Wait to Worry

This is almost three year old Logan looking at the world through the New England Aquarium.  You can see the wonder. It's right there. 

This is a good way to see the world. 

I"ve been looking back at my blog, 2007, 2008, when I wrote a lot more poetry than I do now. This one, I must have had a certain way of letting life happen--just going with it. That was a good time even though I suffered from it later. Still, I read this poem tonight and I like what it tells me. 

Relax. In Due Time. Let It Be. Keep It Simple.

I heard this phrase "wait to worry" this month for the first time. It's a good idea. If I wait, it may turn out there is no need for worry. 

So even though this poem is a little gooey, I offer it up as a message to take care of the chores but don't get in the habit of not having fun. 

love

kj

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The toilet’s fixed

The grasses cut back

The appointment’s made

The snacks are packed.

The taxes aren’t done—

You can’t have it all—

But the trip’s been booked

& the garbage hauled.

The work’s wrapped up

The car’s been serviced

The stoops are painted

& no one’s nervous.

The time got spent

Finally put up the sign

Put the car in reverse

Put aside the divine.

The garden’s weeded

New bulbs on their way

& detoured hearts

Have had their say.

The weight’s been moved

To a straighter line

I might even be

okay to fine.

Still, I’m dealing with less

It’s a good mile wide

I’m trying my best

To put it aside.

I’m familiar with hope

I wear it quite well

But after the finish?

Only time will quite tell

On The Road

I've been on the road and home and on the road again. There is not an accurate chronological order to this post, but I blame that on blogger; well, actually, my arranging these photos incorrectly. But in any case. I've been seeing a lot of wonderful sights... 

…starting in Provincetown with the addition of a wood screen door that I keep swooning over. It is so reassuring that this is beachy Cape Cod. I'm here for a few days by myself to write and organize our house for its summer rentals.

And behind of our house in Ptown, because I am uncharacteristically on the side of the house where a bike rack will go,  I finally notice this darling house. I cannot believe JB and I have a place on this beautiful cape.

Unexpectedly, JB and I are traveling through Boston (Allston) on our way to Maine for the funeral of our friend's father. RIP. At a traffic light is this painted building.

We stop at a rest area in beautiful Maine with purple irises.

 I have lunch with Jessica and get caught up on what the kids are up to. I could listen all day. (This is Logan and Reese; photo taken by Jess)

I bring a new chair to Ptown for the upstairs bedroom. It is a 1950's chair from my parents' basement and JB and I have bought new cushions for it at Target. It looks perfect when I put it here.

When I leave Ptown, I drive along 6A and see either low tide or high tide.

I return to home sweet home here in Western Massachusetts.

Yesterday JB and I go to a very fun wedding in Hartford Connecticut.

And today we drive 90 minutes have lunch and celebrate our niece's 31st birthday.  We end the afternoon back home with soft serve ice cream.

I've left out things like shopping for sheets, mowing the grass, paying some bills, visiting my Mother, and bring out the hammock from the basement.

This is  a little too much action at one time. But it's summer and that means one day of longer sun light feels almost like two. I will slow myself down. I will. But for now I'm happy I'll get a good night's sleep tonight.  I hope for a good summer. I do.

love
kj

A Snippet...

A novel is taking shape in my head. I have characters--a family--and I like what's happening so far. I'm still only writing an hour here and an hour there, but I'm thinking and pondering. I'm glad about it.

Here is a snippet.  Your comments and criticisms are welcomed.

love

kj

The phone is silent for what seems like minutes. That’s how it used to be at the dinner table sometimes, until my mother started either laughing or clapping. She would throw her head back in sheer delight. 

“Kids," she’d say to the four of us, “never let too much time pass without reading a poem outloud. It will keep you grounded. If somebody says you’re ugly, read a poem. If somebody steals your money, read a poem. And for god sakes, when you get your heart broken, read a poem. You’ll be surprised.”

I didn’t stay in journalism. My mother died the night Providence won the State Championships and twenty minutes after the game ended, after I emailed  the story to my editior,  I was on my way to the TF Greene Airport, praying I’d make it back home so she could see me, so I could hold her hand, so I could maybe read her her favorite poem of all, The Country by Billy Collins, about a mouse running too fast with  a wooden matchstick in his mouth who burns down this guys’ girlfriend’s house. My mother folded over whenever  she heard that poem. Even when my younger brother totaled her car, the night before her road trip to see my Aunt Louise, she buckled with laughter when he told her he was so repetent he would recite The Country for her every night for six months. 

“You’re on, son,” she said, “but you still have to pay the deductible..”

I didn’t make it home before my mother died. Ryan said her last words were “Poets in heaven”. Can you believe that? My mother was nothing if not consistent.