Coming Home

We're home again. Or at least, halfway home. We just spent two months in our OTHER home in San Diego, and have returned to the dregs of winter here in Virginia. If you can believe it, in the rush of our post-Christmas departure, I managed to leave our wreath on the door and a few bright red Christmas decorations in the pots on the porch. There are a few Christmas presents still in the living room that I have to find places for, and the little potted Norfolk Island pines I bought for the mantel are (oddly) still fresh-looking and green. Go figure.

I, on the other hand, am constantly in need of refreshing. Two months may have been two years as far as my brain is concerned. I turn the wrong way to get to the microwave. I've forgotten where I keep the towels. I even had to stop and think about which mug I use for my tea. I am, in a word, discombobulated.

Adding to the overall confusion is the readjustment to east coast time, traffic, and weather. And to the importunate Jake, who seems to be on some sort of schedule set by a master of psychological torture: he wakes and yowls around 3:45 am, and again at irregular times after that, punctuating his singing with treks across the bed and pillows, the nightstand, and all bodies in between. During one of those forays, I remembered (after Jake's leap from the nightstand to the floor, followed by ominous silence) that Jake can pick up my glasses and/or wristwatch in his teeth and make off with one or the other. He had.

Amidst all this, we discovered that our USPS mail forwarding request (scheduled to stop two weeks ago) had continued, and that last week's Virginia mail had just arrived in San Diego. So our mail had an all expenses paid (by me) jaunt from VA to CA and back. In a compensatory move, however, the newspaper delivery, supposed to resume today, did not. Why do I even bother?

Today's journeys encompass: the grocery store (after some reconnoitering in the pantry, refrigerator, and freezer), the UPS store to pick up stuff we shipped back, perhaps the doctor's office for some bloodwork that I had postponed, and maybe, just a spin around town to re-familiarize myself with the place. Maybe the nursery for some pansies or something to brighten the porch and patio. Some flowers for the table? I will have earned them.

Minutiae (also Taxi)

 Minutiae

 

An insurmountable list of tasks

written in sequence—

each task tucked into

a space between two others:

squeezed into the interstices of living,

hardly noticed.

Prescriptions, groceries,

laundry, the post office,

furnace filters, phone calls,

chinking in the gaps, 

locking days together with Lego-like precision--

these ordinary tasks:

veins of gold in the granite of living.

 

 

 

 

Taxi

 

The yellow taxi-streams

Flow past islands

Of parks, museums, offices;

Past rock-bound towers of merchandise

Flashing neon-bright both day and night.

The city is a living thing,

Breathing traffic and smoke,

Pulsing with people

In a rhythm all its own.

For Katherine (our pastor at OPMH)

 For Katherine

 

Life is a constant surprise:

The unexpected rises each morning with the sun,

challenging and daring us to invent ourselves again

(with love)

in the face of unpredictable circumstance.

 

We learn – through a world of experience--

what works, what is required, what help we need,

what help we can give to others in our journeys

(with love)

and discover surprising possibilities.

 

There are stars to follow

through this maze of challenge and possibility;

there are those who lead the way

(with love)

and help us to surprise ourselves.

 

All the love,

the living, learning, leading you have shared,

the challenge, possibility, and surprise

we’ve known

go with you as you leave.

 

May love walk with you as you go. 

 

Room Mothers (for Sharon)

 

My mom’s lilies always bloomed on St Joseph’s Day

or maybe just around then,

but other things blossomed too:

friendships that lasted longer than those flowers

grew and strengthened over the years.

Begun when our kids shared a kindergarten classroom, 

fostered over tea and coffee cake,

joined by others: mothers who shared recipes and opinions and lives.

While our children learned alphabets and reading and getting along

we baked cupcakes and manned parties and cut and pasted and showed up.

We were friends then, and continue today

a country apart, but still sharing, if only memories.

Still blooming like lilies on St Joseph’s Day: your birthday.

I remember.