A Walk Recorded

A Walk Recorded

Comments 0 Comment

I took a stroll late yesterday through the gloaming, the exquisite though way-too-early gloaming — I was walking between 4 and 5! — then came home and wrote these words:

The late fall light is draining quickly from the sky and a bright near-half moon showing itself. There are the most delicate of evening sounds: a few hardy crickets, the bird that says “Judy” (did I determine that’s a wren?) and various human-caused sounds — a pinging that could have come from a small forge but was likely a kid banging on a pipe — the distant downshift of a passing truck. But none of these sounds disturbed the peacefulness of the landscape. They only enhanced it. 

Some of the shorter shrubs have lost most of their leaves. Those that remain seem to be offering themselves for viewing, like golden coins on a platter. Back on my street, the russets and scarlets of the maples and oaks shimmered in the twilight. 

Night falls fast this time of year, but when it’s warm, as it has been today, that doesn’t seem to matter as much.

The Purse

The Purse

Comments 0 Comment
Britain’s monarch, Queen Elizabeth, has been in power for almost seven decades. And for most every moment of that time she seems to have carried a purse on her arm.

It’s a funny thing to notice, but women notice other women’s purses. And I wonder about hers: Why should this woman, who can snap her fingers at any moment and have an attendant bring her whatever she desires, need a handbag on her arm wherever she goes—including in her own castle? What does she have in there? Her phone? Her hanky? The nuclear code?

Why does this matter? I’ve thought of it recently because I, too, have been carrying my purse around even while inside the house. I take it upstairs and down. Into the kitchen and into the office. Onto the deck and into the backyard.

There’s a reason for this, of course: it’s because my phone is in my purse. And it helps that I have a purse I can wear, cross-body style. None of that prim, crooked-elbow arrangement.

Still, I don’t like carrying a purse around the house, and I’d like to stop this habit in its tracks. But that will only happen, I’m afraid, when clothing designers start giving women what they’ve always given men: pockets.

(Photo: Wikimedia Commons)

Doing the Reading

Doing the Reading

Comments 0 Comment

Finding the balance point for this new phase of life is not going to be an exact science, I can already tell. I crave big blocks of time but am also terrified by them. I tremble at not having enough to do, then compensate by piling on too much.

For instance, I continue to try and do all the reading for class, even though it can be an insane amount. Last night, for instance, I realized that there’s an entire book we’re supposed to read for today.

In my mind are the words of my children. “Mom, you don’t have to do all the reading.” Wise words from people who, as I recall, were taught that they should do all the reading. 

But as with so much of life, relationships shift, patterns change, wisdom develops. 

And tonight, I will go to class at least slightly … unprepared. 

Made by Walking

Made by Walking

Comments 0 Comment

We make the road by walking. That was the sentence beamed on the wall of the Methodist church in Arlington where Bernadette was baptized on Saturday. Bernadette like an old-fashioned baby in her long white baptismal gown and cap. Bernadette who reaches out her arms to be held, who crawls like a house afire and pulls herself up to stand. She is a delight, though she can still cry with the best of them.

While she has perfected the piercing wail, her cousin Isaiah has mastered the wild bird shriek, his way of letting folks know he’s not getting his way. And he used this to perfection during the baptism, even as his parents fed him Cheerios, age-old food of parents in distress, and did everything else they could to occupy him during the service.

It seems like not that long ago we were the parents on the front lines, we were the ones grabbing those little pencils and envelopes in the pews, handing kids keys and trinkets they would never be allowed to touch otherwise. We were the ones carrying a screaming baby out of the sanctuary. We were the ones making the road by walking.

During the sermon, the pastor talked about how those who come before us make the way … just as we make the way for those who come after us. A lovely image not only for the Path of Life, capital P, capital L, but for every little lower-case section of it.

Charting Time

Charting Time

Comments 0 Comment

It’s only a baby habit, just getting started, but I’ve decided to keep a time chart, noting on my (paper) calendar what I’m doing and when. 

Time flows differently these days, it eddies and it stalls and sometimes it swirls by so quickly that I barely see the ripples it leaves behind. 

So rather than wondering each day, where does the time go, I will try to chart it as it flies. 

A noble experiment, yes? 

We’ll see. 

Inside Again

Inside Again

Comments 0 Comment
The house this morning has the feel of Noah’s ark two days into the 40. Only it’s not animals seeking refuge this morning; it’s plants.

As temperatures plunged into the 20s, we brought in the ferns and the spider plant and the cactus. They are hunkered down here where temps are in the upper 60s, heading for a high of 70 once the furnace moves to its daytime setting. Because some of the plants are so large they must be moved in on little dollies, they will stay inside now till spring.

The moving of the plants is one of those autumnal rites of passage I try to put off as long as possible. Turning on the heat in the house is another one. On both accounts we’ve made it to November, which I can hardly complain about.

But I will add a wistful note, a plea to the weather gods. It’s nothing personal, nothing against the plants themselves. But I hope it won’t be long before they can be outside again.

Driving Day

Driving Day

Comments 0 Comment

It’s been a driving day — not a Sunday-drive kind of driving day but a rush-to-the-dentist-then-run-errands kind of driving day.

It’s been the kind of driving day when I look longingly out the window as I zoom past side trails I’ve strolled, imagining what it would be like to be on them rather than behind the wheel of a car. 

I’ve smelled the pine needles, pushed a low-hanging branch out of my way, even felt the fine feathery tendrils of a spider web. 

But all the while I was really cruising down Main Street, Chain Bridge Road, the Beltway. I was in Fairfax and Vienna and Tysons Corner. Everywhere and nowhere, which is how it is when you’re driving. All the while racing to get home … so I can walk.

Three Layers

Three Layers

Comments 0 Comment

Three layers on today, plus wool socks and, at least for the moment, a hoodie over my head. It’s been months since I put on this many sweaters. Must be November!

Life without seasons holds no appeal, would be flat and boring. But as daylight shrinks and cold winds blow, I feel a shiver that comes not just from the cold upstairs room where I write these days. It comes, too, from the knowledge of what awaits us.

The leaves that glitter golden now will soon fall, turn brown, need raking. The winds will shudder in from the west, bowing the bamboo and penetrating even the hardy siding.

Even though I try to live in the moment, to take each challenge as it comes, it’s hard not to anticipate this perpetual, seasonal one, the dying of the light.

All Souls

All Souls

Comments 0 Comment

With Halloween and All Saints Day behind us, we come one again to a more humble celebration in the liturgical calendar: All Souls, the day set aside each year to honor the dead. Not just the famous or the pious but everyone. 

That’s a lot of souls. According to the Population Reference Bureau, about 109 billion.  And every one of them once a life, a presence, a story. 

I don’t know about you, but this day feels more sacred to me than all the others. 

Halloween Lost and Found

Halloween Lost and Found

Comments 0 Comment

Yesterday, my neighborhood rolled out all the stops for a Halloween parade and party, complete with “Monster Mash” and other seasonal favorites blared over a loudspeaker attached to a slow-moving truck; a bouncing room for the little tykes; a haunted forest; and pizza and candy for all. 

We saw baby pirates, glittering princesses; and a rumpled, white-wigged Einstein. My grandkids were a 50s-style greaser, a bumblebee and SpiderMan. It was chaotic and fun. 

True, I never found the treasure trove of costumes that my own girls wore, many of them hand-made by their seamstress grandma. But those will undoubtedly show up soon, in plenty of time for me to lose them by next Halloween.