Repeat

Writing a blog everyday is an act of faith.  While I was clicking button after button to get to this blank page, my mind was spinning wildly hoping to land on a topic substantial enough that I could write for an extended period.  After a long week preparing my three week departure from school (I am part of a team who is testing in all of our schools in the district) my mind appears to be empty. After school I walked the shore path with Rex, shopped for fruit and veggies and prepared a simple dinner of chicken, salad and broccoli. As I age, I yearn for simplicity in all things.

Most days have become simpler since the kids are getting older.  We gained a driver in the family who is more than willing to make some pick-ups and drop offs happen. After school today, I walked with Rex long before the sun set.  Everyone was busy doing their own thing which allowed me to do my own thing; to walk and empty my head.

I could get used to this simple life. Eat, drink, walk, write and read.  Repeat.

Perfection

Over several days, I have been working on a little publishing project for my daughter.  The original image has been lost, so I have been trying to reformat it into a higher resolution.  I don't want to use any other for I adore the sweet, tender tone of this photo.  With the help of my photo-whiz mentor, Jeff Kirlin I am hoping against all hope that the resolution issue has been resolved. Awaiting another proof.  Have I mentioned how much I love this photo? It is perfection; at least in my mind.

Happy Belated Travelinma!

This image was among the first in a series I posted to Travelinma on May 7, 2007.  Happy Belated Birthday Travelinma. Incidentally this is Post 1231!
                                                                                    Costa Rica-Travelinma Photo (2007

Grit

My throat is sore. My heart pounding as though I was the runner. Today  I watched my  daughter with long graceful strides run in an invitational meet at UMO. I can't get enough of it. 

I began my running career on a sandy stretch of sand as a lifeguard. I ran everywhere thereafter. I loved to run, but never identified myself as a runner. My daughter does. I want to belong. Seventy pounds overweight I jog in short bursts. My daily walking routine ihas become faster, the more fit I become. Grit and persistence is necessary for any degree of success. Just ask my daughter.

 If my knee holds out perhaps my daughter's voice will be hoarse as she cheers her mother on yelling, "You're a runner Ma! Go!"  If only my grit and determination matched my youngest. She is an inspiration.

Reflections in Memorium

Anticipation.  Perhaps my three cousins did not regard seeing me with as much excitement as I held for spending a few hours with them.  Or maybe it was the tradition surrounded by this time of year.  Honoring those that passed before us while commemorating Memorial day strengthens the realization that we all belong to the same familial thread.  My uncle would step on the spade loosening the soil making room for red geraniums, silver fox and lobelia while we brushed the lichen from each head stone.  The galvanized watering can filled took two to carry as we shifted weight between us sloshing water; requiring a second trip to the spiquit hidden in a hedge.  Uncle George did the bulk of the work, while we all looked on; stepping back to admire the quick work of adorning the primary headstone.  Each side of the family laid to rest in different cemataries. Divided by religious beliefs.  St. Joseph's in Biddeford where my Catholic maternal grandmother and my two baby sisters are buried was always our first stop, while Laurel Hill in Saco was chosen as the resting place for my maternal grandfather and his family.  Protestant.  Even as a young kid, the injustice of this separation was evident.  Being raised as a Catholic, I still wanted to be buried among my family at Laurel Hill.  Large treks of tulips, manicured hedges and large greek style rotundas with slate floors still dot the landscape.  On Memorial Day all those years ago, we would stand beside our car on Beech Street and watch the parade pass.  Yet nothing compared to walking through Laurel Hill and visiting grave after grave of descendants. My mother sharing stories and memories that I have forgotten.  The years are not kind to memories or family stories.  The importance of what these ancestors ate for breakfast, what kinds of books they read or  exactly how they conducted their lives is lost.  I just know that their blood courses through my veins.  I belong.  Isn't that all that matters?

Camp

The black flies joined in force trying to irritate and send us from camp fleeing. We waved them away, swatting fearlessly as they dispersed, but only for minutes at a time. Despite this late spring normalcy, we enjoyed a toodle around the pond. As usual winter mice invaded camp shredding paper to beat idleness. Once things are cleaned up the Keene Compound will be ready for a season of swimming, boating and fishing. Our not so secret secluded beach on the pond just might tease us to don our bath suits a tad too early; that is once the black flies have vacated Maine!

Paradise

The appearance of the cruise ships in Frenchman's Bay marks the beginning of summer.  (That and the black flies. Reports are that they are thick.) This morning we shared the shore path with a few tourists who stopped now and again to take photos.  I wondered if after all these years if I still viewed this place like a wide-eyed tourist.  Most days I think I do. Sometimes I stop walking and just gawk. Struck by the ever-changing beauty.

My adult children have moved away at one point in their lives, but have all returned home; to this. They are drawn to the diverse beauty-the sea, islands, mountains and lakes.  We have it all. Paradise.