She Rises

 She Rises

What a gift, a sun that is setting.

Just before she carries herself to another place,

She sets herself on fire, instructs the clouds to rise,

And shows her true colors for only the mystical souls,

The few patient enough to remain captivated by her,

even in her time of departure, demise, rest.

Yet determined, after revealing, reflecting her inner most colors,

Only to surrender them to darkness,

She rises, once more, waking us all to hope,

and the prospect of bringing, of being, the light.

What a gift, a sun that is setting.

What a triumph, she rises again.

-CMM

(Southern Chester County, PA - 10.4.24

I Remember my Grandfather..

 I was asked to write to the prompt - “I remember my grandfather.” The timing uncanny, as if the universe was conspiring to consolidate a train of thought needed the most, that had been locked far away in long term memory, surfacing in small snippets, in synchronicities unplanned, in dreams unrealized, in needs unmet. “Write to the edge, no editing, just see what surfaces.” I did and here is what surfaced. I’ll edit endlessly from here, but I share candidly for those connections who knew him, my Pop Pop Courtie, as all of these words will resonate, and for anyone else that needs to prompt the memory of their grandfather. Here is your reminder from the universe.

Courtland Michener

I remember my grandfather… in a hug, he gave the best ones.

He had four fingers on one hand, a machinery injury childhood folklore is made of, but it didn’t impact his firm hold, only made it stronger, more mystical, authentically his.

I remember him in a cup of tea, and a joke from the end of the dining room table, and each time a tractor passes by. In every corn field. In every diner where breakfast is served. In storytelling.

I remember him in every sarcastic joke and his boyish grin. He held the quickest wit.

He is in a base guitar, and a band, the jitter bug and my love for dancing.

He is in a chorus and all music.

He is in every big white laundry room farm sink, and large back deck for iced tea, and dog, and work boots and landscaping in front of bay windows, in long driveways.

I remember him in the vast yard on the hill by their sign - Quaker Acres - his tall, lanky framed silhouette moving through the yard, by the barn.

I remember him in work, hard work, family work, farm work, yard work, God’s work.

I remember him pulling the tin squares out of the barn to the yard, those that would transform to baseball bases, as the vast yard turned into the diamond, set by the cornfield, as the fireflies danced, and so too did our childhood bliss, as even the adults would join in on the game.

I remember my grandfather in every gas tank and the smell of gasoline.

I remember him in every willow tree. In every breezeway, holiday, and fireplace conversation surrounded by family. At every snack table.

I remember him as pure, protective, joyous, hilarious. My grandfather was love, gentle, patient, kind, strong love.

I remember my grandfather, each time someone says my name, his Court, Courtie, and Courtland.

I remember how he loved the picture I made, that I gave to him as he laid sick in the bed. I remember how I wanted to mend him. I remember the night we rang in a new year and Dad came home late, alone. I remember how the door sounded closing, announcing his leaving. My Dad lost his best friend and I would never be able to fix it. I remembered writing then and my childhood words still sit in the journal, waiting to be revisited. This is the day there would only be the remembering. I remember how I couldn’t breathe at the thought of no more Pop Pop hugs, no more grandfathers. I remembered, by calling to me his memory, that even then, I was writing to survive.

He was salt of the earth he tended so well. He was known by all, his gregarious energy drawing in everyone he ever met, one of the many gifts he passed to my father. He was loved by all. I remember my grandfather… and am thankful my writing journey had me pull him from the constellation of my memory this week, perhaps when I needed him the most.

Jack gets his License

 “On the night you were born the night wind whispered life would never be the same, for there had never been anyone like you ever in the world, and there never would be, not ever again” Moms swoon for the lyrical nature of this book, myself included.  I received it at a baby shower, from my Mom, and still have it on the bookshelf in my hallway, 16 years later. I’ve read it incessantly to all of the kids.  

I remember rocking Jack, just a few days old, crying my eyes out on his perfect skin, as the sunlight reached in his nursery window onto my ravaged body and raging hormones, and reading this book to him for the first time.  Life would never be the same, not after you feel the love that accompanies the title of mother, that’s for sure. You have no idea what you are signing up for as you dream of motherhood, but when it arrives, it is not usually in the form of night winds whispering. The nights are long, and loud, roaring rather, at times.  Jack dealt roaring nights the best from the first night he arrived, and most thereafter, my son who held on the longest to my core, nested so close to my heart he didn’t want to leave, and he stayed grumpy and colicky about it for 8 months thereafter.  Unless in my arms, he screamed.  Even in my arms, sometimes, he screamed.  And then, in time, we figured it all out.  Kindred souls, learning the ways of soothing each other and, well, we’ve been doing it ever since. 

His anxiety was high in his younger years.  He screamed at the thought of leaving me more often than I like to recall.  He wouldn’t go into the daycare, get on the bus without an epic battle, …or be away at all, without panic attacks. They were tragic, all encompassing and soul ripping for him, for me, and anyone in the vicinity of us.  We learned self soothing, and mind tricks, and talking our brains out of the darkness, together, arm in arm, side by side, rocking, grounding, and with love.  He would beg me to stay for one more minute each night at bedtime, and I did.  His curiosity insatiable, his needs clearly stated, his jokes ridiculous, his safety provided in good, safe company.  

And slowly, he transformed, as children do, on their own time, with simply my unconditional, all encompassing love, my extreme patience, his creative genius, his love of learning, his grit, quiet soul, quick wit and most loving nature of any human soul to walk the earth. He is gentle, kind, incredibly humble, too smart for most revelry, and the world tosses him around, as it does all of us, and I worry.  But, each day now, I stand on my tippy toes to hug his ever growing 6’3” frame and he steals my breath, as he has all he needs in his arsenal now, and everyday he shows me this.  He keeps me steady, his curiosity still insatiable, his reading of me and the ways of the world uncanny, his conversation still the absolute best. 

So, we raise our kids to fly and we know this, yet each chapter, each milestone, each moment of mothering, something new hits me right in my core, the reminder that in doing it right, there is an elixir of joyful agony in the…letting go. The timekeeper appears in the background unexpectedly, the one we know so well, that greeted us with motherhood, the one who looked over me as a young first time mother and whispered, “Savor this, enjoy this, bottle it up, you will miss it, the years will fly by”…he paid me a visit today.  He sat on my shoulder for a bit, in a parking lot, and with my Mom by my side, we looked on. The time marched. The car pulled away and then the driver's license was granted.  The road trip is officially in his hands.  

The time keeper was there to remind me of the journey Jack and I have been on in this #OneBeautifulLife for 16 years.  He reminded me that he has transformed into an awe-inspiring young man and in the…letting go, there is so much agonizing beauty.  Trust the journey in this #OneBeautifulLife my Jack.  There is no one like you in the world.  The night winds will whisper, and roar, and you’ll handle them.  Cheers to the new found freedom of an open road. 

Keep showing me how to be a Mom, the superpower of my first born son.  I’ll be here loving you with my whole heart, always.  

And so it goes, as the time keeper marches on.