Precipice

Is this the moment

Is this the time

The bend, the shift

The beginning of the end?

Had we reached the top

And now already started descending down the other side

Of civilization as we know it?

There is always a moment,

It seems in hindsight,

Of teetering.

Of course we won’t know until it’s too late

Erosion starting at the bottom

Whisked away until we are all standing on air

like Wyle E. Coyote

Finally the crust will fall, in a pile of empty mansions and un-dyed hair

But in our slip, 

what else could rise?

Today I miss everything

Remember everything I said yesterday?

How I was fine and even thriving 

And I could probably do this forever?

Forget it all. 

That was yesterday.

Today I miss everything.

I miss spontaneity.

A quick trip to the grocery store

Having friends for a last minute dinner

Ending up with a kid-less Saturday evening

I miss freedom

To have coffee and conversation with friends, 

while looking them in the eyes.

To eat excellent food, cooked by someone else.

To plan summer adventures.

I miss the quiet, calm of my empty house

Knowing my people are out there, living in the world.

I miss reconnecting with my girls

The sudden burst through the front door, 

Filled with indignation and the drama of the day.

I miss looking forward to the sound of the garage door,

announcing Shaun’s re entrance into the family,

Just in time for dinner

I miss the ebb and flow of normal life

Even if it was busy

Even if it was cluttered

Even if the break has been good

It Took Time

It took time to find a footing                                       

To stop my eyes from expecting the constant spin              

When the merry-go-round stopped

and we all slowed down                                 

It took time to trust my surroundings

To realize I could open my eyes wide

When the glitter, normally whirling around in my snow globe,

softly landed, piling delicately at my feet.

It took time to adjust to the stillness

The unmitigated days, weeks, months

The stilled rumble of the engine that was life ‘before’ 

The underlying lack of expectation.

It took time to adapt to this new calm

The constant presence of my family, 

Their unabating need to eat something

The perpetual emptiness of my calendar.

Now I want to harmonize with the current I feel running through my soul

The tune of my own knowing

I want to wade deep into this slow, wide river and figure out how to stay there

How to bring this peace into the ‘after.’

Together

Fear spreads faster than the virus

Like a shadow creeping slowly across the landscape

Darkness allows for misinformation, sleight of hand, disbelief

The White House swings wildly from one story to another

Uncertainty tightens its grip

The nation holds its breath

Lock-down

Stay-at-home

Quarantine

Social distancing

Flatten the curve

Normalcy hits pause

We free fall down the rabbit hole,

Dragging the stock market with us

Grasping at canned beans and toilet paper

Tearing loose roots of civility, customs, and freedoms

Some have hoarded paper towels to cushion the bottom

Others land hard without anything at all

Like shadow dwellers, we grab Lysol, Clorox, hand sanitizer and flour,

Retreating to our own dark corners

Fear turns us all into bakers

The dust settles, a new normal begins

Celebrities lounge in 10,000 sq ft mansions

Domestic violence cases rise 25%

Tech workers hit resume from at home offices and carry on

Schools provide drive by meal kits so kids won’t starve

We zoom happy hours, sing alongs and church

Schoology crashes as millions of students try and log in 

There are free audio books, painting classes and workout routines

16 million people file for unemployment

Beaches in Georgia remain open

Black and brown bodies are buried in mass graves in NYC

“We are all in this together”

We are not all in this together.

Strappy Heels

I threw away my heels today. 

Picked up the worn, black shoes by their ankle straps and walked them out to the trash can at the curb.

I hadn't really thought about it.
Hadn't realized they were, perhaps, the last physical reminder of my life before kids.
My life as a young professional, wearing strappy heels and pantyhose, upon occasion.

Who knows why I've kept them for the last 13 years.

As I gently tossed them in alongside the grass clippings and rabbit droppings, I couldn't help but smile. Smile for the shoes I've let go of and for the ones I wear now. 

Forty

She studied her face in the mirror.

Forty.

There were a few more wrinkles, a couple of sunspots and some deep laugh lines in her cheeks, but the rest ...

Same hazel green eyes, deep black eyelashes, same wide smile and round cheeks.

Forty.

It seems monumental. It seems she should feel different, or older or something. The other day, she did notice a younger woman who kept on listing her credentials during a meeting, as if trying to convince herself, more than anyone else, that she was qualified. At days before forty, it  didn’t even occur to her to list the hours and hours and hours of work that set her up perfectly for this gig. She offered help, take it or leave it, no questions asked.

Forty.

She studied her face in the mirror. Freckles still dot her cheeks and she can still feel the hot New Mexican sun turning her face golden brown summer after summer after summer. Each one of those sun spots now dotting her face has it’s own story to tell. The year she hiked up Kitchen Mesa with a  wooden block taped under one foot and leading a blindfolded friend. The summers of friday night camp outs and cooking hamburgers for breakfast under the shadow of Pedernal. The summer of fancy new clothes, new boots and learning how to swing dance in the barn. Riding horses after school and on weekends, just for fun. Getting frustrated with Poco, who wouldn’t, no matter how hard she tried, go through the gates by Chuck & Ginny’s house. Two summers of leading guests through the winding trails of the San Juan Mountains, looking at the old gold mining town of Golconda and watching the string of 8 year olds behind her hit a patch of ground bees and fall like dominoes.

Forty.

The creases next to her eyes echo with laughter as she and her sister and Andy run from the table to the kitchen to snag the last boiled potato from the pot. Laughter around her childhood kitchen table was long and hard and often. Laughter continued through snowshoeing adventures, mountain bike crashes, extra long hikes and long runs toward the coast. Painting a first home and biking through the Tuscan countryside. Playing with friends and a husband and now their two girls. Screaming as a yeti almost grabbed her in Florida and laughing, hysterically, as she whirled around corners and down splash mountain.

The two heavy lines that now crease her furrowed brow started with years of silent protest of hospital tests and recovering from surgery and grew deeper as anxiety and worry crept into her life as a new mother.

Forty.

She studied her face in the mirror. Life, a reel of experiences, dances behind those eyes. Her journey has felt like a slow and steady, uphill climb. But the views keep getting better, so she keeps on climbing. Plus, she’s always up for a challenge.

The twinkle in her eye comes from the boys she loved, the man she chose to share her future with. And from walking into Diagon Alley with the two girls she walks to school every morning.

Forty.

She may have the same eyes, smile and cheekbones, but as she looks a little deeper, she can see life and growth and change in her face. She likes this forty year old version of herself.

October

A cacophony of color surrounds me. Shades of red, yellow, orange fall softly into my eyes. Everything gilded in beautiful October light. It drips from every leaf, every corn stalk, every blade of still green grass. Pumpkins polka dot my vision.

October lives in my bones and runs through my veins.

The air is soft. Soft with the remnant of summer and filled with a steady stream of yellow honey locust leaves. The next breath will float one into my afternoon coffee.

The world is screaming to be noticed, yearning to be smelled, to be touched, to be tasted.

Light blue sky with cotton ball clouds.

Sweet drops of juice from a crisp apple.

Leaves rattling as they tumble down the street.

Warm, soft sunshine caresses my face.

Damp earth, ready to receive this year’s leaf crop.  

Oh October, how you demand attention.

Hay tractors drive down my street, but their gait is slow and steady now, much less urgent than the driving of early, summer mornings.

Now they rumble by in mid afternoon, as if they too have a little time.

The harvest is over and winter is still out on the horizon.

October is a pause.

A breath.

A chance to look around and gather up warmth and color and the fullness that is right now. Reflection on lives lived and people who have passed on.

Masquerading as witches and pumpkins to try and trick the inevitable. Pretending in a moment of joy as we wait for the sharp cold and the white snow and the inward turn of winter.

But for now, October.