Wee One (WO) and I stole outside one morning a few weeks ago, right before the rain. It was muggy but there was a bit of a breeze on the flat land of the playground. She was swinging and I was pushing her baby doll in the swing next to her – at her request – reflecting on pushing that same swing with her as a toddler.
There’s a stream that pops up near the playground and winds through the neighborhood. Pushing the baby doll was meditative, and I reflected on the relationship we had formed with the area.
I am learning, on the Twittersphere, and one of the fucking consequences of overturning Roe v. Wade is that uterus-having patients with lupus and other kinds of rheumatoid issues are being denied medication – needed medication – because these meds MIGHT cause a miscarriage. Not that these people are trying or want to become pregnant, not they they are pregnant, but just the fucking uterus inside them is enough.
There are, obviously, a lot of games Wee One and I play, and stories we play with. One of them, on a night I don’t want to forget, I’m sharing here. Wee One asked me to tell her an “Evie and Violet story” (two imaginary little girls who have adventures I make up) and her eyes were so wide as she stared off into the distance, imagining what I was saying.
During the the church service this week, (actually August 2021, but whatever,) the scripture talked about a woman who had leavened bread and referred to abundance, about having things in abundance, even when you think you don’t
I’ve had experiences with abundance that these stories make me remember. I’m sure I’ve had more, but particularly on the road. It’s on of my favorite things about being on the road.
Another college dream fulfilled: seeing Tori Amos in concert.
First, I eat at Veritas-a lobster roll and potato buds, a delicious rose cocktail.
Meet a beautiful woman, Kelly, as I eat. She shall become a character in a story: Dr. English, an anthropologist who studied tribal dance and left academia to become a massage therapist. As a healer both through movement and touch, she appreciates how plants can be healing.
Most of the people here look like me: women in their 40s, sort of hippie-ish. I wish I could tell me younger self: even if you feel like you don’t fit in, be you. You do. You’re glorious, and living your truth now will only reinforce your joy later.
Wee One is in first grade, has been all year (sniff) and this first proper spring break, I wanted to start to a tradition of taking her traveling. I remember spring break road trips with my parents, even my absent father. (Maybe that’s the reason I remember them. He was never around for anything else.)
But this Backpacker turned Mama is gonna show my girl the ropes!
I was walking Wee One to school this morning, and I pointed out to her something that I love to look at in the snow: when a blade of grass casts a shadow on the snow. A thin little blade of grass. A narrow and delicate shadow on the sparkling snow.
She said, “So you’re in love with grass shadows?”
Not as much as I am in love with you, child, but yes. I am.