autumn, etc.

Recently, I have taken advantage of our gorgeous Indian Summer by riding my bike to work. The foliage is brilliant this season, and my route consists almost entirely of bike path, which is laden with maple and oak trees. As I pedaled home on Friday, there was a slight breeze blowing, and this, combined with my modest speed, caused the leaves to come at my diagonally, hitting me in the face, sometimes poking me with a sharp edge. This was a little disorienting for the first few minutes, but after several batterings I was able to dodge the leaves by bobbing my head from side to side.

Autumn is, hands down, my favorite season. But this year, it is, like the leaves, tinged with sharp edges. It’s impossible to think of autumn without thinking of Dad. He adored this season. When most people were lamenting the passing of summer, Dad was shopping for mums and pumpkins, adhering leaf decorations to the windows, making flower arrangements in vibrant oranges and yellows. So now that the season is here, the absence of Dad is palpable.

And today would have been Michael’s 34^th birthday, which makes the air feel even heavier.

Dad dealt with his grief over Michael by tilling the soil. He visited the cemetery nearly every day, tending to the flowers he would plant according to the season, sometimes adding a photo or a trinket. He was as attentive to the tiny plot in front of Mike’s headstone as he was to his luscious lawn. By doing this, by feeding the soil and nurturing the plants, he was able to take care of his son in a way Michael never allowed him to in his last years.

Since Michael’s death, I have spent every October 14 in the company of my family: usually, I drive up to Waltham. One year, I ran the Hartford Marathon, and Mom and Dad came to cheer me on; last year, we camped in the Berkshires.

This year, with Dad gone, Kaytie, Joey and I decided to carry on Dad’s tradition of working the earth as a way of healing our souls. Joey dug up the perfectly-planted impatiens that had blossomed so beautifully all summer, thanks to Dad’s extraordinarily green thumb. Kaytie and I bought mums and pumpkins, and set upon the task of adorning the front of the house (and, later, the headstone, which now belongs to Michael and Dad).

I love gardening, love digging up soil and planting flowers. That said, I have inherited nothing of Dad’s plant panache. After a couple of hours of work today, the mums I planted looked scraggly and ill-spaced, compared to the impeccably groomed flower beds of my memory, and to add to the sense of comic chaos, I dug so hard into what I had thought was a rock that I broke a valve on the sprinkler system, and water came shooting out at me and into the flower bed, flooding the hole I had just dug. I yelled to Mom, who thought I was running from a bee. Once I had gotten my message across, she searched the basement, trying unsuccessfully to find the correct valve so that she might stop the shower. She found it after ten minutes or so, and we had a good chuckle. I imagined Dad groaning, good-naturedly, over the state of his front yard.

In spite of the mess, it was therapeutic. I feel closest to Dad when I’m working in his yard, digging with his tools, my hands in the gloves that used to be his. I marvel at his organization. I aspire to his sense of perfection, though realistically I know I’ll never achieve it. His yard, his shed, my family’s house: all are a reflection of Dad’s love and devotion to his family.

So, we were grieving two family members today. But also celebrating lives, remembering birthdays, and enjoying each other’s company, however briefly, however chaotically.

Happy 34^th, Mike. Love ya.

shout out

How can I even begin to express my gratitude to everyone, for everything? I've been buying thank-you notes with every intention of sitting down and filling them out, but the quiet moments are so few and far between that when they offer themselves, all I want is quiet. I will write them, I promise, but in the meantime, I wanted to give a shout out:

--to the aunts who sat with me through the whole ordeal, who made me laugh and let me cry, and who provided the necessary words, hugs, babysitting, and meals.

--to my cousin Karen, who slipped into my house while we were on vacation, mustering up the courage to go through our dirty, ancient basement by the light of her cell phone, and then cleaning our house, top to bottom, so that we wouldn't have to return to squalor.

--to the friends and acquaintances who brought meals when I didn't feel like cooking, and to my pal Stacey, who made the arrangements..

--to my Wednesday night running group, and to the parents of two of Dylan's classmates, who sent Edible Arrangements.

--to the friends who made the drive from CT (and NH), logging 300-400 miles in a day just to pay their respects and lend a shoulder (this means you, Kristen,Fran, Anne, Kim, Sarah, and Stacey!).

--to the many, many wonderful folks who called, mailed cards, sent positive energy, gave me space when I needed it and company when I craved it.

--to Bryan, who whisked the kids off to Vermont when my father first passed--even though he was grieving, too--so that Dylan and Lexi might salvage a little of their vacation.

--and to everyone who has donated to the Heart Walk, which I'm doing on Sept. 13 in memory of Dad. Thanks to my generous cousins, aunts, friends, and in-laws, we've already raised over 700 dollars. You rock!

Have I forgotten anyone? I'm sure I have. You can bet this entry will have some amendments. In the meantime, though, just wanted to say a big, hearty thanks. How blessed I am.

treat family camping trip

We spent a few days camping in Jamaica State Park, VT. What a lovely campground--and that's coming from a curmudgeon who prefers wilderness camping.Dylan and Alexa with cousin Emma Treat, who was visiting from Seattle.
We met this dude on the hike up to Hamilton Falls.
Alexa contemplating whether to put her feet into the icy water.
Dylan makes a face for cousin Kylie (Treat).
Bryan dipping Dylan into the drink.

before and after

"Mommy, I wanna go on the tire swing!"

"Wheee! Tire swing fun!"

"I don't feel so well. . . ."

if you build it, they will come

For the past several months, the residents of Cheshire have been watching the construction of a new playground next to the town pool with eager anticipation. A few weeks ago, the playground finally opened, with much pomp and circumstance, and man, did people come! The Cheshire Herald reported that 800 people showed up to the ribbon cutting (we were included in that number).

I know, I know: a lot of hoopla for a playground, you're thinking. But what a playground! Most of the funds came from companies and private donors, and it was great to see so many folks come together with a common interest: a safe (but not obsessively so), friendly, and enclosed play place for kids--active kids.
The climbing wall looks so real you expect to see water trickling through the crevices. This, and the spider web (below) are, by far, Dylan's favorite attractions. He's a pretty natural climber, so this is definitely the park for him.
The spider web is actually quite tall, so tall that when Dylan made his first full ascent, I was biting my nail and trying to disguise my rising sense of panic as my mind calculated the potential damage to a 4-year-old body. But he was extremely proud, and yelled to everyone who could hear, "Look at me! I'm at the top!"

With gas at 4.35 a gallon in this area, and with the park in walking distance, I'm pretty sure we'll be hanging out here a lot this summer. And did I mention the town pool is right next door? So, instead of going to Colorado as originally planned, we'll be staycationing at Bartlem Park (and spending a week at a cabin in Vermont--ahhhhhh. Can't wait).

kid-ness

Free man, you will forever love the sea!
The sea's your mirror, you observe your soul
Perpetually as its waves unroll
(Baudelaire, "Free Man and the Sea")

There's almost nothing I enjoy so much as watching Dylan and Alexa on the beach. The wide open expanse of sand and sea seems to incite in them a primal joy that ignites their spirits from the moment their little toes touch the shore. And those same little toes are impervious to the water's icy chill: while I quickly withdrew my own foot about a nanosecond after I decided to test the temperature, they raced toward the waves without hesitation, not stopping until they were waist-deep.

Alexa became one with the ocean: she emerged with hair full of sand and seaweed, her skirt and diaper soaked through, her skin glistening with salt and granules. "That's a big pool," she declared happily.

It was Dylan who initiated the impromptu yoga session (see above photo). I guess the sound of the surf reminded him of those "sounds of nature" yoga cd's.

I used to worry about how being a parent would inhibit my innate love of spontaneity. All that planning: diapers, food, extra clothing, bathroom stops, et cetera. But we drove out to Hammonassett State Beach on a whim, in the middle of a Friday afternoon. I threw a few necessities into a bag, grabbed the sunscreen, and we were off. And as I sat back on the sand watching my children frolic, I realized that while I can't exactly run off to Colorado or even New York on a moment's notice, I can still derive great pleasure from basking in Dylan and Lexi's unbridled joie de vivre. It's spontaneity of a different nature: the thrill of being "surprised by joy" in observing the simple beauty of kids at play. None of the photos I snapped accurately captured the vivacity of the moment, and by summer's end, the kids will likely have forgotten the trip altogether, but for me, so much of what makes the memory precious in the pure sense of the word is that I'm acutely aware of the fleeting nature of little kid joy. Before long, Dylan will be checking out the chicks in bikinis, and Alexa will be worried about how her behind looks in her own two-piece (which, by the way, had better not have anything scrawled across the butt! God, how I hate that fashion trend!).

But there's no point in dwelling on the future when the present is so much fun.

Live in the sunshine, drink the sea, swim in the wild air. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)

welcome, spring

It's hard to know how to talk about and celebrate Easter with your children when you are not religious. We have had this discussion often, Bryan and I: how do we instill spirituality and a sense that there is something "out there," something that is looking out for their well-being, without subjecting them to dogma? We have considered the Unitarian Church, and my friend Heide, who is dealing with the same religious questions, has recommended a book called "Parenting Beyond Belief," which I intend to read in the next couple of weeks.
In the meantime, there was Easter. For me, personally, Easter is about resurrection, just as it is for Christians, though not so much the resurrection of Christ, but the resurrection of life in the buds of trees, the blossoming flowers, the return of various birds, and the vitality that comes with all of the colors of spring. So last night, we went to the Ansonia Nature Center for a "welcome spring" drum circle, and this was a good way for us to connect, for Dylan and Alexa, the Easter holiday with something tangible: the arrival of spring. Dylan was more interested in the playground and the remote-controlled cars zooming across the baseball field that was across from the picnic pavilion and bonfire where the drumming took place, but Alexa really got into it, banging on her Guatemalan drum and, later, dancing. She has proclaimed herself a drummer, so perhaps she will follow in mom's footsteps and be a percussionist-band geek. In any case, I enjoy witnessing the musical spirit in our kids, whether they are strumming the guitar, blowing on the mouth harp, or trying to keep up with Paul McCartney as he sings "O bla di, O bla da" (which Lexi sings as, "O bla di, o bla da, life goes long johns!").
Happy spring!

the longest mile(s)

Last month, we spent a night and day in Keene, New Hampshire, catching up with some dear friends: Amos and Emily, who hosted dinner at their apartment in Keene, and Matt, who was visiting from Anchorage. Amos and Matt were my adventure-buddies when I lived in Burlington, VT, and we have stayed in touch via a regular email forum for the last several years, visiting once or twice a year.
The morning after our dinner was frigid but beautiful: blue skies, billowy clouds, and so much fluffy white snow. We ventured into Pisgah State Park--Amos, my sister Kaytie, and our family--for some much-needed snowshoeing. It was soooooo lovely to feel powder beneath my snowshoes, and to see and smell real, honest-to-goodness winter everywhere. Dylan was a natural on snowshoes, even though it was only his first time out. We were so proud.
That said, snowshoeing is a much different affair with small children. The 3-mile round trip trek took us several hours, and by the end, Kat, Amos, and I had to muster up all the good humor in our reserves to get Dylan up the hill and over the mental hump. Halfway through the hike, Alexa, who hadn't slept the night before because we were in a hotel, had entirely succumbed to her exhaustion. She fell asleep in the backpack for a bit, and then, waking to find that she was still on the damned trail, no closer to bed or warmth, she made us aware of her fury by way of a long, loud wail that slowly transformed into a fit of screams. Poor kid. When she wore herself out, she fell asleep in Bryan's arms (see below). He hightailed it back to the car and warmed her up, while the rest of us finished the trek at a Mt. Everest pace: step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Dylan, no less garrulous on the trail than he is at home, felt the need to stop every time he began a new story. I was very fortunate in my hiking mates: Amos and Kat are as witty and good-natured as they come! So a few setbacks, but an enjoyable day nonetheless for all but our tired little girl.