(Not So) Anonymous Love

This morning, as I am wont to do, I cruised over to LOM to check out the scenery. Today, it was my favorite strand of lovely that dear Meg has such a gift for finding: Random Acts of Art. This particular brand of random gifting was executed by Lenka + Michael.

I read the letters, absorbing their kind and generous anonymity. It made me want to send all the people I love (and a few strangers) anonymous letters. So, I thought I'd start with a theoretical anonymous letter to my lover.

Good morning, my love,

I wish that I could write you an anonymous letter that would brighten your day. That would make you feel seen and happy.

http://www.mysteriousletters.blogspot.com/

What a lovely idea. I love random letters and random connections and small missives of kindness that don't mean much except as a blip of strange-goodness in an otherwise ordinary life.

If I sent you a random letter, I would compliment your awesome car (I would make a small mention of how the hubcaps and Budda really make the vehicle special) and the expressive nature of your face. I would admire your efficiency with yard and housework and would notice how you grasp life with both hands to live it fully. I would say that your outside activities indicate that your inside is full of depth and passion and interesting-ness. I would tell you that your subscription to the New Yorker and devotion to newspapers make me think that you are probably well-read and have a lot to say. I would say that your recycling bin tells me that you are concerned about the world around you, but not so much that you would be annoying. I would tell you I like that. I would also tell you that I like the fact you like good beer and wine, and I would probably assume that you like good food and drink in general. I would say that sometime we should get a good beer and follow it up with good wine and maybe some cheese and fruit. I would say that I think we are probably meant to be in one another's lives and it would be a shame not to meet and see if it were true. I would sign the letter with my phone number and then I would keep my phone in my pocket until you called. Because, I would never stop believing you would call me.

And, i would be right about all of it.

I adore you. Madly. Completely. With my whole soul.
You are beautiful.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
tricia

Such a gift to give. To express that another can be seen clearly and appreciatively by the world. To elaborate upon the connectedness of our shared humanity. What a lovely way to pass an hour, a day or a life! This reminds me of another quote that a friend had recently as his Facebook status:

"I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all those people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness. . . ."
-Thomas Merton

Another Bedtime Story

What is it that is so intimate about bedtime? I suppose it's what differentiates friends from family in some ways. If I've shared my daily bedtime and waking with you, whether as a lover, a sister, a daughter, a roommate or a mother, you have innately been a part of my family.

R, H and CB have been sharing a lot of bedtime lately. All of them are enthusiastic about sleeping upstairs together. Sometimes CB is on a futon next to H or R's bed. Sometimes the three of them cram into the double bed that serves as a place to lounge, or a place to wrestle. Oftentimes, it isn't even CB's idea to sleep upstairs. In the tone and tenor of her question "Mama, can I sleep upstairs tonight?" you can hear the intonation of a whispered boys voice. Sometimes you overhear the boys planting the idea in her head in the other room.

I resisted this at first, being rigid as I am with bedtime. I've always seen bedtime as sacrosanct. It's the demarcation line between Tricia the Mother and Tricia the Person. But, as C has pointed out to me, this is a sweet time of bonding they're experiencing. We should embrace that they want to be together. So, I have begun to flex my flexibility on the subject.

Tucking CB into bed upstairs last night, I was getting ready to read to her. Both boys bounded from bed and came flying across the room and into the double bed. C lay at the foot of the bed, all my loves crammed into the tiny space. I read the book with voices, R provided color commentary about the quality of the plot, H provided vocal reading of the signs in the story. C and I provided love filled glances at one another, not quite believing our luck. These three beautiful children who have informed us that they are brothers and sister.

After the reading was done and all the children were kissed and tucked into bed, C and I met in our own room with starry eyes and full hearts. So beautiful, we said to each other over and over.

The most amazing thing, beyond the magic of our blossoming family, is that this family is a growth from a point of origin, and that point of origin is our strong, passionate love for one another. I am truly blessed to live in a house filled with such an abundance of love. My heart overflows.

A Break in the Weather

My winter blues have been deep and wide this year, so the recent thaw has been a balm for my soul. I had actually gotten a bit worried that the blues were more than winter blues, wondering if my theory that a good, warm day would blow them away would be true. We had that good, warm day on Saturday and I felt my spirit come alive.

Yesterday afternoon, C and I chiseled six coats of paint off the front of the front door revealing orangey lacquered wood. We're going to sand it, maybe stain it. What a difference it makes to the front of the house!

It was the first project we've taken on together since the house became somewhere we both make a home. It was symbolic. It was beautiful.

....It called my attention to every dust bunny and corner of clutter.

A wise woman of the theatre, Ms. H once said to a group of us seeking her counsel: "Don't should on yourself, dear." She was in her 90's. She knew what was what.

So, after spending part of last night getting myself wrapped around the flagpole of "should," I decided to celebrate the beginning with something more productive. This morning, I centered my spirit and hung the Tibetan prayer flags across the porch, following C's instruction to not make them "too even."

The sun was rising, the sky was clear and the breeze was fresh.
It was an auspicious beginning to a Monday.

Passing Beauty By

I have been sad since returning from my grandfather's funeral. The open casket caught my heart unawares. The tears streaming down my father's face spun me round. The grief surrounding me became my grief. The tide swept me, and the quantity of wine and single malt scotch I consumed did nothing to center my spirit.

And, then I discovered this article by Gene Weingarten. It rightfully won the Pulitzer Prize.

"If we can't take the time out of our lives to stay a moment and listen to one of the best musicians on Earth play some of the best music ever written; if the surge of modern life so overpowers us that we are deaf and blind to something like that -- then what else are we missing?"

What unexpected beauty do we miss every day?
Here is Joshua Bell in the "right frame" playing and talking about Chaconne by Bach:



How much beauty have I rushed past today? Yesterday?
How often do I forget that we are blessed?

Coincidentally, I went to see Brett Dennen play last night, here in Louisville. He filled the room with grace and joy. It was beautiful.

going... going...

My grandfather is dying. Has been for almost a year. He has end-stage lung cancer that they stopped treating about four months ago. He is 86 years old.

Right now, the majority of his remaining 7 children are gathered around him (his eldest daughter, passed of lung cancer in January of 2005), my sister KW is amongst the crowd. My mother will head to the family gathering sometime tomorrow as the vigil continues.

There is nothing for me to do, but wait for the wake and funeral. For the phone call to come with the inevitable news. It is a helpless feeling.

My father called me earlier today, shortly after his father received his Last Rites. The purpose of the call was to say my awkward and public goodbyes to a man who has been mostly enigma to me. I felt like crying, mostly because hearing the note of a break in my father's voice can inspire me to move mountains to attempt to salve his pain. I am never successful in my quest, but my father in distress is a motivator I don't fully understand.

I wanted to jump in the car and get there for the important part. For the departure. Funerals just don't make sense to me as a gathering place. Deathbeds seem more friendly-like. Am I bizarre? Maybe.

I wanted to get in the time machine and have one more real and lucid conversation with him, ask some questions I never got answered. That's the real problem with "one last time." By the time you know that's what it is, it destroys the spirit of the actual conversation. Assuming there can be one.

And, there couldn't be now, anyway. In a sense, I was too late already when I went out there over the summer - you can't ask existential questions of a man who has already been given a death sentence. It's just not done. Best to talk about the weather and hope your toddler doesn't deliver him a death-blow of a cold direct from daycare. That's how it felt. A polite audience on plastic covered furniture. No real connection with the situation. All bright natural light and photo ops for albums that my daughter will see when she is older. Proof.

From Charlotte's Big 4th of July

And, I'll always look at those photos and see a dying man. Not my grandfather. Not really.

He and I never had all that much in common. I don't think he understood a single decision I made as an adult. A quiet, introverted man, I think he found me to be a bit gauche, frankly. He wouldn't be the first.

When I was a teenager, I spent a lot of time trying to draw him out, to learn more about him. But, I felt it exhausted him. And, as other distractions entered the scene, eventually, I gave up on it altogether.

Now I am just bracing for the inevitable. Sad that I never found a way to grasp the essence of the man who shaped the way my father shaped me. Sad that I will have to watch people I love, be sad. Sad that there is nothing I can do to fix them. Or me.

Six.

There are six reasons I am happy today:

1) I got up my gumption and still went to my masters program info session despite
- stinky armpits
- no parking which led to stinkier armpits
- running very, very late
- feeling very, very hopeless
- insane amounts of social anxiety
I got halfway home, after talking myself out of it - and then turned back around, double parked and walked in 45 minutes late like I knew what was what. And, you know what? It was worth it... because....

2) I got my transcript re-evaluated and now I'm eligible to apply for the alternative program I wanted!

3) AND I found out that the deadline for the program I want is a month and 15 days later than the other deadline

4) The weather is getting better - supposed to be 50 degrees outside in the next few days!

5) I am so lucky to be in love with the most amazing partner. Without C-Roll, I wouldn't have turned around. Not even a little.

6) 9 credits turned to six, just like that... I'm beginning to believe....

and it's a wonderful feeling.

Reclaimed.

Today, Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States of America.

Lately, I have been thinking about sustainability and community. I think it is all the promise of change in the air - suddenly, buying organic isn't enough - I want to do it in a way that supports my community. Not purchasing new isn't enough, I want to create with my own hands. I want to make do, to patch the tire, to embrace things like canning and jarring and darning of socks.

I want to reclaim all the damaged things, used and thrown away.
Perhaps because I feel as though my country has finally been reclaimed.

Maybe my idealism could be usable with a little wood glue and a coat of varnish. Maybe my patriotism could be darned with a needle and thread, fixing the hole I left in the heel of America's sock. They will never be perfect again, these things, but there is nothing more beautiful than the hard-won character of something of value, glued and fixed.