parenting

A Moral GPS

Compass

It’s Gratituesday! Today I’m grateful for the moral compass my parents helped create in me. How lucky I am that they said “no” and taught me to work. How fortunate that they took me to church, instilled high values, expressed disappointment when my behavior required it.

I wasn’t always an easy kid. I had my grumpy, uncooperative days. And surprising info to a few of you, I had some seriously rebellious teen years which, even at the time, I felt guilty about because I knew better. But some independent dingbat streak in me insisted I was smarter than someone who had lived longer than me and didn’t really understand the world. (Boy, was I wrong.) Luckily for me the dumb choices I made that were way off course from the compass readings I’d been taught didn’t result in anything permanently disastrous.

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A Global Positioning System, or GPS as most of us know them as, is just a fancy compass. Not much thought goes into using one. Punch in an address and it tells you how to get there, usually. Ask for the nearest pizza joint and you’ll get a few choices, complete with locations, and phone numbers. Select one and it’ll draw a route you can follow that will find you noshing on some melting cheese and sausage in no time at all.

I’ve heard more than a few stories from friends who tried to follow the directions of a GPS with what could have been disastrous results. Turn right fifty feet then proceed forward one mile to your destination on the left. If they had faithfully followed the GPS they’d have driven off a cliff, or into oncoming traffic on a one-way street, or into a stream bed or a field. You’ve heard the stories, too.

Fortunately I have map reading skills and can tell when Google Maps has led me astray, usually. I did once take a forty mile short cut on a very bumpy dirt road when I could have gone an extra mile before turning off the highway and had a paved road to follow in half the distance and even less time.

Some of the things I see going on around me, close up and personal, as well as out in the world, make me wonder what’s happened to teaching kids about right and wrong, good and bad, stupid and intelligent, reason and insanity. I worry when I see parents turn over the teaching of basic character to the schools in programs that claim to instill things like “Trustworthiness, Respect, Responsibility, Fairness, Caring, Citizenship.” Instead I see a parenting mantra of “whatever.”

Apparently GPS doesn't work so hot in Manhattan.

What I see makes me even more grateful for what my parents gave me. They taught me much more than trustworthiness, they taught me honesty. They taught more than respect, they taught manners and honor and obedience. They gave me responsibility so I could feel what integrity felt like. They raised me with siblings where life wasn’t always fair, but I learned to share and understand that it felt good to care about others and to help out when I could. They voted, they volunteered, they brought me along to serve the community and from that I learned what being a good citizen meant.

Sadly, we’re raising a generation of kids that have little to no moral compass. Kids whose only direction is me-centered, me-based, me-motivated. That is a GPS with no satellite feed. If you doubt me just look at the news from the past week or two for a few minutes. The violence alone is enough to scare a person into becoming a hermit in a place with no known GPS coördinates available and no roads.

hiking trail in coloradoI think sometimes we fail to plug in our own personal compass or engage our brains in the process of figuring out where we’re going and what we’re doing and what the choices are that we’re making.

Lucky for me, my brain cells and my personal compass of moral integrity kicked in before I ruined my life or someone else’s life. Lucky for me my parents gave me all the tools to gain and use such a valuable compass.

Thanks Mom and Dad, for teaching me, for providing a moral compass, for not giving up. Thank you for the solid path I finally found myself on.

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A College Graduation Speech, Sort of, But Not

graduation

(Photo credit: Sean MacEntee)

My oldest daughter will graduate with a Bachelor’s Degree in Sociology on Saturday!!

I am one proud mama!

During the ceremony, speeches will echo out across a sea of caps and gowns. Most of what’s said will skip about the room with a low absorption rate. Most members of the audience will focus on one person in the room, their graduate.

It’s a shame there isn’t a way to personalize such a momentous occasion. To hear from each graduate about the circuitous path they followed to arrive at graduation would take weeks, or months, but oh the stories! To get a taste of the audience members perspective of that path would add a dimension never dreamed of before.

To share some small fraction of lessons learned in and out of the classroom while on that path would fill libraries.

I intended to dispense advice in my own little version of a graduation speech for my daughter. After all, I gave a graduation speech at my high school graduation eons ago.

But then, I thought of my daughter and her path to this point in her journey. She’s taught me more than I ever taught her. I’m certain of it.

She arrived in this world already confident and brave and friendly.

Now she is also: A world traveler. Caring. Smart. Beautiful. Open-minded, open-hearted. Anticipatory. Relaxed. Brave, adventurous, fun. Prepared. Strong. Kind. Willful. Opinionated. Easy going.  Friendly.  Wise.

What’s next? Graduate school? Maybe. A career? Maybe. She’s taking the summer to mull it over and relax. It’s been a long winding road.

My Advice? 

  • Be yourself.
  • Trust your feelings.
  • Remember you are loved.
  • Keep your eyes open.
  • Enjoy.
  • Love.
  • Give.

That’s about it. No speech from me.

She has what she needs, she’ll get where she’s going with style and grace and a smile on her face.

Oh, one last thing:

  • Keep in touch with your mom.

That’s all.

I love you my sweet girl!

Confetti

Hooray for you!! (Photo credit: ADoseofShipBoy)

Categories: Family, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

You’re The Fun One | Dorkdaddy.com (Reblogged Just for You)

I read a blogger who also happens run a gig as Superdad. He disguises himself as DorkDaddy.  He’s got some Super Kids with Episode monikers which I find endearing. And then there is SuperMommy which he affectionately refers to as UnDorkMommy. This post of his which I’m reblogging for your reading enjoyment explores the subtle nuances of parenting in a way I’ve never encountered. I am certain you will finding it charming, funny and delightful. Please visit his other posts as well and let him know how much you appreciate his hijinks and writing.

You’re The Fun One | Dorkdaddy.com.

Categories: parenting, People | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

It Was a Wonderful Life!

Yesterday I got the chance to watch the second installment of home 8mm films that my Dad has transferred to DVD. If something like that doesn’t fire up the old neurons of memory, then nothing will!

North Ogden Utah Ben Lomond Peak

Ben Lomond Peak (Photo credit: OwnUtah.Com)

I was the opening shot, well, me and Mom. I looked extra adorable in my frilly bonnet and chubby cheeks. Mom looked stylish as she always did and does. There followed scenes of my older brother in various stages of helping Mom in managing this new little sister he had.

Loved seeing Dad do his famous tricycle riding trick. He’d kneel on the back and pedal with his hands. That’s not an easy feat to pull off, but he could do it with a grin.

Ah, they were so young! The world seemed new and young. Life was new. For me, that is when the world began. (Insert a long, audible sigh here, if you would please.)

I cheered my baby self on when I lifted my head, crawled, walked and fell down. I watched, amazed, as I saw myself grow from a baby to a five-year old in less than twenty minutes. Looking back on my life, sometimes that ‘s about what it feels like. Yet, my childhood had a timeless quality about it that felt as if I’d always be a child. I was protected, provided for, well-loved, and given a wonderfully varied exploratory life filled with fun and adventure.

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(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A trip or two to Yellowstone National Park was a highlight and a memory I still cherish. The bears ran as freely and as abundantly as chipmunks. Even without the film memory jog, I still remember the fishing bridges there, seeing fish thick in the water. Nothing can erase the memory of the smells of Yellowstone, the sound of footsteps on the wooden walkways, the feel of my hand in Mom’s hand.

I watched as we enjoyed breakfast picnics in the mountains, trips to Bear Lake, camping trips, hikes up Ben Lomond. What child could ask for more? Not me. I was happily allowed to explore my world, taken out and about often to see the wonders that this life has to offer. I think I fell in love with it all at a very early age because of exposure to so much abundance. I haven’t been able to narrow in on one particular favorite. The world is full and rich and I have tried to take in and be a part of as much of it as I have been able to.

see mum, i can garden

(Photo credit: moirabot)

One thing I found particularly fascinating in this DVD that I’d hardly noticed in the first one was the backdrops in each scene. There was the beautiful hexagon shapes in the Grandmother’s Flower Garden quilt on the bed my brother and I were playing on. The cars that drove past were classics from the 50’s and 60’s. The television was vintage, the furniture now collector’s items. Even the drinking glasses were particular to that era. What I wouldn’t give to own a set of aluminum colored drinking cups now!  The piano I learned to play on, the one destroyed in my parent’s house fire, made an appearance. Changes in the landscaping of the yard, neighbor’s houses I haven’t seen in decades, the up close view of the mountains that surrounded my childhood home all served as key elements in the background to this trip down memory lane.

Feeling very nostalgic today. Wishing for a time machine to visit those innocent, sweet days of love and learning.

Thanks Dad and Mom for the DVD, for the amazing childhood, for a wonderful life!

Categories: Family, Love, Memory Lane, Nature, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

To Answer or Not To Answer, That is the Question

I’m one of those people who hesitates to answer the phone if I don’t recognize the number or the caller.

If the call is local, I’m more likely to answer. An eight hundred number, forget it. An area code from one of the states or cities I’ve lived, or a family members lives in has a better chance of getting picked up than some.

Telephone Keypad

(Photo credit: Chris Campbell)

Doctor’s office calls always get answered as do calls from hospitals. If detectives and police officers are your friends or on a volunteer committee with you, you’ll be needing to answer blocked calls, which can be very dicey.

If you have teenagers or young adults in your life you might want to reconsider the “to answer” or “not to answer” protocols you’ve set for yourself. Police stations and sheriff’s offices can show up as an eight hundred number, for that “one phone call,” or to convey other important logistical information.  I’d rather not tell you how or why I know this. Just believe me on this one.

Caller ID has the benefit of preparing us for whoever is on the other end of the line. You know whether to answer with your usual relaxed voice, or with an “I’m busy, get to the point quickly” voice. MSH has a menacing voice he answers with, which is handy for him, not so great for the caller. I have a friend who has some pretty funny ways to answer the phone that leave the caller a bit confused or bemused or simply laughing.

Some calls you  just can’t prepare for.

One lovely Saturday, I jumped up to peek at the caller idea when the phone rang.  Surprised, I saw one of our local hospitals identified as the caller. I caught my breath, then answered before it could push over into voice mail.

“Hello?” I said tentatively, as I reviewed where my children were, who had which car. My brain had kicked into high gear, the engine racing, the RPMs off the chart.

“Hello?” I heard back from a kindly sounding woman with a hesitating voice.

It was bad news, I could tell from her hesitation. I began to shake.

“Yes?” I squeaked out as my panic rose.

“Who am I speaking to?” the woman asked.

I told her my name. I signaled MSH, who was sidetracked by whatever it is on Saturdays men get sidetracked by. Food, TV, a project, lint. Who knows. He was oblivious. I leaned against the wall for support as my knees began to shake.

“Well, Kami,” the woman hesitated again, ” I’m afraid, it looks like…”

She stopped mid-sentence. I slid down the wall. I could hardly hold the phone to my ear. I thought they sent a police officer to your door for bad news like this. Maybe there was still hope, maybe we could get to the hospital on time.

I tried to breathe, but it was nearly impossible.

“Well, Kami Tilby,” she began again. “It appears that I have dialed the wrong number.”

I had sunk to the floor, my voice stuck in my throat. “Oh. Okay. No problem,” I managed to say.

She hung up.

I dropped the phone.

It was a full thirty minutes before my heart beat resumed its normal rhythm.

My kids couldn’t understand why I hugged them so hard when I saw them that day. I found myself placing a hand on their bedroom door when they were home, feeling contentment in knowing where they were and how they were at that small moment.

Caller ID is one of those blessings that carry a curse. You never really know what you’re going to get.

Categories: Family, parenting | Tags: , , , , , | 11 Comments

Oh, Sew What

It’s Gratituesday! Today I’m thankful that my mother taught me how to sew. Can’t tell you how many times that’s come in handy. I swear I’ve sewn a zillion buttons, a thousand hems, a million tiny tucks here and there and prom dress alterations out the wazoo.

Then there’s all those costumes; pilgrim, cat, a pig for the play Charlotte’s Web, a scarecrow, a pirate, a fairy princess for a Shakespeare scene, witch, ninja, monster, angels, shepherds, devil, beauty queen, pumpkin, butterflies and bugs. Don’t forget all those princess dresses, a cowgirl, a cowboy, an Indian, 50’s outfits galore, and a genie. I could go on but I won’t.

I’ve sewn curtains, and pillows, valances and purses, puppets and stuffed animals. I even made my kids clothes when we were a really young family barely able to scrape a couple of pennies together. What a challenge but so satisfying to make something out of almost nothing.

A patchwork quilt from random scraps.

A patchwork quilt from random scraps.

My favorite things to put a needle and thread to is a quilt.  For me, there’s something therapeutic about combining small pieces of seemingly useless fabric together into something beautiful and useful.  What’s more comfort giving than a quilt, fluffy and colorful, warm and embracing. Mmmm.

I created m first quilt from a box of scraps and a few old pieces of clothing I didn’t want to throw away. Then a baby quilt, which required the acquisition of more fabric. Next, a log cabin pattern  that led me on a month’s long search for all the perfect colors. Many more have followed. My one small box of scraps grew into a mountainous collection of fabric that I may never summit.

Teaching me the ins and outs of sewing must have taken more patience than anyone can imagine.  A gift that truly keeps on giving is one that teaches a skill like this. I hope it isn’t becoming a lost art.

Such a basic ability shouldn’t be taken for granted, I can clearly see that now. Thanks, Mom, for passing on your talent, your patience, your gift, your love.

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Forget Comfort Foods, Try This Instead

Comfort foods.  I could wax poetic about all the varieties, textures, tastes, emotions and colors of myriad edibles.  So could you.

Have you ever considered “comfort memories?”

It’s self-explanatory.  Here’s an easy example.

My son can put himself to sleep by remembering himself through a specific ski run at a specific resort.  Recalling the swoosh of the snow under his board, the bite of the cold across his cheeks, the trees as they blur past, the feel of his muscles as he moves to catch a curve and negotiates the bumps and jumps, all combine to relax and calm him into a deep and restful sleep.

Nice way to put yourself to sleep, huh? I think so.

I have a way of relaxing myself when I’m feeling ill or in pain that, if I remember to remember it, works very well to comfort and ease my body and mind. It’s rooted in how I was cared for as a child when I was sick. It’s definitely a comfort memory.

Asleep on the couch

Asleep on the couch (Photo credit: geekdreams)

I recall pillows propped on the dark green couch, blankets tucked around me, with the TV on low and bluish across the room.  I remember the smell and taste of the concoction Mom would mix. It consisted of a bit of warm water, a spoonful of paregoric, and some sugar.  It was a licorice smell and taste, somewhat bitter, but eased by that spoonful of sugar.  My tummy always settled out if I was nauseous, my sore throat eased.  Sleep came easier in spite of noise or fever or pain.  I can still feel the coolness of the pillowcase as she turned my pillow to the cool side when my fever was high.  There would often be a cool cloth on my forehead and smoothed across my hands and arms, pulling the heat from my body and sending a swell of relaxation through my tired, aching limbs. Even if she was only checking my fever, Mom’s hand on my cheek let me feel cared for, loved and safe.

If I can conjure that image, those sensations, then I can settle into a rest that reminds me of that love.  I can relax and let the discomfort of whatever hurts lift away from me, even if only momentarily.

To know such care and comfort should fall to every child.  Every adult should be able to pull from the library of memory such a book, filled with tales of love and triumph.

What memories bring peace to you?  Is there anything you can recall from childhood, or adulthood, that on remembering, brings comfort, peace, joy, relaxation, love?

Categories: Family, Love, Memory Lane, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Childhood Revisited: Swinging In From a Star

Today’s post  is a response to this WordPress Daily Post writing prompt.: “What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail, and tell us why you think that experience was the one to stick with you.”

 

Pressing my face into the mesh of memory, I’ve searched and searched for details from my earliest childhood.  My attempts to peel back the layers, clarify the view and remove the dust and cobwebs find little substance. 

The few memories that surface are vague at best.  I couldn’t tell you how old I was, only where I was, but not when.  It’s as if I’m waiting for movie clips about myself from the outside like an independent observer.  But in reality the only point of view is from the inside looking out.  There aren’t any movie trailers.

Well, there are those 8mm films my parents took.  But that’s a memory of a memory.

There is this one clear, unchanging mental image, my first memory, my first awareness of being. My first experience with me-ness. 

I am walking between my dad and my mom, going up the street towards our little white clapboard house.  Each of them has taken hold of one of my hands. Whether I could walk on my own, I have no idea.  Maybe I was young enough that they were encouraging walking, or I could have been older and needing to be kept in check by the two of them. The world is vague and blotchy, all color and wash. The features of most things have no distinct form or shape. Our house is the only clear landmark.

The sensation of a hand in each of theirs is vivid; warmth and energy pulse into me.  And then, suddenly, I am soaring up and out, secured between them like a swing.  Then I am walking on the ground again.  I hear, “One, two, three!” and I sail out into the air again, safely tethered to them both.

Multiple times they count and launch me heavenward.  Each “three” creates the sensation of my body feeling free and ephemeral, accompanied by gravity’s pull back between them. Whether I spoke the words or merely thought them, my mind says, “again,” after each swing out and back. 

night sky

night sky (Photo credit: dcysurfer / Dave Young)

I remember laughter, mine or theirs.  Both, I’m sure.

I could easily believe a tale of my birth as a launching from heaven, lofted into the cosmos, riding a wave of star dust and gently landing between my father and mother. Caught between the two of them, I scatter dust from my journey as I swing back and forth, back and forth.  It’s a fairy tale worth holding on to. 

My earliest memory of childhood makes it feel as if I came swinging into this world suspended between them, held fast by love and joy.

 

 

 

 

Categories: Love, Memory Lane, parenting, Wondering | Tags: , , , , | 6 Comments

“Remember The Beanie Baby!” A Tale of Teenie Proportions

We have a saying at our house: “Remember the Beanie Baby!”

It’s a sentiment that applies to many situations and none of them have anything to do with collector’s items.  Well, not really, except for the incident that engraved that thought on our family’s collective conscience.

The summer of 1998 found our family frolicking about the countryside.  Leaving MSH home to fund our travels, the kids and I took off for family reunions, various once a year get-togethers, and just plain hanging out at Grandpa and Grandma’s, both sets.  It was a twelve-hour drive, or more with kids, to get there.  Then we drove a variety of shorter hops from one relative’s house, to another, to another over the course of three weeks.

To make the trip even more delightful, the AC in the van didn’t work.  There’s nothing like having a warm breeze whipping your hair around for half the day, the sound of the wind roaring in your ears, to make it really feel like an endless summer.  The back windows only angled out a couple of inches, serving mostly as venting for the hot air being blown through the van.   It couldn’t have been very comfortable for the back seat riders.  Fortunately, I was the driver.

That year was the tail end of the Great Beanie Baby Craze.  McDonald’s had jumped on the hyperactive pellet filled fuzzy critter bandwagon.  With each Happy Meal purchased, a Teenie Beanie, miniature version of the originals, could also be bought for $2.

My kids suggested that if we went to a McDonald’s in every town we visited, we’d finally accumulate all the possible Beanie Babies (12) that were available in miniature form.  It broke the monotony of all that driving, and gave a sort of treasure hunt mystique to each day. At least they’d end up with one or two of their favorites.  We seemed to have good luck with this plan and everyone was happy with his or her new acquisitions, except my youngest daughter.

She coveted Inch the Worm.  The bright colors, the squiggly body, the little stitched on eyes, would make her summer completely perfect.  Finally, nearing the end of the vacation, we hit the jackpot.  We’d down the last Happy Meal we’d ever want to eat and voilà. Inch the Worm was her new best friend.

A distant cousin of Inch the Worm Tilby.

A distant cousin of Inch the Worm Tilby.

Inch went everywhere with her, never leaving her hand for a second. The two of them seemed to lead an active fantasy life, where Inch the Worm was quite the little hero.

Inch had a predilection for flying.  He especially liked to ride the breezes created by the open back windows in the van.

“You’re going to drop your beanie baby out the window!” my son told her.

“No, I’m not!” she’d counter, obstinately gripping Inch even tighter.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he muttered back.

That conversation took place, or some iteration of it, multiple times a day.  Sometimes it was one of her two older sisters. “That little worm is gonna disappear!” they warned.

Rarely, she would pull Inch back in and rest him on her lap, or in a pocket, or in her backpack.  Usually, she just stubbornly kept Inch in the breeze, flying carefree and happy.

Then, the inevitable happened.

You guessed it.

“MOM! Pull over!!” my youngest screamed from the back seat. “I dropped my beanie baby!”

We were racing up a hill going 55 mph, with almost no shoulder to the road, cars packed around us. There was no way and no place to pull over. Even if we did, it would be dangerous and foolhardy.  More than likely, the beanie baby would have sailed behind us and been run over, or caught up under a car, or flung about the road like so much garbage.

We had no choice than to simply drive away from the tragic demise of Inch the Worm.

My daughter was distraught.  She was sure we’d find him when we drove that road again a day later.  Even with Inch’s neon coloring, we never did see tail or nose of him.

Of course, no other McDonald’s in the western United States had any mini beanie babies left by then.

Forever after that sad incident, when someone in the family warned someone else that their behavior was risky, or stupid, or that they ought to listen to the advice they were being given, these famous words would end the argument. “Remember the beanie baby!”

There would be laughter hiding a tiny heartache for what might have been.  It was a painful lesson.  It was a funny lesson.  It was unforgettable.

I’m pretty sure, when my daughter is a grandmother, someone will “remember the beanie baby” and the story of Inch the Worm will live again.

Categories: Humor, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

The Fluff and Fill of Life

The late afternoon sun hangs just above the tops of the trees as I sit on the front porch.   Pots and hanging baskets filled with Impatiens and petunias need watering, but I’m ignoring that for now. The air is just beginning to cool from the warmth of the afternoon.  A short break, sitting quietly out on the porch, is just what I need before the evening chores, kid’s baths and bedtime rituals begin.

I close my eyes and let my head lie back against the chair. A few stolen moments of deep breathing will be as good or better than a nap. I can feel the buzz of the day’s busy-ness still in my head, a kind of hum of steady movement through a list too long.  The sound of children playing far in the distance lends itself to a slowly spreading sense of calm. A car drives past on the next street over. Birds question each other with chirps and tweets. The neighbor’s dog tosses out a bark. I can feel myself slipping toward sleep. No worries if I do, it won’t last long.

“Mom?”

I can hear the call inside the house somewhere, probably in a back bedroom. I keep my eyes closed, keep my breathing quiet and steady. Maybe the sound will find a different outlet. I inhale deeper, let the breath out slowly.

Even though I can hear laughter, it seems as if it’s simply part of a semi-waking, half-dozing dream. When the screen door beside me protests with its squeaking and rattling, I open my eyes just slightly. I do not, however, turn my head, or speak, or move.

My two little girls stand in the doorway, the tallest of the two holding the door open. They look at each other and cover their mouths to stifle their giggles. They whisper something back and forth to each other. The screen door creaks slowly shut, the latch just catching.

I wonder sleepily what the giggling means, and peer carefully through my lashes.

My two girls hunch down at the sidewalk beside the mailbox picking dandelions from the lawn. I could expect to find a bouquet in my lap any minute now. My youngest stands with her small scrunched cluster of yellow flowers and white puff-balls. She puts her face into the bouquet, but instead of inhaling their muzzley smell, she puffs her cheeks out and blows. She watches as her little handful of treasures explodes into small white umbrellas, tiny seed pod passengers dangling below.

dandelion_2008041638

dandelion_2008041638 (Photo credit: 邪恶的正太)

My older daughter quickly follows with a breath of air and a sort of magic wand wave of the bundle of white and yellow. White wisps float away. They both laugh and each quickly gathers another handful, this time ignoring the plain yellow dandelions. They snap only the stems of white fluff. Instead of blowing on the whole handful at once, they each take a turn blowing the seed pods free from one stem at a time. From a distance a passerby would think they were blowing bubbles from a plastic jar of soapy solution.

Empty stems fall on the sidewalk as they stoop to pick more. One sends her flower heads skyward while the other chases, jumping and flailing. Their laughter bubbles over, a refreshing sound to my ears, a nice respite from their usual bickering.

Time seems to slow to a stand-still, yet the sun drops lower in the western sky, now filtering through the topmost branches of distant trees. The angle of light at this time of day brightens colors, exaggerates whites, shows off every dust mote and hovering insect.

I watch my daughters as they do a sort of slow motion ballet. The two young girls gather more handfuls of glorious white weeds and send them heavenward. They create a blizzard of fluff filled with the sound of their delight. Surely they’ll tire of this game soon, I think to myself as I observe their leaps and laughter. Instead, they take a cluster in each hand and spin in a circle, creating a swirling breeze that catches and carries the ephemeral seeds in loops and eddies.

Sunlight wafts through the scene like an added sound of joy on the breeze. Each poof of white shimmers and dances. The halo of curly blond hair on my youngest daughter glows silver as she spins and dances and smiles. My older daughter’s long brown locks capture the light and create a golden aura as she twirls and leaps and laughs.

Peace settles like shimmering star-dust on my shoulders. The music of the moment fills the air and swirls through me as these two small angels dance in a fleeting vision.

It comes to me, clearer than any revelation. Heaven is here. Heaven is now.

Categories: Joy, Memory Lane, parenting | Tags: , , , , , , | 6 Comments

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