For Alison and Emily- At Camp
When I joined
that longest line of women,
it was earth that fed me,
my wings folded over
the world within.
Your souls were air,
but we were all wetness,
milky melting,
barely formed.
The moon pulls
my wombless winging self.
You fly over earth,
circling each other,
then
for a moment,
straight back to the space
where you used to be.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Driving Back from Michigan
The day I left Michigan there were tornado warnings.
I stayed for church to hear my brother sing, stayed for dinner with my mother at the retirement home for one last goodbye, guilty that a part of me was relieved to be going.
I heard the radio weather reports as I rushed eastward, hoping to outrun the storm, but it hit: blinding sideways rain howling gray and unimpeded across the flat Ohio fields. I pulled over, but the road signs were ripped loose, the car rocked, the lone trees twisted and torn.
Should I keep going, maybe drive away from it, or sit helpless while the car rolled over and over? My heart was pounding, I who love wind, and I went on slowly for more than an hour before it finally let up. Later I heard that tornadoes had touched down several places along the Ohio Turnpike.
That night I dreamed I was in a car with my mother. One road was rutted ice by a cliff's edge, the other so steep it went upside down. I steered toward the cliff road and woke in a sweat, turned on the light.
When will I become like my mother? Far from fearing death, her memory fading, slipping her thoughts away from unpleasantness. We asked her to sign a DNR form, then she looked out her window:
"What is that little bird on the feeder? Have you ever seen such shaggy bark on a maple tree?"
I stayed for church to hear my brother sing, stayed for dinner with my mother at the retirement home for one last goodbye, guilty that a part of me was relieved to be going.
I heard the radio weather reports as I rushed eastward, hoping to outrun the storm, but it hit: blinding sideways rain howling gray and unimpeded across the flat Ohio fields. I pulled over, but the road signs were ripped loose, the car rocked, the lone trees twisted and torn.
Should I keep going, maybe drive away from it, or sit helpless while the car rolled over and over? My heart was pounding, I who love wind, and I went on slowly for more than an hour before it finally let up. Later I heard that tornadoes had touched down several places along the Ohio Turnpike.
That night I dreamed I was in a car with my mother. One road was rutted ice by a cliff's edge, the other so steep it went upside down. I steered toward the cliff road and woke in a sweat, turned on the light.
When will I become like my mother? Far from fearing death, her memory fading, slipping her thoughts away from unpleasantness. We asked her to sign a DNR form, then she looked out her window:
"What is that little bird on the feeder? Have you ever seen such shaggy bark on a maple tree?"
Thursday, June 17, 2010
June Walk at Valley Forge
Milkweed, thistlefield, sunscenting flowers,
blackbird screaming at a hawk in the eggshell blue,
my legs sturdy,
soaked in rain grass and grain chaff,
striding straight as the deer runs,
ticks be damned,
small as a vole under tall sky and sailing clouds,
my own back to myself,
whoever I am self:
not much matters but the sweet air.
blackbird screaming at a hawk in the eggshell blue,
my legs sturdy,
soaked in rain grass and grain chaff,
striding straight as the deer runs,
ticks be damned,
small as a vole under tall sky and sailing clouds,
my own back to myself,
whoever I am self:
not much matters but the sweet air.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Some Thoughts about Childhood
This morning I was sitting on a rock in Penn Treaty Park at the foot of our neighborhood, watching a cormorant in the Delaware River diving for food. A young family came nearby and I heard the clear voice of their four or five year old daughter,
" Look at the duck! His head is sticking out of the water!" The bird disappeared under water and she cried,"Where is it? Where did it go?"
I couldn't resist and I answered,"It's diving down for fish. It's a special kind of duck called a cormorant. It'll come back up."
The parents and their two girls moved closer and watched for a while, the older child exclaiming all the while. When they moved on , and I got up and passed near them, the daughter had found a small weeping willow tree, and she was excitedly pulling her sister under the canopy and calling it a house. "And here's the door!"
I have worried that all of the overly attentive parenting and scheduling of this generation of children might be squelching their essential imagination. But I could hear a familiar note of discovery in her voice. I remember feeling bad that my own daughters didn't have the same freedom that I had. When I was a child, summer was a pure open field and sky of possibilities. By the time I was nine I could run across the street to the park on my own and climb trees, explore the "Indian" trails, or ride my bike out into the country. Friends were nearby, and we made our own games. We would have been surprised and annoyed to have our parents trying to play with us. They watched our plays, Mother baked cookies with us, Dad took us hiking as a family and gave us a garden plot for zinnias, proper parent kinds of things, but we had plenty of dream time of our own.My girls couldn't safely go alone to the park in our bigger city, and friends were scattered. Still, they found plenty of creative space in their minds.When I heard them one day making a clubhouse under the forsythia in our yard in Richmond, I knew their childhood was intact.
I hope that young parents will feel okay about letting their children goof around, daydream and explore their physical world on their own rhythms. Such pure freedom will never come again.
" Look at the duck! His head is sticking out of the water!" The bird disappeared under water and she cried,"Where is it? Where did it go?"
I couldn't resist and I answered,"It's diving down for fish. It's a special kind of duck called a cormorant. It'll come back up."
The parents and their two girls moved closer and watched for a while, the older child exclaiming all the while. When they moved on , and I got up and passed near them, the daughter had found a small weeping willow tree, and she was excitedly pulling her sister under the canopy and calling it a house. "And here's the door!"
I have worried that all of the overly attentive parenting and scheduling of this generation of children might be squelching their essential imagination. But I could hear a familiar note of discovery in her voice. I remember feeling bad that my own daughters didn't have the same freedom that I had. When I was a child, summer was a pure open field and sky of possibilities. By the time I was nine I could run across the street to the park on my own and climb trees, explore the "Indian" trails, or ride my bike out into the country. Friends were nearby, and we made our own games. We would have been surprised and annoyed to have our parents trying to play with us. They watched our plays, Mother baked cookies with us, Dad took us hiking as a family and gave us a garden plot for zinnias, proper parent kinds of things, but we had plenty of dream time of our own.My girls couldn't safely go alone to the park in our bigger city, and friends were scattered. Still, they found plenty of creative space in their minds.When I heard them one day making a clubhouse under the forsythia in our yard in Richmond, I knew their childhood was intact.
I hope that young parents will feel okay about letting their children goof around, daydream and explore their physical world on their own rhythms. Such pure freedom will never come again.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Visiting Old Age
Written February 12th in the motel room halfway back from Michigan:
Exhaustion, relief, a mixture of emotions as I return from visiting Mother in Adrian. How complex all the workings of the-or my- brain! A lot of my preoccupation was with duty: had I done enough? Would I feel I had nothing to reproach myself for? In general I do much better emotionally than I did in my earlier visits, when a kind of tension would build in my shoulders and head until I thought I would explode. In those days, I thought there might be a magic bullet that would jog Mother's memory process back to normal. Now we're glad she doesn't seem to have deteriorated for quite a long while.
The ladies at Grand Court are quite diverse in their memory functioning. I only really was acquainted with those I sat with at dinner, of course. Even the sharpest witted might still tell the same story again and again. Mother's oldest friend is now not able to remember what she ordered for her meal a few minutes later, asked me many times about where I live, how long I was staying,etc. The worst thing with her is depression: she frequently remarks that she has lived too long and has nothing to do all day. Many others may feel that way but just don't express it. I still can't tell if Mother is depressed but covering it with a politely cheerful exterior, or is out of touch sometimes but not suffering or really is mostly content and living by the moment. It's hard now to remember our lively chatty mother who talked to everyone she met and could converse in a flowing way on any subject.
A lot of the time I was thinking ahead to my own helpless old age and knowing I would not be so graceful. I even had thoughts about whether I might choose euthanasia. It is an awful thing to get to the point that your body is such an enemy and even human interaction is so difficult. Some of the people can happily attend activities, play bridge, gather around a jigsaw puzzle, even visit in each other's rooms. But Mother has isolated herself in her room a lot of the time except for meals, and, thankfully, playing the piano. Has she thought she had to? I believe she is more confused than she admits and covers up by minimizing her activities. The veil parted a little the next to the last day when I dug out a photo album to inspire nostalgia, and she said she'd rather read the paper. She had tears in her eyes when looking away from the courtship pictures. "It does me no good to look at them," she said. "Crying won't bring him back."
What might work better than this? The co-housing community idea seems good: even though the frail elderly need help and have their own rhythms of life, some regular interaction with young people has got to be healthy. And what about feeling bored and useless? Learn deep meditation? It's fine if one can read or converse or take an online course. But if your mind is not functioning well, it is a pretty miserable prospect.
After comment- Feb. 19th
I was feeling grim at that point. Really, I do think her life is as happy as one could expect, and a lot because of her own serene nature. She probably participates just as much as she wants to, and when a person tires as easily as she does, it is very peaceful to sit and watch birds at the feeder.It's another life stage, slower and slower. I know at my life stage ambition and competitiveness are fading away and I enjoy having some time on my hands (not too much, but some.) Everyone who works at Grand Court is kind and helpful to her. At 86, she may not want much more.
Exhaustion, relief, a mixture of emotions as I return from visiting Mother in Adrian. How complex all the workings of the-or my- brain! A lot of my preoccupation was with duty: had I done enough? Would I feel I had nothing to reproach myself for? In general I do much better emotionally than I did in my earlier visits, when a kind of tension would build in my shoulders and head until I thought I would explode. In those days, I thought there might be a magic bullet that would jog Mother's memory process back to normal. Now we're glad she doesn't seem to have deteriorated for quite a long while.
The ladies at Grand Court are quite diverse in their memory functioning. I only really was acquainted with those I sat with at dinner, of course. Even the sharpest witted might still tell the same story again and again. Mother's oldest friend is now not able to remember what she ordered for her meal a few minutes later, asked me many times about where I live, how long I was staying,etc. The worst thing with her is depression: she frequently remarks that she has lived too long and has nothing to do all day. Many others may feel that way but just don't express it. I still can't tell if Mother is depressed but covering it with a politely cheerful exterior, or is out of touch sometimes but not suffering or really is mostly content and living by the moment. It's hard now to remember our lively chatty mother who talked to everyone she met and could converse in a flowing way on any subject.
A lot of the time I was thinking ahead to my own helpless old age and knowing I would not be so graceful. I even had thoughts about whether I might choose euthanasia. It is an awful thing to get to the point that your body is such an enemy and even human interaction is so difficult. Some of the people can happily attend activities, play bridge, gather around a jigsaw puzzle, even visit in each other's rooms. But Mother has isolated herself in her room a lot of the time except for meals, and, thankfully, playing the piano. Has she thought she had to? I believe she is more confused than she admits and covers up by minimizing her activities. The veil parted a little the next to the last day when I dug out a photo album to inspire nostalgia, and she said she'd rather read the paper. She had tears in her eyes when looking away from the courtship pictures. "It does me no good to look at them," she said. "Crying won't bring him back."
What might work better than this? The co-housing community idea seems good: even though the frail elderly need help and have their own rhythms of life, some regular interaction with young people has got to be healthy. And what about feeling bored and useless? Learn deep meditation? It's fine if one can read or converse or take an online course. But if your mind is not functioning well, it is a pretty miserable prospect.
After comment- Feb. 19th
I was feeling grim at that point. Really, I do think her life is as happy as one could expect, and a lot because of her own serene nature. She probably participates just as much as she wants to, and when a person tires as easily as she does, it is very peaceful to sit and watch birds at the feeder.It's another life stage, slower and slower. I know at my life stage ambition and competitiveness are fading away and I enjoy having some time on my hands (not too much, but some.) Everyone who works at Grand Court is kind and helpful to her. At 86, she may not want much more.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Our heroic parents
Just a short thought: How did my parents live through and thrive, having five children? I just finished a big organization project that involved a lot of old letters, among which were many from my parents at critical times in my life. In the first place- what will there be like this for my children? Maybe it's just as well not to have quite so many letters (that I can't bear to part with), but what will be the living record of the times of my life with the girls? Emails? Phone calls? In later years I have written very few letters, in earlier times I have a whole history of those eras.
I really can't imagine the anguish of my parents at times. First their seemingly perfect oldest daughter goes off to college and hangs on to her old boyfriend back home, a guy she barely likes who reports weekly to the parents about his plans to marry me ( I am not writing much at the time.) Then after freshman year I blow up everything, leave the Dartmouth Congregation of the Arts, drop out of Oberlin and marry Jonathan, who has flunked out of Oberlin, is 1A in the draft for Viet Nam and seems generally to be a sickly miserable character. Eventually things work out well, but there are still scary times in Pittsburgh before we get our symphony jobs and onto the right track. Later there is also the divorce and the nervous time in NY for a parent to worry about.
So, that was me. There were four more kids to go, each with unique challenges! I love my girls, and there were hardly any problems with them, but I was often exhausted by the weight of responsibility, the worries about whether I was doing all I could, the worries now in hindsight about my own failings and self-centeredness. That was just two children.
Yet I also read a letter from Dad extolling the joys of children. He said he didn't look forward to a time when he and Mother would be on their own with "freedom." He'd never trade peace and quiet for the pleasures of a house full of children. How lucky we were! It was a golden time for families, a very life affirming time after WW 2. I'm so glad for my sister who has grandchildren and I hope that if my daughters do have children, they'll forget about that heavy responsibility and just revel in the joy and the hope of it!
I really can't imagine the anguish of my parents at times. First their seemingly perfect oldest daughter goes off to college and hangs on to her old boyfriend back home, a guy she barely likes who reports weekly to the parents about his plans to marry me ( I am not writing much at the time.) Then after freshman year I blow up everything, leave the Dartmouth Congregation of the Arts, drop out of Oberlin and marry Jonathan, who has flunked out of Oberlin, is 1A in the draft for Viet Nam and seems generally to be a sickly miserable character. Eventually things work out well, but there are still scary times in Pittsburgh before we get our symphony jobs and onto the right track. Later there is also the divorce and the nervous time in NY for a parent to worry about.
So, that was me. There were four more kids to go, each with unique challenges! I love my girls, and there were hardly any problems with them, but I was often exhausted by the weight of responsibility, the worries about whether I was doing all I could, the worries now in hindsight about my own failings and self-centeredness. That was just two children.
Yet I also read a letter from Dad extolling the joys of children. He said he didn't look forward to a time when he and Mother would be on their own with "freedom." He'd never trade peace and quiet for the pleasures of a house full of children. How lucky we were! It was a golden time for families, a very life affirming time after WW 2. I'm so glad for my sister who has grandchildren and I hope that if my daughters do have children, they'll forget about that heavy responsibility and just revel in the joy and the hope of it!
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