Sooo . . . this was not the poem I thought I was going to borrow from my collection when I saw "February" and thought Valentine's Day and love--and typed the title "Love is in the air." Though, that does feel even more poetic as I imagine birds in flight.

​I planned to post a poem I wrote about my husband before he was even so much as my boyfriend. But--as life would have it--I clicked on the first poem in my folder: "A Mother's Vigil" and read it. It's a poem I wrote specifically for my first long project, my young adult novel: Lucy Bound in Lyrics. So much love is wrapped up in motherhood. Some is pure and simple. Some, complicated and frustrating. But, all of it originates from the right place, even if that's not always where it seems to end up.

This is a poem that has the ability to make your head hurt trying to sort through the various shades of love, but love refuses to present itself in one, predictable, solid color. As far as mothers go, Robins are some of the most impressive! This poem was inspired by a true story as it played out beyond and framed by my kitchen window in my back yard. A Robin stood vigil over her injured hatchling all day and beyond dusk. I worried about her, as well as her other babies still in the nest in the tree outside our dining room window. 

Love can be so tragic and yet beautiful.
Here's to all the moms.

A Mother’s Vigil
​
Among the twigs and discarded twine
four Tiffany-blue eggs lay, too humble to shine.
Mama bird sits protecting her nest
from the chill of the north, the scorch of the west.
Warming, padding, tending her hatchlings
feeding when hungry, when lonely—she sings.
Each day the necks stretch, they feed and they grow.
Four birds take to flight, but one meets a fierce foe.
Chirping and trembling, knocked from the sky,
Mama tends the fallen while her other babes fly.
Vulnerable, heartbroken—a guard at her post,
Keeping sorry vigil by the bird who needs her most.
While the other birds soar, swooping strong and free
The injured bird lay suffering--
in the dirt 
beneath the tree.

Can I be honest? I hope so. In times of tumult, I am grateful for my faith. I know having a faith at all can be controversial these days, but faith in something far bigger than myself has been a light in my life. Whatever your faith may be, I implore you to cling to or sail toward it when feeling lost at sea.

National politics can be overwhelming. Let's face it, these days--even small-town, local politics can be a bit ruckus. It's hard to have an opinion these days, but I do have one. Take it or leave it. Amid the divisions, don't retreat completely, and conversely, don't get so distracted and consumed by it that you forget the gifts right in front of you. There is always something to be grateful for, and there are so many tangible ways to help your immediate community, family or friends.

In early November, as I contemplated how to meaningfully focus my efforts and attention in the coming years, I came across this passage in my handy dandy daily devotional: Our Daily Bread. The reading is included below. I decided I needed to start simply and tend to those within reach rather than get too wrapped up in so much that seems beyond my own personal control. No matter who or where we are, ask: How can we serve the community we're in?

Have I mentioned my belief that the key to happiness is low expectations?

So, adjust your expectations and you may just enjoy this poetry. For me, a polished piece of poetry has the potential to be something to fear from the writer's point of view--because I'm saying, "This is perfect! There is nothing more I can do with it, so don't bother to look. Just sit back and enjoy this symphony of sounds." [Chef's kiss into the air . . . mwuuaahhh]

It's so much less intimidating to open up my rough and tumble sketchbook (no, I don't often--ever?--sketch, unless doodling counts. But, taking a break from writing and making time for art of the more visual sense was the intent of the workshop where I received my sketchbook and, like that prized pair of jeans in the closet fitting a little too snugly, I am leaving the sketchbook open to the possibility of being sketched in at some point in the future.

Ok--the poems. That was what this blog post was all about before my sketchy sketchbook swooped in and distracted me, but I have to admit digressions are such fun! So--how did these unpolished poems come about? Well, long story short: this past summer: two adults three teens and a tween = 6, plus cat = 6.25, two weeks later: minus three, subtract another one unexpectedly = 2.25 (a mom, her boy & a cat:) = the ability to hear myself think. Combine this with a collaboration between The Room to Write and Arts Collaborative of Wakefield special art exhibit requiring 12 writers to pair with 12 artists + one summer slumber for all + deadline = 9 writers + me = 10.
So, I had to write. 

At one optimistic point, I told myself that I would write a poem a day. No big whoop! But, I also had a cottage to paint, a garden to rehab, an uncharacteristically angsty teen, and a boy to spend the tail end of summer with. I started with the poem that ended up being paired with a piece of art for the exhibit. Next day a revision of that first poem. Then two poems, rough and ready. Then two more poems with two different pens. That was a challenging day, which is reflected within the poems. The next day, one poem while life simplified. Five days in a row: nothing. I was too busy kayaking, bike riding, beaching, painting, reading and allowing my mind a rest. Then one last poem on the last day of vacation. And, as Pa Ingalls always said, "All's well that ends well." And it did. There was a lot to love about our family's summer vacation, but that last week was a slice of serenity that was something to be savored.

How I do love summer. I never used to. It was always too hot and felt too long. Strange. Maybe.
But, then I discovered a beach umbrella and the relief of swimming and the simplicity in sundresses. 
Simplicity. I really appreciate the simple things these days.
Summer is simple. Less clothes. Less school. Less sports. Less scheduled. Less.

But, it's onto Fall. Autumn! The only season I know that has two names and no matter how much I've taken a shine to summer over the last several years, I'll always have a soft spot for my favorite season of Fall. It just has that cozy factor that I love. Not too cold and yet not too hot . . . Just right:)

Here's to summer in photos.
And cheers to autumn:)

OK. So, I'm cheating.
Don't judge. I've been busy.
Yes.
But, that's no excuse.
Remember when our parents used to say to us, "You don't know how lucky you are!"
​
Well, now that I'm a parent--THEY don't know how lucky THEY were.
Barely any tech to deal with from a parents perspective.
I remember walking up to my friend's house in first grade to play ColecoVision. You don't know what that is?!
Of course you don't know what that is.
You probably never heard of a Vic-20 or a Commodore-64 either.
Your dad probably never had to teach you how to type C:/run to make a game start. I might have it wrong--but it was something like that.

And--remember video cameras?!?
Anyway, my point is, life was so much simpler. Parents went to work and if it snowed, they didn't go to work.

​They drank coffee and smoked cigarettes (those are bad for you!) and drank beer (also bad for you!!!) while standing around a car with the hood popped trying to figure out what was wrong and actually--usually someone in the neighborhood--could fix it.

So, back to why I'm cheating. Right--the title. Haha.
This ain't your mother's decade of parenting anymore. It's hard. Everything simple has like twenty parts to it and those parts have a variety of names. And, you'd better know the names and the under-definition of those names lest you insult somebody by accident. Oh, right. There are no accidents anymore, just offending people. Don't ask.
Honestly, I don't know and, really, I don't want to know. These days there's just too much to know. How can one brain fit it all?

Oh, right, my point.
Well, life is busy and complicated now. Who can keep up with it all? Even without a phone--I told you I don't have a phone, right?! Thank the Lord. I'm pretty sure he never meant for us to have phones. And by "phones" I mean "smart" phones--computers in your pocket that nag and beep and buzz and harass you out of any potentially blissful moment you might have focusing on family or friends or that passion project you finally have a moment to focus on.
Nope. Too bad. Blip. The moment is gone.
​
So, I am late. With my blog post. This blog post.
I swear this is the first time. The other months were all legit and (barely, but still) on time.
I lost the tail of the thing called life as it scrambled around the corner this past spring which bled into the start of summer and then suddenly it was actual summer. My mind needed time to thaw out. To chill, which was hard because basically all of July was a heatwave. Which leads me to my other confession:
I didn't write a blog post in July either.
Ugh. I'm bad. 

Wow--ok. So, I'm down the Cape right now and the music on 104.7 is amazing but it's a throwback. And, since I can't make this stuff up (well, except for the publish date on this post) I have to tell you Linda Ronstadt's song "I've been cheating" came on the radio. Now, this is a testament to what we hear and what we want to hear. I just googled her to make sure I was spelling her name right and then to be sure I had the right title for the song and of course I didn't have either of those things correct the first time. Apparently, according to the lyrics, Linda Ronstadt has been cheated and mistreated and is wondering when she'll be loved. So, the title is actually, "When Will I Be Loved?" It did have "cheat" in there, so it was still an interesting coincidence.
When does a blog become a ramble? Now?
The End:)
PS: My next blog post is also going to be one month late, but I'm not going to mention it then. Only if you read this post you'll know. Our secret, ok?;)