Summer Skies and Lullabies

As we await the delivery of wedding photographs, we are reminiscing about our happy day. Sunday morning dawned with smokey fog but by noon, the skies peeled back to reveal a lovely Wedgewood blue -  the color that transforms objects into something heavenly, as if one has put on rose-colored glasses.  More than once, I felt a catch in my throat - and a longing for something ...more time...more lullabies...a little girl and her dolly...and for other lives no longer overlap ours.  I also had the sensation of being carried around on a cushioned bed of serenity and happiness.  It was my daughter's wedding day!

I remember the rows of white chairs as we strolled down the aisle of our cloistered grotto. The hydrangeas bowed their heavy heads and the hibiscus danced a shimmy at the whispering sea breezes. My daughter's ivory dress suddenly seemed so bright and fresh in the sunlight, the meaning of it so clear...her perfection, her youth, her joy...and all her hopes for the future represented in the chiffon flower, the encrusted pearls, the simple net veil.  Her golden locks were smoothed out and shiny, skin perfect.  At the simple altar, rosebud lips - the same ones I fretted over so worriedly in a hospital isolate so many years ago - whispered "I love you forever, Mom".  She released my arm with a squeeze and I took my place.

The ceremony was simple and hushed and over way too fast - a promise, a ring, a kiss...no drama or hype - no fuss -  so very like her.  I watched them pass by to "Here Comes the Sun" but at the end of the aisle, they stopped and waited for me.  Together we three wrapped our arms about each other and smiled into sets of brimming eyes.  And then, my new son murmured something only I heard:  "She's safe... you don't have to worry anymore".  Oh young man, if you but only knew...

The flashbacks have stopped at last.  I am clearing out her room and spreading out my life. When I went to bed that first night there was a card nestled beside my pillow.  On one side was her love letter and on the other, the instructions for changing the time on my clock radio - something I never got the hang of.

More beauty, fashion, books, art, and life posts coming up...back to my usual musings soon!

Arabesque

After 15 years of lessons as a girl, ballet has always remained close to my heart.  The best way to enjoy ballet is to see it performed live in a theater - nothing quite matches it because ballet requires an audience to give it life.  The excitement before the rise of the curtain along with the breathtaking moment when the lights dim and the stage suddenly opens to pure fantasy, creates vital energy for the dance.  When my craving could not be satisfied with live ballet anywhere nearby, a friend and I slipped into a local cinema after work that was telecasting a performance of the Russian Bolshoi Ballet's Ivan the Terrible.

The cinema was dark, hushed and cool.  Fortunately, I thought to bring my work bag pashmina and as I draped it about my shoulders, I nestled in with a weary sigh to watch the screen.  Not exactly a romantic ballet, Ivan the Terrible was exquisitely danced with the enduring magic I was longing for.  The choreography was a mosaic of complexities in perfect harmony with the music.  The arabesques and pirouettes were stylized...precise, but also bewitching and graceful.  The story was interpreted beautifully - it was deliciously brooding but not at all depressing and I soon became lost and swept away for two blissful hours.

I am incredibly busy right now.  This past week I hosted an open house at my new job.  Part of my role is ambassadress of my boss' brand.  It was a great success but required lots of fancy footwork and coordination as well.  And connections, including the mayor's office and the newspapers.  In a way, I cut my teeth because I haven't entertained in a big way for a very long time.  Now I am off to orchestrate a bridal shower for my daughter and of course the penultimate party of all - her wedding in July.  My calendar is filled with appointments, calls to make, and errands - so many errands.  Every time I cross something off my list, 3 more tasks magically appear.  It has been happily challenging...and stressful.

Still, in the midst of all the joyous chaos to come, I will don an air of quiet grace and understated elegance, and my intention is to perfect a flawless arabesque of my own.

The Lovely Long Ago

As pretty as it is, this illustration instantly brought stinging tears to my eyes.  My daughter used to meet me at the door every night, our cat Buddy in her arms.  And surely you know by now that my daughter, my girl, my now grown-up compatriot, is to be married and will be leaving home.  It also seems quite possible that she will be moving to another time zone.  We are both trying to get use to that idea.

When she was six, I heard a country song on the radio one day.  I only recall one line of lyrics and that's plenty because the song is about a daughter leaving home.  "She'll take the picture in the hall", I think.  When my daughter was six, removing pictures from walls seemed far, far away.  Now, it is nigh upon us.

This week, a thousand echoes filled this house - memories in bits and pieces.  I even thought I smelled baby powder one morning and it nearly took my breath away.  A dear friend suggested I lean into my pain and so I did.  I cried.  And cried some more.

People are always telling me how wonderful my daughter is, how lovely and sweet she is, what a gifted teacher she is.  I don't feel I can take too much credit - I had excellent raw material.  She was born good.  And except for a brief period when she was four and I thought she might be possessed, she never gave me any trouble.

I'm done contemplating the lovely long ago, at least for now.  But I know I will be compelled to visit there again.  When I'm ready, I need only follow the whispering come-hither of baby powder.

My Girl