Month: June 2011

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The Last Friday Morning

After a day of off and on thunderstorms, oppressive heat, and finally enough rain so I didn’t need to water my gardens, it’s a bright, cool, clear morning.  Crickets are rolling their chirps over and over as a back drop to the clacking call of the bobolinks, the songs of catbirds and robins and chickadees and the complaining of the crows.

This is the last Friday morning, at least for now, that I’ll wake up relieved that the end of the work week is almost here.  I’ve loved my job — the challenge, the chance to make a difference, the incredibly smart and dedicated women I work with both here in NH and across the country — but I’m tired.  As I said at my farewell party on Tuesday evening, I consider my success at my job to be a result of luck, the great good fortune to have found a meaningful career that uses my particular talents to best use.  Other than very occasional sticky situations, this job has never been hard for me, but I’ve worked very, very hard.

So for years now Fridays have meant I’m close to a couple of days of longer sleep, a slightly (though truly only slightly) more relaxed pace, and the chance to do something other than concentrate fiercely on continuing to advance the work to end violence against women.

I still have three more days of work next week, but the weekend is almost here, and by next Friday, I’ll be looking at an almost unimaginable number of days ahead when my concentration and focus can go elsewhere.  Sweet.

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Haiku Habit

Still getting up and squeezing in a morning run before a day of work, still finding only a tiny space for language lust in my brain, thus the continued haiku habit.

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Wild blue flag iris
Loon laugh warbling overhead
Morning rain relief.

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Grazing Haiku

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Morning horses graze
Calves stand at east pasture fence
Abundance ascends.

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So Much Is Happening

Dusk is full on. It’s Sunday evening and this is my first quiet moment of the weekend. The sun is painting the horizon grey and deep blue against the last yellow light, and the four horses in the pasture are up to their knees in grass. In the last two days I’ve seen Adrienne and Emilio, my mother, father, three sisters, two brothers-in-law, two nephews, two nieces, a grand-nephew and a nephew-in-law. I didn’t see my other brother-in-law John because his father went into the hospital yesterday morning, clearly dying, and John spent the next 24 hours with his family gathered in the deep and transformative process of accompanying a loved one to death’s door.  The door opened.  I have 8 days of work left.  I talked to Eric’s mother and cousin while I watered my gardens when I got home. Eric’s cousin talked about how much better he is when he’s working.  It’s summer now and he teaches, so he’s not as busy as he likes, having so much time makes him “edgy.” I’m about to walk off that edge.  Except it’s not an edge, and it’s not a final door, and I’ve been to that door and I’m still here.  Emilio clearly recognized me when he first saw me yesterday, continually meeting my eyes and smiling as he was passed around among the family sitting in the sun on my sister’s deck.  Does this seem like a lot for one weekend?

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Another Haiku

So, I didn’t stop at 100.  I’m still working, I’m still getting up every day and rushing to get out running, come back and make breakfast and lunch to bring to work, get in the car and drive to arrive on time at some meeting.  The imagined days of waking whenever my body wants, slowly sipping my cappuccino and contemplating what to do with the waves of time washing over me have yet to come.  In this still-hurried life, haikus work.  The bit of creative space they carve out in my brain is just right.  So, another.


Korean lilac
Smaller and later to bloom
Fragrance to savor.

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Low Light, Green Light, Pink Light

There’s been a tornado watch in southern NH this evening, and when we left work the skies were dark, we could hear distant thunder, and it was raining in Concord.  A colleague had emailed me to say there was hail the size of softballs in Keene.  I got out into the garden as soon as I got home, wanting to beat any coming storm to the perennial bed I’d yet to weed this season.  And just to be sure it would rain, I watered all the new plants I’ve put in over the past few days.

But it didn’t rain, radar loops online show the storms blowing south of us, and now the light is low, feeding up from the sun below the horizon.  Just moments ago the clouds were holding the light against all the late spring vegetation and the world outside the windows was green — not scary tornado green, but a soft, growing glow.  The trees are tossing in the wind and now the clouds are catching the last bits of sun and burning pink and gold.  The air is cool and smells like rain, but there is clear sky between the clouds and the dusk is deepening, turning the tall pines black.