Hello, Again

We have been doing a lot of balancing this summer: work, life, children, jobs, love, fun, play, school, learning, and faith. You too?

Slowly, we are getting better at balancing this thing called life. Maybe, we are learning to say, "no," or maybe, I'm getting better at less planning and grasping, "Do what comes next."

There's always a lot of new things to try, and turning of the heads as we try them. "Which direction to go?" She coxed a couple of races for the first time. 

Given his work schedule, it's a miracle he made it to the water. 

 He's a good sport, wherever you take him. Mostly.

We added a young friend for much of the month with Safe Families for Children.

 And managed to meet family near Muir's mountain for a night.

  Then play more on sandy shores,

 and see some fishies.

 We tried to take it all in. 

One day at a time.

Grateful for every moment, and every girl.

Then, this past weekend, she took us to 5,000 feet and made it. 

Barely.

Some days that's good enough. 

 We rested, read, and got sun burnt. 

Some of us. 

 We tried new, scary things, and got through them.

We smiled.

We were brave.

We did the next thing. 

Observations from Island Time

Children collect all. 

Everything is a treasure...still.

What flashes silver and light? 

Moon beams hidden deep, 

come up from the belly of the sea, 

shining back at me. 

Parents are many things, 

but they are first and foremost gate keepers.

   The turbulent sea is often our reality. Gentle lapping waves belie the real and ever present battle for life beneath the lapping.

   Humans have the great privilege and choice of not choosing war, but rather peace. Do we?

On an island, bobbing is the main verb.

   Gray white hair and crisp linen shirt, someone grew you up, but you're still a little boy with your air planes and toys.  

   Even when it seems the hand of fate seeks and wills its way, you get to choose. You get to choose.

Big jet, loud and noisy, state your presence, your reason for being. 

Everyone who comes here is quiet. 

Almost.

Are you an inflated ego? 

Dried seaweed has a deeply satisfying crunch.

The fantastic things are tiny.

Children are echoes of our childhood. 

They call us home. 

 

   Thomas Wharton had me soaking up the sun and light in Every Blade of Grass. 

   I have decided coffee and books do not mix, ever. Three book stacks later the budget says, "ouch."

   Tiny little island, most homes are quiet and shuttered, but by nightfall laughter will ring loud. It's a Friday in summer, on a tiny little island. 

 The spirit is both fragile and resilient, at once.

    Every life distills down to something, maybe even one thing, what is that one thing?

   Everything on an island creaks and groans with age, and the strain of an isolated, but not alone, life.

   On an island, children and fog horns are the noisiest atoms around. 

   On an island one is tempted to say bad words when a 7 year old driving a Suburban passes you by, with a 12 year old in the passenger seat and no adults present. You didn't know you were so risk averse, nor life so fleeting, then you knew, and now you have been reminded.

What flashes all silver and light, 

breaking the surface of the water? 

A gleaming fish escaping...something bigger. 

 Reflections from time with lovely grandparents on the island,

  and a momento grandchildren make and leave behind.

 Goodbye little blue,

a bon voyage to you,

and on gleaming wings he flew.

Guest Post: Miss Conolly et Dolley Madison

   Miss Conolly has my head spinning with her take on Dolley Madison. Maybe being the life of the party was not so pleasant after all! Her fictional letter from Dolley to her mother was an assignment for her IEW class; she surely prefers fiction to non-fiction writing.

Dolley Madison, 1804, by Gilbert Stuart

Dolley Madison

First Lady

Executive Mansion 

1817

 Dear Mother,

    I am exhausted, completely exhausted. All this partying, which has gotten to my nerves, is very tiring. I am constantly entertaining all the diplomats that come to see James, and need a break. Of course, Lady Elwin was visiting from England with her husband, so a huge ball was held in their honor. As usual, I was expected to attend. I must admit something about the Elwin's to you, Mother. It is so annoying to be a president's wife, with all the nagging responsibilities that come with being a “leader of society”. Sometimes, as I sit in the huge parlor waiting for callers to arrive, I wonder what my life would be like if James had stayed a simple small town lawyer. (And, Mother, do not think I am calling James a simpleton. He is one of the smartest people I know.) Mother, this town life, which is absolutely horrible for me, is never anything but parties! Only an extroverted person could call this city home. It as grown as distasteful to me as that hateful liquid that is considered “coffee” by the people that live here!

    Mother, I must admit something. Sometimes I wish there was no such person as Lady Elwin. Ever since she arrived in Washington, there have been no parties at all, except those that were balls. It has become as dull as possible to hold parties, even though every girl in town has sore feet from all that dancing. I believe some of my acquaintances have become hypochondriacs for the duration of Lady Elwin's visit. You would think she was a Comtessa, or at least a duchess. All the lakes have frozen over, but you barely ever see those of the better class who used to come out and skate. They are all busy dancing at one ball or another. Apparently Lady Elwin likes only balls, and I assume they are treating that obvious fact the way all the ladies who pride themselves on being fashionable treat the latest fashions from France. I don't mind being well dressed, Mother, but there is a time when you have been to and held so many revels that you can't stand them. I am afraid I am at that point. I have had Lady and Lord Elwin over for dinner only once, I am afraid. We ate in the state dining room, but nothing festive was done. As it appears Lord Elwin does not like parties very much, it really is too bad for him that he decided to marry Elinda. That is Lady Elwin's name, I am afraid to say. Anyway, I suppose what I wanted to tell you was this: The senators and representatives actually did something together for once! Or rather, their wives did, as all of the Mrs. Senators and Mrs. Representatives got together to transform the Capitol building into a festive ballroom, with the room used for the House of Representatives as a banquet hall. Do you know that they did all that work just for Lady Elwin? Apparently one of the lowest forms of English aristocracy is highly celebrated here in America. Some of the ladies in my sewing circle even want to turn American democracy into American monarchy. I am afraid, Mother, that I must admit to not liking Lady Elinda Elwin very much, mostly because of the negative influence I feel she has worked over the city of Washington.

    Lately, Mother, I have been thinking about my life as a president's wife, which I sometimes find extremely tedious. However, living in the Executive Mansion certainly keeps me on my unspeakably sore toes. (Did I tell you that I was made to attend yet another ball?) Living here, while it is quite nice to have someone doing the cooking, means constant work. My morning is spent confirming the menu for dinner, making sure the public spaces are clean for the many visitors who tour the downstairs every afternoon, and leading the sewing circle that I established. In the afternoon I sit in my parlor embroidering and waiting for callers or paying calls. Then I retire to dress for tea, always a complete wonder full of croissants and cucumber sandwiches, and pay any formal calls or occasionally go to a friend's house for ice cream and cookies. Of course, after tea I generally spend my time helping James or reading a book. I wish less diplomats came to dinner, as I always have extra work to do, mainly supervising the domestic staff, when James and I are obliged to entertain foreign ambassadors. Though many of my friends believe that it is a wonderful thing to have the life of a first lady, I have no idea where they formulate their opinions, as I have decided I have no use at all for having this social obligation that has been thrust upon me.

    On nights where I am having a frightfully hard time trying to go to sleep, I sometimes get to thinking about what life would be like if James had chosen to remain a nobody with only a small law practice. Life, which is now horribly busy, would still be peaceful and calm, and James would come home early each day instead of sitting up all night puzzling out a country-sized bucket of problems. Mother, sometimes I want to be back living in that small log cabin that was and will be our home. I yearn for the simplicity of the simple country life we led, James in his office and I in my kitchen. I think even James was not prepared for all this important “cityness” that Washington spreads. He may have thought big, but James never reckoned on something this big. After his term is up, I think James will be perfectly happy to go back to our small little country village. He isn't and won't be a nobody anymore, and James likes that. While we may be well-known, when we return to our cabin, I will be so awfully glad. Actually, I would be quite happy if James had never ran for president, a very tiring job, and we had lived all this time in our cabin and had not been compelled to lead so public a life.

    Mother, do not ever come to this city. Washington is dreadfully busy, which I believe you would find annoying, and the coffee brewed here is as weak as a child's watered-down tea! I wish James had never ran for president, as I detest this whole experience of living in Washington, a very dirty place. For some reason people seem to think that Washington is a wonderful and idealistic place, Mother, even though most of this place is swampland. There are many things I must confess to you, Mother, chiefly my complaints of the people and the culture. Being a first lady in this crazy city is so very trying, I sometimes feel like screaming, so seethingly swampy and surely scatterbrained is this place. Mother, this place, as nice as it sounds, completely exhausts me!

Love from your exhausted daughter,

Dolley