I Rock Your Baby Son to Sleep

When you announced that you would be married instead of going to college, I felt giddy with joy. Not, mostly, for noble reasons: it was putting together a wedding at such a young age; I must have seen a hundred movies with weddings and flowers, and rings, and kisses. Part of me was sad, too: we had planned to be college roommates; we would have made friends and histories that entwined forever.

So what would our lives look like at this distance? Occasional visits, always something shared deep down: separating histories, but a wire that kept our hearts moving in the same direction. Praise God! I have not lost you, friend. And I have gained a whole family of friends because you chose so bravely:

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I rock your baby son to sleep
Slanted light from the hallway
A CD plays a lullaby
Mellow-sweet, a gentle moment.

Suddenly, a pang tells me
how blessed you are among women;
that even to endure a thousand
crying, up-and-down nights,
bottle-or-no-bottle nights,
is worth his trusting, sleepy heart,
his fingers twirling his cropped, blond hair.
He snuggles into my arm and my side.

If I remain single and childless,
tonight I felt I’d miss
half the stars in the sky.

Never one for greed, I hope,
I delight in seeing your faces as
the skies unfold new grandeur before you:
the word “dog,” learning to run,
then the rock-step, snapping fingers,
sharing toys with his new brother.

Dinosaurs

Me: Dad, I wish I had gone through a dinosaur stage as a child. I was missing out. I really like dinosaurs.

Dad: Well, that's all very nice, but where were you when they were sickly?



I remember one of the most interesting conversations of my life was when Kelly taught me what it is to imagine away boredom. We were maybe 12 years old, and I am sure it was largely motivated by the movie Jurassic Park. As we were in the car headed past fields separated by tree lines, with a forest bordering the horizon, she quietly mentioned, "sometimes, when I'm bored, I picture a pack of velociraptors coming out of the trees."

Ever since, I have often imagined dinosaurs entering into my life. I  especially love the way Dinotopia makes it possible for humans to interact with dinosaurs (specifically the herbivores).

Destination: Cleveland

Dates: June 14-17 [well, we left at 6am on the 17th in order for me to be back in time to go to a wedding. It was beautiful.]
Purpose: to participate in Marine Week. [We were disappointed after learning that this had nothing whatsoever to do with fish or boats. Ha. No. Actual Purpose: to meet up with FRIENDS, specifically Erin and Rachel]
Mode of Transport: Christine's car
People whose presence we missed by being together: numerous

Description: Christine came on Wednesday to help me focus on the week-long, intensive class I was taking. It actually worked. It turns out I can read and write best when there's a person nearby to whom I can occasionally read a brilliant passage, or who keeps me updated on Facebook and discourages me from doing the same.

We left Thursday after class, arriving by midnight in Cleveland. Instead of recounting every single thing we did (which Christine and I did on the way home, with true narrative genius, I might add), I shall add 34 more items to my list of Favorite Things.

Quoteboards
Erin's laugh
Christine's laugh
Rachel's long-lost laugh
Carolyn's laugh
Laughter
Duct tape [we went to the duct tape festival... It's only impressive if you think of it as a small town's summer carnival + a nod to duct tape]
Cafes
Flawless weddings [we did not all attend one, Erin was the coordinator at one on Saturday]
Lavender soda
Open windows
Ponytails
Thank-you cards
Soft puppies
Powdered color
Sweat bands
No traffic
Little black dresses [Marshall's store: Christine, Rachel, and I tried on dress after dress, many of which we would never dream of actually buying. Though it's always so rewarding when those look good on.]
Bobby pins ["Are you going to bobby pin that hair into submission?"]
Headbands that fit
Background music
Ceiling fans
Invitations to go swing dancing
Friends with apartments
Funny grammar mistakes
Eating 'cause you're too lazy to stare [I have no idea what that means now]
Community naps
Dutch Blitz
Going out
Visiting nursing homes [we did not do that, we just wrote it down]
Sitting on counter tops
Sitting next to a friend in class [not that we went to class all together... I mean, since college]
Watching the old version of "Father of the Bride," (you know, the one with Elizabeth Taylor?) at Erin's house with her family and friends, and eating pizza, and drinking root beer, and all the while a little cat is determined to stay right in the center of your lap, all curled up sleeping. 
Staying up until 4am talking, expressing a devil-may-care attitude toward tomorrow's six hours of driving with an hour-and-a-half of sleep.

June

It's beautiful: being overcome
by simple exhaustion at the end of a school year.

[Breathe.]

It's beautiful.

Favorite Things

I have a notebook that Adriane gave me three years ago. I started to write things in it that make me happy in February of 2009. Here's the first installment of 90:

• a sunrise in the desert
• a sunrise over snow
• a sunrise in the mountains
• a sunrise
• down comforters
• embarrassing moments that become funny stories
• watching a movie
• changing routes all of a sudden
• clean sheets
• coming into an attic that is warm
• rearranging furniture
• sending letters 
• getting letters
• making lists
• running faster

feeling better after feeling sick
peanut soup (Lachelle's version)
Schnapps
praying with an old friend
taking the bus
those moments right before falling asleep
freshly-brushed teeth
just-shaven legs
new jewelry
used bookstores
friend requests on Facebook
fields of daffodils
S.I.S. sisterhood
sauteing garlic and onions
ice cream

• comments on papers (in red pen)
• Jane Austen
• Robert Frost
• Langston Hughes
• Valentine's Day
• Ogden Nash
• sleeping until 8:30am
• coffee 
• canoli
• Campus Deli honey mustard
• fresh green mango with hot sauce and salt
• popcorn
• baking
• striking up a conversation
• making a joke only you get

making a joke everyone gets
hearing a joke
any joke
bathroom breaks
tea breaks
just calling to say "hi"
spring break
winter break
summer break
school time
weddings
road trips in the summer time
a hare-brained idea that becomes reality
a surprise Valentine
old, comfy jeans

• new shoes
• old, comfy shoes
• new jeans
• having a crush
• flirting
• praying in quiet
• praying in loud
• when someone remembers your birthday
• orange and pink
• tassles
• sweaters
• Chapstick
• honeysuckle perfume
• women's suffrage
• exact change

putting on makeup
Google desktop with the notes and the world clock
finishing a classic
understanding what Plato is talking about

driving to see my brother and dad

stopping at Sheetz

horses and buggies

foreign accents

local accents

saying "ya'll" on purpose

maps

killing a bug with your notebook in the middle of class to everyone's surprise

being read to aloud

reading aloud

memorizing poetry
 

Hebrews 10:39

"But we are not of those who shrink back and are destroyed, but of those who believe and are saved."

So persevere. It's a matter of identity. We are the kind of people who believe and are saved. Just like runners first have to think of themselves as runners before completing a marathon, or an artist must call herself an artist before completing a masterpiece. We are perseverers. Holding out and fighting through is what we do.

Everything Natural

I have a hole in my vocabulary: I don't know how to describe landscape. It may be the result of a lack of nature reading. But I am more prone to believe that it comes from a lack of nature. What is a rill? A hummock? What exactly is an escarpment? It sounds like a place where fish might be bred. It gets worse when we're talking about specific types of herbage. As I read James Herriott, a Scottish author, I found myself at a blank when I tried to imagine his environment. I finally gave in and web-searched what peat moss and heather looked like.

My vocabulary hole is even more apparent when I try to write about my environs. I don't even know the name of the tree outside my window. In the summer, its greenery is vibrant enough to obstruct intrusive eyes. In the wintertime, said tree drops its leaves onto our porch from which they are swept into the road to be removed by the street cleaners (which I never see, but know exist, because they are religious about ticketing vehicles). Even after discarding its leaves, long green pods remain on the branches. Throughout the winter, these pods become more and more translucent, revealing small black seeds inside, which obligingly take up the office of the leaves and scatter themselves about our porch, to be swept into the road and then removed by the unseen, yet fastidious, street cleaners. Through my long and fervent commerce with this tree, I have yet to learn its name, or any of its virtues as a plant. As a city-dweller, it merely gets in my way; much like the tree a few houses down which excretes a sap that smells like vomit, and has accordingly been dubbed the vomit tree.

I'm out of touch, you see.
I don't know nature,
and she doesn't know me.
I haven't felt the earth with
my bare, soft feet
in I-don't-know-how-long!
...It may be getting to me.

I remember living in smaller towns growing up. I wasn't so far removed then. I could hike in the woods, and did often. I knew the smaller parks and hiking trails nearby with an almost shameful intimacy. I didn't often feel hungry or tired there. Sometimes, it was a marvel how deeply I lost myself in sunlight and trees. I wanted to be a part of them. Some force would pull me off the trail, to know the outside of the trail, and maybe actually know it... nature, something. Once off the trail, my desire would only grow. There was more, where was it? Knowing tree names wasn't enough, I had to be a part of it, get inside. I would climb a tree, or stoop to the mosses, inspecting the insides of logs. But that tugging does not just go away. Sometimes, in fact, my dissatisfaction rose to anger.

Not long ago, I was visiting Longwood Gardens with my grandparents. While there, I compared it to my first time to Longwood, ten years ago. I had felt that dissatisfied longing to be in nature. I remember how awful it was to be in such an achingly beautiful place, and somehow not really know it. But something was different this trip. As I walked through the conservatory, I felt like singing to God! I felt as though I had to worship and adore the Creator, or I would burst all over the lovely orchids. I smiled dumbly, room after room of incredible colors, each representing a vast framework of design. The longing was still there, but smaller. As I thanked God in prayer for His unrestrained, immoderate beauty, I knew that I was a part of it.

My Thanksgiving

Ride the train to see your friends. Let them pick you up.
Have a seat in the living room. Sink into the familiarity.
Do not take it for granted.

Enjoy the trees without their leaves. Meet the gray sky with
steely resolve to be happy no matter what,
As you glide along the highway.

Enter a warm house and start right in.
Don't expect the red carpet,
For it wouldn't be home that way.

Go to the church service in the passenger's seat.
Experience the strangest sensation to be driven by someone you
Used to take to school.

Look at faces so dear, that used to fill your heart
So full that they still do. But it's not the same.
And you don't take them for granted.

Feast.
Laugh.
Walk in the blurry four o'clock, almost snow, almost rain.
And do not take it for granted.

A Place to Match

Grace sits at a clean window. She has time to pray as she knits
blue, green, purple together.

Carla bellows to the boys to keep it down, and sighs
cream, lavender, cream, lavender crochet.

Lilly has her papers before her, memorizes the next week's case studies
bright orange, light orange, bright orange, light orange.

Rhoda sits up in bed this week, finally able to contemplate her dying sister
royal blue straight through.

Kim adds white rows between each woman's strand, yarn to tie life to life.
And they give the blanket to Hazel, who feels gentle hands, soft threads.
Hazel is blind now, but she sees Grace at a window. Carla with her three sons. Lilly at a work desk. Rhoda in a sickbed. Kim in a rocking chair.

And they all dance with Hazel as she sits back finally, wrapped in precious, quiet actions which pass through time.

As the family divides her treasures one month later, the blanket does not match any room of any house. It comes to rest in the mismatched house on Pine Street, on a used couch and an armchair worn out by other owners. The blanket wraps anyone who wants it, anyone who will consent to be blind for a moment. And it warms neatly to tense shoulders; hands holding hot tea and books, in a cold room.

The Happiest People in the World

Here is a selection from Dorothy Osborne's Letters that I found in Woolf's A Room of One's Own.


"The heat of the day is spent in reading or working and about sixe or seven a Clock, I walkeout into a Common that lyes hard by the house where a great many young wenches keep Sheep and Cow’s and sitt in the shades singing of Ballads; I goe to them and compare their voyces and Beauty’s to some Ancient Shepherdesses that I have read of and finde a vaste difference there, but trust mee I think these are as innocent as those could bee. I talke to them, and finde they want nothing to make them the happiest People in the world, but the knoledge that they are soe. most commonly when we are in the middest of our discourse one looks aboute her and spyes her Cow’s goeing into the Corne and then away they all run, as if they had wing’s at theire heels."

The happiest people in the world, "but the knoledge that they are soe." It makes me wonder, am I in that category as well? I think so. And the more so, because I know it. But I cannot allow fear of diminishing happiness to darken my happiness:

"What though my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Savior liveth! / What though the darkness gather 'round? Songs in the night He giveth! / No storm can shake my inmost calm while to that rock I'm clinging! / While love is Lord of heav'n and earth, how can I keep from singing?!"

Maybe Christians are the happiest and solemnest people on earth.