There aren’t many leaves left on the trees around here these days. Winter keeps insisting itself—frost in the morning, a really strong cold wind to push against walking up a hill, the light falling away quickly in the late afternoons, and darkness enveloping us early. As the leaves go, I begin again to acquaint myself with the trees’ bony structures, the branches.
It was the kind of week that had me searching for the beauty in such elemental things as trees’ spines. I wrote about how much gratitude I felt, even though I was tender, nearly bruised by a sense that loss was bumping up around me, insistent as winter’s approach. The week was more than that, though; it was busy with all this everyday stuff. Hamlet went up at the high school. My eldest was stage manager so the grueling schedule visited our household too, as did this moment: I was sitting in the darkened theater on opening night watching the students onstage and realizing my kid’s in high school. Holy guacamole. The citrus delivery—a fundraiser for the middle school class—arrived and so there was a dive into enjoying winter’s nectar in our house. And not to be outdone, Saskia started to narrate what was on her mind by singing it the other day (last night, “And Remy got home and we were at the co-op and he was scared but then we got home and he wasn’t scared anymore.”).
Through it all—big loss, small annoyance, plenty of amusement, sweet moments and all the rest—I savored snatches of conversations, in-person, via email, over the phone—with friends that filled my heart up. There are ways that old friends anchor each other and ways new friends add a whole other kind of sustenance. I was treated to both this past week.
And then I was reminded of how our friendships are forged in so many ways. I first met Joan Hastings through good works in the community and glimpsing faces in the church where her most glorious memorial was held, I realized how many important friendships grow from shared work: be it boards or church groups’ efforts, be it a cooperative preschool’s tasks or mounting a play or be it moving alongside one’s yoga or aerobics’ classmates. We like to do things together, we friends. That’s another way work is love made visible.
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Speaking of work, I’d promised at the beginning of this NanoWriMayhemMo month that I’d interject some blog post with an update on Grow Food Northampton’s progress: and wowza—as of now, we’re at $410,000! There’s a challenge grant from the Valley Land Fund and every donation (up to a certain point) between now and Thanksgiving will be doubled (so, if you want help secure the last open farmland in Northampton, now’s a great time to pitch in with a gift). The more I get to know—and feel in it—with the Grow Food Northampton crew, the more honored I am to be working amongst such amazing, effective, lovely folks.
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Through the busy week, I kept writing hard to reach the fifty thousand-word-goal. Like the leaves, there are not so many words left (about four thousand). Is it surprising that as I near that arbitrary finish line, I skidded into doubt (what-the-heckMo am I doing I wondered)? And then, upon writing a section about dressing my little girl, having dressed three longhaired non-stereotypic-boy boys, I realized that the whole gender piece really is critical to the whole; I mean, we did set out to add a female to our mix. With this realization there was one of those a-ha moments writers hope to experience (then, this morning, my dear husband sent a link, an advertisement for Restoration Hardware’s line of “Pink Power” riding toys and well, that cinched it; I am so obviously writing about gender and stereotype, simply because I must).
I also realized that’s why so many times subtitles are important for writers and readers, like Peggy Orenstein’s crazy-long one (for her very beautiful book): Waiting for Daisy: A Tale of Two Continents, Three Religions, Five Infertility Doctors, an Oscar, an Atomic Bomb, a Romantic Night, and One Woman’s Quest to Become a Mother. (I know, a little bit, duh, it took you how long to think about all this? My excuse is that I’ve been too busy writing to sit back and ponder such concepts).
My blog is still in the top twenty for Babble’s Readers’ Poll (as best Mom Blog) so pretty please, click, vote and pretty please with sugar on top (or maple syrup, so much more local and wholesomely delicious) tell your friends—whole lists of them, go on—to vote. I am hoping to garner more readers from this rather humiliating shilling for votes endeavor. Finally? I really love what I’m doing and am proud of it and want more people to engage/read. So, more heartfelt thanks than you can imagine for voting for Standing in the Shadows.
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Like any week in a household with two working parents and four busy kids—and one case of pink eye for the toddler, resolving itself but having left her on Friday looking like a prizefighter in training—the constant keyword is full. I’ve got a packed couple of days before we head to Philly for Thanksgiving. We’re sure to listen to a little Paul Simon on a late night drive and there’s a line I’m channeling when I imagine a tiny little break ahead, “that’s all I’m trying, to get some rest.”
