There were all these May showers this week. More aptly, rain, enough so that when the sun returned, its golden orb’s brightness and warmth seemed startling. How quickly you can forget.
I happen to enjoy the rain just fine. The year and a half we lived in London, I was surprised by how much I loved the weather. London is often wet but rarely humid, actually (that was because you’d add the word if you lived there right now). Grey had gradations. Sun did visit, often, just not always for long stretches. I learned the power of jackets with hoods and of umbrellas. I learned you dry off.
I apply that you dry off mentality to winter, now and just go out, with hood and boots and mittens. Once winter’s over, I have to admit to myself it’s not the same as dear London’s rain (it’s worse, but I live here anyway and love living here despite the fact that I find winter too long).
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We’re having a weekend that includes old friends. Hampshire College’s Annual Dinner (for the trustees and others) functions as my annual reunion with many old friends I’ve worked with (many as fellow trustees or through the trustees) at that institution I just love to pieces and believe in fiercely. My fondness for its tribe—my tribe—is one of those things in my life that, like the sunshine yesterday, surprises me again and again. I don’t know exactly how I got so lucky to become a member of Hampshire’s team. As significant as my four years of undergraduate study there were—and they were—it’s the fact that I spent my twenties working and being mentored and beginning to see the complexity of this institution and then my thirties as a trustee further appreciating how much goes into making a place like this—young, spirited and scrappy—thrive that rooted me in my passion for the place.
Learning how to appreciate and hold complexity without rushing it or believing you can or should wholly understand it was an education of its own—and one that I draw on continually.
An essay I wrote about introducing Saskia to the notion that she didn’t emerge from my tummy is, in its way, exactly like this: we are beginning conversations that don’t have simple conclusions. I can only be a good parent to her if I am willing to appreciate adoption’s complexity, and am willing to hold that.
Our prompt for the tummy conversation was a babysitter and friend’s pregnancy. The piece went live on the New Haven Review’s site this week. Wouldn’t you know we ran into Mickey, the bump-turned-adorable-baby this week, too? (Plus, his dad’s a baker.)
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Some things are not so complicated. Saskia reminded me of that when she really needed to pee. She asked me to tag along (as happens). Then, she mounted her bike and sped to the bathroom. I snapped a photo when I found she’d parked the bike and neglected to ride away. She wasn’t rushing any longer, I guess. I love how she pulls me back to the present again and again. And reminds me to enjoy it.
