, deferred bills,
the pieces you’d hoped 
would go away if you
closed your eyes
and lulled the inner voice
(your responsible self)
with dinners and music,
plied it with drinks
and seduced it with sun.

You were a world away:
you’re back now, Sisyphus,
and life goes on.


Squirrel and I

We are digging frantically
he and I
burying things in cold, cold dirt:
he, acorns; I, pansies.
He’ll forget, in winter’s blast,
exactly where he stashed them
will rummage and search
the beds in much the same fashion as I
forgetful, rummage for my keys.
I at least know where my pansies are.

And in spring, equally astonished,
we prize our little resurrections:
Pansy faces grin in surprise,
broken free
from frozen burial
and his unintentional seedlings smile 
sunward: incipient trees 
with promise
of autumn fruit.

Acorns and pansies.
The cycle of
life eternal.

Improbabilities

I should not have gone to college
should not have caught 
that glimpse of grad school, should
have been satisfied with
the bachelors and settled 
for less, for the job next door that,
expressing interest, was not interesting
enough 
to capture mine.

I should not have moved
away, away to horizons
new and blazing blue: 
Charlottesville, California,
Virginia, Washington,
should not have been
a scientist, wife, mom, or teacher,
techie, trainer, meeting
maven, director, writer,
poet.

I should not be this me at all,
but I am improbably all
these threads in a strange   
and wildly-woven fabric: 
wooly bumps and silky
slubs and jacquard patterns
warp and weft historically defined,
suspended on the loom,
still a work in progress.
Life.

I've been away, but I'm back now. Almost. In the interim, there has been a cruise. Aruba, Cartagena, Panama, Costa Rica, the Cayman Islands...then a drive from Ft. Lauderdale to Tampa--and at last, the flight back to reality, to home, to the everyday. I can't say I am sorry.  It's been a packed two weeks, and our return will be equally packed with all the stuff we put off till "after": after our trip to San Diego, after the kids got off to Scotland, after this trip. It seems our entire summer was fraught with 'after's this year, and I'm anxious to get back to  a normal scheduling process.

But, before we do that, I need to sort through the memory books for the past few weeks, and tabulate a few of the thanks I am feeling. What better time than November to take a hard look at all that we have, and compare our mountains to other people's more modest molehills?

At the risk of being shallow--and I often am--thank you for air-conditioning, for wheeled suitcases, for clean streets, for clean water, comfortable housing, for the ability to travel, for the good health that allows us to climb stairs, to walk easily, and to carry our own luggage. Thank you for eyes to see, and a brain to appreciate the history, the meaning, and the beauty of all we witness. Thank you for the neurons that make the pathways that connect experience with knowledge and that allow us to see wonders of nature and technology and achievement and be inspired.

The catalog of experiences this past month runs from butterflies to aloe vera, from forts to religion, from palm trees to divi-divis,  from emeralds to native crafts...we saw banana plantations and birds, iguanas and monkeys and sloths. And the Panama Canal, hewn with pick and shovel a hundred years ago, and still operating under  a century-old technology. Imagine that scene in 1914: imagine the awe and wonder of the connection of two oceans by the sheer determination and back-breaking efforts of an army of men who conquered not only land and sea, but disease and privation to fulfill a dream. Imagination: something else to be thankful for.  Experiencing  the canal crossing was a memory worth having.

As were all the others. The rain forest boat cruise--the prototype for Disney, only with real animals in real trees. The stories from our guides. The recitation of working hours and requirements. The beaches, the buildings, the images…it was an education and an inspiration.

And now, we are home--faced with an election and the myriad of after-trip errands and must-dos that inevitably follow absences. Somehow we landed in the middle of fall, after extending our summer with this trip. It's chilly, and we have engagements to keep and appointments to make and we need to get used to doing our own cooking, cleaning and entertainment again. Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and Christmas hard on its heels. Time to focus; time to write and stop making random lists here, time to take a good look round, decide on a course of action, and then, pursue it.

It's good to be back.