In My Heart

My first grand child, I see you
Tiny fingers, tiny toes, hair in waves
Knees and eyebrows, perfectly formed
In my heart, dreaming.

My first grand child, I hear you
Giggling joyous and free,
Dashing around a sunny corner
In my heart, laughing

My first grandchild, I feel you
Warm in my arms, sweet baby breath
Cooling the tears running down my cheek,
Tears, tears, ripples in the pool
In my heart, breaking

My first grandchild, your whole life,
Your first smile, your first word, your first step,
Your first day of school, your first date, your first child,
All these dreams we had for you, I hold
In my heart, remembering.

My first grandchild, my little Rocket Man
I wish you’d stayed with us a while
But instead you shot straight up to the stars
on a beam of eternal sweet happiness
I love you, Rocket Perry Cambric,
And cherish you in my heart always.

October 10, 2008

Persistent Miracle

Snow in July. A blizzard so thick, they can’t see the mountains across the valley. This news comes to me from the Brooks Range the day after I leave for Saskatchewan. Not surprising, of course, being so far north, but startling still – and a stark reminder that summer, and all good things, come to an end more quickly than we ever wish.

I was born in the middle of the middle of the middle -- June 15, 1950 -- the middle day of the middle month of the middle of the 20th century. What I hadn’t considered until recently was that in 1950, we still lived in the shadow of World War II. I also hadn’t realized that I was born a mere 85 years after the Civil War, and 65 years after my great-grandparents traveled by wagon train to Oregon. While in a previous century, these things happened quite recently. If you add to this history, events that have happened since my birth -- civil rights, John, Martin and Bobby, a walk on the moon, this war and that, my transition from a small farm in Saskatchewan to the edge of the Arctic Ocean, worldwide financial success and failure, the Polar Bear’s pending extinction -- an astounding amount has been packed into my short life time plus 85 years. A mere ‘Tick’ from the clock of time.

Life seems slow as I live it forward. I am not aware of time passing so much as I see things around me that have changed so dramatically I am forced to accept that I too must have changed. While I don’t feel old, I see that my daughter is 35 and my Mom who’s 81 is in poor enough health to require full time care in a nursing home. I am in the middle; we are each 23 years apart. I’ve lived 58 years, and there’s a limit to the time I have left before - Tock. And my end may come any day, just like a July blizzard north of the Brooks Range.

If I could freeze frame a moment in a snowflake’s life as it drifted through the middle of the sky in the middle of the valley in the Brooks Range, I would celebrate each unique, spinning kaleidoscope reveling in its bright moment between heaven and earth. The elegant forms of frozen water are a natural part of the largely unseen, but persistent, miracle we call the water cycle.

Miracles happen whether or not we are watching. So much of life occurs outside of our awareness, even those things that we see, we don’t really ‘see.’ This is also true for my days. While somewhat of a blur overall, I can seek out bright moments between heaven and earth. I am blessed by the elegant flow of family, friends, animals, flowers, clouds and sunsets that make up the largely unseen, but persistent miracle that is my life.

Dall Babies

The other night, I stopped to watch the Dall sheep on my way home from work. There are many ewes and lambs high on the mountains; they look like little white dots until you focus on them. But if you pause for a moment, you can see tiny fuzzy creatures jumping across the rocks. The sight of these babies playing grabs my heart – a Mom is a Mom -- and just for a moment, I fear for their safety.

I’ve learned that motherhood is always intense and these days it washes over me, cleansing, moving, at times nearly drowning me. My Mom is dying down a winding path, and I walk with her on these days, not because I can save her, but just because I can share the time, and shine love on that crooked tired smile. My intent is to comfort her, hold her, touch her, take this last opportunity to be the best daughter I can. I found a string of pearls when we packed up her house, and I’m wearing them every day this Mother’s Day month. I might even keep wearing them when the month is over so that I can think of her every time I look in the mirror.

At the same time, my daughter is asking me how I’d feel about being a grandma. I am a little excited, but each step she takes in her normal life, I have to work through my concerns that she will be exposed to new danger or heartache. It’s a silly thing, I know, but this mother-daughter thing burns with selfish intensity and I wouldn’t sacrifice her even for a grandchild. Of course, I can’t save her from the pain or life in general. It’s her life – not mine -- I’ve done my part. But I think my body was programmed to defend her the first time I looked down at her in my arms, and I will struggle to accept that she will take chances and move to new levels throughout her life.

I wonder if those Dall moms gasp when their baby leaps from a rock high on the mountain. There are likely multiple generations up there – great-grandmas, grandmas, moms and daughters. In a few months, the lambs will be grown and from a distance they’ll be impossible for me to tell apart from the adults. It seems like a ‘natural’ connection for them – and I guess it is for me and my family too. All these mothers and daughters strung together like pearls -- scattered across a mountainside, draped around my neck, and inseparable through time eternal.

A Rosey Future

, originally uploaded by aryllascott.

As I got up at 4 AM, I heard the heartfelt song of this robin. Pulling back the curtain, I saw him right outside my window in a barren bush --the photo is fuzzy because I snapped it through the screen.

I smiled at him because I realized that if robins sing before the snow goes then it must be true that hope arrives before the end of difficult times, and even sings a sweet song to keep us moving forward.

Amazing Grace

Returning to work this week, I was amazed to see the explosion of wildlife. All those geese that we've seen flying by over the past month are sitting on the ground up here waiting for ice to melt so they can build their nests. The caribou are restless and they all seem to be walking north toward the caving grounds. I know it's just the normal springtime change, but after so many months of darkness and desolation, it seems like a miracle. And I feel so blessed to be a small part of such abundance. There aren't the many opportunities for one human to be in the presence of millions of other creatures.

Is that you T-Rex?

Our travels through the John Day Fossil beds in Oregon earlier this month including seeing fossils of wonderful animals lived on this earth 45 million, 20 million, 10 thousand years ago but became extinct. It came to me that our anxiety about global warming is perhaps really a concern about the possibility of human extinction, for certainly the earth is not at risk -- but rather the conditions we need to survive.

Consider the smylodonts, cynodonts, Macrauchenia, Wooly Rhinos. They were amazing! And they're all gone. If T-Rex made it, he now looks like this sparrow. I guess extinction is actually not such a dishonorable end. If humans do cease to exist on this earth, we'll be in glorious company.

Good Morning Starshine

Good Morning Starshine, originally uploaded by aryllascott.

Whenever I do a swap, I always try something new. This time, I used the sunrise photo as an inspiration and then created an abstract design. This is not easy for me, especially with all those straight lines. And then I thought the sun should be represented by a ribbon rose because it does rise like a beautiful blossom. I even added some 'flying geese' that I've been seeing heading north lately. What do you think?