Don’t Text and Hike-u

Like, what was I thinking this morning on my clear out of the blue get with it hike. One cliffhanging thought before the other on the side of a mountain no less. One smartie word wising up the other. A look mom no hands no helmet moment, stepping back so the trail bikes coming downhill don’t hit me. My knees shaking a finger at me at this brand new ‘new start day,’ saying, “let’s start tomorrow, let’s sit and have a listen up to the birds.” So I listen, sitting on a niche carved with the perfect shape of my imperfect, I’m thinking, this is perfect, time to wonder, time to enjoy. All the time in the world wondering, wondering deep and wide, wondering how’s it gonna turn out. Wondering God, are you out there, are we gonna be okay? No one answering me, me talking all the talking just the same, wondering should I maybe take some extra underwear in the great beyond? Will there be somewhere to wash out a few things? Maybe an electric outlet no one’s using, so I can keep up with Mad Men, tabs on my kids, up with my was-tow-head one, Mr. precious all 18 all grown up already, my second chance at pretty good, Mr. I’m not so sure about, he not so sure either, Mr. Between bi-moodals, Mr. So so, so afraid of being six.

Like who’s gonna put up with this set of petunia kids I got going on if and when I check out? This kid racket double sink full life, who gonna teach them to call home, separate the shouldas from the couldas, the whites from darks? From the do it now’s cuz I said so. Like who’s gonna remind them these are the good old days? So welcome home, shut up and eat your organic kale before it gets all commingled, cold, alpha omega 3s don’t grow on trees, and pass me the milk while you’re at it, and, thank God while your at it, thank God us being so lucky, us being us, thank God us being so well shod standing on gods green warming, us standing on someone else’s dime being so alive on the peeling back I’ve wanted to change all my granite years, thank God and bless Him, bless my own mom and dad while He’s at it, me, myself and I while He’s at it, and bless the mister, the mister kids, bless this head, this heart, these hands, until forever, until the 10th of forever, until the 10th of forever wondering.

Are the kids brushing right? Are they flossing and whining between meals?
Today, like all the rest, I quit it. Quit it about being lost in the lost in found, say ‘I love you,’ first and tell my kids there’s no more, no more better than this, no more there there, never was anyway, all smoke mirrors, no thing as lost, no thing as found, unless you decide, (no Oz, no Auntie Em, no clicking heels, TV for you.) I tell my kids, this would be a good time to write something down so I can remember I had half a brain once, somebody got a pen? I’m telling you what I knew too late to save you the google of it later. Mom, Dad, if you can see my face I love you, if you got one, I’m ready for it, I’ll take one, give one, I’ll take a hug for the road. 🙂

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Kid Blur

Some days I fake rigor mortis hearing my son race down the hall at a clip…five, four, three, two, one…BANG!…Six years of age, new to earth, he does not yet know a good life can be had in sip doses, how to walk the earth instead of run it, how to quiet himself.  A 10x box of sugar in a blender kind of kid, for who, standing still, is a challenge.  A blur hollerer, his  lemon Jell-o screams seep under the doors, find my sponge cake mind, cornered.  The quiet slammed to pieces.  Some days, I roll over.  Some days, I take a stand and say, lets eat cake.

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Someday Trees

The chaparral ugly as sin.  Scratch hills, undergrowth, roots falling down cliffs, into the ebb flow stream – some trees almost airborne — knifing the air.

I, say, gimme the dirt, gimme the trees.

Some trees, half planted, half not.  Tree beast, they claw the sky.   The freak of nature trees with hallowed out trunks.  One tree, a mean protester over there minds an old offense still underway.  Another in the throes of surprise death — black as Stonehenge.  Some trees I do not approach.  I do not want to know what killed beauty.

And, what about the old oak tree growing behind the green house next door.  The tree grows through a granite boulder the size of Jupiter.  A big black scar on one side of the tree caused by a potted staghorn fern a prior owner hung for pretty’s sake — the water system withering the bark for years.  Eleven years forward, the tree, mends like a zippered scuba suit on its way to good health.

Crazy old tree I’ve got to run my hand over now and then.  To marvel at it — at the massive base, wonder how it still stands.

Nearby, a monument of tree.  A seven-hundred-year old beaut that sold us on buying our house.  A grand dame of a tree, a giantess, goddess tree.  Her dark trunk playing “tip the cow” with our house, limbs stretching over our roofline and drive, the span of which, a baseball diamond, holds up the patch of sky over the place.

This tree matriarch making no secret how she hates our sprawling house. Each of her ten trunks possess the girth of a well-fed carnival strongman, pulling at the house’s foundation and insides.  The charm of which the rooms a fun house slant in those rooms built around the tree over the last century.  Doorways unsquared, now complete with pass-through letterbox openings at their tops where door meets frame.  Hairline fissures crumbling plaster avenues where the frames meet walls.  The sock drawer sock sliding open all night and day makes for easier grab despite my husband’s country fixes at leveling furniture, sanding the cupboards.  For now at least we know in which corner to pick up our young son’s wheel toys.

This mature oak, majestic, could land us dead when it decides its time’s up.  And, me being Irish, long a believer in things invisible have taken the Hippocratic (Tree) Oath.  The “First Do No Harm to Trees” one, having gone so far as to have every passerbys kiss, hug, and climb this tree.  Earning, yielding us all fair measure of wee folk-channeled earthen blessings.

A full throttle treehug’s best.  What’s good for the soil, good for the soul.  Man, some days, beauty can be such a distraction.

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