happy new

Oh how I've missed my blog! Dare I in the spirit of newness determine to more frequently put words down that record bits and pieces of life as it rumbles by?
As it roars by.
As is spins me in circles?
It's not that I think of blogging as a diary.
Although, it can sort of work like one.
"Can it really be two years ago?" I will exclaim to myself on looking back at a story.
No, not a diary, but definitely a record of life in a way that I find so helpful.
It's helpful in the writing.
Helpful in allowing me to sometimes see more clearly.
I don't always even know what I'm feeling about something until I write it down.
Words on a page stare back at you and demand to be honest. It's why I sometimes write my prayers.
I've had a two steps forward, one step back sort of 2015.
And at times, one step forward, two steps back, or three, or four. A sort of snakes and ladders year.
Lots of snakes.
But some very amazing ladders too!
I always thought some magical mantle of maturity would fall from the sky when I hit a certain age. That I would feel calm and dignified in the face of personal failings. Or better yet, would be free at last from embarrassing blots on my daily record and would become a wise and winsome creature.
I consulted Wikipedia and this is how it defines maturity- maturity is the ability to respond to the environment in an appropriate manner. This response is generally learned rather than instinctive. 
Hmmm, appropriate manner is so vague. That's good right?
And it's learned, not instinctive.That's hopeful too isn't it?
Maybe only insurance policies mature at a certain time.
Bet that's true.
Happy New.

excelsis Deo

"Angels we have heard on high," I sang, handing my grandson a wooden angel to hang on the tree.
Without missing a beat he joined me.
"Sweetly singing o'er the plain, and the mountains in reply, echoing their joyous strains."
"Glo, o,o,o,o,oria, in excelsis Deo."

I knew I would always remember him just as he was in that moment.
A picture engraved,
like a snapshot,
of a nine year old,
so tall now,
singing,
our voices blending as we hung the Christmas ornaments.
Me re-learning how to say excelsis Deo.

in the bank

"In the bleak midwinter,
frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron,
water like a stone;
Snow had fallen,
snow on snow,
snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter,
long ago."
Man I love Christina Rossetti.
Love all poetry.
Poetry and song lyrics.
Old hymns too.

Last night I sat with an old friend, visiting my mother.
Our conversation led us by the hand in big loops and circles and brought us around to our beginning point; the power of words to comfort us.

My mother has forgotten things.
She is even forgetting how to speak, how to frame her thoughts with words.
But words have not forgotten her.
If anything, they hold an even greater power and importance for her.
When I quote back to her, snatches of song and poem, her eyes brighten.
Hearing a story read aloud stirs all of her emotions in turn, right in time with the words.

When I was a child, students still memorized things, poems mostly although nothing like the previous generation had. Nor they, like the generation before them. My great grandmother was known for breaking into snatches of song and for reciting poetry. My great Uncle Howard could recite great long epic poems, stanza after stanza. My own grandmother was a quoter as well and my mom too.  And my dad too now that I think about it. Bits and pieces and fragments of poems, selected just for the moment from a rich repository.

I'm so glad my earliest memories include plenty of poetry and song. That while I sat fidgeting and squirming on hard wooden pews, mighty hymns swirled in an out of focus. That as I sat pouring over the pages of Childcraft Encyclopedia's stories and poems, I was building something important. Those words, so rich and varied and colorful and comforting are there now. Just like money in the bank.

removed from the list

Sometimes when I open my kitchen door late at night, all of the darkness of the wide, wild night seems to make a rush for the door, and me. It gives me such an endangered species sort of feeling that I hurry.
Hurry to pull the garbage can free from its cover and
hurry to lift the lid and stuff in the bag.
I always hope I am alone on my deck in the still darkness, my eyes and ears on red alert.

It's because I remember a time  when I found I wasn't alone.
When I turned at the sound of a stealthy step behind me and saw a dark shape suddenly appear out of the darkness.

I didn't scream.
I knew in a moment who it was.
He had come before.
Was starting to come regularly, as though we were on some sort of route.
Darn raccoon.

A raccoon has been riffling through the garbage can on our deck late at night.
We have been forced to build an enclosure that made Fort Knox look like a kiddies playground.
Houdini would have had trouble getting the lid off of our garbage can.

We'd hoped the raccoon would ponder our new defense system.
Would scratch our address off of the list.
Would warn other raccoons......

And so, when a raccoon suddenly loomed out of the darkness, I wasn't so much surprised as I was terrified.
Which is strange because I'm not scared of raccoons at all by day.
Only by night it seems.

For the next few days, I was jumpy about going out onto the deck at night.
Was jittery about opening the kitchen door  after sun down
and nervous about stepping out into the cool evening darkness.
But as the days passed, I grew calm and complacent.
Now that is the perfect set up for a set up. Calm complacency.

Sure enough, one evening, I opened the back door, my thoughts happily engaged elsewhere when I was jolted into the moment by the startled face of a raccoon.
I screamed.
The raccoon probably did too, poor thing.
It jumped in a single leap from the deck up, up onto the railing and then with paws outstretched, launched itself into the darkness.
Such a desperate act.
Lke suicide.
I was shocked.

Our deck is on the second floor.
There is a gravel walk way below and raised wooden framed garden beds.
These are not the sorts of things one should jump on from a great height late at night in the dark.
Unless of course you are terrified for your life.

In the light of day, not a thing could be seen.
Not a hair,
not a freckle.
It was as though he had never been there.
But, we were instantly removed from the list.

wonderful place

My arms slide around my mothers shoulders.
"Well, I'm heading off now....," I say smiling, my eyes locked with hers.
"You'll be seeing my mother of course," she says brightly.
"Your mother was my grandma, wasn't she," I say by way of sidestepping the question.
"Oh, yes," my mother says, smiling.
"And then YOU became a grandma. You have a dozen grandchildren and TWO dozen great grandchildren!" I exclaim.
She smiles modestly and happily.
"And then I became a grandma," I add.
We nod and smile at each other.
Common ground is a wonderful place to meet.

a perfect spot

We were playing hide and go seek, just little she and I.
"Can you help me hide, Grandma?"
I picked a perfect spot.
She hid there so nicely.
I looked and looked.
And there she was.

right up there

"Do you want freezing?" he asked kindly, leaning closer.
"Uhh....will I need it?"
"Only for a couple seconds. Three. Three Seconds," he said with conviction.
"Nah, go ahead."

This conversation took place today but the story really began Saturday night.
Just before bed.
You know, on one of those evenings when you brush your teeth on automatic pilot and half-hardheartedly floss.
One of those evening when you expect to droop tiredly into bed with your mind set on some internal easy listening channel.
An evening whence you are counting on Sleep to mercifully rescue you from a thousand thoughts.
And then suddenly.......no crown.
It toppled off.
My real crown.
In my mouth.
A gold one I've grown rather fond of.
There was an ominous clink and there it was, on my tongue like a piece of macabre jewelry.

As I lay in bed I tallied up the good news and the bad news.
The bad news was that it was Saturday night.
That would mean no eating until I could get to my dentist on Monday.
If he could squeeze me in.
And things involving crowns and glue tend to be pricey.
That was the bad news.
The good news was that I had a new fairy godmother waiting in the wings called A Dental Plan.
And I had no pain.
And I hadn't lost the crown, or broken the crown, or swallowed the crown.
That seemed like pretty good news.
More good news than bad.
Strange how the heart and head don't always agree.
I felt grateful and fairly optimistic but my heart still beat faster. I didn't just drift off to sleep as per Plan A but turned about on my pillow like a chicken on a spit for longer than necessary.

Monday morning revealed much more good news though.
There was a parking spot EXACTLY in front of my dentist's office. What??!!! That never happens and it was pouring rain too. I felt like a celebrity stepping out of a limo when I stepped to the curb and hastened up the stairway.
I had been afraid that the crown would not be able to be reused and some other dire remedy would be suggested.
Instead, my dentist crowed with delight as he held the crown aloft after doing a trial fit.

I was soon leaning against the counter with wobbly knees, brandishing my bank card.
"There's no charge," the receptionist said, smiling.
She warmly agreed when I declared my dentist to be a VERY gracious man.

Relief is one of my favourite feelings.
It's right up there with happiness.