been on a golden hour owling binge, what can i say? been out there three nights in a row. the first night we saw the owl, i had my camera settings all messed up and i was too busy screaming and happy cursing to get any good photos. but at least my friends M and T and Clyde were there with me to witness the magic.
trying to learn to BE in my body whilst seeing an owl. and it seems to be getting better. here are some of the best shots from the past few nights. i might go again tonight. there is simply no such thing as too much barn owl in my life.
had a lovely trip to SF with the boys this weekend. we had so much fun. here’s a colorwheel of our trip (mostly iphone photos).
the boys were very patient while i played with the evening light in the kitchen tonight. getting there. but not quite there (would help if i knew what i was doing haha). loving the details in the sunset light in the first shot and the rich black (and that white ice cube tray on the left) in the second shot. of course, i only wish i had a big lovely tree out my window rather than my neighbor’s house. but oh well.
not sure what i did to deserve these perfect, patient (tonight) boys. they blow my mind. and they don’t even seem to think i’m that crazy. shhh, don’t tell them.
p.s. just looked at this on PC and wow, just for-getta-bout the rich black thing i’m talking about. nothing like the mac.
he fell asleep so gently right here next to me tonight. mere seconds ticked past between the deciding to lay down and the slow rise and fall of boy sleep. one hand curls tight into his bare middle, his silhouette a rolling landscape of shoulder, waist, hip, and legs in a tangle. his other hand rests limp at his side like a fallen bird, feathery soft fingers. his thoughts left hanging somewhere between swimming and reading and this living room couch.
i rest my hand on his soft, cool side and let it ride the heavy in-out, in-out. through the windows, the crisp breath of evening makes the curtains float in like ghosts. my own breathing unravels in a long sigh. in-out, in-out, this breath is a gift. the last month of summer is hours away now and soon morning will replace this night or the breath or the breathing, the hushed light of day, never promising us anything.
(written after reeling all day about this local tragedy that took place at our new-favorite camp)
shit, i did not write my just one paragraph yesterday, which means (in my sick loyalist mind) that i must write twice today.
i had a good excuse at least. family birthday shin dig here at the house. and the best kind too! we ordered takeout so we didn’t have to fuss about food. i know that’s not a plus for people who love to cook, but um, i’m not one of those people. baked a stack of german chocolate cupcakes for my grandpa’s 93rd birthday and ordered in some delicious pizza. mom brought the most amazing white peaches, my SIL her beloved oatmeal chocolate chip love bombs. the kids swam, the adults chatted. there were nostalgic tears and there was laughter and sharing. the best kind of family party, if you ask me.
on the last day of school, he told me he wanted to tell me something when no one was around to hear and somehow, impossibly, i forgot. forgot to pull him into my room alone. forgot to ask later as he slipped into his bed. simply forgot. maybe i was making dinner or keeping his brother in line or … who the hell knows? but he never told me the thing that night and i didn’t remember until he was gone again the next morning. that day felt excruciating waiting for him to get home so i could ask him about this thing, this so-important-only-his-mom-could-hear thing. but instinctually, i knew it was about a girl.
that afternoon when i picked him up, i asked him in the car. what was that thing you were going to tell me? but he motioned that i’d have to wait again. until we were alone. what is it? what does he want to tell me? did i ruin everything not taking the time to stop and listen from the get? is the moment gone forever? did i blow it?
but not long after, he stood in the living room and told me. yes, it was about a girl. he looked at me so earnestly and said simply, “she likes me.”
i didn’t start weeping then, but hell, if i didn’t want to. it’s one of those moments you wait for when you’re a parent. don’t get me wrong, i’m in no hurry for my kid to be considering girls too seriously, but i also knew we weren’t there yet. this kid of mine is never in any hurry, unlike me as a kid/teen/young adult/yesterday/today. it’s like he was born with the gift of doing life on life’s terms and being okay with that. where the hell did he learn that and oh, thank god he did.
the lump in my throat had nothing to do with my feeling like he’s growing up too fast. in fact, tears filled my eyes because everything seemed right on time. the minute your kids start growing out of your arms, all you want is for them to be liked. or more so, you want them to be seen for the person they are. and here it was happening. he had been seen, and he was feeling that goodness right there in front of me. the words. the satisfied look in his eyes. and the most incredible part was that i got no sense that he wanted any more than that. it was like he had everything he needed right there on the cusp of the summer before fifth grade.
been fretting all day about doing just one. there’s simply so much to say and no way to say it. or is it the opposite? i’m not sure.
i could talk about my day. how it started with goodbye kisses to my boys followed by my thyroid pill, some coffee, and a half a cold bagel with cream cheese left uneaten on the counter and how it’s now slowly coming to an end now, darkening room, bright computer, my cat purring and pressed against my thigh, my mind on her last days before she succumbs to the kidney disease.
what happened in between was a mish mash of things: work, happy and sad news stories, a lengthy backyard chase between two orange dragonflies, exercise, frustration, boredom, being so-so about a striped shirt i used to love, swimming lessons, overcooked steak, undercooked artichokes, and a sleeping husband on the couch.
but back to the swimming lessons. let’s go over that again. in more detail. how the tiniest girl in a pink swimsuit, criss cross in the back, kept sinking so far below the surface. until i thought sure she was drowning. and then she’d pop back up. this is swimming? i thought. (no, this is a nervous breakdown.) is her teacher even worried? i wondered. and up she popped again. tiny breath (not enough breath!) and down under again.
back in this dark room, right here, right now, the cat is gone now. she doesn’t stay long these days. there is now a six-year-old standing before me. glowing, battery-powered eyeballs atop his head. and we are laughing.