Banana Split

The past multiple weekends have been extremely busy, as have the recent several weeks.  This weekend was the very first in ages, it seems, for some actual downtime.  Herself was quite relieved not to have anything specific on the schedule.  Last night, she made a simple dinner for the Menfolk.  Afterward, banana splits -- for which there had been a craving -- were artfully constructed and contentedly consumed. It was so pleasant. Unhurried. Such an enjoyable change from the hubbub.

After the sun went down, they adjourned to the back yard.  There was a warm breeze and a few stars appeared despite the haziness of the evening.  Someone nearby was sending paper lanterns up into the sky; the lights would rise, glowing silently, until they flickered and ultimately disappeared.

Beloved Husband and Cherished Friend talked a bit about cars and engines and things; Herself listened, trying to organize new bits of information into the data she has collected during previous discussions about various vehicles.  (She is looking forward to the time when she has gathered sufficient knowledge to actively participate in such conversations.)  As she continued to relax for the first time in days and days and days, though, Herself found herself -- instead of hearing the content of their conversation -- listening to the cadence of their voices.  It was a small murmur back-and-forth, like water over stones in a brook near a campground. Or rather, like the quiet bubbling of a nascent River Lethe, washing away cares for those marvelous moments.   So soothing.

It was good.

Temporal 1,461

Our recent 1,000th post was a milestone marker, celebrating the journey of steps as shown by the number of entries composed for the blog.  Today, we find another noteworthy moment.  Rather than speaking to volume of posts, however, this landmark speaks to time:  four years ago (1,461 days - including a leap day), the very first post appeared.  I had arrived.

Thank you, my readers, not only for taking each of the steps with me, but also for bearing witness to my evolution over time.  I am glad to be who, where, and when I am; I am doubly glad that you are who, where, and when you are, with me.

Hush, Look

When we long for quiet, we think about walking:  walking in the desert, walking on the mountain. Walking in the cave. Walking, on rare occasion, in the forest.  We think about the creatures we encounter while walking:  in pre-dawn moments at campsites, when javelina trot across the path; on afternoon hills, where deer blend into the foliage; under the trees, where evening birds roost and call to one another.  Squirrels, scampering. Scorpions, scavenging. Giant twilight moths, like hummingbirds, investigating the flowers.

We try so hard not to disturb them.  We watch and hold our breath and listen.  We imagine that if we are peaceful enough, the animals will understand us, and know we are not to be feared.

Do not leave me,
hide in my heart like a secret.

- Rumi

Picture copyright 2012, 2013, Mediocria Firma. Used with gratitude.

End of Year

Big milestones at the end of this school year:  Offspring the Second graduates from high school in just over a week, and Offspring the Third finishes middle school.  The schedules these last days are complex, with special events, trips hither and yon, end-of-program performances and shows, particular rules regarding backpacks (don't bring them) and textbooks (turn them in pronto or face a hefty fine), and appearing for a requisite hour even if one is exempt from a high-school exam (silly).  The Offspring are facing these changes with a combination of joy, relief, and angst, and with just a hint of anxiety.  It's a tricky time, but they'll get through it.

Herself has enjoyed seeing Offspring the Second and Offspring the Third's accomplishments in their respective art and theater classes, and finds it heartening to see them interact with their peers in their jovial and warm manners.  Those are the bright spots in these days, for Herself does not particularly care for transitions. Her daily routine is interrupted and reorganized almost beyond recognition. It makes it difficult to accomplish things; she feels at odds and ends.  Even cooking a decent meal seems to be nearly beyond her capabilities at the moment. She is looking forward to the looser, more relaxed structure of summertime.

---

Herself remembers one end-of-year season in particular when she was in grade school. She and her family lived up the hill, fewer than a half-dozen houses away from the school building.  She was allowed to walk down to the school and to help her teacher -- she thinks perhaps it was her fourth-grade teacher -- to organize and tidy up after classes were done.  It was blissfully quiet, the empty classroom.

There was no hubbub; there were no classmates whose noise Herself had to tolerate, no peers whom she needed to avoid to keep from being teased.  There were no deadlines, no quizzes.  There was no need to improve her poor penmanship.  There were books and papers and all the accoutrements of elementary learning that Herself loved.  The teacher was kind and spoke in a soft voice, and Herself was able to do what she loves most, even to this day:  be helpful.

Sometimes Herself wishes anew for a quiet day like that.

The elementary school Herself once attended is now a community center.  

She took this picture three years ago when she attended a high-school reunion, and visited her old stomping grounds. 

Clown Feet

Ottoman-shaped dog did something odd yesterday.  For about half an hour, it looked as though he were wearing clown shoes on his back feet - he was rocked back on his "heels," and his toe pads were showing because they were pointing more forward than towards the ground.

Weird.

He also had a slight tremor in a back leg, and crouched slightly, rather than lifting his leg, to urinate. But shortly thereafter, he galloped full speed in the yard in order to notify the top of the pool cleaning implement he spied over the wall in the neighbor's house that hovering in the nearby airspace was not welcome.

His clown feet have not reappeared since then. Herself watches him while he is out marking his territory in the back yard.  He looks at her askance, as if to query, "Why are you looking? I need some privacy!"

What to make of it?  It is very difficult not to speculate about every tiny motion, action, symptom.  Because of her technical expertise for work, Herself knows all about things like paraneoplastic syndromes and peripheral neuropathies; she can't help but wonder if he's starting to exhibit signs of something more because of the cancer.  Or perhaps it is because of his diabetes.  Or perhaps, it is just some other mysterious downturn/betrayal of his small furry body.  There is no way to tell, and also, no good way to stop his decline without causing him undue distress. The only thing to do is to let him age with dignity, treat symptoms that cause him pain, and wait patiently.  It could be a brief wait.  It could be a lingering, questioning wait.  We shall see.

Herself is dreading the inevitable medical crisis and/or final decision. She knows worrying about it won't change the day and time of its occurrence; she just hasn't reached the degree of acceptance and serenity about it that she wants to have. She is afraid of seeing Thorbert suffer.  She is afraid of the ottoman-shaped empty space that will reside near the front door after he is gone. Unimaginable. Or, truthfully, far too imaginable.

She puts on her brave face and enjoys having him nearby, slipping little treats of cooked chicken to him on occasion, making sure he is comfortable.  Tiny Dog rests near him.  It's a good dog life, for now.

Fringe

We have been enjoying Fringe.  It has just the right amounts of science and science fiction, good actors with excellent chemistry, decent special effects. It keeps Herself moving on her elliptical trainer -- she only watches it while exercising, and is sufficiently motivated to get to the end of an episode, each time.  It is difficult to find quality television these days, but Fringe clearly fills the bill.

The episode we watched yesterday, Brown Betty, was a stylized, fairy-tale retelling of some of the basics of the plot of the show so far.  It was oddly touching.  And in the midst of the episode, character Olivia Dunham summed everything up, beautifully:

All I want is someone who'll warm me when I'm cold, feed me when I'm hungry, and maybe take me dancing. 

1,000 Steps

We have traveled far
From the beginning, to this,
Millennial post.

We do not yet know
Where the path leads, or wherefore;
Step by step, we go.

The sojourn abides.
We are glad for the journey
And your company.

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.  - Martin Buber