living on both ends - an exploration of best and worst

the violence of spring

The dogs and I went for a long walk today. Up north to Rittenhouse Square, down to the Chestnut Street Post Office to mail letters to the 20 year old and almost 19 year old, then west and back south to 23^rd and South for perishables at the grocery. By the end of it, Lucy was dragging, happy to be home, ignoring our neighbor on his stoop because she was so intent on being spread eagled on the cool kitchen tile floor. I listened to violins from the open windows of the Curtis Institute of Music, east of the Square, practicing for upcoming final recitals in their classes. Elway tugged as we went past Metropolitan Bakery, nose identifying that place where I often stop for a chocolate croissant and free doggie biscuits. Halfway through the walk it was time to take off my hoodie. Halfway through the walk I started thinking about spring in North New Jersey.

Are the daffodils still blooming? Is the dogwood out? Did the columbines in my old garden survive the winter? Are the hybrid musk roses on the pillars ready to be wrapped and pruned? Is the clover lawn green and full of bees? And the ferns, have they unfurled or are they still wrapped tightly waiting for a more inviting climate to release their fronds? Did the borage self sow so that hairy borage plants line the walks?

Philadelphia is a lovely city. Yes, it is. But North New Jersy, Morristown New Jersey, is stunning in the spring. Today, I missed the beauty of where I used to live.

Tonight, L and I walked home from a meeting. The air was soft, the humidity level still tender. We walked past lit up windows, through full chairs placed outside pubs and restaurants. I said "hi" to a dog that looked just like Gable, the German shepherd mix I got my senior year in college and who lived until the year my divorce was final. The fairy lights were wrapped around the trees and my feet slowed as I walked past the chairs full of strangers. I don't know any of their names, once in a while, I recognize a face. But still they are neighbors here in the city of Brotherly Love.

Tonight, red and blue lights in my windows, rotating atop the black and white cruisers outside my house.

words

Words have never failed me. For years, they taught me how 'normal' people live. They helped me defend my little corner of space, loudly and vigorously defending all who dared to intrude. For delight, I savored the ones – ubiquitous, ostentatious, fecund – that roll around in my mouth and burst forth. Then, I found Friends. I fell in love with silence. Not the punishing silence of contempt, annihilation, shame, and judgment. But the embrace of a silence that totally exposes me and totally accepts me, encased in a Light that is penetrating and healing. When spoken out of the silence, words are distilled, clean, and have a different texture and tenor than what I have known before.

I'm trying to find my words again. To be honest with my life-long love affair with them. To listen deep in the Silence so I can be faithful to the truths that are revealed. It is connection to that which is Eternal I know in silence. It is expression of that which I find in words.

It would be easy to say that words are failing me now. It would be easier to say that I am failing my words. The hard part is staying with harnessing the words until they say what I mean. Harnessing my attempts until what the words want to say become clear.

A year ago, we took the TV off the wall in Sojourn. It was the beginning of the end of the long wait, and the beginning of the move to Philadelphia. In August, Sojourn unsold, we moved to Solace, our new home on Fitzwater St. The only surety I have is that the move was rightly led and rightly ordered. Sojourn is occupied by renters; the fall passed in a blur of sickness, pain and struggle. The emotional wear and tear on the 17 year old is painful to watch, and yet I am so proud of his resilience and bravery. It is a beautiful thing to watch a young man be held accountable to what he is capable of learning, not the minimum standards for test taking.

What I lost:

-A house full of teens home from college, stopping by to recount their triumphs and, perhaps, give a wee glimpse into their struggles. Retelling the stories with a different perspective.

- a garden that gave me health and beauty and, often, a reason to get up in the morning.

-a neighborhood we know, with neighbors who fit.

-a front porch that dreams are made of and on.

- a meeting that taught me why worship is essential to everything I am as a Friend. That a moment of silence and centering and listening restores balance and peace. And that life and well-being is not about controlling what comes at me, but about accepting the reality and that offering that reality to Jesus often reveals the abundance that I didn't know was there.

-History. I lost the shadows of young boys that grew to be young men in that old house. Of afternoons by the pool. Of hearing the sounds of late night games. Too many nights staying up late waiting for teen agers to walk in the door. The despair and angst of college applications. Or not. An emergency room that I knew intimately. The space where I spent the majority of my time as a parent.

- Connections. What I lost was connections – to the past, to the present. In some ways, to the future.

What I gained:

- I avoided the tragedy of holding onto a time and a place that is over.

- A city I love.

-A new sense of my country's history, and the part Friends played in the birth of that country.

- Opportunities to make new connections.

-a deep appreciation for the meeting that birthed me as a Quaker.

- A delight in L's growth in his new place of work and his sense of well-being.

- a better diagnosis and a better long-term treatment plan.

- walkability to chores and restaurants.

-access to decent (not good but decent) public transit.

-choices.

Fifteen years ago, a friend told me to write a letter to God to "make my requests known". It was soon after my divorce from the boys' dad. It was also a time of choices, of letting go and new beginnings. I think tomorrow I'll see if I can find the words to make my requests known, to name what I desire in this new life.

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