Flipping pages

Flipping pages, both boys intently stare at or randomly jabber about the pages in two different books.  Ezra's bare toes pop out from under the book's open yawn and barely peek over the couch's cushion; blue slippers encase Joey's feet and hang on for dear life as he taps the bookcase and jiggles in tune to his spirit's whirlwind beat.

Ezra changes from a book about a bear hunt to a slender dinosaur reference.

"Ezra, I will read it to you," Joey says as he puts down his hardback, which guides the reader through Roman numerals utilizing painted pigs - as many as duo milia (MM).  Just picking out words, such as color, Ezra, mommy, and paint, Joey would have a hard time telling Ezra much more than the letters on the page, but his desire is admirable.

Running about the room, Ezra ends the chase by throwing the book behind the couch.  Joey's prompt smack of Ezra's noggin sends him to his room, crying and screaming.

Life is filled with such adorable moments - ones you want to press into a book and savor on a rainy day; with such beauty and kindness.  But, as quickly as one flips a page, the moment clouds into such chaos and woe.  Only, then, to return to sweet smiles, remorseful kisses, and eager enjoyment of the day's delights.

Friend, is your day like this?  Sometimes, you feel no matter which way you turn the pages of a book, you cannot make sense of what you see there.  Other times, reading is smooth and delightful - you are eager to get to the next page.

Today, I'm hoping more for the latter for Joey & Ezra, for me, and especially for you.

Palsy-walsy Spirits

"No, no, no, fly!" Ezra says while dramatically waving his chubby little hand in the air.

A fruit fly or two circle his head while eager to dive into his snack.  Whether Ezra eats french vanilla yogurt with homemade granola or chocolate ABC cookies or sweet grapes, it matters not to the pomace fly.  He is content to sip the flavorful waft above the food as much as dining on the flesh itself.

As a result, we wave our hands or swatters exuberantly.  We pour little viles full of vinegar and ensnare the opening with perforated plastic wrap ready to trap the poor small flies.  Even bagging fresh fruit, slipping ripened tomatoes into the refrigerator, or covering the compost container seem to be futile efforts.

This time of year often brings visitors from the family Drosophilidae.  They are thick as dew upon over-ripe tomatoes, dangling on the garden vines near the house.  And despite the friendliness suggested in their family, it is not so.  For, they are more nuisances than loving guests.

So, too, the ghosts bundled away in baggage we lug with us year after year.  So, too, one unkind or insincere comment out of a million salutations.  So, too, pains long ago felt, but fresh as new wounds.  So, too...

Could you add to this list of nuisances that plague your current experiences, friend?  Do you, too, brandish a hand flagrantly?  Are false friends hovering in the background, waiting to prey upon your faults or mistakes?

Fear not and let your smoldering cease to consume yourself.  Let the smoke die down for you, surround yourself with more favorable advocates, and enjoy the fruits of life before they fade away.

Miscarriage

The emotional and physical pains of a miscarriage are breathtaking.  I'm not talking about breathtaking beauty, although there is that, too.  Mostly, the experience is breathtaking in that it literally steals your breath away and leaves you grasping at ways to work through the pain.

The bleeding started on a Monday.  It seemed like the usual show one expects after intimacy, but soon turned into something scary: bright bleeding to cover a pad by Wednesday.  The amount of blood heightened until Saturday's first non-periodesque pains mounted to jolting stabs.  Unlike normal, natural birth pangs, these stabs were constant and worsened until they reached a crescendo right when the sac, fetus, and placenta slipped through the cervix opening.

It lasted four and a half hours.  I paced, practiced Lamaze breathing techniques and focal pointing; my husband read fairy tales aloud; Enya's soothing Memory of Trees softened the atmosphere along with a vanilla-scented candle and low lighting; I danced, I rolled into a ball on the bed.  Unlike previous birthing experiences during which the birthing ball provided immense relief, I squealed in pain when I tried sitting on the ball.

The silvery sheen that slowly emerged looked like a teardrop.  It was entirely intact: sac with amniotic fluid, soft pink placenta, and chain-like cord.  In some ways it was beautiful and resilient.  It was a world that could provide every possible need for a baby-not-yet-born.  But, there was no baby.  Curiosity prevailed and carefully cutting open the sac, a barely developed ovum no longer grew within.  Like a minuscule peach pit unsheathed from the flesh, the hope of a child was lost with this painful unveiling.

The pain stopped immediately; at least, until a week later.  Small clots reminded me that not only had I experienced an actual birth, but needed to experience proper recovery time, as well.  With two little guys to care for, it is - admittedly - difficult to find rest amidst the turmoil of the day.  But, friend, if you have experienced or know someone who has experienced a miscarriage, that strong woman needs rest and she needs to know you care - about her, her family, and about the loss of life, of a dream, of the hope that she recently cradled in her womb.

What can we do, friend, to help others that need us?  Make a meal that can be made immediately or frozen.  Many friends were kind enough to perform this simple act that shows concern for daily needs.  If the family has other children, offer to take them outside to play while mommy can have a little nap or just put her feet up.  This shows recognition that full-time motherhood is a consequential and exhausting non-paid profession.  If they do not have children, offer to help with house cleaning or grocery shopping.  A third way you can help, friend, is through the compassion of care: pray, call or e-mail every day or every other day to check on the mother that recently lost a child.  This shows you truly care and do not want your friend to suffer alone.  Another way to mourn and celebrate the hope this life had brought is to take a living plant to the family.  This gives a tangible remembrance of the hope the couple had and encourages them to see the bittersweet beauty of the experience: that their strength, love, and compassion for others in painful situations is heightened because of the happenstance.  Friend, if you've experienced a miscarriage, what has been a comfort to you?

There are so many ways in which to help someone experiencing a miscarriage.  My earnest desire is that you, friend, understand the true pain of such a situation, even if you have never experienced it personally, and that it encourages you to reach out in ways you may not have before.

In our household, a weeping redbud grows above the remains of our little one.  It provides comfort and hope to our family.  We'll mourn the loss of a hope, but still dream.

Lush lavender

Lush lavender, with spires of purple blossoms here and there, are the only sweet smelling plants in my garden that Japanese beetles do not munch.  Those iridescent, blue-to-green bugs pile onto the yellow Midas touch roses in a huge orgy; they mate on myrtle, overeat okra leaves, scarf down swaths of strawberry greens, and nibble cherry leaves into tin-punched art.  So, a quart of soapy water in one hand and a green garden glove on the other, I pluck bugs and dunk them in their bath.

I need to plant more lavender, I suppose.  Their resilience to bugs is inspiring.  The dusky green fronds remind me of the blue Aegean, whose islands each hold beauties to discover.  In the case of lavender, one swipe with the hand or brush of the leg summons a subtle scent sure to soothe.

My life needs more soothing and less stress.  Do you understand, friend?  Do you yearn for planting life events that inspire your soul, rather than surmount your day-to-day with energy-sucking endeavors?

What makes your day more joyful and less stressful, friend?  Perhaps a person to make your smile complete, like my Rustle?  Perhaps a story or poem?  Perhaps a movie or game?  Do you enjoy hiking to a rugged mountain peak or watching the sun's rosy rise sparkle on surf?

Let's make it a point to add something soothing to every day's adventures.

The mimosa's redolence

It is the last summer to enjoy the mimosa.  The tree hangs its limbs to the windows, which gather sweet perfume from morning to morning again.  Even in sweltering heat, the heady aroma seeps through the screens, intoxicating the inhabitants.  A window fan swirls the smell until the whole room seems thrust into that tree, like a clubhouse for which Joey is constantly advocating.

Our septic failed.  The travails of an old house, I suppose.  And, the health department has demanded sap to pay: trees near the distribution box, a perennial bed atop the distribution lines, a pear tree twenty feet away, a peach tree too close, my beloved magnolia, and - yes - the mimosa with her sweet-smelling puff-balls in full bloom.  What a shame such genocide is not as alarming as those occurring in other parts of the globe and across generations!

Do you have fond memories of a tree, friend?  One you climbed as a child or not so long ago?  One that shaded your searing days or moods?  A tree that delights your mind's eye to think about it?  Nature is quite agreeable at times and reminds us of the beauty we have beheld and will behold, yet.

So, for one last summer, I'll savor the joys of this limb-sprawling tree.  Joey will learn to climb.  Ezra will dance in a sprinkler under the shade of her archaic, compound leaves.  Russell will help me locate the best place to plant a future tree, for her starts are prolific!  And, I will admire the hummingbirds that flit between her blooms, while the mimosa's redolence bathes me.

May today give you a chance to enjoy a bit of beauty, too.

Kindled hope

Boughs bow, leaves flit, and sunlight simmers every tree it touches until it glows, gilded.  Light's receding touch yet lingers on the backporch, where shadows begin to overtake dappled day.  A thin thread of web shimmers as the breeze casts it into pooled sun; otherwise, board edges bear a bold blackness and even a bumbling borer bee seems swallowed by night.  Twilight looms, ready to weave a tapestry of stars, moonlight, and the pervasiveness of clinging darkness that coats us all on the inside.

Eyes closed, I sit in a movie theater when the main feature is about to begin.  The first note, word, or image nears every moment and I anticipate the adventurous journey unfolding.  Oh, if I could live like that!  And you, friend?  Do you seek to live each moment as if it were the beginning of something grand?

We can learn a lot from the sun, whose early rosy tendrils alter not, though the variables of the day do.  It still shines brightly, even when the clouds quilt the sky and keep it from our view.  And when we sleep - the dark tucking us in - the hope of the coming light remains.

Let such hope kindle in you, friend.

Tearful stains

Long, black lines of permanent marker stain the faux suede couch.  Each one - soaking in a white vinegar, dish soap, and water solution - resembles a drop of dew that sparkles on the grass in early morning light. 

One.  Two.  Three.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Seven.  Eight.  How did Ezra get to an eighth mark before I noticed?  Russell's skype persona held my attention; Joey's funny antics amused; even, the flickering fireflies caught the corners of my eyes.  But, Ezra's guile alluded me!

Have you ever been so duped, friend, into enjoying a moment only to have it followed with long hours of work to make up for a grand mistake or painful heartache? 

I'll be carefully blotting marker stains late tonight, while savoring a moment to see my love's sweet face.  Tears may creep into the soft green cushion while I dab rubbing alcohol on the fading fringe Ezra drew, but my two-year-old's happy smile will mingle with that ache.  And, when a final rinse and brush reveal - prayerfully - a faded if not erased repetition of lines, then I will sigh and give a hearty laugh in conjunction with Joey's jovial humor.

Perhaps you, too, can smile or dare-say laugh amidst your strife today, friend?