I walk the strangely silent town at 7 a.m. The sun is blazing this time of year, when the egrets rise with the golden orb at 5:30 a.m.
Most of the humans, however, are still blearily eyeing their cups of caffeine.
So I’m almost alone this morning with the seals and the pelicans and the few pedestrians here and there, breathing in the fresh air, enjoying the satisfying strain of muscle, but also trying to fling away the worries swarming my brain like a bunch of bees. Continue reading
A few weeks ago my man and I take two of our son’s three little boys for four hours of fun, fun, fun with PaPa and Pammy.
We drive the 45-mintues to pick them up, making plans along the way: walk in the park, an hour in the new playground near our house, a swim at the local pool, maybe we’d even have time to bake cookies!
After car seats are maneuvered into the back seat, the 3-year-old and 4-year-old grandsons are strapped in, and we make the noisy ride back to our place amidst:
“When are we getting there?” “Where’s Henry the dog?” “Can we sit on Henry?” How does a dog get arthritis?” “What IS arthritis?” “Can I have a drink?” “I’m hungry!” “How much longer?”
When we arrive, the 4-year-old plops himself on the lounge chair in our deck overlooking the Bay, puts his hand behind his head, and exclaims, “What a view! I’m going to sit here allll day.”
The 3-year-old has found the puzzles I store in the kids’ closet and throws the pieces of all three, together, across the living room floor.
“Man-to-man coverage,” my guy suggests. He takes the puzzle tot, I take the “unmovable boy” who now has found the bookcase in the hallway and asks, to my delight, “Read this one, Pammy!”
Six books later, the 4-year-old insists he wants to read all day.
“Let’s go to the playground,” I suggest.
“No! I want Llama Llama Time to Share again!”
In the meantime, Henry the dog has a puzzle piece in his ear, and the man-to-man defense is weakening.
We squeeze in a 15-minute trip to the pool and a few bites of peanut butter and jelly, but it’s close to nap time, when we promised the munchkins’ parents we’d bring them home.
The 4-year-old begs, “can’t we stay and reeeeeaaaaaaaadddddddddd?”
The 3-year-old insists: “I want my mommy!”
So we hustle to the car and begin the ride back.
Five minutes into the drive a sound as loud as 20 chalk pieces screeching on a board emits from the back seat. My guy and I jump so high our heads hit the car roof.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, turning around to check on the distressed 3-year-old.
“I WANT MY NAAAPPPPP!” he screams.
Huh. I thought parents begged children to nap, not the other way around.
The 4-year-old consoles his brother: “It’s okay, you can nap in the car.”
“NOOO!” his younger brother retorts. “I need my MOMMY, then I can NAP!”
A tense ride ensues, with a strangled sound coming from the 3-year-old’s side every so often: “Naaaaaappppppp!!!”
In a record 39.5 minutes, we deliver our charming grandchildren to their relieved parents.
“You’re late!” our son exclaims.
As I unbuckle the blonde-haired, sweet-as a-snowball 3-year-old from his seat, he strokes my face lightly.
“Pammy?” he says softly.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Ah, I’m a good grandmother, I sigh to myself, until the little one continues: “But I’m not coming to your house ever again.”
Defeated, I give him a light kiss with a chuckle and hand him off to his mother for a long afternoon’s nap.
On the way home, my guy drives over the speed limit. I gaze at him quizzically.
“I need my nap, NOW,” he exclaims.
Which only proves that little boys never truly grow up.
Hmmm, is it nap time?
Photo by Eddie Frank, Gas Lamp Productions
In my little town, the lights sparkle
Like diamond dust thrown in the wind
Lifted by souls of the living
Who search for the gift of pure joy.
Like diamond dust thrown in the wind
Questions fly to neighbors near and far
Who search for the gift of pure joy
While admiring the view of the world.
Questions fly to neighbors near and far
Are you happy, or sad, or just neutral?
While admiring the view of the world
Where the cardinal and pelican play.
Are you happy or sad, or just neutral
Living in towns, cities and farms
Where the cardinal and pelican play
With wings full of wisdom and grace.
Photo by Carla Bradley Evans
Living in towns, cities, and farms
Worshipping spirits and stars from above
With wings full of wisdom and grace
The answers appear all around.
Photo by Susan Licht
Worshipping spirits and stars from above
While snow dances or sun sets with a splash
The answers appear all around
If we listen to trumpeting truths.
While snow dances or sun sets with a splash
From sea to shining sea
If we listen to trumpeting truths
The message can give us all peace.
From sea to shining sea
We embrace the spirits who soar
The message can give us all peace
Love and joy are in each part of us.
Happy Holidays to you, and may peace and joy abound in your life.
When I think my heart is filled to the brim with love – for my man, my children, their spouses, my parents, my brother and his family, our friends – grandchildren arrive.
I wonder how more love happens. Somehow I don’t have to squeeze each one into an already full heart – they suddenly occupy a huge chunk of it with no one else kicked out.
Street opera on a San Francisco alley.
Flash. My guy and I walk the city of San Francisco with our son and two of his boys, 3 and 1 ½. We watch the ice skaters in the middle of Union Square, eat vendor pretzels, pant up hills (with the boys sharing a stroller), listen to the opera singer standing in the alley, and then somehow end up in a men’s clothing store, one that my man has bought clothes from since our son was his sons’ age.
As we finger the cotton shirts and silk ties, the two shop owners, now in their 60s, exclaim, “three generations of one family!’ and I feel a burst of pride. I don’t why. I haven’t done anything.
The 1-year-old runs around the store with his pudgy bow-legged stance, finding everything at one-foot-high level that is dangerous.
The 3-year-old just sits on the floor looking up at the four men talking about important topics, like football and the stock market.
Suddenly, out of the blue, he touches my guy’s leg. “PaPa,” he says. The men don’t hear him. My little grandson waits patiently.
“PaPa,” he says again, not any louder.
PaPa stops talking and looks down at his grandson.
“PaPa,” our little grandboy continues as if in the middle of his quiet bedroom. “I love you.”
The busy clothier store grows quiet…
…and see?
My heart bursts open wider, to let in even more love.
More love.
On an ordinary Thursday night, I’m out with my guy and a group of his old-time college friends celebrating a reunion at a spring-time Boston Pops concert.
Conducted by the magnificent Keith Lockhart, remarkable orchestrated music is made accessible at Boston Symphony Hall as we sit around intimate round tables with drinks, a program, and some of the best music in the world.
Doug LaBrecque singing Ordinary Miracles at Boston Pops.
On this night, the Pops celebrate Marvin Hamlisch, songwriter extraordinaire, who concocted such delicious treats as the music scores for A Chorus Line and The Sting (among many) and Oscar-winning songs like The Way We Were and Nobody Does It Better (remember Carly Simon singing this for James Bond?).
But halfway through the show, Broadway singer Doug LaBrecque arrives on stage declaring, “To me, this song is Marvin’s most brilliant creation.” He opens his mouth and a voice caresses us like a wave of velvet and vanilla, joined by verses that vibrate through my soul. Here’s a version by Barbra Streisand:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1C4tHuGs94g
Change can come on tip-toe,
Love is where it starts.
It resides, often hides, deep within our hearts.
And just as pebbles make a mountain, raindrops make a sea,
One day at a time, change begins with you and me.
Ordinary miracles happen all around
Oh my, isn’t this the truth?
How do we sometimes miss these ordinary miracles that surround us daily, assuring us that life is more than bills and business plans; more than back pain and bullies; more than grumpy bosses, traffic jams, and dirty laundry?
The following evening, my daughter and I (and our very significant others) meet for dinner. She and I wear surprised smiles as we check out each other’s attire – unplanned black and white stripes – that bring us many chuckles and “stripes of the same color” jokes from dining strangers.
An ordinary miracle for our extraordinary special mother/daughter time.
What’s your ordinary miracle today?
Do you dare acknowledge each and every one?
roughwighting 