4.28.13 Jeans, Laughter and The Ethers

Saturday, I sat down at the computer to look at pants. Pants for work, and initially for a birthday celebration for one of my kids next week. Couple of shirts. There was this big sale at this one company I buy clothes from. I'm kind of a one horse town; one food store, one clothes store. That's enough for me. Problem was, the pants were either long floppy polyester things, stiff blue jeans, or....white....jeans. I looked at other stores too, and same deal.Crap.Ok,so I decided, I can handle white pants,why not.

Problem is, there were so unbelievably many...can you say that...kinds of white pants and especially white jeans. I do not enjoy shopping. I enjoy palpating and figuring out Livers. enjoy aligning spines. I enjoy my kids and friends and clients. Taking photographs.I enjoy four footeds and nature. But naw, not shopping. 

I tried, God knows. I tried hard to be enthusiastic with my children, especially in adolescence, bringing them places with their friends, me sitting and reading while they were 13 and pretending they were 'alone', while I kept watch out of the corner of my eye. In a few years, I was the official 'shopping ally' and worked hard to learn to attentively watch and listen and do all the 'Uh huh's and the "Oh, yeah, I can see that" stuff, holding the choices in my arms as the kid tried stuff on and then came out to endlessly discuss the merits, all of which I worked hard at. 

I worked hard at pleasantly and happily walking here to there, examining interminably the choices. I once offered to get my adult kid black sandals for work,as their dog had, um, nibbled upon theirs. One hour. Yup. I mean, how many black sandals can there be??? 

I grew up in a time where I was brought to one WASPY store with my five brothers, told to stand still, and then clothing was selected for each kid. Oh, I had clothes. I had food. I had a place to live. And my clothes were scratchy kilt wool skirts almost, and to me, almost dragging on the floor they were so LONG.Horrible scratchy woolen button down sweaters. Not the most fashionable item even then. Loafers. Knee socks. 

I truly thought life was going to be one long boring clothing experience, until I turned 15 and the world opened up - and I realized there were all kinds of clothes all over the nation. All over the world. Since the beginning of time. Blew me away. I was still not a clothes horse, and never would be, but I was so relieved. 

Still, I stuck by jeans and T shirts and little biddy skirts you could make out of your old jeans, and down jackets in a nice brown so that you could sit on the floor and the dirt would not show. Dr. Scholls sandals in summer and winter, then with socks. You could walk on your toes, climb mountains,walk across deep puddles. Great. And, for some reason, green rubber boots. Man,they seemed so simple and manageable, and in those days, was a perfectly acceptable fashion non-statement.

As time went on, there were children to spend money on, but also suddenly interesting clothes places. Not locally then, but places that had 25 colors and each name of a color was something so obtuse you couldn't figure out how they got to that weird name. But clothing became more interesting, and before a lot of stores, Victoria's Secret, besides lots of underwear, had really interesting clothes that you could actually wear, even as a mother. And in those days, at least where I lived, mothers were supposed to be a bit under the radar with their clothing.

We once ordered me a velvet top and matching skirt for winter holidays, and for fun, got a couple of underwear.Normal nice underwear. The box was delivered to the house, and my then 2 and 3 year olds ran to rip open the box, a very exciting proposition regardless of the contents. Out was dragged the beautiful new top, the shirt, and then the oldest held up a pair of underwear that was remarkably....small. They held it up in the air between all of us and said "Mom, what happened to the BUTT?"  Turned out they had sent me...a thong. 1991. My husband and I laughed so hard we fell over,and still laugh today.

So yesterday I am realizing I am too tired to go around to local places, which I would like to do, and I pull out catalogs to see if anything else is truly possible aside from this confusing array of white jeans, and no, it seems not. I examine them and the intricacies, nothing I would ever want to spend time doing you must know, and each white jean, believe it or not, seems very different from the other. I have no idea who all these people ARE who differentiate so carefully between white jeans.

I look at bigger photos online. I look at the views. I give up. I call the company.

This very nice person answers, and I ask if they can help me. I tell her what's up. She says, "Sure. Give me the first item number." So I do, and we both sit there talking about the number of pockets and cotton versus spandex proportions. Then the second. Then the third. They all have different words that would lead one to believe there is something significantly different about them. I can't see why.

We hone down the characteristics gradually. I say "These pants look looser than those." She says "Maybe it's just the size of the model wearing the pants and nothing intentional." Uh.

We finally get some differences, me thinking I have never in my life spent this much time thinking about clothing, and then she says "Remember if you put them in the dryer, they will get smaller." I say "I never put them in the dryer. They last longer if I hang them up to dry." She says "I know, I never do either, but sometimes my husband does, because he thinks he's being helpful with the laundry." I say "Oh,yeah, and then forget it, right? That's it for those." She says "Don't  you know it! Kills me!" I say " Can you teach him to hang them up? I hang everything up. Now my husband hangs everything up. I told him his clothes will last longer and he won't have to iron." She says " Forget it, he'll never do that." WE laugh, and talk about pants that are loose enough to be comfortable but close fitting enough that you don't have 'elephant butt', and laugh some more.

And then we go on, talking about this and that for awhile, and I forget who she is and that she is at this company, and instead we are sitting together, invisible, far away, talking about weather and clothes and family and line-dried clothes and finally it's time to say goodbye, so we do. She says "Take care, and good luck with your pants!" I say " Thank you so much for your help. You have a nice day!" She says " You do too!"

And I go back to the computer, wishing I had more energy and it was a store down the way, which actually are all huge chain stores anyway, but still....and I pick one white jean that is so far distant from any jean of my youth you could hardly call both of them jeans, and I purchase it. Send the little message through the ethers. Send my money through the ethers too. Close down the computer. Check my phone with a message from the ethers. 

I think about the woman sitting at work, laughing with me about young women and tight pants and what jeans were like long ago, laughing and talking over the ethers while I imagine her laundry room, and she imagines mine, and we laugh, voices moving through phone ethers, thinking of the very first phones and how magical and ridiculous they seemed, then how convenient, then how so many were certain they would ruin humankind. Then the fax machines. Wow. That was something. And now, we have so much stuff wandering through the electromagnetic ethers, surrounding the globe, infiltrating our genes, carrying conversations of laughing women, talking over jeans, of all things, and then on to another day.

4.27.13 Yesterday and Today , For Etienne, In Awe

Every since I met you,
come into my life,
filling my days with
exquisite insistence
crisp intelligence
every word a song,
we have come down
to the river.

   

Oh, I left it by

for the long winter,
but you came this spring
to walk beside me
in youth, in restoration
in all your most rabid delight!

So here we are
with the others
almost always at sunset the
car pulls up we all
jump out of doors and
climb swift up up up
to the very cusp of the
grand Connecticut

Breathless. Always.
Always the same, this
surprise at the magnificence ,
the feeling of cogent
power passing as we

stand, silent, by its side. 

And so have you come

and come others shall

and always to the river

we will be called, for it

nourishes the depth

and clarifies the breadth,

this awe

infused into

our selves.

4.26.13 There Is Something About Childhood

If you’re lucky, there is something about childhood, about having a reasonably loving adult, hopefully even a parent or two, happily in your life. If you’re lucky, there may be an absence of continual use of machines and technology in your home , and instead you go off and throw the ball against the back garage wall or the deserted building across the street or play catch with a sibling or neighbor or parent, when school and work are done.

If you’re lucky you get to go for walks and hikes to take care of the growth of your powerful young body’s call to USE itself and grow strong.

Maybe you get to walk or ride a bus or drive a car to places to explore. Especially outdoors expeditions in places with paths and hills and streams and brambly dark tangled woods, because there is no storyline there, only you creating your own, with each step you take.

If you’re lucky, you get to make things out of leftover cardboard boxes, like castles and marble runs and careful hamster explorations and gates for a play that you by yourself or with someone else are inventing just right now...a huge gate you cut and somehow tape together and tape onto old chairs, with no one yelling at you to not tape stuff to the chairs or make such a mess, and there it stands, magnificent...and you take markers or paints and draw vines and maybe a sign on the gate. This imaginary world is becoming something you invite yourself  into, and off you go. Far from the schoolwork you could not understand at all at all, or the mean kid who always tries to trip you when no one is looking, or the parent who seems so crabby and worried and bumps into you and you are the one that says sorry, as they barrel by.  Instead, here you are, off into the story you have planted and watered and weeded and fertilized; off you go into a living breathing invented land.

If kids are lucky, maybe they have a grandparent or parent or parents who survive the bouncing about and the hour of wiggling-struggling-to-fall-asleep, because it’s tough for some kids. Some kids, can manage to fall asleep. They can. And some try hard and simply have a terrible time.

If kids are lucky, they have food that is simple and delicious and nourishing so they grow strong and calm and resilient, and they eat sitting down with someone and no machines and the people look at each other and talk or are comfortably silent, or share their day.

 If they’re lucky, there are trees to climb somewhere near, and their miraculous arms and shoulders and backs become so powerful. Maybe they have a bike of their own or one to borrow and get to ride up and down the sidewalk or the road or the driveway, making pretend all kinds of things. Maybe they get to bring a bike to a rail trail and off they go, on and on, imagining they are crossing the country just with their amazing dependable legs and incredible tireless breath.

Maybe they get to go to a park with swings or they have swings at home, and they pump and pump and look far below and pretend they are so far up in the sky, that they can’t even see the people or roads or houses…and they give themselves a little thrill…. catch their breath, then come around enough to decide it’s the perfect time to take that big swinging leap…off into space, and see if they can land without too much blood loss. This time.

Sometimes kids are lucky and have patient support for dealing with those who are unkind or unwise or unclear . Sometimes kids have support for learning how to articulate what they are thinking or feeling, how to set limits, how to understand what their needs are, and how to get those needs met.  They can soothe their losses, disappointments, fury, and the inevitable experience of harm or inequity. And settle themselves mostly okay, once again. So their deep wise self does not show up with eating and sleeping and behaving problems because it’s the last call for getting someone to sit up and take notice of what is really truly bothering that poor kid.

When I know a young person, whether they were my own kids when younger, kids in my practice or neighborhood, or in my town, I have slowly come to understand something. Despite the fact that my own children are not parents, I am a grandmother. Walking around the world, doing errands, in and out of stores and down paths ,in my neighborhood, I am a grandmother. You see, the world needs grandparents. And the cool thing is, anyone can be a grandparent.

It doesn't mean you get to be all bossy and nosy and go tell others how to live and what to do or not do, right? It does mean you can be kind and thoughtful to others. It means you don’t start up conversations with kids you don’t know, because they need to learn for the most part not to talk to strangers. It does mean if you strike up a conversation with the parent or caretaker, and begin talking, you courteously include them too. It means if you are at dinner and there are 12 adults and 1 kid, you don’t join the others talking over their head, ignoring them, and then chastising them for ‘misbehaving’. Instead, you honor them and engage them in conversation that may interest them. It means if you see a kid of any age with no adults around fall on their bike or get hurt, you stop and ask them if they are okay. All common sense of the old times.

Even older kids and young adults you don’t know need grandparents. When I walk the local streets with younger kids and the older kids are on the corners, swearing, I stop at their side, tug on their sleeve, kindly, and say "You want to make sure to say that stuff only when younger kids aren't around, okay? I mean, you don’t want them hearing it if they’re not used to it, right?”. And then I look into their eyes, another caring stern tug on this bigger-than-me kid's sleeve, this unknown big kid, actually, and give them a smile.

And they stop, surprised, maybe trying to bolster up all their tough stuff, if that’s what’s going on, or their ‘Screw you “ stuff, if they have that one, or maybe their “What are you DOING, older-than-me –crappy-older-woman, catch a load of me, all young and powerful!!!“.

And I look in their eyes with the love of a grandparent, and they get taken aback. You can see it happening, right there. Bam. It’s really the sweetest thing.

I think it’s because they catch that glimpse of what we often grow inside ourselves as we grow older…that immense, peaceful, loving, huge power.

And I see it in their eyes, their quick respectful smile that comes, unbidden to their faces, as they kind of come to, and settle down.  As I smile at them, then head on down the road. Because over time, I have come to realize, I am their grandmother too.

4.24.13 FIND YOURSELF, For Senet

Do you remember

how your flesh crawled

 your eyes stung

breath caught;

prey silenced in the bush?

Do you remember how your

mouth soured your

sense of smell tangled with your

hope, all twisted, and then

fallen ?

Oh, dearest, remember

the moment when it

all stilled

frozen in time

and you, too,

became  the carrion

Only decades later to

find yourself yet alive

breathing, the entire

conviction simply a

repast of some sad

declination of your

truth

declination- a bending away

4.23.13 Tragic From End to End

Just thinking over our  human history's past, 

world history past, 

the past of the U.S.,

the dynamics of humans in groups,

 our current ways here, at least in the U.S. , 

just trying to sort and sift  and piece together

and come slowly to some understanding

 of our new world order 

that includes  both the irreverence for life in

our country's choices in other lands

and too the desperate's  perception

 of necessity for violent attacks 

that, by the way, 

do work well to call attention to their passionate concerns.

 just unbelievable.

And so very, very tragic from end to end -

de ponta a ponta.

4.21.13 The West Wind

The window at night is an endless miasma

Fireflies stream

here, and then vanished

Here, you melt into me

arms of my heart

Our age surrounds us

Only the breath of this dark

tempers the incessant call

of that cantankerous west wind

4.19.13 Smaller lives, smaller happenings, quiet and small.

Smaller lives, smaller happenings, 

quiet and small. 

Squash bugs being brought 

from inside to the outdoors, 

little teenagers of a different sort 

than the ones our thoughts are filled with. 

These small teenagers 

outside for the first time, 

looking around, 

smelling, 

feeling, 

then turning round 

to look at the familiar

...me. 

Happy outside life, small beings.