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The gift of finding, the gift of giving
The chute of glass is a kiss, a plastic warmth. Especially this frigid week. When I press a big camera up against my face, I’m dropped through it and into the world again. It’s so much more aggressive than a phone. I have to pay attention and once I start I can’t stop.
Mountain ash berries and their tracks
My dad and I used to take walks as daily as possible. It was a must-defy-Parkinson’s-deal, a deep oath between us, and sometimes he hated it. November through February were damp and gray, usually. Not inspiring—usually. Rainy, cold, his circulation slowed. But he stuck it out. And we often came home feeling…well, inspired.
I said it.
He went on walks alone, too. For several years, he brought his digital camera in the hope of finding bald eagles perched on their dead tree. I’ve archived hundreds of photos of young and old eagles: couples, brothers, sisters, hunters. And many bare branches. Sometimes no one was home.
A cold walk by the dead tree, six years ago
I think of my dad every day; I walk every day, now with my two daughters—freezing, below freezing, inspired, and otherwise. Joyful and otherwise. I rarely take photos because my hands are full, as strangers often observe. Sometimes pulling a sled, sometimes a stroller, sometimes wearing the baby in a pack. We are in the mode of needs-meeting, of task-completing. But today we stopped.
My neighbor’s crabapple tree—valentine red today
We paused. We looked around. Today, my dad is just grooving around my mind and my heart.
Valentine’s Day, similar to the other bravado holidays, reminded my dad of his eternal dance with love and heartbreak. The tango. He looked for and found romance very readily.
And like most of his dances, he was buoyant after a dip; he was generous with his holiday feeling. In February, a trip to the pharmacy brought home bright bottles of carbodopa/levodopa and four giant hearts of chocolate—or caramel, or the boxes of delightful pastel hearts and all their affirmations. Plus loud, red cards.
One year, my dad gave my sister and me something different. We found on our kitchen table two baskets with each a pink Jones Soda and a CD featuring three free songs on them. Read: three, free MP3 tracks. No illegal down- purchasing required.
This gift just stuck with me. I still remember the feeling of being considered by him. My dad loved sweets, but he loved music more. And he loved us even more than that. What a combination. What a day to find something real in.
Here are the songs I listened to over and over again, with maybe the greatest form of love—attention:
https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/bpDNfwIrx1M?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0
https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/8sG2o2Zq0wI?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0
Since starting Hey Sis, though, I realized that paying attention to our everyday is an enormous need. It’s as big as remembering our dead. It is remembering them—living wholly. And we’re all starting to really confront that these days, aren’t we?
DIY: No Lonely Hearts
Or, Turn Your $12 Egg Cartons into Decor
My eldest and I made two different crafts for Valentine’s Day, and I’m not jokin’ that we started them two weeks ago. Much like the reconstruction of our little old house, photography, sewing, and writing…most of our activities take a turtle’s pace. Slow and steady.
It’s good restraint for me and my flighty tendencies. That and my three-year-old’s obsessive attention (!) to detail.
Commercialism is the original concept creep. As young parents, my husband and I are figuring out how to present stuff like holidays to our kids. Today, we took the craft route. Montessori style.
Also, “Alice in Wonderland” style
We cut out the folds around the carton into heart shapes and, yes, they resemble ovaries. Red paint seals that deal. But then you hang them up on some garden string and lovely they sway.
This little thing changed my whole outlook. Suddenly, I saw the winter’s red everywhere. What a show! What a flare of life. Suddenly, I was finding gifts all around us.
Rust, fruit, birdhouses, masks…shades of red in orange and pink. Pink like my cat’s nose.
George, if you haven’t met him already
Thanks again for being here, and Happy Valentine’s Day!
Bette Jane
PS, if you are a person with a will, a needle, thread, scrap fabric or old clothes, stitch them together and fill them with lavender or cedar to give away; this was our other fun craft (Valentine’s or not):
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