Moving forward

Hello friends,

I am so sorry that I have been gone for so long.

This space has enabled the healing of wounds that were gaping and raw not so long ago. I imagine at times it hasn't been too pretty. You all have listened with gentle patience and responded with sensitivity and encouragement.

I would like to invite you to follow me elsewhere, where I am no longer anonymous. You will probably see comments from my mom or perhaps a friend from college. I am looking forward to interacting with you all in the same place, if, that is, you will join me there.

I will continue to follow you, but under a new name. Look for the friendly pug picture, that will be me. I hope you are well on this cold, December evening. I am thinking of you.

You can find me at www.handsfullofwater.blogspot.com

Hello from

The Land of Happy, by Shel Silverstein

Have you been to the land of happy,
Where everyone's happy all day,
Where they joke and they sing
Of the happiest things,
And everything's jolly and gay?
There's no one unhappy in Happy
There's laughter and smiles galore.
I have been to The Land of Happy-
What a bore!
There are lots of joyful and exciting things happening, just not sure you would be interested in the fact that the Little Man is making consonant sounds now and slept 8 hours straight the other night. Not too much to post about, just enjoying each and every day with my family. I hope that you are all well and that your weekends are off to a promising start. I think about you guys. I'm working on another blog, one that is not anonymous, one that I hope you will share with me. I will let you know when it is ready. I think maybe it is time to fold all of these different "me's" into one mixing bowl!

Trails

We went to a wedding yesterday whose location had me passing through some haunted territory. It felt like driving through a cemetary, or walking over an old battleground. The air was charged.
I studied every single passing car for one in particular, wanting it to appear, dreading that it would. It didn't.

I held my husband's hand and my son held my fingers. I smiled and leaned my head back into the cleansing sun.

Later we danced amid all kinds of loving pairs: bride and groom, mother and son, flower girl and ring bearer. The way a gentleman placed his hand on his wife's tiny belly made me think perhaps we were not the only trio.

Driving back I didn't give a thought to those shadows, although maybe my son sensed them because he screamed as we passed some particularly significant landmarks. I settled myself in the back seat just inches from his face and sang the same lullabye over and again until we pulled onto our street. I remembered how it used to feel, sleeping on the way home from somewhere, and feeling the familiar turns and pauses, until the car slowed and I heard the creak of the emergency brake. Then my mother's soft voice coaxing us out of the car and to bed we went.

The path home is one early learned by heart. I always knew my way back from those back roads deep in the woods of Exeter. And sure enough, one day I decided I was finished being lost.photo by Nadia Dole

little You
with
feather light lashes
a button nose
Lord knows
you are cute as that
as your sipping lips sip
drawn wide like a fish

and those holes to your soul
roam til they slow
and close.
Oh,
little You.

my love released
Lifts Off
this chair
with one last creak
air-bound
for the
smallest
Land
of
Sleep.

List

Nadia's Bucket List post has me thinking about all the things I want to squeeze into this lifetime of mine, so while I listen for the little one I might as well jot down some ideas.

Make it all up to my husband.
Play for a soccer team, just one more time.
Coach a soccer team.
Take a drama class, or at least a workshop.
Visit Vienna and write where the composers may have written.
Publish a poem.
Bring my family to see China in a way that is comfortable for them.
Go to a nude beach (ok, this isn't THAT important to me, but I feel I will have overcome something in accomplishing this).
Return to my parents the generosity they have shown to me.
Get much closer to my brother.
Teach my son what it means to be a good person and a honorable man.
Have a daughter!

I have to stop here and marvel at what I've learned about my dreams in writing this list. I guess I always did want to have a boy and a girl. There is something very balanced about that. A perfect example, though, of how some things cannot simply be willed to happen. We shall see what the future holds. Thanks Nadia, for encouraging me to think about this!

blowing kisses...

to you, friends, from a household that is quiet and hectic at once. I do miss you. I see pretty things that only you would appreciate and wish I had my camera, or pad and pencil. I miss composing things for you. Even more I miss stopping by to see what you are thinking about.

We are well. He now smiles and coos. Yesterday he made a special connection when my husband and I stood before him and each grabbed a little hand. "Hey, you guys know each other?!" I guess that gives you some indication of the fact that my husband and I take different "Rowen shifts", and that it is too infrequent that the three of us share these sorts of moments. This will improve as we continue to catch up on sleep.

Today we went to a local seafood festival and took our food down to the little beach. Rowen gazed at the waves, and then up at the soft, furry arms of the Weeping Willow. He was in awe. Each day he is more and more aware. I find myself imagining all the things we will bring him to see: the giraffe at the zoo, the gigantic Buddah at the museum, the horses at the farm, and those at the carousel too. Then I remember not to rush a single moment.

When I nurse him his eyes study the mirror on the wall, and he makes happy noises.

Precious moments.

Lullabyes

I've been going back in my mind searching for all the lullabyes that sailed me gently off to sea at night. This morning I was rushing to fold clothes while my hands were free, and all of a sudden I heard the sweet sound of my mother's voice singing Tender Shepherd, the lullabye from Peter Pan, to little Rowen. Long ago she used to rock me by the fireplace and sing this, her voice silvery and cool like the snow on the other side of the window. I had almost forgotten. We will sing this tomorrow night.