Mom

Today, January 9, 2016, would have been Mom's 86th birthday.  She passed away at the end of January, 2010, six years ago.  Lately, I've been thinking that of the many things she taught me, one I value most is simply to be kind.

I wanted to honor her, and remember her birthday today, by doing some things that I know she would have enjoyed.  The first three that came to mind were reading a book, going for a walk, and playing piano.

This morning I spent a couple of hours reading, enjoying the quietness, focus, and process of letting ideas come into my mind.  Two of the cats joined me, and I thought of Mom and her cats.

A mid-afternoon walk took me down into the park and around through the neighborhood on a route I seldom take.  The winter woods are quiet, resting.  The clear creek waters flow bubbly and quick over riffles; slow and calm through pools.  Crows caw high in the trees. The earth was soft and yielding after a few days of damp weather.

 I walked further, toward a large tree whose main trunk branched into a "Y."  I saw a squirrel run headlong down the left branch of the Y, then leap several feet across to the other branch, rattling the English ivy.  My first reaction was to marvel at the agility of the the leap.  My second was that it seemed a little unusual - the squirrel was high up and in no danger - usually they'll just pause and watch, perhaps moving around the trunk and out of sight.  Then I realized that I couldn't see the squirrel.  Had my attention wandered and it ran off?  I moved to a position where there was better light to see the ivy covered trunk.  No squirrel - but then I noticed a small hole in the trunk, perhaps three inches tall and a little narrower.  Ahh, there was an explanation for the flying leap.  The squirrel was simply moving as quickly as possible to the safest place it knew.

Mom enjoyed squirrels too.  In Kansas, she used to set out dried ears of corn and sunflower heads for them to eat in the winter.  I closed the walk on the front step, turning to look out at the world and thanking Mom for giving me the gift of being alive.

I played the piano, improvising in my own way, as Mom loved to do in hers.  In later years, whenever I went home I tried to find a way to make some music together with her.  As I finished playing, I held the sustain pedal, closed my eyes and listened to the resonant sound of the chord slowly fade, and fade as my eyes teared up.

Later in the day, another task appeared that reminded me of Mom - a basket of laundry to fold.  Joy in the simple things.