We drive through the Skagit Valley, getting off the main roads and into the farmland. I am happy to discover there are birds everywhere. He stops, backs up, and turns around when I ask. There is a sprinkling of snow on the mountain tops surrounding the valley, but I can feel spring around the corner. We stop on our way home and buy one espresso milkshake (for lunch!), and share it. When we get home I soak some lentils, bought at the India market yesterday, and make Dal for dinner. As the house fills with warming spices I feel a bit settled, allowing the goodness of the last few days to wash over me.
We meet at the new India grocery store in town and wander the isles together. Afterwards, I take him to lunch and we talk and talk. Later on I remind myself that how important it is for me to spend time alone with my boys from time to time. Time to enjoy the men they have become, and remember the little boys they once were.
He follows me home and we spilt up the goodies we bought at the store (bags of beautiful lentils and tiny split peas). A light dusting of snow starts to fall as he leaves and I take my camera out to the hellebores to help me hold on to the day.
“There was a vase of flame-coloured tulips in the hall – surely the most graceful of flowers. Some thrust their heads forward like snakes, and some were very erect, stiff, virginal, rather prim. Some were dying, with curved grace in their death.”
— Jean Rhys
As the tulips die …
The neighbors told me I would grow tired of them,
but here we are, going on five years now,
and I still stop what I am doing to watch them.
There were 12 in the yard last night.
This one was wondering where the apples were.
Lately I have been using my phone more and more for taking photos. For one thing, it is always with me. At first it felt a little bit like cheating, but once I started doing a bit of research into how to actually use the camera on my phone, I started having lots of fun.
Many iPhone users suggest holding the camera upside down for some shots, which creates a great perspective. I have had fun with portrait mode, playing with different light, bokeh and blur, and I am finally learning to use night mode.
I tend to take different kinds of photos with my cell phone. tiny snippets of my life rather than focusing on an object that evokes something within me. And every few months I print them off and put them on the fridge. So fun!
“I don't know why people are so obsessed with age anyway. I mean, 90 is the new 70 70 is the new 50 and 50 is the new 40 so the whole act-your-age thing? Only up to a point.”
- Joan Collins
He turned 70 last week and as I will follow suite in just a mere six months. I have been spending some time thinking about how age is different than growing older. I mentioned a few posts ago how I was finding it easier to accept the changes that growing older brings with it, after all, I have been growing older since the day I was born. But grasping that number 70, and the preconceptions I have about it when it comes to age, rattled me a bit. So, I did a little research, and it seems 70 is the new 60, some even say it is the new 50. It just comes with a few more doctor appointments, (along with some new screenings,)new glasses every year, and a couple of daily pills to keep you going.
Luckily I can live with those things without too much stress.
We spend the morning making Valentines, talking about the people we love, and how love makes us feel. After lunch I get out my mom’s old button box and I let him play. We sort them by color, working together side by side, talking. Sometimes he holds one up, asking what it came off of, and I do my best to remember. I tell him the button box is a symbol of love for me, a way I remember my mother, wondering how I explain love to a four year old? But he doesn’t question this and seems to understand. Later, after he has gone home, I think about how I am building memories for him. I wonder what he will remember about a table full of cut out hearts, purple glue-sticks and stickers. I wonder if he will remember the button box. I wonder what he will remember about me.