some days peace isn't in me.

i feel the time coming to morph into fragments of my old self - the independent gypsy who loves home, traveler, explorer, lover of adventure and change and challenging the mind and heart. if i were twenty two again i would travel - without money - because that gets everything more real - gets you closer to the earth and the natives and takes the cushion from under you so your feet are grounded in the beautiful earthy grit of the real world - real people - eye-opening ground-shaking differences that show who we really are - who is out there - how truly immense, immeasurable, vital, alive and electric the world is. sometimes i don't know how to get there - how to step over or through the decades of protective walls i have built - layers of meaningless shit that wraps me like a mummy and leaves me paralyzed and motionless. i want it stripped away - to be new and raw - to be like a newborn baby who winces from the light and shivers from the slightest breeze, who loses herself in laughter or tears or delight as the emotion flows like water. painful - yes! - breath-taking - yes! - vulnerable - yes! - but most definitely alive - alive - alive!

and even as i write this i realize i was not all those things in my youth. many parts of myself i don't wish to ever see again - the fearful girl and young woman with a chip on her shoulder the size of montana who ran from difficulties and saw responsibility as a mountain best not climbed. i want the spirit of living pure and simple - the connection with nature - the wanderer searching for all that life and the heart and the mind contain - the courage to stretch all of me to the limits. i want fearless joy like i never had until cuts and bruises and heart-breaking depression and tiny bits of wisdom opened me up to receive it. i am called to a new way of living that does no harm - a life built only on kindness - a gentler way that reveres all that has been created here in my world at this moment - but also in the larger world where there is no break in the connections between us all - where i can see all of life reflected in a single tear or in the unwavering gaze of a small child or in anything seen and understood against the purity of nature and innocence.

learning about buddhism is opening me to greater understanding of myself and my existence in this world. i do not wish to become a buddhist. i have a god, a faith, a belief system that is firmly in place in my soul - but i don't always know how to live my life in a way that is equal to what i believe. love is the key to my faith - the key to every faith - but it has been surrounded by dogma and doctrine that seeks to separate human beings from humanity - divides us with rules and rituals with very little meaning against the greatness of love. dictums taken as words straight from god's mouth, yet they are not from god - they are from people who struggle with the same human flaws i have - people who sometimes get caught up in power and wealth and having the last word at all costs - people who swirl in a cycle of behavior that excludes and judges, separates, belittles, cuts, destroys, angers, confuses. i want to cut through to the heart of pure light and burn away the rest - leave only the purity and the warm truth - whatever that may be. i am not afraid of seeking the truth of this mystery - i am more afraid of falling into the rigid ugliness of judgement and unchallenged dogma that has tortured and murdered in the name of god. we catholics, protestants, evangelizing do-gooders have done unspeakable harm in the name of faith. how can we reconcile that kind of destruction with the love called for by jesus and all the other truly holy beings who have touched this earth? i want to live my life in the image of christ's pure acceptance and tolerance and unconditional love - things i have not found in religion.

the dalai lama says buddhist teachings are a science of the mind - not a religion. but i can see why some might want to make it their religion because it is about unity and kindness - calling for tolerance and openness and taking action only when it is without harm to anyone or anything. this is doctrine i can live with - but i will not make it a religion. i don't want a religion - i only want a way of knowing my god and living a life that would please him - doing no harm - loving in an open-handed way so the people in my path can live by their own hearts. maybe in that inclusive accepting nonjudgment i can find a way to live holy -

in reverence to god and people and all of creation.

a journey to peace.

arching branches dripping with perfect minuscule white flowers - lace edged leaves holding morning dew one glistening drop at a time - tender new rose buds blushing pink and crimson and intertwined with dark purple clematis - peonies bursting in a brief riot of magenta glory - breath catching spring beauty so captivating it must have been painted there by monet. then the burst and dazzle and enveloping perfume of summer - euphoria lasting only an instant.

will you think i'm beautiful in autumn - rich with color and life but worn and spent - summer lushness giving way to the inevitable return to the earth?

will you still love me in winter when i am nothing more than a skeleton of myself - offering only the prayer for what may or may not return the same - all parts not equal to the way you once loved them? will you settle a blanket around my roots and gently trim away all that is finished to find what life is hidden inside? will you wait for me - will you stand patiently - quietly - believing i will return - better for this brief respite of stillness and emptiness?

the garden teaches respect for the stillness when sustenance and strength are gathered - trust in the circle that seems to begin in death and rise again - stronger and more resilient - understanding as the sun reaches the pinnacle and without pause begins its descent. when it has dropped beyond experience, beyond warmth and light, it has already begun to rise. there is no end - no beginning - no win or loss - no top or bottom. there is only the circle containing all parts at once - relentless continuation.

***********************

life is a winding trail of rocks and hills and muddy spots almost impossible to navigate - a path of enchanting sunsets over the mountains on pueblo land and warm story time next to a freshly bathed sweet smelling baby who wants to read good night moon one more time. it is making love on the beach in hawaii - too young to be uncomfortable and too reckless to fear getting caught. it is contentment in the morning sun with a hummingbird dancing in the spray of the water hose on your birthday and agonizing fear when your child's fever won't break. it is passing on the youth and beauty and spotlight to your children as you step back fully willing and insistent they take the last piece of pie or sleep in the coziest bed or shine like a star in the black sky.

**************************

the garden is a part of my life i come home to over and over again - along with faith and smiling pets and the sound of sports blaring from the television because it means jim is home and i am not alone. i come home to my books - the smell of dust on worn spines with title after title calling my name in the little town library where i greet the librarians like trusted keepers of my treasures. i come home to baking chocolate chip cookies on my worn out baking sheet that never gets completely clean and seeing my sweet elizabeth and alexander settle in on shaky black counter stools for a glass of milk and one too many warm soft cookies. i come home to the lovely chapel where weekday mass is quiet and reverent and i close my eyes from start to finish and only open them at the end to receive golden sunlight pouring through stained glass. i come home to my peonies and hydrangeas, tulips, butterfly bushes and mountains of lady's mantle and black eyed susans, white montauk daisies and the intoxicating fragrance of pink phlox and butterflies landing on my shoulders. i come home to birds singing outside my windows and neighbors stopping to chat about what kind of mulch i will buy this year or how quickly the kids are growing up or laughing at me for polishing too long on my little red mini cooper.

dalai lama enters the stage with slow careful steps - his back curved forward - surrounded by attendants who would gladly carry him if needed - draped in burgundy and gold robes - feet bare. his movement suggests more than his seventy five years, but when he settles and looks at his audience, age is erased. his face is serene and only slightly lined with an indelible smile i would guess he wears even in sleep, and his gesturing hands are smooth and almost young. most of his work has been heart and mind work, so his physical appearance has not taken the wear of someone who has labored with his hands. his sense of humor and playfulness are evident in twinkling eyes and frequent laughter at his own words - almost childlike - and in congruent with the silk lined gold throne where he sits with his legs folded and indiana university visor perching lightly on his head to block the lights. the openness and peace in his presence cannot be denied and flow out into the enamored crowd of buddhists, christians, jews, muslims, and representatives of all faiths and walks of life. he is evidence of a life lived in love - tolerance - compassion - kindness. he does not call for any one of us to renounce our beliefs to follow his. he only offers a science of mind - a way of letting go in release and acceptance.

i am humbled in his presence.

in my own small world of family and pets, home-keeping and tending my garden, i am the master of my universe. i am the answers - not the questions. in this group of seekers, i am a nonentity - a sheltered and inexperienced woman who has lived more than half a life with only the wisdom of a moment. the dalai lama speaks of seeking an existence devoid of self - of exchanging "i" and all that such singularity implies for an existence only relevant in relation to all else. a single person is no more than a tiny dot in the web of all of life fluttering and flowing so each breath is insignificant except for the way it ripples through the entire web. this hints at our smallness on the planet, but it also suggests we are part of something infinite. i am nothing except in my relationship to all else. I have no control - no power - no meaning at all until i become the perception of another human being. then i become mother because my children have perceived me as nurturer and giver and provider, i am daughter because that is what i am to my parents, i am wife to my husband, i am sister to my siblings. without the other beings in my life, i am empty of meaning. my children are a creation of all that has been assigned them. their lives have been molded, their roles created by many moments, hearts, words, encounters. each of us has an identity in relation to all else but it is only a phantom identity created and perceived by the one who is looking. it is not etched in stone - not permanent.

maybe this means i can step away from the roles i fulfill and once again become an empty vessel - rejecting subjective titles and gaining freedom from the attached expectations. maybe i can become nameless, faceless, shifting shapes and forms as the web of life finds my cause and effect at each moment leaving me free to accept the flow without desire for anything more than what is - at this time - in this place. how beautiful to be so impermanent - to have the freedom to transform and change and blow free like a feather - hollow and weightless - strong and purposeful - attached to nothing but essence and pure light.

she steps in quietly - back straight - almost unnaturally so with the neck tilted slightly forward. her eyes quickly take in the room as her smile remains ready for a polite and effusive hello. her hair is short and her clothes are simple faded jeans and a white cotton shirt. at first glance she appears carefree and confidently masculine, but as i look closer i notice the expertly blended highlights in her blond hair - the carefully placed side swept bangs just covering her aging forehead. i notice how the loose shirt has a little tie at the collarbone - painstakingly creating a perfect bow and the waistline is arranged in just the right way to disguise extra weight she has collected through the years. she was beautiful once, i think, and she still feels beautiful when the flaws are discreetly hidden. her expectant look says she is accustomed to being admired - and then she remembers the extra weight and wrinkled forehead and sagging breasts and the smile dims - only momentarily. her head lifts higher - her chin thrusts out defiantly as she steps forward. her manner is calm until i notice her hands - worn but strong and at first giving the impression of courage and noble devotion to hard work. but a closer look discovers the gnawed cuticles and skin picked relentlessly when the calm facade cannot completely hide the searching mind. if i continue to watch the hands will come together to pull at a ragged bit of skin or scratch the frequent itch on the inside of the fingers. she is known in the community for her good deeds - a home cooked meal for the new mother down the block - another collection for the poor - friendly acknowledgement for the cashier at the acme and the pharmacy and the little town library - unwavering commitment to her family. most would never guess the restlessness revealed by her fingernails or the weariness that flickers unexpectedly behind her smile. she is from a culture where the smile is always in place and even in therapy all those years ago she usually walked in with a smile that only dissolved when her face crumbled with tears. but that is in the past. she is in the room now with the smile looking genuine and the hands quiet - the expectancy having passed as she settles into a chair and watches life from a distance.

do you know me?

do you know i have a scar on the back of my left thigh from being nine and too excited to wait for julie's pekingese puppies to come to the wire fence, so i climbed over and gashed my leg - but i touched the puppies before i bled all the way home? do you know i used to stay awake at night so scared of the dark i would break into a full sweat because the cover was tucked around my neck to keep out vampires and stabbing knives and moving it even one inch would have left me unprotected? do you know my first kiss on the lips was from shane paulette in our backyard when i was thirteen and kathy and paul let me play spin-the-bottle with them - and shane was a goofy curly haired kid who stared at me all the time and made me feel beautiful even though i was only in junior high and he was in high school? do you know when i was a preteen and i had no money or nail polish remover i used a little knife to scrape off the polish and sometimes i cut into my nails by accident? do you know i can't even see how brown-speckled my arms are becoming from too much sun unless i look at them with my reading glasses - and then i am shocked and a little bit glad i can't see so well? do you know when elizabeth was only a couple of months old i took her to the mall with ruth falvey and put her car seat in the front passenger seat because that's what the experts said to do then - and when we got to the mall and i started to unhook her i realized i had never belted her in and i thought i might die because of what might have happened? do you know i was the only girl who worked in the t-shirt shack in the mall where i met my college boyfriend steve - and i printed dirty slogans on t-shirts even though i had no idea what they meant - and my favorite outfit was a black t-shirt maxi-dress i wore without a bra - and i looked really good in it (i think i was wearing it when i met steve)? do you know i threw very hot coffee in steve's face at the diner in the mall because when i went on christmas eve with his present in my hand he was there with another girl - and i agreed to marry him when i was twenty-one but before he gave me the engagement ring he bought on layaway we broke up because he lied and cheated and took a lot of drugs? do you know in college i had crushes on my professors because i really wanted a boyfriend who was at least as smart as me and that was hard to find at lambuth college? do you know i had a long haired cat named addison who peed on the floor a lot - and that was ok when i lived in my apartment but not so great when i moved back into mom and dad's house and addison was not allowed out of my room? and do you know i gave him to a friend before i moved to new jersey because it might have been a deal breaker to bring a peeing cat to live with jim - but i made my mom give him to the friend because i was ashamed to give up on a pet i chose? do you know i was in love with elvis presley when i was a little girl and when no one was looking i would kiss the television if his movie was on? do you know when i was in fifth grade i only had one friend named pam and when she was absent i had no one to play with at recess so i would pretend the first graders needed my help getting on and off the slide so i wasn't alone - and on my birthday that year i had a sleepover at her house but i had to leave early after my uncle's house was blown away in a tornado and we all had to go to join the sadness? do you know i stopped on main street in mendham one day after church and picked up a cat dying in the middle of the road after a hit and run and when i saw him lift his tail i knew i had to at least pick him up and let him die warm and loved and wrapped in my jacket that i never wore again? do you know i fell in love with my mentor in my last college internship and almost married him even though he was nineteen and a half years older than me and i was only a couple of years older than his daughter? and do you know we probably would have gotten married except that he didn't want more children and i couldn't - wouldn't ever ever give up having children for anybody? and when we split up for good, i didn't give back the ring because i thought he put me through so much i just sold it instead? do you know i found a two inch baby mouse in the garage on elizabeth's birthday and spent the whole day taking care of it when i should have been getting ready for her party - and then i checked on the mouse during the party and it was dead? do you know i have to pluck whiskers from my chin because a woman in her 40's has crazy things happening to her body and she just has to deal with it? do you know my sister and i made a pact to never let each other's whiskers grow - so if we are too old or in a coma we will pluck each other's whiskers? and do you know sometimes i want to set all my pets free and move somewhere they can't find me so i won't have to clean any more cat vomit and dog drool and hair everywhere? do you know i dream of living in an ancient little house in tuscany and growing grapes and olive trees so i can make my own wine and press fresh olive oil to dip the bread i bake in the outdoor oven - and go to the market every day and linger over cappuccino in the same little pastry shop each morning where i am more like family than a customer? do you know my back always hurts - when i am asleep and awake - and sometimes i want to say i hurt and can't do it any more but then i take a deep breath and do it anyway? do you know i should have been a poet or an english professor who only teaches classes on letting the pen follow the mind until the soul flows onto the paper like water over the dam? do you know i can more easily relate to my children's dreams of hippie freedom than my husband's rigid business mind? do you know i get stressed when the pillows and throws are all heaped on the couch because it feels like chaos and i can't rest till i get it in order? do you know sometimes i want to be a cat and sleep until i am hungry and then get up and take a walk outside and go back to sleep? do you know how often i have wished i had no obligations to anyone so i could be a gypsy - allowing myself to be carried by the wind - no accountability at all - seeing and hearing every nuance of this world and my life? do you know after i am away from home even for a day i crave my candlelit fireplace and the cat in my lap and the soft snoring of the responsibilities i love so dearly?

the first noble truth of buddhism is this - all of life is suffering -- suffering that comes from impermanence. everything changes - marriages end - children die - parents die - illness blindsides us and leaves us humbled - fires burn worlds we have created to feel safe - floods wash away fortunes built over decades like twigs disappearing in the current. beauty fades and families grow up and we cannot hold on. we suffer when we try to walk through this world unscathed by loss that will always find us.

yet joy exists. does it come from some innate knowledge of security and abiding constancy we believe endures on some other plane? have we created the illusion that our perfect little circle of life is immune to gut-wrenching change and uncertainty and death? buddhists say the only way to escape suffering is by letting go of all expectation and entitlement - of all attachment to a particular way we want things to be. does that leave us powerless or does it offer a way of seeing that will lead us to freedom?

as my children have suffered their own heartaches, i have asked them - are you ok right now - in this moment? - and the answer has always been yes. so i tell them everything is ok because this moment is all there is - the rest will unfold as it should. i have been asked what my five year plan is - what i want to do with the rest of my life - what is my goal? i don't know i don't know i don't know. knowing is not real - is not possible - only gives the illusion of control or power or wisdom. if we embrace the not knowing - allow humility to finally reveal our ignorance and our impotence, we become vulnerable - open - innocent. and then we are at the edge of an ocean of possibilities - where life reveals itself with sweet serendipity. we accept all of life with gratitude - seeing with virgin eyes - careful not to miss one fleeting instant of wonder. if we are lucky we realize this life we live is not demanded or deserved but offered generously if we are awake and unafraid. we are here now and all is well - fear is gone - dissipated like fog on a sunny morning and life is pure gratitude -

the soul unencumbered

finally.

if i had another life, this is how i would live.

i would have very few things - only what i use every day - and too many books. i would live in a little cottage with white-washed walls and clean open windows flooding the simple sparse rooms with light and fresh breezes. the front porch would have a white wicker swing with soft faded cushions and a crocheted blanket for cool evenings under the stars. pots of overflowing ivy and red geraniums would line the front steps leading to a screen door - always open to the sounds of birds and laughter and neighbors calling out as they pass. the one gathering room would have a big braided rug with every color running through it - the couches covered in natural linen slipcovers - the stone fireplace ready with split and seasoned wood neatly stacked. the floor underneath the rug would be honey colored oak - smooth and worn from life and pets and shearling slippers. the kitchen - white with butcher block counter tops and open cabinets - just enough stoneware bowls and plates and coffee mugs, but not too many. the silverware would be old and polished - heavy and worn from generations - washed by hand and placed in the cotton lined drawer ready for the next meal. standing in the center of the kitchen would be an ancient weathered farmhouse table surrounded by an assortment of wooden chairs and the fat yellow vase in the center would always be filled with fresh cut flowers from the garden. the bathroom would be austere and clean with a rain shower, a white tub and thick towels on hooks, soft and sweet smelling from the wash. the bedrooms would each hold a lovely wooden bed with the best mattress money could buy - fluffy down comforters and pillows - fine silky linens - one set would be enough for each bed - washed and replaced before sleep. good reading lamps would be scattered through the house beside beds and overstuffed chairs for hours and hours of being lost in stories of lives and foreign lands and mary oliver's poetry. windows would be covered in natural cotton muslin covering darkness but light enough to allow dawn to awaken me each morning. the house would be lovely - not pretentious - but simple and useful.

a beach would be nearby - and the ocean - for hours spent collecting shells and walking in the early morning and lying on a blanket observing the world with my notebook and pen. the salty air would nourish the pink and blue and white mop head hydrangeas in the wild and almost overgrown cottage garden surrounding the house - filled with sweet smelling phlox and feathery cosmos, lush white montauk daisies, zinnias and peonies and flowers abundant. in the center of the back yard would be a roomy square of tilled earth in perfect order with straight rows of green beans and watermelons, sweet corn, tomatoes, bell peppers and mounds of zucchini for making bread. the gravel driveway would make a comforting crunch as family and friends arrive for supper. fat calico cats would roam in and out as they please - dozing in dizzying sunbeams in the day and my lap in the evening. the house would be filled with children and laughter and time enough for all the important parts of life like conversation and music and good books, spring gardening and naps in the porch swing after lunch.

mom's hands - plump with short nails - once bone thin - now puffed and almost burying the wedding band she has worn for more than fifty years. the fingers are beginning to take on strange angles as arthritis bends the joints and takes flexibility they once had. not yet seventy is too soon for hands to give way to pain but her hands have worked hard for much of her life - they paid the price she would offer freely again. as a girl those hands cared for the house and her little brother while her parents worked to pay the bills. they transitioned seamlessly into caring for her husband and then one child after another until there were four. they cooked and cleaned, washed dirty faces, baked birthday cakes, sewed clothes -- creating our simple and lovely world. too often her tired hands worked far into the night sewing the prom dress that we never appreciated enough - finishing the easter dresses for herself and three pouting daughters. those hands ached as they finished her annual christmas surprises hidden each year in her bedroom closet behind old shoes and daddy's work clothes. the nails never grew - the hands never resting from her mission to make a perfect safe world for children she loved beyond life - hands fierce in their attempts to shelter us from mean words and unfair teachers and thoughtless friends.

how do i thank this mother who has given her life and dreams and youth to make my life better?

i never understood anything before my children were born, never knew the depth and life cracking power of love until i looked into the faces of my babies - watched them grow into beautiful children - struggled with them through adolescence - and now stand on the periphery as they transform into adults. the feelings washing over me are so powerful sometimes i think i'll drown in the need to protect and give and wipe away all that might tarnish such beauty and promise. i understand my mother's tears as i have lightly moved forward - away from her - and the deep melancholy of knowing i have done the most important thing i will ever do and now i am almost unnecessary. i understand why mom hummed from room to room one christmas as she cared for three sick adult children - how she might have cherished one more opportunity to place a wet wash cloth on a fevered forehead, deliver jello and saltines with a little crushed ice and coke.

my mom's hands have never tired of caring for her children - as i suspect mine never will for my children. the love carries on from generation to generation as the hands instinctively reach out - fully open - offering everything without reserve - crooked with age or not. no hands, however straight and young and elegant could ever be as beautiful as my mom's plump and slightly bent hands - overworked from the business of loving her children.

with all my heart - thank you mom - i love you

today i wish i could escape but i am too responsible to close the shades and hide under the down comforter like alex. a day i try not to consider what i need to consider - instead i eat too many cookies. food is simple to me - comforting the way it demands nothing of me and offers the essential act of opening the mouth - putting the food on the tongue - chewing and swallowing. one day someone asked me to

write everything i know about ice cream.

why do we always have to know?

why can't we gratefully accept the cold sweet cream sliding off our taste buds into our bellies and let that be enough? why can't we be awake in the moment ice cream or any sweet gift is offered and welcome it with joy and delight and child-like expectation? it might make us fat - it might not - we don't care. it tastes good. that is enough - it used to be enough. when i was a little barefoot country girl with dirty feet and dandelion fluff in my hair - the ice cream freezer filled with sweet cream and fresh strawberries - rock salt sitting on the ice - daddy turning the crank for eternity before the ice cream was ready - i would nearly burst with anticipation. when supper was done and the sun was dipping in the sky - the frost covered canister was taken out and the top removed. my parents were smug with satisfaction that such bounty could be offered to glad children with sticky chins, full bellies, smiling contentment.

when did it become not enough? when did ice cream begin to give me a stomach ache?

*****

and there was also

lime, orange, cherry - with sliced bananas turning brown in the bright liquid. the cure for what ails you - especially if you're seven - itching, crying, hurting, trying not to scratch the chicken pox sores by the eyes and on the cheeks. they'll leave a scar. mama knew jello would make me feel better - bring a little light to my face as the jiggling little mountain of red in my chipped white bowl was presented along with a soft touch and sympathetic smile. sweet cold melting popping in my teeth easing the fevered throat and pushing aside the sickness for a few minutes.

later it was jello cups in plastic with tinfoil tops held in perfect order in the cardboard container - waiting to be torn apart and placed in the hands of my tiny children, in sickness but also in health - when we needed to laugh at the jolly jello squishing through the miniature teeth of two small cherubs. then the giggling and gurgling and sometimes complete loss of control with red sprays covering the wall, the couch and my smiling face. jello - the food that really isn't food - just a little burst of imitation flavor surrounded by miracle powder to let it melt into hot water and settle into whatever shape is desired. jello - the nonfood for kids and the belly aches of life and the last great hope to shed the pounds that won't leave us to be in love with ourselves again.

*****

but the most comforting of all is soup.

soup tastes like home - like my favorite sweat pants on a cold november day, like the lumpy blue blanket and the smell of vanilla candles and a wood fire. soup tastes like safety and mama nearby - a fat purring cat curled in my lap - like the garden still nourishing, giving life, sustaining its good intentions. soup is family settled around the dinner table on a sunday afternoon with no particular place to go and taming the beast and surrendering the battle. soup is snuggling in with soft spoken words to lull you to peace and contentment - a revelation of goodness and belonging that says settle down - settle in - take your shoes off and become who you are.

*****

and it is not enough to eat only salad for lunch - i need a big hunk of warm crispy whole wheat baguette with a little olive oil and salt. food for the soul - basic - pure - grains of the earth, fed by the sun, gathered by a strong weathered man with honest calloused hands and deep smile lines around his mouth and eyes because how could a man with such a noble and life-giving job be anything less than peacefully satisfied and joyful. it is this simplicity i want - to live close to the earth, to pick the blackberries i will put in the cobbler, to kiss in the kitchen with onion on my hands, to laugh if the pancakes burn and my hair is bristly and we are tired and broken but our hearts are open and filled with rocks and wine and thorny branches of beautiful red roses and tears. i want to eat big chunks of warm bread without thought of consequence or calories or tomorrow, but to eat with gratitude for the life before me, behind me, within me - to kiss and hug for no good reason - to breathe air filled with gardenias and sweet lavendar and car exhaust - because i am alive.

some things i remember

the sound of cars rushing past the front bedroom window too fast and loud for the starlit darkness. it was most noticeable in the night when all other sounds had faded to quiet breathing and even mema's late night snuggle talk of old-time boyfriends and all night dancing had broken off abruptly with a soft snore. the sound of car motors began as a faint growl - quickly grew to a full roar in front of the house and just as suddenly vanished to the hush of crickets and bullfrogs and breathing. the noise was always accompanied by headlights shining through the white polyester sheers covering the windows and i would sometimes watch them late into the night when i had drawn the long broom straw - winning the privilege of sleeping in the feather bed with mema. the first dive in was like falling into a cloud but soon mema's deep sleep would send an arm over my chest or a heavy leg across my small mosquito bitten ankles. we all wanted that spot, but the best sleep was for the ones who nestled into feather beds spread on the floor - covered with homemade patchwork quilts smelling faintly musty from the cold back room. where we slept didn't matter so much because lying awake watching headlights from the feather bed - listening to the cadence of car motors and sleeping breath - were all part of the rhythm of a summer sleepover at mema's.

and i remember

picnics in her short front yard - so close to the highway we could feel the wind from the cars. we spilled from the front porch into the yard where we lounged on quilts under the shade tree. trixie wandered - begging for scraps of ham or cornbread - collecting ear scratches or belly rubs and finally settling next to mema in the porch swing. those days felt serene - family enough to never feel alone - uncle troy telling big-hearted stories of his latest swindle - casual conversations with no thought of saying the right thing or making an impression - simply accepting each other gratefully on an endless hot sunday afternoon. sometimes it was a fish fry with just caught and cleaned catfish and hush puppies with coleslaw on the side - or maybe homegrown black eyed peas and field corn -big warm slices of tomatoes ripe from the garden- with pork sausage freshly made in mema's sunny kitchen.

and i remember

the wonderfully ugly white vinyl couch in the den at 4 almo drive. the kitchen and tiny den were attached with a half wall so we could see mama when she cooked. the house often smelled of hot grease - too hot - because mama only cooked with the stove on high - perhaps a little indication of her impatience - or maybe just four hungry kids wanting to eat right now. after dinner the lights would go off and the tv on - all of us piled together on the ugly couch. saturday night was gunsmoke with matt dillon, miss kitty and festus - and we looked forward to that night all week. except for the sliding glass door right beside the couch - facing the dark woods. mama and daddy always heard noises out there - believed prowlers were watching us - infused us with fear for the unknown evil outside our own back door. i was so afraid at bedtime - covered myself from head to toe - no neck exposed for the vampires to taste - nothing tumbling out of the covers to be grabbed and never released. don't close my eyes - it might sneak up and take me. don't open my eyes - too many frightening images - i saw the outline of a man - i saw movement - something looking at me from the crack between the window and the curtain. i am terrified. i try to sleep when the heat is on - it covers the noises of demons in the night. i am the only one awake - the only one afraid - i wake kathy and for a little while i am alright. she begins to sleep again - but kathy i need you closer - i'm so scared. we move the twin beds together in the large master bedroom with red carpet, window airconditioner and a tiny half bathroom with a window facing the dark woods. i can touch kathy - she keeps me safe.

and i remember

the night lana sue died. i was little, maybe six or seven, and the house was cozy warm - lights on, gentle ben on tv and mama cooking supper. it was sunday. the phone rang and mama answered - her face contorted - tears came - she collapsed into the hard kitchen chair as daddy took the phone. before, sundays had been good days - after, they were a reminder - gentle ben was part of the unforgettable night lana sue wisdom - mom's beautiful gidget-resembling cousin with thick hair flipped up at the bottom - cousin who swung us around and around at family gatherings - mom's just-like-a-sister cousin - died in a car crash with her boyfriend on a terrible sunday night. they said she went through the floorboard of her boyfriend's car as they drove too fast over the bridge. he lived. she died that night just before she would have been sixteen. the house was dark for days and we didn't go to school. the sadness was suffocating and i wanted it to end. i was little - i wanted to play - i wanted to go to school - i wanted to live.

at last we opened the shades and let life in again.

flower petals on my feet, pretty pink from the cotton candy pink cherry blossoms blowing like snow on a december morning. they catch my attention - remind me to walk softly - careful of crushing the life under my feet. ant soldiers march with fierce determination - teeming throngs hauling bread crumbs tossed casually from last night's supper - bravely avoiding the footfalls of giants. their cities are organized - their work relentless - the beings smaller than a tear carrying loads easily - or at least never giving up. simple lives - work - eat - work - eat - and try not to be washed away by the innocent thoughtless or carefully aimed spray of the long green water hose.

flower petals that took a year to grow - secretly tucked away on brown twigs outside my bedroom window last winter - concealed - the appearance of stillness fooling us into believing in death and endings and silence. but there is no end. motion stops - almost - energy flowing so slowly it cannot be seen - flowing nonetheless - causing life to continue - always with bursts of movement as the bud appears - and frantic quickening as the flower fractures into full bloom with breath-catching, stop and stare beauty. the petals drift without effort -blanketing the grass beneath the tree with a carpet of pink - resting undisturbed until big feet with painted toenails and bunions trample the velvet softness to brown - beauty overlooked by constant motion.

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water, the sky on a clear day, my daughter's eyes, the living room couch, the way i feel when i miss my family, the spirit of calm spiritual awareness and artistic personality. my favorite color, the one i wear most and still love on my wedding china - the color i want to paint my kitchen to perfectly set off the adobe of the brick wall and terra cotta tile and bordeaux counter top.

not muddy or soft or country muted - not the baby boy or sickeningly sweet kind - but the clean color of a clear autumn sky with no pollution or fog - no muddy cloudiness. the kind that is electric and energizing and clear to the bottom in bermuda. the color of my aquamarine earrings - just cleaned - when i have a tan. paul newman's eyes - johnny and olivia's eyes against their summertime white blond hair. old fashioned hydrangea blossoms in full fresh firmness.

blue - the color i want to paint in a breathtaking painting of birds soaring and light pouring in and serenity filling me to the brim - overflowing like a waterfall in the jungle.

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trees - magnificent and solid - branch after sturdy branch offering a stepladder to the sky. seasons change - flowers wither - leaves die before our eyes. but the tree is resolute - eternally solid and elegant - facing harsh winds that rip leaves and crack branches - it remains unwavering. unplanned openings allow the family of chipmunks to make a safe home - straining branches hold firm as the nest is built twig by twig to shelter baby sparrows - cradled with mouths open to receive nourishment - new shoots of tender green offer life to hungry babies in the forest. to produce exquisite fruit year after year, never tiring - to present beauty in every season - from the golden green of early spring to the lush fullness of summer fruit to the autumn reds and yellows - never apologizing for the changes - never lessening from season to season. even standing in stark resplendence with no shelter to soften the elements - no respite from cold and ice - standing tall and silent and composed - never failing to follow the light.

i am a tree

gnarled roots anchored in earth

scarred receiver of life

gashes weeping sweet nectar

born of weather and time

unfolding toward the light