We Sit

The boy in his man disguise
grey hair, blossoming pot belly
at the head of the table.

The baby, almost 30
eyes still too innocent for mascara, cross legged
catty corner from him.

And me, the middle one
looking younger than I sound, feeling older than I am.
across from her.

Going back.
To the house in Elmore
Was it white or yellow?
Bright--you stepped on a nail there.

Then to Arkansas
With a bathroom under the stairs
where we would snoop on the adults.

Up to Cass Lake
When the baby came and you spent the night
fighting sleep, protecting me.

In Jordan
The big picture window to the world
and the sand hill where we played.

From there to here
The man looking at the boy
The woman comforting the baby
And me still flailing in between.

Grandma's House

He wanders into the kitchen
dragging his hand across the formica tabletop.
His fingertips remembering the countless potato dumplings rolled
between them for family dinners.

He sits in the corner next to the gas stove
on the red vinyl high chair every one of the children used,
his gaze moving across the worn tile floor,
up the cabinets with the tarnished metal handles to the speckled counter.

He finds himself standing before the white double basin sink
that still holds the food-stained drainer and wire brush,
the sunlight bouncing off the knife rack above the dishsoap.

He knows this is where grandma washed her silver hair
and scrubbed her dentures with the tattered blue toothbrush,
then would drift past the red chair and switch off the light
before climbing the wooden stairs to sleep.

Blessing or Curse

Blessing or Curse


I step over the threshold
“I’m home” bounces down the hallway.
Sleep little one, it’s just you and I

Drop the overstuffed workout bag
“I’m so hungry” sets itself on the empty table.
We’ve got each other now

Stumble up the stairs into yesterday’s pajamas
“I’m not going anywhere” lays on the floor in a pile.
You won’t be like me

Grab dinner from the microwave
“What’s on TV tonight?” plops onto the couch.
Someday you’ll go to college and have a career

Flick the light switch off
“I’m tired” soaks into my pillow.
You’ll break the curse

Grandma

My grandma went home to die today. She has been in and out of the nursing home and hospital for months now battling many ailments that seemed to pop up one right after the other. In my mind, there was never a doubt she would come home. I mean coming home as in being there to make her infamous scalloped potatoes for Easter dinner and her chocolate chip pie for dessert. Prior to one of our many holidays together, I spent an afternoon at grandma's learning how to make that dessert.

We got all the ingredients together and laid out on her old formica table. As I was pounding the graham crackers into fine crumbles, she was melting the butter and preparing the fluffy parts. Since the graham crackers didn't take long, my next job was to take big blocks of chocolate and slowly scrape tiny pieces off and into the bowl. "Grandma, isn't there an easier way to do this?"

"Nope" came the reply. "This is how it's done. You said you wanted to help, and this is how I do it, so keep making those little chocolate bits".

I kept scraping and scraping while the polka music played in the background and grandma told me stories of her childhood in the kitchen with great-grandma. Half-way through the bar of chocolate I wondered "How much of this bar do I have to cut for the dessert?"

"All of it" was the matter-of-fact response. As the person I was that day, I remember questioning why I ever wanted to go there and do that. I know I probably wouldn't have knowing how much work it was and how my hands and fingers felt afterwards. If the girl I was then knew how very important that time was, I would have cherished every moment more. I don't think I remember how to make that dessert.

With tears dropping over the edges of my eyelids, I wish I would have asked her more, listened more, begged more for the history--her history--my history.

venting

I'm changing my way of thinking. I began this process quite blind to what I was doing a while ago. This whole new way of being came to me gradually as I realized there has to be more to this life than I have found. I must have been looking in the wrong spot. I was not only looking in the wrong place, I was looking at everything the wrong way! Gradually, books, CD's, and television productions made their way into my life at just the right moments and opened my mind to a new way of doing life. It's not so much doing as it is being and believing.

My focus shifted from paying attention to the negative and the past to the positive and the present. Let me share an interesting experience that happened just in the past few hours. Last night, I began a new journal entry, which started like this "Today I am thankful for...". This entry formed a wonderful list of the fabulous experiences and people I met throughout my day. It wasn't a momentous day in life--I didn't win the lottery or meet a huge celebrity. I was thankful for the little things that made my day unique and interesting. Had I not done this, one of the best things of my day (well, even more than just that day) would have been forgotten.

I had been on the phone with my brother earlier in the evening and he was noticing that something was bothering me. He didn't say this to me, but he felt it. After a bit, I opened up about a frustrating incident from the day. He listened and let me vent. When I was finished, he thanked me. HE THANKED ME FOR VENTING TO HIM. What? That's right. He thanked me for allowing myself to open up to him like that. You see, part of what I am moving toward is keeping a positive outlook and focusing on what I want my life to be rather than on the things that are negative and what I don't want more of in my life. To vent flies in the face of that, but I am finding it is very difficult not to to that sometimes.

So, today, I stumbled a bit in my quest to find that perfect outlook on life, but I gained so much more. I feel much closer to my brother, and he was able to help me in a way I hadn't let him before. THAT is what it's all about--making and cementing those connections in life.

Snow day

The snow fell in great white waves making the world a cottonball wonderland today, and I thought of them. My nieces, bundled to their chins in chunky snow suits. Caitlyn, being the oldest, would be running (or trying to) into the drifts, and falling down only to get back up and do it again. Madelyn, being only six months old, would be in her daddy's arms watching in amazement how the flakes fell crazily from the sky.

That's an amazing sight when you're a kid staring into up into the cloud-filled sky and being attacked by all those crisp snowflakes. Tracking one from the moment I could see it clearly until it hit my face was impossible. Every one looked just like the others while the wind mingled them together in a great gyrating dance until I became dizzy. That's when I closed my eyes and stuck out my tongue. Millions of snowflakes would land and melt on my cheeks and forehead seeming to have the uncanny ability to avoid my mouth. Inevitably, one--then another and another--hit and melted instantaneously, giving of their lives so I could enjoy a very slow and glorious drink of pure water. What an amazing feeling.

Then searching to find that pristine spot of land where the snow hadn't been marred at all by old snow piles underneath it or some sort of animal traipsing across it. There is where I perfected the art of catapulting myself into the air, spread eagled and fully extended with my backside to the Earth, to create the best snow angel ever! Snow angels were never really good enough for me if I could see the footprints leading up to the bottom of her skirt. The trick wasn't in getting into the spot, it was getting out of the angel form without disturbing the lines or the depth. I don't know if I ever did make the perfect angel.

On this wintry day from my adult vantage point, to be in that snowsuit--straining to move, wondering how to get out of it fast enough to make it to the bathroom--would be the most luxurious place. I don't envy my niece for her ability to be out there. I throw on my boots, throw off my age, and plop down next to her--fanning my arms and legs still working on that perfect angel.