fastens at last the last braid and coil
May 16, 2012 | Filed Under extraordinary | 1 Comment
she has the smallest face, the littlest curve in her nose. in the sun her hair glows golden and messy. she likes to run, run fast and free and long. she is too smart and too spunky. she puts her arms around my neck and i feel strong and small and motherly. she sings all day long, singing and singing, singing nothing and singing everything. i like her.
he is tall, so much taller and broader of shoulder than before. his skin white and more freckled than before. he has the widest sunny smile when he’s sunny. he is crazy most of the time, wild and even wilder. he still brings weeds in the house to me, interesting bugs, a shiny sliver of glass. he asks the most questions, questions stretching out like a dusty desert highway. i like him.
his eyes are green, the greenest green when he’s standing in the grass. tall and strong. he likes to talk to me, hours of talking he’d clock if i remembered to stop the mundane of my doings and let him. he can make jokes that are really grown up and funny. his laugh and the upward turn of his lips are magical. i like him.
there are days i forget this stuff, the universes inside that spin them into a star studded orbit. golden glowing singing hair, wide smiling freckle face, green as deep as the darkest magical deep. my greatest human struggle may be the forgetting of these, and the constant remembering of ugly words, actions, need stretched out on a laundry line from here, there, back again, and again.
tonight they sleep, stretched out long and summery, fans blowing, dreams glowing, littlest curve, broad shouldered, upward turn. the pup sleeps in the kitchen, a long sigh sent my direction when i pass through before bed. ernie works, i work, the day works on the night to tidy things up for a new tomorrow.
past the moon
May 9, 2012 | Filed Under extraordinary | Leave a Comment
the house feels settled. we invite people for dinner. thanks to my generous husband and some familial donors we have a new rocking chair to rock the baby. its arrival was my primary motivation for cleaning the house yesterday. it’s pretty much the perfect rocking chair and i can’t believe we have one.
raining today, last night. the yard a muddy cool mess for kids to tromp about. i think about bread baking and nap taking on days like today but there’s too much else to be done.
jude spots a mouse in the laundry room, i hear a dog get hit by a fast moving car but can’t catch her to help her, we read in the night kitchen and pierre, there is egg curry for dinner, ice cream crammed into cones after, the kids are mosquito bitten and dirty, there is late night coffee to work alongside, the mornings are too fast and bird early.
reach out and receive it
April 6, 2012 | Filed Under extraordinary | 1 Comment
warm for days, sunny, hot in the window places. cold coming in by night, curtains a slow billowing in curtain orbs, sinking back in close to the screen, out again, in. nighttime coughing, daytime working, coffee for hours, poured over, hot and perfect. jude asks for potting soil. lola asks for big daddy. we plan on friday night, saturday afternoon. ernie plays his trombone, dishes are done.
a holy week, a good friday, a risen sunday. jesus in scars, in shining white. holier than the usual holiness of days, holier than the meditations in the folds of towels, the redemption in upward waves on new spring leaves, the need in a clockwork stream of cars on the gray stretch of road.
why do i feel like sailing again?
March 24, 2012 | Filed Under extraordinary | 5 Comments
january, february, all but a few days of march lost in this space. so many things have happened since i blogged last and i really don’t want to go into all of them.
the first short story is: big daddy (aaron’s grandpa whom we’d been caring for in his house for the last 2.5 years) surprised everyone by getting married to a childhood friend in january. as we were free from that responsibility, we hustled around and moved back to our house that we never sold, that i daydreamed about living in again. it feels good.
the second short story is: we were surprised in january to discover that greene baby number four will be born into our family at the end of august. hurray!
needless to say, i’ve been sick and wearisome and drowning in responsibilities at the same time. but things are looking up, as they usually do. the rain has washed the pollen dust away, the house is a breeze of spring air, i found my glasses, max has stopped barking about how confused and concerned he is about moving, and i can drink coffee again.
who makes the morning fabulous? who says today’s a fun day?
architects may come and architects may go
December 31, 2011 | Filed Under extraordinary | Leave a Comment
january
february
march
april
may
june
july
august
september
october
november
december
so long, 2011. you were verily a good year. and, apparently, you were a year of instagrams.
jesus and mary, what a great day
December 25, 2011 | Filed Under extraordinary | Leave a Comment
mild he lays his glory by
born that man no more may die
born to raise the sons of earth
born to give them second birth
good nightingale
November 26, 2011 | Filed Under extraordinary, familial, the greene life | 2 Comments
the farm, a peaceful and wonderful place. grandpa is 92, so this kind of weekend won’t happen too many more times. we’ve got a beautiful, mortal life, do you know it? our little family felt the pangs of it as we drove under the pecan trees and away today.
swan dive
November 15, 2011 | Filed Under extraordinary, familial | Leave a Comment
oh, she’s my lola.
the minor fall, the major lift
November 13, 2011 | Filed Under extraordinary | 5 Comments
max behind me, in my chair. a mess of paper in my lap, on the desk, the floor. lola coming and going out, her hair newly long behind her shoulders. boys in the back dragging each other around the yard with a wading pool and a rope. ernie, a nap on the couch. sunday in a long stretch of gray, patches of white blue. trees nearly bones, leaves blown off the roof in gusts and gasps. coffee a few times, a few different ways.
on my back, the warm pup’s fur, his breath steady and sleeping. on my fingers, the stick of glue, on my fingers, the paper cold. lola’s arms around my neck, a secret for my ear, her face and voice young and new and beautiful. laughing boys, shrieking and laughing, hollering, fighting, the drag of the plastic through the yard. ernie stretched long, strong, handsome, mine and only mine. pause out the window, stand at the door, leaves from summer dead, red, swinging up, over, away. the coffee beans awhirl in the grinder, tapped into the press, a few minutes later, the water hot in steam poured over.
an older man from our church died this week. i didn’t know him at all, really. he was kind and funny to my boys, and very much alive, the kind of alive that makes it strange when the person dies suddenly. i want to feel very much alive. i wish i wasn’t so tired all of the time, so easily depressed by the early november darkness that brings in the winter, people that don’t seem to care whether i’m there or not, the mess of the house that never ends and always multiplies. none of it really matters beyond a few days or even minutes, but it’s easy for me to be overwhelmed by the things that don’t matter and to just completely miss the things that do. oh, the missing of it is so easy, easy for miles, decades.
playing horse
October 26, 2011 | Filed Under extraordinary | Leave a Comment
bright blue sky until dark, a glowing gold pomegranate bush in the corner of the forgotten garden, the maple all glory and sunshine. boys in the yard with guns made from sticks and masking tape. lola digs with a stolen spoon, her hair electric white and yellow. there are three things i photograph with my memory’s slow-shuttered eye: the sun caught on warm waves of wind, the children, young and free, graced strong and beautiful, and the leaves underfoot, confetti through a blue sky, a paper rush from branch to grass.