Circles in the Sand

  

There is a new clock ticking inside of me, not the one that used to say "Hurry up lady! Make a baby already!  Your eggs are lookin' like raisins in here!"  No, the cuckoo in that clock don't sing no mo'. This is a different clock that strikes a heavy, resounding gong with each of the kids' passing birthdays. It says "We are turning into grow-ups right before your eyes. Times...running...out..."

I wanna smash that clock with a hammer. 

I am starting to recognize that, as one day runs like a drippy nose into the other, the thing that keeps the days from blurring together is variety. While we have loved our big trips, Guy and I are thinking that day trips will be the key to having experiences more often that will create memories that don't seem to wash away with the monotony of days. 

So we jumped into September with two sandy feet. As we rounded up sunblock and sand toys, a certain teenaged somebody parked his tukus in a chair and dug in his heals. Sadly, a day trip with little kids and sand aren't what his adolescent heart considers to be fun. We left him behind. I was sad. 

Our day at the beach was not unique from that spent by a thousand other families up and down the California coast on this day. Sand in the chip bag, on the blanket, and between pudgy fingers. The day may never have stood out in my mind until Adam started his creation. 

It began slowly. He was sliding his feet in the sand leaving a circular trail. Soon it was a spiral 15 feet wide. Spirals are just magical to me, and he soon had my full attention as he left this one and began a new one nearby. I don't remember even getting up, but soon I was making one, and in a few minutes I looked across the way to see Guy had joined us as well. 

We quietly worked, sliding our feet as the sand mounded and furrowed in our wake. At times we passed very near each other as spirals expanded to each other's edges. Other times we were a hundred feet away from each other, and once, our three different circles closed in on each other as we found ourselves near enough to touch, almost crashing, and then leading us out and away again. 

There was such a pleasantness working away on this sand art with each other. The little ones admired, but didn't want to attempt it. It felt important and they were being careful not to step into it. 

The nature of this continuous merging and looping made it hard to stop, and maybe it's because we are all a little OCD that it actually took a rouge band of seagulls stealing all of our chips to break the spell. 

The final image was enormous and so, so beautiful. And the process made me think about parenting, and how that changes over time. How our involvement with older children takes on new patterns as they move in and out of our circle of influence.  How we hope that through their trials and difficulties, they will keep coming back around to the core truths we have tried to instill in them, and though they will leave our immediate sphere, we will always want them to come back around to their first nest.

It grew late and soon it was time to leave. We left our amazing creation behind of course, though I would have liked to roll it up like a Persian rug and bring it home with me.  

And I can. In my head, and in the feeling in the souls of my feet, and Adam's funny, busy smile etched in my mind. 

You know, spirals are a symbol of life, constant, ever growing and expanding, but never carving the same path as before.

The One that Didn't Get Away

Look back at your life.  Somewhere there is a person you knew when you were young that you adored, that made you a better person, that was larger than life, magical.  You meant to stay in touch, tried even, but life took you down two different paths and somehow they got away.

That didn't happen with Jackie.

It could have, easily.  She lives in Idaho.  College was a long time ago.  Life is busy.  But it is not so busy that Jackie and I have not managed to keep that tender spot in our hearts open for each other.  She is the one that didn't get away.  After our time enjoyed with Guy's sister, Kathi, we tootled on up the road a mere 30 minutes and were with Jackie and John and their girls and sundry animals for the last few days of our big trip.

Not much that we did merits a blow by blow account here, though staying up til dawn talking, and looking out upon the moonlit fields in every direction while visiting, perched on a pile of palates with six farm kitties vying for our attention were most definitely highlights (and for those of you who know that I don't like cats, you must understand that I don't like spoiled, city cats that live pampered lives and eat food from a can, begging to be pet, only to sink their teeth into your hand 5 seconds later when they feel "done".  No, my friends.  But country cats - thin, sleek and mouse fed, independent but grateful for the occasional pat on the head - are an entirely different story!).  

But there was one evening I will want to record, just to make super-sure it doesn't dim in my memory.  John invited us to go 4-wheeling.  It was summer-evening time, and the sun was low.  We drove out to the hills and took turns on the beasts.  When it was our turn, Jackie and I took the Ellie and Tessa on the backs of our quads and headed for a place Jackie called "the bone yard".  It was up a dirt road a good ways, and the setting sun cast a moody, pink light all around.  We turned off the main road to a side trail, and there on the ground we passed dozens of skeletons.  Bones of cows, sheep, deer, even horses, lay all around.  Some were poised as though they had just lain down to die right on the spot.  Others were pulled in half by coyotes.  Then there were the strewn bones that had been trampled, maybe by off-roaders like us, and lay like blanched confetti all around.  One cow, newer than the rest, still had they hide stretched over its frame, though it was sun dried and tightly pulled across the ribs.  It had a rope still tied to its hind legs by which it had been dragged. 

 It was a strange and other worldly-place, clearly created by humans, though we were the only souls around.  We got off our quads and walked carefully around the bone yard.  There was a sad reverence there, and a feeling in me of mystery and mischief all at the same time.  The girls were smitten by the wildness of the whole thing, and seemed a little awestruck that the mamas were the ones spearheading this venture into the unknown.  We explored, curiosity taking the driver's seat, looking closer at the remains, imagining the reasons they had gotten here.  We felt bold and brave, and left feeling changed.

We were met by slightly cranky husband-faces when we got back to the cars.  We hadn't realized how long we had been out.  The sun had set and it was getting dark.  I felt sheepish, a mischievous child caught in the act, and guilty that we were gone so long that we had swallowed up the remaining time.  Guy didn't even get to ride.  But honestly, walking around the bone yard with my girls felt so adventurous.

It may be my favorite memory from this trip, and that is saying a mouthful, because it was a trip full of amazing moments.  

The shirt says it all... crazy!

Adam

Bone Yard finds.

Road Warriors

Ellie and Gracie

Emma and Tessa

When it was time to say goodbye to Jackie, I tucked our precious time spent together into a pocket in my heart.  I cried, but Jackie was stoic.  I cried some more as we drove across the Idaho hills and into the Nevada dessert.  I hate saying goodbye to her.  Though she is one of the precious few friends I have held fast to, that doesn't make leaving her any easier.

For 200 miles she sent me text messages with reasons I should turn around and come back.  

All numbered.  They were most convincing.

I spent the next 200 miles making a list of reasons she should come visit us.  

My list was equally compelling.  I think it is her turn.

A few grey hairs between us.  

Ok, mostly me.

(shhh.  don't tell on me.  I took a picture of the boy. 

 I thought he looked very handsome)

Potty break...

in a potty with very confusing mosaics on the walls!

Yes, they were unforgettable.  

"...we're on a road to nowhere..."

Somewhere in the middle of "nowhere".

A monument made by a Native American chief in the dessert that was begun in the 1960's, and made ENTIRELY of junk he found in the dessert.

Don't ask me.  I have no idea.

We thought we would stop in Reno and go to an inexpensive buffet.  Ha, that is a very funny joke.  After choking our way through the casino to get to the restaurant (why on EARTH are people allowed to smoke in public buildings?!?!?), we took one look at the prices and walked right back out.  $15 for a kid's meal?  I think not.

As we left the building, a woman admiring the kids said, "They're beautiful".  I thanked her and said I thought so, too.  Then as we were walking away, she called out, "Keep them close to you."  Her look was intense and kind, and though I usually feel irked when strangers try to give me parenting advice, this time I could see clear to her heart.  She sensed these children's importance (like that of all children), and her words were less of a warning, and more of a wish.  Keep them close.  Not just to guard against the world and it's ways, the smoke filled casinos and the dangers, but close.  Close enough to be the one they turn to in times of need.  Close enough to make memories out of time spent together.

We left the casino-buffet and went to Johnny Rockets.

It was quiet.

We had fries.

And milkshakes.

And there wasn't much talking.

Everyone was spent...

beat,

bushed,

all tuckered out.

Just like you, after reading about this trip.  

Thanks for hanging in there with me.  

Oh. my. cute. ness.

The world through Jonah's eyes.

Home sweet home.

More from Spud-ville

Next time we take a trip

I will have a rule:

No hurrying to the next place.

**************

The morning after our Yellowstone adventure we got up early and cleaned the cabin stem to stern.  The dryer at the cabin (that may have been used by Methuselah) pooped out, so while the girls and I took a stroll down the lane by the cabin with Heidi and her family, my menfolk went to the laundromat and back to John's Sack's cabin.

The Laundry Shed, one of the many wonders in Idaho

I miss Heidi, she is a soul sister, and home isn't the same without her there. She and I used to walk every day around our neighborhood, and there was something so familiar and peaceful about walking along beside her now, the cool air on my face, and her sweet voice in my ears.

As we walked we stumbled upon a fort on the edge of the woods that was the work of a future rocket scientist or his dad.  It was cool and gruntingly manly.  The kids should have spent at least a day playing in it, but alas, it was time to go.  Guy's sister would be waiting with dinner for us on the other side of the state.

Time to say goodbye.

I cried.  I always do when I leave Heidi.  Plus it was just plain wrong for the kids not to sprinkle a little bit of their magic and maybe tiny particles of their DNA in the same woods where their daddy played as a boy.  I picture them now, playing the way woods were meant to be played in (when schedules and hurrying are only grown-up concerns), and there running into a little dimple-cheeked, red-headed boy with a stripped 70's shirt and a stick in his hand.  They would have played together all afternoon.

My buddy, Eli.

The sign hung above the cabin door since the beginning of time.

As we headed for Boise, the kids called “Bye bye cabin!” and Guy and I felt so sad that we hadn't stayed there longer.  We needed several more days there to really find that peaceful, happy place that we all have inside of us somewhere, and get reacquainted with it.

*************

So off we went to Kathy's in Boise.

The nice thing is that once we got there, we were swept in to Kathi and Jim’s happy arms and welcomed with some slammin’ good homemade burgers and other Idahoan delicacies.  Like watermelon.  Forgotten were the sirens that called from the roadside, though someday I will go back to see Bear World, I swear.  Guy’s Aunt Mada was there waiting, as was his niece Renee and her little family, and the evening sun went down unnoticed as we visited away.

When asked, the big boys had two favorite times on our trip, and this was one.  While Guy and I took the Littles and Middles to the park with Kathi and Renee, Jim took the big boys riding in his charger and on the back of his motorcycle - and the main event- to a firing range where they tried out riffles and pistols with some pretty good kick.  They loved it.  Dude-ville all the way.  

Vroooom.

Kaboom.

(Now calm down!  These are legal in Idaho.  Also, please note the awesome baby fingerprint on the lens that made a smokey ambiance in about 20 of my pictures.  Sheesh.)

Aunt Mada, otherwise known as "the Goodie Grandma" for her massive table of goodies that is always well stocked, just for little visitors!

This was Jonah's compromise: he would be in the picture, but he would NOT let us see him.  Closing your eyes makes you invisible, you know!

Amaya and Natalie.

Um, so here's Guy's sister's daughter's daughter, and Guy's daughter.

Second cousins, or first cousins once removed?

Who cares.  They're cute.

***

Our next and last stop (She's almost done!  Hurray! )

 was a hop, skip and a jump away,

but that will wait just one more day!

...to be continued in one last post, or two, if I get lazy.

Clouds and Silver Linings

I contemplated not finishing the posts of our trip or just doing a "summing up" post, because I'm falling a bit behind.  Then I thought about how forgetful I am, and how I can't remember much more than a few glimpses of our trip 3 years ago, and how this blog is for my kids and our family history, and I concluded that I must torture you a wee bit more and finish out this travelogue (if you had anything better to do you'd be doing it anyway and not sitting here reading this blather, right?).

Near the cabin Guy's grandfather built is a spring where giant fish are supposed to gather.  It was a place Guy had always gone as a child on summer visits to the cabin and he has fond memories of feeding dozens of mammoth fish from the bridge.  We set out to recreate that memory for our kids, but it was pouring rain on our heads, the fish we hiding, and everyone was getting distinctly crabby.  Words spoken were taking on sharp edges and expressions were being tossed about that could put an eye out.  We noticed a little cabin behind the spring, and because it would get us out of the rain, we headed for it, dragging our grumpies along with us like a useless bag of rocks.

I think when I look back at this trip this day will stand out in my mind as the most inspiring time, and a moment that helped turn the day around.  First you need to know about this little cabin.  The cabin's builder was John Sacks, a little man of only 4 feet 11 inches, but in 3 years he built a beautiful, well appointed cabin.  It sits on the edge of a giant spring that bubbles 120 million of gallons of fresh water a day into a pristine pool just below.  He made a waterwheel that powered the water pump and electricity for the cabin, which is in itself impressive.  But the thing that impressed me most was that, with only hand tools and local materials, he lined the walls of the cabin with lovely, hand smoothed panels, and created inlaid furniture and beautiful frames, all simple but very handsome.  The little ceiling fixtures were fitted with decorative hand cut moldings and embellished with contrasting colors of wood in a Frank-Lloyd-Wright meets Charles-Ingalls sort of way.  The wood of the floor was set in intricate patterns, and tiny diamonds in star-burst designs turned small tabletops into works of art.  Every corner of the cabin was considered for its utility without neglect of aesthetics.  Both a wall and the picture frame hanging on that wall seemed to take on a relationship.  In fact, everything in the cabin, and even its placement over the spring, was designed to be enjoyed for the inherent beauty that was already there, either in the scenery all around or the materials themselves.

It made me want to approach my days differently; to invite the objects I use each day to fill more than the measure of their function, but to bring joy in their use.  To make more effort.  Period.

A close up of the craftsmanship.

Something else happened right around this same time.  As I mentioned we were getting a bit crabby, and everyone was soaked.  When we got back to the cars we were faced with a choice; go back to the cabin and spend the day dry but indoors, missing out on our plans to see Yellowstone National Park, or plug along in the rain, come what may.  Guy was open to a change of plans, for which I was proud of him.  He and I both can have a hard time switching gears mid-anything, so his openness was welcome.  But somehow, inspired I think, by that magical little cabin, and knowing that this was our last day in the area and our only chance this trip to see Yellowstone, we went for it, rain be darned! 

First, we stopped by the cabin to get outfitted better for the rain.  Apparently there are more effective forms of rain protection than the trash-bag rain-slickers I had fashioned for the kids.  We found several raincoats in a back closet in the cabin, one even being Guy’s grandfather’s.  We ate.  Food always helps.  Then we headed back out with a goal to make the best of the day.  This is another thing that Guy and I both struggle with.  Once things get crabby it sometimes takes us a good night's sleep to turn things around.  But we decided to exert a lot of self control over our attitudes,

 and, lo and behold...

it stopped raining.  Now, I am not saying that our sunnier dispositions changed the weather, or that a Divine Creator with a whole cosmos to run took the time to worry about our saturated situation with a discontinued deluge, but we spent the rest of the day dry and warm.  We enjoyed the mud pots, geysers, springs and steam vents.  We didn't even let that farty old egg smell of sulfur vents get us down, though I admit that souvenir shopping with Tessa caused my very soul to shrivel a little (oh, the agony of an 8 year old with too many choices!).  Old Faithful was true to his name, and at 5:36 we enjoyed a spectacular show as the geyser erupted.  We toured the rustic, old hotel, and it made us want to stay in it someday.  Dangit, we had fun, despite our earlier plans to have epic tantrums and ruin the day.

We dragged in, happy and tired, at 10pm, sleeping kids with lolling heads carried one by one into the cabin.
Happy and tired.
What a great combination.

(Just a few more days!  To be continued....)