By now you’ve read everything to read about the Red Sox winning this year’s World Series. Despite my delinquency in posting as of late I still felt it crucial that I at least post THAT I AM SO FUCKING HAPPY THE RED SOX WON THE GOD DAMN WORLD SERIES.
The End.
Most kids want to be a witch for Halloween. I wanted to be a bag of groceries.
I won a prize. My little sister went ballerina in moccasins which she used to call 'mocca toezees'. We are a strange family. What can I say.
I read today that Mount St. Helens came to life again. At the time of it's last eruption on May 18, 1980 I was around seven years old.
While I was aware of the news and chatter it created around me-having been dormant since 1857-I was not as impressed with it’s true presence until I was given the chance to explore and research the topic further for a grade school assignment.
My mother, an amazingly creative woman who could put Martha Stewart’s ‘people’ to shame, came up with several great ideas for my report. Together we assembled a beautiful book on everything Mount St. Helens complete with ribbons, colored paper,
magazine clippings, glitter, stickers, etc. We worked hard together on it day and night. My memories are of colored paper scraps on our wooden kitchen table, they are of rubber cement on her wedding ring and they are of her elegant hands and fingers black with newspaper ink. If the memory were a photo, the colors would be warm and blurry. The light soft but so very crisp.
My memories are not always accurate. They sometimes get me in trouble. Regardless they serve me somehow. They comfort me and mark times in my past like bookmarks in my mind as I struggle daily to understand the biggest assignment one could ever get. How to be a mother to a daughter-daughter to a mother.
I have two best friends that are pregnant now. I watch them struggle to hang on to themselves while prepare to live a life unselfishly. It is a stunning and moving transformation to witness. It is so human and full of joy. It is so human and full of fear with no guarantees. Their physical and mental stength stuns me. I am reminded of a commitment so deep and so real that I feel sometimes as if I am watching from afar through a telescope, on my own mountain, taking notes and processing.
Despite our ups and downs, our climbs, I prepare myself for the times ahead when things are sure to erupt once again or at least bubble under the surface. I try more each day to focus on the one thing I sometimes forget-there are no surprises
here.
My mother is my mountain.
She has always been.
