glorificus vita

two days ago marty and francie our australian shepherd were on their early morning walk and across from the old grange building near the bridge, marty discovered two baby foxes playing in the driveway of his favorite house in the village, which has remained unoccupied for at least a year. itty bitty little guys, he holds his hands out, about the size of a cat not including the tail. leaping and chasing, scrambling and rolling around, biting and kicking, in complete silence. francie didn't even notice them. they frolicked for quite a while before they saw marty and dog, then disappeared in a flash.

i am so excited and so jealous! and then on their afternoon walk, he saw them again! this time with a parent who vanished instantly - but the babies kept right on going. he's named them kit and kaboodle. i made him promise to take the camera on future walks but so far he's forgotten. so i'm going to call him out here if he keeps forgetting - beware my sweet. the wrath of a thwarted baby fox lover knows no bounds.

today's marsh palette is brilliant greens and blues, gorgeous shapes and shadows. i saw ronny the mallard just now but no foxy. the little mallard family photo above is what i am picturing and praying for, putting foxy and duckling vibes out and about into marshdom. marty is hoping foxy's name wasn't prescient, me too. maria my beautiful-in-every-way nurse said an adult fox was crossing the road near the grange on her way here today. i like how my friends tell me about nearby sightings, and how so many of you dear peeps write to describe spring weather, flora and fauna from your homes and beloved places all over the country. news of burgeoning glorious life from virtually everywhere. thank you with all my heart.

Little Journeys IV

note: as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives.

(this time i especially like how john and pam bicker like marty and me. they texted on their way to boston and yes, to maine! am so happy about that.)

The muskrats were busy building new underwater homes but I didn't know they live underwater until now. Maybe you can tell me how and where and why they do that. Chihuly glass stuff is still all over the grounds. We got to handle one of the pieces and the glass is heavier than it looks. Which is good because it has to withstand all kinds of weather and hold up under hail or sleet or bad storms.

The Gardens are getting ready for summer musical performances. They put the ugly carp back in the ponds (note from Pam-they are nice goldfish) (note from John- same thing!). Still all looks way overdone but everything will be there til September so we have to get used to it and I'm told in AA that I don't have to like it, only to accept it! Ok that's all. Look forward to seeing you soon and glad that you are feeling better and infection under control. Look forward to the fancy coffee too. Love, John

survival of the desired

a bald eagle flew right past this morning about thirty feet from me. its white head and deep brown wings were vivid. yesterday marty watched as it dropped onto a small bird and carried it away. and there is a rumor going around the village that a fox or somebody ate the goose eggs and all the goslings. the predator gossip said she hoped it wasn't a fisher since we all agreed they are horrid and hideous. but the babies are still eaten up whoever the culprit is.

i know all about the food chain and am part of it myself but still the thrill of today's eagle was a bit diminished. foxy the female mallard hasn't been visible much the past few weeks so i've been hoping she's nesting. ronny her mate is out and about pretty much daily. last year only one of their ducklings, baby, survived. she's the one who eloped with elvis two months ago. all i'm saying is i can handle mother nature pretty well most of the time but i have my limits. no babies at all for ronny and foxy this year would be going too far and i'm not kidding here, ok? especially if devoured by a ghastly fisher.

i don't claim to be psychic and i don't feel intuitive about who the villain(s) is/are so i do realize i'll never find out. thus i'm left with being suspicious of all birds and animals of prey and around here there are many magnificent contenders as well as one appalling one. it's the greed factor i object to most. although only one duckling last year was pitiful, i guess i would settle for that now. or else. or else what? i have no bargaining power, which i am sickeningly familiar with. but still i throw down the gauntlet and chance to the wind. as st. vincent millay put it, "i know. but i do not approve. and i am not resigned."

lime green and aquamarine

julia and her friend fidelma are kayaking on the river. they are headed north, carried partly by the incoming tide. they're so far upstream you can't see the boats any more but the white paddles flash brightly like large luminous butterflies. a song i learned at summer camp began singing itself inside my head:

my paddles clean and bright, flashing like silver,
swift as the wild goose flies, dip dip and swing.

dip dip and swing them back, flashing like silver,
swift as the wild goose flies, dip dip and swing.

we sang this as a round at nightly campfires. i loved the simplicity, harmonies, and images since canoeing has always been my favorite activity, beginning at camp when i was eight and through to this day. i long to be able to get into our red canoe and drift under the stars, explore the 17 miles northward on the dyer river, our new place. sadly i can no longer get out of my bed because of ALS.

being fixed in place could make someone depressed or crazy, especially feeling stuck and trapped. so instead of dwelling on that, i think of being a tree or a small otter tied to the kelp on the ocean's surface so it doesn't drift away while its parents fish. this doesn't work all the time but it really helps. i spend some time remembering and some day-dreaming but mostly i am here, right now, experiencing my life and being in the company of people and animals i love, who take exquisite care of me and who also make it possible to have normal, ordinary days.

i was fascinated as a child by invalids like robert louis stevenson in real life and colin in "the secret garden" in stories. what was appealing about their life in bed was how it seemed like endless summer with no school or chores, lounging around, playing hookey without getting in trouble for it, being waited on and pampered. of course i knew better but i still love the pen and ink drawings in "a child's garden of verses" of robert louis playing with his toy soldiers in the bed clothes.

i often experience enjoyment vicariously, gladly. of course i am envious of other people's mobility and wellness and i desperately miss our couch. i don't feel resentful though; i can't dwell on what i miss and i don't. i want everyone to be as able and well as possible; i root and pray for anyone who's sick and rejoice in other's good news. but i admit it is hard to listen to whining about overblown grievances and lack of perspective, people with much to celebrate and appreciate. i shouldn't be more thankful for somebody's good life than they are!

for my part i can't bear pity or excessive sympathy; or fake cheerfulness; or people i don't know well presuming to write or speak to me, directly or indirectly, about dying and other intimacies without an invitation. i can't escape physically any more and i feel exposed, like a snail with no shell, at the mercy of people's insensitivity. so i work on ways to preserve my dignity, privacy and personal sovereignty. one way is this rant, which i expect will be my one and only since i already feel misgivings about it; that it's too harsh. the things that hurt don't happen very often but when they do it can take a while to recover.

you don't have to walk on eggshells. just be with me and share your life, tell me about meeting annie the kangaroo in australia or the trip to nyc to see a sondheim review or your grumpy day or why you love digging in dirt, a hilarious escapade with children, the music you carefully chose for your small group ministry, gossip - or kayak up the river with a friend, paddles flashing clean and bright, where i can see you right out there on the marsh or in my mind's eye.

perfect spring day

indeed there is a blue true dream of sky today, along with the birthday of life and of love and wings, especially wings (bless you, e.e. cummings).

three majestic osprey swoop and hover, then drop straight from the sky to splash in the river beneath, again and again. what speed, what a wingspan, what a thrill each time. and i'm told this is but a harbinger of things to come, when the alewives and then the salmon start their runs, there will be many more. osprey and marty are kindred spirits so whenever i see them, i feel doubly blessed.

earlier a baltimore oriel with a freshly painted orange breast lit on the not-yet-blooming lupin just outside my window, singing a song with sweet, high, delicious notes. i haven't been so close to an oriel since childhood. i felt a surge of familiarity when i first saw it but had to look it up to i.d. it. once i did so, memories of its distant relatives in western michigan came back, mostly from a wooded lot near our house where we built a fort and did daylight camping.

my best friend linda foxworthy, our younger sibs terry and donny, and a few other carefully chosen friends hung out there a lot one summer. i remember cutting branches and making a sort of large nest on the ground, but i'm not sure if we made a tent with a blanket or what provisions we brought with us. i remember best the quiet, the cool shade, the bliss of slipping away from ordinary life and feeling like the lucky, lucky boxcar children in our own simple, secret world. when i remember summers like that i wish i could call my parents and say thank you.

a blustery day, bright shining as the sun

you can tell how tall the marsh grass, called spartina, is getting because the wind is blowing it over like it's hair, in long billowy waves. monsieur wind is running his fingers through mademoiselle spartina's flowing locks. it is very, very green out there, and so many greens! an island the bright kelly green of moss, patches that resemble kentucky blue grass, other spots the soft silver green of lamb's ear. a lot of the grass though is still short and stubby looking like that lawn starter landscapers spray on the dirt to get it going.

the herons are out and about. for the past week i've spotted two coming and going and i can't tell if they're female and male flirting with each other, or one guy chasing the other guy from his domain. once they land they usually stand ramrod straight for hours. but early this morning a small heron was right out front in the shallows quickly pacing back and forth like she was waiting for someone who was late to pick her up. however she must have given up because she just now flew off.

even earlier than the little heron this morning, about 5 a.m., the spartina was coated in crystalline frost. the billowy, willowy mist came cascading in on the tide. it used to be when i read mary oliver poems called foolish things like "pinewoods at 5 a.m." i couldn't imagine getting up that early, even for beauty. now i wake when i wake, nap when i'm sleepy, go to bed when i can't keep my eyes open any more.

i've been wondering for a while if time-wise i'm more on "kairos" rather than "chronos". writing those words just now sent me to the internet to learn more about this distinction, where i found a gem by Fr. Patrick Henry Reardon.

(i don't know anything more about him than this exquisite little essay; you can read it in its brief entirety at:
http://www.orthodoxytoday.org/articles5/ReardonChronos.php )

"...time in the sense of kairos cannot be measured... because it is always a now. ...Unlike the past and the future, nonetheless, the now really exists. Indeed, now is the only time that does exist. In the strictest sense, 'there's no time like now.'

"Kairos, because it is present, is an icon of eternal life. To experience the now, after all, one must be alive. ...the now, the kairos, is an icon of the life of heaven. Indeed, eternal life is an everlasting now, in which there is no sequence, no before and after.

"Eternity is not a long time. ...The infinite is not measurable. Thus, 'when we've been there ten thousand years/ bright shining as the sun/ we've no less days to sing God's praise/ than when we've first begun.'

"Here on earth... the only time we can ever really seize is the now. Now is the present instant, the marked pulsing of the heart, the moment to lay hold on eternity."

maybe this is why even though i have such a serious illness, one of my mantras, given to me out of thin air, has become "oceans of time". whenever i remember, it fills me with happiness.

when crows stir and cry out their harsh joy

i found this poem today after a long absence. the traditional Nishmat is a Jewish prayer of praise, humility, gratitude and blessing, and contemporary poet marge piercy created her own rendering of it. it seemed the perfect poem for this day, to celebrate our 30th anniversary and mother's day on the salt marsh, the four of us trying to remember all the kids' nicknames when they were babies and how they got started, such as pina and the wham. they had more nicknames than toys back then.

Nishmat (slightly abbreviated)
by Marge Piercy

When the night slides under with the last dimming star
and the red sky lightens between the trees,
and the heron glides tipping heavy wings in the river,
when crows stir and cry out their harsh joy,
and swift creatures of the night run toward their burrows,
and the deer raises her head and sniffs the freshening air,
and the shadows grow more distinct and then shorten,
then we rise into the day still clean as new snow.
The cat washes its paw and greets the day with gratitude…
The hawk turning in the sky cries out a prayer like a knife…

Every day we find a new sky and a new earth
with which we are trusted like a perfect toy.
We are given the salty river of our blood
winding through us, to remember the sea and our
kindred under the waves, the hot pulsing that knocks
in our throats to consider our cousins in the grass
and the trees, all bright scattered rivulets of life.

We are given the wind within us, the breath
to shape into words that steal time, that touch
like hands and pierce like bullets, that waken
truth and deceit, sorrow and pity and joy,
that waste precious air in complaints, in lies,
in floating traps for power on the dirty air.
Yet holy breath still stretches our lungs to sing.

We are given fire to see against the dark,
to think, to read, to study how we are to live,
to bank in ourselves against defeat and despair
that cool and muddy our resolves, that make us forget
what we saw we must do. We are given passion
to rise like the sun in our minds with the new day
and burn the debris of habit and greed and fear.

We stand in the midst of the burning world
primed to burn with compassionate love and justice,
to turn inward and find holy fire at the core,
to turn outward and see the world that is all
of one flesh with us, see under the trash, through
the smog, the furry bee in the apple blossom,
the trout leaping, the candles our ancestors lit for us.

Fill us as the tide rustles into the reeds in the marsh.
Fill us as the rushing water overflows the pitcher.
Fill us as light fills a room with its dancing.
Let the little quarrels of the bones and the snarling
of the lesser appetites and the whining of the ego cease.
Let silence still us so You may show us Your shining,
And we can, out of that stillness, rise and praise.

deep blue night

i took a long nap yesterday afternoon and awoke, deliciously rested, to nightfall. there are often times at dawn when everything ~ the river, the sky, the trees, the earth ~ takes on a monochrome sheen. all silver or completely green, white in winter or brown in early spring or pink at sunrise, the marsh becomes one. last evening it was deep indigo, the riverbanks were dark blue, then the water a lighter, shimmering, iridescent sliver of sapphire, the trees across the way and the thick grove running north along the river and the heavens above cobalt, with a soft layer of clouds in between the palest baby blue.

it grew darker and darker as night came on, until i couldn't see anything but the darkness but still it is engraved on my mind like a masterwork, intact.

isn't it something how millions of versions of that little experience happened for other people, other human beings, all over the planet, at the exact same moment? in the rain forest, the grand canyon, the himalayas, the serengeti (where i've never been but can imagine); the entire eastern shore of lake michigan, on the drive down highway one around big sur, the san francisco skyline from the top of twin peaks, in armstrong woods, the freestone valley, poipu beach, the atchafalaya, from a rocker on the porch of the highlander center, captiva, the outer banks, devereaux beach, the aberjona, the merrimack, the porch and the deck on seal cove (places i have visited or lived, all imprinted on my soul and in my heart) and now the salt marsh.

and how i felt so many years ago when in the middle of night i was perched in my rocking chair nursing precious julia, darling sam, and thinking how all over the world there were millions of other women doing the same thing at the same time, and together we created a kind of community, a solidarity of mothers, a rich communion, one with each other, soothing and singing and rocking in the deep blue night.

Little Journeys III

note: as promised my brother john wrote about his (often) weekly date with spouse pam to the Fredrick Meijer Gardens & Sculpture Park, in grand rapids where we all grew up and where, of the six of us, he still lives:

Pam and I just returned from Meijer Gardens, now filled with the works of glass artist Chihuly. While I can appreciate some of his works, the volume of work around the gardens brings an almost Disney feel. Colored objects in the ponds, colored balls lining the waterfalls, lighted neon twisted glass ornaments hanging in the interior. You can tell already what a fan I am of his. Also has many collections of long glass tubes in different lengths and colors and dimensions scattered about. An impressive overall collection throughout the whole park. But a bit overdone if you ask me. Which of course they didn't but I'm always one to offer my unbiased opinion.

Then there were the geese. It was a gorgeous evening - about 72 degrees. The new geese families abound, the muskrat swimming about and several large blue herons on the pond. A very active evening for everyone. Love, John