As we were planting flowers today, my husband reminded me that I used to be a kid. In other words, it was ok to dig in the dirt. He’s right.
When I was a kid, I loved being outside. Playing kickball, basketball, riding my bike, and digging in the dirt. Only after practicing piano and violin, of course.
Well, I may not enjoy it quite as much as when I was a kid. But, the results are worth the sweat and sore muscles. Especially when we are working together.
Red clay roots
Must run deep
I can’t think of
Any other reason
For your vibrancy
A fiery reddish orange
Creating community
Wherever you grow-
In some instances
Grouped together
In small bouquets
To mark celebrations
Or remembrances
Most of the time
Woven amongst
Blades of green grass
A colorful lace carpet-
Unafraid to share
Your birthplace
A variety of colors
Dances with you
On the breeze-
Pale pinks
Lovely lilacs
Sunwashed yellows-
Welcomed as part
Of your family-
Imagine I was a bird–
Gliding overhead
Following painted maps
A witness to your beauty
A witness to the power
Of shared roots across
Uncommon ground
We are officially on baby watch! Emilia is due May 23. Doctor appointments are happening weekly. The parents-to-be are excited, anxious, and tired. But I have no doubt they are ready.
There is one thing I have not been able to decide. What is this sweet baby going to call me? Gart says he is Papa, easy-peasy. Not so for me.
I have tried on multiple titles in a variety of phrases.
Nana loves you.
I’m so glad to be your Mimi.
Hi, Emilia. Grandma is here.
You get the idea.
Well, the other night I had a dream. A baby was crying. I remember walking up some stairs toward the crying. And right before I woke up, I heard it-Gigi.
Hmmm…I could get used to that. If Emilia approves, that is.
It seemed so silly. Embarrassing, almost. Crying in front of a perfect stranger. A customer, at that.
He asked about music: music that reminded me of Dad. The songs could have been a playlist from my dad’s eight-track player in his truck. If playlists had been such a thing back then.
He responded with words of understanding. His eyes reassuringly glistened. We talked about how he had played piano when he was younger. Now that he was retired, he might have more time to play.
I encouraged him to continue playing. Even mentioned taking lessons. He left with a registration form in hand.
A chance meeting? Or maybe, just maybe, a moment worth counting.
Fast forward a few weeks. And a now familiar face walked in the door.
Hi, Mike!
Oh, you remember me?
Of course! I told my family how I had cried in front of a perfect stranger at work!
We both smiled. There were no tears this time.
Decided I would like to sign up for those piano lessons. When can we start?
I no longer felt silly or embarrassed. Instead, I held a moment of awe in the middle of my heart, standing in the middle of a music store.
Driving down
A two-lane road
Rows and rows
Of sprouting crops
Wrap me in
A soothing hug-
So much has
Happened
Is still happening
Above and below
The Earth to ensure
Their survival…and mine–
Within their embrace
I see logic planted
In harmonic lines
Mathematics
Mixed with music
My heart beats
In the spaces
Between each
Row of green
My soul sings
Sweet and free
Not wanting
This song to end
Much of last week felt heavy. Saturday, I was thankful to spend time writing with my friend, Ali. https://flashlightbatteries.blog/ What a treat! I wrote the following poem during our time together. It seemed like the perfect choice for Simply Sunday. Hope you enjoy it! ❤️
Where were you in my yesterday?
Where will you be in my tomorrow?
A thought
A smile
A memory
Today, you may
Very well
Hold my hand
And that is
A beautiful thing
Even if only
For a moment
Sometimes
A moment is
All that is needed
To carry us
Into tomorrow-
Where was I in your yesterday?
Where will I be in your tomorrow?
Space Between Seems vast Both in distance And significance One nearby Easily seen But often Overlooked The other Requiring Near perfect Conditions For clear Viewing- Which holds more sway? That far-away star Or your crooked smile- Guess it depends On who you ask
Secret O’ Life by James Taylor ~Kelley Morris, piano
Einstein said he could never understand it all.
Planets spinning through space; the smile upon your face.
I want it to
Go away
The feeling itself
And the way
It makes me feel
Yesterday
It refused-
Sticking around
Like a dull
Headache
Affecting
All of me-
Blurry vision
Upset stomach
Tense muscles-
So it goes
With anger
But like that
Dull headache
I know it will ease
When carefully
Tended with
The right remedies
Anger is listed in the stages of grief. But somehow, I was not expecting it to be part of my experience. That is not my personality. Nor did I understand its close relationship with sadness. That is, until this week.
Driving to work Monday, I had a sudden image of Mom and Dad at home. They were going through their morning routine, smiling. I smiled. Just as suddenly, I felt mad. Angry at the reality that he is not there with her.
Honestly, I did not recognize it as anger at first. But it did not fade. Two things helped. Naming it and allowing it to work its way out thru tears.
Smiling helps, too. It's just that some days that requires a bit more intention.😊
When our kids were younger, they would spend a week at my parent’s house in the summer. We would meet my parents halfway between our house and theirs. One weekend, dropping off. The next picking up.
This week took me to that halfway point again. Except for this time, I was meeting my brother. And I wasn’t dropping off or picking up kids. It was my mom. She was spending the week with me. ❤️
We had a great time. Lots of time to talk and reminisce. We laughed and cried as we talked about missing my dad. But most of all, we remembered. And remembering is good.
Each bird has
Its song
Each song
Its melody
Each melody
Its contour
But each voice?
Well, that is a
Bit more complex
Changing with age
A familiar timbre
Develops, yet
Can be altered
In an instant
By circumstance
And emotion-
Whether warm
And welcoming
Afraid and unsure
Or confident
And caring
One thing is sure-
A deep-down longing
Rises, a desire
To hear the voice
Of one no longer here
Just one more time
A longing not
Easily erased
A longing
Leading me to
Scour through
Voicemails
While listening
For memories
Of your voice
Inside my head
Piano Girl 