Harry Potter

The Harry Potter area of Universal Studios was all that I imagined - and more! To see a real replica of Hogwarts, and then the village of Hogsmeade (crossed with Diagon Alley) was a real joy. Universal re-created the Three Bromsticks pub, the Hog's Head, Ollivanders Wand shop, Gladrags Wizardwear and, of course, HoneyDuke's sweet shop. We bought Bertie Bott's EveryFlavor beans from a woman also from Denver and purchased two rounds of butter beer from  a bar maid who wouldn't sell FireWhiskey to muggles. We didn't ask for Firewhiskey but witnessed a chap from Australia trying to do so  (at 10:00 in the morning, no less). The children were delighted, I was delighted, and all the adults and kids around me were similarly enthralled. To witness the power of a good writer and her imagination was incredible. It was the highlight of our day, and I could have sat in the Hog's Head all day reading JK Rowling and soaking up the atmosphere. Instead we proceeded to the Seuss area, the Hulk ride, the Spiderman / Marvel hero section, the Lost world and Jurassic Park. I felt increasingly disoriented as the day went on, but fun was had by all. Here are a few photos:

To Autumn

My poetry instructor said that my latest piece reminded him of Keats' "To Autumn" so I am publishing that poem below. I still need to do revisions on my own poetry before posting it to this site or submitting it anywhere else. I was reminded of how rough my own work is when I read Keats.  One last note - we will be in Florida next week and though I will bring my laptop I may not post as frequently. Cheers, all!

 TO AUTUMN
                                            1.
    SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
        Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
    Conspiring with him how to load and bless
        With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
        And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
            To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
        And still more, later flowers for the bees,
        Until they think warm days will never cease,
            For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
                                            2.
    Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
        Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
    Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
        Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
    Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
        Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
            Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
    And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
        Steady thy laden head across a brook;
        Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
            Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
                                            3.
    Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
        Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
    While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
        And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
    Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
        Among the river sallows, borne aloft
            Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
    And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
        Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
        The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
           And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

- John Keats

A Forever Now

Forever is composed of nows.
Emily Dickinson 

The soul should always stand ajar, ready to welcome the ecstatic experience.
Emily Dickinson 

A nun friend of mine once told me that Colorado is so close to God it's a local call to heaven. Again today,it feels like that is true. Yet the day started  as it often does, in a rush of stress, lateness and lost objects. Aden asked me to help her study last-minute notes for social studies, Daniel hated the snack I packed and couldn't get out the door for Reading Together, and William misplaced a Battle of the Books book that he needs to find and finish by - wait for it - tomorrow. When I finally completed dropoff this morning my heart rate was up and the hamster in my brain was sprinting away on its wheel. 

But I made time for a swim, and during the repetitive laps I got my brain to slow down, to focus on one thing at a time. I remembered a quote from Eknath Easwaran's Passage Meditations: "A mind that is fast is sick. A mind that is slow is sound. A mind that is still is divine." Easwaran attributes the quote to Meher Baba, a mystic of India, and it reminds me of the quote "go slow to go fast." So I slowed down and focused on one thing at a time. I have yet to get to my poetry reading or my packing (or finding William's book) but I made cookies, had a gorgeous drive up to the Middle School, and spent a lovely lunch hour watching Aden's guitar concert. Afterwards, she was in a rush to get to science but waited for me at the bottom of the stairs where I had gotten pinned against the railing by a horde of 8th graders. She patiently explained that she was going to student council today, and then - in the midst of rushing middle schoolers - she lifted her face for a kiss goodbye. I couldn't believe that I didn't embarrass her - that she wanted me there and would even share an embrace in public. That moment was my forever now, my ecstatic experience. I'm so glad that we both slowed enough to share it. No task seems to large after that sweet moment. May we always go slow enough - and leave the soul ajar - to catch moments like these.

Awake to our Life

"We travel to see. We vacation to relax. There is a difference in intention, that is all, which separates the two things. When we walk through our lives we must be travelers, whether we mean to relax or not. We must always be awake to our surroundings, those rooms and streets and neighborhoods and cities which permit us to reside within or pass through." - Matthew Siegel

No one would want to leave Colorado this week. The perfection of the day is almost too much to hold in a wheelbarrow. Perfect strangers have called out to me, "how great is this?" and nearly given me high fives out of the joy of our sunshiny, Crayola day. Today place inhabits us, grabs us by the collar and refuses to be ignored. What a gift to be jolted out of to-do lists and mind games to recognize the gift of this high-altitude desert.

Rob just returned from a ten-day trip to India, and his observations of that trip have led him to a new awareness of how blessed we are in this country. The infrastructure - roads, electrical production and distribution, water - does not exist in the same way in India. I think one of the most outstanding memories Rob has of his trip is watching a fuel truck park itself in a river. When he asked what the truck was doing, befouling the wash-water and potentially drinking water of those downstream, the driver answered, "Oh, he's just washing his truck." And the truck driver proceeded to scrub and rinse his truck in the river. The air pollution was also notable for Rob, who noticed constant low lying smog on his trip out to the Taj Mahal (on a corporate - owned road). I know that he appreciates this place even more on his return.

Crazy as it seems, we are planning another trip: this time to Florida for fall break, and many of our friends also have trips planned. I hope to travel with intent and notice the different sights, tastes and smells, and the kids' reaction to all of the same.  We're excited for Harry Potter, lukewarm about Mickey Mouse, hoping to catch some time at the beach, and certainly some days to just relax. On days like this when I can't imagine leaving home for any length of time for any reason, this quote from my Stanford instructor helps me prepare to be excited to travel, to really notice and not be too busy in my head to take in all the wonders that exist. I also thought of a dear friend who is moving next week, and though I will miss her desperately, I know that she will be awake to her new surroundings, intentional and open to what comes. I hope she will relate her experiences to those of us back 'home,' and then, of course, I can't wait to visit. We can be awake every day as we travel through our lives, but sometimes the change of scenery is a good shot of coffee to our intentions.

Pumpkin as Metaphor, Redux

I took the kids to our local pumpkin patch yesterday and snapped a few photos. I was also reminded of this blog entry from three years ago, which still receives a fair share of hits from readers, so I posted an edited version below.

“What would you rather have my friends

A chance to shine, or die here on the vine?

The better way seems very plain to me/

You will have eyes to see, and for that night, you’ll be

A bright lamp burning in the darkness”

- From “John’s Garden” Music and Lyrics by Peter Mayer

I took my eight-year-old daughter to her first real concert on Friday. Peter Mayer, a folksinger with incredible vocal and guitar skills, was the star and solo act. She and I sat enraptured while he worked his guitar-string magic, tuning the instrument as finely as a mother might comb and braid her baby’s hair. Many of his songs are humorous and many contain moral queries and speculate on life’s big questions, such as “is it better to go big and flame out or slowly fade away?”

The song above, “John’s Garden” addresses this question in a pumpkin patch on the eve of Halloween, when farmer John comes to tell the pumpkins that their lives will soon change forever. The big moment, the climax of their existence, is at hand and though it may be unfamiliar it will be glorious. When John leaves the pumpkins call a meeting and most are confused, scared and reluctant to become the jack-o-lanterns John has planned. One boldly speaks out and calls the promised eyes and candlelight a lie, a trap that will not be worth the sacrifice. Another counters with the verse I included, saying that their moment of glory will encompass splendor and vision (maybe even starlight!) and be worth any sacrifice.

On the way home I asked my daughter which were her favorite songs. “John’s Garden” was at the top of her list, and I asked her what she would decide if she were a pumpkin at Halloween. She quickly and decisively replied that she would want to die on the vine. Hmmm. She did not ask which option I would choose and I held my counsel, pondering instead her perspective. I asked why, and she said, “I don’t want to be carved.” Perhaps I would have answered the same way when I was her age, withholding my promise and potential from the mere thought of endings, of fading away, of bruising and carving.

Now, at what I hope is the midpoint of life, I tend to favor the road of the jack-o-lantern. I know life will carve me up (there are a few slices already), and if either original or reflected light burns within me, I’d opt to have it shine through the cracks. Hopefully the candle within is long and slow-burning as opposed to the short and stubby blackened nubs that we usually place in our carved pumpkins, but I have no wish to die slowly and peacefully on the vine. Who knows, if my jack-o-lantern self is not too bruised and blackened at the end of the party I might even be used in a pumpkin pie.