I'll light the fire, you put the flowers in the vase that you bought today.

We won't always live here, this little house in our urban neighborhood. One day this furniture that we have rearranged a million times will furnish somewhere else. These hard wood floors, with all their creaks and stains and beauty will one day be trampled by feet that aren't our own. This house has seen a new marriage, a new baby, new jobs, new friends. The living that has taken place in this small (but beautiful) space has been the jewels of the past 6 years of my life. No other 6 year span of time in my 36 years has ever housed such change. The carefree and somewhat naive person I was when I moved in has morphed into a full fledged adult, just as was expected, just as I have welcomed with open arms.

Why am I writing about this? Because someday we will leave, all of this talk will one day turn into action. And someday all of THIS that I take for granted will belong to another, and the terrifying journey of newness will start again. This is what I CRAVE and also what I FEAR the most.

So as I wrestle with demons that never really leave my head, and fists that are never really far from my heart, I'm reminding myself that nothing lasts forever. Not people, not places, not things. And sometimes living gets lost in the desire,
and this is probably the saddest thing of all.

Blazing

The tree in front of my house is blazing red. It's magnificent. To transform like that, from bare bones to a deep, lively green, to that bold red hue...it's elegant. Stunning. And fleeting. Each morning I go outside and find more and more leaves laying on the ground, turning a soft brown, saying goodbye to another perfect season.

I think of my life in chapters. Chapters can be defined by years, by experiences, by seasons. I've had some really swell chapters, really swell. Others were less desirable. All of them have come and gone, blazing like my red-leafed tree.

I feel a sadness as my tree loses more and more of its color. It's a saying goodbye. And it's a simple reminder. What if right now, these very days in which we are going through our normal, everyday motions, what if these are our red blazing moments? As a witness to so many dying peoples' experiences, I see autumn, their leaves unraveling from their bodies, stripped of their rich colors. Soon gone to winter.

I think it's my job in life to be blazing. In my routines, in my friendships, in my every day encounters, I have the option of letting these moments pass me by, unappreciated in their simplicity and in their mundanity. Or I can be bold and red. Not overbearing and intense. Just appreciative. And happy.

Life comes and goes for each and everyone of us. But right now we are all here, and we all get to be totally awesome.

In connecting...

I'm breathing today,
actual breaths in my actual lungs which are actually rising and falling
and this is my own miracle.
There are moments in life when the poignancy of this
sits on your lap with your face between her hands
and the everlasting truth of this ever present moment
is suddenly the shiniest star you've ever seen.

We walk through this world with our heart lights
shining like beacons, ready to love.

The way we touch each other,
with soft skins and smiling faces,
with caretaking and desire
habits and moments taken for granted,
these are the gems of our lives.
My heart, pressed against your heart,
listening and being heard,
pausing for a moment in the completeness of our shared space.

We are powered by connection.
but vulnerable in our humanness,
possessing the knowledge that all warm hearts will one day grow cold
and that love with not always be felt in arms embrace.
Our loving hearts become sad, full of grief and sorrow.
We long for beating hearts.

Outside, the trees continue to whisper,
the blooms open and they close
the tide ebbs and flows
night falls and day rises.

And our hearts, in those poignant moments,
open up to the beating heart of the Earth,
and her continual reminder

that love never dies.

Tug, tug, miss.

Us humans are funny. We are so different from our ancestors. We don't stay and settle roots (though some do, yes). Many humans move, travel, encompassed by our technology and our wanderlust.We grow up and we explore. I have lived in 5 different states since high school, each new journey exciting and completely bursting with promise.

But things happen to us when we move. We lose friendships, possessions, the opportunities to spend time with the people we are leaving. We dive into the new place and we start it over again. We start accumulating new friendships, new possessions, learning about the new culture. Places run their course (or maybe they don't) and the cycle continues anew.

But each time you depart a home, you leave a piece of yourself. A memory, a person, a wish, an accomplishment, a job, a friend, a lover, a heartache. But still we march on, hearts and eyes forward, ever ready to embrace the current newness.

My point is this: in this vast United States I have pieces of my experiences all tied up like heartstrings connecting me from here to there. There are tugs from any given heartstring at any given time. Tug, tug, miss. Tug, tug, miss. That's life I suppose. You get used to the missing at some point.

I just returned from Maine, and see of all my various heartstrings none of them is as strong and thick as that of my home state. As soon as I step foot off the plane the old culture surrounds me. The crisp air, the leaves, the smell of the ocean, the accents. ("Oh geez, we're gonna go on up to Kenny-bunk-port for the summah". I mean how endearing is that accent?!).

My heart hurts from the pulling. Seeing my daughter with her cousins, her second cousins, her aunts, her uncles, her grandmother her great grandmother...it was family togetherness bliss, something that is, unfortunately, a rare occurrence at this place in our lives. She loved and adored it. As a mom it made my body melt on the inside; it was so endearing. My child for whom I have not been able to provide a sibling for, was suddenly surrounded by people that genuinely loved her. It had been three years since I'd been to Maine, my daughter was 1 on her last visit. So this felt very different. This wasn't just my trip anymore. It was hers, too. And she absolutely loved it.

So here we are back in Denver. I'm blessed here, and there is so much that I love. But the pulling is there. Tug, tug, miss. Tug, tug, miss. Tug, tug, miss.

Cousins

Swan Pond, Lyman, Maine

Ah, the mighty Atlantic.

The two Eleanor Graces in my life: my grandmother and my daughter. They love each other.

In savoring, and in letting go

I'm back. I could blame it on the fact that my domain name auto-renewed,
or I just couldn't say goodbye,
or the more honest reason: sometimes I don't have anything to write. Or the time to write it. Or the energy to find out what it is that I even want to write about. But I don't want to stop writing.

This summer has come, flourished, and is wrapping up. I made big preparations last spring, preparations that were meant to glean all of the beautiful Colorado goodness and all of the savor-every-moment mommy-ness that the summer has to offer. I left a well paying day job with a very predictable schedule, took my daughter out of school for the summer (day care school) and declared it to be OUR summer.

And it was. And it was awesome.

And it was also exhausting, and cumbersome and joyous and challenging and, well, it was everything.

Our days have been filled with mountain trips, field trips, road trips, day trips. There have been few naps, and there have been fewer moments alone. The latter was the most challenging, but I tell myself, and what I know to be true, is that her and I, this little 4 year old lover of life, have such an enchanting love, and that the cliche of "long days and short years" couldn't be more true.

Yesterday was my daughter's first day of preschool, a big kid preschool in which she is but a tiny 4 year old in a giant school that goes up to fifth grade. It was just a half day, in which parents stay and learn about their childs' new daytime routines. And her, her sweet little bobbed hair pinned back in a barrette, sitting in a group of her 4 year old peers while the teacher read them a story, and the way she kept looking at me, stealing my glances, checking to make sure I was there, I saw our connection, deep and strong, FULL of love. I watched her, my sweet baby who has grown so much, and choking back tears that I knew would come, I also knew that she was ready. We were both ready to learn to be apart.

So today when I dropped her off "for real", a full day at school in which I wasn't allowed to stay, it was okay. This is where we are now. She is not a baby, she is not a toddler, she is a child, a BEAUTIFUL child. There is so much in the world that awaits her, things that I will not be a part of. Things I can't protect her from. Laughter that I won't see. Behavior that will remain unknown. Smiles and tears that I may never know of.

But I am her mother. I am a million other things as well, but for this one little girl in the world, there is no other mother but me. Just as there is no other girl like her.