Sunday, August 8, 2010

Who, Being Loved, is Poor? (Oscar Wilde)

I have missed you, my shadow friends. My month’s hiatus from blogging wasn’t intentional but circumstances have conspired to create a cycle of unwritten words. It has been a chunk of life clothed in weeks nursing my ill mother (happily doing well now), and welcoming with open arms and heart and feet and soul, my grandsons for a glorious extended visit. This all interwoven with blessings in the shape and form of assorted other family and friends.

This baptism of welcome has created within our new place, connections which are imprinting a real sense of home and belonging.

So many wonderful moments we have shared:

An amazing day trip with our grandsons on a completely restored 1912 Steam Locomotive. Crossing the South Thompson River, meandering through the beautiful Okanagan and Kettle Valley completely surrounded by mountains at every turn; each hiss and rumble of the journey a joy.

Countless golden afternoons at the beach, the air shimmering with heat. Swimming, building sandcastles, wet sand between toes and fingers. Towels spread, the coconut scent of sun tan lotion, iced tea and fresh apricots.

My four year old grandson improvising one of his instinctive songs as he digs and pats the sand. His song reflecting the throb of the rippled waves, his own heartbeat, the whole sky.

Eating outside on warm, languid evenings. Blueberry stained faces and sunkissed skin.

Walks after dinner. The blues of the water and the greens of the lawns, the pinks and purples and oranges of the manicured city gardens popping in the light.

Bedtime rituals of baths and stories and tucking-in. Muffled giggles and thumps. Finally, the boys sweetly sleeping.

Playing cards and drinking wine with friends, sharing stories which scratch the surface of rich language and metaphor.

Laughter and tears; the ordinary preciousness and fragility of human life. Life burned into minds and hearts. Like thunder, cracking open, pouring rain down to drench the world, and then standing still, hushed, soaked, alert.

This is love.