Monday October 22nd, 2007
The wind is so strong and the air is so bad…no one can really breathe outside. The sun is hidden behind huge brownish grey clouds of smoke, dust and haze. Everything looks dingy and washed out. The local news now says about 16 different fires in Southern California, from far north of Los Angeles in the the canyons, way down to Northern San Diego in Rancho Santa Fe. San Diego County has evacuated 250,000 people. Wow.
Right now I feel fortunate. I am home, in air conditioning. I have power. (My market was closed because they lost power). My family is safe and there are no immediate fires right here. The closest one from last night is still “close” but about 8 miles away. I am fortunate.
Who knows what will happen before the winds cease? Fires can change direction, jump freeways, burn up homes and businesses. Nothing truly is certain.
I would even be fortunate if I lost everything. I know this. Because I have my family. Even though everything is grey and ashy outside, and there still is a little remaining fear stemming from claustrophobia (looking on a map, our counties seem surrounded by fires and road closures – many major highways are shut down to accommodate fire personnel), even with all of this. We are fortunate, no, truly blessed.
Keep praying for the people who won’t sleep at home tonight.
Written at 2:00 pm · (8) Comments ·
Monday October 22nd, 2007
Thank you for all of your kind prayers.
All night the winds up here have been consistent at 30 mph with gusts of twice that. The trees have been hitting the house all night and Hope has been scared that they were going to fall over. I wouldn’t be as worried about the fire if the wind wasn’t so strong.
The fire seemed to burn toward us and then held at the top of a ridge (we watched this from our bedroom on the second floor) and then is moving south. Our church and many of our friends are actually much closer than we are to this so we are praying for them.
We can still see the peach glow, even as the sun has come up. We are praying for the people now who are in immanent danger. We are far out of the fire’s path, although the black smoke makes the sky dark this morning. And everything looks orange when sun is filtered through firesmoke and ash.
Last night I had a nightmare that the fire had jumped because of the wind and was now coming down the hill right behind our house. It looked like lava and I was running in and out of our house trying to find what to take. It was so real that when I got up this morning, I had to look at my nightmare hill to make sure it was dark and not fiery red.
We are praying for firefighters’ safety and for rain.
The Fire Authority says that it has burned 8000 acres, it is only 30% contained and they have no control. There are 500+ firefighters working on this fire alone.
Written at 7:22 am · (6) Comments ·
Sunday October 21st, 2007
Pray for us, this is quite close.
Written at 6:56 pm · (9) Comments ·
Sunday October 21st, 2007
At the Kindergarten farm trip on Friday morning, the rule for the children was this: you can pick ANY pumpkin to take home with you as long as YOU can carry it without help to the car. No parents. No chaperone help. All the 5 and 6 year olds, with small (smart and timid) or large (wishful and expectant) pumpkins in hand, walking, some (mine) in tears because it was becoming too heavy.
I walked next to her, disallowing her to pass it off on me. I helped her stop, readjust her grip, reminding her that the rules needed to be followed this time. If she couldn’t carry it, we would have to return and choose a smaller pumpkin. She was determined to get all the way to the car, a good five-minute-walk. Five minutes of hell for little hands and arms. I had no problem enforcing this rule, knowing that this was something she should learn.
She needed me to help her win this battle, show her that it was within her physical power to carry this large thing. I only once suggested she choose a smaller one, because I knew it was well within her personality to find the biggest one she could get away with. And she did it, only half-way suprising me.
She carried it all the dusty way back, tears running down her face. I have come to expect her dramatic tears in situations like this, but its okay. I knew she could do it.
Nothing is gained, in truth, without a little sweat and a few tears. A lesson for her, and for me making me question myself: Do I find the biggest pumpkins I can carry? Or do I try and timidly get away with the smaller ones, doubting my abilities all the while wishing I could take home the giant one. Maybe, like Hope, I simply need someone to encourage me, tell me I worthy and able, help me stop, readjust and walk my dusty journey with me. Thank you to all who have uplifted me.
Written at 4:22 pm · (6) Comments ·
Saturday October 20th, 2007
She opens her eyes before dawn. Something in her young mind spurs her to pull up her quilt and make her bed in the dark. She feels for her doll and walks down the hall to her parents room. Sleepy, eye-rubbing, quietly.
Her quest is only to fall back asleep.
And she finds her safe spot, between her parents’ shoulders. She climbs in, under the covers, snuggles deeply and begins to breathe. Regularly, the breath of slumber, again. She finishes the dream she began in her own bed.
She needs her daddy and her mama and she isn’t ashamed. She needs the safety and the familiarity of her parents after a long childhood night of being independent.
Her mother won’t make her go back to bed, because even though she is forced to the edge by long legs and bony elbows, she cherishes the sweet, even breathing of her daughter’s sleeping. She knows this stage won’t last forever.
Written at 11:02 pm · (8) Comments ·
Friday October 19th, 2007
Really, how long can this possibly last?
How long will she, in her 5 years-innocent, be able to stomach the wonders of Its a Small World? She still wants to ride, and she still laughs at the obviously artificial birds and monkeys and dancing dolls. I smile too, but in her direction.
Really, how much longer will she beg me, no plead with me to stand in line for almost an hour to have about 3 and 1/2 minutes with the Princesses? How long until shyness is replaced with nostalgia or even disdain for something so silly?
When will she lose interest in the newness of it all and become bored, satiated, filled-up? When will picking her own radishes on the farm trip feel old and childish to her?
To be quite honest, I really don’t know. She is my oldest, my first baby, my experiment in child-raising. I know her like I know my own room, yet there is always the “other” in her, the part of her I DIDN’T create. This is the part that I will spend my life trying to understand.
I don’t know when this all will happen, when her “innocence” will be exchanged for something else.
My prayer tonight is that through all of this growing up, we’ll always have afternoons of laughing; that I will welcome her stage-changes as regular parts of living and look forward to the next phase; that I will have the wisdom to give as it is needed; and that she will seek it.
I hope that even if Small World fades from desire, it will never from her memory; that her growth upward will be accompanied by nostalgia, and not scorn. And I hope that the part of her that is JUST HER, will always be at the forefront of my heart, to seek to know and understand.
Written at 8:37 pm · (3) Comments ·
Thursday October 18th, 2007
This would be a great picture of us. It would be if Naomi were in it.
It would look great on a Christmas card (because I usually have mine ordered by Halloween). Our Christmas photos usually have the pumpkin patch in the landscape, but I don’t think its going to happen this year. We are missing somebody. Here is the real picture.
Of course our family isn’t complete without the baby and I can’t even dream what life would be like for me without her (or of sending out a photo with her missing). She is part of the US that is our family. She is part of me and of her sister and her father. Hope wouldn’t be the same. In fact, Hope can’t remember anything before Naomi was a part of our family. Hope was already 4 when she was born. I think she has inserted Naomi into her pre-sister memories. Life with the baby is just how it has always been.
And I can’t remember life before her, really. I can’t remember life before Hope, for that matter; I didn’t know what I was missing. I mean, I do. But maybe having them completed something in me that was unfinished, and the whole time I had no idea. I was wholly unaware that the job of mothering would be so
fulfulling and heart-completing. Life before these princesses, for me, was just empty.
So goes the never-ending quest for a COMPLETE family photo with smiles all around. What do you all do with 4 or 5 or 6 of them? I guess we will just have to wait until our Thanksgiving trip to try to get a family photo in a
once-in-a-lifetime place. Hopefully, then, we will all be able to smile for the compact at the exact same time in history.
Written at 4:24 pm · (14) Comments ·
Thursday October 18th, 2007
“Icy Monka”.
Translated, it is Naomi’s first three word sentence. It is. Don’t believe me? Any ideas? It would help if you know what “monka” is. This is how Naomi’s 20 month old brain has decided to say PUMPKIN…Monka. I can hear it. Say it out loud, monka…pumpkin. It sounds similar.
“Icy” of course is “I see” but it comes out as in one mush without the correct intonation, so it sounds more like “icy”. So you can understand what my car life is like lately as I drive down any road, residential or commercial.
ICY MONKA (the pumpkins on the steps of the neighbor’s house). BYE-BYE MONKA (with some tears). ICY MONKA!! Again, we pass by the local costume extravaganza with the giant inflated jack-o-lantern. BYE-BYE MONKAAAA!! More tears. She doesn’t understand that she will see fifteen more monkas before we get home.
And so it goes with toddler-speak.
Tiny talk, as some friends call it. Words that only mothers know, and fathers catch on to and laugh with the rest of us. Sisters know these words too, because they are whispered in carefully built, dimly-lit bedroom tents, or under covers when everyone is pretending to sleep. Mothers and fathers are not privy to this special sibling-speak.
These words, that are unitelligible to the rest of the world, even other mothers, are what our hearts speak to each other. When I hold my baby, almost too big to be called baby, and nuzzle her soft cheek that smells like blueberry yogurt, and she says these toddler words to me, my heart gets bigger, and my world becomes more defined. Things are sharper in focus and I see more. I understand her words because I am her mother and I care. I know that I may be the only other human who understands her. So I pay close attention. It goes this way with love.
I am not trying to get her to say “pumpkin”. Her
monkas are perfect and her translation of this world is exactly how it should be. As we drive, I laugh and ask her if she sees any monkas…she says, ICY MONKA MAMA!!!! I know that her monkas will probably be pumpkins next year. I am in no hurry.
Written at 7:15 am · (8) Comments ·
Wednesday October 17th, 2007
So, 43% of you said if you could take a vacation, just for the afternoon, you’d rather sleep on a beach than hike in the mountains, or picnic in a meadow. I think its a matter of taste, need and desire. To me, sleeping on a beach right now just sounds sandy. Maybe I am still coming off of the highs of summer or maybe I long for the open spaces of the country. Or maybe I am just being nostalgic. I chose meadow.
When I was a little girl, we used to vacation in Yosemite every summer. We’d camp. We’d camp in canvas tents. We’d trek to the bathrooms, and the showers, and everywhere else. We’d ask my dad, “DO WE HAVE TO WALK”. Of course, that’s what you do when you camp. That’s the point.
If you’ve never been, the Yosemite valley is a narrow gorge surrounded by granite cliffs of breathtaking stone “monuments”, domes and half-domes, waterfalls, all carved by glaciers long ago. The valley is a pine forest dotted with sweeping meadows, green in the summer and icy in the winter. The Merced River rushes through the valley in the spring, meanders in the summer and almost trickles in the autumn and winter. As soon as the snow melts, there it is again, in glory and the waterfalls are full and wide, toppling over the cliff walls down into the valley.
It is a must-see. In fact, it is a must-KNOW.
And it seems like I know it like I know my own home. I’ve been there so many times I cannot count. I know it’s trails and it’s dangers, it’s beauties. It is familiar to me and comfortable. I’ve been there in every season.
The Valley is only a tiny part of Yosemite. In the high country, (most of which is only accessible on foot), is Tuolumne Meadows at about 9000 feet. You can drive there, but beyond that, its all about the backpack. The meadows are green, and cold even in the summer. There is a beautiful stream that runs through it’s grasses. All around, like an audience, are the Sierras, high and grey and strong. And its quiet. Even voices are almost swallowed up by the grandness of it all.
I chose meadow. This is what I thought of when I made that selection. This is where I would take my afternoon.
Written at 7:17 am · (13) Comments ·
Tuesday October 16th, 2007
“When I grow up, I want to be a scientist, a horse rider and a travel agent.” I ask her if she really knows what a travel agent does. She replies that they travel, of course. I guess I probably shouldn’t burst her bubble that they really mostly sell travel packages to other people who travel. These are a five-year-old’s dreams today. And they will change endless times between here and then.
I was talking to a friend awhile back and she commented that sometimes you just have to be okay not to realize your dreams, that some things will never happen and there are many things you cannot change. This is true for many dreams, the ones that can’t be changed: things from the past or things far beyond your control.
But, then again, there are some things you can.
When I was a small girl, honestly, I can’t remember what I wanted to be when I grew up. I think it was a mix of dolphin trainer, zookeeper, and the girls that rode Shamu at Sea World.
When I was in high school and I began to read good things, I wanted to be a writer. I didn’t realize that a person must live a little life in order to be a significant one and to really write.
At my University, I should have taken the jump off the edge of practicality, safety and sureness and plunged into things that I was good at. What is the thing that sits in my soul and breathes? What fills me and exists within quietness? I should have studied writing, but I was too scared.
I made some sort of internal compromise and taught school. I loved it but it wasn’t my dream.
Is it too late to realize a dream? Is a person too old to begin something? I have been in writing-silence for ten years. Maybe its time to jump off the edge.
Written at 1:55 pm · (14) Comments ·
