Build an Ark

California is being inundated by a deluge of pounding rain.  And for the first time in many years, we are having an actual winter.  Never mind the fact that only a week ago, it was sunny and 80 degrees.  Right now it is cold and rainy and I think that I actually heard a voice, this morning, beckoning for me to build an ark.  Really.

So instead of heading down to the beach and hankering down there, I remain huddled up snugly in our main home reading, watching the last remaining moments of Oprah and wondering how many more days of thrown-together meals I can creatively prepare for Mark and myself.(One.  Possibly.  Nah.)  It is winter break for my three youngest Angel Daughters and aside from their popping in and out to sleep or change clothes or say "Hi Mom!", they are mostly like little ducks braving the inclement weather.  For them, the rain rolls right off, for me, it sticks and drenches and chills my bones right down to the very core.

Why is it that our water-repellent cloak seems to thin down over the years, leaving us more open and vulnerable to the elements?  What is it that we lose from fifteen to fifty that leaves us feeling more naked in the rain?

And yet, yesterday, when I stepped outside to gather the mail, I stopped and stood outside in my pajamas.  Rain pelting down sideways in sharp sheets without mercy.  Wind whisking wet leaves off of the trees.  Color upon grey upon color.  And I thought to myself, I need to capture this moment.  Need.

I ran inside to grab my camera which is always only an arms reach away.  Back outside in pajamas already saturated with rain, I began capturing time.  Click.  Click-click.  Click, click, click.    

And as the rain drenched my body, the color upon grey upon color also drenched my soul.  Instead of running past the rain with my once naturally-repellent, duck-like coating, I stood in the middle of a puddle in my pajamas(cheetah print!) soaking in the moment while absorbing what is.

And I realized that maybe it isn't so much about what we lose from fifteen to fifty, but what we gain that truly holds any water.(Okay, please forgive me that very obvious rain analogy.)  We might lose the ability to find every day so exciting that we run, unencumbered, from moment to moment ducking our heads underneath an umbrella, but we gain the true saturation of things.  The momentary drama of running from the house to the mailbox while catching the quick glimpse of color through the corner of our eye, only stopping to notice it.  Really notice it.  The ability to stand outside in cheetah-print pajamas, knowing all the while, that the neighbors will probably drive by at that exact moment, but not caring one bit.  The way that it feels so darn good to get back inside the warm safety of home and to feel blessed by the ability to prepare a simple meal with my husband of almost three decades.  Gain.  Gain.  Gain.  My Angel Daughters have so much to gain.  And yet, so do I.

Now, does anyone know how to build an ark?

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.