Solo

The longest stretches of time that I spend alone on a regular basis happen to be in the car driving to and from work.  The trip extends  fifteen minutes tops.  When I really think about it the  allure of solitary silence does not last long.  I am uncertain that I could do it.  Having raised eight children, currently I am surrounded by teenagers.  Mostly teenage boys and their friends who have  suddenly sprouted chin growth.  Those same boys gaggle loudly much like girls do, but they would never admit it.  The youngest in the house, a girl is in perpetual motion,planning  and compartmentalizing our lives into tidy little drawers and cabinets.  There is always a house full. Right now, that is how I like it. Soon activity will shift and my husband and I will have to adjust.  It is best to prepare, to try on silence for short periods of time, pulling and prodding until there is comfort- much like wearing that first training bra.  It took some getting use to.  Regardless, going solo for more than minutes at a time agitates, unearthing a certain degree of discontent.

I know that this silence and contentment with myself is key to my well being.  Is it really the silence or is it that fact that I don't know what to do with myself after so many years of mothering and caring for others?  I must be prepared.

Mothering Big

A decade ago, I made one of those death bed promises that I don't regret, "I'll take care of him, don't worry Ma,"I reassured as I referred to my brother choking back tears.   My mother had always taken care of all of us.  Despite the miles that separated as I grew into adulthood, I knew that she was only a phone call away.  She was there during my most troubled years as a young wife with young children and two full time jobs.  I worked day and night with little sleep or rest.  During periods of great joy mother was there to celebrate births, little dimpled hands wrapping around her gnarled fingers as she rocked and cooed.  She had a great capacity for love. She was always there for me.

For nearly thirty-two years I have mothered.  When life is care-free it is easy to remain filled with love, hope and great joy.  It is during those times when you fear that you will fall to your knees collapsing under the weight of stress, anxiety, frustration and anger that living in the shadow of the most perfect mother becomes challenging.  

It is not fair to compare myself with my mother really.  We live in a different time. Parenting feels a bit more challenging than when I was a kid.  I rode my bike everywhere, the phone was connected to the wall and I could not go far in having a private conversation.  Life today seems more complex and tenuous.  Is that only because I am an adult and a responsible one?  Mothering is a complex job.  Certainly not for the faint of heart.

After my work is done on this earth, it is my fervent hope that  my children will look after one another.  It is in the act of mothering that our children begin to make connections for how they can move about the world nurturing in big ways.

 

This Moment

My friend began laughing, "You.  Shy?" Describing myself as shy is akin to admitting that I can sit down and eat my weight in ice cream in one sitting.  I wish I wasn't so painfully shy in crowds and with people I do not know well, but I am what I am.  As I lean against the wall busying myself with a cup full of water, I watch others in the large room effortlessly move from person to person and group to group.  Someone rushes passed me, I am unnoticed as though I  blend in with the wallpaper.  My eyes shift along the perimeter of the room searching for a clock.  This has to be over soon, I mutter to myself.  I wasn't always this way.

It is dark when the alarm goes off.  My girls still asleep, will only rouse when the first light pierces the night sky.   I am curled on my side, just resting and waiting for daybreak.  Every morning is the same.  The gentle cooing of the birds is often the first thing I hear in the morning as I shuffle my way to the coop.  Once I open the door,  a spring of wings and feathers is released and they flood toward me.  Some begin pecking at my broken boot strap that hangs loosely.  Some mornings, I talk.  Some mornings I move through the mental list of chores for my hens in a silent monk-like state. Mostly, I move slowly and deliberately so I don't step on a bird.  They depend upon my care.

By the time I return into the house, Rex my dog has ambled out of bed and is ready to give kisses, to go out and to be fed.  Before I rush off to work, my large lap dog will sprawl across my lap, while one cat curls on available lap space while the other sprawls against my shoulder like a fox stole.  My morning has been punctuated by crowds of creatures with the only alone time recorded to be while showering.  Yet, I am in a state of peaceful acceptance for who I am at this moment.  Time might as well stop.

Unsung Heroes

At first, I wondered what was the big deal-the park being closed due to the government shut down.  Why is this any different than any other off-season visit to the park when we walk across closed gates? Although the politics of this nation locked Acadia and sent the bulk of the rangers home, it is that the safety of throngs of fall visitors cannot be guaranteed.  Yes, this is our park.  Yes, we have a right to enjoy all that this area has to offer, but frankly, the fact is that people do stupid things.  No one intends on falling and breaking a leg only to be rescued from elevations and sharp drops that necessitate a litter to be suspended by ropes and pullies down the face of a mountain.  This operation can only be orchestrated by an army of trained people.  Unfamiliar with the fury of the Atlantic and a mix of storms, spectators have been plucked off the shore and flung into the sea and tossed about like leaves in a whirlpool.  There have been drownings.  Yet there have also been rescues through the heroics of our Acadia National Park rangers and volunteers.  I am privileged to live where I live.  If I choose to venture into the park for a walk, I will use every precaution and a bit of common sense while  repeatedly mouth the words, "Thank you.  Thank you." Our rangers are unsung heroes quietly overseeing the safety of thousands and thousands of visitors each year.  Sometimes, it is only through loss that we recognize all that we once had and enjoyed.

Losing

Fear shakes me from

Slumber,

Losing you

Fresh,

The heartache lingers.

It was just a dream,

But so vivid,

Real.

I wake with a

Thirsty heart,

Every moment

Precious.

Don’t leave me.

I love you.

So Much Depends Upon

So much depends upon
The warp of a wooden door,
And fat, little chickens
Who morph
Into
Escape artists,
Skinny ones,
Who will
Never
Return
Home.

(This poem is inspired by William Carlos Williams' Red Wheelbarrow)

Dancing With My Brother

We play the dance,

My brother and me,

Clumsily,

He links elbows with independence,

While I watch,

Wanting to help,

Offering.

He stumbles

Through

The asphalt parking lot

Then silently,

He reaches

For my hand,

The hand

He refused

Moments

Ago,

And he never

Lets go.

10 Ways Life Has Changed (Really in no particular order)

10.  There are not only bones in fish, but bones in our bed.

09.  Even though the kids have grown, our laps are always occupied.

08.  Strangers stop and ask for a photo with him.

07.  Kisses are given liberally and sloppily, everyday-several times a day.

06.  Co-existence among species is bliss.

05.  “Chick-magnet” takes on a whole new meaning.

04.  Consideration is given to wearing black clothing with newly applied white

        accents before going out in public.

03.  Sleeping in a double bed means curling one’s body into a tight postage

        stamp-sized space to accommodate, as well as sharing a pillow.

02.  Packing now is similar to packing for a baby when we travel.

01.  Each day is filled with undying devotion, contentment and gratitude.

Risks

“More than half will not survive to maturity,” the woman behind the counter stated evenly.  This was something that I had not considered or a reality I chose not to remember.  My husband and I were not novice chicken owners.   We had done it before.  Less than a decade ago meant a spring visit to the “Seed and Feed” for a half dozen chicks to round out our flock.  Now, I was just at the ordering stage.  I wasn’t supposed to consider death so early in the process, was I?

It seems that all the latest magazine issues that passed through my hands like Mary Jane Farm, Martha Stewart Living, and Mother Earth News had articles about chicks, chickens and their care. Devouring each, reinforced my resolution to become a bit more self-sufficient and led me to inquire about ordering chicks.  Sweet little fluffy balls with feet and beaks and doting buff colored adult hens were modeled inside the pages, glossy and perfect.  None reminded the novice of the pitfalls or heartache of ownership.  The only image that I have held in my mind is the energy those young ones possess and the loud chorus of chirps, almost deafening at times as we set the brood in a tall box for comfort and safety. We all gather and watch.  If you sit long enough you can watch them grow and change.  The anticipation and excitement of new life in the house quickens my breath and yet, the unknown fate of the birds is a reality and leaves an inkling of dread.

Yet, there is not much in this life that does not come with risks.   Mutual reliance is a basic condition that accompanies poultry ownership and outweighs the possibility of heartache.