Spring Sun Haiku

spring sun —
bright green leaf and I
open, surrender

(Thanks again to @howard
for the seed word.)

White pear blossoms
jostling for position
in the sun

(Cross-posted on my Twitter account.)

rain-bent,
the bamboo tries once more
to straighten up

(Still thinking about MLK
and what we lost - and didn't lose - with him.)

I close my eyes
the better to hear birdsong, and rise
rejuvenated.

~ ~ ~

(Shout-out to my Twitter swapmate Howard,
who traded haiku "seed words" with me;
he sent me "rejuvenation" (well, sort of),
and I sent him "leaning," which he wove into a haiku here.)

We saw Argonautika at McCarter today. Jason and his crew of heroes and demi-gods are sent on a fool's mission from which no one expects them to return. But they have the support of Hera and Athena, two powerful goddesses who put their thumbs down on Jason's side of the scale. This drama takes place before the story told in Euripides Medea, which I saw almost 10 years ago (also at McCarter, with Zoe Caldwell in the title role). The predictability of the foolhardy, the senselessness of death, the elusivity of forgiveness, and the power of love to wound as well as to heal... there's a reason that the old stories are still with us. Tomorrow is the last day of the run.

Grass Haiku

(Image: via ecstaticist on Flickr)

Our boy stops to ask
how the grass knows
when to start

(I have pics to upload, letters to write,
taxes to file, laundry to fold,
and I need to get back to being a member in good standing
in the Church of Monthly Backup.
But at least I wrote a haiku today.)

And did you see that Photoshop has a
slimmed down free online version? Uh-oh. :-)

Rain Haiku II

the rain and the moon
cooperate
shining up my street

(Kind of a reverse haiku, in shape.
Do you know what I mean by shining up?
The way you shine up a penny, or an apple?)

Race Haiku

On the way to work
not caring about winning
I race the creek

(Thought there might be more than one today.
Apparently not.)

Spring Haiku

without knowing why
I reach up to touch a new
unfurling leaf

~

spring thaw —
an old friend reaches
for the phone

(A special "thank you" to Wendy,
who helps keep me going.
I also tried to write about
the particularity of the green of new leaves,
but I couldn't quite get it.
Perhaps I should have taken some time outside
with my camera today.)

Getting a Late Start

We were well into our 30's by the time Mr. D entered our lives.

Sometimes, when the exhaustion seems bottomless, we wonder if maybe those folks who start their families while still in their 20's had the right idea.

But in our brighter moments, there are times when we feel quite clever. Before we became parents, my partner and I had been a couple for almost nine years. In that time we'd taken two three-week vacations (and many more two-week ones), gone tent camping in the Pecos Mountains of New Mexico, enjoyed the puffins and bald eagles of Nova Scotia, and an international fireworks competition over English Bay in Vancouver. We read a lot. We slept in. In short, we stocked up on all sorts of delightful experiences that are now somewhat out of reach to us as parents of a young child. The waiting to be parents seems to have made us less likely to complain about the changes Mr. D's arrival brought to our lives.

Because we thought about parenting for so long before we became parents, we've had plenty of time to think about what matters to us. We're big on manners. We decided before Mr. D was born that one of the things we were least prepared for was a child who whined, "I'm bored," and in our home the word "bored" has terrible connotations: boredom tends to afflict those whose brains are not working well. A medical professional may need to be consulted.

My partner's overarching guideline for parenting is, "Say yes as often as you can, and no only when you really need to." Similarly, mine is something along the lines of, "Legos first, clean up later." As older parents, we had lots of time to talk through our approach to parenting with each other. We read books, we talked about our own childhoods, and we watched our friends going through it. We rarely disagree about a parenting choice, and when we do, we've been pretty successful in talking it out. (The other day, I can't remember how it came up, I asked Mr. D if he thought his parents argued more than most, less than most, or about the same as most, and we were so pleased when he said, "I think you argue much less, because you hardly EVER argue.")

The piece about being an older parent that I am most grateful for is the patience and mindfulness that I am able to access with greater regularity now. In the last few years, for the first time in my life, I have started to feel the benefit of my experience kicking in. When I hit a snag, I can remember all the other snags, and calm myself down a bit with remembering how I managed to get past them. When I'm tired and hungry, I recognize that my darkening mood is connected to my physical state, and can sometimes even see my way to granting myself the gift of some time outside watching the sky. I've made enough mistakes that my apology muscles are in pretty good shape, and I crave the healing that forgiveness makes possible. In all of these things, I feel much better prepared to model emotional intelligence and stability for our young son — at least when I'm not tired and hungry!

So here's to older parents, hopefully making up for our relative lack of energy with all kinds of compensating strengths!

(Thanks to Kelley,
whose musings were part of the inspiration for this post.
In other news, it's national poetry month.
I'm going to see if I can write a haiku a day —
let's watch!)