as though i had wings

“I feel my boots
trying to leave the ground,
I feel my heart pumping hard, 

I want to think again of dangerous and noble things.
I want to be light and frolicsome.
I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing,
as though I had wings.”

~ Starlings in Winter by Mary Oliver

he speaks from the silence of the backseat. “i would never go somewhere without you.” i keep my hands on the wheel as my vision gets blurred for a moment from tears. “i know. me neither, babe. i would never go somewhere without you.” 

we make these promises to each other. promises that will go flat as soon as the sun rises tomorrow. when we each board our separate planes in separate cities and fly in separate directions.

oof. ten days away.

we make these promises to each other for all of our futures. for all the days that are not tomorrow. i know what he means though, and he knows i feel the same. we make these promises even though we are going somewhere without one another. for the first time ever. you will go, my love, i will say goodbye and goodbye and goodbye. i will chant “just bring him home safe” over and over again in my mind. you’ll wear your magic marble and our strings will connect us even when our hearts will be stretched over many miles of coast.

“how are there not two moons? how are we looking at the same moon when you are so far away from me?”

this invisible string connects us all to those we love. when i first told him this, his eyes shone as he asked, “can i pull you to me in florida?” and i laughed at the visual of his fifty pound body pulling and tugging with all his might… and me suddenly appearing out of thin air in his hotel room with all my former in-laws.

he thinks i am wonder woman. he tells me so.
somedays i believe him.
but not today.

what i believe is that we’ll all find light on the other side of the equinox. 
this, just like everything, is simply part of the journey.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

peace and love to all of you.
those you are with
and those you are missing.

xo,
meredith

light in darkness

i write in morse code. a series of dots and dashes, patterned with hidden messages and secret meanings. it’s a sort of shield to catch too much truth before it spills. yes, these are dark days. yes, there is more to that. yes, there is a new moon and we are spinning towards the equinox ever so slowly.

i stand under this tree holding his hand. we spin ourselves dizzy. it’s an austin tradition, and one i do with thousands of others each year because i secretly hope i can spin my wish into reality. as if a string of bokeh holiday lights can make a wish come true.

he laughs and i stumble and i lose track of who is adult and who is child.

please join me at shutter sisters today and read more on how i try to find the light while surrounded by darkness.

the only thing worth saying

“Connected by a silver cord that hums with sadness
the further it is stretched.”
~ StoryPeople

i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you

my silence is wrecking me. i have no words and so “i love you” is all i say. all i think. to the girl behind the counter. the man behind the steering wheel. to the ex and his girlfriend who mothers my son. to the mean kids in school. to the mothers and fathers everywhere. to the children screaming hate and hurt. “i love you” is all i think, all that matters. everyone somewhere is hurting. everyone somewhere is acting out of fear, everyone somewhere is slowly losing someone they love, everyone somewhere is learning their coping mechanisms and just trying to get through the day. everyone everywhere is just wanting to be loved. and so “i love you” is all i can do.

my business-like mind in handling matters of high family emotion is twisting my spine into something unrecognizeable.  i don’t know how i am actually making progress, moving forward, other than to simply put one foot infront of another. then another. then another.

step. step. shuffle. trudge. shuffle.

last year? last year life was a trip in the blender. 
this year? this year life is a spooky dark woods and i’m a scared little kid.

and there are no words yet, other than i love you. no words of prognosis no words of what life looks like down the road. there are no words yet in this place of wait and worry and wait some more. there are no words other than i love you, while trying to plan your life around something so blurry as dementia.

remember all that talk about juggling? letting the balls drop? yeah, that’s bullshit. that was me in a good place. the truth is that this is the mouse wheel, the dizzymaker, the nauseator. this is the egg cracking, the paper thin membrane unable to hold the goo. and if you drop those balls you’re gonna crack wide open and splatter on those standing nearby. at that point you’ll be of no use to anyone. so hold it together. be strong. say i love you until you cry.

this is nine days away from our longest separation ever. two planes in two different directions. this is christmas and worry and missing and mothers and sons being reunited only ten days later.

this is nine days away from my mother my mother my mother. the longing for what can’t be and the missing for something that was lost in transition. i never got to say goodbye and so i say i love you.

what my dad has told me since birth holds true.
“nothing is forever”
“life is not fair” 
“be good”

and so i find it strange
his answer, “yup”
to the only thing worth saying,
“i love you.”

dreams of snow

we lived sky high
10,000 feet
mountain peak
boulder valley

canvas tipi
canvas dome
nothing more than one inch
separating you from the winter outside

frozen precipitation pitter pattered
crying like tears streaming down the windows
the woodstove crackled
the dogs snored

the snow would come quietly
bringing a hush all around
the winter woods in snow
total silence
the absolute quiet
i miss

it’s snowing in dallas today
and we’re making paper snowflakes in austin.

home

home.

i use that word interchangeably. it bothers river. “this is not home! this is nana’s home!” how to explain that it is home to me too?

once was, always will be, until it is no longer.

well, we are home. {meaning we stepped off the plane into humid austin air, drove home with the sunroof open, and found our beloved cat waiting for us at the door.}

home.

there’s sand in the suitcase and i really don’t mind. i think i actually like it there. it’ll take me a little while to settle in with cohesive words on travel and home and memory. but until then you can read my thoughts on shutter sisters today.

i am home.
for what it’s worth.

“We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch – we are going back from whence we came.”  

~ John F. Kennedy

pilgrimage

happy thanksgiving from 1980!

can you see me? i’m the one smiling.

going home is a bit like peeling back the years, turning me into the child i haven’t been since i left home sixteen years ago. i certainly didn’t think of myself as a child then, but i do now.

tomorrow i’m getting on a plane with my son and his 104 degree fever and we are flying east. right now while the house is dark and my bags are packed, a song plays through my head. one line in particular: “Load the car and write the note. Grab your bag and grab your coat. Tell the ones that need to know. We are headed north.” 

i’m not even sure what i’ll find there. what i expect or can’t believe until i see with my own eyes. the passage of time witnessed with fresh eyes. alot can happen in a year and i think i’ll be surprised by what i find there at the edge of the coast where the wind whips my hair and the sand sticks to my shoes.

i need that space. the space that only the coastline can offer. because when you stand there you can see forever. and all lost hopes and dreams, the should’ve the could’ve, the lost years and memories that continue to slip away… they are at your back. they allow themselves to be set down there in the sand while you step away and catch your breath, when you look out to the sea.

it’s true, i gather strength at the coast.

so, goodbye for now. i’ll be back in about a week, taking my time to shake the sand from our clothes while i process the stories i collected from the edge of the world.

Don’t go. Don’t stay.
Daughter. Morning after afternoon
the last year slips away.

 

Singing all the old songs, you will go
(ambivalence of moon, certainty of sun)
we know

only half of what we are.
The earth is earth to us, star
perhaps

if apprehended far enough away.
Daughter –

 

don’t go.
Don’t stay.

‘To A High School Senior’
by Pat Schneider

flying

I wish that you could see me when I’m flying in my dreams
The way I laugh there way up high
The way I look when I fly
The way I live
The way I fly

i was a bird in my dreams, flying always flying. stopping to perch on wires, sit on fences, hang from my hands from lightposts… because in reality i was just a little girl. 

flying dreams were my escape. they were my way out of body, my way to catch air, experience free fall, taste freedom.

i woke one morning with the fresh colors in my mind, the edge of land and sea, the wind still in my hair, sand on my feet as i lifted off straight up off the beach into blue sky. i was four. and it was the first dream i ever remember having.

i’ve been trying to find my way back to that take off ever since.

I don’t really know what I’m doing
Just watching myself in some play
And the actress looks like she wants to go home
And lie in bed all day
Yeah lie in a big bed all day

~ Chief by Patty Griffin

x-ray vision

he told me about a picture he saw at school. “it was an x-ray.” i think of him so little in his hospital gown worried that i couldn’t be in the room with him as they looked at his lungs with x-ray vision.

“it was an x-ray of a heart that was broken, momma. it had a big crack in the middle of it.”

silence.

“can a heart break, momma?”

i lie.
i say no.
“it’s not possible for a heart to break like that.”

not like that anyways, i think to myself. not a cartoonish zigzag line breaking solid pieces in two. one day i imagine he’ll remember that i lied to him when he feels that pain. it will feel like it’s broken. and that it won’t ever feel whole again.

but it heals. i’m not sure how. it’s not like we are salty starfish able to grow more legs. but a heart mends and somehow grows bigger because of the break.

and this time i won’t be lying.

just be

we don’t give ourselves enough credit. the power we carry in our minds to create, draw, pull something into existence… as if from mid air.

it’s wonderful. magical.

harness that energy. roll it gently. shape it into what you most desire. i think you’ll be surprised by the universe’s response when you call out to it.

from what i know, it echoes back love.

this morning two worlds collided. i love it when that happens. it causes a spark in my mind, leaving me scrambling for a pen and paper. for me the catalyst is most always sound and font. 

i’m was reading (and wondering) about this time next year. wondering, wondering, always wondering. what will i dream of when i have my life by the coast?

and what i hear? it’s peace and deep inhales setting worry aside leaving room for all the trees of the field to clap their hands.

walk with me, will you? two women, kristin and dani (i’m blessed to call them friends) were the creative genius behind this concept. read about the love and then be sure to click on this little slideshow button (below) to journey with me down to our favorite creek.

view slideshow

frog prince

i was the girl hiding in the trees. branches became rooms in the most beautiful house i could imagine. for years, i’d come home with pine sap on my jeans and rhododendron leaves tangled in my hair.

we both stopped in mid-stride when we saw it there, seemingly growing straight out of the dry ground. it was mighty and strong and amazing to watch. his voice was deep and thoughtful. he hugged with branches and walked on trunks. we were mesmorized, both myself and my son.

i haven’t felt that kind of magic since i was a kid. and so because of it, we walked up together to this magnificent tree, just to get close to him, to breathe in some of that magic. he looked down at us with deeply set eyes and spoke his slow greeting. i became a 34 year old little girl thinking of nothing else to say other than “you are beautiful.”

and so that is what i said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

on monday i caught a frog. it moved at my feet in the dewy clover. i knelt down to find him hiding. he jumped from my hands twice before settling into the safety of my open palm.

he peered up at me with big eyes on a tiny body. his heart racing out of his skin. after awhile we just sat there staring at each other. he at me, and me at him. i laughed outloud because i haven’t caught a frog since i was ankle deep in a new jersey creek. i grew up in that creek with g.i. joes and lego damns to make lagoons for rock sitting mermaids. i left my childhood there on the banks of that creek. i think it’s waiting for me still.

i let him go in the clover and he hopped away on springy legs never once looking back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Got Prayer?” their signs ask me while i am stopped at a red light about to turn into the market. do i have prayer? not in your traditional sense. i wave anyway, simply because they’re out there like petitioners for hope and faith and belief.

and so am i, in my own way. catching frogs and letting them go. asking them to spread the word that i believe. because i still do. and if that is a prayer, then so be it. and if that is hope, then better yet. “tell your friends” i whispered, “i let you go because i am looking for a man named truth.”