Clinging Air

Excuse me while I slip into... the air.

The air seemed heavy enough today to be worn as a cloak, albeit a damp cloak that would have brought little in the way of comfort.

Even the clothes I was wearing took on added weight as the cotton wicked moisture from the air. 

The clouds looked equally weighted - their dark, full bellies hanging low to the ground like the udders of cows overdue for milking.

Were we in the colder months of the year, the extreme damp would have sent me in search of extra layers of clothing, but here in the summer months the moisture was a second clinging skin I was anxious to shed.

Sound Sans Sight

Sunglasses are a standard accessory on the beach, so it took me a while to realize the man walking toward me wasn't just strolling the ocean's edge with his pet and significant other.

As the trio got closer I realized the dog at the man's right side sported a harness with a metal handle for the man to keep hold of - and that the dog was leading the man rather than the other way around.  The female member of the trio held firmly to the man's left arm and was steering him around any unseen obstacles... for it was now obvious to me the man was blind.

Which made me wonder.  Just how big does the ocean sound to a blind person.

For those of us gifted with both sight and hearing, even if we close our eyes we still carry with us the visual memory of the ocean stretching off to the horizon. So, with eyes closed and ears filled with the sound of crashing surf, we still "see" the ocean.

But without the visual reference, what mental images come from the sound of the surf?  For that mater what feelings does the ocean instill in a blind person?  Does the steady pounding of ocean on sand bring tranquility - or is the sound one of tumultuous assault? 

It occurs to me that the woman might have been holding the man's arm in reassurance as much as guidance.

Of Ants and Warriors

I've been observing all of the outdoor activity going on these days.  Landscapers and homeowners are busy spreading much, mowing lawns, and planting shrubs of all types.  Ladders are appearing right and left as houses are painted and windows cleaned.  The physically fit have switched from indoor gymnasiums to jogging in the parks and exchanging serves on the tennis courts.

And it occurs to me that the sending of warmer weather is Mother Nature's equivalent to kicking an ant hill.

Only rather than driven, people are coaxed from their homes to scurry over the surrounding countryside with a single mindedness equivalent to the ant that strives to transport ten times its own body weight.

Here's hoping that over the coming holiday weekend all you weekend warriors find the opportunity to simply relax and enjoy the outdoors.

And as we all go about our holiday traditions, let's be sure to take the time to think about the men and women in the armed forces who have given both their time and their lives to make it possible for us to enjoy the outdoors.

Morning Gem

As I go about my daily routines I'm constantly making mental and written notes of things that catch my attention. It can be something as simple as a lace curtain flapping in an open window or the realization of a perfect was to describe a scent.

I've noticed a reoccurring theme in my notes - morning sun.  Scattered throughout my notes I find things like: the brightest whites are at sunrise; the morning sun bringing warming life to the small cottage community; the morning sun disperses shadows that claim the night; the morning sunlight is feathery light compared to weight of the blazing afternoon heat.

All of which has me wondering... just what is about early morning light that repeatedly captures my attention. 

And while I haven't quite figured that out, I sense it has something to do with the promise of renewal; the opportunity for a fresh start; of seeing things for what they truly are; and of promises kept.

Promises kept.... a treasure so seldom found these days... perhaps that's the real gem of a morning sunrise.

Family Fued

I'll see your tarp and raise you one flag.

It appeared to be the local version of the Hatfield and McCoy feud playing out between two neighbors.  A vinyl privacy fence had been erected between two properties; but that obviously wasn't enough to satisfy at least one of the two families. Posts nearly ten foot tall had been erected and a less than attractive blue tarp strung between the posts.

Solid blue wasn't to the liking of the folks on the other side who attached a generous sized American flag to their side of the posts.

Now two more posts are going up...which has me wondering not only what the next color tarp will be, but what compels someone to feel the need to raise a ten foot high barrier.  Most people I know have trouble peering over the top of a six foot high fence.

Perhaps one neighbor has taken to peering or catcalling out of a second floor window while the folks next door try to get in some nude sun bathing. Or maybe Bobby Joe has been making goo goo eyes at  Billie Sue while they both get ready for bed in their upstairs bedrooms.  Either way it seems to me there has to be a better solution than tarps and flags flapping in the wind.... perhaps a shotgun for each household.

An Earthy Breath

In...out, in...out, in...out.   I was listening carefully. Not to my breathing but to the whispering ebb and flow of the foaming ocean across hard-packed sand.

In...out, in...out, in...out. Then is was my breath I was listening to; realizing I had subconsciously matched my breathing to the surge of the ocean.

And it occurred to me that the heaving of the ocean is the breathing of mother earth... and that we, children of the earth, respond to her moods just a babies respond to their human mothers.

When angry and anxious mother earth breaths heavily, sending oceans pounding to shore where people mill about with an unsettled anxiousness of their own.

In a clam and mellow mood mother earth's breaths are feathery things that send ripples across the vast bodies of water. At the ocean's edge these gentle waves are received as lullabies that lull us into comfortable afternoon naps.

Bottle and Baby

There we were, Motivated Mom and I, sitting in the family room passing the grand-baby back and forth.  It seems the baby girl's satisfaction level with any one care provider is limited to fifteen minutes.

In fact the baby's attention span with anything (eating, sleeping, sitting, crying etc) is limited to fifteen minutes. In one hour she goes through more cycles than a washing machine.

It was time for Motivated Mom to give the baby off to me when I held up my hand to forestall the exchange.  Give me just a minute I said, I have to get a bottle.

The bottle's right there, Motivated Mom gestured toward the bottle for formula on the end table.

Not for the baby. For me, I replied as I headed off for the refrigerator and a cold bottle of beer.

Baby care is definitely better with a cold one in arm's reach.

Baby Cries

Crazy schedules this week.... made more crazy by chipping in on baby care.

For your consideration;

If an adult puts on headphones so as not to hear a crying baby.... is the bay really crying?

Changing Winds

Overhead heavy gray-black clouds sped by like the hulls of giant ships.

Below, the same winds that urged the airborne ships along turned the bay into a choppy cauldron where smaller sailing ships tacked to and fro between white crested swells.

Sails flaunted their full, white bellies while flags and pennants cracked in the stiff breezes.

Blooming flowers bobbed their heads in appreciation of the dances on the water and in the sky while gulls flew in excited looping ellipses.

It was a day meant for cleaning out dusty bins and dusty thoughts... a day when change swept in on a gale.

Can"t Go Back Again

I tried to go back...to relive my teenage fascination with the soap opera Dark Shadows.

Having stumbled across a discounted DVD of select episodes of the TV series, I could barely wait to get home and step back into the goings on at Collinswood.

Settled into my recliner with the room lighting to an appropriately low mood setting, I pressed PLAY on the remote control.

And there it was, the Gothic lettered words Dark Shadows appeared on the screen accompanied by the melodramatic opening music. 

For a moment I was back in my parents living room, sitting cross legged on the carpet, anxious to be drawn into the latest hazards in the lives of the Collins family. What would it be this time - vampires, werewolves, ghosts?

The opening credits gave way to the the foyer of the Collins' mansion.  Barnabas Collins walked in and....

The most horrendous dialogue I have ever heard spewed from the television speaker. 

I couldn't believe it.  How could I ever have been obsessed with this?  Hoping against hope things would improve, I let the DVD play on.  Alas not even my adult beverage could make the scene palatable.

With disappointment and a sense of loss, I returned the DVD to its plastic case... much as Barnabas Collins was forced to return to his casket every morning.

Perhaps one day......

Mother's Day

Mother's Day will be a different twist this year with two mothers and two daughters under on roof.

Which means I'm totally screwed.  As the only male in the house I'll be at the bottom of the pecking order for the entire day.

Not that the Mother's in our house don't deserve their day - and not that I'm not the only male in the house any other day of the year.  It's just that I'll be feeling all the more a minority on a day designated for women.

To the mothers in my house... to my own mother... and to mothers the world over... have a GREAT DAY.

And think of me sitting in the corner trying to look inconspicuous.

Ever since that cozy little house led to a blog back on May 2nd, cottages have been on my mind.

I was thinking today about thatched roofs.  In photographs, paintings, and movies, cottages with thatched roofs project a greater coziness than compact homes capped with slate or fiberglass shingles. I couldn't quite put my finger on why, until.....

It occurred to me that those thick roofs with rounded corners resemble a fluffy down comforter. And like a comforter, a thatched roof is an invitation to slip into a cozy cocoon.

I have the sense that I can count on a thatched roof cottage to offer a toasty fireplace, furniture I can sink into, and a pantry filled with home-canned foods. Calm will be encouraged by not-too-bright lights, pets curled into corners, and music spewing quietly from a refurbished Victrola.

In short, a thatched roof calls out peace and contentment.

Winning Team

It's that time of year when gardeners dig holes in the ground, drop in seeds, cover them with dirt....and wait for something to happen.

Sort of like the funerals of humankind, only once we've planted a member of our species we don't get to witness the blossom.

Unless we accept that some part of the person who left us now resides in us and nourishes our own growth. In which case when we look in the mirror, we witness the miracle of life sustained by more than one spirit.

So the next time you feel you're facing a life challenge alone, study your reflection and allow yourself to recognize you are actually a team and as a team you will win.

Elder Pair

It was the seemingly uncertain shuffle in the woman's walk that caused me to wonder if all was okay.

My concern grew when I got got close enough to ascertain the age of the woman.  Though wrapped in an over-sized fleece jacket and knit hat, it was evident she was elderly.

Perhaps as old in human years as the dog at her feet was in dog years.

It turned out the arthritic dog was the reason for the woman's shuffle. The knock kneed, sway hipped animal could barely manage the effort of putting one paw in front of the other. The woman was forced into a scuffing walk just to avoid running her pet down.

No doubt it was uncharitable of me, but I found myself wondering which of the pair would collapse first.

In the end, realizing the sun was moving across sky faster than the elder pair were moving down the road, I left them to their own devices in the hopes that all would turn out well.

Marking the Journey

It sometimes takes a baby to remind us that our lives are full of accomplishments.

So often we develop tunnel vision in moving toward an objective designed to ensure we will make an impact on the world. We berate ourselves for missed deadlines, missed opportunities, and lapses in energy. We mentally review, edit, and second guess what we might have done better... all the while overlooking the successes.

We obsess over the missed goal at the expense of the things we learned and people we affected.

Okay, you didn't get the promotion you hoped for; but while striving for that job how many friends did you help out of a tough spot, how many other objectives did you knock off your to do list, what new skills did you master?  My guess is you can name few or none of these things - noteworthy accomplishments all.

Yet, we praise a baby for clapping hands, holding a bottle, making first cooing sounds, rolling over... all simple things but milestones none the less.

We should all remember to appreciate the milestones in everything we do. The recipe perfected, the thank you card received, the flowers coaxed to bloom, the homework project completed.  The milestones are what make the journey worthwhile.

Curious Invite

It occurs to me the fallow fields that had lain bare between clusters of barren trees have been transformed into carpets of green leading to inviting sheltered forests.

Like the yellow brick road that led to Emerald City, the rolling fields offer invitation to explore a world where humans are as much as visitor as Dorothy was a visitor in Oz.

Forests are the world of creatures fluttering overhead, scrabbling underneath, and bounding exuberantly. Here humans bring a hush to an otherwise boisterous world. We are the curiosity studied by all who make their homes in the world of trunks, branches, brush, and leaves.

Welcoming Cottage

There was no welcome sign hanging in front of the cottage, but there didn't need to be.  The entire property called out a welcome.

Azaleas of varying colors blossomed between manicured rose bushes surrounding the foundation of the cottage. A stained glass window, nestled beneath an overhang supported by gingerbread trim, mirrored the hues of the azaleas. Black shutters accented the arctic white clapboards and a winding brick path invited visitors right to the front door.

I just knew that within there would be a table set for afternoon tea and was sorely tempted to intrude.

Strollering the Boards

An eighty degree day demands a stroll on the boardwalk at the end of the work shift. Only this evening was a case of strollering the boards since Motivated Mom and I were on babysitting duty while Media Girl was in school and a visit to the boardwalk meant pushing a stroller.

It had started innocently enough - a lunchtime e-mail to Motivated Mom suggesting a quick stroll before dinner.

Only Ihad  forgotten there is no such thing as a quick anything when there's a baby in tow.

After pulling into the driveway, I made a quick wardrobe change and headed for the door.

Ooops... Before getting to the door there was the diaper change, mixing formula, packing the diaper bag, folding the stroller, and loading everything into the car to set off on...

Another ooops... almost forgot the baby after all that packing.

So a dash back in the house, bundling of the baby, and off we went.

Only now we were famished from all the preparation and found ourselves questioning the wisdom of this "quick" little outing.