Precious Moments

The calendar dictates that my spring vacation is over, but there are some moments that I would like to hang on to. It’s like the Climax song that I was infatuated with in high school. (And isn’t high school the perfect place for infatuations?) “Precious and few are the moments we two can share. And if I can’t find my way back home, it just wouldn’t be fair, cuz precious and few are the moments we two can share.” The academic world in which I live is ruled by the bell schedule and the clock. I start and end my day with a sharp jangling, and I constantly have my eye on the clock to get it all in, make everything fit, and get the charges out the door on time. And God forbid I am in the middle of a sentence, no matter how profound, when the lunch bell rings. No one will hear the end of it.

My home has a much different feel. Vacations are not governed by time. We wake and sleep in a more natural rhythm (although, let’s face it: two year old and natural rhythm are usually mutually excusive.) We sometimes start with a loose plan, but are willing to jump off the beaten path and go with the flow. I like it that way. And so while others traveled to far-off beaches and enjoyed sun and sand over vacation, my home and I enjoyed some stellar moments. I love these glimpses when time stands still and I can focus on being rather than doing.

So here is a glimpse of moments, in no particular order, that I would like to tuck away in my memory:

The look on Marty’s face, half-hidden by sun and helmet, as he streaked down the sidewalk on his bike. Faster than I thought possible, his legs pumped furiously and his giggles kept the rhythm of the beautiful moment!

The fit of giggles I encountered with some new friends and some old ladies. We happened upon a Ladies’ Guild meeting while waiting for a speaker, and I saw a glimpse of the future I am sure (hoping) I will never find. God help me if I dye my eyebrows brown and wear sandals and hose together, or feel the need to talk about the social excitement of wakes.

The scenes in my back yard watching my kids play with the neighbors. We have been through foods, fires and tornados this week: it was big for natural disasters. Even as I type this, there is a very serious happening with swords and spy gear on my front lawn.

The sweat dripping from my face and the strength in my body that I never knew I had. This spring is a time for re-birth, a time for me to re-construct my body and mind and take control. I like this feeling of power an awful lot.

The lilt of my youngest as he constantly croons: “Mommy, I want to tell you sumpthing.” The boy is a myriad of runny nose and sparkling eyes and freeform ideas. And let’s not forget the pteradactyl shrieks whenever someone does him wrong. And even when they don’t.

The feeling of semi-consciousness as I waken from a nap in my back yard. The sun was out, the warmest of breezes blowing, and the book I had been reading was laying cock-eyed across my chest. Perfection.

The ham. Oh that amazing ham times two houses and the potato salad and the twice baked potatoes and the chocolate-covered pretzels and the…..Well, you get the picture. Easter was not a good day for re-tooling my body, but perhaps my soul took a turn instead?

The amazement I feel when I watch my daughter read and how she opens four books and reads the first chapter in each with her little eyebrows knit in concentration. And then she moves on to chapter two and so on until my head is dizzy. Can’t imagine that I had a hand in her creation. Beautiful!

The knowledge that the best things really are what money can’t buy. The way my kids feel in my lap when we read “Maltilda” before bed. The pitter patter I hear at bedtime because they just want one more hug. The grins of accomplishment that come from jungle gyms crossed or art created.

Precious and few. It’s really true.

Old

When I am old I will wear bold prints,
Or perhaps a red pleather coat with golden shoes.
I might adorn a simple black dress with macramé and beads of many colors.
And dye my eyebrows the deepest muddy brown.

When I am old I will speak loudly and out of turn.
I will fall asleep upright in chairs and ramble on with no one listening.
I will adorn my bony fingers with giant shards of costume glass
And coif my blue-tinged hair with careful hand.

When I am old I will shuffle my feet
And get up slowly from my chair. I will dress to the hilt and
Always wear colored hose with sandals. I will murmur often.

When I am old I will always get my money’s worth and dine
Exuberantly at the table of snacks. I will even take some home in my purse.
I will be nosy and always have an anecdote about a grandkid,
And dig relentlessly for connections.

When I am old I will think that a short trip across town is as amazing
As man walking on the moon. But maybe on both counts I’ll be right.
I will eat the cake AND the brownies with icing.
I will know that the elevators won’t arrive until long after I am gone.
And I will be finally comfortable enough to simply be.