to have and to hold

i am in awe of people who open and promise their heart to a beloved. along with the loving and the happily ever after comes the risk of excruciating loss. lovers eventually must part; one of the pair ascending into the never-ending starry skies and the other pulled down into a bottomless pool of familiar sorrow. my baby sister, in her small village, barely finds time to grieve her husband. she is the mother hen who has to protect all the chicks even as the dark waters lap at her feet. she is finding that her legs aren’t carrying her properly. and also there is all the stuff he left behind. so much stuff. which things of his to hold on to. what precious pieces lead to him now. how to hold on to him while letting go.

in the fairy tale village the starshine is unimpeded, messengers in form of talking ravens, leaping whales, and magic hares abound, plus hairy trolls and generous giants can be found on every corner. daughters revisit their transparent umbilical cords and their mothers acquiesce to the pull. the oldest mother rarely sleeps but only dreams as the moon and the ocean ebb and flow all night long. we celebrate her with a tiny chocolate cake that magically feeds everyone.

the city mice need to return to their homes. we strap Diana (our half a century old Swiss kids’ bike) and the Falcon (vintage British racing bicycle) to the roof of the fully packed car (we are helping) and head out. an enormous full moon rises from the pink horizon and escorts us to a Black Oak (coffee shop) where a small princess weeps. she wants to save her ice cream treat for later but is told that not everything can be held on to.

mothers

the weather report promised doom and gloom but the mighty sun ignored instructions and kept showing up to bless every day of our short visit up north to visit our birthday-girl mom. we successfully got her to her beloved beach. where she found a bounty of drying kelp. to gather up, bring home, and eventually weave into baskets and sculptures. creative juices are flowing again. which is good for arthritic joints. mom is eighty-eight years old.

four generations of family live in this small town but mom spends most of her days alone. we worry about her; she worries about us. and once a week the fun ones show up at hers for game night! we are a close-knit bunch. not overly demonstrative but we care deeply and try to shore each other up. two kinds of people and most of the tribe are pie people not cake. we had apple walnut streusel and pumpkin.

it is a difficult time to imagine our futures. but we all try to remember to not get too caught up in anxious predictions and instead gaze clearly at the moment we are in right now. and right now. and now. am i okay today? are you?

sheltering

we left home, promising the hunter and the hibernator we would return before dark. more than an hour into the drive, my brother teased, “are we there yet?” siri replied, “don’t be silly.” our destination was tomales bay; four of us were going kayaking in three boats, one of which had to be unfolded first.

never in the habit of doing stuff, and certainly not for the last half year, it was quite heartening to paddle out into the mist. we traded the constant barking of ravens and crows, the frequent sirens of rescue trucks zipping past the house, and the debilitating threat of virus, fire, and discord for quiet water lapping. we saw seagulls, egrets, cormorants, a kingfisher, and gangs of pelicans flew right at us and then over in balletic arcs, wings whispering. seals bobbed up for curious looky-loos. i remembered that the bay is reported to have sharks. and that is precisely where ominous threats belong: in the dark waters below. we have always known how to live with monsters of the deep.

we paddled for hours. we paddled for miles. the smart cookies brought sardines and mussels for their lunch break. we turned back when we could see ocean waves on the horizon. the sun broke through just enough to bless our upturned faces and we searched the ridges for elusive elk. twould have been nice to go out for coffee and such on the way home but i was soaking wet and we knew the hunter was wondering where her dinner was. we old ladies expect to be fed long before dusk. and the hibernator needed her hood down and heating pad on.

now we are back in the garden. the extroverted squirrel likes company with lunch and nibbles his nut next to me, the eugenias hurl their hard purple berries with good aim, and a hummingbird conference has been called just above.