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Author: Anne Cassidy

Found Time

Found Time

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Sometimes when I wake early I think it’s because there is something I need more than sleep. That something would be time.

I’ve never been a prima donna kind of writer. I fold personal writing into my day: dashing off a post before dawn, scribbling thoughts in my journal on Metro. I have no backyard cabin or artist’s garret (I wish). The living room is my “office,” and my writing time is whenever I can find it.

Still, there’s never enough time. So every week or two I don’t fight the early waking as much as I might. I come downstairs and grab the two hours or 90 minutes or whatever scrap of time insomnia has given me — and use it to read and write.

I might start the day a little tired, but I’ve filled a greater need. I’ve lost sleep — but I’ve found myself.

Back to the Farm

Back to the Farm

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A late day walk yesterday gave me time to leave the neighborhood. I turned right on Folkestone and headed to Franklin Farm. They’ve mown the tall meadow grass there now, and the field was looking brown and parched. But the sky was blue, the clouds were puffy and the air was exquisite. 

I strolled past the pond and fountain, its spray giving the area a spritz of humidity. Shades of things to come. Our weather will be more summery today and tomorrow.
I saw the little dock where fathers take their young sons to fish, and the shallow pools where turtles sun themselves on the shore.
The last time I took this walk was weeks before the wedding. Busyness has kept me close to home lately. So it was with new eyes, calmer eyes, that I viewed the familiar sites. The trees and fences and backyards I know so well. All of it there for the dog-walkers, the kids on bikes, the moms in spandex — and me.
September’s Shoulder Season

September’s Shoulder Season

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There’s dried brush along the road now, and sometimes a single red or yellow leaf floats slowly down to lodge on the dry brown lawns.

I wouldn’t mind a few more months of 90-degree temps — but I’m in the minority. For many, for most, summer has outstayed its welcome. People long for a little nip in the air, for crisp autumn leaves and brisk autumn breezes.

What we have now is the delicious in-between. Not quite summer, not quite fall. I remember once reading a little essay about this time of year in the New York Times. I’ve since looked for that piece but been unable to find it.

But what it said, with far more grace than I can muster this morning, is that these are charmed weeks: all the energy of a new year within the frame of September’s mellow beauty and equanimity. A shoulder season, a fleeting patch of loveliness and ease.

Rear View Mirror

Rear View Mirror

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As the wedding passes into memory, keepsake images flit through my brain. One I keep coming back to is the rear-view-mirror glimpse of the newlyweds as I pulled away from their house last Monday.

I had driven them home after the big festivities, and they were making sure I got safely on my way. I glimpsed at the mirror to see them put their arms around each other and stroll back to the house. It was the perfect coda to a celebration of love and family, and just one of the moments I treasure.

Funny thing, making memories. When you’re young the memories seem unimportant. It’s the experiences that matter. But as you grow (ahem!) older, you realize that experiences are fleeting — and it’s memories that endure. They are the rich rear view mirror of life, a procession of images to relive and cherish.

A Gift

A Gift

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Yesterday’s walk from the Rayburn Building to L’Enfant Metro was bright and breezy. It was after 11, and the lunch trucks were already attracting a crowd. I strolled passed the west lawn of the Capitol, down Independence, past the Bartholdi Fountain, under renovation (wasn’t it just under renovation a couple of years ago?), along the backside of the Botanical Gardens, their glass windows and dome vaguely Victorian in look and appeal. I passed the American Indian Museum, its sinuous curves and yellow stone a standout in a town of angular white buildings.

It was warm but the air was moving, and it blew the hair off my face. I doffed my jacket and swung it along.

This was no recreational amble. It was a functional walk, a path from A to B, from a work function to the office. But it felt liberating to be out in the late morning bustle. A gift.

It was D.C., it was still summer, it was a good walk.

Without a Net

Without a Net

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The tent is down, and the trampoline is back in its regular spot.  But the net is not yet up around it. Which means that last night’s bounce was not only in the gloaming but also in the open.

I know the net that surrounds the trampoline is window-dressing at best. It won’t stop a hard roll or an errant flip.

But I’m the tamest of trampers. I bounce up and down, up and down. I might do a little air conducting if Brahms or Mozart has me by the collar, but otherwise I’m a cautious bouncer.

Still, I felt a bit daring last night as I jumped for 20 minutes without a net. Not quite ready for the circus yet, but liberated just the same.

(Illustration: Wikipedia)

After Labor Day

After Labor Day

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How quickly one gets used to the unregulated life. Even though last week’s wedding preparations kept me crazy busy I was able to complete the tasks on my own time and in my own way. The work world demands a regimentation I’ve taken great pains to avoid.

It’s why I became a teacher after college graduation. I figured out that I could stand nine highly regulated months if I could have three highly unregulated ones to make up for it.

Today I feel the back-to-work burden in my soul. Maybe it’s because I’m still half-exhausted from the wedding. Or maybe it’s because on the day after Labor Day, the traditional back-to-school day, regimentation is in the very air we breathe.

Since I just completed a major project it feels like this should be at the beginning of relaxation not the end of it.  But when the work engrosses, these feelings pass. And it will. I just have to give it time.

The Wedding

The Wedding

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I didn’t give a toast on Saturday night. But this is what I would have said if I did. I would have riffed on the saying “it takes a village to make a child.” I would have said that it also takes a village to make a wedding. Everything from the rehearsal dinner on Friday to the dog watching and wedding photography on Saturday was provided by friends or friends of friends.

The marriage itself, of course, is up to the two people involved. But a community has now witnessed Suzanne and Appolinaire’s vows. And I could feel the love and support of that community swell up behind me as I sat in the front row watching my daughters, all three of them, walk down the aisle of mulch that we laid only a few weeks ago (again, with the help of family and friends). That love and support is like money in the bank for the young couple, something they can draw on through years of life together.

There is much to say about all of this. Too much. My heart is full right now.

But while the tent is still up (the rental company comes for it today) and the magic is still fresh, let me just say that the backyard will be forever transformed by the presence of those we love who came (some from as far away as Paris) to celebrate with us. Dear family, neighbors who watched Suzanne grow up, friends from high school and college and work and childrearing. Appolinaire’s best man Fidel, who grew up in a village not far from him and speaks the same mother tongue.

The big events of life rise up like tall peaks through the fog of daily living. You plan for them, work for them and often wonder if they’re worth the effort. But once they happen (and even as they’re happening if you’re lucky, in moments or snatches of moments), you know they’re worth every penny, every hour. Because they stop time; they define and sanctify the everyday.

The wedding is behind us now. But it’s all around us, too. And it always will be.

The Big Top

The Big Top

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The transformation is almost complete. Yesterday, four men spent five hours putting up this tent, hammering down the wooden floor, stringing the lights, installing the fans, carting tables, tablecloths, plates, cutlery and more to the backyard or the garage.

Yesterday we planted mums, bought food, made favor bags for the guests. Today we’ll prepare for tonight’s dinner, pick up the beer kegs, move furniture, decorate.

Guests are arriving, family is congregating. Now comes what should be the easiest part but is often the most difficult: enjoying it all.

The tent is helping. Part fairy tale castle and part big-top wonder, it takes us out of the everyday, reminds us of another world — one of ease and jollity and joy.

The Errands

The Errands

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It’s been a long hot summer, and September has dawned cool and rainy. The plants are lapping it up. The parched soil is getting a well-earned dousing.

The mums I’ve stored in the basement are up on the deck now, awaiting final placement but getting sprinkled with the real thing rather than a cup of water.

And here at Wedding Central, we’re about to run a zillion errands. Homo Errandus, the errand-running human. In and out of the car, in and out of stores, always with the list in hand. The bible. Crossing things off, blessed relief.

Here we go.