Flying Light

Today is Little Drummer Boy’s first day of “big school” kindergarten. We’ve been anticipating it and talking about it all summer, and the big day finally arrived. It’s really just one more episode in a thousand new things LDB has been experiencing. When you are young, change seems so much more acceptable for some reason. Perhaps it’s because so many monumental changes in size and communication skills and motor skills are compacted into those first few years, that it really becomes “old hat.” It’s no wonder we seem ready to slow the process as we get older.

Little Drummer Boy was raring to go, all dressed up in his yellow and khaki school uniform and boasting a Bumblebee Transformer backpack–no doubt all he needs to face the big world today. The most energizing factor about the backpack seemed to be the fact that it lights up when he moves. LDB was intent on making sure the lights would show up in all our “first day of school” photo opportunities. I guess something about the red blinking lights amped up the “cool” factor. It’s hard to squelch the light. A realization I’m enjoying at the moment.

The start of school always seems symbolically to represent the ending of summer for me, despite the reality that we’ll likely have at least two or three more months of summertime temperatures in Mississippi. Beyond that, this start of school for Little Drummer Boy seems to represent the ending of his “baby-hood” and his launch into full-fledged “boy-dom.” And although I often tell him “you’ll always be my baby,” there’s no turning back now. Yes, he was raring to go. And, I have to admit that I couldn’t help but want to hold the reigns a little tighter.

In the excitement of heading down the sidewalk toward Sudduth Elementary this morning, LDB stumbled and fell while holding my hand. My heart sank for a moment — a moment ripe with emotions and memories and hopes and a twinge of worry. Will he cry? Will a fall overshadow the fun of the morning? Will this squelch his excitement for the day and this new experience?  Little Drummer Boy’s response was to stand up without a flinch and say, “I’m ok. I love you Mommy.” It’s hard to squelch the light.

Earlier this week, the latest American Life in Poetry installment graced my inBox. The featured poem, Fireflies, couldn’t be more appropriate in my mind at the moment. “Lightening bugs,” as we call them around here, are the hallmark of Summertime and catching them is a typical joy for almost any “boydom” or “girlhood.” Little Drummer Boy and Bug have had their share of experiencing the chase and the wonder of these little incandescent creatures. Baby Girl hasn’t had the pleasure yet, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy the experience with her own flair in due time. Even as a grown-up, I can clearly remember that there is nothing quite as giggle-inducing or excitement-sparking as capturing the fly in two hands, peeking into the dark space to glimpse the light and then opening your fingers wide to see him fly away spreading his light into the night sky. That moment is beautifully described in this poem, and it reminded me… There’s nothing quite as exciting as holding their light and letting it go for the rest of the sky to experience.

Last Summer after one of the boys’ excursions in pursuit of fireflies, I recorded one of my favorite Little Drummer Boy quotes. I’ve shared it before, but I was thinking of it this morning. They bustled back into the house all sweaty and filled laughter. They had caught two lighting bugs. And in their inspection, LDB announced that one of them “COULD NOT turn his light off.” If there is any one thing I can hope for Little Drummer Boy as he embarks on this year’s new experiences it is that he CAN NOT turn his light off. It’s a brilliant light that deserves to fly.

American Life in Poetry: Column 280
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Marilyn Kallet lives and teaches in Tennessee. Over the years I have read many poems about fireflies, but of all of them hers seems to offer the most and dearest peace.

Fireflies

In the dry summer field at nightfall,
fireflies rise like sparks.
Imagine the presence of ghosts
flickering, the ghosts of young friends,
your father nearest in the distance.
This time they carry no sorrow,
no remorse, their presence is so light.
Childhood comes to you,
memories of your street in lamplight,
holding those last moments before bed,
capturing lightning-bugs,
with a blossom of the hand
letting them go. Lightness returns,
an airy motion over the ground
you remember from Ring Around the Rosie.
If you stay, the fireflies become fireflies
again, not part of your stories,
as unaware of you as sleep, being
beautiful and quiet all around you.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation, publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2009 by Marilyn Kallet, from her most recent book of poetry, Packing Light: New and Selected Poems, Black Widow Press, 2009. Reprinted by permission of Marilyn Kallet. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Life Goes.

I always think of pink this month since a precious little girl entered my world on the 30th. That was two years ago now, and she’s made an indelible impression. This August brings many changes to my life just like that one did. Baby Girl and Bug are both moving to new preschool classrooms where they will be challenged in new ways. Little Drummer Boy is beginning “big school” where he and I both will experience his newfound independence. I’ve just completed the first month of my new business and the beginnings of adjusting to working from home. Looking back at the post I recently wrote for my friend, Annie’s modern homemaking series at SisterWisdom.com, I was reminded again today that life is nothing if not an exercise in transition. The ability to embrace change is a gift worth cultivating. As I contemplate the upcoming changes in my life and the lives of my children, I realize they are only another example of the ebb and flow of lives lived. I think my challenge as a mother, a designer, a provider, a friend, a human is to make sure those lives are really lived, that changes bring a more richer existence, and that this continued persistence of living is a slow but unmistakable upward climb.

I can’t believe I’m offering this eyecandy on the actual first day of the month. Don’t hold me to that in future posts, but I hope you enjoy the August 2010 desktop wallpaper. Nothing says change (and growth) to me like the budding of blooms. I’m looking for those metaphorical blooms in each of the places of change I’m experiencing these days. I think I can concur with Mr. Frost regarding the lessons of life.

“It goes on.”

Tues Ten 071310: News Headlines

Wow! A Tuesday Ten post. Yep, the last one made an appearance back in May. Ouch.

I know; I know. It’s been an unreasonable amount of time since I’ve posted anything with real substance, and to be honest, I doubt this one will qualify either. However, I wanted to update the Junksters on some things that have been going on lately. You’re not going to see George Steinbrenner or Afghanistan or BP (well maybe a touch of BP), but they are newsworthy in my world nonetheless. And since I was in press release mode for my day job recently, I decided some EJ headlines were in order. Much of this post could easily have been part of an Oh Happy Day! Gratitude Project report, but I’ve opted for Tuesday Ten since it’s Tuesday Wednesday, and I’m in the mood for lists.

So, without further ado, I give you this week’s Tuesday Ten: Top Headlines in Junkie Land. I’ll go ahead and say right away that I can’t call it “late-breaking” because, I’m, well, late. But, you know me by now and to apologize would be redundant.

1. “Tuesday is Wednesday”
At least in EyeJunkie world this week. Sure enough, I’m late and not late-breaking.

2. “EJ Discovers Guest-posting Rocks”
I was invited by my friend, Annie, over at SisterWisdom to write a guest post as part of her ReDefining Modern Homemaking series this June. I was ridiculously negligent in promoting the series or my guest post, but click on over there and read it. And read the whole series while you’re at it. It’s moms from all walks sharing about how they view homemaking. Good stuff.

3. “Baby Girl Becomes Verbose”
Yes, my planned Tuesday Ten of Baby Girl’s burgeoning spoken vocabulary will need to be bumped up to a Thursday Thirty soon. How has this happened in my brief neglect of EJ? The news of note here is that “cheese” and “sickle” read “popsicle” have been added to the list. That’s my girl! And, you’ll be comforted to know that “No, Mama!” is still a perpetual favorite phrase. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

4. “Gulf Waters Matter”
You may have seen my recent posting of a dialogue about the Gulf oil catastrophe. I submitted the essay to my friend Ann’s Blogger Monday with Ann Evanston weekly roundtable of blogs on Facebook. I was amazed to see the interest of folks outside of the Gulf region in this earth-changing event. So, click over to that article and scroll down to the comments. They are worth the read.

5. “The Queen is Relinquishing Her Throne”
No, not the Queen of England or the Queen of all Media. The Queen of Dux D’Lux, my day job home for 16 years, decided in late May to retire. She opted to close the company, and I’m very excited to see what cool creative endeavors she finds next. Needless to say, her abdication means big changes for my work situation, but I am so grateful for her mentorship and friendship over the years. Plus, she’s promised me a pie.

6. “Little Drummer Boy Steps Out”
Into the big ol’ world. In August, LDB will be starting “big school” for five-year-old kindergarten. Can I get a Kleenex, please? I’ll no longer be the mom of three preschoolers. I’ll be mother to two plus one kindergartener with a Spiderman backpack in tow. I’m sure my processing of this particular event will be fuel for several upcoming essays. At the moment, suffice it to say: “Thank God he still wants to hug me.” I wonder how long that will last.

7. “Haley Jumps Into the Deep End”
Given the advent of #5, I’m pleased to announce that I started my own company this month offering graphic design, website development and online media services. I’m calling this whole shebang Small Pond Graphics, and it’s been quite a leap. I’ve been so amazed by the support and encouragement of my Dux D’Lux clients as well as my network of family and friends. Starting a business is a scary endeavor, but an adventure I’m very excited about. So, hop over, dabble your toes a little and let me know what you think. Also, please connect with me on the Small Pond Facebook page. I’d love to include YOU in the dialog.

8. “Plop! Launches”
So, I’m spreading my writing wings a little more. In conjunction with Small Pond Graphics, I’ve also launched a new design and marketing blog called Plop! You can read the backstory in my first post there, but I hope to use it to highlight the wonderful clients who place their confidence in my abilities, to offer exposure to some of the “creative types” in my life who are using their talents to do cool things, to inspire readers with images from around the design world that are fueling my own creativity, and to share some of my experience and maybe expertise in the areas of business communications and marketing. I hope you’ll book mark it or “follow” it on Facebook and join the creative conversation.

9. “Reclamation is the New Black”
Yeah, had to work hard on that one. Obviously, the structure of my days has changed somewhat with the closing of Dux and the launch of a new business. I’m very excited that I’ve been able to reclaim an area of our house to use for my office space. Something about getting my surroundings settled always helps settle my spirit as well. So, the opportunity to make this space usable and comfortable was very cathartic during this time of transition. I’ve gathered my books, reference materials, design inspiration, crazy packrat files, art supplies and general Wacky Pack nonsense all in one spot. It’s lovingly displayed and arranged so that I have computer working space, meeting space, art/layout space and couch space (which is so important). Enjoy a quick look.

10. “Invisible Girl Returns”
With all the changes and transitions in my life of late, it’s been a challenge to find the time to write here. It’s been even more of a challenge to muster the energy for the soul searching so often required for a quality look inside. Thank you for hanging in there with me. Regardless of the new adventures ahead, I still need this blog as my unencumbered outlet for thinking, paying attention and writing about that process. I’m ready to return. I’m working on some new posts to share soon. The first will involve green flamingos and Nelson Mandela. How’s that for a teaser?

The Shape of the World

I’ve been holding on to this installment of the American Life in Poetry project in my inbox for some time now–from back in September of last year. I was so moved by the picture of hard work, of changing the landscape, of observing the motion of change. I just couldn’t let go of it, but I also didn’t know quite what to do with it.

My life is undergoing some changes right now. (Aren’t all our lives?) I hope to share more over the next several weeks, but at the moment, so many things are in that frustrating state of transition that I can barely breathe. Transition is incredibly uncomfortable. In the vernacular of Ms. Woloch’s poem, that ill-defined process of going from chunks of rock to dust somewhere between the old place of concrete and the new place of re-formed earth is frightening to watch–and to live. I like for things to be settled. I like to know what’s going on, what’s going to happen, where I stand. In real life, that’s not always possible. What do you do?

The best course revealed itself with another reading of this poem as I was clearing out the cobwebs in Mac Mail. The simple thought of changing the shape of the world with each single motion seemed powerful. In the seemingly powerless state of changing circumstances, my old friend diligence brings comfort and purpose. I want it now. I want it done. I want it really with as little effort and discomfort as possible. But, in reality, not much change happens that way, does it? The diligent and steady movement toward change may be sweaty, but it works. Simple and consistent–even faithful–acts affect change. They affect change at a pace that is manageable. With each blow to the hardened concrete or the bumpy ground to create flattened space, I grow more and more comfortable with the new form of my life. I’m more and more able to embrace the new terrain. And, I’m more and more capable of tilling it into new fertile ground. Diligent acts. They change the shape of the world. And, they change the shape of the world again.

American Life in Poetry: Column 236
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Cecilia Woloch teaches in California, and when she’s not with her students she’s off to the Carpathian Mountains of Poland, to help with the farm work. But somehow she resisted her wanderlust just long enough to make this telling snapshot of her father at work.

The Pick

I watched him swinging the pick in the sun,
breaking the concrete steps into chunks of rock,
and the rocks into dust,
and the dust into earth again.
I must have sat for a very long time on the split rail fence,
just watching him.
My father’s body glistened with sweat,
his arms flew like dark wings over his head.
He was turning the backyard into terraces,
breaking the hill into two flat plains.
I took for granted the power of him,
though it frightened me, too.
I watched as he swung the pick into the air
and brought it down hard
and changed the shape of the world,
and changed the shape of the world again.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Reprinted from When She Named Fire, ed., Andrea Hollander Budy, Autumn House Press, 2009, by permission of Cecilia Woloch and the publisher. The poem first appeared in Sacrifice by Cecilia Woloch, Tebot Bach, 1997. Introduction copyright © 2009 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006. We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Diligence

Spring in Mississippi is so fun. In a week’s span (or less) we might experience the gamut of 90 degrees to 40 degrees and all the breezy, sunny, partly cloudy weather-joy in between. While it sometimes wreaks havoc on my sinus cavities, I can still say that Spring in Mississippi is so fun. May is usually very flirtatious with Summer. It flirts with the Magnolia tree in my front yard, too. The evergreen leaves are with us year-round, but the white velvet flowers tend to signal for me the wishy-washy transition of Spring to Summer around these parts. As Spring pulls up a chair and the days get warmer and longer, the magnolia pods begin to open. I’ve been anticipating the event for a few weeks from the front porch swing.

In typical early May fashion, just last week I noticed the first blooms opening near the top of the tree where the sunshine hits most readily. Slowly the ones closer to the ground feel the pull of the heightening sun and begin to unwrap as well. I’ve been watching one particular bloom carefully for the last few days. It’s on the lowest branch on the north side of the tree–one of the few growing right in gazing distance of curious eyes and inquisitive noses. This bloom started small and tightly held as they all do. Slowly it’s been pulling away from the branch, reaching higher. And, it’s been getting whiter with each motion. Yesterday morning I noticed it at it’s plumpest posture so far, and I wondered if the intricate yellow stamens might make an appearance today.

By the time we made it home from Little Drummer Boy’s preschool “graduation” (hark!) last night, the daylight was almost gone. But, I still had my eye on that bloom. It had slowly opened throughout the day to a tulip-shaped cup. We were almost there. I didn’t get to photograph it before the darkness arrived, but I was eager to see it this morning. In an amazing twelve hours, that velvety cup of Southern goodness had completely opened, and through some crazy midnight wind gust or cardinal in flight, it had already begun to drop some of it’s pink-tipped stamens into the waiting petals. Life happens quickly with the magnolia.

The scent of a magnolia flower is fresh. It has a pungeantly clean smell to me — a sweet and lemony fragrance that seems untouched by a botanist’s manipulation. When the blooms open, you don’t have to stand very close to sense the strength of that scent–to feel the place from which it comes. The magnolia is a plant of my “place.” An environment so familiar to me that the blooms sometimes go unnoticed despite their glaring whiteness against dark green leaves and their powerful fragrance. But, I’ve been waiting for this one for some reason. I wanted to see inside of it, to see again what it was made of.

The slow and diligent process of blooming is inspiring. It is patient, but intent. It is subject to wind and weather, but resilient. With encouragement from the sunlight, the bloom slowly and methodically unwraps itself from a tightly wound cocoon. As I’ve written before, it reveals it’s core in that process.

That blooms are bent on opening is a confusing endeavor at times, given the fact that the flowers so easily fade away. But the magnolia’s diligence is perhaps most perplexing. This delicate flower fades to brown and petals fall away rather quickly by blooming standards. They don’t tarry in the elements for long. They bruise easily with the slightest touch of a person or some other ambassador of nature. Soon the stamens released into the petals’ cradle will be scattered by breezes or birds or beetles or boys. It won’t maintain its pristine white for long if plucked from the tree–only a matter of hours really. Yet, I’ve read that Magnolia fossils have been found that date the tree to the time of the dinosaurs. For all its vulnerability to bruising and brevity, this tree–this flower–has staying power.

There is a precious quality to the magnolia. Something valued and worthy of anticipation, even in this native land where it is so prolific. Perhaps it is its delicacy, its subtlety, its brief brush with the world that makes it seem so valuable. And, its unqualified diligence to expose that worth, even if only for a few moments is even more coveted. As I think about my own growth, my own life changes and my own exposure to the face of the sun, I’m recognizing some lessons from the magnolia. To remain hidden and covered is easier. To allow life’s wind and weather to deter or confine the process of flourishing. A slow–perhaps even defiant–method of diligence despite any bruising the stuff of life may offer is sometimes required to reveal that hidden amazement, that hidden desire to connect with those around me, those hidden gifts waiting to be given. The revelation is precious, no matter how briefly it is uncovered. But, as precious and revered as the open petals are, I’m learning that the greater rarity is the diligence. The persistence. The insistence. A thing all the more precious to seek. All the more precious to possess.

“The precious possession of a man is diligence.” (proverbs 12:27)