A Trip

Tomorrow I leave for Britain. I start in Scotland, and will serve as bridesmaid to one of my oldest and very dearest friends, who is marrying for the very first time. Then it's on to England for a stay with my aging parents, and a visit with old friends and with other family. I shall not have access to the internet very much, so will be checking back when I return in early July.

I will have time to read and reflect in-between visiting, and when my parents are napping (although I may join them!), and am looking forward to the winding down time that such internal activity allows. I hope that some creative regeneration will occur, but if not, then so be it. I shall read, and write, and think. Mmmm.

Joy

Such a huge concept for three little letters.

Such depth of feeling, such breadth of experience.

Yet they are enough.

It was not without trepidation that I entered my sixth decade some 18 months or so ago. I faced financial worry. My life was at a point of stagnation. And it all seemed to be downhill from there.

Yet here I am today, experiencing the newness of the world, revisiting old friends such as curiosity and discovery, and loving it. There is an excitement in the air as I hear old songs, look at flowering jacaranda trees, exercise my body.

And so much of this is internal. I find that while the stimuli may be external, my response is very much internal, and the curiosity and discovery extend to what is within as well as what is without. I am still alive. I can still find new depths inside my body, my mind, my spirit.

I am lucky. My summer lies ahead of me to be lived through as a free woman. My work allows me these next two months or more all to myself. I am thirsty for what I have planned. My time is open and to be used as I wish, as I want, as I need. In my chest, in my gut, rises a crest of excitement and anticipation. This is my time. And I am taking it.

The Wind, One Brilliant Day

I have been listening to readings by a wonderful British poet called David Whyte, who now lives in the Pacific Northwest. One poem he quotes in a talk about “Poetry in the Imagination” is by Antonio Machado:


The Wind, One Brilliant Day


The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.

"In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses."

"I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead."

"Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain."

the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
"What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?"

Translated by Robert Bly


This beautiful poem is a call to me to tend to my garden. No more excuses. None. Time to nurture my flowers.

Today I Was Assaulted

1. Assault: Law.
a. An unlawful threat or attempt to do bodily injury to another.
b. The act or an instance of unlawfully threatening or attempting to injure another.

Today I was assaulted.

I sat across a table from a man who stared at me with a threat to do me bodily injury in his eyes. I knew it. I could feel it. And I need to write my fear out of my system.

My job entails promoting the mental health and academic advancement of children. Helping those kids realize their potential is what drives me in my work. Everything I do is predicated on their best interest. Yet I am frequently seen as a representative of a monolithic system whose apparent purpose (in the eyes of some) is to tear those children down and reduce them to numbers. In their view, my every word and action has nothing to do with the kids, and everything to do with preserving the bureaucracy.

That’s bullshit.

But that is how I am viewed.

This morning, a man arrived at a meeting with plans that he thought would help his stepdaughter. I and my colleagues believed that those plans would have caused her positive harm. I tried explaining that to him gently, and making suggestions that would support her in other ways. Those included having her parents change the way they work with her. He clearly disagreed. And he was very, very angry. Yet he was silent as I addressed the child’s mother and biological father. Instead, he glared.

For over fifteen minutes, his eyes bored into me. I attempted not to look at him, but every time I glanced in his direction, he was staring at me, with clear aggression on his face. In his mind, he was beating me. I could feel it. I felt as though had we been alone, he would have reached across the table and grabbed me by the throat and hit me.

I have problems with “male anger.” I can’t cope with it well. It disarms me and makes me feel powerless. Nevertheless, I have never, before today, felt that my physical safety was compromised by a man’s anger.

It’s left me feeling shaken and still very frightened. I have dealt with many, many parents who have been upset or defensive, but this is the first time that I have been physically frightened. I trust my instinct. I know he wanted to hurt me. And in all my years on this earth, I have never had that sensation. I guess I have been lucky, until today.

I went away after the meeting and debriefed with a colleague. I wept some. And I wept some more tonight as I related the incident to my friend. I thought the feeling had faded, but it remains. I still feel brutalized. Today I was assaulted.

And So It Is

My son is no longer home for the whole summer. He has decided to return to college for the second summer session, and will have left before I return from my long-planned trip to the UK later this month. But that's ok, I guess - it gives me an excuse to descend on him as only a mother can, and totally cramp his style for a few days as I check out where he will be living, and impose myself on his friends. I have not yet visited him in college, since he only started there last semester (having transferred from community college as a junior) and I am owed at least one free ride of being the pesky mama.

So:

My son is growing up and away.
His brother has already gone.

I always said it should be thus
And so it is.

Their backs fading into the distance
As they head on out into their world.

This lone mother drops a tear of sadness
Into a flood of warmth and pride.

We are all three moving and growing
In our own worlds.

As we should be.
And so it is.