MindSpinner

I am cleaning out the closet that houses family albums and boxes of pictures. Well, not exactly. I am looking at pictures from the closet I’m supposed to be cleaning. Thing is, there’s not anybody to tell me that I’m supposed to be cleaning, so maybe there is no “supposed to.” I mean, it’s not as if my mother mentioned in our latest phone conversation how long it has been since I cleaned my closets.

I am looking at pictures, then, and my house is in the mess that houses are in when things are dragged out of the places where we stash them. (I’ve even found that once upon a time, probably in the ’90’s, I bought a computer repair kit from CompUSA with gizmos I don’t even understand - and stashed it in a closet. It looks to me as if I have the means to solder something - who knew?)

In the first picture box I opened, I found the shot in which a two-year-old Catapult Kid meets the Atlantic Ocean. Of all the photographs I took when he was small, none better captures the spirit of the child than this.

Though both my grandmothers sewed, it was my aunt who taught me how. My mother never cared for sewing. She was all tomboy and outdoors woman, and saw no need to sew for herself when her mother could sew, for her, clothes at least as nice as any found in a department store. When I was young and not so encumbered by the to-do list, I made many of my own things, even my own wedding dress.

Now Dark-haired Daughter has taken a resolute interest in sewing and fashion design, and my mother has pitched in to buy her a machine. We went yesterday to pick up the sewing machine of choice, a Husqvarna Viking Prelude 370, along with a couple of beginner’s books on sewing and fabrics. Let the fun begin!

Catapult Kid and Dark-haired Daughter were in an accident tonight. They will be OK, I think, though Catapult Kid was unconscious for a few minutes before he was revived and was able to walk away from the smoking, crumpled car. Dark-haired daughter says her leg is hurting, but she seems otherwise OK. She was able to call from the scene of the accident. Another car was involved. She was told that the woman driving it would be OK. I hope that’s right.

I have not seen them yet - they are still at the local hospital. I asked the Reverend Dr. Ex if I could ride with him to the hospital, having no other car, but the answer was “I will pick them up myself” and “They don’t need a lot of unnecessary tests.”

My kids are alive and not profoundly injured. That is a huge reprieve from potential tragedy. I won’t be mourning the car; I am too busy being grateful.

The orange tent out back
will come down today.
The blue cooler still partly filled
with ice and cans
of Coke and Ale 8
will be emptied.
Diverse sleeping bags
will be wrangled into rolls,
more or less,
and stashed away.

The boy who invited his
best buddies over for a rolicking
midnight Airsoft battle
(and when he was two
strode straight into the roiling surf
of his very first sea)
will be leaving
on Tuesday for eight
months of training.
His Special Forces unit
has already been calling
to see how long
’til he’s ready.
Military Intel people,
so it seems, are needed yesterday.

On the other hand,
last night’s 6mm plastic BBs
will be unearthed in my garden
for the next thousand years.
Green. Blue. White. Yellow.
I swept up the ones
strewn across the driveway
near the car and the wood pallet
stood on end for defense,
but I will not pick up
the ones fired and fallen in the garden
among the carrots and the onions,
the thyme and the slender
green blades of iris.
Not even one.

Since I teach at a school that operates on a semi year-round schedule, summer break lasts, in practical terms, about six weeks. That six weeks has come to an end. With the first day of school just around the corner, I just want to tally and celebrate the best of summer.

• Taking four girls to see the mewithoutYou concert and inadvertently meeting one of the band members beforehand, a feat which, for one brief shining moment, made me a way-cool mom .
• Taking Dark-haired Daughter and Catapult Kid whitewater rafting. Hearing “No guide! No guide!” all the way down the country until we saw the river and then hearing “We’re going to die!” instead.
• Watching them paddle all over the lake at my mother’s home in our big canoe.
• Spending time with extended family, including my brother and his family. Helping my mother stake anasazi beans.
• Paying attention to the wild upstarts I’ve called weeds for years and years and learning what they actually are.
• Waking up to rain that ends a dry spell and waters everything at once.
• Driving down to see a not-so-far-away college to learn about its commitment to sustainable living and sustainable agriculture. Seeing how a straw bale house is built. Learning about permaculture techniques that make a lot of sense.
• Going to see Wild Hogs with Catapult Kid one night when his sister was working. (Catapult Kid is doing the inner work of leaving home and declaring his independence - rather overdoing it - which means that good mother-son time is a big deal when it happens.)
• Getting on the Interstate going south with Catapult Kid when we should have gone north. We ended up turning around one exit down and pulling into gas station/fast food joint where Catapult Kid bought food for a homeless guy who had almost the same last name and I bought a handmade basket from an Amish couple.
• Noting how many high school students showed up at Open House at school when they really don’t need to, just to see everybody and to say hello. It really will be OK for school to start next week - these are lovable kids.