Summernapped

.…Browsing the gift shop, I pick up a scented candle with a summery name.  

One whiff of its deviously evocative vanilla, lemon, cocoa butter, gardenia, and heaven-knows-what-else mixed fragrance snatches me away.

Whoosh!

And drops me off in the summer afternoon of my adolescence.  

Coppertone suntan lotion, 

girls laid out on beach towels, 

the turquoise-tiled Elks pool, 

Stevie Wonder on the juke box,  

crushed ice in fountain Cokes.

  

Lazylong hot afternoons punctuated by cool dips in the deep end. 

All against an infinitely sprawling backdrop of possibility...

possibility that later on, that very night,
every night, 

might be the most romantic, delicious, exciting moment 

of my whole entire life.

Immersed in an easy certainty that after dinner, 

a long shower, 

slathers of Johnson's baby lotion 

and a spritz of Emeraud perfume . . .


After changing into cutoff jean-shorts and sandals 

and combing out our long, damp hair,

there would be baseball fields 
lit up all the way around Finnup Park.

Boys for waving at,

friends for walking with, 

front porch steps for sitting on, 

breezy twilight stretching forever into still, deep darkness.

And the radio  

tuned to K-O-M-A, Oklahoma City,

seeping silver-tongued promises out through the cracks of night.

3 Things About Daddy

Here's what I remember.

1.)  Being little, around age 4.  Going with Daddy to a many chambered, echo-y, concrete-floored, wholesale candy warehouse somewhere in Wichita, Kansas.  Actually, I don't remember the going there.  I just remember the being there.  And only a few seconds of it at that.

For those few seconds, I was sitting atop a high counter near the cash register.  There were chambers within chambers, pallets, boxes, ladders.  I viewed that storehouse as vast, infinite even.  Piled with exotic confections.  Floor to ceiling, wall to wall.  Outside, the summer day was blazing, but it was deeply chilling within this vast place.  Daddy talked business.  I watched and listened, small me in a big world, with my daddy, in awe.

2.) Sitting in the car outside the ramshackle, wood-planked, several-storied ice house.  Daddy was ordering stock for the ice-box and concession stand at our swimming beach.  And there I was,  just gazing up . . . at a factory of ice -- on a pounding hot day.  A wild impossibility come true.  And Daddy taking care of business.  Keeping us comfortabe.  Sheltering us with all he had.

3.)  Riding the roller-coaster at Joyland Park.  I didn't want to go.  But, I didn't want to be afraid of going.  It was time to get on with it.  Daddy went with me.  He would have been in his mid-50's by then.  And, I seriously doubt that he relished a roller-coaster ride.  But, I guess he knew I would need him.  When I went to pieces approaching the first horrid crest, he put his arm around me and gently said,  "Go ahead and cry, Honey, if it helps."  It did.  I howled.  And then we rode again.

This powerful man of the world was also in the tenderness business.

Is it any wonder that in the swelter of summer, I feel him near?  That when I enjoy the singular sensory pleasure of sipping soda with shaved ice on a blistering day, or bite into a rapturously-sweet candy bar, or stoke up my courage to embark on something hugely adventuresome, something that seems way too big for me, I feel encircled by his golden-brown suntanned arm?

He worked so hard, worried so much, cared about us -- almost too deeply for his own human capacity to withstand.  His powerful tenderness overwhelmed me.  His sense of wonder fed me.  His providing for us built within me a sense of shelter.  And his compassion shaped me.

This man, my daddy,  introduced me to spirit, to the marvels that wait just beneath the harsh crust of life, and to the most tender heart of compassion.

These are the things that last forever.  These are the things I remember.  About Daddy. 

Whatcha Gonna Do . . .

This isn't ski country.

No mountains.  No chair lifts.

No powder freaks.

This isn't beach country either.

So, don't even think about warm sand

or surfers

or kids picking up sea shells.

That would be a mistake.

Instead, keep your eyes sharp, focused on finding sparklers.

Signs of life, however minute.

Focus on those.

Because, folks, this is the Mid West.

And, what you're gonna need about now

is a LOT of heart.

HEART will shove you into your coat and boots and lead you out to find that little thaw.

And, when you do, small as it may be,

a numbness that threatened to take hold of you

will kind of let go.

And something full-spectrum will ease your mood.

Heart will convince you not to worry

about your stiffening cold fingers

as you wait for the moon

to snag in the boughs

and rest there for a minute.

Heart will encourage you to marvel, if a bit reluctantly, at the smallest of creatures,

 like this little one, 

surviving his first winter, adorned by his first snow. 

It's always the FIRST time for someone, somewhere.

And, heart makes you care about that, wish him well.

As the light shifts,

your newly acclimated eyes

will pick up all the GOLD

randomly scattered by an ordinary sunset.

 That's when you'll KNOW you've made it.
You're not just living.
    You're breathing it in.

You're fully equipped

to be here

NOW.

The plain-ness of things

doesn't threaten you

any more.

The jitters are gone.

It's just space.

And HEART fills it up with life.

That, my friend,

is what we're gonna do.

This is my 54th time.

So, I feel fairly comfortable saying

it's not a bad way to go.

Ramblers

It's good, I think,

now and again

to toss off one's identity

and go bare.

To feel the tenderness exposed

when wandering far away

from home.

Seeing one's life

cupped in the hands

of the pilot,
the bellhop,

the taxi driver.

Relishing
vacancy,
space for absorbing

new beauty.

Tolerating that one
quivering moment
when hollow alienation
skitters in.

Tapping your shoulder,
rattling

as you press your way

through herds of bicycles 

buses

and banging doors

back,
thank God,

to that borrowed room

you'll call home for a time.

Because, hey,
we're all tourists here
on this orb
we've endearingly named Earth.

Why not admit it?

Why not feel it in our bones?

And dare to
 ramble
while we've got the chance?

An Awkward Absence

So, the love letter is finished.

And that is that.

What comes next takes grit.

Entering the unlit passage

where we wait

as the old year passes away
and the new year yearns to be born.

Some of us wait more comfortably than others.

But, we're all suspended here

dangling in the dim in-between.

Prepared?

Probably not.

But, we'll manage.

Put out birdseed.

Launder blankets.

Recruit the battered snow shovel.

Gather.

Pull our families in around us like knitted shawls.

Crave what warms and cheers.

Relish what nourishes body and soul.

Insisting in our wise and stubborn hearts 
 it will be worth it.

Because it will.  By God, it will.

Love Letter

I know you have to go.  

It's time.

But, I'll remember you.

In your hot brights,

and sparkling silks, I'll remember you.

Thirsty days,

Liquid nights, I'll remember you.

Touches sweet,

kisses deep, I'll remember you.

Forever warm, rich and ripe, I'll remember you.

This much is true.

Wild Blackberries

I assembled my paints, soaked the paper

and tuned in to "the fish fry" for atmosphere.

I took that as encouragement from the universe!

and slid into muse mode.

Which turned out to be mad, crazy fun!

 The process of mixing colors and loading brushes

was as beautiful and gratifying

as the actual painting.

Oh, how happy you have made me.

Every little step revealed its magic.

                                                                    And time dissolved into pure joy. 

            Because, to me, painting is a form of play.

  which, in my case, seems to be a blessing . . .

and so begins another weekend.

Oops, we're a few hours into Saturday already.

Night night.

(P.S.  Anybody hungry for pie?)