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Blue skies in the morning,
with a touch of pink cotton colored clouds.
Even when one doesn't expect a miracle-- the morning sun shines out shame on you!
With that I laugh, Good Morning Sunshine!
Who would have known that today would look like wonderland?
There is a difference between letting go and giving up.
It is as if my father is at the base of Mount Everest. His heart, mind and lungs seem to send a call out by taking a step forward with desire and courage. The rest of his body, though weak, responds by trying to follow along.
The other part of his body that is weaker fails him and puts him back at base camp. He regains some strength and tries again.......
Bearing witness to my father's desire to live is a balancing act of amazing grace and sweet sorrow, between wanting to hold on for him and surrendering. It is love that drives him, it is courage that beckons us to follow.
Mount Everest (as my brother Zane calls it,) looms, haunts, teases... though I believe one day my father will stand upon it and soak up the purest of light and fly home.
Dear Readers,
Thank you for your love and support. Your words, thoughts, wishes and or prayers towards my father and family, have been felt like a healing balm upon us.
My father's well being is in God's hands now. I pray that the path ahead of him be filled with a soothing light leading him peacefully to wherever God might lead him.
These next few days will be the longest journey as my father holds on amongst the greatest of odds.
Thank you for your abundant support.
Corey
My thoughts are swirling with emotion and memory, in and out they come like a tide that swells then crashes on the beach and is slowly pulled back to the sea. The flood gate of who I am opens and endless water rushes forth, at a speed that I cannot contain. I am finding it very hard to post...my mind and heart are far away... drifting- drifting- eventually coming up for air on a distant shore that I have not walked upon.
When life throws you a lemon catch it.
In a saute pan swirl chopped garlic and walnuts. Which will give them a chance to share perfumed notes with one another.
When the two are golden brown let a river of cream flow over them. Though before the cream should start to boil add the juice of the lemon that you caught- nice and steady as not to curdle the cream and spoil the fun.
As the cream thickens toss in spoonfuls of freshly grated Parmesan and a half of a spoon of grated lemon rind.
Serve it over hot al dente pasta and have a loaf of crusty bread to soak up every ounce of the lemon walnut sauce.
Exact measurements are not might style, thought I figure if the ingredients are fresh it seldom matters.
Anyone who knows me knows I fall asleep at the wheel. Driving to the airport from my home and back is not something I could do without pulling over a million times. With that I would need to drink gallons of Coca Cola and eat Cocoa Puffs just to stay semi awake.
Anyone who knows my sister in law Diane knows she can do more in a day than most could do in a week. Diane is someone who lends a hand even when her hands are full, she gives without counting the cost and she can drive hours on end without blinking an eye.
My little family will be under her wing as she drives them to San Francisco to catch the plane back to France.
Note: The photo of Diane is from last summer. By the way I think the French word for sister in law is better. In French sister in law is "Belle Soeur," which means: Beautiful Sister.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Thank you for your many prayers and loving words, it is like being surrounded by a guiding light. Please know that your comments and emails are appreciated greatly.
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Later note: The expression "when it rains it pours" hits home today! Northern California is experiencing a storm, not as bad as the one they had a few weeks ago, but nevertheless 55mph winds, the likes of a deluge that I have never seen. I wish we didn't have to drive anywhere. Scary stuff! I am trying to convince my Mother that she cannot drive to the hospital today. I don't want anyone on the road... I don't know what car to get into: To drive with my sister in law to the airport three hours away, or to drive with my Mother (who is determine to go to the hospital)? Obviously I won't fall asleep in the car today...when it rains it pours!
Later: A break in the weather, I came to the hospital with my Mother, and my sister in law took my family to the airport. All is good.
French Husband and the children, the little bit of France that has been with me while in California, leave for France on Sunday. It will feel strange to be here without them... In the twenty years that I have lived in France I have only been "home to California" twice without my family. Once was for my Father's 7Oth birthday and the other time was for my dear Aunt Frannie's funeral.
Before French Husband and I were married we knew we would reside in France...though I had no idea that we were going to live in France for the rest of our lives. The rest of my life! ...can you imagine such a change of pace? I honestly believed that we would live in France for a few years then return to California and live here for the rest of our lives.
When the reality dawned on me that the land of antiques and baguettes was going to be my home for a very very very long time I made French Husband promise me one thing- That we would "come home" to visit my family at least once a year. That promise has stayed true and firm.
That promise allows our children to know my family intimately, it also enabled them to experience two cultures, and if the real truth be known it gave me a strong shot of love American style.
When you live far from home, and I mean faraway from home you know there is always a good reason to go back to visit everyday. You soon realize that 22 hours is equal to a journey to the moon. You soon swallow the reality that just because you would love to watch your godchild make his first communion, or see one of your best friend marry, or celebrate your brother's 4Oth, or your brother's super cool Halloween party, or your first cousin's autumn get- together, or your 3Oth class reunion... you simply cannot come back for 95% of the collective memory making that will happen everyday forever. When you live faraway from home you will miss many things that connect you to who you are, and many more moments that will connect you to the collective unconsciousness of your family and friends. The reality of that knowledge can be a hard bite to swallow most of the time.
So when my father took ill, and the days turned into weeks and the weeks ahead have no end in sight- French Husband and I are facing a twist we knew might happen one day- I will stay in California and they will go back to France. The journey ahead is a beautiful mystery- I sure hope to have the courage and grace to walk it.
Driving from my childhood home to the hospital takes about 4O minutes. Some say they can do the drive in 3O minutes but I haven't mastered that kind of record since I was in my 2Os. The ride is pure country. The long straight back roads I know by heart. The countryside is laced with stark naked orchards, barns, rice fields waiting for the rush of spring, and the distant Sierra mountains.
As we drive to the hospital early in the morning I watch the farms play dot to dot while stories of people and places flood my veins causing my heart to throb.
Home. The sky is different, the smell is different, the sounds are defintely different. It is sacred ground, it is freedom, it is my homebase. It is part of the core of my being, it is me.
Over one hundred visitors have come to see my father in the hospital. A never ending flow of hello-how's-your-father-how-are-you-thanks-for-coming-see-you-later-goodbye.
The country side, the large family, the ache of my father's illness, the daily drive and to boot the car radio cranking out oldies is like an open flood gate of memories and feelings....I have used more than a few tissues to soak up my emotions these days.
Taking a button she crocheted around it in blue and added a tiny gold bird... then she tossed it into the button jar and left it up in the attic. As she walked down the stairs she smiled knowing that one day someone would find it and smile.
My Mother's garden allows one to breath in and feel the certainty of its roots. It doesn't pretend to be pretty only in springtime. No no no, instead it shows its beauty in each season. A wise lady my Mother is.
Her garden seems to say, "What you plant will sprout and bloom one day." At least that is what I feel it says when I stop and listen. Yes it reaffirms that life is more than here and now.
You see my mother's garden is not full of delicate blooms, nor is it romantic or tender. It is worn true, evergreen, with out fanfare it shows its simple truth- Blooming where it is planted, doing so happy go lucky style. No buts about it my Mother's garden is what it is...noble without being stuffy or arrogant. It seems to holler, "Take your shoes off and stay awhile why don'cha!"
The comfort of simple truths. The pleasure to just be and not to have to worry about anything. To sit in the sun and see it light the path. Why yes to be a lily of the field is a tremendous advantage.
Photos: My mother's garden.
