Scratch the Surface

There are waves beneath the surface. Often they churn for a very long time before breaking through. I'm not surprised by them, just by their persistence. And also by the way I resist giving in to them.

Repression, they call it. I come from a long line of private, quiet stock, and we're not good at giving in to our emotions. Most of the time, it seems like a good idea. Perhaps it isn't a bad strategy in the long run, but sometimes I envy those folks who allow the veneer to crack.

The days are too few and the years are too short, and somehow there's no one to keep us from wasting them.

That Time of the Year

I need to find a new favorite time of year. I had always loved September and December.

The former for its promise of a new start. (Forget January 1; the time to start fresh has always been the beginning of the new school year.)

And the latter, for the approaching sights and sounds of Christmas. Not the shopping (to which I seem to be allergic) and the other commercial parts of Christmas; but rather the dogged infusion of Advent light that denies the lengthening of the nights, and the vulnerable sounds of unaccompanied carols.

After a few years of struggling to reclaim the comfort I used to find in early fall and early winter, I think I may need to move on. Three Septembers ago my mother died suddenly, on a crisp fall day that should have felt like a fresh new beginning. In subsequent years, the accumulated mental fatigue of my summer job and the cyclic reminder of my mom's passing have made September a hurdle.

But I expected that. Not a person who has lost a loved one can help but mark that anniversary. It is early December that surprises me. I have a great job that requires a brief intense period of travel every November. Returning home at Thanksgiving should be, in contrast, a particularly enjoyable time. But somehow it's increasingly accompanied by soul-searching of the worst sort - the kind that feeds on fatigue. And, as I finally realized today, this time of year still belongs to my mother.

See, Christmas was her hobby. She and my dad ran a small cottage business making and selling holiday crafts. Adorable, whimsical and beautiful creations. I always coveted them and enjoyed picking out one of each year's new items from whatever was left over after the series of fall craft shows. So I should take some comfort in that fact that I now have one of pretty much every design she ever made. The truth is that it's overwhelming. My son helped me take 24 boxes out of the attic yesterday. There's no way I can display all of these charming angels and snowmen and Saint Nicks and wreaths. And the act of sorting through them every Christmas is beginning to defeat me.

Clearly a problem that needs to be and will be solved. In the meantime, I am trolling for a new favorite season. This year I have my sights and my hopes pinned on April.

I believe in the tradition of gratitude journals, but I've never been disciplined enough to keep one, and my "real" blog isn't conducive to such things. So here's my Thanksgiving 2008 list. Longer than the typical 5, and a bit more overarching.

• Good health. Can't be overrated.
• Kind, intuitive, loving children. Two of my favorite people in the world.
• A tireless, wise husband who will never let me forget how to laugh.
• Stable, challenging, rewarding work. Grounded, empathetic colleagues.
• Music. Even if I ignore its essence for months at a time. It's always there when I come back.
• Home. I've often been embarrassed about caring, but am realizing that I shouldn't be.
• Time. Eigenzeit. It's doesn't give up its secrets easily, but it's there if I just look for it.

The Plan

Yes, I had a plan. Five months ago I was full of confidence about it. And the fact that I haven't written in as many months doesn't mean that the plan didn't work. It wasn't a wild success, mind you. But it made a dent.

The plan was born of cruel self-examination, and it is characteristically bullet-pointed and compulsive. (To purge those obsessions would've truly been beyond its scope.) It seems odd to say that it's too personal to divulge here, but it probably is. Its primary characteristics are a quest for mindfulness and release from worry. Too much of life escapes my notice. And I'm only beginning to learn that the things that prompt the most anxiety are not the ones that will get you in the end.

Percentage effectiveness? Probably somewhere in the high single digits. But I'll take it, for a start. Even though I almost lost sight of myself many times (the key word being "almost"), most of the time I could conjure up a shadow or a glimmer of recognition.

So it's back to work - refining and recommitting, reintroducing myself.

Transitions

My kids are in transition years. And I get weepy every time I think about it. What's going on here?

I who remained (not resolutely, just by default) dry-eyed at every other milestone, am not able to keep my heart in one piece when I think about my daughter graduating from college... Previously taking perverse pride in being unsentimental, I now can't look at my new high-school-graduate son without tearing up.

What's that about?

A Plan

I decided to walk until I had a plan. It only took about 10 miles.

I believe it's a good plan, too. There's something about putting one foot in front of the other for a few hours that gets the brain in gear. Almost as if the cogs are intertwined, and the feet are an engine that clears the haze. I forget this at my peril.

Too too many weeks (in truth, months) have passed in a state of agitation and lethargy. It must be stopped. And now I have a plan.

Lessons

Some lessons learned in this spring of 2008:

You can't force someone to grow. I've always known this in my heart, but I suspected that my unwillingness to take a tough approach to teaching came from weakness rather than philosophy. But a recent case study reinforces the stupidity of believing that any of us wield enough power to force another person to learn, to change, to grow. All we can do is provide an environment that allows risk-taking.

Details are double-edged swords. Ignore them at your peril. But fixate on them disproportionately and they become missiles of destruction.

Just when you think they weren't paying attention, kids will demonstrate that they have absorbed more than you ever wanted them to. If only we could pass on only our better traits to the next generation.

Having a tenuous grasp on the past can also be a blessing. Forgetting has its liabilities, but the ability to move on may be a gift.

The biggest lessons come as a surprise. A friend who faces terminal illness with grace, another who lives with faith despite crushing economic hardship, a loved one who has the courage to be happy again.

Saturation

My brother taught me that rainy days provide some of the best opportunities for nature photography. Even though bright sunny days seem optimal, the color is most saturated on days like today.

The rain is more welcome than I had anticipated. This week's dose of spring sunshine was exhilarating, but the rain is what I needed.


I'm not a true nature girl, but I relish the power of nature to lift me outside myself, to provide gentle external larger-than-myself motion that somehow quiets my mind. It's why we love the seashore and the fireside. The waves and the flames create a rhythm that's far more harmonious than the frantic rhythm of our own minds. So I submit to the motion of the rain and the drama of the thunder, and I find some of the clarity I've buried beneath the debris of my thoughts.

Taking the camera out in the rain also brought the opportunity to spend time with loved ones. My mom's Garden Angels keeping watch over the flowers, my grandmother's old water pump, and my husband's grandfather's wagon wheel.