shadow of the object

We’re back in that same office, Scott and I. Same therapist sitting across the same floral rug, same issues holding the space between us. It’s different this time, me looking to him with no words, nowhere to begin. A year ago so much to say, me at the helm and clarity steering.

She sits in the overstuffed brown leather seeing all the way through me. I squirm against the arm of a small couch, leaning hard away from Scott. Am I here to reconcile or to, finally, clip those last remaining threads?


****

I stand in the bathroom watching street lights make shadows on the sidewalk; see the morning paper hit the doorstep across the street. God, what time is it anyway? There’s a rush of traffic off in the distance but I hear big wind blowing through Black Butte Ranch (Thanks, Tracy). Past that a hollow train whistle far off to the north and coming closer. 4:07 a.m. Seen the whole night through too much these last few weeks.

Oh, how I love the middle of the night quiet, house lights out, whole world sleeping. So I take down the screen to rest my elbows on the ledge. Stick my head, neck, shoulders out the window and light a cigarette, seen to many cigarettes the whole way through lately, too.

Why is it eminent to solve all of life’s problems at 4 a.m? Everything lost and pushed down in the bustle of the day comes rushing in with nothing to deflect it. Middle of the night panic. Debt collectors and wasted time, dead end jobs and narrowed vision.

And my girls are going on vacation, their first real vacation, down the coast and through the Redwoods. Camping on the beach without me. Not even eight years between them and they have a life I beyond me. Friends, relationships to neighborhoods I barely know. Store keepers and librarians who call them by name. People I’ve never met.

This restless madruga.

***

We fill dead air talking jobs and cars and about the trip until she says: “Ok, so what are we not talking about today.”

She’s older looking this summer, graying at the hairline.

I hold my silence; think “I didn’t call this meeting.”

She says: “Why do you want to rebuild this?”

I look over Scott’s head reading titles on the shelf until my eyes catch on “The Shadow of the Object.” White letters down the black spine. We never touch sitting on the couch.

“Holly?”

I want family vacations with my kids. The three-month road trips talked about when I was pregnant with Amelia. We’d go down the coast and through the desert, cross the Rio Grande, Rio Bravo on the other side. Maybe settle down in Yucatan. I want one parent in the kitchen while the other helps with homework. Maybe coach their soccer teams together. I want to give back the agony of Thursday afternoon goodbyes. I want to see Amelia’s wonder when she walks upright through the tunnel of a fallen redwood. I don’t ever want to share my girls with another woman. EVER. But I don’t know a thing about growing old together.

I say: “Maybe it could work. There’s so much I don’t trust, so much that I can’t lose again. But maybe it could be different.”

one branch higher

I'm at the office working, or not working, to the florescent computer buzz. My phone rings, the same lullaby as Josie's mobile. Two-years ago it was endearing, now I have no idea how to change it. It's just annoying.

"Hello."

"Hi, Mama!" Amelia's sweet excitement.

"Hi, Sweetie. Whatcha doing?"

"Mom. Mommy, mom. Mom. You won't BELIEVE what I just did!"

"Yeah? Try me."

"I climbed SO high in this tree. I just climbed up, up, up. I was higher than the six and seven-year-old BOYS!"

"Wow. That is so cool. You rock. How fun was it?"

"Well...it was really fun. And then it was a little scary. So you know what? You want to know what? You want to know what I did when I started to feel scared?"

"Love to. Tell me what you did."

"Well... first I just stopped. Then I told myself 'don't panic. You're OK. You're OK. Don't panic.' And I breathed and kept saying 'doooon't panic, doooon't panic."

"Perfect. What a smart thing to tell yourself. I bet that really helped."

"It did. AND you know what else? You want to know what else I did? Well, every time I thought I was stuck, I just told myself 'Don't panic. Just climb back up one branch and look for another route. It's ok. You got up here, so there has to be a way down.' And I did it. I climbed right down. Then I climbed back up even higher because I knew I could do it. The boys were scared to climb so high."

"Amelia, Mila, that is SO awesome! I am so proud of you. And the great thing is you can use that anytime you feel scared. Breathe and tell yourself not to panic. That's perfect."

"Yeah, I know that. I gotta go climb again."

The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don't go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don't go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don't go back to sleep.
~Rumi

prema's here!

Such a treat to start my week Monday driving to Prema's house, so close. Just a few miles across town. Love having Prema so near, look up to give thanks. Over the Willamette and up, up, up into the hills where the Cascades roll dark along the northern horizon, lump of Mt. St. Helens bulging into the blue. Then down the hill to two full-sized moving trucks and Prema directing the chaotic flow of fitting collected pieces into this new space.

Amelia and Josie immediately want to know "Where's River? Where's River?" So up the stairs we go to find her wide-eyed and quiet, reconnecting with her toys. I'd like to help in whatever small way I can, and what feels best is staying up here with the girls - keeping out of the way. A half a dozen people are on and off the trucks, arms full, calling for Prema in five rooms on three floors, simultaneously.

"Where does this go? What room? Where should we put this? Have you seen Prema? I need Prema, where does she want this."

River holds her space sticking close to her big sister, tentative about this invasion of two more kids into room that's barely hers. Into belongs she's just rediscovering.

The house is the house, beautiful for what it is. A big house, warm space, nice flow, amazing view. What's lovely though is seeing this blank space transformed.

The gorgeous Tibetan rug -reds and blues and greens - that I admired in blog photos unfurls across the living room floor. Piece by piece comes the antique furniture and the heavy Indian bed frame. Piece by piece the lovely feeling, same one alive in her words, breathes itself into these walls. Permeates.

"This is the table I grew up eating at," Prema tells me, one arm out, motioning to the delicate curves of antique craftsmanship. Deep reddish wood. Cherry?

River lets Amelia in first, then Josie (the other two-and-a-half-year-old) more cautiously. Until three girls playing their separate play become a spinning torrent, giggling as they jump from one section of couch to the rug.

Prema and I sneak briefly away for a tour, admire the new energy-efficient washer and drier in way only those in charge of the laundry can -(and yes, I will be over to do a few loads! Sunday night OK? :). A moment where I wonder "who am I? And when did laundry machines become exciting, pleasing?"

We're laughing. "You have to see the bathroom. This is the best part."

I climb onto a ledge, behind the deep oval tub, crouch up into a corner to see St. Helens out the window. The view. And I can still hear Prema months ago in Carrie's living room, October, Jennifer's workshop. A stranger reading. "It's good to have a view."

Indeed.

Follow the tree-tops east to west rolling along the mountains. Western Hemlocks are my favorite. Maybe because of the way they bend and twist, hook-over at the top. Maybe because I can identify them, even from miles away I know what I'm seeing.

"Prema," a voice call up the stairs. "They're asking for you in the basement. They need you downstairs."

I return to River's room, where Amelia has taken charge of shelving books. Organizing the room.

Mid-afternoon I see the signs - avalanche zone - Amelia is climbing on Prema's dear old friend. Rapidly losing capacity for good decision making. We make an exit before the meltdown. I'm slow, but eventually I learn not just to read the signs, to heed them.

All the way home I still hear: "its good to have a view."

And, it's so good to have you here, my friend. Welcome, Prem. Many blessings for this stretch of the journey.

And a quote from Edward Abbey via Jess this morning:

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view.

Alevei!