Wisconsin Spring

           The wonderful thing about Wisconsin is that you can find yourself outside on the first day of spring, looking at a half foot of freshly fallen snow. Earlier that day, snow was falling hard the on cornfield in my backyard, sparkling in the high sun. Between the thick falling flakes floating around me and the blue dome above me, I felt like I was in a wintery snow globe that someone had just grabbed and shook up.

            But later that day the snow had settled, the sun was dipping down below the tree line and the bright colors of the morning had faded to rich blues and purples. The wind had set some of the snow drifting, revealing brown peaks of the rows of dirt. The scene in front of me was so peaceful that I forgave the snow for postponing my spring weather.

            A familiar hum cut through my silence, followed by a harsh blinking light. There is an airport out of view, just beyond the tree line, and planes fly over my house several times a day. Even though I’d seen so many, I’ll never get used to those thunderous engines flying so close above my head, a feeling like the chills I get from a fly buzzing in my ears, and the blinking lights painted an afterimage in my retinas.

            The plane cut across my scene, overshadowing all the beautiful qualities of the night, and left me in a tense state. I realized how easy it was for this one small interruption to dominate my attention and take over my whole outlook on the things in front of me.

            I guess this happens a lot. One small problem can take over, worry me to no end, and put me in a negative mood. Insignificant setbacks can blind me from all the wonderful things I have in front of me.

            The plane landed, revealing my peaceful scene once again. And just like the plane, my everyday dilemmas were resolved and life went on. What I took from this night is that bad things happen, but behind the bad there is always plenty of good to be found. The snowy scene was much more pleasant when I could see around all the disturbances, just as my life will be more positive if I can see around the small problems and focus on the things that I’m grateful for.      

A Swimming Lesson

          One day at swimming lessons I was feeling ambitious, and I asked my students to swim the entire length of the pool—a huge undertaking for level two students. Each one of them set out into the pool determined, and each one lifted themselves out on the other side, beaming with pride and excited by the stunned looks on their parent’s faces. All of my students completed the challenge, except one little boy who watched from the edge of the pool. I was not surprised that he did not join his classmates, because was still afraid to put his face in the water. I was ready to move onto the next part of our lesson when the little boy tapped me on the shoulder. He told me he was ready to do it. My heart fluttered. In my mind I imagined the boy jumping in the water and swimming the entire length of the pool. 

            But he did something much different than that. He lowered his little body slowly into the pool, took a gulp of air, and plunged his face into the water. His mother started crying. Even though her son was the least talented of the swimmers, she was by far the most proud parent in the room.

            The boy lifted his face out of the water, wiped the water from his eyes, and gave me a big, toothless smile. His classmates looked at him, waiting for him to try swimming his lap. But I knew he was done for the day. He’d put his face in the water, and that was enough for one day.

            That boy made me stop and think about what it meant to be successful. He surely wasn’t the most skilled of my students, but he was the most satisfied with his accomplishments. Maybe it’s not the outstanding things you achieve, the gold metals, the shining awards, but rather the small things that add up that make you truly successful.

Up and to the Right

The trick to finding an answer

I was told

is to look up and to the right.

I try till my eyes hurt,

but the fog of my thoughts are in the way.

All the things I need to remember,

like where my car is parked, who’s mad

at whom, what kind of cake she wants for her birthday.

That one song we sang today

blares, shwee oot doot dot doo dot da

bad do bop dwee bah doo dah,

a cacophony of scatting,

my alto harmony singing out the loudest,

The things I try to forget.

My eyes keep wandering back

to the back wall, to behind

where a string of  posters scream inspiration

at me, to back on that day

when the man with no arms talked to us

about following our dreams and all of that.

Up and to the right,

to the right, to the right

take it back now ya’ll. Two hops this time

One-- STOP IT—two, three, four,

I declare a thumb war.

My mind is loud, without much sense,

like those modern paintings they call abstract.

Breaking through the wall of noise

is like breaking through a defensive line.

Maybe below all this noise are the real answers.

Like who we are or why we’re here.

Or maybe I will just find a few answers,

Like the formula for the inverse of cosine.

Up and to the right.

Or maybe it’s left.

I don’t know how she expects me to finish,

this test with all the noise in here.

The Lake

           And there we were, walking down a gravely road barefoot in bathing suits, swatting at mosquitoes and carrying our big red canoe. 

            We’d had perfect day. Sleeping in well past ten, we’d woken up to a big breakfast of pancakes and bacon. My cousin Sarah and I were on dish duty today, leaving my sister Meg and younger cousin Kalen to get the boats ready. The four of us were up at our family cabin, along with aunts, uncles, grandparents, and several other little cousins. As by tradition, and our little group spent the entire day proceeding the 4th of July out on the lake “fishing” on our red canoe, an escape from the hectic cabin.

Each year we did a little less fishing and a little more sunbathing, and by this year we didn’t even bother bringing along a tackle box. We packed a lunch, suntan lotion, and a few People magazines before we pushed off our boats off onto the lake.

            As planned, the day went beautifully. The four of us were draped out across the bottom of the boat, and as we lay out in the sun, my cousin Sarah told us about her big career plans and about her excitement for graduation. We gave advice to little Kalen, who was having some problems with her third grade love life, and my sister Meg entertained us with her silly stories and impersonations. I just took it all in. We were as far from our usual cares as we could get.

            Time had slipped away from us, the food was gone, the smell of banana suntan lotion only lingering, and the sun was setting just past its three o’clock glory, preparing itself for a vibrant twilight. The sun’s reflection off the lake was so bright that, for a moment, we lost our sense of direction, until a cool breeze sent ripples through the water, reminding us which was water and which sky.

            We opened our eyes to see massive clouds rolling in, the sky that had just been a lovely shade of pink turned a nasty dark blue, and our peaceful afternoon was gone. The sky evolved so quickly that I felt like we were on the ominous set of a horror film, the weather cueing the entrance of the bad guy. The waves and the wind became so forceful that are canoe was being pushed further and further away from our cabin, and even when paddling with all our effort, we couldn’t get any forward momentum.  After a brief and frazzled conversation we decided to land as soon as we could and walk the rest of the way back to the cabin.

           Great idea. It was about a two mile hike back to our cabin, and we had no phones, no shoes, and no bug spray. We were stuck walking down a gravely road barefoot in bathing suits, swatting at mosquitoes and carrying our big red canoe. Little Kalen started crying because her feet were hurting, so we took shifts, with two carrying the canoe and one giving a piggy back ride. We walked in bitter silence, all a little mad at each other for not thinking this through.

           At the wrong moment, the sky opened up and within seconds the downpour had turned the dusty road into mud. I braced myself for more tears, but instead all I heard is my sister Meg hysterically laughing. My cousin Sarah and I just stood there staring at her, failing to see the comedy in the situation. But Kalen’s pursed lips quavered, and curled into a smile, causing all of us to lose our angry composure and fall into a fit of giggles. By this time Meg was rolling around in the mud laughing, gasping for breath. We looked absolutely ridiculous, but the thought didn’t cross our minds.

            This is the true beauty of family. Sometimes we love each other, sometimes we drive each other crazy, but the end of the day we are always there for each other. Just for this moment I didn’t have to worry about anyone watching me, anyone judging me, because I knew I was with my family, the people who love me unconditionally. Even in the rain, even in the rain this is as close to happiness as I could ever get. We finished off the last half mile of our hike, singing and laughing the whole way.