Dancing with Jesse

I was recently asked to write about some transformational events in my life.  This was the third one that came to mind, but my favorite to relate...

     The third event took place on a dance floor last December.  It had been the most beautiful ceremony as our son, Jesse, exchanged vows with dear, lovely Annie under a spreading oak in an open meadow.  Now the celebration had moved indoors and it was time for the groom to dance with his mama.  It wasn’t required, but we had decided to do it.  I don’t know why, really, because I’m hopeless at being led.  I dance alone.  I dance in my bedroom and at the stove as I wait for the kettle to boil.  I don’t dance with a partner in public.  

     We had decided to go for it even though there was no time to practice; no time for me to unlearn the stepping on his feet I was sure to do.  As we faced each other, holding hands and waiting for the music to begin, I smiled into his sweet, young face and asked, “So, what are we going to do?”  “We’re gonna go crazy,” he grinned.  

     The first notes of Queen’s Crazy Little Thing Called Love began, (a song I had chosen, for goodness sake!) and we did exactly that.  We went crazy.  We danced all over that floor and we had an absolute riot.  The crowd was wildly enthusiastic for us.  I danced with abandon and the utter joy of celebrating Jesse and Annie’s love.  When I came off the floor, a close, long-time friend said, “How have I never known you had that in you??”  I laughed and looked over at my folks, “Don’t worry,” I confided, “My parents didn’t know it either.”  

     I was transformed through that dance by the sheer delight I sensed from God as I cut loose and celebrated all that is good about love and marriage.  Completely at ease in my own skin, I experienced the pleasure of being myself.  I was transformed by the assurance that God enjoys a good party—and so very thankful I don’t have to be a Puritan.

(Photo by Jessica Taylor at 37 Degrees )

Saudade

When I say
I miss you

I do not
speak lightly

There have been
a hundred goodbyes

Perhaps
a thousand

I have boarded
a million planes

Or stood at
security gates

And waved
a billion waves

And then
I have

Moved
on

There is no moving on
from you

You are
here

Roots wound
firmly

Through
my heart

-lisa, 18 March, 2012

Self-Pity

Yesterday I bought something for Jesse's Christmas stocking.
I pictured his pleasure and smiled to myself.

Only later did it occur to me that Jesse won't actually be home with us on Christmas Morning.

True confession: the tea tray before me suddenly grew significantly blurry.

Silly me. Twenty-three consecutive Christmases in our house PLUS he has good reason to be away this time!

Do I really dare to be anything but thankful?

Oh, my... All these opportunities for me to keep growing up.

Close (a poem)

When you were small
and something was amiss
I would hold you

Sweet salty smell
the top of your warm head
tucked neatly under my chin

You might remain there
only minutes before
the world settled again

(and off you'd go)

Tonight you're too far away
and too grown up
to wander in, pad-foot clad in jammies

But you walk into my thoughts
and wake me
just the same

In the quiet after
a welcome rain
I open my eyes and pray

This is how
I hold you
now

-lisa, 1 October, 2011

Feelings? What Feelings?

How does WHAT feel?

Are we talking about graduating a second son with his degree and everything that accompanies this season of completion and launching? Are we talking about what it feels like to look at him and contemplate the man he has become? Or are we talking about the suspended time and reality of being in the States for a couple of months instead of being in East Africa? Might we talking about trying to figure out how to celebrate life in the midst of painful realities when my little niece gets pregnant, then married, then has a baby at just barely 17? Are we talking about having a total hysterectomy (ovaries, tubes, uterus and all) when I wasn't expecting one? Perhaps we're talking about that I'm still getting frequent notes from readers about "my little book"? Or are we simply talking about me being home sick for my dusty ramshackle town and the friends I share life with there?

These things have all been happening on top of each other in the last couple of weeks so it's all a jumble to me.

I will say this about surgery... I'm thankful. I've received incredible care and expertise. My doctors and nurses were tender and smart and good. Always the joker, God gave me a West African doctor who spoke with humor and wisdom and called me Sleeping Beauty when he stopped by my hospital bed. While we have to wait 2 weeks for the lab report, he didn't feel anything looked more ominous that benign fibroids and cysts. I can't say I like the waiting, but I trust the gentle God who thought it was funny to take me out of Africa to be treated by an African elder.

Do I feel weird about missing some significant parts of me? No. I'm extremely pleased with the work we did together. Together with God and with Byron, my bits and I made four amazing people and I'm now well retired from all of that. African through and through, Dr. Ajilore asked if I was certain I was done having children. I'm 48 but, hey, thanks for thinking to ask.

Recovery is Madeleine L'Engle to the fragrance of lavender and roses. It's Egyptian Licorice tea and "Say Yes to the Dress" with Heather. It's trying desperately not to laugh when my mom's stories are shaking my sore abdomen with giggles. It's a warm duvet and time to ponder.

And as for graduation, I'm still kind of speechless. This I can say: Trevor Byron Borden, I am astonished by who you are.

Yes, that's how it feels.

(Photo credit: Jasmine Guerrero)

a few of you, so far away

if i could choose
i would not be this far
from you

the way your eyes light
and your laugh
spills out

there are days
when it makes sense
some how

the long flights
the enormous cost
the loss

i'm afraid, though, that
today is not among
those days

Departures Again (Ug)

I hate it when the 3 boys leave. Some times I'm able to say it a bit more eloquently than that but the bottom line is the same: I hate it. Heather and I cling to each other and cry after they pull away and I feel like I'm going to be sick for the rest of the day. It's no fun.

There is a boy who’s gonna build homes with his bare hands
There is a son who will sing for all the land
There is a young man and he's lying wide awake
We're all asking how long we're gonna have to wait

There is a boy longing for peace
There is a son who will dance in the streets
There is a young man facing the sky
We're all trying to make sense of how we feel inside

If you'd like to hear Trevor's full song "About Being Brothers"
you can download it for free here .
It's very lovely, if I do say so myself.

Stripping the Beds (or I hate it when they leave)

The boys took their leave
One by one they packed their bags
Their funny things

Half made drums
A snakeskin
Shoes made from old motorcycle tires

One by one
They waved goodbye
Wednesday, Thursday, Friday

A bad week, really

And I am left to strip their beds
To laugh at the remnants
And wonder at the quiet

But they are off to good things
Adventures, life
A good week, really

(And can I honestly complain?)

lisa
27 August 2010

Trevor Makes Me Laugh (or Is this how it feels to have grown up kids?)

It's good to have Trevor home. There are lots of reasons for this but my favorite is that he makes me laugh.

I know it's not always easy to come "home" from college. He's a year away from completing his degree and he has a life totally apart from us. This is well and good and as it should be.

There's always a little dance when grown "children" re-enter the circle of home. We all have to learn newly developed rhythms, and allow ourselves to adapt to a morphing tune.

I think of Trevor as a man, though I guess I don't see it that way 100% of the time. Circumstantial, I suppose, is the way I actually experience it. A couple of weeks ago we sent him off in the old Land Rover into the wild places to set up camp for volunteers who would arrive with Byron the next day. Man work. Then, the other night, he made himself sick with a funny little home-made corn cob pipe and some awful, cheap pipe tobacco right after a meal of rich curries. Dizzy and barfing from silly things=boyish behavior that makes me feel a little sorry for him while also laughing at him for being a dork. Still, I tucked him in that night and cleaned up the bathroom. Boy child.

The next day he rode his motorcycle alone for 100 miles across rough terrain where there was no phone contact. I knew he would then get up in the middle of the night and hike up a live volcano with a group of friends. I knew there would be no phone contact for at least 48 hours. Heading out into the adventure of it, an experienced man with lots of common sense and skill; me confident he could do it, though I fretted a little since that's my mommy right.

A couple of days later Byron broke down away out yonder in the bush. He didn't have phone contact either but he sent a runner to where connection could be made and we got a call saying he needed Trevor to go out and help him. Trevor, who was preparing for his gig that evening at a local restaurant, moved quickly. He got himself replaced, threw a couple of sleeping bags and some bottles of water in the car and was gone. A man, that was, who can be counted on.

Home the next afternoon, he was tired from a lot of driving and hard work. He had forgotten to drink the water he carried and his stomach was grumbling the after affects of roadside food stops. Still, he left on his motorcycle for the home of friends and dehydrated himself further in the sauna. The smoke burned his eyes and his stomach was increasingly complaining about life. That boy person seemed to be the one that convinced him to go out exhausted and sick, yet he did have the common sense to stay put and not get back on the bike late at night. We'll call that nusu nusu, or half 'n half.

It's his telling of these tales that makes me laugh so hard. He gives the blow by blow descriptions with a mischievous grin.

Mostly-man-with-traces-of-boy, I'll take him home with us any time. And I know his little sister agrees. When the movie got to a scary spot the other night, Heather and (best friend) Sianna both jumped a mile each and landed on either side of Trev. They stayed there, heads on his chest, for the rest of the film.

"These are the days they say we'll remember..."

Yes, I believe they are.

Untitled

There are many things I like about this photo. First, I'm their mama so I'm going to like it regardless, right? But still. It was taken by a guy named Dean at a recent gig that Jesse and Trevor played with friends.

For one thing, I like "Caught in the Moment" photos. They capture and convey something bigger than just the scene and how it was set. I like the way the photographer jiggled the colors and came up with these. For some reason, I also very much like Trevor's arm and the way he is bending toward Jesse. I wish I could hear what Jesse is smiling and talking about. I like that I can hear his laugh when I look at this.

But there's something else in here that startles my mind and heart and I think it is this...

This is a photo of 2 men.

Hello men.

Foto4Friday

The boys are back in town.

Colin, (on the left and aged 14) and Chase (of the Russell fam, on right and aged 15) went off on a safari of their own. They have been planning and plotting and preparing for a long time. They took 2 forms of public transport out to a tiny town and then hiked in 5 hours to the home of a Maasai friend. They set up camp near Ole Kukan's house and did day hikes up into the hills to spy on wild life, enjoy the views and generally have great adventures like getting caught in thunder storms and the like.

My camera is on the blink so they just held up my little Mac and smiled into it right after they arrived home.

They were tired, hungry, happy and very pleased with themselves. We were extremely pleased to see them again. At one point the Land Rover they were in was briefly chased by an elephant, but they had no other terribly dramatic incidents.

Happy Birthday, Jesse!

Well, it's hard to believe that Jesse turns 21 today.

Heather and I were eating our oatmeal porridge out on the veranda, looking out on the wet grass and trying to keep the 4 dogs from stealing toast off the table. I turned to her and said, "And today is Jesse's birthday!"

Heather, his 9 year old baby sister, burst into tears. I guess we miss him a lot.

"Jesse is an adult!" Heather said.

That must be so but wasn't he just this size, like, yesterday??

(Jesse at 3 months old, behind Steve and Donna's old house in Santa Barbara)

Happy Birthday, Jesse-boy! We all like you lots and lots.

PS I posted on my Conversant Life blog about what it means to turn 21. It's called "To Be a Man."