Heard the “525,600 minutes” song from Rent this morning while running. I’ve been thinking about all the ways we can measure a life. As the song says: cups of coffee, things that you learn, sunsets, etc.
Reminded me of the theme I keep coming back to, over and over again: being mindful of how we spend our time, our energy, our affection.
A couple of classic pictures of Gracie from Bright Horizons. Never been afraid of getting dirty, that girl of mine!
The Russell hard hats are a huge hit. The original idea for them came after an 11 month old Grace fell ass-over-bambox all the way down a flight of stairs. Oops. Godmother Hadley and I were busy looking at dresses in the closet. And then Whit, too, tumbled down a whole flight, while the Woods were over to trim the tree at Christmas 2005.
This past weekend at the Vogts’ house, Whit scrambled up the stairs from the basement and wandered into the dining room where the adults were eating. Clenched in each fist was a dart. Several of the other assembled parents gasped and looked at me. Truly, my honest reaction was what I said out loud: “Darwin.”
I am indeed my mother’s daughter. For all of my OCD, type-A, anal retentive compulsions in my own life, I’m a remarkably laissez-faire parent. Where did this come from? It must be rooted in some deep confidence in the children’s abilities to survive, and thrive, despite whatever accidents befall them. So, for this blind trust that Grace and Whit will manage in an environment of profound love and absolutely no tissue-paper-wrapping, I thank my parents … This sense of trust in the world is a real gift, and I’m grateful for it. I am consistently surprised – and, frankly, pleased – by the ease with which many of the small bumps of parenthood pass beneath my feet … not upsetting the apple cart, just creating mild turbulence.
I received an Exeter alumni publication today, which among other headlines announced the establishment of a faculty house dedicated to Mr. Valhouli. The article that accompanies made me cry with its moving and sensitive description of the man and teacher I loved so dearly. One student wrote:
“The expectation of decency and responsibility from so manifestly decent and responsible a man is a revelation of the possibility of those qualities. In that sense, Mr. Valhouli reshaped me by gently drawing out my highest potential. I have no doubt that many others knew him in that way, as cultivator and sculptor of character.”
This passage struck me because the words decent and responsible are so mild, and yet this description of Mr. Valhouli shows their tremendous power. He was without a doubt the teacher who has most influenced me, and I still think of him almost daily.
I dug through lots of old files looking for a photograph I have of us together at graduation, searching for the school reports in his small, cramped hand. Unfortunately I couldn’t find either, but I did happen upon a trove of old emails, poems, and photographs long forgotten. I could choke on the waves of love I’m feeling for all of these people right now!
A few short extracts here – random, all, but likewise all beloved.
From Alex Clavel (picture above is of of him, on the right)
“So get off your proverbial ass and live the way that only a few – you among them, which is why I adore you so much: because you’re the type to drown yourself every week if need be in excitement, and love, and everything else – can. That last sentence is why I like [Ashley] so much too: there is a sort of a wildness that you two share, a sort of willingness to dip your foot in the water and test it out, that makes you both so … I don’t know what, I just know that it’s what draws me to you.”
From a book (unknown which one!) and emailed to Quincy, July 1999:
“I did not understand until I met Kathleen how someone so beautiful and intelligent, with such great teeth and wit, could be as unsure of her worth as I am of mine, and as arrogant as I am, and as psychotic as I am. And then we became close enough to begin sharing our deeper secrets – about our parents, and ex-lovers, and skin, the true details of our girlhoods; in short, the true flavoring of our lives rather than the revisionist histories we recite to others – I understood. When it became evident that our souls were similarly textured despite the differences in our packagings, when we let each other in, I entered into the most difficult and essential friendship of my life.”
“We were, by this time and henceforth, traveling companions in drunkenness, mental derangement, honesty, psychic struggles, psychedelia, adventures, and massive, extraordinary fun. We weathered our depressions together, weathered our disappointments together, forced each other to cop to manipulations, evasions, and emotional blackmail….We are so insanely close, and so different, that it is a miracle to me that our friendship still thrives: her imagination and humor and truthfulness stun and rejuvenate me, and her particular brand of madness is not unlike my own.”
From Anna:
“… being your friend has brought wonderful things into my life – not just the drinking and fun – but long walks, good books, and growth as a person. That doesn’t come lightly.”
(the tabblo I made for Anna is here)
I have long loved maps and charts. Perhaps it comes from my father’s early exhortations about the four qualities that matter in a woman:
1. get ready fast (check)
2. travel light (check- traveled carry on for 6 weeks in Africa & our honeymoon)
3. be able to read maps and charts and navigate (check)
4. look good after several hard miles to windward (not sure)
Putting aside the very curious assortment of goals that this provided for me, I am sure that my interest in maps comes from my father’s long fascination with them. We have large charts of Buzzards Bay (above) and Boston Harbor in our house. I framed an antique map of Rutland for Matt for a birthday one year, and the vintage Paris metro map that hangs in my parents’ hall is vivid in my imagination (as is the story of my toddler voice sing-songing “Sol-fer-ino!”)
Maps create an illusion of control, of understanding – all of life is understandable as long as we have a map to guide us. When I was in sixth grade my class went on a field trip to practice orienteering. I’ll never forget that day: at each of seven points on a map our team of two had to get a stamp. After point six, my partner and I were in the lead. The very shortest way to #7 and sure victory was across an area labeled ominously “uncrossable marsh.” What do you think I did? Pointed us directly into said swamp. Four hours later we were extracted, needless to say no longer in first position. An early lesson on the compelling value of reading the map and obeying its instructions.
Of course the bigger question is how to navigate the uncharted waters, the unmapped courses. This question, stubbornly unanswerable with logic, continues to challenge me.