Category Archives: The Great Outdoors

Squeezing Summer

02 Monday Aug 2010

Posted by in Life at Home, The Great Outdoors, Writing

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Am I the only one to wonder how it can be August?

In between the grieving and many trips to my sister’s house and writing near cornfields and closer to home, I look up to find it’s August.

All the signs are here.  Back-to-school sales gearing up.  My Japanese Maple sporting sun-burnt finger tips.  Grassy weeds having a field day in my garden and me, Jimmy-crack-corn not caring whether they go to seed.

Summer use to last longer.   Summertime once kept the same schedule as the local municipal pool:  Opened Memorial Day.  Closed Labor Day.  In between hot punctuation points breathed three months of slower living; ninety-something summer nights to stay up late knowing one could sleep to noon the next day if they wished.

Somehow that’s all changed.  Now summer break last two months.  My grands are getting shortchanged and haven’t a clue.  Teachers too —  though I imagine summer days of spent yester-youth are recalled by some.

Fresh squeezed lemonade once kept August days bearable until summer itself was all squeezed out.  Now we squeeze out summer with air conditioners that allow us to bear down on business-as-usual in August.  My daughter reports back to school this week to prepare her room for a new crop of not-ready-for-prime-time kindergarteners.

But it’s me not ready for prime-time — me pressing on the brakes to slow down summer.  Me saying, “Not so fast Mr. August  — let me lap up a dish of summer once more before we crack open the books of everyday business.”

Today Kara and I are going to squeeze one more day out of summer break.  We’re going to lunch, then go splurge on a pair of summer sale sandals.  And like all the best of lost summertime days, one good explore will surely lead to another.  And we’ll get good and hot and inevitably end up with something cool to drink — maybe lemonade from Chick-Fil-A — before coming to our senses and seeking shelter in our separate air-conditioned corners of Oklahoma City.

Time and Space All Around

27 Tuesday Jul 2010

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer, Soul Care, The Great Outdoors

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Out my west window a Jack-in-the-beanstalk Sunflower bathes in moonlight.  Further west, far beyond sight, my youngest son flies home.

It feels good to reread these words, to let them sink under my skin, to become absorbed by heart and mind.  The time apart went fast; it’s only in the everyday that time grows still enough for questions.

My one-day retrofit back into everyday life  has made me wonder how Kyle will adjust to being home, after two months in southeast Asia.  From short emails received each week, I know Kyle has been thinking of home.  Kyle’s initial messages focused more on his new life there; latter ones mixed thoughts, always including a note on missing family and home.  At times, Kyle was torn in two, wanting to be there and here too, like when his father’s birthday rolled around mid-way through his Asian assignment.

I expect my youngest son to come home changed.  He will return full of stories to share.  He will carry some sadness at separating himself from daily contact with friends who became family during his absence.   Then there are complicating factors Kyle will face since he will not return to his old way of life.  As a new college graduate, Kyle will be sorting out next steps until he sells his first manuscript.

Up in the air, Kyle is coming down to earth  — by moving back home with me and his Dad.  As I pray Kyle’s landing is not bumpy, I recall Ranier Maria Rilke’s admonition to the young poet to “live the questions now.”  Rilke’s advice wears well one hundred years from when he first offered it.

As is my nature, I prayed yesterday with broom and dust cloth and soap and water too, preparing Kyle’s room for his return.  Going two steps further, I created space in Kyle’s closet for clothes he’ll bring home; I replaced treasured artwork with posters Kyle brought home from college.   With dust removed and fresh bedding on, his room is ready for use.  Kyle’s cell phone is charged and his laptop connected.  But how pray, do I ready myself?

I don’t kid myself that the long hours spent creating Kyle’s physical space was my part of Kyle’s re-adjustment equation.  What will be harder is to grant Kyle emotional space to sort out changes in himself, especially new views on his old home.  Can I master the fine art of being available to listen without succumbing to mother-hover?   Or not being invited to listen at all?

It will take time and space all around.  It will take holding off some of my questions until Kyle frames his own.

Flip-Flop, Rain-Drop

24 Saturday Jul 2010

Posted by in Far Away Places, Life at Home, The Great Outdoors, Writing

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I’m not sure if I’ll venture out before the shuttle comes.  It’s raining and I’ve lost a third of my rain gear, once made up of a  jacket and pair of flip-flops.

Holed up in my hotel room, I’ve been thinking about changes this trip will bring — how last night, my teacher thanked me for coming.  I’m wondering where “this” will lead.  Knowing that “this” depends upon me.

My teacher sensed what I did not confess:  I had risked by coming to Iowa.  Putting myself  ‘out there’ has never been easy.  Instead I flourish within an everyday security blanket of a few people back home.  This is what I like to say.

But this had been good.  It helped to get away.  Alone.  To be myself without props.  To see who I am.  Alone.

Alone and not alone.  Wanting to write but not wanting to write.  Fears of being good but not good enough.  Good enough for what?   Is it the publishing thing again?  Do I want that?

There are so many great writers.  I sat with a few in class this week.  Their words amazed, their speed at writing amazed more.  They shared their work with ease.  I too shared, but only when called upon.  And then not always.

I am not ready to recite a litany of what this week has given me.  I don’t yet know.  But there’s expectation, if not in myself, at least within others, that there will be change.  Imperceptible.  But there — like all those things we can’t quite “put our finger on.”

The words came into my mind just now — the other shoe must drop. It sounds corny, but given that I lost one of my flip-flops around town yesterday, I’m wondering about that lone flip-flop that remains in my purse.  Where will it land?  What use does one lone flip-flop have?

— FOOT NOTE —

After finishing this entry, I had two hours to spend.  I decided to go out.  What the heck, I thought, the worst that can happen is I’ll get wet.  Out the glass door, I rounded the corner and stopped.  Lying on the ground near a trash can was a flip-flop.  I leaned down, shook my head and smiled.  Claiming what was mine, I weighed the rubber sole in my hand before dropping it in my purse.  Then putting on my hood, I stepped into the rain.