Views From the Buena Vista

The beginning of our week started out like this.  Threatening clouds, wild waves, and just enough pounding rain to keep me inside with the shades raised high and a stack of books close to my side yet my eyes remained mostly trained on the horizon, my mind thick with thoughts.  I enjoy the sun, but I live for these dramatic days on the Pacific shoreline in which nature puts on the most spectacular of displays.  There is something about the turmoil on the outside matching the turmoil on the inside that creates a feeling of symbiosis deep within my soul.  I am drawn down into thought.  Thoughts about where I have been, thoughts about where I am now, and thoughts about where I will someday be.  The notary came by, last week, to have Mark and I sign paper after paper after paper as we are refinancing our beach home for a much better rate than we were able to lock into almost four years ago.  The words "in thirty years" flowed easily from the notary's mouth and stopped me cold in my thoughts as my hand systematically signed and signed and signed and signed and dated.  In thirty years I will be eighty years old.  80 years old.  My four Angel Daughters will be as old, or older than I am right now at this moment in time.  My nieces will be in their late thirties and early forties.  My parents will, most likely, be gone.  Long gone.  And my brother, he will still be only 41 years old...Has he had the chance to meet one of our heros, the larger than life Clarence Clemons, yet?  Dear God, I hope so.

Rainy days cause these kinds of thoughts to bubble up to the surface of my being.  The thoughts simmer there, oftentimes for days, bringing with them feelings of nostalgia, regret, hope, and renewal.

And as I take my old girl, my dog, Becca, outside, something in the water to the left of the bluff catches my attention and I am momentarily caught off-guard.  I hold my breath so as not to lose sight.  The surface of the water breaks with circular swirls of tiny bubbles.  Breath.  Air.  Life.  And then a fin...

And as I look down, she appears, gliding lazily along on currents.  My breathing somehow syncs along with her graceful dance along the water.  Under, above, under, above, like my moods when the rain comes and then leaves.

That evening, the sun returned just in time for sundown, the water smooth as glass.  It is 80 degrees outside here today.  The only clouds in the sky are wisps of cotton against the most beautiful of blues.  I am here, back to today, back to thirty one years away from my 80th year, back to life as it is.  I like it here. How to make the next thirty years slow down to a pace which does not feel like here and then gone?  That is the question that lays heavy on my heart.

Sunrise, Moonset

6:15 this morning.  That cold, familiar nose begins nudging gently at my outstretched hand(not Mark's) and I climb out of bed to let Becca outside so that we can both quickly retreat back into our beds, back into the warmth, back into the restful worlds of our dreams.  But just as I expect that I will barely have to open my eyes before snuggling securely back underneath the soft weight of my down comforter, I am startled into a sudden hyper-awareness by the mirrored beauty of the full moon as it reflects upon the water. I gasp out loud and the noise sounds as if it has come from someone else.  I consider keeping this moment of absolute sudden beauty to myself but my desire to share what I am witnessing gets the better of me and, as usual in moments like these, I reach for my camera to preserve.  I think about the idea that a moment does not become any less holy just because my second or third thought is to snap a few photographs of it and the next sound I hear is a soft, repetitive click, click, click.  I am now more inside of the moment than I was before and as I turn from the side of the horizon in which the moon was beginning to set, I am once again struck by that feeling of awe.

For behind me, over the San Clemente pier, the sun is slowly beginning its lazy ascent into the sky taking its time as if to gaze at the moon.  On one side, the moon finishing its glorious light show and on the other, the sun ushering in a brand new day.  Oh, the possibilities.  Oh, the colors!

Becca runs past me back into the house but I am no longer in a rush to close my eyes so I stand outside and watch as it happens all around me.  Moon, earth, and sun.  Everything feels as if it is perfectly aligned.

And as the colors begin to blend into one another, I take one more look at my world as it appears right at this moment at 6-something in the morning and I wonder to myself if I will ever be able to readjust my circadian rhythm to become a morning person.  No, I decide.  If four babies within six years was not permanently able to change it for me, then there is probably a very small possibility of it ever occurring in this lifetime and that is okay.  For there are wonders that happen on both sides of the day and more than likely, by witnessing one, the chance of being awake to witness the other is fairly unlikely.

As I make my way back to my bed, I stop to cradle Becca's sweet face in my hands and I kiss her firmly on the snout.  She looks at me as if the sun and the moon rise around me and I realize that to her at least, they do.  I have witnessed more than one incredibly magical moment this morning.

Allowing the Tides to Turn(Because They Will Whether I Want Them to or Not)

As I sit here looking out upon the Pacific, I try gathering up the energy to pull on some jeans so that I can go down to the beach for a walk.

It is best to do it now, because although I tell myself that I will, I most likely will not make it down to the sand if I wait until later.

It is best that I do it now, because when the tide begins to turn, the waves often become erratic and unpredictable.  And although I know that I should never turn my back on the ocean, I sometimes become so absorbed in my searches for sea glass that I end up getting soaked.

There is a rhythm to the waves as they flow in and out, in and out.

It is a rhythm that can hypnotize the soul.

It is a rhythm that can put the mind at ease.

But it is also a rhythm that can change within the blink of an eye.

As I walk along the shoreline, I am often reminded that I do not have to be in control.

That I can sometimes just allow myself to be carried along with the rhythm of the sea.

That when I think that I am in control, some rogue wave will come crashing up onto the sand splashing icy-cold saltwater all over my clothes, leaving me to slosh around in drenched sneakers the rest of my way home.  The saltwater stings my skin.  Another admonition for believing that I might really have some control over the rhythm of the waves.

Or the tides of my life.

I am alone, right now.  My family is scattered about in various locations.  Work, school, out with boyfriends.  My favorite faded-out jeans beckon to me from the edge of the bathtub.

Knowing that the tide will soon turn whether I want it to or not, I will lazily step into my jeans.  I will obey the rhythm as it lures me down to the sea.  And the tide will turn because that is what it does.  Never exactly in the same way or at the same time each day.  Never precisely with the same cadence as the tide before, but turn it will.

And for today, I will relinquish control because tides turn whether I want them to or not...

And I only get soaked when I think that I know exactly what I am doing.


*Welcome lovely SkyWatchers!  I look forward to seeing what you have posted this week.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with SkyWatch, please click on the link to view some wonderful photos from around the world.

Moment to Moment

Yesterday, I stumbled outside after a pretty rough night of sleep to walk my precious pup Becca.  One of the many amazing things about living on a bluff is being able to witness an entirely different scene from moment to moment.  Sometimes, the sky is a cerulean blue and the ocean is as clear as glass.  Other times you can watch as a storm dramatically rolls in off of the Pacific.  Angry grey clouds and white-capped waves threaten the shoreline.  Yesterday, I observed as there was a momentary break in the storms that we have been experiencing.  A momentary lapse in my focus on the pain.  As I squinted against the sun, I knew that I needed to take some pictures of the moment.  For trying to describe the changes is something that is sometimes difficult for me to do in words.  I needed to capture the moment.

The coming week will bring with it both radiant sunshine and difficult storms.  On Tuesday, my littlest angel daughter will be turning sweet sixteen!  My memories of her tiny newborn body sleeping nestled closely against my breast, come racing back to me as if the moment occurred only yesterday.  And yet, so much has happened over the course of sixteen years.  So many other moments, some forgotten, some remembered, that I cannot even begin to imagine what the next sixteen years will bring.  For most of this week, my focus will remain right there.  Celebrating the life of my beautiful daughter.

With this week, will also come my deposition.  This is not typical protocol in a grandparent/aunt visitation case.  What can I possibly offer her attorney that might strengthen whatever his case might be?

"Mrs. FourAngelsMomma, what gives you the right to continue loving on these two little girls who have already lost their daddy?"

"Umm, eleven previous years of happy, loving "moments", with the hope of a lifetime of many, many more?"

What else could I possibly want out of a relationship with my angel nieces?  And yet, the joy of so many moments celebrated must now come with explanation.

But there is more sunshine in my life than storm clouds, more blindingly happy moments than sad ones.  And so, here are some pictures to explain when my words might not do.  From year to year, day to day, moment to moment, the only thing that I have truly been promised is now.  Right now.  The singularity of this moment and everything that comes along with it.  For me, there is so much comfort in that.

Sky Paintings 2/ You're Beautiful, Yes You Are

                                   *San Clemente sunset, January 11, 2009

I am ever fascinated by the absolute fragility as well as the transitional properties of nature.  It seems that the world itself, is one giant canvas on which the most magnificent images are created, day after day, night sky after night sky.  Yet there are times when life becomes so overrun by the minutia, that we forget to pause, to stop whatever is seemingly so important at the time, to take in the gifts which are so freely bestowed upon us.  We forget that each sunset is one that we will never have the chance to witness again.  Each sky painting, each ocean wave, each reflection in a pond, is only a fleeting work of art and unless we pay attention, we will lose the opportunity to study its momentary beauty forever.

                                   *Dana Point, California

As time passes, I find that I am becoming much more aware of how quickly things can change.  I am much more in touch with the fact that I will only have a certain number of sunsets to take in, or cloud pantings to interpret, or smiles to trade.  I know that each one is unique, and I know that I want to absorb as much of God's goodness as I can, while I am still here.

                                   *sunset over Catalina Island

Therefore, I look for the colors.  I allow myself to feel the emotions that each natural work of art evokes.  I stand in awe of how enormous the Pacific Ocean truly is and how expansive the sky above it spans.  I breathe.  I breathe in the salty, sweet-smokey aroma of bonfires at dusk and the mild, maritime breezes during the day.  I listen.  I walk quietly along the shoreline, taking in the rhythm of the waves, the laughter of children as they dodge in and out of the surf, and the call of the seagulls as they cry out for food.

                                   *sunset over the Pacific Ocean

Basking in the solitude of a private moment is part of what we are meant to do while we are here.  No matter how difficult or overwhelming things sometimes get, we should never forget about the things which can move us to the brink of tears.  The perspectives that can break our hearts open.  The artistry of nature that reminds us that we are not alone.  Never alone.

                                   *Catalina Island from San Clemente, California

And although there are times when we must go searching in order to find the beauty beyond the chaos, it is always available.  It is always worth the effort.  And sometimes, it is just beyond the fringe of all the craziness, waiting for us to notice that it was always there in the first place.

                                   *San Clemente Pier, January 12, 2009

The scenes might change, the colors may transition from red to orange to yellow to blue, but allowing yourself to witness, really witness them, now that is a gift that you can always accept freely.  And it is a gift that you can always give to yourself.

Notice the things that speak to your soul.  Take in as much radiance as you can find along the journey.  Allow the artwork of the Universe to merge with your own spirit.  And remind yourself, as often as you possibly can, that you, too, are an intricate part of the beauty.

Breaking Through

If we can still see the light pouring out of the darkness.  If we can look up long enough to see the waterfall of brightness cascading down from the clouds.  If we can capture a moment of clarity on a day in which we are feeling quite dull, then we will unfailingly be able to hold onto hope.  And hope shines much more brightly when we are able to take notice of the contrast.

May you seize the quiet, unexpected moments of hope that show up in your days.