Mom

Above at the top: Mom in 1971

Below: Tracey, Lori, Suzy, Mom, 2005

I had a pivotal conversation with my mother on Sunday evening. We discussed the ever-so-serious issues of marriage and children. She is the one person who knows me the best, and the one person whose opinion I respect the most. I learned a few years ago that what my mother thinks about what I'm doing is the most important; after that, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks.

On Sunday night, I opened my heart to her (although she already knew anyway, just by looking at my face when I spend time with my nephews and nieces). She has incredible wisdom (and boy did she earn it). She didn't tell me what to do, but her way of asking me questions was pointed and discerning.

At one point as she was talking, something about her mouth looked exactly like her mouth when I was 5 and she was 30. I looked into her dark brown eyes and for a few flashing moments, the lines on her face disappeared and she had that green scarf in her hair that she used to wear when we went camping or when she was in a hurry to go out somewhere. In my mind I fast-forwarded all the way from 1975 to 2005, like in the movies when they make the music and talking speed up and then with a smash I was back into the present.

What she was talking about was what her years of marriage were like for her, and there is so much over-lapping between her and me, I could envision it clearly since I am now 35 and could easily imagine what she had gone through. There are so many interlocking layers: I could see one of my sisters in her as she spoke, and I could see myself, and listen to her story. My heart filled up.

She would be embarrassed to read this. She would think it was no big deal that evening, sitting in her back yard with the candle in between us. But I will remember that moment for the rest of my life, soaked into my cells, to recall someday with pleasure and nostalgia.

Contentment

"Hello, my sweet," he leaned forward and kissed me, then went inside to get his hazelnut latte.

It was early June, and I had been waiting a little while for him on a sidewalk bench outside Starbucks at the corner of Main and 14th. I watched other people admire his shiny motorcycle, then he rounded the corner and joined me on the bench.

We chatted casually for just a few minutes, and he had only taken a couple of sips of his coffee, when it suddenly started raining. He jumped up with a smile and said, "I have to go, quick, before it soaks me."

He kissed me good-bye with a promise to call me when he got home, and with a brief roar of his bike, he was gone.

I had nothing else to do but sit under the awning outside and finish the last of my own coffee. It was a lovely night, the warm spring rain was soothing, and I was only a short 10-minute walk away from home. I glanced over to the cup he'd left behind, and I shrugged and picked it up, happy to put my lips where his had only recently been.

"I'm completely content," I thought, with a half-smile that stayed. It was a good good feeling for me, being a person who often feels wistful and wondering. But that night, I had a boyfriend who treated me well, whom I enjoyed spending time with. I had played volleyball earlier in the evening on the beach with good friends, I was looking forward to summer vacation, and my life felt secure.

I didn't care that I might be buzzed from two cups of coffee in the evening, and I finished the second cup as the rain eased off a little. I crossed the street to buy some bus tickets to use later in the week, and I walked home.

Little did I know that this was the calm before utter chaos.

1:00 a.m. in August, Down by the Fraser River

1:00 a.m. in August, Down by the Fraser River

Summer earlier today was sticky with no wind relief,
But now the Fraser is glassy, unmoving, dark, cool.
A tugboat on a quiet quiet midnight mission,
Passes by and slightly disturbs the water.
The lights across from me on Mitchell Island
Start to wave their reflections in the gentle wake,
Lazy wiggly zigzags.
A nearby log is at first silent, then picks up a slow slosh,
Long ripples advance toward me barely touching the rocks,
In the darkness a hidden bird calls out once and follows the boat.

I don't look at the streetlights behind me,
and city briefly becomes country, in my own way.


(I had to delete all comments because of a horrid company called "Interfinancial Holdings" that left reams of soliciting on this post.)

Dating Compatability

One person would find me:

• too passionate
• too exuberant
• too expressive
• too idealistic
• too analytical
• too opinionated

At the very same moment, another person would find me:

• open
• exciting
• communicative
• compassionate
• intelligent
• strong

I guess P. was looking at the first list.

It all depends who is looking.