The death of a day.

Saturday Jan 19th, 2013
6:30am-2:30pm
19th, 8 hours old, passed away at 2:30pm in the kitchen.  19th was born to Rare Surplus Time and Fully-Accomplished Lists, but sadly didn't see the fulfillment of the dreams of her parents.  19th was a happy child in the early hours.  She saw yoga, a trip to the temple and the grocery store.  She even saw a calendar and lists around 12:30.  Her potential was far greater than any other Saturday that came before her in the last 13 years.  Tragically she suffered a fatal blow just before 2:30pm with a deadly conversation.  All parties were at fault and couldn't stay calm enough to stop the pernicious exchange. Once drive and ambition were drained from 19th's critical minutes, she didn't have enough strength to survive.  There was a ray of hope around 6:45pm when we saw some color in 10 minutes, but it was not to last.  We are deeply saddened by our loss.  The potential of her life would have had far-reaching consequences into the garage, the laundry room, the honey-do list and the children's closets.  We will never be the same without her.
19th was preceded in death by Dec 15th and Aug 28th.   She is survived by Jan 21st and Feb 2nd.  A memorial service will be held tonight at 11:13pm by the bedside.  Come on your knees.  In lieu of flowers, the family requests that you send any free time you have to the schedule listed below. We hope that what we have learned today will prevent the senseless death of beautiful days in the future.

Pine Delight

It's the 19th of January and I'm not suffering any seasonal melancholia yet.  It's a January miracle.  This winter feels... eventful.  Let's credit the colossal snow storm we got 8 days ago.  Jan 11, 2013 (Cosmically 20 years to the day of the last school-closing snow storm.) There are heaps and towers and piles and stacks and mounds of snow.  Of course the day it came down was full of snuggling and warm drinks and feeling like reading and writing for 52 hours straight.  But the continuing majesty of it is keeping me non-melancholic.  This time January isn't just some chilly temperatures, hazy skies and dirty streets.  This is WINTER in all of its glory and spectacle.  This is something to be experienced and appreciated.  See the tree above?  I want to lick it.  I want to pluck all of the pine trees out of the ground and slide the snow off into my mouth like olives off of a toothpick with one graceful slurp.  What will it taste like?  Cream?  Cream on what?  Something that honors the pine, but I can't really go with the prickly thing....

Those trees have been holding onto that snow for days and weeks now.  It's their winter coat, keeping them safe from the elements.   I can't take it all in by just looking at it.  I want to put a hand to the whole thing all at once.  Tricky, as the result would undress them immediately.

When I was little it was popular to put slim silver streamers on your Christmas tree to make it look like it had icicles on it.  I never cared for the look but I also didn't understand it.  Now I do.

It is the year of the icicle.  (The spelling of that word is counter-intuitive to me. Icecycle? Icycle? Eyesikle in German. No wait, that's Eiszapfen) They are everywhere.  On every roof, on signs, bushes, trees, power lines, cars, railings. They are getting long and menacingly beautiful.  (Someone told me in Moscow they have snipers who shoot the icicles off of buildings so they don't drop and hurt anyone walking below.  They're a serious hazard in the spring, killing a handful of people every year in Russia.)

So this is Winter 2013 so far.  Hazelnut steamers have become a house specialty around here.  J is surviving temperatures in the single digits before school with warm breakfast drink and a shot or two of Irish Cream.  d is heating up rice bags around the clock and the electric blanket Rich got me for Christmas is my nightly indulgence.  Ski guards her cherished socks which are only allowed to be washed while she is in a warm bath, and D is hoarding quilts. Staying warm has become a gratifying pastime for the whole family.  40 more days until the calendar says March.  What will Spring be like if I'm not trying to recover from Winter?

  

Bolt the hermit crab.

Little D's hermit crab died this morning.  Well, we aren't sure when exactly, because hermit crabs are not widely known for their lively approach to life.  It's hard to know precisely when he took his last...
Oh wait.  He just moved.  He's alive.  phew.
You know the funny thing?  When D came up to tell me that the crab was dead, he was crying, which was a little surprising.  But I attributed it to lack of sleep, a pretty rough day at school yesterday, and generally a heightened state of emotion all around.  It wasn't just a wetting of the eyes, or a tantrum cry.  It was a genuine heartache cry, and so of course I cried.  I'm pretty sure it wasn't the loss of Bolt that drew out my tears, but my kids' heartache tears are directly linked to mine.   The valves are on the same knob. His tantrum tears, scraped knee tears and anger tears are not.  These tears prompt action or frustration or scowls of disappointment.  But woa - those heartache tears.  Immediate sympathy, empathy, compassion, care, concern, tenderness, ....  get out the tissue, those are Mama tears.

Meant To Do.

I've enjoyed a stillness and clarity of late that has eluded me in the mostly recent past.  I'm reaching for a way to describe it, but I'm not sure my wordsmything is refined enough to bring these buoyant emotions to the page... er...  to the screen.  

I heard this phrase last week - 

It doesn't matter what you do as long as you do what you were meant to do.

For a moment this is a consoling, peaceful thought. But panic sets in when you realize its up to you to sort out what you were meant to do.  

Meant to do? There is a mighty possibility for failure.  It could be all about how you make money, or who you become or where you live or go to school, or do with your time each day...  but I think it can be more resonant than that, and what I want to think of is this:

What I am meant to do is learn to be a complete version of me being made up of 10 parts Love. This would be a whole and complete me.  This is what I want to be meant to do. 

Right now I think maybe I have 6 parts love, 2 parts jealousy, 2 parts pride, and maybe 1 part something I can't even describe, and I realize that this would be 11 parts something - and that is certainly contributing to the challenge.  It doesn't matter what I do to do it, but I'm meant to learn 10 parts Love. I'm meant to be pure of heart....eventually.

Awake.

Awake.
Write.
Not yet.
Sleep.
Nope.
Write.
Scared.
Compelled.
On.
Shut down.
Sleep.
Nope.
Write.
Yes.
Here it comes.....
Edit later.
Sleep.

Semicolons

One of my passwords has become irrelevant.   I wonder if I should change it or keep it for memory's sake.  Memory's sake is an interesting sake.   Good sometimes for remembering lessons learned; bad sometimes for re-emoting through events that lost their value days and days ago.  I'll seriously consider a new password.

Relief is getting the tomato plants in before June 1st with cages to boot.

Teaching the last day of school to 9th graders on their way to high school is like sending loved ones off on a boat that you know is going to sink.  You can load it with plenty of life jackets and row boats, but some just won't make it.

I like it when google designs the letters to celebrate a holiday or a birthday.  I wonder if there is a entire team of computer wiz's who make their living designing those letters.  I wonder how much money they make... and if its worth it - designing the same 6 letters over and over.  (It's probably like teaching.  The subject stays the same, but the creativity lies in the new human beings that present themselves each time around.)  I wonder if they make more money than me.   I bet I could google it.

I have a graduate.  I have a child who will graduate from high school tomorrow.  I hope he feels more wise at 38 than I do.  18 and graduated from high school means now you are in charge of your own demise and your parents don't have to work so hard at ruining you.  It's blissful for everyone.  I'm in a static state of cliche the last few weeks.  I wonder if it will end in a few months or if it will just continue through to the first grandchild.  I watched some 10 year olds run home from school today and thought about how a few months ago I would have pined for the days when either I was running home from school, or when I had a house full of kids running home from school, but now (maybe because I'm old!) I realize that being a part of that moment is nothing more than seeing it, understanding it and enjoying it - which I can do - anytime.  I can as a 10 year old, a mother of a 10 year old, the neighbor of a 10 year old, the grandma or great grandma of a 10 year old.  We all live in the same days with each other.  God gives us so many chances to love every moment as we see them over and over.

I got to play the piano for Douglas and Jessie while they sang in class this last week.  It was a quintessential moment for me.  It was one of those slow motion, drink it all in, savor the moment, smell every last bloomin' rose, glance around steadily soaking it in, memorize the feel of the piano keys - moments.  Who I am and what I love is terribly evident in my children; for good or bad, and usually both at the same time. There they were singing their guts out.  My children are the prize.

Corinne is taller than me.  She is her daddy's child.  Maybe that's why I like her so much.

David is absent.  He is absent after school for hours.  He is being raised by this neighborhood on trampolines and with oreos and bike rides and sticks and bows and air soft guns and staring at the creek.  I miss him and love the neighborhood for keeping him out to play for so long.

Mark my words... this will be a landmark summer.  2012.
Congratulations to Douglas.  May the days behind illuminate with understanding for what had to be and what just plain old was. May the days ahead be just right and may you see them as such, always.

This post has two semicolons in it.  I have no idea if they are used correctly or much more about the rest of my punctuation.  I graduated from high school a long time ago.

musica

There is music that inspires instant tears.

Because of a memory.

Billy Joel's Lullaby

Because of an association.

Winter, Joshua Radin

Because of lyrics.

Beggar's Prayer, Emiliana Torrini

Because of the pure emotion.

Lux Arumque, Eric Whittaker

Malka Moma, Philip Koutev

This Years Love, David Gray

Slava V Vishnih Bogu, Rachmaninoff

This is the most magical and the most meaningful.

It's like I remember something I haven't been in yet.

Or is it empathy?

Are you so pushed around by emotion?

There's music for cleaning (Touch) and for dancing (Blue Savannah) and kissing (Every Breath You Take). There's music for staring (Gravity) and some for listening (Love, Unrequited Robs Me of Me Rest). There's music for driving (Alive and Kicking) and running (Impossible) and for eating (One Note Samba) .

There's music for flying (Just Like Heaven) and cooking (Ray Charles)  .

And probably some for dying. I hope there is music on this side when I go, and on the next.

I wonder if it will be the same song.