perfection

Whatever else this summer throws at me, I got this one perfect summer day in: not a single looming deadline; a long chat with my sister; a long walk with Nu up to the Spartan statue at the stadium and back (the full Sparty!); yoga with Big A (via Portal); picked up sticks in the backyard with Scout and Huck (and it made them CRAZY); finished my book in the hammock (Cheryl Strayed); ate mangoes and cherries and chocolate all day; soaked in the tub till I got pruney because my phone, which was on shuffle, magically played all the best songs; ate leftovers from dinners past for dinner; shared a mango creamsicle with the puppies; played Truth or Dare with the fam; made plans with EM and SD; got a chat with At and got him on the family calendar for next week. 

My peace. My priorities. My pleasure. 

At the end of the day, perhaps I shouldn't have eaten a whole BAR of hazelnut Chocolove, but at the time it seemed both imperative and enjoyable.

Pic: My view from the hammock.

two puppies, some bunny, and a people's history

I can kinda see me wedged here between the end of the sofa, Scout's nose nuzzling me, Nu's butt, and (somehow) Huck's tail in my lap.

And I'm mostly awed by the bunny ear attachments to Nu's sweatshirt. Nu worked on them all this week, and in true punk fashion sourced everything from what we already had.

Earlier in the day we headed to my office and, on the commute, we listened to Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States. Nu's first time. I think it's time.

the telling

everyone loves stories, we know

no one can be lonely with them

for their arms stretch both ways

to hold you in: openings endings 

their hands can pinch together

the holy ghostly glory of time

so by the time you step back  

blue skies are pink-purple-red

& evening is squeezy as a bosom 

roomy for whatever comes next

if sun: to show our fiery hearts

if rain: to share forgotten tears

Pic: Bee on thistle; English Garden @MSU.

on the outside

Tried something new today--took Nu along on a small hike with L.

I missed being outside, but I didn't feel comfortable leaving Nu by himself because of all the health stuff. This way, both of us get to be around each other, get some fresh air, and build our stamina. 

It was a good start. The only downside being Nu wore his Doc Martens and got a blister and then wished he'd listened to me--I hate being right sometimes.

Pic: This was our best "ussie" via our reflections--waving creepily at our reflections in the Red Cedar River was L's idea.

"a rocket of heavenly delight"

Last night just as I was falling asleep, the phrase "a rocket of heavenly delight" popped into my head and in those few seconds, I was SO CERTAIN that I'd discovered SUCH A brilliant creative phrase. THE MOST.

When I woke up for the day, I wasn't sure what I'd meant by it or what I would use it for. I know it was some tongue-in-cheek riff off of The Garden of Earthly Delights, but I wasn't sure of the how, why, or what. 

Nu thinks that I maybe meant it as a paean to the Spain trip where we got to see the triptych at the Prado? 

Or maybe this is just what happens when 2 am becomes the time you fall asleep.

Anyway, like Kanye, Nu didn't graduate from outpatient care, he just decided he was finished. So we're home with exercises and things to monitor and follow up on. We started a new show Heartstopper, which I find adorable. Nu critically noted that the show--about two gay teenagers--is written by a woman, but he appears to be charmed nevertheless. 

Having a somewhat normal day and knowing that we don't have to report to outpatient in the morning is like being on a rocket of heavenly delight nice. (Ok, I'll stop trying to make "a rocket of heavenly delight" happen... I can see it's not going to happen.😏)

Thinking about "The Mother"

A long time ago, I read Lydia Davis's "The Mother" from Break it Down. Here it is in its entirety: 

The girl wrote a story. “But how much better it would be if you wrote a novel,” said her mother. The girl built a doll-house. “But how much better if it were a real house,” her mother said. The girl made a small pillow for her father. “But wouldn’t a quilt be more practical,” said her mother. The girl dug a small hole in the garden. “But how much better if you dug a large hole,” said her mother. The girl dug a large hole and went to sleep in it. “But how much better if you slept forever,” said her mother.

Although I read it so long ago, it's always in the back of my head as a reminder of how not to "fix things." While that chilling paragraph is about the specific dynamics of mother-daughter relationships, I think it works for parenting/teaching/editing/being a friend or partner too. There are more of Davis's stories here.

ouch

This poem by Pat Schneider is a lovely reminder to be grateful for details in our lives. But I'm guessing it's not good when only inanimate objects come through for you?

Good: Catching up with EM, BS, and JG after a couple of weeks having too much going on. I appreciate their love, support, expertise, and empathy so much.

Bad: Toss up between the UU trip that didn't happen to the 911 call that almost did.

Ugly: Websites that tell me facts I'm not ready to hear.