Nothing but sad

It is Hilda and Andy Byrd's twenty-third wedding anniversary today. Andy shared this information with Nicolas and I, tears running down his face as he looked up at us with his beautiful clear blue eyes from his always-present wheelchair. He told us lots of things about Hilda, the love of his life. He told us that she had not wanted to be put on ventilators, if it should come to that, but that yesterday, after a surgical procedure to remove brain tumors had failed, she had whispered to him, "Let them put me on the ventilator. I want one more chance, Andy." The ventilator wasn't the last chance she had hoped it would be. Her body gave up the fight, despite her spirit's strength. Andy held her hand and she was able to squeeze his in response, when he told her that she could let go, could leave him. Moments later, she was gone.

He told Nicolas and I all of this when we reached him at the funeral home, taking our turn in the long line of people who were there to give their respects. Hilda was so loved. She was a foster mother, an organic farmer, long-time wife and caretaker of Andy. She had ten siblings. Her strength was palpable. It seems impossible that strength such as she had could ever have been diminished.

I have another forty-something year old friend who is in her final fight with cancer. I have to believe that she will kick its butt. But if Hilda could not, I wonder.

"Tell each other every day that you love one another" Andy said to Nicolas and I.

Every day.

Not just my husband, but also my children, other family and friends. Oh, my friends. Just in case you didn't know, I love you.

Out of Control

This week, there were the floods in Georgia (the farmer in this NY Times article is a friend and has more damage than he even realized in the interview) and the orange dust storms in Sydney, and probably some other unusual weather elsewhere on the globe that I don't know about, all of which could make a human being feel kind of out of control and vulnerable. It could provoke a need to take control in other ways.

I was thinking about this last night at Gillen's baseball game. As usual at these games (and at our local wally world - at least when I used to go there) there were several parents seriously wielding control over their kids. It sounded like this - "What are you doing out there! Wake up."; "Ah, you're not sick, drink some water."; "Hope you have a good game 'cause this is going to be the last one you get to play!" This is all said with patronizing, screechy voices.

There are other, loving, trusting parents in the stands. And there is the joy and thrill on my kids' faces when they make the hit or cheer on their team mates. I try to focus on that and keep my glaring down to a minimum.

Wouldn't it be cool if these frustrated parents were given control over the refreshment stand at the first sign of needing to control their kids? The more artistic ones could paint murals about global warming or kids rights in the parking lot. Or, there is always toilet patrol.

I have to write about this here so that I won't lose control myself when witnessing this the next game.

Lisa Heyman's passing

It happened two days ago. Lisa Heyman was an unschooling mother, in NY state. I didn't know Lisa or her family well but did have a few good conversations with her, and I bonded over a love of the Red Sox with her husband at the conference picnic three years ago in St. Louis. Their daughters are known by anyone who attended a Live and Learn conference. They are vital, outgoing, radiant girls, always surrounded by lots of kids. They perform with so much joy at the talent shows. I watched Lisa's husband, Larry, and their daughter Fire (self-named) climb the Alpine Tower with us, fearlessly.

But the memory that keeps coming back to me is of Lisa's smiling face answering my question about how she had dyed parts of her hair pink. I was so taken by that smile, and by her shining, sunlit hair. We were standing at the tye-dye activity on the first day of last summer's conference. I have thought of that conversation over the past few months and have wondered how she was doing on her path to wellness. It never occurred to me that her path could be ending so soon. As with Hannah Jenner, who died a few years ago this week, the suddenness of it is literally breath taking. And, it was the same progression with my mother - difficult to diagnose illness and an unexpected sudden end.

I am very conscious today, as I was yesterday, of how short and precious our time together can be. At the same time, in moments, I am also self-righteously whingeing about the fact that we don't all die in our sleep at the age of 99. But mostly, I am sending love to Lisa's family. May Lisa's gentle strength be with them.

Jesse's Broken Heart

It is the end of a long afternoon of tears. Gillen went to the farm after lunch so Jesse and I were here alone. We were in the kitchen. Jesse, in his footed polar bear pjs, sat on a short step stool that we have in there and asked me, "What is life? What is the reason? Like before all of it, before the big bang?"

History was repeating itself. Immediately I was with my mother in our kitchen in Boston. I was about seven, like Jesse, and was sitting on a tall stool asking her about life while she cooked. I remembered how she had laughed but had tried to answer me.

I didn't laugh. I told Jesse that I had the same questions at his age and asked him what he thought life was about.

He said he thought it was about magic, and then he thought to himself for a bit.

"God is not something that you can see."

I nodded. "Those who think God is real know him because of faith," I said. Faith wasn't an entirely new concept to him.

"I think that Santa is a God," he said, very seriously. "We do know he is there, and is magic, so he is a God..."

I stopped him there.

"Jesse, I have to tell you something ."

And while explaining the reality of Santa, I watched the magic and faith seep out of Jesse. He was devastated. Gillen hadn't been, when he was told the truth by his cousin a few years ago. I know that a lot of kids take it in stride. But it had been hard for me. And it was so much harder for Jesse. He has been going back and forth between anger and sadness for hours. Several times he has screamed at me, "It is all about a lie! How could you do this..." his eyes showing how betrayed he feels. He said that we should have told him long ago while he was still young enough not to really get it (meaning not yet believe in so much imaginative detail, I suspect).

I didn't try to excuse the lie or to fix what he was feeling. I just tried to be there for him. I apologized. He didn't want me to be too near, but he did keep coming back to me to cry and talk out his feelings. He talked about how much it had meant that Santa was proof that there was magic. : (

I know that he will find magic again in his life - a first kiss, or a miraculous encounter, or witnessing his child's birth. But right now, I feel like I personally slayed the big guy. I wish that I could take it all back.

What a Valentine.

Later: Jesse and I managed to end our day with giggles and more deep conversation about magic. He talked about specific characters he has made up from his Fight to the Finish game but that they aren't "magic". I tried to explain that yes they are because he is the magic. He is going on a "magic expedition" tomorrow with a magnifying glass and binoculars (because it may be really, really small, or far away).

Along with Santa, the tooth fairy and the easter bunny (I hadn't thought he still put much stock in that one) died today as well. What a lot to lose.

A Sydney Sunday

We went sea kayaking this morning and I not only survived, I really liked it. Jesse played on the beach with Naomi and Zoe while the rest of us went out for an hour. We paddled past sea planes and water skiers and huge yachts. We saw the big sights of Sydney harbour in the distance. We rode the swells and were not sunk, or even seriously swayed. I am not afraid of spiders, snakes or sharks, even here - where it might be a good idea - but I am a bit scared of having to swim too far, out at sea. Gillen was kind of nervous too. So we were pretty proud of ourselves out there.

For lunch, we were invited by a few of their good friends to a "bahbie". So much good food and wine (lots of that in Sydney) and a few recently engaged and married couples who live here but are from all over the world - Italy, New Zealand, Holland and England. It was a great mix of accents and tastes, including every kind of animal that has ever been cooked. Here is Nicolas, further and further from the farm, pre-feasting, under the trees - one was an Avacado tree with a very ripe massive avacado hanging over our heads.
The other was a Frangipani tree, from which these beautiful flowers fell upon our heads. Luckily, the avocado stayed put.And of course, the highlight of every day - Zoe, who really loves the nursing beads that I gave to her mother (made by Rue).

Gratitude, Day Four - This Moment

Because I am as contradictory as the next woman, I am as grateful for the here and now - this moment - as I am for the changing of the seasons. If only I could always really be there for the moment while it is happening.

In this moment, Jesse is jumping on the trampoline with his friend Logan, who spent the night last night. I can hear them squealing in delight, filled with joy to be with one another, and without their brothers - for the moment.

While drinking this sip of strong, locally roasted organic coffee, with cream, I take in the very wide, walnut(?) antique desk that is holding this mac laptop. The ivory terrycloth robe I'm wearing is warm, and newly washed. There are too many other things on this desk. This desk was my mom's. oops, could be going back to other moments..

My gratitude for the present is deep because I know how much it can change, in the next moment and way before the end of the season.

Almost two years ago (well, Philomena and Chris' daughter passed on two years ago this week), two friends of mine lost their daughters. They got me to get the gratitude even more.

Diana, one of the friends, created this card about gratitude that I have sitting on my hallway table for all to see as they enter the house. I love the reminding factor of this beautiful picture and the moment it will forever be:

They may be thinking about a former moment when they lost their father/husband. They could be looking ahead to other loss. It sure doesn't look like it. I feel pretty convinced that they are just fully tasting, breathing and feeling the falling snow, together - in that moment. Thanks, Diana, for letting me share this here.

Many, many moments (720 to be exact, so far) have occurred between the writing of this post and the publishing. I got so wrapped up in this moment that I found myself almost late to pick up my father, at a garage twenty minutes away, which meant I had to get out of that robe and into a car with the boys, in a "NY minute"; and before I knew it, many good moments had taken me away from the one I wanted to be continuing here. I loved that timeless moment this morning. May I notice them all more.

You can't always get what you want..

In my case, at the moment, that means not getting the autumn leaves of New England. So, as Stephen Stills says, instead you love the leaves you're with. ;)

New cucumber flowers and tendrils, in October!

Beautiful Italian Parsley

Tender new, buttery soft lettuces.


I wish that Gillen and Jesse wanted to dance, play an instrument or do theater. I wish that Gillen didn't want to wear his hair over his eyes. I wish that I were completely over Chronic Fatigue, for ever and ever and not just for months at a time. I wish that Nicolas would eat breakfast and play soccer on a team.

But, as Arnaud Desjardin said, you have to say yes to (be one with) what life puts in front of you before trying to change your reaction to it. And with non-reactive wisdom and patience, maybe my illness will abate, Gillen will grow tired of not being able to see and Nicolas will carve out time for more fun. As for the kids taking part in theater, music and dance - it's time I did more of this my own self!

Rekindled duties (could become passions)

Our oven was fixed yesterday. It hasn't worked since the beginning of June. It seemed like a good idea to leave it off for the summer so as to avoid yet more heat. We grilled a bunch and didn't really miss it all that much. Well, I didn't. On Tues. night, Gillen mixed up the "smart cookie" recipe from the Moosewood kids' cookbook, Honest Pretzels and brought it over to our 90 year old neighbor's to bake them. This was the second time he's taken baking matters in his own hands and borrowed Miss Grace's oven. She loved having him there. They talked for an hour. He said that she described what our small town used to look like and the games she used to play - in the cotton that grew in our yard! I'm so glad that Miss Grace is there. They have known each other since Gillen was two. He said that he still wants to go bake there sometimes, even with our oven working.

Gillen's cooking inspired Jesse to want to cook so he broke in our newly fixed oven with "spaghetti pie" (another Honest Pretzel recipe) for dinner - very yummy! Especially with his addition of 3/4 of a can of organic green olives. Truly. They make everything better, not just dirty martinis.

So I feel a bit of cooking enthusiasm beginning to stir, somewhere deep within. I'm going to grind the spelt and mix up the Weston Price cereal recipe and soak it overnight and cook it up for the boys. It's so nice when their enthusiasm inspires me, so that I in turn can share with them, or mine inspires them, and so on...

My mother-in-law, Helen, is visiting her new grandson so isn't here making flower bouquets and washing chicken eggs (two of her businesses) so I'll be getting my hands back in the flowers tomorrow. I know that she'd be fine with me helping with the bouquets when she is here as well but lately, I need that extra push of necessity, just like with the kids' cooking. I am looking forward to the flowers. So many other passions took over that endeavor (remember how lame red heads can be about heat) but it is a good one to revisit.

More moon and stars and a beautiful visitor

Lately, we experience a new full moon in Gillen's garden every day, and often in pink.

Soon to be sizzling in a cast iron skillet, Alton Brown and NY Times style.

It took a lot of waiting, yesterday at dusk, to get this shot.

My two SILs are both awaiting the births of their first babies, both due in about six-eight weeks. They are both on bed rest. One at home and one in hospital. Now that is waiting. May their beautiful new babes both arrive safe and soundly as many moons from now as possible and may these two amazing women both be able to stay as patient and positive as they have been so far. Send some good thoughts or prayers their way, if you would. Thanks.