Roots

In true page-turner style, the night before heart surgery,
I was rain-checked.

For a good month, I gnawed at this news like an old bone,
waited to hear if the docs would favor heart surgery after all,
or have me remain in this temporary place of not-quite-well.

 
What can we do when things aren't all better?
How can we meet the sacred in illness,
in poverty, in sadness,
in our imperfect selves?
 
Drink tea. Read good fiction. Take bubble baths.
Go outside and watch clouds.
And then, take a serious look around. 

Ill or not,  I am rich!

clean water. warm home. books.
food. literacy. art.
paint.

waves on the beach. limitless sky. stars. 

music. beauty. family.

love.
I could recount these riches all day.

Even ill, I am abundantly well.
 
I haven't been able to write.
That's the outlet that's suffered most since the stroke.
I'm tired, dizzy, and struggle with an aching head.
My dear friend Margaret Bloom of We Bloom Here
sent a breeze of wisdom my way,
likening this time to winter.
Sometimes leaves dry up and branches are stark,
but roots still go deep. 
 
Every time we struggle, may the roots go deep.
to grow us in compassion.
to grow us in perspective.
to grow us in steadiness,
and light.

What do we do with our troubles?
Find the gifts in front of us.

Even in our troubles,
there is sacred to be found:
laughter, forgiveness, grace, love.

Here's to deep roots and good dirt, my friends.

Epilogue:
I finally made peace with this middle ground,
and the next day: news!
Heart surgery is back on.

Friday, November 8, here we come!

Feel-good books:

Violet Mackerel's Remarkable Recovery,
by Anna Branford, ill. by Elanna Allen

(Thank you for the get-well-read, Margaret Bloom !)

The Mighty Lalouche, by Matthew Olshan and Sophie Blackall

Tea Rex, by Molly Idle

!, by Amy Krouse Rosenthal and Tom Lichtenheld

A Sick Day for Amos McGee,
by Philip C. Stead, ill. by Erin E. Stead

The Big Week

Words are few.
Heart surgery on Friday.
Summer is fleeting
and I survey my world,

reaching out to touch,
to linger,
to bless
like worn prayer beads,
all these things for which I am thankful.

I find myself brushing fingertips along our bumpy, imperfect walls,
savoring the unfinished-ness of them,

remembering that we are all unfinished stories,
sacred in our imperfections.


To feel the stained rim of a teacup,
a grooved picnic bench,
lichen on a tree

To soak up with my eyes
tissue-thin curlings of bark,

windowsill traffic,

popsicle drips,

  

chalk.
It's a liturgy of thankfulness
in today.
in the dirt.
in the dark. 


Last week, we stayed up late in a lightning storm.


Such power! Such beauty! 
And yet they shivered under quilts.

It's hard to be small in the dark
while thunder shakes the house with monster growls.

Being brave is having faith, isn't it?
Faith that tomorrow will dawn
calm and bright.
Faith that Light will come out of the dark.


As it turns out, some hearts
have holes that need patching.
Some hole-y hearts cause strokes.
The patch surgery may help.
We can hope!

Friday morning is my thunderstorm.
Be brave. Be brave. Be brave. Be brave.

Thankful for heart patches.

for imperfections. for thunderstorms. for light. and hope.

A brave book I hope you love as much as I do:

 
"The Girl With A Brave Heart" by Rita Jahanforuz, illustrated by Vali Mintzi.

Sacred Muddle

I planned to tie up the last few months in a tidy bow,
to give you a round
beginning, middle, and end
to the stroke saga.
What we writers like to call a story arc.
Alas.
Some stories take longer to figure out.

My story for now is just a middle... or a muddle:
stroke,
brain blips,
ambulance rides,
hospital stays,
doctors,
uncertainties,
looming surgery.


None of our swell summer projects.
No happy new manuscripts.
No tidy bows. 

With each shift in the family balance,
part of me shrinks.
I hope it's the right part. The part that needs to go.
I hope it's the part that, before this muddle,
tried to hold everything together alone,
that didn't ask for help,
that got too busy to rest
in the numerous small things around me.

With each slip,
these small things come into focus.


Not my grand plans.
Not measurable success.

But joy.
thankfulness.
light.

cousins.

good books.

kisses.

cupcakes.

forgiveness.
rocks and sky.
breath and bread.

Life is short,
but humble things
make it deep.

Thank you
for your generosity to us through so many gifts -
art and cards, books and pens,
food and a clean house,
help with bills and the wildebeests,
prayers and wishes.
Thank you.

I am amazed at the love around us.
Amazed at how love makes every story beautiful,
no matter how long or short it is.

Here's to the sacred muddle, my friends.
To going deep!
to mysteries.
spyglasses.
buried treasure.
puzzles.
great books.
friends.
and small things.

Mystery and Adventure Books We Have Loved This Summer:

Where The Mountain Meets the Moon, by Grace Lin
The Willoughbys, by Lois Lowry
Nathaniel Fludd, Beastologist, by R.L. LaFevers
Half Magic, by Edward Eager
The Brixton Brothers, by Mac Barnett
The One and Only Ivan, by Katherine Applegate

The Book of Beasts, by E. Nesbit, ill. by Inga Moore
The Red Book, by Barbara Lehman
Flotsam, by David Weisner

 

(my best reads of the summer)

Hattie Ever After, by Kirby Larson
Howl's Moving Castle, by Diane Wynne Jones
The Thirteenth Child, by Patricia Wrede
A Grave Mercy, by Robin LaFevers

Beautiful Battlefields, by Bo Stern