surreal

I've been having technicolor moments lately. Surreal and vivid and superimposed. It struck me hard last Wednesday. Eliana was at big girl daycare and I was paying a flat rate for the day. So instead of racing home after work, I decided to take Lucy on a hike up Jumbo. It was a nice treat not to race from one role to the next. I was busting some new tunes that I recently purchased and feeling the power and the glory of the girls on the mic. The wind was whipping the tall grasses, grasses that looked almost fluorescent in their vividness. The clouds were moving fast, the sky electric. The moment was alive, my energy palpable. I was wholly aware in that moment of it's brilliance. Of the intense energy I had after a long day. I was supposed to be exhausted and dragging my feet, but I was insanely alive.

I haven't been able to create new choreography in a few months. My artistic juices felt dry and worn. But then that pure voice of my girl from the Ivory Coast pulsed through my 'phones and sure enough the movements began to form in my head. As I listened again and again, the piece took shape. A piece about the beauty of the moment. About paying attention. About feeling the glory in it all.

When I walked in the door, I saw that my dad had left a message on my phone. And I knew in that moment that my Grammy T. had died.

And it all felt right in that moment. The power I had felt on the mountain must have been some fusion of our spirits, her journey from this world sending brightness and energy my way. It made such sense then.

But that was almost a week ago. And I've gone from energized calm to unstoppable tears, to feeling alone and scared and far from my family. Vulnerable. Questioning. Raw.

Tomorrow I get on a plane to say goodbye to my Grammy. I just gave Els an extra long goodnight knowing that I won't see her sweet curls til Thursday. The sun is setting over the valley in shades of pink, blues and grays. I know that my Grammy loved listening to my dad read her posts from this blog. I know that she loved Eliana. The white afghan she knit with nothing but goodness, the way she got the biblical references of her name from the start.

I know that she would see my life as blessed. Be proud of the woman I've become. Know that I try, good Lord do I try, to be a strong, good woman. Try to check my ego. Try to have perspective. Try to love and forgive.

And I have all that unconditional love I received from my family to thank for my good behavior. For generations handing down kindness and laughter, songs and gentleness. For my girl and her brilliant, smiling spirit. For her relentless energy and wild ways. The way she boldly monkey climbs her way through life - reaching, falling, reaching again. Bumps and bonks and screams and belly laughter. So present all the time.


I've thought of my Grammy when the mama moments get rough. That she had five kids. That she followed my Grampy from one state to the next, re-setting up shop so that he could preach the good word to good folk. That she probably didn't spend too much time cultivating herself and that from the time she was eighteen, her husband and her children were her all. That she was absolutely devout and pure. Probably never doubted much. That even though she knew that her children and grandchildren and great grandchildren did not always follow the ways of the Lord, that we had some pretty heafty sins under our belts, she never greeted us with anything but love.

So the challenge continues. To set high standards for love and acceptance. To keep feeling, keep risking, keep holding on to each precious moment.