My Lake Muse: The Idaho in Me

I used to write poetry. Some of it was marginally good. Some dear souls have told me it was better than marginally good, but I have my doubts. I haven't written much poetry the past few years. I've written some to the boys on their birthdays that I will share with them one day, and I used to write a poem each year on my birthday, but that's about it. I miss it. (I did write and share this poem about not writing poetry a couple years ago.)

Today we returned from our Independence Day week at Smith Mountain Lake. There's just something about a lake that brings out whatever is left of the poet in me. One morning I woke before my loud, vacationing monsters and had my coffee in solitary silence as the lake woke up. I was thinking about Idaho, because most of my childhood Fourths of July were spent on Coeur d'Alene Lake at my grandparents' house. The smells and sounds and sights of the two most influential-to-me Idaho places came back to me there on the front porch overlooking the lake. And I managed to not only write them down, but to revise them, and keep the folded-up piece of paper safely stowed in my suitcase until we got home.

The Idaho in Me

When I’m dead and

gone

I want someone who loved me

to read this and

feel

the thick chill of spring mornings

on West Hatter Creek

as the day crept

silently across the gravel,

the packed dirt.

As sunshine summoned mist,

that army of tiny, connected apparitions,

up and up

from their night on the rocks,

on the patchy grass,

the weeds.

From the stately purple Irises

guarding the

wet black

mailbox.

I want someone I love to

hear

the similar but different

hum of summer mornings

on Bloomsburg Bay

as sun polished the

glass of the

uninterrupted lake.

As beach waves

nibbled

impatiently

at the pebbly sand.

As motor boats drew

small, disheveled sleepers like me

back to yesterday’s games

of tag and make-believe

under secrets of the

cherry tree leaves.

These are my quiet

mornings of the

Idaho

in me

and I want

you

to know them too.

My boating boys this weekend

Water and Suchnot

First, some background on the clever little non-word suchnot: On our honeymoon we took a tour of Volcanoes National Park in Hawaii and were fortunate enough to have a fabulous tour guide. She was plump and in-charge. I’ll call her Wanda to preserve her anonymity. At one point as we were on the little bus, Wanda stood up in her faded Wal-Mart genuine Hawaiian print shirt to make an announcement about something we were seeing out the window and out of her mouth came the word, “suchnot” along with whatever else we were supposed to be looking at. But we didn't need to look at anything else. Brian and I were delighted to hear it and from then on we occasionally use the non-word word in our daily conversation.

Enough about that.

Really, Mom and Dad? More water?

An update on boys’ water-phobia: we took a trip to Brian’s parents’ lake house this past week. The first day they played in the sand on the beach, completely happy and immediately responding, “NO!” when asked about going near the water. Gammy tried luring them into the water by playing catch from knee-deep in the water. Cousins were frolicking in the water. Brian was jet skiing in the water. Aunts were kayaking in the water. Cal and Clark were sand-flinging and sifting, a good 15 yards from shore. Eventually they were tricked lovingly coaxed into putting their little toes in the water as they retrieved balls from Gammy. One tiny step for them; one giant leap for their water-phobia’s demise.

Other noteworthy events from the week:

·         Cal emphatically said he wanted to go on the jet ski with Brian, boldly climbed on, and absolutely loved it. Clark didn’t want anything to do with it the first day, but the second day he climbed bravely on also. During the second trip on the jet ski, Cal ordered Brian to stay out in the lake and squealed in fear and wet his pants like his mom does on jet skis, shrieked with courageous joy as they went over the waves. So for whatever reason the boys are okay with rapidly moving, deep, dangerous water and spraying wakes, but deathly afraid of the shallow beach water. Just another riddle to solve in the puzzles of their little minds. (I have some great pictures of the boys on the jet ski that I will put on this post as soon as I get them.)

·         They both loved the boat rides with Poppy and Cal especially enjoyed “driving” on Poppy’s lap.

Victory at sea lake! Toes in water

·         Clark fell off the dock. We think he was trying to climb up a set of stairs that leads from the main dock to the floating dock where everyone was sitting waiting for a boat ride. I turned around for a split second to jump up the stairs and grab something, looked back, and he was gone. He fell into the water by the stairs, and under the taller dock. The lifejacket flipped him right over onto his back and I flew down the stairs and skidded on my knees like a drunk bear cub a lightning-quick superhero across the dock to pull him out. He was shaken up of course, but he actually recovered faster than I did. What struck me was not only how quickly he disappeared off the dock, but also how he was literally several feet from five other people when he fell in and I think Brian, on the other side of the dock and I were the only ones to notice he was gone. It was so easy for him to go unnoticed.

·         Clark discovered air hockey and I think he’ll be a star as soon as he can do more than stand on his tiptoes to look over the table and watch his cousins.

·         I was reminded of how seductively silent a lake can be when I’m on it alone and how beautiful the sound of gently dipping oars are in the water. Ahh.

Silence Denied

A little over a month ago I started taking care of 4 month-old Alexandra four days a week. Since then I’ve been getting up at 6:15 because she gets here around 6:45 and goes right back to sleep. This gives me roughly an hour and a half to two hours of silence as the sun rises and I read and/or write for virtually the only me-time I get until 8pm.

I can’t even describe how amazing I feel, energized from an entire cup of coffee that hasn’t had to be reheated 8 times and a bowl of Cheerios that is not a soggy mass by the time I finish it, when those little rascals bounce out of bed. They are usually immediately looking for fire trucks and dogs out the window or yelling in excitement for a story to be read to them or something equally startling to un-caffeinated and un-showered adults.

The boys go down for their afternoon nap right about when Alex wakes up after her first nap and is ready to eat. While the boys nap Alex is awake most of the time. She’s a baby and doesn’t run and yell and climb yet, but this time is when I feed her and give her tummy time and play with her and rotate her positions including on my lap which is where she was when I started writing this post. Without the boys around to entertain her she doesn’t have a very long attention span in any one spot so I’m lucky if I get much of a lunch before her mom comes at 3pm.

Obviously I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to take on this job and I can’t complain. She’s an amazingly easy baby and it’s so fun to see her grow and see the boys interact with her. (She just now drifted off to sleep holding a cloth Elmo book beside me on her lounger.) Today, however, has reinforced for me the importance of my morning silence.

I noticed a small sound in the boys’ room when I woke up this morning, and cringed but figured whichever boy it was would be back to sleep soon. I showered. I said goodbye to Brian. I still heard some slight bedroom-sounds. Cringed again. Alex came and went back to sleep like the angel that she is. Meanwhile the cribs started to bounce. My morning time was ruined. A frenzy followed. I went in to find that Clark had pulled pants out of the drawer by his crib and flung them about the room. He then told me that he wanted to be in Cal’s crib now. Calvin started counting and talking about lights and cookies—his two favorite subjects—and about the friends that were coming over later. There was a brief skirmish over two green blocks and I pretended not to notice that they were flung across the room as I got clothes and diapers out.

I felt unbalanced and vulnerable as I made breakfast and lunch and am only feeling more normal now as I’m rationing out pretzels to the rejuvenated troops. I’m thinking I’ll get up earlier tomorrow, for my silence is even more valuable than I realized.