Multiple Choice

When you have a tendency to leave your wallet on the roof of your car, you should not: a) carry your Social Security card around in it, b) carry a lot of cash around in it, or c) buy one that is the color of roadside weeds. You should definitely not do: d) all of the above.

Friday was our first day back to school…the hard-to-believe, but inevitable, end of summer. It was a good start to the year: some good vibes, some good plans, and already some interesting moments to reflect on as I beat back the weeds on the three-mile stretch of road that I walked for hours that night before dusk searching for my lost, weed-colored wallet.

My sister and brother-in-law are visiting, here to take care of Quinn while Sam and I are busy at school in these first days. Friday, after our meetings, I took them over to Waterbury to do some touristy stuff: buy some cider donuts at the mill, stop in at the Ben & Jerry's factory for a tour and an ice cream.  It was a nice idea. Unfortunately, my head was in a variety of places other than those places, and I left my wallet on the roof of my car (again) when I drove from one to the other.

As soon as we pulled into Ben & Jerry's, three miles down the road, I realized what I had done. We peeled out and headed back, scanning the new pavement as we went. I felt certain we'd see it…it had only been a few minutes. But then we didn't see it. We drove the loop again. Still nothing. That's when I started to do an inventory: new license, new Social Security card, credit cards, the cash from the returned weed wacker meant to pay the credit card, my Healthy Mama discount card for the local market, my health insurance card, Quinn's health insurance card…I started to feel sick.

We checked in at the cider mill and the gas station across the street. I looked in the garbage cans (last time I lost my wallet, ironically on another ice cream mission, it was dropped into the mailbox outside the Post Office, without my cash or my ipod, but with everything else). Quinn was growing increasingly irritable (screaming), and it was approaching everyone's dinnertime, but I couldn't leave knowing that it must be right here! I sent Amy and Scott home with Quinn and started walking the road, back and forth on the first mile or so where I would have picked up speed and the wallet would have blown off. They said they'd get Quinn taken care of and send Sam back to pick me up.

I found a tomato stake on the side of the road and used it to poke around. My confidence waned as I realized I would see brightly colored objects only if I was looking right at them. The weeds were dense and my wallet would have blended right in. I walked back and forth as cars with Vermont plates sped by, presumably headed home at the end of the work-week, and cars with out-of-state plates sped by headed to or from some sort of local fun. I called the house about ten times, but Sam was outside and I hung up on our answering machine over and over again. I kept walking, and looking, and beating back weeds.

I had a few hours like this to think. I thought about the school year ahead. I thought about karma. I thought about good (maybe someone will return it) and I thought about evil (maybe someone will steal it). As the sun started to go down, and cars continued to speed by, and I realized it was the third night in a row that I wouldn't get to put Quinn to bed, my thoughts gravitated more and more toward evil.

Sam eventually showed up in the truck with his bike in the back. He rode beyond where I had turned around on foot. We both looked for another hour. Eventually, I gave up, got in the truck and drove down the road to pick him up. He got in and said, "let's drive it one more time." I was skeptical, but I agreed. I drove while he looked out his window along the side of the road. I drove slowly, close to the edge. Periodically, I pulled over and let cars pass by. At one point, I pulled into a small parking lot and the truck I was trying to let pass pulled in behind me. I parked. The other guy parked. Then he got out and came to my window.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I explained what I was doing. He seemed relieved, because I wasn't drunk, and empathetic--he told me he had lost his gas cap that very morning. "I'll give you my gas cap if you can get me my wallet back," I offered...I didn't feel better, but he meant well.

"I just wanted to be sure you were okay. I've seen some other cars swerving already tonight. I was just going to offer to drive you home…it'd be a lot cheaper!" (Cheaper than the DUI, I imagine). "I don't want to see anyone get hurt."

I thanked him and he wished me luck. It was too dark to see anything by then; it was already eight o'clock. We picked up a pizza on the way home and returned, defeated, to a quiet house. The four of us ate, and Sam and Amy and Scott all tried to cheer me up. I can't believe I did this again! I thought, and said, over and over. I feel so scattered, so distracted…my anxiety from the end of the last school year flaring up, like an infection that the antibiotics didn't quite kill…too much to do, too much to worry about, not enough energy or time in the day. It's transition time again and I'm not good in transition. The lost wallet, the lost money, the new identity, lost already…all of these symbolic of one fear: Will I be able to handle it?

By ten o'clock, I was headed to bed, still feeling down. Sam said we'd go back in the morning to walk some more. Amy and Scott were determined to help. When I got to our room, I saw the answering machine blinking with all of my hung-up calls. I hit play to delete them one by one.

"Hi Sam, it's me…"

Click.

Click.

Click.

Then this: "Hi Kerry, I hope I have the right person…Kerry Jackson or Kerry Litchfield…I found your wallet. I have your wallet, your driver's license, your Social Security card, your credit cards…My name is April, call me back, I'm going to be here all weekend. So, I do have your wallet. I repeat: I have your wallet…Alright, bye-bye."

All the evil fell away.

I thought back to a show I listened to on VPR this week, talking about the rise of violent crime nationwide and even here in Vermont. Those on the show were talking about what social and economic factors might cause such increases. One person talked about his theory that when people in communities stop being able to relate to one another, and stop having opportunities to interact with one another in person, things start to fall apart. He talked about the importance of raising children in such a way that they do interact with their neighbors, and they do have opportunities to gather and play and work with others in the community. I thought about how I hope to raise Quinn. I thought about wanting to be the kind of teacher who can motivate kids to look up and see beyond the screens of their laptops, see into the eyes of other human beings…it's not easy, but it's obviously important.

This morning Sam drove me over to Waterbury to meet April. We picked up a maple sticky bun from the bakery on the way…it wasn't much, but I wanted to have something to offer. She met us in the driveway and told me, "I was driving home and I saw your wallet in the middle of the street. I thought, 'I'm going to pick that up for that person!' Now, I had to look in it to figure out how to find you." She was confessing, but it wasn't necessary; I was so grateful. Then she scolded me for carrying my Social Security card around: "That is so dangerous!" I tried to explain: I'm in the process of changing my name, I had a baby, I need it to change all my paperwork…I thanked her, tried to offer her some money (for breakfast out? a bottle of wine?), but she shut me down immediately, "Oh no! Your gratitude is more than enough," and then, she hugged me…she hugged me…and she thanked me for "the sweets" as she waved over her shoulder and headed back inside.

Times are tough. It would have been so easy for her…$140 in cash, no one would have known…I wouldn't have ever known. But, she didn't take it. And when she didn't find Kerry Jackson listed in information, she kept trying, and she found me.

I didn't get the name of the man who stopped and offered to drive me home if I needed a ride. And I didn't really get to express how much I appreciated April's efforts to reunite me with my evolving identity. But I did get to renew my appreciation (yet again) for this incredible place where I live. I got to renew my faith in people's ability to care for other people. And I got a good refresher, as this new school year begins, about how to contribute to the preservation of community: Notice other people. Spend a few minutes. Offer help. Be kind.

Life often seems so complicated, and it seems like there are so many hard choices to make, but when you really think about it, the right choices are pretty straightforward. I'm so grateful for the many people who have the strength of character to make them. 

Grand Cru

Yesterday, while I pulled weeds in my northside garden, I had this random thought: "If I were to croak right now, it would be okay. I've had a good life." As soon as I thought it, I wondered at its origins.

I can't entirely explain where it came from. I'm definitely not planning to croak any time soon. And usually when I think about croaking, I feel a bit panicky. But not yesterday. Yesterday I felt sort of fine about it all. I've traveled a lot, I have loved and been loved, I've done physical and intellectual things I'm proud of, and I have a job that I feel good about. I have a head full of happy memories. Already, at 39, I've had a very good life. And I feel lucky and grateful.

I suppose that's where the thought came from: a place of gratitude.

Sam cut firewood all day while Boone supervised. Quinn and I went for a hike with Moses. We visited with the neighbors on our way back up the hill. I found and ate ripe blackberries. Quinn napped and I worked in the garden—two things that never seem to happen often enough. At the end of the day, we all drove over to our friend Corey's to go for a swim. I forgot Quinn's bathing suit, with its built-in diaper, and I forgot dry diapers too. But, we made the best of it: she went skinny dipping for the first time*, and then Sam fashioned a "diaper" out of a blanket to hold her over while we all had tea.

We returned home in time to get Quinn some dinner (Annie's mac & cheese, scrambled eggs with cheddar, pureed mango) and get her to bed. She went down without a peep. It was a satisfying day.


Sam cooked us some pasta and I closed windows against the cooling air. Autumn already feels close by. As we got ready to eat, we wondered what to drink with dinner. We had a bottle of white wine in the fridge, but it was a red wine kind of evening. All we had in the rack were three bottles of Bordeaux I have been saving for years.

The 2000 vintage of Bordeaux was, according to many critics, one of the best Bordeaux offerings ever. Wine guru, Robert Parker, in The Wine Advocate, called it "a monumental vintage," and said it was "undoubtedly the greatest year Bordeaux has ever experienced." The best ever...My father and I used to share an amateur interest in wine and, over a few Christmases, he bought me three bottles of this promising vintage. I have been carrying the bottles around for years, never convinced that a special occasion was special enough to merit opening one, and never sure when the official "right time" was.

Last night suddenly seemed like a good night. I told Sam about my "it's been a good life" realization and I used that to justify opening the bottle. I also told myself the wines had probably been ruined by improper storing over the years, so why wait? And, I remembered my pledge to buy an expensive wine to celebrate my mom's recent birthday, which I had yet to do. These were good steps toward uncorking the bottle, but once I peeled the foil off the neck, I started to get Catholic about it (I have somehow inherited my family's sense of guilt, despite not actually being Catholic myself). I started to feel like I was making a mistake…what if it was too soon? Am I going to regret this? I ruminated silently, trying not to ruin it for Sam too.

But suddenly, it came to me: this week marks the 10^th anniversary of the year Sam and I first met. It was a fortuitous meeting and it's been an incredible ten years…with most of that incredible actually being the good kind. So that was the occasion I needed to make myself feel good about the decision. Problem solved.

I don't usually make decisions in this way: commit first, justify later. But maybe I should more often…the wine was exceptional: complex and yet still balanced. We tried to pick out individual flavor components. We came up with black currant and bacon, with bacon being the catch-all for indefinable smoky goodness. The fruit was held in check by tannins, a dryness like all of your teeth had been dried off with a towel after each sip...a strangely pleasing experience.

Before bed, I got online to see when the experts recommend opening the 2000 Bordeaux. To my joyful surprise, our timing was just fine. Most sources say any time from ten years on is when things are at their best. I couldn't agree more... 


Happy ten years Handsome Guy in the back row with the sexy voice. Thank you for not having a girlfriend when I found a way to ask if you did. Thank you for being just a bit older than me, since I had sworn off dating younger men. Thank you for using the word "predilection" in a sentence when you asked me out to dinner that first time. Thank you for the best first date ever: rock climbing, swimming hole, art gallery, dinner at The Starry Night Cafe...and the best kiss of my life. Thank you for being the guy in our Wilderness First Responder course to lead the night rescue; I'll never forget looking up at you, standing on that rock, calming everyone by giving clear guidance and genuine encouragement. Your ability to do these things holds us together even still...Thank you for all of these first memories and for your countless other contributions, since then, to my very good life.






*Wendy & Richard, don't worry, we had a long talk with Quinn about what not to do in the pool while skinny dipping! Thank you for sharing it with us this summer.

A Million Diamonds

Yoga is not supposed to be competitive; that's what they tell you. But, it seems to me you are a pretty exceptional person if you are not at all fazed by how you look in the mirror compared to that 5'11" twenty-something who weighs about 102 lbs and insists on bending sideways like a rubber band into your personal space, looking so serene. Or, maybe you are that twenty-something and you don't need to compete, because you are, in fact, a yoga goddess (and someone who perhaps has never given birth and who doesn't have forty breathing down her neck).

I left my first summer yoga class in tears. I was so disheartened by how far back up I have to climb to regain my former flexibility, my former strength, and my former balance. But, in the weeks since, I've kept at it, trying my best not to look at the other people in the room. (If only it weren't for that damned mirror!)

Balancing poses are, right now, my biggest challenge. I don't know what's happened; I used to be pretty steady, but everything is unsteady these days.  The irony is that I feel more centered emotionally than ever. My purpose, at least for right now, is focused and clear: diapers, tiny little finger foods, guarding the stairs, electrical chords and all things that topple, and naps. But my body, and even my mind are a bit, well, clumsy. I forget things. I can't concentrate. I fall over.

I'm especially prone to falling over when I look at someone else who is not falling over, someone who is rock solid, anchored through one leg, stretching through the crown of the head, hands in prayer position in front of the heart's center…When I leave my own thoughts, stop trusting myself, compare myself to others, that's when I fall.

My instructor on a recent Friday was Patty who seems to emit kindness like sonic rays. She smiles all the time. When I walked into the building, she said hello and asked me, "how is your practice going?" How is my practice, I wondered, as I put my things on a shelf, and I kept wondering as I laid out my mat. How is my practice? Am I practicing?

About twenty minutes into the sequence, we were into the balancing postures: awkward pose (aptly named), standing bow, balancing stick, tree pose. I was wobbly. Patty glided quietly around the sweaty bodies, guiding the sequence, offering tips for adjustments. "When you feel yourself falling over, Kerry," she said, "lift your chin up, just a little bit. That will help you regain your balance."

Lift your chin up. Just a little bit.

Patty was right. I lifted my chin and, when I did, my eyes met their own gaze. The gumby girl next to me vaporized and I became steady. I focused on what I needed to do.

It wasn't perfect, by any means, and I struggle on my right leg more than my left. My body is different than it used to be, but everything is different than it used to be—my whole universe. When I inhale oxygen into my lungs these days, I notice a greater capacity to breathe. So, imperfect is okay…the effort and the ease.

When the series ended, and we laid on our mats for the final resting pose, Patty didn't say "Namaste," as yoga instructors are wont to do. She said, "Rest well," and then she rested with us. Rest well, I thought. It too is part of the practice. Resting, as well as working, is something we must aim to do well. Again, I was reminded of my husband: every night when we go to sleep, the last thing Sam says to me—for as long as we've been sleeping side by side—is "sleep well." How does he know about these things? (My friend Wade once described Sam as The Buddha…primarily for his patient capacity to put up with me, but maybe Wade was on to something?)

At the end of class people were milling around waiting for the shower. Patty was talking about her hip replacement from last winter, and how her own yoga practice is helping. "If you focus on the healing, the obsession strips away." Another sentence left to reverberate in my mind: focus on the healing, the obsession strips away.

I have healing to do too: to reclaim my body for myself, to accept myself in this new role as someone's mom, to stop obsessing about what I am not, and be glad and grateful for what I am...to keep expanding beyond my former limitations. Lift up your chin. Just a little bit.

I stood behind the far curtain letting the air dry my skin for just a moment. It was 95 degrees outside; the sun was shining and there was a soft breeze through the low open window. I looked out and was surprised by what looked like a million diamonds twinkling up at me from the illuminated river below. Gratitude washed over me as I filled my lungs. Yoga tears again, but different this time…I am practicing.

Rest well.

(Thank you, Patty.)