sunpower

It's bright out, now, but *shadowless.  The children are all tucked up for Quiet Time - Lil' Snip asleep, Nice with her three books, and Sugar & Spice with mathbooks and a Bible assignment (to probe Proverbs for health wisdom).  I curl up on the sofa with the laptop and my carbs of choice (Cheez-Its today, and new-to-me Breton crackers), having left a message for a friend to call, vacillating now between my blog or Seinfeld re-runs.

[Blogging won, thanks to guilt, and yesterday's glut of Seinfeld.]

It's not quite overcast, and yet, not sunny either.  Something about the weather keeps me inside myself.  Even a phone call is hard to make.

Earlier, the sun shone - brightly, as if it meant to stay; as if spring were here now, and not weeks away - and I found myself jolted out of my inertia, and cleaning windows, of all things.  The fresh air invigorated, the glass sparkled, all was right with my world.

Now the sun is in, you can hardly tell a difference in those windows.

Will it shine again before they're spotted and dusty, to show off my work?

Thoughts come slow today.  Guilt is not a good muse.  And all those poems I read to my daughters (the Sonnets to the Portuguese is what we're on) shame my commonplace, contemporary, inadequate writing.

A week ago, someone stumbled on my blog, searching for Janet Gehman, who (whom?) I mentioned in a post about chocolate.  She was my English teacher, taught me about Shakespeare and possibilities; her crooked smile will always be one of my favorites.  I wonder where she is now, and who was looking for her, and if she knows how much she gave me.  I'd like to thank her, please her somehow, to give back.  I'd like to see that smile again.  She always seemed to have some secret delight for her fuel.

It's chilly here.  The pellet stove is burning but it has some catch-up to do, since the sun went in.  My Cheez-Its are gone and my friend hasn't called.

Maybe it's time for some Seinfeld.


*At a meeting for artists last month, David Nolt, a local painter, talked about a painting he did for a group of children.  The elements were all in place, but lacked depth.  He told the children to watch, he was going to make the sun come out.  I pictured, immediately, highlights, dabs of white and yellow, the way a landscape brightens when the bank of clouds rolls away.  Instead he said, "and then I painted shadows."

The shadows have stuck with me.  They're how you know the sun is shining.

pre-victory

I'm in one of those dry, battle-y spots where I keep waiting for the win,
so I can write about it.

But it doesn't come.

And here's what I decided to do:  write anyway.

There's been sickness.  Weariness.  Irrational irritability.  Hormones are suspect.  Flu viruses may play a part.  Brokenness, woundedness, yes.  And at the bottom of it all is the wondering, can I do this??  Really?

Love, I know, is a choice.  Someone told me that, once.  Or maybe I read it somewhere.  Poetic, isn't it?  Bracing in a pleasant, theoretical way.

But then there I am, folding his underwear when I am furious at him for being himself and not the implausibly perfect version of himself I've invented.  Cooking his breakfast when his touch makes me bristle.  Looking at him in the bathroom mirror, trying to smile ....

But look!  Just typing this is tilting the balance.  I can hardly think of what annoys me for the shaming flood of things I realize he does for me.  {And so, once again, the victory comes through a step into mid-air, by faith.  And gratitude, the footing for it all, shows up sturdy.}

He fills the pellet stove daily, to keep me warm.  

(and keeps it set higher for me than he would for himself).

He feeds the chickens in all kinds of weather, trading my kitchen scraps for their eggs.

He faithfully goes to work - on days when he's excited about his job, and on days when he'd rather be anywhere but there - to provide for us.

He prays for me.

He thanks me for breakfast, every day.

He snuggles close at my request, to keep me warm.

He purchased, cleaned, assembled & cleaned again, prepped & re-prepped a site, and cleaned yet again a pool "for the children" (when it was really me, maybe, all along, who so wanted a place to swim).

And he put it in the greenhouse so we could swim pre-season.

He comforts me when I am sad.

He counsels me when I ask his advice.

He encourages me to try new things.

He fixes my washing machine, my kitchen faucet, the wiring in the space heater, and whatever else needs to be fixed - not because he's experienced,

but because he loves us and can learn.

He loves me enough to let me grow, even by making mistakes.

Even when they affect him.

He forgives me.  And keeps loving me.

And there's the win I sought.  Gratitude brings it, as usual.

"Love never fails."

quips

Until I have something of substance to say (or at least have the guts to write out my substance-less thoughts; the well is still so dry), I give you my children's words:


Lil' Snip, watching me dose our ancient bathtub drain with baking soda & vinegar:  "It's simmering!"


Nice, eating candy hearts left over from Valentine's Day:  "Mmmmm!  The green ones taste like leaves! .... April Fools!!!"


"Pine cones!!!" cries Lil' Snip exultantly, holding up an alphabet puzzle piece of three ice cream cones.  "You can have one.  I get two."

snapshot

It's a lazy morning, overcast & mellow; I am too sleepy {thank you, Downton Abbey} to think of anything more productive to do than write for my blog.  Lucky you.

I hear .... the humidifier, the pellet stove, the clicking of my fingers on the keyboard, Nice saying the letters of the alphabet to herself as she does a dot-to-dot, Lil' Snip asking random questions to whoever might be listening, the arrhythmic thumping of Nice's feet on the floor, the faint strains of Bach's Brandenburg Concertos playing from the kitchen.

I smell .... the clean scent of a white jar candle burning off to my right.

I am waiting for ... 11:30, when I will blow the clay bird whistle I bought in Antigua to summon my little lunch-makers in from their mysterious outdoor play.

On the bookshelf .... lies Flabbergasted, which I am still reading, wondering if it will turn out to have any deeper meaning or remain pure fluff; Love & War, which I haven't picked up in a few days, but saw my Farmer had been reading while I napped on Sunday; and The Contemplative Mom, for which I had great hopes, but stalled out in the first chapter, when it became apparent that one needs to already have made space for contemplation in order to make the most of this book teaching moms how to make space for contemplation .... Maybe I need to write "The Wanna-be Contemplative Mom."

On my desk .... oh yeah, I have a desk!  I'd forgotten about it, since I haven't used it ever since we got wireless internet almost year ago ... but the only reception was in a back corner of the kitchen, where my laptop was promptly relocated.  My daughters now use my desk more than I do:  "Sugar, could you go get me some stamps?"  .... "Spice, can you grab me the scissors?"  .... "Nice, could you bring me the stapler, please?"  (Nice:  "What's a stapler?")

Projects pending .... bedroom curtains (one was made, months ago, out of five needed); painting the cellar steps; painting a final coat on the bathroom floor, then sprinkling silver glitter and top-coating with boat varnish; crocheting a shawl ... and that's just what comes immediately to mind!

Projects permanently shelved ... hand-quilting the comforter I made; designing new storage for the Back Kitchen; painting the door (& screen) to the backyard, as well as painting the garage door and its wooden framing, at least until warmer weather.

Plans for the rest of the day ... a nap, right after lunch & a story for the girls; some schoolwork with Sugar & Spice and then a supper of black beans and rice; and finally - the high point of my day - coffee with my cousin and a snuggle with my Farmer before falling asleep!

How 'bout you?  What does it sound / smell / look like around you today?

ripples

There's something you need to know ...

... you touch people; you do: 

the smiles you give (or don't), 

the words you speak (or write), 

the way you look at people, 

the helping hand, 

the opinion voiced (or not). 

You make a difference in the lives around you.  You really, truly do. 

So smile a little more often.

Lend a hand despite your hesitation.

Voice your opinion gently.

Let your eyes sparkle, sometimes, when you meet another's eyes.

You make a difference.  

You are touching lives, even when you can't tell a thing.  Maybe someday

you'll know what a difference you've made; maybe you'll go to your grave unaware.

But your life makes the lives of those around you better, or worse,

depending on your choices.

"Be kind; for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle."

~ Philo of Alexandria