Friday, August 1, 2014

In the Early Morning Light . . .

 Nothing I could say would be as eloquent as this dawn light on this beach, these logs whose surfaces and depths tell a long and ancient story, these rocks that answer in even longer cadences.
 Despite having my delightful granddaughter here all week and immensely enjoying her company, I'm feeling a bit something-or-other, especially frustrated with a tight hip that is getting in the way of doing the things that usually let me move out of that whatever-the-mood-is.
Waking so early, ahead of the rest of the house by a few hours, I tried to push out of my mood by sitting at the beach with my tea, and the strategy was effective, at least temporarily, sending me back inside for my camera. . .
 Sometimes that's the best we can do. Grab a moment here and there to see, as intensely as we can. Acknowledge the beauty, the good fortune, the illuminated everyday. . . .
 See? I told you I couldn't be as eloquent as the early morning light . . . .
 Let me just tiptoe away then, and let you see what I saw. . . .We have company coming anyway, so I have a few things to do. . . .(a friend is coming for dinner tonight, and then we're exchanging one granddaughter for another tomorrow. Granddaughter #2, the redhead, will be bringing her folks along. Everyone will need to be fed and provided with clean linens. I have a list . . . )
 Tiptoeing away, then . . .
 And as I go,
 wishing you a lovely Friday,























and, as always, inviting whatever comments you care to leave. Plans for the weekend, details about what the early morning light has shown you lately, a little this, a little that. . . .

6 comments:

  1. 'Grab a moment here and there to see, as intensely as we can. Acknowledge the beauty, the good fortune, the illuminated everyday. . . .'

    How very true. As I struggle through the final weeks of writing my thesis, gazing at a screen and a blank wall whilst being dimly aware that around me a wonderful summer is playing itself out without me, I shall strive to remember your wise words and to notice the warm light on the soft stones of this beautiful city on my daily commute, to enjoy the feel of the late sun on my face and to relish these last weeks of - and I hope that will make sense to you - pushing my old brain to its furthest reach. And then some.

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    1. Oh, I remember too well that stage, feeling trapped until the thesis was sweated off, written and finally submitted. Someday you'll look back . . . and yes, that sense of pushing the brain to its limits, I get that. . .

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  2. Just beautiful.

    Maybe a visit to San Francisco is what you need?

    :)

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    Replies
    1. It's been crossing my mind. . . Waiting around for daughters to have babies is a commitment (and a blessing, I know, I know. . . )

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  3. Well, I'm just wondering how you're handling the first grandchild (with another one and family arriving soon). We had our grandkids for a sleepover this week and I'm EXHAUSTED. They love hanging with us and I'm sure it's because we have all the good treats and pay extra special attention to their every want and need but it's tiring. Kudos to you!! Janie

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    1. Luckily, our 5yo is remarkably easy to live with, and she's happy with either of us for company so we spell each other off. I'll admit that I'm keen to have some quiet time with my husband alone one of these days. So far, though, only having one child at a time means it's not too tiring. I can imagine that it ramps up considerably with 2 or more . . .Kudos to you for making the visit so much fun!

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I'd love to hear your response to my post. Agree, disagree, even go off on a tangent, I love to know you're out there, readers. Let's chat, shall we? I apologize, though, for the temporary necessity of the Word Verification -- spam comments have been tiresomely numerous lately, and I'm hoping to break that pattern.

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