Oodles

Oodles

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Last night we went out to dinner — a friendly, chaotic Thai place. It was just the five of us, a rare occurrence in these days of married and otherwise partnered daughters. It was a lovely reminder of what started it all.

I’m so fortunate to have in my life the lovely men my daughters love. But I also treasure hanging out with the original us.

Layers of family, levels of family, oodles of goodness all around.

(The girls many years ago. It must have been after a band concert, which is why Claire, right, is in formal attire.) 

Fortunate Day

Fortunate Day

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I was waking up slowly when the sound of a falling branch catapulted me into full consciousness. It’s a hazard of living in the midst of a waning suburban forest, a place where the old oaks have outlived their three score and ten.

This time we seem to have been spared. It was either a branch from the common land, or a smaller limb off the tree in our yard that’s already slated for demolition next time the tree guy comes around.

But the swoosh and thud did serve as a rousing alarm. It got me up and into the morning, where I took a delicious amble through humid air and young birds doing that little looping fly that is so endearing.

A day that begins with an early walk, no matter how one comes by it, is a fortunate day indeed.

The Boys in the Air

The Boys in the Air

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Today, as we celebrate the 75th anniversary of D-Day, I think not just of the boys who stormed the beaches but also of the boys who flew above them. One of them was my dad.

Frank Cassidy was 20 years old when he took the trip of a lifetime, courtesy of the U.S. government. It was an all-expenses voyage to and from what Dad called “Jolly Old” England. He was stationed at a base outside the village of Horham in East Anglia.

On June 6, 1944, Dad had just turned 21. He had become adept at crawling into the tail-gunner’s seat of a B-17 bomber and firing the gun when necessary. That day, he and his crew would fly two missions, softening up enemy defenses, backing up the infantry, the men who were landing and dying on the beaches of Normandy.

Dad always insisted that what he did was nothing compared with them. “I don’t think the American people appreciate what some of those men did,” he told a newspaper reporter in 2009. “Those guys, they deserve all the honors.”

With all due respect, Dad, I disagree. I think you deserve the honors, too.



What He Learned

What He Learned

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Today, walking to work from Metro, I thought about the book Everything I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.  It was crossing the street that made it come to mind and, once there, it wouldn’t go away.

The book was quite a phenomenon when it was published in 1986, and a 25th anniversary edition appears to be selling briskly. In it, Robert Fulghum says that he stands by his simple rules, that he still believes if we only practiced what we learned in kindergarten we would all be better off.

What did we learn? Things like “share everything,” “play fair,” “clean up your own mess” and “when you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands and stick together.”

Though it’s easy to poke fun at the simplistic message, given the state of our nation and our world, Fulghum’s words resonate even more deeply today than it did when he wrote them.

Exceptional!

Exceptional!

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We’ve been dished out a couple of exceptional early June days with cool nights and mornings and bright, breezy afternoons.  It’s the kind of weather where you’re equally comfortable in long sleeves or short, blue jeans or capris.

It’s flexi-weather. Choose from a, b or c. Add d, e or f. Mix thoroughly and enjoy.

Which is what I’ve been doing. A short walk last evening took me only halfway round my usual course, but al fresco dining completed the night.

And this morning, I threw open the windows and let the air in.

We have so few days like this; I want to savor each one.

This Old Kitchen

This Old Kitchen

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The wallpaper is original, the cabinets, too. The countertop is Formica and the appliances don’t match. Storage is minimal and opening the refrigerator door blocks off the entire room.

Yet, more than 11, 000 meals have flowed from this room and countless family conversations have occurred in it. It’s been the scene of celebration, jubilation and consternation.

It was put through its paces this weekend, with all the meals prepared, dishes washed and leftovers crammed into any fridge nook and cranny I could find. And of course with the girls together making coffee, slicing fruit — and hanging out.

Though we took a few “formal” family shots over the weekend, it’s candid ones like these that I appreciate the most. They capture the allure of the kitchen, the craziness of it, the love and laughter it has known.

Will we ever renovate it? I doubt it. But if we do, I hope all the good vibes remain.

Shark Week!

Shark Week!

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I don’t think it’s officially Shark Week, but it was shark week at my house yesterday as Celia and I took in last summer’s “The Meg.”

Imagine the largest Great White you can, multiply it by 10 and you have a megalodon, a prehistoric shark-like creature that was thought to be extinct but which (in this rousing tale) lives on in a hidden part of the ocean floor below a layer of gas.

When a band of explorers finds a way to permeate the barrier and descend into an eerie place deeper than the Mariana Trench, they find a shark so large that it eats the explorer’s roving pod for breakfast.

Celia and I had great fun trying to figure out who would be eaten and who would survive. We were right about half the time.

Wow, it’s good to have her home!

Multiplicity

Multiplicity

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When I was a full-time freelancer, I often wrote articles for Working Mother magazine. One of their mantras was that women (people in general, but their audience was women) are happier when they have multiple roles — when they’re not just mothers … but mothers and accountants or mothers and baristas or mothers and CEOs. Or, in my case, a mother and a writer.

So today, in addition to being grateful for another trip around the sun; in addition to being especially thankful that my family is together to celebrate — I’m also grateful for my work, for the opportunity I have to be creative for a good purpose, and for the new friends I’ve made around the globe.

Because it’s not just the work, it’s the many worlds it has opened for me. It’s another dimension of life that my own mother, as creative and work-oriented as she was, did not have.

Nothing is more important to me than my family, the amazing young women I’m proud to call my daughters. But I’m so filled with joy and gratitude that I live in a time when being a mother is not the only thing I am. The many roles I have a chance to play enrich my life daily. And today, especially, I’m so thankful that they do.

Postponed Post

Postponed Post

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As the Seattlites sleep in (still on Pacific Daylight Time), I’ve lingered over my second cup of tea, which followed a long walk before the humidity began to surge, which followed almost eight hours of sleep.

This is what a life of leisure would be like, I tell myself (minus the time answering a couple work emails and putting up an away message).

I could get used to this.

(This posting was postponed by … people waking up and coming over!)

The Return

The Return

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Apart from Suzanne’s long sojourn in Africa, I’ve never had one of my kids be away as long as Celia has. She left more than 11 months ago, bound for the Pacific Northwest. She’s built a new life for herself there.

But that doesn’t stop me from missing her.  The last time I saw her, she gave me a little charm, a small shell that someone had given her when she left for the West Coast. I’ve kept it close ever since.

When I miss her even more than usual, I stroke the whorls of the shell, lift it up and inhale its scent, hoping that some trace of hers lingers on it.

We miss our children differently than we do our spouses or our parents or our friends. There is a visceral longing at times — I just want to hold her, give her a huge hug.

And, God willing, later today, I will.