Sunday, January 29, 2012

Running Away From Home

Call me crazy, but this week I am going to leave the persistently sunny, 70 degree southern Arizona winter to go where winter got its name! When last I checked, there are no mid-west blizzards expected in Chicago at this time, but in the few hours of flight time the temperature will descend about 50 degrees. Why would I risk leaving warmth and well-being behind? Oh, for so many reasons. Here are two of them: Claire and Jonah, son Scott's beautiful twins are now 14 months old, and I haven't seen them since they were red and wrinkled newborns!

Monday, January 16, 2012

A Winter Mood

It is a gray winter morning and my heart feels heavy as the clouds outside the window. Those of you who know us well know that Tom is slipping ever farther away from us. Though we have been fortunate in the pace of his disease, nearly six years after his diagnosis, the tempo is quickening and I can see where we are headed. I write to try to capture the essence of what it means to walk this journey. I write to survive.


I wear a gown woven of rose gold and sapphire,
braided of threads stolen from the last rays of sunset
and the azure veil of dawn, a tapestry of open space.
You wear a gray mantel of gauze, an uninhabited landscape
my hand passes through as though it were the wind.
For you I turn the wheel and let the broken pieces of amber
and jade fall around us in our silent dome of glass.
I inscribe the story of our life around my garment’s hem,
the brocade skirt tattooed in chalk, seen in the violet sweep
of waning light, as if the plain fact of us were obvious
and could be read from a distance; our private language
deciphered, written in shades of emerald and pearl.
The pattern forms our missing memories, paints a tableau
as intricate as a geode, a frozen oasis of love and loss.

My eyes resist the vision, fearing you will vanish just as I try
to embroider you upon my blouse, to fold you into the linen
of my skin but all that you were is now a moonbeam on the sea,
a rippled pale reflection, the tide repeating its rise and fall,
washing ashore sea glass and gems that have been here before.
They vow that everything returns, transforms even as the planet
turns to the sunrise and casts its bronze glow on my doorstep.