one day dreams: iceland's ring road

on the first real morning of our new england trip last autumn, robert and i found ourselves face-to-face across the table with a pair of sweet newlyweds. bed and breakfasts are always slightly awkward, but they made the morning fun and we talked until ten when they had to set off on their honeymoon.

to iceland.

they told us of the ring road, and how they were driving around it over a period of a few weeks. we exchanged smiles and well wishes, and they went on their way, riding away from the old house on a bicycle built for two. it was a brief exchange, just a few hours with feta omelets and orange juice in the early, foggy new england dawn.

when we got somewhere with internet access, we googled it. and lo and behold, this is my new dream:

one, two, three, four

i'll be eating soup for lunch for the rest of my days to afford airfare to iceland, but i hope somewhere that couple is living sweet married life together, and that they took a good camera on their trip.

a search for a scent

 xxx

love,

my sister has found her scent. it's rare pearls by avon. and it is lovely and fresh, like clean sheets on a spring evening. her children will come to associate her with it and will keep a special bottle in their medicine cabinets when they get older, unscrewing the lid just to smell her.

but i'm still searching for mine. between the too spicys and too sweets. between the victoria's secret and bath and body works concoctions and the cosmetics counter vials. i haven't found it yet, and i fear time is running out. to create that lifelong relationship with a perfume takes time. wearing it to church and also to ballgames. to work and to weddings. and not growing tired or bored of it, as i tend to do.

maybe i'll never find it. maybe my children will always remember me by the clothesline, smelling of detergent and grass. maybe you'll remember the way the fire smelled that time i burnt the caramels in the kitchen. maybe my scent will be a marriage of many, many times. of cinnamon rolls and apple orchards. of sea salt and potting soil. night air and summer rain.

that's not to say i won't continue the search, because i think it a lovely notion. but while i'm looking, breathe me in deep no matter the circumstance. maybe one day we will find a way to bottle life.

wishing, and hoping, and thinking and praying

images found on the fabulous preservation north carolina web site.

robert and i talked for an hour as we walked along the country roads near our house. we waited until the sun was setting so the heat had a chance to cool and the wind picked up a bit. we talked about work, and about dreams. about the palatable, often indelible difference between the two. about working to make a living and simply living. and, as we tend to do when the stars start appearing and honeysuckle wafts in the air, we started dreaming. about owning a farm, and living off the land. about opening up a little diner, and, one of my favorites, bringing back the dying breed of drive-in movie theaters.

but we kept coming back to one idea.

a used book store with room to study. with long, old wooden tables and deep green library lamps. with low-sitting vintage sofas and a little coffee shop in the back. because it was our dream and therefore totally malleable, we envisioned a wing off the back where we could finally let pablo run off leash.

we pictured going to work together, and raising children among the shelves. bringing them with us and letting them sort and organize the titles. of little girls raised on laura ingalls wilder and boys on mark twain.

then, we reached mama and dad's house and just as quickly and arbitrarily as the dream began, it was over. replaced with pablo tugging on the leash and pulling us toward the front door. with chocolate ice cream cones and conversations on bar stools.

but it's still there. tucked away into some recess of my spirit that i may or may not tap into one day. in a shop not unlike the one above, an abandoned grocery store a few cities away from my own.

i may never reach the point where my work, home and dream life intersect perfectly and in succinct harmony. but i'm okay with that. because it's the reaching, the day-in/day-out good, clean living and prayers whispered at midnight that keep me hopeful. and if we never own that book store? life is still pretty dreamy, achingly so. right now, the dream looks like a sleepy dog wrapped up at my heels and the soothing hum of the shower. who knows what the dream looks like 10, 15, 20 years from now? only the good Lord, and that's enough to make this daydream believer happy.

a realization at 2 a.m.

there are moments when i think i'll never be able to be a parent. when the pleasures of staying up and sleeping in, spending my money on myself, and traveling on a dime weave themselves into my fancy. when i look at my own mama and wonder how to measure up. when i see all that the world is coming to and think about the cold future. when i look at my shortcomings, failures and inadequacies. for instance, my stutter makes me hate the phone. what will i do that day my daughter asks me to call and see if her friend can come over for a playdate? will i make robert do it? will she, in turn, love him more?

there are nights, when everyone is asleep and my little road is jet black and silent. when something catches me awake and i can't return to the comfort of my unconscious. when i stare at the ceiling, red alarm clock light bouncing off. and wonder about things like this, though i'm nowhere near pregnant.

but last wednesday night, pablo ate some dove chocolate, tinfoil included. six pieces, and he was up all night sick. and i laid, outside of the covers, on his little pallet, and rubbed his back for two hours. my feet cold, with robert slumbering unaware, mere inches away. i went outside with him at 2 a.m. and fed him at 3. i looked into his big eyes and reassured him with soft coos.

and i thought to myself, maybe i've got a little more mama in me than i thought.

there is a reason strong moves slow

i want a tire swing in the backyard.

i want to wash off dirty feet in the laundry room sink. i want to pack lunches before the sun comes up. i want to make up lullabies with moonlight streaming in through plastic blinds. with my hands folded under a floral pillowcase and a warm baby's breath melting against my cheek. to wear aprons and tie my hair in loose buns. i want to look good in the kitchen. confident.

i want all these things. one day.

but for right now:

there's a clothesline in the backyard. i fold blankets over it during summer days and let my dresses dry in the sunshine. we don't have a sink in our laundry room. but we do have homemade curtains and a warm rug. i pack my own lunches, usually racing against the clock to make it to work. but every morning, there's a bowl of warm oatmeal at my desk, with blueberries and sugar swirled in.

robert's exhales tickle my cheek. when we finally make it to bed around midnight, a sleepy pablo quick on our heels. we talk for hours into the darkness, our words echoing in the black room. our room right outside the work shed, with the flood light spilling in.

and i'm learning in the kitchen. with every splatter and total mess, with every victory and cake that rises properly, i learn more about myself and feel more like my mama.

so maybe my one-day wishes are a little different. maybe i'm still muddling my way through my twenties and figuring it out hour by hour, looking for the glimmers of hope that come when the smoke clears.

but these are blessed days too. and i'm glad they're moving along slowly. to savor. the desires of my heart take time, as most desire do. and when these days are gone, and replaced by new times, new houses, new faces and new expectations, i will mourn for them. mourn for the days when it was just me and robert. miss the flood light outside and the shrubs that bloom in april.

but i'll also smile.

and swing, in my backyard, with  my head thrown back laughing.