Tick Tock...tick tock

Pressure - I was feeling a lot of pressure when I wrote this a year and a half ago.  A new house with so much work needed, along with my pending decision to quit my career in order to live a new life in a new way.  Quiet time - quieting the endless chatter was, and sometimes still is, hard.

I sat in the dark this morning for a half-hour or so - a goal I had to get myself back to some quiet time alone.  No music or TV, no fire or thoughts of what remains screaming from the endless to-do list around this house we now call our home...

The first thing I noticed as my mind chatter began to quiet was the song of the Grandfather clock - a clock I just bought at an auction a week ago.  Tick-tock, tick-tock it called out and I listened.  It was different from the clock on the VCR that called out from under the TV, which is a constant visual reminder of the minutes remaining until I need to be in the car and on my way to the building of cubes to deal with the twelve’s and fives that need to be rearranged...no, the grandfather clock speaks a different language...tick-tock, tick-tock....

There is no plug that ties the grandfather clock into the grid - no external power that turns its gears - two weights hanging from chains powers the time piece...tick-tock, tick-tock.  It is a pleasant sound - nothing to tell me what time it is, only a gentle reminder that my time to do what I came to do is here and now...tick-tock, tick-tock...until the half-hour arrives and the clock sings out two notes - kind of a ding-dong - like expensive doorbell chimes, which makes me smile each time I hear it.  It doesn't matter what time it is, it just marks another half-hour in human time (humans, after all, are the only ones that really have a need for time...) has passed...or just begun...

...And a truck from Route 5 makes its way into my living room and my mind - reminding me that the outside world is constantly in motion - keeping busy, so very busy, in order to keep distance between the cultural matrix we find ourselves living within and the reality that a quiet mind exposes - the two cannot live together in harmony. 

Tick-tock, tick-tock...and then the heat kicks on...a reminder of the consistency that we've constructed all around our lives...the furnace keeps our home a constant temperature, and our jobs keep us in the same lines each morning during rush-hour, and the holidays bring us together to celebrate in the same way with the same people at the same places - groundhog day - played out over and over with few variations, the same maps followed...tick-tock, tick-tock...

...And as I type these words, the little numbers in the lower left of the screen tell me that it's time to get into the shower...time to get my butt in gear in order to make it to work on time...again...as I did yesterday...tick-tock, tick-tock...and the question whispers from my quiet mind who doesn't understand why numbers affect me so, and says, "how long will you continue to do this?", tick-tock, tick-tock...

In re-reading this post from long ago, I noticed that I wrote of numbers (the time) in the "lower left of the screen".  They are actually in the lower right.  ...And then I realized why.  At the time I was writing a year and a half ago, I was looking within, rather than the other way around - the mirror image; and so...all was reversed - or perhaps...reality.

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Second Chances

I'm doing some editing on an old article...and it reminded me of the second chances (or third...or fourth) we are often given - or give others (or other creatures). Some call them mistakes, while others call them opportunities for growth, but when we or someone, or something finds himself in a jam because of a choice they made...and another helps them out...or simply forgives, then we or they are given a second chance to begin again...or so it seems.

The story I was working on had to do with a Monarch butterfly I had saved from a stream a few years back on an early October afternoon. And if you know anything about Monarchs, it is during this time (the last seasonal generation - the last of three to four generations here in the northeast each season) that their great migrations to Mexico takes place to insure that their species continues to live on.

...And it got me to thinking...

How many chances do we get? How many chances do we give other people or other beings? ...And how and when do we decide? How many chances have others given me - my own mother, father, siblings, friends, co-workers...and Joan, my wife? What if they hadn't...when they did? Our lives are shaped and directed by the reactions of others to choices we make - the seemingly "good" choices...but perhaps more important - the seemingly "bad" choices. And each of our lives have a ripple effect and the second chances we give and are given, reverberate out into the world to places we can never anticipate...

And so, I guess I just wanted to say thank you to those who've given me a second chance (or third...or fourth) and remind myself to give a second chance to other people, places, or things - be it through forgiveness or compassion or a deed that might make a difference to them...knowing that like a pebble dropped into the water - the ripples go out in every direction...forever.

Aydan's Rainbow

I took a break from the computer when Joan asked me to watch the grandkids so she could make a couple phone calls. I had to pull myself away from what seemed important at the time…following a wagon train of new thoughts into and through the Valley of Possibility - squadrons of words and pictures that tumble down from the clouds above my mind, asking me to assemble their hope for survival in a new form - building a new recipe that I always hope will add a bit of nutrition and spice to a world that has been taught to feed upon techno-gadgetry and manufactured, time-eating nano-blah-blah…

Aydan, who’s almost two and has earned his current nickname - “Destructor”, was doing his job, exploring his world - getting into this or that. While Lorelei, who soon will turn five, was directing yet another play – one filled with fairies and mermaids, at the world renowned Dining Room Table Theater.

On the living room couch sat Nalu, the one and only “boy” mermaid…or is it “merman”, from Lorelei’s collection – the one with straggly orange hair and a tag that’s been nearly chewed off (long ago, one of our nicknames for Lorelei was “Tag-Biter”). Over the last couple years, Lorelei has entrusted Nalu to me in-between visits to our home…because, we were both “boys”.

Seeing both grandkids in their own little worlds, I thought I’d shake things up. I picked up Nalu, held him high in the air and called out, “Come on, everyone…let’s have a parade!”

I proceeded to high-step into the dining room, raising Nalu into the air – my drum major prop. I didn’t get more than a passing glance from Lorelei, who was still in fairyland, yet Aydan…began to follow.

Out of the dining room and into the kitchen I marched with Aydan tentatively following behind dragging a white balloon by a long string…out of the kitchen and into the arts and crafts room we marched. And then back into the living room, which adjoins the dining room…where Lorelei still sat at the table, yet by now I had distracted her, and as we passed her table, she joined the parade behind Aydan’s balloon, holding Tinkerbell in one hand and Pocket Polly in the other…

We marched through the kitchen and then down the hall and into the bedroom, where Grammy was talking on the phone. Not wanting to disturb her, we marched back out and up the hall, through the arts and crafts room and into the kitchen when I noticed…Aydan had fallen behind.

I made a tight circle, with Lorelei following my lead and found Aydan entranced by something he’d found on the carpet. He was pointing to it and giving out a toddler grunt, which I translated to mean, “Hey You Guys---Look at this!!!!”

It was a toddler-sized rainbow that Aydan had stumbled upon and for a time, even I was stumped as to how and why it had come to find a home in the middle of today’s parade route. But looking in the direction of the window providing the sunlight, I found a pewter shaped heart hanging on a string from a shelf. In the middle of the heart hung a crystal that was sipping sunrays and transforming them into a tiny rainbow…in the hope of capturing the imagination of three children who were marching down main street inside our small home.

Aydan laid down to examine, a bit closer, the spectrum of colors and in the process, broke the stream of light - making it disappear. I picked him up and moved him a bit to the left, restoring the colorforms back to their temporary home on the carpet.

Joan had finished her phone call and joined us as I grabbed my camera to document the enchanting moment….little hands taking turns scooping up and holding a rainbow…does it get any better than that?

A passing cloud out in the real world ended the life of Aydan’s little rainbow…the little crowd dispersed and the parade had been forgotten. Soon it was time to go to Toddler Time at the library, then on to a picnic lunch at Riverfront Park, and then back home for naps. And all that had happened that morning was left in the wake of my daily planner…till the next morning, when I found myself in the company of a quiet mind up to camp and the treasure chest we’d found at the base of Aydan’s Rainbow joined me…and a yellow pad of paper.

And so it seems to go, day in and day out—as we march in step to the cadence of our chosen drill sergeant…until a magical moment awakens us from our sleep. And when one awakens, everyone else in close proximity gets the same wake-up call and together we revel in the absence of time – Providence, the magical grain of sand suspended midway between the upper and lower chambers of the esoteric hourglass.

She Changed The Way I See...

I sat in her classroom many times over the course of three magical years. Our first meeting came during the fall of 2005. It was November, the most overcast month of the year…and it was a time in my life that I was in-between two worlds - one I had walked away from…and the other, I was still too scared to embrace.

 

You see, a few months earlier, at the age of forty-seven, I resigned from a twenty-three year career in state government. I was too young – too young to retire and too young to sacrifice any more years to “perceived professionalism”; too young to live with my back to the sunshine that had little chance of shining inside a ten by ten cubicle – no matter how close I sat to a window.

 

And so, with the full support of my wife, Joan, and after many years of preparation (getting out of debt and saving pennies)…I quit. We sold our house in the development and moved to a place where pavement doesn’t impede a thirsty earth from drinking, where Nature’s classroom is always open and the faculty is happy with their pay and working environment. I wanted to spend six months in Nature’s Presence…and now, three and a half years later, I remain…in awe of her Presence and her presents.

 

For me, November 2005 was a time of staying oh so very busy, a tactic I used to avoid dealing with what needed to be dealt with, in order to grow in the direction of my new sun. Sitting still was out of the question. I had left the only world I knew, and fear joined me for coffee each morning. Quieting the chatter in my mind, which had lost its’ sense of equilibrium, was not an option – not unless it was silenced by a reality that slapped the meaningless words and pictures from my mind…and that’s what happened…

 

It was like the haunting call of a loon just before dawn on a fog-covered lake; or the striking of a Tibetan singing bowl, whose reverberations send peace-filled ripples to rescue an out of control mind…or the giggle of a four-year-old child, which changes everything…for a time.

 

But this new teacher hooked my attention without making a sound – no words were uttered…she just appeared at the right time and place as I hung from a fragile branch on yesterday’s tree – ripe for the picking.

 

And as I sat before her podium, my mind fell away, leaving me in the place where words have no meaning or purpose – a place called Providence. And in this perfect state, where judgments, opinions, and cultural masks do not exist, I was ready to receive her gift.

 

She changed the way I see...everything.

 

She taught me as I observed her living her life. And her lesson was clear: what we think will prevent life from being lived, is just that – a thought...and thoughts, often times, have no basis in reality.

 

She became a role model for me - she inspired and awed because…she survived. She survived for three years, in spite of having lost such a big part of what makes living possible in the forest of life. She was a yearling when we first met and she unintentionally posed for a number of portraits that will live on for as long as I live…and hopefully will live on and become a part of my own sons and grandchildren as they retell the story born from a cold, depressed November morning.

  

 

Her gift was not wrapped in golden paper, nor was it a carefully constructed lesson plan developed by a team of credentialed suits. What she showed me was that life is lived by those who cannot see what others think will hold them back – they live because no one has ever told them that life cannot be lived that way. They thrive using whatever gifts they learn to nurture.

 

What limits us, in most all that we will ever think or do during the course of our life, is not determined by those who only see our weaknesses, without ever seeing or understanding what is ever more powerful – our strengths. When we focus upon our strengths, and let others worry about perceived weaknesses, there are no limitations. This is where Providence patiently awaits; this is where a three-legged deer worries not about her future – this is where life is really lived…

A Story in Every Moment...

I was walking back into the woods, along the little ridge above the unnamed stream, when it hit me...

I hadn't noticed it in the three previous trips back to where I had cut down an old elm tree - trip after trip retrieving tomorrow's firewood...and the next day's...and the next...

Yet, in a moment of awareness...I heard the stream - the rushing waters as they traveled past me and towards our home, on their way to join with the Mohawk River on the other side of Route Five. How could I have missed it? Me, the man who professes to love nature and all of her whispers...whispers that most never hear. Yet, a busy mind is a mind that blocks everything else out - stick to the mission at hand!

And a big smile came across my face...and heart, as I reveled in finding myself where I was...and when it was. Of course the moment didn't last long. My mind regaining its lost power - back down my mindless path to and across the stream to retrieve another log - the big ones one at a time up on my shoulder - alternating right and left each 300-foot trip so as to not cramp up. And once again I was in flow - lost in my work, a mindless dump truck hauling load after load without thinking.

And so it goes, as it has gone for most all of my life - lost in the flow of tasks and missions and preparations and following the lead of those who I've relinquished my power to...perhaps.

I've been doing a bit of editing over the past few weeks - following the trails of past expeditions into the woods and on the lake and on paths along streams, and I realized that the stories I write about come from the ordinary moments of each day. It is the ordinary moments of each and every day that have a story to share...with those who are ready to listen. Yet, in order to hear, you have to remove the distractions that race about inside our little brains - thoughts of yesterday and tomorrow and what you "should" be doing...in order to accomplish or progress towards...or...

We are a mission driven culture; we give our children agendas to follow and live by...as our parents and bosses did with us. So often we race from this place to that - this appointment or that meeting...running late...not as prepared as we'd like to be...wondering what you'll find when you get there...and down the road - and believe me, it's a short road, you totally forget what all the fuss was about, because most likely, it never really mattered in the first place - it only mattered to well-trained minds that follow a trail of breadcrumbs to a place called Oz.

And all along that walk or ride or while sitting completely still with a racing mind, the moment at hand patiently awaits to reveal what is…right now; the story that's always and everywhere unfolding before us - that we're too busy to recognize or revel in...or share with our children.

I've made a few more trips back into the woods on my favorite path this afternoon - the bright sun streaming through the leafless trees and the stream singing my favorite song in the background - water that will eventually make its way past the building of cubes down in downtown Albany where my eyes would often gaze if I found myself near a window on the fifth floor...and it hit me once again...

Here I was, walking through the woods on a Thursday afternoon - a beautiful late-autumn day, and I was walking in the woods along the stream...harvesting tomorrows' heat from the garden in my back yard; and...harvesting a warmth that comes from realizing how very wealthy I am, as I walk amongst what no man can create - heaven.

Three and half years ago, I would have been sitting in a ten-by-ten cubicle...with my back to the window, my neck crooked while on the phone discussing what no longer mattered...to me. Someone had to do it...and make the big bucks...and drive the shiny new cars...and live in a development with endless green lawns...but it didn't have to be me, at least...not any more.

And I think back to what I asked for as I left that building of cubes for the last time...it was "enough" - nothing more and nothing less, and I've come to realize that this is what I have. We each foretell our future...isn't it nice when we find ourselves in the heaven of our own making, which has always been there waiting for us to stop long enough to realize and revel in the moments where stories are born.

Lorelei Teaches Another Class...

We forget...sometimes, and need to be awakened by those who've not yet learned to focus on grown-up stuff - the stuff that seems to overtake our lives as we age...the stuff that takes up the room where magic once resided, or so it sometimes seems.

Joan and I drove up to camp with the grandkids yesterday; pulling the trailer with our Chevy Tracker in order to grab another load of logs...logs for the fires of the winter of 2008-09.  But it was more of an adventure than a work trip - a "field trip" that Lorelei had been asking for the last few visits; "Can we go to camp today?"

And so off we went, packing up the bare minimum and taking off, listening the whole way to Lorelei's never-ending chatter, which brings constant smiles to Joan and I.  Aydan would pipe in every once in a while with a toddler scream or blabber...and when Lorelei would squeeze her doll in just the right spot, it would cry or say "da-da".  The radio never came on - the entertainment sat in the back seats. And then the songs started - initiated not by Joan or I, but by Lorelei - first came "Mary Had a Little Lamb"; and then one we all joined in to sing together; "Old McDonald Had A Farm", where we went through the names and sounds of every farm animal we could think of (...with a moo moo here...)...while Aydan fell asleep.  How it brought back childhood memories from my own past...driving to Sacandaga River in a car filled with a family of seven...all singing, or searching for the next Beatle...or China...rides that seemed so very long - rides that go by so quickly now, unless a child is there with you to point out what we no longer see - extending the ride - extending time...

That is the way it works, you know...stretching time or doing away with it altogether, comes down to the way we interact with each moment of our lives - the more in touch we are with the moment at hand, the longer that moment seems to last.  A child doesn't hang on to yesterday or place all their hope in tomorrow, the way so many adults come to live their lives - young children see what "is" - right now...and as a result, time becomes irrelevant, or so it seems.

...And as we made it to the top of Bleecker Mountain, and took the right onto Lily Lake Road...and the pavement gave way to dirt and gravel, we watched for and found the giant "pink" rock (a rock at the end of an isolated driveway that gets a new coat of paint every other year) and then the yellow rock (another giant rock that identified another driveway) - landmarks that tell us...we were getting close.
When we got to the end of Goat Farm Road, we came to a stop, so Grammy could get out and lower the chain, which allows us to proceed down the "Little" road to our cabin - our final destination.

As we approached the final turn before arriving at our cabin, I pushed the shift forward on the floor of the Tracker, putting it into four-wheel-drive, getting ready to climb the extremely steep hill up to the cabin.  But as I turned into the driveway, I stopped and asked everyone to wait just a minute so I could disconnect the trailer and push it off to the side. After the trailer was parked, we were off - "Hang on!", I said and up the hill we climbed - all the way up, past the old outhouse and up to the generator shack, where we came to a stop...and then backed down to the cabin steps.

Aydan woke up during the ride on the bumpy climb - the last leg of our journey, and we all piled out of the Tracker with "Camp" enthusiasm!  We were here - the "here" that is far away from the mundane and ordinary...the place where the unexpected is the norm...the place where magic lives behind every tree and under every rock.  The place where water is everywhere in endless forms - the stream, the lake, and the magical puddles in the gravel road.

After a quick lunch, Lorelei and I headed down the hill together with a jug to be filled at the spring - the place where we get our drinking water. It's a pretty long walk to the spring and it's made longer because of the giant puddles that reside in a part of the road, around the bend, which is always filled with what cannot be passed - salamanders (actually red spotted newts).  These are the same ones I loved as a child - it's just that here, I get to see them in both of their stages at the same time.  You see, these newts have two stages of life - a juvenile terrestrial stage, where they live on land (they are bright orangey-red in this "red eft" stage); and a more olive-green adult stage where they live and reproduce in water (usually ponds).  In this giant puddle, we always find the "in-between" ones - those that are going through their physical changes - changes in colors, from orange to green, and the flattening of their tails in order to help propel them through the water.

...I didn't want to stop at the puddle yet - my adult mind still wanting to control our steps, and we pushed on past the puddles (walking in the grass on the side of the road, in order to keep our sneakers dry) taking a left off the road and getting our water from the spring - another adventure in itself...water coming out of a pipe that sticks out of the side of a leaf-covered hill, and the rushing stream from Kari's Creek another twenty-five feet below us...

But on the way back to the cabin, we stopped for quite a while at the giant puddles!  I caught one of the newts and handed it to Lorelei.  She held it with a bit of uneasiness, this being the first time in a while - another reintroduction to the realm of the unknown, where one wants to experience it, yet is still a bit uneasy because our mind cannot predict what's to come.  But, after a time she came to "love" the experience.  She placed the newt back into the water and it swam away.  With my hands in the water, I herded a second newt towards Lorelei's waiting hands at one end of the giant puddle and she was able to grab it and lift it out of the water.  She was so proud of herself and said, "I got it all by myself!"

Once again, she gently held and manipulated the little salamander - flipping it from one side to the other, examining its color and the endless spots; this one being a bit greener than the last. Finally, she let that one go as well...giving it a touch on its tail after releasing it into the water, which sent it wriggling off into the deepest part of the puddle, seeking shelter beneath a water-logged leaf at the bottom.

Back to the cabin we began walking and there on the road was Joan and Aydan, who had walked to meet us. Lorelei burst out with the story she had just experienced, calling out to Grammy - telling of the salamanders in the puddle, and most of all, of how she got one "all by herself!"

And as we got to our driveway, we heard a car coming - it was our neighbor Andy.  And we spent the next half-hour down by the lake catching up a bit.  I sat on Andy's row boat, while Lorelei and Aydan climbed all over the overturned boat...and in the background the wind whispered...it was time for naps. We said our goodbyes and headed back up to the cabin.

Lorelei started her nap in the downstairs bedroom, but then, after going potty...switched to one of the twin beds in the little upstairs bedroom.  I went upstairs and laid down in the other twin bed on the other side of the room and watched as she calmed down, which took a long time, and then the final turn-over...and she was gone...into a deep sleep - a wonder-filled camp sleep...and downstairs I went to find Joan putting Aydan down (he had fallen asleep in her arms as she rocked him in one of the old recliners)...and then there was silence...

While the kids slept, I went about my work, transporting logs from a staging point at the top of the hill behind the cabin, the culmination of my work two days earlier, down to the bottom of the hill where the trailer was parked.  Endless trips up and down the hill carrying a log in each arm or on shoulders each trip down, while panting on each return trip back up the hill.

I had the trailer all loaded and was able to cool down before we heard Aydan, who woke up first from his nap.  I went upstairs and sat on the bed across from Lorelei, who woke as I sat down.  I asked her if she had a good nap, and she said "yes" - and even better, she woke up in a good mood - a camp mood (sometimes she can be a bit grouchy after her afternoon naps)...and downstairs we went to continue our adventure!

She wanted to go back to the puddles in the road - to show Grammy the salamanders that lived there and so, Grammy and Lorelei headed out the door and down the hill, while Aydan and I watched.  Aydan and I played on the porch - stacking blocks, as Joan and Lorelei's voices faded...as they rounded the corner down the road...

When they returned, Lorelei had to tell me all about their adventure - again the highlight being the salamanders she had caught and held and examined..."all by herself!" And she wanted to take me back to the puddles with her...and at first, I thought enough is enough - we'd spent enough time with the salamanders and the puddles, but then I said, "What - are you crazy - don't pass up this opportunity to experience one more time, the magic that is shared when a four year old finds and learns to become a part of a new world!"  And so, out the door we headed - down the steps and down the hill; down the road and 'round the corner to the puddles that held that day's magic for anyone who would dip their hands in to feel and hold and experience what costs nothing...but a bit of time.

What a trip it was - this trip to heaven with little hands and minds who feel and see what we so often miss.

And now, it's time to tend to some grown-up work...but in the back of my mind I hope to remember, that it's the child within that makes every moment, one filled with potential.  If we look upon the task at hand with the eyes of our child - the one who knows that it is a moment that has never been and one that will never be available again (each and every moment is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity), we see what we've not seen before...and we enter a place called heaven where time slows to a crawl and everything is new, which is of course the reality we too often forget as we go through today, the same things we went through yesterday...as time races by...and so it goes.

Find a four year old and follow her around for an afternoon - to find what has been left behind in favor of grown-up paradigms, masks, roles, worries and anxieties...and find that reality is not what we've constructed in our mind - it's waiting to be lived; waiting to be discovered as we become parts of our world, rather than pretending to be apart from it - sheltering ourselves from all that might be...perhaps, maybe...

Moments Resurrected in my Strainer

It's funny how something will trigger a deep dive into a yesterday you thought was gone.  That's what happened, as I got ready to do the dishes this morning, shortly after Joan left for work...

Taking care of Lorelei and Aydan (our grandchildren) a couple days each week is an education - a classroom where Joan and I sit before untainted teachers who seek to fulfill their every curiosity - to make each and every moment count for something - to live every moment like it's the only one they have...which is the case in reality, or so it seems to me (that everything we've ever done and/or accomplished has taken place in "the moment at hand").

Yesterday I spent time with each grandchild alone...Lorelei (who's four years old) and I traveled around the yard, picking some ripe tomatoes from the garden; picking a bunch of apples from the ground, beneath two apple trees (one a crab apple tree and the other I think is a Golden Delicious variety - very tasty!); picking up some trash from the side of Sacandaga Road (trash others throw from their car windows in their rush to get there - wherever there is...); finding a wooly-bear caterpillar on the driveway near some tiny cherries that have begun to fall from the Black Cherry trees - a caterpillar that fascinated Lorelei for the better part of a half-hour; and time in the garage, where I had music playing from an old stereo...while I worked on an old chain saw - cleaning the spark plug and spark arrestor and air filter - and asking Lorelei for this screwdriver and that pair of pliers...and in between, she touched each tool in the toolbox - sorting and examining and organizing what was oblivious to me...

...And then there's Aydan, who at one year old, has to be watched to insure he doesn't eat leaves and grass...and rocks, while outside.  And he said the first real words that I understood - mimicking Joan after lunch was done saying, "All Done", while at the same time raising his hands into the air...and while Joan read a second book to Lorelei just before her nap, I held Aydan, here before this keyboard and computer screen - running my fingers up his leg to find a baby Buddha belly that triggered endless giggling - is there anything better than a toddler's laughter?...I don't thinks so...

...And yet - all that happened yesterday, while in the presence of my grandchildren (my professors), had been forgotten - lost to my morning fortune telling exercise, where I plan the steps I will take and predict their outcome...that is, until I found trapped in the sink strainer, a few things that reminded me of the importance of my yesterday...and before the thoughts and lessons left my mind once again, I sat down and wrote these words:

Moments Resurrected in my Strainer

I cleared the sink of dishes...and sippy cups...

     And on went the hot water...sprayed to clear the way...

And there in the strainer appeared a moment...

     Brought back to life - pulled from the archives of my mind.

A bean and a tiny piece of hot dog...and some tiny twigs...

     And into my time machine I climbed...Back to the Future...

Straining away the moments of my life...

     Some are too big to fit through the holes,

          They remain with me, placed into my treasure chest, 

               Waiting for the right time to reappear.

And that moment came this morning after Joan left for work...

     Leaving me to me and the Tuesday I call my own.

And there in the sink strainer I found a magical moment,

     A moment that now will be moved to a new place in my attic...

A place that is sheltered from the winds and rains and distractions

     Of a world that too often screams what should be whispered;

          All in the hope that we follow where they lead...

The bean and the tiny piece of hot dog...and the twigs,

     All came from Lorelei's plate - a child's plate.

A plate that had sat upon a magical tray,

     Inside a tent where we all ate supper yesterday...

A picnic supper of hot dogs and beans...inside my pack tent,

     On the lawn above the stream - Lorelei and Aydan...Joan and I...

Almost forgotten, while planning the moments of my new day...

     Telling my own fortune in my usual way...until

           I saw the bean...and my mind sought out the saved files

               And into my Now came yesterday...for a time.

Lorelei ate everything on her plate - so unusual in her picky stage...

     Supper in a tent changes everything - makes a meal special

          For Lorelei, Aydan, Joan and I...

Well, she ate everything but a single bean...

     And a tiny piece of hot dog that got left behind

          In the ketchup we call "dipping sauce"...

And the twigs...ah yes, the twigs...

     They came after supper was done,

          As the rolling and jumping had begun...

               Sending debris from the nylon-spun floor into the air,

                    And onto a child's plate and my attic's stairs.