Unmarked Path

I wouldn't say that we were LOST, exactly, 
but things did not look familiar.  

As a kid, I used to ride this path on my bike all the time.
Like breathing, I did it without thinking.
But, things looked different now.
And, we carried with us our over-thinking, adult minds.

My friend, who had never been on this path before, was the first to speak up.   

      "I don't think we are going the right way," he said. 

      "This path only GOES one way," I assured him.    

But, as we approached a fork in the trail,
     it was clear to us both that the path went in MORE than one direction.    
We agreed to take the path on the left (my dog, Charlie, following behind),
which seemed to be the right choice, until it appeared
that the path was leading us right into the middle of SUBURBIA.     

Suddenly, we were surrounded by TOWNHOUSES.

     "NOW, what?" I spoke through my laughter.  

We asked a passersby if the path reconnected somewhere else.

     "Walk to the top of the hill, pass the elementary school on your left,
          go down the hill, and you will see an opening
        where there is a continuation of the path," he assured us.

This was definitely NOT how I remembered 
this trail. 

We continued to the TOP of the hill, PASSED the elementary school,
walked DOWN the hill,
until we, INDEED, discovered a path.   

It seemed a little odd, however, that the path was not marked . . . but we decided to follow it, anyways.

As we walked along the backside of some houses,
     past a children's playground, and into the woods,
the path became increasingly narrow,
until there was NO EXISTING PATH LEFT, AT ALL.
And, eventually, we found ourselves standing on a hillside,
     enveloped by nothing but trees, as far as the eyes could see.  

Looking up, we could identify the chain link fence
     that lined the entire park property.

Looking down, we could see the creek that flowed into the lake,
     where our journey had begun.

Using both as our trail markers, we continued to walk along -
     now dense, into the forest, stepping over and under, and in between branches,
when suddenly, we found ourselves impinging upon a group of grazing deer.

Clearly startled by the sight of humans, 
I couldn't help but laugh at their expressions. 

Deer:  Stupid humans.

After giving us a good stare down, the deer quickly moved on,
     in search of a more private party. 
In the meantime, we found a break in the fence from a fallen tree,
     where we decided to cross over,
discovering more SUBURBIA on the other side.
We walked along a row of houses, until the road came to an end,
     along with a sign that read:

For residence use only. 
This is not a park entrance.

Which, of course, meant:

This is a park entrance
that only residents are supposed to use,
except in rare cases when dumb asses 
take a wrong turn and get lost.     

My friend decided to go straight up the hill, pulling Charlie behind,
      BOTH on all fours,  using random branches and weeds to help pull their way up.
I, on the other hand, looked over to the left, and saw a long,
     gradual path leading up the side of the hill,
and decided that was the more appealing route.

We met at the top of the hill 
and dusted ourselves off,
then, merged in with the other walkers, bikers, and joggers along the path,
as if we had never been off course.

No, I wouldn't say that we were lost, exactly.

We just took the path less traveled (for a little while),
     and turned a normal afternoon into an adventure.

  






















 

Through the Eyes of a Preschooler - The Rules of Life

It was the end of the day.

Wide-eyed, with anticipation, they lined up to wait for that comfortingly
     familiar face to show up at the door,
and for one of their teachers to acknowledge
their names for dismissal.   

     "Tommy, your mom is here!"

      "Annabelle, it's time to go!"

As the teachers called off their names, one by one,
     Ian stood patiently on his designated spot,
his school bag in one hand, and bundled up in his winter coat. 

     "Max, I see your dad!"

     "Your turn, Carlos!"  

Just then, Elise left her spot in line and ran enthusiastically out into the hallway,
     RIGHT into the arms of her smiling grandma.

Her grandma LAUGHED  a joyful laugh, and the teachers laughed, too, in response.

Elise was SO excited to see her, that she just could not wait another SECOND!   

Observing all of this, Ian turned to one of his teachers,
     and with a very serious look on his face, said,

     "I don't think that's funny."

     "Why don't you think it's funny, Ian?" asked his teacher.

     "Because she was supposed to wait," he said.
               "She did not wait for the teacher to call her name."

Ian's teacher smiled, and thought to herself,
      "He's a rule follower.  I have one of those at home."

      "You are right, Ian," she said,
          "But, sometimes, especially if you aren't hurting anyone, it's ok."

The teacher paused . . .

     "And, I really do appreciate how nicely you are waiting 
                                         for your name to be called."  

Ian's expression did not change, and he stood on his spot until the teacher called his name.

Life can be very confusing to a preschooler, sometimes.  

Today

It's no wonder why I get so bored with the human race, sometimes,
     for we are such a predictable, habitual  bunch.
Here we are, in the month of January,
     and all of the news programs ( morning, day, and night),
as well as social network sites,
     keep uttering and posting the same three letter phrase:

"NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION".

Not only that, but we are so accustomed to having immediate results,
     that only the second week in

there is already talk of . . . . . .

"New Year's Resolutions, BROKEN.  
Is it TOO LATE ? ? ?" 

And, in the meantime,
     all of these moments are passing us by
where we do SIMPLE and WONDERFUL and MEANINGFUL things
     without taking notice or giving ourselves credit
because, somehow,
we do not see them as anything . . . . . . extraordinary !!!  

Henry Moore (1898-1986), English sculptor and artist seemed to have it right, when he said,    


                     I think in terms of the day's resolutions, not the year's.  


For, it IS the little things that we do every day 
     that absolutely are . . . . . . 

extraordinary.   

Think about what you have done . . . . . . 

today.      

 




     

Contentment

January 1, 2012

I stayed in bed, lingering under the soft, cool sheets
     and warm blanket, a million comfy pillows embracing my head.
When the moment felt right, I sat up, slowly.    

The house was quiet, in a good way.    

I felt around for my favorite, cozy slippers, wiggling my feet inside, until they felt right. 

Charlie was looking at me with his bright, hazel eyes; tail, wagging
      with anticipation of his morning visit with the outside world.  

Downstairs, the not-quite-teenage boys were (predictably) plugged in, 

     surrounded by their own pillows and blankets -
their makeshift beds, from the night before.
 
     "Good morning!" I said, as I released Charlie into the backyard. The temperature outside was unseasonably warm and pleasant.        

     "What would you like for breakfast?" I asked.   

      "Pancakes and bacon? ? !"with eager eyes, they expressed.   

I was happy to oblige.

The sun was shining brightly through the window, above the kitchen sink,
     where my Grandma's porcelain bluebird sits.  
I took the bluebird down, and placed it safely on the counter,
      so that I could open the window, just enough.
Just enough to allow the fresh air to breathe into the room,
     adding life to the closed up space.

      Now, for some music, I thought.
And, I searched around for what I thought would satisfy my mood -
     the Brazilian sounds of the guitar, acoustic.   

Breakfast was made, and the table was set,
       and someone very nice made me coffee.
Buttery, sweet pancakes, crispy bacon; warm, smiling faces.  
We shared stories about before; and discussed plans for after. 
Like all of the possibilities for "today", for what a beautiful day it was. 

     Go to the zoo, maybe?

     A walk or bike ride?

     Kickball or ice-skating?

     Or, maybe some soccer.

The day was ours, and what a feeling that was.





 











 
   
   

Olfactory and Flatulenc(y)

It's official.

I can smell again.

The once trusted olfactories seem to be back in working order. 

How do I know?

Imagine this:  

Christmas Day.  

The entire family - mom, kids, grandparents ( and the dog ) -
          gathered around the kitchen table for a friendly game of "Apples to Apples".

The lights are low, and the holiday candles on the fireplace mantel are lit,
          casting a warm, soothing glow.

Matt Nathanson music is playing softly in the background on Pandora Radio. 

There are smiles, there is wit, there is laughter, there is . . .

"WHAT is that SMELL ? ? ?

That ODOR ? ? ?

That STENCH ? ? ?"  

Looking around the table of faces and possible culprits,
          the guilty party immediately confessed with a wicked display of laughter.

Quick on my feet ( and in a moment of desperation ),
     I strategically reached over and pulled a "Cooking Light" catalog out of the
magazine basket,
     and fanned the bad air away.

And, with a grimacing look on my face, I announced :

"I'm Cured !"  

I can definitely . . . . . . smell . . . . . . again.  

              

Through the Eyes of Innocence

In the spirit of Christmas, here is a short,
     sweet story that I pulled from the "archives" (slightly altered).

It was published in The Washington Post on December 16, 2006.

Please enjoy.     

-----------------------------------------------------------


 The time of day was dusk.
I was driving down a local, neighborhood street with my seven year old
     sitting quietly in the back seat.
The sky was crystal clear, and if I looked hard enough,
     I could just barely see the tip of the sun sneaking down behind the trees.  

Suddenly, as if by magic, the houses along the street began to light up.
One by one, the colors illuminated, and spread across the roof lines and trees. 
It was as if the people stood inside their homes,
     waiting . . . . . . as the sun dipped down into the sky,
and the darkness approached - waiting . . . . . . .
     for just the right moment to turn on the lights.

As I looked in the rear view mirror,
     I could see the whites of my son's eyes as he opened them wide,
taking in the magical sights around him.  

     "WOW!" he exclaimed, "THESE people must REALLY like Christmas!"

     "Why do you say that?" I asked.

And, with a look on his face that was just as SURE as SURE could be, he said,

     "Because they REALLY want to make sure that Santa sees their houses!"

 I smiled at my son, and silently thanked him for sharing his innocence.  

The Taste of Food

Taste.

I LOVE the TASTE of things.

Not just ANY "things".

For example, I can't STAND the taste of postage stamps. 

It was a HAPPY, HAPPY day when they invented self-adhesive ones.

And, there are certain medications that I don't much care for the taste of -  
       anything with codeine, most throat lozenges, and certain antibiotics that leave a metallic taste in my mouth. 

Too bad they don't come in a "self-adhesive" form, as well. 

More specifically, I love the taste of . . . . . . FOOD.

That IS why I like to EAT, after all.  

Well, I guess there is that "hunger" factor, too, but . . . . . . . 

     I genuinely ENJOY food.

I love the smells, and the colors, and the textures, but most of all -
                                      the FLAVORS. 

Lately, I have not been able to taste my food.


Due to my uninvited guests "Bronchitis" and "Sinusitis", who came to visit me in October,
     and have become "the guests that will never leave", 
I have not been able to taste anything in months. 

For example:

     Last night, I had leftover Chinese food for dinner, and couldn't taste a thing.

     This morning, I had a nonfat chai latte at Starbucks.

          It was nice and hot and soothing, but it had no flavor.

     For lunch today?  A bowl of seafood gumbo.

          Warm and . . . . . . .flavorless.

So, I walk away feeling dissatisfied, disappointed, and disheartened.    

And, I find myself eating only when my stomach tells me I'm hungry -
     eating things like yogurt for lunch, that I do not normally care for, but it is healthy,
quick and convenient,  and since I can't really taste anything, what difference does it make?  


I suppose this could be a good thing.

Maybe I will lose those 10 extra pounds that I have been carrying around, lately.

And, if there is a shortage on self-adhesive postage stamps,
     I should be able to just  LICK AWAY with NO PROBLEM!

Of course, I can't stand the "feeling" of anything paper on my tongue
     ( kind of like nails on a chalkboard ),
so unless my sense of feeling goes away, as well,
     I am still going to need those self-adhesive ones.

Perfect ending to this blog?

My fifteen year old son just walked in the room and asked,

     "What smells?"

To which, I responded,

     "I don't know.  I can't smell a thing."