on the road to belonging

i remember

that last frozen grey morning.

all my friends 

waking to familiar belonging,

our hands and laughter

all tied up in the patted roundness of

a single snowman.

beneath the enormity of night,

morning waved stark white sheets in cold wind.

they clapped like thunder

as life threw a dark ribbon of pavement 

before us. 

we were gone before 

the last star disappeared.  before

anyone woke with a pounding red thrill in their hearts 

to return to each other

and all that 

snow.

 

connecticut to california

lay before us, a travel log table cloth

unfurled

in the half dark morning.

i leaned across the back seat to

watch life as i knew it,  grow smaller and smaller

retreating from the dark window like a silver necklace pulled from view.

strange how fast everything

we know can

disappear.

 

 

tennesse.

look out mountain, pocketfulls of arrowheads

waiting in musky drawers. 

 old train tracks blowing past  

the textile mill grandfather managed

all of his working life, never missing a single day.

 my father rolled our car to a slow stop.

he looked up so fondly into the window of his youth.

 something filled his voice,  thickening it like honey in water.

words tempered with bright longing,

 forming stairs that took him back,

so perfectly back.

"we use to walk these tracks after school

and stand right below 

that top window where dad worked.

he always knew when we would be going by and 

threw us coins...copper, that rained down to jangle and bounce

like a hard summer rain at our feet.

we scrambled for them and flew off waving goodbye 

for the soda fountain and penny candy".

 

grandmother

 never cut hair and wore it in a halo of braids round

and round the crown of her head.

her kitchen was enormous,

as were her meals.

together at the round oak table

where all her now grown children once labored over homework,

celebrated birthdays,

and when times were lean,

hoped for the last piece of corn bread.

every christmas

an old round tin arrived from that

chattanooga kitchen all tangled up with the smell

of time, wrapped in brown paper,

tied with tired

twine.

 

 

for as long as she lived,

they arrived like the last chorus to an ancient song.

her handwriting on the brown paper

wore away the years

until it barely recognized itself.

fruitcake dense with the work of her hands,

pecans from her trees.

trees where my brother and i fed squirrels

kneeling together,

almost like a prayer, quiet for the touch of something smaller than ourselves.

beside the long covered porch,  

grandfather on the metal glider committing us to a memory

we had to leave too soon.

 

endless road stops, the unfolding and refolding of maps,

sibling quarrels, car games,

a sketchbook within reach to draw pictures

of what i was sure waited.....

open windows without screens,

begging me to reach out and pick from the 

abundance of always blooming flowers.

warm night air whispering under the hem of stars.

a new neighborhood to wake up in the 

company of friends.

 

california.

sarah jane and her husband dan.

ancient, childless relatives on my mother's side.

we filled their san diego bungalow 

with the clamor of family life, as our house was built.

she filled my hands with needle and thread,

 the endless possibilities of imagination, cloth, and creation.

she filled my heart with the miracle of making,

the grace of sharing, the mercy of caring.

 

 
for one languid summer,

i lost myself in the sanctuary of their yard.

where abalone shells nested in the roots of fragrant trees

...that tossed their white flowers

spilling over me, over me...

the iridescent shell pools catching the warm air,

the tiny flowers...

the quiet voice of  solitary yesterdays.

where life held me suspended like a bookmark between chapters,

while sarah jane embossed my heart in the perfect art of belonging.

before i dove once again, flat out into the gregarious life of growing up.

 

sarah jane

i will never know

who needed the other more,

the childless wife or the friendless child.

but i  know this.

she was the open window, the warm air. she was the abundance

of always blooming flowers.

she was shelter and love that never left me,

kindness, mercy and compassion on

my road to belonging.

***

in the autumn of my life

the metal glider on the covered porch is not large enough 

to hold all the people, now alive only in memories, who have their hearts all tied up 

in the making of mine. 

as my sarah jane took me into the contours of her heart so long ago 

may we all

open our hearts to the world around us. 

may we throw open the doors to the house of belonging,

sit close together and stoke the fires of love.

 

 thanks too for the black and white photographs

that helped me share these memories.

i hope you will click on each one and marvel at the 

exquisite work of their hands and eyes. 

***

 

Comments

[Adriana Esqueda]

Beautiful memories you have shared, thank you.
May you have a wonderful Merry Christmas filled with wonderful new memories, my friend.
Adriana

[deb taylor]

oh my Beloved Rebecca....please write and publish a book so we can hold you and your precious heart in our hands. ~I love you~

[Magical Mystical Teacher]

Stoking the fires of love is honorable work any time of year. Merry Christmas!

[rochambeau]

Strange how fast everything we know can disappear. So eloquent and true! Wishing that you will be at peace making new memories this Christmas!

Love,
Constance

[olivia]

Thank you Rebecca, for sharing this bit of personal memories with us this Christmas---they are poignant and vivid and special. Thank you for all you do to share yourself and your love with us all year long. I treasure you, xoO

[Elizabeth]

This post should be a book in and of itself, Rebecca! There is just so much to read and savor, so much to see and wonder about. Lookout Mountain? I was married once to a boy from Signal Mountain, so I know that area well.

Anyhow, I hope you have a blessed Christmas with your beautiful family. Thank you for gracing my life.

[Stephanie]

You have a gift my friend...these words, as so many of yours, tell such beautiful stories. These photographs so perfectly illustrate your words.

Merry Christmas and may 2012 bring us more of YOU and our sharing here.
x..x

[Cheryl's Excellent Adventure]

Your story-telling is so rich and languid I sat in the car and watched you travelling. What a blessing it is to share these memories with you.

[Lenora]

I am sorry i have gotten back to your Friday Haiku, I tried to comment there but was unable so add mine here. The merriest of Christmas' to you and yours!

We have lit a candle for Joe and add our light. There is nothing stronger than the lectica of community thought, prayer, healing, which, having carried and been carried, I believe is a miracle of love, indeed love knows all seasons.

[leslie]

your memories are so vividly evocative... and you remind me that we are part of a bigger picture, being created in beauty through all the dark and light of life. thank you for believing in me... i made it to my family's Christmas celebration... exhausting, but worth it.

xoxox

[Noelle Clearwater]

I stopped what I was doing to search for your blog and I was, of course, arrested by awe and the pure and deep emotion that only the soul offers when a heart connection is made. Your journey of leaving one life for another, your father's deep and soulful memories so beautifully told, your grandmother's matriarchal and essential significance to the family and most of all, rebecca, the stories of Sarah Jane and your connection with her stole my heart and made me realize how one person's compassionate heart can transform a life. One person reaching out to another in love can make a temporary shelter into a House of Belonging.
xoxox,
Noelle

[Paula Scott: Molokai Girl Studio]

Always beautiful here.