friday haiku

the germination
of a seed, never ceases
to be a wonder

friday haiku (and a happy birthday)

fourteen years ago
this sweet face changed everything
hearts split wide open

::

A couple years ago we had all of our old camcorder tapes put onto DVD so we could finally sit down and watch the hours of video we shot when Liam was little. Some of my favorite footage is of 3-year-old Liam serenading his months-old brother with a little red Gibson Flying V electric guitar plugged into an amp. Liam is strumming away with full intensity and no melody whatsoever, sing-shouting about gorillas and ham sandwiches.

We've joked about sending the footage to America's Funniest Home Videos, but undoubtedly no one else would find it as endearingly hilarious as we do. As the mom of this intensely passionate and creative boy, watching the video always puts a lump in my throat. How did I get such a crazy-cool kid?

Today this little firecracker continues to amaze me. He still puts that same intensity into his guitar practice, but the sounds coming out are whole lot more melodic. He spends a couple hours a week glued to the piano bench, draws with exquisite precision, flips seemingly effortlessly on the trampoline and blows us all away in his understanding of mathematical concepts and theories. But he's not one to tout his abilities. Although at first glance the videos of Liam at 3 years old may have told a different story, this boy has never been one for the spotlight. He's not a performer. He just does what he loves.

Because his baby brother has had developmental and medical needs that have taken a lot of time and emotional energy, Liam hasn't always gotten his fair share of attention and probably shoulders more responsibility than most kids his age. Sometimes it kind of sucks. But the quiet compassion and insight he shows seems pretty uncommon in boys his age.

I'm so grateful for this kid. His kind heart, resiliency and wisdom beyond his years. These are the qualities that truly amaze me. Happy birthday to my little rockstar. I suspect you'll put a lump in my throat forever.

friday haiku

the thing with feathers
perched in a love note to a friend
when no words will do

friday haiku (and some thoughts on Elliott)

Having a good day?
How is your family doing?
Love he shows strangers

::

I haven't encountered many 10-year-olds with a more generous heart and empathetic nature, especially around strangers and animals. One moment that really stands out from our recent family trip to Edinburgh was on the last day in the late afternoon when we were checking out of a store.

Elliott studied the cashier and then said, "How are you doing? Have you had a long day?"

The shopkeeper was a little taken aback but responded in a lovely Scottish brogue, "Well, my little has been keeping me up a wee bit at night. Makes for a long day."

Elliott nodded, looked her right in the eye and said earnestly, "How is your family doing?"

"Why, very well, thank you," the shopkeeper laughed. "What a kind young man you are."

It's so true. He annoys the heck out of his brother and can be stubborn as all get out at home, but he's always the first to say "hello," greeting passersby in the street, showing an interest in the lives of others, picking up on the moods and struggles of strangers. Partly I think he's just hyper-observant. (Favorite line of the trip was when he leaned into me while walking down a crowded street and said quietly, "So, when I grow up, I can smoke?" Clearly he had observed that only adults were smoking!)

Elliott has always been an enigma. He processes academic information with a significant delay. He has trouble distilling the "why" of a given situation. He goes blank when asked to parrot back the details of a story he's been told. But he surprises everyone with his keen pitch and rhythm. His penmanship and eye for detail in coloring and drawing are praiseworthy. He blows his brother out of the water playing video games. He can read upside down. I have no idea what any of this means.

I do know that he also genuinely loves interacting with people. I used to think it was his way of connecting and trying out his verbal skills. I now see something deeper. Elliott seems to innately recognize one of the greatest lessons my mom taught me: "Everyone has a sign over their head that says, 'Make me feel important.'"

I think about this adage often and try to act on it. No one taught it to my son. It appears that he was just born knowing it.

friday haiku

set up the hammock
budding branches, bird songs, sun
a tease: snow again

a friday poem that's not a haiku

Before leaving for a quick getaway last weekend, I grabbed a little notebook that I hadn't picked up in awhile but knew had some blank pages available. I figured I may actually have time for a coherent thought and didn't want to miss the opportunity to write it down. Upon opening the notebook during my flight out of town, I was reminded that this was where I had labored over a few poems in the first half of last year. Being that those were the weeks and months after very viscerally experiencing my mom's death, it should have been no surprise the poems were all about dying. But, jeez, I thought, how about at least one verse on lovers or sunrises? I guess I didn't have it in me.

After noticing the theme and observing all the crazy cross-outs and side writing, I laughed to think how any other person flipping through these pages would surely think it was the work of someone with major issues. And a strange fascination with death. Still, I couldn't help editing one of the poems that had some potential. In the end, I think the poem is about love and how fiercely it binds us together.

::

Fear of Flying

The day before your 13th birthday
I took off
and landed twice,
willing away images of crumpled fuselages and smoldering wreckage.
I never feared flying until I pushed you into being.

At what age does a child skate on unscathed from the death of a mother?
When is it safe to be gone?

Not when I can still coax out the details of your day,
read aloud in your darkened room,
make your lunch or rub your back,
invited.
Plenty of duties no longer need me—
showering, dressing, cleaning your room.
A quiet distance grows.
But 13 needs a mom
maybe more than 2 or 5.

So I pray to the gods of turbulence and steel
to give me one more birthday
and one more
and one more
until you're an age where losing a mother isn't a deafening silence
where no one can reach you,
but just a whisper of sadness
that you breathe in and out each day
and move on.

friday haiku

beautiful lake view
brought to you by gravity
and a propeller

friday haiku

this terrible life

heart-stoppingly beautiful

unthinkably sad

....

One of my dearest friends in the world lost her 17-year-old daughter in a car accident yesterday. I've known beautiful Sarah since she was born. There are no words. 

Keep looking for the beauty. Take every opportunity to love your people. Reach out. Hug.

missing my mom

It's been a year since my mom died. It's so surreal how life just goes on. Her presence is fading, yet I still half-expect her to reappear at any minute. The heart never gives up.

My mom loved my blog. I never really knew how much until, during the marathon of sorting out her closets and drawers, I discovered printouts of nearly every post. Some were printed multiple times. She had done a lot of cleaning out over the four years of her terminal diagnosis, but she held onto my writing. I miss having someone in this world who was so unconditionally proud of me. Here are some of the other things I miss so much.

:: Her everyday phone calls. Usually she called me for no specific reasons other than just to say hi. Some days I found the interruption inconvenient and we only talked for a minute or I never called her back; other days we talked for an hour. I saved some of her voice mail messages on my phone and only recently have ventured to listen to them again. "Hi, Aim," her slightly melancholy voice sings. "Just calling to say hi. Give me a call back." How much I wish I could.

:: Her unsolicited advice. Although she'd laugh and adamantly deny it, my mom was queen of daytime talk shows and latched right onto whatever conspiracy they proffered. She advised me to sleep with my wallet under my pillow when staying in a hotel and to double check the garage to be sure no paint-soaked rags were hiding in paper bags or cardboard boxes, as they would surely spontaneously combust on a hot summer day. My favorite was a text I received from her one morning on the Metra. It read, "News reports of men taking photos of women's bosoms and buttocks on trains and posting on social media. Cover up!" My commute isn't the same without her.

:: Her love of flowers. My mom always had something blooming in her house. Her ability to coax life out of an indoor flowering plant was unparalleled. Her orchids were especially stunning. For a brief stint in her ongoing quest to find the ideal vocation to add to a real estate license, she ran a florist shop. When she discovered it was going to cost her money rather than make her any, she quit it and resorted to frequenting other florists just to get her heady whiffs of rose and hyacinth.

:: Her impromptu gifts. Shopping was one of my mom's greatest pleasures. Somehow I did not get that gene, but I sure benefited from her vice. In stores, online, through the Home Shopping Network, she spent everything she earned buying the latest gimmicks and fun presents for people. As a kid, she'd be covert about the gifts, telling me not to tell my stepdad she bought the boots/necklace/basketball she was sneaking me in a grocery store bag. She loved working so she had her own money to spend and didn't like anyone knowing how she spent it. She bought me my first nice suit, many pairs of expensive shoes, pearls, a beautiful tiffany pub lamp, endless bouquets of flowers, placemats for every occasion, a self-wringing mop, and a leopard-print massage pillow that I quickly donated and now wish I had kept.

:: Her laugh and insatiable desire for fun. My mom liked to be with people who entertained her. She was the ultimate extrovert and incredibly blunt. She had a contagious laugh and was known to "pee a little bit" when things got too crazy.

:: Her hugs. Big, soft and fragrant. The absence of that regular inhale of hairspray and Dior J'Adore mixed with Juicy Fruit gum still leaves an ache.

:: Her unflagging support. My mom was my biggest fan. She may have wished she could change my hairstyle or put more makeup on my face, but her belief in me, my abilities and my choices never wavered.

Maybe it's still hard to comprehend that she's gone because I'm carrying so much of her around in my heart. I hope I always will.

friday haiku

listen how silent
the neighborhood scarcely breathes
when the snowflakes fall

friday haiku

6 pm commute

February 2—what joy!
sky now lighter blue

friday haiku

why the demand for

God's identity papers?
dawn should be enough

(Thanks to Mary Oliver for the inspiration.)

friday haiku

question of the month

"mom, does the moon have a brain?"
i love how he thinks

friday haiku

bucket of roses

like a desert oasis
in January

friday haiku

we heard them coming

black specks then taut white bellies
a gaggle of wings

Pay attention

"The aspects of things that are important for us are hidden because of their simplicity and familiarity. One is unable to notice something because it is always before one's eyes." —Wittgenstein

For years when I was actively posting to this blog I chose a word or phrase to mark the new year. Although I've let this journal go dormant, two words have been showing up repeatedly over the last few days and I know I need to write them down. Maybe it's the significant birthday that just passed, the loss of my mom this last year, finding my baby has become a teenager, or just what Wittgenstein noted so astutely—that the most essential and important moments are like vapor, present for a fleeting moment, out of grasp or often not even consciously recognized.

I want to be aware of these moments. I want to see, hold and remember them. But I realize I not only need to do something to document and preserve what's right before my eyes—write, draw, sew, paint—I need to pay attention better. I need a way to look for them and hold on.

I'm not going to say that I'm going to start writing a book this year or sew a quilt or get serious about poetry. I'm not going to promise myself to post regularly to this blog. I'm just going to commit to pay attention. I'm going to keep my eyes open and survey every day in an effort to find the nugget of beauty, the fragment of story, the memory to save.

Here's where I've picked up that paying attention could be the secret to a life of wonder and possibility and more creativity:

• This intriguing TED talk. I'm going to give "homework for life" a try. For a week or two at least.
• This gorgeous interview with John O'Donohue about beauty.
• This heart-wrenchingly beautiful "textbook." I inhaled it and have a crazy impulse to send it to everyone I love.

Will paying attention slow time down? Will it make me more patient, more astute, more in tune? Will it give me access to that memory vapor that just slips through my grasp?

It's a new year. As good a time as any.  I resolve to find out.