Along the Way

along the way

.

along the way

we spied a trinket

embedded in the earth

and

scooping it up

it erupted light

and showered

fingers of music

.

we aquainted ourselves

with the miracle of birth

again, anew, afresh

the startling sensation

of family

of death, renewal

of the circles

time wraps around life

and into the tiny

fingernails

attached to seven pounds

of new fruit

new labor

new love

anouncing the beginning of

Nigel Yeats

April 24, 2010pictured here with his first cousin

Paige Brooklyn

age: 5 weeks

In Love With Trees

It's easy to fall in love with trees while strolling aimlessly about on a 1000-acre garden at the beginning of spring. That's what we decided to do for our last-chance get-away before our children outnumber us. (Longwood Gardens, PA) Like I told D, after this we won't have romance anymore. It'll just be arguing, macaroni & cheese and yelling at the kids from here on out. But if this really was our last fling - it was also our best. We soaked up acres of bloom and bud - slept in past 7 o'clock - and had a two-day uninterrupted conversation. We pretended to be first time parents while missing our children at home. I became reaquainted with my fascination with trees and bought a wonderful copy of A Natural History of North American Trees in which Donald Culross Peattie "writes about trees the way Thoreau writes about Walden Pond." We dreamt of the gardens in our future and wondered if heaven would be well-tended or wild. It was good to be in love and to love nature as much as we possibly could in one day, to "keep in the heart the journal nature keeps."

KEEP IN THE HEART THE JOURNAL - Conrad Aiken

Keep in the heart the journal nature keeps;

Mark down the limp nasturtium leaf with frost;

See that the hawthorn bough is ice-embossed,

And that the snail, in season, has his grief;

Design the winter on the window pane;

Admit pale sun through cobwebs left from autumn;

Remember summer when the flies are stilled;

Remember spring, when the cold spider sleeps.

Such diary, too, set down as this: the heart

Beat twice or thrice this day for no good reason;

For friends and sweethearts dead before their season;

For wisdom come too late, and come to naught.

Put down "the hand that shakes," "the eye that glazes";

The "step that falters betwixt thence and hence";

Observe that hips and haws burn brightest red

When the North Pole and sun are most apart.

Note that the moon is here, as cold as ever,

With ages on her face, and ice and snow;

Such as the freezing mind alone can know,

When loves and hates are only twigs that shiver.

Add in a postscript that the rain is over,

The wind from southwest backing to the south,

Disasters all forgotten, hurts forgiven;

And that the North Star, altered, shines forever.

Then say: I was a part of nature's plans;

Knew her cold heart, for I was consciousness;

Came first to hate her, and at last to bless;

Believed in her; doubted; believed again.
My love the lichen had such roots as I,-

The snowflake was my father; I return,

After this interval of faith and question,

To nature's heart, in pain, as I began.

On Nest Building

I have 15 minutes for this blog: forgive me.

Mr. Bird here - I've been looking for a nesting site for the past 3 months and I'm not sure even now if I've found it. I'm not sure of the validity of signing years of our lives away just so we can claim a place of our own and yet we need a nest. I grow weary of playing the game of real estate buying - agents, appraisals, preapprovals and counteroffers. (I like listening to Alexi Murdoch much better.) I was determined to have a real nest by the time we hatch our third egg - but I don't know if we will. but even if we don't - we have real love: love that's come through the wash time after time with amazing resilience. we are, after all, only passing through - and in about 40 years (if I'm lucky) I'll be in a wooden box in the ground. (correction: in a concrete vault in order to comply with water table restrictions - I don't want to have any of my entrails leaking into your drinking water after all) I'll keep looking for that nest.

Books and I: Why and Why Not

so this is the makeshift scrounged-up collection of books I found beside my bed that I'm trying to read currently (none of them completed). currently as in the last year or so. I'm not sure if it's a statement of who I am, who I want to be, or who I think I want to be. it may just be a little fantasy I cling to in which I trick myself into believing that I read lots of books, while at the same time a constant physical reminder that (in the words of Michael Ruhlman in HOUSE: A MEMOIR, yet another book that O. and I are trying to read through together before we run out of library renewals) "we have far more to do in our lives than there's time for." yes, I say, I agree mike. but here we digress. he pushes ahead, "given limited time, I determined to be organized about life, always to have a plan, always to be accomplishing something." while I consider myself to be determined, I hardly ever have a consistent plan, and seldom feel anything akin to accomplishment. (I should call this blog OUT OF TIME: MY FINITE COMPLAINTS)

I should try to remember that "the wise man reads both books and life itself." a proverb that stands politely on a bookmark given to me in a time period of my life when I had more books than life to read. surely, these two mediums are difficult to juggle fairly. it seems likely that while raising a young family, for instance, your books can easily become a stack of dust beside your bed. yet at the same time, there's life in abundance to read, if we can look at it that way. the question of import, then, would be, am I reading at all? am I thinking? am I exploring the crevices of my mind? of the world around me? (no, I'm trying to do loads of laundry and scrape sentences together for a blog while M., my nearly two-year old, stomps around in frustration trying to put on two different kinds of shoes and choking herself with a plastic clothes hanger, pawing at me but not allowing me to help her in any way)

but no matter how dusty my books become, I will always make room for their heavy boxes in the next moving truck, toting them from state to state, carrying them up and down apartment building steps. I will consistently and persistently check out more books from the library than I can possibly read and I will always dream about a time when I will be able to read that book I've had since 10th grade that I haven't opened, but sincerely believe it will help me to discover the secrets to life's mystery; although I grow less and less dependent on the answers I expect to find in my books and more interested in the relationship I can continue to develop with them: the comfort, comradery, understanding and challenge. there will always be a gasp in my chest when I step into a used book store, eyes wide and gleaming; like the time we went to Strand's in New York and I added to my collection of Hemmingway novels. Here are my current, dusty friends. THE OXFORD PROJECT PETER FELDSTEIN, STEPHEN G. BLOOM

a wonderful photographic depiction of the humanity in a small town of around 700 people frozen at two points in time, 1984 and 2005. very inspirational for my photography brain in thinking about the depth of humanity that can be captured and what can be done with it. bought with a gift card.

THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY
this is my "classics" assignment. one that I've never read but if the covers says "a terrifying answer to man's eternal questions, this monumental work remains the crowning achievment of perhaps the finest novelist of all time" I'd better at least try to read it. I've read enough Dostoevsky to know it will be worth the read, but I've only waded through about an eighth of the book. this is the kind of book that would be much easier to read in high school when there were large chunks of free time - not conducive to reading in small fragments, as Dostoevsky takes a long time to introduce characters and set up his plots. I forget them in the meantime. I think this is O.'s book.


SELECTED MODERN CHINESE PROSE WRITINGS

this is one I like to dip into from time to time. the Chinese thought and prose is always refreshing in its simplicity and depth. given to me by my sister who lived in China.

DOG TRAINING DORMAN PANTFOEDER

dog training is deceptively more difficult than books would tell you. not difficult in itself, but difficult in its demands for time and emotional commitment. dogs are like kids, they don't act exactly like the descriptions in parenting books. dog training is a process, and I'm trying to read this to help in the process. bought at discount at pet close-out sale.

THE ART OF THE PERSONAL ESSAY PHILLIP LOPATE

I bought this book at the college university bookstore while attempting to audit a writing class. the class didn't work out but I've found the book very inspirational for my writing brain. I didn't really know what a personal essay was before I bought the book but I think it could be a good medium for me. of special interest is George Orwell's "Such, Such Were the Joys" in which he depicts his childhoold experience growing up in school and the ways in which he navigated spiritual and moral formation. (I quote the title alot, sometimes it makes O. laugh sometimes it annoys her) another memorable moment was Virginia Woolf's question, "am I here, or am I there?" and her depiction of the fragmented self in "Street Haunting".

EAST OF THE SUN BENSON BOBRICK

the subtitle is a very fitting description. this is my "history" assignment. I borrowed the book from my mom who's interest in Siberia began with my sister's pursuit of life there. I found the early history of Siberia remarkable (and terrible) in its similarities to North American history.

CHIEF MODERN POETS OF ENGLAND & NORTH AMERICA SANDERS & NELSON

my "poetry" assignment. the prettiest book of them all and probably the cheapest. I bought it (or was it free) at a library sale in college. this book was published in the early 40's so in this case, "modern" refers to poets writing in the early 1900's. this is kind of like the Bible - you read a little here and there and never try to grasp it all at once.

THE CLOISTER WALK KATHLEEN NORRIS

my "spiritual" assignment. given to me by a friend, this book surprised me by it's exploration of what a poet (or artist or prophet) is. I like books that give you something you didn't know you were looking for - this would qualify as one of those.

THE STAY-AT-HOME DAD HANDBOOK PETER BAYLIES

my "practical" assignment. this guy is probably more organized than I'll ever want to be, but its almost always nice to hear from someone in your field. he doesn't give the patterns for making a matching shirt/baby outfit but I'll keep my eye out. got this one for a gift and it has some good, practical stuff in it.

Over Lunch with a Pediatrician

Over lunch we try to dream freely but not too desperately about the things we want to do with the house we hope to buy. Olivia astonishes me by wanting to have a "hosting night" once a week - presumably to host other human beings. in her plans for a children's garden, she explains the tension between organization and enough disorder and chaos that would allow room for the kids to experiment and explore on their own.

We imagine that we'll actually want a house that will take alot of work - we would rather avoid the pristine and packaged readiness of a modern home - if it's going to be our home, we want to put ourselves into it.

above Olivia's little cramped desk which sits in our little cramped bedroom overlooking Front Street, there hangs on the wall a densely printed photocopy that begins simply "The most important and effective action in neonatal resuscitation is ventilation of the baby's lungs with oxygen." things get a bit more complicated as the sheet continues with various diagrams, flowcharts and lists explaining how to assess the newborn, different actions to take depending on different presentations, intubation precedures and medications for resuscitation. although it doesn't happen very often, neonatal resuscitation is probably one of the scariest things about being a young pediatrician. but Olivia puts it right there where she can see it every day - I imagine it gives here a sense of perspective, but it also reflects her determination to face what she sometimes refers to as "the abyss."

the other day she wrote, "I am a physician in need of meaningful work, something that will make me proud to come home to my husband and children. Something that will give me stories to tell. Something that will let me stir the quiet pool of Truth with my extended index finger, even if only to see a few ripples result. I am learning to listen to the chattering voices of the Abyss, because they have a message to tell me. Instead of screaming in terror and fighting, I am willing now to lay my head agains the cool granite wall of the cliff and, panting, listen for a melody rising from the murmuring below as it crescendos and decrescendos in my consciousness."

above the photocopied neonatal resuscitation paper is a little wall of quotes, scribbled on pastel-colored sticky notes. These are the ones I like the best:

"The end of wisdom is to dream high enough to lose the dream in the seeking of it."

-William Faulkner

"It's not by imitating anyone that you'll open anything at all. One doesn't buy keys, one makes them for himself."

-Elie Weisel

"I have nothing against questions: they are useful. What is more, they alone are. To turn away from them would be to fail in our duty, to lose our only chance to be able to lead an authentic life."

-Elie Weisel

As I sit across the table from her, at Mya's cafe, enjoying a good thick cheesburger, I admire the way her face has become the face of a woman. There is wisdom sprouting at the corners of her eyes, a mysterious depth that falls away behind her pupils, a sense of rest and identity that is beginning to play into her smile. Her cheeks are flush with pregnancy hormones as she carries our third child and I am stunned. I like the way she believes in key-making and wants desperately to take her chance at leading an authentic life.