Monday, September 21, 2015

Morning swim

I'm getting back into swimming again, which is nice. I was on the swim team when I was younger, and the pool feels like home. I am not as fit as I was then and it takes much longer to go up and down than it used to, but I'll get some fitness back.

I like the feeling of fluttering through the water and hearing the woosh, woosh in my ears. Best of all is on a sunny day when I can see my shadow below me on the bottom of the pool. I push off the wall and just glide, weightless - completely surrounded by water in that moment, not one bit of me breaking the surface. I love that feeling. When I was younger there were times when I would just hover there, or exhale my breath so I could sink to the bottom and then just hang out for a few moments looking up, watching the light dance through the liquid and listening to the muffled sounds of movement above. I like that underwater world.

Sunday, September 13, 2015

Is there a Santa?

Sevilla found out this week that Santa Claus doesn't exist. I think the exact way she phrased it was "Does Santa Claus exist, or is it just your mom and dad?"

I tried to walk the middle ground. To explain that yes, it is her parents that buy those gifts, but it is for the love of Christmas and the child and the joy of giving. I explained the history of Santa and St. Nicholas and of the kindness and goodwill in his heart. I spoke of tradition and the magic of the season.

She wasn't having it.

She went through all five stages of loss:

Denial: "I can't believe it! It was you guys all along? What about all that stuff about the long white beard?"
Anger: (not so much a vocalization as a silent smolder)
Bargaining: "Just tell me he exists. It's OK Mom, I'll believe you."
Depression: (sustained, chronic wailing)
Acceptance: "Can I help hide the gifts next year?"

Evening Run

I run into the clearing
The words in my ears are haunting
They wash over me, their long fingers curling
Around the ache in my heart

They are too beautiful to let go, yet I cannot keep them
They slip through my ears, through my fingers, into thin air
Their meaning soon forgotten

I follow the trail

Turning the corner, I climb up the path
Footsteps kick up dust
I look out over the park from that vantage
Lights are fading

At the top of the slope I stop, hands to the sky
Not because I am praying
But because I am drowning