Snow Water

Yesterday's snowflake reminded me of a Michael Longley poem called Snow Water. In the poem Longley, a "fastidious brewer of tea, a tea Connoiseur as well as a poet, " asks the reader to bring him the gift of snow water to make his tea on his 60th birthday.

You can listen to him read it here. I love the quietness of the poem, like the gorgeous camera work in Snow Falling on Cedars of melting water droplets from leaves and pine needles.

We heard Longley read this poem in Sligo on his 64th birthday. The next day he gave an interview and talked about how his writing is changing as he ages:

"...I'm interested in getting simpler. I think that's the real challenge: to be polite and graceful and simple. The drift is towards being less and less “artistic” and simpler, and rising to, you know, the directness of the late self-portraits of Rembrandt or the last string quartets of Beethoven. I don't mean to say they aren't complex, in their conception and execution, but the effect is direct and simple."

This poem is great too about a family retreat home. "Home is a hollow between the waves..." is my favorite part.

If only...

...everyone could have a family photographer to cover moments like this or this or this for everyone to have on their desks to remember to seek out moments of sunlight and candlelight.

My daughter pointed out to me this morning, "look Momma, snowflakes are in your coffee." Because of her - and her ability to constantly be present - I caught a glimpse just before it disappeared.

Bravado

This piece about young composer Gustavo Dudamel continues to inspire me.

Tree Rings

This
you just have to see.

Dear Reader

When I started this blog about 1 year ago on my 30th birthday, I was keeping a promise to myself to write more and trying to break the sometimes isolating experience of being a parent. I wanted to find and share creative endeavors that can get lost to sleep deprivation.

This year, inspired by the painting-a-day painters, I will be posting more frequently and daily when possible. As WH Auden once said, "I write so that I know what I think." That is certainly true for me. But beyond that, I hope that this year, Teaworthy continues to be a place worthy of your time and relevant to your experience.

In December, my daughter and I spent an afternoon in Chicago's Shedd Aquarium. I was so moved by all of the parents there, like me, juggling children, snacks, cameras, coats and strollers. We all helped each other by holding doors, picking up a dropped blankie, and navigating strollers into elevators.

It was just one of those times in my short tenure as a parent when I looked around and felt like I had everything in common with everyone there. We all were there just trying to have a good day with our kids, make something magical for them, and a memory for us to have long after they have outgrown needing wipes for sticky hands.

Part of me wanted to be a family photographer for each person there: for the parent who can't see how they look carrying their sleepy toddler on their shoulder, facing a wall of blue water with waves of light passing over their faces each time the sea turtle swam past. I wanted to write it down for them, for me, for all of us, or film it at least. There's an Indigo Girls song about those moments though when you can't. "Don't write it down. Don't take a picture. Remember this in your heart. " I think about that a lot.

A few days ago, I saw John Grisham on Charlie Rose and he said that when he writes, he doesn't think about the critics. He thinks about the fan who buys his book the day it comes out. He wants his readers to be so absorbed with the novel that they, "stay up late and call in sick to work" just so they can keep reading.

I write here in this place with you and days like that at the aquarium in mind: the universality of human experience. I hope this is a place you stop in with your coffee or tea where you can read something that makes you feel that we are all in this together.

----

And speaking of Audience, I get such a kick out of Nick Hornby and love what he wrote here about his readers. Enjoy:

From Nick Hornby, The Polysyllabic Spree, October 2003, p. 21-22:

"If you write books -or a certain kind of book, anyway- you can't resist a scan round the hotel swimming pool when you go on holiday. You just can't help yourself, despite the odds: you need to know, straight off, whether anyone is reading one of yours.

You imagine spending your days transfixed and humbled, as a beautiful and intelligent young man or woman, almost certainly a future best friend, maybe even spouse, weeps and guffaws through three hundred pages of your brilliant prose, too absorbed even to go for a swim, or take a sip of Evian.

I was cured of this particular fantasy a couple of years ago, when I spent a week watching a woman on the other side of the pool reading my first novel, High Fidelity. Unfortunately, however, I was on holiday with my sister and brother-in-law, and my brother-in-law provided a gleeful and frankly unfraternal running commentary,
'Look! Her lips are moving.'
'Ha! She's fallen asleep! Again!'
'I talked to her at the bar last night. Not a bright woman. I'm afraid.'
At one point, alarmingly, she dropped the book and ran off.
'She's gone to put out her eyes!" my brother-in-law yelled triumphantly.'"

Bless her heart

Thank you Trent from Pink Is The New Blog for this gem. God bless America that's funny. I have sympathy for this woman. I really do. And good for her for being open about post partum depression and for being, I'm sure, a lovely human being. But she lost me though with the dolls.

To be fair, I should disclose that I probably still have a hidden bias against the Osmonds because my sister used to sing the chorus of Go Away Little Girl at me when we were kids in singing contests that she always won, in part because she was always the judge: a pattern I failed to notice until adulthood.

Meanwhile, I always sang this gem from The Archies. It was not a show stopper.

And then, every time, our neighbor Shannon would round out the competition with Dolly Parton's Coat of Many Colors and we would all get sort of sad and eat chick-o-sticks trying not to cry.

If Marie had some chick-o-sticks, maybe the dolls wouldn't be on her radar.

Clippings from the Sunday Papers

From the NYTimes weddings section on Sunday about the couple's first date:

"It was pouring when they left the club. Mr. Blangiardo offered to find Ms. Chu a cab, but she was more interested in his parked yellow BMW motorcycle.

Unknown to him, she had a motorcycle license in California, where she lived before moving to New York in 2003. “I missed it, so when I had the opportunity to take a ride, I went for it,” she said.

He was impressed. “What other 5-foot-tall woman in an evening gown would do this?” he said. “I was sold.”

That conviction deepened as time passed. When he first saw her apartment, he was struck by the bathing suits hanging to dry, the surfboards and the cello. “I thought, ‘Wow, a Renaissance woman’ ” he said.

As for Ms. Chu, she recalled that as a child she made a list of qualities she would seek in a prospective husband. It included “knows how to cook, loves the outdoors and children — and has blue eyes.”

“It was incredible that his characteristics and my list coincided,” she said.

It's a bit unfair that the author of the piece doesn't get a by-line. I'm sure they got lots of information from the couple, but the writer made some great choices about what to feature. Bathing suits, surfboards and a cello...
It's a perfect stage, like a back-lit diorama. The curtain opens and you are there in her apartment in just three nouns.

And, for a story that will remind you of the couples from When Harry Met Sally, Friday's Storycorp is very sweet. But, if you have the time, click the little speaker icon to listen to the couple in their own words.

Though Distance & Duties Divide Us

Photojojo is a great resource. Yesterday, they posted about another blog 3191: A Year of Evenings that is so enchanting. Two friends now live 3191 miles apart, so every night, each friend takes a photo and they post them side-by-side in a shared blog. Check it out here 2.15.08.

Can you come out to play?

I love this short yet beautiful post by Molly Irwin about being a child in the neighborhood. It is perfect. It reminds me of that line in Stephen King's Stand By Me:
"I never had any friends later on in life like the ones I had when I was twelve.... does anyone?"

Gift of Pacifiers

A little background
Her pediatrician told us that the pacifier (paci as it's known around here) had to go at age 3. Her birthday is months away, but we've been laying the foundation for this transition for months.

Pacis are for babies, and she is a big girl now, we tell her.

When we see babies out in restaurants with pacis in their mouths, we gently point out that the baby has a paci to help keep calm because they don't have words, but we have words to express our concerns and help us when we are sad, so we don't need pacis anymore. We tell her what a big girl she is and how we're so proud of her for being a big girl etcetera, etcetera.

For the past few weeks, she started to ask me with a sense of dread in her voice, "Do we have to give the pacis to the babies today?"

"No," I tell her, "not today, but when you are ready, you will know that it's time and you can tell me."

Sunday morning she woke up and asked about the pacis again. I told her, we can get it, but you know that pacis are for babies and when the time is right, we'll need to give yours to the babies. She looked up at me and said, "it's time."

Now, I've been prepared that this will be a long process, so I'm patient about it. I think she may be bluffing. To see if she's serious, I suggest we round up all of the pacis in the house. An egg hunt ensues under furniture, in toy bins. "I found one!" She would say from another room. We put them all in a ziplock bag. She said she wanted Daddy to take them to the babies, but when he started to put his coat on, she looked serious and said, "I'm going with you."

A. knows that babies are delivered at the hospital. In fact, this was a hotly contested issue at Christmas when we read accounts of the birth of Christ - a home birth, or rather an inn birth - and she would balk. "That's silly. Babies born at hospital Mommy."

So, prepared for this kind of cross examination, I call the hospital maternity ward where she was born and ask if there was a window where she can look in at the babies and hand the bag off to a nurse. There is no more viewing window, she explains, but come to the floor and they will figure something out.

So, we get the bag of pacis and head to the hospital.




On the elevator. You can see the bag of pacis including red dog paci in her left hand.

A nurse greets us and after some explanation, she's still confused until she sees A. peek around the counter, bag of pacis and pigtails, and she understands.

We follow her. She goes into the room of an about-to-be-released little family who she was on her way to see to talk about nail trimming and such. I remember this nurse and it seems like 10 minutes ago she was giving us the same lecture.

She explains to the couple that a little girl would like to give her pacis to their baby and asks if it is okay if A. sees the baby from the hallway.

This couple is SO gracious. I can't even tell you. They are beaming. The nurse was holding their new little baby boy born on Friday. Mom comes to the door to catch a peek at A. Then A. bravely hands the daddy her bag of pacis for their baby boy to have.
We are all (including the nurses) holding back tears.
Except A.
It is the sweetest moment.
Too sweet to photograph and I didn't want to intrude.
Then the daddy follows us down the hall and asks for our address so that their baby boy can write us a thank you note.
Can you imagine? So sweet.


Leaving the hospital. "No more pacis!"

We take her out to lunch where she orders her food herself from the server.
"Hot dog and frenfries please."
When he returns to the table to ask if we need anything, she answers,
"No. I good."


On the way home.

A. brings so much love to so many lives. It is such a blessing to be one of them.


Photo by A.

Valentines

I love this post from photographer Brianna Graham today where she follows one family through several beautiful changes. She is amazing and I love that she captured some mom & dad images of life after baby.

Wouldn't it be great if movies and other art forms weren't all about the chase to get the object of affection, but real love? What about the love that evolves after the wedding, and baby, and challenges of life? I guess they don't write about it because it's too difficult to put it into words. It's easier to stage the hook-up than what it feels like to love someone who is in the trenches with you and loving you in spite of all of the things that end up on the cutting room floor in the romantic comedy version of your lives. The ugliest things are photoshopped out. Because of that, the depth of marital love is often missing in movies, books and music.

It's in those little, not so polished moments when my husband and I are both exhausted and overdrawn on responsbilities and he makes me laugh or takes the dog out at 2 a.m. in the snow, that I feel like I've been given something greater than I ever new existed. Better than a dozen roses. Better than a boat ride on the Siene.