The little beach fairy who made me a mama.
And her grandmother, the woman who made me.
My parents came to visit this weekend, and I’m so grateful I got to spend Mother’s Day with my mom. My dad starts his cancer treatment this week, and it’ll be a while before we’re all together again, so I’m especially glad we got to make these memories. Every day counts, y’all, and every moment is special.
I am the sum of all the best parts
of my mom.
I share her two-toned eyes and her thick hair.
She taught me poems
and kindness,
and she chose a good man to be my dad.
I am a reflection of her heart,
a collection of her dreams –
all the love and all the things she wants but never had.
She gave those things to me.
Cheers to us!
To you and me,
to your guitar and my suede boots,
my voice and your white hat.
To the music
we make together,
and the laughs.
As seasons pass and time goes on,
I’m lucky every day that
you’re my dad.
My dad starts salvage radiation for prostate cancer later this month, and I’ve been thinking about him and holding him in my heart these last several days as his treatment plan becomes clear. He’s the happiest, most friendly person you’ll ever meet, and watching him struggle with this diagnosis has been heartbreaking. But he’s also strong and brave, and he’s going to show cancer why you don’t mess with a hillbilly and his guitar.
I know it’s odd to write this post now with Mother’s Day coming up here in the US, but cancer doesn’t choose a convenient time. So, this one’s for him. I’ll write one for my mom – who is going to be with him every step of the way – next week. But for now, please leave a few kind words for my sweet dad if you have a minute. He’ll see them and appreciate them, and so will I.
FREEDOM!
Y’all, Lucy did this by herself. I prepped lunch, turned around, and saw a little Braveheart baby playing her pipes.
(She also colored the couch blue, because it’s pretty. Did you know it’s really hard to get blue chalk out of a white couch? Because I didn’t. I sure do now.)
Anyway, it’s fascinating. We have never watched Braveheart, and I don’t know how she got the idea. I suspect those Scottish roots just run deep.
It’s been another busy week, so this is all I’ve had time to write, but I wanted to share it even though it’s not much. We could all use some silliness these days, I think. I’ll try to write something more in this next week, both to post here and because I get grouchy when I don’t have time to write. Just ask Graham. 😉
Wishing all of you a good week ahead, and happy creating!
I haven’t had any time this week to write. Or read. Or do much of anything else, really. Lucy’s been keeping us fantastically, beautifully busy.
I love it. Though I do wish I had just a little more time. Or hands. Or both.
Anyway.
I think maybe my busy-ness was kismet, because I got a notification from WordPress today that I’ve been blogging now for ten years.
TEN. YEARS.
When I look back at where I started and where I am now, in blogging and writing and life, I feel so much gratitude. I’ve made wonderful friends here, and they inspire me every day to keep creating. I’ve grown and changed in ways I never could have imagined. I’ve got Lucy, and I live at the beach, and I write poetry. I never thought I could actually write poetry. I feel more brave, more open, and more ready. And I also know that I still have so much more to learn.
If you’re reading this today (or tomorrow or whenever), thank you! Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading and for being here. If you’ve been reading for a while, thank you extra, because you’ve kept me going through many a hard day. Knowing you’re out there keeps me motivated, and makes me want to a better writer and creator and human.
It’s quite a journey we’ve been on together. I can’t wait for whatever comes next.
I don’t know what Lucy will choose to be when she grows up. I am still figuring it out for myself, after all. And whatever she chooses, I’ll support her. But watching her last night, I think I might have a pretty good idea.
Yes, my friends, I think we have a musician in the house. Well, another one. And I bet she’ll surpass all of us for skill and talent.
Oh, my heart. Oh, this magical, brilliant little girl. It’s so fascinating, watching Lucy figure out the world. I wonder what we’ll discover tomorrow.
Watching your little girl play so carefree,
you think one day
I hope I can be
just like that.
But once upon a time you
were already a child too,
twirling and dancing under a twilight sky,
reaching for a mother’s steady hand
and knowing it would be there.
It hits you right where you stand:
Your time hasn’t gone.
It’s just moved on,
come full circle like the bright pink moon.
And like the moon,
it will turn again soon.
The well will never run dry
of daughters made mothers,
of mothers and daughters and the love they share,
heavy as a whole heart and light as air.
They refused to take no
and then watch others go
make decisions for us.
They fought for our daughters, their daughters,
daughters and mothers all,
that our world be equal and just,
that our voices ring true and free
from every blue mountain, red hill, green valley.
We fight still.
************
It’s been way too long since I’ve participated in one of Rebecca’s poetry challenges over at Fake Flamenco, and this month’s challenge is a really good one. You should join in, too!
I’ve posted many poems for Women’s History Month, but this one – this year – it just hits different. I have a little girl, and I want everything for her. I want a world where she can be whatever she wants to be. And where her voice can be as loud, powerful, and important as anyone else’s. This poem was inspired by the women, past and present, who’ve fought for women’s rights all over the world. We’ve fought for our right to speak – to vote, to be in the room, to have a seat at the table, to lead – for generations, and it makes me angry that we still have to. But for Lucy, for all of us, I will fight, just like the many women who came before me.
They’re coming!
And Lucy is so ready. (She even brought a friend.)
It’s been a rough few days for weather – cold and rainy – but we’ve also already gotten our first taste of spring, and it can’t come soon enough.
You may be cool, but are you Lucy in the garden rocking Daddy’s sunglasses and the cutest overalls ever cool?
I’m certainly not.
On a serious note, I understand now, in a way I never have before, exactly why weekends are so very precious. It’s really our only time as a family to all be together without worries and errands and chores and deadlines. I’m having to totally rethink how I approach my weekdays – how I plan, how I organize my time, and how I fit in all the little tasks that used to be no big deal.
I don’t want to do laundry on Saturdays. I want to go to the beach.
I don’t want to meal prep on Sundays. I want to take Lucy to the playground, or to her grandparents’ house.
Or, sometimes, I just want to sit and do nothing on a Sunday morning while Lucy plays with Graham, because he doesn’t have a lot of time during the week to sit with her in her world and be part of her make-believe.
Soon – sooner than I’d like and in the blink of an eye – she’s going to be thirteen and I’m going be old news. Then she’ll be eighteen and going off to college. Then she’ll be an adult, with a life of her own.
These toddler days are brief and special. I want as much time with her as I can get.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 